#ADD ANOTHER TERRORISM CHARGE LIKE WE GIVE A FUCK

[biomic]

PROUD ENEMIES OF THE STATE <3

[nuancefem]

this is controversial as fuck but i mean this is radblr... complex discussions and nuance are our meals of choice, right? right???

if you hate me after this that's okay. i want to say i at least have more experience in jewish spaces and with jewish history than most, though i obvs am not as knowledgeable as a historian who knows jewish history. so my pov is different than someone who has never been in a synagogue, where jewish history is constantly discussed at length. i'm open to people deeply informed about jewish history, and not just from tiktok vids and tumblr posts and articles written by greedy war-hungry journalists sensationalizing it all.

i have seen a jewish world where the gratitude for the land and the desire to have peace between all kinds of folks, all religions and all races and both sexes (on the leftist side anyways) permeates every speech a rabbi would give. jewish ppl were persecuted and enslaved since the beginning of time. pharaos enslaved jewish ppl bc they were seen as a lesser race and not deserving of their own land, so of course they wouldn't want to oppress another group, only their rich greedy men would, and the rich greedy men would feed their civilians lies and try to turn it into a coliseum battle. we are talking about two heavily marginalized groups with different needs. we are talking about a very complex situation, just as complex as the situation between biological women and transfem activists; at least in the eyes of transmasc & detrans women who have seen the issues in both tra communities and radfem communities and have unique perspectives. ppl hate us, duh. we make things more complicated. it's always so easy in war. one side is obviously righteous and deserves the land (even 100+ years after those new ppl settled there, and even if the current people never chose to take over the land, they were just born there and are usually at the mercy of rich privileged men who are a total minority in israel and heavily exploit people both israel and palestine, terrorizing their women and destroying their country with greed). greedy male billionaires are at the hands of most countries. do you really think people of israel wouldn't choose to go back to their og place if they could go back in time? sure. but right now their family has hundreds of years of connection with the land. i don't want them to have to leave or bow down to me or whatever. i want canada-like response to palestinian injustice. i don't wish for what hamas wants and has called for. you may want to look up everything he's actually said.

if you would not support... and i mean truly support, think about it as if it happened for real to you and your loved ones and local community, how chaotic it would get, how much stress and turmoil it would add to your life. if you would not support native americans - i'm saying this as a part mi'kmaw woman who partially lived in a rez in my very impoverished native community and facing the harsh impact of the government not caring abt indigenous peoples, so i know how much better things would be if white ppl had never come. if my female ancestors didn't get assaulted into pregnancy by white men, and became subhuman in the laws of the society. my family wouldn't be full of generational traumas and internalized racism. it would've been fucking amazing. but it didn't happen. and it would've probably made things worse in some way anyway. "winning" at war against white men wouldn't have solved everything either. i would've wanted peace between everyone who has been a resident of the country and has roots there. i am pro-immigrants. i am pro- focusing on the future and not the past. i am into reform and making the rich greedy men in charge alter their laws to respect palestinian victims and their families and truly atone. i want no more injured. any day spent fighting means more injured ppl, right? so wouldn't it be best to end the war? but i know ppl love a good gamble.

i don't want it to happen between indigenous folks and non-indigenous people. bc i care about my white friends and friends of color who aren't native, and if they suddenly lost their homes or citizenships, on top of their usual life stress, it would be heartbreaking for me to watch. i want white ppl to do better, i really do. and i'm white passing so i can only talk so much about that, but i did see it affect my native fam and i know the dynamic. i want white people to do better in a realistic way. i don't want to daydream about a forceful takeover of canada. hell, canada learned from things and inserted SOOOOO much stuff in laws and in schools to redeem themselves or at least prevent further oppression. and while it's not perfect and they can be stingy, to me it's 100% the right path. it's the right way to do things, the path towards international peace. is war the right way to solve this? aren't israel and palestine democratic countries? isn't there activism to be done THERE instead of just going out in the streets and cheering like war cheerleaders at hamas or at least making a snarky remark and brushing it off. are young progressives (it's mostly younger ppl celebrating the war lbr) really having a positive impact on palestinian lives? or are we just adding fuel to the fire? do you still see yourself as anti-war? or is some war rational, healthy, and worth it? you are cheering for a war. you are empowering a group that is trying to force its ways into a country through weapons and taking in hostages. you aren't doing fuckall to stop the situation for palestinians stuck in that hellish war-damaged land. do palestinian civilians deep in the war really want israel to give up the land and cease to be called israel after hundreds of years of history and culture and immigrant families (palestinian included) making lives there and getting attached to israel and feeling pride in it, since it is a country ravaged by more powerful governments overseas for years and years growing more and more corrupt politically? do citizens not want peace first and foremost? don't they just want the war to end? but people are saying "well this side is right and it's okay that they're encouraged to keep fighting! i want it to win :) yaayyyy go team palestine!!!!!" you are empowering people, hamas included, to harm not just israeli people (low on your priority list, i know... weird how in the russian-ukranian war, no one was cheering for the party who's in the right...? bc we knew that it'd just lead to furthering the war leading to more injuries and deaths and tortures, by encouraging either party and framing them as the inherent heroes who should get to win righteously (valkyrie style) like when schoolchildren fight and one side obviously is right but the fight isn't productive so it needs to end BEFORE they can figure out what happened, you can't try to deal with powerful men by making it a debate room. you can only deal with them by removing the weapons. activists should be focused on destroying weapons of war and empowering gaza civilians into doing protests and try to become a rebellion

you need to empower the marginalized to fight their own battles. and those battles are AGAINST THE RICH MEN, NOT THE OTHER CIVILIAN SIDE. YOU GOTTA BE WELCOMING THE OTHER SIDE AS ALLIES BC CLASS IS A HUGE DIVISION AND MOST OF US ARE BROKE UNDER CAPITALISM. THEY WERE ALL CIVILIANS SCREWED OVER BY POWERFUL MEN TOO LIKE THE CIVILIANS OF ALL COUNTRIES, FROM THE AGES OF GREEDY KINGS. WE NEED TO DETHRONE BOTH RICH PALESTINIANS IN POWER AND ISRAELI PEOPLE IN POWER BC OBVIOUSLY THEY KEEP FUCKING UP. most of the ppl in offices are older, and are stuck in old ways and make the country do dumb shit against another country. like with blm, like with #metoo, born this way, etc we had bystandards cheering for those social activist movements and the marginalized people made sure to have a strong message and clear demands, otherwise it was wasted breath and wasted activist energy. once dust settled and the injured were healed and ppl were housed properly, then we would reach out to the other side, do peaceful protests, and try to find realistic compromises. once both sides had time to cool their heads down and prioritize peace above all. gyns... we should be focused on the innocent civilians, especially in gaza, who are fucking struggling. we should pour water on the war flames, not boost the ego of one side, bc listen gang the rich men are in feral mode, they're privileged rich toddlers with too much influence, too stuck in the thrill of battle to notice the ppl hurting and if we keep the war going they'll get dumber and dumber. one side asks the other to stop the war, but the other side says that they're in the right so they need to rekindle the battle and settle the score properly to atone by doing something super drastic and unrealistic, and something that would be economically desastrous and dangerous for women and children especially. and something the other side doesn't fucking want to do bc it's been hundreds of years and their peoples (immigrants included) have settled there and built pride as a jewish people, a people who was heavily oppressed but now gets a life of safety after years and years of slavery and torture and mass killings by antisemites, especially around times of political stress. and ofc gaza has been ravaged with political tensions and greedy rich men for ages. there shouldn't be a war. people should be left to pick up the pieces of their life and rebuild their homes and get proper food and water before any kind of battle to prove their worth was to happen. at the very least there should be rules in the war. but usually one side is too inflammatory and it starts the bickering again. violent bickering btw. men in power during wars are greedy, impulsive toddlers who don't care about casualties. it's not israel that's the threat that needs to be squished down, it's the rich men in charge of BOTH SIDES

please read up on the actual history of israel & palestine. something NUANCED for once, with no bias whatsoever, totally neutral information gathering. if the message you're reading is simple and obvious, then you're probably not reading something nuanced. the world will always complex. more than tiktoks make it sound. radblr is about knowledge gathering and neutral sharing of information, right? so we should be able to have respectful female discussions of current events without bickering or generalizing or demanding for uncompromising forceful actions by a powerful greedy man (do we really trust hamas? do we? a greedy rich dude who has so much to gain by being the King of the war? has anyone done a background check on this guy? what is actually going on in gaza, are influential groups actually treating palestinians well? should they really be empowered or will the war just keep hurting civilians and isn't worth it in the end? is palestinian pain just collateral damage to us?

we should be able to sit down as a community, throw out the term zionist bc so many people are misusing it, cool off our heads as civilians, mostly civilians barely if at all impacted by the war and just watching on like sports commentors. we get caught up in the lore and the storylines too. we get really hyped up wanting Our Side to win. just need one more battle! and THEN we'll win. nope, we can't possibly consider stopping the powerful men battling it out. we can't possibly simply state "i believe in this bc of xyz" and talk it out spock style, like there's a marriage counsellor between the people tras call zionist and palestine activists. we're on the left, people. most of us are marginalized in some way, shape or form. do we really want two marginalized group to dish it out and hurt their civilians? just for an ego boost at finally winning at war? can you even truly win at war?

didn't we use to say that no one wins in war? like oldschool movies? didn't we use to look up to hippies?

hippies would be ashamed of the left.

oldschool anti-war cartoons would be ashamed of leftists.

victims are who matter the most, not the righteousness of men.

also, horrific things are happening to jewish ppl everywhere. antisemitism has always been consistent and terrifying. synagogues get so many fucking threats, even before all this. now it's next level. make sure to be a good ally to ALL marginalized folks. and, ofc, don't forget to call shit out on the jewish side too.

i am anti-war. can you really say the same if you don't want it to end? or you only want it to end "successfully"?

victims matter most.

peace is essential.

minimizing harm is our #1 priority. which means ending the war.

everything else is secondary.

and i know righteousness feels great. i know we want the perfect magnificent revolution. but if you watched a war movie before and listened to the war-stricken civilians... you know how this movie would end. you know how the survivors of the "winning side" feel years after winning. they're full of bitterness. or maybe romanticize it in their minds. but they have deep, haunting regret about the chaos it cost in everyone's lives, and anger at the greedy men in charge. it's why they're so full of ptsd. bc war is hell. fuck the war.

what is it good for? absolutely NOTHING!!! we are pawns being used by powerful countries who want to influence control over their citizens. they often love being at war and are excited at the violent prospect of taking over the other side. war can make them even richer. it can give them foreign women at their mercy. it can give them political power and pawns to play with to make their nation the greatest, of whatever patriarchal bullshit goes through their mind.

so yeah. fuck capitalism. fuck the war. end it first and foremost or palestinians will be more traumatized and tensions between the peoples will escalate year after year endlessly. end the war!!!

who knows though. maybe i'm just a naive feminazi hippie who dreams of peace and love and an end to all wars lol :']

[jazzafterhours]

thinking about sebastian and anders lately

rape play / consensual non-consent, processing trauma through kink

so ive thought a lot about sebastian's Issues With Demons. the desire demon plays a big role in his personal mission and, especially being so connected to the chantry, he's very disturbed by the encounter. then in the quest night terrors, he refuses to go into the fade because thats "no place" for him, i cant remember his exact dialogue but he words it as more of a general thing than a personal thing. this could be a real character opinion, or it could easily be a development issue, more of a "we dont have the time and resources to add extra content to that quest for him" thing but i like to think of it as a him having personal struggles with facing the fade and demons that he hides behind a more broad statement. as a man of faith, and someone whose family died because of a demon's involvement, demons are truly nightmarish. he's also a man with personal demons, and has given into temptation before. he could fear a demon using this against him, might be afraid that his will is weak. most demons go after mages, but it seems desire ones dont need a mage in particular to get exactly what they want

i could see him really getting in his head about it, and needing an outlet. he needs to explore what might make him susceptible to giving in, he needs to combat his fears by expressing them, he needs a chance to process some things in a safe environment. he needs to exorcise the demon, metaphorically, so he doesnt have to fear demons, literally.

then there's anders, who has experienced abuse at the hands of templars. anders who is too familiar with being a victim, and he's full of anger about it. he would never, ever do anything like that to another person, but maybe he has fantasies about being the one whos getting the better of someone else. of taking and keeping control, of knowing he cannot be overruled. theres catharsis to be had in a scenario where he's wholly in charge, getting a chance to really internalize that he's free and can choose for himself. in a way, getting to play a dominant role here makes it easier for him to allow himself vulnerability later.

the scene is that anders is a lust demon who is preying on sebastian's secret desires, all the things he used to partake in but has sworn off. sebastian fights back, he resists temptation, and anders takes what he wants anyway. it feels real. sebastian does experience flashes of fear--anders is legitimately dangerous, and the scene is intense. sebastian gets to experience and then release that fear. anders gets to forget, for a while, that he ever had to be afraid.

they know from negotiation and prior sex with each other that they can be rough, they can fight each other, can bruise each other, can even draw a bit of blood and anders will heal it after (or sebastian may want to keep some of it, as long as it isnt a risk. he likes the physical reminder of what he "withstood").

they can be soft with each other though, too. anders can go slow and sweet, ask sebastian if he likes having a demon fuck him like a lover. the scene feels real, but it isn't entirely, they're doing this because they want to, so yeah sebastian does enjoy it. he can resist and he can give in eventually, let anders fuck him to exhaustion. he gets to experience what it might be like to give into an actual demon and be satisfied in the end without any real danger. anders gets to feel liberated and let go of his own fear, gets to process something similar to what he's been through, but from the position that won't just trigger him.

in aftercare, they reiterate that they trust each other, and thats how any of this could work in the first place. anders would not be able to take such an aggressive role without believing sebastian was good with what they were doing and would stop him if he needed to. sebastian wouldn't be able to make himself vulnerable if he didn't believe anders has no real desire to hurt him. both of them feel lighter. theyve gotten messy things out of their head and put them into straightforward action that they can move on from. sebastian feels more steady and confident, anders feels more relaxed.

i think they'd only do something like this once, and then contently move on from it. theyve gotten it off their chests and feel better for it

[lunaekalenda]

Omg can I request a scenario with Levi in season 4? So you know how he's supposed to keep watch over Zeke in the forest? One of the Yeagerists finds out their location and lies to Levi that his wife is giving birth so Levi rushes back to town and leaves the other soldiers in charge of keeping an eye on Zeke. And by the time Levi meets up with his wife, she's very confused as to why he came in such a rush. I've read the manga so I also want to add onto what happens next but idk if you write manga spoilers so 😭 anywho the explosion doesn't end up happening tho! :D

ofccc!!! i hope you like it!! <3 sorry if i wrote to much fluff it just came :’) i took some manga spoilers so read under your own risk under the spoiler line!!

a/n: i didn't took the canon manga words or events!

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

❁ levi x female!reader

❁ some bad talking against zeke :’), pregnancy and death.

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

Zeke opened another wine bottle and drank, being cautious with the book he has been reading. Levi looks at him, his face totally unexpressive but his eyes look at Zeke with disgust. They have been days in that place, sleeping in tents, near the Forest of Giant Trees. He’s in charge of Zeke, with some of his closest soldiers, who are now drinking some wine in reward for their hard work, even when Levi told them to have some water instead.

“Come on, Captain. We also want to have fun...”

He couldn’t stop his soldiers, they deserved it. He looks to the campfire in font of him, the flames reflected in his grey eyes. He thought about his family, the one he’s about to have. You’re pregnant with his baby, the baby you two wanted for a long time. Armin told him he estimates less than a week for you to give birth.

And he’s trapped in this forest with a fucking bastard. He looks at Zeke. He seems strangely calm, as he wasn’t being watched by humanity’s most strong soldier ever. The one that cut his arms and legs more than once, and was about to kill him at least another two. But he didn’t learn about it, and keeps trying to get killed.

“Levi, you look too serious. Do you want some wine?”

“Drink it yourself and hopefully you’ll choke to death.”

“That’s not very sweet for a married man, Ackerman.” Levi raises an eyebrow, taking his blade out and cleaning it slowly. Zeke looked at the blade, shimmering in the light. He took his eyes to the book once again. Some fast steps were heard. Levi took out his blades and, with a look to his soldiers, they all stood in their positions. A little girl, with the Corps jacket, searched the Captain with her eyes. He looked at her.

“Captain Ackerman, I have news from the District!”

He looked at his soldiers, one of them behind her, in case she tried to hurt the Captain. Levi’s gaze told them to be alert around her. Zeke looked at the girl from behind his book.

“Talk, then.”

“It’s your wife... She’s having complications with the birth. She’s about to have the child, but the possibilities of them both surviving are minimum.”

Levi’s eyes reflected true terror while he was listening to her. He looked back to the bearded man. He keeps reading, while drinking. He looks then to his loyal subordinate.

“You should go, Captain. We’ll have an eye on this man.”

Levi nods. He looks at the girl closely, analyzing her. He talks before taking his horse.

“Keep one eye in this girl too. She seems like a liar.” Right after that, he rode his horse, going as fast as he could. During all the way, he though how you were. How the baby is. If you two are okay. If he's late to save one of you. 

He obligated himself to fix his attention on the way and keeps going, He arrived to the city at almost night. He searched his home, the one the army gave him after getting married, to avoid the Captain and his wife living with them. He opened the door with his hands shaking, and almost run to the living room. He smelled rice. Then, the sound of a knife. He also took out his blades. You both encountered in the corner of the kitchen, your hand holding tightly the knife and his holding the blades. Both of you looked at each other with surprise, before you let go the knife and run towards him. His hands found your waist.

“Levi...” you whisper. You have missed him a lot all this time. He hugged you, his eyes full of tears. He’s trying to relax his breath, but you notice. “Why did you come so fast? Weren’t you watching Zeke?” 

He nods, his hand caressing quietly your belly. 

“It’s the baby okay?” you nod, confused. “And you?”

“Of course, I’m fine. Why?” he sighs before hugging you again. His head buried on you hair, your belly against his worked abdominal. 

“I thought I was late to save you. I thought I lost you and our baby.”

“No, no. Armin came half an hour ago. He told me I’m really healthy and the baby is in a good position to give birth to. We’re both totally fine, but we were missing you.” You pout. His lips found your neck. 

“I also missed you.” His hands cover your belly, and he receives a little kick. You laugh,

“It has been kicking for a while now. It’s the Ackerman gene.” Levi lets out a little laugh. He also knows he has to go back to the camp, to keep watching over Zeke and interrogate the girl who is she and for who does she work. But his soldiers are there, just a minute more. He gets on his knees, near to your baby bump. His hands keep being warm against your covered skin.

“Daddy missed you a lot this days, hm? But we’ll be all together really fast, baby. Don’t make mommy feel bad, yes?”

“I can’t see you as the strongest and fiercer soldier alive if you talk to my belly like that.” He lets out a little laugh, but his brain made “click”. That girl was a Yeagerist. For sure. This was all a trick to make Levi come here and leave his post.

“You have to leave this house. Fast. And don’t go out for a while. They have an eye on you.”

“Were I’m I supposed to sleep then?” You ask, lost and confused. He takes a couple clothes from your wardrobe and put a brown cape on you, covering your head and your bump. “Should I stay with my parents?” you ask. He shakes his head while he keeps searching things you might need. Also, some baby’s clothes, because he’s sure you’re about to give birth.

