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agentnico · 2 months ago

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The Count of Monte-Cristo (2024) review

Je suis Batman!!

Plot: Edmond Dantes becomes the target of a sinister plot and is arrested on his wedding day for a crime he did not commit. After 14 years in the island prison of Château d'If, he manages a daring escape. Now rich beyond his dreams, he assumes the identity of the Count of Monte-Cristo and exacts his revenge on the three men who betrayed him.

I’ve been really enjoying this recent wave of French blockbuster cinema creating these lavish big-budget adaptions of their nation’s classic literature, with the recent highly enjoyable duology romp of The Three Musketeers (D’Artagnan and Milady respectively) and now taking on The Count of Monte-Cristo. I was a major admirer of Alexander Dumas’ novels when I was a kid, and by admirer I mean my father used to force me to read those books which at the time I hated him for, as I much rather would have spent hours on end on my GameCube, but now am forever grateful that I have the knowledge of storytelling which I gained from reading those pieces of literature. So I’m eagerly hoping that now with these expensive modern movie takes we will also get some of Dumas’ other great works get the contemporary cinematic treatment, such as La Dame de Monsoreau and The Black Tulip (though the latter may be difficult as there is already an older film version starring Alain Delon, and would be hard to recast Delon, let’s not kid ourselves!). As for Monte-Cristo, I’m not even going to sugar-coat it - this is a fantastic modern adaptation of a classic!

The sets are great and really invoke the post-Napoleon era of France; the costumes are gorgeous; the music score is grandiose and epic, really engrossing you in this decade spanning saga of revenge; the classic story is reinterpreted so well with the themes and the emotion, and the acting across the board is superb. Oh and the cinematography is to die for - wonderful long shot landscape sequences, great use of lighting, gorgeous shots of interior palaces - you can tell this film has been given all the money in the world, only unlike Amazon’s Rings of Power TV series that looks expensive but lacks any narrative depth, this film is both great to look at but also has a great story with awesome performance. Look, I really really liked this movie, let me rave about it!! Of course if you’re not French, you have to deal with subtitles, however don’t let that sway you, as this move manages to tell so much using its visuals and powerful music score that at times you don’t even need to read the subtitles to understand the emotion the characters on screen are going through.

Pierre Niney is honestly superb as the titular Count. From how he showcases him in his younger years as the excited young sailor wanting to prove himself to years later being this highly intelligent and driven yet calm presence, as well as taking on the various alter-ego’s of the Count using his different masks (very reminiscent of Fantomas) such as the dastardly Lord Halifax - Niney does such a stellar job here. What I also loved is how this adaptation takes the “superhero origin” approach to Dumas’ classic, with the Count being showcased as this cool dark vigilante like Batman/Bruce Wayne or Zorro, and even his dark menacing suit (which is dapper as f*** by the way!!) emphasising that. All the props to Niney, he adds so many layers and nuance to his performance, that even when he is super reserved as the Count, you can tell in his eyes the disdain and pure hatred he has for the ones that wronged him, but at the same time being able to showcase his guard dropping slightly when he is in the presence of his beloved lost love Mercédès (played gracefully by Anaïs Demoustier).

As for negatives, as even though I absolutely adored this movie, the inner critic within me still can’t help himself. This is a 3-hour long movie, and granted that is a result of the weight of the original book, however you do feel the length of this thing, but at the same time certain parts feel a tad rushed (due to the writers attempting to cram so much story and character development into the 3-hour frame) that certain side-plots and narrative build ups aren’t given their proper space to breath. One does wonder if this would have worked better as a mini-series, however on the other hand they probably would not have had the budget to make this thing look as good as it does. Secondly, certain details/plot-holes frustrated me which I won’t spoil, but one example is when Edmond and Abbé Faria are digging the escape hole from their prison chambers all those years, where the hell did they keep getting all those candles from to light their workspace?? I highly doubt in mid-1800s France prisons had little kiosk shops to offer inmates various groceries and household items. Happy to be corrected here, but honestly seeing those candles reminded me of Deadpool proclaiming “that’s just lazy writing”. And final complaint (before we can get back to raving about how awesome this movie is) is the ageing, or lack of it more. The tale of Monte-Cristo spans from 1815 and ends in 1844, yet the movie makes zero effort in making the actors look older the further down the timeline we go. The Count does look aged but that is due to the mask he wears, so when that’s off he looks like his younger 20-something self again. One of the main baddies Prosecutor de Villefort (played in true dick-fashion by Laurent Lafitte) looks exactly the same at the beginning of the movie and then right to the end. You’re telling me the make-up artists and hairstylists couldn’t give him a single grey hair or a wrinkle?

Again though, that was me with my critical thinking hat on. With that off, I want to reiterate how I truly enjoyed this new version of a classic tale that has been done so many times before, however this one may be one of my favourites. Truly engaging and epic in scale, with a ridiculously cool Pierre Niney in the titular role. He is… the French Batman!

Overall score: 8/10

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vacantgodling · 9 months ago

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a guide to: amon

we're back with another one. special shout out to annika for giving me the DRIVE to finish this lmao

transposed under the cut!

SLIDE 1: A GUIDE TO: AMON -- a man with literally no fucking chill. another monstrosity by yours truly @vacantgodling

SLIDE 2: BASIC INFORMATION pt. 1

FULL NAME: AMON

in GALERE those who are not of nobility literally do not have surnames. they’re not considered important enough to have them.

ie: erecia, terian, asahel, tamhas, vira, miss. shanin, knox, etc. none of these characters have surnames

HOWEVER, amon has a secret identity — or could’ve had one, its complicated — that many of these non-noble characters don’t know about:

OCCASIONALLY KNOWN AS: CORIANDRUM FARRAH

after amon was attacked by the gang THE KEYS and his mother was killed, he was found and saved by a noble family: lord and lady farrah. unable to have children themselves, the two wanted to adopt the young boy, despite his many scars from the attack, to serve as their heir.

there are 2 alternate universe aus where amon does stay with the farrah’s and becomes their heir ⟶ the role swap au & the fiance au.

however, in canon, amon runs away from them after he heals at about 12 years old and returns to the slums of halifax, which are his home.

