#bayou country

[jt1674]

[swamp-gothic]

Southern Gothic

It sits low and heavy in my stomach. The dread. It gnaws at me like a lethargic mist gathering over a murky swamp.

It’s been this way for a while now.

The gators circling, hunger in their predatory eyes, ready to death-roll me at any moment.

Around me, in the darkening twilight, the cicadas sing their hymns to the smothering heat, like a preacher sermonizing to his congregation in an old, white-washed chapel. The old steeple and cross rise above the trees over yonder.

The graveyard around the old church has been swallowed by the swamp, and God’s favorite haunt will soon follow unless the rest of the wood rots away first. They promise that you will find answers to your questions about eternity here. Just know that those may be the last answers you ever find.

In the post-antebellum south, deep down where the waters threaten to flood and drown, lies the city that is sinking two inches a year and will one day go under. A place where things have changed yet still stayed the same. Here she lies, the Great Deep South, where those born on the bayou are as intricately tangled as the kudzu vines.

And the bayou, slipping into night, comes alive with a haunting restlessness that rings deep in my bones. It is growth and decay, sin and forgiveness. You need to be careful where you wade in the flood waters, what lurks below with sharp teeth and moss-stained scales, will drag you to your death.

They told us it was the promised land, of southern hospitality and comfort, but these lands were once Klan Kountry. Jim Crow laws and lynchings- a passing haint that forgetfulness can’t seem to fade. The old plantation houses, deep in disrepair, are all fallen grandeur and secrets. Their inhabitants refuse to admit the sins of their forefathers upon those they enslaved.

The scars, the infection, and the curses yelled to the howling wind, still linger.

The snakes are climbing the trees, so you don’t turn your back, bite back the bitter sting of the Bible belt against your skin.

There’s a breeze but you can’t feel it. It’s too damn hot to feel anything but the suffocation. You count your blessings anyway. Some days you’re seized by unexplainable melancholy, probably remnants of the horrors that unfolded beneath your very feet. 

It could be worse.

In the South, we hurl curses during the week and repent on Sunday. And “you should join a Bible study” is the offered thought, when you’re young and ‘lost’ or don’t know which way is up. But I think God left this place long ago, and no matter how loud you pray, he ain’t gonna hear.

Around here, every home houses a bible and a loaded gun. We paint our houses bright hues and our ceilings blue. The wasps won’t nest, and the ghosts get confused. But this whole place is filled with ghosts, every citizen a taphophile, every stone a grave marker.

Our tea may be sweet, but the history hangs heavy here; bitter and sharp. Don’t make the mistake of thinking history won’t hang on to you.

These small towns with idyllic facades, that seem frozen in time, stow-away a lush terror—a deep dark history fraught with murder, slavery, and the paranormal. Sun-aged skin and southern drawls hide dark, twisting stories that slither between attraction and repulsion like grotesque contradictions.

By: C.B. Winchester

https://cbwinchesterauthor.wordpress.com/2022/11/23/southern-gothic-2/

[generic-whumperz]

The Aid Part 2 Sneak Peak Preview?! + Inside Scoop

I wrote this yesterday and got too excited to wait until after chapter 10 is finished to share this. It's time to meet some new characters on the flip side of this AU! Author’s notes at the end; enjoy! :)

Words: 1,297

Masterlist

“Next!” Shouted the medical provisions officer.

A strapped Envoy with a military-grade rifle stepped aside, OK’ing the next townie in line to approach the pop-up medical tent. It was a dingy old thing, tattered as hell, and after ten years of surviving South Louisianan weather, it was held together only by tried-and-true duct tape and hand-me-down tarp. Folks around Toussaint Parish called these eye sores ‘the circus that never left town’ on account of Arcadia Republic officials fortifying the rickety fixtures as permanent establishments after the first round of PEP outbreaks.

Benny loosed his grasp of his single rations ticket and stepped up to the makeshift counter. His charm turned all the way up.

