#cooper walts

[beviating]

My detective oc Cooper!! This is pre-transition but she usually goes by she/her.

She solves "playground" crime! Stolen keychains, vandalized lockers, and missing teddy bears. Or, at least that's what she believes. Her boss translates grizzly murders and heists into fluffy/childish language for the case files so she doesn't have to be exposed to violence.

She likes Penelope Page (rip-off Nancy Drew) novels, her aunt, and her guinea pigs! (and her criminal bf/husband of course)

[plutoswritingplanet]

Hand That Feeds (Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female!Reader)

a/n: as promised, here's the full chapter. as a person who's only played skyrim and oblivion, writing for fallout is like throwing a hot dog into an empty corridor (i will not elaborate)

Warnings: Suggestive Themes, Attempted Kidnapping, Medical Malpractice, Cooper is a mean old man with a boner. Takes place before the events of the TV series.

Summary: The Ghoul takes up a bounty that has been gathering dust for quite some time. You, bored out of your mind, decide getting kidnapped might be the perfect way to entertain yourself. Both of you bite off more than you can chew. Cross-Posted on AO3

PT. 2

Copper knows this job will be different, before he even decides to take it up. 

Scribbled with flaky charcoal, your face looks at him from the notice board every time he delivers a bounty. For months now, a humble title of "The Healer" hangs without change, between criminals, raiders, and people who were in the wrong place, at the wrong time. 

Cooper hasn't considered going for you, it was never his first choice. The bounty on your head was moderately low, in comparison to your notice board neighbors.  He had other priorities, bigger than a smeared over pretty face, for half his usual reward.

Until one day, as he stomped his way through the dusty floor, his eyes caught onto your wanted poster yet again. 

Well, to be frank, his eyes strayed towards your portrait almost every time he crossed the threshold, but he would never admit it to anyone, let alone himself. Like a constant companion, overlooking all his accomplishments since he decided to stick around the place, your empty gaze followed every transaction, every head delivered onto the table. Some semblance of a routine, he supposed, looking over the board. 

 There, under the regular information, freshly painted numbers stared back at him. A new bounty, significantly bigger than any reward on the board. The red paint was still dripping down the yellowed paper, the addition must've been made quite recently. 

A hefty price. One, that would supply him with enough chems to last for half a year at least. Tempting. Especially now, that he's down to only a couple of vials, his coughing fits becoming longer and closer between. So tempting, in fact, that he tears your wanted poster from the board, finally getting a closer look, a deliberate one. 

Booker gives him a raised eyebrow, all the commentary needed, encapsulated in this simple gesture, and Cooper shoots him a nasty look. There aren't many requirements regarding the job, except one, annoying detail. 

You have to be alive and in good condition. 

Now, alive Cooper could do. Alive is easy. Good condition, however, opened a whole shitbag of problems, which he would be a fool to overlook. Still, the prospect of such money couldn't be ignored. And, he'd be damned to admit it, but he was curious. Who were you? Why haven't you been caught for such a long time? What caused this sudden raise in bounty?

- Did you piss someone off that bad, little lady? - he asks the yellowed paper, and gets no answer, as expected. 

***

The bar is filled with patrons, all tripping over themselves to loose as many caps on cheap alcohol and chems from under the table. It's not as rowdy, as one would expect. This settlement must be one of the few more civilized ones, for the Wasteland's standards at least. Farmers, mechanics, shopkeepers, they all clam together, smelling of smoke, sweat, and alcohol. 

You're here too, hunched over your drink with a sour expression. Your shoulders are slumped, covered by a piece of cloth, that used to be a shawl, but currently looks more like a rag used to wipe down countertops. Despite that, Cooper sees in the way your body is poised, taunt and graceful, that you're neither a naive Vault Dweller, nor a scruffy raider. A skinny scarf is tied around your neck in a fashion, that reminds Cooper of the old westerns he used to star in. 

The sudden influx of memories is neither wanted, nor useful, and he clicks his teeth in annoyance at his own betraying mind.

The Healer, he thinks to himself, making his way through the crowds, until he reaches the side of the bar, one seat from you. Not a glance is spared in his direction. The townsfolk must be used to seeing Ghouls run around the place. Still, when he orders a glass of moonshine, out of the corner of his eye, he can see you peaking at him with curiosity. There's a intelligent glint in your eye, and Cooper feels a shiver of curiosity climbing up his back. He scolds himself for being too old imediately after. 

By all that's holy, you look tired. And not the kind of tired, that sticks to a person living in the Wastelands, no. It's the exhaustion of a shitty day, dragging your eyelids down to flutter against creeping up sleep. The alcohol can't be helping your state, however, it will most definitely help Cooper. He almost feels sorry for you, but if your dumb enough to leave yourself in the open like that, while being hunted, there's nothing more he can do but take advantage. 

Cooper turns his face ever so slightly towards you, looking over your expression for any signs of recognition. He sees none, more than that, there is no emotion at all, not even a blink at his fucked up face. Raising his hand, he touches the rim of his hat in a wordless greeting. 

That finally wrenches some resemblance of a reaction out of you, and with a blink, you tip your glass towards him, before downing its contents. Your cheeks are flushed, lips wet with remnants of moonshine and there's a lock of hair falling out of place, and damn it, Cooper suddenly feels so old.

