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cornfields-and-bad-dreams · 2 years

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hey man 👋🏼 i seen ur asks r open if u still write for heisenberg can i request him w a goth s/o? like takes him on dates to the local cemetary, shows up @ his factory w a random crow they befriended n r keeping as a pet type goth

I'm sorry this took so long, I started to hyper-fixate on D&D at one point and then other stuff happened. But it's finally finished.

Rating: Ten and Up

Warnings: Violence

Word Count: 4,015

The cool night air chilled you to the bone, but you liked it that way. You sat quietly in the cemetery, listening to the breeze blowing through the trees. You enjoyed the quiet nights in the cemetery, you got to be alone with your thoughts and surrounded by people all at the same time. Most importantly you could be close to your grandmother, she seemed to be the only person who ever understood you, or accepted you at that. Ever since she passed you'd felt alone in the world, even your parents didn't seem to get you. You were a bit different compared to the others in the village. You preferred to wear nearly all black and took interest in things that were more macabre, things like death fascinated you. You'd even tried to apply to work under the village mortician, but you were turned away, told that it wasn't very ladylike to work with the dead. That was another thing that separated you from others, the women in the village usually didn't attend school past the 5th grade, instead, they were expected to learn to take care of the house and raise children, cook, clean, sew or knit. But you craved knowledge and had no interest in the idea of raising children or even getting married. You had nothing against marriage or children, but there was no one who you were interested in romantically and no one who was interested in you. A lot of the men in the village were taken aback by your appearance and behavior, as well as intimidated by your intelligence.

Sitting at the foot of your grandmother's grave you held a book in your hands, next to you was a lantern so you could read. You sat there reading for some amount of time, your mind lost amongst the pages, so much so that you filtered out the sound of approaching footsteps until they were nearly right behind you. With sudden realization, you whipped around to be met with the looming figure of none other than Lord Heisenberg. Your eyes went wide and your mouth went dry, standing up you dusted off your dress and bowed lightly trying not to make eye contact with the Lord.

"My Lord, what brings you to the cemetery at this time of night?" You wrung your hands nervously.

"I could ask you the same thing." He plucked a cigar from his lips as smoke billowed out.

"I find it to be most peaceful at night, perfect for reading. Wouldn't you agree?" You picked your book up off the ground, running your hand over the cover.

"It's rude not to look at someone when you're speaking to them." Lord Heisenberg huffed.

snapping up to look at him you gave a soft yelp.

"S-sorry my Lord. I meant nothing by it."

Lord Heisenberg stood in silence for a moment, you couldn't see his eyes behind his sunglasses but you could feel them on you. Undoubtedly he was looking you over.

"I'm sure you didn't." There was a slight laugh to his words.

You both stood there a moment in silence. You noted that the Lord had a shovel slung over his shoulder, you could guess what he was there for, but you rather didn't like thinking about it.

"I suppose you're right." He looked around "It is rather nice for reading here, quiet."

You smiled and nodded, holding your book close to your chest.

"Very much so. Plus," you looked down at your grandmother's grave "it's nice to be with my grandmother."

Lord Heisenberg shifted from one foot to the other, scratching his chin he looked off over the village.

"Yes, well." He paused, seemingly looking for something to say. "What book are you reading." He looked back at you.

"It's a collection of works by Edgar Allan Poe. I quite enjoy his stories and poems." You smiled towards the Lord.

"I'm not familiar with his works. I'm not a huge reader myself." Lord Heisenberg spoke with a tone of embarrassment in his voice.

You smiled softly and took a step closer to the Lord.

"That's alright, I'm sure you have much more important things than reading. If you're not careful you can lose yourself in the world of literature, I know I have plenty of times."

"You say that as if it's a bad thing. I might not be an avid reader but even I can understand the magic of reading."

You nodded your head, looking down at your book you bit your lip then looked back up at Lord Heisenberg shyly.

"I know you're a busy man but, would you want to join me? I'd be happy to read for you."

The Lord's jaw seemed to drop in surprise, he fumbled with words for a moment before recollecting himself. Clearing his throat he answered.

"I suppose I could spare some time."

Placing the shovel on the ground Heisenberg sat down in front of you, smiling you joined him. Opening your book you began the story you'd been reading over again. Lord Heisenberg sat and listened to you read for some time, soon the lantern began to grow dim and you grew tired.

