#in re: excuses for not signing the card (in a way that is not ironically detached and arch)

[obstinatecondolement]

Trying to wrangle my siblings into signing the shared Father's Day card is proving fucking nightmarish. Next year they can all go and fucking swivel and I am writing a solo card From Me.

#so far I have signed it and my youngest sibling has #who crossed the xxx next to their signature out to turn them into a noughts and crosses game because they are allergic to sentiment I guess #I used a fucking brush pen to hand letter 'Happy Father's Day' on this card‚ asshole #my youngest sister has been asleep all day so I will have to catch her at some point tomorrow #and my middle sister has been instructed to take a picture of a message #so that I can print out a 2x3 inch photo with my Hi-Print and stick it down in the card #she said that she was 'on it like a car bonnet' when I gently reminded her at 1.30 p.m. today #no message has been sent at the time of writing this post (11.50 p.m.) #so I have sent a second gentle reminder #I will pp my final sister in because she can't write #so she is the only one who is in my good books basically #in re: excuses for not signing the card (in a way that is not ironically detached and arch)

[zenalios]

[Warning: Long ramble ahead]

I have been thinking about Poseidon for an entire day, and not in the horny way. Much as I love to hate him, if I’m going to write about him, I need to know what makes him tick, right? There’s not much to work with if you look on the surface (seriously, I screenshotted and reread his chapters many many times, this twinky blond’s surface personality is almost as flat as an ironing board).

This all stemmed from me exploring whether or not Poseidon would have affairs. And someone else reminding me that canon Poseidon would not (again, thank you, you know who you are). The answer to this?

It depends. haha thanks law school  No, but seriously, I think I have gotten a grasp of his personality, hear me out if you have the time.

How does Poseidon actually function?

If he deems himself to be perfect, what does Poseidon actually do after all, since almost anything could be demeaning for him to do? Author has left us with a few things to work with that he won’t do or associate himself with, and instances where he acted out upon facing them:

Schemes and betrayal - Adamas schemed against Zeus (outcome: Poseidon killed him)

“The herd”/Support - The crowd cheered for Poseidon (outcome: no deaths, but he gave them a death glare and insulted them)

This could possibly extend to more, including protecting his reputation as the “perfect” being, the god of gods (”GOG”). 

But if we go along those lines… why did he even show up or participate in Ragnarok? Did Poseidon sign himself up? A tournament of this level could easily be interpreted as scheming too. That, and now he has to perform in front of the other gods, who he called a “useless bunch of bottom feeders”. Excluding the fact that the Author called him in as a champion (or Zeus, if we want to get cheeky), why did he agree to become one? He’s so perfect, he shouldn’t have to waste his time fighting humans, right? Why does he even care to attend anyways? Is it to watch their demise, which, again, they’re so trivial for a perfect being like him, so he shouldn’t give a shit about it anyways? Is he a repressed god who enjoys fighting like Thor, Zeus, and Shiva? We don’t get the impression he does, because Poseidon has never even had to try his hand at fighting someone better than him; he literally just one shot Adamas and that was it. Poseidon could have just turned down being a champion -we know he’s the most feared god, and nobody dares question him, so actually, nobody would have said anything if he decided not to. The audience didn’t even know he was fighting, so really, he didn’t stand to lose anything if he didn’t participate.

Here’s what I think. He participated because he knew he was strong, and he thought he could make a point there about how insignificant humanity is. His arrogance was further boosted by Thor’s crushing defeat of Lü Bu, and Zeus’s defeat of Adam (who was considered mankind’s trump card too). If they can do it, so can he, because he is the GOG.

What if he’s just doing things to prove a point? It’s very childish, yes. But so is the way he talks and behaves (I play a MOBA, and he sounds like all the trashtalkers I’ve ever met “ur trash uninstall game n00b” <3). He is like a teenager that has taken it upon himself to go through that “Nobody understands me” “I’m better than everyone” phase for all eternity.

Take having an affair for example. As pointed out, affairs can lead to a weakening of his divine reputation, and also, vulnerability. These are things Poseidon would be loath to fall for. So... no affairs? Not necessarily. The gods had tons of affairs. Zeus is literally depicted as a lecherous old man, so there is no way he was not having any of his own as well. With the exception of best boi Heracles, Ares, and Hermes (counting those we have seen so far), I think all of them would have had at least one, one way or another.

BUT, is being lustful contrary to being perfect? And if you successfully resist said lust, does that place you above everyone else? Yes, and yes. And how does Poseidon see himself?

Perfect. Above everyone else. The GOG I can’t not use this term, it’s so pretentious to me. On the topic of affairs, this would actually mean he deems himself impervious to lust as well. Poseidon would do it just to prove that he can, that he is fully conscious of himself, to prove that it’s just sex, just libido management to him, that he alone is capable of having an affair and emerging unscathed (this is childish, Poseidon is stupid).

WHICH NOW BRINGS ME TO THIS.

Why, for the love of the gods, is Poseidon like this?

Apart from the Author just writing him like so, I do believe there are certain underlying factors contributing to his trash personality. 

In Greek mythology, Poseidon was not always satisfied with Zeus’s rule. Though he was not overly jealous, he did attempt to overthrow him once or twice. Homer’s Iliad even mentions that Poseidon has schemed to bind Zeus, along with Hera and other fellow Olympians (think Adamas gathering everyone to do it). 

Poseidon in Ragnarok is never mentioned or shown to be jealous of Zeus; however, this does not exclude him from resenting that he did not become the king of gods. Zeus is their younger brother by order of birth (not counting the second birth), hence he should defer to the older brothers. It’s likely Poseidon thinks the same, there’s literally no evidence he is even loyal to Zeus other than him directly ending a plot that would overthrow Zeus by killing the source of dissent. All he says is that Adamas has defiled everything they stand for a bit harsh, man. Self-projection, maybe? The only difference between them would be that Adamas has chosen to take action and gathered everyone else to do it, while Poseidon just sat there and sulked about it. Then he takes it out on Adamas for bringing it up to begin with. 

I really believe this would resonate with Poseidon. If he’s that good, that perfect, the GOG, as they call him, why then was he not made the king of gods? Does it make sense for the GOG to not... become the… GOG? Underneath the entire “gods are perfect we need no one, gods don't need to scheme, gods don't need betrayal, bla bla” spiel, all I see is an entitled bastard salty geddit that he didn’t get the throne despite the fact that he never fought for it, simply because he thinks he’s so good it should have been handed to him on a golden plate instead of it going to Zeus. 

And when Sasaki pinpoints what he has not done, he gets even more tilted than a player whose match just got thrown, and winds up throwing his own match. Because even though Hermes mentioned that “the true depths of the ocean god remain a mystery even to his own kind”, someone who has lived life to the fullest like Sasaki can easily call him out on his bullshit. Which he of course becomes absolutely incensed at. Sure, he's played by these rules for eons, but if a person has been that way for so long, they would simply be confident and shake the insult off. Why then, is Poseidon so angered by Sasaki's statements? It's simple. After so long, someone has finally seen through it or dared to call it out after seeing it. The gods might not have, since they all believe they're perfect (re: Zeus, "such are the gods"), but a human certainly would.

Killing Poseidon can essentially be simplified into this:

Passion vs apathy (not empathy, again, it is 7am)

Action vs inaction

People you actually want in your life vs toxic people you don’t (I’m kidding, but seriously)

Overall,

Poseidon is a hypocrite and is so self-absorbed that in his own world, he plays judge, jury, and executioner.

“Perfect” this, “perfect” that. The whole thing is an act, ocean man is a sham. Poseidon excuses away his actions by insisting that perfect beings do not need to do such things. Then he goes and does them, but picks apart other people for it. After Adamas attacks, he becomes history erased from the books -hello, this is another scheme between yourself and Hermes, what about gods not needing to scheme? On top of that, doesn’t killing your brother count as betrayal anyways? 

Anyways, yes, he’s stiff, he’s trash, I would not wish meeting / dealing with him upon my enemies, but he is a very nice challenge as a writer to try and pick apart his character. 

#snv poseidon #poseidon record of ragnarok #long ramble #it's 7am #i didn't sleep because of this #i spent a whole day trying to figure it out #i feel like sasaki reaching the bottom of the abyss

[imagine-that-one-thing]

Her Majesty || 16

Letters patent.

Anastasia’s POV.

The papers fall from my hands, hitting the floor before I step over them, “Excuse me,” I mutter, hurrying past Harry and finding my way to the bathroom. My hands grapple with clutching the edge of the sink as I bow my head in defeat.

This can’t be happening.

One hand stays grasped to the edge, and the other holds my hair back, my stomach twisting at the realisation of everything.

The door creaks open, and Harry steps into the bathroom, thoughtfully pushing my hand away and holding my hair back for me.

“This is why you need a break.” Harry sighs, stroking my back while my stomach violently turns and the remainder of my afternoon tea makes an awful appearance.

I take a breath and press a hand to my stomach, straightening my back slightly, “Now isn’t the time for sly remarks,” I murmur, closing my eyes for a moment, another wave hitting me harshly.

I lift my head again, taking another breath and praying that it’s the last time I throw up.

Harry lets go of my hair as I lean back on him, my energy depleting extremely quickly.

We are stuck. Harry and I are bound to the monarchy with no way out. “He tied me to the monarch?” The words leave my mouth, and Harry nods his head as I gaze at him through the mirror, “We are stuck in it… Why’d he do this?” I softly question, tears falling down my blushed cheeks, “I can’t end it.”

Harry wraps his arm around me carefully, “Sweetheart, I think the point was so that the monarch can’t end at all. Your Dad issued letters patent.”

“The only person who can end this shitshow is my hypothetical child?”

“That’s how it seems.” Harry nods.

“The only way anyone can cause this monarch to end is if I have a baby? Not even Pippa can end it? Parliament can’t even end this fucking shit?”

Harry again shakes his head, “The monarch can only end with your kid.”

“Our,” I correct him, “Our hypothetical kid.”

“What do we do, Anna?”

I take a moment before I take a breath. I step away from his embrace, and I turn to face him, leaning against the counter, and I smile up at him softly, “We rule the monarch with an iron fist, Harry.”

“Excuse me?” Harry’s eyes grow big.

“We do what was intended, to rule the monarch and keep it thriving. But you’re going to call for a dissolution of Parliament. Every seat in the House of Commons will become vacant.”

“Why? Pippa said parliament seats couldn’t change.”

“She is wrong. Call for the dissolution, Harry. Then we can work on getting her disbanded as Primeinsiter.”

“We can’t get rid of her. We can’t vote; royals stay neutral in that branch.”

“Harry, I am aware of how this works. Please, listen to me, clear the seats, order new parliament officials. It’s a strategic dissolution.”

“So, now you want to end Parliament since we can’t end the monarch?”

I nod my head, “You and I both know some of the people who want me dead are currently members of parliament, call for re-election, so they lose their seats. If they are not voted in, you can figure out how to keep them at bay and away from us,” I respond.

“Isn’t there a rule about Parliament only being dissolved at a certain time?” Harry asks.

