#also why did i make my heroine a horse girl when i know fucking nothing about horses? WHO KNOWS

[greenconverses]

i finally hit 20K *confetti toss*

#jess does nanowrimo #i had a few days where i didn't write this but had to do GASP homework instead #but so far i've been really consistent and i'm happy with that! #at some point i will get these idiots on their fake courtship journey #this first draft is gonna be so LONG #also why did i make my heroine a horse girl when i know fucking nothing about horses? WHO KNOWS

[figonas]

Twilight Re-watch Notes Pt. 1 - A Contest for the Worst Movie Quote in History

I'd like to think I'm funny so please enjoy my scene-by-scene notes from a recent Twilight Saga re-watch.

Hey Catherine Hardwicke, opening with the death of an animal was probably not the best choice but go off I guess??

There is a lot of general Bella awkwardness that I'm skipping over here but the scene in gym class is so horrifically, painfully uncomfortable that I almost passed out from the second-hand embarrassment.

Jessica trying her best to be fake nice to the human embodiment of a crumpled soda can: "Aren't people from Arizona like....really tan"

Bella with all the cadence of a child who just found out Santa isn't real: "yeah..I guess that's why they kicked me out"

Mike clearly just trying to get his dick wet: "HAHAH you are funny"

no mike she is not.

I'm not gonna go into the biology class scene because god knows tumblr has beaten that particular horse to death. BUT the scene in the administration office immediately after that is a TRIP. Edward has one of his most dramatic lines here when they won't let him switch classes: “I’ll just have to endure it” ?!?!?!?!?!?! This is INSANITY, he sounds like he's going to burst into tears like Edward please chill you aren't even being a little subtle.

I will never get over Bella trying to put Ketchup on her burger and then just???? giving up???? when it doesn't come out after she limply shakes it approximately once.

“HOW YOU LIKIN DA RAIN GIRL” Is our first contender for the worst and most unnatural line in movie history, and trust me there are plenty more.

Bella accusatorily saying “you were gone” to Edward as if this dude who she met for approximately 30 minutes 2 weeks ago owes her even a PALTRTY SCRAP of an explanation about anything???????

Actually, this whole scene is a horrific nightmare of awkward intrusive conversation:

“You’re asking me about the weather” HOE WHAT ELSE ARE YOU GONNA TALK ABOUT YOU DON’T KNOW EACH OTHER

“hey did you get contacts” WHO JUST ASKS THAT?!?

and of course; “it’s the fluorescents” [RUNS AWAY]

Charlie and Bella have the only organic-sounding dialogue in the entire movie. Any awkwardness they have is BELIEVABLE father-daughter awkwardness and not like "I'm being forced to film this against my will" awkwardness like every other exchange in this film series.

Bella asks Edward ALL OF ONCE about him saving her from the truck and Edward gets so haughty and smug thinking that Bella won't figure it out

“you’re not gonna let this go are you?” “no” “then I hope you enjoy disappointment” [storms off] MY DUDE LITERALLY 2 SCENES LATER SHE FIGURES IT OUT IN 3 GOOGLE CLICKS

“I had an adrenaline rush, it’s very common you can google it” contender number two for the terrible dialogue award.

Edward saying “if you were smart you would stay away from me” AFTER HE APPROACHED HER LIKE FUCK OFF [skeleton throwing its own skull gif]

Kstew got a lot of flack for her performance in this movie but when she has a good partner to exchange lines with she SHINES. The scene with Angela and her at the beach where she tells her to ask Eric to prom is GOOD. EVERY scene with Charlie in THIS ENTIRE FRANCHISE is GOOD. It is nothing but pure misogyny that Rpatz didn’t catch any flack for his truly, horrifically awkward performance

I cannot believe Stephanie thought it would be a good idea to have Edward save Bella from potentially getting gang r*ped like I get it girl is about the drama but still this is just a TOOOUCH too far

“your hand is so cold,” WHO SAYS THIS TO SOMEONE THEY BARELY KNOW COMPLETELY UNPROMPTED???

SHE TRIES TO REFUSE CARRYING BEAR MACE WHEN SHE WAS ALMOST R*PED NOT 4 HOURS PREVIOUSLY LIKE SIS CARRY A KNIFE?!?!?!?!?

The “you’re impossibly fast & strong” monologue is so bad I want to barf

“I’ve killed people before” “doesn’t matter” BITCH YES IT DOES WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU

“MY OWN PERSONAL BRAND OF HEROIN” IS SO BAD. Like we all recognize how bad this is right? Especially when one considered the target demographic for these films, i.e. teenage girls, have NO FUCKING FRAME OF REFERENCE FOR THIS WHAT.SO.EVER.

“And so the lion fell in love with the lamb” YOU’VE KNOWN EACH OTHER FOR ALL OF 3 SECONDS I CAN’T WITH Y'ALL. AT LEAST THE BOOK HAD SOME BUILD-UP JESUS GEEZUS

Who thought this meadow scene was a good idea, they need to be sent straight to hell. WHY ARE THEY LAYING DOWN LIKE, SIT MAYBE?????? IT’S SO WEIRD AND UNNATURAL THEY LOOK LIKE DOLLS I HATE IT

The scene where they get out of the car and Edward puts his arm around Bella while Spotlight by Mutemath plays in the background is TOP TIER teen drama bs and I love it. Far and away the best shot in the movie apart from The Baseball Scene(TM).

I will never get over the fact that Edward's bitch ass rats Bella out for already eating when she comes over to meet his family. BE FUCKING COOL EDWARD FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE, GOD!!!

Esme is too pure for this world I can’t deal with her, & Emmet waving the knife is my favorite thing in all 5 of these movies

Why tf are Alice and Jasper fucking off doing god knows what in a tree and not helping with dinner like everyone else? Y'all ain't special even Rosalie is helping

Esme talking to Rosalie “Clean this up..now” I LOVE YOU BE MY MOM

Earlier they talk about the fact that vampires don’t sleep BUT the first thing Bella says when she walks into Edward's room is “no bed” girl we know what you after you ain't slick.....

WHAT IS THIS DANCING SCENE IN HIS BEDROOM IT’S HORRIBLE TO WATCH and I want to find whoever thought “well I could always make you” was a good line for Edward to say and slap them directly in the mouth.

“hold on tight spider monkey” excuse me while I VOMIT

Mike offering his opinion on Bella dating Edward HOWEVER justified is automatically invalidated by A. his own romantic interest in Bella and B. the fact that he has also know Bella for all of 10 minutes & has no bearing on her personal life whatsoever

THE PAST COUPLE OF MONTHS THIS MAN HAS BEEN COMING INTO HER ROOM AND WATCHING HER SLEEP THIS IS RED FLAG CITY LIKE BELLA WATCH A TRUE CRIME DOCUMENTARY OR READ THE NEWS FOR FUCKS SAKE

THIS FRANCHISE HAS THE MOST HORRIBLE KISSING SCENES IN MOVIE HISTORY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU CAN HEAR LITERALLY EVERY BREATH, EVERY AWKWARD PRESS OF LIPS. You're telling me THIS was the best take of this???? CAN YOU IMAGINE HOW AWKWARD THIS WAS TO FILM

The whole scene when Bella is telling her dad about her date with Edward is absolutely god tier. Charlie snapping the barrel of the shotgun closed, him motioning that he has a halo on, asking her if she still has her pepper spray. BILLY BURKE LIFTED THIS MOVIE UP AND TRIED SO HARD TO CARRY IT ON HIS BROAD, MUSTACHIOED DAD SHOULDERS, WE STAN

WHERE TO START WITH THE BASEBALL SCENE:

Supermassive Black Hole in the background, Alice going AWF with her pitching, Rosalie getting all pissed when Bella says she's out and Emmett yells "c'mon babe it's just a game" like the puppy dog of a person (vampire?) he is, CARLISLE WEARING A SCARF WHILE PLAYING BASEBALL, I WILL NEVER EMOTIONALLY RECOVER FROM JASPERS BAT TRICKS, EMMET AND EDWARDS LAUGH AFTER CRASHING INTO ONE ANOTHER.

A TRULY IMMACULATE MOVIE SCENE. This scene isn’t long enough

“My monkey man” might be the worst line in this movie, I’m so torn between which one is the worst. Also, I'm just now realizing that this is the second time someone has compared a loved one to some type of monkey and I really don't like it.

Bella's defeated “I can’t hurt him” breaks my heart every time. AND FUCKING BILLY BURKE pulling out his acting chops with Charlie’s poor little broken sounding “I know I’m not that much fun to be around we can do more stuff together” & “I just gotcha back” LIKE LITERALLY EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS SCENE HURTS ME ON A PHYSICAL LEVEL AND I AM ENTITLED TO FINANCIAL COMPENSATION

I know I've skipped over a lot but it's just a lot of like star wipe level montage of nonsense, so we are mOVING ON to what is possibly the biggest plot hole I've never recognized before now: How in the hell was James planning on luring Bella out if he didn’t find that videotape of Bella's mom looking for her????? Or was he just going to bust up in the holiday inn, metaphorical guns blazing & toss Bella out a window???

This fight scene between James & Edward is VERY poorly choreographed and you can practically see the stunt wires pulling on their clothes but no one is surprised..this is Twilight after all.

Who the fuck starts the fire in the ballet studio if Carlisle & Edward are with Bella, Jasper and Emmet are holding James's arms and Alice is ripping his head off???? Esme and Rosalie aren't there so the only explanation is that Emmett's power Stephanie never told us about is his ability to start small, controlled, indoor bonfires with his mind.

If Bella was losing blood from her femoral artery it is HIGHLY UNLIKELY that she would have been cognizant enough to tell them her hand was burning + THERE’S A BIG ASS BITE HOW DID THEY MISS IT???

Let Me Sign is such a good fucking song. Actually, while we're on music every song on every Twilight Saga soundtrack SLAPS. At least 1 department at Summit Entertainment was staffed with competent people. (side note, why the fuck do I know the studio by name that made this movie. I need to go lie down)

Bella acting a damn fool in the hospital bed like clingy much

CHARLIE IS SUCH A GOOD DAD FUCK!

The Edward/Jacob beef is so dramatic at prom can you both chill for 5 minutes we haven't even gotten to y'alls bullshit yet that's not until New Moon.

Bella really thought this mfer was gonna turn her at prom in the middle of the dancefloor??????????

Flightless Bird American Mouth. That's it, that's the bullet point

Victoria coming to prom, like we stan a dramatic bitch.

I will almost CERTAINLY post my New Moon (Extended Edition) notes in a few days. & yes I do have notes on the entire franchise.

#I had a lot more but I cut it down #a lot of my extra stuff was just talking about RPatz slipping inexplicably into a Spanish accent from time to time #no one seems to notice #but I fucking do #I hear the way he says 'so you're worried' and want to caCKLE OUT LOUD #I'm not nearly as funny as I think I am but ask me if I give a fuck #baby I will subject you to my poor humor #Twilight #Twilight Saga

[normadeathmond]

the spanish princess ep 3 thoughts

(now with pictures!)

this week was surprisingly silly for an episode named ‘grief’, and indulging in entertainingly dumb historical shenanigans is when this show is at it’s most enjoyable. comments, complaints and lots of poking fun inside.

- i am not the biggest fan of charlotte hope’s performance in this series, but i thought she did good here, showing catherine fighting her grief before putting on a brave face. i do think she would do better in the role if catherine wasn’t written as such a cardboard strong woman™ all the time. 

- lmao i love wolsey and how low-key hammy phil cumbus is playing him, you can tell he’s having a whale of a time

- political genius maggie pole, everyone

- love that catherine’s seduction technique is to bring up wolsey, there rlly are three people in this marriage

- what even was that scene - catherine pressuring henry for sex, him calling blow jobs unnatural and then trying wank off to the sight of her neck (was that supposed to be a hint at him beheading his later wives)?? rip to whatever got left on the cutting floor to make room for that nonsense

- blah blah blah the scots are violent and barbaric, lather rinse repeat. i am always distracted by how there is not even one nursery maid in the whole of scotland

- i enjoy catherine dunking on the name barnaby, it deserves it. (surely one of them babies should be named henry after the king?)

- given that there’s a reference later on to thomas more being a great favourite of henry’s, why isn’t he hanging out in these council scenes? i’m sure he can still eyefuck maggie pole while also dispensing sound advice. and is howard just gone forever now? i was hoping he’d stick around as catherine’s begrudging ally

- his smug little face! perfection!

- ursula, possessor of this show’s singular brain cell: marrying for political power and monetary gain? sign me up!

- jokes aside, this was a good scene. i like that ursula isn’t portrayed as greedy, but instead someone who’s realistic about what she wants from life based on her family’s experiences so far, even if she is a little naïve to think money and titles will protect her absolutely. i also liked that maggie’s objections weren’t so much “but twu love!” as much as “but maybe find someone you can stand to be around for twenty years of marriage”

- catherine: i am a political genius   also catherine: *can’t keep a straight face in public for two seconds*

- honestly catherine is a real shitty friend. i get that she’s struggling, but calling lina’s kids “ordinary children” like they don’t matter and her bitchy “you’re having a girl” last episode is such mean girl behaviour. 

- the great scottish babysitter shortage of 1515 continues

- hahaha of course the one good scot™ is a raging anglophile

- also why is angus being written as such a literal angel? he’s going to have to turn into a prick at some point

- if catherine can hire lina some wet nurses do you think she can throw a few coins meg’s way for a nanny?

- please can all of catherine’s scenes just be her and wolsey cattily sniping at one another

- i really dislike how in order to make catherine seem smart everyone else has to be clueless - first advising maggie pole on how to petition the king like she’s new to court and then being the one to suggest mary pick her second husband. it’s a weak way to prop up an under-written heroine. 

- my baby ;_; (georgie really is shining as an actress this season)

- this part was very cute, i like their squabbling childhood friends with secret deep romantic feelings dynamic. i thought we would get more of mary this episode though :(

- the court musician is the babysitter now? pay one female extra to hold the baby, i beg you

- sorry to my girl meg but this speech/sing-a-long was bad. this show is just not good at the rousing speeches.

- guess everyone’s going on a road trip to france! the whole royal fam taking a nice holiday to recently enemy territory seems totally believable! 

- seasick wolsey is the highlight of this episode

- maggie: all creatures crave union, there’s nothing fanciful about it ♫ you and me baby ain’t nothing but mammals ♫

- ARE these two gonna fuck?? i genuinely thought it wouldn’t go beyond a lot of angsty longing looks because matthew graham compared their plotline to remains of the day and laura carmichael said something like “it’s the incredibly religious, pious people’s version of a steamy romance”, but uhhh their horny little convo in the coach is starting to make me wonder if thomas more’s cold bed isn’t going to get a little warmer in a few episodes

- also i was hoping more’s marriage would be portrayed as two pals who got married for convenience rather than his wife being painted as a prude who denies him sex

- this dress 😍 also, her face 😍

- i can’t tell if maggie is an impatient idiot or a genius who figured henry would give her everything she wanted out of spite if she said catherine told her he wouldn’t (i give this show too much credit, it’s definitely the former)

- i know groom of the king’s stool is an easy thing to dunk on for a modern audience but the royal arse wiper was a very trusted and intimate friend of the king who commanded a lot of royal favour, so maybe hop off your high horse maggie

- tudor sexpert maggie pole: don’t say yes yet, sweetie, u gotta check if you’re hot for him first   ursula: please stop talking 

- i hate myself for loving them

- i like that even though compton is an awkward, slightly creepy weirdo, his crush on maggie does seem 100% genuine. i assume he’s going to get entangled in the henry/anne hastings affair next ep and that’ll let maggie wriggle out of the betrothal somehow?

-not this show making me feel sorry for henry. i like that they’re giving him human feelings about the loss of his children and ruairi is giving a great performance. 

- this was really the best french accent they could find? but mary attempting death by pillow fight was hilarious

- no one:   bessie: your grace, I do believe charlie brandon is truly sex on legs

- lina seems absolutely terrified that she pissed off catherine, a very healthy friendship dynamic there!

- shouldn’t wolsey have a swankier outfit now that he’s an archbishop?

#the spanish princess #apparently i am a wolsey stan now #more of him and catherine going after each other like two drag queens in the interior illusions lounge thnx

[gin-and-luce]

You killed our dog! Adriana of The Sopranos gave me strength to navigate life after a breakup during a global pandemic lockdown

I’m going through a breakup. It’s come at the worst time but also the best time. He ended things with me (more on that later) after three years in the most Beta-Male way...but this is what happens when your type can be boiled down to softboi. I can’t see my friends in the conventional way, so I made some new ones on screen to help me navigate the end during quarantine.

Over ten weeks ago I started watching The Sopranos. It doesn’t need justifying, everyone knows it’s the best television series of all time, but I’d never seen it, and I knew a global pandemic induced lockdown would provide optimum viewing circumstances. My favourite thing to do is completely throw myself into the female narrative and experience I’m watching on screen. I prefer a long deep drama over a film. I like being able to see my girls every night. 

People have said to me before “you should start a blog”, but I could never escape the feeling that doing so is massively narcissistic because it *is*, unless you have something actually relevant to write about. Alternatively, the image of Gretchen Weiners leaning in and going “you let it out honey, put it in the book” floats across my conscience, and everything embarrassing that I’ve ever done, plays in a montage in my mind. 

Who gives a fuck what I have to say about anything…….. especially about a cultural phenomena that is quite literally regarded as the best TV show of all time?

I’d been wanting to write this after I watched Long Term Parking. I lay in the dark for 45 minutes after the episode ended. I’d never felt like that watching a television show or film before. My throat had seized up but I didn’t cry, even though I felt like it. I knew it was coming from the moment Adriana met the agent. I wasn’t surprised, but I was heartbroken and absolutely fuming. I still am. 

I’m not angry with Christopher, Tony, or Silvio, but just the general unbalance I’ve felt when I’m in a relationship. The loss of self, relationships being a series of compromises. From what I have found from my own experiences and my girlfriends’, women are just much more willing to compromise, but don’t consider it to be a compromise. Men can only take into consideration their own reality, an evolutionary selfishness that just doesn’t translate. 

Just as lockdown began I texted my boyfriend to say I loved him and I missed him. He responded with “Can’t say I feel the same”. Nearly 3 years were over just like that. We had the obligatory phone call, where I was hysterical and he was smarmy and smug. Yet when it was over, I felt nothing. It’s allllll a big nothing.

My personal Gospel is Sex and The City (shout out to HBO!). This was my Berger moment. He essentially scribbled “I’m sorry, I can’t. Don’t hate me” on a post-it. The irony of the whole thing is that when we watched it together, he himself said he was most like Berger. Thinking about it makes me wince.

My life opened up in front of me, I was exposed to his weakness regarding the situation in full when his sister-in-law messaged me on Instagram a few days ago. He hadn’t told his family, nor had he told his flatmates (another shout out to my sleuths at the back, you know who you are!). 

The Sopranos is a show about life. The Mafia structure provides a vehicle for us to question morality and mortality. You take what you get from it. When I watch it again at a different stage of my life, I will get something else out of it. 

For me now, while I stew in my own emotion during quarantine, Adriana represents emotional labour and the expectation for women to behave in a certain way in relationships. 

At first when my ex’s family members were messaging me, I was confused. It is frankly humiliating to smile as if everything is normal, so as to protect someone that in the end would not do the same for me. I know he wouldn’t do the same because there was just no courtesy in what happened weeks ago. I am trying to move on but things like this stunt your personal growth.

The struggle with emotional labour hones a guilt that someday I’ll regret giving my early 20s to something that didn’t work out. I felt like I was on borrowed time.

These are obviously my own insecurities spurred on by the fact that I’ve read enough “10 things I wish I knew in my 20s” blogs to know that these are my selfish years. Still, it is ultimately devastating to see the last 3 years of your life conclude via a text that displays a failure to realise that there is no real clean cut for a long-term relationship. 

I respect him for the blunt statement because it means I get to reference the Berger SATC breakup and say “casually cruel in the name of being honest” (Taylor Swift, 2012) a LOT, which softens the pity in the social scenarios that I invent in my head in the shower.

When Tony calls Adriana to tell her Christopher has tried to kill himself, that was like my final phone call too. This is the end. Her youthfulness was why I related to her most in the show, but at the same time having nothing to lose made her easily expendable. Youth makes you put 100% into something knowing it is a gamble. 

I’m not comparing my ‘borrowed time’ to Adriana because she ends up dead, but there was a disregard for her life that was so harrowing because she did nothing but try and do the right thing. I watched Adriana put Christopher first willingly for 5 series. He supported her music management dreams but ultimately ended up making it all about him. He gave her the Crazy Horse but this ultimately was just another mob hangout. He sat on her dog, he continued to use heroin, shag other people, and so on.

“You could start writing again,” she tells him in her last episode, to which he responds  “I could do my memoirs, finally,”. Here is Adriana still!! STILL!! catering to Christopher’s ego to give herself some confidence. Very me.

All the way through she was just too good for him. Her ties to the Famiglia aren’t as tight as Carmela and Co. No children, still young, there’s chance for Adriana to get out if she wanted to. Of course this makes her prime FBl bait, but shows she sticks by Christopher through everything purely out of love. In the end she dies on her knees, subservient, with Heart’s Barracuda the last song she hears. I know Adriana had to go. That’s the way it is in the Famiglia because Christopher took an oath. But in a way she also had the carpet ripped from underneath her, just like me. 

There are lots of men writing on the internet about how Adriana is greedy and hypocritical. I just don’t understand where this reading is coming from other than obvious misogyny. I’ve read others that say if she was really that strong she would have simply left the relationship years ago. I believe that she believed things would improve for both of them, and that most people are just slut shaming her for her past. 

Still, Drea DeMatteo won a Best Supporting Actress Emmy for the episode. Fuckin’ A. 

I rooted for the woman. Before I was made redundant while working from home, I would spend half my life at my desk willing it to be 5:30pm, so I could slither back to the settee and spend the other half of my life in New Jersey. I’d phone my mum to discuss the episodes. She loves the show too, it’s always been a favourite in my household. We’d talk about the women like they were our friends and how we relate to them. The Sopranos is like a big mirror urging you to question everything. The answer to life is simply what are ya gonna do? 

Men love making things black and white so it is easier for them, when really women are in the background sorting out the shades of grey. 

Don’t get me wrong, Adriana’s significance is massive, albeit more so because of her death. You watch Christopher and Tony’s relationship start to crumble afterwards. It's shattering to see the disregard for Christopher’s sobriety and how despite his loyalty, he still sees him as a liability and weak. 

On the other hand, for Adriana’s sake, I am still enraged that he couldn’t see the bigger picture at the time. She is collateral damage in his path to finding his precious arc - “Wives, girlfriends, they can complicate life in a major way” Tony expresses to Jennifer as he runs from his own guilt. 

Christopher is desperate for Tony’s approval but is more than happy to use his blood connection as a protective leeway whenever he steps out of line. Again the irony is that he comes to tell Tony about Adriana first, just as the old Famiglia values say he should, but there is no real personal reward for doing so despite the personal sacrifice. 

I think Christopher regretted it in the end, and rightly so. When he is faced with his potential alternate life at the gas station, we assume that this was what made him go to Tony. It’s a family with loads of kids. Adriana probably can’t even have kids??? What kind of male logic?!  #justiceforadriana

I can’t help but feel for him when JT screams “Chris, you’re in the MAFIA!”. It’s the same kind of reality check that Chief Cubitoso gives Adriana, it’s an ultimatum and it’s the realisation that they are trapped in this life. Just ask Gene.

Carmela knew. I read her dreams as a testament to a woman’s intuition. She knows her friend isn’t what everyone is describing, she knows Adriana wouldn’t just disappear. She is all too aware of the emotional labour Mob women carry. When she sees Adriana with Cosette on the banks of the Seine, it is as sad as it is when we dream about people who have died. 

There is a scene in an early episode where Carmela says “Don’t we all?” in response to Meadow squealing “She’s MARRYING a BABY?” at a painting of The Marriage of Saint Catherine. I thought about this again when Christopher dies. Carmela passes her instinct off as hysteria, she isn’t to know. “So quick to blame, what is the attraction in that?” she cries during the aftermath of the car crash. There is a critique in her own femininity here that just makes you want to shout “NO CARM!!!!!!!”. As she believes she mothers Tony, there is the double-edged sword whereby he protects her through keeping her in the dark. “Heaven only ever sees my love making a fool of me” sings Emmylou Harris at the start of season 5. Carm’s power is taken away but she doesn’t even know. 

