#missing pieces (1991)

[achillean-archives]

Missing Pieces (1991)

[undying-love]

Paul's grief over time: A Compilation

“During the session [in 1981] Paul fell into a lugubrious mood. He said, ‘I’ve just realized that John is gone. John’s gone. He’s dead and he is not coming back.’ And he looked completely dismayed, like shocked at something that had just hit him. ‘Well, it’s been a few weeks now.’ He said, ‘I know, Eric, but I’ve just realized." (Eric Stewart)

“It’s still weird even to say, ‘before he died’. I still can’t come to terms with that. I still don’t believe it. It’s like, you know, those dreams you have, where he’s alive; then you wake up and… 'Oh’.” (Paul, 1986)

"Occasionally, it wells up. Y'know, and I'm at home on the weekend suddenly and I start thinking about him or talking to the kids about him and I can't handle it." (Paul, 1987)

"Is there a record you like to put on just to hear John’s voice?" I ask Paul the next day. Paul looks startled. He fumbles. “Oh, uh. There’s so much of it. I hear it on the car radio when I’m driving.” No, that’s not what I mean", I persist. "Isn’t there a time when you just wish you could talk to John, when you’d like to hear his voice again?" For some reason, he instead responds to the original question.“Oh sure,” he says and looks a little taken aback. ‘Beautiful Boy". (1990)

"Also not obvious is that McCartney [for the Liverpool Oratorio] has penned a gorgeous black-spiritual-like piece for mezzo-soprano that intones the last words spoken to John Lennon as he lay dying of gunshot wounds in the back of a New York police car -- "Do you know who you are?" McCartney gets a bit choked up at one point when he reveals, "Not a day goes by when I don't think of John.” (1991)

"Delicious boy, delicious broth of a boy. He was a lovely guy, you know. And it gets sadder and sadder to be saying “was”. Nearer to when he died I couldn’t believe I was saying “was”, but now I do believe I’m saying “was”. I’ve resisted it. I’ve tried to pretend he didn’t get killed." (Paul, 1995)

"Paul talked about John a a lot, but the strange thing was that it was in the present tense, “John says this" or "John thinks that. Very weird." (Peter Cox, 2006)

“John Lennon was shot dead in 1980. That totally knocked dad for six. I haven’t really spoken to him a lot about it because it is such a touchy subject." (James McCartney, 2013)

"It's very difficult for me and I, occasionally, will have thoughts and sort of say: "I don't know why I don't just break down crying every day? […] You know, I don't know how I would have dealt with it because I don't think I've dealt with it very well. In a way… I wouldn't be surprised if a psychiatrist would sort of find out that I'm slightly in denial, because it's too much." (Paul, 2020)

"Like any bereavement, the only way out is to remember how good it was with John. Because I can't get over the senseless act. I can't think about it. I'm sure it's some form of denial. But denial is the only way that I can deal with it." (Paul, 2020)

"When I talked to Paul about John and when he missed John most, he couldn't answer me for a long time and his eyes teared up. And I asked him where he thinks about John and when John comes into his mind and he just … he lost it, he completely lost it." (Bob Spitz, 2021)

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

The following two are from the gossip website Datalounge, so they may or may not be true. Still interesting though:

"The one time I was ever actually in a room with Paul, zillion people between me and him (and no way I'm gonna bother him, all of us who travel in celeb circles have people we're fans of and all of us inexplicably try to hide it to seem "cooler"), he started talking loudly about himself and John, and how hard it was not to have him there. I remember him saying something along the lines of not a day passing that John's not still in it with him, but it's not like he can pick up a phone and say, "Hey, just needed to hear your voice today," and even when he got craggy responses, he still missed them. He misses it all, and it's bothering to him that he misses him more as time goes on -- it doesn't heal, he just learns new ways to bandage the wound."

“Since everyone is anonymous here, I guess I can give a bit of info I got from a female friend of mine who at one time worked as one of Paul’s assistants. [...] She does not know for certain if John and Paul were involved but she suspects it since to this day whenever John’s name is brought up he acts in her words ‘like a widow’ and he also addresses John in present tense. He would say things like, ‘John thinks that the music should be like this,’ and during his bitter divorce from Heather he was saying, ‘John says that this is getting nasty.’ Kind of creepy." (this one actually seems very intriguing because it sounds very similar to what Peter Cox said, about Paul often talking about John in the present tense, saying "John says.." or "John thinks...")

[simp4konig]

"You drive me crazy."

Obsessed! Nikto x Reader

Word count: 2472

Nikto's POV! Sporadic uses of "Y/N" — otherwise, reader is referred as "You".

To say that Nikto is obsessed with you would be an understatement 😵‍💫...

Nikto's psychological state gradually deteriorates as you read!

Google Translate Russian lmao 💀,, please forgive any errors! 😟

Edit: Realising that this fic is darker than my usual works. Warning my readers for darker content!

Edit 2: Added the appropriate "dark content" tags. <3

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I'm crazy: I don't think I needed to say, yes?

I know it. We know it. Everyone else knows it.

I've lost my mind long ago. We're losing it as we speak. I've lost myself long ago and I have not known what to do with ourselves.

Of course, not all was lost. I was cleared for service. I can approach situations without hesitation or uncertainty — but most importantly, kill methodically.

All I need are targets. Just give me targets. Nothing else matters. Nobody.

But I found you. I found you. And you found us. Although there was nothing to find, you found us.

How? It's a mystery. An enigma. An unsolvable puzzle.

My name is Igor. Igor Vasilyevich Yurievich.

Игорь. Igor. I—gor. Two syllables. Four letters, in English. A not so common name in Russia, according to the statistics: in 1991 — the year of my birth — approximately 37 baby boys born were named as such. In 2021, only 17 baby boys born were named Igor. I would assume the number declines each year — maybe less than a dozen Igors were christened this year. Or a single digit. Nine. Eight. Seven. Or even less than five.

October 13, 1991 was my exact date of birth. I was born in Novgorod, when Russia was still the Soviet Union. I had parents. A sister…

…Yet that means nothing to me.

Igor Vasilyevich Yurievich? That is foreign. That is not anyone that I know of. I am Nikto. I am no one. Nobody to know, yet somebody that I know of. Not this… Igor. I am nobody. Никто.

When the voices are quiet, that's when I can silently mourn the man that I once was.

Though, can you mourn someone whom you don't know? Can you mourn the faceless person in the casket, whose face is unrecognisable? Can you mourn at a funeral that no one attended, and hadn't taken process?

I'm crazy: I don't think I needed to repeat it, yes?

I knew it. We knew it. Everyone else knew it.

But you didn't. You. You.

You… remind me of someone.

They're dead now.

They were just a target. Too bad I can't remember who they were.

But you're not. You're more than a target.

You treated me with kindness when everyone avoided me like the bubonic plague. A Black Death following the death of the former Igor Vasilyevich Yurievich and the black, black blackness lingering — a reminder. But not anything that allows us to remember, or reminds us of who we once were.

I don't remember anything. I don't remember anyone. Photographs of my family before the torture are irrelevant. Documents stamping my existence could just as easily make us inexistent. Nobody exists any more aside from Nikto.

A cacophony of voices has infiltrated my brain. Our brain. We will never be me anymore. We are who we are now.

I am a broken man. I hear the voices of many men, who won't let me sleep, won't leave me be, won't give me peace. I was one of those men. Maybe all of the men are me?

But if all of them are me, and I am all of them, then who are we? What are we?

Then again… who I am is nothing. What I are is everything. What we are — crazy.

The pieces of the puzzle aren't fully there. Surely you must have been aware, my treasure?

You were doing your due diligence to arrange the puzzle pieces, so meticulously and with dedication, devoting hours of your time and wishing for the finished product to be cohesive, but you won't find that within us. How unfortunate.

Some of the pieces are missing. Some of them don't even fit. What you're left with is an incomplete picture — one which will never be completed.

No matter. You can be the missing puzzle piece, yes?

My fellow operatives named me Никто — “Nikto”, meaning “Nobody” or “No-one” in Russian — for… what did they say? My “uncanny ability to replicate other people and hide [my] true identity”? Ironic — seeing as replicating an identity is not the same as claiming your own, and being an individual. Having an actual identity, as opposed to being forced to think that being nobody can suffice.

Funny. I was apparently religious before all of this.

Have you heard of Orthodox Christianity? It's a branch of Christianity most often practised in Eastern Europe, in case you weren't aware. Orthodox Christians believe that Jesus redeemed humanity by sacrificing himself through crucifixion — unlike Catholics, who believe that Jesus sacrificing himself through crucifixion was all in an effort to redeem humanity.

Perhaps I was an altar boy in my childhood. Or wore a cross around my neck. Maybe I was devoted, and prayed in the morning, before a meal for grace, in the night, before a mission for mercy, during a mission out of desperation, and after a mission as gratitude.

