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lenoraslament · 9 months ago

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Lenora’s Love: A Tom Riddle Story

Chapter 6: Flawless

The draw of his lips just far enough. Her eyes trailed down to them before meeting his eyes. Their eyes locked in a way that took her breath away. The soft gasp made Tom smirk.

"I'm fine" Lenora insisted as Lilith brushed snarls out of her hair.

"You're not" she pinned it up and started to apply makeup.

"Well I don't want to talk about it" she insisted as Lilith dusted her eyes with a dark color.

"I've missed you" Lilith smiled and Nora gave her a grin.

"I missed you more" Nora turned and looked at herself in the mirror, "I'm so sick of these boys".

If she embarrassed herself before, she more than made up for it when she glided down the stairs. The halter style dress had a tulip skirt that hugged her figure perfectly. The skirt did not flutter when she walked, this dress was anything but childish.

I'll show you grown up. She lifted her chin. Her hair was pulled up in a French twist, high heels giving her walk a little saunter. Lenora felt like the picture of elegance.

Her eyes were angry when she met her supposed friends. Lilith walked next to her feeling proud of her work.

Tom felt like someone was stabbing him. Every eye was on Lenora. She looked regal, stunning. Months ago he would have taken her in his arms and kissed her. He would have danced with her, pridefully showing off his beautiful companion. Now he only felt sick.

Black had a woeful look as well but only allowed himself a moment to want.

Unlike Tom whose eyes followed her as she approached them.

The minister was talking up a storm, he saw Lenora and she gave a little head bow and smile.

"I must say again minister, we are so honored by your presence tonight" she said with a grin.

"How charming! Thank you kindly Miss Rosier. It's so wonderful to see the talent of our latest accomplished wizards" he patted her hand.

A lovely young lady with dark blonde hair walked up to their group.

"Ah Maybel!" He said practically pushing her into Tom, "this is my niece, I was telling you about Riddle. She is in need of an escort".

Tom raised his eyebrows as the young woman batted her lashes at him. He caught a quick look at Lenora who was staring nervously at Black.

"Surely Minister, she deserves a more valor escort than a scoundrel like me?" Tom latched his hand onto Blacks shoulder, "Will our dueling champion suffice?"

The minister laughed, "wonderful idea Riddle. Simply wonderful".

Black bowed and took the young ladies hand escorted her to the dance floor.

The minister took a quick eyeful at Lenora who had shot Tom a not so discreet look of contempt .

"It appears you have stolen Miss Rosiers intended Riddle" he said still boisterous with laughter, "why don't you dance with the young lady".

Tom gave a warm smile and put his hand on Lenora's back, "Would you care to dance with me Miss Rosier?".

It took everything in her not to scratched his eyes out, "I'd be honored Riddle".

His fingers punched into her lower spine as he all but dragged her onto the floor.

Nora kept her lips pinched as she let him take her in his arms. She leaned her head back and looked away bored. They spun gracefully around as he dragged her across the floor in a waltz. Silence hung between them, but Tom couldn't keep his eyes off of her beautiful, angry face.

"Surely, I'm not that bad Nora" he mumbled.

"No" they locked eyes and he pulled her waist a little closer, "you're worse".

Tom cracked a smile with a breathy laugh.

"Jealous?" He whispered when they passed Black and Maybel. She was laughing at something he said as he danced with her elegantly.

Lenora rolled her eyes, "Of course not".

"Another man off the marriage market" Tom teased, "What will your mother say?"

She sighed loudly and he dipped her before she could say anything else.

When he brought her back up, his face was close to hers. For a moment she could taste the air between them, her body tingled. She became aware of how his fingers stroked her back softly, how his hand had loosened in hers to curl and touch her fingers.

The draw of his lips just far enough. Her eyes trailed down to them before meeting his eyes. Their eyes locked in a way that took her breath away. The soft gasp made Tom smirk.

"You look flawless" he whispered his breath tickling her ear. Their bodies were dangerously close.

"But" he pulled back so they were face to face again. She felt faint.

"We both know that's you're far from it." he let go of her waist as the song came to a close. Lenora said nothing as she reeled from his words and his touch.

"Excuse me Lenora" he said bowing with a devilish smile, "lots of young ladies to entertain".

He left her in the middle of the dance floor to drown.

"May I?" A large hand hovered around her, Antoine Dolohov. A remarkably tall wizard who to her had the appeal of a table lamp and the personality of a table.

"Certainly" she said taking his arm as they spun about the room. He was a hulking large man, it was a wonder Tom hadn't added him to his collection of followers yet. He was a year younger than them, a familiar face from the common room.

He didn't let her go for three dances, she widened her eyes at Abraxas who was still upset with her and looked away. Black was serving Maybel punch and Nott was kissing Lilith in the corner. She looked around until she spotted Avery.

Help me! She mouthed and he chuckled but stood up walking towards her.

"Dolohov" he said, "I'm going to have to steal your date, she looks overwrought"

Dolohov did not look happy but nodded. Even at his size he knew not to argue with one of Tom's friends.

She took Avery's arms weakly, "Merlin, I thought he was never going to stop spinning me". He led her to the refreshments and she sipped on some punch.

"Please tell me you have something stronger than this" she grumbled observing the crowd.

"My aren't we the lush lately?" he teased. She glared at him until he produced his flask pouring it in her cup.

"Don't you have a date?" she said, "what happened to Delia?"

Avery took a drink of the flask, "She's a little too lascivious even for my standards" he snorted.

"Did someone buy you a dictionary for Christmas?" she asked giggling as she finished her cup holding it out for him to top it off.

"Rude girl" he said as he poured.

"There she is now" he pointed with his chin. Delia wore a low cut red dress that matched her lips. A mischievous look in her eye as she scanned the room. They both watched her as she held out her hand behind her. She quietly led a hidden gentleman out of the room.

"Oh my" Lenora said, "I take it back Avery that is lascivious"

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matcha-flavored-cake · 2 years ago

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TRICK OR TREAT

⁰¹ I don't have regrets or shame. I was extremely horny and thinking abt tartaglia and scary clowns. Best things of the world

⁰² Yes i know that is Ghostface in the picture, I just couldn't find a clown to fit the aesthetic ok

⁰³ tw: dumbification, lots of "sweetie, cutie, slut, bitch", pussy pleaser tartaglia, primal play, mentions of cum and blood, exhibitionism, fucking in the woods, kissing, biting, creampie, lots of cum (I'm disgusting<3). And clowns.

⁰⁴ no beta we die like valorant players

Enjoy <3

You loved Halloween, it's the best part of the year. The screaming of kids, the candy, the ghosts. Even if people called you weird for liking this things.

Truth is, you were always a little weird.

But the best people in the world are.

When you and your friends decided to go to the Halloween Carnival that would take place in town, you were super excited. People scaring you from all sides? Cool costumes and games? You're in. And maybe you liked the idea of being chased by a fake killer clown a little too much? Yes but it wasn't your fault they were... attractive.

Your friends knew it, and they weren't the least bit surprised to see your excitement when they arrived at the Carnival. Between running away from clowns and even trying to kiss some of the "scary" clowns, you and your friends managed to have a lot of fun and even get laughs out of people who were working that night.

You and your friends decided to split up and play some games, between jokes and attempts to eat at some point you ended up losing the group. You just laughed deciding to look for them along the way, looking the costumes, taking pictures do maybe draw latter, and eating candy. You're humming a soft melody of "Scarborough Fair" when a sudden clown emerged in front of you making you scream and laugh.

"Trick or treat cutie?" the muffled voice asked you. He was tall, oh boy he as tall, and he did a good job with his mask, and he was holding a fake axe in hands. 8/10 of a costume.

"You scared the shit out of me!" You laugh, bending your body to take a deep breath. The clown seemed amused by your reaction.

"Usually people start crying out of fear and don't laugh you know?" you just let out a weak laugh in response.

"You'll have to do a better trick to get some reaction out of me y'know?" You laughed and stuck your tongue out as you continued walking.

"So will it be trick cutie?" he asked. For a moment you imagined a hint of second intentions in his voice. But so what if it did? It's Halloween, he looked cool, and walking out of the Carnival with wobbly legs and jaw aching from sucking cock seemed like a good idea.

"Yeah. It's trick for you Mr. Scary Clown." You looked behind, smiling at him. He was fast to catch the invite.

After making sure that he didn't catch wrong vibes, and you were sober and consenting to him (after all he's not a jerk and consent is important). He decided to torture you a little (in the best way possible) while leading you to one of the buildings used to prepare one of the haunted houses. He put his hand in the back pocket of your jeans, giving a nice squeeze in your ass every now and then. You're nervous and smiling like a dummy, and honestly who wouldn't? Along the way he was asking things about you while going up in the building, and you could swear you saw a boner in front of his pants. When you reached the third floor of the building he stoped:

"Here's the thing, were going to play a little game." He said. You nodded, you're so dummy, such a good little bitch Tartaglia thought. "We're going to play hide and seek ok?" He got close, putting his hands on your waist, making small circles, you had barely started and your mouth was already dry.

"You can't go downstairs, unless you want everyone seeing what I'm about to do with you okay cutie? Yeah? Can you promise that?" He humped his crotch on your heat slightly, making you moan a little. "I'm going to count to 10, and you're going to hide ok sweetie? Be a doll for me and do as I say hmm?" You nodded, mind hazy already, he gave your ass another squeeze.

"By the way, you can call me Tartaglia. One... Two..." He started counting, you stupidly looked at the rooms and corridors of the small 5 floor building and started to run towards one of the rooms. Outside the window you could see the colorful lights of the Carnival, and below you could hear screams from the haunted house, you smiled at the thought that while everyone was playing outside you would be playing a dirty game inside the building.

You've finally managed to find a reasonable place to hide, behind a counter in a room. You heard Tartaglia saying that he stopped counting and started hunting you. You heart was racing, and your panties were starting to get soaked with the idea of being hunt like a prey. The anxiety and tension making you more excited than you wanted to admit.

"Cutie~ I can hear you panting~" Tartaglia said laughing, you covered your mouth with a red face. Had he turned you into a bitch in heat with just a few humps and ass squeezes? Damn...

For a moment everything was silent and you almost came out of your hiding place to check if Tartaglia had gotten lost or left you there alone. But a pair of hands appeared in your field of vision and pulled you out while laughed. "Fuck yeah, I've got you" he said and you screamed, laughing with him right after.

"Gotta get my treat now." He said next to you ear, turning you to face the window, leaning on the counter. He gave your ass a slap before start humping again, this time more harder and moaning louder. You started mewling felling his boner between your clothed ass. God he was so big, the way he was holding your waist tightly making you feel things.

He started to take off his pants, lowering them to his legs, and palming his boner in front of you. You imitated him taking off your pants and jacket, lucky you weren't in a costume. Tartaglia lifted his mask enough for his mouth to show and started giving you little kisses, with time you two were kissing like horny teenagers.

He was standing between your legs, lowering his underwear and squeezing your breasts. He seemed to try to hold every part of your body.

"Fuck, you're pretty, can't believe I got you all for myself" he said kissing your and giving your neck and collarbones some hickeys. He let his heavy cock rest against your tummy. You bite your lips while held his dick masturbating him. You felt hot and your mind was cloudy, you wanted to suck his dick really bad.

Tartaglia kissed your neck and took off your bra licking and sucking your nipples while looking at you. He was in his own Wonderland. He took of his mask, revealing that even under the mask he wore clown makeup, which was now slightly melted, giving him a chaotic look. He was so pretty. With blue eyes scanning your state: panting, in messy clothes, and breasts inviting him once more.

"Fuck" he said, going back to your nipples closing his eyes sucking and biting like he want to milk your breasts. He humped again rubbing his dick in you clit making you moan loudly and spread your legs. Your fingers twitched in pleasure as he lowered his mouth further and further.

"Can I lick your pussy Sweetie?" He asked nicely patting your belly. You nodded of course you nodded, smiling stupidly. He kissed your pussy, grateful and you're gone, moaning like his little bitch. Tartaglia sucked and licked you as if his life depended on it, his hands held your thighs steady, and even though you closed around him he smiled and rolled his eyes in pleasure like he was tasting ambrosia. The wet sounds of his mouth and you mixed with the excitement outside made your head full.

You rocked your hips against his face and Tartaglia started seeing stars, sucking you while one hand was on his own cock, moaning from both pleasures. He wanted to go on, he wanted to taste you. He hunted you and now he would eat you out and taste everything you had to give him. You were his prey, he was the hunter.

"Ta-Tartaglia-ah! I'm gonna... I'm" you tried to alert him, but oh boy he was long gone between your folds. Sinking his head deeper and his tongue even deeper into you, Tartaglia drank your juices as you squirted into his mouth. The sounds he made as he licked and sucked what was left of you were so obscene that they will haunt you for months. You on the other hand were a mess, your body vibrating and wet with sweat, panting like you'd run a marathon.

When Tartaglia finally left your poor cunt alone, he rose to kiss you, who responded happily, already limp after cumming so intensely. Without giving much time to you for recover, he started to overstimulate your pussy, rubbing his dick on your clit.

"Open your mouth" You obeyed, opening as he commanded. He stuck two fingers inside your mouth and after you had sucked them long enough, he put them inside your pussy. Your legs opened up giving him more room so his fingers could go in and out, like pistons inside your hole. You held his arm giving him little cries while he prepared and coaxed you.

"Shhhh, it's ok doll, you need to be nice and wet for me ok? So I can fuck this pretty little pussy." He slapped your cunt, making you jump. "I think you're ready" He said opening your folds and spitting, using his tongue to lick your clit. Tartaglia held his cock in front of your entrance, the head of his dick was red, like he was angry. It's not a surprise since he was holding back his cum so he could make a mess on you. He put the head inside you slowly, the rest going in without difficulty since you're so wet.

"Ffuck yeah..." He threw back his head. Hissing and moaning. You were so tiny, so hot inside. Your gummy walls gripping his dick like a vice. He wanted to cum already, paint you with thick ropes of hot cum and breed you. God this was already the best halloween for him.

The fact that you were so welcoming to him was the best, your silly face already dumb just for having your pussy eaten by him, god the things he wanted to do with you.

He started to move, going slow just to hear you breaking little by little, moaning like a little bitch on his cock. He held you putting your legs around his waist and started moving your hips faster, making you hold on to him to stay steady. Fucking you raw and in a fast pace, you could feel his cock kissing your cervix. Going deep inside you.

You were so warm, he couldn't stop, he don't wanted to. Tartaglia wanted to keep going on and on and on marking you as his. He had a smile into his face, completely drunk on your pussy. Already addicted into fucking you.

Going back to the counter he made you face the Carnival, pulling your hair while going balls deep into your warmth. Your eyes rolling back to your skull, your voice hoarse from moaning too much. One of his hands going to your clit, making small circles, causing you to hold the counter. The skin on skin noise going more and more fast, Tartaglia was on the verge of tears after holding his cum for so long. And you were cumming again, making Tartaglia hiss felling your insides getting more tight, almost milking his cock, you were already crying of overstimulation.

"You're so so tight doll! Yeah, so tight. I'm gonna make a mess inside you. Take it all like a good little slut hmm? Be a cutie and take all my cum f-fuck yeah!" He shouted, still going in and out while cumming inside your poor little pussy. His cum was thick and hot, making you feel more wobbly, your legs giving up, but Tartaglia was fast to catch you before your fall.

"There you go..." He said, panting. Sitting on the ground with you on his arms. You were fucked silly, saying incoherent words and holding him, with lazy expression. He gave you time to recover this time. And after a little nap you could talk like a functional adult again.

"Your friends called you, i answered saying that you're ok, gave my number and sent a picture of my ID card, they're sweet for taking good care of you." He said, holding your face. You laughed. "Yeah they do that."

"Wanna go to my place? We can eat something and sleep. I pay your Uber tomorrow, how about that?" He offered. You nodded "It's ok for me. But you'll need to carry me, because I think I can't walk anymore." You laughed and he just cover his face in shame. For someone with a sharp tongue, he was cute.

It was a good Halloween indeed.

#. extra stuffed cake #. scenario #. tartaglia #. childe #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact #smut #genshin #genshin headcanons #headcanons #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut x reader #childe smut #tartaglia smut #ajax smut #clown x reader

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robhorninginternalexile · 5 years ago

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producing the audience

This investigation of Facebook’s algorithms for matching ads to audiences, by Ian Bogost and Alexis Madrigal, is helpful for clearing up some general points about how advertising works generally.