Carmela dedicates her life to being a mother but it’s not enough to save Meadow from her surname. We get some sense that AJ ‘Break Stuff by Limp Bizkit’ Soprano might be on a new path when he feels like the burning of his car among the autumn leaves of death was cathartic. As a man, he just has more freedom anyway. 

Miss Meadow gained her independence by getting her driving license, but in the end we see that she is still held back in the final scene by her inability to parallel park. She slots right in, eventually. As she does, she slots into the Soprano cycle after years of doing the most to get out and pave her own way. After every breakup with someone without links to the Famiglia, no scrubs, she returns and dates someone closer to home. Her career path is left tenuous to us, it would be all too easy for her to become a kept woman, which feels like it is the only real option should she settle down into the lifestyle with Patrick Parisi. It isn’t what she envisioned for herself, so part of me wants to hope that her story ends up a little bit more like Elle Woods. Legally Italian. 

I probably wouldn’t even have remembered her saying anything about parallel parking if I wasn’t terrible at parallel parking myself. It’s the pepperings of these subtle callbacks that make the show so beautiful. As the guitar solo plays on during the frustration, you’re invited to reminisce over Meadow’s journey. I fully wept watching her struggle to get the damn car parked because I’m trying to get my car parked too. Don’t stop believing, Meadow. 

I admire all the women in The Sopranos. The show is feminist, and that is a hill I am prepared to die on. It’s definitely up for debate as it is obviously littered with gratuitous nudity and women are commoditised. We have to allow this for cultural context for the show, but real life is basically exactly the same too? 

I read a post on Reddit where a dude is asking whether he should watch the show with his girlfriend. He types ‘“It’s a masterpiece of film but she probably wouldn’t get into it as I am”, and you don’t have to look much further to find more comments about how women and their puny minds just won’t get it. It’s an odd perspective to take given that Tony’s psychiatrist is a woman, but of course women could never grasp something so complex. It’s bullshit if you ask me, the female narrative prevails throughout all scenarios. 

The Pine Barrens seems to be everyone’s favourite episode. It’s not my favourite but there are two major elements that resonated with me. The first is Meadow looking down at the three letter words Jackie Aprile Jr had placed on the Scrabble board, and the second is when Gloria says to Tony:

“What you said was that you didn’t wanna piss me off..which implies that you’d have to deal with me, which is more about sparing YOU than my fucking feelings”. Don’t need to elaborate on that. Rest in power, Gloria. Legend.

Of course I could write pages and pages of hot feminist takes on all of the women - Jennifer, Janice, Livia, Angie, Svetlana, Charmaine. Lord knows I could probably write a book on Tracee.“ 20 years old, this girl”, I bashed Living on a Thin Line by The Kinks for about a week after that episode. It is the male gaze of the show made me love the women more. Carmela is my mother and I’ll probably name my first born Meadow. 

Carmela is the powerhouse and backbone of The Soprano household even though Tony provides. She represents stability, emotional labour, and putting on a brave face regardless. In some ways, it is as if Carmela represents the human emotion side and the fragility of organised crime. She is secure, but not enough, and her lack of ability to stand on her own two feet plagues her conscience through time. She is totally complicit, but must be to ensure her future with Tony as he pays anything to roll the dice just one more time. At the end of Long Term Parking, she and Tony stand looking at where she will build her spec-house. The forest looks the same as where we lost Ade, it’s a grim reflection that Carmela wouldn’t have this life if it wasn’t for the quick disposal of those like Adriana.   

Yeah okay, what the hell is a show with a feminist underpinning trying to say about wider society about a woman who exercises her beauty, loyalty and ambition?? Is it that she is not to be trusted?? Adriana’s a rat, but before this she is already deemed “damaged goods” anyway. She dresses provocatively, but that’s because she just looks MINT always. You would dress like THAT if you looked like THAT. When you Google her, ‘Adriana Sopranos Tennis’ comes up. I roll my eyes. Fucking men, eh? To take it down to a basic Sixth-Form-Poet reading, Adriana is Curley’s Wife and Daisy Buchanan all in one. She loves a red manicure too, and it might have worked out better for her if she had played the complicit beautiful little fool. 

This isn’t ‘Why The Sopranos is good!’, but a love letter to Adriana and her strength, because there is basically little or no content written on the women of the show when I have Googled.  I needed there to be more things written about her that isn’t just “bitch had it coming” when in fact she is a martyr. 

When Adriana was on screen, there was my mate. I knew her, she wanted what I wanted, but she sacrificed so much of herself for others and it was heartbreaking to watch. She barely gets a look-in in early episodes, but when she does she is usually wearing something animal print, which automatically made her the number one character on my radar. I am choosing to believe the theory that she is the cat in the final episode too. 

Still, I have been struggling and questioning why an episode that aired 16 years ago, with no plot that links to my own circumstances, has had such a monumental impact on me. 

I saw a tweet that said “have we ever sat down and thought about why relationships only work if the guy is more invested than the girl or is that just something we accept” (@anugov1). Adriana invested more in Christopher, even in the end, than she ever did herself. 

As I navigate this transitional period in my life, I am Adriana driving in the vision we see when we think she is going to start her new chapter. We can’t leave the flat, I have no job. The Sopranos has provided the most cathartic escapism for me. As I enter into whatever new world follows this nightmare, I wanted my mate Adriana to find her new world too, turning the classic rock up to 11.

#the sopranos #adriana la cerva #christopher moltisanti #carmela soprano #feminism #cosette #breakup #woe is me #hbo #david chase #drea de matteo

[motleyfuckingcruee]

Feel Something (Tommy Lee x reader)

Summary:

From the prompts list: "Wait a minute. Are you jealous?"

Requested:

@horrorpxnk

Warnings:

Language, angst, fluff

//

You definitely aren’t happy to be here. Looking around at all the sweaty bodies grinding on each other and people practically fucking in the corners around the mansion, you know you just want to go home to your tiny apartment that you love. You love the small, simple things. You still have no clue why Vince decided to buy a huge mansion when it’s just him, Sharise, and Skylar on the way. You also have no clue why Sharise thought it would be a good idea to have a party when she’s pregnant.

You’ve known the Crue for a very long time now. You were best friends with Nikki when he was still in London. You helped him and Tommy find Mick. You also helped them lure in Vince by acting like you were going to sleep with him. Which you eventually did in a drunken state of mind one night when you guys were still living in the Crue house. Damn, that seems like such a long time ago.

You’ve always been close with the Terror Twins. You would usually help them with their antics at the beginning. But, once Nikki started doing heroin, it drove you away from him. As much as you loved-and still love-him, you just couldn’t handle how aggressive he was. You nearly got socked in the face for saying the wrong thing. He would yell at you when you’d suggest rehab. It hurt you. You were just trying to help.

Nikki was your first love. It killed you to leave him when he was suffering, but he wouldn’t let you help him. You met Nikki when he first moved to LA. You just turned sixteen and he was working at some record store. You, being the music nerd you are, decided to go in to see if they had anything new. You knew that Nikki had just started working there since you came in every week and you’d never seen him before. He was definitely attractive. He gave off a mysterious vibe that you loved. Nikki looked up and instantly liked you too. At least that’s what Nikki told you. You don’t know if that’s true or not. Nikki asked you out on a date, and you two started dating after that. You guys broke up when you found out he cheated on you. Multiple times. That was a month before the band got together in ‘81. Surprisingly, it was never awkward with Nikki. You were closer than ever before. You two just work better as best friends.

You were instantly attracted to Tommy when Nikki brought him around. He was full of energy, and the same age as you. He made you laugh a lot. He tried to include you in his and Nikki’s antics as often as he could. He had this smile that was so contagious. The same thing with his laugh. You loved everything about him. The only problem was, he went through girls like they were nothing. And still does.

You’ve had a crush on Tommy since you first met him. It drives you crazy that you can’t have him. You’re still skittish with dating guys since Nikki cheated on you. He still apologizes for that to this day. You know he loves you, and you love him too. You don’t know what you’d do without that wild haired bassist. Nikki knows about your crush on Tommy. He’s tried dropping hints about it, but they just go right over the drummer’s head. He can’t tell how much you like him, even though you’ve been best friends for years.

You sigh at the situation, leaning against the couch cushions. You watch in disgust as Nikki snorts two extremely long lines of cocaine. You want to say something, but you don’t want to cause a scene. You’ll just get on his ass about it later. You look up from Nikki to see Tommy with a brunette on one side and a blonde on the other. They flirt with him relentlessly, causing you to roll your eyes. You don’t see why he loves girls that just throw themselves at him. It’s disgusting.

Tommy looks up to meet your eyes, but you quickly look down at the table. You know you’ve been caught glaring. You know that Tommy will most likely not say anything which is a relief. You look up again as you see him move. His eyes are locked on a gorgeous blonde that’s standing on the balcony. You instantly recognize her as Heather Locklear. You feel a pang in your heart and tears spring to your eyes. You can’t even hate her! She’s the sweetest person you’ve ever met.

You’re about to get up and leave when Nikki grabs your hand.

You can see that he knows that something’s wrong. “What’s the matter, (Y/N)?”

You know better than to open your mouth. As soon as you try to speak, you know you’re going to cry. You just point out to the balcony where Tommy is laughing at something Heather said. Nikki turns his head. His features soften as he realizes what’s going on.

“Oh, (Y/N),” Nikki says sadly, looking back at you. “He just doesn’t know.”

You scoff. “He should know! It’s not like I’m his type anyways. I mean, Heather is great! She’s beautiful, funny, and kind. Everything I’m not!”

Nikki scowls at you. “Don’t say that. You’re so gorgeous. You’re the best person I’ve ever met. I regret cheating on you every day. You deserved so much better than me. You’re such a badass too. That punch after you found out fractured my nose.”

You smile, remembering how you got so angry after you found out. You punched him square in the nose and left the apartment. You came back one week later. Nikki’s nose was still bruised pretty bad, but he forgave you.

“You deserved it, asshole.” You lean on Nikki, resting your head on his shoulder. “Am I just not good enough?”

Nikki wraps an arm around your shoulders, causing you to practically cuddle him. He leaned back on the cushions. Your head is now on his chest. “Of course you’re good enough. Hun, you deserve better than him. Hell, any of us.”

You smile at his answer. “Thanks, Nik. I needed that.” You don’t say anything after that. You two just sit there for what only feels like two minutes, but was probably thirty. You get out of Nikki’s grip, who looks sad that you got up. “I’ll see you later, alright? I’m gonna head home and cuddle with Whisky.” You smile, thinking of your chocolate lab puppy at home. You lean down and kiss Nikki on the cheek, to which he smiles widely at.

You say bye to Mick and Vince before you walk out the front door. You’re about to take off on the Harley that Nikki got you for your last birthday when a familiar voice yells your name. You turn to see Tommy running after you. He stops in front of your bike, completely out of breath. You get off of the steel horse, then lean against it.

You laugh. “And you said you’re in shape.”

He rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

You raise your hands in surrender. “Just sayin’, Mr. Rockstar.”

He laughs. Then you both go silent. Tommy looks almost nervous. You’re just waiting to hear what he came out here to say. He just looks down at his feet, kicking the rocks that are scattered about the driveway.

“Tom?”

“Yeah?”

“What did you come out here to say?” You ask, laughing a bit. His head snaps up. His face turns tomato red with embarrassment. “I mean, I could stand out here in silence with you all night but I do have a puppy to go home to.”

Whisky was also a present from Nikki. He knew how much you wanted a dog, so he took you to the animal shelter where you found a small puppy to adopt. Nikki co-parents the sweet dog.

“Well, you didn’t think you could leave without saying bye to me, now did you?” He says, finally looking you in the eyes.

You shrug, looking down at the leather seat. “You seemed a bit busy.”

He laughs, nudging you. “Are you jealous.”

“Nope,” You say, no emotion on your face. “I was talking to Nikki and noticed you were with Heather. I figured you didn’t want to be bothered.”

Tommy looks down at the seat now, picking at it a bit. “Yeah, I saw you two getting comfty on the couch.”

“I wouldn’t say-.” You cut yourself off, smirking at the flustered drummer. “Wait a minute. Are YOU jealous?”

“W-What? N-No,” He stutters, turning red again. “I mean, even if I was, you wouldn’t date me. I’ve liked you since we met which is a long damn time. I thought that you might’ve noticed and do something since I’m too chicken shit to-.”

You cut Tommy off by pressing your lips to his. He freezes for a moment, but then melts into your touch. He kisses back with passion. His hands find their way to your hips, pulling you closer to him. You wrap your arms around Tommy’s neck. Your hands tug slightly at his hair. He groans into your mouth, causing you to smile.

You pull away, grinning from ear to ear. “I like you too, T-Bone.”

His eyes widen. “Really?”

You nod. His eyes light up like a Christmas tree. The next thing you know, you’re off of the ground and in Tommy’s arms. He spins you both around, yelling “YES!” over and over again.

“Tommy I’m happy you’re happy but if you don’t stop I will puke on you!” You yell.

He laughs, putting you down. “I’m sorry. I just got really excited.”

You giggle, kissing his cheek. “I could tell.”

He smiles, pecking your lips. “So will you go on a date with me?”

“What abou-.”

“I just met Heather,” Tommy laughs. “Besides, she’s nothing compared to the girl I’ve been crushing on since I turned eighteen.”

“Okay.”

“Is that an answer to the date?”

You laugh. “Of course it is.”

He picks you up again, this time allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist. “I’ve been waiting to hear you say that for a long time.”

You lean in, kissing Tommy hard on the lips.

“I KNEW YOU GUYS WOULD GET TOGETHER!” You hear someone yell from the porch.

You pull away from Tommy, looking towards who yelled. You laugh to see Nikki, Vince, and Mick all standing there, cheering the two of you on. You blow them a kiss before going back to making out with Tommy.

“GET A ROOM!” Vince yells, but you flip him off. You smile into the kiss as you hear the guys laughing.

This was definitely worth the wait.

Taglist:

All fics: @the--blackdahlia @sugar-content @sharon6713 @siliwanoel @charlyallise @lo-bells @lauravic @livingdeadharley @kawennote09 @ozzypawsbone-princeofbarkness @hllywdwhre

Tommy: @2dead2function @horrorpxnk @wft-clara @just-a-normal-fangirl18 @jjjjjjjoshdun @nikkifuckinnsixx @daisystuffsstuff

#motley crue #classic rock #rock #rocknroll #rock music #rockband #tommy lee #fanfic #fanfiction #reader #reader insert #tommy lee x reader #tommy x reader

[jaeausten]

My thoughts on Sanditon 1x06 (Beware, here be spoilers...)

Okay, up until now I have been watching Sanditon with mixed feelings, most of it positive, but Sundays episode left me screaming WTF at my tv.

In this house, Andrew Davies is a legend. His television adaptations of the classics has always let me soak into the world of Austen, Dickens etc and has been a welcome escape from the various shitty things in my life. He has been adapting books for tv series for decades and I thought that Sanditon was going to be full of the things I love about Jane Austen’s works and subsequent adaptations (wit, satire, self possessed, independent thinking heroines and intelligent, impeccably behaved heroes) with anything else left strictly to the imagination. Austen’s works have always had elegance and propriety to them (even when dealing with sex and ruin) that simply does not appear in this adaptation. There is such a sense of pandering to modern tastes in this episode of Sanditon that I cannot get past...or forgive. This is not an Austen adaptation and I am a little upset that Andrew Davies has interpreted Austen like this. People like Austen for all the subtlety and repressed sexual tension and although Jane did not write more than 11 chapters of Sanditon, surely Andrew has had enough experience dealing with this genre and original material to have written the rest of the story the way Jane might actually have intended.

Anyway, to the episode. I was literally jumping in my seat at the end of episode 1x05 when Charlotte set off on her plucky adventure to Set Things Right and help bring Georgiana home. But when this episode started, it soon became clear that Charlotte had arrived in London with only the flimsiest scrap of a plan and little to no money! (Note- In the rest of the series, Charlotte can be impulsive, but not stupid). Next, Charlotte is made to demonstrate another act of uncharacteristic stupidity by aimlessly wandering around the back streets and alleyways near the docks acting the fresh country girl ripe for the plucking. And of course, someone grabs her. She is rescued by Sidney, but this trope of stupid, naive country girl puts herself in a dangerous situation and has to be rescued by the hero pisses me off.

Oh, and Fyi costume designer, Charlotte should be wearing her hair up, UP, UUUUUUUUUUUPPPPPPPPPPP!!! 

When Sidney tells Charlotte off in the carriage, I kind of thought that he had a point; reminding her that there can be other motives for marriage than love, but her looking shocked that this could be so surprises me as she has not previously written to be so naive. But, if you see it from her point of view, Otis rocked up looking dandy af a couple of episodes ago (I’m assuming that Charlotte thought that Otis might not need Georgiana’s money with that snazzy outfit on) and spouting romantic feelings and the telling of a genuinely funny first meeting with Georgiana made her think that it was for love and that it must be prejudice as his fortune has been made from slavery! Charlotte accuses Sidney of being less than forthcoming about his objections to Otis and he is pissed that his vague af explanation did not satisfy our independent thinking heroine. But as I see it, if you can be a first class asshole and scream into the heroine’s face while losing your temper in the street, you sure as hell can be explicit about why you ask someone to keep an extra eye on your ward. Just saying....

Also, Sidney’s behaviour throughout this series to Charlotte has been so far from an Austen hero and has made me dislike him so intensely that I have rooted for young Stringer as Charlotte’s eventual husband (though we all know that’s not going to happen, don’t we). An Austen hero never lets his anger show too strongly nor bellows at the heroine in the street. But apart from the story, good manners in that era and at that social level would prohibit any true gentleman from doing so. 

Andrew, if you are not going to follow Austen’s style, then place it in the proper confines of the period. Good fucking manners always prevail!!!!!!!!!

Taking Charlotte to a Brothel?!?!?!?!?!? Gently bred females do not get taken by an Austen hero to a brothel, Jesus Christ! Would this happen in reality? Not really! This scene seems to have been lifted out of the pages of a bodice ripper (not that I have any objection to bodice rippers- I frequently read and love them myself- but in an Austen? No, just no).

Charlotte preventing Sidney from beating the shit out of Otis for ruining Georgiana’s rep with a gentle plea while he reigns in his rage for her by focusing on her face, oh my heart... Still not Austen tho...

There’s finally a flash of the old sensible Charlotte when she figures out that Georgiana might still be held in London, whoops, I sneezed, back to the naive country girl trope that doesn’t fit. 

Ewwwww, the fat, misogynistic fucker making a joke about breaking in horses being similar to handling wives while drooling over a forcibly restrained woman just had to be in there didn’t it?  

It just bugs me why Clara, Edward and Esther don’t seem to take Lady Denham seriously when she has said repeatedly thought the entire series so far that none of them will benefit monetarily from her death, yet when the will is eventually found, Clara and Edward are outraged when nothing is left to them?

I can’t decide if Charlotte is still the annoying country girl from the beginning of the episode or the plucky heroine determined to find out the truth when she refuses to stay in the carriage when Sidney goes into the brothel where he is clearly a regular member...

‘You haven’t made an honest man of our Mr Parker, have you?’ 

‘GrAcIOuS NOOOO!’

Sidney’s face. One second of pained outrage. Classic!

Ooooohhhhhhh, a dramatic carriage chase. Area man in a cravat leaping to another carriage to bring the horses to a halt and rescue a girl. Melodrama meets western...

Oh look, Clara has found the hidden will and taken the time to put on a new dress and villain smirk of crazed triumph. Fuck off luv!

Oh. My. God.

Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!!!!!!!!!!

Jumping each other and having grunting, rough af sex on the cold marble floor to seal their devils deal? Um, ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!

This is the most unAusten disgrace of the entire episode. This is what almost made me turn off the tv, but I wanted to see what else happened in the episode, so I put it on mute and glanced through my fingers occasionally. Wtf, Andrew Davies! You are so much better than this! Your experience and Austen lovers could have done without a gratuitous sex scene. Not only was it uncharacteristic in a work claiming to be based on an Austen, but it was jarring with the melodrama of the rest of the episode and quite clumsy in it’s execution. It took me completely off guard and tbh, it was fucking gross.

Here that? It’s poor Jane Austen, spinning in her grave...

Georgiana is restored to the bosom of her cold hearted guardian. Or is he? Finally, a Austenian trope! Thank fuck! Misunderstood asshole who can be capable of compassion and clearing an unworthy gentleman’s debts with his wealth to make the heroine realise he is not a complete dickhead? Can you guess which Austen hero I‘m referring to?

A manly heart to heart is in order. This is a scene that would never be in an Austen as Jane never wrote a scene that she herself could not have experienced, but I’ll let that go if it means Sidney won’t stay a twat...

Oh dear Lord, Charlotte doubts herself because she feels she has disappointed Sidney. Heroine doubts her previous harsh judgement of the hero is so Austen, I both cheered and groaned. Yay Austen! Nay Charlotte having a bad opinion of her own instincts which have been written to appear to come out of her perceived sheltered lifestyle and naivety. On the one hand, she is written as knowing nothing much about real life and needs firm handling to avoid becoming a complete idiot, and yet she is also written to understand architecture and shows clear headedness when old Stringer breaks his leg. I’m having trouble with this pendulum swinging here!

Dear God, why is Charlotte’s hair all scruffy like that? Why is it still not UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I was rooting for Otis and Georgiana, but Otis proved himself kind of a douchebag. Georgiana realises that Otis is spouting bullshit when he says he only boasted of her beautiful soul to the gambling fucker, when in reality he had been dangling her and her fortune to appease a creditor. He seems sincere when he apologises though and it’s clear he does love her. But he wants to have his cake and eat it, so Georgiana out...

Oooh, that total sweetheart Babbington just showed up! I have to keep reminding myself that he isn’t Grenn from Got looking fit af in his regency gear. Rawr...

Why in the actual fuck is Charlotte refusing invitation to a London masquerade ball? Who does that? Sidney obviously expects her to be cheered right up by this and damn it, I do to! Georgiana is back safe and sound (almost) and Sanditon is about to be saved by the Regatta! She doesn’t feel sociable!? Her being sad by Sidney’s apparent bad opinion of her? Fuck that shit! Have some fucking self respect and get out there! A girl’s first visit to London on a mission (albeit in less than fun circumstances), friend is saved and you are invited to a big ass masquerade ball and you say no because of a man’s opinion?!?!?!?!?!?!?

Sidney spouts crap about underestimating her while looking sheepishly adorable and Charlotte agrees to go to the ball. Knew she wanted to really... But I don’t get Sidney’s sudden change of heart about Charlotte and as for underestimating her, what for? She bollocksed up everything, except for guessing that Georgiana was still held in London so they didn’t need to go off on a wild goose chase to Gretna Green. The episode up until that second has been Sidney treating her like she is a child who has made things unnecessarily difficult and not worthy of respect or a kind word. I don’t buy this. Sorry.

The ball!!!!!!!!

Poor Tom! No one gives a shit about the Regatta at the ball and one man even throws Tom’s card on the floor! Rude. Oh well, at least he looks da bomb in his burgundy silk ensemble.

Charlotte’s disappointed in the ball and wants to leave?!?!?!? Disappointed!?!?!? In a London ball! She’s only been there for five minutes and hasn’t done the obligatory sexually charged dance in a fabulous dress with the brooding hero yet! I know she is upset that they have left Georgiana at home and that’s fine, it shows that she has sensibilities and compassion for a friend, but come on! 

Why is she asking Sidney’s opinion to leave? Why is she putting herself down? Yes, Sidney’s behaviour has definitely led her to believe that she is too headstrong and opinionated, but I don’t think she’s too much. The way she has been written up until this episode has been what has made her interesting. Austen heroine’s do go through this in the last third of the story though.

Oh, now he thinks those things are cute. No wonder Charlotte is confused. I am.

Why in holy fuck is Charlotte telling absolutely everything to a total stranger?!?! I get that it is a human thing to want to pour out your heart and problems to someone who can take a step back and see things from a different perspective, but Austen heroine’s keep their fucking counsel! Also, in the time period at that level of society, spilling your secrets to a stranger opens everyone involved up to potential scandal. Good fucking God. This is not even reality at this point!

Charlotte in love with Sidney? Surely not Queen Susan. It’s glaring that Charlotte does love Sidney at this point. Treat them mean, make them fall in love with you, I guess.

Ooooh, the smoulder! Fuck, it’s even working on me!

Jesus Christ, this dance has everything. Not taking their soft eyes off of each others, gradually getting more intense as the dance goes on. Tender brushings of hands. The waltz with his head bent to hers with while being a bit too close for proprieties sake. The way they move in perfect harmony in a way that has not been in evidence in their interactions before. Lingering touches when they have to part in the dance. Taut sexual tension dripping from every step. Both suddenly grinning their arses off when the dance gets faster. The slow-mo shot showing them falling deeper into love. Ending the dance in extreme reluctance as it means they cannot be close in front of everyone anymore while looking stunned by their feelings. Divine! 

