#carlos a cortez

[oncanvas]

Joe Hill, Carlos A. Cortéz, 1979

Linocut on paper 35 x 23 ¼ in. (88.9 x 59 cm) Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington, DC, USA

[crowclubkaz]

im literally losing my mind rn

also,

AND FURTHERMORE,

[evilhorse]

You’re all right…for an Army grunt.

[perfettamentechic]

22 marzo … ricordiamo … #semprevivineiricordi #nomidaricordare #personaggiimportanti #perfettamentechic

[sinceileftyoublog]

¿Qiensave? Interview: The Wu-Tang Clan of Cumbia

¿Qiensave?

BY JORDAN MAINZER

What happens when a group of teenagers are raised on traditional Mexican cumbia in the morning and discover punk rock, reggae, and hip-hop in the afternoon? Eventually, something resembling ¿Qiensave?, the Salinas, CA-based quintet that has been playing together for almost two decades. The band, consisting of four Cortez brothers--rhythm guitarist Carlos, guida player/keyboardist Mario, drummer Ricardo, and bassist William--and their friend, lead guitarist Alejandro Gomez, formed in 2009 but didn't release their debut album Mujer until 10 years later. It took them time to combine their influences and hone in on a sound. "We came back full-circle," Carlos told me over the phone earlier this week, "and it emulsified into what it is right now."

After Mujer, ¿Qiensave? dropped a few singles, some originals and some covers, and in 2022, the El After EP. Last year was the group's biggest so far, thanks to two collaborations that came out within days of each other yet couldn't have been more different. The first was Reanimación, a remix album created in tandem with nu-cumbia artist El Dusty. The second was Wake the Dead, a record made with Americana singer-songwriter Chuck Prophet that stemmed from jam sessions and became a larger symbol of Prophet's turn to uplifting music in his successful fight against cancer (and that we profiled last month). Later this year, ¿Qiensave? will properly follow up Mujer with an album titled Y Así La Cosas. Next week, however, they'll play throughout Austin, TX as an official part of SXSW, the band's first time performing in Texas, let alone at SXSW. And not only do they hope, like many at the legendary fest, to find a label to work with, but a producer to help them finish the record. "Our management, because we produce a lot of the projects ourselves and are self-funded, have to remind us to network and find distribution and a label, even if it's on the tail-end of putting it out," Carlos said. "For us, [what's important is] collaboration and new people to work with."

Though ¿Qiensave? have existed longer than have most bands playing at SXSW, their touring has been limited to California and Arizona, save for a handful of gigs in Mexico and Colombia. "We're really looking forward to being in Texas and exploring different parts of the country, connecting, and meeting new artists," Carlos said. "That's really important for ¿Qiensave?." Their writing and recording process is democratic, Carlos leading on coming up with a record's theme but everybody supplying songs. (Every member but William sings.) What the Prophet collection brought, and what ¿Qiensave? wish to include more in the future, are tales that reach beyond their immediate world. "The more we get to hear different stories, the more we can share that voice," Carlos said. "We take a lot [from] the stories of life. Every album we create turns into a book, every song a little chapter. If you really pay attention to it, you'll get the whole story." They don't rule out taking the reigns away from Prophet on their next album with him--meaning this time, he'll try to find a way to fit in on their cumbia songs. For now, ¿Qiensave? have their eyes on Texas, the latest stop in their melting pot of a journey.

If you're in Austin next week, you can catch ¿Qiensave? on March 12th at Hotel Vegas (at 1:00 AM on the 13th), March 13th at Lamberts at 10:00 PM, and March 14th and 15th at The Continental Club at 2:10 PM and 4:15 PM, respectively. (They're also playing the Joshua Tree Music Festival in May.) Below, read my conversation with Carlos, edited for length and clarity.

¿Qiensave?

Since I Left You: Are you preparing for the shows coming up next week?

Carlos Cortez: Yeah, we've been getting our setlist ready and preparing. [Mario and Alejandro] are coming back from tour in the UK with Chuck Prophet. It's the last leg of the UK tour. They'll be joining us this weekend, and then we're hitting it again for another couple hours of extensive rehearsal.

SILY: Are you going to play a similar set at each show or switch things up night by night?

CC: We're gonna play it by ear. We have three setlists that we created in preparation. When they hit us up for SXSW and asked us to be an official artist, they didn't give us the set times or details, so when we got the news, we prepared three different sets. We're gonna practice those three sets, and it will [all] get mixed in depending on how we feel.

SILY: Are you playing anything unreleased from your upcoming record?

CC: Yeah, we'll be playing one of the singles that's coming out. We like to test things out...we want to get the feel for how people will react to it.

SILY: Do you play any of the songs from Wake the Dead without Chuck, or do you have to have him there?

