#the only frustrating thing is that there's so many rambos out there

[swan2swan]

I am actually so thankful for Oshamir because it's reminded me that...yes, I actually DO love me my Corruption Ships. My Nice Girl and Evil Guy ships. It's been years since I've been able to enjoy them, though, because there was one giant piece of garbage writing taking prominence.

[one-boring-person]

Can You Do Me A Favour?

Barney Ross (The Expendables) x reader

Warnings: injury, drinking, sexual content implied, mentions of violence, swearing

Context: the reader is a member of the Expendables and has a crush on Barney. After a job, the two have some time together.

A/N: as promised, here is some Expendables stuff! I hope anyone who reads this will enjoy it! (Just a heads up: I have more Rambo and Escape Plan stuff coming, and most likely some more TLB content, too.)

Masterlist

(I'm also going to tag @yuhhhhhhhhhhhhhh in this, because they expressed interest in Expendables stuff earlier😊💛)

The cold water is pleasant on my heated skin as I cup my hands under the steady stream flowing from the tap, splashing it into my face when a suitable pool has formed in the space. A gasp escapes me from the stark contrast in temperatures, using my fingers to rub slightly at my skin, trying to work out the headache that has set in, only to hiss when I accidentally press into one of the new scars on the side of my face. Pulling back, I repeat my action, doing my best to distract myself from the plaguing thoughts in my head, still disgusted at myself for having them.

But even now, as I massage the contours of my face, I can't get the images of my boss out of my head. Not the sight of him taking out a ring of attackers using his revolver and sharpshooting skills, not the way his exposed arm muscles flexed with each movement, not the determined look on his rugged face and certainly not the fierce eye contact he made with me when he turned around again. At the mere memory of this, a flush of heat goes through me, eyes squeezing shut to force myself to blank them out, not quite realising that his stare is branded into my subconscious. Biting my lip, I shake my head, forcing down the picture of his muscular body and large hands on my body as he dragged me from the collapsing building, not five hours ago.

Growling, I reach over and grab hold of the beer bottle nearby, glancing at my haggard features in the mirror before taking a deep drink, wincing at the stale flavour, having had the drink for far too long. I can see the tension in my body, each muscle tight and uncomfortable, my posture ramrod straight and clearly wrong, my eyes clouded with exhaustion and what I can only assume is loneliness. 

As soon as I'd gotten in from the last job, I'd headed straight into the bathroom, grabbing a beer from the fridge as I went, needing to clear my head. Nothing I did could help, my head always circling back to that one person. Frustrated, I slam the bottle on the counter top, wincing when it shatters from the force, a particularly sharp shard slicing into my palm.

Damn him. Damn Barney Ross for getting into my head.

I clean up my hand, just bandaging it up when my phone buzzes, the screen lighting up. Frowning, I look over at it, confused. Nobody calls me. Nobody, except my boss.

Picking up the phone, I groan to myself as I realise it is, in fact, Barney. For a second, I debate letting it go to voicemail, before I finally give in, accepting the call and placing the phone to my ear.

"Sir?" I greet him politely, wondering what he needs.

"How many times have I told you not to call me "sir"?" Barney's gravelly voice sounds through the phone, a low chuckle evident in his tone. I have to ignore the effect his voice has on me, the sound giving me butterflies in my stomach.

"Sorry, sir- ah, shit." I sigh at my own habit, "You alright?"

"Yeah, guess so. Just lonely. Figured you might be, too." He admits, tone going soft as he speaks.

"Bold of you to assume that." I tease, but continue, "Though you are, as always, right."

"Should tell Christmas that, might listen to you." The veteran laughs again, the joke drawing a similar reaction from me.

"We all know he listens to no one but himself." I quip back, still waiting for him to tell me why exactly he called.

"True, true." Barney's grin is almost audible, my mind instantly bringing up an image of that particular expression into my head, much to my chagrin, "You got any plans for tonight?"

Surprised, I take a second to reply, unsure of where this is going.

"No, it's too late. Ain't really got many friends outside work, anyway." I inform him, going out of the bathroom and into the lounge.

"Fancy coming over? I've got a couple of beers that need drinking, and the hangar is pretty lonely this time of night." 

His offer stumps me for a moment, though I am quick to recover, my mouth working before my mind can catch up.

"Yeah sure. I'll be over in twenty." 

"Great. See you then." He hangs up, leaving me wondering why the hell I accepted that, knowing how much I spend too much time thinking about him (in totally inappropriate ways considering he's my boss) anyway.

Annoyed at myself, I steel myself before going and grabbing a coat, pulling on that and my boots as I leave the flat, taking my motorcycle keys with me. I lock my door behind me, leaving the apartment block quickly, glad to have the fresh air on my face as I make my way over to my motorbike. Looking on it fondly, I climb on and kick out the stand, easily getting it revved up, the vibrating engine beneath me a pleasant feeling. 

Thankfully, the roads are mostly clear this time of night, cutting the twenty minute drive short by five minutes as I go at speed through the nearly deserted outer city. The hangar is usually a pain in the ass to get to, the traffic in the roads leading up to it almost always horrific, so I am only too happy to be able to go much faster now that there's not many other drivers around. With the wind rushing around me, I find that my head clears a little, my attention on navigating the roads rather than the thoughts of my boss doing things to me I'm sure he'd find grotesque in nature. 

I arrive quickly, pulling into the hangar slowly, knowing Barney is most likely in the plane, as he usually is. Stopping the bike, I put it in park before climbing off, hanging my helmet on the handlebars as I do so, taking the keys with me as I walk over to the old plane. Nearing the aircraft, I frown a little at the sight of the new bullet holes riddling the side of it, unaware that we'd taken so much damage earlier in the day. Sighing, I go inside, ducking in through the small door, only now hearing the music playing from the stereo in the cockpit.

"It's gonna need a new lick of paint." I call out to Barney, who I can see sat in his seat, the muscular man turning to look at me as he hears me.

"It's been a long time coming, so I'm not complaining." He replies, grinning at me as I walk into the cockpit, dropping into Christmas' usual seat, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach from his stare on me again. As I enter, he rakes his eyes over my body, subtly taking my every curve in from where he is.

"Fair enough." I shrug, leaning back slightly, having missed his look, "Got a beer?"

"Yeah, here." Barney hands me a bottle, opening it for me as he does so.

"Cheers." I thank him, taking a deep drink from it as he chuckles lowly, voice sending a bolt of heat through me.

"You're starting to sound like Lee." He remarks, sipping his own bottle with a smirk.

"Should I take that as a compliment? Or an insult?" 

"Up to you." He looks over at me.

"Eh, I'll take compliment. You two get along like an old married couple, after all. Must mean something if you're comparing me to him." I decide, teasing him.

Barney laughs at my comment, lifting his bottle.

"I can agree with that." He hums, staring out of the front window.

For a couple of moments, we sit in companionable silence, drinking our beers, Barney eventually lighting a cigar. Taking a deep inhale, he offers it to me, which I decline, choosing to finish my drink instead.

"What do you usually do after a job?" Barney suddenly asks, glancing back at me.

Surprised, I think over the question for a second.

"Nothing, really. I get myself cleaned up, have a drink, then get some sleep. I don't do much else with my life." I tell him, knowing how pathetic I sound.

"What, you haven't got anyone you can hang out with?" He questions, seemingly confused.

"No. As I said before, I don't really have any friends outside work."

"Really? No boyfriend? Girlfriend?"

I shake my head, grimacing at the turn in conversation, just missing the slight darkening in his eyes as he looks me over once more.

"Huh. That surprises me." 

Lifting an eyebrow, I look across at him.

"Why?"

He shrugs, making eye contact with me.

"Well, you seem like the person who wouldn't struggle to make friends. You're kind, funny, pretty. You know how to behave in the right situations, you're a good friend to have." He clarifies, seemingly unaware of the impact his words have on me, my heart throbbing as I listen to him, longing building up in me again.

"You think so?" I ask, not quite believing him.

"Yeah, I do." He frowns, looking over at me, "Why, don't you?"

I don't reply, knowing my answer well. He doesn't push it, observing me carefully, his gaze making me blush furiously.

"What'd you do to your hand?" The veteran suddenly asks, gesturing to my bandaged appendage.

"Hm? Oh, I just cut it on some glass back home." I inform him, flexing my hand a little, only to wince at the sharp spike of pain. 

Wordlessly, Barney reaches across and takes my hand in his, his touch setting off sparks through me despite the gentle nature of it. Pulling my arm closer to him, he runs his fingers lightly over my skin, the rough calluses rubbing over the palm of my hand, each stroke making it harder for me to fight off the rising need within me. Being this close to him, able to smell him in nearly every surface around me, feeling his hand on mine has sparked the feelings I've been suppressing as long as I've worked with him. 

Awkwardly, I pull away, swallowing tightly, trying to suppress the urges I'm suddenly feeling, needing to get myself together again. He doesn't stop me, his dark eyes regarding me quietly, observant as always as he seemingly considers something, his gaze sliding over me once more. After a moment, he puts out his cigar, leaning back in his seat.

"Mind doing me a favour?" The muscular man cocks his head at me, a small smirk playing at his lips.

"Er, sure? What do you need?" I agree hesitantly, knowing that expression means only one thing: he's got something up his sleeve.

"Check that control panel up there, would you? It's been giving me trouble for weeks." Barney's eyes are glittering now in the dim light, clearly up to something.

"What, now?" I frown, confused by the instruction.

"If you wouldn't mind." 

Lifting an eyebrow, I place my beer down and get to my feet, awkwardly reaching up to check the panel, which just so happens to be right above his head. I try to keep my body from leaning across him too much, but this is made difficult when I realise that the particular problem lies in the switches even further over. As I go to flick them, a pair of hands takes hold of my waist, suddenly yanking me down towards the chair.

Yelping in surprise, I feel my eyes widen as Barney pulls me down onto his lap, hands tight on my hips, pressing my back flush against his chest. His nose instantly finds my neck, the older man nudging at my skin until I tilt my head to give him access, goosebumps spreading across my skin as I try to process what the hell is happening, my brain short-circuiting with every one of his breaths. They fan out over the sensitive area, my own hitching in my throat as his scruff scratches over my skin, his lips not quite touching me yet, though I can feel their every movement. 

I try to get back up, unwillingly, only for him to loop one of his arms around my front and slip his hand under my shirt, flattening his palm on my stomach to hold me against him.

"I'm not blind, you know, (Y/n). I've seen the way you look at me, the way you behave differently when you're with me. You're not as subtle as you hope." Barney practically purrs into my skin, his smirk obvious against my neck, sending shivers down my spine as I try not to groan.

"I- I don't know what you're talking about, sir." I manage out, not quite catching the sound of anticipation that escapes me when he suddenly presses his lips against my ear, whispering into it.

"Really? I think you know very well what I'm talking about." He grins to himself, the hand on my stomach running down to ghost over the waistband of my jeans, my body tensing in his grip, "Want me to demonstrate for you?

[twentiethcenturymoviesandtv]

Performance Portfolio: Sylvester Stallone and Rocky

The story of 1977’s Best Picture winner, Rocky, was a rags-to-riches story both in-universe, and out, especially where it’s star was concerned.

Rocky tells the story of Rocky Balboa, a down-on-his-luck prize-fighter who ends up lucking out with the chance of a lifetime: fight the heavyweight champion of the world.  In a classic underdog story, Rocky follows the boxer as he seizes his chance to gain self-respect, fighting for a better life and a chance to prove that he’s got what it takes to stand in the ring with the best.

And behind the scenes, Rocky was the story of a down-on-his-luck actor, who wrote a screenplay in three and a half days, submitted it to be made into a motion picture, and refused to back down from insisting upon playing the lead role, in the smartest decision of his entire career.

It’s not an exaggeration to say that Sylvester Stallone’s biggest Hollywood role, and biggest step of his entire career, came in the film Rocky, directed by John G. Avildsen.  

Rocky saw Stallone as the lead, and the most iconic character he’s ever played up until this point.  As Rocky Balboa, Stallone perfected an honest grittiness, a genuine lovable underdog that audiences could recognize flaws in, but instantly choose to root for.  To quote Roger Ebert’s review of the film:

“His name is Sylvester Stallone, and, yes, in 1976 he did remind me of the young Marlon Brando. How many actors have come and gone and been forgotten who were supposed to be the “new Brando,” while Brando endured? And yet in “Rocky” he provides shivers of recognition reaching back to “A Streetcar Named Desire.” He’s tough, he’s tender, he talks in a growl, and hides behind cruelty and is a champion at heart. “I coulda been a contender,” Brando says in “On the Waterfront.” This movie takes up from there.”

Stallone’s Rocky Balboa character could easily have been played as a stereotype: a dumb brute with a heart of gold who got lucky.  However, Stallone brings to the role a level of emotional intelligence, and a broader character than simply a fighter.  He is disillusioned, best displayed during conversations with his trainer, Micky Goldsmith.  He is a man in love, he is frustrated by the direction his life has taken, and when he has an opportunity to get out, he is afraid.  He is awkward, embarrassed by his circumstances but not by his personality.  He is good to almost everyone he meets, and yet we meet him as reluctant muscle for a loan shark.  He’s tough, yes, but there is an incredible gentleness underneath.

Although this is the first role that Stallone would come to be known for, it’s interesting that Rocky Balboa stands mostly alone, among the many gritty, brutal action-heroes that Stallone would go on to portray.  This is no John Rambo, Marion Cobretti or John Spartan.  There is no ‘killer instinct’ or brutality to this character, ironic for the trade he’s in.

While the other characters reached a point, whether in pop culture or in the script themselves, as being boiled down to their ‘job’, or role in the script (cops, soldiers, action-heroes), Rocky Balboa stands as a person, a character.  One of the most beloved characters in film history, in fact.  For a man who would go on to be known for mostly playing hardened action-men, Stallone’s first big break comes in a remarkably soft character, a fighter with a heart of gold who is incredibly, heartbreakingly human.

Part of this lies in Stallone’s skill in creating a character who, thanks to both screenplay and performance, appears to have been existing in this world before the movie began, and will continue to exist after.  Rocky has already been around for a while, evidenced by the numerous relationships and tics in his character: his religion, his pets (two turtles and a dog), his rubber ball…he’s a fully realized character, complete with history, he has a past…but not much of a future.

Stallone perfectly embodies that: the lived-in qualities of Rocky’s life and the hopelessness of the situation.  His performance lays the character bare for the audience, so they can see everything about him and feel for him.  It is in this performance that the film hinges: in a world full of sports movies, the only thing that can keep an audience invested in the final inevitable victory is the character who earns it.  Within a few short scenes, Stallone’s screenplay and performance convey to the audience instantly, without saying it outright, that this character needs the victory coming to him.

And the thing is, it’s not even a victory.

While we’ll cover more of the actual story and climax of the film itself in a later article, it’s important to note for Rocky’s character, and Stallone’s portrayal of him, that ‘victory’ in Rocky’s case doesn’t mean winning the fight.  It means earning self-respect, something that you slowly see Rocky gain as the film progresses.  This is what he earns.

And thanks to Stallone’s heartfelt performance, we as an audience want him to earn it.  We feel for him, and we want him to win, to pull himself out.  Stallone perfectly embodies the sympathetic, rough-around-the-edges underdog type character that he had previously touched on, creating in his performance an iconic film character that the audience feels with and grows with.  His performance accomplishes exactly what it’s supposed to: making the audience care for, and believe in, a character who has never existed.

And people believed in him so much that Rocky has become a real person, to the point that his native city still has a statue of him.  Stallone’s legacy is most easily seen in Rocky, as this character, a character that, to many people, he will always be.  It’s the role that made him a star, a breakout, a juggernaut, long before Rambo, the giant success necessary to launch him onto the career ahead.

Thank you guys so much for reading!  If you have something you’d like to add or say, don’t forget that the comment box is always open!  I hope to see you all in the next article.

