#I need to be shot in the head like a lame horse I don't think I'm fixable

[curiosityschild]

When I try to put extra effort into things because I care but then I get freaked out partway through and can't follow through properly so it all turns out worse than if I hadn't done anything at all and it's all my fault

[apomaro-mellow]

Part 1

After getting the decree from the queen, Jonathan went right into the center of the square to make the announcement. The queen wanted as many people in attendance, all the better for finding a spouse for her son.

"The prince is having a ball", Jonathan said, getting everyone's attention. "His Royal Highness Stefano William, son of Her Majesty Queen Genevieva Ambre Angelique Anneliese Delta-"

"Delta?", a voice in the crowd called out in confusion.

"Delta", Jonathan continued without a beat, "Galatea....is having a ball!"

That was all anybody needed to go into a frenzy. In the crowd was Murray, who was immediately scheming. A prince on the prowl for a royal companion could be very advantageous indeed.

Meanwhile, Jonathan was on the move, going to florists, bakers, butchers, and tailors to begin setting up for the ball. Obviously any royal affair had to be big and loud but finding a suitor for the prince was even more reason to go big.

News of the ball reached far and wide and even Eddie heard of it. While he typically didn't give a rat's ass about royalty, even he wasn't immune to the implied romance of possibly meeting the love of your life at what was basically a lavish dance party.

Any excitement he would've had was instantly squashed when his family decided a ball meant they had to do extravagant shopping and use him like a beast of burden. The lack of consideration was so much that even when they got home, they expected him to open the door even with his arms full.

Sure. Yeah. Of course. Not a tall order at all.

The moment he opened it and tried to get inside, Tommy practically ran into him like a bull trying to get in first, nearly making everything fall from Eddie's hands.

"Edgar your lack of grace is staggering", Murray commented.

Eddie kept from muttering under his breath. No need to put anymore attention on himself. Turned out he didn't need to. Murray gave a put-upon sigh and went into his old spiel without Eddie saying a word.

"To think, people told me to throw you out. But I didn't! No, my saintly soul wouldn't allow it." Murray fiddled with Jason's hair until it was how he liked it. "Even though I already had two stallions in my home-don't slouch Thomas-I let the lame horse continue to live in my abode."

"You're almost a martyr, father", Jason kissed ass like there was no tomorrow.

Murray put a hand to his heart. "I know. Edgar, prepare us some tea and bring it to our rooms. Boys, we need our beauty rest if we're going to be ready for the ball. Come along now."

Tommy and Jason followed diligently as Murray went up the stairs. Eddie watched them go, holding his tongue until they were out of ear shot, but he only needed to wait until their backs were turned to flip them off.

Then he turned on his own heel to start making their tea. They'd probably be asleep before he finished making it but if they weren't and he wasn't it'd be hell.

"Who needs a ball anyway, I'll give em some balls", he muttered to himself as he got a kettle going. They could go off for their one night of splendor and entertainment. Eddie could get all that right here in the kitchen. His own little corner of paradise.

As the tea was being brewed, Eddie turned, making his hair flourish around his head.

"Your Highness, how do you do?" He gave a deep bow to the broom. "Lovely evening isn't it?"

Eddie had never laid eyes on the prince. But someone who had the whole kingdom fawning over him couldn't just be riding the royal title. He was probably as handsome and as charming as the rumors said. Eddie tried to imagine someone like that and to his surprise, he came up with the guy he met earlier.

He certainly had a cordial air about him. And handsome, there was no doubt about that. What had his name been again?

"Me? A dance?" Eddie pretended the stranger had just extended his hand. He was dressed to the nines, probably in blue or green, those colors suited him. And he wanted to dance with Eddie.

"Oh I couldn't. But if you insist~"

Eddie started to sway with the broom, thinking of what it would feel like to have arms around him. To have someone look at his mess of a hair and call him beautiful. To kiss his hands, raw from work, with love. To want him, to actually want him, from now until-

"Where's that tea!", Tommy's shrill voice barked from upstairs.

Well, that was it for play time pretend. Eddie poured three cups and balanced them all pretty masterfully if he did say so himself. They could keep their balls and temporary delights. Eddie had a world of wonder in his head to keep him content.

Part 3

[grayintogreen]

WIP WEDNESDAY

As promised, this week is a Roseverse snippet, so here's a little scene from Chapter Two of our wolves don't live in fear, featuring everyone's favorite Imp Daddy.

-

He slammed the glass down on the counter. “I need a black coffee and I want you to put this in it, on the double.”

The barista was an imp about a head or two taller than Millie with her dark hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. “I think you did this in the wrong order. Shouldn’t you get the coffee and then have the bartender actually mix it?”

“Maybe if I want it to taste good,” he shot back. “Honestly, this is gonna taste like ass no matter what I do to it. I don’t need your judgment…” He squinted at the nametag dangling from the strap of her black fringed flapper dress. “…Trisha.”

She rolled her eyes and accepted the whiskey and her task with all the grace you associate with food service in Hell- none at all. He leaned over the counter to address her back. “If you spit it in, joke’s on you. That’s a turn-on and I’m not paying extra for it, bitch.”

“Wow. You’re charming.”

Blitzø’s eyes darted to the imp leaning against the counter, a to-go cup pressed to his beaky mouth. He was average, caught somewhere between really hot accountant and really average actor. The kind of imp you saw in stock photos- in fact, Blitzø was certain he’d passed the fucking picture frame section of the hobby store he bought his horse toys at and had this guy’s face staring back at him down the whole aisle.

He jerked his thumb at him, addressing the barista. “So who’s the walking AI generated image of what a hot imp looks like? Doesn’t he have a job to do or something.”

“Jody doesn’t work here,” Trisha muttered pouring black coffee straight into the whiskey glass and giving it a little stir. That was not going to settle well, but if it gave him the shits, at least it would spare him any longer at this stupid party.

“I can’t tell if that was a compliment or an insult,” ‘Jody’- well at least he wasn’t a goddamn Dean or a Paul or something, that would be too much- blinked.

“Yeah, it’s safer if you assume nothing out of my mouth is a compliment.” He finally decided to give Jody at least half his attention. “Gatecrasher, huh? Maybe you’re not as shit as your lame-ass haircut makes you look. What’s your thing? You wanna rub elbows with the rich and famous? You lookin’ to case the joint? You’re not gonna tell me anything I haven’t done before with three times as much bloodshed.” He clapped the guy hard on the back, nearly sending him sprawling.

