#Echoes of Ballard House | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

plutoswritingplanet · 2 years

Note

Hi! Woul you be okay with writing a rough creepy stalker like cnc smut with 001? If do please do thank you, and if not that's okay thank you

My dude, that is literally all I write these days lmao (also, thank you so much for leaving a request, sorry it took so long)

The Skin (Peter Ballard x AFAB!Reader)

a/n: I took that request and ran with it. Idk if that is what you’ve envisioned, but I really wanted to write some Haunted House type thing, so, here we go!

Warnings: NON-CON (i won’t even try to explain myself on this one guys), AU-ish, Haunted House donging, like...kind of body worship? idk man

Summary: You should’ve kept your mouth shut, when your friends told you the legend of the Creel House. Now, here you are, all on your own, it’s dark, and the creaking of the wood sounds suspiciously a lot like laughter.

In your opinion, houses were a lot like people. They could retain memories, etched into the floor boards like grooves on brain matter. They could also bear scars, deep and traumatizing, never to be healed. There is hurt enchanted into the walls of every house, just like a human being's skin.

Despite knowing all of this, here you stand. A small silhouette in front of a towering building. Blackened windows stare back at you, daring you to come closer. There is a deceptively sweet stained-glass rose, overlooking the courtyard from the top of the front door, seemingly untouched by the passing of time.

The Creel House.

One, that has seen so much tragedy, it's been completely left to rot by the entire town of Hawkins. The memory of past events was enough to put an aura of hopelessness around the building, making it forever empty. Tales of that one faithful night are passed through generations, scaring both children and adults alike. The stories varied from completely impossible, to logically sound, but all of them had one thing in common. The ending.

- They say Creel's family ghosts still haunt this house to this day - your friend whispered into your ear one day.

You were doomed the moment you decided to play it cool, pretend those stories didn't do anything to you. You'd shrug, keep the stoic facade of a sceptic. Ghosts aren't real, and you are not a child anymore, believing every tale told with a gravely voice. Now, you were an adult, semi-responsible and collected.

Which is why you're in this situation in the first place. Stupid illusion of bravery, and now here you stand, bag in hand, about to spend the night in an abandoned house. Your friends are perhaps just a bit cruel, leaving you off the side of the road, their laughter echoing, as you take your first steps towards the porch. The warm light of the setting sun lulls you into a false sense of security. For now, there's no reason for you to question, whether 20 bucks is an appropriate payment for this little endeavor.

And honestly, what's the worst thing that could happen? You'd probably find some homeless man, sleeping off the tiredness of the day, happy to have a roof over his head. Even if said roof has seen unbelievable tragedy. Your thumb swipes over an outline of a pepper spray can, tucked into the front pocket of your jeans. For safety.

The wood creaks mercilessly, as you climb the few steps leading to the front door. Chills run up your back in tandems, as you enter, pushing the wooden door. It gives in rather easily, and soon you're hit with a suffocating smell of rot and dust from decades ago. It swirls inside your nose, and before you know it, a loud sneeze resounds through those aged halls.

Now, the ghosts surely know they have a visitor.

Scratching your nostril, you make your way inside, the door closing after you with a barely audible click. Dust and wood, wherever your sight can reach. The inside of the house doesn't look as dilapidated as you would've anticipated. Sure, there are heavy cobwebs basically everywhere, and your feet make marks on the dirty floor, but beside that, the house looks decent. No window seems to be broken, a trait uncommon amongst abandoned buildings.

With a small smile of wonder, you walk through the corridors, growing darker by the minute, as the sun begins to disappear into the nearby woods. It's much colder inside, than outside, you note with a shiver. You're not the most informed in the topic of temperature changes inside old architecture, but you are pretty sure, that big of a difference could be considered abnormal.

There are holes in the two armchairs inside the living room. Possibly chewed by mice and other critters, searching for warmth. The sofa stands surprisingly unmoved, there are flowers on the cushions, quilted with metallic string, which shines lightly in the dying light of the day. It looks cozy enough to sleep on, and you take a mental note to set camp here, for the night, after you stop exploring.

Soon, you have to take out your metal flashlight. A long pole of light cuts through the growing darkness, as you exit the living room and make your way towards the large staircase. From the corner, a dilapidated grandfathers clock watches you intently. Its arms are long dead and unmoving, but the soul remains, stirred to life by an intruder.

Every step of the way is creaking ungodly loud. And by the time you actually reach the first floor, you start to feel quite ridiculous, haunted house or not. Just as you reach for the handle to, what you assume, are bedroom doors, there's a creak somewhere below.

You freeze, body taut, ears straining to hear more, fighting with all their might against the silence.

Nothing. Just the quickened beating of your heart, your hard breathing. With a shrug meant to conceal your growing anxiety, you turn your back towards the staircase.

Ghosts don't exist, old, dying buildings do. And, just like people, those old buildings tend to settle for the night.

The room you enter looks to have been a bedroom at some point in time. It's spacious and holds two single beds. Perhaps it was the children's room. You could imagine young Creel's running around the empty halls, all smiles and laughter. You wonder, what did they play with back in their day. Did they have favorite toys, before their lives were so cruelly snuffed out?

You wander further inside, taking note of the pink, frilly covers on one of the beds. There is a doll, old fashioned one, with porcelain face, stuffed between the pillows. It would be creepy if you believed on ghosts. But you don't, so you're fine.

A voice, akin to child's scream of joy, nearly makes you trip over your feet. It's vague and barely audible, and not long after, you realize, it's just a sudden gust of wind, blowing through a gap in the window. With a huff, you shake your head.