Such bullshit.

Obviously, God doesn't exist — not in the ethereal, omniscient sense.

Oh no.

The God is You. You are my God.

Just like with Orthodox Christianity, and the salvation of humanity after the sacrifice of Jesus, your presence, your mere existence, was salvation. You brought redemption unto us.

Of course, following my torture, God became an abstract concept. How could the Holy Father abandon me? How could my prayers after the tortue be so wilfully ignored? Why would he actively play a passive role in my damnation, as I'm burned, as I'm beaten, as I'm bruised, abused, cut, and mutilated?

No one was born a sinner. Not even me, this nobody. So what kind of retribution was this — a disfigured face, ruined body, and voices which infiltrated my psyche, words equivalent to the evil of the Antichrist?

But You? You made it worthwhile. Your kindness. Compassion. Charity. It was all worthwhile. Even to gaze at You from afar.

Well.

For the most part.

We have repented for our sins: stealing Your dirty laundry, Your hairbrush, Your t-shirts, and other trinkets which we deem Holy Relics; using Your lip balm without permission, You none the wiser; committing sinful acts in the comfort of your own bedroom, only for You to return, oblivious. We apologise for that nagging paranoia, demanding You to turn around, to catch a glimpse of the eyes staring at You, but You not noticing us when we were camouflaged in the shadows. For stalking You and learning Your schedule. For hacking into all of Your devices and acquiring every little piece of information available from Your digital footprints.

But, You forgive us, yes?

Don't look so horrified, dushka. We left no trace, yes? No evidence. You said You have forgiven all of our transgressions. Think of this as a confession, nothing more. Besides, we never tampered with You belongings. They're all still with us. Just like you will.

You are our oxygen. Without You, we can't breathe. Our lungs suffocate without Your natural scent to fill them, to keep us alive. Our eyes go blind with time without the sight of Your face, Your body. We can't hear anything other than Your voice — our ears tune out any frequencies and wavelengths that don't leave those pretty little lips, yet wage civil war amongst ourselves, spitting curses that cut like knives and pierce like bullets. And Your lips. And Your eyes. And Your eyebrows, hair, hands, neck, God — everything.

You won't abandon us, yes? You wouldn't abandon us, would you, мое сокровище? You are our treasure. I treasure you — all of us do: your pretty little lips, that speak in the softest of tones to us; those eyes that stare in slight fright, yet crinkle in as genuine of a smile as you can manage; those eyebrows that furrow over your bright eyes in the subtlest of frowns, in sorrow or frustration, maybe vexation — and that's just your face. What about your hair? Your hands? Your neck? Your body? What is there not to treasure?

Боже мой, Bozhe moy, my God. Oh God, it's as if an angel has descended and granted us salvation, a merciful deity absolving us of our sins and cleansing our soul. And both the angel and deity are You — working in perfect sync, so benevolent and forgiving, taking pity on a creature so pitiful, so ruined, so unfixable.

We can't remember what some of those was.

Those puzzle pieces, of course.

Zakhaev’s torture stole some of the pieces to the jigsaw, and the puzzle won't ever be solved. We ourselves interrogate, torture, eliminate, kill. Sometimes we dissociate. Other times I am completely in control. Yet all the time, we are committing sins, sins, sins.

And You forgive them. Forgive us.

Every prayer is us praying for you, to you, about you. And each one concludes with your sacred name, whispered in hushed tones as the syllables are too precious to utter out loud.

Poor, poor thing. You probably didn't even know what you were signing up for, did you? You probably intended to be charitable. Sympathetic. And you were, sweet one.

But you were naive to have assumed that we wouldn't become possessive of you like an unwanted stay mutt of its only bone. So innocent — perhaps stupid — but we like to think that you were misguided in your intentions, yet guided by some God.

An ignorant God? If You're the God to worship, then are You an ignorant one? An innocent, naive, and unconditionally loving one? Yet, one that, despite Their obliviousness, can knowingly soothe with a simple string of words? With a caress?

What an oxymoron. It suits You. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Aw. Are those tears, dushka? Let's wipe them, hmm? Kiss it better, yes? You will like our lips on you.

Don't scream. Don't hurt those vocal cords. We like the sound of your voice. We want you to talk.

There there, little one. You look beautiful when you cry, but you look most beautiful when you're smiling. Smile, hm? Do it for us. Your Nikto.

You don't have to be afraid, you know. Don't be afraid, krasotka. We love you.

Here, put your hand on our chest. Feel how our heart is beating? It beats only for you.

Our abdomen, our stomach. You feel how toned that is, yes? You feel the muscle?

What about our biceps? The strength in our forearms? They're all for you. We're all yours, yours yours yours.

Our blood looks good on you, dushka. The blood really accentuates your nails. But please, stop. Stop.

You don't have to scratch us, or scream. You know that none of that will change anything. You know that we will love you, even if you tell us you hate us. It's too late.

Get used to touching us, yes? What's left of us, anyways. Yes, our body won't be the most appealing, or the handsomest, but it's all for you. Every inch. All for you — just like how you are all ours.

You're ours, just as much as we belong to you. You could stab us with a knife and we'd smile. You could shoot us with a gun point-blank in the head and we'd thank you. What an honour it would be to live with you by your side, or die by your side. We're a dead man either way. Your dead man. Your Nikto.

You underestimated my capacity for violence. Or were perhaps too naive to understand it.

That's okay. Put your hand on my face. Just like that. See? Nothing to fear. It's just us. Your Nikto.

I can feel it shaking. Why do you shake so much, hm? Don't be afraid. There's nothing to be afraid of. You should know there's nothing to be afraid of. After all, you were fearless when it came to speaking to me, and weren't afraid to reach out to us. Surely you don't want to abandon us now?

That's too bad. You won't abandon us. We won't let you.

I'm crazy: I don't think I need to repeat it, yes?

I know it. We know it. Everyone else knows it.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

So crazy.

So, so crazy.

I am already crazy yes but it is You who drives me to insanity do You know that? Why do You deny? Do not deny us this yes? Yes You do know that it is You who makes me mad beyond return of course You do You've always known it and You know it now little one You're just pretending feigning ignorance with surprise in Your eyes. Why pretend that it was all a pretense? Your kindness? Your sympathy? Your company? It was not pretense to us no it was everything. Everything we could have hoped for prayed for and lived for.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

So crazy.

So, so crazy, baby.

Craaazyyy. Crazy crazy crazy!

You have made us the craziest we have ever been from the moment we met Your eyes and will be forever driven crazier with Your around from the day You die. And that won't be anytime now, my treasure. We will treasure You, take care of You, keep You safe. You will want for nothing, we can assure You — nothing, nobody, no one. Only Nikto. Nobody will ever look at You, as their eyeballs will be gouged out for having the audacity to spare a glance at the pinnacle of perfection. And nobody will ever want You, nobody will taint that precious skin with unworthy fingers, as anyone who tries will have them broken have their bones crushed to dust their skin muscles and tendons ripped to ribbons until there is no body left.

Nobody will ever look at You. Only Nikto. Us. Forever, and ever, and ever and ever and ever we will have our eyes on You until our retinas dissolve and our pupils can no longer absorb light and we become blind and crippled, crying, crying crying crying for You, crying only for You. You crying out for us until Your voice is hoarse from moaning, until our name becomes a prayer just as much as Yours is to us.

We love You. Think of nobody. Only Nikto. Only of Nikto. Only for and against Nikto. We will live for You. We do already, do you understand? We're yours. Yours. Yours yours yours yours yours yours to have yours to hit yours to scratch with those nails yours to scream at yours yours yours yours yours. Yours. Yours! Yours!

Yours!

Y/N.

I'm crazy: I don't think I needed to say, yes?

I know it. We know it. Everyone else knows it. You should have known it.

And if you didn't know it, then You will know it.

Because You drive me crazy.

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A/Ns

Really really really Really REALLY had doubts about posting this and thought that no one would like it. I felt inspired and happy and proud of myself when I was almost finished but it took me days to conclude the work since I was second-guessing whether or not I should post this after all. Kind of embarrassed, in all honesty, but I decided to post it in the end since I quite like it. :'>

I just wanted to highlight your, @//connorsui, lovely, lovely words when you reblogged my last Nikto post 😭😭😭💘💘💘. To receive not only some compliments, but your thoughts on my headcanons AND analysis *AND* your evaluation of my post was so, SO heartwarming to wake up to in the morning 🥹🥹🥹💓💓💓, especially when it was so long!!! Like, what?!! 😢😢😢😢😢😿😿😿😿😿😭😭😭😭😭💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💖💖💖💖💖✨✨✨✨✨

Thank you so so so SO much for your positive feedback !!! I've read it over four times by now. O really appreciated and still appreciate it. ☺️💞🫶💖✨✨💕💕

(I also want to kiss Nikto's scarred face ☹️☹️☹️ just wordless acts of intimacy where words aren't necessary and just to show the man some affection, regardless of how he looks 😟💝 need that ugly traumatised Russian man SO BAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭😭)

Inspiration for this gained from:

thisvvv song!!! and Chapter 7 in Metro 2035 lol,, when Artyom was drunk and disorientated I thought it was written really REALLY well and I wanted to incorporate his meaningless drivel into this.

