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bookishcatcafe · 4 months

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A Short Hellerby Fanfiction

Mordecai leaped over the wooden crate as a string of bullets followed him. He panted as he reloaded his revolver. As he did, bullets shot against the crate, some of them going through it, and barely grazing the cat.

His eyes fully dilated at the rush of rounds soaring around him. This wasn’t his first rodeo with violence and he’d be damned if it was his last. Then, a sudden silence.

Such a quiet felt like forever. It was shrouded by the swiftness of his heartbeat, the idle wind passing around them, and the shuffling of feet and anxious hands trying to reload. A soft curse under the tongue. The enemy was impatient, ruthless, and he was not docile to their demands.

After a click of the hammer, he shot up over the crate, standing while glaring back at his assailants, before firing the shots. One by one they kneeled over into a bloody mess. Suits drenched with moist redness, stained as the brush from the colour of pomegranates.

As the last one fell, crawling towards some semblance of safety, Mordecai walked over, aiming again.

“Do not double cross us again.” He pushed a heel onto the tannish cat’s leg, the exit wound spurting from his abdomen. The cat groaned and cried out in pain. Mordecai was prepared for just the occasion. He wore his black leather gloves and leaned over the dying man, opening his waistcoat, and pulled out a letter which now was stained in a darkish hue of reddish brown.

“I’ll take this. Property of Marigold. A thief knows the number one rule is to never be spotted out as such. You failed in just this mere task. Such an inkling would make one surmise you to be a beginner. A novice pickpocket. A dandy who knows not a lick of what it means…” he steps off the man and dusts his own waistcoat,

“To be an honest worker.” He pulls the trigger.

A silence once more. The slow creaking of the ceiling fan. Or is that the mattress? Sweat drenched Mordecai, the blanket was askew—another dream. Another nightmare, more specifically, why was it that one? What depravity was this, which haunted him, dream he’d been having every other night—no precursors—just happenstance.

Then it hit him: the smell. Flapjacks. A usual. Tradition! And coffee? More tradition!

His blurred vision became apparent, especially after rubbing one’s eyes, a yawn, the stuttered breath: the morning routine as it were.

A scratch of the chest, more specifically the white tank top, which now was drenched.

His glasses lay on the side table. He put them on.

In clarity, he saw him: his dear, adorned in a flour covered apron.

Roarke.

Rocky, the living personification of poetics. The vagrant Grecian urn turned prohibitionite—a rumrunner. The magnitude of his chaotic personality was tenfold during every mission he dealt out from Miss M. It diminished on the daily, he hid it well, yet it would slip within the cracks of this aged vase.

Mordecai was no older, then again, that’s just something he’d say to himself to disregard the obvious physical evidence of time passing on. The grey hairs started to pop a few months ago. The lines on his face became more apparent from years of stress and need for perfect symmetry, be it order in Marigold, his constant studying, the years of hiding, the possible acts of vagrancy through moments of rumrunning and murder. This in particular came with the toll of two options of response, of trauma in aftershocks or of bleak stoicism with hints of nihilistic performance.

Yet, when he saw Rocky in his dainty outfits, in such a gaily almost dandy ways of self-performance—it brought a warmth to his shivering heart.

He got out of bed, yawning once more, and stumbled toward the bathroom to freshen up.

This. This is what made Mordecai. What is Mordecai? Mordecai is an intellectual witty man, aged by moments in time, experienced, and one who does not follow by ego. He follows by heart and for the need for order—and in some moments—a desire for sustaining himself.

After washing up, he walked to the kitchen. Rocky wiggled his hips slowly, singing ‘Blue Skies’ as he sauntered over to Mordecai.

“My blue skyyy…smilin at meee…” Rocky held a hand out. Mordecai chuckled and held his hand while making sure not to get covered in flour, swirling Rocky who was laughing before he continued singing. He slowly stopped as Mordecai gave him a peck on the lips. “Thank you for not waking me…and for making breakfast.”

“You were rather tired last night. Too much celebration!”

“Yes—no? Well we did have a big score—oh god did I drink?”

“Yes. You get really rambunctious when you’re drunk.”

Rocky laughed. Mordecai went over to his drawers and started pulling out clothes for today. Rocky tried to pull him into a barrage of kisses, but Mordecai gave in, a small smirk on his face as his need to truly get properly ready being delayed by affection. Not that he didn’t mind it.

“I must get ready. You knowww—haha—you know I how I am, you silly romantic affectionate boy!”

Rocky continued for a moment before stopping. He truly loved the man. They might’ve seemed like opposites, especially at first, but attraction knows no boundaries especially regarding one’s differences. Sometimes those things bring people closer—in the right circumstance.

He soon was dressed in a white undershirt, dark grey pleats, leather brown suspenders hooked to the buttons of his pants, black oxfords, and for when he would actually leave his home a black overcoat with a red tie.

Mordecai sat down and began eating.

Rocky ate with some speed, though Mordecai would give him a look, as if to tell him to slow down.

Rocky started to speak. “Well besides work…maybe we could go out for some fun?”

Mordecai sipped his coffee. “Like what?”

“A movie?”

“How about a play?”

“Play could work.”

“Hamlet?”

“Faust?”

“We can just see what’s performed today. Our guesses will do no good.”

Both of them, starting with Rocky, began snickering. The morning was just beginning, the day ahead was free for the taking, and their plans would have to come with due time. Time, which the both of them have to share in earnest collaboration, not that either would mind otherwise.

#lackadaisy #gay #hellerby #Rocky #Mordecai #fanfiction #slice of life

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yurizzsblog · 4 days

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Ways To End Your Story:

1. **Resolved Ending**: Tie up all loose ends and provide clear outcomes for the characters and plot. This gives readers a sense of closure and completeness.

2. **Unresolved Ending**: Leave some aspects of the story open to interpretation or future development. This can keep readers thinking about the story long after they’ve finished it.

3. **Twist Ending**: Introduce an unexpected turn of events that changes the reader's understanding of the story. This can add a memorable and surprising element to the narrative.

4. **Full Circle**: Return to a theme, setting, or idea from the beginning of the story. This creates a sense of symmetry and can highlight the protagonist’s journey.

5. **Cliffhanger**: End the story at a suspenseful moment. This is effective for serialized stories or when a sequel is planned, as it leaves readers eager for more.

6. **Poetic or Symbolic Ending**: Use imagery or symbolism to convey the story's final message or theme. This can leave a lasting impression through evocative language or visuals.

7. **Moral or Philosophical Conclusion**: Provide a clear message or lesson. This type of ending often gives readers something to ponder and reflects the story's deeper meanings.

8. **Character Reflection**: Allow the protagonist to reflect on their experiences and growth. This can provide emotional closure and insight into the character's development.

9. **Epiphany**: End with a sudden realization or revelation by the protagonist. This can be a powerful way to show character growth and change.

10. **Ambiguous Ending**: Leave the ending open to multiple interpretations. This can engage readers in discussions and debates about the story’s meaning and possible outcomes.

Choosing the right ending depends on the story's genre, tone, and the message you wish to convey to your readers.

