#i have to say peril has me in a chOkehold

[cannonsinmyhead]

i finished the next series and hAd to make more human dragonets. when i say im obsessed i mean that i held out for max a week after finishing quibli’s book before rereading both series. someone remind me to post my headcanons about all of them bc let me tell you i have thoughts and ideas.

[thatfreshi]

Could I request an Astarion/GN!reader(Tav) where reader has trauma around their throat being touched and stuff but bears through the panic attacks just so Astarion can feed and Astarion only finds out after they make camp and confronts reader/Tav about their mental breakdown after a battle they had prior in the day?(reader got grabbed forcefully by the neck?) Essentially a bit of angst and comfort?

Set in act 2!!

TW - choking, panic attack, disordered eating behaviors

Recommended Song: Don't Invest In Me - Adam Melchor

Battle is horrifying, something Astarion never truly quite realized until he fell in love you with. He's talented, especially at killing people. He's never had to worry in a fight, because it was always just him. Now he has to worry about you, and it's painful, not being able to be by your side constantly, watching you in perilous situations, looking death right in the eye. When your group ran into a few violent adventurers yesterday, you weren't expecting any trouble. Suddenly, metal clashing, magic moving through the trees. Astarion moved quickly, offing one of the offenders almost immediately. When he turned to see who was next, bloodlust in his eyes, he saw you being held by the throat. You were frozen, running out of oxygen, tears welling at your eyes. He ran through the trees, running his blade through your captor's back.

"Tav? My dear, are you alright?"

You can't speak, utterly shocked. No one had ever tried to choke you in the throes of battle, and it reminded you of awful things, things that were better left unsaid. He checks you for any other wounds as you're trapped in your own mind. The fighting continues, but he doesn't care. All that matters is you, the others can handle themselves just fine. And if not, that's their loss, not his.

After thoroughly checking you over, he can't find anything else of concern. The bruising on your neck though, it's black and blue already. Racing thoughts, wondering if there's been any lasting damage. He can't decide if he should be more concerned about the fact that you're practically frozen in place or if your windpipe is destroyed.

"The fuck are you doing? We have shit to deal with!"

Karlach silences her complaints when she sees you lying on the ground. Astarion doesn't even look up at her, afraid. He's only ever truly had one thing, one thing that was his, and that's you. Everything else feels so impermanent, but you? You're constant.

"Astarion! Astarion!"

She yells out his name until he finally snaps back to look at your tiefling friend.

"Take Tav back to camp, we've got it covered."

Karlach then runs off, back to assist Wyll with a shadow-covered half-elf. You groan in pain, your neck on fire. As you start to come back to reality, you realize you're in the vampire's arms, a vampire currently moving through the dark as quickly as possible. Neither of you have lights on you, but he knows there are still torches lit at camp, he just has to get there before the shadow curse starts to take hold. You're light-headed, both from lack of oxygen and the panic attack.

"Where...?"

"Hush darling, it's alright. We're almost there, almost to camp."

Through a couple more feet of trees, the two of you make it, bathing in the warm light of the torches posted behind the brush. He takes you back to your tent, where your bedrolls lie side by side. He silently curses himself for not knowing any healing magic, promising himself he'll finally learn after this.

"Aster?"

You call out groggily.

"Yes my love, I'm right here."

Ceasing the nervous pacing, he sits by your side.

"What... what happened?"

He almost doesn't want to say, worried about how you reacted while it was happening.

"One of the shadow-cursed, they... they had you in a nasty chokehold, and I killed them."

You shift, wishing he didn't have to know about all of this.

"Sorry."

"About what darling? You've done nothing wrong."

"About not telling you- not telling you about it."

You're gasping to get your words out, your throat clearly damaged. He furrows his brow in concerned confusion.

"I- I really don't like people touching my neck, doing anything to it to be honest. Wasn't expecting one of them to grab me like that."

Coughing at the end of your sentence, you don't see Astarion's eyes travel through his thoughts, realizing what that means.

"Darling... you let me feed off of you almost every evening."

You smile a little.

"I know."

He grabs one of your hands, clasping it in both of his.

"I'll never do it again. I'm so sorry, I had no idea."

Frantic, worried he's done something irreversibly wrong.

"No, no Aster it's okay. Does it suck sometimes? Yeah, but I need you to be healthy. Besides, what's a better way to work through your trauma than exposure therapy?"

"That's not fair. I can find something else, some other way."

"And what, go back to forest animals? You know there's nothing for you out here, in the darkness."

"Then I'll simply starve! Done it before, I'll do it again."

Gods, he's stubborn. You don't blame him, he would never want to cross anyone's boundaries after his have been trampled a million times.

"My love, come here."

You reach out, beckoning to pull him down beside you.

"If I didn't want to do it, I wouldn't. You need to feed, and I can provide that. You do plenty for me, let me do this one thing for you."

"But, but you hate it."

"Yeah. Those two things can coexist, my hate for people touching my neck, and my love for you. I can put up with the anxiety if it means you're okay."

"I would be okay though."

You cup his face in your hand, making sure he's looking at you.

"I'm telling you I'm okay, and that you deserve more than rats. Okay?"

You've been around him long enough, you know his logic. If he survived for two hundred years living off of flies and rats, he certainly doesn't need blood like yours. If he had starved for an entire year, he could take a few months before getting to Baldur's Gate. Sometimes you have to remind him that survival mode isn't living, that he's allowed to have nice things. Tears fall from his eyes.

"Are you sure my sweet? Absolutely certain?"

"Of course, and if I ever needed you to stop I would tell you, promise."

You put your pinky out, and he stares at it.

"What... what are you doing? Is this you offering me to feed off a singular finger? Because if so, that's uh-"

"No, gods! It's a pinky promise."

"A... a what?"

You start laughing, so hard that you start coughing again, tears falling down your face.

"You've never heard of a pinky promise?"

It pulls at your heart a little, realizing he probably never had anyone teach him.

"I guess I haven't."

You put your pinky out, and he does the same, and then you hook yours, interlacing the small finger with his.

"There, I pinky promise that I'll tell you if you need to stop feeding on me."

As you pull your hand away, he looks confused.

"And that's what, some non-verbal contract?"

"I guess so Mr. Magistrate."

You start laughing again.

"Okay, you have thoroughly scared me, and made me cry, and teased me, in one night! I'm not sure how much more I can take."

There's a hint of humor in his tone. Honestly, he also thinks it's ridiculous that he was a magistrate, considering he was terrible at it, at least from the small things he remembers.

"Well, it's over now. I'm okay, and we're safe."

He narrows his eyes.

"I'm still going to have Shadowheart look over you when the rest return."

"Well, that's your fault for not learning healing magic."

"Okay, you don't know any magic, so I don't want to hear it!"

The two of you stay up for hours, laughing at stupid jokes, hysterical from the tragedy that evening. Sometimes after something horrible, you just need a good laugh, especially with your easily provoked lover.

[emeraldties]

Are you Happy? Cour 2 Review:

This is fine. We're fine.

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR TIGER AND BUNNY COUR 2 BEWARE.

I'm a changed man after all this I'll tell you that. This is gonna be kinda long so... read at your own peril lol

Chronologically, this is a mess but whatever. I need to get this out there before I explode and accidentally spoil this for my friend.

We're starting off positive because we're making a sandwich right now and I really did enjoy this season. It definitely took a turn that I did NOT expect in a million years.

Fire Emblem. I loved their characterization in the Rising and this season in particular. That scene where they are talking to Keith about their suits was *chef's kiss*. How, despite amassing a successful company, when they became a hero they worried about what it took to be a hero. To have people look to you for protection, to feel safe in your company. It lends credence to the eventual conclusion Kotetsu comes to at the end of the season about what being a hero is. I loved every conversation between FireSky.

I want to know the source of Barnaby's new disability. I just wanna know. Phantom pain? Hundred power putting stain on a weakened knee. I MUST KNOW.

Oh, how the tables have turned. It's Kotetsu's turn to bridal carry Bunny.

Mattia... really had me going there was a second. Jesus Christ. I was sweating. Not again. Not again, please.

Blue Rose. I also really enjoyed her characterization this season especially. We meet her in season one as a hot-headed kid who just wanted to be a pop star, and now, we get to see her become an amazing hero. My little girl has grown up brooooo I'm so proud.

She's become so mature and her outlook on life has broadened in a lot of ways, specifically regarding her crush on Kotetsu (which I think we all, as kids, have had crushes on adults. It's up to those adults to not take advantage of those feelings if they do notice... which Kotetsu doesn't, not that he would ever do anything if he did). She let her feelings wash over her, and made healthy friendships with the other heroes to the point where her feelings for Kotetsu became something in the background. She didn't stop liking Kotetsu, she just accepted that it wouldn't happen. And I don't think season 1 Karina would have accepted that conclusion... you know with the whole "how to bag single dads" thing lol.

Golden Ryan? I'll kiss your boots any day

Kid. I love her. She's my child. It's whatever. Adoption papers signed. Shion hairclip is given. Been my kid for 7 years.

Origami and Bison's relationship is just so funny to me. I don't know why. It just is. They're stupid. They're too smart for their own good. They're buddy heroes.

Me and the homies know the real villains of this season were the Mayor and the police. Ouroboros just played their cards right.

Fuck you Mayor whatever and your approval ratings. Your son's a NEXT but I bet he didn't get shoved into a dingy little camp now did he? Segregation? I can't believe I'm saying this, but if Maverick were here this would have never happened. He had that man's balls in a chokehold. Sorry. Rant over.

I love you Doc Saito and your crowded little coffin of a lab.

Bunny, Tiger, and Lunatic teaming up? When I tell you I screamed. I fucking SCREAMED.

Okay. Now for the... NEGATIVES. Sorry. BIG SPOILER MASSIVE SPOILER TIME.

Yuri Petrov deserved better. I don't know what else to say. But also I knew that his arc would either end in death or reformation. I just wish it was the latter. I probably have more to say, but I haven't fully articulated it yet. But I'm sad.

The Nemochild's (I forgot her name) motive was a bit... lackluster. Hotness can't make up for everything I suppose.

I wish we had more work put into her in Cour 1, like Mugan and Fugan and Brahe, then maybe I wouldn't have felt nothing when she died.

Now, this is the Taibani nitpicker within me, so it's not a genuine criticism, more of a wish than anything else. I wish Kotetsu had gotten his hands on Mattia's drug in the middle of the fight and injected himself with it to save Barnaby. I think that would have been more dramatic and it would have made more sense why he lost his powers in the end. Because the drug would have unforeseen consequences, instead of the All Might "I used up all my reserves of power" moment.

Also, I'm gonna need some answers on this segregation thing. Conclusion? Please?

No drinks? No dinner? I've been robbed. And so has Kotetsu.

Not enough Ben. That's the real fatal flaw of this season. 0/10.

I said this was a sandwich so back to the POSITIVES:

I'm really interested in the way Tiger and Bunny depict abusive parents.

I think we see that with Yuri, Barnaby, and Cat. There is a bittersweetness. A soft underbelly to these incredibly strong characters. Despite all that their respective parents have put them through, there is still the ghost of fondness there. A refusal to treat their parents with the same flippancy toward their feelings their parents had all their lives.

Barnaby still keeps a picture of Maverick on his table, he got what he wanted. His parents' killer is dead. But that doesn't change the fact that Maverick had been his only pillar of support for so many years. Even if it was all fake. It's a trophy of a pyrrhic victory that he can't bear to give up or look at.

I was struck by how gently Yuri treated his mother. In season one, there is love there, but also betrayal in both parts. She blames her son for protecting her, and he blames her for not protecting him or herself. He regards her with coldness and resentment.

In this season, he seemed to have lost his fight. He brushes her hair, he doesn't argue, he agrees with whatever she says, he's attentive. In a lot of ways, he's forgiven her in a way she will never forgive him. But he hasn't forgotten. But he's gentle.

His relationship with his father is different. It's tainted. There's guilt. Grief. Sadness. Relief. Resentment. Love. It's a lot. I'm sure my heartbroken Yuri stans can articulate this better than I can.

Cat, she's the only one with an abusive parent who is alive, but she has shown tremendous strength. For the most part, she talks to a brick wall. Her mom doesn't take no for an answer. She pushed her daughter into a job that is made for adults but continuously treats her like an infant. She is a weird amalgamation of a helicopter parent and a negligent one... she's a beauty pageant mom. except with more guns and life-threatening situations.

Cat exerts her autonomy, she branches away from her mother and rebels against the very ideals that she had tried to instill in her. at the end of the day, your child is not a mini you, don't treat them like they are. And Cat's arc wasn't about admitting her mom was wrong for treating her that way, it was about telling her, putting her foot down, and standing up for herself. No take-backs, no backpedaling. Which is sometimes the hardest thing you can do, especially as a kid.

(still, her mom had every right to insist that she come along with her child to a CAMP filled with random people. She's still 13.)

Tiger found out about Mr. Legend. TIGER FOUND OUT ABOUT MR. LEGEND. And got a bit pissy about the fact that Yuri insinuated that he was anything like his father, and honestly, I think that was a really in-character response from both of them. Kotetsu wasn't tactful, and Yuri was accusatory. I really liked that conversation because it wasn't perfect, in a lot of ways they didn't say the "right" thing. And that made it all the more well-written.

THEY WENT ROGUE. BROOOOOOOOOO. AGHHHHH. TOGETHERRRRR. I'm not crying.

Barnaby is. That goes in positives. I just wish they animated Barnaby's tears because we've established that Kotetsu can really discern Barnaby's emotions with his eyes. It isn't a season end without a few blubbery tears and a bridal carry.

WHEW. I'm done. Holy shit. I feel like I haven't scratched the surface of what I think but I guess that's what ao3 is for.

