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oksana-moods · 3 years ago

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Supernova

Summary: As the seasons passes you by, it is inevitable for you to watch the fall.

A/N: This is an AU requested by the darling @multi-muse-transect and you might find it in here. This request filled me with joy and worries at the same time, because it was hard to create a visible story in my head before trying to write it down. But I really enjoyed all the research about Nova Corps, hence it took me a little more than intended.

Warnings: Language, marvel’s canon violence… if there is any other that I should mention, please, let me know.

“You take my breath away. You're a supernova and I'm a space bound rocket ship and your heart's the moon.”

#not my pic

Carol is at a window looking at the sculptures and other buildings of Hala, she’s just arrived from a mission against Kree insurgents. ‘They're like weeds’, she thinks. No matter how hard she fights or fights back, they always come back and never learn that against the Empress they will never succeed.

The lights are beautiful in Hala, but they will never compare to the lights of the Old Earth. She takes a look at the latest reports of her home planet's reconstruction on the table beside her and sighs, knowing that New Earth will soon be ready.

Years ago, Ronan attacked Earth with the intention of destroying Carol and he did, in fact, destroy her heart. Even though she could absorb and redirect energy, she failed to destroy all the missiles before they hit the ground and then it was over. And the beginning at the same time.

Completely possessed by the grief of losing her home and loved ones, Carol went hunting for the Kree and, more importantly, for the Supreme Intelligence and, one by one, Carol brought down her tormentors until she became the Empress of Kree, residing in Hala.

Her patrols to different galaxies have been reduced as she monitors the Kree group responsible for rebuilding the Earth, chases mutineers and still rules the Empire. Her Empire. There's not even time for karaoke, she thinks, as her eyes follows a shooting star across the night sky of her capital.

Her eyes narrow when said shooting star seems to take a route, rather than a random path, because it is a celestial body without navigation. This shooting star is, in fact, very different, she observes. And, almost a second late, she notices that someone is heading right for her.

Taking her by surprise, you hit the balcony glass as if it were nothing and saw Carol's body hurl against the wall with the impact of your body. Not even spending a breath, it's your turn to be hurled against the wall when Carol fights back even harder than you.

You fight, exchange punches and blows. You notice that she's slightly surprised to find a worthy opponent, something that's still unheard of. Until today. Until you.

And that intrigues her, how could someone be so powerful without her knowing?

"Did the Kree insurgents send you?" She asks after you collide on Hala’s sky, the noise and vibrations being felt even in buildings far away from the fight.

"No." You answer. “I was sent by Nova Prime to deal with you” You barely finish your sentence, and you attack Carol again, but she's confused. She had heard of Nova Prime when she was still a Kree soldier. When she fought for the wrong side.

She then looks at you once more. She takes in the clothes you're wearing and your helmet, which covers your eyes with a blueish light but leaves your chin bare. The symbol that resembles a star painted in red on your golden helmet indicated what you are. Nova Corp. You are a corpsman.

A bright, gold insignia in a form of three circles linked in your chest shines even in the dark, showing her that you’re not an ordinary corpsman, but a Centurion. You are Nova Corps’ Commander. Okay, that explain why you’re so powerful.

"What do you want with me?" She asks without the slightest pretension to continue fighting and for the first time you don't attack, you stop and look at her. Wow, the reports of her strength and agility were consistent with what you see, but there was nothing about her beauty. Shaking your head, you answer it.

"Justice." Seeing the confused expression on Carol's perfect face, you continue. "You are crushing the democracy that existed for the inhabitants of this planet, the countless reports of an empress overthrowing entire communities have crossed galaxies."

"Justice, you say." You see her eyes flash with anger and hatred. "And what justice does Nova Prime intend to give Earth?" She approaches dangerously and you have to remind yourself to not cower under her glare.

"The Kree have destroyed my home, so I won't give them one until the New Earth is rebuilt and populated." The threat in her gaze, in her posture, was tangible. "And nothing and no one in the universe will make me concede freedom to this barbaric species."

"Being a barbarian yourself?" You turn your head to the side in a questioning tone, but she takes it as irony. Maybe it was. “An eye for an eye, as earthlings are fond of saying. Or should I say, used to like?” A kind of roar was the only warning before her fist collided with your face.

"Wash your mouth before you talk about Earth, soldier." She patched up a string of blows you couldn't get out of. "Nova Empire has always fought the Kree, why they want to protect them now?"

She was strong; you've already figured that out, but like many other very powerful beings in the universe, they tend to think they're the only ones with powers. Absorbing most of the blows and directing the energy against the empress, you use your power blast and with that, once again, Carol is hurled against the wall of her palace.

As an automatic response, Carol uses the powers of her fist and you feel the force of a thousand cannons throwing you backwards into space, grunting right after with the impact of Carol's body, engaging the fight once more.

You could tell that she was angry and, according to your studies, humans tended to be guided by such frivolous feelings. And that was something you intended to use to your advantage.

Being two beings bestowed with stamina, the fight would go on for hours until someone got tired, but if she uses her powers erratically and drenched in rage, she will be drained quicklier.

“I am the Empress of the Kree Empire! Answer me!" The tone of voice in which she addresses you makes it clear that your goal of getting under her skin is working. With a smirk, you respond.

“Nova Empire takes care of the galaxy and has balance as its main goal, your highness. To overpower other species is not our intention.” Your response seems to enrage her even more and the only reaction you got from her was more blows and more blasts in your direction.

You dodge, you block, and you realize she's getting careless then letting her guard down. And that's where you come in with quick jabs almost powerless, only to enrage her more and more. Just to remind her that even an Empress has weaknesses.

You hit the ground and certainly the people throughout the city felt like it was an earthquake. Something was off and before you could react, Carol hits you with a blast right in the middle of the chest, throwing you meters and meters into a random building.

This time, you start feeling the impact on every wall you hit. You feel dizzy, your hand is shaking, and you find yourself bleeding. ‘What's going on?’ You think as you watch Carol's figure to grow in your field of vision.

The smirk on her face is ridiculously sexy, but you barely have time to make any comments before her voice reaches your ears. "Apparently, you're not that tough without your helmet on, are you?"

You look at her hand that is carrying what was once your helmet, now just broken shards and she drops it into your lap. Without your helmet you are ruined, as is your mission.

The smirk and one last punch were the last thing you remember before she knocks you down cold.

---

Your head was about to explode inside your skull, and you blink at the light entering your cell. All that brightness was not helping your headache at all.

It's been a few days since you've been taken prisoner by Empress Carol Danvers and whether Xandar knows or has noticed your disappearance is something you have no idea of. And when Nova Prime sends reinforcements after you it won't be pretty.

Before proceeding on your mission, you had already been informed that all diplomatic avenues had been tried but completely closed by the Empress. That way, Xandar wouldn't try negotiations to try to get you back. Perhaps this would trigger a new war.

A war you couldn't afford. Certainly, you didn't want the weight of being the trigger or the spark in a cold battle of inflated tempers on your shoulders. Carol had a very short fuse, as you witnessed firsthand, while Prime could be an slayer when the situation called for it.

Days passed, becoming weeks and your monotonous existence is only interrupted by the Empress's daily visits. Visits that you don't know why she still keeps, when it's pretty obvious that you have no information to provide.

You are a member of the Nova Corp and have been sent on a solo mission to "dissuade" the Empress from continuing to rule her own empire with an iron fist. There were no ulterior motives, no espionage or reinforcements waiting in the moon not far from Hala.

You were a single, last resource. There was nothing but you and your broken form. A failed soldier.

You were standing, watching the sun shining on buildings across Hala through the small window in your cell, admiring the dots circling farther down the street, almost forgetting that each dot was a person. You wonder if Carol forgets who they are.

"Um, admiring my city, I see." You spare her a brief glance before you return it to the window. She was in a red robe with local designs, and you can't shake off your head at how beautiful she is. How beautiful she looks in red. Or any other color.

You don't exactly know why Carol still comes to your cell, but you can't lie to yourself that you don't like it. You do. But you convince yourself that any company is better than the solitude of these walls, just that and nothing else.

She is an empress after all. A Sovereign, considered by many to be evil and tyrant. But each gentle gesture towards you reminds you that her hands are stained with blood. Like yours. Your conscience doesn't seem to know which side it should be on.

"Forgive me if my boredom is exacerbated, your city is the only thing I have left to admire." You answer still looking ahead, afraid to look at her and be mesmerized. The Empress was a mystery that captivated you, as her answers were never what you would expect them to be. Just like now.

“I could end your boredom. Hala’s Summer Trade is famous across the galaxy, have you ever tasted Pluot Fruit?” Your head swivel towards her so fast it feels like a whip.

"Summer?" Quickly you do the math in your head, in this solar system the days and seasons were longer than in Xandar, so... "How long have I been kept in here?"

"Too long, Nova." Nova? What kind of nickname is this? Shaking your head, you question her. "Nova? This is not my name." She giggles and moves closer to the energy field that makes up your cell door, she’s one yard away so you can smell her perfume. White jasmine.

“I know it isn't. But I decided to abbreviate the title of Nova Corps to Nova, besides, I own this place…” she opens her arms to emphasize what she's talking about. "I can call you whatever I want, prisoner."

You decide to play her game and with a smirk on your face you respond. “Prisoner? Now, seconds ago weren’t you inviting me for a walk, your highness?”

You lick your lips when you see her face contorting in a mix of anger and something else, but what, you don't know. “You abuse my benevolence too much. Your precious Xandar never tried to open a ransom deal, you are of no use to them or to me.”

Her words crash into your chest, and you feel your heart break a little more. Months have passed and there was no sign of another corpsman coming to your rescue and now she tells you that Nova Prime didn't even try to negotiate your freedom.

You close your eyes and with small, defeated steps you walk to the window. A lifetime dedicated to Nova Corp and Xandar, to be abandoned like a stray dog lost from its owners. Like someone worthless.

Defeated and hopeless, you ask Empress Carol why she still keeps you alive. Standing in the hallway leading to the dungeons hall she smiles triumphantly and speaks. "For my entertainment, prisoner."

"What do you think of the Pluot?" Carol's voice breaks your train of thought.

"Strangely delicious." You respond by referring to the strange appearance, as if it was a dried fruit and not completely juicy right after tasting it.

As with the fruit, such was your surprise to see Carol's interaction with her subjects. Many of them kept their distance, paid their obeisance and respects to the Empress, and continued on their way with their heads low.

However, a reassuring number of people seemed to genuinely like or even admire Carol and not out of obligation. Doing a 180° turn in the opinion you once held of the Empress, she was extremely adorable when interacting with children.

Who knew the fearsome tormentor of the Kree empire would be so… human? How can someone, who keeps a prisoner just for her own pleasure, be so kind? You wonder if they were the same person at all.

She smiles in response to what you said and you smile back, completely unsure of the reasons why you do.

After the Hala market tour went without incident, that is, without any attempt to escape on your part, Carol has granted you the right to stroll through the inner gardens of her palace. As much as you want to hate the way she plays as if you were a puppet, you can't.

You try to hate her, but each day you spend in her company makes it harder for you to deny the feeling that, gradually, grows in your chest. Then, you find yourself desperate to hang this passion before it's too late.

Your morning walks allow you to see autumn slowly approaching, little by little, with each leaf touching the ground. And if you used to enjoy Carol's garden alone, over time, the Empress's company became part of your routine.

"Why are you still keeping me alive, Carol?" You rarely addressed her by the title of empress or nobility, and she never forced you to use it, she seemed not to care whether you recognized her power or not. Nor did he seem to mind when you used it ironically.

"I like your company." She answered and that made you look directly into her eyes. "It isn't every day that I find a match." Her answer made something boil in your chest and you had to force your heart to understand that she was probably referring to the fight.

"I'm not a match for you, your highness." You spoke. "Everything special about me came from an enhanced helmet." A sad smile danced on your lips, remembering how powerless you felt when you saw it broken in her hand. You remembered how broken you felt yourself.

“Everything special about you comes from your heart, Nova.” Her tone was low and as much as you wanted, there was nothing to grasp in it. She spoke this sentence as if she were speaking about the weather but for you it just set your heart on fire.

Between stories from a lifetime ago, when Carol was only a human being without a single clue that the universe was bigger than her world and stories from her time adapting and training in Hala, you felt yourself slowly but surely falling for her.

The change for you was visible and you prayed it would be visible only to you. If before you thought she was beautiful, now she’s extremely attractive in your eyes. Even when choosing simple robes, Carol was always dressed impeccably.

After spending so much time together, it was only a matter of time before you realized that the Empress was possessed of vast intellect and knowledge about many different things.

But what strike you most was how funny and mundane she could be, yet, she still had that special something in her eyes that never failed in make you weak. You were a prisoner, indeed. A prisoner of her eyes.

Unlike many extremely powerful beings, Carol was humble enough to listen to your stories, and even encouraged you to tell more details about yourself. She never quite understood, but something about you drew her as if you were a magnet.

The sparkle in your eyes as you spoke about your homeland, friends, or your passion and honor in serving Nova Corp thrilled her. There were many things in you that stirred emotions in her, as well as aroused feelings that she thought she was no longer capable of feeling for a long time.

And so, without realizing it and at the same time fully aware of what was going on beneath her skin, the Empress fell in love with her Prisoner.

Winter at Hala marked when your quarters were no longer a cell but a room in Empress's palace. Larger than your home in Xandar, the room was beautifully decorated with art, and you could discern some Xandar artwork. You wonder if it was coincidence.

Despite being as warm as a star, Carol suggested that both of you should trade your walks in the garden for spending time in the library available at the palace. And that's how you began to be the Empress's company during her meals.

It started with lunch and then evolved into dinner and now Carol finds herself waiting for your presence before even touching her plate. ‘I shouldn't allow myself such weakness’, she thought. However, she couldn't bring herself to change or to avoid the need of your company.

"I beg your pardon?" You speak, barely able to avoid spilling your soup. The increasingly warm but shy rays of the sun and the many animals strolling in the courtyard tell you that spring is just around the corner. And that's exactly what almost made you spill the soup, in first place.

Carol cleared her throat, promptly speaking again, as if you had not heard her from the first time. “I’d be delighted if you grant me the honor of your company for the Spring Ball due in two weeks.” She looked at you expectantly.

Your mind was swirling as to why she would want you as her company, out of all people. She was the Empress; she could have anyone she wanted by her side. Yet, here she was, asking you to be her date.

The time in Hala flew slower as it did in Xandar, but it felt like the opposite, for the Ball came faster than you thought it be possible.

And here you were, walking down the entrance stairs in a beautiful golden gown with Carol’s arm locked with yours. Her deep green dress was marvelous and when you saw her welcoming you with that pretty smile of hers you thought you could melt.

Much to your dismay, Carol could sing just as she’d told you she could, but you never believed in her. It wasn’t hard for you to realize that you were free falling in love with her even more than you already were. If it was possible, you fell in love again. You’d be her prisoner, forever.

As the night went on, you were mesmerized by the ball, the music, and the way of life in Hala. It felt like a different life, one that very much resembled prince and princess’ tales that you heard when you were a kid.

A life that didn’t quite belong to you but looking into her eyes it made it feel like everything was possible, reachable, as if her power could create a different world. Just as she did. As ruler of the Kree empire, she created a new kingdom.

Standing in the balcony, you welcomed the cold air hitting your skin that was inebriating your senses, previously flooded by the Empress. The stars illuminated the sky of Hala making the city bellow you even prettier.

A soft touch in your hand brings your gaze back to its owner and a small gasp scape your lips when you see how close she is, even more so when you wish she were closer. “I never told you how beautiful you are tonight.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“You flatter me, your highness. You’re flawless yourself.” A small smile creeped up her lips and you forced yourself to keep your eyes locked with hers, proven to be a hard task when she started to lean into your ear.

“There is something that I wanted to tell you for a while ago.” Her hands on your waist made it difficult for you to pay attention to her words, along with the feel of her cheek touching your cheeks made your knees weak.

“You’re no longer a prisoner and you can leave Hala if you want to.” Her thumb drew patterns where it touched you and you could feel your skin burning. “You’re free, but I wish you’d stay here.” She backed down and now her eyes were boring into yours.

“I wish you’d stay here with me.” She stressed.

Your heart and head were running thousand miles per hour in completely opposite directions. The rational part of you wanted to take your freedom and go back to Xandar, even though you should find it suspicious that, almost after a year, she’d let you go. Specially after you’d learned so much about Hala. About her.

However, your heart’s been slowly giving itself to this woman right in front of you, and there was nothing that you wanted more than to stay here with her. Surely, you felt left behind by Nova Prime, but it still stings in you that no one came after you. Not even a fellow corpsman.

‘Not one that you know, for that matter.’ You shook your conscience’s voice away and gave in to your heart. The rational part of you broke at the exact same time as did your helmet.

