#chuck green kin

[faultlinescrew]

Thank you @lakesbian for opening my eyes to Aisha, she has entered the relm of my favourites and will now proceed to be rotated in my head at mach 10 speeds

Design notes under the Readmore

My main focus with Aisha is making her look her age. Like they're all kids and it's fucked up but at the start of worm she was 13, and as someone who has 13yr old siblings:

1. I completely understand why Brian is like that, on such a visceral level. -Actually the more I type this the more I realise that his relationship with Aisha is the closest Ive ever seen to my own relationship with my siblings in media. I could legally kin him. What the fuck

2. They look young

So I made her shapes very round, attempted to give her a bit of a babyface and the kind of hair style I've seen teenage girls wear variations of, but with purple braiding hair and acid green cuffs instead of silver/gold ones bc yknow, it's Aisha.

You would not believe how much I debated giving her braces, mostly bc the mental image of someone (probably Brian) dragging her to the dentist is very funny to me, but decided against it (I will draw her with them one day though)

And for Imp I took all those round shapes and fuckin chucked em in a blender. Sharp shapes only.

A monochromatic pallet contrasted nicely with her bright one, and her mask is like a really fucked up comedy one, bc what is worm if not a fucked up comedy?

I also gave it lil cheeks bc I thought it was cute.

[blnk338]

COD Headcanons!!

Pt 2 b/c you guys loved these sm

Relationship hcs!!

Price:

Good chef, GREAT at bbq

Taps his phone screen too hard and squints at it

Googled “Pegging” because Soap told him to

Regrets it dearly

“I’m just going to rest my eyes” and falls into comatose for 8-10 years

Was the best man at Laswell’s wedding and still cries today thinking about it

Does the dad-sneeze thing

Supporter of small businesses

Vanilla > chocolate ice cream will get into a heated argument over this

Will put on a 19th-century oil tycoon accent when asking questions about technology to make light of the situation

This started when he didn’t know how to change the wallpaper on his iPhone

Laswell does an incredible impression of his impression

Crazy emetophobia

HOLIDAY DAD! Absolutely shite with gifts but will wake up at 3 am to set up everything and give you a good holiday

Very comfortable in his masculinity from raising two daughters, made sure to teach himself how to raise them to be smart and safe, and actively does his best to keep himself in check and support the women in his life

Ultimate straight ally

His oldest, 15, made him and her little sister go to pride and he voluntarily wore a shirt that said “free dad hugs”

Gaz:

Got Price to say “Girl trust you will be dealt with” and had to get Soap to punch him so he could breathe again

Fluent in French!

Bisexual w/ a preference for women

Needs two triple-shot espressos every morning

Hates oat milk; thinks it's grainy

Is lactose intolerant though

But he’s not the shit-your-brains-out lactose intolerant, he’s the wallow-in-pain-on-the-bathroom-floor-for-eighty-minutes lactose intolerant

Turkey hater. Not the animal, the food. Thinks it’s dry and flavorless

Okayish cook, phenomenal baker.

Will leave baked goods in the sergeant's/lieutenant's and captain's offices/breakrooms and act surprised when he sees the plate of freshly baked brownies

Tried smoking weed, hated it.

Middle child of an older sister and a younger brother

Didn’t like The Office

Soap:

Can make balloon animals out of anything balloon-like (condoms included)

Has a TikTok, makes TikTok references

Loves cats and dogs equally, but had only dogs growing up so he’s not really sure how to deal with cats

In a constant state of "trying his best"

Dick stick-n-poke tattoo on his calf

30-minute night routine

Double exfoliates

Disgusted at Ghost’s hygiene

Loves the holidays; this man goes fucking insane for Christmas lights and his house is the biggest source of light pollution in the entirety of the UK

RELIGIOUSLY a supporter of small businesses. Loves little family-run stores and buys local produce/groceries all the time

Highlighter kid in grade school

Blamed a fart on Gaz and asked him if he was feeling “Gazzy” (Garrick smacked the shit out of him)

Makes gagging noises over comms to fuck with Price

Knows what kinning is, kins Rainbow Dash

ADHD

Coffee does the opposite for him; he’ll be bouncing off the walls and you’ll hand him a double shot espresso and he’s calm as all fuck

GREAT AT READING SOCIAL CUES THOUGH

Really knows how to read body language and will step back if anyone gets uncomfortable

Youngest of 3 brothers and one older sister (she’s second to oldest amongst his siblings)

König:

Will literally sit at home in full tactical gear

Chess master

Loves horror movies but gets super scared

Likes Scrabble

Bug kid!!!!!

Hates birds. No one knows why.

Doesn’t drink, prefers virgin versions of alcohol

Drunk König is a sad König

Wore headgear because of his teeth when he was in middle school

Favorite color is yellow but does love green!

Will accidentally man-handle people because he forgets his strength

Always so terribly sorry about it

Ghost:

Has had his license revoked an uncountable number of times (currently does not have a license)

Drives

No rizz

Horrifyingly good aim with anything and everything. Will chuck trash across the house and somehow land it in the bin

Will lean his head down slightly if someone he respects (and is shorter than him) is talking

One of those dog people that’s like “I fucking hate cats.” And then you find them napping together, and he’s carrying the cat in the hood of his jacket, and he sneaking them treats, and he’s talking to them in a baby voice…

Wins staring contests, always

Knows his staring is bad, but doesn’t really do anything to change it

Speaking of which, he’s got a horrible German stare (google it)

Spaces out and sways side to side slightly, unaware that he’s been glaring lasers into an unsuspecting private for like a solid forty seconds.

Doesn’t know what kinning is but would kin Winter Soldier / Bucky Barnes

Likes sensory toys but will never buy one because he thinks they’re too obvious.

Really wants a sensory slug

Definitely the jealous type but will not say a single fucking word

Soft spot for animals and young children

Likes drinking for a buzz, but will easily stop himself. He doesn’t like being unaware of his surroundings

Edibles > mass amounts of alcohol

Little fidgeting -> rubbing his thumb across the side of his index finger, squeezing his hands, twitching his feet but not enough to tap them, playing with the hems of stuff

Mirrors in his house are covered/removed

Wants a pet but won’t get one because he doesn’t like the idea of something relying on him, only to abandon them or discard them. He’s away for work often so it’s not like they would be taken care of

Doesn’t actively seek partners because he doesn’t think he’s worth it

Behind the confident, stoic attitude, he’s a man who doesn’t value himself and therefore, if he does have feelings for anyone, doesn’t put in the effort to pursue them or he tries to kill the warm feelings in him.

Better to be alone than to hurt someone he cares about

Graves:

Screams at Football (US) games

Thinks he can out-grill Price; cannot.

Lost his kids in the divorce

Thinks no-sock loafers are the way to go

Doesn’t wear socks that much, actually

Can’t handle spice

Mint n’ chip ice cream kinda guy

Fav beer is Natty Lit

Likes egg salad

Dog guy

Divorced twice, btw

“But if the roles were reversed…”

Doesn’t have a problem with climate change, and thinks that the weather is getting nicer so, if anything, the climate is just getting better

Uses Crest toothpaste

Left-handed and makes a big deal out of it

Gets really up in the ass about calling soccer “football” (not ironically)

[notealotgoingon]

2023 Bullet Journal Cover & Lists

- movies - books - physical music stickers

(typed list below cut)

Movies

X (2022) ★★★★★ 1/9

Pearl (2022) ★★★★★ 1/10

Jason X (2001) ★★★ 1/17

X (2022) ★★★★★ 1/26

Pearl (2022) ★★★★★ 2/11

Rosemary's Baby (1968) ★★★★★ 2/11

Harley Quinn: A Very Problematic Valentine's Day Special (2023) ★★★★★ 2/12

Skinamarink (2022) ★★★★ 3/8

Re-Animator (1985) ★★★★ 3/12

Ring (1998) ★★★★★ 3/12

Ju-On: The Grudge (2002) ★★★★ 3/12

I Know What You Did Last Summer (1997) ★★★★ 4/2

Scary Movie (2000) ★★★ 4/3

Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves (2023) ★★★★★ 4/5

Everything Everywhere All at Once (2022) ★★★★★ 4/18

Scary Movie 2 (2001) ★★★ 5/3

Scary Movie 3 (2003) ★★ 5/4

The Green Knight (2021) ★★★★★ 5/20

Black Panther: Wakanda Forever (2022) ★★★★ 5/21

Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania (2023) ★★ 6/6

Evil Dead Rise (2023) ★★★★1/2 6/27

Nimona (2023) ★★★★ 7/2

Barbarian (2022) ★★★★ 7/6

Malignant (2021) ★★★★ 7/7

Barbie (2023) ★★★★★ 7/23

Scream VI (2023) ★★★1/2 8/1

Saw (2004) ★★★★ 8/1

Frozen (2010) ★★ 8/2

Resident Evil: Death Island (2023) ★★★★ 8/21

Studio 666 (2022) ★★★★ 9/4

The Exorcist (1973) ★★★★1/2 9/4

Saw II (2005) ★★★★ 9/9

Saw III (2006) ★★★1/2 9/9

Saw IV (2007) ★★★1/2 9/9

Saw V (2008) ★★★ 9/9

Saw VI (2009) ★★★ 9/9

Saw 3D (2010) ★★ 9/9

Jigsaw (2017) ★★★ 9/10

Miss Americana (2020) ★★★★ 9/10

Spiral: From the Book of Saw (2021) ★★1/2 9/17

Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse (2023) ★★★★1/2 9/24

Saw (2004) ★★★★1/2 9/25

Saw II (2005) ★★★★1/2 9/26

Dracula (1931) ★★★★ 10/1

Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter (1984) ★★★1/2 10/1

Friday the 13th: A New Beginning (1985) ★★★★ 10/1\

House of 1000 Corpses (2003) ★★★★ 10/8

Friday the 13th (1980) ★★★★1/2 10/13

Taylor Swift: The Eras Tour (2023) ★★★★★ 10/19

Saw VI (2009) ★★★1/2 10/28

Saw 3D (2010) ★1/2 10/29

Saw X (2023) ★★★★1/2 11/6

Saw IV (2007) ★★★1/2 11/20

Saw X (2023) ★★★★1/2 11/20

Terrifier (2016) ★★★1/2 12/4

Hellraiser III: Hell on Earth (1992) ★★ 12/4

Saw V (2008) ★★★1/2 12/4

Terrifier 2 (2022) ★★★1/2 12/11

The Green Knight (2021) ★★★★★ 12/18

Sonic Christmas Blast(1996) ★★1/2 12/22

Black Christmas (1974) ★★★★★ 12/23

Black Christmas (2006) ★★★1/2 12/24

Saltburn (2023) ★★★★ 12/29

Taylor Swift: Reputation Stadium Tour (2018) ★★★★★ 12/30

Books

The Ballad of Black Tom by Victor Lavalle 1/2

The Witcher: The Last Wish by Andrzej Sakowski 1/12

We Can Never Leave This Place by Eric Larocca 1/14

Causes and Cures in the Classroom by Margaret Searle 1/29

Vox Machina: Kith & Kin by Marieke Nijkamp 2/1

Black is the Body by Emily Bernard 2/4

A Court of Thorns and Roses by Sarah J. Maas 2/18

The Anthropocene Reviewed by John Green 2/19

Black Klansman by Ron Stallworth 2/26

The Dark Tower V: Wolves of the Calla by Stephen King 3/7

Ring by Koji Suzuki 4/14

What Moves the Dead by T. Kingfisher 4/14

In the Time of the Butterflies by Julia Alvarez 5/8

Circe by Madeline Miller 5/19

When the Emperor Was Divine by Julie Otsuka 5/30

Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe 6/1

The Hellbound Heart by Clive Barker 6/25

The Way of Kings by Brandon Sanderson 6/28

The Lesbian Classics Get Me Off by Chuck Tingle 6/28

Icebreaker by Hannah Grace 7/5

Teacher of the Yearby M.A. Wardell 7/7

The Colorado Kid by Stephen King 7/17

This is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar & Max Gladstone 7/31

Camp Damascus by Chuck Tingle 8/4

The Writing Revolution by Judith C. Hochman & Natalie Wexler 8/10

You Can Go Your Own Way by Eric Smith 8/20

Phasma by Delilah S. Dawson 9/12

Small Spaces by Katherine Arden 9/27

Reforged by Seth Haddon 10/8

Fifty Feet Down by Sophie Tanen 10/23

The Exorcist by William Peter Blatty 11/22

Good Omens by Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett 12/2

Spoiler Alert by Olivia Dade 12/7

Wildfire by Hannah Grace 12/5

Interview With the Vampire by Anne Rice 12/12

Tender is the Flesh by Augustina Bazterrica 12/19

A Prayer for the Crown-Shy by Becky Chambers 12/20

Last Night at the Telegraph Club by Malinda Lo 12/28

Stowaway and Silent Song by Vera Valentine 12/29

Physical Music Media:

(this isn't all of the records/CDs I've gotten or listened to this year, but I figured I'd decipher the stickers I put in the book; these are all of the promo stickers on the outside of the plastic wrapping on the releases)

Beat the Champ - the Mountain Goats

Paradise - Lana del Ray

Red (Taylor's Version) - Taylor Swift

What's it Like? - Sure Sure

Did You Know There's A Tunnel Under Ocean Boulevard? - Lana del Ray

Stick Season - Noah Kahan

The Rest - boygenius

Midnights (Late Night Edition) - Taylor Swift

Raving Ghost - Olivia Jean

The Record - boygenius

Speak Now (Taylor's Version) - Taylor Swift

Dark in Here - the Mountain Goats

Bangerz (10th Anniversary Edition) - Miley Cyrus

God Games - the Kills

1989 (Taylor's Version) - Taylor Swift

[amaurotine-daydreaming]

XXI. Grave

“I think I might be havin’ second thoughts about us takin’ this job.”

Mellow Madrigal leaned on her shovel with both hands. “What, why? We weren’t even tasked to kill anything, just had to defend ourselves getting here.”

“Aye, it’s just…” B’shen Tia looked around at the weathered stones sticking up haphazardly from the dark earth. His ears flattened. “All I’m sayin’ is, grave robbin’ seems a step too far. It don’t feel like we should be that desperate.”

“We ain’t digging up the grave, we’re just going after the headstone,” Madrigal pointed out, shoving the point of her shovel near the stone’s base. “Bloody beats me why she wants some millennia-old rocks, though.”

Nadan dropped another cleared piece of rubble into a pile with its kin and dusted his hands off.  “Salvage? Construction? Souvenirs?”

“She said summat about what was written on it that matters,” said B’shen.

“Listen, I’m not of a mind to question that she-devil,” Madrigal said. “That’s how it is with merchants as powerful as her. She wants something, we get it, we get paid.” She flung aside a clod of dirt from her shovel. “You don’t ask unless you want to run the risk of getting one o’ these before your next nameday.” She nudged the headstone with her foot, then stuck the spade in the ground once more.

“She isn’t paying us to ask questions,” Nadan agreed. 

“Maybe not,” B’shen said, gripping his own shovel but making no renewed attempt to use it, “but I still gotta ask how in the hells we’re gonna lug this bugger back in one piece.”

“Where in the seven hells have you been?”

