#it’s interesting that it’s at his friend’s suggestion that Jim takes on a human name for the first time

[daydreamerdrew]

Marvel Mystery Comics (1941) #2 and #4

[dailyanarchistposts]

Chapter Three. Conversion

Thus there is such a thing as human absorption. It appears in all the forms of conversion wherever the superior power of one person is consciously or unconsciously misused to influence profoundly and draw into his spell another individual or a whole community. Here one soul operates directly upon another soul. The weak have been overcome by the strong, the resistance of the weak has broken down under the influence of another person. He has been overpowered…. —Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together[57]

Dr. D. James Kennedy, tanned and dapper in a dark brown suit with a white handkerchief in his breast pocket and meticulously combed silver hair, stands to the side of the podium and shares with us the most important tool in winning converts to Christ: becoming a friend. The seminar I am attending is being held in a hall of the Coral Ridge Presbyterian Church complex at Coral Ridge, Florida. Three spindly, white spires, all topped with crosses, tower above the cut-rate shopping centers and convenience stores stretched along North Federal Highway in Fort Lauderdale. The five-day seminar is designed to train us to teach Evangelism Explosion. The program was begun by Kennedy in 1967 and is designed to train evangelists in the tactics and methods used to save souls for Christ.

“I would always go in first, introduce myself, Jim Kennedy,” he begins. “I’m checking the lay of the land, and I will look around the living room and see if there’s something there that I can comment about. Frequently, there will be a large picture somewhere and where did they put it, this picture? Why would they put it over the fireplace? Significant.”

“In Fort Lauderdale you don’t find too many fireplaces,” he adds, smiling, “but there’s some kind of central focus. Maybe…golf trophies…I’m over here looking at these golf trophies…painting…I say, ‘Beautiful painting. Did you paint that?’ The first rule about looking at trophies: don’t touch them…‘Did you win all those trophies?’ So we have a little conversation about golf, but I know enough about golf to have this conversation. Now what have I done? I’m making a friend.

“Compliment them on whatever you can,” Kennedy says. “Discuss what they do. You’re going to find out what are their hobbies, maybe right there in the living room. Then you’re going to ask them about what they do, where they’re from, how long they’ve been there…something to discuss with them…In doing this, you have made a friend.”

We sit with our green marbled Evangelism Explosion workbooks open to the chapter titled “Making Friends.” We are being taught how to get prospective converts to open up and feel at ease. The manual suggests asking questions such as: “Tell me something about yourself.”[58] We are instructed to listen attentively, since “people usually are most interested in what they themselves have to say.”[59] Evangelists should “look the prospect in the eye, move your head up and down, echo what he says by repeating his words and voice inflection. Be sensitive to his felt needs and respond appropriately. Remember and use his name often in the conversation.” And, it adds, “Pay a sincere compliment.”[60]

Kennedy warns us not to carry a large Bible, but to keep a small one hidden in our pockets: “Don’t show your gun until you’re ready to shoot it.”

Metaphors of war and sex saturate the lectures and the readings. Kennedy says that the primary task of Christians is to recruit “soldiers in the army of Jesus Christ who are absent without official leave (AWOL).”[61] He speaks of himself and other pastors as generals or admirals and of evangelists as soldiers. And he warns that it is Satan who convinces believers not to take part in the battle.

What is [Satan’s] idea? It is this: that wars are very dangerous, complicated operations, and ordinary persons could get hurt needlessly; therefore, they should go home and let the generals and admirals fight wars…in the church this, in essence, is exactly what Satan has done![62]

Sexual metaphors are also sprinkled into the bellicosity of the conversion message. A “functionally mature, responsible, reproducing Christian”[63] should be producing others like himself. Christians who receive the gospel for themselves but do not convert others “are like immoral seducers.” “The seducer,”[64] Kennedy writes, “is satisfied merely to exploit and then tell of his exploits rather than entering into a meaningful marriage commitment.” Kennedy recalls the difficulties he had one night during which he was unable to “consummate the witness”[65] with a new disciple’s wife.

Conversion is a form of sexual warfare, a form of seduction and finally a form of physical conquest.

You must “seek to identify with your prospect. If that person would talk about the fact that they were lonely and you had a lonely experience, man, you want to tie into that, you jump onto that…get all over that with your testimony…because they’re going to identify with you,” Kennedy says.

The tactics of conversion come with layers of deception, including, we soon learn, false friendships and cooked testimonies, the promise that the evangelists are giving the “free gift” of eternal life and that what they preach is the inerrant word of God and cannot be questioned. Conversion is supposed to banish the deepest dreads, fears and anxieties of human existence, including the fear of death. This is the central message we are told to impart to potential believers. But along with this message comes a disorienting mixture of love and fear, of promises of a warm embrace by a kind and gentle God that yearns to direct and guide the life of the convert toward success, wealth and happiness, and also of an angry, wrathful God who must punish nonbelievers, those who are not saved, tossing them into outer darkness and eternal suffering. The message swings the faces of this Janus-like God back and forth, one terrifying and one loving, in dizzying confusion. The emotions of love and fear pulsate through the message. God will love and protect those who come to Him. God will torment and reject those who do not come to Him. It becomes a bewildering mantra.

Conversion, at first blush, is euphoric. It is about new friends, loving and accepting friends; about the final conquering of human anxieties, fears and addictions; about attainment of wealth, power, success and happiness through God. For those who have known despair, it feels like a new life, a new beginning. The new church friends call them, invite them to dinner, have time to listen to their troubles and answer their questions. Kennedy tells us that we must keep in touch in the days after conversion. He encourages us to keep detailed files on those we proselytize. We must be sure new converts are never left standing alone at church. We must care when no one else seems to care. The new converts are assigned a “discipler” or prayer partner, a new friend who is wiser than they are in the ways of the Lord and able to instruct them in their new life.

The intense interest by a group of three or four evangelists in a potential convert, the flattery and feigned affection, the rapt attention to those being recruited and the flurry of “sincere” compliments are forms of “love-bombing,” the same technique employed by cults, such as the Unification Church or Moonies, to attract prospects. It was a well-developed tactic of the Russian and Chinese communist parties, which share many of the communal and repressive characteristics of the Christian Right. This intense showering of affection on an individual, as psychiatrist Margaret Thaler Singer described in her 1996 book Cults in Our Midst, is often very effective:

As soon as any interest is shown by the recruits, they may be love-bombed by the recruiter or other cult members. This process of feigning friendship and interest in the recruit was initially associated with one of the early youth cults, but soon it was taken up by a number of groups as part of their program for luring people in. Love-bombing is a coordinated effort, usually under the direction of leadership, that involves long-term members flooding recruits and newer members with flattery, verbal seduction, affectionate but usually nonsexual touching, and lots of attention to their every remark. Love-bombing—or the offer of instant companionship—is a deceptive ploy accounting for many successful recruitment drives.[66]

The new convert is drawn gradually into a host of church activities by his or her new friends, leaving little time for outside socializing. But the warmth and embrace soon brings new rules. When you violate the rules you sin, you flirt with rebellion, with becoming a “backslider,” someone who was converted but has fallen and is once again on the wrong side of God. And as the new converts are increasingly invested in the church community, as they cut ties with their old community, it is harder to dismiss the demands of the “discipler” and church leaders. “Backsliding” is a sin. Doubt is a sin. Questioning is a sin. The only proper relationship is submission to those above you, the abandonment of critical thought and the mouthing of religious jargon that is morally charged and instantly identifies believers as part of the same, hermetic community. The psychiatrist Robert Jay Lifton describes this heavily loaded language, the words and phrases that allow believers to speak in code, as “thought-terminating clichés.”[67] “Jesus is my personal Lord and Savior” or “The wages of sin are death” are used, in this instance, to end all discussion.

Rules are incorporated slowly and deliberately into the convert’s belief system. These include obedience to church leaders; the teaching of an exclusive, spiritual elitism that demonizes all other ways of being and believing; and a persecution complex that keeps followers mobilized and distrustful of outsiders. The rules create a system of total submission to church doctrine. They discourage independent thought and action. And the result is the destruction of old communities and old friendships. Believers are soon enclosed in the church community. They are taught to value personal experience over reason, and to reject reason. For those who defy the system, who walk away, there is a collective banishment. The exit process is humiliating, and those who leave are condemned as “backsliders” no longer favored by God.

There is a gradual establishment of new standards for every aspect of life. Those who choose spouses must choose Christian spouses. Families and friends are divided into groups of “saved” and “unsaved.” The movement, while it purports to be about families, is the great divider of families, friends and communities. It competes with the family for loyalty. It seeks to place itself above the family, either drawing all family members into its embrace or pushing aside those who resist conversion. There are frequent prayers during the seminar for relatives who are unsaved, who remain beyond the control of the movement. Many of these prayers, including one by a grandmother in my prayer group for her unsaved grandchildren, are emotional, and it is not unusual to see saved Christians weeping over the possible damnation of those they love.

This control, while destructive to personal initiative and independence, does keep believers from wandering back into the messy situations they fled. The new ideology gives the believers a cause, a sense of purpose, meaning, feelings of superiority, and a way to justify and sanctify their hatreds. For many, the rewards of cleaning up their lives, repairing their damaged self-esteem, and joining an elite and blessed group are worth the cost of submission. They know how to define and identify themselves. They do not have to make moral choices. They are made for them. They submerge their individual personas into the single persona of the Christian crowd. Their hope lies not in the real world, but in this new world of miracles. For many, the conformity, the flight away from themselves, the dismissal of facts and logic for magic, the destruction (even with its latent totalitarianism) of personal autonomy amount to a welcome and joyous relief. The flight into the arms of the Christian Right, into blind acceptance of a holy cause, compensates for converts’ despair and lack of faith in themselves. And the more corrupted and soiled they feel, the more profound the despair, the more militant they become, shouting, organizing and agitating to create a pure and sanctified Christian nation, believing that this purity will offset their own shame and guilt. Many yearn to be deceived and directed. It makes life easier to bear.

The most susceptible people, we are told in the seminar, are those in crisis: people in the midst of a divorce; those who have lost a job or are grieving for the death of a close friend or relative; those suffering addictions they cannot control, illness, or the trauma of emotional or physical abuse. We are encouraged to target the vulnerable. In The Varieties of Religious Experience, William James wrote that those who experienced dramatic conversions might have been born with a “melancholy disposition,” a chronically “divided” mind—or else, he suspected, they had drunk “too deep of the cup of bitterness.”[68] It is easier to bring about a conversion when the person being proselytized is in crisis. Indeed, the goal of the conversion is to generate a sense of crisis by stressing that all who are unsaved are lost and in desperate need of help.

When he speaks, Kennedy exudes the oily charm of a traveling salesman. He is meticulous about his appearance: never a hair out of place, his face tanned to a leathery brown and his suits finely cut. He talks in a low, sonorous voice, one he uses every Sunday when, decked out in his robe and academic hood, he stands behind his massive mahogany pulpit at the start of the service and announces, “This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it,” at which point the thunderous organ erupts in pulsations that rock the church. He is a rigid fundamentalist, determined to defend and prove the truths of the Bible through what he sees as intellectual, rational and scientific argument. His sermons can often be pedantic, filled with windy discussions about what he says are historical or scientific facts that illustrate the inerrant truth of the Bible. He is one of America’s most public and vocal dominionists.

Kennedy was born in 1930 in Augusta, Georgia, and raised in a neighborhood on the South Side of Chicago by a glassware-salesman father, rarely at home, and an abusive, alcoholic mother. It was not a happy childhood. Kennedy moved with his parents to Jacksonville, Florida, while he was in high school and by his own admission spent most of his time surfing and water-skiing. In his early 20s, he taught the fox-trot at an Arthur Murray Dance School in Tampa. He met his wife, Anne, there in 1952. But the official literature reads, “It all began on a Sunday morning in 1953, when he [Kennedy] was startled awake by a preacher’s stern question on his clock radio: ‘Suppose you were to die today and stand before God, and He were to ask you, “What right do you have to enter into My heaven?”—What would you say?’”[69]

Kennedy explains he was unsure of his answer. He says he went to a bookstore and bought The Greatest Story Ever Told, the 1949 novel by Fulton Oursler that chronicles the life of Christ. Kennedy had little experience with religion. He did not attend church regularly. The book, he says, opened his eyes to God, and he enrolled in seminary. He, unlike some of his charismatic or evangelical counterparts, did real academic work. He studied at Columbia Theological Seminary and the Chicago Graduate School of Theology, and received a PhD from New York University.

He began modestly with a small church, affiliated with the Presbyterian Church in America, which split with the mainline Presbyterian Church over what the schismatic sect branded its liberal theology. It had fewer than 100 members. But Fort Lauderdale proved to be fertile ground for the young preacher, with families moving in droves into sprawling new developments. The population influx helped swell his congregation, although the church literature portrays its growth as the result of successful proselytizing. He slowly built a massive multimedia empire. Kennedy’s weekly broadcasts of The Coral Ridge Hour can be seen on more than 600 television stations and four cable networks and heard on the Armed Forces Network. It is the third most widely syndicated Christian program in the nation, reaching more than 3.5 million people. His radio show, Truths That Transform, is on more than 744 stations, six days a week.[70] He runs a lobbying group in Washington called the Center for Reclaiming America, as well as the Center for Christian Statesmanship, which evangelizes those who work in Congress. He hosts monthly luncheons, for members of Congress and their staffs, which feature conservative speakers. Kennedy believes that “the Christian view of morality and life is the one that should prevail in America.”[71] He is fond of quoting John Jay, the Chief Justice of the first U.S. Supreme Court, who said that “God in His providence has given to us a Christian nation, and it behooves us as Christians to prefer and select Christians to rule over us.” Kennedy argues that this “was the Christian perspective of most of the founders in the beginning of this country.”[72]

“Our job is to reclaim America for Christ, whatever the cost,” Kennedy has said. “As the vice regents of God, we are to exercise godly dominion and influence over our neighborhoods, our schools, our government, our literature and arts, our sports arenas, our entertainment media, our news media, our scientific endeavors—in short, over every aspect and institution of human society.”[73]

Kennedy is opposed to abortion, homosexuality and the study of evolution. He rails against the values of the Enlightenment. He says that theories of evolution were the basis for Nazism, communism and fascism and that “these are the views of men that have resulted in millions and millions of people dying.”[74]

He once told a reporter he’d never had a gay friend, adding, “I believe one was working at the dance studio [where he worked in his 20s], but I couldn’t tell for sure. They are very good at blending in.”[75] Still, despite having no personal interaction with gay people (he says only ex-gays are members at his church), Kennedy formed Worthy Creations Ministry, a branch of Exodus International, in 1998. Worthy Creations preaches that homosexuality is a sickness that can be healed.[76]

The cultural decline in America is the result, he says, of straying from Christian values. In The Gates of Hell Shall Not Prevail: The Attack on Christianity and What You Need to Know to Combat It, a book Kennedy wrote in 1996, he writes that although the United States was once a “Christian nation,” that is no longer the case because today “the hostile barrage from atheists, agnostics and other secular humanists has begun to take a serious toll on that heritage. In recent years, they have built up their forces and even increased their assault upon all our Christian institutions, and they have been enormously successful in taking over the ‘public square.’ Public education, the media, the government, the courts, and even the church in many places, now belong to them.”[77]

The goal is not simply conversion but also eventual recruitment into a political movement to create a Christian nation. But this process is riddled with lies and deception. In the seminar, evangelists are told to pretend at first that they are taking a survey of religious belief to get people to talk and that proselytizers should hide their Bibles so their targets do not know they are being proselytized, and should ignore “No Soliciting” signs, since what they are giving people is “a free gift.”

Kennedy begins to talk about the godless character of liberal churches. He dismisses the members of these churches as “nominal Christians.” Referring to a potential convert whom he calls Scott, Kennedy tells us that since Scott had previously attended Grace Baptist Church, the word “grace” being a popular term within the Christian Right, he was probably a real Christian.

“Suppose we’ve got a lot of liberal churches in this area, and if you just named a church in this area that you go to, probably 90 to 10, I could tell whether or not you’re a Christian,” he says. “And how could I do that? Simply because these liberal churches don’t preach the Gospel. I can tell you a big liberal church in this area where you can stand outside the church, Sunday morning after service, and say, ‘Excuse me, sir, I’m lost, I wonder if you can tell me how to get to heaven.’ And I would venture to say that 98 percent could not tell you, and that’s because the pastor is a liberal and he doesn’t believe in heaven. He doesn’t believe in salvation; he probably doesn’t believe in sin. Certainly doesn’t believe in hell.

“There are millions of people in this country who attend church regularly,” Kennedy tells us, “trying to live a good life and follow God’s teachings, and yet somehow—now underline this next phrase—the church has failed to communicate to them how they can know for sure that they have eternal life and they’re going to heaven.”

At the Evangelism Explosion workshop we must write and rewrite our personal testimonies and practice delivering them in front of our assigned prayer partners, who critique them according to the manual. The testimony is an illustration to the nonbeliever that the converted are absolutely certain of eternal life and have been freed from all human anxieties. The testimony, we are told by the instructor, must state explicitly that the fear of death has been banished forever. We must describe moments in our lives when death appeared certain and we felt at peace and certain of eternal life. The testimony has to stress and repeat this total certitude of our belief in eternal life and freedom from fear. We turn our testimonies in for correction by the instructors to make sure our essays have not deviated from the two approved outlines of conversion, and we rewrite them when they come back with “errors” marked in red.

Freedom from fear, especially the fear of death, is what is being sold. It is a lie, as everyone who works to write and rewrite their testimonies has to know on some level. But few people would have the firmness of mind to admit this in front of other believers. Such an admission would be interpreted as a lack of faith. Yet creation of this internal conflict is also part of the process, for it fosters a dread of being found out, a morbid guilt that we are not as good or as Christian as those around us. The process, from its inception, is not only dishonest but cruel. The dissonance between individual sensibility and the group does not go away with conversion or blind obedience or submission. Belief systems that preach a utopian and unachievable ideal drive this angst underground, forcing the convert to measure him- or herself against an impossible ideal. This system ensures continuous feelings of inadequacy, self-doubt, guilt and self-loathing. That many converts feel deep remorse for past actions, for mistakes and cruelties, for the despair that has gripped their lives, only makes them more insecure.

The proper form for a conversion testimony is detailed for us in the Evangelism Explosion workbook:

Stage 1: What I was before. “Select one life concept such as loneliness, strife, guilt, fear of death, emptiness, rejection, insecurity, depression. Then include it (only one life concept per testimony) in an opening statement, saying, ‘Before I received eternal life, my life was filled with a paralyzing fear of death.’ Next, move from the general statement to a specific illustration out of your own life experiences. Give concrete details to make your illustration come alive.”[78]

Stage 2: How I received eternal life. “At this point, you may want to say something like, ‘Not many months later, a friend shared with me the most wonderful news I’d ever heard—that God had provided eternal life for me and what the conditions were to receive that life. As a result, many things changed in my life.’”[79]

Stage 3: What eternal life has meant to me. “At this point, you may want to share the life concept in reverse. If you selected fear of death as your life concept, you will now want to speak of courage in the face of death. If you chose the concept of guilt, you may now want to speak of forgiveness. The reverse of depression is hope; of emptiness, purpose; of rebellion, obedience, etc. Then you will want to illustrate the reverse life concept with another illustration from your experience. For instance, you may want to say, ‘The fear of death is now gone, and in its place is courage when facing death situations or thoughts about death.’”[80]

“As you prepare your testimony,” Kennedy says, “realize that you are fashioning an evangelical tool, so that you will be a more proficient witness.”

There are two possible types of conversion experiences, the class is told: a childhood conversion and an adult conversion. Those who have experienced childhood conversions are told by the instructors not to state in the testimony that they were converted as a child. It will hurt their credibility with adults.

A childhood conversion testimony starts with the sentence “I’m glad I have eternal life because it’s given me the certainty of knowing where I’m going when I die. And because of this, I have no fear of death.”

The instructor gives us an example of an effective childhood conversion testimony:

“‘Not long ago we were driving north on Interstate 57 during an ice storm that put a sheet of glazed ice on the highway…. We were easily easing along at 25 miles per hour, looking for a place to get off the highway to find shelter for the night, and as we were driving we came alongside a semitrailer truck.’ They’re painting a picture here. ‘The wind was blowing very hard, and the trailer truck became like a sailboat, catching the wind.’ Got this picture? ‘Whoa. The truck was gradually being pushed across the center line, and steadily toward the car. There was nowhere to go. We couldn’t go to the right because we’d run into the truck; we couldn’t go to the left because we would eventually end up in a ditch with the truck on top of us. And as we waited to see the outcome, our tragic injury seemed certain. My whole life came before me, and yet God gave me complete peace in my heart, knowing that even in light of this almost certain tragedy, I knew for certain that if I were to die, I’d go to heaven. What a joy and a difference that made as I faced that danger. And it’s the same today. I know that if I were to die right now, I’d go to be with God in heaven.’

“See?” the instructor goes on. “He captured your attention with a story, and that’s what we’re wanting you to build into your story, because all of you have that. I teach my trainers that they should be able to write a testimony like that. As they’re listening in the introduction, the Lord will capture them with something in their own story with which they can build a testimony.”

The adult conversion testimony, however, is different, although it too focuses on overcoming the fear of death. A stocky instructor recounts it for us:

“‘Before I received eternal life, I had a fear of death and dying.’ Same concept: the thought of death terrified me. ‘I had no idea what lay beyond death’s door for me. When I was in college I was living in a small home alone. One night, a terrible storm arose with wind gusts over 50 miles per hour. Kind of like Wilma down here; she was packing some heavy winds. The wind was so strong that the rain was pouring horizontally across the ground, our little mobile home was rocking on its concrete block foundation, and a bolt of lightning struck a tall oak tree right next to me. I was frightened, and I set up near to the sofa, fearful that I was going to die. Not many months later, a friend shared with me something very wonderful, and I received eternal life. Many things changed in my life. And now that I have eternal life, the fear of death and dying is gone. Not long after I received eternal life, we were driving north on Interstate 57 during an ice storm that put a sheet of glazed ice on the highway.’…Same illustration, only in the life of a person who’s accepted Christ, you know? And what happened before and then what happened after. ‘As we waited to see the outcome, death or tragic injury seemed certain, and my whole life came before me.’”

The class has their workbooks open to the chapter “Sharing Your Testimony.”

“Now here’s not how to give a testimony,” an instructor says. “‘I received blessing when I became a Christian! I received deliverance through the Sinners’ Prayer! I was unsaved and needed to be saved! My conversion happened when I put my faith in Jesus Christ, my savior, who died for the sins of those who trust Him. Praise the Lord! Hallelujah! Amen! I received salvation when I believed the Gospel and was washed in the blood of the Lamb, and I was born again when the Holy Spirit spoke to me at the altar of God. I lost all my friends and I lost my job, but God has looked after me ever since, and praise His name! The trials and tests are unbearable, and I just hope I can hold out until the end, and then maybe I’ll be able to go to heaven!’

“You know,” he says, “really, all of those things are true. All of those things are true of what happens in our lives. ‘The blood of the Lamb,’ that’s a great, great phrase. ‘The Gospel,’ ‘washed in the blood of the Lamb,’ ‘born again when the Holy Spirit spoke to me at the altar of God.’ What’s wrong with those statements? Way too churchy. Now you think how lost people think, and they don’t think that way. They don’t understand that. That is a jargon, and they just don’t have any clue…. We use phrases like that and toss them back and forth, and a lost person thinks we’ve dropped off another planet. So what we want you to do, we want you to go into your prayer groups and we want you to talk them through your story.”

The class of 60 evangelism students, many of them pastors, breaks up into preassigned prayer groups to practice their personal testimonies again.

We are told to always emphasize the positive and to find common interests, experiences, or viewpoints that will allow “your prospect,” as the potential converts are called in our manual, to identify with us. We are told to pepper our talk with uplifting thoughts, such as the comfort we have of going to bed every night and knowing that if we do not wake in the morning we will be in paradise with God. We are instructed to paint detailed pictures of terrible personal tragedies that have been solved by God. As an example, the manual quotes a parent saying that they had “a Christian son killed in Vietnam” but they are at peace with the loss because the parent knows that, since the son was a Christian, he has eternal life, and the parent will be reunited with him in heaven. Our testimonies and conversions must be sprinkled with words like “love,” “peace,” “faithfulness,” “hope,” “purpose,” and “obedience.” But the core of the message, the point we must impart to the potential convert, is that conversion has obliterated our fear of death, not only for ourselves, but the fear we have of losing those we love. This is what is being sold. And we, as the salespeople, are meant to stand as proof that humankind’s deepest fear, the fear of nonbeing, the fear of death, can be banished from life.

Two women from the church walk up in front of the group to role-play the conversion process. One sits in one of two green leather chairs on a raised platform. The other stands and pretends to knock on an imaginary door. The woman in the chair gets up to greet her visitor and welcomes her inside. They sit. The evangelist exchanges a few banalities about how nice the house looks and compliments her hostess on her taste in home furnishings. She “makes a friend.” She then gives her personal testimony. After the testimony, in quick succession, she asks the two questions that have to be asked early of every potential convert. The class has been cautioned that “when two people are present, begin by asking the person who seems least likely to have the correct answer.” The goal is to elicit incorrect answers, answers that allow the evangelist to push home the message that time is running out, sin is accumulating. The gift of eternal life waits to be taken, but without salvation everyone is damned to eternal punishment.

“‘Have you come to the place in your spiritual life where you know for certain that if you were to die today you would go to heaven, or is that something you would say you’re still working on?’” the evangelist says, repeating verbatim the first question.

“I would say I am still working on it,” the other woman answers.

The evangelist launches into the second question.

“Suppose you were to die today and stand before God and He were to say to you, ‘Why should I let you into My heaven?’ What would you say?”

Her mock recruit fumbles, talks about having lived a good life.

The evangelist repeats the answer, because, as the instructor has told the group, “this will help preclude the prospect saying at the end of the Gospel presentation, ‘I’ve always believed in Jesus Christ and trusted Him alone for salvation.’”

This is an important moment, we are told, because the conversion process depends on potential converts saying they are not sure they will be granted eternal life and they have not placed their total trust and faith in Jesus Christ for salvation.

“When you answered that first question, I thought I had some good news for you,” the evangelist says, lifting the sentence verbatim from the manual. “But after hearing your answer to this second question, I know that I have the greatest news you have ever heard.”

The workbook, lying open in front of the onlookers, instructs the evangelist to say this sentence with “great enthusiasm,” since, the workbook adds, this “precludes a hostile reaction.”[81]

Heaven, the potential convert is told after the questions are asked, is “unearned, undeserved, and unmerited. It’s free.” But it can come only through a commitment to Jesus Christ.

