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hezzabeth · 6 months

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I know that a Miss Havisham costume in a playhouse should be more regency period… but that’s Whistleton’s theme. Anyway in todays part the gang head on off to Medieval Faire!

"If they had their way, they would have burned anyone with colorful hair, but that would mean losing most of their actors," Revati explained to Brigadeiro who had vaguely followed her into the cafes fridge.

“That would mean killing the entire population of my town” Bridgadeiro remarked.

“It’s not that I hate wearing dresses! Sometimes I love wearing dresses; I just hate being told what I have to wear by some stupid actors based on my reproductive organs,” Revati said to Bridgadeiro, who had vaguely followed her into the fridge.

“You would love the space station! Everyone wears whatever they want, in their assigned colors, of course,” Bridgadeiro remarked.

“I’m sorry, is there a reason why you’ve followed me in here? I need to get changed!” Revati informed him, and he had the decency to blush with embarrassment.

“Dreadfully sorry! I just wanted to let you know I’m done with the plant thing and wanted to ask if I could go home now,” Bridgadeiro asked.

“You can leave any time you like. I’m assuming you’ve figured out a way to stop yourself from freezing to death?” Revati asked as she pulled out a skirt.

“Ah, no, I had a special tent when I was rose collecting, but the chanting naked people stole it!” Bridgadeiro admitted.

Revati examined the skirt. It was one of Amma’s early creations, several burlap potato sacks that had been sewed together.

“Well, I'm not your mother; I’m sure you’ll figure things out eventually,” Revati admitted, and Bridgadeiro chuckled.

“Believe me, I know you’re not my mother; she would have called every single planetary embassy in the solar system!” Bridgadeiro replied as Revati wiggled the skirt off over her pants.

“Is it supposed to look like that?” Bridgadeiro asked doubtfully as the skirt sagged around Revati’s legs in awful shades of mustard.

“It will do,” Revati grumbled.

Dityaa and Aurora were waiting for Revati under one of the new trees. Aurora was wearing a long shapeless tunic belted at the waist. Dityaa, however, had put on a dress made entirely out of yellowing white lace and satin. The sleeves were gigantic clouds bursting from her shoulders. The bodice was cut right across the front with tiny pearl buttons. The skirt had been artfully torn in several places revealing layers of fluffy tulle. The hemline had come undone, and it was dragging in the mud. But none of it really seemed to matter. The dress made her glow.

“Is that what you’re wearing? The ragbag skirt!” Dityaa asked, sounding horrified.

“Is that what you’re wearing? That’s the Miss Havisham's wedding dress from the Dickensian theater! They will take one look at you and know you’re from a different part of the park,” Revati pointed out, equally horrified. No one performed in the actual theater, but everyone read the scripts left abandoned inside.

“It’s pretty! I want to look my best,” sniffed Dityaa.

“The character who wore it went crazy on her wedding day and then died in a fire! She also lived in the 1860s,” Revati pointed out.

“It’s fine, I took all the plastic spiders off it,” Dityaa waved casually.

“You probably should wear something better; the actors in medieval faire will assume you’re a peasant. They’ll make you dig latrines,” Aurora said to Revati.

“The dress I wore last night is filthy! I don’t have time to wash anything else,” Revati snapped back irritably as she marched to the cart.

“You could just borrow something from my collection,” Dityaa said.

“You once told me if I ever borrowed from your collection you would shave my head in my sleep,” Revati replied.

“I was thirteen! A child! Anyway, I can’t have you digging toilets; imagine the embarrassment,” Dityaa said, and then her eyes widened briefly.

“He will need to put someone on as well; that jumpsuit will get his throat slit,” Dityaa said, and Revati glanced over her shoulder. Bridgadeiro was standing a couple of feet behind her.

“I thought I could ask the naked chanters for my tent back,” he said.

“Fine, but you’re digging your own grave,” Revati replied, and Bridgadeiro’s brow wrinkled with confusion.

“Grave?”

“You know, the hole a dead body goes in,” Aurora said helpfully.

“That’s horrifying! Back home we don’t do that, back home bodies are turned into diamonds and then launched into space,” Bridgadeiro said, and a faint smile crossed his face.

“The memorial rings floating around the space station really are dazzling.”

“Fine, let’s quickly change our clothes and head out before Amma gets back from her daily walk,” Revati snapped irritably.

Medieval faire loomed over Olde Landon. "Loomed" really was the only word to describe it. The park architects had deliberately placed it in the castle on a giant hill in the park's center. Its gigantic craggy walls cast shadows all the way to Shakespeare Lane. The giant copper dragon could be seen all the way in Whistletown. On windy days, you could smell smoke spiraling from its towers. The smoke was the only proof Revati had that the actors and tourists inside were still alive.

“So, how do we get in?” Revati asked as Bridgadeiro helped her push the cart.

“The back way is in Marzipan Martian’s confections,” Aurora said, and Revati shuddered.

“You don’t like lollies?” Bridgadeiro asked.

“I don’t like ants; Marzipan Martians is infested with them,” Revati replied, shuddering again.

“Oh, come on, ants aren’t that bad! The parks on the space station are full of them,” Bridgadeiro replied as Aurora approached the lolly shop.