“No, that’s too obvious.” Levi’s brain was working faster than ever. You need to be in a comfort place, so sleeping in the barricade it’s out. Then, you should be with someone who knows how to help you giving birth. A place where a pregnant woman won’t be found and hurt.

“Historia.” he whispers. “Can you walk fast?”

“Of course.” he took your hand and guided you. You talked to Historia a couple times. You know she’s also pregnant, and protected by some guards. He guides you fast. When you’re in a campsite house, near the town but kinda hidden, he knocks. 

“Were you talking about Queen Historia?” you ask in a whisper. He nods. A soldier opens, without recognizing Levi. His head totally covered by his cape.

“Sorry, this is restricted area. It’s an orphanage...”

“We know that.” Levi takes his cape out of his head. The soldier stands straight and puts his hand in his heart as a salute. You two do the same.

“Tell Historia she’s my wife. They have been rounding around our house, so I hope the Queen can give a favor back and let my wife sleep here until we’re safe.”

The soldier ran up the stairs, to talk to the Queen. He came back faster.”

“The Queen accepts. She’ll be in the best care and, if she gives birth, she’ll be in the hands of the real matrons. Don’t wprry about her, Captain Levi.” He nods before looking at you again. The soldier lefts to give you privacy.

“Be careful. Talk to them if you feel bad or if you need something. And, please, don’t make efforts. The baby it’s near and...”

“Got it, Levi. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. You should be careful, I don’t want you to get hurt, or worst...”

“I’ll be okay.” he answers. “Just looking to a barbed man. I’ll be back faster than you think.” He takes you again between his arms. You bury your head on his chest, hugging him stronger. 

“I don’t want you to go.” you say in a whisper. He pats your head before giving you a kiss.

“I’ll be right back.” he says. You enter the orphanage with his little smile promising you you’ll be together soon.

-------------------s p o i l e r s  a h e a d -----------------------

Then, he runs back to the camp. Things seem quiet there. Levi hears his soldier’s voices, followed by a scream.

And then the click of a thunder.

All the soldiers he had there were now titans. From different sizes and type, but they had the face of his comrades. And a blonde-haired bastard was running in front.

“This fucking bastard...”

He was surrounded by his now-titans comrades. He had no exit, just killing them. When will this nightmare end? He saw his friends getting killed, he killed friends. He's tired of this macabre game.

“I’m sorry, guys. I’m so sorry...” he thought, before starting to move his blades against his friends’ necks. He saw his faces, his families, every time their blood got into his uniform.

His teary eyes weren’t an obstacle when he kept fighting. He saw Zeke, in the hands of a titan, covered by other two. He killed the first one silently.

Zeke searched him, founding nothing, looking surprised.

He killed the next one. There was just the one carrying Zeke left

“You thought I was not going to be able to kill my comrades? That’s dirty play.” Zeke looked at the man with fear in his eyes before turning into the beast titan. Levi smirked.

“Pathetic.” Zeke says. Levi's blades are covered in blood. "I'm going to kill you."

Zeke took the head of the titan carrying him. He looked around for Levi. A near movement caught his attention, making him throw a smashed titan head to a branch. Levi cut branches to distract Zeke, right before covering his neck with thunder spears.

"Did you think that converting my subordinates into titans will stop me? that i wouldn't kill them? You don't know how many comrades I killed."

Zeke's neck exploded, making is titan fall. Levi went back to the flor and searched Zeke between all that blood and flesh. He was charred.

"I'm not going to kill you... yet."

Levi took Zeke by the head and dragged him.

"I'm so sick of you, barbed bastard."

[writerofshit]

(I mentioned briefly a story of how the Stream Team met. This is that story.)

Somewhere in Los Santos, in the late night hours of a Tuesday, a convenience store is robbed. So is one several blocks southeast. And one roughly in the middle of them both. After all, what's more convenient than 24 hour chili dogs on every other street corner?

Cash. Cash is more convenient. So are guns. Hollering, waving one to get the other. Most important, back alleys that twist and turn, snaking away from increasingly distant sirens. Three individuals find themselves running through these alleys, a couple grand each weighing their pockets down.

It's through serendipity and convenience that their paths cross.

The man from the farthest store arrives first. He's done this a few more times than he'd like to admit, so he'd had a plan. Of sorts. Cut through the park, take a few sidewalks like an upstanding citizen, under the bridge and find a fire escape to utilize from there. There aren't any that reach the ground, of course, because he's smart but not quite enough.

And so this is why Trevor is standing in an dark alley, contemplating whether or not the dumpster will give him enough height to reach the ladder, when the man from the middle store appears. He's around Trevor's height, but would probably win in a fight between them, if he were so inclined. He doesn't seem to be, though. He seems shaken, like he's not quite sure how he ended up in this alley. He's holding a gun almost gingerly, as if it might bite him.

Trevor pulls his own gun.

'dont you fuckin' try anything!'

This does not go over well with Matt. He takes a step back, and then seems to remember that he also has a gun so maybe this is even footing. He holds it aloft, finger nowhere near the trigger.

'same, asshole!'

At this moment the robber from the first store arrives, also, of course, with a gun. And a mask. And an entire purple and orange neon fucking suit, actually, topped with a white cowboy hat. It gives them a few extra inches of height they are distinctly lacking, comparatively. Somewhere in the back of his head, Trevor acknowledges that this newcomer could probably kick his and the other gunman's asses. It is not a pleasant thought.

'oh, what the fuck!?'

Jeremy sounds more annoyed and less scared than one would think, considering they've run into an alley only to find two men with guns. Two men who quickly turn those guns on them.

'who the fuck are you?'

The question surprises them all, including Matt, even though he's the one who asked. As it turns out, people have a tendency to say the first thing that comes to mind when in a stressful situation. Such as, having robbed a convenience store for the very first time and immediately finding himself face to face with other apparent robbers. It would get to anyone, probably.

'i don't want any trouble, but i've already robbed someone tonight and i don't give a shit about felony murder!'

Two lies and a truth, is what Trevor has chosen to play, for some reason. In reality, one does not rob a convenience store at gun point if one is intent on staying out of trouble. And he does, in fact, care very deeply about felony murder. Felony murder is the precise reason he'd shot a bag of Doritos and not a clerk. In his defense, the clerk had initially rolled her eyes at him, asked what exactly he thought he'd get out of this. He'd found this question rude.

The truth, of course, is that he did rob a convenience store. That did happen. No take backs.

'so did i!'

Matt and Jeremy speak so in unison it's almost scary. If they didn't know any better, they'd think the two of them had always known each other.

Trevor's gun wavers between them, unsure which is the bigger threat. The guy who clearly has zero experience with guns, or the weirdo who seems to have far too much? It's a toss up, really. So his aim pinballs back and forth, but his finger does not curl around the trigger. He's serious about that felony murder thing.

The air seems to shift, suddenly, and the sound of sirens is now growing closer. This evidently also annoys Jeremy, and they throw a glance over their shoulder to the direction they'd come from. Red and blue lights flicker past.

'shit. ok. we're all robbers, i guess, and we're all fucked if we keep standing here. who's got a plan?'

Jeremy's eyes are staring impatiently at Trevor. Eyes being the only part of their face Trevor can see. And their hands, a plastic bag in one and a gun in the other.

Trigger finger is an apt name.

He glances at Matt, still wild eyed and glancing back and forth. No, Matt probably does not have a plan. He sort of gives the impression that he's never had a plan ever, actually. That perhaps he'd simply woken up here and decided to wing it. So Trevor makes an offer.

'fire escape?'

There's another moment of tense silence. Well, minus the sirens. And oh, helicopters. Even better. Jeremy shrugs.

'good a plan as any.'

And then they're off, brushing past Trevor and hoisting themself up onto the dumpster. He knew it could work. Trevor blinks and Jeremy has caught the ladder, is quickly working their way up. Shit, how does five foot something manage to get that high on a good day, much less in this situation and with a bag and gun in hand?

Matt's gun clatters to the ground, and honestly, that's probably for the best. He's climbing onto the dumpster now, and he mutters something about not signing up for this shit. Trevor reminds him that he apparently robbed someone, so yeah, he kind of did.

Before Trevor climbs up, he shoves his gun into his jacket pocket. Smart? Probably not. Convenient? More so than climbing with a gun in his hand. He follows Matt up the ladder, wondering what happened to his plan. Yeah, the ladder had been involved. Two other people, however, were not.

Above them, glass shatters.

'warning, maybe!?'

'oops. careful, there's glass.'

Jeremy's voice is no longer directly above them. Instead, it comes from one story up and a little to the left. So they've broken into an apartment. Sure, add breaking and entering to the list of charges, that sounds great. But Matt and Trevor follow, because there's not really another option.

Inside the apartment, Jeremy's mask is gone. The suit is quickly disappearing as well, revealing a rather boring outfit of a white tank top and...sweatpants? The true mystery lies in where the cowboy hat has gone to, because that's a hard item to miss.

'do we really have time for this? don't you think someone might, oh, i don't know, wake up and call the cops?'

Trevor doesn't mean to hiss, it's just that he's sure there's more pressing matters to attend to than an outfit change. Continuing to flee, perhaps.

'nobody's gonna wake up.'

They don't even have the wherewithal to lower their voice. It registers to Trevor that Jeremy's bag and gun are missing as well. Had they dropped them on the way up? It was certainly possible. Trevor thinks he would have noticed a gun flying past his head, but there's a lot going on.

'can we maybe not kill anyone? he brought up a good point with that felony murder thing.'

It's the most words Matt has strung together since he'd shown up. It's damn near a whisper, but at least it's progress.

'i'm not- god, can you two shut up? i gotta make a phone call.'

Jeremy yanks the door open, hand carefully wrapped in the fabric of their shirt. For a moment, Trevor thinks they're leaving and steps forward to follow Jeremy. Instead, Jeremy turns and heads toward the kitchen, pulling open a drawer and digging inside it briefly. They come back with a cell phone.

Something dawns on Trevor.

'is this- do you live here? did you break your own window?'

Jeremy doesn't answer. They put the phone to their ear.

'you're gonna wanna hide whatever you've got. and try not to look like you just climbed in through a window.'

And then-

'hello? yes, hi, i'd like to report a break in, i think? i was hearing a bunch of sirens and then i don't know what happened but some guy just broke my window? he ran through and i just- my friends and i are really scared and we didn't know what to do- yes, we're ok, he's gone, but we- you'll send someone? ok, thank you. the address? oh, uh, it's the del perro heights building, apartment 7. should i shut the door? no, don't touch anything. ok- guys, don't touch anything, she said someone's on their way to check on us! thank you so much- no, i think we'll be fine. thank you.'

It's a marvelous performance. Jeremy genuinely sounds like some poor flustered victim of a crime. Trevor would applaud if he thought Jeremy would appreciate it. Almost immediately, their voice is back to normal.

'check things out my ass. they're gonna show up, ask which way he went and never call me again. feel real fuckin safe.'

Jeremy settles themself onto the couch, choosing the spot closest to the door. Matt, who has apparently gotten over his initial terror, wanders into the kitchen. Searching for something to distract himself, if Trevor had to guess. Trevor is still standing in the middle of the living room, dumbfounded. How did a simple robbery become hanging out with other robbers, waiting for cops to show up?

'i'm jeremy, by the way. they won't ask, but y'know. just in case.'

They're flipping channels on the tv, seeming to arbitrarily skip almost a dozen programs. Finally, they settle on one and stand. Trevor recognizes it as an old Disney movie, and desperately wants to ask why the fuck Jeremy has put this on.

'uh, hi. i'm trevor. why are we watching Mulan?'

'matt. oh hell yeah, i love this movie!'

He sounds remarkably cheerful, considering the circumstances. How Trevor had seemingly switched places with Anxious McGee is beyond him. He needs to get it together. He pulls his gun from his pocket and takes it to the kitchen, sticking it in the drawer Jeremy had taken the phone from. There are several other phones of varying price point. He steps back to the living room just in time.

'that's why.'

They don't elaborate. Apparently Trevor is meant to just figure this out on his own, which ordinarily he might be able to do. After the course of events of this particular evening? Not a chance.

But he can't ask, because now there's a cop in the doorway and he's staring at Trevor and that will never be a good thing. Trevor stares back. He has no clue what he's meant to say. Hello? Welcome? He went that way?

'oh thank god! we've been so terrified, we didn't know if he'd come back or what he'd do.'

Naturally, Jeremy has taken lead on this. They're a phenomenal actor, Trevor has to admit.

'did you see which direction he went?'

'toward the stairs, i think. we've all been rooted to the spot, you know, it's so scary-'

Matt freezes in the doorway of the kitchen. He's just out of the view from the front door.

'right, well. you boys did the right thing by calling. can you give me a description of the man?'

The corner of Jeremy's mouth quirks.

'gosh, it all just happened so fast. taller than me, probably, but shorter than you, wouldn't you say, trey?'

Trevor nods, because he's not quite sure what else to do.

'alright, thank you. someone will be in touch with you for an official statement. in the meantime, if you remember anything else don't hesitate to call.'

He's holding a card out to Trevor, of all people. He takes it carefully, like if he does it wrong somehow the guy will know and arrest them all. The card is simply the number for a tip line.

As suddenly as he'd arrived, the cop is gone and they're all breathing sighs of relief. Jeremy closes the door.

'you guys can stay for Mulan, if you want.'

So they do.

Trevor asks about why Mulan again, and Jeremy explains that they assume most people have seen it, could answer any questions about it if they came up. Perhaps, if LSPD officers were less incompetent, they would have. Although if that were the case, they wouldn't be LSPD officers at all.

Matt asks about the window, and Jeremy says yes, they did break their own window. Of course they'd had an actual plan when they'd entered the alley. They were always going to end up exactly here, give or take the extras. Asking for a plan was simply a test, determining the merit in bring them along. They'd passed.

Jeremy asks if they want to stay for Mulan II, which is apparently up next. They do.

Somewhere in Los Santos, in the early morning hours of a Wednesday, three convenience stores are recovering from three separate robberies. Right in the middle of them all, their respective robbers are sitting on a couch together, watching a straight to video children's film.

It is the beginning of something far greater than any of them can imagine.

[mythicmalasada]

i’m starting a thing called imagine your main genshin team in a modern au going to disney world together

headcanon dump (feel free to rb and add how u think it would go for ur team!)

lumine’s been there before with aether, so she knows how it all works. no one else does

xingqiu buys one of those hidden mickey book guides at the airport and hones in on it for the rest of the trip. he’s absolutely dedicated to finding all of them

bennett gets stopped at airport security on the way there because there was a water bottle in his backpack and they almost miss their flight

lumine warns them they’ll get dehydrated pretty quickly and chongyun immediately overheats and they have to stop inside an air conditioned shop and buy him a $15 water bottle

there’s a pool at the hotel and bennett cannot stop for 10 minutes to sit on a lounge chair and just relax. everyone else is tanning and he gets up to go buy a water gun

thus ensues a drenched, murderous xingqiu woken up from his nap and lumine/chongyun chasing the two of them through the pool so xingqiu won’t kill him

bennett makes them take pictures together Everywhere because he never wants to forget the trip

xingqiu and chongyun at the hotel go to buy candy at the vending machine in the middle of the night and start chasing each other down the hallway and lumine pops her head out of the door like wHAT ARE YOU DOING ITS MIDNIGHT

xingqiu absolutely has one of those spray water fans on a necklace and a fanny pack and the fan is ALWAYS going

bennett has to talk to every single dressed up cast member he meets and he’s 100% convinced they’re real

bennett: oh my god mike wazowski!!! how are you how’s monsters inc the minimum wage worker in an oversized fursuit: 

lumine gets really competitive over the buzz lightyear fp shooter game and it scares everyone else

++kazuha wears sunglasses and is drinking from one of those refillable park cups the whole time even on rollercoasters and every pic they get of him on a ride looks exactly the same 

lumine goes batshit insane wanting to ride every single rollercoaster, methodically dividing up each section so they can ride every one before the park closes

bennett picks out little souvenirs that remind him of his friends back home so he can bring them back something

chongyun tries to sit out on half the rides and the rest of them bully him into getting on 

“oh you’re scared huh? this one’s too tall for you is it? that’s alright, we can get another round on the frozen ride” “wait-”

xingqiu rides the peoplemover like 20 times because he likes it and they’re all begging to get off

xingqiu likes the stupid intellectual rides like carousel of progress. absolutely fascinated

xingqiu pretends none of the actual rollercoasters scare him when in reality he’s petrified of everything from expedition everest to the teacups

bonus points if chongyun’s like “we can’t go on that it’s crazy we’ll die” and xingqiu’s all “oh you big baby haha wimp” and they get on and xingqiu clings to his arm frantically

xingqiu’s the only one small enough to fit on a kiddie ride so they force him to go on alone and take pictures of him as he goes around like 😐 

bennett makes them wait on line for the river safari ride for an hour and as they’re next in line it starts to rain and they close it down

coasters stall on at least 3 separate occasions because of bennett

bennett developing an odd fascination with all of the mickey shaped foods

chongyun finds out there are several ghost related attractions (haunted mansion, tower of terror, etc.) and drags their asses there

“what the fuck??? those are holograms” “what on earth were you expecting”

chongyun (at first) doesn’t understand they’re not real spirits and tries to be heroic by climbing out of his cart and charging at the ghosts screaming FROM WHENCE YOU CAME

they’d all get matching mickey ears to wear around the park

they go to one of those theme restaurants and xingqiu gets called on to stand up and interact with the characters and literally freezes. nope. he won’t do it 

bennett stands up for him. spoiler alert it’s fucking hilarious 

bennett is like :D the whole time completely without dignity and their entire table is in tears

lumine falls asleep on the shuttle ride back and bennett lets her sleep on his shoulder

chongyun gives xingqiu a piggyback ride on the way back to the hotel because he’s tired

not a headcanon but just. i miss how foreign and comforting hotels and hotel rooms feel when ur on a trip

bennett befriends a lizard outside their hotel room and tries to take it back on the plane with him

he gets stopped Again in the airport going home and lumine turns around like ‘what now’ just to see bennett wrestling with a security officer over a small lizard in his backpack pocket

i think they’d all really enjoy the fireworks show/fantasmic. sitting there in quiet awe watching everything light up around them :)

i really liked doing this because we’re in quarantine and i haven’t left the house in *checks watch* 12 months or so and i miss amusement parks and interaction so i hope it made u guys happy !!

[maxwell-grant]

Any thoughts on Darkman, the Liam Neeson movie? I heard it was originally going to be a Shadow movie.

I love Darkman very much, but I've realized recently that this love comes with some pretty bittersweet feelings at the story behind it.

Michael Uslan: I was going to produce a Shadow feature film with Sam Raimi, but Sam got consumed by back-to-back movies and we ran out of time. We were headed in a good, period piece direction and managed to do so without relying on yet another bout with Shiwan Khan. I later had another major director passionate to do The Shadow, but a person at the company wanted to do a modern day TV series instead, which ultimately did not go... - comment saved from a post in The Shadow Knows Facebook group

For those of you who only now got into The Shadow or don't remember, for much of the early 00s, when The Shadow basically had no current projects and Conde Nast was taking down webpages and fan content left and right, the only things that kept this "fandom" alive were occasional fanfics (many of which are gone now), and the dim light in the horizon that was the rumors that Sam Raimi was finally going to make his Shadow film. Dig back on The Wayback Machine for Shadow web page and you're gonna see this as consistently the only thing they had to look forward to in regards to the character. These rumors floated around for over a decade, at one point Tarantino was even supposed to direct it, but he confirmed in 2013 that it wasn't going to happen. At least, not with him at the helm.

