#IT ALL MAKES SENSE NOW.. THE BRITISH AND THE AUSTRALIANS ARE FINE
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Isnt it funny how other countries have badass awesome names like "Kenji", "Wolfgang", "Mikhail", and "Joaquin".
Then the english have names like fuckin bob, charlie, moe, and harry.
#WE NEED COOLER NAMES GUYS CMON#THE OLD ONES WERE SO MUCH BETTER! I WOULD RATHER BE NAMED “Edgar” THEN FUCKIN “GABE”#ig my name is cool#you dont see a Drew every day#hold on let me look this up..#HOLY SHIT MY NAMES NORWEIGAN#AND “WALTER” IS GERMAN HOLY SHIT#ARE ALL THE COOL ENGLISH NAMES EVEN ENGLISH AT ALL!??#ive had an epiphiany#Of fucking course “Bob” originates from england.#Hold on let me see if australia or america has any names that originated from it..#HOLD ON THESE AUSTRALIAN NAMES KINDA GO HARD.#“Ekala” “Baradine” yeah im with it!#now america..#WHAT THE FUCK#THE ONLY NAME INVENTED IN AMERICA HERE WAS “ABCDE”#WHO THE FUCK NAMES THEIR CHILD AFTER THE FIRST 5 LETTERS OF THE GODDAMN ALPHABET.#IT ALL MAKES SENSE NOW.. THE BRITISH AND THE AUSTRALIANS ARE FINE#ITS THE AMERICANS WHO CANT FUCKING NAME SHIT.
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new draft
Disclaimer: The following content is not suitable for small children. It contains topics such as violence, mutilation, self-harm, depression, and PTSD. As this is a work designed to evoke fear in the reader, I would also not recommend reading this before bed. By proceeding, you acknowledge that though this book may seem fine at first, it gets incredibly dark incredibly quickly. If you are struggling with suicidal thoughts, depression, or anxiety, help is available. Call 988.
Chapter 1:
Expedition
The cold was biting as Garrick Heath trudged through the snow towards the door of the shelter, certainly colder than London. Why couldn’t they have done this when it was sunny and bright out? Well, he didn’t suppose it would get any better, considering they were in the Arctic Circle. He’d just have to live with it.
He’d gotten the call two months ago. They offered him a job, working an ice drilling rig in the Artic. He had accepted. The pay was good enough and he was assured the bunker would be warm and the coffee strong. Now it was time, and he was here. He opened the door and a blast of warm air from the heated shelter enveloped him as it rushed out into the cold. He hurried inside and shut the door, no sense in letting the heat out. He looked around, seeing six other individuals sitting in a sunken seating area in the center of the large room playing cards. They greeted him as he entered, gesturing for him to sit down.
“Well then, now that we’re all here, I suppose we’d best get started” said a man in hiking gear, his voice layered with a thick Swedish accent. He stood up, the fabric of his clothing rustling as he did. “I am Jonas Pourison, I’m the NOAA representative on this assignment. My job is to monitor the samples we take for anything significant.” He gestured to the woman to his right, wearing warm clothes and a beanie with a red cross on it. She sipped her coffee and said in a faint Texas drawl “The name’s Darcy, and I’m here to make sure none of y'all die.” Having spoken her piece, she returned to her coffee. The next to introduce themselves was an Australian man named Ivakov Hill-Gray, the technician on the team. When he spoke, it was with a dry, gravelly voice. Next came a geologist, Olivia Runnisdöttir, another Swede. “We’ve had some reports of volcanic activity in the region, and I’m coming along to check it out.” Ryan Kurchatov, a paleontologist spoke next, he said he was tagging along from Russia to investigate possible Neolithic ruins in the ice, which could completely rewrite the timeline of human habitation. Walter Heyman, a Canadian, was the team’s guide, here to make sure no threats of the Arctic claimed them. Lastly came Garrick, who spoke with a heavy British accent. “I’m Garrick Heath, and I’m here as the historian to complement our good friend Kurchatov here.” As he spoke, he gestured to Ryan, who nodded curtly.
Once the introductions were done, Jonas spoke again. “Now that we all know eachother, the helicopter’s waiting. Let’s go.” They all sighed, finished their drinks, and trudged out of the shelter to the waiting helicopter. They took off without incident, and no words were spoken during the flight. Indeed, no one could hear each other over the sound of the aircraft. When Jonas finally landed the helicopter an hour later, they were all too happy to stand up again. They entered the bunker, where they would be living for the year, glancing around at the welcoming decor and furniture. Darcy spoke first: “Y’know, as far as subzero shitholes go, this is top notch” she said as she plopped her bags onto the ground. The group nodded in agreement. Walter found a bottle of wine in storage, and poured drinks for the team. As they plopped onto the couches, Olivia asked a question: “So, do any of you have families?”
“Yes, actually” Ryan replied, “a wife and two lovely daughters.”
Walter set the bottle down and dug into his pockets, searching for his wallet. He eventually found it and he took three photos of it. He also pulled a body camera from his bag and clipped it to his collar. As he unfolded the pictures, he said “I hope you don’t mind me recording, our patrons want records of our stay out here.”
Garrick arched an eyebrow at Walter. “And who exactly is financing this operation? This level of equipment certainly can’t be cheap.”
While Garrick was talking, Walter had started passing around the photos from his wallet. They were of his family. His husband and their dog. One photo showed them on the bow of a cruise ship, smiling and laughing. Another was of the dog, Niki, staring at a Christmas tree in wonder. The last picture showed Walter saying goodbye at the airport before leaving for Sweden.
Walter cleared his throat before answering Garrick. “We are being funded by several different agencies, but this rig belongs to Permafrost Group. This is one of twenty-seven they have across the world. Most of them are at the poles.” Garrick nodded, satisfied with the answer.
The time passed quickly after that, with the team swapping stories and sharing drinks and good-hearted laughter. Jonas told them a story about the time he was stood on a sinking research vessel. The engine had exploded, and the hole in the boat's keel was filled with rushing water. Just as they were about to be pulled under by the currents, a group of fishermen spotted them and pulled them out of the water. He made it sound as if it were just another day in the life, and not an extremely perilous situation.
After a night of revelry, they all retired to their bunks. After some tossing and turning, the seven of them drifted off to sleep, comforted by the soft humming of the bunker’s generators
++7 HOURS LATER++
Ryan awoke to a pounding at the door, the dull clang of metal reverberating through the concrete and rebar of the bunker. He stood up, putting on his jacket and boots before wearily staggering to the door. He slid the shutter aside, looking out through the bulletproof glass that covered the peephole. He saw a man in a tattered ski jacket collapsed in front of the door. Ryan hurriedly unlocked and threw open the door, and saw the man was completely drenched in blood, the red liquid seeping into the snow around him. “Shit” Ryan hissed, before shouting back into the bunker, saying: “Darcy, Jonas, come quickly!” He started dragging the man inside, and shut the door. Darcy and Jonas rounded the corner, grumbling. Their objections ceased when they saw the reason Ryan had called them.
Jonas rushed to help Ryan carry the man to the infirmary, while Darcy muttered a few Southern expletives and grabbed her first aid kit. Jonas and Ryan set the man down on a cot in the infirmary, and Darcy cut his jacket off, much to the objection of Jonas. “It’s fucking cold in here, he’s gonna need that later!” Darcy started wiping the blood from the man, replying through gritted teeth “There ain’t gonna be a later if he’s dead!”
The man’s injuries were brutal. A large section of his torso was slashed, with scraps of broken skin dangling limply from his mutilated chest cavity. His right arm was bent all the way in the wrong direction at the elbow, with a bone protruding from his wrist. His face was a horror show of shredded skin and muscle, his eyes were clouded, milky white orbs in a pit of red.
Darcy finished cleaning his wounds, sighing heavily as she readied bandages. “He’s lost a lot of blood, but somehow he hasn’t lost anything important.”
The man’s chest was wrapped, his arm splinted, and his face bandaged, but every bandage they put on was quickly soaked with blood. The rest of the team had been awoken by the commotion, and they staggered groggily into the infirmary. Olivia and Walter both had mugs of hot coffee. Ivakov was furious, storming into the room. “What the hell were you three doing out here!? I thought there was a goddamn-” He paused when he saw the injured man. “Oh fuck.”
The man started awake, screaming “No! No don’t take them! Don’t take them!” He winced as he sat up, looking around the infirmary, and then to his own injured chest. “Where- where am I?”
“It’s okay, you’re safe. You were in a pretty bad shape when we found you.” Darcy answered, trying to calm the man. “What’s your name?”
“Isacc. Isacc West.” The man replied, his hands shaking. Darcy turned to whisper to the team. “At least he remembers his name, eh?” She then turned back to Isacc. “What happened to you?”
“I was with a tour group, we were up here to see the Northern Lights. We were on our way back to our camp when something attacked us. Long, sharp fingers. And blood. Oh God, so much blood...” He shuddered as he spoke, as if reliving the horrors he had experienced. “I ran, but one of those fucking things caught me, tackled me. It did this to me.” He gestured vaguely at his injuries. He whispered one final sentence. “I don’t think anyone else made it out.”
In the bathroom, the group heard Olivia vomit.
“Well then” Darcy remarked, “since I suppose we ain’t gettin’ any sleep now, might as well start the work.” The rest of the team murmured agreements and went to get ready for the day. Madman or not, they had a job to do.
Chapter 2:
An Ordinary Day
The team shuffled into the rig, ready for the day and running on caffeine, adrenaline, and seven hours of sleep. Isacc was still in the infirmary, as he was in no condition to move. As the first core came up, Jonas stepped over to examine it. Ivakov played Sudoku with Ryan on the upper level of the rig deck. All was well.
“Thirty-one!” Garrick exclaimed as he slammed his cards to the table. “Read em’ and weep.” Olivia and Darcy groaned. “That’s the third time in a row,” Darcy grumbled, “let’s just play poker.”
“The problem there is I’m the one who brought the cards and I know absolutely fuck all about poker.” Garrick chuckled. Darcy mumbled something in angry Texan under her breath.
Walter poked his head through the door, carrying several cups. “I brought coffee!” he said in a singsong voice. He placed the cups on the mess table, grabbed one for himself, and sat down on a bench on the lower deck next to Jonas. Walter leaned over quizzically, sipping the coffee and placing one next to the focused Jonas.
“Find anything yet?” Walter asked, taking another sip. Jonas sighed. “No, not yet. Just ice, ice, and more goddamn ice.” Walter arched an eyebrow. “Isn’t that a good thing?”
“Yes, but I thought I- Well I don’t know what I thought.” Jonas grunted the words from his mouth, as he hauled the next core onto the table. “Wait... Is that...? Ryan, Garrick, get over here!” The two men startled at their names and shuffled over. “What is it?” Garrick asked.
Jonas pointed to an anomaly in the ice. A long, off-white splinter, about as long as a thumb, was embedded in the frosty substance. “Is that what I think it is?” He asked. Ryan leaned closer, inspecting the object. “I’d have to cut it out to get a closer look and know for sure, but at least from here it does look like bone.”
Garrick leaned closer, trying to get a good view of the object. “There’s some equipment in the bunker, I could date this.” Jonas nodded, sipping his coffee. “Please do.”
Garrick chipped a sample from the ice, cradling it as he trotted off towards the lab. Jonas turned to Ryan. “Do you want to take over?” Ryan shrugged. “Sure, go rest your arms.” Jonas nodded and went to sit with Ivakov, who had finished his Sudoku and was doing a crossword. He glanced up as Jonas sat down. “Seven letter word, a distilled spirit originating from Scandinavia.” Jonas chuckled. “That’s easy, Akvavit. It’s kinda like shitty, cheap tequila. I think we’ve got some in storage.” Ivakov grunted his thanks, scribbling the word down. Jonas shifted to face Ivakov. “So, what’s your story?” Ivakov set down his pencil and leaned back in his seat. “Well, my mother was a park ranger, and my pa was an accountant. They’re both retired now. I’ve hopped around from job to job for the past few years after the mines ran dry and they didn’t need me to fix the drills anymore. Turns out a degree in electrical engineering doesn’t do you much good as a tour guide. I got the call for this job a few months ago, and I thought I couldn’t get any more broke. I signed a contract, so the only way I’m not getting paid is if I die. And what are the odds of that happening, eh?” Jonas shrugged. “I suppose you could always fall off the rig. But you aren’t that stupid.”
Garrick came back into the rig deck, carrying his laptop. “Alright, it was a bit of a pain, but I got the date for that bone. 523 BCE.” Ryan choked and spit out his coffee, the precious liquid becoming a fine mist. “I’m sorry, did you just say 523 BCE!?” Garrick nodded. Ryan stormed over, grabbing the laptop. “Let me see that.” His eyes panned over the screen, widening with amazement. “I’ll be damned.”
Walter looked over at Ryan. “Everything okay?” Ryan whirled to face Walter. “Okay!? No I’m not okay! This is scientific proof that humans inhabited the Arctic more than four hundred years before the Roman Empire was founded! This could make my entire career!”
Walter chuckled. “Alright, calm down. I just thought something was wrong. I’m glad I was wrong.”
The core drill had stopped, the motor overheating from the continuous operation. Ivakov glanced over at the halted machine. “Drill’s stopped” he remarked, “it’s gonna take a while to cool off. Break?” The rest of the group nodded.
The crew shuffled into the bunker, settling into the common room. Garrick sighed. “Since Darcy gets pissy every time I win at thirty-one, how about a movie?” Walter perked up at the mention of something to do other than play cards. “Yes, please.” Garrick flipped open his laptop, opening his library. “Let’s see... We have the Lord of the Rings trilogy, the Incredibles, The Thing-” Olivia interrupted him. “The Thing, yes, that one!” Garrick shrugged. “Alright then!” He put the movie on as Jonas came back with a massive bucket of popcorn.
The festivities were interrupted by screaming from the infirmary, followed by shattering glass and the sound of tearing meat. The team startled at the noise, rushing to the infirmary, only to see a gruesome scene. Torn scraps of flesh littered the room, which was splattered with blood. One of the windows was shattered, allowing the storm outside to whip into the bunker. Isacc was missing, along with the spare bandages. The rig crew rushed to suit up to give chase to the screaming of Isacc. Walter grabbed his shotgun, Darcy grabbed the medical bag, Garrick retrieved his camcorder, and Jonas hefted his hunting rifle. Walter glanced back at the rest of the team. ”After we leave, shut and lock the door. Only let us in when we say ”Canada is just a bunch of ice.” Got it?” Olivia nodded. ”Good. Let’s go.” Walter grunted, hurrying out the door, which was slammed behind them.
Garrick yelled out to Walter, his voice shaking with fear. ”Walter, remind me again why we’re going out in fucking fifteen below to look for someone who’s probably already dead!” Walter replied through gritted teeth. ”Because “probably” doesn’t equal "is”, Heath.” Garrick grumbled assent, before shouting his response. ”Just because you’re right doesn’t mean I agree with you!” Walter just chuckled.
The wind from the storm whipped at the group as they reached the helicopter, still where they had left it. Isacc’s trail of blood went off into the void of impenetrable white as Walter stopped them at the aircraft. ”Fuck!” he hissed. “Someone trashed the damn helicopter!” Jonas hurried over, recoiling from the stench of motor oil and smoke, still detectable even in the storm. “One problem at a time Walter!” The group carried on, into the storm.
After trudging through knee-deep snow for several minutes, the trail of crimson they had been following through the snow went down into a cave in the ice. Walter shook his head. ”We’ll need the proper gear to go down there! We’ll come back tomorrow!” Darcy agreed, very openly. ”Let’s get back to the bunker. It’s colder than a northern night up here!” With that, the small group that had gone searching for Isacc began the trek back to the bunker, shaken by what they had seen.
@shrimpysstuff @eternal-nyxx
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So I finally got around to watching the Food Fight episode of the new series that the official Monster High channel posted. It was alright, I might watch it a few more times to get more of a feel for it, y’know.
More of my random thoughts about it under the cut.
I didn’t hate it, that’s for sure, the new character designs are starting to grow on me or maybe I’m just plain getting used to them lol and I think the voices all sound pretty good, although I wish Clawdeen and Draculaura still had their accents ngl. Lagoona sounds like she still has some sort of accent, but it’s certainly not Australian anymore, which is a shame. AND SPEAKING OF ACCENTS, WHY THE HECK DOES TORALEI, OF ALL CHARACTERS, HAVE ONE NOW?!?! SHE’S JUST BRITISH FOR NO REASON?!?! Like, why take away some character’s accents, but then give one to a character who never ever had an accent at all?? It makes no sense to me. I’m not hating on the voice actors, don’t get me wrong, I think they all did great, it’s just the switched up accents that threw me off and I just simply don’t understand the decision behind it.
I’m okay with Draculaura wanting to be a witch, but once again, adding something to a character that was never part of their character before is taking some getting used to, but it’s fine, I don’t mind it. Plus her and Dracula’s relationship is adorable, I really hope we get to see more of them together. We need to see more monster parents in general, really.
Clawdeen being half human is still weird to me though, I mean, aren’t werewolves kinda already half human, sorta? IDK, but it’s just one more thing that I’m going to have to get used to.
Frankie...Frankie is awesome, they’ve grown on me the fastest out of all these new versions of the characters. The frustrating thing for me though is having to remember to say they/them now, I’m so used to Frankie going by she/her that I still get messed up sometimes, but I’m learning.
The main plot about Draculaura bringing the food to life was silly, but fun. I’m really hoping that each character gets an episode centered around them, kinda like they’re already doing with the music videos, that would be really awesome, plus it would be a great way to get to know these new versions of the characters even more.
When I first saw a clip from the episode I honestly wasn’t sure how I felt about it, but now after having seen the whole thing, I think I’ll be watching more episodes when they come out and maybe I’ll keep posting my thoughts about them here.
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hey ☺️ can I have a reading of soulmate I love to know what they are like and if you pick up any details about them.❤️ 🤖 Thanks 🙏
It’s crazy to me that out of everything we could ask the universe, most people are most concerned with their soulmate, not their own career or their goals or soul purpose. Very interesting. I feel like that speaks to the seeming lack of love on the planet.
All that said. I’ll see what I can pick up. Not sure if you are the same anon who asked if the person you think is your soulmate is, but if so, that message still stands. And it’s part of why it’s taken me a long time to get to this reading.
I’m hearing standard office sounds, sounds on the computer typing, deep sighs, dreary, boredom, nice office, high up in a sky scraper, working in a shared office environment, I feel like this person works in stocks or finance, a lot of stress with the economy, this feels like London, they work in international finance and I don’t think they are British, maybe Australian (I heard that accent), I’m not sure if they are happy but I think they are good at what they do, people seek them out, they have good insight, they are decisive. Nice watch, crisp clothes, they do well but it’s blasé (that song by Ty dolla sign is coming up) access to materialism but doesn’t feed anything, they have the nice house and job and everything they asked for but it’s not fulfilling. Deep down they always wanted to do something else, athletic or outdoorsy, I’m seeing surfing and sailing which would make sense if they’re from Australia. I think they want a different lifestyle but the one they are in provides for them and other people they love so they feel it’s a sacrifice they must make, the well being of others or their own happiness, they chose others. They feel drained, I think they miss the warmth and sun, seasonal affective disorder.
Anything to say soul mate?
Not really. (Melancholy) Everything’s just as it should be going. I’m on track for a promotion, maybe even can open my own firm or be a partner at a firm one day (They are standing looking out a window over the bustling city, arms crossed) Everything I’ve asked for, I got (sounds hollow, what’s missing?) Nothing is missing, it’s just when I asked for this, I didn’t think it would feel like this, everyone with money looks happy, they’re partying and yachts and I’ve done some of that but I just, idk feel disillusioned I guess (you can still change your mind) I know. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. The pandemic was crazy financially but it’s all going to shit. I’m doing fine enough, I could finally go sail the world and just disappear for awhile but I worry, I worry that I’ll regret it one day. Stuck in the in between, if I jump I could die but I can’t just stand here anymore. I need to take a leap of faith. If you aren’t shitting, get off the pot.
Goddess Guidance Oracle
Abundantia—prosperity “the universe is pouring its abundance out to you. Be open to receiving.”
This dissatisfaction is a gift from the universe because it is allowing for a new direction, the more we hold onto to the old and outdated ways of doing things, the more we block our only ability to evolve and find abundance (tingling wings, I told y’all 2023 is abundance based).
Yemanya— Golden Opportunity “Important doors are opening for you right now. Walk through them.”
You can help your soulmate by saying yes to opportunities that present themselves and by following the quiet hunches of your heart. It’s a wild goose chase, keep chasing.
Focus on your goals and passions, not your soul mate. If you want to see breakthroughs, you have to break through. Stop doing the same things and expecting change.
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Solid Ground ~ One
A/N: Afternoon all! Here’s the start of Diana and Steve’s journey. As stated before, these won’t be in order - just this one and the last, which are set in Season Six.
“So, you saw her then? Is she alright?”
It was a typical Friday night - for Steve and I, anyway.
After a gruelling day of doing practically nothing, Steve and I found ourselves back at my house. Consuming copious amounts of takeaway. I was slightly tipsy from a bottle of red, whilst Steve was two bottles deep into a pack of six Peroni’s. Both of us curled up on the sofa. Steve always took the left, I the right.
Taking a rather elongated sip, Steve just seemed to huff in response, “She’s fine. Who wouldn’t be? Over at Polk, away from the likes of us.”
“Don’t be bitter Steven.”
“Believe me, I’ve tried not to be but-“ Steve couldn’t finish. Instead, taking another drink of beer. He focused his attention back on the television, where a crappy, and rather uninteresting talk show played.
But I wasn’t done, “Kate wanted a change. There’s nothing wrong with that. We should be thankful that for once, she’s happy.”