“Have you ever seen a Martian ant? They’re the size of your fist!” Revati protested.

Revati remembered the lolly shop before the invasion. In the window, there was a sculpture of the lost princess made entirely out of chocolate. Jars of hard-boiled sweets and rainbow lollipops had been arranged in intricate patterns around her feet. Revati had bolted inside holding Dityaa’s hand. The air smelled of burnt sugar and cinnamon. Massive rainbow bins filled with wrapped lollies sat on groaning tables. Tourists bustled about snatching up boxes of “genuine Turkish delight”.

A lady in a uniform stood in the corner demonstrating how boiled sugar was turned into lemon sweets.

Dityaa was begging mother for a “real” chocolate princess. “And what do you want, Revati?” Her father asked her. Was that when the sirens hit? Was that when the appliances invaded? Or did it all happen when they were in the toy shop next door? The ants had long ago eaten the chocolate princess. They had also managed to knock over and break most of the jars.

“The ants are fine, just leave them alone and don’t try to steal their eggs,” Aurora assured them as she opened the shop door.

The inside of the shop was surprisingly clean and orderly. Broken jars had been swept into orderly piles. The wooden shelves and surfaces were dust-free.

Someone had turned all the abandoned mint-green gift boxes into a pyramid.

“Did you do this?” Revati asked curiously.

“No, the ants did. They’re surprisingly intelligent in a busy, orderly sort of way! I sleep back here,” Aurora said, walking behind the shop's blue and white checkout counter.

“Wait, you sleep in a shop filled with giant ants? I never knew that,” Revati confessed as Bridgadeiro tried to push the cart in while keeping the door open.

“I knew,” Dityaa sang, swinging herself over the counter.

“You never asked, and it had nothing to do with our professional working relationship,” Aurora replied with a small shrug.

Aurora slept on a bed made out of old sugar sacks with a pillow in the shape of a lollipop. There was an old shoebox next to the nest where an ant lay inside.

“That’s Queenie; she’s not dead! Just sleeping,” Aurora explained before knocking on the wall four times. The wall slid aside with a faint whoosh.

A teenage girl was standing on the other side. A girl dressed in a green velvet robe with incredibly long, messy gray hair. Her soft blue eyes fell on Aurora briefly with a small smile before noticing everyone else.

“Hark, my sweet, who be these folk and for what cause do they grace our presence?” She asked in a peculiar accent.

“What does hark and doth mean?” Bridgadeiro whispered.

“This is my boss, Mistress Revati, her sister, and some random boy,” Aurora explained, and the girl sniffed.

“Mistress Revati, this is my girlfriend Isabeau,” Aurora said with a small smile.

Isabeau slowly stepped into the room, her head held high, walking towards Dityaa.

“Pray, art thou the lady Revati? Thou appearest more tender than mine expectations did foretell! Verily, I find favor in thy gown,” she said to Dityaa.

“Thank you! I found it sitting in a pile of ash; I think the appliances vaporized the actress wearing it,” Dityaa giggled.

“I’m Mistress Revati,” Revati corrected Isabeau, who briefly glanced at her.

“Thou doth make sense, though dost bear semblance to a barbarous witch, a crone of eldritch mien," sniffed Isabeau.

“Isabeau! Please try to be nice to my boss,” Aurora flushed with embarrassment.

“Yes, play nice or this eldritch witch will hack that wall down and flood your entire castle with giant ants,” Revati snapped back.

Isabeau merely turned away from Revati before turning to her girlfriend.

“I surmise thy lady doth desire something," she said.

“We need to melt this android in your blacksmith's forge,” Revati explained, and Bridgadeiro, who was holding the cart, waved.

Isabeau walked towards the cart, examining the android. Her gentle blank expression seemed to twitch slightly, like a rock being thrown into a still pool.

“If the Luddites espy this within the castle walls, verily, they shall take thy life," she said, holding up the android's hand, examining it.

“I’m sorry, did she just say someone will kill us?” Bridgadeiro asked nervously.

“They’re not going to see it! It’s not like we’re going to put it on display in the town center,” Revati pointed out.

“Conceal this abomination and follow me hence," Isabeau said, walking back to the gap in the wall.

The gap in the wall was actually the side of a small courtyard. Sitting on a wooden table were six beehives, vibrating gently in the chilly air.

“In hushed steps, proceed, for the bees in their winter slumber rest,” Isabeau whispered, walking past the hives to an arched tunnel.

#science fiction #nanowrimo2023 #nanowrimo #spilledink #spilled writing #speculative worldbuilding #speculative fiction #futurism #writing science fiction #ya dystopia #ya scifi #scifi comedy #saying farewell to armageddon

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jpitha · 1 year

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The Humans?

The Humans know how to make an entrance.

Sure, there are other sapient races that come from Deathworlds. They're all a little...off. They're strong, they're fast, they're durable, their risk assessment is frankly broken.

And yes, other sapient races know about theater. They do pantomime, drama, comedy. The performing arts are not unique out in the stars.

Sure, other races do art of all kids. Visual, audio, tactile. You should see some of the weaving that the races that have fur do, it's amazing.

But Humans. Humans will show up and - to borrow one of their phrases - "steal the show."