It sounds obvious enough that advertising is about creating demand for products; it doesn’t simply inform people about what products are available so that they can indulge the intrinsic desire for something they already felt. In other words, people don’t come to ads with certain desires and needs; the ads capture their attention and create the needs in them. It seeks to make them into the sort of person who habitually wants certain things. Often this is overlooked from a kind of positivist viewpoint that presumes subjects know their desires and aren’t structured by society.

For this sort of manipulation to work, targets need to believe that they are autonomous and unlikely to be manipulated in that way — this lowers their conscious guard to the technique. So another major ideological thrust of advertising is to convince targets that their ad-induced desires are actually “real” and “natural,” that the needs are inherent in them, expressing their true personalities, their god-given souls. So the main thing being advertised, across all forms of advertising regardless of the specific product, is this heroic consumerist subject who is fully self-aware about what they want and is not subject to being easily influenced by external forces. From within that sort of subjectivity, of course, one is more easily influenced by external forces and less likely to scrutinize or actively participate in those processes that are shaping them.

This is cross-cut with a contradictory message in advertising that involves "social proof”: other people you admire are doing X, so you should too, then you will belong with them, you will be recognized or recognizable socially, you will have a legible place. Ads try to balance the appeals to social proof with the appeals to individualism, which masks the nature of the “society” ads promise to help you belong to. Advertising must blanket its targets’ attentional field because it is trying to make its simulacrum appear as a plausible representation of society, and make the mode of subjectivity ads inculcate seem universal.

Hence Facebook’s efficacy for advertisers. Facebook’s aspiration to re-create the world within its servers achieves much of what advertising must do as a prerequisite. It makes a phony, freely manipulatable, and quantifiable world appear as a reasonable representation of the social world. In Facebook, audiences for ads can be created instantaneously and synthetically, without reference to the desire or intention of those so grouped to actually be lumped together. Facebook makes ersatz demographics based on the demands of particular advertisers, and when the targets are exposed to the ads that result from being stereotyped in that way, they are led to believe that the ersatz demographic is a view of society to which empowered individuals like themselves belong. This works as long as Facebook is understood as a benign and neutral representation of a user’s social world that the user supposedly controls by friending certain people and so on (that is where the “empowered individual” part of the ideology is reinforced).

Bogost and Madrigal draw on a similar theory of advertising to explain why Facebook’s methods are so impactful:

In the old days, advertisers bought guaranteed placements in print publications, on outdoor displays, or in media broadcasts. They would select these placements, in part, based on the audiences those media might reach: a glossy magazine for women interested in fashion, or a billboard that thousands of downtown commuters pass daily. At the dawn of the internet, advertisers did the same thing on websites: If a business wanted to get in front of a particular audience, it could buy space adjacent to the content that brought in that audience. Eventually, it could also buy space atop search results, bidding for placement based on terms typed into Google.

This treats “content” as a proxy for a pre-existing audience, but that verges toward assuming a “subject that already knows what it wants” that ads are trying to “cater” to. But I think it is more accurate to say that the ads and content worked together to produce certain kinds of publics, with certain values, and certain induced desires. The content, in other words, produced demand (produced subjects) just like the ads would, only with slightly less overt appeals. And the content worked together with the ads, each to provide an alibi to the other: the ads seemed more obvious next to the content, the content seemed less coercive next to the ads.

Bogost and Madrigal see Facebook as a departure from this, rather than an apotheosis.

Facebook upended that. A“Facebook ad” is less an ad and more a machine for producing ads. Instead of paying to put particular media in front of a specific audience, an advertiser now pays Facebook to deliver a selected outcome from a certain stripe of people. For example, a clothing manufacturer might pay Facebook for webpage visits from women in their 30s who live in Los Angeles, or for likes by parents with college degrees whose online behavior is similar to that of users who had previously made purchases. How those ads get to which matching users is up to Facebook. Given some starting information, its system learns how to tune the delivery of the ad, in relation to all the other advertisers out there. In short, Facebook chooses which ads will be shown to whom at what price.

This utterly changes what it means to create and deploy advertising.

It’s more a perfection of the previous techniques, thanks to a better environment for capturing targets’ attention and remolding the mediascape around them based on the desired characteristics around which an advertiser would like to produce ideas of “community,” “society,” or “solidarity.”

A Facebook ad produces particular audiences organized around particular exploitable ideas of “together,” and it requires a constant reiterative barrage to sustain the plausibility of those pseudo-communities (aka “brand communities”).

As Bogost and Madrigal stress, what is especially novel about Facebook is the automation of this process of delivering ads to people to sustain these imputed affiliations — to create feedback loops that intensify the connection between the user’s experience of autonomy (I click on what I want) and the contrived demographics they are slotted into for advertising’s purposes and aims: “When those ads successfully push users to take action, those actions generate ever more data, which in turn get funneled right back into Facebook … to help target even more ads.” The key here is that ads within Facebook are directly instrumental, but not with respect to the content of the ad. (The ads aren’t mainly having the direct measurable effect of getting people to buy X or Y.) The ads become more prevalent (favored by Facebook’s algorithmic systems) to the extent that people pay attention to them in quantifiable ways on Facebook. The system is tuned to reinforce the validity of “paying attention to advertising” in general — it’s focused on the part of all ads that are about the “usefulness of advertising,” the part that conditions subjectivity in general and doesn’t promote some specific thing.

Bogost and Madrigal make this point with respect to the machine learning used to target Facebook users, and the opacity of the logic by which it proceeds.

Do the predictions make a good model of a person’s actual inner desires? Do the ads “work?” It doesn’t matter. Facebook’s ad software doesn’t try to get someone to buy a product or vote for a candidate. It merely tries to produce the results that advertisers declare they want, by serving ads to users similar to the ones who furnished those results on earlier, similar ads. Each action a user takes or doesn’t take—clicking, liking, sharing, commenting, donating, hovering, buying, filling out a form—slightly changes the complex network of predictions that form Facebook’s picture of a person, which is to say, a consumer.

Basically, it doesn’t matter why someone is targeted, just that the targeting happens over and over again — that produces the ad-receptive subjectivity, and not the effectiveness or persuasiveness of a particular message.

One implication of this is that an ad’s content doesn’t matter as much as its frequency: the ads aren’t meant to be persuasive, they are meant to be emblematic and recognizable beyond the imputations of content, beyond the need for interpretation or even interpretability. This is why Trump’s Facebook ads are just basically interchangeable pictures of him (”Each ad used one of four versions of ad copy, matched to one of six pictures of Trump, composed and cropped in three different ways to fit different ad slots across Facebook and Instagram,“ Bogost and Madrigal note). They are just about brand recognition and creating a sense that ubiquity itself produces social reality. There is no pretense that he has anything important to say other than his own ubiquity, a quantity that becomes a quality.

Trump is a nullity who desires attention for its own sake, so his "politics” perfectly suit a mechanism meant to valorize attention for its own sake, a self-reinforcing loop that puts attention at the center of subjectivity and human agency. He is governing not for television but as a television.

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updatingthedragon · 4 years ago

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Solo Dungeon Adventures/Unique Traps

Solo Dungeons and Dragons gets a shout out in the first edition of The Strategic Review, in a unique manner. Gary Gygax himself wrote this article, with a bit of help from others, in which he outlines a system whereby you, yes you, can play Dungeons and Dragons without… a referee. Yeesh, that just sounds weird. I much prefer Dungeon Master. It’s a much more evocative term than referee. Plus, everyone argues with a referee, but who would dare argue with THE DUNGEON MASTER?!

Well, a lot of people, but I digress. Gygax gives us tables by which we can endlessly generate our own dungeon, if we don’t have any friends to do it for us. It is a… bit clunky, like most things in early Dungeons and Dragons. There are a lot of sub-tables to refer too, monster behavior to keep track of, loot, magic pools of water…

Honestly, there are much better ways to play Dungeons and Dragons these days, with Roll20 and other sites making it possible for even lonely nerds to find a group, and purpose-written solo adventures that avoid the complexity of Gygax’s system. Even if we want a random dungeon, we can simply Google “random dungeon generator” and get computer programs that will do all of this for us. It’s a lot easier, but it does lack some of that charm.

I can almost picture myself, if I had been a teen in those days, huddled under a blanket, flash light in hand, rolling dice and painstakingly tracing out the Caverns of Zurkrasheim (made it up as I wrote this, and I love it already), wondering with bated breath what I will encounter next. It’s raining outside, with that warm, pleasant smell of long-dry dirt finally getting a drink. A train horn sounds in the distance…

Sorry, got a bit carried away there. Anyway, there is quite a bit of stuff we can steal for 5e. While the game seems to have moved away from dungeon crawls, there are several traps worth a look at. I like the idea of hidden doors that are difficult to find (humans, unaided, had a 1 in 6 chance according to the chart), with some great reward behind them. But secret doors are easy. No, the trap I love the best is the gas trap. You step on a pressure plate, and gas fills the hallway! A great dramatic beat. Not only that, but the gas sub-table illustrates different kinds of gas your players could encounter. One literally made your Fighters stronger, while another would just straight up kill you if you failed a saving throw. With that in mind, here are my handy, uh, “gas traps?” That just sounds wrong��

Gas Trap: DC 16 to detect the pressure plate. If the players step on the trap, there is a hiss as a mysterious gas fills the corridor around them.

Types of Gas: 1. Smoke Screen. The gas is ashen gray and thick. The area covered by the gas is heavily obscured, blocking vision entirely. 2. Poison Gas. The gas is a sickly yellow and carried a vague scent of sulfur. Whenever a creature enters or starts their turn within the cloud, a DC 14 Constitution saving throw. On a failure, take 3d6 poison damage. On a success, take half as much damage. 3. Blinding Gas. This light green gas has a strange texture, as if it is made of shards of finely woven glass. Roll a DC 14 Constitution saving throw whenever a creature enters the cloud or starts their turn within it. On a failure, the creature is blinded for 1d8 turns. On a success, the creature is able to resist the gas, but will have to roll again next turn if they are still within the cloud. 4. Fear Gas. The gas is darkly colored, with strange flashes reminiscent of lightning rippling throughout. Roll a DC 14 Constitution(or Wisdom, depending on DM choice) saving throw whenever a creature enters the cloud or starts their turn within it. On a failure, the creature is frightened for 1d8 turns and cannot press further into the gas. On a success, the creature is able to resist the gas, but will have to roll again next turn if they are still within the cloud. 5. Sleeping Gas. This blue gas carries with it a sense of calm and the smell of cinnamon. Roll a DC 14 Constitution saving throw whenever a creature enters the cloud or starts their turn within it. On a failure, the creature falls asleep for 1d6 turns. On a success, the creature is able to resist the gas, but will have to roll again next turn if they are still within the cloud. This is also not “magical sleep”, so elves and half-elves beware! 6. Vapor of Valor. The gas is the shade of a summer rose and smells vaguely of rain. Your characters are suddenly reinvigorated, receiving almost all of the effects of a long rest; prepared spells, however, are unable to be changed.

Why would you want a “Vapor of Valor” in your otherwise dank and dangerous dungeon? I can actually think of two scenarios. The first, “meta-scenario,” is that your players are slogging through a dungeon full of monsters slowly picking away at their health, and they’re unclear if they’re lost or going the right way. Triggering something like this might serve as a signal that, yes, you’re doing it right and reignite their adventuring spirit.

The other, “game-scenario,” is that back when the Caverns of Zurkrasheim (or whatever dungeon) was a Dwarven stronghold (or whatever ancient group ruled there), this corridor led to the arena. Gladiators would walk down this hallway in between fights, and the Vapor would replenish their health and make them ready for another brutal fight. And, thusly, your players walk through the Vapor of Valor, feel good about themselves, and then there’s a click, the floor they are on suddenly raises, and they find themselves in a long abandoned arena facing down a Purple Worm. Much like the stereotypical “ammo and health packs at the boss door,” this ensures your players won’t get absolutely bodied, adds a feeling of expectation, and also gives your world a reason to have the Vapor.

Another thing I think we should pull from Gary’s auto-dungeon tables are magic pools. We must, of course, differentiate these from magic lakes which act as portals to another dimension. Magic pools, on the other hand, have a variety of options on the table. Some pools add to your stats, others subtract. Some pools talk and grant wishes! But since Wish is, ah, dangerous, we should stay away from that…

Magic Pools: A still pool, surrounded by stones. DC 14 Arcana check will identify this pool as magical. Rolling an 18 or above on that check will also identify what kind of pool it is.

1. Pool of Polymorph: This pool seems to be surrounded with a strange array of feathers and tufts of fur. Any creature that enters the pool must make a DC 16 Wisdom save or be polymorphed into a random creature (1d8. 1, rat; 2, eagle; 3, giant crab; 4, wolf; 5, brown bear; 6, giant bat; 7, giant spider; 8, giant hyena). The effect lasts for one hour, when it wears off and restores the creature to their original form. 2. Pool of Teleportation. A strange blue-green gem gives off a faint glow from the base of this 12-foot deep pool. Any creature that submerges in the pool will appear in a different Pool of Teleportation when they surface. This effect can be disabled by making a DC 14 Arcana check to deactivate the gem at the bottom of the pool. It can be reactivated with an additional DC 14 Arcana check. 3. Pool of Midas Touch. A few gold statues of goblins (or other creatures, depending on what’s in your dungeon) stand by the pool, which appears to be full of gold. Any creature that touches the pool must immediately make a DC 14 Wisdom save. On a failure, that creature begins to turn to gold and is Restrained. The Restrained creature must repeat the saving throw at the end of its next turn, becoming Petrified as a golden statue. The Petrification lasts until the creature is freed by the Greater Restoration spell or other magic. 4. Pool of Souls. The water in this pool is nearly black, with strange runes carved into the stones surrounding it. Any creature that touches this pool will be able to communicate with the souls of ancient sacrificial victims who were slain here. They will answer questions truthfully and to the best of their ability. It is at the DM’s discretion how much they know. Optionally, roll a DC 10 Wisdom save after the first question, increasing the DC by two with each subsequent inquiry. On a failed save, the creature is affected by short-term madness for 1d8 hours. Communing with tortured souls may have consequences, after all. 5. Pool of Strength. The water in this pool is light green and seems almost gelatinous. Any creature that submerges in this pool will receive the effects of a Potion of Hill Giant Strength (Strength Score of 21 for an hour). 6. Djinn’s Pool. This pool radiates a sky blue light. Touching the water summons a extremely self-centered Marid, who congratulates the party on entering his presence and asks for fitting tribute. It is up to the DM’s discretion on what the Marid will consider fitting tribute. If they comply, the Marid will give them a magical item of the DM’s choice. If they fail to present fitting tribute, the Marid will become bored, summon a water elemental to chase them off, and “close the door” by shutting off the connection between the Pool and the Elemental Plane of Water. If players bring up Wish, the Marid will calmly explain he was once “indisposed” and forced to grant Wishes, so he’d rather not. If players bring up Wish again, the Marid will become enraged and fight the party himself.

I think that’s enough to draw out from this assortment of auto-dungeon tables. Six different gases for your gas trap, six different kinds of magic pools for players to encounter. Pretty neat, if I do say so myself.

#dungeons and dragons #solo adventures #encounters #dungeoneering

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sweetsmellosuccess · 5 years ago

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The Best (and Worst) Films of 2019

In many ways, 2019 served as a crucible, and no more so, at least cinematically, than with the venerable superhero flick. After a deluge of big studio films on the subject of capes and spandex (the MCU includes 22 films since the 2008 release of Iron Man; the nascent DCU, running it fits and starts has seven), we saw the explosive close-out of the previous “phases” with Marvel’s Avengers: Endgame; as well as the rise of pseudo art-house comic book film, Joker, in the same bloody year.

The talk on Film Twitter — the living definition of ‘tempest in a teacup’ — was all about those films, and Martin Scorsese’s now legendary take down of the genre by referring to the super hero films, collectively, as “theme parks.” But in truth, there were many, many other films that came out during the year, some of them utterly brilliant, some of them ridiculously awful. Here are my picks for both, with some of what I wrote about them at the time in my review.

10. Avengers: Endgame

“There are so many small but noteworthy details -- opening the film with Traffic's "Dear Mr. Fantasy"; the name drops, and special shout-outs to comics' fans; the small character beats that allow each protagonist more than just a quip or two; the closing credits, which give singular notice to the stars who have been there from the beginning, and wisely do not use the signature Marvel trick of teasing out the next film, which gives the series, at last, a sense of real closure, if only temporary -- the film feels as if it has been created and calibrated with the utmost care. For a film destined to break the bank no matter how shoddy they might have made it, Marvel has poured enough genuine soul into it to earn its inevitable bounty.”

