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thesinglesjukebox · 1 year ago

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TORI KELLY - "CUT"

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Alex brings us some UK garage not actually from the UK...

[6.64]

Alex Ostroff: At the end of the first year without any regular Singles Jukebox coverage, the prospect of selecting just one track for Amnesty Week was daunting. Should I choose a fun quirky pop-rap track that reflected the continued importance of TikTok in drawing attention to new music in 2023? Or maybe a pop-country break-up anthem that draws equally from 'Tim McGraw' and 'We Belong Together' that would have been Jukebox catnip back in 2009 but can't seem to break through in 2023? Or maybe yet another British attempt to revive the spirit of R&B girl groups? Ultimately, I picked Tori Kelly's "cut" - a track that I suggested was an American big-pop-chorus approach to PinkPantheress' UK garage revivalism in an earlier Amnesty Week blurb. But while there are undeniable 2step influences here (the first single from Tori's 2023 EP samples Craig David directly), "cut" functions equally as millennium pop revivalism. Darkchild and Timbaland both get writing credits, although presumably just for the vibe that Kelly and producer Jon Bellion are trying to evoke and the ad-libs that Timbaland added when they sent him the track. For years, I couldn't tell you the first thing about Tori Kelly's music. She seemed to be one of those artists with an incredible voice who was perpetually singing as part of award show tributes, but who never settled into a clear artistic identity; cursory research indicates that she yo-yoed from a 2015 Max Martin-produced debut to two explicitly Christian gospel albums to acoustic YouTube performances. There's nothing particularly novel or boundary-pushing about "cut": a trilling acoustic guitar loop, garage drums, arpeggiated violins, Timbo mumbling in the background, Tori jumping the octave for the final chorus, an onomatopoeiac hook that tries to evoke the sound of a skipping heartbeat. But it somehow embedded itself in my brain all autumn and never let up. "cut," and the rest of this year's Tori EP, made me sit up and pay attention to Tori Kelly for the first time a full eight years into her career -- and made me actively excited to see what she does next. [9]

Katherine St Asaph: Timbaland jumping on a trend in 2023, and Tori Kelly jumping on a trend at any time, is probably a sign that the trend is on its way out. The returns haven't totally diminished, though. [6]

Micha Cavaseno: When UK garage touched US shores, a lot of the forms were unrecognizable compared to the source material -- Craig David's "Fill Me In" is one thing, but "7 Days" isn't exactly bubble & squeak. I would like to say that there was a big period of us dancing to Monsta Boy or Masters of Ceremony just so my own nerdy adolescent pursuits felt a little more valid, but no, I'm pretty sure we just listened to Blu Cantrell and that Mary J. Blige comeback record around that time. So really, I'm just fascinated at anyone from the US deciding to emulate a style that's so comparatively niche. As far as retro-UKG from the last few years, it's definitely not hitting "One Kiss" levels, nor is it even Jorja quality, but maybe that's the consequence of things getting lost in translation. [7]

Aaron Bergstrom: Tori gives it a valiant effort, but this still sounds like the batteries slowly running out on a Timbaland Speak & Spell. [4]

Taylor Alatorre: A second-string Timbaland beat scores some major points off the bench, assisted by Tori Kelly's infectious enthusiasm at being allowed on a Timbaland beat of any sort. One can choose to dismiss Tori as Ariana Grande for church moms who did the math on "34+35," or one can choose to celebrate her for that same reason. Her brand of pop soul is clean in more than one sense of the word -- witness how she skims across those challenging vocal phrases like they're beginners' exercises, or how she uses the pauses in the production to turn a lead-in to the chorus into a game of musical jump rope. Let's not agonize over the fact that the definitive slumber party music of two decades ago is now reappearing as adult contemporary; instead, let's call it incremental progress. [8]

Brad Shoup: Howling at the possibility that Timbaland is going to become a hired-gun ad-lib guy, like how a few years back everyone was hiring Nile Rodgers to strum a little. At least Nile gets some co-production credits! [6]

Nortey Dowuona: The skipping garage drums are well mixed. They slip underneath Tori's voice comfortably and bind it tightly, spinning in a dervish across the chorus. The boxy bassline synth below it is a nice counterpoint to the topline synths, which are surprisingly thinned out by reverb and EQ once the last chorus kicks in. It's a good idea and a good choice, but not something you will remember once you stop listening. [6]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: The sound effect at the beginning of the chorus is so bizarre that multiple times while listening to this, I literally looked around to check whether there was a pipe that was emitting steam, a large man sighing slowly, or a freezer opening. Aside from that, "Cut" is expertly crafted pop reminiscent of the early 2000s, each motif stitched together tightly with Tori Kelly's adept voice. [7]

Ian Mathers: I wish they'd built out the "singing the drum part" bit into the chorus, because it's better and more distinctive than the actual chorus. [6]

Oliver Maier: Lots of fun if not especially sticky. Not often does a pop song feel like it's distinctly missing a guest rap verse, but such is the void that opens up at around 2:18. [7]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: "I'm glad she's having fun" is classic smug pan verbiage but this genuinely works because Tori Kelly is having a lot of fun! It still never breaks through to be anything more than really really good Timbaland/Darkchild cosplay, but I'm not sure if it aspires to anything greater either. [7]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox ]

#tori kelly #music #pop music #uk garage #timbaland #music writing #music reviews #music criticism #the singles jukebox #Youtube

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starseedfxofficial · 3 months ago

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Trump's Victory Shockwaves: How Traders Are Secretly Playing the 'Trump Trade' Boom The Trump Victory Playbook: Trading Surprises, Winning Moves, and Hidden Strategies Revealed If you woke up today feeling like you're stuck in an alternate universe, you're not alone. With Donald Trump leading the polls, global markets are doing their best impression of a cat on a roller coaster—terrified, exhilarated, and maybe just a little nauseous. But behind the drama, there's an incredible wealth of lessons for the savvy Forex trader. Buckle up as we break down what’s happening in European bourses, which stocks are moving in the U.S. (and why), and the next-level trading insights hiding just beneath the market's surface. Why European Markets Are Swooning While Utilities Are Sulking European bourses are swaggering like a contestant who's just realized they might win a talent show. The Stoxx 600 opened with a bounce (+1.7%), powered by a curious mix of enthusiasm for Trump's impending victory and sheer relief that, despite political chaos, the markets are alive and kicking. Note, European futures were down by nearly 1% pre-open, only to be revived by Trump's rising star—in financial markets, much like high school drama, who you date can change everything. Healthcare stocks are having a field day, largely thanks to Novo Nordisk's latest earnings (and, let’s be honest, partly thanks to traders needing comfort and stocking up on anxiety meds). Novo Nordisk beat earnings estimates with its Wegovy sales—who would've thought that a drug that helps shed pounds would also add heft to a portfolio? Shares surged over 7%, enough to leave those Utility and Auto sectors crying quietly in the corner. Oh, Utilities—their fate seems like my New Year's resolutions—forever promising but often ending up in the red. The “Trump Trade”—Does This Mean Anything, Really? Ah, the infamous Trump Trade. You know, that strange phenomenon where people think, “You know what, if we elect the guy, my stocks might actually skyrocket.” Well, with U.S. equity futures deep in the green (ES +2.1%, NQ +1.7%, RTY +5.5%), it’s clear the markets are embracing some “2020 vibes.” The RTY, or small-cap Russell 2000, is the star today—why? Because it feels like that scrappy underdog everyone roots for in sports movies—always ready to sprint when enthusiasm replaces logic. But what does it mean for Forex? Ah, good question—and here’s where the real magic happens. Enthusiasm in equity markets tends to flow right through to FX markets like caffeine hitting your bloodstream after an early morning coffee. USD could see some surprising strength on the “Trump win trade” optimism—meaning if you’ve been holding back on a EUR/USD position, it’s time to stop thinking like Hamlet and start acting. Underground Trend: Winning Trades with Humor and Hindsight With the U.S. pre-market movers jumping around like squirrels in a walnut sale, there's a lot to learn from their steps. Tesla (+12.9%), Trump Media (+38.5%), and Morgan Stanley (+5.9%) are soaking in the limelight. With these kinds of moves, the secret isn't trying to jump in now—that train has sailed, my friend—it’s understanding the behind-the-scenes “why” and applying it to your Forex strategies. Now, Tesla soaring 12.9% pre-market? Sure, it could be tied to a sudden surge of optimism about future Musk tweets that won’t crash the stock. Or it could be about traders feeling Trump’s presidency might lower regulations, indirectly favoring the likes of innovators like Tesla. For Forex traders, this doesn’t mean buying TSLA stock but keeping an eye on any risk-on mood that could weaken the safe-haven USD—time to look at USD/JPY for shorting opportunities. European Earnings—Where Profits and Losses Tell the Real Story Here's what you won't read in the regular financial papers: trading earnings is all about understanding the little-known “second layer” impact. It’s like that plot twist in every detective movie—only the really sharp ones notice it coming. Novo Nordisk's earnings came in with slightly mixed results: revenue fell short of expectations (71.3 billion DKK vs. 72.4 billion expected), but Wegovy sales surpassed forecasts, pushing shares up 7.1%. The takeaway here? It’s the narrative of a bright spot amidst otherwise meh numbers—it's like winning “Best Attendance” after a lackluster school year—it shows resilience, and markets like that. BMW, on the other hand, dropped like it was doing the limbo. Revenue came in light (EUR 32.41 billion vs. EUR 33.31 billion expected), and its Automotive EBIT margin is slumping at 2.3% (vs. 2.87% estimated). Shares plunged 5.3%. Insider Tip: When earnings come in slightly off but the company maintains guidance, it’s a tactical move to keep hope alive—but for a Forex trader, that spells potential Euro weakness. Watch how these trends interact with Germany-centric FX pairs like EUR/USD or even EUR/CHF. How to Play the U.S. Pre-Market Circus Like an Insider Tesla? Up 12.9%. Trump Media? Up a mind-boggling 38.5%. Morgan Stanley? Popping up 5.9%. It’s almost like we’re playing market Whack-a-Mole—but here's the underground edge: play the themes, not the stocks. If market optimism is sky-high, take advantage of that by looking at commodity currencies (AUD, CAD). High energy, high yield—they're loving it. The contrarian angle? Take a look at Swiss Franc and Japanese Yen crosses. The world thinks everything’s peachy now—but take it from us secret cynics, sometimes a surprise news piece (cough, tariffs on autos, cough) can flip the risk mood faster than you can say “Trump Media bubble”. Pandora’s Box: Hidden Opportunities in Earnings Disappointments Pandora's earnings were a bit like opening an actual Pandora's box—some shiny surprises, and some big disappointments. EBIT surpassed expectations (DKK 980 million vs. DKK 911 million), yet sales slightly underwhelmed (DKK 6.1 billion vs. DKK 6.12 billion expected), leading to a stock dip of 3.2%. Why should this matter for the Forex crowd? It’s all about China’s impact here—Pandora’s China sales dropped like my faith in sitcom sequels, down 33% in the quarter. China's market performance has a ripple effect on the broader Forex market—we could see AUD (often a proxy for Chinese economic health) weaken as a result. Let’s call it the “Pandora Paradox”—when shiny isn’t shiny enough. Want to make the most of these insights? Here are some services we offer to help you take your trading to the next level: - Latest Economic Indicators and Forex News: Stay informed on market movements and groundbreaking concepts with exclusive, real-time updates at StarseedFX Forex News Today. - Forex Education: Expand your knowledge with in-depth resources, advanced methodologies, and little-known strategies at StarseedFX Forex Education. - Community Membership: Join the StarseedFX community for expert analysis, daily alerts, live trading insights, insider tips, and elite tactics by visiting StarseedFX Community. - Free Trading Plan: Set goals, manage risks, and track progress with our detailed trading plan. Discover rare strategic advantages at StarseedFX Free Trading Plan. - Free Trading Journal: Enhance performance and refine strategies with real metrics using advanced methods for progress tracking at StarseedFX Free Trading Journal. - Smart Trading Tool: Optimize your trading with automated lot size calculations, insights, and order management at StarseedFX Smart Trading Tool. Want more of these behind-the-scenes insights? Join us over at the StarseedFX community, where we’re always one step ahead, with exclusive analysis, tools, and resources—your backstage pass to Forex trading success. —————– Image Credits: Cover image at the top is AI-generated Read the full article

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duckprintspress · 4 years ago

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How can I return to writing after a long hiatus?

This post is based on a conversation we had in the Duck Prints Press LLC Discord, and all contributors comments have been used/paraphrased/integrated into this post with permission. The people who contributed ideas to this post are: @nottesilhouette, @ramblingandpie, @arialerendeair, @tryslora, @deansmultitudes, @theleakypen, Owlish Intergalactic, myself (I’m @unforth), and one who preferred to remain anonymous.

Few things are harder than coming back to writing after a long period of not writing. Being creative takes a lot of energy, and starting after not doing so for a period of time takes even more energy. The writers on our Discord had a really productive discussion, where we talked about strategies we’ve each personally used to help us get our writing mojo back. None of these methods work for everyone, but if you haven’t written in a while, maybe one of these will work for you!

How to Revive that Creative Writing Spark:

doing sprints with a friend - knowing you’re all in it together can really help!

talking with writing buddies about what you’re each working on - the shared enthusiasm can be really helpful,

journaling, about daily life, or about dreams you’ve had - turning the dream into something coherent can be a great strategy (or, don’t bother, and just write it however crazily it took place!)

pick a random story you wrote in the past and read a chapter, paragraph, or 500 word segment - and look at it as a reader, say things you liked about it, praise it, emphasize the good things about your own writing.

transcribe a song with lyrics you find inspiring, or crack open a favorite book and transcribe a few paragraphs. You can even do it with something you’ve written yourself!

set a low-pressure, low-word count deadline - make it public, if you’re the kind of person that helps, or keep it to yourself.

sign up for a zero-consequence challenge, such as a bingo, or the Duck Prints Press #drabbledaysaturday prompts on Twitter - something where no one will mind if you don’t succeed, but you might find some inspiration.

create a small goal, either daily, weekly, or monthly - it can be a time frame (I’ll write for 5 minutes a day!) or a word count (I’ll write 1,000 words a month!) or even something tiny (I’ll write one sentence a day!) or a public sharing goal (post a ficlet a day!) and then do your best to stick to it, and reward yourself when you succeed.

open your ask box or otherwise solicit short prompts - for example, do a “three sentence” meme (”send me a pairing and a trope and I’ll write a three sentence fill”) or a story title meme (”send me a story title and I’ll write a little about the story I’d create with that title”) or an emoji prompt (”send me three emojis and I’ll write a ficlet”) or make your own fun one that will bring you joy (one of our writers created a “name two characters and I’ll make them kiss in six sentences or less” meme that helped them a lot)

participate in a prompt month, something with no consequences for failure but with prompts that can inspire daily ficlet.

write without editing, and just throw what you create out into the world - anything to get the words flowing.

challenge yourself to write a drabble day, no more and no less.

try changing how or when you write - get a nice journal and write by hand, or if that’s your normal, try writing in a word document instead.

write at different times of day, and see if it’s easier for you over breakfast, or after lights out, or during your lunch break, or by stealing a few minutes while you’re “on the clock” at work.

make an attempt at different formats of writing - if you usually write prose, try a poem; if you usually write really long things, try a drabble.

look out your window, or find a place you like, and just describe what you see.

do some free association exercises - for example, use a random word generator (I use this one sometimes) and then write literally whatever word comes into your head next - keep going until you fill the page, or until it starts to turn into a story, or just until you don’t feel like it any longer.

pick a random sentence (the person who suggested this often uses “Just write anything”) to be the start of a story, and “pants” your way through whatever comes next, without worrying about grammar, continuity, logic, or much of anything.

plan ahead - schedule your writing time and don’t let yourself put it off (rewards for success are always good!) and/or visualize exactly what you want to write ahead so you’re ready when you sit down.

if you get hit by inspiration, don’t put it off - even if all you do is scrawl a sentence in your phone or on scratch paper between other tasks, get it out of your head. Even a single sentence is a creation!

get out of the spaces where your usual things are - go to a park, or on a hike, or in your backyard, or even a different room in your own home, and bring a journal or phone or laptop, and see what strikes you.

pick That Thing You Haven’t Been Letting Yourself Write and ignore all the things you Think You Should Be Writing and just...write what brings you joy

fanfiction can be very helpful, especially in canon using canon-compliant ships/characterizations - there’s no need to do the heavy lifting. Even if you just write the characters going to a grocery store, or talking about what movie they want to watch, or arguing over take out - something short and sweet that’s just for fun, with no expectations for yourself or anyone else.

alternatively, if you’re the type who writes better for others and you’re feeling down - knock out anything, even something short, and post it, and take joy even in a single like or kudos. Knowing even one person out there loved what you wrote can really help.

Any or all of these may help you, but there’s one final one that I, at least, think is the most important of all - and that’s helped me most.

FORGIVE YOURSELF. You have work in progress up. It’s okay to leave them. You told someone you’d write something for them. It’s okay not to. You have a deadline looming. It’s okay to ask for more time, or to withdraw, or - in the end - it’s even okay to ghost. You think what you’ve made is bad. It’s okay if it’s bad. You’ll never be able to create when you’re raking yourself over the coals. Everyone in fandom has “been there” - has missed deadlines, has left challenges, has abandoned works in progress, have reneged on a promise to a friend to write something. Until you forgive yourself, you’ll never be able to create anything, and isn’t even a single sentence that isn’t on that Big Important Thing better than no sentences on anything?