“How might you be doing this fine morning, cher?” He flashed his best grin, pausing a moment in hopes of finding a name tag affixed to the provision officer’s stained scrubs—damn, nope.

“Ticket,” She said in a bored monotone, holding her hand palm-side up.

He flicked the worse-for-wear piece of colored cardstock between his fingers and leaned on the counter, trying to block the view of the watchful eyes of faceless Envoys patrolling.

“I’m sure you hear this all the time, but my, you are just gor-geous, you know that? What you doing stuck in a place like little swamp town U.S.A. handing out baggies of Advil passed off as gen-u-ine medical supplies?”

“You got five seconds to hand me that ticket before I call over that Envoy and have ’em drag your wanna-be smooth-talking pretty boy ass out in the street by your fucking ponytail,” she threateningly smirked. Damn, this was not going to be easy. But at least she had a sense of humor. He could work with that.

He smiled and lowered his wrist, allowing her to snatch the worn stub from him and drop it in an old plastic cheese balls container.

“I’m fixin' to trade for some penicillin,” he said smoothly, low enough for only her to hear. Bribery of an Arcadian officer of any rank was a punishable offense; he hoped Ms. Cranky wasn’t a true believer or—even worse—wasn’t shaking up with one of these nearby Stormtroopers.

“Good luck with that. Find any, let me know,” she quipped over her shoulder as she turned to retrieve a grab-bag of—you guessed it—half-crushed pills of Advil and Tylenol with a single band-aid and alcohol pad.

“I’m a fisherman. I got food and a boat. Just name your price, and it’s yours,” Benny confidently smiled, hoping to land a snag. She took a moment to gaze off in the distance, appearing lost in thought, and then her eyes snapped to him in a crazy stare.

“Still no,” she blinked.

But he wasn’t one to give up easily, not when so much was at stake. “You see, I take care of the orphans a couple of towns over and—”

“Does that line usually work?” She huffed incredulously, dropping the grab bag on the counter.

“You tell me, this is the first time I’ve had to try it. Usually, the trade thing works,” he sheepishly admitted. At 26–almost 27– he thought himself nearly too old to pull the innocent card, but he’d still whip it out now and again to thrum the heartstrings of lonely-looking 40-somethings. She had no ring on her finger; it was worth a shot. “But just know my kids’ll be real upset if Uncle Leland dies from pneumonia all because you don’t wanna help me out.”

“Yeah?” She teased with a mischievous gleam. “Well, I might know where we can find some.” She thoughtfully looked him up and down. He felt her gaze linger on his lips for half a second too long, then work him over once again. Oh good, his favorite game.

“Whatever you want, it’s yours, honey,” he cooed, slowly pronouncing each word, moving his hand out of her field of vision so she could get a better look at him. “What time you get outta this fun house?”

She glanced side-to-side in the space beyond him, no doubt checking that the coast was clear before beckoning him closer. He hunched over, inching nearer as she shyly reeled forward, a girlish move that magically took a decade off. Oh, he had it in the bag—

“NEXT!” She yelled, inches away from his face. He jerked only slightly from the assault on his eardrums. He bit his lip but held his ground.

“Please,” he whisper-yelled through grit teeth, searching her face for a crumb of altruism—however, how stale. “I’m so forreal about the orphan thing!”

“Au revoir!” She waved him off.

A hand wrenched onto his shoulder, pulling him back as he fought to keep his balance.

“Keep it moving, vassel,” the grainy, mechanical voice of a suited-up Envoy ordered.

“Wait!” Benny supplicated, throwing out a free hand. The provision officer tossed him the baggie. He barely caught it, snagging it just between his fingertips. More firm hands wrapped around him—his other shoulder, his arms, something hard pressed into his back, a feel he became well acquainted with. He wound up on the wrong side of the barrel of one of those scary-looking guns the tin cans trotted around more than he’d care to admit.