[emersonfreepress]

What would the ro's be like in a zombie au?

whyyyyy anon whyyy. I'm actually gonna write this in like.. slightly different terms, you'll see. any time I even briefly think of a zombie au I'm just like

I WANNA WRITE IT SO BADDD

i don't even allow myself to entertain it for very long because getting into that would be the worst thing ever for my productivity with the alpha omg 😂😂 so I'll put like the ideas that pop into my head for writing a zombie au, to work some of that creative frustration out 😆

so in this very general, absolutely noncommittal idea of mine, the main cast are older and the setting is in and around a civilian settlement led by the Emersons.

and as a refresher, i like my zombie aus to have fast zombies and fast infections ^ ^ 28 Days Later/Train to Busan style babyyyy, we the Sprinting Dead up in this bitch 😆

= = =

Gabe is, predictably, looking for what's left of his family. Following rumors of safe havens and bunkers and such. Starts the story as someone who tries to be diplomatic, if not outright pacifist, but as times get tougher and resources dwindle, he'd become one of the most cutthroat motherfuckers in the wasteland. Low-key though, low-key. People won't trust you if they know you’re capable of throwing them to a horde for strategic reasons. Like if Rick turned into Shane (for those of us familiar with early Walking Dead--idk did that happen eventually? i gave up before we even met Negan lol). The end justifies the means :) Damn, I can legit see Gabe going full evil in a zombie au omg 😂😂 i want to write it so fucking bad

Preferred weapon for zed encounters: rifle

Preferred weapon for human encounters: handgun

Faith in humanity: fucking zero

Zombie kill count: plenty; the type to kill every zombie he has spare ammo and time for

Human kill policy: When it benefits him or the people he’s looking after

Survival rating: B+; he can make it out of some pretty dire situations through sheer will to live and ruthlessness

- - -

Kile has arrived--clearly, this is the timeline they belong in. They start their journey with Gabe (and their doggo) and stick to him like glue, even reluctantly so when Gabe eventually has them join the settlement. This can only go one way, though: Kile's just too much of a wildcard for the group and hates being told what to do. (Especially now that society has fallen, wtf) They'd make their exit alone and unannounced aside from a brief head’s up to Gabe. It's slightly bittersweet, but also? They get to loot and hunt and sneak around and kill fucking zombies, all by themself. Kile is a loner, a hiker, and a hunter to begin with so they do beyond fine on their own. However, once the inevitable violent human threat comes for the settlement, Gabe is sent out to convince Kile to come out of isolation, just this once please, to be the camp’s super soldier help defend the camp.

Zed weapon: p much anything they can get their hands on, ranged or melee, blunt or sharp, w/e; improvised weapons

Human weapon: hunting knife

Faith in humanity: never had any to begin with

Zombie kill count: lol infinite?? any zed they come across is double-dead if they have the time for it

Human kill policy: at Gabe’s direction or when provoked enough/threatened

Survival rating: A-; they trust no one, live in isolation, and prioritize survival above all else. only reason it’s not higher is they would risk their life for Gabe or their furbaby and also... their own Rambo-esque antics def attracts the occasional horde lmao

- - -

Jack... this poor boy, he doesn't deserve a zombie au 😂 He's one of those people that first believes zombies are just sick people, too squeamish to keep up with TV news coverage at the onset and too upset to consider anything else. He'd hunker down at home, staying holed up even while his neighbors evacuated, and probably be discovered while the main group is looting the same place as him. When people try to tell him the real state of the world, he'd be in denial until he absolutely couldn't be anymore. idk, probably after Kile shooting a bunch of non-lethal holes thru a zombie to make a point (attracting more in the process lol).

He’d almost immediately join the medical team at the settlement and as word spreads about how easy he is to talk to, he quickly becomes the literal on-site therapist. It's a role he embraces but... idk if it's an emotional burden he can bear. He's very emotionally resilient! But he ain't a professional lol imagine a whole settlement of traumatized zombie survivors seeking you out for counseling, yikes. He also can't say no to a person in need, so instead he quietly spirals into a very private depression while continuing to help others!!

Zed weapon: Oh gosh, do I really have to?

Human weapon: ...Kindness?

Faith in humanity: Unrealistically high

Zombie kill count: Single digit

Human kill policy: Not ever, unless completely unavoidable and to defend the defenseless

Survival rating: C...? idk, that feels generous. D+. To be protected at all costs!!

- - -

Jessie also had the initial reaction of hoping zombies could be saved, but she woke up from that dream swiftly. The science-minded person that she is, esp with her interest in biology, leaves her determined to find anybody who's got the intellect, expertise, and resources to start doing actual work toward a treatment, cure, vaccine—anything. Nothing would get her to finally unabashedly embrace her love of science (and innate leadership skills!!) faster than a zombie apocalypse! In fact, it’s thanks to her that the Emerson settlement’s got a small but growing team of scientists doing as much research as humanly possible to best educate the others on the outbreak and zombie behavior. Def no zombie experimentation going on though lol. ...Not yet, at least.

Zed weapon: rifle

Human weapon: rifle

Faith in humanity: High! We’ll find a solution! Don’t give up hope!

Zombie kill count: Double digits, but less than 30

Human kill policy: Only in unavoidable self-defense or defense of others

Survival rating: B! She has experience with ranged weapons, farming and gardening skills, first aid, camping experience, and a can-do attitude with a healthy dose of realism!

- - -

Rain remains cargo as I said in the last post about this 😆 They'd be very good for keeping clothes repaired and making useful modifications in the settlement, but their life up to this point has been very sheltered and privileged. We're talking somebody with a chauffeur and a personal chef before the outbreak! They would contribute to quality of life and homemaking efforts more than anything—an overlooked aspect of these scenarios tbh! After as many months of dragging their feet as possible and being nigh impossible to track down when you need them, they eventually become involved in meal planning and even help out with medical stuff if they're asked.

Zed weapon: how do you reload this thing again?

Human weapon: switchblade or other concealable sharp-pointy

Faith in humanity: Very low

Zombie kill count: 0! Can you believe it!

Human kill policy: Well if it’s you or me, of course I’m choosing me.

Survival rating: C. Being so tiny helps them find good hiding spots and their self-preservation is high enough to keep them from unnecessary risk-taking. Plus they're very stealthy! Self-defense is a major issue though, so hiding is always their best option.

- - -

Rupan/Rohan scouts for and leads scavenging missions and is Curt's right hand on the recruitment team. The two of them together are the perfect combo of diplomacy, debate, and deception--although R is more honorable about the last one and will only deceive for strategic reasons. When they aren’t looting and recruiting, they’re doing peacekeeping inside the settlement. Most social disputes end up getting brought to them for mediation and they’re pretty dang good at making and enforcing calls. One day they’ll wake up to realize they’ve basically become a sheriff and feel the need to puke their guts up and do something, anything, to reassure themself they’re still punk 😂

Zed weapon: SMG

Human weapon: shotgun

Faith in humanity: Believes in fundamental goodness but knows better than to trust first impressions

Zombie kill count: decent, more than 40; you won’t catch them having a field day tho, they’re trying to gtfo of most zed situations

Human kill policy: Violent threats have to be taken out. And they aren’t, at all, immune to a revenge rampage either...

Survival rating: B-. Can handle themself both with humans and zeds but is vulnerable to hostage situations and truly difficult sentimental/interpersonal decisions!

- - -

Vivian/Vincent manages inventory and stock and they run it so efficiently it’s scary! They're the perfect pick: a hawk-eyed tyrant and tattletale 😂 Despite constantly butting heads with just about everyone on every imaginable thing, they quickly become an important part of the inner circle of decision-makers for the settlement at large. Terrible at stealth, jumpy, and squeamish at the sight of blood and gore, they literally never go on missions unless they're 100% needed for their expertise on a supply run. (They would deny all of these shortcomings are that big a problem, meanwhile R is definitely acting as their bodyguard lol.) When they do tag along, they're prone to becoming the damsel in distress. Seriously, it happens near every fucking time. It's like they just attract only the most improbable and perilous zombie attacks and hostage situations 😆

Zed weapon: shotgun

Human weapon: handgun

Faith in humanity: Medium; seeing people work together at the settlement helps restore it a bit

Zombie kill count: Double digits, under 25

Human kill policy: Violent threats have to be taken out. Well, no, not by me! Get one of the ruffians to do it!

Survival rating: C-. They’d be higher if they weren’t such natural zombie bait.

- - -

Heidi is running the settlement, well-organized to the degree of actually managing to bring bureaucracy to a post-zombie apocalypse settlement 😂 People are free to come and go, but getting in if you don't live there requires trading something of value (fuel, med supplies, food, etc), temporary surrender and registry of firearms and explosives, and you gotta GTFO at the time and date specified upon entry! You can stay long-term if you contribute to the community in a tangible way—and each person admitted is approved by Heidi personally. Yes, every individual. No, she has no free time. And she is not known to be lenient with rule breakers—you want rule bending, you’ll have to go to Curt for that. People kind of hate her, but it can't be denied that she runs a tight ship. She kind of throws herself into the work to avoid the harsher reality at large and hasn't left the settlement in a long time. She's out of touch with how bad things have gotten in the wastes, but she knows better than to take reports at anything less than face value--even when she's skeptical.

Zed weapon: rifle

Human weapon: handgun; dagger

Faith in humanity: Medium. It fluctuates, honestly

Zombie kill count: Double digits, less than 20

Human kill policy: Violent threats must be taken out if they can’t be reasoned with. Spare those who surrender, eradicate those who don't, keep an eye on the newbies. Not tryin’ to nurse any vendettas around here lol

Survival rating: B. She's good with a firearm, masterful at persuasion, and savvy enough to calculate risks appropriately. Also far tougher than her prim exterior and demeanor suggests!

- - -

Curt leads the recruitment and reconnaissance teams! When a new person or group shows up in the area, Curt's the one who stalks watches them, decides if they're worth approaching, and if they should be approached with an invitation, a simple acknowledgment/announcement of their presence, or an outright armed warning to leave the area. He also keeps tabs on morale and general confidence inside the settlement, alongside R. When he isn’t leading those efforts, though, he’s flirting with settlers and squirreling his way out of manual labor and other chores. He’s also secretly growing weed at his place--don’t tell Heidi or Vi ‘cause they’ll wanna yell at him and ration it UGH.

Zed weapon: SMG, explosives

Human weapon: handgun, dagger

Faith in humanity: Pft, sorry, what now?

Zombie kill count: ...way more than you’d expect

Human kill policy: I don’t start confrontations, but I sure as fuck end them.

Survival rating: A! He’s good at playing hapless idiot when it suits him to be underestimated, good with firearms, and capable of being ruthless and decisive in life or death situations! Plus he has no qualms about ditching the settlement if he decides it’s not working out for him. Just don’t tell Heidi lol

[seemslegitflapjacks]

Chapter 1: Moving

God knows how long I’ve been sitting in this car. Four hours? Maybe seven? God, this move sucked from the get go. The moment dad told my brother and I we were going to move I hated it. I had friends, good grades, and was about to be the best soccer player in the whole district. But no, we just had to move because of dad’s dumbass job. I’ve been sitting in this car so long that I can’t even feel my butt. All I could do was look out the window. The bright sun glaring down on the streets and palm trees. My brother Liu sat across from me reading a book. While my mom and dad sat talking in the front.

I looked down at my phone, switching up the song I was listening to. Gaze shifting back up out the window. We were driving on a bridge now, the ocean sparkling from the light given by the sun. I grabbed a bit of my long hair, twirling it around my fingers, before I decided to braid it off into sections to keep myself busy. ADHD and sitting in a car don’t mix well. It had been torture for the last few hours being in here. I wanted to move, I wanted to do something for fuck’s sake! My mind was in fifty different places at once, it was pissing me off. This was so stupid! Everything was stupid! I kept bouncing my leg and moving my hands. It was so hard being able to stay still and be patient.

“Are we close yet?” I asked, irritated.

“Just thirty more minutes Jeff, then we’ll be at the house.” My dad replied, looking back at me in the rearview mirror.

I groaned in frustration, thirty more minutes? How the hell was I supposed to even wait that out?! Just sitting and waiting in this car was driving me up the wall. Which would be fun if you could do that. Kind of like Spiderman, but, you know, a car. I let go of the piece of hair I was playing with, looking back out the window for the next boring thirty minutes that I had to wait.

I gazed out the window, mumbling the words ‘palm tree’ to myself every time I saw one pass by. Eventually mumbling along to the lyrics of the song I was listening to through my earbuds. My leg shook more and more violently, before my mom told me to knock it off. I rolled my eyes, fumbling with my fingers and hair again to keep myself busy. I would be playing one of those dumb simple games, but I didn’t want to. They were all either boring or had so many ads to the point I got mad and deleted it or never clicked on it again. Yet I wonder why my phone has no storage. I was for sure not digging through the stuff piled at my feet on the bottom of the car to pull out my sketchbook. The only thing I could even do at this point was look out the car window or sleep. Neither of which was interesting.

Thank God we finally pulled up to the new house. It really was as pretty as dad promised. Way better than what we had in Mississippi. The house was painted a light sandy color with white accents and a light gray tile roof. It had at least three floors above where the garage was supposed to be, with stairs leading up to the floor above it. White picket fences hiding away the backyard.

The moment the car turned off I immediately opened the door, going to the back of the car, where our dog and cat were kept in kennels. Our dog, Rambo, pawing and whining to get out of the kennel. I quickly opened it, the massive german shepherd hopping out. The dog circling around my legs and crying, curving himself into a banana. I pet him and ruffled up his fur. My twin got out not long after. Our mother came over to let out the cat, picking up the sleepy little siamese in her arms. While our dad was on the phone with the movers, making sure they were on the right route to get to the neighborhood.

‘Alright boys, come on let’s go in!” My mom beamed with a big smile on her face. She’d been looking forward to moving to the beach for a really long time. I remembered how her and my dad would constantly talk about where they’d move and which area we’d live in.

“Kay.” Liu and I replied, our mother running up to the front door, quickly fumbling with the key she pulled from the pocket of her jeans, twisting it in the lock as the door opened. A wave of cool air conditioning hit us. Our dog shoving his way inside, the rest of us following.

The house was big and empty. The hardwood floors were so polished I could see my reflection in the floor perfectly. The walls were colored a neutral brown color, a set of stairs leading up to the floor above. The house was all weird and dull without any lights turned on or furniture put in. Rambo sniffing his way around the house, our cat Chanel squirming his way out of our mom's arms.

“What do you think boys?” Our mom asked, looking at us with her brilliant vibrant blue eyes.

“It’s nice.” My brother told her, looking around.

“Empty.” Was all I blurted out in responde.

Our dad walked in, replying to whoever was on the other side of the phone, before he hung up. His eyes shifted to us, then the empty house he was standing in.

“Well, the movers will be here by tomorrow, so for now let’s just try to get everything set down, we have a few bedrooms, so you boys take your pick.” He told us.

“Kay dad, thanks, you didn’t have to buy all this for us.” I replied, giving my dad a one armed hug, the man patting me on the back, chuckling.

‘It’s nothin, also, might wanna get a haircut champ.” He told me, ruffling my hair.

“Fat chance old man.” I snickered, getting a smack on the back of the head, my dad and I laughing together.

I trudged up the stairs, walking through the hallway. Rambo, our dog, following not too far behind. I was really happy to finally have my own room. Don’t get me wrong, It was fun sharing a room with Liu. We’re twins after all, we basically shared everything, but it was nice to have my own bedroom. I peeked through countless doors, trying to find the best room, hoping Liu hadn’t already gotten it. After opening about four doors, I found the room I wanted. It had a good deal of space with a small bathroom connected to it. I looked around, seeing the bright view outside of the window. Lazily dropping a sleeping bag on the floor I had grabbed with me. I was so tired after that long car ride. I kicked off my tennis shoes, unrolling the sleeping bag, wiggling my way into it. Rambo laying down next to me as I slowly fell asleep.

[blissfulalchemist]

A Chance for Faith Ch. 5

Finally got Chapter 5 finished! You can read it here below the cut or on

Ao3!

Important timeline note: This happens days after the attempted arrest.

@risenlucifer​ @fromathelastoveritaserum​ @jacobs-pup​ @onshammad​

“Ancient men were killers. They were tenacious. They were strong. Now what are we? Passive. Lazy. Weak,” Chance snorted hearing the sound of the biggest brother of the Seed family preach with his wispy, gritty voice. Chance was squatted in some bushes, Physocarpus malvaceus or mallow ninebark he was pretty sure, watching the operation outside of the armory bunker between his cover’s red brown leaves. Chance had been studying this spot for the last two days trying to work out how the place worked, more than enough time to gather what he needed, though one could never be too sure. He figured that the more he knew the quicker he would be able to take this bunker, and hopefully the whole Seed family, down. Today, though, was the day he would finally find the opportunity to enact his plan. Simple and fast; get in, place as many explosives as he could, get out, and watch the show. 