CC: We haven't explored that...there are a couple songs, though, we really enjoy and like that we'd like to incorporate in the mix.

SILY: You're a cumbia band that experiments with and expands your sound to different genres. How do you approach a crowd that doesn't know you at all at a huge festival like this?

CC: The beauty of ¿Qiensave? is that we're kind of like the Wu-Tang Clan. Each member has a different style that's really strong, which embeds itself into the cumbia we have. It's a variety of flavors of reggae and rock. It usually translates when we start playing. Some of the elements we've all been influenced by are pretty accessible. It helps set the tone. It makes people move.

SILY: What are the genres you're most influenced by?

CC: We all bring different elements. I do a lot of the artistic development, writing the songs' lyrics. I'm influenced a lot by poetry and writing. Mario brings a lot of his rock and alternative reggae background. Ricardo and William have strong reggae roots influences and strong Mexican regional background. Alejandro is...a singer-songwriter. All the elements combined make ¿Qiensave?'s sound. You can hear the elements when you listen to each member separately...we all explore traditional music and folk music in our own right, but we're not super traditionalists in any way. We're open to exploring and seeing what we can do with the genre.

SILY: Do the songs on your upcoming album explore any new sonic territory?

CC: Definitely, every time we collaborate. This collaboration with Chuck has influenced my next two albums. There's residue: Things I've learned, things I've absorbed...we like to keep some of the sounds that have been signature, and then we explore a little more and see how it goes. It's always hit or miss. We hope it hits, but it's music: Everybody feels differently about it.

SILY: Is the upcoming album written but not recorded?

CC: We have an interesting process. Everybody brings in different ideas. I'll usually have a theme or idea, and we'll all contribute different songs. Alejandro and Ricardo will throw some from their pocket. We'll pick and choose what lines up with the theme. We'll record demos and split the different tasks. We'll take the main ideas and present it to the producers, who take it to the next level. Right now, we have [some] final recordings and the rest of the album in demos. The demos are pretty strong, but we like to bring in an outside perspective.

¿Qiensave?

[lima-norte]

¿Qué significa ser migrante en la era Trump? [testimonio de un migrante peruano]

Nunca he considerado que la palabra “migrante” sea mi tarjeta de presentación, aunque siempre me ha acompañado. Llegué a este país por primera vez cuando era un niño de 3 años, a mediados de la década de 1970, y mi familia se estableció en el norte de California, en una pequeña ciudad con árboles tan espesos que sus ramas se entremezclaban en lo alto de las carreteras. Mi madre nos presentaba por…

[naoedicoes]

Colecção Mutatis-mutandis, #25 | Jornal de Letras

Recensão de António Carlos Cortez a PLANETA e também a DE HUMANI CORPORIS FABRICA, livros de poesia de José Ricardo Nunes publicados em Abril de 2024.

/// JORNAL DE LETRAS, nº 1404, 24 de Julho a 6 de Agosto de 2024. https://livrosnaoedicoes.tumblr.com/post/746835539016171520/colecção-mutatis-mutandis-25-planeta-autor

[carlocarrasco]

What to watch on YouTube right now – Part 15

Have you been searching for something fun or interesting to watch on YouTube? Do you feel bored right now and you crave for something to see on the world’s most popular online video destination? I recommend you check out the following topics and the related videos I found. #1 Movie reaction videos by You, Me and the Movies – When it comes to watching movie reaction videos, I enjoy what the…

[catarinavoltouaescrever-blog]

Sou feita de ausências

A segunda-feira é um dia perfeito para Catarina voltar a escrever...

Fotografia feita com a luz da tarde de maio… com ventos a trazer nuvens e nada de trovão É sempre no meu sempre aquele nuncaé sempre nesse nunca aquele agoraé sempre nesse agora aquele nadano mesmo nada encontro sempre tudomesmo se o mundo é nada sempre assimmesmo se assim tudo me despertae eu me desperto a adormecer no fimde cada dia de trabalho erradoem cada hora de um amor mal feitoe digo…

[beckyninja]

Accused

Pairing: Demetrian Titus x FemReader (sort of)

Warnings: mob violence

Description: While serving in the DeathWatch, Titus meets the woman who will come to mean more to him than he ever thought.

Another long prequel for you guys! This one takes place some time before the events of Revelation.

You ran.

Gravel crunched beneath your boots as you fled down the dry stream bed. High ravine walls on either side blocked the moonlight. You fled blind, guided only by memory. It wasn’t enough.

You slammed into an unseen boulder. Momentum hurled you forward onto the ground, skin scraping from your hands and knees. You let out a short cry, then froze.

Did they hear?

You strained your ears and heard nothing. But that did not comfort you. Your pursuers had spent lifetimes hunting wary prey in these mountains. Still, after a few minutes of stillness, you began to hope.

 Perhaps they’ve given up.

