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Terror in Verse: A Collection of Horror Poetry Shaina Tranquilino October 29, 2023 Enter the realm of darkness, where shadows dance and nightmares come alive. As the autumn leaves fall and the moon casts its eerie glow, a chilling collection awaits those brave enough to delve into its pages. "Terror in Verse: A Collection of Horror Poetry" by Shaina Tranquilino, will send shivers down your spine and awaken the deepest fears within you. With Halloween on the horizon, this haunting compilation captures the essence of terror through rhythmic words and macabre imagery. Join me as we explore the realms of horror poetry, where every line is a portal to another dimension of fear. You can also purchase this poetry book on Amazon and Kindle. You may look up, "Terror in Verse: A Collection of Horror Poetry by Shaina Tranquilino", and it should come up. Thank you!

The Haunted House In the dead of night, where shadows creep,

There stands a house, all secrets keep.

Its windows cracked, its roof worn thin,

A haunted dwelling, filled with sin.

The moon above casts an eerie glow,

As whispers echo from down below.

The walls, they tremble with tales untold,

Of ghostly spirits and legends bold.

Step through the door, but beware your soul,

For in this place, darkness takes its toll.

The floors do creak with every step made,

As if the ghosts beneath them never fade.

The air is heavy, thick with despair,

It seeps through cracks and fills the stale air.

Each room tells stories of sorrow and dread,

Where restless spirits reside instead.

In one corner sits a broken chair,

Rocking back and forth without a care.

Its presence mocks the living's plight,

As if it laughs at our futile fight.

Shadows dance upon the peeling wall,

Their twisted forms haunt one and all.

They slither around like serpents sly,

Whispering secrets that make you cry.

Through dim-lit halls, echoes resound,

A symphony of fear that knows no bound.

Ghosts flit past, their figures fleeting,

Leaving behind an icy feeling.

In hidden chambers lies lost souls' plea,

Yearning for freedom yet never set free.

Their mournful cries pierce through the night,

Desperate to escape eternal fright.

But amidst this terror-filled domain,

Hope flickers like a dying flame.

For in this haunted house's core,

Lies strength to face what lies in store.

With courage held tight within your heart,

Navigate this maze where nightmares start.

Confront those fears that seek to bind,

And leave this haunting far behind.

For as dawn breaks and daylight gleams,

The haunted house fades into dreams.

Tales whispered now become folklore lore

Of a place feared once, but not anymore.

The Witch’s Curse In a realm where shadows dance,

Lived a witch who entranced,

With raven hair and eyes of coal,

She cast a spell upon her soul.

A curse she bore, deep within,

A darkness thrived beneath her skin,

For when the moon's silver light did gleam,

The witch would awaken from her dream.

Her touch, like ice upon the flesh,

Would bring despair with every breath,

And those who dared to cross her path,

Were met with terror, pain, and wrath.

Her cackling laughter echoed wide,

As fear consumed all far and wide,

In every village, dark tales were spun,

Of the cursed witch beneath the sun.

No heart could warm amidst her gaze,

Nor kindness break through wicked haze,

For vengeance fueled her twisted plight,

To spread chaos, both day and night.

With potions brewed in cauldrons black,

She summoned demons from their track,

Their haunting cries pierced through the air,

Foretelling doom to all who'd dare.

But deep inside that cursed core,

Lay fragments of love she had before.

A tragedy had marked her past

And turned her gentle heart so vast.

Once fair and pure, with magic bright,

She stood against injustice's blight.

But envy's venom stained her name

And bound her spirit in eternal flame.

Now trapped within this endless curse,

Her power grew for better or worse.

Yet loneliness consumed her days

As darkness shrouded ancient ways.

Through barren woods and foggy glen

She wandered aimlessly again.

Seeking solace but finding none

In a world where hatred freely won.

Yet whispers tell of one brave soul

Who sought to heal what was once whole.

A hero bold, with courage grand

Stood tall against that wicked hand.

With sword unsheathed and armor strong,

He fought for right amidst the wrong.

His heart ablaze with noble fire

To quench the witch's dark desire.

Their paths converged, a fateful night,

In a battle fierce, devoid of light.

But love's resilience broke the spell,

And shattered darkness where it fell.

The curse was lifted from her heart,

As they embraced and never did part.

For in compassion's gentle sway,

The witch found peace, come what may.

No longer feared, she walked with grace,

A smile adorned upon her face.

From darkness born, but now redeemed,

She helped others find light unseen.

So let this tale forever stand

As a reminder to all in this land,

That even curses can be reversed,

With love and hope, they are dispersed.

The Monster Under the Bed In the twilight hour, when shadows dance,

A child's imagination takes a chance.

Beneath the covers, wide eyes start to gleam,

For there lies a secret, a terrifying theme.

Within the realm of dreams so wild,

Resides a monster, fearsome and styled.

Underneath the bed, where darkness prevails,

It hides in silence, its presence never fails.

With every creak that echoes through the night,

The child trembles, consumed by fright.

Imagined claws that scrape against the floor,

Whispered growls creeping closer than before.

What does it look like? The child wonders deep,

A creature fierce with fangs that sharply peep?

Or perhaps an entity made of shadows' might,

An amorphous beast concealing in the night?

Its shape is unknown, just a figment of dread,

Yet within youthful mind, it grows widespread.

A monster born from stories or tales untold,

Ignited by fear as imagination takes hold.

The child's breath quickens as heartbeats race,

Lost in nightmares this haunting space.

But beneath the trembling surface of fear,

Lies bravery waiting to appear.

Determined now to face this lurking foe,

The child gathers courage before letting go.

A leap of faith into the great unknown,

To confront what lurks beneath their very own throne.

Peering under blankets' fortress fortressed embrace,

With quivering hands revealing hidden grace.

But lo! Nothing waits but dust and despair,

No monster dwells below with wicked stare.

Gone are ghoulish creatures and feral roars,

Vanquished illusions once feared like wars.

For under beds lie worlds yet unexplored,

Where fears transform into lessons adored.

Oh, little one with innocence so bright,

Remember each shadow may not be your fight.

Though monsters may dwell in corners unseen,

Your light will conquer them; you reign supreme.

For monsters, dear child, are mere illusions,

Fuelled by the mind's fantastical confusions.

So fear not what hides beneath your bed,

Embrace dreams and nightmares, let imagination spread.

And know that bravery lies within your soul,

Ready to conquer fears that may take their toll.

In the darkest nights, remember this refrain:

The monster under your bed is but a child's bane.

The Mirror’s Reflection In a chamber filled with shadows deep,

Where twisted secrets and whispers creep,

There hangs a mirror, tarnished and old,

A portal to realms where darkness unfolds.

Gaze upon this glass, but beware the sight,

For it holds no truth within its light.

No mere reflection of oneself you'll find,

But doppelgangers that haunt your mind.

Once, I dared to peer into its face,

Seeking solace in its hallowed space.

Yet what emerged from that abyssal void

Was not my visage, but something more annoyed.

An entity, sinister and cold as ice,

With eyes devoid of warmth or any vice.

Its features mirrored mine in every way,

But darkness masked the soul it portrayed.

The mirror's power revealed these vile twins,

Whose wicked grins concealed their hidden sins.

They danced before me, mocking my existence,

Twisting my thoughts with their eerie persistence.

Their voices echoed through the hollow air,

Telling tales of despair beyond compare.

Each word dripped venom like a serpent's tongue,

As they revelled in the misery they had flung.

I tried to break free from this dreadful trance,

To shatter the mirror's cursed advance.

But each attempt only multiplied their might,

As if they fed on my desperate fight.

Haunted by these doppelgangers' cruel gaze,

I felt their malevolence begin to graze

Upon my sanity, devouring hope and peace,

Leaving behind an emptiness that wouldn't cease.

What once was beauty turned into decay,

As the mirror consumed my life's display.

Now lost within this labyrinthine maze,

Forever trapped beneath its beguiling haze.

So heed this warning when you chance upon

A mirror whose reflections have all gone wrong.

Look deeply through its deceptive guise;

It may reveal truths we dare not recognize.

The Abandoned Asylum In shadows deep, where secrets sleep,

A place forgotten, memories weep.

An asylum stands, long lost in time,

Where tortured souls forever mime.

Once vibrant walls now cracked and worn,

Echoed laughter of those once reborn.

But now it breathes a haunting sigh,

Whispering tales, the reasons why.

Unveiling darkness that dwells within,

The ghosts arise, their spirits thin.

Through creaking halls, they softly glide,

Their mournful cries can't be denied.

Within these walls, despair resides,

Where sanity's tether slowly slides.

Tales untold beneath layers of dust,

Of lives erased, consumed by distrust.

Eyes peer through foggy panes of glass,

Mirroring pain from the distant past.

Voices linger on every breeze,

Invisible chains that never cease.

Ghosts wander aimlessly through each room,

Bound to this realm, trapped in their gloom.

Faces etched with anguish and dread,

Seeking solace in dreams long dead.

A symphony of sorrow fills the air,

Resonating with a tragic flair.

Whispers echo down dim-lit corridors,

Revealing fragments of tormented wars.

What secrets lie behind locked doors?

What horrors haunt these desolate floors?

With trembling steps, I journey forth,

To uncover truths hidden henceforth.

Beyond the veil of crumbling decay,

I delve into the unknown astray.

Each step unearths more chilling sights,

As phantoms dance in pale moonlight.

Visions flicker like candle flames ablaze,

Guiding me through this spectral maze.

The abandoned asylum reveals its heart;

Its darkened chambers set apart.

Yet amidst despair and ghostly plight,

A glimmer shines amid endless night.

For buried deep within this forsaken space

Lie remnants of love's enduring grace.

Amidst the wails and anguished cries

Are whispers of hope that never dies.

In the abandoned asylum's darkest hour,

A beacon of light reveals its power.

Though tortured souls may forever roam,

Within these walls, a sense of home.

The secrets unveiled, though chilling and grim,

Remind us to cherish life's fragile hymn.

The Vengeful Spirit In shadows deep, where spirits dwell,

A tale of vengeance I now shall tell.

Of a vengeful spirit, lost in strife,

Seeking revenge on those who wronged their life.

Once a soul adorned with love and grace,

Now wreathed in darkness, seeking solace.

Betrayed by kin, deceived by trust,

Their heart once pure, now turned to dust.

An innocent heart that beat so strong,

Now seeks retribution for all that went wrong.

With eyes ablaze like fiery stars above,

This spirit yearns to reclaim their lost love.

Through ethereal realms they swiftly glide,

Searching for souls steeped in false pride.

Whispering through the night's cold breeze,

Promises of torment and eternal unease.

The first on their list is a treacherous lover,

Who shattered their dreams like fragile glass cover.

Deception dripped from their honeyed tongue,

But now the vengeful spirit will see justice done.

They haunt their nights with ghostly wails,

And cast upon them nightmares that never fail.

