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awesomelyanxiouspanda · 4 years ago

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I'm a Murderer, Not a Monster (Billy Loomis/OFC/Stu Macher) Part 1

This is a repost since I deleted my old Tumblr!

Summary:

In this AU, Stu and Billy were never caught or killed. Their plan went off without a hitch, and once it was done, they hung up their knives. On the anniversary of Sidney’s death, they were forced to murder again to protect their cover; Tie up loose ends and save themselves from death row for good. Only problem is that the murders were spur of the moment and they have no alibi. On the fly, they choose a house at random and hope for the best. Which leads us up to now!

Author’s notes:

-I had a dream and it inspired this little thing. In this AU, Stu and Billy were never caught or killed. Their plan went off without a hitch, and once it was done, they hung up their knives. On the anniversary of Sidney’s death, they were forced to murder again to protect their cover; Tie up loose ends and save themselves from death row for good. Only problem is that the murders were spur of the moment and they have no alibi. On the fly, they choose a house at random and hope for the best. Which leads us up to now!

-AU takes place in a weird time convergence. Basically the timeline is made up and the worlds don’t matter.

-I’m a fool for bad boys who are soft just for a few specific people, so Billy and Stu will be a bit OOC here. If that’s not your cup of tea, this is your warning.

-Relevant facts: Billy and Stu are both 19-20ish now. Ginger the OFC is 24 and Poppy is 6.

-Ginger’s appearance is rather general but she is short and chubby because there is not enough plus-size character love in fics.

-I had to split this into two parts. This one is SFW, just cursing and mentions of murder. Part two will be NSFW smut!

~“I’m a murderer, not a monster. I don’t kill kids, and what life would a kid have without their mom, hmm?”~

Billy’s words played over and over in my head while I stood, trembling, at the kitchen counter with my hot coffee mug in hand as I sipped at the sweet caffeine for support. I had to put on a strong front. I know he said he wouldn’t kill us but that wasn’t very comforting when there were two serial killers sitting at the table with my daughter; All three eating pancakes like there wasn’t a care in the world.

“Thanks mama. I’m gonna go brush my teeth for school,” Poppy said, pushing out her chair as she collected her plate.

“Alright sweetie. Don’t forget to wash your face after,” I called to her.

She nodded in agreement as she trotted off, ponytail swinging joyfully behind her.

With her bountiful energy out of the room, I let my shoulders sag and swallowed hard. Fear and uncertainty were tearing up my stomach and making it hard to breathe.

“You can relax, doll. We’re not going to hurt you, and especially not her,” Stu commented, shoving the last bite of his pancakes in his mouth, “We’re not that kind of people.”

I cringed slightly at the way he spoke with his mouth full and gaping, but didn’t dare comment on it. Who would correct a murderer on his table manners?

“I know you said that but it’s just…. I’m terrified honestly. I don’t trust anyone in my home, around my kid, other than family and now there are two strange men staying here,” I explained quietly, keeping my tone as docile as possible.

Billy rose silently from his chair and immediately I tensed up as his dark eyes landed on me. He wasn’t insanely tall like his partner but he was beyond intimidating as he marched over and stood only a few inches from me. Even though he was shorter, he still towered over me and my five foot frame. It suddenly felt like there was a lump in my throat that I just couldn’t swallow past.

“We won’t be in your hair longer than we have to be. As long as you keep your end of the deal, everything will go smoothly. You have my word that we wouldn’t touch a hair on that kids’ head no matter what, but if you were to try to start some shit-”

“I would never!” I cut him off immediately, heart racing and pounding hard at the threat, “Self preservation is my strongest suit next to doing anything to protect her.”

“Good, then he’s right. You can relax. You have nothing to worry about,” Billy finished with a nod.

A little grin came to his face and he raised his hand. Instinctively I flinched but somehow managed not to jerk away entirely. He patted my cheek gently with a little click of his tongue before going back to the table.

“Say, Ginger, you got any scary movies here?” Stu chimed in.

…

A week had come and gone, and then a second until more than a month had gone by. After almost two months of Stu and Billy hanging out off and on in my home, it was as if they weren’t even that infamous killer I’d heard so much about on the news. If I hadn’t woken up to the two of them over my bed in the Ghostface masks with blood soaked cloaks and knives, I might have never believed that they were. They were both so… normal. Although Billy obviously had some brooding and anger issues, he seemed to just be a regular, albeit gorgeous, guy with a chip on his shoulder; And Stu was absolutely adorable, funny, kind, and endearing. Together they made a hilarious duo; Billy’s dry humor and sarcasm pairing perfectly with Stu’s overzealous comedy. I was starting to LIKE having them there; it was a scary though.

They were both also surprisingly respectful of our home, of Poppy and my general distrust of men around her; Ensuring they were never in another room alone with her, even if it was just the kitchen or living room. I appreciated their tact. It was becoming easier to make myself almost believe the cover story they had come up with about us meeting in a bar and them passing out in my house on the night of the murders.

I was still in wonder of just how they had ended up here though. We were about an hour away from Woodsboro and in a decent but not extravagant area. Why us? Why this house?

“What’s wrong, doll? You look down?”

My cheeks heated under the pet name and I quickly tried to push away the butterflies it gave me when mixed with the curious look on Stu’s face. There was no way I could begin to acknowledge my stupid little crush on him without it making me feel weird. Although I’d started to feel friendship or possibly more toward them, there’s was nothing to say that they were doing more than keeping up the pretenses of our deal and ensuring I wouldn’t rat them out. Not to mention, my self-esteem told me that two men who were so beautiful would never be interested in a woman of my size and appearance, much less since I was almost four years older than them.

“No, not down, just thinking,” I explained, passing the popcorn bowl over to him.

He cocked his head to the side in obvious curiosity while he swiped some popcorn from the bowl.

“About?” Billy asked from the recliner across the room.

I shrugged but chose to be honest. I’d learned honesty was certainly the best policy with them.

“Why you came to this town when your hometown is an hour away. Why you chose this place of all places.”

Apparently that threw them both for a loop, Stu’s eyes darting to Billy while the other let mild-surprise run across his face.

“Well, I guess it was just fate. I’m pretty sure anyone else would have fought us by now and we’d have had to kill them. Which would have screwed up the whole plan, of course,” Billy vaguely explained.

I felt my curiosity pique at the mention of a plan and I hesitantly asked, “What is your long term plan?”

“A fresh start. Get away from all that shit that started this whole thing and try to do more with our lives,” Billy replied, eyes drifting back to the movie on the TV.

“It wasn’t like we planned on killing forever. Hell, we made it out for a whole fucking year before someone jeopardized our freedom,” Stu added in, “Had to do what needed to be done to keep people looking away from us though.”

He was obviously waiting for some kind of reply but I wasn’t sure what to say. Instead I gave him a shrug as I mulled over my thoughts.

“I can’t say I agree with, or understand, killing anyone to begin with, obviously, but I wasn’t in your situation either. That said, I CAN understand wanting a fresh start. That’s why Poppy and I moved here too; Away from a past life I no longer wanted a part of,” I responded after a while.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Billy asked.

I hesitantly met his powerful gaze before admitting, “I had to leave our old home for our safety. Let’s just say, there are worse things a person can do than end a life.”

The intensity in the room went up a level and I could almost feel both of them staring at my burning face, but I had already let out more than I wanted to. In this place, in my new world, no one knew of our past. They knew I was a single mom to a happy little girl, and that’s how I wanted to keep it. People’s opinions tended to change when they knew your dirty little secrets.

“Mama, are we still watching Rugrats tonight?” Poppy asked.

Her sudden appearance from the bedroom made me jolt and yelp in surprise. She grinned and stuck her tongue out at me, before clutching her tummy and letting out rolls of deep belly laughter.

“I scared you! I scared you! You scare so easy mommy!”

With a slight eyeroll of embarrassment, I waved away her hysterics before gesturing her over.

“Don’t make fun of me, butthead,” I teased, then added, “But yeah, as soon as Stu and Billy head out we’ll put on Rugrats.”

“Sounds like it’s time to skeedaddle, scoob,” Stu commented in a silly voice, “Gotta let the little princess get her movies in.”

Poppy grinned and nodded.

“Don’t forget, you promised to come back soon and play candyland with us,” Poppy reminded the two before climbing up onto the couch next to me.

“Yeah, yeah, pipsqueak,” Billy commented, unable to hide a little grin before he rose to his feet, “We’ll stop by again soon.”

I got up from the couch and walked them to the door out of habit, waiting until they were down the sidewalk before I shut and locked it.

“Okay, let the Rugrats extravaganza begin!” I cheered, scurrying back to the couch.

Poppy giggled and burrowed against my side eagerly as I flipped the TV over to the correct setting and pushed play. The familiar theme song blared from the TV speakers as the movie started and I settled back on the cushions more. Some parents wouldn’t admit it but I still enjoyed cartoons as much as I had when I was a kid. It was a nice bonding experience too, watching some of the shows I grew up on!

…

As the credits rolled, I shifted slightly and slowly lowered Poppy to the couch. She had fallen asleep about halfway through, as I had expected, but I wanted to finish up the movie anyway; It was one of my favorites!

Patting her shoulder gently, I set about picking up the remnants from the evening visit. Popcorn bowl, kernels, soda cans, and the like all barely fit into my arms so I rushed into the kitchen quickly as not to drop anything and let it down on the counter, sorting rubbish from dishes.

I had just got the sink water started to wash the dinner dishes when there was a loud crash from the garage.

“What the fuck?” I muttered.

I cut the water and dried my hands before shuffling closer to the garage door. Once I was almost a foot away, I heard hushed hisses and curses.

“Oh my god!”

As fast as I could, I flipped the deadbolt and door lock, only to be greeted to the sound of something slamming against the door.

“Oooohhhh ladies! I know you’re in theeerrreee,” a male voice sung teasingly, “Just wait ‘til I get you, you fucking bitch!”

Another slam against the door had me finally moving, eyes watering and chest burning as I held in a panicked scream. Without words I snagged Poppy and my phone up from the couch and sped into my room.

“Mommy?” Poppy groaned sleepily.

“Shh baby. I need you to stay as quiet as possible. Someone’s here. Hide in the nightstand.”

Her eyes instantly cleared up as fear marred her features. There was a sense of wisdom in her movements as she calmly and quietly crawled into the lower part of the bedside table, the cubby hole just barely large enough for her small frame. I turned it so the open side faced the wall and breathed out a sigh of relief. You couldn’t tell it wasn’t meant to be that way, nor that there was an opening on the other side. As long as she was still and silent, he’d most likely never find her.

“Whatever you do, don’t come out or speak unless I tell you to. No matter what. I love you.”

With Poppy tended to, I brought up my cell phone and dialed 911.

“This is 911. What is your emergency?”

“My name is Ginger Wallace. I live on 304 Cedar Knoll. Someone just broke into my house and threatened to kill me and my daughter,” I rushed out, hoping my words were clear enough for the operator.

“You said 304 Cedar Knoll, ma’am?” the woman asked.

“Yes, please, hurry and send someone,” I hissed.

Something slammed into the bedroom door and I jumped back with a scream as the pressed wood flexed under the impact. Hands shaking and heart pounding, I ran over to my desk and looked for anything I could use as a weapon. Another wall-shuddering thud hit the door right before the man spoke again.

“They’ll be too late, bitch. They always are. You wanna know all the things I’m gonna do you to before they get here? And to that little bitch too?!”

At those words, my blood ran cold.

“What’s taking so long?” I spit into the phone when I didn’t hear anything other than keys clacking.

“Okay ma’am, I was able to send out your location. An officer is on the way. Are you in a safe place away from the intruder?” she asked.

“Yes? No? I don’t fucking know. There’s a door between us.”

“Okay, I need you to stay on the line with me. An officer should be there about in twenty minutes.”

The door bowed under the pressure of what sounded like the intruder’s entire body being thrown against it and I felt my strength begin to drain, my knees going weak as I back up and leaned against the wall.

“Twenty minutes?!”

That was too long. Way too fucking long. Without much thought, I hung up the phone and dialed the first number I could think of. The intruders cursing was barely registering in my mind as I prayed for my only hope to answer. They had been renting out a place not too far away and with luck they’d still be awake, and thus the closest help.

“Ginger? It’s late, doll. What’s up?” Stu asked through the phone.

Another slam and cracking wood filled the air, along with a cackle that made me shudder.

“There’s someone in our house,” I whimpered, sliding down to sit on the floor as I felt panic set in hard, “He’s threatening to- to kill us. Are you guys able to-?”

“What?! Fuck, yeah. We’re on the way!”

I whispered a quiet thank you and tried to listen as he rambled something about being at the liquor store, but my attention remained on the crack slowly spreading down the door. I had to do something, but what?

“Hey! Ginger! Listen to me, sweetheart. Are you in a seperate room from him?”

Billy’s calming voice came through the haze like a beacon, and I quickly answered him that we were in my bedroom.

“Okay, good. I want you to barricade the door with whatever you have. Dressers, bed, whatever. Just keep him out until we get there. We’re less thab ten minutes away.”

I nodded, then realized with a frustrated sigh that he couldn’t hear that.

“Okay,” I finally murmured.

Climbing to my feet, I managed to pin the phone between my shoulder and ear and push the dresser at the same time. It wasn’t super heavy, but it was something. Next I maneuvered my vanity over. I barely had released it when the man slammed into the door again with a frustrated growl, tearing a startled scream from me as I stumbled back onto the floor.

“Do you have a weapon?” Billy asked suddenly.

“No,” I whispered.

“Is Poppy safe?” came the next question.

“Yes. He won’t be able to find her now,” I replied lowly.

“Okay, okay good. That’s good. We’re almost there.”

I heard a car horn honk from his side of the line and Stu swearing frantically, but then I stopped listening as recognition washed over me. The intruder was quiet, had been for a good minute or two.

As if my thoughts provoked his actions, suddenly the door was rammed again. The crack splintered farther down and I could swear there was light peeking through now.

“If you open up now, I promise to make the brat only watch! Hmm? How does that sound? Would you open up to save her?”

The guy sounded winded or hurt or something, but his threat was still bone-chilling nonetheless. I knew I stood no real chance against him weaponless. A terrified whine escaped before I could stop it and I felt my stomach lurch in disgust.

“We’re here! Right outside, Ginger. Don’t come out, okay?” Billy snapped sharply.

“O-Okay,” I whispered.

A door slammed in the other room and I heard the intruder let out a cry of shock before all three men were yelling. I couldn’t help but hide my head in my arms, unable to stand the sensory overload of the screaming onto top of all the other shit going through my mind. When a cry of pain sounded, my heart nearly stopped. I jumped to my feet when Stu yelled out for Billy, and nearly tore the furniture from the door to investigate the cause, but then came a loud thud; like a body hitting the floor.

I couldn’t make out what was being said at first, but then I heard my name.

“We got him! It’s okay now.”

With a strength I didn’t know I possessed, I shoved away the dresser and vanity as fast as possible and tore the door open, just to be greeted with the sight of Billy and Stu holding down a large man. A glint in the dark drew my attention to the blade at his throat, but my attention was quickly moved to the blood dripping from Billy’s nose.

Fuck. He’d gotten hurt trying to help me. A wave of guilt crashed over me, calmed only slightly when he spoke up.

“I should gut you here and now, you fuckwad,” Billy growled, “Slice you open and let you watch your intestines bleed out like a butchered pig.”

“Yeah! Teach you a lesson about messing with what isn’t yours!” Stu hissed, a terrifying look of glee on his bright eyes.

“No! Don’t kill him! No killing please.”

My shouts echoed across the room, over the man’s pained cries and the heavy grunts of Stu and Billy, and thankfully they both seemed to listen. On shaking legs, I slowly made my way over to them. The assailant was still stupidly struggling under the guys, but they gave him no quarter.

“Let’s do this the right way, okay? Remember, new start,” I whispered, carefully reaching out.

Billy tilted his head back, obviously weighing the options, before be nodded once. I couldn’t help but cringe as the blood dribbled down from his nose.

Damn that asshole for causing all of this mayhem!

“New start,” Billy agreed finally.

Hesitantly I rested a hand on their backs in a grateful manner, to which Stu surprisingly seemed to relish in.

I let out a yelp of fear as Billy reached out and suddenly slammed the man’s face into the floor, effectively knocking him out and silencing him immediately. Stu let out a snort then leaned lightly against my leg, his weight and warmth a welcome support in return, as Billy tied the man’s hands behind his back.

I let out a sigh of relief as we finally heard sirens approaching.

“Where’s Poppy?” Stu demanded suddenly, rising to his feet with an expression kin to fear on his face.

Billy swore harshly and growled out, “Did he hurt her before?!”

“No, no, she’s okay,” I reassured him quickly, “We hid before he got to us.”

Both men went limp in obvious relief as I called for her to come out. I heard nightstand scrape on the ground before she rushed out, barreling straight into my legs. I wasted no time hugging her back. After a few moments, she threw herself at the Stu. He brought her up in a bear hug, tossing a questioning look in my direction, to which I could only shrug. Why would I deny her comfort after what we’d just experienced? She clung to him like her life depended on it.

“We’re safe now, baby,” I murmured to her, reaching out and rubbing her back.

Her curls bobbed as she nodded in understanding. As she began to pull back, she instantly reached out for Billy, who was much more hesitant about holding her.

“Thank you. Thank you for saving us,” Poppy muttered into his shoulder.

“Of course,” was all he said eyes wide and glued to mine.

It was painfully obvious that he felt awkward and unsure of the familial affection, and I wanted to help somehow but wasn’t sure how. Stu shifted closer and wordlessly wrapped an arm around my shoulder, copying the motion on Billy, drawing us in. Poppy let out a little hiccup and a weak whimper as she fit snugly between the three of us. Feeling less awkward and even more grateful to them, I let my guard down and gave into my baser emotions; the dam breaking with the first tears that slipped out.

“Oh doll,” Stu muttered, squeezing me tighter when a little sniffle escaped my hold.

Eyes burning and chest aching with so many hectic emotions, I wrapped an arm around both their waists and held them tight; soaking up the feeling of complete and utter safety. As I rested my face against Stu’s chest, the tears flowed freely.

“You’re okay now,” Billy added after a few moments, “We’re not gonna let anyone hurt you.”

The sincerity in his tone took some of the ache away. I carefully drew from Stu and turned to face Billy, letting a frown curve at my lips.

“But you got hurt,” I murmured.

He looked surprised for a second before simply shrugging.

“This is nothing. I’d take worse if it’s what I had to do to make sure you guys weren’t hurt,” he replied.

Blushing, I swallowed hard and tentatively reached out, taking the hand that wasn’t holding up Poppy.

“Thank you. Let me go get a napkin and some ice for your nose.”

#Billy loomis #stu macher #billy loomisXoc #plus size female #stu macherXoc #Billy LoomisXOCXStu Macher #polyamourous #smut #fluff

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the-scooby-gang · 5 years ago

Photo

The school body of Coolsville High valorised their lives. That’s why any thought they had on the Heathers was said outside the school grounds. Far away from The Red Heathers ears and listeners . Not that helps any. They somehow still know of your slight agains them, there being one or not.

One of the topics whispered between the walls of the malt shop was a highly debated one: The Red Heathers didn't deserve a friend like Norville Heather Rogers

Fiercely loyal and surprisingly friendly, seen who his best friends were, Norville “Like, call me Shaggy” Rogers didn't have any of the characteristics of someone everyone assumed would mingle with Fred and Daphne. In fact, when he had first arrived on the school, freshly transferred from some place in California, with a historic of anxiety and panic attacks, many pitied him.

“Poor Kid” they said “The Heathers will ate him alive”

“How long do you think it will take for him to cry?”

“I give him a week”

“You are being optimistic. By lunch time, one of the traps will traumatise him beyond words. I give two days before he asks for a new transference”

But it never came to be.

No one is quite sure what Fred Jones saw in the new kid, but the attack on the easy target never came. Instead, both Daphne and Fred sat down with him at lunch. Made conversation, asked to show him around. Becoming... friends.

For many weeks, everyone held their breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the lanky kid to appear glued to the flagpole, without his pants, in tears.

But the days passed and no nefarious deeds were committed against one Shaggy Rogers.

Many were confused.

Why?

The Heathers never made, what Daphne use to call, ‘Bad investments’ in regards of who they hang around with. What, exactly, tall, lanky Shaggy Rogers could offer to them, outside having the middle name Heather?

Some theorised it was because his family was loaded, they sell engagement rings after all.

Some said that they wanted to capitalise on the fact that, anxiety aside, he was the lead in the track team and was one one the best gymnast of Coolsville (with was a terrifying notion: someone with such physical prowess under Daphne and Fred’s command would have no problem climbing walls and roofs and planting god knows what kind of trap in there. Out of sight, out of reach)

Some thought it was because of the Giant Great Dane that followed the boy around. A service dog, Scooby Doo was as fiercely loyal as Shaggy himself and when, rarely, he wasn't with his owner, you could see the dog casually trotting side by side with the King or the Queen.

Having a dog the size of a small pony just added to their image of “Don't fuck with us.”

But the truth appeared one month later.

Already stablished as “A Heather”, Shaggy had developed a new found confidence. With his posture straight and a new fondness for yellow.

(”Like, Daph, you and Freddie have, like, your color. And since green is already taken I was thinking, I don't know, yellow?? What do you think?”

“That’s a marvellous idea, Shaggy! You know what? We should go shopping after class, so I can help you”

“Thanks, Daph”

“Don't sweat over it, sweetie. That’s is what friends are for”)

Shaggy Rogers and Scooby were just walking down the hallway. Radiating friendliness as per usual. Until they weren't.

No one remember their names. The only thing everyone remembers about them was that they were both new transfer students. A tall blond cheerleader wannabe and a small jock.

They were new, poor things. They didn't know about the status quo. They didn't know to bend the knee to the King and Queen. For any new arrivals, the way how the school worked was shoved down their throats by the ever looming presence of the Heathers power, but during Shaggy “initiation” as one of them they had been quiet. Non-threatening. Normal teens even.

With had put the school in a state of unease.

But the fools, unimaginably tremendous fools, didn't see it. The warning on the faces of their fellow students that something was not right. They were new, and as such didn't know the rule they were about to break.

They insulted Daphne.

A comment on her blazer. The way she made her hair. How all the red mixed with her hair makes her look like a giant tomato. How that shade of lipstick made she look like a slut....

The Red Heathers had not yet arrived, but the students on the hearing radium on the conversation freeze. They may not be here, but they will know.

They always know.

The foolish idiots keep on laughing, not noticing that the entire hallway is now deadly quiet. Picturing their coffins most likely. No one notices Shaggy smile disappear or see the boy approach the laughing duo.

Shaggy’s first against the locker, barely missing the jock, wreaked that spell.

“You will watch that dirty. whore. mouth of yours when talking about my friend, or I will personally sew it shut”

He had barely whispered, but on the silence corridor it sound like a shout. They did a double take. Some gave a triple take just to be sure. The Shaggy they have come to know barely swore, much less threaten someone.

But this was not Shaggy. The man in yellow is now unrecognisable from Shaggy and his cheerful eyes.

His eyes were now cold and piercing. He stood tall, smirking gleefully when noticing that his 6,7f frame loomed over his targets. Even the energy around him seemed to change. Friendliness stepped aside to be replaced by Fear.

This was also a common topic in the relative safety of the malt shop: How reality seemed slightly distorted depending how Shaggy was felling that day. Some kids went as far as say that maybe that's was why Fred and Daphne became his friends. His reality bending powers must have made it so, they say, thats why when he is being friendly, we feel joyful in his presence, they say. That when he is mad, you are bombarded by fear.

The cheerleader was paralysed. She was plastered against her locker, trying to look as small and as unthreatening as possible. Her jock friend, however, in a moment of panic maybe, tried to punch his way out of the situation. Just for Shaggy to dodge the first like it was nothing. In a fraction of a second he grabbed the wrist of his smaller target and twisted his arm behind his back, shoving him face first against the locker.

“When I talk to you, I want a verbal answer. Or are you too stupid to figure that out?” Shaggy now demanded, his voice level, but not less frigid. “Now, where was I... Oh, yes. You and Misses failed abortion face here were laughing about my friend, wasn't it?” he asked, turning his face to look at the cowering girl, who was doing her damnedest to fuse herself with the metal, but still keeping her friend pined against the lockers like a misbehaving portrait.

“You,” Shaggy said, glaring at the girl so intensely they expected her to die by its force alone “Daphne warned me about people like you.” He turned his face back to the jock with a look of disgust before effortlessly throwing him over her lake a sad sack of potatoes “She told me about the slander. About the jokes behind her and Fred’s back. How pathetic little sacks like you two have your life mission to make them miserable” with each word Rogers was getting more frigid, if that's was even possible, while everyone else looked in disbelieve when the pieces of the plan laid right in front of them, finally clear.

“You. absolute. pieces. of. jealous. shit can't see someone that seems slightly better than you that you want to drag them all over the mud isn't it?” he was shaking right now. Scoob, that had been by his side the entire ordeal, got closer to his owner. A silent support. “Just because they are rich, you think their life is a barrel of rainbows, that they don't suffer at all. That you can say your mean words all you want that Perfect and Rich Daphne and Fred will be unaffected”

His voice was breaking, he was clearly on the verge of tears. But if you looked at his face alone, you would think it was made of stone. Scooby at that point, cleaver boy that he was, accessed the situation and started to growl at the two dumbfound pair on the ground, clearly deducing that they were the cause of his friends distress. Both pressed themselves harder against the wall, now with a pissed Great Dane looming over them

“So guess what? They may be more forgiving than any of you disgusting toads deserve, but while I'm still fucking breathing no one, AND I MEAN NO ONE IS GOING TO SPEAK ANY SORT OF BULLSHIT ABOUT MY FRIENDS! IS. THAT. CLEAR?”

“What is happening here?”

The sea of spectators of the passionate declaration of loyalty parted to show Daphne, her hands on her hips, with Fred right behind.

Her face, however, didn't have her normal mythic bitchness, but a look of, what appeared to be, concern.

That was when Coolsville High remembered a crucial fact about the Heathers, one they should have not so easily forgot: They were liars. Really.Good. LIARS.

Shaggy’s posture immediately relaxed and he went in long strides in her direction, engulfing her in a hug.

“I’m sorry I doubted you.” he was now crying on her shoulder, his sobs heart breaking “I'm so sorry. I... I thought that they count possibly be so... so cruel to you guys without... without motive” He looked up from his place in Daphne shoulder to look at Fred, them let go of her and went in his direction, now taking him in his embrace. While Fred soothed Shaggy with one hand in his hair, pressing his crying friends face to his red ascot, blocking his view from his surroundings, Daphne put her hand on his back and started slow circular motions.

What, in any other circumstance, would have being quite a sweet moment between friends was broken by the fact that, the moment Shaggy’s face was out of sight, Daphne and Fred’s concerned looks melted away to looks of devilish delight, and the student body now felt a new dread in their souls.

“Don’t worry, Shag.” Fred’s voice was way too soft for the look on his face “We are used to it. It hurts... yes, yes it does, but me and Daph are strong. We can deal with it”

“But you shouldn't have to” Shaggy removed his tear stained face, once again hardened to stone, from Fred’s neck “Sorry for the ascot” he looked miserably to the tear spots on the fabric. Fred’s face once again melted away in a new expressions never seen in his face: A soft smile the recked of compassion.