Forgive yourself, and find that spark, inspiration, muse, whatever you want to call it - and write things that bring you joy.

We believe in you!

YOU CAN DO IT!

#duck prints press #original content #writing advice

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bird-of-fyre · 3 years ago

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Empires SMP x Wynncraft AU

Been playing a bunch of Wynncraft (an MMO in MC co-owned and I think also created by Grian) and the two BIG plot devices in it are Corruption (Wyyn Province) and Decay (Gavel Province). Both are similar and have ties to the same catalyst.

What’s going on in Empires right now? Corruption. So my brain went brrr and we have this. Feel free to write for, make fanart, etc. with this AU just tag me so that I can see it!

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There are 2 realms in Wynncraft that are constantly at odds with each other. The Realm of Darkness (Dern) and the Realm of Light. When the two forces meet, corruption is formed and the battlefield of their war took place within the Nether. In Wynn, Human miners unearthed a Nether portal and entered, the magic within corrupting and changing them; they returned leading armies of undead that still terrorize the province today. In Gavel, a parasitic entity emerged from a Dern portal and began to infect the magic-enriched land with the Decay.

Corruption spreads like a weed through roots spanning under the entirety of Wynn; the only known force to stall it is Ice Magic. Decay spreads like an infection and slowly consumes the land, it is weak to Light Magic.

The land Empires SMP takes place on is going to be known as Empiria because I feel it deserves a name for this AU. A strange magic protects this land that is believed to be a result of the banishment of Corruption by the Gods before they fell into slumber. Empirians call it "Respawn Magic” as upon dying one is revived at perfect health (though scars may remain depending on the cause of death). Death to age is still a thing, however lifespans of most inhabitants are extended two decades with the exception of elves who live even longer.

Several Empires already existed before the present day crew, these being the following: Rivendell, Mythland, The Overgrown, The Ocean Empire, The Lost Empire, and Smallhold. The rest only came to rise in the past decade

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Characters:

Fwhip: A human that hails from the Wynn province. Him and his sister Gem lived in Detlas together as their parents died in a battle against the endless armies of undead. Fwhip was fascinated by the corruption in their land and sought to study it, perhaps maybe even find out a cure. Gem stopped him from this obsession, reminding him that those that went down that path all ended up becoming harbingers of the corruption. They moved to the land of Empiria shortly around the present day where Fwhip found the Grimlands and the crystalized redstone that tainted it drew his attention. Gem wasn’t fond of the idea but it was a different kind of corruption than that back home so she let him study it. Somehow manages to come off as unhinged yet still in complete control.

Gem: Hailing from Wynn, Gem and Fwhip left for new lands to escape the corruption and undead armies. She settled in a mountainous biome full of amethyst crystals so that she could keep an eye on her brother as his fascination with volatile crystalized redstone worries her. She knew basic fire magic pre-Emperia but now is a bit more adept in her powers and has also learned many more spells. She joined the Wither Rose Alliance with Fwhip and Sausage simply to keep the two chaotic gremlins in line.

Jimmy: A Cod-Hybrid from the Ocean Empire and the adopted brother of Lizzie. He left home to found his own empire in the nearby swamp with his sister’s well wishes. His kingdom is small, but he is a kind and generous ruler that doesn’t see himself above his subjects. While working on paths he found a human washed up on the shore in poor condition; this individual was Joel, a nobody from a far away land who really had just given up on any form of future. Jimmy tends to be the person that generally gets picked on by other rulers for having the smallest empire and because he’s very gullible. Close friends with Pix, who he eagerly loves hearing stories of Corkus from.

Joel: Originally from the port town of Nemract in Wynn, Joel tried to start a religion called Jeremyism in memorium of a donkey he lost to the corruption that never took off due to the Bovemists and their own religion. He cheated some pirates in gambling so they took him hostage and forced him to be part of their crew, not that he was complaining, it was way better than the life he had before. Unfortunately, this didn’t last very long as a battle against some rival pirates during a horrible storm ended with him getting tossed overboard. He awoke on the shore of a swamp where he encountered a cod-hybrid who, with their sister, helped him get back on his feet. After experiencing the Cod and Ocean Empires he decided to start his own in the mesa across the ocean so that he can remain close allies with the duo that saved his life. Him and Lizzie marry a few years later.

Joey: A parrot-hybrid that rules over the Lost Empire as its emperor. He is extremely flirtatious and has questionable morals, but despite this he does care for his people. Fascinated by supernatural forces such as immortality and corruption and also always is looking to grow more powerful in any way he can. He has wind magic but doesn’t tend to use it very much.

Kathrine: A fae whose ancestors were originally from the Realm of Light in a time before the Decay took root in Gavel and Dernic forces made their way into the said realm. When she learns of the origins of several new rulers she is surprised as she had only ever been told of Gavel and Dern. Her and Scott are close, given both their ancestral homes were in Gavel.

Lizzie: An axolotl hybrid who rules over the Ocean Empire. She is a generous and humble ruler who takes pride in he empire and her people. She found a young cod-hybrid caught in a fishermans net when she was still a princess and saved him, declaring him her new brother (which he was happy about). When she was asked to help with a human that had washed onto the shores of Jimmy’s empire she had not been expecting to fall in love with the stranger and is now married to Joel. Wields powerful water magic and takes nonsense from nobody (including her husband).

Pearl: The carefree ruler of Smallhold, an Empire that originally started out as a poor farming village that was struggling on hard times. Pearl is a nymph who took pity on the town and used her magic to help the village through hard times, eventually having them elect her as their queen. Despite her title, she prefers to see herself on equal terms as her people.

Pix: A human from the province of Corkus with great enthusiasm, ambition, and taste for the occasional mischief. He left the island province for new beginnings after accidentally breaking several Corkian laws that would have ended him in prison. His dedication to The Vigil is something he learned from interaction and time spent with the Avos; a race of bird humanoids that were the only inhabitants of Corkus before humans settled there. Pix is fantastic when it comes to metallurgy and uses this knowledge to his advantage when it comes to the copper and other metals he uses in his Empire.

Sausage: Born in the province of Fruma to a poor family Sausage always desired more and often had dreams about becoming a royal and learning magic as only they were allowed the luxury of such. He acted as the robin hood of Fruma for a time before he was eventually caught by the Fruman army and shipped off to Wynn as a soldier to aid the said province in their eternal war against the undead. Unlike most Fruman humans entering Wynn, Sausage did not loose his memories and took the first chance he got to stow away on a ship to new lands. Unfortunately, the ship in question was destroyed in a storm and he washed up onto the shores of Mythland (a smaller town without leadership at the time) and was made its king a year or so thereafter. Given he has no magical abilities of his own due to his origins, he turned to Blood Magic as it’s the closest he’ll ever get.

Scott: The elves of Rivendell originally hailed from Aldorei in Gavel, leaving to escape the Decay. Scott was young when they left for the new lands and, unfortunately, several of the fleeting group were lost to creatures of Dern and Decay; including his older brother, Xornoth. There had been no time to retrieve the bodies of the fallen so those that were left behind were assumed dead or infected. While cold and normally detached from the affairs of others, he does care about his fellow empires. He has light magic but struggles to wield it properly.

Shelby: Gone from her village Shelby returned to find it overun by the Decay and the monsters that come with it. Unable to do anything for her people, she left for new lands. Gavel’s best and brightest couldn’t find a cure for the Decay in their homeland so she hopes that maybe, in this new one, that she might find something to save her people.

Xornoth: Once an elf, now a twisted demonic entity with a lust for destruction. Wounded and separated from his family in an attack while attempting to leave Gavel, he was captured by an acolyte of Dern named Bak’al who brought him back to the realm of darkness. It is here that Xornoth was slowly and painfully corrupted in both mind and body, becoming yet another agent of the beast that governs the dark realm.

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kannra21 · 4 years ago

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Sniperhaul fanfic

ˡᵐᵃᵒ ᶦ ᶜᵃⁿ'ᵗ ᵇᵉˡᶦᵉᵛᵉ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᶦ'ᵐ ᵈᵒᶦⁿᵍ ᵗʰᶦˢ

Overhoe finally broke out of Tartarus after a very long time. However, he couldn't have done it without the help of a certain villain mistress. 😏 Who's she and why did she choose to help this terrible (x2) man? Find out bellow.

characters: overhaul (chisaki kai) x sniper lady

word count: 3k

warnings: angst, past memories, handless overhaul, hurt, comfort, gangs, yakuza, just girl taking care of her mans

notes: I'd like to thank the person responsible for proofreading this work bc I'm supposed to keep their identity a secret. 😎 Thank you once again! And of course, the manga and characters belong to Kohei Horikoshi. @meefal you were excited to see the final product so here you go, hope you like it. 🖤

✂-------------------------------------------------------

Overhaul couldn't remember how long he'd been there, he'd lost count weeks ago. The only thing he knew was that he was in "Tartarus", a prison located 5km off the coast of the Mainland. It may function like a conventional prison, but in reality, those who're deemed a severe threat toward the safety of the nation were locked up and monitored closely, regardless of whether their sentence has been decided on yet. The facility was divided into 6 levels, where the potential threat level of criminals was deemed "higher" the further underground you go. It's a prison where, once you enter, there's no chance of leaving.

He sat there in his cell, B10 being the lowest level in solitary confinement. It was too cold for his head to function and too dark for his eyes to see, with the small window above the prison doors being his only source of light. There was also an opening where prisoners received their meals, but considering that he lost his hands, the guards could easily enter without worrying too much for their well-being. They'd leave whatever they offered that day and give him a disgusted look before locking the doors after themselves. He couldn't see his reflection nor touch his face, he probably looked like crap by now. His skin was itching and he felt disoriented from all the germs occupying this space, it's been a while since he's gone out for some fresh air.

He was practically Quirkless and yet they locked him out in the worst, most dreadful place the isolation block had to offer. He couldn't even feed himself properly, he couldn't do anything by himself whatsoever. But there was only one thing left to him; he spent days and days thinking about pops, Chrono, yakuza and everything he could have if it weren't for those stupid heroes-- no, if it weren't for his plan that so grandiosely failed. It made him feel miserable, desperate even, and with grief soon followed acceptance. It was all his fault, and he needed to live with this burden for the rest of his life. Because of him, pops is still handicapped to the bed somewhere, wherever the heroes might have taken him.

He stood up and started beating the cell with his leg, curing his frustrations. He didn't know why he was doing it, it was irrational and he's hurting himself unnecessarily, but for some reason it made him feel lighter. At least he could transfer some of his inner pain to the outside world. Other criminals laughed at his patheticness, especially since they knew why the guards were allowed to enter his cell. They shouted that it was impossible to escape, but he wasn't trying to. He knew that it was useless a long time ago.

Midnight came and all the prisoners mostly fell asleep. Overhaul, however, couldn't sleep a wink. Because of the dark room he spent most of his days in, he lost his sense of time so he was pacing around, deep in thought. He couldn't dream of anything nice anyways.

"Can't fall asleep either?" a feminine voice could be heard from the other side. Wait. They allowed women here? What could she have possibly done to deserve such punishment?

He leaned his back on the doors and slid down to the floor, trying to find the right words.

"Yes." he sighed, enthusiasm lacking in his voice "But it's not like I need you to talk about my problems."

"Hm, whatever. Go beat your head against the bars. Fall unconscious, loser."

The man snorted, which might as well be his first time he ever did that.

"Well, this certainly sounds effective. It's not like I have anything to lose anyways."

"Hey." the tone of her voice was earnest, and it aroused further questions in his jumbled up head.

"What?"

"We're going to get out of here."

Is she being serious now? "Really? Because as far as I know, we're locked out here for good. We don't even know the severity of our sentences. They can do whatever they want with us."

"Not quite. You know that they're being supervised by 'The Hearts and Mind' party offshoots. They can’t do a thing to us as long as they have their heads to the pikes."

This might be true, but he didn't believe in anything the government's been telling them lately. It's only a matter of time before they switch their plans and play by their own rules, because stabbing people in the back was the only thing they've ever been good at.

"How did you end up here?"

Oh the long-awaited question. She wondered when he'd ask.

"It's not like I need you to talk about my problems."

He smiled, he liked this vicious side of hers. But he also realized that she could be nice as well because if that wasn't the case, she wouldn't spread promises of the escape. At least that's what he thought.

"Sorry about that."

"It's okay. We've all been here for a very long time, now weren't we? We lose our cool and act like total assholes."

"Direct and straight to the point I see." his deadpan voice could be heard from the other side of the bars.

"'Been raised this way, for the better or worse." it didn't sound like she was bragging, yet it felt like she was just talking about herself, honest and confident, to cover up what she felt was wrong. The incoming topic which she'd rather avoid.

The villainess didn't want to open up about her past, so she just answered his question.

"I killed people beyond counting, following AFO's orders. He always wished to become the world's greatest demon lord and thus promised us enormous change in the hero society. So in order to achieve that, he needed his underlings. And that's how I ended up here."

"You were loyal till the end."

"You know what they say; there can be no progress nor achievement without certain sacrifice."

Wise beyond her years and just as sad. He wondered how her face looked like, how the world's been treating her.

"I had my own sacrifices as well."

"Do you regret them?"

...

"I do."

Now it was her turn to snort "Really? And I thought that people situated this low couldn't have regrets. You remember what they said about us. 'Beasts in human clothing', 'Simply dreadful beings'."

He felt insulted, maybe the things she said were true but it's not like he was anything similar to these pigs he shared the same air with, unfortunately.

"I regret hurting the person important to me. The old man who once took me in when I was very young. He was the infamous boss of Shie Hassaikai."

Something clicked in her, it's such a small world they're living in, "Yakuza? I know you guys. We used to trade with you back in the days."

"Todou Gang?"

"You said it."

"But... you were a force to be reckoned with. One day you just collapsed and not a single trace could be found. According to certain sources, there was no way anyone could determine the exact cause of your downfall. So what happened?"

"I killed them all."

...

"AFO told me to kill them to prove my loyalty to him and, of course, to make sure that there was no one I could turn to other than himself."

For some questionable reasons, and he didn't dare to admit that it was empathy he felt towards a random stranger and a former gang member he shared some history with, Overhaul wanted to fill the silence that lingered between them. Perhaps, because he felt guilty for making her reveal more than what she initially intended.

"I used pops' niece, a 6-year-old girl who had an extraordinary Quirk; it allowed her to rewind a person's body back to a certain state. That means she could put a body back to before it was injured or before the person even developed a Quirk. With that, I wanted to create a Quirk-erasing drug to get rid of the Quirk society altogether and to make sure that yakuza could rise once again. I cut her skin every day to take blood samples and to test her regenerative abilities. However, pops didn't approve of it, so I handicapped him to the bed and planned on waking him up the moment I realized my plan, to make him proud of the achievement. Unfortunately, it didn't play out as I wanted and I never reached him."

The silence followed and the woman wore a disheartening smile on her face. It's not the answer she expected, she didn't ask for another sad story from another messed up person she's met in her life. But the intentions were pure and for her, it was good enough.

"We both fought for something only to lose it all, huh?" she laughed, but it was prominent in her tone that it was bittersweet.

"At least you're brought here in one piece."

"At least you can still revive your parent."

Were they comforting each other? Were they jealous of each other? Were they wallowing in self-pity? They couldn't tell. The only thing they certainly could was the embarrassment they felt from the moment they realized that some of the prisoners were eavesdropping and making fun of their vulnerabilities. See? That's what they hated the most about opening up about themselves; they were worried about their feelings being perceived as a joke. The only way to protect themselves was to rise up the walls and never let anyone get closer, except they didn't regret exchanging a word or two, as long as it was the two of them.

The next day, 8:34PM Mainland-side entrance, the guardians of 'The Bronze Gate' announced a code red security lockdown. Panic and shouting could be heard from across the hall and the security alarm announced the potential danger.

"Close any and all passageways on each floor. All workers are to enforce strict measures to maintain order."

"The surveillance system is down! It seems like we've been hit by some sort of EMP attack!"

Static waves were spreading around the metal frames and the prison doors of the isolation block unlocked. Overhaul could hear the commotion outside and the villains leaving their cells in a hurry, but as much as he tried, he couldn't push the heavy doors open.

"3 seconds until we're back online- wait... What the... With the system down we can't monitor the inside!"

"Nice, 3 seconds be damned." he beat the door with his legs, pushed the surface with his shoulders, leaned all of his weight on the godforsaken thing just so it could finally open. Nothing. It seems like he lost a couple of pounds during his stay here. He couldn't believe his eyes, this couldn't be happening to him. After all this time of patient waiting and hoping to meet pops once again, it turns out he'd be the only one still trapped and all because he didn't have any hands. He panicked, he really couldn't decide on what to do next. But then he remembered-

"Go beat your head against the bars, loser."

That's it! This might be his only chance to escape! He didn't have much time left though, he could hear the shooting nearby so he definitely needed to hurry.

"The system won't come back on!! The ones in solitary confinement are breaking out!! Inside!"

"Control unit's on site!! Execute lockdown in the isolation block!"

"Follow procedure! If even one of them steps a foot outside their cell-"

"Fire!! Open fire!!"

Muscular threw whatever he could find in this messed up place back at them, excitement prominent in his big smile "You ain't gonna kill me with those puny toys! So how about you show me the exit already?!"

