#cunning fox and cruel wolf pairing

[dramaaddict]

THEM

[miki-13]

Redwall Season 2 episode 2: The Magician Revealed Live-Blog+ Review

In celebration for Netflix doing Redwall, I’m finally going to look into the animated series, reviewing while also comparing and contrasting the two. Keep in mind that this is gonna get incoherent.

Redwall Season 2 episode 2: The Magician Revealed

- Opening has become nostalgic in the months I’ve been away.

- Also I just noticed the slight chorus at the very end of the song. Martin’s narration of “I Am That Is” must have drowned it out before.

- Aaaand it’s still raining. 

- What was in the drink? The fact that barely any of them are stirring even in the rain means it was strong stuff O_O;

Matthias: Bae, please for the love of god wake up :’(

Also pretty wild the same person is voicing Matthias from the previous season. Guy’s got range.

- Wait, they left a kid behind? Odd.

- … oh shit O___O;;

- “Have you seen Mattimeo?” “Probably hiding with the others.” Oh if only…

- Who dis?

- Man, Matthias really has grown into the leader role. Always excellent in a crisis.

- Title Card. Can’t say I hate the cold openings. Also I think this is the first I’ve noticed how the Laterose’s tendrils have grown over the “Episode Number”.

- Winifred! It’s really weird seeing her with no clothes, but that’s more due to being used to the otters wearing clothes than anything.

- Oh right… I didn’t like what the animated series did with Hugo, but it’s still sad seeing him like this.

- “Why is right… and who!” Oh god, Basil’s crying Q__Q

- After years of peace, Cornflower is back being best support… but at what cost?

- It’s good to see more of Mordalfus. He was done so dirty previous season. And the fact he keeps his head on straight+ is the voice of reason among the others is so welcome.

- Ohh, so that was John Churchmouse!

- FOREHEAD KISSES 

- And there we go. God, it’s hard seeing them learn this ;__;

- Cut to the kids!

- Even chained up, Mattimeo takes none of Vitch’s bullshit. And even when he has every advantage, Vitch is too scared to attack after Mattimeo refuses to be cowed and immediately cries wolf. 

For all his spoiled upbringing, Mattimeo isn’t lacking in any courage.

-YEET

- Poor Sam ;__;

- “You showed that little rat.” Yes he did, Auma! (Not Alma, sorry ^^;) I’m already on-board this bromance/friendship so hard- combo of Matthias and Constance, and Matthias and Orlando.

- “So you’re the one he wanted so badly...” “Who wanted me?” A murderous little shit turned cruel slaver with skewered priorities voiced by Tim Curry.

- That mouse in the background looks dead inside. Poor kid ;_;

- God, poor Auma. She really has seen things. Her voice is so calm, but resigned at the same time.

- “Don’t tell the others.” And Mattimeo already sees what is most important: maintaining hope.

- Damn, Slagar really has grown in cunning. What a difference from who he used to be.

- AND HERE’S THE BITCH HIMSELF

- Oh god his eyeholes are throwing me off.

- You complete and utter ass, terrifying those kids. Must feel real proud of yourself, don’t you Chickenhound >:(

- Warbeak!

- Rain=sky-juice. I don’t know why but saying “sky juice” feels weird. Like saying “eye-juice” for tears.

- And Vitch being a bitch is revealed paired with flashback.

- “We’ll make that masked fox wish he never saw our gates!” Hell yes you will. And will continue to do so with the next multiple assholes.

- “I agree.” And like that, Mordalfus is already my favorite Redwall Animated Abbot.

Matthias: If you let my son go, that will be the end of it. But if you don’t, I will look for you, I will find you… and I will kill you.

Slagar: … good luck.

- Poor Tess ;_; Good on Mattimeo and Auma, and fuck that guy.

- Ffffffff god, this poor girl- is that blood on her robe?!