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dimensionzero · 1 year

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predictions for btsv:

gwen's spider-crew and miles won't meet up immediately (cause they gotta find him first)

relatedly, miles will spend a decent chunk of the movie in earth-42

miles-42 is gonna end up as part of the gang. "evil counterpart" my ass he's still MILES

we're gonna see hobie's home dimension

margo gets an introduction/backstory montage at some point

mayday somehow saves the day through toddler shenanigans

the return of RIPeter in some way shape or form, miguel mentioned that he wasn't 'supposed' to die and that makes me suspicious

miguel lied about his backstory, I don't know how or why but I feel it in my bones

jessica or ben is going to defect and join miles' side. my bet's on jessica

we're gonna split the party at some point because miles, gwen, peter b & mayday, noir, ham, peni, pavitr, hobie, and margo (+ possibly miles-42) is a lot of characters to juggle

miles is indeed going to face his own "save my loved one or save the world" moment and in true spider-man fashion, he'll choose the world

...but it won't matter because he inspired his friends to do the right thing instead of following canon rules, so either gwen (for co-protagonist reasons), pavitr (for poetic symmetry reasons), or hobie (for anarchist reasons) will end up saving his loved one for him

#ive literally never been so sure about anything as i am about the last 2 points #across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse spoilers

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dramadramallama · 4 months

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Love Supremacy - brain rot part 2

As Myung-ha rejects the idea of a predetermined fate, he sets off to change it for Yeo-woon, who’s mirroring him in every way. When we first meet our Myung-ha, we also meet the most mysterious character of the show. Is it Death? A guardian angel? God? Whatever it is, he knows more than Myung-ha, and has some wisdom to share. Thus, a sunbae.

The fact that he is represented as some sort of Author is not lost on me, but I do appreciate that his identity is vague enough to be interpreted many different ways. No religious connotations, no punishment, no judgment, we cheered.

In theory, Myung-ha finds the idea that some people just don't live happy lives unfair. He doesn’t like the story’s ending (he doesn’t like his own ending either, as he regretted it in the last moments) so he sets off to change it through this new opportunity (the Game). When asked, "would you do things differently, if it were you, then?" he unequivocally answers that he would, that he would make it happen differently. Looking back, it’s clear his sunbae is not asking hypothetically. The underlying conversation is obviously about his own life being re-written, not (just) Yeo-woon’s.

1. Mirrors/Symmetry ▶️2. Fate, Free Will, and Happiness 3. Game/Reality

So in theory, he’s all for doing things differently, but in practice, though, it's not that easy. He’s struggling not to make the same mistakes, which is represented with the in-game instability. When Myung-ha makes progress, when he both shows love and accepts it in return, the game (life) is able to go on in spite of the glitches.

Golden moments keep us going, literally.

After experiencing some system errors, some setbacks, his sunbae comes back to the rescue with some more not-so-hypothetical questions.

Through the lens of a loving relationship, he hopes to show Myung-ha that the choices we make out of despair are still our own (free will). It’s a direct parallel to Myung-ha deciding to cut his life short (break up, no pain, no hard feelings), instead of living longer (delaying it, enduring the hurt, getting scars, coping with regrets).

Myung-ha is not quite ready, and has trouble understanding what is being implied. Because he hasn’t reached a state of self-love, he unknowingly doubles down on the fate he’s assigned himself once, and chooses to repeat it.

He chooses to give up (again), he chooses to avoid the suffering (again), which he associates with unhappiness. It takes just as much courage to live as it does to die, and happiness doesn't exempt you of pain, but Myung-ha doesn’t know it just yet. He falls back into his old habits, and symbolically gives up staying longer in the game (of life), worried about Yeo-woo’s happiness more than his own.

After working tirelessly to get Yeo-woon to happiness, and becoming the reliable person Yeo-woon can lean on, he hits the wall of his own contradictions. The relationship is uneven, the choice too biased. The gap widens, the fragility of the whole thing is apparent: the game is bugging, as Myung-ha doesn’t align his needs/desires with his actions/reactions.

Not only does he refuse Kyung-hoon’s and Yeo-woon’s offer to lean on them (he hurt his leg following a system error), he also struggles accepting his own feelings. In spite of the time running out, he fails to tell Yeo-woon he loves him properly, retains important info about himself, and breaks up with him in the exact same location where they share their first kiss (loud wailing sounds of poetic cinema)

Myung-ha’s core issues are bursting out in the open (increasingly alarming error messages appear): because he doesn’t let himself be loved, he can’t love properly. Because he can’t lean on others when he needs it, he fails to be there when it matters.

Myung-ha misguidedly keeps choosing a sad ending for himself when the whole game, his whole life, is fighting to give him a happy one.

That’s not to say his entire journey until now was in vain. In fact, Myung-ha is incredibly resilient (child...❤️), and opens himself to change at the end. He’s just missing a piece of the puzzle for it all to fit into place. It is, in fact, quite a big pill to swallow that happiness doesn’t happen to you passively like destiny, but instead is something that you actively choose. Hell, I struggle to even comprehend or believe it, tbh.

The game being littered with questions, answers, and possible choices/options is a visual representation of our everyday pondering, and choice making. What goals are we setting for ourselves? Myung-ha's sunbae is there to remind Myung-ha that if we refuse the existence of fate, then we should make use of your all-powerful free-will.

At first, he blindly runs towards the game’s main goal--happiness--and doesn’t realize you can’t find it at the finish line. If he only wants happiness for someone else and not himself, why would he get a different ending? By the end, he learns that happiness can, possibly, be found on the way there, though.

The hand, the love he extends to Yeo-woon one-sidedly in episode 1, he accepts it when it is returned in episode 8.

The story comes full circle, but doesn't repeat itself; he gets a different ending through a new start.

From a pure stylistic standpoint, I'm obsessed with repeated lines/motifs in media because they give a lot of rhythm to a story. Like a poem or a song.

The story reaches its final stanza, he listens to himself, and resolves the error, his own contradictions. He found the will to fight for happiness, a way to love himself, chooses to stay longer, chooses Yeo-woon, chooses to maybe suffer along the way a little, but he chooses life.

Notice how the question does not have Myung-ha's answer this time. Now, we choose.

Life is not an express lane, and if you're short 5,000 won to take the bus, or if the bus breaks down on the highway, you might have to fight and make a run for it. It'll suck. But it's not in vain; you might just get rewarded with the happy moments you created for yourself. Myung-ha does.

It is such a hopeful, kind, gentle message.

I am alive too.

#love for love's sake #love supremacy zone #lfls #love for love's sake meta #kdrama #OOOOOOOOOOOF #ok one part left and i'll shut UP

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wanderingwomanwondering · 1 year

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Me reveling in the poetic cinematic symmetry and narrative potential of Eddie maybe really not remembering Buck rescuing him after the shooting because he was rapidly bleeding out and Buck definitely not remembering Eddie rescuing him after the lightning strike because he was literally dead. Like…

Can you imagine the gravity of the situation that will eventually force each of them to reveal what they thought and felt as they saved the other??? Can you see Eddie and Buck’s vulnerable and tear-soaked faces as they tell each other about the utter fear and devastation rattling their bones when they rescued the other person??? Can you feel the power of each one of them tumbling into each other’s soul as they confess how much they mean to each other, having unequivocally realized it at the very moment they almost lost the other person??? Watching each other with tear-filled eyes as their savior breaks all over again, but each of them is alive and well this time and they do what their hearts and bodies demand after everything they’ve been through by sharing a soul-mending embrace (at the very least)!!! Yeah I think about this alot.

Tbh I actually think Eddie remembers at least some of Buck’s reaction to the shooting and that was likely their mutual oh moment or at least Eddie’s but even if Eddie really doesn’t remember and actually is in the dark about Buck’s devastation, part 2 of the trauma discussion they started in 612 will be epic!!!

#buddie #911 fox

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emeraldspiral · 11 months

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Imagine Zim having like, a Gwen Stacy moment with Dib.

Tak comes back for revenge on Zim and plans to start by going after the only thing really keeping him going; Dib. Zim tries to stop her, but only because he’s his nemesis to destroy. Tak calls him out on how easy it would be to kill Dib if he were actually trying and dares him to prove he really doesn’t secretly care for him by offing him right then and there, but Zim still denies it and says he just wants to destroy Dib on his own terms and no one else’s. Tak responds by chucking Dib off a building. Zim tries to save him, but fails.