The second bed looks much more mature in a sense. The covers are white and strangely pristine for such old age. Without giving it much of a thought, you reach out to touch the thick fabric. But, just as your fingers brush the coarse bed covers, something large and black skitters from one side of the bed, to the other.

You yelp, jumping back, as a fat spider dissapears under the pillow. A red pattern on it's back telling you exactly what you're dealing with. Black Widow. Wonderful. For a second you wonder if sleeping outside on the porch would be considered cheating. With a heavy exhale, you swipe your hair back from your face, a slow feeling of exhaustion entering your system.

There were no ghosts, no one was haunting these empty halls. Just memories, distorted by years of rumors and gossip. And you're better than this, smarter than some stupid story.

At least that's what you think. That is, until your flashlight starts to flicker. Your heart jumps into your throat, as your only source of light slowly, treacherously, dies in your hands. You try to smack the thing, frustration growing inside you, but it won't budge.

- Fantastic, absolutely fucking fantastic - you mutter under your breath, sticking the offending tool into the back pocket of your jeans.

Now, surrounded by complete and utter darkness, everything seems so much more terrifying. It's like you can feel every particle of dust settling in your hair, like you can hear every breath the house takes. It's maddening, and for a moment you stay planted in your place, screwing your eyes shut. Trying to calm yourself down, slow the rapid beating of your heart.

- Cool, cool, cool, cool - you chant quietly under your nose, like a grounding mantra.

The sound of your voice, arguably, does calm you down, and soon you gain enough confidence to open your eyes again. The room looks the same as it did before, no crazy hallucinations, no specters flying around your head.

You huff a laugh, shake your head, and take the first step towards the door, fully intending to make camp downstairs in the living room.

And that's when you feel something brush against your back. It feels real, tangible, as it slides up your spine, towards the base of your neck, before ruffling your hair.

You gasp, turning back on your heel, panic settling into the very core of your bones.

Nothing. The flowery wallpaper of the room stares back at you, as if it's mocking your current disheveled state. Your hand flies towards your neck, scratching lightly at the base, as if trying to scratch the weird feeling from under your skin.

Another creak from downstairs. Your head whips around, and you run up to the door, pushed by adrenaline alone.

There is no way this place is actually haunted. Because if it was, you'd have to get out of here as soon as possible. Which meant loosing those 20 dollars your friends put on your courage. 20 dollars you already knew how to spend. So, with a calming breath, you steel your nerves.

You raise your flashlight just a little bit, in case you need to whack someone over the head with it. You didn't know if the metal handle would do anything against a possible ghost, but you were sure, should the cause of your distress be of human origin, it will hurt as shit.

There's not a soul downstairs, and as you overlook the ground floor from the top of the stairs, you feel another shiver climbing up your back, causing the hair at the back of your neck to stand on guard. You take a step forward, fully intending to go down the stairs, but, as if pushed by an invisible force, your foot lands a bit too far. The rubber sole of your shoe slips past the wooden step, and with a scream you feel yourself fall.

The house is momentarily filled with a dull noise, as you tumble down the stairs, landing on the floor beneath them. The flashlight slips past your grasp, rolling on the floor, before hitting a wall.

- Ugh... - you can't move for quite a while, writhing in pain on the wooden floor.

There's a dull ache basically everywhere on your body, and you can already feel bruises forming on your skin. This was definitely not worth 20 dollars.

And as you lay there, gathering dust on your clothes and hair, you can clearly hear a sound, which makes your blood freeze on the spot.

A laugh. Small chuckle, barely audible, but loud enough for you to be sure. Despite the pain, you shoot up into a sitting position. Your vision swirls around you, and instinctively, you grab the side of your temple.

- Christ, what the fuck? - you mutter, starting to get up.

That's when you feel some invisible force push down on your arm, causing you to fall back on your ass. Your heart jumps to your throat, because that most definitely was not your imagination. Frozen in spot, you eyes zero in on the front door, the glass rose mocking you from above.

They're close, so close, running seems possible. So, gathering all your strength, you count in your head. And as you hit three, using every bit of power you still have left, you push yourself up and forward. Floorboards creak and splinters jab into your palm, as you throw yourself towards the front door. Your hand wraps around the handle, pushing with all you've got and...

Nothing.

The door doesn't even budge, and you try again, this time adding a shoulder to the mix. The third time you basically throw your entire body onto the door, but it doesn't as much as creak under this assault. Panic, sheer, bloody panic rises in your gut, fingers shaking as you keep fighting with the door handle. Then, something brushes past your neck, a sigh and a gust of cold air. You can feel it, a presence of something, standing right behind you, so close, it's nearly touching your skin.

- Who are you? - your whisper comes out in a huff of steam, and that's when you notice how cold it's gotten around you.

- Unimportant - the word solidifies your every fear, heart jumping right to your throat, as your knuckles whiten from the bone breaking grip you have on the handle.

It's a big house, and an old one. Houses like these had to have another entrance, right? You count to three yet again, taking a quick breath and bolting to the side. You manage to take three steps, before something drags you back, your feet lifting up from the floor. Then, the force tugs at your helpless body and you go flying through the corridor, colliding painfully with the floor.

Fearful eyes flicker through the empty room, searching for your attacker, as a sharp pain blooms where you've hit the wall. Then, something flickers in the corner of your eye. An image in the dust covered surface of a mirror. A scream bubbles up in your throat, as you spot a silhouette of a man, staring at you with an unreadable expression. He knows you've noticed him, pink lips stretching into a mocking smile.