- I’m gonna be going “Poor X” a lot this season, aren’t I? But Jesus H. Dick, Auma has been through so much ;__;

But just hearing how her mother died and her and Orlando looking after themselves is enough to make Mattimeo start to change, already beginning to take the lead.

- Okay does anyone else feel like those two stoats/ferrets clearing away the tracks are looking beyond the fourth wall? Because I do and it’s creepy.

- Like goddamn, this entire set-up of false trails and clues is dastardly and disturbing in equal measure.

- There’s a WMG trope entry/headcanon that Cynthia Bankvole is Collin Bankvole’s child, and I can see that. 

But Mattimeo, anyone, be they child or adult, would be crying and exhausted from being kidnapped, chained up and forced to walk for hours through rain and night.

- “Your father would never talk to another creature like that.” Don’t be too sure. 

- Ultimately, Tess is saying that Mattimeo is strong due to being connected to Matthias and Cornflower’s strength, and he does need to use that strength to lift others up, not that he has to be exactly like Matthias.

But also, they’re all kids and they’ve every right to be scared and crying. It’s not fair that these kids already have to bottle up their own tears just to avoid being abused ;__;

- You shut up, Vitch. And once more, Mattimeo shows which of them is stronger.

- WOW. NO RESPECT WHATSOEVER XD

- Oh you little bitch >:(

- Yeah yeah you must feel so big and strong intimidating little kids, don’t you >:(

- “One more stunt like that and you’ll be chained in there with them!” It’s not gonna take a lot.

- Cape billow transition.

- I really like Matthias’ look here, and the bit of ruffled fur on his head- didn’t notice that until now, but it suits him. Also is that Cornflower and Mrs. Churchmouse?

- Basil used Lighten Up. It’s not very effective… at least on my end.

- Wow, literal leaves on a wooden slate.

- Oh boy…

- Jess is there too! It’s good to see the main mothers are helping search for their kids… it’d be even better if they were on the actual trail.

- Basil takes his job as mood lightener seriously, but there’s just some times you need to feel sad/down.

- Okay, but landing wrong/ putting too much weight on the wrong foot is no laughing matter. That shit hurts.

- “Give ‘em mud and vinegar, just like my mum used to give ‘em!” Ooh, looks like Basil’s mom used to be Long Patrol. Guess that Basil was one of the young hares who decided army life wasn’t for him, though he takes great pride in his experience.

- Oh it is a splinter. That came from a perfectly level dirt ground. Why.

- Or it’s a clue! Good on you, Jess Squirrel.

- Nooooo, it’s the wrong way stop getting excited!

- Of fucking course he made himself a stone throne -__-;;;

- Continuity twisted by Slagar’s narrative. Sela was about as sainted as Kajortoq, though not nearly as successful in her endeavors.

- “They sent her to her doom, to a horrible undeserving death!” Considering they were well about to, and I quote, “Bury her up to her neck in red ants, then hang the wretch from the tower before you draw and quarter her,” due to her actions letting Methuselah get killed while trying to play both sides for a profit… 

Yeah, she absolutely deserves whatever death Cluny gave her. 

- I can absolutely see a possible reason of Slagar telling Mattimeo this is so that he would feel guilt over being supposedly being the son of a murderer and being the reason he and his friends were thrown into this violent and awful situation. It could also be that the poison of Asmodeus really did fuck up his brain.

But Mattimeo ain’t no one’s fool and Matthias made sure his son knew the truth.

- DON’T YOU TOUCH HIM D8<

What the hell do you know about being trapped?! You were right by Sela’s side screwing over everyone and didn’t care who you hurt. You hurt and eventually killed Methuselah and unlike in the book, it was completely intentional.

- Damn, Slagar sounds physically pained at being said to have been killed.

- “I… am… Chickenhound!” That… was unexpected O_O

- OH JESUS-FUCK IT’S WORSE IN ANIMATION

- “No, I know the truth! You did it to yourself!” You tell him, Matti! Everything he did he caused by his own hand and the only reason he’s placing blame is because it’s so much easier to blame everything and everyone than it is to take responsibility for your actions!