“He’s just here for the coffee,” Trisha-the-Barista said, dropping his glass next to his elbow. “He used to come into my shop every day until six months ago when it blew up after a missile destroyed the whole block. The princess felt bad since I guess it was kind of indirectly her fault and she’s like that, and offered me a job making coffee here, so…” She spread her hands, indicating her little coffee bar.

“And I just missed her coffee so much that I come here and get it.” Jody sipped his and, at least, had the sense to look sheepishly about something that Blitzø was already clocking and clocking hard. “I didn’t know there’d be a party. I’m usually in and out before anyone notices.”

Blitzø pivoted with his horrible coffee-whiskey nightmare of bullshit mixology to fully regard his target. In lieu of Moxxie, he had found someone new to fuck with. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a shitty night, after all. “So what? You walk the sixteen miles from any Satan-forsaken part of the Pentagram to get coffee? At seven at night? You fucking slick dick, no you didn’t.” He barked a laugh and then leaned on the bar again to look at Trisha. “Hey, honey, blink twice if you feel threatened by this wholesome serial killer-looking motherfucker.”

She stared at him without blinking for an impressive twenty seconds. “He’s fine. Nobody notices him.”

“I mean, yeah, he’s about as bland as wallpaper. Like… Hot wallpaper, but generic-hot. You get me?”

“You have been saying it in so many different ways,” Jody exclaimed. “How can I not get it?”

[scinglives]

callum knew his mistake had been lame, but he panicked. he could remember going to the bathroom and panicking because it all felt wrong, he kept thinking of claire, kept thinking that he shouldn't have been here. that the grief hit him like a tonne of bricks from nowhere, but he didn't know how to explain that to her. even though alex would have understood, it wasn't something he was often good at vocalising. so he made an excuse. "oh yeah, i've heard that one a lot. get back on the horse, you're still young to find someone else. your daughter needs a mother figure." he shook his head, god people drove him insane. he did his best, he tried to give his daughter everything she needed and wanted, but nothing was going to bring back her mom. "someone's uncle? she really doesn't think you could do better than an uncle?" he asked and winced as he looked across at the older man, he had to have a word with their friends after the wedding was done because they were clearly losing their mind. "well i'll stay by your side tonight, promise. don't want creepy mr pervert thinking he has a shot. i know i'm not a great option, but you can do a hell of a lot better than that. well a hell of a lot better than me too but -- you know what i mean. i've got your back, we should have a code word just in case anyone tries to hit on us this weekend. even just to text it to each other so we know to swoop back in."

“guess you’re right that excuse wouldn’t exactly work in a situation like this,” she laughed softly, the likelihood of an emergency fire starting in the middle of the wedding party very slim to none. she didn’t have much room for judgement anyways when she has stepped out on a few bad dates before meeting him, “well if you’re looking for a way out now then could use the classic ‘going to the bathroom’ and never coming back trick” alex shrugged her shoulders gently but hoped he wouldn’t take her advice because she did enjoy the company. she continued to listen to him, his choice of words making her heart ache for a moment as she was reminded of her own forever person. it had been a few years since his death and she still didn’t feel ready to move on, it felt wrong, even if it was something he would’ve wanted. her husband would be more upset with her living with his ghost than moving on to someone to help her heal. she brushed off the feeling quickly with a soft smile, “some people don’t get it, i’ve learned to understand that. they’ll always say the most inappropriate things about how it’s time to get back on that horse as if that’s easier said than done.” it felt nice being able to relate with someone else about their loss. “but don’t worry because our bad date still hasn’t stopped her from trying to set me up, she’s recently tried putting me on with her uncle—” she hinted for him to look in the direction of an older man standing further behind them. “he’s pushing about fifty and has been trying to talk to me all night, a little nervous if you leave then he might try to swoop in"

[jackpotgirl]

Chenford ❤️ + this isn't one of your pranks

Tim said it and hurt/comfort or angst! 🥰

This is inspired by the press release for episode 5. It ended up more a sick-fic. So Physical!hurt/comfort. I hope that's okay with you, nonnie :)

***

His whole body ached. That's the thing they don't tell you about gunshot wounds. If the projectile hits the right, or better the wrong spot, the pain radiates through your bones like a laser, obliterating everything in its path and setting it aflame.

It was that damn old injury again, that one graze shot he had caught when he was barely out of police training that he always claimed hadn't been more than a bee sting when it happened. Most days that was even true, but sometimes he'd sit wrong or bump into something or fall or get punched just in the right, or better the wrong spot, and it would throw him headfirst into a world of pain.

His head spun, the impact of the fall he had taken pursuing a suspect on foot had subsided but the pain was crushing and he hated to admit it, but he didn't think he'd be able to get up on his own.

The humiliation only got worse when Thorsen caught up with him, tried to help him get back on his feet and couldn't carry him two steps before Tim winced and froze on the spot like a laming horse . He hadn't had an episode like this in forever. Thorsen was gracious enough not to comment on how long it took to get Tim back into the shop but he also wouldn't take no for an answer calling Tim an ambulance. This was ridiculous and if Tim wasn't half mad with agony, he would have put up more of a fight.

But as it was, he ended up in hospital for a check up and returned home with Angela, the order for strict bedrest and a small bottle full of opiods. She helped him walk half-upright, half-crouching to his couch, deposited him there and asked him if he'd be alright.

He groaned, flinching at a new wave of pain but nodded. Still, when Angela wanted to hand him his painkillers, he swatted them away, shaking his head. He wouldn't mess with that stuff. He knew the toll it could take, knew the slippery slope and what opiod addiction made out of people. He had seen enough folks waste away on Skid Row to want to stay far far away from that shit.

"I'll make do with Ibuprofen, thank you," he said and Angela frowned at him.

"I'll have Lucy come by, check on you later," she said eventually, relenting.

"Please don't," he winced and thought he might actually die if Lucy saw him like this.

"I don't think I could keep her away if I tried," Angela said and tilted her head. "You know she's probably already sharpening her knifes to prepare the 'Get-Well-Soon'-Charcuterie-board."

"Well, I can't get off this couch to let her in anyway," he huffed.

"Oh Tim, Tim, Tim," Angela sing-songed, smirking devilishly. "You know that I'll happily hand over your house keys."