Ordering drinks while in your current state wasn't the most intelligent thing you could've done. The harsh taste of alcohol burned your throat in a way that was less than pleasant, and for a moment you consider turning to some good old chems for help with... Well everything really. 

It started with Old Lady Sal. 

You've replaced her hip a while back with some scrap metal and a fuckload of reused body parts. Now, every other day she demands you check it out, make sure it's in working order. Which it always is. This isn't your first replaced hip, you know what you're doing.

Then, you had to sit through the insanely uncomfortable marriage offer from Old Lady Sal's grandson, who is not only dumb as a bag of rocks, but also fourteen. 

And to top it all off, suddenly everyone needs you to solve their particular pains of the day. There must be an epidemic of aching heads sweeping through the town, because as soon, as you flee from Old Lady Sal's home, you're being hounded by everyone and their mother, looking to you for help. You were in town for two hours, and your herbs reserve went down to one fucking leaf. 

The Ghoul keeps looking at you from under his hat, and at this point it's gotten from uncomfortable, to straight up creepy. You were not about to pretend this stranger's interest in your particular person didn't unnerve you. Although, thanks to your mother's efforts, and later your own, the town practically worshipped the ground you walked on, the same could not be said about the rest of the Wasteland. 

You had enemies. You had people, who would love to get their hands on you. You were also deeply aware of the bounty placed on your person. Last you checked, it was quite small, but Ghouls don't have it easy out there, and if there's anyone looking like a bounty hunter in this fine establishment, it's the shady guy giving you a shameless once-over. 

So, you place a couple of caps on the counter, and gather yourself best you can. 

Perhaps drinking on an empty stomach was not the best idea, because as soon as you slide off the barstool, your head does a flip. Your balance completely off, you trip over your own feet, already accepting the floor, as your soon-to-be companion. 

That's when something strangely warm wraps itself around your waist, hoisting you up against the counter. The Ghoul smells just about as pleasant as one would expect, but moonshine is a powerful sedative, and instinctually, you lean into the warm embrace. Eyelids flutter, as you look up into the sunken eyes of your savior, and you can see his throat move, as he swallows thickly. 

- Careful now, sweetheart - the voice is low and reminds you of wind whistling through leaves - Gotta keep you in good condition.

Now, if you were completely sober, or at least less drunk, those words would fire an orchestra of alarm bells in your head. Instead, you smile, teeth on full display, as you reach up, to undo a tattered scarf from around your neck. 

- Mmm - you sigh, throwing the piece of cloth across the Ghoul's shoulders - My hero. 

Then, you grab onto his arm, still holding a tight grip around your waist, and lift it up by the sleeve of his coat. Despite your drunken disposition, you duck under the limb gracefully, and shoot the Ghoul a nasty, fully aware smirk. Realization flickers across his face, but before he can move to catch you, a series of body-wrecking coughs shakes his entire frame. 

You hesitate just for a second. The instinct to help is ingrained into your very being, passed down like a mantle from your angel of a mother. But then, self-preservation kicks in, and as the strager reaches into the pocket of his coat, to find his inhaler, you're already out the door, throwing yourself into a mad dash towards your cabin.

You were drunk, not stupid. 

***

The sun has barely had time to rise, when you're rudely awoken by the sound of a fist, pounding desperately on your front door. Hard enough to make the hinges squeak and shake. 

It tears you from your already light sleep, and you scramble to your feet, hastily pulling a shirt over your head, as you make your way towards the entrance. Hand on your pistol, you look out through the small space between two planks, which make up your door. 

It's not hard to understand what is happening. You remember one of the men standing outside your door from the nearby town. Benny or something like that, you were never good at remembering names. Hanging on his arm was another, barely breathing man, who was currently bleeding out right onto your porch. Pete. This one you recognize as a farmer and a hunter. You've treated multiple bites and scratches on him. So did your mother. 

Cursing under your breath, you undid all the makeshift locks with record speed, throwing the door open.

- I'm sorry to bother your so early in the morning Healer - you wince at the title, already making a beeline for the table in your kitchen - Pete and I were just...

Both men follow you closely behind, Pete's boots making a disgusting, sloshing noise. 

- Put him here, face up - you command, throwing a couple of papers to the floor.

- ...Coming back from a night hunt, and this fucking Ghoul was asking around town about you...

- Cut his shirt - another command, thrown over your shoulder, as you begin to rummage through a cabinet filled with chemicals and various herbs, barely registering the words. 

- ...And when we started asking questions back at him, he just shot Peter, right then and there...

You pluck a couple of twisted, dried herbs into your trusty, stone mortar, spitting into it, to gather some moisture. Throwing a semi-clean rag at the man, your voice cuts through his rambling.

- Put pressure on it.

There is no exit wound, and you almost sigh with annoyance at the prospect of fishing out a bullet. It had to be done, however, putting your sleep depriation and a building headache aside, you scoop out some of the herbal paste with your fingers, before pushing past the man.

- Hold his legs down - you mutter, taking a blink-and-you-miss-it moment to check Pete's temperature.

- ...Thankfully, he didn't kill Pete on the spot, so I brought him here straight away.

Pete flinches on the table, as you apply the paste to the wound. That's about as big of a reaction he's capable of, given the amount of blood he just spilled onto your porch. Another thing to clean up, after you take care of the table. What a way to start a fucking day. You can see his eyes follow your movements, barely conscious, but still alive. Sweat beads and gathers at his brow, and you reach out with a clean rag, to dab it off his skin.

