#sir you are 60 something years old

[waugh-bao]

Mick Jagger invites Stones fans, in Catalan, to see the band play in El Ejido (2007)

[lokis-army-77]

Live from Hawkins

Older!Eddie Munson x female reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Eddie watched as you are stood up on a date and without a second thought, he brings you home.

Warning: 18+. Eddie is in his late 50s to early 60s, reader is 20s to early 30s. p in v, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, sir kink, pet names, a few spanks, fingering, mention of a partner having died.

A/n: Thank you @munson-blurbs for hyping me up to write this and for thinking of the funny little thing that happens at the end hehe, I love you <3 also my version older!eddie is inspired by @ farmerusedto on tiktok and Instagram.

Masterlist  Part 2

The fun of nightlife had escaped Eddie when his biological clock started making him go to bed at 8:30 p.m. instead of 2 a.m., but tonight was an exception. After an extraordinarily shitty day, he thought a drink or two at his old haunt would cheer him up. It didn’t, not entirely. The whisky he had been nursing tasted like shit and the crowd in the bar left little to be desired, except for you. 

Eddie had clocked you when you entered the establishment at eight on the dot. His eyes raked over the pretty silky red dress that stuck to the curves of your body as you made your way to a tiny circular table with two chairs and sat down. Your head was held high as you watched the front door. 

Ah, a date, He thought. Then he began thinking about all the dates he had been on in the long past years until he had met his wife, and then the lack thereof after her passing twenty-some years ago. He’s never had time to date. Raising kids two kids as a single dad while also being a simi-successful musician turned producer, looking for romance added a whole new thing to worry about so he just didn’t, but now, in his later years of life, with his children grown and moved out, he could afford the chance to indulge. Sadly though, you were apparently taken. 

Even after he had finished his one glass of alcohol, he waited. Watching you as your posture slowly became slouched, you sipped on some fancy beverage, and your head stopped peaking up when the bell to the door chimed as it was opened and closed. You were beautiful and didn’t deserve to be stood up.

When the clock struck nine, Eddie stretched his aching joints and stood from the bar. Sauntering his way over to your tiny table.

“This seat taken?” He asked, hand resting on the back of the chair. 

You lifted your head from your phone startled and shook your head. “Unfortunately, no. You can take it.” Sighing, you look back down at your phone, expecting him to take the lone chair and pull it up to another table. To your surprise, he actually sat down in front of you. “Um… can I help you?” 

“Sorry, I just saw you sitting here by yourself for a while and thought you might like the company. A pretty girl like you in a pretty dress like that shouldn’t be sitting alone in a bar like this, some weirdo could show up.”

You blush, almost as red as your dress. “And how do I know you aren’t the weirdo?” 

“Good question. You don’t.” He laughed.

The deep timber of it had your stomach flipping. His facial features were hidden under a nicely kept beard, full of salt and pepper hairs, more salt than anything else. The shaggy, slightly curly hair atop his head looked the same. He was definitely older than you by a couple of decades, but hey he was nice looking and obviously, the guy you were supposed to be seeing wasn’t coming. What harm could come from flirting with this guy?

“But hey, a bit of mystery can be a good thing, don’t you think?” He asks. 

You can't help the giggle that passes your lips. “Oh, really?” You look him up and down. His outfit was something reminiscent of the eighties, only more subdued. Tight black jeans, motorcycle boots, and an Iron Maiden shirt that had been ripped at the hem. Before he had sat down you even spotted a black and white skull bandana in his back pocket. “I’ve heard that with age comes wisdom. Are you here to enlighten me then?”

He lets out a more hearty laugh this time, his head falling back. Your eyes scan the contours of his neck and watch as his Adam's apple bobs up and down. “I don’t know about wisdom, but I do have a few decades under my belt. Maybe I was the one hoping to learn a little thing or two from such a charming young lady as yourself. 

Your hand lifts to cover your smile and you look away almost bashfully. “Such a smooth talker aren’t you?” 

“As smooth as I can be…” He leans forward, hand resting on the table, fingers laced together. You see the many rings decorating them. The flip in your stomach drops and you clench your thighs together. “Why? Is my charm winning you over?”

“So that’s what you’re trying to do, huh?” You smile. 

“Well, it was either that or all the vintage dad jokes I know.” He smiles back. 

You can feel your mood being lifted from the once sour thing that it was into something more bubbly as you listen to him. “Vintage dad jokes? Sound’s intriguing. Maybe I’ll stick around for now.” 

He nods. “That’s a good choice Sweetheart. Who could resist the allure of outdated humor and a bit of gray hair?” His hand tugs at his beard. 

“You know, I could be out having an adventure with the guy I was supposed to be meeting here instead of chatting with a silver fox.” There is a permanent grin etched into your face as he gasps in faux offense. 

“You wound me, Sugar.  Isn’t it usually the unexpected adventures that turn into something unforgettable?” Eddie couldn’t lie to himself, he was laying it on pretty thick, but it was all in hopes that maybe, just maybe you might come home with him. 

“Well, I do have to admit you are intriguing, maybe I’ll take you up on this adventure.” It was childish, the way your heel-clad foot slid its way past the single, center leg of the table and halfway up the man’s calf. 

When he feels your foot rubbing on him, he has to steel his face. One of his hands slipped from the table and slithered its way down his leg and caught your foot. “What do you say we get out of here?” His hands were so big and his fingers so long that they wrapped with ease around your ankle. The pads of his fingers pressed in gently and you hoped he couldn’t feel how fast your pulse were thumping throughout your body. 

Your mouth suddenly turned dry, words evaded you. All you could do was nod in response. He let go of your foot and stood, reaching out his hand. You take it and he pulls you up as well. “My name’s Eddie by the way.” 

…

The drive to Eddie’s suburban home was filled with chase touches and lingering hands. His large palm warmed your thigh, his fingers dug into the plushness there. You cozied up to him, lips trailing up his neck to his ear where you nibbled on the lobe. 

Eddie groaned as he white-knuckled the steering wheel. His breath caught in his throat when you inched a delicate hand into his lap. 

“Now, little girl, don’t be starting something you can’t finish.” He chided. His hand on your thigh moved ever closer to the already high hem of your dress. 

“Little girl?” you whisper into his ear. “I’m not a little girl, old man.”

You feel every bump and jerk of his 1960s Ford pickup as he practically jumps the curb and slams the brakes in his driveway, screeching to a halt. Eddie unfastened his seatbelt and turned to you. His hand immediately found purchase on the back of your neck and he pulled you in for a kiss. His lips were soft and plump and his beard tickled. You giggled into the kiss but that was cut short when they turned to gasps as soon as Eddie caressed his tongue into your mouth. 

“Eddie…” You moan into him, fingers latched onto his shirt, pulling him into you. 

“What is it, Sweetheart?” He pulled away from the kiss. 

You looked him in his eyes, the street lamp outside aiding in deepening their already dark hue. “Touch me. Need you to touch me.” 

He smirked. “Alright baby, I’ll touch you.” 

Then, he backed away, hooking you from himself and slipping out the door. A pout worked its way onto your features as he walked around and opened your door. Tisking he shook his head. “What’s the frown for sugar?” 

You took his outstretched hand, he was ever the gentleman. “You stopped kissing me.” 

Leaning down he gave you a sloppy peck on the lips. “Well, I can't touch you how you want, Sweetheart, unless we go inside.” He chortled as he guided you to his front door. As soon as the lock was undone and the knob twisted, you pushed the two of you inside. You were hot and worked up and needed something to help the pounding ache that had made itself known between your thighs. 

Inside, you try your best to tug Eddie’s shirt up and over his head but he is quick to catch your hands, pushing you back against the wall and holding them above your head. 

“Not so fast. You’ve got to ask for the things that you want.” 

You shake your head in defiance. You knew where this was going from the way he gripped your wrists. From the way his voice became stricter, more dominant. Need pools in the pit of your stomach. This was what you had been craving, what no other man could make you feel. 

“Please.” Your plea comes out just above a whisper. 

“Tsk, Sweetheart, I think you can do better than that.” Eddie maneuvers both your wrists into the hold of one hand while he lets the fingers of his other run down the open skin of your neck tantalizingly slowly. Goosebumps begin to prickle on your skin as the fingers wander down your chest and over the tops of your breasts, cleavage on display, heaving as you take sharp breaths of air. 

“Please, Eddie.” Voice cracking. “Please, I want you. I want you to touch me, I want to feel you.” 

He groans, hips pressing you to the wall harder. “What a good girl you are.” He captures your lips in another heated kiss.

The night had barely begun and you already felt like you were drowning in him. The scent of menthol cigarettes, whisky, and something almost woody filled your nose and all you could think of was the man pinning you to the wall.

A staggered gasp caught in your throat when Eddie dropped your wrists and heaved you up by the waist. Your legs cinched around him and his arms held you close. “Why don’t we take this to my room? I can put some nice mood music on.” He kissed up your neck as he carried you through his home. 

“Mood music, hum?” You whimper when he sucks on a sensitive spot. “What, gonna play the Temptations greatest hits? Or how about the Chordettes? Don’t they have that song with your name in it?” 

You yelp when his hand smacks your ass. “M’not that old, Sweetheart. It’s more like eighties rock ballads but that’s not what I’m choosing.” The smirk that contoured his lips was wicked. 

“Mmm, and how old are you?” You ask, words muffled by your lips meeting his. 

“Old enough.” Eddie pushes his door open and it hits the wall with a thud. He walks to his bed in the darkness and practically throws you on top of the sheets. He doesn’t follow, instead, he flips the bedside lamp on and the room fills with a soft yellow light. 

His room isn’t what you thought it would be. It's all dark colors, blacks and grays. Three electric guitars hang like decorations on the wall in front of you. A few picture frames are scattered over the dresser to your left, too far to see the images clearly in the dim light. You watch him like a hawk as he walks to that very dresser and turns on a speaker. 

He really wasn’t kidding about the mood music. You think. 

“Get comfortable Sugar… Just got to figure out this damn phone.” You chuckle as you watch him fiddle with the touchscreen and cheer when the music fills the silence. You laugh even louder when Eddie fumbles the phone in his hands and drops it to the floor. “Shit.” He bends down to pick it up and when he does he props it against the mirror of the dresser. 

“Is it okay?” You ask, hand covering the giant smile plastered on your face. 

“It’ll live.” He shakes his head. When the giggles die down, he slowly comes toward you, crawling up the bed. The way his hands travel up your bare legs gives you chills. He pries you open gently, your dress hikes up your thighs, and the wetness of your pussy is on full display. 

“Well, aren’t you a naughty girl… No panties?” He asks, hot breath on the inside of your thigh as he nips at the skin. 

You shake your head as you explain. “No, not wearing a bra either. You can see the outline through the dress” 

He grins a devilish grin and slowly teases his way up your thigh. The hot air from his breath caresses your skin white his beard tickles you. He pushes back your dress a little more before looking you in the eyes. “Ready?”

The whine that comes from you is almost unrecognizable, all desperate and needy when his mouth attaches itself to your pretty cunt. Your hand flies to his head, gripping his silky hair between stiff fingers. 

“Fuck. E-Eddie.” You rasp. He hums the vibrations add to the cacophony of pleasurable feelings between your legs. 

Eddie’s tongue rolls along your folds, wetting every inch of skin. The gentle sucks he performs on your clit pull moan after moan from you. Your back arches and your hips push down into the bed. Eddie’s hands push your thighs farther apart, the plush of them pooling through his spread fingers. 

He loves the feel of you. Loves that he can make you writhe under him with just his tongue. His ego is through the roof, having not been this intimate with someone in years. 

It's been all but a few minutes, to you its been hours, Eddie is expertly working you up up up and to the edge. One hand smoothes down your leg and under his chin. You feel the subtle touches of his fingers as they linger around your cunt. His other hand pushes your leg back more, creating more room. You heave a cry when two fingers breach you, stretching you out at a leisurely pace. 

In and out, in and out, in and out he went, fucking you deeply with those long thick fingers of his, covered in rings. The metal soon became warm as they began to be covered in your slickness and his spit that dribbled down to meet them.

With the way his fingers pushed up into your walls, poking the fire in your belly. The ember that it once was, was not a full-on flame. It was wild and hot and needed something more to feed on. 

“Eddie!” You cried, clamping down around him. Body ridged, ready to let go. 

“That’s right baby, say my fucking name.” He pulled back only to reattach to your clit and pump his fingers tenfold. 

His words were tender to the flame, making it rage out of control. “Eddie!” You cried again, wonton moans following as you feel the fire spreading. “Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” you chant like a prayer. 

He’s greedy as he laps up every ounce of your release, you have to push him away gently, too sensitive for him to keep going but the crooked smirk he gives you as he kisses up your body tells you he wants more. 

Your breathing is rapid as you come down. Your legs feel like jello and you’re hot, super hot. The fire in your veins had rekindled and the dress, conforming to your body, was becoming uncomfortable in the heat. 

Eddie can see the way you tug at the garment and gives it a tug of his own. “I hate to see this little number go but I need to see all of you.” He manhandles you onto your stomach, snatching the tiny red zipper and pulling it down to reveal the soft skin of your back. 

His hands rub into your muscles, thumbs catching on knots and smoothing them out. It was intimate, something you had never experienced in a one-night stand. He removed the tiny straps from your shoulders and kneaded until you were sighing contently into his sheets. Lower and lower he went, tugging the fabric with him and eventually taking it off, throwing it into the abyss. Rough fingers squeezed at the fat of your ass. 

Unknowingly, Eddie had bent down, and as he was massaging you bit down playfully on your ass cheek. A weak squeal erupts from your throat. “Eddie, what are you doing?” 

“I can’t help it if you look good enough to eat.” He bites down again and you buck your hips back. A hand quickly smacks down on your ass. “Quit being a brat. First not asking for what you want and now this? What am I going to do with you?”  Condescension drips thickly from his words. 

You wiggle your hips in his grasp. “M’sorry.” 

Another smack. “I’m sorry what?” 

