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supeherosunite · 1 year

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Original Characters

Pax kent ( cousin of kara) ( Kryptonian cousin / adopted earth sister of Clark) face cam bailee madison

Edith Kent (sister of Clark Kent) face cam Heather Rattray

JaKari Kent (brother of Clark Kent) face cam Laird Macintosh

Lara Kent ( daughter of Clark Kent ) face cam Amanda Fein

Lulu Kent ( daughter of Clark Kent ) face cam Caitlin Fein

Gaia white ( Meta-human with nature powers ) face cam Georgie Henley

Uranus white (Meta-human with nature powers ) face cam Freddie Highmore

Yara smith ( mutant avenger ) face cam Bridgit Mendler

Amity Jones ( young S.H.I.E.L.D. agent ) face cam Drew Barrymore

Lilly Cullen (adoptive daughter of Alice and jasper ) (twilight) face cam Becky Rosso

Violet Smith (profiler) (criminal minds) face cam Haley Lu Richardson

Sammy Brown ( agent) (ncis) face cam Julia Butters

Senara Sohma (Zodiac member) (fruits basket) face cam Emma The Promised Neverland

DC COMICS

Superman

Martha Kent

Clark Kent (Superman)

Jon Kent (Superboy)

Jordan Kent (Superboy)

Jonathan Kent (kon-El)

Lois Joanne Lane

Doctor Emil Hamilton

Tess Mercer

James Bartholomew Olsen

Chloe Sullivan-Queen (Watchtower)

Ryan James

Jonathan Sullivan-Queen (Speedy)

Kara Zor-El (Supergirl)

Alex Danvers (Director Danvers)

Mon-El (Prince of Daxam

Winn Scott (Toyman)

Nia Nal (Dreamer)

Lena Luthor

Batman

James Gordon (police commissioner)

Alfred Pennyworth (Penny One)

Bruce Wayne (Batman)

Selina Kyle (Catwoman)

Kate Kane (Batwoman)

Harleen Quinzel (Harley Quinn)

Terry Wayne (Batman)

Dick Grayson (Nightwing)

Jason Todd (Red Hood)

Tim drake (Red Robin)

Damian Wayne (Robin),

Duke Thomas (The Signal)

Henry King (Gotham)

Luke Fox (Batwing)

David Zavimbe (Batwing)

Minhkhoa "Khoa" Khan (Ghost-Maker)

Barbara Gordon (Oracle)

Stephanie Brown (Spoiler)

Cassandra Cain (Orphan)

Claire Clover (Gotham Girl)

Jean-Paul Valley (Azrael)

Julia Pennyworth (Penny-Two)

Tiffany Fox (Batgirl)

Harper Row (Bluebird)

Flash

Barry Allen (flash)

Iris Ann West-Allen (Eye in the Sky)

Nora West-Allen (XS)

Bart Allen (Impulse)

Wally West (Kid Flash)

Jesse Chambers Wells (Jesse Quick)

Jenna Marie West (Trajectory)

Joanie Horton (Joanie Swift)

Dr. Caitlin Snow (Killer Frost)

Ronald Ronnie Raymond (Firestorm)

Cisco Ramon (Vibe)

Harrison Wells

Dr. Harrison Harry Wells

Harrison H.R. Wells

Harrison Sherloque Wells

Harrison Nash Wells (Pariah)

Maya Wells

Allegra Garcia (Ultraviolet)

Chester Phineas Runk (Black Hole)

Hunter Zolomon (Zoom)

Julian Albert (Alchemy)

Hartley Rathaway (Pied Piper)

Green arrow

Oliver Jonas Queen (Green Arrow)

Felicity Megan Smoak (Watchtower)

William Clayton (White Feather)

Mia Smoak (Blackstar)

Thea Dearden Queen (Speedy)

Roy William Harper Jr (Arsenal)

Dinah Laurel Lance (Black Canary)

Captain Sara Lance (White Canary)

Rory Regan (Ragman)

Zoe Ramirez (Canarie)

Thomas Tommy Merlyn (Dark Archer)

Sara Diggle (Harbinger)

Emiko Adachi Queen (Green Arrow)

Titans/ Young Justice

Garfield "Gar" Logan (Beast Boy)

Koriand'r Kory Anders (starfire)

Rachel Roth (Raven)

Garth (Aqualad)

Karen Beecher (Bumblebee)

Jaime Reyes (Blue Beetle)

Billy Batson (Shazam)

M'gann M'orzz (Miss Martian)

Evelyn Sharp (Artemis)

Courtney Whitmore (Stargirl)

Mike Dugan (starboy)

Beth Chapel (Doctor Mid-Nite)

Yolanda Montez (Wildcat)

Richard Tyler (Hourman)

Henry King Jr. (Brainwave junior)

Joey Zarick (Zarrick the Great)

Cameron Mahkent (Icicle junior)

Others

Beebo (God of War)

Zatanna (Mistress of Magic)

Leonard Snart (Captain Cold)

Ray Palmer (The Atom)

Martin Stein (Firestorm)

Nate Heywood (Citizen Steal)

Amaya Jiwe (Vixen)

Patrick "Pat" Dugan (S.T.R.I.P.E.)

Lisa snart (Golden Glider)

Marvel

Spider-Man

Peter Parker (Spider-Man)

Miles (Ultimate Spider-Man)

Gwen (Spider-Gwen)

Cindy (Silk)

Michelle (MJ)

Avengers

Clint Barton (Hawkeye)

Natasha Romanoff (Black Widow)

Steve Rogers (Captain America)

Bucky Barnes (Winter Soldier)

(White Wolf)

Carol Danvers (Captain Marvel)

Scott Lang (Ant-Man)

Young Avengers

Kamala Khan (Ms. Marvel)

Doreen Allene Green (Squirrel Girl)

X-men

Wanda Maximoff (Scarlet Witch)

Pietro Maximoff (Quicksilver)

#update #mun talks #muse list

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cultfaction · 3 years

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Fear and Loathing in Aspen trailer released

The true story of an American band of misfits using establishment rules to challenge establishment rule, Fear and Loathing in Aspen is based on author and activist Hunter S. Thompson’s 1970 campaign for Sheriff of Aspen, Colorado, which centered around police reform and environmental justice. Written and directed by Bobby Kennedy III and starring Jay Bulger, Cheryl Hines, Amaryllis Fox and Laird…

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#Amaryllis Fox #Bobby Kennedy III #Cheryl Hines #Fear and Loathing in Aspen #Hunter S. Thompson #Jay Bulger #Laird Macintosh

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scotianostra · 3 years

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24th July 1411 saw the Battle of Harlaw, near Inverurie.

Get this "biggie" out of the way first, it is also known as "Reid Harlaw" (Red Harlaw)

Is it okay to have a favourite battle? Well maybe not the event itself, it was a bloody affair by all accounts, and sadly an all Scottish affair, classified as a clan battle, the reason I like it is more to do with the song and the monument to those that fell.