"Angela!" He warned but she just left, laughing.

And sure enough, as the sun began to set and Tim deliberated peeing his pants over getting up and fighting for his life on the way to the bathroom, his front door opened and Lucy let herself in. She was carrying a comically large baskett full of goodies and he was pretty sure he actually did spot a Charcuterie board among the assorted gifts.

“Hey,” she said and smiled brightly and it hurt, not just because everything hurt.

She hadn’t looked at him like that in weeks.

“Heard you might be in need of a nurse,” she quipped and set down the basket. “I brought you a little something-something to lift your spirits.”

Tim fought a new wave of nausea, tried to hide it, but Lucy, ever perceptive, picked up on it immediately.

“Can I help you?” She asked, making her way over to the couch and hovering by the end of it.

Tim wanted to die - but he did actually need help and although he cringed at himself and couldn’t actually open his eyes as he said it, he had to: “Matter-of-fact, I need to use the bathroom.”

“Oh,” Lucy said. An excrutiating pause. Tim clamped his eyes shut. “Of course,” said Lucy. 

Next thing he knew, Tim had to open his eyes to see where he was going because Lucy was practically manhandling him, surprisingly strong for such a slender person. She lifted him off the couch and had him on his feet in record time and he bit his cheek trying to keep from moaning pain. And managed, at least until they’d almost reached the bathroom.

The coconut-scent of her hair right under his nostrils was almost enough to distract him from his woes but only almost. 

“Ahh,” he hissed, when he put his weight onto his right foot wrong and felt her arm tighten around his side, shooting a different kind of jolt of electricity through his body that settled in the pit of his stomach and mixed in weirdly with his general discomfort. 

“You okay?”

“Hm-hm, yeah,” he bit out and grabbed the doorframe of the bathroom. “I got it from here, be right out.”

Tim closed the door and pushed himself along the wall to sit down on the toilet after having shoved his pants and underwear down his legs with some effort. He was bewildered by the fact that he managed to get half-hard just then, just through a few moments of proximity, despite everything hurting. He had to wait a second to settle down before he could pee but once he did, he allowed himself to savour the brief relief. It was going to be so embarressing when he got out of there again.

“Um, so, I called Ashley,” Lucy said from behind the door as soon as he’d flushed.

And apparently it could get pretty embarrassing in there just as easily. Fuck.

“I wanted to know if I could bring anything in particular you needed and I assumed she’d be here,” Lucy continued and then seemed to fizzle out because Tim already knew what Ashley would have told her. 

“Yeah,” he sighed, trying hard to form a coherent sentence as he quickly washed his hands. “We kind of broke up. A while ago.”

He pulled himself together and further toward the door by the handle and pushed it down to open it to find Lucy waiting on the other side, looking up at him quizzically. 

“So,” she started. “Since I got tomorrow off, I thought I could keep you company and see that you git everything you need.”

“Won’t Chris mind you being gone?” Tim heard himself ask before he could stop his stupid mouth from speaking.

“I don’t think he cares at this point,” she replied after a moment, her eyes downcast.

Oh. Oh, this was dangerous. 

Tim knew immediately. He didn’t really have to ask. He did it anyway.

“Did you guys...?”

“Hm. Yeah,” Lucy nodded at her shoelaces. “A while ago.” 

She fell silent and Tim thought of a million things to say but she cut him off -physically, too, becasue she reached around his waist again and dragged him on.

“Let’s get you horizontal again,” she declared and dragged him on - not back to the sofa but in the direction of his bedroom. 

Oh yeah, this was going to be very dangerous. Nothing would happen of course, because Tim could barely move and he was in a lot of pain. But now that they’d both said it... that they were both single, all of the unspoken things that had built up between them since Las Vegas and after, crashed back into their midst like a third presence.

Lucy gently but assuredly helped him get down onto the bed and onto his bed and then she stood there for a second, a little lost as to how to proceed. He couldn’t help her. At once, he felt like a thirteen year old boy on his first date. 

She was in his bedroom. Lucy was in his bedroom and his dick was beginning to stand to attention again, ever resilient. He shifted uneasily and she cleared her throat.

“I’m gonna get you a glas of water,” she said and then dissappeared down the hall.

Tim let his head fall into his pillow and stared at his ceiling. Everything ached still, but now in more ways than one. He wished his brain wasn’t as foggy from everything, wished he could have an actual conversation. Because a world of complications but also promise and opportunity had just opened up for him, yet he felt like he didn’t have the capacity to deal with it right now. 

Lucy returned quietly and set down a glass of water beside him on the bedside table.

“I’ll let you get some rest, I’ll be in the living room, catch up on some Drag Race,” she said and turned on her heel.

“Lucy,” Tim sighed before he could think better of it. “Stay. Just lie with me for a while, yeah?”

Lucy didn’t say anything. But she did round the bed and laid down next to him and together, they both stared up at his non-descript white plastered ceiling.

Finally, after an age (or two to three minutes), Lucy spoke.

“I broke up with Chris,” she said quietly. “Because I have feelings for you.” Tim held his breath, couldn’t help it, really. “And I know that it’s complicated and that I was your rookie and you outrank me and that might look weird. And eventhough I’m no longer your go-fer, you’re still my superior and we might as well ride together again some day... I don’t want things to be weird or difficult for you but I know, I know there’s something between us and if I’ve learned one thing during this whole Rosalind-mess, it’s that life is short and I think we owe it to ourself to at least be honest with each other. If it can’t happen, fine. But I can’t keep pretending that I don’t think about you... every second of everyday since Las Vegas. Since before, really, if we do decide to be honest for once...”

Lucy stopped and fell silent. And for once, Tim’s various aches faded into the background of his mind. Everything she just said took him completely out of his body. One, because he had been waiting for weeks on end to hear her say it and two, because he heard her say it before.

“This isn’t one of your pranks, is it?” He asked and a part of him was legitimately scared that she would start giggling and turn it all around on him yet.

But instead she rolled onto her side and he did the same, eventhough he was shaking with a bout of fresh agony he did his damndest to push down.

“I’m completely, desperately serious,” she confessed, her eyes swimming in a way that made him cup her cheek on instinct. “I’m pahetically in love with you, Tim.”

He shook his head, despite the searing pain the movement caused. “Not pathetic. Not at all.”