From your prone position, you fought to see through the darkness ahead. The Angels’ ship. Your only chance of salvation. It had to be there!

You opened your mouth to scream. “Help m-”

Hands clamped onto your face and shoulders. You bit and struggled as they lifted you off the ground, dragging you backwards.

A high, mad laugh chilled your blood.

“You will burn, Heretic! Burn!”

***

The Day Before

“Father Cortez, this insanity must end!”

You stood outside the village’s little church, shawl pulled tight against your shoulders, and glared at the priest. He glared back. His red-rimmed eyes seemed to burn within their sockets. Blood stained his robes.

He’s been flogging himself again.

Your lips twisted. “How many more must die before you admit the uselessness of-”

“Silence!” Spittle sprayed from the priest’s mouth. “How dare you challenge me, girl!”

You sighed. Only a few years older than you, and yet he called you “girl.” You looked around at the crowd of villagers milling uneasily. Men, women, and children worn ragged by the terror of the past few months. Their eyes flickered between you and the priest.

“Friends,” you smiled, “for four generations the women of my family have tended your hurts, healed your sick, and delivered your children. I may be young. But I studied at the feet of my mother and grandmother before me. You trusted them.” 

“Will you not trust me?”

Marta, the elderly church caretaker, finally spoke. “What would you have us do, Healer?”

You nodded to her. “We must send someone down-mountain, into the city. We must call for aid-”

“No!” The Priest shrieked. “These attacks are a test sent from the God-Emperor Himself! To purify and strengthen our faith!”

Your temper frayed. “And does the Emperor use xenos monsters as his instruments now, Father? Does He demand we sacrifice humans to them? Innocents?”

“Heretics!”

“Was little Carlos a heretic, Cortez? At seven years old?” You pushed through the crowd to point a finger directly in his face. “Was Old Inez, who never went a day without praying in this very church?” 

You straightened your spine and loomed over the little man. “With each villager bound and left for these beasts, you promised they would leave. Have they? No!” You spun back to face the crowd. “Because they are no punishment! They are-”

A metallic roar cut off your words. From over the peaks surrounding the village, came a ship the likes of which you had never seen. The crowd shrieked and scattered as it hovered directly over their heads. For a minute it lingered there, sending dust-filled wind whipping through the square. Then, it rose once again and veered toward the south, beyond the ravine.

You stood amidst chaos. In front of you, families dove into their homes and slammed the doors behind them. Behind you, Father Cortez ranted and raved.

Upon the side of the ship a symbol had been carved: A skull and crossbones over an elaborate “I”. 

Hope flickered in your heart.

***

“What are they?” Marta whimpered from her place next to you.

You peered through the church’s dirty window. An hour or so after the ship flew over the village, a few hunters had heard heavy footfalls coming up the ravine. For the second time that day people locked themselves within their huts and prayed to the Emperor.

It seemed He had finally heard them.

“The Emperor’s Angels.” You breathed.

“You’re sure?”

You nodded. “My great-grandmother saw one once, my grandmother told me.”

Giants in armor who brought salvation to the faithful and destruction to the enemy.

They were certainly giant. But the Angel in your grandmother’s story had worn brightly colored armor, whereas these wore black. You squinted through the grime and could just make out a couple of insignias painted on the massive shoulders: some sort of canine head and a stylized cross.

One bore no insignia at all. A red hood covered his helmet. You watched him gesture to the others. 

“What are they doing here?” Marta’s voice shook.

“I think… I hope they might be-”

“It is none of our concern!”

Father Cortez’s bony hands gripped your and Marta’s shoulders. He dragged you backwards with surprising strength. The older woman tumbled to the floor with a pained cry. You knelt to help her, shooting the priest a look of disgust.

He ignored you. “Whatever they are here for, we should leave them to it.”

“And what if they’re here to help us?”

“We need no such help! The Emperor provides!”

“By the Throne,” you pressed your hands to your eyes, “yes. You’re right, Father. And He has provided.”

You pointed out the window. “There is His provision! Walking down our main street!”

“What… what are you going to do?” Marta whispered.

“If they are here to stop the xenos,” you muttered, half to yourself, “then they need to know about the earthquake, and the cave up on Black Peak.”

The priest cackled. “And what makes you so sure they don’t already know, girl?”

“Cortez!” You whirled on him. “Enough with the ‘girl’! I remember when you were a pimple-faced brat who delighted in pulling the legs off insects.”

If anything, you’ve only gotten worse since your ordination.

The priest drew back into the corner of the smoky church.

“Yes, go sulk and leave me be.” You took a deep breath and made for the door.

Marta shrilled your name. You waved the old woman’s concerns away, clinging to what little courage you’d managed to gather.

“I’m going to help, if I can.”

***

Idiot. Idiot! Throne damned, idiot! 

