#and from the preview it looks like he will attend BY's funeral (as he should but until now it would've been a really bad idea) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stiltonbasket · 4 years ago

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this betrayal unperceived: fic preview!

Sixteen years after the Nightless City, Wei Wuxian resurrects into a world where Lan Wangji is the head of the Lan sect, Nie Mingjue is still alive, and the ghost of an undead Lan Xichen is terrorizing Lanling Jin.

Unfortunately for everyone concerned, Wei Wuxian's second chance at life only goes downhill from there.

Despite the circumstances of Lan Xichen’s passing, Gusu Lan does not call for justice in his name. Instead, the clan elders announce his death with scrolls wrapped in ivory silk and bury him in the back hills near the house where he was born, with a simple white-marble monument to mark the place where he lies; Lan Qiren plants a young peach tree there and builds a little shrine over the tomb with enough room for one person to kneel and offer prayers, and then the young clan leader's burial rites are complete.

Nie Mingjue kowtows at Lan Qiren's feet after the funeral and presents his saber across his upturned palms. "Xiansheng, this--"

"You would throw away my nephew's sacrifice like this?" Lan Qiren says quietly, clearly remembering that the last blood spilt by Nie Mingjue's Baxia was Lan Xichen's. "You are whole and healthy, and your qi will never need stabilizing again. This is the gift that Lan Huan's life gave you, and if you should waste it, I will take a sword to my stomach and haunt your ghost in death."

And with that the old man takes his leave, heading towards the cottage Lan Wangji shares with Lan Yuan. The duty of looking after them must fall to Lan-xiansheng now, Nie Mingjue realizes, because Wangji's gentle, smiling xiongzhang has just been laid in his grave.

It is the fourth day of the fourth month when Nie Mingjue barricades the doors to the Unclean Realm and weeps, because his own weakness and faintness of heart has killed the man he loves.

“Er-gongzi,” someone says, speaking over his head. “You must eat. At least a few spoonfuls, for Lan Yuan’s sake.”

Lan Wangji blinks in the dull silence of the jingshi and turns his face away from the bowl. Why ought he to eat, after all? Wei Ying is dead, and his xiongzhang is dead, and this very morning he had to hear the news that his uncle had agreed to give Jin Guangyao one of his brother’s pendants as a keepsake--as if anything that xiongzhang had touched was not a treasure beyond price, as if Lan Wangji would not have gladly carried it next to his heart for the rest of his days--!

“It was not Lianfang-zun who killed him,” the Lan nurse says fretfully. He tries to put the bowl into Lan Wangji’s hands a second time, and makes a distressed sort of sound when Lan Wangji puts it down. “It was Chifeng-zun, er-gongzi!”

“Go,” Lan Wangji rasps. “Leave me alone. Take A-Yuan with you, just--go.”

He has been told how his brother died, that he pulled Nie-zongzhu into a locked room during one of the man’s qi deviations and ended up dead with Baxia in his breast for his pains--and that in doing so he had saved Nie Huaisang and Nie Zonghui, while passing his own living qi to his sworn brother as he drew his last breath so that Nie Mingjue would never suffer another deviation again.

Lan Xichen died with a smile on his lips, content in the knowledge that he had healed the bi sheng zhi ji he recognized in his childhood, and Lan Wangji was left behind with nothing but his xiongzhang’s shadow to hold on to.

“You are Xichen’s heir,” Lan Qiren informs him, later in the evening. “You are alive and Lan Yuan is alive, and you must look after the sect he left behind. Get up, Wangji, and let me put your ointment on.”

His uncle is grieving just as badly as he is, Lan Wangji knows, so he pushes himself upright on trembling arms and shrugs off his robes so Lan Qiren can reach his back. He can walk now, although not well, and the healing wounds had permitted him to miss his brother’s funeral--but they will be much improved by the end of the month, which is when Lan Qiren says his ascension ceremony will be held.

“If I do it, you will let yourself waste away,” he says roughly. “I saw it with your father after your mother died. Now eat your supper, Lan-zongzhu, and let there be no more of this.”

---

Lan Wangji becomes Sect Leader Lan in the first week of summer in a simple ceremony with only a handful of guests, and on the same day Lan Sizhui is declared first in the line of succession. Nie Mingjue does not attend, but Nie Huaisang does, and his presence sets off a murmur that begins the moment he enters the Cloud Recesses and dies down only after he leaves.

Jin Guangyao sits in the back of the room, and cries all the way through the ceremony.

#nielan #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #my fic #wangxian #this betrayal unperceived

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bamfdaddio · 4 years ago

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X-Men Abridged: 1968

The X-Men, those ever-so-slightly exhausting mutants that have sworn to protect a world that hates and fears them, are a cultural juggernaut with a long, tangled history. Want to unravel this tapestry? Then read the Abridged X-Men!

(X-Men 40 - 51) - written by Roy Thomas, Gary Friedrich and Arnold Drake. Drawn by Werner Roth, Don Heck, George Tuska and Jim Steranko

Did you know Frankenstein’s monster was an android, sent to earth by aliens as an ambassador?

My English Lit professor LIED TO ME! (X-Men 40)

Whereas last year served up a cohesive narrative by making it all about Factor Three, 1968 gives us a hodgepodge of clumsy and confusing storylines. This might be due to the different writers at the helm: last year was all about Roy Thomas, this year we’ve got three dudes pulling it in different directions.

What doesn’t change is the prose. So much purple prose.

Anyway, this year is all about THE DEATH OF PROFESSOR XAVIER and THE RETURN OF MAGNETO! (If you think this is terrific foreshadowing and not something that kills all narrative tension, boy howdy, you’ll love reading comics from this era.)

The best kind of foreshadowing drags you into an alley, punches you in the nose and steals your shoes. Fuck subtlety and proper twists. (X-Men 41)

Anyway, Xavier is acting all out of character: cranky, angry, impatient, barely using his powers for immoral purposes… He pushes the X-Men to the brink and continually sequesters himself with a troubled Jean.

Meanwhile, Bobby and Hank’s date with Zelda and Vera is interrupted… again. At this point, I just have to believe that Zelda and Vera are embroiled in some torrid lesbian relationship, while Hank and Bobby serve as their beards.ANYWAY, their date is interrupted by the Grotesk, the last remaining heir to an advanced subterranean species who have recently been slaughtered by an earthquake machine of human making. Look, how many underground societies does the Marvel Earth even have? Did these Grotesks live next to the Molemen? I…

In defense of Grotesk, spinning him around like a fucking bola is one of the top three things I´d like to do with Angel too. (X-Men 42)

The X-Men try to stop the Grotesk from sinking the Eastern seaboard into the Atlantic, and in the end, the Professor sacrifices himself to stop him, paying pays the ultimate price!

OR DOES HE

To make it even more tragic, apparently Xavier was dealing with some mysterious illness that neither human medicine nor mutant powers could cure. But before he died, he somehow transferred his powers to Jean. (Either pretend this happened or retcon it him awakening Jean’s latent telepathy.) Anyway, Chuck wanted to prepare them for the return of… Magneto. (Also Pietro and Wanda.)

Quicksilver crashes Xavier’s funeral, unsure whether he should ask the X-Men for help. He doesn’t. Meanwhile, Magneto somehow has duped some hapless time-displaced TikTokker into filming the grisly affair. (X-Men 43)

What follows is a sort of confusing crossover with the Avengers where the X-Men mostly get sidelined in favour of some drama involving the House of M. Wanda has some temporary mental damage that only Magneto can cure? Also, Pietro hates humans now, which, given the state of the world in general, I can only concur with.

Magneto captures the X-Men in customized cages, designed to be unescapable, but Angel escapes by simply pushing the right button. He flies off to get help, stumbles upon a weird and ultimately meaningless side quest and finally returns with the Avengers!

But! Magneto turns the X-Men against Earth’s Mightiest Heroes! Just kidding: the X-Men pretend to go along with Magneto’s mind games, but this was all a plot concocted by the heroes to make Magneto feel like he’s winning. Instead, the heroes attack and drive Magneto back. Toad, who finally is fed up with Magneto’s abuse, emancipates himself and defies Magneto, kicking him out of the helicopter he, Wanda and Pietro flee in. Magneto seemingly falls to his death in the water.

OR DOES HE.

First of all: why would Magneto just make a non-ferrous aircraft? Second of all: why would he then BRING IT ALONG? Big mad. (Avengers 53)

Following Xavier’s death, Foggy Nelson reads his will. The Professor bequeaths the school to the X-Men! Fred Duncan, Professor X’s FBI liaison is also there! And then! Juggernaut briefly returns from the dimension of Cyttorak, stirs up trouble and is then sucked back into the ruby of Cyttorak thanks to a Professor Ex Machina from the grave. This somehow convinces Fred Duncan that the X-Men should split up, fearing they may be too big a target for evil mutants and thinking they might be better at responding to threats spread out over the continent.