SLIDE 3: BASIC INFORMATION PT. 2

AGE: 29

BIRTHDAY: JANUARY 29TH

GENDER: CIS MAN

SEXUALITY: GAY. EXTREMELY KINKY. WE WILL GET TO THIS LATER.

OCCUPATION: MANSERVANT AT THE CHATEAU AUX AISLES D’OR

however, amon is also a member of the slum-gang THE LOCKS, who are in direct opposition to THE KEYS. THE LOCKS are run underneath the leadership of knox, a man who is also amon’s father figure.

despite their closeness, the two still butt heads.

knox wants to focus lock efforts on keeping the slums safe for everyone who lives there. however, amon knows that they will never be safe if the keys continue to stalk their streets at night. he wants to cut the head off of the proverbial snake—and take out their leader once and for all!

the only problem? well.

the leader of the keys is THE KEEPER.

SLIDE 4: KINKY DETOUR✨PLEASE IGNORE IF Y’AIN’T LIKE SEX✨

a non-exhaustive list of amon’s kinks

impact play (actual fisticuffs turn him on), being restrained, orgasm play in any capacity, breath play (he has a huge oral fixation & choking on dick is his favorite pastime), cock worship/rimming, rough sex to the point of dubcon, anything “primal” (ie: wrestling, biting, scratching, growling, etc), blood play, degradation/humiliation—he is a BRAT, skin sensation or temperature play (such as ice/wax), exhibitionism/voyeurism… and he’s generally experimental. you get the picture.

the man is insatiable.

SLIDE 5: GENERAL APPEARANCE:

HEIGHT: 6’2” (~187cm)

EYE COLOR: light brown; almost hazel

HAIR: dark black; short and choppy. his hair is actually naturally curly but he straightens it to appear more “dignified” as part of his act.

BUILD: tall and lean; upside down triangle lookin’ ass. he doesn’t find himself particularly handsome.

there are 2 photos of amon to display how he looks. the first is a close up shot of amon--he has short cropped hair in a messy style, and sweeps on the left side over his brow bone. he has a few pinkish colored scars that criss cross his neck and he is making a smarmy expression. the second photo is a full body (sans feet) shot of amon bloodied and covered in bandages. the scars are revealed to cover most of his upper torso and one of his eyes is blackened.

SLIDE 6: SCARS

as a child, amon and his mother were attacked by keys; leaving him both an orphan and on the brink of death. miraculously (and with medical intervention) amon survived, but the attack left a mark on him—mentally and physically.

to this day, amon hasn’t said what exactly the keys did to him to leave such marks. but nearly every available surface of his skin, including his genitals has some form of scarring. the worst scars are on his back.

he is somewhat self conscious about them only because people can become uncomfortable about them.

there is a photo of the backside of amon that showcases the scars on his back. the largest is one at the near center that goes from the top of his shoulder blades crossing diagonally down to his tailbone.

SLIDE 7: IMPORTANT RELATIONSHIPS

KNOX ⟶ as mentioned, knox is like a father figure to amon and he was the one who took him in once he returned to the slums after the brief period he lived with the farrah’s. while knox is wise and caring, he is critical of amon’s fight now, questions later approach, and tends to reproach him for causing ‘unnecessary drama’. despite this, he knows amon has the slums and the gang’s best interest at heart, and the two of them never stay mad at each other for long. knox is also willing to help in SOME of amon’s exploits (not all)

ERECIA ⟶ amon’s best friend and right hand man, the two have known each other since they were extremely small, and rekindled their friendship after they both experienced personal tragedy (erecia lost her father, and amon lost his mother/almost died/left the slums/came back). while amon is more verbally affectionate and likes to deflect his inner mind, erecia is someone who (to his chagrin) knows him very, very well. to the point that she is genuinely surprised at how enraptured amon has become with hya. she worries about him.

SLIDE 8: EXPLAINING THE OBSESSION WITH HYACINTHUS SHRAPNEL

this is extremely difficult to explain because in a number of ways, amon doesn’t really understand it either. he didn’t think much of hya at first; and at first, definitely only saw him as a means (the wife of the keeper) to an end (killing the keeper).

its the perfect storm of fucking around and finding out—not that i can blame him. he’s fucked hundreds of people without catching feelings; why should a pompous little lord be different?

it’s more than just the fact that he can get a rise out of hya as amon can get a rise out of most people if he tries hard enough. it’s more than the fact that he thinks hya is attractive (and he does, immensely so) — somehow, hya is the perfect storm of a stubborn ass prick that fires all of amon’s dog-like synapses.

he’s extremely lucky that hya feels the same about him tbh, even if its unsaid. idk. they’re made for each other.

SLIDE 9: ASSOCIATIONS

alcoholic drink: fireball shot

food: opera cake (or any sweet really)

colors: black & red

flower: coriander

animal: vulture

zodiac: aquarius

tarot: king of wands

song: king for a day — pierce the veil

#will add the taglist later lol #paramour profiles #character intros #s: paramour

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mermaidsirennikita · 4 months ago

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Hi! i’m hoping you might have a recommendation or two for me - It’s my turn to pick a book for my book club and I want to pick a historical romance that’s fun and campy but still easily accessible for readers that don’t have much experience with histros. I think Tessa Dare is an obvious choice but do you have any other authors/books you might recommend to someone reading historical romance for the first time? I think my main concern is them getting bored or tripped up by the language?