As he got hauled off, he kept his hands up, the universal sign of surrender—Envoys were known as a little too eager to exercise their authority given the slightest opportunity to pounce. He had too many people counting on him to do something as stupid as starting a fistfight with metal men who’d make sure it’d be his last.

He glanced at the woman standing behind the counter, who didn’t seem to have a care in the world watching him get his sorry ass held at gunpoint. He hoped he was at least the highlight of her day.

“I didn’t catch your name,” he shouted.

Her reply came swift and as emotionless as her opener, “I didn’t throw it.”

The squadron of Envoys pushed him out of the roped-off area of the small shanty town tents. He rolled his shoulders and realigned himself, trying to shake off the feeling of the tight, gloved grips all over him. He knew there had to be a human in there somewhere beneath all the steel plates operating the thing, but that didn’t take away from how cold and soulless their presence was.

“Ben, what the fuck?” his cousin, Jean-Paul, exclaimed in a hushed rage, approaching him from a tree in the bush line he jumped down from, no doubt witnessing the whole event. “This was the last one on the list!”

“I know, J.P.—don’t you think I know that? I was sure this would be the one since it’s all the way out in bum-fuck, and all them others came up dry!”

Jean-Paul snatched the snack-sized zip-lock from his hand and stared at it as if he had no idea what the hell it was. “This is all you could get?”

“Don’t go get all highfalutin on me; I tried my damnedest! Why don’t you go on and hop your ass in that line and give it a whack, huh?” Benny groused, throwing his arms up in defeat, determined to pitch himself a whole fit.

“Ay, ay, Hoss, calm it,” Jean-Paul pointed his gaze at the Envoys lurking about and then back at Benny, reminding him they were still out in public with prying ears and eyes.

“What’s the plan?” Jean-Paul hushed, his brows stitched together in worry.

“Only one thing left,” Benny sighed, retying his loose ponytail of black hair into a tight bun—just in case things got real hairy.

“Go start the boat and cut their lines. Be ready to hightail it outta this shithole. Time for a good ole snatch-and-run.”

Taglist: @sacredwrath @the-name-is-reaper @little-rat-dragon @pirefyrelight @whumpyourdamnpears

@3-2-whump @potterhead5ever

If ya wanna be added or removed from the taglist, just let me know! Leave a comment or message me! :)

Bonus chapter song vibes:

Author’s notes:

Congratulations, you have officially met my favorite, favorite guy (alongside my poor, beat-to-hell Aid)! I hope ya’ll like Benny (Benôit Onésiphore Bourdeaux) because he is—surprise—a main character—what? You thought distance from our first MC would stop Benny’s rise to fame? I don’t want to give too much away and spoil things, but I will assure ya’ll that things will come together and are connected and make sense, I swear!

I hope to God Benny didn’t come off as a weirdo but instead as his intended cheeky, schmoozing self! I hope you guys like him!🤞

Important things to know: Get ready for some prime-time culty apocalypse whumping straight from the bayou! Crazy swamp cannibals, crocodiles, and Envoys—oh my!

Benny is of Creole/Cajun and Native American (primarily Choctaw) descent but grew up in a French-heavy part of LA (evident by his name). Needless to say, he’s a POC, as is most of his family; therefore, there will be POC AND bits of female whump here, and probably some spice (everything will be tagged as usual, don’t worry). Additionally, since we are working with different backgrounds WITHIN an AU, some regional lingo and jargon will be thrown around, as is evident in this Part 2 preview alone (Louisiana-French is a whole dialect of its own that I won’t pretend to grasp fully). At some point, I will assemble a lexicon of AU slang and definitions of commonly used abbreviations because I love a good reference guide, and do I think it is necessary for a story like this.

