#wicked day 2023

[teaofgan]

“It's not her, she has nothing to do with it! I’m the one you want! It's me…”

20 Years of Wicked today! If you’ve been following me for awhile, you’ll know how special Wicked is to me. I was lucky to be able to see it on tour in 2011, and hopefully I’ll be able to see it again someday

[hrokkall]

ULTRATOBER DAY 14 /// SOMETHING WICKED

[PREVIOUS] 💀 [NEXT]

[gelphiegifs]

"Nobody's staring... Nobody's pointing..."

[halloween-sweets]

[rb9]

in honour of brazil race week ✨

[mildmayfoxe]

yknow it is crazy to think about how much i have been able to improve my quality of life by selling art as a supplementary form of income. like obviously it's a second job and it's taxing but it's also so rewarding to know how much people enjoy my work and how much good it is doing me to like, feel like i can buy snacks at the store. to be able to get takeout every once in a while. like obviously those are extremely minor changes or things most people take for granted but to me it's huge. having berries in the house when they're out of season and more expensive. buying things for CONVENIENCE??! it feels so crazy to me to have such a sense of luxury which i know says more about the bleak feeling of poverty that's followed me around my entire adult life than anything else but i feel so much gratitude that i am afforded these small luxuries at least in part because of people that like my art. not to mention how nice is is to make things consistently again when, prior to 2020, i hadn't made art regularly in almost a decade. anyway. it's cool!

[eightyuh]

[liubovpohorelova]

#Inktober day 31 "Fire"

For today: Witch + Halloween + frog + firefly

[haradrimculture]

@pscentral event 11: 2023 releases but fake promo with some of my favorite (and completely related) medias

DUNE, part two

- SPICE GIRLS’ Spice up your life MV (1997)

COCAINE BEAR

- Charlie Day and Jason Bateman in HORRIBLE BOSSES (2011)

JOHN WICK 4

- Jonah Hill in THIS IS THE END (2013)  

BARBIE

- Rebecca, Pocah, Lexa and Danny Bond’s Barbie MV (2022)

MAGIC MIKE’S LAST DANCE

- Channing Tatum and Brad Pitt in BULLET TRAIN (2022)

[booksellergothic]

Halloween Days 10 and 11

Sorry, time got away from me yet again. Hoping all (three?) of you forgive me. So today we get two recs.

Johnny Compton of the Healthy Fears podcast, has long been a writer of brilliantly frightening and wonderfully written short stories.

A spite house is defined as a property built solely to upset neighbors of to flout planning regulations. When Eric Ross - good man in a bad situation - sees an ad for a job at an infamously haunted spite house in Texas offering big money for a short term situation it seems like the new start he and his daughters need. Sadly, he's very, very wrong. Johnny Compton's first novel is a both a frightening entry into the burgeoning genre of Black Southern Gothic and an equally rich family story, perfect for the darkest nights.

Next up we have a YA novel that was not released as a horror novel but is clearly a Gothic that leans hard into the tropes of haunted houses and family curses.

There are books that are hard to describe in a pithy, grab 'em quick way. Within These Wicked Walls is one of those books. Inspired by Jane Eyre, informed by Ethiopian culture, and possessed of one of the best, most emotionally and intellectually complex YA heroines I have ever read, this is a story of where curses are metaphors for colonialism and unresolved history, love can have a scarred face or taste like chocolate, and parents are not always who or what they appear to be.

If you are interested in being added to my taglist please let me know!

@dianamolloy @piggledy-higgledy @imdeadtiredtm @joyfullymassivewhispers @caffiend-queen @dangertoozmanykids101 @toozmanykids @myoxisbroken @sillybillieandricky @wrathkitty @punemy-spotted @stupendouslovegardener @sylviefromneptune @acidcasualties