“Carol, I…” You begin but she interrupts you by placing an oh so soft lips on yours and there is no voice to hear anymore. Nor rational, nor emotional. There are only her lips pouring her heart into a kiss and you do just the same.

Right in that moment you felt as if your heart was about to melt, maybe it would, if she hadn’t broken the kiss and rested her forehead in yours.

“Tell me you’ll stay and rule by my side.” Before the true meaning of her words could sink in, the sky of Hala suddenly shone as if thousands of stars appeared right in that moment, drawing the attention of you both.

Not long until you realized that it wasn’t stars, but thousands of spaceships painting the night over your heads, and you’d recognize those ships anywhere. Xandar was here. And a voice that you’d never forget was heard above all noise.

“I am Nova Prime and Xandar declares war to Empress Carol, accused of murdering Nova Corps’ Commander.”

‘Why are they accusing her of murder?’ You thought to yourself. It does not make sense that she’s being accused of killing you when you’re alive. Unless…

“Carol, what did you do?”

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shalebridge-cradle · 4 years ago

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When You Smile and it Tears Your Face (It’s Time for the Inhuman Race)

Warnings: Blood. Implied Violence.

“Anna?”

Anna von Kleve, former minor noble of the Holy Roman Empire, pries open her eyes. It’s well into the night – the heavy curtains are drawn, as usual, the grandfather clock is ticking away, and the electric light flickers ominously above her.

She herself is sprawled on the sofa, with her date’s head in her lap. Ah, yes. A night on the town, a few drinks (well, more than a few on her part)… she hopes he’d had a good time.

“In the drawing room,” she calls, lazily.

“Have you seen my book?”

Anna has seen lots of her housemate’s beloved books. So very many volumes she’s collected over the years – in her day, the emperor himself would be hard-pressed to afford such a selection. Still, she’s proud it was a German who invented the printing press and started the whole thing off.

“Which one?”

“Pride and Prejudice, volume three. It’s got a red-brown cover.”

von Kleve frowns, looks around herself, lifts up her date to check under him.

She grimaces.

If the book didn’t have a red cover to begin with, it certainly did now. She never intends for the whole biting-people-and-drinking-their-blood business to be messy, but it always ends up that way. Strange how that happens.

She quickly drops the man’s unconscious body back on top of the book, just as her housemate materialises in the doorway.

Catherine Parr sighs. “Seriously? What have I told you about putting down plastic when you bring your food home?”

“I know, but we get kind of… into it, you know? You know me, I live in the moment – well, not live, but… you get what I’m saying.”

“That’s the problem, hence, the need for plastic.”

A pause.

Anna knows what she’s about to say, and preempts her. “No, not your type. Not terrible, but he couldn’t talk about anything that wasn’t his football team.”

“Oh. A pity.” Another pause. “Have you seen my book, though?”

“No books here. Did you leave it at Seymour’s?”

Parr hums. “Possibly. I’ll visit later. It’s your job to get rid of the poor soul, though.”

“Yes, yes, personal responsibility and all that.”

Before Anna leaves, she tucks the first edition under the sofa cushions, and hopes her housemate doesn’t look that hard for her precious book.

~~~

The shovel plunges deep into the black, wet soil, and out again. In, out, in, out, methodical and practiced. The hole needs to be deep enough, and wide enough. She’s underestimated the size before, and that simply causes problems. There are bits that need to stay underground.

Once she is satisfied, and with great care, Jane Seymour places the rose bush into its new home.

Gardening might be considered an odd hobby for someone like her to have. Even if she rarely gets to see the fruits of her labour (which is most certainly a metaphor for something), it keeps her busy and helps her feel productive. It’s terribly easy to fall into a rut if you don’t have something to do, and caring for plants gives her plenty of that.

Just so long as they survive everything.

There is a loud bang from inside the house. Jane turns briefly, listening for something further, before she goes back to patting down the soil.

Another bang, followed by a crash.

Jane squeezes her eyes shut, and growls under her breath. That had better not be anything important.

Really, she should go in and stop them from doing any more damage, but they’d probably just ignore her like they usually do. Maybe you shouldn’t have your thrice-bedamned battle in the house, where there are things that you both like and are easily breakable all over the place. Is that such an unreasonable concept?

A third bang.

“For heaven’s sake,” she grumbles, and makes to get up, turning to her gardening tools. Initially, she shies away from some of them out of instinct, but… then again… this may the only way they’ll listen…

The fearsome duel is still going on when Jane reaches the hall.

One combatant has a name she knows well, mostly because she insists on using the whole thing whenever she is introduced. Catalina Trastámara de Aragón, former Spanish infanta. The other has gone by many different but similar names – Anna de Boullan, Anna Bolina, Nan Bullen, but she generally responds to ‘Anne’, so that’s what they go with.

Catalina has her hand around Anne’s neck, hoisting her up in the air, whilst Anne has a hold on Catalina’s arm, hissing up a storm. Another bang – Catalina slamming Anne against the wall – sends a cloud of dust trickling down on top of them.

Jane enters, in her gardening smock, boots too big for her, a straw hat (you must always wear a hat while gardening, though Jane isn’t sure why), and with a wooden gardening stake in each hand.

“Down! Both of you!”

Anne turns her head slightly, and her eyes widen when she sees what Jane’s holding. “Shit.”

This gets Catalina’s attention, too, but she manages to keep the quiet part quiet. She releases her grip, and Anne sinks to the floor.

“What are you doing?” Catalina recovers her regal demeanour, or at least part of it. “Have you gone quite mad?”

“Have you? Look at what you’re doing! What on earth is noble and queenly about repeatedly smacking your housemate into a wall?!” Jane stops to compose herself. “What is it this time? Territorial dispute? Long-standing grudge you refuse to talk about? Monopoly?”

“Anne? How many glasses would you say are in the sink?”

...No.

Anne rubs her neck. “Well, maybe less if you weren’t such a toff and drank like the rest of us.”

That can’t be right. Was that it?

“Unlike you, I like to keep some of my dignity about me.”

“Oh, don’t you fucking talk to me about dignity -”

Jane is between them in a blink. “Anne, do the bloody dishes.” Anne groans, probably at the unintended pun, but is interrupted. “We have the chore wheel for a reason. We have standards.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I know. Dishes now, fight later.”

Anne huffs, and stomps into the kitchen. Jane’s attention turns to Catalina, who is trying very hard to suppress the smug smile on her face.

“How many languages to you know, Catalina?” She already knows the answer to this question, but Catalina will happily tell her anyway.

“Five. Spanish, Latin, French, Greek, English.”

“Five languages, and you still don’t know how to use your words?”

Catalina simply stares at her.

“You would have been very upset if you knocked any of your paintings down, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, but we couldn’t take it outside. You would have been upset if we crushed your plants.”

“Well, that simply reinforces my point. Violence is very rarely the answer when it comes to who you live with.”

“You’re threatening me with a lethal weapon right now.”

Oh, right, she forgot about them. Jane looks down at the stakes, flinches again, and throws them unceremoniously to one side. “Fine. We all need to work on discussing things, and remember we all have our part to play. Anne’s doing the dishes now -” There’s a clatter from the kitchen – “I’ve been taking out the rubbish; can you tell me your royal responsibility, or do I have to check?”

Catalina’s eyes are everywhere but on Jane. She brushes a bit of powder off of her sleeve, and mumbles “Dusting.”

~~~

“Look what I found.”

Parr looks up. It is a whole entire person Anna has come to show off, which usually isn’t something Catherine needs to see – it does not pay to get attached. This girl has her long hair tied up, dyed an almost neon pink at the ends, and is clad in one of Anna’s oversized fur coats. She seems to be faltering under Parr’s gaze, trying to make herself look as small and insignificant as possible.

“I see no plastic in the drawing room,” Catherine says to von Kleve, as a warning.

“What? No! No, no, no. Not that. Big smile, Katie.”

The girl’s lips curl into a rictus grin, revealing a set of fangs not unlike Parr’s own.

“Oh!” Immediately, Catherine’s attitude shifts, and speaks with a soft, comforting voice (she hopes), “Okay, hello. I’m Catherine Parr, of the Westmorland Parrs, and this is Anna von Jülich-Kleve-Berg of the Holy Roman Empire. Neither of us are going to hurt you. Please, take a seat.”

She gestures to a nearby chair. The girl walks over to it, unsteady on her feet, and sits down.

“It’s been a bad week,” she mumbles.

“Tell us about it.”

“Well, it started with a night I couldn’t remember, which always freaks me out, and then I was really sick, and then I’m pretty sure I died – no, I did die… I died…” She goes quiet once more, aghast at the revelation.

“Found her ripping some dude’s throat out behind a nightclub,” Anna explains, then shrugs. “It happens.”

The girl shuts her eyes tightly, as if she is trying to block out the memory. Parr takes her hand, and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Katie, is it?”

“Or Kate. Or Kat, or Katherine – but, that’s you as well. I’m rambling.”

“That’s alright. The transition can be stressful. May I call you Kat?”

Kat nods.

“Good. Now, from what you’ve told us, it sounds like nobody explained to you how this works. What is it that you think is going on?”

“’M a vampire. Right?” Parr hums an affirmation, and Kat laughs, without humour. “And, because I’m a vampire, and I was going insane with how thirsty I was and because he wouldn’t stop talking and he kept touching me after I told him not to…” She looks to Anna. “That man. He was my boyfriend. I killed my boyfriend.”

It’s usually cold in the house, but it seems to get even colder after that statement.

While Catherine intimately knows the feeling of wanting to murder your former significant others (Thomas – Foul rake! Blackguard! She shall curse his name after death and beyond!), she is aware that this may not be the case for Kat. Most couples these days actually quite like each other – one need not rely on a husband to vote for them anymore, after all. She’s been looking out for someone like that, but she hasn’t found them yet. Maybe someday.

There have been so very many days…

Thankfully, Anna is there with a kind word, so she need not answer nor dwell on her failure to find love. It is just one word, however, and it is not spoken with great compassion.

“Condolences?”

Kat waves a hand, shakes her head. “The only good thing about dating Francis is – was – that he gave me a place to stay. Everything else… I don’t think anyone will be that upset he’s dead, put it that way.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “It was so easy. Too easy.”

Well, it’s good to know that nothing of value was lost, at least.

“Subtlety and control are the results of practice,” Catherine tells the girl, “and that will come, in time. Until then, since the one who turned you is not around to help, I humbly request that you allow us to assist you.”

“We have a spare room. Um. Not that you have to take it, or anything, but the option’s there -”

Kat cuts Anna off. Nobody’s had the gall to do that for centuries.

“Why are you doing this? Any of this?! You want something from me, don’t you? Otherwise, I’d still be out there, dealing with my boyfriend’s corpse! Be honest with me, please. What is it you want me to do?!”

She is looking into both of their eyes, searching for an ulterior motive like she knows it’s there – Parr gets that, unfortunately, and she’s disgusted that something has happened to the poor girl to prompt such suspicion and mistrust.

Catherine does not raise her voice, speaks calmly and carefully, just like she was taught. “We are not doing this in the hopes of a favour, or any material gain. We – or, at least, I – am behaving in this way because I want to see you turn out well. Perhaps there is a vain hope of a new friendship out of this, but that is the loftiest of my wishes, and you should not feel obligated to fulfil it if you don’t want to.”

“You’re the most interesting thing that’s happened in at least a decade,” says Anna.

“But you’re vampires. Why are you helping a competitor?”

“Why not? Just because we’re bloodsucking monsters doesn’t mean we can’t be nice about it. Plenty of fish in the sea.”

“Okay. Okay. In that case… might I ‘humbly request’… a hug, please?”

~~~

“How do you feel about it?”

Catalina does not turn away from her painting; yet another Spanish vista. She has been told that the Inquisition is over, that she can return for a holiday, but there is no doubt in her mind that what is there now must be wildly different from what she remembers. The latter is what she puts to canvas, to show off what she knows, what mortal eyes can no longer see.

“You shall have to be more specific,” she says to Anne, her voice clipped.

“You know.” She refuses to give Anne the satisfaction of looking at her, but she can feel the fluttering eyelashes, the lazy grin, just from her cadence. “Us. What we have.”

“What on earth are you implying?”

“That thing we do. The one where I press all your buttons, and you beat the shit out of me. Great way to work out that tension, yeah? But then there’s Jane – Plain Insane Jane – putting stakes in our faces and telling us to end it.”

“Would you have listened to her if she hadn’t?”

“Nah.” No hesitation whatsoever. No hint of shame. “But it’s fun. Don’t you think so?”

…Frankly, Catalina does not know. She knows it is not a healthy way of relieving stress. She knows Jane is justified in her motivations to stop it, if not her methods (though both of them make it difficult for her to use a softer touch).

But, if she is truly honest with herself, she likes to feel powerful sometimes. Yes, she is powerful when compared to a regular human – but that was true when she was alive, too. Now, she is no longer in the line of succession, she is no longer a princess. She is ‘just’ a vampire, and that fact irks her more than it should.

But she doesn’t tell Anne any of that. She puts her brush down, and turns to the source of her self-reflection. She’s hanging in the air, as if she were watching Catalina from an invisible sofa.

“You’ve been out drinking, haven’t you?”

Their kind can, in fact, get drunk. It’s more of a roundabout process than it is for mortals – one must find someone that’s absolutely cup-shotten, take them somewhere quiet, and… share their blood alcohol content. Catalina knows this because Anne is a master of the process.

“Of course I have!” Anne replies, with a funny sort of smile. “That’s why you go out, why Jane goes out. To have a drink!”

Oh, she definitely has been. She’s wearing the silly spectacles again, the ones where you can’t see her eyes properly.

“I’m not having this conversation with you while you’re out of your wits,” Catalina carefully enunciates.

“I always have my wits. Do you even listen to my jokes, princess?”

“You’re drunk.”

“And? You don’t talk when I’m sober, you won’t talk when I’m toxed – what is it that you need me to be for you to be honest?”

There is a knock at the door, and Jane’s voice comes through loud and clear. “Catalina? We have a guest.”

That’s interesting. They don’t often have guests – well, not ones that aren’t ‘invited for dinner’, and Jane likes to keep that private, if it’s her. It can’t be Parr or von Kleve; Jane would have said as much.

Perhaps it is someone important, she thinks, and immediately her mood sours.

“Who do you think it is?” Anne asks.

“I don’t know. All I ask is that you don’t make a complete fool of yourself.”

“And what if I do?”

“Then I take no responsibility for your actions.”

“She’s very new, apparently,” Jane tells them, and she is doing only a slightly better job than Anne at holding in her excitement. “She doesn’t remember who turned her. Cathy thinks it’s Thomas, but you know how she is.”

Yes, Catalina does. Thomas may be responsible for a lot of things, but if he showed his face in this part of town, he’d probably find himself dismembered by his very angry ex-wife.

They reach the top of the staircase. Below them, on the ground level, Cathy is speaking quietly to – good Lord! That woman’s hair is pink! How is it that vibrant a shade?!

Anne gasps in delight. “A baby! You’ve found a little baby, Cathy!”

“I’m not a baby. I’m nineteen.”

“Exactly. Two-digit age. Baby.”

“I apologise for her conduct,” Catalina sighs. “Someone had a bit too much to drink, and she had too much of them. I am Catalina Trastámara de Aragón.”

“And I’m Anne. Sometimes.”

The girl blinks. Probably thrown off by that introduction. “Oh-kay. Uh, well, I’m Kat Howard. Katherine, actually, but you see how that will cause problems. I’m moving in with Cathy and Anna, and Anna thought it might be good to introduce myself.”

There is an image of vampires being solitary creatures, living in ruined castles and moping about in their every waking hour. It’s not untrue, but Catalina hated it when she had a go. Eternity? With no-one around her? What torture!

No. Ever since she found Jane sobbing in front of her own grave, since Anne had her chance encounter with a Spanish princess, she’s resolved never to be alone again. She shall, of course, extend that invitation to this new girl.

It’s practically her duty.

“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Kat.”

~~~

Vampires own nightclubs.

That makes sense, right? They only operate at night, they attract a crowd, many people there aren’t expecting to remember what happened there, only that they had a good time and feel terrible in the morning, if they make it that far.

Well, Anna doesn’t own a nightclub. She owns a chain of 24-hour off-licences. But, she can hypnotise the bouncer into letting them in, so that’s alright.

The music thrums in place of Kat’s heart as she watches the mass of bodies swaying and jumping with absolutely no sense of rhythm. Coloured lights flash, the DJ plies his trade, glasses clink and sweat permeates the air.

Anna is watching only her.

“See anyone?”

Kat scans the crowds, a grim expression on her face. “No-one looks particularly appetising.”

“Well, of course they don’t. We’re not looking for the cream of the crop here, we’re looking for someone who deserves it.”