Other villains were joining him, still overwhelmed by the sudden freedom they've been given "Dammit... After all that time..."

"Meat..." Moonfish mumbled as he cut his opponents with his blade-like teeth.

The villain lady joined them in the run, still carefully examining her surroundings in case they were tricked into something, "The system isn't responding to my Quirk. 'Guess Tartarus really is falling."

As she was running down the corridor, she could hear beating noises coming from one of the doors. It sounded dull so the person must have been using their head.

"Eh, don't tell me the idiot actually listened to my advice. He must be desperate."

She came to the doors and turned the circular lock in a hurry. She really didn't want to stay in this place any longer, but she couldn't leave him behind either. It's not like she could use him for anything since he was basically handless and Quirkless so why was she doing it? She didn't have an answer. Maybe it was their talk from the other day, maybe because they were both gang members with a history, maybe because of her regrets and her wish to do something right for once. Or maybe because she was just this kind. Nah, this couldn't be it, she never did anything in her life that didn't require a certain purpose. She cast her heart aside a long time ago and did what was necessary for the accomplishment of the mission. It would be weird if she suddenly started using her heart again, now wouldn't it? She was AFO's personal assassin, there was simply no way.

He came out of the room with eyes wide in puzzlement. He was finally free and ready to find pops so he could possibly revive him and try to fix things as much as he could.

They looked at each other for the first time. They never said it aloud, godforbid, but they liked the other's eyes. And perhaps the eyes were a window to a person's soul, their broken souls, tormented by the life's temptations. They were still so young, probably in their twenties, and yet they looked older at the same time. Maybe because of the seriousness in their faces, their stronger stance, the way they defied their fate. They were destined to fall apart, no one would argue with it, but circumstances drove them to take action and rise from the bottomless chasm. And now they had each other.

"We need to get out of here," she stated and pulled him by the sleeve that hung loosely from his shoulder. They escaped Tartarus and raided a small shop near the coast to change clothes and to mingle into the public unnoticed. She quickly picked out a dress and threw herself at work while Overhaul was still standing by the shop display, looking out for the potential intruders.

He couldn't erase the thought of this being some sort of a really weird first date; the girl coming out of the stall and the guy examining her looks. He shook his head, he never had this kind of thoughts in his entire life. He needed to pull himself together.

The bob-hair came out and adjusted the ammo on her utility belt. He looked at her from the corner and she was stunning; intimidating with a tad bit of femininity in design. He stood there and watched how good it fit her curvy form. The thoughts wandering in his head sounded so wrong, terribly wrong. He needed to bring himself to stop.

"Oh right, I almost forgot." she took a shirt off the shelf and came to him, showing him the garment in her hands "You need a little help, right?"

"Sure.'' his voice was small and he stood still while she undid his buttons. Maybe from the outside he looked completely calm, but from the inside he was a complete mess. He looked at her face and wondered if she knew, the kind of effect she's having on him. She raised her head and he looked to the side, there's no way he could look her in the eyes at this point. He hoped she didn't notice.

"You like this one, don't you?" she asked, filling the awkward silence.

"Looks don't matter, the most important thing is to change and avoid getting caught." She looked annoyed. Great. He wanted to shove his head though the wall. Wait… Why was he thinking that?

"I choose the clothes I like. It makes me feel better in my skin."

"You look good in it."

She looked at him surprised and he quickly corrected himself "the dress looks good."

"Sure." she trailed off and put the new shirt over his shoulders. She could feel his muscles tensing. This was probably because of the cool air, she assured herself.

"Why did you break me out of Tartarus? It's not like I could be of any use to you."

She buttoned up his shirt and fixed the wrinkled parts on the garment, hand accidentally brushing over the left side of his chest, feeling his heartbeat.

Well... that was a surprise.

"I thought that maybe you could be of some use to the demon lord. Not Quirk-wise, but you may offer a valuable set of information. Something that the demon lord would appreciate greatly." she could feel it slowing down and her heart dropped just as much.

"But also because I... liked you."

He looked at her incredulously and she smiled. She pinched him to bring him out of the trance and he complained. "Don't be awkward, say something."

"I like you too... I, this is my first time I ever said this to anyone. It's weird."

She slapped him gently on the shoulder and he reached to take it but, yea, no hands.

"What the hell?"

"You're the one who's weird. But I guess that I like you this way." she stood on her toes and kissed his cheek "Ew, you should definitely shave though. No doubt about it."

The former yakuza boss swore; he'll never understand women. But for some reason he couldn't deny that he was particularly drawn to this one. He wondered if pops would approve of her.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #overhaul #chisaki kai #sniperhaul #shie hassaikai #ch 311 #bnha spoilers #bnha fic #crack ship #parody

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tawakkull · 3 years ago

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ISLAM 101: Spirituality in Islam: Part 78

Chaos and the mystical world of faith

Today, everyone breathes resentment, swallows hatred, curses all that is deemed to be an enemy with a fixed and determined passion, as if programmed for fury. The ink that flows on the pages of newspapers, the pictures that are broadcasted over the television, the electromagnetic waves that resonate on the radio scratch our ears like illomened screams emitting from a variety of places—in the mountains or on the water, in the valleys or up in the hills; they strike our eyes like photographs that make us shudder and they open wounds in our hearts. These epics of hate that we hear of day and night and that startle us, all these illomened screams, make us sick at heart, and yet the people who seek a cure for these ills are few indeed. Their thoughts go in different directions, but they always seem to arrive at the same point: money, financial prosperity, and success.

… emotions base, desire consuming The meaning that flows over from the gaze is full of contempt for the subject of God. Akif

Very few are exempt from such a turbulent point of view; no difference remains between what is collective and what is not, between capitalism and communism and no difference remains between these and liberalism. The distance in nature—between those who attach their lives to the considerations of eating and drinking, resting, and earning money, having a good time in general, and, other beings who are obliged due to the unchanging character of their nature—becomes smaller day by day. The basic differences between the two sides vanish into thin air one by one, and humanity seeks new directions, despite its own nature.

Religion, piety, morals, free thought, our own perceptions of art are thought little of; power has become so ulcerated as to be unrecognizable, fantasy has taken on the image of ideas and these disagreeable ideas are being forced upon others. Indeed, I have to say that I have a hard time understanding the inner drama of such a terrible fanaticism. Nowadays, when enlightenment has become widespread, when intellectualism is at its apex, the fact that science and ignorance should meet at the same spot, contrary to the distance that one would expect to exist between them, suggests a dark complicity and makes the existence of a serious problem obvious. Such a contradiction gives us the impression that the emotional will of some people is miles ahead of their intellectual and logical will.

I believe that in such a dark period, when opposites have become intertwined, when in different sections of society chaos is heaped upon chaos, when dark acts of different origins have darkened the face of the Earth, when what is underground reigns over what is above, when polemics and dialectics have become so popular with so many, when hearsay, especially through the use of media, is welcomed as acceptable merchandise, when the lives of others has begun to be the sustenance of our existence, when the soul of unity has been shaken and different groups are scattered everywhere, when hopes are shattered and wills are paralyzed, when souls give up the fight against desire, there is a burning need to turn toward our own spiritual sphere and listen to our own inner world, to tear ourselves from the dark atmosphere of the bodily realm and sail into the magical atmosphere of a hearty and spiritual life. Those who do not fall into lethargy and return to themselves as soon as possible will feel the magic and charm of their own inner world; the unfortunate who fail to return and remain in between, or who remain on the other side, continue to resent, hate, slander, lie, and feel contempt, they continue in the dissolution and obstinate disagreement which they have practiced until this day, and even in climates where the sun continues to shine they will dream of dark things, they will mutter dark thoughts, always seeking dark places in which to hide and dark corners in which to live.

One hopes that they would be able to feel the joy of the blessed days and nights that we experience, when showers of light reach everywhere. One hopes they too would abandon the heresy, atheism, dissension, and sedition in their hearts and that they would be able to respect the chosen understanding and stance of every single soul! Maybe one day these wishes will be fulfilled, but the selfproclaimed enemies of God, the prophets, religion and piety—once having breathed nothing but materialism, having gone into a frenzy denying divinity, and having plunged into the quicksand of anarchy and nihilism—will never be able to breathe this reviving air. Oh dear Lord, had you only made yourself known to them and released the chains from their hearts!

In every community and society there are people who are inclined to abandon their faith and there have been many times when such people have spun out of control; other communities and societies do not have such powerful places to seek refuge when faced by these abysses and weaknesses as we have. Indeed, they have thoughts which soothe, beliefs which reconcile, days and nights which tremble with joy, festivals and carnivals; but, these days, these nights, these festivals, these carnivals are devoid of any holiness. They are like fireworks, shining for a moment and then are gone, giving only instantaneous pleasure; they are ephemeral and physical, not promising anything in the way of spiritual joy. Indeed, in their worlds you cannot feel the greatness of faith to God, nor can you feel that souls are free from the boundaries of time and space; everything starts with a false and transitory happiness, and takes place in a delirium of flesh. All is then transformed into painful memories, regrettable dreams, and disappointed hopes, and finally everything simply disappears.

In this spiritual atmosphere where we are closely bound to God, every sound, every word, every action is felt like a nursery rhyme and listened to like a melody. These shower down upon us like the rain; we soak up the bounties of these showers. The moon changes its form every night, as if signaling particular times and happy hours, the sun moves to a new spot on the horizon at every dawn, awakening our feelings and thoughts in a new period of time, causing our dreams to follow it, presenting memories to us that resemble the river Kawthar, promised to us in Heaven. The past becomes like a veil of many colors draped before our eyes, the happy future is the apex of our dreams, waiting for us with open arms and we, who have been freed from the narrow confines of time, live the multiplicity of yesterdaytodaytomorrow simultaneously and, like the angels, feel all the joys of surpassing time. It is impossible for those who are not fed from the same source as we, those who do not share the same feelings and thoughts as us, to feel and understand the holy depths in which we lose ourselves or the happiness and joy that we sip like the rivers of Paradise.

Our faith, our horizons of thought, and our manner—characteristics of the fortunate, but at the same time belonging to a littlewronged nation of this part of the world—have become, through being formed and reformed in the mold of the collective personality, greatly refined and adorned with universal values; this is a situation that exists in no other community; this is so much so that those who spend time with us need not stay long to be aware of this difference. The truth is that in these differences, the holy sadness of our hearts and the enthusiasm of our souls, like water running between the rocks, is felt and heard. Indeed, those who listen to what we have to say always hear the melodies of the pain of separation voiced along with hope; they hear the notes of reunion, of the sweet and eternal search for home in our intonation and manner. Indeed, while on the one hand we murmur “Oh, cup bearer, I have burnt in the flames of love, give me a cup of water,” on the other we say “I have dipped my finger in and tasted the honey of love, give me a cup of water,” and thus we are able to turn our grief into smiles. Our tongues speak sometimes of love and sometimes of weariness; though love and weariness cause pain to others, in them we always hear, like Rumi, the poem of longing for the realm that we have left to come here. Love and weariness to us are like a plea from the tongue of the soul, stemming from a sorrowful desire for eternity. Since our beliefs and feelings take us to the magical worlds of beyond, we almost always feel sadness and joy intertwined; we hear the sounds of crying and laughing as different notes of the same melody. We respond to the troubled heaving of our breasts with smiles on our faces, as our eyes overflow with tears, our conscience takes upon a red hue with the roses of the Iram[1] gardens.

Even though it may not be easy for every individual, our connection to God is the most natural attitude that we can adopt; our relation with Him is like a spell that transforms all the moments of our life into enthusiasm and joy. Our hearts that beat with feelings toward Him fill and refill with the dream of this gaze; we are able to live through the bitterest autumns in our hearts because we have the joy of spring. Our souls adopt the most enviable attitudes with instincts of particular feelings and joy that are the result of our connection with the AllGlorious One; thus transformed, they make us feel a refreshed enthusiasm, a new opening and revelation, even at moments when we are filled with sadness and grief. Pleasure or sadness, revelation or sorrow, all these emotions undergo metamorphoses in our hearts that beat with faith and speak to us of the most natural pleasures and the most realistic expectations. It is a fact that we, too, experience interconnected moments of ease and hardship, sweet weeks and bitter days, light and darkness which come and pass, like day and night. However, we sip the unsurpassable benevolence and joys from the hands of all these tribulations, because we have our beliefs, our connection to the Just One and our hopes! Those who do not recognize the trials and pleasures to be the product of the same will writhe in neverending agony, while in our own atmosphere we see clearly that everything will be transformed into deep compassion. Taste a whole life, with its bitter and sweet facets like Kawthar, in everything that we eat and drink, at every place that we inhabit, with all the beautifully divine discoveries of our own inner world, with all of their different wavelengths, feel our sorrows shrink in the face of happiness, feel our pain melt away in pleasure and feel how our lives flow into glazed cisterns in a spectrum of colors. Our mortality is transformed into eternity; we exude smiles even when we cry.

In our world, the beliefs and the expectations that emerge from the heart of those beliefs are so intertwined with our lives that each chapter of our lives lends us the wings of the station of prayer and takes us to the gate of the Hereafter. It takes us there and lets our hearts drink of the beauties of heaven. In this way, we feel as if we are inhaling the scents of heaven. Even if we should let ourselves be swept along by our daily lives, the calls for prayer, songs that exalt God, the various sounds of prayer, the recitation of the names of God, those who give Him thanks, calling out His Uniqueness, letting this spill from the windows of the mosques, all draw us to their climate; they paint our souls with their hues, they give a tambourlike voice to our hearts, they make them sigh like a flute and excite them with the happiness of music. These sounds excite our souls and we are charmed by the mysteries pertaining to God, the charm of these mysteries which comes galloping from the depths of our inner world and which spreads to all our senses, this charm which tints the gardens of heaven in our thoughts and which flows past our lips like cascades of inspiration. Thus charmed, we stand awestruck.

This charm, this recognition of the mysteries pertaining to God, reaches a higher level on the blessed days and nights when limitless abundance and bounty are showered upon us. This is true to such an extent that everything around us ascends in a state of joy, every corner takes on a spiritual hue and the excitement of our souls, aiming at metaphysical destinations, reaches its apex, or in Sufi terms, our souls reach the highest heaven of maturity. To the degree that we can hear and listen to what is all around us, we too, rejoice like children who feel as if they are in the fair grounds of joy; thus we experience the happiness and joy of a feast day.

In such a world, the dawn flows into our houses from the doors and windows like an awaited guest; the evening comes into our private chambers like a lover and sits by us; the night clings to us with its associations of reunion with the Confidant; and in every valley hands are raised up toward Him in prayer, ready to receive the gifts that will come from Him, assuming a state of metaphysical tension with the power of the soul, sighing, saying “Hold my hand dear Confidant, hold it, for I cannot do without You.”

In such a world, the prayer roars like the booming voices of Gulbang hymns[2] and echo like the voice and breath of the divine depths; the warm solitude of the night envelopes our souls like silk; our pulses beat with the excitement of one who has received good tidings. Perhaps some of us keep singing His praises, come rain or shine, like the nightingale that breaks its heart in an effort to express the ideal rhythm for its emotions with the most touching of sounds. In a word, everyone is humming a melody with neverending agony and joy, neverfading love and excitement, listening to the shivering of their souls and letting others hear it too. Everyone sighs with the fever of love and makes other people feel it too. Yes, as they reflect on the excitement in their souls and the inspiration of their hearts, expressing themselves one last time, they become the mouthpiece for the feelings shared by all and they are able to speak of the hidden meanings that they want to speak of but fail to verbalize.

The horizon of living yesterdaytodaytomorrow at the same time with such a degree of faith and hope, of love and recognition of the mysteries that pertain to God gives such a depth to life that each heart in the orbit of the hereafter finds itself wrapped up in the melodious harmony of emotions and ideas and is freed from the limiting, stifling effects of matter. I believe that the strongest basis of all human relations, the purest source of all pleasures, and the fountain of all love, longing, attraction, and gravity is this faith and hope. Every disciple of the heart who attains this faith and hope can experience and feel the state of being outside of time, with the ability to sense all of its depths.

Indeed, to the extent that one can attain this view, one can feel existence in a different manner, evaluate things in a different way and melt in on oneself with the color, taste, aroma and accent of manifestations from the Eternal; these attributes pervade everything and people can reach a second existence with a new “birth after death.”[3] During such joyful hours, when the internal gaze is focused on that which is behind the visual scene of existence, one feels all the joys of being. One feels as if one has taken a shower in wisdom, as if one is freed from the weight of all things that are alien to one. The distant heavens shower blessings down upon these hearts, hearts thirsty for love and galloping with longing and affection; all hearts that live in fear of drying up are quenched. Celestial flowers flourish in these showers adorned with dreams!

Some of us may not be able to comprehend the state—a state which becomes a succession of struggle (to come over the darkness with its all connotation) and dawn—of these people of faith and horizon; but all these are phenomena of the heart, soul and emotions. Living through the countless revelations of life, no one but the active heroes of the dawn and of the great strife can understand this love, enthusiasm, poetry, and music poured into our souls by the Eternal One. Those who do not understand this will not be able to understand us, either. Those who remain distant to this fine and delicate life live in the darkness of this distance, while the comprehension of those who have found a position from where they can view the truth in such a way that it appears as obvious as it really is always feel this gift in all its wavelengths, sip it like the rivers of Paradise and live their earthly lives as if in Heaven.