Then, as if coming out of a stupor, your eyebrows scrunch together. The story of this faithful encounter finally registering in your brain. 

- A man was asking about me? - you ask, despite already knowing the answer. 

- Well, kinda. A Ghoul. 

You knew which Ghoul, it was not difficult to piece together. 

- And he didn't kill Pete, just injured him - you can feel another headache brewing just behind your eyes, as the sheer stupidity of the man in front of you finally comes to the surface.

They led him to you. 

Three, steady knocks to your door, smug and confident, interrupt the conversation, and deep down you can see the future of every person present in this cabin. As if you've developed some magical powers. 

Stilling your suddenly trembing hands, you settle the mortar back on the table. Thenyou instruct the man to keep pressure once more. Covering yourself with a robe you got as payment for stitching up a sliced finger, you make your way to the door. Fabric flows around your feet, shuffling like the wings of a moth. 

Your eyes flicker to the side, where, placed against a wall, stands a small end table. Under it, you've hidden a rather large kitchen knife, and for a second you debate, whether going for it now would be the best course of action. Call it dumb optimism, but deep down, you pray this is some big misunderstanding, and you'll be allowed to go back to your patient, preferably sooner than later. 

There's no need to bother with a gun, no time too. Pete is bleeding out faster than a stuck pig, and you were not one to leave your customers unsatisfied. Or, in this particular line of work, dead. 

The door opens with a slam. There's a small indent in the wooden wall, where the door handle has hit the surface.  The cabin is slowly entering the state of ruin, although, some places are more taken care of than others. Still, it has a roof, a semi intact entrance and even a window with actual glass in it. Quite the luxury in the Wastelands. 

Cooper didn't know what to expect, not really. Seeing you for the first time gave him a mixture of varying feelings, as well as a rather uncomfortable throbbing in the nether regions. Who could blame him, really? Your wanted poster gave you no favors, and although he was able to recognize you almost immediately, he still felt slightly short of breath.

He scolds himself for getting distracted by his thoughts, and as your eyes lock down on him, he lifts the barrel of his gun, touching the rim of his hat. Your eyes shift like little sparkling gems onto the weapon, before your jaw locks.

- Salutations Ma'am - his voice is rough from lack of use, the southern twang even more prominent, than usual. - I believe our introduction was cut short.

Yellowed teeth flash in a mirthless smirk, and then his expression tightens.

Cooper is used to people reacting, let's say, negatively towards him. Fear is the most common, and he can't blame the masses, he really can't. Disgust, as well, happens quite often. But as he looks over your feverish gaze, he can't really see either one of the emotions. 

No, what you give him is an annoyed roll of your eyes, and he's surprised to say, it bothers him more than he'd be comfortable admitting. He's a goddamned bounty hunter, a ruthless one at that, and a fucking Ghoul. Fuck you mean, you're annoyed by his presence?

- Look - you're already turning away from him, shooting a look towards your kitchen, where he can see a leg twitch in a spasm on top of your table - I ain't got time for whatever this is - your hands wave around in Cooper's general direction. - You'll have to wait your turn.

- Ah, well, I'm not the patient kind.

A squeak of surprise leaves you, as the Ghoul pushes past your body, entering your house gun first, murder clear in his deep set eyes. His steps take him through your living room, dangerously close to your kitchen. You know exactly, what's going to happen, and your arms shoot out on instinct. His body is unnaturally warm, even through layers of clothing, as you wrap yourself around his waist, tugging him back with all your might.

 He looks down on you, more bothered by the sudden contact, than the fact you're trying to stop him. It gives you a small leverage, and you push him back a couple of steps, settling yourself between the entrance to the kitchen, and the bounty hunter, raising your hands and getting ready to fight. 

- I don't have time for this kinda bullshit. Git. - Cooper snarls at you, his gun-free hand coming up to grab at your hair.

Before you have time to react, five fingers twist hard into your roots, and you stifle a scream, as the Ghoul pushes you off of him. On instinct, your hands come up to tug against his wrist, nails digging into the leathery skin. He lets you go with a hiss, and you use that second, to throw yourself towards the end-table. 

Your fingers find the handle with a practiced ease. Then, your body twists like a radioactive viper, and all Cooper sees is a flash of metal. The blade is rusty and chipped, but it could still do some damage. Especially now, that it's pressed against Cooper's jugular, the dull, cold presence halting all his movements. Your eyebrows raise in small recognition at the thin fabric tied around his neck. The scarf. Your mouth goes dry.

- Everything okay back there? - Benny asks from the kitchen, you can hear his approaching footsteps.

- All's well, kee pressure on the wound - your voice is tight with nerves, but the man obeys. 

Cooper watches your face carefully, his gun tucked neatly into the meat of your stomach, ready to fire, should the situation escalate. You can feel it, pressed right into the hollow space under your spleen, a good place to be shot, if you could even say that. You're dealing with a professional, apparently. 

- We seem to have a bit of a conundrum on our hands, little lady - Cooper drawls, voice bordering on a whisper, his eyes follow the way your tongue darts out to lick your chapped lips. 

- I have a patient, he needs help - you explain in an even tone, breathing shallow - After that, I'll deal with you.

