#furry arc? who knows. one day i could make money with that

[snoocupz]

Silly Klapollie animals!!

[pandoratheprocrasticreator]

Plotlines in TOH that were probably cut because of The Shortening

matt and steve being brothers (confirmed!)

beach episode (kind of confirmed?)

the odalia/alador divorce arc (they needed like at least 2 more episodes to convincingly show this marriage dissolve they got along fine in escaping expulsion)

odalia’s motivations/character depth (did she know the sigils would kill everyone? since she and her husband both had sigils what did she think would happen? if everyone died who would she have extorted money from? was she coerced by belos? i know shes a capitalist but this is a very bad business decision)

the alador/darius enemies to lovers slowburn

dadrius and sonter

hooty’s backstory

the collector getting into more shenanigans while still trapped in the shadow realm

the deal with the other four coven heads

the deal with eberwolf (why are they rebelling? do they just love chaos? why does darius care about them? are they bffs? are they his dog? is darius a furry but he’s a dog person so he refuses to be a catboy?)

hexside fighting against the emperor after everyone finds out the truth in labyrinth runners (especially the emerald entrails)

the implication that kids from other schools also got surprise sigiled and that some of the kids in hexside also might have (it was a very small group of students fighting against the coven. besides most of these kids were expecting to get their sigils when they graduated so whats a few years earlier? they didn’t know the truth anyway)

the fallout of the hexside students parents finding out (whether some parents believe their kids or not, whether the parents that do can get the word out, how families are dealing with the fact that the adults might die in a few days. backlash against the emperor’s coven for trying to trick their kids into getting sigils early?)

90% of vee’s character arc (hope she gets some moments in S3 at least)

half a season the hexsquad getting into wacky shenanigans on earth (they don’t even have time to fight rupaul now :((((( )

90% of boscha’s character arc

90% of emira’s character arc

alador’s relationship with the twins bc i think he’s said like one sentence to them the whole show

jerbo and barcus getting up to shenanigans like viney is

what’s up with the other two girls from boscha and skara’s mean girl squad

whatever they were building up to with the looking glass graveyard (please let it be relevant in S3)

90% of the wittebane brothers’ backstory (disney could have also cut it bc brother murder is scary for kids which is fair. too bad they were relegated to showing it in the background of hollow mind. if toh aired on like adult swim they probably could have had a whole episode for it)

the complex and nuanced religious trauma that comes with being raised in a culture dedicated to unquestioningly worshipping a sole religious figure that claimed he could speak to your god. how the cycle of physical, emotional, and religious abuse is perpetuated from one generation to the next, to the point that it’s entrenched in the culture of the boiling isles. how because violence and competition has been normalized in the emperor’s coven, every coven head (yes even the ones you like) saw a LITERAL CHILD be horribly abused by the emperor to the point where hes covered in scars and sat back and did nothing, even going as far as to admonish him for being a “spoiled brat” (lilith) and making him “prove himself” to not be completely loyal to belos, something he’s been manipulated to be since birth, to be seen as worthy of help and affection (darius)

why perry porter was in eda’s flashback in king’s tide with the other important adult characters dana he was in like 3 episodes he has like 5 min of screen time total you can’t just drop the potential eda-perry friendship and not expand on it

[balillee]

headcanons about where i think a bunch of dsmp characters came from before coming to the smp 👉🏻👈🏻

Tommy grew up on a web of sky islands where he learnt the ropes of capitalism and fraud, and was set to inheret Innit Enterprise until the unfortunate day when the idiot straight up fell off of the island and landed in a pool of water on the surface. He lived in the woods until he was probably about ten-ish, and that's when he met Wilbur. Wilbur gave Tommy a name, gave Tommy a home, and that's where he met Techno, Tubbo and Phil. While he immediately clung to Wilbur like a brother, and became Tubbo's best friend, Phil and Techno just kind of,,,,,, found him annoying. One day though, Tommy got bored of the domestic life and decided to make it big in the new SMP settlement by being the very capitalist he was born and bred to be.

Tubbo was from one of those caravan families that travel around in their old Volkswagens, pretending to be 60's hippies (which is where he gets his odd craving for hallucinogenics from, but we don't talk about it), but, as Phil said, he just kind of fell out of the car door onto the side of the road and just sat there until Phil picked him up. He lived with Phil, Wilbur and Techno, and later Tommy, and learned the ropes of scamming from the best. Although initially supportive of Tommy going on his own venture in the new settlement, he later followed him there just to make sure that he doesn't get himself into too much trouble. Plus, he almost immediately missed his best friend.

Wilbur grew up with Phil as the two explored the world together. Eventually, Phil came across Techno, and later Tubbo, and the four lived together. He sparred with Techno as a kid, made paper lanterns with Phil, and when he met Tommy, he treated him like a little brother, and his greatest trustee. He was supportive of Tommy and Tubbo going their own way and making a life for themself, but after hearing about the disc war, decided to step in and play big brother again to make sure he was safe. After failing to aid him in his capitalist endeavours, they, together, founded L'Manberg so that he could keep his friends and his family safe.

Dream has walked the world for centuries at this point, and for a lot of it, he's been bored, and kinda lonely. Eventually, he did meet some people, and they'd often test their skills in games of manhunt together. Later, Dream decided to give up the nomadic lifestyle and create a new settlement, which he egotistically named after himself, and his friends settled with him; others migrated to the bustling new settlement over time. But when people no longer found his settlement suitable for their needs in the world, he started going off the deep end and eventually cut all attachments, aside from an unhinged obsession with an obnoxious blonde teenager who has a deep bond with his friends and his music discs.

Techno grew up a scrappy young prince in a Piglin Kingdom, but, having a very sudden desire to instill anarchy, he destroyed the Kingdom from the inside out (but kept the royal attire for fashion reasons) and decided to live in the overworld, where he travelled the world and wanted to train to become a warrior of his own merit. He eventually became friends with Phil, and Phil kind of took him in as one of his own alongside Wilbur, who was of a similar age. He almost immediately got bad vibes off of Tubbo, and when he met Tommy, he kind of begrudgingly gave a shit about him. He spent a lot of time farming after Wilbur, Tommy and Tubbo left, and he came as soon as he caught a whiff of a rebellion who seeked to take out a government.

A long time ago, Dream had ventured to the end dimension in hopes of finding a new place to colonise and thrive in, but did not appreciate it's power. He felt threatened by it, and eventually he was able to close the connection between the overworld and the end dimension. However, Dream didn't account for an anomaly - and that was our friend Ranboo. He managed to make it out of the dimension just as it was closing, but briding the gap between dimensions made his psychological state erratic, and he began repressing memories. He, while travelling the world, had forgotten his home and sought out a new one that he later found in the SMP. Dream, having seen that Ranboo was an anomaly in the overworld initially tried to eliminate him, but instead found a use for him.

Wilbur wasn't a great dad to Fundy, and they didn't really talk after him and Sally split. Fundy grew up with Sally until Fundy was sent away to the SMP to start afresh, so that Sally could deal with unfinished business in private. He became friendly rivals with anyone who dared call him a furry, and was really surprised when Wilbur didn't come to the SMP for him, but instead for Tommy (mainly because he didn't know Fundy was there, but in his current mental state, he omits that to fit his personal narrative). Fundy still was allowed into L'Manberg, which rekindled their relationship a little, but it all started crashing following the election.

Sapnap wasn't born exactly, more or less created from fire by BBH in a ritual gone wrong, who decided to raise young Sapnap like his own son. Expressing early resistance to heat and fire, but a deep, unhinged desire to murder animals, BBH loved his son like any father should do, and raised him to be the best nuisance he could be. Later on, the two met Dream, and they would participate in their manhunt competitions together, and they eventually founded the SMP settlement as a collective.

Skeppy and BBH haven't been around for as long as Dream, but they've been around for a while. A long time ago, Skeppy found himself in the wrong cult at the wrong time, and ended up cursed. Except the curse felt more like a blessing, because he was cursed to be followed by a demon who he immediately formed a close bond with. They're incredibly protective over each other, will definitely do anything to be by the side of the other, and they are very aware that their lives are linked, but they don't mind.

I headcanon that George and Ponk lived together in a mansion in the woods, thriving in designer clothes and raking in cash money until they both met Dream. George went along with the manhunt stuff, but Ponk wasn't as interested in feats of strength as he was his weed and his essential oils. The two eventually decided to drop ship and try something new with the new SMP settlement, and the two split off so that George could, idk, go to bed? and Ponk could murder some cats and worship the Citrus Gods, I guess (and also have an ancestry.com arc?)

[october-rosehip]

30 Day OC Challenge: Day One; First Impressions

Zevran awoke in darkness.

No surprise, that. The dead were said to dwell in the Maker's sight. The Maker didn't want him, surely. He reached out to touch anything, and could not move. Something moved, however. His surroundings swayed and lurched. Did he drift in the void?

“Blast it all,” someone said in Fereldan. “My boot's coming unstitched.” Someone else sang softly in Orlesian. A third voice offered to fix the offending boot.

Probably not the void, then.

Fuck.