Who knows how many more times we will speak of this neverending pleasure and joy, in the delight of a festival, of a feast day! How ever many more times we may speak of it—the faults of the speaker’s mode of expression aside—we will still listen with pleasure and try to share it with others.

[1] A place mentioned in the Qur’an (al Fajr 89:7-8), “… the city of Iram, with lofty pillars; the like of which were not produced in all the land.” [2] Hymns sung in the mosque in unison by the congregation. [3] The change communicated along these lines is not to be related to reincarnational notions.

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dramaticsnakes · 4 years ago

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The Revived - Chapter 2: Connected

This is chapter 2 of the Dream SMP multichapter fic @rainbowbutterfrosting and I wrote together! I hope you’ll enjoy!

Thank you to @ r0w3n-1n-d0ugh for beta-reading this chapter.

AO3

Read in order (on Tumblr)

Characters in this chapter: Wilbur, Ghostbur, Technoblade

Word count: 3268

Cw: arguments, yelling, insults, miscommunications, recklessness, mentioned suicidal behavior, cursing, mentions of crying, mentions of food, jokes about drugs

Fic summary: Wilbur was alive, and it was such a magnificent feeling, that made his mind spark with anticipation. It didn’t take long, however, for Wilbur to realize that this new breath of life, was not just his own. An echo-y voice hides in the back of his mind, and before he knows it, the transparent version of him he saw at the endless train station, is a lot more ingrained than he’d expected him to be.

And Wilbur really shouldn’t care. Because he’d be damned, if he spent the life he’d awaited for so long, babysitting a lost cause of a ghost, stuck in the very same limbo Wilbur spent so long in. It was an even exchange, and one Wilbur wasn’t going to mess with. Why exactly he ends up setting out to get the ghost out of his mind, in order to save the both of them, however, is beyond him. And perhaps Wilbur’s past isn’t as easy to leave behind, as he’d hoped it would be.

Wilbur had barely acknowledged his surroundings until they’d made it to the house, tucked in among the mountains and the snow. Once Phil opened the door, Wilbur groggily wandered inside, recognizing the smells, and the familiar furniture, that had changed quite a bit, but still held the same atmosphere somehow. Wilbur didn’t have a home, but this house with all the strained emotions and uncomfortable attachments related to it, was probably the closest he would get. For now, of course, because Wilbur had plans, even if he couldn’t think of them at that moment.

As they entered the home, Phil turned to Wilbur, with narrowed eyes, wrinkling his nose. “No offense, mate, but your eye bags are deeper than the hole of L'Manburg. When have you last slept?”

"Haha, good one," Wilbur said, absentmindedly taking his first steps up the stairs.

Phil had hesitated, his eyebrows furrowed. "Wil, please tell me you've had some kind of sleeping schedule since you've returned."

"And I wished I had a house when I returned back here, we don't always get what we want." Wilbur had responded with a shrug, because it didn’t matter, really. Wilbur was alive, and he didn’t have to count the days anymore. He stumbled, grabbing the nearest stationary object he could reach to prevent himself from falling on the stairs. Phil sent him a concerned look.

Before he knew it, Wilbur had found himself in a room with a little bed that he wished wasn’t as appealing as it was. The mattress was soft, accompanied by the sheets, and Wilbur was brutally reminded that he hadn’t truly seen a bed for thirteen and a half years. Soon, he was tucked underneath a duvet and felt himself drifting off into a dreamless slumber, which was far better than the nightmares he’d half-expected.

He woke up to a plate of food, sat up, and ate a few bites before he fell asleep again. He wasn’t certain how much time had passed whenever he dared open his eyes. He should get up! He should face the world he’d been denied for so long, but getting up meant so many things. He had so little time to finish his work, though the darkness called to him, like a friend he never wanted to leave.

And the voice was there too, unfortunately, whenever he woke up. The cries, the whines, and the words that became clearer and clearer. Wilbur held his eyes open for a long time, as if he was in a staring contest with the ceiling, as the cries refused to settle. “Ugh, would you shut up for one second.” he groaned.

When the cries immediately ceased, Wilbur tensed up.

“You can… You can hear me?” was all Wilbur heard now, and he stayed completely silent. “Please.” the voice added after a short while, “It’s so lonely here.”

Wilbur almost feared his heart had stopped once again before he whispered: “Ghostbur…” it wasn’t a question, nor a statement. He wasn’t certain what it was, but perhaps he shouldn’t have said it.

“Yes!” the voice said, giggling with more relief than Wilbur had ever heard from anyone else, “It’s me, Ghostbur! And you’re Alivebur, right?”

“Alivebur?” Wilbur chuckled to himself, “I’m certainly alive, but I typically go by Wilbur.” If Wilbur could hear someone smile, he would describe it as the sound of Ghostbur’s voice.

“Oh, I’m sorry! It’s been a while since I’ve talked with anyone… Gets quite lonely here. Hey, where are you?”

“Phil’s upstairs. Maybe you weren’t here often. He had to make a bit of room up here since he didn’t expect my arrival.”

Minutes went by without a response from Ghostbur. Just as Wilbur was about to ask if he was still there, he heard the friendly voice again, “But… I’m sorry but this doesn’t make much sense to me. I- I’ve been to Phil’s house, and this doesn’t look like a house of any kind.”

Wilbur made a confused noise. “I don’t know if ghosts are constantly on weed or some other shit, but it’s pretty live laugh and love in here. Spruce shelves with some nicknacks and those little windows halfway covered in snow. Hey- I just realized. The windows are made out of spruce fences because Dad can’t see glass! That’s sorta neat.” Wilbur felt proud of his realization, even if someone else probably realized it before him.

Ghostbur’s voice on the other hand held a slight amount of fear, “Nono, there’s… I’m not really sure what this whole place is. It’s this big cylinder tube. It’s… It’s gray and there’s some benches here, but there’s also this really long tunnel! I tried walking to the end, but I- I don’t think there is one.” Wilbur’s heart dropped when he heard that. “Ghostbur… brown benches with some shitty lights in the ceiling?”

“Yes!” Ghostbur let out a soft gasp, “Have you been here before? Are we on some long-distance phone line? I- I don’t see a phone here.”

Wilbur thought for a moment, “It’s… It’s more than a phone line.” He should’ve remembered already, but his head was groggy. The transparent version of him, tears streaming down his face, almost as if they were burning him. The one who took his place on the platform. Wilbur didn’t know how to break the news to his Ghost counterpart. “I think you’re in my limbo.”

Ghostbur giggled, “I love limbo! I’m not very good at it though, whenever I play the pole just goes through me.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes at Ghostbur’s train of thought, “Nono, it’s… a little more serious than that.” Wilbur’s words became more spaced out, trying his best to avoid the actual topic.

“Does the bar actually hit me now?”

Wilbur awkwardly laughed, “No, it’s-” he quietly groaned from frustration, he’d never been good at breaking bad news to someone. “There’s no limbo bar.”

“That’s silly. How are we going to play limbo, with no limbo bar?”

Wilbur sighed, Ghostbur deserved to know, “You’re-”

“I know,” Ghostbur’s words were covered in child-like excitement, “we can just pretend there’s a limbo bar! I’ll go under it first.” There was silence for a few moments. “I did it! Now it’s your turn.”

“Ghostbur, this isn’t some kind of game.”

“It is though! I can��t find a dictionary, but if you try lookin’ in one of those, you-” Ghostbur quietly gasped, “Do you not know how to play limbo? Oh, you poor thing.”

When Wilbur spoke, his voice was louder than he meant it, venom dripping off each syllable, “You’re in prison. You’re never getting out and you’re stuck there!”

The silence that extended between them was louder than Wilbur could ever yell. “Ghostbur, I’m-”

“Wilbur?”

Wilbur jumped from the sudden noise, looking over and seeing Technoblade at the other end of the room. He seemed confused, which Wilbur thought must’ve been from the thought of him being alive and well, but it didn’t take him long to realize it must’ve been from talking- and yelling- to himself.

“Is Techno with you?! How is he?” Ghostbur excitedly squealed. Not now, Wilbur responded in his head, but Ghostbur must’ve not been able to hear it as he rambled off other questions. Through his babbling, he could hear mentions of Tubbo and Ranboo, but most of it was muddled together from Ghostbur’s cheerfulness.

“Hi, Techno!” Wilbur said too loudly. “How are you? I uh- hope you’re- it’s all going well.”

Techno raised an eyebrow, “I, uh… I guess it is. You’re back and stuff.”

Wilbur nodded, “Yeah, yeah I am.”

Ghostbur jumped in, “Techie, it’s been forever! What adventures have you been up to?”

A rough silence extended between the three, time feeling more present by the second.

Ghostbur chuckled and whispered, “I think Tech is ignoring me like you were.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes which only made Technoblade even more suspicious of the newly revived man in front of him.

“You alright? Phil told me you nearly died from hypothermia. Probably not the best way to reunite with your father.” Techno snorted quietly.

Ghostbur’s voice turned sadder, “But, I- that didn’t happen. I saw it myself, Phil gave you an enchanted golden apple and you guys hugged. Nothin’ bad happened, you did look a little uncomfortable though.”

That caught Wilbur slightly off guard, though he couldn’t quite respond properly or ask for more information. He nodded bashfully, “Yeah… uncomfortable is a word to describe it.”

“Yeah… hey, Phil told me to show you to the portal and stuff. He doesn’t want you dying again.” Although Techno didn’t say ‘literally,’ Wilbur could hear it clearly.

“Oh, Don’t worry! I can show him where it is! I’ve followed Ranboo through those portals a few times. He’s really nice. He seemed a little worried last time I saw him though, but Tubbo was there and he was also worried. Maybe we could give him a visit. We can visit both of them!” Wilbur heard quick echo-y claps, presumably from Ghostbur’s enthusiasm.

“Mhm, sounds like a plan.”

“Great…” Techno said, and Wilbur started to notice that there was something hesitant in the other’s posture. Something awkward, and restricted, though Wilbur found it difficult to place why. “Let’s go,” he said, gesturing with his head towards the door, and that was when Wilbur had no choice but to leave the comforting darkness. Perhaps it wasn’t too appealing after all because Wilbur had been alone for so long, so maybe it was time he saw how much the world had changed without him. Wilbur stood up from the bed and followed Technoblade out the door.

“Oh! I guess Techno is taking us to the portal after all. That’s great! Aliv- I mean, Wilbur! Haven’t you missed this place too? Did you even see this place, while you were alive? Did they-”

“Shh,” Wilbur said quickly and harshly, closing his eyes.

“Heh?” Techno said questioningly.

Wilbur’s eyes widened. “Oh, nothing! I was just thinking about something.”

“Thinking about something hush-able?” Techno said with a hesitant smile, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were hearing voices too.”

Wilbur chuckled awkwardly, though he didn’t say anything else on the matter.

He hardly had the time to consider what it was like to see Technoblade again because Ghostbur was certainly an unexpected turn of events. Wilbur had simply assumed that hearing the cries and the begging words had been a side-effect of the revival. One he would get rid of eventually.

Prime, he hoped he could still get rid of it. He wasn’t sure if he could handle all the questions in his own mind, let alone whatever it was Ghostbur was talking about. There had to be a way to break the connection because that was what Wilbur did best. It was getting rid of things once they were a lost cause, and Ghostbur’s situation was a lost cause, wasn’t it? Even if Ghostbur wasn’t quite bright enough to realize it himself.

Wilbur and Techno walked outside, the wind reaching Wilbur’s hair and face pleasantly, making him realize that it was before noon. He wondered for a moment, how long he had slept. Wilbur looked at the surroundings properly, now that he was no longer collapsing from exhaustion. “What’s that place over there?” he asked, pointing towards what looked like a solitary house, nearby Phil and Techno’s.

“Oh. That’s Ranboo’s place,” Techno said. He glanced at Wilbur. “You know Ranboo?”

“I met him briefly,” Wilbur simply said, remembering the moments after his revival. The way Tommy had stared at him with fear, Tubbo looking vaguely concerned, the new face that stood slightly behind all of them, and all the words that didn’t matter, because Wilbur was alive, and this was his sunrise. “What’s he like?”

“He’s good.” Techno said, “I don’t know how long he’s going to stay here though.”

“What do you mean?” Wilbur asked.

Techno breathed deeply. “He just spends less time here is all.” He shrugged, “It’s not my problem. Plus I don’t think I’m the best choice for filling you in.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s with Tubbo now! I- I’m not very sure though, I just know they make each other very happy.”

Ghostbur had mentioned those names together before. The two stood next to each other, at the sight of Wilbur’s revival. Yet it was still odd to hear this stranger mentioned next to the man Wilbur remembered so clearly. The president of the fallen nation. Wilbur would almost say it was a failed nation, but that wouldn’t be true at all. A failed nation would leave him marked as a nobody. No, L’Manburg made everybody know his name. He even got power for a long while. It was all he could ever ask for.

“Soot?”

Wilbur slightly jumped, from the sudden noise, “Yes?” Techno let out a small laugh, but his eyes were tinted with concern that made it feel like it was supposed to comfort the two of them instead of being a genuine expression. “I’m not the best at conversations but I’m pretty sure that isn’t a yes or no question.”

Wilbur nodded, rubbing his eyes. “Sorry, ’m just a bit tired. Sleep works a bit differently when you’re alive. Well- I suppose everything is a bit different. What were you asking?”

“Just if you were gonna stay at Phil’s or if you want a house for yourself. I was uh… offering to help if you needed it.”

“Awww, Techno is trying to be your friend. He seems all big and scary, but we were pretty close! Well- we never really talked or hung out much, but sometimes I saw him searching through some chests and he seems nice. I tried to offer him some blue, but Tommy said not to. Not sure why though.” Despite the topics he was discussing, Ghostbur’s voice stayed passively happy as Wilbur assumed would be a new norm. Yet, he’d never heard of this “blue” before. Maybe Ghostbur was on drugs after all.

“Actually, that might be pretty nice. I’ll admit L’Manburg was a flop, but my house won’t be! What should we call it? I’ve been thinking about what to call it if I started a new nation., or country, tomato potato, and- I think BimBom sounds neat.”

Techno glanced back at Wilbur, “BimBom was the best you could do? Look, man- I don’t respect government. Y’know, that’s my main thing. But I wouldn’t even respect a girl-scout cookie organization named that.”

Wilbur pouted, “Hey, you try spending thirteen and a half years alone and come up with good ideas.” His words became sharper near the end, becoming defensive as he subconsciously thought Techno would be on his side.

However, Techno only gave him a confused look, “It wasn’t-” he bit his lip, gave Wilbur a quick contemplative look, and turned away, “Nevermind.”

“Oh no, he’s in a bad mood now. You should apologize,” Ghostbur’s voice whined in his head.

“I-” Wilbur was going to claim that he wasn’t going to apologize, but he realized he couldn’t say that without Techno hearing him.

“Don’t worry, everyone gets a bit tongue-tied. I’ll help you!” If only Wilbur could communicate silently with the ghost. “The first word is ‘I’m’ and the second is ‘sorry.’ Words can be a bit hard sometimes, but I’m sure Tech will accept your apology even if you’re a bit bad at it.”

Wilbur frustratedly sighed. He didn’t know if Techno heard it and was pretending not to, or if he genuinely didn’t hear the exhale, but Wilbur was grateful to not be called out about it. Once enough seconds had passed with what he felt was an expectant look from Ghostbur he mumbled a quick “‘M sorry.” just to get the ghost off his back. He caught a nod of acknowledgment from Techno, and let out another breath.

Simultaneously, Wilbur heard what sounded like a relieved sigh in his head. “There we go.” Ghostbur said, “Good job! You’re getting the hang of it, I think. I don’t like it when people are mad. It’s hard to tell sometimes, but it’s good to try to keep them happy.” there was something strained in the last words, as if they held a hint of something less joyful, that someone attempted to shove out.

“We’re here.” Techno stopped walking, only a few steps away from the nether portal. Wilbur instinctively ran his hand along the border of obsidian, it was cool to the touch, and vibrated with a low hum. “We were planning to make a path, but we always had other priorities too.” Techno explained.

Wilbur nodded and walked towards the portal, only for Techno to grab his arm and pull him back. “For the love of subscribers, are you an idiot?” He heard Ghostbur mumble something, but he didn’t bother to pay attention.

Wilbur pulled his arm out of Technoblade’s grip, “Have nether portals changed since I was last here?”

Techno snorted, “No, but that’s exactly why you shouldn’t be going yet. I’ve got some armor back at my base, even some golden apples I can spare. Unless you’re-” realization spread across his face, “Oh that makes sense.”

“What makes sense?”

“This-” Techno sighed, “This is just a suicide mission, isn’t it?”

Wilbur made a small step away from Technoblade. “What are you even talking about?”

Techno rubbed his head, he looked like he was trying to relieve a headache of some kind. “Look, I know that it’s supposed to be ‘twice is a coincidence and three is a pattern,’ but…” Techno groaned, “I’m not gonna sugar-coat with you. You were reckless before you died, you thought you could walk into a freezin’ cold biome without anything on you, and I don’t need a third time to realize what you could be doin’.”

Wilbur nodded despite not necessarily agreeing with his claims. Wilbur didn’t want to die anymore, and Wilbur wasn’t going to die. That couldn’t possibly be that hard to understand. “L’Manburg was ages ago and I’m a grown man, I can handle myself.” It wasn’t his strongest argument, but he knew he was right in the end.