It took him a moment, then Steve shifted, his gaze meeting mine. I raised a brow, causing him to chuckle softly and return to watching the television.
On the other hand, I found myself just staring at Steve, unable to tear my eyes away. There were a number of things occurring in my brain. Maybe it was the wine? Surely that wasn’t causing the flutterings. No, that had been there for quite some time.
He’s my best friend. There’s not much more to it than that. Steve Arnott was the waist coated light of my life, and when I say that I couldn’t live without him, that wouldn’t be an exaggeration. He liked beer and football. A hot curry after work. I hated beer, had zero interest in football and couldn’t stand curry. But that didn’t matter. Not to us. That’s what made our friendship so special. If Steve could handle the odd episode of Married at First Sight (the Australian version, not the British,) then I could withstand attending a football match or two. We’re different, but so alike. That’s what made us. I knew that, regardless of if he had a relationship, I was his rock - his one constant, as he had been mine for so long.
But now he wanted to transfer, leaving AC-12 behind, just as Kate had done eighteen months before.
The thought of Steve relocating made my chest hurt. It was selfish of me, but I didn’t want him to go. There was still time. He hadn’t made up his mind just yet. Work had been kicking his arse recently. This was due to unsolved murder of journalist, Gail Vella. It was an incredibly tragic murder and naturally, the handling by DCI. Davidson was starting to botch. Over the last two years, I’d had a few dealings with the DCI in question, majority of them ending with the biting of tongues and keeping my mouth shut. I wasn’t Steve. I couldn’t get myself in trouble, not again. Rather than get caught up in my thoughts, I found myself reaching for my glass of Merlot and settling into Steve’s side. He was warm and luckily, didn’t mind the intrusion; his arm going around me like it was supposed to be there. After all these years he was used to it.
//
Steve tried to focus on the tv. He tried his hardest, his very hardest, but no matter what - he couldn’t. Not with Diana nestled to close to his side. After six years, he’d grown accustomed to seeing her, at AC-12, socially on the weekends and one thing was for certain, that without her, he’d be lost. Unable to properly function. It never mattered what he did - Almost ruined the cases; ended up in hospital after being thrown down stairs (he still hadn’t lived that one down, physically and with Diana); the many failed relationships and after all that happened with Dot, she was there. Still by his side.
Then there was the medication. Diana wasn’t aware of that, Steve had made certain that his friend wouldn’t find out. There would be hell to pay if she did, and would only fuss him, then maybe tell on him to his mother. Not the ideal situation, if he was being honest with himself. No, secrets were better for now.
Things weren’t looking good at AC-12 either. Everybody was consumed with the suspicious murder of Gail Vella. Hastings, Bishop, even Diana, who’s role at AC-12 had been elevated to be the only Forensic Consultant. Seeing Diana everyday made Steve feel warm. To see her smile whenever he managed to crack a stupid joke, or when Hastings quipped something incredibly Irish. It seemed to brighten the room and for that, Steve was glad. As the television grew less interesting, Steve found his mind going to other places, to the secret meeting he’d had with Kate. What a failure that had subsequently been…
—
Steve hated Polk Avenue. He could never quite place why, but he did. Kate leaving had affected him more than he cared to admit. She was his ‘mate.’ Aside from Diana, she was the only other person who he could trust. They both knew everything about him. An unnerving thought indeed. As he parked up and flashed the lights - four times, just to be sure - Steve waited patiently for Kate to approach the car. He spotted her as she began to walk away from the building and near his car, hidden subtly by the front gates. Once she was inside, it was clear Kate wasn’t all that pleased to see him.
Turning to face him, her face incredulous, “What kind of knobby signal was that?”
Typical Kate, he thought.
“First thing that came to mind.”
“Go round the block in case anyone’s watching.” Kate instructed. Pulling her seatbelt over and on, settling into the passenger seat.
Inhaling sharply, Steve simply nodded, putting the car into drive, “No worries.”
Together, they pulled away from the station, turning onto the street and driving away. For a moment, an awkward, unfamiliar silence filled the vehicle. It was Kate who spoke up first. Breaking the peace.
“There’s a nice little balti up the road. But, I’m guessing that’s not why you’re here, though.” She was calm about it all, but Steve could sense the tension in her voice.
“I wish,” He sighed, “Sorry mate.”
Again, Kate fell silent and chewed on her lip, letting out a quiet, “Right.”
“I can’t share any details, but we might be looking into Vella.” Steve started carefully.
Kate couldn’t believe it.
Closing her eyes and sighing deeply, “Oh shit,” Opening them again, she found herself getting angry with the man sat beside her, “Great, so when Buckells and Davidson find out, they’re going to think-“
“They’ll think either you’re our CHIS or you’ve been embedded as a UCO.” He intercepted. Turning, he tried to smile at his friend, “That’s why I’m giving you a heads-up, Kate.”
Kate still wasn’t having it, “Steve, you know what it’s like being ex-anti corruption. I’ve had to work my bollocks off with them lot.”
Of course Steve knew this. Kate was one of the hardest workers in the force, and yet, it all boiled down to loyalty - as it always seemed to do these days.
“Is this the gaffer’s way of getting his own back?” She continued.
Frowning, Steve simply shook his head, “No, of course not.”
“Why am I still calling him “gaffer?”
Steve tried to think of something in kind. He knew why she’d moved, as did Hastings. There was no doubt about that. Sighing, Kate moved onto other subjects, ready to stop talking about her new Bosses.
“How’s Di?” She asked softly, her voice lowering for the first time since getting in.
Kate missed her friends, even though she wouldn’t admit to that out loud. Seeing them both everyday was something she’d missed. The laughter in those off moments. A coffee when it was calm. Her weekly glass of wine with Diana - that was what she missed the most. Sure, they messaged from time to time, but now Diana was a consultant, rather than just an investigator, and with her position at Polk Avenue, time was scarce. Kate observed Steve closely. Noting how the tops of his ears turned a little pink, or how his cheeks had blushed. Internally, she smirked.
Steve let out a harsh cough and nodded, “She’s good, yeah, she’s- Alright.”
“I do miss her,” Then, “You’re so obvious you know.”
“What?” He was confused.
Kate let out a snort, shaking her head amusedly, “Never mind. Forget I said anything about it.”
Steve wanted to enquire about her statement, but left it alone. Not wanting to upset the moment between them. Their conversation about Vella and Hastings continued until they reached Polk Avenue again. Then, as Steve was left alone, his thoughts returned back to Kate and her statement. What was he so obvious about?
Shaking his head, he tried to push the thoughts back and started to make his way back into the city.
—
Collectively, the pair were silent, watching the television. Steve’s fingers brushed over Diana’s shoulder, whilst Diana made his shoulder her pillow. Separately however, their thoughts were racing.
Both recalling the moments that had led them to this.
#steve arnott fanfiction#steve arnott#line of duty fanfiction#line of duty#kate fleming#oc: diana jackson#fanfiction#jo davidson#ac 12
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911:Lone Star 2x08 Hate Watch
Here we go, though I heard mixed reports that this episode was better than the OG's 4x08? So we'll see.
Diaz for strength:
And the hate is under the cut:
Things are almost instantly off to a bad start with TK as the very first person we see
Oh god SERIOUSLY WE'RE DOING THIS SOBER ANNIVERSARY FIRST FUCKING THING?
Like don't even ease us into it
We're just going right into the schmaltz INSTANTLY
"My parents got back together" oh TK you are in for a RUDE SHOCK MY MAN
No masks at this party
No social distancing
Pandemic, what pandemic?
Oh shit SHE'S MOVING OUT ALREADY
"We were right not to tell him" YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE TO TELL HIM AT SOME POINT YOU ASSHOLES
Just when I think Rob Lowe can't be more of an asshole, there he goes, out-assholing himself
Oh do you guys call cash registers "tills" in America? I thought that was a British/Australian thing
Please let him blow up
Please let him blow up
Oh wait does Carlos have more than 30 seconds in this episode? WHAT'S GOING ON?
Damn he didn't blow up
Uh oh TK's come home to Lisa Edelstein moving out
RELAPSE?
Wait was she just gonna fucking LEAVE? WITHOUT TELLING HIM?
Oh TK you dumb fuck
God he can't act, he is such a bad actor
Everything is in a fucking monotone
It's a complicated question? Bitch you're pregnant with someone else's baby and you're also in love with that someone else
Oh shiiit TK you're so dumb
She came down to Texas, fucked Rob Lowe's brains out, rushed back into everything and now she's pregnant and fucking back off to New York – smooth move
Who is this mysterious Enzo? I would like to meet him
Ronen can't act. I know I keep saying it but he's like a robot.
Wow Carlos has been in SO MANY SCENES WHAT IS HAPPENING
Is his dad a cop? Did I know this?
I can't remember the name of the guy who plays Carlos but here's what I'm going to say – dude is about a million times better at acting than Ronen Rubenstein. There is actual EMOTION IN HIS VOICE AND ON HIS FACE
Is his dad a lawyer? What's the deal here?
I feel like this is a conflict? Should the dad be investigating the son? Oh he's a Texas RANGER
I still feel like it's a conflict, ngl
I'm bored
Dude's dad doesn't believe him and he's gonna be proven wrong isn't he
Wow this dad is almost worse than Owen, he has no faith in Carlos whatsoever
What a dick
Hey maybe you two should've just FUCKING TOLD YOUR SON THAT YOU WEREN'T GETTING BACK TOGETHER AND THAT IT WASN'T OWEN'S BABY, THE DUDE IS IN RECOVERY
And the lack of concern from Rob Lowe about his ONLY SON IS FUCKING STUNNING
Okay so my theory is that Rob Lowe allowed Carlos to have lines in this episode of the show provided that he was the one in the scene with him
Look at Owen actually trying to do the right thing here and not be selfish for once, amazing, we love to see it
What is with everyone in this show having terrible fathers
I'm bored AGAIN
"there should be a heart behind that shield" god give me a fucking break, you're nicer to Carlos than you are to your own son you dick
No masks anywhere at the scene, no masks on anyone at the fire
It's like they remembered about the pandemic for the scene at the bank and then forgot about it again for the rest of the show
Ooh is there going to be an EXPLOSION?
What is with me and things blowing up – look I watch this show with the understanding that bonkers things are going to happen and I'm a simple person who likes when things go boom, what can I say?
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM
Good explosion
Oh now daddy dearest knows that Carlos wasn't lying and he didn't fuck up
I bet he feels like a right fuckhead
I disagree with the assessment that this was better than 4x08 of the OG, at least the OG has people who can act – at the very fucking least
And no Rob Lowe
Oooh Carlos' dad is as cold as fucking ICE
Yeah Carlos you stand up for yourself, you're getting lines in this episode and I'm so happy for you
TK is such a whiny little bitch
His voice just grates on me, god he fucking sucks so much
OOOOH IT'S A TRAP
THEY'VE BEEN ENSNARED IN A SCHEME
That dude don't look so hot
God damn Nancy with the sick burns (her name is Nancy right?)
Oh TK leaving a CLUE what a smart little cookie, someone's been reading his Nancy Drew books hasn't he? (is that reference too old?)
"In American" BITCH
"we're not surgeons, we're paramedics" – he SAYS EVERYTHING IN A MONOTONE, there is no emotion in his voice AT ALL
Oh no Carlos is waiting for his man
Wait is Carlos going to save the day?!
No I bet Owen does, I will not get my hopes up
They're gonna perform surgery in a restaurant? I mean I suppose Hen and Chim could do it but I don't know about this bunch
Oh shit TK just knocked the FUCK OUT
It's about TIME
You know, if he actually relapsed because of these two assholes, they would totally fucking deserve it
Rob Lowe does not seem worried literally AT ALL
His son is missing and he's just like, okay cool
Oh wait he was playing it cool – okay fine, I retract my previous mean statement
I love that TK is just knocked the fuck out while the women do the work
Can I marry Gina Torres or is she already married or… what's the go there? Would she want an Australian wife with two cats?
These two dumb bank robbers really think this dude is going to live?
DO NOT STRANGLE GINA TORRES YOU MOTHER FUCKER
Oh shit the one nearly dead bank robber killed the other one
Carlos is going to find TK's special little clue and HE DID
What a good boyfriend
Good thing Rob Lowe has Carlos here, we can see who the brains are
Carlos is just out here solving mysteries, maybe HE'S the one who's been reading Nancy Drew (does anyone read Nancy Drew anymore?)
Ooh Carlos with the trusting of the gut YOU GO GIRL, go GET YO MAN
Though real talk you could do better
I mean ngl if this was Eddie storming in to rescue Buck I would be ALL OVER THIS, this shit is MY JAM but it's TK and Carlos so who fucking cares
OH SHIT HERE COMES GINA TORRES HERE WE FUCKING GO
OH YES NANCY
YES THE LADIES ARE SAVING THE FUCKING DAY
WAIT
ROB LOWE FIRED THE SHOT???? WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?
HE IS A FIRE CAPTAIN
WHERE DID HE GET A GUN FROM?
I think Carlos' dad is flirting with Rob Lowe
Look at him standing up for Carlos
Oh and NOW the dad is being nice, okay
How the turn tables
This Strand family drama is the most boring fucking shit ever, I legit don't care
OH GOD
WHY ARE JUDD AND GRACE DRIVING IN THE RAIN
NO
NO
WHEN DID IT START RAINING LIKE THIS?
SHE WANTS BABIES JUDD
THEY'RE GONNA HAVE A BABY
NOOOOOOOOOOO
FOR FUCKING SERIOUS IS THIS SHOW FUCKING SERIOUS DO NOT BREAK MY HEART
Look obviously they’re going to be all right because they already killed Zombie Tim this season, but still. Not Judd and Grace, the two best characters on the show!
Okay, this episode was marginally better than other episodes but it still sucked, so I’m giving it... 4 out of ten. Honestly, it does lose points because Rob Lowe is the one who shot the dude? Like actually wtf?
BUT it must be in Rob Lowe’s contract that nobody gets to do anything cool in this show but him so it does make sense.
Really not gonna miss Lone Star the next few weeks, see you after the hiatus for more hate watching!
And Eddie Diaz to cleanse our hearts and minds:
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Off Limits, Chapter 4 (Bitney/Adorney) - Veronica/Albatross
A/N: Hey guys! This is the companion story to “No Strings Attached.” Both ships are in both stories, but generally, “No Strings Attached” is Willaska-focused and this one is Bitney-focused. (Link to all chapters in order.)
Chapter Summary: A girls’ night at the local gay club just might change everything. With Special Guest Star Adore Delano.
(Special thanks to the wonderful @opalescent-cheetah and her dad for being our Australian slang consultants. XOXO!)
***
Courtney really couldn’t figure out why she was so anxious. She hung out with gay people every day. Why was a gay bar so intimidating, so much that her stomach was in knots? She supposed the idea of looking or feeling out of place was a bit disconcerting, as she’d explained to Willam earlier when they were getting ready, before Willam had tossed a dress at her face and ordered her to calm down. Now, she sat squished between Willam and Alaska in the back of the uber, leg bouncing nervously until Willam gave her thigh a pinch.
But once they got there, her nerves settled almost immediately. It was a lively, crowded club—flashing lights and thumping bass, people packed onto the dance floor. Easy to blend in; nothing to be afraid of.
And then, to her delight, a live band took the stage. (Bianca and Willam, on the other hand, weren’t so happy about that, groaning and taking the opportunity to get drinks for the group.)
The lead singer was amazing. A sultry voice, with full lips and hazel eyes, dark hair dyed a vivid emerald green. Even her name was sexy. Adore.
Courtney was enchanted, watching in breathless excitement throughout her whole first set, barely noticing when Willam slipped a drink into her hand. When they paused for a break, she turned to the others, eyes wide.
“Omigod, she was amazing! Wasn’t she amazing?” Courtney gushed.
“Yeah, she was really good,” Alaska agreed, an amused look on her face.
“We should find out if they play here often!” Courtney continued. “I mean, she’s totally worth coming back for, right? I mean they. The whole band.”
Courtney barely had time to blush at that, turning back to the stage to wait in anticipation for the next set, pretending that she didn’t notice Willam and Bianca rolling their eyes like slot machines. If they wanted to be killjoys, that was fine. Courtney was still going to enjoy the music.
The band did another short set—too short, if you asked Courtney, who felt like Adore’s eyes were boring right into her soul at one point. She watched her, absolutely transfixed, letting Adore’s smoky voice wash over her in tingling waves. When they were done, Courtney cheered loudly as Adore gave an awkward little bow. She was incredibly talented, but clearly a little insecure, and it made Courtney’s heart go soft and fluttery.
“Finally,” Willam said, as the DJ took over again. “Now we can dance!”
She dragged the girls into the dance floor, and they followed, laughing. After a song or two (honestly, Courtney couldn’t keep track—unlike Adore’s band, all the thumping house music sounded the same to her), she noticed that Bianca had slipped away, probably to get a drink. She decided to go and join her at the bar, get another drink herself.
But as she made her way towards the bar, she saw that Bianca hadn’t made it that far. She stood at a cocktail table, just past the dance floor. She was in the midst of what seemed like a riveting conversation with an unfamiliar girl. A busty redhead in a flower crown, leaning in with a hand on Bianca’s arm. Whatever she whispered was apparently hilarious, because Bianca burst out laughing.
Courtney wrinkled her nose, feeling a bit offended. They were supposed to be having a fun night out together. Girl bonding and all that nonsense. So why Bianca decided to chat up this random girl was beyond her. She kept walking to the bar, sure that Bianca hadn’t even noticed her. Not when she had such a clearly experienced girl in front of her, Courtney thought bitterly.
As she tried to wedge her way through the crowd to get the bartender’s attention, Courtney felt her heart stall for just a moment when she spotted Adore at the opposite end of the counter, ordering a drink of her own.
It was only when Adore’s eyes shifted in her direction that she became all too aware that she was staring. Shell-shocked, she couldn’t bring herself to look away. She was certain she had a deer-in-headlights expression on her face but her body felt paralyzed, unable to even form a small smile, just something to make her seem like less of a total creeper.
A knowing smirk appeared on Adore’s perfect red lips and soon a little wink was sent Courtney’s way.
She cast her eyes down in embarrassment, pretending to be deeply interested in the grain of the wood on the bar, when by some miraculous chance, the bartender turned her way.
“What can I get you, sis?”
“Oh, uh...gin and tonic with lime?”
He nodded, and only then did Courtney realize that the arm sliding in beside her belonged to Adore, the chipped black nail polish and fingerless gloves a dead giveaway. She looked up, meeting her piercing hazel eyes and this time, managing a small smile.
“Hey,” Adore said.
“Hi,” Courtney replied breathlessly. “You were amazing tonight. I wasn’t expecting-um, to see such a great performance. I know these places usually just use DJs all the time. But it was really so good...”
Realizing that she was babbling, Courtney clamped her mouth shut.
“Are you British?” Adore asked, head tilted.
“No, Australian.”
“Ahh. I love girls with accents,” Adore remarked, taking a swig of her beer.
“I mean, technically, we all have accents,” Courtney couldn’t help correcting, cringing inwardly at how basic and bratty she must have sounded.
But Adore simply laughed, a throaty laugh that Courtney found lovely. Once again, the bartender had perfect timing, sliding her drink over to her. A welcome distraction from her awkward babbling. She pulled a card from her little purse, but Adore stopped her, covering Courtney’s hand with her own.
“Put her drink on my tab,” Adore told him, and Courtney was grateful for the dim lighting that masked her hot red cheeks.
“Thanks,” she said softly, barely audible over the pounding music.
“Don’t worry about it, cutie,” Adore assured as she leaned in with an inviting smile on her lips, “Just tell me your name and we’ll call it even.”
A sense of familiarity washed over Courtney as she vaguely recalled the number of times men had tried similar lines with her. Back then it always felt cliché or just mildly pathetic yet when those words fell from Adore’s lips? Plump, cherry-red lips that Courtney couldn’t keep her eyes off of?
It was strangely appealing this time around.
“Courtney.”
“Courtney,” Adore repeated, imitating her accent, lips curling around the syllables in a way that made Courtney shiver. “Do you like shots, Courtney?”
“Mmm...when they’re sweet?”
Adore grinned again, ordering two lemon drops. While the bartender got to work, Adore draped an arm across Courtney’s shoulders.
“So...I haven’t seen you here before. Are you new to the area?”
“No, I’ve lived here for a couple of years,” Courtney told her, adding coyly, “It’s just...my first time here. Tonight.”
“Mmm.” Adore handed her a shot, toasting her gently. “To first times.”
“Cheers.”
They tossed back the shots, giggling.
“So, uh, I have a confession to make,” Adore said.
Courtney turned toward her curiously, causing her arm to slide off her shoulders. But instead of removing it all the way, Adore merely adjusted, fingers sliding across her shoulder blades, making her shiver.
“When I was singing...I uh, kind of noticed you.”
“You did?” Courtney’s eyes grew, the idea of Adore picking her out of the crowd giving her a thrill.
“Yeah. Couldn’t you tell? I was singing right to you.”
“I assumed everyone thought you were singing to them,” Courtney said, twirling a lock of hair in her hand as Adore slowly shook her head. “Well...I’m flattered.”
Mustering up every bit of false bravado she could, Courtney offered a confident smile, practically daring Adore to make another move. Time seemed to slow down as Adore put one finger under her chin, tilting her face up, then leaning in, eyes falling shut…
***
What the fuck was she doing?
Bianca spotted her immediately from across the bar. Flirting with that random green-haired singer, the one with the stupid name...Adore...gazing up at her as if she was the best thing since sliced fucking bread. It was strangely unsettling, seeing her act that way, and Bianca wondered how much she’d had to drink. Better keep an eye on her...just to make sure she’s okay.
She was about halfway through her own drink when she chanced to look away for just a moment to see if her other roommates could be spotted somewhere in the mass of people still crowding the dance floor. Failing that, she turned her attention back to Courtney to find Adore tilting her chin up and hovering only an inch or two above her lips.