Yeah, Angel will be so much more effective when he isn’t part of a team of much more powerful individuals. (X-Men 46)

So, the X-Men split up! In NYC, Bobby and Hank battle Warlock, the most forgettable villain ever, when he interrupts their date. They also get into a fight with hippies because of… poetry?

Yeah! Put the slam in poetry slam, odd beatniks! *aggressive finger snaps* (X-Men 47)

Jean and Scott ‘go undercover’ in California, with Jean becoming a model and Scott ‘pretending’ to be her superjealous boyfriend. So, instead of actually forming a relationship, they just pretend to have one? Fuck, these two are exhausting. Jean also forgot she attends a university, apparently. Which is just as well, because it means boring Ted and his boring brother disappear from the narrative.

They are attacked by an increasingly silly string of villains and it’s obvious that nobody really knows what to do with this book. They even skip an issue: the preview for issue 49 is something completely different than what we’re getting.

The year ends of a sort of high note, however, introducing two familiar faces. Mesmero,a hitherto unknown follower of Magneto, is amassing an army of would-be mutants by… hypnotizing them? Through their… X-Gene? Among them is a curious gal named Lorna Dane, who is rocking the brown hair. Bobby saves her from her drone-like state and keeps an eye on her while the rest of the X-Men investigate Mesmero.

Lorna meanwhile takes a shower, washed out the cheap dye and is revealed to have green hair. (Fuck yeah! But also maybe buy better dye?) Bobby and Lorna are captured by Mesmero and his cronies, and Bobby warns the other X-Men telepathically. They let themselves be captured by Mesmero too, figuring it’s the easiest way to find his lair. There, Mesmero awakens Lorna’s latent magnetism powers, and bestows on her two sweet titles:

Somewhere in Kenya, Storm is upset and doesn’t know why. (X-Men 50)

And, in another shocking twist (gasp²), Magneto’s alive!

You say ‘aura of unspeakable evil’, I say ‘prime dom top daddy’. (X-Men 50)

He fights the X-Men while Polaris tries to determine who she holds allegiance to: the father she just met or these other randos she just met. You’d think she would maybe not want to hang out with the raving demagogue, but hey. Maybe it’s magnetic attraction. The X-Men flee, forced to regroup, and we end the year there, with the ‘innocent’ Lorna Dane under Magneto’s thrall.

Didn’t you take Art History? Oh! Issue 50 has the familiar logo for the first time, created by Jim Steranko!

So one cape tassel goes over the shoulder and one goes under it? Why is there a little skull with horns in the middle? Why the strappy sandals? Mesmero, sashay away. (X-Men 50)

Ugliest Costume: It’s a toss-up between Mesmero and Polaris, but since I assume Mesmero designed Polaris’ outfit, we’ll just give it to him.

Best new character: I didn’t think she’d earn it, because I’m not the biggest fan of Lorna Dane (most writers use her as a plot device, rather than a character), but otherwise this would go to Grotesk and that’s never going to happen.

Most audacious retcon: Jean is able to psychically penetrate Juggernaut’s helmet, which used to protect him from Charles’ influence.

It’s also kinda funny how after years of retcons where Polaris, Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver sometimes are and sometimes aren’t Magneto’s kids, how it is right now is the same as when it started: Lorna is Magneto’s daughter, the twins aren’t.

What to read: Nothing. This is not a great year.

Death proof: ‘Chuck’ kicks the bucket for the first time.

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chancelloramidala · 4 years ago

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Catastrophize ► Luke Crain

Chapter One.

( TW: drug abuse, death )

“Papá, why can’t I come with?” Julia frowned as she stomped around the living room with her arms crossed over her chest. She looked as serious as a nine year old could look. “It’s no fair that you get to go on an adventure so soon after Mister Luke got here.”

Vincent let out the hundredth sigh in the past hour. As much as he loved his daughter, she was being an absolute pain right now and to be frank, he had no time for pains. “Julia, hermosa, please,” he exasperated, thankful that Luke was freshening up in the bathroom so he couldn’t be able to see Julia’s temper tantrum for the night. “You’ll be able to join many other adventures, but this one is strictly for Mister Luke and I.”

Julia squinted at her father, her face twisting from anger to begrudging stillness. “That still doesn’t explain why you’re going away.”

From the tinge of sadness in her voice, Vincent’s annoyance subsided and was replaced with something fatherly. He gently patted the spot next to him on the couch, silently asking his daughter to sit with him. And when she did, Vincent stared at her for a moment and he pressed his lips into a thin line. “You know how your Tía Frida is in a better place that we cannot visit until we’re ready?”

Julia nodded diligently as her brown eyes glanced at a photograph on the fireplace mantle.

“Mister Luke’s sister, Nell, is also in that better place. But before Mister Luke can let her go there, he has to say goodbye to her one last time.”

Death was a topic Vincent knew he had to slowly teach Julia so she wouldn’t be so shell shocked in the future. With the death of his sister when she was five, and the incarceration of her mother, Vincent had to explain the difference between leaving forever (in this case, death) and leaving temporarily (in this case, prison) so Julia won’t confuse the two anymore.

“Oh,” Julia hummed for a moment and tapped her finger on her chin. “Do you think Tía Frida and Mister Luke’s sister, Nell are friends in the better place? Like taking care of each other, and making sure they’re eating all their icky vegetables?”

Vincent had to bite back a laugh. “I’m sure your Tía Frida is being force fed by Nell as we speak, hermosa.”

Julia grinned. “I’m going to make Mister Luke a card with Tía Frida and his sister Miss Nell on it!” and just like that, the nine year old hooped onto her feet and sprung out of the room in search for glitter and colorful paper.

Little did either of them know that Luke was stalking in the hallway, dressed in some of Vincent’s clothes since he didn’t have his own, and was wiping away the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand as a small smile fell on his cheeks.

Throughout the whole flight to Massachusetts, Luke held the picture Julia had made him with such care it almost made Vincent’s heart burst. He made sure that the drawing wouldn’t get crumpled, tucking it carefully into the sleeve of the seat in front of him during turbulence and not caring if he got glitter everywhere. With that being said, those around him who weren’t Vincent, were quite annoyed with the expansion of glitter getting on their things and on the floor, especially the flight attendants who were quietly bickering towards the back of the plane about the mess they’d have to clean up.

Also, during the flight, Luke was gripping onto Vincent’s hand because he absolutely hated flying. Vincent wasn’t complaining though, liking that he had an excuse to touch Luke without it being too obvious.

When they landed, Vincent was miraculously able to rent a car at the airport, which he drove to their hotel because he insisted they at least settle in a bit before heading to the previewing with the rest of the Crain family. Luke kept to himself most of the time, lost in his head as he tried to process that his sister was dead, and apparently by suicide in the house their mother died in. He was thankful that Vincent gave him his space and took care of the essentials like booking the room, getting him clothes, and making sure he was eating and drinking something even if he didn’t want to.

Vincent wished he could do more for Luke, take away the pain of losing a love one, nonetheless a twin. It was a familiar mourning that Vincent knew all too well, one that haunted him every single day. It was a deep, rotting, and sinking feeling that he didn't want Luke to even know about.

It neared the time to head to the funeral home for the private viewing and Vincent was surprised to find Luke ready to go, already putting on a pair of black converse by the door. It made the other man smile to himself, glad to see that Luke was able to get himself together, even in the smallest way.

“Ready to go, buddy?” Vincent asked as he slipped on his own shoes and jacket.

Luke shrugged. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Vincent nodded, sending him a reassuring smile and patted Luke’s shoulder on his way out the door.

“What the fuck do you mean you couldn’t find him Steve?” Shirley glared at Steve as venom spilled from her lips.

Steve, ever-so exasperated with being yelled at on today of all days, sighed and rubbed his temples. “It means I couldn’t find him, Shirley,”

“Bullshit,” Shirley spat out as she walked up to her older brother, weighing her options on if she should punch him or not. “You gave up on him, and who the fuck knows if he knows that Nellie is- what the shit, Steve? He’s your brother!”

“You don’t think I know that?” Steve felt his lips curl into both a frown and a scowl as he began to grow annoyed at Shirley and himself.

“Fucking unbelievable,” she shook her head and then turn around to get another drink. “Out of all the times you could’ve half-assed something...” she continued to mumble hateful nonsense under her breath as Kevin poured her a drink and stayed out of this Crain family drama.

Then the doorbell rang.

Everyone was confused.

Kevin went for the door, seeing that he was the only person who was functioning normally at the moment.

“Luke, hey man,” Kevin greeted Luke at the door, making sure to say his name loudly to gather his wife and siblings-in-law’s attention. “I can take your coat,”

Luke nodded at Kevin, vaguely remembering that yes, Kevin was Shirley’s husband and fumbled to remove his jacket. But then he felt cold again. “I think- I think, I’ll keep my jacket.” he was nervous to face his family right now,

“That’s alright,” Kevin smiled lightly as his eyes darted to the man that stood behind him, getting soaked by the sudden storm that rained down. “Oh, is this a friend of yours?”