The three of them looked over toward the shattered entrance of the dome, where beyond the hazy orange-green sky of Azys Lla peeked through. Standing on the top step was a petite Xaela woman with a revolver strapped to her back.

“Mudita!” said Madrigal, brightening. She gestured to the pockmarked earth and partially dislodged tombstones. “We was just doing some excavatin’ for them stones.”

Mudita hopped down to ground level and walked over, surveying their work. Instead of pleased, their leader looked incredulous. “Why in the name of the gods are you looking here and not in the research facilities?” 

“The research facilities? Why would they be there?” asked Nadan, equally incredulous.

“We’re lookin’ for tombstones, ain’t we?” B’shen added. “Which is why we figured an old church was a good place to–”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Mudita raised a hand to stop them. She pressed her thumb and ring finger to her temples. “Did you just say ‘tombstones’?”

B’shen looked at Madrigal. 

“Aye?” confirmed Madrigal with a shrug. “That’s what Rowena ordered, innit?”

Mudita stared at them. When all she got back were three blank looks, she buried her face in her hands. “Gods above. You absolute dung-brains.” 

“Now hold on,” her brother Nadan protested.

“She wants TOMEstones, not tombstones, you deaf manzasiri! One of these!” Mudita grabbed something slim from the satchel at her hip and chucked it. It bounced off of Nadan’s shoulder.

“Ow!”

Madrigal leaned down and picked up the fallen object. She turned it over to one side and then the other. It was about the length and width of a Triple Triad card, and an ilm or so thick. One side was striped with glowing lines–three red, one blue. 

B’shen, for his part, looked relieved. Nadan sidled over and peered at the strange device, rubbing his stinging shoulder. 

The three of them looked at one another.

“Well boys,” Madrigal said, “I guess that solves more than one of our problems, eh?”

[infiniterichesinalittleroom]

August

Dull August! Maiden of the sultry days, And Summer's latest born! When all the woods Grow dim with smoke, and smirch their lively green With haze of long-continued drought begot; When every field grows yellow, and a plague Of thirst dries up its herbage to the root, So that the cattle grow quite ribby-lean On woody stalks whose juices all are spent; When every fronded fern in mid-wood hid Grows sick and yellow with the jaundice heat, Whilst those on hill-sides glare with patchy red; When streamlets die upon the lichened rocks, And leave the bleaching pebbles shining bare, And every mussel shell agape and parched, And small snail-craft quite emptied of their crews; When not one angel-cloud is to be seen To image coolness and the coming rain, But all the air with stour and dust is filled, Through which the sun stares with a pallid face On which one long may look, and turn, and read Some prophecy of old with eyes undimmed; When every morn is fiery as the noon, And every eve is fiery as the morn, And every night a prison hot and dark, Where one doth sleep and dream of pleasant snow, And winter's icicles and blessed cold, But, soon awakes, with limbs uneasy cramped, And garments drenched, and stifled, panting breath; When life itself grows weary of its use, And mind is tarnished with the hue of things, And thoughts are sickened with o'erdàrkened food; When man uneasy strolls, a listless mome In museless misery, a wretch indeed— Say, fiery maiden, with the scorching eyes, What hast thou left to chain us to the earth? Ah, there are busy forms which, all unsought, Find yet a relish in thy scanty store. And, for that blooms are scarce, therefore the bee Wades knee-deep in the purple thistle tops, And shares their sweetness with the hungry wasp. Therefore the butterfly comes sailing down, And, heedless, lighting on a hummer's back, Soon tacks aloft in sudden strange alarm, Whilst bee and wasp quick scurry out of sight, And leave their treasures to the plodding ant. The beetle in the tree-top sits and sings His brassy tune with increase to the end, And one may peep and peer amongst the leaves, Yet see him not though still he sits aloft, And winds his reedy horn into the noon. Now many a sob is heard in thickets dim, Where little birds sit, pensive, on the spray, And muse mayhap on the delights of Spring; And many a chitmunk whistles out its fear, And jerks and darts along the panneled rails, Then stops, and watches with unwinking eyes Where you do stand, as motionless as death; But should you wag a finger through the air, Or move a-tiptoe o'er the crispy sod, 'Twill snudge away beneath the balsam brush, Quick lost and safe among the reddened spray. Now one may sit within a little vale, Close to the umbrage of some wood whose gums Give heavy odours to the heavy air, And watch the dusty crackers snap their wings, Whilst gangs of blue-flies fetch a buzzing teaze Of mad, uneasy whirlings overhead. Now one may mark the spider trim his web From bough to bough, and sorrow at the fate Of many a sapless fly quite picked and bare, Still hanging lifeless in the silken mesh, Or muse upon the maze of insect brede Which finds a home and feeds upon the leaves Till naught but fibre-skeletons are hung From branch to branch up to the highest twig. And many a curious pleasance may be seen And strange disport. Of such the wondrous glee The joinèd gnats have in their headlong flight; The wild'ring quest of horse-flies humming past In twos and threes, and the small cloud of wings Which mix and throng together in the sun. A num'rous kin dart shining o'er some pool Spared from the general wreck of water store, And from the lofty woods crow-blackbird trains Chuck o'er the barren leas with long-drawn flight. Far o'er the hills the grouse's feath'ry drum Beats quick and loud within a beechen copse, And, sometimes, when the heavy woods are still, A single tap upon a hemlock spire Dwells with the lonely glades in echoes deep. Then with the eve come sounds of varied note. The boys troop clam'ring to the woods, and curs Yelp sharply where the groundhog's lair is found. The horn has called the reapers from the fields, And, now, from cots half-hid by fruited trees, The homely strains of fiddle or of fife, Which distance sweetens with a needed art, Come dropping on the ear. And sometimes, too, If sparks are deemed sincere, and rustic love Run smooth, the merry milkmaids sing A fallow's length with pails at elbow slung, Or, while they thrust the draw-well dangler down, 'Gainst which the swains oppose their yielding strength, Laugh loud and long, or scold with mimicked heat. These find a pleasure in the waste of days, And strive against the mis'ry of the time With am'rous snares and artifice of love. Not less those faithful ones who look upon This weather-sorrow with sufficing joy— The old, who still would linger with their seed, And snatch a little comfort from the earth. Still would they gaze upon the simmering sun, And take the warmth into their aged bones, Nor cavil with the hindrances which stay. The lethal hour when death shall come and bend Their reverend heads into the restful grave. Hail August! Maiden of the sultry days, To thee I bring the measured meed of praise. For, though thou hast besmirched the day and night, And hid a wealth of glory from our sight, Thou still dost build in musing, pensive mood, Thy blissful idyls in the underwood. Thou still dost yield new beauties, fair and young, With many a form of grace as yet unsung, Which ripens o'er thy pathway and repays The toil and languor of the sultry days.

by Charles Mair

[serpentofslaanesh]

"Why do your kin so often find themselves bound to weapons? Because you are built to kill. Verminlords have their uses too - and better, they are not all built for the same ends."

"Warpseers can see into all possible futures using their orbs, for example. Not that you would find that interesting, however. But-"

Lyss promptly chucks her spear off into a random direction. She opens her palm casually and, with a crackle of green-and-black lightning, it reappears in her hand.

"There are other talents the rodents have that are handy."

[gay-mormon-wizard]

"May" by John Clare

Come queen of months in company

Wi all thy merry minstrelsy

The restless cuckoo absent long

And twittering swallows chimney song

And hedge row crickets notes that run

From every bank that fronts the sun

And swathy bees about the grass

That stops wi every bloom they pass

And every minute every hour

Keep teazing weeds that wear a flower

And toil and childhoods humming joys

For there is music in the noise

The village childern mad for sport

In school times leisure ever short

That crick and catch the bouncing ball

And run along the church yard wall

Capt wi rude figured slabs whose claims

In times bad memory hath no names

Oft racing round the nookey church

Or calling ecchos in the porch

And jilting oer the weather cock

Viewing wi jealous eyes the clock

Oft leaping grave stones leaning hights

Uncheckt wi mellancholy sights

The green grass swelld in many a heap

Where kin and friends and parents sleep

Unthinking in their jovial cry

That time shall come when they shall lye

As lowly and as still as they

While other boys above them play

Heedless as they do now to know

The unconcious dust that lies below

The shepherd goes wi happy stride

Wi moms long shadow by his side

Down the dryd lanes neath blooming may

That once was over shoes in clay

While martins twitter neath his eves

Which he at early morning leaves

The driving boy beside his team

Will oer the may month beauty dream

And cock his hat and turn his eye

On flower and tree and deepning skye

And oft bursts loud in fits of song

And whistles as he reels along

Crack[ing] his whip in starts of joy

A happy dirty driving boy

The youth who leaves his corner stool

Betimes for neighbouring village school

While as a mark to urge him right

The church spires all the way in sight

Wi cheerings from his parents given

Starts neath the joyous smiles of heaven

And sawns wi many an idle stand

Wi bookbag swinging in his hand

And gazes as he passes bye

On every thing that meets his eye

Young lambs seem tempting him to play

Dancing and bleating in his way

Wi trembling tails and pointed ears

They follow him and loose their fears

He smiles upon their sunny faces

And feign woud join their happy races

The birds that sing on bush and tree

Seem chirping for his company

And all in fancys idle whim

Seem keeping holiday but him

He lolls upon each resting stile

To see the fields so sweetly smile

To see the wheat grow green and long

And list the weeders toiling song

Or short not[e] of the changing thrush

Above him in the white thorn bush

That oer the leaning stile bends low

Loaded wi mockery of snow

Mozzld wi many a lushing thread

Of crab tree blossoms delicate red

He often bends wi many a wish

Oer the brig rail to view the fish

Go sturting by in sunny gleams

And chucks in the eye dazzld streams

Crumbs from his pocket oft to watch

The swarming struttle come to catch

Them where they to the bottom sile

Sighing in fancys joy the while

Hes cautiond not to stand so nigh

By rosey milkmaid tripping bye

Where he admires wi fond delight

And longs to be there mute till night

He often ventures thro the day

At truant now and then to play

Rambling about the field and plain

Seeking larks nests in the grain

And picking flowers and boughs of may

To hurd awhile and throw away

Lurking neath bushes from the sight

Of tell tale eyes till schools noon night

Listing each hour for church clocks hum

To know the hour to wander home

That parents may not think him long

Nor dream of his rude doing wrong

Dreading thro the night wi dreaming pain

To meet his masters wand again

Each hedge is loaded thick wi green

And where the hedger late hath been

Tender shoots begin to grow

From the mossy stumps below

While sheep and cow that teaze the grain

will nip them to the root again

They lay their bill and mittens bye

And on to other labours hie

While wood men still on spring intrudes

And thins the shadow solitudes

Wi sharpend axes felling down

The oak trees budding into brown

Where as they crash upon the ground

A crowd of labourers gather round

And mix among the shadows dark

To rip the crackling staining bark

From off the tree and lay when done

The rolls in lares to meet the sun

Depriving yearly where they come

The green wood pecker of its home

That early in the spring began

Far from the sight of troubling man

And bord their round holes in each tree

In fancys sweet security

Till startld wi the woodmans noise

It wakes from all its dreaming joys

The blue bells too that thickly bloom

Where man was never feared to come

And smell smocks that from view retires

Mong rustling leaves and bowing briars

And stooping lilys of the valley

That comes wi shades and dews to dally

White beady drops on slender threads

Wi broad hood leaves above their heads

Like white robd maids in summer hours

Neath umberellas shunning showers

These neath the barkmens crushing treads

Oft perish in their blooming beds

Thus stript of boughs and bark in white

Their trunks shine in the mellow light

Beneath the green surviving trees

That wave above them in the breeze

And waking whispers slowly bends

As if they mournd their fallen friends

Each morning now the weeders meet

To cut the thistle from the wheat

And ruin in the sunny hours

Full many wild weeds of their flowers

Corn poppys that in crimson dwell

Calld 'head achs' from their sickly smell

And carlock yellow as the sun

That oer the may fields thickly run

And 'iron weed' content to share

The meanest spot that spring can spare

Een roads where danger hourly comes

Is not wi out its purple blooms

And leaves wi points like thistles round

Thickset that have no strength to wound

That shrink to childhoods eager hold

Like hair-and with its eye of gold

And scarlet starry points of flowers

Pimpernel dreading nights and showers

Oft calld 'the shepherds weather glass'