Zevran tried to move, again. His hands behind him and his feet together, refused. Ah. Wood under his body, a splinter stabbed his exposed thigh. Only after he noticed that, did he notice the pounding in his skull and an impending sense of nature's call. He gave a wry frown, feeling rough fabric across his cheeks. It had to be a blindfold. The last of his disorientation faded. He had failed to die.

He searched for his last memory. It was of a blank shield crashing down upon him as a distant voice yelled “Don't kill him!”

Fuck, again.

The world lurched, something creaked. Someone yelled “Whoa, Blackie!” and a mountain of weight crashed down upon him, burying, smothering- just as his stomach rebelled. He retched, but something covered his face. Bile filled his nose, burning. He kicked out- forget subtlety. His legs crashed into the wooden sides of the... cart? Carriage?

“Settle down!” yelled the man with the poorly kept boot. “It's just a spooked pony...”

Other voices clamored in the background but Zevran spared them no attention. He kicked again, hoping to spring the hatch he prayed existed. He couldn't breathe. Something cracked, thank Andraste. He choked on a cough and kicked one more time. The thing he connected with gave, and some of the weight fell off of him.

“Stop the cart NOW, Bodahn!” another voice yelled.

Before it could possibly have, the wood under Zevran shifted with more weight, some of the heavy corners pushing into him fell away, and arms wrapped around him. The world spun again, and both Zevran and whoever it was landed hard into damp earth.

Zevran wheezed and vomited out the last of his stomach's contents as slender hands held him up against a person’s chest chest and a voice whispered “I'm so sorry.” Louder, the man's voice shouted “Somebody bring me some water!”

Zevran coughed a few more times and took a deep, aching breath as soon as he could. The man holding him shifted as footsteps approached. A cool wet cloth wiped over Zevran's face.  Magic washed over him in ripples. He shivered, but it felt very unlike the magic the Crow mages performed- less a cruel,  purifying burn and more like drifting in a murky, green pool.

“I'm not a great healer,” the Warden murmured. For it had to be he, one of Zevran's own targets, who had saved him from dying a most undignified death. “But I hope it helped anyway. Water?”

Zevran nodded, not trusting his voice just yet. A waterskin pressed against his lips. He rinsed his mouth, spat, and drank just enough from it to clear his throat. He had no way of knowing how long he’d remain bound.

“I'm going to move you over a little and set you down, all right?”

What was with this man? What could Zevran do about it if it wasn't all right? Why did he keep apologizing? In battle, the mage had been... horrifying. His pale eyes held no life in them as he drained the essence from Zevran's hirelings. Ghosts danced around his ankles. Lightning flew from his hands and arced across a row of archers. Zevran nodded his assent to being moved, of course.

Despite being a mage, and no larger than Zevran himself, the man... Surana, that was it, easily shifted him over several feet. Strange. What kind of mage lifted more than a stack of books? The man set him gently down on the ground.

Another wave of magic buzzed from nearby. It felt almost furry. Alive.

“Morrigan?” Surana asked.

“We were unfollowed, Warden. I am certain.”

“All right, thank you.” And a hand snatched the cloth off Zevran's eyes.

He blinked in the light several times. His vision cleared and he found himself looking into the face of the Warden Surana, as he'd thought. Up close he looked so very young. Still eerie. Still with those cold, pale, eyes. Still dressed like a barbarian from the swamps, and several angry wounds showed wherever the hide, fur, and teeth left his skin bare. Nevertheless, a hint of worry showed in the man's features.

Old habits died hard. Zevran found him beautiful, with his full lips, glossy brown hair, and clear skin.

Zevran looked around at the others surrounding them. Curiosity lived in the young redheaded archer and the two dwarf non-combatants. Also on the dog, come to think of it. This was Ferelden, after all. He should think of the dog as a person. Everyone else- the older mage, the beautiful dark haired mage, the qunari, the larger Warden who had smashed him in the head- they all regarded him with increasing levels of hostility.

Somehow, somehow, Zevran had woken up in the same world he'd nearly left. He felt... grateful?! Relieved? Weak. You are weak, Zevran. You have no resolve. So be it. He found himself grabbing life with both hands. If he would survive this, his hope lay, strangely enough, with the elven mage.

Who issued a flurry of instructions related to setting up camp for the evening, as soon as they were done, here. The elven mage led this odd crew? Interesting, and lucky.

Zevran sighed. They may as well begin. “I expected to wake up dead, or not wake up at all, as the case may be. But, I see you haven't killed me, yet.”

The archer spoke with an Orlesian accent. “Macsen, may I have a quiet word with you?”

“A quick one.” He gripped his staff and followed her a bit down the road, within clear view of Zevran. He stopped when she did.

She whispered. “This man is a professional. I think you need to take care when questioning him.”

Surana spoke in a normal voice. “First off, he can hear you.” just as Zevran chimed in with “The pointy tips are not decorative, human.”

Calculated, on Zevran's part. It paid off. Surana laughed. “Yeah, she and I have talked about that.”

She literally, actually stamped her foot. “You are never going to let me forget that, are you?”

“Probably not.” Surana wandered back in Zevran's direction. “If that was it, then let's get back to this really awkward conversation.” He sighed and gave a wry grimace. He faced Zevran. “Cards on the table, then. I figured you were hired to kill us. That was too much trouble to go to for a random robbery, and you knew who we were. I have questions.”

“So I am to be interrogated, then? Let me save you some time, and get right to the point.” And myself the trouble of being pried open by a hexer. “My name is Zevran, Zev to my friends, and I have sworn silence to no one. If I may ask, however, why did you bring me along? Have we traveled far?”

“Cart pace since midmorning,” Surana replied.

Zevran's blood ran cold. The sun speared late afternoon rays through the trees. Waking up so far from where one fell unconscious, so much later, was never a good thing. He had been intentionally separated from any potential allies, (which he did not have anyway but these people did not know that) but also... “A head trauma kept me under for so long, Warden?”

“No. We healed that as much as we could and gave you something for sleep. I'm not surprised you don't remember it. I-” The large, human Warden wandered over and placed a hand on his shoulder. Surana bit his lips together, face hardening before continuing. “The paranoia was mine. Several of your people ran off and I didn't want them interrupting us.”

“They would not have,” Zevran said.

“Local hirelings, then,” said the archer.

She was Orlesian, a musician who had disabled his traps and proved deadly in combat at once; she knew things like that, she ran in this company... bard. She had very possibly meant Zevran to hear her accusation but did not count on Surana being the man he was. Interesting.

Surana knelt before him where Zevran lay on the ground. “So, you're not denying being a professional. Who did you work for?”

Past tense. With a jolt, Zevran realized it was true. No matter what happened now, he was never going back. If they killed him, that would be that. If they didn't, he would just have to run as fast and far as he could. He could make his capture look like part of a longer game. But why do that, really, so they could just throw him away the next time it was politically expedient? “I was sent by the Antivan Crows,” Zevran replied.

“The elf is a crow? That makes sense.” The white haired, matronly mage strode into Zevran's view.

“I thought as much when I heard his accent,” said the obvious bard. “They are an order of assassins out of Antiva. They are renowned for always getting the job done, so to speak. Someone went to great expense to hire this man.”

“Loghain, right?” asked the Warden.

“Yes, that was it,” Zevran replied. “Though it was his lackey's idea.”

The warden stared hard at him before asking his next question. “How did you track us down?”

Zevran had been intimidated in the past by people who made a living of it, so he easily maintained eye contact. Still, an intensity emanated from the Warden as he asked that question. Somehow, this was a more important bit of information than the last, and the man expected bad news. Zevran had some bad news to deliver, but certainly the Warden expected to hear something specific.

“Warden, I do not know what you expect, but you and your companions stand out the tiniest bit. Travelers need money and shelter, no? Everyone from whom you have rented a room or for whom you have weeded a garden remembered you.”

“How did you... get them to tell you?” The already fair skinned man paled further.

Zevran suppressed a pang of insult. Why the void should he care what these people thought of him? “There is more to assassination than mere violence. I shared a drink and the latest news with everyone willing to do so with an elf.”

The Warden let out a relieved exhale. “I'm sorry. Of course. That's obvious now that you say it, but in my admittedly limited experience, people are willing to resort to harm for much less. Loghain, for instance. When were you to see him next?”

“I wasn't. If I had succeeded, I would move onto the next job and the Crows would inform your Loghain of the results, if he didn't already know. If I had failed, I should be dead. No need to see Loghain, then.”

“If you had failed?”

Damn this perceptive Warden. As far as Zevran was concerned, the only thing he'd failed to do today was die. Forget admitting that. “Hope springs eternal, eh? I am an optimist.” Fool. Are you trying to succeed, now?

But the Warden stifled another chuckle. “That's too bad. I was hoping you might be willing to trade your life for returning fire. It would solve a lot of this country's problems.”

“I cannot do that, Warden. It would not be right. I appreciate the offer, however.”

“Wouldn't be right? You're an assassin.” The large human man with the shield scowled down at him.

“Be that as it may,” replied Zevran, there are ethical boundaries I will not cross. We all have to draw the line somewhere, no?”