I hope it's okay if I publish this! (And in response to your other ask, omg thank you and you're so welcome!)

Tessa Dare is a great choice for sure (and I would do A Week to Be Wicked if you go with her) BUT alternatives...

Julie Anne Long! She writes really lighthearted but emotionally deep historical romances. They're not quite as high heat as Tessa, but they are explicit, and super lovely. I'd recommend What I Did for a Duke or After Dark with the Duke. She also has a new book out on Tuesday, The Beast Takes a Bride, which is GREAT and one I'd recommend.

Sarah MacLean is a great one if you want something approachable and easily translated to the modern age. Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake or One Good Earl Deserves a Lover would by proposals for a book club.

Adriana Herrera's A Caribbean Heiress in Paris is modern and fresh and suuuuper sexy, while at the same time having a lot of the things we love about classic historical romances. I love that book.

The Wicked Wallflower by Tracy Sumner is a fun one—it's frothy and flirty (it's a classic brother's best friend book, with a self-made hero and a heroine pretend to be a wallflower) with a sweet beating heart.

There's also Amalie Howard! Her most recent historical romance series has been retellings of fun romcoms. Always Be My Duchess is a Pretty Woman take, and Never Met a Duke Like You is Clueless.

Alexandra Vasti! Her Halifax Hellions novellas are short, but you COULD do 1-2 together as they sort of tell two sides of the same story (they're about twins, and you know that one of them is pursuing the other when she runs off with a man in the first book... int he second you get the real story lol). Her full length debut Ne'er Duke Well is also good.

#romance novel blogging #romance novels #book recs

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revenantlore · 1 year ago

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. queer gothic fantasy . ghoulish vampires . a grumpy man with a pet rat and a death wish never to be granted . the literal embodiment of sunshine . polyamory . snarky lesbian badass . necromancy and undead horses . a ghost dog . supernatural drugs .

Plagued by a virus spread from an experiment gone awry, never does a night go by where Ashmourne’s cobblestones and soil are not drenched in human blood.

Bloodthirsty monsters wearing the faces of the virus’s victims run rampant the moment the sun is drawn below the horizon and only death can stop them.

Much too quick and strong for any ordinary adversary to survive against, a small group of both willing and unwilling participants have been scientifically engineered to protect Ashmourne from the very horrors the scientists created.

Without these special few, the townspeople of Ashmourne would have far more to mourn than daylight itself.

. bram valdis .

With no regards to his health or safety, Bram delves straight into harm’s way with the hope of a miracle: an end to his suffering. His past is marred with as many scars as his body, haunting reminders of what he is, who he used to be, and what he can never be again. No more than a laboratory rat, an experiment, a mistake … something far from human.

His compulsions lead to a gruesome collection of blood drawn from the Fangs he has slaughtered, a memento of sorts, stored in vials lining the shelves of his bookcases. Less a symbol of triumph and more a way to calm the obsessive thoughts rattling through his skull. Not a night goes by where he doesn’t count each and every one, often to the familiar tune of insomnia.

A fear of intimacy and loss has left him bitter and alone for much of his life, but he dreams of one day finding a love alike that of the fairy tales that accompany him on these sleepless nights.

. halifax bertram .

After out-aging the dirty halls of Galloway’s Home for Unfortunate Children, Halifax and his younger brother, Pennant, were left to fend for themselves in search of a better, safer life outside the borders of Ashmourne.

Poor, helpless, and more than a little hopeless, their journey was wrought with danger and a quick end.

When Pennant is taken in by Ether as a potential experimental subject, Halifax bargains for his freedom in exchange for Fax’s, unaware of the consequences that await him.

Fax hasn’t spoken to Pennant since.

Not without want, but it is forbidden, if he wants his brother to remain safe.

. pennant bertram .

Painting helps Pennant hold on to hope, distracts him from the grim truth of his existence in the weary village of Ashmourne. When painting fails, there’s the withering garden in the forests beyond Dead End to keep him occupied. He’s determined to bring some life to it—a budding flower or a shock of green amongst the wilting leaves.

Ashmourne is a dark and dismal place, desperate for a spot of brightness, a spark of hope, and so is Pennant.

Not even death will stop him from making it happen.

. zay larosa .

Following in her mother’s and aunt’s footsteps, Zay offers psychic readings at The Dirty Rat for a negotiable price—often she will settle for payment in the form of a drink, and many of her clients would claim the drunken prophet’s readings are always more accurate when of a liquor-addled brain. Others would denounce her credibility as a prophet, usually when things go wrong—or, more accurately, out of spite, when they go just as Zay said they would when seldom is it ever in the client’s favor.

It’s all but a distraction—the booze, the nameless women she beds, the hours and coins wasted away in games of cards and dice, all teetering on a risky bet her prophecies fail to correctly foretell—while a thirst for vengeance gnaws ever-present at her heart.

Her father was slain by a man Zay only knows by appearance alone, an unmistakable scar clawed across his face by her hands alone, and she is determined to find and kill him—all the more reason to snatch a glimpse into the futures of strangers.

. athios forsyth .

Haunted by the memories of a murder he didn’t mean to commit, Athios recedes into a life of isolation to avoid facing the truth behind the event. There are no consequences for the crime, no evidence that it ever happened—not when his victim rose from his grave at the touch of Athios’ own hand—except for the ceaseless guilt.

In the accompaniment of Ambrose, a dog whom is neither here nor there, Athios tends to the graveyards of Ashmourne, both with the intent to maintain a pristine appearance and to experiment with his ability to raise the dead.