Despite being at a loosing position, you refuse to back down, your eyes glued to the Ghoul in front of you. You're bracing yourself for the imminent pain, should he decide shooting you would be easier, but it never comes. Instead, the barrel of the gun presses further into your flesh, before lightly retracting. The cold metal is dragged up, across the expanse of your stomach. You bite the inside of your cheek, and surpress a shiver, when it travels between the swell of your breast, and settles into the dip of your collarbones. 

You swallow thickly, Cooper's eyes catching the movements of your trachea like a hungry vulture. The tip of the gun touches the underside of your chin, pushing your head to one side, then the other, as if the bounty hunter is taking inventory in a butcher's shop. Once he's had his fill, he lifts the gun completely, raising his hands as a peace offering.

- Git - you whisper back at him, and a flash of something rushes through his mangled expression. 

You take a step back, chest rising in falling rapidly, blade still in front of you, just in case. Then another step, and the bounty hunter dusts off his coat, before sitting down on a stool in your cluttered living room. You don't like the way he looks at you, eyes shining from under his hat, as he occupies your space like it belongs to him. Long legs apread in front of him, and you try very hard not to sneak a peak between them. Finally, you cross the entrance to the kitchen, and the knife is tucked under the leather belt of your pants. 

A sigh, a roll of shoulders, and you're off.

Cooper watches with curiosity, as you immediately start to work on the poor bastard stuck on your table. Your back is taunt, hands bloodied but steady, as you lean down to take the metal bullet out of the wound. The herbal paste you've provided earlier has dried up, and is currently working wonders for the bleeding, while you reach inside with not-so-sterile pliers. 

- Hold him down - he hears you say, as the legs on the table start to twitch again. 

Finally, a metallic sound of the bullet hitting a dish is heard, and you stand up, making your way towards the cabinet filled with chems. There is a grace to your movements Cooper wasn't expecting. Reminds him of dancers, ballet ones. 

Back in the day, his ex-wife would drag him to all those ballet shows, ones that made him feel stupid and uncultured. He swallows around the memory, willing it to die down, as you shoot him a cautious look over your shoulders. 

He wiggles his gun at you lightly, a reminder, that all this is happening because of his good humor. You scoff. 

Pete starts screaming as soon, as you begin to dress the wound properly. Chemical smell fills the air, and although Cooper lacks the nose to feel it, his eyes water all the same. You seem to be unbothered, years of doing this exact job must've hardened your senses. Finally, it's done. There's nothing more you can do for the man, and you wipe your hand on your forehead, leaving a large smear of red.

- He'll be fine - you mutter towards the other man in the kitchen - He needs rest, and a loads of it too. 

A couple of small bottles and dried herbs land onto a checkered cloth, and you tie it closed, like a small care package. 

- Dress his wounds twice a day - you press the package into the other man's hands while he helps his partner off the table - Good luck. 

Cooper glares at the men, as they stagger out the front door. They don't seem to pay him any mind. Well, the shot one definitely doesn't, he can barely walk on his own. His friend is too preoccupied with keeping him on his arm, to even acknowledge that this whole situation was orchestrated by Cooper himself. Or perhaps, he's to stupid to connect the dots. It's hard to tell these days. 

The door closes with a click, and Cooper stands up from his stool, sauntering over to the kitchen. 

You're currently trying to wash blood off of your hands, which are stained crimson almost up to your elbows. It goes about as well as expected, and as you dry your arms with a rag, there's still a pinkish stain to your skin. 

The table is a mess, blood and herbs seeping into the wooden planks which make up the surface. Cooper leans against the doorframe, as he watches you splash some chemicals onto the wood. It bubbles up in a disgusting mixture of red, green and yellow. You let it sizzle for a moment, before taking that same bowl of water you've been using to clean up, and dumping it all onto the table. The mixture flows down to the floor, the residing surface looking much cleaner. 

- Now, as much as I'd love to sit around and play house with you, honey - Cooper starts, and has to clear his throat, when you look up at him wordlessly, blood on your face and fire in your eyes - I have a bounty to collect.

Sighing, you push your hair back from your forehead, exhaustion, which is synonymous with living in the Wastelands seeping off of you like a tidal wave. 

- Do you have a name? - you ask, reaching for a leather bag sitting on one of the chairs. 

- I do - he says, and you roll your eyes at the deliberate lack of information his answer has given you. 

You mutter something that sounds scarily close to "asshole", and begin to chuck a couple of vials into the bag, then some herbs, then a water canteen. It's like you're ready to move out at any time, and a sneaking suspicion arises in Cooper's mind. This isn't the first time you're in this situation, if your calm demeanor is anything to go by. Suspicious, highly so, and as you turn around to face him, Cooper raises his hand ever so slightly. 

Your eyes fall onto the bundle of rope in his grip, eyebrow raising in annoyance. 

- You serious? 

- As a funeral, sweetheart - he sways the bundle lighty, his other hand pointing the gun at your abdoment - Now, are you going to be good, and come over here? Or should I come over there and make it unpleasant for us both?

- You're already making it unpleasant - you mutter, but cross the kitchen towards him, raising your hands, palms up. 

- Wait. 