“It is just an ascot, Shaggy”

That was the confirmation that it was all a very elaborate lie. It was not just an ascot. It was a symbol. The unofficial crown of the King of Coolsville High, together with Daphne’s Red Scrunchie.

Shaggy remove himself from the embrace with Fred and side glanced at the forgotten targets, silently trying to scape since the focus was no longer on them. Shaggy squinted his eyes. That won't do.

Shaggy gave a sharp whistle. Scooby, who had calmed down when the Heathers arrived, decide to lie down, close his eyes and relax a little from his exertion but keep his ears ready for any commotion, was up again in a second. Looking at his owner once again distressed face, Scooby was confused. Didn’t the Red ones arrived already? Looking in question to their faces, once again, in seconds, Daphne and Fred’s faces melted away to new expressions. This ones there were fairly used to. After all they saw it every day in their victims faces: despair.

His humans were in despair. Looking around for the reason, he saw the two threats from before moving away. With a growl of anger, Scooby advanced after them.

It was fascinating, seeing the large dog run, jump and pin down two grow teenagers with relative ease. It was terrifying seeing said teenagers being dragged by their ankles in on only, painful looking, bite. They were throwed like rag-dolls at the Heathers feet, all three of them now truly looking like a complete set. The yellow just seemed to fit in in middle of the red.

“Like, you think I'm done with you? No. You idiots are my example. SO THIS IS FOR EVERYONE TO KNOW. DON’T. FUCKING. MESS. WITH. MY FRIENDS” He glared at the crowd, like he suspected that all of them were guilty of the crime of bulling “poor Fred and Daphne”. Knowing Daphne, that was probably what she told him. With that remark, he grabbed the duo by their bloody ankles, making them both let out a whimper that was immediately silenced by one glare. And he dragged them like they weighted nothing thru the corridor, with the crowd opening up once again, going without stop to the back doors.

The Red Heathers simply smiled like Cheshire cats, and, arm in arm, followed their loyal yellow friend.

They were never seen again, that duo. Some think that they were killed. Buried in unmarked graves just outside of town. Others think that the so much theorised cryptid abilities must have scared them into a new country.

Never the less, the message was clear. Even if Shaggy had gone back to exude joy by his presence alone, with Scooby being a cute pup right beside him. There was always going to be there, just under the surface, that fear. The knowledge that Shaggy was fiercely protective to the point of ruthlessness. That the joy in his eyes could so easily turn into ice.

So Coolsville High learned to fear once again.

Now they feared Daphne’s crocodile tears. Fred’s well crafted defeated looks.

For Daphne and Fred had seen in Shaggy what others didn't. In he’s first day, many have seen an easy target. Someone easy to break.

The King and Queen, however, had seen a Knight and his Dog. Stronger than what first appearances told. Honour bound and loyal. And so, so easy to train.

#scooby gang #scooby doo #scooby!heathersAU #fred jones #daphne blake #shaggy rogers #yellow lantern shaggy #wizard shaggy #a little bit of both #mixed together #Shaggy is always friend shape no matter with universe we are talking about #and that can be exploited #Daphne and Fred are turning into royal bastards the more I write this au #now I will stop tipping because my wrist is starting to hurt

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plush-anon · 4 years ago

Text

Happy Halloween Scooby Doo! Review

Muahahhhahahhahahaha! Thanks to the Walmart tradition of stocking movies for sale weeks before the intended release date, I have myself a copy of what claims to be Scooby Doo’s FIRST Halloween adventure!

…in spite of movies like Witch’s Ghost and Goblin King, holiday specials like WNSD’s A Scooby Doo Halloween (which had a haunted Scarecrow too…), BCSD’s EL Bandito (for Dia de los Muertos - obvs not the same, but most companies act like it) and Halloween, The NSDM’s Halloween Hassle at Dracula’s Castle, and the DTV short film Scooby Doo and the Spooky Scarecrow (which, ironically enough, did NOT take the opportunity to feature Dr. Jonathan Crane).

So let us take a look now at Happy Halloween Scooby Doo! and see whether this film will be a graveyard smash of a treat, or a black licorice bomb of disappointment.

Full review (and SPOILERS TO GO WITH IT) are below the cut in my new review format; if all goes smoothly, I’ll go with this for future Scooby films.

WARNING: This review is very long.

One minor note before we begin: the Special Features actually include BCSD’s Halloween, WNSD’s A Scooby Doo Halloween, and PNSD’s Ghost Who’s Coming to Dinner

...so they were AWARE this was not the first Halloween adventure of the Scooby gang, and yet still use that tag line. Hm.

Still, kudos for including them - this’ll help boost the reasons to keep this movie, if it turns out to be a real Milk Dud of a movie *ba-dum tish* :D

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The movie starts off rather abruptly, actually - no slow pan over the setting, just WB Animation credit and BOOM, we’ve cut to a Halloween parade and Elvira is talking.

I’m of a mixed opinion including Elvira on top of having Bill Nye and a Batman Rogue - while she most certainly fits the Scooby aesthetic, it doesn’t feel as grand an impact after her weird little cameo in Return to Zombie Island (ugh) and I’m not sure how well the movie will balance her in wait a minute

wait just a

WAIT A MINUTE

Did - did that parade float skeleton just sing Crystal Cove as the town’s name?

oh no.

Oh No.

....also their song is terrible and they should feel terrible.

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Fred: We got him! Banh Mi Shop, second floor!

me: the heck is a Banh Mi Shop? *mild googling noises*

So I guess Jonathan Crane really had a craving for a Vietnamese sandwich before he enacted his Halloween scheme.

...you think he’s a lemongrass chicken type of guy or a BBQ pork guy? It’s always hard to guess at these things, esp when coffee and pumpkin spice aren’t on the table (as per fanon, of course)

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Velma: We have a flawless track record!

So I guess WB is just gonna ignore the past few DTV retcons established in 13 Ghosts and Return to Zombie Island?

I mean that rather defeats the purpose of them existing at all, but fcuk YEAH I can get behind throwing that retcon garbage out of canon!

And STAY OUT!!

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Shaggy, talking about ghosts being real: I’m like the boy who cried wolf - I keep warning you but like, you won’t believe me until I finally get eaten!

Yet again, Warner Bros makes a wolf reference to Shaggy. Yet again, I am torn asunder between wanting werewolf!Shaggy in a new Scooby property, and fearing for the appearance of werewolf!Shaggy in a new Scooby property.

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Velma: Point is, being afraid is a waste of time!

Scarecrow, LITERALLY EXPLODING THROUGH A BRICK WALL three buildings away:

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He’s floating through the air and t-posing to assert his dominance 🤣🤣🤣

Gods bless animation 😁

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Daphne @ Shag and Scoob locking themselves in the van: Are you serial?

Me: wait, SERIAL? *re-reads captions* yup, that says “serial”.

Is this an editing mistake? I don’t think that works here…unless that’s supposed to be a joke on how they always do this. But then why would that be an irritating surprise, they literally do this EVERY episode 🙄

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Oh hey, Red Herring’s Party Screams truck has Red Herring running out of it

Could this be a hint to how the story goes? The villain appearing on a literal Red Herring?

Naaaaaah, WB’s not THAT smart

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So if we take @captainbaddecisions crack theory on Jonathan Crane being Shaggy’s uncle seriously, does this mean that Jonathan is using magic to fly, float fear toxin orbs around himself, and making things explode, a la the family trait of Crack Theory A?

Logically he’s probs using wires or magnets or some shit, but it’s a fun thought to entertain 😁

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Welp, we finally get the opening credits! … with Jonathan Crane smashing through the Mystery Machine’s windshield, set to a slow poppy song straight from the 60s, and spewing the title of the film out in glittery pink mist.

All the while Scooby and Shaggy throw candy at each other, deliberately obtuse to the cloud of fear toxin enveloping their friends and the townsfolk, the steady destruction of the Mystery Machine they’re laying in as multiple cars crash into it and send it spiraling, and the general mayhem and destruction that Scarecrow is causing

Never change, guys, never change

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I just choked on my lemonade

There’s an article plastered to the roof of the Mystery Machine titled “Talking Dog Confounds, Ignites Ethics Debate Over Dog Labor”

ahahahahaha

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Annnnnnnnd there goes the Mystery Machine, tumbling in the air and over the roads with Shaggy and Scooby still inside without seat belts. Will they perish in this horrible road accident? Will Death finally come to claim them at last?

Of course not. This is Shaggy and Scooby we’re talking about - I’m almost positive they can survive anything up to and including a nuclear bomb. This is child’s play to them.

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So they “capture” Scarecrow… by pinning his cape to a tree with crossbow bolts.

And they do not try to at least tie up his arms or his hands in ANY capacity.

JUST the cape.

...you know, Velma, for a team with a “flawless” track record, you guys are making a hecking TON of mistakes in facing against one of Batman’s ROGUES GALLERY, ESPECIALLY with no Batman in sight, good freakin’ grief. 😩

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Yaaaaaaaaas, this Scarecrow design is LUSH

He’s got the lank, the height, the BTAS costume colors, the elongated face with beaky nose and pointed chin and angular cheekbones, the eyebags like Gucci, the furrowed brow… honestly the only thing missing is the more reddish color hair, and even that isn’t mandatory. I love 😍

Not to mention the HOT DAYUM voice he has - low and velvet rough and so godsdamned particular in a way that could either tie in to obscuring a southern accent as in fanon or just as a stringent academic, oh my yes. He’s voiced by someone called Dwight Schultz, who’s most well known for playing Captain ‘Howling Mad’ Murdock in the OG A-Team show, and someone called Reginald Barclay in Star Trek TNG and Voyager, if any of y’all know that character in particular.

And of course, the first line he says is a delightfully wry “Oh, but I AM getting away with it,” with the sort of smirk that absolutely lends credence to why he’s a threat to Batman, and not some simpering wimp that can be defeated with some crossbow bolts in a tree.

I think I’m going to enjoy this movie at least somewhat, so long as we get to see him 🥰🥰🥰

(tho on a side note: Daphne why on EARTH are you trying to film Crane saying the meddling kids line? Do you have a video compilation of past villains who’ve done that, and you hope to add his to it? Was your phone damaged when you went up against the Riddler a few DTVs ago and you want a second shot at recording a Gotham Rogue saying it? Bc I don’t think a Gotham Rogue would be too pleased with seeing himself as a Mystery Meme on the Youtubes, you get what I’m saying?)

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Okay, so the floating orb things are explained away as fear toxin bomb drones somehow… despite looking nothing like the other drones and being much smaller with no visible propulsion, while also flying unassisted through and around objects to explode against places once flung…

(tho interesting note, none of them are aimed directly at the crowds, just behind them - odd, that)

But how did he heckin’ FLY at the beginning?

Yeah, they show him wearing wrist-mounted grappling hooks at the end of the intro song sequence, but they are NOWHERE IN SIGHT at the beginning - and I do mean in sight, since he emerges against a backdrop of flames. There was nothing there (see the T-pose above for further evidence), and nothing there when he FLEW THROUGH THE MYSTERY MACHINE’S WINDSHIELD AND FLEW BACK OUT AGAIN. And these things are pale silver, which stands out like crazy against the darker backgrounds, so no hand-wavy ‘they were always being used’ bullcrap we’ve seen in other movies.

Hmmm *scribbles in notepad* note to self, add notation concerning Crack Theory A on magic!Shaggy to “Uncle Crane” theory files - evidence denotes that Crane is able to fly (or at least hover in mid-air unassisted) for terrorization purposes. May boost strength of CTA by family association, lending credence to magic inheritance along the bloodline...

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“Avocado Toast Generation”? Crane, I honestly don’t know if you really mean that, or if you understand just how much that phrase gets under any Millennial/Gen Z kid’s skin. Having seen multiple variations of your character, it really could swing either way (tho kudos on the dead switch idea - very nice 👍🏻)

Although this does lead to an interesting stand-off: Fred, upon seeing the town threatened with 3 days worth of fear toxin, immediately moves to let Crane go, while Velma stops him and refuses to consider compromising if it means Crane escapes. They both look legitimately frustrated at the other for taking the stance they do.

Fascinating~

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Hmmm

Crane honey, I don’t know if your drones are made of flash paper and hope, or if Scooby and Shaggy are using the reeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaally old candy (the stuff made about ~3 years ago most neighborhoods give out to the teenagers that knock around midnight on Halloween) to shoot them down, but either way you may wish to speak with the manufacturer about this

Then again, this IS Shaggy and Scooby - they probably could’ve spat marshmallows at the drones and brought them down with equal success and explosions

(and good on them for shooting those down! Atta boy 👍🏻)

-------

Aw dang it

1. They still have Crane captured and now in handcuffs (despite having… you know… NOT been bound by anything except cross bolts in his curtain cape thing)

2. Dwight Schultz has decided to pitch his voice higher and more nasally than what he has. Hopefully this is more of an incredulous sort of pitch than something that sticks for the rest of the movie, ugh.

Also, I think they’re framing the movie to be more Velma-centric this time around - she’s the one explaining to Crane how they tracked him down, apparently through a piece of fan mail he sent Elvira (is that the only reason she’s there? Also why was Velma examining random pieces of fan mail for toxins, Elvira probs gets hundreds a week irl) and it looks like they’re framing something up on how fear isn’t something you can pretend isn’t there. neat!

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whajit

53rd?

53rd?!?!

ONLY 53rd?!?!?!?!

Boooo, Scarecrow’s WAY more popular than that! I call foul

---

Okay why is Daphne’s schtick so far to spit laaaaaaame slang after every sentence Velma says

I would rather this not be her schtick

Actually could she go back to filming mystery stuff, bc at least I can pretend it’ll build into the OG Zombie Island Daphne

----

Phew, his voice has returned to its low, raspy goodness

also, Crane needs to learn about personal space, good grief

(interesting clue brought up tho - Crane only steals tech that CAN’T leak his toxin, ergo it can’t be tracked until he releases it. Sensible use, given that Batman probs tracks it if it does.)

----

Velma: I’m not afraid of you, Crane. Fear is an illogical reaction to an imagined threat.

Crane:

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Crane: Fearless, then. Intelligent. Proud and stubborn. You remind me very much of the one person in this world I care about.

uhhhhhh

Yourself? Harley? Edward Nygma? Ichabod the raven? Idk, I’m honestly curious as to where this thread will go 🤔🤔🤔

-----

Fred, leaning against the Mystery Machine: Guys, it’s gonna be okay. She told me!

O_o

Fred? Honey? Are you sure you weren’t supposed to join Crane in the transport vehicle back to Arkham?

----

OH SWEET JESUS SHAGGY GREW YAOI HANDS

WHAT THE HECK

THAT’S WAY MORE UNNERVING THEN YOU GUYS NOT BEING AFRAID ANYMORE

(although the fact that they’re both unsettled by NOT constantly shaking or having their heart racing is honestly kind of heartbreaking. Y’all need therapy, good grief)

----

Shaggy and Scooby just chewed up candy (wrapper and all) to make themselves a Halloween costume of… what looks like barfed-up candy (ew)

Before then proceeding to dance so well that everyone around them also starts dancing in a 60s-70s era rainbow light show and giving them candy

I worry for these two sometimes - that kind of power seems to be getting to their head 😬😬😬

---

Oh hey, acid green toxic waste is spilling from an 18-wheeler onto the Fear Toxin drones and emitting a purple pink haze that envelops a pumpkin patch! That won’t do anything suspicious at all I bet!

(wait is Poison Ivy going to come into this at some point)

(also major kudos to the music here - very 80s horror synth, I like)

----

So the Pumpkins have grown faces, limbs, consciousness, the ability to fly and a lust for human flesh

And they appear to be led by the Pumpkin King of the Pumpkin Patch mentioned in the Charlie Brown Halloween special

He’s not as friendly as I pictured him being, sadly 😕

---

Why is this random ass cop coming up to FD&V to say that they’re in over their heads… AFTER the mystery’s been solved?

Like dude, you’re only making yourself suspicious at this point, go home

----

Huh, interesting - the gang are being interviewed for a tv news network while they’re considered the town heroes

Why am I getting bad vibes from this…

Eh, it’s probably nothing

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Velma: {Shaggy and Scooby} are, um… REALLY into the Halloween spirit.

Shaggy: THIS ISN’T COSPLAY, VELMA!

I’m dying 😂

------

Holy Shit

Velma just snapped and went off on Shaggy and Scooby for acting scared and doing nothing to help wrap up the mystery

(even though these guys are the ONLY reason that the gang didn’t have to choose between setting Scarecrow free and poisoning the entire town for 3 days straight, but hey, what do I know - I’m just writing an in-depth reaction post to this movie and taking note of details like this, clearly I know nothing *eye roll*)

Last time I saw Velma critique the guys’ usual mystery solving shenanigans, it was much more low-key and without knowing they were nearby

But I’m sure that’s just a coincidence

------

What the

Bills?

Bills?!?!

Fred just mentioned that fixing the Mystery Machine was going to leave a hefty bill and that they may need to get dishwashing jobs to earn money

Which is more of a job you might expect a high schooler to get on the go and yet

They actually have to pay bills

How old are they here??!

------

wait a tic

THIS is how they introduce Bill Nye?

He just calls up Velma with no explanation other than Velma saying “Oh hey, it’s Bill Nye!”

I just - what?!?!

How do you know him so well that he can just pull up your number and call you, and then geT YOU A NEW FREAKING CAR LIKE

WHAT?!?!?!?

Was there a Scooby episode with him in the past two years where the fcuk did this come from

------

Also the car is dressed like Bill Nye

And he can talk to the gang directly as the car

So that he can solve mysteries with them whenever he wants

This… this was not what I was expecting to come about from the Bill Nye cameo

(alas, poor predictions of being Crane’s roommate, you will not come to pass this day) 😔

-------

Ooooo, purple haze throbbing on the horizon! That’s always a good sign of things to come! 😀

------

And now Daphne’s… asking Elvira to mentor her fashion wise. And Elvira’s taking her on as her unpaid intern/personal assistant.

Yooo, movie, can you pick a direction and stick with it for Daphne? You’ve gone from her spewing outdated slang to wanting a costume for trick-or-treating, and now this.

-------

Welp, now I can say I saw a giant pumpkin dog vore an old woman

I didn’t WANT to see that mind, but I guess I can say it now 😐

------

OH SHIT NO

IT TURNED HER INTO A FLYING PUMPKIN SHAPED LIKE HER FACE

ABSOLUTELY UNSETTLING, 0/10 WOULD NOT RECOMMEND

-------

At least we get a nice scene of Daphne kicking the pumpkins’ collective butt

Something normal

------

Elvira: WOW! You’re a regular Mary Sue!

*falls over cackling*

------

And now there’s a giant purple fissure opening up in the concrete to swallow the town of Crystal Cove whole

(good, i whisper softly into the darkness of my living room. Let it fall)

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Man, I feel so bad for this single father right now

He’s gotten wrapped up in all of this nonsense with his daughter, and he is just Distraught at being chased by Jackal Lanterns, having the town collapsing under his feet, and having to gorge jump in his sedan to get away from the worst of it

It’s okay, Mike Dad - we would feel the same way in your shoes

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Hologram Bill Nye is wearing Cat ears and cat whiskers/nose, and is cleaning his hands like a cat cleans its paws

Why was this the movie we found out Bill Nye was a furry

Why Warner Bros

Why would you inflict this upon us in a Scooby Doo-Scarecrow mystery

-------

Hey, can Jonathan Crane return now? The movie needs its dignity back.

------

A clue on the whys here - the town was built on top of a MASSIVE lithium deposit, with the talks to mine it being scrapped due to environmental concerns. That’s actually a decent lead in for why some

-------

Welp

The Jackal Lanterns just went full Mad Max with the Halloween Parade floats and cars

No, I don’t have any idea why either, just roll with it

-------

Nice, they confirmed that Fred’s full name is still Frederick Herman Jones XD

Also a great little action sequence with Daphne - while there’s not much movement, they frame the scene dynamically, with some good quick wordplay. Very nice.

--------

Velma has a mind palace

Aight

--------

Velma: Shaggy, I could kiss you!

Oh, to hear this as a child, when I still hardcore shipped Shelma *sigh*

------

Oh thank gods we’re going back to Scarecrow again

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Shaggy ate some Scooby Snacks, leapt out of a moving vehicle, and onto the backs of two flying pumpkins that he promptly reined in to fly to Crane’s prison transport

...yet again, I am amazed at the sentences I am led to type for Scooby Doo DTVs

------

Ah, how very Hannibal Lector of you, Jon

Man, he actually looks very meek in normal clothes - red long-sleeved shirt and grey slacks

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Hmmm

So Crane ISN’T behind the Jackal Lanterns - in fact he’s outright befuddled by them. This means his whole spiel to Velma earlier about both of them being caught in the same trap was… metaphorical? The breakdown doesn’t actually go into WHY he thinks they’re in the same trap - Crane’s whole schtick is tied to accepting fear, not denying it, so why would they be the same?

Either way, someone is using both him and Mystery Inc to do something to Crystal Cove (please be Red Herring, please be Red Herring, please be Red Herring)

Actually, that reference at the beginning really WAS a red herring - they framed it as being Jon the whole time when it wasn’t. Kudos!

Additional kudos to having Jon be seen more out of mask than in - he is a looker, and I aim to look as much as I can ;)

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Annnnd Daphne’s now trying to convince Elvira to switch clothes with her

I don’t get it - how on earth did we get from Daphne trying to find a good costume for trick-or-treating to asking Elvira to switch oh there it is nevermind.

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There is literally a scene where a giant buzzsaw is slicing towards Crane

and he just

stares at it

going “huh, that’s different”

And I LOVE IT

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And here we have another fascinating scene: Velma going to free Crane from his cell, as Daphne tells her to just leave him to die by pumpkin

I’m wondering if they meant to draw a parallel between the two here - Velma starts by reciting a nursery rhyme, then overcoming her fears in order to release madness to take control. It’s not done very cleanly - mainly bc we barely have any time with Crane in this movie - but I wonder if they meant to insinuate that Crane was like Velma once, where he refused to acknowledge he was afraid, which caused him to lose focus on his initial goals

Idk, ignore my ramblings

---

Crane, smirking: I’ll need my personal effects - extenuating circumstances.

Me, fanning myself: I’ll need you to remove yours first

(i am not even kidding, Crane is an absolute DILF in this movie and it flusters me. Stupid sexy animation)

---

YAAAAAAAAAAASSSSS

SCARECROW TO THE MOTHERFCUKING RESCUE BABY, SCYTHE AND FCUKING ALL!!!

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

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FCUK YEAH THE GIFT THAT KEEPS ON GIVING

HE HAS A DANCE LIKE QUALITY WITH SOME OF HIS FIGHTING MOVES

VIOLENT DANCING BRINGS THE GIANT JACKAL LANTERN DOWN BABY

THEN HE BACKFLIPS AND GYMNASTIC SWINGS INTO THE VAN

ROCK IT SCARECROW FCUKING ROCK IT

(minor note here, but the subtitles show Dr. Crane instead of Scarecrow - unsure if that’s more that the movie calls him Dr Crane or if it indicates he’s acting more heroic than villainous)

---

GODDAMNIT

THE GIANT PUMPKIN SNUCK VINES INTO THE VAN AND STOLE HIM BACK

WHEN CRANE WAS... wearing a seatbelt before, but isn’t now.

...

BOOOOO

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Yet again, we find a Scooby movie that attempts character development, but with Velma

Unlike Shaggy’s Showdown however, I’m mixed on how successful it is.

For starters, Velma hasn’t been this cocksure in other DTVs we’ve seen, so it’s a bit odd to see it now. While not 100% out of place - after all, the gang DID capture one of Batman’s Rogues Gallery on their own - it still feels a touch forced. Compare that to Shaggy’s Showdown, where Shaggy has ALWAYS been a coward (one that, in more recent years, writers have had willing to abandon his friends for safety), so the character development there feels more natural.

The progression of events with Velma actually work somewhat okay - but again, here’s where past DTVs come to bite them in the ass. The past handful have had the gang be wrong, have had them fail, or catch the wrong guy. This makes Velma’s attitude here at odds with the other films, something that sticks more due to a character that’s appeared in the past few films as a minor inconvenience - a Sheriff who keeps telling the gang not to interfere, they’re doing things wrong, etc. If this had been a character who was completely wrong in the past AND SHOWN TO BE WRONG FOR HIS OPINIONS, while the gang never guessed wrong, this would work much better. Unfortunately, it doesn’t, and here we are.

I think it would have flowed better if Velma’s cockiness came solely from catching Crane on their own. Have a random cop character or reporter or whatever (just not the recurring cop), insinuate that the gang is in too deep with Scarecrow, that he should be handled by the adults or professionals or whatever. Velma could bristle, overcompensate, and THEN fall from her pedestal like we see, reach out to the gang and commiserate over feeling scared, and grow. Again, it’s not too far to reach for, but they handle it poorly; as a result, the outcome feels a little more shoehorned in.

It’s an honest shame, bc we haven’t had a Velma centered story since Frankencreepy, and we all remember what a hideous fcuking mess THAT was *shudders*. Still, it somewhat gets its point across, I guess.

---

Fred why did you rip your shirt off

Actually better question why do you not have nipples

---

Awwwwwww

Velma just apologized to Shag and Scoob for snapping at them earlier, and admits how she doesn’t appreciate how much they make Mystery Inc what it is

Also she eats a Scooby Snack with them and admits they taste pretty good

----

Huh

Velma’s mind palace is the Mystery Machine driving through space

Also Shaggy and Scooby are able to telepathically follow her in and communicate with her

Literally, they actually followed her into her head telepathically, and show her their memories of things she hasn’t gotten to see tonight (while also possibly enhancing her ability to remember things, given how much DETAIL she captures perfectly of things that she would maybe have glimpsed in a millisecond AT MOST)

...another tally for Crack Theory A of magic! Shaggy and Scooby *scribbles*

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Fred, be very very thankful that there are no people operating those pumpkins in person cause uhhhh

Those traps would be spraying red instead of orange

------

Another weird music choice - the gang goes up to fight the Jackal Lanterns, but the music is the same 60s bubble we heard earlier

Not terribly atmospheric, really

(wouldn’t a Smashing Pumpkins cover of Scooby Doo be more appropriate, or did you guys spend all your money on hiring Elvira and Bill Nye?)

------

Dang

Velma just admitted her fears and jumped into the mouth of the Mega Pumpkin, before getting Fred to use the app from earlier to shut it down, revealing it to be a giant drone surrounded by smaller pumpkin drones

This feels… counterintuitive, but I’ll try to explain at the end

---

Okay

I’ll admit it

The Whodunnit is actually pretty decent in concept

There was a sprinkling of tidbits that could be assembled for the final conclusion and still make a decent amount of sense, all to find the sheriff doing it

Only he isn’t a sheriff

He’s a former Tech CEO who was also busted by the gang years ago in a case the Sheriff kept bringing up throughout the movie - due to his prison sentence, he lost more than half his wealth and the opportunity to expand it further with the Crystal Cove Lithium deposits

He was also someone who sold tech to Crane for his fear toxin distribution, where he got the idea to frame him for it

(tho on a side note, Crane is an absolute dork and a terrible liar - just look at the email he sent XD and that profile pic, my gods)

He deliberately picked at the gang for the past few DTVs (specifically 2: Return to Zombie Island and Curse of the 13th Ghost) to fracture their confidence, undermine them, etc - all so that in one fell swoop, he could retake his fortune, frighten everyone in town away from the mines so they couldn’t interfere, frighten away the gang (while also ruining their reputation as mystery solvers), and take Crane off the docket so he couldn’t identify the CEO when he pretended to be the sheriff

This… is actually a pretty damn good plan, for a Scooby villain. He was patient, manipulative, and clever, learning how best to tie up loose ends and win back what he lost. A clever revenge story that came so close to coming to fruition, and could have honestly been sold convincingly…

...if it hadn’t been done so much better in Scooby Doo 2: Monsters Unleashed.