For every tear shed in anguish and despair,

The vengeful spirit takes pleasure, as fair.

Next on the ledger is a friend turned foe,

Who stabbed the spirit's back with a venomous blow.

Behind gentle smiles hid wicked intent,

Now it's time for payback, an act heaven-sent.

They whisper in echoes within their mind,

Driving them mad until they're confined

To a world of guilt and unending regret

For betraying the bond they can never forget.

Lastly, there lies an enemy old and vile,

Who revelled in cruelty with a twisted smile.

Their actions caused pain beyond repair,

But now it's time for the vengeful spirit to share.

With wrath burning bright as an inferno's flame,

They confront this monster without any shame.

Wrapping tendrils around their darkened soul,

Extracting revenge to make them feel whole.

But as they unleash their vengeful might,

A realization dawns, shining so bright.

Revenge may bring solace, a fleeting release,

But the spirit's heart still longs for inner peace.

In the end, they find no satisfaction there,

Only emptiness and a lingering despair.

For revenge cannot mend what was torn apart,

Nor heal the wounds etched on an injured heart.

So now this vengeful spirit must find a way

To let go of vengeance and seek a brighter day.

To rise beyond anger, resentment, and strife,

And embrace forgiveness, reclaiming their life.

For in forgiveness lies true strength and grace,

A path to redemption, an eternal embrace.

May this tale remind us all to break free

From the chains of vengeance and let our spirits be.

The Doll’s Revenge In the twilight's hush, a tale unfolds,

Of secrets whispered and truths untold.

Beware the doll with eyes so bright,

For when darkness falls, it seeks its right.

A porcelain beauty, once loved and adored,

Now teems with vengeance as her spirit soared.

Her delicate frame conceals a sinister might,

As moonlight embraces her wicked plight.

Unbeknownst to all who slumber near,

The doll awakens, fueled by malice and fear.

Silent footsteps echo upon wooden floors,

While innocence shreds behind closed doors.

With each tick of time, her presence grows,

A puppeteer's hand guiding her morose prose.

She dances through shadows in eerie grace,

Leaving traces of chaos and despair in her chase.

Drawers are ransacked, heirlooms destroyed,

Whispers of terror on every corner deployed.

A symphony of shattered glass fills the air,

As she revels in mayhem without a care.

Once cherished laughter now yields to fright,

As creaking floorboards ignite sheer delight.

Innocent dreams tainted by this malevolent spree,

For the doll's revenge knows no mercy or plea.

Oh, the owners tremble beneath their sheets,

Haunted by nightmares where dread repeats.

They sense her gaze, those lifeless eyes gleam,

Piercing their souls like an unholy scream.

But amidst this madness lies a glimmer of hope,

An ember that flickers where darkness elopes.

For love still lingers within human hearts' core,

A beacon to fight what they cannot ignore.

United they gather with courage anew,

To break free from the hold of this vengeful coup.

They search for solace amid whispers of woe,

To banish this doll back to depths below.

Through incantations and prayers unspoken,

They weave ancient spells 'til dawn has broken.

Binding her spirit in threads of light,

They reclaim their haven from eternal night.

In the morning's embrace, a calm does descend,

The doll now dormant, her vengeance to suspend.

Yet, in every creak and whisper of breeze,

Lingers a tale of darkness that none can appease.

So heed this warning, wary souls take heed,

For possessed dolls lurk where nightmares breed.

Beware those toys with eyes so serene,

For beneath their façade lies a sinister queen.

The Shadow Man In the realm of darkness, where secrets reside,

Lurks a haunting figure that none can hide.

The Shadow Man, with eyes like midnight's abyss,

Cloaked in ebony, his presence amiss.

He creeps through alleyways and dim-lit streets,

A ghostly silhouette that your soul meets.

Whispering shadows cling to his every stride,

As fear takes hold, and trust starts to slide.

Wherever you wander, he is always there,

A chilling companion for each step you dare.

Paranoia dances upon your trembling skin,

As the Shadow Man's presence weaves within.

His footsteps silent, like echoes from beyond,

An enigma lurking where sanity responds.

With every breath you take, his coldness nears,

Unseen but felt, as dread interferes.

He hides within corners and beneath moon's glow,

Watching your every move as nightmares grow.

No face to recognize, no features to name,

Yet his essence seeps into your very frame.

Your heart skips beats when shadows intertwine,

Beneath the moonlit sky or flickering street sign.

His ethereal touch sends shivers down your spine,

A presence so eerie, it defies any design.

The whispers echo louder inside your mind's wall,

Sowing seeds of doubt and paranoia's call.

Are they figments of imagination run wild?

Or does the Shadow Man truly seek to beguile?

Each nightfall sneaks closer with a malevolent grace,

Leaving behind traces of fear on your face.

You glimpse him in mirrors and reflections askew,

A shadowy specter forever pursuing you.

His intentions remain veiled in mystery's haze,

Is he a harbinger of doom or merely a phase?

But one thing remains clear amidst this gloom:

The Shadow Man's presence heralds impending doom.

So beware the darkness that clings close at hand,

For the Shadow Man may soon make his stand.

In every corner, he waits for your fear to ignite,

A chilling reminder of the eternal night.

The Sinister Clown In the realm where shadows dance and darkness weaves,

A circus of nightmares, a sinister reprieve.

Beneath a tattered tent, where moonlight dares to peep,

Exists a twisted mind, where secrets truly creep.

The Sinister Clown, with painted grin so wide,

Lures innocent souls, entices them inside.

His laughter echoes through the corridors of dread,

As children follow him, their footsteps filled with dread.

With crimson eyes that gleam, like fire in the night,

He beckons them closer, his presence full of fright.

His macabre carnival awaits those who dare,

To venture into madness, to taste despair.

The children's hearts flutter like fragile wings,

As they enter the circus of forbidden things.

Their innocence stolen by this fiendish host,

They succumb to his charm, like puppets engrossed.

Behind those lurid hues lies treachery untamed,

A labyrinth of nightmares where darkness is named.

He spins illusions with every wicked smile,

Ensnaring young minds in his malevolent guile.

Through halls adorned with cobwebs and decayed dreams,

Whispers of lost innocence drift on unseen streams.

Tales whispered softly by forgotten clowns long passed,

Of lives extinguished too soon, forever masked.

Within this grotesque world built upon deceit,

The Sinister Clown finds pleasure as dark memories repeat.

He toys with their fears and preys upon their trust,

Feeding on their anguish and turning it to dust.

But amidst the terror that reigns within these walls,

Hope flickers faintly as courage silently calls.

For deep within each child resides strength untold,

A spark that can ignite against evil's stronghold.

So let us delve into the twisted mind that yearns

To lure children into his macabre circus turns.

But remember well this tale of fear and woe:

That even sinister clowns can be overthrown.

For in the battle between darkness and light,

The innocent shall rise, empowered by their fight.

And though the Sinister Clown may cackle with delight,

In the end, his wicked reign shall fade into the night.

The Ominous Forest In the depths of twilight's grasp, where shadows dance and twine,

There lies a realm untouched by light, where darkness intertwines.

An ominous forest stands aloof, its secrets yet untold,

Where eerie whispers echo through the trees so old.

Within this somber woodland, strange creatures softly creep,

Their eyes aglow with mystery, their movements slow and deep.

Whispered tales speak of phantom beasts who dwell within these lands,

Creatures born from moonlit dreams and woven fairy strands.

The ancient oaks stand tall and proud, guardians of the night,

Silent sentinels that watch as specters take their flight.

Their branches twist like skeletal arms, reaching for the sky,

As if to grasp the ethereal mist that silently drifts by.

Beneath the canopy's embrace, a symphony awakes,

With haunting melodies on wind that send shivers through each glade.

Leaves rustle in a ghostly choir, harmonizing fears,

While footsteps fade into a murmur like long-forgotten tears.

A chorus of nocturnal creatures sings songs both sweet and grim,

Their voices carry secrets lost in darkness' deepest hymn.

Phantasmal orbs float aimlessly in spectral haze untamed,

Guiding wanderers through twisted paths until they are disclaimed.

Beware! The whispers caution those who dare to trespass here,

For legends tell of souls ensnared forevermore, held dear

By spirits lurking in the gloom, forever seeking solace,

Thirsting for lost company within this haunted palace.

Yet still some venture forth despite this chilling plea,

Drawn to mysteries unknown or driven by audacity.

Through foggy wisps and tangled roots they tread with trembling steps,

Into the heart of shadow’s realm where nightmares lie unkept.

For those who seek adventure in realms beyond our sight,

The ominous forest beckons under pale moonlight.

But heed my words, dear traveller, and tread with utmost care,

For this enchanted labyrinth whispers secrets of despair.

The Ghost Ship In the realm where twilight embraces night's repose,

Where tempests snarl and turbulent oceans impose,

A ghostly ship emerges from ethereal mists,

Sailing through stormy seas, where darkness persists.

Its tattered sails flutter, whispers in the gale,

Manned by spectral sailors, souls lost without a trail,

Bound to wander forever in this nautical purgatory,

A haunting tale etched upon their faces, weary and hoary.

Their eyes hold secrets of forgotten days gone by,

Echoes of lives lived once, now fade and slowly die.

The ship creaks and groans like a mournful wail,

As it plows through currents that tell an ancient tale.

The captain at the helm, his visage worn with age,

Guiding this vessel cursed, trapped within its cage.

His hands grip the wheel with an eternal resolve,

Steering towards an unknown fate that cannot absolve.

And amidst the raging tempest's thunderous roar,

Whispers of long-lost stories echo from each shore.

For these spectral sailors are prisoners of their past,

Condemned to sail forever till eternity is surpassed.

They search for solace in their soulless existence,

Yearning for release from their endless persistence.

But storms continue to thrash as they drift away,

Forever doomed to voyage beneath skies so gray.

Yet within their hollow hearts remains a flicker of hope,

That one day destiny will grant them scope.

To break free from this spectral ship's eternal plight,

To find redemption in celestial realms' pure light.

So let us ponder on this ghostly maritime crew,

Lost souls condemned to sail where no land is in view.

May we remember them as symbols of our own despair,

And strive to find liberation from burdens we bear.

Whispers of Death in Shadows Deep In shadows deep, where darkness dwells,

A chilling tale of death foretells.

Whispered echoes through the night,

Of souls entwined in endless fright.

Death's icy grip, a cruel embrace,

As life's breath fades without a trace.

A haunting specter, silent and cold,

Claims its victims, young and old.

In moonlit graves, they lie at rest,

Their bodies still, their souls distressed.

The Reaper's scythe cuts through the air,

Harvesting lives with utmost care.

Beneath the moon's pale ghastly glow,

Lost spirits wander to and fro.

Their mournful cries fill empty tombs,

Doomed to roam eternal gloom.

Eyes hollow and vacant, devoid of light,

They yearn for solace in endless night.

Tormented whispers crawl on the breeze,

Tales of horror that only death sees.