"I'm afraid I need to return home. It's getting rather late." You yawned.

"Oh, of course. Thank you for reading to me." Heisenberg stood up, holding out his hand to help you up as well.

Taking his hand he pulled you up to your feet.

"It was no trouble, my Lord."

"Still, it was very nice of you." He spoke softer now.

"Good night Lord Heisenberg."

You bowed and started to take your leave, as you reached the gate of the cemetery you stopped and looked back.

"Lord Heisenberg?" You called.

"Yes?"

"My grandmother meant a lot to me, and I take great comfort in visiting her here. I'd be dreadfully upset if something were to happen to her."

Saying your words you turned and left, leaving Heisenberg alone standing in the cemetery.

Heisenberg stood there a moment, thinking over your words. He knew what you meant, you were asking him to leave her grave untouched. Picking up his shovel he huffed.

"Why should I listen to some random girl?"

Still, he stood a moment in silence, thinking.

"It was rather nice of her to read to me, perhaps I do owe her one little favor."

Returning home you entered quietly so as not to disturb your parents, carefully you placed your book on your shelf and readied yourself for bed. Crawling in under the covers you pulled them over yourself and laid your head to rest. Your mind wandered to the thought of Lord Heisenberg, you certainly knew what was to be found in the morning, still, a part of you hoped he'd understood your words and listened. Certainly, he wasn't heartless.

When you woke up you found the village to be in a state of shock, a few graves had been dug up during the night and the bodies stolen, thankfully though your grandmother's grave had been untouched. The question raced through the village as to who could have done this. You debated whether to say you'd seen Lord Heisenberg, but a part of you felt like protecting him. While there was nothing the villagers could do against him, the fear crossed your mind that Mother Miranda may punish him in some way. Thus you kept your mouth shut. For about a week guards were stationed at the graveyard and eyes were kept peeled for strange behavior. You stayed away from the graveyard for a while, even after things had calmed down, but eventually, you felt safe enough to make your occasional visits.

It was about a month later that you found yourself meeting Lord Heisenberg again. As before you sat in the graveyard reading a book at your grandmother's grave when the sound of footsteps approached. Looking up you found it to be the Lord. Giving him a nervous smile you greeted him, standing up and giving a bow.

"Hello my Lord, it's pleasant to see you again."

Lord Heisenberg nodded, giving a grunt.

"Pleasent surprise to see you too. Reading again I presume?"

You nodded, holding up your book.

"Yes, it's a collection of works by a man named H.P. Lovecraft. I recently came across the book and decided to give it a read. His work is a little questionable but I've read worse." You paused a moment, looking up at him you held the book tightly. "W-would you want me to read for you again?" You asked hesitantly.

Lord Heisenberg shifted his weight from one foot to the other, scratching his chin he seemed to be in thought.

"Well, I suppose, it was rather enjoyable the last time."

Smiling softly you sat down on the grass, you were quickly joined by Lord Heisenberg. Opening the book you began to read to Heisenberg again.

Once again you grew tired, and the lantern dimmed. After finishing the story you were reading you yawned.

"Tired?" Heisenberg asked.

"I'm afraid so, I apologize, I wish I could read to you more." You closed the book and looked toward Lord Heisenberg.

"Nothing to apologize for." Lord Heisenberg stood up, extending his hand to pull you up as well.

Taking his hand he pulled you to your feet. For a moment you stood holding his hand, he even seemed to give a soft squeeze. You quickly realized your hands were still entwined and you pulled yours away.

"I should really be going, I hope you have a wonderful night my Lord." You blushed.

"Same to you." Heisenberg tipped his hat.

Giving a bow you collected your things and departed.

Lord Heisenberg watched as you left, a strange yearning in the back of his mind to follow you. He pushed the thought away and huffed.

"Weird girl, getting in my head." Heisenberg then began to do what he'd come for in the first place, more body snatching.

As he worked he would periodically look over to your grandmother's grave, an odd feeling bubbling up in the pit of his stomach whenever he did.

"Gah." He exclaimed. "What has gotten into me?"