That sleep till suns have dyd the grass

Then wakes and spreads its creeping bloom

Till clouds or threatning shadows come

Then close it shuts to sleep again

Which weeders see and talk of rain

And boys that mark them shut so soon

will call them 'John go bed at noon

And fumitory too a name

That superstition holds to fame

Whose red and purple mottled flowers

Are cropt by maids in weeding hours

To boil in water milk and way1

For washes on an holiday

To make their beauty fair and sleak

And scour the tan from summers cheek

And simple small forget me not

Eyd wi a pinshead yellow spot

I'th'2 middle of its tender blue

That gains from poets notice due

These flowers the toil by crowds destroys

And robs them of their lowly joys

That met the may wi hopes as sweet

As those her suns in gardens meet

And oft the dame will feel inclind

As childhoods memory comes to mind

To turn her hook away and spare

The blooms it lovd to gather there

My wild field catalogue of flowers

Grows in my ryhmes as thick as showers

Tedious and long as they may be

To some, they never weary me

The wood and mead and field of grain

I coud hunt oer and oer again

And talk to every blossom wild

Fond as a parent to a child

And cull them in my childish joy

By swarms and swarms and never cloy

When their lank shades oer morning pearls

Shrink from their lengths to little girls

And like the clock hand pointing one

Is turnd and tells the morning gone

They leave their toils for dinners hour

Beneath some hedges bramble bower

And season sweet their savory meals

Wi joke and tale and merry peals

Of ancient tunes from happy tongues

While linnets join their fitful songs

Perchd oer their heads in frolic play

Among the tufts of motling may

The young girls whisper things of love

And from the old dames hearing move

Oft making 'love knotts' in the shade

Of blue green oat or wheaten blade

And trying simple charms and spells

That rural superstition tells

They pull the little blossom threads

From out the knapweeds button heads

And put the husk wi many a smile

In their white bosoms for awhile

Who if they guess aright the swain

That loves sweet fancys trys to gain

Tis said that ere its lain an hour

Twill blossom wi a second flower

And from her white breasts hankerchief

Bloom as they ne'er had lost a leaf

When signs appear that token wet

As they are neath the bushes met

The girls are glad wi hopes of play

And harping of the holiday

A hugh blue bird will often swim

Along the wheat when skys grow dim

Wi clouds-slow as the gales of spring

In motion wi dark shadowd wing

Beneath the coming storm it sails

And lonly chirps the wheat hid quails

That came to live wi spring again

And start when summer browns the grain

They start the young girls joys afloat

Wi 'wet my foot' its yearly note

So fancy doth the sound explain

And proves it oft a sign of rain

About the moor 'mong sheep and cow

The boy or old man wanders now

Hunting all day wi hopful pace

Each thick sown rushy thistly place

For plover eggs while oer them flye

The fearful birds wi teazing cry

Trying to lead their steps astray

And coying him another way

And be the weather chill or warm

Wi brown hats truckd beneath his arm

Holding each prize their search has won

They plod bare headed to the sun

Now dames oft bustle from their wheels

Wi childern scampering at their heels

To watch the bees that hang and swive

In clumps about each thronging hive

And flit and thicken in the light

While the old dame enjoys the sight

And raps the while their warming pans

A spell that superstition plans

To coax them in the garden bounds

As if they lovd the tinkling sounds

And oft one hears the dinning noise

Which dames believe each swarm decoys

Around each village day by day

Mingling in the warmth of may

Sweet scented herbs her skill contrives

To rub the bramble platted hives

Fennels thread leaves and crimpld balm

To scent the new house of the swarm

The thresher dull as winter days

And lost to all that spring displays

Still mid his barn dust forcd to stand

Swings his frail round wi weary hand

While oer his head shades thickly creep

And hides the blinking owl asleep

And bats in cobweb corners bred

Sharing till night their murky bed

The sunshine trickles on the floor

Thro every crevice of the door

And makes his barn where shadows dwell

As irksome as a prisoners cell

And as he seeks his daily meal

As schoolboys from their tasks will steal

ile often stands in fond delay

To see the daisy in his way

And wild weeds flowering on the wall

That will his childish sports recall

Of all the joys that came wi spring

The twirling top the marble ring

The gingling halfpence hussld up

At pitch and toss the eager stoop

To pick up heads, the smuggeld plays

Neath hovels upon sabbath days

When parson he is safe from view

And clerk sings amen in his pew

The sitting down when school was oer

Upon the threshold by his door

Picking from mallows sport to please

Each crumpld seed he calld a cheese

And hunting from the stackyard sod

The stinking hen banes belted pod

By youths vain fancys sweetly fed

Christning them his loaves of bread

He sees while rocking down the street

Wi weary hands and crimpling feet

Young childern at the self same games

And hears the self same simple names

Still floating on each happy tongue

Touchd wi the simple scene so strong

Tears almost start and many a sigh

Regrets the happiness gone bye

And in sweet natures holiday

His heart is sad while all is gay

How lovly now are lanes and balks

For toils and lovers sunday walks

The daisey and the buttercup

For which the laughing childern stoop

A hundred times throughout the day

In their rude ramping summer play

So thickly now the pasture crowds

In gold and silver sheeted clouds

As if the drops in april showers

Had woo'd the sun and swoond to flowers

The brook resumes its summer dresses

Purling neath grass and water cresses

And mint and flag leaf swording high

Their blooms to the unheeding eye

And taper bowbent hanging rushes

And horse tail childerns bottle brushes

And summer tracks about its brink

Is fresh again where cattle drink

And on its sunny bank the swain

Stretches his idle length again

Soon as the sun forgets the day

The moon looks down on the lovly may

And the little star his friend and guide

Travelling together side by side

And the seven stars and charleses wain1

Hangs smiling oer green woods agen

The heaven rekindles all alive

Wi light the may bees round the hive

Swarm not so thick in mornings eye

As stars do in the evening skye

All all are nestling in their joys

The flowers and birds and pasture boys

The firetail, long a stranger, comes

To his last summer haunts and homes

To hollow tree and crevisd wall

And in the grass the rails odd call

That featherd spirit stops the swain

To listen to his note again

And school boy still in vain retraces

The secrets of his hiding places

In the black thorns crowded cops~e1

Thro its varied turns and stops

The nightingale its ditty weaves

Hid in a multitude of leaves

The boy stops short to hear the strain

And 'sweet jug jug' he mocks again

The yellow hammer builds its nest

By banks where sun beams earliest rest

That drys the dews from off the grass

Shading it from all that pass

Save the rude boy wi ferret gaze

That hunts thro evry secret maze

He finds its pencild eggs agen

All streakd wi lines as if a pen

By natures freakish hand was took

To scrawl them over like a book

And from these many mozzling marks

The school boy names them 'writing larks'

Bum barrels twit on bush and tree

Scarse bigger then a bumble bee

And in a white thorns leafy rest

It builds its curious pudding-nest

Wi hole beside as if a mouse

Had built the little barrel house

Toiling full many a lining feather

And bits of grey tree moss together

Amid the noisey rooky park

Beneath the firdales branches dark

The little golden crested wren

Hangs up his glowing nest agen

And sticks it to the furry leaves

As martins theirs beneath the eaves

The old hens leave the roost betimes

And oer the garden pailing climbs

To scrat the gardens fresh turnd soil

And if unwatchd his crops to spoil

Oft cackling from the prison yard

To peck about the houseclose sward

Catching at butterflys and things

Ere they have time to try their wings

The cattle feels the breath of may

And kick and toss their heads in play

The ass beneath his bags of sand

Oft jerks the string from leaders hand

And on the road will eager stoop

To pick the sprouting thistle up

Oft answering on his weary way

Some distant neighbours sobbing bray

Dining the ears of driving boy

As if he felt a fit of joy

Wi in its pinfold circle left

Of all its company bereft

Starvd stock no longer noising round

Lone in the nooks of foddering ground

Each skeleton of lingering stack

By winters tempests beaten black

Nodds upon props or bolt upright

Stands swarthy in the summer light

And oer the green grass seems to lower

Like stump of old time wasted tower

All that in winter lookd for hay

Spread from their batterd haunts away

To pick the grass or lye at lare

Beneath the mild hedge shadows there

Sweet month that gives a welcome call

To toil and nature and to all

Yet one day mid thy many joys

Is dead to all its sport and noise

Old may day where's thy glorys gone

All fled and left thee every one

Thou comst to thy old haunts and homes

Unnoticd as a stranger comes

No flowers are pluckt to hail the now

Nor cotter seeks a single bough

The maids no more on thy sweet morn

Awake their thresholds to adorn

Wi dewey flowers-May locks new come

And princifeathers cluttering bloom

And blue bells from the woodland moss

And cowslip cucking balls to toss

Above the garlands swinging hight

Hang in the soft eves sober light

These maid and child did yearly pull

By many a folded apron full

But all is past the merry song

Of maidens hurrying along

To crown at eve the earliest cow

Is gone and dead and silent now

The laugh raisd at the mocking thorn

Tyd to the cows tail last that morn

The kerchief at arms length displayd

Held up by pairs of swain and maid

While others bolted underneath

Bawling loud wi panting breath

'Duck under water' as they ran

Alls ended as they ne'er began

While the new thing that took thy place

Wears faded smiles upon its face

And where enclosure has its birth

It spreads a mildew oer her mirth

The herd no longer one by one

Goes plodding on her morning way

And garlands lost and sports nigh gone

Leaves her like thee a common day

Yet summer smiles upon thee still

Wi natures sweet unalterd will

And at thy births unworshipd hours

Fills her green lap wi swarms of flowers

To crown thee still as thou hast been

Of spring and summer months the queen.

[kin-reqss]

an aesthetic for a chuck green from dead rising 2 with themes of katey in yellow, red, & black.

for anon!

[fandom-space-princess]

The Game of Us

Rating: T (gen, no warnings)

Chapter 3: Raphael

Raphael watches, impassive. “Our pain is not weakness, Michael. This grief... it took some time, but I did eventually come to understand. Why I awoke here, that is. You met Gabriel at the Styx? Fitting. Judgement always was her burden to bear. But this... this is mine."

Read below the cut, or on AO3

************************************

With Gabriel gone, the shades begin to dissipate, and soon Michael finds himself alone once again.

It doesn’t last long.

“Well done,” comes a voice from behind him. The tone is the same as before, but now the words are spoken aloud. The entity’s form has shifted. It wears a body that, while still indistinct and hazy, appears far closer to human than it had previously done.

Michael scrambles to his feet. He can feel his own form shifting as well, physical appearance undergoing continental drift atop his roiling grace.

“You took her. Gabriel. What have you done with her?”

“Please try to keep up, my boy. I took nothing and no one. The messenger is safe and well, merely—well, let’s call it offstage, for the moment. And she came quite willingly, as you saw for yourself.” The entity folds its hands neatly in front of it. “I see that she has given you much to consider. I trust your time together was informative?”

“That’s—one way of phrasing it.” The entity moves away, beckoning, and Michael doesn’t fight the impulse to follow. At the termination of the crevice, just outside the circle of crumbling stones, he is unsurprised to see that the path continues deeper into the forest.

As they walk, low-hanging branches catch and drag at his hair, his clothing. Michael feels as though he might be leaving snippets of himself behind, like fur snagged in brambles along the trail. He thinks of Gabriel’s wispy audience with sorrow. “So much of the Host, dead and gone. So many shades. I knew, of course I knew. But seeing them there... it’s not the same.” Regret swirls within him, settling as a tightness around his eyes; he can feel it there, performing the subtle work of reshaping the image he wears.

Into what, though—he doesn’t yet know.

The being at his side nods, curt. “You must understand where your actions lead. Not solely for yourself, but for others. You cannot abdicate your duty to your nature by refusing to choose, any more than you can by making choices.” He gets the impression that it raises its eyebrows meaningfully in his direction. “In your brief period of freedom, you knew the state of Heaven, and yet you turned your back on your responsibilities. On Earth, with that human—that wasn’t choosing. You were hiding.”

The words dig at him, slivers of ice working their way into the center of his grace. Adam. “He needed me. And I needed to keep him safe.”

“That’s a partial truth at best, and I’ve no interest in coddling self-delusion. Try again.”

Being dead, he is discovering, has a way of making it harder to lie to himself. Shame flares low in his stomach. “I... I should have done better by them all. They were my family, and I failed them. I couldn’t face them. Couldn’t face—”

He stops. The path has led them to the edge of another river. Crystalline and clear, smooth as glass, it burbles quietly past their feet. It winds away in lazy curves, disappearing into the deeper shade of the trees.

Michael looks down at his reflection, and his Father’s face looks back at him.

A hand on his shoulder. “I am not without sympathy for your pain,” the being at his back says, gently. “But running from it is no solution. The realm of Heaven is in disarray. Without you and your kin, it will fall, new God or no. And then—whatever it is you love, whatever it is you fear—then there will truly be nothing left to salvage.”

Michael crouches down, touches fingertips to the image of Chuck’s face. Tiny ripples distort the surface, rebounding off each other, spreading and fading away. “This isn’t the Styx. None of this should be here at all. What have you done to the local reality? And to what purpose?”

“Ask your next brother. They always were the wisest of you.”

This time, Michael doesn’t need to turn to know he is alone.

************************************

He follows the river further into the wilds, meandering gradually down the mountainside. The underbrush thins with the change in altitude, and the straggling trees grow steadily sparser. Before long he finds himself among yet more ruins, though these appear considerably more modern than the last. The river glides through the bones of a forgotten city. He picks his way along streets of stone dwellings adorned by grand archways, airy courtyards, monolithic houses of worship. Mist twines in and among the silent remains of civilization, and everywhere he looks he sees the incursion of the forest: trees growing in cracking walls, moss overhanging low rooftops.

Near the center of the city, both buildings and trees grow abruptly denser once again. A thicket of olive trees and creeping ivy, solid and unassailable, tangle up through ruined foundations and collapsed walls. The river seeps between the roots and disappears under a wall, alongside a single narrow entryway into what must once have been a church. It is barely wide enough to permit him entrance.

He pushes forward, through the vines.

An uneasy aura pervades the air within, musty and stifling, heavy across his shoulders and thick in his lungs. The further in he travels, the stronger it becomes. As it intensifies, he realizes that the feeling is not solely physical; a heady and potent psychic residue that he recognizes as grief only when he finds himself choking back a sob, without understanding quite why.

Down an overgrown corridor, and as suddenly as the vegetation had closed in upon him, it clears. He finds himself in an interior courtyard, roof all but gone, open under the sky.

“So, I get to see you again, after all. Hello, Michael.”

He looks around, confused, for a moment unable to identify the source of the words. Then, all at once, he sees.

In the quiet grove that has sprung up to consume this once-thriving city stands a sparkling pool, the termination point of the river’s above-ground course. Here the water stagnates, swirling deeper into a reservoir carved through foundation and bedrock to disappear into the earth. A stand of trees grows about the edge, roots worming deep down to seek the water through cracks in the floor. What he had originally taken for a statue carved into that living wood shifts minutely. Raphael meditates among the trunks, limbs now gnarled branches, head crowned by thick twisting ivy.

They are, he realizes, the source of the pain imbuing this place. He circles the pool and seats himself beside them, back bending under the onerous weight of their distress.

“You’ve taken His face,” they observe. Their voice holds neither scorn nor approval. Only sorrow. “Don’t take this personally, but I don’t think it suits you.”

“I’m not so certain of that,” he replies morosely. He brushes his hand lightly over the back of one of their own, firm and warm as olive wood. “And you’ve given up on a human form at all. I didn’t realize you held any fondness for dryads.”

“I needed—a change of perspective.” There is, momentarily, a hint of wry smile in their voice. Even on their worst days, he reflects, Raphael always held a spark of gentleness. It makes him ache for them; warrior and healer both, the only one among them as truly skilled in restoring life as taking it. They had never needed his protection, but he should have done more to uplift and support them, still. “Hamadryads have no skin to stitch. No bones to set. They neither bleed, nor do they break. They put down roots, and they grow, and they watch the world pass. It’s a peaceable enough existence.”

“Brother, you—you do realize where we are.”

Raphael rolls their eyes. “I’m dead, Michael, not blind.” They shake their head, ivy tumbling back and out of their face. Michael realizes, abruptly, that the ivy is a deep emerald green; like the blindfold Gabriel had worn, it is the only point of color against the otherwise monochrome environment.

“Then maybe you can enlighten me. I was sent to find you. By... well, I still don’t really know by who.”

“Don’t you, though?”

“I don’t,” he replies, adamant. “I can’t see the purpose to this, any of this. We are asked to return to the world, but to what end? What makes him think—” Michael breaks off, defeated.

“What makes him think we’d do any good for it this time around?” Raphael finishes knowingly.

Michael studies his reflection in the water, and says nothing.

They shake their head again, turning to contemplate the pool. “Did you know this pool has no bottom? If you fell in, you’d sink for eternity. There’d be no point in swimming; you couldn’t save yourself.”

“Why do you sound like you’re considering it?”

Raphael sighs. “I tried so hard, Michael. I fought and bled and died for our family, and still, it fell apart. You’re wearing His face, and for what? You blame yourself?” They look down at their palms, loose in their lap. The wood there is stained; in a place with light, with color, Michael wonders with a shiver if the stains might not appear the ruddy brown of old blood. “But I was our healer, Brother. And I tried and I tried, but I couldn’t heal anyone.” The sadness in the atmosphere redoubles, clawing over Michael’s skin.

Their voice cracks. “I couldn’t even heal myself. He wouldn’t even allow me that much.”

Michael’s head drops to his hands. This agony, like a breaking bone or a breaking heart, has been eating at their foundations for so long. Gabriel struck speechless, Raphael in tatters, and himself—what had he done for them? Other than carry out the edicts of a creator who treated his creation as no better than toys, to be discarded when He was bored of them?

He feels tears bead at the corners of his eyes, and overflow. To his astonishment, they do not fall onto his hands. He draws back in surprise.

The tears hang suspended in the air before him, crystalline. Gently revolving, they slowly coalesce, and descend toward the pool. When at last they meet the surface of the water, they merge without a single ripple marring the glassy shine.