“I hear that,” sighed the elf Warden. “Are any more of you coming?”

“No. Only I had signed up for this, the last I knew.”

“So, what now, then? What happens now that you've failed?”

“If you choose not to kill me, the Crows will. Failure is not tolerated, you see.” Not that Zevran planned any such thing. The conversation had persisted this long. Hope, such an unfamiliar thing of late, glowed within him. A plan solidified.

“Eugh. I don't suppose it matters, but I'm curious all the same. How much did they pay you to take that kind of risk?”

“I was not paid anything, Warden. They bought me on the slave market when I was seven. The only choice I have had in the matter was which jobs I cared to take.”

The warden looked stricken. His gloved hands clenched.

Zevran had aimed for the man's empathy, not his pity. “But it is not so bad. There are certainly rewards for being a Crow. The retirement plan, however, is complete garbage, let me tell you. If you were considering joining, I'd really think twice about it.”

“I'll take that under advisement.”

“You seem like a bright lad, I'm sure you've other options.”

“Fewer than you'd think.” The Warden sighed and laid his staff across his knees. “But we still haven't sorted out the whole 'what now' issue. If I were to let you go, could I expect you to try again?”

“If you were to let me go I would not last a week. And no, you could not. There would be no point. The Crows will still kill me for failing the first time, and if you were to spare me, I could hardly repay you that way.”

“That is a lot to accept,” noted the man from earlier. “Do you believe him, Macsen?”

“Yes, I think so. But if you were to ask the First Enchanter, I have a problem with that kind of thing.”

“Warden, I do think I have a counter offer for you, if you are of a mind.” interrupted Zevran.

“Why not?” replied the elf... Macsen.

“My career as a Crow is clearly at an end, so why not let me serve you, instead? The only way to leave them would be to sign on with someone they cannot touch, and you are obviously the sort to give the Crows pause.” You gave me pause, as well.

“So, you get safety in numbers and I get... what exactly?”

“I am familiar with the ways of the Crows, of course, and I can spot future attempts, should there be any. I am also skilled in many things. I am willing to fight alongside you. I am well versed in the use of poisons, if that is useful to you. I am stealthy, and can pick locks. I am willing to perform more menial tasks, or stand around and look pretty, if you prefer.” He paused for emphasis. Something of a gamble, this. “Warm your bed, perhaps?”

“You're blushing, dear,” said the older lady.

He was, indeed. His cheeks bloomed rosy in seconds. “Darn it, Wynne, I noticed. And now I'm sure everyone else has, too.” The Warden buried his face in his hands.

This is the strangest mage I have ever met.

“You must think he's utterly stupid,” interjected the dark haired, younger mage woman. Her haughty voice revealed her as the one who had searched for tails, earlier.

“I think he is utterly gorgeous,” said Zevran. “I'm only hoping he's utterly stupid. Oh, wait, bad joke! I am sorry! Let me explain. It seems like a foolish thing to want to do, I know, but I am hoping he is the sort to take a chance now and then.”

“She's got a point, though,” added the Warden, somewhat more composed. “What kind of loyalty could I expect from you?”

Zevran probably shouldn't feel as affronted as he did. “I happen to be a very loyal person! Right up until I am expected to die for failing. If you are the sort who would ask the same thing, then I don't come very well recommended, I suppose.”

“I wouldn't, but in our current direction, death would be something of a natural consequence of failure.”

“I can accept this.”

“I bet. I'm inclined to take your offer. We need all the help we can get, to be honest.”

“Are you serious?” asked the human man, shocked. “We're taking the assassin with us, now?”

The qunari, standing of to the side, spoke in a mellow voice still dripping with derision. “At last we see the famed tactical genius of the Grey Wardens.”

“Thank you, Sten.” replied the Warden, with an eyeroll. “Fine, then. Let's go discuss this, over that way a bit. Will someone stay here to keep an eye on our guest?”

The young witch spoke up. “I have nothing to add to this discussion. If the rest of you are frightened of the big, bad elf, then I shall protect you all, hm?”

Boots crunched in the dirt and voices diminished behind him. The Warden led them far enough, this time, that Zevran didn't have much hope of overhearing the round table discussion concerning his fate. He had thought falling in combat would be so simple. He would die, the Crows would lose him without suspecting how badly they'd wounded him, and Rinna's betrayal would be repaid. Grey Wardens were not known for asking questions, but he had to go and find the only even-tempered Wardens on the planet. He had no idea what to expect from this bizarre group.

He hoped they’d sort things out soon. The chill of the ground seeped through his leathers, his arms hurt, he still felt thirsty, and nature was calling even louder. The sooner he either lay dead or had access to his hands, the better.

I suppose,” chimed the human witch, moving directly in front of him, “that this is some ruse to get us to let down our guard so you can poison us in the night?”

“If you believe that, why do you choose to remain here rather than argue that point with the others?”

“It will not matter. Concessions will be made. Macsen will try to ease everyone's mind, but in the end, his wishes will triumph. But tell me, elf; do you truly intend to change sides as quickly as that?”

“I do. I have few enough options at present, no?”

“Hmph. And yet you claim to be loyal. If you are, then this is all no doubt part of your plan. If you are not, then we still err if we keep you; which we will. Just watch.”

“Woman, what do you wish me to say? Do you simply wish to torment me? I can think of more pleasurable ways to do so.”

“Do not be vulgar as well as deceptive, elf.” She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned down at him.

“Why ever not? I am, after all, bound and bloody at the feet of a beautiful woman. It seems the place for vulgarity.”

“Keep your meaningless flirtation away from me. I am not so vulnerable as some easy targets.”

Zevran fell silent. As luck had it, the other group had allowed their voices to raise during the witch's conversation.

“That seems um, uncomfortable and awkward, but if it'll keep the peace, all right,” said Surana. “For now, anyway. We'll revisit later.”

Hmmm. I gather that this means I have a “later” to contemplate, mused Zevran. I suppose I should be glad. He did not know how to feel about any of it, in truth. He had meant to die. Rinna deserved her vengeance, and he could no longer tolerate the direction of his life. And yet, now that it seemed he would not fall this day, the hope he felt earlier grew brighter. Still, if he was about to become the servant of a Grey Warden during a blight... I'm sorry, my love; I will likely join you soon enough.

The others headed back over.

Surana carefully untied Zevran's knots. “Welcome to your new career in woodland survival and saving the world.” He offered his hand.

Zevran took it.

[shewasanamericangirl]

screamin bout zi-o 36

i had fun doing this last week, so let’s make another screencap post! of course, i said that, and then it took several days to upload all the pictures because tumblr just stops fucking working sometimes. anyhoo! it’s yuko kitajima roast hour. image-heavy and spoiler-heavy, naturally.

so ginga blew everyone up and they ran away to a sewer it seems.

honestly that theory makes as much sense as anything else on this booty ass fuckin’ kamen rider show

i was just like...he isn’t

but then he was

swartz: she could step on me in those red pumps and i’d say Thank You

hora: i regret so much right now

uhr: *shonen anime character walking down the street pose*

then over quartzer plays and im starting to feel a little lost because i don’t get to hear about the episode according to woz’s book? hello??

yuko’s still out gettin her spa treatments and shit, god only knows how she got the money for all that, and somehow she never crosses paths with the cops or anyone who recognizes her from the news?? uh

honestly yeah?? a queen deserves to look GOOD. her theme music is eerily sexy, i need an mp3 of it right now

don’t get me wrong, im well aware that swartz is being a suck-up to try and get yuko to help with his plan to seize ginga’s power, but damn im kinda shipping swartz with yuko now too...i mean, he WAS looking at her while doing the sexy ice cream thing last week. what flavor ice cream would yuko be? black cherry chip maybe?

(headcanon: woz tries apple pie ice cream and declares it a crime against both apple pie and ice cream alike--but he still eats the whole coneful)

hora and uhr get ZA WARUDO’D down the stairs by swartz

we were all uhr right here

yeaaaaaah she just doesn’t want to fight ginga

tsukuyomi’s a mood. someone put a band-aid on geiz’s forehead pls

ok woz i get that if you’re looking for a despotic ruler to follow that yuko is likely a better bet than sougo, but you’re missing an important detail: if yuko actually had a shot at becoming queen of everything, she’d already have one of you in tow, and you would most likely hate each other.

...majou means “demon queen” in this case, not “witch”, right?

aaaaaand this...is the moment when yuko started making me very uncomfortable. the way she responds: “yes...i do remember. it’s you.”

and sougo’s face just lights up--my guy, she could so easily be lying. she didn’t say one thing about the band-aid or the playground or anything that’d indicate she’s actually sougo’s crush.

like...if not for the fact that sougo had such a crush on the seifuku girl, it wouldn’t be all that major a memory. it likely wasn’t for the girl in question--just a happy sunny day cheering up a lonely little boy. a beautiful memory, yes...but memories fade.

can someone please explain to me why woz’s characterization is all over the place in kiva arc? are you pro-yuko or anti-yuko, woz? i don’t understand what’s going through his pretty head at all honestly. he gets pretty taciturn in the scenes he’s not inhaling pie, but then at times he seems to think yuko’s cool aaaaaagh i don’t know

junichiro: meowing, just wanted an excuse to cook lots of food

sougo: “yay, uncle’s cooking!”

woz: [deadpan monotone] “yaaaaaaay uncle’s cooking...”

ive had enough of this evil bitch honestly but when she points it’s still Good Shit

ridiculous move name, but also an awesome move name

and turning to stone to heal up while the sun’s clouded over? very cool

denied

i noped so hard at this part. like...i really do feel protective of sougo. yuko doesn’t give a damn about him, she just doesn’t want him to get in her way.

nope. no. nuh uh. you two step away from each other right now.

