Give in to nostalgia and get your own American Werewolf in London werewolf and David Kessler Funko.
Beware the moon. An evening on the moors has left David Kessler haunted by a hair-raising change. Complete your An American Werewolf in London lineup by making this POP! Super Werewolf the next addition to your POP! Movies collection.
Beware the moon 🌑 with the new Pop! David Kessler figure.
Victim of the vicious transformative curse, Pop! David Kessler prowls around London and wreaks havoc. Join our tortured protagonist in his cult classic film, An American Werewolf in London.
(a/n): @maddieeb3 wonderfully suggested this prompt to me (ages) ago, so apologies for *just* getting to it now, BUT, i am incredibly excited for this one!!!! the prompt is: is there a problem over here? for either judy x rosie or carrie x dougie, and for this, i chose judy x rosie!!! AND....i made it rosie's POV!!!!!! because c'mon, you know we needed a perspective of what rosie was thinking when he first saw judy!!!! almost a year ago, i wrote a perspective/prompt piece of what their first meeting was, but wanted to improve upon that and decided to write this *new and improved* version for your reading pleasures!!! SOOOOO, please enjoy rosie rosenthal's POV of captain dye's 25th mission completion party! <333333 (this will also be up on AO3 later!)
also! tags for those that had requested! @ronsenthal @rosies-riveters
Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal's POV
The newness about everything was enough to make his stomach twist a bit uncomfortably. He wasn't a naturally intimidated and wary person in this sense. Usually, he moved about with quite a confidence that allowed him to enter any situation necessary to and face it without much questioning of himself.
He figured that was how he was able to face law school - how demanding, draining, and time-consuming that period of his life had been.
He figured that was also how he faced climbing into a B-17, a flying death trap, something meant to fight a war, to bring forward destruction into any sort of being beneath.
He thought them one in the same.
Law school had been a time of focus, remaining fairly independent, working for yourself and your future. Climbing into a B-17 was much of the same - learning and relying on yourself, focusing on every single thing you were doing, touching and looking at - keeping yourself calm in every situation. But they were also different. He had his classmates back then, but there was always the air of competitiveness and conniving turmoil that swept through each and every class. With his crew, they were family. Each and every single person.
Rosie Rosenthal reached up to slowly smooth his hair back into its perfectly and rather precisely gelled positions before stepping up into the flying club. The flying club; alive with life.
People, sounds, drinks, music.
Walking inside was a quiet affair, watching evidently close-knit groups laugh, slapping each other on shoulders, toasting drinks. Rosie, almost out of second-nature and naivety, smiled and nodded, even if people couldn't see him. It felt like being watched even if they weren't watching. They were one of the new crews. He had to keep that up.
Stepping inside, his head swiveled about, looking for his crew; the place was fairly crowded, a bit stuffy with plenty of intermixed colognes and perfumes, cigarette and cigar smoke hanging in the eves, the heavy presence of beer and alcohol about the place. The big swing music though brought a slight smile to his face, and despite not getting an eye on his men, he felt a bit of a jump in his step as he turned towards the dance floor.
"Well, look who it is." Rosie began to grin - and maybe it was purely coincidental that the music had swelled into full swing or that when he got around people like the men he'd trained months upon months with, he couldn't help but dance a bit.
"Watch out, fellas. Here comes twinkle toes." Nash chortled out, a few chuckles and wandering eyes moving towards Rosie - no doubt thoughts of who could this possibly be, this the new guy, and why'd he decide to dance like that - swirling their heads. Rosie couldn't help it.
He heard the music, the beat - he felt it damn-near down to his toes - he had to dance.
Like getting into that B-17 - he felt every fiber of movement, space and feeling in that flying machine. And he couldn't help but tap a tune.
"Okay, okay!" Speas offered - forever the one that encouraged and supported, even if he really didn't need to stick his neck out in the wind like that.
"No, no, don't encourage him. He's gonna scare off all the ladies." Nash murmured - Rosie couldn't help but feel the music up above, moving throughout him. A bit of a ceremonial spin was enough to end it off as he reached a hand forward.