- “You want the truth? Matthias of Redwall will know pain when his own son is made to suffer as Slagar has suffered.” Oh that is chilling- why do I imagine him forcing Mattimeo to become scarred like him now?

Like, I’m beyond relieved he didn’t, but… scary, sad AU material right there ;__;

- “That is the truth, mouse. And that… is a promise.” Brr. Poor Mattimeo ;A;

- Opening shot.

I am so sorry for the time-gap between this and the last review ^^;

Between starting to lose interest (though this was more me being burned out from back-to-back reviews) and irl things, this slipped past my notice for longer than I wished for.

If there’s one thing the animated series has been good at, it’s establishing tone and the emotional stakes. Before reading the book, I felt for everyone who’s children were taken, but actually hearing their voices and seeing how they wept and were despondent brought it much closer to my heart.

Speaking of said children, good god is it sad seeing them chained together and forced into slavery. None of them deserve this kind of fate, and I feel awful for every single one of them. Redwall has always stressed what kind of hell slavery is, but seeing it animated just drives it home further.

As for Slagar… seeing his cruelty and cunning like this makes him feel threatening but in a very different way from Cluny. His is far more insidious, so much more personal. It feels as though he has broken something truly sacred in his tactics, especially in regards to kidnapping and targeting children specifically, regardless of if he’s doing it to get back at their parents.

One thing for certain: these kids are gonna need so much therapy after this is over.

[necrolux]

Disobedience.

“Disobedience, in the eyes of anyone who has read history, is man’s original virtue. It is through disobedience that progress has been made, through disobedience and through rebellion.”

— Oscar Wilde

Perhaps the most Machiavellian thing about mankind is his disobedience; mankind is cunning, but not convincing. Outsmarting one is not to outsmart the all, and there lies danger. Perhaps the most treacherous part of you is also your disobedience to me; 

My personal little brat to tame. It is when you misbehave like this that I have most fun, you see. It is joyous to completely destroy you. I soar to Valhalla with each cry from your sinful lips when my palm crashes down on your ivory skin like that, unblemished white turning crimson as the Devil through your cheeks and I force you to look at me. I force your tear-stained, maleficent, cunning eyes into mine; there is no match.

Be a brat all you want, my sweet taste of Lucifer's liquor; I will tame you now, and I will tame you again. 

My personal eventide vice. It is when you behave like this that I have the most fun, you see. It is enrapturing when you so carefully annul me. When such sweet strains of pleasure escape my ungodly lips what fits of great mania and quick-eyed lust bask in your smirk. Ardent hands so vehemently travel past silken skin and like needle to flesh, leave behind traces of red; desperation escapes in pearls through my eyes and I use its sharp sting to hone the fangs of my heart while you force a glance, unbeknownst. My sins and I joined ankle to ankle and wrist to wrist, knelt before the knees of your broken confessional where I so obediently ask for amnesty. Yet, profane voices continue to utter their untamed musings and I am reminded that cunning cannot be chained. Tame me, time and time again, my seraphic taste of absinthe, you seem to have forgotten that outsmarting one is not to outsmart the all. For it only becomes easier to disobey when you so devoutly obey my deepest fantasies.

It is the defiant heat dripping from your lips, paired with such cruel smirk that has me delirious. I ought to pull you apart, kitten; bone by bone, limb by sweet limb. Watch the scarlet perversion tone our entire reality for the nightfall's everlast, knowing so that all I do is quench your thirst for discipline. 

How unruly you have become, all but innocent dove of mine; was that purposeful? And how am I expected to resist and repel the yearning to undo you whole? I shan't; for your form and silhouette were made for my hands and mine only, fingers curving around marble pare and tender flesh sufficient to bruise, blemishing you on pure violaceous hue, loitering amaranthine traces of my reach.