Nikto's voicelines and his various voices/sporadic changes in character

the Fandom Wiki

my own headcanons lol 😋

From fluff this whatever the fuck this is!!!!!!!!!! Hope you enjoyed 💗💗

[highly-important]

Little Art things I'm obsessed with pt 1

Portraits of absent figures:

David Hockney - A Bigger Splash, 1967

Hockney originally visited California in 1963 and was won over by the sunlight and laid-back lifestyle, especially the luxury and ubiquity of the swimming pool. He described it as his "promised land" The splash is about freezing a moment in time, but it is also empty of human presence but implying a human. The male figure is present in some of David's other works from this time period, especially his muse and then-partner Peter Schlesinger. These paintings are about a hedonistic gay lifestyle, and the swimmers, the divers, are often the subject of voyeurism and desire. But in this painting, we just missed the diver, which makes the object of desire more private and personal. Who was the painter looking at, lusting after, etc. I like the contrast of the incredibly sharp and graphic suburban neighborhood, and the chaotic, organic splash. So again, if the divers represent this homosexual desire, we have this contrast of an orderly heterosexual world, and the queerness that joyfully disrupts it.

And then of course, with the absent figure, there is this massive sense of loss and loneliness. And so much of loneliness is about concealment, hiding in shame. This is a private space, but its also an exposed space, enhancing the loneliness. The figure is isolated, alone, invisible. Its a sadness that contrasts with the setting, the activity, and saturated lighting.

Felix Gonzalez-Torres - Untitled (billboard of an empty bed), 1991

These billboards were exhibited in the streets of Manhattan during the AIDS crisis. This piece was created the same year Felix Gonzalez-Torres's boyfriend Ross died. This portrait is a celebration of love and a memorization of loss and the emotions between intimacy and publicity. In the artist's own words:

“What I’m trying to say is that we cannot give the powers that be what they want, what they are expecting from us. Some homophobic senator is going to have a very hard time trying to explain to his constituency that my work is homoerotic or pornographic, but if I were to do a performance with HIV blood — that’s what he wants, that’s what the rags expect because they can sensationalize that, and that’s what’s disappointing. Some of the work I make is more effective because it’s more dangerous. We both make work that looks like something else but it’s not that. We’re infiltrating that look.“

The work intentionally uses the matching, identical depressions to imply a same-sex couple. The image itself is extremely intimate, but its being displayed in public spaces.

Felix Gonzales-Torres became known for his absent bodies.

And then, a little different, this painting by Jacques Guillaume Lucien Amans (1837) commissioned by Frederick and and Coralie Frey, depicts the three Frey children, with the faint shadow of a figure. There was a legend that there was a fourth figure in this painting. In 2005 a private collector, Jeremy K Simien, purchased the painting and it underwent conservation.

The painting revealed Bélizaire, a fifteen year-old enslaved domestic owned by the children's father. The picture captures the complex relationship between the boy and the children, the family that was keeping him captive. For one thing, the way he is set back from the others. There is this sort of intimacy between them along side the psychological trauma of forced bondage.

Here is a great Tiktok about the painting, to quote "What I'm struck by is what a sensitive portrait this is of this young man who was living in an inhumane society where he, despite being a human being, was bought and sold."

A few years after this painting was created, the three Frey children died, and Bélizaire was the only one who survived into adulthood.

The painting stayed in the Frey family. At some point, likely in the late 19th or 20th century, Bélizaire was intentionally painted over. In 1972, the great-granddaughter of Coralie Frey donated the painting to a Louisiana museum, informing them that a figure was painted over. During the course of the painting's life at the museum, no effort was put into restoring the figure.

Jeremy Simien's, who bought and restored this painting, said on his instagram "Bélizaire, they know your name now. Tell the ancestors to let me sleep for a minute."

And shout out to the picture that make me want to write this, Hyde Park Flowers, London by Tumblr user @kimironside I won't re-post it so check out the link.

[antigonick]

My boyfriend did not die in 1991. I told a lie and it turned into a fact, forever repeated in my official biography. He died on Christmas Day, 1990, when his family disconnected the mechanical breathing machine. He was a composer in the school of music. We were working on a piece for voice and strings. I liked writing the words under the whole notes, hyphenating them to make them last. I liked sitting on the bed in his apartment, writing on the sheet music—bigger paper, thicker, how it sounded when it fell to the floor when we got tired. It was winter break, friends in town, we hopped from party to party, catching up but separately. It was late, the night was clear, the roads were empty. The four of them were sober, the driver in the other car was not. I was a few miles away, in a bar, waiting. When the bar closed, I left him an angry message for standing me up. A few hours later, a friend called and told me. He suggested I break into the apartment and start removing things before the family arrived. For several minutes I didn’t understand, then—evidence. He hadn’t told his family and it didn’t seem right to tell them now, to suggest that they didn’t really know him. I drove in the darkness between the accident and dawn. I climbed through the window. I couldn’t figure which things looked suspicious and which things would be missed. I was sloppy, rushed. I grabbed the wrong sheet music. It was a piece that had already been performed. A few days after Christmas there was a memorial. I sat in the back. As part of his speech, his father mentioned the missing music and made an appeal for its return. I couldn’t give it back. On New Year’s Eve, in a black velvet jacket, at a party in the lobby of a downtown hotel, with a drink in each hand—one for him, one for me—I kept asking where he was, if anyone had seen him. I had his passport in my back pocket. I shouldn’t have taken that either. It was the only picture of him I could find.

—Richard Siken, Cover Story, published in Pithead Chapel

[submissiveebrat]

When you're a star, they let you do it. You can do anything." He adds seconds later: "Grab them by the pussy. You can do anything." — Trump in a previously unreleased recording made by "Access Hollywood" in 2005, published Friday by The Washington Post and NBC News

"If Hillary Clinton can't satisfy her husband what makes her think she can satisfy America #MakeAmericaGreatAgain." — Trump tweeted in April 2015. He later deleted the post.

"It must be a pretty picture, you dropping to your knees." — Trump to a female contestant in 2013 on an episode of "Celebrity Apprentice."

"Did Crooked Hillary help disgusting (check out sex tape and past) Alicia M become a U.S. citizen so she could use her in the debate?" — Trump tweeted in September 2016. He was referring to former Miss Universe winner Alicia Machado, whom he publicly shamed for gaining weight when he owned the contest

"It's certainly not groundbreaking news that the early victories by the women on 'The Apprentice' were, to a very large extent, dependent on their sex appeal." — Trump wrote in his 2004 book, "How To Get Rich."

"All of the women on 'The Apprentice' flirted with me — consciously or unconsciously. That's to be expected. A sexual dynamic is always present between people, unless you are asexual." — Trump, also from "How To Get Rich."

"You could see there was blood coming out of her eyes. Blood coming out of her wherever." — Trump in an interview with CNN in August 2015, referring to Fox News Channel anchor Megyn Kelly.

"Look at that face! Would anyone vote for that? Can you imagine that, the face of our next president? I mean, she's a woman, and I'm not s'posedta say bad things, but really, folks, come on. Are we serious?" — Trump in a September 2015 interview with Rolling Stone, speaking about then-primary rival Carly Fiorina.

"It doesn't really matter what (the media) write as long as you've got a young and beautiful piece of ass." — Trump in an interview with Esquire Magazine in 1991.

"A person who's flat-chested is very hard to be a 10, OK?" — Trump in an interview with shock jock Howard Stern in September 2005.

"I saw a woman who was totally beautiful. She was angry that so many men were calling her. 'How dare they call me! It's terrible! They're all looking at my breasts.' So she had a major breast reduction. The good news: Nobody calls her anymore — nobody even looks — and not only that, it was a terrible job." — Trump to Stern in 2008.

Congratulations America, this is who is now president AGAIN. A misogynist, sexist, vile pig. Good Job. 👏👏

[scifigeneration]

Blade Runner soundtrack at 30: how Vangelis used electronic music to explore what it means to be human

by Alison Cole, Composer and Lecturer in Screen Composition, Sydney Conservatorium of Music at the University of Sydney

In June 1994 the late composer Evangelos Odysseas Papathanassiou – better known as Vangelis – released his soundtrack for the 1982 film Blade Runner. It would go on to become emblematic of his skills, with only a handful of soundtracks reaching a similar level of cult status.

Prior to this, sci-fi film scores tended to be characterised by orchestral sound palettes. For instance, John Williams’ 1991 Star Wars soundtrack leaned on the London Symphony Orchestra to communicate the vastness of a galaxy far, far away.