Once, at the opening of a new embassy, I witnessed this first hand.

The human ship landed at the station, all gleaming, highly polished metal and glossy paint. The door opened, and one single human came out, playing one of their musical instruments; a drum. He played a simple rhythm for a little bit, then another human came out, playing a simple melody that accompanied it.

One buy one, as everyone watched, another human would come out, playing along, making the song more and more elaborate. As they did. more and more people would hear the music, stop what they were doing and watch.

Eventually, there was more than a dozen humans playing. There was what felt like a wall of sound. Everyone playing together, playing the same enchanting song.

Everyone was enraptured. Some had their eyes shut to hear the music better, some were swaying to the beat, some were recording it to show to disbelieving friends later.

At the peak of the song, when it was almost too loud to stand, the ambassador came out, dressed in his finest, walking in time to the beat of the song. They had planned it so well that when he was on his last step in front of the station administrator, the song ended abruptly.

In the stunned and heavy silence, everyone stood and watched.

The Ambassador bowed, then the band bowed. Without another word, the band walked back aboard, and the door closed.

I learned later, the song was named Boléro and was composed by a human long long ago named Maurice Ravel.

Like I said, Humans? Humans make an entrance.

#humans steal the show #humans play music #humans are deathworlders #humans are space or #humans are space oddities #writing #scifi writing #haso

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luneengene2 · 5 months

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Enhypen Members and Their College Majors (+Their 'behavior' at college)

A/N : I made this according to my opinion about the college major they might take 😆

Warnings : Contains Grammar Errors

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

• YANG JUNGWON

|| Faculty of Health / Medical Sciences ||

|| Department: Pediatric Medicine ||

- Jungwon really fits this major, his personality is very adorable.

- If there is practice with children, Jungwon will make parcels containing candy or chocolate so that the children are not afraid of him.

- Will be the lecturer's favorite student because his grades are always good.

- Dreams of opening a free hospital for children.

- The girls who were 'reportedly' close to him usually came from the dentistry department.

• LEE HEESEUNG

|| Faculty of Social Science and Political Science ||

|| Department: Communication Sciences ||

- Will be the most active student regarding issues of debate in the masses, advertising, politics, etc.

- Relatively active in participating in organizations on campus.

- Always arguing with the kids at Law faculty 💀.

- Can be a leader when there is a community demonstration.

- The most updated about the latest news circulating on television, especially those related to advertising.

• PARK JONGSEONG / JAY PARK

|| Faculty of Economics and Business ||

|| Departement: Business Management ||

- The heir to a family company who was told by his father to major in business management to become an expert in managing companies.

- He is targeted by girls on campus because he is rich.

- His father quite often made 'donations' to his campus.

- Go to campus using a BMW 8 The 8 840i Gran Coupe

- Often wears a Rolex watch when going to campus.

• SIM JAEYUN / JAKE SIM

|| Faculty of Social Science and Political Science ||

|| Departement: International Relations ||

- Using his bilingual skills in this major.

- Always the most serious in class and material.

- Often sent to conduct seminars outside campus because he is most fluent in English.

- Most updated about global issues or war.

- Internship at the South Korean Embassy in Australia.

- The lecturer's favorite student because he is the most active among the other students.

• PARK SUNGHOON

|| Faculty of Teacher Training and Education ||

|| Departement: Early Childhood Education Teacher ||

- Sunghoon can be 'close' to children well (I can see him when he was an ice skating teacher with Ben and Will). So, I think this college major is suitable for him.

- Often makes unique handicrafts as learning materials.

- Apprentices at a kindergarten, and becomes a favorite of the children there because of his affectionate personality.

- He is also targeted by girls because he is very fatherable.

- When his internship is over, the children he taught will feel very lost.

- His bag is full of modules and teaching materials.

• KIM SUNOO

|| Faculty of Arts ||

|| Departement: Theater and Drama ||

- One of the students who is good at writing drama scripts.

- Most active in setting up the stage.

- The most cheerful among his friends, that's why he always gets roles with a cheerful character.

- Always chosen to be chairman of the campus committee at festival events, more precisely in the stage arrangement section.

- Often praised by the campus chancellor for his stage management skills.

• NiSHIMURA RIKI

|| Faculty of Engineering ||

|| Mechanical Engineering ||

- The group of boys who are 'bad' on campus, because his emotions like to explode or often cause problems 😮‍💨✌️.

- He rarely goes to class but his grades are always high, so the lecturer certainly can't get angry.

- Always labeled a 'playboy' even though he was only loyal to his girlfriend who was majoring in English literature (Bro, he wants to hit the one who made those stupid rumors).

- Often hangs out at cafes near campus after class is over.

- Riding a ninja motorbike with a full face helmet.

- Targeted by girls too.

#enhypen imagines #enha x reader #enhypen jungwon #yang jungwon #enhypen heeseung #lee heeseung #enhypen jay #park jongseong #enhypen jake #sim jaeyun #enhypen sunghoon #park sunghoon #enhypen sunoo #kim sunoo #enhypen niki #nishimura riki #enhypen soft thoughts #enhypen

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lookingatacupoftea · 4 months

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How safe is the bookshop?