“Culture and technology hasn't improved us, it has brought us to our knees!” Chance stifled his laughter at the words being spouted in the recording, “If our ancestors could see us now, they would be ashamed. They would be sickened and they would be angry. We have forgotten where we came from. We have forgotten who we are.”

Chance rolled his eyes bringing up his binoculars in an attempt to make out details on the door, “Just because you couldn’t figure out a flip phone doesn’t mean technology is evil, old man,” Chance whispered to himself, chuckling. The door was big, metal, and appearing to need a key card to get in, impenetrable. It just needs one big explosive, that should get the job done I’m sure. 

Chance swept the area once more confirming his game plan to get through step one. He repeated the steps mentally, checking his bag loaded with all the explosives he found over the last few days. He just had to sneak past the guards, place a few remote explosives, and then use the rest of the explosives to get the party going. Once this place was out of commission taking down the rest of Eden’s Gate would be a piece of cake. What about Pratt?, Chance paused looking past the bag, What if he’s in there?, his conscience prodded. 

He shook his head, a fair point but if this plan went as it should then Chance would be down in the bunker enough time to look for him. Besides who would be stupid enough to put prisoners with a bunch of weapons. What if Pratt got out by some miracle? Then he’d have full access to weapons and have the ability to pull a Rambo. Chance rolled his eyes at the thought. He had to save him now, to at the very least prevent Pratt from having a story like that to tell at the bars when this was all over. Pratt’s going to be fine. There’s nothing to worry about.

Chance took a deep breath making his way out of the bush as quietly as possible. He kept his eyes on the guards moving in front of him. They were close to being only a thousand feet from him. Chance’s heart started to race as his eyes moved around for an exit, he just had to stick to the plan. Just make an arc around the area and then-. Snap.

Chance froze, his heart beating rapidly, mouth going dry. The soft click of a gun just behind Chance had him putting his hands up, closing his eyes tightly. Well there goes that plan. “Now keep low,” Chance nodded slowly at the instructions given to him, his chest burning from the breath he held in, “turn around slowly and walk back to the road,” the voice was young and male, even with the lack of gruffness that seemed too common among the men here. Except Pretty Boy, but he doesn’t count as much of a man. 

Chance squinted his eyes open as he turned around hoping to get a look at who was holding a gun to his head. It didn’t work as Chance could hear the mystery man move so he was behind Chance the entire time as he started to face the road. Chance let his breath go and walked, doing as he was told, his legs starting to burn beneath him. “Hey, you grabbed my bag right?” Chance whispered to the guy behind him, “It's kind of important you know.”

Some of the taller plants around him tickled the underside of Chance’s arms, “Oh. No I didn’t. Yeah, just let-,” his tone became light and friendlier before he must have remembered what he was doing, “Hey, you shut up. I figure out what we should have with us, I’m the one with the gun.” There was a hesitancy in his footsteps as Chance continued to walk awkwardly, he was contemplating on going back for the bag or not. Chance heard him walk away quickly managing to return just as fast. The small clink of an enamel keychain against the cheap zipper was the only confirmation that it was his bag. The barrel of the gun tapped Chance’s head, the metal cold, “Hey I didn’t tell you to stop walking.” Chance looked at the ground not realizing he had stopped walking.

Chance started up again, “Thanks for grabbing my bag.” His legs were starting to shake, they were tired, “Can I at least stand at this point? My legs are killing me.” 

There was a few seconds of silence from his potential captor, “Yeah I think it should be fine now.” Chance let out a relieved sigh, “But slowly and face the road the entire time.”

“Yes sir,” Chance let out a low groan as he stood. His legs were sore but they no longer screamed at him, for now. From this vantage point he could see that the road was faster approaching now with the use of his full stride. “Are you taking me to Jacob?” There was no response, “Trench Coat?” Still no response came, “Joseph? Maybe Faith? She’s kinda pretty don’t you think?” Chance heard the small sound of someone trying to hold back their laughter, “Are you taking me to any of them?” Chance was met with silence once more, too foreboding for his liking. 

What is this guy’s plan?, Chance couldn’t help but wonder. As the two of them neared the edge of the road Chance could just make out a brown truck hidden within the trees. “Get in the truck,” Chance was ordered. Chance didn’t hesitate to get into the truck, settling himself quickly so that he could finally get a look at the person calling all the shots. They were about Chance’s height, wearing a red ski mask and the black and white camo, same as what was on the guards outside the armory. Chance recounted in his head all the people he had seen, he couldn’t place where this guy could have come from. Seeing how this situation was playing out so far, Chance doubted he was actually a part of the people that were trained by Jacob. Chance watched as he saw him place his backpack in the bed of the truck.

Chance flinched at the sound it made, hoping that nothing got dislodged. It’s not like Chance was the most adept at packing explosives. Realizing he had his hands up still, Chance placed them on his thighs shaking out his shoulders and arms. He watched intently as his charge made their way around the truck. They got in slamming the door pointing, what Chance could now see was a simple handgun, “Don’t try anything stupid,” he warned, deepening his voice, starting the truck. His head was swiveling as he pulled out of the hiding space. 

It was silent as they made their way down the road putting distance between them and the armoury. Chance started to shift at the amount of silence, trying to prevent the dam of questions from pouring out. Or he just wanted out of this truck. Maybe if he just tucked and rolled he could make it mostly unharmed and-, “What the hell were you doing out there, civilian?” Chance flinched at the sudden outburst from the driver, “You could have blown our cover! I mean, my cover.” His voice became more muffled as the ski masked shifted and moved out of place, a small growl of annoyance ended his turn to speak.

Chance looked to him in disbelief, “Are you kidding me? I was trying to take down the biggest threat. And I had a really solid plan until you showed up. So now it’s ruined,” Chance argued. “Thanks for that.”

The driver nodded towards the bed of the truck an eyebrow raised, “A solid plan?” Chance nodded scoffing, “Blowing the place up? That was your plan?”

Chance crossed his arms giving a small eye roll, “Yeah and it was going to work.”

The captor’s dark eyes went wide, “Are you-,” the mask must have gotten caught in his mouth, laboring his breathing. “Hold on,” he quickly pulled off the ski mask tossing it to the side taking a deep inhale, “Fuck I hate wearing that thing.” Chance was taken aback when he finally came face to face with who took hold of him. Chance had assumed he was young but not teenager young. There was no way this guy could be more than twenty years old. His hair was long, black, and straight even in its current braids. His skin a brown showing some wear from the lack of sunlight he was used to getting if the small sliver of visible tan lines were any indication. His narrowed onyx eyes framed by a furrowed brow were currently staring Chance down, “Back to the point: Are you stupid? Or do you just have a fucking death wish?” 

Chance’s eyes widened as he took offense to this kid’s words, “No.” Chance scoffed at the notion kicking his leg out slightly, “I’m doing the smart thing here. Jacob does all the training, meaning he has access to most of the Project’s weaponry. Taking him out fast and hard is the best thing to do here.” Chance gave him a smug smile.

It was sound logic, no one could argue against it, “You are stupid.” Chance opened his mouth to protest, “I’m not saying you’re wrong, but don’t you think if it was that easy we wouldn’t have done that by now?” Chance’s smile vanished, the kid placed an elbow on the window’s edge rubbing his temple, “Okay I’ll play along, maybe I’m wrong. How long have you been scoping out that bunker?”

“Long enough,” he retorted, suddenly feeling a little self conscious of his answers.

 “So less than a week,” Chance stayed silent seeing the frustration grow on his driver’s face. “You really didn’t think this through,” the young man stated. He let out a long sigh, “Did you at least see any confirmation that the weapons were being taken there?” Chance tried to look back on the last two days, his response time must have been too long, “So I’m gonna take that as a no. What about Deputy Pratt? What if he was in there and you decided to blow up the place? Or all the other innocents down there, were you really going to just let them die?”

Chance flinched at the detail he had managed to overlook, turning his eyes away from the know it all. “Hey I would have figured it out,” Chance yelled, “I’m good at improvising. Thinking on the fly.”

 “Improvising,” he let his eyes leave the road to look at Chance with an open mouth shaking his head, “Wow. You’re not stupid. You’re stupid stupid.” All this guy seemed to be doing was make Chance feel worse, which meant that he was telling the truth. “You can’t just improvise with Jacob Seed. That man has everything thought of. Even the best laid plans we’ve had have failed. Look you’re better off waiting on the fabled Deputy to help save us all from this.”

“Fabled Deputy?” Chance looked at him curious. Did my name seriously get around that fast? 

“Yeah,” he smiled looking at the road in awe, “There was this deputy that got away after the arrest. Seems the Seeds got a vendetta for him,” That was a bit of an understatement, “I heard this guy took out like twenty guys on his own with his bare hands.” Well that was an exaggeration, Chance hadn’t even seen that many members in the four days since the arrest, waking in Dutch’s bunker. “Eli says we can’t rely on one man to take them down though, but he’s gonna be a great help with his skills and knowledge.”

Chance swallowed nodding along to what the kid had to say, tuning out the rest of his repeated tall tales. If these were the stories they got up here in the middle of the mountains then the rest of the county was going to be severely disappointed in who their hero actually was. A twenty-five year old ex-alcoholic that liked to dance the line of death, despite being terrified of coming back to a place he never wanted to see again, with the muscle mass and combat expertise of a child. Some hero he was. 

“Tell me what you’ve heard about him,” his driver wondered, “You had to have heard something.”

Chance cleared his throat, “I heard he fails to live up to the hype.” Chance rubbed his clamming palms against his jeans, “He’s just some guy that everyone chose to be their martyr. All so they could finally be brave enough to take these leaders out themselves.”

Chance was given a sideways glance, “And I thought Tammy was cynical? You might have her beat.” Chance didn’t want to ruin the kid’s fantasy, but maybe if he knew who Chance was he could take him to Eli. Chance opened his mouth to speak before the local started talking, “I’d take you to Eli but he’s not the biggest fan of outsiders.” Well looks like I’m zero to two today, “Though I can tell him about you and maybe he can give you a test.”

Chance’s eyes went wide, “You have to pass a test in order to even have a chance of meeting him?” Chance shook his head, This is proving to be harder than I thought.

“Well you can never be too careful up here,” his voice became hallow and far away, “Another reason why it’s stupid to go after Jacob is because he’s got this method with his training, it makes people into sleeper agents.” 

“Sleeper agents? Like what happens in, Return of the Joker?”

“Maybe...Is that movie,” his brow knitted together trying to piece it together.

Chance waved him off, “Doesn’t matter too much. But in it the Joker puts a chip in one of the Robins to take over his body at a later date,” Chance explained.

“Huh,” the young man thought for a second, “I know Jacob’s smart but I don’t think he’d be using that kind of technology.” His voice trailed off before lighting up again, “Hey! Maybe that’s what you can do! You can try and figure out how he’s doing it!”

That sounded like an easy enough thing to Chance. He just had to either infiltrate into the ranks or spend days watching some place trying to figure it out. “You think Eli would meet me if I did that?”

The driver opened his mouth before closing it hearing the static of the radio come on, “Wheat- Wheaty, come in,” the voice was deep, definitely an older man. Chance looked to his driver and to the radio, Wheaty, unique name.

He grabbed the receiver, “Go for Wheaty.”

“Just got a description of the Deputy,” Chance’s eyes went wide, “Need you to be on the lookout for him.” Wheaty nodded waiting for the voice to make its way through the static, “The guy’s young with a mess of curly brown hair. Green eyes,” Wheaty paused his nodding quickly glancing at Chance. 

“Sounds pretty generic to me Eli,” he said into the radio, his eyes starting to narrow as he watched Chance in his peripheral.

“Well apparently this guy also has tattoos on his hands,” Chance quickly crossed his arms hiding his hands under his armpits. “Chemical formula stuff. Though no one knows of what or can even remember what they are. Unique enough detail for you?”

Wheaty turned to face the now shy deputy, “Yeah that’s unique alright. What do you want me to do with him if I see him?”

“Bring him here, sooner we get him here the better. Less chance that Jacob’s gotten to him,” Eli instructed as Wheaty hit his hand on the steering wheel, letting out a small curse. “Got that, kid?”

He let out a sigh, “Loud and clear. I’ll let you know if I see anything.” Wheaty pulled the truck over, placing the receiver back in it’s holder. He took a breath as Chance shied away from him, ready to jump out of the truck if needed. This isn’t going to be good, “Are you fucking kidding me?! You’re the deputy everyone’s been talking about? The one that’s supposed to be some big hero?”

“Tales of my escapades may have been a bit exaggerated,” Chance said softly, giving him an embarrassed smile, shrugging.

He groaned, “You’re telling me,” Wheaty threw his head back on the seat letting out a long breath, “I’m a little disappointed don’t get me wrong, but now we’re at an impasse.”

Chance tilted his head, “What do you mean? You heard him, you have to take me to him right away.”

“Yeah, but not like this,” Wheaty faced him, hands clasped pointing to Chance, “Look I’m sure you’re capable and will be our famed hero,” his arms moved as if he was showing off some muscle before they fell back to his side slowly, “just, not now. Look how easily I found you? You were ready to blow up a bunker that didn’t even have the weapons in them.” Chance looked down to the stitching of the seat, his plan was a failure from the start. He really didn’t have a clue of what he was doing, what he got thrown into. Chance ran his nail along the thread, “You were going to get yourself killed and we can’t have that.” He shook his head, “If I was Eli I’d send you back out to the Valley or to the Hebane. Give you some time to get your bearings. Have you walk a bit more before you start flying. It’s what he had me do before I became a full fledged member of the Wolves Den.”

Chance shrugged, biting his inner lip, “Eli made it sound like too big a risk if I was left out here too long,” Chance argued, “Just- Just let him meet me and then he can decide what he wants to do with me.” His voice was on the precipice of begging, which annoyed Chance. He just wanted to do the right thing and do it right. Show that maybe, just maybe he wasn’t such a disappointment after all.

Wheaty shook his head, “No.” Chance looked him in the eye, “I am aware of how big a risk I’m taking right now, but you’re just not ready.” Chance glared at him, placing his hand on the handle of the door, “And trust me that’s not a bad thing Dep. None of us were ready for this. You’re far from alone in that department. We just have to be smart about this and if I’ve learned anything from Eli, the smart thing to do here is to have you in the Valley with John. He’s not dumb by any means but he’s the least bright of the brothers.” Chance let out a sigh, “Heard he’s also a little more unstable since you rolled in.”

“You think I’ll be able to take him down?” Chance asked not getting his hopes up too high.

“Yeah,” Wheaty nodded, “I know you can.” Wheaty placed a reassuring hand on Chance’s shoulder, “And don’t worry I’ll be a radio call away! I’ll try and help you out the best I can up here, along with trying to make it down there every now and then.” He held up a hand for a high five smiling, “You can do this. Just get a little more comfortable with the whole situation and how you want to handle it. Then,” he pointed between the two of them, “you and me, we’ll take down that Jarhead of a brother. What do ya say?”

If Chance was being lectured by someone younger than himself, it was obvious he really hadn't been ready to take down Jacob, just yet. Chance ran a hand down his face before slapping his hand against Wheaty’s, “I say you’re right.” The two brought their clasped hands down for a proper handshake, “Call me Chance by the way. Don’t like being called Deputy.”

Wheaty smiled, “Got yourself a deal Chance. Now come on let’s get you down these mountains.” Wheaty pulled a U-turn south turning the radio to his own personal station. It wasn’t long before both young men were air guitaring to the riffs and lamenting on what defined rock music. Which band was better, who was more over played, or how each area has a certain era of rock that dominates what gets played. It was fun and normal, like they had always been friends. For the near two hour ride it took to get to the outskirts of Fall’s End Chance felt like himself again. Chance was wishing that the ride would last longer, but like all good things in Chance’s life, it had to come to an end. Chance pulled his bag out of the truck bed looking at Wheaty one last time, “Seriously, you need anything Chance, and I mean anything you give me a call.”

Chance gave him a smirk, “Same to you. Thanks Wheaty.” Chance rubbed the back of his neck, “You know you might have saved my life back there,” he admitted.

“Hey,” he put the truck in drive, “Now you just owe me.” He gave a laugh waving to his new friend, “Till next time!”

Chance waved back as the truck disappeared back to the mountains, “Till next time,” he whispered before turning in a circle looking for the path he had to take.

[fortunatelylori]

Hi, loved what you wrote about 365 days! What do you say about people who claim it promotes rape culture? I personally loved the movie for what it was but I think it’s interesting to discuss possible ramifications of it... Should we be worried about what men take away from it?

