#( *porky voice* this is like actual bullying )

[batneko]

Can you believe I've been drawing the Undead Kingdom AU for three years? I sure can't!

But since I actually remembered in time to prepare something this year, I present to you an AU of an AU:

Squire Beauto

(in which Amai never gave in to the curse, never reinvented himself, and yet finds himself on a remarkably similar path) rated: T for swearing and innuendo words: 12,317 tw: bullying, light bdsm, religious baggage

"Come on, Dogface! We're burning daylight!"

This was not, in fact, true. The sun hadn't even fully crested the horizon, and the one the knights called "Dogface" had been up since long before. He ate, bathed, and dressed alone, then woke the young squire to serve breakfast to the knights and pack up the camp.

Now he finished loading the last pack on the last horse, hitched his own bag over his shoulders, and followed the rest of the group. Unnoticed, the crows followed him.

The tallest knight (a bit shorter than Dogface without his boots) shifted his armor as he walked. “You left my straps too loose again. We're not all as porky as you, Dogface.”

The other two knights chuckled, though both of them looked heavier than Dogface. Fighting in full armor took a lot of brute strength, and most knights tended on the stocky side. The fact that Dogface was being singled out for his weight said far more about the speaker than it did the target.

There was a pause of several seconds. Dogface wore an old-fashioned bucket helmet that completely covered his head. No expression could be seen, and when he spoke there was nothing but polite subservience in his voice. “I see. I won’t do that next time.”

They kept walking, the crows kept following, and Psykos kept watch through their eyes.

“They're all the way from R Kingdom,” Psykos said, keeping her eyes on her crystal. “You can tell by the accent, bunch of hicks.”

“Why would knights from R Kingdom come here?” Fubuki asked, leaning over her shoulder. Her hand was cool even through the fabric of Psykos' dress.

“The usual,” Psykos said. But she added, quietly, “They prayed before their meal.”

“Oh.”

More than one religion decried the undead as unholy. Only a few decided that meant all undead should be unilaterally wiped out. Psykos would have expected more hymns and solemnity if that was what this group was really after, but she was sure they wouldn't have traveled so far without believing they were on a mission from their god.

“Will you sing for us, Squire Beauto?” the young squire asked. So that was the older one's name. Now she could stop thinking of him by that ridiculous nickname.

“Yeah, Dogface,” the tallest knight said. “Give us a song.”

If he chose a hymn, Psykos would stop observing now and rally the army.

Beauto didn't audibly sigh, but his shoulders (already stooped) rose and then slumped. After a moment, his voice came from behind the helmet.

Not a hymn. A ballad. One of those old ones about jealousy and betrayal and murder. Squire Beauto sang with a strong clear voice – a tenor, unless Psykos missed her guess – and he was good. Ballads weren't designed to strain a singer's talents, but he nailed every note. Psykos would have paid money for this.

“They brought a bard?” Fubuki asked. She couldn't see through the crystal as well as Psykos could, but the sound carried.

“No, that's a squire.”

“He missed his calling, then.” She straightened up. “Shame if we'll have to kill him.”

“I know.”

***

They reached the castle shortly before noon. There had been one stop for rest and food an hour earlier, but "rest" applied only to the knights, of course. Beauto and Atama were expected to serve them just like always. As soon as Beauto sat down for a moment he had Sir Kakato barking at him, "Come on Dogface, don't be so lazy!"

It was always the same. If he sat, he was lazy. If he ate in front of others, he was a glutton. If he slipped up even slightly in keeping himself and his clothes spotlessly clean, he was a slob.

It was better now, with the helmet, but the knights still knew. Kakato still knew.

So Beauto was tired and hungry and ready to kill someone when he arrived at the castle of the undead king. It was almost disappointing when there was no one to try and stop them.

"Doesn't look like much," Sir Onaka said.

Beauto didn't agree, but he knew what he meant. "I doubt this was the main palace," Beauto said. "I think that got destroyed when the last prince cursed the country."

Onaka stared at him for a few seconds, and Beauto added, "Sir."

Kakato clicked his tongue. "Mind your manners, squire," he said. "Your behavior reflects on me, remember?"

All the more reason to ignore propriety, Beauto thought, but it wasn't true. Nobody had ever blamed Beauto's behavior on anyone but himself. He even got blamed for things he'd been nowhere near. He even got blamed for getting attacked.

“I know, Sir Kakato,” Beauto said. “I will be mindful.”

They entered the castle by the front doors. There may have been a side or back entrance once, but the ground around the castle had risen up in jagged points, blocking off all but the face of the building. It wasn't built to be defensible but it certainly was now.

The entry hall was wide, tiled in cracked slate covered with random carpets. Sir Onaka drifted to the side and pulled aside a curtain, whistling at the painting behind it.

It was a hunting scene, deer running across green hills. No part of the country looked like that now.

"Gold frame," Onaka said.

"Look at this," Sir Tsume called from the other side.

She'd found a small table with a basket full of flowers and a vase waiting to be filled. The staff must have fled without finishing their tasks when they heard knights were coming.

Sir Tsume picked up the vase. "Porcelain," she said, tapping it with a fingernail, "the good stuff."

The three knights exchanged glances. Beauto did his best to ignore them.

"Let's split up," Tsume said. "Do a little… scouting."

Beauto was instantly disappointed; Tsume had the most level head among the three of them, and he'd been hoping she'd stop the others if they suggested the same thing.

"Works for me," Kakato said, grinning.

"Figure out what to grab on the way out, and we'll meet up at the throne room."

"I'll take the squires, you two stick together?"

"Works for me," Tsume said, and Onaka nodded.

Beauto said nothing. What was the point?

When the group found a doorway they made the split; Kakato in the lead, Squire Atama sticking close to him, and Beauto with his hand on his sword hilt bringing up the rear. They walked for some time without encountering any people, living or dead. Occasionally they heard footsteps fading into the distance, occasionally they encountered a locked door, but mostly it was hallway after hallway.

They must have chosen the wrong direction, because the doors themselves got less and less ornate the further they walked. These were the areas where the servants traveled, the part of the castle where work got done.

Beauto was intimately familiar.

“Nothing,” Kakato said, and spat on the floor.

It was stone tile, with mismatched carpet runners in the center of each hall. If his spittle had hit the carpet Beauto may very well have slugged him, damn the consequences.

“Let’s go back,” Kakato said, and Beauto followed without a word.

They took a different path this time, back into the palatial part of the palace. Here, the carpets were coordinated and embroidered - though Beauto noticed they seemed very worn. Old, then. Cleaned so often their colors had faded and fibers had begun to wear away.

The wall hangings (and there were many) were newer. In a large building like this there were often drafts no matter how many fires were lit, and thick fabric trapped heat. It helped that they were beautiful, rich velvet, made from silk in the old style unless Beauto missed his guess. He found himself reaching out as they passed to touch a particularly charming drape embossed with stylized wheat, only remembering to pull his hand back a moment before his fingers reached the fabric. He was always lectured when he dared to put his hands on anything expensive. As if he would dirty it by his very presence.

Funny. If the kingdom was full of undead, why did they work so hard to keep the castle warm?

A scream ripped through the air, and Beauto had his sword half-pulled before he’d fully turned. Kakato was only a second behind him, shoving him aside as he sprang into action.

Except… there was nothing there. No one, living or dead. Just Beauto and Kakato.

Just Beauto and Kakato.

“Sir, where’s Atama?” Beauto said.

“What?” Kakato’s head whipped back and forth. “I thought you were watching him!”

“I-” He’d been distracted. Lost in thought and dreams of luxury. “I didn’t-”

“Fuck,” Kakato said. Vulgar as ever. “Well it’s too late for him. Let’s find the others and kill that monster they call a king. That’ll be a fitting tribute to Squire Atama.”

“He’s not dead,” Beauto said through gritted teeth. “Not until we’ve seen a body.”

“He’s a goner, Dogface! There’s no point!”

Beauto snapped his sword back into its sheath. “I’m going to have a look.”

“Fine, it’s your funeral.” Kakato waved one hand as he turned. “We’ll get all the glory for wiping out that monstrosity, and you’ll lose whatever chance you had of finally getting knighted.”

Beauto stopped.

He clenched his fists, his jaw, his whole body so tight he was certain he was trembling. Right now it was just the two of them. If he were to beat Kakato to a pulp - or less - no one would ever know it was Beauto. It would be blamed on the undead, doing what everyone expected of them.

He heard the clank of Kakato’s armored boots walking away, unbothered, probably barely even remembering what he’d said. He certainly didn’t seem to think about any of it before he spoke. He couldn’t know how much it rankled, every single day, to serve a knight a year younger than him.

Beauto stepped forward, in the direction of the scream.

Atama wasn’t far. Almost as soon as Beauto set foot in the last servant’s hallway they’d left, the boy ran straight into him. He came away with a scratch on his chin from Beauto’s old layered plate armor, but otherwise seemed unharmed.

“What’s wrong?” Beauto asked. “What happened?”

“There was a skull!”

Beauto stared at him. He was grateful every day for the helmet that hid his face, but never moreso when he was sure he couldn’t keep his expression neutral.

“That’s all?” Beauto said. “This castle is overrun with undead, of course there are skulls lying around.”

“It wasn’t lying around, it was on a stake!” Atama said. “I just- I just turned a corner and there it was!”

“Probably marking a room where they keep bodies for resurrection or something,” Beauto said. “Seriously, that was enough to make you scream? Weren’t you already prepared to face things like that once you heard where we were going?”

“Well, I was, but…” Good, at least he wasn’t panicking anymore. “This place just looks so… normal, you know? It looks like the castle back home.” He frowned a little. “But they have nicer stuff than we do.”

“It’s easy to have nice things when you have no qualms about robbing graves,” Beauto said. “Come on, let’s find the others. Sir Kakato was afraid you might be dead.”

A small lie, a white lie, but it didn’t count because Atama didn’t look like he believed it for a second.

They walked side-by-side this time. Beauto enjoyed feeling like a reliable senior squire for the few minutes it took to find their way back, and then he led the way with his mood sinking step by step. It was easy to find the throne room - just like Atama said, this castle was very much like the one back home. And besides, a throne room should never be difficult to find. The whole point was showing off the liege’s splendor.

Even if it wasn’t easy, they would have found it quickly. The sounds of fighting and swearing echoed down the halls.

Both squires took off running, passing through the massive double doors and into the empty space. Beauto felt cold the moment he stepped inside. For a split second he thought it was dark magic, but then he noticed the room lacked carpets or drapes aside from two on the dais that held the throne itself. It was wide open, all stone, not even furniture aside from that single tall chair.

And in front of him, locked in combat with Sir Kakato, was the undead king.

He was about average height (Beauto noted the click-clack of heeled boots and amended that) a little under average height, with the cropped short hair of a soldier and the shadowed eyes of an insomniac. If it wasn't for the bloodless pallor of his skin Beauto would have taken him for a living human, and a rather handsome one at that. He certainly didn't dress like a king. Then again, maybe the knights had caught him in the middle of changing. Beauto couldn't think of another reason his shirt would be half-buttoned like that.

He fought wielding a massive sword, hardly more than a slab of metal with a handle, and he moved far more gracefully than someone encumbered by such a weight should. Unnatural strength, no need to rest or fear muscle strain, a being that existed outside human limitations.

As Beauto watched, the undead king brought his sword down so hard it cracked the blade of Kakato’s, then swept the knight’s legs out from under him with a kick. One-handed, the king picked up Kakato by the straps on the back of his armor and tossed him on top of the other two knights, already lying prone on the floor.

Beauto shrugged off his pack and threw it to the side before drawing his sword. It was smaller than the king’s; a hand-and-a-half sword, a “bastard” sword as Kakato liked to remind him. Lighter than a broadsword but stronger than a short sword. Against an unarmored human Beauto would always have the advantage.

“Take care of them,” Beauto snapped at Atama. “I’ll take care of him.”

He was surprised to see the undead king smirk as Beauto charged him. “Cocky, aren’t we?” the king said.

They met, blades crashing together. The weight was intense, just as Beauto had been afraid of, but he was a better fighter than Kakato. With the king’s attention on his sword, Beauto leaned back and kicked the man square in the gut.

Even with unnatural strength, a body reacted to that. The king made an undignified noise as his breath escaped him, and stumbled backward, giving Beauto just enough time to swing again and cut deep into the side of his neck.

Blood burst from the wound, spurting over the king’s ridiculous ornamental shoulder armor, turning into a fountain as Beauto pulled his sword free. For perhaps a tenth of a second Beauto thought he might have won, but the blood stopped as quickly as it started, and aside from the fresh coat of red the king’s neck looked good as new two-tenths of a second later.

“Damn,” Beauto muttered.

“What did you expect?” the king said with a laugh.

He had… a nice laugh, actually. Deep, warm, with the merest hint of gravel to it.

“I’ll just have to keep trying,” Beauto said.

They clashed again, blade hitting blade, Beauto grateful for his armor more than once, and the king only taking a split second to recover every time Beauto hit one of his openings. When you healed that quickly you must not need to learn to guard your vitals. Beauto was almost jealous.

It only went on for a few minutes. Real fights were like that, not like the theater where actors both in the duel and observing it could deliver full monologues while wooden swords knocked together. A real fight was quick, and messy, and you didn’t have time to think of anything other than not getting stabbed in the liver. That was why knights trained for years to be able to battle on instinct instead of thinking about every move.

Beauto wasn’t a knight, but he’d trained more than any of them. And he’d been getting into fights (that is to say, preventing himself from being beaten) for even longer.

He felt himself slip, and he saw the king’s massive sword swing into his cone of vision, and all he had time to think was -

Why couldn’t it be my face?

The sword hit his side, where the layered armor didn’t cover, and the shock of pain sent him stumbling. It didn’t feel like he’d been cut, but he was wounded now, and the king would easily be able to take advantage of that. The fight was as good as over.

As he shifted the weight of his sword to his other side, he heard a creak of what sounded like door hinges.

It was foolish, but he couldn’t stop himself from looking. Beauto saw the double doors pulling shut, Kakato on one side and Tsume on the other. When Kakato saw Beauto’s head turned in their direction, he smiled suddenly and shouted, “You got this Dogface!”

Then the doors were shut, with all three knights and one squire on the other side of them.

“What?” Beauto said. It couldn’t be. They couldn’t have really just abandoned him, could they? Anyway, what idiot would make doors to a throne room that locked from the outside?

He ran to them and pulled on the handles, the wood creaking but refusing to open. It felt not just locked, but barred.

“What…” Beauto said again. “What idiot makes doors to a throne room that lock from the outside?”

“Oh, we put that in after we took over,” the undead king said, conversationally. “For, y’know, this type of thing.”

Beauto glared at him, though he knew he couldn’t see it. “Trapping people?”

He grinned. Something about it made Beauto’s chest feel tight in the way usually only novels did.

“Yes,” the undead king said. “Trapping prey.”

He was bluffing, Beauto realized immediately. He hadn't killed any of the knights, and Beauto hadn't even been cut by a direct blow from his sword. But the knights wouldn't have known that, not even Sir Tsume. They locked him in here with an undead thing, believing that it would kill him.

"They took my bag…" Beauto realized. He'd dropped it inside the doors, and now it was gone.

They'd left him to die and made sure to salvage his part of their supplies.

“Wow, seriously?" Beauto heard the king say. "What assholes. You need better friends, sir knight."

"Wrong on all counts," Beauto said through gritted teeth.

"How so?"

"I'm not a knight, I'm a squire," he said. "And they are not my friends."

"A squire?" the king repeated. "Aren't they usually- You're not one of those super tall teenagers, are you?"

"I'm twenty-four!" Beauto said, letting his exasperation bleed into his voice. What was the point in hiding it now? It was that same thought that led him to admit, "I was this tall by the time I became a squire, though."

He was sure that was the only reason he was finally chosen. It was embarrassing to have a page the size of a grown man, especially since guests kept assuming he was a footman or guard. The seneschal must have bullied Sir Hana into it. He was a senior knight, he barely needed any help anyway, but once he'd gotten used to looking at Beauto he did actually bother to teach him. Beauto would always be grateful to him for that.

“You're probably telling the truth,” the king said, thoughtfully. “That's too specific of a number to be a lie.”

“If I was lying I'd tell you I was thirty,” Beauto said.

The king laughed, a more genuine one this time. “But that's weird, isn't it?” the king said. “Aren't most squires teenagers?”

“Not all,” Beauto muttered.

“Apparently not. What did you do that they won’t make you-”

Beauto turned, sword in hand, and charged once more at the undead king.

The man barely managed to block his strike. That big blade of his almost worked better as a shield than a weapon, but if Beauto had him on the defensive that was a good thing. He'd caught his breath, and he knew now that the king didn't want him dead. There was no reason not to fight until he couldn't move.

He took advantage of his greater speed, especially now that he didn't have to worry about leaving openings. The king could do little more than dodge and attempt to block Beauto's relentless assault. An assault he didn't want to end too quickly. When would he ever get another chance like this? To fight to his heart's content, to hurt someone as much as he wanted with no consequence?

He kept his attacks to the king's extremities. A slash on the arm, a deep cut on the thigh, watching the king's face as he flinched each time, though never for long. Beauto actually managed to cut through a finger, though the leather of the king's glove held enough that Beauto could see the flesh knit back together.

Beauto drove him back, toward the dais where his throne sat. As expected, the king tripped on the first step, and that was enough for Beauto to knock the sword out of his hand, kick his feet out from under him, and pin him to the floor with a boot on his back.

For a moment Beauto didn't move. Neither did the king, though his breath came in wheezes. Beauto knew, from experience, that it was difficult to get out of this position. If the one stepping on you used any weight at all (and Beauto did) you couldn't just roll out from under them. It was hard to grab onto something in the middle of your own back, and what would you do with it if you could? Not to mention the pressure compressing your lungs and making it difficult to breathe.

Beauto brought his sword down, hovered the blade next to the king's face, and pressed the tip against his cheek until he turned it enough to look up at him.

“What are you going to do?” the king said. He was flushed from exertion, making him look more alive. “Cutting my head off won't kill me. Stabbing me in the heart won't even slow me down.”

“I've got no reason to kill you, but I've got nothing left to lose either.” Without shifting his weight, Beauto carefully sheathed his sword. “We're both stuck here until your people or mine open that door.”

Then he bent forward and retrieved the knife he kept tucked into his boot. He couldn't help grinning at the way the king's eyes widened when he saw the flash of metal.

“You are at my mercy, your highness,” Beauto said, keeping his voice cool despite the way his heart was pounding. “And I am not a merciful man.”

The king bit his lip. Beauto had been expecting the blood to drain from his face, but if anything he flushed a little more.

“Okay,” the king said, “but you can't get mad if I get a boner about it.”

Beauto startled, and instinct had him press his heel harder into the king's back to keep him in place. The king let out a breathless noise that didn't sound entirely like pain.

“What?” Beauto said. His voice was low, in that way that usually made people recoil from him. He cleared his throat to try again, but the king was smiling.

“Does it ruin it for you if I enjoy it too?” he said. “Sorry to say I'm actually desperate enough that almost anything you do with that knife is going to be fun for me.”

Beauto brandished the knife again, a glint of light off the blade seeming to reflect in the king's eye. “You like this?”

“Knifeplay's not my favorite but I do like it, yeah.”

Beauto swallowed.

He shouldn't ask, but... he couldn't stop himself.

“What's your favorite, then?”

The smile widened into a grin. “I like it hands-on. I like hair-pulling, slapping, choking. Mostly I just wanna be picked up and used like a toy.”

Beauto had to swallow again. He almost dropped his knife, he wanted so badly to immediately try something from off the king's list.

But he couldn't. This wasn't an invitation, it was a conversation. One in which he currently had all the power. The novels he read (they were easy to find, though the quality was a crapshoot. His best luck had been at the brothels Sir Kakato thought it was funny to drag him to – they often had erotica lying around for inspiration. Since none of the entertainers wanted to meet his eyes, it was easy for Beauto to tuck himself into a corner of the lounge and read while he waited) often crossed that type of line, but he knew they were fantasies. This... this kind of arrangement, it had to be negotiated beforehand.

“How did you know?” Beauto asked, quietly.

“That you’re into this too?”

Beauto nodded.

“The way you fought. You dragged it out, you hurt me instead of disarming me. You were enjoying yourself.”

“I’m sorry,” Beauto said.

“Don’t be sorry for having fun. I was too.”

“No, I… I’m sorry for taking my anger out on you, instead of the people that deserve it.”

“Apology accepted.” The king shifted beneath his boot. “Now that that’s in the open, how about letting me up?” He grinned again. “Or don’t, and do that thing with your heel again.”

He couldn’t have stopped himself. Not even with a blade to his throat. Beauto pressed the heel of his boot against the king’s back, digging the edge into his spine, and the king gave a soft gasp.

Dear god, Beauto had never been this turned on in his life.

“What’s your name, anyway?” the king asked, still breathless, a little teasing. Was this… flirtation? It was a tone that Beauto had heard before but never caused.

“Beauto,” he said. “What’s yours? Everyone only ever seems to call you ‘the undead king.’”

The flirtation (if that’s what it was) quickly disappeared. “That’s because I don’t have one. I was numbered, not named.”

Beauto barely managed a “Wh?” sound.

“They call me the undead king for a reason. I’m not exactly dead, but I’m certainly not a human. I was made in a lab by a necromancer. I’m nothing but an experiment that happens to be able to walk and talk.”

Immediately Beauto pulled his foot off the king’s back and stepped away. The king was frowning as he sat up. He had hooded eyes that exaggerated the expression, like red coals peering out of the shadow of his brow. If Beauto hadn’t already seen through him he may have been afraid.

“Disturbing, isn’t it?” the king said.

“This person made you but never bothered to name you?” Beauto said. “Of course that’s disturbing!”

The king looked surprised, for some reason. The frown fell away and he blinked up at Beauto. “Isn’t it?” he said, distantly.

“What a piece of shit,” Beauto said firmly.

“He was,” the king agreed. “Still is, probably.”

“He’s still alive?”

“Not if I ever see him again.”

Beauto nodded. He had enough practice in his helmet that the bottom of the face shield no longer clanked against his chest plate when he did. “They say the best revenge is living well, but what’s the point if you can’t rub it in their faces? Drag him before your throne and order your knights to kill him, let him see you’ve got loyalty and respect. Let him die knowing what a fool he was.”

The king’s eyes were slightly widened, but he was smiling again. “Is that a fantasy you’ve had?”

Beauto tilted his head. “No?” he asked, confused by the question. It was just logical, wasn’t it?

“No?”

“No, it’s not. Why?”

The king laughed, shaking his head. “You know, I think I like you Squire Beauto. I really do.”

Behind his helmet, Beauto smiled.

“Speaking of which…” The king, still sitting on the floor, leaned back against the bottom step of his dais. He smiled up at Beauto, something like heat in those strange red eyes of his.

His body was relaxed, his posture casual, and as Beauto looked at him he - without looking like was doing anything other than getting more comfortable - spread his thighs.

The king wore his trousers very tight.

“Did you want to step on me again?” he asked. “Or… something else, maybe?”

Beauto swallowed. His heart was pounding, his blood rushing so loudly he almost couldn’t hear his own response.

“That's... an option?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Beauto, knowing he must look like an idiot, pointed at his chest. “Me?”

“Yes,” the king said. He didn't roll his eyes, which Beauto took as a good sign he meant it.

“I’m your enemy. I was sent here to kill you as a monster. And you'd... lay with me?”

“Absolutely,” the king said. “My standards are not high right now.” He hesitated, and added, “Do you think I’m a monster?”

“No…” Beauto said, though he was sure the king heard the doubt in it.

The church taught that the undead were not truly the dead come back to life, but demons inhabiting their bodies. Putting them down was the righteous thing to do. And though Beauto didn’t believe anymore, not really (a loving god wouldn’t allow children to be cursed before they were even conceived), it was difficult to forget something you had known as a “fact” for most of your life.

“Maybe,” Beauto admitted. “But my standards aren't high either.”

The king laughed, and reached out a hand to beckon him. Beauto took a step forward. And another. And, gently, pressed his boot against the king's thigh, forcing his legs even farther apart.

“What are you going to do to me?” the king practically purred.

Beauto had never heard that actually done before. He'd read it in novels, seen actors on the stage try it, but he'd never heard it in a voice that wasn't performing. This... right now...

This was real. This was happening. He might really, really, lose his virginity. Beauto had all but given it up for a lost cause – no one would want him with this face, and his body wasn't much to speak of either. And if he managed to survive until he didn't have this face any more, what were the chances merely being average-looking would find him a partner either? At least he could hire company then.

But right now... someone wanted him. Someone hadn't seen his face, and Beauto was fairly sure he could bluff his way through this encounter without having to remove his helmet. If the king actually preferred to be treated like an object, keeping a barrier between them shouldn't be that big of a deal.

It could happen. It could work.

Trying to hide his trembling, Beauto pulled off one glove and leaned forward to grab a fistful of the king's hair. The smile never budged.

“I want you,” Beauto said. He meant it to be the beginning of a sentence, but nothing came to mind. He was so excited he was feeling light-headed.

“You've got me, baby,” the king said. As Beauto tugged at his hair, the king's eyelids fluttered in pleasure and he let out a soft moan.

Holy shit, was it normal to get dizzy when all your blood rushed to your dick? Some of those novels had been pretty stimulating, but he'd never felt like this. The strength was even going out of his fingers with how hard it hit him.

No, wait.

Beauto stumbled, putting both feet back on the floor, hoping it would keep him upright. His vision slid sideways and he saw the king, brow wrinkled in concern, reach out for him.