The project has been dead for a while now, and Conde Nast seems to be shuffling around plans for the character, and I deleted my Facebook months ago so I haven't kept up with any news, although it seems the James Patterson novel wasn't received too well, so I'm not sure what other plans they have in the pipeline.

Back in the 1970s, after the release of Richard Donner's Superman and in line with The Shadow's pop culture resurgence, thanks to the paperback reprints and the 70s DC run, there were plans to make a Shadow feature film, and there were quite a handful of scripts being tossed around for the following years (Will Murray states most of them were horrible), several names attached to the project at one point or another. The plans died down a bit following Gibson's death and only really picked up again after the 90s, and of course we all know that the 1994 movie came out with spectacularly bad timing. From what I recall, it seems Sam Raimi wanted to make his Shadow film in the 80s, was unable to secure the rights, and then just made his own version, which would go on to be his first major motion picture.

Even after making Darkman, Sam Raimi still wanted to make The Shadow. I guess that's ultimately the bittersweet part for me. I imagine the current state of Shadow media would be significantly better if Sam Raimi, who was a fan of the character and the pulp version (and even knows of The Shadow's connection to Houdini and stage magic), got to make his Shadow film, years before Blood & Judgment, years before Burton's Batman made it impossible for a Shadow film not to be compared to it, in a time period where it wouldn't have had to compete with The Lion King and The Mask for box office. And second, I have been drawing up my plans for Shadow projects for, what, 5 years now? And I have just barely got my foot off the door as a filmmaker. Sam Raimi had a decade-long career as a cult filmmaker before he got turned down, and decades later, after becoming a household name in charge of Marvel's biggest icon, the project still fell through. It doesn't exactly get my hopes up, y'know.

I love Darkman, it's the best Shadow film that doesn't technically star the real Shadow, and it works pretty well on it's own regardless of that association, but I do get pretty sad looking at it from the outside, because I just can't help but think on what it could have been.

In some aspects I do think the film benefits from not being about The Shadow proper, because it means Raimi got the freedom to do whatever the hell he wanted. The character of Darkman already existed separately from Sam Raimi's plans for a Shadow film, already carrying off the Phantom / Universal Monster influence, and what Raimi did was basically combine the two ideas together.

He took the basic iconography of The Shadow, a terrifying urban crimefighter in coat and slouch hat, and add in other Shadow traits like his mastery of disguise, his disfigurement, and that wonderful scene where he's invisibly running circles around a panicky triggerman while laughing maniacally, a moment which definitely feels like Raimi taking a second to indulge himself to do what you can call The Classic Shadow Scene with a character he's, for the most part, succesfully convinced us (and Conde Nast's lawyers, most importantly) isn't supposed to be The Shadow.

But then he filters these through his own influences and style to make him a new character, so instead of a mysterious mastermind with lots of resources and a enigmatic background, instead he's a disfigured and psychotic scientist with a vengeance against those who made him that way. He's like Night Raven, in the sense that he's built off traits that The Shadow has, but develops them differently to the point he stands on his own as a character. It's The Shadow combined with The Phantom of the Opera, filtered through a 1930s Universal Horror lens, played for greater tragedy and a dash of Evil Dead 2 wackyness.

He hides away in trashed up ruins and bickers with a cat, he has fits of rage that make him endanger innocents, he has a doomed love affair, and sometimes he gets so batshit he gives us hilarious moments like "TAKE THE FUCKING ELEPHANT" and "SEE THE DANCING FREAK! PAY - FIVE - BUCKS! TO SEE THE DANCING FREAK!". Moments that really show why he was such a good fit for Spider-Man despite the liberties he took with the source material.

I think the big thing that helps to make Darkman works as a property in it's own right is also that, ultimately, these influences are ultimately at the forefront of it, and the core of it works on it's own. Darkman is a believable, engaging character in his own right, one who tells a story that would be more at odds with The Shadow proper. 

In some aspects, Darkman tries to be The Shadow, he is forced to become The Shadow by literally picking the clothes off a dumpster after he escapes the hospital, and it's a miserable, wretched existence, in a way rather befitting his status as a legally safe knock-off. He is a creature of nightmare who lost his face and takes on a dozen others to fight crime by turning terror against them, except he is still just a man in the end, and no man was ever supposed to live like this.

Raimi was also inspired by the Universal horror films of the 1930s and 1940s because "they made me fear the hideous nature of the hero and at the same time drew me to him. I went back to that idea of the man who is noble and turns into a monster".

He originally wrote a 30-page short story, titled "The Darkman", and then developed into a 40-page treatment. At this point, according to Raimi, "it became the story of a man who had lost his face and had to take on other faces, a man who battled criminals using this power"

A non-superpowered man who, here, is a hideous thing who fights crime. As he became that hideous thing, it became more like The Phantom of the Opera, the creature who wants the girl but who was too much of a beast to have her

I decided to explore a man's soul. In the beginning, a sympathetic, sincere man. In the middle, a vengeful man committing heinous acts against his enemies. And in the end, a man full of self-hatred for what he's become, who must drift off into the night, into a world apart from everyone he knows and all the things he loves.

For the role, Raimi was looking for someone who could suggest "a monster with the soul of a man"

It's the fact that Darkman is ultimately played for vulnerability and tragedy that really sets him apart. While I wouldn't go far enough to say The Shadow is a man with the soul of a monster, still, the difference in presentation is still there when it comes to these two. The Shadow is The Other, Darkman is You. Darkman is the victim of extraordinary circumstance that affects his life, The Shadow is the extraordinary circumstance that affects the lives of others. People react to The Shadow, Darkman reacts to people (and rather poorly).

One is the man who takes off his skin (or yours, staring back at you) to reveal the weird creature of the night ready to prowl and pounce and cackle at those who think they hold power over it's domain, and the other is the monster who falls apart bit by bit until you are left staring at the broken man within who has no choice but to be something he was never supposed to be.

The Shadow is The Master of Darkness. Darkman weaponizes the dark, but in the end, he's still just a man, lost within it. Not everyone can be The Shadow, and you would most likely turn into Darkman if you tried.

[percontaion-points]

OVE chapters 21 & 22

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions

Chapter 21

 Suffice it to say, after Tyler’s arson…

[...]

Who was the one whispering into her father’s ear?

I’m sorry, but did this fuckwit seriously ask who was whispering into her dad’s ear? DO YOU EVEN FUCKING HAVE TO ASK?!

IT IS THE ONE WHO FUCKING UPPED THE ANTE AND BURNED A CHILD ALIVE IN FRONT OF HUNDREDS OF WITNESSES. 

So what wasn’t she seeingm now?

This isn’t my typo; this was the fucking published book. What the hell. 

I WOULD ASK WHERE THE EDITOR WAS, BUT I THINK WE ALL KNOW THAT THERE WAS NONE. 

Juliette shot him a warning glare as she walked to the door, but Marshall only grinned. “Goodbye, you menace.”

Chapter 21 summary: A week after Tyler’s attack, and things went to hell in a handbasket. Juliette has been trying to contact all of the hotels to ask if a guest has been making too much noise and leaving too big of a mess, but is getting nowhere. What’s worse (in her opinion) is that Roma has been ignoring all of her messages. 

She confesses to Kathleen that she feels like there should have been another attack, and the fact that there have only been 2 is worrying to her. Kathleen reminds her that this person is after money, not to spread fear like Paul wanted. 

Juliette goes into her father’s office, to find a nationalist and Tyler. Apparently, they finished the vaccination, and Tyler is jumping on the opportunity for them to make bank from this. Juliette chides the government official by shaming him about letting people in his city suffer, but the man doesn’t give a shit. The guy legit thinks that charging people to not die from this unnatural plague is somehow going to stop the communists from winning. (No, I don’t follow that logic, either.) 

Juliette reports back to Kathleen what the man told her: that the white flowers aligned themselves with the commies. Kathleen goes to make a call, and when she comes back, she says that it’s partially true. That it’s not Lord and Roma, but rather, a sect that’s pulling further and further away from the whites by the day. Juliette thinks that this is the commie attempts to get rid of both gangs, and then to weaken the Nationalists. Katleen encourages Juliette to… literally not. 

Then Kathleen mentions Rose’s secret boyfriend. It’s obvious that Juliette doesn’t give a shit about it, so I don’t care, either. 

Juliette goes to Marshall, to ask about the white’s relationship with communists. He explains to her that most of the whites are refugees who fled from the reign of terror that came down upon Russia… which is way too much Russian political history in a book about Chinese political history wrapped up in a disguise as supernatural Romeo and Juliette. He continues on to tell Juliette about the government official her father had been meeting with. That he’s like a dog who won’t release a bone, so good luck getting the vaccination to the city. Before she leaves again, she tells him to stay inside. 

Chapter 22

And all in one breath, Rosalind said, “Because he’s associated with the White Flowers, okay?”

Look, this book barely gives a shit about the main Romeo and Juliette subplot. It really doesn’t have time for a SECOND one with a character that the book also doesn’t give a shit about. 

Without waiting for an answer, Juliette hauled Alisa by the arm and took off.

Chapter 22 summary: Juliette rushes back to help accompany her mother to the woman’s temple. In there, Juliette confronts Rose about the rumors that she has a boyfriend. Rose confesses that her boyfriend is a White Flower. She insists that she’s convincing him to leave the whites, but somehow I doubt that things are going to work out for her. 

Juliette watches as her mother meets with a client. This probably will be important, but Juliette doesn’t give a shit. She mulls over the plot instead, which is maddening because she adds nothing to it. 

As she looks around the temple some more, she sees Alisa sitting in the back corner, reading a book. The young girl tells Juliette she had hoped that nobody would mind since she was in a temple. She goes on to say that everybody is gathered for the funeral, and Juliette panics, knowing that the procession would lead them right past where they are… Where Tyler is waiting for them to come out. 

Juliette runs out, only to find Tyler locked in battle with an unnamed white. She herself is then cornered by both Roma and Demetri. This amounts to nothing before Juliette randomly grabs Alisa– who had followed Juliette out– and takes off. 

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Bound By Blood - Geralt of Rivia x (f)reader - Part 2

Summary: Geralt has learned of a mysterious witch and her supposed vicious familiar, now he must hunt to bring them down for their crimes.

Warning: blood & gore, angst, bit o fluff, things getting chaotic

Masterlist if yall are interested - you’ll find part 1 there

After an admittedly pleasant couple hours of greatly appreciated morning sex, the two of you are finally up and dressed for the days new adventure into the closest village which is about four miles southeast. Luckily for you, your man has a horse which is very fortunate when trekking through snow.

It only takes an hour or so to finally reach the small village of Thurn that’s located just below huge towering mountains that practically touch the sky. Snow covers the land just as expected though the market place is mussed up with mud and dirt from busy travelers and townsfolk alike.

Considering this place is surrounded by a great thick forest and there’s only one trail leading into it, and it’s not part of the main road, you can’t help but still feel apprehensive about who you may meet even with your Witcher by your side. No one knows who or what you are, and it appears that no one seems to care either, although you do notice how some glare in your direction. It’s not you, calm down, you try and convince yourself.

Geralt reassures you it’s only him that they’re keeping a wary eye on, and by the way he gives you a warm smile you believe him and do your best to forget the strange looks here and there. You’re safe with him, this place is away from the main road and there’s no way a single soldier would be here.

Standing on a building corner while facing the marketplace, you watch as Geralt pays for some dried fish and a fluffy loaf of warm bread. So far your nerves have calmed, though you keep a keen gaze on every opening into the great marketplace in case something or someone was to try and harm him or even you for that matter. You have killed many soldiers after all, not to mention the bear.

Suddenly a hand lays itself onto your shoulder when you’re not paying attention causing you to jump back and just about knock Geralt out with your fist. He barely manages to dodge it when you quickly reel back in shock, not expecting it to be him.

He chuckles lightly, “Just me.”

Rolling your eyes you smile fondly up at him, “Sorry...um, reflexes eh.” You mutter with a breathy laugh.

“Guess you were right about being dangerous after all.” He muses, making light of your slight embarrassment.

Taking the bread from his hand you playfully scoff, “Well then again, maybe not touch a woman before she knows who you are? Next time I might accidentally rip your throat out and you’d never see it coming.” You add while tearing off a piece of bread and popping it into your mouth.

Taking a small chunk himself, Geralt hums, “Wise words, I’ll keep that in mind next time.” Before biting into the bread, as you study his face you can’t help but notice how he appears to be fully enjoying your little makeshift breakfast. 

Suddenly a flash of sunlight rickashays off of something metal catching your sight in the morning light, just about blinding you for a small moment. You blink, eyes darting to a market stall that’s filled with meats. Where two soldiers dressed in black are speaking with the butcher, you freeze, taking Geralt off guard with your new fearful state.

“Y/N what is it?” He whispers as you begin to breath heavily, eyes wide as you watch the Nilfgaardians every move. His grey brows furrow in puzzlement before he turns around to follow your line of sight, only to be met with the backs of two soldiers minding their business.

He can hear how loud your heartbeat has become as it thunders in your chest with rage and building adrenaline, he knows exactly what you want to do next but this is not the place for it. Turing back towards you he sets a cautious hand upon your shoulder, “Not here.” He warns softly.

You keep unflinching, nostrils flared as your fists clench in anger, his hand presses firmer now, “Y/N, not here.” He warns again, with more gumption this time, really meaning it.

Breaking out of your self inflicted trance your eyes shift back up to his golden ones, “It’s too late.” You whisper regretfully, “He’s coming for them.”

“Who is?” Inquires Geralt, unsure of what that could possibly mean.

Letting out a frustrated sigh you look to the slushy hard ground almost in shame, “My companion.......my bear.” You mumble, “I didn’t mean to but he can sense when I need him and now...I can’t...I can’t stop him Geralt.”

The Witcher’s eyes widen in realization, “What will the bear do?”

Bringing your worrisome gaze back up to him you shake your head nervously, “Whatever he wants.”

“Gods, Y/N.”

You cringe, this isn’t going to play out very well for you and Geralt knows it, “I know, fuck I should never have come here! We should have just stayed in bed and starved, let’s just hope he only goes for the soldiers and is satisfied with them.” You exclaim in a hushed tone, pulling Geralt behind a corner and away from any unwanted attention, “No one here will die unless they try and hurt him or me, you understand. We have to lure those fuckers away from the village. Now!”

“Alright then, do you have a plan?” He wonders, not so sure if you’ll be able to get these men away from the village in time.

“Yes.” You sigh begrudgingly, “Though it’s not to late to leave me and ride off into the sunset.”

He gives you a small smile at your attempt to make light of the situation, “I’m not leaving you, though it’s tempting.” He teases before turning serious again.

“My plan is for you to do nothing and I’ll harass those bastards into following me out of here and into the woods before my companion has a chance to find them in town.”

“I’m not just doing nothing.” He protests.

“Yes, yes I know. You’ll be my back up, okay? Now we don’t have time for this just keep close but not too close.” Before he’s able to argue back you’re already gone and halfway across the muddy street with a new fire in your heart that he’s willing to protect with his very life.

Fists clenched in anger you grab a frozen tomato from the stall next to you and without a second thought chuck it right into the back of one of the soldiers helmets with a loud thud. He grunts, whipping around with eyes full of confused aggression, “Now wha?”

Smack! 

Another tomato right into his big ugly face causing him to choke on his words as he stumbles into the guy next to him. Dazed and frustrated he gets to his feet, unsheathing his jagged sword while his friend does the same. “You bitch! I’ll have your head for that you fuckin’ slut!” He cries angrily much to your sick satisfaction.

“Ma’m you have to pay for those.” Mutters the vegetable farmer fearfully, interrupting your sweet moment of anger.

“Shut up.” You snap, turning to glare daggers at the two soldiers. “Call me a slut again and I’ll shove his innards down your throat.”

Glancing at one another they smirk wickedly before charging at you, darting to the right, you sprint for the village entrance and out the giant overhang as they chase you towards the forest where a small group of tired travelers are coming from on a small wagon.

Fuck! Not these people now!

Your feet carry you almost to the safety of the thick evergreens before a thunderous roar is heard huffing and puffing from out of the pines. You fall to the snow just as the great brown bear blunders into the opening, immediately mauling down the closest soldier who gets pummeled into the wet cold earth. He screams in agony as his innards are indeed ripped out, though his cries are muffled when the bear clamps down onto his face, ending anymore unpleasant sounds coming from him.

The family next to you freezes in terror, their horse kicking and rearing at the wagon desperately trying to vacate the situation as her owner tugs on her reigns for dear life. The bear growls at the horse from across the clearing, face dripping crimson as the other soldier slashes the beast across the face with all that he can, still it does little but make a small scar of red on its furry cheek.

You gasp in pain at a stinging sensation on your cheek, however your mind doesn’t have time to weigh on it as the bear tears the man’s throat out with teeth the size of butter knives, claws digging into the soldier’s black armor as he feasts. Soon your companions furry head raises to meet eye to eye with Geralt who’s found his way onto the messy scene.

Your heart beats rapidly as you shake with adrenaline as your Witcher’s golden eyes dance from the large beast in front of him to you who’s behind both of them. Suddenly the bear takes a step forward causing Geralt to step backwards cautiously. Shit!

You move quickly to the creatures side, “Don’t.” You warn firmly, “He’s mine.” The enchanting ember eyes of the familiar meets your stern gaze as he snorts, giving a distinctive nod in understanding just as an arrow thrusts itself into the beasts shoulder.

“No!” You scream in unison with the bears roar of pain as a sharp stinging races it’s way up your arm when he knocks you to the ground, now standing protectively in front of you like a shield of steel. Geralt quickly turns around to find half a dozen more Nilfgaardian soldiers racing out from the village, one drawing another arrow as they ready a charge.

From behind the bears legs you can see what terror awaits, “Geralt!” You cry desperately as his eyes find yours, “Don’t let them hurt him!”

Heeding to your command, your brave Witcher jumps into action, taking out two soldiers before launching himself at the bowman who’s ready to fire. Your companion moves just as a last arrow plunges into the snowy blood spattered earth right in front of your face. You gasp in shock, staggering to your feet as the men that Geralt couldn’t stop attempt to take down your bear with their swords and shields.

Failing miserably they fall to the beasts paw one by one as you watch in relief, then to your great annoyance and admittedly slight fear does a lone man charge for you. One who’s been able to slip past the defenses, you reach down and take a fistful of snow before throwing it into his face, taking him off guard as you race for the wagon.

“Hand me a weapon!” You shout, “Quickly now if you want your children to live!” The terrified father keeps stiff and silent as his wife throws you a shovel of all things. Turning around you clash wood with steel, the soldier grunts as you kick his feet from out under him. Falling to the earth you quickly swing the rusted shovel around before harshly cutting right through his exposed neck in one clean motion.

His eyes gloss over as you pull the makeshift weapon from his bleeding neck, grimacing in disgust as you drop the shovel to the ground. Not feeling keen on witnessing the reactions of the family from behind you, instead your head stays forward as you walk away towards Geralt.

“Y/N! Are you hurt.” Rushes Geralt worriedly as he jogs over to your disheveled side, eyes all over you in case you really are wounded.