Bianca damn near marched herself right over but in less than a second, Courtney closed that gap herself and almost instantly the pair was making out at the bar for everyone to see. Her jaw actually dropped at the sight and not too far behind it, so did her stomach.
It was awful watching Courtney kiss someone else, even worse knowing that Courtney had initiated it herself and Bianca was left to watch it all in a helpless, paralyzed state of shock. She couldn’t tear her eyes away for anything, no matter how much she wanted to. No, instead her focus remained zeroed in on Courtney, until, to her sick relief, they finally broke apart.
There was dark red lipstick smudged overtop Courtney’s own light pink but that was only a thin thought in Bianca’s mind. What caught her attention was that glassy, hazy look in Courtney’s eyes. One Bianca had come to recognize as she spent more time in bars in the late hours of the night.
Shit.
Not that Adore seemed to have any qualms about that fact—if she’d even noticed, that is. Even from the distance Bianca kept, she could see that smug smirk on her stupid face, particularly as her head jutted in the direction of the bathrooms.
Courtney’s response was delayed, as if she were trying to figure out what Adore was trying to imply, but to Bianca’s dread there was a distracted nod of the head and soon the two disappeared into the depths of the crowd.
Well, not if Bianca could help it.
Downing the rest of her drink and slapping some money onto the counter, she bolted from the bar and followed after those drunken idiots like a woman on a mission.
***
The thing that struck Courtney about Adore, more than anything, was how normal it felt to be with her. The ritual of a few flirtatious smiles and heated looks, some light touching to feel out the temperature.
She missed this simplicity, she realized. The obvious mutual attraction, the flirting with the intent of pursuit...basking in the simple knowledge that she was wanted.
There was no second-guessing, no wondering if it was just a long-winded joke or worrying that it would be called off in just a minute or two.
It was like returning home after a long vacation and finding everything still in the same place as you left it...it was just...comfortable.
Even kissing her...it felt easy and natural and fun. So when Adore suggested that they move from the bar to a location more private, she’d been delighted to follow her.
In the bathroom, Adore pressed her up against the sink, plush lips kissing her deeply, as if to devour her, wandering hands making Courtney’s heart race with excitement. They were so caught up in one another that they didn’t even notice someone else had entered the room until Bianca quite loudly cleared her throat, heels clacking on the tile floor as she approached.
When Courtney raised her eyes and spotted the intruder, her stomach dropped straight to her feet and she gasped softly. Bianca’s arms were crossed in front of her chest as she glowered deep into Courtney’s soul, filling her with shame. She gulped, fingers untangling from Adore’s messy green waves to wipe her sweaty palms on her sides.
“Hi Bianca,” she said, offering a sheepish smile.
Seemingly unconcerned with the new development, Adore moved her attention from Courtney’s lips down to her neck. Grazing her lips along the skin, there was just a hint of a mocking undertone as she asked, “Girlfriend?”
Feeling her cheeks flush from both Adore’s brazen gesture and the judgemental arching of Bianca’s brow, Courtney was forced to admit as her mouth went dry with embarrassment, “Um, no...roommate.”
“Ah,” Adore murmured between the series of light kisses she’d been placing along the expanse of Courtney’s neck. She was acting rather nonchalant, as if this weren’t the first time she’d been caught in such a situation. In fact, she seemed quite comfortable right now, almost pleased by the turn of events. Nuzzling into Courtney’s neck with her soft cheek, Adore shifted her gaze to Bianca and asked teasingly, “So, you watching or joining?”
Courtney’s laugh was immediate and loud. She was all but cackling at the question but Bianca looked far from amused. Courtney clapped a hand over her mouth as Bianca answered through gritted teeth.
A simple, disgusted, “Neither.”
Brushing off the reaction, Adore resumed marking Courtney’s throat with her lipstick. Her hands, which had been resting on Courtney’s hips, moved down to her thighs, finding the hem of her dress and working their way inside.
Courtney wasn’t sure if the rapid pounding of her heart was from Adore’s fingers, now tracing the edge of her panties, or from Bianca’s continued harsh glare, eyes black as midnight as she spat out, “I think you’ve had enough. Let’s go.”
“I don’t want to go,” Courtney replied, voice sounding small and petulant.
“Courtney…” Bianca’s voice was tense, almost a growl. “I’m just trying to look out for you, okay? You’re drunk. You need to come home.”
“Dude…” Adore turned her head toward Bianca, brow furrowed. “Are you her roommate or her mother?”
Courtney bit the interior of her bottom lip as she tried to think of something to say. Her hands slipped from Adore’s hair and landed on her shoulders, but whether that was for comfort's sake or to push her away, it was hard to say. She felt small and unjustifiably guilty as she remained trapped between Adore’s warm body and Bianca’s harsh, unhappy scowl.
Truth be told, she didn’t feel very drunk at all. Certainly not enough to be escorted home like a child. But something about Bianca trying to protect her, even in the cold and disapproving way she was doing it, softened her desire to be defiant. And wasn’t that what she wanted all along anyway? To spend some quality time with her roommate?
“Well?” Bianca snapped. “Are you coming or not?”
It was her tone, more than anything, that made Courtney’s decision for her. Maybe Courtney was being stupid and irresponsible. But she was also an adult who was having fun, and Bianca had no right to judge her and scold her like that. Hell, her own mum had let her traipse off to a new continent for university without the slightest bit of concern. So why on earth did Bianca think she could intimidate her into cutting a great night short?
“Nah,” Courtney said simply, eyes narrowing slightly as she stared Bianca down. She felt Adore smile into her skin, teeth grazing her neck.
Bianca watched her for a few more moments, expression hard as stone, before turning on her heel with a scoff and storming from the bathroom in a fit of anger.
Courtney turned back to Adore, capturing her lips in a deep, messy kiss, adamant to keep enjoying herself.
But after all that, her heart wasn’t in it anymore. No matter what she did, all she could see were Bianca’s angry eyes flashing in the dim light. Even the sweet taste of Adore’s lip gloss turned bitter in her mouth. She pulled back, struggling to catch her breath, surprised and embarrassed to find tears trickling down her cheeks.
“Shit, are you okay?” Adore asked. She grabbed a bunch of paper towels, running them under the water and handing them over.
“Yeah, I’m sorry.” Courtney sniffled, wiping her eyes. “It’s not you, I don’t know why I’m…”
After studying her for a few moments, Adore ventured softly, “You like her, huh?”
Courtney bit her lip. Was she really gonna admit it, out loud? She’d barely admitted it to herself yet. But in a way, this was probably the safest place to do it. After all, Adore didn’t know her, or Bianca, or any of their friends.
She nodded, whispering, “Yeah.”
Confessing felt better than she thought it would. Cleansing.
“I guess I have for awhile, but I just...I don’t think she feels the same way.”
Adore laughed at that. Almost too hard, and for a second Courtney felt the indignation rising in her chest. Until Adore leveled her gaze back down at Courtney and said definitively, “Yeah, she does. She absolutely does. I would literally bet my mom’s life on it. And like, I love my mom.”
“Why do you...think that?” Courtney asked, a surge of hope running through her.
“Because, she barreled in here like a jealous girlfriend. And that whole thing about you being too drunk? We had one shot. And you had a couple sips of a cocktail. You’re fucking fine.”
Courtney had to admit that Adore had a point. But what about all of the times Bianca had made it clear that she wasn’t interested? Her shoulders slumped.
“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted.
“Look, she’s obviously a bit of an idiot, for making you feel bad and doubt yourself instead of just telling you how she feels. So you’re probably gonna have to be the one to bring it up,” Adore said. “I mean, I assume. Maybe she’s a gigantic idiot who will deny it even after that. Only one way to find out.”
Courtney nodded, still not quite sure that Adore was right. Bianca had spent so much time adamantly stating why she would never want to be with someone like her. Someone inexperienced. And she had to know how Courtney felt. She had to. So if she felt the same way, why would she have done that?
Either way, Courtney knew that her fun in the club was over for the night. She gave Adore a hug and started making her way back through the club, checking the bar, the back room with the pool tables, the booths along the side. She spotted Willam and Alaska on the dance floor, oblivious to the drama, and decided to leave them be. But where was Bianca?
She stepped outside, into the cool night air, pulling out her phone. Only then did she see the brief message in their group text.
B: Tired, on my way home.
Courtney heaved a deep sigh, tears filling her eyes once again. She had no desire to return to the dance floor with Willam and Alaska; in that moment, she felt overwhelmingly alone.
“Hey,” a voice said, and she looked up to find Adore standing behind her, cigarette in hand. “No luck?”
Courtney shook her head, brushing the tears away with the back of her hand.
“Well, I’m about to take off. Do you want a ride?”
“You’re driving?!”
“No! I mean like share my uber. I might be a little drunk, but I’m not a moron.”
“Oh. Thanks.” Courtney smiled.
In the car, Adore put her number into Courtney’s phone, instructing her to text the next day with a full report.
“So listen...she didn’t seem that stupid to me,” Adore said. “But if it turns out that she’s a huge, giant idiot? Then I owe you lunch.”
“Deal,” Courtney agreed with a laugh, already feeling a bit better about the whole thing.
***
Very softly, just in case Bianca was in fact asleep by now, Courtney pushed open her bedroom door and peered inside. It was dark and Bianca’s form was perfectly visible lying beneath the sheets but it was impossible to tell if she was awake or not. Thinking it best just to leave things alone for now, Courtney started to back away until she heard a gruff, “What?”
“You’re awake?” she asked stupidly.
“Clearly,” Bianca replied, undoubtedly rolling her eyes as she sat up. “What do you want?”
“I...Can we talk for a minute? About the club.”
Bianca was silent for a moment, eyeing Courtney up and down as if searching for something. With each passing second it seemed more and more likely that she’d refuse but to Courtney’s relief, she relented with an unfriendly, “Fine. Make it quick.”
Swallowing back her nerves and clumsily flipping the light switch, Courtney began with an apologetic, “I’m sorry you walked in on that. Probably not what you were-"
“I had an idea,” Bianca interjected with a little huff, “Saw that show of yours at the bar. Everyone saw.”
The tone stung. More than Courtney wanted to admit and more than she allowed to show. But if Bianca’s intent was to get her angry too, she failed. Courtney knew coming into this that she had to stay level-headed and no matter how good it might feel in the moment just to vent out her frustrations and storm off, it’d only end up doing more damage later on. Instead, she took a moment to collect herself, taking in a calming breath to clear her clouding mind and began reproachfully.
“If you knew, why did you-” As the words fell from her mouth something occurred to her. Bianca’s eyes had hardened and her lips pressed into a tense line as she bit back more of what she wanted to say. It was in that moment that everything clicked and Courtney felt a wave of clarity washing over her. “You wanted to interrupt,” she accused.
Her head was spinning with questions but she knew she was right the second Bianca flinched. She was glaring at Courtney, almost as if trying to intimidate her into giving up this line of questioning, but after a short pause, Courtney was shocked to hear a firm confirmation of, “Yes.”
Exasperated, Courtney demanded to know, “Wha-Why?”
There was another delay in response but what exactly for, Courtney could only hazard a guess. Bianca’s glare had yet to lighten as her eyes bore deep into Courtney’s soul. Her voice was cold and nearly emotionless as she stated, “You were drunk.”
“I wasn’t. But I was having fun.”
A flash of something appeared on Bianca’s face but in an instant it was gone. It was too quick for Courtney to recognize what it was but she knew she had seen it. She had to convince Bianca to be honest with her, even if it was uncomfortable.
Slowly crossing the room, clearly not trusting her own shaky legs any more than she had to, Courtney sat on the edge of Bianca’s bed. She ignored the way Bianca leaned away from her as if she didn’t care. She understood all too well by now that this whole act just wasn’t the Bianca she knew. It was just a front for something else and she had to find out what.
“Bianca,” she inquired gently, “Why'd you want to ruin that?”
There was no answer, only a judgemental glare as Bianca remained silent and stared her down. But Courtney refused to let this go. She knew she was close to some kind of answer and nothing was going to deter her from that.
Daring to place her hand over one of Bianca’s, she again asked, “B? Talk to me. You can tell me anything, I promise.”
There was a roll of Bianca’s eyes as she scoffed at the statement. It hurt but not enough to push Courtney away or weaken any of her resolve. All she did was wait patiently, running her thumb against Bianca’s until she got a response. Just some kind of answer to explain Bianca’s behavior.
And finally after a few moments, Bianca relented enough to give an unwilling and rather confusing reply of, “Cause it shouldn't have been like that.”
Tilting her head just slightly, Courtney probed for more of an explanation and it was there that Bianca’s restraint finally ran out.
In one long huff she blurted out, “Okay, fine! You wanna fuck a girl? Go right ahead, I don’t care. Hell, go fuck a hundred girls if that's what you want! But damn it, Courtney...your first time, it shouldn’t be some drunken hookup in the bathroom of a sketchy-ass nightclub. You know that,” she stressed. Her eyes finally grew soft as she admitted, “You deserve better than that, you know?”
Quickly defending herself, Courtney began with, “Well, she offered to-” then thinking better of it, she soon cut herself off. “Um...yeah...I guess I get what you’re saying.”
Darting her eyes away for a moment, Bianca reluctantly added, “I wasn’t sure how much you drank with her...And maybe I misjudged that. But like, I didn't want you regretting it tomorrow morning, okay? You’re not like Willam. This kind of shit means more to you.”
Though she wasn’t sure she agreed with Bianca on everything, she was still touched by the reasoning. Bianca was just trying to look out for her, it seemed. She went about it horribly but the intentions were good. Giving her roommate a grateful smile, she murmured, “Thanks,” and pulled her in for a tight hug.
At first, Bianca froze at the gesture but in just a second, she recovered and returned the embrace. A soft sigh was released into the air but even still, she just couldn’t let herself feel entirely relaxed. She had so many questions left on her mind but none of them she felt comfortable asking...even after this tentative truce.
*
Bianca pulled away from the hug to look into Courtney’s face, one burning question she just had to know.
Without daring to look directly into Courtney’s eyes, she carefully asked, “So...uh...did you two…?”
It took Courtney a second to catch on to Bianca’s train of thought but once she had, she gave a slow shake of her head. Instantly it felt like a weight had dropped from Bianca’s shoulders and she could truly relax. A large part of her felt immense relief at the answer but another small part was beating herself up for it.
Regardless, Bianca wasn’t going to press for any more answers, so she let this particular conversation die with a soft acknowledgment of, “Okay.”
“I couldn’t really have fun after you fucking blew your top,” Courtney said.
“Oh...sorry.” A smile began to grow on Bianca’s lips and the longer she looked at Courtney, the bigger it got.
Seemingly confused by the sudden shift in attitude, Courtney let out a small, laughing, “What?”
“You got some serious clown mouth going on,” Bianca told her, her grin now barely contained, “Looks like you were fucking making out with Pennywise.”
“Shut up!” Courtney squealed, giving her a playful shove to the arm.
Trying her best to keep herself from fully laughing, Bianca slipped out from her bed, shaking her head as she muttered, “Hold on.” She immediately made her towards the bathroom caddy she left on the corner of her desk. After rifling through it for a minute, she found her makeup wipes and returned to Courtney’s side. Holding out the jar with a slight smirk, she teased, “Can't take you seriously with that mess.”
Rolling her eyes, Courtney snatched up the wipes and made quick work of running them over every inch of her ruined makeup. Giving Bianca a patient smile, asked sarcastically, “Better?”
Shaking her head once more, Bianca pulled out a wipe of her own and muttered distractedly, “Fucking Christ. All over your fucking neck, too.”
She leaned in close with it and began gently running the cloth pad over the expanse of Courtney’s skin. She ignored the tense swallow beneath her fingers and focused instead on removing every last bit of cherry red lipstick she could find. The position felt oddly intimate, especially with the way Courtney watched her with curious, considering eyes.
Trying to distract herself and Courtney from this suddenly awkward moment, she commented, “You sure that bitch wasn't trying to suck your blood out or something?”
A snorting laugh ripped through Courtney’s body as she pulled away just slightly. Finishing her work, Bianca stepped back and moved to discard the soiled wipes. When she turned around from the trash can, she found Courtney spread out across most of her bed and damn near cuddling into the sheets.
She looked to be enjoying herself, at least, as she all but rolled around and wrapped herself up in the bedding. Noticing Bianca’s amused grin and arched brow, Courtney defended herself with a sincere, “Your bed’s really comfy.”
“It’s the same hand-me-down mattress you have, Court,” she pointed out, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes.
Courtney’s smile stretched just a little wider as she relented with a dreamy, “Your sheets, then, dingus...They’re soft and silky.”
“I know,” Bianca retorted, poking her roommate lightly in the arm, “That’s why I got them.”
Ignoring the feeble attempt to annoy her or get her to move, Courtney simply nuzzled further into the sheets and affirmed sleepily, “Comfy.”
“Oh, my God,” Bianca muttered in an amused state of disbelief. She could see she wasn’t winning this without a fight and far too tired for any of that, she merely gave in and asked, “You want to sleep here tonight?”
Courtney tilted her face up towards Bianca, catching her gaze with heavy-lidded eyes and saying softly, “Is that okay? You’re not still mad at me?”
“No, I’m not mad. But...you’re gonna sleep in that?” Bianca inquired skeptically, gesturing to Courtney’s dress.
There was a half-hearted shrug of the shoulders but ultimately Courtney seemed unbothered at the prospect of sleeping in the skimpy sequined number she had borrowed from Willam. Rolling her eyes once more, Bianca withdrew from the bed in order to retrieve an oversized, worn-out Mardi Gras T-shirt from her dresser.
Carelessly tossing it onto Courtney’s face, she grumbled, “Here.”
With great effort, Courtney pushed herself into sitting upright just enough to remove the flashy dress, flinging it to the floor to replace it with the T-shirt.
“Want shorts or anything?” Bianca asked quietly, averting her eyes.
“This is fine,” Courtney assured her even as she struggled to keep her eyes open. Holding aside the blankets, she murmured, “Come cuddle.”
Bianca switched off the lights and worked her way between the sheets. She barely had time to properly settle down before a very soft body was pressed up next to hers. Burying her face into the pillow just inches away from Bianca’s neck, Courtney gave a partially muffled reasoning of, “Warmer over here.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Bianca teased lightly, even as she slipped her arm around Courtney and pulled her in just a little closer. “Come here, you fucking brat.”
Courtney giggled, snuggling against her, lips grazing Bianca’s neck, near her ear, sending a shiver down Bianca’s spine. On purpose? Bianca couldn’t be sure, but she cleared her throat and turned her head away slightly.
“Bianca?” Courtney whispered, breath warm against her, fingers wrapped around her waist.
Bianca should have realized the danger of sleeping intertwined like this. She hesitated for a moment before grunting out, “What?”
“Um…” Courtney giggled again, letting out a sigh, and Bianca relaxed, realizing that her lack of boundaries probably had more to do with residual drunkenness than anything else.
“Goodnight, Court,” she said definitively.
“Night, B,” Courtney whispered.
The night’s exhaustion coupled with alcohol made Bianca fall asleep quickly. Unfortunately, she didn’t stay that way for long. Some time later, she was roused by Alaska stumbling around. Her bedding was bunched up in her hands, just barely visible in the moonlight. Odd, Bianca thought.
“Hey,” she called out into the semi-dark room.
Alaska twitched at the sound of her voice, offering an awkward excuse of, “Hey, uh, sorry, I’m just grabbing some shit and then I’ll get out of here-”
Confused, Bianca shifted around to get a better look at her roommate and inquired, “Why? Where are you going-”
“I mean, you’re obviously in the middle of some-” Alaska hurriedly interjected, sparing a quick glance to Courtney’s oblivious sleeping form.
Of course she had the wrong idea, Bianca quickly realized. Shaking her head, she tried to explain the situation, “No, it’s nothing like that! We were just talking and she fell asleep. You really don’t have to go, my guess is that she’ll be passed out until noon.”
But as Bianca spoke, Courtney began shifting in her sleep. Her arms tightened, unwilling to lose their most comfortable source of heat, and a soft little sigh echoed into Bianca’s ear.
The pair of roommates stared at each for a moment in total silence, until Alaska’s resolve broke and she made her way towards the door. As she slipped past the door frame, Bianca heard her mumbling, “Yeah, it’s cool. I’ll just sleep on the couch.”
She tried calling out for her roommate but it was all in vain. In mere seconds the door was shut again.
“Whatever,” Bianca grumbled, settling back comfortably beneath the sheets. She’d tried to explain; it wasn’t her fault Alaska refused to listen. She’d just have to try again tomorrow and maybe then she’d have some better luck in clearing up whatever misconception still lingered in Alaska’s mind.
#rpdr fanfiction#bitney#adorney#bianca del rio#courtney act#adore delano#willam belli#alaska thunderfuck#college au#lesbian au#slow burn#friends to lovers#fluff#angst#off limits#just friends#veronica#albatross
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Book Review: Paul Wilson’s Calm No Matter What
by Dr. Sorcha Fogarty
Typing “Meditation” into my search for an eAudiobook on BorrowBox, I found it took quite a bit of scrolling to find something available to borrow. It seems that library users are availing of the large selection of meditation eAudiobooks, perhaps as a way to relax and find some peace during these challenging times. I managed to find Calm No Matter What by Paul Wilson, an Australian meditation teacher, columnist, and author who is best known for his pocket-sized collection of advice and thoughts, The Little Book of Calm, which sold over 2 million copies. This miniature yellow and blue book is, no doubt, instantly recognisable to many, and I’m sure quite a few of us have picked it up as a gift for friends and family.