Beautiful, the man from the mirror looked absolutely angelic, as he raised his hand, fingers outstretched towards you, a sinister glint in his eye. Then, you felt it again, a foreign force tugging at you ankle, and before you had the chance to react, a yank sent you sliding on the floor.

Rolling onto your stomach with a loud scream, you tried to stop your body from moving, fingernails digging into the wood, splinters cutting through your skin. Before you know it, you land at the center of the room, feet suddenly locked, as you upper half is dragged upwards. Your eyes flicker desperately, as your whole body rotates slowly, unmoving, hanging in the air like a piece of meat on a hook. Then, it stops, your eyes catch a glint of his blue ones in the mirror, and the wickedness encapsulated in them sends shivers down your spine.

This is it, this is where you are going to die. All for a 20 dollar bet, that was absolutely not worth it.

- Please, please, please... - your mouth mumbles involuntarily, as tears spring in your eyes.

The man smiles a gentle smile, one, that looks almost grotesque in given situation. And then, he stops. His hand drops to his side and you alongside it, your head hitting forcefully against the floor. The world swims around you, as a small gasp leaves your lips. The pulsing pain at the back of your head is like a rythmn, to which small specs of black dance in front of your eyes.

You must've hit your head really hard, because as you stare around the floating room, you can see the man slowly slide out of the mirror. His arm first, a pristine, white shirt covering his lean torso. Then, his legs, dressed in similar, white trousers. Lastly, his head. Blonde locks so soft and shiny even in this oppressing darkness, they almost seem unreal. And in a way, they are.

He takes a couple of steps towards you, kneeling down next to your head. Then, he reaches down and you flinch as his slender fingers touch your cheek. Too real, they feel too real, as they slide up, towards your temple, thumb caressing your brow in such a caring manner you almost fall for it. Almost.

- What are you doing? - your voice is rough and barely audible.

Again, he smiles, and his hand dips behind your head, finding the bleeding wound at the back. He observes with fascination, as your face contorts in pain, when his fingers press down onto the gash.

- I haven't had a visitor in such a long time - he muses, and you instantly notice how good his voice sounds, like a soothing balm to your ears. - It's gotten so lonely here, I'm so glad you came.

A shiver wracks your immobile body, and you clench your teeth, trying to surpress it. He notices, you can guess it by the way his eyebrows raise.

- Pretty, pretty, pretty - he muses with a smile, his wondering hand dragging your own blood down your neck, until it reaches the dip between your collarbones - Your pain looked so pretty.

You can't move, even if you try, and you do, you truly do. There's this invisible force holding you down again. The man shifts his position, bringing his face close to yours, so close, you should feel his breathing, but you don't. His nose drags along your neck, stopping behind your ear, where he inhales your scent with a hum of approval.

- Such pretty skin - he whispers, while his other hand starts to caress your stomach, slowly lifting the shirt up.

Liar.

There are acne scars on your cheeks. Moles and freckles litter your shoulders and chest. Scars from all the years of being an unruly child. A razor burn on your leg, where you tried to shave just a bit too quickly. Yet, despite all that, he seems to be enchanted, as his finger encircles you belly button, scratching the soft hair there, before sliding further down.

- Wait - you mutter, finally regaining some resemblance of consciousness.

- I miss having skin like this - theres a bitter chuckle he tried to surpress, and before you know it, he slides off of you.

You still can't move, chest heaving with effort on the wooden floor. He stands up to his full height. His movements are slow and graceful, like a cat that's circling it's prey. There's something unnerving in his gaze, as he watches you from above, like a hawk ready to strike. You try to move again, fingernails scratching the wooden surface, but beside dragging your nails there is little you can do. This suffocating force keeps you planted firmly on the ground, and you seemingly are powerless to fight it. He notices your struggle, eyes lingering on the muscles moving under your skin. Or, he just likes to watch any expanse of uncovered flesh.

Soon, he reaches the tops of your feet, panic truly settles in. You can't see him as well as you would like to, his silhouette barely in your field of vision. What you can make out, however, is his slender hand rising, figers dainty and delicate, as they spread out in the air above you. Another pull of the unfamiliar force, and you can feel your legs move on their own accord, as if being pulled apart from each other.

- Humans - he sighs, sinking down to his knees in between your legs, his hands coming to rest on your ankles.

Your breath catches in your throat, as you watch him go down, a new feeling of anxiety rising in your throat, one, not entirely unpleasant. You eye him curiously, as his hand traverses the expanse of your calf, your denim shorts giving him quite the reach. There is a long scar on the side of your shin, where, years ago, you fell from the tree and broke your leg, bone sticking out grotesquelly. His fingers poke at it, eyebrows scrunching, as he tests the white, jagged flesh. Then, he inspects the bruises and cuts on your knee. His body moves closer, as he presses his cheek to your leg.

- So fragile, so helpless - he looks at you, blue eyes capturing yours in an iron gaze, and he pushes himself further between your legs.

The spell breaks, the moment his eyes shifts to your belt, the true intention of this strange interaction finally becoming clear to you.

- Wait... - you try to crawl away, muscles tensing on the floor, with no possible escape from the unrelenting force paralyzing your body.

Like a snake, the man slides his body up yours, his torso pressing close to your heaving chest. He's quite beautiful for a ghost, with his sharp features and baby blue eyes. Blonde hair frames his head like a halo, but the smile he offers you, is nothing short of devilish.