There are a lot of loose ends, and I don't know if they will be tied. Crossing my fingers for a season 3 or a movie because I think they really have introduced a lot of cool concepts that I would like to see explored.

At the end of the day, I've just got a genuine love for all these characters, and I've loved this show since I was 13. Now I'm older, and a little nostalgia addled. And maybe that makes me see things through some rose-tinted cat frame glasses. But I gotta ask you guys;

Are you happy?

[malebodysuittf]

Thankful

I sniffed the air with a drool, smelling that delicious roast turkey that my dad was cooking up. It was a family recipe that we had used every Thanksgiving. Dad had never even tried to deviate from it since my mom passed when I was not even a year old. My dad told me it was hers, and cooking the turkey her way made it feel like she was back home for the Holidays. 

Thanksgiving has been a big family occasion ever since, though the “family” was just the two of us. My dad valued that family time more than anything. After what happened with mom, he was absolutely devastated for the longest time. But he worked hard to make his way up through the ranks, and told me every single day to be grateful for what I had so I could have a good future myself.

“Ritchie! The turkey is ready! Come eat dinner with your old man.”

I opened my drawer and pulled out a jar filled with a translucent, red liquid along with a syringe. “Coming, dad!” I pondered if this was really the right thing to do. With a sigh, I put the serum back. No, he had done a wonderful job of being a role model parent. I had bought this serum from the shady kid at school before we graduated, and he told me it could turn the victim into a suit by emptying them out. A wearable suit. My dad didn’t deserve that. He had worked hard and chose not to abandon me when he could have. 

I ran downstairs and saw the delicious Thanksgiving feast before me. Roast turkey, mashed potatoes with gravy, a homemade pumpkin pie, and a beautiful salad. I immediately sat down and started eating as my dad watched with a grin. ”Oh come on, no thank you?  On Thanksgiving?” He said jokingly. 

“Thanks, dad. And...I want you to know I’m thankful for everything. I know I’m going off to college soon, so...I mean, you’ve worked so hard to....to provide everything for me and get me where I am, I wanna be thankful.” 

Dad smiled, almost looking like he was on the brink of tears. “Let’s just eat, alright?” He started to dig in with me as we had a delicious Thanksgiving feast together.

-----------------------------------------

A few hours after dinner, and I rested in my, eyeing the drawer with the bodysuit serum. Perhaps I could use it on someone else, someone who might deserve it. 

Knock knock

Startled by the unusual late night disturbance, I opened the door to see Dad standing there, shirtless. Looked like he was getting ready to go to bed.

“Hey, Ritchie, you mind if I come in?’ He gave me the most wholesome smile, a reminder of the close bond we had. 

“Yeah, sure, what’s up?”

He walked in and plopped himself onto my bed, hunched over with his legs spread out as he rubbed his hands together. 

“Hey buddy, you’re going to college soon, and...I know, I know, maybe it’s not a big deal for you or whatever. I mean, you took this gap year, and you’re probably tired of your old man by now.” His body tensed up as he chuckled before giving a long sigh. ‘I just wanna say I’m really proud of you, and I’m thankful for you. I know sometimes...I know you told me that sometimes you feel guilty, because I had to raise you as a single parent...but I don’t regret it at all.”

 My eyes teared up as I head his words. It was true, it felt awful. He never gave me up for adoption, he was never selfish, he had been the role model parent for me. Accepted me the way I was. Even with my homophobic grandparents, my father had told me he didn’t care, because I was his son. He had supported me every step of the way. He never went out looking for another woman, truly in love with my mother, and wanting to give me 100% of his attention. 

“Dad...I have to be honest. I don’t want to go to college. It just...it doesn’t seem right to me. But-”

“You’re an adult, Ritchie. You get to make your own decisions. If that’s how you feel, go that route. Don’t let your old man try to live your life for you. I worked hard so you could have the life you want, not for you to be unhappy. I’ll support you, no matter what choice you make.”

At a loss for words, I jumped out of bed and hugged Dad and felt his arms wrap around me.

“Dad, I really meant what I said earlier. I couldn’t have asked for a better father.” 

“I love you, son. No matter what, don’t ever forget that.” 

As I hugged him, the option tugged at my conscience. in his compassion and fatherly affection, the guilt ripped me apart. I wanted it more than ever. 

I got up from him and turned to the drawer. As he got up to leave the room, I said, “Wait, uh...I’ve um...got something for you.” 

“Yeah? What is it, champ?”

I opened the drawer and slipped the syringe through the top of the jar, watching the liquid seep into the it. 

“Just...uh...hold on a sec, alright?”

He gave a deep chuckle. “Yep, I’m waitin’.”

“I’m really sorry, Dad.”

I looked behind me and saw his concerned face. He was loving and supporting, and wanted to comfort me. “I already told you Ritchie, I’m proud of you. I don’t want you to feel gui-”

I swiftly turned around and jabbed Dad in the neck with the syringe, injecting him as he was startled. He pulled my hand away and pushed me back.

“Ritchie, w-what the hell was that?” His large, meaty hand patted his neck as he gave me a confused look. 

“A...a bodysuit serum. I’m really sorry, Dad.”

“What the hell is that? What did you do? Is this some kind of prank?”

“N-no...I don’t....I don’t know...” I felt great guilt as Dad suddenly started groan and cup his face in his hands.

“Oh...fuck...i-it burns! WHAT DID YOU DO?” He tried to leave the room, but I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him back in, covering his mouth as he yelped. He was, of course, much stronger and bigger than me, but even in this moment of peril, he wasn’t willing to hurt his son. He pushed me back slightly as he fell back and hit the wall, slumping as his head hung down, struggling to keep it up. 

“Fuck...Ritchie, please, call an ambulance! W-what are you doing?”

“It’s gonna turn you into a suit. I’m gonna wear your skin, Dad.” 

His face was a mixture of confusion and horror. “THIS ISN’T FUNNY, RITCHIE!” 

“I already told you, I’m really sorry Dad...but I’m gonna have your body. I’m gonna wear that skin of yours!” I menacingly approached him, still unsure if this was what I wanted to do. 

“W-What do you mean? Did you...drug me?” The pain appeared to be ramping up as Dad’s face contorted and he wiggled against the wall, yelping every now and then while he clutched his stomach. 

“I told you I didn’t want to go to college. I’m really sorry to say this...but I’m going to go straight to work, Dad. I want to wear your skin. I want to live your life, talk to your friends, do your job...please don’t make this harder than it has to be. It’s just because you’re the man I want to be.”

Dad started to cough as he looked slightly paler than before, wrestling out what words he could. “W-what are you going to do?” He clenched his jaws as he built up the courage the ask. “You’re creeping me out Ritchie! W-what do you mean wear my skin? You’re not a monster!” He stumbled over his words in terror, in denial of his fate.

“Nothing like that! I just know that I can’t wait to slide into you, slipping into your empty, lifeless skin, stretching every wrinkle of yours, and to talk to everyone...and not a single person will know. I really am sorry.”

Looking disturbed by his own son’s words, Dad tried again for the door. This time, I managed to grab him and put him in a chokehold.  I could feel him getting softer as he was turned into a suit, and he was a lot weaker because of it. He started to panic with shallow breaths as I watched his bare feet scrape against my bedroom carpet, desperately trying to get out of my grasp. I could feel him almost ready. 

I stood up with him still in a chokehold and moved to drag him over to the bathroom. I kicked open the door and turned on the light, I threw Dad forward as he hit the bathtub.

“I told you, I’m thankful for you, Dad. You’ve given me so much, and you’re about to give me everything.”

I grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed his head into the tub as the goo started to eject from his mouth. My very unfortunate father flailed and attempted to back up from the tub, gaining momentary freedom. “R-RITCHIE! STO-MMMMPH!!!” 

I quickly slammed his face back towards the tub when I noticed him desperately clenching his mouth to keep the goo inside, trying to retain what little was left of him. I reached my left arm over his face and the right under his chin. I used both of my hands to clip onto his lips; I knew Dad wouldn’t bite me, he was too good of a father. With my left arm and held his upper face steady as I pulled his mouth open with my right hand. He whimpered as he looked at me, as if one final plea to talk. Slowly, but surely, his mouth started to open with a cry as he weakened. Prying his mouth open, Dad shuddered and yelped as the goo plopped out of his mouth. Clearly unable to fight for any longer, I released the pressure and grabbed him by the hair with my left hand. I could feel his head almost...folding in on itself, as it emptied. I tugged his head back into the tub until Dad was mostly deflated and empty. His hands let go of the tub and fell to the ground in a folded pile, while his legs had completely folded at the knees, while his face drooped into the bathtub. I felt a severe guilt. Dad, the man who had given me everything, who had been supportive of me, who had been the best father he possibly could’ve been, was gone. All that was left was this bodysuit of him. 

I grabbed his hand, and noticed there was some goo left in him. I picked the arm of the suit up from the fingers and squeezed out the remaining goo as it fell right out from his mouth, until he was completely empty. Turning on the bathtub, the goo sunk into the drain.

I grabbed the bodysuit by the scalp and held it up, and his shorts and underwear slipped off. I could just barely hold the suit so Dad’s feet wouldn’t touch the ground; he was a man of incredible stature. Every crevice of his folded over itself, while the mouth and eye sockets dragged downwards, creating an O-face with bags. Even though I knew it was me who did it, the macabre visual of my own father’s lifeless skin could only seek to unsettle me. I intended to remedy that. 

Dropping the bodysuit to the floor, it fell as a haphazard pile of skin and hair with a slap. I took off my own clothes and tossed them onto the floor. I hooked my fingers onto Dad’s lips and started to stretch his mouth as wide as I could. I dipped my toes in, forcing one foot through Dad’s body, then the other, until both fit snugly into his feet. I wiggled my new toes, significantly thicker and with little tufts of hair on each one. I tugged harder at his mouth as I slipped Dad’s skin on, feeling his powerful legs overtake my own. I flexed my trunk thighs in awe, enjoying seeing his beautiful daddy legs move to my command. I had to stretch the suit to it’s limit to slip my hard cock into Dad’s fuckstick skin. Christ, the thing was massive. I shimmied into his ass, feeling it perk up. Dad was always such a humble guy, and of course, I hadn’t got to see him naked until now. He truly had an amazing body, it almost made me sad to imagine all that he missed out on in his loyalty to Mom. I gazed at myself in the mirror, satiated by the thought of my supportive and caring father, being turned into a sexual object by his son. The empty arms swung from my hip as I checked myself out, while the skin of his torso and head clumped around my waist. I continued to pull at Dad’s mouth, slipping my arms into each arm of the suit. His hands were strong and his fingers thing, veins running down the arm. A sign of masculinity and impressive musculature. Finally, I grabbed the upper lip from behind my head and, using my newfound strength, pulled the upper lip over my head as Dad’s face stretched to ludicrous proportions while I tried to stuff my own head into his, almost threatening to tear. 

I blinked a few times, and looked in the mirror. I was the spitting image of Dad, quite literally. Humble, supportive, friendly, caring Dad. Perhaps I need to start referring to myself by name. Alan. I was Alan, single father of Ritchie. I could only give myself a devious smirk in the mirror. As I started to jerk off this new fuckstick of mine. It was insanely sensitive, from nearly two decades of loyalty and family dedication. I rubbed it intensely as I recalled the events of the night. I did feel awful about what I had done, but there was such a dark appeal to it. I had decided on not turning  Dad into a skinsuit...but when he came in, and sat there on that bed, the impulse was too much. Recalling the nights events of pulling on Dad’s skin, and getting to see myself in control of his body...I ejaculated onto the mirror with a loud moan, rolling my neck as I felt the wave of pleasure overtake my body momentarily. The seed was thick, and I was able to roll it off the mirror and eat it up. I stretched a bit to fully situate myself in my new skin and picked up the underwear that I had been wearing, ready to slip it on and go to bed. A thought passed my mind as I stared in the mirror, ready to be just as good of a man that Alan had always been. 

Once again, Dad endured so many trials, to give me everything. Quite literally  this time. 

And I was finally, truly, thankful. 

[twentiethcenturymoviesandtv]

The Princess Bride: The Story

The story of The Princess Bride doesn’t even open with the actual story at all.  In fact, it opens on something out of the realm of fantasy entirely: in a little boy’s bedroom, circa 1987.

This is The Grandson (Fred Savage), and he is home from school, sick.

The Grandson is interrupted from his video games by his mother, who tells him that his grandfather is here to visit him.  The Grandson is less than pleased.  His grandfather will pinch his cheek again.  He hates that.

True to form, The Grandfather (Peter Falk) enters the room and does just that, but he’s not here for any ordinary visit.  He is here to keep The Grandson company while he is sick.  It turns out that he has brought the Grandson a book to read to him: The Princess Bride.

The Grandson isn’t exactly blown away by the title, but the Grandfather assures him that this is a story full of adventure and excitement.  The Grandson reluctantly settles back to listen to the story, admitting that it doesn’t sound too bad, and that he’ll try to stay awake for it.

The Grandfather begins to read: (Spoilers below!)

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl named Buttercup (Robin Wright), who lived on a farm in Florin.  Working on the farm for her was a young man named Westley (Cary Elwes), who Buttercup calls ‘Farm Boy’.  Buttercup loves ordering Westley around, but oddly enough, every time she gives him an order, he responds with a smile and a quiet: ‘as you wish’.

The Grandfather reads that as it turns out, ‘as you wish’ is Westley’s code for ‘I love you’.  

Eventually, Buttercup figures that out, and realizes herself that she loves him too.  However, they don’t have much time for pursuing their relationship, as Westley decides to take to the high seas to see his fortune.  Shortly after leaving, we are told that his ship was captured by the Dread Pirate Roberts, who is famed for never leaving captives alive.