I greatly respect Eckhart Tolle and Jack Kornfield – two wonderful spiritual teachers, who, like Wilson, place enormous emphasis on mindfulness and living in the present moment. Wilson is perhaps a less challenging version of Tolle and Kornfield. Having spoken to many other people about this seemingly mysterious “recipe for happiness,” which living in the present moment appears to promise, I’ve been met with two common responses: “That’s all well and good, but I’ve too much on my mind to be thinking about all that ‘mindfulness’ stuff”; and, “What a load of rubbish. I have to worry about the future, and you can’t help thinking about the past”. The irony is, the present is all we have. There is nothing else. Literally. Of course, we all have to plan for the future to some extent – financially, our work situation (or lack of), bills, mortgage, rent, children, health, relationships. We might have a meeting at 3 pm, a phone call to make at 8 pm, and countless other appointments; but “Nowpm” is actually all there ever is.
Amid this time of crisis and disruption, focusing on the present may be extremely difficult. In fact, it might seem impossible. The list of struggles, tragedies and worries imposed by the current pandemic is too long, and indeed, too heartbreaking, to include in an article which hopes to lift the spirits of those who may be reading it. I’m sure I am not alone when I say that I find all this isolation debilitating. It can be a struggle to stay positive, and some days, I feel great distress at all aspects of the current situation, not just in Ireland, but worldwide. All we can really do right now is try our best to get through each day. It doesn’t matter if you’re not out jogging for two hours every day or making curtains from scratch and learning Japanese - we are all bewildered by current events, and exhausted from daily news updates and our own personal concerns. Contrary to what the media might be telling us, we don’t have to achieve anything incredible during lockdown; just by getting through it, we already are. That’s the beauty of Wilson’s approach to mindfulness in Calm No Matter What – he simplifies the practice of meditation, not expecting us to become gurus or experts, but merely suggesting that we try to focus our concentration on the present moment as a means of coping with the pressures of daily life.
Fundamentally, our inevitable failure to control everything in our lives is what results in our being tense and stressed. We want to control situations and outcomes, we don’t want to feel powerless, but it is simply impossible to have complete control over every aspect of our lives, as uncertainty and the unexpected lurk at every corner. If we are resisting the present, constantly trying to control outcomes or events, or waiting for the present to pass, looking to the future in order to “start to live”, then we will always exist in that state of tension and stress. It is only by accepting the present moment that we will ever find any modicum of peace. It’s not easy. In fact, right now, it may be one of our greatest achievements. The present, this point in time, we might argue, is so thoroughly unpleasant that all we can do is hope that the future will be better. But if all we have is right now, then we need to take a deep breath and ask ourselves, “what is important this very second?” and stop waiting for the future to arrive, because it never will. Again, all we have is right now…and right now…and right now… as British physicist Julian Barbour states, discussing the subject of time, everything is a series of “nows”. The concept of time is simply an illusion made up of human memories, everything that has ever been and ever will be is happening right now. (Too great a digression here, but a very interesting topic to research, so here’s a link for the curious: https://iep.utm.edu/time/). Ultimately, however difficult your current situation may be, if you dilute it right down to this very moment, as Wilson advises, and focus on your breath, your surroundings, the very essence of the present moment, free from thoughts of the past or the future, then you might discover that it is, in fact, completely manageable.
If, as Einstein said, “The most important decision we make is whether we believe we live in a friendly or hostile universe”, then it is up to us whether we do things the hard way or the easy way. Struggling against and resisting the present will not lead to any sort of inner peace. As Wilson’s book elucidates, being mindful and accepting the present moment is, without a doubt, the easier way. Just like every new habit, it may seem difficult at first, but by practicing how to surrender to the present moment - which basically means do the best we can do in the current situation and allow things to unfold as they will - we may enjoy the most rewarding benefits yet. In fact, knowing we are doing our best, and then surrendering the rest to “whatever will be, will be” can provide an enormous sense of relief. Resisting the present and obsessing about the past and the future is an exhausting way to live. As is pretending that “everything is fine” when in reality, we might be finding things difficult. There is no shame in admitting that we are struggling. There is great strength in such honesty, and it can foster deeper connections with those around us who may be feeling the same, but feel pressured to maintain the façade of “everything is fine”. There is reassurance to be found in sharing daily struggles. This sharing also leads to finding solutions, such as steering clear of catastrophizing and remembering that there is only one time and place where you can be and have any control over: the present moment. Wilson’s eAudiobook is easy on the ears, a simple guide to achieving a calmer state of mind, and may provide you with some solace during these uncertain times.
eAudiobook available now on BorrowBox and Cork City Libraries
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Grease 2
So, this movie kind of slaps in the worst way ever. You have to watch it with the knowledge that it’s terrible, it makes it a lot better. The songs are pretty underrated, a lot of them are low key bops and I would probably listen to them without watching the movie. It’s a product of its time so of course it’s aggressively heteronormative even though the main guys are very queer coded just like most 80s movies. The main girl is a fine singer, but her character is kind of boring and really just an ass most of the time. She also has no business being in a movie about the 50s (or maybe the 60s it’s not very clear) she is so obviously a quintessential 80s chick from her hair to her leather pants, she’s basically Sandy’s makeover as a person. In my opinion the main love interest could have done a lot better. He spends the whole movie doing the reverse of the first movie, going from geek to biker??? Yeah, they all ride motorcycles now, but they’re still called T-Birds which really doesn’t make sense but nothing in this movie really does. Oh! And Frenchy is in it, she came back to high school to complete her chemistry credits?? The whole movie is a mess but honestly, I enjoy watching it. I’ll watch it again, I already have.
Basically it’s the first movie but gender swapped and with a talent show and biker gangs.
The T-Birds really make this movie, they’re the most interesting characters in it. Their leader Johnny is funny and likeable despite being a dick, he has very obvious vulnerability and growth during the film which makes the audience not hate him. His goons are hilarious, they have some of the best lines in the movie and I actually laughed out loud at some of the shit they said. I could do without the gratuitous sexualization of high schoolers but what can you do. I don’t really understand why they have beef with this 20-person biker gang of full-grown adults that apparently have nothing better to do than antagonize 4 teenagers but hey I get it they need a common enemy. I also get that they were going for anger and jealousy when Johnny looked at Michael every time he was being his sexy mysterious biker persona but maybe they should have told him that because that definitely isn’t what’s coming across in his face. He has the biggest man crush I have ever seen I swear.
Michael, who is apparently Sandy’s cousin even though he’s British and she was Australian, really drives the story; everything happens because he wants to date Stephanie even though the only real conversations, they’ve had are just him being nice and her being a dick the whole time but I guess she’s pretty? So he becomes a biker to be what she wants because she wouldn’t date a hot smart guy with a British accent, no way he’s a loser. I guess. So instead he spends the whole movie trying to live up to her standards which is more than a little infuriating but lets be honest the plot isn’t really why you watch this movie. It really only starts happening in the 3rd act anyway, most of it is taken up by talent show hijinks and motorcycle themed music numbers. And a surprising amount of bowling. I wasn’t expecting the coolest kids in school to have their own bowling league but that bold choice did lead to a very confusing but fun musical number in which we see that Johnny sings high sometimes because he’s basically Danny in even tighter pants (somehow) and Paulette (a pink lady played by Judy Garland’s daughter) has an amazing voice that doesn’t get used enough in the songs.
There’s a lot of odd running gags in the movie that really don’t need to be there. Rhonda’s obsession with her “huge nose” even though it’s really not that big. The random teacher that had a nervous breakdown and keeps almost dying. The teacher whose whole gimmick is that she’s hot and maybe sleeping with her students? But definitely sleeping with the substitute teacher. The fact that Johnny’s right-hand man’s name is Goose? A reference to a movie that hadn’t even come out when this movie take place? I think anyway, like I said it’s really hard to pinpoint when this movie is supposed to take place. Also the T-Birds are on the football team I think? Or they’re running drills during PE which also doesn’t make sense with their characters. I don’t know man the whole movie is so strange they say stuff and then never bring it up again.
The ending is where I think the movie really lets you down. After a very weird talent show scene Where Steph has a very boring song and is all sad because she thinks Michael is dead, they have a party. And the party is a Luau and it’s quite possible one of the whitest things I’ve ever seen its so embarrassing. They have a long song about how they’re having a Luau and then they have a bunch of shirtless guys carry Steph and Johnny into a pool on a big throne/raft thing? And then the biker gang bursts in because they have nothing better to do and everyone’s screaming and throwing things it’s very chaotic. The continuity errors in this scene are absolutely outrageous. Then Michael shows up out of nowhere and Johnny literally quivers when he sees him (yeah he’s straight) and he singlehandedly kicks out all those hardened criminals. Then there’s a very long and awkward moment where they initiate Michael into the T-Birds even though school is basically over at this point and then Steph and Michael make out. One of my most hated scene tropes in movies, the very intimate confession and make out in the middle of a crowd. And then finally we have the last song of the movie in which Steph and Michael start off with a duet and their voices sound terrible together (it’s a sign and I refuse to believe otherwise) and then everyone else joins in and they try way too hard to tie up all the character’s storylines even though as the audience you weren’t really all that invested in greaser number three and pink lady number three’s sex life and most of these things didn’t really need to be sung out loud they were pretty minor parts of the movie. And oh, okay, everyone now ends up in a relationship even Paulette’s younger sister who I thought was in like, middle school but now I guess she’s dating the dumb guy from the T-Birds but they’re all seniors?? Okay…yeah, the ending fucking sucks it’s the worst part. The song is long and boring, and the choreography is bad but then they recap a bunch of the better songs during the credits and it’s all fine again!
Overall, the movie isn’t nearly as bad as I’ve heard other people say, I’ve seen much worse. And the thing is, the bad parts are kinda what makes it great in the first place. It’s kind of like when they made mean girls 2. It’s not really a sequel because non of the actually important characters are in it (except for Frenchy but she’s only there for like 10 minutes tops). It’s a cash grab but not the worst one. The songs are fun, and the characters are pretty fucking funny if you ignore how weird it is that they’re all like 30. I’d say watch it if it’s free to stream, don’t rent it. I probably get more out of it than a normal sane person because I read into character’s and their emotional connections way too much I basically am rewriting it in my head. I doubt anyone would be interested but I definitely broke down all the characters and their motivations and tried to figure out their actions, also known as me trying to create queer characters off of very unstable reasoning. Hey, you gotta do what you gotta do. Anyway, the people in this movie are pretty hot and most of the songs kinda slap so even if the plot is questionable other things make up for it.
As of now this movie is available for streaming on Amazon prime.
Final Verdict:
On my scale 7/10
Actual good movie scale 4/10
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I have always been interested in the printmaking process of Collagraphy. This genre of printing allows room for experimentation, surprising mistakes and interesting outcomes. I’m also interested in Collage making and Collagraphy is a great way for me to combine the two. Even when drawing on paper, I usually feel the need to add something physical to it, to create a texture or create something more tactile. Throughout this research for collagraph artists I have learned more about the genre and I am excited to progress and experiment now that I have inspiration. I enjoy the process of finding day to day objects around me, and to find out how they take ink and print. To create a collagraphy print it’s imperative to correctly and properly prepare your ‘plate’. Your plate is a firm surface which can be scored, etched and different textured paper,gels and paint can be added to create an image. You can transfer your chosen image the plate as if creating a Lino cut image. You must use the correct glue to when building your plate and you can also use string, buttons etc as long as the material used isn’t too soft or absorbent which will affect the inking process. The plate image is then sealed with gloss or varnish (also the back and sides to prevent curving of the plate when being washed). The inking process can be the relief or intaglio method (adding ink on top of the image or adding ink into the image and wiping off then using a press similar to the etching method) I have chosen three artists and of the three I was happy to find Donald Stoltenberg. I also was happy to find information on Atelier 17, a famous print studio in Paris and later New York, set up by a British artist, Stanley William Hayter. He encouraged lots of experimental ways of printing and encouraged artists such as Sue Fuller.
Donald Stoltenberg
Donald Stoltenberg’s collagraph ‘Central Station’, immediately sets the scene. The viewer feels caught up in a timeless romantic narrative filled with anticipation and excitement. We cannot see other passengers which eludes to a journey or travel out-with the humdrum and the rat race. The warm red and orange hues and bright white of daylight from the archway are enticing as if there is another life outside of the dirty smokey city. The title ‘Central station’ reflects the mood of the occasion, perhaps we are waiting to meet a friend we’ve not seen for a long time or we are taking a long train journey. We, as the viewer are given the choice to create the story...the train arriving - who are you there to meet? There is a huge sense of anticipation surrounding this image.
The scene seems to be dateless, could be 100 years ago or yesterday. The image has a heavy vignette and this gives focus to the huge archway of the station entrance and gives the viewer a sense of smokey hazy station. The train to the left of the image... is it arriving, departing or stationary? We are able to create our own narrative and that’s why I feel this image is of a romantic nature.
Stoltenberg trained as a graphic designer before starting his career as an artist. The artist also had a passion for architecture and maritime structures. He has published books in his career, popular books being ‘The Artist and the Built environment” and Collagraph Printmaking. Although Stoltenberg was a successful collagrapher and printmaker, later in life he dedicated his life to watercolour and oil painting as these techniques were less laborious, although his subject matters remained the same. (Destroyer At DryDock for example and can been seen in the link for the Anderson Gallery)
The addition of the bold text and numbers seem to act like a calendar or stopwatch - the countdown to a rendezvous or a holiday. The number 8 seems to be a favourite of Stoltenberg as we see this figure of 8 in his train triptych. Stoltenberg also favours a circular object when fixing his collagraph plate. We can see the circle plays a vital role in many of his other works. (Shipyard 1982, Warship, Wooden bridge, Relic and Coin collection again, in the link provided). The lettering in the station’s large arch window are not recognisable or familiar, therefore I would presume that due to the technique of collography, the letters were used purely for aesthetic reasons rather than for any symbolic reason. With this collagraph, the fonts and figures would have been deliberately chosen in order to sit well on the plate.
The Artist has achieved a sense of movement with the train lines and carriages moving from the foreground of the image into the distance. He has also achieved the sense of direction and movement with the hazy shadows from the outside of the station tunnel. The artist has used both vertical and horizontal lines overlapping giving a sense of the enormous structure of the station and how it seems to loom or envelope the trains and passengers. The glass archway is almost central to the image and our eye is led to the incoming train with it’s white dot as a light. The viewer easily places themselves standing on the platform in anticipation...
Works Cited
ARCHIVE, ARTWORK. “Art Collection from Anderson Gallery - BSU.” Artwork Archive, 2021, www.artworkarchive.com/profile/jay-block/artist/donald-stoltenberg. Accessed 8 Mar. 2021.
“Donald Stoltenberg.” Wikipedia, 18 May 2020, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Donald_Stoltenberg.
“Zullo Gallery - Current Exhibit.” Www.zullogallery.org, www.zullogallery.org/printmakers_page_1.html. Accessed 8 Mar. 2021.
KATHLEEN BUCHANAN
This image is by the Collagraph artist Kathleen Buchanan. Titled ‘Flock and Sea” is conveys a sense of silence and serenity - a slow pace. We find ourselves in quietness, stopping to appreciate the landscape on a hazy Scottish island perhaps.
The sheep are in a restful mood, however there is a humorous element to them. Our eye is drawn to the crumpled sheep coat - like an old paper bag, random like litter in the lush green grass being anchored by the boulders. In a light hearted way we could see that the boulders are preventing them from sliding down the hill. There is also a sculptural feel to the sheep’s coats which gives them a comical look, like they’re are wrapped up in a duvet keeping warm.
It’s Spring time but still cold, the slight haziness and speckled effect in the blue of the sky reminds me of the Scottish midge fly buzzing around with the sheep unperturbed.
The sheep are relaxed, reminding us of the harmonious relationship between nature and animals.
The viewer cannot see the eyes of the sheep, but Buchanan has caught the personality of sheep - one always seems to be curious or suspicious. The distant sheep of the flock could be the dreamer or the outsider - the ‘black sheep’. The other sheep make the viewer feel ignored by the deliberate positioning of the animals .
The boundary line, between the sea and the hillside divides the image. There are many outlines in this image - around the boulders, the sheep coats and the island - giving a sense of heaviness and solidity.
Kate Buchanan, by profession is a biologist and her background in science links well with printmaking. Both fields of study involve great observational skills and this is obvious with her great understanding of the natural landscape and its inhabitants.
Works Cited
Design, Doug Felton Web. Kathleen Walsh Buchanan Fine Art Printmaking | about Me. www.greysealpress.com/about. Accessed 8 Mar. 2021.
SARAH AMOS
Sarah Amos, is a master printmaker who divides her time between Australia and America and her art combines collagraphy with mixed-media or more recently, stitching. Her recent work is based on images from the vast Australian landscapes. This collagraph is from 2011 and is not so typical of her recent work however it immediately caught my attention. The title is called Little Red Wonder and it’s an apt title. There’s no obvious narrative, but the artist evokes nostalgia, and grabs your attention through the colour and lines and form alone. So many words spring to mind on viewing this image - it feels like Christmas. It’s candy canes and gift wrapped boxes under the tree. It’s like a hazy red glow of the fairy lights and the warm fire. The image reminds me of sweeties and paper straws, strawberry shoe laces, and toffee apples at Halloween. The geometric lines and shapes and the vibrancy and the mottled marks conjure up visions of and old-fashioned circus and the high trapeze -the big top. Or a slice of cool watermelon or Summer Cup cocktail. The white lines, in strange directions, as if holding up the makeshift tent, cosy and warm, safely camping in your bedroom. The image is fairytales of Dorothy and her ruby red shoes and The Queen of Hearts in Wonderland all in one box of wonder.
As much as the image gives a sweet naive impression, we can also imagine the polar opposite. The colour red is a very symbolic colour, maybe the artist chose this particular hue of red to translate an emotion. Could this be an angry expression with the jutting disjointed lines. The lines are hard and edgy and there is no flow. Is the emotion aggression - the white lines in the centre of the image seem to puncture the composition - like exposed bones through blood. The viewer feels small, as if we are underneath a structure and it feels looming and foreboding. The two blocks each side of the image seem to be leaning in and are imposing.
With the nature of collagraphy, the inking and printing process almost always gives a dreamlike quality, a little hazy but alway an honest and sincere image.
Reference list
AMOS, S. (2021). Master Printmaker | Sarah Amos Studio. [online] sarahamosstudio.com. Available at: http://sarahamosstudio.com/index.php [Accessed 8 Mar. 2021].
Bunyan, D.M. (2001). Sarah Amos. [online] Art Blart. Available at: https://artblart.com/tag/sarah-amos/ [Accessed 8 Mar. 2021].
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My Top 20 Films of 2019 - Part Two
I don’t think I’ve had a year where my top ten jostled and shifted as much as this one did - these really are the best of the best and my personal favourites of 2019.
10. Toy Story 4
I think we can all agree that Toy Story 3 was a pretty much perfect conclusion to a perfect trilogy right? About as close as is likely to get, I’m sure. I shared the same trepidation when part four was announced, especially after some underwhelming sequels like Finding Dory and Cars 3 (though I do have a lot of time for Monsters University and Incredibles 2). So maybe it’s because the odds were so stacked against this being good but I thought it was wonderful. A truly existential nightmare of an epilogue that does away with Andy (and mostly kids altogether) to focus on the dreams and desires of the toys themselves - separate from their ‘duties’ as playthings to biological Gods. What is their purpose in life without an owner? Can they be their own person and carve their own path? In the case of breakout new character Forky (Tony Hale), what IS life? Big big questions for a cash grab kids films huh?
The animation is somehow yet another huge leap forward (that opening rainstorm!), Bo Peep’s return is excellently pitched and the series tradition of being unnervingly horrifying is back as well thanks to those creepy ventriloquist dolls! Keanu Reeves continues his ‘Keanuassaince‘ as the hilarious Duke Caboom and this time, hopefully, the ending at least feels finite. This series means so much to me: I think the first movie is possibly the tightest, most perfect script ever written, the third is one of my favourites of the decade and growing up with the franchise (I was 9 when the first came out, 13 for part two, 24 for part three and now 32 for this one), these characters are like old friends so of course it was great to see them again. All this film had to do was be good enough to justify its existence and while there are certainly those out there that don’t believe this one managed it, I think the fact that it went as far as it did showed that Pixar are still capable of pushing boundaries and exploring infinity and beyond when they really put their minds to it.
9. The Nightingale
Hoo boy. Already controversial with talk of mass walkouts (I witnessed a few when this screened at Sundance London), it’s not hard to see why but easy to understand. Jennifer Kent (The Babadook) is a truly fearless filmmaker following up her acclaimed suburban horror movie come grief allegory with a period revenge tale set in the Tasmanian wilderness during British colonial rule in the early 1800s. It’s rare to see the British depicted with the monstrous brutality for which they were known in the distant colonies and this unflinching drama sorely needed an Australian voice behind the camera to do it justice.
The film is front loaded with some genuinely upsetting, nasty scenes of cruel violence but its uncensored brutality and the almost casual nature of its depiction is entirely the point - this was normalised behaviour over there and by treating it so matter of factly, it doesn’t slip into gratuitous ‘movie violence’. It is what it is. And what it is is hard to watch. If anything, as Kent has often stated, it’s still toned down from the actual atrocities that occurred so it’s a delicate balance that I think Kent more than understands. Quoting from an excellent Vanity Fair interview she did about how she directs, Kent said “I think audiences have become very anaesthetised to violence on screen and it’s something I find disturbing... People say ‘these scenes are so shocking and disturbing’. Of course they are. We need to feel that. When we become so removed from violence on screen, this is a very irresponsible thing. So I wanted to put us right within the frame with that person experiencing the loss of everything they hold dear”.