Raphael watches, impassive. “Our pain is not weakness, Michael. This grief... it took some time, but I did eventually come to understand. Why I awoke here, that is. You met Gabriel at the Styx? Fitting. Judgement always was her burden to bear. But this... this is mine. The Kokytos is fed by the tears of mourners.” Their voice rings hollow, but there is an underpinning of tenderness there, Michael thinks. Something patient. Something compassionate. “My own contribution was long overdue.”

“How do you know where I came from? And why the rivers at all?”

“My stubborn, immovable brother.” Raphael’s smile is weary, but fond, even in their grief. “This place is his to command, he who sent you here, beyond mortality as it is. Knowledge flows through it. You need only listen for it.”

Michael scrubs hands across his eyes, and takes slow, steadying breaths. “Raphael. You don't belong here, not like this. Please. Move on from this place with me. We can do it together.”

Their eyes crinkle at the corners. Gently, they extend a hand down to break the surface of the pool. “No, Michael. In that, you are mistaken. It has been too long since I allowed myself to sit with my pain, and learn what it has to teach me. Give me time. I’ll catch up with you.” They draw the hand to their face. Trace their fingers over their lips. The tip of their tongue flicks out, catching at the water that beads there. “If I am to heal, first I must let myself mourn. Don’t worry too much about me. I know how far the river of lamentation runs; I will not drink so deeply of this well that I drown.”

The thought of leaving Raphael behind fills him with dread, but he nods. Stands. They reach up to him, trace a hand over his wrist as he pulls away.

“I wish I could have done more for you, too,” they murmur. “But you aren’t Him, Michael. Please remember that. You’re nothing like Him. I wish I could have helped you to see that more clearly.”

Michael resists the urge to look back into the pool, to see his reflection there. “I don’t know what I am. But I’ll keep searching until I do know.”

“That’s all I could hope for. See you soon.”

He feels the edges of his countenance shift and blur again. When he exits the room, his companion is waiting.

************************************

(Chapter notes:

- The city in which Michael finds Raphael is inspired by the ghost city of Kayaköy, currently part of Turkey; by its former inhabitants, it was referred to in modern Greek as Levissi. Between World War I and the Greco-Turkish war, its entire population was either forcibly exiled or killed. Despite the horror of that recent history, until that point it had been a relatively peaceful place, its mixed Muslim and Orthodox Christian populations living together harmoniously. It is now officially under the protection of historical conservation, and there have been some attempts at restoration. I think Raphael would consider such a place deeply meaningful, and be able to find healing in the possibility of moving on even in the wake of such tragedy.)

[jackies-wearing-khakis]

Marriage and Murder Pt. 1 (Shelby!Reader)

a/n: I'm a bit disappointed I had to post this in two parts, but alas, the original one-shot was too long for Tumblr.

summary: Things get progressively darker as you try to survive Tommy and Grace's wedding night.

words: 3101

warnings: Themes of drinking and sexual assault.

 "(y/n), for fuck's sake, hurry up!" Polly shouted from the betting room. She, Ada, Finn, John, and Esme were dressed in formal clothes, waiting for you to get ready.

  "Five minutes, Pol!" you called from your bedroom.

  "I swear to God," your aunt said under her breath as she checked her watch. "It's her own brother's wedding and she's decided to take her sweet time."

  "What's taking her so long anyway?" Finn asked, bored to death.

  "She probably looks ugly as hell and can't stand to face it," John whispered, earning a chuckle from Finn and a smack to the back of the head from Ada. 

  "I don't care 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 she's doing, if that girl's not down here soon we're leaving without her." Polly huffed.

  What Polly and the others didn't understand was that you were by 𝘯𝘰 means taking your sweet time. If anything, you were practically tripping over yourself to try and find a dress to wear to Tommy and Grace's wedding. You'd accidentally ripped the dress you were supposed to wear the night before when you'd gotten your arm stuck in one of the sleeves. Now, you were caught between a rock and a hard place; go downstairs and face humiliation, or stay in your room and face Polly. You could tell today was going to be stressful.

  You were legitimately considering cutting off the sleeves of your dress entirely when Polly came bursting into the room without warning.

  "Pol, wait!" you shouted, instinctively holding your arms in front of your head for self-defense.

  "I don't give a shit if you're ready or not, we're going," Polly growled. She grabbed your arm, unknowingly pulling at the rip in your dress. With one strong yank, your aunt had doubled the size of the tear. The two of you froze in shock at the damaged material.

  "𝘑𝘦𝘴𝘶𝘴, (y/n)," Polly muttered.

  "I know, it's awful." you sighed.

  As you stood there, Finn peeked his head into your room. Immediately, he saw your dress and gasped.

  "𝘏𝘰𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵, (y/n)." Finn chuckled. "What the hell did you do?"

  "Go away!" you shouted angrily. You grabbed one of your shoes and chucked it at your brother, hitting him in the shoulder. He stumbled out of the room laughing.

  You threw yourself face-first onto your bed in utter despair, sighing dramatically.

  "Oh, Pol, this'll be the death of me," you whined, your voice muffled by the covers. Your aunt rolled her eyes as she lit a cigarette.

  "Stop feeling sorry for yourself," Polly spoke. "We'll figure something out."

  It wasn't long before Ada and Esme had made their way upstairs and into your room. The four of you sat in silence, quietly brainstorming. Suddenly, Esme stood up.

  "I've got a dress that might work," she said, and immediately rushed to go fetch it. Your face lit up, and you excitedly hopped off your bed to go with your sister-in-law. Ada and Polly exchanged glances.

  You followed Esme into her and John's old room, where she was digging through her closet.

  "Now, (y/n), you're a bit smaller than I am, so hopefully this won't look too awkward on you," Esme said, tossing clothes in every direction.      

  "Now, if only I could find the damn thing."

  "What's it look like?" you asked.

  "See for yourself," Esme responded, pulling out a green shapeless dress with beaded lace embroidery.

  You gawked at the beauty of the thing; it was an excellent balance of elegance and youth. Not too modest, not too sexy; it was superbly tasteful.

 "Oh my God, Esme, it's perfect." you breathed. 

  "Hurry up and try it on!" she urged, pushing the dress into your arms. With that, she rushed out of her room.

  To your relief, the dress fit perfectly. You barely had any time to show it off to the others before Polly had rushed everyone out of the house and into the cramped car, practically dragging you all by the wrists. 

  The five of you slipped into the chapel quietly as you could. Tommy gave you all dirty looks as you scooted into the pews one by one. 

  "Where the fuck've you been?" Arthur whispered to Polly as she sat down next to him.

  "There was a complication," Polly answered. "Nothing worth worrying about now."

  "Complication my arse. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 one took forever to get changed." John scoffed, pointing his thumb towards you.

  "It wasn't my fault, the dress ripped!" you whined. 

  "It was 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 your fault, (y/n)," Finn added smugly.

  "I swear to God if you three don't 𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘵 𝘶𝘱 I'll drag you all home by the ears." Polly threatened under her breath. Nobody had anything to say about your dress after that.

  John grumbled as Grace entered the chapel.

  "Here come the fucking cavalry, late as usual." he griped.

  "I don't get it, why's everyone hate them?" you asked in a whisper.

  "Well, first of all, they weren't supposed to wear their uniforms. Just goes to show they're disrespectful bastards." John whispered back.

  "𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺? That's all it is?" you questioned.

  John sighed as he tried to find the right words for the situation.

  "Listen, (y/n), just stay away from them. Half those men are self-righteous pricks who'll take advantage of you if you give 'em the chance," he warned.

 "Hush." Esme chimed in, squeezing John's hand. "They're exchanging vows."

  Your gaze turned to the men in red uniform as Tommy and Grace stood at the altar. You accidentally locked eyes with a boy who couldn't have been older than twenty. Not sure what to do, you smiled politely at him. To your surprise, he smiled back.

   Your exchange was cut off by the sound of Jeremiah Jesus's voice filling the room.

  "I now pronounce you man and wife." he declared, and everyone in the chapel applauded as Tommy and Grace shared a kiss. You couldn't help but feel a pang of pride as you watched your brother smile at his new wife. There was something magical about the way he was able to just 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘹 in her presence, especially since you couldn't think of another day Tommy wasn't trying to take over Birmingham.

  𝘖𝘩, 𝘛𝘰𝘮, you thought wistfully, 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦?

   Unfortunately, the warmth of the wedding ceremony quickly faded as everyone gathered outside for the family photo. Nearly ten minutes went by as the Shelby clan struggled to organize themselves into a tight group.

   You initially tried to stand behind Polly and Arthur to be near the other women, but that plan quickly failed when you realized you were too short to stand behind either of them. It was a tremendous effort to try to force yourself in between them, and the result left you in a painfully awkward position where you were left standing sideways. The ultimate solution was to have you stand with John's children; you were mortified.

  "Christ, I look like a 𝘬𝘪𝘥," you whined, showing the picture to Finn. The two of you sat together at the base of the stairs in Tommy's house, trying your best to avoid the crowds of people wandering the halls..

  "It's not that big a deal," he said plainly, taking the picture in his hands. "Nobody really cares."

  "It's a big deal to me." you mumbled.

   You could see John and Arthur approaching from a distance. By the looks of it, they'd already gotten their hands on some champagne.

  "Finn. Tommy wants a meeting in the kitchen." Arthur spoke as he passed by.

  "I should probably go with him." Finn sighed as he stood up.

  "Wait, take me with you!" you pleaded, grabbing onto his arm. "I've got nobody else to talk to."

  Finn quickly leaned over the stairs to check if Arthur and John had gone. Once he saw the coast was clear, he turned back to you.

  "Fine. But you shouldn't say anything," he advised.

  "Wasn't planning on it."

  You and Finn had assumed the meeting would be family only, but as you snuck your way into the kitchen you were surprised to find a swarm of Blinders men crowding the room. You instinctively stuck close to your brother, trying your best to avoid bumping into anyone. The two of you slowly hovered towards the center of the room, where the immediate family gathered. There Tommy stood in the midst of it all with a cigar in his hands. 

   "Right. Today is my wedding day." he began, and the room fell silent.

   "Yeah, and you said there'd be no uniforms, Tom." John interrupted, and a few people murmured in agreement.

  "In spite of there being bad blood, I'll have none of it on my carpet." Tommy continued, ignoring John's comment. "For Grace's sake, nothing will go wrong today."

   Tommy began circling the room as he spoke, making sure to lock eyes with every man present.

  "And if any of you fuckers do 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 to embarrass her, kin, cousins, your kids, your horses, 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.."

  Just as he was about to finish his sentence, Tommy noticed you standing there next to Finn. He froze for a moment, then furrowed his brows. You cursed under your breath.

  "What are you doing here?" Tommy asked, but it felt more like an accusation.

   You realized every man in the room had their eyes on you. You shifted uncomfortably.

  "It's a family meeting, isn't it?" you grumbled. "Last I checked I was a Shelby."

   Tommy sighed deeply and rubbed his eyes in annoyance.

  "𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵? I'm glad you're here because there's something I should say." he began. You crossed your arms defensively.

  "You've been wild these past few months, (y/n), don't think I haven't noticed."

  "So?" you scoffed.

  "𝘚𝘰, I won't have any of it tonight. I swear, if I find out you've been drinking, flirting, or doing 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨  that might damage this family's reputation, I assure you that you'll live to regret it. 𝘋𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥?"

  You didn't know how to feel about Tommy's words. In a way, he was right; you'd been drinking more than usual as of late, not to mention fooling around with some of the boys you were going to school with. You didn't understand why that was such a big deal though, especially since you were a saint compared to your brothers. Really, the whole thing seemed unfair.

  "Yeah, I understand." you finally answered. "I'll just spend the night boring myself to death while you boys do whatever you want." 

  "That's the spirit." he shot back.

  "Tommy, what about snow?" Isiah asked from across the room. You silently thanked him for taking the attention off you.

  "There'll be no cocaine," Tommy answered sternly. A few men in the room sighed.

  Tommy took the opportunity to get back to his speech.

  "No sport. No racing. No sucking the petrol out of their cars. You give them 𝘯𝘰 excuses to look down their noses."

  The room was uneasy. Nobody was sure what to think as Tommy stood there, almost desperately trying to talk sense into his men.

  "But the main thing is, you fuckers.." he began.

  "Why are you mad at 𝘶𝘴, Tom?" Finn mumbled.

  "..in spite of provocation from the cavalry.."

  Tommy walked along the line of men standing around him, getting close to Arthur, then John, then Finn, then finally you.

  "..no fighting. 𝘕𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨!" 

  And with that, everyone was sent out of the kitchen.

  The party started slow, and you found yourself wandering around the house aimlessly with nothing to do. Everywhere you went people were already drinking, and a part of you wanted nothing more than to join them. The other, more sensible part remembered Tommy's warning and decided to avoid alcohol for the night. As much as you wanted to piss him off and indulge yourself, you knew getting drunk would only prove that you were irresponsible. 

  Dinner in the great hall was an absolute disaster. You sat between Finn and Ada, who were both caught up in their own conversations. You were starving, and Tommy and Grace had been taking a suspiciously long amount of time to get ready. Even after they'd finally come downstairs, Arthur had to get through his speech before anyone could eat.

  "Now, I'm not one for speeches." Arthur began. The poor man looked like a deer trapped in headlights.

  "Sing then!" John shouted. Esme grabbed his arm wearily.

  "I've got a speech written down here. but it's not everything I want to say." Arthur droned on. You buried your head in your hands.

  "Arthur, just read what we've written down," Tommy said softly.

  "I will, Tom. But first, a few words from the heart." 

  Arthur gently placed the small piece of paper into one of his pockets, then cleared his throat.

   "𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬." Tommy breathed.

   "I'd just like to say that my brother helped me survive hard times. Trouble in my head.."

  As Arthur gave his speech, you noticed Polly staring at a man who sat opposite her. He was older than she was and wore a dark suit that matched his serious expression.

  "Who's that?" You leaned over and whispered to Ada.

  "Kaledin something," she whispered back. "Don't bother talking politics with him, I've already tried."

  Unlike Ada, you weren't interested in having political debates with strangers. Still, there was an air of mystery surrounding the man. Something about him made it impossible to look away, even when he met your eyes with his. You felt a shiver run down your spine.

  Arthur's trainwreck of a speech was eventually cut short by Tommy. You felt bad for your eldest brother, but you were desperate to eat. Polly gave you a disapproving look as you scarfed down your food, but you didn't care; you were too hungry to act like a lady.

  An hour had passed since the food was served, and by then everyone had made their way into the ballroom.

  John and Arthur had set up a boxing area outside with Tommy's reluctant permission. After hovering around Polly for nearly half an hour, you finally gave in and went outside to watch the fights.  

  You were used to seeing your brothers fight, so not much could faze you in the boxing ring. Tonight was different, though. The men had such anger in them as they landed their punches. It was almost disturbing to watch Finn get knocked into the ground by a man in a red uniform.

  "Gruesome, isn't it?" A voice asked from behind you. You turned around to face the very same cavalry boy you'd locked eyes within the chapel. Only now, he was standing a mere foot away from you and the two of you were practically alone.

   "William. Fraser." the young man said, extending his hand.

  You took his hand in yours and shook it. The dim light from the boxing ring illuminated your faces, and you were able to get good looks at each other. To your excitement, not only was he young, he was 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦.