You nod, waving him off, “I’m fine, fine...I promise.”

He smiles, grateful to know you’re alright and uninjured, “Good. We need to leave.”

“I know, come on let’s find your hors..arh ahh fuck...” You scream in pain falling to your knees in the wet snow, Geralt catches you as your eyes darken in anger, two black pupils glaring furiously away from him. “No!” You shout, “Don’t hurt him!”

Turning his head to follow your pained gaze, he’s surprised to find some idiotic villagers as they throw rocks and other shitty weaponry at the roaring beast, “Stop it he’ll kill you!” You shout even louder now as he holds you back. Your familiar grunts and growls in protest as the men push him back farther into the woods, though they don’t stop, idiotically they follow. 

“Let me go!” You snap at Geralt angrily as he holds you tight, “Geralt!”

“Y/N he’s a bear what are we supposed to do now, he cut through those trained soldiers like they were nothing, I’m not having you get anymore roughed up then you already are.” Pleads Geralt. No you idiot they cannot kill him!

Eyes darkening in rage you break from his tight grasp and shove him to the ground before grabbing his fallen sword and racing towards the stupid villagers who are disappearing into the forest, the roars of your companion sounding painfully throughout the woods.

“Y/N!” He shouts after you, still you ignore him, to focused on tearing into the woods with determination clear in your heart. Soon enough you find the men in a snowy meadow among the great timber, makeshift weapons pointing dangerously at the bear who’s now standing his ground. 

“Get back!” You shout as they shove their sticks into the bears face that’s not even ten feet from them. “Don’t!”

The bear growls a fearsome roar of protest and pain as it backs up closer to the tree line while the villagers press closer and closer with their steel and wood, shouting insults as they go.

“Stop it he could rip your throats out you fools! Stop-ah..ouch fuck.” You seethe through clenched teeth as one of them knocks you to the ground with his garden hoe. He chuckles maliciously, eyeing you grossly as he holds up the tool readying for another hit.

“This your beasty, huh?” Taunts the dirty man with a smug grin just as your fearsome bear races to your aid with a new found purpose. He throws men that stand in his way before slashing open the mans stomach, entrails slipping out right before your vary eyes.

“Fuck.” You mutter before all hell breaks loose, more of the village men try and take down the bear but it’s no use, he slashes and tears at them, causing most to flee in terror back through the woods and eventually into the village.

“Stop! You’ve done enough for me! It’s time to go now, leave!” Is lost on the wind as the beast mauls down another man. Soon warm arms pull you from the ground and into a strong chest as your Witcher pleads for you to fall back. “Geralt no! I have to make him leave this place, he’ll kill all who try and harm him!”

“Y/N your bear is murdering innocents, this has to end now!” He exclaims while holding you close though he’s just making you more frustrated. No one is innocent.

“What are you implying?” You snap at him, dreading what he’s about to say next as you hold his arms against your chest.

“Y/N.” He whispers almost regretfully, face pressed against your cheek, “We have to kill him, it’s the only way to stop this slaughter from continuing.”

Elbowing him in the stomach you shove him from your side, face a mask of anguish and fear, “I can’t Geralt!” You exclaim loudly, “Fuck, there are just some things you don’t know about me yet! Dammit this is all wrong!”

He gives you a deep frown as he studies your face, confusion clear on his handsome features, “Y/N we have no choice.”

“There is always a choice!” Your voice is strong as you shout at him, he huffs in frustration at your outburst, clearly he doesn’t know why the bear cannot die. Y/N just tell him, he trusts you. Eyes softening you swallow thickly while touching your sore shoulder, “You don’t understand.”

Staring at you desperately, his face and hair undoubtedly a mess of dirt and blood, he looks to you now with deep confusion, “What do you mean?”

Breathing a heavy sigh you look down at the palm of your hand that’s still covered in bandages, “You can’t kill it, that creature is bound to me by an unbreakable link..”

“What?” He wonders, grey brows furrowing in puzzlement at your strange half explanation, “What does that mean Y/N?”

Your gaze falls to the snow covered earth then over to the beast that’s now decided to head for the woods, leaving a trail of bloody paw prints in the snow, no men left alive in it’s wake.

You frown deeply, your features conflicted and almost lost as you find his lingering gaze once more, “It’s complicated.” You begrudgingly mutter, Y/N he trusts you. “Let’s get out of here and I’ll explain everything.”

“Fine, come on.” Urges Geralt as the two of you make haste for the woods where Roach is waiting patiently.

The ride back is deathly silent, a new tension filling the small atmosphere around the two of you as you sit quietly in front of him. He doesn’t further press you for anything until he’s made it back to the secluded old cabin where he clicks his tongue to stop Roach. Boots hit the snow as Geralt looks up to you now, you nod lowly and let him help you down though you don’t truly need it, he ties off Roach before following you into the warmth of the small house.

As soon as you stand in front of the dying fire do your eyes fill with unshed tears while you bite your lip anxiously. Geralt’s gentle gaze falls onto your form as he steps closely in front of you, reaching his hands up to carefully clasp his hands with yours, “Tell me why this bear is so special to you, please Y/N?” He quietly asks.

Blinking the tears away you rest a hand onto your wounded shoulder that’s left a red mark through your shirt, though still letting him hold the other one. “That beast is my twin brother Geralt.” His brows raise in surprise still he keeps silent as you continue, “I don’t understand it myself, and neither does he. But ever since we came into this world something has linked our very souls and vessels together so that if one of us is hurt, the other feels it too.”

Blinking hard, the Witcher’s brows furrow even deeper now, “That’s your brother.” He repeats, trying to wrap his head around the whole thing as he starts to connect the dots, “Is this why your hand is hurt and your shoulder is wounded?”

You sigh, tilting your head up to fully look at him, “Yes. When you cut his paw it cut me too, then earlier when that damn archer shot him in the shoulder I felt everything.”

“I could tell you looked in pain, and your cheek.” He brings a hand up to gently caress your cheek, “A fresh scar. I did wonder how that happened.”

“It’s a quick pain, still hurts of course. But it’s something I have always lived with, and it’s something mages would be very inclined to study so you mustn’t tell a soul.” You affirmed through pleading eyes as you suddenly pull apart from his grasp when a jolting pain hits you on the temple unexpectedly. “Fuck, what the hell?”

Geralt’s at your side in an instant, “Y/N you’re bleeding.” Worries your Witcher as he grabs a spare cloth and applies it to your head. “Will you be okay?”

“Yes, it’s a simple cut. My brothers thick skull is to thank for that. Dammit if I could only find him.”

“Couldn’t you through some twin bond like you said, maybe that would work?” He suggests.

“Ah shit, fuck...okay yes there is another way...but please don’t look at me differently when I tell you. This is the last secret I promise.”

“Nothing is stranger then this twin link, tell me Y/N I trust you.”

Giving him a kind apprehensive smile do you nod, “My brother isn’t the only one who can change form, I can too. Difference is....I’m a wolf.”

Your heart beats with fear as Geralt begins to chuckle much to your confusion, “A wolf huh? Of course you’re a wolf, I’ve heard this could be destiny of some kind. Do you believe in that horseshit?”

You let out a humorous breath, “Well, I’m a skin-changer and if my twin gets hurt so do I. So...uh....I’m not exactly one to not question what weird shit destiny has in store for me, I mean look, I’m with a Witcher and he hasn’t killed me yet.”

Geralt’s hums, golden eyes shinning bright down at you, “And I don’t ever plan on it.” Oh, Geralt.

He smiles fondly at you though you begin to frown, “Well that’s just it huh, my brother has taken bear form for a while now, he won’t want to come back. And those villagers saw me with him, they’ll know...they’ll hunt for us. Geralt I can’t have him hurt anyone else...but what can I do? There’s only one way to truly reason with him....but I’m afraid.”

“Why? What would happen?” Worries your Witcher.

Your eyes briefly drop to the floor before they shift back up to Geralt, “I must take my beast form to speak with him, he understands me as I am now...it’s just, well I can’t really understand him as a bear.”

“Then we’ll find him.” Mutters Geralt reassuringly, causing a tiny smile to appear on your face, “Together.”

[hickeys-dickey]

Pls share your thoughts about the gays in THAT scene… I would love to read them!

Ahh you are too kind, I am but a little swiss cheese brain but I'll try my best to sum up my thoughts, I have too many! I wanted a chance to grab some screenshots too! I'm going to put a read more because this is a long one buckle up lads.

So obviously the whole punishment for Hickey is designed to humiliate him (I would imagine this is one of the reasons his punishment isn't explained to him, because if Hickey truly was a naval petty officer he would know, and I think it's another way for Crozier to essentially say "I see you" and not in a good way). The fact we're not shown the other whippings shows the importance lies in the scene with Hickey.

I've seen a bit of discussion about his charge of "dirtiness", which isn't listed initially when we see him being questioned by the Captains, and whether or not it alludes to homosexuality but on a quick cursory search it does seem to have been used as a euphemism where an outright accusation of sodomy would mean a death sentence. The way Crozier throws it out there, no doubt to heap the humiliation onto Hickey and add crimes to the list to cover the fact he added lashes on to the punishment essentially for a bruised ego (but that's another matter), suggests a whole lot of venom to the accusation. Hickey's pointed look at Irving and Irving's quick shift of his gaze down suggests they both know exactly why Crozier has listed this among Hickey's list of crimes, and Hickey looks furious for it.

But I think this is also ultimately where the panic begins to set in. Again, there are far greater minds than me who have made excellent posts about queer coded characters in the terror, and I think it's no surprise that most of them are the faces that are focused on in this scence. It is clear long before this moment that Crozier's leadership is lacking, and people have already begun to voice concerns fairly loudly. Tozer for one is livid in the wake of Heather being injured, and the marines have clearly started distancing themselves from both the officers and the men. I feel like this scene, for a lot of characters is a point of major shift in either allegiences or character.

Tozer and the Captains are the first faces that are panned to in this scene and I think the expressions speak for themselves.

Tozer is visibly upset/concerned after the first lash. I do think guilt probably has a part to play, in that is was him whole told Hickey where Silna was, and presumably approved enough of the plan to not rat him out to anyone. Again, very probably part of Tozer's anger at Heather being injured due to what he sees is Crozier's poor management. Fitzjames is stoney faced, but is also the only one looking. As a man who many have noted pushes himself to pick emotional scabs, I think it would make sense for someone who is also notably queer coded and stuggles with trauma to make himself look directly at someone being whipped for a crime he himself might commit. Crozier isn't even looking, whether out of suddenly doubting his harshness or simply triggering something in his own memory it's not clear. I think the end of this shot also speaks for itself.

(Fig 1. Three Concerned (very likely not straight) men contemplate)

The lads at the back behind Mr. Johnson are all looking Directly At the whipping as it is taking place. Interestingly none of the men at the front near the table are looking. This is the stewards, officers, and marines. Whether out of respect or also Concern at their own skins (I think every one of these characters has been addressed as being queer coded at some point, minus the marines who are all, except Tozer, fairly nameless characters).

I'm not a gifmaker which is unfortunate for this section, though this is what is gifed in the beautiful gifset by sashneeka I reblogged (x). Tommy is also visibly upset, whether because he knows Tozer was involved in the plot to kidnap Silna and is concerned for him and any of the rest of the crew who had assisted in someway or voiced support. Billy interestingly does look briefly, and sets his jaw after in a way that suggests he's trying to fight the guilt of being the one to tell Irving about the whole affair with Hickey to paint himself in a better light. It could just as easily be Billy there on that table being lashed, but he somehow rationalises it in his head (probably because Hickey is a little bastard) that he was right in what he did. He does look down fairly guiltily after this, so maybe he hasn't quite settled on an opinion. Jopson also looks incredibly concerned/unsettled, and interestingly looks at Hickey right up until the whip hits where he flinches, and not for the only time in this scene. From what we know about Jopson's past, though not at this point, it may well be he is remembering similar punishment/mistreatment and like Fitzjames looks enough to pick the scab open and flinch from his own trauma.

The closeup of Hickey shows the full extent of his rage and humiliation building, and as I think Adam himself said, they whipped something out of Hickey that day and let him reach this potential that lay inside him (to become an even bigger bastard). He's fully severed all ties and feelings of loyalty after this and it becomes full on train to manipulation station from this point. I have a lot of Thoughts about Hickey also (which I am sure you are all aware of) but I think there was some semblance of Hickey attempting to start afresh on this journey, or at the very least keep his head down and go unnoticed. The trouble is, he notices Crozier as a flawed man, and one not from the upper classes like himself, and his ego can't help but think we're not so different, that could be me with the right connections. Well surprise lads, its murder time now and he's gonna make this old man pay for not recognising initiative but punishing it. I do wonder if Crozier wasn't booze sick and rattled from losing even more men under his command, would he not have come down so harshly for someone clearly defying the Articles to do what he thinks is right and save the men (a la Crozier and his fuck you I'm directly contradicting an order and leading this rescue party myself).

Tozer gets another wee closeup here and again looks like he has resolved something in his head too. Most likely that he thinks Crozier an unfit leader, and admiring Hickey for having the balls to do what he did (Hickey also never reveals anyone else who came with him, and when he talks about Hartnell and Mason's part in taking Silna it highlights their skill and bravery and (he thinks) commends them to the Captain. It's probably the only time we see him building up and applauding others). He looks dead ahead here and seems to have a very steely gaze, like yep fuck it looks like I'm going it alone now. It is interesting that Tozer goes from this to notably disliking Hickey (both at the start and when they are packing up - "you've just given me an excuse to give a big shove". This might be anger at Hickey having caused all the issues with Silna after the fact when Heather gets killed at Carnivale), but still follows him in the end. Hickey has the ability to kill, manipulate, steal, basically do whatever needed for their group to get ahead, which means Tozer can be part of the group and not have to dirty his own hands. I think Tozer probably has a complicated relationship with Hickey, but he does fall for the charm hook, line, and sinker, and the fact he seems concerned for him here suggests how easily he is sympathetic to those he sees as being wronged.

Gibby getting Hickey's blood on his hand (ayy) seems to visibly make him blanch, and I do find it interesting that the shot then pans to Tommy as though they are looking at each other when they are stood side by side. The similarities between them maybe? (I've seen and reblogged a lot of discourse about Tommy loving Tozer, maybe another nod to no one being so different to the man on the table?) Irving doesn't get much of a close up in the rest of this scene but bless him he looks equal parts terrified and guilty (another man who has been noted as having a list of many things to distract from the Gay Thoughts like why do you need to distract from Gay Thoughts Irving?). He also has the Far Off Look of trauma about him, probably because he too could just as easily be on that table.

I have many many thoughts about the way Hickey turns to look (and fucking smile???) at Crozier next, which is when Crozier is looking directly at him and Fitzjames looks at him. Like if I were Crozier I think my fucking blood would chill, look at this man. Being humiliated and lashed still hasn't broken him, if anything he has just become fully unhinged and looks at Crozier as though to say "did you really think this would work?". I would also say, this man has fairly quite for someone who is at this stage something like 22 lashes in? Like what the actual fuck Hickey?? I fully belive Hickey to be a psycopath, and most of what he does in the beginning of the series is an attempt to stay hidden until they get to Hawaii and he can ditch the crew, but I think it is fairly safe to say he isn't hiding it any more.

And he knows this is going to make the men doubt Crozier - I can't do a proper search because I am using my work laptop atm, but I seem to remember reading that a punishment greater than 12 lashes required a court martial (probably why Little steps in to say so when Crozier orders his punishment as well as them technically being lost at sea), which would be another strike against him as a Captain. Not only that, but Crozier does seem to grant him some mercy in letting him only be lashed I think 23 or so times? Probably because the tension is fucking palpable in this whole scene and Crozier can either choose to claw back some sense of control on the matter, or deal with the consequences of many people admiring Hickey for what he has done for the crew and start a mutiny. I think this is the first time Fitzjames sees the damage Crozier is doing to himself with his choices as Captain, and is probably just as concerned at the look Hickey is giving him. He knows this has unleashed something in this tiny rat bastard too, and that he will become the physical manifestation of Crozier's self-destructive tendancies. Crozier perpetually comes to everything just a fraction too late to change anything - he never saves any of the men, only comforts them as they die, and a lot of this has to do with his own ego and bad decision making, and I think this is the first example here of the fact his actions are having an effect on others to the point it will be his downfall.

Anyway, to round it off, I think this scene really epitomises the notion that Hickey is a mirror to the rest of the men, and they see their flaws in him. Those who have questioned Crozier's captaincy look concernced knowing they too could be being lashed. They too would have tried to get Silna to stop the Tuunbaq hunting them. Those who are queer or queer coded know they too could be being lashed for it. Crozier himself sees his unwillingness to follow the Articles in him, sees his own insubordination, and feels what Sir John meant when he said his position afforded him deference. Hickey may as well be a metaphor for all the men being lashed, theres not one among them who haven't voiced wanting to do what he has done. Let them without sin and all that. This is make or break for who holds loyalty to the Captain, and the turning point for who is going where. I think everyone except Jopson, Irving and Fitzjames ends up in the mutineers camp, and Irving ends up killed and mutilated by Hickey and Fitzjames is scavanged by them. Theres not one of them that isn't haunted by what happened in this scene, and Hickey would end up being the death of every single one of them. The only one who remains loyal after this is Jopson, who thinks his care and duty to the Captain can outweigh his other sins. Fitzjames and Crozier have a stronger relationship once he recovers from his withdrawal, yes, but Fitzjames also keeps him in check now (I'm thinking of Edward Little being threatened with flogging again because of course I am), and it is another step too late for Crozier's self-destruction. I've seen a Hickey/Fitzjames Christ analogy on here before too, so I hope you'll forgive me in comparing them, but Hickey in this scene really does get punished for everyone else's crimes in this scene, and becomes a sort of Christ-like figure, reborn as a complete version of the worst of himself from the pain of being lashed. They whipped something out of him!! Anyway, that about sums it up!

[mehbzz]

FFXV A/B/O au 18+ includes fingering, yandere, controlling behaviour, alludes to forced breeding, depression, mentions of self harm, low self esteem/weight issues. F!reader/Ignis/Gladio

So this was going to be a pretty dark forced breeding kinda fic but my mood changed and it ended up being half the beginning of a forced breeding fic and half depressed reader suffering from a depressive episode. The change in my mood is very noticeable half way though and probably a little jarring so we shall pretend that the second half happens a month or two after the first half, when the topic of kids has been soothed over and temporarily forgotten! No proofreading, no beta.

EDIT- Just correcting a typo that was annoying me!

“….having children.”

“What??” You’d been spacing out, a mixture of the Eos version of antidepressants you were taking and the fact that this meeting with King Regis was more than a little boring. Or had been at least. The end of Regis’ sentence shocks you back into reality abruptly.

Ignis shushes you quietly and you look at him aghast, but he ignores you, focusing on the King.

“Apologies Your Majesty.” Regis briefly glances at you then back to Ignis, “She is your mate? Bonded?” “Yes Your Majesty, myself and Gladiolus.”

Regis looks back at you “And the nature of your relationship with my son is….?”

Ignis answers before you can, “She is companion to all pack members.”

“Can she speak for herself?” Your gaze flicks to Ignis and he nods. “Yes Your Majesty I can.” You feel foolish and more than a little embarrassed as your voice echoes in the hall.