In 1411 Lord Donald of the Isles and his army marched across the north east of Scotland. Two miles north west of Inverurie the Highlanders met a Lowland army to resolve competing claims to the Earldom of Ross. The battle was inconclusive, but the Highlanders withdrew.

The battle has become shrouded in myth and mystery and means different things to different people. From the time of the battle onwards it has cast a large shadow. Writing only a generation later, John Major recorded that school children in Aberdeen played out the battle during play time. The first ballads to record and commemorate the battle date from 1548. Ballads, songs and stories continued to be written concerning the battle over the centuries and have embellished, exaggerated and distorted the reality of Harlaw, which makes it great for those looking into as so many differing accounts have been written.

The immediate cause of the battle was a struggle for power between Donald, Lord of the Isles and the Earl of Mar, Alexander Stewart over possession of the Earldom of Ross. However, the roots of the battle are feudal and relate to an ongoing power struggle in the country at the time. On the one hand were Donald, Lord of the Isles and a number of clans. On the other hand were elements of the Stewart family, particularly those known as the Albany Stewarts.

The battle itself took place where Donald chose to camp, near Harlaw, two miles north of Inverurie. Harlaw has been described as a town, but it was more likely to be a 'fermtoun'. Typically these comprised several families and a number of houses.

Donald's forces chose a strong defensive position in this predominantly farming country they stopped on a plateau, which was surrounded by wet land to the east and west. Mar broke camp and crossed the River Urie. Mar split his men into two divisions and the vanguard was led by the sheriff of Angus and constable of Dundee leading the Angus and Mearns men.

Donald's forces were rallied by a battle song, which also shows that Donald's forces were in three divisions. Red Hector of the Battles, Hector Roy Maclean of Duart, was Donald's overall general, leading the forces on the right wing, at the head of his clan. The left wing was led by Callum Beg, chief of the MacIntoshes, whilst Donald commanded the central battle force. Mar's vanguard was lead by Scrymgeour and Sir Alexander Ogilvy, sheriff of Angus. The vanguards clashed probably near to where the present day monument stands.

The battle was probably entirely fought on foot. The wealthier lairds and knights may have worn plate armour. Chiefs on the Donald side may well have worn mail with a conical helmet and jupon, a jacket or tunic worn over or under armour. The main body of the men, on both sides, would have been armed with lances, spears, axes and swords and would not have worn armour, or anything that would have weighed them down. I don’t normally go into the apparel, but this relates to the video in the song, which will become apparent if you watch it.

In the immediate aftermath of the battle both sides claimed victory but in reality it had been a bloody and costly engagement for both sides. Nevertheless, Alexander Stewart's actions had saved Aberdeen and checked Donald of Islay's attempts to expand his influence eastwards. Alexander later went on to defeat Donald of Islay's son, also called Alexander, at the Battle of Lochaber (1429). However, two years later Alexander Stewart was defeated at the first Battle of Inverlochy in 1431.

The Battle of Harlaw is often mentioned as the biggest clan battle in Scottish history, and it demonstrated the tensions that were part of the political intigue in the country at the time.

The Monument which stands on the approximate site of the battle was designed by Aberdeen architect William Kelly It was commissioned and paid for by the Corporation of the City of Aberdeen and built by John Smith of Inverurie at the cost of £325 and inaugurated in 1914.

The coats of arms are a more recent addition and are those of Alexander Stewart Earl of Mar, The City of Aberdeen, Lord of the Isles, Clans, Davidson, MacLean of Duart, and Irvine of Drum.

Like the battle itself, there are many versions of the songs that go with it, some of them go back centuries it was one of the songs listed in the 'Complaynt of Scotland' in 1549, Child ballad 163 is 25 verses and 163B gives 3 alternative verses. Sir Walter Scott wrote 11 verses of a ballad about Harlaw, saying it was sung by Old Elspeth, a character in his book 'The Antiquary'

The oldest mention of the battle I found is from the 15th century bard, Lachlan Mor MacMhuirich whose family served for over 700 years as poets to the Lords of the Isles, he wrote The Harlaw Brosnachadh. The brosnachadh or poem was sung as an incitement to battle, calling on the men of Clan Donald and their allies to give of their best in the anticipated fight.

I suspect the first version of the song was written by someone more affiliated with the Albany Stewarts as the main versions all give them as the victors. All the major players have recorded versions of it through the decades, The Corries, The Battlefield Band and Jean Redpath among them. The version I have chosen has some great video, which has elements of a number of movies in it, don’t take them as historic though, the battle scenes with kilts is way off the mark, look out for the flypast of the monument at the end, and enjoy.

#Scotland #scottish #clan battle #battle #aberdeenshire #history

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scapegrace74-blog · 4 years

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Saorsa, Chapter 22

A/N Here is the next installment of Saorsa. At long last, after dragging things out for 21 chapters (21!), I’m finally sending Jamie and Claire on their honeymoon, with all the bow-chicka-wow-wow that implies. Although it’s pretty tame, by my smut standards. Why am I still writing? Go read it!

Rather than link to all previously posted chapters, I’ll just direct those of you wanting to catch up on your Saorsa-reading to my AO3 page, where the fic is posted in its entirety.

Thank you to each of you liking and reblogging! It does my little fanfic writer’s heart good.

The honeymoon was Claire’s idea. After two weeks of painfully polite coexistence in which she felt they were both acting the parts of a newly married couple for an audience of two, she suggested the getaway. Jamie had never heard of such a thing. She insisted time spent cloistered away from their everyday lives was now the norm for newlyweds, and he begrudgingly agreed. They left as soon as Murtagh returned from his visit home to the Isle of Lewis.

Jamie was an uneasy automobile passenger, and he refused to learn how to drive, so it was Claire who navigated onto the ferry that crossed the narrow channel to the Isle of Skye.

“Are you alright?” she asked as Jamie clutched the door handle in a white knuckled grip.

“Aye. Jus’ no’ fond of ships, is all,” he answered, eyes pointed out the windshield as though he could bring the looming island closer with the strength of his stare.

“Just a few more minutes, an duine agam,” she assured, taking his clammy right hand in her left.

“Who’s been teachin’ ye Gàidhlig, Sassenach?” he asked, distracted from imminent sea sickness.

“Murtagh. Just a few words, here and there. I thought it would be useful, so I could speak it to the baby once he or she is born.” As it usually did, her free hand came to rest on the softly rounded swell of her belly when she spoke of her child.

There was silence from the passenger’s seat. She glanced over only to be met by a look of stunning intensity. She felt naked before so much bridled emotion, but she could not break away. The only movement between the two of them was the clenching of a muscle high in his jaw.

“Claire, I…”

Whatever Jamie was about to say, it was interrupted by the shunt of the ferry as it met the shore. They both looked away, and the moment was gone.