  "(y/n). Lee." you introduced yourself, lying through your teeth. You were done being a Shelby today.

  "Mm. I thought you were a gypsy." William spoke. You raised your eyebrows in amusement.

  "Really? How could you tell?" you asked.

 "It's the dress. Very... 𝘣𝘰𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘢𝘯," he replied.

 "It was a gift, it's not mine," you assured, flattening the dress out. You suddenly felt a pang of self-consciousness.

  "Oh, well it suits you well enough." And with that, William placed his hand on your waist. 

   "What are you doing?" you asked, chuckling nervously. 

  "Enjoying myself."

  He slowly started to pull you into a kiss when you noticed Finn in the boxing ring. Another one of the cavalry boys had landed a particularly heavy blow onto his gut, and he fell onto the ground in defeat. You pushed William away to watch the scene.

  "You know him?" William asked.

  "He's my brother," you responded quietly, not taking eyes off Finn.

  "He fights well enough for a boy his size, I didn't expect him to last as long as he did." William retorted.

  "He's really good, actually. Likes it a lot, too," you said, relaxing as you saw Finn get up and shake his opponent's hand.

  William took the opportunity to pick up where you left off and started to wrap his arms around your waist. You hesitated and stepped back.

  "Wait, we shouldn't. Not in front of them." you gestured towards the crowds of people who were watching the fights.

  "Good point." the young man hummed into your neck.

  You lead William to a fairly secluded area of the gardens. There was a small, wooden bench that was nestled in between some of the bushes that lined the back wall of Tommy's mansion. The two of you sat together; there was an uncomfortable sexual tension between you.

  William kissed you slowly as his hands wandered around your torso. You kept trying to cut him off, but he was persistent. If you would grab his arm, he would use the other one to pull you closer. If you turned away, he would kiss your neck. 

  "William I don't think we should do this," you whispered.

  "Don't worry, love. nobody's around. You won't get in trouble." he assured.

  "𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦, just stop." you pleaded.

  "Relax, I promise I'll make it worth your while.

  With that, you'd had enough. You started smacking your palm against his shoulder, and he finally separated. 

  "𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵? I thought you wanted this!" William snapped.

  "Why didn't you stop?" you asked him with a hurt look on your face. "I was 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 you to stop!"

   "𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯, don't act like you didn't want it. You took me out here for a reason." he countered.

  "I didn't think it would happen so fast!" you shouted.

 William huffed, stood up, then brushed himself off.

  "𝘎𝘺𝘱𝘴𝘺 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩." he spat, then walked away.

  "What the 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 did you call me?" you shot back. "Do you even know who the 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 I am?"

   William froze in place and turned around. He gave you a dark look as he lit a cigarette. The red glow of the tiny embers illuminated his face.

  "My name is (y/n) 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 Shelby." you hissed, and William's expression changed. 

  "You're related to the groom?" he realized.

  "I'm his sister," you spat.

  The young man sighed deeply and ran his fingers through his hair. 

  "𝘚𝘩𝘪𝘵.. I had no idea. Let me make it up to you." he began, but you were already leaving.

  "𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶." you scoffed as you passed him. 

You made your way back to the ballroom, leaving William standing there alone.

 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, you thought, heading straight for a bottle of wine.

[sleepdeprivedheretic]

When I Find You

If somebody wants to adopt this fic, feel free. I love to see more of this trope and you all are amazing <3

Notes: :’) I needed a break from work so I wrote a little snippet that I may or may not finish later because I have other things to worry about and another fic that I wanted to really focus on. So, in the meantime, here’s some angst with fluffy ending because reasons :’)  

Au Setting: Au of some sort I guess lol. I um...couldn’t help but make Tai-chan look like the hunter from Little Red Riding Hood, so he’s basically a lumberjack because I have needs.

Warnings: Angst because I love torturing our poor reader ig? Living in fear of the possibility of non-con, reader kinda being a stalker? Improper knowledge of wolf dynamics and other things because of plot, and Fatgum being too heckin’ sweet and understanding. Also, reader is too thirsty lol.

…………

 The pack had adopted you when you were a lone pup, whose rogue mother hadn’t returned to her den with food for you. Your little howls of despair reached the alpha, who decided that it wouldn’t hurt to take you in. It was against the usual behavior and tradition of your wolf-blooded packs, and although the elderly alpha accepted you, your kin did not.

You thought for sure that over time, they would accept you and treat you as your own, but you were wrong. Your smell wasn’t close to theirs, and your furry ears and tail were a different color. An oddball is what you were. Sure you had the same behaviors and characteristics of your fellow wolves, but this was not your pack, and growing up with the obvious glares, odd stares, and blatant ignoring or snapping at you, you knew that you could never fit in.

You had always felt so alone, and when the alpha had passed away, a new one took his place, and all but chased you off. Being stubborn, you tried to talk your way into staying, because not only this had been your home, but you had nothing and nobody else.

It led to a fight, and you were badly wounded in the forest. With a few last harsh words, your new but former alpha had left you to die as the pack ignored your whimpers. Blacking out from the pain, you awoke, snow covered and cold in your human hybrid form with your own blood surrounding you. The wound must have dried over or froze, because now you had a permanent scar on your throat. Not near your scent gland, but close enough to your heart.

You were alone, scared, and scarred, and it confused and horrified you to no end. You needed a pack, you needed stability, and you vaguely thought that if you ran into humans, there might be a small chance that they’d take you in. Your kind was considered a monster in their folklore and myths, but what choices did you have? A lone wolf would surely be snatched up by either enemy packs, poachers, or whatever else. Not to mention, that you were a young and fertile omega who’s scent could lure unwanted attention. Even humans could smell the potent smells that your kind gave off during heats or ruts. You shuddered.

You couldn’t stay here. The blood had coated your human fur coat, making it sticky and smell awful, as well as it’ll leave more questions than answers that you weren’t emotionally ready to give. Chucking it off, you shivered but knew that you would survive if you stayed in your lycan form. Maybe you could scent out a human village and linger there.

 A sigh escaped your lips, knowing that it wouldn’t be easy. Human villages and kingdoms were a rarity in this part of the country. It was nothing but snow and ice and certain death. South is where the old alpha mentioned that although it was productive and rich with food and trade, they were a little more strict around monsters such as the wolf kin. Your legs felt wobbly as you got up from the ground. Your neck was in constant pain and everything was so cold. Yet you started walking. It was an odd feeling, you didn’t really know where to go or what to do, but you felt a determination. You didn’t want to die here. You always wanted a mate with pups and a caring pack, and although your chances of survival was questionable, you wanted to try to live for yourself. The thought of love and acceptance burned hotter than any star that you wanted to chase.  

Shifting into your wolf form, you went from prodding to full out running on all fours. The chilly wind hitting your face and the aurora borealis kissing the stars above you was your only company, for now.

You couldn’t be in your form, forever. You took breaks during your travel, letting your human self sleep in old dens, burrows, or short trees during the day time, and let your wolf form take over during night. Your scar healed over more nicely than you thought it did, but it still showed. You weren’t too weak to catch fish from the river, quickly snapping the lazy salmon in your jaws, but you had to be careful of bears and other predators.

It was as if shock never left you. You were in the twilight zone of being a lone wolf, and it scared you. You had nobody to protect your sleeping self from predators, to hunt with you, nor did you feel at least a little secure like you did in your old pack.  You were very vulnerable, and couldn’t wait to see a human village, soon.  

The thought of having your heat terrified you. Although it happened once every five months, it lasted two weeks, and even then your intoxicating scent lingered on you for three more days before fading. It was close to time for you to gather food for three weeks and try your best to keep safe held within a den. Although a monster to people, you weren’t the only one. Dragons, ogres, orcs, and even fellow hybrids had the capability of scenting you out and entering a rut because of your scent.

It was terrifying. You weren’t accustomed to such trivial, because although your old pack didn’t really care for you, your former father figure, the alpha, would always to make sure that you were protected and left alone. Wolf kin mated for life, but you didn’t know about other dynamics or beings, and the thought of being used and discarded with the possibility of pups from an unwanted encounter scared you.

Just like your mother, a dark thought cut to you. It made you try your best to push forward, and hopefully find safety, soon.

Six months had gone by, and it was late June, and the summer was more evident in the south than your cold northern home. You sweated easily and were huffy and upset. Time dragged on and you felt hopeless as you saw no signs of any human life so far. There were always more “monsters” such as yourself that you tried to avoid. Curious onlookers were the majority, thankfully.

At wits end, you were about to just sleep the rest of the day away. Let yourself worry about nighttime. A strange scent hit your nose. Curiosity getting to the better of you, you wanted to follow it, and so you did. It was the smell of smoke, but burning meat and vegetables were mixed into it. It was so weird and foreign to you, for you ate only fish or what the earth grew, and you knew that you wanted to check it out.

It had taken you a week to get to this forest. The surrounding area had mostly nothing but trees with beautifully dying leaves, those of which were unlike the evergreens you were familiar with. Your feet crunched against the multiple of colors of green, yellow, brown and red and although usually silent, you didn’t mind.

The smells here are mostly faded, and the only fresh scents were those of wild animals, not the fellow beasts or humans that run within your homeland, so you knew that it was a safe place. The smell of smoke, however, was new and farther in the distance in which you have yet to explore. You knew that you should rest, first, but you endured months of no pack had you aching for structure and security, and this very well could be it. It didn’t take you very long to reach your destination.

 Awe didn’t began to cover on how you felt when the sight reached your eyes. Houses and other buildings were nestled within the center of the forest. Your heartbeat picked up when you noticed that there were small chickens running freely, a dog barking in the distance, and most importantly, people. Human people. It was as if a miracle happened, and although you wanted to step into the town, fear gripped you with bitter remembrance.

What if they feared you? Although in human form, you still had your physical wolf attributes such as your ears and tail, as well as you carried your own specific scent that didn’t scream human. You knew that all of that traveling wasn’t for nothing, but now faced with the real thing, you felt scared. You didn’t want to be ran off, again, or hated. Slipping further back into the woods, a sight caught your eye.

Soft and yellow hair poking out from a red cap, brilliant amber irises, a friendly wide grin, all belonged to a tall man walked out into the clearing. He wasn’t like anybody you’ve seen before. He was bulky, muscular, and had a roundness to his belly and face, he was unlike your lithe and limber brethren, and you found yourself appreciating the sight, if you were blunt with yourself. His attire was that of an odd shirt, it was orange and checkered, and he had leather boots with rabbit fur adorning them.

You noticed that he carried and ax, and was holding a bunch of split logs with just one arm. He was pretty strong for a human, and you liked that. Of all the humans, you couldn’t help but find this one the most attractive, and you hushed your omega instincts as they hummed with approval. You couldn’t find a mate, just yet.

 However, you decided that if you were to be accepted within the village, he was the first on your list for courting. Just wanting to get it over with, you kept your human form as you took mental breaths on how to breach the humans. Timidly, you approached the handsome blond first when he reached the edge of the forest. It was probably stupid to creep up on somebody with an ax in their hands when your kin wasn’t very welcomed, but your desires were far more greater than fear.

Alright, you still were a little scared. Hiding some odd feet away in hiding, you let your presence known by stepping on twigs, making them crack. His head snapped up to your direction, eyes squinting in confusion as he readied himself for possible danger. What he didn’t expect was your voice murmuring through the trees.

“Hello.” Was the first thing that came to your mind.

“Who’s there?” A soft yet husky accented voice answered you and you liked it.

“A monster.” Came the reply without a filter. You could have said something better, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“A monster, eh? You gonna eat me, or hide all day?” He chuckled, and you liked the way it reverberated through the trees as it reached you.

“Aren’t you going to kill me if I show myself? My kin really isn’t welcomed with humans. No we don’t eat people.” You kept blurting out. Years of anxiety and being basically alone didn’t grant you favors with talking to people, but your friendly woodcutter didn’t seem to care.

“Hm? What terrible awful being you must be, hidin’ behind those trees and talkin’ so softly? Besides, how do you know that I’m fully human?” He teased lightly, and you couldn’t help but feel your muscles relax a bit as curiosity gripped you.

“I’m a wolf.” You admitted.

A moment of silence followed after that, and then a laugh. You tried to keep yourself from feeling funny in your chest.

“What’s so funny?” You all but demanded

“Nothin’. Just that, you’re suppose to be big and bad, but you’re bein’ so shy and timid, and honestly? It’s kinda cute. Come out, Sugar, I won’t hurt ya. Promise.” He finished laughing, and you kept yourself from humming with approval with the complement and name. Taking a breath, you stepped outside from your hiding place, and the both of you froze as he took you in.

To him you must be a small, feral thing. Your long tunic and pants looked as if they were about to tear with age, your hair was a mess, although you bathed, you still couldn’t get all the dirt off of you, and you were sure that your tail and ears were unkempt, as well. You expected him to change his mind and turn on you, or just run you off. What you didn’t expect, was that his cheeks turned into a shade of pink as his amber eyes softened to a more yellow tone, something that you were unaware of.

“You’re not a monster. No, you’re alright. Come on, let’s get you somewhere to stay.” He broke the silence as he gently held out his hand, and feeling an odd burst of warmth shoot through you, you took it gingerly as he led you to who knows where.

  You were at a home where you can finally feel safe.

………….

I know, it’s short, but I’m focusing on another fic that took me many times to re-write because I wasn’t sure of it. For now, enjoy some stuff n’ thangs.    

[vargassdottir]

VIKINGS | FLOKISDOTTIR

[Part One of the Flokisdottir Series]

(Female Original Character | Starting Late Season 2)

Bjorn Ironside x Female Original Character | Floki x Daughter!Original Female Character

Warnings: Canon divergence, swearing, adult themes.

The cold winds whipped around the trees, blowing harshly against her pale skin, her long blonde hair wriggling out from her head like a hundred tiny snakes slithering out to freedom. It was cold enough to make even the Frost Giants want to stay by a hearth, she thought, as she sat on the shoreline.

It had been a long time since she was last in Kattegat, her father Floki had let her leave the moment she were of age, a glistening dampness to his eyes as he did, when she told him how she desired exploration. Nonetheless he let his little girl go, and she loved him for it. A truly free soul, he regarded her as, for she resembled him more than her long dead mother in that way, and hence he knew he could not contain her to the little hut he, Helga and she had shared throughout her childhood.

But now she had returned, and as she sat upon the beach, pondering her next move; whether to enter Ragnar's hall and seek her father out, or let the eventually gossip of fish-wives announce it to him, a large figure came towards her. His blonde hair stuck out brightly against his pale skin and his ice blue eyes stared at the figure upon the sands as if they meant to capture her blonde form on the spot.

"Runa Flokisdottir? Is that you?"

His gruff voice inquired, though surprise widening his eyes alerting Runa to the fact her arrival had not graced the gossiping hoardes of women through the town yet.

She stood slowly, stretching her aching limbs with gentle popping sounds and light gasps of relief expelling from her lips at each sound. She was taller than he remembered, nearly as tall as he was now, with blonde hair falling past her shoulders in braids not so dissimilar to the kind his mother wore. Rippling like water pouring from the rocks they fell, the wind lapping them about in the air to create a halo around her head. She looked strong, as a scar ran from beside her left eye to the base of her cheek burned red in the chill of winter.

