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c-is-for-circinate · 5 years ago

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Y’all this episode had everything I could possibly have wanted and things I never even knew to wish for.

How did one episode start with Henry Crabgrass, the most glorious and beloved NPC of my heart, and end with mother fucking Avantika, with so much awesome shit in between!!! How!!!

Okay I am making a list of shit I absolutely loved tonight, in approximate chronological order:

Y’all I just love Henry Crabgrass so much. I don’t even have smart things to say about that fact, just a warm glow in my heart. May all the light of Melora’s grace smile down upon them and leave Henry as the toughest, most unkillable patch of crabgrass in all Exandria.

Vess and the Tombtakers, so many questions and so few certain answers, so many things to wonder, so many dots to connect! I really do feel like the crew are connecting them at this point, and while I’m sure in some places they’re far from the map, the general outline really is starting to emerge. What, exactly, was in the book the Tombtakers tried to claim without showing it to Vess deRogna first? What did it do to Lucien? And, if Vess has the book--what are they trying to find now?

So okay, let’s talk about Yasha and Beau. As someone who has had a lot of feelings about the intense relatability of Beau’s crush on Jester, I have now fully committed to also having a whole lot of mostly new feelings about these terrible awkward disaster lesbians with no fucking idea what they’re doing. I saw a post the other day mention how this whole relationship is about the feeling of discovering you can have this, that you can actually be happy, that you get to have this kind of relationship with someone. I’ve written about that. And I feel it so, so hard, every time I see them interact, when every bit of bravado leaves both of them. It’s so easy to be off-putting! It’s so easy to have crushes on wonderful people you kind of wish would look at you but you’re absolutely sure never will. It’s so hard to actually know what the fuck to do in the face of wait shit this might actually be a thing I could get for real? how? wait, how???

Also let’s talk about Jester in that scene, who ships Beauyasha harder than anything in the world??? Because yes, right, some of it is just that Jester loves romance, and some of it’s that Jester gets very invested in the happiness of her friends, but that is a lot of investment there. And I can’t help wondering if there’s a little dimension of...she wants to see True Love and Happily-Ever-After work. And she’s delighted to see it work for her friends who she loves, and when it comes true they’ll be happy and she loves that, but also I don’t know that Jester’s ever actually seen two people fall in love with each other and enter into a healthy, happy relationship before. But hey, all of her books say this wonderful magical thing exists, and now it seems to actually be showing up for her friends? Of course she wants to see it. Of course she wants it to be just as magical and wonderful as in all her stories, even if it’s not for her. (And maybe especially if it’s not for her, but I think that’s a whole separate post about Jester and her very high passive insight and all the people who are in love with her and the very specific ways she treats each of them.)

I love Yeza. Don’t we all love Yeza? He’s trying so hard. It’s always great to see Yeza for that kind of wide-eyed outsider POV on the M9 shenanigans, and I love it. He made a comment this episode about meeting goblins while living in Rosohna, and everything that’s happened to him really hit me in a while new way. Usually I think about how he’s had his life turned upside down by all of this, but man, just think how much he’s seen that he never in a million years would have begun to expect to experience! This smalltown alchemist from a pastoral little farming city in the middle of the Dwendalian midwest has lived for a significant amount of time as a housekeeper in the capitol city of the Krynn Dynasty. He must have gone to the markets and met the neighbors and learned the streets and the food, and who had he ever known in his whole life who could say such a thing? He lived with the Ruby of the Sea in Nicodranas by the ocean. He’s been to Zadash, now, and it’s only a matter of time before he sees Rexxentrum. How much farther will he go? (Man, I would love some good Yeza fic once this campaign is over. I think it’s going to take that long for me to really know how his story arc ends.)

Someone was posting earlier this episode about witnessing Vess scare Yeza so badly, and insight into how the Nein are starting to run in circles that really outstrip the people they used to know. Watching Pumat in the wake of being Informed By Lady de Rogna That He Would Put A Rush On That has really hammered it home. They remarked, in their very M9 somewhat idle vaguely ridiculous way that they wanted the icebreaker, and one tiny snowman later Vess had pulled rank and money and rerouted the ship’s entire passage for them. She’s scary--and with her, the M9 have the kind of power that’s scary, too. And that’s always such an interesting moment. The M9 are used to thinking of themselves as people with very little, who have to fight and scrap and get lucky for their own survival all the time. And yes, they’re utterly careless with money--why not be, when it comes and goes and almost none of them have ever really seen it help or last? And yes, they’re prone to violence and sometimes pretty rude. But before now, it’s always been a situation where the M9 acting loud, rude, and demanding could be chaotic underdogs scrapping to get what they needed or wanted from people who had the option of saying no. Suddenly they’re in a position where the balance of social situations is biased in their favor instead of against them. There’s such a difference between ‘please accede to my unreasonable request because I have a high charisma and will pay you lots of gold’, and, ‘you’re going to accede to my unreasonable request because otherwise my Cerberus Assembly boss may or may not have you assassinated’. The M9 have never been on this side of that before. I’m very curious to see how much they notice that they are now.

PALADIN OATH PALADIN OATH PALADIN OATH! I was not paying nearly enough attention when that scene started, so I am going to need to watch it again and also make extra sure to read any available source material on this specific homebrew oath, because it’s probably not exactly the same as the Oath of the Sea homebrew you can find on google. There’s some overlap between the abilities there and the ones Fjord already have, and the vows don’t quite match up, though some of them are close. Ugh, mostly I’m just so glad it has happened and Fjord has promised and he means it, he means it so much. He rest-of-his-life means it, and my heart belongs to Fjord who couldn’t even imagine the rest of his life as a thing separate from the monotony of his first thirty years, so very recently.

I actually always really love when CR has episodes at sea? Obviously the M9 have done it the most, but Vox Machina went sailing a time or two as well, and it’s just always so great. It’s often days of down time in a way that overland travel isn’t, and the party fills it with so many good little moments. Matt always gives them such cool encounters. On boats, spending a week at a time getting from one place to another, so much of the chaos of rewriting a plan seventeen times in an hour gets stripped away: they’re headed towards a destination, sometimes something comes up to deter them, and they have to find a way to deal with it. There are always crew members and the structure of a boat itself to take into consideration in any combat that pops up. It’s just such a nice tone, and I also love that the ocean itself kind of hates them now because it adds really delightful additional risks, and anyway heck yeah ocean voyage.

WHICH ENDS IN UNDEAD AVANTIKA ATTACKING THE SHIP WITH A TRIO OF CRAB-MEN AND WHO KNOWS WHAT ELSE HOLY FUCK. Look, I think M9 becoming pirates by accident and then trying to figure out wtf might actually be my favorite arc of this campaign so far, and every time it comes back I get so so happy. I’ve got some feelings about this showing up in the same episode as Fjord finally taking his full oath to the Wildmother. They are going to have to kill U’kotoa before this campaign is through. They are going to have to, because Fjord will never be safe on the ocean again if they don’t, and Fjord has bound himself by vow and will in service as the Wildmother’s paladin of the open sea. She hasn’t asked it of him, not specifically, but it’s his job. It’s going to be his job. In part it’ll be because it’s poetic justice, Fjord taking down the cruel demigod who (in some ways) made him. Mostly it’s just that killing U’kotoa is a job that needs to be done. To protect the oceans, the life they hold, the people who sail upon them, it’s going to need to be done. It’s Melora’s domain to do this, which means it’s her paladin’s job, and Fjord is her paladin of the sea. It’ll be him sooner or later.

I am so fucking delighted at the massive pile of fireworks on the deck of this ship, and I hope to god these Chekhovian bottle rockets go off before the end of this combat encounter, because this is, in fact, all I ever wanted the minute Beau put them in there.

#CR spoilers #episode 112

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thatgoblin · 4 years ago

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Small Town Affairs Chapter 2

Summary: Hazel is an Omega in the small town of Tin Springs, Midwest America. She's trying to live her life after breaking up with the local sheriff, John Walker, and his mate, Brock Rumlow. New people aren't something that happens often, but when a new pack comes to town her whole life goes from a small mess to a complete disaster in the best way.

Warnings: Domestic Violence, Assault, Sexual abuse, Himbo Bucky, Misogyny, will update as story goes.

Chapter 2

The rest of the day went by smoothly. The lunch and evening rush came and went, making time pass by quickly.

At a half hour till close, Clint came back in.

“Hey,” I said, waving to him with a smile. “How’s it going?”

“It’s going. Got our stuff unpacked and put up so that’s a relief. I was on my way to pick up dinner from the restaurant and decided to stop in and say hey, also thanks again for helping out our first night,” he said, moving the lean against the counter as he talked to me.

“It’s not a problem. Like I told one of your packmates, Helmut, we’re a pretty friendly bunch here,” I said, tidying up my area before shutting down for the day.

“Oh, he came by?” Clint asked, his brows raising.

“Yeah, him and I think his name was Bucky. They came by to get some groceries and Helmut asked about a plant nursery. I pointed him to the one on the west side of town,” I said. “Why do you look surprised?”

“Well, Bucky and Helmut usually keep to themselves. Especially Bucky. I guess it’s the small town just bringing it out,” he said with a chuckle as he began to fold a piece of trash paper into something.

“They were nice. Well, Helmut did most of the talking, but Bucky was courteous. It’s not often we get Alphas that aren’t forceful or dominating. Even if they don’t mean to, it happens a lot around here,” I said, printing out my end of day numbers.

“Yeah, I got that sense the other night,” he said with a cringe. “Does the sheriff always greet new people like that?”

I paused a moment, chewing on my lip as I thought of my answer carefully.

“It differs. Like I said, Alphas around here tend to be more old school and domineering,” I said softly, my smile gone. Any time John and Brock were brought up directly to me I couldn’t help but go quiet and submissive. It took me so long to start breaking out of my old shell and still I’d slip right back into it at the mention of their names. “I’d be careful of him. Just don’t get on his bad side.”

“Is he that scary?” Clint asked, his fingers pausing in their movements to lean forward as if we were sharing a secret.

“Hazel, why don’t you head home early today?” Peggy said as she stood in the office doorway, stopping the conversation. Whether it was to protect me or put a barrier up for Clint, I wasn’t sure and I wasn’t going to argue. “I’m sure you need to get cleaned up for your other job before heading over. I’ll finish up your register for you.”

“Alright, thanks,” I said, not wanting to argue. “Uh, I’ll see you around Clint.” Handing the sheets and keys to Peggy, I grabbed my thermos and purse before heading out the back door. Peggy was my boss and felt like family, but there were times that she was different. Mostly when it felt like she was trying to hide something, a switch flipped and she turned into almost a commanding officer. I liked my job and knew there was a limit with her if I tried to push back, so I didn’t bother trying to figure anything out. Some mysteries were better left unsolved.

I drove home to get ready for my other job. I told people I was a bartender at a hole in the wall in the next town over, but if they knew the truth, they didn’t say a word. Probably because they weren’t supposed to be there themselves. I packed my small bag before grabbing a quick nap and snack. It was dark when I left the house and twenty minutes later I was backstage at the Pink Pony strip club. The other girls and guys were all in various stages of getting ready as I stepped into a smaller, private dressing room.

First things first was, well, to strip. I put my comfy, warm clothes in the small bag before pulling out my costume for the evening. It was a black mesh and bedazzled number that left little to the imagination. The mesh kept it together and on me as well as double sided tape, lots of tape. I quickly ran a baby wipe over my arms and legs to dry my skin a bit which would allow for the smaller crystals and stones on sticky strips that were for decoration to stick better.

Well, for decoration and hiding blemishes and marks I didn’t want others to see. I had a lot of those that would identify me, but the sparkle helped cover them nicely with some make up as well. I moved on to fix my hair into a wig cap then pinned it down with almost a thousand bobby pins and nearly a whole can of hairspray to help keep everything in place. I would glue the front of my wig down before doing my makeup to blend everything together. Lately I've been using a dark ruby colored wig with lots of curls, I got a lot more tips with that one than my other neon yellow wig. Coming out of the dressing room, I spotted a work friend Kira who was just finishing her own costume.

“Hey, Kira, can you get my back spots please?” I asked.

“Yeah, sure,” the other woman said with a smile. Her own costume of chains and feathers jingled like tiny bells as she walked over to me. Almost all the dancers got along well enough to help each other out as much as possible. There were a few dancers that didn’t get along very well, but they were at least able to either avoid each other or were at least courteous. It made the job 100 times easier if things were hunky dory backstage. A few minutes later, Kira had finished and I was set. I thanked her as she went to go do her own show. I pulled my knee high boots on, double checked my makeup, then went to work.

The seating areas at the front of the house as well as the other four smaller stages for one person were filled and still there were people standing at the bar. It was busy for a Friday night, but I wasn’t about to get mad about it. The drunker people got, the more money they’d spend.