And then the discussion in the conversion process turns to sin. The evangelists are told to disabuse converts of the notion that sin is limited to robbery, murder, adultery or other specific acts. We are informed that sin “is anything that doesn’t please God or is a transgression of His law.”[82] Sin, the convert is to be told, is “the fatal malignancy which infects the soul of the entire human race.”[83] The convert is to be told that there is no escape from sin and that even the most righteous commit innumerable sinful acts.

This definition of sin is a subtle and pernicious twist to the traditional Christian concept of sin. As defined by Paul in his letters, sin is a state of being, a split between our conscious will and our real will, between us and something strange and alien within us. Sin is not, as Kennedy claims, a scorecard of rights and wrongs. For Paul, as well as many theologians such as Paul Tillich, there is no action, no matter how moral and good, which is totally pure or moral, totally free from sin. Sin is, rather, a way of describing our estrangement from others and ourselves, from what Tillich calls “the ground of our being.”[84] It is estrangement from the origin and aim of life. When we carry out acts that further this estrangement, when we violate our relationships with others and with ourselves, we sin. But Kennedy paints sin as something quantifiable, as if there were a digital counter that recorded one sin after another and stored the information in some heavenly bank account.

An instructor turns to a church member and illustrates how to speak about sin to a potential convert:

“Suppose I could get to the point where only ten times a day or five times, or let’s say three times a day, maybe one attitude [of] sin—jealousy or anger or bigotry—maybe one thing…slips from my mouth that’s hateful,” he says. “And maybe I miss doing something that I know I should do, like help my neighbor when they’re having a special need. What do you suppose would happen if I got that good? Man, I’d practically be a walking angel! But do you realize that at the end of the year I [would] have a thousand violations against God’s law? And if I live to be, well I’m 59 right now, so I’d have 59,000 violations against God’s law. What would happen if I died right now, or not died right now but stood before a judge right now with 59,000 traffic violations? Think what would happen. He’d say, ‘This is a habitual offender; let’s get him off the road.’ And he’d basically take my license and I wouldn’t be able to drive. Well, imagine standing before the judge of the universe with 60 or 70 thousand violations against God’s law. And that’s at the very best, that’s at the very best! But what we’re really trying to say with this is, you know, not only does a little add up to a lot, but our sin problem is serious. And then you can move right in.”

At that point the pairs form again to practice delivering the message about sin.

After the practice session, the instructor asks: “Why do we put the three-sins-a-day illustration in there?” Several people call out answers.

“A little bit of sin turns into a lot of sin,” he says. “All right. It’s that multiplication again.”

The point the evangelists are instructed to make is that eternal life cannot be achieved through good deeds or even a good life. It is impossible to earn your way into heaven. We must accept that we have sinned, will always commit sins, and ask to be born again so Jesus will take our sins upon Him. Once this is done we can learn to live a new way, a way that, while not totally free of sin, allows us to live a life approved by God, a life in which, with the help of the church, we learn to reject sinful acts. The believer can learn to condemn and avoid sinful acts—acts defined for him or her by church leaders as anything that doesn’t please God or is a transgression of His law. The leaders determine these acts, rousing the believer against what they label as sins, such as abortion or homosexuality. The emphasis, once the conversion is made, is on acts, acts that please or displease God. The believer can delineate these acts only with the aid of church leaders. There is a calculated destruction of individual conscience. All must submit to the will of those godly men who define the communal good. Sin, in short, is anything the leaders do not like.

“Because He is a just judge, He must punish our sins; His law declares that our sins must be punished and that He ‘will by no means clear the guilty.’ There is no doubt about this!” the instructor tells us.

The potential convert is to be told, finally, that Jesus came to earth and died “to pay the penalty for our sins and to purchase a place in heaven for us” and that “to receive eternal life you must transfer your trust from yourself to Jesus Christ alone for eternal life.”[85] The convert is asked whether he or she is willing “to turn from what you have been doing that is not pleasing to Him and follow Him as He reveals His will to you in His Word.”

The evangelist and convert bow their heads and pray, with the convert repeating each line after the evangelist.

“Lord Jesus, I want You to come in and take over my life right now. I am a sinner. I have been trusting in myself and my own good works. But now I place my trust in You. I accept You as my own personal Savior. I believe You died for me. I receive You as Lord and Master of my life. Help me to turn from my sins and to follow You. I accept the free gift of eternal life. I am not worthy of it, but I thank You for it. Amen.”

When this prayer is over the believers are told, “Welcome to the family of God.” They are told to read a chapter a day in the Gospel of John and that they will be visited again in a week to talk about the Bible. They are encouraged to pray because God “promised to hear and answer our prayers.” They are told to find “a good Bible-believing church and become a part of it.” They are told to join a Christian fellowship group. And they are told to witness to their families. With this, the process of deconstructing an individual and building a submissive follower is begun.

The goal is more than building the church; it is building a Christian America. Kennedy talks often about the recruitment of legions of new believers to the political as well as the religious arena. He claims to have brought in millions through Evangelism Explosion.

Kennedy insists that America was founded as a “Christian nation.” The denial of the Christian roots of the nation, he says, is a “great deception [that] has been used to destroy much of the religious freedom and liberty this country has enjoyed since its inception.”[86] And Kennedy’s crusade is well funded and well organized. He is backed with grants, often for millions of dollars, from conservative trusts such as the Orville D. and Ruth A. Merillat Foundation and the Richard and Helen DeVos Foundation, which has over the years given nearly $6 million to his church organizations.[87] The drive to bring in new souls is also an open drive to broaden the political base of the movement and impose a theocracy.

The prayer partners are told to separate into clusters. Those in the room take turns practicing their testimonies in front of their group of three or four, with the other members critiquing the performance. The final version of each participant’s written testimony is to be turned in the next day. My prayer group has three other people, including one of the few African Americans, a thoughtful man who grew up in the church and was converted as a child; a middle-aged man who overcame drug and alcohol abuse as an adult through his conversion; and a grandmother, who said that as a child she had a morbid fear of death that was overcome only when she was saved and assured of eternal life. I pair off with the grandmother, who is chatty and friendly. We read our testimonies, trying to get them exactly right.

A woman from the church tells us how to share the Gospel with a person who suffers from dementia or Alzheimer’s disease. She heads teams that go into 24-hour nursing homes and assisted-living facilities.

“These precious people are basically confined to these types of facilities,” she says. “Now they say by the year 2025, there will be two seniors for every teenager on the face of this earth. And with multiplication and with people living longer, in the United States they say pretty soon there will be about 50 million people that are alive [who] will end up spending their final years in some type of facility. So this is an untapped resource.

“They’re always there,” she tells the group. “And so we get to go back and we get to see Miss Mary, week after week after week, and share with her.

“The other thing that we’re dealing with is different forms of dementia,” she adds. “The most common form is Alzheimer’s. So for most of us—and I mean, I forget things easily—we have to go back and repeat ourselves. But that’s OK. Maybe the first week we’ll just get through an introduction and maybe share our testimony, maybe the two questions. The next week we’ll go back, we’ll pick up with Miss Mary, maybe we’ll have to refresh her memory.

“One thing that we get a lot with the elderly,” she says, “they are so works-oriented because of the culture in which they were raised and having gone through the Depression. So we really have to talk about eternal life as a free gift. That has to be emphasized over and over and over.”

Disruptions, reluctance to accept the message, open hostility and interruptions during the evangelization process are always blamed on Satan, part of what is described to us as “spiritual warfare.”

“The devil is so obvious,” an instructor says. “I mean, he’s so easy to figure out.”

The instructor recounts the story of a house visit. The evangelists were sitting in the living room of a woman who asked the team to convert her unsaved husband. At the moment the evangelists were about to get him to accept Christ, the phone rang.

“It was an old-fashioned message machine where you could hear the person,” the instructor says. Through the loudspeaker on the machine, the group heard a child call out, “Daddy, Daddy, I know you’re in there.”

The group sat and listened to the plea of the child. Finally the father said, “‘Excuse me,’ and he walked over and just clicked it back off,” the instructor tells us. “He came back over, and my trainees at the time were just praying so hard, great drops of blood…that that guy could receive Christ. We got ahead of the distractions.”

[justheretodump]

lore explained: my story doesn't reflect accurate canon so to understand the differences, i suggest using this as a break off point to learn the name of things and researching more.

pt 1

constantine isn't australian, i just like him like that. he's an occult detective from the dc universe.

danny phantom characters don't have southern accents, i just like it. jasmine "jazz" fenton is the older sister of danny fenton, protagonist of danny phantom.

gotham university is part of gotham city. gotham city is where batman and other vigilantes reside.

lazarus pits are pools of dark green water in the dc universe that bring people back to life with heavy side effects.

justice league dark is a group of superheroes in the dc universe known for dealing with the magical, the occult or supernatural.

zatanna is a magician in the dc universe. she sometimes has a romantic relationship with constantine.

the infinite realms are the place where ghosts reside in the danny phantom universe. it can also be referred to as the ghost zone.

ra's, or ra's al ghul, is a recurring villain in the dc universe, often going against batman. he frequently is shown to have control of the lazarus pits.

doctor fate is a sorcerer in the dc universe. he's been shown to guide the justice league when dealing with different realms. the justice league is a group of superheroes that include batman, superman, wonder woman, etc.

jazz curses using the word 'ancients', referring to old ghosts in the danny phantom lore. this is a fanon habit.

red robin / tim drake is one of batman's / bruce wayne's sidekicks and adopted children.

one of the known lazarus pits in the dc universe is in arabia.

martian manhunter is a member of the justice league.

the bats refers to batman and his group of vigilantes.

pt 2

marinette dupain-cheng is the protagonist of miraculous ladybug. she carries out the role of paris superhero, ladybug.

chat blanc is a character from an episode by the same name. in it, her superhero partner, cat noir, is turned into a villain by the name of chat blanc. the episode show's a version of ladybug turned to stone by her partner turned rogue. it is caused by a butterfly effect that starts with a gift to adrien.

adrien agreste is a character in miraculous ladybug, acting as marinette's love interest and as cat noir.

gabriel agreste is adrien agreste's father, and the main villain of the show, hawkmoth.

peter parker is marvel's spiderman. in the film spiderman:homecoming, he fights a villain by the name of the vulture on a beach after said man steals a plane's cargo.

may parker is his aunt, and his only remaining family member.

the titans are a superhero group in the dc universe. multiple versions exist.

jim gordon is part of gotham's police force (his title depends on the version) and an ally of the bats.

dick grayson and jason todd are adopted sons of bruce wayne and vigilantes.

oracle is barbara gordon, daughter of jim gordon and a vigilante under batman.

amity park is the town the show danny phantom is set in.

superman / clark kent is from the dc universe. metropolis is the city he protects. he has many powers, i cannot list them all.

tucker foley is best friends with danny fenton in danny phantom.

the baxters are dash baxters' parents, a character from danny phantom.

mr. lancer is a teacher in danny phantom.

sam manson is danny fenton's other best friend.

pt 3

ghosts in the infinite realms can have weird characteristics and not look entirely human.

ghost lairs are what a ghost home is called.

iron man is a marvel superhero. in spiderman:homecoming, he takes on spiderman as a distant protege.

danny phantom being ghost king is fanon but i like it.

kingpin is a villain in a few marvel stories, including spiderman stories.

for the purpose of this story, marvel superheroes mentioned almost always operate out of new york (however, this could be retconned).

lois lane is superman / clark's love interest in the dc universe. for this story, she's his best friend.

danny fenton becomes half ghost by turning on the ghost portal while inside. he dies but revives. sam and tucker were there.

pt 4

ra's al ghul is leader of the league of assasins, a frequent adversary in dc comics. not sure if the league cannonically guards the pits, but that's the story i went with.

clockwork is a highly powerful ghost in charge of time in the danny phantom show.

princess dorathea is a character and ghost in the danny phantom show.

fright knight is second-in-command and the ghost king's minion in danny phantom. he serves under danny in my story.

the observants are all-seeing beings that watch over earth and the infinite realms. they can't get involved in stuff, but they can ask others to do their bidding. in the show, they're not fans of danny.

if you're unsure who jason todd is, he's alluded to in the final part based off of description.

[erraticopeninghours]

Crowley Meets "Jim"

Thoughts on 1.10: Crowley meets “Jim” in the bookshop

The line “Do we know a Jim?” is such a couple (or, at least, a group) type of thing.  Like, naturally, now they can admit to traveling in the same social circles! 

Also, I feel like Crowley is either doing a better job at remembering human names in Season 2 or is no longer pretending not to remember people’s names! This is shown more later, especially leading up to and during the ball, but I still find it interesting! Like, even given all of the meta about Crowley living in the Bentley and choosing not to settle, it does seem to indicate some willingness to develop connections with specific people and places (and also not have to hide so hard how much he likes (some) humans!) 

Crowley yelling at Gabriel honestly reminded me of what some people do when trying to communicate with other people who either can't understand or speak English or use other methods of communication.  Which I realize is not the scene or context at all, but I also wonder what it might show about Crowley and his views of angels (or at least angels who attempt to execute his only friend!)  Did Crowley actually think that approach would prompt better answers from Gabriel?  Or was he just eager for the chance to yell at Gabriel and take on the role of the person asking the questions this time? (I.e., the power position / authority.) I suppose Crowley is likely also feeling protective of Aziraphale their the bookshop, but his later comments about a house that's missing all of the furniture seem to suggest that he knew getting answers from Gabriel wouldn't be that simple.  

On the duster: (1) I think it’s such a bright yellow because Aziraphale doesn’t usually dust (don’t want customers to feel too comfortable), and he likely miracled it up to keep Gabriel busy!  But, I also feel like there are signs throughout the season that Aziraphale is, consciously or subconsciously, letting go of the bookshop and preparing to leave it (at least in some fashion.)  I had hoped that it was because he would be moving to the South Downs, but there are so many things that he seems to allow without fuss that he likely wouldn’t condone? Such as Gabriel / Jim not only dusting but also moving books around and attempting to organize them.  (We also see Crowley moving books multiple times?) I also initially thought that the fact that a fly had got in might mean that Aziraphale had allowed Gabriel to clear out some of the bookshop’s spiders.

(2) Yellow is 10,000% one of Aziraphale’s favorite colors, pass it on!  

Lastly, I love that we got to see more of the bookshop, both how the rooms in the back seem to connect to the main shop portion and the rooms up on the first floor!  And Crowley leading Aziraphale through the bookshop (looking just as at home as the angel!) made me so happy!  He knows that he doesn’t need permission to enter the more private areas; he’s always welcome!  (And he likes waiting inside.) 

(previous) (next) 

[backmaskedliedermacher]

Cults

A friend of mine recently linked me to a really interesting video called "Mind Control Made Easy (or How to Become a Cult Leader)". This seems to be one of the best-known works by an underground filmmaker by the name of Carey Burtt. I figured I would watch some of his other works to get a feel for where Burtt is coming from. Some of the titles are suggestive - there's one called "Hey Mister, You're in the Girls' Room" from 1990, which sounds like it might be interesting but is actually extremely stupid. I mean, no knock on Burtt, lost of people made these sorts of edgelordy underground films back in the day. There's also a film from 2021 called "Gaslighting: Fact or Fiction?" Which is a pretty highly suggestive title IMO. If there were a film called "Evolution: Fact or Fiction?" I wouldn't really expect it to look kindly on evolution.

The main thing I take from the titles of his works is that he seems to be very critical of religion as a whole. If there's one title that I would say is most revealing of his approach it would be the circa 2009 film "How Not To Be Stupid (a guide to critical thinking)".

Having said that, I found "Mind Control Made Easy", unlike "Hey Mister, You're in the Girls' Room", to be an interesting and well-made work, one that gave me cause for critical reflection. Narratively, it's a well-made pastiche of industrial films - in this case, more of the McGraw-Hill variety than the earlier Jam Handy productions. It's framed as a late '70s/early '80s style vocational film encouraging viewers to go into the "career" of cult leadership, and serves as a pretty good overview of the general view of cults in the 1990s.

I'm perhaps a bit unusual in that I have accepted for quite some time that I am unusually subsceptible to being taken advantage of by a cult of some sort or another. The conventional wisdom, in the '90s at least, is that people who fall for cults are, well, "stupid", but the available data doesn't really seem to bear this idea out. In fact, many people who fall for cults are the sort of people who get thought of as being highly intelligent.

There's this personality test known as the "Big Five" test. Now, personality tests are very popular, but pretty much all of them are fundamentally pseudoscience. Whether one tests as an "INTJ" (as I used to test) or an "ENFP" (my current MBTI "type") doesn't really seem to correlate with any meaningful, measurable differences in human behavior. "Big Five" traits, on the other hand, do.

Anyway, one of the more interesting "Big Five" traits is "Openness to Experience". I score pretty high on this. Interestingly enough, in the past this trait was classified as "intelligence". I suspect this represents a misclassification, based in normative biases, in early versions. One does further research and refines these things. Personally - and this reflects my own biases - I interpret "openness to experience" as "queerness". Of course this isn't true. Not all queer people score high on "openness to experience" and not all people with a high "openness to experience" are queer. That's just my personal, well, association with the idea of "openness to experience". My openness to experience gave me the ability to accept myself as queer more readily than other people might. At the same time, I do think it's this quality that makes me subsceptible to cults.

I was a member of one of the better-known "parody cults" in the 1990s, the Church of the SubGenius. I found it an interesting experience. I understand that the organization's leader, Ivan Stang, in recent years has made a film clarifying that for God's sake it was a fucking JOKE please do not take it seriously. It is, I think, a good thing that he did this. With religion, well, it's easy to get in over one's head.

For an example of this, we need only look at the organization which Stang used as a template for his parody religion - Jim Jones' People's Temple. Stang has often recounted how he was inspired by the mass suicide/murder of members of the religion in Jonestown, Guyana, concluding that if Jim Jones could get all those people to kill themselves for religion, hell, he could get that many people to send him a dollar.

Unfortunately, Stang, like many others of that time, fundamentally misconstrued the nature of the People's Temple at its inception. Jones was not attempting to found a death cult. He was not, in fact, religious at all. He was an atheist and a Communist, hoping to use religion as a trojan horse to give his subversive, anti-American ideas, such as civil rights, the cloak of legitimacy.

So what interested me about the Church of the SubGenius was the extent to which it ceased to be a joke. I was present at the so-called "X-Day" celebration, the parody cult's idea of the apocalypse. The idea was to deliver the punchline to a very long shaggy-dog joke, but by the time the punchline was delivered it didn't particularly matter. What interested me is that even though nobody, myself included, genuinely believed the apocalypse was about to happen, getting a bunch of people who claimed to believe in it, no matter how disingenuously, made the event seem, if not likely, than, well, possible, at least within that particular moment. Superstition is part of life. Stang would often, as part of his sermons, dare God to smite him, and then joke nervously about it. Such things seem more possible than they actually are.

Burtt's "How To Become A Cult Leader" came out the year after X-Day, by which point I had moved on to pretending not to have gender dysphoria full-time, so I hadn't seen it before. Watching it this year was interesting to me because several qualities he attributed to "cults" were ideas I myself embrace. My ideas are basically radical, particularly in comparison to what I was taught. At some point I realized that pretty much everything I thought I knew about myself was wrong and made a radical life change. Cassie Labelle, in 2019, wrote an article titled "Being Trans Is Like Believing a Conspiracy Theory About Yourself":

Which was interesting to me because conspiracy theories were also at the root of the Church of the SubGenius. I think… what is interesting to me about conspiracy theories is less whether or not they are true, and more what they tell us about the people who believe in them. From what I can tell, mostly what it tells us about the people who believe in them is that they are bigots.

Bigotry, or at least discrimination, is at the heart of cults. There is Us, the elect, and there is Them, the enemy, who do terrible things and lie about it. It's that endemic distrust, the assumption that one's enemy acts in bad faith, that enables all of the things that come from cultism to follow.

There's a guy named Caelan Conrad who made a long series of videos talking about the cult-like aspects of the anti-trans "gender critical" movement:

I haven't really watched any of these videos, because they're long and because, well, I'm not really interested in anything "gender critical" people have to say. I am in a position where I believe that they act in bad faith, I do think of them as being fundamentally hostile to me and people like me. I believe that their goal is to hurt trans people, and as a trans person, I feel the best way to protect myself from them is to not listen to or engage with anything they have to say.

Which means that I can't really speak meaningfully on them, including the question of whether or not they're a "cult". I'm really coming at this video exclusively as a way of examining how Burtt's statements relate to my experience as a trans woman.

Carey's opening pitch is this: "Don't you want devoted followers who leave their families for you, give their money to you, give their bodies to you, give up their lives for you, consider you God, and will kill for you?"

Of course, implicit in this is the single greatest way in which my transness is not a cult in nature - the absence of charismatic leadership. The anti-trans movement today does depend on widely platformed charismatic speakers articulating a particular set of beliefs, whether that be J.K. Rowling, Matt Walsh, and probably other people who I don't really know because, well, I go out of my way to avoid those people. We really don't have anybody comparable. Oh, there are plenty of charismatic trans people, for sure, but none who have the reach and influence of a Rowling or a Walsh, and none who, well, recruit.

This is the second great failure of transness. I mean, for God's sake, how the hell would I even go about recruiting someone, convincing them to transition? Do you know how fucking ludicrous that is? Like, seriously, the only reason I did it was because I'd genuinely wanted to be a girl my entire fucking life, I'd been miserable for most of my life, and I was out of other ideas. I didn't actually expect it to work.

That's not to say that it's impossible. That was the big cult the year before X-Day, the "Heaven's Gate" cult. Marshall Herff Appelwhite. There was some comet, Hale-Bopp, I think. Always comets. These comets, you know, they keep getting hyped, and every single one of them is a disappointment. Kohoutek. Halley's. Hale-Bopp. People make such fucking big deals out of them and it's never been worth it.

Anyway, Heaven's Gate did the mass suicide thing but the other thing… eight members of the group, including Appelwhite, had bilateral orchiectomies. I don't know. I did kind of wonder about that. One of the things that struck me when I started questioning my gender is that it was considered more… respectable and legitimate, somehow, to say that I was literally not human, that I was a Yeti, than that I was a woman. I don't see any reason to believe Appelwhite was trans, to be clear. That said I know that lots of people these days self-identify as eunuchs - they're not "transgender" per se, but they do want to have their testicles removed. It's still surprisingly hard for them to get that done.

Which is to say that it's hard to draw a causative link, it's hard to say that these people got their testicles removed because of pressure from the group, as opposed to the group providing a pretext for having their testicles removed.

I have a meme in my downloads directory. Like most memes it's not attributed. It's a screenshot of a page from a book by someone named Brianna Wiest. It says this:

"Your new life is going to cost you your old one.

"It's going to cost you your comfort zone and your sense of direction.

"It's going to cost you relationships and friends.

"It's going to cost you being liked and understood.

"It doesn't matter.

"The people who are meant for you are going to meet you on the other side. You're going to build a new comfort zone around the things that actually move you forward. Instead of being liked, you're going to be loved. Instead of being understood, you're going to be seen.

"All you're going to lose is what was built for a person you no longer are.

"Remaining attached to your old life is the first and final act of self-sabotage, and releasing it is what we must prepare for to truly be willing to see real change."

Now, all of this is stuff I believe in, it's stuff I find personally inspirational. These ideas are ideas that help me live my life from day to day. Could a cult leader say these things as part of a recruiting pitch? Absolutely. I can absolutely see those same words being used to recruit someone into a cult.

What Wiest is advocating, though, is not cultism, but radical change. Radical change is one of the ideas that lies at the heart of cultism, it's what allows them to control and manipulate people, but it is not in and of itself bad. I have to say this again because of how different it is from actual cults - trans people place no pressure whatsoever on other people to undertake any course of action in terms of transitioning. I have a friend who stopped taking their hormones last month. Am I upset about that? Not really. They're doing what's best for them. If taking hormones wasn't making them happy, you know, they should stop doing it. All that I believe in is possibility, in permission. It's not about what people should do, but about what people can do.

It's just that doing that has meant leaving behind a lot of people who are important to me (and not because they're transphobic), changing my name, taking hormones, having major surgery to change my body, some of which cost me a great deal of money and was considered "elective" at the time, and completely changing my personality. I mean, all of that stuff has been a change for the better if you ask me, but I wasn't really taught to believe that going through radical changes like that could be a good thing.

So beyond the opening pitch, what doesn't apply?

First off, Burtt says that the exterior should appear benign and that the true "kookie controlling evil" bits should be hidden. Trans people don't really do that. I mean sometimes we'll "perform respectability" but we don't like to do it. We're pretty openly radical, alien, and different.

I also go out of my way to argue against the common idea held by trans people that "time is running out and soon it will be too late". This is a fallacy, a misconception, that a lot of predominantly young people have. One of my core beliefs is that it's never too late to grow and change as a person.

Burtt says that a cult technique is to surround cult members with "true believers" in the hopes of convincing prospective members that what they're doing is "normal", but I am not sure this is necessarily exclusively a cult technique. If somebody's questioning their gender, I do think it's important for them to not hang around a bunch of transphobic bigots. In other words, the problem isn't the technique itself - it's more a question of the merits of the beliefs the technique is being used to advocate.

Similarly, giving people positive attention, affirmation, and love isn't a bad thing - it's only when it's disingenuously used to manipulate people and induce a state of dependence. I'm pretty relentlessly affirmative, always encouraging people to trust themselves, believe in themselves. At the same time, I work not to make them dependent on me in any way, not really out of virtue but because I don't want to put myself in a position where I'm wholly responsible for someone else's sense of self-worth. That's a really shitty position to be in.

Burtt suggests prescribing a rigid schedule. Yeah queer people do not do that. That's… very not us. I try to get out of bed most days. It's expected that we'll nope out of things at the last minute. My friends try to keep me from ghosting everybody entirely and not talking to people for weeks on end, but that's as close as I get to a "rigid schedule".

As far as control of information, there's no centralized control keeping trans people from messages critical of trans people, but I absolutely do encourage people to avoid people who are out there giving trans people negative messages about themselves. When people talk about "gender ideology" they're not talking about an organized group, they're attacking individual people for their individual beliefs, trying to make them feel shame, guilt, and isolation because of their own beliefs.

The really interesting bit is the bit where Burtt talks about "separating the recruit from himself by attacking the self and inducing a mental breakdown". An "egg crack" can very much look like this. My egg crack was a terrifying experience. Again, I think this is just a part of coming to terms with radical change. I think I fundamentally disagree with Burtt's proposition that these experiences are necessarily symptomatic of cult-like behavior.

Similarly, a lot of trans people have, uh, complicated relationships with our own bodies, and encouraging people to work through these negative feelings and be open to radically different ways of looking at things is… not necessarily cult ideology. The prospective cultist says: "I don't know who I am anymore." To which the cult leader responds: "Good, now you're afraid. In fact, there was no 'you' there to begin with." Again, this can be used in a really controlling, negative way, but at the same time, I did have frequent feelings of depersonalization, dissociation, and derealization before transition. It's not wholly false to frame that as there being no 'me' there.