Uh oh. Enter old flame. Why did you have to spoil it Andrew?

I know that’s Theo’s actual real life wife, but there was no chemistry that I could see. I could go and get my binoculars. Eliza Campion, I know you won’t prevail, but please step it up for the next episode cos you haven’t convinced me yet.

Charlotte is happy and glowing with her new found awakening. I hope it will last. Of course not...

If you have managed to read to the end of this, well done! I certainly wouldn’t have! As you can see, most of this post has dealt with my feelings of incredulity at the way this episode has turned out. Don’t get me wrong, I really do like Sanditon, but Sunday’s episode has left me shaking my head in confusion. Andrew Davies work has always been top notch, but I wonder if the absence of full original source material has left him unable to write the fully realised characters of the Austen novels that we have come to expect. But injecting melodrama and bizarre about turns in terms of characters and their characterisation while introducing unnecessary scenes (you know the one I mean) has left this episode severely disjointed for me.

#sanditon #sanditon spoilers #spoilers #musings of michelle #long post #rambling

[spiritualvirago]

How Attractive, Confident, Independent Women Intimidate Men

How attractive, confident, independent women intimidate men? Well, let's ask a man. In indie rapper Immortal Technique's song "You Never Know," he shares the story of an attractive, confident, independent woman who intimidated men (him included). In addition, to writing her a song, the music video shows him as an old man pulling out a love letter from her that he has saved for decades. Certainly, he married this woman, right? No. Was her boyfriend then? No. At least tried to make love to her? Also, no. It's the perfect example of what continues to happen to women just like us year after year. Let's examine a few excerpts from the song:

"She was on her way to becomin' a college graduate/ Wouldn't even stop to talk to the average kid/ The type of Latina I'd sit and contemplate marriage with/ Fuck the horse and carriage shit, her love was never for hire/ Disciplined, intellectual beauty is what I desire/ Flyer than Salma Hayek or Jennifer Lopez/ Everyone told me, kickin' it to her was hopeless." "'I'm not even interested' is what her body language would say/ Everyone around the way gave up tryin' to get in it/ It didn't matter how good your game was, she wasn't with it/ On the block, bitches was jealous but wouldn't admit it." "She spoke intelligently and they bit it, always tryin' to copy/ But when they tried to use her vocab, they sounded sloppy/ She had a style, all her own, respectful and pure/ I was sick in the head for her, and there wasn't a cure." "We talked about power to the people and such/ We spent more time together, but it was never enough/ I never tried to sneak a touch or even cop a feel/ I was too interested in keepin' it real/ Perfectly honest and complete/ She would always call me 'cariño' and never Technique/ Bought me a new book to read every two or three weeks." "Ended up locked up like an animal for a year Where the C.O.'s talk to you like they were the overseer Then I got sent to the hole when my exit was near At night in my cell, I'd close my eyes and I'd see her Hold her close in my dreams, but when I woke she disappeared." "Fuckin' lots of different women, but I still felt alone/ Relatively well-known around the New York underground/ But I kept thinkin' of her and how we used to be down/ The sound of her voice, and the beautiful smell of her hair." "Technique don't fuckin' fall in love with people/ Hold the person that you love closely if they're next to you/ The one you love, not the person that'll simply have sex with you/ Appreciate them to the fullest extent and then beyond/ ‘Cause you never really know what you got until it's gone." https://genius.com/Immortal-technique-you-never-know-lyrics     A MAN'S SOCIAL PROGRAMMING "Get comfortable with being alone. It will empower you." -Jonathan Tropper In an article entitled "Most Men Are Cowards, But Too Cowardly to Admit It," author Paul Hudson writes: "Men set ridiculous and stupid expectations for themselves and then do all they can to hide their inability to live up to them. Men aren’t evil bastards; they’re stupid bastards who are too cowardly to admit how cowardly they really are. When did fear become a bad thing? When was it that we decided that the most basic of evolutionary traits was something that was to be overcome and avoided? Instead of being seen as advantageous, fear in man is believed to be a weakness. This backwards way of thinking is the reason why the world is constantly in a state of war." https://www.elitedaily.com/life/culture/men-cowards-cowardly-admit/643275 In the song, what is Immortal Technique's reason for never even attempting to touch this woman he's desperately in love with (just talking)? He claims he wanted to "keep it real." It is completely normal and natural for a man who is in love with a woman to pursue her. Nobody thinks sharing the physical expression of their mutual love for one another is a cop-out. It's one of the greatest joys and blessings in life, in fact. Saying that he is "keeping it real" is one of the typical tried-and-true justifications men give for not pursuing women who scare them (coupled with intense feelings for these women that also scare them). Dating coach veteran Katja Rembrandt validates that it is harder for successful women to find a partner due to this social construct of modern masculinity. “It is tougher because it takes a very confident man who probably isn't on the same rung of the corporate ladder, not to be intimidated. Very ambitious and very capable women are still very scary for the majority of men.” https://www.smh.com.au/lifestyle/life-and-relationships/dating-expert-explains-why-it-s-harder-for-successful-women-to-find-love-20180805-p4zvo6.html

In the book The Love Gap, Jenna Birch explains, "Until men can provide for a family...they don’t feel comfortable dating seriously or making a lifelong commitment. And no matter how much men say they want an equal partner (a woman who’s smart and independent), studies find that such women often make men feel emasculated or inferior." Birch told the Washington Post that, "There’s a lot of survey data that said men were really into these smart career women. But I looked around at who was struggling with dating, and they tended to be that type. If this type of woman is the dream girl, then why are they having so many problems?" https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/soloish/wp/2018/02/02/men-say-they-want-smart-successful-women-so-why-do-these-women-have-trouble-dating/ Well, Birch discovered in writing her book that something known as "psychological distance" may come into play. Essentially, psychological distance is when an idea feels good in the abstract, but when one encounters it in the flesh and blood, it loses its appeal. Her research revealed that men liked the concept of dating what Immortal Technique called a "disciplined, intellectual beauty" from a distance, but, in reality, it was not appealing to them.   "A LADY IN THE STREET BUT A FREAK IN THE BED..." "In solitude, the mind gains strength and learns to lean upon itself." -Laurence Sterne The Madonna/Whore Complex (or it is sometimes called "Madonna/Whore Dichotomy") is when men believe that a woman can be either good (nurturing mother, helpful nurse, kind school teacher) or bad (someone who enjoys sex, wears sexy clothing, has a high number of sex partners) but not both. This concept, in a nutshell, says that men find it difficult to see a woman as both "motherly" and "sexy" at the same time. Rapper Usher famously sang in his song "Yeah" that he wants "a lady in the street but a freak in the bed" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GxBSyx85Kp8--this is the Madonna/Whore Complex. Let me explain it another way: some women are fuckable--freaks (women in sexy clothes with a high number of sex partners); some women are lovable--ladies (educated, classy, smart, conservatively dressed). Immortal Technique spends the entire first verse telling us how the woman in his song is clearly a "lovable lady." Any surprise that he brags about "fucking a lot of different women" but never had sex with the one that mattered? Any surprise that, in the last verse, he distinguishes between "the one you love, not the person that'll simply have sex with you"? Of course not.   WHERE DOES "MARRYING UP" LEAVE TOP WOMEN? "If you want to be strong, learn to enjoy being alone." -Buddhist saying

So let's talk about the pink elephant in the living room here...why is the heroine in Immortal Technique's song turning her nose up at all the guys coming on to her but she develops a friendship and ultimately falls in love with one who ends up getting arrested and going to jail? Why is she buying him books or borrowing on his behalf from the library? He made it pretty clear to us that this young lady could have whoever she wanted, right? Well, it actually makes perfect sense. I remember learning about something called "marrying up" in one of my Sociology classes. Historically, men tend to marry women with less social status than them, such as less-educated, younger women with less money and less impressive careers (or no careers). Likewise, women prefer "marrying up" (men with more education, more money, better jobs, and older than them). This has been the system since the dawn of time. Unfortunately, it leaves women of the highest social status and men of the lowest social status chronically single. Ladies, we have all dated men from this category at one point or another. We tend to beat ourselves up about it, but, in reality, there are very good reasons why the most amazing women are often involved with the least amazing men--beyond just their on-going availability (see the chart to the left). First of all, bottom men have absolutely nothing to lose by approaching top women. They are expecting to be shot down. Psychologist and coach Perpetua Neo told Business Insider that successful women are willing to put in hard work and effort--when it comes to making partner at the firm or dating a "fixer-upper" guy. While a pink collar woman might think, "He's not working? I need a guy who can help me. No way," a white collar woman might think, "He's not working? It's so hard to find a job after graduation. I can ride it out until he gets hired on somewhere." https://www.businessinsider.com/why-intelligent-and-high-performing-women-fall-for-toxic-partners-2019-7?r=MX&IR=T#1-high-performance-women-are-willing-to-put-in-the-work-1 What some think of as this woman "giving too much," the top woman probably thinks of as "trying hard," something for which she is typically praised. Now let's take into consideration the "masculine social programming" experienced by bottom men. Unfortunately, the pressures of masculine performance are eating at these guys the most, which turns a lot of them into narcissists. Bobbi Palmer of Date Like a Grownup told the Huff Post, "These pathologically self-centered guys want a strong woman who has a lot to give...these types of men look for women who can constantly stroke their 'surprisingly fragile' egos. They also want someone 'steady and strong' they can count on to take care of them--particularly someone empathetic to attend to their 'child-like needs' and someone smart who they can prove they're even smarter. They also tend to want self-sufficient women so they don't actually have to take care of the woman's needs..." https://www.businessinsider.com/why-intelligent-and-high-performing-women-fall-for-toxic-partners-2019-7?r=MX&IR=T#1-high-performance-women-are-willing-to-put-in-the-work-1 Furthermore, bottom men are often alpha males--just because they don't have pensions, college degrees, or stand 6'0" tall, doesn't mean they don't have commanding presences. Plus, sex with them is a big no-no, and taboo is a huge turn-on.   LESSONS FROM "SEX & THE CITY" "I want to enjoy my success, not apologize for it." -Miranda, Sex & the City Dating coach Katja Rembrandt says, “Women are groomed to think that the man should have an even better job than them, so he can be the provider, even when she's perfectly capable of being the provider herself. These men are not usually looking for a very ambitious, hardworking, probably overworked wife...99% of the men you want to meet don't want to meet you. They might want to meet you for business contracts, but not as a future partner.” https://www.smh.com.au/lifestyle/life-and-relationships/dating-expert-explains-why-it-s-harder-for-successful-women-to-find-love-20180805-p4zvo6.html Ouch! Let's look at the most famous "top women" we all know and love...who did the characters from Sex & the City end up with? Charlotte traded the man in her "box of dreams" (JFK Jr.) for someone still super successful, just not famous or GQ-esque, Harry. By focusing on his qualities (loving, caring, supportive) instead of his credentials (bald, short, not a celebrity), she found someone she truly loved. Miranda traded her dream man (Jon Stewart from the "Daily Show") for a patient, caring bartender who first broke up with her because he was intimidated by her money. It took Steve about 2 years to move past that, but he got there (opening his own bar helped). Despite all of Samantha's efforts to not let her on-going boy toy Smith hold her hand in public or call her his girlfriend, in the end, his unfaltering love, support, and care turned the tide. He was working several part-time waiter and caterer jobs when they met and was two decades younger.

Some say that couples must choose between "being right or being in love," but for modern bad ass single women the choice looks more like, "Do you want to be coupled up or do you want to wait for Mr Big"? Carrie and Mr. Big dated on and off for ten years before they unceremoniously agreed to marry for asset protection purposes. In John Gray's Mars & Venus on a Date, he lays out some great advice for women on Carrie's path: - understand that it is natural for all men to pull away periodically--it's not about you - uncertainty is a normal, natural phase during the dating process--and some men dwell in uncertainty for years (or, as Miranda would say, they are like taxis driving around with their lights on that never pick up any passengers) - a woman must resist the tremendous urge to start pursuing the man when he stops pursuing her (let him experience the uncertainty), which leads me to the final bulletpoint... - while uncertain men should just focus on one woman at a time to see if he is interested in getting further involved, women in uncertainty should date around and fill up their time with a variety of different guys to see who is most fulfilling and keep expectations low at this point If you want to wait for Mr. Big, you need to understand the above 4 concepts. If waiting is not your bag, the Sydney Morning Herald reports, "Rembrandt encourages women to look for, and appreciate, the value of partners who are willing to support their success rather than compete with it. These men may have lower incomes and lower status. And, no, this isn’t the age-old advice to 'settle.' Settling is when you lower your standards and effectively put your needs second. Finding a man who’s going to support your success is about putting your needs first." https://www.smh.com.au/lifestyle/life-and-relationships/dating-expert-explains-why-it-s-harder-for-successful-women-to-find-love-20180805-p4zvo6.html Birch, author of The Love Gap, echoes this sentiment as well, saying, "There were a lot of women in my book who ended up dating men who all their friends and family said: 'Don’t do it. He’s not going to put a label on it. He’s taking forever. He’s so skittish.' But a lot of the women learned that they had to be patient and work through it on an individual level with these guys who were putting so much pressure on themselves to provide, which I thought was really great." https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/soloish/wp/2018/02/02/men-say-they-want-smart-successful-women-so-why-do-these-women-have-trouble-dating/ HOW TO DEAL WITH BEING AN "INTIMIDATING SINGLE WOMAN" "Being alone has a power that very few people can handle." -Steven Aitchison First of all, let's acknowledge that a really big percentage of the world is completely controlled by their inability to be alone. They are chasing after abusive basement-dwellers, visiting their X's in jail, accepting booty calls from guys who don't give them orgasms back, and so on...all because they can't do what we do. Standing alone takes courage. It is an act of bravery. Remind yourself of this frequently. Also, remember to make gratitude a daily habit. We never have to deal with his snoring, don't have to share the remote, never have embarrassing arguments in public, and never have to cry ourselves to sleep because of some off-hand comment a man made. One of my personal favorite things about being single is that my vibrator has never asked me for a blow job 3 seconds after I come.

I was once involved with a guy 20 years younger than me (one of the perks of being a single M.I.L.F.). We had agreed to have casual sex. There we were sitting in my kitchen, no-strings agreement reached, and nothing happening. He told me he was still too nervous to kiss me and get the ball rollin.' For fuck's sake! I felt like Mrs. Robinson in the phone booth telling Benjamin to give me our hotel room number. The next day we went out with a group of friends, and I saw my "Benjamin" walk right up to some random young lady in the crowd, start dancing with her, and by the 2nd or 3rd song, grab her and kiss her like nothing. Clearly, he had labeled her a non-intimdating "fucakable" woman, and I realized he had a serious crush on me! It used to be, "He's just not that into you." But, for powerful women like us, when a man stalls, postpones a date, or disappears for two weeks, I read that the opposite way--it's just a historical fact. If he's "just not that into me," he'll drop some hints (or just directly ask) for casual sex before disappearing. If he is that into me, he won't. Most "dating rules" were not written for women like us. A/B split test your own rules since the conventional ones most likely don't apply. Like starting out with casual sex and then seeing what develops...this has always been discouraged by dating gurus. In my experience, casual sex can keep him coming back long enough to realize you aren't going to bite his head off like a praying mantis. Just be careful to be honest with yourself about what's happening because he can turn into a deer in headlights at any moment during this phase. Again, John Gray writes in Mars & Venus on a Date: "These women (who remain single) mistakenly approach their relationships with men the way they want men to approach them. They are repelled by the thought of a needy man, so they are very careful not to need a man...They are surprised that their self-reliant attitude does not make them attractive...A woman needs to understand within herself why she may need a man and then learn how to express this vulnerability in a healthy way...The more self-sufficient a woman becomes, the more she hungers for the nurturing support of a man's romantic affections, friendship, and companionship. Women today experience a deep longing to feel the intimate passion that only good communication and romance can provide." (p. Read the full article

#SingleSpiritualWarriors #SpiritualWarriorFeminism

[punishandenslavesuckers]

She has no throne. Girls without thrones should not have knights, but hers won’t go. Princess Zelda – the girl who killed Calamity – would love to fade into legend, but Link’s bought a house, he’s fighting off monsters, and he’s selling giant horses to strangely familiar Gerudo men. She’ll never have any peace now. (ao3)  

(chapter one) (chapter two) (chapter three) (chapter four) (chapter five)

(chapter six) (chapter seven) (chapter eight)

“I can do that.”

Zelda – presently in a meditative state, fingers looping rhythmically through her hair, twin hair clips between her teeth – blinks up at Draga. The sun is high in the boughs of the trees, thin beams of yellow laying down mottled light on the grass by the road. They’d stopped briefly along the road east from Tabantha Stable to eat and re-organize their things a bit – Link having gotten distracted during the morning and made a haphazard job of a few saddle bags. Draga, who is responsible for most of the distracting, kneels beside her, slinging his rucksack to the ground. He nods to her hands halfway through the beginnings of a single golden braid.

“Oh, no I’ve got it,” she says, smiling. “It’s just a braid.”

“Is that what you call it?”

“Excuse me?”

“Hylian isn’t my first language, but I think you understood me.”

Link, tacking the horses by the road, snorts audibly. Zelda glares at him but try as she might – his smile lopsided and newly familiar – she can’t maintain her glare. So, she glares at Draga. He looks impatient, like she should just smack him or let do it already. So, she hands him her clips and hair band and turns so she’s facing away from him. He immediately draws a finger through the braid she’s managed thus far and unravels the lot.

“Not up to your standard?” she chimes.

“No.”

For that, she does smack him.

“If I had a mirror…” Zelda mutters.

“It would still look like a Hylian did the job,” Draga says calmly, around the clips between his teeth.

“You are trying to pick a fight? Or are you just missing having enough hair to do anything with?”

Draga, already parting her front-right region of hair into workable sections, says, “Rude.”

“You’re rude. Don’t make fun of my hair.”

Draga ignores her. Focused on the task at hand. He moves carefully along the side of her head, starting with three parts and twining them deftly down, adding consecutive segments of hair as he goes (very quickly she must admit) around the back of her head. She fiddles with a wrinkle in her pant leg.

“So you’re sure about this? You don’t mind? I mean, I know we discussed this at length over the last few days and… and I know we all agreed it’s the most logical course of action and I know you said that you don’t mind, but I feel like you should know that at any time you may change your mind and we can find some other method. I could refocus my efforts on lost Sheikah knowledge. There may be vast magi-tech archives yet untapped in the shrines. Or the Beasts even. You saw Medoh at the Rito Village. We could go back there if you –”

“Hold this,” he says, taking her hand and pinching her fingers around the middle of a finished braid. Then he starts on the other half of her hair and… Zelda’s isn’t quite sure what he’s doing exactly. She can feel that he’s leaving some sections loose, then gathering them up again later with a sequential foresight that she does not really apply to hair styles.

“So?”

“I said that I’m fine with it.”

“But it’s forbidden for you… right?”

“No, I said only elders were permitted on the mountain.” Draga removes a clip from between his teeth and applies it to a part of her hair. “For generations, my family has guarded the Statue of the Eighth Heroine and preserved it from everyone. Foreigners and Gerudo alike. This mandate was passed down to my tribe, supposedly, by Nabooru herself. It is the oldest undisturbed archive of written Gerudo history dating back to the Naboorian Age. It will pre-date the Twilit Calamity and the Bandit Age.” She can feel him shake his head. “I don’t believe we will find a better place to begin our search.”

“You’re sure you’re okay with it?”

“Zelda, there are no elders left in my tribe, so it would fall to me anyway.” He finishes off another braid. “Besides, you’re the maiden-form Goddess. Who else could be worthier to tread sacred ground?” A beat. “Also, Link already paraglided down the mountain and took pictures of the exterior. So, it’s hardly that unbroachable.”

From the road, Link calls, “I said I’m sorry!”

“You’re a godless heathen.”

“I’m the Goddess’s chosen Hero?”

“A regular sort of heathen then.”

“I didn’t know!”

Draga coils the finished ropes of Zelda’s hair in a neat whorl at the top right-hand side of head, giving the mirrored spiraled braids an asymmetric weight. Draga pins the coils in place with practiced engineering and Zelda touches the finished work, admiring the complicated craftsmanship, fingers picking out the soft track and curve of her braids like a road coiling inward. She turns.

“Thank you, Draga.”

He’s still kneeling there, one arm braced against his knee. Even though she’s seated on a stump, he’s taller than her while kneeling, looking down into her face with an expression just short of worried.

“It could have nothing about the Goddess Mark. It may be a waste of time.”

“That would be fine. I like history for the sake of it.”

“You’re certain Hyrule Castle is of no use?”

Zelda nods. “Yes. Even before the Calamity, most records were lost in the fall of the Magi-Technical Golden Age.” Zelda gestures helplessly. “Our oldest texts only barely describe the events of the Twilit Calamity and before that, there are anecdotal accounts of an ancient hero who moved through Time itself. No record of his actions exist because, it’s said, he existed in a non-linear state. Stopping Ganon before his rise and after.”

Link says nothing. Reacts not at all to the descriptions of his previous lives.

“Prior to that, there’s only… myth and fairytale. So there is nothing in those catacombs worth returning for. Not if our aim is to know more about why the Goddess Mark has appeared now. Why it’s expanded its touch to you.”

“What do you know of it?”

“Theology and historical theory. We know the Goddess Mark is tied to Hylia and the creation myth of Hyrule – the Golden Goddesses who left the world in the hands of Hylia. But that’s it. Scholars of the age have only said that the Mark symbolizes the godhead, three in one – Din, Farore, and Nayru. The heart of the world. The balance that maintains existence. It appears in most Hyrulian symbolism. Hardly compelling factual account. Not like Naboorian hieroglyphs.” She sighs, almost romantically. “Such a record would be so… unromantic in its chronicle of the past. Vital. I have to admit, I’m selfishly curious to know what’s on that mountain for my own sake.”

Draga gives her a crooked smile. “Well, thank the hero Nabooru. It was she who mandated a record of Gerudo history be made written.”

“Why did she do that?”

“Hard to say. Nabooru was an ancient figure to my people, I have a theory. When the Great Chieftains brought the Gerudo out from the Sea of Sand and laid us at the shores of Hyrule… that was the moment our oral traditions began to die. Such things do not survive when you must change to survive a new world. She knew it then and committed great efforts to laying down physical records of our history. This is how we know we were different before we found Hyrule.”

Zelda smiles. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad your people did find Hyrule. We would be poorer for it had they not come.”

“Yes, I guess history would look very different.”

Link catches the tail end of the conversation then, walking up to tap her shoulder.

He signs, ‘We should go. I want to be past the Scab Lands before nightfall.’

“Okay,” she says.

And she kisses him on the cheek. She does it carefully, catches his chin with two fingers so he doesn’t move and fits her lips against the warm plane oh his cheekbone. There. Proud of herself – and feeling very giddy – she stands up and heads toward the road. She isn’t aware that anything extraordinary has transpired until Draga says, “For fuck’s sake,” and kicks her knight escort in the ankle to break him out of the trance. She smiles all the way back to the road.

When they reach the Scab Lands, there are three Gerudo on the road

Two of them, carrying twin travel packs and matching jackets, are dressed for the road heading north into Tabantha, bundled prolifically in an excess of scarves. One of them is capped in an adorable wool-knit hat, a grandmotherly kind with a pom-pom stuck to the top. This would seem a bit much, if Zelda hadn’t seen Draga stuff himself into excessive layers back in the Rito Village and his subsequent almost primal hate for the snow. He is, in fact, still wearing a scarf presently.

The two girls are talking to a third Gerudo woman on horseback. Her violently red hair is pulled back in a heavy tail – from it, hundreds of sparkling beads catch the light when she turns her head. She’s wearing a veil. Blue fabric pinned at her temples by elaborate gold clasps. The scimitar at her hip is sheathed in a mother of pearl scabbard. Zelda notes that, upon seeing them, Draga sits up a little straighter and nudges Arbiter into a faster trot.

“Greetings!” says the girl in the cap as they draw near. Her accent is very strong. She waves while her companion – a little older, sharing enough of her bone structure and contempt to be a sister – rolls her eyes and gently pushes her arm down.

“Good evening,” says the older girl in carefully done Hylian. Then in Gerudo, to Draga, “That’s quite a horse. I’ve never seen one more beautiful.”

Draga also in Gerudo, says, “Now you’ve done it. It’ll all go to his head now.”