Once the news arrives, Buttercup locks herself in her house, and declares that she will never love again.

Five years pass, and the ruler of Florin, Prince Humperdinck (Chris Sarandon), announces to his kingdom the identity of his new bride: Princess Buttercup.  

The Grandfather explains that Buttercup may have agreed to marry Prince Humperdinck, but she doesn’t love him.  The only joy she takes anymore is riding her horse, as it provides an escape from his company.  As she leaves the castle grounds on horseback, she meets three interesting figures: Vizzini, a short Cicilian, (Wallace Shawn) Inigo Montoya (Mandy Patinkin), a Spanish swordsman, and Fezzik (Andre the Giant), a giant.  They claim to be lost circus performers, lulling Buttercup into a false sense of security, an instant before they abduct her.

Vizzini, Fezzik and Inigo load up their boat and prepare to push off with Buttercup on board, while Vizzini explains his plan to frame Guilder, Florin’s sworn enemy, for the death of the princess, who they plan to kill once on Guilder’s shores.  Vizzini also reminds Inigo and Fezzik that he hired them to help him start a war.  The trio head out to sea, preparing for step two of their plan and noticing that they are being followed by a strange ship in the distance.

The next morning, they discover that their pursuer has gained on them, now considerably closer.  Vizzini isn’t worried however, as they are approaching the Cliffs of Insanity, and there, he is certain, they will lose him for sure.  The group docks in a secret harbor and all climb onto Fezzik, who climbs a rope hung there previously.  Their pursuer, a mysterious Man in Black, docks shortly after, and immediately sets to climbing himself.

Despite Fezzik’s great strength, the Man in Black gains on them pretty quickly.  Fezzik beats him to the top, but not by much.  In an attempt to stop him, Vizzini cuts the rope that the Man in Black is holding onto, but it doesn’t work: the Man in Black manages to hold onto the cliffside, continuing to make slow, but steady progress towards them.

Vizzini decides to take Fezzik and the princess and move on, leaving Inigo to deal with their pursuer once he gets to the top.  Inigo, as it turns out, is an incredibly accomplished swordsman, who has been training for years, ever since a man with six fingers on his right hand killed his father and left Inigo scarred.

“I was eleven years old. And when I was strong enough, I dedicated my life to the study of fencing. So the next time we meet, I will not fail. I will go up to the six-fingered man and say, ‘Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.’.”

All of this he explains to the Man in Black.  Inigo helps him up the cliff by throwing him the rope, allows him to rest, and even shows him his superior sword, before commencing with the fencing match.  It’s an impressive setpiece, one that demonstrates both swordsmen’s abilities and wit, but in the end, as good as Inigo is, it’s not quite good enough.  The Man in Black knocks Inigo out, and continues on after Buttercup.

Vizzini, seeing the Man in Black still approaching, leaves Fezzik behind to deal with him, his way: brute force.

Eventually, the Man in Black shows up and Fezzik fires one warning shot with a boulder, just to let him know that he could have killed him.  He then offers a ‘fair fight’, as fair as it can be.

“We face each other as God intended. Sportsmanlike. No tricks, no weapons, skill against skill alone.”

“You mean, you’ll put down your rock and I’ll put down my sword, and we’ll try and kill each other like civilized people?”

They commence the battle, and while Fezzik’s incredible size and strength give him an advantage, eventually, the Man in Black manages to beat him with a chokehold, knocking him unconscious.

While all this is going on, Prince Humperdinck and his men, led by Count Rugen (Christopher Guest), are searching for Buttercup.  Humperdinck, as it turns out, is a great tracker, and somehow gathers exactly what went on with the Man in Black’s battle with Inigo.  He continues to follow the Man in Black’s footprints, which lead towards Guilder, admitting that it could be a trap.

Meanwhile, the Man in Black catches up with Vizzini, who has Buttercup at knifepoint.  Vizzini freely admits that he can’t beat the Man in Black in a fight, as he’s already bested his swordsman and his giant.  The Man in Black agrees, and offers an alternative: a battle of wits, to the death.  Winner gets the captive.

The battle of wits begins.  Vizzini pours wine into two goblets, and the Man in Black takes the goblets, and, keeping his actions hidden, pours iocane powder (a deadly colorless poison without odor) into one of the goblets.  Turning back around, he places the goblets before Vizzini.  

“All right. Where is the poison? The battle of wits has begun. It ends when you decide and we both drink, and find out who is right… and who is dead.”

Vizzini demonstrates his ‘dizzying intellect’ by stalling, going around with circular logic a few times before distracting the Man in Black, switching goblets while his back is turned.  He then chooses the goblet in front of him, (the one that had been in front of his opponent) in utter confidence, drinking only after watching the Man in Black do so himself.  In the middle of his gloating, however, he falls down, dead.

The Man in Black unties and un-blindfolds Buttercup, taking her along.  Surprised, Buttercup remarks on the fact that it was the Man in Black’s cup that was poisoned the whole time.

“They were both poisoned. I spent the last few years building up an immunity to iocane powder.”

Behind them, Humperdinck discovers the scene of the wrestling match with Fezzik, and again, correctly deduces the events of the tussle.  A little further on, he discovers the empty container of icoane powder, and the footprints that Buttercup and the Man in Black left behind, gathering that they’re gaining on them.

Meanwhile, the Man in Black allows Buttercup to stop for a breather, where she informs him that he won’t get away with this: her fiance will hunt him down.  The Man in Black doesn’t seem very concerned.  Buttercup also tells him that she knows who he is: he’s the Dread Pirate Roberts, her beloved Westley’s murderer.

They spot Humperdinck and his men riding towards them, far in the distance, and while he’s distracted, Buttercup pushes the Man in Black down a steep hill, telling him that he can die for all she cares.  As he falls, he calls out Westley’s familiar catchphrase:  “As..you..wish!”

Realizing that the Man in Black is Westley, Buttercup throws herself down the hill after him.

Humperdinck, watching the fall, concludes that they are heading for the fire swamp, not remarking on the unusual method of transportation.

Westley and Buttercup are reunited, but before they can get much further romantic celebration, the Grandson pipes up, griping about this development.  To pacify him, the Grandfather skips ahead: to the Fire Swamp.

The Fire Swamp is a dark, cramped forest, with areas that spontaneously erupt into flame, patches of lightning-fast quicksand, and Rodents of Unusual Size.  Despite these perils, Westley and Buttercup press through, while Westley explains to Buttercup how it came to be that he survived an attack by the Dread Pirate Roberts.

As it turns out, when he was captured, he managed to catch Roberts’ attention with descriptions of Buttercup and his love for her.  Curious, Roberts let him live, bringing him aboard as his valet for quite some time.  Every night, Roberts would say the same thing:

“Good night, Westley. Good work. Sleep well. I’ll most likely kill you in the morning.”

But he never did, obviously.  During this time, Westley learned as much as he could about fighting and survival, until one day, Roberts called Westley in to talk to him.

“Roberts had grown so rich, he wanted to retire. He took me to his cabin and he told me his secret. ‘I am not the Dread Pirate Roberts’ he said. ‘My name is Ryan; I inherited the ship from the previous Dread Pirate Roberts, just as you will inherit it from me. The man I inherited it from is not the real Dread Pirate Roberts either. His name was Cummerbund. The real Roberts has been retired 15 years and living like a king in Patagonia.’”

After a few narrow escapes, Buttercup and Westley come out the other side of the Fire Swamp, but find themselves cut off by Humperdinck and his men.  Afraid for Westley’s life, Buttercup surrenders on one condition: Westley is to be returned to his ship, unharmed.

Humperdinck swears it, wholly dishonestly, and orders Count Rugen to deal with him.  Before he’s taken away, Westley notices that Reugen has six fingers on his right hand: the key trait of the man Inigo Montoya was looking for.

Rugen orders Westley taken to the Pit of Despair, where he is healed of his wounds and then strapped to Rugen’s torture machine, a device he constructed specifically to suck the life out of his victims.  Meanwhile, Buttercup begins to suffer nightmares about marrying Humperdinck, feeling guilty about turning her back on Westley when she knows he’s still alive.

With the wedding ten days away, Buttercup tells Humperdinck that if he insists on marrying her, she’ll kill herself.  Humperdinck convinces her to accept a deal, promising to send his four fastest ships to try to get word to Westley’s ship to tell him of the wedding.  If Westley still wants her, he’s welcome to her.  If he doesn’t show though, Buttercup has to consider marrying Humperdinck as an alternative to suicide.

Reluctantly, she agrees, not knowing that Westley is nowhere near his ship.

Humperdinck later reveals to Count Rugen that he actually hired Vizzini and Co. to kill Buttercup themselves, framing Guilder for her murder so that he could have an excuse to go to war with them.  Humperdinck then explains that, with Buttercup recovered safely, the plan has been changed somewhat: on their wedding night, after the ceremony, Humperdinck is going to kill Buttercup himself, blaming Guilder so he can still get his war.

To help with this plan, Humperdinck calls in his chief enforcer, telling him that killers from Guilder are planning to murder Buttercup, saying that he wants security measures to be taken.  He orders the Thieves Forest to be emptied, and for security on the castle to be expanded so that no-one can get in.

Ten days later, on the day of the wedding, the king’s brute-squad rounds up the thieves from the forest, all except one troublesome Spaniard: Inigo Montoya, who is drunk out of his mind and waiting for Vizzini, unaware that he’s dead.  Before the king’s enforcers can attack him, Fezzik, a member of the brute squad, steps in and nurses Inigo back to health and full strength, filling him in on all he’s missed in the meantime.  He also tells him that Rugen is the six-fingered-man that Inigo has been chasing nearly his entire life.

Once Inigo is restored to full vim and vigor, of course, his first goal is to find Rugen and take his revenge for his father.  However, Fezzik explains to him the security measures around the castle: thirty soldiers, far too many for both of them to take on.  Inigo concludes that the only way they can win is if they have one more ally: the Man in Black, Westley.  Inigo and Fezzik immediately set to looking for him, even though they have no idea where he might be.

Meanwhile, Humperdinck’s enforcer tells Humperdinck that the Thieves’ Forest has been emptied, and there is only key to get into the castle, which he himself has.  Humperdinck has him double the guards still more, and as the chief enforcer leaves the room, Buttercup enters.  She’s onto Humperdinck, and knows he’s lying about the ships to tell Westley.  However, she tells him that it doesn’t matter: Westley will come for her anyway.

Humperdinck, now enraged and abandoning pretenses, locks Buttercup in her bedroom and races to the Pit of Despair, turning on the torture machine that Westley is hooked up to on it’s highest setting: killing him.

Westley’s dying scream is so loud that it can be heard throughout the kingdom, literally.  Inigo and Fezzik hear it and follow the sound to the forest, as Inigo has deduced that this scream can only belong to the Man in Black.

Arriving near the area of the Pit of Despair, Inigo asks his father to guide his sword to the Man in Black, so he can find him and have revenge.  Somehow, the sword does seem to ‘take over’, leading him to the entrance of the Pit of Despair.  Entering in, Fezzik and Inigo discover Westley’s body.  Only momentarily discouraged, Inigo tells Fezzik to grab Westley’s body, to take with them on their way to “buy a miracle”.

Inigo takes them to a man named Miracle Max (Billy Crystal), who tells them the good news: Westley is only ‘mostly’ dead.  Max initially wants nothing to do with this, but eventually relents thanks to prodding from his wife, Valerie (Carol Kane) and the promise that Westley will humiliate Humperdinck, who fired Max from his previous job.  He gives Fezzik and Inigo a Miracle Pill for Westley and sends them on their way.

Westley is revived, but he is weakened, as the pill is slow to take full effect, and can’t really move on his own.  Thankfully, his brain is working fine, and he comes up with a plan to storm the heavily armed gates using nothing but themselves, a wheelbarrow, and a holocaust cloak.  They dress Fezzik in the cloak, put him on the wheelbarrow, and set the whole thing on fire, moving towards the gates with Fezzik bellowing to all that he is the Dread Pirate Roberts.  Terrified, the guards flee, leaving only the King’s enforcer, who the trio take the gate key from.

Meanwhile, inside the castle, Buttercup’s wedding is underway.  With the commotion going on outside, Humperdinck starts getting nervous, and has the Impressive Clergymen (Peter Cook) speed through the rest, claims Buttercup as his wife, and takes off.

Once in the castle, the trio comes face to face with Rugen and four of his men.  Inigo dispatches the foursome in seconds, without taking his eyes from Count Rugen, and delivers his practiced line:

“Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”

Rugen flees.

Inigo runs after him, but runs into a locked door that he can’t break down alone.  Fezzik props Westley up and comes to assist, and while Inigo chases after Rugen, Fezzik returns to find Westley gone.

Inigo continues his battle with Rugen, and although he sustains a few wounds, he continues to goad Rugen with his catchphrase, gaining strength until finally, he runs him through.  Rugen dies, and Inigo’s father is avenged.

Meanwhile, Buttercup arrives at her chambers and prepares to kill herself, stopped by the sound of Westley’s voice.  After another happy reunion, Westley explains that since she never said ‘I do’, technically, she’s not married.  In the middle of this discussion, Humperdinck enters the room, declaring he’s going to make sure he kills Westley for real this time.  Westley threatens right back, challenging Humperdinck to a battle ‘to the pain’, describing how Westley will dismember Humperdinck, leaving him in a painful state of awareness of his freakishly mutilated appearance, forcing him to go through life as monstrous on the outside as he is within.

At this, Humperdinck drops his sword, and allows Buttercup to tie him to a chair.