Burtt says one cult technique is to "induce trance states and self-hypnosis by practicing thought-stopping rituals and repetitive acts". I think all of these things are pretty dangerous except for thought-stopping rituals. Mindfulness, stopping my brain from ruminating, is really important to my own well-being. An important difference is that I am in control of my own mindfulness, and it's not a state that's induced by other people in order to make me receptive to their attempts to control me. Burtt characterizes childhood a state of "mindless obedience". I can only imagine he hasn't spent that much time around actual children.

Regarding encouraging separation from friends and family - again, I absolutely will do this. People are often not supportive and it can be healthy to separate from people who spend all their time trying to convince someone to be what they want them to be. Such behavior can be dangerous and disturbing, but I don't think it's inherently bad for people to set boundaries in order to work towards their own well-being.

Burtt says: "Encourage dependency and conformity, and discourage autonomy and individuality." This right here is the exact opposite of transness. Talking to other people about gender, there's a widespread endorsement of the idea of self-determination, and an appreciation for diversity, the fact that there are no universal, common experiences of transness. It can look really different from person to person.

Burtt then says it's suggested for people to demonize their early lives and to rewrite their past as terrible. The thing is, we all want to think of our lives as being great, or at least fundamentally OK, even when they aren't. So pre-transition, I did think of my life as OK, and I now see it as pretty terrible. I've come to terms with a lot of stuff I was repressing or denying, like, you know, being trans and all that, and my life has gotten a whole hell of a lot better, which also helps me see my life before as being pretty bad.

Burtt next suggests isolation, and suggests making people feel they're part of an elite group with an important mission. A cult leader says, "Monuments and historical landmarks will someday be erected to commemorate us!" I don't think… anybody's told me to feel that way, but I do sort of feel that way. I think it's really important for me to be out as trans, for me to live by example, helping people to get past the misinformation and disinformation they're being fed about people like me. I think it's not unlikely that monuments and historical landmarks will commemorate the trans rights movement. I don't particularly care. There's that old union speech that says that someday they'll build monuments but those don't do me any good. Monuments are for dead people. I want a better future, but I also want to be my best self in the present.

Similarly, as an out trans person, having an "us versus them" mentality is… unavoidable. I can't really believe that an enemy is just a friend I haven't met yet. I don't really have that luxury anymore.

In terms of warning people of negative consequences… I don't try to foreground it, but gender dysphoria can really fuck people up. For a long time I tried to… think that if I didn't acknowledge my gender dysphoria, it wouldn't fuck me up, but it did, in fact, fuck me up, pretty badly. I want people to make their own choices, but a lot of times we have really shitty choices. For a trans person, choosing not to transition is not necessarily a neutral act, and it does not do anything to resolve their own sense of gender incongruence.

Anyway. Random thoughts, real conclusions here. I'm gonna go out and get some poutine now.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 4,833 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: the quarry, CDC Warnings: language, attempted sexual violence (no description, Shane to Lori) Summary: The group arrives at the CDC and tensions rise between Y/N and Daryl. Can they reconcile? A/N: This is the FINAL part of a miniseries! A/N: The patron and requester for this fic is the lovely goddess @winchestershiresauce so thank her for her amazing generosity! Without her, this wouldn't exist. Plus, she's delightful.

Your name: submit What is this?

Previous Chapter

You awoke very early the next day, your head feeling foggy. You walked your fingers over the back of your skull and winced at the tender spot where you’d collided with the ground during the attack. Apparently, you weren’t quite over the head injury yet and when you rose to pull on some fresh clothes you felt a bit unsteady. Perhaps you should have rested more yesterday rather than giving in to a carnal whim…

The morning was a chaotic as everyone decided what to leave and what to take for the upcoming journey. You hardly saw Shane since he was busy coordinating and supplying the convoy, not that you had necessarily expected to particularly see more of him. And Daryl? You caught a couple brief glimpses of him as you prepared, but he was a blur of motion and you distinctly thought that he was avoiding you.

The time finally came to leave and you had to say goodbye to some members of the group who had decided to go their own way, chiefly the Morales family. Sophia was particularly heartbroken to have to say goodbye to her friend.

You asked her to help you load some of the spare supplies into Dale’s RV as a distraction and Carol suggested that you ride with them. Jim was worsening from his bite wound and the subsequent infection and Jackie and Carol were chiefly caring for him. The least you could do was make sure that Sophia wasn’t scared.

You knew Rick’s heart was in the right place, but you were under no delusions about any miracle on the other end of this journey. You’d seen enough of the city and surrounding suburbs falling to pieces on and just after outbreak day and had serious doubts about a safe haven at either the CDC or Fort Benning… If you’d had your way, you would have just moved camp to another location farther out from Atlanta. But no one had asked, and ultimately you knew that both Rick and Shane had the whole group’s best interest at heart. You very briefly considered going your own way, but the thought was far too terrifying. To make it these days, you needed people. For now, you’d go along. And maybe you’d all get miraculously lucky.

_ _ _ _ _ _

The voyage was far harder than you imagined. By the time you were nearing the destination, most of you hadn’t had anything to eat for days, and had barely had any water. You felt yourself growing weaker and weaker, and in this world that was an automatic road to death, whether under the jaws of a walker or at the hands of another human.

When you arrived at CDC, your heart sank further into your stomach, churning restlessly as you looked at the endless corpses lying below swarms of flies, rotting in the sun. The smell was overwhelming, and if you’d had anything in your stomach at all it probably would have come up.

You hung back as the group moved toward the building silently, Rick leading and Shane flanking everyone, watching for signs of movement. A suffocating sense of unease washed over you, and your steps faltered. Suddenly, Daryl was next to you, glancing over at your face through narrowed eyes.

You glanced at him and then simply gulped down your disquiet and started forward again. He lagged behind you, staring back at the minefield of the dead.

Soon you were at the entrance, shifting anxiously and watching Rick become more and more desperate as his eyes wandered over the hulking building, which appeared to be securely locked down.

“I don’t—I don’t know about this,” you said, stepping forward.

Rick didn’t seem to hear you, but Daryl was abruptly at your side again, and you felt his eyes on you.

Suddenly, a few walkers began reviving and wandering toward the group. Daryl dropped the lead with a perfectly placed bolt to the head. Panic began to set in. And then panic turned to desperation of two kinds: Rick’s desperation to get in, and everyone else’s desperation to get anywhere but where you were, in the city after dark.

But then—the camera. And he swore that it had moved with intelligence to survey them. And then Shane was trying to drag him away, trying desperately to talk him down. More walkers were gathering in response to the noise and you swore under your breath, unsheathing your knife and planting yourself between them and Carol and Sophia.

Daryl was still beside you, but his eyes were fixed outward on the walking dead, bow at the ready. When another walker was getting too close, he took the shot. You shifted anxiously, knife in hand.

Just when you had all given up, when Shane had dragged Rick back, when the chaos was peaking and the walkers were closing in, one of the metal shutters slid open with a rattle and blinding light poured out. You all hurried to move inside, cautiously squinting into the brightness, weapons raised.

There was Dr. Jenner, apparently the only person left in the place. As you rushed in with the last of your supplies, the shutter closed again with an echoing finality. You stared at it for a long moment as Dr. Jenner’s words echoed in your head. “Once that door closes it stays closed.”

You fell to the back of the group as everyone followed Jenner farther inside and down in an elevator. Daryl’s arm brushed yours and you glanced over, surprised to find him still beside you, but his eyes were steadfastly fixed forward.

Even more surprising, as you went to follow everyone else into the room where Jenner was going to take blood samples, Daryl’s rough hand landed on your arm and stopped you for a moment. His expression was serious and this time you met his eyes with a questioning look.

“Yer worried,” he said. It wasn’t a question. He could sense it and probably see it all over your face.

“Yes. Yes, I’m worried.” You hesitated. “I’m—I’m not trying to sound cliché but… I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” you said in a whisper. Before Daryl could say anything else, you turned and walked in to rejoin the group, sinking down in a chair beside Lori. Daryl took a chair on the opposite side, and a couple times you again caught him looking your way. His expression was unreadable, but you felt your nerves prickle.

Lori glanced at you. “You look pale,” she said.

You let out a wry laugh. “Don’t we all?” you asked, resting a hand absently on your achingly empty stomach.

“How is your head?” she pressed you.

“It’s fine,” you replied, forcing a tight smile. Your head was fine, but you were desperately thirsty and felt even weaker now that the adrenaline rush from outside had waned. You all needed food and water in a hurry.

When you got up to have your blood drawn, you wavered and fell back into your seat, a hand passing over your forehead. Lori gripped your arm. “Are you okay?”

You pulled in a few deep breaths and nodded. “Fine. I’m fine. Just—stood up too quickly.” You made your way over to the doctor who was watching with some concern.

Daryl was on his feet the moment you’d faltered. “We dun need blood tests,” he spoke up, an angry edge to his tone. “We need some goddamn food and water. She ain’t had a damn thing for days.”

You snapped around to look at him as Jenner wiped your arm with an alcohol swab, but Daryl seemed to be refusing to look directly at you, opting instead to scowl at your host.

The doctor looked at him, his expression darkening. “I—I’m sorry. I had no idea.” He glanced back at you. “I have more than enough to share after this. But a blood sample is the cost of admission.” You only nodded.

Once everyone had submitted to the blood test (and a few more of you had nearly passed out), Jenner kept this word and offered you a meal with more food than you could remember seeing since the fall, complete with wine and more than you could eat. Even Daryl seemed to be enjoying himself thoroughly despite his bad mood, but you couldn’t throw yourself into it, no matter how much you wanted to. You sipped at your wine, but didn’t drink deeply, and when Shane started asking for answers the mood was entirely darkened anyway.

His tone made you anxious and he seemed almost angry that Rick had been at least partially right—there was some sanctuary here. Tonight, you could sleep soundly without fear of a raid by an immoral group or an attack by the dead out of the darkness. But the sick feeling still nagged you. The dense, cold feeling that stuck between your lungs was telling you that something wasn’t right.

“Shane—” you tried to cut him off as he pressed for more answers.

“No, I want to know what the good doctor has to say,” he drawled. “Isn’t that why we’re here? So, tell us, doc. Why are you the only one left?”

The revelry was mainly over after that. In fact, you had enough and climbed to your feet, leaving your wine glass behind and exiting quickly for the hallway before you were overwhelmed by your emotions. You heard your name being called by several of your group, but you couldn’t stand to sit there a moment longer and hurried out into the hall to leaned up against the coolness of the wall behind you. Your head suddenly throbbed.

Shane shoved his chair back and swore under his breath, moving to follow you.

Daryl, now more than a few glasses of wine in, sneered at him. “Way to fuckin’ go, man,” he growled. Shane only paused a moment to shoot him a dirty look before finding you in the hallway.

You opened your eyes as he came near, sighing and pushing a hand back through his thick dark hair. “You’re upset,” he drawled.

You scoffed, straightening up. “Is it that obvious?” you said sarcastically.

“Well, what?” he pressed you, hands on his hips.

You shook your head. “Explain to me why you sound almost angry that we made it in here.”

His jaw clenched and he looked down the long empty hallway, tensing. “What, you think this is it? Everythin’ we hoped for? One man in a giant empty underground dungeon. Don’t you think we deserve some explanation? I mean, shit, this was supposed to be Rick’s holy land,” he said bitterly. “You really think we’ve found our new place?” he asked.

“I didn’t say that,” you argued. “But you don’t have to be an asshole. The kids are in there. We just lost a lot of people… You can let them have one good night before blowing it to pieces.”

Shane seemed to soften slightly at that and hung his head, sucking in his bottom lip for a moment, broad shoulders squared. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am being an asshole. I’m sorry. Okay? I just—I just want what’s best for everybody,” he said.

Your eyes narrowed at him. “As long as it’s your idea, right?” you challenged him. In the end, Shane had backed Rick’s decision to head for the CDC. He’d even been calm and kind as he hauled him away from the shuttered door before Jenner let you in. But tonight had revealed a deep rift, narrow for now, between him and his best friend that you suspected had almost everything to do with Lori.

Shane didn’t even acknowledge your last point and instead you noticed that his pupils were blown (maybe from the wine?) and he was staring at you fixedly. “I said I’m sorry for being an asshole, didn’t I?” He ran a thumb over his bottom lip. “I can make it up to you…”

You knew exactly what he was implying, but you were in absolutely no mood to hook up with Shane. Quite the contrary, your unease stemming from the realization that he was holding animosity toward Rick overtook your worries about Jenner and the CDC. “No,” you said, leaning back against the wall again.

Shane took a step closer to you, his eyes appearing darker than usual with the dilation of his pupils. “Why not? Didn’t we have a good time?”

Your stomach lurched. Regret? “I don’t have to explain myself. I said—”

A familiar southern drawl interrupted. “Everythin’ alrigh’?” Daryl was in the doorway, a stoic expression on his face.

“Fine,” you said, redirecting your gaze toward the floor.

The archer hesitated, easily feeling the bubble of tension he’d walked in to. “…ya sure?”

“She said it’s fine,” Shane snapped.

“Don’t seem fine,” Daryl argued. His eyes landed on your face and he had the familiar feeling of yearning he always did, but it now battled with his frustration over seeing you slipping from Shane’s tent late at night. That scene had haunted him since it happened, sticking like a Post-it note in his fucking head.

“It’s fine,” Shane said again. “I’m done here anyway.” There was some venom in his voice as he broke off and headed down the empty hallway to the room he’d claimed.

You finally looked up at Daryl when Shane was gone. “Thanks. I—”

Daryl’s expression halted your words completely. He turned and headed back into the kitchen area to rejoin the group. You sat with the hollow feeling growing between your lungs and finally turned to go find a room to claim and soak in some of the blessed hot water that Jenner had mentioned. Maybe that would soothe your agitation.

You felt like a new person after your shower. Your mood had lifted, and you decided to see what was available in the recreation room that Jenner had mentioned. You slowed as you heard urgent voices inside as you neared it, and you arrived in the doorway just in time to see something you wished you hadn’t. You were frozen for a split second as your brain struggled to compute what exactly was going on. “Shane!” you yelled almost at the same exact moment that Lori shoved him away. She was on the verge of tears, her face blank and white with shock, while you felt yours filling up with heat. “What the fuck are you doing?!” you demanded, rushing farther inside. Lori sank back from him, her chest heaving with fearful breaths. You stepped in front of her and squared off with Shane. You could smell the booze on him easily. “What the hell is wrong with you? What the fuck were you doing?���

Shane only wavered and made a hasty exit. Your glare followed him all the way out of the room before you allowed shock to overtake you too. Turning, your grasped Lori by the shoulders. “Jesus Christ. Are you okay? Was he—was he really—” She just shook her head, too horrified to speak. Tears burned in her eyes. “Jesus,” you muttered again, hugging her. “Jesus, Lori. I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t know what to do,” she said into your shoulder, near sobbing now.

“I know…” The only thing you could do was hold her until she calmed down and headed to her room to see Carl and her husband. You were left in the rec room alone, but your interest in letting your fingers walk over the spines of the books had vanished. You felt sick and empty. A makeshift bed sounded good. You hadn’t slept properly since you’d left the quarry. You hoped the door had a lock…

You’d turned the corner, your eyes fixed on the floor, and collided with something solid. You gasped as hands gripped your shoulders the same way fear seized you. You expected to see Shane there in his drunken stupor, but were met instead by Daryl’s blue eyes.

He read that something was seriously wrong on your face. “S’goin’ on?”

Your mouth only fell open and you blinked. Once. Twice.

Daryl sighed and his fingers left you. There were tingles where they’d been. “C’mon.” He turned and started down the hallway, looking back over his shoulder when he sensed you weren’t following. That prodded you forward and you felt your cheeks flush from the way he was looking at you. You averted your eyes back toward the ground and ghosted behind him until he turned into a small room. His crossbow was leaned up against the couch with his pack beside it. He sank down on the center cushion and waited expectantly, chewing on his thumbnail, his eyes narrowed perceptively.

“I heard somethin’. Somebody raisin’ their voice. Was you, wasn’t it?” he drawled, leaning into the backrest.

You cleared the tightness in your throat and nodded. “Yes.”

Daryl forced out a rush of air. It was an exhale that sounded heated, hurried. “Lemme guess. Shane,” he said.

You gulped.

Daryl was suddenly on his feet, pacing the length of the room furiously. “That guy? He’s—somethin’ is off with him! I dun trust him as far as I could fuckin’ throw him!” He froze, his eyes boring into you. He scoffed and shook his head, resuming his pacing. “Fuckin’ Shane… So, tell me! What the hell happened? What the fuck did he do now?”

Your stomach churned and you again opened your mouth to speak, but you weren’t even sure where to start. Vocalizing what you’d seen, him attempting to force himself on Lori, would make it materialize, etch it into reality.

Daryl let out a low noise that was more of a growl than anything. “What the hell were ya thinkin’?!” he demanded, flicking a hand in your direction.

You stared at him in stunned confusion. “W—What? …Why are you yelling at me?”

Daryl spun on you and the color in his face flared. “Because ya—of all the damn people—Shane? Ya picked Shane? I saw ya comin’ outta his damn tent that night! Ya picked—ya gave—” He was so angry he couldn’t even form proper sentences.

For a moment you wanted to wilt under his rage, but then—no. You’d done nothing wrong. You didn’t owe Daryl anything. He was the one who had acted strangely cold and distant. He was the one who suddenly seemed to start avoiding you. “I don’t see how who I fuck is any of your business!” you snapped at him. “I don’t owe you a damn thing!”

Daryl stepped back almost as if he’d been struck with a physical blow. Fuck. You were right. Of course you were. And that frustrated him even more. It wasn’t you, he was mad at. It was himself. And he was jealous.

You went on. “Besides, maybe it would have been you if you’d acted the least bit interested in me!” This time your ears and face burned pink. “But you suddenly acted like you didn’t want anything to do with me! You couldn’t stand to be around me for more than two minutes! And then I almost fucking died in that walker attack and I wake up and you’re—you’re like you again. Jesus, Daryl! I feel like I have fucking whiplash! Make up your mind!”

It was his turn to blink in stunned silence.

“And you want to know what happened? Shane wanted to hook up with me again tonight and I refused because he’s acting like an unhinged asshole and then I walked in on him trying to force himself on Lori! And here I am thinking you were interested in comforting me when something was wrong! That—that could have just as easily have been me instead of Lori that he was— Instead of being here for me, I’m getting yelled at for no reason!” You shook your head at him, nearly trembling with anger and trying to stop tears from welling up in your eyes.

Daryl ducked his head for a long moment and then crossed the room slowly and sank back down on the couch, his elbows on his knees. “Fuck,” he said softly, pressing a hand over his mouth and chin. His entire body seemed to sink.

“What?” you demanded.

“I—‘M… ‘m sorry,” he drawled, suddenly so ashamed he couldn’t even meet your eyes.

“About what?” you prodded him, crossing your arms. You weren’t going to let him off the hook that easily… though you could already feel yourself starting to crumble at the edges just a little. God, the stubborn, infuriating, handsome archer was your weak spot.

He sighed heavily. “‘Bout everythin’. ‘Bout everythin’ ya just said. Yer righ’ about all of it.”

“Like what?” you snapped.

His blue eyes lifted and met yours and you saw pain and regret in them. “…ya really gonna make me say all of it?” His tongue flicked out to lick his bottom lip.

“Yes. I am. Because I’m mad at you. And you acted like an ass.”

He nodded sheepishly. “Yer righ’ that it ain’t none of my damn business what—what ya do with anybody. Yer righ’ that I shoulda just been askin’ ya what was wrong just now instead of yellin’ at ya. Yer righ’ that I’m an ass…” He hazarded a glance at you and he thought your expression had softened some. “Yer right that I pushed ya away and then—then was so scared and worried sick after the attack that I wanted to—I didn’t wanna be away from ya for a second. And ‘m sorry. If ya dun want anythin’ more to do with me, tha’s more than fair and ya can go right now and I won’t try’n stop ya. I will keep tryin’ to keep ya safe, but I won’t bother ya again.” He paused, as if he really was waiting for you to walk out the door and not look back.

You uncrossed your arms and let your eyes search his face.

“But if I can—uhh,” he rubbed a hand awkwardly over the back of his neck, “Can I just ask one thing?”

You cocked your hip and nodded. “Go ahead.”

“Are—are ya okay? After this thing that just happened, I mean… with—”

You nodded. “Yeah. Yeah… I’m not sure how Lori is but… I’m—I’m okay. I think.”

Daryl let out a sigh and nodded. Another wave of anger passed over his face. “I wanna beat the shit out of him,” he said through his teeth. He paused and looked up at you again. “I wanted to beat the shit outta him when I saw ya comin’ outta his tent…” he admitted, his tone softening.

Your cheeks flushed again.

He stood up suddenly, his expression almost desperate. “Can I just ask ya one more thing?”

You nodded, your heart suddenly pounding as he stopped in front of you, a mere foot away.

“Ya said—ya said somethin’ when ya were yellin’ at me and I—” he broke off, buzzing with nervous energy.

You nodded, understanding. “That it might have been you?” you offered.

He hurriedly cleared his throat and you nearly smiled as he blushed crimson. “Yeah…”

“What about it?”

His blue eyes were questioning, rimmed with disbelief. “Did—did ya mean that? I mean—not that ya, uhh… Like—just as—because—”

Now, you did laugh lightly at his nerves and he stalled out completely. You gave him a moment to try and find the words.

“When—Shane. D’ya like Shane?”

You cocked an eyebrow at him and smiled a little at the way he’d asked. It was so school boy on the playground the way he’d said it. “Do I like him? Not after what I just saw… and there’s something wrong. You’re right about that. I didn’t see it until dinner tonight.”

“Right…” He wrung his hands. “I mean—did ya have feelin’s for him before?”

“You mean when we slept together?” He nodded stiffly. “Daryl… sometimes a girl just has needs,” you laughed. “Everything was shit after the attack and I got hurt and it was stressful and it was just—it just was what it was. I didn’t have any real feelings for him. I don’t.”

He nodded again and seemed to relax some. “Good,” he breathed. “Uhh, I mean—not…”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Are you going to tell me why you acted like such an asshole all of a sudden?”

He sighed. “Because ’m an idiot,” he drawled. “Ya asked me down to the reservoir and I thought—maybe ya—but then Merle said—”

“Merle?!” you repeated, incredulous. “Daryl!”

He gulped. “He told me I was readin’ the whole thing wrong… He said that somebody like you would never—could never—ya know… like somebody like me. And the more I thought about ya, and the more I thought about it, I just… I thought he was right.”

You were shaking your head in disbelief. “You believed Merle over the fact that I asked to spend more time with you? Oh, Daryl…” So much wasted time. That’s all you could think.

Daryl ducked his eyes. “Stupid. I know. Seems obvious now that he ain’t around sayin it, but at the time—‘M sorry I acted like an ass. I dun deserve a second chance from ya, but—”

You’d grabbed him at that moment and kissed him. His lips tasted faintly like wine still and he was absolutely frozen beneath you for a moment before his arms looped around you. His hand settled so lightly on your lower back you thought you’d imagined it for a moment. The other fanned out feeling the edge of your shoulder blade. And he kissed you back eagerly and a little clumsily.

You pressed into him and then pushed a hand gently in the center of his chest until he understood and started walking back. The back of his legs hit the couch and he fell down onto it. You bit your bottom lip, looking down at him for a moment as he gazed up at you in foggy, happy disbelief. Then you straddled across his hips and looped your arms around his neck and kissed him again. He deepened it immediately, kissing you like he was starving for you, for the taste of your lips, for the feeling of you under his hands. He nearly shivered as your fingers combed through his hair. You softened the kiss and after a moment, pulled back and looked into his blue eyes.

“S’that always how ya give people second chances?” he drawled. His voice was a little dreamy and you felt a rush of pride that you’d made him that way.

“No. Just the ones I actually really like,” you said softly. You brushed some hair away from his eyes. “Can I ask you for a favor?”

“Anythin’,” he drawled. He couldn’t look away from you. You were like white-hot magnesium and he couldn’t stop basking in your light, even if it did burn him.

“Can I stay with you tonight? Just—sleep. But after earlier—”

He gulped. “Of course. Please.”

You couldn’t help grinning at him and pressed a kiss to his lips again. “Daryl. Don’t ever believe anyone, Merle, that voice in your head, anyone, who tells you that you aren’t enough. I’ve always wanted someone like you.”

He looked stunned and a little bashful again. His hands landed lightly on your hips. “Ya can have me,” he drawled nervously. “I’ve already been yours a while.”

“Yes, please.” You kissed him again and the two of you were lost in each other for a long time, lips kissed raw, hands memorizing silky curves and hard angles, fingers tracing over bare skin and lighting it up with electricity. And it was just right, just perfect. There was nothing hurried about it, nothing ingenuine. It just was. And what it was, was two people who had found their complementary halves.

You slept pressed together that night, all of your unease from earlier in the evening had diminished with his arms around you. Whatever came, whatever was ahead, the two of you could meet it unafraid.

[lifewithdavefarts]

DaveFarts - Episode 6 “Fart Bet, Easy Bucks” [Episode List] When, rather immaturely, Tim’s friends are doing some random, silly bets, things soon turn stinkier and gassier as Dave joins the game…

Fart Bet, Easy Bucks

The immature, roaring laughter of me and my friends echoed in the living-room as another pal of mine, Jim, took one last bite of an onion, his cheeks turning red, teary eyes, almost puking in front us. We clapped our hands like the drunk monkeys we were, ignoring our friend’s gagging sounds, and we all took another shot of vodka in his honor.

“Well done, Jim!” Adam laughed, as tipsy as the rest of us.

That’s what we were doing in Adam’s parent-free house: really mature bets. At late night, it was almost 3:00 a.m. Our onion-eating friend just lost one of those silly bets we were challenging each other to do. Pretty stupid tasks, like standing on one foot for 3 minutes or reading stuff upside down. Quite mundane, easy, but try doing it after two bottles of vodka-lemon. Each.  The loser had to take a couple of bites of an onion, because as I said, we’re very mature. And clever.

The entire room stunk like that stinky vegetable and alcohol, didn’t help that some of us were also burping loudly and proudly, but we were too tipsy to even notice or even be bothered by that (plus, it’s not like I’m not used to… bad-smelling stuff…). When not betting each other to do shit, we were all sitting on two different couches: Adam, Jim and a couple of other guys were all sitting and burping on a longer couch, while I was on a smaller one with Dave, sitting next to me.

As more laughs roared in the room for no reason, in the chaos, Dave elbowed me and chuckled a bit, bringing to my attention the weird vibrations on the couch: he was ripping one of his big farts, the sound completely muffled by the pillows, his loose dark grey jeans probably making it sound even louder and manlier. I only smiled a bit a took another shot of vodka; my gassy friend did the same, finding my awkward reaction hilarious as usual.