Kat leans her head on her hand. Anna told her she could come to her for anything – so, Kat had, when she started to feel hungry again, and so Anna planned this little night out.

“There are two choices,” she’d said. “Either you pick someone out yourself, or you go mad with hunger and some other poor sod ends up like your boyfriend.”

“You’re sure of that?” Kat questioned.

“Oh, yeah. I speak from experience – I’ve always regretted what happened to the Duke of Lorraine…”

Anna had refused to say anything more about that.

Kat has… mixed feelings about what happened with Dereham. Okay, she’s horrified that she murdered him, but she doesn’t feel bad that she wiped that arrogant look from his eyes for a few seconds (before he, you know, died). He didn’t care that she was sick, didn’t answer her texts when she told him her reflection had vanished, or that she was bleeding from her eyes – and as soon as he got back from his work trip, he dragged her to a nightclub to ‘show her off’ and pretended nothing was wrong…!

…Okay, she’s getting a bit heated. The man’s funeral was three days ago. No point in holding a grudge, now.

“What about that one?”

Kat follows Anna’s gaze. A man is swaggering over to the bar with a confidence that nothing about him implies he’s earned. She gets the feeling this man used to be handsome, or liked, and no-one has told him otherwise just yet.

“Dunno. Maybe.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

Kat automatically bites her lip, before remembering that’s probably a bad idea now. She doesn’t want to be alone, exactly, but at the same time…

“Is it alright if you hang out slightly further away?” She asks. “If I need your help, I’ll laugh really loudly.”

Anna smiles in acknowledgement, nods, and wanders off. Kat might be wrong, but she seems almost gleeful.

Thankfully (or not), the once-handsome man notices her staring, and saunters over. Kat’s skin crawls.

“Hey.”

Kat gives a small, brief smile in return.

“You here alone?”

She risks a quick glance over to Anna – she still has an eye on her. Kat isn’t alone. “Yeah. Just… needed to get out, you know?”

“I do.” He smirks, points to himself. “Henry. You know Tudor Real Estate?” She does, and the man grins at the recognition she must be showing. “I’m the co-owner.”

Kat doesn’t want to say the wrong thing, but this guy has only a passing resemblance to the man on the ‘for sale’ signs.

“Must be an important job,” she tries.

“Very. My brother relies on me for a lot.” Oh, okay, he’s the brother. Wait, the brother she’d read articles about? The one who got acquitted last year? “Sometimes I just need to blow off some steam, you know? Have some fun. Speaking of, can I buy you a drink or two?”

Wow. That look in his eyes. He clearly hasn’t changed as much as the judge thought he had.

“I don’t drink… alcohol.”

He scoffs. “Listen. You heard how important I am, right? Nothing will happen to you without my say-so. We can have fun if you just let me help you.”

This man is made of red flags, isn’t he? A blind woman could see the warning signs. He’s a creep with overly-inflated self-esteem, seems to have spent his whole life getting everything he’s ever wanted…

And that means he’s perfect.

“I guess you’re right,” she says, quietly. She doesn’t have to fear his kind any more. “I am here for a good time. If you’re offering…”

Henry grins. “Anything you want, babe! Name it, and it’s yours!”

“Anything?” Money and connections won’t protect you from me.

“Anything at all, princess.”

“Hmm…” Kat makes a show of looking him up and down. Yes, this is the one. “Maybe we can take this somewhere private?”

Henry is clearly thrilled at the prospect. He grabs her hand, roughly (though Kat is sure she could break his arm if the need arose), and leans in close.

“I know just the place.”

He leads her away, to a location where there are no witnesses, no-one to save him. From across the club, Anna gives her a thumbs up.

Kat returns the gesture.

She comes in the front door with her phone in her hand. Henry has a Wikipedia page. Not very long, pretty much goes on about his brief stint in custody and that he’s Arthur Tudor’s brother.

Or, was. They might have to change the tense, soon.

Cath is on the sofa, chatting quietly with… Kat wants to say… Jane…? Yeah, Jane sounds right. She’s friendly enough, but always seems like she’s on her second-last nerve.

“How did it go?” Cath asks.

Anna grins. She’s been like this all night, and Kat feels conflicted about all the praise she’s received.“Oh, fantastic! Kat was a natural; that idiot fell for it hook, line, and sinker.”

“Turns out I have a vendetta against people who can’t take ‘no’ for an answer,” Kat adds.

Parr’s smile grows sharp, but her eyes still sparkle. “Well, there won’t be any shortage of those. Come, sit with us.”

So, Kat does. The things they speak of are so normal, Kat is initially confused. Jane’s gardening is a topic of discussion, as is Cath’s ever-expanding collection of stuff she finds interesting. When Jane asks about Kat’s “little slate-thing”, they both listen with rapt attention at her explanation of modern technology.

Kat had forgotten what it’s like to have people listen. It’s a shame she had to die to experience it.

~~~

“Yes, I’ve received a notice recently about outstanding bills owed – no, no, don’t shut off the – listen to me. The account has been paid in full. Enter that into the system. Okay, great. Thanks for that – no, no, everyone makes mistakes. Alright, bye.”

Anne hangs up. Great, power bills are sorted.

Contrary to popular opinion, she actually does do her share of work around the house. Yeah, the dishes are her least favourite task. Vampires shouldn’t have to do the dishes. But, that doesn’t stop her from helping in other ways.

She’s just about to start dialling the telephone company, when there is a knock at the door. Few are brave enough to do that at this place. As she stalks over, she wonders if it might a debt collector – if it is, that means she can have a snack, too.

The heavy oaken door swings open with an agonising creak, and the eyes of the figure on the other side glow in the evening gloom.

Oh, it’s that pink-haired girl. Katie, maybe? Anne can’t actually remember her name, and at this point she’s too afraid to ask.

“Hi.” The girl waves slightly. “Can I come in?”

Do you really want to? Anne thinks, but she says, “Uh, sure.”

With a sigh of relief, Kiara steps over the threshold.

“Apparently I called you a baby last time you were here,” Anne says. “Sorry about that. That’s not fair to you, and you don’t scare the shit out of me like an actual vampire infant would. But, I’m guessing you’re not here for an apology.”

Kitty smiles awkwardly. “Uh, no. I’m here to try and fix your computer. Um, the little television-box-thing you never use?”

“Oh! That! Yeah, I never knew how to get that thing working.”

“Yeah, no promises,” Kelly says, “but Jane thought it might help you… connect.”

That really gets Anne’s attention. She’s not surprised it was Jane who told her, because of the way Kim described the computer, but that part about connecting.

Anne wants honesty, for once. If Kat (that sounds right) is offering, she will take it.

To Anne’s surprise (and shame), Kat is able to get la machine infernale up and running in just a few minutes. She explains the mouse, the monitor, and the programs built into the operating system. The computer is not to get wet, nor is it to be fed. Do not sacrifice anything to it in an attempt to make it work properly.

Why Kat felt the need to include that instruction is a mystery, but it was probably necessary.

“Now, I had this whole speech with my step-grandma – back when I talked with my family – and I’ll give the same to you. Don’t believe everything you read on the internet. A lot of it’s lies, or personal opinion. On that note, not everyone you talk to is who they say they are. Don’t do things like send money or give out personal details if someone asks, and don’t meet with someone without people around.”

“Okay, I’m absolutely going to do that last one – but for the rest of them? Sure!”

Kat genuinely smiles. Wow, when was the last time Anne did that, and didn’t eat the person afterwards? Must have been ages, because it feels like she’s come across an oasis after months in a desert.

“So,” she goes on, “what exactly is the internet? I know I pay the bill for it -” ‘pay’ is a strong word - “but I don’t actually know what it entails.”

“Okay, well, you know… books?”

“Yes.”

“You know the television?”

“Yeeesss.”

“You know those coffee shops where people yelled at each other about philosophy, in the eighteenth century?”

“Yep, yep, yep.” Even though she was never invited, the sexist pricks.

“The internet is all of those things together,” Kat explains, “but worse.”

Anne gasps. “I love it already.”

The room is dark. No lights, curtains shut. The only source of light is the faint white glow of the monitor.

The internet is, as Kat had warned, a shitshow. Anne thinks it’s just the best thing. University professors and the lowest common denominator share the same spaces, and send vile, scathing messages to one another over fictional characters. Maybe she should do some research, just so she can play along. It’d be just like her days at court, getting one person at another’s throat, playing them off each other… ah, she misses that, if nothing else. It’s just not the same, now.

Oh, but then there are the videos. Little mortal Anne would never have thought it possible. What an idea! What awful and wonderful things humans create when they’re not being killed!

Anne’s exploration is interrupted when the light from the hallway fills the room.

“Ah. So you haven’t left.”

Catalina? Come to check on her? Anne turns – yes, it is her, likely wondering why her evening hasn’t been ruined yet. Or, maybe not. Anne has a terrible habit of putting words in other people’s mouths.

“You haven’t been downstairs this evening,” Her housemate continues. “Jane was worried about you.”

Anne doubts that’s true. Not that Jane doesn’t worry, she worries about almost everything (who cares if her teeth show when she smiles?), but she would be thrilled to know Anne is being quiet.

“Just looking at things,” Anne mumbles.

“Hm. Ominous. What ‘things’?”

Well, the best way to explain would be to show, right?

Anne plays the video. Normal night sky, a deep navy. Then, violet, then orange, and the fiery sun rises over the horizon, accented by the crimson heavens.

There’s a thump from behind her. Catalina has flattened herself against the opposite wall, eyes wide, fangs bared.

“I will not die so easily, Boleyn!” she snarls. “I’ve survived assassination attempts before, and I’ll do it again!”

“I’m not trying to kill you, girl! It’s a video! Do you almost die every time you put the sun in one of your paintings? Because that would be a much bigger problem than me showing you this.”

She presses the button to make the video play once more, and makes a show of standing in front of the screen, conspicuously not combusting.

Catalina stares at her. Then, at the monitor. She approaches, slowly.

“Can you make it go again?”

Anne does. The sun is reflected in Catalina’s eyes for the first time in over five hundred years.

“…I miss it, sometimes.”

Oh God, it’s happening, Anne thinks. Out loud, she says, “Miss what?”

“The sunrise.” From the sound of her voice, calm and quiet, Anne gets the impression Catalina’s not really here. “My home. My family. It doesn’t matter how far away I am, in years or in miles. They’re gone, and the name Trastámara means nothing.”

Oh, that’s it. Of course it is.

Anne did not what it was like to be a princess in the early 1400s, partially because she wasn’t born yet. She knows from her own experiences with Whatever the Fuck the Sun King Was Playing At that the nobility was constantly having to be perfect at all times; not even a twitch of emotion could play upon your face, even as you drain all your resources to support the near-impossible standards of fashion, or it could easily be all for naught.

She’s just been thinking, maybe, something like that might be why Catalina has the sort of aversion to talking about her emotions that would normally be reserved for holy symbols.

“Catalina. You’re not a princess anymore.”

Catalina sneers, all traces of vulnerability gone. “Yes, you have taunted me about that many times before.”

“Not a taunt.” Sometimes. “A reminder you no longer have to try and be perfect. I’m not gonna tell any peers of the realm if you feel sad sometimes.”

“So you feel the need to drive me to madness in the hopes I accept your view?”

Okay, so maybe Anne’s been a little coarse. In fairness, she tried passive-aggressive behaviour and it didn’t work. There’s a reason she goes after Catalina, and it’s not just because it’s easy.

Anne points to herself. “Unstoppable force.” To Catalina. “Immovable object. You move, I stop.”

“…Right. Okay.” A pause. “I know, logically, that you are right – about that particular thing. But, it makes me feel like I’m ignoring part of myself.”

“Just have the good without the bad. If the King of Spain has anything to say about it, kill him and rule the country as their immortal god-queen.”

“I would never be so rash,” Catalina huffs. “I’ll try. Just… don’t mock me for it. If I’m keeping at least one good thing about my life, it will be threatening anyone who insults me with imprisonment.”

“Yessssss…”

Both Anne and Catalina jump at the voice from outside the room. Anne acts first – she opens the door a crack, and sees Jane’s eye on the other side.

“You’ve been at it for two hundred years,” Jane says. “Two. Hundred. Years. I don’t care if you don’t get along straight away, let me have this.”

And, fearing her ire, they do.

~~~

Anna’s on the roof again.

There are two main reasons for this. One, her room is in the attic and it’s the easiest way out of the house. Two, it’s a good place to sit, look up at the stars (at least the ones you can still see, anyway) and think about things.

Kat is on her right, arms around her knees, looking up at the moon. Anna does not think she’s paying much attention to it, however.

“Whatcha thinking about?”

Kat doesn’t answer straight away. “Just how things are better.”

“…They are?”

“I’m living… uh, residing in a house with people I actually like. This is the first time that’s happened since I was about eight, I think.”

Wow. Anna hadn’t had a terribly good time when she was alive – no rights, no fun allowed, go marry some dude you’ve never even met, and no you can’t have fun then either – but Kat’s life might beat out Cathy’s hopeless search for love, in terms of tragedy.

“I cannot truly speak for you, but I have found this…” Anna waves her hands, trying to find the right way to put it, “whole thing to be very affirming. There is no-one to hold you down. No-one to stop you from doing what you like. Well, except priests, but they can be ignored, mostly.”

“You don’t brood about it too much?”

“Why would I? It’s the only reason I’ve been able to see the things I’ve seen. To be here, now, talking to you.” All because she told the wrong (or right) person about how bored she was. Of course she would accept the offer to have fun, even if the whole process wasn’t. “Do you?”

Kat stops to think again, so that’s a ‘yes’. “I’m still getting used to it. But, I don’t mind it. I’m not scared of the things I used to be afraid of. That’s good, right?”

“Sounds good to me. But, if you falter, that’s okay, too. We have supported Cathy, who was the youngest before you, we can do the same here – so long as you support us in turn.”

“Oh, yeah. She’s got that thing about finding the one.” How does Kat manage to fit so much bitterness in only two words? “Don’t get it. She’s got people who love her already. You, and those three around the corner. She doesn’t need them.”

“That’s a very good way of putting it, actually.” Anna’s argument against serious dating has been that three of the people Parr’s courted have tried to murder her, and her ex-husband technically succeeded. It hasn’t worked, but maybe a more positive viewpoint might win out against two centuries of stubbornness.

“Anna von Kleve.”

von Kleve looks down. Ah, speak of the devil. She’s on the balcony below them.

“Cathy! Kat has had some good thoughts about love!”

“Oh? How wonderful.”

She doesn’t seem like she thinks it is, though. She almost looks angry, with the hard eyes and pursed lips and the red-brown mottled book in her hand -

Oh no.

“I think, Anna,” Cathy intones, her voice sharper than any stake, “that we should talk about personal responsibility first.”

#the cradle will write #six the musical #not the historical figures #but that won't stop me making references to them

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aion-rsa · 3 years ago

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Fear Street Part 3: 1666 Ending Explained

https://ift.tt/3etXAqp

This article contains Fear Street Part Three: 1666 spoilers.

It never could be as simple as reuniting an ancient skeleton’s hand with its wrist, right? That became obvious last week when the Fear Street trilogy’s ostensible heroine Deena Johnson (Kiana Madeira) attempted to break the curse of Sarah Fier by attaching all missing appendages in the alleged witch’s grave… only to be warped to Shadyside’s early days in 1666.

Now in Fear Street Part Three: 1666, we’ve learned the full unholy breadth of Shadyside’s curse, as well as their sister township Sunnyvale’s good fortune—and it’s dark. Involving a perversion of all that is good(e), the curse that has taken so many beloved characters over the centuries turned out to be more twisted than perhaps anyone expected… but not for Sarah Fier, a victim of superstition and misogynistic zealotry. And in the end, Sarah got the last blood-curdling laugh. Here’s how.

Goode Men, Wicked Slaves

For all those who became suspicious last week of the recurring Goode family, your paranoia has been vindicated: that cop really is the Devil. Or at least he’s in service of the Dark One.

By traveling to 1666, Deena was able to walk around in Sarah Fier’s shoes and get a taste firsthand of what it’s like to be wrongfully accused of witchcraft by a Puritanical community (even if she inaccurately later describes them to be Pilgrims). As it turns out, Sarah was not a witch; she was merely the young woman who’s secret love for Hannah Miller (Olivia Scott Welch) caused a spurned suitor named Solomon Goode (Ashley Zukerman) to take umbrage. And as it so happens, Solomon was the one actually dabbling in the dark arts….

Aye, it was Solomon Goode who spilled his blood on Satan’s stone, beginning the process of offering “one name” and soul for demonic corruption in turn for good fortune for the Family Goode. When Sarah rejects his offer to join his unholy bargain with Black Phillip—and more vexingly takes offense over his severing her hand—Goode accuses Sarah for the black magic that’s bewitched Shadyside: the curse which caused a murderous minister to blind children!