Each step taken brings them closer still,

To realms unknown beyond life's will.

The abyss awaits with open arms,

To swallow whole those who meet harm.

No escape from this macabre land,

Where time stands still, fate firmly planned.

For death is but a fearsome guide,

Leading us all to the other side.

So heed my warning, mortal soul beware,

Embrace each moment with utmost care.

For when your time comes, as it surely will,

Death's chilling touch you cannot fulfill.

Whispers of Endings In the shadows of twilight's eerie glow,

Whispers dance, as darkness starts to grow.

The air turns cold, a chill grips my soul,

For in this realm, endings take their toll.

Through haunted halls and corridors of dread,

I tread softly, where restless spirits spread.

Their mournful cries pierce through the night,

Echoing fears with each flickering light.

Oh, how endings weave their somber tales,

Of shattered dreams and forgotten trails.

A symphony of anguish fills the void,

As hope decays, by fear's grip destroyed.

The final gasp that escapes our lips,

When life succumbs to its fatal eclipse.

An abyss opens wide, devouring all,

Leaving naught but despair for us to recall.

Gone are the days of laughter and cheer,

Replaced by dread and paralyzing fear.

Like a cruel puppeteer controlling fate,

Endings arrive with a venomous weight.

They linger in shadows, waiting to strike,

Feasting on souls with an insatiable spite.

No escape from their relentless embrace,

As they revel in pain with unholy grace.

Each ending is a tale untold,

Of broken hearts and dreams gone cold.

They wrap around us like a shroud so tight,

Constricting breaths, extinguishing light.

So beware those endings lurking near,

For they hold nightmares we cannot bear.

In every corner, every twist and bend,

They lie in wait until time shall transcend.

And when your journey meets its bitter end,

Remember this warning I now extend:

Embrace life's beauty before it fades away, For horror lies within each ending's dismay.

#Terror in verse #poetry #poems #Shaina Tranquilino #A collection of horror poetry #horror poetry #horror poems #horror

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perfectmetaphore · 4 years

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SILVER’S DEAD BY DAYLIGHT VERSE.

To wake up in a purgatory where your only purpose is to die over and over again, it wasn’t exactly what he had imagined when death finally came for him. Granted, he was not surprised. The world, or ‘ the realm ‘ seemed a thing only created in nightmares, places that can twist and turn. Become something new and different with a simple wish from a THING they call The Entity, a dark malevolent being who’s only wish is to create misery and darkness.

His first meeting with The Entity had been a painful one. He woke up in a dark world, a field, with the only sounds being crows and a eerie humming that gradually seemed to grow louder. It was also his first meeting with The Huntress.

For what felt like hours he had been forced to play hide and seek with someone who clearly enjoyed hunting for sport. It was when he had found signs of other survivors too, not that this new information mattered much when all four were overrun by the humming horror. An axe to the back, a hook through the shoulder, and then more or less stabbed to death by some... THING.

That had been his first meeting with this world. But Silver never made the same mistake twice.

As a Survivor, Silver is a loner who’s perks mostly depends on his own chance of survival. His movements are naturally light, which makes him harder to notice, even when sprinting. He’s got nimble and clever fingers and won’t alert the killer if he makes a mistake with a generator. He’s also got advantage in speed.

Due to his loner perk, he works 20% quicker. That means he’s got bigger advantage alone than in a group. He is also prone to do less mistakes when alone as well, whereas with a group, he’d be terrible.

His most unique skill is his ability to disappear from sight for an amount of five to ten seconds. This means he’ll vanish from the killer’s view long enough to find a place to hide. This also means he’ll change the killer’s interest, and should another survivor be close, he will have given away their position.

Silver also has a natural 7% chance of escaping The Entity’s claws.

He can also see the location of the hatch, as well as the doors once all generators are working, and upon death, he will make those visible for the remaining survivors.

#[ DEATH BECOMES HIM - DBD ]#[ HEADCANON ]

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post-itpenny · 4 years

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The Challenge

So this is completely ridiculous but I’ve had the idea for a while and just really wanted to try writing some Dead By Daylight.

Yeah this is definitely ridiculous.

There were few things they could take comfort in while trapped in this never ending nightmare that the survivors called “The Game.”

The first being that despite how twisted and horrifying the game was, it did still have some semblance of a set of rules that both survivors and killers alike had to follow.

The second being that for some reason, despite coming from different countries and languages, they could all understand each other. They heard each other in their own languages except or obvious accents. It was strange and unnerving, something that became more disturbing as more and more survivors came claiming to be from different decades.

Jane speculated it was because they were dead, explaining to the others the last thing she remembered was flying off the road thanks to some black ice. Adam added that he had been in a train crash which he was certain he should not have survived. It was Kate that pointed out she had been literally yanked out of reality by The Entity and dropped by the campfire. Several others could attest getting lost or just walking into the fog by complete accident.

Perhaps it was another rule they didn’t fully understand. But then again, communication was vital during a trial. Regardless of the reasoning of The Entity the survivors all agreed it was a small comfort being able to speak with each other.

Which led to how everything started.

Dwight, Claudette, Nea, and Jeff had been pulled into a trial. The anxiety that came with waiting for those in a trial to return never lessoned. There had been a handful of survivors that only lasted a few rounds before completely breaking, dying in a trial and not returning to the campfire. No one wanted to think about what may have happened to those few but the fear someone else would break was always present.

Fifteen minutes in and Dwight had appeared, his clothes muddy and torn. The look on his face said it all- a mori.

“Ghost Face,” he groaned, “‘Dette was hooked and I ran to help her. Should have known it was too easy since he had already gotten me once.” Dwight sighed as he shrugged off his shirt and took the offered needle and thread from Quinten. The Entity could repair broken bones and gored flesh; heck, it even fixed Dwight’s glasses more than once. But it was apparently not a tailor.

From across the campfire Bill shook his head as he took a drag of his cigarette, “how the hell did he get you so fast boy?”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Dwight snapped back with a slight whine in his voice, “I spawned in right next to the guy. I didn’t have a chance.”

Half an hour later the other three came back, Claudette seemed…. dumbfounded.

Nea was laughing hysterically.

“I would have paid anything the see his fuckin’ face!” She cackled. “You guys, guys! You won’t believe it!”

Apparently Nea had also tried to come to Claudette’s aid, hanging back in the tall grass as she saw Ghost Face pounce on Dwight. But then-

“So he’s fishing his camera out of a pocket and to take a picture and- an-“ Nea couldn’t continue, breaking into another fit of laughter. Claudette, who had seen everything, continued.

“Ghost Face took a selfie with Dwight’s body and Nea photobombed it.”

“He sat there for two minutes just staring at the stupid screen!” Nea screamed between fits of laughter, Dwight gave a huff of annoyance and half-heartedly shoved Nea off the log she sat on and flat on her back in the dirt, tears in her eyes with laughter.

Bill took another drag of his nearly dissolved cigarette and scowled. “That was bold but stupid, what if he turned around and stabbed you?”

“Oh come off it old man,” Nea scoffed, “pass me a cig from wherever the hell you get them from.”

“Nope, you’ll ruin your lungs.”

“Bill you-“

“So what's a photobomb?”

It had been Nancy that had asked, which considering it had been the 80’s last time she and Steve had checked no one could blame her. Confusion about slang did not change even if they could understand each other, the time gaps not helping. So it was explained what it meant to photobomb someone and as the realization of what Nea had done really started to sink in, most of the group could agree, it was hilarious.

But then two days later Ace decided it would be funny to sing “I Only Have Eyes For You” to the Nurse, leaving the apparition coming to a halt in her chase with Meg. He made it through the first verse before she seemed to pull herself together and swing at him with her bone saw. Ace died pretty quickly that round but that night at the campfire they were all in better spirits than they had been in a long time as they listened to Ace and Meg recount the story.

And so, the challenge was born.

There were several like Bill, Tapp, and Jane who saw it as reckless but even Claudette who was arguably one of the most level headed of them all pointed out that it wasn’t like anyone would die permanently. Plus, if it raised everyone’s spirits then wasn’t the risk worth it?

Even the survivors got bored with the monotony of one trial after another, so anything that could spice things up was welcomed by most.

It took some time to explain what a “meme” was, several failing since the best they could do was give examples that not everyone understood. But the idea got across soon enough and quickly led to Steve screaming “is that a cat?!” As the Demigorgon charged his way which led to Feng Min screaming “yeet!” As the Huntress threw a hatchet in Bill’s direction.

The Huntress didn’t seem to appreciate the humor as much as Feng Min did.

Perhaps the boldest came from Laurie who had at first been very much against the idea of taunting the killers in such a way. But she had been inspired, and there were very few things that could bring her as much joy as giving her brother any form of grief.

Kate and Quinten has been trapped in a corner of the ironworks, Michael staring them down as he prepared to strike-

But they were far more interested in Laurie who was standing an arm’s length behind him.

Michael lunged and they split in separate directions; Kate apparently being the unfortunate chosen as Michael chased her out of the ironworks and Quinten watched as Laurie followed right behind, just as stealthy and quiet as her brother could ever be. She followed him like this for nearly the entire match and when Michael did finally turn around to spot Laurie he skipped the usual protocol and went straight to a mori.

It was amazing and Quinten was well convinced Laurie could be just as dangerous as her brother given the right circumstances.

Many of them took turns playing like this, even at the risk of an early death the survivors found it worth it for just two minutes of a good laugh. They now had stories to share around the campfire aside from the mournful accounts of what they missed from their old lives. Even Jane eventually joined in, propping her arms up on a window ledge and holding a thirty second mock interview with an extremely confused Wraith with an imaginary microphone held out for his response.

They started repeating the antics of each other which infuriated some of the killers to no end. The Huntress especially really did not seem to like it when someone screamed “yeet.” But a challenge was still a challenge and the ultimate goal was to outdo each other.

Dwight often did not feel like a proper leader even though he somehow had found his way into the role. He didn’t like the idea of the others willingly throwing themselves in harm's way for the sake of a laugh. It already worried him to no end when Meg or someone else would lead a killer on the chase so the others could work on a generator. The theory that they would always come back as long as they had hope felt shaky to him at best. If The Entity could bring them back on a whim then surely it could just get rid of them if they proved too troublesome. It did make the rules of the game after all.

And yet…

Dwight was running as fast as he could, the leader of The Legion right behind him. He turned a corner and dashed for a pallet, hoping the killer had not reached a frenzied state yet. Dwight lept to the other side of the pallet and slammed it down in the killer’s face. He stood there for a moment as some speck of sanity seemed to snap and his brain went to autopilot.

Dwight dabbed and took off running again.

From behind him came a roar of laughter, spotting Nea he gave a grin as he dashed off into the cornfields of Coldwind Farms.

Later on he somehow made it out of the trial alive, giggling like mad as he sat down next to Nea.

“Did you see? That was amazing!”

“Y-yeah I saw you,” she stammered.