Yeeeaaaah, this movie basically lifts the rough framework up from that one - past mystery villain comes back to attack the gang and ruin their reputation (tho this one decides to also make his fortune back and tie up loose ends with former criminal contacts, a la Crane). Gang is embarrassed in front of the news folk, another villain is framed for it (like Old Man Wickles of the Black Knight fame), and the gang must reconcile to foil the villain for good.

Although it also??? Merges elements of Frankencreepy in it?? The movie is focused on Velma, who is struggling to admit when she’s wrong (which ties into her fear, somehow… I’ll think on that point a little) and things purportedly go haywire when she won’t bend. This… isn’t illustrated as well here, since there’s very little direct cause-and-effect from Velma’s actions that would prove this point - that insisting her way is the right, best, and therefore only way to go ends up making things worse.

As much as I despised Frankencreepy (and I DESPISED IT), it did do that part well - showing that refusing to budge on something can lead to you hurting your friends (literally, in that one), and that admitting you were wrong and need help isn’t the end of the world.

(that movie also had former villains returning to gain vengeance upon the gang using psychological warfare, hm - may need to go over that one again, unfortunately).

It’s a shame, too - the basic elements for this plot are all here, they just need to be polished and reworked a bit to make a really fascinating movie.

------

Anyways, back to the asshat CEO who just… faked being a sheriff. Because white people can get away with that so long as they have the outfit and the car *throws up hands* (the sad part is this is probably something that actually happens)

As he drives away we see a familiar silhouette looming in the cornfields, watching him approach

Velma had Bill Nye on speaker, so he could record the entire confession for the federal officers nearby (who were taking Scarecrow back to Arkham), and track the phone signal to his exact location

And right as his holographic call cuts out, we see the shadow of a Scarecrow looming over him, causing him to scream.

When the feds arrive at his final location, both his body and the money have vanished. The car still sits, engine running, before the crows leering over him from the field vanish into the sky.

-------

Now that he’s dead, the gang walks and finds themselves at a Halloween party, with friendly faces and good food. The mystery is solved, though the culprit may never be found again.

Then Daphne admits to NOT trying to steal Elvira’s costume for Halloween, but instead trying to steal Elvira’s identity and replace her.

Something that she’s apparently nearly gotten away with on past mysteries working with Phillis Diller

*sighs* movie, why couldn’t you just stick to the costume schtick? This is just… so much worse.

-----

From there, Elvira walks off to wrap things up, reveal the monster face on the back of her head sans wig (which was also a monkey), and start the credits, where we see the gang working to bring the Mystery Machine back to its former glory a la Frankenstein pastiche.

This movie… this movie is a hot mess, but at least it’s an OKAY hot mess.

It really does feel like someone started writing a decent Velma-focused movie concerning the Scarecrow and a past Mystery Inc villain interfering, but was bogged down by notes from higher-ups: Wait! Write in Elvira! Also write in Bill Nye! Hey, let’s have a Mad Max car chase with the Jackal Lanterns! And have Daphne obsessed with literally becoming Elvira! Also make reference to things that we’ll insist be explained this way instead of a way that makes sense! Great!

(seriously tho, we never find out who Crane cares about most that reminds him of Velma, what the heck?)

It’s like two or three different scripts were smooshed together without being cleaned up - stuff is said that doesn’t get resolved, the celebrity guests don’t get to breathe much and feel squished together, and the build-up for the villain feels… less impactful, even knowing that he’s been in the past two films.

It might have worked if he’d been in… let’s say like 5 or 6 DTVs in a row, speaking roles for dissing the gang growing in each (ex start with “Good job kids! But maybe next time, leave it to the professionals, okay?” and growing more bitter from there), but only 2 feels kind of meh. Still, I do appreciate the clues we got to collect together, and they all work in the final breakdown of the scheme - some DTVs can feel like they pull stuff completely out of nowhere, so kudos there.

I appreciate what they wanted to do with Velma - give her a character development arc similar to Shaggy’s in Shaggy’s Showdown. Unfortunately, it wasn’t set up quite so neatly: they blended her ‘refusal to admit fear’ with her overconfidence that she was always right, and it led to a weird conclusion. To face her fears, she leapt into the Giant Pumpkin, which… proved that she was right all along about it being fake, and that solves things somehow. It doesn’t address how she can get something wrong sometimes, it doesn’t really address what she’s afraid of (which is honestly quite good: she’s afraid of failing in a way that allows bad guys to escape justice and in a way that hurts her friends), it’s just a bit of a mess. Points for aiming the focus the right way (and in a way that DOESN’T sexualize the underage teenage girl, unlike some DTVs cough cough Frankencreepy cough cough), but it’s very very messy how it goes about it.

The movie actually balanced pretty well for the whole gang - no excessive focus on one leaving the rest in the dust (too much at least - Fred was a touch underdeveloped, but nowhere near as annoying as past iterations have been. Shaggy and Scooby were kind of meh in some places but great in others, while Daphne was just odd. I think they were trying to recapture the BCSD Daphne characterization, but they failed. Still, she did spend some good time kicking ass with the pumpkins, so that was fun.

Now for the Rogue, Jonathan Crane. If you like Crane, this movie gives you: maniacal Scarecrow, calm and creepy Crane, a brief glimpse at fanboy!Crane (he admits in his own awkward way that he’s a fan of Elvira, and later tells her he loves her work - it’s fun), and (best of all for me) a heroic Crane - one who helps the protagonists and ends up kicking ass pretty damn well, brief as it was. And while DILF Crane is always a treat, he feels underutilized in this. In comparison, Scooby Doo/Batman Brave and the Bold really utilized a lot of different aspects of Riddler, to the point he actually does feel pretty menacing by the third act. It’s a shame we don’t quite get that with Crane, but I do love seeing him 1. More out of mask, and 2. Acting as a good guy (in his own way), so he’s enjoyable on the whole.

I kind of wish that the whole movie was spent more with Crane, but again, the script is a bit of a mess on this part - the fact that he’s not completely screwed over is a goddamn miracle.

Elvira was… okay. She didn’t have much of a purpose beyond getting the plot started and giving Daphne some hooks to play off of. Bill Nye (abrupt as his introduction was) did provide some necessary elements to the mystery, as well as the tech; he wasn’t too bad by the end. (still a touch bitter we didn’t get ex roommate Nye, but hey, what can you do)

Humor was… mixed. Some good, some meh, but very few long enough to feel painful. Some bits felt extraneous at times, but they did help to build to the conclusion, so points for effort.

At the end of the day though, I’m probably keeping this more for Jonathan Crane than anyone else. It does have a lot of fanfic potential tho 🤔🤔🤔

That’s all from me tonight, folks! Hope you enjoyed my own little breakdown of the movie.

#happy halloween scooby doo #plush reviews: final thoughts #jonathan crane #scarecrow #spoilers

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ahouseoflies · 4 years ago

Text

The Best Films of 2020

I can’t tell you anything novel or insightful about this year that has been stolen from our lives. I watched zero of these films in a theater, and I watched most of them half-asleep in moments that I stole from my children. Don’t worry, there are some jokes below.

GARBAGE

93. Capone (Josh Trank)- What is the point of this dinner theater trash? It takes place in the last year of Capone's life, when he was released from prison due to failing health and suffered a stroke in his Florida home. So it covers...none of the things that make Al Capone interesting? It's not historically accurate, which I have no problem with, but if you steer away from accuracy, then do something daring and exciting. Don't give me endless scenes of "Phonse"--as if the movie is running from the very person it's about--drawing bags of money that promise intrigue, then deliver nothing in return.

That being said, best "titular character shits himself" scene since The Judge.

92. Ammonite (Francis Lee)- I would say that this is the Antz to Portrait of a Lady on Fire's A Bug's Life, but it's actually more like the Cars 3 to Portrait of a Lady on Fire's Toy Story 1.

91. Ava (Tate Taylor)- Despite the mystery and inscrutability that usually surround assassins, what if we made a hitman movie but cared a lot about her personal life? Except neither the assassin stuff nor the family stuff is interesting?

90. Wonder Woman 1984 (Patty Jenkins)- What a miscalculation of what audiences loved about the first and wanted from the sequel. WW84 is silly and weightless in all of the ways that the first was elegant and confident. If the return of Pine is just a sort of phantom representation of Diana's desires, then why can he fly a real plane? If he is taking over another man's soul, then, uh, what ends up happening to that guy? For that matter, why is it not 1984 enough for Ronald Reagan to be president, but it is 1984 enough for the president to have so many Ronald Reagan signifiers that it's confusing? Why not just make a decision?

On paper, the me-first values of the '80s lend themselves to the monkey's paw wish logic of this plot. You could actually do something with the Star Wars program or the oil crisis. But not if the setting is played for only laughs and the screenplay explains only what it feels like.

89. Babyteeth (Shannon Murphy)- In this type of movie, there has to be a period of the Ben Mendelsohn character looking around befuddled about the new arrangement and going, "What's this now--he's going to be...living with us? The guy who tried to steal our medication? This is crazy!" But that's usually ten minutes, and in this movie it's an hour. I was so worn out by the end.

88. You Should Have Left (David Koepp)- David Koepp wrote Jurassic Park, so he's never going to hell, but how dare he start caring about his own mystery at the hour mark. There's a forty-five minute version of this movie that could get an extra star from me, and there's a three-hour version of Amanda Seyfried walking around in athleisure that would get four stars from me. What we actually get? No thanks.

87. Black Is King (Beyonce, et al.)- End your association with The Lion King, Bey. It has resulted in zero bops.

ADMIRABLE FAILURES

86. Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (Cathy Yan)- There's nothing too dysfunctional in the storytelling or performances, but Birds of Prey also doesn't do a single thing well. I would prefer something alive and wild, even if it were flawed, to whatever tame belt-level formula this is.

85. The Turning (Floria Sigismondi)- This update of The Turn of the Screw pumps the age of Miles up to high school, which creates some horny creepiness that I liked. But the age of the character also prevents the ending of the novel from happening in favor of a truly terrible shrug. I began to think that all of the patience that the film showed earlier was just hesitance for its own awful ending.

I watched The Turning as a Mackenzie Davis Movie Star heat check, and while I'm not sure she has the magnetism I was looking for, she does have a great teacher voice, chastening but maternal.

84. Bloodshot (David Wilson)- A whole lot of Vin Diesel saying he's going to get revenge and kill a bunch of dudes; not a whole lot of Vin Diesel actually getting revenge and killing a bunch of dudes.

83. Downhill (Nat Faxon and Jim Rash)- I was an English major in college, which means I ended up locking myself into literary theories that, halfway through the writing of an essay, I realized were flawed. But rather than throw out the work that I had already proposed, I would just keep going and see if I could will the idea to success.

So let's say you have a theory that you can take Force Majeure by Ruben Ostlund, one of the best films of its year, and remake it so that its statement about familial anxiety could apply to Americans of the same age and class too...if it hadn't already. And maybe in the first paragraph you mess up by casting Will Ferrell and Julia Louis-Dreyfus, people we are conditioned to laugh at, when maybe this isn't that kind of comedy at all. Well, don't throw it away. You can quote more--fill up the pages that way--take an exact shot or scene from the original. Does that help? Maybe you can make the writing more vigorous and distinctive by adding a character. Is that going to make this baby stand out? Maybe you could make it more personal by adding a conclusion that is slightly more clever than the rest of the paper?

Or perhaps this is one you're just not going to get an A on.

82. Hillbilly Elegy (Ron Howard)- I watched this melodrama at my mother's encouragement, and, though I have been trying to pin down her taste for decades, I think her idea of a successful film just boils down to "a lot of stuff happens." So in that way, Ron Howard's loss is my gain, I guess.

There is no such thing as a "neutral Terminator."

81. Relic (Natalie Erika James)- The star of the film is Vanessa Cerne's set decoration, but the inert music and slow pace cancel out a house that seems neglected slowly over decades.

80. Buffaloed (Tanya Wexler)- Despite a breathless pace, Buffaloed can't quite congeal. In trying to split the difference between local color hijinks and Moneyballed treatise on debt collection, it doesn't commit enough to either one.

Especially since Zoey Deutch produced this one in addition to starring, I'm getting kind of worried about boo's taste. Lot of Two If by Seas; not enough While You Were Sleepings.

79. Like a Boss (Miguel Arteta)- I chuckled a few times at a game supporting cast that is doing heavy lifting. But Like a Boss is contrived from the premise itself--Yeah, what if people in their thirties fell out of friendship? Do y'all need a creative consultant?--to the escalation of most scenes--Why did they have to hide on the roof? Why do they have to jump into the pool?

The movie is lean, but that brevity hurts just as much as it helps. The screenplay knows which scenes are crucial to the development of the friendship, but all of those feel perfunctory, in a different gear from the setpieces.

To pile on a bit: Studio comedies are so bare bones now that they look like Lifetime movies. Arteta brought Chuck & Buck to Sundance twenty years ago, and, shot on Mini-DV for $250,000, it was seen as a DIY call-to-bootstraps. I guarantee that has more setups and locations and shooting days than this.

78. Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga (David Dobkin)- Add Dan Stevens to the list of supporting players who have bodied Will Ferrell in his own movie--one that he cared enough to write himself.

Like Downhill, Ferrell's other 2020 release, this isn't exactly bad. It's just workmanlike and, aside from the joke about Demi Lovato's "uninformed" ghost, frustratingly conventional.

77. The Traitor (Marco Bellochio)- Played with weary commitment by Pierfrancesco Favino, Tomasso Buscetta is "credited" as the first informant of La Cosa Nostra. And that sounds like an interesting subject for a "based on a true story" crime epic, right? Especially when you find out that Buscetta became a rat out of principle: He believed that the mafia to which he had pledged his life had lost its code to the point that it was a different organization altogether.

At no point does Buscetta waver or even seem to struggle with his decision though, so what we get is less conflicted than that description might suggest. None of these Italian mob movies glorify the lifestyle, so I wasn't expecting that. But if the crime doesn't seem enticing, and snitching on the crime seems like forlorn duty, and everything is pitched with such underhanded matter-of-factness that you can't even be sure when Buscetta has flipped, then what are we left with? It was interesting seeing how Italian courts work, I guess?

76. Kajillionaire (Miranda July)- This is another movie so intent on building atmosphere and lore that it takes too long to declare what it is. When the protagonist hits a breaking point and has to act, she has only a third of a film to grow. So whispery too.

Gina Rodriguez is the one to inject life into it. As soon as her motormouth winds up, the film slips into a different gear. The atmosphere and lore that I mentioned reeks of artifice, but her character is believably specific. Beneath a basic exterior is someone who is authentically caring but still morally compromised, beholden to the world that the other characters are suspicious of.

75. Scoob! (Tony Cervone)- The first half is sometimes clever, but it hammers home the importance of friendship while separating the friends.

The second half has some positive messaging, but your kids' movie might have a problem with scale if it involves Alexander the Great unlocking the gates of the Underworld.

My daughter loved it.

74. The Lovebirds (Michael Showalter)- If I start talking too much about this perfectly fine movie, I end up in that unfair stance of reviewing the movie I wanted, not what is actually there.* As a fan of hang-out comedies, I kind of resent that any comedy being made now has to be rolled into something more "exciting," whether it's a wrongfully accused or mistaken identity thriller or some other genre. Such is the post-Game Night world. There's a purposefully anti-climactic note that I wish The Lovebirds had ended on, but of course we have another stretch of hiding behind boats and shooting guns. Nanjiani and Rae are really charming leads though.

*- As a New Orleanian, I was totally distracted by the fake aspects of the setting too. "Oh, they walked to Jefferson from downtown? Really?" You probably won't be bothered by the locations.

73. Sonic the Hedgehog (Jeff Fowler)- In some ways the storytelling is ambitious. (I'm speaking for only myself, but I'm fine with "He's a hedgehog, and he's really fast" instead of the owl mother, teleportation backstory. Not everything has to be Tolkien.) But that ambition doesn't match the lack of ambition in the comedy, which depends upon really hackneyed setups and structures. Guiding Jim Carrey to full alrighty-then mode was the best choice anyone made.

72. Malcolm & Marie (Sam Levinson)- The stars move through these long scenes with agility and charisma, but the degree of difficulty is just too high for this movie to reach what it's going for.

Levinson is trying to capture an epic fight between a couple, and he can harness the theatrical intensity of such a thing, but he sacrifices almost all of the nuance. In real life, these knock-down-drag-outs can be circular and indirect and sad in a way that this couple's manipulation rarely is. If that emotional truth is all this movie is trying to achieve, I feel okay about being harsh in my judgment of how well it does that.

71. Beanpole (Kantemir Balagov)- Elusive in how it refuses to declare itself, forthright in how punishing it is. The whole thing might be worth it for a late dinner scene, but I'm getting a bit old to put myself through this kind of misery.

70. The Burnt Orange Heresy (Giuseppe Capotondi)- Silly in good ways until it's silly in bad ways. Elizabeth Debicki remains 6'3".

69. Everybody’s Everything (Sebastian Jones and Ramez Silyan)- As a person who listened to Lil Peep's music, I can confidently say that this documentary is overstating his greatness. His death was a significant loss, as the interview subjects will all acknowledge, but the documentary is more useful as a portrait of a certain unfocused, rapacious segment of a generation that is high and online at all times.

68. The Witches (Robert Zemeckis)- Robert Zemeckis, Kenya Barris, and Guillermo Del Toro are the credited screenwriters, and in a fascinating way, you can see the imprint of each figure on the final product. Adapting a very European story to the old wives' tales of the American South is an interesting choice. Like the Nicolas Roeg try at this material, Zemeckis is not afraid to veer into the terrifying, and Octavia Spencer's pseudo witch doctor character only sells the supernatural. From a storytelling standpoint though, it seems as if the obstacles are overcome too easily, as if there's a whole leg of the film that has been excised. The framing device and the careful myth-making of the flashback make promises that the hotel half of the film, including the abrupt ending, can't live up to.

If nothing else, Anne Hathaway is a real contender for Most On-One Performance of the year.

67. Irresistible (Jon Stewart)- Despite a sort of imaginative ending, Jon Stewart's screenplay feels more like the declarative screenplay that would get you hired for a good movie, not a good screenplay itself. It's provocative enough, but it's clumsy in some basic ways and never evades the easy joke.

For example, the Topher Grace character is introduced as a sort of assistant, then is re-introduced an hour later as a polling expert, then is shown coaching the candidate on presentation a few scenes later. At some point, Stewart combined characters into one role, but nothing got smoothed out.

ENDEARING CURIOSITIES WITH BIG FLAWS

66. Yes, God, Yes (Karen Maine)- Most people who are Catholic, including me, are conflicted about it. Most people who make movies about being Catholic hate it and have an axe to grind. This film is capable of such knowing wit and nuance when it comes to the lived-in details of attending a high school retreat, but it's more concerned with taking aim at hypocrisy in the broad way that we've seen a million times. By the end, the film is surprisingly all-or-nothing when Christian teenagers actually contain multitudes.

Part of the problem is that Karen Maine's screenplay doesn't know how naive to make the Alice character. Sometimes she's reasonably naive for a high school senior in 2001; sometimes she's comically naive so that the plot can work; and sometimes she's stupid, which isn't the same as naive.

65. Bad Boys for Life (Adil El Arbi and Bilall Fallah)- This might be the first buddy cop movie in which the vets make peace with the tech-comm youngs who use new techniques. If that's the only novelty on display here--and it is--then maybe that's enough. I laughed maybe once. Not that the mistaken identity subplot of Bad Boys 1 is genius or anything, but this entry felt like it needed just one more layer to keep it from feeling as basic as it does. Speaking of layers though, it's almost impossible to watch any Will Smith movie now without viewing it through the meta-narrative of "What is Will Smith actually saying about his own status at this point in his career?" He's serving it up to us.

I derived an inordinate amount of pleasure from seeing the old school Simpson/Bruckheimer logo.

64. The Gentlemen (Guy Ritchie)- Look, I'm not going to be too negative on a movie whose crime slang is so byzantine that it has to be explained with subtitles. That's just me. I'm a simple man. But I can tell you that I tuned out pretty hard after seven or eight double-crosses.

The bloom is off the rose a bit for Ritchie, but he can still nail a music cue. I've been waiting for someone to hit "That's Entertainment" the way he does on the end credits.

63. Bad Hair (Justin Simien)- In Bad Hair, an African-American woman is told by her boss at a music video channel in 1989 that straightening her hair is the way to get ahead; however, her weave ends up having a murderous mind of its own. Compared to that charged, witty logline, the execution of the plot itself feels like a laborious, foregone conclusion. I'm glad that Simien, a genuinely talented writer, is making movies again though. Drop the skin-care routine, Van Der Beek!

62. Greyhound (Aaron Schneider)- "If this is the type of role that Tom Hanks writes for himself, then he understands his status as America's dad--'wise as the serpent, harmless as the dove'--even better than I thought." "America's Dad! Aye aye, sir!" "At least half of the dialogue is there for texture and authenticity, not there to be understood by the audience." "Fifty percent, Captain!" "The environment looks as fake as possible, but I eventually came around to the idea that the movie is completely devoid of subtext." "No subtext to be found, sir!"

61. Mank (David Fincher)- About ten years ago, the Creative Screenwriting podcast spent an hour or so with James Vanderbilt, the writer of Zodiac and nothing else that comes close, as he relayed the creative paces that David Fincher pushed him through. Hundreds of drafts and years of collaborative work eventuated in the blueprint for Fincher's most exacting, personal film, which he didn't get a writing credit on only because he didn't seek one.

Something tells me that Fincher didn't ask for rewrites from his dead father. No matter what visuals and performances the director can coax from the script--and, to be clear, these are the worst visuals and performances of his career--they are limited by the muddy lightweight pages. There are plenty of pleasures, like the slippery election night montage or the shakily platonic relationship between Mank and Marion. But Fincher hadn't made a film in six years, and he came back serving someone else's master.

60. Tesla (Michael Almereyda)- "You live inside your head." "Doesn't everybody?"

As usual, Almereyda's deconstructions are invigorating. (No other moment can match the first time Eve Hewson's Anne fact-checks something with her anachronistic laptop.) But they don't add up to anything satisfying because Tesla himself is such an opaque figure. Driven by the whims of his curiosity without a clear finish line, the character gives Hawke something enigmatic to play as he reaches deep into a baritone. But he's too inward to lend himself to drama. Tesla feels of a piece with Almereyda's The Experimenter, and that's the one I would recommend.

59. Vitalina Varela (Pedro Costa)- I can't oversell how delicately beautiful this film is visually. There's a scene in which Vitalina lugs a lantern into a church, but we get several seconds of total darkness before that one light source carves through it and takes over part of the frame. Each composition is as intricate as it is overpowering, achieving a balance between stark and mannered.

That being said, most of the film is people entering or exiting doors. I felt very little of the haunting loss that I think I was supposed to.

58. The Rhythm Section (Reed Morano)- Call it the Timothy Hutton in The General's Daughter Corollary: If a name-actor isn't in the movie much but gets third billing, then, despite whom he sends the protagonist to kill, he is the Actual Bad Guy.

Even if the movie serves up a lot of cliche, the action and sound design are visceral. I would like to see more from Morano.

57. Red, White and Blue (Steve McQueen)- Well-made and heartfelt even if it goes step-for-step where you think it will.

Here's what I want to know though: In the academy training sequence, the police cadets have to subdue a "berserker"; that is, a wildman who swings at their riot gear with a sledgehammer. Then they get him under control, and he shakes their hands, like, "Good angle you took on me there, mate." Who is that guy and where is his movie? Is this full-time work? Is he a police officer or an independent contractor? What would happen if this exercise didn't go exactly as planned?

56. Wolfwalkers (Tomm Moore and Ross Stewart)- The visuals have an unfinished quality that reminded me of The Tale of Princess Kaguya--the center of a flame is undrawn white, and fog is just negative space. There's an underlying symmetry to the film, and its color palette changes with mood.

Narratively, it's pro forma and drawn-out. Was Riley in Inside Out the last animated protagonist to get two parents? My daughter stuck with it, but she needed a lot of context for the religious atmosphere of 17th century Ireland.

55. What She Said: The Art of Pauline Kael (Rob Garver)- The film does little more than one might expect; it's limited in the way that any visual medium is when trying to sum up a woman of letters. But as far as education for Kael's partnership with Warren Beatty or the idea of The New Yorker paying her for only six months out of the year, it was useful for me.

Although Garver isn't afraid to point to the work that made Kael divisive, it would have been nice to have one or two interview subjects who questioned her greatness, rather than the crew of Paulettes who, even when they do say something like, "Sometimes I radically disagreed with her," do it without being able to point to any specifics.

54. Beastie Boys Story (Spike Jonze)- As far as this Spike Jonze completist is concerned, this is more of a Powerpoint presentation than a movie, Beastie Boys Story still warmed my heart, making me want to fire up Paul's Boutique again and take more pictures of my buddies.

53. Tenet (Christopher Nolan)- Cool and cold, tantalizing and frustrating, loud and indistinct, Tenet comes close to Nolan self-parody, right down to the brutalist architecture and multiple characters styled like him. The setpieces grabbed me, I'll admit.

Nolan's previous film, which is maybe his best, was "about" a lot and just happened to play with time; Tenet is only about playing with time.

PRETTY GOOD MOVIES

52. Shithouse (Cooper Raiff)- "Death is ass."

There's such a thing as too naturalistic. If I wanted to hear how college freshmen really talked, I would hang out with college freshmen. But you have to take the good verisimilitude with the bad, and good verisimilitude is the mother's Pod Save America t-shirt.

There are some poignant moments (and a gonzo performance from Logan Miller) in this auspicious debut from Cooper Raiff, the writer/director/editor/star. But the second party sequence kills some of the momentum, and at a crucial point, the characters spell out some motivation that should have stayed implied.

51. Totally Under Control (Alex Gibney, Ophelia Harutyunyan, Suzanne Hillinger)- As dense and informative as any other Gibney documentary with the added flex of making it during the pandemic it is investigating.

But yeah, why am I watching this right now? I don't need more reasons to be angry with Trump, whom this film calmly eviscerates. The directors analyze Trump's narcissism first through his contradictions of medical expertise in order to protect the economy that could win him re-election. Then it takes aim at his hiring based on loyalty instead of experience. But you already knew that, which is the problem with the film, at least for now.

50. Happiest Season (Clea Duvall)- I was in the perfect mood to watch something this frothy and bouncy. Every secondary character receives a moment in the sun, and Daniel Levy gets a speech that kind of saves the film at a tipping point.

I must say though: I wanted to punch Harper in her stupid face. She is a terrible romantic partner, abandoning or betraying Abby throughout the film and dissembling her entire identity to everyone else in a way that seems absurd for a grown woman in 2020. Run away, Kristen. Perhaps with Aubrey Plaza, whom you have more chemistry with. But there I go shipping and aligning myself with characters, which only proves that this is an effective romantic comedy.