“Your pack keeps you close, understandably so, although I have heard you do not have much freedom?” The King watches you, waiting for a reply you think but you’re not sure what to say. “She’s very quiet isn’t she?” It feels like a jab, and you look at Ignis for direction who looks uncomfortable. He shakes his head minutely so you bite your tongue. Regis sighs and you feel a little like you just missed an opportunity.

“I believe that as Pack Alpha and as The Prince of Lucis Noctis should have first breeding rights.”

Ignis freezes and you bite your tongue so hard you taste blood. Breeding rights?? “I am unsure if that is something Noctis –“

“It doesn't matter,” The King interrupts with a wave of his hand. “I let my son live as independently as possible, and have allowed him to start his own pack but having an omega is an opportunity to continue the Caelum line. An opportunity we may not see again and one that should not be denied.”

You feel incredibly taken off guard with this whole conversation. “You cannot be – “

Ignis grabs your hand and silences you with a tight squeeze of your fingers. You must be dreaming right? This is not truly happening. The floor feels like its tilting beneath you and you have to look down at your feet to make sure it’s not.

“I will let you discuss it with Noctis and within your pack but I hope you will not forget my opinion or interest in this matter.” Regis gazes at you for a few seconds. “Apologise to Noctis on my behalf, I will not be able to make our dinner this evening.”

Ignis bows and you reluctantly do the same. You feel dazed. Ignis tight grip on your hand doesn’t let up as you leave the throne room. He keeps giving you concerned glances out the corner of his eye as you walk back to your quarters, but it takes you until you’re walking down the corridor to your room that you shake yourself out of your stunned stupor enough to say anything.

“Did we just negotiate over which one of you gets to knock me up?” You ask incredulous. He doesn’t answer you but he frowns at your choice of words.

“Ignis, you – please tell me I just hallucinated that whole meeting.”

He sighs “we will need to discuss it.”

“You are not serious. The answer is no!” “It's an omegas role.” He snaps and you flinch, not used to Ignis’ anger.

“My apologies. If the King has taken an interest we will need to discuss it.” he repeats.

“He cant make me have children.”

Ignis hesitates barely a fraction of a second but it’s enough to send a pulse of terror through you that he immediately picks up on. he stops, turning towards you and cradling your face in his hands. “I nor the rest of your pack would force you into anything you didn’t want love.” He lets you go and takes your hands again. “However it is the future of the royal bloodline, it will be something we need to talk about seriously in the future, whether we want to or not.” “We do not! I don’t want kids Ignis!” He flinches and something dark flickers across his face as he looks at you. It’s gone before you can interpret it as he turns away, pulling you after him as he continues walking.

You feel tired. “I thought I was your mate,” you say sullenly “not Noctis’.” “You are, unfortunately it’s more complicated than that.” You think you should be more upset by this than you currently feel. The medication you were on was new and felt a lot stronger than the antidepressants you had been taking back home. It left you feeling a little more numb and placid than you think you would have been otherwise.

He stops outside your room and pulls you into a kiss. Moaning softly when you immediately respond. He’s purring, trying to comfort you and you give in to the calm emotions it provokes, not wanting to feel the disorientated confusion anymore.

He leans closer, pushing you into the wall and his hand tugs up your dress until your thighs are bare. “You did well talking to the King, I was proud of you.” His praise makes you shiver. You thought Gladio was the one with the high sex drive but as his fingers stroke up your thighs you think Ignis is just as bad. Although a little more polite and less aggressive about it perhaps.

You're both quiet as his fingers slip between your thighs and he rubs softly at your clit. He presses harder and increases his pace at your gentle sigh and you turn to bury your face into his neck as the pleasure builds. You’re panting into his neck and he has his face buried in your hair, you’re not sure why you feel like you have to be quiet but you do your best to hold back your moans. He’s saying nothing, breathing hard he slips his hand up, pressing onto your abdomen before dipping into your panties and sliding a gloved finger inside of you. He gives you no time to adjust before he starts fucking you, like he’s desperate to make you cum. His palm grinds against your clit as he adds another finger, your orgasm is building fast, and as he continues his ruthless pace you feel another kind of pressure building slowly low in your stomach. It makes you gasp out his name in mild alarm, “Sl-slow down, I’m gonna pee!” He nuzzles against your ear, his purr increasing in volume. “No you’re not love, just relax,” he nips at your ear, “Let go for me.” He curls his fingers, stroking your walls quickly in just the right way to have your back arching. It’s a quick hard orgasm that takes you by surprise and has your whole body jerking and shaking as you ride out the aftershocks, biting into his shoulder as you try to control your twitching muscles. He seems a little disappointed but he’s still purring quietly and it helps calm your racing pulse. “Good Girl” he slowly withdraws his hand and removes his gloves. Leaning around you to open your door he gives you another quick kiss. “Noctis will be disappointed about this evening, perhaps we should eat together?” Your legs feel shaky as you enter, Prompto is sat on your couch, watching what sounds like a musical and Gladio appears in front of you, pulling you into a kiss before you can even say hello. The kiss Gladio gives you is ravenous, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip. Both hands squeeze your ass as you try to pull away, conscious of the growing slick between your already wet thighs. “Gladio!” He chuckles at your breathless gasp and pulls away, letting you go. He slaps your ass hard as you walk away, almost crossing the line into genuinely painful but he only grins at your glare. You wince as you sit down next to Prompto and he gives you a sympathetic smile. He pats his knee “Lie down.”

Head resting in Prompto lap you half-heartedly watch the musical as he enthusiastically tells you the plot. You gaze flicks between the TV and Ignis and Gladio talking quietly by the door. You can’t make out what they’re saying but you have no doubt what they’re talking about. You’re still a little shook from your meeting with King Regis but you trust your pack to look after you. --------- “She looked to me for permission.” “hmm?” “When the King spoke to her. She looked to me before answering.” Gladio surprises him with a kiss to his cheek. “We trained her well.” “It’s not the way I wanted this topic brought up.” Ignis says after a few seconds and relaxes a little as Gladio strokes a hand down his back. “I didn’t realise that was what the King wished to discuss.” “Relax babe. We’ll do damage control, it’ll be fine.” Gladio watches Ignis expression closely, “She wasn’t happy with the idea I take it?” “She said No. Emphatically.” They both stand there quietly, watching you as you’re subjected to Prompto’s retelling of the film’s plot. “Accidents happen.” Gladio says quietly. Ignis frowns. “She’s on birth control and heat suppressants.” “You're in charge of her medication Iggy” Ignis finally looks at him, but says nothing. “Who can really tell one little pill from another?” Gladio shrugs. “Just saying.”

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“Noctis said you cancelled your plans with him today.” Ignis stands next to your bed watching you. He frowns slightly when you don’t respond, gently pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. You push him away and he sits next to you on the mattress. He sits and waits watching you patiently until you give in and make eye contact with him. He's worried about you, it’s written clearly across his face and it makes you feel ill. You shrug. You're half expecting him to force you to go anyway.

“Bad day?”

You don't answer and snuggle deeper into your duvet.

“Love?”

“I'm fine,” It’s an automatic answer and a lie. “Just tired.” Not quite another lie but close enough. You are tired. Just not the type of tired that's going to be helped by the 12 hour nap you want to take. You try to force a smile but it feels awkward and it’s obviously not convincing from Ignis expression.

He sighs and cautiously shifts a little closer but you flinch away when he goes to stroke your hair. It's a dirty greasy mess and the thought of Ignis touching it fills you with disgust and embarrassment.

“Don’t.” His nostrils flare as he scents you and the surge of hatred for that invasion of privacy makes you feel physically sick. Nothing is ever just yours anymore.

“Talk to me love, I care about you.”

“Why?”

It's a choked sob and you angrily bite your lip in an effort to stop the tears.

“Because I love you.”

“Well you shouldn't.” It’s a snappy angry retort but he doesn’t flinch or pull away.

He reaches forward, gently brushing some of your hair away from your face. “Sit up.” You scowl but you do as he commands. He pulls your hair gently in to a ponytail, combing his finger slowly through it to ease the knots before tying it with a band.

“Have you eaten today?” You shake your head reluctantly. You hadn’t even got out of bed today let alone eaten or drunk anything. “Have you taken your medication?” His questions and attention are starting to irritate you. You just want to be left alone. “Love?” You shrug. You genuinely don’t remember. “I can take care of myself.” “Can you?” You don’t reply, annoyed at his patronizing, but probably correct assumption and instead lie back down and curl up into a tighter ball and try to ignore him. He sighs and entwines his fingers through yours despite your attempt to pull your hand away.

“I will go get you something to eat.”

You don’t want to eat but you want to be left alone so you nod. He looks almost sad, maybe disappointed and it feels you with a surge of guilt.

”Tell Noct I'm sorry”

“You have nothing to be sorry for love, but I will talk to him?”

It's a question and it surprises you for some reason.

You don't want him to know, it makes you feel pathetic. Ignis notices the way your thoughts have gone and links his fingers back through yours. “He'll understand.” He squeezes your hand on the last word and you look up at him. Noctis is the one most likely to understand you know that but it's still embarrassing.

“I won't tell him anything you don't want me to, just enough to ease his concerns.”

You nod reluctantly, but the thought that Noctis could genuinely be worried about you feels absurd. “Will you be safe on your own?” his gaze sweeps down your arm as he stands, you know what he’s looking for, what he’s thinking, and you feel irritated at yourself for having shared so much with him in the past. The frustration at his question is unfair, you know that but you still feel it.

“I’ll stay.” Gladio’s voice interrupts your reply. You watch with increasing exasperation as they talk quietly by the door, wishing they'd just go away before Ignis comes back to you. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to ignore his intense gaze. He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead and entwines his fingers back through yours. You crack open an eye when he doesn’t move away. He looks so concerned about you that you find yourself crying before you can stop yourself. “I’m sorry.” It’s half choked half sobbed from your throat. “You don’t need to be sorry” he repeats. He makes no move to come closer and you feel grateful for that. You don’t think you can handle too much affection without breaking down completely.

“Why do you put up with me?” you whisper, voice cracking. “I don’t do anything, I can’t fight, I can’t help with hunts, I just do nothing. I’m a burden.” “Love.” he sighs. “You are not a burden.” He kisses your palm. “You are a part of our pack. Our omega. Our mate.” He kisses you. “We love you.” “Why?” you sniffle. You can’t wrap your head around it. He wipes away your tears with a sad smile, “Because I do, because it’s you.” You’ve fooled him somehow, tricked him into loving you. Your stomach twists painfully.

“I won’t be long.” “Ok.” It’s a weak feeble reply but he doesn’t pull away from you, instead waits until you let go of his hand. You watch him leave, expecting him to go and not return now he’s seen what you are truly like until Gladio steps in front, blocking your view.

He stands next to your bed, arms crossed as he looks down at you. “Can I?”

You hesitate in answering and he takes that as a yes.

“Move over,” he says expectantly. Pushing his way into your bed and nudging you gently with his elbow when you don’t move.

You feel guilty that he’s having to stay with you, the urge to make it up to him is strong. You hook your leg over his and slide your calf over this crotch. He grunts in surprise and grabs your leg. “Relax baby.”

“You don't want to?” You're not surprised really, you probably don't look or smell very attractive right now but it still hurts. Why would he stay if you can't give him what he wants?

“Always, but we're napping right now.”

You don't believe him, and even though you don't even want to have sex you still feel the sting of rejection. He notices and presses a kiss to your forehead. Grabbing your wrist he tugs your hand to his crotch. “I'm always half hard for you omega.” And he is. You curl your hand around the bulge in his pants and squeeze tightly. His hips jerk forward and he chuckles pulling your hand away to rest on his chest. “No, don’t be naughty.”

You slump down on his chest, somewhat sullenly, still a little sore from his rejection.

You lose yourself in Gladio’s presence for a while, his heart beat strong and steady in your ear. “Wanna talk?”

“No, just cuddle.”

“I can do that.” He tightens his grip around you, pulling you until you are practically on top of him.

The self hatred comes back and you tense. You try to pull back but he tightens his hold.

“What's wrong?”

“I'm –“ Was he really going to make you say it?

“I'm heavy.” You mumble it into his chest.

“What?”

“Aren't I too heavy?”

“No you’re perfect.” he slides his hands down your sides to your ass. “I love every inch of you,” he continues his movements, gripping your thighs. “You know how much Prompto goes on about these thighs? Gets me jealous with the amount of marks he leaves on them.”

You want to cry. He freezes as your breath hitches.

“We can work on it if it's something you really want baby.” He says it hesitantly, quietly, like he's scared of upsetting you further. Linking his fingers with yours he tugs your hand to rest over his heart.

You don’t know if it is something you want, you can’t separate the dark voice in your head from the logical one. But he’s listening to you. He’s not dismissing you, and he’s definitely not ignoring you and it makes the tears run freely again. Youre not worth such care. His free hand is still wandering, soothing strokes that start at the nape of your neck, swirl down your spine to your ass and dip just barely under the hem of your shirt. It’s a soft gentle caress and even when his hands slip a little higher under your shirt there’s nothing but love and tenderness in his touch. “You’re sexy and you’re smart,” he kisses your thumb, “funny, kind,” he makes his way along your fingers with each word, a kiss pressed to the tip of each one. “brave, and my favourite kind of brat.” he nips at your pinky with the last word, before moving onto your other hand. His hands still when he hears you sniff. ”Want me to stop?”

You bury your face into his chest to hide your tears. “Yes,” you hiccup “No.”

He squeezes you tighter and lets your hand drop, resuming his touch down your back.

“and I like you on top of me,” he says his voice dropping to a low whisper “I love watching you ride me.”

His horniness is predictable, and you smile into his neck, and although it doesn't last long it is a genuine smile.

“I felt that.”

You feel him relax underneath you, he’s not purring but you feel grateful for that.

You're still tired, still sad but the heavy dark emptiness in your chest lessens slightly as you lay there and listen to Gladio’s heartbeat. You feel like you can breathe a little easier. You turn on to your side away from him and all though he looks apprehensive he lets you go.

You shift and squirm until you are comfortable on your front and reach behind you to pull Gladio’s arm across your back. He goes willingly, only resisting when you try to drag him on top of you. “The weight feels good. Please? It makes me feel,-“ It’s hard to describe how it makes you feel exactly, “…safe.” You finish quietly. He opens his mouth to reply and you beat him to it. “No talking, just squish.” His amused huff rustles your hair but he does as he’s told, draping himself over you until your half wedged under him and wrapped tight in his arms.

“I lo-“ “Don’t” you interrupt him quickly, with a surge of panic. You can’t hear that right now. “I’m- I cant. Not now.” You’re pretty sure you’re not making sense, that he’s not going to understand. “Ok.” It's murmured against your hair, a simple acknowledgment but it makes you feel better. “Can I touch you?” You nod and he slips his warm hand under your shirt to rest across your ribs just under your breasts, holding you snugly against him. It still doesn't sit quite right. His affection, his obvious care, still feels alien, wrong, like it’s meant for someone else. The feeling that you’ve tricked them into caring about you and your depressed mood still linger, and probably will for a while. But you’ve been through this before, you’ve made it through this before, and with the sound of Gladio’s steady breathing in your ear as he holds you, the heavy emptiness in your chest lessens a little bit more.

[dustedmagazine]

Music for Films, Vol. II: Chick Habit

For good and for ill, Quentin Tarantino’s movies have been strongly associated with postmodern pop culture — particularly by folks whose reactions to the word “postmodern” tend toward pursed lips and school-marmishly wagged fingers. There for a while, reading David Denby on Tarantino was similar to reading Michiko Kakutani on Thomas Pynchon: almost always the same review, the same complaints about characters lacking “psychological depth,” the same handwringing over an ostensible moral insipidness. Truth be told, Tarantino’s pranksome delight with flashy surfaces and stylistic flourishes that are ends in themselves gives tentative credence to some of the caviling. Critics have raised related concerns over the superficiality of Tarantino’s tendency toward stunt casting, especially his resurrections of aging actors relegated to the film industry’s commercial margins: John Travolta, Pam Grier, Robert Forster, David Carradine, Darryl Hannah, Don Johnson and so on. There might be a measure of cynicism in the accompanying cinematic nudging and winking, but it’s also the case that a number of the performances have been terrific.

The writer-director brings a similar sensibility to his sound-tracking choices, demonstrating the cooler-than-thou, deep-catalog knowledge of an obsessive crate-digger. Tarantino thematized that knowledge in his break-through feature, Reservoir Dogs (1992). Throughout the film, the characters tune in to Steven Wright deadpanning as the deejay of “K-Billy’s Super Sounds of the Seventies”; like the characters, the viewer transforms into a listener, treated to such fare as the George Baker Selection’s “Little Green Bag” (1970) and Harry Nilsson’s “Coconut” (1971). As with the above-mentioned actors, Tarantino has sifted pop culture’s castoffs and detritus, unearthing songs and delivering experiences of renewed value — and thereby proving the keenness of his instincts and aesthetic wit. “Listen to (or look at) this!” he seems to say, with his cockeyed, faux-incredulous grin. “Can you believe you were just going to throw this out?” And mostly, it works. If the Blue Swede’s “Hooked on a Feeling” (1974) has become a sort of semi-ironized accompaniment to hipsterish good times, that resonance has a lot more to do with Tim Roth, Harvey Keitel and Co. cruising L.A. in a hulking American sedan than with the Disney Co.’s Guardians of the Galaxy (2014).

In Death Proof (2007), Tarantino’s seventh film and unaccountably his least favorite, soundtrack and screen are both full to bursting with the flotsam and jetsam of “entertainment” conceived as an industry. 

In just the opening minutes, we see outmoded moviehouse announcements, complete with cigarette-burn cue dots; big posters of Brigitte Bardot from Les Bijoutiers du claire de lune (1958) and of Ralph Nelson’s Soldier Blue (1970) bedecking the apartment of Jungle Julia (Sydney Tamiia Poitier); the tee shirt worn by Shanna (Jordan Ladd), which bears the image of Tura Satana; and strutting under all of it are the brassy cadences of Jack Nitzsche’s “The Last Race,” taken from his soundtrack for the teensploitation flick Village of the Giants (1965). Bibs and bobs, bits and pieces of low- and middle-brow cinema are cut up and reconstructed into a fulsome swirl of signs. And there’s an unpleasant edge to it; the cuts are echoed by the action of the camera, which has been busily cleaving the bodies of the women on screen into fragments and parts. First the feet of Arlene (Vanessa Ferlito), propped up on a dashboard; then Julia, all ass and gams; then Arlene’s lower half again, chopped into slices by the stairs she dashes up (“I gotta take the world’s biggest fucking piss!”) and by the close-up that settles on her belly and pelvis, her hand shoved awkwardly into her crotch. 

As often happens in Tarantino’s movies, furiously busy meta-discursive play collapses the images’ problematic content under multiple levels of reference and pastiche. The film is one half of Grindhouse (2007), Tarantino’s collaboration with his buddy Robert Rodriguez, an old-fashioned double-feature comprising the men’s love letters to the exploitation cinema of the 1960s and 1970s. In those thousands of movies — mondo, beach-cutie, nudie-cutie, women in prison, early slasher, rape-revenge, biker gang, chop-socky, Spaghetti Western and muscle-car-worship flicks (and we could add more subgenres to the list) — symbolic violence inflicted on women’s bodies was de rigueur, and frequently the principal draw. Tarantino shot Death Proof himself, so he is (more than usually) directly responsible for all the framing and focusing — and he’s far too canny a filmmaker not to know precisely what he’s doing with and to those bodies. The excessive, camera-mediated gashing and trimming is a knowing, perhaps deprecating nod to all that previous, gratuitous T&A. His sound-tracking choice of “The Last Race” metaphorically underscores the point: in Bert I. Gordon’s Village of the Giants, bikini-clad teens find and consume an experimental growth serum, which causes them to expand to massive proportions. Really big boobs, actual acres of ass. Get it?