Inigo enters the room, vengeance taken care of, and offers to take care of Humperdinck as well, but Westley, saying that he wants Humperdinck to live with his own cowardice, turns him down.  Fezzik arrives outside the window with four white horses from the prince’s stable that they can make their escape on.  Westley offers Inigo the job of the next Dread Pirate Roberts, the foursome ride off into the sunset, and Buttercup and Westley enjoy a kiss, one that this time, the Grandson doesn’t object to hearing about.

The book finishes, and as the Grandfather gets up to leave, the Grandson asks if he can come again and read it some other time.

The Grandfather smiles and nods, parting with the words: “As you wish.”

The end.

So, now’s as good a time as any to discuss something that tends to ‘plague’ The Princess Bride: the story doesn’t really make sense.

Humperdinck comes up with an overwhelmingly complex plan instead of just killing Buttercup himself.  Somehow, Westley knows exactly when and where Buttercup was taken so he’s able to follow her.  The fight scenes are civil, the villains never actually follow through with the simple solution, Inigo can identify the Man in Black’s scream, loud enough to be heard kingdom-round, and follow it to the forest, and the ghost of Inigo’s father momentarily possesses his sword and leads him to the cave.  Westley miraculously has enough strength to drag himself to where Buttercup is going to try to kill herself.  Fezzik somehow has a holocaust cloak with him.  Buttercup and Westley’s relationship is founded on, as the end credits say, ‘storybook love’, an ideal more than an actual relationship.

This is a story that is so unrealistic, with so many lapses in logic and leaps to conclusions that it could very easily be rendered completely ridiculous.  However, miraculously, it’s not.

The Princess Bride is played extremely sincerely, albeit with a hint of tongue in cheek.  Inigo’s grief is not played for laughs, and neither is Westley and Buttercup’s love.  Dialogue may be funny, but the overall story is meant to be taken seriously.

Occasionally, the story’s ridiculousness is tempered by the Grandson’s questions and interruptions, waved off by his Grandfather so that he can continue on with the story, but overall, the audience is left to contend with this bizarre world where these things just happen.  Characters don’t seem surprised by anything.  In fact, they take everything in stride, nodding as though this is the only option that makes sense.  Even stranger, their attitude is contagious: until you stop to think about it, the audience just nods and goes along too.

In another story, they wouldn’t get away with this.  Plot holes would be torn wide open by fans pointing fingers, demanding to know how this happened.  In The Princess Bride, it doesn’t seem to matter.  And there’s a pretty simple reason for that:

The Princess Bride is a fairy-tale.

This is not supposed to be a ‘fantasy’ story, not in terms such as Ladyhawke, anyway.  This is a fairy-tale, a storybook.  The rules are different here.  When events happen, the how is not important, only the why matters.  It doesn’t really matter how Westley finds Buttercup, because true love always brings them together.  It doesn’t matter how Fezzik has the holocaust cloak.  What matters is that it works out, and they get to continue the story to get the fulfilling end of the story, for everyone.  In the end, good wins, evil loses, and the good guys all get what they want: revenge, true love, and the prince’s humiliation.  

In a way, it’s almost anticlimactic: there’s no final duel with Humperdinck, Westley’s too weak to even stand for too long, and Inigo doesn’t even get to finish him off.  Like the Grandson complains about: Humperdinck lives, and the good guys merely escape.

So…is this a satisfying ending?

Yeah, actually.

The question of The Princess Bride was never one of ‘will Westley kill Humperdinck’, because that’s not what Westley’s story is about.  As swashbuckling as Westley’s story is, it has nothing to do with revenge or things like that, like Inigo’s is.  Westley’s end goal, his reason for going on, is exactly what he tells Miracle Max from the great Beyond:

“True love.”

Westley couldn’t care less about Humperdinck other than the fact that he’s getting in the way of his and Buttercup’s storybook love.  Humperdinck is an obstacle to his true goal and drive, and he’s not worth the killing.  Once he’s out of the way and Westley and Buttercup are reunited, Humperdinck ceases to matter to Westley.  If the story had been from Miracle Max’s point of view, Humperdinck would have died or at least, have something more horrible happen to him, but since Humperdinck never really succeeded in doing much of anything throughout the story, he’s actually so pathetic that he’s not worth Westley’s time.

So, yeah, Humperdinck is left to live with his cowardice because his death wouldn’t have provided the characters anything except maybe catharsis, and honestly, that’s not really a good enough reason to off your villain.

On the other hand, Inigo’s villain, Count Rugen, is killed, for a very simple reason: that’s the logical end to fulfill Inigo’s story.  It does no good for Westley to kill Rugen, or for Inigo to kill Humperdinck like he offers to do, because it doesn’t contribute anything to the respective hero’s story.  In the end, the story balances out perfectly, and both heroes get what they want: revenge, through Inigo’s climactic battle with Rugen, and true love.

Westley’s driving force is reuniting with Buttercup, and as a result, the climax of the movie, the real climax, is when they reunite for the last time, proving Westley’s previous words true:

“Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while.”

In short? The ending fits as perfectly as Westley and Buttercup themselves.

Thanks so much for reading!  Join us next time for an analysis on the genre and themes of The Princess Bride!  If you liked it, please leave a comment or a like, and I hope to see you in the next article.

[kayteewritessteve]

Love and War - 3/16

Description: In a harsh medieval world, you set out on a perilous quest that will lead you onto a forbidden land. A land ruled and controlled by a ruthless Warlord King, one who does not look favourably upon trespassers of any kind, and punishes all with an iron fist. You may not know exactly where this quest will end, but what you do know is you will forever be altered by it. And that knowledge alone is what truly terrifies you the most.

Catch up HERE.

Word Count: 4,220 ish.

Pairing: Medieval!Steve Rogers x Reader.

Rating: PG for now. May become 18+ later.

Warnings: Violence. Curse words. Mentions of fears and potentially brutal medieval tactics. Most likely more to come down the road. Please don’t let these warnings scare you too much, give the story a try before you judge it.

A/N: I sadly don’t own any of these characters. And no beta reader, so I do proudly own all the errors and this story, so there’s that.

“Alright, so everyone knows the plan?” You ask quietly, not wanting the guard to hear you.

“Yes,” Wanda says back.

“Yeah,” Piet replies. “Though, I will just put it out there that I think this is a horrible plan, but it’s really all we’ve got at the moment.”

“Oh shhh,” you hiss, “have some faith, you negative nelly.”

He chuckles and murmurs something playfully that you don’t quite hear, but don’t really care to hear either.

“Okay, it’s go time,” you whisper then raise your voice to yell, “excuse me? Guard?”

You notice Wanda move up against the cell door wall, hiding herself in the shadows as best as she can. And then, she slowly starts to vanish before your eyes, using her magic to make herself disappear. She can’t make anyone else vanish, or stay that way for long, but you just need her to hold it for a few minutes. At most.

“Hellooooo! Guard!” You continue to yell, hearing his heavy footsteps coming towards you now.

“What are you hollering about, wench?” He asks gruffly once he reaches the cell door.

“I seem to have lost my cellmate,” you point out, innocently.

His eyes widen slightly as he looks around the small area, “where the hell did she go?”

“Ya know? I’m not entirely sure,” you glance around and then shrug. “One minute she was here, then the next poof,” you wave your hands around with a flourish, “gone.”

“A witch!?” He snaps, clearly angry now, “they didn’t mention you lot were witches.”

“Oh, I’m not a witch,” you shake your head, vehemently, “if I was, don’t you think I’d have escaped with her?”

“Back up,” he commands, ignoring your question, and you comply, reaching the back wall of the cell as his keys jingle and he unlocks the cell door.

“Stay right there,” he orders, “if you so much as move a muscle, you won’t like what happens to you.”

“Don’t move, got it,” you nod.

He comes towards you, pulling shackles off his belt as he does, clearly he plans to restrain you so he can check the cell over. But just as he is about to reach you, Wanda appears and jumps on his back, putting him in a steadfast chokehold. And then you spring into action, you lunge forward and kick him right where the sun don’t shine, causing him to hunch forward as he drops to his knees. Wanda still secured tightly around his neck, he tries to fight back, but you use all your weight to keep his arms down and away from reaching your sister.

After a few tense moments of struggle, he finally slows and then drops forward with a thud, unconscious. Wanda detaches herself from him and then you grab his weapon as she grabs his keys. You both quickly exit the cell, locking the guard inside and then go to release Pietro. Once his cell door is open you all share a quick group hug and then hastily make your way towards the tunnel door.

Pietro motions for you both to hang back, and then takes the guards weapon from you and opens the giant wood door. Poking his head out to look both ways before he motions for both of you to follow him.

You make your way into the tunnel, and head back towards the large iron doors. This will be the hard part, dealing with the two guards on the other side.

After a few moments you reach the doors, and Wanda closes her eyes and focuses her mind. You aren’t entirely sure what she can see, or do in this state, but you have faith she will give you the window you all need.

After a silent and tense moment, she snaps open her eyes and goes to pull the doors open. Pietro and you quickly moving to help her, as the three of you pull with everything you have, hearing the same creaking sound as the doors open.

You glance out and don’t see a guard in sight, turning to give Wanda a curious look but she waves a dismissive hand, murmuring, “I’ll tell you later.” And huh, turns out, this was actually not the hard part after all. Go figure.

The three of you venture out the doors, pulling them closed behind you, as to not alert any passers by before you can get far enough away. Then you all head into the dense woods, knowing that taking a path isn’t an option currently. You quickly and quietly move away from the Kings city, wanting to put as much distance between yourselves and it, as fast as you can.

Your heart is pounding again, your legs ache from the day you’ve already had. Something in you is telling you to stay, begging you to go back, but you ignore it. You push on, knowing that if you did go back, you’d surely die. There was no sugar coating that. But then why does every step feel painful? Every additional pace making your heart scream out to stop. To turn around. To go back. You shake your head, now is not the time to listen to your foolish heart.

You all run for a while, putting some good distance between yourselves and the city, enough distance that finally Pietro believes it’s safe to stop for a bit. To rest. And your aching lungs want to thank him. They want to jump out of your body and bow down at his feet.

You’re exhausted, utterly and truly spent. Your whole body hurts, even your fingers ache. You just want your comfy bed and your sketchbook. Though you’re sure you wouldn’t even be able to draw at the moment. Not with how much both your mind and body, pulsate with pain.

“We will rest here for a moment, but then we have to continue on,” Pietro says as he sits down on a stump. “They will figure out we are gone soon, and then they will come searching for us. We can’t risk staying in one place for too long.”

You nod, as you pant heavily and slump down on a fallen tree. “I was not built for this,” you mumble breathlessly.

Wanda giggles and Pietro shakes his head, chuckling, “that you weren’t. But we love you just the way you are. Sluggish and pesky.”

“Sluggish!?” You gasp trying to pretend to be offended, but then you burst out laughing, quickly slamming a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound. You shouldn’t be so loud right now, but you couldn’t have prevented the laugh even if you’d tried. You and Pietro both knew you are neither sluggish, nor pesky, but this is what he did. He messed with you. This is just the relationship you both have, you sass each other but it’s all out of love. “This coming from the witless trespass—“

Your words are cut off by a deep earth rumbling howl, one that strikes fear into your very soul. You have no clue what would even cause a howl that loud, or that menacing, but what you do know is, you do not want to hang around to find out. The howl is then followed by loud shouting of in the distance, and you instantly realize they are on to you. They know you all escaped and now they are searching for you.

“How could they have figured out we were gone so quickly?” You whisper glancing at the other two as you all quickly stand up.

But neither of them seem to have the answer to that, and then you all begin to run in the opposite direction from which the howl and voices originated. Your body instantly trying to protest every step, but fear keeps you moving.

Though not as fast as Pietro, but he has always been much, much faster than Wanda and yourself. However, it doesn’t help matters at all that you are both currently wearing these damned skirts! The two of you should have each warn a pair of Pietro’s trousers, what were you both thinking!? Coming to this Godsforsaken place in skirts! Damned fools!

“Come on you two, we have to pick up the pace,” he says as he slows down and waves a hurrying hand.

“We are trying,” you say through your heavy breaths.

You hear commotion getting louder behind you, but refuse to look back. You don’t want to know what is currently chasing you. You don’t want to risk tripping if you aren’t watching exactly where you’re going.

The heavy sounds of ...hooves? No! Paws! The heavy muffled sounds of large paws hitting the soft ground is what you hear next. And there is a lot of them. Way more than you could ever stand to fight off. Whatever it is behind you, you do not want to face it. Not even a little.

Your mind kicks up a thought and you almost shutter in horror. A half breed army, man by day, beast by night. Oh Gods, maybe that rumour is actually true. A loud growl echoes through the forest, bouncing off the trees and causing every muscle in your body to tense up, instantly. As if the growl is controlling your physical body, telling it to stop running, and what's worse is it wants to freaking listen. Your body wants to halt entirely, and face the damned beast. It’s actually begging you to.

Though you just keep pushing yourself forward, ignoring the inner urges coursing through you, but finding each step even harder than the last. What with your body trying so desperately to deter your escape. To prevent you from getting away. From getting to freedom.

You glance up and ahead, seeing Pietro and Wanda about 6-7 yards in front, you know they wouldn’t willingly leave you behind. So they clearly haven’t glanced back yet to realize they’ve started to lose you. Their bodies just don’t seem as affected by all of this as yours currently is.

A howl off to the right has your eyes snapping that direction, but you can’t see anything, it’s just too dark, the moonlight unable to penetrate the think canopy in most places.

But then, a large mass running alongside you through the dense trees catches your eye, and on instinct you veer left. Hoping that you can escape whatever it is.

“Y/N!!” You hear your siblings both yell and you look up to find them, but can no longer see them, and that only makes you panic more. Where did they go? You just saw them mere moments ago. You couldn’t have gone that far off course!