Five helmeted heads had turned your way when you pushed open the church’s door and stepped into the square. A wave of dread washed over you, every primal instinct you possessed screaming at you to run.

Oh Throne, they’re so… big!

You knew large animals. Before the attacks began, the village had made its living hunting the lumbering beasts that lived among the peaks and ravines. Once you’d even seen one of the great predatory felines.

This moment reminded you of that encounter. But, instead of dashing back to safety, you continued toward the predators. You kept your hands held out in front of you.

I’m no threat. A hysterical laugh threatened to burst from your lips. As if these behemoths would ever consider me one!

When you’d gotten within twenty feet, the Angel in the red hood raised a hand, palm facing you. He didn’t speak, but you felt the command as if he’d shouted. You halted, dropping to your knees and bowing your head.

You doubted your trembling legs would have carried you much farther, anyway.

An odd hissing, crackling noise seemed to come from the Angels’ direction. You didn’t dare look up as footsteps approached.

“Rise.”

The deep voice shook you from the inside out. You gasped and tried to comply, only for your legs to give out. A great, armored gauntlet grasped your upper arm, steadying you. You looked up into the lenses of the hooded Angel’s helmet.

For an instant, you swore you met his eyes. Your heart skipped a beat, then, against all reason, calmed.

He won’t hurt me.

You didn’t know where the conviction came from. You just knew it to be true.

“Who are you?”

You told him your name. “I…I am the Healer of this village.” You remembered your grandmother’s story and hastily added, “M-my Lord.”

“Are you alone here?”

“N-no, my Lord. The others are afraid.”

A laugh, almost a bark, came from one of the other Angels. “And ye are not? Plucky little lass.”

Another gave a growl. “Commander, we should not linger.”

The Commander never looked away from you. “Do you know why we are here?”

“I…,” you took a deep breath and tried to steady yourself, “I hope you are here to help us, my Lord. Against the xenos.”

A soft intake of breath, as if in surprise. “What do you know of xenos?”

“My great-grandmother came to this world on a refugee ship, my Lord. She told my grandmother of the Enemies of Mankind and their horrors.” 

Silence, except for that hissing, crackling noise again.

You swallowed, desperation making you bold. “Please, my Lord, I think I can help.”

***

“... after the earthquake, some of our hunters reported a new cave opening up on Black Peak. A few boys decided to explore it. They never returned.” 

You scampered over another boulder on the trail. You’d climbed this path dozens of times in your life, but it had become more difficult since the quake. Your foot slipped on a patch of loose shale.

Once again, an armored hand reached out to steady you. You smiled up at the Commander. Strange, the others still unnerved you, but not him. 

“Thank you, my Lord.”

He gave the barest nod. “Continue.”

“Well, that night the attacks began. They only ever come after dark, and they only ever take one person. Oh.”

Just ahead, an entire rock formation had collapsed on the trail. You watched the other Angels step over the rubble with minimal effort, and looked for a way to do the same. Suddenly, you felt hands at your waist.

The Commander lifted you like a child, settling you in the crook of one arm as he jumped the obstacle. One of the other Angels, the one with the canine head on his pauldron, looked back and chuckled.

“Oh! Um, thank you again, my Lord.” 

You waited for him to set you on your feet. He didn’t, continuing up the mountain path.

“It will be faster this way.” 

“I don’t want to be a burden.” You blurted.

“You are not. Continue.”

“R-right. Um, yes. The survivors say the creatures are like great insects, but made of metal.”

“Mmm.”

You wracked your memory for anything else. “Their eyes… they glowed green.” 

The giant carrying you stiffened. You had no time to wonder about it before you spotted a great black opening in the mountainside far above you.

“There it is!”

The hissing, crackling noise again. All five Angels came to a halt, peering up at the cavern. The Commander placed you on the ground.

“Go back.”

You nodded. On the one hand, you were glad to be away. On the other…

“Will you be alright?”

You regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth. One of the Angels guffawed, the sound starting a few small rock slides in the distance. You felt another’s glare like a brand on your skin.

“Of all the insolent-”

The Commander held up a hand, silencing him. “We will be fine. Go.”

You turned, shame heating your face, when he spoke again, softer than before. “My thanks.”

***

Halfway down the trail, you heard explosions, followed by rumbling chatter you assumed came from the Angels weapons. Plumes of smoke rose from the Peak.

God-Emperor, protect your Angels as they do battle in Your name.

Especially the kind one. 

Your cheeks heated again and you scrambled back down the path. Would he remember you? You doubted it. Just an insignificant girl from an insignificant village on an insignificant world. You, however, would remember him for the rest of your life.

Another story to tell your own children, one day.