I really wish I understood better which meet-up locations are more or less dangerous and, in particular, how safe the bookshop is or is not preceding S2. (This a riff off of @takeme-totheworld's recent post wondering how closely they are being watched).

It seems to me that meeting in a fully public location -- the park. a crowd, a theater audience, a bus -- allows for the most plausible deniability, and this is where we see the bulk of their interactions until Armageddon v1. This is also the argument Crowley uses when Furfur catches them at the theater: "Pure coincidence. I happened to be here, he asked for a volunteer." However, the earth observation files include photos of them taken in public places, so maybe it's not so safe. Do they know they've been photographed?

Restaurants seem to be skirting this rule, since they are technically public but comprised of groups of people who are choosing to associate with each other. They indulge in this activity at least once before S1 ("we had crepes!") and two times during the Armageddon, when the end of the world is nigh and they are more comfortable bending the rules.

Private spaces seem most dangerous to me. If you are caught together in private, there is no plausible deniability. The Bentley isn't safe from demonic intrusion, at least in S1, and we don't see Crowley drive Aziraphale around much: only in 1941 and then S1, when they're bending the rules because Armageddon. They also don't seem to use the flat except maybe the night before the swap.

The bookshop is where things get murky. How often do angels drop in on Aziraphale prior to Gabriel and Sandalphon visiting in S1? Is Aziraphale also subject to random communications through his phonograph like Crowley is through the Bentley radio? Is Crowley protected against hell when he's in the bookshop and, if so, has that been true since its opening in 1800? It seems in S2 like only angels/demons who are invited can come into the bookshop. Was that true before S2? Is the bookshop only an "independent embassy" (which makes no sense) once Aziraphale is sort-of retired from heaven in S2?

I think this plays into how we understand their relationship, especially prior to S2. How dangerous is it to be caught by another angel or demon socializing or being intimate with the hereditary enemy? (I'm thinking of physical intimacy, yes, but this could also apply to day drinking bouts and naps on the couch). Being a "trusted stooge and confidant" seems pretty dangerous in 1941 part 2, and I wouldn't be at all surprised if their cozy evening in the bookshop is interrupted in 1941 part 3.

Of course, feelings can outweigh prudence. So they could at various moments decide to take a risk to be together.

#some of my confusion may stem from reading fan fics where they spend lots of time lounging around the bookshop #the answer may not matter as much as recognizing they are never really free #even if they aren't actively policed very much they may self-police out of fear #good omens analysis #good omens bookshop #ineffable husbands

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hero-israel · 8 months

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So uh what are the geopolitical implications of Saudi Arabia intercepting Iranian/Yemeni missiles to save Israel do you think?

Both Saudi Arabia and Bahrain recently came out saying the normalizations should continue moving forward. Saudi Arabia really really does not like Iran. They'd surely abolish Israel if they could, but failing that, they are comfortable seeing Israel as a stranger sitting still within its borders and uncomfortable seeing Iran as a direct ideological competitor devouring the Middle East.

Which is pretty good news for Israel, and a fuck-you to Iran, but in a perverse way it only drives further home how much nobody in the world really cares about Palestinians either way, how they are purely instrumentalized and commodified like poker chips, how the marches and days of rage are all performative and hollow. Iran bet that if it could cause an Israeli incursion in Gaza that killed lots of Palestinians, it would stop a handshake at an embassy door; Saudi Arabia said actually that isn't enough, the handshake can proceed.

Their only friends are guilt-riddled Jews. All the non-Palestinian goyim in the world who actually care about Palestinians could fit comfortably into an IMAX theater.

#israel #saudi arabia

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highseas-swede · 8 months

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On Nightingales

Vera Lynn's version of "A Nightingale Sang in Berkley Square" released in 1940, only a year before Crowley rescues Aziraphale by entering a church.

Don't forget that music in this period got a lot more play for a longer amount of time. There were a lot less songs published and new things stayed on the radio, in theaters and pretty much everywhere else for years instead of weeks. It was entirely possible this song was still very much all over the place in 1941, especially if it originated on West End, which we already know Aziraphale is quite taken by. And don't forget that the scene of them dining together after the Furfur scare is the first time - chronologically speaking - that they've been shown dining together in a context that is framed as distinctly romantic.

Imagine the two of them in the Bentley, driving back to the shop after the nearly disastrous magic act. Imagine the Bentley going nearly the speed limit despite Crowley's foot pressed down hard on the gas for plausible deniability. Crowley not wanting to get Aziraphale back to the bookstore too quickly because that's it, that's when they part ways for who knows how long. And don't forget that there's still the hurt of that last angry fight between them and it's still THERE, that whole fight hasn't gone away because of this one rescue, but neither of them will speak of it because if they do it would bring an abrupt end to this strange magical night they're sharing. Crowley will take every second of this… whatever this is and burn it into his memory instead. The image of Aziraphale flushed and giddy with success and looking at him with that brilliant smile is something he'll want to remember forever.

Now imagine Aziraphale turning on the radio to soothe his nerves on the drive back and there's no Queen songs yet to override what's on the radio and it's this song. It's Vera Lynn's beautiful voice singing about nightingales and love. Imagine him looking at Crowley while he's driving, the softness of his eyes, the adoring smile curving his lips. Vera Lynn is singing about how falling in love works and Aziraphale has a name for this big swelling emotion he was feeling in the church when Crowley handed him the rescued books.