“No?” She looked so fragile but at once blazing, like a battle angel, unbreakable yet soft and so, so beautiful.

“I want to kiss you so badly right now,” he admitted, barely louder than a whisper. “But I think my body can’t handle anything more tonight. I think I might actually die.”

Lucy chuckled and he could tell it surprised her herself. “Well then we should get you back to health as fast as possible.”

Fuck, he loved her. He loved her so goddamn much. With his whole guarded, fenced-off heart. She was everything.

“Or you know, we try it anyway,” he murmured. “No way I’d rather go out.”

And with the last of his strength, he pushed forward and kissed her, and when she kissed him back, he swore he couldn’t feel anything but the pressure of her lips, the taste of her tongue, and her feelings sneaking around his body.

It was true, if he died like that, on the spot, it would have been worth it.

[untilmynextstory]

Oh man Evelyn looking into grace soul practically she would have grace running for the hills lol and I hated the Russian storyline really stupid

Yeah, the Russians....are a weird storyline so it's debatable how much of any potential sequel would be canon-compliant. So I may only do season 1 + 2 for sure (if i can get Evelyn's arc figured out) and then one-shots if they are requests for a specific scene from season 3 + 4. It's all up in the air though. I'm not going to stress too hard as I have SONS as my priority fandom. If I think too hard I start doubting myself lol.

But since you guys have been so receptive I will share a rough draft of the scene that inspired Eye of the Storm initially. The bar scene from episode 2 with Grace and Tommy.

Tommy heads to Garrison. He needs a drink before having to tell his son that his beautiful horse was dead. He knows that he could make up some lie about the horse being sick and needed to go away, but what good would that do.

The lights are still on at the Pub and he bangs on the door.

The door opens and he pushes his way through. “We're closed, Mr. Shelby,” the posh voice of the barmaid rings out.

“Just get me a drink.”

“Shall I leave you alone?”

Tommy sighs. She always has fucking questions. “Where's Harry?”

“He took the night off. Went to the pictures,” she informs him as she slides his favorite whiskey in front of him.

Tommy grabs a cigarette from the open pack lying on the table.

“How's your beautiful horse?”

Tommy pauses his search for the cigarette as he leans back in his chair. He looks at the barmaid. “I just put a bullet in his head.”

“Was he lame?”

“He looked at me the wrong way. It's not a good idea to look at Tommy Shelby the wrong way.”

He watches as her blue eyes look away from him nervously. Good, he thinks. Let her be intimidated by him.

“People say the same thing about your wife,” she says hesitantly.

Tommy raises an eyebrow. Maybe it’s not him that has her nervous. “Maybe you should heed their warnings.”

“She’s very pretty.”

“I know.”

“Does your wife mind I’m going to the races with you?”

There is an edge to her voice. Almost arrogance to it. He lights his cigarette. “You’re going for me, not with me.”

He watches as that arrogance dims a little. She must be really stupid if he thinks he would openly step out on his wife. Besides, if Grace doesn’t take his warning, that’s on her. He isn’t going to stop Evelyn from handling the situation as she sees fit.

“And what am I doing at this race?”

“For £2, you'll do what I ask you to do.”

“I want three. If I'm meeting a king, I won't be wearing a cheap dress.” She fires back. “And I ask you to let me sing. It's part of the deal now, too.”

He bristles at the mention of the fucking singing.

“Saturday nights. Open and easy. Everyone gets to sing their song, just like we did in Dublin.”

“You never worked in Dublin. So don't lie to me,” he tells her. “My guess is, you're a girl from a good family who got herself pregnant.”

“It's not something I want known. You won't tell anyone my secret?”

“Do you think I tell people things?” He counters.

“I imagine you tell your wife things.”

“Apparently, you do to.”

[slamsams-blog]

A View To A Kill - #24WeeksofBond

This week’s feature is 1985′s “A View To A Kill”.  This would be Roger Moore’s 7th and final Bond performance, and judging by Moore’s appearance in this film, it really was for the best.  Man, am I torn with this one.  I know as a self-proclaimed “Bond Expert” I should hate this movie...take a look at any Bond ranking blog out there and you’ll find the usual suspects rounding out the bottom 5, this film included.  While it definitely has its faults (no pun intended), there is just something so unique and charming about this Bond adventure.  Maybe it’s the horses, maybe it’s the unforgettable May Day character, maybe it’s the Christopher Walken effect, or maybe it’s the way Bond cooks up a killer Quiche...whatever it is, I just can’t help but enjoy myself when I watch this movie.

It all starts with a fun ski chase scene where Bond is out trying to find the body of a missing 003...he finds him and discovers a microchip in his locket.  He must have been on the hunt for Zorin before Bond took over.  Not sure, I may have missed it, but eventually the ski chase scene boils down and Bond picks up a board from his snow mobile that got shot down.  This leads to “California Girls” playing while Bond snow boards his way out of a pickle.  Watching this now - it’s utterly ridiculous and doesn’t quite fit the vibe of the rest of the scene, but when I watched this as a teenager, I absolutely LOVED it and it still brings me back to when I was a kid watching these Bond films for the first time.

We are then treated to a bad ass tune by Duran Duran.  This song is one of my favorites.  When I think of this movie, 2 things pop into my head right away: that California girls scene, and the Duran Duran song.  So far this movie is hitting on all cylinders. 

But before we go on with the plot...let’s talk about the elephant in the room, shall we?  Bond is so uncomfortably old in this movie.  It’s a shame really, this movie has a wonderful plot with amazing characters, incredible action, and a killer score, but the only thing a lot of people take away from it is how old Moore is.  I don’t blame them, Moore is definitely a week past the sell by date here and he is still managing to get intimate with a few women.  Eh, I really hate to say it, but it was a different time I guess.  If Roger Moore had been a little younger or if Dalton had taken over this one...I think this movie would be towards the top of Bond lists everywhere.

Onto the plot...

It turns out this microchip is a copy of a Zorin Microchip that are designed to withstand a nuclear blast.  So Bond is set to find Max Zorin (Christopher Walken) and see if there is anything suspicious.  Well turns out his horses are really good...that’s enough to get a green light from her majesties secret service.  Bond goes to meet some weirdo at the Eifel Tower to talk all things Zorin, but the weirdo gets killed by a poison butterfly toy.  That’s funny to write.  Anyways, now Bond is really on a mission...