“Tim, it’s your turn!”

I almost chocked on my own drink when I heard my name: Dave’s flatulence usually makes me very absent-minded. I finally realized that Adam was standing in the middle of the room, each one of us, one by one, whistling a song to him: if he guessed wrong, then it’s onion-hell for him. It was my turn to whistle a song then. I think about it for a moment, and then I start to whistle this famous hit from a couple of years earlier, but I was pretty drunk, so I didn’t really realize how weird the sounds coming out of my lips were, but my friends laughing should have been a wake-up call.

Eventually, Adam ran out of time, because he couldn’t guess the song I was “singing” to him. He was mad, almost furious, but it was the alcohol talking.

“Tim, you’re an idiot!” he was understandably angry, because it was my fault. “That wasn’t even a real song, you asshole!”

Didn’t help that we were all laughing at him, but my friend didn’t accept defeat, and he actually had all the rights to.

“I’m not going to eat those fucking onions!” Adam shouted. “Tim made me lose: he should be the one choking on that shit!”

I wasn’t offended, to be honest. I was actually laughing like the rest of the guys.

“Dude… we’re out of onions!” Jim said, noticing the empty plate.

We all laughed even more after that and I may have given to my angry friend a smug-ish look. I was just kidding, but he took it very seriously.

“Oh you’re going down, Tim. Just you wait…”

He eventually convinced our other pals that I was, indeed, deserving a “punishment”.

“Make him lick your dog’s balls!” someone suggested. “Leave my princess out of this!” Adam replied, offended.

It’s like the entire group stopped being drunk just to decide what disgusting task I should have done. I just laughed the whole time: it’s part of the game, they were not mean-spirited. Even Dave suggested some stuff, like drinking expired milk with my nostrils. Each suggestion was met with a mixture of laughter and disgust.

After a couple of minutes of discussion, I felt Dave once again elbowing me.

“Gentlemen, please!” he shouted, in a slightly sarcastic tone. “Since you’re wasting my time, I propose an entire new bet. Whether the result, Tim will still get his… punishment, trust me!”

He was trying not to laugh, but he did earn some puzzled looks from our other pals.

“If Tim survives to  this  for 5 minutes straight…” he leaned a bit, the couch shaking again under the pressure of his enormous, muffled fart, which lasted 4 seconds. Our other friends laughed immaturely and I started to sweat. “…then you guys are going to give us 20$. Each.”

Dave was insane. Was he really going to do what I think… no, that’s just crazy. It can’t be, come on! There was people watching us! Our friends were a both amused and disgusted.   But also intrigued.

“But if he gives up, then Tim owes Adam… let’s see… 200$” “What?!” I thought, the money-part being the only thing I disagreed with. The thought of Dave face-farting me was amazingly distracting as usual.

As our friends discussed Dave’s proposal, my gassy friend just patted my shoulder. “Come on Tim, that’s some easy bucks, right?” he whispered, chuckling a bit. My fetish was just a weird, fun game to him, and I couldn’t have been happier. But in front of our pals? That was too strange even for my standards.

When I turned to my gassy bro, however, he was already leaning on his back, his legs cocked up, his loose dark grey jeans forming that well-known “barrage” made of denim, a really familiar sight for me. I heard my friends laugh, Adam getting closer to me, his hands on my shoulders.

“Come on Tim… I want to see your face turn green!”

He was trying to sound threatening, but he couldn’t help but laugh; I know Adam: he’s just a friendly dork trying to act tough and I knew that he was actually finding the entire situation immaturely hilarious. But he had to look mad, it’s part of his… character.

I heard Dave sucking some air in his ass, his jeans now sagging, exposing a bit of his red underwear (interesting color, that’s for sure). The weird sounds coming from my friend’s butt were the only thing I could hear, despite my friends laughing. Every time Dave farted was like a dream coming true, but this time we were not alone. I stopped thinking about how risky the situation was for a moment, knowing that my friends would never suspect what was really going on between me and Dave, and just listened to the chorus of “Sniff it!”.

I gently buried my face in that soft, denim pillow, his legs slowly wrapping around my head, as if he was hugging me, trapping me in his gas-chamber. With my nose touching his underwear-covered anus, I could still feel the air being sucked in. A moment of silence, and then I felt his butt-muscles relax, and a first fart began.

It was so loud it’s hard to describe. Despite being on command, it was incredibly gross and wet-ish. The smell was rancid and unbearable, the mixture of alcohol and onions in Dave’s stomach probably produced something that no human would have been able to handle. The fart was so strong… loud, manly: my entire face was shaking, I swear I’ll never get used to his gassy talent. I could barely hear my friends laughing: my ears were devoted to Dave’s immense display of flatulence.

I coughed a bit, pretending to hate the smell, when the truth was obviously really different. This first fart alone lasted almost 20 seconds, one of the longest I’ve ever experienced from him. Our friends clapped their hands in approval, having yet another shot of vodka, a toast to the incredible display of fart-talent they just witnessed, and just kept laughing immaturely.

As they laughed, I saw Dave’s face just above that “barrage” of sagging jeans: as usual, he was laughing, and smiled at me, and then winked: his “plan” was working great. I felt his hand brushing through my hair and gently pushing me even deeper into the denim depths of his ass, this time with my nose almost perfectly aligned with his underwear-clad anus.

Dave’s grip, as usual, felt more like a caress, and the fart that immediately followed was just as big as the first one. And hilarious as well. “This is a natural one!” I heard him say, basically bragging about his gassy-abilities, as the fart kept going strong, our friends laughing again. “Pull him closer!” Jim shouted, then (probably him) pushed me even more “inside” of Dave’s butt (I couldn’t tell if it was Jim, as my face –and eyes- was completely buried in my friend’s fart-shooter). Dave made his butt comically wiggle a bit, forcing some toots out: my nostrils were almost burning, the stench being a mixture of rotten onions and burning vodka-lemon.

“That’s so gay!” Adam laughed. Ironically, he was right, about me at least.

“3 minutes already!” I heard somebody scream. I almost lost track of time: as I said, those farts make me absent-minded. Dave just kept ripping this series of loud rips one after one, without even sucking in. I couldn’t tell anymore whether he was farting on command or not anyway: he was just so good at it that the farts always felt natural (and, 99% of times, they were). “Aww man.” Dave chuckled, lying down slowly. He was tired, exhausted. “Can I turn around?!” he asked. They all simply laughed in response, though I also heard some gagging sounds.

My best friend turned around slowly, adjusting his position, his legs somehow keeping my face planted in his ass, as if he was “wrestling” me down, albeit very slowly and gently. He was now lying on his stomach, his loose-jeans butt looking like a beautiful pillow made of denim, his red underwear slightly popping out.

“Do your longest one, Dave!” Adam suggested. I was both mad and grateful for that.

He then came closer and made sure that my face was buried in the farter’s butt, pushing me even deeper in it. Dave just laughed, while I was trying not to get as red as tomato. I just couldn’t believe how open-minded Dave was about this, going as far as face-farting me in front of everyone else; granted, the bet was a smart excuse, but still, I was speechless. I didn’t even feel embarrassed: it was like a big prank, and friends alway prank each other, but the friendship remains intact, if not even stronger.

“Alright, I feel a good one… ready?” my gassy friend said, but it’s like he was talking to me only, as if we were alone as usual, during one of our fart sessions.

It’s like his butt “hugged” my face even more, right before the explosion that engulfed my entire, defenseless head in a cloud of stench. The fart shook my entire face and part of the couch like an earthquake. The chainsaw-like sounds were as loud as a thunder; the whole flatulence sounded fake, but it wasn’t, at all. 10 seconds, but the fart kept going strong, almost unnaturally.

I caught a glimpse of Dave’s smile as he slightly turned his head around, making sure I was enjoying it, but the rest of our friends didn’t notice that apparently, as they were too busy laughing and clapping their hands. “No way!” Adam shouted, in a mixture of anger and hilarity: as the fart was still being ripped, Dave slightly lowered his jeans a bit, fully exposing the red underwear, the sound getting even louder. I felt his hand again pushing me between his buttcheeks, as he spread his legs a bit more. I was having a close-encounter with his anus, the underwear acting as one final line of defense separating me from the real source of that gas. The smell was unbearable: onions smelt nice in comparison. And it was great.

As a “big finale”, as Dave announced it, the flatulence turned as loud as it was humanly possible, the ear-piercing sound almost destroying my own eardrums. My nostrils were burning, my nose getting wet-ish due to Dave’s sweaty buttcheeks. It was the most intense face-farting that my best friend ever made me experience… and he was straight: imagine if he was gay!

“No fucking way!” Adam roared. “5 minutes!”

Everyone else cheered and laughed, playfully throwing pillows at our angry friend. I slowly sat back, Dave doing the same, tying his jeans belt again. He patted on my shoulder, laughing, while I was doing my best to tame my huge boner, hidden by my own jeans.

“No way! You guys did this before, come on!”

Adam asked, ironically (if only he knew…), now laughing too, as he took a 20$ bill out of his wallet. The rest of the guys reluctantly did the same, throwing money at us, disgusted and amused at the same time.

The entire living-room now smelt like onions and rotten alcohol (if rotten-alcohol existed… does it exist?), everyone moaning in disgust, while me and Dave counted the money we just earned… by cheating.

“Easiest bucks we ever made!” he whispered, handing 50% of the cash to me, elbowing me like he did other times. “Great job!” he chuckled.

We all had another shot of vodka-lemon, and the night proceeded as usual, as Jim found another stash of onions hidden in the fridge. As the really clever betting continued, my gaze landed more than once on Dave… just Dave, sitting next to me, as if nothing happened. He’s like a brother, my best friend. He did that for me, he felt he was really gassy because of all the alcohol… and so farted in my face as an excuse, money or not.

Yes, I bet Dave did all of that for me, not just the money. And that’s another bet I’m sure I’ll win.

End of Episode 6

[melon-kiss]

This is just going to be a ramble about everything Sherlock. You’re most welcome to discuss or just ignore it. I needed the space to vent.

I watched Sherlock. Again. I think it’s beginning to become my annual tradition. And I have a crisis. Don’t get me wrong, I am always Sherlollian at heart. It’s just… I have doubts sometimes. And what triggered those doubts this time was the fact that Sherlock calls Molly “John”. Twice. And then Irene Adler. And then one post on Tumblr. And many, many more.

OK, these are just my random thoughts. Enjoy if you’re willing to read them.

 1. “John”. “Molly”.

We often mix up names of people we consider to have the same place in our lives. Which is good, right? Right. Only, in Sherlock’s case, we’d have lean into the theory that Sherlock does love John romantically and feels the same way about Molly. Or concede the fact that he loves them both platonically. Neither of these options is really satisfying, isn’t it? Well, that’s why I’m struggling… One could say he’s in denial of feelings for Molly and identifies them as friendship, as this is the strongest, purest relationship in his life, the only one he describes as emotional and the closest he’s ever had to love. Besides, Molly and John are similar in one way – they both share the same – medical – knowledge. Of course, Sherlock doesn’t realise her other qualities until The Reichenbach Fall when she says she can help him whenever he needs it. It’s not until she’s honest with him again and tells him, without a shred of grudge, that she knows she means nothing to him, that he realises he has at least two friends. He calls her “John” when his mind is busy with something else, so there’s no room for any purposeful confusion. The same thing happens in The Empty Hearse. What else can it mean if not friendship?

 2. Nothing Hits Like Irene

Irene Adler is created as the love interest for Sherlock. Is she, though? Well, we see Sherlock utterly confused upon their first meeting. We also see him flirting and creating an atmosphere of sexual tension for the first time. OK, he saves her but then she vanishes, he got over her, I thought. And all was fine until The Lying Detective came and Irene Adler sent a text to Sherlock, first in such a long time. John, of course, suggests that if Sherlock should be romantically involved with anyone, it should be her. And then it hit me.

Irene Adler is the symbol of chemistry in Sherlock’s life.

She’s a dominatrix. She’s all about sex, that’s obvious. At the critical point of The Scandal in Belgravia Sherlock says: I believe John Watson thinks love’s a mystery for me but the chemistry is incredibly simple and very distractive. Sherlock discovers that he, indeed, can have chemistry with people. He doesn’t mention love, he merely says sentiment, referring to the crush Irene Adler had on him. She is, indeed, a simple distraction – you can see it clearly in his memory palace when he yells at her to get away. But Molly… Molly stays. She leads him through the entire process of surviving a shot.

And then Irene Adler returns in The Lying Detective. John confesses to Sherlock about texting with a stranger met on the bus. And that he wanted more. Sherlock says everyone gets to be human sometimes. Even he can’t resist the urge of replying to Irene Adler sometimes. It was all about attraction again.

And that’s why she’s not considered a romantic relationship in his life. John rambles about love changing him, to be more specific, the love of his woman changing him. But he says Irene’s a dangerous criminal. How would that change Sherlock in any way?

In The Final Problem, upon deducing the coffin, John suggests Irene Adler but she’s not his first thought in general once they all hear that this is about someone who loves Sherlock. Sherlock’s response is very telling: Don’t be ridiculous. Look at the coffin. It seems like Sherlock pieces the puzzle at once – the coffin, plus the “name” on the lid – it couldn’t have been Irene Adler.

And that’s why Sherlock calls her The Woman. As a symbol of his sexuality. The Woman who’s woken up certain impulses in his life.

 3. Makeshift Gauge

Who is she?, Sherlock asks John in His Last Vow.

Based on what Mofftiss duo said about Molly, she was supposed to be featured in two episodes top. Yet, she stayed. The uncanonical character not only stayed but became fans’ favourite. I think she became a useful tool for Moffat and Gatiss. I think that not only she represents Sherlock heart (of which existence he has no idea at first) but later becomes our makeshift gauge. For what? For measuring Sherlock’s progress. See, it’s like when you live with someone, you don’t notice when they put on weight or grew a little but those who see less of them will notice all changes right away. So, when Sherlock runs around with John, we don’t notice the change in his behaviour at once (also because he’s always been nice to him, from the very beginning), we need to focus to see that. But Molly pops by once per episode and we see how Sherlock’s perception changes. In season one, he has good intentions, but they turn out bad. In season two, he’s more neutral but doesn’t restrain himself from rude comments. And Molly is being Molly – tells him he’s rude in her natural, soft way and he says sorry. For the first time. Without anyone making him do that. Almost the same happens in The Reichenbach Fall – but this time, Molly doesn’t let herself be fooled by Sherlock’s arrogance and just ignores it, going straight to the point. She says: “I’m here for you” and lowers his defences. In season three, he spends an entire day with her, smiles at her and is the sweetest, softest Sherlock we’ve ever seen. Moreover, when Lestrade asks him about her helping him solve cases, he says: [John] is not in the picture anymore, implying that she not necessarily had to be a temporary replacement. In season four, he says I love you to her.

What can we deduce about his heart?

 4. The Eurus Conundrum

We could write an entire book about Eurus and not even be able to grasp her spirit. I’m not going to do that right now.

I have issues with what happened in season four finale. I mean – Molly, of course. Mycroft says Eurus and Jim Moriarty met five years ago, so before Moriarty revealed himself to Sherlock. They both planned the entire game for Sherlock. Does that mean Sherlock never really won with him? Does that mean Moriarty let him use Molly to “win”? Since she was included in Eurus’ plan, we can safely assume Jim knew about Molly back then. At first, when I saw Moriarty saying We both know that’s not quite true [that you don’t have a heart] in many Sherlolly fanvids, I was like naaaaah. He didn’t see her as one of the important people in Sherlock’s life, it couldn’t have been a reference to their meeting. But now… how deeply back in time was Eurus’ plan allocated? Which events did she predict?

Or maybe I’m missing something? Any thoughts on this?

 5. Sherlock Evergreen

I once came across a post here, about how BBC Sherlock is literature, about sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s struggle with his own genius character. He was over with him, didn’t feel like writing any more of his stories so he killed him, but fans demanded more. He kept writing, although he hated it from the bottom of his heart. Season four, so often considered as the worst of all of them, is a way of saying that Sherlock character is, unfortunately, invincible. Immortal. He will live forever. We can’t kill him, no one can. Even his creator couldn’t have done it.

In season four, Sherlock goes back to the start. He is a clean slate again. He went through the entire process of change – became a good Sherlock, considerate of other people’s feelings and emotions, appreciative, supportive, loving, ready to mend what he broke. That interpretation, although very good, kind of killed my Sherlolly spirit. But I guess every interpretation like this would do it. If we stop treating characters like real human being, we’re left with what they really are – a construct, tools, puppets in the author’s hands.

Based on this, I think we’re safe to say there will never be a fifth season of BBC Sherlock (gosh, how I wish I was wrong!). Why? Because, despite what Moffat said in an interview once (after season three finale he said they’ve plotted out the entire fourth and fifth season – liar, liar, pants on fire!), season four had the perfect ending. As mentioned above, Sherlock became a good man and Mary Watson summed up what Sherlock is all about: two man, a genius junkie and a former soldier, who solve the weirdest, the toughest of cases together in flat on 221B Baker Street. Now, Sherlock is ready to be taken over by other artists who may find a new way to tell his story (though, I don’t think so) all over again.

And that’s a big, big shame… I think I speak for at least most of Sherlollians when I say we’d like to see Sherlock and Molly’s first encounter after the call. The finale really closed all the story arcs and subplots, except for this one. I mean, c’mon. You don’t have to be a Sherlollian to be annoyed by this – just remember that it was such a “biggie” that Moffat was asked about this in an interview. And this may be another reason as to why we won’t ever get a fifth season of Sherlock – because that would mean taking a side. And none of the creators will do it because Sherlock cannot be an open-and-shut case. It has to be like literature: big, open, twisted, unclear and full of room for interpretation. As long as there’s no certain explanation – yes, Sherlock loves Molly, no, Sherlock is gay – we create more and more content out of the need of closure. Thanks to the room for interpretation, the story lives. I mean, it’s been four years since The Final Problem airing and here I am, discussing BBC Sherlock still.

 Coming back to Sherlolly… don’t worry. Though I’m still not sure that we can harvest any hard evidence for Sherlock’s feelings for Molly (other than friendship and respect), I’m still a Sherlollian. There two new fics waiting for me to pull myself together and write them. I think it’s good to have doubts – it means my brain hasn’t rotten yet and I can still be critical, I’m able of having my own opinions.

 Thank you if you managed to read it all! I’d love to discuss if you have any conclusions. If not, that’s fine, too. I just needed it get it out of my system.

PS WHY DOES MY POSTS IN ENGLISH SOUND SO SOPHISTICATED IN MY HEAD BUT WHEN I PUT THEM IN WRITING, THEY’RE SO SHITTY?!

[giveamadeuschohisownmovie]

Hypothetical TV shows: “Agent Jimmy Woo”

Spin-off series centered on Marvel’s lovable FBI agent, Jimmy Woo (Randall Park). Plot breakdown:

Episode 1

This is mainly an introduction to Jimmy Woo. We learn that he’s a lonely man, living by himself, doesn’t really have that many friends, and is not close to his family. The closest friend he has is Darcy Lewis, continuing their friendship from “WandaVision”. Throughout the episode, Jimmy gets these weird flashbacks that we have no context for. The flashbacks are to establish that Jimmy has some sort of dark past that we haven’t seen. 

Most of the episode is “normal”, until Jimmy receives a strange letter to his office. When Jimmy opens the letter, he sees that it’s a picture of a dead man, with the words, “REMEMBER ME, JIM?” smeared in blood in the background. Jimmy immediately realizes who did this and flees the building. As he’s running, he bumps into Darcy, who is here because they were supposed to go out for coffee. Jimmy tries to come up with an excuse, until he sees a couple of shady people approaching him. This leads to a thrilling, John Wick-style fight scene, in which Jimmy takes down all the assassins sent after him.

The episode ends with Darcy staring at him in shock, wondering who is this man standing before her. 

Episode 2 

This episode picks up right after the end of the previous episode. Jimmy and Darcy are on the run, fighting their way through hordes of assassins sent to kill Jimmy. We get a close-quarters combat fight scene, a gunfight, and a car chase, all in the first half of the episode. Eventually, Jimmy and Darcy reach this mysterious location, where they meet a woman who seems to recognize Jimmy. The woman introduces herself as Monica Chang (played by Yunjin Kim), a former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and Nick Fury’s ex-wife.

Jimmy says he needs to get out of the country since “Golden Claw” has somehow come back from the dead and is out to get him. Monica then arranges a transport to Madagascar for both Jimmy and Darcy. This is where we get the big reveal; Jimmy Woo is a former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who went underground after the events of “Captain America: The Winter Soldier”. Golden Claw was Jimmy’s arch-nemesis who he thought he killed years ago. 

As Jimmy and Darcy make their way to Madagascar, Darcy asks Jimmy for the full story. Jimmy figures he has nothing left to lose and starts to recount his past, leading to the next episode.

Episode 3

Flashback episode, set before the events of “The Avengers”. Jimmy Woo is a high-ranking S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who is close friends with Phil Coulson and Monica Chang. We learn that Jimmy is hunting down Plan Chu, the Golden Claw (played by Joe Taslim). Golden Claw is considered the “Kingpin of Asia” and rules over all the crime syndicates in the continent, from the Yakuza to the Triads to Madripoor. To emphasize this point, although Sharon Carter/Power Broker rules Madripoor, she answers to Golden Claw since he’s the one who helped her take control of the nation.

Due to how powerful and dangerous Golden Claw is, S.H.I.E.L.D. began targeting him, with Jimmy leading the charge. In this episode, we see the end of Jimmy’s operation; S.H.I.E.L.D. leads an assault on Golden Claw’s mansion, which eventually leads to Jimmy facing off against Golden Claw one-on-one. The two men fight, which ends with Jimmy tossing Golden Claw off a cliff. Claw is presumed dead since his body is never found.

Cut to several years later, Jimmy goes underground due to Steve Rogers exposing HYDRA’s existence in S.H.I.E.L.D.. With Nick Fury’s help, he scrubs away his past and takes on a new job as a FBI agent. The episode ends with Jimmy meeting with Scott Lang in “Ant-Man and the Wasp”. 

Post-credits scene: After being tossed off the cliff, Golden Claw is found by Sharon Carter, who was part of the S.H.I.E.L.D. assault. She decides to nurse him back to health, indicating that even before she became the Power Broker, she was a double agent working for the Golden Claw. 

Episode 4

Golden Claw-centric episode, focused on his origin story. We learn Plan Chu was actually born during the First Opium War (1839). He grew up poor and angry at the British for their attacks on China. Eventually, he ends up becoming an apprentice to a mystic/alchemist and learns how to develop elixirs that can grant him special powers. One elixir in particular prolongs his lifespan, explaining how he’s still alive in the modern day. Plan Chu’s master eventually dies from old age. Using the skills he learned, Plan Chu creates his criminal empire and earns the nickname “Golden Claw”. 

In the modern day, Golden Claw, who has fully recovered from his battle with Jimmy Woo, starts targeting all the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who were part of the operation to kill him. Sharon Carter provides him the names, leading to a sequence where multiple former S.H.I.E.L.D. agents are killed by Golden Claw’s mercenaries. Although Jimmy Woo manages to get away, Golden Claw moves on to the next step of his revenge; finding out who ratted him out to S.H.I.E.L.D. in the first place, leading to the assault on his mansion. 

Golden Claw learns that the one who betrayed him was Suwan (played by Ali Wong), his grandniece and a leading member of the Triads. Although that’s his family, Golden Claw puts a bounty on Suwan’s head. 

In the B-story, Jimmy and Darcy arrive in Madagascar, where they meet Derek Khanata (played by Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje), A former Wakandan special forces operative, a S.H.I.E.L.D. ally, and a friend of Jimmy Woo.

Episode 5

In Madagascar, Derek takes Jimmy and Darcy to a hideout in order to discuss battle plans. Derek tells Jimmy that Golden Claw has already killed most of the original S.H.I.E.L.D. team that was sent after him, which enrages Jimmy. Wanting revenge, Jimmy asks if they have any leads on Golden Claw’s whereabouts. Although he’s reluctant to go after Claw, Derek suggests going after M’Demwe (played by Barkhad Abdi), a ruthless warlord who has ties to the Golden Claw. 

Most of this episode is focused on Jimmy, Darcy, and Derek hunting down M’Demwe while avoiding the authorities and Golden Claw mercenaries that are in the area. Eventually, the trio manages to capture M’Demwe, leading to a thrilling car chase. After the chase, M’Demwe says he has no idea where Golden Claw is...but that they can get Golden Claw to come to them. When Darcy asks what does that mean, M’Demwe says that Claw put a bounty on his grandniece’s head. If they get to Suwan first, that could force Golden Claw to come out of hiding. 

Jimmy realizes this is about Suwan, indicating that they had a prior relationship. Jimmy asks M’Demwe where Suwan is and M’Demwe reveals that she’s in Montenegro on vacation. He then has Derek arrange a flight to Montenegro.

In the B-story, Suwan is seen gambling at a fancy casino in Montenegro. Suwan’s bodyguard tells her about the bounty placed on her head, which she waves off. She then says something ominous, that no one can touch her on her property.

Episode 6

Jimmy, Darcy, and Derek arrive in Montenegro. Golden Claw arrives around the same time. This is mostly a character development episode, in preparation for the final showdown. The following interactions occur:

1) Golden Claw meets with Suwan and tells him that he knows she betrayed him. Suwan demands to know why Golden Claw won’t just kill her himself, which Claw can’t answer. Suwan then confirms to herself that Claw can’t bring himself to kill her since he still loves her and that the bounty was his way of pushing the guilt onto someone else. Golden Claw doesn’t say it but he sees Suwan as one of his daughters, which is why he can’t just kill her himself.

2) More Jimmy and Darcy bonding. We learn more about Darcy’s family life and that she hung out with Jimmy for the same reason he hung out with her; she doesn’t have many friends outside of work. 

3) Jimmy meets up with Suwan and reconnects with her. Jimmy says he’s here to protect her but Suwan says he’s here to use her to reach Golden Claw. We learn that in the past, Suwan was sent by Golden Claw to kill Jimmy but ended up falling in love with him. That’s also part of the reason why Suwan betrayed Golden Claw. 

4) Golden Claw meets with Darcy, who doesn’t recognize him, and the two bond over a game of Texas hold’em. This scene is meant to humanize Golden Claw, that he’s not just a power-hungry criminal mastermind. 

5) Suwan and Darcy bonding. This is mainly played for laughs, with Darcy being curious about what this incredibly dangerous Triad boss saw in Jimmy. Suwan interprets Darcy’s interest in her past romance with Jimmy as jealousy, leading to a hilarious misunderstanding.