The drive to their inn at Dunvegan was shrouded in low-lying clouds. She could just make out the lower slopes of mountains robed in snow. Jamie had once again fallen silent but seemed content to gaze at the passing scenery. She parked carefully on the side of the main road in the tiny village, just two lines of tidy single-story stone cottages, a café and their inn.

Jamie rose awkwardly from the car and stretched before walking to the boot to gather their shared suitcase. As he did, a pair of women exited a nearby cottage, talking in loud, animated voices. He froze, then spun around.

The women turned right at the pavement and continued walking and chatting. Seeing the tall, handsome red-haired man standing near their path, they both uttered a polite “feasgar math” before continuing on their way.

“Feasgar math,” he responded belatedly, bowing slightly at the waist out of habit. He turned around, slack-jawed, as the scene came into sharper focus. The signage above the café and inn was in Gaelic. There were horseshoes hung above every door and tartan decorations festooned a nearby fence. Sheep bleated from the fields beyond. Apart from their car and another parked across the street, nothing in view would have been out of place two centuries before.

She stepped onto the pavement beside Jamie and touched his chest.

“You see? The Highland culture did not die. It fled, far to the north and over the sea, but it survived. Here,” she gestured around them. “And here,” pressing her hand against his breastbone. “It takes something tremendously resilient to face that sort of hardship and endure.”

Jamie’s mouth moved, but no sound came out. She could see that he was struggling against tears.

“Come on. Let’s check into our room, and then you can show me around.”

The matronly innkeeper greeted them in a waterfall of Gaelic, to which Jamie answered in kind. He seemed taller suddenly, although perhaps it was the low, timber-beamed ceiling that made him appear so. She heard him say “Claire Fraser, mo bhean”, while looking at her with pride.

If the innkeeper thought it strange that the tall Scot and his obviously pregnant English wife were making heart-eyes at each other across her lobby, she did not let on. She led them up a steep stairwell into a hallway so low that Jamie had to duck to avoid banging his head. At one end was a gabled room with a merry fire already lit. It wasn’t large, having room for just an immense four-posted bed, two wooden chairs facing the fire, and a window with views across the slate roofs to the slate-grey sea beyond.

Thanking their hostess and promising to come downstairs later for tea, they stood facing each other from across the room with nervous expressions. It was strange. They had shared the laird’s bed chamber in the days since their wedding, but the idea of being alone in this strange room felt more intimate. There were no routines or distractions to mask the fact that they were now man and wife.

Jamie spent an inordinate amount of time placing their luggage on a low stool, and then stared out the window like he was searching for answers.

“Did you want to take a walk down to the castle?” she suggested timidly.

“Aye,” he agreed eagerly. “Tis a braw day for a ramble.”

She glanced at the fine drizzle that had begun to fall, shrugged and grabbed her Macintosh.

Jamie was like a giddy schoolboy upon entering the ancestral seat of Clan MacLeod. The castle itself was not open to visitors, but they had the grounds to themselves. He capered about the battlements, pointing out one feature after another.

“What eejit built those turrets? They’re no’ big enough for a wee lad to enter, ne’er mind a marksman,” he commented, looking up at the main stronghold’s façade.

“I imagine they were added recently, merely for decoration,” she replied, smiling at his outraged tone. “I understand the current Chief Macleod made significant improvements, prior to the war.” Jamie replied with a truly Scottish noise that expressed dubiousness and concession in a single, guttural sound. He spun around, taking in the whole view.

“I always heard it was the bonniest castle in all of Scotland, but I dinna believe it. Now that I see it wi’ my own eyes, weel…” Jamie scuffed his boot on the gritty rock, looking guilty for a moment. “I still prefer Lallybroch, ye ken, but this, this is…” he trailed off, at a loss for words.

Jamie face grew pensive, a deep furrow bisecting his brow.

“What is it?” she asked, stepping closer.

“It’s only… Tormod MacLeod fought on the side of the English at Culloden. I didna ken it at the time, but I read in yer husband’s books that the MacLeod attacked the lands of Jacobite supporters after the Rising, causing much suffering. And yet here their laird abides, twa hundred years on, while the Frasers are nought but names on graves…”

She stepped towards him, wrapping an arm carefully around his broad back.

“Listen to me, James Fraser. You fought bravely for a cause that you believed in, even though you knew the odds were overwhelmingly against you. There is honour in that, and honour is stronger than any castle wall. Also, you are my husband now. I’d thank you to remember that.”

He wrapped an arm around her slim shoulders in return. “Duly noted, Sassenach.”

They stood there in the drizzle, leaning slightly into each other until she interrupted the moment with a vital clarification.

“Oh, and Jamie? I never said that a laird lived in this castle.”

He leaned back to gaze at her face, eyebrows lowered in confusion.

“Flora MacLeod of MacLeod, twenty-eighth clan chief of the MacLeod since her father passed away in 1935.” She grinned smugly, watching the perplexity transform to amazement on his expressive face. He let forth a burst of laughter.

“Dhia, I hope she looks fairer in a kilt than Tormod. That man was a hairy beast.”

After a light meal of crusty bread, sheep’s milk cheese, dried sausage, and tea for Claire (“why do ye English insist on polluting water wi’ wee leaves, Sassenach?”), they retired to their room to warm themselves in front of the fire.

Jamie was quiet again, pulling at his lip as he stared into the flames. She sensed he was working something through in his mind and gave him room for silence. She allowed the warmth and crackling pop of green logs lull her into a state of suspended awareness.

“I havena been entirely truthful wi’ ye, Sassenach, and tis vexing me greatly,” Jamie began without taking his eyes from the fire. Her stomach dropped, trying to imagine what fact was so awful that even his absolute candor bowed to the demand that it remain unspoken.

“When I asked ye tae be my wife, I told ye it was on account of yer bairn, how t’would be… practical for me tae be its Da, and tae help ye in the running of Lallybroch.”

“Yes. I remember,” she said hesitantly. “It’s a little late for second thoughts, Jamie. The Catholic Church isn’t any fonder of divorce than they were two hundred years ago...”

“Ifrinn. That’s no’ what I mean at all. Christ, Claire, would ye let a man speak for once!” He rose and began pacing the small room in tight circles. His speech hurried to catch the cadence of his steps.

“Tis no’ that the reasons I gave were untrue. Tis just that t’werenna the only ones. No’ even the main one. I asked ye tae be marrit, weel, because I wanted tae be yer husband.”

Running out of words, he stopped near the bed and looked at her. At his apparent inability to continue, she ventured, “You are my husband, Jamie. And I’m very grateful for…”

“No’ a husband in body. Only a husband in name.”

“Oh,” she breathed. “Oh!” She felt her cheeks reddening, even warmer than the glow of the fire. “Are you saying that you would want to be a husband… in body… to me?”

“Aye. Och, look at ye, Sassenach. What man wouldna want tae lie wi’ ye? I’m only mortal.”