YOU CANNOT MAKE BABIES WITH AN IDIOT FETUS

ok but in all seriousness, do you want time jackers? because, im calling it now, letting oma zi-o go in raw is how you get time jackers.

yeah im pretty sure miho would’ve kept at it if she’d lived, and yuko...shes not gonna listen to sougo

thank you for the much needed reality check furry man

so she’s a...fu-joshi? 👀

☝☝☝

yuko wears such fabulous shoes

was anyone surprised at this point that yuko was the real killer? i sure wasn’t. not after all the obvious lies.

i love her leitmotif. i need it. where do i download

SHE DIDN’T PROMISE SHIT

hey kids! it’s time for *mashes play button* la-la-la lies! yeah, tell me that you love me! la-la-la-lies! look deep into my eyes! la-la-la-lies! say there’s no one else above me! i’m the king of fools, cuz baby, you’re the queen of actually very hurtful and manipulative lies!

that’s such bullshit

now im the last person to be like “don’t play the dead mommy card”--i practically keep that card in the hello kitty wallet my dead mommy gave me. but i bet you yuko’s mom is just fine (aside from living with the trauma of knowing her daughter’s a murderer and pathological liar).

sougo,,,,,pls

thank you tsukuyomi. god sougo really needs a chaperone with yuko around, he’s way too dumb and thirsty.

GUESS WHO’S BACK. BACK AGAIN. fortunately, it seems swartz and woz have been just standing there watching him for the duration of the rain shower.

lest we forget (because i didn’t screencap it), when zi-o took the brunt of ginga’s attack earlier, it sent him flying. now, that’s a human body, which has some ability to absorb force because it’s mostly pretty soft and fluid. yuko’s manhole cover almost completely absorbed this blast--she barely shifted her weight on impact. is it just that she’s THAT ripped? 

then The Boys rider kick ginga to oblivion. rip ginga, you didn’t have a personality or a character arc, we never even saw you un-transformed--you were just a cool looking plot device with pretty attacks. but for that much, we appreciate you!

swartz looks so pleased with himself. he must not have watched the preview for this episode.

YOINK! gotta love how swartz doesn’t look surprised so much as puzzled.

sure am glad kurowoz took his other self’s advice and kept an eye on swartz

i love it so much how woz just has these magic scarf powers and it needs no explanation? hell, he can fly and time travel and make people fall asleep and he’s super strong too, with no explanation? and he’s the comic relief? ALSO HE’S REALLY HOT? woz is a being to behold honestly

speaking of super strong and really hot, yuko is KILLING IT in that gown. i mean...i guess that’s the intention. killing it. cuz she’s a homicidal maniac. haha.

she’s so good at pointing. yuko could be a prosecutor in shuichi kitaoka: ace attorney. (FUND IT)

yuko throws her manhole cover at the boys (rude!) and next we see geiz holding it. a shame we don’t get to see him snatch it out of midair. or did woz catch it and just hand it to him? we may never know.

zi-o. listen to geiz, zi-o. use the fucking watch. just use the watch, zi-o. you seriously plan on just letting another kiva go on a killing spree? do you not get by now what she’s capable of?

thank goodness zi-o has his retainers to make wise decisions so he doesn’t have to.

please note the placement of mars on ginga woz’s suit. very important.

I Love You

lmao

WHERE IS YOUR MANHOLE COVER NOW

my favorite character gets a beautiful rainbow final attack. i feel so blessed.

i mean...protecting all mankind would probably include protecting them from people like yuko. just sayin.

is it bad of me that my immediate thought right then was “at least woz’s attack wasn’t what did her in.”

this shot, especially in the context of the church, definitely gave me pieta vibes--albeit reversed somewhat.

weirdly enough, woz does an outro instead of an intro this episode.

at this point while watching, i said to shylax “you know what this calls for? pie!” but before i could finish--

--PIE! cmon sougo, it’s time to gobble up your feelings!

fucking woz, i swear, you have pie in your mouth and pie in your right hand and pie on your FACE and when your overlord expresses how miserable he is you just go for his uneaten pie with your empty hand.

...is it normal to eat pie like this in japan? because the only times i’ve seen americans make this much of a mess eating pie is when they’re toddlers.

oh hey, what do you know? looks like sougo’s first love wasn’t a violent crazy person after all. she also wasn’t yuko.

sougo’s just an idiot who will mistake any older woman who rubs him on the chin and calls him cute for his sailor girl.

previews!

i blame joshua kiryu

how eloquently this one line sums up not only kamen rider zi-o but kamen rider decade as well. that’s it, that’s the show. that’s the clusterfuck we will inevitably get whenever toei decides to make a kamen rider crossover.

LOOK AT THIS! TSUKUYOMI REMEMBERED SOMETHING! who is she smiling at? is it her dad? is that swartz behind her?! omg baby tsukuyomi is so CUTE!

“a team”. uh huh. is that what the youth are calling it these days? cuz when i was a wee lass, i believe they called it “fucking”.

so what have we learned this week?

very little about ginga

sougo does not remember faces all that well

before sougo dates ANYONE that person should be fully vetted by junichiro, geiz, tsukuyomi, and woz because CLEARLY HE CANNOT SAFELY CHOOSE A PARTNER FOR HIMSELF

i still really like yuko as a character, if not as a person. same as i enjoy junji ito manga, but would be very upset if most of it happened in real life.

swartz loves a woman who can kick his ass

what the fuck are manhole covers in this world

i can’t wait for baby tsukuyomi flashbacks! that, and more tsukasa.

[thelightofthingshopedfor]

2018 post because I still want to and it’s on my to-do list

I'm sure at this point no one but me cares considering we're fully two months into 2019 but whatever, I want to record it for posterity, because there were a lot of things in 2018 that I did for the first time and that's kind of important. (”this will be brief!” I said, you know, like a liar.)

I finally got a tattoo. I've been talking about it for years but never figured out exactly what I wanted or where, and even once I figured out what I wanted ("all we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us," which has been important to me in different ways for years) I didn't know exactly how I wanted it to look, because it can be tough to make text tattoos look good and I’m not an artist or a graphic designer. and then Scully was diagnosed with kidney disease and I realized, oh yeah, his paw print, there's an obvious one. my tiny little semi-colon (of which I apparently never took a decent picture) was also pretty obvious once I started looking for something small I could do as a test tattoo, although the way things worked out I got them both at the same time. the whole process was...kind of odd? but instead of just talking about it I finally actually made it happen, and it hurt but not, like, unbearably, and now I have a piece of my furry little boy that goes everywhere with me, which was especially important after he died.  

I did way more political volunteering than I ever have before. I always feel like I'm not doing enough and compared to people who volunteered with campaigns every single day, I guess I'm not, but I still did a lot in 2018 compared to any previous year: lots of donations to multiple Democrat candidates and progressive organizations, textbanking for several candidates across the US, sign-waving and even phonebanking for the Alaska Democrats, poll watching on election night for the Alaska Democrats, at least a few hundred handwritten postcards to voters for a few more candidates, data entry for the campaign against a local bathroom bill last spring (I keep forgetting that happened in 2018 too because, you know, 2018 was about a decade long), going to several local anti-Kavanaugh demonstrations and the like, leaving lots of voicemails for my legislators and bugging other people to do the same (with varying levels of success), and maybe other stuff I'm forgetting. which is all good, because actually doing shit is vastly preferable to just going "wow everything is terrible and we're all gonna die" both in terms of actual impact and my mental health. the unfortunate part is that after doing as much as I did for the 2018 midterms--whether or not I really actually did enough, whatever "enough" might be--I got pretty well burned out, especially because...all the candidates I did the most work for DID NOT WIN so that made it feel kinda pointless (even though we took back the House and I was so relieved about that I could’ve cried). especially locally where Alaskans did the stupid thing and 1) kept Don Young and 2) elected a Trump wannabe with almost no experience as our governor because he made promises that any idiot should've been able to see he wouldn't be able to keep. but...I still worked hard for causes and people I care about, and I devoted a pretty significant amount of time and money, and I got out of my comfort zone with last-weekend phonebanking, and none of that is nothing.