The fire burns brighter with this fuel.

“I’m sorry, Eddie.”

He spanks you a third time. “Try again, baby.”

Your stomach flips. “I’m sorry… Sir.”

He hums in satisfaction. His hands wrap around you and pull you to your knees, ass in the air. With your head buried in the covers, you can only guess what he’s doing by the subtle movements behind you. 

Eddie has taken his shirt off and unzipped his pants. His cock achingly hard and straining against his black boxers. “Gonna fuck this pussy good, baby.” You whimper in response. He shickers, “You like that, Sweetheart? You want my cock in that pretty pussy of yours?” 

“Please,” You mewl, aching to finally have him inside you. The roughness of his hand steadies you as he inches closer. His hard cock on the other hand. He presses it against your folds, the head slipping through easily. You release a shaky breath when he nudges your clit. “Need you inside, please Sir.”

“Gonna give it to you baby,” Eddie replies, pushing into you. His breathing shudders at the warmth surrounding him. Your cunt squeezes him tightly, sucking him in and not letting him go. 

He feels amazing stretching you out. He's bigger than you thought, wider. The tip pushes into your walls as he begins to thrust into you, the most wonderful grunts and growls filling your ears from behind. 

"So fucking tight, Sugar." Eddie fucks into you at a hard brushing pace with stamina you didn't know he had. His hands grip your hips so hard you know there will be visible marks there later but you don't mind. 

You turn your head slightly and look over your shoulder as best you can. Eddie has a wild look in his eye, streaks of gray hair falling into his face. Your eyes catch on the plethora of ink etching his skin. You had seen the ones covering his arms but you couldn't have imagined this. Your mind wandered to what the rest of his body looked like. We're there more pieces yet to be seen or did alabaster skin win out as you go further down his body? The thought of seeing the rest of him has you bouncing your ass back into him, meeting his every thrust with fervor. 

The fire Eddie had lit within you was once again roaring out of control. The way his cock filled you deep has you shaking in delight. 

"More, more, more," you called out to him, fists clamping down onto his sheets so hard it was a wonder you hadn't ripped them. 

“More? Is that what you want?” He patronizes. His right hand moves from your hip and he bends forward, snatching your hair up at the base of your skull. The dull throb that accompanies his tight hold has you wailing. Your stomach flips and flips, pressure building up. You’re going to cum and you tell him as much. 

“Please, keep going Eddie, fuck. Keep going, I’m gonna cum, Sir.” Big blubbery tears have started to streak down your face, once pristine makeup now smeared. 

He pulls on your hair. ‘Don’t cum baby. Wanna watch that pretty face as you cum on my cock.” 

Eddie pulls out of you and it feels like forever until you are flipped onto your back and he inserts himself back inside. The new angle has your legs clamping shut around him and the head of his cock brushing against a sensitive spot which makes you keen into him.

You make eye contact with him, his gaze is feral. He’s looking at you like you’re a buffet laid out for him. His hips rock into you with such force that your body is slowly jerking up the bed. You reach out for him, hands open and close, needing to have him close to you. That fire is still burning within you and it is scorching. 

Eddie leans into your touch, relishing in the feeling of your nails dragging long scratches down his pecks and stomach. He catches one, entwining his fingers with yours and pinning your hand back into the mattress. Another intimate moment that had butterflies erupting alongside your fire. 

“Please,” you whimper. “Wanna cum so bad.” 

He leans down more, pressing a chased kiss on your lips. “Alright Sweet girl, you can cum.” 

When you let go, Eddie can’t help the absolutely hedonistic moan that comes forward. He’s rutting into your constricting cunt like an animal. The look of absolute ecstasy that washes over your face had him fighting off his own release. 

“Where do you want it, Baby? Where do you want my cum?” 

It’s absolutely crazy, the place that comes to mind, but some deep, dark, nefarious place inside you wants it so badly. Craves is. 

Without thinking, brain foggy with a greediness only comparable to the deadly sin itself, you blurt, “Inside.” 

Eddie’s hips stutter and his mind goes blank. Inside? Fuck, She wants it inside. He groans, fighting himself. He shouldn’t but he wants to. Oh, how he wants to. Thoughts of what your pussy would look like leaking his cum have him going ridged, his conscience losing out against a primal need he didn’t know he had. 

“Fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuck ah!” He’s a moaning mess when he finally gives in and lets himself cum. 

You can feel his release as a warmth spreads out from your tummy and envelopes you. Eddie falls careful not to let all of his weight squish you. His kisses make you giggle as you try and catch your breath. 

You’re exhausted, warn out in a way you never have been. “Thank you,” you say, kissing him back. He looked at you with soft, round eyes.

“Why are you thanking me, Sweetheart?” 

You sigh, content. “You saved me from a night of wallowing in my self-pity.”

He shakes his head. “Beautiful girl like you deserves to be treated right, that guy’s a bastard.” 

“Tha-” You’re cut off by the loud ringing of his phone, still connected to the speaker.  Eddie cringes at the volume and turns slightly to eye the phone but does not move to get up. It stops ringing a moment after. 

“I think I should get going…” You whisper and give him another kiss. 

“Mmm, you could stay the night. I can take you back to your car tomorrow.” 

You pout at him. “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

“Sweetheart, I’m asking you to stay, you aren't imposing on anything.” 

You giggle and go to answer but you are interrupted by his phone ringing again. Eddie says quietly, “What the hell?” before pulling himself out of you. He hesitates a moment, watching as his cum leaks past the puffy, used lips of your cunt, then grabs at his phone. 

‘HARRINGTON’ Is flashing across the screen. 

“What do you want man? I’m in the middle of something.” 

Eddie still has his phone connected to the speaker and the next few sentences make Your smile fall and your face bloom into a heat that could rival the sun. 

“Oh, I know you are. Half the fucking world does you dipshit!” 

“Wow okay Steve, calm down. No need for name-calling.”

“Eddie I swear to god, do you know what you’ve just done?” 

“No…?” Eddie scratches his head, looking at you and shrugging his shoulders. 

“You just fucking broadcasted you having fucking sex LIVE on fucking Facebook!”

[kaahgyuya]

saving u . ! (FLUFF)

. synopsis ; you get hurt, so kinich saves you.

. warnings/notes ; g!n reader, kinich might be a little and or completely ooc, forgive me.. 😓 he's kinda nonchalant, and no ajaw for this oneshot, and mention of being exposed to drug substance? (oneshot with plot), and reader in this might not be a liking for you! (Reqs are open, so feel free to recommend some stuff of your own!)

REQS. are open!!! (Open until 10/3)

You were always out in the wilderness going out and taking commissions one from another. Whether it'd be fighting, or simply delivering something, you'd always get it done in time.

All of the customers/clients you'd take commissions from, would always have something nice to say about you. That you were always a sweetheart and kindhearted.

Sometimes, your kindness would get you blind, and for this commission you took on, you didn't notice a single thing.

"Ah, isn't that Y/N?" You were passing by Kinich's tribe looking for him until someone called out for you.

"Hm? Hello! What is it that you need?" You turned to them. A slightly older man, maybe up to his 60s or 70s went up to you.

"you take on commissions, don't you?" The old man asked.

"Yes, I do! Is there anything I need to do for you?" You replied in a cheerful like tone.

"Ah, would you mind getting rid of some dangerous foes around the area? It's been bothering me and some of the fellow tribe people." The old man said.

"Uh huh, but first I have to know about the details about this commission, did you put it up on the adventures guild board or anything like that?" You asked.

"I did, but nobody took on the commission so I took it down." The old man looked sad, and you felt bad for him.

"Don't worry, sir! If you give me the details of the commission, then I'll be sure to get it done." You said in a reassuring tone.

"But before that, what's your name?"

"It's Junan." He replied.

"Don't worry Junan, if you have the commission details with you, I'll be able to get it done."

"Yes, yes, I have the paper details." Junan gave you some old paper that had a few rips and tears, and the paper looked quite old.

Some ruin guards and ruin hunters were around the area, that's not good, people can get hurt!

"I see... do you have a payment?"

"Unfortunately no, it was given to me by Kinich."

'Kinich? Huh that's kind of odd. Why would he give out a commission like this?'

"Kinich huh, alright. Do you have the location?"

"It's nearby the entrance, go a little to the left and then go straight. My memory is slowly getting worse by the years. Haha." The old man laughed.

"It's alright sir, well then, I'll take off."

"Thank you, Y/n." He waved goodbye to you and you walked off.

"Why would Kinich give out a commission like that?.. Something doesn't seem right."

"Whatever, maybe he was just too lazy to deal with it?"

You arrive at the place, surprisingly, there's no ruin guards or monsters anywhere. But since there's none, you get a little suspicious.

"I'll just take a quick look around just in case.." you look around the area, getting distracted by the beautiful view around you.

You then wince, something doesn't seem right.

Some horrible smell comes from somewhere, you don't wanna go near it.

You block your nose and mouth and slowly back away.

You then turn behind you to find yourself...

Being ambushed.

A couple of guys suddenly grab your arm and then say something, but that horrible smell/substance made you feel light headed making you feel really weak.

You suddenly see a silhouette that scoops you up before falling to the ground, you feel a gush of air as if you're flying.

You feel so tired that you suddenly...

"Huh?.. where am I?" You looked around you to notice you weren't at the place where you got ambushed, but under some tent.

"You're awake, you were ambushed by some people." You look over to where the voice came, and it was Kinich. He had some bandages with him and a wet towel.

"Owie, that stings." You whined.

"They hurt you pretty badly." You couldn't help but look at his face, and he looks a little guilty.

"I had took on some commission from someone, and they said that—"

"I know." Kinich cut you off.

"Huh? How?"

"I just do." Kinich says, while patching up your wounds. He totally wasn't stalking you when you were taking that suspicious commission from that guy.

"That commission wasn't from me, besides that issue was resolved a long time ago, it was just used to ambush you, or even kill you." Kinich said in a stern tone.

"I had already dealed with the guys so you're fine to rest here. Take as long you need to recover." He added.

You slowly sat up, while wincing at the pain.

"You know, I could've taken care of my wounds even if I did get ambushed." You said while looking over at him.

"Yeah, but there was this drug or substance that would make you pass out and or weak. You could've died."

"But you didn't have to take care of me like this."

"I'm just repaying the price, am I not?"

"For what? The commission I finished for you ages ago?"

"I guess so," kinich said.

You sighed as his hands gently lingered over your arms and body, making sure he patched them right.

"You're doing alright, right? Do you need water?" He asked. Even though his tone wasn't full of emotion, his eyes showed it.

"I'm doing.. fine. My body just hurts all over the place right now." You awkwardly looked away.

"You really didn't have to patch me up, though. Don't you already have stuff to do?" You added.

"I finished my stuff eariler today, so I'm free." Kinich looked up at you.

"Kinich, you know, you really didn't have to. You've already done so much stuff for me, and I don't know how to pay you back."

"It's fine, maybe think of a payment you can pay me back with."

"But you always say that and then just don't care about it after."

"That's because I really don't. For you, I'd do it for free. No need to pay me." He was still kneeled by you, as he looked at your wounds again.

"But really, you didn't have to patch me up, I could've done it myself." You felt pity.

"Sure, I didn't have to patch you up, but I needed to."

"Needed to? Did you mean want to?"

"No, I needed to."

@kaahgyuya 9/29/24 10:10 pm

a/n; lazy writing today, might post smt tmrw if I have my creative juices flowing!! Otherwise I hope you enjoyed this >_<

[mysaintkitten]

Mile High | Robert Fischer x fem!reader

prompt: you’re the stewardess on robert fischer’s private jet, and he’s not too fond of your attitude. (NSFW, no minors)

WARNINGS: robert’s a cunt, plane sex, oral sex (m receiving), unprotected sex (p in v), degradation and praise, slight age gap, power imbalance

word count: 2.1k

today was your first day working with mr. fischer, you had been a regular stewardess for a few years now but due to good word of mouth you were able to become a private jet stewardess. it was a more intimate environment, the pay was better, you had less people to tend to, it was overall quite the win for you.

the jet was set to leave in a few minutes, so you found your way to the bathroom and quickly dolled yourself up a bit before mr. fischer came onto the plane. you’re expecting a man, at least in his 60s, rich as hell and eager to pounce on a young woman such as your self. you could use it to your advantage, maybe leave the jet with some extra money in your pocket.

while in the bathroom, you overheard some small talk happening within the jet.

“good afternoon, robert! right this way” you hear, “robert?” you think to yourself. you wait until the minor chaos of dealing with the baggage is dealt with before you take one last look in the mirror, feeling satisfied with what you see staring back at you. with a deep breath, you walk out the bathroom. what was once lively a few moments ago has fallen silent. you see a lone man sitting in his seat, hands clasped in front of him while gazing out the window. is that mr. fischer? or, robert, as you had just overheard.

you were expecting some grandpa. oxygen tank on standby if need be. you could tell from afar he was older than you, but not by very much. a decade at the most.

you quickly dismiss those thoughts, and bring a semi-artificial smile to your face. as you begin to approach him and his face becomes clearer, you can tell he’s quite an attractive man. sharp suit, nice watch, clean shave, he looks good to say the least. as you stand beside his seat, you start to say the introduction you were told to say by the jet company.

“good afternoon, mr. fischer, my nam-“

“i don’t want any handouts.” he says sharply, not even attempting to shift his gaze from the window.

oh. so he’s like that.

you brush past his blatant arrogance and continue with your introduction, “oh, no, i’m not here to offer anything at the moment. just introducing myself, my names y/n and i’ll be taking care of you for this flight.” you say, forcing that smile back to your face. it’s at this point that he actually looks at you and you’re met with his striking blue eyes, he really looks like the embodiment of if looks could kill. “throughout the flight, anything you need, just let me know.” he scans you up and down before returning to your face, muttering a small “mhm” before looking back out the window again.

once your backs to him, you roll your eyes, heading to your lounging area to wait around until robert to wants something.

around a half an hour has passed and you’ve resorted to reading a book, you’ve read it multiple times before, but it’s an old reliable. and you also had absolutely nothing else to do. that is until you hear him call out for you, “ma’am?” you hear robert say, you place your book down and stand up, walking over to him.

he’s watching you this time, actually looking at you like a person.