Another growl rips from behind you, this time much, much closer. You know it will be on you soon. The end is near for you. You just hope that Wanda and Pietro can escape, can get to safety, that’s all you pray for now. You are truly doomed, but maybe they aren’t.

And just as you are entering a small clearing in the woods, something large—extremely large—collides with your back, knocking you on to your stomach on the ground. A massive weight landing on you, though not enough to crush you, but definitely enough to render you immobile. You clench your eyes shut, too afraid to look, while feeling the heavy panting of something’s warm breath hitting the back of your neck. You feel the weight lift off you, just as something large and warm slips under your stomach and flips you onto your back.

But you still refuse to look, to petrified to even peak at the beast above you. A deep, menacing growl reverberates through you and it feels like a warning. Like it is telling you not to move, or something—you obviously don’t speak wild beast so you really have no clue. But just in case, you decide it best to not move a muscle, for fear of only angering the thing more.

Another deep, rumbling growl rips from above you and this time your eyes involuntarily snap open, only to lock onto an eerie glowing set of blue eyes. If you weren’t so damned terrified, you might have even found them breathtaking. Entrancing even. You’d love to draw them, though you probably wouldn’t be able to do them justice, as eyes are not your strong suit. You find yourself just staring into them now, you could easily get lost in these beautiful blue eyes—what are you even saying?! This thing is about to make you dinner and you’re admiring its eyes?! Give your head a shake, woman!

You tear your eyes away from the piercing, glowing blue orbs and drop them lower, taking in the sharp white teeth gleaming in the moonlight at you. The long snout connected to a body covered in thick, coarse golden flax coloured fur. Instantly you know exactly what it is, it’s a wolf. And a freaking huge one at that. Larger than any animal you’ve ever seen before. You can tell that even if you were standing up, it would still tower over you, on all fours. And what’s worse, is that it probably still would be, even if it was slouching. This thing could easily eat you in 4 bites, max.

A huff noise, accompanied by a gust of air hitting your face causes you to furrow your brows and flick your eyes back up to meet the beasts. Why hasn’t it killed you yet? What is it waiting for?

Then, for some unknown reason, the beast starts to step back, removing itself from over top of you. And in a complete daze you sit up as it does, entirely lost as to what is happening right now. But more curious about what is to come.

The sound of a branch snapping startles you and the beast’s head snaps to the left, towards where the noise came from. Then it hunches down low in a defensive stance as it’s hackles rise, causing the wolf to look even larger than it did before. Which is hard to believe is even possible. And then it growls deeply, the sound causing every muscle in your body to tense up once again. You vaguely hear the sound of retreating steps over your heart, which is once again pounding in your ears, but then the beast relaxes, huffing once more before it sits at your feet, just staring at you. Watching you.

What is going on? Why is it just looking at you? What does it want? You go to stand up but just as you reach your full height, your legs give out, sending you plummeting to the floor. But before you make contact with the ground, you feel something brush up against your side, and then a large furry neck is tucked under your right arm, helping to slowly lower you back down to the ground. And once you’re settled, it pulls away, going back to sitting in front of you, just staring once again.

Before you can even think about it you mumble a, “thank you.” Instantly realizing you are talking to a freaking wild animal. Though oddly enough, it nods back at you. But you had to have imagined that? You must be hallucinating now. Or maybe, you’re actually dead. Because there is no way this giant wolf can actually understand you, right?

The rumour said they were beasts by night and men by day, so maybe somewhere in there, there is actually a man, one who can actually understand you. It sounds ridiculous and farfetched, but then again, it hasn’t killed you yet. And on top of that you swear to the Gods that it truly nodded in response to you.

Though the only way to find out is to test that theory. You make eye contact with the massive blue eyed wolf and then ask quietly, “can you understand me?”

And you honestly almost fall over when the wolf nods its head, again in response to you. You are talking to a wild animal right now, what are the freaking odds? “Are you—are you going to kill me?”

It tilts its head to the side, inspecting you for a moment, then huffs loudly and shakes its head. As if it’s frustrated by you? Seriously? “Then if not, may I leave?”

You go to stand again but a deep warning growl erupts from the large wolf and you halt your movements instantly. Lowering yourself back down slowly, as not to piss it off again.

But now, as you sit in complete deafening silence, with only the sounds of the woods around you, a stream running off in the distance, crickets chirping, and an owl hooting, you realize again that your legs ache.

Though it’s more than an ache, now that the adrenaline is wearing off, your legs feel severely cramped and your right thigh muscle is throbbing and pulsing uncomfortably. While your lower left leg now stings from your sweat entering all the scraps from your earlier tumble.

And your breathing is still crazy and erratic, though your heart has slowed down a little now, not beating at such a rapid pace anymore. You just continue to sit in the intense silence, while this wolf thing just watches you. Studies you. Every small twitch of your fingers, or quiver of your lip, or twitch of your leg from the pain. It just keeps its eyes on all of it. Not missing anything.

It’s rather nerve wracking, if you’re being honest, just having this predator stare at you, as if you are the most interesting thing in the world. Or maybe it’s looking at you more like you’re dinner, like you are the meal that will help sustain its life for a little while longer.

As the minutes tick on slowly, agonizingly slow, you become more frustrated. More antsy. Why are you just sitting here, still and unmoving? What does this beast want with you? And where are Wanda and Pietro? Did they get captured as well? Are they also just sitting around being watched by some other massive, intimidating beast?

“P-please,” you stutter out, “just let me go, I promise to never come back. If you—if you just let me—“

The beast growls at you again, abruptly stopping your words in your throat. And then it stands up and the threatening pose it gets into is not a friendly one. Not even close. It’s hackles are up again and it’s baring it’s large teeth at you. But then, it turns it’s massive head and looks to the right, just as you hear footsteps in the distance the beast moves towards you.

You flinch away, thinking it’s going to attack you, but instead it towers over your smaller, still sitting form. It stands sideways, directly over your legs. Your face almost pushed into the side of it’s stomach, and everything in you is telling you to reach up and pet the damned thing. To run your fingers through it’s golden fur, but you fight that urge and instead focus on whoever—or whatever—is coming towards you now.

And then you see it—or him, rather—a large, ridiculously large, man appears from the tree line, coming towards you both. The wolf growls menacingly and the man kneels down and bows his head. You are utterly confused as to what is going on right now. You just glance back and forth, between the man and the wolf—who’s still hovering directly over you. And then the wolf visibly relaxes, and a moment later the man stands back up right, to his full height and then cautiously steps towards you.

And it’s then that you notice he has something in his hands, you squint your eyes trying to make out what it is in the dark. Is it...rags? Blankets? Clothes? You can’t overly tell, but the man holds them out for the wolf, who takes them in his mouth and then looks at you, locking eyes and you can almost see a warning in the beautiful glowing blue orbs. Something tells you to stay put, some weird force making you acutely aware that you are not to move a muscle. You nod, not entirely sure why, but figuring it wants you to agree to it’s terms. Whatever they are—That is, if it even gave you any terms in the first place.

Then, strangely enough, it nods back once, and steps away from you. Slowly removing it’s body from above you, and taking it’s warmth along with it. You shiver as the cold air surrounds you again and just watch as the beast vanishes into the dense tree line.

You glance up at the man, he looks even larger now that he is up close, and clearly your spot still sitting on the ground, isn’t helping that at all. You give him a once over, noticing he is rather handsome, with shoulder length brown hair, that is twisted into a bun at the back of his head. However, a few parts of his hair have fallen loose and hang down on his face and shoulders. Your eyes then flick over his face, before locking onto his crystal blue/grey eyes. And you instantly realize that you are just openly staring at this man, and he knows it. If the smug smirks now on his lips is anything to go by. That causes heat to rise in your cheeks and you quickly glance away, looking down at your hands to hide your embarrassment.

The silence is, once again, deafening. The man hasn’t said a word, nor has the wolf returned and you still have no clue what is currently going on. Nor do you know what you should be doing in this moment. Do you beg for your life? Plead that they let you go? Ask where Wanda and Pietro are, if they are okay? Oh Gods, please let them be alive and safe. That’s all you ask.

“Am I—am I going back to the cell?” You go to ask, but it comes out a quiet whimper, lost in the wind, and you aren’t sure if the man actually heard you. But then he scoffs and shakes his head, as if your question is stupid and ridiculous. Though he doesn’t offer you anything else, not even a one worded response. So either he doesn’t actually know your fate, or he is just refusing to tell you.

Either way, all you want is to go home, to be in your cosy room. Wrapped up in a throw blanket and lounging on your bed as you draw the world around you. But you know deep down that even if you do live, you will never see your little room again. Nor get to just lounge in it, drawing.

Rustling bushes and footsteps draw your attention up and you see another huge man enter the clearing, this one even bigger then the one currently next to you. But this one, this one takes your breath away, instantly. He is stunning, in every way imaginable. All hard muscle, broad shoulders, and slim waist.

But then as he nears you, you notice his chiselled jaw line, one that could probably cut diamonds, and then his luscious golden locks, that you instantly have the urge to run your fingers through, it just looks so soft, so fluffy, so damned touchable. But as your eyes travel down lower, you notice his piercing blue eyes, and you completely freeze. They are the exact same eyes as the wolf, that much you know for sure.

‘An army of half breeds, men by day, beasts by night’. Oh Gods, that rumour is actually true. These men are clearly half breeds. You side eye the brunette, giving him a more thorough once over. But that doesn’t really give you much to go on, you honestly can’t be sure if he is a half breed or not. But you know the blonde is for sure. He was the wolf who caught you, and now stands before you in all his rugged, manly glory. Your eyes flick back to him and your heart skips a beat as you realize he is still studying you intently.

“Can you walk?” The large blonde asks, gruffly. His voice deep and penetrating. Like nothing you’ve ever heard before, it’s like his massive body only stands to amplify his voice, ten fold. You figure he could easily command a room full of men with just his voice alone.

“I-I think so,” you reply.

“Then stand up,” his deep voice now commands, and it sends a shiver down your spine. You nod quickly and slowly push yourself up onto your wobbling legs. Unsure if they will be able to hold all of your weight, but you don’t want to anger this man. Something deep inside you aches just at the thought of upsetting him. At the thought of causing him any more grief than you already have.

But just as you reach your full height, which is still a few feet shorter than the two men, you start to feel light headed. Black spots start to appear all throughout your vision, causing you to glance around, as if to look directly at them. But every time you aim your sight at a new spot, it vanishes and then reappears somewhere else. The movement of your eyes only stands to make you more dizzy.

You know what’s to come, you know you’re about to faint and you try to warn the men, you try to tell them. You’re eyes lock onto the beautiful, entrancing blue ones again as you manage to whisper out, “I think I’m about—“

But the words end there, dying in your throat, as your vision starts to turn fully black now, and you feel the momentum of your body plummeting to the ground. With no chance to prevent it, or to protect yourself, all you can hope is that you don’t hit your head once you meet the forest floor. The last thought to cross your mind is, ‘Please Gods, let me land softly’.

And then the world disappears into a lonely, dark and cold abyss.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

@hopefulmoonobject @caps-lockdown @itsstillnotwhatyouthink @tessvillegas @boxofteenageideas @wangdeasang @giggleberts @casuallydarktiger @theonelittleone @agentbadbitch @ratwrites @starrystellars @bandsandanimefreak @rockyroadthepastryarchy @lovvliies @cuffski @icesoccerer @alwaysright4 @lilsthethrills @imdiegohargreeves @zombiepotterfour @mu-mu-rs @ledandan1244 @straightforwardly @denzmallows @xremember-me-notx @gwynethjodie @lollipopdomination @capstopavenger @jemimah-b99 @rcvenqers @justkending @marvel13princess @alagalaska @silent-loucidity @sabertooth-potato @pies-wands-and-more @interstellarmess @gabriella69816 @phantom-soilder @wordlesscaptain @captain-hammer-of-asgard @starstucknature @pixieferry @viarogers

[go-redgirl]

Marsha Blackburn: End the Control the ‘Madmen in Beijing’ Have over America’s Drug Industry

Sen. Marsha Blackburn (R-TN) called on the United States to rebuild its domestic pharmaceutical manufacturing capacity in order to end China’s monopoly on the drugs Americans rely on.

“I encourage my colleagues to support the bipartisan Securing America’s Medicine Cabinet Act,” Blackburn said in a floor speech on Wednesday, as the Senate discussed the coronavirus relief bill.

Blackburn opened her remarks by acknowledging the “gross malfeasance” of China’s communist regime in handling the coronavirus pandemic.

“After we acknowledge Beijing’s gross malfeasance,” Blackburn said, “we’re going to adjust the way we think about China in the context of the economy, of our national defense, technology, human rights, and pharmaceutical manufacturing.”

She continued:

When you think about it, the fact that Beijing intentionally downplayed the deadly nature of COVID-19 should come as no surprise. For decades … it has been their business to search out our vulnerabilities, exploit those vulnerabilities, and what did they try to do? They tried to use that as leverage against us. So it is time for us to say, “No more.”

Now, here is another component. I’ve talked about in this week on the floor: our pharmaceutical supply chain.

On February 22, 2020, the F.D.A. announced the shortage of a drug used to treat victims of COVID-19. Imagine that, there was a drug shortage. They attributed the shortage of getting the active ingredient in this pharmaceutical. They are called APIs. They couldn’t get it from the site in China which is the site that manufactured it because that site had been affected by COVID-19. So here we are. We need this component to go into a pharmaceutical. We didn’t get it because the factory that produces this has been affected by COVID-19. And it’s not the first time that this has happened.

In 2016, we saw a shortage of an important antibiotic when the sole source of its production — the only place on the globe that produced this antibiotic — was in China, and that factory was shut down, couldn’t get it. Our vulnerability is not limited to one drug or even just a handful of drugs.