How this will work: Part 2 will still follow The Aid and his misfortunate daily dealings with the detestable piece of shit, Wyatt, while also introducing Benny and his clan (he does, in fact, take care of orphans and his sick Uncle Leland, amongst many other things—Full House ain’t got nothing on him). I am unsure how many chapters there will be in Part 2, but I will try my hardest to give The Aid and Benny equal-ish screen time, but, in all honestly, I have a feeling this part will lean more towards Benny because The Aid got a whole part to himself already. I don’t know precisely what that will look like yet (flying by the seat of my pants as usual), but it will probably be one-two chapters for each and they switch off.

I was hoping I would be able to contain my excitement and get all of Part 2 done before I start posting it, as I’m not trying to make the same accretion of mistakes as I did in Part 1 (which is a complete fucking mess omg, I know it’s in dire need of a rewrite. I didn’t know what the story would turn into once I began it, but I now know I’m writing the story I wanted this to become. If you’ve been here since the jump—hi, you're the real MVP, and thank you for sticking through these rough waters). But, seeing as how I’m currently losing my mind over just this sneak peek and how ecstatic I feel from finally releasing Benny into the world, I can’t promise this won’t be a write-as-you-go cluster fuck (although I really hope it won't be as chaotic as Part 1 since I’ve gotten some kinks worked out and have had months to think about things).

Part 2 extras: I have already made Picrews of some of the main cast that are locked and loaded to share in a separate “extras” post once I introduce everybody in text (yeah, we aren’t doing a weird two-character situation again like what happened with The Aid & Wyatt). Additionally, I will probably share some other relevant things like a picture of the type of fishing boat Benny has, what the family bait & tackle shop looks like, and what a bayou looks like—as I believe these are region-specific to Louisiana and people may be unfamiliar, etc.

I know that was a lot! Please feel free to leave me any comments/asks with questions or words of advice or encouragement! Anything and everything is greatly appreciated!

[uzumaki-rebellion]

Have I put y'all on to that Willie Jones sound yet? My Black Cowboy playlist is popping this afternoon!

[southdigitalcreation]

[new-albums-daily]

Creedence Clearwater Revival – Bayou Country (1969)

7 tracks, 33 min 56 sec

Rating: 7/10

Top Track: Proud Mary

Might've once again intentionally picked a short album today, oops. For once a band I already know quite well with CCR, though the tracks of theirs I know are scattered across a few albums. The ones present here are Born on the Bayou and Proud Mary.

I'll tell you what, this album 100% lives up to its title, if not much else. Absolutely gives bayou vibes and I'm so here for it. Of course, that describes much of the CCR I know anyways, but really cool to see it all come together like this on one album. That and Fogerty's vocals, which I've always found pretty unique and cool, bump this from a 6 to a 7. Beyond these things, this album wasn't that much for me. Most of the music is just okay, though the good side of okay. Favorite tracks of mine included Born on the Bayou and Graveyard Train.

[stastrodome]

Weary of the back and forth. Catholic guilt is gonna win this round, I'm afraid, but I will come back.

[undiscoperlapausapranzo]

#UnDiscoPerLaPausaPranzo - #1415 - 16 Marzo 2023 - Creedence Clearwater Revival - Bayou Country - 1969

[musicandoldmovies]

Creedence Clearwater Revival - Bayou Country

[black-seance]

Black Horror and Portrayal of Occult

Black horror has consistently been entranced with magic and mysticism, portraying African cultural aesthetics such as Vodou and ancestor worship. Many Black horror movies include themes of possession, occult, and ritualism which are portrayed differently from other horror because of a unique and stigmatized cultural lens. 

Eve’s Bayou is interesting in its portrayal of Vodou and mysticism, as supernatural aspects of Black Southern life seem to be normalized. There are a range of different powers at play within the film, such as with Aunt Mozelle who is simultaneously blessed with foresight and plagued by a curse that has killed all her past lovers in varying gruesome fashion. The film’s main character, Eve, is also clairvoyant herself, and recruits the help of a Vodou lady in order to kill her promiscuous father. Eve is played by Jurnee Smollet, who also happens to star in Lovecraft Country, another show which centers itself around the occult. 