Of course, all the implied japing and judging is deeply embedded in the film’s matrix of esoteric references and fleeting allusions. You’d have to be very well versed in the history of exploitation cinema to pick up on the indirect homage to Gordon’s goofy movie. But as in Reservoir Dogs, Tarantino doesn’t just gesture, he dramatizes, folding an authoritative geekdom into the action of Death Proof. In the set-up to Death Proof’s notorious car crash scene, Julia is on the phone, instructing one of her fellow deejays to play “Hold Tight!” (1966) by Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Tich. Don’t recognize the names? “For your information,” Julia snorts, Pete Townsend briefly considered abandoning the Who, and he thought about joining the now-obscure beat band, to make it “Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick, Tich & Pete. And if you ask me, he should have.”

It’s among the most gruesomely violent sequences in Tarantino’s films (which do not run short on graphic bloodshed), and Julia receives its most spectacular punishment. Those legs and that rump, upon which the camera has lavished so much attention, are torn apart. Her right leg flips, flies and slaps the pavement, a hunk of suddenly flaccid meat. Again, Tarantino proves himself an adept arranger of image, sign and significance. Want to accuse him of fetishizing Julia’s legs? He’ll materialize the move, reducing the limb to a manipulable fragment, and he’ll invest the moment with all of the intrinsic violence of the fetish. He’ll even do you one better — he’ll make that violence visible. Want to watch? You better buckle up and hold tight. 

Hold on a second. “Hold Tight”? The soundtrack has passed over from intertextual in-joke to cruel punchline. It doesn’t help that the song is so much fun, and that it’s fun watching the girls groove along to it, just before Stuntman Mike (Kurt Russell) obliterates them, again and again and again. The awful insistence of the repetition is another set-up, establishing the film’s narrative logic: the repeated pattern and libidinal charge-and-release of Stuntman Mike’s vehicular predations. It is, indeed, “a sex thing,” as Sheriff Earl McGraw (Michael Parks) informs us in his cartoonish, redneck lawman’s drawl. Soon the sexually charged repetitions pile up: see Abernathy’s (Rosario Dawson) feet hanging out of Kim’s (Tracie Thom) 1972 Mustang, in a visual echo of Arlene’s, and of Julia’s. Then listen to Lee (Mary Elizabeth Winstead) belt out some of Smith’s cover of “Baby It’s You” (1969), which we most recently heard 44 minutes before, as Julia danced ecstatically by the Texas Chili Bar’s jukebox. Then watch Abernathy as she sees Stuntman Mike’s tricked-out ’71 Nova, a vibrating hunk of metallic machismo — just like Arlene saw it, idling menacingly back in Austin, with another snatch of “Baby It’s You” wisping through that moment’s portent. 

For a certain kind of viewer, the Nova’s low-slung, growling charms are hard to resist, as is the sleazy snarl of Willy DeVille’s “It’s So Easy” (1980; and we might note that Jack Nitzsche produced a couple of Mink DeVille’s early records, connecting another couple strands in the web) on the Nova’s car stereo. Those prospective pleasures raise the question of just who the film is for. That may seem obvious: the same folks — dudes, mostly — who find pleasure in exploitation movies like Vanishing Point (1971), Satan’s Sadists (1969) or The Big Doll House (1971). But there are a few other things to account for, like how Death Proof repeatedly passes the Bechdel Test, and how long those scenes of conversation among women go on, and on. Most notable is the eight-minute diner scene, a single take featuring Abernathy, Kim, Lee and Zoë (Zoë Bell, doing a cinematic rendition of her fabulous self, an instance of stunt casting that literalizes the “stunt” part). Among other things, the women discuss their careers in film, the merits of gun ownership and Kim and Zoë’s love of (you guessed it) car chase movies like Vanishing Point. One could read that as a liberatory move, a suggestion that cinema of all kinds is open to all comers. All that’s required is a willingness to watch. But watching the diner scene becomes increasing claustrophobic. The camera circles the women’s table incessantly, and on the periphery of the shot, sitting at the diner’s counter, is Stuntman Mike. The circling becomes predatory, the threat seems pervasive. 

If you’ve seen the film, you know how that plays out: Zoë and Kim play “ship’s mast” on a white 1970 Dodge Challenger (the Vanishing Point car); Stuntman Mike shows up and terrorizes them mercilessly; but then Abernathy, Zoë and Kim chase him down and beat the living shit out of him, likely fatally. In another sharply conceived cinematic maneuver, Tarantino executes a climactic sequence that inverts the diner scene: the women surround Stuntman Mike, abject and pleading, and punch and kick him as he bounces from one of them to another. The camera zips from vantage to vantage within the circle, deliriously tracking the action. All the jump cuts intensify the violence, and they provide another contrast to the diner’s scene’s silky, unbroken shot. The sounds and the impact of the blows verge on slapstick, and our identification with the women makes it a giddily gross good time.

So, an inversion seeks to undo repetition. Certainly, Stuntman Mike’s intent to repeat the car-crash-kill-thrill is undone, and predator becomes prey. But, as is inevitable with Tarantino’s cinema, there are complications, other echoes and patterns to suss out. For instance: as the women stride toward the wrecked Nova, while Stuntman Mike pathetically wails, the camera zooms in on their asses. Bad asses? Nice asses? What’s the right nomenclature? To make sure we can put the shot together with Julia’s first appearance in the film, Abernathy has hiked up her skirt, revealing a lot of leg. Repetition reasserts itself. In an exacerbating circumstance, Harvey Weinstein’s grubby fingerprints are smeared onto the film. Rodriguez’s Troublemaker Studios is credited with production of Grindhouse, but Dimension Films, a Weinstein Brothers company, handled distribution.  

When the film cuts to its end titles, we hear April March’s “Chick Habit” (1995), with its spot-on lyric: “Hang up the chick habit / Hang it up, daddy / Or you’ll never get another fix.” And so on. Even here, where the girl-power vibe feels strongest (cue Abernathy burying a bootheel in Stuntman Mike’s face), there are echoes, patterns. Note how the striding bassline of “Chick Habit” strongly recalls the pulse beating through Nitzsche’s “The Last Race.” Note that March’s song is a cover, of “Laisse tomber les filles,” originally recorded by yé-yé girl France Gall. The song was penned by Serge Gainsbourg, pop provocateur and notorious womanizer. The two collaborated again, releasing “Les Sucettes,” a tune about a teeny-bopper who really likes sucking on lollipops, when Gall was barely 18; the accompanying scandal nearly torpedoed her career. Gall refused to ever sing another song by Gainsbourg, and disavowed her hits.  

Again, that’s all deeply embedded, somewhere in the film’s complicated play of pop irony and double-entendre and the sudden explosions of delight and disgust that intermittently reveal and conceal. Again, you’d have to know your pop history really well to catch up with the complications, and Death Proof moves so fast that there’s always another reference or allusion demanding your attention as the cars growl and the blood spurts. Too many signs to track, too many signals to decipher — that’s the postmodern. But perhaps we have become too glib, assuming that all signs are somehow equivalent. Death Proof insists otherwise. Much has been made of the film’s strange relation to digital filmmaking, of the sort that Rodriguez has made a career out of. Part of Grindhouse’s shtick is its goofball applications of CGI, all the scratches and skips and flaws that the filmmakers lovingly applied. They are digital effects, masquerading as damaged celluloid. Tarantino cut back against that grain, filming as much of the car chase’s maniacal stuntwork in meatspace as he safely could. Purposeful practical filmmaking, for a digitally enhanced cinematic experience, attempting to mimic the ways real film interacts with the physical environment and its manifold histories. Is that clever, or just more cultural clutter?  

Amid all the clutter that crowds the characters onscreen, and their conversations in the film’s field of sound, it can be easy to lose track of the distinctions between appearances and the traces of the real bodies that worked to bring Death Proof to life. Which is why Tarantino’s inclusion of Bell is so crucial. She provides another inversion: Instead of masking her individual presence, doing stunts for other actresses in their clothes and hair (for Lucy Lawless in Xena: Warrior Princess, or for Uma Thurman in Tarantino’s Kill Bill films), Bell is herself, doing what she does best, projecting the technical elements of filmmaking — usually meant to bleed seamlessly into illusion — right onto the surface of the screen. And instead of allowing one group of girls to slip into a repeated pattern, bodies easily exchanged for other bodies, Bell’s presence and its implicit insistence on her particularity (who else can move like she does?) breaks up the superficial logic of cinema’s market for the feminine. She disrupts its chick habit. There’s only one woman like her. 

Jonathan Shaw

[iggy-licious]

One Shot: Tête à Tête

OK... This is super long and super indulgent, but if you want smut, you got it. 😈 Iggy terrorizes a journalist and turns the tables for something much better for both of them. NSFW.

I just finished it, and I can't look at it anymore without going insane. 🤪 Please excuse any writing glitches.

Thank you for reading and going along with my Iggy shenanigans. ❤️❤️❤️

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“You see,” he chuckles softly, “this is why I fucking hate doing interviews.” He tosses his fedora onto a nearby chair, runs a hand through his jet-black, dyed hair, shakes his head in disdain, and fishes his Marlboros and lighter out of his pocket. He leers at me, cigarette hanging onto his pouty bottom lip for dear life, before he lights it. He takes a puff and exhales the smoke in my direction, his mouth gaping slightly in what I could imagine to be a slow, satisfied exhale in a more romantic setting.

But we’re at an impasse, facing off at opposite sides of an overstuffed hotel couch. I made the cardinal sin of asking if The Stooges might ever get back together. 

Iggy remains silent and continues to smoke while staring me down. His look is full of slow-simmering anger and curiosity, as if he’s given up on the interview and is studying me to find creative ways to get under my skin.

But little does he know, he’s already succeeded at that.

The man had proved to be a good-natured, but eccentric, raconteur, and I was captivated by his stories and energy earlier. His smoky liner and shadow couldn’t blunt the sparkle in his large eyes when he gushed about the experimental nature of his Zombie Birdhouse album. I had been nervous going into the interview, but he had won me over with his intelligence, passion, and mild flirtation. It was fair to say that I had been in danger of him short-circuiting my professionalism. Him and those eyes, the color of a clear Caribbean lagoon. 

But that was then. Now, it's his scornful vibe that holds me in thrall. It screams of the primal unpredictability that was his ace in his old band. This nicotine pause feels like a dam holding back a flood of turbulent emotions. In the current, painful silence, I’m acutely aware that he could roar to life in a second and drown me in a passionate diatribe of words. Or, he could decide he’s bored and kick me out at any time. These thoughts set my heart into overdrive for many reasons, both professional and personal.

He’s studying me with an emotionless poker face, but his eyes feel like they're boring into mine. Large, blue, graced with the pretty eyelashes that most people get from a mascara tube.

His eyes turn out to be his secret weapon. I find myself powerless, waiting for his next words. After our initial discussion I'm surprised he can be anything less than an open book. I silently pray that I’ll come up with something to say, something that draws him in again, something that gets this interview back on track. Something that brings back his lopsided grin and the happy fluttering of infatuated butterflies in my stomach, if I'm being honest with myself. 

“Do you smoke?” he asks, lightly pinching the cigarette between his fingers and holding it out to me. He raises an eyebrow and smirks. 

I feel like it’s some weird test, the final exam of our time together. Now or never. Do or die.

Lucky for me, I do smoke. “I’ll take it,” I say, realizing how exhausted I feel from the tense minutes that have just transpired. I hope for the best. I can’t afford to blow this interview.

His lips turn upward in a subtle smile as I smoke. 

I’ve passed the test. 

I suck on the cigarette hard, preferring the party of deadly chemicals in my lungs to the charged air that hung thick in the room a moment before. I close my eyes and exhale. When I open them again, I meet his gaze, which he abruptly drops to my full lips, painted with a red that complements my light brown skin. He inspects the smudge of my lipstick on his cigarette when I return it, before stubbing it out in an ashtray.

“You know,” he says, tracing a finger on the arm of the couch, “I think you’re a good interviewer, a good conversationalist. I’m just tired of the pop culture psychoanalysis bullshit that goes down in these interviews. Do you know what I mean? How about we just talk for a while? About anything.” 

“That sounds nice,” I venture. Part of me will look for any opening to steer back to the interview, but part of me certainly doesn’t mind getting to know Iggy better.

He hits the stop button on my tape recorder and then walks to the mini-fridge. “No recording, no journalist, no so-called ‘godfather of punk,’ just you and me and some beers,” he says while setting a six-pack on the coffee table.

I look longingly at my recorder, wondering what juicy confessions I might miss if we talk more informally. I wouldn't dare turn it on, though, while the connection we're rebuilding is so fragile. 

Before I can panic, he frees a cold can of Pabst Blue Ribbon from its tight ring of plastic and hands it to me. Then, after he nips into his can, he tells me the story of his first beer and the shenanigans he'd gotten into back in Michigan, before The Stooges. This segues into talk about his favorite German beers and stories of misbehavior in Europe with David Bowie.

Iggy makes me laugh with his cartoon voices and facial expressions. I watch the vaguely man-shaped earring in his right ear dance with the rubber contortions of his face.

With the second beer cans, we’ve moved closer together on the couch, and I’ve taken off my black pumps. I’m thankful that my skin color hides the flush in my cheeks from the fizzy intoxicant.

His jokes get louder and more blue. We're back in a good conversation groove again. I haven’t laughed this hard in ages. 

My professional conscience chided me for beer number two, but the wheaty nectar in the third can has drowned out that small voice. Iggy inches closer and tells me about growing up in a trailer. “If you can remember any of this shit, feel free to write about it,” he says. His laughter is a challenge and a taunt.

I will myself to remember, to sear the facts of his life into my brain. These anecdotes are gold, the kinds of things that can add meat to the pitiful skeleton of my story as it stands now.

I’m laughing, and I park my hand on his thigh. The black trousers can't hide the fact that his legs are well muscled from swimming and his onstage moves that defy the range of a normal human body.

Before I can stop myself, I’m slowly trailing my hand up and down his leg. 

“Mmm…” He purrs and moves closer, while wrapping an arm around me. He drains the last of his beer and takes mine before I can get a final sip. 

Our faces are close, and I see that the blue of his eyes has darkened. I’ve lost myself, drowning in those pretty cobalt pools until he smiles wickedly. 

His voice is a murmur. “This is more fun than an interview, isn’t it?”

"You got me there, Iggy," I say. My response comes easy and breathy, thanks to the beer and my simmering lust. 

He looks at me fondly. "Call me Jim. Just use Iggy for your story, OK?" 

"OK, Jim."

He cradles my face in both of his hands and brushes his lips against mine. Then I surrender to his roving tongue in the same way I hope to similarly give my body to him, now that professional pretense has been shattered by primal desire.

Since I'm off duty now, I take down the ponytail that was taming my curls and allow my hair to fall past my shoulders. 

He holds my gaze as a hungry smile spreads on his face and he twirls a strand of my hair around his finger. "She's come undone, huh?" He kisses me again, feasting on my mouth with his lips and his sure tongue. 

I’ve noticed the bulge in his pants has become bigger, and my mind flashes to all the reports I’ve heard of him whipping his notoriously large cock out during performances. The thought of his boldness, and the thought of exploring his magnificent body, both fan the flames that have caused my core to throb with insatiable hunger.

I pull him to me and unleash my passion with a sinful, lush kiss. My hands stroke his torso, his back, his hair. "Just as I thought…" He says in a hushed tone, "There's a beautiful, wild woman just below the surface. I'm glad to finally meet her." He cups my throat and transfers his electric passion to me through another kiss. 

When I pause to help him out of his black leather jacket, his breathing is shallow and his eyes are glazed with need. My body is feverish, anticipating our tryst. 

I remove his black t-shirt next, revealing his finely chiseled torso. Newspaper and magazine photos don’t do it justice. I explore his musculature with my hands and delight in the firm, tanned skin. 

Then he’s out of his red briefs and the pants in the blink of an eye. I gasp at how perfect he looks--the hard muscles and their sensuous, masculine curves, the broadness of his chest and shoulders, the long torso with marble-etched abs, the slimness of his waist, the swelling of his thighs and ass. It's the graceful, olympic body of a swimmer…or an agile, flexible rock god. 

Not to be outdone, his manhood is long, thick, and utterly enticing. I want to savor him as much as I want to be worshipped by him, consumed by his strong passion, filled exquisitely by his largesse.

He lowers me on the couch and in a velvet onslaught of kisses and gropes, he removes my clothes: denim jacket, tight black dress, underwear, and stockings.

His movements are slow and taken with great care as he kisses down my naked body. He is calm, indulgent, masterful. The out-of-control nature of Iggy gives way to a patient, capable lover who revels in the softness of my generous curves.

He straddles me and blazes a lusty trail down my body with his tongue. His hands firmly canvas my breasts and his thumbs then tease my nipples into rigid peaks. 

"So soft…" His voice trails as he bathes my nipples with the warmth of his mouth and tongue. 

I'm snaking my body against the weight of his, while my hands clutch his back. If I fuck up the interview and lose my job, I know our night together will still be totally worth it. 

He releases a nipple with a pop of his lips. "Be patient," he breathes out. "We'll get there."

"Let me guess, it'll be worth the wait?" I ask with an arch of my eyebrow. 

"Well, I don't like to brag…" 

We lock eyes before the kissing resumes. 

His body is warm against mine, and his low, guttural moans punctuate the silence from time to time. Our hands are so curious, so hungry. It's a joy to clutch his powerful back and feel the muscles there side and hitch with each caress he gives me. 

"Come with me?" He abruptly stands. He smiles with an expression that's both shy and seductive as he leads me to the bedroom. 

The light is on. His suitcase is open and its contents are disturbed, as though he was looking for the right outfit for our encounter. The floral bedspread is a bit wrinkled, and I assume he napped on top of it before I arrived. 

We kiss at the side of the bed, in a voracious dance of our lips that still doesn't feel like enough. My need is criminal. I blast the most obscene of intentions to him with my eyes, and he grunts in hungry understanding. 

He lowers me to the bed and straddles me. Being held captive by his muscular thighs and his hands framing my face feels natural, an old, unspoken agreement of longtime lovers. The way we delight in each other is instinctual. 

I lift my chin to kiss him. 

"Later," he says, placing a finger on my lips. "I'll be back."

He crawls down my body and spreads my legs. Then he coaxes a series of unholy moans out of me when he flattens his tongue to my entrance with a series of long ice cream licks, followed by his lips gently sucking on my clit. 

My breathing comes shallow. I can't formulate words to relay to him how good the meandering of his tongue feels, but my writhing and wailing cause him to chuckle gentle vibrations against my pussy, so I know he understands. 

He keeps a steady rhythm and sets my nerves aflame while my hips jerk with the timing of a metronome. I gasp at the tension building in my body, knowing the climax will be devastating. And when it comes, my body stutters into an exquisite live wire dance. 

I'm a sweaty, soaked mess when he informs me that another languid exploration awaits. "I want to make sure you're more than ready," murmurs. This time, it's not a tease, it's a show of care and concern. 