In 2007 and 2008, 246 people died after taking a contaminated blood thinner that came directly from a factory in China. They died — 246 people — just like that. Routine inspections didn’t catch the contaminant, and the drugs flowed right into our medicine cabinets.

[In] 2010, regulators also found serious problems with batches of thyroid medication, muscle relaxers, antibiotics, and this week I got an e-mail from a Tennessean. He said, “I saw what you said on the floor, and I want to let you know I take a heart medication, and it was just recalled because it contained a carcinogen and it was made in China.”

Think about this. These are the pharmaceuticals we take to return ourselves to health and wellness, to manage chronic conditions. And here we have example after example of things that are contaminated, are not what they are intended to be. These are basic, common medications.

In 2018, the F.D.A. recalled several blood pressure medications made in China that were contaminated with cancer-causing toxins. Now, I would imagine there are a few people that come to work every day in this building that take a blood pressure medication. What if you had been taking one for a period of time, and it contained the cancer-causing toxins?

Americans deserve better than this from their pharmaceutical supply chain. If we allow this to continue, we are going to do so at our own peril.

I encourage my colleagues to support the bipartisan Securing America’s Medicine Cabinet Act. Sen. Menendez has worked on this legislation with me, and I’m grateful to him for his support. Mr. President, you are working on legislation that would address some of these issues. Bring this pharmaceutical manufacturing back into the United States of America.

We need to end Chinese control over our health and wellness in this pharmaceutical supply chain. This may seem like something that is too large or too risky an undertaking, but we have already paid dearly for our reliance on Chinese drug manufacturers, and it’s not going to stop because that vulnerability is leverage in the hands of madmen in Beijing who seek nothing but power and will go to any lengths to acquire that power. They don’t care who they hurt. It’s clear with this global pandemic. They don’t care if it is innocent people that are sick or maybe even that lose their life. And they defy us, they defy us when we try to stop them.

It’s time that we rise to the challenge and that we return this supply chain.

As Breitbart News reported in February, the coronavirus pandemic has brought increased attention to the United States’ dangerous dependence on China for pharmaceutical and medical supplies, including an estimated 80 percent of the active pharmaceutical ingredients needed to produce drugs in the United States.

The 2019 report of the U.S.-China Economic and Security Review Commission notes that China is “the world’s largest producer of active pharmaceutical ingredients (APIs). The United States is heavily dependent on drugs that are either sourced from China or include APIs sourced from China.” The report further explains that although India is the world’s leading supplier of generic drugs, India gets 80 percent of its active pharmaceutical ingredients directly from China. The United States also imports 80 percent of its APIs from overseas (primarily from India and China) and “a substantial portion” of its generic drugs “either directly from China or from third countries like India that use APIs sourced from China.”

In other words, almost all pharmaceutical roads lead to China.

Furthermore, the report notes that China’s dominance of the chemical industry and global manufacturing of active pharmaceutical ingredients means that “the world is becoming increasingly dependent on China as the single source for life-saving drugs.”

China achieved this dominance in the pharmaceutical industry by the same methods it employed to dominate the steel industry – through anti-competitive trade practices that dumped cheap state-subsidized products on foreign markets to drive competitors out of business.

Pharmaceutical industry expert Rosemary Gibson, the author of China Rx: Exposing the Risks of America’s Dependence on China for Medicine, told Breitbart News that the only way to end China’s “global chokehold” on the world’s pharmaceutical supply chains is to actively invest in our own domestic manufacturing through an industrial policy.

“I would have our federal government invest in helping to rebuild our industrial base using advanced manufacturing technology that can produce our medicines much more cheaply, safely, with less environmental footprint, and fully, from soup to nuts from those core raw materials to finished drug in one location all here in the United States,” Gibson said.

Gibson added, “There will be opponents who say, ‘No, we should let the market do it.’ The market will never do this. They’ll never make this investment. So we have to decide as a country, do we want to have some degree of self-sufficiency in our ability to make medicine? Do we want our military not to be dependent on China for pharmaceuticals to treat chemical and biological agents?”

“Some are saying, ‘Let the free market fix it,’” Gibson said. “There is no free market. We wouldn’t allow this for our nuclear submarines and aircraft carriers to operate, because we’d be making them in China. We need to think of our medicines as a strategic asset, not as something cheap that we outsource to a country that has a lot of problems.”

Gibson noted that the ordinary principles of the free market do not apply when dealing with China because the communist regime subsidizes its industries.

“It’s not a free market,” Gibson said. “They cheated [with] subsidies to these Chinese companies, so it’s very hard for any U.S. or western company to compete, because you’re competing not with Chinese companies; you’re competing with the Chinese government.”

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Asia Health PoliticsChina coronavirusDrugs Marsha Black burn monopoly pharmaceutical industry pharmaceuticals

[sassycassie-s-writing]

Stereotypical Bodyguard

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): Final Fantasy XV/Gladiolus Amicitia

Rating: PG-11/T- (for minor peril)

Original Idea: @welovegroot asked: “A Gladiolus bodyguard one-shot??? Please????? :) :) :)”---coupled with This set of headcanons again

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) First Gladio one-shot that I’ve finished! Yay! 3,280 words is a LOT longer than I intended... oh well! Side thought: I’m American so I meant “degrees” in Fahrenheit! Also, context? What context? Why the need for a bodyguard? Who knows, who cares!

^^^^^

“Ohhh! So this is the little lady, huh?” a deep, amused voice asks as you enter the living room in search of your phone. You look up from where you’d been concentrating on the coffee table and sofa cushions—

To see the tallest man you have ever seen in your entire life. He’s nearly seven feet tall—shy by maybe four inches—with the most muscular physique you’ve ever seen on a human. His eyes have a glint of humor in them. His hair is long, though shaved at the sides, and he has a scar down the left side of his face. He has on a black tank top and dark jeans, with his arms folded over his chest. He has tattoos down his arms that appear to be feathers.

Hot dang, is the first thought that rises, unbidden, to your mind.

Shut up, the reasonable part of your mind snaps back.

“Yes!” your father exclaims, clapping his hands. “Gladiolus Amicitia, I’d like you to meet my daughter.”

“What’s this about, Dad?” you ask as Gladiolus sticks his hand out to you. It’s so big you’re pretty sure he could palm your head like a basketball. You shake his hand and give him your name. “Nice to meet you, Gladiolus.”

“Please, miss, call me Gladio. Everyone does,” he replies with a smile. His hand is warm and callused and drowns yours. He shakes your hand with a fraction of the strength he must have and you still feel your fingers protest from being squeezed too hard.

Your dad steps in and Gladiolus drops his hand. Your fingers sigh in relief. “Sweetheart, Gladiolus here is going to be your bodyguard until the whole threat thing dies down,” he says.

Yeah he looks like a stereotypical bodyguard, you think sarcastically.

Good thing you’ve always had decent self-control so you don’t say that out loud.

Instead, you try something a little more professional. “Um… it’ll be nice working with you?” you try.

He smiles. It’s a rather charming smile. “I'm sure it will be,” he says. The smile drops. “Now. To business. May I see your phone?”

“Sure if you can find it,” you say. “That’s what I came in here looking for.”

His eyes sweep the living room and he scoops something off the shelf next to the television. “This yours?” he asks.

Sure enough, there’s your phone, in the one part of the room you couldn’t see because it was blocked by his built-like-a-fridge body. You nod. “Yeah that’s mine,” you say.

He holds it out to you. “Unlock please?” he requests.

You don’t put your passcode in. You’re not just going to let him have free reign over your phone whenever he wants. So you set your thumb on the Touch-ID button and let the phone open that way. As you hand it back to him, you notice him giving you a knowing smirk.

He taps on your screen a few times, though it’s a bit awkward and clunky—like he’s not really used to using a phone. Or at least not one as small as yours. Heck you can barely see the thing while he holds it. He bites the inside of his cheek as he pokes at your screen. He sighs at something—probably a typo—and clenches his jaw before relaxing and handing your phone back to you.

“Here, see?” he says. He’s put his name in your contact list, pretty high up on the list. Amicitia, Gladiolus ICE.

“What’s ICE for?” you ask.

“‘In case of emergency,’” he replies. “That way, if for some reason I'm ever not with you and the police find you unconscious, they call me.”

“… Right,” you say.

Before you can say anything else, your dad nods at Gladiolus and he performs an extremely thorough check of your house—and bedroom. Thankfully your mom had you clean it yesterday so nothing embarrassing is sitting out.

“Okay. Let’s set some ground rules,” Gladiolus says. “One: never go anywhere without telling me if for some reason I'm not here. Two: no trying to sneak away from me. It won’t work.” You’re fairly certain he’s right—and you have a brief mental image of him catching you by the collar of your shirt while glowering. “Three: no sneaking out at night to hang with your friends—without me.”

“Pretty sure that defeats the purpose of sneaking out,” you say.

He chuckles—a deep rumble in his chest. “Not really,” he remarks. “It’s my job to keep you safe—not tell your parents about everything you do.” He folds his arms over his chest. “You’re still allowed to live your life. I'm just here to make sure you live it safely. I’ll just be your shadow.”

“You look nothing like my shadow,” you say, voice completely deadpan.

That earns you a laugh—a real laugh. Big and hearty and loud. “Fair enough,” Gladiolus says. “Alright. Rule Number Four…”

^^^^^

Gladiolus—Gladio—grows on you. Two weeks into his constant presence and he’s loosened up considerably. He teases you and shows you pictures of his little sister, Iris. That doesn’t mean his security measures aren’t a tad overkill—because they are—but they’re not as irritating anymore.

You’ve been out running errands with your friends all day, as well as doing a little shopping for a fancy party coming up. You’re not terribly into it, but it turns out Gladio has a decent eye for fashion. He finds a dress that fits you perfectly and looks good with your complexion.

Your friends aren’t going to stop teasing you about it for years.

Once you have the dress sent to your house—no way are you carrying it on the walk home—you leave the store and your friends bid you goodbye. You part ways and head home.

“You’re dragging your feet,” Gladio remarks. “Do you not want to go home?”

“I don’t care. I'm tired,” you reply.

He contemplates you for a moment before turning his back and bending his knees. “Hop on. Let’s go,” he says.

You’re too tired to even question it. So you climb on his back and let him give you a piggyback ride home.

While he walks—the gentle sway of his gait nearly putting you to sleep—he talks to you. About the books he’s read, about his best friends, about his little sister, about the city around you. His voice is deep and vibrates in his entire upper body. You feel it against your chest where you’re pressed against his back.

Honestly you don’t even notice if anyone is giving you strange looks. You’re not looking at other pedestrians.

Back home, he sets you gently on the sofa. “Get some good rest tonight,” he says. “I'm going to teach you some self-defense in the morning.”

“Mm-hmm,” you mumble.

He chuckles, ruffles your hair, and moves to leave.

“Wait, what?” you ask.

“Self-defense. In the morning. Just in case I'm ever not with you. Hopefully it will never come to that, but I'm trying to keep you safe.”

You try not to squeak. You can’t imagine a self-defense training session with Gladio going well. You can feel bruises before you’ve even got them.

^^^^^

“Welcome, m’lady, to training session one,” Gladio says when you arrive at a gym. He takes you past all the equipment to a big empty room labelled Sparring Room. You feel anticipation building in your throat.

In the sparring room is a girl. She’s got short dark brown hair and the same whiskey brown eyes as Gladio. She’s pretty small, especially compared to him, but her skinny arms are still pretty muscled. There’s a smile on her face. You recognize her from pictures Gladio has shown you on his phone.

Iris Amicitia. His little sister.

“Hi! I'm Iris!” she greets brightly. “I'm Gladdy’s sister!”

“Hi,” you reply, giving her your name too.

“If for any reason I can’t be with you, Iris will keep you safe,” Gladio says. In the corner of your eye, while you shake Iris’ hand, you see him take off his tank top. His tattoos continue from his arms to his chest—with an eagle’s head on his left side. Which, you think, explains the feather design down his arms.

You can’t help it—you definitely stare. How is he that chiseled? Like, how is that even possible for a human?

You look away before he can catch you staring, but he does catch the movement. You hear him chuckle. “Like what you see?” he jokes.

The answer is yes but you’re definitely not saying that out loud. A blush rises over your face and your ears burn. “Shut up,” you mutter half-heartedly.

Iris giggles but changes the subject. “You ready?” she asks.

“As I’ll ever be,” you reply.

With Iris there it goes better than you anticipated. She’s gentler but tough. She gives you demonstrations slowly before asking you to replicate and practice. She walks you through it your first couple times before speeding it up.

Once, she gets carried away sparring with her brother and somehow manages to put him in a chokehold while you stare in surprise. She’s more petite than you—how did she do that? He’s a mountain of a man and, in comparison, she’s a small baby animal. Yet she has him on the floor with her arm around his neck, laughing her head off.

You find yourself laughing too. Their sibling interactions are so familial and pure. You can’t help it.

The rest of the session went a bit better with Iris coaching you through more than Gladio did. Before you knew it, you had showered at the gym—a strange feeling—and were out in the city at the street market looking for fruit from other parts of the country. Gladio follows behind you, standing at your left shoulder with his arms folded and a bored expression on his face—except when someone seems threatening. Then he glares at them.

Not that you take too much notice. You are more interested in the fruit for the moment. You can stare at Gladio any time but the fruit is more of a one-time thing.

^^^^^

Laughing, you and Gladio are on your way home from a day out a few weeks later when you get stopped on a narrow street.

Honestly, you’re not sure why anyone would even consider threatening you when you have a 6’8” titan at your side at all times.

“What’s cookin’ good lookin’?” one of the three men asks flirtatiously. You scoff. His words are slightly slurred—he’s not sober. You’re unsure if he’s drunk or high or what, but he’s definitely inebriated in some way.