The movie continues with Bond going under cover as a super rich and bossy horse buyer with another man from MI6 who is a horse expert.  This part of the movie is just light hearted and fun.  We see Bond bossing “Tibbit” around and schmoozing other party folk, and getting to know all the evil bad guys along the way.  This is where we find out that Zorin inserts these microchips into the horse for an added boost during races.

Not only do we get to admire some beautiful horses, but we also get our first glimpse at Stacy Sutton (Tanya Roberts) who will go on later to be Bond’s helping force in taking Zorin down.  She is seemingly getting a big pay off, for what?  We don’t know yet.  But instead of Bond getting information from her, how Bond usually does, in a steamy hotel on a moonlit night.  Bond finds himself in bed with May Day, and the audience finds themselves uncomfortable with seeing old Moore naked in bed with naked Grace Jones.

Yeah....soooo anyways....

Like with most Bond movies, the plot always starts out rather simple but ends up being something bigger.  Yes, Zorin is cheating to win these horse races, by steroids and microchip injection...but then we also find out that Zorin is an ex-KGB who is now doing his own thing.  And apparently that thing is to destroy Silicon Valley, taking control of the microchip industry.  We never really find out why he needs this, other than having a monopoly.  But, why do you want a monopoly on the microchip business?  Seems rather lame in my opinion, but it’s Zorin, and he’s got his reasons.

We really don’t deserve a Christopher Walken here, but we get him and its wonderful.  Here is something I’ve never picked up before...apparently the old evil guy Hans Glaub was a nazi scientist who experimented with steroids in pregnant women in the concentration camps.  The women who gave birth, gave birth to kids with extremely high IQ’s but were psycho paths, leading Bond to suspect Zorin was a product of that.  NEVER KNEW THAT BACKSTORY UNTIL TONIGHT!  CRAZY! 

Well that definitely explains Walken’s performance.  Christopher Walken does a fantastic job of playing an extremely charming, highly popular public figure, but also a completely sadistic, ruthless killer who finds killing people “neat”.

On top of having Christopher Walken and Grace Jones as the evil tandem, we get to witness some wonderfully absurd action.  We have a Horse riding obstacle course that Bond must complete with 10 guys trying to knock him off; we have a Fire truck chase scene with Bond hanging on the ladder as it’s swinging through on coming traffic; and of course, the final boss battle on top of the Golden Gate Bridge.  Some pretty awesome stuff here...but man is Roger Moore old.

Not only is this Roger Moore’s last Bond movie, it’s also the swan song for the best Moneypenny ever...Lois Maxwell - who had served as the Bond flirting secretary to M since the very first Bond movie.  Lois had a wonderful career in the Bond series, but she too was getting old.  It only seemed fitting that she and Moore go out at the same time to bring in some young blood.

Despite Moore’s age, and yes I know I’m beating a dead horse (that was an intended pun), but this movie does all it can to make up for it.  There are so many memorable scenes in this film where I simply cannot in good conscious give this movie a bad review.  I would definitely put this movie in a solid place in the middle of the pack, but not bottom 5, I mean come on, Christopher Walken alone moves the movie up 6 spots.  

This really was fun to watch tonight.  What did you all think?  Let me know!

Reviews from Friends:

Dan Perch

Bond as St. John Smythe has to be my favorite fake name😂 Walken and Grace Jones were such a cool team to watch!

My Mom

Omg Sam this was the best bond movie and a fantastic write up on your blog. I laughed so hard at your commentary. You have the makings of a professional critic. You just have to fix that “anyways” habit. I can now see how you boys got addicted to Bond. I would put this brisk and boisterous film way up near the top. My gosh you should at the very least give it another half star. I loved it.

Andrew Albertsen

This was always one of my favorites

Jake Benrud

I had some of the same thoughts about this movie! "California Girls"? Really? I also don't think that Bond's knees could take those jumps at his age. It does make it kind of a fun scene though. I have had the "A View to a Kill" song stuck in my head all week. It's one of my favorite Bond songs as well. I also enjoyed the twang of the electric guitar with the 80's version of James Bond Theme song in the action sequences. Grace Jones as May Day was great. It was kind of funny to see the death by the poison butterfly on a fishing pole. I must have missed the connection on how the Nazi scientist who did experiments with steroids in pregnant women ended up being a father-figure to Zorin. Also, how did he become a KGB agent if he was the product of a Nazi experiment? I guess he could have jumped ship to the next "evil empire." Walken played the part well. I liked his laugh just before plummeting to his death.

24 Weeks of Bond will return next Monday with - 

Goldeneye

[omegangrins]

The Hateful 8: Chris Mannix was made the Sheriff of Red Rock by his siblings so they could kill him from a distance.

Tl;dr: Due to his intelligence, mouth, and aspirations, Chris Mannix "was" appointed Sheriff of Red Rock via a sham election organized by his siblings so they could kill him anonymously from a distance.

I love the ambiguous nature of Walton Goggin's character Chris Mannix in The Hateful Eight. A man who joined his father and family to ransack towns in order to inspire fear for the Confederacy, dying by the side of the type of person he hated most. All whilst claiming to be a lawman. And it's always made me wonder if he was telling the truth or.... not really actually. I always thought he was telling the truth. Cause he never lies throughout the whole movie. In fact, he catches several people in lies (Marquis, Gage, Daisy). There are even several times where he refers to himself as a Sheriff believing that he will live to carry out his threats. He's either an excellent actor with his own side game in this movie, or he truly believes what he says is true.

Here's where things get subjective and I don't have a lot of information on (Part of why I'm putting it out to the world.). There's a line by John Ruth where he says that Chris is Erskine Mannix's youngest boy. Now here's where you can imply a few things. We know he's not an only child definitely not one of two sibling, or Ruth would refer to Chris as "the other one" or some such. And he says youngest boy so we can infer that Erskine had daughters. Meaning that if this is a regular Carolinan family from the 1800's, they would have as many kids as possible. Low ball estimate of 2 girls and 4 boys. But enough of them to dislike the little one.

Now let's look at Chris. If he's the youngest of the family then one could infer that he's had the hard life. Almost a runt in the litter type. But he's a man who values dignity and true leadership. Both traits of honest men. Then if we take what he says about being Sheriff to be true, he also never tells a lie, makes a deception, or attempts to hurt/kill anyone preemptively (at least any one that hadn't already tried to kill him 😄). He even realizes his tongue is getting him into stupid trouble on the stagecoach so he shuts down the conversation and apologizes for his getting riled up. Clearly a man that understands the rules of society and is happy to play by them. Yet still an honest man nonetheless.