- I just want to feel - he whispers it, as if the words should bring you any consolation in this horrible situation, and you try to wiggle yourself from under him, yet again, to no avail.

You watch from the corner of your eye, as his head dips down, nose inhaling the scent of your hair. One, you know smells of cigarettes and some cheap shampoo you picked up at a sale from a drug store. Nothing too exquisite, but the way he downright moans in your ear, makes you feel, like you've used Chanel's new fragrance.

It does something to you, you're ashamed to admit it, but every noise coming from this apparition of a man, makes your stomach flip in the most delicious of ways. So, when his hand finally makes quick work of your zipper, before you feel fear, arousal arises in your gut.

And when his slender fingers cross the threshold of your underwear, falling immediately to your bundle of nerves, as if they were made to find it, your back arches from the floor.

He allows it, this small bit of movements, as he begins to work your body in earnest, fingers dipping lower, testing and prodding the entrance, until you start to beg.

Please fall from your half-open mouth, as his other hand climbs the expanse of your stomach, ghosting touches over your ribs, until it grabs your breast like there's no tomorrow.

He watches your through it all, blue eyes swallowing every scrunch of your brow, every moan, every twitch of your body. You're not sure how someone can look so absolutely fascinated, like he's never done this before, and be this skilled, at the same time.

- Please - you choke out, when he switches the positioning of his palm, to grind into you - Please, don't stop.

- Henry, my name is Henry - he mutters into your ear, and you know exactly, why he fed you this information.

You scream his name, when you come. Your broken voice carrying through the aged corridors, mingling with the sounds of creaking wood, the ticking of the ancient grandfather's clock.

There's barely any time to regain your composure. Your vision swims again, as the man, Henry, removes his fingers from your pants, before standing up again. You watch from the floor, as he rises his hand to the light, observing it for a moment. Then, like a scientist on a mission, he places one finger into his mouth. You can see his jaw work as he tastes you.

Then, just as another fire begins to burn deep in your stomach, you blink.

He's gone, you stare at the ceiling, which is quite closer, than you remember. In fact, your nose almost touches the wooden planks. And just as the realization, that you are actually floating up in the air, hits you, you fall.

Morning light shines on your beaten, tired body. And as you lay on the floor, feeling every bruise and scrape, all you can think of, is the angelic man's spirit, trapped in this tragedy of a house.

And the 20 dollars you've just won.

#my writing #requested #answered #peter ballard x reader #peter ballard #stranger things #vecna x reader #001 x reader #henry creel #enry creel x reader #tw: dark fic #all this build up and for what? for a fingerbang and a concussion?#man's unbelievable #thank you again for leaving a request and yet again so sorry for taking so long

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m0mmat0rtle · 3 years

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Turtle’s Masterlist

Here’s my masterlist for all my fellow hoes

About Me

Star Wars Fanfic Discord Server (Please DM me if the link doesn’t work!)

Stranger Things Discord Server (Please DM me if the link doesn’t work!)

Head Cannons:

Star Wars

The Clones During That Time of the Month

The Bad Batch and their Hogwarts Houses

Stranger Things

Stranger Things Characters During That Time of the Month

One Shots

Stranger Things

Peter Ballard

Sugar on Top

Housekeeping

Steve Harrington

Chiquitita

Boobies!

Star Wars

Captain Rex

Forget Me Not

Illustrations Pt. 1

That Would Be Enough

ARC trooper Fives

I Did Something Bad

Some Rescue

Sergeant Hunter

Seize The Day

Star Wars Fics:

Her Voice - Kix

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Star Light - Tech (Completed)

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Waves - Hunter

coming soon

RADICAL - Echo

coming soon

Disney Fics

Encanto:

Stranger- Bruno Madrigal

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter seven

Chapter eight

#masterlist #oneshot #captain rex oneshot #Clone Wars #Clone Troopers #clone wars fanfiction #fives clone wars #star wars fandom #star wars fanfiction #list of fics #list of oneshots #incomplete #work in progress #fanfics #fanfic writing #wattpad writer #fanfic writer #ao3 writer #writer

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weirdletter · 5 years

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Folk Horror Revival: Urban Wyrd – 1. Spirits of Time, edited by Richard Hing, Grey Malkin, Stuart Silver and Andy Paciorek, Wyrd Harvest Press, 2019. Cover art by Grey Malkin, frontispiece by Andy Paciorek, back cover by Jim Peters, info: folkhorrorrevival.com.

Welcome to the Urban Wyrd. Discover Hauntology, Weird Technology & Transport, Hauntings and much much more in the realms of TV, Film, Literature, Art, Culture , Lore and Life. Travel in time and spaces with Adam Scovell, Stephen Volk, Scarfolk, Julianne Regan, Sebastian Backziewicz, Sara Hannant, The Black Meadow and many other contributors. All sales profits from this book purchased from our Lulu bookstore are donated at intervals to The Wildlife Trusts.