"Gentlemen," he said, shaking Speas' hand, "what have I missed?" Briefly, Rosie took a look out towards the room and the dance floor - evidently filled with people just about every where. Some dancing, some sat at tables, sharing drinks, laughing and talking - spirits were high, people were in plentiful good moods and it was enough to settle what possible nerves were prevalent, for now.
"I'm eyeing broads while Pappy here is trying to dour the mood." Nash said, with a sultry tone to his voice - mild annoyance, with a hint of a teasing tone - which Rosie surmised that it sounded just like him to be in this situation. Rosie chuckled. Dour was a new one. "In other words, nothing." Rosie smirked.
"Sour." Rosie offered with a nod and a firm look, the corner of his lip careening upwards.
"Hmm?"
"The mood. It's 'sour the mood,' you mean." Rosie affirmed, watching as Speas chuckled.
"No, no. All I said is it's not a good sign for us." Pappy exclaimed, interjecting into the conversation waving his jello spoon about in a practical manner. Well, not a good sign for us indeed, Rosie seemed to wager in his mind - souring the mood of the current times when they had just gotten here? Barely even having set foot in a B-17 set for war, filled with enough ammo to destroy a small town? What was there to even sour the mood yet about?
"One crew making it merits a blowout bash?" Pappy said, waving his spoon around again. Rosie watched Pappy for a moment - whether it was the livelihood of the current number of pilots and their crews here or the percentage lost, to Rosie it made sense. Though, it would sour the mood. It showed the small percentages it took to even get to that point.
"You know they're on to you, right?" Speas said, knocking Nash in the shoulder.
"I hope they are." Nash said, staring past a few intermingling groups on the dance floor to a few Clubmobile ladies sat at a table at the edge of the room. Rosie chuckled to himself, eyes moving about the room again, taking in the people that were filled about the place.
That's when he caught Major Egan and Major Cleven, headed right for them. He'd met them briefly upon arrival to Thorpe Abbotts just yesterday - both kind, welcoming, inviting. Major Cleven more cordial than Major Egan, who seemed to be quite witty and have a joke prepared at every corner.
And with them, was a woman. Taller, blonde haired curled to her shoulders, a small smile on her face, wandering eyes landing on their group. Rosie smiled, feeling his shoulders straighten a bit.
"Fellas?" Major Egan said as he approached.
"Gentlemen." Major Cleven offered.
"Major Egan." Rosie said with a nod to the both of them, his smiling growing wider, eyes darting to the blonde haired woman - a Lieutenant.
"Major Cleven." Nash said with a nod.
"Rosenthal." Major Egan said, pointing to Rosie - it was honored to be remembered, "Nash."
"That's right." Nash affirmed.
"Copilots uh, Sptaz and Lewis?' Major Cleven said, pointing.
"Speas. Sir."
"Speas."
"Lewis, sir. But people call me Pappy." Rosie smiled, chuckling a bit.
"This is Lieutenant Bradshaw. Annie." Major Cleven said, "Flies with Silver Bullets. 418th."
"Pleasure to meet you all." Lieutenant Bradshaw said with a smile, nodding to them all, "We're happy to have you all here."
"Thank you, ma'am." Rosie said and he watched as Lieutenant Bradshaw smile at him.
"You boys uh - you were pilots before the war?" Major Egan asked, posing the question to the group. Rosie cleared his throat.
"Lawyer, sir." Rosie said, nodding at Major Egan, the smile on his face still glowing.
"Lawyer?"
"I practiced uh-"
"Where'd you learn to fly a B-17?" Major Cleven asked. I practiced in Manhattan, Rosie's thoughts seemed to echo, dwindling away as he looked to Major Cleven - that always seemed to be the question.
Why'd you decide to wake up one day and climb into a B-17 when there were other things like business, literature and being a lawyer around?
"Laredo. Nine months, 12 hours a day." Rosie offered, meeting Major Cleven's calm and curious eyes, "Gunnery training. Lieutenant Nash too."
"Well, you boys, you come with a hell of a reputation." Major Egan said, looking to the four of them, "I'll tell you that." Rosie chuckled - they knew that?
"You talking about us flying in our skivvies, sir?" Rosie asked, watching as Major Egan's face tore into one of slight confusion and minor amusement. Lieutenant Bradshaw chuckled briefly.