Vangelis, on the other hand, used an electronic approach to bring a subtlety and complexity that shifted the focus inwards. His ability to communicate deep emotion, alongside expansive philosophical concepts, was perhaps his greatest achievement with Blade Runner.

Missing pieces

Director Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner was adapted from Phillip K. Dick’s 1968 sci-fi novel Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? – which itself was a thoughtful examination of empathy and what it means to be human. The emotional gravitas of the original story, along with Vangelis’ accompanying timbral exploration, created an aural experience that was new to sci-fi films at the time.

Vangelis began work on the score in 1981. He received edited footage scene-by-scene on VHS tapes and created live takes in his studio with his synthesiser collection.

However, the first official soundtrack was delayed some 12 years after the film’s release, due to what was reportedly an ongoing disagreement with producers.

When it finally was released, purists viewed it as more of an album than a soundtrack. They criticised it for not having much of the music used in the original film, and for including pieces that never appeared in the film, such as Main Titles and Blush Response.

While the 2007 version (a 25th anniversary edition) included some unreleased material, parts of the original soundtrack remain unreleased even today.

A symmetry between newness and nostalgia

By emphasising longer drawn out notes, rather than thick instrumental combinations, Vangelis thoughtfully taps into the atmosphere of Scott’s visual world to create something truly unique.

Early sci-fi movies such as Forbidden Planet (1956) and The Day The Earth Stood Still (1951) often used electronic instruments developed in the early to mid-1900s, such as the theremin and the modular synthesiser. While these instruments helped augment concepts such as aliens, spaceships and robots, they did this somewhat simplistically.

A more sophisticated perspective pervades through Blade Runner, which combines film-noir instrumentation with classical, electronic, jazz and Middle Eastern music genres.

Specifically, Vangelis leverages the different sound qualities of synthesisers – such as bright and airy, thin and cold, or dark and thick – to at once capture emotion and highlight the complex ideas in the film’s narrative. In the final act, expansive synths dominate as the film reaches an intellectual and emotional climax.

While the synthesisers lend an artificial timbre to the score, the musicality simultaneously communicates life and feeling. In this way the foreign and familiar became enmeshed.

The film’s retro costuming and brutalist architecture also set up an expectation for the soundtrack. At times, the score will meaningfully go against this expectation by delving into a more nostalgic sound. The track Love Theme is a perfect example.

Innovative takes

Vangelis’ innovative use of dialogue in the soundtrack also helped to translate the complexities of the human condition. The tracks Main Titles, Blush Response, Wait for Me and Tears in Rain all feature dialogue in a way that makes them feel like a part of the film’s DNA.

The soundtrack’s arrangement was also uncommon for its time, as it mirrored the action narrative sequence. Tracks 1 through 4 are mixed as a single ongoing track. Tracks 5 through 7 are separated by silence, while tracks 8 through to 12 are also combined into a single piece. While this technique is common in electronic composition now, it was unique at the time.

The films dark, fraught and sad dystopian themes are further highlighted through collaborations with Welsh singer Mary Hopkins in Rachel’s Song, and Greek singer Demis Roussos in Tales of the Future.

Today, the Blade Runner soundtrack remains the most beloved of Vangelis’ works by his ardent fans – and it continues to commands its place in the 20th-century electronic music canon.

[thevulturesquadron]

Hello! 👋 Could you list some of the best comic books that explore the Rogue/ Magneto relationship?

Hey there!!! 👩‍🚀 Oh gosh! With pleasure! I might be a bit rusty because I haven’t gone through older Marvel comic books in a while and also because I am not up to date with the recent years of X-Men comics BUT there are still a couple of issues that are very dear to me when it comes to Rogue & Magneto, so happy to share:

It all started in the year 1981:

1. Uncanny X-Men #269 ; Uncanny X-Men #274 & Uncanny X-Men #275 (1981, Written by Chris Claremont) [The story is pretty self-contained to these 3 issues and it all starts with Rogue realising that her Ms. Marvel powers are gone and Carol Danvers somehow has her own body now. (a very simplified context of what was going on in that era with the X-Men) I absolutely love Rogue in these issues. She has sass and personality, and she still carries a lot of her energy from the 80s.]

2. X -Men Volume 2 (Issues #1 - #3) - (1991, Chris Claremont) [They meet again after the events in the Savage Land, now on opposite sides.]

3. Magneto Rex: Issues #1- #3 - (1999, Joe Pruett) [This miniseries… is a bit weird and needs some context. It’s at a time where Marvel really wanted to have Magneto return to his evil ways and be a villain for the X-Men (regardless if it made sense or not). Not one of my favourites and generally can live without but it’s a ‘next stop’ in their interactions, so adding it to the list.]

4. Then we have X-Men Legacy! ( 2008, Mike Carey) [This one is a chonker, and to make things worse it is connected with other series running at the same time. It has pieces of Rogue and Magneto through the entire run but all in all, the story sees them reunite under the same team in Utopia (starting with Legacy #231). The full run of Legacy can be difficult to follow up on but if you have the time, it’s really worth it. It’s also the first story in YEARS where Rogue is allowed to shine and do her own thing. If you need a more detailed list of what issues are really worth reading, in what order and what is happening in between them let me know and will be happy to write down a breakdown!]

5. Memorable mentions in the main series: There are quite a few tiny bits about them in the comic books but here’s a list of issues that give more context to how they interact and how they feel about each other:

a. Marvel Fanfare #33 - (1982, Chris Claremont. I love Rogue in this one and it’s such a nice example of what a good and powerful duo they can make. Something that is later explored in Legacy as well. b. Legacy #223 (during Rogue’s journey to control her powers) we have a glimpse of how she remembers and sees Magneto’s presence in her life. c. Magneto #10 (2014, Cullen Bunn) - Similarly, a glimpse into Magneto’s mind on how he remembers Rogue and the impact their connection in the Savage Land had on him. d. Mr & Mrs X #6 (2019) - there is a page between Rogue and Magneto where, in all that mess, at least Magneto’s honest feelings for her and his care for her happiness shine through.

And last but not least, Age of Apocalypse. [This is a completely separate timeline that the comic books liked to visit from time to time. In this universe Rogue and Magneto are pretty much in love and married but… it’s a very tragic universe. Original series started in 1995; then it got revisited in 2005 and again in 2015… I think? The series… is far from perfect, there are so many things that can be described as unhinged (dialogue included) but, there is so much love for these two characters and I absolutely recommend it if you are ok with investing some time into reading it, and most of all if you are ready for a real heart break (again and again).]

Hope this helps! Happy to go into more details or put aside a cleaner list if interested! 💜

There are a couple other mentions in the comics so in case I missed something important I will summon one of the gods of endless knowledge when it comes to X-Men to correct or add to the list: @maedelin

[porcelainbirdss]

those summer nights ⋆·˚ ༘ * kuroo tetsurou

kuroo tetsurou x f!reader

content warning: serious topics, health issues, enemies to lovers shenanigans continue, small misunderstandings

ch. two - "a bowl of spice." ↓

second of july, 1991.

shuffling sound of paper could be heard inside the living room as kuroo leisurely turned the pages of some old magazine. he managed to dig it up from his grandmother’s cabinet, somehow.

he smirked at a picture of a cat, it’s muzzle twisting in a mischievous way, appearing as if the feline was sneering at him from the yellowed paper. he was totally engrossed in reading - uh, actually, he didn’t even know what he was reading.

comprehending the words on pages was still a challenge for kuroo. well, at least the lines weren’t blurring into each other now. it was a good sign of well-deserved rest.

earlier on, whenever the man tried picking up a book (because sitting on the couch half-awake, half-knocked out was pretty dull) the letters would always dance around before his eyes. it looked as if the whole alphabet had a blast, mocking him.

no matter how much he missed reading, it was simply impossible when the book reminded him of just how sick his mind was. so obviously, the moment he could once again make out words without having to squint at the page, he was beyond thrilled.

he reached for the last piece of cantaloupe on his plate, quickly devouring the sweet snack before getting up and tidying after himself. leaving the magazine behind, he washed all of the utensils in the sink, later wiping his hands with a cloth.

honestly, kuroo hadn’t felt so refreshed in years. even though he only slept for four hours, which objectively wasn’t much. he internally thanked his parents who proposed the idea of moving to the countryside. they were rarely helpful, but he had to admit he was filled with gratitude. both to them and his grandmother.

his eyes trailed over the wall, searching for something to hang his attention on. finally, he stopped on the clock, it’s hands indicating it was around 2pm. that meant the dinner would be ready soon. he even offered help with making it, but his grandmother denied, explaining that y/n would be bringing them food today.

the black-haired man was pretty perplexed by that, but decided not to inquire further. sometimes people just make portions of their food way too big, and would like to share it with others. or… whatever the reason was.