I joined a gym and started going there fairly regularly. as usual I want to qualify this, because "30 minutes on the elliptical once or twice a week" is not exactly an amazing workout, and I haven't been as good at going regularly since I finished TAZ: Balance, but like...it's still a new thing that I went out of my way to do, and it was a positive change toward taking care of myself physically.

related: I...finished a podcast? I'm bad at podcasts (see also: I'm two or three years behind on Welcome to Night Vale, the only other podcast where I've listened to more than one or two episodes), but the Balance arc of The Adventure Zone is amazing and it basically let me trick myself into wanting to work out so I could listen to more. (unfortunately, Amnesty and MBMBAM haven't been as effective this way, I think because MBMBAM is hilarious but there's no narrative and therefore no "oh shit what's gonna happen next" suspense, and Amnesty is great but it's just...less zany, I guess. constant zany goofs are great for distracting me from the fact that I'm doing generally unpleasant physical activity.) now maybe if I could find a site like GoodReads for podcasts, which apparently doesn’t exist yet, maybe I’d do better at remembering and then listening to all the podcasts I’ve heard of that interest me...although I still don’t know what would be useful for workouts to give me that all-important combo of zany goofs (made by people who are not horrible) and suspenseful narrative. 

I got back into conventions and cosplay for the first time in six years, which is kind of dumb because I was never that deep into cosplay in the first place and I'm still not, and the vast majority of cons I've attended have been tiny local ones...but I did do several attempts at varying levels of quality starting back in college, and I put together some complicated-by-my-standards outfits for SDCC 2012, and then I didn't do any cosplay at all until last year when I semi-spontaneously decided to go to ECCC. I only did two for that one (AoU Wanda, and Avengers Academy Loki) but they involved more actual work than any previous cosplays and I was pretty proud of how they turned out. and then I kind of went "oh hey, cons and cosplay are fun, I forgot", so I did a very simple cosplay for one tiny local con and two that were much more complicated (Stuttgart Loki and The Final Pam) for our larger local con, and it was a lot of work and I'm not 100% happy with how I looked as Pam but the handful of people thrilled to recognize me made it worthwhile. also my Loki staff is damned cool and I look great in suits.

I got contacts! for the very first time! LITERALLY JUST FOR COSPLAY! I've worn glasses since I was about two so I don't remember my adjustment period and I've never had much desire to try contacts, and with past cosplays I just kind of shrugged and wore my glasses anyway, but after ECCC I wanted to Do It Right so...I got contacts. it kind of sucked actually! after the week or so where I was supposed to wear them to get used to them, I literally have not worn them except for the local convention! it turns out contacts will never be a great idea for me because astigmatism is wacky! but now I have contacts I can use for future cosplays, and it's another new thing outside my comfort zone where I went "you know, actually, I could do this thing" and then I made it happen, which is...sort of a big deal for me.

I played Silent Hill 3 and 2, in that order, which is not that big of a deal but still feels like something of a milestone for me, because a) actually finishing a game is embarrassingly rare for me and b) I feel like...they're so well known and such a part of gaming canon, so to speak, that finally playing a couple classic games I previously only knew by osmosis is sort of significant actually. also I love them both in different ways, and discovering a new favorite game series is always fun.

I said goodbye to Scully. this was...not a fun one, obviously, and in fact those last few days were completely fucking awful. but, well, it was a big thing that happened, and it was new in my experience. like I said (a lot) at the time, I realize it's a sign of how lucky I've been that Scully was my hardest personal loss so far, but that doesn't change the fact that it was, and...of course it was hard and horrible. he was my furry little boy, he was unquestionably family, he was a huge part of my life every day for 9 years.  I took care of him as well as I could for as long as I could, and then I made the most compassionate decision I could, and for the most part I was able to focus on remembering the joy he brought me instead of just how much it hurt to lose him. (I've also said this before but I think dealing with Loki in Infinity War helped with Scully, because I'd already done some work on my unhealthy tendencies toward hopelessness in the face of, you know, things ending.) and then I found Hazy, and that's been hard in different ways but she's also worth it, and I think I can train her enough that other people will actually get to see how silly and adorable and sweet she is instead of just BARK BARK BARK.

I more or less kept up with my writing goals of posting at least one new thing a month? I guess this is an accomplishment rather than a first, since it's something I've been mostly successful in doing for the last few years, but it's still notable. also it does involve a first, because until I will kiss you till your breath is found I'd never written anything even semi-explicit (well, I very vaguely described a couple sex scenes in my Crimson Peak fic a few years ago but that was...VERY vague) and then I wrote several thousand words of fucked-up dubcon sort-of-p0rn and fairly shortly followed it up with another one. so that's a thing I've done now I guess. (is it actually explicit if you never really, directly reference anyone's genitals but it's still obvious what's happening and also it's fucked-up sex stuff? I don't know but at this point I'm definitely still too squeamish to use certain words in my fics. is that because I'm hella ace or because I grew up hella repressed in purity culture? BOTH PROBABLY)

and then there are my goals for 2019! or rather the rest of 2019 but it's cool because I got started on a couple of these pretty much right away!

cut my hair real short. already done! in fact this was basically the first thing I did in 2019, because I made the appointment Jan. 1 and got my hair cut Jan. 2! kind of like the tattoo, this is something I've been wanting to do, and talking about wanting to do, for ages and I've never actually gone for it; the shortest I've gotten my hair cut was basically chin-length, more than once, because I'd go in like "I kind of really want a pixie cut or something similar but idk if that would work on me without adding a bunch of time and Product to my morning routine so maybe I shouldn't?" and the stylists were always like "yeah you shouldn't, a good pixie for your face shape is not wash-and-wear hair" so I never did it even though I kept wanting to just...cut all my fucking hair off. and then this December I kind of went, wait, I got a TATTOO with less angst than this and that's permanent. I CAN CUT MY HAIR. IT GROWS BACK. so I got all my fucking hair cut off. it's not perfect because a short cut really does take more maintenance, from what I'm told (I got it cut the first week of January, so...probably I should have scheduled a trim by now), and I really would prefer to continue paying almost no attention to my hair while still looking generally okay, and the bits in front fall in my eyes and piss me off if I don't pin them back (I did buy the hair wax stuff the stylist suggested that was supposed to sort of lightly anchor it in place but it just never worked for very long, so...pins), BUT it is very nice not constantly catching my hair in my purse strap and stuff like that, and also I'm more visibly queer with short hair and that's definitely a plus.

train Hazy. this is a work in progress. it took a while to get signed up for an actual class and then I had to go with one for reactive dogs specifically, and so far I've only been to two sessions, just one of which involved Hazy, and then I've been trying to do other stuff at home, and...well, it's a work in progress. but she's a good dog who just needs to learn to chill a little bit, and I should've trained Scully and didn't so I'm trying to do things right this time.

specifically, I would like to get her trained enough that she can accompany me to Pride in June, wearing her adorable Wonder Woman harness and cape. given that she is not great with individual strange humans and strange dogs, taking her into a big crowd of both would definitely result in a screaming meltdown if I did it now and it may or may not be realistic to hope I'll be able to get enough improvement on that in time. but that's the goal. if it doesn't work, there's always next year, I guess.

also, I want to make myself a flying ace costume for Pride. this may or may not be much more complicated than I anticipate.

speaking of costumes, I'm planning to go back to both local conventions this year, and I imagine I'll reuse my Stuttgart Loki outfit at least once but it would be nice to do at least one other new cosplay. Heather/Cheryl from Silent Hill 3 seems like it should be straightforward but Value Village hasn't provided me with any of the pieces yet so who knows.

post more to @alaska-gothic​ because I have a bunch of cool photos I'd like to have a place to show off (and I've taken a lot of new pictures, some in VERY cold weather, for this exact purpose)

finish more games. in practice this might turn into "play more short games while continuing to neglect long games" but I want to make my list of completed games longer and I also want to PLAY MORE GAMES in general because it's a thing I really like, and it's possibly the only thing I do that's purely for my own enjoyment, and I want to make more time for that. also I want to finish SWTOR’s existing singleplayer content because, I mean, it’s an eight-year-old(!!!) MMO so its remaining time is probably limited by default and it’s fucking ridiculous I’ve been a subscriber for at least seven years without even finishing all the class storylines, what the actual fuck Past Me. (I also want to make more time for console games specifically, because those are almost definitely easier on my body and I can do them while cuddling with Hazy on the couch. unfortunately this also generally requires me having the place to myself, which is kind of a rare thing that is also necessary for comfortably working on customs or writing, so...opportunities are limited.)

speaking of games: finish buying the parts to upgrade my computer and then upgrade my fucking computer, and also back up my fucking files

finish a long fic? or honestly if I can even finish more short fics that would be great. really just...make progress on the WIP list. especially if I can finish some IW-specific fics before Endgame comes out. that would be super cool of me.

get another tattoo. I still want that LotR quote but I don't know how I want it to look so who knows when that might happen. HOWEVER, I've been wanting something queer, and I very much loved Foxflight Studios’ "we fight as one" design, and when I asked the designer if she was okay with me getting it as a tattoo she said yes. so at least with that I wouldn't have to figure out a design. I do of course have to figure out a) where I want it (ideally, somewhere normally covered by clothes but where I can see it if I want to, and where a person might conceivably keep a real dagger) and b) how much more it's going to hurt/cost than the paw print considering it would have to be bigger and it has a lot more colors and linework.