But then in a moment of poetic symmetry, he remembers the time machine he tried to kill Dib with in Bad, Bad, Rubber Piggy and uses it one more time to make a crucial object swap that saves Dib’s life.

#invader zim #zadr #zadf #invader tak #tak

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sadhorsegirl · 1 year

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need it on the official record that i do love moiraine and lan's relationship sososo much!!!

i love the implicit understanding they have with each other, based partially in the fact that they are both heirs separated from a crown for very different reasons. moiraine and lan are both people who cannot go back to where they came from, whether they want to or not. so there is this shared sense of loneliness, and drift that they share, wrapped up in the idea that they probably aren't going to survive the last battle (or even the journey to it) and would rather sacrifice themselves than have anyone they care for or, in moiraine's case for some people deem more necessary to The Pattern (although to be fair to her, this often still means having a certain level of care for them she just um. wasn't raised to know how to show any healthy positive emotion i don't think) moving in companionable silence eternally Searching™

i've grown increasingly haunted by this exchange they have at the end of new spring:

like............"surrender after you are dead. yes." is the sentiment set up as one of the core values of their partnership starting from the very moment she decides to ask lan to be her warder. surely, this will end well for all parties and will NOT have any tragic implications!

it sets up this really harsh poetic symmetry (surprise) when they have their Big Fight™ in the great hunt. moiraine LITERALLY invokes how they first met with funny little jokes abt him throwing her in a pond to get his defenses down so she can jump scare him w an intense re-examination of their relationship. the whole fight is basically her forcing him to think on his toes so she can examine him at his most basic emotional level in order to try and expose the truth abt how he feels, going from playful to painful at the flip of a coin lol. and he's aware of it!!! him calling her out on it and her answering back w patented Aes Sedai Speak, in a relationship that should be free of such manipulation.....

the real master stroke here, though, is the fact that the chapter is from moiraine's pov. we get to see her own inner thoughts about it and see that beneath the devastating chess game she's playing she's just as heartbroken at having to play it. the argument is really a crystalization of what makes her such an interesting character for me -- she is leveraging absolutely brutal social dynamics in order to, from her perspective, HELP someone she cares for deeply.

essentially, moiraine is saying that in his love for nynaeve he's found something to live for beyond sacrifice and that means that their bond to each other must be terminated. he can create a new life, and bc she thinks she understands how everything will play out moiraine thinks she is just cutting down the time before he realizes he can and will ask for her to dissolve the bond anyway. he isn't wed to death anymore, leaving the heavy implication that moiraine still is.

which sets us up for something really interesting for them in s2 i think! while their relationship in the show seems to generally be under less strain than it is where we see them in the mainline series, there remains another crucial difference btw the books and the show -- moiraine has siuan!!!!! im rly excited to see how that comes into play in terms of any potential interpretation of this fight/the breakdown of lan and moiraine's relationship bc it makes her decision to push him away feel even more hypocritical and rooted in her tendency to be self-sacrificing to the point of self loathing.

tldr for anyone just trying to figure out what this might all mean for season two according to one singular poster on tumblr dot com: in the books moiraine feels very........time to burn all bridges so no one can chase after me on my suicide mission basically and i can't say im NOT excited to see if that's where she ends up in the show (to live is to suffer etc etc)

#ch 22 of the great hunt is the assigned reading for todays post!!!! plz be prepared for the pop quiz at tomorrows lecture!!#yes it WAS necessary to break out some NOTES some PASSAGES #this fight drives me insane one of the best thing in the entire series i am not kidding #he knows what shes doing!! she knows he knows what shes doing!!!! and still!!!! she chooses to hurt him to try and save him!!!#guess queer platonic life partners doesnt have to cover an entire life together 👀😬🫡#lan mandragoran #moiraine damodred #wheel of time #wot on prime #wot books spoilers #meta

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punchdrunkdoc · 1 year

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Chapter 7

Summary: After the events of S3, Matt Murdock is trying to once again balance life as a lawyer and a vigilante. But he’s been scarred by loss and betrayal - will a mysterious new neighbour help him heal? Or will her secrets drag him back into the darkness?

Notes: This is a slow burn romance with an original female character, told in 3 parts. There is mystery, intrigue, action and angst - all the good stuff!

Also available on AO3 and Wattpad

Masterlist

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CHAPTER 7

“You’re still here.”

Calina glanced over her shoulder at Yelena, but returned her gaze to the woman in the garden before answering. “Yes, for another day. I’m getting the bus home tomorrow.”

It had been three days since the mission. Three days since Calina and Katya had made it back from the Ambassador’s house, bleeding and bruised, but alive. Calina had stayed to have her wounds treated, and to let the worst of the bruising fade before heading back to New York.

By bus.

She wasn’t looking forward to the long journey - or series of journeys really. She would have to change Greyhounds in Virginia and detour through Pennsylvania to throw off any possible tails. It would be a long, uncomfortable trip home, but she would suffer it gladly to avoid giving away this location.

Yelena joined her at the window. “You’ve been watching over her for days like some mother hen.”

Calina shrugged. “Don’t you wish you’d had someone looking out for you when you were first freed? Instead of floundering through it alone?”

“I was fine.”

Calina spared her a sceptical glance.

Yelena rolled her eyes. “Okay. I was too busy running for my life to worry about my mental health. But the distraction helped.” She nodded to the woman outside. “She has no distractions, though. So how do you think she’s doing?”

Calina wrapped her arms around herself, wincing as the action pulled on the stitches across her shoulder. “I think she’s about to reach the anger stage,” she murmured.

The two of them studied Katya as she wandered amongst the petunias. The Widow’s base was located near the South Carolina coast, in a beautiful old Antebellum mansion. It had been relatively cheap, and private - isolated from the major roads and towns, but not too far from Charleston airport - and the South had seemed as good a place as any to hide out.

But Yelena liked to joke that she hadn’t considered any of those practical reasons, and had chosen the house because it had once been a plantation. She thought there was poetic symmetry in a bunch of ex mind-enslaved Widows reclaiming a slaver’s space.

Calina didn’t care about that. She just liked it for the gardens.

The warm, sub-tropical climate was perfect for growing vibrant, lush flowers, and they filled the landscape at the back of the house. The garden was a riot of colour and scent, and the air hummed with bees and the flapping of butterfly wings.

It was peaceful, but so full of life.

She thought it was good for the Widows to have this space. A place where they could just walk amidst the beauty of the world and reflect. So many of them were still so…angry. Hyper-focussed on their rage and their revenge.

It was one of the reasons she’d wanted to leave and make a life for herself elsewhere.

Yes, she was angry too. It was a background simmer that she could mostly ignore, only occasionally boiling over when she thought too hard about what had been done to her. And what she had been forced to do. But she didn’t want to feed that rage. She didn’t want to drown in it, become bitter with it.

She wanted to live.

That was how she would spite Dreykov and all the other evil bastards of the Red Room. That was how she would win: by letting go of her training and enjoying her new life.

She hoped the woman in the garden would get to that place soon.

Katya had been confused in the moments after receiving the antidote. As the mist evaporated and the red tinge cleared from her eyes, she had stumbled off Calina, shaking her head as if to clear it.

Calina remembered the feeling well. It was as if her head had been filled with a dark, dense fog, a cloud of nothing but whispered orders and commands. As the fog had thinned, horror had seeped in at the realisation of what it meant.

She had been controlled.

Turned into nothing more than Dreykov’s puppet. A mindless automaton that he could command - and even terminate - at the click of a button.

The confusion and horror had been followed by anger. Then depression, acceptance - basically all the stages of grief.

Because it was a grief, or sorts.