Contents: Time: A Foreword Urban Wyrd: An Introduction by Adam Scovell Spectral Echoes: Hauntology's Recurring Themes & Unsettled Landscapes by Stephen Prince Quatermass and the Pit: Unearthing Archetypes at Hobb's End by Grey Malkin The Haunted Generation: An Interview with Bob Fisher On a Thousand Walls: The Urban Wyrd in Candyman by Howard David Ingham Protect and Survive: Dystopian Drama – A Jolly British Apocalypse by Andy Paciorek Back to the Countryside: Urban Witchcraft by Darren Charles The Bad Wires: Reflections on The Changes by Grey Malkin The Hands of Doom: A Short Perspective on Divine Intervention by Leah Crowley Sir Arthur Conan Doyle: The Adventure of the Spiritualist Missionary by Jim Peters A Tandem Effect: Ghostwatch by Jim Moon An Interview with Stephen Volk The Last Key That Unlocks Everything: Ghost Stories by Andy Paciorek A Very Urban Haunting: The Echo of Noisy Spirits by Jim Peters The Cookstown Ghost: Poltergeist Phenomenon in Urban Ulster in the 19th Century by Jodie Shevlin These Houses Are Haunted: Supernatural Dwellings in Film by Andy Paciorek The Photography by Carmit Kodrov Wyrd Technology by Andy Paciorek Voices of the Ether: Stone Tapes, Electronic Voices and Other Ghosts by James Riley Video nasty: Moving Image in The Ring and Sinister by Andy Paciorek An Interview with Richard Littler – Major of Scarfolk The World Falling Apart: Jubilee by Stuart Silver Doll Parts: Marwencol by Andy Paciorek Chocky: The Haunting of Matthew Gore by Grey Malkin The Sun on My Face: Deon Seed by Andy Paciorek The Photography by Sara Hannant A Hive Mind: Phase IV by Andy Paciorek Wired for Sound: The Auditory in Horror by Andy Paciorek "We Want You to Believe In Us, But Not Too Much": UFOs and Folklore by S.J. Lyall A Space Flower: Invasion of the Body Snatchers by Andy Paciorek Under the Skin of the Man Who Fell To Earth by Andy Paciorek Silent Invasions by S.J. Lyall I Am Not A Number: The Prisoner by Stuart Silver All For the Hunting Ground: Wolfen by S.J. Lyall Reclaiming the "f" word: A conversation between The Black Meadow's Chris Lambert and Pilgrim's Sebastioan Baczkiewicz Sounds from a Haunted Ballroom: The Caretaker by Andy Paciorek Uncanny Valley; Spielberg's A.I. by Damian Leslie Sounds and Visions: MKUltra, Number Stations, Hallucinogens and Psychological Experiments in Film by Andy Paciorek Concrete, Flesh, Metal, Blood: The Wolds of Ballard & Cronenberg by Andy Paciorek The Eternal Snicket by Professor Phillip Hull (From an interview with Chis Lambert) The Voice of Electronic Wonder: The Music of Urban Wyrd by Jim Peters Age of the Train: Rail and the Urban Wyrd by Andy Paciorek Mind the Doors: Death Line by S.J. Lyall Step Away From The Meat: The Midnight Meat Train by Andy Paciorek Evil Dream: Q The Winged Serpent by S.J. Lyall These Cities are Ours: Notable Kaiju in Cinema by Richard Hing Weird Rides: Taxis and Urban Uncertainty by William Redwood The Photography by Jackie Taylor "This isn't for Your Eyes" – The Waychers by Richard Hing The Whole World is on Fire: Years and Years by Andy Paciorek Nature and Machine: An Interview with Julianne Regan How Do the Dead Come Back, Mother? Psychomania by Andy Paciorek Urban Wyrd Biographies Wyrd Harvest Press

#journal #folk horror #folk horror revival #urban wyrd #wyrd #weird #hauntology

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becccaaawww1989 · 5 years

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Haunted City

Leaving Pease Auditorium, the brisk fall air breaking through my jacket. I didn’t expect it to get this cold this soon, I give a heavy breath to the air wondering if it was below freezing yet, but no cloud appears. Not below freezing, just damn cold.

Across the street some guy with his pants hanging down past his ass, a clear bottle in his hand is stumbling down the sidewalk yelling at the girls that pass by, he give a whistle or two and they start to walk a little faster. Evan lets out a sigh in disappointment as he says goodbye to the Catholics On Campus people for the time being, and pointing to me he says, “I have to take her home!”

Lilly shouts bye twice. One for Evan, one for me, and the thought crosses my mind to tease slash remind him not to lead her on, but I’m not in the mood to joke around. The drunk across the street shouts again, and Evan lets out a sigh, picking back up on what he was going to say before. “You know, I hate that Ypsi is such a grungy college town. Like, we just walked out of a building hosting a classical orchestra concert, you turn right, you can head towards campus, where it’s probably a little bit more quiet, but it’s still Friday night, and you turn left, you get these drunk bastards on the street...”

I don’t say anything, but he corrects himself, “I shouldn’t say that about them, they are just drunk and probably hurting inside if they let their lives get like that...” I spread my lips to a purse smile, trying to give him the reaction he wants out of me, but I don’t think he can see them, and I don’t really care.

“I just hate that Ypsi’s grungy, I don’t like it.”

I nod again, but all I want to do is respond about how I hate that this city is haunted. Every street, every turn, every building.

Down Ballard on Thursday nights, I can hear Katie and I screaming Oops I Did It Again, with Dave drunkenly following behind. And on Thursday nights, on Perrin St. I can hear little echoes of my 2014 mind coming up with this “cool” idea for a fall scavenger hunt for the gymnastics club, that in retrospect, nobody would actually do. Dave mentions something about getting a photo with Ypsi the clown.

I laugh, and realize Evan isn’t in on the memory so I duck my head down.

On Tuesdays on West Cross Street, I can see Morgan, Trish, Kelsey and Bri walking from the big blue house to Wurst Bar for Bingo night. And if you look in the right window at the right time, maybe you can see Evan and I hooking up on Morgan’s couch. Because A. Fuck Her for never inviting me anywhere, while she invites everyone else in front of me, and B. The me that you would see through the windows on Tuesday nights hooking up with Evan, or eating dinner with Evan or watching a movie with Evan was lonely. There’s a heaviness that comes over my breath, makes it difficult to breathe when I think about her. When I see her in my mind. How often she only told Kelsey and Evan that it bothered her that she was never invited, never in the “roomie” pictures, always left to be alone with Evan. And how she resorted to sex as the only source of love available to her, but the good news for her, was that Evan was staying the night almost every night that year.

To Be Continued...

#beccannewrites

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tsgfortworth · 5 years

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2019 Design Inspirations Event

This year marked the 26th year for Fort Worth’s Design Inspirations Event, a fundraiser supported jointly by volunteers from the Fort Worth Alumnae Associations of Kappa Kappa Gamma and Pi Beta Phi. Gill Children’s Services, Inc. and Rivertree Academy were chosen as this year’s charities.

The event itself, held at Ridglea Country Club, featured over 60 elegant and inspiring tablescapes, creatively designed by local designers, businesses, and individuals. Guests viewed the tables at the Preview Party on Wednesday, February 20th and at the luncheon on Thursday, February 21st, while enjoying a presentation from keynote speaker, James Farmer.

Southern born and bred, James is a gardener, a professional interior designer, gifted chef, and acclaimed author. Farmer’s natural Southern grace and warm personality lights up any room -- and it certainly lit up the Design Inspirations Event! A skilled and entertaining speaker, Farmer is truly a fresh voice for this generation.

Farmer shared stories about his upbringing in a small southern town (“Perry-dise”, Georgia) discussed his love for a good “screen” as a decorative centerpiece (“I screen, you screen, we all screen for a good screen”) and shared the details about why Coral (pronounces “Karl” in Perry) is his favorite color!

James Farmer is the author of the Wall Street Journal best-selling garden book, A Time to Plant, Sip & Savor, Porch Living, Wreaths For All Seasons, A Time To Cook, Dinner on the Grounds, A Time to Celebrate and A Place to Call Home.

A Place to Call Home is his most recent publication and it is also his first interior design book featuring eleven homes from Sea Island to Atlanta to St. Louis and was featured at the event.

We are excited to share some of the most beautiful tables designed by Scouted members! Photography by Elle Boone Photography.

Tina McMackin of Arrange Home Staging designed the stage where keynote speaker, James Farmer, delivered his remarks. The setting was classic and timeless with pieces sourced from antique malls, estate sales, and other specialty shops. These are the types of items included in every staging project by Tina, who has a natural ability to make homes sell faster and for a higher price.

The Scout Guide Fort Worth table featured a beautiful floral design by Katy Lee of Floralee and a combination of wedding china and special pieces passed down in the family belonging to Leigh Brown, Editor/Owner. The best part was the gift bag filled with items contributed by Scouted businesses! Special thanks to these businesses for contributing!

LUX Machine

Clearly Handbags

Bottega Design Gallery

Esther Penn

Hale House

You Are Here

Eyes on Camp Bowie

Michelle Marlow

Mi Casita Preschool

The Pilates Concept

Babies on the Boulevard

Artspace 111

Burt Ladner Real Estate

Simple Things

Inner Light Chiropractic

Interior Designers, Kelley Roberts and Rebecca Atkinson, of Beckley Design Studio, designed their table the same way they would design a room.

To start, they selected an anchor fabric; in this case Schumacher’s Ming Vase in Jade, which was made into a custom table runner. They pulled two accent colors from the fabric – the peacock blue (used in the chairs, china pattern, water glasses, and napkins) and the pink (used in the floral and gift wrap).

The tablecloth was kept neutral and woven seagrass placemats were layered in to add a casual and textural element. The vintage brass bamboo flatware and bamboo chairs are a nod to the Asian motif in the runner. Vintage brass candlesticks and white vases were used to brighten the overall design.

Kelley and Rebecca can see this table residing in a client’s beautiful dining room with a gorgeous Oushak rug underneath and a glowing crystal chandelier above.

The theme for The PlaySpace table was “Willow you come play with us?” In preparation for the “Willow” Park opening this spring! This will be the 2nd location for The PlaySpace in our area, offering an upscale hourly “drop-in play care with purpose” for children ages 6-weeks to 12 years.

Owner, Lindsay Jones, was a member of the Kappa Kappa Gamma sorority at The University of Oklahoma.

“Spring Garden Party” was the inspiration behind the table designed by Jessica McIntyre Interiors. All of the following pieces are available at Jessica’s shop, which is open to the public, located on Camp Bowie:

Black ceramic antique pot by Club Cu,

Tablecloth by Pierre Frey,

Fabric used as the tablecloth,

Decorative bunny cache pots,

Multi colored vases by Bungalow 5,

White/mirror planters

The lemon tree was sourced from Ballard Designs.

Amon Carter Museum of American Art designed this beautiful and elegant table inspired by the 1960s, the decade the museum was founded, featuring pink floral in solid white vessels and shades of pink and orange in the table covering.

The table designed by Artspace 111 was inspired by the art work of local artist, Carol Ivey. The idea was to invoke the still life scenes that she paints. She has a beautiful window in her studio that casts a lovely light. Her still life has a similar quality to the light in her studio. Pieces from her studio were incorporated into the table design and the artist herself helped with the arrangement.

The initial inspiration behind this table, designed by Rebecca Farris of Bottega Design Gallery, started with the wine bottles, which was the favor (along with an agate wine stopper) for the 8 luncheon guests who sat at this gorgeous table. Owner, Rebecca Farris loves traveling to Palm Springs so she used palm leaves and a color palette of pinks, golds, greens and hints of blue. Rebecca very creatively incorporated materials available at Bottega Design Gallery:

The tabletop featured stunning pink and gold wood screen printed tiles.

Gold glass penny round mosaics were used under the plates.

Greenery was provided by The Greenhouse817.

Talented in so many ways, Kori Green and Ro Rynd of LOCAL Design Studios, designed a table to showcase their line of chic clear handbags, Clearly Handbags, launched due to so many venues requiring ladies to wear clear handbags for sporting events, concerts and other special occasions. Table name, “Go Clearly”, mimics the “Go Kappa” tagline since both Ro and Kori were members of the Kappa Kappa Gamma sorority.

“Clear” was echoed through every aspect of their design: clear chairs, fishbowls, napkin rings, plates, glasses, acrylic boxes, and tablecloth. What a fabulous table!

Interior Designer, Stacie McCans of Paxton Place Design, designed this lovely table with a multi-tiered silver branch floral centerpiece. Of course, we love the incorporation of the current edition of The Scout Guide and the use of black which matches the cover color of Volume 5!

The “Muted Modern” design and styling for this lovely tablescape was by Sugarcreek Creative. Sugarcreek Event Rentals provided the rental furniture, florals by Vivienne & Vine, paper by LaneLove Paper Co., and linen by BBJ Linen.

The event was a huge success and raised money for two wonderful charities while inspiring guests to do more with your own beautiful things at home for entertaining and otherwise!

Live Love Local!

xo-Leigh

#design inspirations #tsg fort worth #learn #love #beckley design studio #sugarcreek event rentals #the playspace #clearly handbags #jessica mcintyre interiors #artspace111 #stage with style #bottega design gallery #amon carter museum

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pass-the-bechdel · 5 years

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Dollhouse s02e03 ‘Belle Chose’

Does it pass the Bechdel Test?

Yes, once.

How many female characters (with names and lines) are there?

Five (41.66% of cast).

How many male characters (with names and lines) are there?

Seven.

Positive Content Rating:

Three.

General Episode Quality:

I wish I could like it - I almost could.

MORE INFO (and potential spoilers) UNDER THE CUT:

Passing the Bechdel:

Robyn passes with Megan as they wake up. I think they only manage to pass when they exchange names; otherwise they talk about Terry constantly (including when Terry/Echo shows up).

Female characters:

Echo.

Adelle DeWitt.

Ivy.

Megan.

Robyn.

Male characters:

Terry Karens.

Paul Ballard.

Boyd Langton.

Victor.

Topher Brink.

Edmund Gossen.

Bradley Karens.

OTHER NOTES:

Oh good, just what this show needed! A misogynistic sociopath!

Everyone is talking like this is Ballard’s first time as Echo’s handler (including Ballard), but as far as I can tell, the episodes aren’t out of order, so...I don’t know why this is happening.

The good news is, Michael Hogan.

We’re also doing a thing this episode about how Ballard is distracted by how ~hot~ Echo is and it’s tedious.

UUURRRGGGHHHH, I get that the whole ‘hot for teacher’ cliche is a Thing and Kiki is supposed to be a terrible paper-thin male fantasy, but DAMN, I would feel better about it if the show actually acknowledged it directly, explicitly. They’re drawing a parallel here with Terry Karens’ attitude toward women (Gossen desires what Karens abhors, but both perceive women as objects for their gratification), however, since the show has done such a poor job of condemning objectification-in-fantasy in the past, I don’t feel like I can trust the parallel as intentional: there’s an alternate interpretation whereby we’re supposed to see Gossen’s fantasy about sexually-empowered women as the OPPOSITE of Karens’ hatred, rather than a variation on the same theme. I ASSUME that the parallel is intentional and that the writing is trying to directly imply that Gossen is rubbish, but with a paltering track record of excuses and softening comparisons like this show has got, they can’t afford to be subtle. They gotta try being clear and unequivocal for a while before they earn back the right to subtlety.

Victor as Kiki is delightful though; that’s all Enver Gjokaj.

Echo gets beaten in the head several times with a mallet. That’s two of three (and twelve of sixteen).

Yeah, this episode would play a lot better in a different context, i.e. on a show that was less gleefully hostile to women to begin with, wherein the misogyny could be treated as a truer horror instead of just an intense shade of the desensitising status quo. Even outside the misogyny problem, it’s a bit rich to have moral outrage from pretty much any of these characters; maybe if the show had done better to build the complexity of the ethical code of any of the Dollhouse staff (that thing I was talking about in the season one review, about playing the moral ambiguity too hard to really take a stand on anything? This is a consequence). Funny as it was to have Boyd emphasise that even TOPHER had ethical concerns here, the reality is that all of them are throwing stones in glass houses, they’re just stones of different descriptions. This show could have had all sorts of interesting discussions about the way that the Dollhouse staff justify their own actions to themselves, but they went for ‘but what if sex trafficking could have altruistic purposes?’ as if that’s a genuine question, instead. So, here we are. With Kiki.