Sarah hangs, but not before offering a curse of her own: She will get back at Goode one day and reverse his damnable curse. In the meantime—and at a cost of more than 300 years of functional blood sacrifices—Goode and his family profit from their deal with Old Nick. From father to son, the mainline of the Goode family tree teaches the dark ways to each successive generation, who every decade or so offers a new name and a new soul. The person selected for damnation then goes on a killing spree, spilling blood that the Devil apparently feeds on. Beelzebub in turn grants the Goode family and their Sunnyvale town ongoing prosperity. Hence why by 1994, Nick Goode (also Zukerman) is a corrupt police sheriff and his brother Matthew Goode is the mayor of Sunnyvale.

Meanwhile, Shadyside persists in squalor until….

Magic Blood?

The most satisfying twist of Fear Street Part Three is that halfway through, it becomes Fear Street: 1994 Part 2! To be honest the accents in the 1666 portion of the film were a little dicey, as was the, uh, lack of Puritanism in a film set amongst Puritans. So best to go back to the era of flannel and overalls!

When Deena returns to the ‘90s, she realizes that Sheriff Goode has offered the soul of her girlfriend Sam Fraser (also Welch) to the Devil so she’d kill Deena and keep the secrets of Sarah Fier’s shallow grave buried. And since they have Sam locked up at Ziggy’s house, that means all the Goode family’s damned minions are soon going to be after them. But our heroes come up with a pretty nifty plan.

Thanks to how they saw Shadyside’s collection of nightmares pursue Sam in Fear Street Part 1, Deena and her brother Josh (Benjamin Flores Jr.) deduce that the ghouls will be strictly after Deena’s blood—which low-key makes me wonder how the monsters have such genetic precision to distinguish Deena’s DNA from that of her brother’s. In any event, they team up with adult Ziggy (Gillian Jacobs) and Martin (Darrell Britt-Gibson) by offering the movie-stealing line of the night:

Josh: Wanna help us kill Sheriff Goode?

Martin: Let me get my coat.

The plan for getting it done is also initially pretty solid. They sneak into the Shadyside mall after hours—which just so happens to be built on the site of the Camp Nightwing massacre, which in turn is above where the Goode family’s Satan’s stone is buried beneath the earth—and have Deena cut her hand, dripping blood into a bucket. Then by combining that blood with green paint, they’re able to create cursed blood trails throughout the mall, with each trail leading into a different department store. When four of Deena’s pursuant boogeymen show up, our Scooby gang locks the monsters into their department stores and waits for Sheriff Goode to arrive and inspect the remains of his handiwork. Instead of mangled bodies, he finds his teenage crush Ziggy, now ready to dump blood on his head like Carrie references never went out of style.

It’s an elaborate plan which was built on the idea of unleashing all the ghouls intended to kill Deena on their own master. However, it might’ve just been simpler to shoot him. Oh well.

This final flourish of course goes horribly wrong but at least we get the fun sequence where the hapless heroes figure out they can delay the monsters by spraying each in Deena’s green blood, allowing for proxy fights between pseudo-Jason Voorhees and pseudo-Ghostface.

All Goode Things Come to an End

The actual resolution to this centuries-long terror turns out to be pretty simple. Deena follows Goode beneath the mall and to the Satan’s stone, as well as the literal unholy beating heart of the Goode family’s power. While she fails at stabbing the much bigger evil copper, she at least succeeds at running a knife through his power’s beating heart. It’s apparently as easy as that to undo the curse. It also allows the vengeful spirit of Sarah Fier to return from the dead and finally stab a Goode boy in the eye, sending him to Hell and Shadyside’s curse with him.

The plot’s mechanics are simple, but the implications are much more interesting. Because who else follows Nick and Deena toward the mouth of Hell but Sam, still possessed and now conveniently free of her restraints. She also attempts to thwart Deena and nearly kills her, yet Deena is able to make simple eye contact with her one great love and break through, shattering Satan’s grip.

It’s intriguing since, technically, we’ve seen Goode’s curse divide lovers before, with Tommy Slater (McCabe Slye) in Fear Street Part Two: 1978 not even hesitating to swing his axe into girlfriend Cindy’s heart. But then Deena and Sam’s love is strongly hinted at as being of a greater emotional purity. After all, Sam is clearly a descendant of Hannah Miller, the young woman whom Sarah Fier loved and saved from the noose by insisting that she alone was the witch of Shadyside, even bewitching poor Hannah into impure thoughts.

Are Deena and Sam the reincarnations of Sarah and Hannah? It’s possible, if even on a spiritual level since Sarah doesn’t appear to have any direct descendants. In any case, unlike so many slasher movies released between the 1970s and ‘90s, a lesbian romance is prominently featured at the center of this story, and is even the one redemptive light in Shadyside’s darkness.

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It also makes a striking juxtaposition next to Nick Goode’s dead body. This man might have been the current beneficiary of his ancestor’s bargain, but he represents something grimmer: the predatory nature of a society’s affluent feeding off the suffering and annual tragedies of their community’s underclasses. Sunnyvale flourished as a home for the wealthy while Shadyside wallowed in blood and trauma.

Kind of cuts deep the longer you think about it.

So… Who Took the Spell Book?

Of course this wouldn’t be an old school horror movie if it didn’t set up a sequel. Fear Street Part Three definitely offers resolution for its current narrative: Nick Goode is dead and exposed in the press as the Sunnyvale serial killer; Josh, meanwhile, may yet have his first girlfriend; and Deena and Sam are together, honoring Sarah Fier, if no one else will.

But beneath the reopened Shadyside Mall, we glimpse the book of black magic that Solomon Goode first used to make his pact, and a pair of hands belonging to an unseen face snatch it. Who stole the book and what are they up to?

Well, it’s worth noting that the Goode family has grown quite a bit in the 300-plus years since Solomon Goode accused Sarah Fier of witchery. Nick Goode appears to be the eldest son in the direct line. He’s the one taught the spells onscreen, and the boy who reads out Thomas Slater’s name—ironically in a bid to wrestle him away from Ziggy. However, just because Nick Goode is the one who damned Tommy and Ryan Torres in the last two Fear Street movies, it does not mean he was working alone.

Despite what Mayor Goode told the press about his brother, he almost certainly knew about his father and forefathers’ good work, as would the rest of the extended family. And here’s the thing…it will be so much harder next time for Deena (or, say, a new generation of millennial Shadysiders in the 2000s) to fight city hall. There’s also the likelihood that there’s more than one curse in that book of spells.

The Fear Street trilogy is over. The Fear Street shared universe may have only just begun.

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lawrenceop · 5 years ago

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Painting the Paschal Candle

Why paint my own candle?

The thought of painting the Paschal Candle for the Rosary Shrine in London, where I currenly am based, first came to me at the beginning of the year. I wanted to have a candle with the Rosary Shrine coat-of-arms, and I thought at first that I should commission a professional painter to do it; looking at the designs in the religious goods catalogues only convinced me that only a custom-designed candle would satisfy me. However, I knew a few friends who had painted their own, and I enjoyed the idea of coming up with my own design. The only problem was that I hadn’t picked up a brush to paint anything since I left secondary school, almost three decades ago! So, I ordered two Paschal candles so that if I made a mistake with one, I had an alternative candle with a ready made design!

Materials I needed

A little research online, and a few discussions with Facebook friends ascertained that I needed acrylic paints including gold and silver acrylic paints and some wax pens. To these, I would need to add an acrylic paint binder which helps the water-based acrylic paint to bond with the wax surface of the candle. And finally I needed to trace a pattern onto the candle. For this I bought carbon paper and an embossing tool.

Design: Cosmati and the Cosmos

From the outset, I knew I wanted a candle with designs inspired by the artwork of the great Christian basilicas of Rome. I gave some consideration to a design inspired by the Lindisfarne Gospels, but thought this was too complex and ambitious. At another point, I thought of an icon of Christ emerging from the tomb and trampling the coronavirus underfoot! But I thought that it unwise for a beginner like me to try any figural work lest my depiction of the Lord become like the ‘Monkey Christ’ of Borja! So, I returned to the medieval designs that have long inspired me: Cosmatesque patterns.

Named after the Cosmati family, Cosmatesque patterns are sometimes called ‘opus alexandrinum’, perhaps because they originated in Alexandria. The geometric designs are certainly of Greek and Byzantine origins, and they’re first seen in the Western Church in the 11th century. According to Leo of Ostia, the abbot of Monte Cassino (the influential abbey founded St Benedict) “sent envoys to Constantinople to hire men who were experts in the art of laying mosaics and pavements”, and thus the transfer of knowledge about these Eastern patterns and designs came to the West. Cosmati work flourished in the 12th and 13th-centuries predominantly in Rome, but examples of Cosmatesque work are found throughout Italy, and even in Westminster Abbey in London. Its ‘Great Pavement’ was installed in 1268 on the sacred site where the monarch is crowned. Indeed, Cosmati work is costly, precious, and thus restricted to the most important of churches, often those associated with royalty or the papacy.

The stones used for laying the mosaic designs are almost always recycled from classical Roman sources, and two precious stones, coloured green and purple, feature in their design. Green porphyry was called Lapis Lacedaemonius by the Romans, and it came from quarries near Sparta in the Greek Peloponnese and was quarried from the Bronze Age until around the 5th century AD. The even rarer purple ‘Imperial Porphyry’, which was reserved to the Roman and Byzantine Emperors, comes from quarries at Mons Porphyrites in the Gebel Dokhan of Egypt’s Eastern Desert, quarried from the 1st century AD until the 5th century. Hence, by the time the Cormati family were active in Italy, green and purple porphyry were antiques that were no longer being quarried. The Cosmati pavements, therefore, accentuate and set off roundels of this legendary stone recycled from Roman spolia.

Cosmati designs generally have two geometric patterns: interlaced circular bands called guilloche, and which are said to represent the Resurrection, perhaps because they form a series of infinity loops; and secondly, the quincunx, which is a central circle surrounded by four circles. The quincunx is an ancient symbol, reminiscent of the Greek cross, which stands for the cosmos or an ordered universe. The Cosmatesque quincunx, moreover, with its triangular mosaics inlaid into the whirling circular pattern stands for the created world. As Galileo wrote: “The book of nature is written in the language of mathematics, and its letters are triangles, circles and other geometrical figures.” Hence, at Westminster Abbey, the Great Pavement uniquely had an inscription around the central quincunx design that referred to it as representing “the eternal pattern of the universe”.

At the centre of the Paschal candle, therefore, I placed a Cosmatesque quincunx, with triangles of green and purple around roundels of green and purple, evocative of imperial porphyry. I looked online for a design that could be easily traced, and printed this out, put the carbon paper on the candle, and then traced over this design with the embossing tool.

At first, I had intended to draw a cross in the central circle, and then, on the other four circles, I wanted to draw the ‘Alpha’ and ‘Omega’, and the year in Arabic numerals: ‘20′ - ‘20′. However, it was only after I had painted the quincunx that I recalled that the five incense grains would have to pierce these five circles, thus obscuring these symbols. So, an alternative solution had to be found! Incidentally, the five incense grains stand for the wounds of Christ, or the nails that pierced his body. I bought these golden pine-cones of wax from Italy, where they’re commonly used to pierce the Paschal candle – rather different from the brass pins we’re accustomed to in England, but they seem to work very well with this candle, and they add to the Romanitas of the design.

It was fitting, then, that this quincunx at the centre of the Paschal candle stand for the Cross of Christ, and for his Five Wounds – an observation made by James Joyce concerning the quincunx symbol. However, the quincunx is a rich symbol: as we’ve seen it also stands for the whole created order, which is now redeemed and transformed by the Risen Christ; or it stands for Christ in majesty surrounded by his four evangelists; or for the four Platonic elements of creation (fire, water, earth, and air) with the fifth element in the centre being aether, the Aristotelian quintessence. This design, therefore, signifies that all of creation is raised up and renewed by Christ rising from the dead; the whole cosmos is subjected to the imperial Christ, and resounds with the joy of his Gospel.

Our Lady’s Rosary and the Paschal Lamb

Having decided on the central cross-shaped quincunx, I knew I needed two more roundels that I wanted to add to lenghten the overall design. At the bottom would go the emblem of the Rosary Shrine, which is the monogram of the Blessed Virgin Mary surrounded by the Rosary.

I needed another emblem that would balance this at the top, and I chose the Lamb of God, a symbol of the Risen Lord. As St Paul says: “Christ, our Passover Lamb, has been sacrificed for us” (1 Cor 5:7), and this text is used in the Communion chant of Easter Sunday.

I searched for a medieval design of the Paschal lamb, and found this beautiful example on the ‘Cruz de Bagergue’ that dates from 1200. The Paschal lamb carries a flag featuring a red-cross on a white field, which is traditionally used as an emblem of the Resurrection, but it also conveniently looks like the flag of St George, i.e., the flag of England, which is the land now rededicated as Our Lady’s Dowry!

Alpha & Omega

However, what about the requisite signs on a Paschal candle? we needed a cross, and an Alpha, an Omega, and the numerals for this current calendar year. First, I painted a Greek cross in the central circle of the quincunx, using the alternating black and white Cross of the Dominican Order. But I fashioned it as a Greek cross, and around this I wrote the Greek letters IC XC NIKA. This emblem, called the Greek Christogram, has been in use since the 8th century, and it was found throughout Byzantium, notably on imperial coinage. It is a reference to the victory of Constantine at the Milvian Bridge in 312, and the Greek letters spell out: “Jesus Christ Conquers” i.e. through his Cross. By the 9th-century this emblem was believed to be apotropaic, that is to say, it is believed to have the power to drive away evil.

Continuing to be inspired by Byzantine art, I looked to examples of Crosses which had an Alpha and an Omega, the Greek letters for the Beginning and the End (cf Rev 22:13) hanging from them. The Altar Cross in Westminster Cathedral notably has these letters of the Greek alphabet hanging from its arms, and I researched and found medieval engravings and medallions with the same device. However, in all the old Byzantine images, the Omega was drawn not with the uppercase Ω but rather the lowercase ω. So, on the Paschal candle, I drew two jewelled Greek letters, the uppercase A and the lowercase ω suspended from the Cross-shaped quincunx. Following on from this, it seemed best to put the date above these, but rather than to write the date in Arabic numerals (2020), I opted to stay with the Roman-Byzantine theme, and so I chose the neat Roman numerals (MMXX), inscriped above the horizontal roundels of the quincunx.

Flora and Beasts

Finally, I decided to add a few small elements to the candle so that not everything was centred around the middle portion of the candle. Near the top, I painted some bees, and then I added some to the bottom as well. Why bees? This is again a classical reference: Virgil, too, praised the industry and society of bees, and the Exsultet, which dates to at least the 4th century, says this concerning the Paschal candle:

“On this, your night of grace, O holy Father, accept this candle, a solemn offering, the work of bees and of your servants’ hands, an evening sacrifice of praise, this gift from your most holy Church. But now we know the praises of this pillar, which glowing fire ignites for God’s honour, a fire into many flames divided, yet never dimmed by sharing of its light, for it is fed by melting wax, drawn out by mother bees to build a torch so precious.”

Where there are bees, there ought to be flowers, so I added a few pink flowers, a reference to the cherry blossom (sakura 桜) which appear at this time, and which the Japanese enjoying viewing in the Spring (called hanami 花見), as a meditation on transience and impermanence, and the fleetingness of beauty. The exercise of painting the candle, I realised, is an exercise in detachment and impermanence because I would also come to sit in church, watching the candle burn down over the course of the year, and so consume and destroy that which I had painted. Sic transit gloria mundi!

Finally, I added a skep, the medieval bell-shaped hive made from coiled straw developed by apiculturists, and the hive is dripping with golden honey. It seemed fitting that the bees should have a place to live, and that their hive should be of the kind commonplace in Europe during the time that the Cosmati family engaged in their particular golden industry.

And then, as a little personal indulgence, I added a portrait of my beloved priory cat Felix. First consulting a book of ‘Cats in Medieval Manuscripts’, I adapted an illustration from the ‘Luttrell Psalter’, c.1325-35, and gave the cat the same colouring and pattern as Felix, who has a fine coat that looks like a Dominican habit. Felix has quite a penchant for sweet things – even though he’s not allowed them – and I am sure he’d love some honey, towards which he’s shown extending his paw.

Technique

I wanted to avoid seeing brush stokes in the quincunx, so I learnt to dab my brush rather than just paint it in broad strokes. I realised that I didn’t need a lot of paint - often a pea-sized blob would suffice, with an equal sized blob of the acrylic binder: mix these well, and then, let it dry a little; the less wet the paint, the easier it was to paint on the wax. I learnt that, with acrylics, if one made a mistake, one could easily run over it with a wet brush, and the water washed away the paint like an eraser. As time went on, I rather enjoyed painting the candle, and it took me about 2 hours a day for 5 days, which is far quicker than I had expected.