She tried to imagine how she looked to Jamie. She was wearing a practical cotton dress, cut a little loose to accommodate her expanding waist. Her cheeks were no doubt flushed from the walk in the rain, the fire, and Jamie’s sudden revelation. She was certain her head was surrounded by a veritable Gorgon of curls.

His confession expelled, Jamie was once again able to meet her eyes, and what she saw there ignited a spark inside her that she was certain had been extinguished forever. She rose gracefully and made her way to where he was standing. In her stocking feet, she had to look up into his face. When she did, she felt electricity prickle her skin.

“Well, it is our honeymoon. I suppose it would be the… traditional thing to do.”

Her hand came to rest on Jamie’s damp linen shirt. Underneath, she could feel his heat and the tremor of muscles held tightly in check. A broad palm cupped her hip.

“I dinna mean this verra minute, Claire. Ye can take yer time tae consider. And wi’ the bairn…”

She ignored him, plucking gently at the fabric. “Your shirt is damp. You’ll catch a chill. You should hang it… by the fire…” she finished as he disposed of the offending clothing in a single move. Her hand now was free to rest against bare, gold-hued flesh.

She paced a tight circle around his body, stopping behind him where the firelight and shadows emphasized the lacerated surface of his back. Jamie’s shoulders stopped rising and falling as he held his breath, obviously nervous for his scars to be so closely observed. Before he could comment or grow restive, she pressed a careful kiss along his spine, teasing her fingertips over the sensitive skin of his flank as she completed her turn.

“Yer dress is wet as weel, Sassenach. I wouldna wish ye tae fall ill.” His voice, deep normally, was positively cavernous, pulling her pulse deep into her belly.

She spun away and lifted her hair from her neck, presenting the zipper. After a moment’s pause, Jamie’s fingers fluttered across her nape.

“What do I do?” he asked in an entirely different tone. Gone was his brash confidence, and she reminded herself anew that he was only twenty-two, five years her junior, and came from a world unaffected by modern notions of love or sex. Not wanting to embarrass him by calling attention to his inexperience, real or perceived, she determined that if Jamie was in want of guidance, he’d ask. As he had just done.

“You pull downwards on the little tab. It’s called a zipper,” she whispered back. A metallic tearing noise, and her dress loosened. Moist breath blew against the tiny hairs of her back, causing them to rise in greeting.

“Verra practical wee fastening, Sassenach,” he muttered as the garment cleaved in two, held up by the precarious slopes of her shoulders.

She turned back to him, and the sparks in his eyes rivalled those in the hearth, hot as ingots with a pulsing blue glow. A ratchety breath stuttered from her lungs.

“Ye dinna have tae do this, mo bhean ghaoil. Imma verra patient man. I’ve already bided twa hundred years just tae meet ye.”

Her lips twitched at his beautiful, though not entirely accurate gallantry.

“Mo bhean ghaoil?” she asked as she let first one, then the other shoulder dip. Her dress fell easily to the floor.

“My beautiful wife.” The words withered away to air as the vision of her body unfolded before him. Undulating ribbons of amber and shadow caressed the ivory of her skin, broken by the pale satin of her long line bra and maternity girdle.

“That’s where ye’ve been hiding yer corset,” Jamie muttered, half to himself. They were both drawing hungry lungfuls of breath, the space between them fraught with an oncoming storm.

Very slowly, as though certain she would startle and flee, he raised an outstretched hand until it met her breastbone with the pressure of a feather. She could feel the tremors that shook within him as he dragged each fingertip downward until they gathered in the warm valley between her breasts. The air in the room suddenly felt thick, too heavy to breathe.

Just as it seemed Jamie’s hand was about to venture below the edge of her undergarments, a memory assaulted her addled senses. Jamie, unknown to her as anything other than a mysterious and gravely injured patient, lay sleeping on his side in her room at Lallybroch. He was still fevered, and she had lowered the sheet to his waist, allowing night air to caress his wounded back. The firelight caught the powerful lines of his shoulder and pectorals, lighting each russet hair that bisected his torso so that he glowed like a lazy sunrise. She had been flooded by a sudden desire to know where that trail of hair led.

“It’s my turn,” she asserted, reaching for the belt holding up his trousers.

The buckle clattered to the floor without heed as Jamie pulled her roughly upwards into his descending mouth. It was a kiss without introduction or politeness, a tactical assault on her senses launched through the breach of his open mouth. It bore no relation to the few chaste kisses they had thus far shared as man and wife. She had evidently pushed him past the breaking point of his ingrained courteous behaviour.

They parted, stunned speechless, wet mouths agape. He angrily pushed his trousers past his hips and the two collapsed onto the high mattress in an inelegant flop, limbs battling and grasping anywhere for purchase. Her legs fell open instinctively to cradle the long, muscular arc of his body. A cool button nudged her inner thigh. Calloused hands pushed desperately on the unyielding structure of her girdle. A coarse abrasion between her legs. Heat. And then an urgent plunge, both familiar and foreign.

His forehead was pushed into the pillow above her shoulder. Untutored, laboured grunts echoed in her ears.

“Jamie,” she gasped. “Jamie, you’re crushing me.”

He rose immediately onto his elbows, relieving the grinding pressure on her chest, but seemed unable to halt the tidal surge of his body into hers. In a moment, it was moot. He froze, letting loose a shuddering moan that scaled his spine one vertebra at a time. Collapsing sideways onto his back, his face was a portrait of mute astonishment.

She lay beside him, staring at the beamed ceiling, and tried to gather her thoughts. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t invited this very thing. And while the… encounter had been ephemerally brief, she could not deny that she’d enjoyed it. Enjoyed being the recipient of so much passion, no matter how short-lived.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jamie’s ring finger bouncing, tapping a morse code of disquiet against his chest. Awkwardness was a palpable third presence in the bed between them. She wanted to say something to ease his nerves, but words floated away as she tried to wrangle them into coherent sentences.

“Claire, I… please tell me I didna hurt ye. Ye or the bairn.”

His quiet anguish snapped the cord that had been holding her tongue still in her mouth.

“No. Jamie, of course not. I would have said something, if you had.”

“I didna ken it would be sae… fierce,” he confessed.

That certainly answered her earlier question about his prior experience. She couldn’t help feeling a flutter of… something… deep in her belly at the thought.

“It can be. But my body is designed to protect the baby. It will probably become more awkward, as I grow larger. I’ll tell you, if anything doesn’t feel…nice.”

Jamie rose on an elbow, peering down at her. His face was now alight with novice curiosity.

“Ye liked it then? Men gossip about these things, ye ken, and I had heard that most women dinna like it.”

It was too late, and her nerves were too taxed to launch into a conversation about female sexual pleasure and a man’s role in assuring it. She hazarded it was a better lesson to learn by example, in any event. But she didn’t want him to go to sleep disappointed in himself.

Instead she told him the truth.

“I did like it, Jamie. Very much. I’m tired now, but perhaps in the morning…?”