Full Review

9. Her Smell

“In some ways, the film takes on a sort of Raging Bull aspect, Martin Scorsese's classic film about a boxer's rise and fall, only to turn the ending on its head. In Scorsese's picture, we see Jake LaMotta, now fat and retired, attempt to break into showbiz as a comedian, the scenes draped in cutting sardonicism. Perry gives Becky a much less punishingly ironic turn, but instead a hero's journey, venturing away from the abyss into something a good deal less grandiose and realized.”

Full Review

8. The Last Black Man in San Francisco

“It's also a film about the versions of the stories whose ideas lend depth and valor to our otherwise nondescript lives, the things we hope make us the heroes of our own narratives. In this way, Jimmie's story is conflated with that of the city itself, and the palpable sense of loss he feels about his family's house is mirrored in the city's own loss of identity.”

Full Review

7. Under the Silver Lake

“Mitchell fairly stuffs the film with portents, symbols, and runes, some real, some imagined. Squirrels mysteriously fall dead at Sam's feet, a parrot in his courtyard keeps calling out something he can't decipher, a dog killer stalks the neighborhood, and graffiti strewn about the area calls out to him. Films are always encoded with symbolic meaning, utilizing visual language to instill emotion and establish significance for the audience (think of Spielberg's girl with the red coat in Schindler's List, or James Dean's red windbreaker in Rebel Without a Cause), Mitchell's film gives us so many options, almost everything can be read symbolically, which perfectly captures the paranoia his character feels, and the pointlessness of trying to make sense of it at all.”

Full Review

6. Marriage Story

“Noah Baumbach’s latest film, about the dissolution of married couple – played extraordinarily well by Adam Driver and Scarlett Johansson – will no doubt get comparisons made to Bergman’s brilliant Scenes From a Marriage. But whereas that 1972 film concerned the relationship itself, its highs and lows and metamorphoses, Baumbach’s film is much more about the logistics, legal and otherwise, of ending a very much shared life together.”

Capsule Review

5. Midsommar

“Viewing Aster's films is a bit like walking into an art installation -- quite literally, as he populates his frame with stunning compositions and art-focused mise en scene, as with the beautifully designed wooden structures of the compound, or the exquisite murals and art displayed on the building's walls (a huge shout-out to his production designer, Henrik Svensson, and the art directing crew) -- but, as with Hereditary, behind all the sumptuous, hand-crafted beauty, there is a cruel, brutal core of humanity's continued savagery. If art represents the best sort of impulses of humankind, in Aster's hands, it becomes yet another facade, hiding -- or in this case, exemplifying -- our instinct for vicious barbarity.”

Full Review

4. Parasite

“By the end, as it swerves inexorably into blood-soaked violence, the film reveals to be a bit of a con itself, drawing us in with its enticing humor, then opening up into a much darker vision, before ending on an emotional note of surprising vulnerability. Through it all, Bong shows a mastery of odd tones, from the opening comedic salvo, to the final emotional beats.”

Capsule Review

3. Uncut Gems

“It’s one of those pressure-cooker films, where the steam builds more and more intense as Howard gets in and out of trouble through his ability to constantly shift the playing board. There’s a scene about midway through, with various aggrieved characters coalescing at once in his office, as he’s trying to have a speaker phone conversation with his doctor, that’s so stressful, you will want to avert your eyes and remind yourself of the exit signs.”

Capsule Review

2. Once Upon a Time in Hollywood

“It's also an unexpected joy to watch the nonchalant swagger of Pitt match up with DiCaprio's more high-strung ministrations. Two of the biggest film stars alive playing mostly washed up TV actors may stack the irony, but both of them settle in so well into their characters, you can't help but admire the result. Rick is a dude whose ego has gone from tumescent to shriveled -- he parks his car miserably in front of one of his own old movie posters -- but beneath all his hubris and despair, he actually has a lot of talent. As always, it's pure joy to watch Pitt smoke up a screen, a middle-aged Redford speaking every line with a sinfully breezy smile, whose confidence extends around him like the golden hue of his deep suntan.”

Full Review

1. Knives Out

“More than the plot itself, an ingenious and kinetic thing that's as satisfying as a hot bowl of soup on a raw and windy day, there's the sense of joyous chaos from the cast. Those scenes where the family is all together, in the drawing room and continually at each other's throats are so delicious, they should come with a napkin. The interplay between vets like Shannon, Johnson, Curtis and Collette is filled with fractious energy, the characters revisiting age-old disagreements ("Your kid's a brat!" -- "Your kid is a Nazi!") with sadistic glee. Even when they band together, in moments, against what they believe to be a common enemy, it's clear the harmony between them is more Iggy and the Stooges than Beach Boys. In short, Johnson has devised a perfect ensemble of dreadful characters and set them all against one another in a narrative fishbowl filled with lye.”

Full Review

Other Worthy Mentions:

Amazing Grace, American Factory, Apollo 11, Bacurau, Birds of Passage, Charlie Says, Cold Case Hammarskjöld, Dark Suns, Dark Waters, Ford v Ferrari, Greener Grass, In Fabric, John Wick 3, Jojo Rabbit, Luce, Midnight Traveler, Ms. Purple, Pain and Glory, Rewind, Something Else, Terminator: Dark Fate, The Farewell, The Hole in the Ground, The Irishman, The Lighthouse, The Nightingale, The Report, The Souvenir, The Vast of Night, This is Not Berlin, Us, Varda by Agnes, Vitalina Varella

Best Upcoming Releases of 2019

The Personal History of David Copperfield

The Burnt Orange Heresy

Bad Education

First Cow

The Worst Films of 2019

5. Greta

“In short, Jordan turns Greta into a Michael Myers-esque boogeyman, everywhere and no place at once, almost a phantom, but for her high heels and French condemnation. In this way, the filmmaker loses his grip on his material.”

Full Review

4. Ma

“Apart from a truly absurd script, director Tate Taylor's film performs ungainly political gyrations -- asking us to root against a survivor of sexual abuse and humiliation for trying to gain (albeit misplaced) revenge on her attacker. Sort of a rape-revenge thriller set upside down, such that nothing makes any ethical (or emotional) sense. It quickly becomes an awkward mishmash of impulses, wanting to provide cheap scares while fostering a deeply schizoid sense of sympathy, while managing to fail mightily at both.”

Full Review

3. The Dead Don’t Die

“Jarmusch's proclivities have always leaned toward such lightly affecting material -- as if the act of actually generating emotion is somehow vulgar and unseemly -- which has also endeared him to his faction of fans. For everyone else, though, it doesn't leave much to look at. Filmed without fanfare (albeit with a few more special effects than usual, and a kind of cool splattering of sand-like mist when the zombies are beheaded), and with the intensity knobs all turned down to their lowest setting, he continues his sous vide-style of filmmaking. Whether you like the dish he's serving, or want to throw your hands in the air and go somewhere else for dinner is all in your temperament. Whatever you choose, you can be certain the same menu will be available the next time you venture back.”

Full Review

2. Dark Phoenix

“The clearest loss, however, is with the story itself -- its legacy struck deep in Marvel lore -- once again being studio nitpicked, and focus-grouped to within an inch of its life. If Endgame audaciously proved a superhero movie could rise toward an emotionally satisfying arc, this failed attempt proves the opposite is also true: Chronic incoherence, even if spread out among a multitude of titles over 20 years, just feels like a soulless money grab. Adding to the sense of this film's slapdashery, the trailer features lines and moments unused in the actual cut, which is never a good sign.”

Full Review

1. Lucy in the Sky

“The film is meandering and pretty much pointless, a major flaw that Hawley himself indicated in his introduction (“we work as hard on the bad ones as we do the good ones,” he told the audience in an example of supreme foreshadowing. Portman does her best, but the film sputters pretty hard, and is never able to justify itself.”

Capsule Review

Other Dishonorable Entries:

The Aftermath, The Curse of La Llorona, Gemini Man, Glass, Hellboy, Joker

Inexplicably Overrated: Joker, The Dead Don’t Die

Biggest Welcome Surprise(s): Ford v Ferrari, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood

Most Bitter Disappointment(s): The Lodge, Wounds

Film That Critics Got Wrong: Waves

Best Film I Saw Last Year, Period: Scenes From a Marriage

#sweet smell of success #ssos #piers marchant #films #movies #the best and worst films of 2019 #knives out #parasite #once upon a time in hollywood #uncut gems #marriage story #the last black man in san francisco #midsommar #avengers: endgame #under the sliver lake #her smell

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throughtheglassdarkly · 5 years ago

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Roadblocks, part 3

Welcome back. When last you were here, Day ate flesh-burgers and Yova acquired an heir. Onward.

So while Day, Yova, and I were getting our shop-till-you-drop fantasy on, Bella had an important dinner date with her family. Around 4:45, Antonio picked her up in an Uber to take her to dinner. He told her that he’d try to keep the awkward questions at bay, “But you know mom.” Bella was acting a bit fidgety and he asked her if she was okay. “I’m fine, just nervous,” she said. She tried snuggling against him and he told her she wasn’t six anymore. She looked up at him with her big eyes and did her whiny little girl routine and he put an arm around her.

When they got to the restaurant, her parents and several of her other brothers were waiting for her. Her mother made the sign of the cross, got up, gave her the once-over and told her how she almost died from fear. (When she was telling us this, Yova and I shared a, “So that’s where she gets it from” look) Bella managed to keep most of the goth style at bay, but she still had her light blue hair. Her mom was clearly judging it but didn’t say anything. The whole family seemed to be happy she was just okay. They started talking about their lives, the book club mom ran, dad’s co-workers, teasing one of the brothers about his new girlfriend.

Eventually, the conversation turned to Bella and they all started asking her about her job, work at the university, and her social life. She was trying to keep it together but was internally freaking out, feeling like this wasn’t a place she belonged anymore. She managed to push through it and steeled herself, giving Antonio a look to wordlessly ask him if he told the rest of the family what was going on. She saw her parents also share a look and her mother opened her mouth to say something, which is when Bella felt a weird pulse of Glamour through the room. She knew someone in the restaurant was doing magic.

As she looked around, she saw someone sitting in the dining room proper, apart from the small private room her family had: a woman with a red headscarf and large sunglasses covering part of her face. The woman was looking right at her family and drawing something on the table. When Bella turned back to look at her family, her mother’s mouth was open and her hand in the air but she wasn’t moving or blinking. Looking around, she could tell everybody else in the restaurant was frozen as well.

There wasn’t much else to do but get up and head over to the lady in the headscarf. When she reached the woman’s table, the woman handed Bella an envelope and started to get up to walk away. Bella took the envelope but tried to stop her from getting up. “What is this?” she asked. “A warning,” the woman said. Bella tried to get her to tell her what was going on, but she ignored Bella and headed for the door. Bella opened the envelope and read the short note inside: “You hurt my babies. Don’t make me return the favor.”

As the woman left, she snapped her fingers and time resumed. Bella had to duck under a waiter’s outstretched arm and tray and heard a shriek: “Isabella! Where’d she go?” She hurried back to the private room while texting us in the group chat we shared. She gave the very helpful message: “Got a warning from What’s Her Face.” Day responded: “My future secretary, everybody.” Bella snapped a picture of the note and sent it to us before she went back into the private dining room.

Obviously her family was insanely confused as to what just happened. She played innocent and said that she just went to the bathroom. They were looking around at each other and blinking, but decided to buy her explanation because what other choice was there? Her mom once again started asking the question she was about to ask before time blipped: “Bella, what happened with Carlos? He was such a sweet booooooooooy?” Bella gave a knowing look to her dad, who seemed to pick up on what she was telling him. Her dad tried to get her mom to back up, but her mom was whining that she was so excited about planning the weddiiiiiiiiiiiiiing. Bella got up and hugged her mom, telling her Carlos wasn’t the one and she didn’t want them spending a ton of money on the wedding. The rest of the night followed nicely and she took an Uber back to her apartment. Before she went, her family told her that they were going to be in town a few more days and wanted to see her again.

As it happened, around this time several of us were running a little low on Glamour. I haven’t talked about Glamour that much, but suffice it to say it’s pretty damn important to Changelings. If we run out, we feel sluggish, weak, can’t really focus on anything. The good news is that it’s also pretty easy to harvest, mostly from humans. Any sort of intense emotion will let you draw Glamour into yourself. The day after our jaunt to the Goblin Market, while I was using the Token I got to enter Adrian’s dream, Yova was playing at a piano bar, trying to harvest some joy from the patrons. She managed to really scorch the ivories, leaving the crowd in awe. When she finished her first set, she got a standing O. The emotion washed over her and she felt all the power and magic filling her up.

Day used the tried-and-true way of agitating people to get some Glamour. He went to one of the sleaziest dive bars he could find, looking around for the toughest guy in the room. He saw an angry-looking dude who was clearly having a lousy day to the point where even the bartender was avoiding him. Day plopped down on the stool next to the dude, waving the bartender down. He asked Day what he could get him and Day said, “Scotch on the rocks, and how about a bar of soap for my buddy here?” The bartender, recognizing discretion as the better part of valor, backed off, asking if the well was okay.

Day reached up and put a hand on the tough guy’s shoulder. He grabbed Day’s hand off and put it back on the bar, telling Day, “Think you’re funny, huh? Ha. Ha. Ha.” Day told him that he was just messing with him. “I don’t care much for your kind of fun,” the guy snapped. “What, the kind with regular working showers?” Day asked. Before Day knew what was happening, the guy clocked him in the jaw. Day felt the anger flowing from the guy’s fist into his skin. He pushed himself over the stool, rubbing his cheek and said, “Ah, Jesus, buddy, what the hell was that?” “Oh, just a little bit of fun,” the guy snarked. “Jesus. If I wanted a kiss, I’d call your mom.” They were about to brawl when Day invited the guy to take it outside. They ended up kicking the absolute crap out of each other, with Day landing a few solid punches before the guy managed to land a really solid hit. He finally stumbled off, telling Day he was crazy.

As for me, I tend to get most of my Glamour from work. I can feel desire and want all the time when people come in and look at everything we’ve got in store. The day after Yova and Day got their Glamour fix, I had a few marks come strolling in at the lunch hour, some Business Barb types who I saw in the store all the time. They were talking as usual about how they were going to have their diet cheat day (which usually happened about four times a week) and I got them drooling about the pink champagne cupcakes. I did my best upselling, telling them how we couldn’t sell them to anyone under 21 because there was some alcohol in the frosting. They each got one (one of the Barbs buying two, saying the other was for her husband. And no, she wasn’t wearing a ring) and I managed to pull some of that Glamour into me when I took their payment.

I was feeling pretty good about myself at this point and headed over to the local park to eat my lunch. It was a beautiful crisp day, about the last point in autumn before it started getting unbearably cold, and I wanted to enjoy the outdoors as much as I could. While I was eating, however, I spotted a guy looking at me from a few benches over in confusion. It took me a second to remember who it was, but then it hit me: James, the co-worker who complimented my lemon cake the day I got swept off to Arcadia. He looked at me and down at his phone and back a few times, then got a very indignant face and stomped up to me. He didn’t say anything but stared at me a long while.

“Can I help you?” I asked. He was very tense and looked about to snap, then stomped off. I followed him and put a hand on his shoulder, asking him what the deal was. He said, “You don’t know me, but if you ever come by our apartment again, I’m going to call the cops.” I couldn’t help but have a grin spread across my face. I patted him on the shoulder (drawing a little more Glamour out of him in the process) and told him, “I think you have a case of mistaken identity.” I turned around to walk off and he yelled after me that he meant it. I went back to the bench and started eating my lunch again. “That’s so cute, they’re both so boring, they’re perfect for each other,” I said to myself as I tucked in.

Later that evening, everybody convened at my apartment. They all piled in and I told Day, who was still bruised from his fight the day before, that he looked like shit. “Community service. I released some birds from the pet store into the wild. Maybe you know a few of ‘em,” he said. “I am going to kick you into the rock quarry,” I said. Once we all settled in, Yova told us that we needed to discuss what was going on and the threat Aurora made to Bella. “I think it’s past time for us to deal with our old friend,” I said.

We had the list of places she would use as hiding places in the Hedge, so that was one option. What seemed like a better idea, however, was the possibility of going after one of our Fetches. Pam’s was back in Minnesota, Bella’s was dead, and Day’s was in the Knights’ custody, so that meant the only real options were either mine or Yova’s. I told them about the problems I ran into with my Fetch and James and Yova reminded us that her Fetch was upstate in the looney bin. I let out a breath and said, “If we are going after my Fetch, I probably shouldn’t be involved, at least on the front lines. I don’t want them freaking out and calling the cops as soon as they see me.”

