#why the FUCK did this snake bitch ass have eight children

[solipseismic]

accidentally george lucas’d myself. 

[soyybeanboy]

the sanders sides as things my friends and I have said (but it’s mostly remus)

Remus: “Imagine getting impregnated in Azkaban.”

Patton: “My superpower is emotions and my training is therapy.”

Roman: “Mr. Logan, do you want to fight?”

Patton: “If you say the f word on an airplane you fall off the airplane and land on the ground.”

Virgil: “I need lizard love in my life.”

Logan: “The ability to speak does not make you intelligent.”

Deceit: “The three genders: boy, girl, and filthy abomination.”

Remus: “I wanna fuck a dementor.”

Roman, to Virgil: “You are a fountain of pure satanic energy.”

Virgil: “I don’t deserve to be called human.”

Patton: “Why did humans take over the Earth?”

Logan: “Because we evolved first. Suck it, monkeys.”

Deceit, probably distraught: “Where are your bones?”

Remus: “I can think of a lot of ways to stick a needle through a penis.”

Roman: “We died because of mosquitos.”

Virgil: “Did you like... get malaria?”

Roman: “No, they were just really big mosquitos.”

Patton: “What’s up?”

Roman: “Nothing, just rewriting Darth Vader’s monologue to be non gender-specific.”

Deceit: “I’m too tired to give a shit about self-aware vegetables.”

Virgil: “I’m stressed, depressed, and systematically oppressed.”

Remus: “God isn’t here, that’s why people are fucking statues.”

Patton: “They’re like ‘let’s just let our brother have this one thing.”

Logan: “...and that thing is a dead 40-year-old.”

Virgil: “Anxiety hack: don’t be a little bitch.”

Remus: “I have a filing cabinet UP MY ASS.”

Logan: “I’m gonna FUCK Plato.”

Patton: “It’s not cleansing, it gives you cancer!”

Roman: “Where art thou, Brittany?!”

Virgil: “I will deep fry your toes.”

Logan: “You contribute your words of wisdom and spicy memes.”

Remus: “I am sexually attracted to clowns.”

Logan: “As a wise person once said: that’s a mood.”

Remus: “Vines? That’s like vegetarian tentacle porn.”

Virgil: “Hel🅱️.”

Deceit: “-and Remus’s several 13 inch dicks-”

Virgil: “Yeet the caffeine.”

Patton: “Pants are a tool of the patriarchy.”

Roman: “I see God when I’m tired.”

Logan, to Remus: “You’re really changing it drastically from what it was to fill your maple syrup dreams.”

Virgil: “I am Jesus. To find salvation, you have to suck my metaphysical dick.”

Patton: “I broke my guitar by T-posing.”

Remus: “Seven out of eight children are clinically dead.”

Virgil: “Like, if I saw a Nazi I’d punch him, but I’m way too tired right now.”

Logan: “I don’t think Michael Jackson was a Nazi.”

Roman: “I’m not going to shake your dick.”

Deceit: “Snake rinds.”

Thomas: “Please stop dirty talking gender.”

Roman: “Is this your head?”

Remus: “No, it’s my ass.”

Virgil: “I’m not yeeting my phone at a school shooter.”

Deceit: “Die twink.”

Roman: “Okay boomer.”

Remus: “Now you know what gets me going.”

Logan: “Unibrows and teeth?”

Virgil: “Everyone in that Cosco thought you were an alcoholic.”

Patton: “Hi, my name is Patton, and I was born in the bargain bin at Target.”

Remus: “Someone’s like ‘what’s your secret kink?’ and I’m like ‘biting’ and then I bite their entire arm off.”

Logan, sighing tiredly: “Penis is not a slur.”

[starlightsoulwriting]

Constellations Against Skin

n.t. "You hold him in your arms, a thousand stars in the bones of a man, and nobody could have thought you’d come so close to holding constellations against your skin."

You'd always been... off. Knowing things you shouldn't. People's secrets, what they really think. Their emotions. You didn't even realize at first it was Tele-empathy, but by the time a demon tried to kill you, it was well known you were a freak psychic.

From the time you could hold a crayon you'd been leaving old magic in your wake, the ancient words flowing from your hand like water. It wasn't until you were older and you started hunting you realized your nonsense soulmark was in Enochian. Funny how that works.

And then Dean God-Damn Winchester shows up in your life. And suddenly you're head-over-heels for someone who's name isn't written on your skin. But you'd long since given up the idea that the Angel you're bound to would ever show up. That's okay. You'd learned to be happy with what you have.

Imagine the shock that comes when you wake up one day with a second soulmark.AKA: The Demons of your past catch up to you. Figuratively and literally. 

Dean Winchester X Reader; Castiel X Reader 

Soulmate AU

[AO3] [Chapter List]

Chapter One: Found

Normal day, normal hunt.

You’d taken out a rogue werewolf in Wyoming, even if just to spend your time doing something other than sulking. Since John died and you’d been throwing yourself into hunts more and more. It was the only thing keeping the emptiness from swallowing you whole. It burned you up inside and made you feel hollow - you’d almost considered going back to New York, to hide away where you were safe. But there was a reason you'd left and you weren’t changing your mind anytime soon. Even if they would protect you. Even if you missed a few of them.

You knocked back a drink in some crummy bar. A High School state championship game played on the TVs, leaving the room full of cheering and angry locals. It was filled with more people than a place like this should get in a week. Every other second someone in an annoyingly cheery color of yellow knocked into you. Some high schooler made you spill your drink and you scowled. Fucking teenager wasn't even supposed to be there.

The whole reason you'd chosen this place was because you thought it would be funny - it was a country themed joint lauded by locals as a good time. Mechanical bulls, line dancing, a Texas flag on the wall made of beer cans. You'd hoped to see some horrible drunken dancing but you got this mess instead.

Your life was ever the series of disappointments.

You fought back a yawn and slid a twenty to the bartender; you needed to get some sleep if you were going to hit the road tomorrow. You’d stayed in town too long already. You let out a sigh - you had no idea where you were going to go. You didn’t have another case yet.

Maybe you would stop by Bobby's. It'd been a long time since you'd seen him. Since before you got the news John died. You hoped he was doing alright and not drinking too much. You would have to check up on him, make sure he wasn’t destroying his liver. You owed him that much.

You slid off the wobbly stool and began the ordeal of shoving your way through the sardine can crowd and towards the door.

You felt sick.

And the more you moved the worse you felt, goosebumps rushing along your skin and a pit of dread pooling like tar in your chest. You shouldered your way past a frat guy and almost face planted - tunnel vision closing in on you. Your ears echoed with the sound of rushing water and static. You tried to shake out of it but the room was spinning.

Something was horribly wrong.

You looked for signs something was off, that maybe you were making a mistake. But nothing was out of place; not the people or the exits, the lights, the TVs. There was no tell-tale flickering lights and electrical interference. But the all too familiar acid-burn of a demon’s presence snaked through your senses nonetheless - like something acrid was crawling through your ribs and crushing your heart.

There was no way.

He couldn't have found you so soon.

You’d been so careful.

You felt a gun press against your back. The smell of sulphur and cheap cologne invaded your nose.

Cold metal bit into your spine and hot breath fanned against your jaw. His hand snaked onto your hip and dug in hard enough to break skin with his nails. You fought back a flinch at the feel of his body pressed against your back. Static encroached on your vision and ringing pierced your ears.

His lips touched the shell of your ear and you shuddered. His touch felt like burning ice.

His voice was like nails on a chalkboard, even when it came out as a low, smooth murmur. You were reacting violently to his presence just as you always had; you were close to passing out. You closed your eyes tight and tried not to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry.

"Come with me or I start shooting civilians."

--

The ringing of a phone woke Dean up at half past three in the morning.

Because of fucking course it did.

He groaned, blindly reaching over for his phone on the nightstand. What the hell? This was the first decent night's sleep he'd gotten in a week and a half.

"There better be good reason for this, Bobby." He mumbled out, sleep clinging to his voice and slurring his speech.

"You still in Wyoming?" He said, as if there was nothing wrong with calling someone in the middle of the night.

"Yeah,” Dean grunted and rubbed his eyes. He didn’t like where this was going. “And?"

"Gotta case. I'm three hours out from a town called Ridgeview. And you two are gonna meet me there.” Bobby’s tone was tense and left no room for argument. “So get your sorry ass out of bed and on the road."

Dean rolled his eyes and pushed himself off the bed, shaking off the tangled sheets. He flicked Sam on his nose to wake him up. How had the phone not bothered him? He ignored his brother's indignant look and started getting dressed. "So what's such a big deal it can't wait till morning?"

"(Y/n)(L/n). She's a hunter. And a friend," There was a pause on the line and a long, tired sigh. His voice somehow sounded both exhausted and extremely pissed off. "She's in the ICU. Some son of a bitch nearly killed her, and I plan on kickin’ its ass."

Dean shrugged on some flannel and smacked Sam's leg. He was being slow as hell. "We know what she was hunting?"

"She called me yesterday and said she'd just finished up with a werewolf case. Open and shut, nothing left to do. And her injuries, from what I’ve heard, don’t line up with a wolf attack. Naw, it was somethin’ else. Somethin’ pissed off."

Sam was finally rolling out of bed as Dean threw what few belongings he had into his duffel. "You don't have to keep me in suspense, Bobby, just lay it on me."

"I think the demon she's been running from caught up with her."

Fifteen minutes later the boys were in the Impala, Dean turning up the radio to keep himself awake. Sam sat in the passenger seat, fighting back yawns and flipping through John’s journal. “Bobby said this demon’s name is Alioth?”

“Yeah. Dad should have an entry or two in there, apparently he and this (Y/n) chick exorcised it more than once.” Dean let out a huff of breath, annoyed. “Don’t know why I’ve never heard of her though, if they were so close.”

Sam scoffed. “Right, because we know every single person Dad’s ever hunted with.”

Dean flicked him on the ear. It was too early for sarcasm!

“Jerk,” Sam let out under his breath.

Dean rolled his eyes and focused on the road. “Just do the damn research.”

The car was quiet but for the blaring radio and tires on asphalt. He was on edge and tired and restless all at once. He gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, clenching and unclenching his jaw.

Maybe this bastard would lead them to Yellow-Eyes.

Not long later Sam sat up straight in his seat. “Found something.” He turned down the radio and Dean had to stop himself from smacking his hand away from the knob. Sam lay the journal flat in his lap and sighed. “Okay, so…”

Dean waited for Sam to say something but he was quiet. “Okay, what’d you find?” He spared a quick glance at his brother, whose eyebrows were knitted together and eyes narrowed.

It took Sam a moment to respond, still looking at the journal. “Dad first met this thing all the way back in ‘86. Ran into it another half dozen times since then. It keeps going after the same person - (Y/n).”

“Great, she has a demon stalker.” Dean started, gears in his brain working through the new information. “Do we know why?”

His brother was quiet.

“Sam?”

“She’s Psychic.” Sam breathed; Dean could barely hear him over the guitar solo playing low on the radio.

Huh.

“Like Missouri psychic or freaky, ‘Special Kids’ psychic?”

Dean didn’t catch Sam’s offended look. “I’m not sure. Dad didn’t seem to know what was up either.” He heard shuffling paper and a surprised hum. “Check out these polaroids. She was eight.”

“Dude, I’m driving.” But Dean caught a glimpse of them anyway. It was a devils trap scrawled on a children’s bedroom wall in blue crayon. He furrowed his brow. “Huh. That’s not something you see every day.”

“No kidding.”

They got to Ridgeview, Wyoming four hours later, checking into a motel room before meeting Bobby at a diner. The older hunter looked run ragged, dark circles harsher than usual and a sour look on his face. They ordered their food before talking about the case. Bobby rested his face in his hand.

“Dude, you look like shit.” Dean said, worry prickling his nerves and festering in his chest. Bobby was the only family they had left. He hated seeing him so bothered.

“Thanks,” he grumbled. “I try.”

Sam shifted in his seat, pulling out John’s journal and ignoring their exchange. “So you think it was the demon that attacked her, right? What makes you say that?”

Bobby let out a drawn-out sigh and took a long drink of his coffee. “We’ll have to visit her in the ICU to be sure, but this’s got ‘Sadistic Bastard’ written all over it. This wasn’t something lashing out or defending itself. Something worked her over.” His knuckles were white against his coffee mug. If anybody noticed the tremors they didn’t say anything. “She was tortured, Sam.”

The brothers looked at each other. Well, shit.

Dean leaned forward with a whisper. “Like how bad are we talking here?”

“She nearly flatlined.”

And in the hospital, after arguing with the receptionist to let all three of them in instead of just Bobby, Dean was pissed. He swallowed and tried not to think of his own time trapped in a hospital bed, dying - how John had sacrificed himself. But he forced those thoughts away like he'd been doing for the past few months. It wasn’t the time for that. It was never the time for that.

The nurse had been happy some family had shown up, said that it was the worst crime to happen in town in twenty years. The whole staff of the tiny emergency center was on edge, they were used to hunting injuries, not… this.

Sam was in the hallway interviewing the paramedics while he and Bobby went to see you. Only two people could be in the room at once, at least until you said otherwise.

You were unconscious - partially sedated for the pain. Dean couldn’t tell if you were asleep or hovering in a drugged in-between; every once in a while you would move, apparently trying to get comfortable. An IV lead was right under your collarbone, your arms were wrapped in thick bandages. The rest of you, from what he could see, was covered just as thoroughly. The only part of you without bandages was your face, and that was a deep, bruised purple underneath the oxygen mask.

Dean narrowed his eyes as he looked over the doctor’s report. Over a hundred shallow lacerations, more than a few blunt force injuries, a broken leg and three broken fingers. Areas where your skin had been cut off altogether, leaving bare patches of muscle exposed. There were third degree burns over the soulmark on your ribs, like someone had tried to burn it off you for good. A tattoo on your leg had been burned through. You’d needed a lot of grafts and it’d been hard to find intact skin to use.

Your heartbeat had been dangerously slow when they found you. You’d been in shock and went into cardiac arrest two times. You were stable now, but only just.

Bobby pulled up a chair and sat next to you, mumbling apologies under his breath. Dean felt like he was intruding on something, but stayed still nonetheless. “We’re gonna find the son of a bitch that did this, Bobby. I promise.” He moved to stand at your other side, hands clenching on on the railing and looking over your form. God, sometimes this job got to him. He was pissed off and nauseated at the same time. You would think after all he’s seen on hunts, he’d react better - but he was used to monsters… not this. He’d only encountered a few demons before, and it was mostly quick deaths and destruction, plane crashes or house fires.

He really fucking hated demons.

He didn’t know when you drifted awake, but your half-lidded eyes were on him, mouth moving underneath your oxygen mask. He didn’t know what you were saying, all that was coming out of your mouth was raspy mumbling, too quiet and jumbled for him to make out. Your hand twitched toward his.

Bobby put a hand on your hair, one of the few parts of you not beat to hell, and stole your attention. Your eyes were glassy and unfocused, and Dean wondered if you even knew where you were. Bobby just hushed you, voice gentle like when Dean was nine and having nightmares. One of the few times Bobby Singer was ever soft was when one of his kids was hurt.

Now Dean really felt like he was intruding.

He went to leave but felt shaky fingers wrap around his hand. He fought the urge to flinch away. Your touch felt like warm static, making goosebumps rush over his skin. But you weren’t looking at him. Your eyes were off on the distance, classic hundred-yard stare, half-shut, but your hand held onto his. Dean didn’t have the heart to pull away.

Damn.

Bobby stayed with you when Dean eventually left. He had enough holy water to drown a full grown man in - he wasn’t leaving you alone until they found the demon. Sam and Dean went to the crime scene.

And, boy, was that place a mess - the abandoned paper mill had seen better days, and was in a quiet part of town. The room was dark and smelled of mold and metal and sulphur. Rust coated machinery sat silent and unused, leaky pipes on the walls making the only noise. On the floor lay a marker for where the local police found a body - probably the thing’s meatsuit, a bloody knife not too far away. It was a small thing, skinny and only about two inches long, but a knife is a knife is a knife. Dean knew better than most that you didn’t need a giant blade to fuck someone up. A few feet behind where they found the dead guy was a blow torch.

“So,” Sam started, examining a strange symbol drawn on the floor in blood. Your blood. “Paramedics say they heard a high-pitched ringing so horrible, it made their ears bleed. There was a flash of pure white light, and all the lightbulbs for about three blocks exploded.”

Dean grunted in response, staring at the intermittent pools of blood on the floor and what looked to be singed ropes. It must’ve been where you were restrained. “So what stopped it?”

“What?” Sam looked at him oddly.

“What stopped the demon? Looks like it cut and run.” Dean moved to look over at some exploded lamps on the ceiling. “If it wanted to kill (Y/n), it could’ve. But the paramedics found the scene just like this, right?” He gestured to the blood and broken glass. “So why did it stop? Why did it let her go?” He fixed Sam with a pointed look.

All Sam had for him was a shrug. “Maybe it was looking for information and it got what it wanted.”

“Maybe.” Sam took a photo of the symbol as Dean looked at the ropes closer. It was like they’d been burned through from the inside out. “But wouldn’t it kill her afterward anyway?”

That night Dean's dreams were scattered.

There was fire burning his house. He could only watch from the outside in John’s arms as it burned to ash with his parents inside. Then he was face to face with a demon in a motel, hiding behind John's legs and clutching at his coat. He was only eight. The demon wanted something from him. Its white eyes looked at him like he was a lab rat. Then there were nuns. A church and Catholic School. He lived in a group home with other orphans. The nuns were angry with him for something. Then he was alone in the church that was far too big. The stained glass windows cast ominous light into an empty, echoing vastness of the church. No matter how much he ran he ended up back in the pulpit.

But then you were there, in a navy blue private school uniform. Younger, with different hair. He couldn't make out your face but he somehow knew it was you. There was warmth. You were trying to tell him something, something important, but he couldn’t understand you. It was like you were speaking another language entirely. One that spiked in his ears and made his head hurt. You were frustrated. Were you crying? Yelling? He didn’t know. You sighed and drew something on his hand in sharpie.

The marble tile beneath him cracked and fractured, opening up to the void underneath. It crumbled away completely.

The two of you fell.

Dean woke up a little past six in the morning with a sigil scratched bright-red into his palm.

[dzamie]

I watched the live action Jungle Book! I’d say it was disappointing, but I set appropriate expectations going in. So, imma get into it:

So, the good parts first, in no particular order:

I really like Kaa’s hypnosis effect. The Disney animated movie’s swirling colors always looked really, really goofy to me, but the live-action’s waves of light and dark were very well done and legit alluring.

There are a lot of little jokes here and there that I feel were written in case they wanted to use them in a commercial. “You have never been a more endangered species than you are at this moment” is actually pretty darn funny.

The bodies moved well. King Louie was really the only animal I thought was straining realism too far; the positioning of limbs and torsos and stuff was pretty spot-on. Tails were a bit wonky, but you have to be looking for something like that, as someone with a slight tail fetish might.

This is definitely unintentional, but Mowgli makes an “oof” sound whenever something bowls into him or he leaps roughly against something. It sounds like the Roblox hurt noise. Tone-breaking, but HILARIOUS.

Having Mowgli seem to fear the bonfire was a nice touch.

As was having the final fight seem to take place at the watering hole, this time during wet season. Far from dry, the exact opposite of the Water Truce occurs - everything is in conflict.

Now, the less pleasant bits.

I mentioned the Water Truce callback was neat? Yeah. What a shame they took multiple minutes to repeat over and over that the Water Truce was that there was a truce around the watering hole. I’m glad they used all that time to explain why it was that Shere Khan wouldn’t attack anyone so he could conveniently see the man-cub. Also to set up the schtick where Mowgli has been Inventing Things because he is a Man.

Elephants are now a religion. I don’t like it, especially because it’s used to set up Mowgli rescuing a baby elephant from a hole, so that Baloo and Bagheera can see that Man Is More Powerful Than God.

The wildebeest herd exists only for shakycam purposes. There really isn’t much reason for Mowgli to not go directly into the river and escape Shere Khan on a log that way.

Oh how they ruined Kaa. I do rather like how she has a more cloying, sweet personality (it’s not better or worse than the animation’s rather goofy fellow, just different), but they whole-ass saw a snake character and thought “hey wouldn’t it be cool if she never wove around him or approached him from different angles? Let’s make sure to never show her for more than 8 seconds at a time, too; we MUST cut between her and Mowgli. There’s simply no way to shoot a scene where they’re both in the shot, talking.”

I hope you like snakeless ScarJo voiceover, because that’s literally half of Kaa’s appearance, from first line to last. It’s great that the man who hurt Shere Khan with fire just happened to be Mowgli’s dad, because I guess it’s not enough that Shere Khan wants to kill all humans in the jungle; he must have a Deep Personal Connection with the man-cub.

I can sort of understand coming out of the hypnotic vision to see Mowgli entirely in her coils, from a “this is Mowgli’s perspective” point of view, but wow it’s really unsatisfying. Look, the animated version had Mowgli slide into pre-coiled snek body, but at least we saw them interact. Kaa is pretty much a static prop here. What a waste of a serpentine character.

For someone who is afraid of heights and doesn’t know Mowgli, Baloo sure is eager to climb a big, tall tree and risk his own life against a giant, hypnotic snake.

Minor note: with all the focus on seeing Kaa from Mowgli’s point of view, Disney sure chickens the fuck out when it’s time to be snake chow. C’mon, you stupid mouse, show us what Kaa looks like inside.

It’s kinda weird that Bagheera and Baloo are so familiar with each other, considering that Mowgli has been in close contact with Bagheera all his life and neither met nor heard of the bear.

Shere Khan is almost comically evil to the wolves. Makes it hard to take his “I’m actually justified in my desire to kill you” thing seriously.

I feel like Disney hasn’t grown out of its “haha imagine SONGS in a CHILDREN’S MOVIE. What a stupid fucking idea” phase. Baloo and Mowgli sing off-tempo and off-key, and King Louie does a weird half-speaking thing that lets you know they want to do a song, but haven’t the slightest clue how to transition into one, and they still want to pretend to be a gritty serious realistic movie with no singing because that’s too silly.

King Louie Is Twenty Five Goddamn Feet Tall Because We Watched King Kong The Other Day

They set Louie up to be a mob boss, calm and composed for like a minute or two, and that goes out the window in no time flat. They try to bring back that structured “I help you you help me bada bing bada boom" thing back in the chase scene, but literally nobody cares what the chaser says in the chase scene. If they did, it wouldn’t be a chase scene.

“No, they don’t fear me, they fear you.” Except clearly they fear you because your MO this entire time has been “let’s kill and threaten animals and see if Mowgli comes back faster.”

Baloo, the laziest bear you ever did see who heard the wolf pledge exactly one (1) time and immediately dismissed it as propaganda, can recite it from heart because Shere Khan needs to be directly confronted with The Power Of Friendship

Can’t be a climax without fire. It’s a good thing that Mowgli can always find a safe path through this raging inferno that’s been burning steadily through the forest for the last few minutes or more.

Mowgli’s entire strategy hinges on many things that could go wrong at any moment:

a) the vines don’t catch on fire as he’s running through the burning forest

b) the vines and branch don’t catch on fire after he suspends them in the air in the middle of a huge forest fire

c) the dead tree, notably made of dead wood, which some may know to be extremely flammable, is not on fire nor does it catch on fire as he’s climbing it

d) Shere Khan follows him onto the branch

e) Shere Khan leaps at him on the fragile branch that Shere Khan seems to notice is weak

f) the vines and branch don’t catch on fire while he’s climbing them in the middle of a huge forest fire

g) he finds a way back out of the woods literally filled with fire

h) Shere Khan even follows him all the way in rather than going “nah the little bitch is gonna burn. Let him.”

i) the animals forgive him for setting the trees ablaze

They let ScarJo sing Trust In Me during the credits. Minor suggestion: don’t.

I choose to interpret Mowgli not seeing what happened with Kaa and Baloo to mean Kaa is still alive, and the monkeys trying to dig Louie out of the ruins to mean that he’s dead. This is entirely because of favoritism.

Compared to the animated version, this movie is much more based around Shere Khan, compared to around Mowgli and the jungle. Rather than “Mowgli won’t be safe here; send him to the Man Village so Shere Khan won’t kill him,” it’s “Mowgli won’t be safe here, but Shere Khan is going to threaten and probably kill us until Mowgli returns anyway, which he surely will because Shere Khan said so.”

They tried to do a grey-morality sort of thing by justifying Shere Khan’s fear of fire and hatred towards Men. But it kind of backfires because Shere Khan keeps being incredibly evil for no particular purpose aside from making his death be a good thing for everyone, and the one crime Mowgli commits (big fire) would not have happened if Shere Khan hadn’t announced his plan to kill the man-cub.

I really miss the allegories to different kinds of philosophies towards society from the animated version. The live-action replaces them with examples of different abusive relationships (Baloo is a manipulative fast-talker, Louie is supposed to be a mob boss, Kaa’s comfort is genuine but overshadowed by a desire to do harm), which is... nice, but not really my cup of tea.

Holy shit there is SO MUCH SHAKYCAM. You can barely see some of the scenes from all the shaking around. “Did we inspire adrenaline in you? Don’t you wanna go fast?” Yes, of course, but what am I doing this about? “...SHAKYCAM!! LOUD NOISES!!” It’s overstayed its welcome.

Realistic CGI animals are actually terrible at emoting.

This felt like yet another action film. Every opportunity they had, they threw in another fight scene or chase scene. You could take most of them out, cut off about 15 minutes from the movie, and still not have removed anything important.

All in all, I’m glad I now have 22 seconds of Kaa saying things. They really shouldn’t have given ScarJo so much coverage in the commercials, though. She’s in the movie for about 4 minutes, and she’s a visible snake for much less. I don’t think I’d pay to see this, and really this just gives me more reason to not watch other Disney live-action remakes.

Shakycam should have died eight years ago. Bring back shot composition.

[dayswithdeath-blog]

Entry 1: Skeleton Keys

Andy’s sister had come back from college worshipping the Devil.

Okay, it wasn’t the Devil. Maybe. Anyway, Caspia Perez was supposed to have come back from Berkeley with a nose ring or a California tan or a new vegan diet. Instead, she’d returned with a Ouija board and a girlfriend.

 Andy didn’t really understand what was up—about the Ouija board. Cass had been out since she was fifteen. The only strange thing about this was that this girl was special enough for Cass to bring around the apartment.

Caspia Juliana Perez was about to be a senior at UC Berkeley, a History major who was interning with a corporate law firm downtown to impress law schools across the country. She’d always been Andy’s source of reason, cold and methodic, adamant and downright terrifying when it came to Andy breaking the rules.

Now, stone-cold, uber bitch Cass was giggling over a Ouija board while her girlfriend, Becca, sat across from her. Their manicured hands were entwined over top the planchette, which had just begun to slide across the board, wheels screeching forward to spell out their doom.

“Nope. No.” Andy stood up from the dinner table, though she still had food on her plate, and swung her backpack over her shoulder. “I’m out.”

Cass glanced up from the board, the smile she was sharing with her girlfriend gone. Her gray eyes turned to steel. “Andy,” she started.

Andy shook her head firmly. “Dad wouldn’t like this. He never fucked with that bruja shit. Remember his story about the great aunt who visited a psychic? She was haunted by evil spirits for the rest of her life!”

“That was just a story.”

“That was real.” Andy’s eyes went past her sister, to the sinister board. The planchette hadn’t moved since she got up, but she wasn’t taking her chances. “Do you have to do this in the apartment?”

“Would you rather we found some alley to inhabit for the night?”

Andy huffed. “Obviously not, but—”

Becca tugged on Cass’s sleeve. “We don’t have to do it, if your sister doesn’t want to.”

Cass’s face crumpled, and Andy found herself quickly saying, “No, no, it’s fine. I’ll just leave.”

“And go where?” Cass asked, with relief in her voice.

“To Ben’s.”

“Is he in?”

“I’ll call him on the way there. I have a spare key either way.”

Cass pursed her lips. “Be safe.”

Andy gave the Ouija board a stink-eye. “I’m not the one who needs to be safe.”

On her way out the door, she called, “If you get a demon in this apartment, I’m going to kill you!”

“I think the demon would kill me first,” Cass said, and her and Becca’s laughter was the last thing Andy heard before closing the apartment door. Despite the possibility that her older sister was about to infect their aunt’s downtown apartment with malicious spirits, Andy found herself smiling. Cass was happy.

Though Andy and Cass hadn’t seen eye-to-eye for many years—ever since the accident, to be honest—Andy still wanted the best for her. But if the best meant dabbling in Satanism or whatever it was that Becca, a relaxed philosophy major with a lazy, half-smile, encouraged…

Well, at least Cass would die with a cute girlfriend in a nice apartment. That was more than Andy could hope for.

She fitted her backpack onto her shoulders and sprinted to the elevator, hoping she could outrun evil spirits if it came down to it. Two years in track had to count for something. If it didn’t, Andy would come back from the dead just to haunt her coach’s ass for all the 400 repeats he made the team do. Her legs wobbled at the memory of endless laps around a rain-sodden track.

She got them back under her by the time she left the apartment complex. Outside, a swell of humidity crested over the city. A summer thunderstorm was rolling in, casting thin, graying clouds across the streets so the bright streetlights turned spectral and hazy, something out of a dream. Higher up were the black thunderheads coiling to strike.

There was a high-strung hum in the air. Andy couldn’t figure out if it was from the people out on the city streets for a Saturday evening or from the daggering bursts of lightning between the clouds.

“Great,” Andy said, looking up at the dark clouds. She had forgotten her raincoat. She didn’t even know there was supposed to be a storm tonight.

It still wouldn’t get her back inside the apartment. Nothing would.

She crossed the street, going in the opposite direction of Ben’s apartment. She loved her cousin, was closer to him than her own sister, but she didn’t feel like bothering him. He was twenty-eight and a working man, law like Cass, though they butted heads more often than not; Cass was all for a future career in corporate while Ben worked for the state. There were better things for him to do than entertain a scared kid who was ten years younger than him.

Scared wasn’t the right word. Cautious? Wary? Normal things to be, when faced with raising the dead! Andy’s dad had told them to never mess around with that stuff, and though that had been many years ago, Andy hadn’t forgotten his face when he spoke of the occult. His eyes, usually bright and crinkled at the edges from his long-lasting smiles, went eerily still, the light draining out. The seriousness in his expression, the underlying dread that hastened his even voice, that had kept Andy off Satanism, paganism, or whatever else messed with dark entities.

Andy didn’t know if Cass had forgotten their dad’s warning or just chose to ignore it. Both options upset her.

It had been eight years since their parents died—eight years since Andy had last dipped so much as a toe into any body of water, eight years since her mom tackled her with hugs, eight years since she felt the bristle of her dad’s mustache when he kissed her cheek goodnight. It seemed like no time had passed, yet the years had flown by. They hadn’t been bad or sad, not in the slightest, but that didn’t mean Andy was over it. You can’t just get over that kind of stuff, but maybe Cass could and already had. Maybe that’s why she was messing with a Ouija board.

Andy groaned to no one in particular and turned the corner.

She collided into a passing figure, their shoulders jarring off of each other. She stumbled over her feet, struggling to regain her balance. When she did, she swung around. “Sorry.”

No one was around to hear it.

She looked over her shoulder, then left, out to the street, then right, so she was gazing into the store at her side. It was an antique shop, with a window so dusty her reflection was distorted. A flickering red neon sign hung up the window, its fluorescent light carving through the grit to read OPEN.

The light beat, as if a pounding heart. It pulsed out the window, covering Andy in devilish strokes of rouge.

She had no intention of going in. She had no money, and no interest.

Then a thunderclap roared between skyscrapers. Andy leapt up from the ground, which seemed to jolt with the thunder. As the red lights of the shop’s sign went out, the snaking figure of a lightning bolt shot clean across the clouds. It was made out of pure light, explosive and dangerous.

Andy swung open the antique shop’s doors just as rain crashed to the ground, like bullet shells dropping to the cement.

It was like she’d stepped through time. Going through the door had taken her back a hundred, maybe even two hundred, years.

Everything in the shop was old. Afghans with so many holes they looked croqueted; wooden pieces of furniture with chips on the legs and rings from many teacups left astray; old cameras, typewriters, telephones, and other kinds of archaic tech you only saw in noir films nowadays; creepy pictures of Victorian children with small, black eyes looking into your soul. The lights in the shop were dimmed, as if to detract from the dirt clinging to most items shoved into corners and left to be forgotten forever.  

The place smelled of must and aged wood, coupled with the crisp scent of rain hitting dry pavement outside; petrichor and the past, rebirth and rot. It was a heady mix that clouded Andy’s mind.

Cutting clean through it was a wobbly voice. “Hello.”

Andy swung around and found an old man smiling down at her. He had half-moon glasses on, held up by his ridiculously large nose.

“Looking for anything in particular?” he asked in his shaky but soothing voice.

Andy laughed nervously. “Not really.”

The old man’s smile widened. “Avoiding the rain then?”

“Yeah.” She glanced out the window as the world illumined to another crack of lightning. “I didn’t even know a storm was coming in.”

“Well, I hope my shop makes for a good refuge. Feel free to wander.” He pointed down an aisle. “Umbrellas are in that corner if you are desperate to leave.”

Finally calming down from the initial scare, Andy said with a smile, “Thank you.”

“Holler if you’re interested in anything, price or questions. I know my history.” He tapped his forehead, right above his bushy eyebrows, before going back to the front desk, where a worn paperback was resting face down.

He picked up the book, and Andy turned down the closest aisle. The aisles were made out of cubicle spaces filled to the brim with clutter. Most of it looked like crap—some people had donated useless things like ribbons from horse races won in 1973 and portraits of long-dead men and women—but there were also fascinating items.

Andy spelt her full name out on a typewriter, though there was no paper. She liked the feel of the buttons springing up and down beneath the pads of her fingers. She then moved onto the clothing section. Without taking off the Cal t-shirt she’d bought when Cass decided on her college, she pulled on oversized sweaters that old men had probably worn when they’d kicked the bucket. She liked their designs, but not their prices.  

Wherever she went in the antique shop, she could hear the rumble of the thunder. She wondered how long the storm was supposed to last. Not that she’d ended up in a bad place. This antique shop was infinitely better than the apartment, and much better than the other vicinities she could have picked out from Chicago streets.

She’d found herself in the jewelry section, which she quickly turned to leave. Her ears weren’t pierced, and neither were any other parts of her body, and necklaces and rings were always lost shortly after falling into her possession. It was like she repelled jewelry.

As she made to dip into the next aisle—books, all hardcovers bound in solid, muted colors—her eyes caught on a flash of gold melded into an odd shape. Her eyes darted down and soon registered that it wasn’t real gold, not that it mattered. Andy wasn’t searching for treasures—she wasn’t meant to be searching for anything—but when she lifted up the series of bracelets that had attracted her stare, she felt as though she’d discovered something important.

The fake gold came from one of three keys tied up into leather bracelets. Each key was small enough to cover one side of her wrist while the brown leather wrapped snuggly around the other. Andy’s eyes searched the oak table boasting an assortment of jewelry for more keys, but there was only the three, all about the same size but totally different.

The gold one was skinny with an ornate design at its grip, heart-like in shape; the one of blackened iron had a thick body and a blunt edge; and the bronze one was eroding so that when she lifted it up, flecks of rust fell to her toes.

The key bracelets didn’t have anything special to them, no dazzle or desire, but when she went to set them aside, she found her fingers clutching them tightly.

There wasn’t a price tag attached to any of the keys, which made her more nervous than the tags reading insane totals for decrepit items.

Before she could think better of it, she gathered the bracelets and went back up to the register.

The shopkeeper looked up from his book. “Found something you like?”

She nodded and set down the bracelets on the table. She knew it was hopeless, but she had to ask. “How much for these?”

He examined the key bracelets without touching them, pale eyes narrowing beyond the half-moon glasses. Rubbing his lips together, he decided a bargaining price. “Fifty each.”

Andy’s heart fell. “Really? That much?”

The shopkeeper looked devastated. His hand soared to his heart, as if it was breaking in two. “Fifty cents is a deal!”

“OH. You meant cents?” She fished through the bottom of her backpack and turned up with a series of coins. She counted out a dollar fifty, made out of three quarters, three dimes, eight nickels, and five pennies. Stacking them neatly, she slid them over to the shopkeeper. “There you are.”

He didn’t bother to doublecheck her count. Brushing the coins into his palm and depositing them into the register, he said, “Those are sharp-looking bracelets.”

“Aren’t they?” She slid them onto her wrist one at a time. The order ended up gold, bronze, then black, all spaced across her left forearm. It seemed wrong to part them. “What’s their story?”

“To be honest,” said the shopkeeper, “I don’t really know. They must be part of a new addition that I forgot to markup. Really nice, though. What drew you to them?”

Andy threw her hands into the air, and the keys pleasantly jingled into each other. “No clue. They just caught my eye.”

“At the perfect time, too.” The shopkeeper pointed his chin to the window. “Looks like there’s a break in the storm. You’ll be able to catch a taxi and make it home before it starts again.”

Andy blinked out the window and saw that the pouring rain had subsided to a misty drizzle. Thinking on it, it had been awhile since she’d last heard the thunder.

“Perfect,” she said, though she would definitely be calling her sister before stepping back in the apartment complex. If they still had that blasted board out, she really would hole up with Ben for the night.

The shopkeeper tucked his chin into the palm of his hand and smiled. “Glad you stopped by, kid.”

“Thanks for letting me! This place is really cool.”

“Swing by whenever. There are treasures all over this place, those keys included. While I don’t know their story, I sense something great about them.”

Andy didn’t sense so much as greatness as coolness in a style she wanted to attain, but nodded anyway. “Totally! Have a good night.”

“You too,” he called to her as she ducked out the store, into the drizzle. The raindrops didn’t so much as fall as they did swirl through the air in currents of precipitation.

She risked bringing out her phone into the dampness and dialed her sister’s cell.

It took three rings down the street for Cass to answer. “You make it safe?”

Andy dropped her voice. “Give us ten grand or your sister is going off the Sears Tower.”

“Cut the crap, Andy.” Ah, there was good ole killjoy Caspia. “Anyway, it’s the Willis Tower now.”

“No, it isn’t, and you know that.”

Cass sighed. “Are you alright?”

“I am, but I didn’t go to Ben’s. There’s this cool store I found that you should totally check out. It’s not far away and I got—”

“Alright, does that mean you’re coming home?”

“Depends on if you’re done summoning demons.”

“It’s not a fucking séance, Andy, and yeah we’re done. Nothing happened, so just get back here. There’s hot chocolate and popcorn.”

“Killer. See you in a few.” Andy ended the call and devoted her focus into getting back to the apartment complex before the storm decided to continue its rampage.

When she reached the apartment, she held her breath before swinging the door open.

The Ouija board had disappeared from the living room floor, thank God. If Andy felt like getting around to it, she’d find it and toss it out the window. Good riddance. Until then, she could find the peace of mind to change into her pajamas and join Cass and Becca on the couch to watch some shitty reality TV.  

“Here you go,” Becca said when Andy plopped down next to her. She handed off a cup of still steaming hot chocolate.

Andy took it with a smile. “Thanks.”

“Nice bracelets.”

Andy held up her arm so Becca could look closer. “They’re pretty cool, huh?”

“Shush,” hissed Cass. “I can’t hear what they’re saying.”

Andy and Becca exchanged smiles before turning back to the TV and losing themselves to the screams of melodramatic people with way too much money and free time. Andy played with her new bracelets the entire time, sliding them up and down her arm.

Becca fell asleep on the couch, her head supported by Cass’s shoulder. It wasn’t long before Cass dosed off too. Though sleeping on a dilapidated, stained couch, they seemed comfortable in their upright positions.

Andy looked over them, and felt a keen sense of awkwardness crawl across her skin. She felt like she was peeping on something private. This moment seemed more intimate than the couple’s thoughtful touches or warm morning kisses. It was intimate because it seemed so right.

Becca had only been staying with them for a week and would be in the apartment until the end of their summer vacation, but Andy could already see how she brightened Cass’s mood, bringing her to levels of carefree happiness that she hadn’t been since…since the accident.  

And Cass deserved it. All of it. The smiles and love and support.

Though something about it made Andy incredibly lonely.

She shook the thought from her head and leapt off the couch. Without looking back at the couple, Andy retreated to her bedroom.

Rain pattered down the window in her room, and she tugged the blinds close so the lightning wouldn’t reflect off her tan walls.  

As she sat on her bed, she debated raiding the apartment for the Ouija board, but knew that for all her desire to destroy it, if she crossed its path, she wouldn’t be able to touch it. Laying a finger on it seemed just as bad as toying with it.

Nothing seemed different about the apartment. There was no decay or destruction from the girls’ dabbling in the occult. Shadows didn’t crawl off the walls; whispers weren’t curdling in her ears; nothing scratched at window panes. Everything was normal, and Andy couldn’t be happier about that.

She gathered up her blankets and began to duck under them when her bedroom door slammed close.

Andy fell off the bed, heart hammering in her chest. She landed on the ground in a bundle of blankets, eyes fixed on the door.

There was no way a draft had done that. Her window was closed, and so were all the others in the house. Then it had to be a…

“Ghost,” Andy whispered in a croaky voice.

Though her legs were jelly, she managed to get to her feet. She picked up the sharpest thing in her room—a metal bookmark—and held it out like a knife. It would be useless against something with a physical body, let alone a ghost, but it made her feel a little better; instead of on the verge of passing out from terror, she was just woozy.

“H—hello,” she called out. “Cass? Becca?”

The only answer was a click. Andy paled. That was definitely the door’s lock going into place.

Her mouth was too dry to make a sound. Somehow, her feet could still manage movement. They guided her closer to the door, one shaky step at a time.

She freed one hand from her weapon to reach out for the doorknob. The door locked from the inside, so she wasn’t trapped. Still, it was taking a lot of will power to not sprint right out the door and abandon the apartment altogether. Let the ghost take her sister for all she cared.

“I don’t want to die,” she said. She didn’t know if it was meant for herself or the demon or someone else entirely—she just had to say it aloud.

Her hand closed around the knob.

Behind her, the sealed window splintered, glass shards flying free of the pane. They clattered to the ground, along with a sweeping gale of rain that rippled through the room.

She spun to face the demon that her sister and her girlfriend raised from Hell, but the terror took her legs out from under her. She collapsed to the ground the moment she turned.

Stuck on the ground in a quivering hobble, Andy looked up to the figure that emerged from her shattered window.

At first she thought it was some kind of dog with a thin snout stretching into a large face. Then the dog stood taller, and the fur turned into smooth, golden brown skin that was nowhere near as hairy and covered instead with many black-ink tattoos. By the time the creature reached its full height, somewhere above six-foot, Andy was left staring at a monster. Half-beast, half-human, all menace.

The creature growled deep in his throat. “I have come to watch you die.”