truth be told, kuroo had mixed feelings about the woman. yes, she was kind to his grandma. at the same time, y/n seemed almost hellbent on making him have a rough time here. it wasn’t exactly spiteful, she just— well. she just liked annoying him.

when kuroo got up at roughly 6am, he wanted to bask in the morning sun for a while. thinking nothing of it, he walked out on a balcony, and after two minutes she was already there. y/n started bombarding him with questions. "why are you here?", "shouldn’t you be asleep?", "oh, you surely got scared by the owl noises, didn’t you?", and so on.

he didn’t indulge her, as he had no strength for such bicker in the morning. where did she even get all of that energy? he knew some people of her kind, but still. it was just too much for that early of an hour.

swimming in his reveries, kuroo sat down by the table, his eyebrows unconsciously scrunching up.

on one hand, the man wished for y/n to stop budging him. on the other one, he wanted to get to know her better as well. ugh, why was she occupying his brain so much? was his mind really having fists of delirium?

suddenly, a sound of footsteps and cheerful chatter broke the silence, making him perk up from his slouched position on the chair.

y/n and his grandmother were already here. he got up from his seat, arriving by the door where the two of them were standing and conversing about something his ears failed to grasp fully.

when his gaze suddenly locked with y/n’s, he immediately sensed something was up. he just didn’t know what it was. a sense of tangible unease ran down his spine, as he held back a sour expression.

"good day, kuroo. are you enjoying yourself so far?", she offered him a small smile. it was hard to tell whether it was feigned or not. knowing y/n, it probably was.

"oh, i’m doing just fine," he responded with equally polite tone before spotting the dishes resting in her arms, "want me to help you carrying those?" he offered, already reaching towards the girl.

"no need. everything’s fine," y/n assured, as she took off her shoes, "after all, this is a welcome dinner for you. i spent the whole noon making it."

what? a welcome dinner?

kuroo blinked twice, thinking that maybe his mind was playing tricks on him again. was the girl standing in front of him y/n, or was she someone else? realizing that he was staring for way too long, kuroo quickly cleared his throat. his honeyed eyes fixated on his grandmother, seeking answers.

"see? y/n is such a kind girl. she worried about you so much!" the older woman chuckled warmly, "she stormed into our house when you were upstairs, gushing that she wanted to give you a welcoming gift! so i told her - why not make dinner?"

the man nodded slowly. huh. perhaps he misjudged her character, and she was just kind of… obnoxiously oblivious? or had trouble getting along with strangers. maybe both.

y/n’s smile faltered slightly for unknown reasons. the girl waved her hand dismissively, saying it was nothing. she scurried to the kitchen, swiftly placing everything on the table. her nimble fingers managed to unwrap the bowls with record speed, as she ushered everyone towards her.

warm, pleasant smell quickly filled the room, spreading across every corner. kuroo measured his portion with an uncertain expression. in comparison to others, this one looked… slightly off. his eyes unfocused as he pondered whether he should point it out.

finally deciding against it, he returned to the present time, grabbing his chopsticks.

as they began to eat, the man suddenly felt it.

his eyes teared up, and he spotted y/n looking at him with anticipation, her brows just slightly furrowed. just what was this hellish thing?

"so, how did i do?" her innocent voice rang by his ear, making him feel mad.

he could only imagine the girl throwing in as much cayenne and chili as she could, snickering under her nose as her 'welcoming dinner' took a deep burgundy tint, changing into something only a maniac of spice could handle.

"it’s very good, y/n. what do you think kuroo?", his grandmother asked, swallowing the food.

he knew that the girl only wished to see his face contorting in pain, as he ran around the kitchen like a beheaded chicken, screaming for a glass of milk and whatnot. he couldn’t give her this satisfaction, not today.

"tasty. though i think it lacks in spice." he responded, coating his words in a forced, sweet tone.

the mere irony of his sentence made y/n somewhat taken aback, her cordial expression falling just a bit. "i’ll keep that in mind, kuroo. next time, i’ll add extra pepper just for you."

the three of them continued to eat, though kuroo already felt his insides beginning to actually turn to ashes. sweat dripped down his temples as he tried to hold back any signs that could betray his miserable state. the idle chatter of two women somehow distracted him from the stinging sensation, but everybody has their limits, right?

suddenly, he felt a tap on the shoulder. he looked up from his bowl, only to see his grandmother examining him with a concerned look.

"dear, are you feeling okay? do you have a fever?"

the man strained his face muscles to form something akin to a smile, "i’m perfectly fine. it’s just… a little hot in here." with that, he sent a quick, resentful glance towards y/n, who surprisingly held no humor in her expression.

minutes stretched on. he was so close to taking his final bite, and yet, the chopsticks started to feel heavy in his palm.

unfortunately, before he could fulfill his dream of ruining y/n’s unfunny joke, something within him snapped. he slowly got up, excusing himself. he started walking towards the bathroom, his peaceful stroll quickly breaking into a sprint. both y/n and his grandmother looked at each other with shock.

when he reached his destination, he instantly latched onto the tap, washing out his mouth with cold water. he heaved, splashing his face. his eyes met with his own reflection, and he looked like some kind of marathon runner. blush was covering the entirety of his face, plus he was dripping with sweat.

he examined the mirror more closely, losing focus in his eyes. he should be angry. normally, he’d be fuming, alas it wasn’t happening. instead of that, an oddly familiar, yet at the same time foreign feeling arose in his guts.

he felt… alive?

looking back, the only time he appeared and acted like that was in past. on the volleyball court, his heart was filled with emotion, mind sharp like a blade. thinking of it, insomnia took that away, replacing it all with anguish and suffering.

it was terrifying. knowing that no matter how hard he clawed at the past, it would not come back to him. right now it seemed to return in a different shape, but still the same. even if only for a few minutes.

however weird it seemed, kuroo was glad about everything that just unfolded. still, when he snapped back into reality, he couldn’t help but feel a little silly.

"why am i acting like a fool over a bowl of extremely spicy food?" he muttered, still looking into his own eyes.

with a sigh, he shook off the water clinging to his face and hair. laughing about his own stupidity, he took a deep breath, finally walking back to the kitchen. the man was instantly met by his worried grandmother, asking him whether he was okay and what happened. it’s not everyday someone hurries to the bathroom like that.

kuroo chuckled, wiping his wet forehead with the vermillion shirt he had on. his focus landed on the girl who was still sat by the table, studying him with a curious look. there was no malice behind her eyes. seeing his abnormally wide grin, she involuntarily smiled back.

"you know what, y/n? i changed my mind. next time without the extra spice."

second of july, 11:27 pm.

one thing kuroo hated most about insomnia was how unfair the illness could be. he took a big step forward- now he had to take two steps back.

putting it simply: he couldn’t sleep. again.

the man cradled his face, resting his tired head in the comfort of his palms. he repeated every single step from yesterday, and yet, he felt more awake than ever before. maybe it was a good sign? still, the clarity of his mind was quickly fogged by feeling of impending doom.

anxieties tended to pay him regular visits. often in the middle of the night, when all he could do was stare at the ceiling. 'what if i won’t be able to sleep normally ever again?' or 'am i gonna waste my whole life?'.

kuroo rarely shed any tears, but having something ripped away from him just by a stupid sleeping disorder was usually a fatal punch. big dreams and promising future always appeared before him painted in vibrant colors. as of now, the vision was nothing but a blurred canvas, as if somebody took a big brush and smudged everything together, creating a grayish stain.

and right now he truly felt like crying.

he heaved, curling his fingers into fists as first waterworks of tonight started to slowly trail down his cheeks. if anybody saw him in that state, he would probably crumble into the ground, or transform into a stone statue.

quietly he prayed to whoever was listening for at least an hour of sleep. however, kuroo’s leg was still bouncing, and his heart rate seemed as irregular and fast like always. ''tomorrow will be better'', he muttered to himself, ''i’ll sleep for full six hours. i’ll—"

before he managed to spiral down, a low knocking sound came from his left. the man immediately wiped his face, drying off the tears with his sheets. shit, his grandmother was here. he pulled himself up from the bed and quickly opened the door, plastering a wide grin on his face.

"grandma. did something happen?" he inquired in a trained, steady voice.

the older woman studied his face for a prolonged second, and kuroo almost thought she spotted his damp eyes. fortunately, she either didn’t notice or decided to ignore that for his own sake.

"no," the corners of her lips curled up, "i just wanted to check up on you. you seemed absentminded the whole supper."

that much was right. after y/n departed, the whole house suddenly appeared to submerge itself in unnatural silence. the constant burning in his throat stopped, and he was once again left with his own (rather grim) thoughts that sometimes occupied the man’s mind, especially when he had nothing to do. speaking more precisely - had no one to bicker with.