Dwight frowned, “look I know it’s not the most impressive but you still laughed-“

“That wasn’t me.”

“... what?”

“Dwight, that wasn’t me laughing. I was hiding in a corner, I wasn’t laughing.”

It was then Dwight realized the laughter he had heard was distinctly male.

Dwight slipped off the log in a dead faint.

#dead by daylight #dbd #just thought it would be funny #may do a part two if this gets received well enough

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agentargus · 6 years

Text

//Ages back, @spookylilmoonpie asked for more information about Dante and Murmur. Started on some lore but I’ll post a small part of it here now:

Audio transcribed and translated from the Italian (with exceptions where necessary) by [REDACTED]. Timestamp states place the recording took place at 3:33 PM on the 10th of January [DATE REDACTED]

“This is Father Dominic Lawrence, acting chaplain of the St. Olympius Residential School , documenting on behalf of Repubblica Dei Lupi. The day is the tenth of January, Feast of St. Peter Orseolo. Optional Christmas vacation ended one week prior to this day. As the students of St. Olympius have returned to school for spring sememster, they have begun reporting strange happenings—well, stranger than usual—concerning two students enrolled on the fourth of December, Feast of St. Giovanni Calabria. The following interview is to be conducted with the older brother. Mother Superior currently records her questioning of the younger sister in the parish hall...”

Transcriber’s note: Father Lawrence now opens the door, the creaking of which can be heard on the original recording.

Good afternoon, son.”

“Good afternoon, Father Lawrence.”

“Please sit down and help yourself to the cookies.”

“Thank you.”

“What is your name, son?”

“Dante Feliciano Argenti.”

“And how old are you.”

“I don’t know. Mother says I’m roughly three years older than Giu-Giu—my sister, but Mother doesn’t like talking about it.”

“How old do you think you are.”

“Most of the people in my class are fourteen or fifteen—except Estella. She just turned 3049 years old yesterday. I told her she didn’t look a day over 2000, but I don’t think she understood that I was joking...”

“Sister Madalberta claims you’ve been sleepwalking.”

“If I have, I don’t remember.”

“Then you don’t remember the things you said to little Francesco?”

“That he could have my marbles because I’d already lost them in the figurative sense?”

“No, though that was very kind of you and he’s very thankful. I mean when he found you sleepwalking out of the dormitory and tried to wake you up...Dante, you told him that a thousand centipedes waited for him in hell, that they would crawl beneath his eyelids while he slept and...”

“I didn’t say that! I promise, I didn’t say that. Centipedes wouldn’t even go to hell anyway, they’re perfectly nice creatures...”

“Yes, the boy was quite sure that it wasn’t you, even if the words came out of your mouth. Didn’t have your energy, he said. You know he’s an empath, yes?”

“Is that like a psychic?”

“Sort of...”

“I really should apologize to him, if only for the bad things he’s probably seen in my head.”

“Tell me about the bad things in your head...”

“I don’t think you really want to hear them, Father. Mother says I think exactly the way she expects from a teenage boy...”

“You’re probably right, let me rephrase: tell me about the bad thing in your head that isn’t you. Tell me about the thing that hurt your mother.”

“Why would you want to know about him? I’d call him a turd, but I don’t hate toilets so much that I would force him upon them.”

“Have another cookie, Dante.”

“Thank you. Mother never let me have seconds.”

“Why do you hate him?”

“Because hurt my mother, obviously. He would have hurt my sister if he’d had the chance...”

“Did he ever speak to you?”

“Only in my nightmares...can I go now? Please?”

“Did he pretend to be your friend.”

“No, he pretended to be me...”

“What do you mean?”

“I grew up in a haunted mental institution, Father. I would like to think I’m well-versed in the difference between the voices that exist within one’s own mind and those that belong to outside forces, between madness and malus, if you will...”

“...but...”

“...There were no voices in my head at all, at least, none I could distinguish from my own thoughts. Do I have to talk about this?”

“Just explain a little more...”

“I had bad thoughts. I still do. Everyone does, I think. I want to think it’s normal. Sometimes, I’d have very vivid night terrors where I...where acted on those bad thoughts. I wanted to be good, I couldn’t be good all the time, but I tried. Every bad thought would be locked away somewhere, and my nightmares would feed on them, the way eating soy beans or chicken can feed a growing tumor with the hormones but are harmless if you don’t have a tumor. I think I was fighting myself too hard to realize that I was also fighting something else.”

“The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn’t exist.”

“Yes, exactly. I thought it was just my guilty conscience and nothing more, which made me feel all the more helpless to fight back. Guilt isn’t productive, Signore Pantalone told me when he rescued Giu-Giu and me. It traps you so that you become convinced you can’t do better, and if you think you can’t do better, you don’t. I think the bad thing that lives inside me was waiting until I stopped trying to do better, until I couldn’t tell the difference between my nightmares and reality...and now, I guess he can’t tell the difference either if he wakes up when I’m asleep.”

“How would you feel if I put you to sleep so that I could talk to him?”

“I thought you were maybe trying to put me to sleep right now, but sedatives don’t work on me. Why else do you think I’ve been eating the cookies even though I’m pretty sure you drugged them?”

“You’re a smart boy.”

“Thank you. You didn’t have to lie to me, you know. Bearing false witness is a sin, father.”

“I never lied to you, son...”

“A sin of omission is still a sin. You think I’m stupid. Everyone thinks I’m stupid. I was trying to be polite, but trying just made me look like an idiot...”

“I didn’t drug the cookies, Dante. I’m telling you the truth. I didn’t want to put you to sleep, I wanted to make you angry, because being angry makes you feel guilty, and when you feel guilty, you want to disappear...”

“And nothing can stop me...”

*muffled static*

Transcriber’s note: at this moment, the radio in Father Dominic’s office appears to have been switched on. The song “Duke of Earl” by Gene Chandler plays in the background of the following conversation:

“˙˙˙lɹƎ ɟo ǝʞnD ǝʞnD ǝʞnD lɹƎ ɟo ǝʞnD ǝʞnD ǝʞnD”

“Dante?”

“Dante’s inferno...”

“Who are you?”

“Siehst, Vater, du den Erlkönig nicht? Den Erlenkönig mit Kron' und Schweif?"

“Excuse me?”

“I’m the Duke of Erl, I sing, come and I’ll show you the Erl King.”

“What is your purpose?”

“I’m gonna love you ¿sɹǝʌoɔ ɹnoʎ ɹǝpun ɹǝɥ ɟo ʞuᴉɥʇ noʎ ʍouʞ poƃ ɹnoʎ sǝoD ¿ɹǝɥʇɐɟ 'ɹǝɥ ǝʌol noʎ ʍouʞ ǝɥs sǝoD ‘cause I’m the Duke of Erl.”

“Why are you here?”

“It’s nighttime. Time to sing a lullaby.”

“Why didn’t you manifest sooner?”

“I’m always there when good little boys are sleeping. Are you thinking of Sister Claire while you’re sleeping? Mich reizt deine schöne Gestalt. Und bist du nicht willig, so brauch' ich Gewalt. Come on, let me hold you, darlin’...”

Transcriber’s note: According to Father Lawrence, this lull in the conversation occurs when he unplugs the radio, though the song keeps playing.

“Why did you manifest when he was awake?”

“ʞɐǝʍllᴉʇssǝɥsǝlᴉɥʍǝʇuɐpʎqɐqǝɥʇllᴉʞ ˙ǝʇuɐp 'ʎqɐq ǝɥʇ ǝʇɐɥ ʇ’uop 'ǝʇuɐp 'ʎqɐq ǝɥʇ ǝʞɐʍ ʇ’uop ˙ʎqɐq ǝɥʇ ǝʞɐʍ ʇ’uop sʎɐs ɹǝɥʇoW. Dante says don’t wake the baby, mother, don’t hurt the baby mother, don’t hurt the baby. In seinen Armen das Kind war tot...”

“Tell me your name.”

“I’m the lɹƎ ɟo ǝʞnD ǝʞnD ǝʞnD lɹƎ ɟo ǝʞnD ǝʞnD ǝʞnDoh yeah yeah yeah yeah...”

“I-in the name of the Father, I command you, tell me your name...”

“Aaaaaaa-I’m the lord of the night, master those spirits who cannot rest, Duke and earl and duke and earl and...”

“In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy S-Spirit, I command you, tell me your name.”

“...Murmurmurmurmurmurder you in your sleep, while you’ve got your pants down and you’re thinking of Sister Claire...”

“Shut up!”

“That wasn’t very nice, Father. Have you been a bad boy? Good little boys must go to bed. Bad little boys must stay there. Never waking up again. In his arms, the child lay dead...”

“In Jesus’s name, once more, your name.”

“No.”

“Your name...”

“No.”

[several seconds of unintelligible static]

“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven...”[more static] “The power of Christ compels you, tell me your name!”

“...Murmur.”

“Murmur, go back to hell.”

“Already there. Nothing can stop me...”

“I command you, in Jesus’s name, go back!”

“Dante’s inferno. Dante’s hell. Don’t hurt the baby, mother! Over and over again...”

“Go back!”

“Hell is home. Dante is home. Dante is hell. Can’t kill the baby, it’s okay to hurt the baby, Dante, she won’t die.”

“Go back!”

“People who cannot die cannot go to hell. People who cannot die are already in hell. Hell is where the the good little boys go to bed.”

“Murmur, I command you, go back to hell!”

“Daylight is fire. Fire is hell. It’s nighttime. Dante is daylight. Daylight is hell. I am in hell. We’ll walk through my dukedom and a paradise we’ll share...”

“The sun is rising, Murmur, go back to sleep...”

“Duke Duke Duke Duke of Erl Duke Duke Duke of Erl Duke...is everything alright, Father? You look like you’ve seen a ghost...literally.”

Transcriber’s note: the recording ends here.

#cw:child abuse mention

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scaryscarecrows · 6 years

Text

The Cold Ache of Grief

AN: Happy birthday, Jason! Have a slightly happier possibility. Takes place in the Batman v. Superman 'verse, but only technically-there was a mausoleum and I wanted it. Mood music: 'Beautiful Lie' from the soundtrack.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z9BL59uiAz8

It’s raining. That’s not new. It’s Gotham. The city is constantly weeping for its lost children, the horrors committed in its streets.

Or, Bruce thinks sometimes, it laughs so hard at the atrocities that it cries.

Whatever the case, it’s raining now, but not in here. Never in here. This building is strong and that might say something, that the walls protecting the dead are mightier than those protecting the living.

The only moisture in here now is by the door, where he shoved it open enough to step inside, and pooling by his boots, where it drips from his umbrella. He props said umbrella against the wall and makes his way across the cold, unforgiving cement, three flowers in hand.

Aster, for Mother-elegance, for she will always be the most elegant woman Bruce has ever seen. Always.

Gladiolus, for Father-strength of character. Bruce would never…he would not be who he is today, for better or worse, without Father.