Mourning the loss of free will.

“That’s good. Anger is better than all that shame and fear,” Yelena replied. She nodded to the woman outside. “Let’s go give her an outlet.”

“What did you have in mind?” Calina asked.

———

The muffled pap, pap, pap of the gun was familiar, like a soundtrack from her youth. The weight of the weapon in her hands was a comfort, a safety blanket. The recoil tried to buck the barrel, but her muscle memory compensated, keeping the sight steady.

She had to give Yelena credit - the shooting range was the perfect outlet.

She’d thought at first the activity would just bring up bad memories of their training. But the fact that they were so used to target practice, meant that the act itself was almost…mindless. She didn’t have to concentrate on her aim. She didn’t have to overanalyse her form, or get used to an unfamiliar weapon.

It was all second nature.

Which meant she could relax her mind, and just...feel.

And bask in the sense of control.

She was the one holding the weapon.

She got to choose where to aim. When to pull the trigger. How often to fire.

She was in charge.

Pap, pap, pap.

After emptying her fifth clip - and having shredded several paper targets with bullets - Calina flicked the safety on and holstered the weapon. Then she leaned against the wall behind her and watched her sisters as they continued firing. Yelena was supernaturally accurate, as always, the hole in the bullseye of her target getting bigger and bigger as she shot round after round into it. Katya was…less precise. Her emotional state was evident in the wildly off-centre bullet holes, as well as her tight shoulders and the white-knuckled grip she had on her pistol.

Eventually, when the gun clicked empty, she hung her head, panting with rage. Calina knew better than to approach her in this condition - especially from behind - so she stayed where she was.

“Yelena,” Calina called. “Yelena!” she repeated, trying to be heard over the gunshots.

Yelena whipped off her ear protectors. “What?” she yelled back, annoyed.

Calina nodded to Katya, who was now practically vibrating with anger, her hands clenched by her side as she stared sightlessly ahead. “I think it's time for step 2.”

“Drinks?”

“Drinks. Lots of drinks.”

———

Calina slumped in her chair, and picked at the label on her beer bottle. Being good Russian women, they’d started with vodka, knocking back shot after shot until they'd all developed a pleasant buzz. Calina had switched to beer when the room started spinning, never having had much tolerance for alcohol. But Yelena and had Katya carried on with the harder stuff.

Other Widows had drifted through the lounge, staying for a few minutes at a time to have a drink with the newest newly-recovered member of the group. But Yelena and Calina had taken on a kind of mentoring role to Katya - as the one who’d found her, and the one who’d freed her - so the three of them were mostly left to it.

“-and then she made fun of my vest! My vest! You’ve seen my vest, haven’t you, Calina? It’s the one with-"

“Aaaalllll the pockets. Yes, Yelena,” Catalina replied with a small smile. Yelena was regaling Katya with the story of how she’d reconnected with her sister Natasha, and how they’d brought down the Red Room together. It was a story Calina had heard several times already.

“Calina, you’re slouching,” Yelena remarked suddenly, eyeing her upside down from her sprawl on the floor. “You never slouch. Do you remember, Katya, in ballet class? Calina would hardly ever get a whack across the legs for bad posture. Even when we were little. Now look at her - slouched in that chair, back all crumpled. Madame Galkin would be very displeased.”

“Madame Galkin can kiss my ass,” Calina murmured.

Yelena burst out laughing, and even Katya managed a small smile. The shooting range had helped to bring her anger to the surface, and the alcohol was doing the trick of relaxing it out of her.

They were flying blind when it came to the best way to deal with their un-brainwashing. There were no handy therapists in the group, and none that they could go to for help. So they’d come up with their own ways of coping.

This seemed to be working for Katya.

“Ha! Did you learn that kind of language in New York City?” Yelena teased, her accent even heavier than usual.

Calina just rolled her eyes.

“You’ve been in New York?” Katya asked.

Calina nodded. “Been living there for about a month now.”

“What is that like?” Katya asked. “Isn’t it scary, being out in the world, all on your own?”

It may have sounded like a strange question to an outsider, especially coming from a lethal, highly skilled secret operative like Katya. But Calina remembered that fear very well. The sense that the world beyond the control of the red room was too vast. Too full of possibilities and choices. Too complicated and daunting to navigate.

“You know what they say back home,” Calina responded. “‘The eyes are afraid, but the hands are still doing it’. It is kind of scary, but it gets easier every day.”

“She only came back for a one-off, to help you,” Yelena explained.

“Thank you, Calina” Katya said.

“You don’t need to thank me.”

“Well, I should at least apologise for stabbing you. And strangling you.”

Calina smiled. “Then I’d have to apologise for stabbing you, and making you talk like Marge Simpson.” Katya’s hoarse voice had just about recovered, but for the first two days in the compound she’d sounded suspiciously like the yellow cartoon character.

“Fair enough,” Katya smiled. She turned serious, her gaze locked on the empty shot glass in her hands. “He told me that someone might come. And that I had to kill them on sight. I just never thought it would be you…”

“Wait, what?” Calina sat up straighter and exchanged a look with Yelena. “Who told you that?”

Katya looked confused. “My handler for the assignment. Why? What’s going on?”

The sick feeling in Calina’s stomach suddenly had nothing to do with the quantity of Stoli she’d ingested. “We thought you were following long term protocols. Are you saying you were still in contact with your handler?”

Yelena suddenly looked completely sober. “When Katya? When was the last check-in?”

“Last Thursday.”

“Shit. Shit!” Yelena replied. She swung her worried gaze to Calina. “We missed someone. Not all of Dreykov’s men are dead.”

———

“I can’t believe you’re still leaving,” Yelena said, arms crossed over her chest.

Calina finished shoving her clothing into her carry-on. “Nothing’s changed-”

“Everything’s changed!”

“Nothing’s changed for me, Yelena. I still want out.” She zipped up the luggage and shrugged into her jacket.

“You’re being a coward,” Yelena spat. “We found out last night that one of Dreykov’s men is still controlling Widows and you just want to disappear and forget about it. Leave us to clean it up.”

“We still don’t know what ‘it’ is. Is it one guy? A whole independent cell of operatives? Do they have any Widows left now that we’ve freed Katya? We. Don’t. Know. It could be nothing - just a lone Dreykov-wannabe who has no toys left to play with.”

“And we need to find out!”

“You need to! I did my part. I was with you in the beginning, Yelena. I helped you take out the other handlers, and the trainers, and the scientists. And I will always come back to help free Widows. But I want out, Yelena. No more death. No more revenge.” She stepped closer to the other woman, and softened her voice, suddenly feeling so…tired. “Do you remember what Natasha said in the Red Room after you freed us? We get to make our own choices now. This is my choice, Yelena. Please respect it.”

Yelena gritted her teeth and looked away.

Calina sighed and grabbed her bag. As she shouldered past her stubborn, relentless sister, Yelena stopped her with a hand on her arm. “He could find you, you know. You’re using your real name. Like a complete amateur.”

Calina sighed. “I didn’t want them to take anything else from me. They already took my innocence, my home, my childhood…I wanted to keep this last piece of me. The name my parents gave me.” She leaned over and kissed Yelena on the forehead - a sudden impulse to soothe her sister’s fears.

Because that’s what this whole conversation was about. Yelena was scared for her.

She’d taken on the role of protector for the rest of the Widows. Maybe because she was one of the first to be freed; maybe because that freedom had come at the cost of another Widow’s life…or maybe this was just who Yelena was away from the influence of the Red Room.

A leader. A guardian.

She had moulded a group of lone operatives into a team. She had found them a home, and made it into a fortress. Everything she did was to keep the Widows safe.