"i’m fine, really. is this the only reason why’re you still up, grandma? it’s late." his smile eased into something less forced, taken aback by the amount of worry his grandmother nurtured towards him.

"oh, you know, kuroo…" she began, "i tried going to sleep, but you kept me up. it pains me to see you like this."

the black-haired man’s jaw clenched. he didn’t know, but the older woman was more perceptive than one could imagine. she always thought about his oddly pale skin, and the bags under his eyes that seemed etched into his youthful face. how his hands shook whenever he reached for something. the worn expression he carried on when he thought no one was looking. constant sighing.

she pitied him, aware of the fact that he internally suffered.

"you shouldn’t worry too much. it’s unhealthy." kuroo said in a hushed tone, "everything’s alright," he reassured, "but thank you for checking up anyway, grandma."

concern was still visible on her face, but the older one settled on letting go of the topic for now. she wished him a goodnight and slowly departed back to her bedroom.

kuroo was now left alone once again, but didn’t feel like continuing his crying session. instead, he shut the door close and decided to clear his head with some fresh night air. he stepped out on a balcony, at first failing to notice the silhouette standing on the opposite side.

and perhaps y/n wasn’t aware of his presence either. she was leaning on the barrier, her nightgown gently swaying in the warm, but hardly noticeable breeze. the woman appeared to be deep in thought, her gaze pointed towards the forested mountains. a singular cough ripped from her chest. it was weird seeing her like that, almost intrusive in a way. she always gave off that feeling of being on high alert, hyper-aware of her surrounds.

"hey." kuroo mindlessly called out to her, realizing only after the sound left his mouth, that he should probably bask in the serene tranquility rather than start another word fight with y/n.

at that, the girl practically snapped her neck in his direction. caught off guard, she blinked twice before acknowledging who exactly was the source of the voice.

"hi." she responded, her posture stiffening noticeably.

a beat of awkward silence washed over them, rendering the two unmoving. god, kuroo’s mind went totally blank. he had no clue what to say. fortunately before the situation became unbearably cumbersome, a questionable idea sparkled in his mind.

"that prank you pulled on me earlier was dumb, did you know that?" he started, the man’s eyes glinting with tangible mischief.

y/n immediately perked up, roses starting to bloom on her cheeks. she closed the long distance between them, jogging up closer to where he was standing.

"the hell you mean?" she squealed, pointing her index finger at kuroo, "i don’t recall doing anything like that!" her tone was agitated enough to rile him up as well.

"you don’t recall the damn bowl of pure spice you gave me for dinner?" he clicked his tongue, lifting up his eyebrows, "don’t play stupid, y/n. i know you’re smarter than that."

hearing his words, the woman paused for a second. her mouth opened and shut, as if she was mulling over whatever she should say. finally, with a reclusive grunt, she started to mutter under her nose.

"you know… actually it was an accident," she began, breaking her gaze away from kuroo’s eyes, "i just— ugh. when i was making your portion, the sauce bottle slipped from my hand and-," y/n stopped for a second, probably contemplating whether she should continue or not, "and it just spilled inside the pot!"

what?

at that revelation, kuroo’s lips lifted up, and before he knew it, he busted out laughing. he crossed his arms, bursts of uncontrollable laughter piercing through the still night’s air.

it was ridiculous, really. for some unknown reason, the vision of y/n accidentally dropping the bottle was unbelievably amusing to him. it probably wasn’t even that funny, but he couldn’t stop his sounds of joy. again, blame everything on his tired mind.

corners of the girl’s lips also curled up, and she couldn’t help but quietly chuckle along.

"hey, stop laughing!" y/n protested in a wounded tone, but the grin on her face betrayed her true feelings, "i mean, what was i supposed to do? i didn’t want to make your grandmother wait, so i just… kinda prayed that you’re a spice fan, or something like that."

kuroo sighed deeply, trying to calm himself down. he ran his fingers through his dark locks, voicing a pleased hum. oh, how nice it is to laugh so deeply you can feel your stomach hurting and tears threatening to spill from your eyes. he shook his head, finally putting an end to his giggling.

"so… you’re basically saying that you genuinely wanted to give me something? and that whole 'welcome dinner' thing wasn’t just made up as an excuse to pull a mean joke on me?" he questioned, drilling his intrigued gaze into the woman.

at that, she seemed to get even more frustrated. y/n wanted to protest, but ultimately forced herself to stay truthful.

"i mean—! uh, well. maybe?", she stumbled over her own words, "but don’t take it the wrong way. i still don’t like you!"

she gripped the barrier harder, making her knuckles go white. her first impression of kuroo was… bad. she remembered it clearly, as it was only yesterday. when the girl crouched in order to unpack her bag, she noticed that he still had his shoes on, even though he was already inside the house.

then, he began ogling her. instead of a simple introduction, he choose to gawk at her as if she was a ghost or something. it was simply impolite.

finally, he didn’t even offer to help his grandmother with taking the basket along with jars to the kitchen. he was built as if moving stones was no effort for him, and yet he stood frozen like a lost child.

that enough detail was all it took for her to form a certain amount of disdain towards kuroo. alas, later on she realized that her judgement of his character might have been wrong.

when y/n lied sprawled out on her bed, time of the clock showing around 10am, a certain memory struck her. she suddenly remembered the man’s grandmother saying something about her grandson moving in, and that he was sick. she didn’t disclose what the illness was, but mumbled about 'how serious', or 'how dangerous' it’s nature was.

the reason as to why kuroo was acting so spaced-out wasn’t because he was an airhead.

he was simply sick.

after y/n puzzled the pieces together, she felt awfully guilty for treating him so poorly. in order to make up for it, she conjured the idea of a welcoming gift. unfortunately for her, it turned out to be a disaster. well, at least she tried, right?

she wished she could admit that she actually didn’t mind kuroo. the woman enjoyed his presence, as it wasn’t too overbearing, or anything. he could be… agreeable. sometimes.

yet, now it seemed too late to back out from their constant bicker, so she just stuck with it.

kuroo noticed that y/n lost her train of thought, suddenly becoming quiet. he nodded slowly, leaning over the barrier in order to support his heavy body.

"why do you dislike me anyway?" he asked in a hushed voice, hoping for an answer. in his mind, the man didn’t do anything wrong or insulting towards her, so her negative feelings seemed unjustified.

the girl snapped back to reality, her gaze suddenly turning antagonistic. she swished her head to the right, an unpleasant frown growing onto her face.

"i think that’s where our discussion ends. have a good night." y/n replied curtly, swiftly turning back and walking into her room before loudly shutting the balcony door.

huh.

kuroo definitely didn’t expect that sort of a reaction. they were getting along just fine a while ago, laughing together and talking with ease. so what changed during those few seconds? he gritted his teeth, watching y/n closing the curtains from behind the glass.

maybe the girl was just like his insomnia. you take a step forward, now you have to take one back. for now he decided not to think about it too much.

he let out a prolonged sigh, feeling that his body demanded sleep. whether he could grant it was a mystery for him.

the man dragged his feet inside, closing the door as well. he plopped down onto his bed, soon finding out that him and rest weren’t destined together for now.

🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐 🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐 🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚

notes: y/n in this story sometimes acts unreasonably or on a whim. perhaps she’s scared of being vulnerable?

anyway, i’m aware that this chapter turned out to be very long and i hope i didn’t bore you all to death. i’m afraid this might turn out to be a slowburn lmfaoooo (let’s hope not). also also!! THANK YOU SO, SO MUCH for all the likes and everything. i am extremely grateful <333

[lisasooyaa]

mochiflxwer’s miss beloved design based on the piece ‘Temptation Muse’ by Ichiro Tsuruta (1991)

[daddiesdrarryy]

*September 1st, 1991*

Narcissa: Someone is calling us through the Floo

Lucius: I’ll answer it

Lucius: Hello?

Draco, crying: I WANT TO GO HOME!

Narcissa: Draco? What’s wrong?

Draco: Potter rejected my friendship!

Lucius: Oh no, do you want me to come there? Give that boy a piece of my mind?

Draco: I hate him now

Narcissa: Surely something wrong must have happened

Lucius: Nonsense, that dense boy has no clue what he missed out on, being our son’s friend

Narcissa: Your father’s right, Draco, he will talk to Harry’s parents soon

Lucius: Wait, what?

Narcissa: You just said—

Lucius: Yeah, I didn’t mean I could go up to that man and tell him that our son has an *whisper* obsession…with their son, and now he’s crying on the first day of school because the Potter boy didn’t want to be his friend

Narcissa: You’re his father

Lucius: Can’t I just buy him a new broom instead?