Vincent took his hand out of pocket and waved at Kevin, noticing the judgmental stares he was receiving from Luke’s siblings as they went to greet him and hug him. “I’m Vincent,”

“Kevin,” he nodded, somewhat glad that there was another outsider here.

Luke and Vincent entered the funeral home, Vincent handing his jacket to Kevin while Luke slowly approached the viewing room, his hands shoved into his pockets.

“Luke, hey,” Shirley hugged her brother, almost forgetting that he was as tall as a tree and built like one. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?” she pulled back from him, mentally noting how he kept his hands to himself and kept biting his inner cheek.

“I’m okay,” Luke mumbled out and looked at his eldest sister. His eyes fluttered to Steve, who looked anxious. He quickly averted his gaze and started to carefully tread over to the open casket as he caught a glance of Nell’s body.

His heart beating loudly against his chest and all the air in his lungs suddenly disappearing as his mouth went dry. “I can’t-- I can’t-- I can’t...” he turned around and speed out of the viewing room, Vincent instantly following after him.

“Who the hell is his friend?” Shirley asked Theo and Steve. “You don’t think he’s also an...” her words faded off as assumptions quickly flooded into her mind.

“I don’t know,” Steve replied in a hushed tone. “I can’t really... tell.”

The three of them, along with Kevin, carefully walked away from the viewing room to see an interesting sight. It was Luke, sitting on one of the couches, a sniffling and stuttering mess besides Vincent, who’s hand was attached to Luke’s, listening and nodding along to his every word.

“Hey, Luke,” Steve slowly approached his younger brother, crouching in front of him and Vincent, but mainly focusing his attention on Luke. “You okay?”

“Yeah, Yeah, I, um... I... I thought... I thought I could do it.” Luke shook as he spoke, his mind whirling with a thousand thoughts that were going by too fast and messily for him to comprehend.

Steve said, sympathetic as to why his brother was shakily breathing and stuttering.“I know,”

“Take your time, buddy.” Vincent told him, gently squeezing his much larger hand.

“She’s right there,” Luke turned his head to Vincent, every chaotic noise in his head and bones finding peace when he thought about the other man.

“We can wait,” Vincent said softly, his eyes glazing over the Crain siblings who were staring at him with a mixture of emotions. Then he returned his attention to Luke, who was still breathing shakily and removed his hand from his to give him a warm side hug. Of course, Luke returned the hug, his hands wrapping around Vincent’s body as he felt his breathing slowly go back to normal.

“Can... can... you... can you...” can you go with me? Luke tried to say as they pulled back, completely forgetting that they were under the watchful eyes of Shirley, Theo, and Steve (oh and Kevin).

Vincent didn’t even hesitate. “Of course,”

Vincent waited for Luke’s cue, not wanting to force him when to go see Nell and slipped his hand back into Luke’s. Kevin asked if Vincent and Luke wanted an ice tea, and Vincent answered for both of them, knowing that Kevin just wanted out of this awkward shit.

“Okay, okay,” Luke said to himself and started to get to his feet, leading Vincent to follow.

They stood in the back, Vincent’s hand being squeezed by Luke’s grasp. “And if you’re not ready, we can just go back. No one will blame you for it.”

Luke remained silent, but took the first step down the aisle and Vincent stood by him, hands still intertwined like two pieces of a puzzle.

This was the second time Vincent had seen Nell, and despite that, he knew Nell didn’t look like she was sleeping. Luke went slack beside Vincent, staring at his dead twin and the bottled up sadness Vincent hadn’t felt in four years. He sniffed and for a second, Vincent swore he saw Frida instead of Nell and jumped back, his chest tightening as his breathing quickened.

He bumped into someone and when he turned around, he saw that it was Shirley, her stern eyes laid heavily on him. “Sorry, sorry,”

“It’s okay,” Shirley told him, resting a hand on his arm as she stared at his face. “We’re all going through some shit tonight.”

“I just...” Vincent carefully walked away from Nell’s casket with Shirley following beside him, and ran a hand over his face. “I haven’t been to a funeral since... since my sister...”

“Oh,” Shirley subsided her annoyance with Vincent and felt sympathetic towards him. “I’m sorry,”

Vincent shook his head as he walked over to the mini bar, grabbing a glass and whichever bottle he could get his hands on. “I should be the one that’s sorry, it’s your sister in this room, not mine.” he said as he poured himself a drink.

“Why are you here anyway?” Shirley suddenly asked while Vincent took a short sip of whiskey. “No offense, but this is sort of a... private family matter.”

“None taken,” Vincent was glad with the straightforwardness from Shirley because he was starting to wonder when someone would ask. “I’m here for Luke though, he needs all the support he needs right now.”

“Were you the one that found him?” She continued to batter him with questions.

“Took me two hours, nearly three.” he chuckled quietly at the memory of driving all throughout LA, ignoring every single speed limit to find Luke.

Shirley looked thankful, her stone cold facade towards Vincent completely melting away and softened. “Was he, you know...”

Vincent quickly shook his head and took another sip of his glass.“No, but then again I’m not that kind of doctor.”

“Doctor?” she raised a brow.

“I’m an ophthalmologist.”

“Oh, that’s... cool---”

“It's just not fucking fair.” Luke loudly muttered as he stomped away from Nell’s casket and into the other room. “Fuck!”

Vincent then nodded his head at Shirley, as if it was a silent “got to go” and then left her near the mini bar to go after Luke, who was crying into his hands in the corner of the room. Vincent instantly sat next to him, rubbing his back as silence filled the air between them and did his best to comfort him.

He knew that it was going to be a long night and that sleep alone was out the window, but that didn’t matter. Only Luke mattered right now.

Masterlist

#haunting of hill house #luke crain x male oc #luke crain x original character #luke crain #theo crain #steve crain #nell crain #nell crain vance #shirley crain #hugh crain #olivia crain #the haunting of hill house #original character: vincent navarro

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zara2148 · 6 years ago

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Another preview of Gobblepot fic

Gahh, there’s so much I want to do in the first chapter of Angel and so little I have written, relatively (lots of it is Hugo being a creep). I’m going to share another preview, because I’m really kind of proud of this section:

It’s a dreamless, painless sleep for him. Jim’s death is easiest on himself, harder on those awake to face it.

Harvey is the first to hear, from Barnes himself. Barnes has him take the rest of the day off. It’s never easy, losing a partner, though the GCPD lost Jim well before he died.

Harvey storms out of the station. He curses out Falcone for not helping, Barnes for not listening, himself for not doing more.

Curses Jim for living his life so ready to die, for walking into the life of another man ready to die and bringing back hope that wasn’t meant to last.

No one is listening, but he curses them all.

Then he gets himself a drink. And another. And another. He’s not sure when he’ll hit enough, isn’t keeping count.

Lee cries when Harvey calls her, his head pounding. He hadn’t hit enough, the bar instead cut him off and he went back to his apartment to sleep the drink off. He doesn’t want to do this. But there is nobody else to tell her.

Oswald reads of Jim’s death in the paper. It doesn’t make the front pages, is tucked away as a few sentences in the crime bulletin. But he’s in the habit of reading the newspaper cover to cover.

The way he has to gasp for air brings back some of the more through beatings he’s endured, only worse. It’s like looking up at the sky and realizing a star has gone out. And after losing his mother, after losing his father. The world feels dark, though it’s morning and the sun has risen.

His step-mother will soon call for breakfast. She won’t accept being kept waiting. So Oswald swallows his sobs.

Edward Nygma reads of Jim’s death in the paper as well. He smiles over his breakfast, takes a sip of his tea.

Barbara wakes to a radio voice broadcasting the news that ‘Former police officer and convicted murderer James Gordon died in Blackgate earlier today.’

She sits up against her pillow, her surroundings unfamiliar. That sentence repeats in her head over and over.

She breathes in, she breathes out. A nurse approaches her. The bed is unfamiliar but she knows these walls. She’s back in Arkham Asylum.

The radio hosts have moved on to the weather report.

Bruce Wayne stares out the parlor’s window when Alfred passes on the news of Jim’s death. It’s not unexpected. It was undeserved.

Jim Gordon will never see his promise to Bruce through now.

He never depended on Jim Gordon for that, though. His mission to solve his parents’ murders and avenge their deaths had never been anyone else’s responsibility. Bruce should have known that, should never have dragged anyone else into it.

But James Gordon should have been there to see that justice was done. Gotham would be that much greyer without him.

There is no funeral, only a scattered few that mourn the loss of a disgraced man.

Harvey wouldn’t attend anything less than the cops’ funeral Jim deserved.

Lee buried what they had together before she left Gotham. She refuses to come back and dig it up again.