He hit the ground on his already-injured side, and then everything went black.

***

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Her king had grabbed Psykos by the shoulders and was shaking her. Considering she was a witch and quite a bit older than him, the responsible thing to do here would be to remain calm and allow him to get his aggression out before asking why he felt it.

Instead, Psykos kicked his shin until he let go.

“Ow!”

“Ow first! What do you mean what's wrong with me?”

“Why did you have to cast a sleep spell on the room? Why couldn't you just leave well enough alone?”

“You were in there with one of those asshole knights!” Psykos gestured at the now-open doors to the throne room, where the enchanted knight was laying on the floor, right next to the dais.

“So what? You could have come in the side door to check first!” The servant doors were used by everyone now that the castle inhabitants lived communally, but people who didn't live there never considered there might be an entrance that wasn't huge and extravagant.

“Why? This is standard procedure.”

“I know, but-”

“You're immune to most magic, so if I cast a sleep spell everyone falls over until we can run damage control.”

“I know, but-”

“But what? I shouldn't do what I've done a dozen times? I shouldn't try to help you?”

“Help me?” the king repeated. “You just coc-”

He stopped. His eyes looked off to her side, and about two feet down.

“Co... cost me a chance to get along with somebody!”

Psykos glanced back, and confirmed that Isamu was standing there ready to help. He gave her a confused smile when she met his eyes, and she patted his shoulder.

“It's okay Isamu, we're just talking. Did you get the prisoners situated?”

“Yes, they're in that wine cellar that we emptied out because the king is trying to quit drinking.” Isamu smiled at him so brightly it even hurt Psykos to look at. “We're really proud of you for doing that!”

“Yes we are,” Psykos agreed. “See? We show our appreciation when you do things.”

The king took a breath, then slowly reached up and pressed his fingers to his temples. “Reminding me of all the wine we threw away is not helping...”

“Sorry,” Psykos said.

“Sorry,” Isamu said.

"But," Psykos continued, "did you really want to get along with somebody like that? Somebody who came to kill you?"

"Not the first time," the king said, and tapped two fingers on the side of his neck. Psykos scowled and made sure her collar was tugged up high enough to cover last night's bite mark.

"Trust me, I was watching them, those knights are assholes."

"He's not a knight," the king said.

Psykos looked, closer this time, at the figure laying on the floor. He was wearing only partial armor, an old-fashioned breastplate made of layered metal plates, and an even older bucket helmet. And he was on his back, flat, with his arms straight at his sides. Very unlikely he'd fallen that way naturally. The king must have repositioned him.

"The squire," she said. "The one they called-" She cut herself off. What was his real name? "Bureau?"

"Beauto," the king said.

"Beauto. Right. He was…" He was the one they were all being assholes to. "He seemed all right."

"And you just knocked him out right when things were getting good." The king rubbed his hands over his head, curling his fingers into his hair. "Shit, he's going to think it was a trap. Think I was buying time, not…"

"It's my fault," Psykos said quickly. "I'll apologize and explain everything if you want."

The king looked up.

"The spell will last about an hour, let's put him in a guest room so he knows he's not a prisoner as soon as he wakes up."

"You think?" the king said.

He looked so hopeful. This was more than just a cockblock situation, the king really liked this guy.

"I'm sure," Psykos said.

After all, she'd seen his face. He couldn't have a line of prospective lovers knocking down his door. If a king - undead or not - was interested in him, Beauto would be a fool to say no.

***

Beauto woke in bed. For a moment he was disoriented, feeling like he'd been dreaming something completely ridiculous. He reached out for his helmet, like he did every morning he spent in the barracks, hiding his face as quickly as possible before any of the younger squires woke up.

His hand met nothing but more bedding. Soft, plush mattress, smooth fabric. This was not his bed.

The castle. The king.

Beauto jolted upright. The curtains in the room were open, sunlight streaming in, unimpeded by either curtains or the face shield of Beauto's helmet.

"Shit!" He covered as much of his face as he could with one hand and fumbled for the edge of the bed. Who took it? Why? The king hadn't seen, had he?

"Oh hey, you're awake!" The king stood up from a chair in the corner. He was smiling, nearly as bright as the sun, looking Beauto right in the eye.

Beauto threw himself backward and covered himself with the sheet.

"What's wrong?" he heard the king ask.

"Why?" Beauto demanded. "Why did you take my helmet, why?"

He could feel himself choking up. This was foolish, it was just sex, he'd known it was never going to happen for him.

"Why? Why?"

Why did he feel like crying? Why did this upset him so much?

"Okay, okay," he heard the king moving around the room. "I wasn't supposed to, I guess? I'm sorry. Is this a religious thing, or…"

"Why would you do it?" Beauto said. Begged. "I don't understand, why couldn't you just- just- Why?"

"You were knocked out, we wanted to make you more comfortable while you had to lay there."

"We?" Beauto repeated. "Who else saw?"

"Uh, a couple of guards? Hana and- Shit, I can never remember Ami's dad's name."

"Three people saw me? You saw my face?"

"I'm really sorry, I didn't know I wasn't supposed to."

Beauto could see the shadow of him moving, between the sheet and the window. The king was close, too close. What did he want? He couldn't want what he'd wanted before.

"Here's your helmet," the king said, his shadow holding something out.

Beauto stuck one hand out of the blanket, and when metal touched his fingers he whisked the heavy object under the covers with him to safety.

Only once he was sure he was hidden did Beauto pull the sheets off his head.

"Where's the rest of my armor?" His clothes were intact, only his armor and boots had been removed. Ugh. Undressed like a doll.

"Over here." 

Through the eye slits in the helmet, Beauto saw the king gesture at the same corner where he'd been sitting. There was an armor stand there, a real one, looking naked without more than the random pieces Beauto was permitted to wear.

He turned away from the king, making sure his tunic hem was pulled down and his trousers were pulled up before climbing out of the opposite side of the bed.

"Do I have permission to leave?" Beauto asked, trying his best to maintain what dignity he had. His voice was still shaky and thick with snot.

"You're not a prisoner," the king said, sadly. Of course he'd be disappointed. "I'd like it if you stayed as a guest, but that's entirely up to you. No hard feelings here, I promise."

Beauto didn't believe it but he didn't dare call it out. He hadn't lied, the king had never asked to see his face, but realizing he'd nearly slept with someone who looked like Beauto must have felt like dodging a cannon ball.

"What happened to my… traveling party?"

"They were caught trying to loot the castle. The rule around here is that anyone's allowed to challenge me to a fight, the rest of the residents and staff will get out of the way, but stealing isn't something we can tolerate."

"At least let me take Squire Atama," Beauto said. "He's only fifteen, he hasn't had a chance to know better."

"What?" the king said. He shook his head. "You can take all of them, we don't want them, I just meant my political advisor cast a sleep spell on them and tossed them in the wine cellar."

Beauto blinked. He hadn't quite shed any tears, but his eyes still felt tired. "Your… political advisor?"

"She's pretty good at manipulating people so it was as good a title as any. But she's a witch if that's what you mean."

"Why the wine cellar?"

"We don't have dungeons or anything. It's an enclosed room with nothing in it at the moment, and the only door is at the top of a narrow staircase so we've got the advantage if they try to break out."

"You don't have dungeons," Beauto said, flatly.

"No. I think this castle used to be a fancy hunting lodge."

"What do you do with all the other knights that try to kill you?"

"They usually fight themselves into exhaustion and then we toss 'em out."

Beauto shook his head. No wonder so many rumors had spread about this damned kingdom and the "monster" that ruled it. They kept letting their enemies survive! Let them leave humiliated and carrying a grudge!

"I'll tell them we lost," Beauto said. "I… won't tell anyone about what-" No, the king wouldn't even want Beauto to acknowledge what had almost happened. "I'll go," he said, quietly. "I won't come back. The knights won't talk about me when they tell this story, they never do. No one will ever know I was here."

Beauto had been standing there with his face turned down, no desire to see the look at the king's expression when Beauto alluded to their near-tryst. Would it be anger? Disgust? Fear? He'd gotten all three before, and in every combination.

"I'm sorry," the king said. "It wasn't a trick, I swear. I didn't want Psykos to knock you out."

"I know." But he must be glad for it now. He'd probably give her a raise.

“You can ask her yourself!”

“There's no need.”

“Can you tell me why people shouldn't see your face? Or is it a personal thing.”

In surprise, Beauto looked up at him. The king's expression was… confused. Concerned. Not a trace of disgust.

“Why would I want anyone to see it?”

“Because… it's your face?” The king's brow squiggled like one of those flat-faced dogs.

“And now that you've seen it, do you still want to bed me?”

“Yes?” the king said.

“You see? That's why-” Beauto stopped. “What did you say?”

“I- I said yes?” the king said. “I wanted you when as far as I knew you had no face, why would seeing you make me feel different?”

He tilted his head, as if Beauto were an abstract painting he was trying to figure out. Beauto was very glad he wasn't being seen at the moment, because his mouth was opening and closing like a goldfish as he tried to process what he'd just heard.

Yes. The king said yes. He still wanted him.

It couldn't be possible.

“That can't be possible,” Beauto muttered aloud.

The king's expression changed, smoothed out, his eyes widening. “You really believe that,” he said. He shook his head. “Holy shit, who hurt you?”

Beauto gave a mirthless huff of laughter. “Everyone?”

Over two decades of memories hit Beauto all at once, and he sunk back down onto the edge of the bed.

“Everyone,” he said again. “No one has ever seen my face and not been put off by it.”

He heard the king's voice behind him, and felt the bed sink as he sat on the other side. “Really? I mean... it's not that I don't believe you, it's just... Are you sure?”

Beauto would be angry if it was anyone else, but there was nothing to gain for the king to jerk him around like this. Nothing but sick sadistic pleasure, and Beauto knew what that looked like from both sides. This wasn't bullying, this was ignorance.

“You said it yourself, didn't you? You asked what I'd done that I still haven't been made a knight. The answer is... be born like this.” Beauto smiled to himself. He had to smile, or he'd start screaming. “I've been a squire longer than I was a page, now, but that was a long time too. No knight wanted the ugly kid to strap on their armor for them.”

“But... but that's...”

Beauto turned. His helmet slits weren't wide enough that he could see the king unless he pulled one leg up on the bed and brought his whole body sideways. He was surprised to see the king had done the same, leaning toward him across the mattress.

“The knights... Well, you heard them. You know what they call me.”

“They're assholes,” the king said. “Who cares what they think?”

“Everyone thinks it. When you look like me, people are happy to jump to the worst conclusions.” Beauto had to avert his gaze again. "And… they're not entirely wrong. You know what I am. What I like."

“Nobody gets to choose what they're turned on by,” the king said. “Being an asshole is a choice. Every time.”

“You make it sound so simple,” Beauto said.

“It should be simple! It shouldn't have to be hard to expect basic human decency!”

Beauto looked up, and saw the king wince.

“Sorry… I think I'm projecting a little here.”

“Ah.” Of course, someone visibly undead would have faced even worse than Beauto ever had. And the king had been made this way, he said. He was never an ordinary human.

But it rankled, somehow. Being compared to something that never should have expected to be accepted. Beauto was a victim of a generations-old curse, he wasn't a monster like the king.

He said none of this out loud, having learned a long time ago that thoughts like that would never be rewarded.

“You’re right,” Beauto said. That was usually a safe bet, although he’d already forgotten what they were talking about.

“Damn right I’m right,” the king said, full of confidence. And then added, “What were we talking about?”

In spite of everything, Beauto laughed.

The king smiled at him, all warm eyes and soft lips. It still felt like Beauto would be thrown out of this bedroom at any moment, but he couldn’t help enjoying the view.

“You have an amazing voice, you know that?” the king said suddenly.

“Yes,” Beauto said, bluntly. That was the one thing he’d refuse to accept insults about. “I’m a singer. I was in the church choir for all of my childhood, and I’d have liked to do it for a living, but I was… gently discouraged from following that path.”

The king shook his head. “It’s the world’s loss.”

Beauto smiled. “Well… maybe in six years.”

“What’s in six years? Are you on a squiring contract?”

“That’s not a thing,” Beauto laughed. “No, it’s the deadline for the curse. That’s why I look like this, my bloodline is cursed.”

The king blinked a couple times, and his wispy brows drew together in confusion. “You’re cursed?”

“I think- I hope that’s why people react the way they do. That it’s magic and not human nature making them turn against me as soon as they get a look.” Beauto sighed. “But I doubt it.”

“We can solve that!” The king sat up straight and clapped his hands together. “I have a witch!”

Beauto did not succeed in stopping the king from calling his “political advisor” into the bedroom. Nor did he stop the woman (she looked mid-twenties but mages could sometimes extend their lives through unethical means, and her clothes were several decades out of date) from rattling off half of a rehearsed apology before the king stopped her.

“I explained all that,” he said. “He's cursed, Psykos.”

The king had at least had the foresight to move them to chairs, but there were only two in the room and the king had - of all things - elected to perch on the tea table between them instead of calling for a third. It was strange, but having him there as a buffer made Beauto feel more at ease.

“How so?” the woman, Psykos, asked.

The king turned to Beauto, waiting for him to explain, and Beauto allowed himself a sigh. He'd explained this so many times in his life that he'd gotten bored. How could you sum up a lifetime of suffering in a few sentences?

“It's my whole family. The firstborn is always born hideously ugly, no matter what their parents looked like. At twenty we gain shapeshifting powers, but if we use them we'll die in ten years.”

“Well that's some bullshit,” the woman said, as if Beauto had described something no more serious than a rude encounter at the pub.

“I’ve managed to hold out for four years, two months, and thirteen days.”

“Let's see,” the woman said.

She reached out for Beauto’s hand, and he automatically flinched back.

“I'm sorry,” she said, more gently. “If it's on your bloodline I'll need to touch you to get an idea. If I can see your face it'll be even easier, since that's that part it affects the most.”

Beauto didn’t move. Her words made sense, but he hadn’t willingly taken his helmet off in front of another human in over three years. Why would he, when all it did was destroy any favorable impressions they might have?

She wouldn’t be able to break the curse. No one could, no one had, not in at least three generations of searching. The king might not mind Beauto’s face, but the king was undead. Maybe the curse didn’t affect him in the same way.

“If it makes a difference, I’ve already seen you without that thing,” the woman said.

Beauto shrunk back further. The king said that he and two guards saw him, but he hadn’t said anything about this witch.

“When? Why?” Beauto demanded.

“I can see through the eyes of some animals, so it’s part of my job to keep an eye on any new visitors to the area. Your traveling party was suspicious, and I checked in on you several times over the last few days. I saw you getting ready before the others woke up.”

Beauto winced.

“I saw the way they treated you,” she added.

The ever-familiar anger began to well up within him. Of course she had. Of course. It was bad enough he’d been exposed literally, why not figuratively as well? At this point he could strip and feel less naked.

Fuck it.

Beauto pulled his helmet off and threw it across the room. He heard it bounce off the bed frame and rattle along the floor, coming to a rest just out of the corner of his eye. He glared at the woman’s face, and saw, just as he’d expected, shock and disgust twist her features.

“Oh that is nasty,” she said.

“I told you!” Beauto snapped. He tried to get up, but the king leaned over and grabbed his hand.

“No, come on baby, hear her out.”

“Why?” he said.

“That’s not what she meant.” The king turned to her and hissed, “It’s not, is it?”

“No!” the woman said, raising her hands quickly. “I just haven’t seen a death curse that detailed before.”

Beauto felt his brow furrow, before remembering his bare face and trying to compose himself. “Yes, I said it was deadly.”

“Not deadly,” the woman said. “A death curse. Meaning it was powered by death.”

Beauto sunk back in his seat. “Someone… killed someone to curse my family?”

“Maybe,” she said. “But that’s difficult as hell. This looks to me more like the caster died.”

“H… how?”

“Hard to say whether it was suicide or they were already dying. But either way, this is what they did with their last breath.”

Beauto shook his head. Whatever was showing on his face, it made the king take his hand.

“What did my ancestor do to this person?”

“Whatever it was, it wasn’t worth dooming their whole family,” the woman said. “Don’t dwell on it.”

“No, I…” Beauto covered his mouth with his free hand.

He could picture it. A handsome bully, tormenting someone for their looks until that person felt they couldn’t go on. But they’d get their revenge, oh yes, they would make that bastard pay. They would make his grandchildren pay. None of them would ever forget what it was like to be the easy target.

He’d do the same thing in their place.

“Don’t dwell on it,” the king repeated, softly.

“I’m not,” Beauto lied.

“I can try to break it,” the woman said. “But this kind of magic is thorny. It’ll take me years to unravel, maybe a decade or more.”

Slowly, Beauto raised his head. “But you can do it?”

“I can, if you can wait that long.”

Years… He had six years left before the curse broke on its own, but if he could shorten that even a day he would go for it. And if it was longer, then… Then it wouldn’t matter, really. But if she could break it for him, she could break it for others.

“I don’t intend to have children, but I’d certainly like to remove the possibility of passing it on, just in case.”

“You don’t want kids?” the king said. There was just a bit too much interest in his tone.

“I didn’t think anyone would ever want me for a partner, so I haven’t considered it,” Beauto said.

“You have any experience with ‘em?”

“Kids? Yes, I have three younger half-siblings. We’re not close but we got along well enough.”

They were the only people - the only ones before the king - who had never been disgusted by him. They’d known Beauto for their entire lives, so perhaps that canceled it out.

The king nodded, as if filing that information away.

Beauto felt the corner of his mouth begin to rise. “Don’t tell me you’re considering a relationship with me. We’ve known each other for an hour.”

“Hey, it’s just good to know! If you hated kids I’d know not to get attached.”

“You’re undead, can you even father children?”

“Hell if I know,” the king said. “But I’ve already more or less adopted one and I’m not ruling it out for the future.”

Across the table, the woman cleared her throat. “So… Are you considering staying then, Sir Beauto?”

Beauto flinched. “Squire. I’m a squire.”

A moment later, her words filtered in.

“Wait, what?”

“Come on, Psykos,” the king said. Beauto noted he was blushing, a little bit of life once again returning to his bloodless cheeks. “That’s a lot to ask.”

“I thought you liked him.”

“I- I do, but you can’t ask a guy to move in on the first date. Even if it’s just an invitation to join the kingdom, what if he thinks-”

“Yes,” Beauto said.

What did he have waiting for him back home? Six more years of humiliation, a king who expected three knights to overthrow an army of undead, a family who would rather forget he’d been born. His little siblings would only miss the solstice presents he brought them and his mother refused to talk about her first marriage at all. He only went to church anymore because knights were expected to be faithful, and he had to be better than perfect if he ever wanted that title. Why keep it up? Why keep fighting for respect he’d never get?

He would never have to see or speak to that damn Sir Kakato again.

“You want to stay?” the king said, sounding surprised, but happily so.

“I do,” Beauto said. “Though preferably not as a kept man. I think you’ll be disappointed by my skills anyway, I was bluffing earlier, I’m a virgin.”

“That was bluffing?” the king said, even more surprised this time. “Damn, you’ve got a natural talent then.”

“Okay I’m leaving,” the woman said, smoothly rising from her chair. “You boys have fun, I’ll have Isamu draw up the citizenship papers.”

“Yeah yeah.” The king waved her off, not taking his eyes off Beauto’s face.

His bare, helmet-less face.

Nervously, Beauto reached up and tried to straighten his hair. It was a futile effort, as always, not to mention the helmet making it worse. There would be weird creases and split ends and sometimes it got tousled so much it looked like a bird’s nest.

But despite looking like that, neither the king nor his advisor had shown any disgust. Beauto thought Psykos had, at first, but the rest of the conversation she was looking at him dead-on with nary a blink. Did they… really not care?

“Wait,” Beauto said as the woman reached for the door handle. “The curse. Did- can you see how it works?”

“Yes,” the woman said. She tapped the frame of her glasses. “I’ve got these enchanted, otherwise I’d need a blood sample. Why?”

“People have been treating me like…” Beauto trailed off. “Well, like you saw. It’s been like that all my life. I wanted to know, is it- is it the curse? Does it make me look inhuman? Does it cause people to be repulsed by me?”

He dared to look up as he waited for her answer, and he hated how much pity he saw in her eyes. “No. I’m sorry, Sir Beauto, the curse is purely physical. It seems like you’ve just spent your life surrounded by assholes.”

Beauto pressed his lips together, and nodded. “That’s what I thought. Thank you.”

It was what he’d thought, but not what he’d hoped.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Psykos said. “Goodnight.”

It was late afternoon, judging by the light coming through the windows, but the king’s advisor expected they would be occupied for the rest of the day.

Beauto swallowed.

The door shut, the king looked at Beauto expectantly, and Beauto found himself saying what he was thinking for the first time in years.

“I hate people.”

“Oh.”

“Everyone I’ve ever met.”

“Okay.”

“My life changed so much after I started wearing my helmet. I got it on my first mission outside the country, and everything was different. People didn't shy away from me, shop clerks actually greeted me...”

“They didn't before?” the king exclaimed.

“I don't know if... I'm frightening, maybe? I look like people think a thug should look. That, or... maybe they can tell I hate them. All of them.”

“You've got the right to,” the king said.

“I hoped it was the curse. I didn’t believe it, but I hoped. Now that I know for sure… I really hate them.”

“I’m sorry you went through that,” the king said. He’d still been holding Beauto’s hand this whole time, and now he squeezed it.

“Even my own grandfather. He was a preacher, and in his sermons he used to use me as an example of hardships his family faced. Say that god sent me to test them.”

“What the fuck,” the king said softly.

“I actually didn't mind that. I think I thought it gave me purpose.”

“Seriously, what the fuck?”

“I don’t feel that way anymore, don’t worry.”

“Good, because… Good.” The king shook his head and squeezed a little harder. “R Kingdom’s dinky, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s even smaller than here.”

“I hate to say it, but if everyone you've spent time with knew you your whole life, already thought of you as a target, maybe it was the location that was the problem?”

“Maybe,” Beauto said. “It’s a nice thought. But if I am going to stay here, I… I’d prefer to keep wearing my helmet.” He glanced at the king, who met his eyes without hesitation. “At least in public.”

“We can get you a new one. Hell, if you don’t mind armor that was died in, we can get you one for every day of the week.”

The old helmet had probably belonged to a dead knight too. “As long as it’s been boiled clean.”

“Then you’re staying?” the king asked, hope and warmth in his voice.

He kept asking that. Almost as if the king expected to be left behind at any moment.

A thought occurred, and Beauto nearly smiled. “I want to stay, and I want to spend the night with you if you’ll let me.”

“Hell yes.”

“But I’m still a little worried about my traveling party. If they think you’ve killed me, they might hold a grudge.”

“Okay,” the king said. “So you want to see them off?”

“Yes,” Beauto said. “I would very much like to see them off.”

Mid-morning, the three knights and one squire were dragged back to the throne room. The king waited on his throne, flanked on one side by his witch (now decked out in even-older-looking clothes, though the black dye had held strong), and on the other by a knight in full plate armor (with a black finish that had been hastily applied and still smelled faintly of chemicals).

Beauto thought to himself, standing on the dias, that looking through the visor slits of his new helmet at Sir Kakato cowering on the ground was very nearly as satisfying as last night had been. Whatever their treatment during their visit to the wine cellar, the knights now looked thoroughly dejected.

But not scared. Not yet. At least one of them was smart enough to know they’d be dead already if the undead king wanted to kill them, and would have explained it to the others. So they were beaten, but not broken.

“You come to my castle,” the king said, slowly. “You try to kill me. You spit on my floor. You steal my things.”

The knights didn’t say a word, though Atama looked at Sir Onaka as if expecting something. Kakato fixed his eyes on the floor and hunched in on himself, trying to look smaller. Like all bullies, he turned into a coward when faced with someone he genuinely could not beat.

“You are all very lucky. Luckier than you can imagine,” the king said. “Because despite your best efforts, I’m having a good day.” Beauto could hear the smile in his voice, and he was sure it was a wicked one. “So I’ll be letting you go on your way, with bodies and belongings intact.”

Relief washed across the whole party’s faces. But Atama glanced at Sir Onaka again, and then the other two, and finally spoke up.

“Um, sire, is it… May I ask what happened to our other companion? Squire Beauto?”

“Ah, yes.” The king smiled again. “He kept me very well entertained.”

Atama went pale. Beauto almost felt bad about it, but even the boy had looked down on him. Assumed the worst, like everyone else. Bragged about the fact he would surely reach a knighthood before “Dogface.”

But he was only fifteen, and Beauto remembered being fifteen. He couldn’t be too angry. The boy still had time to grow.

“Is he…” Atama swallowed. “Sire. What can I tell his family?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” The king glanced at Beauto. “Tell them his adventure stopped here.”

Under his helmet, Beauto chuckled.

The king sat up and clapped, and two undead soldiers brought the knights’ supplies into the throne room, dumping it all unceremoniously on the floor.

“Take what’s yours,” the king said, and the knights and Atama quickly scrambled to their feet.

They picked up their packs, loading bags onto already-encumbered shoulders. Atama must have helped all three back into their armor that morning. He’d tightened Kakato’s straps too much and the knight’s clothing was bunching around it. He would be uncomfortable all day.

Beauto smiled.

The king leaned over, and whispered, “Which one?”

“Blue,” Beauto said. His bag was the largest by far.

The king raised his voice. “I said, take what’s yours.” He snapped his fingers and pointed, and Beauto strode forward to snatch his bag from Atama’s arms as if following the order, and not that they’d discussed this beforehand.