do some travel around Alaska. I've lived here for nearly my entire life and I really haven't seen that much of my own state. more importantly there are a few extremely cool places within theoretical driving distance, like Kennicott, Igloo City, and abandoned military installations near Seward, and I want to visit them. @erlkonigstochter and I had vague plans to do this last year and it never materialized (although I did visit Nike Site Summit on my own), so...this year I intend to try harder to make that happen, especially since I have no current plans of traveling out of state.

put more stuff on Etsy (and figure out how to advertise them?). in particular there are a bunch more things I want to repaint in various Pride colors, in part because those are way easier than custom Funko figures. of course, a lot of these things are kinda technically copyright infringement which means somehow I have to figure out how to make more sales of the easier things without drawing the attention of any corporations (and/or shift my focus to things that aren't under copyright of some kind but that's probably more complicated).

but also do more personal projects. I have so many partially finished custom figures, and so many other figures I bought specifically to customize but haven't touched since, and it would be cool to actually...do something with some of those. especially because several of my WIPs/plans are more Lokis, and I need all the Lokis, and there are not many more left that I can buy.

figure out how to motivate myself to work out more and keep up with PT exercises, see above re: needing a  better replacement for the magic of TAZ Balance whoops

get a therapist and work on ADHD issues, because I'm increasingly convinced that ADHD issues are at the root of the vast majority of my other issues (depression, anxiety, etc.), and that I would be immeasurably improving every aspect of my life if I could make some progress on that aspect. the difficulty, of course, is that finding a therapist is kind of complicated and difficult, and also I don't really want to add yet another regular appointment to my schedule when I already don't have enough time after work to do all the things I want and/or need to do, but...this one thing could go a long way toward helping me actually do all those other things, so obviously this is a time investment I really need to make. although probably not until I've made serious progress with Hazy's separation anxiety because that also makes it hard to go places after work. so uh, I guess we'll see. in the meantime it might be smart if I tried to figure out some kind of self-guided therapy thing I could do. I'm sure there's...something.

just, like, be more intentional about...things. in general. this is a bad goal because it's very nonspecific but it is slightly more specific than "generally do better FFS" so at least there's that.

[mst3kproject]

The Capture of Bigfoot

Yep, another Bigfoot movie, this one written and directed by Bill 'Giant Spider Invasion' Rebane.  As far as I can tell, nobody in it was ever on MST3K, but for some reason it does have a whole bunch of people who were in Ilsa, She-Wolf of the SS, along with George 'Buck' Flower, whom you may remember (if you remember him at all) as the park bench bum in the Back to the Future movies.  Above and beyond that, it's just intensely riffable. There's barely a shot that doesn't invite comment, and should you watch it, you'll be hearing the bots' voices the whole time.  What do you think: would it be Crow or Tom who would draw our attention to the gas pumps that look like a snow Ku Klux Klan in the background of one scene?

A couple of trappers have captured a baby Bigfoot, which naturally pisses off its mother – it kills one of the trappers and injures the other, fortunately without hurting any of the adorable samoyeds pulling their sled.  The dogs take the injured trapper home, where he dies without revealing what happened to him, but Harvey Olson thinks he knows.  He's been hunting Bigfoot for twenty years, and now that he's sure the creature is in the area, he hires every hunter in town to try to catch the beast.  Bigfoot, however, is also the protector of the local native people, who call it Arak (the SOL crew would have made so many jokes about 'the Legend of a Rock'), and they enlist Forest Ranger Garrett to foil Olson's plans.

Samoyeds are my favourite dog.  They look like somebody blow-dried a polar bear.

This movie's Bigfoot also looks like somebody blow-dried a polar bear, but it is marginally better than the one in Shriek of the Mutilated. Seeing as Shriek of the Mutilated's Bigfoot was literally a guy in a furry costume in the movie, that is not a compliment.  Capture's creature is even worse than Cry Wilderness', never believable as anything but a guy in a Hallowe'en costume.  Of some note is that the costume department gave Bigfoot white fur, when almost everybody who actually claims to have seen the creature has supposedly said it was black or brown, but perhaps we're meant to think they turn white in the winter like rabbits do. The beast's call is just somebody yelling “BLEAAAAAAAAAGH!”

While The Capture of Bigfoot does ostensibly have a plot, it's mostly just a monster movie – people wander around the woods, and Bigfoot kills them.  It kills the two trappers that captured the baby.  A third trapper sits down in his tent after collecting the day's game, and Bigfoot bashes his head in.  Two tourists leave the hotel to either have sex or go skiing, and Bigfoot mauls the guy while the girl screams.  The only slightly interesting thing that's done with the formula is that when it becomes clear that the creature has a grudge against the pair of hunters who shot at its offspring, Olson decides to use them as bait to trap it... but even that's pretty lame.

The characters are a collection of clichés.  There's a precocious kid who makes friends with the creature (perhaps this is a prequel to Cry Wilderness?). There's ranger Dave Garrett, who's well-meaning but kind of a putz and nobody listens to him.  There's Jake the Trapper, an old drunk everybody laughs at but really the only guy who knows the truth.  The Sheriff is a dim bulb whose 'quirk' is that he does a Humphrey Bogart impression.  Daniels is a Wise Old Indian.  Olson is a rich ugly guy who makes weird faces when he talks, which makes him a very early entry in the Donald Trump School of Movie Villainy.

For all the talk about how the creature is the protector of the local tribe's dead and must not be captured or killed for this reason, there is only one ostensible Native in the movie, Daniels.  His function in the plot is to give Garrett some information and a talisman that will prevent Bigfoot from harming him.  That's really all the entire concept of 'Native Americans' represents in this movie: a source of legend and magic, not allowed to actually do anything because action is for white guys (as I mentioned, even Bigfoot is white in this movie).  It's also really weird how the script can't decide if Daniels speaks English.  He and Garrett appear to have a conversation alone at one point, though we don't hear any of it, but when he turns up later in the film he speaks his own language and Jake the trapper has to translate.  In this same scene, Jake remarks that it would be 'more like an Indian' for Daniels to have shot them both rather than to sneak up and rescue them, which seems very distasteful coming from somebody who is supposedly Daniels' only friend.

Although Garrett is technically our protagonist, he's really a very reactive character – things happen, and he responds to them.  This was probably unavoidable, since it is his job to respond to animal issues in the area, but it makes him seem passive and uninteresting.  The proactive character is the villain, Mr. Olson.  His quest to find proof of Bigfoot, dead or alive, is what moves the story along.  He states over and over that he's been hunting the beast for years, and yet we never find out why. His stated reason is that it will make him rich, but this seems like only a justification for his obsession.  If he'd seen it and was disbelieved, or if it killed somebody he knew, that would make sense, but we don't get any backstory for him.  Outside of this, however, he is probably the person we get to know best, and he’s the one who has an arc.  He starts off as the type of villain who thinks he's not being villainous if he has other people do things for him.

Olson does not go out to look for Bigfoot himself – he hires others to do that for him, even as they laugh at him in the belief that they're ripping him off by accepting his money to hunt something that doesn't exist.  Although it seems at first that he plans to shoot Jake and Garrett for following him, he does not have the stomach to commit or order a murder, and has them tied to a tree to freeze to death instead.  The only thing he does himself is spring the trap he's had set for the creature, as his monomania would not allow somebody else to do that.  It must be he, and he alone, who 'captures' it, no matter how much help he had in setting up the trap.

But once he has the creature in a cage, Olson goes, as one of the hunters observes, completely over the edge.  His success seems to have made him feel invincible, and while earlier he was cautious about both the law and the wilderness, he now does things like run Jake down with his car.  He would not murder this man a few hours earlier, but now he no longer cares.  Shortly thereafter he attempts to form  an armed posse to murder Garrett, too, and runs off to do it himself when this plan fails.  Now that he's in this position of power, Olson cannot tolerate anybody who might knock him down from it.

There is one weird scene that doesn't seem to have a place in this arc, when early in the movie Olson literally throws a man who has displeased him out a window.  I think this is supposed to establish him as physically formidable, but considering his age and the shape he's in, it's merely ludicrous.  Besides, what idiot throws a man through a window in the middle of what a radio broadcast claims is one of the coldest winters on record?  I guess the answer is 'a rich idiot', but the whole thing is still really, really dumb.

Also a little odd is Olson's death.  In a movie like this you would probably expect him to be killed by the creature, as nature and legend take revenge on an arrogant human who failed to respect them. Or maybe he'd be arrested and thrown in jail for all the crimes his arrogance led him to commit, both by proxy and, at this point, in person.  Instead, however, Olson accidentally shoots a barrel of gasoline that, as far as I can tell, was only in the room so that this could happen, and dies in the resulting explosion.  This is the sort of thing that makes me think Bill Rebane has no idea how stuff like character arcs work... he just throws together whatever he thinks is cool and films it.