Without the Commander to carry you over the taller obstacles, it took the rest of the day to return to the village. The sun had begun to set. You smiled. Only yesterday the thought of being out after dark would have sent you sprinting in terror. But now…

You nearly skipped down the last stretch of path. You were hungry, thirsty, and tired. But you could not wait to tell your friends the news. They no longer needed to be afraid. No more need be sacrificed to the monsters in the dark.

Your mood soured at that thought. 

None needed to be sacrificed in the first place.

Hopefully, now that the danger was past, the villagers would see how twisted Father Cortez had become. Perhaps you could rally them, convince them to send him back to the city. The village could request a new spiritual leader.

The streets were deserted. You heard voices in the direction of the church. A strange red glow seemed to emanate from that direction as well. A celebration? You smiled and broke into a run. You had much to celebrate.

A bonfire blazed in the center of the square. Father Cortez stood before it, gesticulating wildly. Before him every villager in the settlement watched with rapt attention. 

As you neared, you began to make out his words.

“...Emperor, in His mercy, sent His angels to relieve our suffering!”

Finally, something you and I agree on, Cortez.

“But the stain of heresy still remains!”

You jerked to a halt at the rear of the crowd. 

What?!

“We must find the true cause of our afflictions and cleanse it through flame! Lest the monsters return to ravage us once more!”

To your horror, the crowd murmured in assent. You noticed their postures, the looks in their eyes, and wondered what lies Cortez had been pouring in their ears during your absence. They reminded you of nothing so much as a herd of panicked prey animals.

But you’d calmed them before.

You began to move through the crowd. You smiled at the people you knew as friends, people your family had done nothing but help for four generations. Most refused to meet your gaze. Some glared, firelight dancing in their eyes.

Cortez saw you.

“There!” He shrieked. “The one who denied the Emperor’s justice! The dissenter! The trouble-maker! The outsider!” His lips curled back into a feral snarl. “The Heretic!”

You looked once more into the faces of the villagers around you. What you saw there chilled your blood.

You ran.

***

Present

“No!” You struggled in the grasp of the mob, searching desperately for a friendly face. “Lonzo, Maria, Berto! You know me! Help me!”

“Heretic! Heretic! Heretic!”

The damning chant pounded in your skull. Hands clawed at you, raking your skin and tearing at your clothes. You felt a hunk of your hair yanked out. A fist struck you in the face, followed by blows to the ribs and stomach. You heaved, tasting blood.

“Bring her here!” Cortez’s voice screamed out above the noise.

The mob threw you onto the ground before the bonfire. Its heat scorched your bloodied skin. One eye swelled closed, but you could still see Cortez standing above you. The firelight made him look like a daemon out of his own sermons.

You gritted your teeth and rocked up onto your knees. “Bastard! If there is someone to be blamed for all our misery, it’s you!”

His boot met the side of your head. You collapsed back into the dirt, ears ringing.

All around you, faces you recognized. Maria, whose twins you’d helped your mother deliver. Berto, who you’d spent weeks nursing through a fever. Lonzo, who had danced with you at the last midwinter festival. 

You saw Marta and reached out a hand. She spit on it.

“Why?” You whispered through split lips.

If you’d made it to the Angels’ ship, if they’d told everyone how you helped, would it have even made a difference? Or would Cortez have simply waited for them to leave before he accused you?

Accused. 

The priest pointed down at you.

Accused.

The crowd roared for blood.

Accused.

You felt yourself dragged upright and shoved toward the bonfire. You didn’t fight. You had no fight left. 

“Burn her! Burn her! Burn her!”

You closed your eyes.

“Enough!”

Everything went silent save for the crackle of the flames. The hands released you, and you crumpled to the ground once again. You heard the familiar tread of armored feet. Then gauntleted hands lifted you gently, so very gently, and you looked into a hooded, helmeted face.

I’m safe.

The Commander towered above the cowering mob. Dimly, you heard Cortez babbling something, sounding as if he’d gone truly insane. The Commander shifted you to one arm.

You watched him reach down and lift the gibbering priest by his collar. 

“Fool.”

With an almost casual flick of his arm, the Angel tossed the priest on his own bonfire.

***

You awoke to the light of dawn. You lay on a hard, metallic surface, some kind of cloth draped over your body. Confusion clouded your thoughts, and you tried to sit up.

Pain shot through every limb.

“Easy, easy now.” A voice soothed. “Here, drink this.”

Some kind of cup was brought to your lips and you drank, coughing at the acrid taste. The pain began to fade. You blinked and looked around.

An older woman knelt at your side. She was clothed in a black robe with the symbol of a canine head stitched on its shoulder. Three scars, like the mark of a claw, ridged her cheek and gave her a fearsome look.

But her eyes were kind when she smiled.

“Better?”

“Y-yes.”

“Good.” The woman patted your shoulder with a broad, rough hand. “I’m no apothecary, but I do know how to mix the odd painkiller in a pinch. Can ye stand?”