“could you get me a scotch on the rocks?” he asks, leaning his head back slightly, “of course, i’ll be back shortly.” you reply before heading to the opposite side of the jet to make his drink. after a few moments, you return, drink in hand.

“here you go, mr. fisc-“

“could you get me a cigarette, too?” he adds, fully cutting you off without care.

“i’m sorry, sir, smoking isn’t allowed on the jet.” you reply, obviously you can’t smoke on the goddamn jet, but this would probably come as a surprise to him. arrogant little pricks probably never been told no in his life.

he brings the drink up to his lips, taking a swig before placing it down in the cup holder.

“i could buy you, and this jet company. get me the cigarette.” he spat, you’re rendered speechless, as you begin to leave to try and find cigarettes you feel a tight grip on your wrist.

“for future reference, doll, when i want something, i get it. i’m not asking you, i’m telling you.” he grumbled before letting go of your wrist. as you kept walking you couldn’t help but be absolutely appalled at his behaviour.

somehow, you were able to find the cigarettes and a lighter.

you remind yourself, suck it up, he’s filthy rich, the pay will be good. the thought of taking money from him gave you an authentic smile that you held on your face as you approached him, cigarettes and lighter in hand.

“here you go, sir.” you say, he grabs them without acknowledging you at all and quickly brings a cigarette up to his lips, lighting it before inhaling the smoke sharply. you watch as his shoulders drop as he exhales.

you turn your back to him to leave, “wait.” you hear him say, you turn to face him.

“sit.” he adds, using his head to signal towards the seat sitting across from his. you feel your anxiety begin to peak, but you oblige. “how’d you get this job?” he pries, taking a sip from his drink and then a drag from the cigarette. “uh..” you start, mind racing. you’re about to lose your job, you think to yourself. “i worked as a regular stewardess for a few years, but someone put a good word in about me, so now i’m here.” you say, as sweetly as you can.

“good word? about what? did you fuck someone to get them to say that?” he asks, his words are jarring. you can’t believe he’d speak to you like this, “excuse me?” you question.

“because the behaviour you’ve shown is less than satisfactory to say the least. so i’m just wondering if you fucked your way to get here.” he shrugs, “i’m disgusted with how you’ve acted. and if you wanna keep your job, you’re going to have to prove yourself worthy.”

you don’t know what to say, “mr. fischer i’m afraid i don’t know what you’re-“

“call me robert, hun.” he says, his tone still cold as he puts out the cigarette.

“robert. i’m not sure what you’re implying here.” you repeat, feeling yourself become flushed.

“you said you’d be taking care of me for this flight, didn’t you? and right now, i’m having some needs that i’m sure you could meet. after all, the other favours i’ve asked of you have been a disappointment.” he says, beginning to unbuckle his belt, your eyes go wide,

“robert, i’m not sure-“ you squeak, being thrown off by how quickly everything is progressing.

“sh, do one thing right and keep yourself quiet.” he says, now unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. “matter of fact, get on your knees.” he growls, blatantly palming himself in front of you. this entire situation is a huge mind-fuck. roberts been nothing but a petty little cunt the entire time, but he’s still rather handsome, and, his most dominating quality, rich. you don’t wanna lose your job, and you’re willing to do whatever he’d ask to prevent it. so you fall to your knees in front of him.

“you’re gonna suck me off, and then i’ll consider forgetting about your bad hospitality.” he remarked, scooting his hips forward slightly. you nod, not saying a word before tugging his waistbands down, watching his hard cock spring against his stomach. you hesitantly give him a few pumps. after building up the courage, you bring his tip into your mouth, sucking and swirly around it gently, watching his body begin to go limp as a low groan came from within him.

slowly, you start to take more, pumping whatever isn’t fitting in your mouth, he’s moaning now. not very loud, but enough for you to be able to hear him. you feel a palm being placed on top of your head, forcing you down lower on his cock.

“take more, and don’t be shy, sweetheart, you wanna keep your job, don’t you?” he purrs, you view that as a sign for you to play with his balls as well while sucking him off. at this point you’re basically deep throating him, twisting your hand to act as if a continuation of your mouth.

“ah fuck..” he grunts, “do you only follow instructions when they involve you being a whore?” he growls through gritted teeth, you hum around him, unable to give him any other response. he swats your hands away and locks his fingers into your hair, fucking your mouth at a rough and unexpected pace.

you can barely breathe, your eyes are watering, and worst of all- you can feel yourself becoming wet. you hope to god that he doesn’t know that he’s turning you on, he’d never let you forget it.

“god..” he moans, “such a good girl. is that all it takes to get you to behave? a cock down your throat?” he teases, brushing your hair back to watch himself fuck your mouth. you whine around him, and glance at him through half lidded eyes, continuing to let him have his way with you.

he starts to huff quietly before roughly tugging you off his cock, making you gasp loudly at the ability to breathe clearly again.

“don’t wanna come just yet, wanna use that pussy first.” he grunts, pumping himself slowly. almost as if in a daze, you stand to your feet and shimmy your stockings and panties off, leaving you still nearly fully clothed. you place your hands on his shoulders and climb onto his lap, lining him up with your entrance before slowly sliding yourself down. wincing slightly at the stretch.

he moans lowly and his head dips back, “fuck.. you’re so wet.. gripping me so good.. shame you’re such a disrespectful slut. maybe you just need a good fucking, huh?” he groans in your ear, running his tongue along its outer shell. chills spread across your body as you raise your hips and slowly begin to ride him, “y-yeah.. i think i do..” you reply, hiding your face in his neck,

“mhm.. i think so too..” he purrs before placing his hands on your hips, guiding you to pick up a faster and rougher pace. you can’t help but moan while gripping his shoulders, “s-ir!” you whine, “feels so good!”.

he lets out a breathy laugh, “such a good girl when she’s got a cock inside her.” he nudges your head up to expose your neck and plants wet kisses, occasionally sucking gently. he sneaks his hands down and rides your skirt up so it’s sitting around your waist, fully exposing your bare bottom half. he grips your ass roughly before placing a firm smack against it, making you gasp loudly. you feel yourself becoming wetter, almost embarrassingly so. he noticed this.

“oh, did you like that, sweet thing? god, you really are a slut..” he laughs lowly before shifting his hips up to meet your trusts. the cabin is only filled with the sounds of heavy breath and moans, skin on skin, a slight squelching sounds which are making you blush harder.

you’re a moaning mess, shaking slightly, gasping and whining. he grabs one of your wrists and moves it between your legs,

“rub your clit, get yourself off on my cock, sweetheart.” he groans in the sweetest tone he’s had the entire flight. and you do just that, rub your clit while he fucks up into you. you’re close, very close, and judging by that gesture he just pulled you assume he is too.

“i’m close, robert!” you whine, screwing your eyes shut tightly, “come for me.” he growls before smacking your ass again, the sting of the smack pushed you over the edge. your orgasm rippling through you as he continued to thrust himself inside you.

“oh, shit, hun..” he mumbles, “squeezing my cock so nicely.. like you’re begging me to come inside..”

before you can fully process what he’s said, hes coming inside you, biting down on your shoulder to stifle his own moans. after riding out his orgasm, he begins to lift you off. but instead of guiding you to the seat in front of him, he moves you to the seat beside him, then proceeding to lean forward and pick up your stockings and panties for you.

“if you clean up your act, i’ll have you on my flights more often. i’ll treat you good, sweetheart, real good.”

[tnmn-headcannons-stories]

Carnivore- Werewolf!Doorman x Neighbors

Steven

Steven was not often home, or at the very least would show up at odd hours. As such, he didn’t get to see the doorman often. But when he did, it was the best three minutes of his life. Seeing such an attractive doorman was enough to make him want to be home more often. Although, it doesn’t help that his father would tease about his little crush. 

“Steven, there you are! I was wondering where you were.” (Y/N) exclaimed, looking through the paperwork halfheartedly. They had wanted to chat with him, though they knew they had a job to do.

Though they knew it was Steven from his scent, they still looked at the paperwork to give the notion that they were actually looking. No one could know their secret. Not even…

“Yeah, I guess I am a little late ain’t I?” He asked sheepishly, rubbing his neck. “But hey, listen��my dad always makes a lot of food for football season, do you wanna come over for dinner?” He asked.

(Y/N) blinked. Then blinked again. The awkward silence was deafening for Steven. A deep red blush spread over (Y/N)’s face, giving Steven his answer. 

He chuckled, sliding over a piece of paper with the time 7 P.M written on it. 

“Don’t be late, I’ll let dad know you’re coming over.”

-

It took longer for them to come accustomed to seeing Steven outside of work, but as they grew closer, the need to tell their terrible secret grew. The DDD knew of course, it’s why they were hired since they could scent any doppelganger far before anyone else could notice. But the idea of letting their new boyfriend know…scared them more than anything.

It was a conversation with Mclooy that made the bubble burst.

“Listen kid, I need to talk to you.” He glanced at his son. “Alone, preferably.”

(Y/N) turned to Steven and gave him a thumbs up to go ahead without them. Before they could turn back to Mclooy, he had already grabbed them by the neck and held them against the wall.

“Now what the hell is a werewolf doing around my son?!” He growled, moving his other hand to his hip where his trusty magnum was sure to be.

“You…you knew?” (Y/N) asked, holding their hands up in surrender.

“O’ course I knew! I’ve been around in my time and I know a werewolf when I see one. Took me some time, since you’re so sneaky with it, but I don’t want some monster around my son. These doppelgangers are enough.”

Trying to swallow, (Y/N) began to cry. This surprised Mclooy, and he let the doorman go. 

“I’m not a monster…” They whispered. “I would never hurt Steven. I…I love him, sir.” Their hands went to their neck and rubbed gently. “I want nothing more than to protect him. I can protect him from this world.” They glanced up at Mclooy.

“I give you my word. If you want me to leave Steven alone, I will. But I love him. And I want to protect him. I know firsthand how dangerous doppels can be.”

Mclooy took a second to think, rubbing his chin. Then, he held out a hand to (Y/N). When it wasn’t reciprocated, he shook his hand slightly, ushering them to take it. They did, and with surprising strength for a 60 something year old man, they were standing eye to eye with Steven’s very protective father. 

“Don’t hurt my boy. Or break his heart.” With a stern look, he pushed them towards the door. “Now have fun, but not too much fun. I mean it!”

[quietlyimplode]

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 18- Revenge

Warnings: canonical violence

Word Count: 1.4 (gif not mine)

Summary: the director wants revenge from those after him

Masterlist.

Whumptober Masterlist.

.

Thompson loosens his tie.

Opening his bank account, he glances at the money.

It was worth it, he thinks, looking at the savings and the retirement fund that sits waiting for him.

What did the country ever do for him?

Once out of the army, they didn’t take care of him.

His battle with PTSD and the ongoing trauma of what he saw in war meant nothing.

He had seen. He knew.

There was nothing but money that meant anything.

It was always about money.

Money ruled everything, and if the only way to make it was to be corrupt and sell others down the line, just like they had done to him, well, he was justified to do so.

He was too far on the rabbit hole to turn back now.

Thompson looks at his ledger, his scrawling handwriting in code, took seconds for him to decode.

Out of the 70 agents he knew, he marked off the ones he knew were missing. At the end, there was twenty left.

Throwing his pen in frustration, he growls softly to himself.

They’d done a good job at decimating it, whilst he’d been distracted.

It had happened slowly, people missing, others not showing up for work, missions gone awry; all with those that he knew worked for the triple headed snake.

He supposed that was the point.

He leaves the desk to find his whisky in the cupboard, and pours a glass.

If Fury and his merry band of warriors thought he was stupid enough not to stop the last of it they had another thing coming.

Fury, Coulson, Hill and Barton.

He was sure they were behind it. The only ones with enough of a security level to put the pieces together.

That and the little traitorous bitch.

She was the one that started it all.

He should never have approved the mission that Olivia had set out.

The wheels turn further.

“Claudia,” he calls, his PA entering his office with a nod.

“Yes sir?”

“Get Olivia Belova in here now.”

“Sir,” she nods, leaving the room.

It takes only a minute before the woman reenters with a stern look.

“She’s not available, her calendar says she on leave. I had a look and it says that you approved it two days ago.”

Thompson feels the frustration burn within him. Anger at being played and manipulated.

“Fine,” he growls.

“Where is Romanoff?”

The pa leaves for a moment, evidently looking at logs and emails, before returning to explain that she had left with Hill at Fury’s order.

“And where are they?”

He knows it’s unfair to be angry at Claudia, the 60 year old former Sargent, who had done nothing but be loyal to him, despite knowing his secrets.

He should do something to help her from the coming storm.

Claudia looks worried.

“It doesn’t say,” she replies, her voice small like a child about to get into trouble.

Thompson huffs.

“Go home,” he orders.

“No. Go on holiday, somewhere tropical. Don’t come back for a while.”

He knows she’s smart enough to read through the lines of his statement.

“There’s a storm coming,” he tells her.

“A big one.”

.

“We have to make contingencies,” the woman from the Oceania region demands.

“Are you going to take over once he is brought in?”

Fury nods.

“Who else?”

“There are a range of people,” the man from Europe advises.

“I know this region the best, I know my people the best, if this transfer of power is one that you want to go smoothly, then you must all see it.”

“Fine. We would like an update.”

The faceless voices take in the evidence, as Fury outlines what’s next.

“He won’t go easily,” he surmises.

The woman clenches her hands.

“Just get it done.”

.

Twenty men.

Four missions.

Five person teams.

Four targets.

Thompson feels like he’s fallen too far down the rabbit hole to ever redeem himself. He doesn’t care how treasonous it is to go after four former military personnel with medals ranging from a purple heart to a silver star.