"Is that little Bjorn, so grown up?"

Runa pondered aloud. For as much as Bjorn was observing her, she was doing the exact same of him: angling him up, akin to how a predator would it's prey.

He was so tall now, she thought, nearly two meters in height. Gone were the funny ears that stuck out like leaves and angry expression that she so loved to bring to his face. Now stood a young man, a beard just beginning to form on his chin, his figure pronounced for all the world to see as that of a warriors, and in that moment she thought she must have been looking at Rollo, if not for the stock of blonde hair that grew on his head. But the eyes.. The eyes were unmistakably Ragnar's eyes. So blue, it sent a chill to her very bones.. Or perhaps that was just the frostbite settling in?

He gasped a little at her enquiry, then chucked before launching himself forward to run and scoop her up in his arms. Runa, taken aback, had little time to prepare for the aptly named bear hug that engulfed her. For the first time in months, Runa let herself be filled with joy rather than concern, and a string of light giggles tumbled from her mouth.

"Dear friend, welcome home."

With a further squeeze from the larger man, Runa expelled a squeal pitched so only hounds could hear it, alerting Bjorn to the tightness of the embrace, before he let her go with a startled expression, but seeing hers was amused rather than pained, he relaxed and let out further laughter.

"By the gods, where have you been little Run? It's been so long.. Does Floki know you've returned?" Bjorn uttered with haste, his grin yet not falling from his lips. Runa swore in that moment that if the winds grew colder he might bare that expression till Ragnarok!

"Oh you know, fascinating places to visit, exotic people to meet, towns to raid.. Nothing that isn't incredibly worthy of envy!" Runa joked, a lightness filling her heart at Bjorn's amusement to her reply before he swept her up in his arms again, twirling them in the cold sands for a moment, resulting in further squealing on her part, before he let her down once more. But all the gladness in the world could not draw her mind from the most important question: "How is he, Bjorn? How is my father?"

With that Bjorn only widened his wolfish grin even more, taking Runa's ice-cold hand in his own, which was only slightly warmer, and began pulling her up the beach towards the streets of Kattegat. "He is well. He and Helga married some time ago, and a child is due soon." The fellow blonde told her, as he weaved them between unfamiliar huts, leading them up into the square that had, to her mind, remained more or less the same since last she was here.

It's cold earth was marked with frost and slivers of snow mixed with dirt, creating a grey like paste that was infinitely harder to traverse. Footprints led from all directions to the doors of the great hall; it's wooden rafters and walls the same dark oak colour as before, but the roof long replaced by stronger and sturdier material. Doors pressed closed, if not for a small crack to prevent them freezing together, and inside lights shone like starlight out of every crevice it could escape from.

It was then that Runa halted, almost causing Bjorn to slip into the slush at the suddeness of it. When he glanced upon her face, the hood of her cloak now pulled up to protect her from the winds ever cold bite, he saw an expression he knew well. Fear. Her eyes wide and lips slightly parted, he saw in her the day he reunited with Ragnar many months before: that feeling of inadequacy, of being a stranger to a place she once knew and people she once loved, the questions of whether her father would be happy to see her, if Helga would, if they would be angry, if Ragnar, Rollo, Lagertha and Torstein would observe her as unfamiliar stock or reunite with her as kin and grace her with warm embrace.. All these things flew around her mind, and Bjorn knew it too well.

With strong grip he turned upon her, blocking her view of the hall, and so he bent his form down just a little to look her in the eye, his icy blue orbs searching her green depths for contact.

"They've missed you.. We all have." He told her, his calloused hands rubbing up and down the lengths of her forearms in gesture of comfort. And in that moment, Runa never felt more grateful of Bjorn's presence, his friendship that seemed to have remained after all this time. She thanked the gods quietly that it was Bjorn who found her upon the frozen sands, as she nodded and the two walked towards the doors, hand in hand.

[tibbinswrites]

Suptober Day 1 - Autumn

If asked, Dean would say that summer was his favourite season. He liked the heat of it, the light. Fewer opportunities for something to sneak up on him when the dry grass crunched underfoot and the hours of darkness were few. Hunts were easier in summer, he’d say; everything was just a little bit lethargic, a little less careful, a little more prone to mistakes; of course, they were too, but that just increased the thrill.

He also felt like doing more outside of hunting when the weather was consistently good. He’d drag Sam and Cas out on picnics and plan barbecues, inviting everyone in his contacts list that he actually enjoyed socialising with to spend the day enjoying good food, beer, and each other’s company.

He liked seeing trees full of green, and the strongest flowers that could hack the heat. He liked being dry in a state where it was prone to drizzle. He liked the way large expanses of water glittered in the sun, it reminded him of Cas’ eyes, and he liked the way the sunlight brought the chestnut out of his almost-black hair. He liked going for walks with Cas at dusk and not stopping until past midnight; seeing the stars felt more special in the summer, as though by making the effort to stay up later to see them, they twinkled all the brighter.

Everything felt long in summer, fixed, permanent almost. He liked that, the consistency of it, the slow drag of days full of laughter and experience. They’d take the less direct routes on the way to hunts, stopping off at tourist traps and museums and scenic places that caught their eye on the pretense of needing to stretch their legs.

Summer also meant July 4th, which meant calling a reluctant Rowena to enchant the positive armoury of fireworks he’d accumulated for his annual party.

“I’m not Gandalf,” she’d complain every year, but she never once refused, and always insisted on staying to watch the show and soak up all credit for how spectacular it inevitably was.

He always kept a few fireworks back though, and he’d wake Sam up in the middle of the night a few days later to complete the show. If Cas noticed, then he was gracious enough to not intrude, understanding that this was a tradition for the brothers alone.

Yes. If you asked him, Dean would be adamant that summer was his favourite season.

***

Sam, at the other end of the spectrum, would insist that winter was his favourite. He liked going jogging on crisp winter mornings, feeling the air sharp in his lungs, pushing himself faster, only receiving the warmth he earned by his movement. He liked curling up with a book and too many blankets, a mug of hot chocolate at his side.

He liked coming in to a bowl of his brother’s homemade vegetable soup, which he only made in the winter because “This bitch-ass weather is the only thing that can justify eating something so green.”

He liked the hush that fell over the world in winter; fewer people left their homes unless they had to, especially when it snowed. Sam liked snow; he liked how it made everything fresh and clean, how paths that he’d walked all year suddenly seemed new. Hunting was easier in winter too, he’d say, snow made tracking less difficult and the radius of hunting grounds shrank dramatically as even monsters wanted to stay closer to home.

When they celebrated it, Sam liked Christmas. For Christmas Day itself, Jody would invite them to hers for a good meal, an exchanging of gifts and a gathering of friends. There was no tree, because Cas refused point-blank to top it with a crude imitation of his kin, and no religious aspect at all because they all agreed that it was just too weird to praise Chuck, but that didn’t matter; there would be mulled wine in abundance and Claire poking fun at Cas’ text speak and the swapping of stories and a roaring fire in the grate. Dean and Donna would ‘help’ Jody in the kitchen (by which of course Sam meant that they would try to avoid Jody’s spatula when she caught them sneaking pieces of turkey or mini sausages) and Sam would find himself in an armchair by the fire, talking with Patience and Alex until he was called to help serve.

They celebrated on their own too though, and Sam liked those days just as much. The date changed each year, depending on what time they could get between hunts but it would usually be mid-December if they could manage it. Dean would whip up a special dinner (which always included an apple and cinnamon pie) and they’d drink beer and swap presents between themselves, taking the time to relax and spend time together that didn’t involve an apocalypse or a strange murder or any kind of dire news at all.

Yes. Winter, Sam would say firmly, was most definitely his favourite season.

***

Castiel would say that it was important, therefore, that his favourite season was autumn; though he’d say it with a smile and an insistence that he didn’t need to bridge the gap between the brothers, but that he was glad that he did anyway. It had taken him a long time to accept that his place of belonging as a fixed thing and he always felt it more keenly in autumn. Though autumn wasn’t fixed by any means, it was the season of change, which is what Castiel liked about it best.

The temperature didn’t really affect him, but he knew that Dean was grateful that he no longer had to change his shirt and shower twice a day and that Sam was pleased to not yet need to put on a hat and gloves in addition to his sweater.

He wasn’t convinced that autumn had any particular benefits for hunting either; it was hard to walk quietly with dry leaves and squelching mud and the rain mingled with the adjustment to the darkening days made visibility difficult.

But there was just so much colour.

In the woods outside the bunker, everything was highlighted with gold. Evergreens stubbornly clung to their virescence while the rest changed to varying shades of red, yellow, brown; trembling stems gave way until the ground was carpeted with the same, sinking into the softening ground to provide nutrients for the next generation of flora while the final rays of summer’s warmth covered them all, making Dean’s eyes sparkle and the auburn in his hair more visible and his freckles more prominent. Small animals were out in force, preparing for the winter to come, rabbits grazing, squirrels endlessly planting their nuts, foxes scavenging for what they could find. It was a time of fervent activity, and a time of peace too. Everything had a purpose in autumn, and yet it was peaceful too.

It was the season of transition, and Castiel and transition were old friends.

Castiel liked how the season seemed to act like a glue, bringing the occupants of the bunker together, not that they were distant at other times of the year but while Dean still retained his frenetic energy from the summer and while Sam’s excitement for the holiday season was growing and while Castiel was perfectly content, they made more time for each other; and while Cas enjoyed the larger get-togethers of their extended adopted family, he was even more fond of the simple game and movie nights that were held far more frequently in autumn, just the three of them.

It was in autumn that he had first saved Dean Winchester from Hell, and his unofficial Earth birthday, as termed by Dean, was a day that never passed without acknowledgement.

And then there was Thanksgiving, which had quickly become Castiel’s favourite holiday. In between hunts and visiting friends the three of them would find a day; the morning would be dedicated to a small swapping of gifts and movies, Dean would whip up a special dinner/lunch, complete with pumpkin pie naturally, and after eating (because the brothers were too impatient to wait and there always leftovers for later anyway) they would each recite list of ten things that they were thankful for and the reasons why. It was important that they make a list, without one it was all too easy to fall back on the generic things. Castiel knew that each brother added to and edited their lists throughout the year and he did the same, there was something truly special about bringing back a moment thought forgotten.

Castiel’s first item was always a list of each time that Dean had said he loved him, much to Sam’s glee and Dean’s embarrassment.

What Castiel loved most about the tradition was that they never thanked God for whatever influence He had exerted over them to bring them these things or these moments. No, they thanked each other: for staying together, for overcoming the odds, for apologies accepted, fights resolved, comforts given. They thanked each other for sharing their lives another year.

And regardless of the fact that only one of them would admit it, it was always this day that made every member of Team Free Will certain that autumn was their favourite season of the year.

If you liked this, please consider buying me a coffee.

[aion-rsa]

Best Horror Movies on Netflix: Scariest Films to Stream

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Editor’s Note: This post is updated monthly. Bookmark this page to see what the best horror movies on Netflix are at your convenience.

Is it Halloween when you’re reading this? If not we’re still close enough with fall here and the month of October almost upon us! It’s the time of year where we like our drinks spiced with pumpkin or apple, our flannel light, and the movies we consume scary. And lucky for you there are more than a handful of worthwhile scary movies on Netflix.

There is nothing quite as fun as embracing the spooky, the creepy, the scary, and things that go bump in the night. Thankfully we have horror movies to help us down these paths. If you ever find yourself in need of a thrill or a chill, check out some of the best horror movies on Netflix, we’ve gathered here.

Enjoy your tricks and treats.

Looking for the best horror movies on Netflix UK? Click here!

As Above, So Below

We know what you might be thinking: a found footage horror movie? Yes, this was one of the later adherents to a genre craze that got run into the ground during the 2000s and early 2010s. However, As Above, So Below is the rare thing: effectively creepy. With a crackerjack premise about the real Catacombs of Paris being a secret gateway to Hell, the film casts an energetic Perdita Weeks as a modern day Indiana Jones in a Go-Pro helmet. She and her colleagues make the unwise choice to go off the tourist-guided path in the catacombs, which is home to the remains of more than 6 million people who died between the early middle ages and 18th century.

But once deep below the City of Lights, the film’s dwindling protagonists find themselves crawling beneath a wall with the words “Abandon all Hope Ye Who Enter.” And things just get bleak from there. This is a ghoulish good-time for those who are willing to indulge in the gimmick storytelling.

Apostle

Apostle comes from acclaimed The Raid director Gareth Evans and is his take on the horror genre. Spoiler alert: it’s a good one.

Dan Stevens stars as Thomas Richardson, a British man in the early 1900s who must rescue his sister, Jennifer, from the clutches of a murderous cult. Thomas successfully infiltrates the cult led by the charismatic Malcom Howe (Michael Sheen) and begins to ingratiate himself with the strange folks obsessed with bloodletting. Thomas soon comes to find that the object of the cult’s religious fervor may be more real than he’d prefer.

The Blackcoat’s Daughter

Some kids dream about being left overnight or even a week at certain locations to play, like say a mall or a Chuck E. Cheese. One place that no one wants to be left alone in, however, is a Catholic boarding school.

That’s the situation that Rose (Lucy Boynton) and Kat (Kiernan Shipka) find themselves in in the atmospheric and creepy The Blackcoat’s Daughter. When Rose and Kat’s parents are unable to pick them up for winter break, the two are forced to spend the week at their dingy Catholic boarding school. If that weren’t bad enough, Rose fears that she may be pregnant…oh, and the nuns might all be Satanists.

The Blackcoat’s Daughter is an excellent debut directorial outing from Oz Perkins and another step on the right horror path for scream queens Shipka and Emma Roberts.

The Evil Dead

1981’s The Evil Dead is nothing less than one of the biggest success stories in horror movie history.

Written and directed on a shoestring budget by Sam Raimi, The Evil Dead uses traditional horror tropes to its great advantage, creating a scary, funny, and almost inconceivably bloody story about five college students who encounter some trouble in a cabin in the middle of the woods. That trouble includes the unwitting release of a legion of demons upon the world.

The Evil Dead rightfully made stars of its creator and lead Bruce Campbell. It was also the jumping off point for a successful franchise that includes two sequels, a remake, a TV show, and more.

Gerald’s Game

We are living in a renaissance for Stephen King adaptations. But while there have been many killer clowns and hat-wearing fiends getting major attention at the multiplexes, the best King movie in perhaps decades is Mike Flanagan’s underrated Gerald’s Game. Cleverly adapted from what has been described as one of King’s worst stories, Gerald’s Game improves on its source material when it imagines a middle-aged woman (Carla Gugino) placed in a terrifying survival situation after her husband (Bruce Greenwood) dies of a heart attack during a sex game.

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Movies

15 Best Stephen King Movies

By John Saavedra

Movies

The Shining: 5 Things Jack Torrance Taught Us About Social Distancing and Quarantine

By David Crow

Handcuffed to a bed in their remote cabin in the woods, Gugino’s Jessie must face the fact no one is coming to save her in the next week… more than enough time to die of dehydration or the wolf prowling about. Thus the specter of death hovers over the whole movie, seemingly literally with a monstrous shade emerging from the shadows to bedevil Jessie each night. A trenchant character study that frees Gugino to show a wide range of terror, determination, and finally horrifying desperation, the movie delves into the shadows of a woman haunted by trauma and demons almost as scary as her current situation. Almost.