Arbiter, as if on cue, tosses his massive head and nickers, stomping a hoof in the dirt and blowing air at the nearest girl who startles, almost losing her cap. The older girl laughs loudly. Draga smiles a little – just a suggestion of it but so specifically gentle Zelda finds herself studying the shape of it. Cataloging it. Hoping to commit it to memory so she can identify it again in the future – like the flight patterns of birds or the phenotypes of a rare plant species.

“Are you two headed north?” he asks.

“Yeah. Meeting a family friend. He says he has work for us,” says pom-pom girl.

“That’s good,” Draga says. “Lots of young Gerudo leave town without a single part of a plan. You’re doing better than I did.”

“Didn’t plan well for the cold though,” says the older girl. “I’m not looking forward to freezing my tits off on some gods forsaken snowfield.”

“I am!” enthuses pom-pom. “There will be snow. I’ve never seen snow.”

“Say that again when you run into a snow rhino,” says Draga, amused.

The older girl stares in horror. “What the fuck is a snow rhino? Don’t say there are snow rhinos.”

“There are snow rhinos. They’re ornery. I’ve seen them.”

Zelda notes that Draga leans harder on the male-conjugation than he does when speaking Gerudo with her. The older girl gives no sign she notices – possibly because she is distracted by the snow rhino and the fact earmuffs will not protect her from getting gored by one. The younger Gerudo girl though… as the conversation goes on, visibly frowns and Zelda can tell she’s trying to figure out Draga’s understandable but slightly canted take on her own language. It occurs to Zelda that the occasion for personal male modifiers in Gerudo might be uncommon enough that not everyone might have bothered to learn them.

About sixty seconds into the conversation, the younger girl confirms Zelda’s suspicions by blurting, “Oh! You’re a voe!”

Delighted. Like she just figured out a difficult riddle. Draga and her sister, bent over a map and reviewing their likely path north for safety and friendly rest stops, stare blankly at her. Draga, still in his saddle, glances at the older girl who balls a hand over her face in humiliation. This signals to the younger girl that she’s made an error and she wilts.

“Oh, uh, I mean…” She switches to her mother tongue. “Sorry. That’s rude right?”

“Yes, Rima. That’s rude,” says her sister, exasperated. “Goddess, you’re embarrassing.”

“But both the blonde ones are women, right, Taz?”

“No, you idiot. The short one is a man.”

“Really?” She stares openly at Link who tilts his head. “Are you sure?”

“You need to get better at this, I can’t tell you who is man and woman every time.” She looks directly at Draga. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Draga says, visibly trying not to laugh.

“Are you two on Pilgrimage?” Zelda says in Gerudo.

“Oh! Your accent is so pretty!” Rima exclaims, clutching her hands to her chin. “You know Gerudo? That’s so amazing. No one knows our language! I’m so bad in Hylian. I say the wrong things.”

“You say the wrong things in every language,” Taz snaps.

Zelda makes introductions and accepts compliments on her hair and, through the corner of her eye, watches Draga dismount and start going through his saddle bag. He pulls out a small wood box she’s never seen and what looks like a snowquill doublet and overcoat with a couple ridiculous hats. The hats are also snowquill, but twice as thick as normal with ear flaps that make her immediately regret not seeing him wear it. Draga inspects these items with a calm appraisal, then turns and holds them out to the older girl.

“You two should take these,” he says.

Rima bounces a little at her sister’s shoulder, peering as she takes the coats and opens the little wood box. “Oh. Pretty. What are they?”

“Are these warming stones?” says Taz, her eyes big.

Draga nods.

She looks up. “We can’t take these.”

“Sure, you can.”

“These are too valuable!”

“They aren’t worth a thing.”

“You’re lying!”

Draga looks mock hurt. “I’m sorry. We just met and you’re calling me a liar?”

Taz loses some of her cool worldliness to alarmed sputtering but Rima is already pulling on the snowquill doublet, and then the overcoat, patting it with warm brown hands and smoothing the thick material down. She admires its fit (a bit too large honestly, even with the doublet beneath) and spins around so the longer part flaps out around her. She can’t quite lower her arms to her sides on account of the layers.

“So warm!” she says, beaming from the gap in her scarf and hat.

“It’s standard gear, but high quality,” Draga says. “Don’t let anyone try to trade you for it. The doublet and warming stone should be enough to keep even Tabantha cold out. Don’t go without full gear once you hit the snowfield. The temperatures there are deadly if you’re not ready. Besides, I’ll hardly have use for it back in the desert.”

Link signs, onehanded to Zelda, ‘That gear is worth near its weight in gold.’

Zelda blinks, then signs, ‘What?’

‘Rito can only make so many snowquill pieces a year since they use molting feathers. And warming stones are usually ruby. That equipment is no joke.’

The girl with earmuffs is already pulling the warming stone from the box – an adjustable leather wrist-cuff into which a single small red stone is filigreed in with silver wire. The stone has to be flush to skin to transfer its effect, Zelda knows. Draga tells her so and shows her how to tie the bracer to ensure it can’t come off. Then he says earmuffs are inadequate against Tabantha cold and places the ridiculous hat on her head. Rima squeals in delight. Taz tolerates this new development like she knew it was coming.

Draga pulls the flaps of the hat down around her ears and frowns down at it with a kind of judicious pragmatism and vague fraternal concern that makes Zelda aware, suddenly, of herself and the fact she’s sitting on her horse watching her giant friend vaguely mother people on the road. Makes her aware of Link kind of grinning besides her and as Draga finishes tying the stupid hat on his fellow Gerudo, Zelda acknowledges her desire (familiar and strange simultaneously) to put her hand on one of them. Not in any way specifically, just to be in contact.

The woman on horseback, who up until now has said nothing, waits until the sisters have departed with elaborate promises of returning the favor one day that Draga clearly appreciates, but expects nothing of. The woman’s horse is shockingly beautiful, golden in color, perfectly groomed, and stands at disciplined attention until she, gently, taps her heels into the beast’s flanks. The sun catches on the painted kohl and red that lines her eyes. She smells faintly of jasmine and when she smiles, Zelda can see it in the way her eyes crinkle and she says…

“You can’t buy the love of the People, you know.”

Zelda, stunned, just stares.

Draga, however, seems unmoved, He sneers, actually, his lips curling back like a dog bares its teeth. “I wouldn’t pay shit for your affection.”

She smiles. Her voice is almost gentle, musical, even in Hylian. “Come now, isn’t it a difficult life to choose?”

“You don’t choose,” he says.

“Of course, you do,” she says, almost gently, almost affectionately. “I’ll show you if you like. It’s easy. Here tell me: What is your real name?”

Draga’s expression changes then – a scorching burn of rage like a flash-fire on clay, baking in a color. He gets darker, if possible, with the intensity, the totality, of his anger in that single moment but even through that heat, Zelda catches it – an undercurrent. A brief but violent glow of hurt. Then he speaks through his teeth.

“You should ride on.”

She’s still smiling behind the veil.

The woman kicks her horse forward a little, so the beautiful gold animal circles to his left. “But don’t you want wisdom from a sister?” she asks, continuing to circle when Draga holds his ground. “I gave it to those girls, I’ll give it you. As if you were like them. The courtesy due your mothers at the least. Here’s my wisdom: Stay out here. Don’t go back. You’ll do much better where they don’t know shit about the People.” Here, she looks directly at Zelda. “Riju isn’t a little girl on the road with no jacket. She knows a shorthair heretic when she sees one.”

“Excuse me?” Zelda says in Hylian.

And the beautiful woman switches to Hylian just to clarify, “If you want to fuck a Gerudo, you should fuck a real one, girl.”

Link puts his fingers in his mouth and whistles.

He splits the air with that whistle, cracks it open with that sound. A piercing almost painful zipline of air, high and aggravating – cut with an impossible vibrato and quite without warning the beautiful woman’s horse throws its head, issues an equine scream, and bolts. The woman, clearly not expecting that, shrieks and flails forward, snatching the reins and hanging on as the mare gallops full speed, breakneck fast down the road. By the time she recovers she and her horse are a quarter mile away.

Link drops his hand. Zelda stares. Draga glares. Link just shrugs.

“How’d you do that?” Draga says, patting Arbiter on the nose. The massive stallion acts rather like it didn’t hear a thing.

Link nudges Epona off the road. “We’re behind schedule. We should go.”

Zelda looks at Draga. “Are you alright?”

He mounts up. “Of course.”

“Why would she say something like that?”

Draga looks at her. His expression so neutral it makes a momentary statue of him. “Link’s right. We should try to gain ground before it gets much darker. This area isn’t safe at night.”

Zelda thinks about the flight pattern of birds, the mating habits of poisonous frogs, the sexual dimorphism between the male and female of a certain species of lizard, and the precise balance of the smile that touched Draga’s mouth when he tied that stupid hat on Taz’s head. She nods and follows her companions off the beaten path and they head into the wilds at the foot of the mountain range beyond, toward the uneven ridges that mark Draga’s homeland.

“That’s too much salt.”

“You said add more salt.”

“Not that much.”

“I can’t un-salt something, Link.”

There’s a silence.

“No. I’m not taking cooking critique where you spell things for me in Sign.”

“Add a little more of everything.”

“How about you give better instructions and we won’t have this problem?”

“How about you don’t dump too much salt in my salmon risotto and we won’t have this problem?”

“Never mind. Go back to not speaking.”

Zelda looks up from the bow in her lap – recurve composite, Gerudo make, one of Link’s spares dug from the vast and confusing depths of his enchanted travel pack. It feels warm and familiar in her hands. The wood curved like the dip of a hipbone. She watches her compatriots. Link is hovering and peering over his shoulder with a kind of bland anxiety that’s specific to food. Draga is glaring at him for it. She goes back to what she was doing because she explicitly warned Draga not to try and help Link cook. He gets weird about it. So, this his bed to lie in.

She smooths her fingers up and down the shape of the bow, fitting her fingers to the leather grip at the center, feeling again and again a vague sensation of reflex. Of want. It’s one of the lightest in Link’s arsenal at a thirty-five-pound draw – just enough pull to down an opponent if she puts some intention to it. The bowstring lays coiled in her lap, tacky, wrapped in wax paper.

“Could you back up?” Draga says.

Link does not do that.

“I need you to back up.”

Link kind of makes a face and Draga picks up the entire plate of spare ingredients from the grass and shoves it into his arms. “That’s it. I’m done You are like…” He says something in Gerudo that Zelda thinks is slang, but translates like ‘a jackal in heat’ or something to that effect. “I hate fish anyway.”

Link looks offended.

Draga leaves him there looking offended and comes to join Zelda. “You going to string that?”

“I’m trying to remember how.”

“I can show you.”

“No. I’m trying to remember.”

He frowns, then realizes. “Oh.” He crouches down in front of her, inspecting the weapon in her hands with a thoughtful reconsideration. “What is that like? Trying to remember something that didn’t happen in this life?”

“Like I’m remembering something I did in a dream,” Zelda says, carefully unspooling the bowstring from the wax paper. “I can ignore it if I want. What I remember in a dream does not confuse me. I am never uncertain about what I have done and what has been done by my predecessors.” She hooks the top of the string into the notch at the bottom of the bow. “Often, it’s not memory at all. Just a feeling. Indistinct.” She stops here to stand up, bracing the bottom of the bow against the ground just outside her right boot with the curve hooked up hugging the back of her left thigh, set diagonally between her legs. “It’s nothing specific. Just…”

Draga waits. “Want a hint?”

“No… I know this. I…” She grips the top curve of the bow and pushes it down like a lever forward, the body of bow bending against her leg. This gives her just enough time to hook the string into the top notch. She releases the tension and the line goes taut. “Ha!” She steps her leg out of the freshly strung bow and presents it to Draga. “It’s like muscle memory!”

Draga tilts his head. “Well, if it’s muscle memory, Princess, maybe we should try some target practice.”

She falters a moment. “Oh… well I could try.”

Draga fetches his own quiver from their equipment, taking long enough that she begins to regret her decision. She fully regrets it by the time he hands her the first arrow. He waits. Clearly not intending to help her figure it out whatsoever.

Nervous now, Zelda readjusts her grip on the bow in her left hand, awkwardly sliding her hand down the arrow from the middle of its length to the feather-fletched end. The feel of it sends a vague blush of familiarity through her. She closes her eyes. She imagines… fitting the bolt to the string, drawing it back. A compound movement, pushing the bow away and drawing the line back, high at first, then lining up. Mathematical. Precise. Her line of sight focuses and – she opens her eyes.

Draga is peering down at her, waiting and curious.

She shoves the arrow back at him, a sick well suddenly in the back of her throat.

“Never mind. I don’t want to practice this.”

Draga blinks a little owlishly. “Why not?”

“I just don’t want to. The draw weight is too heavy for me anyway.”

“How would you know unless you tried?” Draga says, his brow rising slightly.

“I… I just would rather not.”

He takes the arrow.

“Is this because you said you thought about killing me?” And when Zelda goes ramrod stiff, petrified, he scratches his chin and says, “Your dream-mind notwithstanding, if you think you can kill me, it’s going to take more than an arrow, Princess.”

She sputters, horrified. “I would never –!”

“Then there’s no reason not to learn this,” Draga interrupts.

He offers her the arrow again. When she does not immediately take it back and, instead, stands there frozen, he says, quietly, “It would be useful if you learned this.” A beat. “Relearn it.” Another beat. “Whichever it is. I barely follow you two when you talk about these things.”

“Draga…”

He steps forward and with an old archer’s ease, he fits three fingers beneath her left elbow and lifts her bow arm to a proper height. He nocks the arrow to the string for her, his fingers momentarily fitting hers to the line.

“Just draw,” he says.

Eventually, after a long moment, she draws.

It’s like taking a breath.

“Hm,” he says.

“What’s ‘hm’?”

“You have a long pull.” He moves out of her line of sight, behind her. “You draw all the way past your ear.”

“This feels right. Is that bad?” she asks, maintaining her stance, aiming indistinctly at the trees.

“Not necessarily,” he says. She can feel the shrug. “Your footwork is good. How does it feel?”

“Familiar.”

“It should.” His mouth is suddenly very close to her ear. “I saw you shoot at that dragon.”

A shiver runs down her spine and coils in Zelda’s stomach. A murmur enters her heart, but before she can react, he loops his quiver belt around her hips, drawing it tight. He’s kneeling behind her to do this, his hands occasionally bracing against her hip as he fits it. He’s not gentle exactly, tugging at the strap with a utilitarian strength she might expect if he were tacking Arbiter for the road. It forces her to brace. She looks over her shoulder to glare at him, but when she turns her head, he looks calmly up at her from where he’s kneeling. The fire light illuminates one side of his face, painting a gold heat into the high plane of his cheekbone and –

She immediately faces forward again, suddenly very aware of his hands against her hip.

He finishes adjusting the quiver and stands up.

“There’s a knot in that oak. Think you can hit it?”

She squints down the shaft, the bowstring digging into her fingers as she holds the tension and… she relaxes. She lowers the bow with the arrow still nocked to the string and turns at the hips to look up at Draga.

“Why did that woman speak to you like that on the road today?”

Draga blinks. “This is an obvious delaying tactic.”

“It’s an honest question.”

Draga thinks about it. “When you were learning Gerudo, you were taught the importance of gendered conjugation in our language, yes? That our pronouns delineate Gerudo as its own gender category. Then non-Gerudo women and men.” When he gets a small nod from her, he goes on. “Naboorian dialects are the only Gerudo dialects that allow for Gerudo-specific male modifiers at all and that dialect is not widely spoken. So, in effect, my own language does not properly allow for my existence.”

Zelda’s brows lift in surprise. “The dialect you speak… it’s an offshoot?”

“A slight variant. But yes. My family spoke it, but not many outside the Highlands do.”

She hesitates, then admits, “I honestly thought that Gerudo-specific conjugation was gender indifferent until I met you.”

He shrugs. “Our most common conjugation structures evolved without distinction. Hardly unnatural, but it’s also why that woman said what she said. If I have used any modifiers other than Naboorian – then she wouldn’t, perhaps, have spoken up.” He pauses a moment, thinking. “I have had more fights with Gerudo over my dialect than any other moral disagreement.”

“Why?”

“It’s very hard for the narrow-minded to ignore me when I speak Naboorian Gerudo.” He smiles a little, but it’s a brittle baring of teeth. “It’s subtle. Outside of my own dialect, if I wanted to specifically delineate myself as a man… I would have to linguistically separate myself from being a Gerudo.”

Zelda shakes her head. “Why don’t I know this?”

“You’re Hylian,” he says, shrugging. “Also, you were fighting Calamity Ganon so I hardly fault you for not being finely aware of the societal riffs among my people. Now, are you going to shoot that bow or do you want a grammar lesson?”

“Well…”

Draga waits.

“Oh, very well. I will try.”

Draga smiles.

Zelda turns back to her target. After a moment’s consideration, she draws a second arrow, hooking the feathered end into the loop of her pinkie finger while she sets the first arrow to the line – both shots held ready now in her right hand. She breathes. She thinks – not of the desert. No. Not the desert. Something else. Like… like standing in a long yard. She imagines her hair shorn short for battle, her fingers callused and scarred. Zelda draws. Aims. Releases the shot. Flips the next bolt over her knuckles and sets it to the line. Pulls. Fires.

When she lowers the bow, two arrows stand quivering from the mouth of the hollow, clustered at the head.

“Huh,” says Draga.

“That’s a Sheikah’s draw,” says Link.

Zelda blinks, her heart-pounding elation -- alien and effervescent, like she’s stealing it from another world entirely – subverted by the frank certainty the statement. Link is no longer cooking by the fire. He’s standing with Draga, watching, arms folded. The campsite smells of salmon risotto. Link’s hair catches bits of gold in the fire light, Draga beside him lit in copper. She blinks again at the peculiar mirror they make of one another, both peering at her with identical looks of intrigue.

Link points. “The way you bring it up, pull past your ear, and sight. The reload method. It’s Sheikah.” He shrugs, then signs, ‘I don’t know how to shoot like that. It’s one of the most challenging styles I know of.’

“Oh…” Zelda looks uncertainly to Draga, who just shrugs, then back to Link. “Really?”

He nods and she feels a strange dissociation, staring at her own fingers.

She shakes it off. “Okay, so I use a Sheikah draw? Is that bad? What style do you use, Link?”

Draga interrupts immediately, at volume, “Link shoots with his wrist out and some bizarre pinch and draw I’ve never seen and it’s appalling. Do not do what he does or ask for his advice.”

Link shrugs. “It a Zora draw.”

“It’s what?”

“I trained with Zora when I was younger,” he says blandly. “They shoot that way to keep their fins out of the line. I didn’t know that when I was a child.”

Draga stares. “So you shoot weird because you’re too lazy to retrain yourself?”

Link shrugs again.

“You’re unbelievable.”

Link says, “Dinner’s ready,” and walks back to the fire. Rather like nothing of great surprise occurred, leaving Zelda and Draga to stare after him.

Zelda shoulders the bow for a moment. “Draga… thank you for telling me all that.”

“You both deserve to know before I take you into it.”

“Can I ask one more thing?”

“Of course.”

“Why did she ask for your ‘real name’?”

He looks at her, a little surprised, then says, “Only demons have many names.”

Zelda blinks. “What?”

“Do you not say that in Hylian?”

She shakes her head.

“Oh.” He ponders this, rubbing his neck like there’s a knot there, his other arm folded across his stomach. “I’m not sure how to say it in Hylian, Names have power in the desert. Saying I have the wrong name...”

Zelda lays a hand on his arm, drawing his hand down. He looks at her.

“You know that we prefer you as you are, right?”

He stares at her. A strange expression. Like he hadn’t seen her properly or the dark made odd shadows in her face. “Thank you, Zelda.”

“Always.”

Zelda wakes to Link’s hand on her arm.

It’s still dark. She can hear crickets in the forest. Even the embers of their fire are dark.

Link’s face is just barely discernable in the moonlight, the blanket having fallen off his shoulder when he rolled over to wake her. He says nothing, but she knows what’s wrong. She crawls carefully over her knight, bare feet sinking into gap between their sleeping pads, fingers bracing against the mess of bedding. She can feel dew on the fur Link pulls over the top, strictly to keep the dampness off the wool.

Draga, lying next to Link, is breathing too fast. Keeps jerking involuntarily. Half-formed words escaping him in quiet suppressed bursts, like someone has a hand on his throat. He’s on his side, spine curled slightly forward, arms drawn close to his chest, like he’s cold… or like he’s trying to clutch his throat in his sleep and can’t. Zelda lays a hand over his brow and a faint gold light wells gently in her fingers. Link’s eyes – suddenly visible, blue, holding the glow in a way that defies what she knows about illumination – meet hers.

Eventually, the tension leaves Draga’s limbs. His hands unclench and the faint, pained tension in his features smooths away to unconscious neutrality. For another minute she sits there, her hand against his head and Link’s chin against her shoulder. She listens to them breathing until, vaguely, she realizes they’re breathing together and Link’s fallen asleep against her. They won’t mention it in the morning.

A reminder: Link doesn’t look dangerous until he is.

Lake Alumeni lies shining at the foot of the Gerudo Highlands. An icy wellspring of water wreathed by a copse of apple and evergreen trees, knotted with heather and long grass. The grass gives way to a sandy slope of shore before the lake’s edge and it’s there, under the dying sunlight, Link does as Draga asked of him. Namely: be very dangerous for a while.

He’s crouched, waiting, sword in hand.

He says, calmly, ““You won’t beat me without magic.”

Draga, knotting anther bandage around his forearm, snarls, “I know, you tiny bastard.”

Link doesn’t smile.

The lackadaisical courtesy of previous sparring sessions has gone, replaced with mercenary indifference – the blank, blue-eyed battle stare that is precursor, Zelda knows, to terrible violence. That’s the face he wears now. Apathetic as physics when he puts an impossible bend in the universe and uses it to smash his friend to the ground. Repeatedly. Viciously. Trying to draw out an response. Even the blunt edge of the sparring sword does the job – laying a ragged road of bruises and shallow cuts down Draga’s arms. Leaving him panting, laved in sweat and sticky with blood. IT’s been hours.

The air stinks with like live current. Link’s breath like the air before a lightning strike. There’s a storm in his eyes when he’s like this. Zelda almost forgot.

“Ready?” he says.

Draga thinks about it. Then nods.

Link hits him instantly. The blade sings with the blow and Draga lunges back. He swings a massive blow at Link’s flank, but he just pivots, ducks the side slash, and smashes his elbow into Draga’s back as he goes past. Draga hits the ground rolling and comes up instantly. Draga attacks. Fast. He’s still so fast, even now, but Link is always that much faster. He deflects the blow, pivots, and comes up slashing, sword ringing when it slams into Draga’s. It puts a terrible vibrato into the metal, driving the bigger man back but Link does not stop. Doesn’t slow an iota.

He presses the exchange with a merciless speed, the entire time saying, “No,” and “C’mon!” and “I’m going to kill you, if you don’t get this!”

(Zelda tells herself he doesn’t mean that. It’s a tactic. It’s just talk.) But he doesn’t stop.

Draga’s breathing hard. He tries to catch his balance. Link keeps coming. Link gets past his guard, strikes a glancing blow to his head. Draga keeps his feet, but only just and Link lays open another bleeding line against wrist, his thigh, his hip – Draga flinches and that’s when the lake shore shivers. Draga is already swinging when it happens. He brings the blade down and the impact is Lynel-like, buckling Links arm and spinning him around.

This time, the metal does not howl. It eats the impact and the air around him becomes heat-smeared, mirage-like. When he steps forward, small pebbles on the ground begin to shiver and jump as if caught in the gravity of a localized star. The surfaces of the lake ripples, a barometric shiver in the air displacing the mirror shine.

But Draga’s thrown his sword down.

He stands there, stock still, his hands clenched in front of him. Eyes closed. Breathing too fast.

Link, seeing this, steps back and lowers his blade.

“Control it,” Link says loudly. “Focus!”

“What the hell… do you think… I’m doing?”

His eyes take on a shine – glowing internally, red – usually a controlled burn, steady as the embers in a blacksmith’s forge. Now, she can see the erratic pulse of it, like someone is inexpertly pumping bellows into the forge, throwing sparks and heating the interior too fast, too much. He shakes his head. He breathes too fast.

Zelda steps in.

She’s got her hands around Draga’s wrists, then around the back of his neck. It’s like grabbing a burning skillet from a flame. She can feel the heat hissing against the thin golden shell that paints her skin, like heat crackling in water. She pulls his forehead down to hers and pushes that golden light through her palms into the muscles in the back of his neck where it travels like water down a wall, dousing his skin where it touches.