Imagine Crowley parking in front of the bookshop, waiting for Aziraphale to get out, for the two of them to go their separate ways because they always do. Instead Aziraphale invites him inside and flips his entire world on its head.

Maybe he hesitates.

Maybe Aziraphale grabs his hand. Maybe he'll say it's an accident, that it wasn't planned, and it won't matter if it's true or not because he's only gotten to take Crowley's hand for the first time an hour and a half ago and he's going to live in the warmth of Crowley's fingers against his for as long as he can.

Imagine them sitting together in the candlelight, alone. The bookshop is an embassy safe from demons. Imagine Aziraphale desperate to make the night last a little longer, standing and putting on the phonograph and it doesn't matter what record was on it, it's THAT song. Their song.

Maybe the Bentley is always better behaved for Aziraphale. Maybe it likes to play their song sometimes when they're together and Aziraphale is overflowing with too much love to hold in any longer. Maybe it plays on radios when they walk past together.

Maybe that first time they were being seated at the Ritz, the piano player finds the sheet music in front of her and finds herself playing it without questioning. Maybe she's used to it by now and plays it whenever they come, without even the need for prompting anymore.

Now imagine Aziraphale on the way to Heaven. Imagine he knows this is the last time they'll see each other for who knows how long and he the echo of his forgiveness echoes in his mind. Imagine the words he really wanted to say still on his tongue, still unspoken, still very much there.

Imagine Aziraphale knows he can't go back to Crowley now, no matter how much he wants to because it will destroy the world and how can they listen to their song and toast the world if there's no world left for them? Crowley says he's okay with running away together and letting the world burn but Aziraphale knows that he lies. He couldn't even let Job's blameless goats and Job's blameless children burn when it was the will of God and Satan. Crowley might not be the angel Aziraphale knew, not anymore, but Aziraphale still knows Crowley. He's seen how Crowley cares for the world and this is how he can keep the world safe, can keep CROWLEY safe.

Maybe there's the sound of the smallest little half-miracle as Aziraphale gazes across the street at Crowley. Maybe he barely needs one to reach out to the Bentley that already loves and listens to him and plays what he wants her to play.

Imagine a song playing over the Bentley's speakers. Imagine it was meant to be reassuring. Imagine the next line goes like this:

I may be right I may be wrong But I'm perfectly willing to swear That when you turned and smiled at me A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square

Imagine it's a message, a promise of happier times to come, once Aziraphale has made Heaven better for Crowley, for everyone.

Imagine Crowley never hears it. Imagine that instead he turns it off and drives away in a silence too loud to bear.

#Good Omens #crowley x arizaphale #Crowley #Aziraphale #good omens meta #historical context #a nightingale sang in berkeley square #Kinda a fic?#meta + fic in one #The actual verse is inaccurate as the scene in S2 ends on the second verse of the song #I have thoughts about that too #But it worked so well for this

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pwlanier · 1 month

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Yuri Alekseevich Toropov (born 1931) is a member of the Union of Artists of Russia. Honored Artist of Azerbaijan since 1972. For many years he worked as the main production designer at the Baku Russian Drama Theater named after S. Vurgun. Until 2000, he cooperated with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Russian Federation. Works are in many Russian embassies around the world, as well as in private collections both abroad and in Russia.

Art Molotok

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tikitania · 2 months

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I thought cancelling Khoreva was understandable but Kim and Nagahisa?? Unhinged. They've won the event before, they have personal ties to YAGP, it was in part YAGP which got them to the company they're currently trying to shun. Regardless of that it's so strange to invite them only to ban them from performing at the last second.

Technically, they were banned by the directors of Lincoln Center (the Koch Theater), which is run by a quasi-government agency. The Ukrainian Embassy and the Ukrainian diaspora in NYC threatened a mass protest outside during the event, so the theater refused to let them perform. The organizers of the YAGP could have moved forward but didt want to burn a bridge. It was such a dumb move. If they had not invited Khoreva, I think it would have been fine. But I think her participation was the tipping point.

I both 100% support Ukraine, but think this was handled very poorly.

#ballet #mariinsky ballet #russian ballet #yagp #war is hell #ukraine

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moveslikebucky · 10 months

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Oh no it’s time for me to post my season 2 thoughts that nobody asked for!

Under the cut because obviously spoilers. Not a very long post tho I’m not going into extreme detail here.

OK SO first off let me preface, as someone who mainly writes book omens content, I think it will be shocking when I say I genuinely loved everything about this season.

It took me a couple of days to digest and figure out my thoughts aside from that absolute GUT WRENCHING ending Jesus Christ but here’s the thing a lot of others have said too but in my goofy way of saying it.

This is 1980. We all just watched Han Solo get frozen in carbonite, watched Luke get his hand chopped off and find out the man he’s sworn to destroy to save the galaxy is his father, watched everyone be at their absolute lowest and then the credits roll and the familiar and beloved theme song plays and we’re sitting in the theater going ??????????

And we don’t get Return of the Jedi til 1983.