Hey, nonnie!

Thank you! I’m glad people are enjoying the meta. I fully expected to have about 2 notes on it when I posted it so the response has been a very nice surprise.

Having thoughtful debates about anything is always interesting so I’m certainly not opposed to it. Also simply because you enjoy something, that doesn’t mean you can’t and shouldn’t be aware of its flaws or negative implications.

Being a heavy metal fan, I’ve had conversations about the possible negative effects art may have on society more times than I care to count and it is ultimately very much a “the chicken or the egg” type of debate. At the end of the day, it’s really up to our own individual perception of how art and life co-exist.

Personally I believe art is a reflection of life, a cumulative, stylized expression of our experiences, our interests, passions, obsessions, desires and needs. Meaning that it is not art that influences our behavior but rather it is our behavior that shapes our art.

There is only one notable exception to this: propaganda art

This is a particularly insidious form of manipulation because it generally uses long standing conflicts that exist within a society and validate and justify them. Obviously images of the 3rd Rich and communism will come to mind here.

There is also a sort of hybrid form of art that is both made for artistic purposes but also co-opted politically, either from the beginning or as it evolves. The classic example of this is Rambo which started as an anti-war movie and developed into a pro-US empire franchise over time. (by the way Stallone brought back the franchise to its roots with the last film so very proud of him for that)

Another example of a hybrid movie is Ghostbusters 2016 which started out as a continuation of a legacy franchise and devolved into a woke piece of marketing meant to further antagonize large masses of people during a historical election.

I’d argue something like Ghostbusters 2016 is far more dangerous than 365 dni, simply because it tries to spoon-feed you an agenda you neither signed up for or would necessarily look for in a movie that’s supposedly about how to kill evil Chris Hemsworths. And it goes even further than that by attempting to draw your support for it by labeling you problematic if you refuse to take part in the manipulation.

As I’ve said in my original meta, 365 dni doesn’t have any agenda aside from getting you off. And that’s the really important aspect here: 365 dni exists to get women hot and bothered. So why are we even asking what men will get out of this film? It wasn’t made for them. It was made for our enjoyment so wouldn’t we be better served to ask what we’re getting out of it?

But let’s for the sake of argument ponder what theoretical men might get out of this movie. Does anyone truly believe that men don’t already know that kidnapping women is wrong? Will 365 dni change their minds?

Also, incidentally, are there only bad things men can get out of watching this movie? Can they perhaps not find anything positive in it? Like let’s say a deeper understanding of foreplay or why giving their partners oral sex is good? Or that it really does pay off to learn how to dance?

Honestly, I’m pretty sure most men will avoid this movie on principal and also because most of them were dragged by their girlfriends to the cinema when 50 shades came out and you know what they say: you burn me once … But if they do manage to stumble upon it, I tend to see it as a positive thing, not a negative one.

Now … to the direct accusation that this movie glorifies rape. It doesn’t. It’s explicitly anti-rape by both having Massimo state that he will wait for Laura to initiate sexual intercourse as well physically mutilate a man that tries to rape her.

In fact, if you go through this movie beat by beat, from the moment they have dinner, it’s always Laura that initiates sexual play, not Massimo. It’s Laura who takes her clothes off the next morning, it’s Laura who goes to his hotel room, it’s Laura who teases him at the club and it’s ultimately Laura that decides the time has come for them to have sex. Massimo responds and plays into the game but he isn’t actually the instigator.

The whole film is, in fact, built around Laura’s need for sexual fulfillment. It starts with her in a state of sexual and emotional frustration. Massimo appears in her life as the antidote to that. If this movie does anything is validating a woman’s desire for sex and her expectation that her needs are met by her partner.

That being said, is the kidnapping of Laura an uncomfortable aspect of this film? I’d personally say yes. I would have preferred they went about it in a different way: perhaps have Laura indebted to Massimo in some way that would force her to accept his offer to spend 365 days with him. It would have certainly spared us that back alley drugging scene.

That’s how I would have written it if I could have. But here’s the thing, independent of my tastes and preferences or anyone else’s:

Kink exists outside of PC culture and is non-negotiable

Like it or not, people, and that includes women, have all sorts of sexual fantasies. There are women who have kidnapping fantasies or rape fantasies. There are women who have masochistic or domination fantasies. And on and on.

Fantasy is powerful because it allows us to experience things in a safe and healthy environment. It should be celebrated and nurtured, not censored.

Simply because you don’t like something doesn’t give you the right to will it out of existence. Regulate your own viewing experience and let others do the same.

Which brings me to my last salient point:

Women can vicariously enjoy things

Women tend to be very good at pointing out the multitude of ways in which we are better than men. And, don’t get me wrong, we are. We are clearly very much the superior sex. Lol

However, one thing I believe men are far better at than women is enjoying things without worrying if their enjoyment is correct or beneficial to society at large.

How many men have you met that are worried about the negative effects the violence in John Wick might have on the youth of America? (this is not a dig at John Wick by the way. I love him and 100% support his desire to murder anyone who messes with his glorious dogs)

The truth is that one of the side effects of the patriarchy is that women are always second guessing the things they like and worrying constantly about what the potential negative impact their enjoyment might have on others.

I don’t know if anyone out there needs to hear this from me but you are allowed to like things just because you like them. You are allowed to notice problematic aspects in a story and still love it because after all nothing in life has any business being perfect. Some things, though, do come close:

[ariainstars]

Why I Don’t Want Ben Solo to Die

Look, I am aware that Kylo Ren is a widely unpopular character with Star Wars fans. And that seems only legitimate, after all he killed his own father.

But reading and listening to fans’ comments, I come across the same judgement all over again: he is simply hated because he’s not badass.

The moment he destroys the ship’s console in a fit of rage it was already clear to most fans: what a baby.

When he took off his helmet so we could see his vulnerable features: that is supposed to be the villain?! He’s neither ugly nor beautiful enough! He looks normal!! (How awful.)

Kylo Ren / Ben Solo after the patricide, obviously traumatized. What a sissy. He did not enjoy the terrible thing that he did. He’s in pain and sorrow because his father is dead by his own hand, which means that he did love him.

A villain who loves someone? Who doesn’t enjoy the terrible things he does? My, my, how uncool is that. What a bad example to kids watching the show.

Ben watches Rey leave with the Falcon, tears on his face. He’s more miserable than ever, kneeling on the ground, literally having hit rock bottom.

But he’s the Supreme Leader now, folks!! Wasn’t that what he wanted all along? Why isn’t he triumphant?!

Ben Solo / Kylo Ren, like Anakin Skywalker / Darth Vader is a split personality. Many fans have never seen Ben behind the mask, not even in his interactions with Rey, because hey, if he was secretly a hero, he ought to be badass. And Ben is not badass, the son of Han and Leia is vulnerable and timid. So there can’t be a good guy in there somewhere, am I right?

Sorry, but I can’t help wondering how people can be so blind. It has been staring us in the face from the start that this man is not the story’s villain, that he is on a painful but ultimately successful way to redemption.

And by “redemption” I don’t mean coming back to the Light, but finally finding and sharing the balance the Force and the galaxy so desperately need. It wasn’t for nothing that he had promised his grandfather that he would finish what he started.

A guy I know claims that the wide-spread sympathy for Kylo / Ben (mostly coming for females) springs from the fact that for some unexplainable reason the role was given to Adam Driver, and that the actor’s personal charisma is leading fans to unhealthy and illogical conclusions. He never wondered why Disney gave Driver of all people this role in the first place, and that there actually might be a very good reason for that.

It’s easier to pretend that the saga is ruined, that Lucas has lost his magic touch and Disney is defiling the saga’s miserable remainders, than to sit down and try to think about it for just a minute. To listen, instead of believing to know everything by breaking down a 9-film-3-trilogies story to “it’s always black against white, ka-boom, the white ones win, the end”. Maybe, just maybe, Lucas had a good reason for telling the prequels the way he did and for selling the rights for the sequels to the Disney studios of all places.

One of the things that annoy me most is that so many fans keep calling Ben “Kylo Ren” and simply refuse to accept that actually they are speaking about Ben Solo, the son of Han and Leia and the nephew of Luke. Hence, also, the stubborn and unrelenting “it will turn out that Rey is a Skywalker / Organa / Solo / Kenobi”, even if in the first three cases these fans would actually be expecting her to kill her own cousin or half-brother.

Many of us have grown up with and loved the Star Wars original saga. I can understand that a lot fans are irritated by both prequels and sequels because used to stuff like Jaws, Rocky, Rambo, Alien etc. they of course expect a diluted and warmed-up rehash of the original story and not a development of themes and characters.

But these antis never seem to consider that Ben dying, and dying unrepentant, is the very worst service the saga could do to the original story. It has been said and shown over and over that Rey is a nobody from nowhere. Ben is, thus, indeed the last scion and heir to the heroes from the original trilogy. If he “gets by his deserts”, all that his family suffered and went through was in vain.

His father sacrificing himself - for nothing.

His uncle - ditto.

But to these fans, Kylo’s miserable death would be the only thing that could still halfway reconcile them with the allegedly disastrous, or at least very unsatisfying, sequel trilogy. If they were “real fans” like they claim, in my opinion they rather ought to pray day and night for Ben’s redemption. If they would dare to look beyond their noses, they would realize that Ben has his uncle’s learning, his father’s slyness, his grandfather’s protectiveness and his mother’s empathy and that these qualities are only waiting for the right spark to ignite inside of him and light the galaxy.

I have my own, personal reasons why I’m hoping for Ben Solo to be redeemed, and I’m going to admit that they are pretty personal.

Yes, I like Ben Solo and I like Adam Driver: not because of their pectorals and arm muscles (although they’re nice to look at 😊) but mostly because I identify with them. I want Ben to change and be happy and I hope for Adam to make a marvelous job of this role. I know he and the rest of the crew won’t be capable to convince everyone, but I do hope that they will make Ben Solo’s character, life and development understandable to as many viewers as possible.

I don’t want Ben Solo to fail and die miserably, unrepentant.

Nor do I want him to become Rey’s pet, only good enough to have kids with her so that she will finally have her own family.

I don’t want Ben Solo to die “because that whiny sissy deserves it”.

I don’t want him to die because he’s sensitive and “a real guy isn’t sensitive”.

I don’t want him to die because “he’s done so much evil and doesn’t deserve to be forgiven.”

I don’t want him to die by Rey’s hand because she’s badass so whatever she does, it’s ok.

I don’t want him to die because “he’s not good-looking so he can’t be the hero”.

I want the last scion of the Skywalker saga, the oversensitive, doubtful, patient, emphatic, funny-looking Ben Solo to prove to the world at large that you can be a hero and find your place in your own place, as a man, even if you don’t come up with any of the common prerequisites for a hero in the common sense of the word.

I want him to show the galaxy and the audience at large that it’s never too late, that you can change, grow beyond your wounds and weaknesses, find your own place among humanity and a happy ever after.

I want him to be a role and an encouragement for everyone like me who is introverted, insecure, thoughtful, sensitive and overall not badass.

For the same reason, I was happy when I saw that my theory that Rey would take a plunge into the Dark Side was founded. Rey is being mistaken by most fans as the true heroine of the saga because we see the story unfold mostly from her point of view, so we tend to identify with her and to overlook the arrogance, stubbornness and aggressiveness that were already hinting at her personal development.

I hope that Episode IX will finally make abundantly clear down to the last fan that even the most pure and intelligent and well-meaning heroine can still go down a dark path. (Louder for the people in the back: Anakin and Ben had all chance to be heroes and they were turned evil by the events around them.)

I want the Star Wars saga to end on the note “you don’t have to be badass to save the world.”

I want Love to be the triumphant end note.

I want vulnerability and empathy to be portrayed, in this action science-fiction world-wide known saga, as qualities that do not necessarily make you weak but can make you strong if you’re in the right place and employ them in the right way, instead of denying them and secretly admiring who has no qualms with going over corpses.

I know that many, many fans will never have compassion for Vader or Anakin. For some reason, if someone is frightening, they are likely to bow down before him and to think he’s right with everything he does, even killing and torturing.

Most fans hated the prequels’ depiction of Anakin Skywalker because he wasn’t a fearsome person like Vader but so desperately human.

They similarly hate Kylo Ren and wish him to end in the most horrible way because he’s conflicted and suffering instead of “enjoying” his crimes.

I know I’m being mean now: but I really hope that the expectations of these fans for “the badass wins” will explode in their faces when Episode IX comes out.

I predict that countless viewers all over the world will howl to the moon in frustration, claim that Disney ruined the franchise for good and sign petitions to start everything all over again.

But I hope that viewers who are less prejudiced will listen with their heart and find confirmation for what, in Lucas’ own words, the saga is all about: compassion and family.

And I also hope that future generations who will watch the saga on the whole, in particular boys and young men, will grow up with the message that you don’t have to be canonically handsome, formidable, violent and cruel in order to be a hero, but that loyalty and belonging to something bigger than yourself are more important; that a true hero is not someone who saves the world all by himself but who overcomes himself and creates a better place for other people and together with other people.

I don’t need to watch the lonesome hero, the cowboy riding away into the sunset. There are more than enough action films like that. Let Star Wars be a glorious exception for that cliché. I want it to give encouragement to people who, like me, are not cool and badass but for this are not useless, weak and have nothing to give to the world. If the saga ends the way I hope, I will assuredly not sign petitions for some of its chapters to be removed from canon but send George Lucas personally an enormous bouquet of flowers together with a card offering him all of my admiration and gratitude.

Do it for us, Kylo, Ben, Adam, George, please. Show the world that it’s always love that ought to win, not violence. Prove in a convincing way to whoever watches the saga that emotionality and doubts are not weaknesses but virtues, and that you can be a worthy and happy person without being cruel, vicious and creepy. I’m right here rooting for you and waving your flag.

See you in December. 😊

[fslut]

So I just spent like 10 minutes rambling to myself about why I was upset about the OK KO finale so I figured why not put it into words and then just dropped the topic of the series for a while.

I will preface this statement by saying that yeah I am very happy that venomous and boxman are a couple of MGA men who are in love and married. I think that is a wonderful thing and I think they as a couple in theory are great, I love the couple where one is a ugly gremlin any other is a total hottie way out of their league but they love each other none the less and to see that in a gay couple is really cool.

However.

The way that these two were handled in practice is really really terrible. I'm going to preface this whole thing by saying do not mention that the series was canceled oh, I know that it was cancelled and here's the thing they had time. Cancellation is not something that is dropped on a series 20 seconds before the series finale. I also do not want to hear about how cartoon Network is probably to blame unless I hear an actual statement that that is the case I'm not going to buy that excuse because in the past few years cartoon Network has somewhat come to understand the appeal that LGBT content has.

Now, to elaborate I think venomous and boxman were done poorly as a couple.before Ian even confirmed that they indeed were a couple people had a hard time actually discerning if they were or not and that right there showcases that you've done a bad job. yes there were many moments in their relationship that came across as romantic, except for the fact that this is also a comedy show and when dealing with same-sex relationships often times two male characters are put in intimate situations for the sake of comedy. They are meant to come across as a couple and seem romantic as a joke because haha gay men are so funny.

So if anyone watched OK KO and assumed that they were both just heterosexual business partners I would not blame them in the slightest to be honest. the only inclination we got that either of them really wasn't heterosexual was Box man and his blatent attraction to venomous. that is a hard element to ignore but to be honest I could only be seeing that so clearly because I'm not straight and it's very likely that a straight audience didn't even pick up on that being romantic or sexual.

Venomous shows no real genuine moments of attraction to boxman that are totally indisputable. there are a couple of moments where you could argue that it was a visible sign of Attraction from venomous however you could just as easily argue that those moments were again meant to be comedic. The pie scene could easily be venomous just staring at boxman going Rambo and wondering what the hell is going on.

Yes there was an entire episode dedicated to showcasing the boxman venomous and their children became a family unit. That episode was also a Brady bunch parody that showcased some out of character moments for venomous all of which could easily have been taken as a joke.

Yes media is up for interpretation absolutely but if you're trying to have good representation of same-gender couples it should not be easy to ignore, it should not be easy to write off as a joke. really there should be no inclination that it's a joke at all but baby steps I guess.