Confusion hits you, when the Ghoul reaches into his pocket, producing a small piece of torn cloth. Your entire body goes still, as he grabs onto your chin, cold metal of his gun digging into your cheek, the barrel settling into the juncture between your neck and your shoulder. Then, despite your best efforts at freeing yourself from his grip, he brings the cloth to his lips, wetting the fabric with his tongue. 

The bloody smear on your forehead is wiped down rather roughly, and you twist in place like an impatient toddler, when Cooper leans his head back, to look at his handywork. You shiver with disgust, at the feeling of his drying saliva on your skin, and as soon, as he lets you go, you begin to rub at your forehead with the sleeve of your robe. 

- Good condition - he rasps, and if looks could kill, he'd be six feet under.

He gives you a nasty smirk, settling his gun down for just a moment, and grabbing your wrists together, so he can tie them up. Which is all the time you need to make a decision, and kick out your knee, nailing him right in the crotch. He doubles over, cursing loudly, hands shooting out to grab you, but all he catches is your tattered robe, which you slide out of easily. 

Fater than he would've anticipated, you grab at your bag, and bolt to the back of the kitchen, where he watches you jump over the table and all but slide out of the house through an open window. It's like a choreographed dance, the way you move out of his grasp. When he reaches the window himself, there's no sight of you, other than the rustling of tree branches somewhere in the woods behind your cabin. 

- Fucking women. - Cooper whistles.

He can't deny the shiver of excitement running down his back, as he secures the hat over his eyes.  If that's how you want to play, he would oblidge. It's been far too long since he could actually enjoy a more challenging bounty. Cooper slowly walks out of your cabin, looking over all the little trinkets you've gathered inside. Then, almost lazily, he lifts the robe you've left him to his nose. He feels nothing, of course, but he has quite a vivid imagination. Vivid enough to supply him with a memory of a scent from his past life. Lavender, he'd bet you smell like lavender. 

Your tracks are deep and visible across the ground, and so, the hunt begins. 

[lbctal]

cooper howard (the ghoul) in film posters datamined from the upcoming fallout 76 america’s playground update.

source + bonus lore

[nathanparisi]

Disney characters voiced by child actors from Pinocchio (1940) to The Lion King (1994), including Dickie Jones (Pinocchio), Donnie Dunagan (Bambi), Kathlyn Beaumont (Alice from Alice in Wonderland), Bobby Driscoll (Peter Pan), Bruce Reitherman (Mowgli from The Jungle Book), Michelle Stacy (Penny from The Rescuers), Keith Coogan (Tod), Corey Feldman (Cooper), Susanne Pollatschek (Olivia Flaversham from The Great Mouse Detective), Joey Lawrence (Oliver from Oliver and Company), Bradley Pierce (Chip from Beauty and the Beast) and Jonathan Taylor Thomas (Simba from The Lion King).

[therealtini1989]

On my unpopular opinion, Jim Parsons is one of the most underrated and talented actors and he’s kinda cute. Also, I didn’t remember that he plays the human version of Walter on “The Muppets”.

[virjohnnylibra99]

💙

[ljones41]

Locke & Sawyer in "Confirmed Dead"

Recently, I did a rewatch of the "LOST" Season Four episode, (4.02) "Confirmed Dead". And I had enjoyed it as much as I did during previous viewings. However . . . there was something about Oceanic 815 survivors John Locke and James "Sawyer" Ford that had eluded me during those past viewings.

How can I put this? There seemed to be a great deal of hypocrisy emanating from both Locke and Sawyer in this episode. For example, while questioning Locke's sanity in "Confirmed Dead", Sawyer had pointed out the older man’s murder of Naomi Dorrit, an inhabitant from the newly arrived freighter Kahana, in the Season Three finale, (3.22-3.23) "Through the Looking Glass, Part II". Locke had killed Ms. Dorrit in an effort to prevent her from contacting her associated aboard the Kahana. He had considered them a danger to the island and its inhabitants.

Also, Sawyer had recently committed two murders during late Season Three - Anthony Cooper in (3.19) "The Brig" and Other member Tom Friendly in "Through the Looking Glass". It turned out that Cooper was Locke's father, whom the Others had captured to test Locke for the position of their leader. Unable to kill his father, Locke had discovered from one of the Others, Richard Alpert, that Cooper was also the man who had swindled Sawyer's parents from their money some twenty-eight years earlier. This act had led to Sawyer's father murdering his wife for adultery and committing suicide. Sawyer, who had been eight years-old at the time, spent nearly three decades needlessly vowing revenge. Thanks to the manipulations of both Richard and Locke, Sawyer committed the murder. As for Tom Friendly's murder, Sawyer had killed the man out of pure spite. In the Season Two episode, (2.11) "The Hunting Party", he claimed that Friendly had shot him, when he was aboard Michael Dawson's raft in the Season One finale, (1.23-1.25) "Exodus". In "Through the Looking Glass", he claimed that his murder of Friendly was in retaliation for the kidnapping of 10 year-old Walt Lloyd, Michael's son.

Despite Locke's efforts, Oceanic survivors' leader, Dr. Jack Shephard, managed to contact the Kahana occupants. This led the survivors to split into two groups - those who saw the Kahana as a means to their rescue and those who followed Locke, certain that Ms. Dorrit's associates meant to harm them. Locke led the doubters on a trek to the Others' abandoned compound, on the other side of the island. Sawyer was among them. I know what you are thinking. What does this recap of the late Season Three/early Season Four events have to do with hypocrisy? And why target John Locke and James Ford?