And we’ll all be fine and so will they, the triumph happens in the end, wouldn’t be a good story otherwise.

I have many nebulous thoughts but the main thing is I have been seeing a lot of people saying that our boys are completely OOC or somewhat OOC for the entire season or at least for that last 15 minutes or so.

And here is where I say something shocking again!

I don’t think they are at all, whether you’re looking at TV characterizations OR the original book ones.

Hear me out don’t get your pitchforks on me just yet.

In the novel, their character arcs are completed because it was always meant to be a fully stand alone novel. At the end of the book there is a full acceptance between the two of them and they actually talk to each other in a meaningful way but CRUCIALLY, a thing that was missing from the tv season, I think is where specifically they diverge.

In the book, when Aziraphale possesses the televangelist, and goes off the rails completely - that is showing in unequivocal terms that Aziraphale is rejecting Heavens dogma. He’s on the same page as Crowley now, and they stay on the same page through the end of the novel.

Neil knew, because it was what Terry wanted, that he was going to have to do the sequel they never did. The sequel that didn’t exist when they wrote the first novel.

Speaking as a writer, even knowing that Patton Oswalt was originally on board to play the televangelist, I feel like leaving that scene out was a very specific way to set up for what we have now.

Aziraphale ends season 1 ambiguously. If you had read the book you can take it as “hell yea they’re on the same page now!” And it’s a perfectly valid reading.

But…

You don’t have to. It’s not implicit. They’re still not really talking about things, just around them. Aziraphale is still shocked when Crowley thinks everyone will come after Earth, still has panic in his eyes until Crowley distracts him. Crucially, Crowley does not tell him what happened in heaven. He only listens to Aziraphale dither on about towels and rubber ducks.

Aziraphale had not broken fully free from his cult.

They’re leaving him alone but his bookshop is still and embassy. He’s still with them, in some small way.

I don’t think the metatron brainwashed him with a miracle (or that he’s been kicking about in reality). He didn’t need to do that when simple manipulation is all that it takes.

Show up and make the people who are mean to him look stupid, compliment Crowley and Muriel who he likes, extract him from his support system, make it seem urgent make it seem just this side of too good to be true of an offer.

The metatron has heard first hand just how much Aziraphale wants to change things, how he wants to do what’s right instead of what is Right™️.

He gives Aziraphale everything he thinks he wants right on a silver platter, including a way to protect Crowley.

Aziraphale accepting that offer is completely in character because, crucially, he is not at the same place in his character arc as he was in the book.

But the thing is, Crowley isn’t either.

Crowley is withholding EXTREMELY vital information from Aziraphale still for his “protection”.

Information that would’ve bolstered Aziraphale to not take that offer, really. Because these boys don’t talk.

I don’t have as much to say about Crowley here, his arc is also not at the same place as in the end of the book, but I see more people mad about Aziraphale’s so that’s what I wanted to address.

Anyway I loved it, and if u have read this far, thank you! Plz don’t leave a bunch of negativity in the replies here, feel free to disagree, but this is a thing I consume for fun and I don’t want to discourse about it I’m just posting my opinion.

#text #good omens s2 spoilers #maybe if I don’t tag the main tag this will stay small hmm

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female-buckets · 2 years

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Brittney Griner is in the process of being transferred to a Russian penal colony -- a move her family has dreaded since Griner's August conviction on drug charges -- but her lawyers don't know where she is or where she's heading, her Russian legal team announced early Wednesday in Moscow.

The transfer began Friday, her lawyers said, a day after U.S. embassy officials visited her and far ahead of the schedule they had anticipated after Griner's appeal was denied Oct. 25. Typically, her attorneys had said, a transfer takes weeks or months. Griner's attorneys and U.S. officials were not aware she had been moved until Tuesday.

Griner's family might not know where she is for some time; according to her lawyers, "Notification is given via official mail and normally takes up to two weeks to be received."

Russian penal colonies are known for having far harsher conditions than the Moscow jail where Griner has been since she was detained in February.

In a statement released late Tuesday, Griner's agent, Lindsay Kagawa Colas, said, "Our primary concern continues to be BG's health and well-being. As we work through this very difficult phase of not knowing exactly where BG is or how she is doing, we ask for the public's support in continuing to write letters and express their love and care for her."

Colas said her team remains in "close contact" with the U.S. government and the Richardson Center, a private organization run by Bill Richardson that works to bring detained Americans home. Both the State Department and Richardson, a former U.S. ambassador to the United Nations, "are using all available resources to determine her whereabouts, ensure her safety and bring her home," Colas said.

"We are thankful for everyone's support, and hope that as we near nine months of detention, that BG and all wrongfully detained Americans will be shown mercy and returned home to their families for the holidays."

Griner's last contact with anyone from outside the jail was Thursday when U.S. embassy officials were able to visit her. She last saw her attorneys the day before.

Her family declined to offer a statement late Tuesday in the United States.

Griner pleaded guilty to drug smuggling charges in July. U.S. officials declared in May that Griner was being wrongfully detained and have called her trial and appeal political theater. After an appeals court upheld her conviction two weeks ago, U.S. Secretary of State Antony Blinken said the decision was "another failure of justice, compounding the injustice of her detention."