I shrug my shoulders, “Parliament can be dissolved at the beginning of the 25th working day before a general election… The Fixed-term Parliaments Act, which you are also going to sign and change today. Before the Fixed-term Parliaments Act, the government had the power to call elections at a time of its choosing, and I want that back.”

“I hate being the middle man,” Harry groans, “This is fucking ridiculous.”

“Then let me have the crown back.”

“Talk to your mother about it, Anna. I don’t have a say over having the fucking crown. I have tried to hand it back… Pippa and your mother have not allowed me.”

“The best thing about you being King is that you can sign whatever the fuck you want and not listen to them. You can hand me the crown; you just have to sign it on over or find a loophole as my father did.”

“I much prefer my daily job as security than as King.”

“Listen to me and do this, Harry. When Parliament is dissolved, all unfinished parliamentary business falls, including bills that have not received Royal Assent. Bills cannot be carried over. Whatever plans any of them have will fail. If I can’t abolish this circus, I will join them and end it for them and take back the monarch... You are either with me or against me, Harry.”

“I am with you, Anastasia,” Harry responds instantly, “I will start the process of everything, not that I know what the fuck I am doing,” Harry trails off, “Any other requests while I am here? Perhaps request my blood?”

“Oh, ha, ha, you’re funny,” I roll my eyes, “That’s all for now, I will keep thinking of Royal assents I want you to part take in… Until then, I have to make my first appearance as Queen, even though that is far from the truth. Are you attending?”

“I am,” Harry nods, “Matthew has Oliver and myself on your service.”

“Great… and if you don’t wish to participate in my plan to take back control of the monarch, we can always have a baby and abolish the monarchy.”

“Uhm…” Harry trails off, “No. All due respect, but if we have a kid, I’d rather we talk about it properly, and right now, I don’t want a baby in this mix, no, no— and no.” Harry shakes his head sternly.

“I’m sure parliament would love it.”

“I’m sure that would piss them off and make things worse, no.”

“Great, so you’ll be on my side?”

“Yes. Anna. I have always been on your side. Now I’m going to take a nap until your event. Please, for the love of God, don’t start shit, don’t make any plans, don’t do anything irrational like you did the night with Henry. I don’t need more blood on my hands, literally and metaphorically.”

“I will be the perfect princess everyone knows me to be.”

“You say that with an evil look to your eyes… I really don’t need to do a protocol.”

I shrug my shoulders and step closer to him, “You have my word, I won’t start shit,” I smile, drawing small circles on my stomach, feeling a bit more relaxed, oddly.

“I am confused as to what made you switch from hating the monarch to wanting to control it again?”

I take a breath and shrug my shoulders, “Sometimes you just have to play the cards you are dealt and hope that the hand you have is the winning hand.”

“But you suddenly flipped your switch, Anna… Do I need to be concerned? What happened to the Princess that wanted nothing more than to leave and have a normal life?”

“She realised that it would never happen. This is what I was born for, Harry. I have tried to get away so many times, and I can’t. I have no choice but to deal with it. You can still leave. You don’t have to be stuck in this, Harry. You have an out.”

Harry shakes his head and takes my left hand with his, “Anna,” Harry begins with a soft breath, his thumb rubbing over where my rings would rest if I were able to wear them. He reaches his other hand up to my neck where he follows the thin chain and pulls out my rings from under my shirt, “I gave you this ring and proposed for a reason, I put that wedding band on, for a reason, I wear my wedding band, for a reason. I love you, and I want to be with you. I don’t want an out. I don’t want to leave. I can deal with the monarch. It does not scare me.” Harry informs me sweetly and calmly, “I may not be able to tell the world I love you or act upon things right now, but I don’t want to not live life without being your partner, even if you do despise me for taking your damn crown,” Harry chuckles, breaking the slight tension in the space between us.

I do not despise him for taking the crown. I will admit that him having ownership of it is a better option. I am still in no headspace to hold such power, and I am still struggling with daily activities. Royal life isn’t easy, but it is much more challenging when you lose your father but gain a monarch to run that you are not ready for. My father may have prepared me in a royal status sort of way to run the place, but I was not mentally or emotionally prepared. I don’t think anyone can be emotionally prepared for the loss of a loved one.

“Are you sure?”

Harry nods his head, “I am more than sure, sweetheart. Are you okay? I still don’t understand how you changed your mind about the monarch.”

I shrug my shoulders, “I don’t know if I am truly okay. Today’s news physically made me sick,” I admit, “But this is my family legacy. I would be destroying what generations have built. My father did build a great monarch… It may have some evil people involved in it, but the people are thriving, and the country is doing well. I can sit here and wish to abolish and destroy it all because of my own bitterness, or I can figure out how to lead without being held back.”

Harry smiles softly and nods his head, “It is good to see you coming to your power as Queen, darling.

“I have a great husband and King to back me up.”

“No, baby. You don’t have a King. You have a husband. I am merely the husband to have your back.”

I shake my head, “No, Harry. If I am reigning Queen, you will be known as King. I will be changing that. You will have that title. I can be Queen and reign on my own, don’t get me wrong, but I want a King by my side.”

“We can cross that bridge when we get there… But I want to know when the staff will know about us, and I am tired of hiding us. Surely the staff have figured it out.”

I shake my head, “The staff do not know, but you are still the talk of the ladies,” I laugh, “A lot of the ladies keep their eyes on you. Rumour has it that there is a pool on how long it takes you to get a girlfriend.”

“What?”

“The staff, they make assumptions about you since you’re so private. Some think you have a secret girlfriend, and others think that you’re just a workaholic.”

Harry rolls his eyes, “Jokes on them, I have a secret wife, and I am a workaholic. Do they just sit and talk about me to you?”

I nod my head, “Yeah, I learn new things about you all the time.” I chuckle, unsure how he doesn’t know that many of the female staff swoons over him.

“And you don’t mind?”

“No, I find it amusing,” I respond, “I don’t know how they haven’t figured out we are together. You are always in my room.”

“I am security,” Harry shrugs, “I think a few of them know. They just keep quiet. I know Grace has an idea. She keeps smirking at my ring.”

“Oh well, I don’t care, I am unsure how the people will react, but I guess we will find out. I need to get ready for the event… I am giving a speech.”

“Mhm,” Harry hums, “So Pippa told me. How do you feel about that?”

“I think I am okay, considering I just threw up a handful of times,” I sarcastically respond. “I uh… I haven’t seen the speech. I am not allowed to write my own. They don’t trust me.” I roll my eyes, “I much prefer if I could write things myself. I don’t like being dictated to.”

Harry steps to the side and grabs one of the face towels that are folded neatly. He runs it under the cold water before touching it to my cheeks lightly, “I don’t think you’re okay at all. You don’t have to do this speech.” Harry taps the damp towel to my forehead, my eyes closing as it soothes me. “You look like you need to sit down for a few minutes,” Harry softly enlightens me, and I nod my head in agreement.

My body feels weak and exhausted.

Harry guides me back to the bedroom, being overly protective. I sit on the bed and rest against the soft pillows. Harry sits beside me on the edge and dabs my forehead, “Seriously, if you’re not up to it, you don’t have to do the speech.”

“Harry, I have to be a big girl and face the fear. One way or another. It’s all just a lot to handle,” I sigh, “Will you just ask my lady maids to come in an hour later than usual? So I can lay down.”

Harry nods, “Yes,” He leans over and kisses my forehead, “Try to relax.”

“It’s hard when the damn papers are on the floor and dictate my future.”

Harry shakes his head, “We will figure it out. One way or another, it’ll be okay.”

He is right; one way or another it’ll work out the way it’s meant to. What’s meant to be will always be. Right now, what’s meant to be is taking my world and turning it upside down.

♚ ♚ ♚

With heavy breaths, I try my best to compose myself and steadily speak, but with every word I am forced to utter, I feel a heaviness in my chest that’s threatening to break my walls of resistance and cause me to break. This speech is the first public speech that I have addressed, and it is turning out to be a lot harder than I had anticipated.

I hold back my tears, aware that cameras everywhere and several sets of eyes cast upon me. It was too soon for me to have to do this. Speaking about my father is still raw and cuts me like a knife. I shouldn’t have let Pippa coerce me into delivering a speech, and I should have taken my time with healing and working through things. The monarch and the expectations can wait. My mental and emotional health is more important than addressing the public and all the national leaders who acquire my attention.

I sense a hand to the small of my back, and I take my eyes away from the paper in front of me. I glance to my side and see Harry beside me, my other half, my shoulder to cry on and the person who holds me up when I’m down and praises the happiness with me. “I can’t,” I whisper, choking up with tears, finally allowing them to cascade down my cheeks. I attempt to turn into him so that I can’t be viewed grieving, but I can’t wholly hide, I can’t lean in for a hug and sob like I want to. I have to remember the boundaries between the royal and security guard as the people are viewing.

Harry doesn’t say anything. He naturally places an arm around me, leaving no gaps between us before moving the paper closer to him. Harry clears his throat and, without warning, begins to continue my speech for me. “He was an honorary member of society, a king that will be remembered for his devotion to the nation but most of all will be remembered as a loving father and doting husband.”

I subtly wipe a few of my tears away, doing my best to hold firm as a future Queen. Coronation day hasn’t arrived, so I’m technically not Queen until then, not that it matters considering it will be Harry’s coronation. I stand before my people, vulnerable and emotional, something that is frowned upon and has been for years. It is rare to see a royal display emotions other than pleasure and power, especially when broadcasted over news outlets and social media. A royal is to uphold a particular disposition. We aren’t meant to come across as weak. As I stand here, with tears, I’m aware that I may seem inadequate, but I’d rather appear weak and show the world I have emotions than hide them. Anyone in my shoes would still be mourning the loss of their father, no matter his status, for me to uphold the image that I’m absolutely fine and emotionless is not what I want to support. I do not want to be Queen and viewed as though I have no emotions. Raw emotions show character. It teaches people it’s okay to feel things, it’s okay to break, no matter who you are— it doesn’t make me any less of a Queen. For those who look up to me, I don’t want them to observe me as just another royal or another one who follows all protocols and traditions, and I will not sustain the image of perpetually being emotionless. I am Queen, and I am human.

The speech ends, and Harry guides me away from the small podium, escorting me to escape behind closed doors, where I find a place to sit and compose myself, “Thank you,” I breathe out, “It was too soon,” I whisper, wiping a few tears away from my eyes, doing my best to hold myself together. This is not how I wanted things to go. I didn’t want to break down and for Harry to have to save me from emotional wreckage.

Harry bends down to my level, placing a hand on my knee, “You did a grand job.”

“I started to stutter and cried. I balled my eyes out, Harry.” I don’t feel proud of myself because I couldn’t finish the speech and honour my father in the way he deserves.

“And? That shows that you’re human; you’re normal. Us normal people stutter and have emotions, baby,” Harry winks, managing to pull a chuckle from me, “Pippa did that on purpose, to have you break down in front of people...” Harry trails off.