Among those who had decided to follow Locke to the Others' compound out of safety was their leader, Ben Linus. Both Locke and Sawyer already had a personal grudge against the man. Ben had tried to murder Locke in (3.20) "The Man Behind the Curtain" in an effort to prevent the latter from replacing him as the Others' leader. Ben had kept Sawyer, Jack and Kate Austen hostage as a means to receive a much needed operation in early Season Three. When Sawyer had interfered in a slightly hostile conversation between Ben and one of his former followers, the adolescent Karl, the former Others leader made insinuations that Kate (whom Sawyer was attracted to) preferred Jack over the con man. As it later turned out, he was right. In a fit of anger, Sawyer gave Ben a beat down and suggested to Locke they should "execute" - namely kill - Ben, because the latter was being a nuisance. Locke refused, claiming they needed Ben's assistance in dealing with the island's newcomers. But this was not the last of it.

Four of the Kahana's passengers finally arrived on the island via a helicopter and parachutes. One of them proved to be Dr. Charlotte Lewis, a cultural anthropologist. Ben feared that Charlotte might contact the freighter and confirm his exact location to her associates aboard the Kahana. He also feared what the freighter's arrival would mean for the island's other inhabitants. Driven by these fears, Ben tried to kill her by shooting her in the chest with a gun he had stolen from an unsuspecting Karl. At that moment, Locke decided to follow Sawyer's advice. He decided to punish Ben by killing the latter. Sawyer offered to do the job, but Locke decided he must be the one to "clean his own mess". Only Ben’s revelations of his knowledge of Charlotte’s background, the reason the freighter had arrived at the island and his spy aboard the Kahana had saved his life.

Watching all of this unfurl had made me shake my head with amazement every time I had viewed "Confirmed Dead". But it took this last rewatch for me to realize both Locke and Sawyer's hypocrisies. Locke had been willing to execute Ben for attempting to do to Charlotte what he had recently done to Naomi in "Through the Looking Glass" - namely kill someone from the Kahana for his self-preservation and the safety of the island's inhabitants. As for Sawyer . . . he had punched Ben for making insidious comments about Jack and Kate. And he also wanted Ben dead for the attempt on Charlotte’s life. This all reminded me of Sawyer's second reason for murdering Tom Friendly. The con man had claimed he did it for 10 year-old Walt Lloyd’s kidnapping in "Exodus". Yet, Sawyer had never went after Ben for the same reason. And by late Season Three and early Season Four, he knew that Ben was the Others' leader and the one who had ordered Walt's kidnapping. Yet, Sawyer had never went after Ben for that reason.

For years, I never understood why so many "LOST" fans had turned a blind eye to the crimes of most of the Oceanic survivors. Or made excuses for their crimes. I now realize one should consider personal bias toward certain characters as a major reason. But after my rewatch of "Confirmed Dead", I am surprised hardly anyone had noticed the Oceanic castaways' penchant for hypocrisy, including that from John Locke and James Ford in this episode.

[lostsurvivorpoll]

Season 1, Episode 1

Ten castaways. One survivor.

The first episode will run for one week but most subsequent episodes will be shorter. There will be at least ten seasons unless I get really bored or distracted. Each season’s competitors will be selected by my friend who has never seen Lost and is picking based on vibes. Propaganda is welcome, naturally.

[theblackestofsuns]

"Why Not Cooperate?"

Detective Comics #439 (February-March 1974)

Archie Goodwin and Walt Simonson

DC Comics

[marcovaleyeah]

13.07.24

#Mira-Marathon | MCU

Film Name: Guardians of the Galaxy (2014); Production Studios: Walt Disney Pictures, Marvel Studios, Marvel Entertainment, Moving Pictures Company, Longcross Studios; Director by: James Gunn; Screenwriter: James Gunn, Nicole Perlman; Starring: Chris Pratt, Zoe Saldana, Dave Bautista, Bradley Cooper, Vin Diesel; Genres: Science Fiction, Action, Adventure, Comedy; Running Time: 2 hour 1 minutes;

"Guardians of the Galaxy" is a superhero action film in which Chris Pratt plays Star-Lord. He steals an artifact hunted by the villain Ronan and teams up with Gamora, Drax, Groot and Rocket to save the galaxy. Pros: Fresh take on the genre, Vivid characters, Dynamic plot, Great soundtrack, Impressive visuals. Cons: Some jokes may seem vulgar, the plot is not very original. Overall, this is a fun and exciting movie for fans of the superhero genre.

My rating:

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

[moviesframes]

Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 (2023)

Directed by James Gunn

Cinematography by Henry Braham

[oscarwilde-scholar]

John Cooper of Oscar Wilde In America discuss Wilde in the popular Podcast.

[thebuzztrack]

A Review of 'Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3' (2023)

After watching Guardians of the Galaxy: Volume 3 (2023), I will admit it was enjoyable to view. The movie was full of action, humor, emotion, and surprises. It was the perfect conclusion to the trilogy that started back in 2014. The story picks up after the events of Avengers: Endgame (2019), where the Guardians are reunited with Gamora (Zoe Saldana), who is reincarnated from an alternate timeline and doesn't remember them in their present timeline. They also have to deal with a new threat from Adam Warlock (Will Poulter), a powerful being created by the Sovereign.