And Snapdragons, for Jason. Technically they symbolize strength, but the real reason Bruce has them is because Jason always liked them.

He only comes at night, here, after the Bat is done, and only as Bruce. Not Brucie, Bruce. Just Bruce. He’s not sure why. Maybe so he doesn’t have to face them in the daylight, maybe in apology for not lying here with them. Alfred probably knows. Alfred knows everything (and oh, he is grateful that that’s not another flower to bring).

Dick’s been here at some point-he leaves daisies, always, a splash of light in this gloomy place. It was a little while ago-they’re well-preserved, resting quietly on the stone lid, and Bruce doesn’t touch them.

He sinks down to the floor, the chill creeping into his knees, stark contrast to that awful night when…the explosion, the fire, it had made the cement that wasn’t covered in debris burning hot to the touch and only later had he realized the extent of the damage, to the suit and to himself.

He’s sorry. He’s so, so sorry.

But sorry makes no difference, not now. Not ever.

It was a long night, a rough night, even by Gotham’s standards, and he’s so tired. He’s been tired, he thinks, for a long time, but not like this. Not like this.

Not for the first time, he wishes he could just lie down here and sleep forever.

He rests his head against the freezing stone of Jason’s…Jason’s coffin

No parent should have to bury their child.

and closes his eyes. Just a moment. Just for a moment.

Time gets away from him and at first he thinks he did fall asleep, or suffered a hit on the head at some point tonight-he’ll swear that there’s…stirring…under his ear. It’s not possible for it to be vermin, he knows that, he couldn’t…he made sure nothing…

He blinks and shakes his head, but the noise doesn’t vanish like it should. If anything, it grows louder, and-

“BRUCE!”

He scrambles back, falling on his ass in a very un-Batman like fashion, and struggles to his feet. If this is a drug, or the effects of a concussion, or whatever it is he will find the one responsible and make them pay dearly-

“BRUCE, PLEASE!”

And Hell, if that doesn’t sound like him…

But that’s not possible…

The stirrings become poundings, hard and desperate, and Bruce isn’t thinking when he leaps forward and pushes at the lid until finally, finally, the years of stillness give way and it slides, swiftly and with a terrible grinding sound, to the floor. The screaming stops.

And.

And, oh, dear God-

It’s been two years. It’s been two years and yet Bruce can remember every detail of his son’s…of Jason’s…they’d put him back. Back together, as best they could. Gone through the niceties of makeup and staples, put him in a suit he’d have hated.

The staples are gone and the eyelids they held are torn and bloody, the blood running into that damned cakey makeup that hadn’t done a thing in the end, and he’s staring (looking, not staring, the dead stare with no light in their eyes) at the ceiling.

But it’s been two years and he was…

He’s lost his mind. One of them-Scarecrow, Ivy, the sheer stress of the Batman-has finally eaten their way into his brain.

He can’t find it in himself to care.

“Jason.”

The eyes, blinking rapidly against the still-trickling rivulets of blood, snap to him in confusion and horror.

“Bruce?”

He’s well-acquainted with Jason’s nightmares, and God, if that doesn’t…he’s heard that tone before. Frightened, looking to someone to make everything okay.

(And oh, if Bruce hadn’t had a thousand nightmares of being late, of knowing that for once he hadn’t been there to make everything okay…)

They’re silent, Jason’s breaths (how…?) harsh and echoing in the suddenly too-small space, Bruce hardly breathing at all.

“Jay,” he whispers, reaching into his pocket for a handkerchief, then reaching into the…the box to wipe the blood off the boy’s face. “good God…just.” He swallows, or tries to. “Just hold that there, the bleeding will stop, just…”

He needs to move his hand so Jason can take the handkerchief. But. But his face is warm, and solid, and…

And before it had nearly been shattered beyond recognition and now it isn’t and he doesn’t understand.

Jason, for his part, is still, eyes moving involuntarily under closed lids, hands feeling around him, fingers pressing against the stone slab under him and pulling carefully at his clothes.

“Bruce?” he whispers, one hand coming up to grasp Bruce’s wrist. “What happened to me?”

And Bruce is at a loss for words.

Jason tries to sit up and Bruce lets him. The handkerchief flutters downwards, temporarily forgotten.

“Where are we?”

His voice is gone. He tries, truly, to say something-truth or lie, it doesn’t matter-but he can’t. He can, however, hug him, that damned suit crinkling in his arms.

No softer than that cape should have thought about that but it’s warm at least it’s warm.

And that, he remembers, had been a thought. That it was cold in here, that Jason had hated being cold more than almost anything else and that he couldn’t let him…

Jason hugs him back, arms loose around his neck, and the blood and makeup smear all over his jacket and he does not care because he’s breathing, and warm, and he wasn’t, that last time, he was cold and still and silent and-

He buries his face in his hair and doesn’t even bother pretending it’s raindrops on his face.

“Oh, God, Jay…”

Jason’s starting to shiver, though whether it’s from cold or if he’s remembering something (Bruce isn’t sure which is worse) is up for debate. Regardless, they need to get out of here, to get home, Alfred can…

He picks him up and he’s as light as he remembers him having been, but no longer so…

“Bruce?” Jason shifts in his arms and he hadn’t done that last time, either. “Are we in the mausoleum?”

He’d never taken kindly to lies. Bruce doubts he’ll start now.

“Yes.”

The shivering worsens, turns to near-jerking and he should have wrapped him in his coat but he can’t set him down, not now, not in here, he’ll be dragged back. It’s like the Greek myth-don’t look back, you’ll lose them forever.

“I thought…” Frantic, shuddery gasps hit his collarbone. “I thought maybe…B, was I dead?” He doesn’t give Bruce a chance to answer before wrapping himself around him, somehow, and whimpering, “I don’t wanna be dead, B, I don’t…I didn’t mean…”

Bruce sinks back to the floor and rocks him back and forth, rubbing a hand over his back and sparing another thought of distaste for the crinkly suit.

“Shh, Jay-lad, shh.” He swallows back the lump in his throat-that will have to wait. “I’ve got you, Jason, I’ve got you, you’re all right. You’re all right, you’re here now, you’re all right.”

Jason may not even hear him-he’s sobbing into his shoulder, grip almost chokingly tight, and Bruce wishes that just once he had come as Batman. The cape can be gotten off with one hand. The mac, not so much.

“I didn’t wanna die.” Jason whispers, trembling and doing everything in his power to avoid touching the cold floor. “I didn’t wanna die, B, I swear I didn’t mean to…”

Bruce wants to be sick.

He swallows that, too, manages to open the coat enough to wrap it around Jason a little.

“That wasn’t your fault, Jason. God, that wasn’t…that was never…” He swallows again, manages to get back up. “I’ve got you now, it’s all over.”

He carries him to the car, unsure whether to be glad or not that he drove himself here rather than asking Alfred.

Alfred…how will he explain…and Dick. Barbara. This isn’t…a phone call won’t…

He settles Jason into the passenger’s seat and covers him with the now-wet coat (his umbrella is still in there…it doesn’t matter) before jogging to the driver’s side and diving in, half-expecting this to be a cruel dream, for Jason to be gone.

But he isn’t. He’s still there, clinging to the coat and clearly trying to calm himself down. Bruce shoves the divider console up and out of the way and figures to Hell with traffic laws, he’s the Goddamn Batman, when Jason closes the distance between them.

“We’ll be home soon, Jay, I promise.”

“Alfie?”

“Alfred’s there, Alfred’s just fine, he’ll make you some hot chocolate, like always, get you warmed up.”

“I don’t wanna come back here, B,” he whispers, and his voice is so, so small.

God, he’s only fifteen, please, no, take me instead, he’s just a child-

Bruce pulls him close, hand pressing against his chest and feeling his heart pounding against his ribs.

“You won’t, Jason. I’ve got you, it’s going to be all right.” He leans over and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “It’s going to be all right.”

THE END

#Jason Todd #Bruce Wayne #Batdad #fight me DC Bruce loves his disaster children #fairly untraumatic resurrection #y'know #considering #fic #Batman v. Superman #in name only #pre-film

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bobdylandreams · 3 years

Text

Murder Most Foul

Written by Bob Dylan

Recorded "A while back" (according to the twitter announcement) Released 27 March 2020 and later on Rough And Rowdy Ways Tabbed by Eyolf Østrem

The harmonic rhythm (i.e. the regularity with which the chords change) is very loose, and the placement of the chord symbols in the tab below is approximate, tentative. On several points in the recordings it is evident that the accompaniment is more or less improvised.

Here's an attempt at an analysis of the song, musically and contentswise.