Oswald looks for a headstone to visit with his mother’s, his head cleared after three murders. There’s no ‘James Gordon’ engraved on any stone.

Barbara forges a smile and says to Tabitha that she’s fine, when Tabitha catches her with a far-off look in her eye. It’s not the first time she’s told her that, it won’t be the last.

Bruce has had enough of graves.

#gotham #gobblepot

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reekierevelator · 7 years ago

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The Art of Success - Chapter 3

“Just in time to help with the coffin,” shouted the man in the blue linen suit, as Tabitha ran over to exchange kisses on both cheeks with the women from the car.

Having shouted introductions to each other the men looked to Ralph, the elderly blue-suited gent, as he opened the car’s tailgate and began struggling to remove a long cardboard box.

“This do is all DIY,” Ralph entoned in his deep bass voice. “Minimal cost. The way she wanted it. We’ll need two either side I think. And Roxy, could you take the wreath off the roof. It should be on top of the coffin as we bring it in.”

Up close, Peter noticed that, though disguised with make-up, Roxy’s forehead was furrowed and the odd freckle tarnished the porcelain whiteness of her hands. He realized she was a little older than he’d at first imagined; probably more his own age, late thirties or early forties, but she had an elegant beauty that was in no way diminished by her greater maturity.

“Glad you could make it; looking pretty neat,” said Josh, holding out his hand to shake Peter’s.

“Yes, long time no see Joshua. Sorry I haven’t been in touch. Very busy.”

“Sure useful that Georgy was pint-sized. Don’t know how we’d have fitted a six-footer in the car. Probably would have had to fold her up in the trunk, or stand her upright with the roof open.”

“What a morbid idea – but I suppose black humour is unavoidable at a funeral like this. Glad to see you Joshua. The short notice must have been tricky for you too.”

“Could have been. I’ve been working clubs in France and Germany the last few years. Still based in Edinburgh though, and fortunately – if that’s the right word - I was here when it happened. So no need to travel. Mind you, even back home in the Big Apple it’s getting easy to catch a quick flight over the pond these days.”

“It was hard enough getting that coffin into the car,” Humphrey was saying, his hands resting on his potbelly, “never mind getting it out. We all had to squeeze in beside her. I was altogether crushed into a corner. All the same, I do like your idea of standing her upright, the cadaver staring out from the vehicle’s roof window. If I had the money for a block of Carrera marble I’m sure I could make a perfectly stunning modernist piece based on that image.”

Pulling his large maroon blazer straight, stretching the sides to allow button to reach buttonhole, and then pressing his hat tighter over the silver hair that ringed his bald head, Humphrey proceeded to help Ralph haul a cardboard coffin bound with rope, which was resting side-on over the tops of the van’s seats, out of the vehicle.

Peter took a corner, glad the heavy rain, which would have rapidly rendered the coffin soggy and bendy, had finally ceased altogether.

Peter caught Josh’s eye as he struggled with the opposite corner. “How’s the music business going these days?” he asked.

“Oh, you know, long time since blowing jazz made anyone rich. A couple of dozen aficionados turned up at the launch of my last original collection. Took the best part of a year to write. Jazz is improvisation and I can’t find quality players who can improvise. Laboriously scoring each note, each chord, for each instrument in the band – it’s no fun. And that was really just so we could pretend to improvise in performance.”

“But surely it will be performed many times in future?”

“Who can tell? You know, as Bohr said, prediction is very difficult, especially about the future. And a jazz piece shouldn’t be the same two days running anyway. I’d like to at least have the chance to record one version though. But who’s going to pay for that now that Georgy’s gone?”

“Georgy was still your benefactor?”

“Benefactor of most of the people here I should think. Sure, she helped you out too, didn’t she? I mean, Ralph said she did when he asked me to phone.”

“Well, yes. Quite a lot, as it happens. Selling original paintings is always a bit hit and miss; feast or famine even for the best. To be honest she evened things out for me these past few years, kept me going. She bought my paintings, sight unseen, for more or less fixed amounts. I shipped them over to her and I understand she aimed to place them for sale in small local galleries.”

“I’m sure she did her best for you.”

“Well, I hope so. I don’t really know if she managed to sell any, or what she might have got for them if they were sold. It didn’t matter. Having already paid me according to her basic sliding scale based simply on size, Georgy was naturally entitled to retain any income from actual final sales. I suppose she may occasionally have made the odd small profit, but there again, she also had to bear all the losses when they didn’t sell. I‘m not quite on the breadline Josh but I do know my limits. I don’t think I’ll ever be the next David Hockney.”

Humphrey overheard Peter’s confession and put a plump hand on his shoulder to console him. “That’s the trouble with us Brits.” he said, “Too self-effacing, always ‘putting ourselves down’ as Josh would say. I’m sure you’d never hear an American like him minimise his ability.”

“Remember the wreath,” Josh shouted to Roxy.

Roxy placed the exotic wreath on top of the sagging coffin, and with a man taking the strain at each corner the transfer into the chapel began.

Peter was surprised at the weight. Huffing and puffing, the four men somewhat unsteadily, haphazardly, carried the coffin through the doors of the tiny church, followed by the three chattering, giggling ladies, who gave every impression of arriving at a Christmas party.

Tabby led the tall, white dressed Roxy up the aisle like a father leading the bride. The diminutive Nicole, kitted out in orange and lemon and candy striped leggings, scurried along close behind, prattling away to Catriona, for all the world like an exuberant bridesmaid.

Ralph guided the men in laying the coffin down in its allotted position. Then he sat down, apparently exhausted, in the front pew beside Humphrey, and wiped his brow with a white handkerchief.

After his exertions Peter stood, stretched his arms, and turned back toward the ladies. He noticed various other people had arrived. One wore a fluorescent yellow shirt and another sported a tie-dyed denim jacket. Several others had trickled into the small chapel’s pews at the back of the coffin-bearers. One or two continued to wander in, chuckling and pointing as if they were attending some art show preview. Some then sat down in the pews while others stood in the central aisle chatting animatedly.

It ran through Peter’s mind that each of the mourners seemed to have located a different version of Joseph’s coat of many colours. He plopped down next to Josh.

“Josh, I’ve kind of lost touch with all the Edinburgh people. Mind you I wasn’t really one of the arts crowd when I lived here anyway, just a barman on the margins. Apart from Ralph, who acts for Georgy and briefly communicates when I offer a painting, you’re about the only one I’m acquainted with in this town any more. Would it be ok if I gave you a call while I’m here?”

“Sure thing man.” Josh took a pen from an inside pocket, wrote his phone number on the blank page at the back of a hymn book, tore off the scrap of paper, and handed it to Peter.

The feeling that he might be guilty of something sacrilegious slipped through Peter’s mind as he thrust the piece of paper into his pocket. He shivered slightly. “I met Tabby in the waiting room when I arrived here.” he said. “Who are the other women you arrived with?”

“Oh, well Roxy Paterson, now she used to be an actor. Did repertory for a while, theatre plays. That kind of thing. Had a couple of half-decent roles so I hear. Too much time resting though. Ended up touring as some kind of magician’s assistant. She got interested in the idea of music when she met little Nicky Choudhury. She’s really the musical one. Father plays the sitar. Then Ralph got involved. Thought Georgy might be interested in sponsoring a folk music combo. Those women have kind of been around though. In different ways they’ve tried their luck all over the world. But don’t get any ideas. Ralph and Roxy, they’re pretty much an item these days. And Nicky plays for the other side. Take it from me, I’ve tried, there’s no doubt about that. Catriona’s her partner.”

But there was no more opportunity to talk before an usher slammed the chapel doors shut and nodded to Ralph. Ralph duly raised himself from the front pew, stepped up on to the dais, and positioned himself behind the lectern.

“May I extend a welcome to everyone. I’m glad you could all make it,” he began, his round bass tones filling the small auditorium, and Peter realised that Ralph was to be the event’s MC.

“Is he really a minister?” he whispered to Josh.

“No, but it’s cool, man,” Josh replied. “Did some kind of Humanist celebrant course. Done a few funerals. No weddings yet. As I recall, Georgy was more a Zen Buddhist anyway. But I don’t suppose she’ll mind. Not now anyway.”

“Ah, I see.”

Ralph was saying “We are here to celebrate the life of Georgina Simpson, a great, though unfortunately underestimated, authoress… or should that be author? – so hard to keep up these days. Though her works never flew off the shelves they are increasingly recognised nowadays and are still selling. May I say it’s lovely of everyone to have come in such beautifully colourful attire. I’m sure Georgy would appreciate it… would have appreciated it. It’s everything she wanted. And now I’d like to start us off with a song.”

He inserted a CD in the unit connected to the chapel’s PA system and a karaoke, music only version, of Imagine filled the chapel.