She helped you to your feet. You looked around, realizing you stood in the belly of the ship you’d seen fly over yesterday. The Angel’s ship.

Throne, was it only yesterday?

A ramp lay open to the ground outside. Through the dawn glare, you recognized the rocky ravine. A shudder ran through you.

The woman noticed. “Aye. We’re still on your rock of a homeworld.” She spat. “Allfather curse it!”

Your head spun. “How? Why?”

She patted your shoulder. “I’m sure the Commander will explain. He’s a decent sort, for a Black Shield.” She gave you an odd, knowing smile. “I think you’ll find yer a lucky one after all.”

“I don’t-”

“Frigg!” A familiar voice bellowed. “Curse it, woman! Is the lass awake yet?”

The woman snorted and stood. “Aye, she is, m’lord!” She rolled her eyes. “Oh, aye, yer lucky. Lucky the Commander picked ye instead of him.”

“Bring her out, then!”

The woman, Frigg, fussed over you. “Now, ye be a good lass and do as yer told and ye’ll be fine. Go on with ye.”

Head spinning, you staggered down the ramp. Four of the Angels stood clustered off to one side, surrounding a crate of some sort. They all looked much the same as you had seen them before. Perhaps a few more dents in their armor.

The one with the canine insignia barked a laugh as you appeared. He elbowed the one with the cross insignia, who growled under his breath.

“Waste of time.”

“Hah! Simmer down, Templar. The Commander led us to a good fight. If he wants a new little serf girl out of it, what is the harm, eh?”

Serf?

“Brother Ulfar, Brother Beren. Load the artifact onto the Thunder Hawk.”

The Commander appeared from the other side of the ship. He didn’t have his hooded cloak. With a start, you realized it was draped over your shoulders. Your face burned and you hurried down the ramp as quickly as you could, holding it out toward him.

You tripped. Yet again, he steadied you.

“Clumsy.” The word held no anger.

“I’m so sorry, my Lord. I just…I just wanted to…” you sighed, giving up. “Thank you.”

He was silent for a long moment. Then he reached up and removed his helmet. 

You almost stopped breathing. His face was a mass of scars. Metal studs of some kind dotted one side of his forehead. His lips curved in a stoic frown. You felt you should be frightened.

But his eyes…

Warm and weary and sad. They looked down into yours.

“You cannot return to your home.”

All of a sudden, everything threatened to overwhelm you. You covered your face with your hands. Tears spilled down your cheeks.

“F-forgive me, m-my Lord. I-”

“You have shown courage.”

You did not feel especially courageous in the moment. He continued.

“I would have you come with me.”

You gasped and stared up at him through the blur of tears. Brother Ulfar’s words came back to you.

“As a… a serf?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know what that means, my Lord.”

He explained. You would tend to his quarters and armor, cleaning, mending, and performing whatever menial work was required. 

“In return, you will be fed, clothed, and educated.” He hesitated, then to your astonishment, sank to one knee. “And I swear by my oath as an Ultra- as an Astartes, I will never let you come to harm again.”

You shook your head. “Why?”

He didn’t seem to mind that you’d forgotten to add “my Lord”. “I know the pain of a false accusation. I know how deep betrayal can cut. I,” he looked almost bashful, “would spare you some of that pain, if I can.”

By the Throne, you saw empathy in those eyes. Frigg had been right. He was a decent man.

You wiped the tears from your cheeks and took a deep breath. “Then I will try and serve you as best as I am able, my Lord.”  

One of the corners of his mouth ticked upward. He nodded and stood, replacing his helmet.

“Follow.”

“My Lord? One more question, if I may?”

He turned back toward you.

“May I know your name?”

Another long pause. He nodded toward the other Angels.

“They know me as ‘Nullus’. In the hearing of others, you will address me as such.” You heard a long breath. “In private, you may call me Titus.”

You didn’t know what this new life would hold, and you doubted it would be easy. But one thing you were certain of.

You would follow Titus anywhere.

@remembrancer-of-heresy @solspina @sleepyfan-blog @moodymisty @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@bispecsual @kit-williams @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @adhd-fandom-hyperfocus @lemon-russ

@justeverythingnothingelse @scriberye @bleedingichorhearts @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @mooniequeen

@passionofthesith

Once again, please comment if you'd like to be tagged in any further work.