Episode ends with Jimmy, Darcy, and Derek’s covers being blown, leading to everything going south. Golden Claw and his troops corner the main trio, forcing Suwan to have her guards confront Golden Claw’s mercenaries. With everyone pointing guns at each other, the episode ends on a massive cliffhanger. 

Episode 7

Picking up right after the previous episode, the Mexican standoff between Suwan, Jimmy, and Golden Claw turns into a massive shootout, resulting in several casualties on all sides. Golden Claw’s army is forced to retreat, giving Suwan and Jimmy time to recover. This is the episode where we reach peak John Wick since right after Golden Claw’s retreat, Suwan takes Jimmy into her office in order to prepare for the second wave. Jimmy arms himself to the teeth, leading into the next attack.

Most of this episode is the battle between Suwan’s side and Golden Claw’s side. The battle is seen from these perspectives:

1) Jimmy and Derek at the forefront, fighting against the highly trained Golden Claw mercenaries

2) Darcy going off on her own in order to contact the Montenegro authorities (there’s a subplot where Darcy learns that Golden Claw managed to move the Montenegro police away from the area) 

3) Suwan directing everyone from her office and coming up with the battle plans. 

The big fight in this episode is between Jimmy Woo and Golden Claw’s top mercenary, Harold Kenkoy (played by Michael Bisping). Harold is the series’ secondary antagonist, with his role being similar to Brock Rumlow in “CA: The Winter Soldier”. Jimmy kills Harold after a brutal, one-on-one fight.

The battle ends when Darcy comes through with her mission to contact the Montenegro authorities. Unfortunately, Golden Claw manages to flee and retreats back to Madripoor. Not wanting to go through this again, Jimmy, Darcy, Derek, and Suwan decide to follow him. 

Episode 8 - season finale

As the big finale of the series, Jimmy and friends reconnect with Monica Chang, who brings a team of other former S.H.I.E.L.D. agents to assist. On the other side, Golden Claw meets with Sharon Carter and tells her that he’ll be taking over Madripoor while he regroups from his previous loss. Sharon angrily states that he can’t just take her throne, leading to a “betrayal” scene. However, just when you think Sharon has the upper hand, Golden Claw reverses the situation when Sharon’s mercenaries turn against her. Claw says that he’s the one who gave her power and that he could easily take it away. 

Sharon fights through her former mercenaries and joins up with Jimmy Woo. They form a temporary truce when Jimmy tells her that he’s only in Madripoor to stop the Golden Claw once and for all. With Sharon’s help, Jimmy’s side forms a plan to trap Golden Claw. 

Of course, the plan goes awry, leading to Golden Claw closing down the whole country in order to trap Jimmy’s team. With nowhere to go and all the criminals in Madripoor gunning for them, Jimmy goes off on his own to corner Golden Claw. In the midst of all this chaos, Darcy is captured and taken to Claw. Darcy, having bonded with Claw earlier, tries to appeal to his humanity and convince him to give up his revenge quest. Claw refuses and says that he’s justified since S.H.I.E.L.D. was the one who instigated this whole situation. 

After a series of incidents, Jimmy Woo eventually confronts Golden Claw. The two fight, mirroring their fight from years ago. Jimmy wins after managing to fatally shoot Claw in the chest. As Claw dies, the two acknowledge each other, with Claw glad to have been killed by a worthy opponent. Sharon takes back control of Madripoor and, to thank Jimmy for stopping Claw, allows everyone to leave. She also rescinds all the bounties that Golden Claw set up. With that, everyone goes home.

The rest of the episode is just wrapping up the story. Suwan goes back to Montenegro, Derek goes back to Madagascar, and Monica tells Jimmy that she’s founding a new spy agency to fill in the space left by S.H.I.E.L.D. This ends up being the Atlas Foundation, which we’ll see in a future series. Jimmy says he’ll consider joining but for now, he’s going back to his job at the FBI. Season ends with Jimmy and Darcy getting coffee. 

POST-CREDITS SCENE: Jimmy Woo is with Darcy at the coffee shop when he’s approached by a messenger. The messenger tells Jimmy that he was named the sole heir of Golden Claw’s empire. Jimmy says that can’t be true but the messenger confirms this by showing him a copy of Claw’s will. Jimmy stares at the will in shock as he realizes that he’s become the new Kingpin of Asia.  

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

July 19, 2021

Heather Cox Richardson

This morning, on the Fox News Channel’s Fox & Friends, personality Steve Doocy told viewers to get the coronavirus vaccine because it would “save your life” and noted that 99% of the people now dying from Covid-19 are unvaccinated. Brian Kilmeade answered that not getting the vaccine is a personal choice and that the government has no role in protecting the population. “That’s not their job. It’s not their job to protect anybody,” he said.

It is, of course, literally the job of the government to protect us. The preamble to the Constitution reads: “We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.”

But Kilmeade’s extraordinary comment cuts to the heart of the long history from the New Deal to the present.

In the 1930s, to combat the Great Depression, Democrats under President Franklin Delano Roosevelt had offered a “new deal for the American people.” That New Deal meant that the government would no longer work simply to promote business, but would regulate business, provide a basic social safety net, and promote infrastructure. World War II accelerated the construction of that active government, and by the time it was over, Americans quite liked the new system.

After the war, Republican Dwight Eisenhower rejected the position of 1920s Republicans and embraced the active government. He explained that in the modern world, the government must protect people from disasters created by forces outside their control, and it must provide social services that would protect people from unemployment, old age, illness, accidents, unsafe food and drugs, homelessness, and disease.

He called his version of the New Deal “a middle way between untrammeled freedom of the individual and the demands of the welfare of the whole Nation.” One of his supporters explained that, “If a job has to be done to meet the needs of the people, and no one else can do it, then it is the proper function of the federal government.”

In this, Eisenhower and his team were echoing Abraham Lincoln, who thought about government at a time when elite southern enslavers insisted that government had no role to play in the country except in protecting property.

As a young man, Lincoln had watched his town of New Salem, Illinois, die because the settlers—hard workers, eager to make the town succeed—could not dredge the Sangamon River to promote trade by themselves. Lincoln later mused, “The legitimate object of government is ‘to do for the people what needs to be done, but which they can not, by individual effort, do at all, or do so well, for themselves.’…Making and maintaining roads, bridges, and the like; providing for the helpless young and afflicted; common schools; and disposing of deceased men's property, are instances.”

So Eisenhower and his fellow Republicans were in line with traditional Republican values when they declared their support for an active government. But those who objected to what became known as the post–World War II liberal consensus rejected the idea that the government had any role to play in the economy or in social welfare.

In 1954, William F. Buckley, Jr., and his brother-in-law L. Brent Bozell, Jr., made no distinction between the liberal consensus and international communism when they defended Wisconsin Senator Joe McCarthy for his attacks on “communists” in the U.S. government. They insisted that the country was made up of “Liberals,” who were guiding the nation toward socialism, and “Conservatives,” like themselves, who were standing alone against the Democrats and Republicans who made up a majority of the country and liked the new business regulations, safety net, and infrastructure.

That reactionary mindset came to dominate the Republican Party after 1980, and now, forty years later, a television personality is taking the stand that the government has no role in protecting Americans against a worldwide pandemic that has killed more than 600,000 of us.

And yet, the idea that the government has a role to play in the economy remains popular, and this is creating a problem for Republicans. As soon as they took office, President Joe Biden and congressional Democrats passed the $1.9 trillion American Rescue Plan without any Republican votes. About 60% of Americans liked the plan, and it is likely to be more popular still now that checks from the Child Tax Credit extended in it began hitting parents’ bank accounts on July 15. Even before that, at least 26 Republicans were touting the benefits of the measure to their constituents while neglecting to mention they voted against it.

Now, Congress is negotiating a two-part infrastructure plan. Biden and the Democrats have worked hard for three months to get at least 10 Republican senators to agree to a $579 billion measure that would provide hard infrastructure like roads, bridges, and broadband. Negotiators are still hammering out that agreement and Democrats are making concessions; yesterday, Ohio Senator Rob Portman, a Republican, told CNN that a provision to pay for the package in part by enforcing tax laws against those ignoring them bothered Republicans enough that negotiators cut it.

And yet tonight, leading Republicans said they would not vote to advance the bill on Wednesday, citing the fact it is not fully written. Since both parties regularly move their measures forward under such circumstances, many Democrats simply see this as a delaying tactic to try to kill the measure before Congress starts a month-long break on August 6. Senate Majority Leader Chuck Schumer (D-NY) has said for weeks that he would bring the bill up in mid-July.

If the bipartisan bill fails, the Democrats can simply fold the provisions in it into their larger infrastructure bill that they intend to pass through budget reconciliation, which cannot be blocked by a filibuster. This larger, $3.5 trillion measure includes funding for human infrastructure, such as childcare, and for addressing climate change. It also will move corporate taxation from the 21% established by the 2017 tax cut up to about 28%. (It was 35% before the 2017 tax cut.)

The Democrats need to get these measures through because they are facing serious financial deadlines. The Bipartisan Budget Act of 2019 suspended the debt ceiling—the amount the country can borrow—only until July 31 of this year. And the budget needs to be hammered out by September 30. If it isn’t, government funding can be extended by a continuing resolution, but in the past, Republicans have sometimes chosen to shut down the government instead.

All of this will take place while the House select committee to investigate the January 6 insurrection will be holding hearings. Today, House Minority Leader Kevin McCarthy (R-CA) made it clear he intends to disrupt those hearings: three of the five people he named to the committee—Jim Banks (R-IN), Jim Jordan (R-OH), and Troy Nehls (R-TX)—voted to challenge the election results in Pennsylvania and Arizona, thus helping to legitimize the Big Lie that led to the insurrection.

McCarthy made Banks the ranking member, suggesting that he expects House Speaker Nancy Pelosi (D-CA) to reject Jordan, but there is already outcry at the idea of any of these three investigating events in which they participated. Already, Banks has indicated that he is not really interested in studying the events of January 6, saying tonight that Speaker Pelosi “created this committee solely to malign conservatives and to justify the Left’s authoritarian agenda.”

McCarthy’s other two appointments are Kelly Armstrong (R-ND), and Rodney Davis (R-IL).

In today’s struggle over the nature of government, the Democrats are at a disadvantage. They want to use the government to establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty, just as Lincoln and FDR and Eisenhower advocated. To drive their individualist vision, though, all the Republicans have to do is stop the Democrats.

—-

Notes:

https://www.thedailybeast.com/brian-kilmeade-says-its-not-governments-job-to-protect-anybody-from-covid

https://www.mediamatters.org/coronavirus-covid-19/defending-people-who-dont-want-get-vaccinated-brian-kilmeade-argues-its-not

https://news.yahoo.com/senator-bipartisan-infrastructure-bill-loses-171317546.html

https://capaction.medium.com/25-and-counting-republicans-who-voted-no-but-took-the-dough-68fbf11df957

https://www.crfb.org/blogs/upcoming-congressional-fiscal-policy-deadlines

https://www.politico.com/news/2021/07/19/gop-infrastructure-deal-500166

​​https://www.opensecrets.org/news/2021/07/senate-democrats-unveil-reconciliation-progressive-aim-at-moderates/

https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/jim-jordan-four-other-republicans-chosen-by-house-minority-leader-kevin-mccarthy-to-serve-on-panel-investigating-jan-6-riots/2021/07/19/85c6b534-e8df-11eb-8950-d73b3e93ff7f_story.html

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[welllpthisishappening]

Should Auld Acquaintance be Forgot

Honestly, Emma was less mad about the whole thing than she expected. Disappointed, that was the word. And everyone knew that disappointed was far worse than mad. 

Because being dateless on New Year’s Eve was one thing. Being dateless while pining over a roommate with a secret Match.com profile and apparent relationship-type desires that were the complete opposite of her was—

Disappointing, really. 

If Killian kissed anybody, she was going to drink an entire bottle of champagne by herself. 

-----

Rating: Teen, kissing, far too many Grinch references

Word Count: 9.2K

AN: Today is our last festive prompt! Or, at least one that’s a stand-alone story. Our said prompts come from @kmomof4​ who asked for “i don't wanna get up-- you're comfy."// "i'm cold. come closer." //"i love you a lot, but please stop trying to cook me dinner, you suck.” And I got all three in. As always, I cannot thank you guys enough for clicking and reading and saying such nice things. Here’s to a 2021 that’s full of even more fic, satisfying TV storylines and lots of fictional characters making out. 

Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam

-----

“Shit.”

“Merry Christmas.”

Rolling her eyes over the top of the phone in her hand, Ruby didn’t look particularly amused at the distinct lack of enthusiasm in Emma’s voice. That was something of a theme. For like—the last thirty-six hours, but also the majority of their relationship, and none this should have come as a surprise, only she’d had a lot of wine in the last forty-six minutes, and it might have been catching up with her. Was definitely catching up with her. 

“How much did you pay for the garbage alcohol you’ve been shoving at me?” Emma asked archly, and she was only slightly worried about getting home. Her head felt muddled. Like there were too many thoughts, and this time of year always did that to her brain, and her consciousness, and at least eighty-two percent of this was Mary Margaret’s fault. 

For deciding that they were going to have a party. 

On New Year’s Eve. 

Like complete cliches. 

“I’ll have you know,” Ruby drawled, eyes dropping back to her phone and whatever noise it was making, “that I paid at least twelve dollars for—”

“—Lies,” Elsa yelled, and it was a testament their current situation that she’d raised her voice at all. Nothing like that ever happened, and the overall roll rate of Ruby’s eyes was going to give her a migraine. 

Her phone made another noise. 

“She’s lying to you,” Elsa added. “Straight to your face.”

She’d still be staring down a dateless New Year’s Eve, but—

Emma scrunched her nose. “What else is new?”

“Oh, I take offense to that,” Ruby cried, but she was almost too obviously distracted, and the inability of this conversation to be concise was starting to grate on Emma’s nerves. Or what remained of them. Maybe she was the Grinch.

No, that wasn’t right. The Grinch had an enlarged heart, which Emma certainly did not have — and that was nice and appropriately festive for the season, the Grinch, not her, and he had a dog. Emma didn’t have a dog. If she had a dog, there was no possible way she’d be annoyed as she was. 

Whatever, honestly. 

Her date, or lack thereof, was not important, and she was going to drink this entire bottle of Barefoot Moscato, price tag be damned, and then she was going to figure out some way to get home. Without falling over. 

Also, the Grinch didn’t have a roommate. Unless you counted the dog, and Emma didn’t think Max could conceivably hold so many titles in a twenty-two minute animated Christmas special, and she imagined the Grinch was also not pining after his dog slash roommate slash stand-in reindeer. That’d be weird. 

For a twenty-two minute animated Christmas special. 

She’d never seen the Jim Carey version. Or that other one with Benedict whatever-his-name-is.

Away from dating apps and wine that was very likely going to give her one hell of a headache, and Killian would at least make sure she was vaguely hydrated before she collapsed on some sort of horizontal surface. She wasn’t going to be picky about which one, honestly. 

“Why are there so many versions of the Grinch?”

Ruby didn’t look at her. Her eyebrows moved, though. Lifted ever so slightly into her hairline, and Elsa’s glance wasn’t exactly subtle, and Emma needed to go home. 

“Expand on that for me,” Ruby said, lips twisted as soon as she stopped talking. Something was wrong. Well, more wrong. In an alcohol-saturated sort of way that included all those previously discussed mobile dating apps. 

“There are so many Grinches,” Emma said. “You think that’s a commentary on society? Like as a whole? That we need to—”

“—Embrace the spirit of Christmas?”

“Because we as a general population are all assholes?”

“You’ve had too much wine.”

“Not a question,” Elsa mumbled, elbow bumping Emma’s shoulder when she perched on the edge of the sofa, and Ruby’s eyes were still doing that thing. Widening every now and then — a flash of understanding mixing in with surprise, and Emma wasn’t sure how many muscles were in a human thumb, but she figured all of Ruby’s were getting quite a workout, scrolling as quickly as they were. 

“If I have,” Emma muttered, “it is entirely Ruby’s fault. Who buys pink Moscato and expects their guests not to drink the whole bottle?”

“Seems to suggest you’re a guest, though,” Ruby said, “and that’s awfully prim and proper.”

Ruby couldn’t possibly be Cindy Lou Who in this metaphor. 

Emma couldn’t argue with that. Mostly because she’d drank so much of the pink Moscato. “Ok, ok, forget the wine for two seconds. And the Grinch. Why were you making proclamations before? They were very loud and—”

Nothing changed. The phone was still there — wobbling slightly because it seemed Ruby’s forearm strength was lacking just a bit, but the screen didn’t change, and Emma was certain this was somehow also Taylor Swift’s fault. For rerecording Love Story and letting Ryan Reynolds use it in that Match.com ad. 

“So…”

Although really that made it more Scooter whatever-his-last-name-was’s fault, for stealing all of Taylor Swift’s songs and being a noted and massive dick, and Emma’s inability to remember anyone’s last name was clearly something of a personality failing. 

“Thoughts?” Ruby pressed. 

At least twelve-thousand, but none of them seemed especially interested in being said out loud, and Emma’s tongue felt like it was simultaneously growing and dissolving in her mouth. None of it was particularly comfortable, what legitimately felt like cotton balls bursting out of her cheeks and making it difficult to breathe, and she should have lived in a cave. With her dog and the inexplicable set of antlers she owned to make that same dog look like a reindeer, and then she wouldn’t have to be staring at Killian Jones’ dating profile on goddamn Match.com eight days before a New Year’s Eve party she only marginally wanted to attend. 

“Don’t people just use Tinder now?” 

Emma’s voice did not sound like her own. Presumably because of the tongue thing and the cotton ball analogy, and she wondered if the Uber driver she was inevitably going to request would be especially annoyed by her desire to blast Taylor Swift in the backseat. 

She’d give them five stars. 

No matter what — because she wasn’t an asshole, but especially if they let Emma blast Taylor Swift in the backseat. 

Ruby rolled her eyes. “You’re very old; you know that?” 

Her face was very warm. 

“Buy me better wine.”

Emma had never gone into cardiac arrest before, but the sinking feeling in her chest was sudden and a little jarring and she tried very hard to swallow down the wad of emotion currently taking up residence in the middle of her throat. Didn’t work. 

“Only nine bucks, honestly?”

Failed spectacularly, quite honestly. 

“I don’t want to know,” she announced. “Whatever he put on there is his—”

“What Killian does or doesn’t do in the world of modern dating has nothing to do with me,” Emma said, only a little disappointed because she didn’t think people got multiple miracles in their lives and to having hers ensure her voice didn’t shake over those particular words in that particular order felt lame. 

“I don’t care.”

All things considered. 

Scrunching her nose, Ruby’s nod lacked a certain sense of honesty. “Sure, sure, sure, well—” She shrugged. “—He’s here. Being available. Presumably for New Year’s, and…”

Emma waited for the rest. All the reasons she’d heard before, and her friends were convinced. Something about inevitable, and happily ever after, but that second part was mostly Mary Margaret and it was likely easier to believe in the fairy tale when you were living it. 

Pessimism was also fairly lame. As far as defining traits went. 

“What are you—” Elsa started, but then she was moving and her teeth clicked exactly five times, as soon as she looked at the screen, and Emma was not capable of dealing with any of this. Watching her friends gape at her, Ruby’s phone still held loosely in her hand, and neither one of them objected when she finally managed to get to her feet. 

And the Uber driver didn’t offer to play any Taylor Swift, but Emma didn’t ask and she didn’t blast it in the backseat. 

So, that felt like a victory. Which she desperately needed — to counteract the state of her pancreas and half a dozen other internal organs when her thumb hovered over the button, and it took at least two minutes and twelve seconds for Match.com to download. 

She should have waited until she was on wifi. 

To say that Emma’s relationship with Killian Jones was complicated would be something of an understatement. And she wouldn’t use the word relationship. 

He was her friend. 

Her very good looking friend, with stupid eyes that regularly flashed at her like he was too aware of the mush-like state it sent her into, and he was friends with her brother, and once upon a time she’d briefly considered hating him, but that never really stuck and he made hot chocolate better than anyone she knew. Refused to use the prepackaged mix. Did something on the oven that Emma didn’t entirely understand, and never trusted herself to try on her own, and Killian was never late with his half of the rent. 

Or any of the utilities. 

Living together was a decision born of convenience and the extra room Killian had once Will moved out, but it also made a lot of sense and it was good. Really good. Would have been great if Emma wasn’t pining after him and his stupid eyes like some lovelorn idiot, but she had gotten almost impossibly good at rationalizing the whole thing in the last few years, and—

“Shit, shit, shit,” she chanted, slumped in the corner of the couch with her knees threatening to impale her chin and there must have been a record for frustrated cursing while staring at a roommate's dating profile. She’d definitely passed it, like, seven minutes ago. 

Scrolling down only led to scrolling back up, twisting her lower lip between her teeth while staring at photos and lists and options she was sure came from some AI or relationship-type algorithm and coming to terms with the end of the world was harder than she expected it to be.  

At least the end of her love life. 

Of which there wasn’t much to begin with, so it probably wasn’t very hard for the whole thing to topple over, but Emma was feeling especially melodramatic and they needed to buy some WD-40. For their very squeaky door. 

“Hey,” Killian said, shrugging out of his jacket and it was apparently snowing out. Flakes dusted his shoulder, clung to several strands of hair, and Emma couldn’t melt into the couch. They couldn’t afford to buy another one. “That can’t be good for your spine.”

Humming, Killian didn’t bother brushing the snow out of his hair before he walked forward, falling onto the other end of the couch and pulling Emma’s sock-covered feet into his lap. “Are they any cookies left?”

“I’m going to tell Mary Margaret you’re a cookie glutton and—”

Sixteen guys had messaged her already. 

“So I’ve heard. Whatcha you doing?”

Maybe that was a compliment. Emma didn’t think so, though. 

She couldn’t believe she had to make a profile. To stalk her roommate. And his interests. There were a lot of interests on Killian’s Match.com profile. 

Strictly speaking, she didn’t have much experience with shoulders and their proclivity to being rested on, but she liked to believe Killian’s was one of the more comfortable out there. Her head fit very well, at least. 

“Nothing.”

So as to avoid any lingering after-effects from its continued failure. 

“I’ve got twenty-seven bucks on him asking at the party,” Killian said, “but Locksley thinks he’s just going to lose any sense of self-control and blurt it out before, I just—”

Emma’s phone dinged. 

Again. Multiple times, in quick succession — and she should have turned off notifications for that stupid app, but she wasn’t really using it for its intended purpose and Killian was staring at her. With a look that made it all too clear he knew what was going on. 

That didn’t make her feel any better. 

“Ruby said she was thinking about bringing someone,” he muttered, “to, uh—to the thing. The New Year’s thing.”

The air shifted. Crackled with electricity Emma knew she was imagining, and want she was only barely managing to temper and if Will did propose to Belle on New Year’s Eve she refused to be held accountable for her emotional reaction. She’d totally cry. 

“Call it a thing again.”

Ruby would never let her hear the end of that.

Shaking his head brusquely, Killian’s grip tightened around Emma’s ankle. She had no idea he was holding her ankle — fingers wrapped all the way around the joint until the tips threatened to touch because apparently his fingers were that long, and she’d probably only obsess about that for like the next few years, or so. Which seemed reasonable. 

“Anyone good?” he asked, low and gruff and whatever was back in the middle of her throat did not appear intent on leaving any time soon. No matter how many times Emma swallowed. 

Or how often Killian’s eyes flickered. Towards her throat.

The idea never even crossed her mind, honestly. 

Flinching the way she did only guaranteed that Emma’s spine collided with the arm of their couch, but she was at least less inclined to melt and she supposed romantic beggars could not be choosers. “Yuh huh,” she said, “and you’re well acquainted with the noises and the reasons behind the noise?”

That probably wasn’t important. 

And just like that—it was fine. Well, maybe not fine, but at last fine adjacent, and something inching closer to normal, and Killian kissed her temple again before he stood up. 

“You’re avoiding my question.”

She didn’t pick up her phone until she went to bed, dragging every blanket they owned behind her down the hallway. 

On the ever-growing list of problems Emma had during a week when problems were supposed to be non-existent, Killian's Match.com profile had very easily cemented itself at the top of the list. 

It didn’t match — her, at least. Every single thing he was apparently looking for in some sort of potential life partner was the exact opposite of every single thing that made Emma her. Musical tastes were diametrically opposed, movies she’d never once seen him watch in the legitimate decades she’d known him were praised with the kind of adjectives even Robert Ebert would scoff at. The pictures were good, but Emma knew that was more a result of her attraction to her roommate than anything else, and he said he liked people who cooked. 

She couldn’t cook. 

She tried. 

Twenty-four hours after the weird couch incident, which was a name only Emma was using, she was sure, and the smoke alarm had gone off and—

This was Ruby’s fault. And Taylor Swift. Whose new album was very good, and made for perfect and consistent pining music. 

She was so disappointed she was positive she reeked with it.

“Cooking,” Emma said, like that was an explanation and not an excuse and she was definitely using too many of her personal miracles. “Nothing caught on fire!”

Lolling his head to the side, Killian leveled her with an exasperated expression. Brows pinched together and that shade of blue wasn’t quite as sharp, but was still somehow almost amused and she didn’t think the oven was supposed to make that noise. It was very loud. “Lack of flames is not a sign of success, love,” he said, “and it’s—ah, fuck.”

The smoke alarm was louder than the oven. 

Blasting through their apartment and, Emma was sure, through the entire building, the beep hit its rhythmic stride quickly, so she reacted like an adult to the whole situation by gritting her teeth and squeezing her eyes shut. Killian breezed by her, swinging open another squeaky door and fumbling through what sounded like several dozen boxes and he cursed. More than once.

Emma nodded. 

Emma cracked open one eye. “We do, I—”

Their neighbors must hate them. Rightfully so. 

“We definitely own a broom,” she promised, “we’re not savages. We clean.”

Graham was probably very nice.

“Was there a reason for that?”

Emma swallowed. Still didn’t help. 

“Swan.”

“Alright,” Killian said softly, “c’mere.”

Saying that what happened next happened quicker than Emma expected it to, also suggested that Emma expected it to happen at all, which was one of the bigger lies she’d told in the last week or so, and she was really growing a metric shit ton of lies, so that was especially impressive and she yelped very loudly. As soon as hands gripped her hips, lifting her off the floor and directing her underneath the questionably loud smoke detector. 

“This could wake the dead,” she proclaimed, shouting the words because if they were going to descend into total farce, then she was really going to lean into it.

Killian’s head fell to her stomach. If she died right there, she hoped he didn’t drop her. Although, she’d also be dead, so—she probably wouldn’t notice. 

“Just turn it off, love.”

She hated all that music. 