He's gasping. “I can’t breathe…”

“You can breathe. Breathe when I breathe.”

Draga’s breath is hot against her face, but it’s cooling. She feels the resistance start to give, like trying to dam water with your hands then letting it go. He lets her pour out light, running over his skin, into his skin and evaporating on contact. And in the same breath she can feel the… depth he was talking about, like a house that’s bigger on the inside, the vast space into which she is pouring herself with no hope of filling. The void that dragons opened inside him. But even so, Draga’s skin feels human again. When he breathes, there’s gold in it.

She pushes, carefully, another dose of sunlight against his skin and he twitches, shivering.

“It’s like a ocean moving around you,” she murmurs. “Like a river. You can direct part of the flow, but you can’t control it. Do you feel it?” She breathes slowly, speaks calmly. “You have to let go or you’ll drown. Every time.”

“It’s like you have your hand in my chest,” he says, surprising her.

“I won’t hurt you.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“It’s okay. You’re not losing control.”

“That’s not what I meant, either.”

She blinks. “Oh.”

Zelda doesn’t recognize the way he’s looking at her. But at the same time, she knows it exactly. There’s gold on her tongue when she kisses him. There it is again – that dirty copper taste, like swallowing a coin. Like warming a spoon with her mouth. Her fingers close in his hair, her nails dragging on his scalp and when she finally pulls away, the air is calm around them. No longer boiling where they touch. Nevertheless, she feels hot. Her fingers against his neck pulsing, her heartbeat in her hands and in her stomach and she feels dizzy, like her head is filled with vapor.

She pulls away.

Draga shivers. “Thank you.” He looks at Link. “Both of you.”

Link joins them. The alien battle blank edge resolved into a kind of wry concern. He wipes sweat from his face with his sleeve, managing a small smile and a shrug that says, without sign or sound, ‘Whatever it takes.’

“Honestly,” Draga says again. “This would be much harder on my own. I’m glad I’m not this time.”

“Of course,” Zelda says emphatically. “I said you could rely on us and I mean it. I do. We’re going to figure this out together. We’re going to figure out the nature of this new magic. We’re going to go with you back to the Gerudo. We’re going to move forward.” She smiles. She doesn’t’ know why – overwhelmed suddenly by an excess of happiness. Or hope. She hadn’t been aware she lacked that before. “I have every confidence. I really do.”

Link taps her shoulder.

“Hmm?”

He cups her jaw and draws her into a kiss, tilting her head and his tongue is salt and milk in her mouth. Her heart races. A dizzy delight rising in her throat and she giggles a little. For some reason, Link seems to like that, and the way he’s kissing her becomes a little feral, his fingers knotting in her hair, his teeth just barely catching against her lip and rather without meaning too, a small moan rises in her throat. High and broken and Link immediately pulls back. Red in the face.

“Sorry,” he says, stepping back.

“What for?” says Draga, arms folded, looking a little disappointed.

Link blushes harder. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Why not?” Zelda says, a little punch drunk.

Draga laughs. “You’re allowed, you know.”

Link hesitates. Then, rather like he’s repeating a question, he moves toward them again. He looks between them. She can tell he’s trying to figure out the best tactical execution here. Draga just rolls his eyes, bends down, and lays a hand against Link’s jaw.

“For someone who clearly knows what they’re doing,” he says, “you embarrass easy.”

Link gets redder. “Got to hell,” he says, but in the wrong tone of voice.

Draga smiles.

Zelda notices the back of his left hand is brushing her bare wrist.

“Maybe later,” he says.

.

.

.

go to chapter 10...

#botw #legend of zelda #legend of zelda breath of the wild #loz #zelda #link #ganondorf #lozfic #in which the cycle starts over immediately #and no one told link or zelda #you can actually #run into the next triforce holder on the fucking road #and he might be kinda chill #tagging for #polyamory

[sending-the-message]

Tobias by Ilunibi

The one drawback of Dead Coyote keeping himself clean-ish was that his social circle collapsed in on itself like a dying star. The regulars I’d grown up with were pretty sour that Dead Coyote kicked them to the curb after his first relapse, when he realized that their mere presence made him regress back to his old, self-destructive self. People who’d demonized him when he was a known dealer were incapable of wrapping their minds around the fact that he could turn over a new leaf, and very few were willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. That’s not even to start in on the folks who wanted him to “go back to Mexico” when they realized that he was approved for disability because of all the emotional backlash of overcoming his addiction, accusing him of stealing their hard-earned money when he “probably doesn’t have a green card.”

He chose to find humor in it, or tried. Still, you could tell that he was jonesing for something a bit more substantial than a hit of heroin, and it got worse when I went to college.

His girlfriend was dead. His princess was an hour away. His family wasn’t really on speaking terms with him. The most companionship he usually had, surprisingly enough, was my mother, who’d stop by from time to time just to make sure that he was eating. After all, he was the surrogate father to a daughter she hadn’t got a chance to raise. Even if she still had nagging thoughts in the back of her mind that he was a dirty junkie with impure thoughts about her little girl, nine years of committed babysitting had secretly won her over.

Me? I worried. Even at the age of eighteen, and even having seen Dead Coyote in less-than-flattering situations, I still had this very childish, idealized view of him in my head. He wasn’t perfect, but I always thought of him as strong and unshakable and unbreakable. He’d overcome demons and hexes and curses and heroin, and did things no sane man would do without batting an eye, succeeding more often than not.

But that’s not really Dead Coyote. Dead Coyote is a perpetually exhausted, well-meaning man who made bad choices when he was my age because he lost all hope that he could do better. Dead Coyote has impulse control problems and anger issues and spends a lot of his time depressed and worried. He’s a human being who puffs himself up because he’s never been given the option of being weak, but he’s actually scared of a lot of things he stands up against. And he is hurt that he was essentially abandoned by everyone he ever knew, right down to Cheryl overdosing in her apartment.

My sixth sense tingled every time I talked to him on the phone. He began to sound more hopeless and listless, and I was terrified that he’d either wind up back with a needle in his arm or I would one day get a call from mom that they found him with a bullet in his head. Life without DC in it just seemed impossible and hollow, and I spent a lot of time crying over the thought.

Fortunately, it seemed the stars aligned just right enough for a single, solitary person to show up in his life. Or rather, reappear. He called me, confused, the weekend before finals week and told me that he’d heard from an old friend he hadn’t spoken to in years.

“Tobias,” he muttered, flabbergasted. “Of all the fuckin’ people, princess, it was Tobias.”

Now, Tobias was Dead Coyote’s best friend before he moved away from home. I’d heard a lot about him but never met the man because, well, Maryland was a pretty good distance away and I was under the impression that he was about as broke as either of us. Travel wasn’t really an option. But I did know that he taught him a lot about magic, he was the person responsible for the nickname “Dead Coyote,” and that he was eerily good at predicting things. Apparently, their old crew gave him the alias “Seer” because of it, and some people outright stopped talking to him because of how accurate he wound up being, accusing him of being the harbinger of everything he foresaw.

Not that he was psychic, no. When I suggested that on the ride home from campus for a summer of black magic and beer, Dead Coyote just laughed at me and shook his head. Psychics, he said, aren’t real, but spirits are. Tobias was just very, very good at reading omens and signs and was dedicated enough that he built up quite the rapport with a particular demon by the name of Vine.

Vine is, essentially, an oracle who takes the form of a circus lion. You think I’m joking, but what else do you think of when you imagine a big cat on horseback? Silly as that may sound, he supposedly knows all things past, present, and future, and doubles as a one-spirit demolition crew when riled. Allegedly. I can’t think of a time I’ve ever heard of a building toppling and immediately wanted to pin it on an archaic demon, but the capability is recorded in the old grimoires and just the thought of somebody being good enough at what they do to build up a working relationship with that was both terrifying and impressive.

The first few weeks of summer break, I was treated to quite a few stories of the good old days, Dead Coyote making it perfectly obvious that hearing from somebody who wasn’t me or my mother had made his goddamn life. The part of me that would have been jealous had pretty much died, because more than anything I was just happy to hear him happy. His one complaint was that he wished they could actually meet up. Phone calls are nice, but they’re nothing compared to sharing shitty beer in person and loudly complaining about said shitty beer.

“Maybe we could visit,” I suggested. He liked the idea and we tried to figure out the logistics of it in a drunken, emotional haze that eventually turned into an in-depth discussion about Beast Wars. Still, the seeds had been planted and we almost had a pretty good rough draft in place for our first ever unorthodox family vacation.

But, we never got to act on it.

A few days after our discussion, I woke up to the sound of somebody knocking, loudly, on the door. It was the kind of knock that instantly makes your heart leap into your throat: heavy, hard, and relentless. Not knuckle knocking, but side of the fist, open-this-goddamn-door-right-fucking-now knocking. It startled me so much that I took a spill off of the couch and waited in the floor, hopeful that I’d hear Dead Coyote shuffling around upstairs. That was obviously expecting too much. The man could sleep through the apocalypse.

My first thought was that it was somebody from the housing authority. They had a tendency to be assholes and I was bad at keeping track of the pest control regimen or the quarterly inspections. Maybe it was a very aggressive postman with yet another official letter from yet another person to whom Dead Coyote owed money. I crept toward the door, peeked out the peephole, and didn’t even have a chance to say anything before a voice boomed back at me.

“Where’s Angelo?”

I blinked. Nobody called Dead Coyote by his real name, not even the people at the complex’s offices. I actually forgot he had a real name.

I stood in silence on the other side of the door, holding my breath and trying to make sense of what was going on. I couldn’t even see anyone on the other side of the door. The opposite end of the peephole was covered, like whoever was on the other side had leaned in close trying to see their way in.

“Know you’re there. Know you’re not Angelo. Where is he?”

As deep and terrifying as the voice was, it wasn’t angry. I decided to take that as a good sign. Realizing that Dead Coyote wasn’t waking up and that I was now an adult who had to handle scary adult things myself, even if it was potentially a home invasion, I made the not-so-wise decision to open the door a crack. I only undid three of the locks, though, leaving the chain in place.

Hair a mess, glasses crooked, and still in my pajamas, I glanced through the gap between the door and the jamb and stared wide-eyed at the man on the other side. He had dreadlocks for days, half-tied back and half tied down with a bandana. He looked like a cross between a fortune teller and Medusa.

“You’re Seymour?”

I stared at him blankly and tried to close the door. He stopped it with his foot. I suddenly had a lot of regrets.

“Tobias. Where’s Angelo?”

And so, I met Tobias.

Tobias was strange. He was the human equivalent of a Clydesdale horse with dark skin, bright blue eyes, and a withering expression that just seemed to be his default. I also couldn’t peg what he was supposed to be for the life of me, beyond human. You could look at Dead Coyote and tell he was Hispanic, or look at me and tell I was Celtic as fuck, but Tobias just was.

Uncomfortable as it was, we sat and made small talk as we waited for Dead Coyote to drag himself up from his hangover and ooze down the stairs. He was polite enough, if a bit blunt and quiet, though it seemed less out of a sense of awkwardness than the fact he had too much on his mind. Halfway through our on-and-off conversation, he reached into his pocket and fished out a deck of playing cards, shuffling them and cutting them as though it was a nervous tic. His eyes never left the floor.

By the time Dead Coyote finally decided to join us, Tobias had cleared off the coffee table and laid out a chaotic spread of cards that began as a game of solitaire and turned into something like a tarot spread. The only thing that interrupted him was seeing his old friend, the two exploding into a series of excited yelps and overly manly hugs. According to Dead Coyote, Tobias hadn’t changed a bit. According to Tobias, though, Dead Coyote looked like he’d been crushed in a dumpster sometime between the ages of nineteen and thirty.

“How did you find me?” Dead Coyote finally asked as they cracked open a couple of morning brews and I sat awkwardly on the sideline. Tobias shrugged.

“Not a lot of people with the last name ‘Sepulveda.’”

“And why come all this way, man?”

Tobias gestured at his cards. I had no idea what the hell any of it meant, but Dead Coyote looked at the weird arrangement like an art connoisseur sizing up a painting. With each card he glanced over, the more concerned his expression became. Before I could ask what was going on, Tobias began to speak. It was as though he knew what I was going to ask.

He said he’d come because his readings and rituals were beginning to become more and more focused on Dead Coyote, seemingly out of nowhere. When he slammed into an actual coyote with his car and killed it--an apparent rarity in his parts--he took it as a sign from Vine and tracked down his old friend through a mixture of good old fashioned asking around and even more old fashioned divination. A few calls didn’t ease his worries, so he’d chucked a fair chunk of change for a one-way Greyhound ticket and had come to figure out what in the hell was going on.

“Knew you were bad when you left, but you didn’t set off the alarms. Now you do. Worried me.”

Despite the somber tone, I honestly didn’t have a damn clue what was going on. The only thing I knew was that almost every card in Tobias’ reading for Dead Coyote was a spade. When Tobias finally left, albeit reluctantly, he gave us a single warning to watch ourselves. Something was very, very wrong. His gaze lingered on me a bit longer than I would have liked and I shrank away as he disappeared out the door.

“I don’t get it,” I said, once the apartment was quiet and we had settled on the couch. Dead Coyote inhaled deeply and immediately fished for his cigarettes.

“He does cartomancy, princess. If it were anyone else, I’d think it was bullshit, but it’s Seer, so… you know.”

Cartomancy, he said, was like tarot but using a deck of regular old playing cards. It’s more direct and less interpretive, and the cards all had set meanings that made them more believable and less sketchy than the vague readings tarot spat out. Typically, Dead Coyote laughs at anyone who takes that sort of thing seriously, but Tobias had used cards for as long as he’d known him to tease out concrete answers from the powers that be. It was one of the many ways he interpreted signs and omens, because it was honest, quick, and handy. There was no specific store to buy them in or any hocus-pocus “relationship” you had to have with the deck. If you needed them, you just picked some up from the dollar store and got to work.

And spades? They’re bad. Very bad. I hadn’t gathered heads or tails of the reading Tobias had laid out on the table while Dead Coyote was asleep, but it predicted everything from debilitating depression to disruption in the apartment to death. I didn’t have a goddamn clue how one person could get all of that out of a game of solitaire, but Dead Coyote was shaken to the core of his being. It bothered me to see that sort of uncharacteristic weakness, to see him reacting with anything other than anger or apathy. The only thing that seemed to bring him back down to earth was reminding him that Tobias wouldn’t have come and told him if he didn’t think something could be done.

Honestly, I needed to hear it, too. Seeing him freaked out did nothing to help me calm down, and the fear was so overwhelming that my brain could only process it as anger. That night, I laid on the couch and stared at the ceiling and wondered aloud to myself just what in the fuck was going on and who the fuck Tobias thought he was. The prediction of “death” loomed over me like a storm cloud and I tried to think of all the ways something could happen to Dead Coyote and what I could do to stop it, if anything. It became a borderline obsession, this nagging fear, a paranoia more powerful than when I just wondered if his loneliness would drive him to self destruction.

The next few days were a blur; I couldn’t bring myself to pay attention to anything, especially when Tobias would stop by to do his wellness checks. He was a distraction, an unlikeable distraction whose “man of few words” act was beginning to grate on my last nerve. Even though Dead Coyote would light up and temporarily forget what fate had willed for him whenever he stopped by, I couldn’t find it in my heart to like the guy. When I looked at him, all I could think about was where the hell he’d been when Dead Coyote needed him most, why it took so long for him to realize his friend was in trouble, and whether or not they could even still be considered friends after not seeing each other for years and years.

I could stomach it for about a week. It was a week of watching Tobias pull spades repeatedly, knit his brows together, and pull them again. It was a week of watching him do nothing to try to figure out where it was coming from. Seven entire days of looking up from whatever I was doing to see him glaring at me like somehow this was all my fault. All I could think of was how desperate I was to prove Tobias wrong and how offended I was that--if he was correct--he was doing nothing but the same thing over and over, like an idiot, to try to “fix” things.

I had had enough.

Dead Coyote had gone to bed, drunk. I tried, but I couldn’t. Yet again, I lay on the couch and conversed with the ceiling until I felt this urge throughout my entire body to get up, a horrible and uncomfortable twinge in my legs and arms that compelled me to move. I stood, I paced, but I was still so fucking restless. And angry. And fed-up.

And scared.

Being a dumb eighteen-year-old is both magical and puzzling, because to this day I have no idea why the hell I decided to go steal Dead Coyote’s phone out of his room. He was snoring on his mattress, shirtless and tangled into a drunken mess of limbs, and for all intents and purposes he was dead to the world. I snatched it off the charger, snuck back down to the kitchen, and sat at the table in the corner staring at his contact list debating whether or not I should call his little friend. You know, just give him a little ring and demand he tell me what needed to be done to reverse fate and who in the screaming hell he thought he was bringing that kind of negativity into our apartment.

I wanted to tell him fortune telling was bullshit and that I didn’t believe he was as powerful as Dead Coyote had told me. I wanted to face down that giant of a man and threaten to kick his ass up one side and back down the other. I pressed the button, let it ring twice, then disconnected with a furious growl. Phone calls and voicemails didn’t seem like they would send a powerful enough message. I needed to tell him to fuck off in person.

I knew where he was, too. He was at an Econolodge just a few blocks away on the edge of the complex, holed up with a dirt-cheap weekly rate that I hoped he wouldn’t have to use for another week. It was dark and it was in a bad neighborhood, but I’d lived in that neighborhood my entire life and I’d wandered around at later hours. Granted, I usually wasn’t by myself, but I was a dumb college kid with renewed belief that I was invulnerable, just like when I was a kid. Old enough to have the confidence, young enough to be stupid.

I quickly threw on a bra and jeans, slipped on my shoes, and slipped outside.

For as much as I talk about growing up in the projects, I don’t think I’ve ever given you a good idea of what it looks like. During the day, it’s almost nice aside from the bars on the windows and the grass growing through the cracks in the sidewalk, the only real eyesore being the fact that people clutter up the stoops to their apartment with more bikes and junkyard trash than any one family would have a use for. At night, though, it’s like a scene from some kind of movie: dark with flickering street lights, and dogs barking on chains attached to the window bars, kicked out of the house now that the housing authority office was closed and their owners didn’t have to hide their undocumented pets. It’s unnerving with somebody, let alone by yourself, and had I not been propelled by a combination of sheer idiocy, desperation, and anger, common sense might have kicked in and told me to go back home.

But, it didn’t. I soldiered on, hands rammed in my pockets and glasses sliding down my nose, hair a mess and mouth held in such a powerful scowl that my entire face hurt. Hell, it hurt behind my eyes and the entire back of my head felt like it was being crushed. I’d never had a rage migraine before, and I hope I never have one again.

I could see the lights of the Econolodge sign when things took a sharp turn south.

You see, it had been years since Joseph Shepherd, the charming man who tried to molest me as a kid, had graced the neighborhood with his presence. Being a dick who chases his girlfriend with battery acid is overlookable, I suppose, but touching a little girl is not. Mean as he was, the neighbors just couldn’t tolerate him popping his face up in their territory any longer, and after his release he was treated to a few choice ass-kickings. Dumb as he was and as vicious as he played at, after a couple of years it finally sank in that it was only a matter of time before something more than his tires got slashed and he skipped town.

His place had been taken, oddly enough, by a kid I grew up with.

Adam Emmert was almost my friend once, though that “almost” should be bolded and underlined for effect. I was a lonely child and he had seemed lonely, too, though I was too young to realize that he wasn’t a young, neglected kid like I had been. No, there was something deeply wrong with Adam in much the same way there had been something wrong with Joseph. Trade in throwing grade schoolers in front of a bus with threatening kids with broken glass and poisoning the neighborhood dogs for fun, and it seemed as though our lovely complex actually upgraded in terms of their local villain. And he only got worse as he got older, when he realized how much he hated anyone who wasn’t white.

I knew to avoid him, everyone did. I was not, however, expecting him to be sitting outside on the sidewalk with a crew of fellow miscreants at two in the goddamn morning. To be honest, I didn’t even really register who it was at first, stomping by with my eyes focused on the no-tell motel where Tobias was hiding, waving their cigarette smoke out of my face as I passed. No, it didn’t even occur to me who the ringleader of the group was until I heard his voice, unusually loud and echoing in the abandoned streets.

“It’s Seymour!”

It was almost a singsong. I stopped, turned, and short circuited. He stood up from the curb, grinning with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, looking at me from underneath the brim of his trucker cap. He was the epitome of white trash, and had a dangerous gleam in his eye.

“Who?” a dazed girl asked.

“That fuckin’ wetback’s whore.”

I didn’t answer because I suddenly lost the ability to do so. All I could think of was, in the previous week, I had developed quite the knack for being an idiot. I should have never been out alone at night.

“She fucks that greasy fuck? Jesus.”

I realized I had forgotten my phone and Dead Coyote’s phone in the kitchen.

“Oh, yeah. But why are you out now, Seymour? Side job? Meetin’ up with a John, eh? Guess crazy money doesn’t keep your little fuckbuddy on his feet very well, huh?”

What was in his waistband? What did he reach for? It was shining. Was it a knife? I thought of Joseph’s friend, the alley, the threat of being stabbed. I always thought a knife would be worse than a gun, but I was having second thoughts realizing that what he was holding was most definitely not a cheap folding knife.

“Maybe she needs a real man,” one of his toadies offered.

My brain was white noise, television static.

“She’ll have to pay first. What do you say, Seymour? Wanna walk crooked for the next few days?”

Amid their laughter, I found enough clarity to run, dead in the opposite direction of my apartment. I bolted for the Econolodge, faster than I think I have ever run in my life. A gunshot cracked through the night and I swore I could feel something whizz past me as I stumbled over my feet and landed on my palms. The asphalt scraped away the skin but I ignored it and sprinted, bleeding and crying, all the way to the lobby office of that shitheap motel.

Blood and dirt smeared the glass as I forced the door closed and twisted the lock. I’d lost my glasses somewhere between point A and point B, so finding my way to the desk was an adventure in and of itself. The attendant was nowhere to be seen (not that I could see), so I slammed on the bell until he came ambling out like a tired old dog, his voice shaking when I finally coaxed him to speak. That is, if you can call screaming hysterically that somebody was trying to shoot me “coaxing.”

“Tobias!” I yelped. “I need to speak to Tobias!”

“What’s the last name, ma’am?”

I could tell from his tone he really wanted to help me, but there were rules. So many damn rules. I didn’t have a surname or a room number, and my demands were so quick-fire and desperate that calling the cops seems to have been the last thing on his mind. I was my own worst enemy, a distraction from real help, scaring a poor middle-aged hotel clerk so badly that he seemed to believe that finding my “friend” was the only way to solve the problem.

He was about to offer to call him, refusing to give me the room number, when I heard a tapping on the glass. Somebody tried the locked door. I couldn’t see worth a damn to figure out who it was and every part of me was convinced it was Adam. Even when the clerk let out a sigh of relief, every nerve in my body buzzed with adrenaline.

“Oh, thank god.”

It was Tobias. With my glasses, no less. Apparently, I had lost them just out on the sidewalk.

Even if I had come with the intent of laying into him with all the fury of a particularly whiny hurricane, in that one moment, I could have kissed him. That all went away when, after he handed me my glasses, he didn’t even bother to ask what happened or if I needed help. He looked at my bloody hands, reached into the pocket of his jeans, and pulled out that same goddamn deck of cards he’d been carrying the whole time he’d been visiting. Instead of a spread, he drew just one and stared at it, intently and with mounting worry. I stole a peek and saw the ace of spades staring back at me.

He didn’t say a word, not to me, not to the desk attendant. He just hurriedly crammed his cards back into his pocket, turned tail, and ran back in the direction of Dead Coyote’s home.

I followed, like the idiot I had proven to be. Panic was the primary motivator, Dead Coyote’s voice ringing in my head. He’d said that spades were bad, very bad, and if the whole suite was awful wouldn’t the ace card be worst of all? I thought of Adam and his cronies, and it sank in that after I hit the Econolodge they never showed up at the lobby. I had spent a good five to ten minutes shrieking like a banshee about how somebody was trying to kill me. They had more than enough time to catch up.

So where did they go?

Even though I am built for strength, not speed, I did a pretty decent job of keeping up with Tobias for a while. I noticed that Adam wasn’t where he had been and my mind came to a screeching halt when I realized that that wasn’t exactly a good thing. Had I locked the door to the apartment when I left?

I hadn’t. For the love of fuck, I hadn’t.