Narcissa: …

Lucius: …

Lucius: All right, I’ll Floo them

[priafey]

people are always so surprised when i list reggae as one of the two genres that had the most influence on goth music (the other being post-punk). Despite "Bela Lugosi's Dead" being the clearest and most well-known example of reggae's influence on this genre, this is the song i usually show them as an example, because the influence here is subtle enough that you can miss it, if you don't know what to look for:

[from 1986]

listen closely to the drum, especially after 0:40. you can hear the counterpoint (i think that's the right word in english? in spanish i know it as 'tumbao') that sets the rhythm for the whole song. it's a call-and-response kind of percussion (subtly syncopated), where two distinct parts seem to play off each other (by cutting each other off) to construct and maintain it. put simply, it kind of sounds like two 'halves' of a drum are in conversation. but they act as one.

listening to any Jamaican dub song (like this piece from 1976) makes it clear where goth music drew inspiration from in its beginnings. the deep, rich bass, the counterpoint of the drums, the slow tempo, the broody, melancholic sound of it. most or all of these elements from dub carried over to reggae, and were subsequently taken and infused into post-punk, new wave, gothic rock, darkwave, etc etc.

just listen to this (starting from the 2:50 mark)...

[from 1984]

...and the leap from the Jamaican dub song linked above to this one by The Danse Society suddenly doesn't seem so huge.

here's a different song from much later, where the influence from reggae is undeniable just from listening to the first few seconds:

[from 1991]

and a much more recent song:

[from 2023]

here the drum machine and the guitar take center stage, and have a more on-beat, unbroken sound, but you can still make out the bass being "in conversation" with itself in the background (same with the hazy synth that starts in at 0:27).

(i should note this sort of inter-dependent call-and-response is not unique to dub or reggae, or even to the West African music that serves as their foundation (though some would argue the expression of it through percussive instruments is). it can also be found in South Indian ragas (or ragaams) and Tuvan throat singing, for instance.)

[aliveandfullofjoy]

95th Academy Awards: Oscars Trivia!

Another torturously long awards season is over! A24's highest-grossing film ever, Everything Everywhere All at Once, defied almost every piece of popular wisdom about the Academy Awards and easily cleared every hurdle in its path to a blowout, historic Best Picture win.

As you probably know, I'm a sucker for Oscar trivia, and this year has plenty of juicy nuggets to dig into. Let's get to it, starting with our newest Best Picture winner.

Everything Everywhere All at Once is the third film in Oscar history to win three of the four acting categories, after A Streetcar Named Desire (1951) and Network (1976). All three films won Best Actress and Best Supporting Actress. Everything Everywhere All at Once is the only film of the three that managed to win Best Picture.

Michelle Yeoh is the first Malaysian actress, first Asian actress, and second woman of color to win Best Actress. This is only the thirteenth time that Best Actress and Best Picture have overlapped in the 95-year history of the Oscars. Yeoh's nomination made her the first Asian actress nominated for the award since 1935. The only other is Merle Oberon, who hid her Asian identity in life and passed as white.

Everything Everywhere All at Once is the first science-fiction film to win Best Picture.

Everything Everywhere All at Once is the first Best Picture winner with a woman of color (Michelle Yeoh) in the lead role.

Having opened in theaters in late March 2022 (the same weekend of the 94th Academy Awards), Everything Everywhere All at Once is the Best Picture winner with the earliest calendar release since The Silence of the Lambs, which opened Valentine's Day 1991.

Everything Everywhere All at Once is the third Best Picture winner with a majority non-white cast (after 2016's Moonlight and 2019's Parasite) and the first American film with a majority Asian cast.

Daniel Kwan and Daniel Scheinert (Everything Everywhere All at Once) are the third directing team to win Best Director, joining Jerome Robbins and Robert Wise (West Side Story, 1961) and Joel Coen and Ethan Coen (No Country for Old Men, 2007). Kwan is also the fourth Asian director (and first Asian-American) to win Best Director.

Everything Everywhere All at Once is the first movie in 95 years of Oscars history to win six(!) so-called "above the line" awards -- referring to Best Picture, Director, the four acting categories, and the two writing categories.

Everything Everywhere All at Once is the first film to sweep the four primary guild awards (Producers Guild, Directors Guild, Writers Guild, and Screen Actors Guild) since Argo (2012), and only the fifth overall.

Some crazy coincidences between Michelle Yeoh and her Best Actress presenter Halle Berry: in addition to currently being the only two women of color to win Best Actress, they are also both former Bond girls (Yeoh in Tomorrow Never Dies [1997], Berry in Die Another Day [2002], both with Pierce Brosnan). Additionally, both women are former contestants of the Miss World pageant: Berry represented the United States in 1986, while Yeoh represented Malaysia in 1983. Also, in a weird case of history rhyming, both Berry and Yeoh won over a previous Oscar-winner in a film directed by Todd Field (Sissy Spacek in In the Bedroom in 2001, Cate Blanchett in TÁR in 2022).

With four wins, All Quiet on the Western Front tied with Parasite (2019), Roma (2018), Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (2000), and Fanny and Alexander (1982) as the most-rewarded non-English language films in Oscars history.

This is also the second time that Cate Blanchett has won a Golden Globe, a BAFTA, and a Critics Choice Award for a performance, only to lose the Oscar to the lead of the Best Picture winner. The other time this happened was the year another comedy won seven Oscars: Shakespeare in Love. Blanchett, who was nominated for Elizabeth that year, lost to Gwyneth Paltrow.

TÁR brought Blanchett her eighth Oscar nomination, tying her as the fourth most-nominated actress in Oscar history. Only Bette Davis (10), Katharine Hepburn (12), and Meryl Streep (21) are ahead of her.

TÁR is only director Todd Field's third feature (after 2001's In the Bedroom and 2006's Little Children), but all three of his films have gotten Best Actress nominations for their leads.

Blanchett has also extended her record as the Oscar-nominated actress with the most appearances in films nominated for Best Picture. With TÁR, she has now appeared in 10 Best Picture nominees.

Tom Hanks (who turned in one of the weirdest performances ever caught on film in Elvis) also crossed the 10 Best Picture appearance threshold with this year's nominations. The only nominated actor with more Best Picture appearances is Jack Nicholson, who's been in 11.

This year's nominations saw a record-breaking number of Asian actors nominated: Yeoh in Best Actress, Ke Huy Quan (Everything Everywhere All at Once) in Best Supporting Actor, and Hong Chau (The Whale) and Stephanie Hsu (Everything Everywhere All at Once) in Best Supporting Actress. Yeoh and Quan won, marking the first time multiple Asian actors have won in a single ceremony.

Hong Chau (The Whale) is the first Oscar-nominated actor to be born in a refugee camp.

This year also saw a record number of Irish actors nominated in a single year, with five: Colin Farrell (The Banshees of Inisherin) and Paul Mescal (Aftersun) in Best Actor, Brendan Gleeson and Barry Keoghan (both from The Banshees of Inisherin) in Best Supporting Actor, and Kerry Condon (again, The Banshees of Inisherin) in Best Supporting Actress.

It was a banner year for Ireland in other categories, too, with nominations in Best Live Action Short (An Irish Goodbye, which won the award) and in Best International Feature (The Quiet Girl, the first Irish-language film ever nominated for an Oscar).

With his win in the Supporting Actor category, Quan became only the second Asian actor to win that award, joining the late Haing S. Ngor, who won for his debut performance in The Killing Fields (1984).

All five of the nominees for Best Actor -- Austin Butler (Elvis), Colin Farrell (The Banshees of Inisherin), Brendan Fraser (The Whale), Paul Mescal (Aftersun), and Bill Nighy (Living) -- were first-time nominees. This is the first time this has happened in this category since 1934(!!!).

It was a huge year for first-time nominees across all four acting categories: 16(!) of the 20 actors nominated were first-timers. This is the most ever in a single year. The only actors with previous nominations were Cate Blanchett, Angela Bassett, Judd Hirsch, and Michelle Williams.

Jamie Lee Curtis (Everything Everywhere All at Once) is the third person to be nominated for an Oscar after both of her parents were nominated as well: her father Tony Curtis was nominated for The Defiant Ones (1958), while her mother Janet Leigh was nominated for Psycho (1960). The other sets of nominated parents and children are Liza Minnelli (with parents Judy Garland and Vincente Minnelli) and Laura Dern (with parents Diane Ladd and Bruce Dern). Minnelli, Dern, and Curtis all won acting Oscars.

With his performance in The Whale, Brendan Fraser became the first person to win Best Actor for a film not nominated for Best Picture since Jeff Bridges in Crazy Heart (2009).

This is also the first time since 2005 that all four acting winners were first-time nominees. Additionally, none of the four acting winners won in their category at the BAFTAs, which has never happened before.

With his Best Supporting Actor nomination, Judd Hirsch (The Fabelmans) broke the record for the longest gap between acting nominations: he was last nominated 42 years ago for Ordinary People (1980). The record previously belonged to Henry Fonda, who had a 41-year gap between nods.