He grinned like a Cheshire cat. Shucking his trousers carelessly, he splayed naked across the bed with his hands tucked behind his head, looking for all the world like a piece of toppled Grecian statuary. It suddenly hurt to breath. The simmering warmth low in her belly threatened to burst into flame, but she was truly exhausted. What she needed most was sleep.

Turning modestly aside, she unhooked her bra and unzipped her girdle before quickly donning a white nightdress. She could feel Jamie’s eyes run over the bared skin of her back.

“Cuir stad air do cheann, Sassenach,” he said softly as she once again settled beside him.

He lay behind her, fingers trailing through her hair and down her arms like spider webs. She fell asleep to his quiet Gaelic mutterings, a lilting lullaby.

an duine agam - my husband

feasgar math - good afternoon

mo bhean - my wife

mo bhean ghaoil - my beautiful wife

Cuir stad air do cheann - Rest your head

#outlander #my writing

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serenitysally · 3 years

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My Maternal 16th. Great Scottish Grandfather, Duncan MacKintosh, 11th. Laird of Clan MacKintosh

Clan MacIntosh-Moy_Hall,_Inverness-shire_Scotland Duncan MacKintosh, 11th. of MacKintosh (died 1496) was chief of the Clan MacKintosh, a Scottish clan of the Scottish Highlands. He was also chief of the confederation of clans that was known as the Clan Chattan.Duncan MacKintosh, 11th of Mackintosh was the eldest son of Malcolm Beg MacKintosh, 10th. of MacKintosh and his wife, Mora, daughter of…

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hcourageous · 5 years

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i know you don’t know the ship, so you don’t have to read it(in fact it will probably be odd and strange if you didn’t watch the exactly two episodes of once upon a time brave was in) but thanks for the prompt @funnefatale

prompt: one of them brings home a black cat

- -

bad luck

- -

The kittens had been either abandoned by their mother in the stables, or the mother had died that particularly cold winter, but Merida had a kind heart and brought them into the castle, and ignored any chattering and teasing about Merida getting soft. The funniest reactions were from the council room, when she brought one of the kittens, the smallest and most sickly, when a room full of grown men through an entire fit over their queen bringing a black cat into a meeting.

“He’s a wee chit--a bairn. He’s no harm t’ anybody.” She laughed as one of the elder lairds physically jumped at the sight of it.

“A black cat!” He yelped, alarmed. “T’is bad luck!”

“Ye are a Laird of the highlands, a warrior, and a part of the council. Wouldnae think ye’d be scair’t of a wee cat.” Merida mused, raising an eyebrow.

“Ye’ve brought an omen of ill into a war room my Queen,” Another laird murmured.

Merida rolled her eyes, turning to Macintosh, hoping for a voice of reason. She was surprised to see that even he looked a bit wary, though he hadn’t said anything yet.

“Laird Macintosh, come ‘ere.” She said, crooking her finger at him. He glared at her, feeling like she was about to make an example of him. She smiled sweetly, he was right of course, but he wouldn’t dare not take a direct order from his Queen, especially not in front of the council. He stood and moved solemnly toward her.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him once again. “Macintosh, hold out ye’re hand.”

He obliged but he was still glaring daggers at her, she gently placed the small kitten into his hands, cupping his hand and guiding him to give it some scritches under its little chin. The black kitten began to purr so loudly, she knew the whole hall could hear it.

“Now,” She said, smiling, “look at him, what a dark omen, aye? I ken he’s very big and scary, he might even claw ye’re eyes righ’ out.”

She hadn’t realized her hand was lingering on his until his very blue gray eyes landed on hers and she felt her heart constrict.

“Aye,” He said softly, turning away from her as she dropped her hand abruptly, “T’is jus’ a wee cat, can we get on with the meetin’ now?”

Merida found it hard to concentrate on the meeting after that, not just because of the kitten and the murmuring lairds.

#merintosh #merintosh ff #merida x macintosh #once upon a time #ouat

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denise8691 · 5 years

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New pictures from our beloved Phantom cover Laird Macintosh ❤

#laird mackintosh #phantom of the opera #poto #broadway #kaley ann voorhees #maree johnson #jay armstrong johnson

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peach-salinger · 5 years

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✧･*ﾟscottish surnames

→ link to my scottish female name masterlist → link to my scottish male name masterlist

under the cut are 733 scottish surnames. this masterlist was created for all in one breath rp at the request of lovely el, but feel free to link on your own sites! names are listed in alphabetical order. ❝mac❞, ❝mc❞ and ❝m❞ are split into three sections because i mean... look at them. please like♡ or reblog if you found this useful.

abbot(son), abercrombie, abernethy, adam(son), agnew, aikenhead, aitken, akins, allan(nach/son), anderson, (mac)andie, (mac)andrew, angus, annand, archbold/archibald, ard, aris, (mac)arthur

(mac)bain/bayne, baird, baker, balfour, bannatyne, bannerman, barron, baxter, beaton, beith, bell, bethune, beveridge, birse, bisset, bishop, black(ie), blain/blane, blair, blue, blyth, borthwick, bowie, boyd, boyle, braden, bradley, braithnoch, (mac)bratney, breck, bretnoch, brewster, (mac)bridan/brydan/bryden, brodie, brolochan, broun/brown, bruce, buchanan, budge, buglass, buie, buist, burnie, butter/buttar

caie, (mac)caig, (mac)cail, caird, cairnie, (mac)callan(ach), calbraith, (mac)callum, calvin, cambridge, cameron, campbell, canch, (mac)candlish, carberry, carmichael, carrocher, carter, cassie, (mac)caskie, catach, catto, cattenach, causland, chambers, chandlish, charleson, charteris, chisholm, christie, (mac)chrystal, (mac)clanachan/clenachan, clark/clerk, (mac)clean, cleland, clerie, (mac)clinton, cloud, cochrane, cockburn, coles, colinson, colquhoun, comish, comiskey, comyn, conn(an), cook, corbett, corkhill, (mac)cormack, coull, coulthard, (mac)cowan, cowley, crabbie, craig, crane, cranna, crawford/crawfurd, crerar, cretney, crockett, crosby, cruikshank, (mac)crum, cubbin, cullen, cumming, cunningham, currie, cuthbertson

dallas, dalglish, dalziel, darach/darroch, davidson, davie, day, deason, de lundin, dewar, dickin, dickson, docherty, dockter, doig, dollar, (mac)donald(son), donelson, donn, douglas, dorward, (mac)dow(all), dowell, (macil)downie, drain, drummond, (mc)duff(ie)/duff(y), duguid, dunnet, dunbar, duncan, dunn, durward, duthie