Ralph raised his arms, both palms upwards, and the mourners rose as one. In response to the sacred music the space filled with the noise of a happily belted out Imagine there’s no heaven, it’s easy if you try, no hell below us, above us only sky….

After that it was back to Ralph.

“At this time, it’s right to say a few words about Georgina’s background. Her parents both died young. She was an only child. She attended a private girls school in Edinburgh and then university in Holland, Utrecht, - it’s motto Sol Iustitiae Illustra nos (Sun of righteousness, shine upon us) – seems entirely appropriate to her.

“Of course, she never married and despite a significant inheritance from her grandparents, as well as earning her income as a writer, she always insisted on a frugal lifestyle. She dedicated her life to her writing. Sadly, her books were not always best sellers, but the short print runs did find a discerning readership and appreciation of her work is now growing. In the increasingly disjointed world in which we live the appeal of her novels, in which a sense of love and common humanity prevails, is obvious. Her publisher’s expectation is that all her works will not only continue in print but will continue to sell in increasing volume. Some of her wonderful early works, such as Daffodils in old buckets and The innermost layer of the onion which unfortunately fell out of print for a while are now being reprinted. Others, such as Tom’s lost years, have always been available in most decent bookshops and are increasingly in demand. If, by chance, you have not yet read all of her works then I would heartily recommend, for your enjoyment and edification, that you do so as soon as possible.

“But although writing occupied most of her waking hours, it was not Georgina’s sole interest. She never talked about it publicly but in fact she sought to use her money for philanthropic purposes. With no children to care for, she dedicated her spare time and available wealth to nourishing the arts instead. She was the benefactor of so many local artists in so many different areas of practice – poets, musicians, sculptors, writers… that for that reason alone she will be sorely missed by many.”

Ralph fiddled for a moment with the chapel’s music system before continuing.

“To honour her for that part of her life’s work I would ask you all to join me in singing What a wonderful world.”

Rising, the attendees burst loudly into I see trees of green, red roses too, ….

But Peter was thinking that he probably wasn’t the only one whose mind was not so much fixed on trees of green as on the question of whether Georgy’s money would continue to be used to support artists in future.

#short story #Reekie Revelator #edinburgh #art #Crime

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endofinfinityrp-blog · 7 years ago

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Welcome, CREATIVE DIRECTOR LOLA, to the END OF INFINITY. We loved your take on SEBASTIAN SMYTHE, especially his opinions on ‘heroism’. We can’t wait to see how Sebastian does at WALDRON ISLAND UNIVERSITY! Now that you’re accepted, please make sure to complete the New Member Checklist within the next 24 hours!

OOC:

Player name: Lola

Player age: 25.

Player pronouns: She/Her

Activity level: A zillion.

IC:

Character name: Sebastian Smythe

Character species: Superhuman.

Character age & birthdate: 19; September 17th.

Character power: Sebastian has wings. They are incredibly large and cumbersome, with a wingspan of approximately 20 feet. They look remarkable similar to gull wings, being sleek, dense, and powerful. In their resting state, they fold neatly against his back, still protruding over his shoulders as well as dragging on the ground behind him. He can have about an two hours of sustained flight before needing a long rest to recover. His muscles have developed from such use, so he doesn’t tire out incredibly quickly as he did when he was younger.

When it comes to the school dress code, Sebastian can often be found with a tie bearing the school crest, or a patch haphazardly sewn onto his jeans because shirts are too much of a goddamn hassle.

Area of Study: Culinary Arts.

Dorm Style: Chaplin Hall, single room.

Bio: Though their son would deny it, the Smythes were an incredibly heroic family. Thomas Smythe his wife, Colette, were constantly fighting crime and attempting to thwart villains threatening New York. If the need arose, they occasionally even went international. Their daughter had always been thrilled by the prospect of following in their footsteps. Their son, on the other hand, wasn’t particularly interested in the family business. While he wasn’t aiming for villainry, he simply believed that people should handle their own problems and it wasn’t any of his family’s business. Of course, he was very alone in this ideology.

Sebastian Smythe had a privileged upbringing alongside his sister, Bridgette, who was born just a year after himself. They were brought up by doting parents: a father and mother who travelled often for business, always to return with gifts. The Smythes own a lavish mansion just outside Long Island that was built by Sebastian’s great-grandfather, and while he didn’t spend much time there aside from his summers, he certainly considers it home.

While Bridgette stayed home and attended school in a regular fashion, Sebastian felt the undying need to distance himself. He’d always been horrifically jealous of his younger sister: both of them were born with the ability to fly. Sebastian had huge, cumbersome wings. Bridgette had her mind. To the public, to the world, she would always be able to pass as normal. But the stares and whispers Sebastian had been garnering since his youth made him bitter and cold, distancing himself from those around him and refusing to get close to anyone. He accomplished this by begging his parents to send him off to boarding school. They reluctantly agreed, but the only school they were willing to send Sebastian to was one for children who were gifted with abilities, such as himself.

[cw: death]

For his middle school years, Sebastian stayed in New York City for school. At such a young age, he hadn’t quite been ready to move farther from home. But when he was fourteen and Thomas and Colette had uncovered a lingering member of The Suckers hiding out in an abandoned subway tunnel beneath the city and “defeated” it, Sebastian knew he had to leave. He had never quite agreed with his parents’ ideals, but this had been the last straw. A defenseless creature had been squatting in the darkness for years, simply trying to survive. And when they’d entered its hideaway and it defended itself, that had sealed its guilty fate and they took it out. Sebastian had nearly been sick when he’d found out. The creature hadn’t been hurting anyone. They didn’t take the time to learn its views, discover its role in the Invasion, or bother to ask questions. They simply eliminated it for the Greater Good.

Sebastian never subscribed to the idea.

He transferred schools after many an argument, finally breaking his parents down. They sent him to a boarding school in the south of France, near his maternal grandmother. With air far cleaner than that over New York, Sebastian could fly higher, farther, longer… after just a year, his sustained-flight time doubled. Though this pleased him, recreationally speaking, he still had no intentions of taking part in the “family business.” Instead, he’d found a love for cooking. His wings made such hobbies cumbersome, with time dragging along behind him at all times and not allowing people to get close to him as he cooked. Sebastian realized quickly in his first attempt at an after-school job that cooking in a conventional kitchen wasn’t going to be a possibility for him. It was simply one more thing to piss him off about his body.

Though his wings were aesthetically beautiful and got the attention of hundreds of interested boys on the nights he frequented Paris’ gay bars, they had always been an inordinate amount of work. He washed them carefully, blowed them dry before leaving the house… his grandmother had even sewn him a pouch of sorts that he tucked them into and wore like a backpack so they wouldn’t catch on anything and, more importantly, so his bare wings wouldn’t drag on the ground.

Though his school uniforms were completely customized, his wardrobe outside of school had morphed over the years. When his wings had become too large to fit through simple holes cut into the backs of his shirts, Sebastian began to forgo them entirely. Overtime, he began to enjoy the way people stared, awed by his wings and his physique. Though it took several years to develop, Sebastian grew into his adoration for attention.

Upon his graduation from boarding school, he had decided to spend a few years abroad before choosing a university, wanting to travel and see more of the world. But when his grandmother fell ill, Sebastian decided to remain in France to care for her. She hired a professional chef to come and give him lessons from her home and Sebastian thrived. He was truly happy for the first time, discovering himself and what he was best at. And he grew closer to his grandmother, cooking for her and doing the cleaning and the washing, helping out wherever he could. She told him constantly that she was proud of the person that he’d become, that he could accomplish anything, that he didn’t have to be another member of his family’s heroic squad. That, perhaps, he’d be the world’s first Michelin-starred Gifted chef. And that became his new goal.

[cw: death]

But his happiness, goals, and caretaking were all cut short when his grandmother passed suddenly. Sebastian was completely unsure how to handle his grief. His family came, held a funeral, and his mother insisted on him coming home. And, for the first time, Sebastian had no fight left in him to argue. He left his grandmother’s home, left his lessons with Chef Beaumont, left everything he’d come to love over the last four years. And returned home to the place he’d tried to so desperately to leave as a child.

After a few months of therapy and strenuous self-care, Sebastian was, once more, ready to get the hell out of his parents’ home. He applied for the most distant college within the continental United States: Waldron Island University. And he was accepted into the culinary program. And Sebastian was incredibly pleased.

IC Writing Sample:

All Smythe birthdays always involved gorgeous, lavish parties. Sebastian was far from an exception to that rule. He’d rented out the party hall just off campus on the island, invited the entire school, and acquired ten champagne ice-fountains. He was beyond ready for a good party. After meticulously grooming his wings and wiggling into the tightest pants he owned, Sebastian headed off to the venue. As he walked inside, he thanked the hired staff for how beautiful the hall looked and gave the DJ a dazzling smile and a firm nod to start to music. He knew his guests would be arriving soon.