And it drove her nuts that Calina wanted nothing to do with it. That she wanted to live out in the world instead. Where she was exposed. On her own.

Unsafe.

“I promise,” Calina vowed. “That I’ll be careful out there. You know I can take care of myself.”

Yelena gave a quick sharp nod, still not looking at her…and Calina walked away.

———

Matt perched on top of the water tower and opened his senses to the world below. He filtered through the sounds that rang out in the night - the beeping of the car alarm on 51st street; the sobs of the teething baby on the seventh floor of the apartment building; the hiss of the subway below ground; the baseball game being streamed in the sports bar on the corner…

And he listened for any cries for help. For the crack of a gun, or the flick of a blade.

But there were none.

He’d normally be thankful, taking it as a sign that maybe - maybe - he was starting to make a difference in Hell’s Kitchen. That the criminal underbelly was scared enough of the Devil to think twice about causing mischief…

But tonight he would have welcomed a fight. A chase. Something to burn off his excess energy. To satisfy the frustration and growing anxiety in his gut.

His head turned towards the rooftop in the distance - his rooftop.

Their rooftop.

But just like the dozen other times he’d checked tonight - and the previous six nights - there was no sign of Calina.

No lonely figure at the parapet, gazing at the stars.

No scent on the wind.

No heartbeat.

There was nothing. She had disappeared.

He had walked her home from the subway, asked her out for a drink…and he hadn’t seen her since.

He’d looked out for her the next day, hoping to turn her ‘maybe’ into a ‘yes’. He’d paused at her door on the way to work, and on returning to his apartment in the evening, but heard nothing from inside.

He did the same the next day.

And the next.

But there was always…nothing.

“Maybe your mojo has finally worn off and you scared this particular beautiful woman away,” Foggy teased when Matt had raised his concerns a couple of days ago.

“It’s not funny, Foggy. What if something happened to her? Remember I told you about that other Russian woman who visited - the intense one? There’d been a…vibe…between them in the corridor. Calina didn’t look very happy to see her.”

“Matt, you’re jumping to conclusions again. You only met this woman a month ago - for all you know, this could be a habit of hers. Maybe she likes to head into the wilderness and go camping. Or maybe she checked herself into rehab. I get why your mind always catastrophises things and goes for the worst option, but there could be a hundred innocent explanations for this.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Karen asked, suddenly appearing in the doorway of the firm, three coffees in hand.

Matt considered lying - it had been a reflex around Karen for so long - but he was trying to be better. More open. More honest. And more mindful of the pain he caused through his misguided attempts to protect her. So he opted for the truth. And as he said the words out loud, he realised that he may well be over-reacting. “My new neighbour. I haven’t seen her in a few days.”

“The incredibly hot new neighbour that Matt asked out on a date,” Foggy elaborated. “She’s ghosted him.”

Matt glared at Foggy. He and Karen may have decided they were better off as friends, but it still felt…disrespectful…discussing other women with her. “I didn’t ask her out. I invited her to join us for drinks at Josie’s. She doesn’t seem to know anyone else in the city, and she seemed lonely.”

“You keep telling yourself that, pal,” Foggy replied.

Karen placed the coffees on the conference table. “Did you try calling her?”

“I don’t have her number.”

“What about her work. Could you contact her there?”

“I think she’s unemployed.”

“Oh.”

Even Karen - and her keen investigative mind - seemed out of options.

Which gave Matt an idea.

The next day during a break in his schedule he paid a visit to an old acquaintance. He rapped on the glass door of Alias Investigations, and smiled when he was answered with a characteristically annoyed “What?”

“Is that how you greet all potential clients?” Matt teased upon entering the office.

“It's how I greet assholes who fake their own deaths,” Jessica Jones replied. Her leather jacket creaked softly as she folded her arms and leaned back in her chair. But even without that hint to her body language, Matt could tell she was angry with him - the scorn seemed to radiate from her.

Even more than usual.

The smile slipped from his face. “It wasn’t a conscious decision. I know that’s not really an excuse, but I never set out to hurt anyone. I just wasn’t in the right…frame of mind…to be Matt Murdock anymore.”

“I had to find out you were alive from the news. I never believed that murdering psycho posing as Daredevil was you, but then the real you took down Fisk, and that’s how I found out. It was a dick move, Murdock.”

“I know. And I’m sorry.”

She scoffed. “Its not like I was mourning or anything. It just would have been common courtesy to let me know. Pick up the phone or something, and say ’Hey, Jess, turns out I didn’t die when you guys abandoned me in that building.’”

He took a step closer. “You didn’t abandon me. It was my choice to stay down there. What happened was not on you. Or Luke, or anyone else.”

“Whatever. Like I said, its not like I cared.”

Matt could hear the lie in her voice. He knew she cared - she wouldn’t be angry otherwise - but he didn’t challenge her on it. It was enough that she was talking to him and hadn’t just kicked him out.

Or tried to hit him.

He considered that a win.

“Well, I’m still sorry,” he said.

She shrugged. Then changed the subject. “So what brings you to my neck of the Kitchen? Another zombie ex-girlfriend on the loose?”

“No. I have a job for you.” He explained the situation with Calina. And asked for her help to find out more about his neighbour's past and where she might have gone.

Jessica tapped her pen against the notepad in front of her as she contemplated his request. “I’m happy to take your money, but isn’t this something you usually handle by yourself?”

“Usually,” he replied. “But I’m prepping for a big case at work. And the last time we took on something this big, I got distracted by my…other work. It cost me my practice and pretty much blew up my life.”

The new case wasn’t quite on the scale of the Frank Castle trial, but it had attracted a lot of media attention. Especially given the unusual perpetrator - a middle-aged mother of two named Margaret Posen. She'd never had so much as a parking ticket in her life but now she was facing life in prison for the murder of a female grad student, a woman she’d never met before and had no motive to kill - but one she’d gunned down in broad daylight, with eye witnesses and CCTV footage attesting to her guilt.

It was a nightmare of a case. And it would take all the time and expertise Nelson, Murdock and Page had to defend her. “I’m trying something new this time,” he finished explaining.

“I can respect that,” Jessica replied. “Okay, Counsellor, I’ll take your case.”

———

The first step, Jessica explained, was getting into Calina’s apartment. “I’ll start running a background check tomorrow, but if there’s been foul play involved in her disappearance, we need to know ASAP,” she said. “And her apartment might give us some clues. Have you accessed it yet?”

Matt shook his head. He’d considered it - more than once. He’d even scoped out the best entry route (her bedroom window, via the fire escape), but something had always stopped him from taking that step. Maybe it was the feeling that he was over-reacting. Or maybe it was the sense that he’d be violating the tenuous trust that had developed between him and Calina.

Or maybe it was just that there was a limited amount of information he could gather himself - he needed someone with two functioning eyes.

He could have asked Foggy to help, but Jessica was the better option - she wouldn’t have any reservations about some unethical and legally-dubious snooping. Which she proved when she met him later that night, brandishing a key to Calina’s apartment. “I spoke to the Super and convinced him to let me look around.”

“He just handed it over?” Matt asked, sceptical.

Jessica shrugged. “I may have spun a story about my ‘sister’ being in hospital upstate and needing some personal items, but gosh-darn it, her house key went missing after the car accident so I can't get into her apartment."

Matt could taste salt in the air, and he gave Jessica a look. “Did you manipulate the poor man with tears?”

“Is that judgement I’m hearing, Murdock?

Matt held up his hands in defence. “No judgement here.”

“Good.” She slipped the key in the lock and opened Calina’s door. The familiar, heady scent hit Matt in a wave. He closed his eyes and breathed it in, having missed the intoxicating smell.

But it was old.

Proof that Calina hadn’t been here in days.