E, F

eggo, elphinstone, erskine, faed, (mac)farquhar(son), fee, fergus(on), (mac)ferries, fettes, fiddes, findlay, finn, finlayson, fisher, fishwick, fitzgerald, flanagan, fleming, fletcher, forbes, forrest, foulis/fowlis, fraser, fullarton, fulton, furgeson

gall(ie), galbraith, gammie, gardyne, (mac)garvie, gatt, gault, geddes, gellion, gibb(son), gilbert, gilbride, (mac)gilchrist, gilfillan, (mac)gill(ivray/ony), gillanders, gillespie, gillies, gilliland, gilmartin, gilmichael, gilmore, gilroy, gilzean, (mac)glashan, glass, gloag, glover, godfrey, gollach, gordon, (mac)gorrie, gourlay, gow, graeme/graham, grant, grassick, grassie, gray, gregg, (mac)gregor(y), greer, greig, grierson, grieve, grimmond, (mac)gruer, gunn, guthrie

hall, hamill, (mac)hardie/hardy, harper, harvie, hassan, hatton, hay, henderson, hendry, henry, hepburn, herron, hood, hosier, howie, hugston, huie, hume, humphrey, hunter, (mac)hutcheon, hutcheson

I, J, K

(mac)innes, irving, iverach, ivory, jamieson, jarvie, jeffrey(s), johnson, johnston, jorie, (mac)kay, (mac)kean, keenan, keillor, keir, keith, kelly, kelso, keogh, kemp, kennedy, (mac)kerr(acher), kesson, king, kynoch

laing, laird, (mac)laine/lane, lamond, lamont, landsborough, landsburgh, lang/laing, larnach, laurie/lawrie, lees, lennie, lennox, leslie, lindsay, little(son), lithgow, livingston(e), lobban, logan, lorne, lothian, lovat, love, loynachan, luke, luther

MAC-

mac ruaidhrí, mac somhairle, mac suibhne, macadam, macadie, macaffer, macainsh, macalasdair, macallister, macalonie, macalpine, macanroy, macara, macarthy, macaskill, macaskin, macaughtrie, macaulay, macauslan, macbean, macbeath, macbeth(ock), macbey, macbriden, macbryde, maccabe, maccadie, maccaffer, maccaffey/maccaffie, maccalman, maccambridge, maccann, maccance, maccartney, maccavity, maccaw, macdowell, maccheyne, maccodrum, maccomb(ie), maccorkindale, maccormick, maccoll, macconie, macconnachie, macconnell, maccoshin, maccoskrie, maccorquodale, macclaren, maccleary, macclew, maccloy, macclumpha, macclung, macclure, macclurg, maccraig, maccrain, maccreadie, maccrimmon, maccrindle, maccririe, maccrone, maccrosson, maccuaig, maccuidh, maccuish, macculloch, maccurley, macdermid/macdiarmid, macdougall, macdui, macduthy, maceachainn, maceachen, macelfrish, macewan/macewen, macfadyen, macfadzean, macfall, macfarlane/macpharlane, macfater/macphater, macfeat, macfee, macfigan, macgarrie, macgarva, macgeachen/macgeechan, macgeorge, macghie, macgibbon, macgillonie, macgiven, macglip, macgriogair, macgruther, macguire, macgurk, machaffie, macheth, machugh, macichan, macinnally, macindeoir, macindoe, macinesker, macinlay, macinroy, macintosh, macintyre, macisaac, maciver/macivor, macilherran, macilroy, macjarrow, mackail, mackeegan, mackeggie, mackellar, mackelvie, mackendrick, mackenna, mackenzie, mackerlich, mackerral, mackerron, mackerrow, mackessock, mackettrick, mackichan, mackie, mackilligan, mackillop, mackim(mie), mackinven, mackirdy/mackirdie, mackrycul, maclafferty, maclagan, maclarty, maclatchie/letchie, maclaverty, maclearnan, macleay, maclehose, macleish, maclellan(d), macleman, macleod, macleòid, maclintock, macllwraith, maclucas, macluckie, maclugash, macmann(us), macmaster, macmeeken, macmichael, macmillan, macminn, macmorrow, macmurchie, macmurdo, macmurray, macnab, macnair, macnally, macnaught(on), macnee, macneish/macnish, macnicol, macninder, macnucator, macpartland, macphail, macphatrick, macphee, macphedran, macpherson, macquarrie, macqueen, macquien, macquilken, macrae/machray, macraild, macrob(bie/bert), macrory, macrostie, macshane, macsherry, macsorley, macsporran, macsween, mactavish, mactear, macturk, macusbaig, macvannan, macvarish, macvaxter, macvean, macveigh/macvey, macvicar, macvitie, macvurich, macwalter, macwattie, macwhannell, macwhillan, macwhinnie

MC-

mccabe, mccain, mcclelland, mcclintock, mcconell, mccracken, mccune, mccurdy, mcdiarmid, mcelshender, mceuen, mcewing, mcfadden, mcgeachie/mcgeachy, mcgowan, mcilroy, mcinnis, mcivor, mckechnie, mckeown, mclarty, mclennan, mcneill(age/ie), mcowen, mcphee, mcpherson, mcwhirter

maduthy, magruder, mahaffie, main(s), mair, major, malcolm(son), malloch, manson, marr, marno(ch), (mac)martin, marquis, massie, matheson, mathewson, maver/mavor, maxwell, may, mearns, meechan, meiklejohn, meldrum, mellis(h), menzies, mercer, micklewain, milfrederick, millar/miller, milligan, milliken, milne, milroy, milvain, milwain, moannach, moat, moffat, mollinson, moncrief, monk, montgomery, moore, moray, morgan, (mac)morran, morrison, morrow, morton, mossman, mucklehose, muir(head), mulloy, munn, munro, (mac)murchie/murchy, murchison, murdoch, murphy

N, O, P, Q

nairn, naughton, navin, neeve, neil, neish, nelson, ness, nevin, nicalasdair, niceachainn, (mac)nichol(son), nicleòid, (mac)niven, noble, ochiltree, ogg, ogilvy, o'kean, oliver, omay/omey, orchard(son), orr, osborne, park, paterson, patrick, patten, peacock, peat, peters, philp, polson, power, purcell, purser, qualtrough, quayle, quillan, quiller, quinn, quirk

R, S

(mac)ranald(son), randall, rankin, reid, reoch, revie, riach, (mac)ritchie, roberts(on), rose, ross, rothes, roy, ryrie, salmon(d), scott, selkirk, sellar, shannon, sharpe, shaw, sheen, shiach, sillars, sim(son/pson), sinclair, skene, skinner, sloan, smith, somerville, soutar/souter, stein, stenhouse, stewart/stuart, strachan, stronach, sutherland, (mac)swan(son/ston), swinton

T, U, V, W, Y

taggart, tallach, tawse, taylor, thom(son), todd, tolmie, tosh, tough, tulloch, turner, tyre, ulrick, urquhart, vass, wallace, walker, walsh, warnock, warren, ward, watt, watson, wayne, weir, welsh, whiston, whyte, wilkins(on), (mac)william(son), wilson, winning, wright, young

#names #masterlist #surnames #last names #name masterlist #rph #scottish surnames #scottish last names #roleplay help #roleplay #rp #mine #my stuff #surname masterlist #last name masterlist

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coatntails · 6 years

Photo

“To Walk on Sundays”

More late night hand art. This one was inspired by this instagram picture posted by Laird Macintosh, and the quote from Leroux:

“It’s impossible for me to continue living like this, in the depths of the earth, in a hole, like a mole! Don Juan Triumphant is finished; now I want to live like everybody. I want to have a wife like anyone else, and we shall go for walks on Sundays..."