He kisses me with my scent before he resumes. 

I'm still high from the last orgasm, and I float in the ether as he takes his time. I imagine he must be aching to couple with me, but his actions don't betray his need. The defensive Iggy of the interview is gone, replaced by a tender romantic who keeps looking at me to monitor my satisfaction. 

The next climax untethers me from reality, but when he rests a hand on one of my shoulders and slowly guides himself inside of me, I am awakened to now, the universe that consists of the two of us aroused, embraced, and slowly coaxing each other into higher realms of sensation. At last we've found our way to an unbreakable give and take, guided by carnal desire. 

His baritone rumbles with whispered words that would've made me blush during the interview. I marvel at how a change of setting, and a change of attitude, makes all the difference. 

I clutch his back while our rolling motions lull me into a pleasurable dream state. 

His gaze is much softer than it was in the living room, and his eyes sparkle as he looks at me with fondness. I'm treated with the sight of his long eyelashes kissing his face every time he lowers his eyelids. It's nice, knowing that I'm seeing a side of him that few will ever see. 

"You're so fucking good Jim," I exhale, working my hips faster to receive more of his expert thrusts. He rewards me by going harder and deeper. My pussy flushes as each stroke takes me higher. 

"I'm almost there, too," he groans as his hips crash into mine. 

My breath is shallow, and my moans get caught in my throat as we fuck with abandon. The interview is the furthest thing from my mind; my job now is to give as good as I'm getting, and I'm giving it my all. I grab his ass as we pump recklessly. 

Before I know it, pleasure radiates out from my core at light speed, and Iggy howls at the strength of his climax. We've both been transformed, faces glistening with sweat and the satisfaction of well spent energy. 

He rolls onto his back, and I drape my body over his. 

"Incredible," he says while stroking my hair. 

He kisses my forehead and dons his eyeglasses, which were on his dresser, hiding to avoid betraying the soft nerd inside the fearless musician. "Now, back to business, doll. I'll let you finish the interview if I can ask you some questions first. For starters, where are you from?" 

My heart is still racing from our steamy actions, but it skips a beat when I realize I will get my story and not lose my job. 

I giggle and trace a finger on his chest before I start telling him the story of my life. 

[snappedsky]

Fanatics 81.2

The battle is just beginning.

*Links to previous and next chapters in reblog*

--

Reawakening Part 2

           “Those stupid, fucking, zombie…fucks!” Johnny barks as he paces angrily around the living room. “I’m gonna hunt them down and crush them beneath my boots!”

           “Nny,” Eff says, resting his hand on Johnny’s shoulder. He immediately removes it when Johnny snarls at him. “You know I love it when you’re scary and violent. But right now, you’ve got something more important to worry about.”

           He motions into the kitchen where Squee is sitting at the table, Devi and Tenna next to him.

           “Right,” Nny sighs.

           “Leave the zombie fucks to us,” Reverend Meat says reassuringly.

           “Yeah, I’m itching to smash them all to a pulp,” D-boy adds as the Night Terrors go outside and Nny goes into the kitchen. He rests his hand on Squee’s back, rubbing it comfortingly.

           “How long has it been bothering you?” Devi asks.

           “I don’t know, a week?” Squee replies, “at first it was easy enough to deal with. It was just Squishy Pete and the Night Terrors usually got rid of him fast enough.”

           “Squishy Pete?” Tenna questions.

           “But now it’s getting worse,” he continues, “I can feel it trying to surround me. Like a suffocating darkness.”

           “I haven’t felt anything,” Devi says and looks at Johnny. “Have you?”            He shrugs. “Kind of. I don’t think it’s ever really left me though.”

           “So what do we do?” Tenna asks.

           “What we’ve done every other time the Nightmare’s returned,” Squee replies, “take out its minions until it leaves us alone.”

           “Yeah, but, the last couple times it hasn’t affected you this badly,” Devi points out.

           “I’m fine. I just…have to hold out long enough,” he insists, “I can handle it.”            The others look at him, unconvinced and concerned. Then Johnny clears his throat.

           “Well, if the zombies are here then that means Zoli is too,” he growls, “I have half a mind to hunt her down and end this now. That crazy, demon bitch.”

           As he starts pacing around again, muttering angrily, Squee looks at Devi and Tenna. “You two should go home. It’ll be safer there.”

           “What about you?” Tenna asks.

           “I’ll be fine,” he replies, “the Night Terrors are keeping watch. And if a fight breaks out, I don’t want you getting mixed up in it.”

           The girls share a look. They don’t want to leave Squee alone but they get the feeling he won’t take no for an answer.

           “Alright,” Devi nods and they stand up. “But if you need anything, just text me.”            “I will,” Squee replies, forcing a smile. “Oh uh Nny can drive you home. Right, Nny?”

           “Huh?” Johnny stops pacing. “Oh, alright, I guess. Let’s go.”

           As the three of them head outside, Johnny points at the roof where the Night Terrors are hanging out. “I’ll be back in a bit. Watch the house.”            “You bet,” Reverend Meat waves as Johnny, Devi, and Tenna get into the car and drive away.

           Back in the house, Squee lies down on the couch, sighing heavily. He smiles weakly as Nugget curls up on his stomach before closing his eyes and rubbing his aching head.

           Reverend Meat watches this through the window before pulling himself back onto the roof.

           “He’s not doing well,” he states.

           “He’s already looking like a husk,” D-boy agrees, “I mean, when was the last time he’s even written?”

           “We need to do something or we might actually lose him,” Sickness insists.

           “Why don’t we hunt down those zombie fucks?” Eff suggests, “we destroy them and capture them before they even have a chance. And then maybe we can draw Zoli into an ambush.”

           “Is it a good idea to leave Squee alone though?” Sickness asks.

           “We’ll split up,” Reverend Meat declares, “three of us will hunt the zombies and the fourth will stay guard.”

           “Okay. How do we decide?” D-boy asks.

           “Rock paper scissors?” Eff suggests.    

           They get ready to play when Sickness suddenly stops. “Wait. You see that?”            She points down the street where a familiar young woman with very short black hair and round glasses is standing.

           “Tess?” Reverend Meat questions.

           “Wow, she is the last one I expected to see,” Eff comments.

           “What is she doing?” D-boy asks, “just…standing there?”

           “I’ll go see,” Sickness declares and hops down onto the road.

           “Hey, Tess,” Sickness says as she warily approaches the zombie girl. Tess just stares at her, still and expressionless. “Zoli finally let you out for some air, huh? So, this some kind of trap?”

           Without a word, Tess turns the palm of her hand towards Sickness. Black tendrils shoot out, taking her by surprise and wrapping around her completely before she has a chance to escape.

           “Sickness!” Reverend Meat, D-boy, and Eff exclaim.

           They leap off the building towards Tess as she starts running away, her Nightmare tendrils carrying the wriggling, struggling Sickness. She has a good head start for a couple blocks, but she can’t outmaneuver the Doughboys’ agility and D-boy tackles her to the ground.

           “Gotcha!” he snarls while Eff slices through the tendrils. Reverend Meat quickly rips apart the rest, freeing Sickness. She coughs and gasps for breath before glaring at Tess.

           “Oh, you’re gonna pay for that,” she snarls.

           Tess doesn’t even struggle as D-boy holds her down, her glasses lying on the ground a few inches from her face.

           “Careful, guys,” Reverend Meat warns, “she might have more tricks up her sleeve.”

           “This was a trap, wasn’t it?” Sickness demands, “what, were you trying to lead us straight to the other zombies? Or Zoli?”

           “Something like that,” Tess replies drily.

           “Oof, you’re really beaten down, aren’t you?” Eff comments, lifting her head by her hair. “It’s been a while since we’ve seen you. Zoli finally decide to give you a chance?”

           “I defied her once and helped Squee and Johnny,” Tess explains, “I…can’t make that mistake again.”            “Mistake?” D-boy scoffs, “we’ve been helping Squee for a long time now. You just didn’t do it right.”

           Tess spits angrily. “What do you guys know? You have no idea what I’ve been through! I’ve been trapped in endless darkness for years! Surrounded by nothing, just….pure nothingness! It’s maddening! I couldn’t even remember what sunlight looked like or-or any other sound than my own voice! Do you have any idea what that’s like?”            The Night Terrors stare at her, speechless for a second, before D-boy croaks, “yes.”            “Aw man!” Eff cries, gripping his head. “We’re sympathizing with her!”

           Tess stares at them with surprise as D-boy frees her and they stand aside. She’s too stunned to even stand up.

           “Of course we know that happened to you,” Reverend Meat says, “the Nightmare did that to all us every time we failed. You’re right, it is…maddening.”

           “But that was before Squee freed us,” Sickness adds, “he saved us and that’s why we won’t let the Nightmare take him.”            “But, just this once, because we feel sorry for you,” D-boy says, “we’ll let you go.”

           Tess sighs, hanging her head. “I can’t escape.”

           “Maybe not yet,” Eff replies, “but when we defeat Zoli, you might have a chance.”

           She looks at them, shocked. “You’re gonna…help me?”

           D-boy shrugs. “Like I said, we feel sorry for you.”

           Tess looks away, feeling conflicted, before standing up and facing them. “Zoli plans to take away everyone Squee cares about. She thinks this will break him down enough to finally make him susceptible to the Nightmare.”

           “Hm, so that’s her plan,” Reverend Meat muses.

           “Fuck, Tess, you really are a disappointment.”

           The Night Terrors look up at the familiar voice as Jimmy, Krik, Dillon, and Edgar hop down from a roof behind Tess. She immediately falls back, cowering from them.

           “You know how hard we had to fight to convince Zoli to let you out?” Dillon asks, “and you had to go and do this.”

           Tess tries to argue but before she can say anything, Reverend Meat grabs her and tosses her behind him.

           “Well, well,” he smirks, “it’s the zombie edgelords.”

           “Yeah, we’re the edgelords,” Krik snorts, “have any of you looked in a mirror lately?”

           “Looking forward to getting chopped up again, Jimmy?” Eff asks as he draws to knives from his hat.

           “That won’t happen again,” he snarls, “we have a few new tricks up our sleeves.”

           “Great,” D-boy smirks as he draws his mallet. “We like tricks.”

           Meanwhile, Johnny parks his car in the parking lot of Devi and Tenna’s apartment building and they both get out.

           “Take care of Squee, got it?” Devi orders.

           “Yeah, yeah,” he replies dismissively.

           She starts to turn away when he calls her again. “Devi. Uh…if you see anything weird…just call me, okay?”            She stares at him with surprise but he refuses to make eye contact. “Okay,” she smiles.

           “What if I see anything weird?” Tenna asks.

           “No, if I give you permission to call me, then you’ll call every five minutes,” Nny snaps.

           “Fine,” she groans.

           Johnny watches as they enter the building before leaving. He drives for a couple blocks, his eyes constantly darting around, checking his surroundings. Finally, he stops on a random, empty street and parks at the curb. He walks for another block or two before stopping.

           “Alright,” he says loudly, “I know you’re there. So come out already.”

           Zoli drops down in front him. She tosses back her very long, black hair as she stands up straight, sticking her hands into the pockets of her brown trench coat.

           “Hey, Nny,” she grins, “you look well.”

           “Why’d you wait?” Johnny asks, “why not go after the girls?”

           “Psh, what fun would that be?” she scoffs, “they’re small fries, and I want some action.”

           “And I want to end this.”

           “Then-.” Zoli pulls her scythe out of her coat. “Come end this.”            Johnny snarls, draws his knives, and charges.

           Meanwhile, across the city, Zim, Dib, Gaz, Tak, and Pepito walk away from the Skool to Zim’s house.

           “So, let me be sure I understand,” Dib says, “this…Nightmare…wears down its victim emotionally and mentally with annoying minions in order to absorb their imagination, rendering them into husks of their former selves.”            “Exactly,” Pepito replies.

           “And it’s been after Squee his whole life because of his powerful imagination,” Zim adds, “but Squee had Shmee, who came from an entity called the Daydream which is the Nightmare’s enemy.”

           “Right.”

           “But now Shmee’s gone, so there’s nothing to hold the Nightmare back,” Tak says.

           “Yes.”

           “And Squee’s kept this from us this whole time,” Gaz adds, “because he’s worried it’s too dangerous and he doesn’t want us getting involved.”

           “Yeah.”

           “Well, then, our path is clear,” Zim states, “obviously we gotta help him. So how do we do that?”

           “I don’t know,” Pepito sighs.

           “Well, how have they stopped the Nightmare before?” Dib asks.

           “They destroy its minions,” he replies.

           “Then we’ll do that,” Zim declares.

           “But we don’t know where they are,” Pepito points out.

           “Then we’ll hunt them down,” Tak suggests.

           “But we don’t know what they look like.”            Everyone’s quiet for a second, as they consider their situation.

           “You said Squee’s being tormented by some kind of stress toy,” Gaz says, “and whenever it’s destroyed, it gives him a moment of peace.”

           “Yeah, but it’ll keep coming back,” Pepito replies.

           “Well, then, we’ll just keep destroying it until it gets the message.”

           “Gaz is right,” Dib nods, “right now Squee is hurting and the best thing we can do for him, as his friends, is be there for him.”

           “Well, then, what are we waiting for?” Zim demands, “let’s go to him!”

           “We’re literally on the way to the car,” Tak points out, aggravated.

           They hurry the rest of the way to Zim’s base to get in the Epic and fly to Squee’s side.

[ladyinbooks]

So, in the spirit of ‘ficlet Fridays’, this little scenario wouldn’t leave me alone. I’m not really sure if it’s IB canon or not (in the sense I may eventually write it a little differently), but here, have some Hird/Venn fluff:

Title: The Queen of Fuck-Ups Marries the King of Mistakes Pairing: Hird/Venndred Warnings: Bad language, fluff

It's a strange feeling, being a free agent.

Archon Ssafyr has signed off on Hird's service; the Banshee is now officially registered under her name, and her crew have resigned en masse from the Air Force.

It's also a strange feeling, knowing she's the only one who can fuck it up now.

And she has no fucking clue what to do first.

“Elysium,” Steve says firmly, when Hird asks him. “Let's touch ground for a while, Kate. We can decide what to do from there.”

“And you're choosing Elysium – because?”

“Because if we dock in Idalion the fees are cheaper, and we can all crash in Kathikas.”

Hird rubs a hand across her jaw, considering. “You mean we can terrorise Lane and Samiel, until they let us stay in their property for free.”

Steve shrugs. “That too.”

“Those two idiots are going to be in their honeymoon phase,” Hird says dubiously. “I don't think they want to be descended on by twenty homeless troopers with nowhere else to go.”

“Then we'll find somewhere else,” Steve says firmly. “But the port fees are still cheaper, so we're going to Idalion.”

“And this is why I love you,” Hird says, leaning back in her chair and kicking her feet up onto a console as she watches him. “You always know how to cut costs.”

He rolls his eyes, but he also pats her ankle, which is Steve-speak for I love you too. “I'll just punch in the coordinates, shall I?”

“Please do.”

“And tell Subtle there's been a change of plans?”

“Steve, as soon as you punch in the coordinates he's going to know anyway.”

Steve shrugs. “But if I tell him, it gives him a chance to complain about it.”

“He'll do that anyway,” Hird says cheerfully. “But he won't complain too much, because at least you're doing the piloting and not Con.”

Steve mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, That's because Con couldn't pilot his way out of a paper bag. Hird graciously chooses to ignore him.

“Elysium,” she says instead. “Then we'll work out what the fuck to do.”

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

From what Hird can see out of the window, Idalion is bustling, dirty, and pretty much like any other port she's docked in during her extensive career.

“It's off the main track,” Steve points out, his hands flying over the consoles as he finalises the docking procedures. “Slightly less illustrious than some of the ones we've visited.”

“Still better than others.” Hird swings her feet down off the console and leans forward, squinting. “Oh look, they have casinos.”

“In the port?”

“As opposed to where?”

Steve considers this for a moment. “Fair point.”

Hird grins. “What do you think?” she asks, flexing her fingers at him. “Think we could get lucky and win our fortunes?”

“It depends on how fast you want to lose the Banshee.” At her look, Steve grins. “You've got a terrible poker-face, boss. We'd be ship-less inside an hour.”

“Fuck you!” Hird gasps in mock outrage. “I'm a fucking genius at cards.”

“And literally nothing else.”

There's a dull thud as the last of the docking clamps slots into place, and Steve slumps back in his chair with a heavy sigh. He flicks on the comms and announces, “Docking completed.”

There's a ragged cheer from the control room. Hird would lay good odds on it being Martell, Con or Subtle – or an unholy combination of all three. She grins at Steve and stands, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Good job.”

“Well, we're here in one piece.” He flicks another switch, and the soft hiss of decompression punctuates his movements. “You can go stretch your legs if you like. I'll be around for another couple of hours, before we have to work out what to do next.”

“Steve, you're a saint. What would I do without you?”

“Get lost on a regular basis,” he says dryly. “And end up in prison.”

He's not wrong. But, “I could bribe my way out of charges.”

“Not now you couldn't, boss.” He nudges her hip with his shoulder. “Go on, get out of my cockpit. I've lowered the ramp; go and sample some local cuisine. And don't,” he adds, as she turns to leave, “go near the casinos.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Hird waves a dismissive hand over her shoulder. “No gambling away our only means of living. Got it.”

There's no one else in the main command area as she wanders through. That means the rest of her team are either busy with their own duties, or they've already disembarked and are causing havoc around Idalion.

Hird sends up a quick prayer that Subtle, at least, will be able to reign Con in long enough for them to stay without getting a hit put on them. But she's not holding out much hope.

She punches in her access code. When the airlock slides open, she takes her first deep breath of Idalion.

It's fuel-filled, slightly smoggy, and she fucking loves it. There are spices on the air – the scent of Alloi food wafting from the nearest food stand – and it's enough to make her stomach rumble.

The crowds in the port are chaotic – people running for the nearest transport links, others just making their way home – and the noise is half deafening.

It's a place to get lost in; to wander. It could swallow her whole and she'd never be found.

She knows all about Elysium; about the darker side of its society, and the shadows that haunt it. But here, there is life. Here, there is sound and chaos, and everyone just rubbing elbows because they have to. It makes her grin.

The chaos is everywhere, and it eases the nagging worry under her ribs about how she's going to feed her fucking crew. Where there are so many people, someone will need something.

She takes her first steps down the docking ramp, then stops.

There's incessant movement, except in one small corner by the edge of the Banshee's ramp.

He's in a little pool of quiet on his own, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He's rocking back on his heels, his hair falling in his eyes as he grins at her. He's wearing human clothing – she has no fucking clue why – and looks like he should be buried in some mouldy old library, just going by the shirt he has on.

She takes five huge strides down the ramp, and he slides his hands out of his pockets in time to catch her.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Hird asks, and Venndred laughs.

He wraps his arms around her waist, crushing her so hard she can barely fucking breathe. His fingers dig into her sides, and he drops a kiss against her cheekbone, the curve of her ear, the line of her jaw.

“Evi,” he says, breathless. “Evi, it's been four months – ”

“I know, you fucking idiot,” she says, heart slamming against her ribs. “You think I don't know that?” She's holding him just as hard. “I mean why here? How the fuck did you – ”

It sinks in, then.

“Steve, the meddling fucking bastard.”