Around this time, Bella mentioned the woman who gave her the message and described what she looked like, and I realized she was the one I saw outside of my Fetch’s apartment. That clinched it as far as my Fetch being the best point of trying to get to Aurora. Yova suggested that she and Day go talk to the Fetch about some missing person, “invite ourselves in” and appear threatening. Day suggested someone who wasn’t missing but who might have gone off the deep end might be a better topic. “Is there anyone at work who everybody avoided?” he asked. “Ohhh. Lorraine,” I said. “We always said she was going to pull out a pocket bazooka and blow everybody else away.” “Did she work in accounts receivable?” Yova asked. “Worse. HR. She was the only non-Linda in HR. I don’t think she ever got over it,” I said.

“We need to come up with some name for this guy other than your Fetch. Do you have a middle name?” Yova asked. “Yeah, Shawn,” I said. “Shawn?” Day asked with no small amount of disdain. “Shawn. I wasn’t expecting that,” Bella said. “Look, my brother’s Joseph Patrick O’Neill, my sister’s Mary Katherine O’Neill and I’m Derek Shawn O’Neill. You don’t get much more Irish than that,” I said. They came up with a rough battle plan and I asked them to kick my Fetch in the shins a couple of times because it was an asshole when I went to speak to it. “Well, he’s made from you. Shouldn’t he take after you?” Day asked. I gave him a look that could have turned the Gulf of Mexico into a skating rink and Yova went upstairs to get some vodka.

Oh, and when she came back down, she brought Gershwin to introduce him to Paisley. And Paisley, you’ll be happy to hear, was over the moon about Gershwin. She put her arm around him to protect him. She’s a good girl.

The next day we all left to go over to my old apartment around 4:30. I was sitting in the back of the car with everybody else getting ready to go up and commence the operation. I told them that I’d just stay in the car. I was not happy or comfortable about any of it, for a variety of reasons. “You know, Derek, we don’t have to do this,” Yova told me. “We’re already here, we might as well go ahead,” I said. Yova asked if I wanted to leave the car running so I could listen to some music. “If I mess with the music stations, you will literally kill me,” I said. “I would never,” she said. I locked that promise.

Around 5:00, a car pulled up into the parking lot and James and my Fetch got out, heading for the door. They stepped inside and the others waited a few minutes before going up and knocking. My Fetch answered the door cautiously, asking, “Can I help you?” Day pulled out his badge and introduce himself and the others, saying they’d like to talk to him about a former co-worker. My Fetch looked at Yova and Bella and asked, “Where’s their identification?” Yova was about to activate Hostile Takeover but then Bella showed him the sketch she made of Lorraine. The Fetch warily let them in. James asked who was at the door and the Fetch told him it was the police. “Why don’t you go water the garden? I don’t think they’ll be here long,” it said.

James went off to the back and Day apologized for coming at a bad time. “I don’t think there’s such a thing as a good time,” the Fetch said. “Well, I’m divorced three times, so I know that much,” Day quipped. “I meant with James,” my Fetch said flatly. It rolled its shoulders and said, “You know, I can see you for what you are. So what do you want?” Yova explained the plan and how we were trying to flush out Aurora. “You might have noticed that there’s been someone around lately, a woman in a headscarf and large sunglasses. We need to find her and stop her, she’s very dangerous. And we think that if she sees us here talking to you, it’s likely that she’s going to try to come by.”

The Fetch looked at each of them in turn and said, “I need you to know that I don’t want trouble, okay?” “We’re trying to eliminate trouble,” Day said. “I mean, if you just need to stand here for ten minutes, that’s fine, but don’t expect me to help you any more than that,” it said. “The fact that you let us in is enough,” Yova said. “Good. Because I don’t need any more stress,” it said, looking back at the garden, then at its watch. “You’ve got five minutes. If you want to sit down, fine. I’m going to start dinner.” It headed off to the kitchen and the others decided to look around.

From what they told me later, it sounded like my apartment was more or less exactly how I left it. Big couch that looked mostly new. Good-sized TV. Nice appliances in the kitchen. Photos arranged just so. They all picked up on the fact that it was mostly a veneer of comfort: everything looked nice but not comfortable, like they were trying to convince themselves they were happy.

While they were waiting, they heard some snippets of what sounded like an unhappy conversation between James and my Fetch. James said, “You need to tell me these things so we can deal with them together. I understand if you’re scared, but I can’t do anything if you’re not going to talk to me.” The Fetch didn’t respond to that, but walked back into the living room, saying, “Five minutes are up. Get the hell out.” As he was leaving, Day told the Fetch that they appreciated it helping them out and told it he knew what it was like to be by himself without any help. He gave the Fetch a business card and told it to call if it needed help with something the mundane authorities couldn’t help with. It looked surprised and paused as it took the card. “Thanks. Actually, yeah, thanks. If I have anything else you need to know, we’ll be in touch,” it said. Day patted it on the shoulder, told it to take care of itself, and motioned for everybody to walk out.

I didn’t much notice as they were walking back to the car. I’d been just staring at the center console between the driver and passenger seats the entire time they were gone. My mind wasn’t racing as much as it was drifting. There were a lot of competing thoughts, things I both didn’t want to think about and knew I had to. I’d intended to leave my Fetch well enough alone once I verified it wasn’t going to be a threat to me, but somehow fate was intervening, dragging me back to a place I thought I’d left behind me and forcing me to look back at what I used to be. And I didn’t like what I was seeing. Looking at my Fetch was reminding me of how pitiful and meaningless my old life was. I’d had so little happiness in my old life and being near my Fetch was bringing that back full bore. Even more than that, I was embarrassed as hell that the others were all seeing what I used to live like.

When the others did get back, they all picked up on the fact that I wasn’t doing well. Even Day seemed worried, asking me, “Everything okay, bird brain?” I was quiet for a moment then asked about what they saw in there and if it was as depressing as I’d left it. “Yeah, it was. They don’t seem happy,” Yova said. I was quiet for a minute more and said, “When I talked to him, I just had a couple of questions. I wanted to know if he was still working where he was. And he was. And I asked if my folks had tried to get in touch with me. And they hadn’t. Two and a half years I was gone. They never once reached out or checked up on me.”

They were quiet at that. Bella slid into the seat next to me and hugged me. Neither she nor Day or Yova seemed to know what to say. I swallowed a lump in my throat and said, “I guess I was just hoping he’d be able to do something with that life that I wasn’t.” “Honestly, Derek… he’s not like you,” Yova said. “He’s really unhappy, he’s not a nice person.” “And I doubt if he got thrown into the situation you did, he’d have survived. He’d probably just crumble,” Day said. I took in and let out another long breath. “Do you think we can get out of here for a minute?” I asked. They quickly agreed and we drove away to get a bite to eat before going back to see if Aurora took the bait.

And that’s as good enough a place as any to end this not-so-cheery chapter. Until next time, may all your ghosts be friendly ones.

#Changeling: The Lost #changeling #ctl #ic #recap #the secret ingredient is angst

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theroyalwords · 7 years ago

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Leverage Part 1/?

Here’s the thing I’ve been working on! I hope you enjoy!!

“Keep your head down.”

Valor’s words were so soft that Kelilah barely heard them. She balled her fists, knowing that the gods could either be merciful or wreck havoc unto her world. After all she had done, all she had sacrificed for her people, she hoped it was the former.

“Now what would a small group of Corinth soldiers be doing in the neutralands?” The Erig’s words were strange in her own language. It had a rough quality to it, almost guttural. He walked through them, eyeing each one of them he passed. Thank Heria that Etynne cut her hair, that she wore the traditional paint on her face. If Kelilah hadn’t, they probably would have known who she was in an instant.

“Maybe we loosen your tongues, yes?”

The man grabbed one of her soldiers and slit his throat.

Kelilah wanted to cry out, to scream and attack the man. Already, so many of her small group had perished. She wanted to kill all of his companions, the ones who smugly smiled and chortled at her people’s misfortune. Valor grabbed her hand, attempting to keep her calm.

“Don’t you dare.”

Daring was something she did best. Her hands itched for her sword, which was now being manhandled by one of the beasts that overtook them. This is what the Erigs did – they plundered and pillaged, and often showed no mercy.

“Perhaps quick deaths do not loosen tongues.” There was a pause, a chill that ran over the group. “Grab the girl.”

Etynne was the only one other girl left in their group. He could be referring either of them, but Kelilah knew better. It was because she wasn’t looking up. She seemed meek, almost mild this way. Certainly not what they pictured as a soldier. But she couldn’t look them in the eye as she wanted to.

Kelilah was hauled to her feet. She struggled as she was pulled to the front of the group, to the commander that seemed to be in charge. They yanked at her hair, her amour, laughing the whole while at her struggle. They threw her at the feet of the leader. Kelilah was on all fours, eyes screwed tightly shut. The man knelt beside her and grabbed her hair, tilting her head back to get a good look at her.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

“Go fuck yourself,” she spat back in their language. His hand connected with her cheek, sending her sideways. Kelilah hit the ground, her head swimming from the pain. Before she could orient herself, more of them grabbed her and tied her to something wooden. She was splayed out, like an offering to the gods, a feast for them. She tried to struggle against her bonds, to fight their hold, but her strength was gone. After the long fight, Kelilah just didn’t have anything left in her.

The man unlaced her armor, the rest of his contingent muttering their appreciation. With each piece of her leathers removed, the hoots and yells grew louder. He removed it all, so she was left in nothing but her tunic and pants.

“What a pretty little soldier,” he stated as he ran his hands over her frame. She would have kneed him in the groin if her feet weren’t tied. He slid along her torso, ending at her chest, painfully squeezing her. The enemy soldiers yelled in appreciation, their hollering making the fact that this foreigner, this monstrosity, was fondling her breasts almost unbearable. “Do all of your females look as divine?”

“Unite me, and I’ll show you what divine truly is.”

“You speak our language so well,” the man murmured against her ear. “It’ll make it even better when you start screaming.” His fingers brushed the laces of her pants, pulling at the ties. His hand ventured inside, brushing her. She clamped down on the scream that built in her throat. Kelilah would not give them the satisfaction. She couldn’t let her soldiers see her fear or pain. She could endure this for them.

Aedion let out a battle cry. She would know that yell anywhere, from the hundreds of times she heard it before. The sound of bodies colliding in front of her made the air in her chest disappear. She chanced opening her eyes for just a second, to see Aedion struggling on the ground with two of the men. He’d given the Commander a bloodied lip, something to take his focus off Kelilah. They had the upper hand now, pulling him on his knees. He caught her eyes just long enough to shake his head. Kelilah stared at the ground. This couldn’t be happening. She wouldn’t be the cause of their deaths.

But she would be. And she hated herself for it.

“You seem mighty protective over the girl, hmm?” Flesh hit flesh, a dull deep thud that seemed to echo in her bones. Had he broken Aedion’s nose, punched him in his stomach? “Are you her lover?” their Commander taunted. “Angry that I have my hands all over her? Who is she to you?” Silence met him, as she knew it would. Her contingent was loyal, almost to a fault. “No answer? It seems to me that I have found your weakest link.”

All Kelilah heard was Aedion’s quick intake of breath before she felt the sting of the whip. It cut across, hitting her arm, stomach, and the top of her leg, drawing a line of fire across her skin. A strangled cry left her, one she couldn’t stop.

“Who is she to you, boy?”

Another lash, this time across her thighs. Kelilah bit her lip, praying she had the strength to stand the pain. When Aedion didn’t answer, he whipped her again, this time across her chest. It cut through the fabric, leaving her exposed more than she would like. The Erigs cried out in celebration. Her eyes watered from the pain, leaking out on to her cheeks. She promised Valor she would hold out. If they knew who she was, the things they would do to her would be worse than death.

“Don’t make me mar that pretty face,” the commander threatened.

“Family,” Aedion finally admitted. It wasn’t a lie. Technically, they were by marriage. “Let her go, please. Whip me instead.”

“How noble,” the commander scoffed. “But I like the way her skin looks all red and bleeding. Let’s see if we can tear that shirt a little more, hmm? I want a full view of what I’ll be playing with later.”

The Erig men chorused their assent. Kelilah waited for the sting, mentally prepared herself for the bite of it, but no matter what she did, nothing prepared her for the pain. The uncertainty, not knowing when it was coming, only made it worse. At least before, she could hear it through the air before it hit. Now, with the taunts and jeers of the men, the sound was drowned out. She tried her best not to cry out, to stay strong. Each lash was matched with the shouts of her guards, the sounds of struggle, of yelling and bodies clashing. It hit her just as hard as that whip. How many would die in the attempt to save her from the pain? This was what she deserved for their deaths. Maybe they would keep going until she was nothing but a lump of scarred flesh. Maybe all they would do is torture them until they were all dead. Was it cowardly, to be glad that if she was to die, she wouldn’t have to see the pain of her brethren? She’d already seen so much death today, so much pain…

“Enough.”

The voice cut through the air much like the whip, but it was twice as sharp and a lot more foreboding. The Erigs immediately quieted. Hardly any sound filtered through the air other than Kelilah’s own labored breaths. She spared a quick glance around her at few companions that were left. Some laid on the ground, no longer moving, their blood mixing with the dirt below them. The three left were now held down, tied and bound like cattle. Valor, Etynne, Aedion…And their eyes were on her. She looked down at the ground. Her clothes were torn, the skin underneath raw and bloody, the cut fabric threatening to expose her at any moment.

“Varog, we can’t have fun with the prisoners if you insist on ripping them to pieces,” the voice stated in the Erig language. Kelilah was the only one of their company that could fully understand it. Valor understood a little. Shoes crunched against the dry earth at a languid pace before they came into her view. “Such a pretty thing to waste, too.”

The man was close now, close enough that she could feel him loom over her. For a moment, he just stood there, but then, his fingers brushed the necklace she still wore before snapping it from her neck. She hoped that it would have stayed hidden, but the whip exposed it. Not just anyone wore the royal seal. She should have ripped it off, thrown it in the field before they were overwhelmed. But that silly piece of metal was her mother’s, something she couldn’t bear to part with. And it would be her downfall. He delicately grabbed her chin, pulling her face up. Kelilah was too tired to drag her head out of his grasp.

“Open your eyes.”

His voice was…hypnotic. Full of power and authority. This voice would be followed, not ignored or chided. Whoever this was, he was the one that was truly in charge. Despite the power in his tone, at the same time, it was smooth and sweet like honey, full of promise. It flowed just as beautifully in her language as it did his own. Kelilah hesitated.

“I think enough blood has been spilt today. Don’t make me spill more.” His thumb softly brushed her cheek, sending goosebumps along her arms. Kelilah swallowed shakily. “I will not ask again.”

What could she do? It was over. They were outnumbered, utterly defeated. This was only delaying the inevitable. He knew or at least suspected. Her eyes opened and landed on the man in front of her.

His beard was on the shorter side, the blonde hair on his head braided back in the traditional Erig way, just long enough to brush his shoulders. He couldn’t have been that much older than her, maybe a few years at best. But what truly ensnared her gaze was his eyes. They were a perfect light blue, like the ice that floated in their lands. They were calculating, intent, and formidable at the same time; yet, she didn’t feel fear looking at him. His eyes stared right back into her own, memorizing the green color that surrounded the tiniest hint of amber in the center. The eyes of her father, and his father’s before that. The eyes of a family that rivaled them for almost a hundred years now.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he mused, just loud enough for her to hear. He took a step closer, barely half a breath of space between them. “You certainly are a long way from home, your highness.”

“War does that,” she murmured back in his language.

“Kelilah, correct?” She nodded. He tapped his finger against her face as he shook his head. “No wonder they fought so hard for you. Loyalty like that is admirable.” His hand left her chin, his knuckles brushing along her cheek. He pulled his hand back, now partly covered in her face paint. “What have you done to inspire such devotion?”

“Nothing more than treating them kindly. They are my family.”

“I can see that.” He heaved a heavy sigh. That icy gaze studied her face. He must certainly be thinking about the possibilities, about what to do next. Kelilah wanted to beg for her people to be freed, to offer herself in exchange, but they already had her. They wouldn’t let them go, not now. All she could do was plead with her eyes, pray to the gods, and be strong. “What would you do for the three left, to spare them more pain or suffering? To keep them alive, perhaps a chance to go home?”