[oncanvas]

Draftees of the World, Unite!, Carlos A. Cortéz, circa 1965

Linocut on paper 23 ⅛ x 35 in. (58.6 x 89 cm) Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington, DC, USA

[backwardscapcarlos]

Carlos Sainz (Mexican GP - October 27, 2024) 📷 Yuri Cortez

[callmebrycelee]

man crush monday

rafael l. silva

full name: rafael l. silva

date of birth: june 8, 1994

place of birth: belo horizonte, brazil

age: 30

sign: gemini

best known for: carlos reyes on 9-1-1: lone star; oscar cortez on madam secretary; upcoming role in the waterfront

height: 6 feet tall

[jupitersolaris]

Más screenshots del álbum de calcomanías/estampas de Saló [o:

↓↓↓ TRANSCRIPCIÓN DE LO QUE DICEN LAS IMÁGENES ↓↓↓

Eusebio Manguera: Dueño del canal. Su función dentro del programa es la de "Emperador Corporativo con Poderes Plenipotenciarios", pero sus empleados lo llaman "amo"

Cortez y Albertito: Directores. Ambos hermanos siameses son los encargados de que el programa sale al aire. Nunca nadie los ha visto pero de que el programa sale, sale.

Tulio Triviño: Conductor. Rostro del noticiero, sus tareas van desde dormie vien para no tener ojeras, hasta darles órdenes a Juanín o decirle a Juanín que revise el libreto. Otra de sus funciones es exigirle a Juanín que lo llame para despertarlo en la mañana.

Juan Carlos Bodoque: Periodista estrella. Cumple órdenes directas del señor Manguera, quien le encomendó un profundo reporteo del frente noticioso ambiental.

A su cargo se encuentran los otros periodistas del programa.

Policarpo Avendaño: Comentarista de espectáculos. Nos trae las noticias y copuchas más frescas de la farándula, y elige cada semana el primer lugar de su Ranking top top top, según sus gustos personales.

Balón von Bola: Comentarista deportivo. Ex gran figura del fútbol, el anciano Balón es uno de los más prestigiosos y olvidadizos comentaristas del país.

Raúl Guantecillo: Comentarista deportivo. Discípulo del Balón von Bola, entre sus funciones están recordarle a su maestro como llegar a su casa y cómo llegar sin perderse.

Ténison Salinas: Reportero de deportes. Nuevo y atrevido periodista en terreno. Le hace el trabajo a von Bola y Guantecillo.

Mario Hugo: Reportero de actualidad. Su función es ponernos al día con el acontecer nacional y pagarle a Tulio por dejarlo trabajar en el programa.

Mico el Micrófono: Periodista. Realiza la popular encuesta de "31 Minutos", aunque su sueño es hacer un programa estelar de puras encuestas.

Jackson Aceituno: Corresponsal de guerra. Nos interioriza de las viscitudes de la guerra de tarros del Mar Despensico.

Patana Tufillo: Reportera. Hago las mejores notas, y algunas bromitas a mi tío Tulio. (Fue quién escribió el artículo)

Juanín Juan Harry: Productor. Lo hace todo, soporta a Tulio.

[princesssarisa]

Opera on YouTube 5

Nabucco

Teatro alla Scala, 1987 (Renato Bruson, Ghena Dimitrova; conducted by Riccardo Muti; no subtitles)

Teatro di San Carlo, 1997 (Renato Bruson, Lauren Flanigan; conducted by Paolo Carognani; no subtitles)

Ankara State Opera, 2006 (Eralp Kıyıcı, Nilgün Akkerman; conducted by Sunay Muratov; no subtitles)

St. Margarethen Opera Festival, 2007 (Igor Morosow, Gabriella Morigi; conducted by Ernst Märzendorfer; English subtitles)

Rome Opera, 2011 (Leo Nucci, Csilla Boross; conducted by Riccardo Muti; English and German subtitles)

Teatro Comunale di Bologna, 2013 (Vladimir Stoyanov, Anna Pirozzi; conducted by Michele Mariotti; Italian subtitles)

Rome Opera, 2013 (Luca Salsi, Tatiana Serjan; conducted by Riccardo Muti; no subtitles)

Gran Teatro Nacional, Perú, 2015 (Giuseppe Altomare, Rachele Stanisci; conducted by Fernando Valcárcel; Spanish subtitles)

Metropolitan Opera, 2017 (Plácido Domingo, Liudmyla Monastyrska; conducted by James Levine; Spanish subtitles)

Arena di Verona, 2017 (George Gagnidze, Susanna Branchini; conducted by Daniel Oren; English subtitles)

La Cenerentola (Cinderella)

Jean-Pierre Ponnelle studio film, 1981 (Frederica von Stade, Francisco Araiza, Paolo Montarsolo; conducted by Claudio Abbado; English subtitles)

Glyndebourne Festival Opera, 1983 (Kathleen Kuhlmann, Laurence Dale, Claudio Desderi; conducted by Donato Renzetti; no subtitles)

Salzburg Festival, 1988 (Ann Murray, Francisco Araiza, Walter Berry; conducted by Riccardo Chailly; English subtitles)