I would love to say I’m surprised, but I’m not. I’m the centre of attention with the media spotlight, and it would make her night to have me breaking down. Anything in an attempt to continue to prove I’m unfit to take the crown. That’s probably her plan, prove I am incompetent and make sure I never have that royal power. Unlucky for her, Harry is on my side and not hers as she thinks.

“How kind,” I sigh, “Thanks for saving me.”

“Always,” Harry responds, “Wipe the tears away, put on a smile and show them the tough Queen I know you can be, don’t let that speech or Pippa bring you down, okay?”

“Are you giving me a pep talk?” I stifle a laugh as I wipe away a few more tears.

“Someone has to,” Harry responds, standing back to his feet and offering his hand to help me off the chair and to my own feet. He brings me in for a hug and holds me close, “Pippa wants you to fail. She’s watching,” Harry murmurs, “I love you.”

I draw away and nod my head, mouthing an ‘I love you, too’ before taking a step away from him, well aware that it’s only a matter of seconds before someone bursts through the door to summon me. I adjust my dress and posture, taking a deep breath and looking for Harry’s nod and gesture for me to head back to the same room that left me weeping. I stroll in, head held high, my heels hammering the marble flooring and keeping my composure as a strong-willed, calm and collected woman.

I make my rounds by talking to different people and allowing certain photographers at the event to take my photo. With everything that has happened, we need some excellent media coverage within the royals. I am sure Victoria’s death will continue to be in the headlines. I’m sure somewhere down the line, the issue that happened at the palace with Henry’s doppelgänger will arise and spark significant headlines. Royal scandals and murders seem to be the headlines everyone enjoys. I will not be the following headline or humiliation. The media will not predict my downfall or portray me as weak.

As I politely dismiss one of the diplomats, Pippa makes her presence known and offers me a smile, “May I hug you?” She questions and I shake my head.

“Security isn't allowing me to be touched,” I lie, not wanting Pippa’s hug nor anyone else’s. I’m not much in the mood to be touched.

Oliver nods his head, “Correct, strict orders, she isn’t to be touched.”

Pippa rolls her eyes, “Harry’s orders?”

“No,” Oliver instantly responds before I can, “Head of security, please respect the decisions,” Oliver narrows his eyes towards Pippa, not caring that she is a government official. Harry has trained him well, I see.

Pippa nods her head in agreement, “I just wanted to say that the speech was lovely.”

“You wrote it.”

“You’re very hostile, Anna,” Pippa sighs.

“You set me up.” I point out the obvious.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” Pippas' voice is soft as she cocks her head to the side. “It was kind of Harry to step up, but now people will start to speculate,” she trails off into a whisper, making sure nobody can hear her. God forbid if the world knows I have a steady relationship with someone who isn’t royal.

“Perhaps if I weren’t forced to make the speech, he wouldn’t have had to step up and comfort me. I don’t appreciate the events of this evening.”

“Anna, it is not my fault,” she shakes her head, “I followed procedure. It was time you spoke.”

“And as it is time for me to walk away from this conversation, good evening, Pippa,” I dismiss the conversation, walking away before either of us can speak any further. I do not care for what she has to say right now or for the excuses. I’m sure she will blame my mother and say my mother was partly to blame for the speech. Which, I’m sure my mother agreed to the address and for me to speak tonight, and I believe they were both wrong for forcing it upon me and not letting me grieve, but my anger is towards Pippa for now.

♚ ♚ ♚

For the evening, I stood my ground; I didn’t let anything bother me or break me down— I didn’t run to Harry or have him, or Oliver devise an escape plan— I survived my first event without my father and as QUEEN… Just not officially. I know I can do this, it may be arduous, and it may take everything I have inside me, but I can do this. It does make it a little more manageable to know that I have Harry beside me if I need him. That alone gives me a little extra power and support. Sometimes, all someone needs is a bit of confidence and support to thrive.

I escort across the grounds with Oliver, my heels in my hand, while my other hand prevents the hem from dragging across the soft grass that smells of sweet saturnine with every step I take. For the first night in a while, there are no battering winds that howl until the early hours, there is no bitter chill, it finally feels bearable to be outside without the need of heavy coats and wraps, perhaps this is a short-lived moment, but I will take it and relish in it the best that I can. Oliver gently grabs me and pulls back on me, drawing me behind him. “Don’t come any further,” Oliver shouts, his hand reaching for his gun.

“What is it with the men always pulling a gun on me, geez,” Madeleine responds sarcastically.

“Announce yourself formally,” Oliver responds.

“Princess Madeleine Noelle Veil of Denmark. Anastasia, tell him who I am,” Madeleine huffs, holding her hands up as Oliver continues to stare her down.

“She’s fine, Oliver.” I chuckle.

“That’s not what Harry said,'' Oliver responds, causing me to laugh. I am not surprised that Harry and Madeleine don’t get along.

“It’s fine,” I assure Oliver, “Harry has already screened her. She was here for the funeral, remember?” I try to jog Oliver's memory.

Oliver nods his head and steps aside, allowing me to walk closer to Madeleine, “Why are you out here?” I softly ask, looking around, unsure why she is by herself and unaccompanied by a guard.

“Fresh air, Harry said I could come out; he is watching from the doors,” Madeleine gestures towards the Palace doors a little further from our position. “They burned down the Palace, though.”

“Who?” I softly question, walking beside Madeleine.

Madeleine lifts her shoulders into a shrug, “I don’t know. Louis seems to think it is the people who are causing everyone havoc.”

“Why would they target your Palace? I am sorry. Which one? Charlottenlund Palace?”

Madeleine shakes her head, “Amalienborg, lucky nobody was there. It was intentionally set. Mum and Dad were meant to be there.”

“Perhaps it was an accident, surely?” I suggest, unsure of who would purposely do such a thing to Amalienborg. Madeleine’s family have nothing to do with us British royals; they stay mutual and don’t cause issues— They’re the quiet royals that don’t mind being under the radar— They show up for special events and go on about their business.

Madeleine heavily sighs, and I push the Palace doors open, not allowing Oliver to open the door for me, “So, you and Louis have been talking?” I change the subject, not sure how to go about the issue with her Palace catching fire. I don’t fully believe that it was deliberate— there has to be some logical explanation.

Madeleine grows quiet, walking into the Palace behind me, “Madeleine?”

“He is lovely to talk to, a good man.”

“Stay away from him, Madeleine,” I warn her, not wanting to see either of them get hurt or drag me into their mess.

“What? Why?”

I raise a brow and shake my head, “He is my childhood best friend. I can’t choose between you both, so if you break up, I can’t choose.”

Madeleine laughs, “Who said anything about dating?”

“Whatever the two of you are doing, I am sure it is more than talking,” I mutter, knowing both of them too well. They’re stuck in a palace together on the same floor, and I highly doubt they’re talking about royal duties and discussing policies.

“I beg to differ,” Madeleine shakes her head, “He is good company.”

“Whatever you do, be nice to him.”

“You have little faith in me.”

“You tend to be intimidating, be nice. Do you need me, or are you just roaming the palace?” I softly question as we reach my floor. I’m not trying to dismiss her rudely or be a horrible friend, but I think she’d prefer to find comfort in Louis than me.

“Roaming,” she responds, walking off before I can say anything further.

I glance towards Oliver and raise a brow, “Do you think she and Louis are a thing?”

Oliver shrugs his shoulders, “I know nothing and see nothing.”

“Mhm,” I hum, not convinced, “I know that’s a lie, but for now, I’m going to leave it alone. I don’t know if I want to know,” I chuckle and shake my head, “Thank you for your service,” I respond, stepping into my room and closing the door behind me.

I smile over at Harry and walk towards him, “I did it, I survived, and I didn’t need you.”

“Ouch,” Harry laughs, and I sigh, realising how my words came out. “I know,” he shakes his head before I can say anything, “I’m proud of you.”

“Me too,” I grin, stepping closer to him and kissing him sweetly. He pulls me closer, and I wrap my arms around his neck, deepening the sweet kiss.

I have missed the taste of his lips and the burning energy that spreads like wildfire and ignites my soul. He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls me into his lap, where I straddle him at his hips, his hands roaming my body while mine eagerly moves to his button-down, flicking each button before he draws his honey lips from mine. He leans closer and presses his lips to my neck, causing me to go weak instantly. I tilt my head to the side and press my hands to his shoulders, the soft kisses down my slender column already causing my head to spin. I feel him bite down gently before pulling away with a devious smirk and bright, cunning eyes. He drops his hand to my thigh and glides his hand against my soft skin, ever so slowly and delicately, ignoring my dress and inching closer and closer to the material of my underwear. He dances along with the lace band, teasing me before I harshly kiss him, needing to feel him, one way or another. He caresses the lace, causing my breath to hitch when I feel it move slightly to the slide. I pull away from his lips and see him smirk, his eyes gleaming with delight at my eager anticipation and my yearning. “No foreplay, no teasing, let’s go,” I shake my head, my hand moving to his pants and unzipping them. Harry chuckles and disagrees.

He puts me at ease and slides a finger in, a breath exhaling from my lips as I move my hips slightly to his circular motions. His fingers slide upwards, relentlessly moving, dipping, swirling and circling around, adding pressure and attempting to obtain the one spot I have been craving to be touched.

“No, please,” I sigh, the sound of the door knocking echoing through the room, taking me away from the sensational feeling I have been deprived of, “Don’t stop,” I instruct, my hands pressed to his shoulders, my nails digging into the material of his shirt.

“Really want me, huh?”

“Tired of interruptions,” I whisper with all honesty. Every single time we get time alone, we are interrupted. It has been a few weeks, at least six since we had a moment to ourselves, and I’m pretty sure we were also interrupted that time too.

I tilt my head back, my mouth allowing a small groan to escape as I am enthralled with the circular touch and rhythm he’s presenting me with. “Harry,” I huff, “Keep going,” I instruct, feeling the aching desire through my body, the sensations radiating through every nerve possible. I feel my body begin to go weak as he holds me firmly closer to him, my legs starting to quiver, and my body squirming against him. “Harry—“ I breathe out, my chest rising rapidly.

Abruptly, without warning, Harry stops and slides his fingers out, causing my mouth to drop in utter disappointment.

You have to be fucking kidding me. He shakes his head and uses his free hand to adjust his pants, managing to do so without bothering to move me, “Ye’ all wet.”

“No shit, you got me all hot and bothered,” I mutter, my irritation washing away the moment he unzips my dress from the back and takes it off of me with ease.

He stands up, holding me against him, forcing his pants down his legs and leaving them on the floor before setting me down on the bed and wasting no time with moving the lace in his way and teasing me with the tip of his length at my entrance. I curl my fingers into his shirt and draw his chest closer, taking bold possession of his mouth, tasting the honeysuckle flavour and moving my hips to the motions of his. My body absorbs the intimate feel of him, blood humming in both our veins’ with every deep repetitive thrust that takes place. He moans into our kiss, and I tighten my grip on his shirt, the heat between us intensifying. Probing in a slow, repetitive rhythm, he perceives my every desire.