Aisling Franciosi is next level here as a woman who has her whole life torn from her, leaving her as nothing but a raging husk out for vengeance. It would be so easy to fall into odd couple tropes once she teams up with reluctant native tracker Billy (an equally impressive newcomer, Baykali Ganambarr) but the film continues to stay true to the harsh racism of the era, unafraid to depict our heroine - our point of sympathy - as horrendously racist towards her own ally. Their partnership is not easily solidified but that makes it all the stronger when they star to trust each other. Sam Claflin is also career best here, weaponizing his usual charm into dangerous menace and even after cementing himself as the year’s most evil villain, he can still draw out the humanity in such a broken and corrupt man.
Gorgeously shot in the Academy ratio, the forest landscape here is oppressive and claustrophobic. Kent also steps back into her horror roots with some mesmerising, skin crawling dream scenes that amplify the woozy nightmarish tone and overbearing sense of dread. Once seen, never forgotten, this is not going to be everyone’s cup of tea (and that’s fine) but when cinema can affect you on such a visceral level and be this powerful, reflective and honest about our own past, it’s hard to ignore. Stunning.
8. The Irishman
Aka Martin Scorsese’s magnum opus, I did manage to see this one in a cinema before the Netflix drop and absolutely loved it. I’ve watched 85 minute long movies that felt longer than this - Marty’s mastery of pace, energy and knowing when to let things play out in agonising detail is second to none. This epic tale of the life of Frank Sheeran (Robert De Niro) really is the cinematic equivalent of having your cake and eating it too, allowing Scorsese to run through a greatest hits victory lap of mobster set pieces, alpha male arguments, a decades spanning life story and one (last?) truly great Joe Pesci performance before simply letting the story... continue... to a natural, depressing and tragic ending, reflecting the emptiness of a life built on violence and crime.
For a film this long, it’s impressive how much the smallest details make the biggest impacts. A stammering phone call from a man emotionally incapable of offering any sort of condolence. The cold refusal of forgiveness from a once loving daughter. A simple mirroring of a bowl of cereal or a door left slightly ajar. These are the parts of life that haunt us all and it’s what we notice the most in a deliberately lengthy biopic that shows how much these things matter when everything else is said and done. The violence explodes in sudden, sharp bursts, often capping off unbearably tense sequences filled with the everyday (a car ride, a conversation about fish, ice cream...) and this contrast between the whizz bang of classic Scorsese and the contemplative nature of Silence era Scorsese is what makes this film feel like such an accomplishment. De Niro is FINALLY back but it’s the memorably against type role for Pesci and an invigorated Al Pacino who steals this one, along with a roll call of fantastic cameos, with perhaps the most screentime given to the wonderfully petty Stephen Graham as Tony Pro, not to mention Anna Paquin’s near silent performance which says more than possibly anyone else.
Yes, the CG de-aging is misguided at best, distracting at worst (I never really knew how old anyone was meant to be at any given time... which is kinda a problem) but like how you get used to it really quickly when it’s used well, here I kinda got past it being bad in an equally fast amount of time and just went with it. Would it have been a different beast had they cast younger actors to play them in the past? Undoubtedly. But if this gives us over three hours of Hollywood’s finest giving it their all for the last real time together, then that’s a compromise I can live with.
7. The Last Black Man in San Francisco
Wow. I was in love with this film from the moving first trailer but then the film itself surpassed all expectations. This is a true indie film success story, with lead actor Jimmie Fails developing the idea with director Joe Talbot for years before Kickstarting a proof of concept and eventually getting into Sundance with short film American Paradise, which led to the backing of this debut feature through Plan B and A24. The deeply personal and poetic drama follows a fictionalised version of Jimmie, trying to buy back an old Victorian town house he claims was built by his grandfather, in an act of rebellion against the increasingly gentrified San Francisco that both he and director Talbot call home.
The film is many things - a story of male friendship, of solidarity within our community, of how our cities can change right from underneath us - it moves to the beat of it’s own drum, with painterly cinematography full of gorgeous autumnal colours and my favourite score of the year from Emile Mosseri. The performances, mostly by newcomers or locals outside of brilliant turns from Jonathan Majors, Danny Glover and Thora Birch, are wonderful and the whole thing is such a beautiful love letter to the city that it makes you ache for a strong sense of place in your own home, even if your relationship with it is fractured or strained. As Jimmie says, “you’re not allowed to hate it unless you love it”.
For me, last year’s Blindspotting (my favourite film of the year) tackled gentrification within California more succinctly but this much more lyrical piece of work ebbs and flows through a number of themes like identity, family, memory and time. It’s a big film living inside a small, personal one and it is not to be overlooked.
6. Little Women
I had neither read the book nor seen any prior adaptation of Louisa May Alcott’s 1868 novel so to me, this is by default the definitive telling of this story. If from what I hear, the non linear structure is Greta Gerwig’s addition, then it’s a total slam dunk. It works so well in breaking up the narrative and by jumping from past to present, her screenplay highlights certain moments and decisions with a palpable sense of irony, emotional weight or knowing wink. Getting to see a statement made with sincere conviction and then paid off within seconds, can be both a joy and a surefire recipe for tears. Whether it’s the devastating contrast between scenes centred around Beth’s illness or the juxtaposition of character’s attitudes to one another, it’s a massive triumph. Watching Amy angrily tell Laurie how she’s been in love with him all her life and then cutting back to her childishly making a plaster cast of her foot for him (’to remind him how small her feet are’) is so funny.
Gerwig and her impeccable cast bring an electric energy to the period setting, capturing the big, messy realities of family life with a mix of overwhelming cross-chatter and the smallest of intimate gestures. It’s a testament to the film that every sister feels fully serviced and represented, from Beth’s quiet strength to Amy’s unforgivable sibling rivalry. Chris Cooper’s turn as a stoic man suffering almost imperceptible grief is a personal heartbreaking favourite.
The book’s (I’m assuming) most sweeping romantic statements are wonderfully delivered, full of urgent passion and relatable heartache, from Marmie’s (Laura Dern) “I’m angry nearly every day of my life” moment to Jo’s (Saoirse Ronan) painful defiance of feminine attributes not being enough to cure her loneliness. The sheer amount of heart and warmth in this is just remarkable and I can easily see it being a film I return to again and again.
5. Booksmart
2019 has been a banner year for female directors, making their exclusion from some of the early awards conversations all the more damning. From this list alone, we have Lulu Wang, Jennifer Kent and Greta Gerwig. Not to mention Lorene Scafaria (Hustlers), Melina Matsoukas (Queen & Slim), Jocelyn DeBoer & Dawn Luebbe (Greener Grass), Sophie Hyde (Animals) and Rose Glass (Saint Maud - watch out for THIS one in 2020, it’s brilliant). Perhaps the most natural transition from in front of to behind the camera has been made by Olivia Wilde, who has created a borderline perfect teen comedy that can make you laugh till you cry, cry till you laugh and everything in-between.
Subverting the (usually male focused) ‘one last party before college’ tropes that fuel the likes of Superbad and it’s many inferior imitators, Booksmart follows two overachievers who, rather than go on a coming of age journey to get some booze or get laid, simply want to indulge in an insane night of teenage freedom after realising that all of the ‘cool kids’ who they assumed were dropouts, also managed to get a place in all of the big universities. It’s a subtly clever remix of an old favourite from the get go but the committed performances from Kaitlyn Dever and Beanie Feldstein put you firmly in their shoes for the whole ride.
It’s a genuine blast, with big laughs and a bigger heart, portraying a supportive female friendship that doesn’t rely on hokey contrivances to tear them apart, meaning that when certain repressed feelings do come to the surface, the fallout is heartbreaking. As I stated in a twitter rave after first seeing it back in May, every single character, no matter how much they might appear to be simply representing a stock role or genre trope, gets their moment to be humanised. This is an impeccably cast ensemble of young unknowns who constantly surprise and the script is a marvel - a watertight structure without a beat out of place, callbacks and payoffs to throwaway gags circle back to be hugely important and most of all, the approach taken to sexuality and representation feels so natural. I really think it is destined to be looked back on and represent 2019 the way Heathers does ‘88, Clueless ‘95 or Easy A 2010. A new high benchmark for crowd pleasing, indie comedy - teen or otherwise.
4. Ad Astra
Brad Pitt is one of my favourite actors and one who, despite still being a huge A-lister even after 30 years in the game, never seems to get enough credit for the choices he makes, the movies he stars in and also the range of stories he helps produce through his company, Plan B. 2019 was something of a comeback year for Pitt as an actor with the insanely measured and controlled lead performance seen here in Ad Astra and the more charismatic and chaotic supporting role in Once Upon a Time... in Hollywood.
I love space movies, especially those that are more about broken people blasting themselves into the unknown to search for answers within themselves... which manages to sum up a lot of recent output in this weirdly specific sub-genre. First Man was a devastating look at grief characterised by a man who would rather go to a desolate rock than have to confront what he lost, all while being packaged as a heroic biopic with a stunning score. Gravity and The Martian both find their protagonists forced to rely on their own cunning and ingenuity to survive and Interstellar looked at the lengths we go to for those we love left behind. Smaller, arty character studies like High Life or Moon are also astounding. All of this is to say that Ad Astra takes these concepts and runs with them, challenging Pitt to cross the solar system to talk some sense into his long thought dead father (Tommy Lee Jones). But within all the ‘sad dad’ stuff, there’s another film in here just daring you to try and second guess it - one that kicks things off with a terrifying free fall from space, gives us a Mad Max style buggy chase on the moon and sidesteps into horror for one particular set-piece involving a rabid baboon in zero G! It manages to feel so completely nuts, so episodic in structure, that I understand why a lot of people were turned off - feeling that the overall film was too scattershot to land the drama or too pondering to have any fun with. I get the criticisms but for me, both elements worked in tandem, propelling Pitt on this (assumed) one way journey at a crazy pace whilst sitting back and languishing in the ‘bigger themes’ more associated with a Malik or Kubrick film. Something that Pitt can sell me on in his sleep by this point.
I loved the visuals from cinematographer Hoyte van Hoytema (Interstellar), loved the imagination and flair of the script from director James Gray and Ethan Gross and loved the score by Max Richter (with Lorne Balfe and Nils Frahm) but most of all, loved Pitt, proving that sometimes a lot less, is a lot more. The sting of hearing the one thing he surely knew (but hoped he wouldn’t) be destined to hear from his absent father, acted almost entirely in his eyes during a third act confrontation, summed up the movie’s brilliance for me - so much so that I can forgive some of the more outlandish ‘Mr Hyde’ moments of this thing’s alter ego... like, say, riding a piece of damaged hull like a surfboard through a meteor debris field!
3. Avengers: Endgame
It’s no secret that I think Marvel, the MCU in particular, have been going from strength to strength in recent years, slowly but surely taking bigger risks with filmmakers (the bonkers Taika Waititi, the indie darlings of Ryan Coogler, Cate Shortland and Chloe Zhao) whilst also carefully crafting an entertaining, interconnected universe of characters and stories. But what is the point of building up any movie ‘universe’ if you’re not going to pay it off and Endgame is perhaps the strongest conclusion to eleven years of movie sequels that fans could have possibly hoped for.
Going into this thing, the hype was off the charts (and for good reason, with it now being the highest grossing film of all time) but I remember souring on the first entry of this two-parter, Infinity War, during the time between initial release and Endgame’s premiere. That film had a game-changing climax, killing off half the heroes (and indeed the universe’s population) and letting the credits role on the villain having achieved his ultimate goal. It was daring, especially for a mammoth summer blockbuster but obviously, we all knew the deaths would never be permanent, especially with so many already-announced sequels for now ‘dusted’ characters. However, it wasn’t just the feeling that everything would inevitably be alright in the end. For me, the characters themselves felt hugely under-serviced, with arguably the franchise’s main goody two shoes Captain America being little more than a beardy bloke who showed up to fight a little bit. Basically what I’m getting at is that I felt Endgame, perhaps emboldened by the giant runtime, managed to not only address these character slights but ALSO managed to deliver the most action packed, comic booky, ‘bashing your toys together’ final fight as well.
It’s a film of three parts, each pretty much broken up into one hour sections. There’s the genuinely new and interesting initial section following our heroes dealing with the fact that they lost... and it stuck. Thor angrily kills Thanos within the first fifteen minutes but it’s a meaningless action by this point - empty revenge. Cutting to five years later, we get to see how defeat has affected them, for better or worse, trying to come to terms with grief and acceptance. Cap tries to help the everyman, Black Widow is out leading an intergalactic mop up squad and Thor is wallowing in a depressive black hole. It’s a shocking and vibrantly compelling deconstruction of the whole superhero thing and it gives the actors some real meat to chew on, especially Robert Downy Jr here who goes from being utterly broken to fighting within himself to do the right thing despite now having a daughter he doesn’t want to lose too. Part two is the trip down memory lane, fan service-y time heist which is possibly the most fun section of any of these movies, paying tribute to the franchise’s past whilst teetering on a knife’s edge trying to pull off a genuine ‘mission impossible’. And then it explodes into the extended finale which pays everyone off, demonstrates some brilliantly imaginative action and sticks the landing better than it had any right to. In a year which saw the ending of a handful of massive geek properties, from Game of Thrones to Star Wars, it’s a miracle even one of them got it right at all. That Endgame managed to get it SO right is an extraordinary accomplishment and if anything, I think Marvel may have shot themselves in the foot as it’s hard to imagine anything they can give us in the future having the intense emotional weight and momentum of this huge finale.
2. Knives Out
Rian Johnson has been having a ball leaping into genre sandpits and stirring shit up, from his teen spin on noir in Brick to his quirky con man caper with The Brothers Bloom, his time travel thriller Looper and even his approach to the Star Wars mythos in The Last Jedi. Turning his attention to the relatively dead ‘whodunnit’ genre, Knives Out is a perfect example of how to celebrate everything that excites you about a genre whilst weaponizing it’s tropes against your audience’s baggage and preconceptions.
An impeccable cast have the time of their lives here, revelling in playing self obsessed narcissists who scramble to punt the blame around when the family’s patriarch, a successful crime novelist (Christopher Plummer), winds up dead. Of course there’s something fishy going on so Daniel Craig’s brilliantly dry southern detective Benoit Blanc is called in to investigate.There are plenty of standouts here, from Don Johnson’s ignorant alpha wannabe Richard to Michael Shannon’s ferocious eldest son Walt to Chris Evan’s sweater wearing jock Ransom, full of unchecked, white privilege swagger. But the surprise was the wholly sympathetic, meek, vomit prone Marta, played brilliantly by Ana de Armas, cast against her usual type of sultry bombshell (Knock Knock, Blade Runner 2049), to spearhead the biggest shake up of the genre conventions. To go into more detail would begin to tread into spoiler territory but by flipping the audience’s engagement with the detective, we’re suddenly on the receiving end of the scrutiny and the tension derived from this switcheroo is genius and opens up the second act of the story immensely.
The whole thing is so lovingly crafted and the script is one of the tightest I’ve seen in years. The amount of setup and payoff here is staggering and never not hugely satisfying, especially as it heads into it’s final stretch. It really gives you some hope that you could have such a dense, plotty, character driven idea for a story and that it could survive the transition from page to screen intact and for the finished product to work as well as it does. I really hope Johnson returns to tell another Benoit Blanc mystery and judging by the roaring box office success (currently over $200 million worldwide for a non IP original), I certainly believe he will.
1. Eighth Grade
My film of the year is another example of the power of cinema to put us in other people’s shoes and to discover the traits, fears, joys and insecurities that we all share irregardless. It may shock you to learn this but I have never been a 13 year old teenage girl trying to get by in the modern world of social media peer pressure and ‘influencer’ culture whilst crippled with personal anxiety. My school days almost literally could not have looked more different than this (less Instagram, more POGs) and yet, this is a film about struggling with oneself, with loneliness, with wanting more but not knowing how to get it without changing yourself and the careless way we treat those with our best interests at heart in our selfish attempt to impress peers and fit in. That is understandable. That is universal. And as I’m sure I’ve said a bunch of times in this list, movies that present the most specific worldview whilst tapping into universal themes are the ones that inevitably resonate the most.
Youtuber and comedian Bo Burnham has crafted an impeccable debut feature, somehow portraying a generation of teens at least a couple of generations below his own, with such laser focused insight and intimate detail. It’s no accident that this film has often been called a sort of social-horror, with cringe levels off the charts and recognisable trappings of anxiety and depression in every frame. The film’s style services this feeling at every turn, from it’s long takes and nauseous handheld camerawork to the sensory overload in it’s score (take a bow Anna Meredith) and the naturalistic performances from all involved. Burnham struck gold when he found Elsie Fisher, delivering the most painful and effortlessly real portrayal of a tweenager in crisis as Kayla. The way she glances around skittishly, the way she is completely lost in her phone, the way she talks, even the way she breathes all feeds into the illusion - the film is oftentimes less a studio style teen comedy and more a fly on the wall documentary.
This is a film that could have coasted on being a distant, social media based cousin to more standard fare like Sex Drive or Superbad or even Easy A but it goes much deeper, unafraid to let you lower your guard and suddenly hit you with the most terrifying scene of casually attempted sexual aggression or let you watch this pure, kindhearted girl falter and question herself in ways she shouldn’t even have to worry about. And at it’s core, there is another beautiful father/daughter relationship, with Josh Hamilton stuck on the outside looking in, desperate to help Kayla with every fibre of his being but knowing there are certain things she has to figure out for herself. It absolutely had me and their scene around a backyard campfire is one of the year’s most touching.
This is a truly remarkable film that I think everyone should seek out but I’m especially excited for all the actual teenage girls who will get to watch this and feel seen. This isn’t about the popular kid, it isn’t about the dork who hangs out with his or her own band of misfits. This is about the true loner, that person trying everything to get noticed and still ending up invisible, that person trying to connect through the most disconnected means there is - the internet - and everything that comes with it. Learning that the version of yourself you ‘portray’ on a Youtube channel may act like they have all the answers but if you’re kidding yourself then how do you grow?
When I saw this in the cinema, I watched a mother take her seat with her two daughters, aged probably at around nine and twelve. Possibly a touch young for this, I thought, and I admit I cringed a bit on their behalf during some very adult trailers but in the end, I’m glad their mum decided they were mature enough to see this because a) they had a total blast and b) life simply IS R rated for the most part, especially during our school years, and those girls being able to see someone like Kayla have her story told on the big screen felt like a huge win. I honestly can’t wait to see what Burnham or Fisher decide to do next. 2019 has absolutely been their year... and it’s been a hell of a year.
#top 20#films of the year#films of 2019#10-1#toy story 4#the nightingale#the irishman#the last black man in san francisco#little women#booksmart#ad astra#avengers endgame#knives out#eighth grade
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Passchendaele - XIV
A/N I wrote this chapter in my backyard on a beautifully sunny day...I got my first sunburn from that...
T/W Mentions of death
Daniel kept his arms crossed over his chest, staring out the window at the grim yet sunny surroundings as Christian drove them back towards the Ypres Salient to prepare for the advance. His mind was focussed on Elizabeth and his heart ached with how much he missed her even after only just parting. She might have been safe in the hospital, about to be sent back to England, but it didn’t make leaving her easier. Daniel leaned his left arm against the door of the truck, the uneven terrain making it difficult to even sit still and he pressed his hand to his eyes to keep from crying, wishing he never enlisted in the first place.
“Men don’t cry, Seavey.” Christian snapped from the driver’s side, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, his jaw clenched with aggravation as he stared straight ahead.
Daniel ignored him, his anger near boiling over with how much he despised this new version of his brother he was given when he was sent over. He was no where near what he was like back home and the intensity of him made Daniel sick with hatred. Hatred that he forced onto his brother as a subconscious projection of his own internal feelings.
“You better get rid of this mood swing before we get to camp. You’re acting like a woman.” Christian grumbled.
“Shut up.” Daniel said through his teeth. “I came with you, didn’t I? That’s what you wanted.”
“I wanted one of my men but instead it appears I left with nothing more than a hormonal female. Man up, Private, this war has no room for your tears.”
Daniel jumped out of the truck before Christian could even put it in park, slinging his rifle over his shoulder as he stormed off towards camp where more of the soldiers were packing up, the tents and supplies already loaded into trucks. Zach and Corbyn were tying a tarp over one of the truck beds, Zach holding it down as Corbyn stood on top of it, shirtless, a cigarette balanced between his lips has he tied the rope securely. He glanced up at Daniel who was approaching them quickly.
“How’s the sweetheart?” Corbyn asked, sending him a crooked smile.
“Fine.” Daniel answered dryly. “How can I help?”
“We are actually done here, I think.” Corbyn jumped onto the ground and took a step back to admire his handiwork. He rubbed his hands together before taking the cigarette from his mouth and took one last drag before stomping it out on the ground.
“Elizabeth is okay, right?” Zach asked quickly, shielding his eyes from the sun as he looked up at Daniel.
“She’s fine, yeah. They’re sending her home at the end of the week.” Daniel said, setting his hands on his hips but kept his stare on the loaded truck.
“That’s good then.” Zach mumbled, glancing over to Corbyn who shrugged in response to Daniel’s obvious edge.
The three made their way to the transport truck, piling in with other men from their battalion in preparation to move farther inland to their next destination. Daniel couldn’t deny he was relieved to leave Ypres as it had not treated them nicely although it was a given that wherever they were taken next wouldn’t be much better either.
The morale had generally gone down amongst their group after spending almost two months in the battlefields, exposed to the elements and the utter brutality of humans. The drive without Jack’s usual witty humour was not the same and everyone seemed to sit in silence for most of the drive. Daniel bit the inside of his cheek to keep his emotions at bay, his eyes focussed forward out of the front window of the truck as they drove steadily northwest. The low-lying clouds in the distance were dark grey and flashes of thunder could be seen over the generally flat land in front of them. The short drive took much longer than it should have as navigating No Mans Land by truck wasn’t an easy feat.