They shouldn’t have forced his hand.

He fingers his gun, wondering if he should go with them, but when he hands the last orders down, he finds his courage fails him.

He should be the one to oversee everything. That’s what it was when you were the Major.

Alpha.

Bravo.

Charlie.

Delta.

The four strike teams had their orders, now he just had to wait.

.

Alpha Team.

Maria leaves Clint’s apartment, windows open and music on.

Blink-182 plays loudly and she smiles as “what’s my name again” plays through her speakers. She’d tried to explain music to Natasha but she could tell that it was falling on deaf ears.

Whether she didn’t care or her mind was on other things, she hadn’t known.

Turning left onto the freeway, she notices two black shield cars.

“Fuckers,” she thinks.

She knew those cars, those number plates and knew they were gunning for her.

Quickly making a plan, she turns off at the next exit, cutting off two cars and rightly receiving a blasting of horns.

One of the cars makes it off with her.

She assumes two or three man team in each car.

Annoyed, she speeds, making it to the closest Walmart and parking.

Cars are too dangerous and she knows they would prefer to just run her off the road.

People she knows.

People she’s trained.

She hates Hydra.

Twisted and corrupt.

Maria exits her car, watching the black car carefully.

It parks nearby.

Three man exit.

She has moments and the element of surprise.

Her gun loaded, she presses forward.

.

Bravo Team.

Coulson rubs his eyes.

Staying close to Clint was exhausting. Not because he was a hard patient, but because he was so worried that someone would come and finish the job.

The round the clock surveillance was exhausting.

The dog park outside Shield was just starting to heat up.

The golden retriever and the dachshund make him laugh with their antics as their owner chat, ignoring the dogs wrapping the leads around their legs.

Coulson leans back in the sunshine, and sips his coffee.

He almost misses the odd sound of boots on the ground.

He looks around to see a five man team closing in on him.

Standing, he heads for the middle of the park, the Rottweiler on his left taking notice of his pace and the urgency of his movements.

.

Charlie Team.

Gun on his lap, Fury shoots twice.

Once in the knee and the other in the head.

A shout of pain reverberates throughout his appartment.

Angrily, he throws a punch, and shoots again.

Two down.

He shuts off the lights, and drops the blinds.

The three that are left, enter in a V formation.

Fury almost laughs, as they seem blinded.

He knows the terrain on his apartment the best. They’re sure to miss the step.

He counts it down.

Holding his gun high, he aims the shot.

.

Delta Team.

Clint stares at Natasha’s face.

Maria had shrugged when he asked and told him to ask Natasha.

As if in a stand off, she hadn’t moved from his couch, just watched as he’d pottered around slowly.

He’d gathered some clothes, money, his gun, arrows and bow.

Now he was just tired.

“Do you want a drink?” he asks.

Natasha looks up.

He notices her hands, scabbed and sore.

She nods and stands to come and help.

“What happened?” he asks in almost a whisper.

Natasha swallows.

She’s sure her face is almost as bruised as his.

“They wouldn’t let me see you,” she whispers.

“What’s that?” she asks, the light above Clint’s head blinking rapidly.

“Shit.”

He coughs and winces.

“They’re coming.”

Natasha looks panicked.

“Who?”

Clint grabs his backpack and gun, and passes it to her, taking his bow and arrows and notching it.

“Carry that, and follow me.”

He hits a button, stairs coming down from the ceiling allowing Clint to ascend, Natasha on his heels as the entrance to his apartment is beaten in.

The rooftop is high, and Natasha doesn’t like it.

“We’ll be cornered,” she hisses.

Clint turns, and shoots a single arrow into the ledge.

To Natasha’s surprise, the lead and rope out of it attach securely, and Clint grabs it.

“We’re abseiling,” he tells her, sweat on his brow.

She thinks it’s from pain, or adrenaline.

Maybe both.

Her heart beats evenly.

“This would be a stupid way to die, Clint Barton,” she tells him.

He shoots another arrow, and she picks up the second rope.

“On three,” he tells her.

.

[imsobadatnicknames2]

I think a lot of the time saying "why are you arguing about the quality something made for six year olds you're clearly not the target audience of" in the same tone as "sir this is a Wendy's" is a valid thing to say, because there ARE a lot of people out there who will choose to criticize Plimby and Plombo's Big Friendship Adventure for not being up to their standards of narrative complexity as a 20-something year old instead of accepting that they're not the target audience and moving on to watch something for adults that IS meant to be more complex.

However, I think there's also something to be said about how often this same "it's for children, you're not the target audience" argument is used as a thought-terminating cliché to deflect real, valid criticism of a thing that happens to have children as a target audience.

I especially started noticing a lot of that going on last year with the release of pokemon scarlet and violet. You'd see someone make some legit criticism of the game and someone else would come out like "it's literally a game for children lol why do you care so much it's not for you" as if they were criticizing it for not being narratively engaging and thought-provoking enough for them as an adult and not for being a broken and overall low-quality product that was clearly shat out into stores before it was anywhere near ready for release at a 60 dollar pricepoint.

[your-resident-boat-person]

I noticed there are dates on your top liners list, ranging from the 1870s to the 2000's. I think on my alt you told me it was one of the last made, and the last in current use (as a hotel [and apparently haunted house according to the third video?]).

Anyway, I was wondering if you had an overview on the history of Ocean Liner design and how they've changed over the years, both technical in terms of operation, and aesthetic from the point of view both as a theoretical passenger and a learned liner enthusiast!

Plus any fun details about your examples would be nice as well.

Svjsvphsvpusvpusv okay. I am going to need to split this up into multiple posts, because I can not convey all this information with the 10 Pic limit. So periodically, check the reblogs of this post. I will periodically be adding more to it over time. Also, I'm not really citing any sources because this is mostly from memory, so there MAY be some mistakes. Also, I'm typing all this on my phone, so... please forgive the formatting, grammar, and spelling mistakes.

To begin, let's quickly discuss what an ocean liner is. An ocean liner is a ship you travel on to cross the ocean. It's called a liner because it goes in a line across the ocean. In this sense, “cruise liners” don't really exist. The proper term is cruise ship. Many people mistake liners for cruise ships and vice versa, but they are different in both function and design. As wikipedia puts it, “Though ocean liners share certain similarities with cruise ships, they must be able to travel between continents from point A to point B on a fixed schedule”. This means liners need to be both durable, and fast, something cruise ships are neither of. Cruise ships also almost never do trans-Atlantic crossings unless absolutely necessary. They just aren't built to handle the Atlantic at its worst. Cruise ships usually stay relatively close to land and reschedule for bad weather. For example, the only liner still in service is the RMS Queen Mary 2, built in 2004. Her construction used 60% more steel than a cruise ship of the same size. She also has a top speed of about 30 knots, whereas a cruise ship never really needs to exceed about 18. So, to summarize, an ocean liner is a ship you use to cross the ocean. A cruise ship, while it may take you to numerous excursions, is essentially the destination itself, and it will return you to where you started once the voyage is over. Last thing before we start, GRT. Gross Registered Tonnage is essentially a measure of the total usable internal volume of a ship. Generally, this is a much better measure of the size of a ship than length. For example, the RMS Adriatic was 729 ft long. The Titanic was 882 feet long. Only 150 feet longer, no big difference, right? WRONG. The Adriatic was 25,000 GRT. Titanic was 46,000 GRT. Britannic, which was the same length as Titanic, but 2 feet wider, was 48,000 GRT. Nearly double the size of Adriatic, even though she's not much longer. The Lusitania was 787 feet, and she was 31,000 GRT. So even though Britannic was only about 12% longer, she was about 55% bigger. Last thing, a knot is a unit of speed 1 knot is 1.150779 miles per hour, or 1.852 kilometers per hour.

Anyway, now that we have that sorted out, let's get into the history >:3

So, it starts with the steam engine. At the start of the 19th century, if you wanted to get from Europe to America (or vice Versa), you needed to book passage in a sailing ship. In just 4 short months, you can cross the ocean :D! Between extremely unsanitary conditions and the high chance of you not making it to your destination at all, something needed to change. There were some experiments with bolting steam engines to old sailing vessels, and these were very successful, but really only proofs of concept. Railway engineer Sir Isambard Kingdom Brunel realized that if ocean travel could work like the railway, travel between continents could be much more efficient and safe. With a sailing ship, you were dependent on the wind and weather, so your departure and arrival dates couldn't be predicted with any guarantee of certainty. With a steam engine, the ship could move at a consistent speed over a set distance, regardless of the conditions. Now, ocean travel was consistent, regimented, and much safer. All of these came together in 1838 with the launch of Brunel's SS Great Western, which crossed the Atlantic in 18 days, going at 8.66 knots. She was 1,700 Gross Registered Tons (GRT, a measure of internal volume) and 234 ft 11 in long (71.6 meters). She was the first ocean liner. Granted, she was essentially just a sailing ship with paddle wheels attached to a very rudimentary steam engine, she even Still had sails, and she had a hull made from oak, but she was the first commercial venture to bring passengers across the ocean on a regimented schedule. She was also the first purpose built liner.

Now, these very early years of ocean liners aren't really my specialty, so I'll cover some major events.

In 1839, Sir Samuel Cunard was awarded the first British transatlantic steamship mail contract, and in 1840, formed what would later be known as the Cunard Line, one of the most famous lines ever, And still around to this day.

In 1858, Sir Isambard Kingdom Brunel was back at it again with the SS Great Eastern. With this ship, Brunel set out to solve a problem: He wanted to make a ship big enough to carry enough coal to not need to stop and refuel on the voyage to Australia. The Great Eastern was the largest ship in the world by a WIDE margin. Before Great Eastern, the largest ship in the world was the SS Adriatic of the Colin's Line. She was 3,670 GRT, and 354 feet (108 meters) long. The Great Eastern was a whopping 18,915 GROSS REGISTERED TONS. 5.5 TIMES BIGGER! SHE WAS 692 FEET LONG. As wikipedia puts it, “Her length of 692 feet (211 m) was surpassed only in 1899 by the 705-foot (215 m) 17,274-gross-ton RMS Oceanic, her gross tonnage of 18,915 was only surpassed in 1901 by the 701-foot (214 m) 20,904-gross-ton RMS Celtic and her 4,000-passenger capacity was surpassed in 1913 by the 4,234-passenger SS Imperator.” IT IS WITH HONOR THAT I INTRODUCE YOU TO BRUNEL'S “GREAT BABE”, THE SS GREAT EASTERN.

LOOK AT ‘ER! AIN'T SHE A BEAUT? IN A WORLD WHERE MOST SHIPS DIDN'T HAVE ANY FUNNELS, AND THE ONES THAT DID ONLY HAD ONE, THE GREAT EASTERN WAS THE ONE AND ONLY F I V E F U N N E L E D L I N E R. Even though she later lost one in an explosion, which was never replaced. She was rigorously mocked for her size and number of funnels, which is strange considering the 4 funneled superliner boom just 50 years later.

She FAMOUSLY didn't work, and the stress of trying to MAKE her work ended up sending Brunel to an early grave. SHE INDIRECTLY KILLED ONE OF THE GREATEST ENGINEERS OF ALL TIME! She then spent nearly a decade laid up as a glorified billboard:

She damaged or sunk at least 10 ships in her short Career, had a penchant for spontaneously exploding (which is where her 5th funnel went), and when she was scrapped in 1890, all of her size records were still at least 9 years from being bested. She was NEVER profitable, and the DEFINITION of an outlier. Whenever discussing the largest ships in the world from 1848 to 1890, it goes without saying that the Great Eastern is not included. There is a REASON she's on my top 25, and I've only skimmed the surface. She was a hot mess, and I love her for it. I'd be happy to make a post entirely dedicated to her.

Next, we have the birth of the White Star Line. In 1870, they got their first ship: The SS Oceanic. (Not the RMS Oceanic of 1899 mentioned previously).

Many consider her and her 5 sisters to be the first “modern” liners, in the sense that they were starting to evolve past glorified sailing ships. She was 420 ft 4 in (128.12 meters) and 3,707 GRT. While her size PALED in comparison to the MIGHTY GREAT EASTERN, she was the “largest” ship in the world. Again, the great eastern kinda doesn't count. As modern as she was, Oceanic still had sails, and she had an INCREDIBLE top speed of… 14.5 knots. It was fast for the time. In fact, she won White Star Line their first Blue Riband for the fastest trans-Atlantic crossing. The ships of the Oceanic class were the Oceanic, Atlantic, Baltic, Republic, Adriatic (not the aforementioned RMS Adriatic, OR the SS Adriatic of the Colins Line), and Celtic. One of the big innovations of these ships was that they had a longer length to width ratio. Most sailing ships have a 6:1 ratio of length to width. The Oceanic class increased it to 9:1. With a thinner hull form, it reduced drag and allowed for a higher speed, albeit at the cost of stability. She was also one of the first ships at sea to use electricity. Not for lights, though. Those were still oil lamps. No, the electricity was for buttons in the cabins, which, when pressed, would summon a steward. Founder of the White Star Line, Thomas Ismay, realized that most of the profits of shipping lines came from The hundreds of steerage passengers, rather than the ultra wealthy first class/saloon Class passengers, so he made sure that he had THE BEST steerage accommodations by a scenic mile. He wanted to make sure that he'd be the one getting their business. Her steerage accommodations (3rd class) were fuckimg REVOLUTIONARY in their standards. In an era where poor people were treated like literal cattle, the steerage accommodations on the Oceanic class must have seemed like heaven on earth. Certainly better than anything they would have ever experienced on land. Steerage passengers had FRIGGIN PORTHOLES, which was a new thing for them because, like I said, before White Star, no one gave a shit about poor people. Also, for decks beneath the water line, there were skylights that reached all the way down to the bottom decks. The designers went through great pains to make sure everyone had fresh air and natural sunlight. Which, again, not something you'd find on other ships of the era, as basic as it seems. Anyway, the SS Atlantic, the White Star Line's second ever ship, was their first loss at sea. While we associate the line with Disaster today, history shows quite a different story. In their 65 years of operation, from 1870 to 1935, they operated at least 89 ships. They only lost 5 during peacetime disasters. This is a genuinely phenomenal track record, especially for the time. The aforementioned Collins Line lost literally 2/5ths of their ships (although they did have a much smaller fleet, so it's not an entirely fair comparison). Anyway, the SS Atlantic ran aground near Halifax Nova Scotia, with a loss of 535 people, leaving only 429 survivors. In the 30 minutes the ship took to fully sink, not a single lifeboat could be launched. I'd highly recommend Part-Time Explorer's videos on the subject.