“Hey, Carrie,” my manager said, waving me over to the bar. All the people that worked there had a stage name, some for safety and some because it was fun. I wanted to fly under the radar and be left alone when I wasn’t on the job. I walked over to him, waving and smiling to everyone that paid me any mind.

“Hey, Nick, what’s up?” I asked, leaning against the bar next to him.

“I know you’re my girl when I need extra sessions, especially private sessions. You wanna take this group coming in later? There’s supposed to be six or so. Includes lap dances and pole work, maybe a few body shots. They’re paying extra for my best girl. You want it?” He asked as looked around the floor of the club with his one eye.

“Sure. I never say no to extra tips,” I said with a shrug.

“I knew I could count on you,” he said. “They’ll be here in about an hour. They called ahead for some reason. No one calls ahead.”

“Great, hopefully they’re out of towners and get drunk easily,” I said, looking over the floor as well.

“Let’s hope so, go ahead and let Holly know that you’re not on the main stage tonight so she can have it,” he said, motioning to a brunette who was chatting up a table.

“Yes Sir,” I said, giving him a mock salute and getting an eye roll in return.

I let Holly know of the update and made myself useful by helping with serving drinks, making sure to give the tips to the servers I was helping, did a few lap dances, and mingled on the floor to pass the time till my party got there. My shifts were shorter, just five hours, compared to others because I only worked the weekends and was lower on the pecking order, but I still made a good amount on the weekends.

A little bit before my group got there, I headed to the room I was told we were using to double check that everything was clean and in order before getting on stage. I was swaying on the pole when the group came in. I nearly tripped over my platform heels when I saw who it was. It was the new pack in town, including the Alphas I had met at the store.

Fuck me.

Thankfully I was able to grab the pole and make it look like I meant to swing further, spinning myself around.

“Hi ya, fellas,” I called, making my accent thicker and my voice higher to hide my real voice. “Glad to see ya’ll made it. I’m Carrie, what’re your names?”

Taking seats around my stage, they all ordered drinks when a server came in. At first no one said anything, looking at one another almost nervously before I stepped down the stairs towards them.

“Oh come on, don’t be shy. I don’t bite,” I said, giving the dark haired man with a salt and pepper mustache a wink. He was dressed in a wine red button up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and black slacks. It was all tailored to him instead of the usual baggy church clothes most men around the area wore. The material didn’t look like something from Walmart either. As I slid my hands over his shoulders and straddled him, getting a feel for his disposition, the shirt had to be a mixture of expensive fabrics. There was no other explanation for how soft it was without looking cheap.

“That’s disappointing,” he said with a chuckle, leaning back in the leather seat. “I’m Howard, that’s Thor, Bucky, and Helmut.” Howard pointed to each in turn from the blond with a beard and shoulder length hair that was pinned back in a half ponytail to Bucky and Helmut. “We’re new in town and figured we’d see what this place has to offer.”

“And what do you think so far, Sug’?” I asked.

“I think we found a good place,” he said, smirking looking me up and down.

“I’m glad to hear that,” I said, standing from leaning over Howard. “Now, who wants a lap dance?”

“Bucky, why don’t you go first?” Howard said.

“Me?” Bucky choked as the drinks were brought in, set on the small side tables between the seats.

“You shy, Sug?” I asked, moving to pull an armless leather clad chair to the front of the stage. “I promise, I’ll be nice.”

“Go on, live a little,” Thor chuckled as he picked up his drink. Even in the dim, colored lighting, I could still see a bit of blush across Bucky’s cheeks as he begrudgingly stood up. The men cheered as he moved to the chair in front of everyone.

“Now, some small ground rules, boys,” I said, sliding my hand along Bucky’s shoulders as I walked behind him. “No touching unless I say so, ask like good little boys and you’ll get body shots, AND the bigger you tip, the more you get.”

“I like her,” Helmut said as he watched. The music started for me, something with a good beat that allowed me to tease and taunt. Bucky’s clothes were different for tonight, more like Howard’s really. It was a dark navy blue button up with the sleeves buttoned around his wrists. What was odd was that he had leather clothes on. They were tight around his hands and while I usually wasn’t one to question someone’s fashion choices, I also wasn’t complaining as I took his hands to slide down the sides of my body as I faced away from him. My ass was inches from his face, letting me lean over to twerk for him.

It was common to smell arousal, the need from Alphas and Betas and Omegas alike when I gave performances, but Bucky was different. His scent was coming off in wafts, no hindrance at all. It was intoxicating and easy to get lost in. Especially being so close to him. All the dancers used neutralizing spray to keep our scents to a minimum, adding manufactured floral or fruity scents. I was so glad that I had put on an extra layer that night. When it came time for the tips from Bucky, it took a bit of prompting to put the bills in fun places.

“Put the bills down your shirt or the waist of your pants,” Howard said with a laugh. Usually I hated when customers did that, but with this group I didn’t mind. With slightly shaky hands, Bucky slid a few bills under the belt of his slacks as well as down the front of his shirt to peek out.

“Jesus, Howard, you’re going to get us kicked out,” Bucky huffed at his friend, shooting him a glare before looking down when I had squatted in front of him. Slowly, I slid up his body, making sure to grab the bills with my teeth to end with the tips of our noses touching. His steely blue eyes were wide open, his small gasp letting me smell his breath that had traces of mint and whiskey. Had it been just us, I would have been even dirtier, but with an audience most customers didn’t want to get too turned on.

“You did good, Sug,” I said with a grin, moving to sit directly in his lap as I plucked the rest of the bills from him to shove down my top. I gave him a kiss on the cheek before turning to the group.

“Who’s next?”

Thor took his turn, much happier to have a scantily clad person in his lap. He was fun too. Apparently he was from Scandinavia or something and was new to this type of club. I figured they had strip clubs abroad, but he seemed to be tickled to be in one now. Howard had his, showing off exactly how much he knew about dancing with how he knew where he could touch without getting in trouble. Then there were body shots between the dances that all the men took part in. After a couple, they were all pretty loose and goofy, even Bucky who was laughing and smiling wider.

The last dance of the night was for Helmut and that man was the one I was most worried about. Despite being the smallest Alpha there, the man had something about him that was alluring and almost dark. It was the same with Bucky and when both of them were together it felt like I was in one of those cartoons where the scent of fresh baked treats floated through the forest to beckon the lost ingenue to it. While Bucky had been nervous though, Helmut was not.

He wasn’t cocky like Howard or playful like Thor, no the man was steady and was moving with me almost. I would go to one side and his nose would follow, barely touching my neck and shoulder. His beard would tickle my chest as I peeled off a layer of mesh to let him motorboat me. The dance was intense and when I was done, I was sure that the neutralizer wasn’t working. Just like the others, he got a kiss on the cheek before letting him up.

Despite my fear of being recognized, no one said a thing. Overall the group had a good time, tipping generously as I finished on the stage.

“Now, I hate to say it boys, but that’s all the time there is for us. Make sure to come back and see me Sug’s,” I said, winking at them. They had paid for almost 4 hours and my shift was nearly up, but I would have rather kept servicing them the rest of the night. Especially Helmut and Bucky.

I waved to them as they all got up and left, Howard leaving more tips under his empty glass as he held back. “How about one last lap dance? Hmm? I’ll make it worth your while,” he said. The man had been leaving hundreds all over the place in my room, Nick would understand if I spent an extra fifteen minutes getting the house tips that way.

“Sure, have a seat, darlin’,” I said with a smile, sliding from the stage to the floor. I pushed him back into the chair when he hadn’t sat just yet, earning a surprised look.

“So, out of curiosity, do you do parties?” He asked, looking up at me as I straddled him, holding onto the back of the chair as I moved my body to the music.

“Never been hired to do one out of the club. Usually we keep them in house,” I said, rolling my hips over his thighs.

“I see. So, if I wanted to book you specifically for an event, would I just ask the manager then?” He asked, his eyes roaming over my body. It wasn’t out of the norm for customers to do that as they talked with us, but it felt off with Howard. Like he was acting the part of a customer instead of being one.

“Yup, his name’s Nick. He’s at the bar right now probably, he’ll be the guy with the eye patch,” I said with a hum. “Why are you so curious how things work here? I heard you new people were from New York. You must have fancier clubs there than this nowhere town.”

“True, but there’s a certain charm to this place,” he said. “My mate seems to have taken a liking to the town, especially a certain Omega at a grocery store he’s been seeing.”

“Oh yeah? Good for your mate, though if you’re here and not at home, I’m not sure how good that is,” I said, feeling my heart pick up pace. What the hell was he doing? How did he figure it out without even seeing me at the store?

“Clint, my mate, says the sheriff here is kind of odd. I haven’t met him yet myself, but small towns always have those sort of secrets don’t they?”

“You’re in the middle of the midwest in a small town, Sug’. There’s secrets everywhere. Everyone wants to save face despite hating the people they wanna impress,” I said. This was Clint’s Howard? Did Clint know then? He added me on Facebook, but I rarely posted more than work stuff for the store and even then I had nothing to say that I worked at the club.

“What about you? Do you have any skeletons in your closet, Hazel?” He asked, whispering my name. I stiffened, standing up to glare down at him.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing, but leave the money and go,” I said firmly.

“Look, I’m not trying to cause any trouble,” he said, holding up his hands.

“Uh huh,” I said. “I don’t care what you were thinking or doing, but your time is up and you should go. Now.”

“Look, Clint said some weird stuff about the sheriff and said you acted funny around him and when pressed about it. Why?” Howard asked, standing up as he pulled out a wad of bills.

“It’s entirely none of your business and honestly, stay away from the sheriff if you know what’s good for you,” I said, reaching out to snatch the money from him as he held it out.

“Well, I would, but he likes to make house calls and greet everyone,” he said. “I wouldn’t make a big deal out of it if it didn’t worry Clint and my pack, okay?”

“What do you mean, house calls?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.

“The sheriff came by to see us, going almost door to door to introduce himself. Usually people don’t do that unless they’re trying to prove something or if they have something they want to stay hidden,” Howard said. “I was out when he came by, but enough of the pack was put off by it that it became a concern.”

“Just don’t put your nose in other people's business and you’ll be fine. Sheriff Walker just likes to make sure everyone knows he’s the one in charge,” I said.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Howard said with a sigh.

“How’d you know it was me anyways?” I asked as he turned to leave.

“Clint said you had a weird birthmark under your left ear, that it looked like a crescent moon. Also when I pulled up the website, he recognized you from a promotional picture,” he said, his eyes trailing over my face. “But it’s not a birthmark is it?”

“You better go before security thinks you’re holding me hostage,” I said, gathering all the money as well as the glasses onto a server’s plater. If Clint figured it out, did Bucky and Helmut? Fucking hell.

“I’ll see you around, Carrie,” he said, giving a small wave before leaving the room.

I watched him leave the room before exiting myself, going right to the dancers room. There I sorted the bills before giving the house mom a tip and paying the house a cut. Sitting down, I took a bit to catch my breath and grab a snack. Things that had been simple were suddenly getting so very complicated. I had my second job for nearly six months now and was doing fine with keeping that part of me a secret. Things were steady, kinda boring, but steady. I needed that to get on with my life. Maybe it was time to start saving up to move to a new place. Somewhere far from the small town that was eating me alive.

“Hey, Carrie,” Kira said, coming into the room. “Your weekly visitor is here.”

Another thing to just make the night crap.

“Thanks. Tell him I’ll be out in a minute, I’m just changing,” I said, giving up on the last half hour of my shift. Usually I would have worked the floor more, but he was early this week. As quickly as I could, I took off my costume and accessories before wiping myself down then changing into my usual clothes.

Walking out the door for the night, I had made sure to get the money ready beforehand, wanting to hand it off then leave.

“Hey Sweetheart,” a gravelly voice called from a picnic bench next to the back door. I looked over to see Brock sitting there with a stupid smile on his face as he smoke a cigarette. He was lit up by a lamppost that was supposed to give us a good range of vision. Most of the time it just made everything orange and looked like it was from a horror movie. With Brock waiting for me, it felt like one. “I didn’t cut your night short, did I?” He asked, standing up to his full 6 foot four height, to throw the butt of his smoke on the ground and grind it out with his boot. I put my shoulders back as I marched over to him, pushing the envelope of money into his stomach. With Brock I couldn’t show hesitation or weakness, the man was a predator that would go for the throat the moment it was shown.

“There’s your cut,” I said, turning to leave.

“Uh-uh, you know the rules,” Brock said, grabbing my elbow tightly. Growling, I moved back over to him as he counted the money.

“Can you hurry up?” I hissed, pulling my hoodie sleeves down over my hands as I shifted my feet in wait.

“Calm your ass. I’m just making sure,” he said, not even looking away from the bills. “Ah, see, this is why you wait. You’re $300 short.”

“That’s because John decided to stop by the grocery store this week and bother me,” I said. “Per our deal, if either of you interact with me beyond necessary needs, you get less money.”

“Not $300 worth,” he said, looking up at me.

“He was an ass and I’m in a mood, so just take it and go,” I sighed, adjusting my bag strap on my shoulder.

“Not how this works, Sweetheart,” he said, holding out his hand. “Fork over the other $300 and we’ll call it even. I’ll talk to John and remind him of our agreement. After that, if he still decides to be an idiot, then you can give less money, but not till then.”

“That’s not what you said,” I snarled. “I’m not paying you to sometimes stay away. So that’s what you’re getting and nothing more till next week.”

“I don’t know who you think you’re dealing with, but I can assure you that it’s not nice guy John who you can just sweet talk,” Brock said, grabbing my arm hard to jerk me close. “Now, either give me the money or I make things really hard for you at your regular job. You know, the one where everyone likes you enough to pity you instead of whispering about what you really are.”

“Let me go, Brock,” I growled, trying to pull away from him.

“See, this is making the price go up. Now we’re at $400 that you owe me. Wanna fight me some more and make it higher?” He asked, tightening his grip on me.

“Fine.” Pulling out my wallet from my bag, I grabbed the extra money for him. Waiting as he counted it out, he slipped it into the envelope with a smirk.

“See, was that so hard?” He asked with a chuckle.

“Fuck you, Brock,” I said, wanting to just go.

“Oh no, no, no,” he growled, his hand shooting out to grab my face and force me to look at him. “We are not going to start that attitude. Understand? I can remind you why you hate me so much if you really want me to. It’s no skin off my back to take you home and fuck that look off your face.”

“Let go,” I grunted, struggling as his grip tightened.

“Not until you promise to be a good girl,” he sneered. The music to the club was loud, making it impossible for anyone to hear me scream for help or even know there was something happening. The music also covered the sounds of footsteps approaching us as Brock easily lifted me onto the picnic table to pin me down, making me lose my bag as I held onto his arm to try and pry it off with a cry.

“Hey! Get off her!”

Brock’s tight grip on my face kept me facing him, hiding the people who were coming over to us. It didn’t stop me from struggling though.

“This isn’t your business, fuck off,” Brock snarled, making my hair stand on in. John was a bully, someone who could only get so rough before feeling bad. Brock was a fucking monster. Something I’d wished I’d known before being with him. Just the sound of his voice raised and angry had me trembling.

“That’s not how this works,” another voice said as they got closer. “Let her go now.”

“Or what? You’ll call the cops?” Brock scoffed.

“No, we’ll just kick the shit out of you.” That voice I knew, making my stomach roll. They should have all left by now, what were they doing still there?

“Brock just go,” I managed, hoping he wouldn’t do anything. “Just take the money and go. I’ll pay extra next time.”

“Damn right you will,” he grumbled as he let go of my face before backing up. “She’s all yours. A heads up though, she likes it when you bite her.” Brock chuckled as he walked away, probably planning something for next week. My stomach rolled at the thought.

Sitting up, I swallowed hard as I hopped up on shaky legs to grab my bag. I kept my face down as shame threatened to set it on fire with how hot it was. I was near tears as I picked up my bag, my hands so unsteady I almost had to drop my stuff.

“Are you okay?”

My hair only covered so much of my face, but the people had seen everything already. I wasn’t hidden anymore.

“Look, uh, just. . . It’s fine, okay? It was just a misunderstanding,” I said, seeing Helmut recognize me. “You guys should go.” There was a confusion of sorts as his brows furrowed together, but he didn’t say anything. Before anyone else could say anything, I started off towards my truck, hoping that I would be able to make it without tripping over my own feet.

“Wait,” Helmut called as he followed. “Please.”

“I’m leaving for the night. It’s fine, I promise,” I said, putting on a nice smile as I stopped. Everyone loved my smile at the club. They said it was warm and friendly with a little spice. “It was just a mix up, that’s it. Thank you for checking on me though.”

“At least let me walk you to your car. You look shaky,” he said, trying to be a gentleman. I wanted so badly to let him, to have someone who wanted to help me instead of use me, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do that to him when there was so much more that could hurt him and the others.

“I think your friends are waiting for you actually, but thanks,” I said, my eyes watering as I kept forcing my smile. The last thing I needed was anyone getting involved between me and my exes That would just make the mess even bigger. Worse, I liked Helmut and his friends. Him and Bucky specifically. I didn’t want them to get in trouble or tangled up in my stuff. They didn’t deserve that.

On the way home, I had to pull over to keep from driving off the road. My vision was cloudy from tears and I couldn’t breathe. Things had been so good for me and now shit was hitting that fan. Why me? I didn’t do anything wrong! I played by the rules and got nearly killed only to escape and think I can leave it all behind. Why can’t I just be free of this!? I screamed as I hit the steering wheel, so mad and hopeless that nothing else had work. About ten minutes later I had calmed down to a sniffle and was able to see properly. I put my truck into gear and drove home.

I pulled into my short driveway to see everything was still the same there at least. I trudged in to put things up before bed, almost not caring enough but knowing I would be pissed in the morning. As I flopped onto my mattress after changing into my pajamas, I got a text.

[Brock SMS:] You owe double next time for the trouble.

Fuck.

#zemo/oc #bucky/oc #john walker/oc #helmut zemo/oc #bucky barnes/oc #brock rumlow/oc #zemo/bucky/oc #john walker/brock rumlow #john walker/brock rumlow/oc #zemo/bucky #abo au #marvel

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idthellyeah-blog · 5 years ago

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A totally timely and significant review of Rancid’s “...And Out Come The Wolves”

(I honestly don’t remember when I wrote this, maybe 2015. Definitely just got jacked up on something and decided that I needed to write a track by track review of an album I loved when I was a cool punk teen. It has just been sitting in my Google Drive patiently waiting to be posted.)

I remember the first time I ever heard/saw Rancid was when the video for “Salvation” off of their second album “Let’s Go” premiered on MTV. Such an 80’s/90’s kid thing to do, discovering a new band by seeing a music video on TV, ugh. I thought the leather clad mohawked bad boys were amazing and perfect and so cool...that I immediately tried to spike my hair using gelatin (tru punx only) and got a leather jacket (did not look that cool and was very sweaty). When “...And Out Come The Wolves” came out the next year (1995, I’m old AF) I was totally enamored and had found my #1 favorite album of all time (that lasted for like a year until music got better). I was supposed to go see Rancid at a big show in Omaha, I lived in a small town called Columbus that was roughly 90 minutes away from the big city...but the day of my mom didn’t let me go because I had bad math grades. I reacted the way any entitled white teen did, by laying in the garage and crying and playing their album. That show wound up being a huge to-do when fans tore up seats in the venue and threw cushions at the band leading to Rancid not playing Omaha for a long time. I missed out on some cool bad-ass punk rock shit, first world problems. Fast forward to today when I decided that I, Ian Douglas Terry, needed to write out a song-by-song review of this quintessential punk album. I’m a real music nut, and obviously very good at structured writing...so here we go! (Rock on)

1. Maxwell Murder - Oh boy, this one starts with like a subway train sound and then the beginning of a killer/complicated Matt Freeman bass line. That dude SHREDS the bass, and even has a wild solo in this song. That’s tight. Why did they stop letting him sing? He sounded like a fun Muppet on their first album and I loved his songs. Maybe he wanted to focus on just shredding the bass and using tons of pomade.

2. The 11th Hour - This song is great. It is poppy and upbeat and about a woman having dreams and demanding answers. Hell yeah. I love good punk music that supports women and feminism and figuring out where the power lies (spoiler alert, it starts and ends with you). Remember how Brody from The Distillers left Tim Armstrong for the dude from Queens of the Stone Age? And then he got all fat and got a beard? I can completely relate to that, and have been there sans beard.

3. Roots Radicals - This song RULES. I had to look up what “Moonstompers” were and who “Desmond Dekker” was. I remember trying to relate to this like it could somehow compare to living in a town with 20,000 people and the nicest Wal-Mart in the tri-county area. Remember how there was that Spanish language cover of this on one of those “Give Em The Boot” comps that Hellcat put out? That was real tight.

4. Time Bomb - Hit single baby! This had a huge hand in getting punk kids into reggae/ska for sure. Killer organ solo, lots of rude boy shit going, I loved it so much. Tim Armstrong totally re-used lyrics from the song “Motorcycle Ride” from the previous album...which is hilarious. Like c’mon dawg...you should know your own lyrics. I learned how to do the solo from this and felt like a guitar god (it is a very easy solo, like almost too easy).

5. Olympia, WA - I love songs like this that are about cities that the band isn’t from...so you have to fire up your imagination (or just read the lyrics) and be like, “What went down in Olympia, Washington????”. Turns out it was mostly hanging out on different streets in New York and playing pinball with Puerto Ricans while wishing you were with a person who you were sleeping with in Washington. Hell yeah, just like Shakespeare.

6. Lock, Step & Gone - Songs about docks were HUGE in my youth. Dropkick Murphy’s had like eight songs about boys on them, and this Rancid song alludes to them. I loved all of the blue collar, working class ideology that had nothing to remotely do with my comfortable upper middle class (not sure if that’s accurate because my parents were teachers, and like is there even a middle class any more?) life. This song definitely sums itself up at then end when it says “There’s a whole lot of nothin”.

7. Junky Man - Another theme that I could definitely relate to in a town of 20,000 people with like ten people who did meth...Junkies! This song is pretty great because the dude from the Basketball Diaries does some sick poetry in it...that movie was nuts. I like that song that he later wrote/sang about all the people he knew who died. The only way poetry can be cool is if the person is an insane drug addict with cool/sad stories to tell. Otherwise it is just loud diary reading.

8. Listed MIA - At this point I wholeheartedly agree with this song, “I’m checking out”. I don’t know if I ever really liked this song or if this was just part of the “I accidentally left it playing after the first four songs that I liked were over”. Lars says the derogatory f-word for homosexuals in it, because people called him that word...that doesn’t seem cool man. I get that it rhymes with “maggots”, but maybe give white dudes in the Midwest less reasons to sing that word out loud.

9. Ruby Soho - This is one of the best songs ever, hands down. It is beautiful and you can barely understand what Tim Armstrong is saying but it is wonderful. I feel like deciphering his lyrics led me to be able to understand most speech impediments, so hell yeah. This song is about loving someone a lot but having to leave them because it isn’t working out. This song was the blueprint for every romantic relationship I’ve ever had in my entire life so it might be a gypsy curse.

10. Daly City Train - Oh hell yeah, fun Reggae drums! Through punk and ska I grew to appreciate Reggae, but through being bummed out about that culture’s deep seated homophobia and the fact that most of it is super repetitive and boring and for dad’s on vacation. I’m just glad that 311 taught me to love those smooth Caribbean sounds again (oh god am I joking or am I serious, I can’t tell any more please save me).

11. Journey to the End of the Easy Bay - I can still play this bass line and was very proud of myself the first time I half-way pulled it off. It doesn’t sound as smooth and nuanced as the way Matt Freeman plays it, but goddamn it I think that was the height of my skill as a musician. This song rules themes about needing to belong and finding a place with people who thought and felt the same as you...and then losing it as everyone grows out of it. This was most of my early 20’s. I grew up in a scene with similarly minded people, it eventually ended and I still have contact with some of those people but that point in my life will never be replicated. I finally belonged somewhere and was part of something bigger than me. Now I do comedy and it is bleak, entitled, and sad and mostly alcoholics talking about their dicks. Please take me back.

12. She’s Automatic - This is not a bad song but a very confusing way to describe a woman. I get that it means she is effortless in “the way that she moves” but maybe I’m not giving Lars any poetic license because he looks like a guy who punched books. This woman sounds great though, and I’m sure they dated for three months. Revisiting this and that era reminds me that I almost had sex with a girl at the first X-men movie...man, being punk ruled.

13. Old Friend - Back to the Raggae! This song is pretty great, but they really missed an opportunity of selling this to a heartburn medicine company. “Good morning heartache, you’re like an old friend come and see me again”...that would be perfect for a commercial of a guy eating a giant plate of lasagna and making a “Oh boy, I did it again!” face. The Transplants sold a song to that fruit shampoo, maybe this is something I can retroactively help negotiate.

14. Disorder and Disarray - I love when punk bands have songs about “business men” being evil and the industry being bad. Like when Against Me were part of an Anarchist collective and then on a major label putting out really bad music. Rancid was at least on Epitaph, which while arguably not “cool” it was at least run by a kind of punk dude who is responsible for the biggest/shittiest corporate garbage of a festival, The Warped Tour. This song has a part towards the end where they talk to each other like David Lee Roth would do in Van Halen songs, that rules.

15. The Wars End - I get that this is a song about little Sammy being a punk rocker but at this point I think they should have admitted this album was fine with 10-12 songs and maybe some of these were super repetitive and unnecessary. It's like you’re forcing it. I can’t imagine the dude who recorded it had a lot of fun and he probably fell asleep and was startled awake and had to pretend like he’d been paying attention the whole time.

16. You Don’t Care Nothin - This starts out with the exact chord progression from Journey To The End Of The East Bay….c’mon guys. You Don’t Care Nothin about being succinct and making your songs individual expressions of art! The themes even seem like something they’ve already gone over. I’m going to eat some soup, brb.

17. As Wicked - Is this a different song or a weird breakdown? Oh, it’s a different song. Well...this soup is pretty good. Chicken Noodle, but the chunky kind. It isn’t amazing but it is good. I should really cook more. Maybe I’ll order Chinese later.

18. Avenues & Alleyways - I don’t really have a problem with this song because it has the “Oi oi oi” chant that the bands I was in during High School would do and we had no idea why other than popular bands doing it. It is very catchy. It sounds like the other two songs were just building up to finally getting your attention back. Plus it has a breakdown with people clapping, that is always fun. This has to be the last song right? It is the perfect last song on an album!

19. The Way I Feel - FUUUUUUUCK! What? Really should have ended the album on that last song, it had a good “anthem” vibe and at least wrapped this up into a somewhat sensible endeavor. This song could have been stuck in the middle somewhere, or maybe just not recorded with about seven others? The Way I Feel about this album is that there are some parts that hold up and are still fun to listen to, but the rest of it just seems like I’m being forced to read my own teenage diary and it is boring and sad. Nostalgia is a bummer, I can’t imagine having Rancid still be my favorite band. I’d probably still wear a chain wallet and spiky bracelet and be one of those obnoxious old drunk weirdos I see at shows that stick out like crazy sore thumbs. Bummer dude.

Oh wow, what a journey (to the end of the east bay, am I right?)...I’m glad I was finally able to get this review out so people could finally know what this album means to me and my generation of lazy weirdos. This took me six months to write and I should be congratulated for being a journalist with tons of integrity and great taste. True punks never die, they just eventually chill out and shop at Kohl’s.

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goingoverthegardenwall · 6 years ago

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Chapter 6: Lullaby in Frogland

Let’s look back. Way back. Back before the dawn of animation, before the dawn of film, well before Ruby or Spears or Disney or Iwerks or either Fleischer Brother. Back to 1835, in a town named Florida in a state named Missouri when a boy named Samuel was born.

Like Ub Iwerks, Sam was raised in Missouri. And like Max Fleischer, Sam’s family took a financial hit when his father’s work stopped (this time due to a premature death rather than the decline of tailory), giving Sam a practical approach to employment. He left school at age eleven to become a printer’s apprentice, then moved to his older brother’s newspaper as a typesetter and occasional columnist, writing humorous articles and drawing cartoons. But unlike Beatrix Potter or the animators we’ve covered, visual art wasn’t in the cards for Sam.

He moved to the East Coast to work for other papers, bouncing between cities before returning to the midwest to embark on a career he’d dreamed of since he was old enough to dream: piloting a steamboat. He thrived on the water, and kept writing about his work along the river, but everything stopped when the Civil War closed off the Mississippi. So Sam headed west to work for the same brother who once ran the newspaper, now a politician in Nevada (I’d be remiss if I didn’t point out that this brother was for some reason named Orion). Sam tried mining, and it didn’t take, but he’d gotten pretty good at writing and set off for San Francisco to get back into his jocular brand of journalism.

It was here that he had his first success, a short story published in his paper called Jim Smiley and His Jumping Frog. But, like a certain frog we’ve covered in this series, Sam wasn’t huge on permanent names. Within a month, the story was reprinted as The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County, and Jim Smiley’s name was changed to Jim Greeley. Until the book version came out, when it was changed back to Jim Smiley. And this whole time, within the story, it’s a mystery whether Jim’s real name is actually Leonidas (it turns out that it isn’t, but it might be). None of this should come as a surprise for Samuel Clemens, who wrote under the names of Josh, Thomas Jefferson Snodgrass, and most famously, Mark Twain.

“I knew you were special.”

Over the Garden Wall is, among other things, a story about the importance of solid communication. After five episodes spent building up our heroes as a group of friends, all it takes is one episode of terrible communication to throw it all away. The specific issues vary, despite leading to a similar result of not verbalizing their thoughts very well: Greg’s youth stops him from articulating his rapidly changing ideas, Wirt’s anxiety leaves him too timid to speak up or too rambling to be clear, Beatrice’s true intentions make her obfuscate the truth, and Jason Funderburker straight-up can’t talk. Or so we think.

This time he’s named for American statesmen George Washington and Benjamin Franklin, which fits the continuing vintage Americana vibe of the series—while I figure it’s a coincidence, it should be noted that Mark Twain’s Jumping Frog was named after American statesman Daniel Webster. Surrounded by other frogs that walk around and wear fancy garb, our frog is more anthropomorphic than ever, standing on his hind legs and dancing along with Greg. But it’s still a shock to hear him open his mouth and sing, a shock that soon cedes to the realization that the frog playing the piano at the beginning of the series is singing the Jack Jones song in the montage that follows.

Lullaby in Frogland is Jason Funderburker’s episode through and through, so much so that it’s the first time we hear of his namesake, Jason Funderberker. This is an episode where Wirt rejects Greg’s assertion that their frog is “our frog,” a plot point that’s paid off in their last conversation in the series. This is an episode where Greg wonders aloud if he can be a hero, sees the frog set off on a diverging path immediately afterwards, and accepts it, because he’s willing to sacrifice his happiness for the good of others. And it’s an episode where the frog returns after a harrowing betrayal, showing that even when all seems lost, there’s still room for hope. Over the Garden Wall (the song) might not sound like a traditional lullaby, but it soothes us into a cold night as the sun sets on the first half of Over the Garden Wall (the show).

Adelaide’s true nature is foreshadowed by Beatrice’s sudden hesitance to bring the brothers to the pasture after several episodes of nagging, but the twist is made tragic by Wirt finally letting his guard down enough to be happy. He sings a completed Adelaide Parade with Greg and joins the dance before collapsing into the most earnest laughter I’ve ever heard in a cartoon. He’s a good enough friend to notice when Beatrice is “uncharacteristically wistful,” and takes a risk by playing the bassoon instead of just giving up. He’s still got growing to do—it’s one thing to blame Greg for getting them in trouble by throwing away the ferry fare and forcing them to sneak aboard, but another thing to literally shout “Take him, not me!” when confronted by the frog fuzz—so it’s clear that his journey isn’t over yet, but he doesn’t even get a full episode of peace before everything blows up.

The whole steamboat sequence flows between simple delights, like saluting the captain mid-chase, the revelation that the frogs love music more than they hate trespassers, and the repeated gags of three gentlemen frogs snatching up flying flies and a frog mother dropping her tadpoles. Everything just feels calm, even when antics are afoot. Wirt gets to save the day with his bassooning, Greg gets to feel rewarded in his knowledge that his frog is special, Jason gets to sing a song after being silent throughout the series, and Beatrice seems, for now, to come to a sort of peace about things after several clear attempts to sidetrack the boys. This is the only episode to feature two major stories instead of one, but the steamer segment is rich enough to feel like a full episode. If only we could’ve stopped here.

All roads lead to Twain when it comes to depictions of steamboats as a go-to American icon, which is why he preceded this discussion of Lullaby in Frogland: I’m not claiming Mickey Mouse wouldn’t have been successful if his first cartoon was about something else, but I’m certainly claiming that we wouldn’t have gotten Steamboat Willie as it was if Ub Iwerks hadn’t grown up in a Missouri whose lore was shaped by Twain’s tales of the river. But while the author is the root of the episode’s many influences, I think the most fascinating branch that we borrow from is The Princess and the Frog.

2009 was a great year for animation, seeing the release of Coraline, Fantastic Mr. Fox, The Secret of Kells, the surprisingly great Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs, and the first ten minutes of Up (also the rest of Up, if I’m feeling generous). The first two on that list are my favorite of the year, twin stop-motion masterpieces that I’m always in the mood to watch, but The Princess and the Frog is a brilliant last gasp from Disney’s 2D animation studio. It isn’t the final traditionally animated film they made (that would be 2011′s Winnie the Pooh), nor the final fully sincere princess movie they made (that would be 2010′s Tangled), but it marks the beginning of the end for both trends: for better and worse, modern Disney animation feels the need to loudly subvert old tropes and wouldn’t be caught dead in two dimensions.

Lullaby in Frogland’s connection to The Princess and the Frog is certainly visible on the surface level: both feature a long sequence starring frogs on a steamboat where a lead character must pretend to be another animal and play a woodwind instrument to get out of a jam, and both involve our heroes seeking help from a wise woman far from civilization (even if only one of these women is actually helpful). But it’s the somber nostalgia factor that binds these stories closer than anything, the knowledge that this is the end of the road for this type of tale. The ferry’s gotta land somewhere, and the cold is setting in as the frogs begin hibernating for the winter, but there’s still more story to tell.

The second story of Lullaby in Frogland is scored throughout by a haunting string and piano rendition of Adelaide Parade, and Adelaide herself is immediately captivating. John Cleese returns for the second episode in a row, but as both of these episodes aired the same night, it feels like a consistent through-line: in the first half, he’s an eccentric who might be a deranged maniac but is actually harmless, and now he’s a witch who might be harmless but is actually a deranged maniac.

Adelaide gets a compelling amount of detail for someone who’s barely in the show. We don’t get any explanation about her fatal weakness to...fresh air? Coldness in general? Either way, like the Wicked Witch of the West’s lethal reaction to water, it’s absurd that someone like her has managed to live this long. She never says what she needs a child servant for, why she has scissors that seem custom-made for Beatrice’s specific curse, or what her spider-like deal with yarn and wool is (she has a black widow hourglass on her back, but also reminds me of the Greek Fates with her emphasis on thread). We never find out how she’s connected to the Beast, whose theme bleeds into her music as she proclaims, without much prompting, that she follows his commands; her goal of using children as zombie slaves seems counter to his goal of turning them into trees to fuel his soul lantern. But this blend of unexplained characteristics and seemingly inconsistent motives only makes her more enthralling to me, because she feels like the major villain of another story who just happens to intersect with ours.

What makes Adelaide even more compelling on rewatch is that her scissors, despite their gruesome method for curing the curse, do end up working. Which means she did mean to help Beatrice out as part of the deal. At no point does Adelaide lie, and given Beatrice knows she’s bad news as she lures the brothers in, it becomes clear that for all her villainy, Adelaide is an honest witch. I’m always down for baddies that tell the truth, but it’s of particular interest when we compare her to the Beast, whose whole deal is lying.

The only liar in this episode is Beatrice, even if she wanted to set things straight without hurting anyone; she values her friendship with the boys so much now that she’d rather make herself a servant to Adelaide than just tell them she’s dangerous and reveal that she lied. By the time she’s willing to tell the truth, it’s too late, and not even saving Greg and Wirt by killing Adelaide is enough for Wirt to forgive her. Considering he knows in The Unknown that the scissors he uses to escape the yarn can save her family, he was also listening in on the end of the conversation before entering the house, which means he must have heard that she was willing to sacrifice herself, but that doesn’t matter either. Beatrice gave the boys hope, and no matter how badly she tried to stop it, the encounter with Adelaide transforms Wirt. Where he was once nervous and unsure, and was then briefly optimistic, he’s now sullen and untrusting.

But again, in comes Jason Funderburker, croaking and hopping on all fours once more to bring some light to the darkening series. He doesn’t do much for Wirt, but allows Greg to quickly get over whatever trauma he had about getting webbed up in yarn; he’s remarkably quiet about it, but it’s important to remember that he was betrayed, too. Whether he doesn’t understand exactly what happened or is just quicker to forgive, Greg is fine with Beatrice, allowing us to focus harder on Wirt’s reaction from now on.

It’s all rain and winter for Wirt until the end of his adventure. But the show isn’t content to leave him even slightly forlorn: when it gets too dark, he has a frog to swallow a lantern to light the way, and when it gets too cold, he has a brother to cover him in leaves, and when he falls, he has Beatrice to help pull him back up. Even the Woodsman tries to save him in his own way (talk about folks who are bad at communication). Bad things happen, and people make mistakes, but the bigger mistake is allowing that to close you off to others, or to never forgive friends that are genuinely sorry. Our heroes have taken the ferry to the other side, and now the story can shift to one about the folly of abandoning all hope.

Where have we come, and where shall we end?

On top of Jason Funderberker, who’s set up as a major rival to make his eventual reveal one of the show’s best jokes, Wirt gives Beatrice a general summary of Into the Unknown three episodes before we see it play out.

#lullaby in frogland #over the garden wall #otgw #steven universally #mark twain #the princess and the frog

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barbara-stanwyck-1907-1990 · 5 years ago

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Barbara Stanwyck (born Ruby Catherine Stevens; July 16, 1907 – January 20, 1990) was an American actress, model and dancer. A stage, film and television star, she was known during her 60-year career as a consummate and versatile professional for her strong, realistic screen presence. A favorite of directors including Cecil B. DeMille, Fritz Lang and Frank Capra, she made 85 films in 38 years before turning to television.

Stanwyck got her start on the stage in the chorus as a Ziegfeld girl in 1923 at age 16 and within a few years was acting in plays. She was then cast in her first lead role in Burlesque (1927), becoming a Broadway star. Soon after that, Stanwyck obtained film roles and got her major break when Frank Capra chose her for his romantic drama Ladies of Leisure (1930), which led to additional lead roles.

In 1937 she had the title role in Stella Dallas and received her first Academy Award nomination for best actress. In 1941 she starred in two successful screwball comedies: Ball of Fire with Gary Cooper, and The Lady Eve with Henry Fonda. She received her second Academy Award nomination for Ball of Fire, and in recent decades The Lady Eve has come to be regarded as a romantic comedy classic with Stanwyck's performance called one of the best in American comedy.

By 1944, Stanwyck had become the highest-paid woman in the United States. She starred alongside Fred MacMurray in the seminal film noir Double Indemnity (1944), playing the smoldering wife who persuades MacMurray's insurance salesman to kill her husband. Described as one of the ultimate portrayals of villainy, it is widely thought that Stanwyck should have won the Academy Award for Best Actress rather than being just nominated. She received another Oscar nomination for her lead performance as an invalid wife overhearing her own murder plot in the thriller film noir, Sorry, Wrong Number (1948). After she moved into television in the 1960s, she won three Emmy Awards – for The Barbara Stanwyck Show (1961), the western series The Big Valley (1966), and miniseries The Thorn Birds (1983).

She received an Honorary Oscar in 1982, the Golden Globe Cecil B. DeMille Award in 1986 and was the recipient of several other honorary lifetime awards. She was ranked as the 11th greatest female star of classic American cinema by the American Film Institute. An orphan at the age of four, and partially raised in foster homes, she always worked; one of her directors, Jacques Tourneur, said of Stanwyck, "She only lives for two things, and both of them are work."

Barbara Stanwyck was born Ruby Catherine Stevens on July 16, 1907, in Brooklyn, New York. She was the fifth – and youngest – child of Catherine Ann (née McPhee) (1870-1911) and Byron E. Stevens (1872-1919), working-class parents. Her father, of English descent, was a native of Lanesville, Massachusetts, and her mother, of Scottish descent, was an immigrant from Sydney, Nova Scotia. When Ruby was four, her mother died of complications from a miscarriage after she was knocked off a moving streetcar by a drunk. Two weeks after the funeral, her father joined a work crew digging the Panama Canal and was never seen again by his family. Ruby and her older brother, Malcolm Byron (later nicknamed "By") Stevens, were raised by their eldest sister Laura Mildred, (later Mildred Smith) (1886–1931), who died of a heart attack at age 45. When Mildred got a job as a showgirl, Ruby and Byron were placed in a series of foster homes (as many as four in a year), from which young Ruby often ran away.

"I knew that after fourteen I'd have to earn my own living, but I was willing to do that ... I've always been a little sorry for pampered people, and of course, they're 'very' sorry for me."

Ruby toured with Mildred during the summers of 1916 and 1917, and practiced her sister's routines backstage. Watching the movies of Pearl White, whom Ruby idolized, also influenced her drive to be a performer. At the age of 14, she dropped out of school, taking a package wrapping job at a Brooklyn department store. Ruby never attended high school, "although early biographical thumbnail sketches had her attending Brooklyn's famous Erasmus Hall High School."

Soon afterward, she took a filing job at the Brooklyn telephone office for $14 a week, which allowed her to become financially independent. She disliked the job; her real goal was to enter show business, even as her sister Mildred discouraged the idea. She then took a job cutting dress patterns for Vogue magazine, but customers complained about her work and she was fired. Ruby's next job was as a typist for the Jerome H. Remick Music Company; work she reportedly enjoyed, however her continuing ambition was in show business, and her sister finally gave up trying to dissuade her.

In 1923, a few months before her 16th birthday, Ruby auditioned for a place in the chorus at the Strand Roof, a nightclub over the Strand Theatre in Times Square. A few months later, she obtained a job as a dancer in the 1922 and 1923 seasons of the Ziegfeld Follies, dancing at the New Amsterdam Theater. "I just wanted to survive and eat and have a nice coat", Stanwyck said. For the next several years, she worked as a chorus girl, performing from midnight to seven a.m. at nightclubs owned by Texas Guinan. She also occasionally served as a dance instructor at a speakeasy for gays and lesbians owned by Guinan. One of her good friends during those years was pianist Oscar Levant, who described her as being "wary of sophisticates and phonies."

Billy LaHiff, who owned a popular pub frequented by showpeople, introduced Ruby in 1926 to impresario Willard Mack. Mack was casting his play The Noose, and LaHiff suggested that the part of the chorus girl be played by a real one. Mack agreed, and after a successful audition gave the part to Ruby. She co-starred with Rex Cherryman and Wilfred Lucas. As initially staged, the play was not a success. In an effort to improve it, Mack decided to expand Ruby's part to include more pathos. The Noose re-opened on October 20, 1926, and became one of the most successful plays of the season, running on Broadway for nine months and 197 performances. At the suggestion of David Belasco, Ruby changed her name to Barbara Stanwyck by combining the first name from the play Barbara Frietchie with the last name of the actress in the play, Jane Stanwyck; both were found on a 1906 theater program.

Stanwyck became a Broadway star soon afterward, when she was cast in her first leading role in Burlesque (1927). She received rave reviews, and it was a huge hit. Film actor Pat O'Brien would later say on a 1960s talk show, "The greatest Broadway show I ever saw was a play in the 1920s called 'Burlesque'." Arthur Hopkins described in his autobiography To a Lonely Boy, how he came to cast Stanwyck:

After some search for the girl, I interviewed a nightclub dancer who had just scored in a small emotional part in a play that did not run [The Noose]. She seemed to have the quality I wanted, a sort of rough poignancy. She at once displayed more sensitive, easily expressed emotion than I had encountered since Pauline Lord. She and Skelly were the perfect team, and they made the play a great success. I had great plans for her, but the Hollywood offers kept coming. There was no competing with them. She became a picture star. She is Barbara Stanwyck.

He also called Stanwyck "The greatest natural actress of our time", noting with sadness, "One of the theater's great potential actresses was embalmed in celluloid."

Around this time, Stanwyck was given a screen test by producer Bob Kane for his upcoming 1927 silent film Broadway Nights. She lost the lead role because she could not cry in the screen test, but was given a minor part as a fan dancer. This was Stanwyck's first film appearance.

While playing in Burlesque, Stanwyck was introduced to her future husband, actor Frank Fay, by Oscar Levant. Stanwyck and Fay were married on August 26, 1928, and soon moved to Hollywood.

Stanwyck's first sound film was The Locked Door (1929), followed by Mexicali Rose, released in the same year. Neither film was successful; nonetheless, Frank Capra chose Stanwyck for his film Ladies of Leisure (1930). Her work in that production established an enduring friendship with the director and led to future roles in his films. Other prominent roles followed, among them as a nurse who saves two little girls from being gradually starved to death by Clark Gable's vicious character in Night Nurse (1931). In Edna Ferber's novel brought to screen by William Wellman, she portrays small town teacher and valiant Midwest farm woman Selena in So Big! (1932). She followed with a performance as an ambitious woman "sleeping" her way to the top from "the wrong side of the tracks" in Baby Face (1933), a controversial pre-Code classic. In The Bitter Tea of General Yen (1933), another controversial pre-Code film by director Capra, Stanwyck portrays an idealistic Christian caught behind the lines of Chinese civil war kidnapped by warlord Nils Asther. A flop at the time, containing "mysterious-East mumbo jumbo", the lavish film is "dark stuff, and its difficult to imagine another actress handling this ... philosophical conversion as fearlessly as Ms. Stanwyck does. She doesn't make heavy weather of it."

In Stella Dallas (1937) she plays the self-sacrificing title character who eventually allows her teenage daughter to live a better life somewhere else. She landed her first Academy Award nomination for Best Actress when she was able to portray her character as vulgar, yet sympathetic as required by the movie. Next, she played Molly Monahan in Union Pacific (1939) with Joel McCrea. Stanwyck was reportedly one of the many actresses considered for the role of Scarlett O'Hara in Gone with the Wind (1939), although she did not receive a screen test. In Meet John Doe she plays an ambitious newspaperwoman with Gary Cooper (1941).

In Preston Sturges's romantic comedy The Lady Eve (1941), she plays a slinky, sophisticated con-woman who falls for her intended victim, the guileless, wealthy snake-collector and scientist Henry Fonda, she "gives off an erotic charge that would straighten a boa constrictor." Film critic David Thomson described Stanwyck as "giving one of the best American comedy performances", and its reviewed as brilliantly versatile in "her bravura double performance" by The Guardian. The Lady Eve is among the top 100 movies of all time on Time and Entertainment Weekly's lists, and is considered to be both a great comedy and a great romantic film with its placement at #55 on the AFI's 100 Years ...100 Laughs list and #26 on its 100 Years ...100 Passions list.

Next, she was the extremely successful, independent doctor Helen Hunt in You Belong to Me (1941), also with Fonda. Stanwyck then played nightclub performer Sugerpuss O'Shea in the Howard Hawks directed, but Billy Wilder written comedy Ball of Fire (1941). In this update of the Snow White and Seven Dwarfs tale, she gives professor Gary Cooper a better understanding of "modern English" in the performance for which she received an Academy Award nomination for Best Actress.

In Double Indemnity, the seminal film noir thriller directed by Billy Wilder, she plays the sizzling, scheming wife/blonde tramp/"destiny in high heels" who lures an infatuated insurance salesman (Fred MacMurray) into killing her husband. Stanwyck brings out the cruel nature of the "grim, unflinching murderess", marking her as the "most notorious femme" in the film noir genre. Her insolent, self-possessed wife is one of the screen's "definitive studies of villainy - and should (it is widely thought) have won the Oscar for Best Actress", not just been nominated. Double Indemnity is usually considered to be among the top 100 films of all time, though it did not win any of its seven Academy Award nominations. It is the #38 film of all time on the American Film Institute's list, as well as the #24 on its 100 Years ...100 Thrillers list and #84 on its 100 Years ...100 Passions list.

She plays the columnist caught up in white lies and a holiday romance in Christmas in Connecticut (1945). In 1946 she was "liquid nitrogen" as Martha, a manipulative murderess, costarring with Van Heflin and newcomer Kirk Douglas in The Strange Love of Martha Ivers. Stanwyck was also the vulnerable, invalid wife that overhears her own murder being plotted in Sorry, Wrong Number (1948) and the doomed concert pianist in The Other Love (1947). In the latter film's soundtrack, the piano music is actually being performed by Ania Dorfmann, who drilled Stanwyck for three hours a day until the actress was able to synchronize the motion of her arms and hands to match the music's tempo, giving a convincing impression that it is Stanwyck playing the piano.

Pauline Kael, a longtime film critic for The New Yorker, admired the natural appearance of Stanwyck's acting style on screen, noting that she "seems to have an intuitive understanding of the fluid physical movements that work best on camera". In reference to the actress's film work during the early sound era, Kael observed that the "early talkies sentimentality...only emphasizes Stanwyck's remarkable modernism."

Many of her roles involve strong characters, yet Stanwyck was known for her accessibility and kindness to the backstage crew on any film set. She knew the names of their wives and children. Frank Capra said of Stanwyck: "She was destined to be beloved by all directors, actors, crews and extras. In a Hollywood popularity contest, she would win first prize, hands down." While working on 1954s Cattle Queen of Montana on location in Glacier National Park, she did some of her own stunts, including a swim in the icy lake.[49] A consummate professional, when aged 50, she performed a stunt in Forty Guns. Her character had to fall off her horse and, with her foot caught in the stirrup, be dragged by the galloping animal. This was so dangerous that the movie's professional stunt person refused to do it. Her professionalism on film sets led her to be named an Honorary Member of the Hollywood Stuntmen's Hall of Fame.

William Holden and Stanwyck were longtime friends and when Stanwyck and Holden were presenting the Best Sound Oscar for 1977, he paused to pay a special tribute to her for saving his career when Holden was cast in the lead for Golden Boy (1939). After a series of unsteady daily performances, he was about to be fired, but Stanwyck staunchly defended him, successfully standing up to the film producers. Shortly after Holden's death, Stanwyck recalled the moment when receiving her honorary Oscar: "A few years ago, I stood on this stage with William Holden as a presenter. I loved him very much, and I miss him. He always wished that I would get an Oscar. And so, tonight, my golden boy, you got your wish."

As Stanwyck's film career declined during the 1950s, she moved to television. In 1958 she guest-starred in "Trail to Nowhere", an episode of the Western anthology series Dick Powell's Zane Grey Theatre, portraying a wife who pursues, overpowers, and kills the man who murdered her husband. Later, in 1961, her drama series The Barbara Stanwyck Show was not a ratings success, but it earned her an Emmy Award. The show ran for a total of thirty-six episodes. She also guest-starred in this period on other television series, such as The Untouchables with Robert Stack and in four episodes of Wagon Train.

She stepped back into film for the 1964 Elvis Presley film Roustabout, in which she plays a carnival owner.

The western television series, The Big Valley, which was broadcast on ABC from 1965 to 1969, made her one of the most popular actresses on television, winning her another Emmy. She was billed in the series' opening credits as "Miss Barbara Stanwyck" for her role as Victoria, the widowed matriarch of the wealthy Barkley family. In 1965, the plot of her 1940 movie Remember the Night was adapted and used to develop the teleplay for The Big Valley episode "Judgement in Heaven".

In 1983, Stanwyck earned her third Emmy for The Thorn Birds. In 1985 she made three guest appearances in the primetime soap opera Dynasty prior to the launch of its short-lived spin-off series, The Colbys, in which she starred alongside Charlton Heston, Stephanie Beacham and Katharine Ross. Unhappy with the experience, Stanwyck remained with the series for only the first season, and her role as "Constance Colby Patterson" would be her last. It was rumored Earl Hamner Jr., former producer of The Waltons, had initially wanted Stanwyck for the role of Angela Channing in the 1980s soap opera Falcon Crest, and she turned it down, with the role going to her friend, Jane Wyman; when asked Hamner assured Wyman it was a rumor.

Stanwyck's retirement years were active, with charity work outside the limelight. In 1981, she was awakened in the middle of the night, inside her home in the exclusive Trousdale section of Beverly Hills, by an intruder, who first hit her on the head with his flashlight, then forced her into a closet while he robbed her of $40,000 in jewels.

The following year, in 1982, while filming The Thorn Birds, the inhalation of special-effects smoke on the set may have caused her to contract bronchitis, which was compounded by her cigarette habit; she was a smoker from the age of nine until four years before her death.

Stanwyck died on January 20, 1990, aged 82, of congestive heart failure and chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD) at Saint John's Health Center in Santa Monica, California. She had indicated that she wanted no funeral service. In accordance with her wishes, her remains were cremated and the ashes scattered from a helicopter over Lone Pine, California, where she had made some of her western films.

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nebris · 6 years ago

Text

Hating Valerie Solanas (And Loving Violent Men)

by Chavisa Woods

My fourth book, and first full-length work of nonfiction will be released by Seven Stories Press in June. 100 Times (A Memoir of Sexism) is a 240-page memoir, written as in-scene vignettes, telling the stories of one hundred experiences of sexist discrimination, sexual harassment, and sexual violence I have personally experienced and witnessed, beginning at age five, through the present day.

I recently shared an excerpt of this book on social media, and immediately an old friend who I’d long ago lost touch with, a man from the Midwest, began arguing with me, and compared me to Valerie Solanas. I could tell from the tone of his comment, he expected me to recoil at the mention of that name — Valerie Solanas — the direst of insults; queer female hysterical violent “femi-nazi” insanity personified. This name was meant to summon shame in me, like invoking some Goetic demon to bate and restrain my crazed feminism.

He’s not the only one who sees her that way. When so many people think Valerie Solanas, they think, “bat-shit crazy, violent, murderous, ridiculous, woman.”

In a recent season of the popular television show, American Horror Story, for instance, Solanas was depicted by Lena Dunham as a demented serial killer who led a cult of murderous feminists to kill heterosexual couples — kids hooking up in cars, happy newlyweds and such — in a bloody, nationwide feminist murder spree. This, of course, is a completely fictional narrative, and for the purposes of this show, Solanas’s epitomal work, The Scum Manifesto, was interpreted as a literal, earnest text. Dunham portrayed Solanas as a frumpy, grumpy, clownish homicidal lesbian.

In the mainstream media and collective consciousness, Solonas has been written off as a worthless artist, and remembered only for her violent act against Andy Warhol.

All of this got me thinking about unconscious bias, and what it takes for us to denounce a female artist’s historical worth, versus what it does for a man.

William Burroughs shot and killed his wife while drunk and high, playing a game they called “William Tell,” wherein his wife placed an apple on her head, and he shot it off. He missed, killed her, and later wrote about it, implying it was possible he subconsciously wanted to kill her, because he was gay and resented having a wife. He served only two weeks in jail for this slaughter. Because the homicide occurred in Mexico, and through a combination of bribery and fleeing the country, he avoided serving any prison sentence.

Burroughs, of course, is still widely celebrated as a great author. I, in fact, had a poem published in a literary magazine a few years ago, the cover adorned with a photograph of him holding a rifle. This image was considered darkly humorous.

Almost every other author I’ve spoken with about the ethics of celebrating Burroughs and his art points me in the direction of compassion; he had a drug problem, he and his wife were “in it together.”

After the murder of his wife, he served as a member of the prestigious American Academy of Arts and Letters. His body of work still remains relevant, is widely taught in English and Writing curriculum in colleges, and is written about reverently in current scholarly articles and in major media outlets worldwide. He is generally thought of as good man. In his bio on Wikipedia, the slaughter of his wife doesn’t even come in until the sixth paragraph. (I am citing Wikipedia, because it represents the most current, popular, collective opinions of the general public, not as a scholarly reference.)

Valerie Solanas, on the other hand, shot Andy Warhol, not killing him, but severely injuring him. He died twenty years later from health complications possibly exacerbated by the injury, as well as a speed addiction.

Solanas and Warhol had a documented horrible working/personal relationship, rife with insult. She saw Warhol as constantly demeaning her privately and publicly, even after featuring her in one of his films.

Warhol agreed to look at a play she’d written, possibly to produce it. She gave him the only manuscript to read, and he (claimed he) lost it, though she believed he threw it away to spite her. This was the catalyst for the shooting.

Pablo Neruda raped a servant while he was visiting her country as a diplomat. He wrote about it quite matter-of-factly and unapologetically in his memoirs (I Confess that I have Lived, first published in 1974, in English in 1977):

One morning, I woke earlier than is my custom. I hid in the shadows to watch who passed by. From the back of the house, like a dark statue that walked, the most beautiful woman that I had ever seen in Ceylon entered, Tamil race, Pariah caste. She wore a red and gold sari of the cheapest cloth. On her unshod feet were heavy anklets. On each side of her nose shone two tiny red points. They were probably glass, but on her they looked like rubies.

She solemnly approached the toilet without giving me the slightest look, without acknowledging my existence, and disappeared with the sordid receptacle on her head, retreating with her goddess steps. She was so beautiful that despite her humble job, she left me disturbed. As if a wild animal had come out from the jungle, belonging to another existence, a separate world. I called to her with no result.

I then would leave some gift on her path, some silk or fruit. She would pass by without hearing or looking. Her dark beauty turned that miserable trip into the obligatory ceremony of an indifferent queen.

One morning, I decided to go for all, and grabbed her by the wrist and looked her in the face. There was no language I could speak to her. She allowed herself to be led by me smilelessly and soon was naked upon my bed. Her extremely slender waist, full hips, the overflowing cups of her breasts, made her exactly like the thousands year old sculptures in the south of India. The encounter was like that of a man and a statue. She kept her eyes open throughout, unmoved. She was right to regard me with contempt. The experience was not repeated.

No one remembers him for this.

Charles Bukowski is on video kicking and punching his girlfriend during an interview about his writing, and was said to have been physically abusive to multiple female partners. He is still celebrated worldwide as a great poet.

Louis Althusser strangled his wife to death in an act of cold-blooded murder. In his Wikipedia bio, he’s described as, “A French Marxist philosopher, whose arguments and theses were set against the threats that he saw attacking the theoretical foundations of Marxism.”

As I write this, the murder of his wife doesn’t receive mention until the last paragraph, and then it simply says, “Althusser’s life was marked by periods of intense mental illness. In 1980, he killed his wife, the sociologist Hélène Rytmann, by strangling her.”

He is widely celebrated. The murder of his wife is mentioned only in the context of his mental illness.

Valerie Solanas suffered from Schizophrenia. She was also a victim of childhood incest. Her father repeatedly raped her, and then she was sent to live with her grandparents as a teenager, and then her grandfather raped her, and then she ran away from home and became a sex worker.

The shooting of Andy Warhol is currently the first sentence of her Wikipedia bio. She is widely regarded and repeatedly portrayed as a worthless, angry, bat-shit crazy piece of human garbage. Where is this compassion that we are asked to have for male artists, for her?

She was a brilliant artist. The SCUM Manifesto is a masterwork of literary protest art, which is often completely misread. Much of it is actually a point-by-point re-write of multiple of Freud’s writings. It is a parody.

In his essay The Psychogenesis Of A Case Of Homosexuality In A Woman, Freud suggests that a good treatment for lesbians would be having their (most likely already hermaphroditic) ovaries, and genitals removed and replaced with grafted “real” female genitals.

Freud’s exact words:

The cases of male homosexuality which (have) been successful fulfilled the condition, which is not always present, of a very patent physical ‘hermaphroditism’. Any analogous treatment of female homosexuality is at present quite obscure. If it were to consist in removing what are probably hermaphroditic ovaries, and in grafting others, which are hoped to be of a single sex, there would be little prospect of its being applied in practice. A woman who has felt herself to be a man, and has loved in masculine fashion, will hardly let herself be forced into playing the part of a woman…

In The SCUM Manifesto, Solanas posits that a good “treatment” for straight men is to get their dicks chopped off: “When the male accepts his passivity, defines himself as a woman (males as well as females think men are women and women are men), and becomes a transvestite he loses his desire to screw (or to do anything else, for that matter; he fulfills himself as a drag queen) and gets his dick chopped off. He then achieves a continuous diffuse sexual feeling from ‘being a woman’. Screwing is, for a man, a defense against his desire to be female.”

Freud’s texts are rife with suggestions of female castration and hysterectomies as treatments for all sorts of psychological troubles suffered by women, and in response, The SCUM Manifesto is infamous for suggesting castration might improve the behavior of men.

Freud posited that heterosexual women are sexually passive, engaging in sex only because they want children. He invented the theory of “penis envy.” He claimed that because girls do not have penises, girls come to believe they have lost their penises, and eventually, seek to have male children in an attempt “to gain a penis.” He believed women, on some deep, subconscious level, viewed themselves as castrated males. In his theory of psychosexual development he posited that for women, sex (with males) may also be a subconscious attempt to gain a penis.

In his essay, The Taboo of Virginity, Freud writes: “We have learnt from the analysis of many neurotic women that they go through an early age in which they envy their brothers, their sign of masculinity and feel at a disadvantage and humiliated because of the lack of it (actually because of its diminished size) in themselves. We include this ‘envy for the penis’ in the ‘castration complex’.”

Solanas, replaces the envy of the penis, not only with envy of the vagina, but most often, with women’s emotional openness, complexity and individuality as the focus of men’s envy. She writes of men: “The female’s individuality, which he is acutely aware of, but which he doesn’t comprehend, and isn’t capable of relating to or grasping emotionally, frightens and upsets him and fills him with envy. “

At the time of the writing of The SCUM Manifesto, Freud was a celebrated figure in psychology, and his theories were being widely touted in academic and popular spheres alike. Solanas took issue with this, and wrote The SCUM Manifesto as a parody, mocking the popular, sexist, and hetero-centric thinking on gender and sexuality at the time. But the text is a reversal. In The SCUM Manifesto, Solanas directs everything Freud said with an equal amount of vigor and confidence back at men. So, instead of “female motherhood” being a primary drive, she reverses this to attack/analyze the “male sex drive” through the same line of thinking as Freud.

In his essay, Leonardo Da-Vinci and a Memory of His Childhood, Freud hypothesizes that homosexuality in men stems from their relationship with their father and mother. He proposes that homosexuality (which he assumes is a bad thing) is caused by a relationship with a mother who is too tender to her son (as in all his texts, he repeatedly states that children are naturally sexually attracted to their parents of the opposite sex), and a mother who is, at the same time, too assertive and independent in relation to her own husband (the boy’s father.) This causes the boy to see his mother figure, who’s also an object of his sexual desire in childhood, as a man, not a woman. And this makes the boy gay. He writes:

In all our male homosexual cases the subjects had had a very intense erotic attachment to a female person, as a rule their mother, during the first period of childhood, which is afterwards forgotten; this attachment was evoked or encouraged by too much tenderness on the part of the mother herself, and further reinforced by the small part played by the father during their childhood. Sadger emphasizes the fact that the mothers on his homosexual patients were frequently masculine women, women with energetic traits of character, who were able to push the father out of his proper place. I have occasionally seen the same thing, but I was more strongly impressed by cases in which the father was absent from the beginning or left the scene at an early date, so that the boy found himself left entirely under feminine influence. Indeed it almost seems as though the presence of a strong father would ensure that thee son made the correct decision in his choice of object, namely someone of the opposite sex.

In The SCUM Manifesto, Solanas takes this analysis and flips it on its head through an extreme feminist lens, where becoming a “real (straight) man” is already assumed to be a bad thing. She writes: “The effect of fatherhood on males, specifically is to make them, ‘Men,’ that is, highly defensive of all impulses to passivity, faggotry, and of desires to be female. Every boy wants to imitate his mother, be her, fuse with her. So he tells the boy, sometimes directly, sometimes indirectly, not to be a sissy, to act like a ‘Man.’ The boy, scared shitless of and respecting his father, complies, and becomes just like Daddy, that model of ‘Man’-hood, the all-American ideal — the well-behaved heterosexual dullard.”

While Freud accuses the mother of being to blame for the horrible fate of a boy becoming a homosexual, Solanas accuses the father of being to blame for the horrible fate of a boy becoming a straight man.

As you can see from the above, The SCUM Manifesto in many places is an almost line-by-line mockery of Freud’s writings on women and homosexuals, and was never meant to be read as a literal, earnest text throughout. This does not mean it is intended as a joke or to be taken lightly, though. As some may have noticed in the above text, it is not without serious, meaningful and resonant critiques of patriarchal institutions. There is a lot of truth in this parody. It is a political satire. It is simultaneously dead serious, yet written with a nod and a wink. In keeping with the protest art of the time, if you didn’t get it, she wasn’t going to explain it to you. She was happy to make cocky comments, like, “I mean every word of it,” knowing, and indeed, hoping that the “squares” who didn’t understand the sarcasm inherent to the foundation of the text, would be that much more shocked at her effrontery.

Valerie Solanas just said, in a modernized (now dated) vernacular, exactly what Freud had said about women, only about men, and everyone freaked out, because when we talk about men the same way men have talked about women for centuries, it reads as grotesque and insanely violent, un-compassionate, and shocking, which was exactly her point.

Her work is still misinterpreted as a literal text by many to this day.

After shooting Andy Warhol, Solanas turned herself in to the police. She was charged with attempted murder, assault, and illegal possession of a gun. She was diagnosed with schizophrenia, and pleaded guilty to “reckless assault with intent to harm,” serving a three-year prison sentence, including treatment in a psychiatric hospital. In a darkly ironic twist of fate she was subjected to a nonconsensual hysterectomy during her hospitalization. Shortly after her release from prison, she became homeless, and never published another work.

Michael Alig, known for being a famous party promoter and club kid in the 1980s (in the film about his life, Party Monster, he was played by Macaulay Culkin), brutally murdered his friend, Andre “Angel” Melendez, over an argument about a drug debt.

Alig cut his friend up into pieces and threw him in the Hudson River. He’s been released from prison and is currently working as a club promoter in New York City.

Since his release, he’s also appeared in an indie film with artists I know personally, called Vamp Bikers, in which Alig plays a homicidal sociopath who slowly, brutally murders his friend.

I accidentally watched this at a film screening I attended in Brooklyn years ago, having no idea what I was getting into. It made me want to throw up, seeing him happily take part in a campy fictional portrayal of a murder so similar to the one he actually committed, and being celebrated for this. Many people around me were excitedly saying they hoped that Alig might attend the screening.

His website, michaelalig.com describes him as an “artist, writer, curator.” You can hire him to produce your party, or buy one of his many pop art paintings for $500 a pop.

I think this is all abhorrent. I’ve had debates with friends over this, and have been asked, “Well, he served his time. Shouldn’t we have compassion? He was young and on a lot of drugs when he did that. Don’t you think he should get a second chance?”

Perhaps. Perhaps a chance at living as a free person again, yes, perhaps that, but definitely not a chance to be celebrated for being the famous club kid who murdered his friend. And it’s not lost on me that the person he murdered was a poor, lesser known gay man of color, and I wonder if he would have gotten out of prison so early if he’d been the one who murdered Michael.

Perhaps more shocking than this, is the life and reception of essayist and novelist Norman Mailer. When speaking about feminism and women’s liberation Norman Mailer said: “We must face the simple fact that maybe there’s a profound reservoir of cowardess in women that had them welcome this miserable, slavish life.”

In his book Advertisements for Myself, Mailer claims that a writer without “balls” is no writer at all:

I have a terrible confession to make — I have nothing to say about any of the talented women who write today. Out of what is no doubt a fault in me, I do not seem able to read them. Indeed, I doubt if there will be a really exciting woman writer until the first whore becomes a call girl and tells her tale. At the risk of making a dozen devoted enemies for life, I can only say that the sniffs I get from the ink of the women are always fey, old-hat, Quaintsy Goysy, tiny, too dykily psychotic, crippled, creepish, fashionable, frigid, outer-Baroque, maquillé in mannequin’s whimsy, or else bright and stillborn. Since I’ve never been able to read Virginia Woolf, and am sometimes willing to believe that it can conceivably be my fault, this verdict may be taken fairly as the twisted tongue of a soured taste, at least by those readers who do not share with me the ground of departure — that a good novelist can do without everything but the remnant of his balls.

I would argue that Norman Mailer spoke and wrote just as violently, grotesquely and shockingly about women as Valerie Solanas did about men. But he was not saying any of these things or writing his sexist texts as a parody or protest of his own subjugation.

Norman Mailer is still widely celebrated for both his fiction and essays, including numerous works that take a stand adamantly against feminism and women in general. In 1968 and 1980 he won the Pulitzer Prize. In 2005, he won the National Book Award for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters. In 1960, he attempted to murder his wife by stabbing her multiple times in the chest, barely missing her heart.

While his wife lay in the hospital in critical condition, a day after the stabbing, Mailer appeared in a scheduled interview on The Mike Wallace Show, where he spoke of the knife as a symbol of manhood. He was briefly arrested two days later, though his wife refused to press charges, saying that she feared for the safety of their children if she did so. She did, however divorce him once she recovered.

The parallels between Mailer and Solanas are as astonishing as their differences. The only reason I can find for the differences in how they are popularly viewed is that Mailer was a man, speaking and acting violently against women in a sexist society, and Solanas was a woman, doing the reverse in this same society.

I can’t help but conjure Solanas’s legacy when looking at the current questions that keep popping up on the subject of violence, art, and who we celebrate today. Do we forgive Louis C.K. for serially masturbating on countless women he worked with? What does forgiveness mean? Does it mean he continues to enjoy the same level of reverence and celebrity as before? Can we still enjoy Michael Jackson’s music knowing that he had ongoing sexual relationships with what seems to be an endless stream of young boys? Should we still be patronizing Woody Allen’s films? Is it alright to feel heartbroken over the loss of the Bill Cosby so many knew and loved? What of the beautiful works of so many beloved male authors I have spoken about above?

I do not have clear answers to these questions, nor do I think there is one rule of response that is correct for every situation, but I do know that the social hammer has come down hard on women who commit similar acts of violence, especially when those acts are directed at men. I do know that sexist bias has judged one of my artistic heroes much more harshly than her male counterparts.

I do not condone or celebrate Valerie Solanas’s shooting of Andy Warhol. But when people bring up Valerie Solanas as if she is a horrendous, murderous, bat-shit crazy, worthless, hysterical, violent criminal whose literary artwork is as valuable as the ramblings of a madwoman, suggesting that she should be written off as nothing more, I always think to myself, “Well, that’s exactly what she would have expected from this society.” Much less has changed since she first released the book in 1967, than I would have hoped. Those opening lines still remain eerily significant: “Life in this society being, at best, an utter bore, and no aspect of society being at all relevant to women, there remains to civic-minded, responsible, thrill-seeking females only to overthrow the government, eliminate the money system, institute complete automation, and destroy the male sex.”

http://www.full-stop.net/2019/05/21/features/chavisa-woods/solanas/

#The Sisterhood

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luciantallis · 7 years ago

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You are so fantastic and so are all of your characters!! What are some of your favorite little quirks that you've written for your characters?

this is a beautiful and dangerous question (also thank u so much ily i am not worthy) bc im constantly coming up with shit like this. i swear i wrote out a huge list of like lucian and gwen’s quirks as a writing exercise once but i cannot find it aksdjfasdf yes im slapping a readmore on this and it made me realize myles has the healthiest diet out of all my kids

Lucian

wears rings/watches moreso to play with them than for the #fashion.

talks with his hands a lot when he’s nerding out over magic.

smokes only clove cigarettes or only cinnamon flavors.

speaking of cinnamon like he loves spicy/musky scents and once upon a time @rcwanbcrdeaux described him as “ carrying along a sweet smell of cinnamon, old books and tobacco” and yep ACCURATE.

does not enjoy being touched casually?? it just makes him really uncomfortable, like if he knows you then chances are he’ll actually be pretty damn touchy and will allow you to be touchy too but like if he doesn’t know you he is going from 0 to annoyed af real fast.

you can tell when he’s either really stressed or super tired bc he just kind of talks, like will just full on ramble until you tell him to shut the fuck up.

Ruby

will have a cheeky smoke every once and a while and unlike luc, she will literally just pick a fun looking box or go the stereotypical malboros.

will pick up cool looking rocks just because

like all artists she hoards shit bc she might need it for a project eventually. coffee cans?? wrapping paper?? sometimes candy wrappers?? maybe ramsey and her are friends bc she’s actually a raccoon

i love her so much but she definitely is that person who doesn’t take care to wash off all of her eye makeup. like she will wash her face and foundation off but she rocks that lil smudged look to bed and wakes up to do it again #confirmedraccoon

chapstick queen, like she has 700 of them and her favorite is the maybelline baby lips bc she can use it as a cream blush

loves junk food so much and she tells herself its fine bc she walks everywhere. she’s a slave to her cravings and she craves grease.

plays with her hair when embarrassed or shy

Gwen

she definitely has an oral fixation and often has hard candy or gum handy

Cocks her head to the side a lot when she’s curious or confused.

Dots her ‘I’’s with hearts.

Always carries hair ties, often has one on her wrist.

Uses pet names in moments of petty aggression, she is 100% that b that will break out ‘honey’ condescendingly

Collects things from victims she’s killed and keeps them in a special jewelry box on a shelf on her nightstand.

Always has matching bra and underwear, not even to feel sexy like she’s more into sporty styles and being comfy, it just makes her feel like she’s got her shit together

Myles

i had to have one character who listens to like lowfi hiphop or whatever and it is him 100%, like it is always playing when he’s at home or while he’s walking. only really started getting into while in the city bc he just feels like it’s a good soundtrack to it.

bc he’s a wallflower he’s a) really attentive and b) thinks about saying a lot of things/thinks up several responses before saying something.

carries carmax in the lil tin on him bc that’s the real mark of somebody living in the midwest lbr

when he first made the move he really hated how loud everything was but now he can’t sleep without the noise of the city so despite the season, he keeps the window to his bedroom cracked just a bit.

scratching the back of his neck or pursing his lips is like his loading screen tbh, like if he’s doing either thing it means he’s trying to process a thing

#ooc.#notes.#this was good procrastination bless u #Anonymous

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sohannabarberaesque · 4 years ago

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Some especially interesting stops on Yogi's Holiday Jolli-Day Tours from the past

San Francisco: As if the inevitable stops like Chinatown, Fisherman's Wharf, Nob Hill and the Golden Gate Bridge weren't predictable enough, on occasion they're bound to call at a Japanese noodle shop in Japantown said to have especially decent ramen and odon noodles. Thankfully, those aren't the supermarket sort, and slurping is expected when having Japanese noodles.

Arizona: While the Grand Canyon may be a must-see, naturally, you can also expect Yogi's tour groups to pay calls at "the corner" in Winslow immortalised by The Eagles in their hit "Take It Easy" ... not to mention London Bridge in Lake Havasu City, the original wavepool (Tempe's Big Surf), Phoenix' Hall of Flame (dedicated to historically-significant firefighting equipment), "La Paloma Blanca del Desierto" (as in San Xavier del Bac Mission outside Tucson) and the quaintly historic copper-mining centre of Bisbee.

Texas: Plenty of the obvious, but especially noteworthy stops were the Blue Bell Ice Cream plant in Brenham (with free samples, naturally), Eilenberger's Bakery in Palestine, Corsicana's Collin Street Bakery (as in The Original DeLuxe Fruitcake) and The Dr Pepper Museum in Waco. Not to mention plenty of small-town cafes fond of Tex-Mex fare (and serving Dr Pepper, naturally) and chicken-fried steak.

The Upper Midwest: Obviously an underrated sort of vacation paradiso, yet the opportunities for stops galore were legend: At least two Wisconsin cheese shops serious about selling cheese, some time in a Wisconsin Dells waterpark (and enjoying the "real" such), the SPAM Museum in Austin, Minnesota, the Surf Ballroom in Clear Lake, Iowa--and some cream of wild rice soup loaded with diced ham and turkey breast. And did I mention the Wall Drug Store?

Breezewood, Pennsylvania: If that isn't one of the more unconventional tourist towns in the country (credit a rather illogical connexion of the Pennsylvania Turnpike to I-70), then such wouldn't be a stop for Yogi's Holiday Jolli-Day Tours en route to a sampler of select Broadway and Off-Broadway shows (out of homage to Joe Barbera's fondness for the floorboards and the footlights). Including, obviously enough, breakfast.

Lookout Mountain, outside Chattanooga: Blame all the barn sides proclaiming "See Rock City" or "See Ruby Falls" for making such obvious. Not to mention, in a way, the Cattanooga Cats, making Chattanooga their sort of hometown, as well as the old RC Cola-and-Moon Pie bit. (Never mind their Gatlinburg coffee shop and roastery, Cattanooga Klatsche.)

#hanna barbera #musings #yogi bear's jolli day tours #favourite stops #unlikely stops #interesting tour stops #hannabarberaforever

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prfectplces · 7 years ago

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also here’s just a little organization psa! i have a lot of my ocs from my novels on here & so i have a pre-existing organization for those already.

orig content 01 is supernatural based, with marie, francis, & adam, & it deals with like vampires and immortal beings & their lives as immortals ? a lot of it is set during 1840s ireland

orig content 03 is my sci-fi series, with maxie, orrin, & merlin, (& others i dont have on here) & is super adaptable with other sci-fi series, & they’re part of the crew on a ship that’s kind of expendable because a lot of them have behavioral issues

orig content 05 is like crime / contemporary & it’s theo, sebastian, clara, & jordan, and theo & sebastian’s part deals with identity & stuff but clara & jordan’s deals with some pretty hefty themes of kidnapping and assault during their separate captivities & dealing with the aftermath of that

orig content 07 is like witch-y & deals with the supernatural again, and ruby is like a witch & does like real magic but accidentally summons a ghost boy & kinda gets in a lot of trouble with the people who like regulate the usage of magic so there is no summoning of ghosts. its super cool, american midwest gothic if u will

orig content 10 is basically like dramatic YA romance novels, & june and helios are siblings who inherit a lot of money from their grandparents so they’re able to be the true romantics that they are & spoil their gf & bf all the time & they travel a lot? they’re good kids

#「↬ 001. a touch of death. / original content - 01.」#「↬ 001. the sky is blue. like you & me. / original content - 05.」#「↬ 001. there’s still one person who needs to be saved. / original content - 03.」#「↬ 001. are you best friends with a ghost? / original content - 07.」#「↬ 001. (within the last minute) love said: thank you. / original content - 10.」#i will probably write more but i thought this would be good so people know a bit more??? i'm feeling my orig stuff today #except not enough to actually go write anything lengthy on them #lmk if u want to know anymore!!!

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marjaystuff · 5 years ago

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Elise Cooper Interviews VM Burns

A Tourist’s Guide To Murder (Mystery Bookshop Book 6)

Sit, Stay, Slay (Dog Club Mystery Book 5)

Kensington Pub.

Mystery/Thriller

Sit, Stay, Slay and A Tourist’s Guide To Murder by V. M. Burns are solid tales of intrigue. With each book, these stories just get better and better.

Sit, Stay, Slay is the last book in the series for now. Readers will miss the characters, humor, and mysterious plot, but at least they will get a happy ending. The book begins with a local mock trial dog show attended by those in Scarlet "Dixie" Jefferson’s obedience class. Dixie has known the judge, Naomi Keller, since high school, and they have had difficulties over the years. As Dixie’s class members are putting their dogs through the trials, they are all disqualified by bad calls. When Dixie puts her Standard Poodle through her demonstration, Keller deliberately steps on the Poodle’s front paw. Dixie has had enough, and with a right hook, she floors Keller. Then as the event is winding down, the lifeless body of Keller is found strangled and Dixie becomes the number one suspect. With the help of the other dog club members, Lilly must find the real killer to clear her friend’s name.

A Tourist’s Guide To Murder has Samantha along with Nana Jo and her friends from the Shady Acres Retirement Village (Irma, Ruby Mae and Dorothy) heading to London for a Mystery tour which sounds fascinating, considering Samantha also writes mysteries. After the tour owner dies, the tour guide still insists that everyone should “keep calm and carry on.” But once a tourist on the trip also dies under mysterious circumstances, the police are called in to solve the murders. Now it's up to Sam and the Shady Acres ladies to mix and mingle among their fellow mystery lovers, find a motive, and turn up a murderer.

Readers of Burns are never disappointed. Considering how terrible 2020 has been these are great escape books.

Elise Cooper: How would you describe Dixie in Sit, Stay, Slay?

V. M. Burns: Everyone came to a happy ending. She is a lot of fun, energetic, and a passion for dogs. No one could mess with her dogs.

EC: What about the research?

VMB: I used to belong to the Echo Dog Club. I learned about people who cared about their animals and saw them as family members. I like featuring different dog breeds in the Dog Club books. Since poodles are my breed there will always be poodles. But I also like to feature other dogs like border collies and greyhounds. I want to help people to make sure they learn about a particular breed and if that dog will fit in their lifestyle.

EC: Are you afraid of mountains?

VMB: There is a real Lookout Mountain, and I cannot drive up it. I moved from the Midwest to East Tennessee and never knew I had a problem with heights until I moved here. There are a lot of mountains. I have put a lot of my own fears in the main character, Lilly.

EC: What about what was written with the Southern culture?

VMB: My mom is from Alabama and my dad from West Tennessee. I found out after I moved there are unique differences depending on the region. I learned that people make casseroles when there is a death in someone’s family. They start a food train and people sign up for a particular day they will bring the food over. It is very thoughtful.

EC: In A Tourist’s Guide To Murder why London?

VMB: I have been to England a couple of times. I have put my desire to go back to England and tour all the special spots for mystery lovers into this book. I did use the real mystery tours itinerary in the books and some real places like Agatha Christie’s house.

EC: There is a quote about police in the book?

VMB: You must be referring to this one, “It requires so much of your time with so little thanks and money… Long hours, crappy work with little pay.” I talked to former police officers. Also, in my previous job my boss was a director working with young people and her husband is a police officer. They have different views of young people. Remember, police are the first people called to violent events. Similar to every other profession police have good and bad people.

EC: What about your next book?

VMB: It is titled Killer Words and is part of the Mystery Bookshop series, out in December 2021. Detective Stinky Pitts is accused of murder. The main characters try to help him and find the real killer.

THANK YOU!!

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acenerdsbian · 8 years ago

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Room for One More Troubled Soul

Ch.4

Maggie jolted upright with a gasp, heart pounding as her brain tried to reconcile her cramped bedroom with the crashing truck that was the last thing she remembered. Looking down at herself she searched for some sign of injury but found none, beginning to wonder if it had been a dream. Except she was still wearing the clothes she’d had on the night before, and there was something hard digging into her leg from its place in her pocket. Digging it out she found the yellow rock she’d picked up by the cliff, and it seemed even weirder in the light of day. She sat there, on the rickety bed her aunt had dug out of storage when the cousin she’d previously been staying with had dropped her off with no warning for either of them, and studied the strange circle of stone. It proved that last night wasn’t a dream, but didn’t exactly help her make any sense of it either.

“Maggie? Sorry to wake you kiddo but I’m heading to work. I left some coffee for you and there’s breakfast stuff in the fridge.” Her aunt called softly through the door, breaking through her reverie, and Maggie had to smile a little.

“Thanks.” She replied, admitting to herself that this particular distant relative wasn’t nearly so bad as the others she’d stayed with over the last few years. She listened as the woman locked the front door and started her car, waiting until she could no longer hear the engine before sliding out of bed and padding downstairs for some much needed coffee. Sitting at the table and drinking the heavenly beverage she started going over the previous night’s events in a more organized manner than she had when she’d first woken up. She hated not understanding things and was determined to solve this particular mystery ASAP.

As she lifted the mug to her lips for another drink her mind drifted back to the accident that was the last thing she could recall, and suddenly her hand and lap were drenched in hot coffee as the sturdy ceramic shattered in her grasp. She could only gape as the liquid, which should have been scalding, soaked through her shorts and dripped from the table onto the floor. Slowly she shifted her gaze to her hand where, as well as not being burned by the hot coffee, was also completely unscratched by the shattered mug. Taken by itself she might have tried to rationalize the broken mug, but alongside everything that had happened the previous night it was just too much weird. So after hurriedly cleaning up the mess that had once been her morning coffee she got dressed and headed back out to the beach.

Reaching a good jogging pace she decided that she needed to find a job and save up for a bike or something ASAP, as rushing places on foot was going to get tedious real fast. But eventually she reached the overlook where she’d witnessed what was known to her peers as a ‘Danvers-Lane Special’, not that she paid enough attention to school gossip to know that the pair’s arguments were somewhat legendary. Standing a foot or so from the edge she paused to catch her breath and look out at the ocean. This was the closest she’d ever lived to such a massive body of water, and to be honest she found it kind of disconcerting. Most of her family lived in the Midwest, and she’d likely seen more cornfields and mining towns than anyone else in Midvale. But despite the weirdness of it she had to admit this was much prettier.

She was swiftly drawn from her thoughts by a yell from down the beach and had to squint to make out a blonde head near the crater that had been blown in the sand the previous night. Maggie swiftly made her way to the nearest trail and down to the sand, where she found Kara, Lena, and Alex. The first two were crouched in the crater, trading words too rapidly for her to follow, while Alex stood guard with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face.

“You guys too huh?” Maggie asked wryly, a smile curling her lips while Alex lifted her chin and looked like she was preparing for a fight. But Kara spoke before she could act on any of the defensive attitude tensing her shoulders.

“She broke the shower, and I took the door off its’ hinges trying to see if she was okay. And Lena -” Lena herself broke in there, neither of them looking up from whatever they were fiddling with in the sand.

“Contaminated a four-month experiment by knocking over my lab table.” Her voice was dry and slightly amused in a self-deprecating sort of way, with only a hint of the frustration that one would expect from that sort of situation.

“I just broke a coffee mug.” Maggie shrugged, her smile growing slightly at how put out Alex looked by her sister’s openness. “Granted, it was a very sturdy mug.” She paused for a moment and watched with Alex as Kara and Lena began murmuring to each other once more before reaching into her pocket.

“You still have yours?” She asked Alex, presenting the yellow stone she couldn’t actually remember picking up on her way out of the house. But there it was, just as strange as before. She watched Alex pull out hers, the black of it seeming to completely drink in the sunlight without refracting any back at all. Maggie’s on the other hand took on a golden glow, warming her palm and providing stark contrast to the other. She was so entranced by the vastly different pair that she didn’t notice someone else had joined them until a ruby-red stone in a hand a shade or two lighter than her own joined the yellow and black. Alex was obviously startled as well, clenching her fist around her stone and taking a step back. Both looked up to find Lucy smirking at them with one eyebrow raised.

“What? I don’t get to join in on your little pow-wow?” She asked and Alex huffed irritably while Maggie was still blinking the play of red, gold, and black from her eyes.

“Guys, come look what I found!” Kara’s excited exclamation broke the mounting tension between Alex and Lucy and all three of them turned just in time to see her duck into a crevice in the cliff with Lena right behind her. Alex was on their heels in a flash, muttering under her breath about genius little sisters never thinking things through but looking curious and intrigued as well. Maggie was a little more hesitant and exchanged a look with Lucy, in which the other girl shrugged and started after the rest.

“Can’t let the science nerds have all the fun right?” She called back before disappearing into the seemingly small crack, which was apparently much larger than it looked. Letting out a resigned sigh Maggie finally gave in to her own curiosity and followed.

#director sanvers #director sanvers au #supergirl au #supergirl power rangers au

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