He filtered through the other pieces of olfactory data lingering in the air, as Jessica filled him in on the visual details. “No scratch marks on the door. No broken furniture. Windows are still locked.”

Matt nodded. It fit with his impression too. There was no scent of blood, no lingering traces of adrenaline from a fight or flight. And no other person had been in this apartment for months. The knot of anxiety in his gut that he’d been trying to ignore unfurled in relief - she hadn’t been attacked or taken against her will.

At least, not from her home.

The two of them continued searching through her relatively meagre possessions, finding nothing incriminating, and nothing that told them where she might have gone. He came across a stack of envelopes and some scraps of paper in the bottom drawer of the kitchen cabinet and handed them to Jessica. "Anything?" he asked as she flipped through them.

“No. Just some unopened bills. A copy of her birth certificate, the usual stuff.”

"Have you found her passport?"

"No," Jessica replied. "But I spent the afternoon going through airline manifests for the past few days. No Calina Balashova listed. She also didn’t buy a bus ticket or hire a car."

"She might not have needed to - she owns a motorcycle."

He heard Jessica roll her eyes. "A detail that would have been helpful to know earlier."

Matt ignored the censure in her voice as he opened Calina's closet. It was the most filled space in the apartment, the small rail bursting with clothes. He ran his hands over them, enjoying the feel of the soft wools and silks.

“A woman after my own heart,” Jessica commented as she joined him.

“Hmmm?” Matt asked, not sure what she was picking up on.

“Mostly black. Your girl isn’t one for colour. Except this.”

She pulled out one of the coats and Matt took note of the particular texture and shape. “What colour is it?”

“Red. Bright red. But it still has the tags on. Guess she’s not bold enough to wear it out yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“With her looks, in this colour, she’d stand out a mile. Stop traffic and shit.”

Matt filed that bit of information away. Did she not want to stand out? And if so, why not?

Was she running from something…?

Or someone…?

“Hmm,” Jessica murmured.

"What?"

"This is all pretty expensive stuff. Some of its designer. Yet she lives in this shithole - no offence."

"None taken," he said dryly. "What do you think it means?"

"I don't know. Just making an observation."

“Do you see a suitcase or a large bag anywhere?” Matt asked. He hadn't picked up any traces of jet fuel that usually clung to well-used luggage, but thought he would double check.

“No. And I'm not seeing a purse or phone. She’s definitely gone somewhere. And it looks like it was of her own free will.”

“Any books?”

"Books? No. Why?"

"No reason." He remembered the way Calina had clutched the library books to her chest, as if they were precious treasures. He got the sense she wouldn't have left them behind.

Which meant she really had left of her own volition.

A part of him was relieved at the evidence that she was likely unharmed. But he couldn't shake the vague sense that she was in trouble.

And he had nowhere left to look.

Matt sighed and descended the water tower, leaping from halfway down the metal frame onto the nearest rooftop. He made his way across the skyline to his building, then down the steps to his apartment just as the first drops of rain started splattering against the concrete. It quickly turned into a downpour, the water battering almost horizontally against the walls of his apartment.

The rat-a-tat sound rose to a crescendo, until it enclosed his loft in a static of white noise. He wandered over to the window and pressed his hand against the cool glass, enjoying the way the sound blocked out all others, giving him a small respite from the over-stimulation of the world.

After a few moments of peace, Matt started peeling off his suit. He changed into his sweats and grabbed the boxing gear from the bottom of his wardrobe. He wasn’t looking forward to heading back out in the rain, but he was still feeling…antsy. If he couldn’t burn off this feeling as Daredevil, a few rounds with a punching bag at Fogwell’s should do the trick.

He shoved on his sneakers and headed out the front door. He locked his apartment door behind him, and glanced at 6A. His senses reached out almost automatically, but there was no one there.

Again.

He clenched his jaw in frustration and trudged down the hallway.

But just as he stepped into the stairwell, the elevator doors opened…and the fragrance of strawberries and sea salt nearly knocked him flat.

She was back.

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

CHAPTER 8

Taglist: @hollandorks, @yanna-banana, @stilldreaming666

If you’d like to be added, let me know!

#Daredevil #Daredevil fic #daredevil x original female character #daredevil fanfic #daredevil fanfiction #marvels daredevil #matt murdock #matt murdock x original female character #tabula rasa

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ihavenothingtosayandimsayingit · 1 year

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Discography Deep Dive: GY!BE

Part 3

Slow Riot for New Zero Kanada (1999)

Label: Constellation, Kranky

Producers: Dale Morningstar

Scores

Ranking: 7

Overall Average Score: 2.9

Mixing: 2.5

Pacing: 2.5

Track Ordering: 3

Orchestral/Textural variety: 1.5

Melodic Ingenuity: 3

Aesthetic Consistency: 5

Stand-out track: Moya

Slow Riot for New Zero Kanada is a huge moment in the early discog of Godspeed. Its long two track arc ebbs and flows gorgeously as a sonic journey checking all the boxes of true Godspeed style: the long minimalistic crescendo built upon evolving and unfurling textures of strings, drums and guitars, with interspersions of "vox pop" field recordings (the extensive interview of Blaise Bailey Finnegan III being the central character).

Throughout "Moya" (one of the stand-out tracks in Godspeed's canon) we hear gorgeous melodic fragments germinate from the seeds of a twelve-note passacaglia. As this movement builds and transforms, the textures remain rather homogenous. While the pings of the glockenspiel are initially welcomed as a bright touch to the introduction of the twelve-note ostinato they become more awkward and out of place when the texture thickens, especially when they become tremolos. Despite this attempt of textural variety, what remains consistent is exemplary melodic ingenuity and symmetry that is consistent with Godspeed's minimalistic approach to building textures. The twelve-note ostinato doesn't show up in its complete form until 3'45" into the movement. Preceding this is a haunting seven-note motive introduced by the strings. As the twelve-note passacaglia proceeds several countermelodies spin out in a neo-baroque style finally give way to a five-note descent into the requisite field recording moment of "BBFIII". Thus, a twelve-note passacaglia is symmetrically bookended by patterns of seven (at the beginning) and five (at the end): 7+5=12.

Although less poetic than other field recordings, "BBFIII" stands out as a dramatic documentarian style, undergirded by the deft touches of guitar harmonics with a melodramatic string tremolos and drum fills. The inevitable forces of the instruments take over to create a compelling climax of riff-like power chords and four-on-the-floor drumming. This would be a fantastic ending, yet the strings enter again in a coda-like fashion with washed-out reverb more in a neo-baroque style . This seems to be a blurred and all-too-short hazy memory of the opening moments of "Moya." Although aesthetically consistent, this use of coda seems almost perfunctory when heard within the context of Godspeed's innovative endings where entire movements act as dedicated codas. To round off the structure of this diptych, Slow Riot really needs to be a triptych. This would be consistent with the baroque style alluded to throughout (which are often in three parts) and proportional to what is asked of the listener in this sonic journey. The aesthetic and imaginative demands upon the listener in this EP is one of the main reasons why it is included in this discography deep dive. It is simply unfair to attach a diminutive EP label upon this transcendent record.

Additional Listening

Symphony No. 3, Op.36: A Symphony of Sorrowful Songs, String Quartet no.2 "Quasi una fantasia" Henryk Górecki

Passacaglia in C minor (BWV 582) Johann Sebastian Bach

"Passacaglia" from Peter Grimes Benjamin Britten

#music #music criticism #godspeed you! black emperor #discography #post rock #art rock #experimental rock #canadian music #montreal #avant garde #Bandcamp #discography-deep-dive

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milesmentis · 6 months

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Spotify Wrapped: 3, 7, 13, 17, 53, 69, and 100! 🔫

LMAO This is what happens when I say my Spotify Wrapped was boring this year xD Gonna put a cut here because there's seven of these (and a lot of repeats from last year)

3) Ah, the Daren&Alistair song. Their dynamic remains one of my favorites: they're such similar people with, like, parallel arcs and consider each other basically brothers ... right up until they don't. I don't talk about it much, but I headcanon Alistair comes back in my canon ... just so that he can die in the Fade. It has a very poetic ring to it ... abandoning the Wardens during the Blight, but returning to save them from the Calling ... symmetry.