Final Reflections

As Providence would have it, I began work on the Paschal candle on the Monday of Passiontide. By that time, public Masses had ceased because of the coronavirus pandemic, and then, having more time on my hands, this project became a Godsend because it gave me something to focus on; it took my mind off the worries of the present moment. Painting the candle became an act of love, something beautiful and devotional that I could do for God and for the sacred Liturgy; it became a prayer, and indeed, I would pray as I painted the Rosary, or the Paschal Lamb. Finally, on Easter night, I pierced the quincunx with the wax pine-cones of encased incense, and then I saw it lit and raised high on the Paschal candle stand. And then, I was privileged to be the first to incense the candle, and then, to sing the Exsultet that praised God for it, asking that its

“flame be found still burning by the Morning Star: the one Morning Star who never sets, Christ your Son, who, coming back from death's domain, has shed his peaceful light on humanity, and lives and reigns for ever and ever.”

Amen.

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pattyimarquez · 4 years ago

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hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger · 5 years ago

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Amazing Mary Jane #1 Thoughts

Apologies for not getting to this, or indeed other of the recent comics sooner. I’ve felt unwell recently and had computer troubles which conspired to delay my reading and writing up about this.

As such this is possibly going to not be as nitty gritty as I maybe usually would do as I’m going off memories a bit.

TL:DR version is, it’s good with one, albeit notable, flaw.

And Hell let me get that out of the way immediately.

Why...isn’t Mary Jane informing Peter that she’s working alongside a bunch of criminals?

Now look...I’m willing to give the story and Leah Williams the benefit of the doubt. MAYBE Mary Jane is playing a long game here or something. But if she’s not...I mean...that’s kind of a big problem with the story isn’t it?

MJ is allowing actual criminals, including Mysterio, to roam free. Worse she’s arguably doing that because she wants to make the movie and have it be a success but...isn’t that rather irresponsible and selfish, to say nothing of dangerous to herself. Of course MJ is a bad ass and can handle herself. But she is literally surrounded by criminals including a guy who Spidey usually only beats because he has a magical danger sense to help him out. Unless she engages in some Batman levels of cunning she wouldn’t realistically survive this situation.

Now again MAYBE there is something more going on, I very much hope so and am waiting eagerly to see that, but if there isn’t it’s going to be a huge thing working against this series quality.

However apart from that literally everything else was firing on all cylinders.

It’s difficult to do anything other than gush.

First of all the artwork is fantastic. It’s like if Todd Nauch and Ramos had a kid and it looked stylized like Ramos but also how people should look like Nauck.

The characterization, exempting the one thing I spoke about, was also very much on point. I can’t recall Mysterio and MJ ever interacting much (if ever) before but the idea practically writes itself, it’s such a natural pairing!

The gag about being insured was great and clearly drawn from Leah Williams past experience in that business, I hope we get more of that.

MJ herself is presented very well. She’s confident, she’s serious, she’s determined, but also fun, upbeat and has dashes of goofiness and flirtation (with Peter I mean).

So far, so good Williams seems to have a strong grasp on her character (again sans that ONE problem I noted).

I especially liked how Mysterio wasn’t a typical thuggish villain like you’d imagine Scorpion or Electro being. For instance rather than make inappropriate remarks regarding MJ as the likes of Crusher Creel might do, he actually gets angry at the idea that she used sex to get her part. But here is the nuance in Williams writing. Because whilst it’d be typical to make Mysterio a thuggish villain like Rhino or Sandman or Electro, in it’s own way it also would’ve been typical to have made him a pseudo chivalrous villain who doesn’t tolerate sexism. Instead she sets that up but then veers to the side as Mysterio is actually angry at the idea that HE could be manipulated by sex (or ‘womanly wiles’ as he puts it) thus making Mysterio atypical but still most definitely a villain.

The idea of Mysterio as the ‘artiste’ of the Spidey rogues has been milked very effectively starting with Spencer’s run and the idea that he and MJ could honestly connect through their passion for their art is a great bit of character writing. It tells us a little about who Mysterio is whilst also demonstrating MJ’s own social skills. Peter and Mysterio could never get along this way, and I know that because they started to in Webspinners #1 (which Mysterio’s movie is based upon btw) but the conversation got awkward and they walked away from one another.

Other stuff I liked was the subversion of expectations. I walked into this believing the plot would likely be that about us readers fearing for MJ as she didn’t realize who she was working for and thus how much danger she was in. But Williams simply had MJ figure that out almost immediately and now, besides the Savage Six, we don’t know where things are going to go and that’s a good thing.

By the way, isn’t it great that this is a story where yes MJ’s association with Spider-Man has led MJ into working with one of his enemies and arguably being exposed to danger from him, but she herself deduces that, then chooses to continue taking that risk and isn’t bothered by it? The real danger is coming from Mysterio’s enemies not Peter’s (okay they are technically Peter’s enemies too but you see what I mean). Literally just 2 years ago this would’ve been fuel for the ‘see they can’t be together because it’s too dangerous for her’ jackasses like Slott.

Now it should go without saying (but I will say it anyway) that the PeterxMJ scenes were delightful.

For a split second was thinking phone sex isn’t really in character for Spider-Man. But then I thought you know...MJ has in the past had the effect of loosening him up (see every kinky 90s thing artists did with them) and you could arguably say they were being somewhat ironic anyway. Of course the shipper in me liked it all the same. As I did with the 20 second dance party which I suspect will be trotted out many times in years to come within the MJ fan community. Appropriately it was referenced in the same scene as her crowing moment of awesome, the Chameleon (who appeared in ASM the same day) baseball bat incident. Williams knows her shit it seems!

Now there is one other thing I feel I should talk about.

There was a rather lengthy scene regarding the writing of MJ’s character that was clearly intended to be meta commentary upon the portrayal of female characters.

The question is what specifically was Williams passing commentary on?

How Mary Jane has usually been written?

How she has usually been written until this solo book of her’s?

How women in comics are usually written?

Or how women in films/comic book movies are portrayed?

I’m not sure. I think if it’s options 1 or 2 that’s rather unfair and not really looking at the nuance of the character.

But to be honest looking at this book and Williams’ own comments regarding MJ in interviews prior to this book’s release I don’t buy that. Williams’ comments combined with some of the deepcut continuity she references here doesn’t paint her as someone who thinks MJ is underdeveloped or who’s only purpose in the story is to serve Spider-Man’s story. Indeed any MJ fan worth their salt is aware that part of what made MJ successful and popular to begin with in the 1960s was that she precisely DIDN’T do that.

As such I think options 3 or much more pressingly option 4 is what Williams is commenting upon.

The condensed nature of comic book films mean that it’s a rarity for characters beyond the lead or the villains to get much of their own stories to play out. This is certainly the case with Michelle in the MCU Spider-Man movies and Emma Stone in the Webb movies. But curiously less the case with Dunst’s Mary Jane.

Let’s also consider that this story was promoted as talking about the movie business, something Williams has insider knowledge of and thus it makes sense she’s commenting upon and satirizing that as opposed to comic books (hence we got that insurance gag early on).

In a sense you could say she’s using Mary Jane as a (logical and entirely in character) mouthpiece to comment upon how female characters in movies like Mysterio’s are more like Gwen Stacy but should be more like her, Mary Jane.

Although I must admit the dialogue where they talk about her character int he movie lacking powers and such did confuse me. I didn’t get that.

So over all...yeah...this was great. Again there is one notable problem I hope gets addressed before everything is said and done but in every other way this thing is scoring touchdowns all the way.

Buy it!

Buy 2 copies!

Buy 2 copies and some variants, then get the digital edition and pre-order the trade!

P.S. Thanks to this new comic I learned a new word! Ingenue, gotta find a way to slip that into conversation some time.

#Amazing Mary Jane #Leah Williams #mjwatsonedit #Mary Jane Watson #Mary Jane Watson Parker #mj watson #Mysterio #quinten beck #Vulture #the vulture #adrian toomes #Spider-Man #Peter Parker

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eidolonlathi · 5 years ago

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Chapter 78 and the Current State of Tanaka

Chapter 78 directed light on certain issues that have been festering in the plot since a while and it’s not a pretty sight. Tanaka should stop making himself miserable and return to Sato’s side because that’s obviously what he wants. But being all talk and no action he won’t even be able admitting this to himself. He convinced himself so thoroughly that all of his less favourable urges don’t really belong to him but were instead installed by Sato that he’ll continue lying to himself. Just like he can’t admit to himself he doesn’t truly care about ajin rights either, but simply prioritizes getting outside validation for his years of torments the most. It’s a need that brought him nothing but misery that far.

And it’s all rooted in him being unable to accept being an ajin, still so deeply repulsed by his own identity, craving to be viewed as an equal by the exact same humans who met him with indifference at best and unhidden disgust the worst. Tanaka’s former suffering doesn’t elevate him above other ajin and it is not making him better than them, even though his words towards the ministry official during the Iruma meeting indicated as much: Eager in his urge to be seen equal with humans, ready to dismiss and outright deny the importance of the man who saved him from years of a living hell (regardless of his motives, Sato is still the only one who made an effort to free Tanaka from the laboratory) and in the same breathe admitting not to care about fellow ajin who face the danger of getting the same mistreatment he endured should they get caught. In his rage not even being able to grasp why continuing to dismiss the concerns and opinions of his (former) comrades and even outright endangering them by forcing them to get caught up in his sudden whims (not even allowing them to bring guns as self-defence to the Iruma meeting? Really?), dismissing on his own what the group had previously agreed upon, would eventually let them deeming him unreliable. (And in Sato’s case, Tanaka threatening him with a gun during Forge operation, unprovoked. It would need a mind as entitled as Tanaka’s to deem it a betrayal he’d eventually would have to face consequences for continuing to act this hostile towards people supposed to be his comrades.) Tanaka made it clear his priorities lie with humans now instead with his fellow endanger ajin. It is little surprise they let him wander into the arms of the humans whose validation he craves above all else and were happy to leave him there.

All Tanaka is able to do is trying to force his will upon others. Be it pressuring his former comrades into his whim du jour or trying to convince above mentioned minister into going along with the narrative that the only ajin worthy of consideration is Tanaka and no one else. (Where was Kei in Tanaka’s angry demands? Didn’t even cross his mind. And that though Kei suffered just as innocently and unfairly at the ministry’s hands who put him through torture as well. But then, deep down Tanaka really doesn’t care about ajin rights, it’s a good sounding screen to hide he only cares about Tanaka rights.)

In hindsight I’m convinced what shook Tanaka the most when finding out Sato’s group had dropped him and went to Iruma base, was not that Sato intended to continue causing bloodshed and leaving Tanaka behind. But that being dismissed by his former comrades was demonstrating that Tanaka is not nearly as important as he claimed himself to be mere seconds ago, when trying to convince the minister that the only ajin of importance is Tanaka. His behaviour until now made it clear he expects getting special treatment while at the same time isn’t deeming it necessary to meet people with even half of the respect he demands (think of all the times he met Takahashi and Gen with unhidden contempt, the smallest annoyance towards them used as a justification to make it clear he views them as way below him). Experiencing people getting fed up with this behaviour, seeing them unwilling to give him the special status he sees as his right and instead willing to drop him once he had made clear he deemed their common enemy more worthy of consideration and respect than them, this was an offence to his pride his inflated ego didn’t even see coming, hence him breaking down.

Force was also the only way he finally coerced an apology out from one of the people he deemed to have wronged him. There’s a reason secretary Li stopped occupying his thoughts the moment she was out of his sight again. Pressuring a target he put on the hit list of his former tormentors himself into a desperate apology while she was fearing for her life must have felt good the first few moments. Given she was not a responsible or driving force in his torture, her only sin being that she was too frightened to go against more powerful higher ups who had forced her into complicity, it must have felt easy to condescendingly allowing her to repent. But then, exactly her comparative insignificance must have been the reason matters soon felt stale and Tanaka yearned for apologies given by people he deemed more important: After all what's the worth of an apology forced out of an unarmed and frightened woman held at gunpoint? For people driven so brutally by outside validation like him, not much.

And I don't see him getting any kind of closure with the way he conveniently keeps shifting responsibility. Secretary Li having enabled the mistreatment of him no longer deemed the problem, Tanaka was quick to put the blame on Sato instead. Clearly all that bitterness and hate Tanaka felt towards the humans putting him through torture couldn’t have originated in a person as upright as him (a person deserving so much to get acknowledged as a fellow human by his previous abusers, deserving so much to leave the horrid label of ajin behind), clearly it must have been no one but Sato installing those impure thoughts in him and making him act upon then. Lying about his intrinsic motivations worked as long as chapter 78 made him face again the man who saved him from years of torment (where were Tanaka's precious humans while he was suffering torture and experiment? - certainly not busy rescuing him), getting reminded so strongly of the good facets of the person he tried hating so much that this short meeting was already enough to render him static. Proving once again Tanaka is all talk but no action. It also strengthened the impression that for manga!Tanaka it’s more important to show a flawless picture towards the outside world, towards the people he cares to impress than to follow any inner values he deems important.

It was no coincidence it was Izumi made unable to act by Sato during that tense moment during chapter 78 and not Tanaka, Sato immediately recognizing her for the threat she is as soon as a situation gets serious. It is also no coincidence Izumi in the meanwhile accepts the second chance Tosaki gave her during her situation most dire, unlike Tanaka not denying her conflicting feelings, deciding despite Tosaki’s past mistreatment of her that she wants to continue cooperating with him regardless: Listening to what her inner self deems right to do instead of getting tangled up with outside expectations. (Outside expectations like Tanaka not so long ago trying to shame her for cooperating with the same side he now deems useful enough helping him to enforce the revenge his hurt ego is making him persue in a blind rage. Though I doubt she will be allowed to say to Tanaka as much. Reduced to nurse and prop she is still allowed to scowl angrily at him but isn't here now for critic but for most empathetic shoulder pats only. Why is it only Tanaka deemed worthy of sympathy anyway? Other ajin (and humans) are threatened in their safety as well. You know Takahashi isn't getting an ounce of that sympathy for just having lost Gen and for all we know being on the way of becoming a lab test specimen himself - But of course him being portrayed as nihilistic drug addict in favour of Sato's methods was supposed to signal to the reader that he never was worthy of sympathy to begin with.)

From a reader's perspective this shift is a tragedy as well. The plot point with Tanaka going against Sato could have been handled well, an interesting contrast to how Izumi decided to adapt to her similar situation with Tosaki, a contrast to her having chosen cooperation and feeling content to stay at Tosaki’s side. But with the manga trying to gradually erase more and more of its grey scale in favour of painting a clear side of who is officially deemed good and who bad, this portrayal of declaring Tanaka's self-righteous anger as justified while casting Sato as the mere baddie (with all his previous nuance and better sides erased or in the meanwhile rendered invalid), this depiction fails to keep up the tension in the storytelling. Nothing at stakes anymore, just the question when and how the character this story declared biggest of its numerous antagonists will get taken down by team no-longer-grey-but-good-because-manga-told-readers-so.

Anime!Tanaka was eventually able to grow into his role, overcoming his insecurities instead of getting ruled by them and also felt pride about his identity as an ajin since the beginning. This fundamental different approach to his situation and the ability to view himself with sincerity also allowed him to have a honest view on himself when the time had come to decide sides, him recognizing staying with Sato and staying true to his nature as an ajin was making him happiest: Validating him by letting him make his own choice instead of relying on outside opinions.

Given manga!Tanaka’s intrinsic values were different and more convoluted from the beginning, I see him as having gotten too lost to even see his own likes and dislikes anymore. And contrary to what he wants to make himself and others believe, this had never been caused by Sato putting a nebulous control over him but from the beginning had been a motivation rooted in Tanaka's own inner self.

#ajin #tanaka kouji #satou #shimomura izumi #nagai kei #naomi li #eidolonlathi writes #lathi writes ajin

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utterlyhopeful-fics · 6 years ago

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The Bet~ Part II

@kscarlett1 was 100% my motivation for this chapter! I think there might be more to this story and an SOA crossover and I’m geekin y’all. Enjoy!

The Bet~ Part I

***************************************************************

Me llamo Obispo. Yo soy el presidente. Welcome amiga nuevo: My name is Bishop. I’m the president. Welcome new friend.

Me nombre es Y/N. Mucho gusto: My name is Y/N. Nice to meet you.

Igualmente: Likewise

Days idled in to two aching weeks of radio silence and it was quickly beginning to chip away at Bishop leaving him restless, jumpy, and downright miserable. The checkered tile felt cool beneath his bare feet as sat by his lonesome in their kitchen twisting the label off the presently empty beer bottle.