U.S. officials have said they made a "serious" offer to trade for Griner's freedom in June but have not yet received what they consider to be a legitimate counteroffer. Officials have said they hoped Russia would be more inclined to negotiate in good faith once the Tuesday midterm elections were over, knowing that Vladimir Putin's government would not want to give President Joe Biden a potential political victory.

Griner was arrested at a Moscow-area airport Feb. 17 while trying to enter Russia to join her club team in Ekaterinburg.

In a statement, her lawyers said, "Neither Brittney's family, including her wife Cherelle or her Russian legal team will have any further statements or press availability at this time."

#i'm terrified #wnba #brittney griner #phoenix mercury

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meadowlarkx · 11 months

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Maemag and 19 for the kiss prompts!

19. ...for luck

The cavalry of the Union of Maedhros was a haphazard affair, to Maglor's eye. Cold steep Himring had few mounts, and the other riders had been cobbled together from the few remnants of the Gap's forces, alongside Caranthir's Elves and Bór's horsemen. Maglor had poured the past years into Maedhros' Union, and he had accomplished much. He had sung his most stirring songs and spoken his sweetest speeches to win his brother Bór's men as allies. He had coaxed his few friends that escaped burning in the Bragollach into facing the Enemy's fires again boldly and bravely. He had trained Elves and men and horses, month after month after month. He looked out upon them now, from the entrance to the command tent, and still found them wanting. Truth be told, Maglor was nervous, though he did not show it on his face. The pride he felt beholding the bristling array of banners and riders was dampened by the knowledge, too-intimate, of fracture lines in the ranks and the taste of choking ash.

He would hold fast on the morrow. He had vowed in his heart that he always would, for Maedhros.

Turning inwards, he let the tent's flap close behind him as it slipped from his shoulder. Maedhros stood at the hastily-erected table, beside the pallet they would share that night. The summer sun carried rich color down through the tent's cloth and arrayed it upon his hair and skin.

For the first time since the fateful moment he rode out to meet Morgoth's embassy, Maedhros had taken to wearing his thick red braid twined intricately in many strands, and today he had set into it a glimmer of silver wire that set off the vermillion. He bore himself proudly and seemed even taller for it. He had begun to speak in private moments of what they would do afterwards—when the Enemy was gone.

Even in stillness, looking over the maps laid out on the table, he was a blaze of energy: a taut harpstring or a bolt of lightning. Maglor's spirit was stirred, as ever, seeing him. It sought him out—his answering spirit.

Maedhros raised his glance from the parchment and found Maglor’s. He should have looked worn: a scar stood out near one eye, and in the past few months he had all but ceased sleeping. Instead, lit by hope, he was more beautiful than Maglor had ever known him.

No song or tale of heroism encompassed his brother's courage. Maedhros had not wished Maglor to try his hand at crafting one himself. The protagonists of Tirion's theater had been cut out of paper, but Maedhros had remade himself from deepest darkness, from the tangled skein of the world, and created this strategist, this soldier. Despite his forebodings, Maglor felt a rush of confidence. They would win the day tomorrow.

"Káno, come here." Maedhros gestured with the stump of his right wrist. Maglor flew to him like a falcon to a falconer's glove.

"The cavalry are ready; Bór's men have been—"

He was cut off: Maedhros wound his gauntleted left hand into his hair and kissed the breath from him. Maglor made a needy sound as the metal tugged at his curls and could not help it. Heat flooded his body despite the exhaustion of the march and scouts and surveys. He felt the seam of his trousers chafe the place between his legs and wished Maedhros would touch him there. Belatedly his own arms wound about strong shoulders, petting and holding. But by then Maedhros soon released him. Maglor stood stunned and dizzied. Maedhros grinned at him.

"For luck," he said.

Maglor laughed and barely recognized the sound, so light it was, like his old laugh. Maedhros had not drawn him near in weeks, and in the years before that, rarely with such open passion.

I am your luck, then?

There was an irony in the sentiment, but for once, Maglor was content to leave that stone unturned.

"To the day that dawns, glorious!" he said smiling, as though Maedhros had raised a glass in a toast instead of kissing him senseless. With the way Maedhros was looking at him, he hoped he would be tempted into more of the same.

"To us," Maedhros answered, lowly, as though he had not meant Maglor to hear.

#hello hello...#maedhros #maglor #maemags #maemag #maedhros x maglor #etc.#silmarillion fic #silmarillion #my fic #kiss meme #jouissants #messy but i hope you like this!!!!!#i thought of doing something fluffier but once the thought of nirnaeth wormed into my brain there was no escaping #i think maglor is often a bit deemphasized or shunted aside in my mental narrative of maedhros' mindset leading up to the nirnaeth etc #and i wanted to take a stab at writing him in because... we know he was living rent free in maedhros brain and vice versa ulmo told us

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hauntedvulcan · 3 months

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It's time to introduce my Star Trek OCs!!

A few years ago, me and a friend made a collaborative project where we made a concept of a fan made Star Trek show, including making several characters

I will be introducing the characters I mostly talk about. So without further ado...