The Sovereign is a race of genetically engineered golden beings obsessed with perfection and order. They first appeared in Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 (2017), where they hired the Guardians to protect their treasured power source, the Anulax Batteries. But then the Sovereign turns against the Guardians when Rocket (Bradley Cooper) steals a few of the valuable batteries. In this movie, they continue the effort to seek revenge on the Guardians by dispatching Adam Warlock, their ultimate weapon, to hunt the group down to enact their retribution.

The movie is directed by James Gunn, who returned to the franchise after being fired and later rehired by Walt Disney Pictures and Marvel Entertainment to finish the last installment of the series. He did a fantastic job of balancing its tone, humor, action, and heart. The movie contained many hilarious moments, which is expected for the group dynamics of the main characters. It also features some thrilling action sequences and numerous heart-wrenching emotional moments.

Overall, I was pleasantly surprised with the third installment of the trilogy. It holds cohesiveness with its predecessors. But also, it stands on its own. This would be what happens when you hire one guy to be the writer and director for all three (and a half) films in the series. The extra "half" would be a short film transpiring between the second and third installments of the series. It was released as a Christmas special on the studio's streaming platform Disney Plus. This movie series is also a tribute to the legacy of Marvel Comics and its creators. I highly recommend this movie to anyone who loves sci-fi, comedy, adventure, and superheroes. It was a blast!

[giggle-shade]

I would like submit my application. Here are my qualifications

I am a good girl

I listen well

I take orders like a proper pet

I can be a brat if that's what you want

I'm a pillow princess

😘

We should really call the Walton Goggins fandom “Walt Dwellers”.

[geezerwench]

Rebecca Solnit 

onrSpseodt5f8511fcll002h9itlfafm0758hf1tif3i882u585hagg2881u  ·

They're spitting in his eye. Latin American presidents are not cowed and not cooperative.

The Trump people assume that power and bullying are the same thing, and they don't understand that real power often lies in the ability to persuade, ally, convince people that they might want to do something rather than attempt to force them to do it against their will. Sometimes yes they can force, often they find they can't and they've shrunk the amount of cooperation and support they'll get (but they don't understand cooperation, because bullies). Which makes enemies and often backfires, as with much of their bullying around the hemisphere. It's crisis of masculinity tactics, I guess. And how you act when you know your policies are unpopular.

[Gustavo Petro is the president of Colombia and when Trump slapped tariffs on their exports, he did the same to ours. Brazil used the arrival of handcuffed detainees to make a big propaganda point against Trump and the US. Mexico turned the first deportee planes around.]

Here's Petro's full tweet in Spanish and then translated (badly):

Trump, a mi no me gusta mucho viajar a los EEUU, es un poco aburridor, pero confieso que hay cosas meritorias, me gusta ir a los barrios negros de Washington, allí ví una lucha entera en la capital de los EEUU entre negros y latinos con barricadas, que me pareció una pendejada, porque deberían unirse.

Confieso que me gusta Walt Withman y Paul Simon y Noam Chomsky y Miller

Confieso que Sacco y Vanzetti, que tienen mi sangre, en la historia de los EEUU, son memorables y les sigo. Los asesinaron por lideres obreros con la silla eléctrica, los fascistas qué están dentro de EEUU como dentro de mi país

No me gusta su petroleo, Trump, va a acabar con la especie humana por la codicia. Quizás algún día, junto a un trago de Whisky qué acepto, a pesar de mi gastritis, podamos hablar francamente de esto, pero es difícil porque usted me considera una raza inferior y no lo soy, ni ningún colombiano.

Así que si conoce alguien terco, ese soy yo, punto. Puede con su fuerza económica y su soberbia intentar dar un golpe de estado como hicieron con Allende. Pero yo muero en mi ley, resistí la tortura y lo resisto a usted. No quiero esclavistas al lado de Colombia, ya tuvimos muchos y nos liberamos. Lo que quiero al lado de Colombia, son amantes de la libertad. Si usted no puede acompañarme yo voy a otros lados. Colombía es el corazón del mundo y usted no lo entendió, esta es la tierra de las mariposas amarillas, de la belleza de Remedios, pero tambien de los coroneles Aurelianos Buendía, de los cuales soy uno de ellos, quizás el último

Me matarás, pero sobreviviré en mi pueblo que es antes del tuyo, en las Américas. Somos pueblos de los vientos, las montañas, del mar Caribe y de la libertad

A usted no le gusta nuestra libertad, vale. Yo no estrecho mi mano con esclavistas blancos. Estrecho las manos de los blancos libertarios herederos de Lincoln y de los muchachos campesinos negros y blancos de los EEUU, ante cuyas tumbas llore y recé en un campo de batalla, al que llegue, después de caminar montañas de la toscana italiana y después de salvarme del covid.

Ellos son EEUU y ante ellos me arrodillo, ante más nadie.

Túmbeme presidente y le responderán las Américas y la humanidad.

Colombia ahora deja de mirar el norte, mira al mundo, nuestra sangre viene de la sangre del califato de Córdoba, la civilización en ese entonces, de los latinos romanos del mediterraneo, la civilización de ese entonces, que fundaron la república, la democracia en Atenas; nuestra sangre tiene los resistentes negros convertidos en esclavos por ustedes. En Colombia está el primer territorio libre de América, antes de Washington, de toda la América, allí me cobijo en sus cantos africanos.