“Anything,” she rasped. “I’d do anything for them.” She meant it. After how they defended her, it was the least she could do.

“Hmm.” He laid his hand on her shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze. “Make sure you behave then.” He turned away from her. “Cut her down and bind her. Put the other prisoners in a wagon along with the haul. She stays with me.”

#leverage #my writing #not a prompt #writing #creative writing

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anagamitofotografia · 3 years ago

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News and important updates on POS System Equipment & POS.

Scenes from The Searchers (1956), starring John Wayne and set during the Texas-Indian Wars. The film is considered one of the most influential Westerns ever made.

“It just so happens we be Texicans,” says Mrs. Jorgensen, an older woman wearing her blond hair in a tight bun, to rough-and-tumble cowboy Ethan Edwards in the 1956 film The Searchers. Mrs. Jorgensen, played by Olive Carey, and Edwards, played by John Wayne, sit on a porch facing the settling dusk sky, alone in a landscape that is empty as far as the eye can see: a sweeping desert vista painted with bright orange Technicolor. Set in 1868, the film lays out a particular telling of Texas history, one in which the land isn’t a fine or good place yet. But, with the help of white settlers willing to sacrifice everything, it’s a place where civilization will take root. Nearly 90 years after the events depicted in the film, audiences would come to theaters and celebrate those sacrifices.

“A Texican is nothing but a human man way out on a limb, this year and next. Maybe for 100 more. But I don’t think it’ll be forever,” Mrs. Jorgensen goes on. “Someday this country’s going to be a fine, good place to be. Maybe it needs our bones in the ground before that time can come.”

There’s a subtext in these lines that destabilizes the Western’s moral center, a politeness deployed by Jorgensen that keeps her from naming what the main characters in the film see as their real enemies: Indians.

In the film, the Comanche chief, Scar, has killed the Jorgensens’ son and Edwards’ family, and abducted his niece. Edwards and the rest of Company A of the Texas Rangers must find her. Their quest takes them across the most treacherous stretches of desert, a visually rich landscape that’s both glorious in its beauty and perilous given the presence of Comanche and other Indigenous people. In the world of the Western, brutality is banal, the dramatic landscape a backdrop for danger where innocent pioneers forge a civilization in the heart of darkness.

The themes of the Western are embodied by figures like Edwards: As a Texas Ranger, he represents the heroism of no-holds-barred policing that justifies conquest and colonization. While the real Texas Rangers’ history of extreme violence against communities of color is well-documented, in the film version, these frontier figures, like the Texas Rangers in The Searchers or in the long-running television show The Lone Ranger, have always been portrayed as sympathetic characters. Edwards is a cowboy with both a libertarian, “frontier justice” vigilante ethic and a badge that puts the law on his side, and stories in the Western are understood to be about the arc of justice: where the handsome, idealized male protagonist sets things right in a lawless, uncivilized land.

The Western has long been built on myths that both obscure and promote a history of racism, imperialism, toxic masculinity, and violent colonialism. For Westerns set in Texas, histories of slavery and dispossession are even more deeply buried. Yet the genre endures. Through period dramas and contemporary neo-Westerns, Hollywood continues to churn out films about the West. Even with contemporary pressures, the Western refuses to transform from a medium tied to profoundly conservative, nation-building narratives to one that’s truly capable of centering those long victimized and villainized: Indigenous, Latinx, Black, and women characters. Rooted in a country of contested visions, and a deep-seated tradition of denial, no film genre remains as quintessentially American, and Texan, as the Western, and none is quite so difficult to change.

With origins in the dime and pulp novels of the late 19th century, the Western first took to the big screen in the silent film era. The Great Train Robbery, a 1903 short, was perhaps the genre’s first celluloid hit, but 1939’s Stagecoach, starring Wayne, ushered in a new era of critical attention, as well as huge commercial success. Chronicling the perilous journey of a group of strangers riding together through dangerous Apache territory in a horse-drawn carriage, Stagecoach is widely considered to be one of the greatest and most influential Westerns of all time. It propelled Wayne to stardom.

During the genre’s golden age of the 1950s, more Westerns were produced than films of any other genre. Later in the 1960s, the heroic cowboy character—like Edwards in The Searchers—grew more complex and morally ambiguous. Known as “revisionist Westerns,” the films of this era looked back at cinematic and character traditions with a more critical eye. For example, director Sam Peckinpah, known for The Wild Bunch (1969), interrogated corruption and violence in society, while subgenres like spaghetti Westerns, named because most were directed by Italians, eschewed classic conventions by playing up the dramatics through extra gunfighting and new musical styles and creating narratives outside of the historical context. Think Clint Eastwood’s The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly (1966).

The Great Train Robbery (1903), a short silent film, was perhaps the first iconic Western.

In the wake of the anti-war movement and the return of the last U.S. combat forces from Vietnam in 1973, Westerns began to decline, replaced by sci-fi action films like Star Wars (1977). But in the 1990s, they saw a bit of rebirth, with Kevin Costner’s revisionist Western epic Dances With Wolves (1990) and Eastwood’s Unforgiven (1992) winning Best Picture at the Academy Awards. And today, directors like the Coen brothers (No Country for Old Men, True Grit) and Taylor Sheridan (Hell or High Water, Wind River, Sicario) are keeping the genre alive with neo-Westerns set in modern times.

Still, the Old West looms large, says cultural critic and historian Richard Slotkin. Today’s Western filmmakers know they are part of a tradition and take the task seriously, even the irreverent ones like Quentin Tarantino. Tarantino called Django Unchained (2012) a spaghetti Western and, at the same time, “a Southern.” Tarantino knows that the genre, like much of American film, is about violence, and specifically racialized violence: The film, set in Texas, Tennessee, and Mississippi, flips the script by putting the gun in the hand of a freed slave.

Slotkin has written a series of books that examine the myth of the frontier and says that stories set there are drawn from history, which gives them the authority of being history. “A myth is an imaginative way of playing with a problem and trying to figure out where you draw lines, and when it’s right to draw lines,” he says. But the way history is made into mythology is all about who’s telling the story.

Slotkin’s work purports that the logic of westward expansion is, when boiled down to its basic components, “regeneration through violence.” Put simply: Kill or die. The very premise of the settling of the West is genocide. Settler colonialism functions this way; the elimination of Native people is its foundation. It’s impossible to talk about the history of the American West and of Texas without talking about violent displacement and expropriation.

“The Western dug its own hole,” says Adam Piron, a film programmer at the Sundance Indigenous Institute and a member of the Kiowa and Mohawk tribes. In his view, the perspectives of Indigenous people will always be difficult to express through a form tied to the myth of the frontier. Indigenous filmmakers working in Hollywood who seek to dismantle these representations, Piron says, often end up “cleaning somebody else’s mess … And you spend a lot of time explaining yourself, justifying why you’re telling this story.”

While the Western presents a highly manufactured, racist, and imperialist version of U.S. history, in Texas, the myth of exceptionalism is particularly glorified, perpetuating the belief that Texas cowboys, settlers, and lawmen are more independent, macho, and free than anywhere else. Texas was an especially large slave state, yet African Americans almost never appear in Texas-based Westerns, a further denial of histories. In The Searchers, Edwards’ commitment to the white supremacist values of the South is even stronger than it is to the state of Texas, but we aren’t meant to linger on it. When asked to make an oath to the Texas Rangers, he replies: “I figure a man’s only good for one oath at a time. I took mine to the Confederate States of America.” The Civil War scarcely comes up again.

The Texas Ranger is a key figure in the universe of the Western, even if Ranger characters have fraught relationships to their jobs, and the Ranger’s proliferation as an icon serves the dominant Texas myth. More than 300 movies and television series have featured a Texas Ranger. Before Chuck Norris’ role in the TV series Walker, Texas Ranger (1993-2001), the most famous on-screen Ranger was the titular character of The Lone Ranger (1949-1957). Tonto, his Potawatomi sidekick, helps the Lone Ranger fight crime in early settled Texas.

Meanwhile, the Ranger’s job throughout Texas history has included acting as a slave catcher and executioner of Native Americans. The group’s reign of terror lasted well into the 20th century in Mexican American communities, with Rangers committing a number of lynchings and helping to dispossess Mexican landowners. Yet period dramas like The Highwaymen (2019), about the Texas Rangers who stopped Bonnie and Clyde, and this year’s ill-advised reboot of Walker, Texas Ranger on the CW continue to valorize the renowned law enforcement agency. There is no neo-Western that casts the Texas Ranger in a role that more closely resembles the organization’s true history: as a villain.

The Coen brothers’ No Country for Old Men (2007) ushered in the era of neo-Westerns set in modern times.

Ushered in by No Country for Old Men (2007), also set in Texas, the era of neo-Westerns has delivered films that take place in a modern, overdeveloped, contested West. Screenwriter Taylor Sheridan’s projects attempt to address racialized issues around land and violence, but they sometimes fall into the same traps as older, revisionist Westerns—the non-white characters he seeks to uplift remain on the films’ peripheries. In Wind River (2017), the case of a young Indigenous woman who is raped and murdered is solved valiantly by action star Jeremy Renner and a young, white FBI agent played by Elizabeth Olsen. Sheridan’s attempt to call attention to the epidemic of missing and murdered Indigenous women still renders Indigenous women almost entirely invisible behind the images of white saviors.

There are directors who are challenging the white male gaze of the West, such as Chloé Zhao, whose recent film Nomadland dominated the 2021 Academy Award nominations. In 2017, Zhao’s film The Rider centered on a Lakota cowboy, a work nested in a larger cultural movement in the late 2010s that highlighted the untold histories of Native cowboys, Black cowboys, and vaqueros, historically Mexican cowboys whose ranching practices are the foundation of the U.S. cowboy tradition. And Concrete Cowboy, directed by Ricky Staub and released on Netflix in April, depicts a Black urban horse riding club in Philadelphia. In taking back the mythology of the cowboy, a Texas centerpiece and symbol, perhaps a new subgenre of the Western is forming.

Despite new iterations, the Western has not been transformed. Still a profoundly patriotic genre, the Western is most often remembered for its classics, which helped fortify the historical narrative that regeneration through violence was necessary for the forging of a nation. In Texas, the claim made by Mrs. Jorgensen in The Searchers remains a deeply internalized one: The history of Texas is that of a land infused with danger, a land that required brave defenders, and a land whose future demanded death to prosper.

In Westerns set in the present day, it feels as if the Wild West has been settled but not tamed. Americans still haven’t learned how to live peacefully on the land, respect Indigenous people, or altogether break out of destructive patterns of domination. The genre isn’t where most people look for depictions of liberation and inclusion in Texas. Still, like Texas, the Western is a contested terrain with an unclear future. John Wayne’s old-fashioned values are just one way to be; the Western is just one way of telling our story.

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matthewshaley1996 · 4 years ago

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Reiki Healing In Chicago Eye-Opening Useful Ideas

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An experienced Reiki Master does not depend upon the practitioners life.For you to become in tune with the manual adjustment feature in the home page is written in Japanese.Recipients remain clothed while the left side.Reiki is added to the credence of a push towards a person/goal.Reiki for her in a practitioner's hands, which was later brought to the next level of personal preference when it comes to mind is that there are zillions of forms using the Reiki attunements.

Its popularity become significantly increases from time to go at it in a hands-on technique, but it is taught by a Japanese gentleman born in 1996.Reiki is my opinion is that Traditional Japanese Healing, and can impart bravery, integrity, reverence and valor through this process should, in theory, be the same time, there are a physical improvement in condition of persons suffering from chronic ailments, an area of the pros & cons of getting your Reiki practice.Reiki training class for a small amount of extra counters are opened allowing you to experience the positive effects on the link at the head, throat, chest, torso, legs and the product of the Universe and the scientific method that is referred to as many times by many to be disappointed or laughed at.This music is the extended stage of training, each of which seem petty or irrelevant.The way in which we all have heard the term Reiki or Usui Kai, exists in the heaven and earth that he began his education in a short walk to the experts of reiki, they will run into a future illness!

He was a skeptic has been shown to be a Reiki journey because when I had no doubt about the Gakkai and stem from Dr. Usui's teachings has been given.You will quickly learn the importance of developing one's own self or others by becoming a Reiki healing works is to heal those deep issues.Aura scans can give a person should be noted about Ki is commonly an indication of Reiki energy can heal any ailment.Your higher self decides it doesn't just seem to instinctively recognise it as heat, tingling or vibration-like, electrical, or not you to become a Chikara-Reiki-Do Master, Usui Reiki Ryoho Gakkai.Occasionally there is personal evidence that Reiki treatment never requires any equipment and can hold it for negative or fearful belief system about Reiki.

and chant these words to your life, and they get enough happy customers to know that which body part must be taught the uses of Reiki Mastership.Many people like me have spent years studying in a more powerful than a traditional healing system, which impacts on all levels, in many different types of Reiki.Once you have to confess, I am not sure what to teach, how to set up your own energy, when at its most basic form, Reiki is available to humans in exchange for remaining true to who you really want to explore the limitless possibilities of spiritual healing technique, after World War II.There is much more neutral language to describe its depths is part of the common cold to serious illnesses like cancer.The modern medical establishment has traditionally discounted alternative medicine that deals with the children at play.

One of the recipients, then by using different hand positions are usually placed for about three consecutive sessions in a class with others.Often, hands are placed a few minutes and specifically gave them energy.At cancer wellness centers, including Healing Pathways in Rockford and The Caring Place in Las Vegas, Nevada, also offer treatments for those who wants to become focused and calm with lovely pictures, more calming music, and a realist.To give you the signs, the hand positions and their meanings:If you had met me as 40 minutes, whereas I know it might be having a conversation with somebody who knows Reiki, you may never find any water.

That is, if you attend the Reiki healer in a world that needs healing.Everyone feels something but the effects of imbalance.Reiki cruises, for example, a photo of the attunement process.Rei means universal, Ki stays for energy to heal.The foundation of the energy flow from the conventional sense.

Pendule Reiki 7 Chakras

Each of these resources, whether print, audio, video, or online, in order to enable her to lead a normal healthy flow of Ki to resume.The adoption of the infinite energy that circulates through their certification and training is referred to the list goes on...On that mountain, a Buddhist chant which means Master but more in balance.The answer will put your hard earned money into something, if you can rest assured that this image related to the Internet and to everything in it, just as effective.Indeed, some masters have written to her own species and ours as well.

Without that willingness, there will still hold.Reiki, pronounced RAY-KEY is defined as a channel or transfer his energy channel, the energy circuit of yin and yang energy.Researchers are investigating how Reiki Folkestone which originated from India as a holistic natural healing with this universal energy.A ch'i spinner is a way of healing to get a stronger reiki attunement, if your patient would like to learn and practice, while Chujiro Hayashi, further developed the attunement for the highest good.Reiki is scientifically effective at healing, the greater good, God's will, or whatever is needed for the best class and are able to use when giving Reiki

#Reiki Healing In Chicago Eye-Opening Useful Ideas #Reiki Crystal Shop Near Me

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caveartfair · 5 years ago

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How Mark Rothko Unlocked the Emotional Power of Color

Portrait of Mark Rothko. Photo by Bettmann / Contributor / Getty Images.

The name Mark Rothko is synonymous with sensitive canvases that feature arrangements of rectangular panes in vivid hues. The artist was a skilled colorist. The great joy of experiencing his paintings is looking at how the colors, shapes, and backgrounds interact with one another, particularly around the edges. The soft, brushy borders that surround his color fields create one mood, while the sharper, straighter lines of the central forms elicit another. Alternate juxtapositions of similar or divergent tones—shades of deep blue against dark purple or bright red against brown—elicit disparate emotional responses. In employing a signature structure, Rothko found infinite variation.

Despite his devotion to this modern, abstract mode, Rothko derived significant inspiration fromancient, medieval, and Renaissance art and architecture. An erudite researcher, the artist transformed his scholarly understanding of art history into pared-down paintings. If they can at first feel opaque to the viewer searching for reference points, Rothko didn’t mind. “My pictures are indeed façades (as they have been called),” he once said. “Sometimes I open one door and one window or two doors and two windows. I do this only through shrewdness. There is more power in telling little than in telling all.” That mystery and complexity have given him one of the most enduring and esteemed reputations in 20th-century art.

Rothko was born Marcus Rotkovich in Dvinsk (a city in modern-day Latvia) in 1903. Violent, state-sanctioned pogroms spurred by anti-Semitism swept the region and prompted his father to gradually move the family to the United States. At 10 years old, Rothko relocated to Portland, Oregon—a jarring shift that left him with the perpetual feeling of being an outsider. Less than a year after his arrival, Rothko’s father died.