The craters that littered the upturned earth were terribly deep and most were filled with rainwater, unclaimed waterlogged bodies rotting in the mud and now home to the rats and other creatures infesting the open flesh. It barely even phased them anymore, Daniel’s eyes barely giving a second glance to the plentiful dead along their trip. It was also getting hard to navigate around them, the driver ending up having to roll right over the bodies, each excess bump simply keeping the men on board that much more silent. There was simply nothing to speak about.
The rolls of thunder got louder as they drove right towards the heart of the storm, the grey skies starting to engulf them. Daniel reached into his jacket and pulled out his metal tin, opening it to reveal the photograph of Elizabeth over top a few stacks of blank parchment. He smiled softly as he ran his fingertips over the image; already missing her terribly, especially after such a rushed goodbye. He honestly couldn’t wait to be on the boat home to her.
He remembered Lieutenant Marais speaking of dispatches before Christmas if the Ypres Salient went well and if the Germans were retreating back towards Passchendaele…wasn’t that the best news yet? Where were their dispatches? Daniel closed his tin a bit harder than intended with annoyance and tucked it back into the inside pocket of his uniform jacket. He didn’t want to curse the dead but his frustration of still being forced through the war was nearly eating him alive and the sense of false hope was certainly no help.
They were five minutes from their destination, the rain coming down steadily around them as they gathered their things, falling against the fabric covering the truck with heavy drops like a drum rolling with anticipation.
“Why is it always raining when we travel?” Zach grumbled as the truck came to a stop and they started filing out, joining the other soldiers along the rain-soaked ground.
“God is spiting us.” Corbyn sighed, ducking his head as he stepped out of the truck into the cold rain.
“God is testing our strength.” Daniel corrected softly, following the men into the beginnings of the trenches. At times like this, faith seemed to be the only thing Daniel had left but even that seemed to be dwindling sometimes.
The Lieutenant Colonel led them farther along the line as the sun began to set behind the rain clouds, the mud under their feet squelching with each step as if trying to pull them under. Daniel kept his face straight-lined, staring daggers into his brother’s back as they walked on, his hair plastered to his forehead with rain that dripped along his cheeks and down his back as Christian walked under a black umbrella.
The New Zealanders and Australians had taken that station of the front-line weeks earlier, fighting long and hard from those same trenches and a few of their remaining men stared at the British as they passed.
“We will be repairing the trenches and the duckboards.” Christian halted and turned to face his men, a few of them bumping into each other with the sudden stop. He tapped his boot against the pieces of wood that lined the bottom of the trench, mostly being swallowed up by the mud and not achieving their purpose. “Be careful when pulling these pieces from the ground…shipments are tight and there are no new supplies. We must reuse all we have.”
No one protested, the line up of men staring at their officer through the sheets of rain, uniforms soaked through.
“Get on with it.” Christian snapped, stepping to the side to encourage them on.
Daniel didn’t even look at him as he walked past to find an empty place to start, Corbyn and Zach following him. The three knelt down in the soft mud and began pulling wood from the ground and stacking them up, the rain rinsing the planks with ease. They worked quietly, the thunder and heavy rain drowning out any possibility for conversation and the waning hours demanding all their energy.
Zach’s sudden shriek had everyone looking over at him as he fell back against the soaked ground, a half rotten hand topping next to him from where he had been digging.
“Bloody hell, what is that?” he cried loudly, the first voice heard in a while.
“You came across a grave, Private Herron. Just deep digging.” The Lieutenant Colonel ordered coolly, stomping right past them, splashing mud over the men’s uniforms and faces.
“Bastard.” Daniel spat under his breath, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. It didn’t do much to clean him, only smudging more dirt over his already soaked through skin. From his peripheral vision he could see Christian stop a moment and turn to look down at his brother, but Daniel kept his head down, not giving him the satisfaction to know he was getting to him. He just kept working, digging his hands into the cold ground as the rain plummeted around them.
Christian’s tired sigh couldn’t be heard over the sound of the rain as he continued walking down the line.
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Disclaimer: The following content is not suitable for small children. It contains topics such as violence, mutilation, self-harm, depression, and PTSD. As this is a work designed to evoke fear in the reader, I would also not recommend reading this before bed. By proceeding, you acknowledge that though this book may seem fine at first, it gets incredibly dark incredibly quickly. If you are struggling with suicidal thoughts, depression, or anxiety, help is available. Call 988.
Chapter 1:
Expedition
The cold was biting as Garrick Heath trudged through the snow towards the door of the shelter, certainly colder than London. Why couldn’t they have done this when it was sunny and bright out? Well, he didn’t suppose it would get any better, considering they were in the Arctic Circle. He’d just have to live with it.
He’d gotten the call two months ago. They offered him a job, working an ice drilling rig in the Artic. He had accepted. The pay was good enough and he was assured the bunker would be warm and the coffee strong. Now it was time, and he was here. He opened the door and a blast of warm air from the heated shelter enveloped him as it rushed out into the cold. He hurried inside and shut the door, no sense in letting the heat out. He looked around, seeing six other individuals sitting in a sunken seating area in the center of the large room playing cards. They greeted him as he entered, gesturing for him to sit down.
“Well then, now that we’re all here, I suppose we’d best get started” said a man in hiking gear, his voice layered with a thick Swedish accent. He stood up, the fabric of his clothing rustling as he did. “I am Jonas Pourison, I’m the NOAA representative on this assignment. My job is to monitor the samples we take for anything significant.” He gestured to the woman to his right, wearing warm clothes and a beanie with a red cross on it. She sipped her coffee and said in a faint Texas drawl “The name’s Darcy, and I’m here to make sure none of y'all die.” Having spoken her piece, she returned to her coffee. The next to introduce themselves was an Australian man named Ivakov Hill-Gray, the technician on the team. When he spoke, it was with a dry, gravelly voice. Next came a geologist, Olivia Runnisdöttir, another Swede. “We’ve had some reports of volcanic activity in the region, and I’m coming along to check it out.” Ryan Kurchatov, a paleontologist spoke next, he said he was tagging along from Russia to investigate possible Neolithic ruins in the ice, which could completely rewrite the timeline of human habitation. Walter Heyman, a Canadian, was the team’s guide, here to make sure no threats of the Arctic claimed them. Lastly came Garrick, who spoke with a heavy British accent. “I’m Garrick Heath, and I’m here as the historian to complement our good friend Kurchatov here.” As he spoke, he gestured to Ryan, who nodded curtly.
Once the introductions were done, Jonas spoke again. “Now that we all know eachother, the helicopter’s waiting. Let’s go.” They all sighed, finished their drinks, and trudged out of the shelter to the waiting helicopter. They took off without incident, and no words were spoken during the flight. Indeed, no one could hear each other over the sound of the aircraft. When Jonas finally landed the helicopter an hour later, they were all too happy to stand up again. They entered the bunker, where they would be living for the year, glancing around at the welcoming decor and furniture. Darcy spoke first: “Y’know, as far as subzero shitholes go, this is top notch” she said as she plopped her bags onto the ground. The group nodded in agreement. Walter found a bottle of wine in storage, and poured drinks for the team. As they plopped onto the couches, Olivia asked a question: “So, do any of you have families?”
“Yes, actually” Ryan replied, “a wife and two lovely daughters.”
Walter set the bottle down and dug into his pockets, searching for his wallet. He eventually found it and he took three photos of it. He also pulled a body camera from his bag and clipped it to his collar. As he unfolded the pictures, he said “I hope you don’t mind me recording, our patrons want records of our stay out here.”
Garrick arched an eyebrow at Walter. “And who exactly is financing this operation? This level of equipment certainly can’t be cheap.”
While Garrick was talking, Walter had started passing around the photos from his wallet. They were of his family. His husband and their dog. One photo showed them on the bow of a cruise ship, smiling and laughing. Another was of the dog, Niki, staring at a Christmas tree in wonder. The last picture showed Walter saying goodbye at Longyearbyen airport before leaving for Sweden.
Walter cleared his throat before answering Garrick. “We are being funded by several different agencies, but this rig belongs to Permafrost Group. This is one of twenty-seven they have across the world. Most of them are at the poles.” Garrick nodded, satisfied with the answer.
The time passed quickly after that, with the team swapping stories and sharing drinks and good-hearted laughter. Jonas told them a story about the time he was stood on a sinking research vessel. The engine had exploded, and the hole in the boat's keel was filled with rushing water. Just as they were about to be pulled under by the currents, a group of fishermen spotted them and pulled them out of the water. He made it sound as if it were just another day in the life, and not an extremely perilous situation.
After a night of revelry, they all retired to their bunks. After some tossing and turning, the seven of them drifted off to sleep, comforted by the soft humming of the bunker’s generators
++7 HOURS LATER++
Ryan awoke to a pounding at the door, the dull clang of metal reverberating through the concrete and rebar of the bunker. He stood up, putting on his jacket and boots before wearily staggering to the door. He slid the shutter aside, looking out through the bulletproof glass that covered the peephole. He saw a man in a tattered ski jacket collapsed in front of the door. Ryan hurriedly unlocked and threw open the door, and saw the man was completely drenched in blood, the red liquid seeping into the snow around him. “Shit” Ryan hissed, before shouting back into the bunker, saying: “Darcy, Jonas, come quickly!” He started dragging the man inside, and shut the door. Darcy and Jonas rounded the corner, grumbling. Their objections ceased when they saw the reason Ryan had called them.
Jonas rushed to help Ryan carry the man to the infirmary, while Darcy muttered a few Southern expletives and grabbed her first aid kit. Jonas and Ryan set the man down on a cot in the infirmary, and Darcy cut his jacket off, much to the objection of Jonas. “It’s fucking cold in here, he’s gonna need that later!” Darcy started wiping the blood from the man, replying through gritted teeth “There ain’t gonna be a later if he’s dead!”
The man’s injuries were brutal. A large section of his torso was slashed, with scraps of broken skin dangling limply from his mutilated chest cavity. His right arm was bent all the way in the wrong direction at the elbow, with a bone protruding from his wrist. His face was a horror show of shredded skin and muscle, his eyes were clouded, milky white orbs in a pit of red.
Darcy finished cleaning his wounds, sighing heavily as she readied bandages. “He’s lost a lot of blood, but somehow he hasn’t lost anything important.”
The man’s chest was wrapped, his arm splinted, and his face bandaged, but every bandage they put on was quickly soaked with blood. The rest of the team had been awoken by the commotion, and they staggered groggily into the infirmary. Olivia and Walter both had mugs of hot coffee. Ivakov was furious, storming into the room. “What the hell were you three doing out here!? I thought there was a goddamn-” He paused when he saw the injured man. “Oh fuck.”
The man started awake, screaming “No! No don’t take them! Don’t take them!” He winced as he sat up, looking around the infirmary, and then to his own injured chest. “Where- where am I?”
“It’s okay, you’re safe. You were in a pretty bad shape when we found you.” Darcy answered, trying to calm the man. “What’s your name?”
“Isacc. Isacc West.” The man replied, his hands shaking. Darcy turned to whisper to the team. “At least he remembers his name, eh?” She then turned back to Isacc. “What happened to you?”
“I was with a tour group, we were up here to see the Northern Lights. We were on our way back to our camp when something attacked us. Long, sharp fingers. And blood. Oh God, so much blood...” He shuddered as he spoke, as if reliving the horrors he had experienced. “I ran, but one of those fucking things caught me, tackled me. It did this to me.” He gestured vaguely at his injuries. He whispered one final sentence. “I don’t think anyone else made it out.”
In the bathroom, the group heard Olivia vomit.
“Well then” Darcy remarked, “since I suppose we ain’t gettin’ any sleep now, might as well start the work.” The rest of the team murmured agreements and went to get ready for the day. Madman or not, they had a job to do.
Chapter 2:
An Ordinary Day
The team shuffled into the rig, ready for the day and running on caffeine, adrenaline, and seven hours of sleep. Isacc was still in the infirmary, as he was in no condition to move. As the first core came up, Jonas stepped over to examine it. Ivakov played Sudoku with Ryan on the upper level of the rig deck. All was well.
“Thirty-one!” Garrick exclaimed as he slammed his cards to the table. “Read em’ and weep.” Olivia and Darcy groaned. “That’s the third time in a row,” Darcy grumbled, “let’s just play poker.”
“The problem there is I’m the one who brought the cards and I know absolutely fuck all about poker.” Garrick chuckled. Darcy mumbled something in angry Texan under her breath.
Walter poked his head through the door, carrying several cups. “I brought coffee!” he said in a singsong voice. He placed the cups on the mess table, grabbed one for himself, and sat down on a bench on the lower deck next to Jonas. Walter leaned over quizzically, sipping the coffee and placing one next to the focused Jonas.
“Find anything yet?” Walter asked, taking another sip. Jonas sighed. “No, not yet. Just ice, ice, and more goddamn ice.” Walter arched an eyebrow. “Isn’t that a good thing?”
“Yes, but I thought I- Well I don’t know what I thought.” Jonas grunted the words from his mouth, as he hauled the next core onto the table. “Wait... Is that...? Ryan, Garrick, get over here!” The two men startled at their names and shuffled over. “What is it?” Garrick asked.
Jonas pointed to an anomaly in the ice. A long, off-white splinter, about as long as a thumb, was embedded in the frosty substance. “Is that what I think it is?” He asked. Ryan leaned closer, inspecting the object. “I’d have to cut it out to get a closer look and know for sure, but at least from here it does look like bone.”
Garrick leaned closer, trying to get a good view of the object. “There’s some equipment in the bunker, I could date this.” Jonas nodded, sipping his coffee. “Please do.”
Garrick chipped a sample from the ice, cradling it as he trotted off towards the lab. Jonas turned to Ryan. “Do you want to take over?” Ryan shrugged. “Sure, go rest your arms.” Jonas nodded and went to sit with Ivakov, who had finished his Sudoku and was doing a crossword. He glanced up as Jonas sat down. “Seven letter word, a distilled spirit originating from Scandinavia.” Jonas chuckled. “That’s easy, Akvavit. It’s kinda like shitty, cheap tequila. I think we’ve got some in storage.” Ivakov grunted his thanks, scribbling the word down. Jonas shifted to face Ivakov. “So, what’s your story?” Ivakov set down his pencil and leaned back in his seat. “Well, my mother was a park ranger, and my pa was an accountant. They’re both retired now. I’ve hopped around from job to job for the past few years after the mines ran dry and they didn’t need me to fix the drills anymore. Turns out a degree in electrical engineering doesn’t do you much good as a tour guide. I got the call for this job a few months ago, and I thought I couldn’t get any more broke. I signed a contract, so the only way I’m not getting paid is if I die. And what are the odds of that happening, eh?” Jonas shrugged. “I suppose you could always fall off the rig. But you aren’t that stupid.”
Garrick came back into the rig deck, carrying his laptop. “Alright, it was a bit of a pain, but I got the date for that bone. 523 BCE.” Ryan choked and spit out his coffee, the precious liquid becoming a fine mist. “I’m sorry, did you just say 523 BCE!?” Garrick nodded. Ryan stormed over, grabbing the laptop. “Let me see that.” His eyes panned over the screen, widening with amazement. “I’ll be damned.”
Walter looked over at Ryan. “Everything okay?” Ryan whirled to face Walter. “Okay!? No I’m not okay! This is scientific proof that humans inhabited the Arctic more than four hundred years before the Roman Empire was founded! This could make my entire career!”
Walter chuckled. “Alright, calm down. I just thought something was wrong. I’m glad I was wrong.”
The core drill had stopped, the motor overheating from the continuous operation. Ivakov glanced over at the halted machine. “Drill’s stopped” he remarked, “it’s gonna take a while to cool off. Break?” The rest of the group nodded.
The crew shuffled into the bunker, settling into the common room. Garrick sighed. “Since Darcy gets pissy every time I win at thirty-one, how about a movie?” Walter perked up at the mention of something to do other than play cards. “Yes, please.” Garrick flipped open his laptop, opening his library. “Let’s see... We have the Lord of the Rings trilogy, the Incredibles, The Thing-” Olivia interrupted him. “The Thing, yes, that one!” Garrick shrugged. “Alright then!” He put the movie on as Jonas came back with a massive bucket of popcorn.
The festivities were interrupted by screaming from the infirmary, followed by shattering glass and the sound of tearing meat. The team startled at the noise, rushing to the infirmary, only to see a gruesome scene. Torn scraps of flesh littered the room, which was splattered with blood. One of the windows was shattered, allowing the storm outside to whip into the bunker. Isacc was missing, along with the spare bandages. The rig crew rushed to suit up to give chase to the screaming of Isacc. Walter grabbed his shotgun, Darcy grabbed the medical bag, Garrick retrieved his camcorder, and Jonas hefted his hunting rifle. Walter glanced back at the rest of the team. ”After we leave, shut and lock the door. Only let us in when we say ”Canada is just a bunch of ice.” Got it?” Olivia nodded. ”Good. Let’s go.” Walter grunted, hurrying out the door, which was slammed behind them.
Garrick yelled out to Walter, his voice shaking with fear. ”Walter, remind me again why we’re going out in fucking fifteen below to look for someone who’s probably already dead!” Walter replied through gritted teeth. ”Because “probably” doesn’t equal "is”, Heath.” Garrick grumbled assent, before shouting his response. ”Just because you’re right doesn’t mean I agree with you!” Walter just chuckled.
The wind from the storm whipped at the group as they reached the helicopter, still where they had left it. Isacc’s trail of blood went off into the void of impenetrable white as Walter stopped them at the aircraft. ”Fuck!” he hissed. “Someone trashed the damn helicopter!” Jonas hurried over, recoiling from the stench of motor oil and smoke, still detectable even in the storm. “One problem at a time Walter!” The group carried on, into the storm.
After trudging through knee-deep snow for several minutes, the trail of crimson they had been following through the snow went down into a cave in the ice. Walter shook his head. ”We’ll need the proper gear to go down there! We’ll come back tomorrow!” Darcy agreed, very openly. ”Let’s get back to the bunker. It’s colder than a frosted frog out here!” With that, the small group that had gone searching for Isacc began the trek back to the bunker, shaken by what they had seen.
When they reached the bunker again and spoke the passphrase, Olivia opened the door and let them inside. “Did you find him?” She asked. Walter shook his head. “No. We followed the blood as far as we could, but it went down into a hole in the ice. We need proper gear to go down there.” Olivia sighed defeatedly. “Best get some sleep then. We’re all going down there tomorrow.” The rest of the team nodded and staggered back to their beds.
Chapter 3:
Descent
The team woke early the next morning, readying themselves for the descent through the hole in the ice they had found the day before while looking for Isacc. They closed the door behind them, trudging past the wrecked helicopter to the crevasse. Ivakov looked down the hole, seeing the long drop to the bottom. “How are we supposed to get down there?” Jonas set his bag down and started digging through it. “We rappel down.” He pulled a coil of rope from the depths of his bag. “Get your crampons on. We’re going down there.” The seven of them slid their crampons onto their boots, before clipping themselves into their harnesses and beginning their descent to the bottom of the hole. Olivia touched down first, her boots crunching against the compacted ice. As Garrick started his descent, she examined the smooth walls of the cavern. The stone was frozen over, a layer of frost separating the rock from her. It almost pulled her in, enticing her to reach out and touch it. The way what little light there was reflected through the ice, illuminating the near pitch-black surface behind it was beautiful in some strange way. She wanted to touch it, to feel the coarse surface beneath her fingertips. She started to reach out, her hand being drawn towards the wall. “Olivia, you all right?” Jonas had rappelled into the hole and came up behind her, grabbing her arm. She jerked it away. “Christ on a stick, Jonas! What’s wrong with you!” He raised his hands in surrender, backing away. “Calm down. We’re ready to go.” He bucked his head towards the rest of the team, who were waiting some distance away. Walter was fastening a guide line into the ice, hammering a spike into the frozen wall before tying a rope to it, which was connected to a spool on his pack.
Olivia took a deep breath. “Yeah, I’m- I’m fine. Let’s get going.” The two of them joined the other five before starting off into the tunnels under the ice.
They walked for two hours before the tunnels opened up into a wider cavern. Ryan stepped forward, glancing around. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t Middle Earth.” he remarked, glancing around. The cave was massive, and it’s contents equally so. Massive spires rose around the outside, many of them half embedded in the cavern ceiling, holding the weight of the glacier above them, stopping it from crashing down upon them. A massive monolith rose in the center of the cavern, with an arched gate providing entry. Several waterfalls flowed from the monolith, running through the cavern.
As the team walked through the streets of the city under the ice, they looked up in awe at the massive structures surrounding them. Their admiration was broken by the broken corpse of Isacc falling from the sky and splattering on the ground in front of them. The man was in a bad state, with his chest ripped open, and his heart removed. His eyes had also been gouged out, and the skin of his face ripped and shredded from the bone, leaving only the grim visage of ruined flesh in its wake.
“Shit!” Darcy yelped, recoiling from the body. Blood sizzled on the freezing ground. Seeing this, Walter bent down, touching his hand to Isacc’s neck, soaking his glove with the precious lifeblood. “It’s still warm. Whatever killed Isacc took it’s sweet time.” He drew his hand away, making the sign of the cross over his heart and murmuring a quick prayer in French.
“Let’s go. He’s dead and the longer we wait here the more likely we’ll be too.” The team nodded and carried on through the city, leaving Isacc’s desiccated corpse behind.
Olivia came up behind Walter, falling into step beside him. “Never took you for religious.” she said, her tone implying a question.
“Who wouldn’t be after this? If there is a Hell in my life now, I’d rather like to believe that there is also a Heaven waiting for me.”
Olivia shrugged. “Can’t argue with that, I suppose.”
“So, Walter, what do you think took Isacc? A polar bear?” Garrick asked. Walter thought for a moment before answering him. “Best guess? Yeah, polar bear. It’s the only thing in this frozen hellhole that could do that to someone.” He paused before continuing. “It’s unlikely though. Polar bears don’t usually attack humans, or break through an inch of bulletproof glass, or drag said humans down holes in the ice into underground cities just to rip their hearts out and ruin their faces.”