I spent most of my review of Cry Wilderness pondering the mythical versus real status of Bigfoot, and what it was supposed to represent in that movie.  The Capture of Bigfoot does kind of the same thing.  Its Bigfoot is at once a real animal that eats and reproduces, and a spirit being that leads souls to the afterlife.  Daniels, the last of his people, is unable to die until Bigfoot is free to take him away.  The creature must not be captured because that would bring it out of this ambiguous space into the real world, where it does not belong.  I wish the movie had expanded on these ideas a little... what happens, for example, once Daniels is dead?  The mythical aspect of Bigfoot then has no more purpose.  Does the creature, too, simply disappear?  Does it become nothing but an animal?  At the end Bigfoot and its offspring just wander off into the woods and the credits roll.

All things considered, with its stereotyped characters, its dumb plot, and its racism, Capture of Bigfoot is pretty dull.  Most of the movie is just people crunching around in the snow.  There's a ski race that has no bearing on the plot, and a similarly pointless party scene that serves to show us a woman in a skin-baring outfit shakin' her stuff to an appallingly awful disco song called Sensuous Tiger.  Nothing here is half as much fun as the spidermobile or the over-the-top rednecks of The Giant Spider Invasion, and like that movie, Capture of Bigfoot ends pretty much immediately after the threat is defeated.  No denoument, no closure of subplots.

It's cheap.  It sucks.  It'd be good for an MST3K episode, but not for much else.

[themoodofthedayis]

Bogyphobia

It’s Halloween, which means today’s mood is about the fear we all experience when confronted with something truly horrendous. No, not bogeymen, not demons… Goblins. Bogyphobia is the fear of bogeymen, demons, and (most importantly) Goblins. So tonight as you’re out celebrating the best holiday of the year, make sure to double check for little green intruders in your home.

Today’s Song: Somebody’s Watching Me - Rockwell Today’s Poem: “Goblin Market” by Christina Rossetti

Morning and evening Maids heard the goblins cry: “Come buy our orchard fruits, Come buy, come buy: Apples and quinces, Lemons and oranges, Plump unpeck’d cherries, Melons and raspberries, Bloom-down-cheek’d peaches, Swart-headed mulberries, Wild free-born cranberries, Crab-apples, dewberries, Pine-apples, blackberries, Apricots, strawberries;— All ripe together In summer weather,— Morns that pass by, Fair eves that fly; Come buy, come buy: Our grapes fresh from the vine, Pomegranates full and fine, Dates and sharp bullaces, Rare pears and greengages, Damsons and bilberries, Taste them and try: Currants and gooseberries, Bright-fire-like barberries, Figs to fill your mouth, Citrons from the South, Sweet to tongue and sound to eye; Come buy, come buy.” Evening by evening Among the brookside rushes, Laura bow’d her head to hear, Lizzie veil’d her blushes: Crouching close together In the cooling weather, With clasping arms and cautioning lips, With tingling cheeks and finger tips. “Lie close,” Laura said, Pricking up her golden head: “We must not look at goblin men, We must not buy their fruits: Who knows upon what soil they fed Their hungry thirsty roots?” “Come buy,” call the goblins Hobbling down the glen. 