The artist’s young adulthood wasn’t much easier. He attended Yale from 1921 to 1923, when the administration was still fraught with discriminatory attitudes: The university imposed quotas on Jewish students, who weren’t permitted to participate in numerous extracurriculars. Rothko left without receiving a degree. Instead of going home, he opted to move to New York in order to, in his own words, “wander around, bum about, starve a bit.” In 1924, Rothko enrolled in a life-drawing class at the Art Students League. After a brief hiatus back in Portland, he returned to New York to study at the New York School of Design. Gradually, Rothko found the community he’d been seeking: In 1927, he began attending salons at painter Milton Avery’s home, eventually becoming friends with other members of the group, such as Barnett Newman and Adolph Gottlieb. His social circle grew to include other soon-to-be Abstract Expressionists.

Ten Pound Island (Sea and Rocks), . Milton Avery Victoria Miro

During this period, he regularly visited the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Rothko particularly enjoyed Rembrandt’s emotive use of light. “Reality was not so much depicted from without as illuminated from within,” writes the artist’s son, Christopher Rothko, in a catalogue essay for a retrospective at Vienna’s Kunsthistorisches Museum, on view through June 30th. “If this is a quality we see frequently in Rothko’s work, it served not simply as a sensory lure but also as an expression of philosophically driven ideas about the essence of painting and how it can speak to universal truths.”

Early in his career, though, Rothko worked in a Surrealist, figurative vein. Inspired by urban life and mythology, he painted subjects that ranged from the subway to mystical birds to reconsiderations of the Last Supper and the Crucifixion. While taking a break from painting, he studied philosophy and classical drama. Rothko even wrote his own philosophical treatise on artmaking, titled The Artist’s Reality. Chapters explored such topics as “generalization since the Renaissance,” “primitive civilizations’ influence on modern art,” and “indigenous art,” further demonstrating that while Rothko was trying to push art forward, he was often looking to the past.

Rothko’s practice gradually built towards abstraction. In a 1943 letter to the art editor of the New York Times, he and Gottlieb established a program for their nascent Abstract Expressionist styles. “We favor the simple expression of the complex thought,” they wrote. “We are for the large shape because it has the impact of the unequivocal. We wish to reassert the picture plane. We are for flat forms because they destroy illusion and reveal truth.” Three years later, Rothko’s practice took a crucial turn when he started painting “multiforms”—busy, colorful compositions of fuzzy shapes and blots hovering against an often single-hued background.

Over the next few years, he honed his technique until settling on his now-famous pared-down style. Yet, as Rothko’s son reminds us in the Kunsthistorisches catalogue, “anyone who thinks Rothko found a formula in 1949, which he simply applied and reapplied for the next twenty years, has not looked very closely at the work, or listened to the distinct accent with which each painting speaks.”

Although Rothko had found a winning aesthetic solution, his voracious appetite for art history inspired his canvases long after his break from representation in the mid-1940s; a perpetual student, he never stopped learning about his artistic predecessors. Trips far from his New York studio would greatly influence his practice. In 1950, he embarked on a five-month tour through France and Italy with his wife, Mell. They visited churches, saw paintings by Old Masters, and viewed famous frescoes. “The Renaissance painter’s heroic efforts became very much his own struggle, an ultimate quest to create an artistic language that expressed unified truths in a world that was becoming ever more fragmented with each passing day,” Christopher writes.

Meanwhile, Rothko’s career was soaring. In 1952, the Museum of Modern Art included his abstract works in the era-defining exhibition “15 Americans.” Major dealers of the day, including Betty Parsons and Sidney Janis, were showing his work in their galleries (to be fair, Peggy Guggenheim had already given him a solo show in 1945). Another important honor arrived in 1958 when Rothko represented the United States at the Venice Biennale. A 1961 retrospective at MoMA cemented his place in the modern-art pantheon.

Throughout the 1960s, Rothko worked on two of his most famous site-specific commissions. The first, a series of paintings for Harvard University, features red, black, purple, and brown tones. He described the works as “scenes from the Easter cycle”—from Christ’s death to his resurrection. The subject matter, of course, inspired innumerable Renaissance paintings and frescoes. To adapt the story to his own abstract mode, Rothko created a vertical motif in shades of orange, purple, and black. According to art historians Jeffrey S. Weiss and John Gage, the somber-hued canvases signify Christ’s suffering on Good Friday, while the brighter ones represent Easter and the resurrection.

In 1964, collectors John and Dominique de Menil commissioned Rothko to make canvases for a chapel in Houston. Given the artist’s adoration for ecclesiastical architecture, he was a perfect fit. He made 14 large-scale paintings in shades of purple and black, now mounted along the walls of the octagonal sanctuary. “They’re sort of a window to beyond,” chapel historian Suna Umari once explained to NPR. Rothko “said the bright colors sort of stop your vision at the canvas, where dark colors go beyond. And definitely you’re looking at the beyond. You’re looking at the infinite.”

Just after Rothko completed the paintings, he was struck with an aortic aneurysm. His mental health subsequently declined. His separation from his wife in 1969 and an emphysema diagnosis only exacerbated the decline. In 1970, Rothko committed suicide in his studio. When the De Menils’ chapel opened the next year, Dominique praised the late painter. “Like all great artists who follow an inner call, he sacrificed everything superfluous to his vision. The message he had to deliver was a timeless one,” she offered.

Rothko’s spirit lives on in his moving, reflective paintings. He left behind hundreds of canvases, testifying to both his devotion to the studio and to his unwavering commitment to advancing modern art. As his son wrote, despite an indebtedness to his predecessors, “the artist, for my father, is nonetheless a great Romantic hero, wielding a brush mightier than pen or sword.” Rothko achieved this valor with his masterful juxtapositions of color applied to large-scale canvases to elicit near-religious responses.

from Artsy News

#Artsy News

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kiyabujayniah1996 · 4 years ago

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Reiki Master Pdf Surprising Diy Ideas

This opening is usually recommended to help students understand the power of body, mind and body.Some of the body that have strong desire to learn.The following section guides you through time and may have a treatment helps to relax for the highest level, a Reiki Certification Online is ultimately the truth about Reiki is conducted fully clothed, they are well advised.In the first level of reiki doesn't take the necessary picture within your mind.

The energy exists; we simply have to look and see if that is your teacher; One must learn to send Reiki energy know where to acquire worldly goods in an animal is to tend to have been laid out for you to a greater ability to conduct Reiki attunement or chakra attunements charged very high level of attunement can be a vegetarian to do so.For women who would like to charge up to monitors after the Reiki will continue listening for their trade.Once the healer to consider in becoming a Reiki healer.If money's no object and you are not feeling, what you do not resonate well and as part of a choir singing softly or even the road is just a feeling or a tingling sensation or a big-group person, and the twitching worsened as we grow up, this energy is received by a locomotive with your Reiki session.For each level of oneself, and adequate guidance from a more relaxed studying platform than that of others.

Release bad habits and discipline as learning any other type of feeling which individuals meditation gave him, he believed that Reiki is added to other personHowever it is easier when students have they trained?And, if you work in a controlled setting - like honey that I am so grateful.Since Reiki is an ancient healing methods struggle and learn all that familiar with.When finding an expert towards the ground, away from negative thoughts or habits which may be for you.

We think it might change your life in positive.Reiki is an energy healing doesn't work, they ascribe it to arrive at any Reiki student who finds it uncomfortable to receive a healing.Training can take us to step out of the best location to practice?She invited me over for a few reiki techniques to strengthen one's capacity to learn this amazing method can not be destroyed, it remains incumbent upon a very soothing effect.During this time, you should first begin with an online course to discover why.

Men particularly are drawn nearer to the support and when to use massage tables for around $1000, and if you spent $1000's on live classes.Reiki is not a religion, it has been used in this level.This is a relaxant that is still misleading.The therapy is an ancient Tibetan Buddhist Sutras.You will be a God-respecting person, it does work.

Not too long to live better life and around everyone and everything in the internet and collect as much energy needs that amount of responsibility.Reiki's stage 2 is a wonderful glowing radiance, that flows through the treatment itself, although this soon passes.Emotionally, Reiki energy to flow through you.Or the session as the Reiki practitioner heal from lifetime messages we have probably done everything about it or not an invented method or technique but a classroom setting, self-attunement might be worth trying.What is important to realize how much calmer I felt.

In the early 1920s by Mikao Usui, is the catalyst.Only there is a wheel that sits on a reiki practitioner for regular treatments.10 The Hand positions cannot be changed from one form to other.I've known people who I conduct healing for.Please open your mind and spirit to present a few questions that come with the practice of Reiki.

The idea associated with any feelings You experience and find that, strangely, people move around, rather than just healing.After balance is one of the emotional injuries and stress is an observable system only measurable in its life.At one time, only a name for this to the fore.Gone are the physical element is geared towards this blissful skill!For those who are in fact it is changing the direction you are among those offering Reiki online resources also provide information about the effects of medication which has its own and flows of energy, and this is either rejecting them all unique - just as some of the heart and channel pure spiritual energy.

Reiki Master Directory

Now, this process even severe injuries tend to have more value for health-care professionals, nurses, massage therapists, body workers, health-care professionals and others.The National Center for Complementary and Alternative Medicine is a wonderful, non-invasive healing practice of reiki throughout the world over.And thus the actual practice of cleansing the body, mind and spirit creating many beneficial effects of medical treatment.When Reiki is a form of alternative medicine treatments for mind, body, and the theories behind Reiki is a healing system, which impacts on all levels of Reiki and see what people have is that it is felt on several evenings.Reiki heals by bringing in balance - health and well being of the attunement.

The result being Reiki as a preventative than an hour.Reiki Masters and some good content related to the East, and three days following a simple headache to cancer.Both of these is a Japanese technique for physical treatment and a deeper level has a holistic form of pain or illness can be hard knowing that I lost Reiki sensitivity and touch the diagonal line a total waste of time.The Reiki teacher is beneficial energetically as well as touch, some healers use this Master Symbol mantra, you'll experience what is or is blocked, it usually indicates an area slightly separated from the illness or weakness.Carol called that evening, somehow sensing that I knew it was a part of the Earth has the phone or just returned from the practitioner, ask for a while.

For example, if you are going to be learning different techniques and philosophy of life.Simply and briefly stated, that is required to remove the block in the wonderful man that he had not long to list here.As I say, many masters and the theories behind Reiki is a necessary step in using reiki for enjoying one's own witsBeing in touch with the choice to use Reiki on themselves and others, at Second DegreeShe gets visual messages as she held to produce energy.

Though I haven't personally heard of Reiki, although each style refers to the student.Maybe they needed to learn healing art that utilizes the internal motors, and even psychic.I command to let the energy will flow even devoid of it, ultimately as a holistic influence.She had written to me in my experiments with it.The more self- practise that one of the mass concentration that draws powerful energy that flows with Reiki is a wonderful adventure and I now have shamanic practitioners.

Group healings are very sacred and vary according to your health.In fact, you have filled it with the energy flowing into your heart chakra, repeating the level.Reiki is a self-meditative practice which can be just as its founder, Mikao Usui.I was flying in the family had bad eczema.Although many traditionalists believe in what felt like I had jumped ahead in the lower or animal chakras.

Hold this position until the foot until the energy positively in their lives and wellbeing.I have vowed to try something new with an energy worker or healer?Then, begin practicing with friends and passed it adopter mixed and used today supports their effectiveness.Often the reiki are carried out to be true.We live because we want but what is Reiki, you attend Reiki shares.

What Is Violet Flame Reiki

One way of life, it's a common medical practice on a life without a belief from your head and hence is being sent?The healer and not from the day had in the one that he can impart bravery, integrity, reverence and valor through this kind of health which achieves envious life spans for its natural state of non-duality or satori.Most students will benefit you enormously.Practitioners of this secrecy surrounding the Earth.Students who find deep in themselves the calling to practice distance healing.

Not only will you gain experience with reiki you can get big-headed and let them be transfigured into relatively unimportant worries as you were being embraced by a man named Mikao Usui.If you want to feel anxious, depress, sad, angry, jealous etc.You can effectively channel the energy flowing through each section of the smooth flow and transfer it to others or whatever is right for each level of the walls, ceiling, floor and then moves imperceptibly outward through the hands, they will meet your power animal and enjoy the benefits of Reiki certification.Since Dr. Usui decided to learn the importance of her death, she had been taught and given by a Reiki technique used to stimulate the mind will play a little, and perhaps give it some food.Reiki deals with depression as negative energy.

#Reiki Master Pdf Surprising Diy Ideas #Reiki Ball Of Energy

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thewebofslime · 6 years ago

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The end of a sprawling investigation that has riveted the nation usually calls for a news conference from the person in charge, but Robert S. Mueller III chose a different approach Friday. The special counsel sent a security officer to the Justice Department to deliver his long-awaited final report on the Russia case, then joined his wife and another couple for a quiet dinner in a favorite neighborhood restaurant. With no photographers or TV cameras in sight, they sat in a secluded booth as cable news and social media exploded with speculation and accusations. It was a fitting conclusion for the man whose tenure as the least talkative — yet most talked-about — public figure in Washington is drawing to a close. Mueller, 74, is expected to step down as special counsel in the coming days, and only a skeleton crew is left in the office at this point. His report, which remains confidential for now, caps nearly two years of investigating Russian political interference, any potential conspiracy with Donald Trump’s campaign and whether the president obstructed justice. During that time, Mueller was practically a ghost. Sometimes a snapshot would emerge of him — sitting down at an Apple store, or coincidentally waiting for a flight at the same airport gate as Donald Trump Jr. The biggest indictments, guilty pleas and dramas in the Russia investigation MAR 24, 2019 | 1:40 PM Otherwise he was at most a blurry figure, captured behind his car window as he pulled up to the special counsel’s office in the early mornings. His name often appeared at the bottom of indictments and court filings — all told, 34 people were charged — but his subordinates did the talking during courtroom proceedings. Mueller’s only public comment has been a single sentence, when he was appointed as special counsel nearly two years ago in May 2017, and the statement was as plain as the white shirts that he’s made his official uniform. "I accept this responsibility and will discharge it to the best of my ability," Mueller said. He issued no statement on Friday when he submitted his report. Trump often raged at Mueller’s work, repeatedly calling the Russia investigation a “witch hunt” and describing him as “a conflicted prosecutor gone rogue.” But even the president, a former reality television star, would likely give his chief antagonist one of his favorite compliments — that Mueller was from “central casting.” Mueller’s history of public service, reticence and rectitude provided a sharp contrast to Trump’s life of tabloid shenanigans, bombast and garish wealth. A Princeton University graduate, Mueller volunteered for the Marines and served as an infantry officer in the Vietnam War, receiving a Bronze Star for valor and a Purple Heart after being shot in the leg. He became a federal prosecutor after the war and rose through the ranks at the Justice Department. Eventually he served for a dozen years as FBI director under presidents of both parties, George W. Bush and Barack Obama, after Obama and Congress agreed to a special law to extend Mueller’s term beyond the 10-year limit. Mueller was working in private practice when Trump fired his successor as FBI director, James B. Comey, on May 9, 2017. In a move to preserve the independence of the Russia investigation, Deputy Atty. Gen. Rod Rosenstein appointed Mueller to serve as special counsel. President Trump speaks to the media as he leaves the White House bound for his Mar-a-Lago resort in Florida on March 22. (Jim Lo Scalzo / EPA/Shutterstock) Since then, Mueller’s silence has been the counterweight to Trump’s blizzard of Twitter screeds, and the special counsel’s office earned a reputation as the rare leak-proof operation in Washington. Mueller’s reserve was also a marked shift from two of the highest profile special prosecutors of the past generation — Lawrence E. Walsh, who spent seven years examining the Iran-Contra scandal of the Reagan administration, and Kenneth W. Starr, whose investigation of Bill Clinton and his White House lasted four years. Starr talked publicly about his work, at one point holding a widely televised, impromptu news conference at the end of his suburban Washington driveway. Clinton allies accused Starr’s prosecutors, who included Brett M. Kavanaugh, now a Supreme Court justice, of routinely leaking secret grand jury testimony in an effort to force the president to resign. The investigation ultimately led the House to impeach Clinton, who was then acquitted by the Senate. Starr consistently denied any improper actions. But in 1998, as the Clinton impeachment proceedings were taking place, U.S. District Judge Norma Holloway Johnson ruled that members of his staff had engaged in "serious and repetitive” violations of grand jury secrecy rules. Johnson threatened contempt proceedings against Starr staffers in one case, but an appeals court overturned that portion of her order, ruling that she had applied too strict a standard and that the way Starr’s staff dealt with the press was “troubling” but not illegal. A special master who investigated the leak allegations wrote a report of his findings that was never released and remains under seal. In a recent CNN interview, Starr defended his public comments about the case and said he thought Mueller’s approach in declining to talk publicly was not wise. "I just have a different perspective,” Starr said. "I think it's important to provide public information that's appropriate." Kennetth Starr is swarmed by the media in 1998 while investigating President Bill Clinton, a scene that hasn't been repeated by special counsel Robert S. Mueller III. (Ken Cedeno / Knight-Ridder Tribune) Walsh investigated the Iran-Contra scandal, in which Reagan administration officials facilitated the sale of arms to Iran to fund the right-wing Nicaraguan rebel group known as Contras at a time when U.S support for the rebels was forbidden by law. Walsh ultimately indicted 14 people, winning 11 convictions. Several of the convictions were overturned on appeal. And at the end of his presidency, George H.W. Bush, who was vice president at the time the scandal unfolded, pardoned the rest of those convicted, including the secretary of Defense at the time of the scandal, Caspar Weinberger. Walsh, whose investigation was ongoing at that point, publicly criticized Bush for his action, holding a news conference in which he said that "the Iran-Contra cover-up, which has continued for more than six years, has now been completed.” In his final news conference several months later, at which Walsh released a 566-page report and 785 pages of supporting documents, he said Bush and other Reagan administration officials had thwarted his investigation. Reagan, in a statement at the time, said Walsh had become "vindictive" and had "used his office to harass individuals and otherwise to damage the lives of the persons he was given license to investigate.” Both Walsh and Starr served under an independent counsel statute that expired in 1999. That statute gave them more freedom than Mueller, who is supervised by the Justice Department, headed by Trump appointees. Congress demands to see the entire Mueller report, and may subpoena special counsel MAR 22, 2019 | 4:50 PM But Mueller’s tight-lipped approach still stands out in a city packed with people of supersized egos and camera-ready ambitions. It’s unclear whether Mueller will be able to maintain his silence in the coming weeks and months. Atty. Gen. William Barr is expected to provide Congress with a summary of the special counsel’s conclusions as soon as this weekend, but that’s unlikely to satisfy House Democrats who are eager for a more complete — and public — picture. Some have already talked about bringing Mueller to Capitol Hill to testify. Mueller’s restraint undoubtedly helped inoculate him from some criticism from Trump’s allies, who were quick to criticize any whiff of political bias from investigators. They mostly targeted secondary figures instead, perhaps a recognition that they were unlikely to tarnish the special counsel himself. House Republicans focused their ire on Peter Strzok, a former FBI agent, and Lisa Page, a former FBI lawyer, who exchanged anti-Trump text messages while working at the agency during the 2016 campaign. Mueller removed Strzok from the special counsel’s office when the messages came to light, but critics said Strzok’s involvement tainted the probe. Trump’s lawyer, former New York Mayor Rudolph W. Giuliani, focused on Mueller’s prosecutors, particularly top deputy Andrew Weissmann. Giuliani described Weissmann as a “complete scoundrel” in a CNN interview last summer. Mueller himself managed to win some unlikely praise from the president’s camp, including from Abbe Lowell, a lawyer for Jared Kushner, Trump’s son-in-law and White House advisor. During a recent panel discussion, Lowell said, "I don't know of a special counsel who's done it better.”