Maybe Rosie had misread the situation entirely in that moment.
"I'm not following." Major Egan managed.
Okay, he definitely had.
"Well, we were known for flying in our underwear." Nash said with a chuckle and a wide grin on his lips, though Rosie could tell he seemed to try to not be dying of minor humiliation at Rosie's expense.
"All of you?" Major Egan asked and Rosie nodded with a slightly defeated chuckle - definitely not the right first impression to make or say.
"Yes, sir."
"That's what the kids are doing these days?" Major Egan asked and Rosie quickly smiled.
"In Texas, those forts get so hot, you could fry an egg on the instrument panel." Rosie surmised, a few chuckles to follow.
"Really?" Lieutenant Bradshaw asked, her voice gentle and quite quiet, her cheeks dusted pink - Rosie immediately feeling regrets about even bringing up skivvies and underwear and all the sorta stuff in front of one of the pilots of the 418th, of the 100th!
"Is that so?" Major Egan chortled.
"We hadn't heard about the-- the underwear," so Rosie should've just shut his mouth, "but we, uh-- we heard you're outstanding pilots."
"We're happy to be in the war, sir." Rosie said with a nod, firmly looking towards the two Majors and Lieutenant Bradshaw - which was the truth beyond compare, "We've been requesting a combat position for months. Now that we're here, feels like we're actually gonna do something."
"Yeah, you'll do something, all right." Major Egan said, eyes flashing to Major Cleven before looking back at him, nodding. A silent bit of unspoken communication seemed to flicker between Rosie and Major Egan in that moment. It twisted his stomach a bit.
"Enjoy yourselves." Major Cleven said, nodding to the group before following after Major Egan who had turned away at the notion.
"Yes, sir." they all chorused back. Rosie's shoulders fell a bit. Lieutenant Bradshaw was stood there for a moment, watching the two Majors, before looking back at the group stood there. Rosie smiled.
"Well, it's been a pleasure to meet you all," Lieutenant Bradshaw said with a smile, "my crew's all spread about in here somewhere." She smiled wider. "Might want to save the note about the skivvies for a later time point." And with that, she smiled, gave them all a nod and then moved away, following after the two Majors.
"She's funny." Pappy murmured with a chuckle.
"Oh boy, why'd he have to mention that?" he heard Nash say somewhere to his right. Rosie died a bit inside.
"I mean, what am I thinking," Rosie murmured, "talking about my skivvies in front of--"
"You're fine, you're fine." Speas reassured quickly from beside him.
"Pray for me, gents. I'm going in." Nash said, interrupting the blunder and handing Speas his drink. And then, Nash was off. To the ladies at the table.
"What's that about?" Rosie asked, looking to the other two as Nash departed them.
"He's hot and bothered, I don't know." Pappy said as Rosie chuckled, looking about the room again.
Just as his eyes were passing the left-most point of the stage where the band members were currently situated, playing their tunes, his eyes came to a pause on a woman, stood with a few others, in similar Class-A dress, hair done beautifully, smiles on their faces.
She was the shortest of the trio stood there, her dark hair elegantly curled and pinned on her head, her eyes soft, from where he stood, crinkled at the corners when she'd laugh, a toothy grin on her face as she smiled. She looked rather beautiful in his eyes.
Radiant, evidently someone well liked.
She sipped on the drink in her hand, fingertips dancing against the straw protruding out of the cup, her long lashes making her brown eyes even more deep it felt.
Rosie felt his breath catch when he realized he was staring.
And at the instance, he watched as she turned a bit, as if feeling his eyes on her, from across the loud, crowded and bustling room, and found him staring.
In an instance, as if on instinct for her, she offered a wide grin his way, before blushing a bit, pink dotting her cheeks, before turning back to the other two women. He watched as she said something before pointing his way. And he found that he couldn't turn away, though the right thing to do in this moment was in fact to turn away. Especially with how much staring he appeared to be doing. He wondered who she was, her name, why she was here.