“You’re the same grown man that thought he could run a nation with one of your dumb protocols bein’ that you don’t wear armor. You might be able to ‘handle’ yourself, but I feel like you’re gonna do a poor job at it.”

Wilbur’s eyes burned with fire, because while he didn’t care deeply, not really, that didn’t mean it was something that could be brushed off so easily. “It- It wasn’t dumb. L’Manburg was my nation-”

“Surely you aren’t blind. It’s in ruins!”

“It doesn’t fucking matter if it’s in ruins! I’ve done more than you will ever achieve in your whole pathetic life.” He shouted harshly, “All you go on about is how you hate governments and orphans, and it’s because you’re nothing more than that. It’s not my fault that I actually make an impact in this world while you’re up in your stupid house because no one can stand being around you.” Wilbur’s chest was heaving at this point, both of his hands curled up into fists.

Technoblade spat out at Wilbur, “Oh my fucking Blood God, Soot. Fine- I promised Phil that I wasn’t going to let you kill yourself, but if you’re so passionate about blindly throwing yourself at whatever comes your way, then go at it.”

Wilbur practically screamed, “Fine, I will!” and with that, he threw himself into the nether portal and felt the purple wisps surround him so loudly that he couldn’t even hear Ghostbur’s pleas.

#dream smp #dsmp #wilbur soot #c!wilbur #ghostbur #technoblade #c!technoblade #fanfic #dream smp fanfic #dsmp fic #alivebur #revivedbur #The Revived

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firstagent · 4 years ago

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Review! Digimon Adventure: (2020) Episode 45: Activate, MetalGarurumon

In this episode, for some reason Gabumon decides he wants to run around a track. For some reason this leads to MetalGarurumon. These reasons will not be given.

If you had asked somebody familiar with the trappings of shounen anime but clueless about Digimon what was going on with this current string, they’d confidently tell you the show’s been waiting for the manga to advance the story farther to know how to proceed with Millenniumon’s inevitable revival. Like Angemon’s return and the random appearances by BlitzGreymon and Ponchomon, getting MetalGarurumon doesn’t change that. If anything, it makes the lack of story progress even more annoying. Now they’re falling so far behind they have to burn major evolutions in perfectly average filler material. Nothing about it is egregiously wrong and any spotlight on Gabumon is welcomed, but don’t leave this with any impression that the show is doing anything but spinning its wheels.

As much as we like seeing Gabumon take a star turn, it’s a version of Gabumon we’re woefully unfamiliar with. We get Gabumon as Yamato’s loyal companion and his playful rivalry with Greymon, but the obsession with running? That’s… new. Maybe that’s the reason Yamato and Garurumon did nothing but run through the plains for multiple days back when plot was happening to Taichi. When an episode is going to feature somebody, it’s best when the logic behind it tracks. Sora’s adventure with the Pomumon and Koshiro’s visit with Gerbemon didn’t need any explanation. Here we arrive at a racetrack and Gabumon is suddenly possessed by Sonic the Hedgehog.

This sudden character attribute we just learned about drives the entire episode. The introduction to Machmon is now more confrontational, which is the only way you’re picking up on his problem. Machmon, and the problem itself, is as fine a character and as fine a dilemma as what we’ve gotten used to in this run, where his willingness to open fire on his opponents is chalked up to his competitive streak rather than a more sinister influence. After demanding a clean rematch, Yamato, Koshiro, and Taichi investigate while the others trip over each other trying to have any presence. With the exception of MetalGarurumon, it’s the same routine as always, and hangs on a main character doing something totally arbitrary.

At least within the confines of this episode, Gabumon’s characterization is enjoyable. We’ve gotten moments here and there where the kids are allowed to be kids, and the essence of all this is giving a Digimon a chance to indulge himself with a run around a racetrack. It’s that preservation of fun that bolsters Gabumon as much as anything, and the suggestion that Machmon isn’t having fun troubles him more than being rammed into and shot at. Yamato is very much the supporting player here, following Gabumon’s lead with an admirable devotion and getting into enough trouble to prompt WereGarurumon to evolve. It’s nice to see it play both ways. With Yamato’s hesitance to provide unnecessary help well behind him, we’re left with a healthy, loyal, and ultimately kind of dull relationship.

Does it justify MetalGarurumon? So far the only thing we have to go off of is WarGreymon’s first appearance. From that, the only criteria are the understanding of a tight bond, and the need for a little more power. That seems more like a Champion-level prerequisite. The crest factor is present, sure, and Yamato going to bat for Gabumon, who fights to help Machmon, qualifies. In this context, with nothing on the line but a single Digimon having a rough decade, the stakes don’t justify the pomp. It also doesn’t help that the crest attributes haven’t been formally introduced yet. Technically, we have no idea that Taichi represents courage and Yamato represents friendship! Really the only bit of consistency is that new evolutions don’t seem to have much point to them and centering an episode’s conversation about one is foolhardy.

Thing is, beyond that, there isn’t much else to talk about. Other than Yamato, Koshiro is the only one with any real presence in the episode, even taking the random race jobs into consideration. The track and Parasimon’s presence are vaguely referential, but hardly to the point of nostalgia. If they were playing that card, the Grand Prix would be populated by someone other than a brand new Digimon and Parasimon would be going after a train for the third time in franchise history instead of a motorcycle. You can squint and see how elements of this episode could be highly enjoyable. Put them together and it continues to be a mediocre slog.

My Grade: C

Loose Data:

One easy fix for both Gabumon’s sudden enthusiasm for racing and everyone else’s lack of relevance is for all of them to get caught up in the excitement of a top racing facility and wanting to do a lap. It’s actually a little weird that Agumon and Patamon at least aren’t interested in giving it a go.

Why is anyone surprised that the race format is anything goes? The Grand Prix did exist in-universe, and even out of universe the short and the game don’t lend themselves to pure tests of speed and maneuvering. Hell, you can get away with half this stuff in NASCAR!

That upside-down fire-attack-as-thrust maneuver to save Machmon from the wall? Somebody in the writer’s room thought of that in their sleep and were dying to work that into an episode.

Yamato, Koshiro, and Taichi say something menacing about the big turn at the end being the key to unraveling the mystery. Other than its obligatory place for the dramatic finish, it has nothing to do with unraveling the mystery.

If the Lilimon cheerleader outfits on the girls weren’t enough of a hint that they were desperate to find something for the other characters to chew on, putting one on Takeru clinched it. Remember that someone in the cast had to have suggested it, someone had to make Takeru wear that, and someone had to prevent Yamato from coming to his brother’s rescue. That someone is obviously Mimi.

See reviews of every Digimon episode at Digimon: System Restore! Support the site by joining our Patreon!

#digimon #digimon adventure:#digimon adventure (2020)

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kpopdancings · 3 years ago

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FROM UP ON POPPY HILL - THE STRUGGLE OF YOUNG GENERATION

New Post has been published on http://www.whatsupkpop.com/from-up-on-poppy-hill-the-struggle-of-young-generation/

FROM UP ON POPPY HILL - THE STRUGGLE OF YOUNG GENERATION

FROM UP ON POPPY HILL – THE STRUGGLE OF YOUNG GENERATION

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As a film from the famous Ghibli production studio, “From Up on Poppy Hill” must be the best choice for those who are looking for a beautiful movie with both photo and content.

The love of school age is always a topic that makes them flutter when turning on the screen. “From Up on Poppy Hill” a rare Ghibli work on the subject. Directed by Miyazaki Gorō, son of legendary filmmaker Miyazaki Hayao. The main theme of the film is the love between Umi and Shun, a love that is both beautiful and complex.

The journey to light up “From up on Poppy hill”

From the beginning, this was a huge challenge for Miyazaki Goro, the wounded son who suffered an invisible pressure from his father, Miyazaki Hayao, who brought his life to the works. associated with our childhoods such as: Spirited Away, Howl’s moving castle, My neighbor Totoro, … Everyone expected that he was “the second Hayao”, and that expectation overcame on his shoulder a huge burden. Until his debut Tales from Earthsea was released to the public, despite being well-received and successful in terms of sales, it was a failure when the work received a lot of words. Disparaging comes from critics. And when he decided to do his second animation, but this time he was making the movie with his father, Miyazaki Hayao. This unique father-son combination led to the birth of one of the Ghibli works that I consider to be worthy of viewing, From up on the poppy hill.

This is the highest-grossing Japanese film of 2011 with the proceeds of 4.46 billions yen.If you haven’t seen From Up on Poppy Hill, enjoy the movie now. If you have seen this movie or don’t care about the spoiler, Let’s start now.

Main content

Set in 1963, in the port city of Yokohama, near Tokyo. The drama revolves around 2 main characters Umi and Shun. Umi is a 16 years old girl, energetic and courageous. She lives with her grandmother and two children in the family building, an old hospital that has been renovated to become a hostel for several girls. Umi’s daily jobs are cooking, cleaning, looking after the children and running the building while her mother is in America. The building is located on Kokuriko Hill. Every day, to commemorate her late father, who was a captain who died in the Korean War, Every morning she pulls colored flags that carry the message of asking for a safe journey for each ship.

Kazama Shun – a male student at the same school as Umi, is seen as the hero by a stunt performance to attract interest in the school newspaper – the club he joined after school. Wanting to get Shun’s signature, Sora – Umi’s sister asked her sister to come to the Quartier Latin. It is a very old building and is also the site of historical events and full of club memories. Here, Umi watched Shun and his friends devote themselves to keeping the building in danger of being dismantled. Realizing the sagging, old building of the building, Umi came up with an initiative to call the girls to come clean and renew it together.

They gradually became close to helping each other in everything. Then one day in a meeting at the house on the top of the hill, they accidentally discovered they have the same bloodline. When Shun avoided Umi, after demanding, Umi also discovered that the two were siblings.

They decided to hide their feelings and continue to be friends, and then one day, when the sun was still shining in the green bushes, Umi’s mother returned. It was also when Ryoko revealed that Shun’s biological father was Tachibana Hiroshi – the second man in the photo. In 1945, Tachibana died in a shipwreck accident. Shun’s mother passed away after giving birth to him, and relatives all died during the US atomic bombing on Nagasaki. Ryoko was unable to adopt Shun because she was pregnant with Umi, and was currently a medical student. Yūichirō issued a birth certificate for Shun in his name so that he would not have to become an orphan in the tumultuous post-war years that followed. Shun was eventually adopted by the Kazama couple. After being verified by Captain Yoshio, they rejoiced … not only because from now on being together and not worrying anymore …

The film’s success is not only based on the content, but also on the profound meaning that is meticulously incorporated in the movie

Image of dynamic and enthusiastic young people

The fact that the Quartier Latin was about to be dismantled at the behest of the district president was a challenge for the students living in the clubs in this building. Young students who are still day and night diligently devote their youth to research projects, they learn and cultivate everything outside of school, they do not hesitate to choose the difficult path of resisting directives to pursuing what they think is right.

They are willing to devote all their energies to renovating the building, which is not an individual’s work but a collective work of a team with so many enthusiastic people working. They try to the last minute, with only a little hope, the students here still make efforts to create opportunities, not easily surrendered. The trio of Umi, Shun, and Mizunuma together went to Tokyo to meet the chairman, waited patiently and bravely asked the president to visit the building before executing his dismantling instructions.

Young people working together to save the club can be a metaphor for the country’s rebirth. Together With other students, they are the embodiment of the future Japan, enthusiasm and determination, enthusiasm and optimism, passionate love and foolish youthful aspirations. touched and inspired those of the same generation. The film recreates the spirit of a time that helped that generation to rise up to revive the country, heal the wounds of war in the past, protect and preserve traditional values.

“From Up on Poppy Hill” can be said to be one of the most “Japanese” films of the Ghibli studio.Not only because the port area’s street space is faithfully reproduced in every small detail/, but also because of the strong and resilient spirit hidden in the characters’ personalities. They embody the country with determination, youthful enthusiasm and optimism for the future.

History lessons are appreciated without being cliché

Every effort comes from the thought: “… There will be no future for those who always talk about the future but forget the past …” that Shun raised in an argument between students. One detail I really like in the movie is the image of everyone singing solemnly and singing the national anthem of Japan. Never before has the atmosphere of national pride exploded so deeply, it crept into the consciousness of each student. Everything they are fighting for seems to be for the noble purpose of preserving and promoting historical and cultural values.

“Eliminating the old means erasing the memory of the past”

Actually, this statement by Shun is very correct. Always remember that history is the connection between the future and the past, there is the past, the present, and the present, the future. Thanks to the cultural identities, customs, monuments, and historical records, we can look back on our own country’s past and take it as a lesson to rise later.

Even the girls who do not join the club in the building, still spend time, effort and enthusiasm to renovate it, to give the Quartier Latin a new interface, with the desire for prices. Historical values are preserved.

The story of a group of young people fighting together to protect the old clubhouse building /with sacred memories of generations of seniors is a metaphor for Japan in its renovation towards development. /Still fighting to preserve precious traditional values. /Through these activities, they met and gradually a love between them began to arise …

The pure love of the young couple

Actually, Shun still notices and responds to the signals that Umi sends to her father every day, but because her garden is out of view, Umi has not noticed it for a long time. The author of the poem about the girl pulling the flag on the top of the hill is also written by Shun for Umi. We can feel the sincerity and very cute before the subtle vibrations integrated. The scene of Umi holding his hand during the show, the scene of Shun passing Umi down the hill to buy some evening preparations, the scene where the two of them go home together and discuss the upcoming exam, or simply keep quiet and intently together. After completing the school newspaper, all the videos are lovely and gentle.

“I like you, Shun, even though we are bloodline, even if you are my brother, my feelings won’t change” Umi’s words in the movie.

Love is like a Rose, sometimes sleep quietly, like Umi once buried in her heart … there is also a compromise between the pain, so go on or stop … /maybe expect peace , when the waves are quiet, the sea is together …/ and sometimes simple, reunited after days away. /Far away from war, distant because of obstacles, distant because of painful feelings … /but in the end, it will be as sweet as a child’s sleep, still meeting.

Family affection is always warm

Umi’s memories of her father are still standing, as evidenced by the flags she sends every day to inform her father at sea about the way back home. She still loves her father even though she is doubting Shun is his son. Or Shun’s adoptive father, who insists he always loves him like his own son, is willing to find ways to let Shun know the identity of his deceased father.

Both Shun and Umi are poor children who lost great fathers because of the war, but still cherish and are happy with their current family.

General conclusions

From Up on Poppy Hill, a work from Ghibli never disappoints from image to sound. The poetic and artistic scenes have always been the specialties for each of us, the films to feel the life, the daily activities from the beginning of the film, combined with the melodies from the composer Takebe Satoshi, has created an extreme … peaceful atmosphere.

See and feel the daily beauties of life, love and cherish our values, and constantly strive to dedicate living in accordance with the youth we currently have.

Although building a love story between two high school students in the most pure, sweet and vague way, From Up on Poppy Hill still makes us wonder, is it the ideal type of love, when two people have opposite personalities but a common desire?

#FROM UP ON POPPY HILL #reivews #THE STRUGGLE OF YOUNG GENERATION #youtube

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questionsonislam · 4 years ago

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What is Murted? Who is called an apostate; ex-Muslim? Can a Muslim be addressed as kafir (unbeliever)?

Murtad is the noun form of the verb irtidad, which means to return, to ask the return of and to go back to the previous state. As a religious term, the word murtad is used to describe a person who converted to another religion or to atheism after being a Muslim. Deserting the religion is defined as “riddah” (conversion).

A Muslim cannot be addressed as kafir (unbeliever). The Messenger of Allah said; "If a man says to his brother, O kafir (unbeliever)!' Then surely one of them is such (i.e., a kafir).” (Bukhari, Adab, 73; Muslim, Eeman, 111). "Allah has made hellfire haram for a person who witnesses that there is no god but Allah and that Muhammad is His messenger” (Bukhari, Ilm, 49).

The apostasy of an insane person and a child do not necessitate the punishment of murtad: "There are three (persons) whose actions are not recorded: a sleeper till he awakes, an idiot till he is restored to reason, and a boy till he reaches puberty; those three groups are not responsible for what they have done " (Abu Dawud, Hudud, 17; Tirmidhi, Hudud,1; Nasai, Talaq, 21; Ibn Majah, Talaq, 15).

Apart from those mentioned above, a person who utters a word necessitating unbelief unintentionally is not regarded a murtad:

"Allah does not hold my umma (community) responsible for the things that they do by mistake, by forgetting and under compulsion." (Ibn Majah, Talaq, 16).

Riddah is not in question for a person whose heart is full of belief but says that he has deserted his religion under compulsion: "Anyone who, after accepting faith in Allah, utters unbelief― except under compulsion, his heart remaining firm in Faith― but such as open their breast to unbelief― on them is Wrath from Allah, and theirs will be a dreadful Penalty." (an-Nahl,16/106). There is a criterion of compulsion. It is not regarded as compulsion to be forced to drink alcohol, to eat the meat of a dead person or to be threatened by being beaten or imprisoned; it necessitates hadd (punishment for serious crimes) punishment. Only being threatened by death can be regarded as an excuse if the threatening person has the power to do so. If the person shows patience, does not desert his religion and is killed, he will receive great rewards in return.