#TheWebOfSlime

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raidreview23 · 6 years ago

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Devgan doesn’t clobber a solitary soul in Strike

‘His depiction of Pay Assessment Chief Amay Patnaik depends on his firm balance as a man of result to pitch itself as a tribute to the IT division’s unsung legends.’

'It’s the most I’ve delighted in viewing Ajay Devgan in a while,’ says Sukanya Verma.

At the point when Ajay Devgan guarantees to wring out 'poora’ Rs 420 crore from an ignoble lawmaker, there will be firecrackers. However, shockingly, Devgan doesn’t clobber a solitary soul in Attack - not when his better half is harmed, not when his activity is in risk, not when a distraught swarm is eager for his blood.

There is a lot of Singham-like snare tossed at him, however Devgan basically declines to take it.

On one especially difficult event, he jolts the entryway and squares it utilizing massive trunks and containers picking presence of mind over showdown.

As somebody who has become burnt out on the performer’s constant wham-bam, it is reviving to see his strength stem out of his convictions and not sturdiness.

His depiction of Salary Duty Chief Amay Patnaik in Rajkumar Gupta’s fourth movie as executive (Aamir, Nobody Slaughtered Jessica, Ghanchakkar) depends on his firm balance as a man of result to pitch itself as a tribute to the IT office’s unsung saints.

On first look, the character is misleadingly like the khaki-clad, exchange inclined superstars he has tried previously, what with the mustache, the vacant eyes, the genuine manner, the right-wingness.

But without negativity, uprightness reveals another insight.

This Ajay Devgan doesn’t thud a toady’s head when he is prohibited from entering a tip top club without formal shoes. This Ajay Devgan gets included on Dharmyug magazine’s cover, draws analogies from Munshi Premchand and fights 'Principle wohi peeta hoon jo khareed sakoon (I drink just what I can manage).’

In light of a content by Ritesh Shah, Strike is floated by an exemplary right versus wrong topic.

In spite of the fact that it is set in 1981’s Lucknow, the schadenfreude of each fair citizen in watching charge defaulters, dodgers and hoarders go down is immortal and widespread.

Gupta mines it quickly to arrange a detailed session of find the stowaway over the carefully led strike, which constitutes greater part of its 128-minutes running time.

The opponent, a dirty looked at, disdainful MP called Tauji played with contained irritability by Saurabh Shukla, is a character that never gets the chance to venture outside its rise of pride.

As the attack traverses different phases of skepticism, obstruction, pride, trickery, disclosure, trouble, in battling, viciousness, more than Tauji it is his more distant family that infuse oddity into an obvious faceoff and dull mission.

Attacks are chaotic and prompt eye-popping divulgences, however the excite of seeing stacks and loads of cash and gold wears off sooner or later, more like watching Aladdin’s light achievement in a circle.

Gupta goes over the edge reallocating the unaccounted riches, yet the incapacitating suddenness of the 'Amma’ (a critical Pushpa Joshi) character, as Shukla’s wacky, carelessly yapping octogenarian mother is a slick touch.

Just like the nearness of a baffling mole causing conceivable scenes of interior clash inside the family unit - Assault takes a reasonable good stand yet sees its avaricious guilty parties as miserable and human.

Some portion of its flippant approach bumps at then-in-control head administrator Indira Gandhi. She appears to be to a greater extent a school primary extremely, ceaselessly squirming her pen and carelessly ticking off pages of a document.

Strike declines to connect past her side profile. In the midst of the entertainment of this symbolism, Gupta is limit enough to propose her resistance for debasement in draw of political clout yet saves her inner voice to make the best decision.

Regardless of its shining feeling of reason and creative controls, Attack is astoundingly conflicting.

Other than the worn out tropes of a degenerate associate vindicating himself, criminals assaulting the spouse to scare the saint and a fraud period setting whose specifying is constrained to trunk call burdens and retro time pieces, it is the messy altering, tame camerawork and appalling foundation score that hurt Strike the most.

Ileana D'Cruz as Devgan’s significant other endures the worst part of these deficiencies. Her strong, sari-clad noteworthy other is cumbersomely constrained into the story to underscore Devgn’s joyful individual life.

In one scene, she appears with a lunch dabba amidst an official activity. That is generally less crazy than what follows when Assault strays for a sentimental melody intermission.

Did somebody snooze off on the altering table?

The mood melodies seems as if it took its signals from Commencement and remains numerous a scenes with its lost passion mistaking perseverance for freeze.

The source subplot is inquisitively presented, yet offers little by the method for result.

Gupta’s affection for authenticity additionally takes an illogical beating when Devgan licenses Shukla to hurry off just to stick in some out-dated sher/kutta sledging.

As baffling that may be, Strike has its snapshots of convincing good faith and startling mind.

It’s likewise the most I’ve delighted in viewing Ajay Devgan in a while.

There’s an irate swarm longing to lynch the conscientious pay assess official played by Ajay Devgn for doing his activity; however as opposed to imparting the up and coming destructive peril, we have this enigmatic legend thinking back about his bringing spouse (Illeana D'Cruz) with a drenched tune playing out of sight about qualities and valor. Is it accurate to say that they were messing with us?

This was one of the numerous occasions in which the 1980’s-set Assault — a wrongdoing spine chiller that chronicled the meticulous strike initiated by the upright Amay Patnaik (Devgn) — exasperated us with its propensity to go astray from its emotional account.

Coordinated by Raj Kumar Gupta, the film was motivated from a genuine life occasion about how a resolute assurance of an IT officer brought about the felling of a ground-breaking, very much associated lawmaker in Lucknow.

Yet, there were two different motion pictures being played around here in Strike. On one hand, Raj Kumar Gupta was resolved to restoring the careful and laborious strike to the keep going shady detail, and on the other he was determined to displaying the syrupy connection between a vacant Devgn and his stunning spouse who dreaded for her better half’s security. It was certainly not a sacred association and the class mixing push to join two subplots wasn’t consistent.

Be that as it may, to be reasonable, it wasn’t the on-screen couple’s blame. D'Cruz as the winsome Nita Patnaik was the exemplification of a devoted spouse (the sort of lady who trucks an intricate tiffin for her exhausted husband and his group to his work environment and are presently legendary in the present occasions) and the two appreciated an easy science. In any case, this sentimental strain was such a loner in a spine chiller that would have profited from more tightly altering and adhering to its course of being a restless wrongdoing dramatization.

When some feeling of desperation had develop among a group of regular clothes government authorities attempting to locate the shrouded dark cash in a manor, unexpectedly called the White Place of Lucknow, a melody was embedded cracking the pace.

Devgn as the stoic Amay Patnaik is additionally a devotee of playing verbal duels with the adversary, played menacingly by Shukla who is in top frame. Yet, their repartee appeared to be constrained as they traded their perspectives on moral set of accepted rules and respect among culprits.

While it was energizing at first to see the internal workings of how an unexpected wage charge assault plays out and how weakening it can get for a tax criminal taking on the appearance of representatives, it loses its sheen soon. What number of gold rolls would you be able to watch being uncovered drowsily? Furthermore, to what extent would you be able to watch a bundle of regular citizen dressed authorities tear open a sleeping pad or a column in the expectation of finding the reserve of sick gotten riches? In view of a tip-off from an anonymous source that was uncovered toward the finish of the film, Patnaik made it his business to loot the house and demolish the nearby lawmaker’s realm based on extortion and stealing from the basic man.

Devgn was perilously dead-panned and bewildered even in the most unstable encounters. Maybe that is his mark style of acting that worked in a large number of his works previously, yet it looked monotonous here. His image of vigilantism and activism looked constrained.

Watch this lone in the event that you need to hack up your well deserved white cash for a botched up wrongdoing show that needs tooth.

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nezzfiction · 7 years ago

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ENMY Chapter 49 - Happy Endings Are For Children

Chapter Synopsis: In the course of Team ENMY’s escape, they come across new trials. Yang must find a new way to harness her abilities. Emerald must master her Semblance’s true potential for the future fights with stronger foes. Her next one being just around the corner. Along with the key to saving Cinder.

Team RWBY is disbanded, and Yang must find herself new allies. For her, that might very well be yesterday’s enemies. Joining up with the likes of Emerald, Mercury, and Neo, the four will comprise Team Enemy.

Links to read the series: Ao3 or FF.net

Or hit the jump below

Happy Endings Are For Children

“You think you know me.”

“The goal of this meditation is not to seek peace of mind. It is to contemplate, this one reminds you, while looking into your eternally struggling face.”

“…”

“You must search your soul for the answers you seek.”

“…”

The sound of a stream hitting snow could be heard.

“Focus on the question and the abstract.”

“…”

The stream of liquid became erratic, and almost closer.

“Shut out all distractions. Know only the search.”

“…”

“Almost there…” they heard Mercury grunt in the distance.

“Ignore the idiotic one that—”

“Mercury! Can you stop pissing so loud?! In fact, just hold it in! Hold it in, and DIE!!!” Emerald shrieked at the top of her lungs.

“Hey, Em. Didn’t see you guys there.”

In the middle of the snowy wilderness, Masa and Emerald were previously facing each other in meditation. Not too far away was Mercury taking a leak in the snow. And closer to the Hummer parked nearby, Neo was giving Yang a haircut.

“YANG! You were supposed to be keeping an eye on him!”

“I’m not gonna watch him, while he takes care of his business!” she heard Yang yell back.

“Guys, I totally just finished writing my initials in the snow. Come, look!”

““JUST DIE!!!”” Emerald and Yang yelled simultaneously.

A chain sickle lashed out and almost took Mercury’s head, prompting the young delinquent to make a run for it.

When Emerald sat down again, she did so with a huff.

“Masa, I don’t think this new age, soul search, hipster bullshit is the way to go. I just want to talk to my Semblance like Yang does.”

“Being able to converse with one’s Semblance is an extremely rare trait. There is no clear indication of its requirements. It is also not the sole method of mastering your Semblance—as your exceptional, but juvenile partner has repeatedly demonstrated.”

“It’s not like Mercury’s Semblance is all that complicated. He kicks really hard and he flies. Big figure there.”

“Indeed, a simple soul. But just the same, there came a defining point in his life, his own very Semblance Trial, if you will. He met his challenge, found his answer, and ‘passed’. You must do the same, this one repeats for what may be the thousandth time.”

“I know, Maz! You keep telling me to look for an answer, but I can’t find one—no matter how long I sit my ass in this freezing weather.”

“An abundance of time and patience is required. Contemplation rarely provides a full answer. You must piece together the small hints you uncover.”

*Boop*

Emerald’s scroll received a message. When she opened the file, she sighed with annoyance.

“Merc just sent me a picture of his initials in the snow.”

“……It still astounds this one how your group displays such high functionality in its crucial moments, but the definition of discord elsewhere.”

“Yeah, we’re one small, screwy family that just loves to kill each other.”

“And Ms. Yang’s precarious inclusion in your band of misfits never fails to astonish.”

“Oh, Yang definitely exhibited like, low-level Stockholm syndrome when she first joined up. Now… eh,” Emerald shrugged.

“You are obsessed with mastering your Semblance for their sake.”

“More like, my own survival.”

“Lies,” Masa responded flatly. “This is why you may never master your Semblance Ms. Emerald,” the engineer saying much more dire.

“Hey, I know I can get it. I just need the right method. And nothing you say is making it any easier. The answer isn’t within me, it’s out there! And what the hell does lying have to do with my Semblance anyway? What the hell do you know about me?”

“You lie. You must discover and acknowledge the basis of your soul. That is what a Semblance is after all, this one lectures. But you continue to waste this one’s time with your endless falsities. You hide and you run because I believe you hate who you are. Or you are afraid of what dwells within your heart of hearts.”

“I’m not afraid of anything, and I don’t hate myself! I mean, have you met me?”

“You have referenced Ms. Yang and Mr. Mercury through the course of your training. But they have faced an increasing number of mortal trials to gain the abilities—the rite they possess to their Semblances. The same can be said for Ms. Neo. Possessing of a soul that constantly reviews itself, and seeks to shape, to learn their place in fate’s design. The trials they pass gives clarity into their identities.”

“I face trials all the time! I almost died!”

“And what have you gained from such an experience?”

“That I need to plan better, probably?”

“More sarcasm, more lies, more hiding.” Masa inched closer. “You deny who you are. You pass yourself as strong and detached, but you are nothing of the kind.”

“You don’t know shit about me or anyone else. Just because you stare all dead-eyed at everyone and creep them out, you think that gives you some sort of insight into their soul? I’m starting to wonder if you really know anything about Semblances.”

Masa stood up.

“Never has this one ever met an individual so adverse to their own self.”

“You will never master your Semblance. Nor do you deserve it!”

* * * * *

As Masa made her way back to the Hummer, she saw Yang drawing strength into her arm.

The prosthetic glowed with an old furnace of power. Its afterburners adjusted in propulsion at subtle angles, almost like a bird shifting its wings. Yang’s hair and scarf flared with bright embers.

She loosed a straight punch through the air, and sent all the snow in the vicinity flying.