[gojuo]

this past week i been watching movies cuz my ass doesn't watch holly-/euro-/whateverwood AT ALL (call me a weeb idfc) and this is my opinion:

poor things: dogshit. dnfed

barbie: everyone who hailed this crap as a feminist masterpiece needs to be embarrassed and pay women of color and poor women in damages. i literally hate all of you so much

the holdovers: dogshit

may december: dogshit. literally why even did i watch this crap.... 2 hours of my life i'll never get back fml 🤧🤧

saltburn: i turned this shit off after 20 minutes and moved onto past lives

past lives: i mean it's alright

killers of the flower moon: need to watch this, but i need leonardo dicaprio's ugly face censored in every shot he's in first

anatomy of a fall: THIS IS WHAT CINEMA IS ALL ABOUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

society of the snow: literally the best movie that came out this year this needs the Academy Award for Best Picture it's literally undeniably 2023 Movie Of The Year and the fact that that fuckass loser oscar is most likely going to either racist ass murican military complex idealizing propagandist oppenheimer or racist ass corporate feminist garbage barbie pisses me off SAURR MUCH !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[wickedcriminal]

Whumptober Day 13: "(...) the strength in your bones."

Exactly 100 words.

It's been a year since Ed got his arm back, for better or for worse.

Right now, it's for the worse. Maybe if he still had automail, he could lift this car off the terrified kid underneath it with no effort at all. His right arm shakes with the weight, screaming its resistance as the muscles tear.

He has no alchemy to aid him. Gone are the days he can just clap his troubles away. Now all that's left is Edward's sheer strength of will– and the strength of his upper body.

So he keeps his feet planted, and pulls.

[comfort-questing]

10. stranded

"we need to have a talk, all right? about this whole holding the bridge thing."

"I hate to pull rank," she said, from the better-lit side of the office, where she sat cross-legged on her cot, "but I'm the captain here, and I'm trying to follow the orders we were given."

they chewed their lip for a moment, their eyes straying to the shuttered window, the roar of the river distant in the night stillness. "three, four days till the main army reaches the river. if it's not our post, it's somewhere else... but what are we supposed to do then if we still don't have reinforcements?"

"we're going to."

"you keep saying they'll come for us. but - what if they don't? it's been weeks since we sent the messengers. maybe - maybe we're meant to fail, you know. maybe they're just going to help the South Rapids folk instead."

"we don't know that." she rubbed at the hollows beside her eyes, wind-reddened from watch earlier that evening. "we just have to trust the others, and do what we need to in the meantime."

-

"this whole thing is ridiculous. I know you're the captain, I know it's orders, but - really." they were taking advantage of the situation a little, because she was leaning on them for support on the way up the staircase, leaving haphazard splashes of blood on the stones behind. talk of a captive audience.

"only ridiculous - thing here - is how long - these stairs are." she had bitten her lips white, and her voice was clipped. "this was - just a skirmish - just a test - "

they didn't speak again until they were in her office, among the scattered papers and bits and odds and ends of fort life, the cot in the corner passing for a good rest. she sank down there gratefully and accepted their help undoing what was left of her jacket, the arrow shaft still tangled in fabric and flesh halfway between shoulder and elbow.

"don't move. lie down. I'll get Thomas."

"he's got enough to do - with the other wounded. worse off than me. you've - helped me before, now help me again."

-

the sharp flush of fever on her cheeks, the guarded way she held her sling-wrapped arm against her body, showed them all they needed to know that evening. that, and the sinking sunlight not quite dim enough to hide the sight of approaching horses and riders in the distance, a wider spread of the advance than any of the little scouting bands that had tried their fortress's strength before.

behind them, the river; before them, the enemy; and she was leaning on them for help again, as she organized that evening's guard assignments, the nervous-looking soldiers forcing grim smiles to match her confidence.

they weren't ready yet to contradict her in front of the others. insubordination wasn't a good look, and would make no difference anyway at this point.

only to catch her as she staggered on the way off the walltops, and steady her on the descent into the main keep, and then to pray to whatever merciful Heaven might be listening that her hopes were not misplaced.

although if the lot of them truly were stranded here - abandoned to the incoming attack - then they would stay with her, in any case, till the end.

-

she was finally asleep, sweat-matted hair pinned to her temples, the blankets tousled around her restless form. they opened the door of the office as quietly as they could in answer to the low knocking, trying not to rouse her, the dull sick ache of fear in their chest.

"Captain - oh, lieutenant, it's you, sorry."

"Captain's resting. what's the news?"

another attack, no doubt. more scouts, or archers, or a force organized enough to try undermining the walls. the possibilities were truly endless at this point, and universally unpleasant.

"messenger from the south." the soldier's grin was genuine this time, one of the most credible smiles seen for days if not weeks. "there's five companies on their way to us, should be here by dawn."

they felt their own face pull into a smile, rusty and unpracticed.

"thanks for the news," they said, and found their voice hoarse suddenly, "I'll tell the captain when she wakes."

tell her that she was right, after all; that they weren't alone.

[doctorbrown]

DOCTOBER '23 ⸺ 「 31 / 31 * FINALE | HEART 」

March 8, 1929

Whenever Erhardt was at the courthouse, if Emmett wasn't in his room, pouring over works that would make his father red-faced and angry, he could be found with a pillow propped up against the grandfather clock in the living room, leaning back and reading whatever caught his eye this time.

It had become a pattern over the years, one Sarah had learned quite quickly after the first two times wondering where her son had run off to when he wasn't anywhere to be found in his room. Emmett was at his most comfortable when his father wasn't at home—and she couldn't blame him for that, despite how she'd tried to soften the tension between her husband and her child—and he didn't hesitate to take full advantage of the house when it was open to him.

Sarah quirks a brow upon seeing the book clutched in Emmett's hands. ❝Are you reading one of my science-fiction novels again?❞

❝Father isn't home to yell at me for wasting my time reading this worthless trash.❞ He puts on his best impression of his father as he can, mimicking the gruffness of his voice and the accent he'd yet to lose even after nearly twenty years here. ❝He wouldn't even listen to me when I told them they were educational, because they were about science.❞

Sometimes, his parents seem like fire and ice compared to each other, opposites in every way eternally fated to clash, especially where their interests are concerned; there are days he simply can't understand how they get along.

❝I found this hidden in your library.❞ He holds up the copy of A Voyage to Arcturus he'd swiped, knowing he won't be reproached for his choice in reading material. Finally, he looks away from the book, and Emmett purses his lips, studying his mother's done-up hair and full state of dress, coming to the conclusion she must be going out again for some of the day's chores.

He wonders if this time, he'll be forced to go along.

❝You know your father usually gets home around five,❞ she says, prompting Emmett to lift his head as high as he can to see the hands of the grandfather clock above him, ❝so be cautious how long you spend out here, dear.❞ The time currently reads 11:00 exactly and he frowns.

❝Is Father ever going to get our grandfather clock repaired? It has been broken for weeks and I really liked the hourly chimes.❞

❝He said he sent out for a repairman, but that was two weeks ago and I've heard nothing since. At this rate, I don't know when it'll be repaired. I'll bring it up to him tonight at dinner. Speaking of—Emmett, I'm going out to pick up some groceries. I trust you'll behave for a few hours while I'm out?❞

Emmett nods and with a quick goodbye, Sarah closes the door behind her, leaving him alone.

The book in his hands no longer holds his interest. Now that they've brought it up, all he can think about is the broken clock, whose mechanical songs have been sorely missed over the past few weeks. The clock had always been a constant, a comfort, a staple in the house as far back as he can remember, and he'd found himself on more than one occasion peering into the glass, watching the pendulum swing and the weights dance with their precise, rhythmic grace.

It was as close to watching time live and breathe as he could get and it had captivated him, as did the smaller clocks set up in the house.

Just a few months ago, he'd disassembled the small bedside clock in his room to see how it worked and had managed to put it back together without either of his parents figuring out.

If he could do that, surely he could fix this one, his favourite clock in the entire house.

His father clearly didn't see the importance of having it operational again—that, or he simply didn't care—and he could already imagine how the conversation at dinner would go. Poorly. And the clock would remain broken for another several weeks.

If he didn't, nobody else would.

Emmett checks to make sure his mother really has left before he hurries to the storage room to dig out the toolbox he'd seen his father use several times.

It's heavier than he remembers, but his mind is made up and nothing is going to get in the way of his goal, even if he has to drag the box the rest of the way towards the house.

As he peers inside the glass, he starts to take stock of all the pieces within, studying each of them carefully as if the answer will suddenly leap out at him. There could be any number of things that silenced the clock and as far as he's concerned, the best solution is to start carefully removing pieces until he can pinpoint the culprit.

For a moment, the task feels gargantuan, what with all the sprawling, delicate clockwork, but he's got his wits, his determination, and his trusty toolbox, so as he stands on his toes, reminding himself to be slow and cautious, it starts to feel more doable.

I should start from the top down.

The side door only takes a little wiggling to get loose and Emmett marvels at the first real look he's ever gotten at the movement, glittering gold in its wooden case. His eyes widen at the mechanical marvel twisting before him and he finds it even more appealing than the ornate carvings inlaid into the dark cabinet.

The front door swings open easily and Emmett's touch is almost featherlight as he pulls the hands off the movement. The clock face looks unsettling without the hands there, almost like it's naked, and he frowns as he sticks the hands in his pockets for safekeeping.

Everything has to come out in order for him to properly inspect it, but the question now becomes how. How does he remove the movement without further damaging what he's trying to repair?

Emmett sticks his head through the open side panel again and lets out an excited aha! when he spots the latches holding the face of the clock in place. A firm push knocks it free and sends the face clattering to the ground. He winces at the sound, but a quick inspection reveals no new damage—nothing has snapped off or bent or broken, so he must still be okay.

The relief he feels at that is short-lived when he realises he has no idea what to do next.

He presses his lips together in thought and reaches back through time to try and feel around the different pieces of the machine. This is all just another puzzle, one created by someone who may understand time better than him, but he has science on his side, and if he follows the cables and pulleys back to their origin point, where they connect must be the problem.

A broken gear, perhaps, or a bent hammer, or something has gotten knocked out of place.

When he tries to pull at the movement again, it remains stubbornly locked in place, and so he drops his focus down to the weights dangling lifelessly at the end of their golden ropes.

Those, too, clatter to the ground in perfect synchronisation with the loud yelp of surprise he lets out.

The rest of the pieces follow unceremoniously after, one-by-one until he's left cradling the silent heart of the clock in his hands.

Emmett turns it over in his hands, scrutinising it from corner-to-corner to try and spot anything that screams this, this is the problem!

❝Emmett Lathrop Brown!❞ That cold, booming voice strikes fear straight into his chest and Emmett immediately freezes, clutching the clock's heart to his chest like a shield. He's sitting in the centre of the half-circle of dismembered clock parts and no amount of trying to talk his way out of this one is going to make him look any less guilty than he is.

His father's anger could level the house. He can feel it, a thousand white-hot blades digging into his skin, even from across the room.

He tries to look up at the clock above him, but instead of helping him, it screams accusations.

❝Y-Yes, Father?❞

[vickster51]

Favourite Films of 2023

My Favourite Films of 2023.

It’s that time of year to reflect on the year and I’m starting with my film highlights of 2023. Personally, I think it’s been a fantastic year for films, with many smaller indie films rising to top, while some big budget offerings underperformed. Hopefully the film industry will see that you don’t need to spend crazy amounts of money to have a successful film. It was also the year of the…

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Whumpril day 30

Content warning: buried alive

30: ( holding hands, human shield, “don’t let go”)

Everything hurt. Sharp shards of rubble jabbed into Whumpee at every angle. Their throat burned, but there wasn't enough air to cough up the dust coating their lungs. They could barely move, they could barely see.

Whumpee's only source of comfort was the hand grasped in their own.

Whumpee didn't know who they were.They were a stranger, just another person caught in a tragedy. But the stranger held Whumpee's hand like a lifeline, like Whumpee would pull them out of the rubble if they stayed together. 

But they couldn't do that. All Whumpee could do was hold on and pray.

"Don't let go," Whumpee whispered into the darkness. The hand tightened around theirs.