Before the hadd punishment is executed, the murtad is asked to repent and to return to Islam. However, there is disagreement among scholars as to how to do it. According to most of the scholars, if he does not repent, he is killed after he is asked to repent three times. Hazrat Umar (may Allah be pleased with him) says that the murtad is imprisoned for three days and is asked to repent and that he should be given bread as food during that period. The hadd punishment is definitely the duty of the state. Nobody else can give that punishment.

Hazrat Ali (may Allah be pleased with him) carried out that period as a month. An-Nahai claims that there should not be a time limit and that he should be asked to return to Islam until he repents.

When the murtad deserts Islam, all of his good deeds are wiped off and he stays in Hell everlastingly: "If any of you turn back from their faith and die in unbelief, their works will bear no fruit in this life and in the Hereafter; they will be Companions of the Fire and will abide therein." (al-Baqara, 2/217).

It is valid if the murtad does not repent. Islamic scholars have different views whether the deeds of the murtad before his ridddah are wiped off if he repents and returns to Islam. According to Imam Shafii, no good deed of the murtad including hajj is wiped off if he returns to Islam. According to Imam Malik, all of his deeds are wiped off as soon as he deserts Islam. (al-Qurtubi, al-Jami'li Ahkami'l-Qur'an, Beirut 1965, III, 48).

The marriage becomes invalid with riddah. However, if the murtad returns to Islam and if both parties want to continue their marriage, a new marriage ceremony and mahr are not in question. Hanafis regard divorce due to riddah as talaq bain (irrevocable divorce). The murtad cannot be an heir to his Muslim relatives; when he dies, his Muslim relatives cannot be heirs to him either: "A Muslim cannot be the heir of an unbeliever, nor can an unbeliever be the heir of a Muslim" (Bukhari, Faraid, 26; Muslim, Faraid, 1).

A committee of scholars should question the murtad in order to decide that a Muslim has deserted Islam. It is by no means correct to say that someone has become an unbeliever without such a questioning.

The following sentence is present in some creed books; “If someone has 99 signs of unbelief and one sign of belief, it is necessary for the mufti to decide that he is a believer.” What is meant by that sentence?

We are living in the last period of the mischief of the end of time starting to disappear, God willing. Some people regard avoiding sins as something blameworthy. The concepts of honor, chastity and modesty run away speedily from the crowded streets to narrow streets, back streets and quiet houses. They enter a house. Just as they try to have some peace, an unbelievable machine starts to show visions from the furthest points of the world and loose off bullets with rays. They do not know what to do and only say, “end of time”.

On the other hand, the miracle of Hazrat Abraham (pbuh) is seen in many houses. Gardens, vineyards, nightingales, roses… in the middle of that fire. People wonder about the result of that fighting: will the fire swallow the water, or will the water extinguish the fire? If you have managed to produce even one single date in a place in the coldest period of the year, it means dates can be produced there... It depends on our efforts. It will not solve the problem to organize meetings against the cold, to shout, yell and to fight the cold. It is necessary to search ways to increase that one single date to one thousand, millions…

The mischief of today that is always before our eyes cause some Muslims to act but it drives others to desperation. Since they cannot canalize the enthusiasm in them, they console themselves by cursing the sinners, attacking rebels and accusing them of unbelief. The devil drives those kinds of Muslims to the brink of a great danger and of a terrifying precipice.

Let us listen to our Prophet (pbuh): “If a man calls his brother an unbeliever, either of them definitely becomes an unbeliever.” It is the most painful state of the case of out of the frying pan into the fire... The soul always forces a person; the devil constantly encourages him to curse that person, to beat this one and to call another one a hypocrite (munafiq)! It is a great problem of ours. It will be appropriate to deal with as much as we can.

Suppose that we see someone who is committing a sin; we do not know him. A fight starts in our inner world. We remain in between thinking good things or bad things about that person. The soul says if that man were not an unbeliever, he would not commit that great sin... the heart and the conscience say, “committing a great sin does not make a person an unbeliever; maybe he is committing that sin because he cannot control his soul or because he is ignorant not because he is an unbeliever; he is a sinner but it is necessary not to claim that he is an unbeliever at once” and prefer to be cautious.

The discussion whether “a person who commits a great sin an unbeliever or not” lasted for centuries between the scholars of Ahl as-Sunnah and Kharijites and Mutazila. While Kharijites claimed that every sinner would become an unbeliever, go to Hell and stay there forever whether it was a great sin or a small sin, Mutazila defended the view that a person who commits great sins would be neither an unbeliever nor a Muslim but remain in-between. Thus, both groups moved away from the truth and went astray.

The winner of that fight turned out to be Ahl as-Sunnah. The flags of that victory are numerous. We will report only two of them: Yahya bin Muadh says: “a belief of one moment eliminates a belief of seventy years. Then, how can a belief of seventy years be destroyed by a sin of one moment?”

As opposed to Kharijites, who misinterpret the verse “If any do fail to judge by (the light of) what Allah hath revealed, they are (no better than) Unbelievers” (al-Maeda, 44) and say, “Everybody who disobeys Allah and commits sins is an unbeliever”, Fahruddin Razi, who analyzes the views of Ahl as-Sunnah scholars like a chemist says the most sagacious view regarding the issue belongs to Hazrat Ikrima (may Allah be pleased with him).

Let us read together the words of Ikrima that are like our victory flag: “The words of God Almighty ‘If any do fail to judge by (the light of) what Allah hath revealed...’ include those who deny both in their hearts and through their tongues. As for the person who knows in his heart that it is the judgment of Allah and then accepts through his tongue that it is the judgment of Allah but acts contrarily, he is regarded to have judged by the light of Allah but not to have done it actually. Therefore, it is not necessary for such a person to be included in the decree of that verse...” (Tafsir Kabir-9/86)

We lived in a period of interregnum in our recent history. Superstitions rose again; corrupt ideas revived… takfir (saying that someone is unbeliever) was in vogue again. However, this time it was not by Kharijites. What was strange those who did it did not know what Kharijites and Mutazila were; they did not even know what the words of unbelief (alfaz kufr) were. They had seals of some slogans that they memorized and sealed anybody that they met with them. They did not know about the hadith of the Prophet about takfir…

Let us start the issue of takfir with the definition of kufr (unbelief): What is kufr? In the dictionary, kufr means ingratitude to the bounties, concealing the bounties, denying the bounties. As a religious term, kufr means, “to deny and refute the truths of belief on his own will without any force, or not to approve them, to despise the holy things that need to be believed, to make fun of them , and to accept haram as halal and halal as haram”.

Belief becomes fixed through belief with the heart and confession with the tongue; kufr becomes fixed in the same way. Here, we are faced with the issue of words of unbelief, that is, the words that make a person an unbeliever when uttered.

When we hear someone say those words, can we call him an unbeliever at once? At that point, our scholars ask us this question: do you have any knowledge about his heart? Has he uttered that word because of his ignorance or due to his hostility against holy things or in order to make fun of holy things? That point is very important. And that sensitivity is valid for deeds too...

A scholar attracts our attention to that point by saying, “there is a big difference between denying a deed and not committing a deed.” Denying a deed means denying an action or a duty and saying, “there is nothing like that”. Not committing a deed means not carrying out that deed despite accepting that it exists. Denying daily prayers is something and not performing them is something else. The former is denying and the latter is not committing.

Accordingly, if a person denies the Quranic command of daily prayers, he becomes an unbeliever; however, if he does not perform prayers though he accepts that command, he does not become an unbeliever. The same thing is valid for committing harams. If a person accepts that the Quran has prohibited interest and it is a divine prohibition to give and take interest but he commits that haram as a result of not being able to control his soul, it is clear that he will not be an unbeliever.

Now let us listen to another scholar: “If a word uttered by someone necessitates unbelief in many aspects but belief in one aspect, the mufti should prefer the latter. It is essential to have a good opinion about Muslims.” We see two of our illnesses in those sentences that emit information and knowledge. One of them is having bad opinions, that is, interpreting things in the bad way. The other is the duty of the mufti is undertaken by everybody. Fatwa is in the hands of ignorant people...

He continues as follows: “There is an important point here. If the intention of that man is not unbelief, he is a Muslim; however, if his intention is unbelief, the fatwa of the mufti will do him no good.”

The following concise, satisfying and wonderful sentences about takfir present in “Sünuhat”, one of the books of Risale-i Nur Collection, should be memorized by the people of this age and they should be practiced word by word. Otherwise, a person may commit sins and may drive the person he deals with away from Islam... “For instance, someone says that thing is kufr. That is, that attribute has not originated from belief; that attribute is kufr. It can be said that that person committed kufr with that word. However, since the thing that has been qualified by it is innocent and it has originated from belief and it has some other attributes that has the qualities of belief, it cannot be said that that person is an unbeliever unless it is definitely known that that attribute originates from unbelief... It may originate due to some other reasons too. There exists doubt in the indication of the attribute. There is definite knowledge about the existence of belief. Doubt cannot eliminate the decree about definite knowledge. Those who dare to say that someone is an unbeliever so quickly should think twice!...” (Sünuhat, 20)

That is, there may be some attributes originating from ignorance, debauchery or some other source not from belief in a believer. Those attributes are defined as unbeliever. That believer has many other innocent attributes originating from his belief. Those attributes prevent us from saying that he is an unbeliever. Therefore, if that believer has uttered a word of unbelief or if he has committed some deeds that only unbelievers do, we cannot say that he is an unbeliever unless we definitely know that they originate from unbelief, that is he says or commits them with the intention of unbelief, denying Islam. The sentence, “there exists doubt in the indication of the attribute” prevents us from giving a judgment. That is, it is doubtful that the thing he has done, the word he has uttered, the attribute he has are indications that he is an unbeliever. We do not know definitely that he does them with the intention of unbelief but we know that he is a believer. If we ask him, he will say that he is a believer, a Muslim. Therefore, there is certainty and definite information about his belief. However, there is doubt, assumption and prediction in the existence of unbelief. We cannot eliminate certainty with doubt and we cannot call him an unbeliever.

The following answer of Al-Azhari to the question “Can a person who says the Quran was created be called an unbeliever?” is wonderful:

– What he says is unbelief!..

He is asked the same question three times repeatedly. He gives the same answer and says:

– Sometimes a Muslim can utter words of unbelief.

Let us have a look at Risale-i Nur Collection again – this time at “Münazarat” –, which diagnoses and cures one of our illnesses.

There may be disagreement about foreign policy among Muslims. It is quite natural. It should be deemed within the scope of freedom of thought. However, sometimes, people pass the limit in those discussions. When someone feels that his idea is defeated, he dares to say that the person against him is an unbeliever. He sometimes says, “You have supported Christians with that idea of yours and have become an unbeliever”. When you try to correct that mistake of his, he raises his voice and says confidently, “does the Quran not say ‘take not the Jews and the Christians for your friends and protectors’?” and he shouts at you. The cure for that great mistake, that terrifying illness and that big accusation with great responsibility are in the following sentences: “That prohibition of friendship with Christians and Jews is due to their being mirrors of Christianity and Judaism. A person is not loved because of his individuality; he may be loved because of his attributes and art.”

That is, the verse prohibits loving Judaism and Christianity. For instance, loving a Christian country because of its Christianity is included in the prohibition of the verse; loving and appreciating the art and technology of that country are not.

The sentences we have quoted above end as follows: “If you have a wife from the People of the Book (Christians and Jews), you should definitely love her.” That is, if a Muslim has a wife from the People of the Book, for instance a Christian, he should love her because she is her wife but he should not love her Christianity. Being deprived of that fine criterion costs us a lot...

By the way, I want to mention a hadith that is misinterpreted. The Messenger of Allah (pbuh) lists the signs of a munafiq in a hadith as follows: “When he speaks, he lies. When he makes a promise, he does not keep it. When he is entrusted something, he betrays.”

A great method of pedagogy is hidden in that hadith. Every Muslim, including those that misinterpret that hadith, knows very well that “telling lies”, “breaking promises” and betraying trusts” do not make a person an unbeliever. We all know that a munafiq is worse than an unbeliever because a munafiq is someone who is an unbeliever actually but conceals it and acts as if he is a Muslim. That man is the secret enemy of Islam and he is more dangerous than an open enemy. It is not certain when and how he will shoot you.

Then, is it possible to say that a Muslim who tells lies is worse than such a traitor, an unbeliever? Of course not. Then, we should understand the fine point in the hadith as follows. The Messenger of Allah (pbuh) warns Muslims with his words: “Never approach those sins! They are the attributes of a munafiq, who is worse than an unbeliever.” It is an extraordinary effective warning and a method of keeping people away from something. It is a big murder like takfir, a great sin, great ignorance and a terrifying bad thought to accuse a believer of being a munafiq who commits those sins…

There is a joke that we listened to a lot when we were children. It expresses the psychology of the people who look forward to saying that some believers are unbelievers: A man was given the nickname ‘duck’. People used to call him by his nickname not by his name. Once, somebody says, “the weather is cloudy today” while talking. That man starts to shout and insult at him saying, “Why did you call me a duck? Why did you say so?” The man is surprised and asks kindly, “Brother! When did I call you a duck?” He answered: “When the weather is cloudy, it rains; when it rains, ponds and pools form; Ducks swim in the ponds and pools.”

Unfortunately, today, we see many people who interpret each word and action of believers as kufr through various excuses. Did our scholars, saints, leaders act like that?... Here are two statements that are similar to each other: it is certain that they drank water from the same fountain and they received the same education:

“Those who know ‘Said’ know that he avoids takfir as much as possible. Even if he sees an obvious kufr in a man, he tries to interpret it. He does not say he is an unbeliever.”

“It is necessary to interpret the word of a Muslim in a good way even if it is a weak narration.”

Today, all of the Islamic world is in need of industrious Muslims who are knowledgeable, virtuous, and modest, who try to solve the problems of others, who feel sorry for sinners like a compassionate father...

People who are ignorant, who shout at people, do not know what correction is, think that cursing the patient is a method of treatment, who are inconsiderate, without affection, ill-tempered, who are ready to commit cruelty in the name of the truth if they have the opportunity cannot represent Islam...

Our duty is to try to put our souls into the first group, to try to make others like that and to pray for our brothers who were drifted into the other group unintentionally.

At this point, the following hadith is a great guidance for all believers:!.. Abu Hurayra (may Allah be pleased with him) narrates. Somebody said to the Messenger of Allah (pbuh) , – O Messenger of Allah! Curse the polytheists, damn them! He answered: I was sent as a mercy not as a curser!..

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thatsaweirdwaytospellundead · 4 years ago

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Handmade Plastic Model Exhibition Show /1

Summary: Citron and the troupe decide to enter a plastic model competition to help out a local shop keeper, and the winner of the competition is none other than....

Kumon

Alrighty, bought myself a mechanical pencil and….

… Huh, what’s this?

Shop Lady

Wow, your manzai show was so funny! Here, please take this.

Citron

What an extravagant cabbage! Thank you!

Tsuzuru

Thank you for your time.

Kumon

Oh hey you two, what are you doing?

Citron

Kumon! We were just performing out CitoRun Manzai show!

Tsuzuru

Well it started when Citron said he wanted to come to the shopping district. Before I knew it, we were out here doing manzai.

Citron

You know if we don’t do it enough we’ll become out of pack lists.

Tsuzuru

Not pack lists, you mean practice.

Kumon

Oh I see! I wish I could’ve watched too!

Fruit Store Man

O-Ohhh.. So that’s what happened…

Citron

Hello, yo!

Fruit Store Man

Oh, Citron.

Citron

You look troubled. What happened?

Fruit Store Man

Ahh… Well…

You see I am really into plastic models. There are a few other fans in this here shopping district and sometimes we all get together to have a little exhibition show.

Here, take a look at this flyer.

Tsuzuru

“Plastic Model Exhibition Show sponsored by the plastic model fans”…? Wow, so you guys really do an event like this.

Fruit Store Man

Yes. But recently the number of people interested in plastic models has declined… Without enough participants, the show has lost its steam.

I keep trying to think of how we can gather more interest, but I really can’t think of where to start.

Kumon

Plastic models? Like what?

Fruit Store Man

I have a lot outside my shop, here look at this.

Kumon

WOW! AWESOME! THOSE ARE SO COOL!

Citron

Nice!

Tsuzuru

They look like a diorama.

Fruit Store Man

Yes. And I don’t just have cars. There are so many different types of plastic models.

Citron

Those are super nice!

Fruit Store Man

I wish that other people would have the same reaction as you guys. Maybe then we could revive the enthusiasm for plastic models….

Citron

Oh!! Well if that’s all, you can leave it to me!

Citron

Masumi, come over here!

Masumi

Hey, don’t grab me!

Izumi

…. Huh? What’s that over there….?

Citron

Masumi, pick your favourite out of these here!

Guy

We have gathered a variety of different parts.

Masumi

Why are you dragging me into this…?

Citron

You were just passing by and looked like you had some free time!

Masumi

No, I do not have any free time.

Kumon

Come on, Masumi, let’s make a cool car together!

Izumi

What are you guys doing?

Masumi

!!! Director!

Citron

We’re making cars!

Izumi

Making cars…. Wait, are those plastic models?

Kumon

Yep! We’re gonna enter the local Plastic Model Exhibition Show~!

Izumi

Huh, so we really do have a community exhibition for plastic models.

Tsuzuru

The other day when the three of us went to the shopping district we had a talk with a local shopkeeper and decided to enter the competition for ourselves.

Citron

And there’s a super amazing prize for the one who wins first vase!