~ Prints of this image are available HERE ~

#POTO #phantom of the opera #art #Source: Me! Original art #phanart #phan art #fanart #fan art #HANDS #artists on tumblr #sketch #drawing #erik #christine #erik and christine #my art

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ifyouhappentoremember · 1 year

Audio

April 15, 2023 - Evening

A final lair for the ages

#I don't know if the recording picked up Emilie's response to Christine 'I love you'#I haven't gone back to listen because this is still too fresh for me #but I figured people would like a listen #audio #laird macintosh #emilie kouatchou #john riddle #poto broadway

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operafantomet · 4 years

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Waistcoats worn by Raoul and the managers

Toby Joch (Raoul), Oberhausen

Jeremy Hays (Raoul), Broadway

Craig Bennett (Firmin), Broadway

Tim Jerome (Firmin), Broadway

Ivan Rak (Raoul), Moscow

Roger de Witt (André), US Tour

Laird Macintosh (André), Broadway

#phantom of the opera #costume nerding #toby joch #jeremy hays #craig bennett #tim jerome #ivan rak #roger de witt #laird mackintosh #looks like waistcoats with huge arms attached #vest #raoul de chagny #richard firmin #gilles andre

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teasertrailer · 5 years

Photo

Making Babies - movie trailer: https://teaser-trailer.com/movie/making-babies/

starring Eliza Coupe, Steve Howey, Ed Begley Jr., Glenne Headly, Bob Stephenson, Elizabeth Rodriguez, Jennifer Lafleur, Jon Daly, Sarah Mahmoodi, Laird Macintosh, Heidi Gardner, Eric Normington, Pam Cook, Ericka Kreutz, Ambrit Millhouse, Julie Wittner, Juston Street, Joanie Searle, Joe Lorenzo, Nicole Pettis, Adali McArthur, Xavier Charcas, Julianna Gamiz, Brooke Taylor Maimin, Josh Pafchek, Stephanie Bentley, and Anthony Marquez

#MakingBabies #MakingBabiesMovie

#Making Babies #movie trailer #movie poster #Eliza Coupe #Steve Howey

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discnchant · 2 years

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HER MAJESTY QUEEN MERIDA OF DUNBROCH IS PROUD TO PRESENT THEIR CHILD, THEIR ROYAL HIGHNESS CONALL RORY DUNBROCH, FOR THE UPCOMING SOCIAL SEASON. WE HEAR THEY’RE FEARLESS AND DETERMINED, BUT CAN ALSO BE STOIC AND RECALCITRANT. AND IT’S SAID THEY BARE A REMARKABLE RESEMBLANCE TO JOSHA STRADOWSKI, BUT THAT’S MERELY A COINCIDENCE. WE’RE SURE THEY’LL CAUSE QUITE A STIR IN THE TON THIS YEAR, BUT ONLY TIME WILL TELL.

GENERAL

FULL NAME: Conall Rory Muiròn DunBroch NICKNAME(S): Wolf, Wolf Pup of the North AGE/DATE OF BIRTH: 26 GENDER: Cisman PRONOUNS: He/Him HOMETOWN: DunBroch

BIOGRAPHY

Standing tall upon the emerald cliffs of the Northern Highlands lays Castle DunBroch. Decrepit, choked by ivy, and crumbling to the ground, the castle is the epicenter of Clan DunBroch’s Kingdom and the homestead of its fierce and courageous leader, Queen Merida. Despite its decaying state, there is no hearth warmer in all of The Northern foothills as the one within the castle walls. It’s a gorgeous and impressive ancient castle that any of the Highland Lairds would die to possess… all except the one poised to inherit it.

To Conall Rory Muiròn DunBroch, the fog-dense woods and mystical hills, that vast and rich realm surrounding the castle are his kingdom. It’s there among the kelpies, the will-o-the-wisps and the witches rumored to be within that Conall finds comfort. With as much daring nerve as his equally scarlet haired mother, it’s of little surprise that the boy feels more at ease in the wild moors - Merida herself was known to spend hours in the confines of the forest, climbing Crone’s Tooth and drinking from the golden streams of The Fire Falls. Targets long since forgotten by the queen’s bow are now claimed by her son’s adept arrow, this now his domain to run barefoot and free through.

His childhood was thus charmed and wild and free in the glen. Before Conall even know how to walk or talk, he knew how to notch and shoot a bow with the deathly precision his queen mother was known for. He likewise practically grew up upon the back of shire horses, growing to be an adept rider. Through his queen mother he learned how to be fearless, adventurous, determined and free spirited, and through his other mother — his selkie mother Lady Aileen of Muiròn — he learned to be compassionate and nurturing, a protector of the land and sea and its non-human inhabitants. He would say anything strong and fierce in him was Merida and anything soft and gentle in him was Aileen.

As a child thus he was equal parts boisterous and sensitive. Brash and prone to acting before thinking, and often times a bit emotional when consequences were dolled out. That sensitive and sweet part of him often got the better of him as a kid, and made him the brunt of teasing from the other lairds. Such was the effect of having two mothers to rear the lad, instead of a strong male presence, as the other clan leaders would say.

As he grew into adolescence Conall grew weary of the teasing and began to change. That’s how he became stoic, quiet and stern, hiding away the softer touch of his mothers beneath a serious expression and only really to be seen by his mare Sorcha and the few he held in such close company, like his band of fellow Highlander warriors who rode across the wild hills and fought the other unaffiliated clans in petty border scrimmages for most of his adult life. The cruel way the other clansmen, the Lairds of Macintosh, MacGuffin and Dingwall, spoke of him and his selkie mother made Conall feel less and less like he belonged in the court of DunBroch, and so he threw himself into his crusading across the emerald north, preferring to be more a soldier than a prince.

He’s never been to the southern kingdom, never been part of a “social season”. The highlands were wild and romantic, but not at all refined. Still, Queen Merida participated in the Cauldron War, and held a steadfast friendship with the monarchs of Auradon. As the historical law to allow the children of villains was put to pass, she decided to journey south to see firsthand what would be the fruits of the Princess’s first royal decree, and her less than enthused son was forced along. So he’s there, staying in a freshly purchased townhome by the seaside of Auradon City, a coveted visitor to society but not an actual participant. It’s supposedly no more than a cordial visit to their southern neighbors, but Conall has the suspicion his mothers are planning something else entirely. They have long since hinted at a desire to see their son settle down in the castle that will be his upon their deaths, to start a family and to hear the patter of infant feet on the stone floors of DunBroch. Where else to vet potential wives than upon the Auradonian marriage mart? Conall is not desperate to do so, though it’s mostly because he’s far too coarse and rough around the edges for the genteel society of Auradon, and he doubts even the most polite of ladies could soften his crags and ridges.