Atama skittered away from him in fear. “I just- I thought-”

“It is ours!” Kakato exclaimed. Of course he found his tongue when trying to steal something. “If my squire is dead, his belongings belong to m- us!”

Beauto ignored him, keeping a tight grip on the straps with one hand, and letting the other rest on his sword hilt.

“And our maps are in there, and most of our cooking stuff!”

“Give them the maps,” the king said. “We want them to be able to find their way out.”

Beauto nodded, enjoying the way his new helmet fit so well he didn’t have to worry about it sliding. He pulled the maps from the side pocket and handed them over to Atama. Kakato couldn’t read one and the other two wouldn’t take orders from each other, not even if it was just directions.

He turned, planning to hand the bag off to one of the soldiers, when behind him he heard Kakato say -

“Dogface?”

Maybe it was the sword. Beauto hadn’t replaced it along with the armor, he still had his hand-and-a-half sword sheathed at his hip. Maybe it was body language, and Kakato actually had paid enough attention to his squire over the last year to learn the way he moved. Or maybe it was that the black knight hadn’t needed to ask where the maps were in such an overstuffed traveling pack.

Whatever it was that gave him away, Beauto was caught.

Fuck it.

He took his hand off his sword and backhanded Kakato across the face, hard enough to send him sprawling. One of the undead soldiers stepped forward and took Beauto’s bag, leaving him with both hands free to grab Kakato by his breastplate and haul him to his feet. There was a red mark on his cheek and a shallow scratch that wasn’t even bleeding, but Kakato was wide-eyed and panting with shock.

“If I ever hear that name out of your mouth again,” Beauto hissed, “I will see to it your jaw needs to be wired shut. Understand?”

Kakato gaped at him, mouth hanging open like a fool. After a second he seemed to realize the irony of this, and snapped it shut.

Beauto let go of him, making sure to shove him just enough that he stumbled into Onaka, who moved out of the way rather than steady his fellow knight.

“Go,” the king said, his voice raised to carry. “Leave my kingdom while I’m still in a good mood. If any of you have half the brains of your former squire, you’ll never return.”

The knights didn’t wait on propriety, moving as soon as the door was open and already beginning to nudge each other and whisper in the hallway outside. Beauto saw Atama glance back, stunned, his eyes fixed on Beauto’s black helmet.

Beauto said nothing. Whatever conclusions Atama decided to draw were his own business.

The doors shut, the king sighed and slumped in his throne, and then one of the soldiers looked at Beauto and asked if he was okay.

Beauto nodded.

“Did he call you that all the time? What an asshole.”

Beauto nodded again, and let out a sigh of his own. “It’s over now.”

“Yeah, that’s right, forget about them,” the soldier agreed firmly.

Beauto would have to learn his name. He seemed nice, and if Beauto was going to stay he would need to get along with others. And a man with a gaping hole where his nose ought to be had no room to judge Beauto for his looks.

Maybe that was why the king and Psykos hadn’t reacted much. Being surrounded by walking corpses surely gave you a much higher tolerance for unpleasant visages.

The click-clack of two pairs of heels heralded the people in question. Beauto and the soldiers snapped to attention in unison.

“I hate that,” the king said. “Psykos, I hate it when they do that.”

“I know you do,” she said, soothingly. “All right, I’ve got to go keep an eye on those assholes to make sure they leave the country and don’t set any fields on fire on the way out.” She glanced at Beauto. “Want me to have the crows shit on them?”

“No,” Beauto said. “Atama would be the one to have to clean it off.”

“Fair enough.” She waved as she flounced off, wavy hair flowing behind her.

How did she make it look like that? Was it magic or could Beauto actually do something about his rat’s nest?

The soldiers trooped off as well, returning to their usual duties. They still had their army training, but the way they spoke to Beauto and each other was far more relaxed than the soldiers Beauto knew from home.

His old home, that is.

Now alone in the throne room, Beauto followed the king back to his throne. He glanced around, making sure he hadn’t missed someone, and turned away from the doors before lifting his visor.

“Are you okay with this?” the king asked.

“It was my idea, my king.”

“Yeah but… you could have gone further.”

“Would you have let me?” Beauto asked, with a smile.

“If you thought they needed killing, I’d trust your judgment.”

“That’s a mistake. I think I’m less merciful than you are, sire.”

The king tilted his head and looked up at Beauto. His eyes were blood red, but already Beauto found the color more fascinating than disturbing.

“But you didn’t do it,” the king said. “You let them go, you didn’t even beat the shit out of that one guy.”

“I couldn’t do that,” Beauto said. “I’m a knight, and you’re my liege. My behavior reflects on you.”

The king smiled. He was so handsome that if Beauto hadn’t spent the entire previous night defiling him, it would have been hard not to hate him.

“Does it?” he said softly.

“Of course. This is my home now. Even if we tire of each other, it will still be my duty to protect this kingdom and its king. And that includes our reputation.”

The king crooked a finger, beckoning Beauto closer. “You can guard my reputation,” he said warmly, “as long as you keep calling me a slut in private.”

“You are a slut,” Beauto said. “It’s not slander if it’s the truth.” He put his hand on the arm of the throne and leaned over the king’s body, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “But only I’m allowed to say it.”

The king’s eyes lit up, and he tilted his head back, welcoming Beauto as he went in for a kiss.

A few days ago Beauto thought he would die a squire and a virgin, and now he could kiss a king whenever he liked. If this was a dream he hoped he never woke up.

The door slammed open and Beauto jumped back, pulling his visor down over his face. The young boy Beauto had seen in passing this morning ran across the room without waiting for permission, and stuffed a stack of papers into the bewildered king’s arms.

“Horses!” he said, as if that explained anything. “I gotta go, the sables got out!”

“How the- Isamu!”

The boy kept running, out the side door behind the drapes.

“Isamu!”

As that door too slammed shut behind their visitor, the king sunk down in his throne and groaned.

“Is it always like this?” Beauto asked, amused.

The king grumbled something incoherent.

“Do you want help?”

Wordlessly, the king held out the papers for Beauto to take.

It turned out to be a list of items they needed to get the stables resupplied. No part of the list actually mentioned horses, but Beauto had done most kinds of chores around a castle before and he knew what went where.

“I’ll take care of it,” Beauto said.

“Wait, really? Can you?”

“Sure, this is simple. Why did the boy give it to you instead of the stablemaster?”

“We don’t have one of those.”

“The castle seneschal then.”

“Isamu is the seneschal.”

Beauto was quiet for a moment as a lot of things he’d noticed began to make sense. Though the castle was large and they’d gone to effort to make it comfortable for all the inhabitants, and everyone respected the king and his authority, no one seemed particularly organized. Even the armory had been unlocked and unguarded when Beauto went to pick out his new armor.

“You need me,” Beauto said.

“I do,” the king agreed, no hint of innuendo in his voice for once. The situation may be even more dire than Beauto suspected. “Oh gods, I really do.”

Taking that as blanket permission to act on his behalf, Beauto set out. With his new armor and his old sword and a long night’s worth of aches and bruises that he wouldn’t have given up for the world. For now his job was just shopping and scrounging, but he was trusted now, truly trusted. Piece by piece Beauto would take the power that trust gave him and turn this kingdom into something to be proud of.

He hummed as he walked the halls, an old ballad about love and loss and the faithful getting their just rewards.

Beauto was a traitor, technically, but right now he felt very rewarded indeed.

[pappydaddy]

stevie-boy (s.h. + r.b.)

a/n: idk if i am liking not putting a gif or at least a picture on my fics.. also, i put both steve and robin taglists on here as its supposed be to be plantonic fic

tv show/movie: stranger things | pairing: platonic!steve harrington x fem!platonic!reader x platonic!robin buckley

requested

synopsis: the three sailors get a new job together and y/n get's bored while robin is on a lunch run.

taglist: @the-weeping-author | @lilypad-55449 | @popeheywardssecretgf | @smarie7547 | @eichenhouseproperty | @slytherinambitious | @k-k0129 | @ihatepeanutss | @moralina |  @poppet05 | @rottenstyx | @boxofsilentwords | @badass-yn |  @lexi-2004 | @i-always-come-back-xoxo | @rootbeerfaygo |  @savagemickey03 *line through your user means i could not tag you lovelies!

warnings: fluff | bullying (brief) | best friend banter | co-worker banter | might be a little suggestive to romantic feelings for steve (not really tho)

navigation | masterlist | taglist sign-up

Y/N knew how it looked, but she can honestly say she did not burn down her old place of employment. No matter how many times she said she wanted to. Sure, maybe she threw one firework after the Mind Flayer went down, but she wanted to make sure it was actually dead. Like when you stomp on the dead spider for an extra time just to be safe. But, no matter how excited she was that her job did burn down, she is slightly bitter because now she worked at Family Video. Matched with the ugly green vest and girls flirting horribly with her co-worker (and she had to be subjected to it). 

  A shrill giggle cut through her skull, making her ears ring. Cringing, Y/N tried to continue her task of putting the new releases out. “She should come with a warning sign,” She muttered under her breath as she placed Warning Sign under the horror section. “Careful, long exposure may cause ear bleeds.” She rolled her eyes as another shrieking giggle hit her head like a dagger. What Steve was saying wasn’t even that funny. 

  “Oh my god! You’ve never seen Porky’s,” The girl gasped, her eyes wide at Steve. Y/N looked over her shoulder at them, giving Steve a glare. He has most definitely watched Porky’s. About twenty times within the past two months. “You are so missing out! You should come over to mine to watch it.” Okay, any girl who was willing to watch Porky’s voluntarily for a date deserves to be laid in Y/N’s opinion. 

  “Why would you need to see Porky’s when it’s your life, Stevie-boy?” Y/N chimed in, looking back to the shelf with a mischievous gleam in her eyes and a smirk on her face. One thing that Y/N enjoyed about him getting so much more female attention was the new opportunity to mess with him. He was vulnerable, an easy target. The girl snapped her head towards Y/N, chewing her gum more obnoxiously, her side ponytail swinging. Her blue covered eyelids nearly closed as she looked Y/N up and down with a disgusted look. 

  “Stevie-boy,” She repeated, her high voice oozing with disgust as she looked back over at Steve. Steve looked torn. He wanted to salvage the possible date because he really wanted to get some, but by the way she was looking at his friend, he was apprehensive. If she was acting this way with Y/N, what about with Robin and the kids? He couldn’t go with someone who didn’t mesh well with his found family. “The freak of the school is calling you Stevie-boy?” She was definitely judging not only Y/N, but also Steve. 

  That was the line and she just long-jumped over it. “Yeah, she is,” Steve stood up straighter, looking down his nose at her. “We’re friends. You have a problem with that?” He asked, his chest puffing protectively. Nobody made fun of his family except him. 

  She gave Steve the same disgusted once over, stepping away from the counter. “No. No problem,” She hummed. “Just thought you were cooler than this.” She muttered, turning on her heel and strutting out of the store, Porky’s in hand. 

  The bell ringing before the store front rattling with the door slamming behind her made Y/N look over at Steve, an innocent smile on her face. Steve glared at her, shaking his head slightly. “Look on the bright side, good thing you saw the real her before you caught feelings!” She cheered, putting out the last New Release. 

  “I wasn’t planning on catching feelings,” Steve rolled his eyes. “I just wanted sex,” He declared. Y/N snorted, grabbing the now empty box and walking behind the counter with him. “Were you too bored, or was I not giving you enough attention today? Why? Why would you ruin this for me?” Steve asked. 

  Y/N shrugged, folding the box down. “I was bored and her fake laugh was giving me a headache.” 

  The bell on the door rang out as Robin rushed in, greasy fast food bags and a tray of three drinks in her hands. “What did I miss? Why is Isabel French talking to her friends in the parking lot about how much of a dork Steve is,” Her blue eyes were frantic, she was on the edge of her seat to figure out what happened. She practically ran over to the counter, setting the bags and the drinks down. “Oh come on,” She drew out the last work, stomping her foot. “I went to get the food today, you have to tell me what happened!” 

  Steve groaned, his head falling to the counter as Y/N laughed wickedly, launching into the story. “I fucking hate both of you monsters!” He declared, his voice muffled by his arms as he stayed there, mortified slightly at the retelling and how loud Robin was laughing. 

  “Oh, shut up, Porky’s! This is revenge for calling her Wednesday Addams in front of Dean Anderson two-weeks ago,” Robin scolded. “Besides, you know you love us. If you didn’t, you would have still tried to go out with her.” 

  “Unfortunately, I do love you guys.” He grumbled half-heartedly.   “Well, I unfortunately love you too, Stevie-boy.”

[pigmonarch]

tfw sams undertayle is in Smash but you aren’t.

[axoxtxhxh]

Promise Me - Chapter 2 - The Fight

Summary: Armin convinced Reader to let him out for the day. On their way out, they get into some trouble and Reader gets hurt.

ArminxFem!Reader

Content: Blood, a little bullying, fighting, immigrant-hating (? I’m not really sure what to call it), me failing at using old-timey slang XD

Word Count: ~ 4,500

Armin’s eyes widened with excitement and he jumped up from where he was sitting. He was going to say something, but thought better of it. Standing quietly next to you with a huge grin on his face. He shook his hair out and smoothed it down and you felt a tiny twinge in your chest that forced you to smile. His innocence was always so endearing.

It was probably best that you didn’t both go out wearing scout regiment uniforms and you moved to the few extra articles of clothing you had next to the bed, digging around. The weather in this country was quite similar to Paradis and would have normally been warm at this time of year, but today was colder. The sun was hidden behind the clouds covering the sky and it looked as though there would be rain. If you didn’t actually need to go to the store, you probably would have skipped it on a day like this.

Unfortunately, all that was in the pile of extra clothing were short sleeves and thin shirts, the only clothing cheap enough for you to afford. They would have to work for now.

“What are you looking for?” Armin peeked over.

“We both can’t be out wearing our uniform,” you explained, “it’s bad enough that I wore it. Both of us wearing it together will look bad.”

You stood up holding a short-sleeved t-shirt, quickly removing your uniform shirt and handing it to Armin. He took it from you and folded it, replacing it in the bag while you put on the t-shirt.

“Ready?” You packed the small amount of change you had in your pants pocket.

“Won’t you be cold?” Armin worried. He didn’t mind wearing the t-shirt instead of you wearing it. He looked over your arms and really became aware just how much muscle you’d lost already.

“I’ll be fine. Let’s go.”

The walk to the store was only about ten minutes and not that scenic, but watching Armin look around in awe made the experience entirely different for you. He watched the people and cars moving around him quickly with a huge smile on your face and you smiled, feeling pretty happy that he convinced you to bring him along.

Armin couldn’t believe everything he was seeing. So many people, so many different people, all the cars, the food being sold on the street, everything was so new and amazing. He was breathing in the smells coming from the food vendors, barely wanting to blink in fear that he would miss something. He looked up to you and saw that you were smiling.

As you were walking, you thought about how strange it must be seeing the two of you together. You were definitely older than Armin, but not old enough for people to mistake you as his mother, maybe his young aunt. He was smaller than you as well, not just in height, but in build. Somehow, his black scouts uniform made him look bigger though.

The reactions of the people on the street were quite different today than they normally were. Maybe it was because it was a cloudy day and people knew rain would be coming in soon or maybe you did look different with Armin walking next to you, but everyone almost seemed friendlier.

There wasn’t a food stall that you passed that wasn’t saying ‘hello’ with a smile when you normally never even got a glance in your direction. A couple of them even gave Armin a free sample to taste which he accepted with an excited ‘thank you’ and shared with you while you walked. You kept looking over at him as he smiled at everyone with his big, blue eyes. It was definitely Armin that was making the difference. His less threatening face and cheerful look in his eyes was getting the attention of everyone you moved past.

You made it to the store and the lady behind the counter who usually paid no attention to you wasn’t any different from the rest of the town, happily greeting Armin with a welcoming smile on her face. You moved to the back of the store knowing what you needed and quickly grabbing it. There was no need to be out more than necessary. Armin took the supplies from you and you both went back to the counter.

“Looks like terrible weather today,” she said smiling at Armin.

“Rainy weather is nice with a cup of tea.” He smiled back.

“Such a positive way of thinking about it.” She rang up the items. “Are you guys from around here?”

“We’re just visiting,” he replied. You remembered another item you needed and quickly ran back to the aisle in the back, tucked all the way in the corner, ‘feminine products’. It was completely different here than back home. Each time you came back thinking they would restock what you were used to using, but it was only ever the same products. You grabbed a box at random and went back to the front.

“This one is my favorite,” the cashier was saying to Armin, “it’s perfect for days like today.”

“Thank you for the information!” His innocent smile was winning everyone over. She put it in the bag with your stuff and Armin spoke up to protest. “Oh, I’m sorry. We can’t pay for that.”

“No problem.” She winked. “It’s on the house.”

“Thank you!” Armin was beaming.

He looked back to you as you set your box of tampons on the counter, looking at the box, then back to you, concern hitting his eyes. You paid for the stuff and grabbed your bags, heading back out to the street.

“Wait… wait, Y/N.” Armin rushed next to you, taking the two small bags from you. “I can carry these for you. You should rest.”

“What for?” You kept walking.

“Your condition.” His eyes were wide, still full of worry.

“Trust me—” You tried not to laugh at his concern. “—I’m fine. Besides, the bags aren’t even heavy.”

“Even still, I will—”

“What do we have here?” A voice called from a group of older boys just outside the store. Both Armin and you turned to see who they were talking to. “It looks like a couple out-of-towners.”

The group of boys laughed and that’s when you knew they were talking about you and Armin. You turned Armin around to keep walking.

“Hey, blondie. Nice outfit.” Another voice called. You stopped where you were standing. Armin turned to grab your hand, but you stayed there.

“Looks like we got a bearcat on our hands, fellas.” The group laughed.

“Don’t listen to them.” Armin was pulling you, but you weren’t budging.

“Come on, you got something to say?” The boys kept jeering.

“Don’t tell us you’re going to listen to that little guy.” Another boy taunted, throwing an empty can at you, just missing your head.

You turned around quickly, walking over to them and narrowing your eyes.

“Is there a problem?” You asked, taking time to glare at each of them.

There were four boys. They each looked to be around eighteen, maybe nineteen. They were clearly bored and looking for someone to bother. If they wanted a fight, you would give them one. It had been a while since you sparred. Why not take out some aggression on some punk kids.

“As a matter of fact—” the boy sitting on the table stood up, “—there is. We don’t like your kind coming over to our country and stinking it up.” “Our kind?”

“Yeah, foreigners.” He spit whatever it was he was chewing right next to your foot on the ground. “You’re leaving a mess.”

“I think you’re mistaking me for your friend there.” You nodded at the one who threw the can.

“Whatchu mean?” He spit off to the side again and you clenched your jaw.

“The porky ashcan sitting behind you.”

All the boys stood up at that and the spitting one calmed them down, putting his hands up until they settled.

“I think you need to be more careful with who you’re calling a porky ashcan.” He narrowed his eyes and spit, this time right in front of you, the splotch landing directly on your shoe. You moved quickly forward, but Armin was faster, standing in between the two of you and holding you back with his hand.

“Wait! Wait! We will be more careful.” He was looking at you, then turned to look at the boys. “She’s just tired. It’s making her angry. We will be more careful.”

“Looks like the blondie can tame the bearcat.” The spitter smiled an ugly smile.

“We’re sorry to bother you.” Armin nodded and pulled you along. You glared at the spitter until Armin pulled you far enough away and you both continued along the sidewalk.

“Why did you do that?” You griped. “You realize I could take them. Easily.”

“We fight titans. I don’t doubt your abilities.” His voice was low. “But you can’t just lose your temper like this every time you get a bit upset.”

“A bit upset??” You turned to look at him, your eyes wide. “He threw garbage at us, called us names and spit on me. I am more than ‘a bit upset’.”

“Let’s just get back.” Armin’s walked quickly, the smile on his face from earlier was gone.

You sighed as you followed him. Were you getting irrationally angry? It seemed like an appropriate amount of anger to you. They were punk kids that probably needed a lesson anyway. You looked over your shoulder, seeing them following you both. They might actually get that lesson if they stick close.

Before you even had the chance to prepare a plan, one of them ran forward, pushing Armin and he tripped, falling forward into the sidewalk.

“Armin!” You ran down to help him sit up and checked his face. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” His cheek was bleeding, scratched on the rough surface of the sidewalk. You were seething, fists shaking, breathing heavily and unsuccessfully trying to control your anger. Armin could see how upset you were and held your hand. “Y/N, I’m okay. Don’t do anything.”

You stood up and turned around, shoving your fist in the face of the first boy you saw, the porky ashcan. His head flew back and he fell to the ground, knocked out. The other boys started getting loud, yelling threats and running at you. You moved away from Armin and drew their attention to the little junkyard area behind you.

The second boy made his way over, fists flying and you ducked and dodged until you got him in the stomach and a kick to the face where he doubled over, falling to the ground.

The next one was coming at you with a misplaced kick and you laughed at him, making him angrier until he was close enough for you to grab his collar and headbutt him, knocking him out cold.

The spitter was last, walking up to you with a confidence you could tell he didn’t earn. You hit him and he quickly shook it off. He must have been hit before, familiar with the feeling and not as shocked as the others were. He grabbed the collar of your shirt and lifted you up. You had to admit, you weren’t exactly a lightweight, the guy had some muscle.

Picking you up was a mistake though. You quickly threw your leg over his shoulder and shifted the weight, taking him down until you were straddling him, one more close hit and he was out too. You smiled, standing up and wiping your hands. You were about to turn around to head back to Armin when porky ashcan tackled you, knocking you down and into a metal shard sticking up from the ground.

“FUCK!” You screamed. You were panting when porky ashcan climbed off of you and the other boys woke up. Seeing what happened and watching the blood soak into your white shirt, they all fled, leaving you lying there.

“Y/N!” Armin ran over, helping you sit up.

“Shit.” Your breathing was shallow and quick, sharp pain stabbing your lungs as you shook, trying to grip the edge of the shard. It wasn’t thick, but it went clear through the side of your lower abdomen. “Is it all the way through?”

You lifted up the side of your shirt to take a look. Armin knelt down next to you, holding your hip and helping you lift your shirt.

“Yeah.” His eyes were wide. Armin didn’t even need to lift your shirt to know it was straight through, the back of your shirt stained with blood.

“Help me get it out.” You leaned forward, resting your head on his shoulder.

His hands were shaking as he reached forward, gripping the edge sticking out of your stomach. He wiped the beads of sweat that formed on his upper lip with the back of his hand and shifted his legs a bit. He didn’t want to do this. He reallydidn’t want to do this, but he couldn’t ask you to do it.

He gritted his teeth, forcing the water sitting in the corners of his eyes to roll down his cheeks and he blinked to clear his vision then pulled. Quickly, and yet somehow so slowly, and with a dragged-out groan from you, the shard was out of your stomach and Armin set it to the side, resting both of his hands on your shoulder to help steady you.

“Fucking shit,” you breathed. “Damn it.”

The cut wasn’t that big, mainly hitting the bulk of muscles you had at your side, but it was bleeding quite a bit. This is exactly what you didn’t need right now. You didn’t need something slowing you down, something stopping you from being at your best. You took a deep breath, Armin still examining how bad the cut was.

“I think you need stitches.” He wiped his eyes harshly on the back of his sleeve.

“I’ll be fine.” You winced as you dropped the shirt back down, lightly pressing on the cut.

“You can’t beat an injury just by being strong, Y/N. You need stitches.” Armin stood up. “I’ll be right back.”

“Armin, where are you going? Armin!” You called after him, but he was already out of view and most likely nearing out of earshot. You had no idea how he had that much energy, but you didn’t have time to think about it. You couldn’t decide if it was better to stay sitting how you were or to get moving. There was no way you would be able to help Armin if he did get in trouble. The best way to help was not sit around and take your time.

You slowly stood yourself up, the twisting and stretching starting to pull at the cut causing your vision to go white. You stopped midway, wincing and taking a deep breath, then getting yourself to fully stand up. You kept pressure on the wound and walked back to pick up the bags and slowly made your way back to your abandoned building.

You were definitely losing blood. You could feel it pooling in your hand as you held your stomach, but it wasn’t enough to prevent you from moving, though moving was only contributing to the continuous flow of blood to the cut.

It was only a couple more minutes until you would reach the building and you could rest. You took a deep breath, your feet starting to drag slightly as you fought your mind wanting your body to sleep.

You could barely hear Armin’s voice yelling for you behind you. In your attempt to slow down and turn, you lost your balance and started falling. Armin quickly ran forward and caught you.

“What the hell are you doing?!” His face was right in front of yours, eyes bright blue and glassy. His jaw was clenched in anger. “Why are you trying to carry all this and walk when you’re injured? Are you crazy?”

Seeing him yelling at you only made you smile, your vision going black shortly, body limp, before returning and you blinked yourself back.

“We need to get back,” you mumbled. Armin put you on his back and grabbed the bags, moving as fast as he could back to the building. Thankfully, the cloudy weather sent most people inside and walking through the final small streets weren’t as difficult.

Armin managed to get everything, including you, back up the stairs and moved you to the bathroom, setting you against the sink.

“I think this might hurt.” He worried.

“I promise you, I’m already in pain.” You pulled off your shirt. “Just get it over with so I can lay down.”

Armin washed his hands and wet the small rag he had with him, bringing it to the wound and wiping gently, trying to watch your reactions.

“Fuck,” you grunted through gritted teeth. He lightened the pressure of the towel and ran the water through it, squeezing it out and wiping again. You watched as he quickly wiped his eyes with his shirt sleeve. “You don’t have to cry, I’m fine.”