“Oh,” cried Lizzie, “Laura, Laura, You should not peep at goblin men.” Lizzie cover’d up her eyes, Cover’d close lest they should look; Laura rear’d her glossy head, And whisper’d like the restless brook: “Look, Lizzie, look, Lizzie, Down the glen tramp little men. One hauls a basket, One bears a plate, One lugs a golden dish Of many pounds weight. How fair the vine must grow Whose grapes are so luscious; How warm the wind must blow Through those fruit bushes.” “No,” said Lizzie, “No, no, no; Their offers should not charm us, Their evil gifts would harm us.” She thrust a dimpled finger In each ear, shut eyes and ran: Curious Laura chose to linger Wondering at each merchant man. One had a cat’s face, One whisk’d a tail, One tramp’d at a rat’s pace, One crawl’d like a snail, One like a wombat prowl’d obtuse and furry, One like a ratel tumbled hurry skurry. She heard a voice like voice of doves Cooing all together: They sounded kind and full of loves In the pleasant weather. Laura stretch’d her gleaming neck Like a rush-imbedded swan, Like a lily from the beck, Like a moonlit poplar branch, Like a vessel at the launch When its last restraint is gone. Backwards up the mossy glen Turn’d and troop’d the goblin men, With their shrill repeated cry, “Come buy, come buy.” When they reach’d where Laura was They stood stock still upon the moss, Leering at each other, Brother with queer brother; Signalling each other, Brother with sly brother. One set his basket down, One rear’d his plate; One began to weave a crown Of tendrils, leaves, and rough nuts brown (Men sell not such in any town); One heav’d the golden weight Of dish and fruit to offer her: “Come buy, come buy,” was still their cry. Laura stared but did not stir, Long’d but had no money: The whisk-tail’d merchant bade her taste In tones as smooth as honey, The cat-faced purr’d, The rat-faced spoke a word Of welcome, and the snail-paced even was heard; One parrot-voiced and jolly Cried “Pretty Goblin” still for “Pretty Polly;”— One whistled like a bird. But sweet-tooth Laura spoke in haste: “Good folk, I have no coin; To take were to purloin: I have no copper in my purse, I have no silver either, And all my gold is on the furze That shakes in windy weather Above the rusty heather.” “You have much gold upon your head,” They answer’d all together: “Buy from us with a golden curl.” She clipp’d a precious golden lock, She dropp’d a tear more rare than pearl, Then suck’d their fruit globes fair or red: Sweeter than honey from the rock, Stronger than man-rejoicing wine, Clearer than water flow’d that juice; She never tasted such before, How should it cloy with length of use? She suck’d and suck’d and suck’d the more Fruits which that unknown orchard bore; She suck’d until her lips were sore; Then flung the emptied rinds away But gather’d up one kernel stone, And knew not was it night or day As she turn’d home alone. Lizzie met her at the gate Full of wise upbraidings: “Dear, you should not stay so late, Twilight is not good for maidens; Should not loiter in the glen In the haunts of goblin men. Do you not remember Jeanie, How she met them in the moonlight, Took their gifts both choice and many, Ate their fruits and wore their flowers Pluck’d from bowers Where summer ripens at all hours? But ever in the noonlight She pined and pined away; Sought them by night and day, Found them no more, but dwindled and grew grey; Then fell with the first snow, While to this day no grass will grow Where she lies low: I planted daisies there a year ago That never blow. You should not loiter so.” “Nay, hush,” said Laura: “Nay, hush, my sister: I ate and ate my fill, Yet my mouth waters still; To-morrow night I will Buy more;” and kiss’d her: “Have done with sorrow; I’ll bring you plums to-morrow Fresh on their mother twigs, Cherries worth getting; You cannot think what figs My teeth have met in, What melons icy-cold Piled on a dish of gold Too huge for me to hold, What peaches with a velvet nap, Pellucid grapes without one seed: Odorous indeed must be the mead Whereon they grow, and pure the wave they drink With lilies at the brink, And sugar-sweet their sap.” Golden head by golden head, Like two pigeons in one nest Folded in each other’s wings, They lay down in their curtain’d bed: Like two blossoms on one stem, Like two flakes of new-fall’n snow, Like two wands of ivory Tipp’d with gold for awful kings. Moon and stars gaz’d in at them, Wind sang to them lullaby, Lumbering owls forbore to fly, Not a bat flapp’d to and fro Round their rest: Cheek to cheek and breast to breast Lock’d together in one nest. Early in the morning When the first cock crow’d his warning, Neat like bees, as sweet and busy, Laura rose with Lizzie: Fetch’d in honey, milk’d the cows, Air’d and set to rights the house, Kneaded cakes of whitest wheat, Cakes for dainty mouths to eat, Next churn’d butter, whipp’d up cream, Fed their poultry, sat and sew’d; Talk’d as modest maidens should: Lizzie with an open heart, Laura in an absent dream, One content, one sick in part; One warbling for the mere bright day’s delight, One longing for the night. At length slow evening came: They went with pitchers to the reedy brook; Lizzie most placid in her look, Laura most like a leaping flame. They drew the gurgling water from its deep; Lizzie pluck’d purple and rich golden flags, Then turning homeward said: “The sunset flushes Those furthest loftiest crags; Come, Laura, not another maiden lags. No wilful squirrel wags, The beasts and birds are fast asleep.” But Laura loiter’d still among the rushes And said the bank was steep. And said the hour was early still The dew not fall’n, the wind not chill; Listening ever, but not catching The customary cry, “Come buy, come buy,” With its iterated jingle Of sugar-baited words: Not for all her watching Once discerning even one goblin Racing, whisking, tumbling, hobbling; Let alone the herds That used to tramp along the glen, In groups or single, Of brisk fruit-merchant men. Till Lizzie urged, “O Laura, come; I hear the fruit-call but I dare not look: You should not loiter longer at this brook: Come with me home. The stars rise, the moon bends her arc, Each glowworm winks her spark, Let us get home before the night grows dark: For clouds may gather Though this is summer weather, Put out the lights and drench us through; Then if we lost our way what should we do?” Laura turn’d cold as stone To find her sister heard that cry alone, That goblin cry, “Come buy our fruits, come buy.” Must she then buy no more such dainty fruit? Must she no more such succous pasture find, Gone deaf and blind? Her tree of life droop’d from the root: She said not one word in her heart’s sore ache; But peering thro’ the dimness, nought discerning, Trudg’d home, her pitcher dripping all the way; So crept to bed, and lay Silent till Lizzie slept; Then sat up in a passionate yearning, And gnash’d her teeth for baulk’d desire, and wept As if her heart would break. Day after day, night after night, Laura kept watch in vain In sullen silence of exceeding pain. She never caught again the goblin cry: “Come buy, come buy;”— She never spied the goblin men Hawking their fruits along the glen: But when the noon wax’d bright Her hair grew thin and grey; She dwindled, as the fair full moon doth turn To swift decay and burn Her fire away. One day remembering her kernel-stone She set it by a wall that faced the south; Dew’d it with tears, hoped for a root, Watch’d for a waxing shoot, But there came none; It never saw the sun, It never felt the trickling moisture run: While with sunk eyes and faded mouth She dream’d of melons, as a traveller sees False waves in desert drouth With shade of leaf-crown’d trees, And burns the thirstier in the sandful breeze. She no more swept the house, Tended the fowls or cows, Fetch’d honey, kneaded cakes of wheat, Brought water from the brook: But sat down listless in the chimney-nook And would not eat. Tender Lizzie could not bear To watch her sister’s cankerous care Yet not to share. She night and morning Caught the goblins’ cry: “Come buy our orchard fruits, Come buy, come buy;”— Beside the brook, along the glen, She heard the tramp of goblin men, The yoke and stir Poor Laura could not hear; Long’d to buy fruit to comfort her, But fear’d to pay too dear. She thought of Jeanie in her grave, Who should have been a bride; But who for joys brides hope to have Fell sick and died In her gay prime, In earliest winter time With the first glazing rime, With the first snow-fall of crisp winter time. Till Laura dwindling Seem’d knocking at Death’s door: Then Lizzie weigh’d no more Better and worse; But put a silver penny in her purse, Kiss’d Laura, cross’d the heath with clumps of furze At twilight, halted by the brook: And for the first time in her life Began to listen and look. Laugh’d every goblin When they spied her peeping: Came towards her hobbling, Flying, running, leaping, Puffing and blowing, Chuckling, clapping, crowing, Clucking and gobbling, Mopping and mowing, Full of airs and graces, Pulling wry faces, Demure grimaces, Cat-like and rat-like, Ratel- and wombat-like, Snail-paced in a hurry, Parrot-voiced and whistler, Helter skelter, hurry skurry, Chattering like magpies, Fluttering like pigeons, Gliding like fishes,— Hugg’d her and kiss’d her: Squeez’d and caress’d her: Stretch’d up their dishes, Panniers, and plates: “Look at our apples Russet and dun, Bob at our cherries, Bite at our peaches, Citrons and dates, Grapes for the asking, Pears red with basking Out in the sun, Plums on their twigs; Pluck them and suck them, Pomegranates, figs.”— “Good folk,” said Lizzie, Mindful of Jeanie: “Give me much and many: — Held out her apron, Toss’d them her penny. “Nay, take a seat with us, Honour and eat with us,” They answer’d grinning: “Our feast is but beginning. Night yet is early, Warm and dew-pearly, Wakeful and starry: Such fruits as these No man can carry: Half their bloom would fly, Half their dew would dry, Half their flavour would pass by. Sit down and feast with us, Be welcome guest with us, Cheer you and rest with us.”— “Thank you,” said Lizzie: “But one waits At home alone for me: So without further parleying, If you will not sell me any Of your fruits though much and many, Give me back my silver penny I toss’d you for a fee.”— They began to scratch their pates, No longer wagging, purring, But visibly demurring, Grunting and snarling. One call’d her proud, Cross-grain’d, uncivil; Their tones wax’d loud, Their looks were evil. Lashing their tails They trod and hustled her, Elbow’d and jostled her, Claw’d with their nails, Barking, mewing, hissing, mocking, Tore her gown and soil’d her stocking, Twitch’d her hair out by the roots, Stamp’d upon her tender feet, Held her hands and squeez’d their fruits Against her mouth to make her eat. White and golden Lizzie stood, Like a lily in a flood,— Like a rock of blue-vein’d stone Lash’d by tides obstreperously,— Like a beacon left alone In a hoary roaring sea, Sending up a golden fire,— Like a fruit-crown’d orange-tree White with blossoms honey-sweet Sore beset by wasp and bee,— Like a royal virgin town Topp’d with gilded dome and spire Close beleaguer’d by a fleet Mad to tug her standard down. One may lead a horse to water, Twenty cannot make him drink. Though the goblins cuff’d and caught her, Coax’d and fought her, Bullied and besought her, Scratch’d her, pinch’d her black as ink, Kick’d and knock’d her, Maul’d and mock’d her, Lizzie utter’d not a word; Would not open lip from lip Lest they should cram a mouthful in: But laugh’d in heart to feel the drip Of juice that syrupp’d all her face, And lodg’d in dimples of her chin, And streak’d her neck which quaked like curd. At last the evil people, Worn out by her resistance, Flung back her penny, kick’d their fruit Along whichever road they took, Not leaving root or stone or shoot; Some writh’d into the ground, Some div’d into the brook With ring and ripple, Some scudded on the gale without a sound, Some vanish’d in the distance. In a smart, ache, tingle, Lizzie went her way; Knew not was it night or day; Sprang up the bank, tore thro’ the furze, Threaded copse and dingle, And heard her penny jingle Bouncing in her purse,— Its bounce was music to her ear. She ran and ran As if she fear’d some goblin man Dogg’d her with gibe or curse Or something worse: But not one goblin scurried after, Nor was she prick’d by fear; The kind heart made her windy-paced That urged her home quite out of breath with haste And inward laughter. She cried, “Laura,” up the garden, “Did you miss me? Come and kiss me. Never mind my bruises, Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices Squeez’d from goblin fruits for you, Goblin pulp and goblin dew. Eat me, drink me, love me; Laura, make much of me; For your sake I have braved the glen And had to do with goblin merchant men.” Laura started from her chair, Flung her arms up in the air, Clutch’d her hair: “Lizzie, Lizzie, have you tasted For my sake the fruit forbidden? Must your light like mine be hidden, Your young life like mine be wasted, Undone in mine undoing, And ruin’d in my ruin, Thirsty, canker’d, goblin-ridden?”— She clung about her sister, Kiss’d and kiss’d and kiss’d her: Tears once again Refresh’d her shrunken eyes, Dropping like rain After long sultry drouth; Shaking with aguish fear, and pain, She kiss’d and kiss’d her with a hungry mouth. Her lips began to scorch, That juice was wormwood to her tongue, She loath’d the feast: Writhing as one possess’d she leap’d and sung, Rent all her robe, and wrung Her hands in lamentable haste, And beat her breast. Her locks stream’d like the torch Borne by a racer at full speed, Or like the mane of horses in their flight, Or like an eagle when she stems the light Straight toward the sun, Or like a caged thing freed, Or like a flying flag when armies run. Swift fire spread through her veins, knock’d at her heart, Met the fire smouldering there And overbore its lesser flame; She gorged on bitterness without a name: Ah! fool, to choose such part Of soul-consuming care! Sense fail’d in the mortal strife: Like the watch-tower of a town Which an earthquake shatters down, Like a lightning-stricken mast, Like a wind-uprooted tree Spun about, Like a foam-topp’d waterspout Cast down headlong in the sea, She fell at last; Pleasure past and anguish past, Is it death or is it life? Life out of death. That night long Lizzie watch’d by her, Counted her pulse’s flagging stir, Felt for her breath, Held water to her lips, and cool’d her face With tears and fanning leaves: But when the first birds chirp’d about their eaves, And early reapers plodded to the place Of golden sheaves, And dew-wet grass Bow’d in the morning winds so brisk to pass, And new buds with new day Open’d of cup-like lilies on the stream, Laura awoke as from a dream, Laugh’d in the innocent old way, Hugg’d Lizzie but not twice or thrice; Her gleaming locks show’d not one thread of grey, Her breath was sweet as May And light danced in her eyes. Days, weeks, months, years Afterwards, when both were wives With children of their own; Their mother-hearts beset with fears, Their lives bound up in tender lives; Laura would call the little ones And tell them of her early prime, Those pleasant days long gone Of not-returning time: Would talk about the haunted glen, The wicked, quaint fruit-merchant men, Their fruits like honey to the throat But poison in the blood; (Men sell not such in any town): Would tell them how her sister stood In deadly peril to do her good, And win the fiery antidote: Then joining hands to little hands Would bid them cling together, “For there is no friend like a sister In calm or stormy weather; To cheer one on the tedious way, To fetch one if one goes astray, To lift one if one totters down, To strengthen whilst one stands.”

[snoocupz]

Shoutout to the weirdest Arcane AU I've done so far...

Shoutout to Raccoon Jayce and Ferret Viktor. DEFINITELY nothing weird about an AU in which two scientist get turned into animals, no no!

+ Christmas adding! 🌲