MISC

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Heterosexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Heteromantic FAMILY: Merida of DunBroch (mother), Aileen of Muiròn (selkie mother), Fergus DunBroch (grandfather), Elinor DunBroch (grandmother), Harris DunBroch (uncle), Hamish DunBroch (uncle), Hubert DunBroch (uncle) FACE CLAIM: Josha Stradowski HEIGHT: 6′3″ TITLE: Laird of DunBroch, His Royal Highness Prince Conall of Clan DunBroch PINTEREST: (x)

WANTED CONNECTIONS

tbd

#disenchantedintro #* be as strong as the seas are stormy ( about. )

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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Fear and Loathing in Aspen Plants Its Freak Flag High

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

Hunter S. Thompson is a confounding figure. Though he didn’t invent Gonzo journalism, he is the most identifiable face of it. His first-person narrative style of news gathering makes him partially accountable for the overriding trends of internet journalism, on both sides of the aisle and all the cleanup calls which go along with them. Thompson’s 1970 attempt to run for sheriff of Pitkin County, Colorado, marked the beginning of baby boomer politicking. Writer-director Bobby Kennedy III’s Fear and Loathing in Aspen tells that story with wit, wisdom and weirdness.

Set just before Thomson, played by Jay Bulger, caught his stride with his 1971 novel Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas: A Savage Journey to the Heart of the American Dream, the film conjures the energy of strange, new beginnings. Much of it is shot on vintage grade, grainy film stock, and it looks like the actors were free to taste at least medium grade, seedy, hemp stock, as well as mescaline, cocaine, and plain old tobacco, dipped in PCP. More than merely recreating the era, Fear and Loathing in Aspen accurately captures the underground filmmaking experience of the time period.

My favorite Bill Murray performance is his turn as Thompson in Where the Buffalo Roam. Though I love Terry Gilliam’s Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Art Linson’s film more accurately captures the offbeat social divide because it was closer to the source material. Murray was himself, with Thompson’s impish soul egging him to be what he was naturally. He sprinkled Thompson’s singular speaking approach like pepper, and never offended the chef. Bulger captures Thompson’s mannerisms without ever approaching caricature. It is a deeply felt performance, especially when Bulger allows Thompson to reveal his own inner disappointments, something which never occurs to Johnny Depp until The Rum Diary.

Murray and Depp got to hang out with Thompson in the flesh. Bulger doesn’t project inner wildness on the inner projector behind his eyes, but spent a large part of his real life immersed in Thompson’s job. He was also a gonzo journalist and Rolling Stone writer, and puts himself behind those tinted aviator glasses, converse sneakers, crumpled hat, and cigarette holder. We don’t doubt he is who he’s playing, and when we see the 8 mm home movie footage, we can imagine ourselves being fooled into thinking of Hunter with a full head of hair. The audience is guided by Hunter S. Thompson himself, through recordings he made during his political run. Thompson almost traded writing articles for tickets, and found a new buzz: political addiction. Bulger gives a visceral impression of the thrills and lows of the high.

While Gillian tried to bring the inner LSD experience to an artistic fruition, Fear and Loathing in Aspen shows the exterior surface of indulgent tripsters. But the low-budget, we-can-do-this-at-home intimacy explores the players’ interiors more deeply. It’s even hard to fear the sheriff Hunter is trying to depose when he says he got the chalk for his map of local intransigeants from his kids.

Thompson is as much an outlaw as Doc Holliday and Billy the Kid to Sheriff Carroll Whitmire (Laird Macintosh). He’s just running ‘em out of Dodge. He’d probably envy the handguns, rifles and other weaponry available up at Thompson’s place. But he’s at least reasonable. Whitmire’s opponent is running on a very Democratic “Jail Thompson” ticket, and de-pigs the top cop. Thompson runs on the “Freak Power” ticket. One inspired sequence shows Hunter shaving his head just so he can call the encumbered, incumbent Republican candidate for sheriff “his long-haired opponent.”

“The Battle of Aspen” was Thompson’s first Rolling Stone piece, and can be found in his essential collection The Great Shark Hunt. The race was also the focus of last year’s documentary Freak Power: The Ballot or the Bomb. After riding with the Hell’s Angels, former sports writer Hunter fled to a cabin in the woods to start a family and write a novel at the end of the 1960s. Acid clarity inspires him to discern unnatural elements in the stream, and to pour a bucket of the foul-smelling stuff at an Aspen town council meeting. This leads to the exposure of the town’s great divides, generational, racial, economic and corporate.

Cheryl Hines, as Aspen Mayor Eve Homeyer, is fun to loathe here. She brings a deliciously bland middle American flavor, and leaves an indistinct aftertaste. Homeyer is oblivious to how manipulative she is. She doesn’t see what she’s doing as wrong. Sees no evil in driving the real people of Aspen out to make room for the developers and the rich. The film’s main focus is subtle small-town bigotry and the overt insular structure which keeps the system in place. Kennedy keeps it contemporary by targeting gentrification, the unfairness of drug laws, calls for police reform and demilitarization, and a plea for the Colorado environment.

Amaryllis Fox, who was a former CIA analyst, plays Thompson’s fictionalized campaign manager. She also serves as his Jiminy Cricket, as well as Cricket lighter, burning feelings of conscience into his ear and grass in his pipe. Fear and Loathing in Aspen also presents Thompson’s home life. He educates his son on the ways of life, and toys with his wife in the ways of sons. Bobby Kennedy III, met Thompson as a child along with his father, Robert Kennedy Jr., the son of Robert F. Kennedy, who was a lifelong friend. He ensures Thompson the person comes out as much as the man who railed against social disparities and dysentery with equal rage, and often in the same sentence.

The only thing missing is a representational soundtrack. The score, written by Wayne Kramer, John Paul Roney, and The Futurebirds, captures the sound and feel of the time, but a recognizable song or two would have done wonders for the puzzles of the period piece.

A lot of what was outlaw in 1970 is mainstream now. Thompson, who died by suicide at age 67 on Feb. 20, 2005, is as much a reason for this as Chicago 7 alumni or Angela Davis. The freak has inherited the earth, but it’s still out of our price range. The end credits admit “This is a fictional story with fictional characters adapted from a true story.” Which is a roundabout way of saying you can’t make this shit up. It’s organic, and as real as it feels. Fear and Loathing in Aspen feels good, even though it doesn’t have a strictly happy ending. But feeling good is good enough in this case. It’s short, but satisfying, and yet frustrating enough to consider giving something like this a try at home.

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Fear and Loathing in Aspen will be available on digital and on demand Aug. 31.

The post Fear and Loathing in Aspen Plants Its Freak Flag High appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3Bo2Wwr

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

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