“I’m not…” He looked up and met your eyes, sniffling. “I’m just worried.”

“It’s okay, Armin.” He looked back down and continued cleaning the wound with the wet towel before moving to the smaller cut in the back.

He knelt down in front of you, doing his best to stitch the gash closed, thankful it was a clean cut. He continued looking up as he worked, watching as you closed your eyes and your body swayed woozily. He wasn’t the best at medical aid, but you had both certainly stitched a cut or two while out on a mission. As he finished up the stitch, the bleeding slowed and he let out a small sigh.

He had managed to find some stitching supplies at the store and the lady working there was nice enough to give them to him for free. He knew you would most likely need some sort of antibiotic, but hoped the cleaning he did would be enough for now.

He finished up the stitches in the back and helped you to the bed. The second your body hit the blankets, you passed out.

You began to lose track of time as you came in and out of consciousness, each time asking Armin how much time had passed. By the end of the second day, you were more aware and able to stay awake.

“You need to try and eat something,” he suggested, handing you a piece of stale bread.

You refused the food and he leaned over you to check on the progress of healing.

“Please at least drink some water.” He handed you a cup and you went to grab it as he laid your shirt back down.

“G—damn it!” You grimaced. “Don’t push so hard.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He frowned, worrying about how much worse the pain is getting instead of better. He put his hand on your shoulder and you fell back asleep.

You woke up in the middle of the night, sweating and in extreme pain. There was a pulsing heat coming from your side and you were shaking as you moved to sit up, a wave of nausea passing over you as you leaned your back against the wall. It was cold and actually helped the heat you felt pouring over you.

You forced yourself to take quiet, deep breaths in order to not wake up Armin. You could easily fall back asleep. So easily you were fairly certain you hadn’t been sleeping at all, but passing out from the pain. Up until now you had been able to get up and use the bathroom yourself, but right now you weren’t even sure you could stand up by yourself.

You took another deep breath, bending your legs in front of you and leaning against the wall behind you to get yourself to slide up the wall, but it was no use. There was no way you were going to stand on your own. You moved your hand to Armin, trying to call his name through labored breaths. He opened his eyes and quickly sat up, seeing you sitting.

“I need to pee.” You tapped his hand lightly with your own.

“Do you want me to bring a bag or something?”

“I don’t think we’re there yet.” You tried to laugh, but only a puff of air came out. “I just need help to the bathroom.”

Armin nodded and moved closer to you. He hooked his hands under your armpits and lifted as you used your legs to help, whimpering at the pull against the laceration. As soon as you were upright, he wrapped your arm over his shoulder and helped move you to the bathroom.

The building didn’t have the greatest bathroom, but it did have separate stalls which was helpful if you and Armin needed to use the bathroom at the same time. That had yet to happen, but it was still nice. It was also helpful having indoor plumbing, something you both weren’t familiar with.

Armin sat you down and closed the door, waiting sleepily on the other side.

“How long were you awake?” He asked, yawning through his question.

“Not long.”

“Maybe we should clean the wound a little while you’re up.” You opened the door and he turned around to help you to the sink. Armin had been suspecting that it wasn’t healing properly. Pain would have been normal, but not the amount you had been in.

He leaned you up against the cold wall in between the two sinks and lifted your shirt. You could hear his quiet gasp as he looked at wound. Perfect.

“Tell me if it hurts when I touch it.” He leaned over and started just resting his hand on the front of your stomach, far from the actual cut which was closer to your side. He continued moving it, pressing lightly as he slid it more towards your side, but higher up, just under the band of your bra. At this point, it just felt like his hand on your skin.

Armin was doing his best to slowly approach the red streaks that were creeping out from the wound. It definitely looked bad. The scab was big, wider than it was the day before, pus leaking through the cracks in it. Thin red streaks were appearing on the edges. He lowered his hand to your waist, sliding back towards the wound and you winced, your body flinching away from his hand.

“Maybe it’s better if you clean it?” He stood up straight. “I’m worried it will hurt if I do it.”

“It’s okay.” You nodded. “I can handle it.”

Armin quickly washed his hands and you braced yourself over the sink. The moment he brought his hands to your waist, the stinging pain of the water and the weight of the pressure had you gripping the sink so tightly your knuckles were white.

Armin lightened his touch, watching your ab muscles flex as your breathing picked up.

“I’m sorry.” He pulled his hand away to get more water.

“Just… do it… quickly.” You could barely separate your teeth to talk. Armin finished up and patted you dry and you both moved back to the bed.

A couple hours later, the sun had barely risen, small slivers of light shining through the window above you. You were sitting against the wall, having trouble breathing. Armin sat in front of you, his eyes watering and trying to think of anything he could do for you.

Your skin had paled significantly, lips white and chapped. You were constantly sweating at this point and somehow still managed to feel cold and hot. The pain was nearly unbearable.

“I don’t know what to do.” He held your hand, his own hand shaking as he tried to calm you.

“It’s okay,” you breathed, “we need to… if I pass out again… you have to find a way…”

You had no idea how to explain to him that he had to keep going, even if you wouldn’t be able to help him.

“Y/N, no! You have to get better.” He begged.

“Armin, I—"

“Armin?” Both of your heads shot up at the unfamiliar voice ringing quietly through the room. Armin quickly turned around. It was still too dark to see anything farther in front of them.

Armin grabbed a stick from next to the bed and held it in his unsteady hands, aiming at the direction of the voice.

“I’m not here to hurt you.” The voice called.

You still couldn’t see the owner of the voice, but you could tell it was a man, his accent different from the other people in the country.

“Who—who are you?” Armin stepped forward.

“I can come closer so you can see me.” The man took slow steps closer to them, stepping into the bit of light they had. He was maybe in his mid-to-late forties with dark features and tanned skin. Armin squinted a bit, trying to get his eyes to focus on the man’s face.

“Fran—Francisco?” His voice shook and the man smiled.

“Yes, you remember me.” The man stepped forward a bit more and Armin stiffened, stepping back, closer to you. As if right on cue, you coughed. “I can see your friend is sick. I only want to help.”

“How did you know we were here?” Armin asked, his voice firmer than it was before.

“After I gave you those shoes, I wanted to make sure you were okay.” The man stepped forward again and Armin stepped closer, lifting the stick to threaten him. The man lifted his hands in reassurance that he wasn’t there to threaten you both. “I was watching you for the last couple days. I only want to help.”

The man took another step forward, only a couple feet from them now and Armin was starting to worry. He knew this man, but only as much as the five-minute conversation they had to learn each other’s names. He had no idea what he wanted from you both.

“Stay back!” He shook the stick.

“Okay, okay.” The man stepped back and lowered himself to the ground, sitting. “I just want to talk. I can see your friend is hurt. I can help her. I have a friend who’s a doctor.”

Armin’s eyes had been watering and he wiped them on the back of his hand, looking back to you, barely conscious, and turning back to Francisco.

“She needs a hospital, Armin.” His voice was calm. “I can help her.”

Armin couldn’t think. He needed time to think things through. He looked back to you, you were dying. You were definitely going to die if you didn’t get help, but he didn’t know that this man was actually going to be the help you needed. He brought his hands to his head, groaning through his clenched jaw. His mind was running wild. He just needed time to think.

“Armin…” your voice was weak, raspy and tired, barely audible, but the moment you spoke, he turned around, kneeling down to you.

“What do I do, Y/N?” He wiped the hair out of your face.

“We don’t have a choice. Let’s go with him.”

Francisco started standing up at your words, staying back until Armin told him it was okay to come closer. Your eyes closed as you slowly lost consciousness again, but not before hearing Armin’s voice in your ear.

“I won’t leave your side, Y/N. I promise.”

[stalsprings]

Its time for me to spout a bunch of nonsense about my kids and then disappear

Nessie boy <3

His lack of emotion besides smile or frown he is completely head empty

Goes from using two hands to one hand SSB4 -> SSBU (More adept PSI user maybe)

His idle animation (thinking) Could be concentrating perhaps mind reading or allusion to placing the soundstone to his head

Shorter than toon link, not that I draw them on model

Does that look back thing Mega, Young, Toon, and Link do - what's he looking for? (Lucas does the foot thing TL and YL do too its 😭)

His accent is baller hope he never stops

Exploded a stone statue with his mind but won't kill real Porky because why would he I would :'(

Young Link ( ͒꒪̛ཅ꒪̛ ͒)

Looks tall! I don't think hes taller than he was in Melee but he looks less small. Must be all that Lon Lon milk🦵

Taller than Mario and Sonic and I think its great

He's the only one (?) who doesnt get a peaceful sleep,, seems like he always has nightmares :(

Pink, orange, and teal colors are really good additions (and the teal one has pants/leggings my son cold)

Unfortunate that they couldn't use Fierce Deity as a Final Smash or costume but hey he's in the game and that's all I care about

His lil nose flick victory pose feels like something Sonic would do and he looking cocky - Speaking of Sonic his tail wags when he crouches ;;;;-;;;;

He's got some of the most intense screams (HWs is an even better example) and i constantly remember that he is not OK

He's what canonically eight or something like that and therefore he is the most baby despite that I make him older than that my ages are 🌀funky🌀 and you have to live with that

Pit/Dark Pit :^)

We all know Dark Pit uses more intense eyeliner but the tiny lashes on both of them gets me

I hate they got rid of the red and pink colors for Pit and Pittoo may they rest in peace (On the other hand they fixed Dark Pit's colors between games so i GUESS something good happened)

Kazuya throwing Pit off the cliff-

Pit talking about Young Link and having his own existential crisis (imagine his reaction to the entire zelda timeline)

So the japanese voices,,, Dark Pit's Star KO sounds eerily similar to a villain scream he might as well be a member of Team Rocket

Dark Pit cutting in for Wolf's guidance JUST to say he's not buddy-buddy with Pit

Dark Pit and Pit should only ever fight on Palutena's Temple or the Fountain of Dreams. You're mind will be blown when you find out the reason why

Sometimes I wish Viridi was playable so I could bully Pit and Palutena for their unreasonable rudeness at Arlon

And I've already said this moons and moons ago but again Dark Pit and Young Link stand in almost the same position in their art I swear they're besties

Toon Link (arguably my favorite????)

A lot of his animations were updated between Four and Ultimate and i mean look at him

His hair actually moves like hair without being as weird looking as it was in Brawl (sorry if you like the Brawl models but they kinda dirty love despite it being the best game IMO)

Young Link's Triforce explodes into what looks like shards of glass, while Toon Link's explodes into cheese triangles

HIS FEET CAN WE PLEASE TALK ABOUT HIS FEET THEY'RE LITTLE NUBS ITTY BITTY TINY BABY FEET

They changed his down smash and I will never forgive them >:( Forward's okay though

If ONLY they added that terrifying Monster Hunter X Toon Link as an alternate costume it would have been real cute but instead there are three greens

I never understood why Toon Link's Dair was the most straightforward yet Link bounces,, shouldn't Toon Link be the one that bounces???? And why isn't he in Mario Kart

[popculturebuffet]

Tex Avery Birthday Spectacular!

Hello all you happy people! And welcome to a celebration of the only cartoon director I knew as a kid and one of the finest whose ever lived, Mr. Tex Avery. 

Avery is a legend in the animation industry and rightly so. Starting out at a few other studios, and loosing sight in one of his eyes due to some tomfoolery at one, Tex was annoyed with the restrctive enviorment and eventually found his way to Termite Terrace, the animated shorts wing of Leon Schislenger Productions, aka the future Warner Brothers Studios and the makers of Looney Tunes. And his impact on the franchise is vast, cannot be overstated and I only learned about just how much recently: The man created Daffy Duck and Bugs Bunny, created the prototype for Elmer Fudd, and created the design for Porky we’re all far more familiar with. 

Eventually though while he was happy there, his career when ended when he eventually got into a squabble with Leon schsinger over the ending of “The Heckling Hare” and left soon after. Given he got a four week unpaid suspension for it , a bit extreme given all he’d given the studio, I can’t blame him. He instead went over to MGM who badly needed his wacky energy, and thus got to go as nuts as he wanted, with creative control a better budget and the result was his peak and classic characters like Red and my personal faviorite and personal boy: Droopy. I will try and do a birthday thing for him next month, we’ll see if my rather packed schedule will allow for it. Point is I watched the guys cartoons a lot as a kid between looney tunes and his shorts being repacked for the Tex Avery show in the late 90′s, and until recently I had no idea the depth and scope of his career: The guy gave looney tunes it’s standard fourth walll breaking and made it a huge part of the industry, and he was the one to hlep htem break out of being a Disney knockoff and into what we know today. The guy has my utmost respect so today I honor him as the first animator to get one of my birthday specials: As is my standard ten shorts, my patreons get to pick one each (I now have two but she start’s next month so her benefits will too) if they so choose (Kev opted out of the porky pig one next week) and I went to my friend blah for a recomendation as he’s an avid fan of the golden age of animation and thus usually has a really good choice up his sleeve. Now that’s out of hte way join me under the cut for some shenanigans as old tex would want it that way. 

1. The Gold Diggers of 49 (1935)

This was Tex Avery’s first short with warner and the first of his I could find, not ot mention his first time working with Chuck Jones and Bob Clampett, who he’d mentor and go on to be the heart and soul of Looney Tunes and define the characters Tex created. And since this is more significant than his earlier work i’m coutning it as his first. And as a start it’s.. ehhhhhhh. 

I don’t blame him for it though.  Most don’t hit it out of hte park their first time up to bat, and frankly the deck was stacked against him. He was saddled with Beans the Cat...

No one brak no one. He was part of an attempt by warner to create a new star as part of a Little Rascals/Our Gang style group of kids debuting in the short “I Haven’t Got a Hat”. This short is notable not for Beans, who no one cares about, but for the debut of Looney Tunes first star: Porky Pig. Porky was just one of the various characters but the only one audiences really liked. It took some time for Warner to get the hint though, hence Beans starring here and Porky playing his girlfriend’s father.. and also now being much older than him for some reason. 

So instead of being a Little Rascals ripoff bean is now a mickey mouse ripoff, as the short gives me mickey mouse vibes.. but without the things that made those shorts actually good and feels mostly built on studios trying to make what they think audiences will like. There’s sparks of waht Tex would become.. but just not enough wiggle room for him to make something special. Also porky looks and sounds weird in this one and Bean’s girlfriend has a REALLY annoying voice. Oh and two horrible Asian stereotypes, because it was acceptable at the time but lord was it never okay. Then again I should be at least mildly greatful none of the shorts had blackface.. because tex apparently REALLY had a problem with that, something I obviously didn’t know as a kid as they edited it out but given most of his MGM shorts have “blackface edited out of x version”, yeahhh.... I may like the guy, quite a bit and feel those gags weren’t done out of malice.. but it dosen’t make them okay, they were never okay and he should’ve done better. 

2. I Love to Singa (1936) Thankfully our next entry is 800% better, as we get a classic from my childhood and probably multiple childhoods. Admittedly part of the reason this one stuck in my head is the title song, sung by a young jazz singing owl whose dad doesn’t like that he sings Jazz instead of classical, enters a contest and nearly looses singing classical to please his dad only for his dad to intervene and finally accept his son. It’s a wonderful story of acceptance with some decent gags, beautiful animation and one hell of a title track that will probably never leave my head. The song is really what makes this short and sometimes that’s okay. Also just to note so someone else doesn’t: This short was a parody of the Jazz Singer one of the first talkie’s.. and also a film that uses blackface and whose 80′s remake bafflingly also uses blackface for some reason. Yes really. 

3. Tortoise Beats Hare (1941)

One of Tex’s only four Bugs Shorts.. but given 3/4 of them are certified classics, and one of them involving a horrible stereotype.. to the point it’s part of the rightfully infamous “Censored 11″ and the ONLY one involving Bugs Bunny. 

So as I said, Tex has a bad history with casual racism, and while it was the style at the time and I don’t THINK he was actively malicious towards black people.. it doesn’t make some of his work any less harmful. The rest of his bugs work though is remembered for the right reasons: his first appearance, and early classic we’ll get to next.. and this standout everyone who saw it as a kid or an adult fondly remembers. 

You all know the premise: Bugs finds out, in an utterly brilliant wall shattering bit at the start where he reads off the crew names and then the title, that this picture will have him beaten by a turtle and taking offense to that challenges the guy. This is honestly one of the few Bugs shorts where he’s the out and out villain of the picture. He’s doing this race purely out of ego, yells at Cecil whose perfectly nice in this one, and in general is the bully set up for a fall he’d later be famous for taking on. But it works, both because this si early in bugs career so it’s entirely in character, and because Mel just really sells the obnoxiousness while still being funny. 

This short also has one of Tex’s trademark setups as this is essentially a prototypical droopy cartoon: A meek, goofy voiced protagonist whose shorter than his large obnoxious enemy and who torments him by showing up every where he’s going to be and casually doing it. Cecil even does so using an army of fellow turtles with Droopy later using a similar trick in one of his shorts. As a big Droopy fan i’m clearly not complaining and while Droopy would do it better, this short’s still a classic for a reason with tons of great bits and is a fun break from the usual bugs setup, though in full fairness the usual bugs setup is still solid gold so take that how you will. 

4. The Heckling Hare (1941)

Originally I was going to have Daffy in Hollywood in this spot as I thought it was on Max, it was not,  so I swapped it out with his final bugs cartoon. For the record his first, and Bugs, is being saved for Bugs birthday this summer. And honestly i’m glad I did because this was 7 mintues of pure joy that has another setup that Tex himself and other Looney Tunes animators would resuuse: Bugs being pitted up against a far dumber antagonist. One who often still fully deserves it but allows him to just have fun for several minutes at this dumb bastard’s expense. It works well here, with tons of clever gags, my faviorite being the two doing dumb faces with each other only for bugs to stop and pull out a sign as seen right above. 

It’s also an approriate capper to our warner made Tex shorts for the day, as this would be the one that got him fired. He and Schisnger argued over it and he got suspended as I mentioned and I found it again a bit fucking extreme. So did Tex and after a handful of shorts elsewhere, he’d move over to MGM, whose cartoons would ironically be bought up by warner. They needed a shot in the arm to compete with Disney and Warner and Tex was happy to provide hte needle filled with nonsense. And the results.. are pure gold. 

5. Dumb Hounded (1943)

I’ll admit as a kid I didn’t know Tex’s MGM shorts were theatrical, or any shorts but somehow I knew they weren’t looney tunes. Besidds obviously having hteir own show they just had their own tone and pacing and style. While the Looney Tunes aren’t bad, at all honestly, Tex’s work here was in a class by itself with MGM gladly giving him a higher budget and even more creative freedom. And the results speak for themselves and one of those results is one of if not my faviorite classic cartoon character. And since I might not be able to get to his birthday with one of these next month, though i’m certainly going to try march is just VERY VERY FULL. Anyways point is our happy hero was introduced here. And given i’m frequently depressed and often withdrawn, not that you could tell from my reviews here, I related to this depressed bulldog who always won anyway despite being an outsider, finding love, sucess and always beating a much larger, much more assholish antagonist. But Droopy is good on his own merits as his shorts are just that funny. 

This was true from Day One as dumb hounded is fucking perfect: The Wolf that Avery always used in his cartoons escapes from jail and is hunted by bloodhounds including our boy, who charmingly introduces himself with “You know what, i’m the hero”. From there it’s a simple setup but a great one as Droopy finds the guy.. then chases him from here to enternity with one amazing gag after another. Simple, utterly hilarious and the dawn of a legend, with the ending having Droopy go a bit nuts after getting his reward money before returning to his usual demeanor “You know what? I’m happy” So am I bud, so am I. 

6. Red Hot Riding Hood (1943)

Yup same year. Tex hit the ground sprinting. This one is his signature MGM toon and for good reason. Using his usual forth wall breaking style, both the wolf and red riding hood rebel when it opens with a typical telling, so it changes to a 40′s nightlife setting: Grandma lives in a penthouse and is man hungry, Red is a fanservicey night club act and the Wolf is a sexually harassing asshole who chases after here and has some over the top reactions to her that are iconic in some’s mind.

The short is gorgeously animated with Red’s dance sequence and Wolfie’s reactions being the highlight and the short isn’t as bad as it could be as the wolf is treated as a scumbag for hitting on her and generally being a creep. SO the first two thirds aren’t bad with nice touches like the narrator clearly improvising the new story. It’s just badly hampered by the last half where Grandma sexually harasses Wolfie and it just doesn’t work. This double standard stuff annoys me and “haha get it it’s funny when a woman stalks a man” isn’t funny. Wolfie stalking her really isn’t that funny either it’s just not you know an entire third of the film. So a classic for a reason.. but one that really has degraded with time. Still worth analyzing and what not, just not great. 

7. Who Killed Who? (1943)

Yes still. It was a good year. This is another one off like Red Hot Riding Hood and as is tradition since the Tom and Jerry one, my patreons each get to pick one and Kev selected this one. And this.. was a great choice. 

Seriously I could not stop laughing with a great gag a minute, WAY too many to mention, a classic ending, and just nothing but net the whole time. I don’t have much to say really.. but because this one’s just good. The whodunnit genre hasn’t really gone away, it’s cliches are welll known even today and this is a lovely parody of it that hits the ground running after a live action intro and runs right through the wall across a lake and straight into droopy “You moved.”. 

The only real observation I have other than “This is fucking awesome watch it immediately” is that the villian looks exactly like the Phantom Blot. Who knew the Phantom Blot was a live action guy with a weird haircut the whole time huh?  Seriously this one is a masterpiece, an instant faviorite, and I highly recommend it. 

8. Screwball Squirrel (1944)

As you can probably guess by how I lead it in this one is not very good. It is tex TRYING to make a bugs or daffy type character again and somehow failing at it. He created them, he did plenty of shorts like theirs with other characters and got how the cat and mouse antics of the old theatrical shorts worked.. so I have no idea how this one happened. 

I’m really not overselling it: The short is about Screwy, who hyjacks it from a cute widdle bunny clearly parodying bambi.. who he beats the shit out of, then decides to get things going asks a dumb dog to hunt him, then insults him to provoke him to attacking him. He then spends the entire short tormenting the poor dumb bastard who again HE PROVOKED. It feels like a poor imitation of dumb hounded, as while Bugs clearly outclassed the dog there, he’d die if he lost, so while he was punching down, he clearly didn’t have a choice and you can’t honestly blame him. Here, Screwy is fine, he just wants someone’s head to fuck with and spends a whole short torturing him. We don’t even get catarsis as while the dog does catch him at the end via  weird gag, they end up deciding to beat up the bunny instead. 

His voice is also just the worst, just utterly grating and making me wish an anvil woudl fall on HIM instead. Screwy would return for some other shorts but I have no idea why. This was easily the weakest of these ten shorts and I will probably not return to the guy next year.

9. Bad Luck Blackie (1949)

This is one i’d forgotten till I got a ways in. It’s also weirdly one of the only MGM Tex shorts on HBO Max as this was included in the Tom and Jerry collection for some reason, the dog in it clearly isn’t the tom and Jerry verison of spike... though the dog Droopy fought a lot was indeed called spike. Yes that is confusing, no I don’t know why MGM thought this was a good idea. 

 As a result though I have been saving giving out about this till now but seirously , put the tex avery shorts on HBO Max. Their on Blu-Ray, their on boomerang, especially Droopys. I do not get why they aren’t on here. I’m tired of them holding things out for the boomerang app when not everyone subscirbes to that. Let me have my morose dog dammit. 

That giving out aside i’m glad this one caught my eye via i’ts weird name as it’s another masterpiece. It also does what one Tom and Jerry short I reviewed, the one where tom’s a millionare,  earlier this month failed to: properly make it’s antagonist loathsome enough to deserve the parade of abuse he gets. With that one Tom is tourturning jerry for like 30 seconds, but Jerry torments him for most of 5 minutes. 

Here we get about two minutes of our lead kitten getting torremnted by a mean bulldog. It’s not only still a bit entertaining to lessen the horror just enough to be watchable but not enough to make the bulldog likeable, but it makes what happens for the rest of the short oh so fucking satsifying. While the previous short today really didn’t get the karmic ballance neded for a good classic screwball comedy short this one overwhelmingly does.

Our kitten gets some help in the form of Blackie, a professional black cat who agrees to turn the tables, sauntring across to a wonderfully catchy tune. any time the little guy whistles. The result from there is 5-6 nonstop minutes of comedy genius, as Tex finds new and creative ways for the cat to come out of nowhere, and even shakes things up to keep it intresting towards the end iwth the dog getting the whistle.. only for it to still not work out, and for our little kitten to get his revenge at last by painting himself black after the bulldog paints blackie white. As should be obvious by now, it’s really good, showing Screwball Squirrel was the exception not the rule. In general Tex was this good during his mgm and when he was at his peak we got gems like this. Truly sensational, watch it if you have max it’s under the tom and jerry section for some reason. 

10. T.V. of Tommorow A decent one I remember seeing as a kid. Not much to say though, it’s mostly a bunch of gags about “future” tv’s based on their viewer’s needs. Some good stuff.. not as good as most of what was here today but still better than the worst of it and still very memorable and part of a memorable tetralogy i’ll probably come back to when I do Tex’s birthday again next year. Not a bad note to end on though. 

Overall these shorts show just how strong a creator tex was, gleefully taking convention and ripping it to tiny pieces. As i’ve mentioned many times i’ll be coming back to his work next year.. and probably be watching a hell ofa lot more in the time between. Might even do a second special on him in between birthday ones. We’ll see how this does. The Tom and Jerry one sadly wasn’t quite the hit I hoped. 