7) ANOTHER OC&Alistair song! This time it's Gil. This song was also in my wrapped from last year because this is a strong comfort song for when I'm depressed and I've needed it a lot this year

13) All classics here! One of the primary Daren anthems, and specifically relates to his relationship with his father's memory. The gauntlet is a crucial moment for Daren because it is his first genuine moment of catharsis after his family's death and the biggest weight on his soul was the guilt he felt for failing them (and his father specifically)

17) Hey! This one's a BG3 song ... still Daren tho. It's the perfect song for his relationship with Gale and the spectre that his relationship with Mystra casts over them both. It has it all: yearning, loss, regret, temptation, and a great bridge to belt out that insists that the past doesn't dictate the future

53) I! LOVE! MARION! HAWKE! SO! MUCH!! He's my go to comfort character for when I'm burnt out and furious and I had ... a lot of reason to blast his playlist at the top of my car's radio this year. Red Hawke desperately pretending to be lack-a-daisical Purple Rogue, my beloved

69) It's a shame Marion's song wasn't #69 but here we are. This one was a total surprise, and I think it only made it on the list because of a ... like ... 2 week period when i played it on a loop. It's funny how many break-up songs I've listened to, considering Daisy and I just had our 1 year anniversary and are deliriously happy :3

100) Another redux: this time it's the Siege of Castle Cousland. This was the year that I finally really got back to writing, so it only makes sense that all of Daren's Trauma Songs make up a solid third of this list. It's also just a real banger.

#spotify wrapped #oc playlist asks #they're basically the same thing anyway #if i listen to any song more than 10 times then I WILL find an OC to assign it to!

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overlord-of-chaos · 10 months

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OH MY GOD OH MY GOD GOOD OMENS

(Spoilers ahead for series 2 if you had not already guessed.)

So first of all oh my god. OH MY GOD. I may never recover actually. I’m not sure I want to.

Secondly oh my god. I was expecting something spectacular. And I’ll be damned if Neil Gaiman did not deliver.

(I am writing this in the middle of a field. Well, technically the edge of a field, but it’s right next to another one so it looks like I’m in the middle from a distance. Why am I in a field, you might ask? Because that FUCKING ENDING was so *gesticulates gayly* that I needed to find somewhere to scream at the world. (It’s very cathartic actually I should do it more often.) If anyone nearby is concerned by someone screaming in a field it was probably me. I’m not fine, but I’m not in mortal peril either so no need to disrupt the field screaming. If you own the field and did not want me traipsing through it, I’m terribly sorry I advise you take it up with Mr. Gaiman.)

They kissed they kissed they kissed I mean the ineffable husbands were basically canon from the beginning but I never expected this. (I should know better. I know.)

I tell you what I am loving how many shows/movies at the moment basically seem to be going “gay ‘subtext’? no no darling this gay is text and you cannot argue otherwise” my lil gay heart is delighted actually

And I mean, beyond that… (I’ll come back to it. I’m not done. But I need to give the rest of the plot its due as well.) I’ll admit, I got halfway through episode 5 and thought “how on earth are they going to wrap this up in the space of about an hour? I don’t have any of the answers at all.” I should never have doubted. I know I should never have doubted. But in my defence, who could’ve seen that coming? I hope Gabriel and Beelzebub are very happy together.

Oh, and the opening scene of episode 1? They knew each other when Crowley was an angel? (It does not suit him, but he did make a lovely galaxy.) And then at the very end, Aziraphale offering to make him one again? There’s some poetic symmetry or something in there that I don’t currently have the brain capacity to analyse

(I’m sitting in a tree now, in case anyone was wondering. I bailed on the field because there were humans in it. And by in a tree, I mean it is hollow and I am inside it. I couldn’t climb it even if I wanted to, it’s massive.)

It was worth the wait. It would always have been worth the wait, of course. It would have been worth the wait if it had taken 50 years although I’m not sure my heart would have been able to take the ending by then. And even though I want more already I hope they take all the time they need to make series 3 and make it well. (If they do not series 3 I will riot and given my general worldly (lack of) competence will probably injure myself in the process so they’d better get one.)

Of course no (rant? rave? gay breakdown?) post about Good Omens series 2 would be complete without giving Nina and Maggie my beloved all the respect they deserve. Especially Nina. You tell Crowley. He clearly needed it. You gay meddle right back in Aziraphale and Crowley’s love life, after all, they did gay meddle in yours.

And Aziraphale. Aziraphale. Darling. Angel. Please. Crowley does not want to go to heaven. His communication skills only stretch so far and only when prompted by other meddling gays. You both really need to learn the art of open communication sometime. It will solve a lot of these problems.

Oh, and! And! “I forgive you”? “I forgive you”? “I FORGIVE YOU”? Yeah just go ahead and break my heart as well as his why don’t you??? I have not yet seen what has become of my feed in the last 24ish hours because I had to go straight to writing this down somewhere but I imagine the entire fandom is feral right now OH MY GOD

This was amazing. It was all amazing. Saraqael was amazing. Jim was amazing. I’m struggling to come up with any other adjectives because my brain has been fried clearly

I would go and rewatch it all immediately but I need to form the semblance of a functional human being for this afternoon so I can go out into the world and do things. I will probably have rewatched it before the week is out.

I briefly considered watching this as soon as it came out (midnight UK time, meaning I’d finish at about 5 in the morning. I did this last time. It was an Experience) but decided against it since I had work in the morning. It was a wise decision since there is no way I’d have been able to go the day with no one to talk to about it and finishing it on a Saturday instead gave me the freedom to immediately go scream in a field.

Oh my god. This was one hell of a series. I cannot think coherently about it all I know is that I loved it.

And Neil, if you ever see this: Thank you. For all of it.

#GOS2Spoilers #go2 spoilers #good omens s2 #good omens #good omens spoilers #*incoherent gay screaming*

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baileytomkinsviscomblog · 6 months

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'Intersections' Influences and Inspiration - Pt 2

Utku Yavasca

Utku Yavasca is a Portuguese comic artist that I found out about through my cousin, who happens to have met and befriended him on a trip to Portugal. The majority of Utku's work is shared through his Instagram page, where he regularly uploads short humorous comics about his life experiences. These comics usually contain 10 images per post, each being a different panel of the story. Utku is a very versatile artist, creating a variety of pieces that range from simplified and cartoony sketches to incredibly detailed pieces with darker, more mature themes, all of which tend to be created in his preferred medium of black ink.

It was very beneficial that I was connected to Utku through my cousin, as this meant I was able to share a dialogue with him about his work and my final piece. Here are some screenshots of the conversation I had with him.

Daniel Padure

Daniel Padure, aka Padure, is another artist who interestingly happens to be from Portugal. He works in the fields of illustration, painting, and street art, primarily sharing his art through Instagram. Padure's work can be recognised by his simplistic, bold illustration style, using minimal details and thick lines, often with his signature ink-dripping effect. What I like about Padure's work is that it's very visually consistent, using symmetry and precise proportions. He often uses the same character design in his pieces, which is very similar to the style of Keith Haring. I have been following Padure's work for a while, but what brought me back to it during my research for this project was his series of mirrored pieces, one of which can be seen below. This links to my idea of adding a flipped aspect to my graphic novel. I also feel that my approach to illustrating characters can often be very similar to Padure's, as I tend to draw with symmetry in mind as well as accurate proportions. I am also a fan of using simplified illustration styles.