Here's the thing though, yes before you bring it up I know there is a background couple of Joff and Nick two male characters who are admittedly quite clearly in a relationship it is hard to deny that fact and them being confirmed to be a couple really is no surprise at all. But I repeat, background, the only notable personality traits that either of them have is the fact that one is a Buddhist monk and the other is in action hero who likes to blow things up. This is not good this is scraps and if I'm being totally honest I would have preferred every single scene that they have together be replaced with a scene showcasing that boxman and venomous were romantically involved.

There is one scene where boxman and venomous hold hands again easily mistaken as a joke or at the very best showcasing that box man has an unrequited crush and venomous tolerates him enough to let him hold his hand. There really are no other situations where we see them being genuinely romantic, all things that could be interpreted as romantic but never anything that is actually explicit.

Conversely let us look at Venomous' ex-girlfriend Carol. Her relationship with another man gar, received quite a bit of development with gar having a very explicit crush on her and eventually confessing his feelings. The two are showcased kissing, they go on a date, they hold each other they hold hands they're very tender and loving and supportive. venomous and boxman are said to have gotten together around the same time so please tell me why there was no time in the series at all to showcase their relationship this way.

Now moving on to my core issue with how the transformation from shadowy venomous was actually handled. Everyone in the fandom was expecting either boxman or Fink to be the ones to bring venomous back. it's been shown that venomous struggles with imposter syndrome as well as a lot of other ways that he feels very inferior. His new family that he created with box man fink and the Box Bots literally work as a parallel to the family he could have had with Carol and KO.

Carol and KO make him feel inferior and like less of a man, while box man and Fink make him feel needed and wanted and like he is powerful and loved which is a core element of the turbo transformation feeling like you are unappreciated powerless and not loved. It comes from negative emotions predominantly helplessness.

So to have what was later to be revealed his boyfriend come to him and help him realize that he's loved and appreciated was a common theme amongst many fans we all thought that is where it was going. And that is not the case at all instead it was KO the estranged child of venomous literally several episodes earlier said he hated him.

Now you can easily make the argument that the show is about KO so he is the one who should save the day. I agree, want to know how he could have done it that way? It's established that one of the best abilities KO has is his empathy and his ability to talk to people and understand their emotions and help them work through them and find the best solution. He's a very empathetic and understanding child, so it was revealed that when Shadowy kicked boxman out of the company it was a breakup. Want to know what should have happened? KO should have talked to boxman about how much he loved venomous and how important they were to each other and how good they were together and give boxman the courage to confront shadowy.

Instead we got implied relationships, an apology cake which frankly venomous owes a lot more than just a cake, and wedding bands which can easily be interpreted as not being each other if you really want to go there.

at the end of the day I'm not saying on paper they are a bad couple, I love them I will always have a soft spot in my heart for this pairing because it's sweet however in practice we were given scraps. This wait until the last minute of a series to confirm a couple thing needs to stop the LGBT community deserves better.

If you're unsatisfied with the way it was portrayed and share any of my feelings, you are valid your feelings are valid and you cannot let people screaming about what great representation it is and how Ian JQ said gay rights stop you from feeling hurt. If you still love the show that's also totally understandable because I kind of do as well. it's okay to be frustrated it's okay to feel a little shafted and it's perfectly okay to be sick and tired of only getting scraps.

anyone trying to argue with this post is just going to get blocked because I'm tired and I don't want to argue about this.

[layla256]

Key to Her Heart Chapter 1/52: Halloween

So, some context first. My friends and I decided to do a 52 fanfic challenge this year, one prompt each week. The only rule is that you must adhere to the prompt, one post a week, and they all must be in the same universe. So, for example, if you have been writing marvel fanfic all year, but you think a prompt would be GREAT for Supernatural, you have to somehow fit the Supernatural universe into the MCU. 

Now, because I hate myself, I decided I was going to write an entire series consecutively with only a basic outline of my AU and no knowledge about the future prompts.

KILL ME.

But, either way, I think this’ll be a fun adventure into writing for me. So behold the first in my Spuffy AU Key to Her Heart. I’ll probably post this on AO3 and EF as well.

The prompt this time was:  Our hero (or heroine) loses his memory.   Who will help him find his way back?

And doesn’t that just scream “Halloween episode”?

WARNING: At one point at the end of this chapter, Spike makes the assumption that Buffy was raped in the episode Reptile Boy. While no detail is given and Buffy reveals that there wasn’t any rape, it’s still an issue mentioned and I don’t want to blind side anyone with it.

Spike wasn’t a traditionalist. He never pretended to be one either. No matter how much Dru had wanted him to be, that just wasn’t something he cared about. All that chanting and ritual? It just wasn’t him. However, if there was one rule he was willing to take seriously, it was the one about Halloween. You don’t start shit on Halloween. It’s everyone’s fucking vacation day. Sure, if a tasty snack wanders by he isn’t going to say, “No thanks, I’m dieting today!” But he also understood that, at a certain point, causing problems on Halloween was just being a dick.

Spike can respect an asshole (he is often one), but being a dick is an entirely different story.

So, you can imagine the conflict he felt when Dru told him that someone was, as his mother would have said, “making shenanigans” that were going to deliver the Slayer into his lap. On the one hand, he had his principles dammit! He had said he would respect the Halloween rule when he first learned of it. However, on the other hand, he was an ancient, evil vampire and he did whatever he wanted! Not to mention the fact that the slayer was a royal bitch who had it coming.

Eventually, Spike made a compromise with himself. He’d go out and enjoy whatever chaos occurred because of this newcomer. If he saw the slayer? Great. Dinner and his Dark Princess back at her best again. If he saw the person responsible? A beating and lecture that would make his father weep with jealousy.

He hadn’t been planning on what he would do if he ran into her however.

She looked beautiful, although he knew from experience at this point that she always did. Her normally well-kept hair was completely falling out of whatever adorable braid she’d managed to coax it into that night. The crown of what looked like Daffodils was almost falling completely off her head. Her make up was relatively un-smudged, but that probably had more to do with the fact that she wasn’t wearing much, just a light dusting of gold across her eyelids and a similar color on her lips.

However, the thing that caught his attention wasn’t just the confused look on her face, but the dress she was wearing. Unlike the tight black number that had been haunting his dreams since that God-awful frat party the week before, this dress matched Buffy far better. The creamy silk of the one-shoulder dress looked gorgeous folded and wrapped around her body, accentuating every curve while hiding the important parts from his gaze. The golden rope around her waist synched it all in, drawing his attention to her hips and that luscious ass that—

And he was going to stop that train of thought right now.

She looked at him with no recognition and a hint of fear, making him want to cast himself on the nearest cross. Worried that she was upset with him for the party, he shrunk his shoulders, held his hands up, and tried to seem as non-threatening as possible.

“Pet I—I would never hurt you. You know that, right? Please tell me you know I would never hurt you.”

While the confusion didn’t leave her hazel green eyes, the fear definitely did. “D-Do you know me?” She asked hesitantly, looking around them with wide eyes. “Do you know who I am?”

Spike’s brow furrowed. “Of course I do, luv. You’re—”

He was cut off as one of her friends came running towards them looking a bit odd while followed by the other one, who wasn’t moving normally. Too stiff.

“Buffy!” Red called, waving her arms wildly at the girl in front of him. “Buffy, thank goodness you’re ok!”

 Spike was stuck on baby-sitting duty, and he wasn’t sure how upset he wanted to be about it. Red, who was a very hot ghost for some reason, had run off to find Buffy’s pseudo Watcher, leaving him to look after the Whelp and Buffy, both of whom had turned into their costumes, leaving confused shells behind.

“So I dressed as a goddess and now I am one?” Buffy asked again, still trying to grasp everything after the short run-through Willow had given Spike. “That does sound rather . . . disconcerting.”

What’s disconcerting is you using that kind of language Spike thought, but he kept it to himself. He knew there was a bright mind under all that blonde, and he wasn’t going to be one of the many people discouraging her about it.

“So, fill us in,” Whelp ordered, showing more initiative that Spike had ever seen in the teen. “What is the situation like?”

Spike sighed heavily, not wanting to really get into it. “Look, I wasn’t here for the mess that was last year, alright? So you lot are getting the cliff-notes version and nothing more. Got it?”

The goddess and soldier before him nodded, though Whelp looked like he wanted to argue the point more.

“Now, I don’t know about you Whelp, but I know that little miss amnesia over there moved here about a year and a half ago after her parents split. She met you and Red and you little Happy Meals have been friends ever since.” He noticed Buffy scrunch her nose at the term “Happy Meals” and couldn’t help but smile knowing there was still some of her in that costume after all. She always did get on his case about it.

“Why would my parents split apart? Surely if they loved one another enough to marry—”

“Cliff notes version luv,” Spike reminded her gently. In all honesty, he didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth. That when Hank and Joyce Summers had been confronted with the very real issue of the supernatural Joyce had dealt with it through mild panic, heavy drinking for two days, and silence while Hank had simply attempted to ship Buffy off to the funny farm. Thankfully, the idea of her daughter being sent somewhere like that for something Joyce knew was real had snapped her back to herself pretty quickly. However, Buffy had blamed herself for the divorce ever since, and Spike, evil though he may be, didn’t have it in him to hurt her like that.

“So you lot wound up getting involved in most of the nasty business here on the Hellmouth since good ol’ Watcher thought you might be a Potential.”

Once again, Buffy’s brow furrowed in the most adorable way. “Potential what?”

Spike shook his head. “Potential Slayer, luv, like that Faith bi-bint Willow mentioned she was getting. One girl in every soddin‘ generation to cause vamps like me all kinds of headaches. They thought you were one for a bit, but turns out you’ve just got major magic going on.”

Whelp shot up. “‘Vamps like me’? You’re a vampire? Then why are you helping us?” Spike saw him reach for his weapon, but waved him off.

“Easy there Rambo. My issue’s with the Slayer and her lot. I got no quarrel with you all.” He looked at Buffy with a single smirk. “Told you that the first night we met actually. You and Red threatened to light my highly flammable ass on fire if I tried to take a bite out of you. Been nothing but banter ever since.”

Buffy smiled, “So we’re compatriots then?” she asked cautiously. “Through humor and fear?”

Spike barked out a laugh. “‘Compatriots’, sure. I gave you my word that, long as you and your lot stayed out of my business, you’d be safe as houses. Yer Mum’s got permanent protection too, in case you’re worried.” No need to mention how pointless he thought it was, seeing as how the woman bashed him over the head with an ax right after thinking he was attacking Buffy.

Buffy nodded her head gratefully, more of her hair spilling out of her braid. “Thank you very much Spike. That puts my mind at an ease.”

Bloody hell, Red needed to hurry up with whatever plan it was she had for fixing this mess.

After that, things eventually quieted down a bit. Soldier Whelp went into the kitchen hunting for “provisions”, leaving Spike with a curious Buffy.

“Spike,” she said cautiously, tilting her head as she looked at him. “Spike, why were you concerned that I was afraid of you when we met? If we are friends and you have upheld your end of our bargain, then surely I would have no reason to fear you.”

Spike sighed heavily for what felt like the thousandth time that night, running his fingers over his gelled hair in frustration. He’d honestly been hoping she wouldn’t ask about that.

He could lie to her, tell her some made-up story to keep in the goddess’s good graces for a while longer, but he immediately shook the thought off. He might not mind it, but Buffy would be offended. She’d see it as a manipulation. While she won’t come out and reprimand him for it, he’ll still be subject to those disappointed eyes. Like last time.

“You, well, pet, that is—” he cut himself off with an angry growl. Rip the bandage off. “You’re upset with me. I went and killed some blighters who absolutely deserved it, but you didn’t appreciate it. Haven’t spoken to me in a week for it.”

Buffy’s head tilted once again for a moment, considering. He hated when she did that. For one thing, she looked bloody adorable. For another, he could never tell what she was about to say. “What was their crime?” She asked finally.

Spike blinked at her twice. “What?”

“Their crime.” She repeated simply. “You ascertained that they deserved their fate, but what crime did they commit to deserve such a thing?”

Spike couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t explain the pain on Buffy’s face when she’d told him of the drugs they’d put in her drink, they way they’d dragged her about as they saw fit.

She hadn’t come out and said it, but he knew that you only drugged a girl for one reason and one alone. That in and of itself would have earned them a solid beating session with him (he’d never much liked rape, even after being turned), but the fact that they’d done it to Buffy, kind, innocent Buffy who went so far out of her way for her friends and family, even an undead monster like himself, was unforgivable. There was only one appropriate punishment, and he certainly didn’t regret being the one to give it out.

Thankfully, he was saved from explaining as the crown completely fell off of her head, and Buffy, blinking as if to clear a fog, looked at him with recognition for the first time. “Spike?” she asked her nose once again being too freaking cute for words as it scrunched. “Ugh, what happened? I feel all magic-y.”

“Thank Eric Cantona, she lives to butcher the mother tongue once more!” Spike grinned and swept her into a hug, swinging her around once before dropping her onto the ground.

“Spike, what’s got you all ramped up? You’ve been all with the brooding worse than Angel lately.” Despite her words, a bright smile took over her face. “Ever since Willow, Cordy, and I almost got sacrificed to that snake demon thingy last week—”

Spike gripped her shoulders tightly, eyes tinted yellow. “Wait, what? What sacrifice?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Remember? The frat party? I was all with the crying and the depresso girl and you went on a completely unnecessary warpath through the whole freaking frat?”

Spike felt the distinct need to lay down. A sacrifice. The boys hadn’t raped her. Just a failed sacrifice. That he hadn’t even known about.

Yes. A kip was definitely a requirement right now.

So that’s the first chapter! In this AU Buffy is the key as opposed to Dawn, and Faith is the Slayer. This is actually a thought I had back in high school when I first watched the series and couldn’t get my hands on anything past the first third of the fifth season and none of the Angel series, so recognize that a lot of my characterization won’t stray from my feelings about characters past around the Dracula episode. While I’ll be referencing and maybe even writing about things in later seasons (maybe even the comics, I’m not sure yet), my main influence are going to be those first few years. For example, I am perfectly aware of the fact that Faith gets a redemption and becomes a great Slayer and a good friend to Buffy. However, I had seven years to sit and stew on how much I hated her before I could get my hands on the later seasons, so . . . yeah.

[turtlethon]

“Zach and the Alien Invaders”

Season 5, Episode 18 First US Airdate: November 9, 1991

Friend of the Turtles Zach is sent to a military boarding school, where he discovers an alien plot to take over the world.

“Zach and the Alien Invaders” first aired back-to-back with "Leonardo, the Renaissance Turtle". Like many of the episodes of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles featuring Zach, this one was written by Francis Moss, on this occasion in collaboration with Ted Pedersen.

Michaelangelo arrives in the Lair and informs the other Turtles that he happened to encounter Zach at the comic book store. Both are fans of a title called “Alien Invaders”, and in the next scene we see the young friend of the Turtles so engrossed in the comic that he’s entirely oblivious to events unfolding around him. His reading only pauses when he happens to spot a group of shadowy individuals entering a nearby building. As his imagination has gotten carried away, he becomes convinced he’s witnessing an actual alien invasion.

Zach calls the local police station and reaches Sergeant O’Flaherty. I assume the intention of the writers here was for the misguided Irish policeman seen in the earlier Zach story “The Great Boldini” to be used here, but instead the animators utilise the craggy policeman model that’s appeared several times throughout this season. The officer takes the news of an alien invasion seriously, falling out of his chair before issuing a radio alert to the force. April is driving around in her news van with Irma and hears this over the airwaves. She remarks that the idea of “bug eyed aliens” invading sounds absurd, which is an odd thing for someone who encounters aliens and bizarre creatures all the time to say. Figuring there may still be a story in it, she decides to investigate.

April and Irma meet up with Zach as the police raid the building. Emerging from it are a group of individuals in dark masks, who turn out to be nothing more than bug exterminators. Later, an unimpressed April reports on the unfolding events anyway. The Turtles watch this coverage on TV and decide to check in on Zach via Turtlecom.

Later, Zach is in the mall with his brother Walt, returning to the series for the first time since season three’s “The Missing Map”. When the siblings briefly split up, Zach sees some robots rolling through the mall and immediately jumps to the conclusion that they, too, must be alien invaders. He alerts a disinterested security guard – another character who’s been popping up routinely throughout this season – and ultimately ends up dealing with the problem himself, knocking a wheeled piano through the mall and destroying the robot. It turns out that these were intended for display in a department store. The Turtles arrive in time to see a commotion resulting from the chaos caused by Zach, with Walt angrily dragging his younger brother away.