"Hey….Rosie." Rosie turned his eyes from the woman and found Pappy looking at him, Speas' staring from Rosie's peripheral quite intense, though as if slightly confused. The two were watching Rosie like a bug under a light; he was going to start that nervous tick thing he did with his mouth, or maybe start tapping his fingers near the crook of his currently crossed arms.
"Hmm?" Rosie asked, eyes darting between the two men, finding that they were still staring at him both quite intently and earnestly,
"What?" Between the two of them, it was a chorus of sighs, rather sarcastic exclamations, and knowing looks that were familiar to those of close friends - nearly family.
"You just missed every single word-"
"What we were you even looking at?"
"Is there a problem over here, gentlemen?" Both Pappy and Speas stopped immediately glancing to their right, while Rosie took the slow look to his own left, to find three women standing there, dressed in their Class A's, beautifully shined, ironed and washed, their pins glistening under the lights of the flying club, their rather knowing eyes it seemed looking between the three of them.
And in that moment, Rosie found his gaze moving from the first to women, to the last one - stood right near him. The woman - from across the room. Rosie couldn't help but feel his collar get hot when he suddenly made direct eye contact with her, finding her already looking up and over at him.
Her smile was kind and charming, spread across her thin face, the wisps of brown hair that were falling from the pins, laying against her forehead in a delicate manner. She had a spattering of freckles across her cheeks, where they ran into a tiny scar on her cheek near her ear. And her eyes - he couldn't help but stare - they were so bright and warm, despite their deep brown color. And she was still smiling up at him. She widened her smile up at him when she seemed to notice he wasn't looking away.
"You all must be the newbies, huh?" the Lieutenant, evidently, by the bars peeking out from her lapel, said, standing beside Pappy. Rosie found his voice in that moment.
"Just came in the other day," Rosie said, "figured we'd make our way here to the flying club. See what it was all about. Especially with one of your crews just making their 25th." The Lieutenant looked at Rosie and smiled.
"A long road ahead then." she said, causing Rosie's insides to twist, before she smiled and stuck out her hand, "Francis Montez, Silver Bullets' copilot." Silver Bullets - his mind went to Lieutenant Bradshaw who he'd just made rather interesting introductions with.
The all-female crew that was flying a B-17 during the war in the 8th.
This was them.
"Pappy Lewis. Rosie's Riveters' copilot." Pappy said, shaking Francis' hand, a smile on his face, "Silver Bullets, huh? What's that mean?"
"Folklore sorta stuff," Francis said, "our previous pilot though, she called it that because it's thought to be an unusual force of nature, but an important one. Being the first all-female crew, you sorta get that memo everywhere you go."
"Ah, okay, interesting," Speas said from beside him, "pleasure to meet you then. George Speas, pilot." Francis shook his hand, before looking over to Rosie.
"Robert Rosenthal," Rosie said, reaching forward to firmly shake her hand, being met with a just-as-firm handshake right back, "pilot. For Rosie's Riveters." Francis smirked at him.
"Pleasure to meet ya," she said to the three of them, glancing at her two counterparts, "let me guess. One of you go by Rosie, and the first two guesses don't count." Rosie's cheeks uncontrollably turned crimson at the statement and he found the woman beside him looking up at him with a shy smile.
"Bessie Carlisle. Navigator." the second woman said, sticking her hand forward to shake the three of their hands, Pappy offering a supportive clap to that, "And I'll be guessing that it's you, Lieutenant Rosenthal." Rosie looked to Bessie and cleared his throat.
"This guy," Pappy said, coming around to wrap an arm around Rosie's neck, slapping the front of his breast pocket, the metal spoon reflecting the light from above, "only liked to go by Robert, but suddenly you get him in a B-17 and it seems Rosie fits 100 times better." Rosie chuckled at his words and looked to the three women.
"Rosenthal and Rosie seemed to go hand in hand, and you could say that's how Rosie's Riveters was born." Rosie offered.
"That!" Pappy exclaimed, before patting his chest again, "And he's a damn-good pilot."
"Alright, Pappy," Rosie said, eyes watching Pappy chuckle before looking over at the last, rather quite member of the trio stood there, silently watching the exchanges.