His sigh echoed deafeningly noisy almost like all the peacefulness had left when Y/N did. All of her belongings still remained in their rightful home as he wondered just how long this charade could last.

Bishop sluggishly walked to the fridge, grabbing another beer before reaching for the half empty tequila bottle, he kept stashed underneath the sink. Emergency purposes only, how properly fitting. He staggered back to his chair before collapsing into his original spot, the spot he intended to waste the day in while hopefully drowning his many sorrows.

His lids closed as his brain traveled back to the fateful day that would eventually fuck up everything.

*Flashback- One Year Ago*

Riz dealt another hand of Poker as Coco, Angel, and Bishop rallied up to the table all intent on winning. After the not so pleasant meeting with Miguel earlier in the afternoon, all members were tittering on the edge, silenced into submission after their latest threat. Miguel fucking Galindo would guarantee the death of their club, but most certainly to their integrity or at least what was left of it.

Everyone glanced at the cards displayed to its designated owner before Angel spoke up; “This only applies to one moron at this table, and yes, I’m talkin bout you Coco; no fucking card counting you prick.”

Coco counter smirked unwilling to confirm nor deny his brother’s suspicions.

“Whatever you say, amigo.”

The game continued smoothly for the next hour before Riz finally braved the sentence no one was willing to speak.

“How the fuck we gonna get out of this one, Pres?”

Bishop exhaled; unsure of how to comfort his brothers and pep their spirits, but the words never found him.

“No more talk of work for the rest of the evening. Got it?”

All nodded in agreement going forth with the festivities surrounding them. Bishop skimmed the crowded room. The bass of the music pulsated around him, the sound of women’s laughter filled the air as the party started to get into full swing.

Until he noticed the stunning figure sitting by her lonesome at the disheveled bar; her body swaying to the current beat, her emerald eyes closed with a blissful smile painted upon her lips. She looked like heaven; beautiful to admire and way out of his league, but he loved a challenge.

“Say boys…does anybody know the broad sitting at the bar?”

All eyes guided towards the stranger’s direction admiring the beauty thankfully clueless to their gawking. Suddenly Coco’s cleared his voice, his attention focused on the current cards in his hand; “Her name’s Y/N. She used to be an Old Lady for the Sons.”

“That doesn’t explain why she’s here tonight in Mayans territory now does it?” Bishop’s tolerance began to flounder, his impatience clearly nearing the finish line.

“She’s works at Santo Padre Hospital as the newest Chief of Cardio…or so I’ve heard.”

Angel’s eyebrow raised slightly staring at Coco quizzically; “How the fuck do you know all this shit? You stalking this girl, bro?”

Coco leaned closer lowering his tone trapping the curious men beside him.

“Get this. She just so happens to be Vicki’s niece hence why she is here tonight.”

“Jesus, she’s one fine piece of ass.”

Bishop coldly stared at Angel’s now frightened expression; “If I’ve taught you one thing in all the years of being graced with my company, it is always to treat a lady with respect. Chicks dig the gentlemen, I’m tellin you.”

Angel was alit with drunken charm as the next sentence tumbled from his lips; “Said the man who got laid last when…?”

“I’d be real careful if I were your squirt. Tonight, is not the night to be checky with me, do I make myself clear?”

Luckily Angel had the brain power to know when to halt his shenanigans and silently complied with his president’s request.

Enough with this shit. Bishop threw his remaining cards down overwhelmed and abruptly out of breath.

“I’m going outside for some fresh air. Deal me out, I’m done boys.”

As Bishop made his way towards the exit, he braved a glance over his shoulder towards Y/N surprisingly locking eyes before she looked back at the woman now occupying the empty seat beside her.

Bishop reached the porch in no time, scurrying for his pack of lights only to be disappointed to find empty pockets and quarters. His head tilted back, eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he tiredly groaned, rubbing his hands over his face in defeat.

Before his pity became all-consuming, Bishop’s neck hair stood on edge alerting him of someone else’s presence as he heard a quiet ‘Hey’. He turned to follow the melodic voice, she was even more gorgeous up close.

“I think I can be of assistance.” Y/N combed her blonde hair behind her ears revealing a cigarette tucked away and handed it to the handsome man sitting alone.

“You don’t strike me as a smoker but today has definitely not been my day.”

“I’m not. It was kinda forced upon her, hence the hiding spot.” She chuckled at her own joke accidentally releasing a snort. She reached to cover her mouth embarrassed at the sound her body created, but Bishop Losa lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Me llamo Obispo. Yo soy el presidente. Welcome amiga nuevo.”

“Me nombre es Y/N. Mucho gusto.”

“Igualmente. What brings you to this part of town, bonita?”

“Ah, already with the names. I thought you would be different…less unpredictable.”

“Lo siento mucho. I must admit it was even a little sleazy for me too. I guarantee you it won’t happen again, maybe.”

“All is forgiven. Um, long story short. My marriage was in shambles, my home didn’t feel like home any longer, and this was a badass job opportunity. I’m a doctor, heart doctor to be exact.”

“How did I get so lucky to be in the company of a genius, especially one as interesting as yourself.”

“Some people are just blessed, ya know?” He had never seen a smile as lovely as Y/N’s but he knew it could make a rainy day entertaining.

Bishop took a long drag of his almost finished cigarette embracing the finality of the ticklish burn in his throat. Y/N was too busy gazing at the stars momentarily distracting her. Bishop decided to break their bubble of peace; “I better be heading back inside. Gotta keep these guys in line.”

“You have a rowdy crew on your hands but a loyal bunch. Lucky you.”

“It was really nice meeting you. Hopefully, I’ll see you around?”

“Who knows what the future has in store? The odds might be switching in your favor.”

She extended her hand to shake his just as lightening simmered between them slowly before becoming electrifying. Simultaneously, they both pulled away finding each other’s eyes. Bishop broke eye contact first and began the minor trek back inside, his nerves tingling as he shook his fingers. What the hell just happened?

“Hasta luego.”

“Ciao.”

He dragged his feet back to his chair greeting the guys once more. Smoke engulfed the room as the alcohol resumed to flow.

Riz pipped up; “Change of heart, boss?”

“Shut the hell up and deal the damn cards.”

Coco interjected, snickering; “Someone’s feathers seem to be ruffled.”

“How bout we make things a little more stimulating.”

Bishop gave into his whims, “What did you have in mind, ya idiot?”

“While you were absent, we were discussing and came up with a great idea. A bet.”

“I’ll give in. Explain.”

Angel perked up resting his elbows on the table reveling in temporary power. “Well you did say to get our minds off of work and what better way than to initiate the new girl.”

Riz butted his way into the conversation; “Since you my dear friend seems the most in need of female interaction, your name easily came up. Seduce Y/N, reel her in. Hook, line, and sinker.”

She seemed like a sweet enough girl and he was obviously lacking female companionship at the moment, so he blindly accepted.

“Easy, what’s my timeline?”

“Three months max.” All men shook their heads in agreement.

“Winner gets forty-eight hours of uninterrupted ‘vacation’.”

Any time away from the club was always a blessing in disguise and he was in dire need of a break from his twisted reality.

“You assholes are going down.”

Bish dared one more glimpse at the mysterious woman who enraptured his attention. Concocting his plan would take time since she wasn’t like one of the usual girls that hung around. She was a goddamn surgeon! Y/N felt a pair of eyes watching her as she glanced at her newly found friend, a faint smirk alighting her features.

Her belly tightened with renewed butterflies as she looked away from Mr. President himself not quite ready to admit the blush tinging her cheeks was all due to the inexplicably fascinating man, she had the pleasure of stumbling upon. Y/N exhaled; finally, optimistic of her new journey in Santo Padre and away from her past life.

----------

Requests open!

#mayans mc #mayans #mayans mc x reader #my writing #the bet #bishop x reader #bishop losa x reader #mayans mc imagine #mayans mc fx

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otterlyfabby-blog · 5 years ago

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شركة نقل اثاث بمكة

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#Moving Furniture

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chanoyu-to-wa · 5 years ago

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Nampō Roku, Book 3 (18.8): Two Arrangements for a Karamono-chaire and a Dai-temmoku on the Fukuro-dana.

18.8) Two arrangements for a karamono-chaire¹ and a dai-temmoku² on the fukuro-dana.

[The writing reads: (to the left of the upper sketch) fukuro no uchi kae-chawan³ (袋ノ内カヘ茶碗); (above the lower sketch⁴) naka-bon⁵ ni chaire ・ temmoku (中盆ニ茶入・天目), (to the left of the lower sketch) fukuro no uchi dai⁶ ・ fukusa⁷ (袋ノ中臺・フクサ).]

_________________________

¹These are “ordinary” karamono-chaire*, pieces that do not merit mine-suri [峰摺り] placement. As such, while resting on their kane, they are placed very slightly off center -- this is what the pictorial orientation is intended to suggest. ___________ *According to his densho of 1582 or 1583 (the surviving manuscript is undated, but it must postdate the creation of the tsuri-dana [釣棚] during the summer of 1582), Rikyū would probably have included the old Seto chaire -- the pieces made under the direction of the chajin arriving in Japan from the continent during the fifteenth century -- in this proposal.

²While the temmoku was most likely also an imported piece (though the rare Japanese-made temmoku were often technically identical, and generally handled in the same manner -- frequently not being distinguished from the imported pieces*), the chawan was felt to be intrinsically inferior to the chaire†, hence its usual arrangement in a slightly inferior manner. ___________ *Rikyū’s ake-temmoku [赤天目] (shown below) is a good example.

While it is unclear what he actually believed regarding its antecedents, he handled it and used it in the same way as a karamono-temmoku.

Furthermore, in the Yamanoue Sōji Ki [山上宗二記], the white temmoku (which were made for Jōō at the Seto kiln) are ranked highest, above all of the imported bowls. This suggests that, rather than simply being a manifestation of the mindset that favored continental pieces over local wares, the preference for imported chaire was due to their technical superiority to the pieces that were being made by the local potters. (Of course, this attitude underwent a change in the Edo period, when imported pieces were valued simply because they were imported.)

†While a chaire was felt to improve with repeated use (as the aromatic elements in the matcha work their way into the clay), chawan were originally used only until they began to exhibit signs of “contamination” -- for example, the crackles in the glaze becoming stained with tea -- and then replaced. The lack of crackles in the glaze on the Chinese temmoku may have been the reason why they stayed in use much longer than others.

While this idea started to weaken once chawan began to be recognized as meibutsu objects that were deserving of preservation -- which attitude was reinforced by Jōō’s own approach of amassing a large collection of such pieces -- their inferior status vis-à-vis the chaire continued to be a feature of chanoyu in Jōō’s day (as it remains today).

³Kae-chawan [カヘ茶碗].

The term kae-chawan [替茶碗] refers to a “substitute chawan” used to bring the chakin and chasen (and sometimes the chashaku, as in this case) into the room at the beginning of the temae, and which was used to clean the chasen at the end of the temae, using cold water (in order to protect the temmoku from being soiled by this process). It was not (necessarily) used to serve tea -- though this idea was being questioned more and more by the chajin of Jōō’s period (when the kae-chawan was often being used to serve usucha -- a practice that enhanced the temmoku’s status).⁴

⁴There is a critical issue -- apparently a copying error -- with this illustration, as it appears in the Enkaku-ji manuscript of the Nampō Roku. In Tachibana Jitsuzan’s original sketch (which is the version that has been reproduced here) -- the sketch he made with the Shū-un-an documents spread out in front of him* -- a futaoki is shown on the lower shelf, next to the mizusashi. Jitsuzan, however, apparently neglected to include the futaoki in the sketch that was prepared for the Enkaku-ji manuscript†. The futaoki, then, is absent from all of the sketches that were later based on the Enkaku-ji manuscript.

This is extremely important, since the presence (or absence) of the futaoki impacts on the kane-wari interpretation of the arrangement -- and its absence here has resulted in very confusing speculations (by certain commentators) regarding the way that the utensils arranged on the tray should be counted‡.

It would have been very easy to remove the futaoki from the sketch digitally, and so make it more closely resemble that in the Enkaku-ji version of this document. But since its absence there is obviously a mistake (without the futaoki it becomes impossible to rationalize the kane-wari for the goza), I felt it was best to leave the futaoki in the sketch, even though that means that I am no longer showing a likeness of what is found in the Enkaku-ji manuscript (which is the teihon [底本] on which this translation is supposed to be based). ___________ *We must assume that, regardless of the temporal constraints under which Jitsuzan was working (as has been mentioned before, he was only given access to the Shū-un-an documents for a limited period of time), the original sketches that he made with the Shū-un-an documents spread out in front of him necessarily would have had to closely resemble the documents that he was copying, especially in details such as this (otherwise he would surely have edited them on the spot -- since his purpose was to make a copy of the originals for his own reference and study: the idea of proselytizing the resulting material does not seem to have occurred to him until later). Thus, the accuracy of the first manuscript must take precedence over the copy that he made several years later. (Jitsuzan seems to have requested accessed the original documents in 1586, after examining a copy of the Rikyū Chanoyu Sho [利休茶湯書], while on his way from Kyūshū to Edo in observation of the sankin-kōtai [參勤交代], or “alternate attendance,” rule; meanwhile, the presentation copy for the Enkaku-ji was prepared between 1689 and 1690. The Rikyū Chanoyu Sho [利休茶湯書] was translated, in its entirety, previously in this blog.)

†A futaoki is not displayed on the ji-ita in several of the subsequent arrangements -- because it is placed somewhere else (or its absence plays into the correct count, so far as kane-wari is concerned). It seems that Jitsuzan may have looked ahead to the next page of sketches, and so overlooked its presence in this sketch.

‡The objects arranged on the tray are all counted as a single unit, since the tray itself contacts all of the kane with which those utensils are associated individually. Nevertheless, with the futaoki absent, this has lead some interpreters to argue that the objects arranged on the ten-ita should be counted as if the tray were not present at all. The result is a lingering confusion that taints their understanding of the rest of the Nampō Roku.

⁵Naka-bon [中盆].

As in the previous post, this is usually taken as a reference to the (meibutsu) naka-maru-bon [中丸盆], which measures 1-shaku 2-sun 3-bu in diameter.

There was, as Shibayama Fugen points out, also a hō-bon [方盆]* version (which measured 1-shaku square).

Round trays, however, were considered less formal -- making them more appropriate to the setting. Regardless of which tray was used, the fukuro-dana would still have been placed 1-shaku 2-sun away from the upper corner of the ro. ___________ *Hō-bon [方盆] means a square (or sometimes rectangular) tray. The word shi-hō-bon [四方盆], literally meaning a “square tray,” does not seem to have been used that commonly in Jōō’s period.

The 1-shaku square tray was not one of the Higashiyama gomotsu [東山御物] that were used by Ashikaga Yoshimasa, as was the naka-maru-bon; the square tray was first introduced by the early machi-shū practitioners, the mostly immigrant-chajin of Shukō’s generation.

The square naka-bon will appear in the next post.

⁶Dai [臺].

The temmoku-dai [天目臺].

In Jōō’s period (and before) these were either plain black-lacquered dai that had been imported from the continent* (a typical example is shown below), or (much less frequently) Japanese-made copies.

The reason the dai is placed in the ji-fukuro has nothing to do with its quality or antecedents. Rather, it is because the naka-maru-bon is the largest tray that could be used with the fukuro-dana†, and this tray is not sufficiently large to allow the temmoku to be displayed on its dai together with the chaire. ___________ *In China, these dai were used to hold the conical bowls in which heated sake was served in restaurant and drinking establishments (this is why many of them were painted with the marks of the houses from which they came -- so that they could be claimed by their rightful owners later: the Chinese, then, as now, delighted in having meals catered, and since this often involved different things being sent from several establishments, correctly sorting the dishes afterward became an issue) -- the sake was usually flavored with medicinal herbs, and the conical shape allowed the dregs to settle to the bottom, so they would not discommode the drinker. While quite commonplace objects on the continent, these dai became great treasures in Japan -- an almost worshipful attitude that was certainly helped by the trade embargo that followed the overthrow of the Koryeo dynasty (in the first years of the fifteenth century), and the establishment of the Josen tributary state (in the middle of the fifteenth century) under a Ming hegemony.

†The meibutsu nagabon that were typically used with the daisu when the host wished to display both the chawan and the chaire on a tray were not used with the fukuro-dana, since Jōō felt that these trays were too formal for the setting. Jōō selected the most informal arrangements for the daisu and elevated them to the highest rank in this new setting.

⁷Fukusa [フクサ].