My head spins with the achy feeling of him inside of me, my legs quivering. He takes my hands and forces me to release his shirt, moving my arms over my head and holding them in place, “Hold it,” He instructs, my breath hitching in my throat as I’m getting closer and closer.

Tangy taste and male scent fill the air between us with every powerful thrust that drives us closer and closer to the barrier of resistance I am fighting. Our tongues dip and swirl between the soft groans of the two of us while entangled together in the heat of our bodies.

My breaths become shallow, and I can feel the tingly sensation in my toes that radiate around my body. My body closes tightly around him, and he squeezes my arm slightly, “Anna,” he breathes against my lips, my back beginning to arch, my body fighting the urge and squirming under him.

Our breaths quicken and the desire between us thickens to the point it's almost unbearable, and we can’t get any closer to each other or enough of each other.

He falls beside me, and we catch our breath with crooked grins. I tilt my head to look at him, “Was worth the bloody wait,” I chuckle.

Harry swallows hard, “Had been a while,” he agrees, propping up on his forearm and looking at me with his cheery grin, “Round 2?”

“We’d get interrupted,” I laugh, inching closer and pressing my lips to his just as his phone vibrates on the side table, “Fuckin’ hell, does everyone just have a bell that goes off every time we attempt to be intimate?” Harry pulls away and mutters, reaching over for his phone, “Fuck,” Harry sighs, forcing himself off the bed.

“What now?”

“I’m pretty sure a bell goes off when we try to make love, constantly interrupted,” Harry huffs, walking around the room and finding a clean pair of pants, “Always fucking something,” he shakes his head, his fingers quickly typing away on his screen, “I won’t be coming to bed any time soon, I’ll see you in the morning,” Harry informs me, looking at his shirt and noticing the creases, making the quick decision to change it.

I nod my head and pull the sheet to cover my exposed body, “Is there a problem?”

“I just have to watch the cameras until five in the morning to make sure there’s no suspicious activity from the staff who are currently being blamed for Henry’s murder,” Harry informs me, his eyes narrowing towards me. Whatever Victoria and my father managed to get themselves into has proven to be more than any of us can handle.

Harry claims he can handle it and figure things out, but I’m starting to wonder if it’s just a matter of time before it all catches up to us. He can protect me all he wants, but the plot continues to thicken. “That means you won’t be on my service,” I sigh, remembering my royal duties for tomorrow.

“Probably not. I need to sleep at some point. Matthew or Oliver will look after you. Guess I have to look into the palace fire for Madeleine, too.”

“What about Henry?”

“I don’t know about the arrangements.”

“No, how are you handling it? Sweeping it under the rug? Announcing it?”

“Baby, I do not know. I think they’re going to release that he passed peacefully in his sleep from an unknown cause… The palace doesn’t need any bad publicity, so I’m trying to hide it the best I can.” … “Just don’t talk to anyone about this, okay? Not even the lady’s in waiting or your assistant or publicist, nobody.”

I nod my head, “I know… Eleanor hasn’t mentioned it.” … “Good luck, King, I’m going to sleep now,” I half-smile, not thrilled that he has to handle this circus and not myself.

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfiction #imagine harry styles #harry styles prompts #harry styles blurbs #harry styles writing #fanfiction #harry styles fanfictions #harry styles blurb #harry styles fic #harry styles one shots #harry styles preferences #1d imagine #one direction imagines #imagine one direction #one direction fanfiction #harry styles prompt #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfics #one direction blurbs #harry styles preference #one direction prompts

[the-magnus-archives-archiver]

Boatswain’s Call

Case: 0110201

Name: Carlita Sloane Subject: Her work on a container ship traveling to Southampton from Porto do Itaqui Date: January 2nd, 2011 Recorded by: Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London

[Archivist (John): Look, Tim, I’d love to discuss this further, but as you can see, I have a recording to do.

Tim: Oh, come on. Look, it’s not a big deal. We just need to do a few of them again.

Archivist: Out of the question.

Tim: It’s just confusing if not. Er, like the garbageman’s statement.

Archivist: Mr. Woodward.

Tim: Yeah, so, you said that Alan Parfitt was reported missing... ah, in August 2009, which would actually be six months after the statement had been given.

Archivist: Obviously it should have been 2008. I misspoke an ‘8’ as a ‘9’. What does it matter?.

Tim: Well, someone noticed.

Archivist: Who?

Tim: Er, Josh Cole – great guy – he’s one of the students using our resources for a dissertation. Um... oh, and here, in Miss Montauk’s statement about her father’s killings. You refer to case, um, 9220611 as case, um, 1106922. Oh, and don’t get me started on the other case numbers around the Hill Top hauntings, they’re a mess!

Archivist: Alleged hauntings. And who honestly cares if I misspoke case 9220611 as 1106922? Another student?

Tim: Well, actually, yes. Um, Samantha Emery – she’s lovely – she’s actually doing a PhD in manifestations...

Archivist: I don’t care. It’s not enough that Gertrude left us with such a pointlessly awkward filing system. Half the time she doesn’t even stay consistent in her own records.

Tim: To be honest with you, er, I don’t really understand the system

 Archivist: Last three digits of the year, then the day, then the month. I don’t know why she did it like that, but I can’t change it now.

Tim: Oh... okay... Alright, so what happens if more than one statement is given on the same day?

Archivist: I... don’t know. It never came up. Was there anything else?

Tim: Oh yeah, just one.

Archivist: Good lord.

Tim: So, in case 8163103 it isn’t clear if Albrecht’s wife is called ‘Clara’ or ‘Carla’ ‘cause you keep switching back and forth...

Archivist: Well, I’m sorry if I found it hard to read a 200-year old letter, written in cursive by a native German speaker. Who complained about that one?

Tim: Oh, it’s, it’s not a complaint. I just noticed actually. Um, look I know you’ve been under a lot of pressure... it’s not a big deal, I just think it might be worth re-recording these statements.

Archivist: No. I don’t have time. I still have a mountain of haphazard statements to get through, not to mention that I need to keep this wretched tape recorder on hand just in case I encounter one of the files too stubborn to work on anything else. And when I do, I have to actually read the damn thing, which is...

Tim (BACKGROUND): Oh, woah, woah... woah!

Archivist: Fine. It’s fine. I just haven’t been sleeping much these last few months, what with all this... worm business. Which reminds me, if you do see Elias, tell him thanks for the extra extinguishers.]

Tim: Oh, yeah. Yeah, sure. It’s getting bad. I mean, Martin keeps showing me his tongue and asking if it “looks infested”. Um. So what do you want me to do about these errors?

Archivist: I really don’t care. Put a Post-It on the tapes or something. I’m not re-recording them. Now if you’ll excuse me...

Tim: Oh, yeah, sure, yep, I’ll let you get back to it. [DOOR CLOSES]

Archivist: Right. Oh, still running? Okay.  Statement of Carlita Sloane, regarding her work on a container ship travelling to Southampton from Porto do Itaqui. Original statement given January the 2nd 2011. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.]

I’ve been working the shipping routes for years now, so I know there’s plenty of messed up things can happen out there. You remember the old saying ‘worse things happen at sea’? Well, let me tell you it’s just as true now as it ever was. But I’ve never seen weird like I saw when serving on the Tundra. I didn’t even want the job, really, but I didn’t have a lot of choice. We’d just hit Porto do Itaqui in Brazil in late November of last year when the ship I was on got stopped because of ‘cargo irregularities’. I don’t know what it was. Might have been drugs, human trafficking, might have just been a crooked harbour master looking for a kickback, but it didn’t really matter. Point was I had to jump ship.

This wasn’t an easy thing, though. A sailor’s union should be recognised anywhere in the world, but when it came down to it, my membership of Nautilus, a UK union, meant nothing when I was trying to get a place on a cargo run coming out of Brazil. Didn’t help that I’m a woman. A lot of people don’t think shipping is a job for women. Hell, a lot of people who work on ships don’t think it is. You don’t see a lot of us in the trade, and every ounce of respect I got, some dick-waving asshole probably bled for. But that’s fine, I can hold my own, and it hasn’t been such a problem since I shaved my head. It was enough to keep me on land for a good few days, though, as I tried to find another ship to take me on. Well, that and my bad Spanish.

I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how relieved I was when I heard that a British ship had made port. The Tundra. Now at that point I was starting to get a bit desperate, so I was keen to go to the captain and just about beg passage. Screw my qualifications, if needed I’d sign on as a workaway. I could find a better position once I was somewhere I spoke the language properly.

I eventually found the captain in a small bar in one of the seedier areas of the dockside. I’d been told his name was Peter Lukas, but to be honest I wouldn’t have needed his name – he was the only white guy in the place. Even by those standards he was very pale, weirdly so for someone who apparently lived their life on the sea. He sat there at a small table, completely alone, drinking a cup of black coffee. He was staring into the distance, and didn’t seem to notice anything going on around him. I sat down opposite and coughed.

His eyes only moved a fraction of an inch to focus on me, but it felt as though the movement had the weight of a heavy stone door. Like a tomb. Don’t know why that’s what popped into my head, but there you go. I asked if he was Peter Lukas, and he said, “Yes”. I’d gone blank on what to say next, and it was then that I noticed the silence. I looked around to see that the place was now completely empty. Even the bartender was nowhere to be seen, and the only sound was the whir of the ceiling fans above us. The captain was still staring at me, so I swallowed my unease and began to explain my situation to him. I left out the part about the criminal possibilities of my last ship, but was clear that I was in desperate need of a new post. When I had finished, he was quiet for a few minutes. Then he nodded.

“We have one space. Report tomorrow. At dawn.”

That was all he said. And it was all I needed. The Tundra wasn’t difficult to find when I headed to the docks the next day. It was big, already stacked high with an array of colourful shipping containers. I wondered if they’d loaded it up overnight, as there didn’t seem to be much activity from the crane. It was early, and I was glad I was leaving Brazil before the wet season really got going, as the sky was threatening to break. Making my way through the dock I asked around until I was finally pointed to the mate. He was a short man, heavy set with a thick, black beard. His warm, brown skin was stained darker by a life working in the sun, and he didn’t smile when he looked at me. Around his neck, I saw a chain ending in a small brass ball and stem. It looked like an old boatswain’s call, an antique sailor’s whistle. 

I introduced myself, told him what I’d told the captain and gave my qualifications and experience. The bearded mate listened quietly until I finished. Then he shrugged, and said they were in need of an Ordinary Seaman, and I was welcome to the position if I wanted it. OS was a bit of a step down for me, as I’ve been pulling Able Seaman pay for these last few years, but it was a ticket out of Porto do Itaqui, so I jumped at the chance. The mate still didn’t smile, but he did offer his hand and introduced himself in a gentle Dutch accent as Tadeas Dahl, First Mate of the Tundra. I was surprised, as it seemed a bit abrupt to be leaving, and I hadn’t even had time to stow away the duffel bag that was my only luggage. Still, I wasn’t about to disobey the first order I’d been given on a new ship.