[Verse 1] C F It was a dark day in Dallas, November '63 C F A day that will live on in infamy C President Kennedy was a-ridin' high F Good day to be livin' and a good day to die C Being led to the slaughter like a sacrificial lamb F He said, "Wait a minute, boys, you know who I am?" G "Of course we do, we know who you are" Fmaj7 Then they blew off his head while he was still in the car C Shot down like a dog in broad daylight F Was a matter of timing and the timing was right C F You got unpaid debts, we've come to collect C F We're gonna kill you with hatred, without any respect G We'll mock you and shock you and we'll put it in your face F We've already got someone here to take your place C The day they blew out the brains of the king F Thousands were watching, no one saw a thing C F It happened so quickly, so quick, by surprise F Right there in front of everyone's eyes G Greatest magic trick ever under the sun F Perfectly executed, skillfully done C Wolfman, oh Wolfman, oh Wolfman, howl F C Rub-a-dub-dub, it's a murder most foul [Verse 2] C Hush, little children, you'll understand F The Beatles are comin', they're gonna hold your hand C F Slide down the banister, go get your coat C Ferry 'cross the Mersey and go for the throat G There's three bums comin' all dressed in rags F Pick up the pieces and lower the flags G I'm goin' to Woodstock, it's the Aquarian Age F Then I'll go over to Altamont and sit near the stage C Put your head out the window, let the good times roll F C There's a party going on behind the Grassy Knoll F [At this point, the string players lose track Stack up the bricks, pour the cement of the harmonic rhythm and play a C chord C F against the piano's change to F] Don't say Dallas don't love you, Mr. President G Put your foot in the tank and then step on the gas F Try to make it to the triple underpass G Blackface singer, whiteface clown F Better not show your faces after the sun goes down C F Up in the red light district, they've got cop on the beat C F Living in a nightmare on Elm Street C F When you're down on Deep Ellum, put your money in your shoe C F Don't ask what your country can do for you G S Cash on the barrelhead, money to burn G F Dealey Plaza, make a left-hand turn C F I'm going down to the crossroads, gonna flag a ride C F The place where faith, hope, and charity died G F Shoot him while he runs, boy, shoot him while you can G F See if you can shoot the invisible man C F Goodbye, Charlie, goodbye, Uncle Sam C F Frankly, Miss Scarlett, I don't give a damn G F What is the truth, and where did it go? G F Ask Oswald and Ruby, they oughta know C F "Shut your mouth," said a wise old owl C F C Business is business, and it's a murder most foul [Verse 3] C F Tommy, can you hear me? I'm the Acid Queen C F I'm riding in a long, black Lincoln limousine C F Ridin' in the back seat next to my wife C F Headed straight on in to the afterlife G F I'm leaning to the left, I got my head in her lap G F Hold on, I've been led into some kind of a trap C F Where we ask no quarter, and no quarter do we give C F We're right down the street, from the street where you live C F They mutilated his body and they took out his brain C F What more could they do? They piled on the pain C F But his soul was not there where it was supposed to be at C F For the last fifty years they've been searchin' for that G F Freedom, oh freedom, freedom over me G F I hate to tell you, mister, but only dead men are free C F Send me some lovin', then tell me no lie C F Throw the gun in the gutter and walk on by C F Wake up, little Susie, let's go for a drive C F Cross the Trinity River, let's keep hope alive C F Turn the radio on, don't touch the dials C F Parkland Hospital, only six more miles C You got me dizzy, Miss Lizzy, you filled me with lead F C That magic bullet of yours has gone to my head G F I'm just a patsy like Patsy Cline G F Never shot anyone from in front or behind G F I've blood in my eye, got blood in my ear G F I'm never gonna make it to the new frontier C F Zapruder's film I seen night before C F Seen it thirty-three times, maybe more C F It's vile and deceitful, it's cruel and it's mean C F Ugliest thing that you ever have seen C F They killed him once and they killed him twice C F Killed him like a human sacrifice G F The day that they killed him, someone said to me, "Son G F The age of the Antichrist has just only begun" C F Air Force One comin' in through the gate C F Johnson sworn in at 2:38 C F Let me know when you decide to throw in the towel C F C It is what it is, and it's murder most foul [Verse 4] C F What's new, pussycat? What'd I say? C F I said the soul of a nation been torn away C F And it's beginning to go into a slow decay C F And that it's thirty-six hours past Judgment Day G F Wolfman Jack, he's speaking in tongues G F He's going on and on at the top of his lungs C F Play me a song, Mr. Wolfman Jack C Play it for me in my long Cadillac F Play me that "Only the Good Die Young" C F Take me to the place Tom Dooley was hung C F Play "St. James Infirmary" and the Court of King James C F If you want to remember, you better write down the names C F Play Etta James, too, play "I'd Rather Go Blind" C F Play it for the man with the telepathic mind G F Play John Lee Hooker, play "Scratch My Back" G F Play it for that strip club owner named Jack G F Guitar Slim going down slow C Play it for me and for Marilyn Monroe [Verse 5] C Play "Please Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood" F Play it for the First Lady, she ain't feeling any good C Play Don Henley, play Glenn Frey F Take it to the limit and let it go by C Play it for Carl Wilson, too F Looking far, far away down Gower Avenue C Play "Tragedy", play "Twilight Time" F Take me back to Tulsa to the scene of the crime G Play another one and "Another One Bites the Dust" F Play "The Old Rugged Cross" and "In God We Trust" G Ride the pink horse down that long, lonesome road F Stand there and wait for his head to explode C Play "Mystery Train" for Mr. Mystery F C The man who fell down dead like a rootless tree F Play it for the reverend, play it for the pastor C F Play it for the dog that got no master C F Play Oscar Peterson, play Stan Getz C F Play "Blue Sky," play Dickey Betts G Play Art Pepper, Thelonious Monk F G Charlie Parker and all that junk F All that junk and "All That Jazz" C F Play something for the Birdman of Alcatraz C F Play Buster Keaton, play Harold Lloyd C F Play Bugsy Siegel, play Pretty Boy Floyd G F Play the numbers, play the odds G F Play "Cry Me a River" for the Lord of the gods C F Play Number nine, play Number six C F Play it for Lindsey and Stevie Nicks C F Play Nat King Cole, play "Nature Boy" C F Play "Down in the Boondocks" for Terry Malloy G F Play "It Happened One Night" and "One Night of Sin" G F There's twelve million souls that are listening in G F Play "Merchant of Venice", play "Merchants of Death" G F Play "Stella by Starlight" for Lady Macbeth C F [Finally, a fixed rhythm Don't worry, Mr. President, help's on the way is established, sortof C F but then Dylan decides Your brothers are comin', there'll be hell to pay to mess it up again; C F the chords no longer follow Brothers? What brothers? What's this about hell? the established pattern] C Tell them, "We're waiting, keep coming," we'll get them as well G F Love Field is where his plane touched down G F But it never did get back up off the ground G F Was a hard act to follow, second to none G F They killed him on the altar of the rising sun C F Play "Misty" for me and "That Old Devil Moon" C F Play "Anything Goes" and "Memphis in June" C F Play "Lonely at the Top" and "Lonely Are the Brave" C F Play it for Houdini spinning around in his grave C F Play Jelly Roll Morton, play "Lucille" C F Play "Deep in a Dream", and play "Driving Wheel" G F Play "Moonlight Sonata" in F-sharp G F And "A Key to the Highway" for the king on the harp C F Play "Marching Through Georgia" and "Dumbarton's Drums" C F Play "Darkness" and death will come when it comes C F Play "Love Me or Leave Me" by the great Bud Powell C F Play "The Blood-Stained Banner", play "Murder Most Foul"

0 notes

iloveyoubuddy · 5 years

Text

Surprise!

Bob Dylan followed up his recent going-against-the-grain summer tour announcement with a new single titled “Murder Most Foul” today. It’s chock full of imagery provoking lyrics and almost 17 minutes long....yep, his longest song ever released.

Always a genius lyricist, settle in (where do you have to go anyway in these crazy pandemic-centric times?) and check the lyrics out and listen at the link below:

Murder Most Foul

Bob Dylan - 2020

[Verse 1]

It was a dark day in Dallas, November '63

A day that will live on in infamy

President Kennedy was a-ridin' high

Good day to be livin' and a good day to die

Being led to the slaughter like a sacrificial lamb

He said, "Wait a minute, boys, you know who I am?"

"Of course we do, we know who you are!"

Then they blew off his head while he was still in the car

Shot down like a dog in broad daylight

Was a matter of timing and the timing was right

You got unpaid debts, we've come to collect

We're gonna kill you with hatred, without any respect

We'll mock you and shock you and we'll put it in your face

We've already got someone here to take your place

The day they blew out the brains of the king

Thousands were watching, no one saw a thing

It happened so quickly, so quick, by surprise

Right there in front of everyone's eyes

Greatest magic trick ever under the sun

Perfectly executed, skillfully done

Wolfman, oh wolfman, oh wolfman howl

Rub-a-dub-dub, it's a murder most foul

[Verse 2]

Hush, little children, you'll understand

The Beatles are comin', they're gonna hold your hand

Slide down the banister, go get your coat

Ferry 'cross the Mersey and go for the throat

There's three bums comin' all dressed in rags

Pick up the pieces and lower the flags

I'm goin' to Woodstock, it's the Aquarian Age

Then I'll go to Altamont and sit near the stage

Put your head out the window, let the good times roll

There's a party going on behind the Grassy Knoll

Stack up the bricks, pour the cement

Don't say Dallas don't love you, Mr. President

Put your foot in the tank and then step on the gas

Try to make it to the triple underpass

Blackface singer, whiteface clown

Better not show your faces after the sun goes down

Up in the red light district, they've got cop on the beat

Living in a nightmare on Elm Street

When you're down on Deep Ellum, put your money in your shoe

Don't ask what your country can do for you

Cash on the ballot, money to burn

Dealey Plaza, make a left-hand turn

I'm going down to the crossroads, gonna flag a ride

The place where faith, hope, and charity lie

Shoot him while he runs, boy, shoot him while you can

See if you can shoot the invisible man

Goodbye, Charlie! Goodbye, Uncle Sam!

Frankly, Miss Scarlett, I don't give a damn

What is the truth, and where did it go? Ask Oswald and Ruby, they oughta know

"Shut your mouth," said a wise old owl

Business is business, and it's a murder most foul

[Verse 3]

Tommy, can you hear me? I'm the Acid Queen

I'm riding in a long, black Lincoln limousine

Ridin' in the backseat next to my wife

Headed straight on in to the afterlife

I'm leaning to the left, I got my head in her lap

Hold on, I've been led into some kind of a trap

Where we ask no quarter, and no quarter do we give

We're right down the street, from the street where you live

They mutilated his body and they took out his brain

What more could they do? They piled on the pain

But his soul was not there where it was supposed to be at

For the last fifty years they've been searchin' for that

Freedom, oh freedom, freedom over me

I hate to tell you, mister, but only dead men are free

Send me some lovin', then tell me no lie

Throw the gun in the gutter and walk on by

Wake up, little Susie, let's go for a drive Cross the Trinity River, let's keep hope alive

Turn the radio on, don't touch the dials

Parkland hospital, only six more miles

You got me dizzy, Miss Lizzy, you filled me with lead

That magic bullet of yours has gone to my head

I'm just a patsy like Patsy Cline

Never shot anyone from in front or behind

I've blood in my eye, got blood in my ear

I'm never gonna make it to the new frontier

Zapruder's film I seen night before Seen it thirty-three times, maybe more

It's vile and deceitful, it's cruel and it's mean

Ugliest thing that you ever have seen

They killed him once and they killed him twice

Killed him like a human sacrifice

The day that they killed him, someone said to me, "Son

The age of the Antichrist has just only begun"

Air Force One comin' in through the gate

Johnson sworn in at 2:38

Let me know when you decide to throw in the towel

It is what it is, and it's murder most foul

[Verse 4]

What's new, pussycat? What'd I say?

I said the soul of a nation been torn away

And it's beginning to go into a slow decay

And that it's thirty-six hours past Judgment Day

Wolfman Jack, he's speaking in tongues

He's going on and on at the top of his lungs

Play me a song, Mr. Wolfman Jack

Play it for me in my long Cadillac

Play me that "Only the Good Die Young"

Take me to the place Tom Dooley was hung

Play "St. James Infirmary" and the Court of King James

If you want to remember, you better write down the names

Play Etta James, too, play "I'd Rather Go Blind"

Play it for the man with the telepathic mind

Play John Lee Hooker, play "Scratch My Back"

Play it for that strip club owner named Jack

Guitar Slim going down slow

Play it for me and for Marilyn Monroe

[Verse 5]

Play "Please Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood"

Play it for the First Lady, she ain't feeling any good

Play Don Henley, play Glenn Frey Take it to the limit and let it go by

Play it for Carl Wilson, too

Looking far, far away down Gower Avenue

Play tragedy, play "Twilight Time"

Take me back to Tulsa to the scene of the crime

Play another one and "Another One Bites the Dust"

Play "The Old Rugged Cross" and "In God We Trust"

Ride the pink horse down that long, lonesome road

Stand there and wait for his head to explode

Play "Mystery Train" for Mr. Mystery

The man who fell down dead like a rootless tree

Play it for the reverend, play it for the pastor

Play it for the dog that got no master

Play Oscar Peterson, play Stan Getz

Play "Blue Sky," play Dickey Betts

Play Art Pepper, Thelonious Monk

Charlie Parker and all that junk

All that junk and "All That Jazz"

Play something for the Birdman of Alcatraz

Play Buster Keaton, play Harold Lloyd

Play Bugsy Siegel, play Pretty Boy Floyd

Play the numbers, play the odds

Play "Cry Me A River" for the Lord of the gods

Play Number nine, play Number six

Play it for Lindsey and Stevie Nicks

Play Nat King Cole, play "Nature Boy"

Play "Down In The Boondocks" for Terry Malloy

Play "It Happened One Night" and "One Night of Sin"

There's twelve million souls that are listening in

Play "Merchant of Venice", play "Merchants of Death"

Play "Stella by Starlight" for Lady Macbeth

Don't worry, Mr. President, help's on the way

Your brothers are comin', there'll be hell to pay Brothers? What brothers? What's this about hell?