Is it the daring tempest dripping from my lip that has you so deranged, or the way my delicate body effortlessly slithers between your hands, so serpentine? Fingers curved like a scythe around ivory skin, hysterically devouring flesh, driving my mind into a state of pure ecstasy. Break my very  bones with your heavenly glare, tear me limb by limb, mutilate my very being and bathe me in your garnet filled craze till your fervent appetite has been fulfilled. Phrases of passion disclose its ethereal bliss into my ears, laced with your obedient antiphon, I choose to do nothing more than play the innocent dove, the pure lamb led to slaughter while the depraved and bestial wolf within sits silent. Hungry. Craving. Yearning. For nothing more than bruise and blemish. How compliant you have become, all but vile fox of mine, answering to the very command of my voice; how terribly easily you have fallen into addiction, quenching my thirst for discipline; but I am still famished. Filled with the waters of seduction, my appetite only grows with your touch.

My personal eventide vice, as you call for me, but the blindfolds hide me from you; how you wish to see me. Like the beat of a drum, I hear your heart thrum for me in time with the fastened pace with which you inhale, exhale, lungs filling and deflating, breathing in the need and exhaling fears. There is no wavering, no staggering vacillation to overcome, power overflowing sins much beyond carnality. My soul counterpart, half of me, my fulfilment. Thirsty hands for you, mewls cascading from your lips, a saint and a savior—handcrafted by God, forfeited by the hands of your creator.

I care not for who's forsaken you, I want you; craved lust hasn't ever felt as dulcet as with you, Sacrosanct songbird of mine. Should I keep you caged within the confines of me, should I lull you into slumber each night? Shall I brand you my own into perpetuity? The timelessness of the feeling of your skin against my palm dips into my soul and it is my antidote, alleviation to all affliction. I never have sufficient amounts of you.

The sweet saccharin taste tinting your mouth from mine has rendered you breathless, has it not? Tell me, for I crave; tell me, for I ache. Won't you tell me now, my sweet devotion? I desire, drip and burn, ablaze with drop after drop of the poison I've elected to reign me, ruling every single inch of my body as his towers over. Completely unmade, I encounter a mirror carefully placed above me, fixated to the ceiling where I can see the entirety; the whole scene, a mess of tangled sheets and tangled limbs, onerous need of devouring each other, heavy breathing echoing. My hair, I found, is scattered over his chest and without any ado he flashes me the most gracious smile I have ever laid eyes upon. Just like this, I lose me. It had been a battle, you see; but I would have never succeeded. I would have never quenched my thirst for him, a wink of his doe eyes causing tremors at my very knees and I can swear for a lapse of moment in time that I will fall. I don't.

My sweet rose, plucked of thorns, oh how I wish to see you. To consume your divine innocence, to watch as the red wool of passion, pulled over thy eyes, blind such silver-tressed mendacity from you; yet, mundane blindfolds hide you from me. The very beat of my mortal heart quickens at brief glimpses of the pestilence that has overcome you. You stare, awestruck, my skin reeks of thunder at the faintest lick of your fingertips. Like candlelight in wind, I hear your heart waver. Billow and bend, with each and every deviation, my lungs fill with morsels of your beloved words. A nicotine irresistible. My soul counterpart, a servant to my blessed sacrifices, my glorious sin. Appetent hands reach for you, Sanskrit boils in your veins, holy fire, hell fire left in kisses between my thighs. Silver-tongued hymns cascading from your lips, a saint and a devil—handcrafted by God, stolen from the very hands of your creator. I care not for me who has so easily purloined you, I hunger for you; craved lust hasn’t ever felt as carnal as with you, half-devoured Venus of mine. Cage me, clip my wings, but you shall never confine me. A breath of everlasting sensuality, skin against skin, our corrupted souls dancing as one. 

I never have sufficient amounts of you.

________________________________________ © petrichoria Do not copy, steal nor repost anywhere.