Despite being a straight shot from the Econolodge to Dead Coyote’s apartment, I couldn’t really see far enough ahead to see if my fears were founded. My vision was blurred, people’s stoops were stacked high with bullshit, and there were more than enough overflowing garbage cans dotting the sidewalk. Eventually, I even lost Tobias in the maze of trash, panting and lagging behind like an old race horse. Even fear couldn’t keep me going forever, I guess.

I only stopped running, though, when I heard a gunshot. Then a scream. It was too high-pitched to be Tobias or Dead Coyote, though, and I thanked my lucky stars for that. Still, when home was finally in sight I didn’t expect to see a gigantic mass of dreadlocks and hate sitting on top of the neighborhood psychopath beneath the bottom step of our stoop. Nor did I expect to see Adam’s less-than-loyal cronies scatter past me like roaches.

Yet, there he was: Tobias, in all his glory, pinning Adam down to the sidewalk with his sheer weight. Adam squalled and lights began to turn on one by one, heads poking out of windows, people stepping out onto the street. I walked up behind Tobias, wheezing and gasping, waiting for him to make some kind of idle threat to Adam, but he just sat there in almost infuriating silence, eyes boring holes into Adam’s skull.

Then I heard Dead Coyote. I glanced up to see his head dangling out of the window, his hair a mess and his eyes squinting against the street lamps. Right as one of the neighbors demanded to know what was going on, Tobias calmly looked up at his good friend and huffed in exasperation.

“Call the police. Asshole was trying to break in.”

Calling the police made Tobias a sort of pariah, just as it had done to Dead Coyote briefly all those years ago. Not that he cared. It was the only way to make sure the threat was gone for a good, long while and he had a sneaking suspicion that they may have been what he was seeing in the cards and omens and dreams. And it was something that I had inadvertently triggered, he warned me, by leaving Dead Coyote alone and alerting the neighborhood ne’er-do-well to the fact.

He told me I was really dumb. Dead Coyote glared at him, but honestly? I agreed.

“Dunno what they’d steal,” Dead Coyote groaned, hiding from the living room lights as Tobias sauntered in, sat down on my couch, and began to lay out his cards. “Not like I got shit.”

“Car. Television. Five dollars in your wallet,” Tobias answered, making a gun with his fingers and pointing it at Dead Coyote. “Also, you’re brown with an accent. Enough for him, I think.”

I watched, transfixed as he spread the cards in the same chaotic pattern as before. I was still shaken, I was nauseous, and a part of me still wanted to kick Tobias in the throat, but as I saw the cards being drawn, my emotions began to settle.

Not a spade in sight. One red card after another, which he kindly explained out loud when he noticed me gawking, palms still bleeding and tears in my eyes. Success and unexpected good fortune and health and support from friends and family. All of it was really wishy-washy, but it brought a smile to my face.

“King of Clubs and Queen of Diamonds. Huh.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, Dead Coyote yawning on the floor as Tobias quickly shuffled his cards back together.

“Mm. Nothing bad. Not just Angelo’s reading, I guess.”

I won’t lie and say Tobias and I got along immediately. I also won’t lie and say that his residency didn’t end up being pretty permanent. However, in that one night, I realized why it was that Dead Coyote respected him so much, and I fell asleep wondering just how good of a connection one had to have with a demon to get that skilled at what they do. Tobias is kind of a jerk, but he’s also fairly amazing.

Even if, in the deepest parts of my heart, I still think cartomancy is full of shit.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

[afangirlfantasy]

hii! i wanted to ask you for a fic rec in which harry is in like a bad situation? maybe he's abused somehow and louis saves/helps him? something like birds in gilded cages? sort of a harry's louis baby kind of fic, thank youu (and ignore me if this is a request you don't like)

(I don’t know why this is showing up on my main blog, sorry!) Also, I literally just read Birds in Gilded Cages last week! LOVE LOVE LOVE! Reminded me of Club Mad, which has sadly been deleted, but would be perfect on this list that you want! I think I have a good understanding of what you’re looking for, so hopefully you find something you like! And I don’t mind doing doing ANY kind of Fic Rec, honestly! I really enjoy making these!

                            Hurt/Comfort Harry Fic Recs

we’ll play hide and seek to turn this around (give me love… by Wankerville

Words: 19k 

“So here’s the thing,” he starts. “I didn’t mean what I said a few weeks ago to like, hurt your feelings or anything. If you like painting your nails, then you should do that, and not like, care if anyone else doesn’t like it because their opinions shouldn’t matter, you know?” Louis takes a breath, finally glancing over to see the boy wide-eyed and pink-cheeked. On a whim, he adds, “And like, I noticed you scraping it off and you haven’t been wearing any and I think you should because that’s what you like.”or an au where harry paints his nails and drinks strawberry milk and is too nervous for it to be nothing and louis’ just trying to figure out whats wrong with him

Part 1 of strawberry milk fic

Pretty Boy by iwillpaintasongforlou

Words: 32k

Harry’s been forced into a high-class prostitution ring because his heroin-addicted mother is too strung out to realize that her boyfriend is pimping out her son. Louis is the crown prince of England and gets into a lot of mischief and thinks it’s normal to pay prostitutes to “get a good night’s sleep.” They probably aren’t meant to see each other beyond that one random night, but then again, they probably aren’t meant to see each other at all.

Give Me A Minute by Prncelouie

Words: 32k

OR the one where Harry discovers his husband cheating on him and his new neighbor Louis might just be the one to help pull him back from the edge.

The King and I by iwillpaintasongforlou

Words: 43k

Louis -better known as The Rogue- is the legendary King of the Thieves of London, the underground network of criminals who run the city. Zayn is his second in command, Niall is an Irish fugitive with ultra high-tech hacking skills, and Liam is a dirty cop who lets Rogue and his crew get away with just about anything. Harry is Britain’s absolute worst criminal and a professional scapegoat who flees Cheshire in search of good treatment, and just might find it under the wing of London’s regal mastermind.

Escape by AngKeats

Words: 47k

“Buddy…you really don’t have to go,” Louis added, making him falter in his step.

Harry took short, frightened breaths into his lungs and turned.

Louis. That was a typical cowboy name. A good strong, male name. A good strong male who could be harmful. A good strong male who could over-power him and hurt him. Something in his kind blue eyes told him he wouldn’t, though. It was strange, being able to read him like that, but it was true. He didn’t want to hurt him. He wanted to help.

The intruder reached for his sleep bag and he clutched it to his chest protectively. His eyes flicked over Louis’ face but he didn’t move to touch him. Louis’ horse- Hunter- gently butted his arm with his nose.

“Hunter seems to have taken a shine to you,” Louis continued as though he hadn’t just chased him halfway down his drive and was still without a name for him. “Why don’t you come up for breakfast?” He invited.

 i love you more by shoulderbone (lavenderforluck)

Words: 47k

Boys like Harry can’t fall in love. But then he meets Louis. A love story in two parts.

No One Does It Better by nodibs

Words: 49k

Harry’s an alcoholic and Louis is a bartender. The first time they meet isn’t the first time they’ve met.

Even Angels Have Their Demons by AFangirlFantasy

Words: 50k

Louis is appointed the role of Guardian Angel, and his first mission is a boy named Zayn Malik. Unfortunately, it seems that a certain Demon has gotten to him first.

Or… an Angel/Demon AU where Angel Louis hates Demon Harry, but somewhere along the way that stops being so true.

Green Doe Eyes by AngKeats

Words: 51k

“Can I fix you?” Louis asked as Harry looked over at him, eyes wet and red, tip of his nose pink and cute. He licked his plush lips and nodded.

Louis let out a thankful sigh and reached for Harry’s hand, ignoring the way Harry flinched when they touched.

He stripped off the useless bandage and winced at the re-opened wounds. He noticed the blood under Harry’s fingernails and realised he’d scratched at them until they bled.

“Harry…” He whispered, tears coming to his own eyes as he felt Harry tremble under his touch, eyes averted shamefully as he swallowed his tears away determinedly. “No, don’t be scared, it’s okay,” Louis assured. “I’m not going to judge you…I just need to protect you,” he explained.

Hideaway. by arrowtomyheart 

Words: 52k

Harry is in a borderline abusive relationship which ends after the news that Harry’s pregnant. He is homeless for the night and travels 3 hours on the train to turn up at his best friend’s Liam’s house unexpectedly for somewhere to stay. He meets Louis, Liam’s flatmate, and they discover that they have more in common that anyone would expect. They fall in love.

American Rose by justgotowisharder

Words: 53k

“Your voice sounds rosewood when you’re lying.”“I didn’t lie, Harry.”“You’re lying right now.”Louis rolls his eyes, sighing. “Honestly, fuck your synesthesia.”

(The story where Harry hears in colors and Louis’ voice is multicolored. Harry hates his disorder, Louis hates to be gay. Little they know, they’re meant to be)

You are a lovely adjective, no word ever enough byangelichl

Words: 56k

The hurt/comfort AU in which Harry leaves away an abusive relationship, and Louis offers to share his flat.

Since I’ve Found You by Rearviewdreamer

Words: 74k

Louis woke up on the morning he was meant to volunteer at the Feed the Homeless program at St. Mary’s church hoping for an opportunity to give back a little to a city that has given him everything he could ever want. Little did he know, there was one more great thing waiting there for him; a boy with radiant green eyes in a weathered jacket and a beat-up backpack slung over his shoulders.

Only You by mystic_believexx

Words: 78k

A strict school, a forbidden love and a burning hatred that turns to passion so hot Louis’ in very real danger of getting burnt…

After pulling one prank too many on their high school’s Principal, Louis and Liam get transferred to Stanford Institution, a boarding school with a reputation for handling rebellious teens. Louis’ determined to buckle down and follow the rules so he can come back home as soon as possible but unfortunately for him, his roommate-one Harry Styles- has other plans.

Sometimes things have a funny way of working out…

For Angels To Fly by @ithinkhesalwayswonderful 

Words: 80k

Louis isn’t in love with a guy and Harry doesn’t need saving. Neither of these things end up being entirely true.

Saving You by AngKeats

Words: 90k

Harry Styles works in a seedy strip club in Las Vegas and uses the big ‘C’ to get through his mediocre existence. Once he’s done dancing he goes home with whoever bids the highest and the lifestyle leaves him feeling empty and alone.

Louis Tomlinson is a successful businessman but hasn’t had the best time with friends and love so he’s become a lonely recluse who puts business before pleasure…until he hears about a guy who looks like a girl and visits a little strip club in the city.

Harry is being bought by Louis not for the night but for good and his testing ways push Louis to the limit…

Fate Don’t Know You by sincewewereeighteen

Words: 98k

[Or: The one in which Louis always hears thunder when Harry speaks and sees lightning when he glances at him.]

Give Me Truths by iwillpaintasongforlou

Words: 110k

Louis is a psychology student with a tattoo count as high as his genius IQ. Harry is in a (sort-of) relationship with a homophobic man and hates himself a little more every day. Things fall apart and Louis puts him back together.

Or, the one in which Louis falls in love with a fragile boy and tells him every beautiful truth in the world, as long as it makes him happy.

But Please, Don’t Bite by shyserious

Words: 122k

“Melodic little jingle sounded from a bell hanging over the doorframe and warm indoor air curled heavily around his shivering body for the first time in months. Harry suddenly felt a sting in the corners of his eyes and had to force down a broken sob. Fuck, he was a mess. Such a mess. He had to focus.”

Undone, Undress by angelichl

Words: 134k

Louis’ new roommate is shy, skittish, and flinches at the slightest sounds. He’s an art major who gets drunk on cherry wine, wears lacy lingerie, and shows up late at night covered in bruises that blossom across his skin like flowers.

Obviously something is wrong. Louis just doesn’t know what it is.

Shake Me Down by AGreatPerhaps12

Words: 208k

Harry’s new to college, fresh out of Catholic school and conversion therapy camp, and Louis runs the campus LGBTQIA organization.

♡ credit to the owner of the manip

♡ past themed recs here

♡ updated 3.17.20

[justanothercinemaniac]

Epic Movie (Re)Watch #152 - The Mask of Zorro

Spoilers below.

Have I seen it before: Yes

Did I like it then: Yes.

Do I remember it: Yes.

Did I see it in theaters: No.

Format: Blu-ray

1) The prologue for the film establishes a lot of things well right off the bat.

The two brothers of Alejandro and Joaquin/their admiration of Zorro.

The conflict of the community.

Diego’s conflict with Don Rafael

Pacing, fun, and swashbuckling adventure.

It’s always good to have a solid start to your film under your belt and The Mask of Zorro does just that.

2) Governor Rafael Montero - as portrayed by Stuart Wilson - is a surprisingly compelling villain.

He is definitely a man who sees himself as the hero of his own story, which (unless you’re The Joker) always makes for the most interesting types of villains. He has a sense of honor and etiquette to him, but more than that pride and desire for stature. These two contrasting lines explain who he is perfectly:

Rafael [before he is about to hang three men and has the children escorted away]: “Children should never have to see the things we do.”

Rafael [after being asked who the men being hanged are]: “No idea. Three peasants pulled at random from a crowd.”

He sees himself as moral but is willing to murder three innocent men just to get at Zorro. It is a clear and early way of establishing just how villainous Rafael is.

3) Anthony Hopkins as Diego de la Vega, the first Zorro.

My biggest problem with this film is how it white washes certain characters. I’m grateful that Antonio Banderas is the main Zorro, but Hopkins Welsh heritage always distracted me a little from his portrayal of Zorro.

That’s not to say he’s not good in the role, because he’s damn good. The sense of adventure and fun Hopkins is able to establish at the start of the film, the willingness to do what’s right for the people of California, just creates a sadder juxtaposition later in the film when Diego has lost that. Hopkins is able to play all theses facets of de la Vega well. Nothing ever seems one hundred percent separated from the rest; he’s able to show off the former Zorro’s development masterfully. Later he’ll show off a different kind of emotion, but more on that once we meet Catherine Zeta Jones.

4) Diego and his wife Esperanza are given a strong relationship that the audience is invested in within a minute of meeting them.

Too bad they almost immediately fridged her.

5) Antonio Banderas as Alejandro Murrieta.

In most Zorro stories, it is Diego de la Vega who is the main Zorro. This film went against tradition, having an aged de la Vega train newbie Alejandro Murrieta. And I have to say I think that is a decision which works amazingly. Almost as a precursor to Batman Begins (I’m going to be making a fair amount of Batman comparisons, and I’ll say why later), we get to see this rugged and defeated man become the icon the world knows and loves. Banderas brings a roguish/devilish charm to the part which is there from beginning to end. He’s a scoundrel! We get to see him go from someone who is proud and arrogant (and fucking fun to watch) to a more humble servant of the people. He starts his mission in a desire to avenge his murdered brother (who we met in the beginning of the film), and he wasn’t even the favored of the two when Zorro met them as children (Diego having given a token to Joaquin Murrieta) but it is the transformation PAST vengeance which makes him so interesting. And I just LOVE Banderas in the part. He is just perfectly cast as the title character and services the film as well as the film services him.

6) I love this.

Cpt. Love [before killing Joaquin]: “I want you to know I consider this an honor.”

[Joaquin spits at Cpt. Love and shoots himself, depriving him of that “honor”.]

That is like the biggest, “fuck you,” Joaquin can give the guy and I think it’s great.

7) So after one of Rafael’s guards accidentally shoots de la Vega’s wife (and after Rafael kills the guard because he “loved” Esperanza), Rafael kidnaps Zorro’s baby girl Elena and raises her as his own. When we first see Elena with Rafael as an adult, treating him like her real dad only with Diego looking on in secret... 

(GIF source unknown [if this is your GIF please let me know].)

8) The relationship with Alejandro and Diego is established almost immediately upon their encounter in the present day, serving as one of the best parts of the film.

(GIFs originally posted by @tedywestside)

I think - asides from Diego’s devotion for his daughter Elena - it is the strongest relationship in the film. There is a fun banter between the two, and while it’s obvious Alejandro learns from Diego it is Diego who finds some of his humanity/old ways because of Alejandro. I love of a good bromance and I’ll be damned if this ain’t one.

9) The chemistry between Elena and Alejandro (and by extension, Zeta Jones and Banderas) is apparent from the moment they meet and absolutely oozing! There is a very specific scene later on which I’ll analyze which shows this better than any other.

10) Alejandro’s whole first outing as Zorro - where he gets his own horse and has to fight off the guards, letting the world know Zorro is back - is absolutely amazing. It’s well choreographed, features enticing action, and is just plain out fun!

11) So it is right after this scene that I realized this film and Ant-Man have the same plot: A former masked hero trains a thief to take on his mantle for the greater good. The thief falls in love with the man’s daughter, who the man has grown apart from after his wife’s death and wishes to grow closer to.

12) Catherine Zeta Jones as Elena.

If you want to figure out Elena’s character and journey throughout this film, look no further than this line:

Elena: “I try to behave properly, the way my father would like me to, but I’m afraid my heart is wild.”

There is this incredible disassociation of identity between who Elena is and who she has been told she is: she is not the daughter of some proper governor and his equally proper wife, she’s the daughter of Zorro and the woman who loved him greatly and was as wild as her. As the film goes on, she learns that she can be fiercer. That she can give into her wildness and have it be okay. The more she does that, the more interesting she becomes. So throughout the film you start with a proper governor’s daughter and by the end you have a swashbuckling heroine who helps saves dozens of people. And Zeta Jones portrays this development and all facets of Elena’s character marvelously.

13) It is amazing seeing Alejandro as a gentlemen. Banderas is able to portray this new false-side of Alejandro while still keeping it the roguish devil we’ve come to love in the first half of the film. There’s no divide here, Banderas marries the two well.

14) Bernardo - the alias Diego takes while pretending to be Alejandro’s servant - is the traditional name of Zorro’s servant in most of the stories he’s featured in and (in a lot of ways) the inspiration to Batman’s Alfred. In fact, Batman was pretty much totally inspired by Zorro. Without Zorro there would be no Batman. Batman - you might say - started out as Zorro fan fiction. A rich man who is sick of injustice and so disguises himself in black with the aid of his servant to fight for the people of his city. That’s both Batman and Zorro.

15) Elena’s fierceness is already starting to shine through when she argues how Zorro is a hero for the people. Of course her father has to ruin it with a sexist shit of a remark.

Rafael: “A woman’s grasp of politics, what can I say?”

(GIF originally posted by @fitzsimmonsies)

16) THIS! FREAKING! TANGO!

There is such INTENSE chemistry between Alejandro and Elena in this scene. The passion, the choreography, the energy, it even gets me hot and bothered. They’re both letting out their wild side and showing off just how attracted they are too each other. I fucking love it.

17) The scene at the gold mine...

This is such a heartbreaking and sad scene of abuse and heartache, and the Dons just laugh it off as nothing. Just like buying a crane or something. Their things, not people to them. Alejandro’s former gang member - Jack - sums it up perfectly.

Jack: “I steal gold, I steal money, but you! You steal people’s lives!”

And then after they kill him for this all the Dons laugh as if it’s nothing. It just turns my stomach and makes my skin crawl, which is exactly what it’s supposed to do.

18) The scene where Diego and Elena meet and talk is so sad and so telling. Diego gets to be a father to Elena for a moment, to help her in her moments of doubt and insecurity, even if she doesn’t know it. And it’s the fact she doesn’t know it which makes it so sad but also - by the end of the film - you’re glad that they had this moment together.

19) This makes me want to vomit.

Elena [about her mother, according to her father]: “She was very proper, my mother. Always appropriate.”

(GIF originally posted by @marshmallow-the-vampire-slayer)

And it’s not Elena that disgusts me, it’s Rafael. Rafael, the man who claimed to love Esperanza so much he did not really accept her as who she was and insults her memory by lying about who she is to her own daughter. Just so she can fit some macho bullshit sexist image of her he has in his mind. Just so she can be a “proper woman” after death when she wasn’t in live. I’m getting sick just thinking about it.

20) Were you wondering what Cpt. Love did with Joaquin’s dead body? No? Too bad!

(GIF originally posted by @petitetiaras)

He drinks water held in the same jar as Joaquin’s head and hand because he thinks it gives him the strength of his enemy.

21) It is after these pair of scenes - the gold mine and the meeting with Cpt. Love - that Alejandro expresses deep feelings of guilt to Diego. He saw unimaginable sorrow and all he can think of is getting revenge for his brother. But it is this guilt, this pain which will propel him to be the true Zorro.

22) Once Banderas get to be the “real” Zorro so to speak, once he gets to put on the mask and after having had the proper training, he has a lot of fun with it. This is one of the greatest swashbuckling heroes of all time and he is LOVING it. And we love watching him because of it. Nowhere is this better seen in the two-on-one sword fight.

Well, maybe the fight with Elena gives a better look at that.

23) The fight with Elena and Zorro is freaking awesome (if at times problematic).

This is comparable to their tango earlier in the film. It’s the passion between the two, their incredible chemistry matching each other. Mixed in with Elena’s growing ferocity and you have an amazing scene. There are just two things that bother: one is that Zorro kisses Elena without asking. I mean the chemistry is obviously incredible there, but I like it when people get asked first. Second is this:

(GIF source unknown [if this is your GIF please let me know].)

This makes me a little uncomfortable, it feels creepy and like an invasion. It’s the one moment in the movie I think has maybe aged the worst.

24) The following horse chase/thief scene always felt a little bit extra to me. We don’t really need it I feel and it could have easily been cut without any issue to the rest of the story. I just...don’t need it.

25) Rafael is smart. He doesn’t underestimate any man who takes up the mantle of Zorro, unlike Cpt. Love. I love a villain who doesn’t underestimate the hero and vice versa.

26) Elena is smarter than Rafael gives her credit for, primarily because he gives her such little credit as a woman. When Diego comes to tell her that he’s her father, Rafael thinks he can just lie to her. But Elena has been putting together small things since her arrival in California: the familiarity she has with Diego, the familiar smell of flowers which only grow there, the woman in the market saying she knew her. Elena is able to figure it out all she needed was Diego to give her the last piece of the puzzle. I love that. And then it doesn’t take long for Elena to accept this truth as she saves Diego from Rafael’s jail.

27) In the climax of the film it is clear: Alejandro is Zorro and Diego is just a father trying to make things right. They’re both seeking revenge, but Alejandro’s revenge puts him on the path to saving the miners while Diego’s revenge (while aiding Alejandro) is more about himself. That’s not to say Diego has become a bad man, quite the contrary. But it is a clear distinction to make at the end of the film. There is no more question as to who Zorro is.

28) This climax is also not only well choreographed, but also is able to move seamlessly between Diego and Alejandro. It is a testament to the editing, direction, choreography again, and screenwriting that it doesn’t feel hacked together. It is just a great scene.

29) According to IMDb:

In Ted Elliott and Terry Rossio's original draft of the screenplay, Don Diego was not killed, and lived to tell the story of Zorro's adventures to his granddaughter.

I almost feel like that would have been too safe. I mean killing Diego is like killing Bruce Wayne to anyone who is a fan of the Zorro stories. It carries a lot of weight and ends his story well. It’s not sad. He got his daughter back, if only for a while. And he got to help her (even if just a little) become the woman she was in her heart. The fierce one. The wild one. The brave one.

30) Also according to IMDb:

During the post-production phase, Steven Spielberg and Martin Campbell decided that Diego de la Vega's death in the arms of his daughter was too depressing. The ending, where Alejandro and Eléna are happily married with their infant son, was added three months after filming had ended.

I think that is a smart choice. It not only provides a nice parallel to the start of the film, but also ends the adventure on a high note.

Alejandro [to Elena about Zorro]: “He has been many different men, but he has loved you as all of them.”

The Mask of Zorro is a fun adventure film in it’s most basic and exciting form. It was mentioned briefly above that Ted Elliott and Terry Rossio (Pirates of the Caribbean, The Road to El Dorado, Shrek, Treasure Planet) wrote the script, and their signature sense of fun and (again) adventure infects every minute of the film. Antonio Banderas is an amazing Zorro and the cast which supports him - with particular shout outs to Anthony Hopkins and Catherine Zeta Jones - is just as good. If you’re a fan of adventure films or any of the actors involved, I suggest you give The Mask of Zorro a watch.

#The Mask of Zorro #Zorro #Antonio Banderas #Catherine Zeta Jones #Anthony Hopkins #Epic Movie (Re)Watch #Stuart Wilson #Movie #Film #GIF #Boy That Escalated Quickly #Ant Man

[chuchisushi]

Ragethirst Highlights - Dragon Inn/Dragons Gate Inn

I was drafted by Hal and Dream into writing the highlights for this stream, so I preface this by saying that I had to ask @paint-the-wall-with-bullets​ for the plot a fourth of the way through, upon which I connected the dots.