In part 2, we'll cover from 1874 to 1900, with some of the most famous ships of all time. Like I said, this early stuff is where I'm weakest. Part 2 is where I'll become REALLY knowledgeable. >:3

[angryschnauzer]

As Sweet As Honey - Chapter 4

Summary: Finding a new life in a new town, you stumble upon a Honey farmer at the town market. You both have pasts that have shaped the way you now live your lives, but can you find a way of putting them behind you to find happiness?

Pairing: ‘Lucas’ Syverson x Female Reader

Fandom: Henry Cavill, Sandcastle (Movie).

Ongoing Genre: Fluff, Angst, and Smut

Story Warnings: Slight Angst, Talk of a car accident in the past, Anxious Sy, Mild Embarrassment, First Date Nerves, Kissing

Wordcount: 2689

Here is my masterlist and AO3

Chapter 1, Chapter 2,  Chapter 3,

  I do not run a tag list, instead please follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications, you’ll then get an alert each time i post something new. My AO3 also has my entire back catalogue of stories (going back to 2013).

As Sweet As Honey - Chapter 4

The farmers market was busy, the sunshine and good weather always bringing people out to enjoy what the town had to offer, and as the summer approached the amount of tourists increased too. From the moment Sy had set up there had been a steady stream of customers stopping by his stand, but at every given chance he would be looking around, trying to find one particular face in the crowds. 

It was one such moment when he was looking away did someone clear their throat, to which he was a little startled by as he turned and spotted an older man in his late 60s standing beside his stand holding a jar of honey;

“You make this?”

He spoke with a strong Italian accent.

“I do Sir. Would you like to try it?”

“And the bees, they are local, yes?”

“Yes Sir, the hives are on the meadow as you head West out of town”

“Ah, so not far, hmmn”

The older man held the jar up to the light, watching as the amber liquid glinted in the sunlight. Sy bit back his smile, he knew exactly who this was, although had never met in person before as he turned back to him;

“Is it good to cook with?”

“It would be perfect for the dip to go with the churros. Though a Jalapeno would work better with this rather than the red chilli’s you already use”

There was a moment of quiet, before the older man finally smiled and held his hand out;

“Antonio Cosentino”

“Lucas Syverson”

“Good to meet you Mr Syverson. I saw you in my restaurant last night with your lovely lady”

Sy smiled at the mention of you;

“Yeah, she’s great. She actually suggested i approach you about the honey”

“She’s got a good head on her shoulders” he leant forwards; “And a good pair of burrata… if i was 30 years younger you’d have some competition i tell you that” 

He held his hands out in front of him in a cupping motion and Sy did his best not to laugh too much at the old Italian commenting about your breasts and likening them to the shape of balls of fresh mozzarella cheese. Instead Sy diplomatically changed the conversation;

“I tell you what Mr Cosentino, take that jar - it's on me - put it on the menu tonight and i’ll swing by on Monday for an espresso, you can tell me what you think”

Antonio held out his hand and gave Sy’s a firm shake;

“You have a deal… and you said espresso without the ‘x’ so you already have gone up in my book”

“I spent a couple of months in Italy on special assignment with the Pozzuolo del Friuli after my last tour of Iraq, you only say it with an x once when you are with them”

“Bosnia?”

Sy shook his head;

“Before my time with them. Assisted with peacekeeping in Lebanon”

Antonio nodded solemnly;

“You’re a good man” he held up the honey; “Grazie. 11 o’clock on Monday?”

“Sounds good”

As Sy watched the old man walk away he smiled but it was bittersweet. His time with the Italian’s had been his last in the forces, and the sights he’d seen in Lebanon had made him question a lot of things, but had been a deciding factor in leaving the Army. He took a deep breath and looked around the market, taking in the bustling crowds and happy faces. He glanced up to the higher walkway that surrounded the market place and saw a sight that lifted his mood immediately; you.

-

You were surprised at how busy downtown was, but then it was also approaching lunchtime so there was the lunch crowd out as well as locals doing their shopping and people just enjoying the sunshine.

After sleeping in late you did some chores before Tamara swung by to drop the books off she’d borrowed and had offered you a ride into town, but you’d declined as a walk in the sunshine was just what the doctor ordered after the indulgences of dinner the previous evening.

Once you’d stopped at the post office and mailed the original manuscripts for the SATS test papers you’d finalised, you just had a couple more errands to run before you made a trip to the market. It wasn’t that you were nervous about seeing Sy, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to concentrate on much once you’d seen him, so you got as much done as possible before that eventuality. As you came out of the post office you recognised a tall burly figure crossing the road towards you, a very familiar dog on the end of a leash trotting alongside him. For a moment you stood and watched as Sheriff Marshall and Akia approached, noting how the dog was as obedient for him as she was for Sy. He passed you without noticing, but Akia started to drop behind, turning to look back at you;

“C’mon girl” Walter tugged gently on the leash but instead the dog just planted her butt on the sidewalk, looking back at you. The hulking Sheriff finally turned and looked up to where Akia was staring, before a moment of recognition. Looking back down at the dog he spoke;

“Do you want to go and say hello?”

Akia stood and wagged her tail, to which he let her trot along the sidewalk to where you were standing;

“Hi”

“Morning Sheriff”

He held his hand out to you;

“I guess as my cousin is dating you, you could call me Walter”

Shaking his hand you smiled at the normally grumpy Sheriff, before Akia let out a quiet ‘wuff’ and you moved your attention to her;

“Have you been a good girl?”

The big dog got all wriggly like a puppy before laying on the pavement and showing you her belly, which you obliged and gave her a quick tummy rub;

“You big softie” standing you smiled at Walter; “So Sy said we’re dating?”

Walter nodded, before gesturing to say he was going to continue walking which you nodded in agreement too, Akia moving and falling into step between you;

“He called me after your date last night, he was so happy” he paused; “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but it’s been a while since he let anyone this close, even longer since he admitted his feelings to me”

You nodded;

“I really like him too, I just want to take things slow at first, you know?”

Walter nodded, as he did in fact know. You’d made a point when you first moved to the town to make an appointment with him and give him details of the restraining order, and he had quietly taken in the information you’d given him. He’d assured you it was a safe, tight knit community, and would make sure your new identity was kept private.

As you turned the corner and walked alongside the railings you could look over the market, spotting Sy’s yellow sunshade immediately. He gave you a wave and smiled before turning his attention back to his customer, Walter clearing his throat;

“Just… be honest with him. I know you don’t have to tell him anything, but…”

“I know. He’s my first relationship since. When the time comes i’ll tell him”

“Thank you” Walter said quietly.

As you approached Sy’s stand Akia picked up his scent and started to strain on the leash, excited to see him again. Once it was safe and there was a clear light of sight, Walter let the leash drop and you watched as the big dog ran to the stand and shuffled under the table, sitting on her haunches as she almost vibrated with excitement whilst Sy handed the customer their change. He turned to her and smiled;

“Have you been a good girl?”

“Wuff”

“Did you chase racoons at Uncle Walters house?”

The response was a whine, to which Akia was greeted with an enthusiastic face rub as Sy called her a good girl and gave her rump a couple of friendly pats with the palm of his hand. Your mind focused on that, how he was gentle but firm, and you wondered how the palm of his hand would feel doing that against your own ass.

“If you ask him nicely he will”

You hadn’t even realised Walter had moved in close until he’d whispered in your ear, but you felt the heat rise to your face immediately;

“I didn’t say that out loud did I?”

“You didn’t need to. I could see your mind working and where your gaze was trained”

You smiled;

“You should be a detective”

“I was. Much prefer this” he grinned at you, before turning to Sy and checking in with him briefly until a local came up to him and started to draw him into a conversation about nuisance speeders on the North road out of town.

“There’s my girl”

Turning to Sy, you were a little taken back by his public show of affection, but didn’t shy away from it. Resting your hands on his chest you smiled as he pressed his lips to yours. His kiss was warm and welcoming, and held just a little promise of more had it not for standing somewhere incredibly public.

“Come sit in the shade with me”

He took your hand and led you around the table, pulling out a second camping chair for you. He delved into a cooler and pulled out three bottles of water and a metal bowl, filling the bowl for Akia before handing you a bottle.

“Thanks. How’s it gone this morning?”

“Busy. Lots of weekenders from out of state”

Just at that moment more customers turned up, and you watched from the shade as Sy worked his sales magic, their purchase list soon growing;

“... and they’re the bath fizzers, simply run a hot bath and pop one in. The honey helps moisturise and the locally grown lavender helps relaxation”

The tourist nodded;

“Is the lavender local? I don’t like that artificially scented stuff”

“Grown right here in town by the lovely lady in the shade”

You looked up and waved, and that seemed to reassure all of the customer’s thoughts on the product, who happily nodded and asked for three. Once they’d left Sy turned to you and pulled a small paper bag out from one of the storage totes he carried stock in to the market;

“For you”

Taking the bag from him you peered inside and saw there were a pair of bath fizzers in the bag;

“Oh, thanks”

You realised your reply hadn’t been as enthusiastic as he was probably expecting, looking up just as a customer arrived but you didn’t fail to miss the slight look of disappointment on his face. For a moment you weren’t sure what to do or say, but as the customer left you stood next to Sy;

“Thank you, really. They smell amazing… would they work in a shower?” Sy blinked a couple of times, trying to process his emotions before you continued; “I don’t have a bath”

“Oh. OH”

“I’m not disappointed Sy, i really do like them, they smell absolutely amazing”

He let out a deep breath;

“But without a bath… yeah, I get that. Sorry, I didn't mean to get pouty” he smiled at you.

“Don’t apologise, please. I should have explained”

For a moment you both just stood there, the bag of bath fizzers awkwardly between you before you set it down;

“Are you hungry?”

“I could eat a horse”

You laughed;

“How about some tacos instead? I passed a stand as we walked in”

“That sounds good”

Ten minutes later you’d returned from the authentic Mexican food truck with two take out dishes of their best tacos, sliding in behind the table at Sy’s stand and handing him a box. As the stand was quiet you both took a seat, eating in silence before you took a rest between your 2nd and 3rd tacos.

“Everything alright?”

You nodded and rubbed your stomach;

“They’re really filling, just taking a break”

Although he didn’t have to, Sy sat back and paused his eating;

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure”

“You can tell me to fuck off if it’s personal, but I kinda thought all girls loved baths? Like if you remodel a chick’s place the first thing they do is install a fuck off enormous tub”

“Well, it is personal but i’ll tell you the short version; I was in a car accident a few years ago where the car ended up going into a river in the middle of winter. I now can’t cope with being surrounded by cold water… and baths get cold no matter how hot you run them”

Sy nodded thoughtfully;

“I understand” he paused; “If there was a way to guarantee the water stays hot no matter how long you were in the water, would you consider it?”

It was your turn to pause and consider what he was saying;

“Possibly. I never really looked into it. I just know i didn’t want to be surrounded by cold water and i was super happy with my walk in steam shower”

“Now that does sound nice” Sy agreed 

In a moment of bravado you lowered your voice;

“I look forward to showing you how nice”

It was Sy’s turn to blush, the moment interrupted by a customer. You settled back in your chair when a furry snout rested itself on your lap, the drool from Akia’s mouth soon seeping through your dress;

“Yes i got something for you too Akia” before pulling a small plastic bag from the corner of your takeout box; “One burnt end of the brisket”

As the dog happily crunched away on the small morsel you watched Sy, taking in how his ass looked in jeans, how the fabric clung to his thighs. No flannel shirt in the heat, instead he wore a red t-shirt, the fabric taut across his wide shoulders.Your mind wandered to how he’d pushed one of those meaty thighs between your own as you’d kissed on your porch, and the thought of him doing that to you without any clothing barriers between you, in your shower no less, was something you were more than happy to let your mind drift off to.

-

As the afternoon grew late and the flow of customers waned, Sy sat next to you again and looked around;

“Thanks for the company today, sometimes these things can get a bit boring without anyone to talk to apart from Akia”

“It was fun. You’re a good salesman, I think you could convince anyone to buy your stuff”

Sy laughed;

“I’m just a good negotiator”

Soon it was time to pack up, the market coming to an end. You happily stayed to help as it wasn’t like you had anything other than a book waiting for you at home, and babysitting Akia as Sy went to get his truck. Once everything had been loaded he opened the passenger door and watched as you easily climbed up in your sneakers and shorts.

When he reached your place he turned to you;

“So, still on for dinner at my place tomorrow night?”

“Sounds good. What time do you want me?”

He looked you up and down, a smug grin on his face;

“Oh baby, i want you all the time”

“Sy!” you laughed

“Come over about four, or i can pick you up”

“It’s fine, i’ll walk across the meadow”

You leaned across the centre console of the truck and let him draw you into a deep kiss, which neither of you were in a hurry to finish until a soft whine came from the back seat and you could hear Akia’s stomach grumble;

“I’ll let you go home and feed Akia”

Sy pulled you back for one final kiss before letting you go. He watched as you crossed your yard and let yourself in, making sure you were safe inside before he left. Old protective habits die hard.

________________

Authors Note:

When the readers breasts are referred to as similar to burrata, it is referring to the size and shape, not the colour. I keep my reader race neutral so anyone can enjoy reading the story.