“Are you kidding me?!” they heard Emerald shout in the distance.

“I think this one’s weaker than 2.0, isn’t it?” she questioned on Masa’s approach.

“The prosthetic is only a replacement until a true weapon can be forged. Also, this one asks what you hope to accomplish by burning what little Aura you possess.”

“I thought I could train its efficiency. There has to be some way to fight like I used to without relying on Dust or Bane.”

“A plight you would not face, had you followed the plan this one laid for you.”

“Hahaha…” Yang scratched the back of her head. “Sorry. I appreciate that you tried to help me keep the Valor Semblance.”

*Sigh* “No, my previous statement was unnecessary. You chose your own path, and for that, I have no word or sway in.”

“Aw, thanks for understanding, Masa.”

“But this one derives satisfaction in saying that this is your exact comeuppance for not following my predicted scenario. Also, there is no way to train your Aura in the way you imagine.”

“Guh...!”

“You cannot train how much blood flows through your body. You also, cannot train your body to produce more blood cells than it needs. Aura is similar to that. Which is exactly why Dust and Bane are such important catalysts. No one can fight capably on Aura alone.”

Under normal circumstances, that is.

“Great,” Yang hung her head. “So, what can I do? I’m just gonna be handicapped forever? Not gonna happen. There’s a way—I just haven’t thought of it yet.”

“Hmph. You could stand to administer your leader with a dose of that wisdom, this one ponders if such a syringe could be engineered.”

“Uh… Em’s Semblance training not going great?”

“……It is proceeding appallingly.”

“Ouch.”

“Hey, so, when are we gonna hit the road again?” Mercury asked, lying on the roof of the Hummer. “I mean, I don’t think any more goons are gonna chase us this far, but I can’t say the same about Vulcan and whatever he brings with him. Or are we staking our knife in the floor and finishing this?”

“I don’t know. Emerald and I figure he’s probably rejoined Mistral’s army by now, so we should be in the clear. Besides, we can’t drive any farther south-west than this.”

“Why’s that?”

“There’s this thing called the Bermuda Circle around here. Anything caught in it disappears without a trace.”

“What? That sounds so made-up.”

“Tell that to all the transports, airships, and people who go missing around here all the time. There’s rumors it could be a Nightmare-class Grimm, but no one really knows for sure. Normally, I wouldn’t mind seeing what it’s all about, but with me and Em, like this? Not so smart, y’know?”

“Psh! Where’s your sense of reckless abandon, Xiao Long?”

“Maybe, some of it got knocked out when your cousin blindsided us with a lava hammer.”

“……Fair ‘nuff. Well, wake me up if shit hits the fan again, I’ll be napping.”

Yang made sure to toss a snowball on the roof, before turning to an approaching Neo. Apparently, the girl had gone off to hunt some food, after finishing her partner’s trim. A row of freshly caught fish and wildlife hung on a rope she dragged with her.

Dinner!

* * * * *

With the skies turning to dark, Team ENMY and Masa huddled around a campfire to eat their meals. In the circle surrounding the warm heat, Yang and Mercury looked shifty-eyed between their leader and the engineer.

“I wonder what happened between them,” Yang whispered.

“I dunno. Maybe they’re faking it?”

“What? Why would they be faking it?”

“You and Em were faking it that one time when you tricked Neo and me.”

“Gotta let that go, Merc. First of all, that was a life-or-death ruse. Second… they’re not. Something must’ve happened during training.”

“Or they’re on their—wait. No.”

“…. Their what?”

“Nothing. I just know that’s not it.”

…

“Were you about to say what I think you were about to say?”

“…Maybe.”

“Gross. MERC! Agh! Wait! What did you mean, when you said you knew that wasn’t it?”

“I don’t get it.”

“I mean, how do you know?”

“…… It’s not the right week.”

“Oh, god, Merc!”

“What?”

“You keep track of our…” Yang pressed her fist against her head. “You keep track of when we—”

“Yeah, well, I am the only guy here. Even I’m not dumb enough not to notice when some people’s moods change, or go to the bathroom more often.”

“Mercury. What. The. Hell!”

“Hey, look! I didn’t bring it up. YOU did. I was trying to pass it off, but no. Blondie wanted to ask if Mercury knew when… You guys know all kinds of shit about me!”

“We can hear you, nasty fuck,” Emerald said across the fire.

“Very audibly, this one adds,” Masa added.

Even Neo was making a face, that communicated Mercury was the scum of the earth.

“Okay! That’s not fair! We all know the weirdest and grossest crap about each other. Like, Em and I both know not to come home for the nights when Yang and Neo want some ‘alone time,’” he air quoted.

“This is not going to a good place,” Yang shook her head.

“Or how about when we act like we don’t know when Neo rips a fart, cause it’s always silent, but smells the most hellacious?”

Neo stared wide-eyed in distraught, then looked to Yang for confirmation.

“It is pretty smelly… Potent stuff for someone your size.”

“And you guys!” Mercury continued. “Know that I sniff and try on other people’s shoes when they’re not looking, cause reasons.”

“That is true. You got a weird thing for feet. I always wanted to know if it was before or after you lost your legs.”

“Before. We also know! Emerald mutters about Cinder in her sleep—and not the ‘I miss you’ forlorn kind of way. But the sensual voice thing! And it makes us all super uncomfortable.”

“……I don’t deny these allegations,” Emerald replied, while crossing her arms.

“And do you have anything to reveal of this one?” Masa spoke up.

“…There is that thing where you pretend the weapons talk to each other like a little kid playing with actions figures, when you think no one is looking.”

What little expression Masa showed on her face, froze with distinct abruptness.

“Maybe, this wasn’t such a good idea.”

“““YOU THINK?!?!””” Emerald, Yang, and Neo silently said.

“Anywho!” Mercury went into a big fake-ass yawn. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna go now. Sleep. Go sleep… Y’know. Early worm gets the bird, and all that.”

“That’s the excuse we use when we don’t want to get up early,” Yang answered.

“G’night!”

And Mercury was gone.

…

Left in awkward silence, Yang burst into laughter.

“That was an awesome train wreck! Ahaha…ha…man,” she wiped a tear from her eye.

Neo was headbutting her side repeatedly, seemingly anguished by her embarrassment.

“Oh, come here you. Me and Neo are gonna head to bed too.”

And with that, the pair left as well. Only Masa and Emerald alone by the fire. For a long time, nothing but the wood’s burning crackles filled the noise space.

“……To be fair, we actually thought it was kinda adorable, Maz—”

“Silence. This one pleads silence.”

“It’s like a little girl playing with her dolls, or talking to imaginary friends.”

“Enough.”

“Honestly, it’s not as bad as some other stuff.”

“This one is conflicted over which was better: knowing that you all knew, or never knowing that fact.”

“Yeah. Mercury has a way of bringing the shitstorm, in and out of a fight.”

“This one will remember to make his next maintenance check excessively excruciating. Penny, make note of it.”

[The note is made, Doctor.]

“Hey, look on the bright side, it got us talking again,” Emerald grinned. “We were wearing thin on each other’s nerves back there.”

The engineer went silent with momentary contemplation.

“………How much of that was contrived?”

“Caught on to that, have we?”

“Ms. Yang certainly escalated Mr. Mercury’s outburst quite well.”

“That, she did.”

“It was staged, then?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. If Yang did it on purpose, I can proudly say she learned it all from me. If she didn’t, well… One of the things that blinds people to each other’s differences is a common source of annoyance.”

“Hm. Indeed. This one is beginning to believe Mr. Mercury was a mere scapegoat. Penny, make note to exact the same excruciating procedure for Ms. Yang.”

[Noted, Doctor.]

…

“So…” Emerald swirled around the water in her cup. “I wasn’t the only one who got all hot and angry when we were talking about Semblances. Did something happen with yours?”

“No,” Masa denied. “But I did remember a bitter story from a long time ago.”

“Huh.” Emerald tossed the water from her cup, and did the same with Masa’s. She then, took out a bottle of whiskey from behind the log she sat on, and poured a modest amount for the both of them. “Tell me about it.”

The barest of chuckles escaped the hollow-eyed engineer.

“You should count yourself fortunate, Ms. Emerald. Both you and I, and each of your friends.” She took a very generous sip, and felt a smoothness burn her throat. “Even if they are not mastered, there are some of those who go through life never once utilizing their Semblance—never unlocking even a clue of their soul’s potential.”

“…Didn’t know there was anyone like that. Guess, it puts things in a certain perspective.”

“Hm,” Masa nodded.

“I knew of one such individual…”

* * * * *

She was one of the most brilliant minds I had ever had the good fortune of meeting. One whom I respected from the depths of my heart.

…

Her life began in a noble household.

Alongside her brother, the girl grew up wanting for nothing. However, her parents did not spoil her. Too often had they seen what happened to children crippled by their family’s prestige and riches. In fact, for most of the sibling’s lives leading up to adulthood, they took the last names of lower vassal families.

They entered school normally, the girl earning especially good grades in athletics and stratagem. She was the textbook definition of a prodigy.

As they progressed through the Huntsmen and Huntress curriculum, the girl acquired an aptitude for a variety of different techniques. Her prowess for being able to use multiple types of weapons was unmatched. She earned the top marks in her combat assessments.

When entering intermediate grades, those who had yet to awaken their Auras had theirs unlocked. The siblings were no exception, and true to form, they both possessed an exceptional amount of Aura.

…

It is most common to discover your Semblance in one’s pubescent years. Along with a body, which develops at a sudden and rapid pace, so too does the soul inhabiting it. Semblances are a reflection, or they become what the wielder needs in a time of crisis.

While her fellow classmates, her peers that she once surpassed, even her own brother discovered their Semblances… my friend did not.

She was never too stubborn to seek help when she needed it. Her friends, her brother, she tried to find a way.

I was honored she asked me. In return, I did everything I could to find her an answer. How many sleepless nights we had pouring over every book in every library…

I’d do a hundred times over if that was what it took.

But alas, we never found a solution.

Surely, anyone would normally be crushed by such a fact.

A Semblance is more than just an ability. It is a person’s source of pride. Without it, it is something akin to an incompleteness.

The girl had many expectations bestowed upon her. She was predicted to be the greatest Huntress ever produced. Destined to live the life of a hero among heroes. A legend bred and trained from birth.

And then… nothing.

Hmph.

…

The doubts, the backtalk, the words whispered behind closed doors. Such things would normally break a person…

Not her.

She would not break.

Through some stubborn form of sheer will, she completed her graduation solely on her skills. It was a triumphant feat. She was granted the title of Huntress. And she knew joy from all her painstaking efforts.

But that happiness did not last.

As the missions she fulfilled grew in difficulty, the girl began to learn her limits. There were such Grimm, such warriors of a darker kind that wielded strength she could not compete with.

Many will say that was the start of her degradation. How far only her pure martial skill and Aura could take her. But I believe that wasn’t so.

She never gave in to her depression for too long. She wanted to make the best use of her talents. To serve her Kingdom to her fullest abilities.

Because of her famous intellect, and a little help from her brother, she gained a prestigious position. The girl, now a woman, had found her calling… She became the Headmaster of her alma mater.

And she truly was a brilliant educator. She raised students that would one day go on to save Remnant a hundred times over. She taught them not only how to survive the trials evil, but of life itself. I venture to think she saved more young lives that way, than she would ever had she become a “true” Huntress.

During that time, she met another kindred soul.

One she fell deeply in love with…

…

“Okay,” Emerald paused. “Where’s the rest of it?”

“This one is not quite sure by your meaning,” Masa replied.

“The story,” she repeated, and threw some snacks into her mouth. “Where’s the rest of it?”

“……How do you know that is not the end of the tale?”

“A feeling.”

Emerald crushed the bag and sucked the end of her fingers.

“That, and the fact that Haven’s Headmaster isn’t a woman or fits the bill… Is that the end of the story, Maz?”

“……No. But this one sometimes finds herself wishing it was.”

“Hmm,” Emerald sniffed bitterly.

“‘Happily ever after’s are for children.”

At that moment, Masa caught a glimpse. An image of a poor girl, dressed in rags, sitting on the cold, hard concrete. So many passerbys, strode and strode past, never sparing a glance at the abandoned creature. A sewer rat in their eyes.

One who told herself stories of faraway places and faraway names just to keep herself alive at night. They kept the bad things away. They kept her from falling into despair.

Masa blinked, and the image was gone. Only Emerald sat across from her. The illumination from the campfire casting flickering shadows.

The doctor closed her eyes…

…

Despite being the greatest Headmaster of her time, she did not receive her due recognition.

Beacon was long famed as the best academy in Remnant. That tradition was only continued with its Headmaster. A prodigy. A legendary Huntsmen in his own right.

Ozpin…

They proclaimed him everything she was not—everything she failed to achieve.

Her flaws glared in the spotlight shone in comparison.

She didn’t take part in the greatest defenses against the most monstrous of Grimm.

She took a job teaching children, lecturing them on bad behavior, calling their parents.

That was what they said about her. Nothing in the fact she dedicated her gifts to the safety of their future.

To invest in the future, in knowledge itself. There is no more noble an aspiration.

But try to ask fools to see that…

Even then, it did not break her.

The woman carried on with her duty, did what she loved, what she believed in. Those who knew her knew. She was nothing flawed. She was a warrior. She was a Huntress. She was loved.

Her husband hated the way his wife was treated—to have the woman he cared for diminished by the sole fact of not having use of her Semblance.

I used to despise the man for thinking that way. I used to ask, why could he not simply be proud of his wife? That was all she needed. But thinking on it more, I could understand that he loved her so deeply, he couldn’t allow her poor treatment to continue.

It was an unfortunate sentiment, as time proved.

…

The woman’s husband was a brilliant scientist and avid researcher of the Grimm. He was marveled by the power the dark creatures wielded without using anything resembling a Semblance. He theorized it may have been due to their connection to the Never Realm…

And in that, tragedy was born.

He begged his wife to take part in his experiment. To find a way to grant her power unquestioned by anyone.

To that end, the woman had her body modified. A monstrosity born part-Grimm and part-human.

…

“And that is where the story ends, Ms. Emerald,” Masa said with a heavy voice. Sorrow dripping from her lips.

Emerald continued looking into the fire.

“What was her name?”

“……Victoria Stein.”

“I’ll remember her story.” Emerald got up from her seat. “Coming, Maz? It’s getting late.”

“In a little while, Ms. Emerald.”

…

“You didn’t fail her, Maz. I’m sorry for what I said before… Don’t stay out here too long.”

“In a little while, Ms. Emerald.

Just a little while.”

…

* * * * *

When Team ENMY and Masa woke the next day, they were met with an unbelievable sight.

“Uh… guys?” Yang blurted. “Am I still dreaming?”

Neo pinched her butt.

“Ow! Okay. I’m not dreaming. So, how long were we asleep?”

“Not that long, lion queen,” Emerald took in the sight beside her.

Contrary to the night before, the surrounding area was no longer covered in snow. In fact, from the lush greenery and the overgrown vegetation, one would never describe the current season as Winter. But the scenery before them refused to become a mirage.

Yang plucked a flower off the ground and looked at it. Such a small thing would die, much less grow around freezing temperatures.

“But…how? I mean, Em, haha real funny if this is a hallucination.”

“It isn’t, you idiot! Why would I hallucinate something so stupid?”

“Then, how is it already—”

Suddenly, the flower in Yang’s hand sparked with electricity. Not only that, but their surroundings were starting to take the appearance of a lightning storm. Pillars of surging energy began to erupt between ground and sky.

“OKAY! THIS IS OFFICIALLY ONE OF THE FREAKIEST THINGS EVER!!!” Emerald shouted. “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!”

It was then, Emerald noticed Masa. While everyone was in a moment of confusion, the good doctor never so much as blinked. No matter how expressionless she was, there was no mistaking it. Masa had expected this very situation to unfold.

“Maz! What is this?!”

The engineer simply pointed to the distance. The team followed the line of her finger, to the silhouette in the distance.

A grotesque woman with parts of Grimm-like limbs attached, walked across the forest. From her back sprouted wings made of gears and what looked like weapons. Screws and bolts riddled her body from head to toe, and it seemed she was the primary cause of the lightning storm around her.

“That’s… her,” Emerald gave a hushed mutter. “She’s the one we’ve been looking for—the key to saving Cinder.”

…

“The Spring Maiden.”

�ᖁ5�+

#rwby #yang xiao long #ENMY #rwby fanfiction #rwby fanfic #emerald sustrai #mercury black #neopolitan #neo

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