Until then I have many other reviews. And since Today (This review is late) was supposed to be the 90′s tom and jerry movie but that turned out not to be on Max for some reason. I still plan to cover it some day i’ll just have to find it and buy it first. But tommorow if I have the time i’ll be continuing the Lena retrospective with an intresting little side trip. So until then, i’ts been a pleasure and you know what? Thanks for reading. 

[ducktracy]

179. rover’s rival (1937)

release date: october 9th, 1937

series: looney tunes

director: bob clampett

starring: mel blanc (porky, puppy), robert c. bruce (rover)

at long last, rover’s rival makes history before the short even begins: this is the first cartoon to debut the opening using “the merry go round broke down”, as well as the first cartoon to have porky bursting out of the drum at the end (which i believe is animated by sid sutherland? for the 1937-1938 season anyway). the merry go round broke down would be the longest running theme song—even the merrie melodies would drop “merrily we roll along” in favor of the former in 1964. quite a feat indeed!

the cartoon itself is a fun one (as are the clampett porkys of the 1937-1938 season, a particularly strong one): porky is eager to teach his old dog rover new tricks, despite the old saying. a plucky little pup is just as eager to out-perform the old pooch, much to the displeasure of porky and rover.

the structured, spherical, well-constructed close-up of porky as he peruses a book on how to teach your dog new tricks (by author clawed meatly, no less!) can only be attributed to john carey’s hand at the cartoon’s open. porky babbles on in excitement (”oh be-boy, here’s a honey of a-a trick to teach my deh-dee-deh-do-de-dee—eh-pooch!”), wasting no time to jump out of his chair and grab the necessary toys to entertain his pup. for an expository sequence, the scene flows quickly but smoothly, especially the scene where porky grabs the hoop and the ball to play with rover. there are no cuts, and he doesn’t stop to grab either—he just glides along, propelled by his giddiness.

juxtaposition is key to comedy, and here is no exception: clampett does a great job of building up to rover’s reveal. porky dashes to rover’s doghouse, calling fragmented commands to whatever lies within the kennel. “ol’ strongheart”, as porky calls him, is finally introduced with a triumphant fanfare. hold on the still of the doghouse, and our hero enters:

note how the book porky was reading wasn’t titled “new tricks to teach your old dog”. there are no clues that porky’s faithful companion is a withered, tired, geriatric old dog (except for maybe all of the positive reinforcement—that is, “ol’ strongheart”, the fanfare, porky’s excitement—which makes itself too good to be true). chuck jones is, of course, behind the animation of rover’s entrance. once again, part of the three key identifiers to chuck jones animation: dogs, drunks, and close-ups. sometimes all three!

porky tells rover that they’ll try a couple of easy tricks “to weh-warm up”. as rover follows his owner’s order to sit up, remnants of the more comic strip looking iwerks shorts sprinkle in to the animation of rover’s vertebrae cracking as he slowly sits up--little stars and lines (accompanied by treg brown’s excellent creaking sound effects) further just how weak and old porky’s faithful companion is. if we still had any doubt, our suspicions are confirmed as rover answers porky’s command to roll over in the voice of an old man’s (provided by robert c. bruce, who would narrate a good number of upcoming cartoons): “eeeeh?”

enter the antagonist, a perfect, pint-sized foil: rover’s rival, a tiny little pest of a pup who tinkers into the scene. he spots rover struggling to roll over and winks knowingly at the audience, jabbing a thumb in a gesture that reads “get a load of this guy!” interesting to note, they don’t cut away to the pup’s introduction--rather, the camera zooms in as the pooch gets closer to the action, a fade leading to the next shot. a subtle but nice move that brings the audience along with the pesky little rival and evokes a sense of involvement, menial as it may seem.

bobe cannon animates the close-up of rover struggling to roll over, repeatedly flopping to one side. the stray pup offers to display a shred of neighborliness by blowing on rover as he gets close to actually rolling over, once more tipping him back where he started. 

porky, undeterred, moves to a new tactic: the ol’ jump through the hoop trick. he signals for his faithful companion to do so, and is taken aback as the little pup jumps through instead. great joke after: porky eyes the now broken hoop, turning around as he curses “aww, neh-ne-nu-ne--shucks!” as he does so, the absence of the hoop reveals a metallic pan hanging on the side of the house, which rover (still following porky’s orders) crashes right into. wonderful timing and wonderful sound effects. 

the rival pooch approaches a dazed and confused rover (with a double exposure cuckoo clock springing out of rover’s head and cooing wildly to suggest as such), barking up a storm before snarling in a high pitched, nasally voice “ya old antique! why, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks! why don’tcha give yourself up?”

despite the pup’s incessant bullying, porky is still determined to go against the age old saying. as he offers for rover to catch a rubber ball, rover chews out the smug pup, raving about young whippersnappers. “watch THIS!” rover awaits the ball thrown into the air with an open mouth, leading to some prime scheme hatching opportunities for the pup. 

there’s some nice dry brush action to convey the movement as the puppy lugs a conveniently placed pumpkin and throws it into the air with a some effort, which lands squarely in rover’s maw (much to the bewilderment of porky.) dry brushing would be everywhere in the 40′s cartoons--and i say that lovingly, it’s an art!--but it’s awfully interesting to find it in a 30′s cartoon. you’d be amazed at the variety of ways it can convey speed or motion! 

john carey does some wonderful animation of the pup’s comeuppance, now touting the ball in its mouth and giving a self-satisfied, quiet “yea, man!” (a reoccurring catchphrase in the cartoons of the late ‘30′s) before launching into a showboating routine. he bounces the ball onto his back legs, juggling it and even turning into a seal--barks and all--as he balances the ball on his nose, putting poor old rover to shame. instead of having the pup act like a seal, his hind legs melt together to form an actual fin, pushing the gag further. it’s a great little detail, and the jaunty score of “’cause my baby says it’s so” serves as another plus.

ending the routine, the pup opts to berate rover more, who grows tearful from the barrage of insults. “you mean t’ say... i’m one of them thar... used-to-was-es?” the prick pooch imitates rover’s speech (and appearance, his face saggy and wrinkly--to quote the cartoons, “a reasonable facsimile”): “yes, i mean to say, you’re one of them there used-to-was-es!”

finally, porky intervenes: “hey, don’t eh-imic-eh-ick-eh... don’t imic-eh-eh... don’t mimic rover, he’s eh-see-eh-ss-ehh-sensitive!” so, of course, the pup magically gains a few pounds in the face to mirror porky, stuttering back in a nasally voice (more than normal) “eh-geh-geh-geh-gee, i’m sorry to hear eh-theh-theh-eh-theh-that!” he snarls at porky in comically ear-splitting volume, rendering porky hurt for a despair-filled two seconds. but, of course, he’s back to his excitable old self after he finds another trick for rover to do. 

clever decision to make the trick a “surprise”: we don’t find out what it is until after rover excitedly dashes over to porky (doing a running take in mid-air as he struggles to gain traction). the trick is simple: fetch the stick. porky tosses the stick, prompting the pup to lean up against porky’s belly nonchalantly and give a monotone, condescending countdown: “one... two... three... seven... eight... two... nine... ten...”

predictably, the puppy grows impatient, and darts off screen to outperform rover once more. rover, on the other hand, takes his sweet time picking up the stick, which proves to be to his detriment as the pup swoops in last second to grab it. i love the “shiver take” on the lower body of the pup as he slides away with the stick (another “yea, man!”, no less)--little touches like that to remind us that this is a ‘30′s cartoon are much appreciated, on my end at least. nevertheless, rover still goes in for the bite, spitting out a mouthful of dirt.

porky and the pup play a quick round of spiteful tug of war with the stick. porky manages to free the stick from the ever menacing jaws of the beast, insisting that it’s rover’s turn to get it. he throws it again, and this time rover does manage to grab it: but his dentures free from his mouth, clamping down on the immobilized stick on the ground, returning with a mouthful of nothing but saliva. pooch, on the other hand, returns the stick--dentures and all. this drawing speaks for itself in how funny it is, porky’s befuddlement always a plus.

rover inserts his dentures before getting the stick a third time, whereas porky pins down the pup (who’s winding up to retrieve it once more.) the timing of porky pinning the pup is excellent: the jump itself is only six frames, and all on ones, making it go by in an instant. treg brown’s thumping sound effect of porky pinning his entire weight down on such a small creature is the icing on the cake. 

seeing as this is a cartoon, and a warner bros. one at that, the stick lands in a site filled with dynamite. so, of course, it’s only logical for a senile old dog to confuse his stick with a stick of dynamite explicitly labeled as such. rover retrives the dynamite and brings it back to an overjoyed porky (holding the pup by the turtleneck). bobe cannon animates porky gloating to the pup: “see? rover got the s-eh-ss-ehh... he got the suh-eh-seh...” 

polite head pats from porky turns into porky thrusting rover’s face into the ground as he does a take, finally realizing that he’s holding ”DYNAMITE!!!” the dynamite physically clings to porky’s hand as he aimlessly thrashes around in attempt to throw it, finally managing to do so. the pooch runs off to catch it, whereas rover inquires “dynamite!?” and does some running of his own. 

dashing inside the house, rover plops himself into porky’s armchair with urgency as chuck jones animates the hilarious close-up of rover frantically thumbing through a dictionary, mumbling and sweating all the way. the dead-eye and reading glasses are the perfect touch to top off the gag. 

elsewhere, the pooch returns to porky with the dynamite, whispering another satisfied “yea, man!” as a job well done. porky is quick to throw the dynamite off into the distance, ordering “ee-eh-GO HOME, WILL YA!?” after the pup retrieves the dynamite once more, we’re treated with a GREAT scene by chuck jones as bob clampett’s love of magic tricks give us rapidly appearing dynamite sticks, pulled out of the infinite pockets of the pooch. chuck’s animation of porky frantically pulling on an interminable string of dynamite sticks (in the same manner of the old never-ending handkerchief trick) is especially smooth and a delight to see (animated on ones.) the upbeat score of “nagasaki” also compliments the scene nicely, reflecting the frenzied action. 

eventually, the altercation turns into a rapid fire throwing match between pig and pup, dynamite sticks flying. porky struggles to catch all of the sticks, but does so anyway. the nuisance of a pup adds insult to injury by sticking dynamite sticks in porky’s mouth and ears (which would be revisited 13 years later in chuck jones’ classic the ducksters), segueing into a standard but great gag: the pooch asks if porky has a match on him. porky thinks for a split second, and, out of the goodness (or, gullibility rather) of his heart, reaches into his pile of explosives and pulls out a match. 

the pooch lights all of the dynamite in porky’s possession as we cut to rover, still frantically thumbing through the D section in the dictionary. back to porky, who frantically scales a tree after recognizing his peril. the persistent puppy pops out from a bird’s nest full of baby birds, offering a terrified porky a plethora of dynamite sticks. with the same speed as he went up the tree, porky flies back down to the ground, where he STILL can’t catch a break. cue one of my favorite mel blanc deliveries as the pooch appears from the bottom of the tree, forking over a dynamite-lit birthday cake. porky rejects the pup’s birthday wishes with an ear-splitting “uh-teh-ee-eh-tee-eh-tee-ehTAKE IT AWAY!!!!!!!!!!!!”

once more to rover, who finally uncovers the definition of the elusive dynamite: “noun. ‘a high explosive.’ EXPLOSIVE!?” he runs like he’s never ran before as he darts out of the house. back to porky in a hilariously staged shot, praying incomprehensibly to himself as he’s surrounded in a barricade of dynamite, the sadistic puppy laughing and pointing at him in the process. 

thankfully, rover comes to the rescue: he scoops up the barricade of explosives, carrying the bundle in his mouth as he runs away to expose of the danger. of course, that doesn’t stop the puppy, who manages to lift rover up (with a gleeful grin towards the audience as he does so), turning him around and bringing him back to porky. porky tosses the dynamite away, inadvertently disposing of rover’s dentures along with the bundle. yet, like before, the pesky pooch returns with the dentures in his mouth, dynamite sizzling away in between the false teeth. 

some lovely, dimensional angles of the pup sweeping across the screen and into the foreground as he and rover engage in a high stakes game of tug of war. in ‘30′s cartoons, animation is bound to be rubbery, especially in a clampett cartoon, but the decision to turn the dynamite into the consistency of rubber to demonstrate the push and pull of the two forces is a nice touch. rover manages to grab a hold of the bundle of dynamite, his own dentures snapping him right in the nose.

the gag isn’t staged very well and gets lost in the action, but rover’s dentures fly into the air as he dashes away once more to dispose of the dynamite. the dentures land back on a nearby tree branch, snagging onto the pup’s tail and causing him to dangle aimlessly from the branch. the same type of gag would be used just a few months prior on ub iwerks’ porky and gabby, which clampett also had involvement in. as the cherry on top, rover returns briefly to shake porky’s hand in a sorrowful but respectful goodbye. porky covers himself just in time for the explosion offscreen, marked by an orchestral resolution chord and a sign from the dynamite site that lands conveniently in the scene: “WE’VE BLASTED!”

both porky and his sadistic little puppy friend are quick to rush to the scene of the crime. the drawing of rover lying flat on the ground is confusing at first glance: he’s supposed to be covered in dirt, but the transparency of the cel and two dimensional line work of the dirt covering him make it appear as though rover had been dismembered in the process--gruesome, isn’t it? nevertheless, the pup proves to be much more mournful than porky, actually displaying a shred of empathy as he tearfully chats up rover, blabbering on about how he didn’t mean any of it, rover is capable of learning new tricks, and that he’s “the best little stick-bringer-backer that ever was.”

as to be expected, rover pops up, perfectly fine, just in time for the iris out: “do ya mean it?”

bob clampett has the most porky entries out of any director, and while i frequent his the most, this is one i continue to forget about. which is a shame on my part, because it’s so much fun! right off the bat i say you should go watch this one, it’s a lot of fun. while it’s nowhere near as boundary breaking as clampett’s later films, it’s still rife with energy and life. i love how the gags are often pushed to being taken literally: the pup’s hind legs turning into a fin as he mimics a seal, his face contorting to match rover’s and porky’s, the “WE’VE BLASTED!” sign after warnings of “DANGER -- WE’RE GONNA BLAST” sprinkle up between shots, and so forth. moreover, there’s some fine animation in this one, from john carey and chuck jones especially. the seal scene with the pup and the never-ending dynamite are probably my favorites, though there are a ton of funny shots as is, such as the pup with the dentures and porky praying as the pup openly mocks him. 

of course, it’s not perfect--the animation is messier in some places than others, and you could argue that the back and forth structure of the gags could grow repetitive, but the benefits certainly outweigh the negatives. this is a fun early piece that reflects how far the cartoons have come, but also demonstrates that there’s much to look forward to it. go check it out!

link!

[stranger-writer]

A Bowers’ Bet (Part 2)

Thank you so much to everyone for all the love on Part 1! I’m not sure exactly how many, but this story will be a couple of parts! But for now, I hope you enjoy Part 2 :)

Summary: When Henry and Patrick make a twisted pact on who can steal Derry High’s most inexperienced student’s virginity first, they think it will be their most exciting game yet. But what happens when one starts to develop feelings, while the other is determined as ever to win, no matter what or who is standing in their way? 

A Bowers’ Bet Part 1

Juliet didn’t get much sleep that night as she tossed and turned with butterflies dancing around wildly in her stomach. She was nervous to see Henry Bowers the next day at school, knowing he would want an answer to his poorly written proposal. There was a part of her that she didn’t recognize, a side that wanted to so desperately say yes. But then she had to come back down to reality and remember who exactly she was getting herself involved with. Henry was the school's baddest bully, but then again, Henry, the boy who tortured kids for his own sick amusement, wrote her a poem? He was obviously no Robert Frost, but the fact that he made such a thoughtful effort made Juliet feel extremely compelled to want to figure Henry out.

Juliet huffed in frustration from her inconsistency of being able to find a comfortable position as well as her mind that wouldn’t seem to turn off, consuming her with countless possibilities and scenarios of what tomorrow could bring. Finally, she fights against the voices listing off all the reasons why she shouldn’t give Henry the light of day.

Alright, just one date Juliet, she thinks to herself. If it goes bad then you learned a lesson and never go out with him again. Simple as that. 

If only she had followed her intuition.

             ………………………………………………………………

Juliet stands at her locker, trying to think about anything else other than the inevitable interaction she will have to face with Henry today. She forces her mind to drift to other thoughts like what she’s going to get her best friend Jennifer for her birthday, or future assignments she wants to get a head start on, or maybe buying that jean jacket she saw in the shop downtown that’s placed in the front window.

All too soon, she slams her locker shut and Patrick is standing there, causing her shoulders to jump as she places her hand over her heart.

“Boo,” he flatly remarks, his smile growing wider as he knows he scared her.

“Ha-ha very funny Patrick,” she smiles while rolling her eyes a bit, turning around briskly to walk away from him. That is until a strong hand catches her wrist, preventing her.

“SO,” he states rather loudly, “I hear you have a little date with Bowers.”

Juliet was a bit confused since she didn’t necessarily give Henry a definite answer yet. However, little did she know, Henry couldn’t stifle his smugness for long before he bragged to his friends and lied, saying she had already said yes. Henry couldn’t wait to boast to Patrick about him being ahead of the game, however, it won't be too much longer until he painfully regrets that decision.

“He did ask me, yes,” Juliet answers, not wanting to give him too much information.

“Let me get this straight kitten. You turn me down because of my so called “reputation,” but want to go and fuck around with someone like Bowers? Did you hit your cute little head since the last time we talked?”

Juliet hated to admit it to herself, but Patrick actually kind of had a point. Were Henry and Patrick really so different? Patrick noticed the uncertainty in her eyes, realizing he’s starting to get through to her a little bit.

“The guy who beat up a kid so bad they had to go to the hospital,” Patrick states, staring off into space as if he’s in deep thought recalling past events. “The guy who tried to shoot a poor stray cat. The guy who carved his name using a knife into Ben Hanscom’s porky stomach till he was dripping blood.”

Juliet’s eyes widen, becoming horrified by the details of Henry’s severe cruelty that she was completely unaware of.

“I-uhm, I....” Juliet was at a loss for words.

“Bowers, man,” Patrick chuckles, interrupting her while he props his elbow up against the lockers. “He’s fucked up. I’ve done some wild shit in my lifetime, but him? Shit, Bowers makes me look like a fucking saint. I mean you should of heard the way he was talking about you last night. But oh well. I’m sure he’ll go easy on you.” Patrick immediately turns his back on her, about to walk away. He doesn’t even take one step before Juliet calls out to him.

“Patrick wait!”

He grins and softly titters to himself before turning around, changing his expression from coniving to concerned.

“What did he say about me?” 

Patrick’s plan worked, luring Juliet right where he wanted her. He was having trouble holding back his usual wide, eerie smirk.

“Geez, I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news or anything,” Patrick innocently shrugs, sticking his hands in his pockets.

“Can you tell me? Please,” Juliet begs, not realizing how much Patrick loved hearing the word fall from her lips.

"If you insist,” he huffs in fake disappointment, trying to act as if he wasn’t beaming with pure joy. “He just kept going on and on about how excited he was to get you alone so he could have his way with you.”

“What did he say ...exactly?”

“I believe some of his exact words were, “‘She looks like she has a good mouth to fuck,’ and ‘I bet I can get her to act like a whore,’ and uhm,” Patrick clears his throat, beckoning with his pointer and middle finger for her to come a bit closer as if this last part was top secret. “He said he thinks you’ll be easy because, you know, you’re a virgin and all.”

“He really said all of that?” Juliet asks astonished, her eyes like a puppy dog’s.

He nods his head in confirmation. “I know,” he scoffs. “What a pig right?” 

Juliet stares down at the tile floor, hating herself for being so naive that she can’t even stare Patrick in the eye. She glances up and from behind Patrick’s shoulder, she sees Henry from afar. He must have spotted them as well because Henry makes direct eye contact with Juliet and begins heading towards them. Juliet sets into immediate panic mode.

“Look Patrick,” Juliet rushes, her eyes moving frantically between Patrick and Henry. “I appreciate you telling me all of this, but right now I have to go.”

Juliet darts down the opposite end of the hallway before Patrick could even get a syllable out, wanting now more than ever to avoid Henry like the plague.

              ........................................................................................

The school day was coming to an end and Juliet had managed to stay clear of Henry and his gang the whole afternoon. It was Thursday, meaning Juliet had to stay after to tutor Eddie in the library. As much as she adored Eddie and didn’t mind helping him, she just wanted to go straight home after this disappointing day.

Luckily after a bit of time, he seemed to be catching on quickly, understanding the material better than he did last week. He barely needed her help with his homework, making Juliet feel happy for him as well as somewhat relieved that their session didn’t have to last as long as usual.

“I’m so proud of you, you’re doing so well! You’ve totally got this test in the bag,”Juliet encourages, closing the textbook shut as she starts to gather her belongings. There was a moment of silence before she suddenly hears Eddie’s shaky voice ask, “Uhh Juliet, has Henry Bowers done anything to you lately?”

Juliet’s actions come to a halt when she turns to look at him, her eyebrows furrowed.

“No Eddie. Why do you ask?”

“Well yesterday he cornered me in the boy’s bathroom just to force me to tell him what I knew about you. I only told him you like books and shit so it would prevent him from drowning me in contaminated toilet water.”

Juliet sat there, her thoughts scattered all over the place. 

“Oh,” she answers, sounding somewhat confused, but trying to be nonchalant. The last thing she needed was for poor Eddie to think something was going on between his bully and her. “Well I appreciate you letting me know that Eds. Don’t worry about it, Henry is always seeking trouble from somewhere.”

“I know. That’s why I thought I’d tell you. So you can keep your guard up.”

It’s like Eddie is giving Juliet an indirect warning as to what the two boys were plotting even though he actually had no idea what they were up to. Juliet may have her guard up now, but it’s only a short amount of time before she drops it. And once its down, she will have no way of being able to put it back up.

As she walks out the library doors, she feels like the world is playing some sort of sick joke on her when Henry is leaned against the wall, waiting for her.

“Henry.” Juliet freezes. “What are you doing here?”

“Detention,” he simply shrugs since it’s a usual occurrence for him. “So what, you tryna hide from me?”

“No!” she lies defensively. “Definitely not.” The butterflies from last night begin to flutter again in the pit of her stomach, but this time not in the good way.

“Well you got the note right?”

Juliet nods before Henry continues and asks, “So how ‘bout it? Tomorrow night?”

“Henry, why do you want to go out with me?” Juliet blurts, not even able to think about the words before they tumble out of her mouth. She crosses her arms, giving Henry a peeved expression. This makes Henry start to chuckle. “What do you mean babe?” 

“Why did you write me that note? Why are you asking people about me? Why do you suddenly want to go on a date?” she questions rapidly, causing Henry to laugh at her, making Juliet even more angry.

“What do you think I’m planning to do, kill you? It’s just a fucking date, why are you acting so crazy?” Henry sneers, using his most common defense mechanism, knowing he was up to no good, but trying to play it off as if she was the one who was being cynical. 

“Oh why am I acting crazy?” Juliet asks in a sarcastic tone. “Well let’s see, maybe it’s because you’re going around telling your friends that you think I’ll be easy and that I’ll blow you on the first date.” 

“Jesus Christ Juliet, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” she retaliates, her right eyebrow quirked up.

And oh was Henry very familiar about what Juliet claimed she heard. His mind briefly goes back to last night with the gang as they were all hanging out in Vic’s basement, talking about her. Fucking Patrick. He should have known that Hockstetter plays one way and one way only; dirty.

“It’s Patrick isn’t it? He got into your head. Why the hell would you believe anything he says?”

“Why should I believe you?” Juliet insists, staring so hard into his eyes that he couldn’t believe the girl he thought was timid was pure fire.

“Look Juliet, just hang out with me once so I can prove to you that whatever Patrick said is complete bullshit.”

Juliet shakes her head, hating and despising how much she wanted to give him a chance.

“I’m asking you to trust me. Please?” he persists, grabbing her hand and holding it in a surprisingly delicate way. There’s never been a time that Henry has ever begged someone in his life, but as much as he loathed it, he knew he’d get ahead by playing the good guy type. He could tell by the look on her face that she was giving into him. After a few seconds, Juliet proves him right when she finally caves. 

“Fine,” she snaps, slipping her hand out of his grip.

Henry felt a sudden rush of relief, knowing that the ball has been placed back in his court. 

“There’s a showing of Nightmare on Elm Street I thought we could go see.”

"That actually sounds fun,” Juliet admits, peering up at Henry with those long lashes that makes him want to do unspeakable things to her. 

“The movie is at eight. I thought I could come get you and we can walk there. It’s not far.”

Usually Henry would use Belch and his Trans Am along with the other goons to have as a way of transportation, but Henry was adamant about the whole night having Juliet to himself, that way Patrick had no way of sabotaging things again. He also knew that Juliet is the kind of girl that wasn’t going to just go over his house and fuck around. He actually had to treat her with respect and take her out on a real date first.

“That sounds perfect, but is there any way you can wait for me a house or two down from mine? My mom, she-”

“Let me guess? Won’t approve?” Henry interjects. It was moments like this that Juliet truly despised how judgmental her mother could be. Her silence was proof that what Henry suspected was right.

“It’s cool. I know I ain’t the kinda guy girls like to take home to mom.” Henry begins to chuckle, “Or dad.”