“You, apparently,” you say as Gladio tenses up behind you. You can feel it. A month of being around him has helped you attune to his mannerisms.

“Aw, don’t be like that, darlin’,” another of the three says. He’s bigger than the first one who spoke—and seems a little soberer. He takes a step forward and you see a glass bottle in his hand. You take a step backward. Gladio’s hand lands on your shoulder and gently pulls you back until your shoulder blades brush his torso. “Just bein’ friendly.”

“Decidedly not,” Gladio growls. “Be on your way, gentlemen, or let us go ours.”

“Heeeeey, big guy!” the last of the three—and clearly the most inebriated—slurs, staggering forward. In one swift movement Gladio pushes you behind him as the third man’s hand lands on his chest. “Just havin’ a little fun! Know what I mean?” You can smell alcohol on the man.

Gladio shoves the man off him with a disgusted scoff. “Alright. If you want to do this the hard way, we can do this the hard way,” he says. The third man stumbles back, hits a wall, and slides down it, all while laughing his head off. Gladio glances back at you to make sure you’re alright, one hand behind him in case he has to grab you.

The other two men, who are slightly more lucid, blink in surprise and back away. Apparently they realize at the same time that Gladio is not one to mess with—his height and muscles are not just for show.

Still, the first man who spoke tries to take a swing at Gladio—maybe to defend his friend’s honor?

Gladio grabs the first man’s fist and twists his arm behind him before shoving him forward and delivering a swift kick in the pants. The first man falls face-first into the pavement with a loud, “Oof!”

The second man backs off completely, raising his hands in surrender and dropping the glass bottle. It shatters on the ground.

Noticing the glass shards, Gladio scoops you up like you’re a plush toy and proceeds down the street, only setting you down when you’re far enough away that there’s no way for you to step on any glass.

You’re not entirely sure what to say to him, so you settle on good manners. “Thanks,” you say.

He smiles and tugs on the ends of your hair gently. “That’s what I'm here for, m’lady,” he replies. “Buncha drunk creeps lookin’ for trouble, making passes at anyone they s—LOOK OUT!” He grabs your arm and yanks you forward, dodging around you and deflecting a punch from the second man. The other two are right behind him.

They don’t look drunk anymore. You can still smell alcohol, but the men seem stone-cold sober.

A fake-out? you wonder. You’re not sure.

It takes Gladio less than a minute to knock them all out cold. One of the men gets thrown into a wall. Gladio takes a few licks, but it seems not to faze him.

You only take a single punch from one of the men who managed to get past Gladio for all of seven seconds. You’re not sure which man it is, given it’s getting dark and you’re frightened, but his collar gets grabbed by Gladio and hauled back. He’s the next man to go down.

Once all three men are unconscious on the ground, Gladio takes your hand and the two of you run the rest of the way home. His legs are much longer than yours so you struggle to keep up. You feel as though your lungs are being torn from your body slowly. Your throat is dry and you can’t breathe.

The front door of your house slams shut behind you. You collapse on the sofa, panting with your eyes closed. “That was no chance meeting,” you manage to say between pants.

“No. It wasn’t,” Gladio agrees. He’s barely winded. Which is totally not fair.

You get up to get a glass of water—and pause. There’s a cut on his face. Right on his cheekbone. It’s bleeding. “Oh my—you’re hurt!” you say.

He shrugs. “It’s nothin’. Probably won’t even scar,” he replies.

You go to the kitchen. In the living room you hear him on the phone with someone—either your dad or the police, you can’t tell. After downing an entire glass of water, all you hear is silence from the other room. You wet a dish towel and return to the living room. “Sit,” you instruct.

“What’re you—”

“Now.”

Surprised at your tone, Gladio sits on the sofa. You kneel on the cushion next to him and clean out the cut. He winces a little as it stings, and you give him a tiny little smirk. “Don’t you dare,” he mutters.

You bite your lip but don’t tease. The adrenaline and fear still haven’t gone away so your mind is struggling to come up with the perfect quip anyway.

Once the cut is cleaned out and the blood has been sponged off, you kiss it. “There,” you say. “That’ll make it all better.”

He chuckles. “Is that right?” he asks.

“Yes. It is,” you reply with a playful but sharp tone.

“If you insist, m’lady,” he says with a grin.

Judging by the lack of interaction from your family and how dark the house is, you guess that no one is home. Gladio sweeps the house to confirm it before returning to the living room and dropping onto the sofa next to you.

He brushes his thumb over your cheek.

“You took a hit too,” he says. “You’re bruising.”

You feel your cheekbone throbbing from the punch you’d taken. You turn the injury away from him. “It’s nothing.”

He pinches your chin and draws your head back to face him. “Hey,” he says softly. “It’s not nothing.”

“No, really,” you say. “You’re far worse off than me.”

“Well that’s my job,” he says. “Not yours. It’s my responsibility to keep you safe.”

You clear your throat. “Thanks,” you say.

He smiles softly, the backs of his fingers gently pushing some of your hair away from your face and behind your ear. “My pleasure,” he says. His hand lands on the curve where your neck meets your shoulder.

The room seems to warm up by twenty degrees. Though… maybe it’s just you. Or Gladio. You’ve spent enough time standing near enough to him to know that he radiates heat like a furnace.

And you are sitting extremely close to him. Too close, probably.

This near, you can smell his spicy cologne. You can see the gold in his whiskey-colored eyes. The scar down the left side of his face takes on new definition. As does the fresh cut.

For several long, tense moments, the two of you just stare at each other. There are words hanging in the air, but neither of you catch them to speak them aloud. Is it just you or is the atmosphere a little thicker? Breathe… breathe…

Gladio’s other hand, the one not currently between your neck and shoulder, ghosts softly up your forearm, coming to a halt at your deltoid. His hands are warm and callused.

Their touch is comforting.

When did your faces get this close? Why are you leaning closer?

Before questioning anything else, you tilt your head to the side slightly and meet his lips at the same moment he leans forward to close the distance.

Relief and excitement flood through you in equal parts. Relief because you’re alive and he’s kept you safe, and excitement because… well, he’s all yours. He’s right here. He’s present and warm and strong and all yours. Your hands find his upper arms and stay there. You can feel his muscles tense and shift under your fingertips.

With a gasp, you pull away. “Should we even… be doing this?” you breathe. Both of you are panting again. For entirely different reasons this time.

His gaze drops, eyes somewhere around your chin. “You’re right,” he says. “It’s unprofessional—”

That doesn’t stop you from ducking closer to him again. He eagerly meets you.

“I promise,” he whispers against your lips. “I promise to always protect you.”

“I trust you,” you reply.

The lock to the front door clicks open. The two of you spring apart just in time for your dad to come in to see both of you sweating and panting—a bruise on your face and a cut on Gladio’s cheek. “What happened?” your father demands.

Gladio explains, leaving the seconds before your father walked through the door out. He gets up and prepares to leave for the night. Not before taking your hand to pull you aside and whisper one more promise. Clinging to his hand as long as you can, you watch him disappear into the darkness.

What have I gotten myself into? you wonder.

The darkness says nothing.

[ganymedesclock]

Character Analysis: Coran

[ Shiro ] [ Lance ] [ Hunk ] [ Pidge ] [ Keith ] [ Allura ]

What kind of blogger would I be if I forgot about our man Coran? I’ll tell you, a bad one. Last but certainly not least in the metas on Team Voltron, it’s time for a post on everyone’s favorite redheaded spaceman-of-all-trades.

Coran is a bit of a frustrating case to overlook because for someone as open and sociable as he is, we know very little of his history- and he also happens to have a lot more history than anyone else on the team... by something of a long shot.

In an offhanded mention, Coran states that the Castle is actually 10,600 years old, because it was built by his grandfather. He later, in a different conversation, reminisces that he remembers his grandfather taking him to a Balmera... while said grandfather was building the Castle.

Thus confirming that Coran is over six hundred years old, not counting his time spent in cryostasis. And yet, at the same time- Coran doesn’t really look or act what we’d consider elderly- if anything, he’s more than a little aghast at the idea of contacting an “old people disease”- insecurity, I think, of someone in later middle ages who’s just starting to confront the idea they’re getting old.

This might well cast some aspersions on Allura’s age as well- she might be a teenager or young adult by Altean standards but we don’t know quite what those standards are.

But for Coran, he’s had certainly what our human sensibilities would consider a very long life, and has spent much of that life, seemingly, in service of the royal family. Said service is something that’s run in his own family line at least as far back as his grandfather, and Coran carries himself with the decorum of high society. He’s no mere servant- much more likely, an aristocrat himself, or possibly a member of the extended royal family considering the very personal way he relates to Alfor and Allura. His official title of Royal Advisor would suggest Alfor turned to him for counsel- but in regards to what specific topics, we aren’t sure. It’s certainly part of the role he plays to Allura.

And in practice- this is someone Alfor entrusted, seemingly alone, with the safety of his daughter and the Black Lion. As Allura was placed in stasis when the castle was still on Altea and Alfor still on the castle, this would tell us that Coran was the one to launch the castle and get it away from Zarkon’s fleet while Alfor, seemingly, held them off- it was Coran who landed the castle on Arus before entering suspension on his own.

We do not know much of Coran’s personal life- besides that seemingly, he’s been a fixture in Allura’s for a very long time, and that he was a very close friend and attendant of the late king. We see very few scenes of Alfor that do not feature Coran in some magnitude. This makes sense- because again, at the end of his life, Alfor trusted Coran with functionally the fate of the entire universe. Especially close on the heels of Zarkon’s betrayal, this tells us that Alfor trusted Coran absolutely.

Out of the spotlight

Coran virtually never takes center stage. This is the main reason he’s so much of an enigma despite being an incredibly open person and intensely prone to sharing stories at the slightest provocation. Coran is support in the purest sense- to the point that out of the team, he is the only one not paired to a unique vehicle that’s his and only his. For Allura, even the castle is uniquely connected to her power in many regards- Coran can’t use much of its higher functions. 

And we do not feel like this is an uncomfortable position for Coran in the slightest. Rather, this seems to be the area he takes to and in fact thrives in, entirely of his own choice. It’s rare for Coran to command a scene- and the few times he does tend to be very memorable, and marked by something close to fury- his indignant “You do not yell at the princess!” in s1e2 and in the season 1 finale, Coran piloting the castle alone to assail entire fleets. 

Coran is support- one who assists and facilitates- but he’s not passive in his role at all. His whole title of advisor can only possibly work if he’s someone who makes his thoughts and opinions heard, and he lives up to that. He will criticize, or even argue rather strongly with- anyone, including Allura, if pushed to it. And even without much impetus at all, he’s shown to kibitz on situations in a very honest- even unflattering manner- even on people that he cares about a lot.

Basically, Coran takes a backseat, but not remotely out of lack of confidence or devaluing himself. He’s an attendant but an incredibly outspoken one, and one with a sense of his own importance as well- reinforcing his quite possible noble background. We’ve even seen that Coran can be a touch condescending- consider his cheerful patronizing of Pidge’s “primitive synapses firing away in their little brain-cage.”

And really, Coran’s ostensibly passive position combined with his own certainty of self creates a truly terrifying combination, one that very rarely flexes itself. Simply, Coran is always the accompaniment to someone more interesting or important- King Alfor in the past, Allura and the Paladins at present. He’s set up perfectly in a blind spot, and his affable prattling makes him even more likely to overlook.

When Coran attacks Zarkon’s fleet, he states that he’s been waiting ten thousand years for this. While we can guess he’d hold a grudge against Zarkon- for Altea, for Alfor, for everything he and Allura have suffered- this is literally the first time we’ve had any implication whatsoever it was there.

Coran, quite simply, took something very close to a murderous rage, folded it neatly, and tucked it up his sleeve until he had the opportunity to take his shot.

People have pointed out the downright brutal efficiency with which Coran intercepts an attack aimed at Allura and retaliates in a way that hits all five paladins, in a single movement- and how very seriously he does his, even if it’s a simple food fight. In particular, a comment I’ve heard on that scene that’s stuck with me a long time in regards to Coran: “Imagine how many times he’s done that for something that wasn’t food.”

Coran is an advisor, but he is not remotely a noncombatant. I would not be surprised at all, in fact, if this is our window of what an archetypal Altean soldier looks and acts like- someone whose first line of defense is not necessarily a suit of armor and a sword, but by convincing you first to not think they’re an opponent. Sure, it’s funny that Coran is completely ineffective at defeating Lance and they immediately engage in some kind of trash talking- but let’s not forget unlike Allura, who was mostly baffled by Lance and only turned aggressive when he didn’t answer her questions, Coran’s first response when confronted with foreign parties was to leap to the attack and his first line of dialogue besides identifying that there were intruders in the castle boiled down to “if I hadn’t just spent an incredible amount of time unconscious in suspended animation, I would’ve put you in a chokehold and knocked you out in a matter of seconds.”

Coran, to a degree, lives in the shadows of brighter people- but he does so voluntarily and intentionally- because as soon as someone tries to make a bid for those brighter people, Coran, already overlooked, is en route to intercept.

That said, while he has that angle, he doesn’t always act on it- his role as an observer means that he’s often quite willing to just see where this situation is going. He’s not nearly as proactive as, say, Shiro- who needs to feel in control of the situation. Coran is triggered to action or inaction by his personal assessment if the situation has, or will, turn immediately dangerous- and if he doesn’t feel like it’s dangerous, or that there’s a meaningful way to engage with it, he will in fact be alarmingly blase in the face of mortal peril- the embodiment of a stiff upper lip.

Another angle of his tendency to mask intense emotions if he doesn’t feel like they have a proper use at this point.