49. The Way Back (Gavin O’Connor)- Patient but misshapen, The Way Back does just enough to overcome the cliches that are sort of unavoidable considering the genre. (I can't get enough of the parent character who, for no good reason, doesn't take his son's success seriously. "Scholarship? What he's gotta do is put his nose in them books! That's why I don't go to his games. [continues moving boxes while not looking at the other character] Now if you'll excuse me while I wait four scenes before showing up at a game to prove that I'm proud of him after all...")

What the movie gets really right or really wrong in the details about coaching and addiction is a total crap-shoot. But maybe I've said too much already.

48. The Whistlers (Corneliu Porumboiu)- Porumboiu is a real artist who seems to be interpreting how much surveillance we're willing to acknowledge and accept, but I won't pretend to have understood much of the plot, the chapters or which are told out of order. Sometimes the structure works--the beguiling, contextless "high-class hooker" sequence--but I often wondered if the film was impenetrable in the way that Porumboiu wanted it to be or impenetrable in the way he didn't.

To tell you the truth, the experience kind of depressed me because I know that, in my younger days, this film is the type of thing that I would re-watch, possibly with the chronology righted, knowing that it is worth understanding fully. But I have two small children, and I'm exhausted all the time, and I kind of thought I should get some credit for still trying to catch up with Romanian crime movies in the first place.

47. Borat Subsequent Moviefilm (Jason Woliner)- I laughed too much to get overly critical, but the film is so episodic and contrived that it's kind of exhausting by the end--even though it's achieving most of its goals. Maybe Borat hasn't changed, but the way our citizens own their ugliness has.

46. First Cow (Kelly Reichardt)- Despite how little happens in the first forty minutes, First Cow is a thoughtful capitalism parable. Even though it takes about forty minutes to get going, the friendship between Cookie and King-Lu is natural and incisive. Like Reichardt's other work, the film's modest premise unfolds quite gracefully, except for in the first forty minutes, which are uneventful.

45. Les Miserables (Ladj Ly)- I loved parts of the film--the disorienting, claustrophobic opening or the quick look at the police officers' home lives, for example. But I'm not sure that it does anything very well. The needle the film tries to thread between realism and theater didn't gel for me. The ending, which is ambiguous in all of the wrong ways, chooses the theatrical. (If I'm being honest, my expectations were built up by Les Miserables' Jury Prize at Cannes, and it's a bit superficial to be in that company.)

If nothing else, it's always helpful to see how another country's worst case scenario in law enforcement would look pretty good over here.

44. Bad Education (Cory Finley)- The film feels too locked-down and small at the beginning, so intent on developing the protagonist neutrally that even the audience isn't aware of his secrets. So when he faces consequences for those secrets, there's a disconnect. Part of tragedy is seeing the doom coming, right?

When it opens up, however, it's empathetic and subtle, full of a dry irony that Finley is already specializing in after only one other feature. Geraldine Viswanathan and Allison Janney get across a lot of interiority that is not on the page.

43. The Trip to Greece (Michael Winterbottom)- By the fourth installment, you know whether you're on board with the franchise. If you're asking "Is this all there is?" to Coogan and Brydon's bickering and impressions as they're served exotic food in picturesque settings, then this one won't sway you. If you're asking "Is this all there is?" about life, like they are, then I don't need to convince you.

I will say that The Trip to Spain seemed like an enervated inflection point, at which the squad could have packed it in. The Trip to Greece proves that they probably need to keep doing this until one of them dies, which has been the subtext all along.

42. Feels Good Man (Arthur Jones)- This documentary centers on innocent artist Matt Furie's helplessness as his Pepe the Frog character gets hijacked by the alt-right. It gets the hard things right. It's able to, quite comprehensively, trace a connection from 4Chan's use of Pepe the Frog to Donald Trump's near-assuming of Pepe's ironic deniability. Director Arthur Jones seems to understand the machinations of the alt-right, and he articulates them chillingly.

The easy thing, making us connect to Furie, is less successful. The film spends way too much time setting up his story, and it makes him look naive as it pits him against Alex Jones in the final third. Still, the film is a quick ninety-two minutes, and the highs are pretty high.

41. The Old Guard (Gina Prince-Bythewood)- Some of the world-building and backstory are handled quite elegantly. The relationships actually do feel centuries old through specific details, and the immortal conceit comes together for an innovative final action sequence.

Visually and musically though, the film feels flat in a way that Prince-Bythewood's other films do not. I blame Netflix specs. KiKi Layne, who tanked If Beale Street Could Talk for me, nearly ruins this too with the child-actory way that she stresses one word per line. Especially in relief with one of our more effortless actresses, Layne is distracting.

40. The Trial of the Chicago 7 (Aaron Sorkin)- Whenever Sacha Baron Cohen's Abbie Hoffman opens his mouth, the other defendants brace themselves for his dismissive vulgarity. Even when it's going to hurt him, he can't help but shoot off at the mouth. Of course, he reveals his passionate and intelligent depths as the trial goes on. The character is the one that Sorkin's screenplay seems the most endeared to: In the same way that Hoffman can't help but be Hoffman, Sorkin can't help but be Sorkin. Maybe we don't need a speech there; maybe we don't have to stretch past two hours; maybe a bon mot diffuses the tension. But we know exactly what to expect by now. The film is relevant, astute, witty, benevolent, and, of course, in love with itself. There are a handful of scenes here that are perfect, so I feel bad for qualifying so much.

A smaller point: Daniel Pemberton has done great work in the past (Motherless Brooklyn, King Arthur, The Man from U.N.C.L.E.), but the first sequence is especially marred by his sterile soft-rock approach.

GOOD MOVIES

39. Time (Garrett Bradley)- The key to Time is that it provides very little context. Why the patriarch of this family is serving sixty years in prison is sort of besides the point philosophically. His wife and sons have to move on without him, and the tragedy baked into that fact eclipses any notion of what he "deserved." Feeling the weight of time as we switch back and forth between a kid talking about his first day of kindergarten and that same kid graduating from dentistry school is all the context we need. Time's presentation can be quite sumptuous: The drone shot of Angola makes its buildings look like crosses. Or is it X's?

At the same time, I need some context. When director Garrett Bradley withholds the reason Robert's in prison, and when she really withholds that Fox took a plea and served twelve years, you start to see the strings a bit. You could argue that knowing so little about why, all of a sudden, Robert can be on parole puts you into the same confused shoes as the family, but it feels manipulative to me. The film is preaching to the choir as far as criminal justice goes, which is fine, but I want it to have the confidence to tell its story above board.

38. Bloody Nose, Empty Pockets (Turner Ross and Bill Ross IV)- I have a barfly friend whom I see maybe once a year. When we first set up a time to meet, I kind of dread it and wonder what we'll have to talk about. Once we do get together, we trip on each other's words a bit, fumbling around with the rhythm of conversation that we mastered decades ago. He makes some kind of joke that could have been appropriate then but isn't now.

By the end of the day, hours later, we're hugging and maybe crying as we promise each other that we won't wait as long next time.

That's the exact same journey that I went on with this film.

37. Underwater (William Eubank)- Underwater is a story that you've seen before, but it's told with great confidence and economy. I looked up at twelve minutes and couldn't believe the whole table had been set. Kristen plays Ripley and projects a smart, benevolent poise.

36. The Lodge (Veronika Franz and Severin Fiala)- I prefer the grounded, manicured first half to the more fantastic second half. The craziness of the latter is only possible through the hard work of the former though. As with Fiala and Franz's previous feature, the visual rhymes and motifs get incorporated into the soup so carefully that you don't realize it until they overwhelm you in their bleak glory.

Small note: Alicia Silverstone, the male lead's first wife, and Riley Keough, his new partner, look sort of similar. I always think that's a nice note: "I could see how he would go for her."

35. Miss Americana (Lana Wilson)- I liked it when I saw it as a portrait of a person whose life is largely decided for her but is trying to carve out personal spaces within that hamster wheel. I loved it when I realized that describes most successful people in their twenties.

34. Sound of Metal (Darius Marder)- Riz Ahmed is showing up on all of the best performances of the year lists, but Sound of Metal isn't in anyone's top ten films of the year. That's about right. Ahmed's is a quiet, stubborn performance that I wish was in service of more than the straight line that we've seen before.

In two big scenes, there's this trick that Ahmed does, a piecing together of consequences with his eyes, as if he's moving through a flow chart in real time. In both cases, the character seems locked out and a little slower than he should be, which is, of course, why he's facing the consequences in the first place. To be charitable to a film that was a bit of a grind, it did make me notice a thing a guy did with his eyes.

33. Pieces of a Woman (Kornel Mundruczo)- Usually when I leave acting showcases like this, I imagine the film without the Oscar-baiting speeches, but this is a movie that specializes in speeches. Pieces of a Woman is being judged, deservedly so, by the harrowing twenty-minute take that opens the film, which is as indulgent as it is necessary. But if the unbroken take provides the "what," then the speeches provide the "why."

This is a film about reclaiming one's body when it rebels against you and when other people seek ownership of it. Without the Ellen Burstyn "lift your head" speech or the Vanessa Kirby show-stopper in the courtroom, I'm not sure any of that comes across.

I do think the film lets us off the hook a bit with the LaBoeuf character, in the sense that it gives us reasons to dislike him when it would be more compelling if he had done nothing wrong. Does his half-remembering of the White Stripes count as a speech?

32. Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom (George C. Wolfe)- This is such a play, not only in the locked-down location but also through nearly every storytelling convention: "Where are the two most interesting characters? Oh, running late? They'll enter separately in animated fashion?" But, to use the type of phrase that the characters might, "Don't hate the player; hate the game."

Perhaps the most theatrical note in this treatise on the commodification of expression is the way that, two or three times, the proceedings stop in their tracks for the piece to declare loudly what it's about. In one of those clear-outs, Boseman, who looks distractingly sick, delivers an unforgettable monologue that transports the audience into his character's fragile, haunted mind. He and Viola Davis are so good that the film sort of buckles under their weight, unsure of how to transition out of those spotlight moments and pretend that the story can start back up. Whatever they're doing is more interesting than what's being achieved overall.

31. Another Round (Thomas Vinterberg)- It's definitely the film that Vinterberg wanted to make, but despite what I think is a quietly shattering performance from Mikkelsen, Another Round moves in a bit too much of a straight line to grab me fully. The joyous final minutes hint at where it could have gone, as do pockets of Vinterberg's filmography, which seems newly tethered to realism in a way that I don't like. The best sequences are the wildest ones, like the uproarious trip to the grocery store for fresh cod, so I don't know why so much of it takes place in tiny hallways at magic hour. I give the inevitable American remake* permission to use these notes.

*- Just spitballing here. Martin: Will Ferrell, Nikolaj (Nick): Ben Stiller, Tommy: Owen Wilson, Peter: Craig Robinson

30. The Invisible Man (Leigh Whannell)- Exactly what I wanted. Exactly what I needed.

I think a less conclusive finale would have been better, but what a model of high-concept escalation. This is the movie people convinced me Whannell's Upgrade was.

29. On the Rocks (Sofia Coppola)- Slight until the Mexican sojourn, which expands the scope and makes the film even more psychosexual than before. At times it feels as if Coppola is actively simplifying, rather than diving into the race and privilege questions that the Murray character all but demands.

As for Murray, is the film 50% worse without him? 70%? I don't know if you can run in supporting categories if you're the whole reason the film exists.

28. Mangrove (Steve McQueen)- The first part of the film seemed repetitive and broad to me. But once it settled in as a courtroom drama, the characterization became more shaded, and the filmmaking itself seemed more fluid. I ended up being quite outraged and inspired.

27. Shirley (Josephine Decker)- Josephine Decker emerges as a real stylist here, changing her foggy, impressionistic approach not one bit with a little more budget. Period piece and established actors be damned--this is still as much of a reeling fever dream as Madeline's Madeline. Both pieces are a bit too repetitive and nasty for my taste, but I respect the technique.

Here's my mandatory "Elisabeth Moss is the best" paragraph. While watching her performance as Shirley Jackson, I thought about her most famous role as Peggy on Mad Men, whose inertia and need to prove herself tied her into confidence knots. Shirley is almost the opposite: paralyzed by her worldview, certain of her talent, rejecting any empathy. If Moss can inhabit both characters so convincingly, she can do anything.

26. An American Pickle (Brandon Trost)- An American Pickle is the rare comedy that could actually use five or ten extra minutes, but it's a surprisingly heartfelt and wholesome stretch for Rogen, who is earnest in the lead roles.

25. The King of Staten Island (Judd Apatow)- At two hours and fifteen minutes, The King of Staten Island is probably the first Judd Apatow film that feels like the exact right length. For example, the baggy date scene between a gracious Bill Burr and a faux-dowdy Marisa Tomei is essential, the sort of widening of perspective that something like Trainwreck was missing.

It's Pete Davidson's movie, however, and though he has never been my cup of tea, I think he's actually quite powerful in his quiet moments. The movie probes some rare territory--a mentally ill man's suspicion that he is unlovable, a family's strategic myth-making out of respect for the dead. And when Davidson shows up at the firehouse an hour and fifteen minutes in, it feels as if we've built to a last resort.

24. Swallow (Carlo Mirabella-Davis)- The tricky part of this film is communicating Hunter's despair, letting her isolation mount, but still keeping her opaque. It takes a lot of visual discipline to do that, and Claudio Mirabella-Davis is up to the task. This ends up being a much more sympathetic, expressive movie than the plot description might suggest.

(In the tie dispute, Hunter and Richie are both wrong. That type of silk--I couldn't tell how pebbled it was, but it's probably a barathea weave-- shouldn't be ironed directly, but it doesn't have to be steamed. On a low setting, you could iron the back of the tie and be fine.)

23. The Vast of Night (Andrew Patterson)- I wanted a bit more "there" there; The film goes exactly where I thought it would, and there isn't enough humor for my taste. (The predictability might be a feature, not a bug, since the film is positioned as an episode of a well-worn Twilight Zone-esque show.)

But from a directorial standpoint, this is quite a promising debut. Patterson knows when to lock down or use silence--he even cuts to black to force us to listen more closely to a monologue. But he also knows when to fill the silence. There's a minute or so when Everett is spooling tape, and he and Fay make small talk about their hopes for the future, developing the characters' personalities in what could have been just mechanics. It's also a refreshingly earnest film. No one is winking at the '50s setting.

I'm tempted to write, "If Andrew Patterson can make this with $1 million, just imagine what he can do with $30 million." But maybe people like Shane Carruth have taught us that Patterson is better off pinching pennies in Texas and following his own muse.

22. Martin Eden (Pietro Marcello)- At first this film, adapted from a picaresque novel by Jack London, seemed as if it was hitting the marks of the genre. "He's going from job to job and meeting dudes who are shaping his worldview now." But the film, shot in lustrous Super 16, won me over as it owned the trappings of this type of story, forming a character who is a product of his environment even as he transcends it. By the end, I really felt the weight of time.

You want to talk about something that works better in novels than films though? When a passionate, independent protagonist insists that a woman is the love of his life, despite the fact that she's whatever Italians call a wet blanket. She's rich, but Martin doesn't care about her money. He hates her family and friends, and she refuses to accept him or his life pursuits. She's pretty but not even as pretty as the waitress they discuss. Tell me what I'm missing here. There's archetype, and there's incoherence.

21. Bacurau (Kleber Mendonca Filho and Juliano Dornelles)- Certain images from this adventurous film will stick with me, but I got worn out after the hard reset halfway through. As entranced as I was by the mystery of the first half, I think this blood-soaked ensemble is better at asking questions than it is at answering them.

20. Let Them All Talk (Steven Soderbergh)- The initial appeal of this movie might be "Look at these wonderful actresses in their seventies getting a movie all to themselves." And the film is an interesting portrait of ladies taking stock of relationships that have spanned decades. But Soderbergh and Eisenberg handle the twentysomething Lucas Hedges character with the same openness and empathy. His early reasoning for going on the trip is that he wants to learn from older women, and Hedges nails the puppy-dog quality of a young man who would believe that. Especially in the scenes of aspirational romance, he's sweet and earnest as he brushes his hair out of his face.

Streep plays Alice Hughes, a serious author of literary fiction, and she crosses paths with Kelvin Kranz, a grinder of airport thrillers. In all of the right ways, Let Them All Talk toes the line between those two stances as an entertaining, jaunty experiment that also shoulders subtextual weight. If nothing else, it's easy to see why a cruise ship's counterfeit opulence, its straight lines at a lean, would be visually engaging to Soderbergh. You can't have a return to form if your form is constantly evolving.

19. Dick Johnson Is Dead (Kirsten Johnson)- Understandably, I don't find the subject as interesting as his own daughter does, and large swaths of this film are unsure of what they're trying to say. But that's sort of the point, and the active wrestling that the film engages in with death ultimately pays off in a transcendent moment. The jaw-dropping ending is something that only non-fiction film can achieve, and Johnson's whole career is about the search for that sort of serendipity.

18. Da 5 Bloods (Spike Lee)- Delroy Lindo is a live-wire, but his character is the only one of the principals who is examined with the psychological depth I was hoping for. The first half, with all of its present-tense flourishes, promises more than the gunfights of the second half can deliver. When the film is cooking though, it's chock full of surprises, provocations, and pride.

17. Never Rarely Sometimes Always (Eliza Hittmann)- Very quickly, Eliza Hittmann has established herself as an astute, empathetic director with an eye for discovering new talent. I hope that she gets to make fifty more movies in which she objectively follows laconic young people. But I wanted to like this one more than I did. The approach is so neutral that it's almost flat to me, lacking the arc and catharsis of her previous film, Beach Rats. I still appreciate her restraint though.

GREAT MOVIES

16. Young Ahmed (Jean-Pierre Dardenne and Luc Dardenne)- I don't think the Dardennes have made a bad movie yet, and I'm glad they turned away from the slight genre dipping of The Unknown Girl, the closest to bad that they got. Young Ahmed is a lean, daring return to form.

Instead of following an average person, as they normally do, the Dardenne Brothers follow an extremist, and the objectivity that usually generates pathos now serves to present ambiguity. Ahmed says that he is changing, that he regrets his actions, but we never know how much of his stance is a put-on. I found myself wanting him to reform, more involved than I usually am in these slices of life. Part of it is that Idir Ben Addi looks like such a normal, young kid, and the Ahmed character has most of the qualities that we say we want in young people: principles, commitment, self-worth, reflection. So it's that much more destructive when those qualities are used against him and against his fellow man.

15. World of Tomorrow Episode Three: The Absent Destinations of David Prime (Don Hertzfeldt)- My dad, a man whom I love but will never understand, has dismissed modern music before by claiming that there are only so many combinations of chords. To him, it's almost impossible to do something new. Of course, this is the type of thing that an uncreative person would say--a person not only incapable of hearing the chords that combine notes but also unwilling to hear the space between the notes. (And obviously, that's the take of a person who doesn't understand that, originality be damned, some people just have to create.)

Anyway, that attitude creeps into my own thinking more than I would like, but then I watch something as wholly original as World of Tomorrow Episode Three. The series has always been a way to pile sci-fi ideas on top of each other to prove the essential truths of being and loving. And this one, even though it achieves less of a sense of yearning than its predecessor, offers even more devices to chew on. Take, for example, the idea that Emily sends her message from the future, so David's primitive technology can barely handle it. In order to move forward with its sophistication, he has to delete any extraneous skills for the sake of computer memory. So out of trust for this person who loves him, he has to weigh whether his own breathing or walking can be uninstalled as a sacrifice for her. I thought that we might have been done describing love, but there it is, a new metaphor. Mixing futurism with stick figures to get at the most pure drive possible gave us something new. It's called art, Dad.

14. On the Record (Kirby Dick and Amy Ziering)- We don't call subjects of documentaries "stars" for obvious reasons, but Drew Dixon kind of is one. Her honesty and wisdom tell a complete story of the #MeToo movement. Kirby Dick and Amy Ziering take their time developing her background at first, not because we need to "gain sympathy" or "establish credibility" for a victim of sexual abuse, but because showing her talent and enthusiasm for hip-hop A&R makes it that much more tragic when her passion is extinguished. Hell, I just like the woman, so spending a half-hour on her rise was pleasurable in and of itself.

This is a gut-wrenching, fearless entry in what is becoming Dick and Ziering's raison d'etre, but its greatest quality is Dixon's composed reflection. She helped to establish a pattern of Russell Simmons's behavior, but she explains what happened to her in ways I had never heard before.

13. David Byrne’s American Utopia (Spike Lee)- I'm often impressed by the achievements that puzzle me: How did they pull that off? But I know exactly how David Byrne pulled off the impish but direct precision of American Utopia: a lot of hard work.

I can't blame Spike Lee for stealing a page from Demme's Stop Making Sense: He denies us a close-up of any audience members until two-thirds of the way through, when we get someone in absolute rapture.

12. One Night in Miami... (Regina King)- We've all cringed when a person of color is put into the position of speaking on behalf of his or her entire race. But the characters in One Night in Miami... live in that condition all the time and are constantly negotiating it. As Black public figures in 1964, they know that the consequences of their actions are different, bigger, than everyone else's. The charged conversations between Malcolm X and Sam Cooke are not about whether they can live normal lives. They're way past that. The stakes are closer to Sam Cooke arguing that his life's purpose aligns with the protection and elevation of African-Americans while Malcolm X argues that those pursuits should be the same thing. Late in the movie, Cassius Clay leaves the other men, a private conversation, to talk to reporters, a public conversation. But the film argues that everything these men do is always already public. They're the most powerful African-Americans in the country, but their lives are not their own. Or not only their own.

It's true that the first act has the clunkiness and artifice of a TV movie, but once the film settles into the motel room location and lets the characters feed off one another, it's gripping. It's kind of unfair for a movie to get this many scenes of Leslie Odom Jr. singing, but I'll take it.

11. Saint Frances (Alex Thompson)- Rilke wrote, "Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest being something helpless that wants help from us." The characters' behavior in Saint Frances--all of these fully formed characters' behavior--made me think of that quotation. When they lash out at one another, even at their nastiest, the viewer has a window into how they're expressing pain they can't verbalize. The film is uneven in its subtlety, but it's a real showcase for screenwriter and star Kelly O'Sullivan, who is unflinching and dynamic in one of the best performances of the year. Somebody give her some of the attention we gave to Zach Braff for God's sake.

10. Boys State (Jesse Moss and Amanda McBaine)- This documentary is kind of a miracle from a logistical standpoint. From casting interviews beforehand, lots of editing afterwards, or sly note-taking once the conference began, McBaine and Moss happened to select the four principals who mattered the most at the convention, then found them in rooms full of dudes wearing the same tucked-in t-shirt. By the way, all of the action took place over the course of one week, and by definition, the important events are carved in half.

To call Boys State a microcosm of American politics is incorrect. These guys are forming platforms and voting in elections. What they're doing is American politics, so when they make the same compromises and mistakes that active politicians do, it produces dread and disappointment. So many of the boys are mimicking the political theater that they see on TV, and that sweaty sort of performance is going to make a Billy Mitchell out of this kid Ben Feinstein, and we'll be forced to reckon with how much we allow him to evolve as a person. This film is so precise, but what it proves is undeniably messy. Luckily, some of these seventeen-year-olds usher in hope for us all.

If nothing else, the film reveals the level to which we're all speaking in code.

9. The Nest (Sean Durkin)- In the first ten minutes or so of The Nest, the only real happy minutes, father and son are playing soccer in their quaint backyard, and the father cheats to score on a children's net before sliding on the grass to rub in his victory. An hour later, the son kicks the ball around by himself near a regulation goal on the family's massive property. The contrast is stark and obvious, as is the symbolism of the dead horse, but that doesn't mean it's not visually powerful or resonant.

Like Sean Durkin's earlier film, Martha Marcy May Marlene, the whole of The Nest is told with detail of novelistic scope and an elevation of the moment. A snippet of radio that mentions Ronald Reagan sets the time period, rather than a dateline. One kid saying "Thanks, Dad" and another kid saying, "Thanks, Rory" establishes a stepchild more elegantly than any other exposition might.

But this is also a movie that does not hide what it means. Characters usually say exactly what is on their minds, and motivations are always clear. For example, Allison smokes like a chimney, so her daughter's way of acting out is leaving butts on the window sill for her mother to find. (And mother and daughter both definitely "act out" their feelings.) On the other hand, Ben, Rory's biological son, is the character least like him, so these relationships aren't too directly parallel. Regardless, Durkin uses these trajectories to cast a pall of familial doom.

8. Sorry We Missed You (Sean Durkin)- Another precisely calibrated empathy machine from Ken Loach. The overwhelmed matriarch, Abby, is a caretaker, and she has to break up a Saturday dinner to rescue one of her clients, who wet herself because no one came to help her to the bathroom. The lady is embarrassed, and Abby calms her down by saying, "You mean more to me than you know." We know enough about Abby's circumstances to realize that it's sort of a lie, but it's a beautiful lie, told by a person who cares deeply but is not cared for.

Loach's central point is that the health of a family, something we think of as immutable and timeless, is directly dependent upon the modern industry that we use to destroy ourselves. He doesn't have to be "proven" relevant, and he didn't plan for Covid-19 to point to the fragility of the gig economy, but when you're right, you're right.

7. Lovers Rock (Steve McQueen)- swear to you I thought: "This is an impeccable depiction of a great house party. The only thing it's missing is the volatile dude who scares away all the girls." And then the volatile dude who scares away all the girls shows up.

In a year short on magic, there are two or three transcendent moments, but none of them can equal the whole crowd singing along to "Silly Games" way after the song has ended. Nothing else crystallizes the film's note of celebration: of music, of community, of safe spaces, of Black skin. I remember moments like that at house parties, and like all celebrations, they eventually make me sad.

6. Crip Camp: A Disability Revolution (Nicole Newnham and James Lebrecht)- I held off on this movie because I thought that I knew what it was. The setup was what I expected: A summer camp for the disabled in the late '60s takes on the spirit of the time and becomes a haven for people who have not felt agency, self-worth, or community anywhere else. But that's the right-place-right-time start of a story that takes these figures into the '80s as they fight for their rights.

If you're anything like my dumb ass, you know about 504 accommodations from the line on a college syllabus that promises equal treatment. If 2020 has taught us anything though, it's that rights are seized, not given, and this is the inspiring story of people who unified to demand what they deserved. Judy Heumann is a civil rights giant, but I'm ashamed to say I didn't know who she was before this film. If it were just a history lesson that wasn't taught in school, Crip Camp would still be valuable, but it's way more than that.

5. Palm Springs (Max Barbakow)- When explaining what is happening to them, Andy Samberg's Nyles twirls his hand at Cristin Milioti's Sara and says, "It's one of those infinite time-loop scenarios." Yeah, one of those. Armed with only a handful of fictional examples, she and the audience know exactly what he means, and the continually inventive screenplay by Andy Siara doesn't have to do any more explaining. In record time, the film accelerates into its premise, involves her, and sets up the conflict while avoiding the claustrophobia of even Groundhog Day. That economy is the strength that allows it to be as funny as it is. By being thrifty with the setup, the savings can go to, say, the couple crashing a plane into a fiery heap with no consequences.

In some accidental ways, this is, of course, a quarantine romance as well. Nyles and Sara frustratingly navigate the tedious wedding as if they are play-acting--which they sort of are--then they push through that sameness to grow for each other, realizing that dependency is not weakness. The best relationships are doing the same thing right now.

Although pointedly superficial--part of the point of why the couple is such a match--and secular--I think the notion of an afterlife would come up at least once--Palm Springs earns the sincerity that it gets around to. And for a movie ironic enough to have a character beg to be impaled so that he doesn't have to sit in traffic, that's no small feat.