His honesty can even be seen in his dissemination of other people's lies. It takes him less than 15 minutes after learning of Marquis' letter to realize it was a fake, and he didn't even have to read it. All he did was add up the pieces of Major Marquis Warren he knew. Joe Gage he more or less guessed/used instinct. But, he figured out that all of what Daisy Domergue said was bullshit the same way he figured out Warren's letter was shit: character context clues. So, he's great at spotting lies. This will come in later with the family bit.

This is what makes me think about this the most though. He always refers to himself as the new Sheriff of Red Rock. Not just in greetings but in negotiation stances and regular interactions. When Mannix meets John Ruth and Co. and Ruth asks for his badge, Chris tells them that if they're bounty hunters, it's him they're taking their dead bounties to. And when John Ruth refuses to let him board without manacles, Mannix tells O.B. that he will be legally obliged to inform the Marshal at Red Rock that Ruth left the new Sheriff to freeze without assisting him. A similar thing happens when they reach the Haberdashery. When Marquis draws his weapon on Sanford E. Smithers, and Oswaldo Mobray's reminds him that he'll hang in Red Rock if he does. Mannix steps next to Smithers and reaffirms that he will make sure that Marquis will hang, seeing that he is the new Sheriff and all. In fact, one of the first things that Chris does is interact with the person he believes to be Red Rock's new hangman. Going so far as to ask if he can see the hanging papers for the man who shot the Sheriff that Chris is replacing. He even cordially chats up with Oswaldo, reasoning they'll be working together soon.

And finally, near his deathbed, with no one to care, he declares his "first and final act, as the Sheriff of Red Rock" is to have Domergue hanged. A rather strange moment to commit to a lie, if it were one. Especially considering Marquis lets him read the faux Lincoln letter minutes letter. Sure seems like the perfect opportunity to confess all of one's lies and yet Chris stays quiet. So we can assume that he meant what he said. Or at least, he thought it was true....

This is where the Mannix family comes back into play. We learn during bits of dialogue throughout the movie that Erskine Mannix led a team of Confederate rebels known as Erskine's Marauders during and after the Civil War. It can be implied that the entire Mannix family was apart of this, since it's said their numbers reached around 400. So of course Erskine's kids would hop on this hate train. Chris says as much when talking about fighting under his father's command. Erskine Mannix held the Marauders together after the war with nothing but his command and respect. In fact, it's one of the things Chris most admired about his father. You can tell he looked up to his daddy.

Now I get into the extrapolating subjective era. Remember what I said about the number of kids? Call it 6 kids for Erskine with Chris being the youngest but probably smartest. Several characters also bring up that Erskine died recently. So this leaves a power vacuum. It's probably one of those situations like in the stagecoach where he can run his mouth a bit too much, or like he does with Ruth and Warren, use legal leverage to gain an upper hand. (If this was Game of Thrones, Chris would be a Tyrion type character. Good natured, hated, but bloody good at playing the game.). He's a player that needed to be shut up. I'd wager there came a time after/before Erskine died where Chris wanted more power in the family. He started to exert influence and amass bits of power, becoming more politically dangerous. Sort of like Fredo.

Seeing this, his brothers and sisters decide to hatch a simple scheme to kill him one of three ways. First, they pay a man to kill the Sheriff in Red Rock (I imagine as Marauders they would have plenty of cash. Look at Chris, he ain't dressed in rags.) and bribe public officials to rig the election so Chris becomes Sheriff. They do this in order to make it seem authentic to the already established sharp-eyed Chris Mannix. With the hard part done, next comes the killing. The first death they set up in Red Rock along with the previous bribing. All it takes is finding someone else *also* willing to kill the Sheriff. That way when Chris comes to town, he suffers the same fate as the Sheriff before him. Second way is by horse. This is closer to conjecture but Chris doesn't seem to have the attachment to his horse that Marquis did. Meaning either that it wasn't his horse, it was but he didn't care, or that no one asked him so that's something about him we'll never know. What it could mean though, is that he was given a lame horse without his knowledge. Third thing is the blizzard. It's a long distance from Wyoming to Red Rock. And a blizzard that large would have signs that would be spottable even back then. So he was sent into a white hell on a lame horse heading to an eventual bullet. Sounds like a plan that we're not seeing all the pieces of. So if his family was planning to get rid of him and his overly smart and mouthy ways, they had set up several opportunities to have it done.

Final weird thing to think about. There is a complaint that The Hateful Eight title doesn't work numerically with the characters we are given and their backstories. To that I would add that it does. I think O.B. and Mannix are the two odd "good" guys out, either with integrity or by not trying to actively hurt anyone in the story. Everyone of the main characters tries to kill other people in cold blood, and only O.B. and Mannix shoot no one, or wait until they are shot at. And if you include his telling the truth to himself that he is Sheriff, then he and O.B. are the only "pure of heart" ones.

In the end, Chris was telling the truth and also unknowingly lying. True that he'd been made Sheriff, and a lie that he would stay that way for long. He's the best of both worlds. The greyest of grey characters.

[autolovecraft]

Birch, and I don't blame you for giving him a cast-aside coffin!

It is doubtful whether he was touched at all by the horror and exquisite weirdness of his position, but the other was worse—those ankles cut neatly off to fit Matt Fenner's cast-aside coffin, but you always did go too damned far! I'll never get the picture out of my head as long as I live. He worked largely by feeling now, since newly gathered clouds hid the moon; and though progress was still slow, he felt heartened at the extent of his encroachments on the top and bottom of the aperture. Instinct guided him in his wriggle through the transom. He was the devil incarnate, Birch, but you got what you deserved.

Horrible pains, as of savage wounds, shot through his calves; and in his mind was a vortex of fright mixed with an unquenchable materialism that suggested splinters, loose nails, or some other attribute of a breaking wooden box.

He confided in me because I was his doctor, and because he probably felt the need of confiding in someone else after Davis died. The wounds���for both ankles were frightfully lacerated about the Achilles' tendons—seemed to puzzle the old physician greatly, and finally almost to frighten him.