A man of a breathtaking number of hats

So Coran is an advisor, a helmsman, and the main person we see doing maintenance on the castle- and on top of all of that, he may well be some manner of bodyguard. It’s safe to say that Coran is one hell of a busybody, and lesser people would probably have just plain dropped under the weight of his workload and the number of disparate skills this requires.

At the same time, this is probably the biggest source of Coran’s goofy space dad vibe- he has so much varied life experience and skill sets that practically anything for Coran is fair game. History and nostalgia are very big things for him, and, overwhelmingly, what we learn about Coran and from Coran is anecdotal and sentimental in nature. Certainly, he’s quite smart, and likes to explain things, but how much he knows, and quite possibly to a degree just his personality itself, makes him spacey and a bit of a scatterbrain. 

“Finger counting is more of an art than a science”- or, rather, sophisticated mental math (he was trying to crunch how long it would take a spaceship to reach them considering its speed, that is not elementary level addition) is very difficult if your brain goes in a lot of directions and you have a lot of places to lose stray decimals in.

Coran relates much more easily to things intuitively and emotionally than he does trying to attend to precise variables- though that gap is not as large as one would expect because he’s had a lot of time to practice. In general, Coran’s skill set is much more rounded and stable than any of the rest of the team’s- a testament, again, to how much time he’s had to pick things up. Regardless, he does show a pretty good aptitude for working with people, when not held back by heavily outdated information as he was in Space Mall.

When he is, though, he may be slow to admit his initial judgment call was wrong- as mentioned, Coran is rather prideful. He’s quite certain of himself and other people need to impress him- and even in season 2, he has no problems verbally tearing the paladins to shreds if he doesn’t think they’re living up to expectations. Cheerfully.

High energy

You’d think someone past his six hundredth birthday would slow down a little, even if that might be the Altean equivalent of late fifties. You would think wrong in Coran’s case. Probably why this guy has so many odd jobs, aptitudes, and experiences is that he can be almost restless in his energy levels. “Restless” is not how he comes across- but mostly because, as a mature character who’s had a lot of his development already, Coran knows himself and his inclinations. 

As a result, he will often seem quiet- but if you’re paying attention, Coran is virtually always doing something, and usually multitasking as he does. While this could well be a stress-inducing byproduct of being effectively the sole staff of a castle probably designed for a lot more people than that, I think to a degree, Coran is simply someone who does not keep idle very easily at all. When his workload is lightened or alleviated, he’s more inclined to engage in whimsy and curiosity instead.

Another product of this is Coran does very little in half measures, if he’s committed to it.

Theatrics and their absence

Coran certainly has some very dramatic reactions, but it’s almost more noteworthy when he doesn’t. I’ve mentioned that Coran has a major case of stiff upper lip in the face of sometimes even mortal peril- but that’s basically it. Coran’s spectrum of emotional expression oscillates from “politely interested or indifferent” to the melodramatic screaming he put on in s1e2.

In general, Coran’s more mellow expressions of emotion tend to be positive. Frustration is a quick way to get him to more dramatic expressions, and even that varies. It isn’t even a simple game of how intensely Coran feels something, either- some of his most scathing lines are delivered quietly. If anything, it would seem that Coran is more expressive and ebullient in times of levity- if the situation feels serious, then even shouting, there’s a composed sternness to him.

He can also flip between the two multiple times within the course of a single scene and practically at the drop of a hat. In this sense, it would suggest that Coran never really has wild or uncontrolled emotions- simply, he can, and tends to be, fairly lenient in their expression.

This seems to be the product of a lot of work throughout Coran’s life by our glimpses of his younger selves. From a very moody teenage Coran who claims he can only express himself through music to his wildly over-dramatic ebullient young adult self- Coran has pretty much always had a lot of feelings, and it’s only as he’s gotten older that he’s mellowed to a degree and successfully established a certain layer of calm that can exist either over or under them.

And it’s very notable that just because Coran emotes a lot doesn’t mean he’s incapable of duplicity. Because Coran is carrying some emotional giants, and they’re simply things that you do not see at all unless something prompts him to mention them.

His quiet mention that he can’t lose Allura is basically the only admission he has made, at all in the seasons, that much like Allura herself, Coran is nearly alone in the universe- one of a trace handful of surviving Alteans. And after that, his comment that he’s been waiting for a shot at Zarkon acknowledges that possibly even more than Allura, Coran has a driving grudge- one that he buries just as quickly as he acknowledges it to tell Keith to step back and preserve himself rather than engage Zarkon.

Supportive

I’ve mentioned that Coran tends to be a part of someone else’s backdrop, but I think it’s worth noticing- especially as he can be sometimes condescending or flippant with the team- that there is a very affectionate and warm side of Coran. While he is unflinchingly observant of formal titles, it’s also very clear his relationship with Alfor and Allura has been deeply personal and rather familial- and this is much of how he takes to the paladins. Coran is never really so formal with people as to really feel stiff- his proper courtly manners juxtapose with a very flippant and sincere attitude.

A lot of people joke about Shiro being team dad, but honestly- I stand by, Shiro is the perfectionist oldest child that everyone jokes acts like another parent. Coran, though- even when the objective goal was to drive the paladins as hard as possible and make them unite against a single goal, Coran was still giving them breaks and telling them not to push it too hard. (And his praise of Allura’s methods after the fact is incredibly backhanded, almost certainly on purpose)

In Summary

Coran is a person very motivated by memories and sentimentality, but also, for all of his bouncy high-energy persona, there is a really impressive amount of emotional control under his surface, to the point that he can easily hide very powerful sentiments indeed.

Multi-talented and very inclined to working behind the scenes to support others, but also somewhat haughty, and both genuinely deeply fond of the rest of his team and utterly unafraid to take them all down a peg if he feels that’s appropriate. 

[enterthezoid]

GET OUT! The Black Comedy

Sunday. Matinee. Jordan Peele’s Get Out receives %100 on Rotten Tomatoes. Call up the crew. My home girls slide thru. The downtown theater is sold out, Cherry creek has plenty of seats. No surprise there. Get Popcorn. Get Cozy. Get Scared. Get Out!

A whole can of black and white worms was opened up in Jordan Peele’s soon to be cult classic film Get Out. A psychological thriller that leaves one hinged horrifically balanced in what is suppose to be a suspension of reality but rather is an actual heightened extension of it. Don't worry I won't be spoiling much for you in this post, merely giving you my emotional reaction to such a ride...

We are thrown onto a cathartic balance beam bereft by a post traumatic state of reliving horrors from life on the silver screen. We make our way through the witty and blunt humor and cringe when we come to those perilous bridges constructed by race and ignorance that are all too familiar; but this is suppose to be funny right, ha ha haaaa. 

A black man in his early twenties, sporting a head wrap and army jacket sits in front of me and my peanut gallery of queens with his blonded white girl. I nudge my girlfriend and we both begin to crack up at what might be their last date.

Discomfort shifts back and forth in the seats as we merge into the muddy waters of Anywhere, America, a suburb that might host a mall with a theater like the one we are sitting in, as couples of all shades grasp and laugh, and are silent, we are methodically lowered into a 'sunken place' where all is happening to us and we can do nothing but watch.

The elegance or Jordan Peele’s writing allows us to pirouette through racism that wears the mask of success and our psychological ties to an oppressor. Our protagonist, Daniel Kaluuya, plays Chris Washington, A young African American photographer who reminds me of many friends who bridge race and class divides with the success of their skill; bringing them deeper into a culture that is far set from their own, and the certain types of women and men that lurk there. 

As Chris finds out when he goes on a weekend trip to see the parents of his fresh 5 month relationship with Rose Armitage, played by Allison Williams, who also starred in the show Girls. Balancing us yet again on this crux of black men and white women. 

This film get's out the unique fears one might feel growing up in this country as an African-American and thrown into a supposed integrated world that is far from it. The pitfalls and jabs that one feels when all alone and facing the unfiltered wave of ignorant ass supremacy.

I think now on the many laughs me and my friends have about what we feel to be far fetched fears but come to life in this film! For example the true notion that as a black man I still get uncomfortable around too many white folks, no matter the nation, age or class, especially when alcohol is involved, cuz’ we all know that when the liquor starts flowing they mouthes open and just say the darnedest things to you,

“Oh I love your hair can I touch?”

"Oh Bro what sports you play?”

“Mmmm I heard about black men, is it true what they say?”

"How is it being black?"

“Wow look at this one, your smile, your teeth are so white?”

“Wow you speak so well and would never have thought!”

or my favorite:

"Hey man is just a joke, it's funny right?"

And I'm sure some will say most of those sound like complements and genuine politeness of a person trying to empathize with another. No. It is prattle and mockingly insulting. It stems from a place that attempts to gloss over the cacophony of horrid screams from the bloody mud of this land 'tis of thee. It reeks of appropriation, and genocide. It's an unaccepting ignorance that still wants to devour its dark, mysterious, prey. 

You see, the old shrills of uncles and grandfathers speaking of dragging and lynchings from a brother who went a little too far into the white world always left my superstitious eye on the exit signs of any downtown bar, frat house, or suburban house party, that is flooded with white people. All should be taught such cautions as well, for accurate history in this country is hard to...get out.

The film gives great one liners, and double entendre that will bury themselves deep into our context as Americans in dealing with the racial divide, one in particular had me weak throughout the film for its undoubted usage to try and mask one's prejudice tendencies:

"I would have voted for Obama for a third term if I could."  says the neurosurgeon father when first meeting his daughter’s black boyfriend. I've heard many well off, liberal, white men in power, use this as a way to diffuse a remarkably racist comment that preceded it or would come shortly after.

There is also a moment our protagonist must use 'cotton' in a way to try and overcome his captors. As well as a chokehold that is slowly counted out "1 mississippi, 2 mississppi..." Small relics, symbols, and adages that are doors into our poignant history. Perhaps my favorite of these is when another black man, played by Lakeith Stanfield, who also played in ATLANTA, is taken hostage by this strange town and explains what he feels about the black man's condition,

"In this county the black man has had a overall good time, and is born with great advantages, but hey I don't know much, I haven't wanted to leave the 'house' for quite some time." Oh how this rings of old Malcolm X speeches and uncle tom's cabin remakes, leaving a stark but humorous reminder of the house nigga who loves his master, and in fact wishes to be his master...

These little gems and many more bedazzle you in a film that uses the juxtaposition of imagery and satire to unravel the unspoken myths of American culture.

Perhaps what can't be glossed over is the true evil in the film appeared to some as a utter reflection of themselves. As I noticed in the young white girlfriend sitting in front of me who kept having to ask her black boyfriend what was so funny? Or embarrassingly apologizing since she had done some of those exact things. 

While with something like the Texas Chainsaw Massacre or any other serial killer film the evil is an anomaly here it is the norm. This leaves the comments section of Get Out peppered by feelings of racism against Caucasians. Yet this is like every Hollywood film that portrays stereotypes of all other cultures in a menacing light. Not to mention as one home girl put it:

"So what about the micro aggression in suicide squad? The croc was clearly black watched bet ate Friday chicken wore velour suits with gold chain and listened to rap? I saw no white people complaining...Or when they make themselves the hero or savior of every film, last samurai, avatar, this Great Wall film that just came out; all under the guise the story won't be told/ watched if there isn't a white person in a lead role 🙄"

Oh how the kettle calls the pot! Well look, Here's an opinion of you outside of your own. good luck getting out of it!

A deep metaphor that runs through the core of this film is held in its appropriate title. Our protagonist must get out of a deep hole buried with in his subconscious, which is housed in the suburban outskirts, in a white picket fence mansion, in the heart of the white American dream. Can we escape our master's house, can we escape our master's women, can we escape our master's desires, can we escape our master? Must we escape from ourselves?

My palms were wet with sweat, gripping the theater chair arm rest as the film crescendos, and that feeling comes across you buried deep in your nerves from centuries of being hunted: Go! Go! Run! Get Out! As we have a hope that just maybe we will have a hero who runs off the psychological plantation into freedom! Away from the monstrous killer that was imbedded deep with in your own fears. Jordan Peele carried us to that deep seeded fear of the black man and white woman, that fear that underlies the belly of it all, of rape and murder and true horror.

Back into the woods and dark trees, where we hope our protagonist will not sink to that level that he is always portrayed, of beast, of burden, of object like they think he is, that he will not be caught, that he can find himself and get out alive with no regrets. And as the scene perches us all gripping each other, still, silent. Our protagonist becomes a hero under flashing lights.

To wash all of this down Jordan Peele naturally uses humor as the film’s saving grace. Unlike some race films like Birth of a Nation (the first one and the Nat Turner epic) Get Out doesn't leave one emotionally hateful and unstable, instead the ability to laugh at the portrayal of certain prejudices that we all have about each other allows us to experience the trauma with our serotonin popping; and with the aide of satire we can communicate why something is funny, and why something might be true.

It leaves us closer together rather than dividing us as I'm sure many will say. Embraced in a terror that lurks even here in the hazy February theater of a mall in Anywhere, America. 

This film get’s out the scariest nightmare, the one buried deep, the one you think is real. It get's out the stupidity of labels and walls that we put up because we are still ignorant of another's customs and stories and feelings. Well here we are, pressed tight together, from sea to shining sea, and from the repressed pits of a place, where we felt helpless, where we couldn't do anything, but sit there and watch TV, while our mothers and brothers, fathers and sisters, bled out in the streets and then were hung up like a deer's head in the den of your great grandfathers plantation mansion.

Here is a beautiful reflection of true horror, a real monster, dripped in gore, and fear, and honesty, as the deer’s head pierces your cornea and out oozes the greatest monster ever... a mirror. Can you get out of this image I present to you? Can you get out of your head? Can you get out of me?! But hey, it's only a joke, this is funny right?

Written by: Négré Micheaux 

for F!!!RE Magazine issue #1