4. The Assistant (Kitty Green)- A wonder of Bressonian objectivity and rich observation, The Assistant is the rare film that deals exclusively with emotional depth while not once explaining any emotions. One at a time, the scrape of the Kleenex box might not be so grating, the long hallway trek to the delivery guy might not be so tiring, but this movie gets at the details of how a job can destroy you in ways that add up until you can't even explain them.

3. Promising Young Woman (Emerald Fennell)- In her most incendiary and modern role, Carey Mulligan plays Cassie, which is short for Cassandra, that figure doomed to tell truths that no one else believes. The web-belted boogeyman who ruined her life is Al, short for Alexander, another Greek who is known for his conquests. The revenge story being told here--funny in its darkest moments, dark in its funniest moments--is tight on its surface levels, but it feels as if it's telling a story more archetypal and expansive than that too.

An exciting feature debut for its writer-director Emerald Fennell, the film goes wherever it dares. Its hero has a clear purpose, and it's not surprising that the script is willing to extinguish her anger halfway through. What is surprising is the way it renews and muddies her purpose as she comes into contact with half-a-dozen brilliant one- or two-scene performances. (Do you think Alfred Molina can pull off a lawyer who hates himself so much that he can't sleep? You would be right.)

Promising Young Woman delivers as an interrogation of double standards and rape culture, but in quiet ways it's also about our outsized trust in professionals and the notion that some trauma cannot be overcome.

INSTANT CLASSICS

2. Soul (Pete Docter)- When Pete Docter's Up came out, it represented a sort of coronation for Pixar: This was the one that adults could like unabashedly. The one with wordless sequences and dead children and Ed Asner in the lead. But watching it again this week with my daughter, I was surprised by how high-concept and cloying it could be. We choose not to remember the middle part with the goofy dog stuff.

Soul is what Up was supposed to be: honest, mature, stirring. And I don't mean to imply that a family film shouldn't make any concessions to children. But Soul, down to the title, never compromises its own ambition. Besides Coco, it's probably the most credible character study that Pixar has ever made, with all of Joe's growth earned the hard way. Besides Inside Out, it's probably the wittiest comedy that Pixar has ever made, bursting with unforced energy.

There's a twitter fascination going around about Dez, the pigeon-figured barber character whose scene has people gushing, "Crush my windpipe, king" or whatever. Maybe that's what twitter does now, but no one fantasized about any characters in Up. And I count that as progress.

1. I’m Thinking of Ending Things (Charlie Kaufman)- After hearing that our name-shifting protagonist moonlights as an artist, a no-nonsense David Thewlis offers, "I hope you're not an abstract artist." He prefers "paintings that look like photographs" over non-representational mumbo-jumbo. And as Jessie Buckley squirms to try to think of a polite way to talk back, you can tell that Charlie Kaufman has been in the crosshairs of this same conversation. This morose, scary, inscrutable, expressionist rumination is not what the Netflix description says it is at all, and it's going to bother nice people looking for a fun night in. Thank God.

The story goes that Steven Spielberg and George Lucas, when constructing Raiders of the Lost Ark, sought to craft a movie that was "only the good parts" with little of the clunky setup that distracted from action. What we have here is a Charlie Kaufman movie with only the Charlie Kaufman moments, less interested than ever before at holding one's hand. The biting humor is here, sometimes aimed at philistines like the David Thewlis character above, sometimes at the niceties that we insist upon. The lonely horror of everyday life is here, in the form of missed calls from oneself or the interruption of an inner monologue. Of course, communicating the overwhelming crush of time, both unknowable and familiar, is the raison d'etre.

A new pet motif seems to be the way that we don't even own our own knowledge. The Young Woman recites "Bonedog" by Eva H.D., which she claims/thinks she wrote, only to find Jake's book open to that page, next to a Pauline Kael book that contains a Woman Under the Influence review that she seems to have internalized later. When Jake muses about Wordsworth's "Lucy Poems," it starts as a way to pass the time, then it becomes a way to lord his education over her, then it becomes a compliment because the subject resembles her, then it becomes a way to let her know that, in the grand scheme of things, she isn't that special at all. This film jerks the viewer through a similar wintry cycle and leaves him with his own thoughts. It's not a pretty picture, but it doesn't look like anything else.

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bigskydreaming · 5 years ago

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Height discourse confuses me so much, because I, a 4'9 21-year-old Asian perceives anyone taller as tall. But reading international posts saying 5'6 is small makes me double-take, like, "Wut?"

LOL, ahh yes, the infamous “How Tall IS Dick Grayson Actually” discourse. I feel you. And I can definitely see how it would be bemusing as hell given your perspective, lmao.

And I mean, its definitely up there on the list of “Things I Can’t Believe There’s Actually Discourse About” buuuuuut I’m not really judging because I know damn well there’s a fuckton of shit I’ve Discoursed about on pretty much everyone else’s “Things I Can’t Believe There’s Actually Discourse About” list.

*Shrugs* But I also do get why it exists, if you scratch beneath the surface - as is often true of a lot of seemingly inane discourses. Its not really about height so much as it is about the why’s of writers specifying certain heights for him, and stereotypes associated with height.

On the one hand, you’ve got the fans who look at writers who make a point of writing Dick as particularly short, or the shortest of the Batfam once all of them are adults, and think: this is because of fandom’s fixation with writing Dick as effeminate or the least ‘manly’ of the Batfam, and thus I dislike it and do not trust this writer’s take on him.

Then on the other hand, you have the fans who look at objections like this and think: this is because of bullshit fostered by the toxic masculinity and sexism that’s so present in society, even women can be guilty of perpetuating the idea that there’s anything TO object about there, that a man being effeminate or less ‘manly’ than his brothers is some kind of insult or slight against him in the first place.

But then go back to the first hand.....

And on the one hand, of those fans, you’ve got the fans that don’t actually think there’s anything insulting about a man being effeminate or less manly themselves, but given that the bullshit fostered by the toxic masculinity and sexism in society is so everpresent, even women can be guilty of perpetuating the idea that ‘shorter = weaker’ etc, etc.......its not him being written as short that’s objectionable to them, its what they believe the writer is implying by making that distinction that they’re objecting to, like that it reads to them as though its being used as a smokescreen to create associations in readers’ minds, with the idea of him being weaker or softer or whatever the fuck compared to his brothers, without those writers actually having to SAY what they’re getting at there and spell it out. Plausible deniability kinda thing.

And then on the other hand, you have those fans who object to writing Dick as short because they actually DO buy into that bullshit and they ARE simply objecting to the idea itself because of toxic masculinity and sexism and etc etc.

But then go back to the original second hand.....

And on the one hand THERE, you have the fans whose responses to people objecting about writing Dick as short are based on exactly what they say they are......pointing out that its only objectionable if its viewed as insulting and the only reasons its viewed as insulting are toxic masculinity and sexism which they’re calling out as being perpetuated here.

And on the other hand there, you have those fans who DO buy into the associations between ‘shorter = weaker’ and actually ARE writing things that way with the intent of hoping to form that association in the minds of any readers who similarly buy into those lines of thought or are susceptible to it......and are simply using ‘arent you the REAL misogynist here for thinking shorter equals more feminine which equals weaker or frail or whatever’ arguments that are simply typical flipping the script tactics and hiding behind buzzwords they don’t actually believe in themselves but know are effective in getting people to back down, etc, etc. The plausible deniability thing.

And I’ve been out of hands here for awhile now, obviously, but you get what I mean. Round and round and round it goes, with the true point always hidden juuuuuuust beneath the surface, and more than a little tedious to have all unpacked and catalogued like here, which is a major factor in why so many people rarely dig beneath the surface of a seemingly inane discourse to get at what people are REALLY arguing about but nobody wants to ‘lose ground on’ by being the first to admit to.

As for me, again, this really isn’t a dicourse that I spend much time on because I’d rather cut straight to the point of an argument in general, and this isn’t an discourse that’s particularly amenable to people doing that, obviously.

And also, I honestly just don’t care that much. LOL. Yeah, I often read works where Dick is singled out as being distinctively shorter and feel an author is trying to ‘imply’ something and its the implications of that which are the source of any ‘Not Good, Scoob’ feelings rather than because I agree with what’s trying to be implied. But y’know......when an author IS playing that game and they actually do buy into toxic and sexist stereotypes.....I mean, there’s literally always other indications of this in their work, giving them away all over the place. So there’s honestly never really a time when his height itself is actually what that hinges upon, y’know?

So my big takeaway from all of this is: headcanon and write Dick as whatever damn height you feel like and if you want to imply something about him just fucking say it directly and if you want to accuse someone of something just fucking call it out directly.

*points to the above unpacking of this particular discourse and how fucking tedious and unnecessary so much of it is and all just because people won’t just say what they actually came to say or lay claim to what they actually said*

ANYWAY.

Personally, regardless of how Dick is written in a fic, I will always headcanon him as somewhere between 5′10″ and 6′1″ for reasons that are entirely irrelevant and meaningless to anyone but me, pretty much. LOL.

In my head, Dick obviously has to be that height because he’s walked a runway as a model before. That’s it. That’s the whole reason my mind automatically goes to that span when picturing him or reading something about him.

(As most people who have followed me for a bit know, I spent a number of years working in the TV industry. There were a couple years there where I did a little bit of print modeling too, nothing major at all, but enough to know that the fashion industry has a Very Definitive Thing about male runway models and height: If you are a male runway model, you are between 5′10″ and 6′1″. If you are not between 5′10″ and 6′1″, you are not a male runway model and you never will be. Its a Thing. And not one the industry is shy about.

Because of the fact that the fashion industry is mostly centered around women models with name recognition, and very few men who model have star power specifically in terms of modeling, rather than because of crossover/overlap with acting, there’s a major difference in how designers tend to approach designing for models. Most designers designing runway looks for women do so with specific models already in mind. Most designers designing runway looks for men do so without specific models in mind because there simply aren’t enough male models with the kind of branding/name recognition that does a designer any good.

So designers literally JUST design runway looks for men in that height range, and anyone outside that range would require tailoring that could feasibly throw off an entire runway look. So they just don’t do it, to the point that an agent or manager sending them someone outside that height range to consider for a job means that agent’s not getting called back, because they just gave themselves away as a clear amateur by not knowing better.

Of course, keep in mind that my experiences with modeling are based on the industry re: ten years ago, so it could be that things have changed in this regard since. But that was the status quo then.)

So yeah. Dick Grayson walked a runway for Cheyenne Freemont, thus in my mind he’s obviously between 5′10″ and 6′1″ lolol, because any up and coming designer trying to make a name for herself would absolutely know better than to send out someone shorter than that and still think anyone in the industry would take her seriously.

LOL. I told you it was inane. But in my defense, plenty of people headcanon that Dick HAS to be small because he’s a gymnast, and uh.....that is not how that works. Anyone can be an amazing gymnast, its just that smaller body types lend themselves to gymnastics better than bigger, bulkier bodies. And thus the competition oriented gymnastics SPORT heavily favors cultivating and training gymnasts on the smaller side, because coaches and endorsers are looking for literally any advantage possible.

(Being shorter means you have a lower center of gravity which is a help when balancing, or stabilizing yourself. Its easier for a shorter gymnast to keep their balance or to stick a landing. But it doesn’t become impossible just because someone’s hit six feet tall. It HELPS to be shorter. It doesn’t determine whether or not you can do a trick at all, much like being short and having a lower center of gravity by no means GUARANTEES you have good balance.)

And of course, though Dick excels at a ton of gymnastics, he is not and never has been a gymnast per se....he’s an acrobat. From a family of acrobats. Who have been doing this as a family business generationally, thus.....why would they have future height requirements when training their son in the family business? And being from a family of acrobats doesn’t ensure you’re going to be short, if your family members are not already short to begin with. Evolution does not give a fuck about future employment opportunities when selecting which gene sequences to flip on while in utero.

The correlation is ‘most gymnasts who excel at gymnastics feats are small,’ not ‘to excel at gymastic feats, you must be small.’

I am absolutely and completely just rambling now and have been for awhile so I’m gonna go beat up my insomnia until it caves and lets me go the fuck to sleep.

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badatusernames · 5 years ago

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CHOJI, SHIKAMARU, LEE, GAARA & HINATA!! ITS A LOT IM SORRY

THANK U FOR THIS...admittedly some answers may be a lil short just so i can like. Get to them all.

EDIT: IDK WHY IT LOOKS LIKE THIS. IM SO TIRED. IM SORRY ITS JUST A LONGASS NARUTO POST ON YOUR DASH I TRIED MY FUCKIN BEST YALL

SEND ME A CHARACTER AND I’LL DO THIS;

Chouji (man i’ve seen it spelled both ways and i’m just used to typing Chouji at this point sorry)

Sexuality Headcanon: Pansexual!! Gender Headcanon: Cis male A ship I have with said character: SHIKAMARU. SHIKAMARU. SHIKAMARU. SHIKAMARUUUU, my god...just, everything about their dynamic makes my heart melt, the way they’re both people who are easily dismissed by others and how they have such UNFALTERING FAITH in each other. chouji knows how much of a genius shikamaru is, knows very well the fact that despite his laziness, once he commits to something he’s in it for the LONG HAUL, the way shikamaru just believes so steadfastly in chouji, considering him stronger than NEJI FOR FUCKS SAKE...they like. get one another, the kind of relationship where you can be yakking away one minute and then just sitting in contented silence the next. they can just laze around. maybe play video games and snack. and sometimes...kiss. and it’s so chill even with that latent tenderness their later relationship develops and they both just feel so safe and KNOWN and familiar like. love your best friend. anyway everyone slept on shikacho and y’all should be ashamed the naruto fandom is enormous and finding pretty much ANY content for it is almost impossible aside from the small (if lovely and amazing) tag and i’m pretty hyperfixated on it if you couldn’t tell holy SHIT. A BROTP I have with said character: i’m really not a fan of ino taking potshots at him for his weight and outright shaming him, but once she grows out of that i absolutely love their friendship. listen, you know that post thats like--hold on

thats just them, thanks. A NOTP I have with said character: i have nothing against karui but canon is fucking dead to me and my opinions on p much all the “endgame” ships range from utterly neutral to absolute loathing. their relationship is on neither end of the spectrum, but. eh. definitely not into it. A random headcanon: he keeps nursing injured animals back to health because he’s just that fucking sweet and bringing them back to his house to keep them warm and safe while they recover and his team knows vaguely about this and ino and shikamaru like to poke fun at him for it but since they don’t tend to encounter said animals, it’s not really a huge deal.

of course they stop by his house one day bc he hadn’t shown up for training which is annoying and frankly a little concerning and finding the house mostly empty ino just bursts on into chouji’s room only to immediately have the opossum he’s been caring for latch its little paws on her face and cling.

it’s a bad morning. General Opinion over said character: literally one of my absolute favorites of all time and it really breaks my heart how overlooked he is in the fandom (seriously y’all...). i think kishimoto is kind of a stupid hack and the Fat Jokes are really grating and it sucks to see that so intrinsically tied to his character (like. just let him be fat. jesus christ) but his kindness and overall relaxed, loyal and lovable nature has me just melting. i adore him.

Shikamaru

Sexuality Headcanon: He’s gay, scoob. (I could also talk a lot about how his earlier misogyny is both a product of being a whiny tween and also some internalized frustration of like WHATS SO GREAT ABOUT GIRLS. UGH. I DONT. STOP TELLING ME IM GONNA FALL IN LOVE WITH ONE ONE DAY DAD JESUS. and let’s be real, thats frustrating, even if it aint an excuse) Gender Headcanon: he uses he/him pronouns because it’s just what he’s used to and comfortable with but man gender is such a drag... A ship I have with said character: SEE ABOVE SHIKACHO RANT A BROTP I have with said character: naruto! he and naruto have a really adorable friendship and i love love LOVE that he and chouji were shown to be kind and accepting of him even when most people were shunning him. also he’s so fucking dumb i love seeing shikamaru meticulously plan out something only to have naruto shriek into battle and ruin all of it. love those guys. stupid bros. A NOTP I have with said character: ok. im sorry i just. loathe sh*katema i really do. i haaaate the way kishimoto writes this whole “ew a GIRL” “ew a MAN” vibe with the like OOOH BUT THEYRE GONNA LIKE EACH OTHER vibe like.

don’t get me wrong i adore them as friends, i think they’re fantastic scathing and witty pals who bitch about anything and everything including each other

but they’re also both gay and kishimoto can suck my nuts byeeee A random headcanon: sometimes pakkun just fucking Shows up and chills with him. shikamaru wants absolutely no part of this but is way too lazy to like. do anything about it so it’s just this guy and a dog sitting in a field chillin and occasionally him piping up like ‘hey kid. remember when i bit your hand? yeah? haha, man time sure does fly.” while shikamaru is just. go aWAY. General Opinion over said character: if you told 9 year old me watching naruto for the first time my favs were gonna be a three way tie of lee, shikamaru and chouji i never would have fucking believed you but here we are. i love him. i absolutely love him. he’s such a whiny bastard and a really good depiction of burnout genius who doesnt want to do ANYTHING, but his intellect is an absolute DELIGHT to watch. i love him very much.

Lee

Sexuality Headcanon: he’s pan!! this is a boy that crushes easily and crushes hard on just about anyone!!!! Gender Headcanon: cis male A ship I have with said character: ok i ship him a lot with neji actually? what with how neji grows during the course of the series to regard lee with the respect he deserves is really sweet and there’s just something so infinitely adorable about him going around being the hammiest, most ridiculously earnest, kind and enthusiastic person and neji, now that he isn’t constantly bitter and angry at the world can finally really see that? lee is always happily dropkicking his way into his life, like he wouldn’t have it any other way, and i think that’s just...so sweet A BROTP I have with said character: SAKURAAAAA. oh my GOD do i adore their relationship. ever since lee saved her and basically just gave her a glimpse of his...lee-ness, the fact her negative opinion of him IMMEDIATELY flipped and gave her such a strong admiration and fondness for him kills me DEAD. she always treats him with so much respect and the fact she’s quick to rag on anyone making fun of him melts my HEART!! and on lee’s side, his little crush on her is adorable of course, but the sheer strength of the friendship that comes from it is more than infatuation could ever offer him. i want them to hang out together and talk about their troubles...i want them to make each other laugh and be so very kind to each other...i want sakura to storm over and throw him over her shoulder to TAKE A BREAK ALREADY when he’s been training too hard for too long. god. A NOTP I have with said character: honestly i’m pretty happy with a lot of lee ships! the only ones i view with obvious disdain are the ones with creepy age gaps honestly. A random headcanon: out of everyone in the leaf genin, he’s probably the closest anyone’s ever come to someone who EVERYONE is at least distantly friendly towards. like god have you SEEN how warm and inviting and concerned he is the SECOND he sees that naruto is feeling down? i get the sense he’s immediately inclined to provide that kind of support to any of his comrades, even the ones that Resist it.

you think sasuke is the most popular among the leaf genin? puh-LEASE. everyone looks on rock lee with at least a LITTLE bit of warmth. thats just fact. General Opinion over said character: since my first viewing of naruto he has been my Absolute fav, and while chouji and shikamaru are veeery close to stealing that spot, one look at him and i feel he’s gonna be on top forever. probably the best written character kishimoto’s ever produced that’s remained in the main cast (tho i dont speak for shipudden onwards who fucking knows, but the truth of it is is i adore rock lee)

Gaara

Sexuality Headcanon: Panromantic Asexual Gender Headcanon: kind of like shikamaru, i feel like he uses he/him pronouns but also doesn’t particularly....Care? A ship I have with said character: ok so it wasnt until my naruto rewatch that i really started falling into this but i think him and naruto are super cute? while i loathe kishimoto for ruining so much abt this show he really is good at creating good foils to naruto, and gaara is no exception--and the way naruto changes his life by just kicking his ass (and proving he’s not just a Simp or smth) and then just, extending genuine empathy and a REAL sense of truly relating to where he’s coming from re:his upbringing? the EFFECT it has on him, bro!!!! my god!!! i feel like they’re that opposites attract ship that don’t clash constantly but instead fall into this adorable synergy and understanding? and i think thats so sweet A BROTP I have with said character: ...is it cheating to just put temari and kankuro here? bc they are literally his siblings but my GOD do i love their relationship. there’s something so deeply sad about their initial situation??? like having siblings that either are deeply fucking afraid of you or clearly don’t care for your well being whatsoever, it’s such a tragic scenario, and the times where they really do show legitimate care for gaara just breaks my heart...but the GROWTH. THE DEVELOPMENT. THE HEALING. i love the sand siblings so much, i am a STRONG advocate of seeing the development from estranged family to loving, occasionally bickering siblings who absolutely Love Each Other A NOTP I have with said character: uhhhh same with lee in that i don’t really mind most of the ships i’ve seen him in? while i don’t particularly ship gaalee i think its also Very Cute, and really it all just seems pretty valid as long as people aren’t being creepy? A random headcanon: i’ve been wracking my brain for one for a good 20 minutes and i just don’t have one he’s such a mystery to me/????? i love him but he is an enigma?? General Opinion over said character: oh my god he’s such an edgelord in the beginning. i’ve been doing a lot of this naruto rewatch with my friend @drashseed (a simply phenomenal fella 10/10 follow him) and every single time he talked the only valid response just became “ok gaara”

but his backstory? utterly HEARTWRENCHING. and his growth is just. absolutely divine, i adore him. thank you mister sandman for doing so much for us all.

Hinata

Sexuality Headcanon: Bisexual Gender Headcanon: cis woman A ship I have with said character: listen. i think kibahina is........Really Really cute. he cares about her so MUCH??? and there’s a certain tenderness to his interactions with her that’s just really evident whenever you see em together? i really love that you get the sense hinata is COMFORTABLE around him!!! like! i feel like hinata really deserves to have a partner who sees her when she ISN’T blushing and stammering? when she’s like? legitimately comfortable and being HERSELF? (dgmw the blushing is adorable i fucking love her but its one of the gripes i have with naruhina that so much of it is just naruto being oblivious and her having a small panic attack) the comfort she and kiba have make for a chill, adorable relationship i just cry over constantly A BROTP I have with said character: so i was GONNA put naruto here, but technically i already put him there for shikamaru’s so i’m gonna say neji!!! uhhh OBVIOUSLY they got off to a. very rough start but the way their dynamic changed (or perhaps in a way reverted back to the times they interacted before neji’s father died and temporarily killed his Human Decency) into this respect and fondness that’s just...such a delight to watch? i’m a SUCKER for slow and mutual reconciliation and there are just so many sweet moments between them. they are FAMILY, BRO!!! THEY CARE FOR EACH OTHER, BRO!!!!!!!!!! A NOTP I have with said character: ...at the risk of sounding like a broken record, i think a lot of hinata ships are quite cute? i guess i’m gonna have to say sasuke. because like.

has. he ever even looked at her. please. jesus christ. she deserves so much better. A random headcanon: she is a LOT physically stronger than she looks!! a lot of her combat techniques rely on taijustu after all so it’d make sense that she puts a lot of effort into physical training alongside chakra control.

i’m trying to say she’s strong. not as strong as sakura but. she can lift her bf up over her head (he’s dying hes dying he’s dYING he lOVES HER SO MUCH). it’s pretty fuckign badass

General Opinion over said character: i LOVE her??? honest to god i really really do--honestly while i dislike the direction they went in canon with her, i really loved seeing her be motivated to grow and change the parts of herself she hated to become a stronger person.

that and she’s so fucking cute and sweet and i just??????? bless her honestly.

#naruto #shikacho #narugaa #nejilee #kibahina #they speak #i cant tag everyone fuck #is this formatting fucked up? i can't tell it wouldnt post before #long post

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theda-rison · 4 years ago

Text

Camp Nano July 2020 - Results, Discussion, and Conclusion

the Like, wow, Scoob!

Camp Nano July 2020 is done, and here are some thoughts:

I always knew that writing a comic script was going to be a learning experience - I’ve never written a comic script so it really couldn’t be anything except for a learning experience - but hoooooo boy, was it ever!

Before starting I couldn’t find anything on how long comic scripts normally are; I don’t know why, that just seems information that isn’t really shared? (If anyone knows of a resource, please send it to me!) I’m guessing it has a lot to do with there just being less comic writers than there are say, book writers and movie writers. That’s probably what happens when your interests are niche in some way, it’s just harder to find anything about them.

FORTUNATELY, I have the fancy library-bound volumes of The Sandman, and there’s excerpts of the scripts in the back. Which like… thank you @neil-gaiman, or whoever made that decision, because being able to look at an actual script and see how it’s formatted and what’s included has been the biggest help. Even the “How to Write a Comic Script!” videos I found on YouTube didn’t have example scripts which... I don’t know, I don’t get it. Please include examples, comic YouTubers. I am confusion.

Now is the time for a sexy graph, because we are the kind of people who keep Excel spreadsheets of word counts and make graphs for fun.

Anyway, let’s look at…

youtube

[Good. I was listening to As The World Falls Down by David Bowie over and over, and now this is stuck in my head again. I don’t know why I do these things to myself. Also, I love Peter Tork’s face during some of the “AAAHHHH”s lol]

I can’t remember if I stated this before or during Camp at any point, but my goal was 60k words. I dislike aspiring for un-round numbers like “1667″ every day. Any number I could possibly pick is arbitrary, but for some reason the classic Nanowrimo number of 1667 seems even more arbitrary. “2000″ is a much better number. And, I can generally write 2000 words in two hours before running out of steam, so it works out well. It also divides better.

Having said that, you might be thinking, “Theda, the end Actual number on your graph is a lot closer to 90k than it is 60k,” and you would be right, good eyes. Were I Brandon Sanderson and you were one of my students, I would toss you a gummi bear. As it is, you’re not my student and I have no gummi bears and I’m not even Brandon Sanderson… so life is just upsetting I guess.

[But I am back to listening to As The World Falls Down, so I suppose it all works out.]

Back to the graph: The Actual. Look at this wavy-fucking-scalloped-fucking progression. Look at it. I can’t tell if it makes me happy or angry or what, but I know it gives me some kind of feeling. I think I like it from a purely aesthetic point of view, but from the point of the view of the person who made it, it annoys me.

I had a couple of days where I - in my infinite stupidity - didn’t really elaborate on what was supposed to happen in some of the scenes in my scene list and so I spent my “Writing!” time (as it’s labeled in my planner) not writing, but looking at the page cursing myself for not having written any directions for me, a directionless person.

You may also notice that the Goal bars suddenly jump up on the 24th day,. That’s because - in my infinite wisdom - I redid my goals after reaching 60k. It just makes more sense to me to be like, “Well, I punched that goal in the face. Let’s try and go WAY overboard,” because I have the Too Much gene and as Henry Rollins says: “Don't do anything by half. If you love someone, love them with all your soul. When you go to work, work your ass off. When you hate someone, hate them until it hurts.” I wouldn’t say that’s a personal philosophy so much as a Thing I Am Compelled To Do Or I Will Die.

But that’s just me.

As for the trend line, I prefer it looking more steep because that’s way more gratifying, but that’s what I get for writing parts of my scene list like, “That’s okay, Future Me will take care of it!” Past Me, you are a dick and you need to stop doing these things. You are a bastard.

Now for the table!

[I’m sorry if that’s very small.]

And this time I’m showing you the actual table I use to write down my words. Complicated? Yes. Sexy? Very yes. A little annoying? Also yes. Do we get a little worried that she works too hard and refuses to take a vacation? We do, but we also know that she does it because she loves her work, and we love and support her and bring her snacks throughout the workday to keep her going. What a great table.