Garrick sighed. “So I’m guessing that’s a “no” on the polar bear theory? Shame. I liked that theory, it was a comforting one.”
The team carried on in silence for a while before reaching the monolith at the center of the city. They passed through the arch, it’s massive size seemingly carved of an impossibly large bone. The monolith had a set of winding stairs going upwards. Ivakov sighed. “Yay. Stairs...” The team followed the steps up, passing carved reliefs of various creatures. A wolf, a seal, an orca, some sort of lanky humanoid, and many more. As they progressed to the top of the structure, Garrick recoiled at what they saw. “Oh fuck this! I knew it wasn’t a polar bear!
“This is some kind of sick fucking joke, isn’t it!?” On an altar in the middle of the room sat a human heart, the organ still slick with blood. It pulsed with a disgusting rhythm, an affront to nature. Darcy covered her nose, grimacing from the smell. “To hell with this, I’m leaving. Unless you want to end up like Isacc I suggest you come with me.” The team hurried out of the monolith, rushing back through the city, up the hole in the ice, and back into the bunker. As Jonas slammed the door and bolted it behind him, the whole group breathed a heavy sigh of relief.
Ivakov narrowed his eyes, straining to listen for something. “What the hell is that noise...?” The team went to the common room, the sound of static growing louder and louder as they drew nearer. As they opened the door to the room, the sound of chanting and screaming became clearer. Olivia shuddered. “Shit! What is that?” Ivakov leaned over the radio, adjusting the dial. As the radio was adjusted, the sound of bestial roars came into focus. The sound of tearing flesh was audible, and agonized screams came over the radio. A final monstrous howl was issued, and the screams gurgled out into nothing. When the sound of thundering footsteps finally faded out, naught but harsh static was left.
The seven of them stood in horrified silence for several minutes, none of them able to form coherent words after what they had just heard. “What. The. Fuck.” Darcy whispered, punctuating each word. “This isn’t real. This can’t be real.” she said under her breath. Olivia collapsed onto the couch, holding her head in her hands, beginning to sob uncontrollably.
Chapter 4:
Infected
He heaved himself through the tunnels, every inch a struggle. He was on his stomach now, crawling on his belly through this never-ending warren of the devil. He could feel the tearing with each squirm, his skin sloughing off as he wriggled through the catacombs under the ice. And still it wouldn’t let him die.
He risked a glance at his hand. His fingers were not his own. Long, black, leathery things now. He flexed his changed digits, and what little skin remained on them slid off with a sickening feeling across his new flesh.
It had been several minutes now, or was it hours? Days maybe? It was impossible to keep any track of time in such a horrid place. He pushed himself onwards, grunting in pain his taut muscles snapped like so much feeble twine. As much pain as it brought him, his transformation made it gradually easier to crawl through the tunnels as his arms grew long and thin, and his body more and more emaciated. He screamed in agony as the skin on his back was caught on a jagged outcrop, the wretched sound of tearing flesh grated in his ears as the stone pulled the cloak of humanity away from him. He felt the warm, sticky blood run down his body, staining the monster beneath.
He pushed forward, the skin ripping completely away from his back. Finally, he saw a light ahead. He crawled out of the cramped tunnel, bringing himself to his new freakish height. He staggered over to a pool of water, looking down at his reflection.
As the last scraps of his former self fell away, he wept, for the face staring back from the puddle was not his own.
He sat upon a stone, slick with the blood of his brothers. He sat, and he waited. He waited for so, so long. He waited as his fingers bent and stretched. He waited as the ice closed in around him. He waited as his twiglike figure became more and more shriveled. He waited until the day he heard the thundering noise above, like a chariot in the sky, driven by a spinning blade. On that day, he stood, and he took his first heart for the altar, for the Nexus, for the King.
Chapter 5:
Stranded
Garrick stood up, digging into his bag. He pulled out a thick leatherbound journal, worn and tattered with age. “While we were down in that frozen shithole, I found this in one of the buildings.” He opened the journal, the paper within was stained and yellowed with age. “I think it’s Russian. Ryan?” At the mention of his name, Ryan perked up. “Give it here.” Garrick handed the journal to him.
Ryan began reading, scanning the pages. Ivakov spoke up. “Well?” Ryan startled from his reverie. “Yeah it’s- it’s Russian.” He cleared his throat.
“My battalion and I were assigned to a post up in the Arctic. The Finnish are a hardy folk, and fight well. We’re down to two-thousand men. Our enemy is everywhere. And to make things worse, there’s something out there, in that storm. We found a hole in the ice yesterday, and inside it, under the glacier, we found a massive city. Some sort of obelisk in the center. I am writing this as I sit in one of the buildings near the cave entrance. This position is defensible, and the caves provide good cover for our troops. Will continue to update. Major Viktoriya Kuznetsova, 237th Infantry.”
“It would seem that we weren’t the first ones here.” Walter commented. Garrick sighed. “Not by a long shot. That sounds like the Winter War.”
Ivakov’s stomach rumbled. “What were we thinking for dinner?” Jonas’ voice came down the hall, echoing slightly. “Uhm... Bad news everyone!”
The rest of the team rushed to the storage room, and immediately rushed right back out, gagging from the smell. Garrick pinched his nose. “What the fuck is that smell!?” he exclaimed. Jonas, voice muffled by the scarf he had tied as a makeshift mask replied: “I think it’s tuna. But that’s not all.”
Walter stepped forward. “Everything is, rancid. This was all canned, it should have lasted us the rest of year!” Ivakov grimaced. “Well it certainly won’t now.”
The storage room was a mess. Overturned shelves littered the space, and cans lay open, their liquified contents oozing all over the floor. The smell of the place was revolting, somewhere between rotten fruit and a decaying corpse.
“How did- How is this happening?” Darcy breathed. Garrick whirled on her. “I’ll tell you what happened! Whatever the hell took Isacc came up here and trashed our food while we were down in Middle Earth!” The team sealed the room, stepping out into the hall and grabbing their things.
“Do you hear something?” Ryan asked. Ivakov opened the circuit box, peering inside. “Shit shit shit shit shit! Outside! NOW!” The seven of them rushed out the bunker door, dragging their belongings with them. Ivakov slammed and sealed the door just as a fiery explosion erupted within the concrete building. Garrick stood up from the snow, having faceplanted into it. “WHAT IN THE EVERLOVING FUCK WAS THAT!?” Ivakov dusted himself off, the heavy white falling away from his clothes. “Something damaged the breaker, which for some reason was right next to the fuel tanks. The breaker started arcing when I opened the circuit box and it tried to turn the light on, the sparks caught the fuel tanks and...” He made an explosion gesture with his hands. “Big boom.”
Garrick put his cap back on. “So, if we go into the bunker we’ll suffocate or burn to death, and if we stay out here we’ll freeze. Lovely.” Walter picked up his bags. “We’re going back down that hole.” Jonas breathed disbelief. “Back down THERE!? With the hearts and bodies and th-” Walter started off towards the ice cave. “Would you rather freeze to death out here?” Jonas stopped mid sentence. “Fair point.” With that, the team started back towards the hole in the ice.
Chapter 6:
Family Matters
Iolai Runisdöttir sipped her coffee. “Hulda, your sacrifices have been shallow. You only seek to prove your commitment.” She took a moment to compose herself before continuing. “I have sent my daughter to die in the Arctic.” Hulda choked on her muffin. “You did what!?” Iolai calmly took another sip. “It is the way things are done, you know this. Sacrifices must be made.”
Hulda raised her head, posturing against Iolai. “You have sent a member of the family to die. We are done here.” She stood, marching out the door of Iolai’s office.
Iolai sighed. She had hoped to have this done sooner. “Gunthir, would you bring Beskyddare in?” she said over the intercom. The response came a few seconds later. “Of course, give me just a moment.”
Iolai sat in silence for several minutes before Gunthir came in. As he set the box gently onto Iolai’s desk, he said “It’s a bit temperamental today.” Iolai sighed. Yet another problem to solve.
She opened the box gingerly, cradling the small bone carving that sat within. “Ready?” Iolai asked. Though the carving did not answer, a sense of unease radiated from it.
Iola set the carving back into the box before picking it up and making her way to the board room. As she sat down at the head of the table, the idle chatter quickly subsided.
“Friends. I have called you all here to discuss a rather;” she paused, thinking her word choice over. “Problematic development.” She turned to face the large screen behind her. She clicked to turn it on, and a picture of a massive ship loomed large in the frame. “This is the Seraphim, a deep-sea mining vessel.” She clicked to the next slide, displaying an image of a woman in her forties, wearing a beanie and a rain jacket on the deck of the vessel. “This is Irena Murray.” She stood as the next slide was displayed. “The Seraphim was selected for feeding last cycle. We directed it to a known site and let the Angels do the rest.”
She leaned on the table, lowering herself for dramatic effect. “However, when Irena was confronted with an Angel, and even directly witnessed the transformations of her crewmates, she did not experience the death we have come to expect, nor did she suffer any of the negative mental affects, except for those that are normal for someone going through a traumatic experience.” She drew herself to her full height.
“In other words, she is immune.”
A moment of silence hung in the air for what felt like an eternity before someone spoke. “How?” came the whisper from one of the board members. Iolai turned to face him. “I do not know. For as far as we can remember, only those with our blood are immune.”
A woman with a French accent spoke next. “Do you think it’s him?” she cleared her throat. “I mean, not him, but one of his agents?” Iolai sighed. “I don’t know, but we can’t rule out the possibility.” She turned off the smartboard before turning again to face the seven board members in attendance. “When he fell, he vowed he’d have revenge.”
“We have to act! We cannot stand idly by while he gains power!” a man with an almost melodic Icelandic accent shouted. “Calm yourself, Alex. We must be patient. Remember what happened last time you faced him?” The man winced, glancing at his missing arm. ”I do.” he replied.
Iolai set the carving on the table. “After it was discovered that Ms. Murray was unaffected by the Angels, Beskyddare was sent to her home.” Iolai sighed before continuing. “A few days later, I found it on my desk with no notch for Ms. Murray.” The board gasped. “Never before have they failed.”
“In light of this and other recent events at the Sites in the Pacific Ocean and North America, it is my professional opinion that something big is coming.” She finished with one last statement. “We need to be vigilant.”
Chapter 7:
Knock Twice
Walter awoke to the sound of knocking at the door. They were in one of the buildings in the city under the ice. He shook off his lethargy and hauled himself to his feet. He reached for the door handle as the knocking came again. Tap. Tap. He heard Isacc’s voice on the other side. “Walter? Olivia? Darcy?” the voice called out. “Shit.” Walter breathed. He tiptoed over to the others, kicking them awake. “What is it...?” Darcy mumbled sleepily as she sat up. “Keep your voices down,” Walter hissed through his teeth. “Something is out there.” Then Darcy heard the knocking. Tap. Tap.
“Garrick, are you in there?” called Isacc’s voice. “It’s so cold out here. And so warm in there...” Everyone scrambled to their feet, picking up their bags.
Tap. Tap.
Tap. Tap.
The knocking came harder now, but still the same repeating pattern. “Ivakov! Let me in, please!” came the cry from outside the door. But the voice was different now. It sounded... Wrong. Raspier. Like nails on a chalkboard.
The knocking had stopped. Now it was scratching. Ivakov leaned towards the door to hear better. His head was ripped off when a set of long, sharp claws pierced the door. His body ragolled across the room, landing in a crumpled heap in the corner. “Fuck!” Darcy exclaimed. Walter spun to face the stairs. “We’re going!” The team hurried upstairs as the door was ripped off it’s hinges.
A blurry figure chased them up the stairs. Walter whirled on it, putting a blast of buckshot into it’s face. They rushed to the window. Garrick tried to get it open before Walter shattered it with the butt of the shotgun. They clambered out of the hole in the glass, emerging onto the roof of the building. They rushed to the edge, jumping across the gap between it and the next.
They scrambled down a set of stairs on the outside of one of the buildings, descending to the main street level. All the while they could hear the horrible sound behind them. Footsteps, but heavier than anything any of them had heard before. The wretched thing called out in a gurgling mockery of a human voice. “Wait! I just want to help!”
“Like hell you do!” shouted Olivia, not looking back. The team sprinted down the street, pursued by whatever horrible being had knocked on that door. “There!” Garrick cried out, pointing to a cave in the side of the ice wall. The team rushed inside, and Walter threw a lever just past the threshold. Luckily, it was the right one, and a massive stone slab slammed down just as the creature reached the door.
The remaining six of the team heard it then. Laughing. Horrible, disgusting, laughing. The thing called out again, this time in a ragged, hushed voice. “Do you know what I am?” it asked. Not “Who”. “What”. “No, and we don’t want to!” responded Walter.
“I have been here since the very beginning.” It took a deep, rumbling breath. “This Vessel was once Viktorya Kuznetsova.” Whatever thing was on the other side of the stone paused again. “But she is gone now. Instead, I am here.” It paused again, and loose stones danced with the vibrations of abominable footsteps. “Those who you call “Permafrost” found me after they put up a radio tower to talk to their god. Instead, they got me.” The thing chuckled, as if it found it’s words funny. “Go ahead and hide. I have forever to wait.”
Loud, thundering footfalls reverberated through the stone, growing softer and more distant each time. And through it all, the horrible laughing continued until it faded away into nothingness.
The team turned, and saw the room that they had entered. A massive skeleton sat in front of them. They looked up, and hundreds of thousands of human skulls looked back at them, their eyeless sockets staring into their souls.
“Walter, what the FUCK is that?” Garrick asked, gesturing to the skull in front of them. “It looks like... Whale.” Walter replied, studying the bones. Darcy leaned against the wall, chewing on a popsicle stick. “Walter, we’re hundreds of miles inland under a fucking glacier. How the hell would a whale get down here?”
“I don’t- I don’t know.” he replied. “This looks like a blue whale skull, and even they don’t grow this large.”
Jonas’ voice echoed from the other side of the room. “What is that?” he asked. The team shuffled over. Embedded in on of the ribs of the behemoth was a spiraling tusk. “Narwhal tusk,” said Walter, “but this one is huge!” He snapped a few pictures with a disposable camera. “They usually grow eight, nine, maybe ten feet.” He dug a tape measure out of his bag. After he had zipped his duffel back up, he handed one end to Jonas, and then brought the other to the end of the tusk. “Considering the extra length to go around the rib... I’d say this one is maybe fifteen feet, maximum.”
“Even as a maximum, that isn’t very comforting.” sighed Garrick. “Let’s keep going.” grunted Darcy. “No use hanging around here waiting for that thing to get to us.” The rest of the group nodded assent, and they trudged off into the warrens under the ice.
Chapter 8:
Catacombs
“So why exactly are you on this trip, Olivia?” Darcy asked. “I mean, we know the professional reason, but what personal stake do you have in being stuck on a glacier in a cramped bunker for a year?”
Olivia grunted as she took a sip of water, some of the liquid dripping from her as they walked. When she finished, she answered. “Well, my mother runs Permafrost Group. She wanted me out here.” She sighed as she continued. “Pay was good enough, and I was getting sick of Sweden. Only so many times you can see the same lake and still be excited.” She laughed, a light, almost haunting sound. “If I’d known I’d have to deal with this shit, I’d have stayed in my apartment.”
She paused to catch her breath before continuing. “But I plan on getting out of here. I already bought a burial plot, and I’ll die before they bury me anywhere else. That shit’s expensive!” she chuckled humourlessly. “So very expensive...”
“Mortuaries have to ma-” Darcy paused mid-sentence. “Do you hear that?” A voice echoed through the caves. “Hello? Is someone there?” it called out, seemingly in pain. A woman, with a Russian accent. The team rushed to the sound, hurrying through the caves with their crampons crunching against the rock and ice. As they rounded the corner, they found a gruesome scene. A woman was pinned under a massive chunk of rock, struggling to pull herself out.
Next to her lay a corpse, slashed open at a diagonal. Four gouges, deep and jagged, ran through the man’s chest. His torso was ripped open, and his heart removed.
“Oh thank God you’re here.” she grunted. Walter hurried over, followed closely by Darcy and Olivia. Walter pulled a jack from his bag. “On three. One. Two. Three.” Olivia and Darcy hefted the stone slab, and Walter jabbed the jack underneath, turning the crank and slowly raising stone until the woman could scramble out from under it.
She tried to stand, but her leg buckled beneath her. She collapsed, landing in a heap on the ground. Jonas glancing at her leg, bent slightly the wrong way around. “I don’t think that’s supposed to bend that way...”
The woman sat up, wincing in pain as she did. “Who- Who are you...?” she asked. Garrick shook his head. “No, you first.” The strange woman sighed. “Sgt. Dragana Isidora. Ukrainian 237th Expeditionary Force.” Her clothes, dirty as they were, were now seen for what they were, a military uniform. “Now you.” she said, crossing her arms.
Walter stood. “Walter.” Darcy inclined her head. “Darcy”. “I’m Garrick” came a voice from the corner of the room. “Olivia” came a tired mumble. “Jonas” he sighed. Ryan pointed to his nametag.
Dragana sat up. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Walter took a hiking pole from his bag, handing it to Dragana as a crutch. “We were up in the bunker.” He sighed, rolling his shoulders. “Shit hit the fan, now we’re down here.” Walter glanced at the corpse next to Dragana. “Is there anyone else down here?”
Dragana stood up, leaning on the hiking pole. “There were...” she counted on her fingers, pausing for a moment. “Seven of us left.” She gestured to the corpse. “That was Volodymyr. So now we’re six, counting me.” Walter put the jack bag in his bag. “Can you bring us the rest of your group?” Dragana shrugged. “I don’t see the harm in it.” She winced as she tried to take a step. “I could use the help anyway.
Chapter 9:
A Talk
Iolai shut the door to her office behind her, and gestured to the chairs at her desk. Alex and Étoile sat down, settling into the plush leather of the seats.
As the door clicked shut, the atmosphere in the room changed. An oppressive feeling hung in the air, and everything seemed just a little too bright.
Iolai reached under her desk and brought out a bottle of wine. Only it wasn’t wine. Ancient runes were carved into the glass, and the liquid within was a deep crimson. Iolai poured three glasses of the liquid before replacing the bottle under her desk. She offered two to he guests.
“Drink deeply, Siblings, and we shall speak.” They drank in unison, and the office changed to a stately dining room. Their chairs were now ornate golden thrones, and the desk was a polished stone table.
“Our fallen Sibling grows more powerful by the day, and as he waxes, we wane.” Iolai said. She glanced out the window, seeing the city below. It was somewhere between a ruin and a utopia. Buildings crumbled and collapsed as parties went on into the night. At the far edge of the city there was a jagged tear where Lesser Apocrypha had been ripped from the rest of the Greater.
“We have to act!” raged Alex, his temper flaring. “When I failed on that day, I allowed all the world to come into peril.” He set his face in a grim visage of determination. “I will not make the same mistake again.”
“What do you propose we do?” asked Étoile. Iolai stood, dusting herself off. “I will go to our Father, and ask him for assistance.”
Chapter 10:
Survivors
Dragana knocked five times on the door, slowly, clearly. A man on the other side called out: “How many times does the heron cry?” Dragana sighed. “Seventeen. Now open the damn door Graham! I found others, and Volodymyr is dead.”
Graham threw open the door, seeing the disheveled state of the group. “Holy shit, Dragana! What happened to your leg!?”
Dragana limped into the small cave, going to sit down on a slab of rock at the edge of the room. “Cave-in. I got trapped under a giant stalactite.” Walter raised his hand. “We got her out.” Graham turned to him. “And Volodymyr?” Dragana sighed. “That thing got him.”
Graham sighed heavily. “Another one, then?” Dragana nodded solemnly. Graham trudged over to a small altar, snuffing out a candle on it. There were over two-hundred unlit candles.
Garrick set his bags down and leaned against the wall of the cave. “How long have you been down here?” Graham sat down on a small cot, twirling a pencil in his frozen fingers. “Months? We were sent up here to retrieve a crashed drone right before the war began.” He sighed. “When we got word that the Russians had invaded, we thought we were lucky.” He chuckled dryly. “Little did we know...”
Graham stared off into space for a moment. “Ah, but where are my manners?” He stood, his bones creaking almost audibly with stiffness and cold. “My name is Graham. You’ve met Dragana.” He gestured to three men huddled in the corner by a fire. “That’s Alexsander, Ivan, and Vidar.” A woman tending to Dragana’s leg spoke when Graham was finished. “And I’m Imogen.” She wrapped Dragana’s leg as she spoke, grunting through the words. “It’s a pleasure.”
Darcy nodded to Imogen. “Medic?” Imogen shook her head. “Comms officer. I took more than my fair share of med courses, and all our medical staff are dead. I’m all that’s left.” As she spoke, Imogen fastened a splint around Dragana’s leg.
Graham came up to the drill team, Alexsander and Vidar in tow. “We were going to check out some caves we found, see if we could find a way out.” Walter nodded. With that, Walter, Jonas, Olivia, Garrick, Graham, Alexsander and Vidar set off into the tunnels under the ice.
Chapter 11:
In the Den of Devils
As the group trudged through the catacombs under the glacier, Garrick took notes on the carvings they passed. “Is now really the time for that, Heath?” Garrick sighed. “I don’t care if there’s some homunculus chasing us through some frozen-ass shithole in the middle of the Arctic, I’m documenting this damnit.” Garrick paused for a moment, peering at a stone relief on the wall. “What the hell-”
Garrick touched his finger to a small indent in the glossy, black stone. The surface dragged upwards with a horrible, ear-grating sound of rock on rock.