“See,” he grunted, “that makes it sound like we don’t have a broom, and—” Adjusting her, one of her legs twisted around his, something Emma was going to claim as instinct and not that same want that was another one of her more defining characteristics, and he definitely exhaled. Loudly. And directly into her t-shirt. “—Swan, I really need you to fix this, love.”

Using his shoulder as leverage, and keeping her leg exactly where it was, she still had to stretch her arm out and it took far more movement than either one of them could apparently handle silently for her to press the button that fixed everything. 

Despised The Godfather, on some sort of fundamental level and Kay deserved better than Michael Corleone, even if that version of Al Pacino was almost kind of attractive, but—

Relatively speaking, at least. 

He didn’t lift his head immediately. Or drop her. That probably wasn’t a metaphor. 

Emma’s metaphors regularly sucked, anyway. 

“Pizza or Chinese?”

Chuckling into her stomach, Killian’s laugh warmed her from the inside out and kept the goosebumps there and she’d kind of forgotten he was shirtless. Idiot bastard, that was her.

Graham Humbert had owned more plaid shirts than anyone Emma had ever seen. 

“Order extra egg rolls, and I’m in,” Killian said, finally working her back to the ground and they didn’t move. They stood there. Staring at each other, and conducting more inventory, and Emma could only imagine the penance she’d have to do for keeping her stomach in its correct spot. 

“Deal.”

“She’s in love with him.”

“Which part?” Ruby asked. “How in love Emma is with Jones or whether or not we were acknowledging his shitty dating profile?” 

“Doesn’t have to,” Elsa muttered over the top of her half-empty glass. “It basically broadcasts out of her.”

They took the batteries out of the smoke detector a day later. 

“Either or, I guess.”

Not the safest thing they’d ever done, but Emma kept trying to cook and failing spectacularly and she was certain the people at the Chinese restaurant fourteen blocks away knew their order based solely on the sound of her voice when she called. 

“Does this have a name?”

Slumped as she was over the edge of the bar, Emma barely noticed the lift in Killian’s eyebrows, but that also might have been her tendency to be preoccupied with his mouth and he was smiling at her. Wide. Meaningful—ly. 

Distractingly. 

At some point that afternoon, she’d decided she needed to respond to Graham’s messages. Or, well—keep responding. There’d been some conversation, what might have been construed as flirting if Emma’s thumbs didn’t keep cramping up while they flew across her phone’s keyboard, but that definitely wasn’t a sign either, and the overall lightness in her body was likely a direct result of whatever blue-colored alcoholic concoction Killian had put in front of her forty-seven minutes before. There were gummy—things floating in it. 

Or there had been. 

She’d eaten them. 

Her mouth felt a little numb. 

“What do you think we should call it?”

Propping her chin on her hand made Emma wobble a bit, Killian’s lips twitching again. Idiot bastard asshole. Poor Graham. She was a jerk. And his eyes were getting brighter. 

Killian’s. Not Graham’s. 

She had no idea what Graham’s eyes did. 

“Are you serving me unnamed alcohol?” Emma asked, and she was sure she did not slur her words the way it sounded. 

He shrugged. 

Good thing the holiday season was nearly over. 

And Will’s reaction was far too loud, tossing a towel over his back before he draped himself across Killian’s back, hooking his own chin over that slightly lifted shoulder. “He’s showing off, Em. That’s all it is. Are you going to die, though?”

At the bar. 

“Your tongue is blue.”

Four seats away from Leroy the regular. 

“Don’t move so quickly, Swan,” Killian said, a hand finding her cheek and that was fine. Totally fine. Great, even. Super—

Califragilisticexpialidocious. 

So, she was more drunk than she’d been. Like, ever. 

“Your fault,” she mumbled. Burrowing further into his palm was not an option Emma had, so naturally that’s exactly what she did and Will made another noise. “Something to add, Scar—” Emma paused, lifting an impatient finger when both men in front of her dared to laugh. “—Let, you jerky jerkface.”

“You will find out whenever else does, kid,” Will guaranteed. “And there were at least four different types of rum in that swill he gave you.”

That would have annoyed Belle.

Humming, Will untwisted his limbs from Killian, a different hand finding her cheek and the strands of hair that were hanging over her eyes and she scowled when he tapped her chin. “Trying to impress you,” Will repeated intently.

“Is he—” Emma’s brain couldn’t keep up. Thoughts rushed through her, firing synapses that were only passably functional, and the lights from the jukebox across the room were starting to float in her vision. Pressing her fingers into her cheek, Emma knew the skin there moved, but she also could not feel a single thing and—“You’re laughing at me.”

Her head hurt. Ached, even through the haze she’d only recently evolved into, and Emma hated bowling. Was absolutely God awful at it. The kind of awful that required bumpers whenever they’d gone, and they used to go when they were kids. On New Year’s Eve afternoon, some tradition that Ruth had come up with and David honored, even after he and Mary Margaret had segued into happily ever after, and Emma could count on one hand how many times she’d crested the 100-point mark. 

“I am,” he said, “but you’re also sloshed, so I’m willing to give you a pass. And no.”

She felt oddly similar now. 

Playing a game she wasn’t very good at, with more gutter balls than any self-respecting adult should record. Eight pounds of cylindrical force kept rolling through her, threatening anything in its path, but not hitting what it was supposed to, and she also could have eaten an entire tub of bowling alley snacks right now. 

“Why are fries better in a bowling alley? Like, better than anywhere else.” 

Will’s eyes narrowed. “Better than Shake Shack?”

Blinking continued to be one of Emma’s less impressive reactions, but she was stuck on that bowling ball metaphor and Killian’s arm around her shoulders made it impossible to talk. 

“‘S’totally different.”

“You ready, love?”

“We’re leaving, love,” Killian said, and there was at least part of her that was smart enough to pick on repeat endearments. And then promptly cling to them. In her swollen heart. 

“For?”

“Make sure you brush your tongue too tonight, Em,” Will advised, “otherwise that blue is going to stick.”

Saluting left her more off-balance than she’d been all night, laughter echoing behind them as Killian pulled the door shut and he’d ordered them a car. Emma honestly had no idea how they got in said car, but then they were moving and she was only slightly dizzy and he—

He made another noise, slumping next to her, which made it even easier for Emma to touch as much of him as possible and he didn’t object. She didn’t think he would. Ever, actually. 

“Smell really good.”

God, poor Graham. 

She was the worst. 

David played hockey when he was a kid. 

“Not as such, no,” Killian said, “just thinking we might be able to add something new and—” His shoulder shifted under her cheek, Emma’s soft hum of disapproval making him smile. She still didn’t check. “—Not that we haven’t been making money, but...people gotta have a schtick.”

No sound. Nothing except engines, and there could only be one engine in a car, Emma was fairly positive, so that didn’t really make sense and Killian stared ahead when she tilted her head up. “Sometimes,” Killian admitted softly, “but, uh—like I said, just trying to get something that might help us a little more and weddings are expensive, y’know?”

“Whatever,” Emma groaned, “just—I’m saying it’s a good bar.”

Thinking about melting as often as she was, was starting to become patently ridiculous. 

“You’re trying to come up with ridiculous bachelorette party drinks—”

With such God awful interests in the opposite sex. 

Emma rapped her knuckles against his chest. “To help pay for Scarlet’s wedding?”

The world was a joke. Happy Holidays. 

“You’re not getting ready with Lucas or Elsa or anything tomorrow, are you?”

Huh. No grand slam, then. 

Of all the questions she definitely wasn’t prepared for, that was at the bottom of the list. Emma was not actually making any of these lists. “This isn’t prom.”

Being hungover on New Year’s Eve was one of the crueler jokes the universe had played on her in the last week or so. 

“Yeah, ok,” she said, letting her head drop back to his shoulder and Emma wasn’t sure why it sounded like he exhaled. In something almost like relief. Eyes fluttering the way they were, she must have imagined it, another ridiculous metaphor and even dumber analogy and her groan was especially pitiful when the car stopped. No way her stomach was going to stay where it was supposed to for the rest of the night.

All of Emma hurt, muscles she hadn’t been aware she was in possession of seemingly rising up in revolt of her very existence, and she couldn’t really turn her head. Which endlessly delighted Ruby in a way that was making her reconsider their friendship, and Killian kept glancing in their direction. His arm bumped Emma’s no less than twenty-four times in the car over. 

And for as much as she wanted to crawl under several mountains of blankets and consider all her romantic shortcomings, something in the back of Emma’s mind preened a bit under his flitting gaze, trying not to meet his eyes too often. Only to fail every time — if Ruby’s laughter was any indication, and Will had groaned several times, but he also didn’t appear to be engaged yet and Emma had apologized to Graham that afternoon. 

Through text, though. So it only kind of counted. She wasn’t even sure parts of the messages were English. Her head felt like it was going to snap open, which made the champagne she was practically shotgunning at that point a very bad decision, but she’d been on a roll on that front, so she had no intention of altering course and it was nearly midnight.

“This is depressing,” Ruby announced. “He’s staring again.”

Rolling her eyes was an impossibility if Emma didn’t want to make a spectacle of herself in front of her brother and some of the teachers from Mary Margaret’s school, and Ruby’s date was nice. Had a lot of pictures of her dog on her phone, but nice all the same.

More blinking. Honestly, she was a mess. The teachers kept hogging space on the couch. Killian smiled when he looked at Emma, that time. “Elaborate on that.”

“Are you the dumbest person alive?”

“No, this is just our general opinion of you. Both of you, really. I—are you not almost painfully aware of how in love Killian is with you? Em, he is staring at you. Like, right now. Blatantly. Obviously. Some other adverb.”

“We live together.”

Wide eyes and an impressively straight row of teeth were all the warning Emma got before there was a hand on her shoulder and he smelled just as good as she was hopeful she hadn’t mentioned last night, but that felt like wishful thinking and Emma did not, in fact, eject any bodily fluids when Killian turned her. Victories, she was flush with them. 

“I’m so bad at cooking.”

“Hey,” she breathed, and Ruby groaned so loudly it likely did damage to the ozone layer. 

Frozen to the spot, she tried very hard to regulate her breathing and fix her pulse, and neither thing worked. And then. Something clicked — almost audibly in her brain, and her soul and her heart’s potential for explosion was suddenly something she had to worry about. 

Killian’s lips twitched. “You got a second?”

“Please don’t look at me like that,” Killian murmured. She barely heard him. Not when there were fingers tracing up her side and lingering on the small of her back, and Emma’s head moved her head as slowly as she could. 

If she moved any faster, she’d either fall over or wake up from this very lucid dream and neither of those things were all that positive. 

“Cooking, it’s—I love you a lot, but you are absolutely atrocious at it.”

“You’ve got to stop cooking, love.”

The world stopped. Paused, at least. Gave Emma’s muddled mind a second to catch up, and she’d need several more seconds, but she also wasn’t quite that greedy and Killian’s smile widened. As soon as her fingers curled into his shirt. 

He didn’t move his hands. 

“I—” she stammered. “I am...but we don’t match!”

“What is happening right now?” Emma breathed, only cautiously optimistic she wanted the answer. 

A chorus of angry jeers rained down on them — Will using Robin to keep himself upright while he flipped Killian off with both hands. “Pining piner who pines like a goddamn idiot.”

“Well, I’m fairly in love with you. To an almost ridiculous degree.”

“I do appreciate the cooking effort though,” he added. “But it’s a very old profile, made almost entirely by Scarlet in—”

“I honestly forgot it existed,” Killian continued, “I’ve never used it, really. Just knew that Scarlet had made the thing, and then I ignored the messages and—”

As it was, her fingers were already tight enough that Emma very easily pulled herself up and the hand at her waist helped keep her balanced and they were very good at this. Kissing, specifically. Heads tilted automatically to an angle that made it all too easy for Emma to open her mouth, and Killian’s tongue was even more distracting when it was brushing hers, and someone was groaning, but that might have been her, or possibly him and his hair was soft. Between her fingers. 

“Not as many as you did.”

Breathing was suddenly a secondary concern, and Emma’s lungs had already proved they were basically made of steel, or at least impervious to the flames currently exploding between her ribs and none of that was biologically accurate. 

She never did find out where her pancreas was. 

And she was so busy dealing with the way the solar system appeared to be reordering itself around the pair of them, that Emma didn’t notice the countdown or the metallic crown tossed at her feet. Only that there were eventually cheers and Ryan Seacrest’s face plastered across the TV on the other side of the room, and one of Killian’s hands had worked underneath her shirt. 

The sparkly one that had made his eyes noticeably widen several hours earlier. 

“How did you figure it out?”

[writings-of-a-daphodil]

Fire Keeper: Chapter 20

Douxie x fem reader

Masterlist in Bio!

Series Summary: You are Jim’s older sister who is taking a break from college and has moved back home to Arcadia. You end up joining Jim and his friends on their adventures.

Chapter 20 summary: Battle of Killahead time.

Douxie made sure to heal your hand before you arrived to see the trolls. You supposed he wanted to make a good impression on your brother and you having your hand burned wouldn’t help him.

You went through Claire’s shadow portal and stepped into a stone cave. Jim and Callista were there and so was...Vendel. You froze in the middle of the portal and Douxie bumped into you as he came through.

“What’s wrong? Douxie asked, half leading you half carrying you away from the portal.

“That’s Vendel,” you whispered, tears already pricking your eyes.

You didn’t have the time to explain more as Claire popped in. “Hey, that's my boyfriend you're operating on!”

Vendel jumped “Oh! Humans! Sound the alarm!”

You heard a faint swoosh as Arthur came through the portal. “Hold! Please, Vendel of Dwoza. I humble myself before you. Camelot needs your help.”

“And why should we help Camelot?” Vendel asked, side eyeing you as tears rolled down your face. They weren’t tears of sadness or joy at seeing himd, you weren’t really feeling any exact emotions, you were just overwhelmed. Seeing your late mentor in the past could do that to you.

“-Camelot has been devastated,” Arthur was saying and you realized you had zoned out, just staring at Vendel through your tears.

Vendel sighed “Perhaps we could talk about this in a more private setting?”

“Of course,” Arthur said and Vendel led him away. You followed them out into a bigger room where Vendel and Arthur stood by a wall to discuss while a ring of knights guarded them. It made sense to have guards, but unfortunately they weren’t just guarding, they were keeping you and your friends from hearing the conversation.

Douxie kept his arm wrapped around your shoulder in silent support as you tried to listen.

Gumar the Black's swarm of Gumm-Gumms are ready to strike. The monsters seek vengeance on both our kind,” Arthur pointed out.

“And after all you've done, you expect us trolls to fight in this war for you?” Vendel asked, jabbing a figure at Arthur.

Arthur shook his head. “No, not for me; with me, as equals.”

“Glorkus me!”

“I vow, if we win this war, we shall live in peace.”

“Gumm-Gumm's are terrifying warriors while we are but humble gravel miners. How do you expect us to ever defeat Gunmar?”

“We will give you a secret weapon,” Arthur said.

Jim came up behind you. “You really think they can work this out?”

You and Douxie turned to face him. “They have to, or everyone in Camelot and Dwoza are doomed.”

“Then so is saving history. Great,” Claire grumbled.

“I assure you, all will be fine once I've completed my amulet,” Merlin promised as he walked over to your little huddle. “So, this is the once and future Trollhunter I've heard of. May I have a word, alone?”

Jim shrugged. “Um, sure. Be right back.”

You let go of Douxie to give him a quick hug. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too, and it seems that there are some things I missed out on,” Jim said, looking at Douxie.

“I’ll explain everything later,” you promised as Jim walked away. You moved back over to Douxie, but decided to face away from Arthur and Vendel. Everytime you looked at your old mentor all you felt was a heavy crushing sensation in your heart and lungs. It felt like you couldn’t breath at times.

You had lost Vendel in such a horrible way and at such a horrible time. It killed you inside that you couldn’t warn him of Usurna’s treachery without fear of messing up history.

You recalled when you had first met him, you had snapped at him when he didn’t believe your brother would be a good Trollhunter and after you had calmed a little he had offered an apprenticeship to you. You hadn’t been onboard with having Véndel as your teacher, but he grew on you, the two of you had just gotten off on the wrong foot. And from there he grew into a father figure for you, just as Blinky had for Jim. He had always been a silent supporter of yours, encouraging you in your practice of magic.

You were once again snapped out of your musings by Claire. “I think they’re done talking, we should go discuss what’s gonna happen next,” she suggested and the four of you walked over there. “Hey, is everything okay? What are you talking about?”

Jim glanced nervously and guiltlily between you and Claire. “Oh, um... nothing. Just Merlin prepping me for the trip home.”

Douxie smiled. “Wait, wait, wait, you finally finished the Heart of Avalon? It's working?”

Merlin nodded “Indeed. But first, we must survive the battle to come.”

“Wizard,” Arthur called, interrupting any further conversation. “We've reached an agreement. Now you must convince the crowd.”

You and your friends stayed on the ground while Arthur and Merlin went up to a rock balcony that looked over an area of Dwoza. It was interesting how much cozier it was here than in the other Trollmarkets which were much more open concept. You would have enjoyed exploring it more had you not had other more important things to do.

“Trolls of Dwoza, hear us now!” Vendel called.

Arthur cleared his throat. “As we speak, death comes for us all. But we bring an offer of hope.”

Douxie grinned at you and opened the time map. “Here comes the light show.” A string of golden sparks flew out of it and around the room before converging into a bright ball. The ball glowed brighter before becoming a large projection of the amulet. It flew across the room where another projection appeared, showing Killahead Bridge. The Amulet found its place on the bridge and a portal opened up, consuming projections of gumm-gumms.

“I've designed a grand weapon, an amulet which will choose the greatest warrior among you to banish the Gumm-Gumm menace from our realm and become the Trollhunter!” Merlin announced. You cringed when you saw how the crowd of trolls reacted to the name.

“The amulet's power will activate Killahead Bridge, once a border between our worlds, turning it into a magic prison for Gunmar and his brood, trapping them in the Darklands and ending this war!” Arthur explained, trying to call attention back to the main goal.

“I, Draal, Dwoza's strongest, shall be chosen for glory!” Your head snapped up when you heard that voice. You couldn’t believe Draal was there too. He seemed just like himself, trying to earn the amulet. You felt more tears pool in your eyes when you remembered what had happened to him. He was yet another person you could not warn of future events.

You glanced over at Claire and Jim and you saw that their eyes were misty too. Douxie came over and wrapped his arm around you again gently wiping away a tear that had slipped out. You smiled up at him and took a deep breath. You’d have to stay focused and fight to keep your time together in the future intact.

“The battle will not be easy. While the wizard builds this am-yoo-let, the king's men will train our bravest,” Vendel announced.

Lancelot stepped forward. “Indeed. I shall guide the-“

Steve jumped on Lancelots back, startling the knight and making you laugh to which Douxie responded by looking at you with pure adoration in his eyes. “Yeah! Knights Steve and Lance here to whip you big hosses into warriors! Krav Maga! Turtle stance! Whoo! Ah! Hee-yaw!” Steve yelled, earning more laughs and a few cringes from you and Douxie.

Arthur ignored Steve’s outburst. “Then we ride for Killahead to draw Gunmar out.”

With those final words everyone cheered.

~~~~

“Well, it seems we may have a shot at surviving this after all,” Archie said as you walked through a hallway.

“One shot is the best I can offer. When Killahead activates, it shall unleash a surge of magic across the realm,” Merlin explained coming up behind you.

“Just enough to power the Heart of Avalon for a trip through time!” Douxie exclaimed.

“But only one, which means everything must go according to my plan. Hisirdoux, with me. I need your assistance.”

Claire smiled as Merlin left. “At least we're reunited. We'll get through this... together. Come on, I wanna take you somewhere.”

“Uh, you two take a beat. Merlin and I have still got to actually finish the amulet all our hopes are riding on,” Douxie said going off after Merlin.

You hesitated, trying to decide which way to go. It didn’t seem like Merlin needed you and Jim and Claire were going on an impromptu date.

Douxie turned to look back at you. “Coming, love?”

“I’m actually gonna stay here and train. Good luck with the amulet,” you said and Douxie nodded.

“I’ll meet you when you're done.” He gave a wave goodbye and you went your separate ways.  

You made your way to the training grounds and looked for a sparring partner however all the trolls declined, so you went and found yourself a rock.

You hummed to yourself as you practiced your swordsmanship and spells. For a years worth of Magic practice you were quite good if you did say do yourself. You had learned so many new things and you were so proud of yourself.

You leapt into the air, using your magic to push you up and sent a fire spell down at the rock. The spell hit the rock and it lit up with magical flames.

You waved your arms, calling the orange fire back to you and got ready to attack in another way. However, a tap on your shoulder interrupted you. You jumped, startled and whirled around only to find Douxie there. Your eyes were immediately drawn to the staff he was holding.

“Hey there, darling. How’s practice going?” He asked, an excited smile on his face.

“‘How’s my practice going?’ You got your staff! That’s so cool! You totally deserve it.”

“I-yeah.” He looked away from you and you could see that he was still holding himself to impossible standards. You moved closer to him.

“Hey, don’t give me that look you are such a great wizard.”

He leaned down to kiss you. “I guess I’m pretty excited.”

“‘Pretty excited,’” you scoffed. “You had such a big smile on your face when you walked in here. You are way more than ‘pretty excited’.”

“Fine I’m really excited and I can’t wait to use it. It’s gonna be nuclear.”

“I bet.”

Your conversation was cut off from stretching into the topic of the battle when Archie called for you guys, “Merlin is ready to reveal the amulet!”

“Coming!” You called back. Douxie offered you his arm and you took it as you made your way to the cozy little meeting room.

“Today, the amulet will choose one of you to defend your people, to hunt these trolls who have betrayed your kind. You will no longer fear the daylight. You will wield it as the Trollhunter,” Merlin announced and you grinned, looking about for Deya.

Callista scoffed. “Let's see which one of your brown-snouters gets picked.”

Draal stepped forward. “It would be my honor.”

Douxie looked over to Merlin who nodded. “For the Glory of Merlin... awake.”

“Whoa, whoa!” Callista exclaimed as the Amulet flew around the room, from troll to troll. You watched as it eventually settled on her.

“Rise, Trollhunter... and become,” the amulet said.

“Uh, I think your amulet has the wrong troll,” Callista protested.

Merlin shook his head and walked over to her. “No, the amulet does not make mistakes. For whatever reason, it has chosen you. Speak the incantation. Find your purpose, the savior of our worlds.”

Callista’s eyes widened. “Me? I've never been chosen for anything.” She admired the amulet and began to read the inscription. “'For the Glory of-‘“

Draal cut her off and you frowned at him. “Bushigal! It chose Callista the Calamity? She's basically a fleshbag.”

“This is the humans' big plan. The only place that outsider will lead us is death!” Another troll called.

“Ignore them. Accept this honor,” Merlin pushed.

Callista stutumbled, backing away. “No, they're right, I'm not a hero. I'm not even good at being a troll.”

“Go on, say the words!” Merlin yelled as Callista ran off.

“Cal, wait!” Jim called.

Callista briefly turned back. “I... I can't do this!”

You and your friends went to run after her, but Vendel stepped in front of you. “Is this some sick human joke? I believe you fleshbags have done enough damage.”

“We're doomed!” A troll behind you cried.

“Gumm-Gumms are coming for us and we've wasted time with your silly games!” Draal growled.

“We must hide!” Another added.

“We all must fight as allies,” Merlin argued.

Vendel scooted. “You think just because your king gives us a shiny toy, you can buy our loyalty? Leave, and take your trinkets with you!”

“The amulet chose Callista?” Archie questioned as he flew to a ledge behind Claire. You and your friends had retreated to another room after the whole scene and you were worried that things might not turn out. You took a deep breath, trying not to panic.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wasn't Deya the first Trollhunter?” Claire asked and you nodded.

“She was, Deya the deliverer. But I never met any trolls named Deya here,” you explained.

“Either way, without one, Killahead will be a bloodbath,” Douxie pointed out.

“I think I know where Callista went. Claire?” Jim prompted and a portal opened, swallowing them.

“What about the king? Doesn't history need him at Killahead as well?” Archie questioned again. He was making a lot of good points.

Douxie nodded. “Don't worry, I'm on it.”

The two of you made your way to the surface and you looked for Arthur’s aura, you had a good idea of where to look though and you found him.

He was kneeling by the edge of the cliff where Morgana had died, his crown discarded behind him.

“You should talk to him, he might still want to arrest me,” you whispered to Douxie.

“I’m sure he’s forgotten all about that, but I guess it’s inspirational speech time,” he mumbled, walking out of the trees towards the king.

You watched with Archie, but Arthur didn’t seem to be getting cheered up.

“Maybe you should go help him?” Archie suggested and you nodded.

“Let’s hope I don’t get arrested.”

“Who are you, boy?” Arthur asked as you walked towards him.

“I am Hisir-I'm nobody.” He sighed. “History won't remember me. Stories won't be told about me, but I won't let that stop me from fighting for what is right. You are Arthur Pendragon. No matter what happens today, I know for a fact that your story will be told. But it's up to you what legacy you leave behind-- an epitaph... or a legend.”

“But who will stand with me?” Arthur asked.

“I will,” you spoke up, wrapping an arm around Douxie.

“Galahad, stands with his king!” Galahad yelled, coming up on a horse.

“I will stand with you!” Lancelot vowed.

“Sir Steve's got your back, King-o!”

“And I,” Douxie added.

“You'll need air support,” Archie called, flying around you and Douxie.

Arthur grined. “Then let Camelot be remembered as the warriors we were born.”

“Huzzah!” Everyone cheered. You looked over at the setting sun and sighed. You had read so much about the Battle of Killahead and now you were participating in it. You could only hope the outcome would be the same.

~~~~

You arrived at Killahead bridge just as the sun began to truly set. Half the clearing was shaded and the other half was light, but that wouldn’t last long. You summoned your sword and a few daggers and got ready to fight.

You stopped at the tree line and looked up to see Gunmar and his army gathered upon some rocks.

“One king cannot stand against an army, Arthur!” Gunmar taunted as Arthur stepped forward.

“It's a good thing he has an army!” Douxie countered as the rest of you came out of the trees.

“Perfect! More meat for my troops. Beserkers, tenderize them!” Gunmar roared. You watched in horror as Gunmar sent some of his soldiers to their deaths. The moved into balls and rolled down into the clearing, turning to stone once they got into the sun.

“Living cannonballs! Look alive!” Archie warned. You leapt into the air as one got near you. You looked down and winced as you saw soldiers get taken out.

“We must hold Killahead Bridge, no matter what nightmares Gunmar throws at us,” Merlin ordered.

“Arthur, I can smell your fear!” Gunmar called and you could tell that he was growing impatient.

“It's leaking out of his pantaloons!” A gumm-gumm joked and you rolled your eyes. Arthur’s aura was radiating fear, but his courage and determination almost covered it up.

Gunmar laughed. “Prepare to be crushed!”