Guy

“Wins first vase”? So the winner will get a vase, I see.

Tsuzuru

I think you guys mean the “First Place”.

Izumi

That sounds pretty exciting. Do you think I could try my hand at making a model too?

Citron

Le Of de Course m’lady!

Masumi

Then I will make one too.

Kumon

Huh? But you didn’t seem to want to try it a minute ago!?

Masumi

I will make a plastic model if it’s for the director.

Tsuzuru

No surprise, that’s our Masumi, changing his mind in the blink of an eye just for the director.

Citron

Soooo now that everyone’s in, let’s start making our plastic models!

To be continued... Read part 2 here!

#a3 #a3! translation #エースリー #a3:citron #s:passionate marshall

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

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Galactica, Chapter 33 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Heya darlings! Hope you’re still with us! Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: The Galactica crew headed back to New York.

This Chapter: Violet receives a pleasant surprise, Jinkx meets her crush, and Fame makes a decision.

***

Courtney hurried down the block towards the subway stop in the rain, dodging other pedestrians, her phone pressed to her ear.

“Courtneyyyy, didn’t you miss me?” Adore whined. She was trying to convince Courtney to come to brunch at her new girlfriend’s apartment, which honestly sounded kind of nice--after all, Courtney liked Pearl a lot, and she was thrilled for Adore that she’d succeeded in snagging her dream girl. Unfortunately, brunch just wasn’t in the cards on that particular day.

“Yes, but I have to work, I’m sorry.”

“But it’s Sunday, come oooon!”

“You don’t get it, Adore,” Courtney sighed. “Violet’s been gone all week and I need things to be perfect when she walks in.”

“But you don’t even like Violet!” Adore countered.

“I never said that!” Courtney exclaimed defensively. And it was true. Yes, sometimes she complained about the way Violet talked to her and ordered her around. And yes, she was often frustrated by her own seeming inability to ever truly please her, but when it really came down to it, she did respect her coworker. “It’s not that I dislike her, she’s just a little difficult sometimes. But I want her to see how hard I’ve been working-”

“I don’t know why you’re working so hard to please her when you could please me by coming to brunch,” Adore pouted.

“I’m sorry, Dore, but knowing Violet, she could very well be coming in today, so I have to get everything together ASAP.”

“Ugh, fine! I hate your job!” Adore exclaimed, finally hanging up.

As Courtney descended the stairs into the subway station, she did her very best not to think, ‘Me too!’

***

“Here you go.”

“Thank you darling.” Fame smiled as she took the coffee cup Patrick handed her. It was early noon, the sun high in the sky.

“You’re welcome.” Patrick grinned, and Fame looped her arm in his, Charles by their side, the dog waiting patiently for his humans.

They were on their way to Carl Schurz Park, the entirety of it fenced in, and they even had a part of the park reserved for bigger dogs, which was a real concern when you owned a Great Dane.

“Come on boy,” Fame pulled the leash, and Charles woofed with excitement, Fame unable to keep in a laugh at his enthusiasm.

***

It was nearing 6 am on Monday morning, and as usual, Violet was the only person in the building besides the doorman.

She had spent Sunday in bed, her mattress on the floor nothing like the Parisian king sized bed, jetlag hitting her like a freight train. Though Violet still felt heavy and slightly nauseous, she had managed to get to the gym before work, the familiar routine wonderfully comforting.

Violet took the elevator to the 25th floor, making her way past reception. Violet had expected the office to be dark, but it seemed like Courtney had left the light on over the weekend, an extremely hypocritical mistake from someone who loved to lecture other people about waste and the environment.

Violet swiped her keycard, the little beep allowing her into Fame's outer office. She put her hand on the glass door, taking one last, final, deep breath, preparing herself for an absolute catastrophe as she opened the door, but instead of scattered papers, forgotten cups of coffee and chaos, Violet saw Courtney sitting at her desk, the office perfectly clean.

Courtney looked up from her computer with a smile and a cheerful, “Good morning!”

“Courtney?" Violet closed the door behind her. Courtney was wearing a light blue sweater, her blonde hair styled in big wavy curls, sparkling silver stars in her ears.

“How was Paris?”

"Paris c’est Paris.” Violet looked around, wondering if Courtney had just shoved everything underneath the desks or inside the closet when she had heard her approach. But instead, she spotted the table, where rows of neatly labeled folders were lined up, along with Miss Fame’s phone sheet, schedule for the day, as well as a week overview.

“I don’t understand…”

Little flags marked all the places where they required Fame’s approval. Looking for the catch, Violet pulled open a drawer in the file cabinet beside Courtney’s desk, and instead of the crammed-full mess of papers she expected, saw newly color-coded file folders in perfectly organized rows.

“You're here early?"

“Yeah,” Courtney chuckled. “I guess I got used to coming in at the crack of dawn while you were away. It’s so much easier to get things done before everyone gets here.”

"Yes." Violet walked over to her desk, still genuinely surprised at how tidy everything was. "It is." She put her bag on the table, unbuttoning her jacket. "I had expected-" Violet cut herself short. "It's nice that I don't have to start the day cleaning up."

Violet turned on her computer, the knowledge that she'd actually get to the emails she had largely ignored while in Paris more than she had hoped for.

She used the time while her computer was starting up to turn on the kettle, shocked to find the little kitchenette as immaculately clean as the office; every item on the shelf in perfect order, labels facing out. She went back into the bullpen to look through paperwork, sure that she’d find something amiss.

“I tried to organize everything to make it easier for you,” Courtney said, gesturing to the folders. “There’s all the notes and reference photos from the shows for the meeting later, press requests, event invitations, and Miss Fame’s upcoming schedule. I thought she might want a light week so everything in purple is tentative.”

"Thank you Courtney, this is very... adequate work."

The last time Violet and Courtney had talked on the phone, Violet had told Courtney to get her head out of her ass, and somehow, after months, it seemed like it had finally happened.

Courtney was actually doing her job, and doing it right. Violet was pleased, but she couldn’t help be a tiny bit suspicious of the sudden improvement. She supposed, though, that it was best not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“I'm glad you decided to use your time wisely while I was away.”

“I tried,” Courtney said earnestly.

“Keep it up,” Violet said, turning back to her computer. “You should cover this morning's meeting with Jaida.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Violet nodded, noting down on her schedule that maybe, just maybe, Courtney was finally ready to cover meetings on her own.

***

“You gonna eat your bread?” Jinkx asked, gesturing to Bianca’s plate.

“Help yourself,” Bianca laughed, pushing the plate towards her friend with a slight shake of the head. They were sitting at one of their favorite cafés, having an early lunch now that Bianca was back from Paris. “You’re like Adore, always trying to eat from my plate.”

“You love it,” Jinkx giggled, mouth full of crusty sourdough. Bianca would probably deny it to her last breath, but the truth of the matter was that she loved taking care of everyone around her.

“It’s just crazy that I have so many of you damn kids. Me, the least maternal person on the planet.”

“You’re very maternal,” Jinkx argued. “Just like...hmmm, in more of a dad way?”

“Whatever. Finish your broccolini.”

“See?” Jinkx grinned triumphantly.

Bianca rolled her eyes. “Anyway, you were supposed to tell me about the meeting you had with that producer. What happened?”

“Oh! Omigod, it was so great. We talked about how I’ve been slowly taking bigger and bigger roles, kind of working up to another lead...”

“Yes?” Bianca leaned forward, clearly intrigued, exactly what Jinkx wanted.

“And he thinks that it’s time for a revival of-holy shit…”

Jinkx stopped mid sentence, mouth agape, eyes glazed.

“What? Into the Woods? My Fair Lady? Gypsy?!”

“Ivy Winters…”

“I don’t know that show, is it British?”

“No,” Jinkx groaned, jutting her chin in the direction of the hostess stand, where Ivy was standing, looking absolutely radiant in a maroon wrap dress--Jinkx had always been told growing up that redheads shouldn’t wear any shade of red, but Ivy was proving that rule completely false. She was just stunning.

“Oh…” Bianca glanced over, head cocking slightly. “Isn’t that Raja’s assistant?”

“Yeah, I guess. Awkward, huh?” Jinkx shook her head. “But omigod, she’s so cute, and okay we’ve never spoken, exactly, but I can tell she’s just the sweetest, kindest-”

“Ivy!” Bianca waved to the girl, catching her eye. “Ivy Winters!”

“What are you doing?” Jinkx hissed through gritted teeth.

“You said you’d never spoken.” Bianca smirked, her hand still in the air. “I’m fixing that.” She beckoned Ivy over, flashing a big smile. “Hi! How are you?”

“I’m...fine, Ms. Del Rio, thank you. Just picking up lunch for Raja.” Ivy looked slightly puzzled as to why she’d been summoned. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Yeah, I realized that I forgot to return Raja’s call this morning. Was it time sensitive?”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Ivy smiled, adorable as ever, the little gap between her teeth on full display.

“Great, great. Tell her I’ll call as soon as I’m back in the office,” Bianca said, then smoothly transitioned to, “Ivy, you know Jinkx Monsoon, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t think we’ve officially met.” Ivy met Jinkx’s eyes, extending a delicate hand towards her. “You’re Alaska’s friend, right?”

“Yes! Yes, I am. Nice to meet you. Ivy, was it?” Jinkx shook her hand, smiling madly. She knew she probably looked like a loon, but she couldn’t help herself, something about Ivy just made her feel so absolutely wonderful.

“Yeah.”

“Such a pretty name. It really suits you,” Jinkx said, then realized she was holding the girl’s hand far too long and dropped it, stammering out, “I, I...I love your bag. It’s really...uh, very beautiful.”

“You think? I do some quilting in my spare time.” Ivy tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, blushing slightly. The bag in question really was remarkable--quilted velvet embroidered with an intricate botanical design.

“You made that?!” Jinkx exclaimed. “Oh my god, what talent! Bianca, did you see?”

Bianca nodded, hiding an amused expression behind her water glass.

“Yeah, it’s just a little hobby, I-oh!” Ivy turned to the waiter, who was approaching with a takeout bag.

“Order for Gemini, here you go,” he said.

“Thank you.” She took the bag gratefully and then turned back to Jinkx. “Um...nice to meet you, Ms. Monsoon-”

“No, no, please! That’s my mother! Ha ha! Um, call me Jinkx!”

“Of course, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry! Um, it was very nice meeting you. Officially, you know. Ha ha. Very lovely.”

“Yes,” Ivy smiled again, taking a step backwards, then said, “And I’ll be sure to get your message to Raja, Ms. Del Rio.”

“Thanks, Ivy!” Bianca waved as she exited, waiting until she was out the door before turning back to Jinkx and exhaling. “Wow…I just realized I’ve never seen you flirt sober before.”

“Was it terrible?”

“Excruciating,” Bianca reported with a light cackle.

Jinkx whimpered, letting her head drop onto the table. She knew that Bianca was right--things used to be so easy, but these days? She was so awkward. Not that she regretted her sobriety, exactly, but….

“Sorry, red. Yikes.”

“I mean, I know my skin is better and my kidneys are healthy again, and I can like, hold a job and all that...but go-od…”

Bianca laughed, reaching across the table to pat her lovingly on the back.

“You’ll be alright. So tell me...what’s the show?”

Jinkx perked up immediately, brown eyes sparkling as she said. “Well...I almost don’t want to say, because obviously it’s not official yet and if it doesn’t happen that would just be awful, but-”

“Tell me!”

“Evita.” As Jinkx delivered the news, she was now smiling so much that her cheeks started to hurt. Her dream role, since she was a kid. And it was almost maybe hers.

“Hell yeah, bitch!” Bianca gave her a high five. “Back on top!”

“High flying, adored,” Jinkx said drily, and Bianca cackled loudly.

***

Courtney shifted on the hard cafeteria seat, avoiding Violet’s eyes as they ate their lunch.

She’d been helping Violet put together the packets for the afternoon meeting, and when they finished early, Violet surprised Courtney by asking if she wanted to go down to lunch together while Fame was out.

It was great to have done decent enough work that Violet didn’t snap at her all morning, but at the same time, the kindness from her coworker made Courtney feel even guiltier than she already did.

Neither Violet nor Fame had noticed anything amiss in Fame’s office--which was a relief. Courtney had fully expected to get interrogated over a paperweight moving 2 inches to the left or some other thing that she’d neglected to fix after the Willam disaster.

And now, as she sat with Violet, both of them quickly eating their salads, the guilt continued to eat away at her.

“The collection was absolutely wonderful, I unfortunately didn’t get to see it on the runway, but Miss was asked backstage, and I was allowed to come as well, so-”

Violet was actually talking, sharing about the shows and the clothes she had seen.

“I think you’d genuinely enjoy what they’re doing with silk-”

Courtney didn’t care about fashion as deeply as Violet did, but it was nice to hear her be enthusiastic, and it was the small smile Violet gave her when she accidentally caught her gaze that broke her.

It made her feel just awful, unworthy of trust or kindness.

“Violet,” Courtney burst out, interrupting her coworker, “I have to tell you something!”

Violet paused, surprise clear on her face.

“Something… Something bad happened last week.”

“Is everything okay?" Violet sounded genuinely concerned, and Courtney felt even worse.

“I’m...you know that guy I was dating?" Courtney asked, chewing nervously on her lip, throat feeling dry and scratchy. How was she supposed to explain this?

"Oh?” Violet looked confused. “So it’s not work related?”

“In a way, but, also not-”

“So it’s a romantic situation?"

"I mean...I guess? But it’s more that he- You know-"

“Courtney.” Violet heaved a sigh, cutting her off with a wave of the hand. "I appreciate that you want to share, but I don’t think I have anything worth saying about your love life.”

“Well-” Courtney stopped, suddenly realizing how foolish it would be to unburden herself this way. Instead, she should probably just count her lucky stars that nobody knew, that she still had a job and an income and a way to stay in the country, and shut her damn mouth. The guilt sucked, but she could live with it--she had to. “Right. Right. Sorry.”

“It’s your own business,” Violet tilted her head slightly. “You don’t need anyone’s-” Violet was cut off as her phone vibrated, the screen lighting up. “Oh shit.”

“Miss?”

“Miss.”

***

Raja drummed her fingers on the table. Fame had moved the meeting up 45 minutes, and Raja could clearly feel that she hadn’t had anything to eat since that morning. Normally, she would be fine, food not really that important, but today the moved meeting felt especially insulting since she knew that her favorite lunch was getting cold on Ivy’s desk.

“And then we have-“ Fame paused, Raja realizing that she hadn’t actually paid attention to what she was saying. “Urgh.” Fame groaned, and everyone sat up, Raja clearly sensing how they were all ready to jump in. “Where’s-“ Fame shuffled her papers, her lip between her teeth. “Courtney?!” Fame snapped her fingers, not looking up.

“Yes Miss?” Courtney pushed out from the wall, stepping up to the table, Raja not even realizing that she was the assistant who had been present.

“Packets, please.”

“Right away.” Courtney smiled, and Raja turned in her chair to watch her grab a stack of folders. She had never noticed Courtney much, her own personal assessment that the assistant would barely last the first month, but as she watched Courtney hand everything out, she almost looked put together.

“Here.” Courtney gave Fame the last packet, the blonde taking it without even sparing a glance in Courtney’s direction.

“If everyone could turn to page 5 please,” Fame flipped through, another sound coming from her. “Courtney,” Fame held out her hand, “I need-”

“Of course.” Courtney said, cutting her off as she handed Fame one of her favorite pens.

“A pen….” Fame looked up, her blue eyes focusing on Courtney. “Huh.”

Raja quickly held up her papers, hiding a smile. It was so rare to see Fame be surprised, and while Courtney was only doing her job, it seemed like it was time for Raja to actually pay proper attention to her.

“Anything else?” Courtney tilted her head, a smile on her lips.

“No.” Fame clicked the pen, putting it to her papers. “That’s all.”

***

“You’re humming.”

Violet looked up from her computer, her mouth falling open. “Oh…” She could feel herself blush, light heat rising in her cheeks. “Sorry.” Violet hadn’t realised she had been humming, but so far, she had had a very pleasant Thursday morning.

“No, no,” Courtney shook her head, “It was nice. What were you singing?” Violet considered for a second if it would be worth responding, but she had gotten more used to Courtney, the blonde no longer as mindlessly chattery or overly bubbly. “I didn’t recognize it.”

“It’s Tchaikovsky.”

“Gesundheit.”

Violet rolled her eyes, not dignifying Courtney’s obvious tease with a response, when the phone rang in Fame’s signature tone.

Violet reached out, getting the phone only seconds before Courtney, and Violet raised a brow in surprise. Before Paris, Courtney had been avoiding Fame’s calls like the plague, but it seemed like something had finally changed.

“Hello?” Violet bit her lip as she noted down Fame’s rapidfire morning instructions, the rustles on the phone clearly telling her that Fame was putting her coat on at home. Violet was cut off as Fame hung up, the paper in front of her filled with instructions.

Violet looked up, ready to pass the instructions on to Courtney, which was when she noticed that Courtney had already printed the phone sheet, and that she was pinning the day's schedule without being told that she had to do it.

“Courtney.”

“Yes?” Courtney spun around. She was wearing appropriately muted colors, everything for once looking cohesive.

“If you sweep the office,” Violet reached under her desk, reaching into her bag. “I’ll get the coffee.”