Tell them, "We're waiting, keep coming," we'll get them as well

Love Field is where his plane touched down But it never did get back up off the ground

Was a hard act to follow, second to none

They killed him on the altar of the rising sun

Play "Misty" for me and "That Old Devil Moon"

Play "Anything Goes" and "Memphis in June"

Play "Lonely At the Top" and "Lonely Are the Brave"

Play it for Houdini spinning around his grave

Play Jelly Roll Morton, play "Lucille"

Play "Deep In a Dream", and play "Driving Wheel"

Play "Moonlight Sonata" in F-sharp

And "A Key to the Highway" for the king on the harp

Play "Marching Through Georgia" and "Dumbarton's Drums"

Play darkness and death will come when it comes

Play "Love Me Or Leave Me" by the great Bud Powell

Play "The Blood-stained Banner", play "Murder Most Foul"

Listen here:

#bob dylan #murder most foul #new music #lyrics of the day #i love you buddy #music blog #spotify

0 notes

ebaeschnbliah · 7 years

Text

SHERLOCK BBC - THE LIST OF THOUGHTS & IDEAS

________________________________________________________________

Revised and updated version and under the cut .... because it's a bit longish. :)))

July 2017 _______________________________________________________

THE RETURN OF BASKERVILLE ....... Baskerville revisited in S4

HENRY KNIGHT ....... The story of a very interesting character and a mirror for Sherlock

THE RAINBOW CROWN ....... The vitruvian man, the rainbow crown and Sherlock's ‘I love you’

THE GOVERNOR AND HIS WIFE ....... The first task of Sherrinford - Reichenbach all over ... with a touch of TBB

DAVID DAVID DAVID ....... A comparison of the three David's in Sherlock BBC

FIVE FUNNY STORIES ....... The stories Sherlock mentions at the wedding in TSOT and their possible connection to each series of Sherlock BBC

THE ONE IN THE COCKPIT ....... About pilots and drivers, flying and driving, aeroplanes and cabs, queens and serial killers

MOVIE WATCHING IN MYCROFTS HOME CINEMA ....... The movie Mycroft watches at the beginning of TFP and the manipulated part of it

A COFFIN FOR LOVE ....... The third task of Sherrinford - Sherlock and love

A SMASHED GLASS OF CHAMPAGNE ....... Screen caps of the falling glass of champagne in TSOT

WHEN SHERLOCK LIES DRUGGED IN A CAB ....... Musings about the strange parts of the PILOT

COVERED IN BLUE ....... Blue from the end in TFP to the beginning in ASIP

June 2017 ______________________________________________________

THE THREE GARRIDEBS OF SHERRINFORD ....... The second task of Sherrinford. Who are the three Garridebs?

ONE OF A KIND ....... Sherlock is Eurus - what an image reveals

SHADOWS ON THE WALL ....... Musings on the shadows in Faith's memory who are almost going to kiss (TLD)

ANOTHER SIGN OF THREE ? ....... Sherlock, John, Mary - different facettes of one character

JIM'S SONGS ....... Are the songs mirrors for Sherlock's own past?

THE NOTE IN THE BOOKCASE ....... A piece of lost information

FATHERS AND SONS ....... David Welsborough and Major Barrymore

A DOG BARKS IN THE NIGHT ....... When John wakes from his nightmare in ASIP

ELLA THOMPSON ....... The changeable therapist

May 2017 _______________________________________________________

TWO TIMES CHARLES ....... Carl Powers and Charlie Welsborough

THE IMPORTANCE OF LITTLE THINGS ....... Boomerang, hairpin and hairband - are they connected?

EXPLOSIVE - IT'S MORE ME ....... A metaphorical reading of ASIB and Irene Adler

MAGIC AT SPEEDY'S ....... The 'vanishing' mirror behind Mycroft and 'endless mirroring'

MRS. WENCESLAS ....... Good king Wenceslas and a Chrismas song

April 2017 _______________________________________________________

SOME MUSINGS ON DAMP COATS ....... Faith's coat - a possible connection to the pink lady from ASIP?

STALKING THE DEERSTALKER ....... The silly hat throughout the series (used as a port key to change levels in the Mind-Palace?)

THINGS COMING IN PAIRS ....... It started with the kidneys - but didn't end there

SHERLOCK, THE STAG AND THE SKULL ....... Colors & symbolism in TAB

THE REICHENBACH FALL TIME CONUNDRUM ....... Time and daylight

I DON'T WANT TO KNOW HOW ....... Asking for an explanation

A . N . Y . O . N . E ....... One word throughout the story

ABOUT DETECTIVES AND DOGS ....... A name and its history

March 2017 _____________________________________________________

AN INCANDESCENT MIND BEING USED ....... Genius, brother, prisoner (Sherlock = Eurus)

UNDER THE SIGN OF FOUR ....... A.G.R.A. Alex, Gabriel, Rosamund & Ajay - Who are they?

ADDITIONS to UTSOF ....... A.G.R.A. and the 4 assassins from TRF

LITTLE ROSIE - THE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM ....... An interpretation

PLAYING WITH COLORS AND THOUGHTS ....... Not the common color code

ONE - TWO - THREE ....... Three players, three bombs

AROUND THE PATIENCE GRENADE ....... What images are telling

WHEN THERE'S NOTHING TO SEE THROUGH ....... Touching the glass that isn't there

VIVIAN NORBURY ....... Who is the person who almost outsmarted them all?

February 2017 ___________________________________________________

A E R O P L A N E S ....... The importance of aeroplanes throughout the story

A STRANGE PERSPECTIVE ....... Eurus cell - shot in different angles

THE ROADS WE WALK ....... From 'headless nuns' to sisters turned into 'ghost stories'

THE BLOOD CARPET ....... Like a puddle of blood on the floor

ON THE ROLL OF A DICE ....... Mary's hiatus in TST - really neat?

DEATH & CHESS & MANY CASES ....... About the appearance of death in each episode

FOUR STAGES & FOUR CASES ADDITIONS ....... Stages inside stages

TALKING ABOUT THE FINAL PROBLEM ....... Steven Moffat, BFI Screening Q&A 01 2017

AJAY - SHERLOCK - JIM ....... Characters with similarities

OH HAVE YOU HAD SEX ....... How I reed that scene

A STUDY IN MIRRORING ....... Eurus/Sherlock vs. Eurus/Jim

SAVING JOHN WATSON ....... From the PILOT & ASIP to TLD

January 2017 ____________________________________________________

THE FIVE HOSTAGES ....... Connections between TGG & TFP

FIVE YEARS AGO WHEN IT WAS CHRISTMAS ...... Eurus, Jim & Sherlock

YELLOWBEARD'S HAIRBAND ....... Eurus, Victor & Sherlock - Symbolism

THE SYMBOLISM OF EXPLODING BOMBS ....... 221b hit by explosions - TGG and TFP

RIGHT UP YOUR STRASSE ....... DI Lestrade using german language

HOLMES FAMILY PICTURES ....... Mycrofts manipulated movie from TFP

IT'S AN EXPERIMENT ....... More thoughts about the PILOT theory (EEMP)

THE FINAL PROBLEM ....... First impression - symbolism and subtext

A DETECTIVE LYING DOWN ....... Throughout the whole story

SHERLOCK is ANYONE ....... Sherlock fighting his demon(s) - drug addiction

THE STAGE IS SET (once again) ....... Possible startingpoints for EEMP

WHAT MIGHT HAVE HAPPENED ON JANUARY 15th ....... A PILOT verse theory (EEMP)

HE'S STILL NOT MOVING ....... The bloodhound and John

THE APPLETREE ON THE GREEN WALL ...... Apples and roses - symbolism

ON THE TRESHOLD OF SAMARRA ....... Sherlock will be epic

JUST LOOK - HOW BEAUTIFUL ....... Mirrors of the special kind - buildings mirrored in car roofs

ACTION MAN & GINGERBREADMAN ....... Burned to a crisp - parallels

WHERE IT BEGAN - WHERE IT ENDS ....... Carl Powers & Charlie Welsborough

THE MASKS ARE CRUMBLING DOWN ....... Sherlock's facade is falling

PORKY PIGS AND LOTS OF BLOOD ....... Dead pigs throughout the series

NORBURY ....... The yellow face in TST

AMMO STRIKES AGAIN ....... Parallels and the Urban Dictionary

December 2016 __________________________________________________

WHAT MIGHT HAVE HAPPENED ON JANUARY 15th ... (first post of it but Tumblr 'ate' it - restored in January)

THE STAGE IS SET - THE CURTAIN RISES ... (first post of it but Tumblr 'ate' it - restored in January)

THE BAFTA CYMRU MONTAGE ....... A very special kind of montage

TPLOSH or TILOSH ....... Somtimes silly thoughts arise ... or maybe not?