Chapter 5 >>>

[almacambiondaughterofsaleos]

Hi again, I’m the anon who misses old Stroker who went on about tidbits about character dialogue and how different ways of speaking could tell a character. Yada Yada, another long post from someone who is too chicken to actually show their face that speaks these constructive criticisms.

Something I also noticed is Viv lack of proper research in time periods in terms of fashion and a lack of even variations in clothing type. Don’t get me wrong it can pretty difficult to do proper research on culture and fashion from different years/period, but it feels pretty disappointing that Viv doesn’t seem to do actual research, but more like either a brief skim or some sort of vague memory recall.

I recall seeing a post mentioning some in accuracies like Alastor supposedly being creole but would be most likely not be a radio host (even if he was white passing, it feel like it was not intentional), how Angeldust would have not died during the late 40s from PCP (aka angel dust) as the drug never became a street drug until decades later, etc.

I wanna say that I am disappointed that Viv can’t seem to differentiate character designs of different era. Almost all of the main cast for Hazbin Hotel wears practically the same shape of suit, the over exaggerated v-shaped body that indicates a suit. I think what Viv is basing it off on it’s the oversimplified look of a regular fit suit or a modern fit suit, but with a bow-tie attached to it. I have counted like 6 characters that wear basically the same kind of vague suit with a notched lapel and a bow-tie (Charlie, Lucifer, Angeldust, Vox, Alastor, and Sir Pentious). I am excluding Tom Trench as I am mostly going to refer to relevant characters that are more prominent to the show.

I get it, suits are cool, outside the whole “tumblrsexyman” jokes, a suit goes hard. But almost all of the suit designs are pretty much the same with the slight exception that Sir P’s shoulder pads are more wider. I feel like what Viv could’ve done better is maybe look into how different eras have differences in the fashion, that on the surface level may look the same, but looking a bit closer are different in style. It would be weird if you find someone wearing vaguely European clothing who says they are from Greece.

This is why I find Crymini (anyone remember her?) and Cherribomb’s design more appealing as the design makes sense as their era such as Crymini being that of the 80s punk era (I think that’s what she is supposed to be) and Cherri being that of the 90s. With the 6 characters mentioned, it seems to blur the line of what era they come from. Again, Sir P is excluded as you can get a hint that he is from the 1800s. But Vox, Angeldust, and Alastor’s designs are lacking in differentiation, even subtle differentiations to where they seem like they could be from any era of the 1900s, despite Vox being that from the 50s/60s, Alastor being from the 20s, and Angeldust from the 40s. I think Charlie’s suit could be a bit more fancier and should be its own style unique to Charlie since she is, after all, princess of hell and daughter of Lucifer (I would even say the same for Lucifer) if but that’s just a nitpick and my personal opinion on my end.

Idk, you can add on to this topic if you want

Man you are everything about this show is by someone who failed history and theology. Also it's by someone who says they want a grey morality but it's really about assholes who.make token grand features then go back to being awful.

[avatarvyakara]

Might as well work on this one too…

On Age in Carmen Sandiego (2019)

Or, at the very least, in the timeline of Crimson Shades.

First off, Carmen’s mother, Carlotta Valdez (aka “Vera Cruz”), was supposed to have “died” in 1999. Carmen looked around perhaps a year old at that point in time, giving her a possible birth-date in 1996 to 1997. This in turn suggests that the series takes place some time before the actual date of publication—say, 2017/2018 onwards—to maintain Carmen’s rough age.

Rough age ranges of the characters, taking Carmen’s rough birthdate for estimation:

Team Red

Isabela Valdez/Black Sheep/Carmen Sandiego: 16/17 starting at VILE, 18/19 during the Poitiers Caper, 22/23 by the end.

Fairly self-explanatory.

Pierre Bouchard/Player: 12/13 as a White Hat Hacker, 14/15 during the Poitiers Caper, 18/19 by the end.

Not quite old enough for a learner’s permit (Up Here it’s a G1) during the earlier capers.

Ivy Collins: 19 during the Donuts/Poitiers Capers, 23 by the end.

Zack Collins: 18 during the Donuts/Poitiers Capers, 22 by the end.

Zack is supposed to be around a year younger than Ivy.

Nakamura Suhara/Shadowsan: 23 when sent after Dexter Wolfe, 42 during the Poitiers Caper, 46 by the end.

Young but not too young, as it were.

VILE

Eartha McGlynn/Coach Brunt: 39 upon receiving Black Sheep, 58 during the Poitiers Caper, 61 when arrested, 63 by the end.

Gunnar Stromme/Professor Maelstrom: 37 upon receiving Black Sheep, 56 during the Poitiers Caper, 60 when arrested, 62 by the end.

Oluchi Cleopatra Okorie/Countess Cleo: 26 upon receiving Black Sheep, 45 during the Poitiers Caper, 49 when arrested, 51 by the end.

Saira Dhibar/Doctor Bellum: 33 upon receiving Black Sheep, 54 during the Poitiers Caper, 58 when arrested, 60 by the end.

Sir Nigel Braithwaite/Roundabout: 56 when appointed, 57 when arrested, 59 by the end.

Margherita Picasso/Cookie Booker: 54 when first pelted, 62 when the Hard Drive was stolen, 67 by the end.

Vlad Bobinski: 28 upon receiving Black Sheep, 45 upon letting Black Sheep get away, 50 by the end.

Boris Vladinski: 27 upon receiving Black Sheep, 44 while watching Vlad let Black Sheep get away, 49 by the end.

They may be slightly younger or older, but at least Coach Brunt’s age seems to have been confirmed at 60 by the time of the Fourth Season.

Graham Calloway/Gray/Crackle: 18 starting at VILE, 20 during the Poitiers Caper, 24 by the end.

Jean-Paul Marignan/Le Chèvre: 19 starting at VILE, 21 during the Poitiers Caper, 25 by the end.

Antonio Sánchez/El Topo: 18/19 starting at VILE, 20/21 during the Poitiers Caper, 24/25 by the end.

Sheena Landry/Tigress: 18 starting at VILE, 20 during the Poitiers Caper, 23 when arrested, 24 by the end.

Parker Morris/Mime Bomb: 18 starting at VILE, 20 during the Poitiers Caper, 23 when arrested, 25 by the end.

Sawa Jin/Paper Star: 17 starting at VILE, 18 during the Magna Carta Caper, 22 when arrested at the end.

ACME

Tamara Fraser/Chief: 26 when killing Dexter Wolfe, 45 during the Poitiers Caper, 49 when arresting VILE, 51 by the end.

Inspector/Agent Chase Devineaux: 37 during the Poitiers Caper, 38/39 when arresting VILE, 41 by the end.

Agent Julia Argent: 25 during the Poitiers Caper, 27 when arresting VILE, 29 by the end.

This is going to cause some trouble, I just know it. But the average amount of time it takes to get a university degree in the UK is around three years, and Julia has two of them. She also seems to have jumped right to an associate professorship at Oxford in Season 3, the requirements for which are around 4-6 years of study plus a thesis. Thus Julia would have had to have been in school for at least something like seven to nine years before joining Interpol, with whom she had apparently only been for a fortnight before the Poitiers Caper. The number above assumes that she skipped a year and took a year less to complete her second degree. Or took two years less. Or started two years early. You get my point. Basically, Julia has to be a fair bit older than she looks in order to actually have the qualifications she possesses.

Agent Umaira Zari: 38 during the Poitiers Caper, 40 when arresting VILE, 42 by the end.

Some additional ages:

Nakamura Hideo: 17 when his brother Suhara was born, 36 when his brother disappeared, 63 when his brother returned for good, 65 by the end.

Not an unreasonable age given his looks, I thought.

Carlotta Valdez: 27 when she gave birth to Isabela, 47 when Carmen returned home to her, 49 by the end.

Young but not too long, once again.

Any I missed?

[jocia92]

Dan Stevens couldn't say no to Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire. Part of the reason was that he loved the character he got to play; the other part was that the role was literally written for him.

"Adam Wingard, the director, and I have been good friends since we made The Guest. We've been talking about many things over the years but not nearly on this scale," the British actor explained. "Usually, they were weirder, indie-sized things that have yet to come to fruition, but then Adam started getting into these big blockbuster movies. I loved what he did with the last one, but with this, I think it's fair to say that he and Simon Barrett, who also wrote The Guest with Adam, created and wrote Trapper with me in mind, hoping that I would be lured in. Honestly, it wasn't hard for them to lure me."

... Unlike frenemies Godzilla and Kong, Stevens and Hall have been firm friends for decades, which is one reason he thinks they work so well on screen.

"I loved working with Adam again, but Rebecca is involved here, and I've known her since we were about 18 or 19. We were at college together," he enthused. "Brian Tyree Henry is someone I've been friends with for many years, but we've never worked together. I adore him, and I think he's a fantastic actor. To get to come and essentially play with a group of friends in such a fun world was pretty automatic for me to say yes."

"Rebecca and I were roommates after college, but at university, I think the only thing we did together was a production of Macbeth, where we were Mr. and Mrs. M. One of my first professional theatre gigs was working for her father, Sir Peter Hall, on a production of As You Like It. We also did a movie called Permission a few years later when we were both living in New York. We go way back, so it was lovely to step into this with such an old mate and have another mate direct it. We had a huge amount of fun on and off screen, which I hope comes through the lens."

While Stevens wouldn't call himself an aficionado of Godzilla or Kong lore, he has been drawn to it since childhood.

"There was that big Godzilla movie in 1998 with the Puff Daddy track. It was prime teen time for me, and I remember seeing that in theaters," the actor recalled. "There was also the Peter Jackson King Kong movie a few years later, so the two definitely loomed pretty large in my adolescence. Also, being aware of movie history and Godzilla being very much part of that fabric, particularly the B movie world. If you look at any books relating to the history of sci-fi, whether it was Mechagodzilla or whatever, I was always aware of that."

"With so much Godzilla content out there right now, it's a great time to talk about it. The mythology endures, and it endures for a reason. It has something that speaks to our age, whatever that age is. Ever since it was created, it seems to resonate in the world."

Stevens wanted to work with Wingard again since they made The Guest a decade ago, and he recalled how his filmmaking friend sold the concept to him.

"He described the scene where Trapper goes and commandeers the HEAV, which stands for Hollow Earth Aerial Vehicle, and flies it into a flock of creatures that are humming with dangerous electricity that fly through and become sort of instrumental in the climax of the movie. He basically narrated that scene to me, and it sounded very cool," he said. "Then I read the script and to introduce a character by having him drop 60 feet off a crane into Kong's mouth to help take a tooth out, I thought. 'That is a cool way to introduce a character.' I wouldn't say the whole thing is me, but there's something in Trapper that I enjoyed bringing out in a world like this. You've got a character who's optimistic, pretty happy-go-lucky, unfazed, seen it all, and he's been around the block, and he's not going to be too freaked out by anything. That's always a nice character to have in the mix in a team-up movie like this. The whole thing was a privilege to step into a character like this that felt so easy and comfortable and do that with such great people."

Stevens knew exactly what real-world and pop culture references and influences he wanted to use to bring Trapper to life.

"A man-child was a big touchstone," he laughed." There's a sprinkling of Ace Ventura in there, and a bit of Dr. Doolittle and Bear Grylls is probably in there, too. There are a lot of fun characters in the mix. I liked the idea of this very optimistic Brit because we're not always known for our optimism. Trapper is a reasonably international character. He probably left the UK when he was quite young. We definitely had a scene where he told a story about his time in Africa, which didn't make the movie's final cut, but it gave us some context. He's been to the jungles and the desert; he's an adventurer and has that element of being pretty chipper in the face of enormous peril."

The actor, also known for Downton Abbey, Beauty and the Beast, and Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga, thinks Trapper has more escapades to enjoy. Like Hall, he'd love another appearance in the Monsterverse franchise, whose first four films grossed $1.96 billion worldwide.

"The adventures of Trapper would be wild, whether it's a prequel or a sequel," Stevens enthused. "I would love to see more of Trapper, and I'm very touched that you said that. He's a character I enjoyed, and I think you could send Trapper almost anywhere, and it would end up being fun, funny, and weird. There's plenty of story there."

The actor reveled in Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire's visual and sonic designs, where Wingard, a director not shy to rave about his love of the 80s, leaned into the era and what it offered creatively.

"There was definitely artwork he'd created going in that they had in what they called the War Room. Wall-to-wall, there were designs of all the creatures and the worlds we would see. A lot of the time, that's green or blue screen effects that we're not really seeing, although some of the sets were real, and sometimes we were going into the jungle," Stevens recalled. "That's a hallmark of Adam Wingard, the Vaporwave synth soundtrack, the blues, purples, and pinks in the lighting. There are so many great 80s movies infused in there, as well as anything from John Carpenter and maybe some John Woo. You're in good hands when you're with Adam because it will be steeped in great and authentic movie references, have a great soundtrack, and look cool. That allows you to relax into whatever you're doing and throw yourself in. The outcome is just a wild ride."

The actor isn't just grateful to be reunited with friends and creatives he adores and admires; he's also happy that it falls during the tenth-anniversary celebration of the first film he and Wingard made together.

"I didn't realize it was ten years, but I knew it was coming on for that. They did a fun thing last April as kind of an April Fool's gag but also kind of not? They released a soundtrack to The Guest 2, which absolutely slaps. Adam is a huge fan of many of the bands invited to contribute to the first film's great soundtrack, so he invited his favorite synth acts to contribute a track to a fake sequel," Stevens explained. "They issued an LP of it, and I think Adam and Simon had worked on an outline of what this movie might be. They issued that to these various artists who had composed some great music. It really is a good standalone album."

He concluded, "The Guest is still finding an audience, and that's delightful. You can't expect that from everything you do, but it's special when one endures like that. I'm particularly fond of it. It came along at a particular time when I had an appetite to do something very different from what I'd done previously. It ticked a lot of boxes and challenged me in several ways. It stays out there as a great calling card for the kind of weird things that I like to do. I don't know if there will be a sequel to The Guest specifically. I know they've got various plans, whether it was a mini-series or a movie, but I certainly hope to work with both Adam and Simon again in some capacity, so never say never."