The Tundra was pretty normal. I’ve served on a half dozen ships almost identical to it, and I fell into my duties quickly. We set off almost as soon as I was on board, and it was only later I discovered we were heading across the Atlantic towards Southampton. I was very happy to find that out, as I had assumed we’d be making plenty more stops before crossing back to England. With any luck it wouldn’t be more than a couple of weeks before I was home, and those would be spent in maintenance, repainting and taking watches with ‘Iron Mike’, the autopilot.

So that was fine, but I did start to notice a few things on board which didn’t really seem to add up. The first was the crew. They were quiet. Very quiet. I mean, I’ve been on ships where I was pretty much the only native English speaker, and plenty of people prefer to keep to themselves. Hell, not being too comfortable around people is a damn fine reason to go to sea. This was different, though.

It wasn’t just that they didn’t talk much, they seemed uncomfortable with me. They’d avoid eye contact, and only barely acknowledge me if we were on a shift together. As first I thought it was because I was a woman, but then I saw that it wasn’t just me. They avoided each other just as much as they did me. Meals were always quiet, no matter how many people were eating, and there was no friendly games of cards or chat in living quarters. There was no real conversation in any language. It was like they were doing everything in their power not to think about each other. It took me less than a day of ignored hellos and grunted answers before I fell into line, becoming just as quiet as my crewmates.

The only person who spoke was Tadeas Dahl. The mate would walk among the crew, giving instructions and orders in a dozen different languages, as the crew scrambled to carry out his commands. He was just as composed as he had been when I met him, and it soon became clear that, if he had emotions, he kept a tight wrap on them. He would stride along the ship, his antique whistle swinging from his neck. He never actually blew the boatswain’s call, apparently preferring to summon the crew via the intercom or horn. It just hung there, its polished brass heavy around his neck. I didn’t see Captain Lukas at all that first week. I only knew he was onboard because every meal time the cooks would hand a tray of food to the mate, who’d take it up to the captain’s cabin. We never saw the man himself, though.

There was one crewmember who did catch my eye. He was a young guy, white and, from what I could tell, Scottish. I never really got more than his name out of him: Sean Kelly. He had the bunk opposite me, and we were on different shifts, so I would often see him lying there when I returned from my night watch. He didn’t talk any more than the others, but he also didn’t go around with that blank look on his face. He looked scared. 

There were other odd things about the ship, but hands down the weirdest thing, I didn’t notice until a few days out into the Atlantic. Now one of my duties was to check the deck containers were securely in place, none of the twistlocks or lashing rods had broken or come loose. It was usually just busywork – I’d never been on a ship that lost a container, though it does happen. This shift, though, I noticed something wrong. I saw that one of the lashing rods, towards the stern, had broken. And not at one of the ends, or the twistlock itself, but right in the middle of what should have been solid metal. From a distance it looked fine, new paint shining in the sun, but looking closer I saw that it had rusted all the way through. Not just that, but checking out where the rod connected to the container, it became clear that they had rusted together. Fresh paint covered up most of it, but once I knew what I was looking for I saw it everywhere. The shipping containers, all of them, were rusted in place. How could this have happened, though, if they were being changed over at port? How long had the Tundra been sailing with the same cargo?

I decided I had to look inside. Stupid, maybe. If it was something illegal, they might toss me overboard first and ask questions never, but only if I got caught. And I was just about sick of nasty surprises. 

I did it on my next late shift. I kept an eye on the rest of the crew and waited for my moment. I’d already marked out a ground level container where the padlock had practically rusted off. It wouldn’t be difficult to get it open. It was about 3am when I had my chance. I was alone on deck and the wind was howling loud enough to muffle the groan of the container’s rusted hinges. It took three kicks from my steel toecaps to get it open, but finally I was able to get the door ajar. It was so stiff it took almost all my strength to get enough of a gap to walk through, but finally I could see inside.

It was completely empty. There was no sign of cargo, or any markings or debris on the floor that might have shown there had ever been anything inside. I couldn’t believe it, a transport ship with nothing to transport? It didn’t make any sense. I managed to bust two other containers open, but they were the same. As far as I could tell, every container on the ship was empty. I was still trying to figure out what this could mean when I saw a couple of torches approaching. I almost panicked and ran, but where exactly was I going to escape to? The empty, uncaring ocean stretched out for hundreds of miles in every direction. So instead I swallowed my fear, and pushed the door careful closed, trying my best to hide the broken lock before making my way onto the deck.

I was met by the mate and a half dozen other crewmen behind him. He looked at me for a second, then nodded and told me to follow, then he continued walking. Confused, I headed after them as they made their way around the ship, silently collecting up or waking all the rest of the crew. I started to ask what was going on, but the glares I got shut me right up. Finally, when we had what looked like the whole crew together, we walked over to the lifeboat.

Now we definitely weren’t sinking, so I hadn’t really paid much attention to the lifeboat before, but now I looked at it, I realised it wasn’t what I’d have expected. Most modern container ships have a lifeboat that looks more like a lumpy orange blob than a boat. They’re designed to be quickly and safely dropped into the water and tough out whatever conditions the sea might throw at them. But this was an old fashioned boat, with oars and a winch mechanism for lowering it into the water. It didn’t even look like it had any supplies in it. Standing there in front of it was Captain Lukas, as silent as the rest of his crew. 

The Captain nodded, and one by one the crew of the Tundra got on board the lifeboat. I got on too. I mean, what else was I supposed to do? I didn’t know what was going on and no-one seemed to want to tell me, but I sure as hell wasn’t getting left alone on that big empty ship. So I got in and sat down, as a couple of the crew began to lower the lifeboat into the sea. A few others took up the oars, and as soon as we hit the water, they began to row quietly away from the Tundra, which floated, motionless.

The sky was clear and the wind had died down, so the stars reflected perfectly on the still ocean surface. All the lights on the ship had been turned off, so the world and all the empty horizon was only lit by the moon. As we rowed, I looked around my companions on the lifeboat. Everyone I recognised was there, except for one. I checked each face in turn, but I could see no sign of Sean Kelly, my scared bunkmate. Had we left him behind? Was he still back on the ship, sleeping away ignorant of the fact that he was now utterly and completely alone?

Almost as though he knew I was about to speak, Tadeas gave me a warning glare. The mate reached down and took the old brass whistle from his neck. He pressed it to his lips, and blew.

I have never heard a whistle sound like that. It was shrill, so high and piercing that I felt my hair stand on end, but it also seemed distant. Like I was hearing it from far, far away. I don’t know how long he blew that boatswain’s call for, but by the end, I realised we were surrounded by thick sea smoke. We should have far too far south for it, but it rolled and billowed around the lifeboat, obscuring the Tundra. No-one said a word, but I could have sworn a few of my shipmates were crying.

I don’t know how long we floated there, sat in the dark water, but eventually the fog cleared and the mate sounded the boatswain’s call again, this time a short, sharp whistle. We saw the Tundra, dark and still upon the water, and began to row back towards it. The lifeboat was painstakingly raised and the rest of the crew returned to their positions. Sean Kelly was nowhere to be seen. And I never saw him again.

After that night, the atmosphere on board changed. People talked, and you’d occasionally hear actual laughter on board. Games were played, people drank, and there was this sense of relief to it all. I tried to join in, but got dark looks any time I asked about Sean. At one point the third mate, a man named Kim Duong, told me that I should shut up and be grateful, as it hadn’t been “an easy choice”.

I kept to myself the rest of the way, and left the ship as soon as we landed in Southampton. I didn’t even think about my pay until it came through a couple of days later: twenty-five thousand pounds. For barely two weeks work. I don’t mind telling you, it was almost enough to tempt me back.

Almost.

Archivist Notes:

An interesting statement, though difficult to investigate any potentially paranormal activity, as there does not appear to have been anything explicitly supernatural occurring in this statement. A lot of strange happenings and implicit weirdness, but nothing that can be isolated as a ‘supernatural event’. There’s also the fact that even a casual search of port authority records shows the Tundra is a currently active cargo ship operating for Solus Shipping PLC, a company founded and majority owned by Nathaniel Lukas. In addition to such business ventures, the Lukas family also provides funding to several academic and research organisations, including the Magnus Institute. Much as I want to dig further into this, especially given certain parallels with case 0161301, Elias gets very twitchy when we look into anything that might conceivably have funding repercussions. 

It doesn't look like I’m going to be able to do any further investigations into this. Even though the official crew manifest for the Tundra has remained the same for the last ten years. Even though I can’t find any record of actual cargo being loaded or unloaded into it from any UK port. Even though Sean Kelly disappeared from the port of Felixstowe in October 2010, and his body washed up on the coast of Morocco in April 2011, six months later. According to the coroner, it had only been in the water for five days. Maybe I’ll mention it to Elias. Just in case.

#the magnus archives #magnus archives #MAG #MAG33 #MAG 33 #BoatswainsSong #Boatswain'sSong #Boatswain's Song #Statement #The Lukas Family #The Lonely

[babaleshy]

Time for me to rant. If anybody is morbidly curious about what it’s like to live with Trump supporter parents where one parent basically projects himself onto Trump, you can click the thingie. But the context of how this is different from other times I’ve bitched about my folks on my old account is we’re not starving for once. We actually have some money and are trying to get some shit together so we can take care of the urgent needs such as fucking house repairs and shit.

So... We live on a farm. I won’t say where, but right over the hill is a goddamn oil pad. My parents aren’t rich or anything from the oil rights, but I am reluctantly admitting that we are finally getting some money in to where we could repair our tub so we don’t have to risk blisters from pulling a DIY string to turn on the cold water through a ventilation duct because the faucet is fucked. We also got the train to our tub fixed so that way when we shower, we’re not standing in filthy-ass water that can’t drain properly no matter what we shove down the drain to fix it with. We had to replace the entire drainage system for both bathrooms.  Yes. Both bathrooms. The second one is just a toilet and a sink but that sink had the same clog problem due to YEARS of rust build-up because there’s so much goddamn iron in our well water, which my dad states is “actually water coming in from a flooded mineshaft,” and at this point, it would not surprise me if he was right for once.

We also finally got new working vehicles we don’t have to keep taking in for repairs we can’t afford in hopes we can make it to the grocery store or in hopes my mom and my husband can make it to work. Still 2 vehicles, but they are much newer than what we had before (I’m not car-smart, so I couldn’t tell you what years they are or whatever).

My mom also finally paid off all of the credit card debt we were drowning in. This includes both of mine we were forced to use and max out and never make payments on because we couldn't afford to eat several times. That’s about $3k in the hole if you include late fees and interest on TWO credit cards under MY NAME. Because we didn’t have money on us so we could fucking eat.