Mi tierra es de orfebrería existente en época de los faraones egipcios, y de los primeros artistas del mundo en Chiribiquete.

No nos dominarás nunca. Se opone el guerrero que cabalgaba nuestras tierras, gritando libertad y que se llama Bolívar

Nuestros pueblos son algo temerosos, algo tímidos, son ingenuos y amables, amantes, pero sabrán ganar el canal de Panamá, que ustedes nos quitaron con violencia. Doscientos héroes de toda latinoamerica yacen en Bocas del Toro, actual Panamá, antes Colombia, que ustedes asesinaron.

Yo levanto una bandera y como dijera Gaitán, así quede solo, seguirá enarbolada con la dignidad latinoamericana que es la dignidad de América, que su bisabuelo no conoció, y el mio sí, señor presidente inmigrante en los EEUU,

Su bloqueo no me asusta; porque Colombia además de ser el país de la belleza, es el corazón del mundo. Se que ama la belleza como yo, no la irrespete y le brindará su dulzura.

COLOMBIA A PARTiR DE HOY SE ABRE A TODO EL MUNDO, CON LOS BRAZOS ABIERTOS, SOMOS CONSTRUCTORES DE LIBERTAD, VIDA Y HUMANIDAD.

Me informan que usted pone a nuestro fruto del trabajo humano 50% de arancel para entrar a EEUU, yo hago lo mismo.

Que nuestra gente siembre maíz que se descubrió en Colombia y alimente al mundo

Trump, I don't really like travelling to the US, it's a bit boring, but I confess that there are some commendable things. I like going to the black neighbourhoods of Washington, where I saw an entire fight in the US capital between blacks and Latinos with barricades, which seemed like nonsense to me, because they should join together.

I confess that I like Walt Whitman and Paul Simon and Noam Chomsky and Miller

I confess that Sacco and Vanzetti, who have my blood, are memorable in the history of the USA and I follow them. They were murdered by labor leaders with the electric chair, the fascists who are within the USA as well as within my country

I don't like your oil, Trump, you're going to wipe out the human species because of greed. Maybe one day, over a glass of whiskey, which I accept, despite my gastritis, we can talk frankly about this, but it's difficult because you consider me an inferior race and I'm not, nor is any Colombian.

So if you know someone who is stubborn, that's me, period. You can try to carry out a coup with your economic strength and your arrogance, like they did with Allende. But I will die in my law, I resisted torture and I resist you. I don't want slavers next to Colombia, we already had many and we freed ourselves. What I want next to Colombia are lovers of freedom. If you can't accompany me, I'll go elsewhere. Colombia is the heart of the world and you didn't understand that, this is the land of the yellow butterflies, of the beauty of Remedios, but also of the colonels Aureliano Buendía, of which I am one, perhaps the last.

You will kill me, but I will survive in my people, which is before yours, in the Americas. We are peoples of the winds, the mountains, the Caribbean Sea and of freedom.

You don't like our freedom, okay. I don't shake hands with white slavers. I shake hands with the white libertarian heirs of Lincoln and the black and white farm boys of the USA, at whose graves I cried and prayed on a battlefield, which I reached after walking the mountains of Italian Tuscany and after being saved from Covid.

They are the United States and before them I kneel, before no one else.

Overthrow me, President, and the Americas and humanity will respond.

Colombia now stops looking north, looks at the world, our blood comes from the blood of the Caliphate of Cordoba, the civilization of that time, of the Roman Latins of the Mediterranean, the civilization of that time, who founded the republic, democracy in Athens; our blood has the black resistance fighters turned into slaves by you. In Colombia is the first free territory of America, before Washington, of all America, there I take refuge in its African songs.

My land is made up of goldsmiths who worked in the time of the Egyptian pharaohs and of the first artists in the world in Chiribiquete.

You will never rule us. The warrior who rode our lands, shouting freedom, who is called Bolívar, opposes us.

Our people are somewhat fearful, somewhat timid, they are naive and kind, loving, but they will know how to win the Panama Canal, which you took from us with violence. Two hundred heroes from all of Latin America lie in Bocas del Toro, today's Panama, formerly Colombia, which you murdered.

I raise a flag and as Gaitán said, even if it remains alone, it will continue to be raised with the Latin American dignity that is the dignity of America, which your great-grandfather did not know, and mine did, Mr. President, an immigrant in the USA,

Your blockade does not scare me, because Colombia, besides being the country of beauty, is the heart of the world. I know that you love beauty as I do, do not disrespect it and you will give it your sweetness.

FROM TODAY ON, COLOMBIA IS OPEN TO THE ENTIRE WORLD, WITH OPEN ARMS, WE ARE BUILDERS OF FREEDOM, LIFE AND HUMANITY.

I am informed that you impose a 50% tariff on the fruits of our human labor to enter the United States, and I do the same.

Let our people plant corn that was discovered in Colombia and feed the world

[jstor]

A surprisingly anti-capitalist Solomon Grundy by Frederick J. Cooper in a 1962 issue of Life Magazine, coming to JSTOR from the Walt Reed Illustration Archive. The collection is open to all and includes more than 150,000 images!

For those of you unfamiliar with the original nursery rhyme, here it is in Wikipedia.