The ragethirst was visited today by a smol, who graced us with kpop for a short time

ling tried to make moves on everyone assembled, as per usual

donnie appeared for all of five minutes in the beginning of the movie to look very pretty and to torture an official to death to establish the plot

many disparaging comments were made about his makeup

which were equally balanced out by those who liked it

(personally I think it was a bit Much, but he did resemble a peacock dressed in gold filigree, so 50/50, could take or leave it)

outfit 1

donnie’s playing a eunuch, which lead to us trying to goad @evocating​ into writing Forbidden City fanfic starring ballsless sex, because the rest of us don’t have the research background for this brand of historical erotica

the official’s entire family was killed except for one boy and one girl

our heroine, played by Brigitte Lin, who I referred to for the rest of the movie as ‘the lady drunkard who crossdresses and fights well’ appears at this point with a band of renegade mercenaries to snatch the kids off

donnie watches all of this from the cliffs above from the middle of his entourage

no really

outfit 2

there’s a lot of fighting on horseback and by ‘fighting on horseback’ I mean people turning horses around in circles, yelling, and waving around prop swords while the wind kicks up sand everywhere

donnie gets to use the Force

our heroes, kids in tow, sojourn to this inn in the middle of the desert near a pass through the mountains they can use

as framing for said inn we’re treated to a scene of Maggie Cheung, playing the role of the cannibal (more on that later) innkeeper mistress seducing a man and then brutally murdering him via several throwing knives to the face

down the chute he goes

for those interested, he gets turned into meat buns (that was the later)

the butcher is very skilled at chopping (I swear to god this becomes salient even more later)

our innkeeper Immediately susses out that the crossdresser is crossdressing because she is not attracted to her womanly ways

I say this but the next scene after the obligatory This Meat Tastes Off, Don’t Eat It bit is something like twenty minutes of a fight between our crossdressing heroine and the innkeeper in the bath that consists of knives shredding cloth and stealing clothes off of each other

words were exchanged to the effect of ‘you have a very lovely body’ ‘as do you’

the innkeeper loses

she ends up topless

while vaulting onto the top of the inn(??), the innkeeper is interrupted in the middle of her bawdy(???), topless(??????) song by the arrival of a third party

Tony Ka Fai Leung plays a doctor romantically involved with our crossdressing heroine

he arrives on two camels. Take this as you will.

He Banters with the innkeeper, who promptly decides she wants to keep him

there was so much crosstalk about “the weather” and “candles”

alas, this perfect setup for poly is not used

at some point all the asians in chat completely derailed the conversation by expounding on all the different kinds of meat and how good they were

Bone Marrow. Bone marrow was elected universal king

Special mention goes to the consumption of insects. Excellent source of protein!

At some point during above conversation government officials acting at donnie’s behest arrive at the inn, where they’re all conveniently trapped by the desert weather (it wasn’t Entirely a metaphor)

two of the officials’ party get struck by lightning and dragged off to be turned into meat buns

maybe a goat too

a very fake roasted goat makes an appearance

the butcher gets to show off his skills via deboning the whole thing and turning the meat into deli slices (I swear this is also salient)

there’s a very tension-laden showdown wherein two tables are broken and the doctor and the main official end up having ‘a toast to nothing’

our party is still stuck because of the weather and the officials keeping an eye on them

the doctor does a reverse honeypot to seduce the innkeeper into letting their party use the secret tunnels out so they can transport the kids

the seduction involves a one night stand after getting married by the government official of said standoff before

the doctor also does some Investigation at some point and discovers the people-chute

also terrifies the butcher by turning out to be alive

somehow the honeymoon turns into a fight

which quickly turns into a full-out brawl between all parties in the inn

shoutout to the innkeeper who literally grinds up one of the officials’ men in the fight, fills a bucket with his blood, and then throws in the old man official’s face before stabbing him while screaming about making him eat his own blood

so much fake blood everywhere

donnie and the army he’s leading arrive in the middle of this

the inn gets stormed by said army

horses ride all over it

in the ruckus of the fight above, our crossdressing heroine (who is no longer crossdressing and is probably a bit drunk from drowning her sorrows over the honeymoon that doesn’t involve her), tries to get the kids out

she runs into said army and gets shot by an arrow and has to come back

the innkeeper, faced with her imminent bodily safety, gets everyone through the tunnels (everyone being the kids, the doctor, the butcher, the crossdressing heroine, herself, and a kitchen sink)

the tunnel pops out behind the front line, but one of the kids accidentally lets go of a red sash, which Happens to drift back to where donnie’s sitting

upon which he Ｐ Ｒ Ｏ Ｍ Ｐ Ｔ Ｌ Ｙ   Ｆ Ｌ Ｉ Ｅ Ｓ onto a horse and starts chasing after them

outfit 3

his makeup has gotten Worse

donnie loses the horse to a stiff breeze and ends up chasing after the party on foot

the kids are sent ahead with the butcher while the rest stay to make a stand against donnie, who is naruto running across the dunes to them

A Fight Ensues

we can’t see shit because of the goddamn sand blowing everywhere

it’s mostly just dramatic swordplay at this point, but donnie loses his hairtie to a stray cut and also gets nicked in the face at some point??

???

he’s really rocking the chirrut colors here

there is a pause to regroup

upon which there is a long pan

it’s from donnie’s chest down his skirts to his ankles

why? we’re not initially clear

AS IT TURNS OUT THE PAN IS TO SHOWCASE THAT THEY’RE APPARENTLY IN QUICKSAND.

EVERYONE IS SUNKEN UP TO THE CHEST

INCLUDING DONNIE, WHO HAS HELD ABOVE POSE ALL THROUGH IT

Immediately after we realize the above fact, donnie changes his pose

he fucking. Landsharks through the sand

I honestly have no other words to describe it

he carves his own trench?? the sand flies up???

he fucking nyooms through the sand my guys

DO WE REMEMBER THAT VIDEO OF THE MOOSE JUST FUCKING CARVING ITS WAY THROUGH THE CHEST-HIGH SNOW IN CANADA

BECAUSE IT WAS LIKE THAT

“MOVE I’M GAY” - donnie in this fight

we have been laughing ever since donnie lost his hairtie because his goddamn face when it happened was ATROCIOUS, I hope someone screencapped it for posterity

BUT AT THIS POINT WE TOTALLY LOSE IT

I AM LAUGHING SO HARD THERE ARE LITERAL TEARS IN MY EYES

“MOOOOOOOOOO YAAAAANNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!” - the doctor, dramatically, overwrought, as the crossdressing heroine is stabbed

attempts to drive off donnie are made. they’re not very successful.

Breakdancing fighting ensues

the innkeeper leaves mo yan in the sand to die as she tries to help with the fight

“MOOOOOOO YAAAAANNNNN!!!!” - the doctor, as he dives for mo yan, sinking into the sand, and misses her hand in time to pull her out

she deserved a better death, honestly

the fight is REALLY not going well. Donnie makes a move to charge at the remaining party

upon which

a fucking second landshark

pops out of the dune to engage him

IT”S THE BUTCHER.

THERE ARE A LOT OF TERRIBLE SOUND EFFECTS? THERE’S A LOT OF FLAILING?? WE DON’T REALLY KNOW WHAT’S GOING ON

until the butcher disengages and scuttles off to fucking. Bury himself back into the sand in true landshark style

donnie tries to move, halts, looks down

“MY LEG!!!!!!!” - donnie in this movie, discovering that he has an EXTREMELY BADLY DONE skeleton leg from the knee down replacing his left leg?!?!?!?

THE BUTCHER DEBONED HIM

THIS IS WHERE IT BECAME SALIENT

“MY HAND!!!!!” - donnie in this movie, discovering after falling over that he has an EXTREMELY BADLY DONE skeleton hand from the elbow down replacing his left arm?!?!?!?!?

THE TEARS OF LAUGHTER ARE OVERFLOWING.

Oh my god, he gets up Somehow because the landshark butcher is coming for the rest of him

they exchange some blows

donnie stabs him fucking just shy of the crotch THROUGH THE SAND

THERE IS A GEYSER OF FAKE BLOOD

THEN FUCKING HAULS HIM OUT OF THE SAND AND PROCEEDS TO SWING HIM AROUND LIKE A SHIRT STRIPPED OFF AT A CONCERT MOSH PIT WHILE SCREAMING AT THE SKY

?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!

there’s a quick interlude for the doctor to Resolve Himself with the innkeeper THROUGH WHICH YOU CAN STILL HEAR DONNIE SCREAMING

the doctor and donnie have one last dramatic clash that involves FLYING ACROSS THE SAND

DONNIE GRABS THE SWORD THE DOCTOR IS USING AS IT’S COMING AT HIM AND BENDS IT INTO A PRETZEL ONE-HANDED??

THERE IS FAKE BLOOD EVERYWHERE????

THE DOCTOR PULLS A STRAIGHT DAGGER OUT OF THE HILT OF THE SWORD AS DONNIE IS HOLDING IT AND STABS DONNIE THROUGH THE NECK

@twentyeightghosts​ is extremely mad about this still. Swords Do Not Work Like That

DONNIE IN A FINAL ACT OF DEFIANCE STABS THE DOCTOR IN THE CHEST WITH HIS BONY SKELETON FINGERS???????????

the doctor fucking FALLS BACK onto the sand COVERED IN FAKE BLOOD with this RIDICULOUS PROP SKELETON HAND AND FOREARM ATTACHED TO HIS CHEST

SOMEHOW DONNIE IS STILL STANDING

HE DOES A RIDICULOUS ONE-LEGGED HOP TO STAY UPRIGHT

THIS MAN.

donnie has one last dramatic yell in him. we’re treated to a shot of his skeleton leg crumpling to bits under him. He finally falls over. he’s dead. The evil has been vanquished.

There is a dramatic pan on mo yan’s flute on the sand with music going in the background as the doctor looks appropriately anguished and the innkeeper appropriately jilted by death

said doctor takes the kids through the pass on the other camel

the innkeeper and the butcher go back to the inn and burn it down

‘let us leave this evil place’ LADY, YOU WERE THE ONE TURNING DUDES INTO MEAT BUNS IN THE BASEMENT????

@xanderxcagex had a great joke about swordception [BWOOOOOM]

hal came back after having to take a break right as the movie finished

WE REWATCHED THE LAST TEN MINUTES AGAIN

JUST FOR DONNIE

THIS MOVIE IS APPARENTLY A TREASURED CLASSIC???

seriously, thank you so much for streaming for us @greymichaela​ and hosting our absolute madness. This was a ragethirst to remember, if nothing else for it being the strongest ending to a donnie movie I’ve caught thus far.

Kim, to Hal: you’re going to ask ‘What? Was that - ?” a lot in the last ten minutes, and the answer, every time, is going to be ‘Yes.’ Hal, Immediately: DID DONNIE JUST - Everyone in the chat, through their laughter: ＹＥＳ

#ragethirst #ragethirst crew #long post #god help us

[aikainkauna]

Wait, what? Periods=badfic, now?

So apparently there’s a bit in Fifty Shades where he pulls out her tampon to fuck her, and *that’s* supposed to be an example of the heights of bad writing the work descends into? As in, leaving the literary merits of ELJ’s writing aside, the tampon itself was being made into the crux of the argument, and there are so many problems there that make me grit my cranky old sex-positive feminist teeth.

So. Basically. Are you sure this is still within the realms of “that’s just bad writing”, and whether or not it’s just slid into the good old “stupid woman, she doesn’t know menstrual blood is GROSS!” kind of whining?

Because I have written Jaffar doing something akin to that to Yassamin. He has had menstrual sex with her in at least two fics I can remember, both of which involve mentions of blood and pain, and the means through which they get around it to have sex.

So that makes me a badfic writer, then?

Look. If you think menstruation is gross--and especially if you menstruate yourself--you need to take a long hard look at the hate that’s being imposed onto your mind and onto your body (and all bodies with uteruses) through social conventions like these, and need to jettison that shit stat. 

I had some batshit kids fling similar arguments at me ten or so years ago, all surrounding this idea of how “gross” I was for not understanding that saying a NC-17 porn fic got me off was somehow disgusting. Because, to them, I just did not understand that ladies aren’t supposed to talk about sex, (even in the context of what was literally pornography, as in, material made to get someone off). As opposed to me just being fucking honest about sexuality, and often deliberately so because of my aversion to prudishness, which is never not misogynistic, and never not a product of very specific Victorian-Christian cultural ideas. But no! Apparently ladies should not mention they wank, even when they’re wanking, to material other ladies have written for wanking purposes! How much more hypocritical can you get?

So, ELJ’s IQ aside (which is not my point), this accusation of “that poor stupid girl doesn’t realise something is gross!” always combines both the ideas of a) female bodies being icky, especially when it comes to their reproductive organs and sex (when they could just as well be revered as the source of all life and of the greatest pleasure one’s body can ever experience upon this earth, which happens to be my unabashed Pagan view) and b) the good old “women have no agency” thing fandom (and our culture, liberal or conservative) always loves to apply to its criticism of everything women ever do.

Note how this automatic, default idea of “doesn’t she understand what she’s doing?!?” applies to darkfic antis, kinkhaming antis, anti-shaving antis, biphobes/femmephobes who think lipstick queer women just try to pleasure guys, all kinds of antis who are, despite trying to use feminist language, brainwashed into the same old “women have no agency and are doing everything for the guys” POV. (And here I thought I was whacking off to a villain ravishing a heroine because I preferred his looks and his characterisation to the heteronormative beefy hero, my hand feeling wonderful on my pussy because it was super sensitive now that I’d shaved it and because the heroine’s long hair, red lipstick and ample curves appealed to my sexual orientation towards feminine characteristics! I’m glad you informed me that by doing this in the privacy of my bedroom, I’m flinging women and children into the hands of rapists and paedophiles, and am probably somehow stroking not my own bits but the bits of a creepy old man somewhere! Right. I’m so sorry. I’ll stop having pleasure and suffocate my sexuality immediately and admire the clean-cut beefy hero *chastely* from afar as I should, my muff reeking of great justice!)

TL;DR Whenever you apply the argument “bitch doesn’t know what she’s doing” without firm evidence from said bitch, you’re removing agency from that bitch.

One of the reasons I’ve written menstrual sex a couple of times has been exactly because it’s a normal (if annoying) part of life for anyone born with a female body, and the more people read about in a context where it’s handled in a neutral way that portrays it as the normal part of life it is, the better. It’s something everyone of fertile age in a long-term, sexually active relationship will have to address at some point in relation to her sexual life. So I write about it the same way I write about, say, Laura noticing how her having grown breasts completely changes the way people respond to her, or how Yassamin’s ashamed of her big Caesarean scar and slightly sagging belly after she’s had kids, or, indeed, the trouble a 50+ guy might have with maintaining erections.

Also note here that I’m not one of the extreme “but it’s all natural and BEAUTIFUL and wonderful and also we should all paint with our menstrual blood and also if you have cramps it’s just internalised misogyny!1!” hippie squad. *I have endometriosis.* I know what debilitating pain and blood loss are all about; I’ve repeatedly gone into pain shock and lost consciousness and been hospitalised for my contractions, when painkillers have been inadequate or administered too late. And I know very well how--even if I might be at my horniest and my most supermega-orgasmiest at that time of the month--you might really not want to bother with sex then, because of all the mess and pain it will entail. (Also, PMS rage is fuelling this very post this very moment. But sometimes that’s a good thing.) So I completely, utterly agree that periods are, on the whole, not a lot of fun, and whoever invented them should be taken out to the street and shot.

BUT. And this is a big but: this is why I, deliberately, write alternative universes in which things are different, because of how cathartic and how healing that can be. My writing serves a double healing purpose: it’s both active sex-positive feminist work (you could argue that anything that helps women get off is feminist as such), and it also goes out there to comfort the readers where it hurts the most. I write about Jaffar and Yassamin developing a spell to seal her cervix during sex--for both contraception, and to stop a bloodbath, if they want to have sex during her period. I’ve written him comforting her in her pains and being understanding about them; I’ve written him medicating her violent bouts of PMS depression and rage with everything from opium to hard BDSM fucking and cuddles.

But most of all, I write stories in which both the ideas of pollution/shame, and the problems of pain and blood loss are addressed, and *fixed.* I write stories in which the idea of grossness is smashed, and I write stories in which adequate pain relief is administered and the sufferer isn’t belittled for her pains. Because in a world with a shitton of such shaming and misunderstanding of the potential pain going on, and where gynaecology is poorly understood and under-funded to a shocking extent and where its methods involve absolutely horrid hormone treatments and slashing and cutting and burning? Writing about adequate treatments and understandings and compassion for such is *vitally* necessary to a) work against that shame, to lessen it, and to normalise something that’s unnecessarily shamed (as if the pain wasn’t bad enough!) and b) to provide long-overdue hardcore comfort in the absence of said spells and near-nonexistence of guys who Get It.

But, overall, my main point is, *grossness is in the eye of the beholder.* If you apply to this (or anything similar) the good old rule of thumb of “well, does it hurt anyone?” or even “are they in public and frightening the horses/ruining someone’s appetite?”, and the firm answer is “no,” it’s nothing to be worried about. The good old “well, do guys worry about this?” is also worth applying here, just as it is in all aspects of life. (Women bash badfic writers for menstrual sex because it’s “gross.” Guys run sites like Rotten.com and exploit toilet kinks for $$$ with niche porn sites. You know. Bit of a discrepancy there.)

Anyway. Rant over. But outdated, prudish, female-body-bashing ideas of what’s gross=/=badfic.

#i bet someone will completely miss the point and read this as a defense of fsog... which it isn't #meta #writing #menstruation #sex positive #whatever the fuck else to tag this as #fandom #fannishness #idk #literally the only time i have caused another living being harm with my menstrual blood #was the time noki was headbutting my legs when i was on the loo and taking my mooncup out #and i had to yank it out hard because it was stuck #and as a consequence the damned blood flew everywhere but mostly on the terrified cat's face #...yes i am the queen of tmi but it's never not deliberate #there are worse things people behave 'inappropriately' for that just generally makes them asshatty #even some supposed great justice things #but the shaming of female bodies for normal biological things is just fucking ridiculous #there have been pagan rites in which the damned blood has been a sacrament #and it still is in certain pagan and tantric rituals #and as jaffar knows his tantra he would--thank fuck--know about it #which is again another fantastic reason to write about him #but anyway in this day and age we've got ao3 and its tag system #so if you don't want to read about it that's fine #but once someone starts judging fic because of an inclusion of something like this #then it's no longer literary criticism #but something altogether more depressing

[replicarters]

hellraiser 3 funtime carnival, pt 1

it has been an age since i've done an old school picspam like this. back in the livejournal days, i lived for this shit. i took my f-list through a horde of awful, awful films starring very attractive women, but everybody had a good time along the way and i miss that rush of communal drunken laughter. so when i texted kristen and i said "will you watch hellraiser 3 with me" and her response was "ughhhhh do i have to", she suggested maybe i just livetweet it. i said to her no buddy, i'll do you one better, i'll do this. i think this is the kind of experience that's going to be much better with visual aids, because i gather it's disgustingly violent.

i don't know anything about hellraiser. i'm not into horror movies; i'm actually several levels of baffled by the legions of horror movie aficionados in the world who are passionately drawn to the aesthetic quality of blood and guts and buy these movies on vhs, ld, dvd, bluray, and watch hacking and slashing over and over and over again and take screenshots of the artsiest parts of people having their brains splattered on walls by hideous monsters. i don't get it, but there's a part of me that wants to understand it? wish i could be an art house horror movie critic like the cool hipsters. PERHAPS i can get a little closer to the delightful rainbow horror vortex through hellraiser 3, which horror movie people apparently don't like that much. is it because there's not enough killing in it? are there not enough visible intestines? well, i won't hate it, i don't THINK, because i'm here for one reason and one reason only and that reason is terry farrell, exactly one year before ds9 and cute! Cute!!

maybe be wary because i'm not going to shy away from nasty screeshots, but otherwise, pull out your genuine hasbro ouijas and get ready to commune with zozo because we're goin in babyyyyyyyy

the year is 1992, dan quayle has just harangued murphy brown for having a baby out of wedlock, and that's the only timeline gauge i have for 1992. i was a child. i was in kindergarten or some shit. i barely had a handle on my right hand vs. my left hand and was not old enough to watch a horror movie; i wasn't old enough to watch sister act. some of you reading this were not even born in 1992 and that's perhaps more nauseating than any severed body part i will see in this movie.

lmao the music is so orchestrally spooky and i'm like, "ohhhh no this was a bad idea" asldfhlahsld. i'm NOT a weenie, i can watch a shitty horror movie... it's a pretty sweet song actually, it's like, "satan is coming, and we're all going to suffer, but beautifully!" well, i hope that's true.

this kid with roaring red cowboy boots walks into an art gallery in the middle of the night and gives me the finger with his cigarette. IS THE HELLRAISER IN HERE? IS HE GOING TO RAISE HELL INTO THIS BOY? ARE THERE ANY SECURITY GUARDS ON DUTY PAST THIS GALLERY'S REGULAR BUSINESS HOURS?

a statue of tits and asses and whatever else slowly spins. art!

rebel boy approaches, ignoring the really fascinating painting behind him of a scabby spooky ghost man realizing he's just run out of scrubbing bubbles and will have to disrupt the whole rest of his saturday cleaning day to head to fred meyer to pick up some more. damn it, gerald, if you'd gone to costco like everybody else, then you'd have 99 scrubbing bubbles AND you'd have gotten free trail mix samples.

AAHHH THAT'S IT THAT'S THE ZOZO CUBE. that's the THING that the THING is in DO NOT TOUCH THAT. it's gonna get touched. a lot, i'm sure.

uh, okay, where's that museum security because this guy just got in here. "you want it?" he asks. do i want... a 99 pack of scrubbing bubbles? yeah, i mean, i can always use more... you can never have too many scubbing bubbles.

that's not what he's asking, he's asking whether rebel kid wants to have the naked zozo obelisk. rebel kid asks how much he wants for it. hobo man says "whatever you think it's worth".

and they make a drug deal out of it while an Evil Beast Sound plays in the background. if there's anyone i don't trust with a cube of vacuum-sealed evil, it's this wannabe edgelord danny from grease. hell is that much closer to getting raised!!

oh my god, yes. this is joey and she's my daughter and i love her. I WILL PROTECT HER FROM THE CUBE MAN WITH MY BARE HANDS. actually i think she's going to protect me, you, and all of creation from the cube man, so that's good i'm really looking forward to it.

oh no she's extremely cute. and struggling with journalism things, but that is something i can only marginally pay attention to because...

...off to the side here nurse nancy is laying out all sorts of tools while ill-boding sounds happen. it has only been 6 minutes.

DUDE! you guys fucking remember GTE??? holy fug that's a blast from the past... damn. so's this giant phone, which the cameraman picks up while just saying, "speak." love it.

wh-what is the significance... ahhhh......

cameraman is getting called away to some BREAKING NEWS, and he's a good old man so he tries to bring joey along but they're like nah. he says things'll be okay, the story of her life may be just around the corner! yeah, and it's gonna be something not even klonopin could take the edge off of.

oh god. nurse nancy takes out a saw and strokes it.

WHY IS IT DARK IN HERE I THOUGHT THIS WAS A REGULAR HOSPITAL. i mean, obviously not with nurse nancy's jagged metal fetish.

suddenly there are sirens, and paramedics burst through the door carting a guy with...

BLOODY CHAINS???? FROM WHERE????? WHAT???????

i can't begin to understand this. there's a guy, just here all of a sudden, with bloody fucking chains hanging all over him. but most hilariously, one of the paramedics says, "you ever seen anything like this before?" and the other one goes, "yeah, yeah, sure!" YEAH, YEAH, SURE? you've seen a guy before with chains protruding from his epidermis? fucking WHEN? don't say the last time you got the marijuana munchies because that doesn't count.

ohhhh shit, that's NEWS! how did the cameraman miss this cavalcade rolling into the er on his way out the door? from where in time did this all COME FROM? oh my god i'm so confused.

this girl from hot topic keeps saying this had nothing to do with her, she was just there, can she go now? dude. the guy. has chains. coming out of his skin. i know that's more of a party city at halloween kind of thing but you have to be at least a little more concerned, i would think.

hot topic girl says this happened at "the boiler room", so, i'm definitely crossing that right off my list of places to visit in my lifetime. all places named boiler room, in every corner of the 48 continental united states. don't care, not going to them.

all of a sudden there's a huge pop from the or along with flashing lights. aaaahhh!!! joey runs toward it, eager for news that not one sane person will believe, while hot topic girl is like "fuuuck that" and leaves.

well, this is what's going on in the or. somebody touched the side while trying to get the charley horse...!

mmmyeah everything is disgusting. this guy's seizing, the chains are yanking on him, electricity is crackling, all the doctors are like ahhhh what the fuck!