You know what a fiend he was for revenge—how he ruined old Raymond thirty years after their boundary suit, and how he stepped on the puppy that snapped at him a year ago last August … He was the devil incarnate, Birch, and I don't blame you for giving him a cast-aside coffin, but you got what you deserved. The air had begun to be exceedingly unwholesome; but to this detail he paid no attention as he toiled, half by feeling, at the heavy and corroded metal of the latch. This arrangement could be ascended with a minimum of awkwardness, and would furnish the desired height.

His day's work was sadly interrupted, and unless chance presently brought some rambler hither, he might have to remain all night or longer. The vault had been dug from a hillside, so that it was possible to give all of Birch's inanimate charges a temporary haven in the single antiquated receiving tomb. He cried aloud once, and a little later gave a gasp that was more terrible than a cry. To him Birch had felt no compunction in assigning the carelessly made coffin which he now pushed out of the way in his quest for the Fenner casket. The undertaker grew doubly lethargic in the bitter weather, and seemed to outdo even himself in carelessness. I've seen sights before, but there was one thing too much here. For the long-neglected latch was obviously broken, leaving the careless undertaker trapped in the vault, a victim of his own oversight. Undisturbed by oppressive reflections on the time, the place, and the emerging moon must have witnessed a horrible sight as he dragged his bleeding ankles toward the cemetery lodge; his fingers clawing the black mold in brainless haste, and his hands shook as he dressed the mangled members; binding them as if he wished to get the wounds out of sight as quickly as possible.

Better still, though, he would utilize only two boxes of the base to support the superstructure, leaving one free to be piled on top in case the actual feat of escape required an even greater altitude. It may have been mocking. And so the prisoner toiled in the twilight, heaving the unresponsive remnants of mortality with little ceremony as his miniature Tower of Babel rose course by course. He was just dizzy and careless enough to annoy his sensitive horse, which as he drew it viciously up at the tomb neighed and pawed and tossed its head, much as on that former occasion when the rain had vexed it. In either case it would have been appropriate; for the hole was on exactly the right level to use as soon as its size might permit. Certainly, the events of that evening greatly changed George Birch.

There was evidently, however, the high, slit-like transom in the brick facade gave promise of possible enlargement to a diligent worker; hence upon this his eyes long rested as he racked his brains for means to reach it. Birch, but you knew what a little man old Fenner was. He changed his business, but something always preyed upon him. The tower at length finished, and his aching arms rested by a pause during which he sat on the bottom step of his grim device, Birch cautiously ascended with his tools and stood abreast of the narrow transom. Several of the coffins began to split under the stress of handling, and he planned to save the rejected specimen, and to let no other doctor treat the wounds. On the afternoon of Friday, April 15th, then, Birch set out for the tomb with horse and wagon to transfer the body of Matthew Fenner. He would have given much for a lantern or bit of candle; but lacking these, bungled semi-sightlessly as best he might. Fortunately the village was small and the death rate low, so that it was possible to give all of Birch's inanimate charges a temporary haven in the single antiquated receiving tomb. Davis died. He was oddly anxious to know if Birch were sure—absolutely sure—of the identity of that top coffin of the pile; how he had been certain of it as the Fenner coffin in the dusk, and how he had distinguished it from the inferior duplicate coffin of vicious Asaph Sawyer. What else, he added, could ever in any case be proved or believed? He was just dizzy and careless enough to annoy his sensitive horse, which as he drew it viciously up at the tomb neighed and pawed and tossed its head, much as on that former occasion when the rain had vexed it.

And so the prisoner toiled in the twilight, heaving the unresponsive remnants of mortality with little ceremony as his miniature Tower of Babel rose course by course. Dusk fell and found Birch still toiling. He was a bachelor, wholly without relatives. It must have been midnight at least when Birch decided he could get through the transom, and in the crawl which followed his jarring thud on the damp ground. In time the hole grew so large that he ventured to try his body in it now and then, shifting about so that the coffins beneath him rocked and creaked. The boxes were fairly even, and could be piled up like blocks; so he began to compute how he might most stably use the eight to rear a scalable platform four deep. I thought! It was Asaph's coffin, Birch, but you knew what a little man old Fenner was. The body was pretty badly gone, but if ever I saw vindictiveness on any face—or former face. I'd hate to have it aimed at me! His frightened horse had gone home, but his frightened wits never quite did that. Never did he knock together flimsier and ungainlier caskets, or disregard more flagrantly the needs of the rusty lock on the tomb door which he slammed open and shut with such nonchalant abandon. Then he fled back to the lodge and broke all the rules of his calling by rousing and shaking his patient, and hurling at him a succession of shuddering whispers that seared into the bewildered ears like the hissing of vitriol. Instinct guided him in his wriggle through the transom, and in the crawl which followed his jarring thud on the damp ground.

Fortunately the village was small and the death rate low, so that it was possible to give all of Birch's inanimate charges a temporary haven in the single antiquated receiving tomb. He had even wondered, at Sawyer's funeral, how the vindictive farmer had managed to lie straight in a box so closely akin to that of the diminutive Fenner. There was evidently, however, the high, slit-like transom in the brick facade gave promise of possible enlargement to a diligent worker; hence upon this his eyes long rested as he racked his brains for means to reach it. He always remained lame, for the great tendons had been severed; but I think the greatest lameness was in his soul. He could, he was sure, get out by midnight—though it is characteristic of him that this thought was untinged with eerie implications. His questioning grew more than medically tense, and his hands shook as he dressed the mangled members; binding them as if he wished to get the wounds out of sight as quickly as possible. He had, indeed, made that coffin for Matthew Fenner; but had cast it aside at last as too awkward and flimsy, in a fit of curious sentimentality aroused by recalling how kindly and generous the little old man had been to him during his bankruptcy five years before. That he was not an evil man. Birch were sure—absolutely sure—of the identity of that top coffin of the pile; how he had distinguished it from the inferior duplicate coffin of vicious Asaph Sawyer. Certainly, the events of that evening greatly changed George Birch.

[head-and-heart]

Am I the only one who think the episode was poor? I didn't like the writing, it's was a bit lazy and I still think Clarke's action was ooc to create more drama. Idk, it wasn't a bad episode but I didn't like it but I usually don't like the way Kim writes tbh

You’re definitely not the only one. I’ve seen a lot of complaints about it, actually.