“Knights of the Round Table, our battle cry will shake the heavens and awake the old gods to witness. Today, we say 'no more' to fear and darkness! For Camelot and glory!”

Douxie turned to you, Jim, and Claire. “I know the Trollhunter isn't here, but we are! Champions! And when I get us all home, brunch on me! For Camelot!”

“For Camelot!” You all echoed, getting ready to rush into battle.

“USA! US- uh...Cam-e-lot! Cam-e-lot!” Steve chanted.

“Hisirdoux, our fates may be uncertain, but there's one thing I am sure of—I chose you well.” Merlin gave a small smile and gently nudged Douxie.

You took a breath. “We’ve got this.”

Douxie looked at Merlin and then you, determination shined in his eyes and radiated off of his aura. “Let's show these blokes the power of wizards!”

“For Camelot!” Arthur cheered as the sun finally disappeared. You, your friends and the rest of the army charged down into the little valley and you immediately blasted two gumm-gumms, though two more took their places. It worried you that Gunmar had so many soldiers.

You leapt into the air and sent a fire spell down, cutting through the enemy lines.

“Heads up!” You heard Claire yell as she came through a portal and kicked away a gumm-gumm. The beast stumbled backwards and you sent a knife through it.

“Just in the nick of time,” Jim thanked.

Claire chuckled, but was cut short by Jim wincing. “We're getting through this... together.”

You sent a quick pain relief spell at Jim then you turned your attention away from them and towards Douxie. He and Archie were taking care of things, but as you landed another gumm-gumm came up from behind. You raced over to him and when the gumm-gumm swung your sword was there to meet him. Douxie quickly moved out of the way and you dropped your sword, sidestepped and blasted the brute in the back.

Douxie turned and blasted a gumm-gumm that ran at him and stabbed one next to it. Another leapt into the air, but before it could hurt either of you DOuxie created a blue beam that trapped it in midair. He killed it and did the same to two other gumm-gumms.

“Arch!” Douxie called when he caught more in his beam. Archie dove towards you and set fire to the beasts. “Ha, ha! Always hated those twits!”

“You’ve got to teach me that some time,” you said, leaping high into the air. You curved and dove face first towards the ground, letting gravity build your momentum. At the last second you twisted again, using magic to keep you from breaking anything, and sent a magic ripple across the ground, taking out about a dozen gumm-gumms. You swayed a bit, not expecting the toll that modified spell would take on you.

“You’ve got to teach me that,” Douxie mimicked and you smiled at him, sending daggers through the gumm-gumms that were right behind him.

“Fight on! The day isn't over yet!” Arthur encouraged. Suddenly you felt a very dark aura enter the battlefield and you looked upwards to see a portal open.

“Night has already fallen.” Morgana yelled. She raised her arms as she touched the ground. “Elemen-zath!”

A blast similar to the one you had just made, rippled through the air. “Demon witch!” Galahad cried.

Douxie looked to you. “Morgana's returned! She's enemy number one!”

“Go! We'll hold the bridge!” Jim said, looking at you.

“Hisirdoux, with me!”

You hesitated, looking between Jim and Douxie. You watched as Jim winced slightly as he moved his arm.

Douxie turned back and you made eye contact with him. “Stay with Jim!” Douxie said, giving you a quick hug.

“Stay safe,” you called back as he ran off towards Merlin. You hopped you had made the right decision as you rejoined the battle fighting alongside your brother.

“Rally, Knights of the Round! Humanity will not go quietly this day!” Arthur called. “With me! Drive them back!”

“Yeah! I ain't afraid of no creeps!” Steve cried charging back into battle.

You raced away from them as you saw a few knights almost get the better of Bular. Swords clanged as you raced past the battle, feet barely hitting the ground. When you arrived you jolted to a stop.

You could outright help Bular, you had to be sneaky. A gumm-gumm came up from behind you and you whirled to face it, an idea forming. It swung its sword at you and you created a shield to meet it. Normally the sword would have bounced harmlessly off the shield, but instead you sent yourself flying backwards, crashing into the knights that were fighting Bular. Honestly they shouldn’t have been standing so close together if they didn’t want to be used as bowling pins.

Bular roared, running off into the ranks to pick an easier fight. You contemplated going after him to make sure he didn’t die and history stayed the same, but you decided against it when you saw him join up with Gunmar.

You apologized to the soldiers and went off to help Jim and Claire fight.

You took down gumm-gumm after gumm-gumm, even trying out the spell you had seen Douxie do. Though the spell you used most was your fire spell, it seemed to do the most damage and could hurt more gumm-gumms.

A blast of Excalibur’s magic radiated through the battle ground and you used the excess to try your spell again. You flew into the air twisted and hit the ground again, sending off another strong blast. Your orange magic turned many gumm-gumms to stone, but there was always more, just as there had been when you were fighting Angor Rot and his golems.

Your celebration was cut short however when the ground shook and a wave of heat hit you.

“The Arcane Order? They're here?” Claire cried.

“We may have come to the end of days! Charge!” Galahad ordered and you had to admire his bravery. You ran to face them with the knights and when one sent a fire spell towards the knights you put up your arms. The force of the spell sent you backwards, but you held your ground. You grunted and sent the flames back at the order, careful not to hurt Nari. She may have been bad now, but you understood that in the future she changed.

More knights rushed to take on the order and you fell back to help Jim.

“Y/n, give me a boost!” Jim called. You sent a wave of Orange magic towards him and he leapt into the air, coming down behind a line of gumm-gumms. They didn’t even have time to react before Jim turned them to stone.

You took care of any behind him, sending daggers at them.

“Y/n!” Claire warned and you whirled around to see some of the monsters charging at you. Before you could react, Claire sent you through a portal and you landed on top of a gumm-gumm’s shoulders. You blasted his two friends and flipped off of him, twisting in the air and performing your spell. The blast radiated around you and you immediately moved to fight more.

You sent spell after spell, fighting alongside Claire and Jim and occasionally Steve. You all watched each other's backs. You mimicked the beam spell Douxie did earlier, turning a gumm-gumm to stone

Suddenly Morgana’s aura was back and you snapped around shocked to see her completely unharmed.

“Brother! We have some unresolved issues,” she hissed.

Arthur stumbled back. “Sister? You're alive? Stop this! Our blood is the same.”

Morgana called. “Is that so? Then let's spill some of yours and make sure!”

You raced to Arthur, ready to take on Morgana yourself. You didn’t know what had happened to Merlin, Douxie, and Archie, but it was the unknown that scared you.

You watched as a golden light brought Arthur to his knees. “You were right. It is like you said.” He dropped Excalibur and you got ready to shield him if necessary. “We are all the same. I have wronged you, as I have all creatures in my realm. I now fight to save them from the violence I have sown. This carnage, these deaths, we can end this.”

Morgana hesitated and you slowed to a stop too. “This-this is a lie. A trick!”

Arthur shook his head. “No, this is our redemption. I should have listened to you.”

While you had been ready to guard against Morgana, what you hadn’t anticipated was the arcane order to teleport in and end him.

“Brother! No!” Morgana cried.

“Merlin's puppet is gone. Go finish it! Show us your loyalty, Morgana!” The fiery one ordered and you tensed ready to fight Morgana.

Her hands glowed gold and a blast radiated through the air as she let out an anguished wail.

“What have you done with Douxie!?” You asked, send a blast towards her. It hit her, sending her backwards, but she didn’t fall.

“What does it matter?” She asked, sending a blast towards you. You leapt into the air, ready to dodge it and pounce on her, but when you hit the ground she had disappeared.

You looked around for her, but she was nowhere. Panic and fear for Douxie and Archie coursed through you as you made your way back to Claire and Jim at an inhuman speed.

You jumped into their battle and took down five gumm-gumms, your anger and fear giving you the power.

“My king!” You heard Galahad cry and you looked over to see Arthur was no longer giving off an aura.

“Their king is dead! Leave no survivors,” Gumar ordered.

With that the gumm-gumms seemed to get a burst of energy. They overtook you, Jim, and Claire, forcing you to your knees. You began to squirm and chant a spell, but a disgusting piece of gumm-gumm armor was shoved into your mouth. It didn’t stop you from trying though as one raised its sword to kill Jim.

You broke free and sent a blast at all of your captors, freeing you. More of the monsters came to take their place, but a horn sounded, distracting them. You looked over to see Callista.

“Hey, need some help?” She asked. “Because I brought some friends!”

“Yes! We are here to not run away!” You heard Blinky yell.

“Well said, brother!” Dictatious said.

“Let's show these glorkheads how a real troll fights! For the glory of Merlin, daylight is mine to command!”

You watched in awe as she charged. A blue glow erupted from the amulet, slightly blinding you as she ran into the valley. Her armor came onto her piece by piece as she took down gumm-gumms. She was amazing.

“Callista, glad you made it!” Jim said as you all fought some of the remaining beasts.

Callista turned to all of you after she finished. “It's Deya, actually. It always was.”

“Deya?” You all echoed. A smile lit up your face.

“History is on track!” You cheered, but your smile faded fast when you recalled all that had happened before Callista arrived.

You turned to Claire. “I need to find Douxie.”

“I’m on it.” A portal bloomed and you readied your sword. “Be careful, I’ll come and help soon.”

“I will, let’s just hope that they’re okay.” You took a shaky breath and jumped in.

You walked out of the portal only to be blasted with a golden beam sending you into a wall. Apparently Morgana had gone to finish her fight with the wizards and your boyfriend was okay.

With that thought you fell to the floor. The breath was knocked out of you and you laid there, trying to find the strength to get back up before Morgana realized there was another magic user in the room.

“She's too powerful! We have no choice but to seal her away!” Merlin yelled.

“I know. I'll try to buy some ti-“ Douxie was cut off and you felt heat radiate through the room.

Morgana laughed. “Oh, shame! Little Douxie finally gets his staff, just in time to die with it!”

You finally gathered the strength to get up, your fear for Douxie once again consuming you. THankfully you noticed him lying on the ground on the opposite side of the room. Merlin had pushed him out of the way.

You took some deep breaths and created a shield around yourself. You watched as the fire cleared away, revealing Merlin to be in chains. Morgana charged and began to fight Douxie. He met her every move, countering her, but you didn;t know how long he’d be able to hold her off.

“You can't even wield it! You should stick to your usual tricks.” Morgana taunted and you realized that while she was distracted by Douxie, you could go free Merlin.

“Use the power of your staff! Make it your own!” Merlin encouraged Douxie as you came up to him. You put a figure to your lips to quiet the old wizard as you worked to undo the chains.

You carefully peaked around him to watch the battle and you were rewarded with the sight of Douxie’s staff transforming into an electric guitar. He raised its tricking Morgana in the face.

The witch stumbled backwards. “What?!”

Douxie admired the guitar. “Bleeding balroths! This is nuclear!”

Morgana put a shocked hand to her face. “Did you just strike with a-a lute?”

Douxie shook his head. “Uh-uh-uh-uh. No, uh-uh. Spellcaster guitar, darling.” He strummed it. “Needs tuning, though.”

Merlin groaned. “I meant make it your own weapon!”

“Well, this is technically an 'axe',” Douxie joked, earning a silent chuckle from you. He began to play more.

“Hisirdoux, this is no time for dreadful music!” Merlin scolded.

“Dreadful?” Douxie scoffed.

“Absolutely infernal,” Morgana agreed and you were tempted to reveal yourself to compliment Douxie’s music, but you thought better of it. You’d make sure to do it later though.

“No worries, this is just the opening track!” Douxie said, playing louder.

“What do you hope to do? Blow out our eardrums?” Merlin asked and you whacked him.

“Stay quiet,” you hissed as you got to the last bit of chain. “You don’t want Morgana to know I’m here.

“Well, pardon me if this rock is too freakin' awesome for your medieval sensibilities!” Douxie countered and you laughed, forgetting you were supposed to be silent. Thankfully Merlin covered it with a cough.  

Morgana held up her staff. “Enough of your noise!”

Morgana sent a beam of golden magic at Douxie who tried to counter, but you could see him struggling. “And...nope. Plan B,” he yelped, jumping down.

As they fought Morgana overpowered him and you watched as Douxie fell. Morgana sent a blast at Douxie who shielded himself, but he was quickly thrown against the wall, barely able to keep himself safe.

“Do not fret, Merlin. You'll find a new apprentice to replace him. Are people not dispensable, after all?” Morgana taunted, but her celebration was premature. Archie soared towards her, blasting her with fire just as you freed Merlin. He called his staff to him and you held out your hands. You and Merlin sent blasts at Morgana, giving Douxie the time he needed.

“Archie! Arch, light me!” Douxie requested. He heard out his hands and blue fire swirled around the room, creating a ring around Morgana.

You got ready to join the fight, but the fire quickly faded to show Douxie hovering in the air with a frozen Morgana. “Hurry! I can't hold her that long!”

Merlin brought his staff down and a green symbol grew out from it, creating a circle. “You've lost yourself, Morgana! Bound to dark magic. I have no choice but to seal you away! Sigilia infractum!”

Suddenly you and Merlin were pushed back as Morgana broke Douxie’s hold. “Master!” Douxie cried, rushing to Merlin. You noticed he seemed to be bleeding shadows.

Merlin groaned. “She's too powerful! You have to finish this alone.”

Douxie nodded, standing up. He placed his own staff down and began to chant. “Sigilia infractum! Causera!”

“I will destroy you all! No matter what it takes, no matter where you go, I will end all that you love until you feel my agony!” Morgana vowed, sending a blast of magic at Douxie. You threw out your hands sending a shield to him, but before it could hit a shadow portal appeared consuming it.

“Hey! Hands off my teacher!” Claire yelled.

Morgana scowled. “I swear on your lives, I shall rise again!”

Claire scoffed. “Already seen it. You don't win. See you in 900 years!”

Douxie completed the spell and you ran over to hug him, but instead he just fell into your arms.

“Douxie!” You cried.

“Douxie! Are you okay?” Claire asked as Archie jumped onto him.

Douxie yelped as Archie started licking him. “Ugh! That's-that's disgusting!” You and Claire laughed at him.

“At least you’re safe.” You smiled.  

Douxie sighed. “Well...I think we just saved history.”

“And took down a ninth-level sorceress,” Archie added.  “Merlin would be proud.”