This would be the host‘s temae-fukusa. While there were different ways it could be placed on the dai (the purpose being to cover the hole into which the foot of the chawan would fit), the simplest way was to fold the fukusa into quarters and rest it on top of the dai (with the corner that the host would need to grasp, to lift the cloth up and fold it, on the right), as shown in my sketch (below).

While I have colored the fukusa purple (and made it the size of a modern-day fukusa so that the hane of the dai will be visible -- these sketches are always carefully drawn to scale), for clarity, this is an anachronism. In Jōō’s period, the host’s temae-fukusa was always made of imported donsu, usually in a color scheme favored by the host (or, perhaps, his economics -- since the fukusa was used only once and then discarded, and cloth woven in unpopular colors was naturally cheaper), and they were generally slightly over 1-shaku square (meaning that the hane of the temmoku-dai would probably not peak out from underneath the fukusa, even by a little).

The first purple “fukusa” measuring 8-sun by 8-sun 2-bu were originally not made to be fukusa, but as small furoshiki (wrapping cloths)* in which lacquered containers of matcha were tied before being enclosed in a sa-tsū-bako [茶通箱] (for presentation as a gift to someone). The first time this kind of cloth was used as a temae-fukusa was on an occasion when Furuta Sōshitsu received a sa-tsū-bako of tea from Hideyoshi (forwarded to him by Rikyū, probably so that its arrival would coincide with the gathering). Since Oribe was already in the tearoom when the gift tea arrived, and had apparently not been expecting it, he had not prepared a second fukusa (the host’s futokoro is usually stuffed with so many things that a random fukusa would easily get lost, especially when the host was not expecting to use it, so Sōshitsu can hardly be blamed). Nevertheless, wishing to share the gift tea with his guests, he decided to use the furoshiki in which the natsume was tied as a fukusa when serving the tea in the sa-tsū-bako (a new fukusa had to be used with each new kind of tea, to prevent contamination). Rikyū was informed of this, and not only approved, but began to imitate the practice during his own chakai.

Oribe is the one who began to make his own fukusa of purple-dyed Japanese cloth† (and of the same size as these furoshiki, since he found that a fukusa 8-sun by 8-sun 2-bu was actually easier to handle than one made from a larger piece of cloth), and this idea caught on among the machi-shū in the years after Rikyū’s death (when they looked to Oribe for an explanation of the chanoyu of Jōō’s middle period as part of the effort to repudiate Rikyū’s influence on chanoyu†). ___________ *The practice seems to have been established by Jōō (though probably based on even earlier traditions). With imported cloth rare and costly, and since the furoshiki in which the container of gift tea was tied was used only once (and would not be seen by the guests -- immediately after removal it was tied in a knot and put into the host’s left sleeve), the best-quality native cloth available was used. Dark purple (it is almost black -- a deep brown-purple shade) was the most difficult color to achieve using natural dyes, hence it is the color that was preferred by Jōō for this purpose.

†Red fukusa arose from a very different (and confused) route. When Sōtan was called upon to serve tea to the court of Tōfukumon-in [東福門院; 1607 ~ 1678] (Tokugawa Masako [徳川和子], granddaughter of Ieyasu, and the consort of the retired emperor Go-mizu-no-o [後水尾天皇; 1596 ~ 1680]), he was distressed to find that the women’s lipstick stained the chakin like blood. Therefore Sōtan had his chakin dyed scarlet, to hide the stains. Later generations, hearing about the dying of the “tea cloth” red from the dyers, but lacking access to the details (the word chakin [茶巾] was sometimes used as an alternate name for the fukusa), people began to assume that the thing that was dyed red for the women was the temae-fukusa. Since this dichotomy fit into the Tokugawa’s neo-Confucian segregation of the sexes, women using a red fukusa became standard practice.

†Sōshitsu, who was 11 years old at the time, was introduced to Jōō shortly before the latter’s death. It is said that Jōō (who was no longer teaching at that time -- as was the convention of the day, where the actual teaching was done by the senior disciples gathered around the master) is the one who introduced Oribe to Rikyū, and advised him to seek instruction with this favored disciple (perhaps sensing some sort of fellowship of the spirit would arise between the two -- and, of course, pointing him in the direction of Jōō’s other main disciple, Uesugi Kenshin, would have been a disservice, since Kenshin was antagonistic to the direction that the government was taking, and association with him could have lead to the young man’s ruin). Nevertheless, the myth that Furuta Sōshitsu had studied with Jōō arose among the machi-shū after Rikyū’s seppuku (perhaps the rumor was started by Imai Sōkyū), and so it was to him that the group of which Shōan and Sōtan were members looked for guidance in those troubled times.

Oribe seems to have studiously answered their questions (only), while offering nothing about which his interlocutors were too ignorant to ask (the transcripts of these interactions are truly startling -- the depth of minute detail in Sōshitsu’s knowledge is absolutely breathtaking), and so carefully protected Rikyū’s legacy from being usurped by his antagonists. The result, unfortunately, is that most of what we associate with Rikyū was actually done by Jōō or Sōshitsu, while most of Rikyū’s true teachings went with Oribe to his grave (only to be rediscovered in the 20th century when Rikyū’s densho began to come to light).

==============================================

I. The first arrangement.

This first arrangement shows what might be considered the basic way in which a karamono-chaire and a dai-temmoku might be arranged together on the fukuro-dana. The chaire is placed on its kane (though not as a mine-suri [峰摺り])*, while the temmoku “overlaps” its kane by one-third (in other words, the foot of the temmoku -- not that of the dai -- is located immediately to the right of its kane). This results in a separation between the chaire and the hane of the dai of 2-sun.

The hishaku is associated with the right-most kane on the naka-dana, while the kō-dana has been left empty. And the mizusashi and futaoki have been arranged together in their compartment on the ji-ita, as usual.

While the kae-chawan† has been placed in the ji-fukuro, it is not included in the kane-wari count, meaning that the tana holds five units, and so is han [半]. ___________ *The ku-den elucidates this matter -- that, because this is a karamono-chaire (albeit not one of the very highest rank), it rests on the kane, though not as a mine-suri.

†Both the Shukō-chawan and the ido-chawan were used as kae-chawan in the early days, and an ido-chawan was most likely the kae-chawan on this kind of occasion.

The reason why a chawan of a different size was traditionally preferred as the kae-chawan is because, since this chawan has only a supporting role in the temae (aside from bringing out and removing the chakin and chasen at the beginning and end of the service of tea, its only other participation in the temae was to give the host a place to clean the chasen with cold water at the end of the temae), a second chakin is not necessary -- because, while the chakin is folded first in thirds when prepared for a temmoku (or other small bowl -- including things like the raku chawan), it is folded first in half when it will be used to dry a large chawan. Thus, even without a new chakin, a clean surface is presented for use simply through the act of refolding the chakin. This is not possible if the two chawan are of the same size (and in such a case -- according to the Nampō Roku -- two different chakin would have to be used, folded together rather as if they were a single chakin of double the usual width: the so-called “shin chakin” [眞茶巾] used by some schools in their higher temae replicates this idea, which seems to have been the inspiration, though apparently the ancients considered that using separate chakin, rather than one of double length, was “necessary” to completely separate the effects of wiping the first bowl from contaminating the second).

——————————————–———-—————————————————

II. The second arrangement.

Here the temmoku and karamono-chaire are arranged together more formally, by being placed together on a naka-bon. Though the sketch is a little confusing, the intention of the red line is to show that the chaire is resting on its kane, albeit not as a mine-suri [峰摺り]*. Meanwhile the temmoku (which is placed on the tray tied in its shifuku, but without its dai) is arranged so that it “overlaps its kane by one-third” (the foot of the temmoku is immediately to the right of the kane with which it is associated), resulting in a separation of 2-sun between the chawan and the chaire†.

Both the naka-dana and kō-dana are left empty‡, while the futaoki is placed next to the mizusashi, as usual.

Looking at the kane-wari, the tana here has a han [半] value, which is appropriate to the goza of a gathering held during the daytime**. ___________ *This appears to be the purport of the ku-den, according to the commentators.

†When the temmoku is 4-sun in diameter, and the chaire is a 2-sun 5-bu katatsuki (or other shape with the same diameter -- many of the kansaku karamono chaire [韓作唐物茶入] were made this size, while being shaped like the famous Chinese ko-tsubo [小壺]).

4-sun, and 4-sun 9-bu, are the standard sizes of chawan that match Jōō‘s system of seven kane. (The Shukō-chawan, with a diameter of 5-sun 2-bu, was too large to display in this setting, other than as a mine-suri.)

‡This naka-bon kazari [中盆飾], to use its formal name, was derived directly from one of the original daisu arrangements, and the daisu, of course, does not have these tana present between the ten-ita and the ji-ita. Thus, to leave them empty, is not a problem.

**For purposes of kane-wari, the empty tana are counted as chō [調]. Therefore, han (the ten-ita, which has a single unit arranged on it) + chō (the empty naka-dana) + chō (the empty kō-dana) + chō (the mizusashi and futaoki on the ji-ita count as two units because they contact different kane) gives a total of han.

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inthedayglo · 6 years ago

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Still alive, and Who S11

I’ve been away, largely, for the last few months because of Doctor Who. I’m back now, though holidays, etc. may make that kind of spotty for a while.

I started watching this series late (hence avoiding Tumblr to avoid spoilers), which is pretty unusual for me--I’m usually chomping at the bit. Not this time. Why? A couple of reasons.

1. General wariness of the gender swap and Chris Chibnall. I don’t know if I’ve said this on here before, so forgive me if I’m repeating myself, but I was never a proponent of the gender swap, because I’m not a proponent of “just because we can!” in storytelling. I am a proponent of “because it would let us do X, Y, and Z that we can’t do with our current setup.” There’s no guarantee of success with either, but at least one shows some forethought and purpose. “Just because we can” shows neither. And with Chris Chibnall in charge, and his incredibly inconsistent writing--it’s an oxymoron if ever there was one, putting the man who wrote “Cyberwoman,” one of the most incredibly misogynistic things I’ve ever seen, in charge of a male-to-female gender swap--I was not about to hold my breath that any forethought actually occurred.

2. The BBC and apparently everyone else deciding to trash Peter Capaldi in order to promote Jodie was a massive, massive turnoff. Any decent marketing person can tell you there are better ways to create hype than alienating the viewers who are still mourning the previous Doctor. But no, they went for it. I waited until November to start watching--and wouldn’t have started then if one of my friends hadn’t begged me to so she could discuss them with someone.

My short verdict? “Jodie’s a great actress. The fact that watching Doctor Who has never, ever been a chore for me before does not fall on her shoulders. Chris Chibnall, on the other hand, has a hell of a lot to answer for.”

Because the fact is, this series was a chore. A largely incomprehensible, forgettable chore. I have trouble remembering that at least half the episodes even existed--including the ones I liked, like “Kerblam!” And I suspect that number will grow with time. There’s just nothing memorable going on here.

I appreciate what they tried to do, or what I can only guess that they tried to do, but it feels to me like “tried” is an overstatement. I’ve come to call this TARDIS crew the “ticky box” team, because it feels to me as if they said, “Ooh, let’s tick all the boxes for every possible kind of diversity! Won’t that be great! Then we’re done--nothing more we need to do on that front!” And it just doesn’t work that way.

I mean, there should be an interesting relationship between Graham and Ryan...but no. There’s almost nothing, and what little we do get comes so close to the end of the series as to beggar belief. Those two should be, at the very least, getting in each other’s faces right from the beginning--or else pointedly avoiding each other, or one of each. Instead, it’s as if nothing happened, except to Graham, just a little, here and there. And then right back to Situation Normal--until we suddenly get Ryan and Graham Are Best Buds out of NOWHERE at the very end.

Now, I’ve become kind of tired of the big giant overblown series arc over the years, so I’m not saying that going more episodic is a bad thing. I’m just saying even episodic telly in 2018 is being viewed by an audience that’s going to expect more than that, and that, frankly, deserves more. We didn’t get it.

After 10 episodes, I still have no idea what purpose Yaz serves, except to have given us a Partition episode--which was the only truly memorable one of the year, but she was just an excuse for it. For all she sees during that episode, there’s hardly any character development (do we sense a theme here?) But that fits with the fact that Ryan never seems to mourn his Nan, except in that YouTube video in the very first episode, or deal with his father’s absence, and even his conveniently invisible disability gets so little attention that it might as well not be there (and it’s so poorly explained that I was baffled in the first episode that someone his age could not ride a bicycle and why this was such a big deal. I guess we were required to do outside reading to figure it out--which, by the way, explicitly violates the BBC’s charter).

So basically we ticked all the boxes and still managed to make the old white guy the most interesting character on the show. Oops.

A lot of people liked “Rosa”, and it is better than most of what we saw, but here’s why I have issues with it:

1. Ryan seems to serve one purpose in this episode--to be slapped by a white man for trying to return a glove, and to fawn all over Rosa and MLK like a teen meeting Justin Bieber. The episode basically reduced him to the color of his skin and nothing else. (This is exactly what I mean about ticking all the boxes and deciding that’s enough.)

2. The villain is so negligible that he might as well not even be there. And, in fact, had they made systemic racism the villain instead of some unlikely 267684th century nobody, they’d have had a far better episode. That villain’s baked in, and this meaningless yahoo just distracts from it.

3. My biggest gripe: It paints Rosa Parks as a woman who took independent, spontaneous action when that couldn’t be further from the truth. A historical should know better, because a historical should do its homework. It didn’t. Rosa’s action was planned carefully with local NAACP folks who couldn’t use another woman, who’d already done the same thing, as a flashpoint because she was pregnant and unmarried. There is just plain NO WAY that what Rosa did would have set off a movement like it did if that movement wasn’t assembled and ready to respond to her arrest. Rosa could have picked any bus on any day. It didn’t matter. And yet, the episode hinges on the faulty historical read that says otherwise.

Is it a better episode than, say, “The Turanga Conundrum”? Sure. But so is the average episode of “Teletubbies,” because Tsuranga is literally unwatchable, and I know this because I kept trying and couldn’t do it. It illustrates every reason why Chibnall should not have been put in charge of this show, primarily that he tries to do more than the format will allow for, and he does all of it badly. His Doctor spouts meaningless technobabble more often than Geordie Laforge, and with far less plausibility and logic. She doesn’t even bother to notice that she’s endangering other people. And there are not only four lead characters to keep busy but also a handful guest stars who have almost nothing to do--nothing meaningful, certainly, because they each get about three minutes of screen time--but yes, absolutely, do bring on the pregnant guy just because you can. (Why “Just Because You Can” Is A Bad Idea, Exhibit A.) And the less said about the ridiculous villain, which on paper should have been phenomenally threatening and yet just wasn’t, the better.

The whole Tim Shaw thing is irritating for a series that went episodic, as if it wanted the best of both worlds and couldn’t manage either. Having him turn up in the finale is just annoying, and not just because I found the teeth thing revolting, but because it comes out of nowhere (yes, really, sending him back to wherever with NOTHING in between is still nowhere. Any setup you can find there is so thin you’d need a scanning electron microscope to show it to me). Mark Addy and Phyllis Logan should have made for good telly no matter how bad the script, but that concept apparently never met Chris Chibnall before, because even they couldn’t save it. And Graham’s dilemma, such as it was, should have been more interesting, but ended up just being utterly predictable instead. It’s all surface stuff. Style, perhaps, but no substance.

“The Witchfinders” is interesting more because Alan Cumming camps it up and because Downton Abbey’s O’Brien is the Big Bad, proving that Siobhan Finneran has the serious Big Bad chops we...already knew she had. It stands out for one reason only, for me, and that’s that, for the first time all year, the Doctor actually faces some sexism. Pity Chibnall thinks we have to go back to the 1700s to find it--I guess he figures we’re past all that now? The lack of realism in how the Doctor is treated on Earth grated on me for all ten episodes, including this one, because how did it take so long? How was this not part of the PLAN for a female Doctor? (Oh, wait--did I say “plan”?) “Honestly, if I was still a bloke, I could get on with the job and not have to waste time defending myself” is the story of every woman watching this show, every single damn day. I presume the people who wanted a female Doctor wanted it because they wanted to feel represented by this character--but this isn’t it. If I can’t call tech support without having to establish my tech cred every. single. time because I have the audacity to call while female, the Doctor shouldn’t be able to, either, much less wander into a situation and just take over. And yet, she does, again, and again, denying my everyday existence and that of every other woman on the planet. And we’re...not supposed to notice? Decide the 2018 on the screen is some sort of utopia we know doesn’t exist? What, exactly, are we to make of this whitewashing of reality? Yet another missed opportunity in a series riddled with them.

“Demons of the Punjab” is the only episode I really liked, because it’s the only episode that really told a conflicted, compelling story, though Thirteen is still saddled with being the Unnecessary Exposition Fairy and Yaz is frustratingly pointless in a story about her own past. It could, and perhaps even should, have been a bigger story. Continued lack of development for Yaz notwithstanding, it’s solid telly. More like this, please.