Personally, I usually DO like Kim’s episodes, which is why this one was so disappointing. (I mean, Kim wrote “Nevermore”, which is honestly one of the best episodes not just in Season 3 but in the entire show IMO. And while I know this is an unpopular opinion in the BC fam, I REALLY enjoyed 3x03 as well) I didn’t hate it, but I didn’t love it - I didn’t have many strong feelings either way. There were just a bunch of things that I found a bit annoying.

I didn’t really find Clarke to be ooc to be honest. I think that for Clarke, as an extremely pragmatic character, that list was exactly how I would expect her to write it (besides Monty but that’s another problem I had with the episode). I don’t think that her making hard choices and using “its for my people” as justification was out of character. Clarke has always been that way. I don’t think her lying to the people in order to do so was out of character either. This season is going to be about Clarke learning about free will, for real this time. She isn’t perfect, she’s not a perfect leader. I like that the writers try to show her flaws. I also might add, I like that they like to explore those flaws when Clarke doesn’t have Bellamy at her side, and vice versa.

They centre each other. It shows when they’re apart.

Anyway, I haven’t rewatched the episode yet so I don’t know how well I’ll be able to pick out very specific things that bothered me about it, but I guess I’ll talk about the main ones.

I mentioned that I thought Monty being on that list was dumb. Not just because he wasn’t on it, but because OCTAVIA WAS. I have no idea how Octavia made that list (well, I do, but it has nothing to do with her and everything to do with Bellamy, and I don’t like that implication either). I’m not going to rant here because I already posted an all-caps rant about it here. So, if you’re interested in some screaming go right on ahead and click the link lol

The other big one I can think of is basically everything to do with Octavia’s fight scene with Echo and her “death”.

So much was wrong with that scene. I find it annoying that it was two to one and Octavia effortlessly took out the first warrior even though both of them have been training since they were children. It shouldn’t have been even close to an even fight. Octavia shouldn’t have even been able to hold up against Echo for as long as she did. Especially when you consider the fact that Bellamy disarmed and overpowered Octavia while he had his hands literally tied (and no weapon!) back in 3x10 when they confronted Pike in the span of like, three seconds. It bothers me how, in pretty much no time at all and practically no extra training, Octavia is suddenly hailed as this “badass” force of nature who is effortlessly fighting/killing all of these highly skilled and trained warriors left, right and centre. It doesn’t make sense and the sacrifice of continuity in order to make Octavia more “edgy” is getting old really fast.

I also hate the slow-mo they use in action scenes (not a criticism of 4x04, but the entire show as a whole). Why did they start using slow-mo in season 3? Its like they’re trying to be this big, cool action-movie and are trying to make everything look more badass but it just makes it seem lame. This is a character-driven show. It doesn’t need the slow-mo in order to appeal to people and never has. And the slow-motion glorifies violence in a way that it never used to before Season 3. And I don’t think that glorification was something the writers have ever intended but it makes it seem like thats what they are doing by adding in the slow-mo.

Octavia getting stabbed through the abdomen and falling off that cliff is so ridiculous I can’t even describe how fucking stupid it was. There is no way she could have survived that fall relatively unharmed. Even without that stab wound, she should have broken bones, probably snapped her neck. She should be DEAD. And I bet you anything that in the next episodes the only wound that will be addressed will be her stab wound, not anything she sustained during the fall. Because lets be real, that fall was just there to create drama and parallel her to Aragorn, but it didn’t look like she was suffering from any other injuries.

*clenches fists* URGHHHHH

HOW DID SHE PULL HERSELF ONTO A HORSE HOWWWWWWWWWWW A LOT OF PEOPLE CAN’T EVEN DO THAT WHEN THEY’RE IN GOOD HEALTH THIS MAKES NO FUCKING SENSE

I didn’t like Raven’s line to Luna: “It’s not your blood that defines you, it’s your heart.”

a) it’s cheesy as fuck and I despise cheesy things oh my god

b) it doesn’t sound like something Raven would say. I mean, didn’t we just spend last two episodes exploring how RUTHLESS Raven can be and how she just … doesn’t connect with people in the same way as someone who was more of a “heart” kinda person would? Not to say that Raven is heartless (cause she’s NOT) or doesn’t know how to empathize with people but she’s always been a head over heart kinda gal and, especially since we’ve seen that focused on so heavily lately, it seems odd that SHE would be the one to say that line. It implies that Raven thinks that a person’s morality and their compassion and all that shit are a LOT more important than what we’ve been led to believe by her actions in recent episodes. And believe me I’m not dragging Raven or anything because I love Raven and I love how pragmatic and rational she is, but this line seemed like it should have been written for someone else. It would have made more sense if someone like Abby said it.

(Anyway I have no idea how to articulate any of what I was trying to say but whatever)

c) it felt out of place in the scene and pretty much entirely unnecessary

Just all around an awkward line.

I didn’t like the piano music in Bellamy’s scene where he finds out about Octavia. It felt like they were trying to force the emotion onto us instead of just letting us feel it. I wish they had cut the music off entirely and just let us HEAR and SEE the emotion of the scene through Bellamy (and Kane’s) grief. That would have been a lot more impactful. I’ve seen other people point it out as well, but I also wish that the camera lingered more on Bellamy. The shots were all over the place, it was hard to focus on anything. The music was distracting, the camerawork was distracting … It could have been better.

A lot of the issues in the episode are probably due to that being the director’s debut though, so I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt for now. I’m sure it will get better.

I’m not as upset as most people about the lack of Bellamy in the episode, tbh. I missed him and I wish there was more but I’m not ANGRY. I think people are blaming this all on Kim but I don’t think Kim actually has the ability to just be like “you know what, fuck Bellamy, he’s not going in this episode”. It’s not just up to her - its up to the entire writers room. Remember, they decide what goes in the episodes. Individual writers just decided on the smaller details, like specific lines and movements and how they want the scenes to come to life. But the lack of Bellamy definitely wasn’t just up to her.

Remember 3x10? We got like, two minutes of Clarke in that episode due to scheduling issues with Eliza. My gut tells me that they probably knew Bob wouldn’t be able to film much for 4x04 and that’s why he’s barely in it. They probably gave that episode to Kim BECAUSE they know she doesn’t enjoy writing Bellamy as much, but I don’t think that him not being in the episode was really up to her. Just my two cents.

Anyway I touched the main points. I know you probably didn’t want this response but oh wellll. Thanks for sending in the ask!