It felt rude to stand there and not even know her name, especially if she felt she couldn't even interject. He looked to her, watching as she instead took to looking towards Francis and took a moment to simply trace his eyes over the curve of her nose to her lips, the way her eye lashes curled upwards, the dimple that appeared with a smile.
"And you must be….?" started Pappy, taking the words from Rosie's mouth. The woman smiled.
"Judy Rybinski." the woman said, reaching forward to shake his hand, before moving onto Speas, and then turning and looking up towards Rosie. She grinned wider and then stuck out her hand. The corner of Rosie's lip curled upwards and he stuck his own hand forward to shake her own.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Judy." he said, his eyes holding her gaze for longer than he had intended. Her smile only seemed to grow, even as their hands dropped.
"Sorry for going quiet on you all," she said, peeling her eyes from him and looking to the rest of the group, "I was too busy listening to the song. By Elling-"
"Ellington." Rosie said at just the same time and tambor as Judy. In an instance, she looked up at Rosie with a glowing grin, her eyes practically shining. Rosie felt a nervous laugh leave his lips as he watched the others take a few glances at one another.
"Big Duke Ellington fan, are you, sir?" Judy asked him, as her eyes fell to his lapel for a second, "This is one of my favorites." Rosie's heart thumped.
"Yes, I am." Rosie said with a nod, resting his arms behind him and looking to Judy again, suddenly enamored by the look on her face, the twinkle of the Ellington song above them wavering in their ears. He couldn't help but smile wider.
"You don't happen to be an Artie Shaw fan-"
"Alright, alright, alright," Pappy said, meeting Rosie's gaze with a chuckle, but an even seemingly-deeper and knowing look underneath, "you two can chat about musicians later." Rosie smirked, chuckling, before looking over towards Judy again. It was like he couldn't keep his eyes off her. Even just a few looks, a few mere sentences between them. He couldn't look away. She was looking up at him still as well, her cheeks pink, her eyes soft, and her own gaze lingering pleasantly on his own.
"What position are you?" Rosie asked her, his voice sounding somewhat awkward, a little too curious, and quite honestly, high-pitched. Judy looked to him and grinned, her eyes shining with excitement. She laughed quietly and then stepped closer to him.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice quite quiet as she appeared there in front of him, "I can't hear anything over the music and Lieutenant Montez yapping about the temperature of the plane when you get her flying. But I saw you say something." She smiled. Rosie felt his cheeks burn for a second as he watched her.
"Oh, I, uh, was wondering what position you were." he said with a small smile.
"Ball turret." she said quietly, her voice gentle as she watched him, "It seems being tiny does wonders for a gunner trapped in a floating ball above the ground, sir." Rosie chuckled at her words, dipping his head down as he looked back up at her again.
"And you're a pilot." Judy said quietly with a small smile, "Were you one before the war?" Rosie smiled slightly, suddenly feeling somewhat shy in her presence.
As a kid, sure, he'd wanted to be a pilot; seeing them glide through the sky, the skill it took to guide such a beast through the air. But as he grew older and saw where opportunity had led itself, that almost seemed the last thing on his mind. Becoming a lawyer, all his years of preparation, schooling, and mental toughness to get here. Just for a war to come knocking on their doorsteps and suddenly he was out the threshold, flying a B-17, and now in a combat position.
"I was a lawyer." Rosie said to her, watching her eyes grow wide in fascination, "Then the war picked up….and to say the least, I couldn't sit back. Let it happen just right out there in front of me."
"That's real brave of you, sir." Judy told him softly this time, her eyes shining as she looked up at him.
"What about yourself?" he asked her, "How'd you end up in a ball turret?" Judy let out a yelp of a laugh, clasping her hand over her mouth, the drink in her cup swirling around quite a bit (he thought for a second if she had laughed any harder it would've gone everywhere), and she looked up at him.
"Where I come from, let's just say, the most a person does is because a really skilled pig farmer or somehow has made really profitable goat soap." Judy said with a smile up a him, a joking tone in her voice, but a sadness underpinning it - was it something else he couldn't quite pinpoint in this moment?