Within an hour, the hall was crowded from wall to wall with avid party goers. Sebastian filtered his way through the crowd, greeting everyone with a charming grin and flirtatious quips for the especially gorgeous guests. Sauntering up to a particularly delicious, older-looking man, Sebastian offered a sultry, “well good evening, handsome. Did you come with a present for the birthday boy?” Winking, he took a sip of champagne.

“Mr. Smythe, are you aware of who I am?” the man asked, arching a brow.

With a grin, he asked, “other than the most gorgeous man in the room?”

“I’m going to be your Econ professor next semester. And I know for a fact that you’re underage. I have to report this to the dean.”

Sebastian licked his lips slowly and gave him an innocent look. “You wouldn’t want to end my birthday party early, would you?” he asked. “I bet we could come to some sort of agreement, so long as I promise to behave in the future.” Reaching up, he straightened the man’s tie and then tugged on it gently, smiling. The soon-to-be professor attempted to stutter out a response, but Sebastian cut him off. “How about you come with me to the bathroom and I’ll give you a little preview of what I’m suggesting?”

The man flushed and started to shake his head, but still allowed Sebastian to take his hand, pulling him off through the crowd.

#eoiaccepted

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theworstbob · 7 years ago

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the thing journal, 6.25-7.1

capsule reviews of the things i attempted to take in last week. in this post: super! pop psychology! oxymoron! crush! beyonce! fake sugar! ctrl! 45 jokes about my dead dad! southsiders! the retrieval! before sunset!

1) Super, dir. James Gunn: A film I think about a lot is Observe & Report. That is an insane film that people were actually given money to make, and it's insane because it plunges deep, deep inside the mind of this psychotic man who thinks he's the one standing between order and chaos, and it's great for that reason, because it doesn't shy away from the ludicrous darkness of that crazy, crazy person. The only way this film is worth watching is if this film takes an Observe & Report-deep look at the motivations of its protagonist, and it doesn't come anywhere close to being that audacious. But this film is dealing with a deeply crazy person, a man who dresses in spandex and beats people with a pipe wrench, and it needed to treat that person like a crazy person, not like a hero. When Ellen Page (the absolute highlight of this film) starts taking it too far, Rainn Wilson can't suddenly pull back, the film either needs to show how he encouraged that wanton violence or have him standing to the side, beaming at the great work his protege is doing. Like, the Crimson Bolt is aware on some level that what he's doing is wrong, and the film doesn't work precisely because the character has that awareness. Not the worst film I've seen all year (I was lurking in a Twitch stream (this one, it’s dope) last night where people in the chat were defending Sausage Party and I swear to Christ I was ten deep breaths away from getting myself banned for yelling at them for their bad opinion), but definitely a bummer.

2) Pop Psychology, by Neon Trees: this was a good album. you know the thing about listening to a three-year-old pop album, though? regular soda pop has an expiration date of three months. but it's not like pop really goes bad, it just kinda falls flat, so if you were to ever drink a three-year-old soda pop, it'd still have that same coke taste, it just wouldn't have the bubbles, wouldn't have that texture. and it's not this album's fault i let it expire, we've been over this, i wasn't doing my part in the mid-tens, if i got this fresh out the fridge i'd have much fonder memories (insofar as anyone remembers a specific soda, and not the general memory of drinking soda pop on summer nights). but this wasn't really designed to be consumed three years after production, and that's too bad, neon trees always made really solid pop music, and i'm sure they could've made something truly dope if they put their minds to it. pop ain't bad, though.

3) Oxymoron, by ScHoolboy Q: Gang life is a nightmare and this is an album that puts those nightmarish aspects at the fore. Like, one of my favorite albums of last year, The Game's 1992, didn't necessarily shy away from the horrors of the life, but it also coated over them with the '90s nostalgia, The Game occasionally getting lost remembering listening to 2Pac and Dre and thinking about the OJ trial, whereas this album says "No, this sucks," with these loud and jarring beats and Q's constant growling painting a portrait of the violence and the constant anger one experiences being caught in that life. It's a notably unique vision, but more importantly, it's honestly a joy to listen to, it's an exceedingly dark album but it never feels like a burden, Q is still making music that is meant to be enjoyed and not just pondered over. It's awesome. All of you who've already listened to it should strongly consider giving it another spin.

4) Crush, by 2NE1: I said I wanted to explore the music of 2014. I said I needed to get caught up on the music that wasn't made by white dudes with guitars. I wanted to travel the world. This showed up on the list of notable 2014 releases. So: here we are! Though like let's be real the only difference between this and any other pop music is the language, and even then, I'm sure 2NE1 is saying nice things about love or mean things about a former lover. I thought this three-year-old K-pop album was very nice, and I do not regret listening to it! Than you, K-pop! We'll catch up again when I get to 2011 and the attendant Girls' Generation release

5) Beyonce: the album everyone said was very good that whirlwind night in 2014 was abso-goddamn-lutely right. like, i'm not gonna go too in-depth because you could read any number of thinkpieces and the album is, in a word, flawless, but it's kind of a bummer for me that the consensus is that Lemonade is better than this. I think Lemonade's more ambitious and deals with more personal issues, but, and I will say this a billion times before I eventually abandon this series where I try to talk about anything, heartbreak and sadness are not inherently deeper emotions than love and happiness. Like, "Daddy Lessons" is the best song on either album bar none (and even that's a jubilant sort of fuck you), but there's at least five songs on here that are better than the second-best song on Lemonade. Don't try and tell me "XO" ain't better than "Hold Up." Things that are about nice things are good, y'know? That's just how I feel.

6) Fake Sugar, by Beth Ditto: I can't believe I nearly forgot to include this album. Like, I had the other ten bitlets written, I was ready to copy+paste into the tumblr text field, and I said, "Didn't I listen to something really cool while trapped on the bus on Wednesday?" and I looked in my recents and THERE WAS THIS. THIS GODDAMNED TOWER OF SYNTHPOP MASTERY. I was intrigued by this album because the AV Club's preview said it had a Nashvilley sound to it, and I'm like, hey, I'm down for something vaguely country, and like. This isn't? country? But it's just like insanely good, like I was just blown away, I hadn't expected it to be epic soaring synthpop but epic soaring synthpop is my jam and I was there for it. (It should be noted that I hadn't actually heard of Gossip before like two weeks ago, and now I'm really stoked to sink into their back catalogue once I get out of 2014.)

7) Ctrl, by SZA: "this album is so good in ways i'll never be able to properly articulate," bob said for the hundreth time, relaxing after another bitlet well wroted flew from his hands into the eyes of ones Like, just the way it gets slowly more surreal as the album proceeds, SZA, like, I dunno, gliding in and out of this dream state while still keeping just in touch with reality enough that she never goes too far out of grasp? Look I'm not smart, I'm not gonna pretend I know what I'm talking about after just a couple listens, I just know it's heckin' great and well worth your time. It's so dope, and I feel like I'm failing this album by not coming up with anything substantive to say about it. We got, what, six deep into this post before I apologized to some entity or another for not being able to properly express my love? New PB. We'll get that perfect post one day.

8) 45 Jokes About My Dead Dad, by Laurie Kilmartin: it says a lot about my sensibility that i knew i'd be into this album the second i saw this album title, like hell yeah, i am in here for all these jokes about your dead dad, HIT ME. i am a fan of jokes about dead parents. it's an incredible album, like, there's a joke where her son asks her why everyone at the funeral is sad and she says it's because they're at a funeral and her son asks "are you sad because i'm not playing Minecraft?" while reaching for her phone and that joke sent me soaring above the tallest remaining rainforest where i mingled with the clouds and the other blessed creatures, and it maybe cracks the top ten. it's so good! like, i legit listened to it twice in a row, that was something where i knew i missed so much from laughing too hard. good work and sorry about your dad.

9) Southsiders, by Atmosphere: Whenever I feel disconnected from Minneapolis, I remember that I live in the same city as the Rhymesayers offices and reroot myself. I will cop to not being that deep in the Rhymesayers catalogue, but knowing my local music scene makes vital and lasting records means a lot to me, and the main thing that keeps me from moving to another city, apart from the fact I don't drive, is that I'll never feel as close to whatever music that city makes as I do to Atmosphere. This isn't really a review insofar as it's me writing a love letter to Atmosphere.

10) The Retrieval, dir. Chris Eska: Dear MUBI, either I'm blind or there were no subtitles available for this film, and if there WERE no subtitles, I am hella available to offer transcription services for you. (I am not a professional transcriptor and have not transcribed anything before, don't hire me.) 'Cuz hoo boy, these were some mumbly, mumbly people. You can figure out what's going on because the plot isn't terribly complex (it's vaguely reminiscent of the single-greatest achievement in filmmaking history, Brother Bear) and all involved are giving wonderful performances, you don't necessarily need to hear Scruffy tell Band of Outsiders "He's a good kid." It communicates its story visually, and that's a dumb thing to say about a movie, but I'm dumb at movies so heyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy.

