* & #𝙱𝙻𝙰𝙳𝙴𝙲𝙰𝚄𝙶𝙷𝚃 : dependent blog for 𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘲. with quinn ackermann; thirty6 , detective & ex superhero , as imagined by 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚊 ( twenty1 | gmt+10 | she + they )
* & ◞ 𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘳𝘺 › bio. musings. dynamics.

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@bladecaught
* & #𝙱𝙻𝙰𝙳𝙴𝙲𝙰𝚄𝙶𝙷𝚃 : dependent blog for 𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘲. with quinn ackermann; thirty6 , detective & ex superhero , as imagined by 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚊 ( twenty1 | gmt+10 | she + they )
* & ◞ 𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘳𝘺 › bio. musings. dynamics.
"i can fix him" Bitch you're worse
𝚙𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚜, + mila simons.
It isn’t as if she hasn’t been here at all over the years, but still — it’s strange. No Headmaster, bursting in the room and demanding everyone’s attention, heads snapping at the sound of his shoes on the hardwood floors. It’s lacking. Half-space. Mila has little interest in it, the cliches of grief and the way her body seems to want to wrap itself around them, give into them, succumb to them.
In stead, she drinks wine and tries not to be angry with the intruders for being here. She moves, exchanging polite enough conversation with the interesting politicians and socialites, but feels herself pulled towards Quinn after an exhausting lament, ears ringing from having to deal with someone else’s grief. As if her own wasn’t enough.
“You look rough.” She says it dead-pan, with no consideration of whether it’s true or not. Mila is, after all, mostly occupied with how she presents. “What happened?” An impish quality reaches her eyes as she leans in, “Someone die, or something?” Around here, between them, this might as well go for how are you?
tepid condolences are met with practiced grin. fundamentals taught throughout childhood are yet to hold any significance. it’s a constant battle for quinn, a leader who made haste attempts to reconstruct himself in the image of their headmaster. naively promise that it’s no problem, rectify the inconsistencies like smudges on a mirror. yet, what to do when his absence creaks cracks in said mirror ? what training can he survive on in this moment ?
quinn keeps his glass steadily full, allow cool droplets soothe the discomposed energy that burns at the fingertips. dirty blonde eyebrows knit at the sight of the mingling crowd, mind working through detailed lists of who he’d recognise both as himself + bladebender -— as if the two weren’t interchangeable. it’s the way senses could feel mila’s presence serpentine nearby, instinctively taking a sip of amber liquor as a form of a hello.
❛ cheers, mila. ❜ tone mimics hers, periphery watching her actions. it’s certainly one of the nicer comment quinn’s heard over the years, a bittersweet graciousness for double - edged honesty. ❛ don’t you reckon kickstarting a comedy career in the middle of a funeral is a bit gauche ? ❜ hues finally flicker to meet hers, a ghost of his sardonic smirk curling at the edge, ❛ sure knox would appreciate the ambitiousness of it, though. ❜
𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚚, + open starter.
with: anyone ! location: foyer / heading towards the bar.
reality aches towards precarious. a balance quinn tried desperately to maintain began to reveal cracks; dreaded vertiginous sense that came with his stomach dropping at the sight of his childhood home. [ no headmaster waiting for a report, budding teammates alongside. it’s low hanging lightning + a congregation of flashing bulbs. ] fight for a steady composure against the current, feeling greedy hands grasp at the seams, searching for a loose thread to tug. it’s an event quinn had, admittedly with misplaced faith, hoped would never happen. figured knox’s ingenuity would absolve him from the inevitable -— be there to guide quinn through the murk of it all. but fate + heart complications refuted, otherwise. front door slammed with outer layer shrugged off, feel immediate guilt weigh down the armour that comes in the form of a black suit. edges worn like it’s owner, altered to safely hide holsters, throwing knives at the ready. old habits died miserably hard.
attempt to avoid nostalgia like some old friend. the afternoon was meant to comfort others, balance trepidations with steadfast. [ grievances were already dealt with a cheap bottle + a late night in the office. brushed off under the label of minor feelings, someone had to keep pieces together. ] grey hues caught sight of the bar across the opening of the dining room. one drink to bring himself steady. movement breaks into callous actions, an accidental collision of shoulders. ❛ christ -— ❜ it’s instinctive, spit out the name to fill missing gaps. heels turned, features contort into a sheepish apology, ❛ sorry, my bad. i just . . . haven’t seen the place filled with so many bodies in a while. ❜
DAREDEVIL, 1.11
Oliver Jackson-Cohen as James in Surface (2022) episode two “Muscle Memory”
OLIVER JACKSON-COHEN as Peter Quint The Haunting of Bly Manor (1.05)
attractive men in complete despair has gotta be one of my favorite genres of man.
on fathers
[cut, catherine lacey || “origin story,” sink (button poetry, march 5, 2019), desireé dallagiacomo || saturn devouring his son (1636), peter paul rubens || abraham sacrificing isaac (ca. 1629–32), valentin de boulogne || I am angry because of my father, halsey || the carnivorous lamb, agustín gómez arcos || sacrifice of isaac (1571), michelangelo merisi, detto il caravaggio || saturn devouring his son (1819-23), francisco de goya || It lingers for your whole life, katie maria || heartburn, nora ephron]
My father molded me to assist him; to be the one who helped shoulder the load. He was the lynchpin that held our family’s world together, but I was the one who supported him. I could always bear the burden because he told me I was strong. Because he told me I was the only one who could.
Kristen Arnett, Mostly Dead Things (via roadmotel)
Oliver Jackson-Cohen as James in Surface (2022) episode four “Psychogenic”