"I worked at the local grocery store," she said, her tone dimmed this time, a small smile striking itself across her face, "then I saw the 'It's Your Fight Too' posters, joined up the USAAF to help work on planes, fixin' them, painting the noses. Then I met Captain Faulkner. She changed my life, sir." Rosie knew who Captain Faulkner was in the back of her mind - the first female pilot of the USAAF. The first one to then have died on a combat mission, shrapnel through the front window. The story had been in all the papers. His stomach twisted as he looked at Judy's sad eyes again.
"I'm sorry….about Captain Faulkner." Rosie said, his voice morose as he watched her face fall the slightest bit before shrugging it off it seemed.
"It's okay," Judy said, the corner of her mouth attempting to turn upwards, quivering for a moment, "it's the war anyway. Just….she was one of the first. Makes it hard." Rosie watched her.
"But she got you in that ball turret, she trusted you. You should be proud. It's a brave thing to do." Rosie said, a small smile growing on his lips as she looked up at him with a wide grin again.
"Thank you, sir." Judy said genuinely, like she had meant it. Her genuineness and comforting nature seemed to pull Rosie in from the second he had caught her eye across the dance floor, to the point where he almost couldn't get enough of it. She looked so perfect there in front of him; uniform, drink in hand, her eyes big and soft, staring right up at him.
"Hey, Rosie!" Rosie turned from Judy and found Pappy coming up to him patting his shoulder, "Taking Lieutenant Montez here for a swing, I'll be back, don't have too much fun!" Rosie chuckled, watching his friend offer the Lieutenant a hand before they started dancing around the floor. In that moment, Rosie knew he should've then asked Judy for her own hand - but for some reason, his palms grew sweaty, he felt like he needed cold air, and possibly a drink, and there was something about the way she was eagerly looking up at him still, like she wanted to continue talking, that made him halt.
"I'm going to get another drink, sir," Judy said, "are you interested?" Rosie placed his hands in his pockets, glanced towards the bar, where he pinpointed Lieutenant Bradshaw who had previously the front row seat to his complete, total embarrassment of his skivvies mention and balked for a second.
First impressions always seemed to stick, didn't they?
"Yes," Rosie said, and then offered her a smile and a wink, "on me." Judy blushed slightly and glanced up at him.
"Thank you, sir." she said with a smile, before turning to look at him fully, "And to answer your other question, yes, I am an Artie Shaw fan. Big time."
The cost of Alucard firing his gun [Theory] : r/Hellsing
The cost of Alucard firing his gun [Theory]
Misc
So my brother got me into Hellsing Ultimate and I am loving it! So much so, that I started overthinking something evolving the show, Alucard’s gun. For those who don’t remember, Alucard wields two guns Jackal & Casull. The Casull is described as being modified to fire bullets that have a core of silver from a melted down cross from the Manchester Cathedral. Because of this little fact, I wondered two things, how many bullets does that give Alucard to shoot and how expansive would that be?
I began by googling the Manchester Cathedral to see what type of silver crosses they have. It was here I found a really funny fact, in 2012, the Manchester Cathedral was robbed... and guess what? The robbers stole a 2 foot tall silver cross. Now yes I know the show was released in 2006, but this was just such a cool coincidence, that it is now my head cannon that the Hellsing Organization stole the cross to make Alucard’s bullets.
Using the dimensions of the stollen cross, the volume of a spheroid equation (volume of a bullet), the cannon caliber of Casull’s bullets (13mm), and the fact the bullets only have a core of silver; I estimate that Alucard has 5000 bullets to fire. I then used the price of the stolen cross and the price of a 13mm round to find that each bullet would cost $15 to fire.
My story ends with me talking with my coworker (who is a Hellsing fan) about my calculations. I brought up that sense Alucard fires hundreds of bullets in a single fight, he’d run out of ammo within a few episodes. She countered by saying sense he is shooting the undead, who turn to dust when they are shot, the bullet would be cushioned, making it able to be picked up and reloaded. The conversation ended with both of us hysterically laughing at the idea of Alucard ordering Police Girl to meticulously picking up every bullet that he fired, so he can reuse them later.
This theory may be a little stupid, but it was really fun to do. I just love how as I did more research, it lead to more hilarious realizations about the show. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading my post!
P.S. I plan on reading the comment section of this post,