More time passes and the Turtles are driving around in their van when they receive a distress transmission from Zach, informing them that a group of slime monsters just emerged from an excavation on Hill Street. The team are sceptical after everything that’s happened but begin to second guess themselves after Zach relays footage of what do indeed appear to be slimy creatures walking around. Upon arriving on the scene, the Turtles use one of their old techniques to handle the monsters, deflecting water from a fire hydrant to spray the intruders. In truth, the invaders are nothing more than an innocent group of city tunnel workers, who thank the Turtles for helping them to clean up. Frustrated by all these false alarms, the Turtles scold Zach for his overactive imagination. After handing in his Turtlecom, the young ally of the team tearfully runs away.

Zach’s parents – appearing in the series for the first time – are seen enrolling him in Ten-Hut Military Academy. They introduce him to Colonel Clout, who in turn has Sergeant Rambo escort the young boy to his sleeping quarters. Upon meeting the other recruits, Zach finds they all express the same dead-eyed obedience to the Colonel and the Academy. The only person in the school who doesn’t act this way is Zach’s fellow newbie Eric. 

In the middle of the night Zach steps out of his bed – fully dressed, boots and all – and sneaks off in search of a snack. While wandering around, he sees Eric being pinned down in a hi-tech chair by Colonel Clout and Sergeant Rambo, who remove their outer skins to reveal their true identities: Rambo is an alien bat named Wingnut, while Clout is a four-armed humanoid mosquito called Screwloose. The villains reveal to Eric that they’re from the planet Flagenon, and have set up the school as a means of staging an invasion of Earth. After the mind changer device is activated, Eric becomes fully obedient, parroting the same lines about who wonderful the academy is that the other recruits did earlier.

Zach watches as Wingnut and Screwloose move to the school’s gymnasium, where they look over their weapons and an army of robot roaches. He attempts to phone the police for assistance, but they immediately become suspicious after realising he’s the same child who wasted their time earlier. With that option off the table, Zach opts to phone the Turtles, noting that it’s “a lucky thing [he knows] their unlisted number”. The team are wary about this being potentially yet another tall tale, but after the call gets cut off – due to Zach being captured by Screwloose – they decide that it’s worth checking out, with Michaelangelo and Donatello deployed to survey the area.

Wingnut and Screwloose taunt Zach, informing him that by tomorrow, the students of the Military Academy will be ready to take over the planet. (I don’t care how advanced their weapons are, the idea that this one group of teenage boys will conquer the world feels like something of a stretch.) Zach is dragged away to become the final member of this army via the mind changer.

April and Irma are assigned by Burne to investigate reports of a giant metal cockroach. They arrive at a construction site and begin filming the robot. The creature spots them, leading Irma to flee; the second act ends with April’s assistant falling into a dug-out ditch and facing the imminent wrath of the robot.

The final act opens with April using a crane-mounted magnet to pick up the cockroach. Caught up in one of the giant insect’s legs is Zach’s bandana, which prompts April to alert the Turtles. Leonardo and Raphael head off to join Mikey and Donnie, who at the same time are arriving at the Military Academy. There, “Sergeant Rambo” informs the two Turtles that they can’t see Zach as he’s “on a special training mission”. Not about to take no for an answer, Mikey and Donnie use the Turtle Van’s launcher to bypass the fences of the academy and gain entry. Once on school grounds, they cut off the power and sneak in before being captured by the robot cockroaches.

April and Irma arrive at the school, as do Leonardo and Raphael in the Turtle Blimp. Meanwhile, Donnie, Mikey and Zach are all about to become obedient minions thanks to the mind changer. Zach makes a last-minute play to sabotage the invention by hurling his metal Turtle badge at its central electrode. This generates an explosion large enough for the trio to be able to escape in the confusion. Mikey and Donnie lead the robot cockroaches away while Zach works with the students – now no longer under the mind changer’s control – to spray water on the robots. Seeing that their plan has been thwarted, Wingnut and Screwloose rush to escape in their flying saucer, colliding with the Turtle Blimp before flying back into space. 

Returning home, Zach is forgiven by his parents, who concede that they should have believed his story about alien invaders. (Why? He was wrong at the time and didn’t tell them about Wingnut and Screwloose, effectively this is a “broken clock is right twice a day” scenario.) April reports on Zach now being declared a hero for thwarting the alien plot to take over the school, and her coverage is watched by the Turtles in the Lair. Splinter remarks that “some youngsters never learn the difference between reality and illusion”, moments before the other Turtles mistake Michaelangelo carrying a huge stack of pizzas for another alien invader.

We really have reached Peak Zach here, as this adventure features him so prominently that the Turtles are pushed into the background of their own show, none of them getting to do much until the final act (even then, only Michaelangelo and Donatello see any real action). Mercifully, this is the penultimate appearance of “The Fifth Turtle”, and we won’t have to endure him again until season seven. His brother Walt, however, is seen for the last time here.

Wingnut and Screwloose join the various prominent characters from the TMNT action figure line who appeared earlier this season in making the transition to the small screen here, though like the Turtles they end up feeling like something of an afterthought in this story, a pair of aliens who show up at the halfway point and scurry off again as quickly as they arrived. Disappointingly, this will prove to be their only appearance in the TV series: they came, they saw, they went back to their home planet. Their brief stint here is perhaps the only notable or interesting thing about this episode, and unless you’re a big fan of the duo from their appearances in the toy line or other TMNT media I’d suggest this one is an easy skip. Let’s move on to the next episode, and...

(Checks notes)

Oh no. Oh no. Not him. Anyone but him.

[20thcentutygeek]

How 'Ted Lasso' helped me take a look at myself

Heads up there are a few spoilers for Ted Lasso season two in this blog.

The TV show Ted Lasso is an oddity. The concept isn’t something I should be interested in, and on paper it shouldn’t work. I’m not a fan of football in the slightest, and it being based on a series of comedy commercials, history tells us it should have become a series of shallow jokes about a fish out of water. It should have failed with the first season. However, it has become a phenomenon, and rightfully so. In a world divided, confused, and scared for the future comes a show that is willing to wear its heart on its sleeve and be a positive force.

That’s not to say it’s devoid of conflict or that its saccharine in its chirpy happiness. What makes Ted Lasso special is its honesty. Often when that term is used for a TV show, it’s a hard hitting drama about the worst life has to offer. While I appreciate those shows are important, showing a glimpse of how some people are forced to live, I do believe the incessant grimness has been a contributing factor in the global emotional and psychological decline. Oddly contributing to further despair, without providing suggestions for a solution.

I will acknowledge that Ted Lasso is about a football club and people that earn millions of pounds. However, it doesn’t dwell on rich people problems, or diminish the people that aren’t in the same tax bracket. The football and the money are barely a consideration or a factor in the show. Yes, they inform elements and the framing but at its heart its about people from very different backgrounds working together to raise each other up, and every week it raises me up to.

The show has covered a number of topics and themes, and I think there are great articles to be written about the portrayal of women in business, the complexity of relationships, grieving and creating a positive working environment. What I want to focus on is how it has broken down and helped me address my own toxic masculinity.

As I reach 40, I have taken a look back at my life and, like everyone else, there are things I know I could have done better at or dealt with differently. One of those things is my own relationship with my emotions and mental health. I grew up in the 80’s and 90’s and my fictional role models were action stars and superheroes who dealt in actions rather words. Greif was an opportunity for revenge and lashing out. If a wrong was identified in the world it was an opportunity to blow stuff up. There was no room for emotions. John Rambo starts by exploring his PTSD and trauma to then being dropped back into war for entertainment. Not great therapy, and the way to work through those pesky trauma nightmares was to kill more baddies.

In the 90s, during my teen years, I was swamped by Lad Culture. Get drunk and be loud, with a side of obnoxious. It was an extension of the 80s yuppie culture, work hard, play harder. I was pretty good at that. Over the years I became more worldly, and I like to think more balanced. I have had some hard lessons about how to manage and work with people. I have tried to be better and be a positive influence on people I know and work with.

I grew up with prejudices that I have addressed, and I’m embarrassed I ever held them, but somethings are harder to work on than others. My understanding and acceptance of the wider world, and the wonderful array of people that live In it, has always been tempered by how I have perceived myself and what I feel.

I have trouble with my weight and will often work ridiculous hours to get work done. I take on too much and when I get frustrated, I let it build up into anger. Then when things don’t work out, or I have too many plates spinning I get annoyed at myself for not being able to keep everything moving. This then results in the behaviour that contributes to my weight issues. It becomes a cycle. I know this, and have done for years, but to admit it, to let others know that I know this, would be the biggest failure. To admit that I can’t do any more, or that I have hit my limit when I know that others are under pressure as well is, as far as I have seen it, a sign of weakness, and so I carry on. Not wanting people to think less of me. I’m a man and I should be able to shoulder this burden. Just grab another snickers and knuckle down harder. During the pandemic this behaviour has been worse than ever.

But that may all be in the past.

Ted Lasso season two has made me stop and take a step back. Football clubs are often portrayed as hives of competition and alpha males. Ted Lasso has taken a different tact and shown how this team supports each other. In this season three elements have made me take stock.

Jamie Tart dealing with the pressure to succeed from his Father and supporters has been fascinating to watch. The internalisation of the fear of failure and the constant push for you to the be the sole winner of a team game struck home. The moment he punched out his Dad was stunning. A full stop moment. Yes, it was frustration spilling out, but it was not for him, it was for him as part of the team. A moment to say, ‘no more’ and I am part of this team, and they are there for me. The fact the punch was followed by a hug from Roy Kent was perfect. We often work as a team, in life and in work. within in that team we have responsibilities, but we are not responsible for the whole team. Be good at what you are good at and help the others to do the same and positive results are a lot more likely.

Let’s talk about Roy Kent. He should be the worst offender, but they have under-cut this perfectly and created a new modern role model. The curmudgeonly Roy has a life and reputation built on aggression and machismo. However, his arc has led him to become a great example of the ability and need to adapt and try new things, especially as we move from one stage of life to the next. His desire to change, adapt and learn for the people he loves is an inspiration. They are the people we need to be better for the most. I now stop an ask WWRFD: What Would Roy Fucking Do?

The most important is Ted and his anxiety attacks. His relationship with Dr Fieldstone has also made me question some of my own habits and what may have caused them. I’m not going to delve into my life story here (you can wait for the book J), but Ted discussing how the suicide of his father has shaped his approach to life and the emotional impact this has had, when he is forced to have to give up on things, stopped me in my tracks. The question I asked was, who am I trying to impress? What am I getting from the hours given up and why am I doing this? The waking up at 4am with anxiety isn’t a sign I care about my work, it’s a sign my work is damaging me. This isn’t something that I am going to address overnight, but these questions have started a chain reaction that has allowed me to stop and say, ‘Yes, I am struggling, and I need to take a breath’. What comes next I still need to figure out, but I know that I do need to figure it out.

Everyone behind Ted Lasso should be proud. Not only are they creating a funny show with heart, but they are also creating role models that show young (and some not so young) men, that being a man isn’t about being stoic, bearing the burden and keeping going. It’s not macho to just keep going and wash down the negativity. Being a man is about being a part of the world, being who you are, but knowing that we can all be better and being willing to explore ways of achieving that. It doesn’t mean the world and life will be easier, but it does mean that we don’t have to do it alone.

I’m heading into middle age, and I am scared of it. I am scared I won’t be able to keep up. I am scared that things are getting on top of me. I am scared that I won’t be relevant anymore. Ted Lasso came at the right time and has helped put some things in perspective for me. It’s fine to be sacred of these things, the world can be fucking scary, but its not helpful to keep those fears to myself. WWRFD? he’d begrudgingly talk to Keely, and they would work it out together, whether it’s easy or hard.

I’m about to be 40 and its time to make some changes.

[skycancats]

Chapter Nine

Sky was sitting Mottle’s den again, watching the queen eat the mouse she had given her with a slightly morose expression.

“Don’t look so glum,” she finally said, and Sky’s whiskers twitched. Mottle huffed. “You can’t be so discouraged by just this, you know. You’re never going to get what you want that way.”

“I know,” Sky said, batting halfheartedly at a pebble on the ground. Beetle’s ear flicked, but he buried himself deeper into his sister’s fur, and Sky felt briefly bad for disturbing them. “I just didn’t expect that kind of… I don’t know, anger? Out of him. Is it that big of a deal?”

Mottle paused, and then gave a heavy sigh. “Sky, you have very grand ideas. Not that they’re bad. I like the idea of living in a group. It’s less stress on me and my kittens, and I’m sure other mothers and older cats will be happy to take you up on the idea when they catch wind.” Sky didn’t retort that nursing queens and old cats weren’t catching prey, understanding that Mottle was trying to be kind right now.

“Does it bug you?” Sky asked. “The name thing, I mean.”

Mottle took a moment longer to answer than Sky was comfortable with. However, she stood up, and leaned up, grooming the top of Sky’s head as if she were one of her kittens. The taller molly was surprised, but also genuinely comforted, and she closed her eyes for a moment. When Mottle moved back, Sky hoped that she looked grateful enough. “You’ve given me and my kittens a good home. You can call me what you like.”

Sky felt satisfied with that, and she thanked Mottle, dipping her head before she stepped out, feeling a bit more confident.

She was hardly a few paces out before she ran into Rambo. He seemed pleased to see her. “Sky, I wanted to talk to you.”

Dread immediately crawled up Sky’s throat, but she forced it down, seeing as Rambo looked warm and relaxed. “Sure. What is it?”

“I’m sorry. About Fig, I mean. I guess I didn’t really expect him to stick around, and it’s my fault for dragging him into this. I should have left him out of it.” Sky was surprised at how genuinely guilty Rambo looked, and before she had a chance to speak, he went on. “I do like the naming idea, you know. I’m sure everyone else likes it, too, or they wouldn’t stick around. You have a way with cats, Sky. You’re going to be a good leader.”

Sky wasn’t sure if she had really earned that kind of praise, but it made her chest swell anyway. “You don’t need to apologise for Fig, Rambo,” she said. “That wasn’t on you. But thank you. I… really appreciate your support.”

“It’s the least I can do. I like it here.” Rambo nudged her heavily with his shoulder, and Sky nearly stumbled. He was the only cat roughly her size in the clan currently, though he may very well have been stronger than her. “I can’t wait for you to name me. I know it’ll take some getting used to and all, but I trust you.”

Sky was feeling very appreciative of Rambo and Mottle right now, and she couldn’t actually manage a verbal response for a moment, her throat feeling tight. Instead, she headbutted his shoulder, sure that he would get the message. Rambo seemed satisfied.

“Skystar, right? How’s that sound, huh?” he said, and Sky felt herself practically glow with pride.

“Not Skystar yet,” she said. When she felt like she had done everything she could to build her clan, then she would trust herself to take that kind of title. “Let me earn that.”

Rambo looked briefly surprised, as if he hadn’t expected that reponse, but he recovered swiftly. “And I’m sure you will. I’ll hold you to it.”

“You’d better,” Sky said, finally walking away. She glanced over at Snowflake and Muck, sitting together and talking, and she decided she would save them her worries for now. Like Rambo said, if it really bugged them, they would probably leave. Instead, she figured she might go for a walk, clear her head, even though she had already been hunting. She felt too restless for anything else right now.

As she climbed up the face of the gorge, she couldn’t help but think about being leader. Skystar. That sounded good to her ears -- sounded right. She wanted to believe she could be a good leader, and Rambo had certainly made the effort to instill her with confidence. He had succeeded.

When she had reached the top, she took a second to look back down on it. It was a good home, too. Sky knew the gorge inside and out, and she knew she could make it into a nice, pleasant place for a whole host of cats. She had no idea how many she would end up with by the time she felt she had the proper amount. Perhaps twice as many as were there now? She couldn’t be sure. She would probably know. Or she hoped she would know. Perhaps she should let instinct guide her a little more.

She trotted into the woods nearby, opening her mouth slightly to draw in scents. She could taste faint prey-scent, and fainter cat-scent, and she figured she would ignore both for now. She pledged to catch something on the way back, to at least get something productive out of her walk. She was too distracted by thoughts of Skystar and larger clans to be focusing on hunting.

She would need a second in command. She had thought about it a few times, and she had a good idea of who she might choose. Rambo was really the most obvious choice. He had been supportive since he joined the group. A part of Sky wanted to doubt that a little, but he seemed genuine, and Mottle had vouched for him. And Mottle, of course, had been supportive in her own right. She was the first cat Sky came to when she had worries, and she offered good advice. It wasn’t a decision Sky wanted to be hasty about, of course, but she would rather mull over it sooner than later.