The Gift

Who knew Joel Edgerton had it in him?

The Gift is the Australian actor’s writing and directing debut and it doesn’t disappoint. Edgerton stars as Gordon “Gordo” Mosely. He’s a nice enough middle-aged man if a little “off.” One day while shopping he runs into an old high school classmate Simon (Jason Bateman) and his wife Robyn (Rebecca Hall). After their brief encounter, Gordo takes it upon himself to start dropping off little gifts to Simon and Robyn’s home. Robyn sees no problem with it at first. But Simon becomes disturbed, perhaps because of the unique past Simon and Gordo share.

Many horror movies understand there must be a twist of some sort or at the very least an unexpected third act. Even still The Gift‘s third act switch up is particularly devastating because it’s so mundane and logical. The Gift ends up being an emotional drama disguised as horror.

The Girl with All the Gifts

Just when you thought there was nothing left to be done with the zombie genre, in comes a shocking and original idea… one that has sadly grown only more scary in 2020 with regards to The Girl with All the Gifts. A brilliant little indie from Colm McCarthy, this underrated gem imagines a zombie apocalypse as something closer to a viral pandemic that lasts for generations…. and one where a vaccine is always just out of reach.

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Movies

Evil Dead Movies: The Most Soul Sucking Moments

By David Crow

Movies

Zombie Comedies Ranked

By David Crow

Thus enters the class of Helen Justineau (Gemma Arterton). Years after a fungal infection ravaged the planet, turning the infected into “hungries” (breathing zombies), their offspring have shown a creepy ability to retain the ability to think, learn, and love… even as they crave living flesh.

Hence the students in Helen’s class, including her favorite Melanie (Sennia Nanua). The child is special… too much so when it’s believed her biology could create a vaccine that would spare anymore humans turning “hungry.” But to harvest her body, the military will drag Helen and Melanie through an urban hellscape which has reduced London to an abandoned refuge for Hungries and feral children who likewise hunt uninfected humans for food.

The Golem

The Golem is such an awesome monster from Jewish mythology that it’s hard to believe they don’t make more movies about him. Well now they have. The Golem isn’t a straight-up remake of the 1915 movie of the same name so much as it is the next step in the evolution of this grim mythological beast.

During the outbreak of a plague, Hanna (Hani Furstenberg) will do whatever it takes to defend her community from outside invaders. Unfortunately, and in true fairy tale fashion, the creature she conjures up to defend her community quickly develops a murderous mind of its own.

Green Room

Green Room is a shockingly conventional horror movie despite not having all of the elements we traditionally associate with them. You won’t find any monsters or the presence of the supernatural in Green Room.

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Movies

31 Best Horror Movies to Stream

By Alec Bojalad and 1 other

Movies

The 13 Best Horror Movie Themes

By David Crow

Instead all monsters are replaced by vengeful neo-Nazis and the haunted house is replaced by a skinhead punk music club in the middle of nowhere in the Oregon woods. The band, The Aint Rights, led by bassist Pat (Anton Yelchin) are locked in the green room of a club after witnessing a murder and must fight their way out.

Horns

A horror vintage for a distinctly acquired taste, Alexandre Aja’s Horns is a bizarre fairy tale for adults. As much a revenge fable as a typical chiller, this movie which put “Harry Potter in Devil Horns” is actually something of a grim love story based on a novel by Joe Hill.

Daniel Radcliffe plays Ig Perrish, an outcast in his local community who wants nothing more than to forever be by the side of his lifelong love Merrin (Juno Temple). After her brutal unsolved murder prevents that, Ig swears he’d sell his soul to get revenge.

Funny thing is the day after he makes such a proclamation, horns begin growing from his forehead. The greater they grow, the easier it is to get sinners around him to confess their most hidden shames, and indulge in others. But with the clock ticking before he becomes a full-fledged demon, and his soul is presumably claimed by Beelzebub, there is only a narrow window before he can get revenge while raising a little hell.

Hush

In his follow-up to the cult classic Oculus, Mike Flanagan makes one of the more clever horror movies on this list. Hush is a thrilling game of cat-and-mouse within the typical nightmare of a home invasion, yet it also turns conventions of that familiar terror on its head.

For instance, the savvy angle about this movie is Kate Siegel (who co-wrote the movie with Flanagan) plays Maddie, a deaf and mute woman living in the woods alone. Like Audrey Hepburn’s blind woman from the progenitor of home invasion stories, Wait Until Dark (1967), Maddie is completely isolated when she is marked for death by a menacing monster in human flesh.

Like the masked villains of so many more generic home invasion movies (I’m looking square at you, Strangers), John Gallagher Jr.’s “Man” wears a mask as he sneaks into her house. However, the functions of this story are laid bare since we actually keep an eye on what the “Man” is doing at all times, and how he is getting or not getting into the house in any given scene. He isn’t aided by filmmakers who’ve given him faux-supernatural and omnipotent abilities like other versions of these stories, and he’s not an “Other;” he’s a man who does take his mask off, and his lust for murder is not so much fetishized as shown for the repulsive behavior that it is. And still, Maddie proves to be both resourceful and painfully ill-equipped to take him on in this tense battle of wills.

Insidious

Insidious is the start of a multi-film horror franchise and a pretty good one at that. Patrick Wilson and Rose Byrne star as a married couple who move into a new home with their three kids. Shortly after they move in, their son Dalton is drawn to a shadow in the attic and then falls into a mysterious coma from which they can’t wake him.

It’s at this point that the Lamberts do what horror fans always yell at characters to do: they move out of the damn house! Little do they know, however, that some hauntings go beyond mere domiciles.

The Invitation

Seeing your ex is always uncomfortable, but imagine if your ex-wife invited you to a dinner party with her new husband? That is just about the least creepy thing in this taut thriller nestled in the Hollywood Hills.

Indeed, in The Invitation Logan Marshall-Green’s Will is invited by his estranged wife (Tammy Blanchard) for dinner with her new hubby David (Michael Huisman of Game of Thrones). David apparently wanted to extend the bread-breaking offer personally since he has something he wants to invite both Will and all his other guests into joining. And it isn’t a game of Scrabble…

It Comes at Night

Surviving the apocalypse comes with a certain amount of questions. For starters, what do you do after you survive a global pandemic thanks to your secluded cabin in the woods…and then someone comes knocking? That’s the situation that the family consisting of Paul (Joel Edgerton), Sarah (Carmen Ejogo), and Travis (Kelvin Harrison Jr.) find themselves in in It Comes at Night.

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TV

Best Horror TV Shows on Netflix

By Alec Bojalad

TV

Best Horror TV Shows on Hulu

By Alec Bojalad

When Paul and his family come across another family in the woods seeking shelter and water, they hesitantly welcome them in. But this soon proves to be a dangerous decision. Having guests in the real world is annoying enough to deal with and it only becomes harder when you suspect that any one of them could be sick with a highly-contagious, utterly fatal illness.

Paranormal Activity

Ignore the sequels. Yes, you know they’re bad and we know they’re bad. But long before “the Ghost Dimension” (whatever the hell that means), there was this eerie surprise hit that started it all. A movie which was estimated to be the most profitable movie of all time in its day–earning $193.4 million worldwide on a budget of $15,000–Paranormal Activity put Blumhouse Productions on the map and is still a supremely affecting piece of atmosphere.

Presented as the true story of a young, and not wholly likable, couple (Katie Featherston and Micah Sloat), the film follows the pair as they attempt to document the bumps they’re hearing in the house at night–only to discover a demonic presence and some repressed memories for one party. A still brilliant exercise in sound design, tension, and the uncanny ability to trick audiences into believing what they’re seeing is actually happening, this remains the best found footage horror movie ever made.

Poltergeist

Before there was Insidious, The Conjuring, or a myriad of other “suburban family vs. haunted house” movies, there was Poltergeist. Taking ghost stories out of the Gothic setting of ancient castles or decrepit mansions and hotels, Poltergeist moved the spirits into the middle class American heartland of the 1980s. With a smart screenplay by no less than Steven Spielberg (and, according to some, his ghost direction), Poltergeist finds the Freeling family privy to a disquieting fact about their new home: It’s built on top of a cemetery!

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TV

The Best Haunted House Movies and TV Shows of All Time

By Sarah Dobbs

Movies

How Annabelle Comes Home Fits into The Conjuring Universe

By Don Kaye

You probably know the story, and if you don’t you can guess it after decades of copycats that followed, but this special effects-laden spectacle still holds up, especially as a thriller that can be enjoyed by the whole family. Fair warning though, if your kids have a tree outside their window or a clown doll under their bed, we don’t take responsibility for the years of therapy bills this may inflict!

Red Dragon

The often overlooked other child of the Hannibal Lecter movie family, Red Dragon is no The Silence of the Lambs, no matter how much it wishes it was. Nor is it as visually evocative or luscious as Ridley Scott’s decadent Hannibal. Nevertheless, we find this prequel to both films to be at least worthy of association with the former, and ultimately more satisfying than the latter. A definite attempt to reshape Thomas Harris’ first novel to feature the Lecter character into a Silence of the Lambs clone, Red Dragon still has quite a bit to enjoy.

At the top of the list is of course Sir Anthony Hopkins as Hannibal for the third and final time. Definitely his hammiest iteration of the character, even a campy Hopkins is impossible to resist given the not-so-good doctor’s droll wit or distinct taste palate. Director Brett Ratner’s framing around Lecter is competent enough, and he wisely gets a superb supporting cast who can overwhelm any shortcomings.

Edward Norton is a compelling lead FBI detective; Philip Seymour Hoffman is delightfully repellent as a tabloid journalist who suffers a terrifying fate; and Ralph Fiennes roars as the serial killer who inflicts that fate on Hoffman. It may be no Manhunter–Michael Mann’s first adaptation of the source novel–but Red Dragon‘s the one on Netflix. So love the one you’re with!

The Silence of the Lambs

If you are only going to watch one Hannibal Lecter movie, this is the all-time masterpiece which remains the sole horror movie to win an Oscar for Best Picture. An absolutely gripping thriller even 30 years later, Jonathan Demme’s movie is an all-time great because of stellar performances and a sharp screenplay told by an even sharper eye.

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Movies

The Silence of the Lambs: A Thinking Person’s Monster Movie

By Ryan Lambie

Movies

Best Horror Movies on Hulu

By Alec Bojalad and 1 other

Here is the movie that kicked off the serial killer craze in Hollywood during the ’90s. Yet more than the gory details, what lingers in the mind are little things like an opening sequence that introduces Clarice Starling (Jodie Foster) as the lone woman on an elevator full of FBI ubermensches, or the way Anthony Hopkins breaks his unrelenting stare to mispronounce “Chianti” with dripping disdain for the Yokel sent to interview him. Every facet of this movie works, and thus it hasn’t aged a day. We do recommend watching it with a side of fava beans, though.

Sinister

One of the better Blumhouse chillers to come out of the 2010s, Sinister is the case of a brilliant elevator pitch meeting a superior pair of talents in director Scott Derrickson and star Ethan Hawke to bring it to life.

The setup of the movie is simple: There is a pagan demon god who will consume the soul of any nearby children whenever someone sees him. And not just him, but recreations of his image on walls. And wouldn’t you know it, true crime journalist Ellison (Hawke) just moved into a house with an attic full of home movies stuffed to the gills with Bughuul. And Ellison’s daughter is right downstairs. Uh oh.

Sleepy Hollow

As much a comedy as a horror film, Tim Burton’s Sleepy Hollow should always be on the table when discussing October viewing options. After all, this demented reimagining of Washington Irving’s classic short story, “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,” never forgets the selling point is to have them rolling in the aisles. And more than a few heads do just that.

As a film with the most varied and imaginative uses of decapitation, Sleepy Hollow cuts a bloody path across Upstate New York. In fact, despite its American setting, we might as well confess what Sleepy Hollow really is: a modern version of a Hammer horror movie.

Burton incorporates all of his favorite tropes here: The intentionally stuffy faux-British acting (even though all the characters are of Dutch descent); the exaggerated and formal clothing; more than a few heaving bosoms; and lots and lots of gore. This film is so perfectly macabre and gleefully grotesque that you might even be forgiven for not noticing at first glance how dryly funny and deadpan a place this Sleepy Hollow tends to be.

Splice

What if Dr. Frankenstein banged his monster? That is just one of several creepy elements to Splice, a weird psychosexual sci-fi/horror hybrid. Directed by Vincenzo Natali and starring Adrien Brody and Sarah Polley as the world’s worst scientists, Splice follows two not-so-smart doctors who attempt to play God by creating an entire new species of creature they name Dren (Delphine Chanéac).

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Books

Frankenstein Adaptations Are Almost Never Frankenstein Adaptations

By Kayti Burt

Movies

Best Horror Movies Streaming on HBO Max

By David Crow and 2 others

At first a computer-generated child with alien eyes and a roping tail, Dren soon grows from girl to young woman, seducer to… well, something even more unexpected. Weird, unpleasant, and ultimately unshakable like that one bad dream, Splice plays with ideas of identity, gender, and parenthood.

Sweetheart

Don’t let the name fool you, Sweetheart is very much a horror movie. What kind of horror movie, you ask? Well, after a boat sinks during a storm, young Jennifer Remming (Kiersey Clemons) is the only survivor. She washes ashore a small island and gets to work burying her friends, creating shelter, and foraging for food. You know: deserted island stuff.

Soon, however, Jenn will come to find that the island is not as deserted as she previously thought. There’s something out there – something big, dangerous, and hungry. Sweetheart is like Castaway meets Predator and it’s another indie horror hit for Blumhouse.

Tucker and Dale vs. Evil

Tucker and Dale vs. Evil is a fantastic little satire on the horror genre that, in a similar fashion to Scream, is packed with laughs, gore, and a bit of a message. When a group of preppy college students head out to the backwoods for a camping trip, they stumble upon two good-natured good ol’ boys that they mistake for homicidal hillbillies.

Their quick, off-the-mark judgment of Tucker and Dale lead to these snobs getting themselves into sticky, often bloody, and hilariously over-the-top situations. Tucker and Dale vs. Evil rides a one-joke premise to successful heights and teaches audiences to not judge a book by its cover.

Under the Shadow

This 2016 effort could not possibly be more timely as it sympathizes, and terrorizes, an Iranian single mother and child in 1980s Tehran. Like a draconian travel ban, Shideh (Narges Rashidi) and her son Dorsa (Avin Manshadi) are malevolently targeted by a force of supreme evil.

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This occurs after Dorsa’s father, a doctor, is called away to serve the Iranian army in post-revolution and war-torn Iran. In his absence evil seeps in… as does a quality horror movie with heightened emotional weight.

Underworld

No one is going to mistake Underworld for high art. That obvious fact makes the lofty pretensions of these movies all the more endearing. With a cast of high-minded British theatrical actors, many trained in the Royal Shakespeare Company, at least the early movies in this Gothic horror/action mash-up series were overflowing with histrionic self-importance and grandiosity.

Take the first and best in the series. In the margins you have Bill Nighy and Michael Sheen portraying the patriarchs of warring factions of vampires and werewolves, and a love story caught between their violence that’ shamelessly modeled on Romeo and Juliet. It’s ridiculous, especially with Scott Speedman playing one party. But when the other is the oft-underrated Kate Beckinsale it doesn’t matter.