In addition to being the first actor ever nominated for a performance in a Marvel movie, Angela Bassett (Black Panther: Wakanda Forever) also became the fourth Black actress to be nominated more than once. She joined Viola Davis, Whoopi Goldberg, and Octavia Spencer.

The Fabelmans is the first movie to win the Golden Globe for Best Picture - Drama to go home emptyhanded at the Oscars since The Turning Point (1977[!]). In fact, this is the first time ever that both Golden Globe Best Picture winners (The Fabelmans in Drama, The Banshees of Inisherin in Comedy) went home with zero Oscars.

2022 had some other similarities with 1977, too: this was the first year since 1977 that two films (Everything Everywhere All at Once and The Banshees of Inisherin in 2022, Julia and The Turning Point in 1977) got four individual acting nominations. Both years saw comedies win Best Picture and Best Actress (Annie Hall in 1977), and both years had a sci-fi blockbuster nominated in Best Picture (Star Wars and Avatar: The Way of Water).

Ana de Armas (Blonde) became the second actor nominated for playing Marilyn Monroe, which is more Oscars than Monroe herself was ever nominated for. She was nominated in Best Actress alongside Michelle Williams (The Fabelmans), the other actress nominated for playing the star (in 2011's My Week with Marilyn).

De Armas also became the fifth Latina nominated for Best Actress, joining Fernanda Montenegro, Salma Hayek, Catalina Sandino Moreno, and Yalitza Aparicio. She is also the second Cuban actor ever nominated, after Andy Garcia.

With her win for Black Panther: Wakanda Forever, legendary costume designer Ruth Carter became the first Black woman to win two Oscars — ever.

Only Austin Butler and Ana de Armas were nominated for playing historical figures this year. Weirdly, both Elvis and Blonde feature actor Xavier Samuel in small roles. What does it mean?

At 34 minutes long, The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse is the longest Best Animated Short winner ever.

In addition to being the first song from an Indian film to be nominated for and win the Oscar for Best Song, "Naatu Naatu" (RRR) is the fourth non-English language winner of that award, after "Never on Sunday" (1960, originally performed in Greek), "Al otro lado del río" (2004, in Spanish), and "Jai Ho" (2008, in Hindi, Urdu, and Punjabi). "Naatu Naatu" is in Telugu.

It was the year of the sequel: between Avatar: The Way of Water and Top Gun: Maverick, this marked the first time multiple sequels were nominated in Best Picture in the same year. Black Panther: Wakanda Forever and Glass Onion: A Knives Out Mystery also received major nominations.

Avatar and Top Gun also marked the first time since 1982 that the two highest-grossing films of the year were both nominated for Best Picture.

[thebahwrites]

Omg please do Icemav and cuddling 😔

Icemav + Cuddling To read listening: I Don't Want to Miss a Thing - Aerosmith

I could stay awake just to hear you breathing

Watch you smile while you are sleeping

While you're far away and dreaming

1991

"There's a stray cat sleeping on your couch."

Most of the time Tom knew to shutter Ron's idle running commentary, not because he didn't care for what his friend had to say, he just had learned how to filter through what really mattered and then through what Slider liked to just fill silences in. But the sudden sentence does bring him up from the paperwork he'd been labouring over.

Blinking ever so slowly, staring up at Slider over the edges of his (newly acquired) glasses, Ice gives his friend a long, curious look before actually deciding to speak. "Come again?"

It was a cautious question. Ron usually knew better than to just mess with him, at least not without a backup plan but his RIO simply flashes back a big stupid grin, still leaning against the threshold of the office Tom had taken over. "You told me to stop by your place and drop the stuff Sarah made, right? So, there's a cat on your couch, you never told me you were keeping a pet."

It's the absolute edge of smarminess in Ron's voice that gives away he's messing with Tom in one way or another. Narrowing his eyes dangerously, Ice puts his pen down. "I, in fact, don't."

"Well then one got in, you should go check it." Slider turns around, giving Tom a pointed and amused look over his shoulder as he laughed away, getting on every single one of his nerves.

"Did you just let some random stray cat into my house, Ron? Ron!" Of course his protesting falls into deaf ears as the man laughs even louder, disappearing into the hallway and leaving Ice to angrily pinch the bridge of his nose, bristling with irritation at the idea of some random mutt making itself home. Of course that was the kind of insufferable thing that Slider thought funny — and the kind of menial nuisance that would force Ice to leave early and have it dealt with.

Which was precisely what happened, unable to focus on his damn desk work and everything else in between, excusing himself much earlier to deal with "personal issues" because Tom Kazansky would be damned to have some random pet wreaking havoc inside his house.

But as soon as he made through the front door, of course, he got Slider's stupid idea of a prank.

Cat on your couch translated to one Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell.

For a minute, Tom could only stand with his back pressed to the door, hand covering his mouth as he watched the other pilot deeply asleep. That messy jet black hair and soft expression he only ever got when resting, every other moment lived with the intensity of a burning sun. Pete hadn't even bothered to take off his uniform, though he had taken off the boots and left them by the entrance — in their ages long fight over dragging dirt into the house. All of that, soft memories into the sudden light of yearning, over three months apart due to some special detachment and that's just how soft Maverick managed to make the coldest man in the U.S. Navy.

Tom finds he needs another moment to just sit there and watch the man asleep before forcing himself to move, shedding his jacket by a chair and leaning in, trying not to disturb the other man, letting his knee press into the very edge of the couch cushioning so he could actually take in what he was seeing. Inspecting every line as if to make sure he'd come back all alright, all in one stupid piece.

Maverick's hand shoots up before Iceman can even blink and lazily, weakly, wraps itself around the front of his shirt. He's otherwise undisturbed, not even the soft edges around his eyes have shifted, much to Tom's pleasure, he's tugged down. "C'mere." Pete's voice is all syrupy with exhaustion and Ice simply obliges, letting himself be dragged down and then finding his body sliding into his couch, pressed besides and half over Maverick's.

He knows, much like a cat, Pete won't let him up for at least another hour, so instead of accepting being simply dragged Tom adjusts their position, manhandling the smaller man so he's beneath him and their bodies are properly slotted together. Like they were meant to, he thought to himself with that kind of possessive, protective internal hum that sometimes reared its ugly head. Arms coming around to properly bracket Maverick, feeling the man's warm breath against the crook of his neck.

"Ice." Pete mumbles, as they're settled and Tom was maybe on his own slow lull to a nap.

"What?"

"Your boots are still on."

I could spend my life in this sweet surrender

I could stay lost in this moment forever

Every moment spent with you is a moment I treasure

(Send me warmup prompts if you want! Any ships!)

[steddieasitgoes]

Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I’m Yours)

Steddie Big Bang Fic #036

Read on ao3

Mail's Here! The first two chapters of my @steddiebang have been delivered to ao3!

Huge shout out to my beta readers @valosomdraws and @ContrivedInk on Discord.

My talented artists @doomcheese and @strawberrysh0rk have created beautiful pieces we can't wait to share in the coming days!

Summary under the cut for more info:

The year is 1991, and Steve Harrington is working as a mail carrier who is pettily withholding mail from Eddie. When Eddie threatens Steve’s job, he is forced into making amends by hand-delivering the missing mail. In a surprising twist, Steve and Eddie end up hitting it off, and the two start spending an alarming amount of Steve’s lunch breaks getting to know each other.

But the more time they spend together, the less time Steve spends delivering mail, which might just end up costing him his job and his newfound relationship with Eddie.

Project #036 of Steddie Big Bang 2023

[morbidology]

On the Monday after Thanksgiving weekend of 1991, 56-year-old William Nelson from Costa Mesa, California, was reported missing when he failed to show up at work. He worked part-time as a computer programmer and messenger at Cannon Mortgage Inc. in Tustin.

William lived at home with his wife, 23-year-old Omaima Aree Nelson. Omaima was born and raised in Egypt and moved to the United States in 1986. William was a convicted drug trafficker who moved to Orange County in search of a new life. The couple had been married in a telephone ceremony conducted by an Egyptian priest just around one month prior. Their marriage came just five days after they met for the first time. Unbeknownst to Omaima, however, William’s divorce from his previous wife had was not yet finalized meaning that they were not legally married.

Shortly after William was reported missing, Costa Mesa police received a disturbing phone call from one of Omaima’s friends. Omaima had shown up to his front door and was hysterical and covered in blood. She claimed that William had attacked before exclaiming. “I cut him. I cut him to pieces.” She then showed her friend a garbage bag which was filled with human organs.

Omaima said to her friend, Jose Esquivel, that she had been tied to a bed before being cut on the breast and then assaulted by William. She claimed that she managed to knock him unconscious with a lamp. “She said that she then had chopped him up in pieces, that his head was in the refrigerator,” Jose later said. Omaima begged Jose to help her dispose of William’s remains and even offered him $75,000. Instead of helping Omaima, however, Jose rang the police....

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞: