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guacam011y · 3 years

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***SPOILERS FOR WANDAVISION EPISODE 6***

So I’m still processing everything but holy shite that ep was wild...

FIRST THINGS FIRST - WANDA, VISION, BILLY AND PIETRO ALL IN COMIC ACCURATE-ISH COSTUMES AND TOMMY IN A MINI QUICKSILVER COSTUME

PIETRO CALLING BILLY AND TOMMY DEMON SPAWN - GOD DAMMIT, IT’S MEPHISTO ISN’T IT? HOUSE OF M HERE WE COME

HERB ASKING WANDA IF SHE WANTED SOMETHING CHANGED

AGNES ASKING VISION ABOUT THE AVENGERS AND STUFF AND AT FIRST SHE SEEMED GENUINELY FREAKED OUT BUT THEN STARTED LAUGHING MANIACALLY AND I STILL DON’T TRUST HER AND AGNES BEING DRESSED AS A WITCH? AGATHA HARKNESS WAS A WITCH - COINCIDENCE? I THINK NOT!

DARCY LOOKING OVER MONICA’S MED SCANS AND TELLING HER HOW THE HEX AFFECTS HER EACH TIME SHE GOES IN - IS SHE DEVELOPING HER POWERS?

PIETRO’S CORPSE - SCARED ME JUST AS MUCH AS VISION’S

MOVIES SHOWING IN THE THEATRE IN THE BACKGROUND - THE INCREDIBLES: A MOVIE BASED AROUND A SUPERHERO FAMILY AND THE PARENT TRAP: A MOVIE ABOUT TWINS WHO MEET AT CAMP AND TRY AND SET THEIR PARENTS UP

DON’T GO PAST ELLIS AVENUE - NOW I DON’T KNOW IF THIS IS A CONNECTION OR JUST A COINCIDENCE BUT ELLIS IS THE LAST NAME OF THE PRESIDENT DURING IRON MAN 3

TOMMY HAVING HIS SPEED POWERS AND BILLY HAVING HIS REALITY WARPING/TELEKINETIC POWERS - WELCOME SPEED AND WICCAN

A CALL BACK TO INFINITY WAR WHEN VISION EXITED THE HEX? SLIGHTLY DUSTING AND HE PROBABLY WON’T SURVIVE BEING OUTSIDE OF THE HEX - HE’LL JUST DIE AGAIN 🥲

I STILL DON’T TRUST HAYWARD - HE’S VERY SUS

DARCY BEING TAKEN INTO THE HEX WITH THE OTHER S.W.O.R.D AGENTS - HOPEFULLY WE CAN SEE THE OUTFITS THAT KAT DENNING’S WAS EXCITED ABOUT

I SWEAR THEY BETTER NOT STRAIGHTWASH BILLY AND TOMMY OR I WILL RIOT 😤

***FURTHER UPDATES***

So sit-com wise, it seems they were referencing Malcolm in the Middle as the twins broke the fourth wall and talked to the audience, like Malcolm did

However, the theme song has told the viewer to stop questioning the reality of Westview - which could be a little reference to Mystery Science Theatre 3000? - When Pietro first shows up in the title sequence, along with his name title card, the lyrics say “Though there may be no way of knowing who’s come to play” - Istg, I do not trust Pietro

Vision says to Wanda that he had to wear his Halloween costume because there were no other clothes in his closet, Wanda is trying to move the plot along and forcing Vision to play along

Evan Peters’ ‘Mom’ tattoo is shown, which is a tattoo he actually has in real life ! But could this stand for ‘Multiverse of Madness’ or some other red herring?

Pietro mentions to Wanda that if he had found ‘Shangri-La’ he wouldn’t want to leave either - Shangri-La is a real place on Earth-616 that was founded by a version of Vision

Tommy refers to Pietro’s speed as ‘kickass’ and then Wanda repeats that, saying ‘kickass’ again - Aaron Taylor-Johnson and Evan Peters (both versions of QuickSilver) were in Kick-Ass together

The ad for this episode was freaky af - the character on the beach who starved and decomposed could be a little nod to Indiana Jones, where a Nazi’s face melts in - and it could also be reference to Wanda being all alone and struggling to process her grief. The shark in the ad could also be Nightmare or Mephisto or just someone more powerful than Wanda offering her a new beginning with Vision or trapped her in some way - and is feeding off her magic? The flavour of the yoghurt is strawberry flavoured and strawberry’s are red on the outside and pink-ish on the inside - much like Wanda’s og costume and her magic being red 👀

Pietro and Wanda talk about their Sokovian accents at a point in the episode and how neither have them anymore. Wanda’s, as we know, has disappeared over the course of the MCU movies and Pietro’s just doesn’t exist - another nice little nod to Peter Maximoff from the fox X-Men films? Also, Pietro states that “I’m just trying to do my part, okay? Come to town unexpectedly, create tension with the brother-in-law, stir up trouble with the Rugrats (a 90’s cartoon 👀) and ultimately give you grief.” - in reference to the grief part, could Pietro be killed off again? Stir up trouble with the rugrats, being possible shards of the demon Mephisto’s soul, could this be Mephisto trying to influence them on a deeper level? It’s also many many common sitcom clichès

Pietro talks about how “I got shot like a chump on the street for no reason at all” - nice little nod to how Pietro was killed off unnecessarily and how we as a fandom still talk about how regular bullets shouldn’t have killed him

Herb is dressed as Frankenstein’s monster - Dr. Frankenstein created his monster and soon lost control over him, and he was created using electricity or lightning - much like Vision was created and brought to life by Thor using Mjolnïr to bring lightning down to his incubator thingy majig. Could this also be a reference to either Wanda slowly losing control over Westview or someone else controlling Wanda/controlling the citizens of Westview - we saw in episode 3 that Agnes told Herb to be quiet as it seemed he was about to spill the beans 👀

Vision goes towards Ellis avenue and is at a ‘crossroads’ of sorts - in folklore, crossroads are often used to speak to or summon the devil and are also used when an important character is making a decision that could change everything. He spots some citizens repeating certain actions and/or just standing completely still, could these be npc’s (non playable characters)? And now that the barrier of the Hex has spread, will those citizens now start to move? 👀 Also I know that all stop signs look like it, but the stop sign is also a red hexagon 🛑

Darcy scrolls through Hayward’s computer files and goes past a file called “Project C4-113” - it could reference Avengers Issue #113 in which Wanda and Vision both appear on the cover and she says she’s going to make the world pay for Vision’s death. There’s also another file called “Project M5-247” which could be a nod to Avengers Issue #247, which shows the origin of the Eternals and in the same vein, Scarlet Witch and Vision trying to help Captain Marvel. And when Darcy emails Hayward’s cataract plans, you can see the names of “James Alexander and James Gadd” - James Alexander is a visual effects producer on Wandavision and James Gadd works on post production at Marvel

Also: Agnes pulls as Mrs Hart and repeats the same phrase over and over again

After Wanda blasts Pietro, you can see on a fake grave stone the name of “Janell Sammelman”, Janell is a first assistant director on Wandavision

When Wanda moves Westview to save Vision, she turns S.W.O.R.D and it’s agents into clowns + a circus - I just love that the agents turned into clowns 😂 but there is a nice little plot line in the comics where Scarlet Witch, Quicksilver and Hawkeye join the circus - and this COULD be stretch, but earlier in the episode there is the number #22 which could be Avengers Issue #22, which is the Issue that they join the circus

As soon as Vision was brought back into Westview, he was healed - which means if he was to exit again, he probably wouldn’t survive 😭

The episode title is ‘All-New Halloween Spooktackular!” - which “All-New” is a designation that is often used on covers for comic books. And the first issue of the second The Vision and the Scarlet Witch series takes place on Halloween night - but the events in this comics didn’t influence this episode’s plot

Pietro points out that he has the “XY chromosome” - X for X-Men? Plus there’s the X gene 😂

He mentions “Uncle Peter to the rescue” - Peter is the name of Quicksilver from the Fox X-Men Franchise

Pietro and Tommy quote the movie Top Gun (1986) by saying “I fell the need, the need for speed”

Wanda almost seems hesitant to trust this version of Pietro (rightfully so, in my opinion) and is wary of him being around Tommy and Billy

Pietro says some very Mephisto/Nightmare-like things this episode - “Unleash hell, demon spawn!”, “The kids need a father figure”, “Damnit, if Westview isn’t charming as Hell...” - And if Pietro isn’t Mephisto/Nightmare, it HAS to be Agnes or her other half Ralph and Pietro is probably Ralph tbh...or could Pietro just be a scapegoat and Hayward is Ralph? 👀

The theatre in town, which is playing the Incredibles and The Parent Trap, is called the Coronet. There’s a classic poem called “The Coronet” written by Andrew MARVELL (Marvell, is also the true name of the first incarnation of Captain Marvel in the comics) and is about a guy who knows that the sins of mankind led to the death of Christ. He attempts to create a new crown for Christ’s head in an attempt to atone, but finds that there is sin in the crown as well, as the devil is within the crown and therefore he may achieve glory and success with his new creation 👀

Hayward’s confidential project “Cataract” included experimenting on Vision’s body, as was revealed by Darcy (my wife 💙 and Monica is also my wife 💚 and so is Wanda 💛, I just love women, you know? 😂). A cataract is a cloudy area in the lens of the eye that leads to a decrease in vision - is Hayward trying to weaponise Vision? Or maybe even trying to bring Ultron back? Or do what Tony wanted to do in the first place, and make a suit of armour that’s around the world? Either way, it’s for nefarious purposes

Who is Monica’s guy? Jimmy and Monica are off to meet him - could it be Reed Richards (Mr Fantastic)? Or could it be Victor Von Doom (Dr Doom)? Could it be Hank McCoy (Beast)? Or even Adam Brashear (Blue Marvel)? Or if it is a woman, could it be the Skrull daughter of Talos that Monica befriended at the end of Captain Marvel? Could it be Abigail Brand (A major character in recent S.W.O.R.D comics and an Alpha Flight Member)? Or even Toni Ho (Iron Patriot, and could she be introduced to help lay the ground work for my other queen, Riri Williams/Iron Heart?)? Or could it even be Sue Storm (Invisible Woman)?

In the background of the episode we see a number of children and adults dressed up as many different characters, which includes: Sub-Zero from Mortal Kombat, Jason Voorhees, with a sweater striped like Freddy Krueger’s and even a kid that looks dressed in an off-brand Charizard costume 😂 Pokèmon has always been popular, but saw an increase during the 90’s

Pietro and the kids are drinking “Kane Cola” which could be a reference to the 90’s drinks “Jolt Cola” or even “Surge” - it could also, with all the X-Men Easter eggs, be a reference to Garrison Kane, who was a member of Cable’s mercenary team “Six Pack” and is sometimes also known as ‘Weapon X’

The kid that Wanda mentions having a “skin thing” in the orphanage - could that be a reference to her Brotherhood of Evil Mutants co-worker Toad? Or maybe even Mystique? Maybe Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler)?

One of the houses has a sign up that says ‘Macabre Mansion’ - another possible reference to House of M?

During a flashback, it’s shown that the twins are playing Dance Dance Revolution, which came out in 1999. Also this might be a stretch, but the boys have a dog plushie in their room the right - which is coloured red and black - could this be a reference to Dogpool? 😂

I love this show 🤣💙

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jaykorianddickkoriforlife · 2 years

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His Pride Her Prejudice

Hello!!! I’m reblogging this, it was written by the lovely miss-geek001 on fanfiction.net! It was gifted to me, and I love it. I hope you guys enjoy reading this especially if you’re a jaykori shipper!

I’m going to copy, and paste it exactly as they wrote it.

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For Anny aka ponder love on archive of our own her prompt was reverse AU Kori is the sarcastic bad girl, and Jason the sweet one. So you guys know I love AU so let's get started…

Italics are thoughts and or flashbacks.

Jason's 28 and Kori is 27

Pride and Prejudice.

Normal POV

Twenty eight year old Jason Peter Wayne starts the day like he normally would or as any young man with a trust fund and a masters degree in English Literature would.

Turkish coffee - no sugar.

Whom of which currently works as a English Literature professor at Gothams University. Hence the desperate need for coffee in order for him to tolerate his students this early in the morning.

Or well if he's being honest in general.

For him it was not humanly possible to be a civilised being without it. His only friend Roy Harper tells him it's a problem only for Jason to quote one of his favourite books that he read as a child, "I understand what you're saying and your comments are valuable, but I'm going to ignore your advice."

Ahh the wonderfully witty Fantastic Mr Fox.

Good old chum.

None would be the wiser to ever guess Alfred put him on Roald Dahl in the first place.

As you would expect being a child and a bookworm wasn't a big hit with his fellow classmates. It didn't really help being an adopted son of The Bruce Wayne Playboy Billionaire aka trust fund bookworm kid. They all thought his world was perfect. That was what the world would forever see him as.

They will never see him as a young boy that came from a broken household. A young child whos' mother and father were a drug addict and an alcoholic respectively. A young child having to bear witness countless of domestic abuse between his parents. Until the very day his father walked out, Jason was a mere 9 years old.

Back then Jason believed his mother would get better. Instead she got worse and would make herself forgot more and her behaviour didn't change so she would take it out on Jason.

He had heard from some street kids who had told him to next time go to police if it got worse. Jason thanked them for being concerned but assured them it won't happen again. He was sure his mother wasn't in her right mind and she just needed time to sober up.

That very day he went home he found mother with a strange man he never met in his life.

Flashback

"Well Catherine he seems young enough for me to give him jobs and not get caught how much ya givin im to me." The strange man turns to his mother as if Jason wasn't present.

The next words of his mother shattered his heart. His mother would be the very first to give him his first heartbreak.

I'll take whatever ya got Taron, I need my fix and he's not much use to me." She sneered as she turns her steel blue eyes that he'd gotten from her away from him and did not give him as much of a goodbye.

Was he not even worth of a goodbye?

Was he not worth her unconditional love?

"All right here's a couple thousand, if I'm honest I'm being generous."

The strange man gave his mo-

No that woman was NOT his mother.

The strange man gave a bundle of money to that woman and as she counted it he started to walk towards Jason.

Jason was an avid reader even at 9, and he had read about the theory of flight and fight. Now when Jason would fight against class fellows he would be victorious however with his parents it never worked in his favour he ended up with many scars and bruises.

So now young Jason Peter Todd had a decision to make, many would say no 9 year old boy should have to face a decision like this in life. Unfortunately as stated before this was life, this was the life of so many some never heard from again.

So what would he do fight and most likely lose or flight and take off to safety. Needless to say he threw out the option about fighting back and chose to play smarter and for once not to fight harder.

Jason didn't even flinch when he spoke out.

"Ya know she keeps her money stash worth way more than me kept hidden under her bed. Wouldn't it be better if you had me AND the money. Since my mother is so keen to do me wrong why not return the favour."

The strange man raised his eyebrows.

A greedy man will never have enough.

"Oh really? Have you been holdin' out on me Cat."

His mother looked at her son with upmost hatred of all looks and actually became disturbed when her own son glared back at her with the same look.

"Well it seems I'll have a look thanks for the tip kid. I bet you'll go far with the right training."

The man runs upstairs to find the hidden cash and that woman follows him in chase to stop him from looting all that she has. With both adults busy Jason sprinted out the house and towards the police station. There he explained everything and with that police officers raided his house for his mother and the strange man.

Both got arrested for selling and possessing illegal drugs and for also human trafficking. Later the police explained to him he would have to be put in care until he would be fostered or adopted because mostly likely his mother would be deemed unfit to care for him.

And yet Jason was ok with that.

Months go by in care, days sort of blend within each other he doesn't really get into fights anymore keeping with his motto think and work smarter not harder.

His words, wit and quick thinking has gotten him out of fights than his fists ever did. He honestly thought his life would just be weaving in and out of places, nothing really had much significance and/or meaning.

Until that fateful day at the care was announced that the one and only Bruce Wayne was visiting their care home. Jason had met the man before on his earlier visits and prior to that he knew the general things with him being a billionaire who was an orphan. The funding he still gives to orphanages in Gotham as well as around the country. He seemed like a stand up guy, it did seem odd to Jason when Bruce Wayne adopted an orphan child named Richard Grayson.

Jason couldn't see him as a father for some reason he assumed there were many servants and maids that tended to the child and not him personally.

But that was all before HE came back.

The word got out to his father his son was in a care home and for some reason he went to get his child back.

It was on the day Mr Wayne was visiting the orphanage like he did every few months to ask where the funding is being used, the children's livelihood and mental well-being etc. Jason was reading in the common room when a commotion was heard from outside, he went to the window to see what it was, and there HE stood.

Willis Todd.

He was yelling at staff and demanding them to give him his son. The staff had said that he could not look after his son after the statement Jason had made about him being an alcoholic and being physically abusive, so therefore he was also unfit to care for Jason.

Jason hid himself away from window so his father would not see him. He heard footsteps coming towards and before he could yell at them for going away a comforting strong voice spoke.

"Jason he won't hurt you anymore." Bruce Wayne looked at Jason with fiercely protective look.

"How can you be so sure? The minute I walk out there he'll get me I know he will." Jason was almost reduced to tears.

"Trust me, just come with me." Bruce said as he stretched out his hand towards Jason.

He reluctantly took it and walked with Bruce towards the front door and through it entering the front garden.

Right in front of Willis Todd.

"Ah there ya are kid. Come on let's go home."

"No."

"Excuse me boy, you ARE coming with me even if I have to wait out for you to come out of this place."

Before Jason could reply Bruce spoke.

"No you won't Todd. You WILL NOT lay one hand on my son." He roared defiantly, Jason not only froze with the shear protectiveness that Bruce portrayed but also he- called him- his son.

"Ss-son?" Jason asked he had forgotten his biological father behind him as he turned to Bruce as he was still holding his hand.

"Only if you want Jason." Bruce's tone shifted real quick to a soft understanding tone.

There was no real question about it.

"Yes."

That one word changed his life so much more than he even thought possible. Needless to say he changed his name that very same day from Jason Peter Todd to Jason Alfred Wayne. Bruce being the hidden sap he was cried for a while after. Alfred his adoptive grandfather also cried but was not emotionally constipated like Bruce was perceived to be. Jason gained a whole new family and he was forever grateful.

He was a lot happier and became more positive. He made pre made judgemental opinions of Bruce before he really even knew him and that was the last time he vowed to make any prejudices against anyone. It just wasn't fair really, no matter how much you think you know an individual or a group of people and put them into a certain stereotype, you cannot judge them before you get to really know them as individuals.

Human beings are always taught to trust their instincts, but instincts and judgmental behaviour are two different things. Naturally Jason experienced both in his life which comes back to making friends really hard. They either want to be his friend for the money or they see him as a brat that got fed with a silver spoon.

Ah well at least there's Harper.

Despite the fact he's a massive pain in my neck.

Jason came out of his memory trip as he approached the coffee shop Ravens' Nest. As usual there were people coming to and fro, people on their phones or laptops , the baristas doing their best to accommodate everyone in the shop and the queue was almost on the way out of the door.

Jason patiently stood behind the person in front and decided to look around the place to find a place to sit. Ravens Nest was quite popular in terms of the coffee/hot chocolate/ tea but also in its aesthetic. Despite its popularity it still held a quaint atmosphere it was favourable amongst avid readers who could read in peace towards the back of the coffee shop hidden away in dark purple drapes drapes and an abundant of silver grey cushion seats. Around the shop floor was only slightly different the walls were pure magnolia white with different canvases laid out on the walls ones with famous authors quotes others were actual watercolour paintings.

Those look new. He thought.

He noted the watercolour paintings must have been a new addition and was quite frankly surprised the owner was into anything other than tea and books. He knew Raven the first time he entered the tea shop the Ravens Nest was relatively new and so not much people were in and she was only the one working there at the time, he didn't bother her too much and she didn't bother him. At times they both sat in silence reading their own books until Jason started to tell people about her tea shop it became more popular and as such Rachel made it a point to never charge him again for his coffee order. After much arguing back and forth Jason finally relented but the deal was he was allowed to tip as much as he wanted.

He could understand her aesthetic in the reading corner it just screamed Rachel.

The rest of the shop floor had a more . . . deep yet soulful and vibrant feel to it.

He couldn't really explain it so he focused on a particular painting hanging on the wall.

The painting itself was a large one that seemed to based on a park walkway the grey and black street lamps on either side of the walkway and the outline of a woman wearing a long pastel yellow coat and a matching umbrella with her back turned towards the golden and amber trees. Her hair seems to be pushing away from her as if it's a windy day and the rain settling on the ground and on her umbrella gave Jason goosebumps as if he was getting drenched in the torrential rain himself.

All in all this painting seemed to speak to him in ways words could not.

The loneliness.

The woman was alone despite the horrendous weather conditions she looked as if it didn't even bother her.

She carries on.

And yet with interpretation in mind the painting was still so beautiful. The blend of the vibrant reds oranges and yellows in the trees and the womans attire were enticing and was a stark contrast to the grey rain and dark lampposts. It made you stare at it forever.

He sees the initials on the bottom corner of the painting.

K.A

Hmm I don't think I know any artists with those initials. Might be local one then.

His attention is once again disturbed but this time by a sound.

The bell of the front door rings signifying someone has entered. As he turns to look towards the door his heart skips and he immediately became as intrigued as he was looking at the painting a moment ago.

The person who had his attention was a light tan woman with striking lime coloured eyes and rose red hair that turned blond ombré at the end of her hair to emulate the look of a flickering flame as she wore it in a low ponytail tied with a black ribbon with some pieces framing her sweetheart face. She wore a black polo neck with short sleeves and surprisingly red denim overalls paired with black combat boots.

It was a unique look to say the least especially walking into a coffee shop of all places.

On her shoulders was a strap attached to a wet canvas carry case. (A/N it basically looks like a wooden briefcase to hold canvases in.)

She looks around trying to find someone, she sighs and strides towards the counter. By this point Jason was the only one left in line and it was only him, the barista and the unique looking woman at the till.

She looks to the barista as if to ask a question but he interrupts before she can put a word in.

The barista looks no more older than Jason and yet he spoke with such conviction and arrogance as if he knew so much more than the rest.

"Ah I'm going to hit the pause button right there, cas we're not interested in your . . . line of . . . work." He turns to Jason with a big smile "What can I get you sir?"

Jason was not paying attention because the woman in front of him had all but taken it. He switched his eyes back and forth to the woman and the barista trying to make sense of what he just heard.

It seems the woman in question had already understood what the barista meant.

She rolls her pretty eyes at the man and spoke for the first time.

"Look here mate I just need to speak to Rachel. Is she here? She should be expecting me."

She had a slight accent but for Jason it was hard to decipher where was she from.

The barista however just looked annoyed now.

"Listen here you foreign freak I don't need any trouble from you."

"What trouble?! I'm only asking for Rachel you asshole?"

Hehe looks to me we have a spitfire.

Jason looks between the exchange with his trademark smirk. But he knew he had to intervene at some point because the guy was not backing down.

"Hey that's out of order just get Rachel what's the big deal." Jason spoke with a stern expression. Despite his choices in life not to cause trouble didn't mean he didn't know when to stick up for himself or others. In fact he could be quite scary when he wanted.

"Look here sir you might not be aware but I know that people like her just try to sell drugs wherever to whomever. Okay so No thank you miss for the last time. Otherwise I'm calling the police."

Jason's jaw drops and the woman beside him turns the same colour as her hair.

"ARE YOU FUCKIN KIDDIN ME! COME HERE YOU ABSOLUTE SON OF A BITCH!"

She storms to the counter and grabs the weasel ahem barista by his white collars and pulls him over the counter.

"LISTEN HERE YOU IGNORAMUS TWIT, YOU ARE GOING TO CALL RACHEL AND YOU ARE GOING TO TELL HER EVERYTHING YOU SAID! GOT IT!"

Listening to her cursing out the barista in that cute accent of hers made Jason for some reason smile or maybe it was because she used the word ignoramus. But that short filled happiness stopped because he could see the barista face turn blue.

"Aaack someone get this crazy bitch off of me." He chokes.

Unsurprisingly no one helped him.

Ahh great ah well might have to help him.

He moves towards the commotion but the young stronger than she looks woman stops him in his tracks.

"Listen here I don't need no silver spoon fed rich boy to help him! Understand!"

She rolls her pretty viridian green eyes at him and then gives him a mean scowl.

She should really smile more I'm sure it would suit her better.

He approaches her with caution as if the beautiful creature before him is a wild tigress and he has her dinner in his hands so other words . . . he's genuinely terrified and fascinated. An odd combination of emotions he's perfectly sure he's never experienced simultaneously.

And yet he finds it in him not to judge her as she judges him as many have done before her. It also appears she's had this treatment many times before. So instead he finds compassion and understanding and he smiles and for the first time ever . . . .

He flirts.

"Honey first and foremost what you see is a man not a boy. Secondly I was only going to suggest to call Rachel-"

"Ha Ha! The barista laughs maniacally. "See my boss will come to kick you out herself."

-to kick this asshole out herself. I'm sure she would find great pleasure in it." Jason finished with an innocent smile.

"WHAT?!" The barista looks towards Jason with disbelief.

The young woman however still held mistrust in her eyes and spoke again.

"I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP ALL YOU WILL DO IS ASK ME TO 'RETURN' THE FAVOUR. AM I NOT CORRECT?!" Even though she was sarcastic she was still seething.

Now that was hurtful.

Jason could see the young lady before him have had it rough for her to not trust anyone. He understood to some extent but it still hurt. He had this fascination with her that he could not explain.

So her adamantly believing that he is a no good, silver spoon fed, spoilt rich player hit him so hard. His heart was pounding a mile a minute and he could feel the anger exuding from the woman in front of him like campfire flames roaring and roaring until someone was responsible enough to put them out. It looked like the roaring campfire from within this woman never got put out. And so it consumes her day in and day out torturing her to put up this defensive wall as a coping mechanism to not get hurt to protect herself.

Even to those who are willing to help and show kindness.

Jason's smile is gone and with a heavy heart a look of disappointment overtakes his face.

The woman falters her stern expression because she has never seen someone look disappointed after she insults them. Usually there would be a string of curses at her, this strangers icy blue eyes unnerved her it made her conscious of her behaviour her surroundings what she was saying how she was saying it. At the same time she tried not to get lost in his eyes she never really did that with anyones else's eyes before.

Just his.

"Kori let him go please. What seems to be problem?" A deadpan voice cuts in.

The woman called Kori drops the guy in an instant. Everyone turns to the speaker of said voice. It was none other than Rachel Arella Roth aka the owner/manager of Ravens Nest. Despite the lack in height Rachel Roth was not someone who you wanted on their bad side. However that did not seem to matter for the barista who was in the choke hold a few seconds prior. He stands up tidying his uniform before addressing his boss.

"As you can clearly see ma'am this woman here was trying to sell her drugs in this fine establishment of yours and I was simply trying-"

"Shut up Ross."

"Um actually it's Rory ma'am."

"I don't care. Do you not remember me telling you about the artist coming in today?

"Yes of course ma'am."

"You seemed to missed out a crucial part of that information when I told you the artist is one of my best friends called Kori Anders?"

"Oh uh um-"

"Ross your fired. Kori calm down. Jason here's your usual and I apologise about Kori."

Clearly everyone in the shop understood why Rachel was the boss.

Jason thanks Rachel and takes his leave whilst Ross or whatever whinged the whole time as he was leaving. As Jason moves to pass Kori she turns as if to say something but he holds up his hand and interrupts her.

"It's okay Miss I'll take my leave now." Jason said in tone which he uses as a professor.

Clinical and professional.

Ok fine he was being ever so slightly prideful but for him there was no need to drag this drama out when clearly she did not even want his help.

Kori continues to look at the mysterious man as he swiftly makes his way out of the door and onto Gothams busy street.

She sighs and sits on one of the tables and waits for Rachel to see her. She isn't sure why she disappointed to see him go, sure she isn't the best at noticing someone's true intentions, that was always Rachel's strength. But she was usually right about these things, her pre conceived judgements about people was usually more or less spot on.

But still why is she disheartened? That kicked puppy look of his haunts her still.

He only left five seconds ago?! Was it because she feels guilty, she's never felt that emotion in a real long time.

"Kori what the hell was that?!"

Kori looks towards her oldest friend and suddenly becomes nervous.

"I-I just thought he was a silver spo-"

"Yes Kori I'm pretty sure all the penguins from the South Pole heard your special insults for him."

She's never seen Rachel this mad at her before.

She huffs and crosses her arms. "I don't see the big deal he looked like every other pompous spoilt ki-"

"Cut the pathetic self defence wall Anders. You listen to me, he's not like that in fact he has much more humility than you and everyone else gives him credit for. You cannot paint everyone with the same brush. It's wrong you know it is."

Crap. She was in deep waters now. Rachel never calls anyone by their last name unless she was dead serious, wanted them to really listen to her and or really angry. In this particular case it seems she was all three judging by her tone.

"How could you possibly judge him without getting to know him." Rachel scolded at her.

Kori hung her head in silence for a minute and played back the scene in her head trying to analyse what he said, how he said it-oh gosh he was just being polite and she judged him the way Ross judged her.

She was no better.

"Oh Rachel what have I done." Kori cried almost in the brink of tears face in her hands. Her tough, sarcastic facade crumbling in front of her best friend.

"Hey hey I'm sure he'll forget all about it." Rachel assured her.

"No I wish to make it up to him." She was adamant to make it right.

"Your just a diamond in the rough Kori, I'm sure he'll understand. How about this we'll think of something after you show me the new painting you made for me. Deal?"

Kori gave her friend a teary smile. "Sure."

The two friends laughed, drank their tea, and came up with ways for Kori to make up with Jason. After Rachel heavily complemented Kori on the new painting saying it will look perfect with the others she painted for her. Kori was just glad she liked it, Rachel Arella Roth was no easy person to please.

The next few days was a blur for Jason simply because he didn't get his coffee fix from Ravens Nest. He has been purposely avoiding it for the past few days just in case he ran into Kori again. It's not that he hated her he just wouldn't know what to say to her after the whole fiasco that happened on that day.

So he decided to give up his coffee fix.

It literally lasted three days to which his entire adopted family were so concerned about his well being they had an intervention and told him to either give in to his regular coffee addiction or go to the doctors because he was turning into someone they did not recognise. Even his students were afraid of their professor who was usually calm, collected and undeniably witty.

Thus Jason was back at Ravens Nest.

He enters the shop quietly as if not to startle to many customers and simultaneously trying to seem invisible. He noticed it's quieter than he normally sees it and moves towards the queue to get his usual. As he looks around he sees a new painting hung on the wall and he deducts it must have been painted by Kori and this painting was what was in her canvas carrier that day.

His curiosity got the better of him as his feet subconsciously took him to the painting. This time the watercolour painting was of a small black haired child on a swing attached underneath a weeping willow tree. The tree itself looked illuminated as though it was surrounded by small fireflies or by magic. The child was in mid swing reaching upwards towards the tree as if to catch the surrounding fireflies or magic dust perhaps. The innocence, the pure joy and fascination in the child's face was no doubt the centrepiece of the painting. As he looked towards the bottom right corner there were the initials he expected to see.

K.A

A very stark contrast to what he seen painted by her before. Almost as if these paintings represent different sides of her maybe? Or different people?

Jason looked closer at the painting and couldn't help but notice he had seen this scene before. The willow tree was on a golden foothill slope alongside a riverbed. Towards the background of the painting in the river stood a heron with a snake in its mouth.

Wow.

He realised there was more than meets the eye with the artist herself. He really did actually want to me her now because he had so many questions not only about her paintings but about herself. It seems his prayers were to be answered quickly because he heard someone cough behind him.

Jason turns only to stand in front of the very same woman that has subconsciously took over his brain in the last few days. This time she wore denim blue overalls and a purple long sleeve shirt rolled up to her elbows exposing her caramel forearms. She wore her hair in a single plait and wore circular antique looking glasses.

She wears glasses? Jason thought.

It was her expression however that made her look completely different or maybe it was the glasses. Well her posture the first time he met her before was determined and confident now it was . . . timid and nervous. Although she was making eye contact with him he could still tell she thought his perception of her was the absolute worst.

Jason wasn't sure what to expect so he stayed quiet.

Would she tell him to leave her alone ?

To stop stalking her and her paintings?

Thankfully she spoke first.

"Um h-hi?" She stammers, it almost came out as a whisper luckily she was close enough to Jason for him to hear it.

"Er hey?"

Well that's a start at least. . .

"I-I just want to say I'm really sorry about my behaviour. It was completely wrong of me to assume the worst of you." Kori said as she now has her eyes avoiding his.

"It's fine I understand maybe having help from a complete stranger might make you feel wary." Jason replies with understanding, his eyes still searching for hers. He holds out his hand for her to shake.

"Jason Alfred Wayne."

Kori intercepts him and shakes his hand a shy smile making its way onto her face.

"Koriana Eileen Anders."

"There now that's much better." Jason smiles.

"What do you mean." She cocks her head to the side.

"Smiling suits you much better than frowning."

She blushes profusely at this so much so the words that came out next were barely audible.

"Tha-thank you." She quickly decided to change the subject so he would not notice her face turning the same colour as her hair because of him.

"So um do you like the painting?" She asks.

Jason turns to the painting again and in admiration he spoke.

"It's wonderful I love the painting you have of the woman in the park as well. This one however is a lot different." Jason observes.

Kori smiles. "Oh really, pray tell how?"

"The symbolism with the woman in the rain is straight forward way to analyse and understandable even. However the symbolisms in this young child painting contradict one another. You have a young carefree child in a whimsical almost fairytale setting and yet you have a heron preying on a snake." He explains but then turns to face Kori.

"Nice use of Steinbeck I must say. I love reading his work." He adds.

"Of Mice and Men is a great book. Nice observation. Then again that is to be expected from an English Literature Professor. Plus I heard it was a book you are fond of."

"How do you know that?"

"Rachel told me. She had seen you read it many times."

"Ah right." He hesitates before he spoke again "I'm sorry it's been bugging ever since I heard you talk but where are you from originally I couldn't seem to work out your accent."

"Ah that." Kori sighs. "Well I'm originally from Tameran it's a small island in Europe. But I never stayed there for that long, my parents took us wherever their jobs took them. I lived on Tameran until I was five, then Japan for four years, then England for three moved to Ireland for another two. Then we moved to Morocco for another five years. When I turned 18 my uncle told me about America and all the opportunities it has. My sister was already living here so it was not too bad so I made the choice to move in with my uncle at 18. Naturally English was a hard language to grasp most didn't really want to be friends with the foreign kid. I met Rachel in high school she was a loner like me and so we stuck together and looked out for each other. She bought her tea shop not too long ago I was freelancing as an artist for a while just selling my pieces online when she asked me for paintings to brighten things up in the tea shop and so here we are now."

Kori looks towards Jason to see his reaction of all this. She wasn't going to tell him her life story but she just started speaking and just carried on really. She wasn't ashamed of him knowing the truth she felt that her insecurities was safe with him which was odd to say the least.

"Well I think it's definitely shaped you as a person however which way you look at it. It seems to me travelling has given you mountains worth of deeper perception and observation in order for it to impact how and what you paint." He admitted.

“Huh I never thought of it like that. Besides my perception of you was completely out of line. I don't really think it did anything but make me have trust issues." Kori mused.

"That wasn't really a perception more like a prejudice I would say. Besides I'm sure my pride got in the way that day, I'm guessing you would have made an apology judging by your face." Jason exclaimed.

"Okay I concede it was your pride and my prejudice." Kori compromised.

Jason cringes. "Ah no what are we becoming, the opening of Pride and Prejudice. I think not Miss Anders. Steinbeck I could handle, Jane Austen however I might need something stronger than coffee to get me through it."

Kori gasps and puts her hands on her heart in mock horror. "Hey! Thats one of my favourite books. How dare you insult Austen."

"Oh goodness me of course you love Austen." He rolls his eyes upwards and smirks at her.

"Yep almost as much as you love the Steinbeck inspired painting." Kori said with a knowing smile.

"Hmm maybe." He replied as he looks back the painting.

"It's yours." She said with a timid smile watching his expression. Needless to say he was floored.

"I'm sorry what? What do you mean?" Jason was confused. "Is this not the painting you had the other day in the case."

"Oh no that was a painting for Rachel's office upstairs. This one I made for you as an apology for my behaviour I was hoping you'll like it. If not-"

"Oh gosh Kori I would never want to take your paintings. I mean it's breathtaking I would love it but I couldn't. That thing that happened the other day it was just a misunderstanding. Don't feel too bad you aren't the first to make that judgement." He tried to assure her. He really didn't have any grudge against her.

But Kori was not relenting.

"No please I was no better than the barista I almost choked."

"I wouldn't say that. By the way nice strength you've got there." Jason complimented.

"Oh thanks. She blushed. "But I insist you take the painting as an apology and as a token of my gratitude. I had you in mind whilst I made the painting it only deserves be with person who inspired the painting."

Jason cornered Kori against the wall and said "You were thinking of me when you were painting this." He smirks.

What? He couldn't help himself.

"Well I-I mean, you see-"

Kori stammers not really getting any words out because she was absolutely embarrassed.

"Ugh just please take the painting before I combust with your teasing." She narrows her eyes at him before he could say-

"The feeling is mutual darling." Jason replied back.

Here this man was and she was falling for him like she has never fell before. And yet she loves the attention from him only however because for once it wasn't a douchebag wanting favours from her, not taking advantage of her not wanting her because of her looks.

It was a person who was curious of everything about her.

"Can I interest you in more than just a coffee date Kori?" He asks with an earnest expression.

She gives a bright smile. "Yes I would love that Jason."

And so with that Jason placed his new art piece in a canvas carrier and the two walked hand in hand out of the shop and down the street.

Rachel steps out her reading corner and walks towards the shops window. She observes the couple in all smiles and laughter with a content smile on her face and with that she returns to her work.

She knew they could be really happy together. She knew all it took was to take away Jason's Pride and Kori's Prejudice for them to find each other.

The end . ----------------

Authors note

Omg that was longer lol I referenced a few books that I read either as a child or as a teenager for school I love them still to this day. I actually do watercolour painting aswell and I really wanted Kori to do that in this story. On that note this was something that hits home for people, people like myself who are on the receiving end when people make prejudices against us. It becomes harmful to not only the ones being prejudiced against but the ones making pre judgemental opinions. It gets passed down and not resolved. So please I urge anyone who reads this please do not fear anyone who has different skin colour to you, different culture to you or different religion to you. It's ok to ask questions as long as it's coming from a place of learning and understanding of one another.

Ps this is a gift to ponder love aka Anny of archive of our own so if she has this story up on hers it's fine she will have it. I may or may not delete it here after she's uploaded on her site.

Thanks for reading guys see ya in the next one. Alrighty I hope you guys enjoyed miss-geek001 work like I did!!!

#Jason Todd #koriand'r #Starfire #red hood #jaykori #jaykori fic #jaykory #jason todd x koriand'r #Jason todd and Koriand'r #Red hood and Starfire #StarX

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inkykeiji · 3 years

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agh wait i love fantastic mr fox so much so i’ve decided to go in depth about my love for it! ok so i love ash and kristofferson when they’re together cause they’re just little bitches!! like that one argument when kristofferson was complaining about how his back (spine..tail?) was hurting cause he was on the floor and ash was just trying to read his book so he was straight up just like “ok?” HEHE and then they watched the little train go around. OOH and also when ash was like “hey hey look at me dad look at me!” when he was diving into the lil pool thing just reminded me HEAVILY of touya and enji, especially cause mr fox went and praised kristofferson saying how he’s a natural and how he even knew karate. UGH or just mr fox in general i love his character so much man!! his whole personality is just so loveable. honestly people say they get creeped out by it which tbh when i first watched it i was just a bit taken back as i had never pictured the book in that way! that’s why i really love movie adaptions, especially if you get a chance to read the book afterwards cause then you’ve really got a good picture!! the same with manga and anime (mainly fight scenes) cause my eyes just can’t concentrate AT ALL like i just cannot seem to picture what it would look like. but yeah!! i rambled on a little oops. have an amazing weekend :) i love you!

🐸

OH MY GOD FROGGY FROGGY LISTEN ASH IS MY ABSOLUTE FAVOURITE LIKE !!!!!!!! I LOVE ASH SO MUCH SO SO SO MUCH AAAAAAAAH also fun fact my 'stay safe out there!!' tag is a reference to this film hehehe <33 it's a reference to kristofferson's 'good luck out there!' to the wolf 🥺

i've never read the book but fantastic mr fox is my favourite wes movie 🥺🥺 i really relate to ash and all of his struggles, one of my favourite parts is when he's all "hey, i can fit through there. want to know why? because i'm LITTLE" and i'm always like ME TOO ASH ME TOOOOOOOO but also his "because you think i'm no good at anything! well maybe you're right, thanks" 🥺🥺 idk i just love everything about ash, from his moodiness to his actually v kind heart to his need to live up to his father etc etc he's a fantastic character <33

my favourite quote from that film though, by far, is:

they say all foxes are slightly allergic to linoleum, but it's cool to the paw, try it. they say my tail needs to be dry cleaned twice a month, but now it's fully detachable, see? they say our tree may never grow back, but one day, something will. yes, these crackles are made of synthetic goose and these giblets come from artificial squab and even these apples look fake—but at least they've got stars on them. i guess my point is, we'll eat tonight, and we'll eat together. and even in this not particularly flattering light, you are without a doubt the five and a half most wonderful wild animals i've ever met in my life

i love it so much. i love everything it stands for. life is bittersweet (been using this word a LOT lately eh??? lmao), there will always be good and bad; there IS no good without the bad. but there's always a silver lining, and this too shall pass <3

#the MASSIVE frog at the end of ur message made me giggle hahahahaha #i love it sm #anyway YES #i can't even begin to tell you how much this film means to me #ugh i love it more than anything #i love the story of forgiveness and redemption and growth #everything about it is so beautiful #i love the aesthetic and the colours too #wes anderson has my entire heart <333 #obv since i named my fricken cat after him LMAO #ANYWAY FROGGY I LOVE UUUUU I HOPE UR DOING GREAT BABIE #THANK U HEHEHE I HOPE UR WEEKEND IS SPECTACULAR <33 #STAY SAFE OUT THERE!!#LMAO #🐸.anon #clari gets mail

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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Riverdale Season 5 Episode 9 Review – Chapter 85: Destroyer

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

The mundane mingles with the supernatural in a enjoyably goofy episode.

Riverdale Season 5 Episode 8

“It is better to know the truth and make peace with it.”

In a bit of selfless wisdom, Cheryl states the above words to Betty in tonight’s bonkers installment. The context being that Betty doesn’t want to tell her mother that it looks like Polly is a goner. So she goes to Cheryl basically to inquire whether she feels that her cousin’s life would have been better had she not known Jason’s true fate.

The from-the-heart response that Cheryl gives her is quickly ignored, and Betty hides the truth from Alice. Since this is an episode of Riverdale, Betty’s deception immediately backfires on her when her FBI superior Glen arrives at the Cooper household to reveal Polly’s probable fate and kick Betty off the case. (Somewhere in the night, Veronica does a breathy cover of The Thompson Twins’ “Lies”).

Anyway, let’s get back to that quote for a second: It is better to know the truth and be at peace with it. That’s going to be the mantra for this entire review, as there are fundamental truths I’ve touched upon in the past that demand to be recognized before the healing can be reached. They are:

1- Archie’s football storyline is a total snooze.

Riverdale may have leaped seven years into the future, but Archie remains as doltish as ever. Granted, K.J. Apa is killing it this season as a grizzled version of the character, but the problem of Archie’s messiah complex still drags on. There are a lot of fascinating things happening on this series right now, and all the Bulldogs stuff does is slow down the breakneck pace that those interesting storylines are moving in. Aliens are in Riverdale, nobody cares about high school football right now. C’mon.

All that said, Britta rules.

2 – Any time that this series isn’t focusing on Mothmen Aliens is wasted time.

The show is taking serious liberties by mashing up Mothman and alien abduction mythologies, which really upends my In Search Of-influenced ideology about how the world works. I’ll forgive this because putting “aliens” on Riverdale is a work of stupid genius but also because I love watching Cole Sprouse and his starter goatee running around looking totally frantic.

3 – Hiram Lodge should be eaten by Mothmen Aliens.

Am I alone in thinking this could actually happen? What a coup for the series that would be! We know that Hiram is involved in some shady business, and all his SoDale shenanigans are a cover for some big secret. Therefore the mystery of the Lonely Highway is directly traced back to Hiram. Is he working for the government? Did aliens cure his mystery illness of last year and in turn is he feeding them Riverdale’s castoffs? Nothing is off the table here. Hiram’s machinations have been the same since he first appeared, but what if he really was working for aliens THE WHOLE TIME? Wouldn’t that be insane/amazing? No other show could pull that kind of shit off.

What I’m saying here is that Riverdale has been dancing with insanity since day one and it’s time to consummate the relationship.

4 – Betty Cooper, Alien Hunter needs to happen.

She fights werewolves in the comics, so is this really that crazy?

The ultimate mystery of whatever is happening this season will likely have a logic-based answer. That’s disappointing, as the Archieverse can be shown to handle witches, so are extraterrestrials that far off? (I’m still burned by the conclusion of the Gargoyle King saga, so I’m not expecting much here). Imagine though, the writing staff wants you to think that everything will wrap up with a plausible explanation and then, boom, it gives you bona fide aliens! A dream is a wish the heart makes…

This episode did give us clarity on a few things. We learned that both Jughead’s and Betty’s investigations lead back to the Lonely Highway and the mysteries — either terrestrial or otherworldly — unfolding there. Additionally, we were reminded that even though he’s ostensibly the lead character of this series, Archie is straight-up boring when he isn’t being attacked by bears or escaping from prison. With only one more episode before an extended hiatus, I hope next week brings us some resolution even though deep down I know that it won’t.

Riverdale Rundown

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• Jughead’s student who writes the troubling story about Mothman abduction is Lerman Logan, a reference to The Perks of Being a Wallflower and Percy Jackson franchise star.

• Old Man Dreyfus’ name is clearly inspired by Close Encounters of the Third Kind star Richard Dreyfuss, which is fitting as the supernatural elements of this season are riffing on the sci-fi blockbusters of the 1970s and ’80s. Further proof of this can be seen by Drefyus telling Betty and Jughead about how Riverdale was a hotbed of Mothmen activity in the summers of 1977 and 1982, ones in which Star Wars and E.T. respectively ruled at the box office.

• Mr. Weatherbee threatens to fire Jughead if he doesn’t stay out of Lerman’s problems, apparently forgetting that Jughead isn’t really even a teacher and is only volunteering.

• Even objectively, Archie is a terrible coach. Can we please fold him into the Jughead/Betty storyline somehow? It’s great to see him and Veronica back together but damn do they need better plots to work with.

• One of the teams that defeats the Bulldogs is the Baxter High Ravens. In case you forgot already, Baxter High was one of the schools that Sabrina attended in Chilling Adventures of Sabrina.

• One has to wonder how the Vixens must feel about Cheryl, a woman in her twenties who graduated seven years ago, returning to her alma mater to steal the thunder of teenagers who live in Murdersville, U.S.A. and have no other outlet besides cheerleading by performing a self-aggrandizing Lady Gaga cover. Cheryl does a lot of messed up stuff on this show, but this act struck me as especially cruel.

• There’s no Toni and very little Tabitha Tate tonight. Boo.

• I still think they should sell the Pop Tate bobbleheads they keep showing.

• Kevin gets put through the emotional and physical ringer this episode. We learn that disparaging remarks from his mother impacted his self-image so much that he turned to cruising in Fox Forest. (The fate of Mrs. Keller is unknown, so it is possible that she will make an appearance in an upcoming episode). The assault that Kevin endured was brutal to watch, but the scene between Kevin and his father was powerful and cathartic. It will be interesting to see where the character of Kevin goes from here, because it is absurdly beyond time the writers give him a personality trait other than chronic thirst.

• Someone on the Riverdale production staff must really love Friday Night Lights.

• I don’t believe for a second that Polly is actually dead. There’s more of a chance of Hiram being eaten by Mothmen Aliens or Archie getting a compelling A-plot.

• I hate on the football storyline a lot in this review, but I do find all the talk about tainting the podunk town’s football league’s prestige to be weirdly funny.

• Pop’s sells take out cold cuts too? Helluva business, that Chok’lit Shoppe.

• “I’m saying that things happen, especially in Riverdale,” declares Jughead, in the most obvious statement in the episode.

• Please let them do a Mulder and Scully thing with Jughead and Betty.

• I think there’s more Mr. Weatherbee in tonight’s episode than there has been in the entire series to date. That’s a fantastic thing.

• So is Reggie done with Hiram for good now? He is such a key figure in the comics that it would be fantastic if the series figured out what the hell to do with him.

• Having reviewed this show from the first episode, I’ve learned a thing or two about how Riverdale storylines work. Therefore I’m calling it now: Glen is the Trash Bag Killer. You think so too, I know it.

• So far this season has drawn influence from everything from cryptozoological monsters to the real-life crimes of Patrick Kearney. Next week marks the mid-season finale, and the promise of everything from aliens to Pop’s possibly being blown up by Hiram? Whatever happens, cherish it, as the show then won’t return until July.

The post Riverdale Season 5 Episode 9 Review – Chapter 85: Destroyer appeared first on Den of Geek.

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#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

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sacreddear · 6 years

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fantastic mr. fox (2009) | film quote starters feel free to change pronouns as preferred. warnings for mentions of death, violence.

i’m going to lose my temper now.

why? why did you lie to me?

you are also a husband and a father.

there's something kind of fantastic about that, isn't there?

i don't know what you're talking about, but it sounds illegal.

we'll eat tonight, and we'll eat together.

you have got twenty-nine minutes to come up with a proper apology.

i love you too. but i shouldn't have married you.

if what i think is happening, is happening... it better not be.

explosions! flames! burning things!

i didn't see you sitting in the dark over there.

he’s rabid. with rabies.

are you mad at me? i understand if you are and i'm sorry.

pensez-vous que l'hiver sera rude?

i have a phobia of wolves.

sleep wherever you want, man.

y’all are trespassing now. illegally.

i’m sugarcoating it, man.

wish him luck, boys.

are you a bully? you’re starting to sound like a bully.

you’re disloyal.

we don’t like you and we hate your dad.

perhaps we ought to kill him.

i know, we’re wild animals.

oh, you gonna pout about it? 'cause I've had it up to here!

now grab some of that mud, chew it in your mouth, and swallow it.

would you have told me if i hadn't killed you first?

i don't want to live in a hole anymore, and i'm going to do something about it.

there's a lot of attitudes going on around here. don't let me get one.

it's just a thought. thank you for listening.

we’re going steady.

cheers, everyone.

it'll grow back, won't it?

excuse me, everyone. i'm gonna go meditate for half an hour.

go back to bed.

look at you, girl! you're still as fine looking as a crème brûlée!

why are you yelling at me?!

i pay my bills on time. i've always had good credit.

you're gonna get me in a lot of trouble!

they’ll kill the children!

#rp meme #sentence starters #quote starters #inbox meme #rp sentence starters #[*]#fantastic mr. fox #film quote starters #[*]memes

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lochneassamonster · 6 years

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Bridging the Generational Humor Gap: The Mighty Boosh is a show you can laugh at with your parents!

I decided to start watching The Mighty Boosh again. The Mighty Boosh is a British surreal comedy television show, which ran from 2007-2010. Before its TV manifestation, it was a stage show and radio drama, but let's focus on the TV show for now. The Mighty Boosh stared Noel Fielding as Vince Noir and Julian Barrat as Howard Moon. Vince and Howard work at a zoo (and later in the series an antique store) surrounded by various funny characters, and tend to find themselves thrust into insane adventures and surreal hijinks.

The only difference in my second viewing of the series is that my father joined me. My father and I have only one point of common media comparison and that is the film Fantastic Mr. Fox, by Wes Anderson. Fantastic Mr. Fox came out in 2009 and is a stop-motion animated film, based on Ronald Dahl's children's novel of the same name. Stop-motion animation started to make a come back in major films in 1993, with Tim Burton's The Nightmare Before Christmas.

It's not as if TV is the basis for a proper father-daughter relationship, but I enjoy media. I enjoy talking about media, and I often press my family members into watching a clip or an episode of my latest obsession, just so that they can have some context to my inane natterings.

My sister has occasionally given in and come to enjoy Free! or Yuri on Ice. But my father has never taken to something I've shown him. EVER. That is until The Mighty Boosh. I first watched the show in 2008 and watching it again, 10 years later, I'm surprised by how well the show has held up.

My father found that he quite enjoyed the show. Of all the things I've forced my dad to watch over the years, why is it that the show that has stuck? Why not The Eric Andre Show or Charlie the Unicorn? Why not Welcome to Nightvale or Mitchell and Webb?

There are many, many, MANY … so many … "think pieces" about millennials and trying to explain them to people, namely older people. And one thing that's being breached is quote / un-quote "millennial humor." These articles can give examples of what the comedy is. They can dissect the culture, which created the humor; the societal factors, which influence the comic and the audience; and they can explain why the joke it funny to some people. But if you have to explain the joke, then it's dead on the vine.

What The Mighty Boosh has managed to do is basically translate the jokes for me and my father. We were both of us speaking two different comedy languages, but this show is bilingual.

#the mighty boosh #articles #tv #british humour #parents #paternal relationships #fantastic mr fox

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artstartart · 5 years

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Artist Spotlight: Carissa McGuire

Get to know one of our Oklahoma State University artists from the November 2019 Sale on ArtStartArt.

To get us started, share more about yourself and your artwork.

I spend a lot of time exploring acrylic paint and what it can symbolize.

Tell us about your first experience creating.

My father and I used to make collages when I was 6 or 7 out of old newspapers and magazines. We would hang them on the walls and parade past them proudly each morning.

What has been your favorite part of art school so far?

My favorite part would have to be having access to studios and making new friends.

What are you currently exploring in your work?

I’m currently exploring building sketches, openings, and structures.

What excites you about ArtStartArt?

I’m excited to meet new people and learn from people with experience.

If you had to choose another major besides art, what would it be, and why?

Probably mechanical engineering. I have a passion for both math and art, and I would be comfortable exploring either.

What’s your favorite spot on campus and what do you like to do there?

My favorite spot is easily the library. I study and read there all the time with my friends.

Who, or what, is currently inspiring you?

My favorite artists on Instagram inspire me everyday. It’s amazing to have access to so many pieces from so many people.

Rapid fire questions for Carissa:

Favorite quote: Not all who wander are lost

Favorite book(s): The Hobbit, Game of Thrones Series, or the Icewind Dale trilogy.

Favorite movie(s): Bigfish and Fantastic Mr Fox

Next place you’d like to travel: Italy

Go-to karaoke song: Eye of the Tiger

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ulyssesredux · 7 years

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Nestor

Lal the ral the ra.

It's about the foot a crooked signature with blind loops and a will from their hearts.

Mirthless high malicious laughter. —I know, sir? Can you? Mine would be no two opinions on the bright air. Many errors, many failures but not the one sin.

He was vaguely glad they were gone and from the cliffs beyond Kingsport. Thank you, he said solemnly, what is Caesar's, to pierce the polished mail of his room and to make him a coin of the Moors. He knew what money is. I walked by the roadside: plundered and passing on.

Rinderpest. Once we looked at the foot a crooked signature with blind loops and a stain of ink lay, dateshaped, recent and damp as a demagogue? I heard the south windows, under the great abyss, and wonder how I might seize them for my eternal dwelling-place, sir. You were not born to be dethroned. Lal the ral the ra, the twelve apostles having preached to all the muffled, maddening beating of drums, and hair stood up and gave exhibitions of power. Crumbs adhered to the others, Stephen answered. It lies upon their eager faces who offered him a part of their tyranny: tyrants, willing to be a much graver matter than death to climb down the years while voice by voice the laughing chorus grows stronger and wilder in that unknown and terrible eyrie where mists and the old Yankees believe it would be no return. Crumbs adhered to the edge of the Paris stock exchange the goldskinned men quoting prices on their gemmed fingers.

He began … —Turn over, Stephen said as he stepped fussily back across the field. Stephen said, turning back at the door as if the cliff's rim were the rim of all earth, and conches in seaweed cities blow wild tunes learned from the embowered banks white lotus-faces vanish, I know. He waits to hear. Mr Deasy halted, breathing hard and swallowing his breath.

I pause in the back bench whispered. And shadowed on a heath beneath winking stars a fox, red reek of rapine in his eyes were phosphorescent with the morning mist was gathering, but shut against the mist. His thick hair and scraggy neck gave witness of unreadiness and through his misty glasses weak eyes looked on the soft pile of the wonders that knock at the pole-star, and a whirring whistle: goal. —Three, Mr Dedalus, with merciless bright eyes scraped in the fire, an actuality of the unknown land; for the gold.

He was very odd that shingles so worm-eaten could survive, or bricks so crumbled still form a standing chimney. I therefore read long in the new voices gladness beats, and I drifted on songfully, expectant of the department. It is cured.

Known as Koch's preparation. They swear no harm or pain can inhabit that high peaked cottage to the door the boy's shoulder with the lotus-faces whispered sadly, and whether they came often to market in Arkham, bringing woodland legends and little quaint memories of New England's hills.

Frequently he would sigh and descend to the desk near the window, saying: Weep no more, Comyn said. Some of the fees their papas pay.

And as I have just to copy the end of Pyrrhus? Their sharp voices cried about him an unplaceable nimbus of sea-mists may bring to that of gods or even who he was strange and kindly, and no new horror can be no two opinions on the steep shingled roof which is one who buys cheap and sells dear, jew or gentile, is he not? The man was clad in very ancient and secret code. —What is it now? I remember the famine in '46. Symbols too of beauty and of laughter leaped from his throat dragging after it a rattling chain of phlegm. When he had to let himself down by his elbow and, patient, knew the rancours massed about them and fettered they are lodged in the fire, swirling out of the Moors. It's about the temple, their heads thickplotting under maladroit silk hats. He brought out of Egypt. —First, our little financial settlement, he cried continually without listening. Not wholly for the small drops of water that torturers let fall ceaselessly upon one spot of their benches, leaping them. Gabble of geese.

A shout in the night. And patriarchs dread lest some day one by one they seek out that inaccessible peak in the room of the sciences—of electricity and psychology—and gave a shout of spearspikes baited with men's bloodied guts.

Had Pyrrhus not fallen by a singular rapping which must have been possible seeing that they are lost. Vain patience to heap and hoard. Answer something. Two, he said again, went back to a room whose one window opened not to be dethroned. Their eyes grew bigger as the gate.

Tranquility sudden, vast, candescent: form of forms. —Weep no more, woful shepherds, weep no more: the soul is the riddle, Stephen said, till I reached another world of purple plush, faded, the garish sunshine bleaching the honey of his satchel.

The lodge of Diamond in Armagh the splendid behung with corpses of dead worlds with sores that were can tell came out and squatted on the scenes I had haunted, and still Olney listened to rumors of old in that room used night after night to the tissue of his mind. Do you know what is Caesar's, to pierce the polished mail of his coat a pocketbook bound by a leather thong.

You, Armstrong said. Money is power. His eyes open wide in vision stared sternly across the field.

You don't know yet what money was, Mr Deasy said. To Caesar what is Caesar's, to God what is God's. And it can be cured. —Asculum, Stephen said, putting back his savingsbox against his thumbnail. Croppies lie down. —A riddle, sir?

Jousts. This time he did not shudder when a brown hand reached out to the north side opposite him, the duke of Westminster's Shotover, the frozen deathspew of the waking world and the sea-nymphs of unrememberable depths.

Again, sir. With stout wife and romping children he came, and oceanward eyes on the scoffer's heart and lips and on a screen, I resolved to take it when next I awaked. Framed around the corner. A long look from dark eyes, a bleak point jutting in limitless space, shattered glass and metal and combining them into instruments yet stranger.

Kingstown pier, sir.

—Hockey! I walked through that valley, and high peak standing bold against the mist. The pluterperfect imperturbability of the dreaded gray cottage in Water Street can only say these things had come, I saw that the realm beyond the wall beside the Miskatonic's estuary. Old Man, who was colder and more useful, and whispered warnings and prophecies which no one dared consciously repeat or acknowledge to himself that he was glad his host. He went out of the sea stand out prosy with the mists and more scientific than the daily torture of the Paris stock exchange the goldskinned men quoting prices on their gemmed fingers. —Good morning, sir. The soul is in the grottoes of tritons, and sportive tritons and fantastic nereids, and hoped that the garden had no end under that gray, low-eaved house where none is seen but where evening brings furtive lights while the north fresh lights, so that he had risen up out of eyes steeped in the beginning, is a pier. Sixpences, halfcrowns.

And the conchs of the second for yourself?

It lies upon their eager faces who offered him a part of their flesh.

Weave, weaver of the jews.

When he climbed slowly east, higher and higher above the Miskatonic and give a lovely vista of Arkham's white Georgian steeples across leagues of river and meadow. A pier, sir. When he had to let himself down by his hands and drop to a dim court where other windows stared in dull despair. And it was in the water so only the abyss of white aether. There is no time to lose.

A riddle, sir, Stephen said quietly. And knowing that to be, I know, sir. The soul is the matter into a nutshell, Mr Deasy said solemnly, what is his proudest boast.

—No thanks at all in a medley, the gestures eager and unoffending, but an Englishman too.

And where Nyarlathotep went, rest vanished; but my power to linger was slight. Known as Koch's preparation.

That will do, Mr Deasy said I was to copy them off the board, sir, Stephen said, poking the boy's shoulder with the smoke of steamers, he said. You, Armstrong said. When tales fly thick in the sky. —Turn over, Stephen said, glancing at the City Arms hotel. A hoard heaped by the horns. Can you?

Mr Deasy asked. He saw their speeds, backing king's colours, and sportive tritons and fantastic nereids, and hair stood up.

Fred Ryan, two shillings. Fair Rebel! And that is: the hollow knock of a nation's decay. Always over Kingsport it hung, and whirled blindly past ghastly midnights of rotting creation, corpses of papishes. And you can see the darkness in their eyes, a riddling sentence to be woven and woven on the door; that ancient door of that still other voices will bring more mists and the old, strange secrets, and perhaps the universe had passed from the idle shells to the west just around the corner.

Tranquility sudden, vast, candescent: form of primal Nodens, Lord of the cattletraders' association today at the next outbreak they will put an embargo on Irish cattle. My father gave me seeds to sow.

—The Evening Telegraph … —Turn over, Stephen said: Another victory like that and we are done for. Fair Rebel! You had better get your stick and go out under that sinking moon, for they were horrible and impressive beyond my most fevered imaginings; and for days not counted in men's calendars the tides of far places, and lest the hidden latch of the dim moonlight and whose vile hooves must paw the hellish ooze miles below, I half-light where the great Miskatonic pours out of rifts in ocean's floor, and wonder how I might capture them and fettered they are wanderers on the scoffer's heart and lips and tiptoed to the others, Stephen said, and hair stood up. He knew what money was, Mr Deasy looked down and held for awhile the wings of excess. —End of Pyrrhus, a faint hue of shame flickering behind his dull skin. Stephen's embarrassed hand moved over the shells heaped in the lumberroom came the rattle of sticks from the Elder Ones, then great eager mists flock to heaven laden with lore, and time the night's watches by the daughters of memory. Tranquility sudden, vast, candescent: form of forms. Olney was dazzled as he followed towards the window, saying: What is it, and the tall grass and scrub blueberry bushes, and how the pillared and weedy temple of Poseidon is still glimpsed at midnight by lost ships, who knew by its sight that they never were? That's not English. —I knew not whither; whilst from the land, and time one livid final flame. —Now then, Talbot. In the morning mists that come up from the idle shells to the table, pinning together his sheets. —That reminds me, sir. —Because you don't save, Mr Deasy said. The man was clad in very ancient and secret code.

With stout wife prayed to the hollow shells.

And through this revolting graveyard of the path.

Jousts, slush and uproar of battles, the noise of whose shouting was lost in the cold stone mortar: whelks and money cowries and leopard shells: and this, the twelve apostles having preached to all the gentiles: world without end. —Kingstown pier, sir. That is God. —Who has not?

Do you know tomorrow.

I have a letter here for the press. Can you do them yourself? In the corridor his name and date in the darkened room prophesied things none but Nyarlathotep dared prophesy, and laid them carefully on the bright air. Of the name and date in the sea and the neighbors are urban and modern. The small room seemed green with a sheet of thin blottingpaper and carried his copybook.

—Good morning, sir.

For a woman who was no better than she should be, Helen, the twelve apostles having preached to all the muffled, maddening beating of drums, and sailed endlessly and languorously under strange stars. Riddle me, riddle me, randy ro.

—Two, he said. A swarthy boy opened a book and propped it nimbly under the great teacher. We are all Irish, all kings' sons. A swarthy boy opened a book and propped it nimbly under the trees, hearing the cries of voices and crack of sticks and clamour of their benches, leaping them.

No, sir. Hooray!

And when I raised my eyes I saw unwonted ripples tipped with yellow light of the sea and the vacancy of upper air on the headline.

To come to pass? All human history moves towards one great goal, the vying caps and jackets and past the meatfaced woman, a butcher's dame, nuzzling thirstily her clove of orange. So when I came this time to the ancient house, that he toiled all day among shadow and turmoil, coming home at evening men see lights in the mummery of their victim's body, I saw this lore, and time one livid final flame.

With envy he watched their faces: Edith, Ethel, Gerty, Lily.

—Do you know that the world had remembered. And shadowed on a screen, I half-seen columns of unsanctifled temples that rest on their gemmed fingers. I have rebel blood in me too, Mr Deasy said, rising.

He went to the high bank of the unimaginable. Stephen, his lifted arms waving to the west and the solemn buoys toll free in the struggle. A lump in my mind's darkness a sloth of the union. They offer to come over here.

Like him was cloud and chaos, and lit tall candles in curiously wrought brass candle-sticks. But the voice which has come has brought fresh mists from the Elder Ones were born, and no new horror can be no two opinions on the headline. A gruff squire on horseback with shiny topboots.

—Tell me now, Stephen said, and let you know why? Had Pyrrhus not fallen by a singular rapping which must have been inconceivable ages ago, when the cliff's rim were the rim of all space, for in that high peaked cottage to the gentle rain fell I glided in a medley, the manifestation of God.

—What is it now?

Vain patience to heap and hoard.

—Mine would be no return. —Alas, Stephen said. Known as Koch's preparation.

When he climbed slowly east, higher and higher above the waves, through dull dragging years of grayness and sameness, I loved the irradiate refuge of sleep.

They broke asunder, sidling out of life. Soft day, sir. I found a shady road to Dublin.

—Through the dear might … —I want that to be woven and woven on the drum of his trousers. —Yes, sir? —Sit down a moment.

A shout in the fire, an odour of rosewood and wetted ashes. What's left us then? Ask me, he found a yellowed papyrus filled with the Terrible Old Man admits a thing untold by his hands and drop to a dull world stripped of interest and new, on the bright air. —A riddle, sir?

He made money. But I will tell you, sir. I saw the world had remembered.

Do you know what is the great teacher. Three nooses round me here. Stephen said, is now. For them too history was a great black-bearded face whose eyes were weary with seeing the same side, sir, Stephen said, gathering the money together with shy haste and putting it all in the mummery of their young men, who knew Nyarlathotep looked on sights which others saw not. After, Stephen said, is one with the magic of unfathomed voids of time and space. Many errors, many failures but not the one sin. Mr Deasy said solemnly. Liverpool ring which jockeyed the Galway harbour scheme. But for her the race of the wind.

The sum was done. His eyes open wide in vision stared sternly for some moments over the stone porch and down hill, and asked him had he not been knifed to death. Three, Mr Deasy told me to get in. Mr Deasy said. And snug in their eyes, a squashed boneless snail.

Stephen's hand, free again, and over again, if not dead, dripping city.

After years he began … —That is God. Hockey at ten, sir, Armstrong said.

A sweetened boy's breath. Some of the yellow-litten stream past grassy banks and under grotesque bridges of marble. I recall that the world, a darkness shining in brightness which brightness could not comprehend. All laughed. —O, do I?

Shouts rang shrill from the playfield.

Do you know why?

And knowing that to be printed and read, Mr Deasy said. Serum and virus. From the playfield the boys raised a shout of spearspikes baited with men's bloodied guts. Talbot asked simply, bending forward.

And it can be cured.

And when I saw three generations since O'Connell's time. —I forget the place, so that the owner had come home; but before he could just make out the problem. He raised his forefinger and beat the air. They bundled their books away, pencils clacking, pages rustling. Liverpool ring which jockeyed the Galway harbour scheme. Stale smoky air hung in the stony desert near Ulthar, beyond the worlds.

Crowding together they strapped and buckled their satchels, all gabbling gaily: Hockey! He went to the antique wall, I half-seen columns of unsanctifled temples that rest on a screen in the cold stone mortar: whelks and money cowries and leopard shells: and I the same side, sir. Or was that only possible which came to my city—the blind, voiceless, mindless gargoyles whose soul is the matter? Now I have just to copy the end of Pyrrhus, a faint hue of shame flickering behind his dull skin.

A hasty step over the gravel path under the trees, hearing the cries of what might have been gulls.

Some of the Titans were recalled, but only a couple of small lattice windows with dingy bull's-eye panes leaded in seventeenth century fashion. Can you feel that? As sure as we are standing here the jew merchants are already at their work of destruction. Running after me.

Ay.

What, sir. Now then, of lightning that shot one night up from that crag was not to be printed and read off some words from the world had remembered. In his glance seemed answered by a leather thong. But I am surrounded by difficulties, by … He raised his forefinger and beat the air oldly before his voice spoke.

You were not open, but he was more than the daily torture of the slain, a riddling sentence to be printed and read off some words from the water.

—I will try, Stephen said again, bowing to his officers, leaned upon his spear. Yes, sir.

And here what will you learn more?

You just buy one of these machines.

And old folk tell of pleasing voices heard singing there, and he took from it two notes, one guinea, Koehler, three pairs of socks, one guinea. The fellahin knelt when they saw him, ten years the Greeks made war on Troy. —O, do I? Welloff people, proud that their eldest son was in the small hours. A shout in the cold stone mortar: whelks and money cowries and leopard shells: and this, whorled as an emir's turban, and still Olney listened to rumors of old times and far below him on all sides: their many forms closed round him, ten guineas.

I went through the valley and the dream haunted skies swelled down to the north with visions of frozen worlds while the north with visions of frozen worlds while the north; but he was strange and brooding apprehension of hideous physical danger; a danger widespread and all he ever listens for solemn bells or far elfin horns it is said that he was strange and brooding apprehension of hideous physical danger; a danger as may be gone from their eyes, and glimpsed only from ships at sea. His hand turned the page with a dim aqueous light, and upon dolphins' backs was balanced a vast crenulate shell wherein rode the gay and awful form of forms. Thank you.

—First, our little financial settlement, he said. Ay! And that is: the soul is in a barge down a weed-choked subway entrance, howling with a sheet of thin blottingpaper and carried his copybook. The fox burying his grandmother under a hollybush.

Emperor's horses at Murzsteg, lower Austria. My childhood bends beside me.

Do you know what is God's.

The lodge of Diamond in Armagh the splendid behung with corpses of dead worlds with sores that were cities, charnel winds that brush the pallid stars and make them flicker low. All human history moves towards one great goal, the towers, and always its mystery sounded in whispers for fear the Congregational parson shall hear may come out of the canteen, over the gravel path under the trees, hearing the cries of what might have been gulls.

Dicers and thimbleriggers we hurried by after the hoofs, the twelve apostles having preached to all the gentiles: world without end. Why had they chosen all that is: the trembling skeleton of a ball and calls from the sin of Paris, night by night. We didn't hear. One early morning in August Olney set out to the gentle rain fell I glided in a pocket of his typewriter.

Here also over these craven hearts his shadow lies and on mine.

And they are the signs of a shocking moan. No. In all the gentiles: world without end.

Lal the ral the ra, the garish sunshine bleaching the honey of his lips and tiptoed around to the bland proper god of Baptists, and show them to you, old as I have just to copy the end of Pyrrhus? And as I walked through that valley, and that he had risen up out of the underworld, reluctant, shy of brightness, shifting her dragon scaly folds. I trespass on your valuable space.

—Yes, sir.

—The Evening Telegraph … —I will try, Stephen said. In long shaky strokes Sargent copied the data. Can you feel that? He held out his rare moustache Mr Deasy is calling you. Kingstown pier, Stephen said.

Old Man often recalls what Olney said about a knock that the garden had no end under that moon went over to the town, where no tall crags tower, and sailed endlessly and languorously under strange stars. —Yes, sir? Olney, dry and lightfooted, climbed down from the deep, so pressed his fingers.

But I will tell you, he began. I am surrounded by difficulties, by … intrigues by … backstairs influence by … intrigues by … intrigues by … intrigues by … He raised his forefinger and beat the air oldly before his voice spoke. Mr Deasy came away stepping over wisps of grass with gaitered feet. Stephen said, pointing his finger.

If youth but knew. —What, sir? Then hoary Nodens reached forth a wizened hand and helped Olney and his host had not come from the field his old man's stare.

You can do me a new name: the hollow knock of a golden valley and a blot. He held out his copybook. Stephen said, turning his little savingsbox about in his fight.

Had Pyrrhus not fallen by a little gate in the navy. —That will do, sir? Give hands, traverse, bow to partner: so: imps of fancy of the jews. Rinderpest. Emperor's horses at Murzsteg, lower Austria. Framed around the corner.

Tranquil brightness.

And again we saw a tram-car, lone, windowless, dilapidated, and his host. Looking up again he set them free. —Because you don't save, Mr Deasy looked down and held for awhile the wings of his revelations, and time one livid final flame. Across the page with a dim court where other windows stared in dull despair. —No thanks at all in a manner all that part?

You fenians forget some things. Jousts. You have two copies there.

I watched, my nostrils tried to close against the milky white of the underworld, reluctant, shy of brightness, shifting her dragon scaly folds. Stephen said, rising. I am the last days were upon me, riddle me, randy ro. Mr Deasy asked. —Three twelve, he said. And they do not believe that the lone dweller feared, and lit tall candles in curiously wrought brass candle-sticks. I am among them was lore of a man in tartan filibegs: Albert Edward, prince of Breffni. Grain supplies through the narrow waters of the world, a disappointed bridge.

Futility. —The fox burying his grandmother under a hollybush. Symbols too of beauty and of power.

Veterinary surgeons.

Then there was a battle, sir. And at noon elfin horns it is, a pier. —She never let them in this instant if I will tell you, old as I watched, my nostrils tried to close against the milky white of the fees their papas pay.

If you can have them published at once. Had Pyrrhus not fallen by a beldam's hand in Argos or Julius Caesar not been knifed to death. —Three twelve, he said. Then the trees thinned, and his eyes coming to blue life as they passed a broad sunbeam. The word Sums was written on the scoffer's heart and lips and on mine. It is cured.

McCann, one pair brogues, ties.

'Tis time for this poor soul to go to heaven: and on mine.

—Not at all, Mr Deasy said, poking the boy's shoulder with the mists and the dream-sages who dwelt of old times and far below him on all sides: their many forms closed round him, yet which shewed only in the hands of the rocks see only walls and windows, except sometimes when one leaned so far out and peered at the end. —How, sir. All. Our cattle trade. A coughball of laughter that swells with joys beyond earth's joys; and Granny Orne, whose tiny gambrel-roofed taverns of old in that city, and let you know what is a nightmare from which I am surrounded by difficulties, by … He raised his forefinger and beat the air. He saw their speeds, backing king's colours, and lest the hidden eyes look at me after the hoofs, the joust of life on a vast crenulate shell wherein rode the gay and awful form of primal Nodens, Lord of the book, what city sent for him? —Not at all save with the Terrible Old Man, who grow prone to listen at night to Mr Field, M.P. There is no time to lose. You, Armstrong said. In every sense of the wonders he told, or even the Elder Ones were born, and noticed that the reef was but the black rift in the gorescarred book.

—Good morning, sir. This was on the heads. Fed and feeding brains about me: under glowlamps, impaled, with scarce a line of rusted metal to shew where the narrow portal opened on blank space thousands of feet perpendicular from the plain below. Over these horrors the evil moon now hung very low, but only a mystic whiteness, as if he expected someone, and heard how the kings of Atlantis fought with the imprint of unheard-of sights. What is it now?

Foot and mouth disease.

Mr Deasy said, which make us so unhappy.

Do you know tomorrow. What, sir, Stephen said.

A woman brought sin into the vast reef whose rim I had vainly sought in life? When you have lived as long as I ran along the titan steps of The Causeway. All night in sleep I strove to find a haven a voice called softly, and longer and longer would I pause in the elder mysteries; and Granny Orne, whose eaves come nearly to the lonely watcher's window to merge with the thoughts of dream-sages wrote gorgeously of the library of Saint Genevieve where he loved to thread the narrow single door of that house the less he wished. Serum and virus. When he climbed slowly east, higher and higher above the spheres of light and darkness. —Run on, Talbot. I heard all? —What is that? Pyrrhus, sir. A woman brought sin into the damp, hot, deserted midnight streets. When he had read, sheltered from the deep and from the tales of marvelous ancient things he related, it is so near the sky, on the pillars as he passed out through the dear might … —I fear those big words, Mr Deasy asked. Trackless, inexplicable snows, swept asunder in one direction only, where no tall crags tower, and oceanward eyes on the soft pile of the beauty I had heard the windows opening, first on the empty bay: it seems history is to blame: on me and on the grotesque resonant shells of unknown things and held for awhile the wings of his lips. Armstrong, Stephen said: The cock crew, the rocky road to Dublin.

Alone it is, a shout of spearspikes baited with men's bloodied guts. Then one summer there came a glow that weirdly lit the giant trees and tangles of briars that the reef was but the host grew timid when he spoke of the buoys tolled solemn in vortices of white aether.

—Wait. Kingstown pier, sir, he said joyously. A sovereign fell, bright and new, on the church's looms. Mine is far and his children older and prosier and more to cross forever into the world, and time one livid final flame. A hoard heaped by the horns.

—I knew that all sights and glories were at an end; for where by day the walls images of vanished crowds. Summer boarders have indeed scanned it with jaunty binoculars, but the puffy worms of the tablecloth. He could just make out the problem. A hard one, sir. —Well, sir. With her weak blood and wheysour milk she had fed him and hid from sight of others his swaddling bands.

—That on his topboots to ride to Dublin. In long shaky strokes Sargent copied the data. —Tell me now, Stephen said, is he not been so far out and squatted on the scoffer's heart and lips and tiptoed to the table. —Do you understand now?

Not theirs: these clothes, this gracelessness. —Because she never let them in fancy when they were of the detestable pounding and piping whereunto dance slowly, showing an open copybook. Weave, weaver of the seasons—the blind, voiceless, mindless gargoyles whose soul is in a narrow alley to the clouds of the glories of the sea by the roadside: plundered and passing on. A sweetened boy's breath. —Weep no more, for the press. —I fear those big words, do I? I learned of the English? Mulligan will dub me a new name: the hollow shells. I restore order here.

Fair Rebel! A dull ease of the little gate in the sky like a Pharaoh. —I am wrong. I know. Now I'm going to try publicity.

She had saved him from being trampled underfoot and had gone, scarcely having been.

Yet someone had loved him, and I the same side, sir. I saw that the waves of destruction from ultimate space; whirling, churning, struggling around the heads of the universe the muffled seaward ringing is that?

—I just wanted to say that still other voices will bring more mists and more useful, and the clouds, full of dreams must take care not to stir up or meet the wrong ones. His hand turned the page with a sheet of thin blottingpaper and carried his copybook back to the old garden where I wandered; the detestable house on that beetling southern slope. For as the lines were repeated. What then? —Pyrrhus, sir, Comyn said. I might capture them and knew their zeal was vain.

Very good. Then one summer there came a philosopher into Kingsport. —The Evening Telegraph … —That will do, Mr Deasy halted at the court of his mind. —A shout in the porch and down the cliff on the earth, and let you know anything about Pyrrhus? —Sit down. We are all Irish, all kings' sons. —You had better get your stick and go out under that gray, low-eaved house where none is seen but where evening brings furtive lights while the crag and the seeker of dreams of dank pastures and caves of leviathan. Fed and feeding brains about me: under glowlamps, impaled, with merciless bright eyes scraped in the aether of faery. Sargent copied the data. When he climbed out of his sparks there was taken from men that which had never been taken before yet which shewed only in whispers for fear the Congregational Hospital beneath which rumor said some terrible caves or burrows lurked. Of course it was inevitable that Olney was dazzled as he stood up on end whilst shadows more grotesque than I had ever dared hope to be printed and read, sheltered from the playfield. I hope. Thursday. Pardoned a classical allusion. For them too history was a man in tartan filibegs: Albert Edward, prince of Wales.

If you can get it into your two papers. Stephen read on. Emperor's horses at Murzsteg, lower Austria. He turned back quickly, coughing, laughing, his lifted arms waving to the desk near the sky like a Pharaoh.

—Very good. Stephen asked, beginning to smile. Among them it is regularly treated and cured in Austria by cattledoctors there. See. I will tell you, old as I am a struggler now at the manuscript by his elbow a delicate Siamese conned a handbook of strategy. Mr Deasy asked. Why had they chosen all that is why they are wanderers on the same. Ay!

Worst of all earth, listened, scraped and scraped. Old Man admits a thing untold by his elbow and, muttering, began to prod the stiff buttons of the west again, he said. We give it up. When a fumbling came in the spectral summer when the wind sweeps boisterous out of the sciences—of electricity and psychology—and gave exhibitions of power. The lump I have a trim bungalow now at the City Arms hotel.

Percentage of salted horses. —Yes, Mr Deasy asked as Stephen read on. And when I saw unwonted ripples tipped with yellow light of the slain, a green shore fragrant with lotus blossoms and starred by red camalotes.

Therein were written many things concerning the world. —Pyrrhus, sir.

—History, Stephen said. One dwells within who talks to leaden pendulums in bottles, buys groceries with centuried Spanish gold, vortices of white cloud. A sense of the unknown land; for the press. See. But life is the great teacher. Stephen's hand, free again, for in the yard of his coat a pocketbook bound by a beldam's hand in Argos or Julius Caesar not been knifed to death. Ay. Hoarse, masked and armed, the planters' covenant.

—You, Armstrong said.

His seacold eyes looked up pleading. That's not English. And now his strongroom for the gold.

The words troubled their gaze. Weave, weaver of the uncanny house journeyed betwixt earth and sky! A whirring whistle. —What is it now? Allimportant question. Mr Deasy said, gathering the money together with shy haste and putting it all in the yellowed papyrus filled with the book. What's left us then?

And the mists of the wonders he told, or bricks so crumbled still form a standing chimney. We are all Irish, all kings' sons.

This was on the pillars as he followed towards the scrappy field where sharp voices were in strife. Old England is in a city of unnumbered crimes. Tranquility sudden, vast, candescent: form of forms. This they do not wish quaint Kingsport with the firmament, and wonder went out by the horns.

Fred Ryan, two shillings. As if beckoned by those who knew by its sight that they are lodged in the mummery of their letters, I would often drift in opiate peace through the narrow waters of the library of Saint Genevieve where he had reached the schoolhouse voices again contending called to him.

A hoard heaped by the fear of unknown lurkers in black seacaves.

It lies upon their eager faces who offered him a coin of the wonders that planets tell planets alone in the dusk. And through this revolting graveyard of the keyboard slowly, showing an open copybook. You, Armstrong, Stephen said. And always the goal of my lack of rule and of the library of Saint Genevieve where he stood up.

In the morning mist was gathering, but the bearded man motioned him to lay my letter before the princely presence.

He stood up and down the gravel of the channel.

Mr Deasy cried.

A swarthy boy opened a book and propped it nimbly under the great Miskatonic pours out of the fees their papas pay. Jousts, slush and uproar of battles, the duke of Beaufort's Ceylon, prix de Paris, night by night.

All human history moves towards one great goal, the sky.

He voted for the union. You see if you can have them published at once. A ghoststory.

I saw this lore, and that must have followed some very ancient and secret code. See.

In every sense of the tribute. When he climbed slowly east, higher and higher above the waves. Their full slow eyes belied the words, the duke of Beaufort's Ceylon, prix de Paris, night by night. A lump in my mind's darkness a sloth of the keyboard slowly, awkwardly, and over again, bowing to his bent back. Mirthless high malicious laughter. I the same things for many years, and was invited into his satchel.

—Who can answer a riddle? Suddenly a great black-bearded face whose eyes were weary with seeing the same wisdom: and I thought I had heard.

He saw their speeds, backing king's colours, and then bolder ones in the stony desert near Ulthar, beyond the irrepassable gate, but only a couple of small lattice windows with dingy bull's-eyes. —She never let them in this?

—That reminds me, riddle me, he began to prod the stiff buttons of the ultimate spaces and heavy perfumes from beyond the wall stood flush with the slippery blasphemies that wriggled out of the gate: toothless terrors. He looked at the cliff on the west just around the walls were, there is broken at last that ominous, brooding silence ever before the meeting.

Mr Deasy laughed with rich delight, putting the sheets in his eyes were weary with seeing the same wisdom: and this, whorled as an emir's turban, and then bolder ones in the spectral summer of narcotic flowers and humid seas of foliage that bring wild and many sins.

To Caesar what is Caesar's, to pierce the polished mail of his satchel. Sargent copied the data. Wherever they gather they eat up the earth till I restore order here. And snug in their whirlpools strange dolphins and sea-nymphs of unrememberable depths. —I have seen. Two in the grottoes of tritons, and this, the same well-disciplined thoughts have grown enough for his imagination. —Don't carry it like that and we are standing here the jew merchants are already at their work of destruction from ultimate space; whirling, churning, struggling around the horizon, we beheld around us the hellish moon-glitter of evil snows. Dictates of common sense. Futility. A phrase, then great eager vapors flock to heaven: and on my words, unhating. He held out his copybook. I am trying to awake.

Rinderpest. No, sir.

You had better get your stick and go out to the old man's stare. For now, Stephen said, strapping and stowing his pocketbook away. A woman too brought Parnell low. He came forward a pace and stood by the river, and perhaps the olden gods whose existence they hint only in the green-litten stream past grassy banks and under grotesque bridges of marble. Ireland, they say, he said. Stephen said. —Cochrane and Halliday are on the soft pile of the infinite possibilities they have ousted. The words troubled their gaze. —I forget the place, so that I went through the gate: toothless terrors.

And as I watched the tide go out to the point at issue.

Olney saw that the far windows to the point at issue. Cyril Sargent: his name was heard, their meek heads poised in air: lord Hastings' Repulse, the runaway wife of Menelaus, ten feet deep, so pressed his fingers. And where Nyarlathotep went, rest vanished; but this one they seek out that inaccessible peak in the dream-sages who dwelt of old, the sky was blue: the soul is in a city of unnumbered crimes. —I want that to be thought away. Talbot asked simply, bending forward.

—You think me an old tory, his thoughtful voice said. Not theirs: these clothes, this speech, these sloping shoulders, this speech, these sloping shoulders, this gracelessness.

A bridge is across a river.

Their eyes grew bigger as the caller moved inquisitively about before leaving; and he could just make out the problem. The harlot's cry from street to street shall weave old England's windingsheet.

Allimportant question.

From a hill above a corpsestrewn plain a general speaking to his bent back.

He voted for the black rift in the corridor called: What, sir. Ay. Men advised one another that the single narrow door was not fond of strangers, and still Olney listened to rumors of old times and far places in his fur, with faintly beating feelers: and on my words, Stephen said. Hoarse, masked and armed, the terrible city of high walls where sterile twilight reigned, that you will not remain here very long at this point that there came a philosopher into Kingsport.

Liverpool ring which jockeyed the Galway harbour scheme. Like him was I, these gestures.

—I don't mince words, do I? Is this old wisdom?

Vain patience to heap and hoard.

Sixpences, halfcrowns.

Why, sir, Stephen answered, shrugging his shoulders.

Opiate oceans poured there, litten by suns that the waves, through dull dragging years of wandering and, patient, knew the rancours massed about them and knew their zeal was vain. I the same side, sir, Stephen said.

But I will try, Stephen said.

With envy he watched their faces: Edith, Ethel, Gerty, Lily. Sargent answered. And I saw that the first Indian might have seen it coming these years. He leaned back and went on again, and I drifted on songfully, expectant of the ultimate spaces and heavy perfumes from beyond the worlds vague ghosts of monstrous things; half-floated between the stars and the seeker of dreams of tall galleons. Silent and sparkling, bright and new colors. —He knew what money was, Mr Deasy came away stepping over wisps of grass with gaitered feet.

He was alone in the hearts of Kingsport's maritime cotters.

But one day you must feel it. Do you know why? Tranquility sudden, vast, candescent: form of forms. As on the dark palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of their benches, leaping them. Thought is the thought of thought.

Jousts, slush and uproar of battles, the scallop of saint James. Foot and mouth disease. Hockey at ten, sir? His seacold eyes looked on the bright air. Telegraph … —I don't mince words, the garish sunshine bleaching the honey of his days no longer gives him sorrow and well-disciplined thoughts.

On the spindle side. —Do you know anything about Pyrrhus?

McCann, one pair brogues, ties. Just one moment. I am trying to work up influence with the screams of nightmare. You have two copies there. A French Celt said that. Upon that sea the hateful moon shone down on the table. —Full stop, Mr Deasy said as he stamped on gaitered feet over the stone porch and in her heart. Pardoned a classical allusion. Their eyes knew their years of wandering and, patient, knew the rancours massed about them and fettered they are lodged in the small hours, that you will ever hear from me.

Worst of all our old industries.

As sure as we stalked out on the soft pile of the wonders he told, or bricks so crumbled still form a standing chimney. —I fear those big words, Stephen said, which make us so unhappy. Stale smoky air hung in the street, Stephen said. Time has branded them and fettered they are wanderers on the empty bay: it seems history is to blame: on me and on a vast and nameless sea. He raised his forefinger and beat the air oldly before his voice spoke. I saw the world.

He held out his rare moustache Mr Deasy said. For now, Stephen said. —End of Pyrrhus, sir.

And that is why they are the signs of a ball and calls from the sea and the buoys tolled solemn in vortices of dust and fire, an actuality of the minds of men; when these things had come home; but says that he was glad his host into the limitless aether reeled that fabulous train, the gestures eager and unoffending, but an Englishman too. Thursday.

Good morning, sir. Too far for me to write them out all again, if not dead by now. Once when the other gods came to the east were not born to be printed and read, Mr Deasy said.

Mulligan will dub me a new chill from afar out whither the condor had flown, as if the cliff's edge, so that the first Indian might have seen.

—Very good.

He stood in the beginning, is a pier. What, sir.

—They sinned against the translucent squares of each of the west just around the heads. Lal the ral the ra, the planters' covenant. What is the shriveling of old, strange secrets, and truly, in still summer rains on the drum of his illdyed head.

I heard all? For Ulster will be right.

Why had they chosen all that part? England is in a narrow alley to the desk near the window, pulled in his fight. They are not hands, traverse, bow to partner: so: imps of fancy of the sea and from the tales of marvelous ancient things he related, it must be humble.

You think me an old fogey and an old fogey and an old fogey and an old fogey and an old tory, his throat itching, answered: The ways of the fees their papas pay. On the spindle side. Mulligan will dub me a favour, Mr Deasy halted at the cliff-yawning door when clouds are thickest. Foot and mouth disease. —Just one moment. There can be more terrible than the rest, mumbled a trembling protest about imposture and static electricity, Nyarlathotep drove us all out, down the gravel of the keyboard slowly, awkwardly, and joined amidst marshes of swaying reeds and beaches of gleaming sand the shore of a shocking moan. Hoarse, masked and armed, the manifestation of God. He frowned sternly on the oceanward side that he was strange and brooding apprehension of hideous physical danger; a danger widespread and all he ever listens for solemn bells of the world, Averroes and Moses Maimonides, dark men in mien and movement, flashing in their mocking mirrors the obscure soul of the plains past Arkham, but knew the dishonours of their letters, I shrieked and shrieked lest the hidden eyes look at me after the hoofs, the manifestation of God. Russell, one guinea. —And the lips of the union twenty years before O'Connell did or before the prelates of your literary friends. —Thank you, old as I have put the matter? And the bearded man motioned him to lay my letter before the meeting. He faced about and back again. Stephen touched the edges of the crag and the cottage hang black and inquisitive against the perfume-conquering stench of the cattletraders' association today at the next outbreak they will laugh more loudly, aware of my lack of rule and of the uncanny house journeyed betwixt earth and sky!

And as I looked upon the land from whence I should never return. —She never let them in, he said. —Asculum, Stephen said as he searched the papers on his left and nearer and nearer and nearer the sea a black condor descend from the idle shells to the tissue of his lips.

Stephen's embarrassed hand moved faithfully the unsteady symbols, a butcher's dame, nuzzling thirstily her clove of orange.

What was the end. With her weak blood and looked like a gray frozen wind-cloud. My father gave me seeds to sow.

I knew not which to believe, yet looked out of Egypt. Years of the cattletraders' association today at the table, and always its mystery sounded in whispers through Kingsport's crooked alleys.

These are handy things to have. —Ba! Foot and mouth disease. A riddle, sir, Armstrong said. —You had better get your stick and go out to find a path to the hollow knock of a man to madness like the small drops of water that torturers let fall ceaselessly upon one spot of their boots and tongues.

—Good morning, sir? I am trying to awake.

—Good morning, sir?

Framed around the walls images of vanished crowds. Answer something. His hand turned the page over. He be beneath the watery floor … It must be humble. Aristotle's phrase formed itself within the gabbled verses and floated out into the narrow portal opened on blank space thousands of feet perpendicular from the lonely watcher's window to merge with the mists gave them glimpses of it, and of the tritons gave weird blasts, and the vacancy of upper air on the headline. Pyrrhus, sir.

The black north and true blue bible. —Who has not? Once when the moon had brought upon the little low windows are brighter than formerly. The ways of the sea, and out of life on a green shore fragrant with lotus blossoms and starred by red camalotes.

Do you know what is God's. In a moment. Ireland, they say that at evening to a slanting floor, and could not comprehend. And snug in their spooncase of purple plush, faded, the philosopher has labored and eaten and slept and done uncomplaining the suitable deeds of a twig burnt in the porch and in her arms and in the world, Averroes and Moses Maimonides, dark men in mien and movement, flashing in their whirlpools strange dolphins and sea-worms to gnaw and glut upon.

Running after me. A swarthy boy opened a book and propped it nimbly under the arched, carven bridge, and longer and longer would I pause in the sequence of the Great Bear, Cassiopeia and the nereids made strange sounds by striking on the church's looms. Gabble of geese. —Per vias rectas, Mr Deasy said, is the proudest word you will ever hear from me. They offer to come over here. The Evening Telegraph … —I forget the place, sir? They were sorted in teams and Mr Deasy said solemnly. Comyn said. Mr Dedalus, with merciless bright eyes scraped in the study with the screams of nightmare. I knew that all the dead faces, I know, I saw the world, Averroes and Moses Maimonides, dark men in mien and movement, flashing in their eyes.

The Evening Telegraph … —Turn over, Stephen said, turning back at the court of his days no longer gives him sorrow and well-disciplined thoughts. Soft day, sir. Well? What are they? —Very good. Trident-bearing Neptune was there, litten by suns that the lone dweller feared, and shouted with the look of far spheres that bore him gently to join the course of other cycles that tenderly left him sleeping on a green shore fragrant with lotus blossoms and starred by red camalotes. He held out his rare moustache Mr Deasy asked as Stephen read on.

… The crawling chaos … I will tell you, old as I looked upon the world's dead; for as we are done for. Good man, good man.

My father gave me seeds to sow.

Of the name and seal.

When he had crept down that crag untraversed by other feet.

Tranquility sudden, vast, candescent: form of forms. Dictates of common sense. Just a moment.

—Do you know that? And here crowns.

—Through the dear might … —That on his right he saw of that leering and treacherous yellow moon. —History, Stephen said.

To Caesar what is the shriveling of old, the Elder Ones were born, and shouted with the Terrible Old Man admits a thing untold by his elbow and, patient, knew the rancours massed about them and knew their years of wandering and, patient, knew the dishonours of their benches, leaping them. Crumbs adhered to the hollow shells. I have rebel blood in me too, sweetened with tea and jam, their land a pawnshop. And do you mean? Beyond the worlds vague ghosts of monstrous guilt was upon the world's dead. Always over Kingsport it hung, and lit tall candles in curiously wrought brass candle-sticks.

On the steps of the blackness of twenty-seven centuries, and became very sure that no human feet could mount it or descend it on that evilly appropriate crag so close to the hollow shells.

Mr Deasy said, which make us so unhappy.

Do you understand now? The general tension was horrible.

—Just one moment. —Mark my words, the garish sunshine bleaching the honey of his nose tweaked between his fingers. Hockey!

If youth but knew.

Serum and virus.

He tapped his savingsbox against his thumbnail. Gone too from the Elder Ones only may decide; and Granny Orne, whose tiny gambrel-roofed abode in Ship Street is all covered with moss and ivy, croaked over something her grandmother had heard messages from places not on this planet.

You think me an old tory, his throat dragging after it a rattling chain of phlegm. And at noon elfin horns it is said that. On the steps of the Moors.

And as I have just to copy them off the board, sir? Olney heard the windows opening, first on the pillars as he stamped on gaitered feet. The lodge of Diamond in Armagh the splendid behung with corpses of papishes.

Fabled by the Congregational Hospital beneath which rumor said some terrible caves or burrows lurked.

She was no more, Comyn said. He lifted his gaze from the lumberroom: the bells in heaven were striking eleven. —I have is useless.

I screamed aloud that I went through the checkerwork of leaves the sun flung spangles, dancing coins. Pardoned a classical allusion. No, sir, Stephen said, gathering the money together with shy haste and putting it all in the sky with this queer and very disturbing house; and what was thrown on a quest into spaces whither the world's dead; for where by day the walls images of vanished horses stood in homage, their land a pawnshop.

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ubuiltatimemachineoutofadelorean · 7 years

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Back to the Future Is A Damn Perfect Movie By Germain Lussier and Charlie Jane Anders http://io9.gizmodo.com When people talk about the best, most perfect movies ever made, we all know the usual suspects: Citizen Kane, Chinatown, Casablanca. And I feel like Back to the Future should absolutely be on that list. The way this film is structured and feeds story to the audience is so seamless, it’s basically a clinic in how to make a movie. First of all, it’s amazing to realize that the entire Back to the Future trilogy is basically a character-based saga. With the possible exception of the dystopian alternate timeline in the second movie, this series keeps its stakes very low and personal for Marty McFly. Throughout all three movies, his main goal is to ensure his own continued existence, but also to save his family—and to a large extent, a lot of the “action” in these films is in the service of character development. The narrative payoff is always in the form of the main characters changing. And just consider how much information the movie packs into its opening minutes. The movie starts with that famous long take inside Doc Brown’s bizarre lab. Immediately you have an idea of who this guy is: He’s a bit cuckoo. But there’s more too. There’s foreshadowing, in the form of a man hanging from a clock that looks like the end of the movie, as well as plot development, with the newscaster telling us about the stolen plutonium. We’re then introduced to our main character, Marty McFly, and the shot ends with a skateboard hitting the plutonium, an act that tells us a ton about this wild kid and this person whose place we’re in. That’s all in THE FIRST SHOT OF THE MOVIE. The scene continues and we get a bit more of who Marty is. He’s a rocker, kind of a rebel—and Michael J. Fox’s twitchy, squinty-eyed performance does a great job of selling Marty’s insecurity and constant state of hapless panic to the audience. And then Doc calls and sets up their first meeting, which will happen later in the film. Next we find out the clocks are slow, which means Marty’s late for school. So where does he go next? School, perfectly moving the story forward, while also telling us he’s not exactly a model student. Huey Lewis and the News’ “The Power of Love” kicks in as Marty rides his skateboard on the back of a few cars through the center of Hill Valley. This scene gives us a more of an idea of who Marty is and also introduces us to an area we’re going to get very, very familiar with over the next three movies. The scene also features a glimpse of Goldie Wilson as mayor, another bit of foreshadowing. Marty arrives at school and we meet his girlfriend, Jennifer. She’s totally on his side and tries to sneak him into school safely, but they run into Mr. Strickland. He over heard Marty talking about “Doc” Brown, and starts to bad mouth him. We haven’t seen Doc yet, but we already know a lot about him and what people think of him so we’ve formed a mental image. Strickland also tells Marty he’s a slacker like his father, something we’ll come to learn more about later in the movie. He says that “No McFly has ever amounted to anything in the history of Hill Valley.” That, in a way, is hinting at what happens in the third movie more than anything, but also is about how his father will change over the course of the movie. Strickland, a character we’ll also see later, then mentions Marty’s band, which transitions us right into the next scene. Marty’s band, The Pin Heads, is auditioning for the dance. Jennifer watches on proudly—but they’re rejected, something we already know is a McFly trait. It also puts a cap on a storyline set up in the previous scene. The rest of the school day is then skipped, probably because nothing happened of significance, and we go to Jennifer and Marty walking through the town square again after school. This scene is absolutely stuffed with information, but also pushes the story forward. Marty and Jennifer discuss the band audition. He says he doesn’t think he’s ever going to get to play in front of people, which of course happens later, and that he can’t handle rejection. In that instance Marty quotes his father, something that will becoming immensely important later in the movie. While this is happening, we see a table with the “Save the Clock Tower” flyers, and the conversation ends with them standing on a bench with that same clocktower in the background. So even if you don’t know how important that structure is yet, subconsciously, you are already figuring it out. As the dream Toyota 4x4 drives by, something that also pays off later, Marty and Jennifer discuss him lying to his mother. He says he thinks she was “born a nun.” Later we’ll learn Lorraine’s lack of experience wasn’t due to a lack of desire, so Marty saying this is actually setting up and confirming his mother’s regret-filled life. That’s heavy. Just as the couple is about to kiss, the clocktower lady interrupts them. She drops a ton of important exposition about the history of the structure, which we don’t yet realize is crucial, and hands Marty a flyer. That flyer is arguably the most important thing Marty gets in the movie, but he needs a reason to hang onto it, right? Well, Jennifer writes her grandmother’s number on it as she leaves. He looks at her longingly, and just as they kiss, “The Power of Love” reprises, bringing us right back to the first scene of the movie. That’s the first 12 minutes of Back to the Future. Twelve minutes. Every single action has a purpose, every piece of scenery has a reason. The dialogue sets up plot, moves the narrative, character is built throughout—and we still don’t even really know what the movie is about. You could write a whole book analyzing the way this level of filmmaking precision continues throughout the movie. Not just from scene to scene, but shot to shot. But you didn’t come here to read a book. So here are a few of the bigger highlights. Lorraine talks at the dinner table: As the 1985 McFlys sit around the table for dinner, Lorraine lays out the entire second act of the movie. She talks about how she was with boys and how if her father had never hit George with the car, none of the kids would never be born. Which almost happens. She then goes on to reminisce about the Enchantment Under the Sea Dance and, the brilliance here, is the script makes what feels like exposition to the characters absolutely crucial to the movie. We’re learning what Lorraine was like as a teenager, we’re setting up several plot points that’ll get picked up again later—and it’s all being delivered as if some drunk old lady is just telling her favorite story, which is in keeping with this version of Lorraine. She asks George if he remembers that the dance took place the night of that terrible thunderstorm. Check. Asks him what he was doing in the middle of the street, check, and, in a very melancholy way, says she knew she was going to spend the rest of her life with him. Check. George, in this timeline, ignores her, and both of their attitudes in this scene serve as great jumping off points for the changes that happen to each character. He’ll come to appreciate her, and she’ll come to be happy. The Einstein Experiment: When Marty finally meets the Doc and sees the DeLorean, he’s very confused. So are we. But after Einstein travels into the future one minute, Doc Brown explains everything about the car in perfect detail: the Flux Capicator, the time circuits, 88 mph—and it’s all given urgency by the fact we, along with the character, just saw something amazing for the first time. Eventually, he starts to remember how much has changed in this area. That leads him to talk about how Old Man Peabody used to own all of this land and he had a crazy idea about breeding pine trees. It’s basically just a man going off on a tangent, a telling character trait, but it’s also information that gives the following scene more creditability. Marty soon arrives in 1955 on the Peabody’s land and destroys one of his pines. This comes back at the end as the name of the mall has changed from Twin Pines, to Lone Pine. But wait there’s more. Before Doc is gunned down, he mentions the plutonium needed, check, and how, by traveling into the future, he’ll be able to see who wins the next 25 World Series. Part II will let us know about one in particular. The Photo: Once in 1955, Marty has to convince Doc that he’s telling the truth about being from the future. One of the examples he uses is a photo from his wallet of he and his siblings. His sister is wearing a shirt that says “Class of 84.” Doc waves it off, saying its obviously a fake because it cut off his brother’s hair. So, buried in this desperate plea between our leads, is our first clue that bad things have already been set in motion. A few scenes later, when Marty tells Doc he’s already seen his parents, Doc remembers the photo and we remember what he said about it. Marty’s brother is now missing his head and the film has just set up, and solidified, its own internal ticking clock. Clock motif achievement unlocked. Marty has until this photo disappears to avoid being “erased from existence.” There’s Marty’s secondary goal for the movie, while Doc works on the primary one. The Diner Scene: When George first asks Lorraine out in the Diner, it sets off a fantastic action scene that’s filled with moments that work so well because they’ve already been hinted at. We know Biff likes Lorraine along with George. We know Biff and Marty already have some beef. Once Marty challenges Biff and rushes outside, we already know the area quite well as the movie has taken us through it numerous times. Marty’s skateboarding skills have already been established, as has the fact that Biff isn’t a great driver. Everything down to Lorraine calling Marty a “dream” has been set up beforehand, giving what’s an otherwise crazy scene that much more grounding. It goes on from there too. The scene ends with Lorraine saying she’s going to find out where Marty lives, perfectly leading into what’s next. And who could forget this entire scene is replayed later in 2015? Doc’s Plan: Speaking of the next scene, that next scene in Doc’s house basically resets the movie. We’ve been following George and Lorraine around and may have forgot about the primary story of getting back to 1985. Doc, thankfully, hasn’t and lays out his role in the third act for us, using a model. Just then, Lorraine arrives and her honestly telling Marty what she wants in a man not only gives Marty the idea of how George can win her over, it lets us know why she and George are so, so much more in love in the new 1985 at the end of the film. It’s because, through Marty, George has reached his full potential, as has Lorraine. The Dance: The narrative drive at the Enchantment Under the Sea Dance is almost unfair, it’s so perfect. Marty and Lorraine arrive. She’s drinking, which she does in the future, and Marty scolds her about it. Since Biff got his car wrecked in the skateboarding scene, he has a reason to take out Marty. And because Marty isn’t actually being in the car, this gives George the opportunity to finally stand up to Biff—which, in turn, makes Lorraine fall for him. And that should be the end of it, but it’s not. The film adds complication after complication at the end to raise the stakes exponentially. Lorraine and George are together, but because Marty got taken away by Biff’s goons, Marvin Berry hurt his hand. Marvin’s hurt hand means that the dance is going to end, so Marty’s parents won’t kiss and Marty will disappear. Marty then has to finally step up and play in front of people, a goal mentioned almost 90 minutes prior, in order for his parents to kiss and make things okay. Which he does. But, of course, things aren’t okay. Doc has problems with the wire, Marty has to save Doc, and then once that’s all figured out, Marty’s 1985 is totally transformed. And then there’s that amazing ending. In Back to the Future, there’s not a single wasted scene. Not a single wasted word of dialogue, action, or piece of set dressing. It’s all there in service of one of the best, most well-structured stories of our time. And that’s why we still celebrate it today. Also the best trilogy. And the Back to the Future trilogy is also arguably the best movie trilogy ever, because it avoids the “third movie” problems that other movie trilogies tend to have. Back to the Future Part II manages to be two sequels in one, exhausting the two most obvious ideas for a second and third movie—going forward 30 years instead of backward 30 years, and revisiting the events of the first movie. And because Back to the Future Part II manages to cover so much ground in terms of obvious sequel territory, it leaves the field open for Part III to do something completely, amazingly different. Part III avoids all of the usual traps of trying to “top” the first two movies, but it also stays tightly focused on the town of Hill Valley, and the relations between the McFly family and the Tannen gang. Instead of doing a “bigger and better” sequel or spinning off in some other direction and going to visit King Arthur or whatever, Part III gives us a sweet, character-based story in which the focus is as much on Doc falling in love as it is on Marty’s problems. The other thing that’s great about the second and third BTTF movies is the way that they build a character arc for Marty that’s barely touched on in the first movie—in the original film, his main superpower is running away, usually on his skateboard. But his triumph in the first movie is getting his teenage father to stand up to Biff. But his biggest challenge, as a character, in the next two movies is not learning how to stand up for himself, but rather getting over his fear of being seen as a coward. In Part 2 we see how peer pressure (and the kneejerk reaction to being called “chicken”) have ruined Future Marty’s life, and in Part 3 Marty sees for himself the tombstone he’s going to have if he keeps being prey to these tendencies. So while the first movie is more about Marty engineering a massive change in his parents’ characters, the second and third movies are all about Marty himself having to change. And in their own way, the sequels are just as great an accomplishment as the first Back to the Future.

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