Magic and mysticism is also very present in Blaxploitation horror, such as Scream Blacula Scream with its revival of Blacula via Vodou, or Sugar Hill, which makes use of the Vodou zombie trope through a thrilling tale of revenge. You also have the film, Abby, a horror film in which a woman is possessed by the Yoruba sex spirit, Eshu. Blaxploitation horror also includes portrayals of Black vampires and ghosts, heavy with themes of retribution, racism, and other social issues. These Blaxploitation films, while not really the best portrayal of African occult practices, are unique from other horror in that the horror is specifically of Black origin, again, an example of how Black horror looks at magic and mysticism through a cultural lens. This is in contrast to Western horror flicks, which seem to revolve around the general white sphere and look at magic and mysticism through a strictly gimmicky lens (vampires not as cultural figures, but as marketable boogeymen).

Themes of magic and mysticism can also be found in films such as Get Out, Candyman (both the originals and the sequel), and His House. Get Out’s usage of the mysticism is much more subtle than the rest, but it can be found in the beginning with the usage of the song, Sikiliza Kwa Wahenga, a Swahili song which Jordan Peele states is mean to represent Chris’s ancestors warning him to “get out”. Candyman’s usage is a bit more obvious, with magic and mysticism represented through the oral passage of Candyman as urban legend, which is explored in the 2021 sequel as a simultaneous representation of oral traditions of old, as well as generational trauma from racialized killings of Black men. Lastly, His House makes use of the apeth, otherwise known as a Night Witch in Dinka culture, a creature by which they must repay a debt to after abducting a child and getting said child killed. 

[sadboygrim]

Ditched my friends to go fish in the Bayou (Circa 1985-1995)

Artist: C.F. [MOTHER]

[jt1674]

[dawnsmp3]

spotify will look you in your eyes and tell you that texas hold em by beyonce is a southern gothic song

[littleblackraincloudofcourse]

❤️Jurnee Smollett❤️

The first girl I ever crushed on, other than Storm from X-men(animated). Long before I knew I liked girls, I knew I loved her. Still do!

[alex6186]

My WCW aka Woman Crush Wednesday American actress and Former Hollywood child star the beautiful talented Jurnee Smollett.

______________________________________________

#WCW #MYWCW #AJBWCW #childstar #WomanCrushWednesday #Actress #jurneesmollettbell #jurneesmollett #AmericanActress #Undergroundtv #FridayNightLights #FullHouse #OnOurOwn #BirdsOfPrey #BlackCanary #EvesBayou #RollBounce #TrueBlood #SmollettEats #Gridiron #JosiahBell #TheGreatDebaters #CosbyShow #SelmaLordSelma #Jackmovie #Cosby #BeautifulJoe #OneLastThing #AudreysRun #LovecraftCountry

[iamthescalesofjustice]

had a locked tomb dream in which one of gideons lowkey-only-bc-she-glosses-over-it-in-her-narration powers was teleportation as in she fucking kept teleporting and didnt seem to notice or think it was weird and when people called her on it she was like ‘yeah its called flash-stepping i read about it in some ancient-ass comic books i dug up in a back corner of the library on the ninth’ and everyone is like ‘???’ bc she says its not a necromantic technique bc everyone who did in it the ‘comic books’ (only the sixth know what manga is) she read was a warrior and most of them used swords so clearly its a secret advanced cav technique. and, she says, its not like it uses any spooky necro stuff, its ‘just a matter of honing yourself until you can move really fast’ so it might look like ‘teleportation’ to all of them but clearly that just shows that she got really good at it and is better than all of their fancy smancy ‘properly trained’ cavs. anyway, it turns out that using flashstep as the framework is the only reason why its been short line-of-sight bursts for her until now, once the penny drops she can straight up pop between planets. also she at one point mentions how ‘the wind’ roars really loudly in her ears while doing it and it turns out thats the sounds of the feral river ghosts bc she is, and i cannot stress this enough, constantly taking brief dips into the river.