The Atlantic ran a piece extolling the show for “allowing” Thirteen to be weak and ineffective. It was, to my horror, written by a woman. It was not satire. I can’t say if Chibnall intended this outcome, to explore this “theme,” but if he did, he picked the wrong Doctor to experiment with. I’m as deeply offended by the idea that making the first female Doctor weak and ineffective is a good thing as I am by the implication that sexism died 300 years ago and by the way Ryan is presented in “Rosa.” IMHO, this take is a fundamental betrayal of what this character has stood for for 55 years--and of all the women who watch the show, and who wanted to see themselves in the title character.

On the other hand, this excellent, stunningly thorough piece looks at the whole series in great detail (seriously, fortify yourself and block out some time on your calendar, ‘cause it will take a while. It’s worth it, though). It works very hard to be as fair as possible. It also makes a very interesting argument that the surface appearance of Chibnall!Who is very progressive, but the inner workings are astonishingly conservative, and I think the author is on to something that explains, for instance, why CC thinks it’s okay to tick the boxes and then move on without a second thought. Appearance is meant to trump substance in S11, and whatever else you can say about progressive intent on S11, the fact remains that a white guy is still in charge.

(I find it fascinating that my biggest concern when I heard the show was coming back in 2005 was that, if given an actual budget, particularly for special effects, it would lose its charm and become a highly rated show that was all about effects driving the plot rather than plot driving the effects. It’s taken 13 years for that original fear to be realized, which is one hell of an accomplishment considering how easily it could have gone this way from the beginning--but that’s still cold comfort considering the quality we’re used to from Who.)

The second author’s most cuttingly insightful commentary might just be this (emphasis mine):

...the abiding moral of the Moffat era was that kindness and compassion were worthy ends of themselves. The Twelfth Doctor’s final advice to the Thirteenth Doctor was simply, “Be kind.” It is a damning indictment of the Chibnall era that the Thirteenth Doctor has failed so spectacularly at that one single piece of advice given to her by her direct predecessor. The eleventh season is a meditation in indifference and obliviousness, with the Doctor at best ignorant to the suffering of others and at worst actively complicit.

(This observation also harks back to my list of reasons for being reluctant to watch in the first place...)

Really, go read it. Even if you don’t agree with it, it’ll make you think. (You can skip the first several paragraphs about production improvements if that’s not really your thing, though his comments on the attempt to make DW “prestige TV” and what that means are insightful.)

I didn’t really mean to write this much, but this year realized my worst fears for the future of my favorite show. If you disagree with me, that’s fine; you’re certainly allowed--but please don’t ask me why I kept watching. It’s such a dismissive question. The obvious answer is “because I kept hoping it would get better, all evidence to the contrary.”

This show has sat in my heart for 32 years now. It made me who I am. I’m not about to abandon it without a fight. But this year was the biggest fight I’ve had to put up since I was 15 years old, and the closest I’ve ever come to despair while watching (which is saying something considering I was not a RTD fan--but S11 is giving me a new appreciation there).

I can only hope that Chibnall will resign and let someone who can do Thirteen justice take over. We need no repeat of the Series of Wasted Opportunities.

#doctor who #dw s11 #dw s11 spoilers #Thirteenth Doctor #chris chibnall

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lilydalexf · 7 years ago

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My current struggle with "My Struggle IV" is: When did Scully find out she was pregnant?

Mulder demonstrated he did not know prior to Scully telling him on the bridge because she did so in direct reply to him saying that he was not a father and him saying he didn't know what she meant when she said he was. So Mulder ran out of the house to go find William while Scully stayed home to, like, Google lottery ticket winners, and while she's not busy doing that she decided to take a home pregnancy test in the middle of the night? No.

Under the cut there are surely more words than necessary to continue answering this question. It’s a lot of words, you guys.

Scully clearly learned she was pregnant sometime after "Plus One" because (a) she's talking to Mulder about having babies in a theoretical, what-if way, and (b) that's when they definitely had sex. Twice.

She also must have learned after "Ghouli" because it is too absurd to think that Mulder and Scully are running around seemingly finding William and then Scully says nothing about being pregnant again with Mulder's child. (Mulder and Scully seem to be fully accepting of Mulder being William's father prior to "My Struggle IV," hence the "again." That is a good thing from this episode and this season – Mulder and Scully certainly thought they made William together in a normal way. Whether that was by IVF or the old fashioned way is of course never made clear, but it seems that it almost certainly has to be the latter since "Per Manum" was explicit about the "last chance" IVF attempt failing.)

It also seems like she had to learn after "Rm9sbG93ZXJz" since Scully was eating sushi in that episode, which she would have known was a bad idea if pregnant since it would've been risky in an already risky scenario. And Scully would not engage in anything remotely risky just for the fun of it when it came to a surprise pregnancy. (Yes, she did put herself in dangerous positions in "My Struggle IV," but mostly not. She was simply running around the warehouse – though of course she couldn't have known that's all it would be when she went there.)

And it must have been after "Familiar" since that episode was so child-focused and she was nonplussed by it, as much as she would be faced with something so objectively awful. She and Mulder were investigating murders of children. If she knew she was pregnant, she would have surely experienced some emotional upheaval and shared that with Mulder, if not during that episode then sometime prior to or at the very least during "Nothing Lasts Forever."

It's hard to believe, though, that Scully knew she was pregnant before "Nothing Lasts Forever" because she fell 4 stories down a dumbwaiter shaft in that episode and didn't seem concerned at all. She plainly announced with certainty when Mulder pulled her out from the trash pile at the bottom of the shaft, "I'm fine." She would NOT have done so in the face of a newly discovered pregnancy. Blowing off the danger would have been cruel and irrational, and Scully is anything but cruel and irrational.

In that episode she does whisper something mysterious to Mulder in the church, and maybe it was then that she told him she was pregnant, or maybe just whispering a needless tease of wanting to be when she already knew the truth, but his facial reaction did not reflect such a huge revelation. Plus, his "I'm not a father" comment in "My Struggle IV" would not make sense if he learned about the pregnancy in the prior episode, to say nothing of how curious his decision would be in "My Struggle IV" to run off alone on a potentially fatal search for William (without even hugging Scully goodbye, no less) if he already knew Scully was pregnant.

Maybe Scully knew she was pregnant when "My Struggle IV" begins, putting her finding out sometime between the last two episodes. In retrospect, she has a curious reaction to Mulder immediately prepping to dash to the airport to maybe find William after the phone tip from Reyes. Mulder says now may be their last chance to find William. (He says "our" last good chance, which is one of the nice, subtle ways that the Mulder/Scully partnership is affirmed in this episode, though it is funny in a ridiculous way that their last chance is also their first chance as far as we know). As he's getting ready to leave Scully stands staring at him with mouth literally gaping open, eyes teary. She moves her mouth repeatedly as if she's about to say something, but then the only thing she says is "Just come back alive."

Was Scully's reaction here intended to reflect an internal struggle over whether to tell Mulder now that she's pregnant? It can certainly be interpreted that way. Gillian Anderson's face is marvelously emotive here.

At the same time, of course Scully would be emotionally distraught at this point without knowing about a pregnancy, with Mulder being driven to run off that moment to find William at a place she knows William is not at because of her mental connection to him but that she wants William to be at so he can be found and reassured of some safety with her and Mulder. So she's torn between insisting that Mulder not go and encouraging him to go. That could also explain the uncertainty and fear painted on her face. It would also help explain why she did not pull Mulder into a hug here, which you'd have to think there would not have been a question about were she seeing Mulder off knowing she was pregnant with his child.

Last time Mulder ran off on a dangerous search when Scully was pregnant (albeit unknown to her at the time) in "Requiem," things ended badly. VERY badly. Mulder did come back alive, but only eventually. After being dead for a while first. Would Scully just stand there in "My Struggle IV" knowing she was pregnant and not say anything to Mulder? Not that she would tell him that second she was pregnant as he was about to run out the door, but she wouldn't insist on being by his side this time, to leave with him? Ask that he not only come back alive but quickly and unharmed? Be more persistent in stopping him from leaving right then because she knows he won't find William at the plane, knows the prospect of finding William at that particular plane is the only reason Mulder is so dead set on leaving right that second, and knows that she can't keep the baby a secret much longer for her sake or Mulder's?

It's just absurd that Scully would know she was pregnant at that moment Mulder was leaving and act how she did. Particularly after what happened in "Requiem" and its aftermath when Mulder was missing and Scully was pregnant, unsure if she would ever see him again. Not to mention that Scully knowing at this time in the house would mean she had to have found out on her own at some prior time that did not prompt her to immediately get to Mulder and tell him the news. What would she have possibly been doing that was more important? And why wouldn't Mulder have been with her in the first place if she was testing for pregnancy, either at home or at a doctor's office? Especially after "Nothing Lasts Forever" it's pretty unfathomable that Scully would not at least have a plan of confirming a suspicion of pregnancy with ScienceTM and then telling Mulder ASAP.

In theory Scully could have had that plan but Reyes interrupted it in a colossal tragedy of bad timing. Stranger things have happened on this show to be sure, but to set up the timing that way on purpose? For no reason that offers any remote care for the character of Scully, or Mulder for that matter, instead only serving some "big reveal" in the last seconds of the episode when neither the characters nor the audience deserve something that should be joyous turn into something desperate and rushed?

In conclusion, no scenario makes sense for when Scully discovered she was pregnant and we are all doomed to an existence of incomprehension. The more things change with The X-Files, the more things stay the same!

Honestly, though, it seems most plausible that Scully found out sometime between "Nothing Lasts Forever" and "My Struggle IV" and that her struggle was figuring out how and when she was going to tell Mulder. Why she would struggle with that is something I can't quite make sense of since (a) she was probably living at the house with Mulder since hers got destroyed a few episodes ago, and (b) the news would have been exhilarating and aching to be shared. Exhilarating bad by being scary and confusing but also exhilarating good by being a result of love and hope.

I obviously love this show dearly, and especially Mulder and Scully dearly, or I would not bother to try to sort through this plot point. These two are beyond deserving by now to be emotionally and physically well and with each other. I hope they are once they get themselves off that bridge. But geesh, Scully, less whispering into Mulder’s ear and more talking out loud into his open heart.

#my struggle iv #i only meant to say a couple things #it turned into THIS #i am obviously making good decisions about how to spend time today #life well lived

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buttonholedlife · 5 years ago

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Durham's Techno Revival

by Will Entwistle

Durham's musical culture is actually soaked in past history. Mainly qualified through choral pedigree as well as unforgiving nightclubs supplying certainly not completely undesirable clichés. The popular music scene prolongs additionally than the Cathedral and Jimmy Allen's.

The underground renaissance is actually a nationally sensation that advertises numerous digital genres. However, techno's promotion in the UK provides assurance for the future of Durham's setting.

Durham's student musicians possess additional impact, are our team seeing a mentality shift towards electronic popular music as well as, therefore, this college's music setting? Or even, is Durham eventually incapable of nurturing techno as well as the student DJs fastened?

While Durham is dominated by places devoted to 'Leading 40' anthems, it additionally harbours cutting-edge students steered by absolutely nothing additional than their passion for try out songs. Louis Heidensohn (Co-leader of Continental with Madu Gadzama and also Emily Kelly) suggests that the tip to ensure and carry out stemmed from a pre-drinks. Heidensohn's motivation expresses the purity of Continental's objective, which is to save close friends 'from poor music one track at a time'. No much more, no less. Continental desires to give a system for electronic popular music, specifically techno, to all.

Durham's nightlife is actually a hurdle to this.

There are couple of clubs licenced to hold celebrations as viewed in neighboring urban areas like Leeds and also Newcastle due to the fact that of different aspects, consisting of the notorious 2am cut-off. Having said that, Continental's work emphasises that those enthused through underrepresented categories may broaden its listenership.

Accurately, Durham's nightclubs need to expand their offering to serve pupil performers to additional endorse electronic songs. Nonetheless, this variation has actually risks connected. Night life is as lasting as the financial earnings it accumulated coming from it. Therefore, problems emerge because of the short-term attribute of trainee artists; they are actually not at the college for life.

Each Aidan Conlon and also Alfie Woodrow (the DJ coupling PEAAR) highlight the intrinsic risk of handing over student DJs to produce adequate income.

Woodrow argues that only student-based nights are actually a 'come in the ideal direction' yet may be actually 'challenging for trainee promoters' since of increasing expenses to secure huge titles, such as Folamour's latest bented on 22nd November. Frequently, the expenses involved discourage student marketers, and also as a result DJs, from developing more events. Our team as a pupil neighborhood, can easily changethis by supporting as well as endorsing the organisers, artists, and the music.

Comfortably, sustaining these occasions is actually assisted through techno's convenience. Techno is a packed term. It is actually normally in source to massive firm noises along with four beats every club, nonetheless, it is not constricted to a single design. As an example, the usage of synthesisers varies and develops texture per tune through layering various audios.

Madu Gadzama; Picture thanks to Louis

Heidensohn Most importantly, techno is actually commonly utilized through DJs along with various other categories, like home, acid residence, and at times garage relying on the beats every moment (bpm). Nonetheless, is actually techno's adaptability good-for-nothing when strengthening its exposure unless its own listenership boosts as well as knowledge it?

I claim it is, to some magnitude. Usually, songs choices are actually based on expertises. A lot of are actually emotional, yet a lot of choices stem from the popular music's decadent worth. Unlike mainstream styles, techno's representation hangs on the popular music and its therapy. Like painting, the coatings ask for the performer's gratitude and also control to create an artwork. In this way, selectors make use of techno to create an adventure for the audience. Comprehending this treatments the noticeable inaccessibility of the genre, due to the fact that it presents that techno is actually more than a basic playlist, yet a fine art form.

Both Conlon and also Woodrow underscore this suggesting that 'you are actually there for the 3 hours at an activity given that the selector is actually taking you further than simply dropping banger after banger; he's taking you on an adventure.'

Most importantly, each participants of PEAAR mention this as their incentive to DJ. Their goal is actually to immerse audiences in the music. However, it seems a disconnect occurs between those that intend to watch a DJ as well as others that wish to experience the music.

Woodrow advises that 'anywhere you reside in the area everybody is tilted in the direction of the DJ. That's where the separate deceptions due to the fact that you get people who are right into it for the songs instead of being actually obsessed on the DJ.'

Left behind to right: Madu Gadzama, Louis Heidensohn as well as Gus Cooney; Photo politeness of Louis Heidensohn

Essentially, PEAAR's inspiration abridges the attitude our team must adopt in the direction of techno and pupil DJs. The purpose of the events is actually to give techno music extra exposure as well as assist audiences' fulfillment. By doing this, giving techno with a higher system in Durham will definitely promote listeners to become unbiased and also possibly explore songs also.

Elsewhere, Heidensohn strengthens the usefulness of nonpartisanship claiming that he 'never had a planning' to DJ as well as began due to thoughts discussed with Gadzama on the music on its own. This expresses the nonpartisanship that our company must adopt in the direction of techno; although, can it assist techno's exposure and also development in Durham?

Essentially, Durham can raising techno's direct exposure as well as nurturing trainee ability. Nonetheless, it requires the our company, as a student physical body, to support trainee DJs. For example, both PEAAR as well as Heidensohnconcede that Durham's songs scene can easily diversify and also urge all audiences to offer techno an odds. Durham's student body of 18,707 (2018/19) features folks from all strolls of lifestyle. Offering trainee DJ celebrations an opportunity aids hugely to improve the endurance of the educational institution neighborhood and also provide techno, and various other digital categories, with a more powerful platform.

Assisting the designed of Durham DJs will raise the recognition of trainee occasions celebrating digital popular music, particularly techno, and also hence urge the Durham culture to become a lot more open-minded. This carries out not indicate our experts need to take pleasure in the songs on offer; however as an alternative, our experts should endorse those attempting to aid our company experience it.

Conlon sums up stating that 'it is actually tough to dislike something you've certainly never listened to. It isn't a competitors. It's simply regarding sustaining your buddies and also the genre.'

Simply put, why certainly not provide these celebrations a go?

Altering musical culture to fit techno as well as other electronic categories is impossible without reformulating our attitude towards student DJs. In significance, our open-mindedness and assistance of trainee DJs will definitely assist develop a lasting platform for techno in Durham.

Continental are lead-in these activities with one on the 24th January 2020 at World Head office showcasing Durham DJs consisting of Heidensohn, Gadzama, as well as Kelly alongside PEAAR along with the underground titan Hidden Realm's headlining.

Image: Dj by Winner Camilo through Creative Commons

The message Durham's Techno Renaissance seemed to begin with on Palatinate Online.

This content was originally published here.

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