His curiosity comes with more consequence than he bargained for when he messes with the restricted graves of Fangs and unleashes a new horror upon Ashmourne.

. zacarias bane .

All hopes of affection were surrendered the day Zacarias discovered himself incapable of touching another person without being thrust into their deepest, darkest memories without mercy.

Yet … Bram and Athios seem to somehow be exceptions to this rule.

The two men become a mystery Zacarias is determined to solve, temptation and desperation fueling his quest for an explanation while he suffers through nights of listening to the ceaseless passion of strangers below his rooming above the local brothel.

#my oldest and most belovèd wip and therefore naturally the one i have struggled with the most #wip : mtd #wip : mourn the day #vampires #gothic fantasy #dark fantasy #writeblr #writing #wip masterpost #wip intro #wip introduction

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alwayschasingrainbows · 1 year ago

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Here is a quote from EQ:

"Year after year the seasons walked by her door. Violet-sprinkled valleys of spring—blossom-script of summer—minstrel-firs of autumn—pale fires of the Milky Way on winter nights—soft, new-mooned skies of April—gnomish beauty of dark Lombardies against a moonrise—deep of sea calling to deep of wind—lonely yellow leaves falling in October dusks—woven moonlight in the orchard.

[...] New Moon was unchanged, undisturbed by the changes that came elsewhere. Mrs. Kent had gone to live with Teddy. The old Tansy Patch was sold to some Halifax man for a summer home. Perry went to Montreal one autumn and brought Ilse back with him. They were living happily in Charlottetown, where Emily often visited them, astutely evading the matrimonial traps Ilse was always setting for her."

Emily's Quest by L. M. Montgomery

Thank you for voting!!!!

#lm montgomery #emily of new moon #poll

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darkmaga-returns · 1 month ago

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Deadliest Year For Aviation Since 2018. Russia will abandon missile moratorium. Alawite tensions rise in Syria. Iran may face upheaval like Syria. U.S. Treasury Department Allegedly Hacked

Lioness of Judah Ministry

Recent Rash Of Crashes Turns 2024 Into Deadliest Year For Aviation Since 2018

"There have been 4 different plane crashes worldwide in the last week..."

The commercial aviation industry faced a turbulent week with four plane crashes, making this one of the deadliest years since 2018. The most shocking mid-air aviation disaster occurred on Sunday when a Jeju Air 737-800 jet crashed at Muan International Airport in South Korea. December 25: Azerbaijan Airlines Crash December 28: KLM Airlines Plane Skids Off Runway In Norway December 28: PAL Airlines Dash 8-400 Catches Fire in Canada December 29: 179 Dead In South Korea's Worst-Ever Aviation Disaster

Commercial airline plane nearly crashes into sports team jet

A Delta Air Lines plane almost crashed into a charter jet carrying a men’s basketball team in a close call on a runway.

An Embraer E135 jet with the Gonzaga University Men’s Basketball team board touched down at Los Angeles International Airport and was taxiing to a gate when it appeared to continue toward a runway. ‘Stop, stop, stop!’ an air traffic controller could be heard shouting at the charter plane in video footage of the incident shared online. The Embraer came to a halt as Delta Flight 471 lifted off from the runway and over the smaller aircraft.

Airliner or Flying Health Hazard? Unsavory Facts About Boeing's 737-800

Aircraft giant Boeing made headlines last week when three incidents involving its 737-800 planes, one of the Boeing 737 Next Generation (737NG) variants, occurred in 24 hours in various corners of the globe.

While the terrible Jeju Air 737-800 crash in South Korea killed 179, a few hours earlier another KLM 737-800 skidded off a runway in Norway after suffering a hydraulic failure, while an Air Canada 737-800 suffered an apparent landing gear failure upon arrival in Halifax. Though much of Boeing’s infamy stems from the disasters involving its 737 MAX airliners, the 737-800 has a dark history of its own, with this type of planes suffering over 20 incidents since the early 2000s and causing over 1,000 deaths.

Russia will abandon its unilateral missile moratorium, Lavrov says

MOSCOW, Dec 29 (Reuters) - Russia will scrap a moratorium on the deployment of intermediate and shorter range nuclear-capable missiles because the United States has deployed such weapons in various regions around the world, Russian Foreign Minister Sergei Lavrov said on Sunday.

Russia's move, long signalled, will kill off all that remains from one of the most significant arms control treaties of the Cold War, amid fears that the world's two biggest nuclear powers could be entering a new arms race together with China. Russia and the United States, who both admit their relations are worse than at any time since the depths of the Cold War, have both expressed regret about the disintegration of the tangle of arms control treaties which sought to slow the arms race and reduce the risk of nuclear war.

Russian government flight to US sparks mystery and speculation

On December 26th, one of the Special Flight Squadron "Russia" aircraft flew to New York and Washington, D.C., and remained in the United States for two days.

It is unknown who was on board the Ilyushin Il-96-300, which is used by Russia's highest officials, including heads of special services. When asked about this matter, Maria Zakharova, spokesperson for the Russian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, stated, " Another diplomatic rotation." The independent Russian channel BAZA on Telegram was the first to report on the mysterious flight of the Russian government plane, questioning who traveled to the USA and for what purpose. According to FlightRadar data, on December 25th, one of the Special Flight Squadron "Rossiya" planes took off from Moscow and flew to St. Petersburg. On December 26th, it flew from St. Petersburg to New York and, after a short break, proceeded to Washington, D.C.

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rootlessinterloper · 5 months ago

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On Rain

The rain here in Halifax is ambiguous. It doesn’t speak a word. Or perhaps it speaks many, but doesn’t mean a single one; it has no conviction. It’s not like that elsewhere.

In Toronto, the summer thunderstorms call out and beckon. The sky opens up like a great chasm trying to swallow the city, asphalt and bike lanes and litter and all. A mesmerizing yawp compels you to sit on your porch and watch its spectacle, as the deluge silences the cicadas. You hear not only rainfall but the sound of the grass and weeds and the sewer drains and the cracks in the sidewalk giving collective thanks. Then, mere minutes later, just when you begin to realize that there is no more beautiful sight in the world, the rain departs as suddenly as it arrived. Satisfied with its little show, it smugly retreats into the sky, as if to tease itself like a burlesque. Oh rain, you think, you playful devil. She will always return tomorrow, or perhaps the day after that.

In the American Midwest, where hot streams of air from the Gulf of Mexico do battle with cold ones from Canada in a grand display of preternatural combat, the rain speaks strongly too. Stop at once, it shouts, ending the battle at once with its intervention. The air goes completely still in what one imagines the first few microseconds after a vacuum bomb is detonated feel like. Then, the sky is cleaved open by lightning; Kansas City’s art deco skyline is electrified, the Liberty Memorial and Union Station and the T-Mobile Centre are flash-frozen in place, followed by the most tremendous cannonade of thunder which shakes the earth itself. The rain there is not coy, it does not merely coerce attention – it demands worship. There is faint archeological evidence that the Pawnee and Missouria peoples would have worshipped a sky deity; there is strong intuitive evidence that the Pawnee and Missouria peoples would have worshipped a sky deity.

Rain is so strongly correlated with emotions of sadness. Some people say that rain is like the sky crying, or the earth, or God, or Mother Nature. I can recall a certain moment it rained, during one of my many childhood summers spent on the Dalmatian coast, likely in a little town outside of Rijeka or Zadar but possibly as far south as Šibenik. The details escape me, but I do remember the rain. It was dark, the whole town was sleeping, and we were walking up this great hill from the marina to our apartaman. Without warning – no apocalyptic crack in the sky or commanding anthem of thunder – it began to rain so hard that the hill soon became little more than a waterslide, with sheets of rain nearly up to our knees. It was the funniest thing that had ever happened to me. We could hardly walk five steps without keeling over from laughter, our clothes drenched and clinging to our skin and shoes overflowing with water. The rain wasn’t crying; it was laughing. It was laughing along with us in the funniest joke I’d ever been party to. The sky was laughing so hard it cried; I know I certainly was.

When it rains, I like to listen to its voice. I like to look for answers. Here, it provides me none. It sits silently on the windshields of the cars in the dealership across the street, drips aimlessly through the eavestroughs and overhangs, collects in sterile little pools beneath the trees. I catch myself wishing sometimes that rain meant sadness; that it was crying and washing away all the happiness from the sidewalks, but it cannot even amount to that, voiceless and idle as it is. I suspect that it is somehow made of a substance thinner and weaker than water, like some cheap chemical substitute, a flagrant impostor. Why won’t it speak to me? Why will it give me no answers? Even the ocean here provides no catharsis; its waves lap the shore listlessly and they bear no meaning.

#rainymood #thunderstorm #writing #rain #halifax

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halifaxafterdark · 2 years ago

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havent had the brain to art in a while but i did make a little Jess in picrew the other day

#jessica witz #halifax after dark

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productofnfld · 1 month ago

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“I Can’t Rest Here!”

St. Paul’s, nestled on the Great Northern Peninsula of Newfoundland, has long been a place of stories — some well-remembered, and some only carried on the breeze.

According to the history books, it all began with a solitary man — Elias Gifford, a trapper who ventured into St. Paul’s Bay and lived alone, hunting the land. For a time, he was the only soul to inhabit the sandy point jutting into the bay, his solitude broken only when others arrived, drawn by the promise of fish and lobster. In the early 1880s, a Halifax firm set up a lobster factory on the point, and St. Paul’s began to grow. Over time, however, the community shifted away from the point, settling closer to the coast where there was more space and better land.

But this quiet corner of Newfoundland, hidden deep within the shadows of Gros Morne National Park, has another story — one that doesn’t appear in the history books; one that is more likely to be told fireside on a stormy winter night.

It’s another story of why the community moved to the coast. Yes, they sought better land, but what most have long forgotten is the dark reason the land turned bad. It’s a tale of a family torn apart, of love lost, and a broken promise that came to haunt an entire settlement.

Old Martin of St. Paul’s

Once, St. Paul’s on Newfoundland’s west coast wasn’t the coastal settlement it is today. Instead, its people lived upriver, hidden away in the wilderness. Among them was Old Martin — a quiet, reserved man, well-liked by most. Few knew much about him, but whispers often floated through the village, hinting at a darker past. Some said he had once been a criminal, though no one knew for certain.

One year, as autumn’s chill deepened, Martin fell gravely ill. He refused all help, snapping at anyone who approached. Only young John Oates, a fearless neighbour, dared to intervene. “I don’t recall asking for your help, by,” Martin growled. But John stayed, tending the old man with a stubborn kindness, though Martin’s bitterness never softened.

Years before, Martin had lived with his wife and daughter, Mary. His wife had passed, and Mary, estranged after a bitter fight, had left for St. John’s where she worked ‘in service’.

Everyone in the settlement knew there was a romance between Mary and John—a relationship that had once seemed destined for happiness.

A Love Torn Apart

John and Mary had grown up together, inseparable as children and, later, as sweethearts. Their love had blossomed beside the low spruce trees by the water, where they would steal moments to talk and dream of a future together. But their fathers’ friendship, once strong, had soured. Martin accused John’s father of cheating him, and the Oates family returned the accusation. Bitter words were exchanged, and Mary, torn between loyalty to her father and her love for John, was caught in the middle.

The final blow came when Martin forbade Mary from seeing John. Though they tried to meet in secret, the tension grew unbearable. A fierce argument erupted one night between Mary and Martin, and she left the house in tears. Within days, she had taken work in St. John’s, leaving John behind with a broken heart.

Years passed, but John never stopped loving Mary. Though he buried his feelings, his connection to her lingered, unresolved. It was perhaps this love—and the hope that someday Mary would return — that compelled him to stay near Martin, even as the old man grew colder and more withdrawn.

A Warning Unheeded

By November, it was clear Martin’s end was near. In his final days, he summoned John’s father, a man he hadn’t spoken to in years. Their conversation was private, but whatever was said seemed to settle the years-old score. Oates promised to carry out Old Martin’s wishes to the best of his ability.

When Martin died a week later, he shared Martin’s last will and testament: He hoped his daughter, Mary, would marry young Oates. If that were to be the case, she could have his house and all his worldly possessions. If not, everything should be turned over to the parson, for the good of the church.

Furthermore, Martin wanted to be buried far away from the town, in his favourite spot on the coast, a little cove round the south head. He was emphatic about it. If his wish wasn’t fulfilled, he warned, he would never rest in peace; nor would the people of St. Paul’s.

Oates had good intentions. He wanted to honour Martin’s wishes but the weather had turned ferocious. Storms lashed the coast, making it impossible to reach the cove. Reluctantly, the villagers buried Martin in his garden. They said, they would make good on their promise in the spring, that they would remove his bones to the quiet cove when the weather improved.

Perhaps they believed it at first but it wasn’t long before their thoughts of Old Martin faded. By the time Christmas came, he was a distant memory.

It was the dogs in town who first noticed something was amiss. One old water dog became obsessed with the house, refusing to leave, spending hours howling at the garden, staring fixedly at the disturbed earth.

If the people of town noticed the strange behaviour, few gave it any serious thought; focusing instead on the festive season.

A Boxing Day Visitation

By Boxing Day, the village was alive with celebration. The Oates’ house was filled with music and laughter as the community gathered for a party. The warm glow of oil lamps lit the frost-covered windows, and the lively stomp of boots on the wooden floor kept time with the fiddler’s tune.

In the middle of the revelry, a small group of mummers arrived unannounced, their faces hidden behind strange, cotton drapes. Their exaggerated movements and sing-song voices delighted the crowd.

Then the fiddle screeched to a halt. There was a palpable shift in mood.

Outside, the dog was howling again. It wasn’t alone, it sounded as if every dog in town was joining in chorus. The wild, frantic cries silenced the room. The mummers froze mid-dance, their masks suddenly looked menacing in the stillness.

Oates cracked the door to investigate.

The moment it opened, the dogs burst inside, tails tucked low, their bodies trembling as they cowered beneath the tables and chairs. Whispers spread through the room. Some of the men exchanged uneasy glances, muttering about wolves, while others, determined to confront whatever danger loomed, grabbed weapons — hunting rifles, knives, even an iron poker — preparing to defend their homes.

Before they could move, there came a sharp, deliberate rap at the door. Steeling himself, Oates once again cracked the door. There was nobody there; No living soul, anyway. For a fleeting moment, a pale glow seemed to hover above the snow.

John hesitantly stepped outside.

The ghostly light now hovered near Old Martin’s abandoned house, drifting toward the ‘temporary’ grave.

A low, mournful voice echoed in the icy air:

“I can’t rest here. Oh, I can’t rest here.”

A Terrifying Winter

By morning, the village was blanketed in snow, but there were no tracks — nothing to explain the night’s events. The men, who had hoped for answers, now felt the heavy weight of dread settle deep in their bones. Old Martin’s spirit was restless. He had warned them, and now they were paying the price.

The haunting grew more intense.

Night after night, sharp, deliberate knocks rang out on doors and windows, always in threes. Children awoke screaming, claiming to see pale faces in the dark. Martin’s house glowed faintly, a flickering light in the window, but no one dared enter.

Low mournful cries pierced the night: “I can’t rest here!”

At gatherings, lamps would extinguish themselves, chairs would topple over, and a cold draft would fill the room, bringing with it the unmistakable scent of damp earth. As villagers drifted off to sleep, they were jolted awake by the feeling of icy fingers brushing their skin. In every shadow, Martin’s gaunt face seemed to flicker, watching.

The community descended into a quiet, helpless terror. He would not allow them to forget —

“I can’t rest here,” he whispered.

By spring, the villagers could take no more. Promise or not, they wanted nothing to do with Old Martin. Rather than dig up his cursed grave, they abandoned the settlement, fleeing to the coast.

Mary’s Return

Word of Martin’s death reached Mary in St. John’s. A sharp pang of guilt washed over her — guilt for the years of silence, the anger that had kept her from her father. The last time they had spoken, their words had been cruel, sharp, filled with regret. Now he was gone, and she was left with nothing but the weight of unspoken apologies. By spring, she could no longer ignore the pull to return to St. Paul’s.

When she arrived, she found John waiting. The years apart had done little to dull the connection between them. If anything, the grief of losing the old man, combined with the shared pain of their past, brought them together in a way nothing else could. They spent hours talking, trading memories of better times and the ache of lost love. The sorrow they shared reignited the passion that had once bloomed between them, before their fathers’ bitter feud had driven them apart. The walls between them crumbled, and by July, they were married — reunited by tragedy.

Neither she nor John could bring themselves to disturb Martin’s grave.

But as the days passed, a quiet unease settled over Mary. She began to hear it — the whispering on the wind, soft at first, but impossible to ignore: “I can’t rest here.”