“It's my fault,” Venndred murmurs. “I asked him to bring you. I wanted to see you, and I promised Freya I'd – ”

“Sprout?” Hird rears back, craning to get a look over his shoulder. “Sprout's here? Where is she?”

“No, Evi, she's at home. I just promised I'd – ” He breaks off as she looks at him. The tips of his ears are turning pink.

“You promised what?” she asks, then pulls back further as the blush reaches his cheeks and throat. “What's going on?”

Venndred clears his throat. “This is coming out wrong.”

“It isn't coming out at all,” Hird points out.

“I know,” he says. “I know.” He lets go of her completely and takes a step back. He scrubs a hand over his mouth, looking slightly panicked.

A slow, sinking feeling of unease starts to unfold in Hird's stomach. “What is it? Has something happened?”

“No, I mean – yes, but –”

“Are you alright?” Hird grips his forearm. “Is Freya alright? Has anyone been hurt? What's –”

“Everyone's fine!” Venndred says. “I promise, it's nothing like – ” He breaks off, chewing on his lower lip. “I had a plan,” he says glumly, “and it really wasn't meant to go like this.”

“Venndred,” Hird says slowly, and her patience is beginning to fracture. “Start explaining yourself. Now.”

“Right.” He takes a deep breath, then another. “Explaining myself. Now. Right.”

Hird's heart is still thundering in her chest, but there are the first stirrings of annoyance underneath. He's come all this way, and he's not making any sense. She loves him, she does, but sometimes he can be such an –

He moves, ungraceful and awkward, and he's dropping to his knees in front of her.

“What the fuck –”

“I'm an idiot,” he says, because of course he can read her fucking mind. “I'm nothing special, but I'm just too stubborn to know when to give up. I don't deserve you, and I never will – ”

“That's not fucking true.”

He ignores her. “But I'll never be able to live without you.” He looks up at her, and his expression is achingly sincere. “You're my victory, Evi. My only one. I've never needed another, when I've been able to say that I have you.”

And oh, she's out of her depth here, swinging wildly between confusion, annoyance and a strange stirring of hope. This doesn't make sense. Shouldn't. But –

“Are you,” she says, then has to stop and clear her throat. “Are you actually fucking asking me to – ”

“I love you,” Venndred says simply. “I'm always going to. You nearly killed me, and you took every piece of my soul when you did.” He's got something in his hands – too large to be a ring; too small to be a necklace. It gleams, gold, between his fingers.

“Fucking hell,” Hird says blankly.

“Marry me?” Venndred asks.

For a moment, Hird gapes. She can't help it; shock and a kind of unholy terror at the sight of him, on his knees for her, asking this. Asking –

He wants to marry her.

He wants to fucking marry her.

Her. The Queen of fucking up every single thing in her life. The woman who fucking shot him, and he's forgiven her for it, and loves her anyway.

And now he wants to spend the rest of his life with her.

And even though she's known for a long time that he's it for her – that there's never going to be another like him – he could do so much better than a retired Wing Commander, with a bad attitude and a whole fucking heap of baggage.

“Evi,” Venndred says, and she flinches. “Please.”

It's the tone that does it: soft, terrified hope, and it cuts into her the way only he can.

She crashes to her knees in front of him, ignoring the way he startles as she cradles his stupid, wonderful face in her hands.

“For fuck's sake,” she says. “Yes, of course, yes.”

“Oh,” he breathes out. “Good, because I already booked the slot at the court, and I don't really know what I would have done if – ”

She cuts him off with a kiss, swift and hard. Then, when she draws back and he opens his mouth to keep talking, she kisses him again.

There are so many things to sort out; so much she is going to have to plan, and consider. She hadn't anticipated this. He's still the Psyke; still vital to Lenia, in ways she doesn't fully understand. He has his duty to his planet and his people, and once upon a time she would have said that was what he had dedicated himself to.

Except she knows better now, she does. Because in all the ways that matter, he belongs to her.

'Wing Commander' is a title. 'Psyke' is a title.

But 'husband' and 'wife' are going to be so much fucking better.

[popculturebuffet]

The Legend of the Three Caballeros: Mt. Fuji Whiz and Thanks a Camelot Reviews: Thank God, No Daisy (Comissioned by WeirdKev27)

Saludos amgios and welcome to the final sprint of THE RIDE OF THE THREE CABLLEROS. If your wondering if this is a bit soon.. that’s because it is. While I planned to do the episodes as is before.. this bottom half of the series so far has been so good I couldn’t bare waiting days to get to the next episode just as things are getting really good, especially after the last episode’s cliffhanger. So today, I intend to FINISH the series, with an epilogue next week for my look at the cabs as a whole via a top 12 moments list. Plus i’m already excited for the next retrospective, so there’s that. And yeah Kev’s funding ANOTHER one and you can too.. serioulsy just shoot me an ask for any solo episode or arc you wan’t covered. But now’s not the time for shameless plugs, it’s the time for adventure and to sew up a cliffhanger! So come with me after the cut for some ghouls, ghosts and arthur won’t you?

PREVIOUSLY ON LEGEND OF THE THREE CABLLEROS:

And now the conclusion...

Mt. Fuji Whiz:

First off... let’s talk about the episode titles for the series since I don't think I have yet. 

It has bothered me for the ENTIRE run of the series how terrible most of them are. There all a pun of some kind on something involved with the episode.. but out of 13 episode titles the only ones I like are World-Tree Caballeros, No Man is an Easter Island, Stonehenge Your Bets, Nazca Racing and Thanks a Camelot. And most of them fit the theme of the episode with the exception of Stonehenge: World Tree is a clever pun they couldn’t NOT use, no man fits the theme of the episode as bad as that episode is, Nazca Racing is just another good pun and fits the race at the end, and thanks a Camelot while a very simple one, fits the story of that episode, i.e. everyone's dissatisfaction with Arthur’s training. More on that later. Point is the rest are just.. really cringe inducing puns. And I do LOVE a good pun.. but that’s a GOOD pun, not obvious ones about a “pyramid life-crisis” or a play on gee whiz in 2018 for god’s sake. And the finale title is just.. really awful as they gave up entirely and named it after square dancing for HOPEFULLY no adequate reason. And look the series is a comedy first with the action second, pun titles would be fine.. their just so bad it sucks all the pun out of them. See what I did there? THAT’S a pun. And not even a great one, but it’s still better than this. It feels like the titles were an afterthought and it’s obnoxious. and frustrates me every time I have to type them out. And with only four episodes left I had to get it out sometime. 

So moving onto the actual episode we pick up with the ending of last episode: Death killing the Cabs and Team Sheldgoose. And as we see shortly. he wasn’t bluffing. We pick up with them in the underworld in a dmv line. My god.. it’s even worse of a beaurcrcy than Beetlejuice. Feldrake informs the cabs where they are and Donald, being Donald, dosen’t have the patience to wait in line with the bilions of souls down there, especially since the take a number thing gave them a number that needed to be printed on both sides.. and their at 4. Good gag though. So Donald storms out the moment he sees and exit and our boys head into the city of the Damned. Sheldgoose meanwhile decides to do his best Karen and demands ot speak with the manager.. whose another Sheldgoose it turns out. Uh-Oh.  After the credits our boys explore the city and hoping not to get hit with more ghost cards, find shelter in a little tavern owned by none other than Clinton Coot, Donald’s Great-Grandpa and father of his grandmother Elvira Coot. Clinton initally mistakes the boys for their ancestors, and is disapionted in meeting donald, but once he learns their the ones that inehreted his Cabana, he’s exastic to meet and learn about them. We also learn he had a collection of fragile frontiersman figurines.. which cleverly, are all various versions of Scrooge from life and times. His second cowboy outfit from the side story “The Vigilante of Pizen Bluff”, his prospector outfit from “Terror of the Tranysval”, his klondike prospecter outfit and him finding the goose egg nugget from “King of The Klondike” and him bitterly hauling a sack of his loot into town from the same story. Also some palet swaps of all but the last one because animation is expensive. Panchito.. destroys them all while putting down his pIzza. “NOTHINGS BROKEN”. Clinton then invites the boys to have a sip of his memories, literally he drains some out and despite their relcutance the cabs take a chug.  They reveal prettty much.. every nagging question about the cabana. Clinton, after finding out about his ancestor Duego Duck, the original cabs version of donald, Clinton traveled the world and the 7 seas, everybody’s looking for something.. and he was looking for every trace of the cabs, and their mysterious ally, who we know as Xandra. He gathered all of it, hence the massive collection of books and magical treasures in the cabana, eventually finding their hidden lair and building his cabana on top of it, founding New Quackmore with Sheldgoose’s own great grandmother.. who betrayed him and took the institute from him. His consolation prize was finding Ari and the atlas but he couldn’t open it like the boys and is curious what they found. I absolutely love this and while I feel Clinton’s history would’ve worked better as an overaching mystery, there were seeds for all of this planeted throughout the season, with Sheldgoose being in charge despite the name and Clinton being involved, Shelgoose’s mention a sheldgoose has always been president, and the tease last episode. Still would’ve liked MORE exploration and build up to this , but what we got was facenating upgrading Clinton from a footnote on the duck family tree, to a throughly loveable character: A guy who was so fascenated by his ancestor’s adventures he became an adventurer himself and who lovingly catalogued eveyrthing the guy and his friends ever did.. and had some heartrending reasons why we’ll get to. 

 As Jose leads in with not what but WHO, and likely tells clint about their adventures, a clever way to get that exposition out off screen, we cut back to the world of the living. Xandra is beating herself up, if not literally over things, and while the girls just suggest going to the underworld via zoom point, Xandra points out that won’t work. There’s only one way in: Charon, the greek ferryman of the dead.. and she realizes that’s exactly how, while the girls try a seance.  I’ll just cover the séance stuff now. The girls hold a séance to summon the boys, finding some unfinished business (A piece of said pizza) and having ari dress like a fortune teller because eh why not. There’s some good gags and stuff, but it’s mostly plot irrelvant, only hurting Panchito’s brain at first, then summoning him just as their about to fight a Tengu, with humphrey eating the pizza finsihing the buisness. Not a bad plot at all and certainly refreshing after all the Daisy nonsense last episode, but nothing really important.  Meanwhile let’s also get to Xandra’s subplot, which is both mroe relevant and funnier and again i’ll be covering all at once for convience. Xandra finds that the horn to summon Charon... is now a sax.  Huh so THAT’S what pamela anderson’s character CJ was doing when she was introduced on baywatch. 

Anyways turns out Charon’s reinvented the old boat and since Xandra’s an immortal he offers her a free ride. It’s now a cruise ship with him as the captain, voiced by voice acting legend Jim Cummings who does a fantastic job. The reasonings also brilliant: he wasn’t getting many WILLING souls with his creepy old setup, so he reinvinted things and now has a packed house, plenty of coins and a nonstop party. He even gives us an add for the buisness... this whole thing is fucking amazing and deserves to be praised and is the series at it’s best: taking something mythic and giving it some wacky but still clever tweaks. Xandra eventually gets annoyed as he isn’t going into the city so she can’t look for the cabs and takes the wheel, cursing her to be the captain now, but she just uses that to get in and finds clinton who agrees to guide her to the boys... we’ll get to where he guided them in a moment. 

And that moment is now, Clinton tells the boys there is a way out, but it involves fighting the Tengu, which is misdentified as a falcon despite, even as someone with only a surface knowledge of yokai, I knew it’s modled after a crow, or at least some versions are as it turns out.. and so is the one here so how did they screw that one up?

Point is they need to get past it, and are on a timer as when the Creepy combination of jack skeltington and that moon from Majora’s mask that’s in the sky sets and night ends, their stuck. But first they run into a guard who says they have to fill out paperwork.. and his superior is intend on that, his superior being unsuprisingly sheldgoose, who got the gig since his family runs the afterlife. Oh goodie the rich also somehow run death....

But Donald decides FUCK PAPERWORK, throws it in the air and they run for it with Sheldgoose sicing the tengu on them, which looks awesome by the way. Panchito disappears as mentioned before just as they get a plan but returns in time to free his friends and they triumph.. only for Sheldgoose to not take this lying down and summon his entire family to kick their assses. So both sides power up: having learned the trick from clinton earlier, the cabs inflate.. part of their bodies while sheldgoose forms a voltron style fusion made up of his ancestor’s heads.. with the caveman as the crotch. 

So a fight insues that’s fluid and beautifully animated, and Xandra even arrives to provide backup, with Charon relieving her because he’ could loose his five star rating. I hear you man I struggled just to get my island up to a four. So it becomes a gorgeously animated and awesome fight with Clinton joining inn, finally able to be one of his heroes. He also reitarates something he told donald, that it’s not the journey.. it’s who you take it with and part of his love of the cabs was never having companions like that. Donald takes it to heart and our heroes take their leave, Clinton finally having achieved his lifes’ work. They decide to see japan because why not. Maybe they’ll run into hannibal there. 

And to tie things off, Shelgoose and Feldrake, whose spent the etnire epsidoe still in the staff depsite being dead and...

And find.. a demonic version of Donald in a devil costume, from that short with the devil and angel Donald's.. okay I have some questions. 

He sends them back and we’re out

Final Thoughts for Mt. Fuji Whiz: One of the series best. It’s well paced, has an amazing concept and both sideplots have some form of relevance while being utterly hilarious, especially the charon one. Seriously best bit character of the series calling it now. Already headcanon him as part of the ducktales universe. Along with a lot of this actually. IT’s good stuff and despite the series falts episodes like this prove why it really needed, and still needs, a second season. 

Thanks a Camelot:

Our heroes return to the land of the living with Xandra and to the Cabana, and while Donald wants to relax a bit, Xandra being an ass shoots that down. Though her reasons are valid: Feldrake has been stepping up his game with every scheme.. which is true. HIs last two schemes, not counting his post mortem one, only BARELY didn’t kill them and actually did kill them, and him too but that wasn’t on purpose. They need some good old fashioned hero training so Xandra’s taking the to king arthur and camelot, which of course are still around, to get it and since his training involves leaving everything behind, they leave htier weapons and other stuff behind including their amulets.. which haven’t come up since but are now since their important to the finale i’m guessing and they’ve been wearing the whole time. The girls are tagging along too as they want to document things because the plot says so but their entertaining so fine and leaving Ari and the Bear to guard. And the barrier.. more the barrier.  So with our heroes off Feldrake decides they need to strike and Sheldgoose has a plan to get around the barrier to get Humphrey’s spark: hide inside a cake and have humphrey so overcome by his desire for cake he comes to them. Feldrake is unimpressed but it works.. and even better as he drags them in.. but apparently while Feldrake’s protections are keyed to our heroes bloodline.. coot’s only extneded to feldrake. Which makes sense: he was friends with a Sheldgoose and probably didn’t consider her an enemy till he’d already set the spells, and cleverly, and i’d forgotten this till writing this review: Sheldgoose has already BEEN on the Cabana grounds once and to the doorstep, in the first episode when he visited the yardsale and in the finale of the second when he showed up to give Donald his check. So the show even showed it.. we just didn’t think about it or assumed having the ring meant he couldn’t now. But nope Sheldgoose is inside and Humphrey’s knocked out. 

Back in merry old Camelot, I apolgoize for having a deficit of spamalot and Monty Python refrences, our heroes meet King Arthur, voiced by former star of said spamelot John O’ Hurley, who I was going to give a good treatment and go into his career.. then I found out he’s VERY conservative, pro trump even post riot and generally kind of an ass in how he conducts himself soooo instead a hearty

Does a good job here, still a weasel fiesta. So King Arthur trains our heroes.. via motivational statments, trust falls and what not with his knights who get the same traning, one of which is Gallhad, a frog voiced by the same guy who viced Kermit on muppet babies. Yayyyyy. The girls wonder off, finding Merlin, whose busy with spells and such and clarfying which one is which. They give him june’s phone as Merlin has a video game addiction but Arthur forbids it because well. he has a problem why wouldn’t he.  Ruined Todd Chavez’s life it did. I mean it’s exceptional now but it took a bit of living on a drunken horse with serious issues couch. 

Anyways, Donald soon gets fed up because.. hes Donald. And because.. Tony kinda leans on the more classic constantly angry donald in this one, since he DID help write the lines. It’s not BAD mind you.. but I prefer the melding of his comics and shorts self other works did, the smug ego and everyman desperation to be noticed and liked from the comics mixed with the ego but also tons of rage of the shorts. Kinda like how Daffy had his own egotistical smartguy version merged with his screwball version for the Looney Tunes Show.. which i’ve been rewatching lately. Even better than I remember, highly underated. 

My point is this Donald, as we approach the end .. isn’t for me. He’s just not as intresting as the cloudcuckoolander panchito or the smootha nd wise jose. He ballances them well, being the more direct angry one to panchito’s unpredicablity and Jose’s smooth compemplation. He’s not BAD, and i get why some would prefer this one over Ducktales, as he’s more in line with his classic characterzation.. but I just prefer a more nuanced Donald and this one isn’t it. He spends most of the series either complaning, pissed off, or pining for an ungreatful she demon. There’s not a lot of notes compared to Jose or Panchito, as Jose isn’t just a ladies man or a charmer but a fairly smart guy who has pretty damn good plans and Panchito isn’t just spacey but, kind brave and with his own moral code. They just got more fleshing out as things went and Donald didn’t and it’s disappointing. 

So Donald gets fed up with the training, and calls out it’s only motivatoinal, with the other cabs agreeing, if more tactfully, and the knights.. also agreeing, pointing out King Arthur dosen’t even do his own goofy self motivational exercises and abandon him.. at the worst possible time as the girls conjur up a super powerful magical dragon. So the knights leave him to it and Arthur is too cowardly to face it. So the Cabs do what he won’t and charge in to defend the holy grail, called the grail of immortality here for ..r easons, and fight the dragon.. and Arthur joins them, inspired to finally get his groove back and gives the knights a rousing speech and even reconclies with donald. So our heroes fight the dragon and nearly die, before the rest of the round table pitches in, and the girls find the dragons scroll and impulsively burn it.. which destorys it. So the day’s saved, and Arthur apologizes to everyone and decides to give the boys proper combat training as thanks. Also we get a really funny bit with Merlin, who throws the phone into the fire.. and much like the dragon, apparenlty it was tied to the employee who activated it because he suddenly and horrifcly burns up. PFFT. Dark but beautfiul

But of course what about the Sheldgoose subplot. Well I saved that for now to cover it all at once SO: Sheldgoose pokes around, being annoyed by a dart board of his face and what not and tries to find something to fish the spark out with... but Ari finds him and proves to be entirely useful, beating Sheldgoose down into the treasure chamber and getting inot a fight with him. Sheldgoose holds pace.. until Humphrey wakes up and with the odds against him they throw him out. Meanwhile Feldrake zaps a dog that was going to get peed on him but when sheldgoose is ejegted is surronded by dogs and clearly didn’t escape as he dosne’t want to taklk about why he smells to sheldgosoe. He is ABOUT to berate him for failure again.. but Sheldgoose points out he swiped something more important: The amulets. 

Proving once again Sheldgoose is the real power in the team. 

Final Thoughts on Thanks a Camelot:  This was a fun one. While finding out about John O Hurley was... unfortunte.. he does a decent job and the episodes a fun take on camelot with, as usual , really excellent gags, pacing and a hell of a fight scene with a dragon. Good stuff as usual

NEXT TIME; It all ends! It’s a visit to some yeti’s before one final dance betwen good and evil and one last set of episodes for this retropsective! Be ready!