The rest of the group came up behind him, peering into the descending stairwell that was revealed by the stone. Garrick sighed heavily. “We’re going down there, aren’t we?” Jonas nodded. “Fuck my life...”
As the team descended the stairs, the sound of rushing liquid became audible. It grew from a faint whisper to a dull roar as they came to the bottom of the
@shrimpysstuff @moonysfavoritetoast @catinasink @eternal-nyxx @iwouldkickahorse
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Closing Library : Marshall summons Belle for a private interview with Sutherland bc she did kinda ruin his outing so his team wants to take pictures of a peaceful chat and handshakes for press
I intended to include Belle in this but kind of got distracted with Anna convincing Sutherland to do the interview. So that’ll be next if someone wants to prompt me
x
Politicians had to develop thick skins, and Robert Sutherland was no exception. He’d been told in no uncertain terms to go fuck himself by members of the electorate more times than he could count, and so being chewed up one side and down the other by a petite brunette shouldn’t have fazed him. And yet it had. The visit to Avonleigh was supposed to have been a success, a chance to show the Opposition that his party had succeeded where theirs had failed, a chance to get some positive headlines running in election year. He hadn’t reckoned on meeting the librarian of a provincial town with an axe to grind and no sense of decorum. Sutherland was in a bad mood, and his staff sensed it and wisely kept out of his way. Only Anna chose to spend more than a few minutes in his company, but given that she had also told him to go fuck himself more times than he could count, he didn’t mind that.
“Stop tapping your fingers,” she said absently, as she went through some paperwork. “I know you’re angry, but it’s bloody annoying.”
Sutherland grimaced, curling his fingers into a fist to stop them drumming on the arm of the chair. The press conference at Arendelle plc had gone as expected: a few questions on the defence contract and an irritating number of questions about the young woman who had confronted him, and the effect that Government cuts were having on public services. It was now mid-afternoon, and Sutherland and Anna were closeted in his hotel suite, going over the plans for the next day’s visit to a local school and hospital. Which should pass off without incident. Or so he hoped. The way things were going there would be a group of militant eight-year-olds manning barricades and calling for him to be guillotined.
“Any word on how this is playing on the news?” he asked Anna.
“Nothing you want to hear,” she said lightly.
“Fuck!” He pushed up out of the chair, and began to pace again. “So it’s all been for bloody nothing, then! We drag our arses hundreds of miles north to celebrate some good fucking news, and it gets completely derailed by - by…”
“By a young woman who just found out that she’s losing her livelihood, and the town an important public service,” finished Anna, looking up from her papers. “Apparently she got the letter telling her the library would lose its funding about half an hour before she stormed into the market square to tear you a new arsehole.”
“That’s not my fault!” he snapped, aware that he was sounding petulant, and Anna sighed.
“We can try to argue our case for spending constraints, of course, but she’s already won the battle for public opinion,” she said. “The Today programme has asked for someone to do the ten past eight interview tomorrow morning. I was going to tell them no one was available, but if you want to press the issue…”
Sutherland waved an impatient hand, still pacing.
“If we don’t send anyone at all, we stand no chance of turning press attention back the way we want, do we?” he said. “Maybe we should send Ursula.”
Anna pursed her lips, nodding slowly.
“She’s calm and unlikely to be pushed off course,” she agreed. “I’ll give her a call, tell her to prepare.”
“And what do we know about the young woman herself?” he asked.
“Her name is Belle French,” she said. “She’s twenty-eight, and she’s been librarian in Avonleigh for the past three years.”
“She sounded Australian.”
“Studied at Cambridge, and decided to stay,” she said. “She’s a British citizen now.”
“Is she likely to be giving many interviews?”
“I would, if it was me.”
Sutherland growled under his breath, running a hand through his hair in agitation, and Anna sat back, shuffling her papers.
“Apparently both The Sun and The Mirror are claiming to be running exclusives with her, but there again I’m told she’s given an interview to The Guardian too, so it might just be a load of bollocks from the tabloids as usual.”
“Well, they’ll have moved onto something else tomorrow,” he said dismissively, and she gave him a level look.
“Whether or not that’s true, the focus is still on her, and not on the 2,500 jobs we secured for the town,” she said. “She had the nerve to say to your face what thousands of people are probably moaning about over their pints. The tabloids love her.”
“They bloody would,” he muttered, still pacing.
“Of course,” she added, “it helps that she’s very pretty.”
“Can’t say I noticed,” he lied.
“Hmm.”
She didn’t sound convinced, but let it go.
“Fiona Black’s already been doing the rounds of the broadcasters,” she said, and Sutherland whirled to face her. “Apparently she called Miss French to express her support and to commiserate with her on the harmful effects of Government spending cuts on local services.”
“Oh, I just bet she did,” he muttered. The leader of the Opposition had been a thorn in his side ever since winning her party’s nomination for the leadership. “They’re not gonna let it drop, are they?”
Anna tossed her paperwork onto the coffee table and fixed him with a look, opening her mouth.
“Alright, fine,” he said wearily, and she closed her mouth with a snap.
“You don’t know what I’m gonna say.”
“No, but you’re about to tell me I should do something, it’s probably something I’m not gonna like, and it’s probably the right thing to do, so let’s hear it.”
She smirked a little at that.
“I think you should meet her,” she said, and held up a hand as he let out an indignant noise. “It’s election year. The papers will forget about this, but you know full well that the footage of her calling you a knobhead to your face will be circulating every time you go out on the campaign trail.”
“So I should let her call me a knobhead in private?” he said sarcastically. “Yes, what a wonderful idea!”
“No, you should tell her that you recognise and appreciate her passion for public service, and you want to know what the Government can do to help ensure that people don’t get left behind as the country moves forward.”
Sutherland stopped pacing, fingers tapping against his lips as he thought it over.
“Alright,” he said. “I think it’s probably best to face this thing head on, not run away from it. You’re right, that footage is gonna play every time I leave Downing Street otherwise.”
“It’s already trending on Twitter,” she said. “Hashtag FuckThePM. Not sure if that’s meant as an insult or a suggestion.”
Sutherland’s mouth flattened.
“Oh, you’re fucking hilarious.”
“Come on, where’s your sense of humour?”
“Always disappears when I get chewed out on live television,” growled Sutherland. “I presume you’re intending to make a press opportunity out of this?”
“I was thinking that now she’s had a chance to yell at you, she might be a little calmer,” she said. “Showing that you’re listening to people’s concerns will play well.”
He sighed, letting his head roll back.
“She won’t agree.”
“I think she will,” said Anna. “Just let me talk to her.”
“Time’s tight,” he said. “I want this done before tomorrow’s headlines make the press.”
“I’ll see if she’s willing to meet this evening,” she said. “Cameras outside for the meeting, but the two of you talk in private.”
He hesitated, but nodded.
“Alright,” he said. “See if she’ll meet me.”
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@thecorteztwins: Please accept this small offering that I hope will lift your spirits after that last issue of X-Men.
Sipping at the last of his margarita, admiring the way the sunlight sparkled on glistening white sand and turquoise waves, Shinobi Shaw reflected that the X-Men really were very, very stupid. And how fortunate that was for him. It had been ridiculously easy to fake his own death. He’d just solidified the parts of his hand outside his head, while keeping the rest of his hand safely phased through his brain. Collapse on the ground with a few convincing death spasms and a touch of fake blood, and the morons had wandered off without even checking for a pulse. The most difficult part had been keeping a straight face.
But that was done, and the X-Men would surely spread word of his death, which meant certain parties would cease to look for him. That took quite a bit of pressure off. The rest of the Upstarts would have to deal with the consequences of their failure; it was frankly their own faults if they were too stupid to follow his example and escape. Shinobi had made his way down to the Bahamas, to a very exclusive beach-side bar that catered specifically to people like him. One had to know the right people to even find the place, and Shinobi, of course, knew all the right people.
Of course, it was starting to seem like they were letting any kind of riff-raff in lately, Shinobi thought as he looked out at the crowd from his seat at the bar. One of the patrons was a wild-eyed man with disheveled black hair, and the tackiest outfit Shinobi had ever seen – a metallic silver shirt paired with booty shorts with a cosmic-themed print. He looked like an alien with gaudy tastes and a poor understanding of human fashion (or possibly a time-traveler from an eighties music video). He was talking loudly and passionately (ranting was perhaps a better word) to another dark haired man, this one tall and beautifully androgynous, who was clad in a loud Hawaiian shirt, socks with sandals, and a smug expression that indicated he was wearing all of this ironically. A pendant hung around his neck, with what appeared to be Norse runes, and a tiny pair of gold horns. From the snatches of conversation that he could hear, Shinobi gathered that the badly-dressed man was named Max, and he claimed to be royalty (didn’t they all), and hated his brother, while the beautiful hipster regarded all this with patient amusement. The hipster was almost pretty enough to peak Shinobi’s interest, but he couldn’t forgive that outfit.
Then again, there was a gorgeous Indian woman sitting out on the sand, with a dark waterfall of hair cascading down her back. She had an aura of sweetness and calm that seemed out of place among the rest of the patrons, as she gazed out at the sea. As if to complete the Disney-like picture, a bird fluttered down and landed on her outstretched fingers. Shinobi wondered if she’d maintain that supposed innocence between the sheets.
He finished his margarita, and signaled for another. The bartender was a solidly-built man with brown hair laced with grey, and a weather-beaten face that seemed to put him in his late forties or early fifties. Shinobi watched for a moment in fascination as the man poured ingredients into a silver shaker, then kept his hand perfectly still as the shaker seemed to vibrate of its own accord. There was something familiar about the man, but Shinobi couldn’t be bothered to remember. Shinobi was here to drink, fuck, and relax. Speaking of which….he let his gaze wander back to the Indian woman, wondering how to best approach her.
“I wouldn’t bother, mate,” came a voice from beside him. The man was slim and wiry, with a shock of curly blond hair, and a smoother face that seemed to indicate that he was a little younger than the bartender (or, at least, had a better understanding of moisturizer.) “She ain’t interested. She’s mostly here to try to get us all to change our ways and see the light.” The accent was Australian, not as elegant as British, Shinobi thought, but pleasant enough on the ear.
“She’s got no business acting like she’s better than any of us,” scoffed the bartender as he passed Shinobi his drink. “She’s here for a reason.”
“And I’m glad she is,” said Shinobi, taking a sip and nodding approvingly. “I like a challenge. People rarely say ‘no’ to me.”
The blond shrugged. “She’ll probably just start talking about compassion, and try to convince you to go feed the homeless with her, but go ahead. Your funeral, mate.” He winked at Shinobi, and the bartender suddenly scowled. Shinobi had seen that look many times before, in many bars, parties and high-end clubs. He just flashed the bartender a dazzling smile in return. It wasn’t his fault that he was so beautiful.
“Maybe you could do some actual work today, Johnny?”
“What? After I spent all morning working my fingers to the bone slicing limes? And this is the thanks I get?” The blond held his hand out to Shinobi, as if to show how he had toiled. The hands showed no signs of hard work, but there was scarring across the knuckles indicating that the blond, like the bartender, was no stranger to a fight.
“Oh, yes, I’m sure that was such hard work. However would I cope without you?” The bartender rolled his eyes, wiping down the bar.
“You’d be lost without me and you know it, Dom,” the blond grinned, now winking at him. “Besides, I am working. I’m socializing with the patrons, and making sure that everyone is happy.”
The blond was a potential prospect, Shinobi decided, if the Indian woman responded coldly. He was handsome, even with the faint pockmarks on his face that resembled old acne scars. And he seemed upbeat and fun, which fit Shinobi’s mood entirely. The blond had lit a match from one of the books stacked on the bar, and was letting the flame dance across his fingers in the shape of a butterfly.
“We’re co-owners,” he explained, nodding back towards the bartender.
“Partners, you could say,” the bartender emphasized.
“You could say that, indeed.”
Shinobi was moderately amused by the man’s little show. It was nothing special, but still, powers were better than no powers.
“Why ‘Elysium’?” he asked conversationally, glancing at the matchbook printed with the bar’s name.
“It’s that place in Hades for the good people, ain’t it?” responded the blond, still letting the fire flutter around his hands. “And this is a little slice of paradise for those of us who really ought to be in Hell. I thought it was fitting.”
“Too pretentious if you ask me,” grumbled the bartender. “I wanted to call the place Tremors.”
“Yeah, and I wanted to call it Disco Inferno, but those are both a bit too on the nose, right? This place only functions if we keep a low profile.”
“That works fine for me,“ said Shinobi. “Low profile is exactly what I need right now. I appreciate your discretion.”
“We aim to please,” said the blonde, leaning a little closer to Shinobi. The bartender gave a loud sigh.
“And now,” Shinobi decided, standing up from the bar, “I’m going to try my luck with that beauty.”
“Yeah, sure, enjoy the morality lecture,” said the bartender.
“I’ll just sit here and watch you fail,” smirked the blond, confiscating Shinobi’s unfinished margarita and taking a swig.
“Watch a master at work, then, perhaps you’ll learn something,” Shinobi said grandly, striding down the sand towards the Indian woman, mentally pulling up his best pick-up lines.
Notes:
Shinobi does not sleep with Haven, instead she teaches him meditation techniques, and he has a very calm and restful afternoon. The pockmarks on Pyro’s face are scars left from the Legacy Virus. He and Avalanche may or may not be partners in every sense of the word. Maybe Avalanche is just annoyed because Pyro is flirting instead of helping him, or maybe they’re together. Reader’s choice.
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Any or all of them, huh? All of them
That wasn’t a this or that thing but I’m bored and technically did ask for it so fine...smartass...
1. What is you middle name? Eric Lynn
2. How old are you? 27
3. When is your birthday? June 8
4. What is your zodiac sign? Gemini
5. What is your favorite color? It depends. To wear? For walls? For a car? In general, steel blue.
6. What’s your lucky number? I don’t really have one, but I’ll choose 7 or 13 if I have to pick one.
7. Do you have any pets? I’m not a pet person
8. Where are you from? Socal
9. How tall are you? 5′5.5″
10. What shoe size are you? US Mens 7
11. How many pairs of shoes do you own? Umm...shit...like....6?
12. What was your last dream about? I honestly don’t even remember.
13. What talents do you have? Bold of you to assume I could have talents
14. Are you psychic in any way? I’ve had a couple premonition like dreams, but they clue me in to anything important and I don’t wake up remembering much of them.
15. Favorite song? Losing My Religion by REM
16. Favorite movie? Alien, maybe? Or Iron Man.
17. Who would be your ideal partner? I don’t have a specific person in mind. Definitely someone patient but unwilling to tolerate any bullshit. Must understand sarcasm.
18. Do you want children? Dear gods NO!
19. Do you want a church wedding? I don’t particularly care. I don’t really want one but I’d do it if my partner wanted one. No guarantee I’d not get struck down entering the church.
20. Are you religious? Not really. I struggle with the concept of organized religion. But I do respect spirituality so long as it’s not being used to justify bigotry and have some sort of vague belief in it.
21. Have you ever been to the hospital? Yes. Both for my own care and to visit family, none of which are fond memories.
22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law? I haven’t.
23. Have you ever met any celebrities? No, not yet. But hopefully one day Taylor will run out of other people to meet and finally take pity on me.
24. Baths or showers? Showers! I can’t stand baths for more than 10-15 minutes but can take an hour long shower.
25. What color socks are you wearing? Light and dark blue striped socks.
26. Have you ever been famous? No.
27. Would you like to be a big celebrity? Yes and no. I’d not say no to the potential money involved. But I’m a quiet guy and if I couldn’t find a way to protect my privacy like Taylor’s managed, I’d be done with it pretty quickly.
28. What type of music do you like? A bit of everything, but I’ve been on a pop kick recently.
29. Have you ever been skinny dipping? No, but I’d give it a go in the right setting.
30. How many pillows do you sleep with? One, unless they’re not firm enough.
31. What position do you usually sleep in? I usually fall asleep on my side.
32. How big is your house? Few bedrooms and a couple bathrooms, 2 stories. Decent sized.
33. What do you typically have for breakfast? I usually don’t. But if I wake up starving, I’ll try to find some leftover chicken or something to munch on, usually cold.
34. Have you ever fired a gun? Yeah, fired a few different types. I’m not a great shot and I don’t handle the noise well. I struggle pulling the trigger for whatever reason.
35. Have you ever tried archery? I haven’t but I really want to!
36. Favorite clean word? Strobocopic is the first word that comes to mind and that’s 100% my dad’s fault, damn him.
37. Favorite swear word? Fuck.
38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep? About 48 hours? I’ll usually take a sleeping pill or pass out on my own by then.
39. Do you have any scars? Ignoring the obvious quip about mental ones, I’ve got a couple physical. Got a faint one on my knee from busting it open as a kid that you can’t really see now. Got a fair few stretch marks and some acne scars as well.
40. Have you ever had a secret admirer? If I did, they were so secret I didn’t know about them.
41. Are you a good liar? Depends on what it is and how close I am to them. I can lie alright on phone or text unless you know me well or tell a stranger a white lie. But I’ve got no poker face whatsoever so I suck at the big ones, and the closer I am to someone the worse I get at lying.
42. Are you a good judge of character? Kinda? I haven’t trusted too many assholes but like anyone I can overlook the bad in someone I care about.
43. Can you do any other accents other than your own? Nope.
44. Do you have a strong accent? I don’t think so.
45. What is your favorite accent? British or Australian.
46. What is your personality type? Impatient but laid back smartass with a mixed sense of self preservation. I’m a pretty go with the flow guy, but yeah patience isn’t my strong suit.
47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing? My redwing boots.
48. Can you curl your tongue? Yes.
49. Are you an innie or an outie? Innie.
50. Left or right handed? Strongly right-handed.
51. Are you scared of spiders? I’m fucking terrified of them. It’s sad, really. Even the small ones.
52. Favorite food? Seafood in general or a good rare steak.
53. Favorite foreign food? Sushi!
54. Are you a clean or messy person? I’m a mess tbh. I try but I can’t quite seem to keep things up.
55. Most used phrased? “Fuck” probably.
56. Most used word? See above.
57. How long does it take for you to get ready? About 30 with a shower.
58. Do you have much of an ego? I’d like to say no, but I know I’ve got a bit of pride about some things.
59. Do you suck or bite lollipops? Suck until they’re almost gone and then bite.
60. Do you talk to yourself? Not so much now. If I’m alone in the house for an extended period, or I’m trying to work something out or stay focused, then yeah.
61. Do you sing to yourself? I rarely sing along to music in the car, let alone casually to myself.
62. Are you a good singer? Gods no.
63. Biggest Fear? The glib answer is spiders. But in the spirit of the question lise: the actual answer is the inevitable fuck up that is the last straw that leds to people leaving.
64. Are you a gossip? Yes and no? I don’t spread serious rumours, but I’ll absolutely talk shit with those I’m closest with. Kinda a nosey little prick too, I like knowing things.
65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen? My mind kinda went straight to titanic. The 90s jumped out.
66. Do you like long or short hair? I wear my hair short (because getting misgendered makes me want to fling myself off the nearest cliff), but would theoretically consider wearing it longer if/when my facial hair comes in. On a partner, I like either.
67. Can you name all 50 states of America? I wouldn’t put money on it, but if I could see a list as I named them, I’d probably manage okay.
68. Favorite school subject? History. Or mythology, though that wasn’t a dedicated subject.
69. Extrovert or Introvert? Introvert AF.
70. Have you ever been scuba diving? No and I don’t think I ever would.
71. What makes you nervous? It’s the anxiety, bro.
72. Are you scared of the dark? More scared of the tricks my mind can play on me in it, especially if I’m trying to sleep.
73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes? Depends on how close I am and what the mistake is.
74. Are you ticklish? Very and I don’t find being tickled funny or enjoyable. I’m likely to get pretty pissed off if someone tickles me intentionally.
75. Have you ever started a rumor? Never intentionally.
76. Have you ever been in a position of authority? Not really? Not with any real power.
77. Have you ever drank underage? Tried a few things, didn’t care for the taste.78. Have you ever done drugs? I tried pot but I can’t inhale for shit so it didn’t do anything for me.
79. Who was your first real crush? The first I can recall was a boy named Corbin in the first grade. He had dark hair and eyes and was nice and I thought he was cute and fun to play with. Then there was a girl named Emily who was tall and blonde. I don’t think I really knew they were crushes though. The first time I had a crush and KNEW it was a crush was high school, on a girl in my chem class and then on my physics teacher in my junior year.
80. How many piercings do you have? None.
81. Can you roll your Rs? Not anymore.
82. How fast can you type? 45-ish WPM?
83. How fast can you run? Not very fast.
84. What color is your hair? Dark blonde.
85. What color is your eyes? Blue.
86. What are you allergic to? Some laundry detergent. If it’s heavily scented I will break out in hives.
87. Do you keep a journal? No, but I’ve been told I should.
88. What do your parents do? My dad works in IT.
89. Do you like your age? Yes and no. I don’t have a problem with my age or nearing 30, but I could also fuck up my life in new and interesting ways if I could be younger knowing what I know now.
90. What makes you angry? Bigotry. Willful ignorance and unwillingness to listen. Hypocrisy.
91. Do you like your own name? Yes, which is why I picked it.
92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they? I have zero, if not negative, desire to reproduce. But I like gender neutral names for girls - Parker, Peyton, Reagan, etc.
93. Do you want a boy a girl for a child? I don’t want either but I REALLY would not know what to do with a child who liked traditionally feminine things.
94. What are you strengths? Sheer stubbornness.
95. What are your weaknesses? Impatience.
96. How did you get your name? I wanted to keep my initials and Zach was the name that came to mind and felt right.
97. Were your ancestors royalty? If you go back far enough, you’ll usually stumble across it.
98. Do you have any scars? Wasn’t this a previous question???
99. Color of your bedspread? Blue, not that I use it.
100. Color of your room? White. Never did get around to painting it.
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