11) Before Sunset, dir. Richard Linklater: I'm going to be referring to this as my favorite fantasy film of all time. NUTS TO YOU, PRISONER OF AZKABAN. (I don’t watch much fantasy.) The first film does have some plausibility, and it probably even actually happened, you spend one magical night with someone and spend the rest of your life thinking about them. I remain convinced that my soulmate was this girl I hung out with at a Cub Foods family picnic the summer before seventh grade. (An Atmosphere reference and a Cub Foods shout-out. This is a Minnesota-ass journal this week.) But there's no chance that you'd ever actually see that person again, so this film, about two people who have spent nearly a decade thinking about each other and letting that inform their lives, letting the love from that night sort of ruin the way they looked at love, seeing each other again is roughly as implausible as an orc. And it's that layer of fantasy that makes this a much more fulfilling movie than the first one. It's not just two twenty-somethings in love, it's two thirty-somethings who've lived and loved and hurt and now have an hour and change to express everything they've been thinking about the source of that life and love and pain for the last decade. And it's beautiful, like, I wanna have the scene where they talk about desire and goals and process playing on an infinite loop on some screen in my house. ("Isn't not wanting anything a symptom of depression?") I'm way more psyched to get to Before Midnight after this than I was for this after Before Sunrise.

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wesonerdy · 7 years ago

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When the Capulet/Montague feud continues to escalate, Rosaline and Benvolio find they have little choice but to marry (despite their own desires). Get a sneak peek of Monday’s Still Star-Crossed.

Courtesy of ABC/Jose Haro

In all honesty, Still Star-Crossed is just as amazing as I thought it would be. Shondaland taking on period drama might seem unexpected, given their other smash hits. But, from the beginning, Still Star-Crossed is imbued with that special *something* that hooks us on Shondaland shows. The plot is quick-paced and full of drama from several sources−secret romance, political scheming, family discord. While the premiere begins with the Romeo and Juliet narrative we’re familiar with, the series inserts some key twists that turn the episode into a launchpad to explore some interesting dynamics in and around Verona.

Yes, there are several tropes in play, but let’s be real, these days, everything is derivative in one way or another. And as long as the story is entertaining, what’s the harm?

Plus, Still Star-Crossed is simply gorgeous: the cast is stunningly attractive (of all races and ethnicities, thank goodness!), the costuming is sumptuous, and the set locations are breathtaking.

“In Fair Verona, Where We Lay Our Scene” does just that, starting with the parts of Romeo and Juliet’s story we know and using it to set up previously unexplored parts of that world.

We open with Romeo and Juliet’s wedding, conducted by Friar Lawrence. We seen that they are joined by two witnesses, Romeo’s cousin, Benvolio Montague and Juliet’s cousin, Rosaline Capulet. Both Benvolio and Rosaline are extremely reluctant to let their cousins get married in the face of the giant obstacle of the Capulet/Montague rivalry. But Friar Lawrence is determine to see a love-match breach the divide between families. After the ceremony, the group parts ways, with Romeo and Juliet promising to break the news to their fathers.

Interestingly, Benvolio and Rosaline are in similar places. They’re both orphaned and now living with their uncles/aunts. Benvolio and Rosaline are also resented by their relations. Lord Montague believes Benvolio to be a whore and wastrel, while Lady Capulet treats Rosaline and her sister Livia as servants. (In this case, we soon learn that Lady Capulet’s disdain arises from jealousy of Rosaline’s mother. She wanted to marry Rosaline’s father, younger brother to Lord Capulet, but sacrificed love to have a title by marrying the older brother.)

Elsewhere, Prince Cosimo, leader of Verona is dying. His daughter, Princess Isabella is with Cosimo in his last minutes and soon Escalus (who has just returned to the city after a long trip) joins them. In his final moments, Cosimo wants nothing but to protect Verona from falling prey to the Capulet/Montague feud. He passes a proclamation that anyone who commits murder will be executed without trial. Cosimo asks that Isabella marry to strengthen the city and that Escalus should always put the city first. When Cosimo dies, Escalus is immediately named Prince of Verona.

To celebrate becoming Prince, Escalus hosts a ball, which Lady Capulet (grudgingly) allows Rosaline and Livia to attend. (Incidentally, Juliet gets out of going by claiming to be ill and tired. But really, she’s consummating her marriage with Romeo 😉 ). At the ball, we see that, despite being friends when they were younger, there’s a tense relationship between Rosaline and Isabella, mostly on Rosaline’s side. However, she totally thaws when she greets Escalus…

Later, in the midst of celebration, Tybalt Capulet (Juliet’s cousin) seeks vengeance for Capulet fields being burned and begins a fight with Romeo and Benvolio. Romeo’s friend Mercutio intervenes and is killed (“a plague on both your houses”) and in retaliation Romeo kills Tybalt. Given the Prince’s new edict, Romeo is forced into hiding. On top of that, Lord Montague arranges for Juliet to marry Count Paris, future Prince of Mantua. Things are getting complex and Romeo and Juliet become desperate.

Juliet and Rosaline go to Father Lawrence for help and he gives them a potion that will allow Juliet to fake her death. Friar Lawrence will send a note to Romeo about the ploy so they can meet in the crypts and run away together. The potion works, but Romeo never gets the note. He’s totally distraught when he arrives at the crypt and sees a “dead” Juliet. Romeo kills Paris (who is at the tomb to pay his respects, claiming to be Juliet’s fiance). Then Romeo kills himself with a potion. Juliet wakes up to see her husband dead beside her, and then kills herself too. Rosaline arrives in the aftermath of the whole thing.

For me, the most OMG-twisty twist is that Lord Montague knows about Romeo and Juliet’s relationship the whole time. He encouraged it! Apparently Lord Montague likes the idea of his house being strengthened by Capulet blood, uniting the families under the Montague name.

The Capulets and Montagues have a joint funeral for Juliet and Romeo, and Escalus takes the opportunity to call for peace between the families to honor their children’s love. The Montagues have even commissioned a statue of Juliet as sign up good faith. But when the statue is unveiled, someone has painted “harlot” across it. Lady Capulet screams “a curse on the House of Montague” and then total mayhem breaks out. (Romeo and Juliet haven’t even been buried!)

In the danger, Escalus breaks free of his guards and rushes to make sure Rosaline is safe… 😉 She eventually leaves to make sure Livia is alright and once they get home, Rosaline makes plans for them to run away. But Livia reuses to leave the only home she’s known. Before Rosaline can get too far, she receives a letter to come to the palace.

When she arrives (after an attack that Benvolio saves her from), Escalus makes his plan known. The Capulets and Montagues will unite with Rosaline and Benvolio’s marriage. We know Lord Montague likes this plan and even Lord Capulet seems onboard. However, Benvolio doesn’t want to marry a harpy and Rosaline doesn’t want to be forced into a loveless marriage.

She flees the room… and Escalus chases after her. The furtive, longing looks all lead to what we’ve been guessing: Rosaline and Escalus are in love. (Epic kiss with camera circling is EPIC.) Yet, he has to put the city first and Rosaline’s marriage to Benvolio would help achieve the peace he needs. Plus, with this marriage, she will no longer be a servant and be restored to her status as lady. But what about love??? In any event, Benvolio sees the kiss, and now the drama can really begin.

Other notable points:

(1) Speaking of tropes, this Rosaline/Escalus/Benvolio triangle is giving me life! Now, I usually hate (HATTTEEEE) love triangles, but I’m really attracted to this one. If you’ve been following the We So Nerdy Tumblr, you probably already know my affinity for this triangle. I really like both ships. Roscalus have been in love since childhood and the passion persists. Yet, I adore the idea of Rosvolio becoming friends and developing an affection in their arranged marriage. They could be the ones to end the animosity between their families.

(2) Paris lives and Livia is now nursing him back to health. Does anyone else see potential here? Livia is determined to find a husband and have a family of her own…perhaps Paris, once he’s healed, might offer that to Livia. (And Lord Capulet would still get the bride price Paris originally intended to pay when marrying Juliet.) So now I’m shipping LiviaXParis. (P.S. Why must the fact that Paris is alive be a secret?)

(3) When are we going to find out the source of the animosity between Rosaline and Isabella?