“Hmm, I wonder why.” Juliet looks up to the ceiling, biting down on her lip before glancing back down to Henry, giving him a cheeky grin. Henry doesn’t know what it is, but her innocent yet sassy attitude was turning him on more and more. She wasn’t afraid to confront him or tell him off, which was actually a turn on for Henry since he isn’t used to people defying him whatsoever.

“Looks like Derry’s smartest student has a mouth to match,” he teases, starting to slowly stroll closer to her. She can see the seductive way he’s analyzing her, making Juliet take tiny steps back before she smiles and says, “Looks like Derry’s biggest bully isn’t so scary after all.”

“You don’t want to test me there baby doll,” Henry smirks, licking his lips as continues inching closer to her.

“I don’t know,” Juliet hums, “Tests are sort of my thing,” she responds confidently, sticking her nose up in a joking way. However at this point, Henry has her body pressed up against the lockers with his hand propped up near the side of her face. 

Henry releases a breathy snicker, feeling like she was being a tease. He wanted to grab her ass, her chest, something. But he knew he had to control himself with Juliet and be patient. 

“Well this is one test I’d hate to fail, so I guess for my own sake I better walk away before I start to ....slip up,” Henry simpers, moving his face close to hers.

Juliet laughs, but it truly was one of the most beautiful sounds he has ever heard. “See you tomorrow Henry,” she smiles, but it was her usual one that was laced with innocence and genuine kindness. She moves past him as he just stands there, feeling over the moon already even though he hasn’t even gone on the actual date with her yet. Juliet may be falling for Henry’s game, but Henry however, is falling hard for her, and the worst part is that he doesn’t even know it yet.

           ……………............................................................................

Juliet exits her house and starts to walk down the sidewalk, enjoying the crisp, cool, night air that was hitting her face. She told her mother that Jennifer was having a girls night which she surprisingly believed with no questions asked. Her parents seemed to be preoccupied with having dinner plans with her dad’s snobby business partners, leaving Juliet to have one less thing to worry about.

She suddenly spots Henry in the distance standing down near the stop sign at the corner. He’s wearing dark, ripped jeans with his typical black boots and an almost navy blue muscle shirt that looked extremely good on him. His biceps were prominent, making Juliet shamefully ogle at them for a minute before he turns around slightly and sees her walking towards him. As a nervous habit, Juliet presses her glasses up the bridge of her nose. She decided on a plain white, square neck, sundress that had slightly puffy sleeves. 

Henry whistles at her, making Juliet blush profusely. “I don’t know how you expect me to stay on my best behavior tonight lookin’ like that.”

“Oh c’mon, l think you can manage yourself for a good two hours,” she smirks as they begin to walk together side by side. 

“Maybe. But what about after?”

“After?”

“Well yeah after the movies, you know, I figured we can hang out some more.”

Juliet was certainly not planning for an after. She was planning for solely a movie and a straight walk home. 

“Don’t look so worried,” Henry chuckles. “Still think I’m going to murder you or somethin’?"

“I mean you actually have the perfect opportunity to since my family and friends have zero idea I’m hanging out with you right now,” Juliet teases, making Henry’s heart beat faster and faster.

“Well since you put it that way...” Henry smirks, suddenly grabbing Juliet by the waist, hoisting her up over his shoulder as she lets out a small shriek. Her legs kick back and forth as he begins to run while she’s laughing hysterically. It’s only for a short moment until he eventually stops and gently places her back on the pavement as she holds onto his arms for stability. But that’s when they look up at each other, both slightly out of breath, their faces close as they glance down at each other’s lips. Henry starts to lean in, thinking this was his chance, however, Juliet tenses up. She bows her head down a bit, nervously studying the ground. 

“Hey,” Henry says before grabbing her chin, tilting her face up to look at him. “You’re safe with me alright? I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Okay,” Juliet responds, giving him a small, closed mouth smile.

Henry started to feel something he couldn’t quite decipher. Guilt? Regret? Whatever it is, he pushes back the unfamiliar feeling aside, knowing that Juliet is nothing more than just a stupid bet. A stupid bet that he plans on winning.

They eventually make it to the theater and walk inside as Henry opens the door for her. Once they reach the counter, Henry tells the worker he’ll have two tickets for A Nightmare on Elm Street while Juliet reaches down in her pocket to grab her money. When she’s about to hand it over, she’s shocked to see Henry has already beaten her to the punch.

“Henry I had money, you really didn’t have to do that.”

“Don’t stress baby, I got it,” he winks, grabbing her hand as he leads them to the right theater. Juliet would never know that he had only gotten that money by stealing it from a couple of kids at school.

Once inside, Henry aims for seats that weren’t in the far back since it has just been made clear she isn’t the type who’s going to want to make out just yet, but he didn’t want to sit too close to the front either. He landed on two seats that were a good in between right in the middle. 

The movie was supposed to start in exactly four minutes. Henry felt like everything was going according to plan. Not only did Juliet look as hot as ever, but she was eating out of the palm of his hands. Right as he started to think nothing could possibly go wrong, the worst of the worst comes crashing down on him.

“Henry,” Juliet leans into him whispering, “I didn’t know your friends were coming.”

“What are you talking about my friends aren’t-” and as soon as he looks over towards the entrance, there they were. Vic, Belch, and of course Patrick.

Henry shuts his eyes briefly, clearly fuming. “Those mother fuckers,” he mutters under his breath.

“It looks like they’re coming over to us,” Juliet observes, trying not to make her stare obvious even though it was hard since they were all collectively getting closer and closer.

“I didn’t invite them Juliet, I swear. I have no idea how they found out.”

“Well they knew we were going on a date didn’t they?”

“Yeah,” Henry snaps. “But I didn’t want them knowing where.” As soon as the words rushed out of Henry’s mouth, he knew he fucked up.

“Why?”

As his mind scrambled for some sort of logical lie, his buddies came and interrupted just in time, preventing him from having to even answer the question. 

“Well lookie here boys. It’s Romeo and Juliet,” Patrick sneers with his cheshire grin before throwing a handful of popcorn at Henry as Vic and Belch snort and chuckle beside him. Patrick plops his lanky figure in the seat next to Juliet while Belch takes the seat right next to Henry and Vic in the aisle seat. 

“No fucking way, you assholes go find another place to sit,” Henry demands, trying his best to act calm for Juliet’s sake, but the irritation dripping from his voice wasn’t helping.

Belch searches the theater to see what other seat options there were. “Sorry buddy,” Belch shrugs carelessly while munching down on some popcorn. “It looks like it’s a full house.”

The theater is packed and there are only seven seats open at this point, but they are all completely separated from one another. Juliet could tell Henry was livid by the way his fists were clenched laying on the arm rests and how his nostrils flared. She tried to give him a reassuring smile, but there was nothing she could do to ease his anger at that moment.

“Want a taste?”

Juliet suddenly hears Patrick’s voice and turns to him, worried about what he was insinuating with Henry sitting right there.

“What?” Juliet asks in a somewhat mortified tone.

“Of my drink?” Patrick asks holding up the giant cup, looking at her as if she’s stupid. 

“Oh,” Juliet lets out a half- hearted chuckle. “No. Thank you.”

Patrick licks his lips, grinning mischievously at her. He relished how he could play with her mind and make Juliet question herself. As if right on time, the theater suddenly goes dark as the movie finally begins on the screen. Juliet enjoyed the slight adrenaline she got when watching scary movies, but it didn’t mean she never needed to cover her eyes and watch some parts through her fingers.

Patrick however, seemed to be enjoying the horror as he laughed at the gore and terror, grinning from ear to ear. The scene comes on in the movie where Glen is fast asleep, lying on his bed with headphones over his ears. Juliet couldn’t help herself when she jumps slightly once the dreadful music starts to play as Freddy’s claws appear, sucking Glen into the mattress.

Henry laughs quietly at her reaction, clearly amused. He leans over to her and asks, “You good?”

She nods with a cute grin, hating how even though she knew something was about to happen, it still made her tremble. Even though Henry is enjoying the movie, he couldn’t stop thinking about how Patrick was just one seat away from him. He hated him so much that he wished Freddy could somehow come through the screen and swallow Patrick in like he did to Glen. He still had no idea how he found out that they were even there.

Enough is enough, he thought. Henry decided he isn’t going to put up with Patrick’s shit any longer. If he wanted to come see a show, he was about to give him one.

Henry places his hand on Juliet’s thigh, hiking her dress up a bit while his thumb rubs back and forth on her bare skin. Patrick notices this and begins to feel absolutely infuriated. He becomes even more enraged when Juliet snuggles into Henry a bit, interlocking her arm with his.

It didn’t take long for Patrick to act fast. He pretends to grab his drink when he purposely knocks it over, spilling the red liquid all over Juliet’s lap. She completely jolts when she feels the ice cold, sticky substance dripping down her bare legs, the lower half of her white dress completely drenched. Juliet stares at the ice cubes laying on her lap, not even comprehending what just happened for a few seconds.

“Oops,” Patrick says with zero emotion, satisfied that he didn’t have to endure watching Henry touch what’s his any longer.

“What the fuck Hockstetter?” Henry sharply whispers, staring down at the mess he had caused.

“It’s okay, it was just an accident,” Juliet assures, not wanting the two boys to cause a commotion in the middle of the movie. She could care less that her dress is ruined, she just wanted to immediately get herself cleaned up without making a scene and disrupting everyone else in the theater.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom really quick okay? I’ll be right back,” Juliet states in a hushed tone to Henry.

“Do you need me to come with you?”

Juliet shakes her head at him and gets up quietly. She carefully tip toes passed Henry, Belch, and Vic and then quickly exits out the door.

Once Juliet is in the bathroom and in the actual light, she sees that the drink got all over her socks and high tops as well. Juliet drenches some paper towels in water, doing her best at getting what she could out of her dress. She internally laughs at herself when she looks in the mirror, seeing the huge glob of red that only turned into a slight pink. The stickiness on her hands and legs made her feel gross, causing her to immediately wipe the soda’s remnants off. After constant scrubbing and fifty-two paper towels later, Juliet realizes that this was as good as it’s going to get.

When she walks out into the lobby, she spots Devin Mccalister, Mark Swanson, Derrick Mckinley, and Jason Montgomery all huddled near the back corner. They were arrogant tyrants disguised as the popular football jocks of Derry High. She never understood why The Bowers Gang were notorious for being bullies, but because they wore a sport’s jersey, they were seen as royalty.

“Well, well, well, look who we’ve got here boys,” Derrick calls out, each of them now giving her their undivided attention.

“Juliet,” Jason sings, checking her out with no shame before laughing. “What happened? Time of the month come early?” This causes his friends to bust out in a fit of laughter at the expense of Juliet’s embarrassment as they all walk closer to her.

 “No,” Juliet responds flatly, having a hard time keeping eye contact. “It’s just soda.”

She begins to turn around to head back to the theater before Jason rushes and grabs her by the forearm, jerking her back. “Hey, where do you think you’re runnin’ off to?”

They each begin to huddle around her, shutting her in.

“You should ditch this place and come hang with us. We’re bored,” Devin offers while he gazes down at her chest.

“Yeah I can see that,” Juliet mutters, wishing she could just shrink and disappear.

“Can you?” Jason asks before snatching Juliet’s glasses off her face.

“Stop it Jason, that’s not funny,” Juliet exclaims, reaching out to try and grab them back, but failing miserably. “Please you guys, give them back,” she begs. They instead began to snicker and laugh at her multiple attempts of trying to pry the glasses out of each of their hands since they were tossing them back and forth to one another. Juliet obviously couldn’t see as well without them, making the boys even more amused. That is, until a certain voice causes their actions to come to a sudden halt. 

“What’s going on here,” Patrick interrupts, his eyes narrowed and pierced with craze as he slowly strides out of the darkness over to them with his hips slightly jutted out and his hands in his pockets.

The jocks may be seen as intimidating and tough to most, but one thing was for certain; they were all mentally scared shitless of Patrick. Even if they were cocky enough to think that they could beat him up physically, they knew that he was a person capable of far worse things.

“Nothin’, we were just messin’ around,” Jason retorts, broadening his shoulders a bit, trying his best to be intimidating. Patrick chuckles at his attempt, taking a few more strides before he approaches Jason, standing dangerously close to him when he suddenly takes his pocket knife out and holds it right below Jason’s eyebrow.

“There’s nothing more I’d love to do to you right now then cut out your eye sockets and shove them so far down your throat, you’ll be seeing out your ass.” Patrick moves the knife’s sharp point close enough to where it’s almost touching the white part of Jason’s eyeball, causing him to go pale. 

“Oh, but daddy wouldn’t like that would he?” Patrick taunts in a sarcastic tone. “I mean, how could his son play the big game next week with no way of seeing that football being thrown towards his stupid fucking face?”

Jason is shaking like a leaf at this point as his friends are standing their frozen like statues, too petfriefied to even move.

“Look man, I’m sorry. Just take it easy and put the knife down will ya?” Jason whimpers, his macho facade completely thrown out the window.

Just as Juliet was about to intervene and try to calm Patrick down, he starts to snicker and pulls the knife away from Jason, leering at his panicked expression. “Awh,” Patrick mocks in a teasing voice, frowning his lips down in a fake pout. “Don’t be so serious Montgomery. I was only messin’ around.” 

Jason looks embarrassed and angry, yet still very afraid all at the same time. His face was beat red from wanting to punch Patrick in the face, but knowing that he couldn’t. He reaches his shaky hands out to return Juliet’s glasses to Patrick before slowly backing away. A piercing stare towards Patrick was all he could muster, although if looks could kill, both boys would be dead right now. His friends follow suit until they turn their backs, walking quicker than usual out of the theater.

Juliet is shook up about what she just witnessed as she continues to stand there not moving. “That was…..intense,” she gapes, appearing slightly apprehensive. Patrick feels worried for a second that he went a little too far in front of her until he hears a small giggle. “But also kind of amazing.” She slaps her hand over her mouth, trying to stifle her smirk because she felt guilty for finding such a violent altercation humorous.

Patrick chuckles at her adorable reaction before taking a few steps in her direction. He unfolds the glasses and brushes a few strands of her hair away before putting them back on her face.

“Beautiful,” he simply observes with a slight grin. Juliet remains motionless as his hand reaches out to caress her cheek, his thumb gently swiping across her bottom lip. 

“W-We should head back,” Juliet stutters, moving her face to the side, away from Patrick’s touch.

Patricks knows that no matter what he says, no matter what he does, she will not give into his enticement just yet. She was in the middle of a date with Henry right now, she wouldn’t be ballsy enough, but he recognized that glint in her eye and the way she stumbled. He knew that whether she wanted to come to terms with it or not, there was something behind those hazel eyes that he could tell felt tempted. Patrick has had his exact plan sought out from the start. He just has to wait until something certain happens until he can fully execute it, but this made him all the more excited.

"You ignored the little chat we had this morning,” Patrick states, studying her face. 

“Me and Henry talked it out,” Juliet briefly explains, about to turn around until Patrick says, “Let me guess. He told you not to trust me.”

Juliet started to feel a bit frazzled. She didn’t want to tell Patrick that Henry told her not to believe him and pin the two friends against one another and cause issues.

“N-Not exactly, he uhm, he told me-”

“You’re an awful liar,” Patrick interrupts, smirking before he says, “Henry is a much better one.”

Juliet furrows her eyebrows in an annoyed manner, hating how Patrick kept trying to make her feel like she was being stupid for giving Henry a chance. She was appreciative of Patrick, knowing what those dumb jocks could have done if he hadn’t shown up, but it wasn’t hard to notice that Patrick can be manipulative. She couldn’t let him toy with her head again. Juliet stares at him for a brief moment, biting down on her tongue before she decides it’s best if she says nothing at all in return. She simply turns her back on him and heads inside the theater.

Henry’s face was set in a scowl, but appeared somewhat relieved once he saw Juliet coming back.

As soon as she sat down, Henry moved in closer. “What took so long?”

“I’ll tell you later, it’s kind of a long story,” Juliet whispers back.

Henry sat there, his mind thinking about all the horrendous possibilities that could have happened between Patrick and Juliet outside that theater. He was boiling with rage, causing him to not talk or touch Juliet again for the remainder of the movie.

Henry has his arm draped over Juliet’s shoulder when they walk out into the parking lot as Patrick lingers closely behind. Vic and Belch were staggering near them, still preoccupied with continuing their popcorn fight. They stroll together until they are all standing in front of Belch’s Trans Am. 

“I’m going to fucking kill them. All of them, one by one I swear to god,” Henry fumes in regards to Juliet’s brief rundown about what occurred with Jason and his friends earlier.

“Trust me Henry they aren’t worth it. Although I do wish you could have seen Jason’s face. It was so red,” Juliet laughs. 

“Yeah, well that fucker’s face is going to turn purple on Monday,” Henry responds harshly, making Juliet go silent. Henry begins to notice the way Patrick is intently eyeing Juliet, which reminds him that he needs to get her out of here before this night goes downhill. “We’re gonna take off,” he states flatly to his friends as he steers Juliet away, using his hand around her shoulder as an advantage. 

“What’s the rush Bowers?” Patrick smirks at Henry, wanting to get under his skin.

“I got to get her home,” Henry grumbles while turning around, gesturing his head towards Juliet. She pulls her wrist up to glance at her watch, reading the time that says 10:02pm.

“My curfew isn’t until midnight, so if you want to hang out with them we can,” Juliet quietly offers to Henry, trying to appease him. However, Juliet was unknowingly ruining what he had planned.

“Great!” Patrick beams, hearing Juliet’s hushed offer before opening Belch’s backseat. “Hop in.”

Juliet glances up at Henry, trying to see if she can read his mind on whether he actually wants to join them or not. Juliet would much rather spend the rest of the night alone with Henry, but this was his gang and she didn’t want Henry to feel like she didn’t want to be around his friends.

“If you shit heads haven't noticed yet, we’re on a date. I’ll catch you guys later.” Henry stares Patrick down in a somewhat hostile way, only making Patrick more entertained. Juliet gives a meek wave goodbye to all of the boys before they turn around and start to walk away again. 

“You two have a safe night now,” Patrick calls out in a taunting way, making Juliet feel like those words are being directed at her. Henry holds her closer and for some reason, she felt okay.

Henry didn’t know why he felt so nervous. He hated how this girl made him feel emotions he isn’t accustomed to dealing with. At this point, they weren’t too far away from Juliet’s house, making him even more anxious. She becomes caught off guard when Henry’s feet that were walking next to her come to a complete stop.

“There’s uhm, there’s a place I'd like to take you,” Henry utters, his palms slightly sweating.

“Okay,” Juliet smiles. “Where?”

“It’s in the woods,” he states, not wanting to reveal the exact destination quite yet.

“In the woods,” Juliet slowly repeats, laughing a little about Henry’s lack of detail, making his response sound highly suspicious. 

“Fuck, I know how sketch that sounds, but I swear, you just gotta trust me.”

Juliet felt a bit hesitant on saying yes, but surprisingly enough, trusting him has gone pretty well so far.

“Lead the way,” Juliet grins, gesturing her hand out to him.

It was at least ten minutes of walking and the sound of leaves crunching beneath their feet before Juliet asks, “Okay I know we were kidding around earlier, but are you sure you’re not luring me out here to kill me? Because honestly, at this point, I would deserve it considering I ignored all the obvious signs.”

Henry chuckles, wafting a long, thin branch out of his way. “We’re literally almost there.”

After about another minute or two, a small and somewhat wonky, wooden treehouse comes into view. It wasn’t perfect by any means, but it had a certain character to it that Juliet found appealing.

“This is it,” Henry shrugs, scratching his head as he nervously glances at the ground and then back at Juliet, waiting for her reaction.

“Oh my gosh,” Juliet mutters. “Did you build this?”

Henry nods, making Juliet’s eyes widen. “Wow,” she gasps. “Henry this is absolutely incredible.”

Henry gulps, having never heard such a compliment from anybody in his life before he asks, “Wanna take a look inside?”

Juliet shakes her head in an excited way which makes Henry grab her hand. He lets her go up the creaky ladder first before he follows right after her. The inside was small, but had some blankets laid out and wrinkled metal band posters taped to the walls. 

“It ain’t much,” Henry says. “But it’s a place I like to come to where I can get some peace and quiet.”

“Are you crazy? I love it. Do you know how much skill you have to build something like this?” Juliet asks, still looking around and analyzing every corner and crack of the tiny wooden house in amazement. Henry genuinely wasn’t expecting a rich girl like Juliet to think much of it, but like in many ways, Juliet proved him wrong. Henry sits down near the entrance so his feet can prop up on the ladder. Juliet does the same beside him, except her tiny white sneakers are dangling in the air.

The only noise that can be heard is the soft hum of the bugs and the trees rustling together from the chilly night air. Juliet’s eyes are staring up at the stars, but Henry can’t seem to take his eyes off her. He has never felt more at peace in his life than in this moment.

“Henry,” she says, snapping him out of his trance. She peels her eyes off the sky and looks at him. “What scares you the most?”

The question was not only unexpected, but quite difficult for Henry to answer. Henry’s mind tries to think of something, anything, but it was like his brain went totally blank. He wasn’t used to people asking him personal questions. “Uhm...I don’t really know. I mean shit don’t scare me much, but I guess if I had to choose somethin’ it’d be...uhm.... I guess like what my future is goin’ to be in this shit town after high school. I’m afraid I’m goin’ to end up alone and be exactly like my old man.”

“You don’t like your dad?”

“It’s not that I don’t like him,” Henry huffs. “I fucking hate his guts Juliet. He’s the biggest piece of shit I know. He’s the main reason I built this in the first place, so I could get away somehow when I needed to.”

This confession made Juliet feel heart broken. She didn’t want to press and ask too many questions, but it was clear that Henry’s home didn’t feel safe for him. Juliet interlocks her fingers with his.“You don’t deserve that. I know saying sorry won’t fix anything and you at least have here to come to, but if things ever get bad, my house is always open. Well I should say my bedroom window is,” Juliet smirks, bumping her shoulder lightly with his, making Henry chuckle. “But seriously, I can’t imagine how awful it must be to not feel loved by your dad, but it doesn’t mean you’re incapable of being loved by anybody else.”

Henry appreciated that she wasn’t pitying him or making him feel like he was a lost cause. This girl that he hasn’t even known a full week cared so much about his well being that she would be willing to take the risk of offering her room as a place to stay when times got tough. He ponders over what she just said before she continues on and says, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m incredibly thankful for my parents. They want what’s best for me, but my mom, she is constantly worried about what every single person thinks. Whether it’s my clothes or hair or grades or friends, she judges and critiques every little thing I do. I feel I can just never win with her, like nothing I ever do is good enough.”

Henry stares at her, shocked at how much they were opening up to each other, but how good it truly felt.

“Your mom must be fucking crazy,” Henry admits. “You’re beautiful and fucking smart as hell and have so much going for you.”

Juliet giggles, smiling at the boy who was making her cheeks flush.

“Well I appreciate that. But it sounds like your dad must be pretty crazy too if he doesn’t realize what an amazing and incredibly talented son he's got,” Juliet responds, gazing at him. Henry could swear he felt his heart completely stop.

He has never in his life had somebody who felt like they genuinely thought he mattered and was important. He stares intently at her, and not even a second passes before Henry grabs her neck, crushing her lips unto his. He moves his hands so they’re cradling both her cheeks, liking the sort of control it gives him. The kiss is slow and innocent until Henry slips his tongue into her mouth. Juliet was petrified for this moment, but she couldn’t believe how good kissing Henry Bowers felt. 

He gives her bottom lip a slight tug with his teeth as he delves his hot tongue deeper into her mouth, moving his hand down to grope her chest. Juliet hated how much she didn’t want him to stop. She breaks away from the kiss, feeling like she needed a breath. Henry moves down and begins attacking her neck as he tries to pull the shoulder of her dress down to expose her bra. He grabs her hand and moves it on top of his throbbing hard on that lies underneath his jeans.

“You feel what you do to me baby,” he rasps in her ear before biting slightly down on her earlobe.

“Henry,” Juliet whispers, but it comes out as more of a soft moan.

“Now how about you let me feel what I do to you,” Henry utters, his rough, calloused hand moving up Juliet’s smooth thigh. His hand reaches under her dress when he begins teasing the waistband of her underwear with his fingers. She quickly grabs his hand to stop him, making Henry seize what he’s doing.

“I’m sorry Henry, but I...I think we should take things slow,” Juliet murmurs, feeling embarrassed.

Henry wasn’t used to girls he’s been with not wanting to move fast. He was used to them begging him for any sort of pleasure he was willing to give. But Juliet was different.

“It’s alright, it’s probably almost midnight anyways, we should start to head back.”

Juliet couldn’t quite decipher Henry’s tone as he begins to run his hand through his hair before he pushes himself off the tree house, his feet hitting the ground with a quiet thump. His mood shifted quickly as if he flipped some sort of switch. She decides to not over think it and starts to cautiously climb down the ladder. Juliet suddenly hears a slight rustling in the bushes.

“Did you hear that?”

“No? Hear what?”

“It sounded like there was something moving over there,” Juliet points over to her right.

“It was probably a rabbit or somethin’. There’s always critters runnin’ around here. Come on this way.” 

The walk out of the woods was quiet which made Juliet think Henry has to be annoyed at her. She wanted Henry to touch her, but she felt like she wasn’t quite ready to go too far and offer that personal part of herself to him just yet. Meanwhile Henry was more silent than usual because guilt started to set into the pit of his stomach. He didn’t expect to feel this way towards her. He actually didn’t know what he was even feeling and that made him even more mad. They make it back to the red stop sign where Henry waited for her at the beginning of the night. The glow from the street light loomed over them.