We are hoping that soon we can get all of our teeth fixed. My husband and I have wisdom teeth in dire need of removal. All of his are rotten, one of mine is rotten but all four are crowding my teeth, all four of us have cavities in our teeth we’re doing our best to keep from getting worse. So the next logical step is teeth. I’m trying to apply for Medicaid but now apparently you’re required to do that over the phone, now and I need a day during the week where my husband has off so I can get some help with this phone call (long story, I just have trouble with phone calls). We also really hope we can find a dentist and oral surgeon NOT IN THIS AREA. A BIG REASON WHY HALF MY TEETH ARE FUCKED IS BECAUSE OF PURPOSEFULLY BOTCHED JOBS BY AN ASSHOLE DENTIST SO YOU’D KEEP GOING IN AND HAVING YOUR FILLINGS RE-DONE.

But hey! We’re doing financially better, now. Especially since my mom plans to give me birthday money this year, and my parents don’t seem to have a problem with paying (if necessary) to help me get tested for dyslexia.

With all of this good news, you’d think my dad would be just tickled, right?

Nope.

He bitches about spending money. He has a mole hill of money he sees as a mountain and he wants to sit on it and never spend it. He bitches anytime spending has to take place. At all. He parrots any and all things Trump promotes and shit. My dad wants to be Trump. My dad is racist, thinks Mexicans are invading America to take our jobs and rape our women and murder Americans (same with any non-white refugee from anywhere), he thinks the military doesn’t get enough support of any sort, with his excuse being “we need to make sure we can show the world we can destroy it at any time we want to so the rest of the world respects us.” Btw, he equates fear with respect. There is no debating him. I’ve tried.

My dad says if he is somehow convinced his xtian god isn’t real, then what’s the point in being a good person? He’d start killing everybody just because there would be no god to judge him. THIS IS THE SIGN OF A MENTALLY UNHEALTHY, UNSTABLE, UNSAFE INDIVIDUAL. Luckily, my dad is actually all talk 99.9% of the time. My dad is lazy, and even states that his ideal life is to sit in an apartment without ever having to move, and he’d have servants at his beck and call. He actually tried several times to convince my mom to move into an impoverished part of the south intentionally because “we would live like kings with the money we’ve got coming in right now.” He’s full of shit because it actually isn’t that much money. It’s just that we can stop starving. (For context, my mom wants to move north ever since her mom/my grandma died because her sister is all she has left and she lives up north, and since Kent State is up there, I’m fine with that.)

My dad wants to sit around and be lazy and absorb any and all conspiracy theories on YouTube that appeals to his fucked up worldviews on a device he claims to hate and wishes never existed. He also bitches about having to drive my husband around, who “should have gotten his permit and license by now” despite the fact that he finally got new glasses after 10+ years of not being able to afford to upgrade his prescription and needs to get used to his new vision. My dad is convinced that because he willed himself through his own problems that literally everyone else can do the same. My dad is the most self-centered adult outside of celebrity-hood I’ve ever seen. My husband has anxiety because being behind the wheel of a machine that could easily kill people freaks him out, and he’s not sure if he can see a counselor for managing his anxiety on a regular basis is going to be possible right now.

My dad thinks my husband works at a retail video game store to support his hobby and nothing else “because of all the damn games and statues he keeps buying” when my dad likes to ignore the fact that employee discounts, clearance sales, trade-in credits, and special deals exist. 

My dad is a miserable old bastard, and because we’re in the same situation as him, he cannot stand how we enjoy ourselves to make the most of it. Misery loves company, and he can’t get past the fact that his life changed forever when he got hurt and permanently disabled at the steel mill back in ‘95. He has since then refused to accept what has happened to him, and would rather be a miserable piece of shit and take down anyone else nearby with him. Which could be why he bitches about having money he can spend, now.

And he does all of his venting at my husband. I know my dad is trying to goad my husband into saying or doing something stupid so my dad has a reason to either kick us out or be physically violent. My dad doesn’t like the fact that my husband isn’t a fucking idiot. My husband grew up with a family full of anger-filled assholes. He knows the ropes as much as I do. And the fact that my husband sticks up for me while I’m not around shows to my dad that my husband truly does love me, and wouldn’t only stick up for me while I’m around. He has called my dad on his shit quite a bit when I’m not around. My dad HATES that he can’t dangle the indirect message of “you’re all by yourself, no one else thinks you’re right” above my head. And ever since my husband started routinely calling my dad out on his shit, or defending me when my dad bitches about me over stupid shit, my dad has backed off me for the most part.

My dad wasn’t counting on me getting married to a good man. My dad previously equated good men with financial wealth. Turns out my dad was proven wrong, and he can’t stand it. That fucker is the whole reason why I have had so many self-image insecurities (and still do) and my dad can’t stand it that my husband isn’t joining him on mocking me. My husband tells him to fucking stop. My dad dares not do it in front of my mom, because she tells him to stop.

My parents aren’t in a very health marriage. There’s more footage of convincing evidence of Bigfoot than there are times my parents did something together because they love each other, and I’m not talking about anything expensive, either.

Mom sleeps on the couch because she told me she can’t stand his snoring. However, I remember my mom once telling me that my dad “doesn’t have an ‘off’ switch with his libido” so I’m guessing that’s another reason why.

Both of them sit in the same room on opposite sides of the room (mom on the couch, dad in the busted-ass armchair) on their devices (mom on her tablet and/or phone and dad on the computer that’s by/in front of his chair), only talking to each other about certain articles they read, and not much else. They’ll occasionally watch something on the TV together on Netflix or Hulu but that’s about it.

Mom wanted to live on a farm and raise horses ever since she was a little girl, and through manipulation and the excuse of 4-H projects through me and my brother, she finally got her wish. And my dad is against having any animals of any sort. All he does is bitch about them. He also bitches about how much country my mom listens to (and I can’t blame him there; my mom is the whole reason why country music is the bane of my fucking existence).

Aside from boinking to have 2 kids and mourning over the loss of one of them, my parents have very little in common. I have no idea how or why they got together other than my dad made my mom laugh and didn’t break her jaw like her ex-husband did, my dad had 3 exes and wanted to make the 4th one count, and my mom found out she was pregnant with me before dad proposed (I’m GUESSING knocking my mom up is what made them decide to marry, I dunno).

My mom has (VERY FEW) redeeming qualities, so I take advantage of her mama bear nature to ensure I’m safe under the same roof as my dad. I’m unintentionally appealing to her desire for a farmer-daughter by wanting to garden, though I made it very clear I will never be responsible for farm animals again. She also doesn’t mind the fact that she’ll never be a grandmother to human babies. I’m willing to bet it’s because she never wanted me and doesn’t blame me for not wanting kids of my own. She gets points for not being exactly like her own mother, but I could’ve used some meaningful and caring mother-daughter bonding instead of the distant I-see-you-as-a-burden-now-that-we-are-living-in-poverty treatment I got growing up.

I could point all of this out to my parents, and they would rather spend more time coming up with excuses or redirecting the blame instead of, you know, APOLOGIZING FIRST. And I say this because I have brushed on the topic before and they got SUPER defensive about it.

I was an accident, they got married probably so I wouldn’t be born out of wedlock and so their respective families wouldn’t look down upon them, they thought they had this and had a second kid, a year to two years later dad gets hurt at the mill and we’ve been impoverished ever since but because boys bring more promise of success than girls---especially girls who are different like I was and still am---my brother was automatically the favorite. And I was always screamed at.

Boy would I love to see a therapist instead of a one-hour visit with a counselor trying to figure out as much of why my brain is the way it is once a friggin’ week. Not blaming the counselor, because he’s awesome. But my counselor did say that he’s actually a bit surprised but glad I’ve figured out some way to live with this. It’s because I know how they act, how their minds work, how they would react if I said or did this or that. Having all of this free time and being alone with my thoughts because my husband works his ass off for pennies only for my dad to try and make him spend money on necessities instead of spending his own goddamn money has allowed me to think about and even analyze my own parents; how they act, why they act this way, why they’ve acted that way, etc.

I do consider myself lucky that they aren’t worse than this. My mom is actually much more understanding with me, now, and that’s probably because I’m the last child she has left. So I guess after living in a shit or unhappy marriage and working her ass off to raise two kids and then losing one, she tries to be the good xtian mother and be thankful for what she has now. It’s a guess, though. The whole thing could be a facade for all I fucking know.

Dad’s all talk, but because his tone is the same whether or not he makes his shitty, stupid jokes, or can’t keep certain thoughts to himself and feels the need to say them aloud (SUCH AS POINTING OUT I HAVE CLEAVAGE LIKE IT’S SOME “OMG WOW YOU HAVE BOOBIES NOW AFTER HIGH SCHOOL” IN FRONT OF THE ENTIRE COMMUNITY COLLEGE IN MY EARLY TWENTIES THANKS DAD THAT WAS CREEPY WHAT THE FUCK), it’s hard to tell whether or not he’s serious about some of the shit he says.

He projects himself onto Trump because he wants to BE Trump. Trump says if Ivanka wasn’t his daughter, he’d date her. I wouldn’t be surprised (I’d still be creeped out) if my dad said something similar. And he has tried to talk about my appearance and how I could make money with it such as a pin-up cosplay calendar because apparently I “look so attractive” while at the same time he shames me for having “skin so pale my legs blind him from reflecting so much light while I wear shorts.” And when I call him out on it, he genuinely thinks he’s done no wrong. My dad is pretty much Trump Lite, and it’s creepy.

But I know the fucker. I can play at his fucked up game, too. All I gotta do is talk about periods or vaginas, because suddenly when his daughter talks about, you know, being a human, suddenly it’s just too much for him.

And he hates I can play this fuck-ass game with him.

And I’m glad he hates it.

Because it’s evident he will never see himself in the wrong. He never has, never does, never will. Because he’s got one excuse or answer after another, and when he runs out, it’s time to drop the conversation before he gets pissed and ruins the night for everybody.

So I’m glad I’m good at playing this game back at him and being damn good at it. That’s what he gets for being a piece of shit.

#personal #rant #yep it's long #created a new account and crawled back to this site just so I could do this

[ayittey1]

The African Solution to Ethiopia’s Civil War

George BN Ayittey, PhD

More than 40 Civil Wars have raged in postcolonial Africa since independence in 1960. These wars have wreaked wanton destruction; reduced infrastructure to rubble, uprooted people sending refugees creaming in all directions. Several states have failed or collapsed as a result of war -- CAR, Congo DR, Liberia, Libya, Somalia, among others -- on the African continent

Some wars never end –in the Spanish Sahara, Casamanche in Southern Senegal and Somalia. Other wars descend into genocidal expeditions to settle ethnic scores. Still, others metastasize into sheer banditry. War and attendant insecurity provide rebels with the cover to fleece villagers and impose “security taxes.” In Somalia warlords extract “taxes on goods – even foreign aid shipments – passing through Mogadishu. Elsewhere, unpaid government soldiers disguised themselves as “rebels” at night and bedrob civilians. In Sierra Leone’s Civil War in 1996, government soldiers were indistinguishable from rebels at night. They would shed their uniforms, don rebel attire and commit atrocities including robberies.. So they were called “sobels” (the combination of soldiers and rebels) because both were predators.. In many countries – such as Ethiopia and Zaire -- unpaid government soldiers openly sold their weapons to rebels. And for their part, corrupt and incompetent governments often used the war as an excuse to shield budgetary expenditures from scrutiny and award lucrative contracts to cronies.” Either way, war created its own “profitable” logic,” making it more difficult to stop it. In short, there are no winners in Africa’s Civil Wars.