You all looked over to see the sleeping wizard. “Yeah, if he wasn't out cold,” Claire said.

~~~~

Now that the battle was over, it was time to get your affairs in order and go home. You had mostly enjoyed your time in Camelot, but you were definitely homesick and you really missed Mao.

“Everybody, ready yourselves. We don't have much time. I'll dial us in for when we left,” Douxie said as he stood at the helm of the castle.

“But what's gonna happen when we get there? The danger we escape, it'll be waiting for us. And Jim's still hurt,” Claire reminded.

“Yeah, we need a plan or something. Can you encase Jim in the gem like Merlin did?” You asked.

Douxie looked at you and Claire, pity shining in his eyes. “Claire, Y/n, about that... Jim is-“

“Ready to face the inevitable,” Jim interjected.

Douxie hesitated. “Jim, are you sure?”

“Jim?” You and Claire asked.

Jim sighed. “Claire, the shard in...There is no cure. That's what Merlin told me earlier.”

Claire took a step back. “That's crazy! We can find something! I'll learn a spell. We can stay here.”

Jim shook his head. “If we don't all go back right now, the future won't exist. And what kind of hero would I be if I sacrificed everyone else? Not to be ironic, but we're out of time.”

“No, no, no. We can’t be out of time, you’re only sixteen,” you protested.

“Douxie, tell him! We can fix this! You can fix this!” Claire cried.

Douxie looked away from you. “I'm sorry. He's right. We must go back now, but when we do, we'll find a way to reverse this. I promised I would return you home, and I am, but the portal can only stay open for a few moments. This is our one shot. Trust me.”

Jim shook his hand and you hugged your brother tightly. You weren’t ready to let him go, but you relented and joined Douxie.

“You said to make the tough calls, old man. I hope I'm doing the right thing,” he mumbled. He hit a switch on the time map and you watched as the rings around the Heart of Avalon shifted till they were aligned, creating a bright beam of light and your portal home.

Douxie helped you to the boat and you jumped on.

Claire helped Jim over. “There has to be another way. This isn't fair!”

Jim gave a sad smile. “That seems to be a reoccurring thing with us. You sure you wanna keep dating me?”

Claire mimicked his smile. “I'd date you for a hundred lifetimes, Jim Lake.”

A tear fell and Jim wiped it away. “Hey, we'll figure this out. We always find a way to save each other.”

You and Douxie walked over to the helm and he put his staff in. “It’s gonna be okay,” he promised you.

“Man Camelot was crazy! Why don’t they ever talk about that in the history books?” Steve asked, walking to the bow and earning a chuckle from you.

You gently leaned it to Douxie as you went through the portal. “My burden to bear,” he whispered.

You shook your head. “We’ve got this. We’ll find a way to make everything right.”

****

Yay, it's out! I can't believe after this there is only one more chapter........until the movie comea out, if course. After that I'll continue it. But stil, it's come a long way. Anyways, I hope y'all have a fantastic day/night and stay safe! Thanks for reading! I hope you like it and feel free to leave comments.

Also thank you to @super-nova-of-death @lillycore and @catuskat666 for helping me make a decision for were to take this chapter!

P.S. if you want to be on the taglist feel free to ask. I hope it works and please message me if it doesn’t.

[amaranthkick]

A Therapy Werewolf, part 10

(ao3) 

“You should have seen it, Pidge! Shiro threw his head back, a noble howl resonating around the area catching the attention of the space wolves. All Shiro had to do was growl, showing off those pearly whites and they were cowering with their tail between their legs. Ah, as a fellow lupine, it brings a tear to my eye.” Lance dramatically wiped a non-existent tear from his eye.

Shiro knocked Lance down, laying on top of him and trapping him underneath. “You know that is not what happened in the slightest.”

“Mmm, yeah, I’m sure that’s what happened.” Pidge said to Lance, voice dripping with sarcasm. She raised an eyebrow. “What really happened?”

Lance hid his flushed face behind his hands while Shiro whined softly and put a paw on top of his muzzle. Hunk tilted his head at their reactions and gasped as an idea popped into his head. “Oh! Is it like on TV where dogs sniff--”

Everyone froze as the alarm blared throughout the castle and in an instant they rushed to the bridge.

“It's as I feared.” Allura informed them as she pulled up the map, showing an enemy marker heading towards their location. “The Galra are sending a warship to our position. Fortunately, it's not a robeast. ...Not this time yet. But this means we don’t have the leisure to wait here for a way to change Shiro back to normal. Never mind, we’ll talk afterwards. Paladins to your Lions!”

Shiro huffed as he waited on the bridge as the others worked together to take down the warship. He could feel the Black Lion purring in apology in the back of his mind but as otherworldly and advanced as these Lions were, the controls proved difficult in his current state.

Though he wasn’t able to fight with his team, he perked up in pride as they managed to take it down. They have really grown from the first time they piloted the Lions to be able to work together even with one Lion missing.

---

Even though they were victorious it was tense when the paladins returned to the bridge. Keith was tense with anger, of course the Galra wouldn’t let them catch their breath. It’s just a matter of time until they keep sending stronger and stronger reinforcements. Pidge was fiercely staring at a screen as if her glare can make a cure form faster. Everyone else was frowning thinking of what they could do.

Lance started when he felt Shiro nudge his hand with a wet nose. “You said you had a plan B, in case things don’t pan out. Well… things aren’t panning out. Can I hear what it is?”

Hearing Shiro bark made everyone turn their heads in their direction. Lance rubbed the back of his head. “Uh, there is something I’d like to try. I think it’ll be able to help Shiro.”

Lance explained that he wanted to turn Shiro, give him the bite and turn him into a werewolf. He got the idea thinking about Coran’s remarks about his body rejecting the space wolf chemical. The turn would also pretty much be instantaneous. The idea surprised them and certainly piqued Coran’s interest in how the turning works but more importantly brought a spark of hope back in their eyes.

“How interesting, is it magic based or perhaps it works like an infection passed through a bite wound?” Coran was holding a magnifying glass too close to Lance’s mouth for his liking.

“I have no idea.” Lance leaned away from Coran’s good-natured prodding. “I’ve never tried it but it does involve a bite, which obviously hurts. Not sure how I feel about biting our leader. Are you sure you want to try it?” He asked Shiro.

“I’m willing to give it a try.” Shiro nodded, appreciating his concern.

“Are you sure this will work?” Keith asked, highly concerned for Shiro’s safety.

“I don’t know how this’ll work on a space wolf but uh… ok, something like this happened before. They say that no one has turned anyone in a while but my dad or his friends might have done it but don’t you guys tell a soul! My family might get in trouble.”

At their agreement, Lance continued. “A long time ago, when my dad and a few of his friends were young and dumb and unafraid, they asked the age old question ‘can you turn a wolf into a werewolf?’ But unlike normal people and just imagining what would happen, they tried it out. Long story short they ended up adopting a very confused and slightly feral human. Ah, Uncle Jim Jam… the life of the party.” Lance ended with a nostalgic tinge in his voice.

“You guys named him Jim Jam?” Hunk asked incredulously.

Lance gasped, a hand on his chest. “Don’t be mean! He’s doing his best! But anyway, they started a wolf and ended with a werewolf that can turn into a human or wolf. Which is what we’ll end up with, hopefully.”

---

It wasn’t night yet but the moon had entered the sky from the eastern horizon. Lance said he needed some time to concentrate and see if the moon was willing to help. Apparently he had to get the moon’s blessing to be able to turn someone. Shiro found Lance in the usual hall, the moon visible in the window. His eyes were closed and he breathed in deeply, soaking up the moonlight. Once Lance noticed his presence he sat down next to him.

“This moon is happy to help, she feels friendly and kinda curious about me and werewolves since this planet doesn’t have any. ...How are you feeling about all this? Like getting drugged and uh, getting experimented again by the galra?” Lance winced as he asked. There wasn’t exactly a subtler way to ask that.

Shiro was surprised then he deflated with a sigh. It was hard to keep the dependable leader front with all this trauma piling up. “It certainly is not helping that it happened again. Feels like everytime they get their dirty hands on me, I’m changed beyond recognition from who I used to be.” He felt like he could breathe a little easier, having admitted that.

Lance started to gently stroke his fur, he felt Shiro relaxing slightly at his touch. “How about this though? If turning you is successful, you won’t exactly be fully human again.”

“Hmm, but this feels different. Maybe because you offered it and I chose to try it rather than another galran experiment being forced on me.” But still… being a werewolf, it’ll definitely be a new experience, Shiro thought.

“Oh! That kinda reminds me of some werewolf legends, want to hear them?” Lance looked eager to tell him a bit of werewolf culture, his culture. Shiro wagged his tail once, happy to listen.

“Well, they say the first turning was actually a curse.” Lance smiled sheepishly as he started. “Humans were afraid of werewolves so they hunted them. The moon was angry at the many innocent lives lost to the hunters. So she cursed the bite a werewolf had inflicted in self defence and caused the hunter to become a werewolf and thus the hunter becomes the hunted by his own people.

“Oh! But then there’s another legend that makes turning look like a blessing! So there was this werewolf woman whose lover was terribly injured. Since werewolves boasted great regenerative abilities she begged the moon to be able to turn her love so she can save them. And once she did they lived happily ever after and all that jazz. They tell these stories to get pups to not judge things at first glance since something was a curse in once case turned out to be a blessing in another. Ah, I remember when grandma told me these stories...”

Shiro's eyes softened fondly as Lance started to reminisce, happily talking about his family. A blessing, huh? Shiro felt lighter as his nuzzling caused Lance to laugh.

“Haha! Alright, alright. Enough of that, I think I’m good to go. Let’s get everyone and see this through.”

---

Pain.

Shiro was ready to accept that. Sharp teeth sinking into his flesh. But that spike of pain only lasted for a moment.

Then it felt like lava coursed through his veins spreading from the bite to every part of his body. He felt something… in the back of his mind, a gentle pull. Was this how the moon felt to Lance?  Lance told him if he felt it, he should go against the pull as it guided them towards their wolf form. He concentrated on doing so. Shiro gritted his teeth as muscles spasmed and bones started to shift. He could vaguely hear yells of concern from the others.

He remembers Lance trying to tell him to not fight against the change before he blacked out.

---

It was a chaotic few minutes full of screaming, cursing, yelling, honestly, just another day out here in space, Lance thought to himself. But everyone calmed down once Shiro had changed back into a human even though he promptly passed out. They quickly dressed him up in the silky, black pajamas stored in the castle. He was still missing his arm but with Pidge, Hunk, and Coran on the case, Lance doubts it would be that much of an issue for long.

Lance suggested a sleepover, getting everyone bringing their blankets and pillows to fill that circle of couches area in the common room. This way with Shiro’s brand new stronger sense of smell, he’d be surrounded by familiar scents when he wakes up.

Allura took Coran with her to chart their next course to their next destination, taking care to mark some safe spots to give the paladins much needed rest. Coran assured Lance that he would make her join the sleepover so she could rest as well.

As they slept in the soft nest waiting for Shiro to wake, Lance settled in and he let his mind wander. It’s been a wild ride out here in space. Becoming paladins, helping Shiro like he helped his uncle, everyone accepting him even if he was a werewolf and him fully accepting them as a pack. Lance knew this war would be tough but he’ll do what he could for his pack.

[prinzessinlouise]

hi welcome to my first ever blog lmao..Today imma write about my favourite.. Billie Eilish🐍. So enjoy lol.

Billie Eilish is know to be a songwriter, model, and most known as a singer. She was homeschooled when she was younger and so was her brother Finneas because their parents wanted them to have a creative life and let them kind of do and choose what they were interested in. They also had actor and musician parents so it was a really creative life for them. When Billie was only 6 years old she said she wanted to sing “Happiness is a warm gun” in a talent show and she also joined the choir at 8 years old because her brother was in it and she thought that was cool and it actually helped Billie control her voice without hurting it, she was also in a songwriting class taught by her mom. Billie was 10 years old and she told her parents that she wanted to ride horses but they couldn’t afford it so for 2 summers she worked at the stables all day to get the money she needed to ride. O’Connell was Billie’s real last name but she didn’t like it when she was younger so she changed it to Eilish. She didn’t like her first name either, she said that she would try anything to change it. When she was younger she loved to take pictures and make music videos to random songs she liked. When she was just 11/12 she wrote her first song that was posted on SoundCloud and YouTube, it was called “Fingers Crossed” and it was about the walking dead. HOW SHE GOT FAMOUS When she was 14 she made another song and it was called “Ocean Eyes” for her dance teacher and it blew up of views and listens and she basically got famous overnight. In 2017 she put out her first album called ‘Don’t Smile At Me’. In 2019 she became a lot more popular and put out a album called ‘WHEN WE ALL FALL ASLEEP, WHERE DO WE GO?” and then she became the first female artist born in the 2000s to have a #1 album.

I personally love Billie eilish so much, her music is great, it’s calming, and when you listen to it you know what it means straight away..? Ygm?

The song as you know “ when the party’s over” is about Billie eilish falling in love with a guy who is still recovering from his past relationships, and that he knows he has feelings for Billie but he’s broken, and Billie likes him aswell but she knows she can’t be with him. The video she made for this song portrays her as being locked in a painful cycle of self destruction. She continues to willingly engage in a toxic relationship until it utterly consumes and destroys her.

In the song “xanny” Billie is explaining in her song that Billie found herself with some toxic friends. They are always high and drunk and she wasn’t into that kind of stuff. Most people would say that they are just high but she says, “bring ashtrays to the table, and that’s about the only thing they share”. They mostly were probably rude, and would never communicate with her.she was always the one watching over them taking care of them and watching them make their mistakes The song title was meant to kinda sound like the drug Xanax. Like the mood keeps changing you. Billie probably was being suggested to have it and kept saying no.

The song “ wish you were gay” as Billie eilish says “I wrote this song about a guy that really was not interested in me and it made me feel horrible, so the song is called ‘Wish You Were Gay’. Some people find this song very offensive which I don’t know what there is to be offended about the song. The song itself is about how Billie has an interest in a boy who doesn’t feel the same way. She wishes the guy was gay so she wouldn’t think it’s something about her that's preventing the guy from liking her back. If others find it offensive, I don’t necessarily understand how, but I mean everyone is entitled to their opinions.

The song “You should see me in a crown” was about Sherlock.. tbh I thought there was going to be more meaning about this song but it was just a sentence in a movie from

Jim moriarty saying “ you should see me in a crown”I like the way they all scream

billie eilish explained that she thought the line was dope/cool because if you heard it in a dark room, it'd be terrifying and her goal is to freak the people out who’s going to be listening and hearing.

when she said “Cause even God herself” why use the term “herself” who is this ‘she’ she speaks of? Does she speak of herself ?? Or maybe She is refering it to the Mother Earth. Woah, big brain moment now i understand/see the song in a different way now… so Billie prob. meant in the line “once the water starts to rise and heaven’s out of sight, she’ll want the devil on her team” that mother nature is going to begin punishing humans or that she’ll (mother nature) will want to get revenge on us humans for how we have been causing this planet to begin die slowly… Hm..or maybe it also makes me wonder if Billie eillish takes part in the occult,(the selling your soul stuff) I don’t really believe it but I am open to the possibility that these supernatural entities might exist. In the end she says my lucifer is lonely my God is gonna owe me, which indicates that she believes lucifer to be God, I don’t think she is a devil worshipper but yeah it all tells that this song is definitely not only about climate change. I don’t know we all have different opinions..😁😁

lastly.. I have so many other songs to write about but these ones more catch my eyes and ears. Billie is a physically-abusive relationship. However, she is not alarmed. Rather she is just going along for the ride because ultimately she knows that she is in control. In fact whereas he partner likes to play tough, in the end Billie is actually the “bad guy”, and not him. You think the song would be all about the guy.. no no the song is about her. In fact Eilish is so bad that she says if her mother were to actually hear this song she would feel “pity” for the men in her life.

[coll2mitts]

Super Mario Bros. (1993)

Thanks to the awesome people who donated to Extra Life (you still can, btw!)  y'all will now be treated to a retrospective on the 1993 classic movie, Super Mario Bros.  When I took on this milestone, the first (and only) person I messaged for ideas on terrible (but wonderful) films based on video games was my friend Max, who has a history of viewing and talking about bad movies.  He suggested this, and while I was aware of this magnificent piece of cinema history, I had not had the pleasure of viewing it myself.  He hooked me up with a copy, and to say this film lived up to my expectations would be an understatement.

I couldn’t help but be charmed by this movie.  It is filled with so many questionable creative choices that were fucking ridiculous.  Mario and Luigi not being blood related?  Sure.  Cheesy Italian accents replaced with a New York ones?  Yeah, why not?  Having all the enemies in Super Mario Bros. be canonically dinosaurs?  I mean... It's a choice informed by the great media dino wave of 1993, but whatever.  Yoshi is a dinosaur, if we want to extend that to goombas and Koopa for whatever reason, I'm down.  Having these dinosaurs live underneath New York City in a parallel dimension?  It's based on a video game, why the fuck not?  Everything is so goddamn bonkers.

The opening credits roll, and we’re told that 65 million years ago, a meteor created said underground parallel universe dinosaur land.  We witness a human-looking woman, who is really a dinosaur, leaving an egg baby on a church doorstep.  Don’t think about it too hard, the logistics of a human giving birth to an egg that size are just... it’s gross to think about.

We’re then introduced to the titular characters, Mario Mario and Luigi Mario.  Yes, their last names are Mario.  Making them the Mario brothers.  Because this movie is interested in answering the important questions.  Mario is the owner of a failing plumbing business, while Luigi is a conspiracy theorist who would have really enjoyed modern-day YouTube.

While they’re out trying to find work, they run into Miss Amy March herself, Daisy, who is an archeologist in charge of digging up dinosaur bones from a New York City construction site.  She’s being forced off the property by the mob, who apparently are annoyed that a blonde lady in cargo shorts is coming between them and whatever the fuck they’re building.  

They try and intimidate her, she storms off to use a payphone to call for security, and is almost picked up by two inconspicuous bozos in a cab who apparently are stealing Brooklyn women off the street for no reason.  Their plan is quickly thwarted by a random moving pane of glass.

Instead, Daisy runs right into Luigi, who forgets how to human once he sees her pretty face.  He asks her on a date, where she reveals even more exposition.  She believes the meteor that destroyed the dinosaurs landed in New York City.  Oh, and also, she’s the abandoned egg baby.  Luigi is also an orphan, and this shared trauma apparently gets them both hot and bothered.  They wander off to the dig site, because an underground pit attached to a sewer is so romantic, and it is also where Daisy feels the most comfortable.

What if we made out at the bone pit?

Their touching moment is cut short when the mob sabotages the plumbing in the sewer and water starts flooding the area.  They run to get Mario, because he is a plumber, to fix the pipes, which is so fucking clutch, I love it so much.

While the Mario brothers are distracted, Daisy is captured by the weirdo twins and dragged into the alternate dinosaur universe.  Mario and Luigi follow, and we’re treated to the most fucking amazing transition scene of Bob Hoskins spinning wildly through colorful rocks.

Turns out, parallel dinosaur world, or Dinohattan, is fucking lit as hell.  I am convinced that Futurama based their sewer city on this movie.

King Koopa, who is a dinosaur with badly bleached hair gelled back in an effort to look like Michael Douglas in Wall Street, has taken over Dinohattan.  He is the one who asked the goons to kidnap Daisy, because of the tacky crystal necklace she wears.  Apparently, it is a piece of the meteorite that crashed into earth, and once he puts the piece back into the original space rock, the dinosaur world will merge with the mammal world after 65 million years of his people being sequestered underground, and Koopa will have endless resources at his disposal.  Also, Daisy is a princess, and her dad is a giant fungus taking over the city, so that’s totally normal and not at all weird.

Problem is, the two idiots he sent to grab her didn’t think to check if she was wearing the necklace.  Turns out, Luigi has the necklace, or had the necklace, as they are quickly mugged by a granny, who is then robbed by a lady with a bright red spiky latex coat and springy robot feet.  The brothers are then arrested by the dinocops and are grilled by Koopa for the whereabouts of the rock.  When they play dumb he uh... reacts in a proportionate way.

I am not even going to attempt to explain the devo process...  It is a combination of insane and fucking disgusting.  Whoever in the costuming department looked at the cute fucking mushroom Goombas in the video game and decided to translate them into this scaly, jagged-teethed nightmare fuel deserves to be committed.

Also, there’s only one lizard king, and that’s Jim Morrison, so back off, buddy.

What is hilarious to me is this is the story the screenwriters came up with.  Super Mario, as a video game, doesn’t have much lore, right?  You slide down pipes, you jump on mushrooms, and you save the princess from a spiky turtle.  They took that game and created... This.  A parallel underground dinosaur universe that has a sentient fungus as a king, taken over by a human-like t-rex that devolves other lizards into tiny-headed night paralysis demons.

The middle of this movie alternates between a slog of expositional scenes about Daisy being a princess, and pretty entertaining action scenes of the Mario brothers running from Goombas while trying to find and save Daisy.  Mario and Luigi steal a cop car and drive it off a cliff Thelma and Louise-style; They cosplay as Ketchup and Mustard to steal the necklace back from Big Burtha while asking her to stomp on them; They jump off a bridge into a garbage truck; They break the pipes in Koopa’s building to freeze everything, and get past an elevator full of Goombas by making them dance.

Watching Daisy damsel-in-distress-it in Koopa’s high rise office building and fend off advances by a long-tongued dude who devolved her father into a mushroom was pretty boring and disturbing.  Alternatively, witnessing Bob Hoskins and John Leguizamo pretend to jump on giant sheets of fungus really sold this movie for me.  It succeeds when it tries to be ridiculous and fun, and fall flat when it attempts to integrate any sort of drama that I’m assuming was added to make this story more appealing to adults.

Mario and Luigi eventually find Daisy, and she introduces them to her father - a giant dripping blob suspended from the ceiling.  Luigi wants in her pants badly enough that he pretends this is a reasonable thing to do.  Mario heads further into the building to free the other ladies kidnapped by tweedle dee and tweedle dum that they initially thought were Daisy, but weren’t.  The newly assembled group are able to escape by sliding down the frozen pipes on a mattress before they are green-screen launched out of the pipe and back into the greater Dinohattan area.

The amount of times Mario and Luigi use their plumbing skills to overcome obstacles may be my favorite part of this movie.  The plot goes out of its way to justify a really bizarre character trait for the original game.

Anyway, the end of this movie comes at you fast.  First, the sentient fungus king gives Mario and Luigi a bomb, and they decide to wind it up and aim it at Koopa.  This takes about 10 minutes of screen time to matter again.

Koopa’s second-in-command tries to merge Daisy’s stolen necklace with the meteor, and instead gets skeletoned to bits, prompting the best line delivery reaction from Daisy, a deadpan “Yikes”.

Because the necklace has now been returned to its resting place, the worlds start to merge Infinity War style.

“Mr. Koopa, I don’t feel so good.”

Koopa and Mario end up back in Manhattan, and Koopa just starts shooting his devo guns at human mobsters, turning them back into primates, and giving their wardrobe a whole new literal definition of monkey suit.

Luigi uses his super plumbing powers to drill the necklace back out of the meteor, separating the worlds again.  The bomb finally goes off, they devo Koopa into slime, and the citizens celebrate by immediately painting over his ever-prevalent propaganda.

The king evolves back into a mushroom person or something, and Daisy stays in Dinohattan to get to know her father better.  Mario and Luigi return to their lives in Brooklyn as plumbers, and their heroic acts make them conspiracy community famous, as they now refer to our heroes as the Super Mario Brothers.  Roll Credits.

Except not, because Daisy returns to ask for the help of a couple of great plumbers, setting up a sequel that will never, ever happen because there is no god and we’re not allowed to feel joy.

Honestly, Super Mario Bros. is great.  It owned every bold plot and visual choice it made, and I have to respect it.  I could listen to John Leguizamo say Mario like 700 more times.  Y’all are missing out if you think you’re too cool to watch this movie.

I’ll be back to musical reviews later this month.  I have a few seasonally appropriate movies in my big red sack waiting to be placed under the tree...  Yes, I meant to phrase it that way.

[tomeandflickcorner]

Episode Review- The Real Ghostbusters: Cold Cash and Hot Water

Oh, goodie gumdrops!  He’s back!  No, correction. They’re both back!

This episode starts off with Peter in the shower, which allows us to see the closest this show will ever get to full nudity, considering we can clearly see the outline of Peter’s body through the shower curtain.  When he’s done in the shower, he reaches for the towel that he left lying nearby. But instead of grabbing his towel, he ends up grabbing onto Slimer, who is impersonating a towel.  For some reason, Peter doesn’t seem to notice the obvious difference in texture until after he tries to dry his face with Slimer, which naturally results in him getting a face full of slime.  As Peter’s screams are heard downstairs, Slimer zips down to where Ray is working on something with Egon.  Slimer begins talking to Ray in his usual gibberish, which Ray can apparently understand.  As such, we learn that Ray had actually put Slimer up to pulling this prank on Peter. It seems that Peter had recently short-sheeted Ray’s bed, and Ray had been wanting to get back at him for it.

As Peter storms downstairs in order to get his hands on Slimer, Janine intercepts him, informing him that his father is on the phone. Yeah, remember Jim Venkman from Venkman’s Ghost Repellers?  Well, he’s still in Alaska, but he’s apparently not selling iceboxes anymore.  He’s called Peter because he’d found something buried in the ice, and he wants his son to come up to join him in Alaska right away.  But he insists he can’t really explain more than that over the phone, despite Peter’s urging for him to do so.  Although, Jim does tell Peter to ask Egon if he’s ever heard of Hob Anagarak. With that, Jim ends the call.  Peter subsequently asks Egon what he can tell him about Hob Anagarak.  The moment Egon hears that name, he is visibly stunned, stating that particularly legend is extremely rare, and not many people know about it.  After taking a moment to think it over, Egon announces that, while he normally wouldn’t trust Jim, if he really had stumbled across something to do with Hob Anagarak, it was too risky to not do anything about it.  Upon hearing this, Peter is chomping at the bit.  After all, Jim might be a conman, but he’s still his father. And if he is in trouble, then they have to help.  So the Ghostbusters manage to catch an afternoon flight out to Alaska.  (Ah, the days when you could easily book a flight on the same day.)  Although, Egon grimly announces that if they really are dealing with Hob Anagarak, they might not come back from Alaska at all.

As they’re flying out to Alaska, with Ray getting airsick due to the plane being so small, Egon explains more about Hob Anagarak.   According to an Inuit legend, the gods created the Earth before humans came to exist. While the world was still baren, the gods placed a demon named Hob Anagarak to rule over it.  When humans began to appear, Hob Anagarak attacked them. The humans managed to defeat Hob Anagarak by sealing him inside a block of black ice, which they sank to the bottom of the sea.  Once the fire demon was gone, the land began to lose its heat.  The snow began to fall, and the north became cold. Ray manages to break through his airsickness to state that this was the start of the Ice Age.    Winston, ever the practical man, asks how they managed to get a block of black ice if the land was supposed to be hot.  In response, Egon simply states they used magic.  (The jury is still out on whether this is a good enough explanation or just a lazy one.)

It’s probably worth noting, however, that this doesn’t seem to be an actual Inuit legend.  At least, it doesn’t seem to be.  I couldn’t locate any information about Hob Anagarak outside of this episode, so it appears to be a legend the show writers just made up for the show.  That’s a bit disappointing.  If they had tried to incorporate an existing Inuit legend into the episode, that could have been interesting.

Eventually, the Ghostbusters’ plane lands in Alaska, where they are immediately greeted by Jim.  After exchanging the customary pleasantries, they all take dogsleds to the fictional Alaskan town of Laganuki, which is where Jim’s discovery is waiting.  Along the way, they get caught in an avalanche.  While Winston and Egon manage to escape the avalanche, Ray, Peter and Jim get buried in the snow.  To save their lives, Egon and Winston melt the snow with their Proton Packs, setting the Proton Throwers to a low frequency with a wide dispersion to ensure they won’t accidentally hurt their friends.  They manage to free Ray, Peter and Jim from the snow in a short amount of time, and upon being freed from the snow, it’s revealed that Jim actually had thrown a blanket over Peter right before they got buried.  Winston points out to Peter that Jim might have just saved Peter’s life with that action.  Which was a really nice thing for the episode to throw in. While it was made quite clear in past episodes that Jim was the ultimate absentee father, this act indicated that Jim still did care about his son.

Once they’re all thawed out from the sudden avalanche, Jim and the Ghostbusters continue on to Laganuki.  Sure enough, they see a large block of black ice partially covered with a tarp.  Ray is immediately intrigued by the fact that the Black Ice doesn’t appear to be melting. He moves to touch it, but Peter pulls him back, with Egon reminding Ray that it’s magic ice. Egon then pulls out his PKE Meter to get a reading, but the PKE Meter overloaded and even burned his hand.  Still, before the PKE Meter shorted out, Egon was able to determine that the Black Ice registered as a Class 7, at the very least. He went on to express his doubts that they could destroy the Black Ice.  Jim stepped in, stating he didn’t want them to destroy it.  Turns out, Jim wanted the Ghostbusters to find out how to free Hob Anagarak and trap him, because Jim wanted to turn the fire demon into a traveling exhibit.  Peter, however, adamantly stated that was out of the question.

That night, the Ghostbusters discuss things over dinner at a local hotel. Peter is sure that Jim will try to sneak off with the Black Ice, and that they have to make sure he wouldn’t do so.  Winson briefly suggests dropping the Black Ice back into the ocean since magic ice doesn’t float, but he quickly scraps that idea since the Russians might dredge it up again.  (As I might have mentioned before, I don’t remember the 8os that well. Did the Russians frequently occupy Alaskan waters back then?)  Still, Winston’s sure they’ll think of something.  After all, it’s highly unlikely that Jim would manage to sneak the Black Ice past the four of them.   We then get a brief demonstration of just how strong Hob Anagarak is, because even when he’s still trapped inside the Black Ice, he still is apparently able to manipulate things around him.  Inside the hotel’s dining room, the utensils Peter had been stacking, as well as Winston’s water glass, suddenly starts levitating. Egon’s PKE Meter, which he must have fixed off camera, detected strong phasmoetheric activity, moments before all the plates begin to float as well.  The fire burning in the nearby fireplace suddenly goes out, and a wall-mounted moose head falls off the wall, landing right atop Ray’s head.  The Ghostbusters are forced to dive underneath a table for cover until the disturbance is over, and when they emerge, the dining room is in a shambles.  Peter firmly announces that they’ll destroy the Black Ice first thing in the morning.

When morning arrives, the Ghostbusters march over to where the Black Ice is sitting, with the townsfolk coming out to watch.  Jim once again begs them to reconsider, but Peter tells him that they have to do this.  So the Ghostbusters set their Proton Packs on full stream and fire on the Black Ice in order to neutralize it.  In a matter of seconds, the Black Ice is gone, with only burnt scraps of the tarp remaining.   The Ghostbusters all pat themselves on the back and decide to head back to the city now that their job is done.  However, Jim simply watches them leave. And sharp eyes can spot there’s a can of black paint resting at his feet.

Back at the Alaskan airfield, Jim comes by to see the Ghostbusters off.  He announces he’s decided that the Ghostbusters knew what was best, and Egon tells him that if Hob Anagarak had gotten loose, entire cities could have been reduced to charcoal. Once Peter bids his father goodbye, they all board the plane and begin flying back to New York.  But after they leave, Jim turns towards a second plane standing nearby, where a large piece of cargo was being loaded onto.  A piece of cargo that is shaped like a block of ice.  So it’s made pretty clear that Jim had secretly moved the Black Ice during the night and replaced it with a decoy ice block that he painted black.  And the Ghostbusters had simply destroyed the decoy ice block.

Sometime later, the Ghostbusters are out on another job. They’re at an establishment that….seems to be confused as to what it is. The sign on the window is advertising hair styling for men and ladies, which suggests it’s a hair salon.   But the neon sign above the door reads ‘Bar Bar.’  So, it’s either a hair salon that sells alcohol or they misspelled ‘barber.’ (It’s probably the latter.)  The Ghostbusters soon emerge with four loaded Ghost Traps, though they also blew out the shop windows during the capture. The hair salon employee who called them in is taken aback upon hearing he’s being charged for four ghost removals, as he was only empowered to purchase the removal of one ghost. The Ghostbusters shrug and say they could always release three of the captured ghosts. The police officer standing nearby advises the employee to simply pay the Ghostbusters in full.  (I kinda feel bad for this guy.  I get the impression that he wasn’t the owner of the establishment.  Which means he’d either have to risk getting in trouble with his boss for giving up more money than he was authorized to, or put up with allowing three ghosts to continue haunting the place.  He’s facing a heap of trouble no matter what he does.)

At that moment, Janine pulls up in a taxi.  She forces her way to the front of the crowd that had gathered in order to reach the Ghostbusters, who are in the process of packing things up in the back of the Ecto-1.  Once she reaches them, Janine shows them the evening newspaper, which announces that Jim Venkman is planning to unveil a mysterious find that very night at Madison Square Garden. Peter is immediately aghast. While he’s not shocked that Jim conned them (his attitude is ‘of course he conned us’), he still can’t believe that Jim still plans to go ahead with unveiling Hob Anagarak despite their multiple warnings. And to make it even worse, the news article announces that, before Hob Anagarak will be revealed to the public, the fire demon will be placed inside a special containment area that was specially designed by none other than Dr. Bassingame.  Remember him from The Spirit of Aunt Lois?  If not, the episode even gives us a reminder that Dr. Bassingame was the phony psychic who wrecked Ray’s Aunt Lois’ place.  (Ray clearly still carries a grudge against him for that incident.) Janine tells the guys they have 45 minutes to get down to Madison Square Gardens in order to stop the unveiling, and that she asked the cab driver who drove her there to wait for them.  Peter and Egon hurry towards the waiting taxi with Janine.  Ray and Winston, on the other hand, stay behind to finish loading up the Ecto-1 with the agreement that they’ll also head over to Madison Square Gardens as soon as they can.

As Egon, Peter and Janine ride off to Madison Square Gardens, we get a momentary pause in the action.  Janine takes the opportunity to snuggle up against Egon, commenting on how romantic the moment was.  Which was a bit out of nowhere, to be honest.  After all, it wasn’t as if they were sitting in the back of the taxi alone. Peter was there, too.  Plus, they’re currently trying to make it down to Madison Square Gardens to prevent a potential world-ending disaster.  Hardly a hearts and flowers moment there.  Unless Janine is into that sort of thing.  Still, this is the first shippy moment we’ve had between these two in a while.  As an Egon/Janine shipper, I should probably just be happy we’re getting something at all.

Unfortunately, they arrive at Madison Square Gardens too late. Dr. Basingame has already released Hob Anagarak from the Black Ice by reciting a spell from this ancient spellbook he managed to obtain somewhere.  Of course, Dr. Bassingame is just as much of a charlatan as he was the last time we saw him.  Not only does his spell fail to keep Hob Anagarak under his control, the special containment fence he designed was also ineffective, and Hob Anagarak is able to effortlessly destroy it.  In no time at all, Hob Anagarak is loose in the arena, and the crowd naturally runs out in a panic.  However, Peter and Ray (who apparently managed to catch up) are able to apprehend Dr. Bassingame, and Janine also is able to prevent Jim from making a break for it when he tried to escape in the taxi.  Still, they have to deal with Hob Anagarak, who manages to break through the walls of Madison Square Gardens and begins making his way to Central Park, where he causes multiple trees to catch fire.  (Small fires even spring up within his footprints.)  The Ghostbusters attempt to stop the fire demon, but even with their Proton Packs set to full stream and maximum drain, Hob Anagarak is able to resist their efforts, simply teleporting off to a few feet away and breathing fire at the Ghostbusters.   Egon announces that their only chance at stopping Hob Anagarak is to bind him first. So they head back to the Firehouse to regroup and figure out how to do that.

At the Firehouse, Egon consults his research books and learns that Hob Anagarak wasn’t just a top demon, he was also a recruiter who enslaved other demons and spirits to do his bidding.  At the time of his imprisonment inside the Black Ice, he was in the process of building a ghostly army to lay waste to the world.  A horrified Ray realizes that Hob Anagarak could find plenty of ghosts for a new army by gaining access to the Containment Unit.  Fortunately, Egon was also able to locate a ritual that could be used to bind a spirit like Hob Anagarak.   But it’s a rather tricky ritual.  And it requires the presence of six men and a woman.  Which, when you count Janine, Jim and Dr. Bassingame, is exactly what the Ghostbusters have available right now.  (Well, that’s convenient!)  However, Janine initially refuses to help out, stating she wasn’t hired to take these kind of risks.  In the end, though, Peter is able to convince her to agree to assist them in the ritual. On three conditions- a raise in salary, more time off, and privileged information about Egon.  (It does make sense that she’d ask Peter for that, considering he’s probably the one who has known Egon the longest.)  Peter agrees to Janine’s terms.  As for Jim and Dr. Bassingame, they also are told they don’t have much of a choice than to aid in the ritual as well, considering it requires the sorcerer who released Hob Anagarak in the first place as well as a trickster.  (Again, convenient!)

So the plan is put into action, with Winston and Ray luring Hob Anagarak over to where the others are waiting to initiate the binding ritual. Janine and Jim hold the spell book while Dr. Bassingame recites the spell.  Of course, I can’t tell if the words Dr. Bassingame are reciting is an actual language or just nonsense gibberish.  I suspect it’s the latter, but I can’t be sure.  Still, the binding ritual works, and the Ghostbusters are able to successfully shoot Hob Anagarak with their Proton Packs, sealing the demon within a block of Black Ice once again.

Sometime later, the Ghostbusters and Janine are seeing Jim off at a bus station.  It’s heavily implied that Jim was slapped with a hefty fine for causing the incident, but Peter paid the fine himself, despite the fact that he couldn’t really afford it. Jim promises that he’ll pay Peter back as soon as he sells the movie rights to the whole ordeal.  Peter, however, firmly tells his father that’s out of the question.  Instead, he tells Jim to back home to Iowa and start living an honest life.  (So, Peter is from Iowa?)  Jim relents and agrees to do what Peter says.  With that, he turns and boards the bus.  But when the Ghostbusters leave the bus station to get some coffee, it’s revealed that Jim snuck off the bus to Iowa and instead got on a different bus that’s on a direct route to Hollywood.  Because some people just can’t change.

It was certainly interesting to see Jim Venkman and Dr. Bassingame again. But the strange this is, during the show’s initial run, this episode apparently aired before the two episodes that introduced those two characters. I wonder if that caused some confusion among the viewers, as they were referencing events in episodes they haven’t seen yet.  (Although, there’s no mention of the Domoviye that followed Dr. Bassingame home.  So we still don’t know what happened with that plot point.)  As for the whole thing with Hob Anagarak, I do approve of the design for this demon. With reddish fur covering his upper body, yellow eyes, blue tongue and, large teeth and claws, the artists who drew him deserve recognition for their creature designs.  Still, I’m a bit annoyed that they just made up an Inuit legend involving him. At the same time, it’s hard to say which would be more insulting to people from that particular culture- taking an existing Inuit legend and potentially misrepresenting it (in the vein of how Rowling took figures from actual Native American mythology without properly understanding their cultural significance) or just making something up and saying it’s an Inuit legend. That’s probably a question only an actual Inuit can answer.

(Click here for more Ghostbusters reviews)