#Dollhouse #Dollhouse season two #Bechdel Test #female representation #Belle Chose

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jolieeason · 5 months

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Echoes of Ballard House (Simone Doucet Series: Book 3) by E. Denise Billups

Publisher: Next Chapter Date of publication: November 6th, 2023 Genre: Paranormal, Suspense, Mystery, Thriller Series: Simone Doucet Series Tainted Harvest—Book 1 Wicked Bleu—Book 2 (review here) Echoes of Ballard House—Book 3 Purchase Links: Kindle Goodreads Synopsis: HIDDEN SECRETS. UNEARTHED TRUTHS. Simone Doucet returns in this chilling novel to uncover the sinister truth behind a…

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aspected-benefic · 5 years

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FFXIVwrite2018 - #20 - Two Birds With One Stone

Word Count - 885

Apple yawned as she wrapped her favourite bandana around her head. The incomprehensible, incessant noise of two men yelling grew increasingly louder as she walked towards her farm’s entrance. “What in tarnation is all this hullabaloo about?” she muttered. Her fingers laced her hair into two separate braids. She had a feeling that whatever this commotion was, she would have to deal with it swiftly.

She soon saw the source of the ruckus: two men grown to adulthood in body alone, their attires consisting of colourful wraps that looked like they competed against each other in how creatively they could show off their bare skin. Their cocky grins, raised fists and bouncing stances could only mean one thing. And before Apple could even think of what that was, one more than happily opened his mouth to declare his intentions to anyone within earshot.

“I am Anselmet Addock of the Sparkling Serpent training hall! I am here to challenge the winner of the Fist to Fist Tournament, Apple Gardenia, to a fight!”

“That’d be me, unfortunately…” Apple rubbed her eyes.

As though goaded by Anselmet to sound even more ostentatious, the second spoke even louder than the first. “And I am Lodewicus Ballard, master of the ancient technique, Twin Dragon Fang! I as well wish to challenge the heir to Farm Fu to a fight!”

Apple groaned and scratched the back of her head, shifting her weight to her other foot. “Y’all got nothin’ better t’do than stand in front of someone’s house and call attention to yerselves? Yer disturbin’ the livestock. Hell, yer disturbin’ the trees! Them oranges gonna grow up rotten!”

The two challengers said nothing. They believed that their spirits would surely burn through Apple’s reluctance.

Which it did. “Eh, well. In accordance to the ancient art of Farm Fu, I’ll accept yer challenges. Together. To save time. Then I can go back to bed. Girl needs some sleep before she starts lumberin’, ya know?” Apple yawned again.

“Oh, don’t worry, this will be quick.” Anselmet steeled his guard.

“I agree. One taste of my Twin Dragon Fang and you will be writhing on the floor for mercy.”

Apple stretched. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m startin’ t’regret goin’ to that tournie thing in the first place. Eh, whatever. Bring it.” She also raised her fists into a fighting stance. Her tired expression melted away to reveal the narrowed, sharp gaze of her serious focus.

Anselmet dashed in first at blinding speed with a shoulder tackle. Apple barely managed to sidestep out of the way, only to be met by another flurry of rapid spearhand jabs.

“The serpent slithers its way into the opponent’s defenses. Beware of its bite.” Anselmet grinned.

Apple wrinkled her nose as she dodged each strike. “I’m more wary of its mornin’ breath.” She fanned the area in front of her nose.

As Anselmet charged in, Lodewicus’ eyes gleamed. Unknown to the other two, Lodewicus had been secretly building up his qi during the banter, and now he reached his peak. He felt the twin dragons within him surge with power. He held both his hands forward, his hands glowing with an unaspected element of energy. “Take this! Ancient Technique: Twin Dragon Fang!”

A giant beam of energy shot forth from Lodewicus’ hands. Even Anselmet raised his arm to steel himself from getting blown away in the blast. The sound of shattering wood echoed throughout the vicinity. When the dust cleared, Lodewicus lowered his hands and grinned triumphantly at the wreckage. What was once a simple wooden outhouse had been reduced to rubble.

However, amidst that rubble, one important factor remained to be seen. The most important factor.

Apple herself.

Lodewicus felt a strong grip clutch the side of his head. As well, Anselmet felt the same grip on the other side of his head. They felt an unstoppable force pushing them towards each other like magnets of opposing polarization.

“Farm Fu Secret Technique: Clash of the Charging Aldgoats!”

Akin to the behaviour of male aldgoats who charge at any opposing force, head first and horns bared, this secret Farm Fu technique required decisiveness, accuracy, speed and strength. Decisiveness to pull off the technique, as the movement required no hesitation on the practitioner's part. Accuracy to grab not one, but two opponents in one fell swoop. Speed to push the opponents with the force of a charging aldgoat. And strength to generate a force so unstoppable, no opponent will be able to recover. In the background, the very image of two aldgoats clashed at each other as Apple channeled their energy.

And knocked the two hyurs’ heads together.

Upon collision, Apple opened her hands wide. The two men dropped to the ground, unconscious. Apple sighed and shook her head. Kneeling to the ground, she slung her would-be opponents over her shoulders--one hyur per shoulder.

***

“And don’t come back!”

Apple chucked the two hyurs in front of a few local yellowjackets. Without offering the officers any explanation, she dusted off her hands and stormed back to her farm. The yellowjackets stared at the two unconscious men and collectively scratched the back of their heads. They had become accustomed to Apple dumping off the bodies of unconscious monks by their feet, and they had a feeling that this incident wouldn’t be the last.

#ffxiv #FFxivWrite2018 #apple gardenia #good luck i'm behind 500 alts

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