Meet Evelyn. Evelyn is human. Evelyn is a Starfleet science officer with a focus in archaeology. She has a very friendly personality, and always tries to see the good in everyone. Her hobbies include singing, playing the guitar, and reading.

She was originally going to pursue a career in theater, but opted to join Starfleet instead. At first, she longed for approval from her family, but eventually found her place in starfleet, and finding a love for history and archeology. Meet Kara. Kara is a Vulcan, and the twin sister of Evelyn. She is a starfleet science officer, serving as the first officer of her ship. She was accepted into starfleet academy at the age of 16, and her career has been on an upward trajectory since.

Both girls were raised in San Francisco on the Vulcan embassy, near Starfleet headquarters.

The concept behind them being twins is essentially instead of having a half human half Vulcan character, we have a separate human and Vulcan character.

#star trek #Star Trek OCs #hauntedvulcan OCs #oc: evelyn #oc: kara

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harryandmeghansussex · 1 year

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Meghan, The Duchess of Sussex is a feminist, champion of human rights and gender equity, and global role model. Her lifelong advocacy for women and girls remains a constant thread she weaves through both humanitarian and business ventures. She is noted as one of the most powerful and influential women in the world, topping lists such as TIME Magazine’s Most Influential People, The Financial Times’ 25 Most Influential Women, Variety Power of Women, and British Vogue’s Vogue 25. She and her husband, Prince Harry have also been the recipients of the NAACP President’s Award as well as the Robert F. Kennedy Ripple of Hope Award. Meghan’s global impact, and strong stance on resilience, equality, and compassion through action, have made her one of the most iconic public figures of this generation.

Born and raised in Southern California, Meghan attended Los Angeles based all-girls Catholic School, Immaculate Heart, which she continues to support as an alumna, before moving to Chicago to attend the prestigious Northwestern University. While there, she double majored in Theater and International Relations, and went on to intern at the US Embassy in Buenos Aires, Argentina, as well as to study abroad in Madrid, Spain. After graduation, Meghan turned her focus to the entertainment industry, landing her big break as a lead actor on the hit series, ‘Suits’ which she starred in for seven seasons. During her time off between filming, Meghan travelled to Rwanda, India, and across the globe working on humanitarian missions, and serving in key roles such as: UN Women’s Advocate for Women’s Political Participation and Leadership, a World Vision Global Ambassador, and a leading Counsellor to One Young World, where she inspired youth and women around the world through her passionate advocacy and hands-on approach to being of service. She also travelled to support the military community on a USO Tour, visiting six military bases in seven days including Bagram, Afghanistan. In 2018, Meghan married Prince Harry, becoming The Duchess of Sussex.

An accomplished writer, she has contributed pieces to publications in the UK, US, and Ireland, and parlayed that skill into the creation of the successful lifestyle website, ‘The Tig’, where her thoughtful and inspiring op-eds cultivated a global fanbase. The Duchess of Sussex was the first guest editor in the history of British Vogue for their July Issue in 2019, which was the fastest selling copy in the history of the publication. She and Prince Harry founded The Archewell Foundation in 2020 to support communities in need at a micro and macro level, in both moments of crisis as well as for long term aid. At The Archewell Foundation, they hold the value that charitable work should not simply be ‘a handout, but rather a hand held’, a phrase which Meghan first coined when supporting UK charity Smart Works, of which she is patron, that uplifts and prepares underserved women to enter the workforce. Meghan and her husband also founded and oversee production company, Archewell Productions and podcasting arm, Archewell Audio. In 2022, Meghan launched ‘Archetypes’, a record-breaking podcast exploring the labels that try to hold women back; ‘Archetypes’ debuted at Number 1 in The US, UK, Australia, Ireland, and New Zealand, and topped the charts as the Number 1 podcast in 47 countries, demonstrating her unparalleled global reach. After its first season, Archetypes was awarded was awarded The People’s Choice Award in the podcast category.

She is a NY Times Best Selling author, publishing her highly celebrated children’s book, ‘The Bench’, and “Together: Our Community Kitchen” a publication she spearheaded with the women of the Hubb Community Kitchen in the UK, who were displaced after the tragic Grenfell Fire. True to her character, The Duchess of Sussex mobilized to turn pain into purpose, working alongside this dynamic group of women to help them heal, grow, and develop their own business enterprises in the face of adversity. In addition to topping the NY Times Bestsellers list, “Together,” also debuted as number one on the UK’s Sunday Booklist, with proceeds going to the Kitchen. Meghan’s influence in fashion has been coined “The Meghan Effect” with items selling out within hours of her wearing them. Her ‘effect’ has transcended fashion, shifting cultural conversations as seen with her op-ed for the NY Times “The Losses We Share.” The piece detailed a heartbreaking personal loss which spiked the conversation surrounding miscarriage to the highest it had been spoken of in over two decades at the time of publishing.

Meghan is a passionate advocate for mental health and family care, the holistic support of women and children’s rights, and the immeasurable value of one’s self worth. Her core belief that representation matters, and her connection to community through the lens of learning, healing, and inspiring have helped define her as a cultural catalyst for positive change. Meghan resides in California with her husband and their children Prince Archie Harrison and Princess Lilibet Diana, and their three dogs.

#meghan markle #duchess of sussex #meg x public speaking

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