Some wars don’t even make sense – none whatsoever. Ethiopia’s harrowing Civil War is a case in point. It is the second most populous African nation with over 100 million people and at least 82 ethnic groups. The country was never colonized but has been ravaged by at the least three wars since 1972. The most grievous occurred in the 1980s. It wreaked so much havoc and destruction that it instigated the onset of a famine that claimed at least one million lives. And while the rest of the world was organizing rock concerts and songs (“We Are the World”) to save famine victims, then leader of the military junta, Comrade Mengistu Haile Marian – a Soviet-backed Marxist coconut-head – was spending $10 million on imported Scotch whiskey to celebrate the tenth anniversary of Soviet imperialism in Ethiopia! Over $423 billion was raised for famine victims but much of it was embezzled.

In 1989, a coalition of determined rebels decided to put their differences aside and made a renewed effort to topple Comrade Mengistu. They comprised the Tigrayan People Liberation Front (TPLF), Eritrean People’s Liberation Front (EPLF). After Mengistu was ousted in 1991 – he fled to Zimbabwe. The rebel groups, together with others formed the Ethiopian People Revolutionary Democratic Front (EPRDF). Interestingly, all the groups were Marxist with a jaundiced view of “revolutionary democracy,” whatever that meant. And inexplicably adopted a colonialist stratagem that reeked of “divide and conquer.” It allowed for the practice of ethnic federalism and even permitted secession. Eritrea seized upon this opportunity and declared itself independent in 1993. But its leader, Isaias Afewerki, was no freedom fighter nor democrat. Always itching for war and constantly beating the war drums to keep an iron grip on his people and divert attention from economic problems and domestic malfeasance, he seized upon a dispute over a worthless piece of real estate at the border town of Badme to start a war with Ethiopia in 1998.

It was a war that defied logic. The world’s two poorest nations that relied on food aid were spending about $1 million a month to hammer each other, take a break to bury a innocent civilian casualties and then get back at it again pounding each other. Hostilities came to an end in 2000 but Pres. Afewerki kept stoking the fire to use as justification for state of emergency that conveniently served as a conscription tool. Young Eritreans, upon graduation from college, were required to sign up for an indefinite “National Service.” It has been the main reasons driving Eritrean youth to flee the country for Europe -- to avoid that National Service. Unfortunately, many do not make it and drown in the Mediterranean. As it turned out, Afewerki has been just like the rest of the African crocodile liberators, who betrayed their people. EPRDF did too; never brought democracy to Ethiopia in 1991.

In 2005, it held its first elections which were blatantly rigged. When people protested in the streets, security forces opened fire killing about 1500 people and also arrested at least 20,000 opposition supporters. The election in 2010 brought no respite. The EPRDF won 99.6% of the vote (546 of the 547 parliamentary seats). In the 2015 elections, the opposition did not win a single seat! Its rule was characterized by brutal repression.

Ethiopia’s economic fortunes remained bleak under the morose leadership of the EPRDF regime until it embarked on the construction of its $5 billion Renaissance Dam. In May 2018, a young man by the name of Abiy Ahmed emerged from the ruling elites and begun to reform the rotten system. He freed all political prisoners and invited exiled opposition leaders to return home. He opened up the economy placed several state-owned enterprises – such as the airline, banking, among others – on the auction block. He reached out to President Afewerki whom Ethiopia had been at war to cement a peace deal. For his efforts, he was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 2019. Ethiopians hailed him as the “Messiah.” Nursing mothers named the other babies after him. But this is precisely the problem with African reformers or Messiahs – such as Yoweri Museveni of Uganda, Jerry Rawlings of Ghana’s and Abdel al-Sisi of Egypt. They started out well but cult personality set in. With their heads in the clouds, they become unreachable. John Jerry Rawlings of Ghana or J.J. Rawlings became known as “Junior Jesus” and Abiy Ahmed as “Messiah.”

Under pressure to reform Ghana’s decrepit political system, Rawlings’ hand-picked Constitution assembly prepared a Constitution according to his dictates and set up his own party the National Democratic Congress (NDC) in 1992. While the Constitution stipulated a two-term rule, Rawlings argued that all those years he served after he seized power in a 1981 coup (1981 to 1992), did not count toward the two-term rule because Ghana was not a democratic country and had no Constitution. Museveni pulled off a similar ploy in 2003. In 2018, PM Ahmed of Ethiopia established his own political party, the Prosperity Party. It is a monumental conflict of interest situation. Reformers do not reform the political system, set up their own party, run for the presidency and expect to lose. In fact, in Nigeria, Gen. Sani Abacha allowed only five political parties to be established in 1995. Immediately, the all chose him as their presidential candidate!

Military officers have left an opprobrious record of governance in postcolonial Africa. ALL collapsed dates were ruined by military coconuts. And iIn case after case where they managed a transition to democratic rule, the results were often disastrous. They either created their own parties (Gambia in 2003, Ghana in 1992, Egypt in 2014) or shoo in their favorite political parties (Nigeria in 2001). PM Ahmed is most likely to succumb to this proclivity – especially when the completion of the Renaissance Dam appears imminent. The formation of PM Ahmed’s own Prosperity Party is a serious violation of conflict of interest. His partiality toward his own ethnic group – Oromo – has caused alarm. Ethnic tension between Oromos and Amharas, Afar and Somali, as well as other ethnic groups could lead to the unraveling of Ethiopia. Elections were slated for August 22, 2020 but the coronavirus pandemic necessitated a postponement to 2021 to the displeasure of TPLF.

Tigrayans constitute only 6% of Ethiopia’s population but the TPLF so dominated the EPRDF it was indistinguishable from the apartheid system in South Africa. It even operated an ID card that documented the bearer's ethnicity (for the first time in Ethiopian history). Blatant favoritism was demonstrated in all sectors of society, including the economy, military, education, and even religious institutions. Resentment and impatience boiled over.

The TPLF re-drew boundaries of regional states in Ethiopia along ethnic lines. Seeing power slip out of its hands by the emergence of Abiy Ahmed, TPLF began a campaign to reclaim its old glory back by defying the central government. It held elections in Tigray region. But it was the massacre of central government troops on Nov 4 in Mai-Kadra that broke the camel’s back and started the war. PM Ahmed probably thought he could finish off the Tigrayan hotheads in a couple of weeks but this has dragged on for six months.

Naturally, appeals would be made to the international community but they are unlikely to elicit much response. The international community is thoroughly fed up with Africa’s incessant wars and appeals for aid. Even then, the international community does not understand Africa’s problems and unlikely to offer viable solutions. It often suggests a “government of national unity” (G(NU). But time and again GNU has failed spectacularly – in Angola (1993), in Zaire (1998); in Sierra Leone (1998) and, in Liberia (2003); and Ivory Coast (2005); in Zimbabwe (2009) and Kenya (2009). Africa’s experience shows that GNU is just a short hand device for joint plunder of the state. It requires distribution of government posts between government and rebel forces. Quite often nobody is satisfied with what they got and they return to the bush to fight it out.

The Village Meeting/National Conference

When a crisis erupts in an African village, the chief and the elders would summon a village meeting. There the issue is debated by the people until a consensus is reached. During the debate, the chief usually makes no effort to manipulate the outcome or sway public opinion. Nor are there bazooka-wielding rogues, intimidating or instructing people on what they should say. People express their ideas openly and freely without fear of arrest. Those who care participate in the decision-making process. No one is locked out. Once a decision has been reached by consensus, it is binding on all, including the chief.

In the early 1990s, this indigenous African tradition was revived by pro-democracy forces in the form of "Sovereign National Conferences" (SNCs) to chart a new political future in Benin, Cape Verde Islands, Congo, Malawi, Mali, South Africa, and Zambia. “Sovereign” because it wielded sovereign/ultimate power and its decisions could not be abrogated by anyone.

Benin's nine-day "national conference" began on Feb 19, 1990, with 488 delegates, representing various political, religious, trade union, and other groups encompassing the broad spectrum of Beninois society. The conference, whose chairman was Father Isidore de Souza, held "sovereign power" and its decisions were binding on all, including the government. It stripped President Matthieu Kerekou of power, scheduled multiparty elections that ended 17 years of autocratic Marxist rule.

Congo's national conference had more delegates (1,500) and lasted longer three months. But when it was over in June 1991, the 12-year old government of General Denis Sassou-Nguesso had been dismantled. The constitution was rewritten and the nation's first free elections were scheduled for June 1992. Before the conference, Congo was among Africa's most avowedly Marxist-Leninist states. A Western business executive said, "The remarkable thing is that the revolution occurred without a single shot being fired . . . (and) if it can happen here, it can happen anywhere" (The New York Times, 25 June 1991, A8). Unfortunately, General Sassou-Nguesso did not accept his defeat graciously and overthrew, with the help of France and Angola, the civilian government of Pascal Lissouba in October 1997.

A similar national conference in Niger in 1991 denounced the military dictatorship of Colonel Ali Seibou and stripped him of his power, leaving him with one main task: To organize the transition to civilian rule. “For the first time since the independence of the country in 1960, free and fair elections were held and in March 1993, Mahamane Ousmane became the newcomer in the political arena” (West Africa, Dec 6-12, 1999; p

In South Africa, the vehicle used to make that difficult but peaceful transition to a multiracial democratic society was the Convention for a Democratic South Africa . It began deliberations in July 1991, with 228 delegates drawn from about 25 political parties and various anti-apartheid groups. The de Klerk government made no effort to "control" the composition of CODESA. Political parties were not excluded; not even ultra right-wing political groups, although they chose to boycott its deliberations. CODESA strove to reach a "working consensus" on an interim constitution and set a date for the March 1994 elections. It established the composition of an interim or transitional government that would rule until the elections were held. More important, CODESA was in "sovereign." Its decisions were binding on the de Klerk government. De Klerk could not abrogate any decision made by CODESA -- just as the African chief could not disregard any decision arrived at the village meeting.

Clearly, the vehicle exists -- in Africa itself -- for peaceful transition to democratic rule or resolution of the war and political crisis in Ethiopia. Ethiopia from all walks of life – leaders of political parties, religious organizations, trade unions, student groups, ethnic groups, etc. should demand the convocation of SNC. Forget about the Africa Union. It is hopelessly useless; it can’t even define democracy.

If Ethiopia appeals international community for aid in resolving its Civil War and humanitarian crisis, it should be told that the solutions to its problems lie in Africa itself.

The wise learn from the mistakes of others while fools repeat them. Idiots, on the other hand, repeat their own stupid mistakes.

#Africa #civil war Ethiopia sovereign national conference

[nintendoduo]

34 Cool WiiWare Games That Are Going Away FOREVER*

 *Unless Nintendo decides to sell them again when the Switch U 4DS VR comes out in 2025.