November 2016 __________________________________________________

A DOCTOR IN HIS NATURAL MILIEU ....... Two surgeries and their very different lightning

PRETTY GRIM FAIRY TALES ....... Following the trace of media

A MIRROR HIDING IN PLAIN SIGHT - EDITED ...... More parallels between Sherlock & Mary

A MIRROR HIDING IN PLAIN SIGHT ....... Parallels between Sherlock & Mary

READING INFORMATION ....... Sherlock and Magnusson reading people - a comparison

SOME COURTROOM DEDUCTIONS ....... Courtrooms and Hearing rooms

A LITTLE GIRL, BLOND WITH BRAIDED HAIR ....... The traces of hair, hats and pigtails in Sherlock BBC

DRESS MEETS BELL ....... The doorbell of 221b and Mrs. Hudson's dress

October 2016 ____________________________________________________

THE EMPTY HOUSES ....... Three different Empty Houses in Sherlock BBC

UNDERGROUND NETWORKS INVISIBLE ENEMIES ....... Cults, agents, terrorists in TEH & TAB

A SHADOW OF MASSIVE PROPORTIONS ....... Magnusson & Mycroft - another comparison

THIS DOESN'T MAKE SENSE ....... 'Impossible' cases - in TEH and TAB

THE EMPY HEARSE - THE EMPY HOUSE ....... The Reichenfach Fall - a comparison between Sherlock BBC and ACD canon

THE GAME IS AFOOT ....... Shoes, feet and footprints throughout Sherlock BBC

I'M ALWAYS THERE FOR YOU ....... Mycroft & Moriarty - another comparison

MOUTH LIKE A CRIMSON WOUND ....... The trace of lipstick throughout Sherlock BBC

BOOMERANG ....... The boomerang-effect, backfiring, the back of heads and blunt instuments

IT'S YOU MAJOR SHOLTO ....... A perfect Sherlock mirror

September 2016 _________________________________________________

THE ONES AND THE OTHER ONES ....... Musings about the different tenor of episodes - are the middle episodes revealing the Holmes family history?

MYCROFT AND MAGNUSSON ....... A dark comparison

STRANGE SIMILARITIES (edited list here) ....... ASIB revisited in HLV - recurring motivs and situations

THE BOND AIR CONUNDRUM ....... From the rehearsal to the cancelled 'Flight of the Dead'

NEAT - DON'T YOU THINK ....... Reichenbach and Bond Air under the lens - not as neat as one would think

CONNIE KENNY AND RAOUL ....... Mirrors for Mycroft, Sherlock and John?

August 2016 ____________________________________________________

OH! IT'S CHRISTMAS! ....... In each series of Sherlock BBC it is Christmas at some point

PLAYING WITH MIRRORS ....... Ricoletti, Carmichael and Sholto

DREAMS ARE TRICKY ....... The 'Bride' is aiming at a bakery

THREE TIMES JIM ....... Three times Jim brings Sherlock back from the verge of death

LIFTING THE MASK ....... Extended Mind Palace Theorie - a possible version

MARY MARY QUITE CONTRARY ....... Different faces of Mary Morstan

JOHN - MARY - SHERLOCK ....... Comparison of the three shootings - John/Hope Mary/Sherlock Sherlock/Magnusson

JOHN MOVES HIS ARM ....... A closer look at Magnussons assassination

COMING BACK - GOING BACK ....... Sherlock coming back from death to go deeper

July 2016 _______________________________________________________

MIRROR MIRROR ON THE WALL ....... Dark Mycroft and his possible motives

OF KINGS AND QUEENS ....... Who is the 'King' in Sherlock BBC?

MORE THAN JUST A TWIN ....... Who could be 'Sherrinford' - a speculation

AM I SENSING A PATTERN THERE ....... The antagonists of each episode in Sherlock BBC

June 2016 ______________________________________________________

THE BUS STOP SCENE ....... A Harry Potter connection?

AT THE REICHENBACH FALLS ....... About Moriarty's motives to kill himself

THE GREAT GAME ....... Carl Power's shoes starting the Great Game and even more shoes at setlock

A STUDY IN SHERLOCK ....... Pictures from each episode and setlock

A STUDY IN JOHN ...... Pictures from each episode and setlock

May 2016 _______________________________________________________

ABOUT AGENTS AND EX-AGENTS ....... The CIA agents of ASIB vs. Mary

April 2016 _______________________________________________________

IT'S NEVER TWINS ... UNLESS IT IS ....... Mummy Holmes - the secret twin?

March 2016 _____________________________________________________

THE RUG-PULL EXPERIMENT ....... Dark Mycroft - the secret puppet master?

VICTORIAN GHOST STORIES ....... Thoughts about Mark Gatiss's statement

MAGIC IN SHERLOCK BBC ....... Real magicians involved in Sherlock BBC

January 2016 ____________________________________________________

WHAT MADE HIM LIKE THIS ....... Hints at Sherlock's past in Sherlock BBC

THE MYSTERIOUS CULT ....... The disguised women in the crypt

THE CARMICHAEL CASE I ....... Connections to THOB

THE CARMICHAEL CASE II ....... Thoughts about different mirrors

________________________________________________________________

About EMP and EEMP

________________________________________________________________

Extended Mind-Palace Theorie - Starting point at the CAM Tower shooting

Extraordinary Extended Mind-Palace Theorie - Starting point any time before the CAM Tower shooting

EMP-Masterpost ....... Collected works of the fabulous EMP-Group

Reasons for EEMP (24.11.2016) .... About the possibility of an extended Mind-Palace going further back than CAM Tower.

A possible EEMP-Structure (30.08.2016) .... First post about the possibility of EEMP

________________________________________________________________

SHERLOCK HOLMES ADAPTATIONS & OTHER STUFF

________________________________________________________________

SCHWANENSEE ....... Tatort Münster - Thiel & Boerne (a lot of Sherlock-like visuals)

SHERLOCK HOLMES (2010) ....... Octopus, dinosour & dragon combined with a deadly feud between brothers (Sherlock vs. Mycroft)

YOU CAN'T KILL AN IDEA ....... 'V for Vendetta' in Sherlock BBC (an Underground full of explosives ready to blow up parliament)

NOTHING NEW UNDER THE SUN ....... 'V for Vendetta' in Sherlock BBC

SHERLOCK HOLMES IN NEW YORK ....... Roger Moore as Sherlock Holmes (Moriarty, bank robbery, tons of gold, tunnels, Irene Adler)

WILLIAM SHERLOCK SCOTT HOLMES ....... Excerpt from 'SH in New York'

YOUNG SHERLOCK HOLMES - THE PYRAMIDE OF FEAR ....... How Sherlock Holmes and John Watson met at school and their very first case (AU)

JUST A MAGIC TRICK ....... The magic trick in 'Sherlock jr.' the silent movie

SHERLOCK JUNIOR ....... Silent movie with Buster Keaton (solving a crime while dreaming of it)

THE GOLDEN YEARS - TV Series with Christopher Lee as Sherlock Holmes

THE LEADING LADY - Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson on a Viennese adventure with bombs, anarchists, 'Die Fledermaus' (the bat), Dr. Freud and Irene Adler

'Undercover in Eastern Europe'

'Un Ballo in Maschera'

'Digging for gems'

'Detective, doctores and trains'

THE INCIDENT AT VICTORIA FALLS - Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Waton on an African adventure with hidden treasures, secret twins, elephants and rainbows

NEW RUSSIAN HOLMES - Igor Petrenko, Andrei Panin ... by Andrey Kavun

EPISODE ONE: BAKER STREET 221b

EPISODE TWO: ROCK, PAPER, SISSORS

EPISODE THREE: CLOWNS

GRANADA HOLMES - Jeremy Brett, David Burke, Edward Hardwicke

VALIANT SHERLOCK HOLMES ....... The Eligible Bachelor - Granada Version (recurring nightmare, ghosts from the past, facing demons)

OMNE IGNOTUM PRO MAGNIFICO ....... What happens when mysteries get explained (The Redheaded League - Granada Version)

CHISWICK ....... Connections to 'The Six Napoleons' Granada and ACD

OH ... IT ISN'T 3G ... IT IS 3G ....... 'Three Garridebs' vs. 'Three Gables'

LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI ....... 'The Three Gables' in Sherlock BBC

HERCULE POIROT - David Suchet

DEATH IN THE CLOUDS ....... Detour to Agatha Christie's Poirot (eyes with clocks in it)

ABOUT SMOKE AND MIRRORS ....... Poirots 'The big four' in Sherlock BBC (when a big terror network turns out to consist only of one man - who is an actor)

VARIOUS SERIES:

THE MYSTERIOUS BELLYBUTTON ....... House MD 'No reason' references (investigating inside the head)

A BABY IN 221b BAKER STREET ....... Episode with Ron Howard 1954-55 (Tony .... is it a girl's or a boy's name?)

ROBERT BALDWIN ROSS ....... The man who loved Oscara Wilde

IT WAS WORTH MANY WOUNDS ....... Poem by mrspencil

THE SACRED BAND OF THEBES ....... Gay warriors in ancient Greek

NORTH GOWER STREET & HS2 ....... 'Baker Sreet' and HighSpeed 2

IT'S FORTUNATE THAT I'M NOT A CRIMINAL ....... Canon reference

#the list of thoughts

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bixweapxn · 5 years

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Dead By Daylight Verse HCs-

Scorpion's opinions on each Killer:

The Trapper- Scorpion dislikes the Trapper purely because of the traps that he sets down. Because they're often so well hidden; he sometimes manages to step on one, causing it to go off on him. He'd heal up rather quickly, but he'd smash up the machinery.

The Wraith- The Scorpion thinks hiding behind a cloak of magic like the Wraith does is cowardly; but he must admit that it is a brilliant technique for hunting the Survivors down. Though it is a pity you can't attack in that form.

The Hillbilly and the Cannibal- Loud Chainsaws are not a way to keep the fear alive, thinks the Scorpion; he thinks that silence and prowling make the best hunting strategy. You can’t hunt deer by shooting your shotgun in the air all willy-nilly, can you?

The Nurse- He finds Teleportation to be cheating; makes it too easy to find your prey.

Ghost Face and The Shape- Basic killers with masks using knives and obsessions. Very indifferent towards them both.

The Legion- A group of Teenagers, just like the Survivors. He often mistakes them for one of their own, and may often attack them.

The Hag- This is probably one of the only killers that The Scorpion likes. Not only does she feed on the blood of the Survivors, she's not afraid to use her own claws to attack, unlike the other killers who use weapons. She's animalistic and primal; things that the Scorpion is.

The Doctor- Using Fear and electricity for his ‘patients’, Scorpion is likely indifferent with the Doctor.

The Huntress- Her humming is unsettling, in addition to her maternal instincts. He’s wary of this one, but does not fear her.

The Nightmare- He has not met Krueger, due to the fact that he is in the Dreamworld while the Scorpion is more in the reality, but he has heard tale from the other killers that he is very dangerous, of which the Scorpion respects.

The Pig- Her stealth is one thing that the Scorpion appreciates... but he can't help but often think that she's just what her mask says she is; a pig... a juicy morsel for the Scorpion to devour.

The Plague- Another of which he respects. Her use of sickness is very much akin to his Venom, Prolonging their lives into longer, more painful minutes before their inevitable death.

The Clown- While his large body may look like a banquet to the Scorpion, he sways away from eating The Clown due to his Potion Bottles’ effects to cloud the mind and vision, of which the Scorpion finds respect in. He also notices the Clown’s affinity for slight cannibalism.

The Spirit- Intangible, broken, and like the Wraith in which she can disappear through going temporarily into the spirit world. Her twitching like a marionette doll is disturbing, and he feels like her meat is being spoiled due to being undead.

#☣ ∂єα∂ℓу ιи ∂υѕк (Dead by Daylight AU)

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hcrlastescape · 6 months

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