The old community, all but abandoned, felt like a place of shadows. Mary couldn’t bear the thought of staying — even if her father’s old cabin was now hers. Soon John built them a house by the shore, far from the cursed land. It was meant to be a fresh start, a new beginning, away from the darkness of the past.

But the past does not let go so easily. Forgotten and left to rot at the old settlement, Martin’s grave was soon consumed by the wild.

To this day, when the wind howls through the trees, his voice rises with it—faint at first, then growing louder, filled with chilling desperation:

“I can’t rest here!”

And he hasn’t.

He waits still, a restless spirit bound to a forgotten grave outside St. Paul’s, lingering for over a century, waiting for a promise to be fulfilled.

#ghost #boxing day

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gogogogolev · 3 months ago

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Robert Brodie has done a write up from 2024 Skate Canada International. He leads off with news about Stephen.

#SCI24: Sharp dressed for some success Stephen Gogolev reminded everyone in Halifax of his bountiful talent in the men's short program. And he seems to have found a situation that suits him well. Stephen Gogolev is the mystery man of Canadian skating. Since winning the Junior Grand Prix Final in Vancouver in 2018, he’s long been seen as one of the future hopes of men’s skating in this country. But it’s been a roller-coaster ride in recent years for the Toronto native, with growth spurts, training base changes and, most notably, health issues standing in the way of unleashing his full potential. There have been flashes of his bounty of talents, to be sure — remember, for example, the outstanding long program he put together at 2023 nationals in Oshawa, Ontario? — but the words erratic and inconsistent might better describe the past few years or so of his still young career. But a lot has changed in the past several months, and maybe the 19-year-old (yes, he’s still that young) has finally found his comfort zone to thrive. Gogolev has been settled with Lee Barkell at the Granite Club since June (he previously divided his training between Toronto and California, where he worked with Rafael Arutyunyan) and added French choreographer Benoit Richaud to his coaching team. Add it all up, and we saw the very good side of Gogolev on Saturday in Halifax. With a clean skate that included a quad Salchow and triple Axel, he posted an 82.70 score that landed him in fifth place after the short program. Best of all, he exited the ice with a smile on his face — not the forlorn look of the 2024 Canadian Championships in Calgary, when a flareup of a previous back injury scuttled his short program and forced him to withdraw. While Barkell said there had been “some issues” in dealing with his back during the off-season, all is well for the moment and the decision was made to scale down his programs this week to protect his health (the short program will eventually have two quads. Gogolev has been landing quad loops in practice, and Barkell said either that or the quad toe will be added down the road in the combination. The long will be similarly watered down, with the plan to have three or four quads in it by season’s end). “It’s been kind of on and off,” Gogolev said of his back health. “We took it very carefully leading up to this competition.” Gogolev was all business, you could say, as he glided onto the ice in suit and tie (“It’s actually quite light. It’s really stretchy,” he said when asked what it’s like to skate in such attire). The music for the program — “Mugsy’s Move Medley,” by Eddie Nichols — had a lighter feel to it, especially compared to the dark tones of last season’s “The Sound of Silence,” by Disturbed. “This program is really fun. It’s the short program I’ve enjoyed the most doing in the past couple of years,” he said, adding he’s already halfway to his goal at Skate Canada. “Short and free, clean skates. So I got the first part of that done. Overall, I’m pretty happy and I just wanted to enjoy this experience.” The enthusiastic audience at Scotiabank Centre did its part to make that happen. “There was a lot more people than I expected and it was louder, which was nice to see,” he said. Both his programs this season are Richaud creations, and Gogolev decided he wanted to expand the Frenchman’s role this season. “I work with him as a choreographer and I really like his work ethic and his strategies, and I thought it would be a good idea to add him as a coach.” His score held up at the top of the leaderboard until well into the final group, and he’ll skate in the final flight in Saturday’s free skate. It’s no surprise that World champion Ilia (the Quad God) Malinin of the United States has a commanding lead (106.22), followed by a pair of Japanese, Shun Sato (96.52) and Sota Yamamoto (92.16).

It is concerning to hear that Stephen's back injury issues have not been resolved fully. It appears to be some kind of chronic issue now. If he is able to manage it without increasing his technical difficulty then that is best. He does not need to sacrifice his life long health for a few quads. We will have to put our trust in Lee Barkell regarding this matter.

#stephen gogolev #SCI24 #2024 2025 season #interview

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babacontainsmultitudes · 1 year ago

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15 Questions for 15 People

@locke-n-k3y thanks for the tag :] ah hm tbh I feel like my answers for these might be a bit boring but let's see...

1. Are you named after anyone?

Yes! (Referring to my legal name- which I still use), I was named after a character from the soap opera "General Hospital" haha.

2. When was the last time you cried?

Last week lol- which was... The first time in a couple months? It was nice but not enough.

3. Do you have kids?

Absolutely not. Never lol.

4. What sports do you play/have you played?

Never did any sports outside of gym class! Not formally, anyways. I do workout (mostly strength/weight training) fairly regularly... But I don't think that really counts here lol. :0 Been thinking a lot lately about picking up boxing.

5. Do you use sarcasm?

Yup! irl I often go for a sort of deadpan delivery of my sarcasm- what I've learned from other people is that I'm a little too good at that (I sometimes say very ridiculous things very convincingly). I won't usually specify unprompted that I'm being sarcastic, but you're always welcome to ask. Not as sarcastic online in general, however.

6. What's the first thing you notice about people?

Irl? Hmm. Hard to say. Maybe: eyes, voice, posture.

Online? Typing/texting style I suppose!