"I’m sorry about earlier,” Juliet speaks up. “I wanted to. I honestly just got nervous. I haven’t you know-uhm, I-I havent done anything like that yet.” Juliet had a hard time confessing her inexperience to the boy who has been with countless of girls.

“I understand,” Henry assures, wanting nothing more than for Juliet to feel comfortable around him. “You’re safe with me remember? I’m not goin’ to ever make you do somethin’ you don’t want to.”

This made Juliet feel at ease. “I know,” she smiles. “I had a good time with you tonight. I’m happy I decided to come.”

“I’m sorry what was that?” Henry asks sarcastically, a smirk on his face as he pulls her in playfully by her waist.

“Okay, okay fine! The almighty Henry Bowers proved me wrong,” Juliet giggles, loving the warmth Henry’s embrace gave.

“Damn right I did,” Henry utters before leaning in to give her one final kiss. Henry felt no need to be rough or show his dominance. All he wanted was the simplicity of feeling her plush lips on his.

“Bye,” Juliet whispers once she pulls away from him. She grins before turning around to walk back to her house. Henry stood there watching her the entire time until she faded into the darkness.

On his walk home, Henry couldn’t stop the stupid smile that lingered on his face as he reminisced about the night. He knew Juliet was into him as much as he was into her, and that nobody, not even Patrick, could get in the way. Henry thought it over and came to the conclusion that not only was he going to win the bet, but he was also going to win the girl and make Patrick regret the day he ever tried underestimating him. However, Henry was delirious of the raven haired boy that was hiding in the woods the entire time, relishing how Henry and Juliet’s relationship was going exactly how he wanted it to.

[pidayforpi]

122,640 Days

How many days were there in 336 years?

A quick tap on the calculator, and our hero found out.

122,640 days. Neglecting leap years.

122,640 days. Would anything still remain after 122,640 days?

Daffy Duck stood inside his space ship, looking at the planet he called “home”. Were the stars too bright, or was his heart feeling sour?

Planet Earth in front of him seemed a bit cloudy through the wide windows. The reinforced glass was sparkly clean. Eager Young Space Cadet was always so diligent.

But what was cloudy was something the young pig would never imagine being cloudy.

Duck Dodgers, the national - no, universal - hero, always wore a boastful smile or a disappointed frown.

But the black-feathered duck in front of the panel of buttons was wearing an unreadable expression.

———————————————————————————————

“The breeze gently passes through the air, blowing towards the heart that should have been broken.

Enveloping those crossed, held hands in the everyday dusk, slowly disappearing.”

Somewhere on the blue-green planet, Daffy Duck could see a two-storey house. In that house, he could see a grey rabbit sitting on the sofa, caressing a brown “dog” on his lap. A brown mouse wearing a sombrero pushed opened the front door much taller than him, tired from a day’s work. The rabbit would greet him, and vice versa, before the mouse went inside his mouse hole.

Daffy knew there was a fourth occupant in the house: A black duck fast asleep in a messy bedroom. After all, the tenant always went to sleep strictly at 10:00 pm, only to wake up at 10:00 am the next day. The tenant was a heavy sleeper. No matter how noisy his housemates downstairs were, he would never wake up. No matter how noisy he snored, and how hard his housemates slapped him to wake him just to tell him to shut up, he would never wake up. 10:00 pm, and he’s a dead man for the next 12 hours. Even on New Year’s Eve, he would not give an exception. In fact, he would even sleep earlier at 8:30 pm, because he strongly believed that New Year was “a holiday invented by the media”, whatever that meant.

But if he was now given the chance to relive any New Year’s Eve, Daffy believed the black duck would be willing to stay up all night.

“Strange, isn’t it? Our smile never looked the same.

But now, it seems like I am looking at my own reflection.”

Daffy knew the duck was a moocher. He never worked to pay his rents, or anything for the house. Even the “dog” would win prize money from dog shows, and the mouse would use his hard-earned money to repay the house-owner: The rabbit. Not to mention the duck being a big spender, an irresponsible customer, often buying useless items at high prices. Heck, he even once used the rabbit’s money to buy and decorate his parade float, and a dozen of lobsters to fill the swimming pool for a barbecue. He even once stole the rabbit’s inventions, bought the house with the money earned, only to have the house destroyed when his (version of the rabbit’s) invention malfunctioned. Yet, the rabbit never kicked him out. Never sold the parade float, never got rid of all the lobsters. Instead, he built a time machine to save the house. Not only because it was his house in the first place, but it was also the abode of his best friend: The duck.

But if he was now given the chance to live in that house again, Daffy believed the black duck would take any job to repay the rabbit for his generosity.

“I won’t be sad. Because it’s nothing.

Hidden under those nonchalant greetings is my “thank you”.”

Daffy knew the duck was a terrible friend. He never kept his promises. He just took his friends for granted. Whenever he wanted something, he would ask his friends to pay for him. He wouldn’t even pay for a soda on the Grand Canyon himself. He stole the rabbit’s gloves when he needed to fix his parade float. He took his polite, innocent pig friend’s wallet to buy a ship, lying to his empathetic swine buddy that he needed a kidney transplant. The duck even forced him to be his butler to impress his girlfriend on a date, in the pig’s house no less! Not to mention the verbal and physical abuse the duck had inflicted on him during the dinner. He messed up his rooster friend’s film project for fun, his only excuse being that he wasn’t a professional actor. He was a terrible host at his own diner party, and a pathetic MC for a mystery game. Yet, they all attended his birthday party. Friendship and love were the only reasons they needed to forgive their duck-billed looney friend, not to mention him being fun to be with. The duck’s stupid grin and funny lisp were all they need to feel the power of friendship. Love really did defy common sense.

But if he was now given the chance to be at that birthday party again, Daffy believed the black duck would burst into tears of joy right then and there. Words couldn’t describe how grateful the duck was to his friends.

“Farewell. Bye bye. Please do take care.

Because this is a request I proposed first, please firmly catch it.”

He missed those days lounging around Pizzarriba with the rabbit and the pig, engaging in small talks when the mouse delivered two fresh, hot pizzas to their table with a wide smile.

He missed those days filling himself up with helium at the fun fair, just to win the title of “Mr Weiner” in front of his friends.

He missed those days playing bowling with the pig, a Martian and a puma, and helping them make overly long nicknames to insert into the leaderboard.

He missed those days at the Copy Place, where he made his first impression to his girlfriend as a weirdo ordering business cards stating himself as a wizard.

He missed those days being an outlaw chained to his rabbit friend, disguising themselves as yellow versions of themselves and somehow getting away with it.

He missed those days streaking (yes, streaking) with his pig friend in a remote village in Mexico, only to be put behind bars by the local sheriff.

He missed those days disguising as a university professor, and actually changing his name to “Professor”.

He missed those days sharing his house with his rude red-haired neighbour, and trying to scare him away with the rabbit when his misbehaviour were just too much.

He missed those days destroying an antique store owned by a pair of gophers in his fight with the rooster (and the fight between the rabbit and the red-haired neighbour). The shame when he cried for his mother in front of his friends!

He missed those days teaching his witch neighbour’s son how to defend himself against bullies. Even now, he didn’t think he had the power to push the red monster a mere centimetre away.

He missed those days ruining a whole dog show, nearly getting his rabbit friend arrested and his “dog” killed.

He missed those days training with the mouse, only to have the pig carry him throughout the marathon. The pig really was the local hero, as the papers said.

Yes, Daffy Duck really did miss those days. Those days, 122,640 days ago.

“Not long ago, we never talked about the future.

Although I am getting gentler, as wishes that cannot be granted accumulate.”

When he awoke from his 3.5 century slumber, just a glance around, and Daffy knew those days weren’t coming back.

He would rather be frozen forever, oblivious to the cruel reality.

In 122,640 days, everything changed.

No one remained, at least not as themselves.

Bugs Bunny, Speedy Gonzales, Tina Russo, Foghorn Leghorn, Pete Puma and Gossamer were nowhere to be found.

Porky Pig, “Poochie” the Tasmanian Devil, Marvin, Yosemite Sam, Mac and Tosh were there, technically. But they weren’t who they had been 122,640 days ago.

Especially good old Porky, the second best friend Daffy never admitted that he had. Without Bugs, Porky was the only one Daffy could count on.

But when the “Eager Young Space Cadet” looked at him with a confused, ignorant smile, Daffy knew that was not Porky. Not anymore.

The smile was the same, but not the owner of the smile.

Daffy was still surprised how he didn’t collapse and cry at that very moment.

“But now, for only a bit, please let me throw a little tantrum.”

And it didn’t help that Marvin, his high-school exchange classmate and friend, pointed his gun at him when they first met. Daffy really hoped Marvin had pulled the trigger at that time.

Poochie transformed into a real killing machine, Mac and Tosh reduced to vegetable-stealing mutants, while Yosemite Sam evolved from the local neighbourhood jerk to a galactic evil mastermind.

“I won’t be sad. It’s time for you to go.

Contradicting my cold salutations, I turned around.”

Yes. Porky would no longer jump at him for wasting his money for a ship. Marvin would no longer deliver pizzas with him via a tank. Sam would no longer be stupid enough to cut his own electricity supply, and ask for refuge at Daffy’s house.

He couldn’t tell Bugs how sorry and thankful he was for being his bestie. Couldn’t tell Speedy how delicious his frozen pizzas and 62 hot dogs were. Couldn’t tell Tina how good the name “Zachary” was. Couldn’t tell Gossamer how beautiful his voice was.

“Farewell. Bye bye. Please do take care.

If you write me a postcard or two every year, I will surely catch it tightly.”

Those meaningless, joyful, carefree days were never coming back.

———————————————————————————————

“Someday, we are going to meet again.

(It’s alright if you keep it. Whether it is the CD, or the harmonica...)”

If the buttons weren’t waterproof, the space ship would have crashed already.

Tears flowed out of Daffy’s eyes, dripping onto the metallic panel. He fell onto the cold, lifeless ground, wiping away tear after tear. The planet in front of him was no longer visible, leaving only a smear of blue and green.

“I won’t be sad. Please don’t be sad as well.

Don’t let me see that devastated expression, and cheer up.”

He told himself to keep quiet, to hold himself together. He was now Duck Dodgers, of the 24.5th century! Lest Space Cadet noticed his dear captain crying uncontrollably. But Daffy didn’t care. Right now, he was Daffy Duck, not some fictional hero in the future. Right now, he was back in the 21st century. He could cry all he wanted. He could be the pathetic loser he used to be.

No need for fame.

No need for power.

No need for disintegrating pistols or ultimatum dispatchers.

All he wanted were those 122,640 days back. Those scenes reflected on the photo frame on the control panel.

“Farewell. Bye bye. Please do take care.

I hope that when we congratulate each other, we can meet again.”

The photo frame he received on his birthday, made from pictures of himself. Many have dismissed it as a spoof of narcissism. But little did they know that photo frame meant the world to Daffy.

“I won’t be sad. Because it’s nothing.

Hidden under those nonchalant greetings is my “thank you”.”

Daffy took the old photo frame, and embraced it tightly. He couldn’t look at the pictures clearly anyway. But he could see his friends planning his birthday party at Pizzarriba, making his birthday presents, and decorating both the house and the restaurant...

“Farewell. Bye bye. Please do take care.

Because this is a request I proposed first, please firmly catch it.”

A pair of trembling arms hugged Daffy from behind. The creator of the photo frame. Eager Young Space Cadet must be so confused seeing his captain crying his eyes out with his self-portrait so late at night. He didn’t even know who made the photo frame, let alone what was making his brave captain so, so sad.

“Farewell. Bye bye. Please do take care.

If you write me a postcard or two every year, I will surely catch it tightly.”

Daffy didn’t have to look to see Porky’s puzzled expression. And yes, that was Porky. Not some random “Space Cadet”. That was his second best friend, the one who made him that old, dusty, rusty photo frame. He might not remember it, but Daffy would never forget.

“Farewell. Bye bye. Please do take care.

Because this is a request I proposed first, please firmly catch it.”

———————————————————————————————

Somewhere in the reflection of his overflowing tears, Daffy could see a pizza parlour in a busy city. The bell jingled when he opened the front door, people’s laughter filled his ears. Mouthwatering aroma of pizzas filled his nostrils as soon as he stepped into the restaurant. He didn’t request for a table - He was always the late one.

He sat down besides a grey rabbit and a pink pig at their usual seats, right before a brown mouse with a sombrero dashed towards them with a pencil, a notebook and a bright, friendly smile. Daffy didn’t need the menu. He always ordered the same dish. Every year. Every day.

“Two cheese pepperoni pizzas. The usual.”

(16-4-2020 ~ 20-4-2020)

——————————————————————————————

-(I originally wanted to post this story along with another Ducktales long story, but since it’s a long story, I still haven’t finished it, so...)

-(This is also the first fan-fic I have finished in my life.)

-This story is the result of my new found interest in The Looney Tunes Show and Duck Dodgers in April 2020. The background is a possible AU (?) in which (1) Duck Dodgers is Daffy Duck (is this canon?), and (2) is the Daffy Duck from the Looney Tunes Show, making The Looney Tunes Show a prequel and Duck Dodgers a sequel.

-The number of year “336” is the difference between year 2350 and 2014. Since the Duck Dodgers show doesn’t mention which year it is set specifically in, or how many years is Duck Dodgers frozen for, I am improvising here. Year 2350 is exactly 24.5th Century, while year 2014 is the end of The Looney Tunes Show (2011-2014). I picked 2014 (instead of 2011) because I presume the events in the show happen between 2011-2014, such that after the end of the show, Daffy Duck is frozen until year 2350.

-The song lyrics (in Italic and Bold) are from “Sayonara Byebye” (さよならbyebye) performed by Mawatari Matsuko (馬渡松子). It is best known (and is actually composed) for the anime version of Yu ☆ Yu ☆ Hakusho (幽☆遊☆白書) by the (in)famous Togashi Yoshihiro (冨樫義博) as the second ending theme. The translations are by me. The song is about parting ways, and is actually an inspiration for this story, as well as one of my personal favourite anime theme songs.

(It is a bit off to be in an action anime, especially when it’s played during an intense battle tournament arc (you know which one I mean if you watched the anime before), but the song is great nonetheless. In fact, the song fits the ending of the series. I would say it may be planned?)

-Most (if not all) of the flashback scenes (or references) in the story appear in various episodes of The Looney Tunes Show. The photo frame is the one given to Daffy by Porky as a birthday present in the episode “Muh-Muh-Muh-Murder” (S01E25), for instance.

-By chance, I wrote this story across Daffy’s birthday (screen debut), which is on April 17.

-And I also wrote this during my public exam preparation period. Yes I am pathetic.

-Also the Japanese dub is good in both DD and TLTS. (・∀・)

Duck Dodgers, The Looney Tunes Show and any character involved belong to Warner Bros.

“さよならbyebye” is written by リーシャウロン, composed and performed by 馬渡松子.

“幽☆遊☆白書” is created by the wonderful 冨樫義博-sensei.

[greekprodigies]

Why Shows Like Insatiable Are So Toxic, Despite Their Intentions

As a teenage girl who has only recently grown out of watching Disney Channel, it was safe to say I was intrigued when Netflix released the teaser trailer for their new 12-episode series Insatiable, starring Debbie Ryan, who played the title character of Disney’s Jessie for four seasons. It was a 30-second clip of Debbie Ryan in a hot pink dress, walking down a junk food aisle at a colorful grocery store, smashing everything on the shelves with a sledgehammer. Ryan’s voiceover says, “I’ve heard stories of girls who grew up happy and well-adjusted. This is not that story.” My first thoughts were, based solely on this teaser, that the main character seemed to be the villain, or at least a girl with a grudge. And, based off of this girl’s seemingly bad relationship with food, I also figured it would portray fat shaming in a way that most popular television shows don’t. I was hoping that Netflix would take their power over the teenage demographic and show a perspective that strayed away from the (respectable and still necessary) insecure overweight character still coming to terms with her own body (i.e. Kate from This Is Us or Rachel from My Mad Fat Diary). A perspective that I, an overweight high school senior who has already been through the ringer of despising my fatness, could relate to.

It’s obvious, in retrospect, that I was thinking way too deeply into a vague half-minute teaser video. I had gotten my hopes up. Those hopes were soon diminished when the official trailer was released

The video starts off with Debbie Ryan in a fat suit (I’ll get to why that is so grossly offensive later), introducing herself as Patty and showing her constant struggle as a victim of bullying and fat shaming at her high school. Her classmates (who seem to all be thin) call her “Fatty Patty”, and go so far as to spray paint it on her locker. Irene Choi, who plays Patty’s cruelest offender, is shown shouting “Porky! Butterball!” through a megaphone in the cafeteria, pointing to the main character. Then, after what seems to be a fight over a chocolate bar with a homeless man, Patty is punched in the face. Her voice-over tells us, “Having my jaw wired shut lost me more than just my summer vacation.”

Enter Patty 2.0. She’s the sparkling image of every chubby girl’s dream weight after she watches a show like this and vows to cut off carbs. No stretch marks, no cellulite, nothing that reflects what somebody’s body actually looks like after losing a large amount of weight in such a short period of time. The trailer escalates to a montage style of clips of Patty slapping, punching, and even pouring liquor onto some of her classmates before lighting a match.

It feels like a fantasy that’s trying to be relatable. That’s telling us that every bullied teenager, who’s frontal lobe isn’t developed enough to have a lot of perspective, craves revenge from their tormentors. And it’s easy for this narrative to be confused as a realistic depiction of the experience of being a teenage bullying victim. It’s even in the news, shown in the series of article published about domestic terrorist Nikolas Cruz revealing him being an orphan and being described as an “outcast” in interviews following the Parkland shooting. Sure, Insatiable’s revenge plot is meant to be satirical the same way Dexter (which Lauren Gussis, the writer and executive producer of this show, also worked on) is, but because it’s set in a high school during modern day, Patty (possibly, based on what’s shown in the trailer) killing her classmates hits a softer spot.

In the Teen Vogue article that was released with the trailer, Gussis explains how she “felt it was important to look at [bullying] head on and talk about it.” But it’s hard to look at bullying head-on when its changed so drastically over a span of 20 years. It’s past mean nicknames and cruel but clever comments said as two characters pass in a hallway. And more recently, it’s past cyberbullying. Or, at least, the way adults view cyberbullying based off of tone-deaf shows like Glee and dramatized TV movies like Cyberbully (which stars not one, but two former Disney Channel actresses). I’ve never met a high school student who got called a slut or gay 200 times in the comment section of a Facebook post. And, if I am completely wrong due to the fact that I’ve grown up during the social media transition from Facebook to Instagram and Snapchat, that form of bullying died when the Facebook phenomenon did. It is a subtler conversation than the beautiful cool kids versus the ugly losers.The solution is simple: If you’re going to make a show based off of your experiences of bullying in the 80’s, 90’s or even early 2000’s, make the show take place during those decades. Colliding old stereotypes to a character who exists in 2018 is unrealistic and humiliating.

Intention wise, Insatiable can be easily compared to another controversial Netflix original series, 13 Reasons Why. In the warning videos that are shown before watching, the stars of the show say, “By shedding a light on these difficult topics, we hope our show can help viewers start a conversation. But if you struggling with these issues yourself, this series may not be right for you, or you may want to watch it with a trusted adult,” And this message perfectly conveys a show that’s purpose seems heartfelt but is ultimately clueless. Here we have a television program that is produced by a bunch of 30 year olds, where people in their 20’s play high school students (yes, everyone who plays a teenager in 13RW are actually in their 20’s), pretending to understand what it’s like to be a teenager as if the dynamic between young people and mental illness hasn’t changed immensely in just the past couple of years. Just in five, the use of memes and irony has shifted from simply making fun of something, to helping us cope with the fact that our world is on fire. Everybody is laughing at the jokes about depression because, since the rise of social media and the quantification of how many people like us, we all feel depressed. Suicide, though tragic, has now been boiled down to kids saying they want to kill themselves when they have too much homework. We have an education system that teaches us about the anatomy of sex but never teaches us what questions need to be asked about consent during our sexual experiences. So making a show to start a conversation about depression, suicide, and sexual assault that warns it’s targeted audience (who are constantly surrounded by these topics) that the show might not be right for them is simply irresponsible.

But, if I can counteract what I just said, 13 Reasons Why horrifically also is the only show I’ve seen that has the most correct articulation of modern bullying. That’s not to say that anything else with the show is correct, because it’s not. Perhaps what is so wrong about 13RW is that, because they focus so much on the bullying aspect of high school, it provides a direct correlation between bullying and suicide. Well, that, and the graphic/triggering suicide and sexual assault scenes that were used for shock value. Nevertheless, Hannah Baker doesn’t go home and find a bunch of Instagram DMs of her classmates called her a whore. Any secrets that Hannah’s offenders had regarding what could have led her to kill herself were events that happened IRL. And they were just that: Secrets. Because the bullies were ashamed of what they had done. Even before Hannah committed suicide, Jessica Davis didn’t just go around telling people she slapped her ex-best friend because she thought she had betrayed her.

With Insatiable, it seems like everybody in this fictional high school (except for Patty’s best friend and maybe even a popular girl with a heart of gold) is insanely okay with harassing a girl just because of her appearance. It’s insulting, both as a fat girl and an observer of modern bullying. There isn’t one school in the country where 99% of its students just allow this sort of cruelty. Because we have perspectives and opinions that (surprise!) aren’t always swayed by whatever Instagram model is trending right now. Just because Emma Chamberlain is successful and skinny, doesn’t mean that we’re brainwashed to only make skinny people successful. I’m not saying that there isn’t an institutional privilege that skinny girls have, and have always had when it comes to social acceptance. Because they do. But there’s a gray area where most people stand when it comes to issues as new and contentious as body positivity, and Insatiable is ignoring it. You don’t have to be a body-posi activist to know that making somebody feel like shit because of their weight is wrong. And I hope this show can have a character that, without having any relation to Patty, recognizes that what these bullies are doing is outrageous.

After we recognize that the intention of these shows is ultimately flawed, we can then try to take a step forward and look at the impact. 13 Reasons Why, after being loudly criticized by suicide prevention experts, broke virtually every rule of portraying suicide. And as a result, a study shows that searches such as “how to commit suicide”, “suicide hotline number” and “teen suicide” were elevated after the show’s release. The time period for the search ended on April 18th of that year after NFL player Aaron Hernandez committed suicide, which could have influenced data. And any searches related to the movie Suicide Squad were discounted. Sure, the show had increased suicide awareness, but it also unintentionally increased suicide rationalization. And I fear that Insatiable may be on the same path. Regardless of the revenge plot or the bullying, there is still a skinny actress in a fat suit portraying a fat character who only eats, sits on the couch, and feels bad about herself. Then, after a summer of not being able to eat, returns to high school skinny and composed.

Firstly, the use of a fat suit is sickly but overall not surprising. In a world where blackface and yellowface in Hollywood has only just become unacceptable, fat suits seem more defendable for skinny people who don’t understand that there are a plethora of plus size actors who could have played Fatty Patty just as well (and most likely better) than Debby Ryan with pillows stuffed up her shirt. Perhaps the show could have avoided being so oblivious to its fat-shaming storyline if they had an actual fat person weighing in on it.

Secondly, there is the characterization of fat people as losers who do nothing but eat and watch TV. If there were a time and place for these characters to exist, it is definitely not now, where the call for diversity in Hollywood is louder than ever. Plus, we’ve already seen these people before. And it’s the same plot every time. They are only created to provide a funny prequel to a supposedly more stable version of the character. “Fat Monica” from Friends and “Fat Schmidt” from New Girl show a universe where plus size people can’t be taken seriously until they shed the pounds. When in reality, fat men and women are perfectly capable of being successful in their professional and romantic lives. Ironically enough, another New Girl character comes to mind when I think of plus size characters being accurately portrayed: Emily. She’s Schmidt’s ex-girlfriend from college, who dated him when he was her “Big Guy”. After Schmidt reminisces about losing his virginity to her, she resurfaces into his life as a confident woman who goes on dates and isn’t ashamed of who she is. There even seems to be a layer to her character showing that there had been a time where she was insecure about herself and her body but has overcome them. This is an example of a healthy goal for young girls and boys who are self-conscious of their body. Not Debby Ryan’s character, who only gains confidence after losing an obscene amount of weight.

It may actually be the casting of Debby Ryan that could cause a rise in body dysmorphia in young people from watching this show. Since her face is plastered on every poster, teaser and trailer for the show, Disney Channel fans, and former fans might watch simply because she’s cast as the lead role. It’s certainly what sparked my interest in the show. And since Disney Channel’s demographic has gotten younger and younger, there’s a generation that will watch this show and not see it as fat shaming, but a way to become the person they’ve always wanted to be. Skinny, beautiful and confident while simultaneously making all of their classmates' jaws drop as they walk down the hallway. But Patty doesn’t lose weight healthily, she literally could not eat solid food. Depending on how the show addresses this, it is a possible glorification of anorexia. Just like 13 Reasons Why glorified and romanticized depression. But two wrongs don’t make a right, and anorexia and depression can not make anybody beautifully broken.

To make things clear, I am not telling you to not watch this show. And based off of the 100,000 signatures (and counting) on a petition for the show’s cancellation, none of us may even get to. But speaking as a person who fits into all of these groups, Insatiable gets everything wrong about being a high schooler, a teenage girl, and a fat person.