“Skystar,” she mumbled to herself, finding the name filled her with a joy that she could hardly contain. It sounded good. She wouldn’t yet dare start calling herself by it, nor would she make anyone else use it, but it did feel good to think about it. Leader of a clan. It occurred to her that she would have to give her clan a name soon enough. She supposed it could continue to be ‘the clan’ (or, more warmly, ‘her clan’), since there were no others in the area, but that didn’t feel right. She wanted to set it apart, make it clear that it was a special group, but that was definitely thinking far too far ahead, and so she shook her head. Little steps for now, she told herself. Getting too far ahead of herself could lead to frustration and heartbreak, if she was unlucky.

Still, she thought, crouching down as she caught the nearby scent of mouse close to her, it will be worth the effort.

[theclaravoyant]

a fitzskimmons 5x06 coda

AN ~ for @sapphicdeanoru who prompted to this effect, as well as for myself, for @florchis because fitzskimmons!! to be clear this is romantic fitzskimmons, though there is a parallel version of this scene in brotp form here if that’s more your cup of tea. (or of course, both!)

enjoy!

Read on AO3 (~1700wd, part of a collection of more shippy but not smutty fsk if you’re into that). Rated T for references to canon-typical violence, injury - but it’s actually quite fluffy, I promise!

--

“Put me down, put me down!” Daisy demanded as they rounded another corner and approached what might, for now, be called safety. Reluctantly, FitzSimmons obliged, and Daisy cried out through clenched teeth as they eased her to the ground as best they could.

“I’m sorry, that was my bad,” Fitz fretted. “I should have nicked the remote-“

“I should have just climbed the bloody stairs instead of being a showoff,” Daisy retorted and gritted her teeth, looking up and away as Jemma prodded at her injuries. “I knew they had it. What an idiot. May’s gonna kill me.”

“If it helps, you looked amazing,” Fitz assured her. Daisy snorted, and Jemma rolled her eyes – though her fond smile suggested she agreed.

“Follow my finger,” she instructed, and began the customary dance while Daisy did her best to follow. When she was done, Jemma frowned, and hummed softly to herself. Daisy grimaced.

“What’s the damage, doc?”

“Well, you’ve got a relatively minor concussion,” she explained, in an exasperated tone, “which I’d say was impressive except that it seems to be due to your poor ankle taking the worst of it. The right one is definitely broken, possibly shattered, and the left doesn’t look too happy either. You’re extremely lucky that you didn’t dislocate something, dropping from that height onto solid concrete.”

“So what you’re saying is, May should kill me,” Daisy noted. “Good to have you onside. Thanks for the support.”

She groaned as she tried to adjust her seating position, and Jemma glared at her.

“What I am saying,” she corrected, “is that you’d better hope your face doesn’t swell up too much because that and your hands are the only things you have going for you.”

Daisy smiled a winning smile, and batted her eyelids. “Aren’t they always?”

Her attempt at humour faded, however, when Jemma pursed her lips and went back to her work. She knew that Jemma was only crabby because she was worried, but it still hurt. Fortunately, Fitz took this moment to reach for her hand, and though her knuckles were bloody and bruised, his touch was soothing. His eyes were gentle, warm and comforting.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said. “Sorry for putting you in that position.”

“’s okay,” Daisy excused him. “It got us here, didn’t it?”

“Sorry about – that Inhuman,” Fitz continued.

“Ben.” Daisy sighed. “Yeah. Me too.”

Jemma paused in her ministrations. Her expression had softened, no longer as affected by her own frustration and worry after overhearing Fitz and Daisy. Trying to cut away the bottom of Daisy’s pants with only a butterknife seemed like a minor problem now. Still, it had to be done. She cleared her throat, cracking through the fragile silence and pulling them back to the task at hand.

“Ah, sorry,” she interrupted. “Does anyone have anything for – “

With his free hand – the one not holding Daisy’s - Fitz reached into his boot and pulled out a whopper of a knife; something that had apparently come straight out of Rambo. It sliced through Daisy’s pants with ease, and Jemma started working on her shoe.

“Where the hell did you get that?” Daisy scoffed. Fitz gestured to his jacket, and the gleaming Genku-larvae badge.

“Evil scary murderer, remember?”

“Right. Got anything else up your sleeve?”

“Unfortunately not. We were short on time and shockingly, when Kasius decided to surround himself with competitive warmongers he requested that no weapons be allowed.”

“Jemma?” Daisy asked hopefully. “You’ve got huge sleeves. Anything useful?”

“Just the butterknife.” Jemma held it up, its tiny serrations shimmering with some sort of blue liquid. Fitz and Daisy frowned at it, then at each other.

“Is that…” Fitz wondered.

“Blood?” Jemma filled in. “Yes, I think so. I don’t think he’s dead, or there would have been more of it, but it’ll throw him.”

“It’ll also make him want to kill you,” Fitz pointed out.

“- but you stole his prize possession, and 'it' helped,” Daisy added, “so he probably already wants to kill all of us. Which means we shouldn’t stay here.”

“Ideally, we shouldn’t move you either,” Jemma pointed out. “But you’re right. Fitz?”

“On it.” Fitz grabbed the knife and hacked one of Jemma’s sleeves away. Then he began ripping the material into strips, and Daisy focused on staying as still as possible while Jemma made quick work of a tourniquet.

“Now, Daisy, don’t you walk on this,” she warned gravely. “And once we get you back to the lower decks, keep it elevated above your heart, okay?”

“What- you’re going to dump me in medical?” Daisy objected. “What about May? What about…“

Voiceless, her lips finished the sentence: what about us?

Us against the world.

Jemma bit her lip. She glanced over at Fitz, and he looked back with the same thought in his eyes. It was risky, but neither one of them would take well to being left behind, especially with the rest of the team in danger. Besides, it was not as though Daisy herself was not hot property: they couldn’t trust that the lower decks would not be raided, and leaving a powerless, severely injured Daisy alone with a price on her head was not something that appealed to them either. In fact, they were probably even less supportive of the idea than Daisy herself.

Somewhere down the hall, a bullet pinged off metal.

“I vote we argue about this later,” Fitz suggested, already helping Daisy to her feet.

“Seconded,” Daisy agreed.

“What are we going to do?” Jemma pressed. Her hands tightened around the knives.

Wide-eyed, the three of them shared a look, each spinning calculations in their heads based on their skills, resources, and liabilities. Questions pinged around the circle.

“You know your way around here, right?”

“How far can you carry 130 pounds?”

“Is it too risky to remove the implants altogether?”

“How many rounds has this thing got left?”

“Okay, I’ve got it,” Daisy declared. “Jemma, you go on ahead. Keep the knives, we might need them later, but the fight’s behind us at the moment. You navigate. Fitz: I’m gonna need you to think buff thoughts. First stop is the nearest elevator, wherever the hell that is.”

“What about you?”

“Me?” Daisy snatched the gun off Fitz, checked its rounds, and cocked it. “I take this. Concussed or not concussed I can still hit a moving target if it’s 180 pounds, especially if it’s moving toward me.” More bullets, and shouting down the hall. Daisy ground her teeth together. “So are we ready?”

Then came a shout of Hey, you there! which the three of them took as a queue.

Jemma took off, piecing together everything she’d learnt over her time here into as comprehensive a map as she could make, and willing herself to find the lift, lift, lift. Fitz hauled Daisy into his arms and ran after her, concentrating on keeping his back to the battle so that Daisy’s aim of the ICER over his shoulder remained true. It was nervewracking, but their enemies fell, and though a few bullets shot past, none of them touched him.

Daisy whooped with glee as they left their first lot of enemies behind them.

“Nice work! How’s that elevator coming, Jemma? And – damn, Fitz, do you even lift?”

She grinned, and Fitz scoffed – insofar as one could, as his lungs started to resist the straining effort of his arms.

“There’s not much to do in prison, okay?” he retorted.

“Prison?” she frowned. “When were you in prison?”

“Long story. Carry now, talk later.”

“This way.” Jemma waved them into a side passage, and then into an elevator.

“Oh, thank God,” Fitz sighed, and for a moment he let Daisy slip to the ground so that she stood on one foot, leaning on his shoulders. She mimicked a swoon, grinning broadly as she teased;

“My hero! Oh – and speaking of which, what was that ‘marry me, Fitz’ nonsense in the arena?”

“Not nonsense! I really meant it,” Jemma objected, and when Daisy met her with a skeptical glare, raised her hands innocently. “What? He was being all dashing and I couldn’t help it. You should’ve seen him.”

“Is this true?” Daisy demanded, prodding Fitz in the shoulder.

“That depends,” he returned. “D’you call this dashing?”

He lunged in for a kiss, running his hands over her back for extra support as she swayed backward on one ankle, the other hovering like a popped cherry. She tasted like sweat and grit, which actually wasn’t unusual for her. He tasted of decadent wine he probably hated, and Jasmine flowers – Jemma’s perfume, Daisy realised. He held her up more strongly than usual, knowing she couldn’t stand on her own right now, but even so his expression was tender as she rested her forehead against his, and brushed her fingers through his stubble. He ran his teeth over his own lower lip, as if he could still feel her kiss on them, and his eyes shone with a deep and powerful sense of contentment.

Daisy sighed, even though her heart was pounding in her chest.

“Fine,” she breathed, running a finger down his jacket and hoping her cheeks de-flushed sometime soon. “Marry me too, ya bastard.”

“It would be my pleasure,” he replied, and put a hand over hers where she played with the badge that rested over his heart. “But I wouldn’t touch that if I were you. It’s made of space bugs.”

“Ooh, what kind?” Jemma interrupted. She paid no mind to Fitz and Daisy’s amused smirk as they passed it over to her; more interested in the diamonte-like decorations. “Looks like Genku larvae. Fascinating.”

“Happy Engagement, babe,” Fitz said, leaning over to kiss her. Daisy tried to counterbalance, but the angle was wrong and she yelped when her toes hit the floor. Fitz straightened up immediately to catch her.

“Sorry!” he cried. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Daisy assured him. “But all I want for our engagement is for you to make it down the next hallway without bumping my ankle on any doorways, okay?”

“Done.”

With that, all three of them refocused with steely determination on the doors that were about to open up before them. Daisy pointed the nose of her pistol forward this time, and Jemma – knives at the ready, just in case – made sure to stay out of the way.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

[alleiradayne]

Movie Night

(so apparently that gif exists. anyhoops... )

For: @chaos-and-the-calm67‘s 80s Writing Challenge

Title: Movie Night

Author: AlleiraDayne

Featuring: Sam x Female Reader, standard SPN universe post season 12.

Rating: NSFW (smut, language)

Word Count: 1,844

It’s movie night, and Sam’s asked you to pick an 80s film he’s never seen. Problem is, he’s seen damn near all of them.

Author’s Note: This is the first time I’ve written reader/you insert. And I’m not crazy about it. It’s restrictive in sentence syntax and diction due to the constant use of the “you” pronoun. But, all that said, I still enjoyed it, and it gave me an excuse to write about Sam doing all sorts of naughty things.

“Die Hard.”

Why bother asking? Without a doubt, John Winchester had educated his children in the ways of Bruce Willis. And Sam’s scowl will never let you forget it, his brow angled like a raptor’s wings in flight. “Give me a break, that was our mandatory Christmas movie every year.”

“Alright, alright, it was worth a shot,” you abide. “Lemme think a minute.”

With fingers laced behind your head, you lean back in the chair, the tips of Sam’s deft thumbs digging into the knots on the bottoms of your feet. The silence of the bunker permeates your mind, sluggish and struggling to remember the movies of your own childhood. On the table rests your laptop, a list of movies glowing bright, searched to aid in your guessing game.

“The Goonies.”

“Okay, now I’m offended,” he states as he digs deep and you gasp, a sharp shock lancing up your leg.

“Hey!” you shout with a laugh as you straighten in your chair. “Gentle! That’s a good one.”

“Oh,” he hums with his own smirk. “You mean right… here?”

His thumbs dig in again, another bolt of pain numbing your toes. “Stop that!” you hiss with a giggle as you swat at his hands. “It hurts so good!”

“Then keep looking,” he insists with a nod towards the laptop. “There’s only a couple I haven’t seen. If you find one, we’ll watch it.”

“And what if I don’t find one?” you ask.

Another prod of his thumbs replies, followed by an appraising quirk of his brow. Nose scrunched, you return his scowl, but Sam laughs despite your glare.

“Just wait until tonight when these are ice cold,” you tease with a wiggle of your toes. “I’ll warm them up on your thighs.”

His laughter cuts off with a click of his teeth, Sam’s hazel glare serious as a heart attack. “Don’t even think about it,” he mutters, and his subtle shift in tactic races gooseflesh along your leg, the tips of his fingers light on your ankles. “Pick!”

God dammit. Focusing with Sam’s hands plying your flesh, the innocent skin of your toes, calves, the backs of your knees, proved impossible. “Raiders,” you blurt in a rush of air.

“I’m beginning to think you’re not even trying,” he whispers as his hands slip along your thighs. “Y/N?”

Son of a bitch. “Ghostbusters. Aliens. Empire. Blade Runner. Sixteen Candles.”

Sam’s scoff of disapproval draws yours eyes from the laptop, his own coy smirk far too confident. “You’re close,” he mutters under his breath. Nimble fingers grasp the belt loops of your jeans and jerk the chair to him. A breathless gasp sneaks past parted lips, and his massive hands grip your thighs, thumbs biting into your muscles. “So close,” he whispers, lips on your ear and breath scalding your skin.

“Shit,” you mutter, “ah… Princess Bride. Lost Boys. Karate Kid.”

“Excellent movies,” Sam agrees with a press of his lips to your neck. “But I’ve seen them all.”

An unbidden whimper floats to the surface, buoyed by a fresh wave of arousal. “Weird Science?”

Sam’s deep laughter, sung through his nose, rivals the sweetest music. “Nice try,” he replies as he slides from his chair to kneel between your thighs. “But no dice.”

Shit, but this was difficult. Not only were the 80s rife with cult classics, attempting to find the select few Sam had yet to see bordered on impossible with his lips and tongue on your neck, trailing kisses along your collar. “Evil Dead… Jedi… Bill and Ted…”

“Keep going,” he moans into the hollow of your neck.

Fuck.

In a bid for control, your hands seek his hair, his thick brown locks the perfect leverage, but to no avail. Your grip falls slack as Sam follows the plunging neckline of your shirt, lips guided by the curve of your breasts. “Uh… Rambo. Coming to America. E.T.”

“Seen ‘em,” he breaths into your flesh.

How unlucky? Then again, with Sam’s lips on your skin, unlucky opposed every sensation, every rush of arousal that dizzied your vision, spinning the room with relentless assault. But it’s when you search the screen of the laptop one last time that his fingers grasp your shirt, dipping into your bra and revealing the taut nipple of a breast. “Anymore guesses?” he whispers with a lick of his lips, dangerously close to the rosy pink flesh.

Another whimper drags from your chest, breath in short supply as his lips part and he nears the peak. “I don’t… God dammit, I don’t know,” you whine, “there’s too many.”

“Oh, you can find it,” Sam sighs, his breath scalding the sensitive skin. “It’s obvious at this point.”

You grunt in frustration, unable to fathom the obvious with so many movies remaining, let alone Sam’s distractions. Sci-fi, drama, action, you balk at the options, too numerous. And if you don’t act soon, movie night would be postponed, for Sam’s eager lips hovered, a mere inch shy of your skin, tongue reaching with a slow stretch. With one more glance to the laptop, you find your saving grace, the movie standing out clear as day.

“An American Werewolf in London.”

His lips close around your nipple, sucking you into his mouth and tongue swirling around the taut bud. A sharp, gasping cry of amazement rushes to the ceiling, your back arching for more. Tongue and lips work in perfect rhythm to extract every ounce of pleasure from you, and the prayers, the benedictions of praise run from your lips in a babbling mess. God, if the punishment for being wrong was Sam Winchester’s divine lips feasting on your body, why bother ever being right?

The button of your jeans pops apart with a flick of his fingers, zipper drawing in a tantalizing drag, and Sam’s eyes lock with yours. Lewd sucking sounds fill your ears, coupled with his quiet moans, so soft it might be your imagination. But unbidden rolls of your hips encourage him, eager for more, and he obliges, sucking harder, fingertips biting into your skin, and his hand slips into your pants.