Tokyo Bunka Kaikan, 1991 (Lucia Valentini-Terrani, Toshiro Gorobe, Domenico Trimarchi; conducted by Antonello Allemandi; Japanese subtitles) – Act I, Act II

Houston Grand Opera, 1995 (Cecilia Bartoli, Raúl Giménez, Enzo Dara; conducted by Bruno Campanella; no subtitles)

Rossini Opera Festival, 2000 (Sonia Ganassi, Juan Diego Flórez, Bruno Praticó; conducted by Carlo Rizzi; Italian subtitles)

Gran Teatre del Liceu, 2008 (Joyce DiDonato, Juan Diego Flórez, Bruno de Simone; conducted by Patrick Summers; German subtitles)

Romeo Opera, 2015 (Serena Malfi, Juan Francisco Gatell, Alessandro Corbelli; conducted by Alejo Pérez; Italian and English subtitles)

Lille Opera, 2016 (Emily Fons, Taylor Stayton, Renato Girolami; conducted by Yves Parmentier; English subtitles)

Boboli Gardens, Florence, 2020 (Svetlina Stoyanova, Josh Lovell, Daniel Miroslaw; conducted by Sándor Károlyi; no subtitles)

Lucia di Lammermoor

Tokyo Bunka Kaikan, 1967 (Renata Scotto, Carlo Bergonzi; conducted by Bruno Bartoletti; English subtitles)

Mario Lanfranchi film, 1971 (Anna Moffo, Lajos Kosma; conducted by Carlo Felice Cillario; English subtitles)

Bregenz Festival, 1982 (Katia Ricciarelli, José Carreras; conducted by Lamberto Gardelli; no subtitles) – Part I, Part II

Opera Australia, 1986 (Joan Sutherland, Richard Greager; conducted by Richard Bonynge; English subtitles)

Teatro Carlo Felice, 2003 (Stefania Bonfadelli, Marcelo Álvarez; conducted by Patrick Fournillier; Japanese subtitles)

San Francisco Opera, 2009 (Natalie Dessay, Giuseppe Filianoti; conducted by Jean-Yves Ossonce; English subtitles)

Amarillo Opera, 2013 (Hanan Alattar, Eric Barry; conducted by Michael Ching; English subtitles)

Gran Teatre del Liceu, 2015 (Elena Mosuc, Juan Diego Flórez; conducted by Marco Armiliato; French subtitles)

Teatro Real de Madrid, 2018 (Lisette Oropesa, Javier Camerana; conducted by Daniel Oren; English subtitles)

Vienna State Opera, 2022 (Lisette Oropesa, Benjamin Bernheim; conducted by Evelino Pidó; English subtitles)

Il Trovatore

Claudio Fino studio film, 1957 (Mario del Monaco, Leyla Gencer, Fedora Barbieri, Ettore Bastianini; conducted by Fernando Previtali; English subtitles)

Wolfgang Nagel studio film, 1975 (Franco Bonisolli, Raina Kabaivanska, Viorica Cortez, Giorgio Zancanaro; conducted by Bruno Bartoletti; Japanese subtitles)

Vienna State Opera, 1978 (Plácido Domingo, Raina Kabaivanska, Fiorenza Cossotto, Piero Cappuccilli; conducted by Herbert von Karajan; no subtitles)

Opera Australia, 1983 (Kenneth Collins, Joan Sutherland, Lauris Elms, Jonathan Summers; conducted by Richard Bonynge, English subtitles)

Metropolitan Opera, 1988 (Luciano Pavarotti, Eva Marton, Dolora Zajick, Sherrill Milnes; conducted by James Levine; no subtitles)

Bavarian State Opera, 2013 (Jonas Kaufmann, Anja Harteros, Elena Manistinta, Alexey Markov; conducted by Paolo Carignani; English subtitles)

Temporada Lirica a Coruña, 2015 (Gregory Kunde, Angela Meade, Marianne Cornetti, Juan Jesús Rodriguez; conducted by Keri-Lynn Wilson; no subtitles)

Opéra Royal de Wallonie-Liége, 2018 (Fabio Sartori, Yolanda Auyanet, Violeta Urmana, Mario Cassi; conducted by Daniel Oren; French subtitles)

Arena di Verona, 2019 (Yusif Eyvazov, Anna Netrebko, Dolora Zajick, Luca Salsi; conducted by Pier Giorgio Morandi; German subtitles)

Teatro Verdi di Pisa, 2021 (Murat Karahan, Carolina López Moreno, Victória Pitts, Cesar Méndez; conducted by Marco Guidarini; no subtitles)

[tsf99]

i was tagged by @clanofxymox to post my current five fav songs :)

i tag @girlburnsalive @0re0bun @jjackalope @danielashdotcom @andreweldritchfunkopop @xbluebellx @orchestralmanoeuvrez @antifiction @alsophila-grahami @spaceradars no pressure!