[cantsayidont]

1986. This UK-market hardcover reprint annual (whose cover is allegedly by Bryan Talbot, although it doesn't look it) contains Grant Morrison's first Batman story, a moderately florid prose story with illustrations by the late Garry Leach, featuring a Catwoman obviously based more on the '60s TV show than the contemporary comics:

Even 20 years later, Morrison's prose was frequently cringe-worthy, and this is not an auspicious introduction. If you're aching to read this literary gem, I'll put the full text behind the cut.

First page:

There are secret places under the city; closed-off storm drains, obsolete subway tunnels, the cellars of demolished buildings, Down in the dark where nobody goes, there is a network, a maze of buried galleries, Down in the dark a shadow is moving.

Listen! You can almost hear its soft and steady breathing. It has found something. Something very special. The most secret place of all. The woman with green eyes looked around. Her walk through the darkness had taken the best part of three hours. She had clambered gracefully over falls of debris and waded through flooded lightless tunnels. She had walked sure-footedly in places where the sun had never shone, until at last, shimmying her slim body through a crack in the rock, she had come upon the cavern. The eye slits in her mask held scotoptic lenses that allowed her to see in the dark and when she saw what was in the cavern, a smile spread slowly across her fine-boned features. Like the Cheshire Cat she vanished down into the shadows, grinning with strong, white teeth.

Bruce Wayne thumbed the remote control. He’d had enough of the Johnny Carson Show. Not even Superman’s guest appearance could hold his attention. He wondered why his friend agreed to these chat shows and how he managed to maintain his good humour even after the old joke about wearing his underpants on the outside had been trotted out for the thousandth time. The TV went dead and Wayne stared into space. When space became boring he decided to call his butler.

At precisely that moment Alfred Pennyworth, tall, thin and immaculately dressed, opened the door.

“Master Bruce …” he began.

Wayne turned around, startled. “Alfred!” he said. “Don’t tell me you’ve added telepathy to your list of accomplishments? I was just going to give you a call. Fancy a game of chess?”

Alfred looked uneasy. “I’m afraid I shall have to decline, Master Bruce, I just popped in to let you know that the intruder alarm has been activated.”

Wayne leapt up, with an athlete’s economy of movement.

“Where?” he said, making for the door.

“In the Batcave, sir. The Trophy Room …”

Wayne was already half-way down the hall.

“Will you be requiring any assistance, sir?” Alfred called after him.

“I’ll let you know.”

Wayne disappeared round a corner. Alfred sighed, tidied the cushions on the sofa and unplugged the TV set.

So  that there would be no noise, he went down by the stairs behind the grandfather clock instead of using the elevator. The lights threw his shadow ahead of him, casting a monstrous black bat shape on the

Second page:

whitewashed walls. He ran lightly through the computer vault of the Batcave and when he reached the Trophy Room he flipped a switch, activating banks of floodlights. In the sudden harsh brightness, nothing moved.

“Whoever you are you're in deep trouble,” said The Batman and his voice was deadly and as cold as December rain, “Come out!”

Nothing moved.

The Batman surveyed the Trophy Room with eyes as hard as diamond shards. This was the most impressive part of the Batcave; an enormous limestone cavern, as big as a cathedral. Down here were stored all the souvenirs of The Batman’s bizarre cases. There was a life-size mechanical Tyrannosaur from Dinosaur Island. There was a chess game with pawns as tall as men and a penny as big as a Ferris wheel. An enormous, eerily lit Joker mask leered down upon a giant dice shaker and a glass cabinet with a bat costume inside. There was an Egyptian sarcophagus and several dangerous umbrellas. There was a very tall penguin and a perfectly normal sized dollar bill. There were over a thousand trophies, free-standing or in cases, utterly strange or quite conventional. There were all these things and one thing more …

“Come out!” The Batman said again. He tilted his head and sniffed. On the edge of the slightly damp, subterranean smell of the cavern he could detect another scent He sniffed again and suddenly knew who was in there with him. He knew and was on his guard.

The woman with green eyes watched him move among the trophies and prepared to strike. She ran the thongs of a whip through her gloved fingers and waited for him to come closer, smiling all the while.

The Batman stopped in front of a shattered case and if he knew before, then this was the final confirmation of the intruder’s identity. He turned, with her name on his lips, and something came whistling through the air towards him.

“Catwoman …” He ducked and the whip smashed what remained of the glass in the cabinet.

“Fancy meeting you here,” said the Catwoman. She cast a critical eye around the cavern. “Wouldn’t stamp collecting take up a little less room?”

“How did you get in here?” The Batman asked, standing up, eyeing her warily. He knew better than to underestimate her. She cracked the whip once more, like a lion tamer.

“Oh, I thought I’d set up operations again in Gotham," she told him. “I came down searching for a new location for my Catacomb lair and instead I stumbled across this place. Lucky for me. A catastrophe for you.”

“Remind me to block up the hole after I’ve taken you back to prison,” said The Batman.

She only smiled wickedly. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. Once I discover exactly where under the city we are, I’ll know where to find your front door next time. And so will everybody else. Your secret will be out.”

“But you won’t find out!” The Batman said, allowing himself one icy smile to match hers. “You might have done if you hadn't given yourself away. I smelled your perfume as soon as I came down here.”

He started to advance. “And then when I saw that your cat-o-nine-taiIs was missing from its case, I was sure.”

She backed off. “I was merely reclaiming what was mine. Like a closer look?"

Suddenly the whip snaked out, lashing across Batman’s face. He pitched back, briefly blinded by razor-edged pain.

“What’s a bat but a flying mouse, after all?" he heard her say. “Let’s play cat and mouse.” Her voice grew fainter as she darted away. The Batman shook his head to clear his vision. Blinking through bruised eyelids he heard, nearby, the sound of a ratchet being pulled back.

“I see everything’s in perfect working order,” Catwoman hissed. “Purr-feet working order ...”

There was a sharp detonation. The Batman hit the floor. Something heavy whined past his ear and clipped a strip out of his cape. He did not have to see to know she had used the harpoon cannon. There was a splintering thud as the harpoon smashed through the side wall of a doll’s house. The Batman rolled into cover and looked out through stinging, tear-filled eyes. He was on the chessboard but Catwoman was nowhere to be seen.

She came from behind. The Batman whirled too late to stop the toppling chess piece from pinning his legs. “Checkmate!” shrieked the Catwoman.

Hefting the huge rook off his legs, Batman groggily pulled himself to his feet. One ankle throbbed like a bad tooth. He scanned the Trophy Room for signs of his enemy. When he spotted her, his mouth corrugated into a grimace. She was running up the steep spine of the Tyrannosaur, as surely as a tabby on a fence. When she reached the shoulders, she pulled

Third page:

back the hatch that led into the head of the dinosaur and stepped inside.

The Batman ran, ignoring the pains that thumped through his leg. He ran, while the Trophy Room echoed to the noise of machinery starting to move. With a grinding shudder, the monster’s tail twitched. It twitched once more and then it swung in a flailing arc and demolished a helicopter.

“What a wonderful place you have here!” Catwoman’s voice came through the loudspeaker in the Tyrannosaur’s mouth. “Much more fun than Disneyland!”

The monster lurched and began to move. Its tail thrashed through a row of display cases which burst like bombs, showering The Batman with glass.

“This whole night’s been one long catalogue of disasters for you, Batman dear” mocked the monster, with Catwoman’s voice. His mind racing, Batman ran under the dinosaur, out of her sight. In that comparative safety he reviewed his situation. He had been taken by surprise. He was injured and things looked bad. His only hope lay in turning Catwoman’s own nature against her. Unclipping the radio from his belt, he signalled Alfred.

“Where are you?” purred his enemy. “Come out, come out, the game’s not over.”

The tail shuddered once more, then the dinosaur stopped. The hatch opened and Catwoman jumped down, landing on her feet. “Batman …” Her voice was a lethal whisper and she moved like a hunting cat, flexing the claws on her gloves. “Where are you?”

But he had gone, melted into thin air like a man of grey vapour. She drew her lips back over her teeth and padded off in search of him. She searched the lab and the garage; she searched the storeroom and she searched the computer vault.

And that was where she found the stairs. At the top of those stairs she would find the key to The Batman’s secret identity. She could wipe out his entire operation at a stroke. Or it could be a trap. Perhaps she should escape now and return at her leisure.

She looked back at the caves and she looked up the stairs and finally, overcome by the need to know, she ran up the steps, purring. With the contented expression of a cat that has gorged itself on cream, she opened the door in the grandfather clock.

And Alfred, waiting there, spritzed her face with gas. The satisfaction changed to surprise and then to rage until at last her face went blank and Catwoman keeled over like a doll. Batman caught her.

“Everything all right, sir?” asked Alfred.

“Fine, Alfred,” replied The Batman. “Just fine.”

When she woke up she was in the Batmobile, in downtown Gotham and headed for Police Headquarters.

“Tough luck, Selina,” The Batman consoled her. “Maybe next time.” Catwoman simply snarled.

“I knew you’d try the stairs” he went on. “You just couldn’t resist it. I suppose it proves what they say . . ”

She glared at him with eyes as green as gemstones. “I know. I know,” she spat “It’s not funny.”

The Batman smiled, pulling into the Police parking lot. “Oh, I think it is,” he said. “Just like in the old story: Curiosity Killed the Cat.”

[denimbex1986]

'In its most recent episode, Doctor Who broke one of its oldest and most fundamental rules. On the one hand, it can be exciting when a long-running pop culture property breaks a rule it has set for itself; it means something interesting is about to happen. On the other hand, sometimes breaking a rule is boring and self-indulgent. I’m afraid that in Doctor Who’s case, we’re following the second scenario...

Here’s the trick that made Doctor Who run for 60 years since its first premiere in 1963 (plus or minus a decades-long hiatus and an ill-advised TV movie): The Doctor always changes.

Doctor Who is an institution of science fiction, but it has a deceptively simple premise. The titular Doctor is a member of an alien race known as the Time Lords. He has a time machine/spaceship called the Tardis. He likes to pick up a friend periodically — usually a human from the late 20th or early 21st century, frequently a young woman — and travel with them through time and space, having adventures.

Sometimes the Doctor and his companion go back in time and meet Sir Isaac Newton. Sometimes they go to the edge of the universe and explore a haunted spaceship. They can go anywhere, to any time or any place. And, crucially, the Doctor can be anyone.

Every time the Doctor dies, he regenerates into a new body, played by a new actor. The way he expresses his personality shifts: he goes from crotchety to fun-loving to aggressive to cold. He picks up a new signature outfit, a new signature catchphrase. He loses old companions and gains new ones. He redecorates the Tardis.

Yet the Doctor remains the same character with the same history. He always changes; he is always the same. This paradox is the heart of the show, and it’s why Doctor Who has managed not just to last so long but to also turn out good episodes on a fairly regular basis.

The premise of regeneration is flexible. It is practical. It can withstand cast shifts and actor disputes. It prevents stasis and staleness. Most importantly, it speaks to the truth of how identities work: Our personalities are not set; they flux and change and distort themselves in bizarre ways we can never fully understand. We change, we grow, we lose who we used to be.

All of which is why the Doctor’s most recent regeneration, which aired December 9, is so frustrating. Doctor Who broke its own rules. For the first time, the Doctor kept his past self.

The newest episode was the third and final of a mini-season’s worth of specials airing between seasons 14 and 15. The specials were highly anticipated, in part because they were all written by Russell T. Davies, who first resurrected Doctor Who from the dead in 2005 and departed in 2010. (The original run of the show aired on the BBC from 1963 to 1989.) The specials also starred David Tennant, whose iconic turn as the Tenth Doctor made a new generation of fans fall in love with Doctor Who. The whole thing was a fairly straightforward plea for old fans to come back after a few seasons of falling ratings.

Tennant’s return to the role was teased in October 2022 when Jodie Whittaker’s Thirteenth Doctor died. (Whittaker was the first woman to take on the role.) Officially, the Thirteenth Doctor was supposed to regenerate into a Fourteenth Doctor played by Ncuti Gatwa, the first Black actor to play the Doctor. Instead, in a surprise twist, Whittaker transformed into Tennant, now taking on the role of the Fourteenth Doctor.

“If you thought the appearance of David Tennant was a shock, we’ve got plenty more surprises on the way! The path to Ncuti’s Fifteenth Doctor is laden with mystery, horror, robots, puppets, danger and fun!” teased Davies in a statement shortly after the episode aired. “We’re giving you a year to speculate, and then all hell lets loose!”

The official plan was that Tennant would play the Fourteenth Doctor through the three 2023 specials and that, at the end, Tennant’s Fourteenth Doctor would transform into Gatwa’s Fifteenth Doctor. In the most recent episode, “The Giggle,” that’s not quite what happens.

Instead, when the Doctor regenerates, he splits into two people. One is played by Tennant. The other is played by Gatwa. Both, they assure everyone at once, are equally the Doctor. Fourteen and Fifteen are both alive together, at once.

Each of them even gets their own Tardis, the Doctor’s trademark spaceship/time machine. The pair agree that Gatwa’s Doctor will go off and have adventures, which presumably the show will go on to follow. Tennant’s Doctor, meanwhile, will rest with his old companion Donna Noble and heal from his PTSD — and, presumably, remain available for guest appearances whenever ratings are in danger of flagging.

“David [Tennant] is parked,” Davies explained in the companion show Doctor Who Unleashed. “For once, we’ve got a happy Doctor who is no longer saving the universe, but is parked with Donna (Catherine Tate) for a happy life, while the Doctor — which is always the next Doctor, and that’s always true of Doctor Who, the Doctor is the next Doctor — is out amongst the stars.”

The transition is a remarkable echo of the last time David Tennant’s Tenth Doctor regenerated, back in 2010. Back then, Tennant had a handy clone available who went off to live with his old companion Rose Tyler in an alternate universe, while the central Tenth Doctor reluctantly died and transformed into Matt Smith’s Eleventh Doctor. This time, the Fourteenth Doctor doesn’t have to die, or even so much as move to a different dimension. He simply retires to the suburbs.