[etheshadowlord]

An unasked for and continued review of every Power Rangers Episode E can get a hold of Pt. 2

The following is a non-professional review of the Power Rangers Series starting from Mighty Morphin and working our way forward. This review Covers Episode 6-10. Note there will be spoilers.

Mighty Morphin Power Rangers Season 1 Episode 6: Food Fight.

Our intrepid young goody goodies are running a cultural food fair. Which gets quickly ruined by Bulk and Skull and their antics.How these two don’t get suspended or expelled is beyond me. Might be a weird luck stat? Regardless. Rita is not feeling so well and decides to use one of Finsters not so stellar monsters for the job of eating everything.

Things look like they’re going to Rita’s benefit until the rangers figure out that porky can’t handle a bit of heat. Rangers get their weapons back and bacon out of the nefarious ham.

Fun: 5 out of 5

Weird monster design: 3 out of 5

Now I’m hungry: 4 out of 5.

Mighty Morphin Power Rangers Season 1 Episode 7: Big Sisters.

Trini and Kimberly Volunteered to be Big Sisters for the Rambunctious Maria for a day. Meanwhile Aunt Rita Repulsa needs a child like Maria for her own plans. To get passed a barrier and get a couple of Power Eggs to gain the power to defeat the power rangers...

*Looks at the script.* 

No....that’s what it says... I mean Eggs are full of protein so it tracks but the barrier requiring the touch of an innocent child to open it and the definition of innocent child make little sense to me. Who designs this magic?

Anyway putty patrollers kidnap Maria and get her to open the box while also probably traumatizing the kid with the ugly chicken monster of the week.

 Rangers can’t reach communication with alpha and Zordon or even teleport so they instead take Billy’s RADBUG which is an acronym but we’re not going to go into that because it is a supped up Volkswagon beetle. So they take the car and go to the command center and go to save Maria using the radbug. They fight funky chicken for a bit before frying him once and for all with the Megazord.

Maria is saved and Rita has a headache, and the episode ends with Bulk getting doused in Veggie Chilli. Hold up, why is he getting slapsticked on? He’s been on good behaviour. Bulk was just minding his own business for this entire episode....what? Oh, karma for last episode. That makes sense, anyways.

Fun: 3 out of 5

Bad kid voice acting: 4 out of 5.

Com and teleportation outages: 0 out of 5 because they suck.

Mighty Morphin Power Rangers Season 1 Episode 8: I, eye guy.

This is another episode featuring a kid of the week, Willy and his VR game he made, which really just looks like face mounted displays showing video footage of a roller coaster ride. Anyway with the help of billy the kid is entering the science fair competition. Meanwhile ol’ Aunt Rita Repulsa has a new evil plan to kidnap the kid and steal his intelligence for her own?

*Looks at notes.* 

So what is she going to use him to create games to win the hearts of the masses and then take over the world legally? Oh nope the monster just saps the kid after absorbing them.

*Looks at notes again.* Hold on I think I need to call the FBI on Rita Repulsa.

Anyway before getting the monster out, Rita has some putties sent down to try and take the kid, worked last time. Well this time it didn’t and the rangers beat the clay faced goons and got Willy to the science fair.

Look before I continue can I just say that whoever wrote the script has no idea about computer electronics. I feel the urge to lambaste them for the term Quasitronic circuitry. I’m willing to let the Radbug slide and all the other ranger tech, but now I’m drawing the line.

And bring in another round of bulk and skull antics as they come to cause havoc and because of these bozos and their antics, WIlly gets disqualified.. Okay so this is what I call plot contrived BS. Willy didn’t even touch those 2 yet the professor decided that since Willy was one of the many people laughing as Bulk and Skull ran after their fashion makeover that he must have been the culprit?

Okay a distraction.before I unleash a world breaker move but can we say that the lady with the funky fashion makeover machine has a brilliant concept going? A machine that can help you change your clothes would be very useful for the disabled or people with limited mobility.

So after the idiot professor denies Willy what he deserves, he’s kidnapped by eye guy and...

jeepers creepers where’d you get those peepers, jeepers creepers where’d you get those eyes... where’d you get those eyes.Sorry had to.

Anyway inside the eyes of eye guy Willy is stuck on a gyroscope and to protect himself eye guy keeps his main separate so the rangers team finisher has no effect on him.

Billy goes to save Willy, Rita super sizes eye guy making him more of an eye sore than he was before, Megazord finishes the monster and Willy is saved and the professor gives Willy’s invention first prize. Thus ends another episode.

Fun: 4 out of 5

Eyes: Too many

Strict professor: Only 1.

Mighty Morphin Power Rangers Season 1 Episode 9: For Whom the Bell Trolls.

Hmmm.....a episode with a bunch of dolls....don’t like that. One of them is going to get possessed by Rita’s machinations isn’t it? Don’t like any of this.

So it’s Hobby Week at Angel Grove High and the main five showcase their hobbies/interests. Trini it’s dolls, Jason it’s martial arts, Zack it’s surfing, Kimberly Gymnasitcs, and Billy it’s a Model.....volcano? Anyway afterwards Bulk and Skull because clearly these two never got enough attention as kids try to pick on Trini and her dolls doing the whole keep away thing only for Bulk to get gooped by the Volcano.

I’m certain it’s non-toxic, right Billy?.... Billy?

Anyway we see Trini’s house and her room.... and all the pretty dolls she has.

Look, I’ll be Frank and I’m not Frank I’m E...but I find something unnerving about some dolls. I like them better than Horses but still.

So Rita sends....what’s his name....squatt? Yep, that’s him. Sends him down to turn Ticklesneezer into the monster of the week. This is a kids show so i’m going to let this plan slide to see where it’s going here.

Oh so she’s going to have him collect things....like a motorcycle, tokyo tower, Trini and BIlly in a car. Okay this plan is already pretty effective I’m surprised.

Meanwhile the others are at the youth center doing a bit of sparring before Jason showcases his martial arts skills by the age old trick of breaking wood.

We also get more bulk and skull antics...with bulk hurting his hand on a cake.

The squad get called in by Zordon to go save Trini and Billy fighting their way through the ever novel Putty squad and Baboo, Squat, and Goldar.

Kimberly saves Mini Trini and Billy from their bottle and from a Train. Hold on giving Kimberly another gold star for good work. And Rita Repulsa makes Ticklesneezer grow as she does with all her monsters.

And we see a Giant asian kid with the Megazord as the rangers attempt to bottle rita and her group. Errors in stock footage....and it turns out it was all a dream....oh okay so it makes more sense for their to be a giant kid there.

We close out the episode with one more instance of Bulk and Skull and their.....flea circus? Okay that’s actually kind of wholesome for a couple bullies....and the teacher ends up getting flea bitten...... instead of those two getting the slapstick over the head...well surprising.

Fun:5 out of 5

Dolls: Creepy

Reality: Questionable.

Mighty Morphin Power Rangers Season 1 Episode 10: Happy Birthday Zack.

*Puts on a party hat.*

Cake-o-matic, looks like an old toaster oven mixed with a couple filters and two blenders. But who am I to question genius. *Watches Ernie get covered with blue cake foam.* Who am I to question Gremlins.

So the rangers are preparing a surprise party for Zack and Rita is preparing a “Killer” surprise for Zack as well. Ernie is also pretty close to the truth regarding the rangers.....except obviously the Rangers are interdimensional beings....OBVIOUSLY, didn’t hear it from me though.

And Bulk and Skull show up. What are they doing out so late? Also shouldn’t the door be locked, isn’t this trespassing? Ernie gave the kids permission but not them. I’m terribly confused.

Anyway Bulk and Skull make complete fools of themselves while Rita is demanding progress reports regarding the monster of the week. Finster seems kind of annoyed. Already has the monster decided and everything. Dude needs a night off, go have some drinks. Look I know a place near the pits of evil. Nastiest drinks and nastier company but it’s a good time. Call me Finster we’ll hang.

Anyway the kids finish prep and work on keeping Zack in the dark, and in the dark of night we see Finster and Baboo proving that they could really go into the renfaire business as they work on a nasty sword that can cut through just about anything in the known universe. Well except the bonds of friendship and love but those don’t count. Rita summons her nasty knight on this nasty night and the games afoot.

Anyway the kids are trying to act cool for the surprise party, to mixed results which will obviously just make Zack hurt and distracted him from his fight against the Nasty Knight as Zack loses and dies and the Rangers are defeated and Rita wins. Game Over.......

....NAH! The rangers get to Zack and they’re still not beating this guy...huh....not even the Megazord is doing anything...well until they figure out the schict of the situation and break the nasty sword and the knight with the power sword thus ending plan.....10 of Rita’s. The kids then go to the youth center and celebrate Zack’s birthday.

Fun: 5 out of 5

Knights: Out.

Cake: 0 out of 5 it’s undercooked and way to foamy.

Anyway this concludes part 2 of this long and grueling review of every power rangers episode I can get a hold of and affront to professional reviews to the series as a whole. Bah I’m having fun and that’s all that matters.

Anyway stay tuned to more of this nonsense.

[abybweisse]

About the characters from Mother 1, Earthbound-Mother 2, and Mother 3. Do you wonder what and how, their voices would sound like?

Ah that's true, you never really hear them speak, do you? It's all text boxes....Ninten (M) and Ness (M2) should have American accents, perhaps a bit mid-western. I imagine Anna (M) and Paula (M2) sounding a bit southern, but I don't know whether that was intended. However, I do recall that Paula Polestar lives in a town kind of southeast from Ness' town (and he actually lives slightly north of his nearest town, just like our earl lives a bit north of London). Teddy (M) I imagine having an east coast accent, like New Jersey, though, again, that's just what comes to mind. Lloyd (M) is British, and he's a nerd who hides in trash cans to keep from getting bullied. His accent might be slightly posh. Prince Poo (M2) is a martial artist who comes from an eastern foreign country, but I'm not sure what accent to give him. I think he's supposed to be a mix of eastern cultures? I imagine him sounding a bit like an American actor doing a bad, vaguely Indian accent, even though he looks more like a ninja.... Jeff (M2) is the son of Dr. Andonuts, and there is good reason to believe that Dr. Andonuts is Lloyd as an adult (he looks much the same but older, and he also hides in trash cans). So, Jeff and Dr. Andonuts (Lloyd in M, Dr. Andonuts in M2 and M3) are British. Mother3 takes place on Nowhere Islands, which looks suspiciously like the United Kingdom plus the Republic of Ireland... the British Isles. However, Lucas and his fellow humans (except Dr. Andonuts) came from somewhere else, and it's not said where they originated, simply that they arrived on a huge white ship. They might sound mostly American, but there's probably a slight British accent in there. The Magypsies (M3) have lived on the islands for nearly a thousand years, and they look like men but generally dress and speak as women, so I imagine them sounding rather like a British okama. Very over-the-top girly speech in deeper voices and British accents. Basically a bunch of Grelles running around. 😂 Then the Mr. Saturns (M2 and M3, maybe M for a bit) speak in a super-flowery but childish way; they are symbols of innocence (according to Itoi). I imagine them being like extraterrestrials who arrived long ago, and they've learned English but still use their own unique speech patterns. Pokey Minch (M2)/King Porky (M3) is from Ness' area, so general American accent... but very bratty.Thanks for the ask!

[101percentindia]

The Indian Academy Of Trolls Is Pissing People Off

The art of cyber-bullying does not come naturally.

Welcome to the Academy of Trolls where we pass on the sacred education of spoiling people’s day on the internet. We impart the necessary training to assist the transition from a hater to a Professional Troll. Our courses specialise in disrupting social media harmony, provoking reactionary comments and communicating in hashtags.

The Academy of Trolls was once called UTI (University of Trolls India), however, that quickly backfired since people started trolling us instead by comparing our institute to a Urinary Tract Infection. We have similarly done make-overs for our Trolls, in an effort to make them trendy and acceptable, like calling them Nationalists, Conservatives, Gau Rakshaks etc.

Here are some ways in which you can also become an expert at trolling / blocking / spreading hate / and generally being anti-human.

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Our motto for community-building. Image source: wpmu.mah.se

Know Your Enemy Identify who you are up against. Most movements collapse because of internal conflict and a lack of a unifying objective. Hence, we have defined hate as our common denominator, towards identifiable persons. Essentially, anybody who questions the ruling party, subscribes to the idea of a liberal society and quotes Gandhi or Nehru is an immediate prospect. Stay on the lookout for any isms - feminism, communism, atheism, veganism are buzzwords to be targeted immediately upon mention. racism, colourism, and sexism are fine.

Engage in Online Arguments This is the main action point of the course we teach to our would-be Trolls. The goal is to select comments posted under critical online articles and engage them in arguments. No supportive comment should be left unbothered. Have a set conduct for dealing with such comments: maintaining a mocking tone, providing forwarded WhatsApp messages as facts, and coming together like a wolf pack to increase the number of 'likes' on the response. Because likes=truth.

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Gauri Lankesh outrage on social media. Image source: newslaundry.com

Deflect Online Arguments Equally important is to support your own argument and protect it against detractors. After a Troll makes a point, there is bound to be several new-age, fact-checking 'truth pursuers' refuting it. Against them adopt a never say die attitude and keep counter-arguing until the opposition is forced to logout, because they probably have a job… or a life. Take this as your profession, devise certain methods to deal with challenging comments.

Character Assassination Immediately shift the focus of the argument from the topic at hand to the commenter. Their personal characteristics are to be made fun of - for eg their height, their looks, their skin colour, their city, the school they attended, etc. This requires a quick profile search and using 'Stalking Guide 101' guidelines to gather enough information about the enemy. This is why all Trolls are advised to never reveal their personal identity on their profiles; only pictures of animated frogs, national flags, exotic flowers we don’t know names of and actors/actresses (whom we will also troll) to be used as a profile picture. In the About section, working at Facebook should suffice.

Name Calling/Labelling A civil conversation allows space for a moral and logical conclusion, which is an antidote to a Troll. In order to make the opponent stoop to the Troll’s level of communication, employ trigger words that immediately garner a reaction. This disarms the opponent by invoking his primeval brain and respond in the same fashion. Distorted labels like libtard, feminazi, commie, antinational, act like road turns to change the course of the conversation. Prefixing 'pseudo' before any term has shown to work equally well.

Trolling the 'anti-nationals' Image source: Facebook.com

Random Data We must also be aware of the public perception of a Troll, lest he is labelled and disregarded the way a Troll does to others. Therefore, every Troll is given a stack of data containing statistics and textbook clippings to appear knowledgeable. Please note that religious text is also considered to be scientific and is to be taken literally. Every “fact” is preceded by “It has been scientifically proven” and sprinkled with statistics to make it believable. The data does not have to be relevant to the topic in discussion; the purpose is only to sound intellectual.

Innovative Use of Language A distinctive characteristic of a Troll is the dreadful spelling. This is, as opposed to popular opinion, not due to poor education (alone) but acts as an identifier. A Troll in need of backup can be immediately recognised by another Troll who can then pitch in. Horrible grammar, generous use of abbreviations, a complete disregard of punctuations and incoherent sentence structures are like a Troll S.O.S.

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Misspelled words. Image source: Facebook.com

Whataboutery When no other technique works, resort to whataboutery - a fool proof method of passing the blame on to the one raising their voice in the first place. This works by assuming victimhood and expressing hurt the commentator caused by ignoring other similar incidents. The advantage of this method is that it allows the Troll to digress from the actual issue while appearing to be on topic. The template requires every response to begin by 'what about', followed by any number of similar incidents. This gives the Troll complete immunity from lacking compassion about the victims in the relevant incident while assuming victimhood himself.  

Below is a case study from a Star Troll of batch 2009 putting each of the above technique to use, and cursing his way through the test. (Commentator) “A recent report states that road contractors use cheap synthetic materials mixed with tar to cut costs. This causes pot holes with only a couple of uses. The extra money is shared between the contractors and the politicians of the current government” (Troll) “LOLROFL. Here cumz anoder #Leftie. You’re an idiot sucks man” (Commentator) “Excuse me? This is a serious issue for our road safety. I can see 3 potholes right outside my window at this very moment, and it isn’t a pleasant sight.” (Troll) “You’re face isnt a pleasant site. Why dont u luk urself in da mirror…R u scared? Dont criticise the govnmt for any reasonz” (Commentator) “Listen, I’m not trying to vilify anybody out a personal vendetta. This is a national issue. Do you know the repairs are costing the taxpayers crores every year?” (Troll) “He sed national. HE IS ANTINATIONAL. Go bk to Pakistan, u porkie” (Commentator) “Are you high? I am quoting facts here. Don’t waste my and everybody else’s time with your nonsense if you can’t produce any data” (Troll) “U thnk your da only 1s with factz? Haan? Did u knew that ketchup wz sold as medicine in 1830s? U r nobody, the Argentine lake duck has a penis as long as its whole body” (Commentator) “What? ermm…what are you even on about?” (Troll) “What about the potholz in Bourbon street in New Orleans? What about the new packaging of Nestle’s Kitkat? What about our soljerz?” (Commentator) “What about them? I would really appreciate you staying relevant and on topic here” (Troll) “#libtards and pseudo intellectuals lyk u r alwayz gvng bad impressions bout our cuntry. V da BEST. Salman Bhai rockz!” (Commentator) “Kill me!”

Group Rituals Every once in a while, Trolls gather over the internet to perform group rituals that strengthen the community bond and pushes their agenda forward. These are enjoyable customs that fill a certain void that Trolls are born with and validates their existence. Some of the favourite group rituals are as below: • Downrating apps of the company the commentator owns or works in. Apps of companies that share a resemblance with their name are also downrated to be on the safer side.  For e.g. if somebody from Zara has offended a Troll’s sentiment, then along with their app, the app for Xara will also be downrated • Leaving 1-star Amazon reviews for books written by offending authors. Having read these books is not necessary • Leaving 'love reacts' over comments by fellow Trolls • Issue rape and death threats to a female and male rival respectively

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The anatomy of a troll. Image source: trendhunter.com

Eligibility Anybody with repressed sexuality can become a student of the Academy of Trolls. A repulsion of books and equal gender rights go a long way in the admission process. Experience in mob lynching is highly preferable. Applicants representing a minority of any sort will be disqualified. Unlike the regressive SC/ST quota, the Brahmins are offered seat reservations to restore the balance of the universe.

Job prospects Trolls are recruited in large numbers by the IT cell of the ruling party in every election. Illegitimate religious organisations and militant groups are a close second in demand. Contrary to suspicions, the army has never employed any of the Trolls. Our alumni, out of respect and on their own liking, use them to propagate their agenda. Certificates of Patriotism are handed out to every Troll who mentions the Army in their arguments, even though none of them have ever served on the front or have known a soldier personally.  Every Troll is also entitled to a handful of air tickets to Pakistan, in case they need to send an online dissenter into exile. These are refundable trips to Karachi but can also be refunded to buy tridents, plastic flags and Patanjali products instead.

Subscribe to 101 India. Disclaimer: The views expressed in this article are independent views solely of the author(s) expressed in their private capacity and do not in any way represent or reflect the views of 101india.com

By Jitesh Jaggi Cover photo credit: themighty.com

[ducktracy]

124. alpine antics (1936)

release date: march 9th, 1936

series: looney tunes

director: jack king

starring: billy bletcher (bully), tommy bond (beans)

another beans cartoon by king, featuring his girlfriend kitty and a peg leg pete facsimile. beans plans to enter a skiing contest, and his motives for winning are pushed further when a bully brews up trouble.

open to a winter landscape, everyone skiing and skating. three snowmen sing “she was an acrobat’s daughter” as “she was an ice skater’s daughter” while a clarabelle cow facsimile skates right up against the screen, animation smooth and crisp. the singing snowmen have their own 15 seconds of fame, melting in front of a roaring fire to end the song.

more ice centered gags ensue—a dog boils some water over a fire and pours it into a hole in the ice, hoping for a quick dip. predictably, the genius pops up frozen in an ice cube. elsewhere, three horses wearing sweaters that spell out “SOS” skate in a line, a tiny dog skating beneath their legs. the entire scene is reminiscent of the opening scene in bosko in dutch. a turtle dances on the ice, when he and his reflection get separated. the gags aren’t laugh out loud hilarious, but the visuals are appealing.

enter beans and kitty. beans pushes kitty in a sled, occasionally hopping on the back for the ride. he brakes in front of a cabin (the break being a boot attached to a lever) to read a flyer posted on the wall. the flyer boasts a ski race, promoting $100,000,000 in prizes “or a cool $2.00 cash to the winner!” a classic that will appear in many a cartoon.

beans is ecstatic. he snags a pair of spare skis and declares “big race today, kitty! oh boy, watch me win that race!” a peg leg pete facsimile (more so than usual—this time he’s an actual cat, of course voiced by billy bletcher. i don’t know if i explicitly mentioned it but i’ve always implied it—bletcher also voiced pete in the original disney cartoons) hides behind a tree, menacingly chuffing on a cigar so you know he’s hot shit. he approaches beans and picks him up by the skis. he asserts his kindness by sliding beans off of the skiis and flicking him off his own pair before breaking beans’ skis over his knees. a reasonable fella.

rightfully so, beans is pissed, shaking his fist, sticking out his tongue, shadow boxing, tapping his foot, promising he’ll show him. he rips the seat portion of the sled off, and thus has his own makeshift pair of skiis. hope kitty didn’t want to do any more sledding. two conveniently placed straps are under the skiis, which he ties around his feet and shuffles off towards the big race.

porky makes a cameo at the starting line, riding a rocking horse into battle. the bully is confidently waiting for the start, yet his pride deflates as soon as he notices beans adorning new skis. he grimaces at beans, who innocently laughs in return. a turtle referee checks his clock—time is ticking. the bully also recognizes this, and thusly pulls out a rocket from his pocket. he swipes beans’ hat over his head so he can’t see, creating the perfect distraction as he ties the rocket to one of beans’ skis and lights it. and, of course, beans is sent rocketing backwards, flying right into a cabin and shooting out of the roof. he lands in the snow in a daze as the bully gives a trademark belly laugh.

the bully’s timing was just right. a fire of the pistol and the race is off. the bully speeds ahead on his skis, porky rides his horse into battle, a dog takes off with a makeshift sailboat, and another struggles to get his exercise bike through the snow. though beans is already at a disadvantage, his optimism is seldom flattened. he skis right where he is, the bully already in a steady lead.

visuals galore as we spot the racers. the biker sends snow flying right into porky’s face, a dog pumps a bellows into a sail, a duck rides a wiener dog donning skis, the essentials. beans is finally on the course, spreading his legs to avoid a tree trunk and conversely compacting his body as he passes between two trunks. the bully takes time to admire his lead, once more laughing. he shreds down a slope and jumps off, pulling a string to summon a parachute and ensure safely. as he floats lazily in the sky, he makes attempts to ski in the air.

cue the dirty tricks. the bully spins around a tree to stop himself, tying a rope to one of his ski poles. he jabs the pole into a neighboring tree and effectively creates a tripwire. one by one, his victims fall into place (literally): the cycling dog falls headfirst into the snow, spinning his bike upside down. porky’s next, he and his rocking horse both shaking their tails in the snow. next the sail boat dog, and even the three little pigs(?), also shaking their tails like porky. next is beans’ turn, who barrels into the pole with enough force that the pole is loosened and the bully’s contraption ties around him instead.

beans has now secured the lead... for now. the bully is fueled with extra motivation and vitriol to beat beans, puffing out his chest and breaking his bonds. beans slides over a hill, his skis getting lodged in the side of a mountain. and, of course, the bully flies right over his head, once more in the winning seat. to make matters worse, the duck and wiener dog duo are fast approaching. they slide UNDER the mountain, and barrel into beans from under, propelling him into the air. the duck briefly rides the dog like a tire, until a jump cut has them back in regular formation, the cut a bit discombobulated and incoherent.

the duck honks at the bully to get out of the way, who, of course, does everything but that. therefore, the duck turns the wiener dog sideways and knocks straight into the bully. their glory is hardly reveled in: they crash into a tree, the dog wrapping around the tree and pinning the duck. next comes beans, who uses the bully’s skis lodged into the snow as a ramp.

the chase is now exclusively focused on beans and the bully. beans hits a slope that flings him into the air, and once more he lands behind the bully. nevertheless, they weave in and out of trees, beans managing to pass the bully. another slope sends the bully flying forward, landing straight on beans’ shoulders. they pass a cabin, the bully riding on the roof and landing back on beans’ shoulders. they’re broken up once the bully runs into a tree branch, spiraling up the tree and back down. he’s flung forward, about to hit the finish line...

until he crashes into an ice patch, the ice propelling him underwater. beans rides over the reversible ice, skidding across the finish line. finally, a winner! yet, another ice patch (or perhaps the same one?) bucks beans forward as the bully pops his head out, clearly upset at his loss. iris out as beans pokes his head out from his own ice hole, staring incredulously at the audience.

not the most coherent beans cartoon. this is one of the rare beans cartoons i had seen before, and overall remembered nothing about it. i can see why. there aren’t many gags but moreso visuals that are all tired out and lose their punch. many times the story lapsed in coherence—at the end, the bully is clearly thrown into an ice patch that lies BEFORE the finish line, since beans skids past it and slides over the line afterwards. yet, the patch is shown to be inside the line at the end. of course, with many of these cartoons, suspension of disbelief plays an important role, but here it’s just not believable. believability can make or break a cartoon (believable does not equal realistic! stick to what you’re specializing in, no matter how absurd the plot is. a plot can be absurd but still believable). probably best to skip, but it isn’t a cartoon that’s terrible. the animation is certainly nice in some spots. just a relatively mediocre cartoon that i probably won’t be watching again anytime soon.

link!