The movie’s bombast becomes the movie’s first virtue, and Len Wiseman’s penchant for glossy slick visuals, which would look at home in the sexiest Eurotrash graphic novel at the bookstore, is its other. Combined they make this a guilty good time. Though we recommend not venturing past the second or third movie.

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[ducktracy]

153. pigs is pigs (1937)

release date: january 30th, 1937

series: merrie melodies

director: friz freleng

starring: martha wentworth (mrs. hamhock), berneice hansell (piggy, children), billy bletcher (mad scientist)

one of friz’s most iconic cartoons during this time period, and the first to debut his favorite “hold the onions!” gag. also the second (and final) appearance of piggy hamhock and co. all disobedient piggy wants to do is sit inside and eat all day, and it seems his dream comes true—but when a mad scientist gets involved, his appetite is quickly ruined.

an underscore of “when my dream boat comes home” opens the cartoon, a score that would be occasionally used by stalling (featured prominently in porky’s badtime story and later tick tock tuckered). in the quaint countryside resides a warm, happy home, a family of pigs dancing in circles and laughing. everyone is happy and content—except for one. piggy hamhock strolls around the yard, with visions of hotdogs (questionable for a pig), turkeys, pies, corn, and watermelons dance in his head, sighing cravingly. he parks himself on a bench just outside the house, licking his lips as he imagines the food he can’t have.

just then, fortune strikes. mrs. hamhock dotingly places two pies on the open windowsill to cool, and, of course, the fresh, inviting fumes waft straight into piggy’s trajectory. such a lovely detail as piggy’s eyes grow wider and wider with each eager sniff—food! even better is the animation as he snags one of the pies from the windowsill, spins it around on his finger, and devours the edges as it spins around, reducing it to nothing, popping the “core” of the pie in his mouth last. piggy reaches for the other pie, preparing to dive in, but finds himself feasting on pork instead as he bites his own hands, the pie snagged out of his grip from an offscreen mrs. hamhock.

mrs. hamhock is devastated, lecturing “my nice, fresh pies! look what you have done to them! and i’ve worked so hard all day over a hot stove. can’t you wait until dinner?” while mrs. hamhock goes on and on, piggy’s mind wanders to the imaginary meal once more, completely drowning out his mother’s words.

to quote billy bletcher from porky’s romance, time munches on and mrs. hamhock rings the telltale dinner bell, summoning her children to eat (with an underscore of “puppchen” as mrs. hamhock’s theme). the children frolicking in the yard happily flock to the house. piggy also catches wind of the dinner bell, and barrels over his siblings in the process as he rushes to be the first inside. mrs. hamhock braces herself against the draft left behind from piggy’s speed.

eager to get a headstart, piggy licks his lips and rubs his hands together, reaching into the fruit bowl on the table, but is quickly smacked by his mother, glaring daggers at him as she positions herself at the table. the rest of the hamhocks pour into the dining room. with that, mrs. hamhock instructs her children to say grace. a hilarious decision on friz’s part to have a cacophony of dissonant mumbling as everyone incomprehensibly says grace, with a rolling pan sweeping down the table. the pan stops at piggy, who audibly asks “and please, could we have lots of ice cream tonight?”

suddenly, an idea hatches. before each little piglet is a bowl of noodles just waiting to be devoured. piggy grabs one of his noodles and a noodle from the plate next to him and ties it together. he slips under the table (good decision with the lighting!) and makes his rounds from each plate, trying together every noodle he sees into one interminable rope. every noodle covered, piggy leaps back into his seat, innocently giving an “amen!”

“und now, commence!” with mrs. hamhock’s permission, piggy stuffs a wad of noodles in his mouth. i just love the animation of him sucking his face in to slurp up the noodles, it’s certainly tactile and you can just feel the breathless effort he’s exerting. all according to plan as the hamhocks ogle at their magically disappearing noodles. mrs. hamhock takes notice and scolds piggy, warning him that this is the straw that broke the camel’s “hümp”. piggy’s face is priceless as he stares at his mother, mouth agape, noodles still suspended in his open mouth. he tunes out his mother’s lecture, head in hand as he shoots angry side glances at his mother.

night must fall, and all of the hamhock children are asleep. that is, with one exception. a certain hungry piggy still fantasizes about his hearty hors d'oeuvres, various foods surrounding him. as piggy sighs longingly, his surroundings melt around him, and instead of in his bed he’s perched on a wooden bench outside of a cottage. there’s a large, green door just outside to match the ivy creeping up on the exterior. piggy wanders around, spellbound, when the door opens to reveal a strange, balding, yellow man with rubber gloves who urges him to come on. as i’ll discuss soon, simpsons creator matt groening as expressed his love for this cartoon. yellow skin... hmmmmmm. 🤔

the scientist ushers piggy along in his cottage, which is revealed to be a laboratory. a tasteful array of beakers and solutions overlay the scene as piggy makes his way in—ulcer tablets, gastritis pills, neon coils... the scientist hiccups as he croons to piggy, “hungry, my little man? have some nice pies, cakes, ice cream, pickles...” i love the extraneous “pickles” to juxtapose with the other sweet, enticing desserts.

an enraptured piggy dashed up to a table stocked to the brim with all the food he could imagine. a bottle in the foreground reads “VOD”, the rest of the lettering torn off. a vodka gag slipped under the hayes office! piggy’s delight shines brighter as the scientist urges him to help himself, offering him a seat in a large, floral, cushioned seat. piggy obliges, but suddenly grows anxious when the scientist shoved the table away. the floral covering on the chair is pulled away to reveal a metal chair, strapping piggy in with a belt and prying his snout open.

also, an interesting note—there’s a smear in this scene as the scientist whips away to grin at piggy. chuck jones defined what a smear was with the dover boys at pimento university, and thusly they became much more popularized after, but it’s so interesting to see little breakout attempts. of course you have dry brushing as well, but i believe this is the first true “smear”, so to speak, that we’ve seen. i��m sure you know already, but if you don’t: smears are physical distortions of the body to convey a sense of movement and urgency. by spreading the entire body across a frame, it conveys a faster, less convoluted sense of movement, and also saves costs and drawings. there is a reason behind them, and yes, animators were paid to draw them, they knew what they were doing, as opposed to all those posts ridiculing animators and being like “why would they draw this 😂😂😂😂”. simple stuff, but there are people out there who believe otherwise.

now the villain launches into the trademark Billy Bletcher Bellow®️, reassuring piggy that he’ll get plenty of food. there’s an intriguing, almost tashlin-esque camera angle as a trap door opens beneath the floor, piggy’s chair toting him down below into the scientist’s lab. another tilted, warped angle as the scientist rushes to his post, a separate landing with a big, metal machine positioned on it. i love the subtle tilt of the angle, it really conveys how warped the scene is and how askew the mood is. things aren’t right, and piggy is actively aware of this. “so,” the villain coos, “you love food, eh?” another villainous laugh as he goes wild on all the levers and buttons and contraptions on his big metal machine.

i bet you if this was made just 6 years later, powerhouse would have been the underscore for this scene. porky pig’s feat gets the honor of the first cartoon to debut the iconic raymond scott score. an assortment of canned soups churn down an assembly line, pouring into one giant bowl. piggy is force fed the disgusting, purple amalgamation of soups as a wheel of spoons paddle it down his throat like a waterwheel. the chair then moves beneath a banana peeling station, mechanical arms sliding bananas into piggy’s gullet. the mad scientist observes in evil glee, laughing at the misfortune he has created.

a clever gag of a gumball machine spitting olives into piggy’s mouth as a mechanical hand feeds pennies into the slot. next, as displayed on this cartoon’s lobby card, a bellows pushes a number of ice cream cones down piggy’s throat. this entire sequence serves as the inspiration behind a number of cartoons. it served as a foundation for dick lundy’s apple andy at walter lantz in 1946. yet perhaps it is most well known as serving as the basis for a scene in the simpsons episode treehouse of horror iv, where homer sits in the same chair piggy sits in, being force fed donuts—and of course enjoying it, the scene much more comical than portrayed here. so, good on friz!

the next torturous piece of food spawns friz freleng’s favorite “hold the onions!” gag. mechanical arms prepare a giant sandwich, the bread suspended by hooks. peppers and mustard garnish the spliced open hotdog (again adding to the morbid nature of the scene—being force fed your own kin!). just as a bowl of onions prepares to topple over, a robotic arm juts out a sign that reads HOLD THE ONIONS!

phil monroe is responsible for the gag. later on, he’d tell michael barrier “for instance, i first worked for friz in the middle '30s, and he had this one picture, i forget what the name of it is, but it was a mechanical machine that made a sandwich; the old cartoons used to do that all the time, use a gag like that. it was a rube goldberg machine that made a sandwich. i stuck in the gag ‘hold the onions’—a sign comes out and stops the machine and says, ‘hold the onions.’ well, the only thing you remember about that cartoon is that one gag. he used that damned thing for years.” he most certainly DID use that damned thing for years, featured in (but not limited to) cartoons such as jungle jitters, the fighting 69th 1/2, the gay anties, and used by other directors such as jones, mckimson, and tashlin. the gag even managed to creep across studios, appearing in the 1951 tom and jerry short his mouse friday. thank you, phil!

piggy is then force fed the giant sandwich, attacking it like a lawn mower in neat rows, the chair reversing and accelerating as he eats. next spawns the “PIE-A-TROPE”, piggy devouring rapidly spinning pies from the outside in, just like how he was doing beforehand, spinning the pie on his finger and eating the outside.

more tashlin-esque camera angles as we get a series of overlayed and reused footage, underscored by the maniacal laughter of the scientist. eventually, we find the end result: piggy is full to bursting in his chair, the scientist poking him with twisted glee. “have enough, my boy?” piggy stammers (another friz freleng stuttering pig!) “y-y-yessir!” the scientist frees piggy from his restraints, insisting he’s not half full. hilarious animation as the rotund piggy waddles across the room and past a buffet table.

just then, a delicious turkey leg catches his attention. piggy can’t resist. i just absolutely love this—the whole time, he’s been tortured, force fed, what have you, the mood so dark and twisted and askew. piggy had been visibly upset and anxious the entire time, and now here he is helping himself VOLUNTARILY with a hungry grin on his face! what a great detail. piggy devours the turkey leg, and promptly explodes.

fade out to piggy screaming, lumps underneath his blanket writhing as he pops his head out, unscathed, his normal self in his own normal bed in his own normal home. he collects himself, breathing a sigh of sweet relief and wiping his brow. mrs. hamhock’s voice calls from downstairs “wake up, sonny! it’s time for breakfast!” (which i believe in hindsight is reused from toy town hall)

piggy demonstrates that he has dutifully learned a solemn lesson as he rushes downstairs and gorges himself in breakfast, devouring as fast as he can and displaying no table manners whatsoever. iris out.

one of friz’s first classics, and rightfully so. it’s a great cartoon with drastic changes in mood. the cartoon starts and ends in the same notion: lightheartedly. this cartoon reminds me a lot of baby bottleneck in terms of notoriety, both famous for their “factory” scenes, if you will, and serving as a foundation for a number of references. i adore how moody this cartoon is, and how stark the contrast is. you have the lighthearted sympathy of watching piggy lust over food, getting scolded by his mother, and then you’re diving head first into such a twisted, morbid torture scene where you as the audience member also feel captive. and then, in true looney fashion, piggy demonstrates that he learned absolutely nothing whatsoever from his nightmare and is tickled pink with his gluttony. the animation is great, and the colors and backgrounds are beautiful and inviting. you absolutely need to watch this one! if anything, do it for historical significance. first “hold the onions” gag, and it was referenced by the simpsons! go watch it!

link!

[blue-gemini]

Chapter 2

----------------------

   The sigh coming out of Reginald’s mouth was a nuisance, even to himself. He’d let out more air in this one conversation with Oscar than he had in his entire life. His brother’s hands were wringing his shirt, fingers worrying the fabric until Reginald was sure the threads would give way and come loose. But the held firm as Oscar kept going on, unfazed by his older brother’s apparent annoyance.

“But he won’t believe me! I know this is something that will be used against us if we don’t take care of it now.” He leaned forward on the edge of Reginald’s bed. He continued to wear out his wife beater. Reginald stood in front of him, his arms crossed and his hip jutted to the side. Of course, as usual, his twin wasn’t acknowledging the elephant in the room, and wasn’t allowing Reginald to point it out. Oscar shot up, driving Reginald to step back. 

“I went to strike him, right? And there was-” “A puff of smoke, and he was gone?” Reginald finished for him. He didn’t need to hear it again. He rubbed his palm across his face, a groan coming from probably deep in his core. “Yes, I heard you, Oscar. I did. But you broke the rules.” That seemed to silence his kin, whose hands slowed to a halt and gradually fell to his sides. “Not you, too..” He whispered, his emerald green eyes darkening. “Is that all you care about? I get it, I did something wrong but this is way more important!” “You could have died!” Reginald’s voice rang out louder than he intended, but he was too busy straining not to strangle the other man. He could’ve lost his brother, his twin, his friend. “And I’m going to be honest, you sound insane!” He took that anger about Oscar’s sheer stupidity, and used it as a security blanket, giving into the cold fury that settled in his bones. “I... Insane?” Oscar’s voice dropped, the loud confidence simmering down to an empty, distant sound. He’d hit a nerve. Reginald pushed down the regret that threatened to rise like bile in his throat, and nodded. “Yes. You do. Every- every mage was accounted for in the Great Move 80 years ago. So stop with the conspiracy theories and just face what you did and let it be over.” “But it won’t.” Oscar lifted a finger, “It’ll never be over. Because if The Sentant can use magic-” “Oh my God.” “If he can use magic, he could find us! He could open the portal and come to us! This is serious!” Oscar’s voice rose, higher than it had been before, vibrating with energy. He went to lift his hands, but stopped short, leaning to the side and caressing the gauze that newly wrapped his bicep. He’d gone from Calvin’s office to the Medic, then to Reginald’s quarters. He’d nearly knocked the door down, shouting his conviction of “We’re all doomed!”

Oscar carded his fingers through his hair, and Reginald noticed for the first time that it was flying free, ridden of it’s holder. He sighed, again, and went to touch Oscar’s shoulder. His wrist was met midway, Oscar’s large hand gripping it with the strength of a python. “Don’t touch me.” He ground out, chucking Reginald’s limb back at him. His hand flying to his chest, Reginald watched him take a couple steps back. “Calvin wouldn’t listen to me. But it’s Calvin, so it was..expected. He doesn’t listen to anything but his own voice but you.. I thought I could rely on you. The one person that wouldn’t think I sounded crazy- insane.” He turned, striding towards the door. When he reached it, he twisted the handle and pulled the wood from the threshold. “I’ll show you both, trust me.” He turned to look at Reginald again. “I just want us all to be safe.”

Reginald bit back a retort, held back the urge to tell Oscar that what he’d done had been the exact opposite of keeping everyone safe. But he remained silent, shaking his head as Oscar stared at him for just a moment before leaving the room, shutting the door behind him. ------------- Chapter 1: https://little-fey.tumblr.com/post/619110394646183936/chapter-1