First of all: Yes, my first writing block is at 4am. It’s because I have a day job and if I write from 4-6 I can use my brain right when it’s freshly slumbered instead of using it for nonsense at work all day and being unable to write and aggravated because my mental capacity is nil and I no longer know what words are. In an ideal world I would be able to write all day but, here we are.

You might notice there’s a lot of 0’s in the 4am block, especially in the fourth week, and that’s more so because - in my infinite infiniteness (infinity?) - I am secretly an ice giant (but like, smaller) and it’s summer and the northern hemisphere is Too Hot and I literally will not be able to sleep at night until about December. Until then, I am forced to understand what it’s like to be a jacket potato for half of the year so I can empathize with their starchy pain because this is, for whatever reason, Important.

It me. (Recipe)

Anyway,

My record day was 7519 on the 10th, which is just sexy and fun and cool and everything we want, and my lowest was a big fat 0 on the 16th.

I felt super motivated for reasons I don’t remember on the 10th. This is because I didn’t have my planner yet and was not keeping notes anywhere else at that time. (It’s an undated Daily Passion Planner, in case you’re also a slut for planners and wish to know ;) ). I think I was trying to do a 10k day just for funzies? Which, technically, at 2k words in 2 hours I should be able to do 10k in 5, but cell phones exist (and are too distracting), and until I shed my corporeal form I still have to do things like “make food and eat it,” and “get up to pee,” and “experience all the vagaries and horrors of human existence.” I’m hoping it clears up soon.

The 16th was the day that Future Me took Past Me by the hand and said, “My good bitch, you need to stop doing that thing where you leave shit for me because you run out of motivation or executive function or whatever the fuck is happening where you decide you don’t want to do something anymore, seemingly at random. You deciding to leave school before the day even started because you were bored may have been cute when you were a kid - and also annoying for everyone around you, and just alarming that time they had to pry your hands off the door molding as you held on to it and screamed - but as an adult you are both the cause of and the person who has to deal with this bullshit, and you need to stop.”

On the 16th I went to the Shrine of the Self (sorry, I’ve been reading a lot of manga lately) and made an offering for forgiveness, and then hunkered down and added a TON of notes and partially written scenes to my scene list. You can see how much that helped; it’s almost like having direction is actually useful, lol.

BUT, despite all that direction and despite punching my goal in the face, breaking it’s glasses, and taking it’s lunch money, the script is not finished!

Here’s some math as of the 23rd:

There are 124 points in my outline On the 23rd, I had completed 44 of those points, at 363 pages or 59,601 words 124 / 44 = 2.81 Now we check: 44 * 2.81 = 123.6 (close enough) So as of the 23rd, the projection for completing the script was: 363 * 2.81 = 1,020 pages 59,601 * 2.81 = 157,479 words

Now, I don’t know what the fuck that means because I don’t really do numbers, but at the time of the 23rd it looked an awful lot like I wasn’t going to finish this Camp project. And uh… hey, that was correct.

So I’m going to be continuing Camp Nano July 2020, but also in August 2020, over about 20 more days (providing I hit my goal every day.)

So:

IF -> I need to get up to 158,000; 158,000 - 86,000 = 72,000 words need to be written. (I'm rounding the total up because I canNOT imagine this script being somehow smaller than that at this point, and I’m rounding my Camp total down because who cares about 72 words?) I divided 72,000 from a few numbers until I got a word goal I was okay with, that I think I can do, here’s that one: 72,000 / 20 days = 3,600 words a day (This would mean I can either do 2k in the morning and then 1600 later, or the reverse. You know, whatever way I feel spicy that day.) THEN -> I need to write 3,600 words a day for 20 days to (hopefully) finish this script before work picks up at the end of August.

And then I’ll chill from the end of August - October (except for maybe some short stories or essays. I have a lot of Thoughts and they need to be purged from my brain for my own good). And then I’ll use Nanowrimo Classic (November) to edit this fucker.

SO… that’s some stuff.

As I said at the beginning this endeavor was only ever going to be a learning experience. Having to write 158k words total doesn’t scare me, the longest thing I’ve written yet was something like 190k words. Trying to finish it before the end of August is the daunting part. Especially since being able to be creative right now just keeps making my brain puke out more ideas, and then there’s too many ideas and I’m just writing them all down and hopefully I can get to them later.

Anyway, good job on Camp Nano July 2020 everyone! We did it!

And if you didn’t do it: don’t worry, you’ll do it next time :D

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lucastheunlucky · 5 years ago

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Who Made Who | Luke&Blanche

Time Frame: Current Who: Blanche & Luke Possible Triggers: Body horror Location: Strawford Park Summary: Luke has been seeing a ghost around him and Blanche offers to help work out where she might be buried. Going back to the mass grave where he was disposed of a few years ago, causes her to lash out. She finally shows her face, and the horrors of exactly who she is and who hurt her.

Blanche pulled her yellow jeep into Strawford Park’s parking lot with a low sigh, sliding into the parking space. She was overly prepared, as per usual. Some might call her paranoid, and they’d be right, but she had seen far too much to not be. She had enough salt in her bag to kill a baby moose, as well a small iron rod, wards, taser, mace, and acid mace. Probably a bit of overkill, but if she was going to be ghost hunting - sorta - with Lucas, then it was better to be overly prepared than not at all. Swinging her backpack on her back, she locked her car and stuffed her keys into her back pocket, walking up to Strawford Park’s gates, immediately tensing. Cemeteries were always haunted, she could feel the spirits lingering inside, and she winced as she lingered outside, waiting for Lucas. She felt him before she saw him, feeling the presence of a ghost coming ath er from a different direction, and she looked up from staring at her shoes and waved. “Hey!” she called, “What’s up? How are you feeling? Any better?”

So Lucas had only one goal in mind with all this-- and it didn’t actually involve him. ‘Do not, under any fucking circumstance, have Blanche get hurt.’ There was nothing else that mattered to him, because answers could always be found in other ways, and there wasn’t a super rush. Even with this ghost-- well-- it wasn’t good, but Lucas could handle it. He waved at Blanche, her smaller stature, backpack, and youthful energy making Lucas concerned already for her safety. “Hey there, Blanche,” he gave a soft smile, and sighed a bit. “I’m feeling a bit sick, but I’m good though. You have some gear on you, stuff to help with ghosts?” He asked, pushing the gate open, and looking out at the gravesite with a thump in his throat. “It's just on the edge, back I think-- better to not walk the middle, yeah?”

“A bit sick?” Blanche’s brows knit together in concern almost immediately. This was why she had wanted to go alone. In theory, the hard part was done, Lucas already knew where the grave was. She walked with him through the gates, grimacing slightly as she nodded. “Yeah, good idea. I - sometimes I have a nasty habit of drawing spirits to me. Something about my aura or something,” Blanche said with a shrug, “So staying away from most of them would be most appreciated. But I do have stuff in my bag that’ll help,” she patted her backpack slightly. “Iron, salt, wards, you know, the usual.” After a moment, she paused and looked at him, concerned once again. “Here, we can go slow, okay? Are you sure you’re up for this”

Lucas chuckled, trying to keep his tone calm and slightly teasing. “Blanche, I don’t know what the usual is for ghosts, so I’m going to have to take your word for it. I’m not the type to grab weapons.” He’d have to remember that though, any new information on supernaturals wasn’t the worst to have. So the ghosts were attracted to her in a bad way, this put a frown on his lips, glad he hadn’t let her come alone. “Listen, if this goes sideways, I want you to come with my brother next time. There’s never a need to have shit like this bother you so aggressively alone.” He almost let out an annoyed growl, but it stopped in his throat. At her pause he looked back. “Of course, I know this seems grim and I don’t feel the best, but what if it helps? If we both feel like we need to turn around-- we will. Want a code word? Something we can just shout and we run like our ma’am’s have a wooden spoon and we’re on our last warning?”

“Oh, I am,” Blanche said automatically, with a shrug. “The type to grab weapons, I mean.” She thought back to when she and Winston went to look at the cursed chest on the beach, going to snap photos and kill Karknoids. The back seat of her old, shitty car had been full of bats, bricks, wasp spray, and anything else she could find. She was a bit more prepared now. “Salt and iron are usually good for ghosts, though. I have wards on me in case I have to ward anything off while I’m here. But I don’t think anything’s going to go sideways.” At least, she hoped not. She let out a low sigh as she rubbed the back of her neck. “Your brother?” She frowned, not sure she liked the idea of that. Blanche wasn’t even sure coming here with Lucas was a good idea for Lucas’ safety, she didn’t want something bad to happen to his brother too. “If he’s alright with that. Does he know about this?” They continued walking, Blanche letting out a low laugh. “A code word? Like we’re spies or something? Do you think we’ll need something like that instead of just saying, Zoinks Scoob, let’s get the hell outta here?”

“Yeah, he will know. I don’t keep anything from him anymore, and he’s in search and rescue, he will be able to help out if we can’t find her body,” Lucas easily said. For some reason, while they walked along the edge, steps careful, and both vigilant to their surroundings, he couldn’t help but think about Regan and how she had suggested having a picnic in a graveyard. He internally smiled at that. Weirdo. She was something special. As they moved, Lucas felt the hair on his arms rise up, and he cracked his neck as it grew stiff, the muscles feeling heavier along his shoulders and making his body groan a little against itself. “Yes, Zoinks, please say that,” he said quietly. He glanced at his phone at the rough map, but in reality, he kinda knew where it was now that he was here. His memory was broken up from the day he was put here, hazy like they were echoes of moments over what actually happened. “Shit,” he glanced down when a surprise of pain made his chest suddenly ache and a wave of dizziness hit him.

Blanche hated graveyards, always had. Whenever her parents would drag her and her little brother to see their great grandparents when they were small. Blanche would scream her head off, even though she was supposed to be the older, more mature one. Her screaming would set her brother off and it would always end with their father snarling at them to stop causing a scene and to behave. After a few failed times, they stopped going. Except Blanche never did stop seeing ghosts. “I can keep my old cartoon references going, if you want. Yabbadabbadoo,” Blanche snorted to herself, shaking her head. The spirit’s presence coming off of Lucas became stronger all of a sudden, causing her to pause as gravel crunched under her sneakers. She turned to look at him. “Lucas?” Blanche asked. Spots of blood were appearing on his shirt. He was hurt? What? “Lucas! Your shirt! Your skin - What - what’s happening? Are you okay?!”

Luke didn’t want to blame the ghost, even if it wanted to hurt him. It wasn’t her fault she died. It was Gotch’s. A low sound vibrated in his chest in a growl. “Yeah--,” he said. “I just felt suddenly sideways, vertigo, tired.” As he finished speaking the familiar southern drawl carried through the graveyard and his heart stopped for two beats before it started into a fumbling race that sent a tremble to his fingertips. ‘Another person with you? So comfortable.’ Lucas refused to look towards where it came from because he knew he wasn’t in town. He’d not heal from losing an arm that fast. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

“She’s what?” Blanche gaped at him. And then she saw her appear before her eyes and Blanche stumbled back eyes wide. This was no girl - well, it was a girl, but it wasn’t quite how it should have been. She was instantly reminded of Lauren Langley’s true form, with intestines spilling out of her body. This was different. The girl was half formed into a wolf, bones bent and broken at odd angles, strange animalistic features and tufts of fur stretched over her skin. The streaked on her face from the large bullet hole in her inhuman skull. Blanche stared in horror, shaking slightly as her stomach churned dangerously. No, she had a job to do. She could be sick later. Come on. She could do this. She swung her bag off her shoulder. “Lucas?” Blanche said. “It’s okay. She’s here and she’s trying to stop you.” Blanche forced some semblance of calm into her voice. “Let him go!” Blanche commanded. “We’re trying to help you. Let him go.”

Stop him. Why? ‘Wouldn’t you want to be free of this suffering?’ The disjointed voice carried through him, and Lucas staggered into a standstill when Blanche tried to speak calmly to something behind him. When he laid at night, his nightmares were mostly seeing his packmates taken away, cut up, beheaded, but also it was this shadow of a monster that lurked in the very furthest points of his vision and whispered to end it. It’s always been this way for him. He’s been terrorized too long by Gotch. His voice would always lurk. Luke starred forward, determined to keep the feeling from scaring him, though his body creaked gently in want to defend himself. “She wants me to stop,” he swallowed thickly, taking a few more steps. He blinked a few more times, refusing to believe what he was hearing, the words kept slipping by, but it ached all of him. “Fuck--” his pulse increased. “Blanche-- forward or back?” he asked.

“Let him go!” Blanche said firmly. She pulled the iron rod from her bag, though she knew the notes she had taken that it wasn’t going to be nearly as effective as she wanted it to be. Oh hell, what was she going to do now. “Lucas, listen to me. Can you hear me. Can you come forward to me?” Blanche asked. Panic was spreading in her body, but she desperately tried to make it go far away. Far, far away. There was a part of her that wished she told Rebecca or Nigel or anyone what exactly she’d be doing today. Mind racing, Blanche had to figure out what she wanted to do now. Go back? No, the longer this thing was attached to his soul meant bad news for Lucas. She didn’t want him to be tormented for that long, he didn’t deserve that. No one deserved that. Could she get the ghost to talk to her? “Look at me!” Blanche demanded. “No you, Lucas. You! The …. Girl. Hello? Can you hear me? Let him go this instant.” Blanche stepped closer to Lucas, almost ready to reach out and yank him towards her. “We want to help you find peace. Don’t you want that? Come on.”

Lucas had amber eyes on her, hair sprouted in places along the highest planes of his arms and knuckles, and he seemed heavier, almost denser as the muscles coiled in tension, but when he looked at her, it was him seeing her with a clear gaze. He refused to have this thing hurt this young woman. Luke could handle it, making him see his worst nightmares even if it made his heart thump at a dangerous pace that stirred him into a wanted shift. He’s been through worse-- he’s suffered so long-- this was nothing. Lucas was a beast with control, and he stepped forward, without restraint, nothing physically holding him back, not that a lot could against a werewolf’s strength. It was what was behind Blanche that made his stomach sour, making it so difficult to stop the paranoia.

‘I want to kill her.’ Gotch smiled and Luke almost shattered, “I can hear you, Velma,” he joked in hopes to not fall into that pitfall, pulling the first name from his pop culture list he could. Blanche’s pulse was high as well, and panic could be easily read and somehow, that was the reassurance he needed to know it was her. “Stay calm,” he took another step. “She has to do a lot to hurt me. I’ve already been to Hell.” The person behind Blanche was Gotch, missing his arm and holding a shotgun at her head. He exhaled and the side of the ghost surfaced just out of his vision near his cheek, her mangled face not the one he always saw but unable to speak from the damage. He took another step. “She hates someone. The one who killed her, it’s all she keeps saying. She keeps showing him to me.”

Velma. Blanche let out a short laugh that sounded more like some type of high pitched tea kettle noise. “I’m as calm as I’m going to get,” Blanche replied. There was a whispering coming from the ghost that she couldn’t quite hear, and she wondered if it was because she was whispering lowly in Lucas’ ear and not to her. She didn’t want to talk to her - made sense, since Blanche actively wanted to get rid of her. But she also wanted her to find some semblance of peace. The girl would never be able to do that leeching off of people’s souls. She stared at Lucas, examining him closely for a moment. The more responsible part of her, whatever was left of that part, told her to turn back. To abandon this and come back by herself or with his brother. She met his eyes a moment. “She’s showing you things that aren’t real,” Blanche said carefully. After a moment, Blanche held out her hand to him. “Take my hand. We’ll go together, okay?”

“I have fallen for them before,” Lucas admitted, and he still couldn’t look Gotch in the eye, and a small part of him could hear Miles saying it would be extremely tough to face him in all fronts. He had to get better. When Blanche moved, and he took her hand, the illusion broke, the shotgun disappeared and the hallucination dissipated. Lucas stepped forward. His mind ached, like nails carving down his skull to believe it all. That it was real, and Lucas didn’t know if it was because he’d had nightmares for so long that he could navigate this, or because there was light before him-- Blanche’s bravery gave him pride, and appreciation. This was why you didn’t do things alone, right? He squeezed her hand to reassure her and the choice, the gravesite was close. They just had to go up a little more. Could he handle that though? Would he suddenly remember moving the dirt pressed on his face and trying to get out of the ground?

“That’s okay,” Blanche said, quietly. She was relieved when he grabbed her hand. Gently, she lead him forward, her eyes still on the mangled form of the girl that was so desperately trying to pull Lucas back. She didn’t understand why she was doing this - then again, Blanche supposed there was no need to know why, just that it was happening in the first place. Was that what her problem was? That she was so caught up in why things happened instead of just taking action and dealing with them as they came? Blanche didn’t know, but it caused a new round of anxiety in her. She clutched the iron rod in her free hand tighter as she pulled Lucas forward.

The weight on his soul seemed to pull and stretch. Like the ghost was tethered and bound to it and leaving his body behind like like a demented balloon. Suddenly something materialized near them and howled a broken, threatening sound. Lucas’ steps stopped, the very instinct to howl back came up without control, and he gritted his teeth as fangs crowded his mouth and his body shifted subtly, swallowing it down as his ribs creaked under his shirt. He turned around and it was Miles, with his face blown off, down to the bone, flesh hung off like a torn bed sheet, only his broken muzzle hung open to let the howl come through, and one eye illuminated and staring at him. ‘Late. Late. Late. This is what happens. Told you, I’d hurt them. I’d cut them. I’d kill him if you went to his side.’ Gotch’s voice whispered in his ear in familiar ways. Lucas stared at his brother, strong emotions a current in his chest, heavy in frustration and fear. His hand fell from hers, taking a step forward. “Don’t show me this--”

Until he wouldn’t go anymore and she stopped too, squeezing his hand tightly. “Lucas?” She asked. She watched his inner turmoil, eyes going from between the girl and him. “Stop it! Leave him alone! Who are you?!” Blanche snapped. Shit. Lucas said a name, seeing some hallucination that she couldn’t see, turning and walking away, his hand falling from hers. Shit. Blanche rushed forward, practically running to cut Lucas off, holding her free hand up to stop him. “Lucas, look at me. It’s okay! It’s okay, it’s not real.” Blanche bit her like and then resigned herself. “Lucas, I need you to send me the map on your phone. So I know where to go, okay?”

He closed his eyes so he wasn’t fooled. Did it mean she actually died here, and wasn’t disposed of? Did Gotch kill her so horribly? “Okay--” Luke opened his eyes, rings of gold in his brown, seeing Blanche. It was impossible not to feel this ghost’s presence now, and it was exhausting him fighting back. He pulled his phone out and quickly sent the map and plot location to her cell. “We have to go, it’s-- this is too dangerous now--” he said, wishing he could keep going but knew he didn’t want to put Blanche in any more danger. They got answers though. This wolf-- they deserved to rest. It was the least he could do.

The ghost was wailing now. A deep, anguished howl erupted from her, and Blanche could feel it ringing in her ears. “Alright,” Blanche said softly, feeling her phone vibrate. She was overwhelmed now, over stimulated by the spirit and Lucas - it happened so often like that. It was easier to be around one instead of both, and Blanche spent the better part of her life wishing it was the live ones. But she could feel this spirit. This girl’s pain. More than that, she could feel just how desperate she was and feel just how close to breaking it was. A session or two with Rebecca hadn’t done much for her senses, other than her focuses on how different sorts of spirits felt, and if Blanche took a moment to breath, took a moment to look at the mangled body of the girl, she knew she didn’t have much time left. She reached for Lucas’ hand and pulled, this time back towards the graveyard gate. “Let’s go home,” she said. And then, she would come back later, without Lucas. So she could deal with this poor spirit herself.

#x: blanche #body horror tw #x: who made who

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raideo · 5 years ago

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update to the Actually Good Sparkling Water Flavors list that I keep:

So there’s this new brand i been seeing called AHA! which I’ve tried a few flavors from- literally have not found a bad one yet, despite some of the flavors being a little unorthodox-

So far I’ve tried the Lime/Watermelon- which is by far my favorite. I feel like lime is just a flavor that always ends up being at least TOLERABLE when it comes to flavored carbonated water-

Strawberry/Cucumber- seems a little weirder bc of the cucumber but I’ve seen other brands have cucumber in their flavorings on account of that people find it refreshing. I’m not a cucumber fan myself- but I liked this flavor a lot!

Orange/Grapefruit- I usually steer clear of grapefruit things- even if they dont have actual grapefruit in them, cuz it’s not my favorite flavor and it’s not good to have it with the meds I take, but i bought this one on my grocery run bc everyone had panic bought up all the “safer” sounding flavors and I wanted to stock up on flavored water (tbh sealed water of aNY form bc tap water here is not good- like not flint michigan bad but its bad) It is decent! I can tolerate it and its even pretty tasty.

Citrus/Green Tea- ok this starts to stray into “idk about this one scoob” territory because I am very picky about the flavors I can have with green tea and lemon is usually not one of them, but again- people had panic bought some of the other options so I decided to try it. I’m VERY GLAD I DID- because holy shit this one might be one of my favorites???? Don’t know if it actually has tea in it, but it’s important to note that it actually DOES have caffeine- but only “about as much as one cup of green tea” whatever that is lmao.

I have not tried any other flavors yet- but I do have pomegranate/blueberry sitting in my pantry so I guess I’ll let yall know how that is

#im very passionate about finding tolerable alternatives to soda for people #I WILL BE YALLS GUINEA PIG #i got my coworker to get off of sugary sodas bc of my sparkling water drinking lmao #rai rambles #sparkling water

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dvp95 · 5 years ago

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quiet on widow’s peak (7)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up tags: paranormal investigator, mystery, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, trans character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 3.5k (this chapter), 23.2k (total) summary: Phil’s got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

“Why don't we just use the door?” Dan hisses, arms wrapped around themself to make up for their thin denim jacket. “It's unlocked.”

“This is the way Mar and I always did it,” Phil hums, watching Sophie move the loose boards away from the window. She's perched on PJ's shoulders like a little bird.

“It's more fun,” Chris offers.

“Plus, entering houses by the door is the quickest way to alert ghouls and neighbours to your arrival,” says PJ.

“I think Martyn just liked showing off. Don't think it was that deep.”

“Done,” says Sophie, patting the top of PJ's head. “You can put me down now.”

With much more care and grace than Phil knows he would have been able to manage, PJ helps Sophie off his shoulders. Phil has dropped all of his friends at least once, so he isn't allowed to be the boost anymore.

Phil hands his bags over to Chris while they're figuring that out. They'd left their laptop bags in the car so they had less to carry - except Dan, whose messenger bag is across their chest like they're prepared to make a quick getaway. Phil can't really blame them, since it's not like they signed up for this the way the rest of them have.

“Wait,” says PJ. He digs around in his jacket pockets until he comes out with a Sharpie marker that he probably stole from Martyn's bedroom. “Give me your arm.”

“You know I was joking about the protection sigils,” Phil says, but he rolls up his sleeve for PJ anyway.

“Well, I sure as fuck wasn’t,” says PJ. He looks at something on his phone before he takes Phil by the elbow and starts drawing something bubbly and almost cute. Phil figures that he’s planned these out, or at the very least had some letters picked out, so he watches the design bloom in fascination.

“What does this one mean?”

“If I told you, it wouldn’t work,” says PJ, pressing one last dot right above the circular shape before he moves on and grabs at Chris’ arm without warning. Chris doesn’t seem to mind, he just lets PJ shove his sleeve up while he looks up at the boarded windows of the townhouse.

“That tickles,” Chris says, but he doesn’t try to take his arm back.

“Shut up, you big baby,” PJ murmurs.

It’s a different symbol that’s coming together on Chris’ skin, and Phil wonders why. Did PJ really make them unique protection sigils? That’s kind of cute and kind of hilarious. He watches Dan out of the corner of his eye as PJ finishes Chris’ sigil and moves on to Sophie’s. Dan’s brows are furrowed and they’re gripping at their own elbows from some combination of cool air and nervousness.

“Dan,” Phil says, shifting closer so they don’t get the whole peanut gallery involved. “You don’t have to be here. It’s okay to be scared.”

“I’m not scared,” Dan says with much less conviction than they’d had in the coffee shop.

Phil pretends to believe them. “But it’s okay if you are.”

The way Dan’s eyes fix on Phil’s makes him feel frozen in place, like Dan can somehow see into his soul. Their eyes are so warm and their lashes are so, so long that Phil feels certain that he won’t be the one to look away first.

“Are you scared?” Dan asks quietly.

Phil is terrified, but that has absolutely nothing to do with the house they’re breaking into. He shrugs, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets and twisting them anxiously.

“This is a pretty normal day for me,” he says. “But I don’t always have a Scooby gang with me.”

The lines around Dan’s mouth deepen before their lips actually curve up, like a tell. Phil is fully prepared to wrestle with the instinct he’s got to stare at Dan’s lips some more, but he doesn’t have to.

“Are you fucking talking about Buffy again?” PJ hisses, bumping his elbow against Phil’s as he joins them. He reaches like he’s going to grab at Dan the same way he’s grabbed at the rest of them, but he hesitates with his hand outstretched. “Er, Dan, can I draw on you, too? I know you don’t believe in this stuff, but it’ll make me feel a lot better.”

“Go nuts,” Dan says, holding out their hand like PJ is a lord who ought to kiss it. PJ, of course, just starts drawing a new shape on the back of it, because that’s the logical conclusion. They watch the lines form shapes with a sort of vague interest.

“I wasn’t talking about Buffy,” Phil feels the need to clarify. “I’m not always talking about Buffy.”

“That’s news to me,” says PJ.

Dan grins, looking a lot more at ease now that the atmosphere is all banter and no ghost stories. “He wasn’t, I can vouch for him. Think he was making a classic Scoob refer-ino.”

“Ah, the ancient texts,” PJ says, his own shoulders going loose as he grins back at Dan. “Wait ‘til he has to take his contacts out later. It’s not as funny hearing someone shout that they can’t see without their glasses when that person is the one in charge.”

“I’m right here,” Phil reminds them. “And Velma was in charge.”

“All set,” PJ says like Phil hasn’t spoken, adding a flourishing tail to the edge of Dan’s sigil.

“Great,” Dan says, dry. “Glad I have my protection from things that are definitely not real. Now what’s keeping me safe from the very real possibility of a human being attacking us?”

“Phil’s crowbar.”

“Oh, sure, that makes me feel loads better.”

“Are you lot coming or what?” Chris hisses, hefting one of the sleeping bags over his shoulder.

Phil breaks away from the conversation with a strange fluttering in his gut that’s completely unrelated to the rush of adrenaline he still gets when he lets Chris and PJ boost him to an unlocked window. He’s not very graceful at the best of times, so he’s glad that he doesn’t do anything stupid like fall flat on his face in front of Dan. He sits on the windowsill and lets the weird vibes from the Wilkins house wash over him again, raising goosebumps down his arms even under his thick jacket. He frowns into the dim kitchen, looking for any sign of life.

“Pass me the bar,” he murmurs, letting a hand dangle without looking back at his friends. It feels like something was waiting for them; there’s an air of anticipation in the very real sensation of being watched.

The cold metal placed in his palm makes Phil feel better, even if he can’t actually do anything with it. He murmurs a thanks and slips into the kitchen, eyes roving over all the shadows and nooks in the old house. He hears Sophie clamber in behind him but he doesn’t turn to look. It feels like turning his back on the darkness will end badly for him.