In Monday’s episode “The Course of True Love Never Did Run Smooth” (written by Raamla Mohamed, directed by Jonathan Jones):

THEY SAY LOVE CONQUERS ALL, UNLESS THE CAPULETS AND MONTAGUES ARE INVOLVED−With Verona in crisis, Rosaline and Benvolio have no choice but to follow Prince Escalus’ decree to marry one another in an effort to restore peace, which Rosaline struggles to accept. Lady Capulet continues to mourn Juliet’s death, but unsettled by the way she died, is determined to figure out what or who influenced Juliet’s decision. Meanwhile, Livia and the nurse work tirelessly, hiding a secret of their own. (via ABC)

So the Rosvolio wedding is happening… take a look at two clips from the upcoming show. In the first, Lord Capulet moves Rosaline into Juliet’s old room, now that she’s to be treated as a lady instead of a servant. In the second clip, Escalus hosts a dinner to announce Rosaline and Benvolio’s engagement, and once again, a moment meant to inspire peace completely falls apart:

Yep, Rosaline is well and truly a captive. Although… Escalus may have already taken care of that virtue thing, no? 😉 I have to say, I’m really looking forward to learning more about Benvolio. I think he and Rosaline could become partners and help one another through a situation they both despise.

Check out 40+ images from “The Course of True Love Never Did Run Smooth” and remember to live tweet with me (@WeSoNerdy) Monday, June 5 at 10:00pm ET on ABC!

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PREVIEW: 'Still Star-Crossed' Season 1, Episode 2 "The Course of True Love Never Did Run Smooth" When the Capulet/Montague feud continues to escalate, Rosaline and Benvolio find they have little choice but to marry (despite their own desires).

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kayleighdawes-blog · 8 years ago

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Jerzy Grotowski.

Jerzy Grotowski was a polish man and his ways were very strict and very disciplined. He was born in 1933, in south eastern Poland and unfortunately died in 1999 in Italy, from heart problems and leukaemia. In 1957 he debuted as a director at The Stary Theatre in Krakow. Grotowski also created radio plays for Polish Radio Theatre. These were based on Chinese and Tibetan legends and the old Indian play Shakuntala. In 1960 Grotowski directed George Byron’s Cain, Mystery Buffo. After this production, Grotowski collaborated with architect Jerzy Gurawski. Which then led to his ways of “there is no audience”, shutting down the division between stage and audience. Grotowski left Poland in 1982 to work in the US, but didn’t like it at all, as he didn’t like how his work was being adapted and performed, so he left and moved to Italy.

Source - <a href=“http://culture.pl/en/artist/jerzy-grotowski”>http://culture.pl/en/artist/jerzy-grotowski</a>

Grotowski had a very specific way of working and it was to ‘reveal’ his actors. He believed in ‘exposing their vulnerability to the audience’, to produce the purest and most effective type of work. This was called ‘total act’. When an actor reveals inner, deep emotion on stage and is completely exposed, not trying to hang on to any pride. He didn’t want ANY of his actors to have egos or too much dignity, as then they could be made to do almost anything and not be worried about what they look like. They were free souls. Grotowski would put really deep experiences on stage as he believed “actors can reveal things that others can’t”. He believed in being very much in touch with your body and inner emotion to show stories / plays in ways no one else in this world can. Grotowski grew up during WW2, and worked during this time as well, which I personally think is the reason behind how harsh he was, and how deep his work/techniques were.

Source - ‘A practical guide - preview’ (YouTube)

During an interview with Jerzy Grotowski on YouTube, he speaks about ‘total theatre’ and ‘poor theatre’. He explains that total theatre is modern theatre, using full set, full props, full costume, lighting, sound etc.. however, he said “take away all of those elements, all that you are left with is the actors and the audience”. Which then becomes 'poor theatre’. Poor theatre is nothing but an empty stage, performers and an audience. Poor theatre was very basic, very stripped down and almost impossible for anyone other than Grotowski to stage. Abit like Sarah Kane. Her work is very specific to her, so it’s hard for anyone else to stage her work. Grotowski loved this way of working as he didn’t believe that you needed all those elements to make good theatre, the performers were the key, and if anything, only a few of 'the essentials’. He said that “all of these elements appear back from the actors”. For example; 'the actors feet and voice become the music and create rhythm, lamps, candles etc.. become the lighting and the actors become the props’. For example; an actor would play a table, a chair… anything that would normally count as a prop. I feel like he believed that the actors could provide all of these elements for you, through the atmosphere they create. The physicality’s that they provide and the way they portray the play.

Source - https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=y1nA4HCa6zI

Grotowski’s training was known to be the most intense training programme since Stanislavski, as his main concept was to get the actors to connect with their bodies. His main influences were Stanislavski, Brecht and Meyerhold. All of his sessions were exactly the same, to really get the actors to connect with their bodies and voice. He would do this by getting his actors to strip down (almost naked), so that they were completely free and had nothing restricting them to feel exactly what he wants them to feel. His work then became very movement based, showing emotion through physical work. For example; if someone was feeling grief, they’re body would become jagged, tense and droopy, to show this emotion. The actors were ALWAYS in touch with their bodies. He wanted his theatre to break boundaries and be totally out of the ordinary, also known as 'para-theatre’, which he defiantly did. He done this by mainly focusing on poor theatre, and working intensely with his actors, this way was defiantly unique. However, his poor theatre work never really made it, and those performances that did slightly make it, only got performed to small audiences and only once. He said “theatre can never compete with film, so don’t try it”. This is another reason he focused his work around poor theatre, because he didn’t feel that all the 'essentials’, were used correctly or needed like they were film, so he didn’t even want to try compete against film.

His work was very immersive. He believed that the audience were never really the audience, they were part of the show. He would say to his actors “who are your audience?”, to which his actors would point to the audience, and he would then say “no! They are people attending our party”, or whatever scene that they were performing. The audience were part of it, part of the party, part of the funeral, part of the argument etc. He also believed that there was never necessarily a stage, the whole space was the stage. Which obviously meant that the actors were in the show, and should be ready to be interacted with. It seems to me like he took from Brecht and his work in that aspect because, Brecht wanted his audience to be confused and walk away questioning his work, rather than completely understand it in a naturalistic way. I feel like Grotowski took from this, then multiplied it by 100. His work must have left people confused as to what just happened. Although they will be emotional invested, when they wouldn’t have been during Brechts work, they still must have had that questioning element to it.

His directing process was; - block scenes and stage your work - find the given circumstances - always be listening (even if your not in the scene, be in the room watching and listening) - give positive feedback - find the right gestures - work on and correct mistakes - then details and precision This is madness to me, as it’s all backwards. The very last thing anyone would normally do, is block and stage your piece… yet this is the first for him. It’s like he wanted to have something, anything blocked and staged and then work on improving afterwards. I feel this is quite clever, as you give yourself a huge basis on your show to go off, and THEN add detail, apply the given circumstances and improve from there. This must be a challenging way to work though as you need to actually create a whole show first, regardless of whether it’s a basic or not, it’s a lot to do. This then links back to how intense his training was. As he added the pressure to himself and his workers of creating fast and having a whole show blocked, this must have been very full on.

We then watched 'The five truths’, directed by Katie Mitchell, in the Grotowski style. This is a piece taken from Shakespeare’s Hamlet, (when her father has died and she commits suicide). This piece was totally insane, and left me lost for words once it finished. It was so bizarre, so big, so intense and deep that I wasn’t quite sure how to react. The first few minutes of it, was simply the women screaming and shaking whilst holding onto a table leg… it was like something out of a horror movie. This then led to her crying on the floor, talking/looking through her fathers things… when then led to a very dramatic, very dark death scene (drowning). I found this whole piece to be very emotionally physical and really showed the current emotion (serious grief), through a physical side, rather than literal side… and this was very clear. You could really tell that the actress was connected to her body and voice, which was exactly what Grotowski wanted. You could even tell this by the volume and softness to her voice when she was speaking, it really felt like it was coming from her heart, rather than her diaphragm, you could connect to the emotion and almost feel what she was feeling. It was beautiful how connected she was, it was like every link within her body and soul was working together. It was insanely intense, with her body and sound from herself telling the story.

Source - https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=-ScsvWtMZWo

I felt that we used Grotowski’s body connecting method during our performance of 'Romeo and Juliet’. I felt this because, everything was very big and physicalised. Especially during the fight scene. This scene was intense. Everything that happened was done at a 10, and the anger, the eagerness, the hate was all shown through their movements and screaming, grunting, roaring during the scene. It showed how connected their bodies were to their minds, as they weren’t literally telling eachother how much they hate eachother, it was happening through their bodies. This happened a lot during our show.

Grotowskis methods were incredible. As a person, I felt he was quite harsh, very his way or no way, and a little bit evil, however, I do feel that he knew exactly what he was talking about. His methods were challenging, and very full on, but well thought out and clever. He was very unique and I personally feel it would be amazing to take on a piece done in his style. I particularly love how massive he is on his actors being connected to their bodies, and physically showing a story and emotion, rather than being literal, and constantly speaking it.

“The truth is carried by the actors to be released in performance. It is through discovering what is necessary that the “total act” is born. When the actors “commits an act of sincerity, when he unveils himself, opens and gives himself, in an extreme, solemn gesture and does not hold back, one knows that this actor has achieved the total act”. - Vanessa Boss on Grotowski’s method. http://www.dziecitheatre.org/dzfiles/boss.pdf

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