“You?” Courtney sounded genuinely confused, her fingers already closed around the fabric of her jacket, and while Violet didn’t want to acknowledge it, she was pretty sure she was feeling proud. “You never get the coffee.”

“I do,” Violet stood up, her purse in hand, “when I know that I can leave the office. You stay here, where it’s warm.”

***

“Yeeeees! High five!”

Pearl smiled brightly, reaching over to high five Adore. When she’d called earlier suggesting that they spend the day together, Pearl had been expecting something entirely different. She was a Del Rio, after all, and Bianca was notorious for her enjoying all the finest luxuries life had to offer. But unlike her sister, Adore seemed to have endearingly low-rent taste. She’d shown up at Pearl’s door with a case of PBR, armfuls of snacks from the corner Bodega, and a request to play video games.

The two of them had been vegging out for hours, first playing Grand Theft Auto, then Streetfighter, now onto RockBand, only leaving the sofa to pee and answer the door for the pizza guy, Trixie and Katya accepting Adore’s bribe of extra cheese and garlic knots with no complaints at all.

“You are rocking the mic, girl!” Pearl said, “Although I guess that’s to be expected from an actual real-life rock star.”

Adore smiled, clearly pleased at Pearl’s praise.

“Thanks, baby. You’re not too bad on the guitar either. Maybe you should join us at our next gig.”

Pearl laughed and took a swig of her beer, flipping through the song choices.

“I think my rock career needs to stay strictly virtual,” she said, nudging Adore gently with her foot. “But you do have to tell me about your next gig. I can’t wait to see you perform.”

“Yeah?” Adore’s eyes lit up happily.

“Yeah bitch, it’s not every day you can say you’re fucking the lead singer!”

Adore giggled, lashes fluttering as she pulled Pearl in for a sticky kiss, her mouth tasting like the sweet and sour gummy worms she’d been eating.

“Uhh...do you wanna-”

“Yes! Living on a Prayer!” Adore laughed, looking at the TV screen. “You’re going down, Liaison!”

“That’s exactly what I was about to suggest,” Pearl said with a sly grin.

“Well shit, I’m not gonna say no to that!” Adore threw down her mic and let Pearl grab her hand and pull her into the bedroom.

***

“Is this all of it?”

“Yes Miss.”

Fame swallowed a sigh. She knew that the budget was important, knew her meetings with Jaida were a necessary evil, but that didn’t stop her from being bored to tears whenever a set of numbers was in front of her. They had been slightly more bearable when Patrick had been overseeing the finances, watching her husband yap away about budget cuts at least somewhat interesting as long as his sleeves had been rolled up.

“Violet-” Fame saw Violet pause at the door, her fingers gripping the doorframe. “Stay for a moment please.”

“Yes Miss.” Violet turned around, “Open or closed?”

“Open doors are fine.” Fame had to hide a smile, Violet so wonderfully obedient, the clever little mouse asking without words if she was in trouble or not. “Come sit.”

Violet walked over, the sound of her heels disappearing in Fame’s white carpet. Violet sat down, her black skirt taking up most of the white velvet chair, quickly tugging her feet under the chair. “What can I do for you Miss?”

“What do you think of Courtney’s recent performance?”

“Me?” Violet sounded genuinely surprised, and Fame waited for a second, just to watch Violet squirm, the other woman obviously uncomfortable, and oh how she’d miss it.

“Is there anyone else in here?”

“No, no of course-” Violet was smoothing down her skirt, her hand gliding over the fabric, her brown eyes wide. “No.”

“So?” Fame raised a brow.

“Courtney is…” Violet took a moment, her lip between her perfectly white teeth. “Adequate.”

Fame bit down on a grin, Violet’s sense of humor so wonderfully dry.

“She’s exceeding expectations.”

“Good.” Fame leaned back in her chair, not noticing how Violet was tugging at her skirt over and over again.

“Is there-”

“I want you to proceed with the paperwork for your promotion.”

“Oh?” Violet sat up straight, quickly putting her notebook in her lap. “Should I-”

“Trixie will have to wait until Courtney is fully trained, of course.”

“Fully?” Violet hesitated, and Fame loved how obvious it was that she wanted to ask, the look in her eyes desperate as she was searching for a way to say what she needed without sounding stupid. “How much longer will that-”

“Violet, don’t be silly.” Fame smirked, “It’ll be when she lives up to your satisfaction of course.”

Violet’s eyes widened. “So, that means, if she’s-”

“Adequate?” Fame so enjoyed using Violet’s own words against her. “That’s all.”

#rpdr fanfiction #thedane #veronica #galactica #jivy #adore x pearl #courtney act #adore trash #miss fame #violet chachki #jinkx monsoon #bianca del rio #ivy winters #raja gemini #pearl liaison #lesbian au #fashion au

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dippedanddripped · 4 years ago

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Debbie Harry doesn’t believe in harbouring regrets. “I have made many, many errors, but nobody leads a perfect life,” she reflects down the telephone from New York. “So, should I regret anything? No. It is a waste of time. It really is a waste of time.”

Dial back to the turn of the 70s and the life that Harry led before fronting Blondie – prior to her image being burned onto the retina of popular culture – was colourful to say the least. “I was so desperate to live life,” she says of her time spent hanging with the outcasts and artists of downtown New York. “I was jamming in as much experience as I possibly could and I don’t know if I could have done anything differently. I learned a lot.”

The old Bowery music venue CBGBs has long passed into music folklore as the place that called the likes of Television, Patti Smith, and the Ramones their house bands. It was also where punk and new wave progenitors Blondie cut their teeth before they sashayed into the wider world with the protean panache that would make them a household name. Classic singles such as “Heart of Glass”, “Call Me”, “Atomic”, and “Rapture” have been responsible for more worldwide rug-cutting than an industrial carpet tool. To imply that they were merely a solid singles band is to do them a cardinal disservice, however.

And although they’ve always cocked their attention to the things ahead of them, Harry and her Blondie cohorts have spent a lot of time looking back just lately. Harry’s long-awaited autobiography, Face It, hit the shelves last year, and Blondie co-founder and one-time partner Chris Stein published Point of View: Me, New York City, and the Punk Scene, a photography book featuring personal snaps taken during the band’s pomp in the 70s and early 80s. “We can’t keep on touring and doing club dates the way that we used to. It would be physically impossible,” Harry concedes. “Living through this pandemic has certainly made us take a long look at the value of what we’ve got with our body of work.” Asked if it is a process of attempting to frame their legacy, she admits it’s something that they “have to do”.

This deep-dive into their canon has culminated in a mouth-watering archive set, Blondie: Against the Odds 1974-1982, slated for release next year. Coming in four formats, it promises to include extensive liner notes, “track by track” commentary by the entire band, a photographic history plus rare and unreleased bonus material. The group will also go out on the road – coronavirus permitting – for an autumn Against the Odds UK tour with Garbage.

The artist born Angela Trimble was put up for adoption only a few months after she was ushered into the world in the summer of 1945. A loving New Jersey couple took her in, rechristened her Deborah Harry, and raised her as their own. She grew up in a suburb that she “never left”, was voted best-looking girl in her high school yearbook, and oscillated within a social circle that consisted of “many of the same people” throughout her childhood. “I was somehow shy within that,” she recalls, “(but) somebody once said to me that being shy was an ego trip and a light went on in my head. I thought, ‘Oh, uh-huh, let’s have none of that!’”

Harry travelled by bus as a curious teen to nearby Greenwich Village, imbibing the febrile inner-city atmosphere. In 1965, she graduated from junior college with an associate of arts degree and New York’s allure became too enticing to resist. She decamped to the bright lights of the city and made ends meet with a succession of odd jobs, including secretarial work for the BBC, waiting tables and an infamous nine-month stint as a Playboy Bunny.

The period was a traumatic one, too, with Harry enduring an ex-lover-turned-violent-stalker and a near-miss with serial killer Ted Bundy (although Bundy’s identity is contested by others). In her memoir, she writes candidly of the time she was raped by a man wielding a knife while on her way home from a concert with Stein. Music offered a vessel for her creativity, and she spent time as part of girl group The Stilettoes and folk ensemble Wind in the Willows before her meeting with guitarist Stein which set the foundations for Blondie. Their classic lineup was completed by Gary Valentine (bass), Jimmy Destri (keys), and Clem Burke (drums).

“Somebody once said to me that being shy was an ego trip and a light went on in my head. I thought, ‘Oh, uh-huh, let’s have none of that’” – Debbie Harry

Although they self-identified as punks, the parochial and nihilistic mandate as promulgated by the genre’s militant diehards never fit Blondie comfortably. The group looked outwards from the moment they started, drawing inspiration from their cosmopolitan city. Their sound was a melting pot pulling at the seams of culture’s fabric, and they would weave their own patterns from it.

Harry agrees that their eclecticism was down to good fortune in coming from the “metropolitan area of New York” where they ingested “a lot of musical influences”. Taken as a whole, their catalogue bears this out. Blondie never stood still musically – yet never sounded like anyone else – and they loaded their songs with more hooks than a fisherman’s trawler. 1976’s punchy, eponymous debut married surf-rock textures with 50s girl-group sensibilities, and their palette had expanded exponentially by the time of seminal third album, Parallel Lines (1978). Eat to the Beat and Autoamerican followed, by which point they could boast flirtations with disco, rocksteady, funk, hip hop, and more within their enviable output.

When asked to pick one track that encapsulates the essence of Blondie, Harry opts for their 1981 US number one single “Rapture”. “What happens in ‘Rapture’ is very comprehensive,” she says. “It took a form of music that was, or still is, very modern and can be very political. Rap and hip-hop songs back then didn’t have their own songs. Rappers would just rap on somebody else’s music. (‘Rapture’) was crafted specifically for that rap. Until then that hadn’t been done. It was a breath of fresh air.” It stands as one of the things in her career that she feels “very good about”.

Blessed with the sort of features that could sell sand to the Saharans, Harry’s appearance caused a stir from the band’s earliest days. “That’s part of showbiz,” she says to me, trying to downplay it. “We always had an eye for that, the entire band. We always had an idea of making a look that represented our sensibilities and links to British pop and mod.” Maybe so, but it was Harry alone who was immortalised by Andy Warhol in one of his iconic silkscreen prints, and who posed for era-defining photographers including Robert Mapplethorpe and Anne Leibowitz.

Did the disproportionate attention she attracted ruffle feathers within the Blondie camp at the time? “Yes and no,” Harry remembers. “We were all happy that it was working. I suppose there was a certain amount of competition or jealousy but ultimately, no. I think that’s a better question for Clem or one of the other members in the band. Of course my relationship with Chris was so close that he was very happy about everything.”

The band’s wheels eventually came off after their muddy and unfocused sixth album, The Hunter, dashed against the commercial rocks in 1982. They had to abandon their subsequent tour after Stein became gravely ill with a rare autoimmune disorder, pemphigus vulgaris, that proved extremely difficult to diagnose. Blondie had no option but to bow out of the public eye, and they broke up quietly.

15 years later, with Stein fully recovered, the group reconvened and released a critically acclaimed and commercially successful comeback album, No Exit. They even topped the UK charts with lead single “Maria”, but faced tussles with erstwhile members at the time too. Former bassist and co-writer on “One Way or Another”, Nigel Harrison, and guitarist Frank Infante attempted to sue the rest of the band over their omission from the reformed lineup. And when Blondie were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2006, Infante grabbed the microphone to express his ire publicly.

Fast-forward to 2020 and the settled iteration of the band are working on a new album with John Congleton, who produced 2017’s Pollinator. Does Harry have a formula when it comes to songwriting these days? No, as it happens. “When a phrase or a sentiment makes me respond emotionally or physically, I write it down and I save it,” she explains. “At a certain point, I’ll sort of review things. A lot of times I like to just work with a rhythm track. Just a drumbeat or some kind of drone-y rhythm, a groove. Other times people will give me a rough sketch of some chord changes – an idea that they’ve got. I seem to work in a lot of different ways.”

Thanks to her effortless chic and timeless looks, Harry’s relationship with the fashion industry has been a mutual love-in since forever, and she recently announced a revival of her partnership with ethical fashion designers Vin + Omi – the duo responsible for her profane ‘STOP FUCKING THE PLANET’ cape worn at the Q Awards in 2016 and throughout Blondie’s Pollinator tour. They have teamed up for a new sustainable clothing line entitled HOPE, and her enthusiasm for the project is palpable. “I love Vin + Omi,” she says. “They are so creative and adventurous. They have this desire to prevail and do things that are smart and modern in terms of recycling and making energy count. I think that is brilliant.”

As a fledgling bee-keeper, the plight of the bees is also something close to Harry’s heart. It was one of the reasons why 2017’s Pollinator was, well, named exactly that. “You’re either being stung by a bee or you’re going to eat its honey,” she chuckles softly, marvelling at the absurdity of the contrast. “But bees and water are two issues we cannot escape from. We should be concerned with finding better ways of living, using our resources in the best way possible.”

Help is coming, she hopes, through the election of Joe Biden, who is “firmly attached” to the idea of helping the environmental cause – and she believes his ideas can help the economy, too. “I’ve been saying for quite a long time that solar and wind power are renewable (energies) that can create jobs,” she says. It’s a far cry from her feelings towards outgoing President Trump and his “daily infusion of bullshit” and “thunderstorm of endless diatribes”.

“One of the most exciting things about rock’n’roll was that it was about breaking the rules, and (‘WAP”) is certainly a part of that. It’s titillating and aggressive and it is part of what is exciting about popular music. The nature of what we try to do is to shock and entertain at the same time” – Debbie Harry

What strikes you when you speak to Harry for an extended period is not only her warmth, but her unexpected humility for someone so staggeringly famous. I reference a Bob Dylan BBC interview from the 80s in which he observed with sadness how his fame had the ability to change a room’s energy and how he missed seeing people act naturally around him. She paws the comparison away, saying she’s nowhere near famous “to the degree of Bob Dylan”, whom she calls “such a megastar”. This could sound like false modesty coming second-hand, but in person it feels like a sincere statement, even if it is a little bewildering coming from an international icon. She will concede, however, that she has “definitely noticed and felt something like that” and has often wished she could simply be “a fly on the wall”.

There is also an inquisitiveness that makes the conversation a more two-way affair than your quote-unquote typical ‘interview’. She fires questions back at you, not as a deflection tactic, but to expand and explore a topic further. This happens when conversation turns to Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion’s ubiquitous “WAP”. A recent interview had her fangirling over the track, but Harry’s feelings no longer appear to be as clear-cut and she wishes to discuss the song further. “I love it and hate it at the same time,” she now shares. “One of the most exciting things about rock’n’roll was that it was about breaking the rules, and (‘WAP’) is certainly a part of that. It’s titillating and aggressive and it is part of what is exciting about popular music. The nature of what we try to do is to shock and entertain at the same time.” She pauses. “I don’t know. Everything is revealed and maybe sexual explicitness has come of age.”

Pushed about what she dislikes about “WAP”, she says she would “hate it” if any young girl or woman was hurt by the song’s message. “I think that, in a way, men have to know that women think like this, and that there is this component,” she says, “but I would hate it to mean that everyone should be treated like this. I don’t think anybody should be hurt by sex”.

Harry has long championed the LGBTQ+ communities. When she refers to her dearly departed friend and Hairspray co-star Divine as a ‘drag queen’ in Face It, she acknowledges the term in some instances is no longer accurate or politically correct. I suggest that it can often seem as though the evolution of our language is speeding up in the digital age – by necessity, of course – and ask her if online culture fills her with concern when it comes to using the right terms. “Yeah, (because) in many cases it can be a slip of the tongue, especially for an old dog like me! Things do move so very, very quickly. It is hard to keep up,” she observes. “Fortunately, I have a lot of godchildren!”

Speaking of younger generations, Harry likes to think she’d have coped with social media if she were coming up today, but is thankful that she had her “dark cocoon” in which to “bloom out of”, a place where she was able to “ripen”. “When you’re under the harsh glare of constantly being analysed, that shapes you whether you want it to or not,” she says. “It’s a germ or a seed that’s planted in your mind. It can take surprising turns and it can affect your growth. For good or for worse, who knows?”

“When you’re under the harsh glare of constantly being analysed, that shapes you whether you want it to or not. It’s a germ or a seed that’s planted in your mind. It can take surprising turns and it can affect your growth” – Debbie Harry

One thing that remains is her fierce level of self-criticism. “I always want to do better,” she declares matter-of-factly. “I’ve always been very critical of everything. I hear things or look at them and say, ‘Oh God, it should have been that (instead).” Maybe this hypercritical inclination is what still drives her forward. “I honestly don’t like resting on my laurels. I like working and I like creating. I always beat myself up about not being more creative or more prolific.”

When looking at the bounty of projects she has lined up, no one in their right mind could put Debbie Harry and laurel-resting in the same sentence. Aside from the new album, archival set and fashion project, the paperback edition of her autobiography will be released with a brand-new epilogue in April of next year. (Just don’t ask her what’s in it – “I don’t remember what I wrote. I’ll have to look it up!” she says with a laugh.)

The signs are that the musician is done looking into the rear-view mirror, though. Time may be passing, the tide may be higher, but Debbie Harry is doing more than merely holding on. Her eyes are locked to the future and she’s positively thriving.

Blondie: Against the Odds 1974-1982 will be released next year; Face It is out now via Harper Collins

#debbie harry #blondie #Vin + Omi #ethical fashion #explicitness #music blog

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