“Oh, don’t like that,” Sophie whispers. Phil feels her brush against his arm and hears the camera click on as Chris and PJ start the familiar train of passing bags through the window.

“Feels weird, right?” Phil agrees, matching her volume.

He moves further into the house, knowing that his friends will catch up. Sophie stays at his side, pointing the camera into every corner like she, too, is trying to find the source of the invisible eyes that feel glued to them. They’ve done this together fairly often, and Phil has done this by himself even more often, but something about this place, tonight, makes him feel like they’re green again.

Phil tenses when he feels something grip at the back of his jacket, but then the something speaks with Dan’s voice.

“Okay, why don’t we turn on the lights?” Dan whispers, right in Phil’s ear. Phil shivers. Some new goosebumps might rise, as well, but there’s no real way to know for sure. He isn’t about to roll up his sleeves and check.

“Why would we do that?” Phil asks. He doesn’t tell Dan to let go of him, and they don’t. Dan keeps hold of the back of his jacket even as he leads the way to the lounge, and Phil spares a moment to consider how weird this is going to look if Sophie is getting it on camera. Like he’s Dan’s guide dog or something.

“Oh, I don’t know,” says Dan, “so we can see?”

“It’s not really that dark in here,” Phil says with a little huff of a laugh. “And we’ve got torches.”

The noise Dan makes is unhappy, but they don’t protest. Phil shakes his head, directing his smile at the unlit fireplace so Sophie can’t pick it up.

“Fuck this,” Chris’ voice comes from the hallway, much too loudly.

Phil and Sophie sigh in harmony.

“What’s he doing?” Dan hisses, and Phil turns to give them a longsuffering sort of look.

“Chris doesn’t like this part,” says Phil. He doesn’t bother whispering, because Chris is already knocking things against walls and shouting nonsense. “Being sneaky doesn’t come naturally to him, so he prefers to just announce that we’re here and ruin my shots. I usually edit this out.”

As ridiculous as Chris’ methods are, Phil feels the weight of invisible eyes on them lift. He should probably be annoyed at Chris for scaring the presence away or antagonizing it, but it feels like he can breathe again, like they truly are alone in this room, and he’s got to give Chris the credit for that.

When Chris joins them, an irritated PJ at his shoulder, he looks altogether too proud of himself. Both of them glance at Dan’s hand, still gripping onto Phil.

“Thanks for that,” Phil says dryly, stopping any commentary before it starts.

“Welcome,” says Chris, bright. “Shall we upstairs?”

The Wilkins place isn’t all that scary now that the weird vibes are gone, it’s just creaky and dark and dusty. Phil is fine with that - the place he lives is all of those things, too - but every small noise under their feet makes Dan twitch. They’ve shifted to tugging on Phil’s sleeve instead, sticking so close to Phil’s side that he can feel their body heat.

PJ leads the way to the attic, talking a mile a minute to the camera about the way he’d felt the first time he was here, and Phil pulls Dan to a stop a few feet from the rest of the group.

“You seem a little stressed,” Phil says, trying to hide a grin. He doesn’t want Dan to think he’s mocking them, but it’s just a little cute.

Dan’s eyes are wide and their bottom lip is extra chapped from how many times they’ve dug their teeth into it, but they still manage to scoff. “I’m not stressed,” they insist. “And I’m not scared. I’ve been here before, y’know.”

“You’ve been here for parties,” says Phil. “It’s a bit of a different vibe.”

“Little bit,” Dan admits.

“I’m not making fun of you,” says Phil. He pats Dan’s arm with his crowbar-less hand. “It’s okay to be scared.”

“You’re not scared.”

“I’ve been doing this a really long time,” Phil reminds them. It’s the sort of thing that Dan must objectively know, but they look a little sheepish like maybe they’d forgotten.

“It’s not that I’m scared of, like, ghosts or something stupid like that,” Dan says, letting go of Phil’s sleeve and scratching the back of their neck. He feels a bit bereft for it. “I just don’t really like the dark, y’know, and maybe I get freaked out sometimes just watching your videos, and I kind of expected it to be less scary IRL but it’s actually way worse so I don’t really know what to do with that.”

The number of words they can fit into one breath is truly incredible to Phil. He smiles at them and watches redness blossom in patches across their cheeks as they realise how much they’re talking without saying anything at all.

“That’s cute,” Phil blurts out.

Dan bites their lip again, smiling a bit. Before they can say anything, though, there’s a sort of crashing noise from the general direction of PJ and Chris. Phil is very used to this.

“Fuck,” Dan breathes, gripping onto the strap of their messenger bag and flinching when a follow-up bang echoes through the hall. “Why are they like this?”

“I ask myself that question every day,” Phil sighs.

“Boys,” Sophie calls over in her soft, amused voice. “The idiots have got the ladder down. You coming?”

Dan laughs and nods, but Phil takes hold of their arm before they can go too far.

“Hey,” he says. “I can tell her not to call you that.”

The soft look he gets for it, laughter still scrunching Dan’s eyes and showing off their dimples, makes Phil’s chest kind of cave in on itself. They shrug, pulling Phil along the way Phil guided them earlier. “I don’t mind. It’s not inaccurate.”

Phil swallows hard. “It’s not?”

“It’s also not accurate,” Dan says, that softness still all over their face. “We’ll talk about it later if you want to. Just trust me that I’ll say something if one of you makes me uncomfortable, okay?”

“Okay,” Phil agrees, letting himself be dragged instead of letting go.

The floorboards in the attic are dirty and covered in marker, but Sophie finds a nice warm corner to set their sleeping bags up in. Chris is dealing with the camera and voice recorder, checking batteries on all their gadgets while PJ interrogates Dan on where they got their boots.

Phil tunes them all out and starts looking at the different sigils, taking photos and trying to figure out what somebody would possibly need from doing magic in a house that’s been empty for decades. Surely there are better places to open a veil like that. Phil doesn’t know a lot about magic, if it’s even a real thing, but he has a whole heap of assumptions and absolutely none of those point to a townhouse in Rusholme with working electricity.

When his eyes start to feel dry, Phil grabs his rucksack. “Be back in a sec,” he says, dropping the ladder down.

“What?” Dan asks, their voice pitching a little higher. “Where are you going?”

“Bathroom,” says Phil. He hands his crowbar to Dan, because he feels somewhat certain that he won’t need it. “Can’t take my contacts out without washing my hands. I won’t be long, okay? Just hang onto this and don’t listen to anything Chris tells you.”

“I resent that,” Chris chimes in, stretching out on one of the sleeping bags. “See if I let you crawl into bed with me later.”

“When have I ever wanted that?” Phil sighs. He never knows how to react to Chris flirting with him, but it’s so much more awkward when Dan is blinking between them like they’re wondering if they’ve missed something. Whatever Dan is missing, Phil is pretty sure he’s missing it, too. “Like I said, don’t listen to Chris.”

Dan still looks nervous and a little confused, but all Phil can do is give them a reassuring smile before heading back downstairs.

The house is quiet and dim, streetlights streaming through the boarded windows and giving Phil enough vision to find a bathroom. It’s pretty gross, but the tap works and that’s all Phil really needs. He’s got anti-bacterial wipes and a travel-sized hand sanitizer, so that’ll have to substitute for the lack of soap.

Phil never feels more vulnerable than he does when his sight is impaired and no matter how much he blinks, his reflection doesn’t come into focus. In this moment, trying to get his contacts in their pot without incident because he does not trust this countertop, the lights above the mirror turn on. Phil freezes. Blinks. The lights go back off.

Slowly, he reaches for his glasses case. He can’t hear the click of a lightswitch when the lights keep flickering, which rules out his first suspicion of his friends messing with him.

As soon as Phil has his glasses on his nose, it stops. He blinks at himself in the mirror and waits for the lights to turn back off on their own, but they don’t. His hands are shaking a bit as he digs for his pills. With a deep breath, Phil runs the tap again to drink out of his cupped hands.

“If you’re toying with me,” Phil says to the empty bathroom, “then stop, but if you’re trying to communicate with me... do it again.”

Nothing happens. Phil isn’t sure if he should be relieved or not.

Everything gets shoved back into his rucksack with no ceremony, because Phil needs to be out of this small room as soon as possible. He slings it over his shoulder and heads back to the attic with careful steps, his heart pounding in his ears.

Phil doesn’t tell his friends what happened with the lights. It’s such a small thing, could have even been a coincidence, so it doesn’t make much sense to tell them now instead of when they’re all comfortable at the coffee shop again. There’s no point in freaking PJ and Dan out further when they both look like they’re about to crash. They and Sophie are all yawning where they’re curled up on the sleeping bags, in any case, and Phil meets Chris’ eye.

Neither of them are good at sleeping in the best of situations. They always take first watch, and sometimes they don’t end up sleeping at all.

Chris winks and passes Phil a flask. When Phil takes a cautious sip, warm coffee hits his tongue and he hums, wondering when Chris filled this up. It’s good coffee and isn’t making Phil’s heart race, so it’s most likely decaf.

They don’t talk, because PJ is already snoring lightly and Sophie’s head is pillowed on Chris’ thigh. Phil’s friends can fall asleep anywhere. It’s something he’s always been a bit jealous of. He looks down at Dan and feels his heart jump when Dan’s eyes are open and already looking back at him. The red patch on Dan’s cheek appears again, and Phil watches it in fascination.

Dan is pretty. There’s no real denying that one. They give Phil a sheepish little smile at being caught staring and close their eyes, curling close enough that Phil could reach down and smooth the curls off their forehead if he was stupid enough to do so.

He’s not that stupid. He hands Chris’ flask back to him and pulls out his phone instead. It’s looking like it’s going to be a quiet night after all, he can probably get a few more levels of Candy Crush out of the way. As much as Sophie makes fun of him for still playing it in 2019, it’s Phil’s favourite time-waster.

When he looks at Dan again, six levels later, Dan’s eyes are open. They aren’t looking up at Phil anymore, though, they’re just staring blankly at the attic wall and breathing shakily.

“Dan?” Phil murmurs, putting his hand on Dan’s shoulder. Dan doesn’t react. “Er, Dan?”

Dan’s body is so tense and their eyes are so wide, but they don’t say anything. They don’t even twitch. Phil looks over at Chris, who frowns and checks on Sophie in his lap. She’s stiff as a board, Phil suddenly notices - and so is PJ, whose unblinking stare is fixed on the ceiling.

“What the fuck?” Chris asks, tapping Sophie’s face lightly.

“I think this is the sleep paralysis,” says Phil. He gives into the urge to brush Dan’s curls out of their eyes, giving them a small comfort from whatever they’re seeing right now.

“How do we fix it?”

Chris doesn’t panic, because he doesn’t do that, but he looks unsettled in a way that Phil hasn’t seen him before. Phil finds himself wondering, not for the first or the last time, what these people mean to each other for this to rattle Chris so visibly.

“I don’t think we can,” Phil says, pulling his knees to his chest and continuing to run his fingers through Dan’s hair. He’ll apologise if he has to, but he likes to think that he’s helping in some small way. “When Dan told me about this happening, they said that nobody was able to wake the others up. I think we just have to wait it out.”

“I hate that,” says Chris. He laughs humourlessly and cups Sophie’s chin, tilting her face from side to side. “Fuck. It’s like she isn’t even home.”

Phil looks at Dan’s eyes again. They’re the same colour and shape as they’ve been all night, but the warmth and sparkle are completely gone. A shiver runs through Phil at the sight, and he bites his own lip. “Yeah. Yeah, I hate it, too.”

#quiet on widow's peak #phanfic #phanfiction #dnp fic #phan #words words words

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scoobydoominuscoobydoo · 5 years ago

Text

The Meddling Kids in the Car

FF.Net & AO3

Darkness.

Silence.

Pain shooting through his leg.

And then he hears grunting, someone struggling to breathe; he can sense tears trying force their way to the front.

Shag realizes that the darkness is being caused by his eyes being shut.

When he does open his eyes he finds that the darkness is barely improved; his world being illuminated by a single car light above him.

It’s that observation that tells him he’s in a car, and after further investigation he can see that he’s cramped up in the back seat. That tells him this isn’t the Mystery Machine or any other form of big car, any small car never has enough leg room for him.

The next observation he makes is that the sounds of struggle from before were coming from the front seat. Shaggy directs his attention towards the front and only needs a moment to spot an orange turtle-neck.

“Velms?”

When he speaks his tongue feels like sand paper and the air is almost damp when he breathes it in.

How long has he been out?

His brunette friend turns to look at him and he sees her face light up, he also notices a large, purple bruise on her temple.

“Shag holy shit! I thought your were dead for a second there.” She says this with a chuckle in her voice and her eyes begin to tear up. She leans back in the driver’s seat and smiles brightly at him, making him worry that he had been out for longer than a couple hours.

Now that his brain is finally orienting itself he takes another crack at examining his surroundings.

“Like sorry to disappoint...” He says softly and earns another chuckle from Velma.

He can definitely confirm that they are in a small car.

And judging by the darkness around the windows it’s late at night.

They must be locked in the car or something because Velma was trying to force open the the driver’s side door. But cars can’t be kept locked from the inside, there should be a way for her to unlock it.

And why was it so damn hot?

Shaggy hadn’t realized it at first but it was definitely sweltering; sweat was dripping from his brow and his breathing had become labored.

Then he took a closer look out the window next to him - his blood went cold.

“Ve- Velma? Whe-Where are we?”

Velma stares somberly at him and takes a deep breath, as if trying to keep her emotions in check, “We’re underground. Buried alive.”

Hour One:

“What’s the last thing you remember Shag?”

Her words kinda echo for a second, he keeps trying to pull his body out of a state of panic because in a cramped area like this that could result in death.

How many hours had they been in here?

How many hours did they have left?

“Shaggy!”

He jumps and looks back at her, suddenly remembering that she had asked him something.

He runs a hand through his hair, “I-...I-uh....remember we were at the haunted amusement park looking for Ferdinand the Torture Clown and-”

“That’s not his name.”

“It’s a better name, don’t interrupt me or I’ll forget what I was talking about.” Velma rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, her version of admitting defeat.

“Like, thank you. And.... um Freddie had us split up. You and me plus Scoob - him and Daph?” She nodded and he continued, “So like, you and I were at the employee parking for the clown rental shop just outside of the park. You were on one side and I was on the other.” He looks down at his lap to sigh, he’s been short of breath since he woke up.

“I-.... I remember you calling me over to see something but.... by the time I got to where you were you were passed out and on the ground. Like, I didn’t even get a second to process before I heard a honk and saw bright lights. Th- That’s all I can remember.”

Velms nods, “That matches up with my memories. Somebody came up from behind right after I called for you and then clocked me in the head.” She points up to her lovely bruise, “And then they must’ve sauntered off and waited for you so they could run you over.”

“What?!”

Velms raises an eyebrow at him, “You know? Like with a car?”

“I got run over by a car?!”

“Well dur, did you think that nasty number on your leg was from me?”

Shaggy can’t believe his ears, he follows Velma’s gesture toward his left leg and instantly feels sick. It’s bent unnaturally and on top of the lovely mixture of dirt and blood its got going on, it’s also leaking some sort of pus that is making his stomach churn.

It’s right then that the pain coming from his leg registers, and it must show on his face because Velma steps in, “The adrenaline must’ve been distracting you from the pain...”

He groans, knowing he shouldn’t touch it but desperately wants to do something with it.

“Agh! I-Is is supposed to hurt this much?”

Velma bite her lips for a moment, “I-.....I don’t know. I’ve never been run over by a car.”

He glares at her.

“But it’s probably gonna get worse in these conditions.”

With that, he attempts to move in a more comfortable position, and the pain from the movement causes him to scream.

Hour Two:

“How much air do you think we have?”

“Judging by how long we’ve been in here, the size of the car and a couple hours to count the amount of time we were unconscious; I’d say five...maybe six hours at the greatest.”

“Like, fantastic.”

They’re silent for a few moments after that, and Shag finds that the quiet above ground and the quiet below are very different.

He’s hating the below ground one so far because it’s giving him the head-space to count out the minutes till his death.

And whenever Velma feels the need to break the silence, it feels so much louder now.

“Who do you think did this to us Shag?”

He sighs and gestures up toward the sky, however far up it may be, “I don’t fucking know- my best guess is our good friend Ferdinand but this seems like something above his pay-grade.”

A clown skipping around and turning off roller-coasters suddenly burying two teenagers alive seems like a huge leap. Leaps from dangerous pranks to actual life or death situations were rarely made, and Velma couldn’t picture their mask doing this.

“Yeah, I mean clearly this guy is trying to shut down the park because once it’s shut down the land will be at it’s lowest.”

“Like it’s always something with real-estate...”

This quiet is awful.

They can’t even hear bugs chirping.

No sign of life except for them struggling to breathe.

Velma takes another look towards their main problem, breaking the quiet once more, “How’s your leg?”

Shag also sends a glance its way, hating just how bad it looked, “Like it’s doing great, the pus is really coming along.”

Velms frowns at him and he can tell something is on her mind, but it’s something she’s gotta say gently. Otherwise she would’ve already blurted it out. She sighs before speaking, “It’s swelled up a lot in the past hour...”

“Well yeah, it did come face-to-face with a damn tire.” He musters up a grin, because he hopes that’ll help Velma deliver the bad news.

Her mouth is set in a grim line as she stares at his leg for a few more seconds, gulping as she replies, “I just hope it’s not because of infection....”

Shit.

He had forgotten that was a thing.

“And if it is?”

This time it’s Velma trying to summon the smile, her’s is far less convincing, “It’s gonna be a tough few hours.”

At that moment the only thing Shag can think is, ‘Don’t hyperventilate. Don’t hyperventilate.’

Velma can see that all over his face, “Shaggy if you start to panic then we’ll be out of air a lot faster.”

“You think I don’t know that?!” He almost wheezes that statement out, “Not like it matters anyway. We have no clue where we’re buried and there’s no way that Fred and Daphne will know that we’re under the ground!”

Velma bites her lip and looks away from him, wiping sweat from the bridge of her nose.

She’s not used to being the optimist in any situation, but neither is Shaggy. They both find that it’s impossible to put a positive spin on anything, but Shag’s leg isn’t doing too well and if Velma doesn’t bring the mood up he’s gonna start panicking.

She needs to distract him.

“Ou- There’s always the chance that Fred and Daph catch our guy, and if he’s the one who shoved us down here then Fred will get it out of him.”

He rubs his forehead and chuckles, “Yeah... if Daph doesn’t kill him first.”

She closes her eyes and smiles, “Indeed.”

Shaggy follows her lead and shuts his eyes, letting his head lean back against the window.

Pushing his hands into his pockets and letting his fingers trace over every item. He can feel assorted pieces of paper, candy wrappers most likely, his Commander Cool wallet from way back in grade school, that’s definitely a Scooby Snack in his left pocket. For the first time in his life, he’s starving but not in the mood to eat - won’t do much good in a dead body.

He’ll offer it to Velma in a minute.

Pessimistic as she can be, he knows that she has huge faith in Fred and is more convinced than him that their leader will be able to connect all the missing dots.

As smart as Fred and Daphne are, there are too many unpredictable details to make up for.

Suddenly, something pops into his head, he has a cell phone.

He releases his right hand to search his back pocket, relieved to feel the warm plastic at his fingertips. Shaggy grabs it and takes a good look at it; it’s surprisingly not cracked or scratched - at least there are no new cracks or scratches.

He presses the on button and sure enough, the screen lights up, instantly greeting him with Daphne’s bright eyes as Scooby licks her cheek.

She was cackling when the photo was taken, and as loud and extra as Daphne’s laugh could be, Shaggy couldn’t deny how beautiful she looked when she did laugh.

It provides some sort of comfort, in spite of the lack of reception he has.

Those violet eyes seem to relax every nerve in his body, he remembers choosing to make this his lock-screen. He had ran the risks through his head over and over again.

What if anybody sees?

What if Daphne sees?

What are they gonna think?

But, in the end, he lost the battle to those eyes.

Shaggy smiles fondly at the photo, almost forgetting he was in his coffin, but is interrupted by a gasp.

“You’ve had your phone this whole time?!” Velma cries out, forcing Shag to tear his gaze away from Daphne. “Like, calm down Velms, it doesn’t have any sort of signal.”

She stares at him for a moments before saying, “You don’t have the FM radio thing? It comes pre-installed in most phones.”

Shag raises an eyebrow at her, “And then we can do what, listen to the game? Radio and walkie-talkie are two different things.” Frowning, Velma bites her lip - trying to gather her thoughts.

Hour Three:

Their breaths are becoming shorter, he can hear just how shallow Velma’s inhales are, and the back of his throat is dry and burning.

Velms has already abandoned her turtle-neck as well as her glasses, which wouldn’t stop fogging up. “Fuck it, I’d rather make the choice to be blind.”

Shaggy had been spending the seconds alternating between looking at the picture of Daphne for sanity’s sake, and then looking down at the state of his leg.

Also for the sake of sanity, but in a different way.

Looking at Daph helped him feel at peace on his “deathbed” while looking at his leg reminded his that he would probably never see her again.

He had cut off the leg of his pants all the way up to the knee with a box-cutter Velma had found in the glove compartment, so as to better see the damage. It was safe to say it wasn’t healing in any way, the swelling had gone up noticeably as well as the pain.

Velms couldn’t really do much about it, just sigh and rub her forehead.

Neither of them saw much purpose in bringing up the bright-side, they had been here for a long time - long enough for reality to set in.

They had seen the last of the world just a few hours ago and now the last thing they were ever going to see was each other.

“Do you take me for granted?”

Velma lets out a soft “hmmm” before saying, “Yeah probably.”

He nods, even though she isn’t looking at him.

“But you can’t hold that against me.”

“And why ever not?”

She chuckles and turns back to squint at him, he knows that doesn’t help any, and says, “Shag, I have known you almost my whole life right?”

He nods again but isn’t sure if she can see that so he says, “At least.”

Velma smirks and continues, “In that time I have found there to be one consistent fact. Nobody thinks less of Shaggy Rogers than Shaggy Rogers.”

The sentence leaves him kind of winded, as if he wasn’t winded enough from the lack of air, and he’s left to ponder it. Velma turns back toward the front, she had said her piece and she had nothing left to throw out. Not like she had to worry about being sensitive with him, the only punishment she’d receive is him ignoring her.

Which works.

Silence being the last thing she remembers, the only peaceful moment in her life.

Shaggy is staring up at the car light, black dots appearing and fading with every blink, left to contemplate so many things and knowing that it won’t do any good.

At this point even the tedious ticking of a clock would be comforting, he was getting tired of listening to his own heavy breathing.

The glaring 57% battery life was mocking him, showing him how much time he had left with Daphne and Scoob before the screen would go dark and he’d never see them again. He heard Velma groan as she turned to look back at him, seeing her slide on her glasses through his periphiral.

“Shag what time is it?”

He didn’t answer, the 57% had just gone down to 56% and now Shaggy was thinking about mortality and how he didn’t have a charger to bring him back to life.

Velma rolled her eyes and leaned forward, yanking Shag’s phone out of his hand.

“Velms! Like what the hell?!” He attempted to grab it back but she was already out of reach, he winced as he leaned a little too far forward and his leg pulsed.

She raises her eyebrows, feeling bad for causing that pain, but keeping her tongue sharp, “I was asking you what time it was, I repeated myself like three fuckin’ times.”

Shaggy rolled his eyes and leaned back against the door, breathing through his nose and waiting for the pain to subside.

It wasn’t.

But it’s not like it mattered anyway.

Velma huffed and turned her attention to the phone, pressing the on button and wishing her skirt had pockets that would have been able to hold her phone. Sucking in a deep breath at the sight of Daphne looking back at her.

Without even looking at the time, Velma brought her gaze to her tall friend.

His eyes were closed as he concentrated on ignoring the pain.

Now Velma knew that a lock screen photo could mean anything, any number of things besides the one thing she’s thinking of.

But as she’s looking at Shaggy right now she can just feel what this picture means to him, why it’s there and why he’s been spending the last hours of their lives looking at it.

Daphne huh?

She can’t help but smile, because she’s learned a thing or two about Shaggy - but she’s also known a thing or two about Daphne.

Velma chooses not to say anything, deciding not to curse Shag with the information that he’s part of a doomed romance.

Hour Four:

They’re at the point where labored breathing can be changed to desperate gasps every few minutes, lungs panicking and searching for air before realizing the supply was just low - not gone.

Velma has been mentally counting out the minutes for the past one-hundred or so, resisting the urge to suck in deep breaths.

“Shags.... what is that?”

Her voice is so quiet, they haven’t spoken to each other for nearly forty-five minutes and he had almost forgotten what she sounded like.

“Like, what?”

He just barely wheezes that out.

“W-...What is that?”

She points to the car’s control panel in front of her, the small, grey rectangle resting on top of it to be precise.

“It’s a GPS.”

The earns a gasp as she leans forward in her chair and pops her glasses back on, “Oh my word I am so damn stupid! It’s been here the whole fucking time and I didn’t even notice it!”

Shaggy is surprised she can still summon the energy to shout, or be mad with herself.

He watches as she examines the device, tracing her fingers over each edge - clearly looking for something. She lets out a loud, triumphant laugh as her search merits pleasing results, he assumes as much at least.

“Care to share anything with the class Velms?”

With a grunt and a cackle, Velma crawls over to the passenger side and he hears the pops of the glove compartment being opened.

“This GPS is connected to satellite, real rich shit for sure. And as it just so happens, we have a little green van out there with a spunky navigation system that takes in almost any information sent it’s way.” She groans and slams the compartment shut as she turns her search to the small storage space between the driver’s and passenger’s seats.

“If I can remember the signal our good-for-nothing GPS is on than I could send out our coordinates or something whatever this is only a half plan.” She has yet to even look up at him, searching for he doesn’t even know what.

“Wait.... Velms even if we’re able to send out the longitude and latitude higgledy piggledy, how do we know Fred and Daphne will know it’s us? How are they supposed to know we’re sending this from however many feet beneath the earth’s surface?” Velma doesn’t answer, still not looking up from her goal.

And this makes him angry, the hairs on the back of his neck rising as he clenches his hands into fists.

Without thinking, he reaches forward and grabs onto the collar of Velma’s sweater, tugging her toward him, “Look at me!!! AaGh!”

He immediately withdraws and rubs at his leg, seeing that the redness that originally just surrounded the wound has now traveled up his leg and under his pant-leg. He can see the blood that was clotting now trailing down his calf and onto the seat.

Any form of movement sends Shaggy waves of pain and there’s nothing he can do but try not to scream. All of the pressing pain feels like fire in every place he can think of, this was like nothing else he’d ever felt.

Was this his body finally shutting down?

For now he bites down on his index finger as he feels tears stream down his cheeks.

His brain repeating over and over again, ‘You’re dying. This is it.’

It’s pushing against his skull with the force of a bullet and more than anything he wants to scream out for it all to stop.

‘I’m not ready!!!!’

That final thought just barely manages to be louder than the rest, not getting a repeat or an echo.

And it’s enough to leave Shag feeling cold; freezing.

“Shaggy... I-”

“I’m nuts about Daphne!” He sobs out, not even bothering to hold it back.

He almost feels like laughing at Velma’s silence, finally she has nothing to say, “I’m over the moon, crazy stupid in love with her.”

Amazingly, she still says nothing.

Shaggy chuckles and wipes the tears from his face, “Like, aaahh.... I love her voice and her laugh - oh my gosh do I love her laugh. And her eyes might as well just be some sort of stun gun for me. Sh-She’s so confident all the time and so smart - Zoinks she’s a genius, and I hate that she lets people talk down to her so much.”