7. What's you're eye color?

Dark brown 👁

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

Not mutually exclusive lol. But, happy endings. I don't "dislike" tragedies but I'm not actively drawn to them either.

9. Any talents?

HM. I mean obviously I have things I'm good at but I'm never quite sure what differentiates a "talent" from a "skill". I suppose a lot of friends have said something to the effect of me being "good at reading minds" haha- also "good at explaining things" which is debatable but sweet lol.

10. Where were you born?

Halifax! Which I feel fine saying cause I haven't lived there for a long time lol. A foggy fishing city that I miss even now.

11. What are your hobbies?

I guess a large chunk of what I do on this blog counts as hobbies? Writing (whether it's fiction or analysis or shitposts), drawing, audio clipping and editing apparently (though much of that I just keep to myself- same for drawing tbh). :] I've also gotten into making iron-on patches. Tabletop and video games for sure but... Neither as much as I'd like these days. I tend to collect a lot of things as well- most notably coins.

12. Do you have any pets?

I've had MANY pets of many different species- but currently just my cat Bok! I do tend to take care of my older sister's bunny a lot too though.

13. How tall are you?

5'4, which all my 6'0 friends love teasing me over 😒. I've been told that I "seem taller from the way [I] carry myself", however. (Despite everything, I'm actually fine with my height!)

14. Favorite subject in school?

When I was completing my bachelor's (in computer science) I was particularly drawn to graphics-related stuff! In highschool my fave was definitely drama haha (gee I miss it tbh).

15. What is your dream job?

I HAVE NO IDEA no idea and that's kind of my issue rn tbh. Plenty of things that seem interesting, but I don't think I'm the kind of person who could have the same job for my whole life, no matter how perfect it is. I'll presumably end up in something programming-related eventually, though it's not what I'm looking for now. OH OKAY ACTUALLY dream job? Probably doing video essays (or possibly let's plays) on Youtube haha.

15 PEOPLE IS A LOT OF PEOPLE TO TAG AND I ALWAYS FEEL SO SHY TAGGING PEOPLE IN GAMES and I have no idea who's been tagged already ahaha UM NO PRESSURE WHATSOEVER!!! @llumimoon @happi-tree @kaseyskat @abeinginsand @nolassolace @goldturnedgray @swiffin @insomaniiiac @meiwks @calamity-unlocked @coolfire333 @supremely-unsupervised @b1gwings @giraffeskull There! 15! Tried to get a few new people in there lol. But fr no stress!

#tag games #Thanks again for the tag locke!

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button-man-herald · 7 months ago

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The Kingsport Clam

in a studio the size of Styrax, a lot of development is "Bottom Up", in the sense that so much of what we make is collaborative, iterative, and often the ideas we are most excited about come from spur-of-the-moment conversations over lunch.

While brainstorming what it takes to build a real town in the imaginations of our players, Ron and I got to thinking: what's the signature food of Kingsport? For those new to Button Man, Kingsport is the name we have given to our fictionalized version of Halifax, Nova Scotia, the setting of our upcoming 1920s adventure game.

New York has pizza, Chicago has hot dogs, Montreal has smoked meat, and Halifax has the Donair. But what about Kingsport? What began as a simple aside turned into a distracting, nagging question for me. What sort of food would early 20th century port-town northerners create to fit the bill?

Pics from Wikipedia and NYC Tourism

Cities' signature dishes tend to share some characteristics. Firstly, they are designed for mass appeal, at least so far as the locality goes. If the local area has a sweet tooth, its gonna be a sweet food, for example. To maintain mass appeal, it also needs to be inexpensive, possibly cheap as dirt. Think of a $1 slice in NYC. Of course the higher quality stuff is out there with a price to match, but the word of the delicious thing wouldn't be out there if it weren't for the decades of legwork done by the humble $1 slice.

So we have broad appeal, low price point, and usually these foods are also a celebration of either a specific demographic in the community, or of an industry of particular pride in the community. For example, is it so surprising that the meat-packing city became known for delicious and cheap hot dogs?

Lastly, although somewhat optional, I've noticed that a lot of local delights tend to come with a little joke or saying, especially in the Northeast. Something playful, letting everyone who buys in on the joke.

Keeping in mind the industries, social classes, and regional culinary traditions in the mix, I finally decided on something that felt plausible, and possibly even delicious: The Kingsport Clam.

What is a Kingsport Clam you ask? Why, its a dark roux-based chowder of mixed whitefish chunks (Haddock and Cod mostly), served on a toasted and buttered bun, cut not quite all the way so the bun keeps a hinge like a clam. Hot, filling, and relatively easy to carry, the Clam would be a favorite among the damp longshoreman looking for a satisfying meal on the cheap. Or so I imagined.

Trouble was, I couldn't shake the feeling that this food I dreamed up might be absolutely disgusting. For the good of the game, and for science, I had to make a Kingsport Clam.

Being so close to the Atlantic, cod and haddock aren't terribly hard to come by. I popped by the store and grabbed some cod, haddock, and threw in some spare tilapia I had at the house when I got home. The "hardest" part was making the roux, but even that just required some attention for a few minutes. Threw in the chopped onions and celery, added water, let it boil off the flour, added the fish, and after a some time stewing... it was done!

As I plated it up, I couldn't help but wonder just how many calories I had managed to condense into a single sandwich. But to my surprise... it was actually looking pretty good! After admiring my work for a minute, it was finally time to give it a try... and it was actually alright! My wife loved it, actually. Overall, too heavy for me, but half of one Clam satisfied.

I was happy to report my success to Ron, and thus the Kingsport Clam was finalized, and ready to be inserted as the official food of our fictional city! Finally I could stop thinking about it.

#indie games #1920s #halifax #foodporn #local food #sailors

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