Jordan Bolton

Jordan Bolton is a Manchester-based comic artist whom I discovered on the creative blog It's Nice That. Jordan creates beautifully moving short poetic stories that primarily focus on simple everyday experiences such as going to the movie theatre, looking out of the car window, and watching birds sitting in a tree. Jordan's comics, in a visual sense, are deceptively simple; however, they are always accompanied by a meaningful and often philosophical narrative. What I like about Jordan's work is his subtlety as well as the way that it subverts your expectations of a comic that traditionally has panels filled with dramatic and action-packed imagery, instead depicting more real-life settings and scenarios where the focus lies on introspection. In a way, I believe that the imagery Jordan uses is secondary to the underlying narrative, simply being used as a means to express it. Jordan's work links back to my research on Eckhart Tolle and The Slow Movement, as they all share similar themes of living in the moment and enjoying the little things in life.

References

utku.yavaska (2018) trenches [Instagram], 6th September. Available from: www.instagram.com [Accessed 25th Nov 2023].

utku.yavaska (2018) inktober 13 [Instagram], 13th October. Available from: www.instagram.com [Accessed 25th Nov 2023].

utku.yavaska (2022) 🎬 Nostalgia Series #1 Gaming🕹 [Instagram], 24th August. Available from: www.instagram.com [Accessed 25th Nov 2023].

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fenris-returns · 7 months

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do you have any book recommendations for someone curious about european pagan history? i'm kinda overwhelmed lol. what were one of the turning points in your life that had you embracing your faith? did you ever have dreams or visions related to it?

I’m gonna try to answer all of these but this is a lot at once.

Yes, I have some recommendations. Obviously I recommend reading the poetic and prose Eddas, and also I recommend reading the Icelandic sagas as I feel they give really good perspective on the changing of paganism to Christianity for Northern Europeans, and if you read between the lines you can see how conversion was, mostly, a matter of pressure, violence or plain and simply put, bullshit. I also would recommend reading a book called The One Eyed God by Kris Kershaw which helps contextualize the greater symmetry within Indo European religions and warrior cultures, which if you’re wanting to look into any sort of European paganism, you need to understand as it’s one of the most important baseline ideas for which cultures became successful. From there I’m sure you could find some other things but I would start there.

One of the turning points I had was after my near suicide attempt when I was 17. I was about to end my life and I heard a voice at the back of my head telling me not to do it. A couple of mornings after that I saw two ravens that seemed to be talking to me when they squawked. I can’t completely explain it but I knew in that moment there was more to that interaction than simply seeing two birds. After that, and years of recovering my mental health and diving into research and music, I’ve become absolutely cemented in being pagan and nothing could ever shake me from it.

I’ve had many dreams relating to it. Usually they happen more when I’m having a moment where I struggle but they do come. There’s too much to mention in this post but trust me when I say that if you had had the experiences that I’ve had, you would have no doubts at all that the gods are alive, very real, and most of all, they CARE.

Thank you for sending these asks! Idk if both are the same person but I hope at least something helps you on your journey.

#pagan #paganism #religion

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cagenewman · 9 months

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TASK #11 WRITE A LETTER

triggering / sensitive content warnings: death, parental death, illness, chronic / terminal illness.

Hey mom.

Today, I made an offer on a house. It's a big house, out in the countryside, and it needs a lot of work. But there's room to grow -- room for things to be different, because I've been trying to be more open to that in my life: change. Colton will have his own space, won't feel like we're living on top of each other, and Cordelia and I can work on our relationship, co-existing in one home rather than trying to live separate lives. Rosalyn can have a bedroom and leaving toys out in the living room won't be so obvious to guests, when they have multiple rooms to hang out in. Things will just be better.

Which doesn't mean that I'm not nervous. I bought the house at the back of the farm not long after dad died because I knew the best thing for me was to get out, to start fresh, but it was still something 'in the family,' still an easy purchase. And we worked on it, sure, but it wasn't something that we had to restore, so much as just update to actually have working water and electricity. But I think the fact that it's going to be a project that Cordelia and I can work on together is what's going to make it really feel like home, you know? It's amazing how much potential you can see in a space when you walk through it holding the hand of the person that you love the most in the whole world, imagining family dinners in the dining room, movie nights, curling up by the fire. I can even picture our Christmas tree.

Christmas is sort of the goal -- not to be one hundred percent moved in, but to show the kids, to have enough progress on 'happy ever after' that when Colton and Rosalyn walk in the front door, they feel like they've walked into their home, too. It's sort of poetic, in that way. Last year, I asked Cordelia to make things official while we decorated the Christmas tree at my place, and this year we'll be spending Christmas at hers, and showing the kids the home we're making for them. I feel like you'd appreciate the symmetry.

I really miss you, mom.

There's a lot of guilt that I hold on to, because I was eight when you died, still a kid, and I struggle with remembering a lot of things. I spent so much time with dad, living at home for so long, that when I think about loss and I think about grief, my mind goes there, to those moments when he first opened up about his health issues, doctors appointments and family meetings, figuring out what we were going to do with the farm when things got worse. Someone says 'loss' or 'grief' or 'an overwhelming pit of sadness and despair' and I think about dad, and I feel guilty because of that. But it doesn't mean that losing you didn't hit us all like a ton of bricks. I'm sure the younger kids don't remember as much, and the older kids probably remember much more, I just know that dad shined my shoes and smoothed back my hair the morning of your funeral and laughed because he 'would have to figure out how to do all of our hair' now.

I think for the most part, we've done alright for ourselves. Kellan's doing such a great job with the farm, and we all help out any way that we can, but I think you and dad would be really proud of him. He's still living in the house, finally on his own. Clem and Deacon are living their own lives, Emeline's living by the coast, she works as a tattoo artist and makes jewelry, which I've been gently nudging her towards doing more of. Marlow's out on her own, working in journalism, and her pieces are amazing, this town's lucky to have her. Kellan pretty much runs the farm now that his soccer career is done, but I think we keep him busy enough. And I run my own home restoration, construction and carpentry business. I even went back to school, got my apprenticeship in carpentry to be a real professional. That, I know you would be proud of me for.

Not that it was necessarily a smooth sailing, easy road to get here. I left after high school, worked construction on the road, got into trouble a handful of times. I got a girl pregnant in Connecticut and she came to find me in Maine. We have a son, although she's not in his life anymore. It's a long story, but it started with her not wanting to be a mother, and it ended with me finding out she's married with kids of her own now. Colton's better off not being around that. He is by far the best thing that has ever happened to me. The circumstances surrounding how he was brought into the world might not have been the best, but he has been my biggest life lesson and my greatest accomplishment. He's playing football this year, following in my footsteps. He has a girlfriend -- sort of, they're just friends, but we know how that goes -- and has a lot of friends, is happy and well-adjusted. I was married for a little while; I really wanted to settle down, mostly to prove that I could. It didn't work out, which was probably a given, and I never really found it in me to settle down again until Cordelia.

I'm going to marry her, mom. I don't know when, or where or how, but I know that I'm going to have a ring made and propose to her and she's going to be a Newman. Remember when you told me as a kid that someday, I wasn't going to mind when she followed me around on the playground? I don't mind anymore. She can follow me around the halls of our house now. I wish you were here to help me decide on linens and flowers and to name the pony I know I'm going to end up buying for Rosalyn, but I also just hope you're proud of me. I think you would be. And I know you're watching all of us.

Tell dad I said I love him, and miss him. I love you, too, mom.

xx Cagey

#merrocktask

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