This persistent desire to hang on to Tennant shows Doctor Who (and particularly Davies’s Doctor Who) talking out of both sides of its mouth. It’s as if the show is saying, “Yes, yes, on the one hand the Doctor always changes, but on the other hand he is also always David Tennant and he is also always living somewhere safely with your favorite companion, unless you are a Martha fan lmao.” Tennant gets treated as though he is somehow more the Doctor than any other incarnation.

On the official Doctor Who podcast, Davies teased the idea that the bigeneration of Fourteen and Fifteen may have caused the whole timeline to bigenerate, so that each past Doctor now is alive in a splinter timeline. “I think all of the Doctors came back to life with their individual Tardises … and they’re all out there traveling round in what I’m calling a Doctor verse,” Davies explained.

The attempt at a Marvel-style endlessly overlapping universe line is self-indulgent and sentimental in all the wrong ways. It is a betrayal of what makes regeneration such a durable and dramatically rich premise, which is that the Doctor can never fully regain his past self — and neither can the audience. Even if you are a Time Lord, the past is a foreign country, and your oRwn personal past especially so. We can never fully go back — until the BBC decides it’s time it got its own MCU. In that case, we go back again and again.'

[emilieautumnarchives]

Happy New Year from the Asylum, and Rare Posters!

Posted: December 28, 2009 Archived from BonnyTymePyrate’s Journal Archives

Dearest Plague Rats,

Have I taken the time to thank you properly for being there with all of us lunatics on the N. American tour? If I have not, THANK YOU!!! From the bottom of my plague-ridden heart, thank you. As I said so many times on stage, you have proven me right and everybody else wrong (we have no audience in America? Really???), and I love you for that. Many of you drove for hours to see us, and god knows we drove for hours to see you;), and I now sit in a cell surrounded by letters and paintings and poems and rats and tokens of remembrance given to me by you, but the most cherished gift of all is that you sang with me. You sang with me, and you knew every word, and I will never forget that. My girls and I saw MANY of you beautiful Muffins coming to show after show after show, and in the end we felt like we were singing to old friends…and don’t think I don’t realize that a lot of you had waited more than five years to see me, and I thank you sincerely for not giving up on me that I would ever come to you, because I know for some time it seemed that I would never make it back to the homeland. I thought perhaps you would have forgotten me, but I didn’t give up on you, and we made this happen at last, both of us hoping and praying that the other would be there, and the magic is that we all were! So, is the economy down? Yes. Are ticket sales down more than 60% for all concerts in America no matter the artist? Yes. But did we all make it happen, and do what it took to find each other at last, despite these odds, AND dress up in our finest Asylum best? YES. Should I stopping asking myself questions? Yes.

Of course, for my VIP Book Reading PRs (you know you are all VIPs to us, PRs): You gave me your time and your love each and every night. You cried with me. You watched me bleed. You heard things about me that my closest friends don’t know, and you accepted them with open ratty hearts. And you sang “My Fairweather Friend” with me and gave new and happy memories to a song I had only before associated with sadness. I adored meeting you, I adored holding you in my arms and taking beautiful sexy crazy photos with you, I adored singing with you, I adored teaching you all about leeches (THE AMAZING LEECH!!!), I adored sharing out secrets, and we ALL enjoyed the tea cookies many of you made for us;)…we had some sweet after-show bus parties with those!

Lastly, I want to thank all of the parents (and there were many) who took their young Plague Rats to see us. Some of you knew about us and wanted to sing along too, and others just went because you saw how much it meant to your little ones that they could be there that night, and you may be sure that it meant just as much to me and the Crumpets, because (a) we recruit early;), and (b) there is something in the Asylum for everybody, regardless of age (we’re pretty much a dinner theatre children’s show anyway…). I saw (and was happy to meet many of you) mothers and daughters (often both dressed to the nines), fathers and daughters, mothers and sons, fathers and sons, (no, I won’t go through every genetic combination here) fathers carrying tiny daughters on their shoulders so they could see…having a four-year-old with a heart painted on her cheek call out “I’m still innocent!!” after the song “I Want My Innocence Back”…well, it just doesn’t get much better than that.

Now, Europe…N. America has raised the bar, so get ready to fight like a girl, because we are coming for you;)…and we can hardly wait!!!

Final note: Sir Edward and the Asylum presents a very limited number of Autographed German “Opheliac” Promotional Posters on eBay. These are up for one day only, and are a bit special if I do say so myself as they have never been made available to the public for sale, but were used for promotional store use only. They are also really big, and the ratties want to have them for dinner, so get them before they do…

So, for the moment, I wish all of my little rats all over the world a very Happy New Year of Plague spreading! I am so proud of us all;)!!!

With Love & Bloody Crumpets from the Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls, Block B, Cell W14, Inmate A,

EA, Sir Edward, and Basil

P.S.

The Asylum Army: Are You Committed?

P.P.S.

The Plague: Get it. Feed it. Spread it.

[positivelybeastly]

If you could make movies about Hank, how many would you do and what could we see in them? Like an origin story, specific storyline etc. Would it be live action or a cartoon/animation, if live action who would you cast as Beast?

Now this is a fun thought experiment!

So, I actually think that if I was going to focus specifically on Hank, I would want multiple series, each separated according to decade or periods of his life, as it were, and we're going to mix media a little bit. Bear with me. This is probably going to be a multi-part series, so, here's the first part.

60s/First Class

So, we start off with a live action series that begins in medias res - alarms are blaring, people are rushing through corridors, klaxons are bathing corridors in red light. Through it all, a young man with a frightened but determined look on his face fights through the tide until he reaches a room full of radiation suits. He pulls one on, takes a few deep breaths, and then pushes through into a reactor room that's clearly going critical.

No music. No dialogue. No sound, except for the thumping of a heart beat and the sounds of this intricate mechanism being cajoled, being calmed, being put right again, until eventually the alarm lifts. Now it's just the sound of heavy, panicked breathing, and the man keels over at the railing nearest to him as a group of men in identical radiation suits rush to him. He blacks out.

When he comes to, he smiles at the woman sitting beside his bed, and moves as if to kiss her, but she smacks his arm, before embracing him and kissing him. A doctor moves in to talk, but there's still no dialogue, just soft music. A small montage of people in suits, offering the man in the bed a lot of paperwork that he signs. Before long, he's well enough to leave the hospital, and he and his wife drive to a farm. They stand on the outskirts, arms wrapped around one another. Camera pulls back, revealing the name on the mailbox.

McCoy.

Cut to the intro, which is nuclear flames, genomes shattering, a mysterious, animalistic figure gazing out of shadow with yellow eyes that turn into spotlights, revealing the title of the show.

'X-MEN: BEAST - FIRST CLASS'

17 YEARS LATER

A young man who's the spitting image of the man we saw in this prologue sequence is being harassed by a young woman with blonde hair. They're talking about the last quiz they just had to take in Biology, and the young woman tells the young man that he needs to stop hiding who he is. How brilliant he is. He tells her that he's on the high end of normal, and she scoffs. They walk by a football tryout, where the coach is harassing his team, telling them that any old nerd could do better than them.

"You, McKay - over here, show 'em what I mean."

"It's McCoy, sir, and I don't know quite what you mean?"

The coach becomes ever more insistent. McCoy shrugs, shaking his head. He kicks the ball. It sails clean, hits the goal - at the other end of the pitch. The coach is flabbergasted. He wants McCoy for the team, but McCoy is uncertain - until the team kicks off, saying they don't want this gorilla on their team. One of them, identified as Janssen by his jersey, is particularly venomous, and McCoy gives him a coldly furious look.

"Coach, what position does Janssen play?"

Smash cut to the same number on the team, but with MCCOY on the back. Sports montage, naturally, with MCCOY as star player, intercut with the occasional side-eyed look from a parent or onlooker whenever he does something a little too amazing.

Jen is the love interest of the movie. She's great.

Final game of the season. Crowds are roaring, full football Americana experience. MCCOY is in full swing, but we aren't seeing things from his perspective, we're seeing things from somewhere up in the bleachers - from some kind of scope. It zooms in hard on MCCOY, a finger tenses, squeezes - misses. Screaming, hysteria. The scope view panics as MCCOY comes charging towards it, and we zoom out to see Janssen as McCoy clambers up the side of the bleachers with unnatural ease.

They fight. McCoy knocks the rifle away, but he's a little too strong, and Janssen nearly falls over the edge, and it's quite the drop. McCoy grabs him and stops him from going over, but he can't use his other hand to hold on to the bleachers and Janssen at the same time. He knocks off his shoe, and we get our first look at an oversized foot that looks to be as dextrous as a hand. McCoy moves to use this odd limb to help Janssen up.

Janssen hisses. Says he'd rather die than get help from a filthy stinking mutant that crawls all over human girls like he's a real man. He smacks McCoy's hand away, drops. We don't see the impact, but McCoy does. His eyes widen. He yanks off the football helmet and throws up, staggering as he climbs back up, just in time for the officials to come storming in. He looks red-faced, shaking. He looks guilty.

We cut to the farm. The McCoy family are quiet, withdrawn - worried. The parents keep looking outside, where their son has taken to disassembling and reassembling every piece of farm equipment available to him, as if that's going to make him feel any better. Edna and Norton talk, and they feel guilty, Norton especially, about the legacy they've given poor Hank, as we pan up over the kitchen counter and see a newspaper headline exclaiming about the mutant panic taking over the nation.

A knock at the door. Norton looks pale, so Edna answers - to a man dressed like some kind of Conquistador, which he identifies himself as. He brings out a sword and seems to cast some form of electricity with it, striking down Edna and Norton, drawing their son back to the house with a speed that defies thought, and it's only this lightning sword that stops him from bowling the man over right there and then.

The Conquistador wants this young man, Hank, to do him a favour - use his father's ID card to steal some specific components from the nuclear power plant he works at. He looks basically identical to him, he shouldn't even be questioned. His sword twitches in the direction of Hank's parents, and his jaw sets. He agrees.

A short, tense sequence at the power plant. Hank does the deed, but it's dangerous and it goes wrong, the alarms are sounded - but he gets away. He escapes to a warehouse where his parents are being held by the Conquistador's men, and the man is raving, rambling.

Hank trounces them, effortlessly. It's superhuman to watch, and Edna and Norton are wide eyed as Hank frees them, all of them silent. Norton opens his mouth, apologises. Hank doesn't understand, apologising for what? Norton gestures at Hank's obviously overgrown hands and feet. For that. That's his fault. Hank's expression darkens, and Norton realises what he's said without thinking, and he looks to Edna, but she doesn't know what to say. Behind them, the Conquistador is getting back up, pulling up his sword, aiming it at Hank's back.

A ruby red beam comes out of nowhere, blasting it away, and Hank turns around, to see . . .

The Professor explains who he is. What the people with him are, what Hank is - a mutant. Hank already knows, and the Professor smiles a little, because of course Hank does. The conversation continues, and Hank is interested, intrigued, even - he keeps glancing back at his parents, but they look very uncertain, even as they do their best to give him smiles and make sure he knows they're okay.

"There will be sacrifices, Hank. This won't be an easy life. But it will be a worthy one."

Hank agrees, but before he walks off with Xavier and the other X-Men, he embraces his parents one more time. He's holding them tighter than they are him when he lets go.

The series then adapts some 60s X-Men, some First Class stories - I'd definitely want to pull in the story where Hank and Bobby first becomes friends during a vacation road trip across the US; the Unus the Untouchable arc, where Hank becomes a wrestler; a momentary flirtation with Jean Grey, before he realises who she's pretty much destined to end up with; the beatnik foot cult; Magneto.

Costumes change, villains go by, and Hank is enjoying himself, growing, but as he grows older, he seems less satisfied.

Especially since we find out that Xavier wiped Jen's mind, and she no longer remembers Hank. For their safety. Hank is. Not pleased. It's the first wedge between him and the Professor, and they paper over it, but. It sticks.

Towards the end of the series, he receives a letter in the mail, and when it comes time to do Danger Room exercises, he's conspicuously absent. Xavier is oddly reticent to talk to him, and instead suggests that Scott, Bobby, Warren and Jean talk to him instead. Hank is in his room, the letter in his hands, and seeming torn. They all talk.

Hank wants to leave the X-Men. The very concept shakes them a little - the last time this happened, Unus attacked and they were nearly defeated - but the newfound confidence of having done this for a few years now means that they understand why Hank wants to move on. Everyone's been thinking about it, actually, Hank's just the first one to have a place he wants to go to rather than just 'not the school.'

They embrace. Bobby in particular takes a little longer than everyone else to let go, and it's clear it's killing him a little that Hank is going, but he does let go.

The final scene of the series is Hank in civilian clothes saying his final goodbyes. There's not a dry eye in the house. Jean kisses him on the cheek, Bobby hugs him way too hard, Scott clasps his shoulder, Warren gives him a fistbump. The Professor shakes his hand. They're all sad to see him go, but this is for the best.

Hank gets into his car, and starts it up. He looks back at the Mansion, the X-Men, wistfully, thinking, for a moment, that he should stop and go back. But in the end, he puts the car in gear and drives. As he leaves the Mansion, he adjusts the rear view mirror.

For the audience, Hank is replaced by something wearing his clothes. Dark furred. Monstrous. Unfamiliar. Familiar. Yellow eyed.

End credits. End of the series.

To be continued.

I actually have no idea who I'd want to play a young Hank, I'm not as up to date on young actors as I'd like, but I've been recommended someone called Noah Centino for a 17-20 year old Hank, so, sure? Whoever they are, they need to be able to pull off Hank's distinctive Superman curl.

I'd definitely want an almost sort of 'The Incredibles' tone to the X-Men sections of this series, where it's all deathly dangerous but the X-Men almost don't seem to realise until they do. Michael Giacchino does the score, because the man can do no wrong.