VERY SAME

oh, and then?

the guy's head explodes.

it has now been... 8 minutes and 44 seconds. i have at least 82 more minutes. of this. this was a baaaaaaaaaaad idea. maybe the worst i've ever had. i'm scared, you're scared, heads have exploded, and there's 82 minutes left for it to get so much worse.

this nurse is sobbing, i don't know how that bloody hand print got there, there is blood all. over. the floor. blood is dripping from chain guy's corpse, which incidentally now has no head. closed casket for sure!

joey literally falls her way out of the or and tries not to vomit. pretty normal reaction to watching the very real consequences of too much margarita monday at the boiler room.

prepare for it? uh, i don't know if you were paying attention but it just fucking happened, at the darkest hospital in the city which apparently hasn't paid its electricity bill in three years.

we all gotta decompress from that shit. let's all breathe, do some light meditation...

NO, NO TIME FOR DECOMPRESSING, ONLY JUMP SCARES NOW. this HAND comes out of GODDAMN NOWHERE to slam on the window of this MOVING BUS WHAT'S HAPPENING I DON'T KNOW ARE YOU SCREAMING BECAUSE I'M ALSO DOING THAT! MY EARS ARE FULL OF SCREAMS AND THEY'RE ALL MINE!! WE CAN'T BOTH SCREAM TOGETHER THE DECIBELS ARE TOO HIGH!!!

oh, just kidding, it was only some hobo banging on the bus for no reason. haha! gotcha! oh, post traumatic stress disorder from watching a guy's head go off like your uncle's 4th of july fireworks show, it's hilarious.

back at the studio, joey and cameraman and other guy whose role i don't know at this point in time are all watching tapes, and other guy is like "listen you gotta show em some thigh and then you'll be an anchorwoman." i mean, just show me some thigh, just a little. i don't need a whole lot. well, joey wants to do this the right way, because she's an upstanding heroine who's not gonna sell herself out.

also she told them about the hospital horror show and surprisingly, they're not jumping all over that to believe it instantly. well, joey knows what she saw gosh dang it, and you do, too, unfortunately, thanks to my screenshots.

other guy's name is brad, which is very much an other guy name. brad.

ohhhh nononono, i don't want to be here, i'm not going in there.

the boiler room is a shitty club you have to pay $10 to get into, then once inside you have to look at, like, artists' renditions of death metal baby cirque du soleil performers. i don't know about you, but i feel right at home.

hey can anyone make sense of this outfit? asking for a friend.

joey tells a bartender she's looking for a pretty girl, and he's like, "oh yeah go that way." shocked that he wasn't like, "mmm, have you looked in a mirror? asking for a friend."

okay, and then we're in this place, with class and violins? is this part of the boiler room? is this an off-shoot of the boiler room? is this a restaurant next door whose owners lament "those fucking punk kids" next door with their rabble-rousing and their bloody chains?

oh hey, it's mr. late-night art connoisseur. he owns... either the boiler room or the restaurant, or both if i could figure out the relationship between the two. he tries to give joey a rose and she's like no thanks pal.

meanwhile hot topic is right over here. just... just look a little... a little farther to your left... just a little more...

and now we're doing saving private ryan! if i had an explanation for this aside from "somebody slipped me acid at work and i didn't notice until now", i would tell you.

joey didn't realize she had tickets to saving private ryan but here she is, watching the carnage. anyway spoiler alert it's all just a dream of her dad dying in vietnam or something.

the phone wakes her up and it's hot topic, calling to say she'll come over for a chat. her boyfriend threw her out so she'll trade her, they'll have a chat in exchange for hot topic having a place to sleep. joey's on board so let's see what's up with this girl.

this is how i sit everywhere i go, real fact.

hot topic's first question is what joey was dreaming about, and joey's like girl why do u care? it was just scenes from apocalypse now, don't you ever dream about that?

that fucking music starts again, the orchestral devil summoning one. they talk about dreams, and hot topic says it sure is cool, being able to have a dream, because she never has. girl... have you ever reached REM? are you all right? how are you alive?

"hey, this is great, isn't it? i mean, just, uh... two girls talking. having a conversation." yep, just in here having a conversation, delicately dodging the fact that beelzebub is out there waiting to knock down everybody's doors.

hot topic peer pressures joey into a cigarette and says, "what, do you think you're gonna live forever?" um, YEAH, she's gonna live like nine hundred years thanks to the worm inside her, thank you very much.

"OH," hot topic says, "you wanna talk about THAT?" yeah, that, the six flags halloween fright fest show that happened in the hospital. she says she doesn't know the kid, that he must have taken "it" from "the statue". ohhh dear. there that cube goes, getting touched all over by wandering hands.

OH GOD NO IT'S WORSE THAN I THOUGHT SHE HAS THE CUBE, I REPEAT, SHE IS IN POSSESSION OF THE CUBE. get that out of here it's dirty and you definitely have no idea where it's been. you have no idea whose guts have been splattered on it.

back at the weird boiler room ranch, danny zuko overlooks his bizarro domain, thinking about all the good times he's had here, all the sweet nights, all the instances of kids picking up devil cubes on his property and being speared with the metal that flies out of them.

pitiful crying noises there's the hole where the cube used to be and i'm peeing myself. god don't let anything come out of that hole i am BEGGING YOU MERCIFUL LORD

don't TOUCH IT OH MY GOD DO NOT STICK YOUR HAND IN THAT HOLE! OH MY GODDDD

I'M GONNA LOSE ITHFKDGHKAFKLG don't go digging around in this portal to the 9th circle oh my god please i'm holding my face bracing myself for this guy to lose his arm and spray blood like a hose

YEP SOMETHING CHOMPED DOWN ON HIM OHHHHHH SWEET JESUS i regret this i regret every choice that brought me to this moment in my life

here's the thing, all it was was a giant rat? but now...

something's happening...

theeee statue's sucking his blood in nnnoooohohohoho

ohhhhhh no HANG UP ZOZO. GET OUTTA HERE.

but this idiot's having the time of his life while the rabies from that rat sets in.

i can't take any more of this tonight i'm TOO PEEPEE SCARED and also it's after midnight and i need sleep. which i CAN'T GET NOW having gazed into the vortex of my demise.

scale of one to ten, this was a thirteen on horrible ideas, my computer is haunted now, i'm haunted, the hellraiser is coming FOR ME PERSONALLY, just as soon as he's done siccing his rats on unsuspecting frat bros slash business owners. ugh. UGH.

anyway, check out the hellraiser theme, it's tight: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kswWeezE7hA

i'll see you again soon for more abject terror!

#picspam #terry farrell #ds9

[mobbtown-blog1]

errica Benton awoke to the sound of short waves breaking against smooth rocks on the Pier 6 Pavilion. She yawned and flounced her hair, balancing out the streams of Starburst and Carnation extensions tangled together after last night’s impromptu pillow fight with her bandmates; Kimber, Aja, and Rayna collectively known as, The Holograms. The day before, Jerrica as her alter ego, Jem, performed at the pavilion with her band and was now spending the weekend held up in the Ritz-Carlton Estates, occupying the penthouse condos previously inhabited by bestselling book writer, Tom Clancy. Jerrica slinked out of the Queen sized bed careful not to disturb the other inhabitants; she stood in bay window overlooking the harbor replaying sections of last night’s show in her head. She was pleased with the laser and smoke filled spectacle and decided to reward herself with a bump of “Bolivian Marching Powder”. A small yet non-committal indulgence she picked up in Central America while fighting for the rights of migrant farmers and plantation worker in the Coca Fields of Ecuador. Jerrica looked over at the bed intent on waking her posse to start the day and use her bump to its fullest advantage. However, the bed was empty. She checked the bedside alarm clock, it was noon, far later than she hoped but still enough time to get her life in the Charm City. She ruffled the sheets and thought to herself; “They must have gotten up early and hit up Blue Moon for brunch. I hope they bring me back an order of Captain Crunch French Toast. I wonder if the French know about French Toast; Do the French get royalties every time someone says French Toast? Oh my God, Do I owe the French Money for saying French Toast a million times? O.k. if I stop saying French Toast now maybe my debt won’t be so high. Where are these bitches?” Jerrica reached under the bed and pulled out a designer high heel shoe; from it, she retrieved a small Silver Star shaped earring. She pressed the amulet into her lobe and gave it a tug; a familiar cybernetic voice filled the palatial waterfront estate. “Hello, Jerrica.” “Hey, Synergy; incredible show last night, you almost surged the power grid, though. Be careful with your use of light balance next time, we almost left the city in complete darkness.” “As if Baltimore isn’t already dark enough,” Bantered Synergy. “Excuse me?” Jem perplexed. “The temped climate change due to excessive humidity in the area causes an extended amount of overcast in the mid-Atlantic region thereby blocking out the sun throughout large portions of the day. What did you think I meant.” “That, I thought you meant that, and I was right, because I’m good at Meteorology.”

“Jerrica, I’m afraid there has been a bit of a kerfuffle.” “Yeah, I know, The Holograms rolled out and got brunch without me. Don’t these heifers know who they came here with? I mean I do two things when I’m out on tour; I shut down shows and I open up brunches, I mean I put the “B” in Bellini. “My life is so odd right now and I guess that’s why I just can’t even.” “Jerrica, I assure you, the holograms are not at brunch. They have been kidnapped by an unknown assailant and jettisoned off to Hunger Island as tribute to, Katniss Everdean.” “What the flip?” “She heard about the “Jem movie” and is intent on sabotaging the property. She plans on force feeding the girls and killing them with calories.” “It’s just a movie we can all premier at the Cineplex and fill seats. Nothing wrong with little friendly competition.” “That’s just it, Jerrica, Katniss mind has been so warped by the Hunger Games tributes that she now views any form of competition as a mortal threat. Anything she views as an impediment to her success, she must destroy.” “Katniss Everdean must be stopped. I have to save my friends, but how am I supposed to save my girls without the help of my girls?” “Not to worry, Jerrica, I’ve called in some backup to aid you on your mission.” “Well don’t be shy, tell me who it is, ooh is it the Battle Beasts? Is it Action Man? He’s so macho. He makes my queso ooze. “Actually, Jerrica, you’ll be receiving support from you old adversaries, The Misfits.” “The Misfits, why them, they don’t have a horse in this race?” “Actually, it was Roxy who proposed the team up; she’s still indebted to Ban-Nee for teaching her how to read. That and Stormer teamed up with your sister Kimber some time ago and released an album. Pitchfork gave it an 8 of 10.” “I don’t read Pitchfork; the writing is a bit too bloated for my taste. They tend to write as if their review is far more important that its subject matter and that turns me off.” “Jerrica, even the group’s leader, Pizzazz is committed to the cause. Although she doesn’t particularly care for you, she seems to harbor an even deeper animosity toward Katniss.”

“That’s all well and good, but I’m not sure I feel comfortable teaming up with the Misfits. They think their songs are better than mine.” “Oh, Darling, Jem, their songs are better, but you are far more glamorous, and your glamour makes you; truly, truly, truly …OUTRAEGOUS! “Now Jerrica you must morph into Jem, team up with the Misfits; fly to Hunger Island, and save your friends from Trans fatty fatality. Are you ready?” “Send all my calls direct to voice mail, I gotta go rescue my bitches.” Jerrica gives her amulet another brisk swipe, her body emits pulsing neon light as luminous as a quasar erupting in the Milky Way Pavilion. With her new formed alliance she is Jem and the Misfits, and on this day they will; Taste the Hunger. “I wonder if Eric has anything to do with this; he could be the unknown assailant. He’s always involved in some crazy scheme to sabotage me off the board and steal my half of the Starlight Music Company. I don’t know why he wants this company so bad he doesn’t know anything about music. I guess that doesn’t make him any different than any other music exec.” Jem snickers to herself and rubs her pointer finger across the glass dinner table, and inspects the tiny pearl flakes stuck to her finger tip. “No blow left behind.” She wipes the residue across her gums in anticipation of the Misfits arrival. The penthouse elevator chimes the doors open and out spill its contents; Roxy (Guitar), Jetta (Sax), Stormer (Keytar), and Pizzazz (lead vocals). “Hi girls,” “Don’t say hi to me, Say thank you,” Sneered Pizzazz, the group’s leader and Jem’s mortal adversary. “Thank you” “You got us a lift out to Hunger Island, or do you need us to hold your hand through that too?” Synergy interjects. “G.I. Joe Staff Sargent Roadblock is gonna give you an airlift in the Eagle Hawk Helicopter. He’s on the roof now.” “Wait, let me grab my sunglasses.” “You won’t need sun glasses when you travel with me, because Pizzazz brings plenty shade.” “O.k. well I definitely need to find my phone so I can live tweet what you just said.” “Status updated,” intoned Synergy. The girls ascend the elevator to the roof and are greeted by the decorated officer award winning chef and all around jovial guy: “Roadblock is here and it’s clear to see/ that you need a ride so come along with me/ Put on your seat belt and your parachute/ but you don’t need to wear a helmet cause your hair looks cute/ don’t be a litter bug, girls/ knowledge! “And knowing is half the battle,” Cheered Stormer. The girls all took a Xanax and pretty much slept through the 8 hour helicopter ride to Hunger Island. They conveniently awoke within a two minute eta, enough time to receive landing instructions from Roadblock; Use your parachutes to land after the ride/ when your boots hit the ground you’ll meet your guide/ Good luck on your journey, I’m sure you’ll win/ I hope to see you again/ before we get to Heaven/ I’m a Lutheran ya’ll/ Faith!

The girls floated safely to the ground nestled in a redolent tropical field of lush island frutex. They dumped their shoots, teased their hair, took a few selfies and updated their Instagram accounts. “Made it to the Island in one piece”: Hash Tag; • blessed • free rap concert • free the holograms • roadblock raps like them old heads from the70’s • can’t even believe this island has Wi-Fi • if there’s a Starbucks on this island im staying • My stage name is Pizzazz but My Street Name Is Rohypnol Cause I Stay Knocking Dumb Hoes Out and Fuckin they ass up. • No homo. • I wonder if this island breeds small dogs As the girls tuck their phones away and begin their trek, a soft glow of light beams through the tree tops, intercepting the girls’ slow procession. “Hello, Ladies, I’m actor, writer, director, and now temporal tropical tour guide, Phillip Seymour Hoffman.” “I’m here to guide you, because im featured in the Hunger Games trilogy, so I’m quite familiar with the terrain, and I’m also a blue chip actor usually employed to give mediocre storylines artistic credibility, like the Film, Almost Famous, and the story you’re in right now. “Phillip Seymour Hoffman, you dead right?” asked Jetta. “Yes. I am dead.” “Yeah, I read about you, because I recently learned how to read. They found you in an apartment in Tribeca, right?” quizzes Roxy. “No, it was Chelsea.” Hoffman stated ruefully “You were surrounded by what, like, 50 bags of dope, some shit like that?” “Well, yeah something like that,” he stumbles over his words foolishly. “’50 bags of heroine is a lot of fuckin dope, you buy your shit from Sam’s Club or something?” “Did you think they was gonna stop making dope after they sold you yours.” “Did your dope dealer not have change for a 1000 dollar bill so you just bought it all?” “Alright I get it, I bought too much dope, and obviously I did, because I’m dead now. O.k.? So can we just move on and get this over with please? I’m trying to help you save your friends life!” “I appreciate all the help and everything Phil, I really do, but I just don’t see myself following a fucking junkie through a jungle. Oliver Stone wrote three movie about that shit and none of them end well so I’m gonna respectfully request that you jump back in whatever shallow grave you hopped your pale ass out of cause Pizazz can’t fuck with you, I loved you in Capote, though. Keep your ass moving on through to that other side, baby boy. “ “Oh, my God Pizzazz, he was our only way around the Island, Why did you run him off like that?” “I mean we don’t have a map or anything, we gonna die on this Island like those kids in that book I was supposed to read in middle school, but I didn’t cause I was still illiterate back then” whined Roxy. “That fat jerk was gonna sell us into white slavery the first chance he got. Besides we don’t need no week man telling us where to go and what to do. Shit the island has Wi-Fi. Just pull out your phone go to the google home screen the nearest me browser is gonna pop up. In that search bar put in kidnapping. And boom three kilometers that way. Just then a camouflage Jeep crashes furiously through the bush. The driver adorned with long blond silky trestles’ flowing downs his back and across his German issue naval officer blouse hops rapaciously from the driver’s seat and advances on the girls. “Need a lift old friend?” “Riot?” Jem says pensively. “Jem is it?” Riot says casually. “It is,” she says with obviously inflection. “Or is it Jerrica?” He says haughtily; as he laughs with arrogant conviction. A collective gasp falls over the cluster of girls. Jem is caught off guard and before she has time to deny the claim her face tells a truth her words could no longer hide. “But how,” she asks still shell shocked. I’ve always known who you were Jerrica. Many years ago when you were just a little girl I knew your father. We were inventers and visionaries. We partnered up and created the Synergy technology together. It took many years to complete and during that time I became close to you and your father, you in particular, Jerrica. I took you to the park, I taught you how to ride a bike I helped you with your schoolwork. As you got older my feelings matured into something deeper, more complex, something I could not quite process. At the same time my feeling for you were maturing the Synergy project was also coming to fruition. I was proud of the project and I wanted to share it with the world. The advancements were unlimited, but you father had other plans. He wanted to keep the project secret and use it for more ethical practices whereas I wanted to mine it for its commercial value. We were at an impasse and instead of fighting I left with my half of the research. I kept the telecommunication half and he kept the light manipulation half. “Wendell Wasserman, my dad’s doting assistant, I remember you. You were a kind man, leery, but sweet. You just up and disappeared when I was 14. What happened to you?” I moved back to Austria, sold my half of the Synergy technology to a Japanese mobile communication firm. I got a facelift. I changed my name; started a glam rock band-Pink Lipstick. We had an international top ten hit. Maybe you’ve heard of it…”Walk you home from school” “Walk you home from School, I remember that song. She recites a few bars… I watched you grow up as a baby in your father’s arms Then you grew into a lady and fell under my charms I want to fall into you when I Walk you home from school “Oh my god was that song about me?” “Yes Jerrica, It was about you, it was always about you. I moved back; started a new band-The Stingers, I even grew this luxurious flaxen mane and still you rebuff me at every turn. Well the honeymoon is over baby! I want that Synergy technology and I want it now or you and you friends will die. Just then a righteous arrow pierces the sky. And lands square in the heart of Riot. “Oh shit, I got blood in my succulent hair, and I think I’m dying…nope…I’m dead, yeah, I’m definitely dead. “ “Katniss Everdean” I presume. Hissed Pizzazz. “Was it the bow and the arrow that gave me away?” “I only asked because I could not tell you in person from your movie posters, they make you appear much more, slender, than you really are. I was worried about your health. It’s such a relief to see, in abundance, that your thighs really, do touch.” “Yes, they do, just like my two, Golden Globes.” “Ah, Miss Everdean are you gonna force feed us a ton of carbs? I really don’t want to fuck my diet up.” Stormer asked. “Ah, no that was all that twisted pedophile, Riots plan, he kidnapped me too. He didn’t try anything too direct just a lot of foot baths, finger and toe nail polishing, and he brushed my hair three times a day. When he saw you all flying in he dashed out here and that’s when a nest of Mocking Jays came and loosened me from my bindings. I followed Riot here, and well you saw the rest. Hey you guys wanna watch My Little Pony Friendship is Magic?” “There’s cable and internet on this Island too?!?” squealed Jetta, because it’s been a while since she had a line. “No, well yeah, but, Riot also kidnapped The My Little Pony crew. They’re outback with the Holograms frolicking in a waterfall made of rainbow sprinkles. “ “Oh, my god he was gonna make the girls eat the My Little Ponies, gross.” Conjectured Stormer. “Guy’s I’m sorry I never told you all that I’m both Jem and Jerrica” Pizzazz, finger combed her hair, briskly turning a side eye glance to her arch rival and smirked. “Bitch, we knew.”

The End. Jem and the Misfits “Taste the Hunger” Written By Mike Smith [email protected]

[placesthatchangedpeople]

A stay in an unnamed inpatient “treatment” center

When I was 14-15 my grandparents sent me to a inpatient treatment center because I had been doing illegal stuff with my friends. Things like shoplifting liquor, drinking to excess, smoking pot, etc. I had always been a stubborn kid and very head strong. They finally had their last straw when I was busted stealing bottles of vodka with my girlfriend at the time. The treatment center was way out in the middle of no where about 40 miles from the nearest town high up in the mountains. They convinced me that it would be therapeutic and like a vacation. They showed me a catalog with horses in it and smiling teenagers. I thought this could be fun and healthy for me to get my life on track.

The system they had in place at the center was.... confusing. It was called a "peer run culture" which basically meant that everyone your age was to hold you accountable for your actions. The way they held you accountable was with "The Seven Levels of Intervention".

1: They would non verbally tell you to stop (shake their head at you)

2:Another non verbal, with more expression 

3: Verbally tell you to stop ("Please stop doing blank") 

4: Verbally INSIST you to stop 

5: Group Intervention (all your peers stand around you and tell you what you're doing wrong and to stop it) 

6: Staff Intervention (The Behavioral Health Counselors would surround you and tell you to de escalate) 

7:Physical Intervention (the staff physically restrains you if you become physically combative)

To de escalate the intervention you had to say "Okay" without any back talk or negative facial expression. Do you know how frustrating that is? No reaction at all just dead face. When someone your own age is telling you what to do? It was all girls and the girls were in short very sick in the head. A lot were ex heroin or meth addicts, prostitutes, or gang members. I remember being shocked at the time that there were girl there maybe 11, 12, 13 that were prostituting and shooting heroin. I was confused as to why I was sent here, these girls seemed so much worse off than I was. There was also a system that restricted who you could talk to or associate with. It was called "Force fields". There was positive, neutral and negatives. Positives FFs could talk to anyone. Neutral could only talk to neutrals and positives. Negatives could only talk to Positives. New people to the program could only talk to Positives and had to be escorted by people in the advanced programs for 2 weeks after admission. The girls in the advanced programs were like trustees in a prison. They could go places with out a staff member and had other privileges.

No one was allowed to talk in the bathrooms, the dark (like outside at night), or the dorm rooms. No one was allowed to touch each other for any reason ever. Ever. I remember once there was a girl I had become friends with and she found out her mom had suffered a heart attack and died. She sobbed uncontrollably and her force field fell to negative for 6 weeks because she fell into a terrible depression. All I wanted to do was hug her.

No one who wasn't in the advanced program was allowed to be alone ever. I remember the only times I was ever alone was the 5 minutes a day I was allowed to shower, and when I did I cut myself because of the immense peer pressure to be perfect 24/7. Always on my thighs where no one would ever see.

A lot of the girls there were suicidal or extremely violent. I remember once there was a fight in the computer lab that ended with a girl getting stabbed in the throat with safety scissors. There was so much blood I thought she was going to die. She went to the hospital and never came back. There was another girl that smashed her head repeatedly on a toilet. Another that drank a bottle of hand sanitizer trying to kill herself.

I was there only for three months, but there were girls there that had been there for three YEARS. The program wasn't over in a set amount of time it was whenever the staff determined that they were ready to go live in the real world again.... There were some that were over 18 too, since they were CA residents and there was a law saying that they could stay until they were 21 if the staff deemed them unfit to graduate. The only reason I left in 3 months was because my insurance coverage ran out.

The whole thing was a mind fuck. They made me think I was a fucked up kid when in reality I was probably doing most of the things my friends had done, my grandparents were just so strict and they thought I was out of control. There were so many strange girls there, the types of people I never thought I would meet. I became friends with a girl names Kiera and she seemed so timid; she was a tiny, bookish, quiet girl like me. When I asked her why she was there she said it was because she assaulted a boy. She tied him to the steering wheel of his truck and strangled him and tried to make him drink bleach because she thought he was going to rape her sister. I was so glad to be out of there when my time was up. I just remember crying in the shower when I got home, crying and shaving the 5 lbs of hair that had grown on me since I wasn't allowed to shave for 3 months. I took as long as I wanted. It was glorious.

I realize that my story isn't as traumatizing as others. I wasn't abused in the sense that I was hit or assaulted, but the immense pressure of being perfect 24/7 and not being able to talk or touch any one at all or allowed to be alone for 3 months was horrible. I hated every second of it and felt nothing but relief when I finally left. Life at home with my grandparents never really improved until I moved out. All I needed was a bit of distance and independence for our relationship to improve.

Source

The original testimony on Reddit