He gasps, a short breath paired with a wet pop as your breast falls from his lips and two of his long, thick fingers fill you. His ravenous moan sings with yours, the chorus of your lust rising to the heavens in a dizzying rush of arousal. Son of a bitch, but he was good. Mere seconds of his attention reduced you to a puddle of raw arousal, his name and more and please, yes, God, that’s so good and holy shit, I’m so close your mantras, repeated like a prayer desperate for absolution. And in a way, it is; as Sam’s free hand tugs aside the fabric covering your other breast, he answers your every ask, the tip of his tongue stiff against your hardened peak. He teases you, drawing out your pleasure until you writhe in your chair, squirming as he struggles to hold you, pinning you with his weight, but it’s too much, and his lips suck you into his mouth, cheeks hollowed as his eyes find yours again, and his fingers—

A cry of shock rents the air, your moan creeping ever higher, transcending into a final whimper as Sam withdraws, a languid stroke of your sex. You seek leverage again, some measure of control, a semblance of stability in the torrent of arousal lest you drift out to sea, forever lost in the storm. And so, you reach out, the fingers of one hand diving into his hair again and wrenching him from your breast. It falls from his mouth with another lewd pop, undulating with heaving breaths.

And when his lips meet yours in a greedy, hungry kiss, the entire world shatters, exploding into a million tiny pieces. Sweet and warm with the subtle tang of beer lingering on his tongue, you devour him, consuming everything he gives to you. But it’s not enough. You need more, a foundation, something solid, whole, and your free hand flies to the table searching for that reality.

But your fingers smack the keyboard of your laptop instead.

Call it serendipity, call it ironic, hell, call it a coincidence, but to you in that moment, with Sam’s hand buried in your pants and his lips crushing yours, ticking clocks and Back to the Future could fuck right off.

Sam freezes, fingers shuddering and tongue slipping from your mouth as his attention turns to the laptop, clocks ticking in earnest. You follow his wide-eyed stare to the screen where your searching hand managed to start the 80s sci-fi classic. And then he parts from you, hand abandoning your center as he stares, mouth agape and brow creeping toward his hairline.

Perfect. Way to ruin the moment, Y/N, way to ruin perfect foreplay preceding what was sure to be a night of amazing sex, and god dammit, you’d been so fucking patient since teaming up with Sam and his brother, it was about time the two of you—

“Are you… did you do that on purpose?”

“No!” you shout as you smack the keyboard again, pausing the movie. “I hit it on accident.”

“Huh,” he laughs, a short chuckle though his nose. “That’s it.”

A dark scowl furrows your brow as you glare at Sam. “What?”

“I’ve never seen Back to the Future,” he explains, “I suppose we can watch it now. Unless you want—”

Your lips silence him, grasp tightening in his hair, and the smallest whimper from Sam's throat hums through your entire body, a coursing rush of arousal seeking release. And Sam acquiesces, his tongue parting your lips and drowning your senses once more. The seconds drag for an eternity, stretching as if to grant you more time in that moment, until Sam parts from you.

“Do you want to watch it now or—” he starts but the thought drifts into a moan.

The flat of your hand smooths along his stiffened length in his jeans, reaching the belt buckle and unfastening it. The button of his pants follows in quick succession, and Sam’s awed gaze unravels your every restraint.

“Later,” you whisper against his lips.

Sam’s strength never ceases to amaze you, but as he grasps your backside and lifts you from the chair, another pathetic sigh graces your lips. Across the bunker he carries you to his room, but at his door, he hesitates. Ever the gentleman, Sam checks in again, warm, hazel eyes alight with excitement.

“You sure?”

One more kiss ought to drive your point home, and so your lips crush his, rough and greedy and insistent. Sam throws the door wide open, kicked with a heavy thud of his boot, and he rushes to his bed, wasting no time as he lays you upon the mattress. With your bodies flush, the kiss lingers, easing to a tender touching of lips and soft swipes of the tongue until he parts from you again.

“Later, then?” he asks one last time.

A coy smirk hooks the corner of your lips as you unzip his pants, his moan piercing the silence.

“Much later.”

[dezzyparrish]

Rambo, John J. ! (all 5 of the Bloods)

... This is not a review.  This is more of a rant.  Content Warning.  This post is going to have so many bad things in it.  Racism, mysogyny, graphic violence, rape, forced drug use, post-traumatic stress, torture, war, and hate.  I can’t stress this enough and I’m serious, there is some seriously ugly shit that I’m discussing. Don’t read if you don’t want it in your brain.

I also might need to get better at my Content Warnings, when I’m nervous I try to be entertaining, and the above elements are not entertaining subjects.

I saw Rambo: Last Blood while Physically Distancing (I misspelled that Psychically Distancing and it’s kind of appropriate too!)

If you have not seen this movie, don’t.  It leaves a stain on your soul.  I’ve been worried about even writing about it, because in the writing, I’m giving it attention and as POTUS45 has shown us in SPADES for the past 4 years plus, Bad Attention is just as good as Good Attention.

Sigh.  I hate this. It’s just a matter of time that someone is gonna discover this blog and give me shit.

So, the Rambo flicks.  I watched the first four. Except for the first movie, First Blood, they’re all mediocre to bad movies, but fun.  First Blood is a good movie, it deserves all the credit it gets.

I watched the trailers for Last Blood and was really interested in this movie.  It looked like a book-end to the long (damn near 40 year) story of Captain John Rambo.  When we meet John, he’s a drifter, a Vietnam Veteran only a few years out of his war.  He’s hitch-hiking and visiting his old brothers-in-arms from the war, finding that, over the years many have died, others are in the same PTSD place he’s lived in.  We learn, by “drifter”, we mean “homeless”.  He wanders into the wrong small town, the sheriff and his deputies arrest him, abuse him, trigger his trauma as a Special Forces soldier and a Prisoner of War, and Rambo snaps and falls into his dark and scary mental spot where he is *back* in the Jungle fighting for his life.  The movie ends with the Sheriff’s office destroyed, the Sheriff machinegunned by an M-60 and bleeding out on the roof, and John’s old unit Commander, Colonel Trautman talking him back to reality and the present world.  John gives a monologue that gives powerful voice to the injustice, frustrations and rage of the soldiers who came home from Vietnam only to find that they couldn’t really come home.  This was in 1982, and as a society, the US was still wrestling with the divide over Vietnam, First Blood is fully in the “Vets are forgotten and hated by their country” camp.  My personal politics have evolved over the decades but even today as a long-haired pinko almost-Commie in California I still find it powerful.  This is John Rambo’s first story, he came home from war and found no peace, no end to his war.

Rambo: First Blood part II went from a drama with a little action to a full blown blockbuster style action flick.  Trautman recruits John from jail (since.. in the first film he destroys a town, and shoots the shit out of everything) for a special mission to return to Vietnam and win the war by saving forgotten POWs.  First Blood part II is two hours of explosions, stabbity, arrow grenades, strafing the ground from a helicopter, betrayal from the CIA, Russkies!  blood, blood and more blood.  First Blood part II really establishes the franchise as movies that aren’t very deep and John Rambo as an Action Superhero (with an Action figure toy line and a Saturday Morning Cartoon).  It’s “fun!” and ridiculous.   Rambo kills the Bad Guy (TM) by shooting him *WITH AN EXPLODING ARROW*, blowing Bad Guy to Hell in a shower of gobbity bits.  John Rambo’s second story, he starts in social isolation (prison), gets dragged back into War, then ends up walking into the distance searching for peace.  Remember that, it’s gonna come back over and over again.

Rambo III finds John in a Monastery somewhere in the world trying to find peace.  Trautman finds him (which is another recurring theme.. no matter where John goes in the world, War finds him and drags him back) and recruits him to fight the Russians in Afghanistan.  John refuses and Trautman has to start the secret mission on his own, and is captured by the Soviets, drawing Rambo into the conflict.  We’re gonna pause right here to bring up some history and some theming..

Rambo III tried to pay off on two real life promises.  The first is a theme in the franchise.  First Blood was about Vietnam, which the Soviets are indirectly referred to as a power using the war as a proxy for the US.  The Soviets are at this point are indirectly an antagonist.  In First Blood Part II, we see a Russian Spetznaz (spelling) “advising” the Vietnamese army on how best to use all those American prisoners.  The Soviets aren’t the main antagonist of Part II, but they make an appearance.  Rambo III pays this off by finally squaring Rambo off directly against the Red Army in a slug-fest.  The Hollywood version of the prize-fight war between the United States and the USSR for the SUPERPOWER CHAMPIONSHIP OF THE WOOOOOOORRRRRLD!  hypehypehype!  Rambo III also makes a second promise because in 1989 the Soviet Union was fighting a 10 year long Guerilla War against the Mujahidin in Afghanistan.  The US was supporting the Mujahidin fighters with support and modern weapons, tipping the balance against the Red Army.  Rambo III was supposed to be the cinematic Call to Arms for the US to enter Afghanistan and throw a knock-out blow against the hated Russians.  Except, in 1989, just before the movie was released, the Soviets *withdrew* from Afghanistan.  They ended the war and went home.  There was an historic profession of the last column of Soviet Tanks crossing back into the USSR, and in the last tank, the Red Army Commander was the last soldier to pull out in defeat.  Before Rambo III was released, but after it was made.  So that movie flopped.  It was a call-to-arms for a war that was over.

CONTENT WARNING: HARD CORE RACISM HERE

Ok, back from that aside. Rambo III starts to get more cringy, but we’re still in the ‘80s, almost the ‘90s and This was Reagan’s America as it became Poppy Bush’s New World Order.  So, John Rambo coming to Afghanistan and becoming a better Afghani than the people who live there is pretty par-for-the course.  I mean there’s a scene where John plays Horse Soccer with all the fighters and using a severed goat head as the ball.  Bloody, severed goat head. (Message: Brown People in other parts of the world are unsophisticated, and savage.)  John almost single handedly wins the sport for his team and is accepted as one of the fighters.. all the Mujahidin surround him with cheers and congratulate him in broken English.. because again, when you are in your home freaking country playing your own sport, you must try to appease the American Demigod by only talking to him in English, the language of Awesome!  There’s more wartime violence and torture with shooting, and stabbity and explosions.  

At one point John is wounded (OH NO) and has to crawl into a cave by himself.. bleeding and dying. He pours the powder from a bullet into his wound and lights it on fire to cauterize it. He’s all better after the scene transition.  Everything is good. Then goes back to killing Russians, rescuing Trautman and winning the proxy war against the hated Commie Red Russians.  This is John Rambo’s third story, he starts in social isolation, is dragged back into war, and ends up walking into the distance looking for peace.

John Rambo, Rambo IV is more of the same.  it’s the first Rambo movie I didn’t see in theatres but, I did cue it up the first time I saw it pop on to the streaming networks.  It starts the same way that al the previous installments do.  John Rambo living a solitary life, trying to come to grips with his life.  This time he’s back in Southeast Asia when some Christian Missionaries contact him to serve as a guide into Myanmar (which was in the midst of a Civil War).  John warns them off and refuses the offer.  The Missionaries go anyway and vanish into the jungle, taken prisoner by the Army (strongly implied if not outright mentioned, I honestly can no longer recall, of the Real World Authoritarian Totalitarian Government that siezed power at that time).  Rambo is once again pulled into a war to save the White Christian Missionaries from the Evil Heathen People. 

CONTENT WARNING - RACISM, MYSOGENY, RAPE and GRAPHIC VIOLENCE.

During the movie, somewhere in Act 2, we see the Missionary Woman prisoner of the Army, locked in a little bamboo cell just like the ones in the Vietnamese POW camp in First Blood Part II.  In comes the guard to get himself some rapin’ done.  Leering and laughing, the woman terrified.. and just as the music gets to it’s most menacing, guard gasps in surprise and Rambo’s beefy hand grabs his throat from the darkness.  Then, over the next 20 seconds, John Rambo digs his fingers into the guy’s throat, blood gushing and going everywhere, then Rambo tears his god damn throat out.  With his bare hand.  Rambo has murdered his way through two and a half movies by this point we’ve watched countless faceless goons, soldiers and thugs shot, stabbed, blown up, gunned down.  In fact the only movie where John Rambo doesn’t commit mass murder is First Blood.  One guy dies, by accident, by his own foolishness and John doesn’t kill him, dude falls out of his helicopter.  There’s an argument that the sheriff dies of his wounds, but if he did it was off-screen after the credits and we see him wheeled out by paramedics. But this poor bastard.. rapey guard, we get to linger on his very bloody, excruciating death for 20 fucking seconds.  I mean at least the previous 400 guys died fast.  During the Escape of Act 3, Rambo commandeers a mounted heavy machine gun in a truck and turns it on the pursuing soldiers.  This is a huge gun, an old Soviet anti-aircraft weapon designed to shoot down Attack Helicopters and the first thing Rambo does is turn it on the poor guy in the drivers seat of the truck  like a foot and a half away from the muzzle and vaporize him (at least he went fast, if gruesomely), then turns the gun on the soldiers, who attack in waves and we get a montage of dudes getting blown to little bitty pieces by a Heavy Machine gun.  Missionaries saved, woman’s virtue preserved, lesson learned (don’t spread the white man’s faith to godless heathens in a war zone).  and John Rambo walks into the distance, looking for peace.

CONTENT WARNING - EVERYTHING

Rambo V: Last Blood had some promise.  I saw the trailers and they showed John back in the US, on a farm, with a family.  I was looking forward to the book-end of John Rambo’s story.  One last fight for an old soldier.  John would likely die in the end, he’s mortal man after all, and looking back through the movie history, he had to be seventy or more by the time this movie opens.

HOOO BOY WAS I WRONG

Look, I’ve spent a LOT of words giving context in detail of the four previous movies, and I’ve been critical of all of them.  But even the most problematic of the Rambo Movies, there was a break in the cringe.  Maybe they’re a product of the time in which they were made, maybe it was that the violence just became cartoon-silly after a while.  The Rambo movies were.. fun.  Stupid, hyperviolent, problematic fun, but there’s a whole pop-culture subgenre of making silly references to Rambo.  From Hot Shots to Tropic Thunder, a thousand short comedy skits.  This movie though.

I can’t go into detail like I did earlier.  It’s that bad.  But John Rambo has finally found a home in the Southwest of America.  His Country has taken him back in.  He is a father-figure to a daughter who is on the verge of going to college.  He breaks in horses like a cowboy.   He has a tunnel complex dug beneath the whole of the property where he has every personal weapon known to mankind and a forge where he blacksmiths knives and a damascus steel letter opener as a “go to college present for said young adult adopted daughter.

Girl learns of her birth father in Mexico, just across the border.  Daddy Rambo warns her not to go “You don’t know the DARKNESS in men’s hearts, I do”.  Girl ignroes Dad (of course) and goes in search of birth Dad.  Mexico in this movie is a Brietbart/ Alt-right Nightmare of unwashed hordes on our doorstep. Tragedy strikes, birth father is a slimeball, girl is kidnapped, cartels are evil, huaman trafficking, graphic violence, forced drug use, and rape.  Rambo goes in to save girl and murders his way through dozens of thugs, using anything at hand.  He finds girl, takes her home and she dies on the way back, from an overdose of drugs and all the torment.

John Rambo returns to Mexico and takes his vengeance.  It’s like an ‘80s slasher flick except the camp counselors aren’t innocent teenagers but harden cartel gang members and we’re expected to root for the Killer.  This draws the rest of the Cartel Soldiers back to John at his farm as act 3 opens.  Entering the United States through a Tunnel, kitting up like a Fortnite Group and heading out.

There is 10 solid minutes of Carnage filmed with the most skill and care that the film-makers, including Sylvester Stallone who has now a 44 year career of movie making under his belt.

John has a closing voice over monologue after killing the Last Bad Guy (TM). The last scene is John Rambo rocking on his front porch musing about how he will *ALWAYS* defend his country against all its enemies.  He Lives.  There’s an opening for a Sequel.

I had to shower.  its been continuing to bounce around in my head, which is why I’m writing it down here.  Rambo: Last Blood, in ANY OTHER UNIVERSE would be nothing more than an underground film passed around White Power rallies, “here’s your copy of the Turner Diaries, Hitlers speeches, and watch this bruthr”.  It seems like I might have went on for a long time when I started out that I couldn’t add details, I didn’t.  This was without details.

So, avoid this movie.  Just. Save yourself the stain in your brain and not watch this movie.