He wonders if she’s staying silent so he can get all of this out, because he’s not really sure when this will stop, if it’ll ever stop.

He’s been holding it in for a long time.

“So-Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night ‘cause I’m completely terrified that she believes all the bad things people say about her.” His profession of love and need to start sobbing have been battling it out in his throat and it’s becoming really hard to even string words together, “Velms she’s so fucking amazing and..... I-I could never be with somebody as awesome as her but....”

The words won’t even come out anymore, just tears and shaky gasps.

Velma bites her lip as she sees the inner-turmoil that’s taking over her best friend.

She leans forward and lightly rests her hand on his uninjured leg, “Shags.... tell me what to do.”

Shaggy locks eyes with her and through his blurry vision he can see that she’s got a somber look on her face, her mouth set in a determined frown.

“I.....”

What does he want her to do?

No.

This is her asking what he wants, right now.

What he needs her to do to help that happen.

“I want to see her again....”

All it takes is that statement and Velma sends him a mischievous grin, clapping her hands together and turning back toward the compartment, “Right! So, as we all know most GPS connected to the car require the actual car to be running, and while the lights are on nothing else in the car seems to be functioning. Lucky for us though, this one is similar to Freddie’s - meaning it has-”

“A keyhole!” Shag jumps in and Velma snaps and points at him.

“Exactly. Unfortunately, even if we do unlock it - assuming we find the key - we’ll only have a few seconds of time to send out the message before the device shuts off again. These things have shit emergency power and seeing as we’ve been down here for maybe eight hours already it’s safe to say that it’s dead. After that we get zero redos. Got all that Shags?”

Shaggy gulps and nods, “Like no second chances, got it.”

Then a thought pops into his head, “Uh yeah, quick question ma’am. It shouldn’t be hard to find our GPS to send the message to but uh... how are we supposed to know where the hell we are?”

Velma stares at him for a few seconds before smirking, “Ah... that is where you come in my friend.”

“Me?”

She chuckles, “Yes Mr. “I have the nose of a bloodhound.”

“Wha-.. Uh-...I.... Velms, like we’ve been down here for hours and I haven’t smelled anything. Zip. Nada.” Velma simply returns this with another chuckle before replying, “Well you were a depressed loser for a wide percentage of those hours.”

He stares blankly at her before sighing, “Yeah... but- blaming my lack of smelling ability on my mental state has a wide margin for error don’t you think?”

“And do you have a better idea?”

Shag ponders that question for a second and then groans.

Closing his eyes, he tries to concentrate on every little thing his nose has been able to detect thus far. Dirt, sweat, blood, iron, the rubber from the tires; that’s as far out as his senses have been able to travel.

Sighing, he opens his eyes and looks at Velma, “Velms I-”

“Norville Shaggy Rogers, you told me that you - yes you sir, nobody else - wanted to see the love of your life Daphne Blake again. Did you not?” She’s crossing her arms and scowling at him.

Her words send a wave of heat over him and he looks down at his hands, “Like-”

“Yes! That’s exactly what you said! Don’t bullshit me like this, I have seen you pick out every single ingredient in my mom’s vegan lasagna without even tasting it. You were able to help us find a gas station in the middle of Vegas when the van broke down. You’re a freaking X-Man Shags!”

Velma’s eyes are practically glowing as she rants to him, he’s not used to her putting so much faith in him.

And then he’s thinking about Daphne, her perfect eyes being the only thing in the world he needs.

He closes his eyes again and takes as deep a breath as he can.

He’s back at the scent of rubber, weirdly enough, they’re definitely new tires, but he doesn’t think much of it - trying his hardest to grip onto something new. Flames of red and blue and orange dance around under his eyelids, each one something he’s already seen before; no what he needs right now is a new color.

It occurs to him that he probably looks insane to Velma right now, eyes closed and a constant sniffing.

Not like he should be feeling self conscious, he’s just trying to save their lives.

He almost jumps in his seat at the flash of purple appearing just in the corner of his vision. Not wasting another moment gripping onto the color and following it, trying to place what it is.

“Funnel cake.”

He hears Velma gasp, “So we’re still near the park?”

Shag lingers on the shade for a moment longer before nodding, “Yeah, no doubt about it, this is the same stuff from our park.”

Velma nods and bites her lip in thought, recalling that they only had one funnel cake stand in the whole of the park. “D-Do you think you can place how far from the stand we are?”

Shaggy sighs and rubs the back of his neck, “Like, I’ll try Velms...”

Slowly, Shag begins to climb the violet hue, trying his best to avoid getting lost in all the rivaling smells.

It wasn’t helping that the purple was just making him think of Daph and then his mind would start to drift, only being pulled back in by his desire to see the real deal in front of him again.

He’s not quite sure how long he’s been ascending the lavender rope for but it’s definitely been a slow going process because his inhales are shorter and require more effort.

Oddly enough, when he reaches the surface of what he’s assuming is the earth, Shag is completely winded.

And it takes no time for him to be absolutely drowned in a barrage of new colors, all of them trying to get him to look away from the purple. But he keeps his grip firm and tight, noticing that it’s definitely getting brighter and more intense in hue - he has to be close.

Suddenly, all the other colors vanish - being completely drowned in the ferocity of the violet. All Shag can comprehend is purple and he can practically feel Daphne staring into his soul, but this isn’t Daph - this is funnel cake. And it’s right on top of them.

He lets out a gasp and his eyes shoot open, Velma goes from bored and relaxed to alert in a second, “Did you find out where we are?”

Shag nods, still trying to catch his breath, “We-....We’re.....un- underneath.”

Velms raises an eyebrow, “Underneath....the funnel cake stand?”

He nods again, closing his eyes and groaning as he’s overwhelmed by the colors again.

“You mean....directly underneath?”

“L-Like we might be five or six feet below the surface, but we’re definitely underneath the stand.”

Velma is quiet for a second, crossing her arms as she processes the new information, “So....somebody knocks me out, runs you down, somehow takes down the entire stand, and then buries an entire car six feet under, and nobody noticed?”

Shag rubs the back of his neck in thought, “Like, wasn’t there a lot of construction going on? Because the park’s not up to code or something like that? I can’t remember what the lawyer chick said.”

Velms sighed, “Yeaahhh I kinda blacked out whenever she talked, remind me never to go to law school.”

“Noted.”

“Anyway, while you were going on a sniffing adventure, I managed to find the damn key to this stupid GPS. Now I just need to figure out the location of the stand in relationship to the Mystery Machine.” Velma is in super-detective concentration mode right now, meaning she’ll ask a lot of questions out loud but they’re all rhetorical and Shag should not attempt to answer any of them.

That’s Fred’s job, not his.

As he watches the one-woman show play out before him, a question from earlier pops back to the center of his brain.

“Uh... Velms?” She sends him an annoyed look but she stops mumbling to listen, “Again, if Fred and Daph can even get the message and know it’s from us and go to the tent, how are they supposed to know we’re buried under the crust of the earth?”

Velma’s eyebrows furrow and she nods, “Yes, that is an issue...”

She’s silent for several minutes before she snaps her fingers, “Of course!”

Without wasting a second, Velma leans forward and pops open the glove compartment again. Shag can hear her fishing around in there for a few moments before returning back in front of him, holding what looks like a black cord.

His eyes widen when he realizes what it is.

“Like...is that...”

“Yes it is. A USB hookup. And if I’m right....” Velma reaches over and grabs Shag’s phone from his hand, ignoring his protests, and lines up the plug-in with the phone’s charging port.

“Hah!” She laughs loudly, making Shaggy jump.

“This hookup is compatible with your dumb Android.”

“Okay, like not all of us wanna use a thousand pesos of our parent’s money to buy a phone that’ll break in two months.”

Velma rolls her eyes, “Shag... now is not the time for smartphone feuds. We have our lives on the line.”

“Wh-? You started i-”

“Ah ba ba! More pressing matters... how fast can you type on this keyboard?” Shag’s sighs and leans back against the door, all this action is helping him forget the fact that his leg is starting to look like a zombie’s leg.

“Uuuhhh..... thumbs like lightening. Why?”

“Becaaauuse...” Velma starts as she begins to plug the other end of the cord to the GPS, “I’m gonna need those lightning thumbs to type out some sort of message while I put in our location.”

Shag raised an eyebrow at her, “A GPS is able to send and receive text messages?”

“Shaggy, Fred’s GPS is capable of semi-sentient speech.”

“....Fair enough.”

Without a moment to lose, Velma begins to map out their location in her head, knowing she’ll only have a couple seconds to lock onto the Mystery Machine and then plot out the point toward the funnel cake stand. Meanwhile, Shaggy will have the same amount of time to type out some sort of clue to hint at where they were in the stand.

After maybe ten minutes of psyching up and hoping their thumbs would respond fast enough, Velma slowly inserts the small, plastic key into the keyhole.

Shags hand are shaking but poised to type like the wind.

Carefully, she turns the key until she hears a beep and the screen lights up, giving them a low battery symbol before giving them a map of their location.

The pressure kicks in as the beeping continues and Velma is suddenly looking for and sort of signal coming from the van, Shag jumps when a keyboard pops up on his screen.

He freezes up for a moment, completely forgetting what he was gonna type, the beeping sending blow after blow at his thought process.

It takes one particularly deep breath for him to remember his word of choice and to begin typing it.

And then, his screen is black.

Never giving him the chance to finish the word.

“Di-Did you get it?” He asks as he looks up at Velma, she’s panting heavily and gripping either side of the GPS. Her knuckles are white.

“I-....I’m pretty sure I got it, i-it was sent out to the nearest signal I could latch onto. I’m really hoping it was the Mystery Machine.” She says that with a breathless chuckle as she leans back in the driver’s seat, “What about you?”

He gulps and licks his dry lips, “I at least got half of the word....”

Velma chuckles again, this one extremely dry, “What was your word?”

Shag leans against the door again, trying to avoid thinking about how he might have ruined their last chance of survival, “Underneath.”

Hour Five:

Shag jolted awake.

He had been fading in and out for the past half an hour at least with each little “power nap” lasting around five minutes.

The last time he had shaken himself awake with a sneeze.

He wasn’t sure that was gonna help any with the oxygen deprivation but at this point Shaggy didn’t even care how much time they had left.

It was narrowed down to either they would be found by the rest of the gang.....

Or they wouldn’t.

Shag pretended that whole unconscious thing was just awful and he was trying his best to avoid it, ignoring all the different stories he’d experience with Daphne when his eyes were shut.

Damn it.

He should’ve stormed up and kissed the living daylights out of her ages ago.

If only the extenuating factor that Daphne may not need - better word - want to be kissed by Shaggy Rogers didn’t take him over.

He certainly understood that.

She could be dating superheros and models and gajillionaires, people born with symmetrical faces and everything.

In his opinion, he wasn’t nearly perfect enough to kiss her, but didn’t change the fact that he wanted to. He so desperately wanted to; lost count of all the times he had been lost in thought and just thinking how easy it would for him to casually blurt out, “Hey I love you. Yes you. In the purple.”

But as easy as it was to say, it was chained down - never to escape his mouth.

Because those damn eyes just terrified him so much when the moment was important to him.

Maybe she’s relieved that he doesn’t love her.

Maybe she really needs him as her friend and nothing else.

He really didn’t want to mess that up.

Groaning, he put those thoughts on the back burner and rubbed his tired eyes that were fighting off the temptations of sleep, and failing. Shag wasn’t sure when but eventually if he let himself fall asleep, he won’t be waking up.

It was at this point he noticed a faint beeping coming from somewhere next to him.

For a split second Shaggy wondered if he had already been rescued and was just hooked up to an IV, safe in a hospital above the ground.

But then, he opened his eyes and indeed confirmed that he was still in the God forsaken car.

The lights had clicked off awhile ago and refused to turn off, making it even harder to resist sleep.

Him and Velma had tried talking back and forth with each other to keep the brain stimulated or whatever. But they soon found it hard to talk and breathe at the same time, so they dropped that.

Luckily, that beeping had yet to stop and was doing a bang-up job of keeping him awake, and annoying the hell out of him.

He heard a shuffle and Velma’s exasperated groan as she sat up and said, “Okay what the hell is that?”

Shag winced as he leaned forward, his leg was completely numb at this point and he was glad the lights were off because otherwise he’d be too afraid to look at it. His eye trained toward where the beeping was coming from, spots of purple blinking in and out around his vision as his eye failed to adjust to the darkness. Gasping as he saw what he believed to be the GPS blinking red in time with the beeps.

A timer set for fifteen minutes in black text stood out over the red screen.

After a couple of seconds Shaggy realized it was counting down.

Down to what, he didn’t know.

Didn’t wanna know.

But for some reason he was still alive to know.

“Like... it’s just one thing after the other isn’t it?”

He said that with a bitter chuckle, leaning back against the door and groaning as he attempted to shift his leg, it hadn’t moved at all.

Velma clears her throat and for the first time in an hour, he saw her face. Well, the silhouette of her face against the blinking, red light. As she’s examining the GPS, her brow furrows and Shag can’t really tell whether she’s confused or troubled. The last thing he needed was for that look to be troubled, his life was already in jeopardy, wasn’t that good enough?

After a few minutes, Velma sighs and leans back into the seat, “This damn thing is connected to basically everything in the car, there’s no way for me to know what this thing is whining about...”

And thus, she begins to think out loud.

Shaggy leans forward some more, with the hopes of preventing sleep - however tempting it may be. Luckily, the consistent beeping in proving rather helpful in that regard.

It was grating to say the least, each beep acting as some sort of needle stabbing into his brain until all he felt was a light stinging. Putting his head in his hands, Shags groans out, “Aaagh why couldn’t this psycho just send us flying off a cliff? Or suffocate us with the damn airbags? But noooo, all our criminals gotta be “quirky” and add sort of fun twist to the horror. God I hate serial killers...”

Velma chuckles and Shaggy brings his gaze up to her, “What? Airbag suffocation is a clever one.” He raises an eyebrow at her before she rolls her eyes and crosses her arms, “Whatever, I though it was funny...”

Suddenly, her face lights up, “Airbags!”

Shag sighs and leans back, “Yup, that’s what I said...”

Velma scoffs, “No you dweeb, that’s probably what the damn GPS is counting down to. Once it reaches zero I’ll bet you anything that it’ll activate the explosives in the airbags and blow up the car.”

Shag stares at her, after a beat of silence he says, “I’ll get in on that action, If it blows up and we like, die, then I owe you $50. But if we just suffocate to death due to a lack of oxygen than you owe me $50.”

“Hardy har smartass. The explosives won’t be enough to kill us.... But... they will probably blow a hole in the car, resulting several tons of dirt flooding in and drowning us. That might be a problem.” She leans back into her chair and sighs, Shaggy simply smiles and says, “Hey, so I’ll win the bet either way! Sweet!”

Another beat of silence.

Velma ends it, “Do-... Do you think Fred and Daph have started looking for us yet?”

She begins to twiddle her thumbs.

“I have no doubt in my mind...” He takes a deep breath, it comes out more like a wheeze, “But, like, it doesn’t matter anymore. We’ve only got like...”

He leans forward to look at the timer.

“Nine minutes and thirty-four seconds until the white light comes to pick us up.”

“Wow, I can’t believe you’re gonna die a virgin...” Velma smirks back at him.

He rolls his eyes and smiles, “Yeah poor me, at least I can die admitting I fell in love. I don’t see your phone wallpaper of a certain trapping enthusiast.”

Shaggy wishes the lighting were better in here because he can tell she’s blushing.

“We-Well I.... I would have....i-if that damn clown hadn’t stolen my phone...”

Velma looks down at her lap as she states this and Shag can’t help but grin, “Well... It’s no declaration of love, but it’s close enough.”

She looks up to glare at him.

She opens her mouth to say something but is stopped short by the unbearable *screeeeech* coming from directly above them.

Shag and Velma’s eyes shoot upward towards the sound, then looking back down at one another - eye widened in shock.

“That-” Shag licks his lips, not brave enough to admit that was what he thinks it was.

Velma on the other hand is plenty brave and finishes, “Was something scraping the roof of the car?”

Shaggy’s heartbeat has sped up to far beyond what is healthy, leaving a drumming in his head to meet the constant stabs of the shrill beeping. He feels like he’s about to throw up, or faint, or both at the same time, it’s almost as if he can every little thing and yet can’t make out what any of it is.

Another long, scrape sends his pulse up even more.

Velma only needs to register the noise for a second before she starts banging on the roof, “We’re in here!!!” Shaggy is almost impressed at how fast she was able to act because all he can do listen to the drumming in his head and stare as his shaking hands.

Velma jumps back when then hear a knocking from above, instantly she bangs up again, “Freddie?! Daphne?! This better be you two!!!”

He can hear her voice tremble as she keeps shouting out.

Whoever is over them is shouting back, but their voice is muffled and neither of them can make out a single word. They both stare at each other for a minute and Shaggy can see that she’s crying, something he rarely ever gets to witness. And then he sees her gaze flicker over toward the GPS and his skin goes cold, it only takes a second for him to swallow up all the needles in his throat before he gets on his knees.

Slowly and with a lot of trying not to cry.

Biting his lip he looks over at Velma who has taken off her glasses to better let the tears flow.

With determination, Shaggy pounds his fist as hard as he can against the cushioned roof of this God forsaken car, “Fred, Daphne!!! There’s a bomb down here!! Like you’ve gotta get outta here!!!”

A sob catches in his throat and nearly chokes him, but he forces it back down.

He can hear Velma pounding away as well, but he can’t even really hear what she’s saying.

But he can feel his knuckle getting bruised and the air being all but gone from the car, and his leg is just introducing him to a whole new world of hurt.

One that he certainly was not a fan of.

After several second of nonstop pounding, they both stopped, trying to contain their deep breaths. It was complete silence up top, no pounds back and no screeches to be heard, just the eerie beeping.

They were alone again.

Collapsing back against the door, Shag reminded himself that deep breaths were a luxury he could not afford right now.

Daphne was safe.

And that was all he needed to know.

Ever since the day he couldn’t look her in the eyes without being frozen in place, the attention toward Daphne’s safety tripled. Even now, while trapped in a car with no air left to breath and a bomb about to go off, all he could care about is the fact that she wouldn’t be caught up in it.

That she wasn’t the one stuck in the car for who knows how long.

The beeping seemed to get louder as everything else around his senses began to fade.

‘You can make it.’

‘She’s right there.’

‘You just have to survive a bomb blast and then you can fumble out the confession you’ve been waiting for.’

‘And then they’ll amputate your leg.’

He smiled as he continued to fight the battle of keeping his eyes open, seeing that Velma was putting up the same fight.

“H-” His throat was in agony from the sudden barrage of screaming it had to go through just minutes ago.

“How long-”

“Two minutes and fifty-something seconds...”

Well damn she still had her voice.

Normally, Shag’s voice never gave out like this; but after dealing with oxygen deprivation and holding back tears for several hours - it was safe to say he was down for the count.

He simply nodded in response and tried to sit up straighter, hoping that would scare the sleep away.

Two minutes becomes an eternity when you’re just waiting for it to pass.

And then, poof!

Or, maybe a better word would be “boom!”

At the last second, Shag’s eye had popped open and he realized that Velma was sitting right in front of the airbags.

“Vel-” He coughed, groaning as the coughing didn’t stop; leaning forward, he grabbed her arm and tugged toward the backseat. Her eyebrows furrowed for a moment, but then her whole face contorted in shock, “Aw shit!” jumping out of the driver’s seat and into the back.

She crashed right on top of his problem leg, but he didn’t even have the strength the talk - much less scream.

“Tuck your head in so you don’t get any shrapnel lodged into your eyes.”

He sighed and leaned forward to put his head between his knees, and not even a second had passed when the whole front of the car went “BOOM!”

Something something hotter than Hell itself slammed against his cheek, and for a few moments he heard sizzling.

One of his favorite sounds was being used for evil.

But it quickly stopped and fell from his face.

Shag felt Velma grab onto his wrist and squeeze, as they listened to the car settle. His ears were ringing and he was coughing up smoke and dust, and the heat around them had become so drastically intense that he could already feel sweat dripping down his face.

He opened his eyes and found that the air was out to sting them.

Groaning at the sight of dirt spilling in from the shattered windshield.

He heard Velma let out a cough before puling on his wrist and moving toward the charred, front of the car.

“Velma what-” The coughing fit interrupted him once again.

Velma turned to look back at him, he saw a small shard of the windshield sticking out of her forehead, “We know that whoever is up there digging us out has reached the top of our car, so all we need to do is dig our asses out and then pass out on the roof.”

Shag looked down to see the the dirt was already burying her knees, if they were gonna do this then they needed to do it now.

He immediately regretted that decision as soon as his mouth got filled with hot dirt.

Swimming in earth wasn’t exactly a breeze like swimming around in water.

Now that was something Shag was confident in, he had gone scuba-diving so many times he had lost count. But fighting an upwards battle against relentless dirt that needed to occupy every open space was too much. Especially since there was next to know fight left in his body to begin with, just the promise of daylight to caress him and purple eyes to haunt him.

It was a system.

Push up with all the strength he had and then stop, think about food and Scooby and the criminal that did this to them being thrown into jail.

And Daphne, of course.

And even though he was running on empty, he’d push himself up again - squeezing on Velma’s hand to tell her he wasn’t dead yet. And then she’d squeeze back.

He almost made the stupid mistake of opening his mouth again when his free hand no longer felt dirt, but open air.

It only needed to hang out there for a few seconds before felt someone grip onto it, hard, and begin to pull. Shaggy held on tightly to both Velma and the Savior’s hand as, sure enough, he began rise even faster.

And then all at once, there was the sun again, hanging over their heads and welcoming them back into the land of the living.

Shaggy instantly took a deep breath of air as he fell down onto the roof of the car.

Spitting out every last bit of dirt so he could truly appreciate the air he was taking in.

He could hear Velma coughing up a storm behind her and he left out a relived laugh that she had also survived.

Falling down onto his back, he smiled up at the blue sky and felt hot tears streaming down his cheeks.

And then a shadow loomed over him, not even giving him a second to recognize who it was before the figured began to ravish his face with kisses.

Dog kisses.

“He- Hey Scoob! I’m- I’m okay bud, I’m right here!” He reaches up to scratch behind Scooby’s ears, then moving to cradle the dog’s face in his hands. Squishing up his jowls and smiling at how cute he was, “You’re the best pal a guy can ask for. Did you know that?”

Scooby tilts his head and whines.

Shaggy smiles and fights off the sob in his throat, reaching down to pull that forgotten Scooby Snack out of his pocket.

The dog quickly begins panting and scoops the treat up from Shag’s hand, backing away as he swallows it whole.

He smiles again, before jumping at the feeling of somebody grabbing onto his now dog slobber covered hand.

His vision blurs for a second as he tries to focus on all that red, searching for those eyes he can lock onto.

They’re full of tears and kinda puffy, but they’re so happy to see him.

And he’s totally breathless once again.

But this lack of air is something he can deal with.

“I swear, nobody knows how to scare the living hell outta me like you do Shags.” She says it with a shaky laugh, but hearing her voice is enough to make him sob.

“I- I’ll choose to take that as a compliment.”

He gasps out before letting himself come undone.

Daphne giggles as she brings her left hand up to his neck, letting it rest on his cheek, he thumb barely grazing the nasty burn he just remembered he has.

It’s then that it all hits him.

He almost died.

Like if he were a few seconds too slow for anything, than he’d be dead.

And Daphne Blake is above him, squeezing the life out of his hand and stroking his cheek.

‘You need to tell her.’

‘Before she almost loses you again.’

Now that he has the chance to breathe as much as he wants, he finds that all he can do is hold his breath.

“Daphne.” He almost chokes out, lifting his right hand up to brush some hair away from her tear-stained cheeks.

“Shaggy.” She leans into his hand.

“I-”

‘Say it’

“I don’t think I can lose you again.” Daphne breathes out.

Before he can even think of anything to top that, she leans down and presses her lips to his. And through their actions alone, they both know.

They’re in love.

And the other finally can see it.

Her hands tangle up in his hair and he rests his hands on either side of her neck for support.

And they probably did that for several minutes but who’s keeping track of time?

It finally takes Freddie tugging on Daph’s shoulder to break them both apart.

“Daphne, the- uh... the paramedics are here...” He looks like he’s trying not to laugh as Daph slowly backs away, both of them out of breath and red and pretending they have no clue what just happened.

They hear Velma hoot from a short distance behind them.

As Shag and Velma are checked on the gurneys Fred and Daph give them all the details, details which they both already knew.

“And the dang GPS wouldn’t shut up! So then I figured that it was just malfunctioning or something.”

“Freddie, that thing is always malfunctioning.” Velma says as the medic checks her for a concussion.

“Yeah, like, weren’t we supposed to be visiting your uncle this week? Instead it brings us to a haunted amusement park of death!” Winces as they poke and prod his leg.

He hears Velma groan next to him, “Doc, when can I take th damn oxygen mask off?”

The paramedic clicks off his flashlight before saying, “When I say you can...” And then walking away.

Shag chuckles and then lets out a hiss as they try to move his leg.

Daphne bites her lip as she looks down at it, reaching for his hand and tangling their fingers together.

“Nasty right?” Shag jokes, looking up at her.

She gives him a glare that eventually turns somber.

“Just know that she’ll still love you, even with one leg.” Velma yells out, falling into a fit of giggles.

Daph’s face goes red and she rolls her eyes, “I don’t think she’s gonna stop doing that.”

He grins and gives her hand a squeeze.

Suddenly his eyes widen, “Oh! Oh- um do either of y’all remember the name of that lawyer chick?”

Velma jumps in, “Yeah, Shag and I were hashing it all out and we found out that she’d probably have the most to gain from this whole Ferdinand the Death Clown fiasco.”

Fred chuckles, “Ferdinand? I thought we agreed on Beebo?”

“Freddie that’s a dumb name and you’re dumb.” Shaggy says with a smile.

Everybody laughs for a few seconds, just trying to forget the past few hours and remember right now.

The five of them, still together.

“Wait...” Daphne says, “You two were buried alive for hours, and you both spent that time solving the mystery?”

Shag and Velma locks eyes, both bearing a confused look, “Well yeah...” Shag says as he melts into the pillows.

“What else were we supposed to do?” Velma says, eyebrows furrowed.

Daphne and Fred look at each other in astonishment.

Before Daphne snickers and lifts their joined hands up to her lips, pressing a kiss against his knuckles.

“Hey, once a meddling kid, always a meddling kid.” Shag jokes as he ignores the pink, shimmer lip gloss on the back of his hand.

A/N:

This legit took me like a month in total to write because work and school and writer’s block are conspiring against me.

This is based off of my favorite episode of the crime drama Bones, the episode is call “The Aliens in the Spaceship” and it’s a masterpiece.

Before Shaggy and Daphne, there was Hodgins and Angela and they are both very similar dynamic wise. What can I say? I have a type.

I’ve have a crime show addiction since I was young and my parents let me watch CSI with them.

And shows like Bones and Castle hold a very special place in my heart.

So I really wanted to pay homage to one of my favorite episodes from a TV show ever.

#scooby doo #shaphne #Shaggy Rogers #daphne blake #shaphne fanfiction #seriously i LOVE hodgins and angela to death #I would die for some hodgela/shaphne #treatment in any scooby incarnation #who do i need to pay to get some shaphne drame

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