As you might have heard, starting next Monday Nintendo is taking away the ability to add funds to the Wii Shop, which will close down for good in early 2019. That means a whole bunch of great games won’t be able to be purchased anymore. In order to raise awareness of this, the most important issue of our times (after all the other issues), we spent the winter playing as many WiiWare games as we could over on our YouTube channel. Here’s a summary of the gems we encountered:

1. 3D Pixel Racing

A pretty challenging motion control racing game with Minecraft-esque graphics. Pro tip: use a regular old Wiimote, not a Wiimote Plus. Trust us, the Plus is too sensitive for this game and you’ll end up falling off the track every two seconds. Despite the difficulty, this one gets a recommendation because of the cool look and for giving us an excuse to use the Mario Kart Wii wheel again.

2. And Yet It Moves

Using the Wiimote’s gyroscope, this game has you move the world around you (rather than vice versa) to navigate the levels.  One of those “easy to learn, difficult to master” type of games that defined many of the best on the platform.

3. Bit.Trip Runner

Originally a WiiWare exclusive, although you can now play it on 3DS, PC, Mac, Linux, and probably some Japanese toilets. You run from left to right and jump, slide, kick and... jump again to the music. A tribute to the platforming classics that deservedly became a classic itself (and the sequel, available on Wii U, is even better).

4. BurgerTime: World Tour

You know, BurgerTime! If you don’t know, this is a good excuse to get acquainted with this ‘80s arcade title. Like in the original, you attempt to assemble giant hamburgers on a series of platforms whilst dodging humanoid food monsters, only this time the graphics are in 3D and it’s all happening in space, for some reason. NOTE: Ironically, this fast-food themed game can’t be bought in North America right now, only Europe.

5. Chrono Twins DX

Originally designed for the DS, the gimmick is that the main character is fighting enemies in two different time periods at once.  For the DS this used each screen for the different time zones, but with WiiWare you get a simple split-screen.  It’s quite unique and challenging as you’re basically playing two sidescrollers at once.

6. Contra Rebirth

Remember when dudes with rippling muscles and mullets got to be badass gunfighters and nobody complained they were toxic?  Contra sure does.  Konami gave “Rebirth” to three of their classic franchises on WiiWare (CastleVania and Gradius were the other two) but this was probably the best of the bunch.

7. Dracula: Undead Awakening

If you never get tired of mowing down undead enemies then this will scratch that itch.  Basically you get a bunch of different cool weapons and use them against a bunch of different cool monsters for as long as you wish, or at least as long as you survive.  The challenge is so high that even lasting ten minutes on your first playthrough has the game calling you “noob.”

8. Eduardo the Samurai Toaster

A simple run n’ gun game (think Metal Slug) starring a sentient toaster facing off against flying onions, spear-toting carrots, and what appears to be an army of angry playing cards. It’s not clear what the plot of the game is, and there’s not a whole lot of depth to the gameplay, but it’s still a fun way to waste an hour (or more, depending on the difficulty). It’s supposed to be even more fun with 4 players, if you can find three other Wii-loving weirdos.

9. Excitebike World Rally

Motorcycle races.  Simplicity works sometimes, and just like the original Excitebike this one proves it once more.  Just like the original you get a cool level creator, only this time you can share it with anyone and not just whoever you give your cartridge to.

10. Frogger: Hyper Arcade Edition

Lots of different modes that still capture the appeal of the original arcade classic.  The overall look is kinda coked-up, which captures the ‘80s arcade scene reasonably well.

11. Frogger Returns

Only the one mode this time, but it serves as a reminder of the timeless quality and endearing appeal of the core gameplay.

12. Gnomz

A chaotic 4-player party game starring sock-obsessed gnomes. You go around a single screen collecting socks and stomping other players to kill them; it’s like life itself. (Or, as many have pointed out, like the Super Mario War fan game, but less illegal.) There are three modes and a variety of scenarios. Like with Eduardo the Samurai Toaster, the more players the better, but the single player mode ain’t bad (and that way, you don’t ruin any friendships).

13. Gyrostarr

A pseudo-3D shoot ‘em up where the main difficulty is that you can actually shoot the power ups away, and you kinda need those to finish the stages -- if you don’t collect enough energy, the portal at the end of the level closes on your face. The difficulty ramps up slowly but surely across 50 levels. Another difficulty is not getting an LSD flashback on those trippy bonus stages.

14. HoopWorld

A basketball/fighting game that makes surprisingly good use of the Wii’s motion controls. This definitely falls in the “easy to pick up, difficult to master” category, since there’s a pretty wide range of ball throws and kung-fu moves you can perform by shaking your Wiimote and nunchuck in different ways. Or you can just wave your arms randomly and hope you win. The game is currently unlisted in North America, which we’re hoping is a sign that they’re planning to re-release it in modern platforms (with online multiplayer, hopefully).

15. Horizon Riders

A futuristic on-rails shooting game that you play with the Wii balance board. If you have the Wii Zapper accessory, even better (and you’ll look even sillier), but it’s not necessary to play. You aim and shoot with your Wiimote while leaning on your balance board to move from side to side. Definitely a good reason to dig that thing out of your closet. Be warned, though, that the game crashed on us in the middle of a stage, as seen at the end of our gameplay video.

16. Jam City Rollergirls

Roller derby has never been as popular to watch as it is for people to randomly talk about every few years for the novelty, usually accompanied by a movie that flops at the box office.  The last time the mainstream tried to make this sport happen it resulted in this game, though, so there’s at least that.  You play as characters with hilarious names roller blading through others with random power-ups and combat moves.

17. Jett Rocket

It’s a lofty ambition to offer gamers something that will remind them of Super Mario Galaxy, and it might seem foolish to do so on an indie dev’s budget.  But Shin’en managed to deliver with an uncommon 3D platformer collectathon with good amounts of action sprinkled in.

18. LostWinds

When a developer approached a title with motion controls in mind, it always stood out more than other games that tried to crowbar motion controls into the scenery in the hopes of a shortcut to Wii success.  LostWinds is in the former camp, making you use the pointer to create gusts of wind to elevate the main character onto platforms and knock around enemies.  In fact it’d be more accurate to say you’re playing as the wind spirit rather than the story’s protagonist.  Fun game with a beautiful art style.

19. Maboshi's Arcade

Nintendo knows how to make simple games that present difficulty when you don’t expect it.  In the three modes of this puzzler you play as generic shapes but the controls are difficult to master.  It kind of has to be seen to be believed.

20. Magnetica Twist

A connect-three type of game where you fire marbles and stuff.  What ends up twisted the most are your wrists whilst trying to aim your shots with any sort of precision.

21. Max and the Magic Marker

There are plenty of side-scrolling platformers that use childhood visuals and hobbies to appeal to the player, and yet they never really get old do they?  In this one you use a marker via motion controls to create platforms and defeat enemies.  You also can go in and out of Max’s childhood drawings.

22. Monsteca Corral

This is a weird one.  A bunch of monsters vaguely shaped like Doshin the Giant are gathered together by an unseen god-ish alien to fight robots that said alien had created earlier, but they turned against him.  That’s the plot as we can best make out, anyways.  There’s also dinosaurs.  Recommended for those who like their fun to be completely unlike the other fun they’ve had with games.

23. Pearl Harbor Trilogy – 1941: Red Sun Rising

Old-school dogfighting in a new-school 3D game.  Well, it was new when it released.  Anyways you shoot down enemy planes, defend your base, attack naval fleets and get commendations you don’t deserve.  Sometimes you see the action from the POV of the bombs you drop, and it works much better here than in Michael Bay’s version of Pearl Harbor.

24. Pole's Big Adventure

Chindōchū!! Pole no Daibōken is bizarre Japan-only SEGA title made to parody the crappy platform games that came out during the 8-bit era. Despite being full of intentional design flaws, like power ups that kill you or background objects that suddenly cut your head off, the game is pretty easy -- until you unlock hard mode, where the boss fights are actually challenging. Still, you’ll be playing this one mostly to laugh at the dozens of Easter eggs.

25. PictureBook Games: Pop Up Pursuit

Not many board games made it to WiiWare, but this was easily the best.  It’s largely straightforward “run to the end of the board” contests, with plenty of opportunities to ruin friendships.  The art style is the main hook, looking like a pop-up book, like the title indicates.

26. Rage of the Gladiator

You fight for your life against larger-than-life mythological creatures, like ogres and minotaurs and senseis.  The game got compared frequently to Punch-Out!! and with good reason, but the combat is actually a more creative and the dialogue is more humorous.  A blast to play through the first time, and a blast to replay.

27. Snowpack Park

Unlike most of the games on this list, there’s no combat in this one and your blood pressure won’t ever raise.  There’s plenty to do but it’s fun stuff, mostly involving playing with penguins.  It works great as a sort of palette cleanser to the violent action-packed games primarily showcased in this list.

28. Sonic the Hedgehog 4

The 16-bit Sonic games still hold up today as all-time greats.  Sonic 4 didn’t live up to those expectations but it did get SEGA to think about their past a little more seriously, and helped lead to Sonic Mania.  Episode I is on WiiWare, but you’ll have to find Episode II elsewhere.

29. Space Invaders Get Even

Another sequel to another arcade classic, but with the novel twist of playing the game from the enemies’ point of view.  Word of warning: this is possibly the only WIiWare game that has DLC.  The initial purchase of 500 points will escalate up to 2′000 points if you’re enjoying yourself.

30. Star Soldier R

Top-down arcade-style shooter, and if you know the type you know the drill.  The amount of content is pretty bare-bones, as it’s basically just time attacks.  But the replayability is rewarding if you’re a fan of the genre.

31. Tetris Party

We hope you know Tetris.  This is a Tetris that has good multiplayer, interesting variants where you do things like create platforms for some guy to climb to the top of the screen or use the tetrinos to make exact shapes like that of an apple.  There’s also a balance board mode, and as stated earlier it’s good to have an excuse to pull out the balance board.

32. Vampire Crystals

Vampires used to live peacefully with zombies but now they don’t, and it becomes your problem.  Thankfully you get plenty of guns, some so powerful that you end up creating a bullet hell where you’re the one firing them rather than dodging them.  It looks simple but the game actually is quite tough.  It’s not Cuphead-level but you will fail many times over.  With plenty of content and being one of the last WiiWare releases, this title approached the platform’s fullest potential.

33. WarioWare DIY

What sets this apart from the 87 other WarioWare games? The fact that players could make their own minigames, leading to an avalanche of creative, insane, and even NSFW games. Unfortunately the servers are no longer online, but you can still find thousands of fan games online if you look hard enough. The included games are pretty fun too, and if you have the DS version, you can make your own and send them over to your Wii.

34. Zombie Panic in Wonderland

Shooting galleries are perfect for motion controls, but gamers don’t get as many as we deserve.  Thankfully this one helps rectify that, with an interesting story and cool comic-book art sequences that keep things moving between all the gunning down of zombies and various giant monsters.

#wiiware #wii #nintendo #luigi

[garrettlawry-blog]

Visiting Moholoholo On A Conservation Holiday

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