Safely making it inside you made sure the door was locked behind you before you retired to your room. Placing your book on your shelf you readied yourself for bed. Getting in under the covers you lay in bed while your mind returned to Lord Heisenberg. You'd only met the man twice so far but already you were starting to feel an odd connection between the two of you, yet your understanding of what it was he was doing in the cemetery left you feeling uncomfortable. Still, the man seemed genuinely interested in your books, unlike others in the village. It did feel nice to have someone to read to. Eventually, you fell asleep, your conflicted feelings following you into your dreams.

Once again the village was in a state of shock, more graves had been defiled in the night, their occupants missing. You feigned shock as to not draw attention to yourself. The village was on high alert, any odd behavior resulted in heavy interrogation. You felt like you had more eyes on you than usual, though no one had questioned you so far. You did your best to keep up a usual routine, worried that any slip-up might cause you great trouble.

The cemetery was kept under careful watch, men in the village taking shifts to guard it. You could tell that this time around things would not be going back to normal any time soon. It was nearly a month later and you'd grown restless, being unable to visit the cemetery left you on edge. You thought over the situation and came to the conclusion that if you couldn't read in the cemetery at night you'd just have to find somewhere else to read.

Night fell over the village and you waited for your family to fall asleep before grabbing a book and heading off. Careful to avoid being seen you made your way into the woods and searched for a peaceful spot to settle down. Coming across a fallen tree you sat down on the trunk and began to read. But it wasn't too long afterward that the sound of snapping branches caught your attention. Fear washed over you at the thought of what could possibly be out there, wolves? Bears? You regretted not bringing some form of weapon. The sounds drew nearer and your heart rate quickened. Whatever was out there was just beyond a bush, any moment now it would emerge. Closing your eyes you waited to be attacked but instead, a gruff voice spoke.

"What are you doing out here?"

Opening your eyes you were met by Lord Heisenberg, a look of confusion plastered across his face. Despite it just being Heisenberg your heart rate kept its quick beat. You felt yourself blush and your stomach tied in knots.

"I-I, I'm reading." You spoke softly.

"All the way out here?" Lord Heisenberg stepped closer to you, gesturing to the woods around you.

"The cemetery is under watch. I can't go there anymore."

"It is, is it? Well, that puts a damper on my plans." The Lord's face scrunched up in displeasure.

You sat a moment watching him, he looked off into the distance and gave a sigh. Turning back to you he cocked his head.

"So you decided to come all the way out here to read?" He smirked. "You want to be closer to me?"

"What?" His question confused you.

Lord Heisenberg chuckled.

"We're not too far from my factory." Heisenberg looked around. "I suppose it's easy to lose your sense of direction out here, plus you can't really see it out here in the thick woods."

"We're near your factory?" Your eyes went wide and once again you blushed.

"That's what I just said ain't it?" He seemed a bit annoyed at the question but not too terribly. "So, you're reading, huh?"

"Yes." You paused looking down at the book. "I'm rereading one of my favorites."

"What is it?"

"Bram Stoker's Dracula."

Heisenberg nodded.

"Never heard of it, is it any good?"

"Oh, it's wonderful, I've read it many times and every time I fall in love with it even more." You smiled.

"Passionate I see." The Lord laughed.

Chuckling lightly your grip on the book tightened, taking a deep breath you looked up at Heisenberg shyly.

"You wouldn't want to hear it would you? I could start from the beginning."

Lord Heisenberg seemed to choke on air, coughing a moment before catching his breath. He cleared his throat and tugged on the hem of his shirt.

"Well, uh." He paused a moment and swallowing he nodded. "Sure, that, sounds nice."

You gave him a smile and patted the space next to you on the tree. Heisenberg took a seat next to you and you began to read. A few hours later the lantern had grown dim and you were tired.

"I'm afraid it's getting a bit late. I'm sorry to cut off here but I really must get some sleep." You yawned.

Lord Heisenberg stood up and as before he held out his hand to help you.

"That's fine. A young woman like you needs her beauty sleep." He joked.

You blushed and laughed, taking his hand he pulled you to your feet.

"Thank you, my Lord."

Heisenberg paused a moment looking down at you, finally, he spoke.

"You can just call me Heisenberg." His voice was soft, with an air of uncertainty to it.

"Oh, if that's what you want." You looked up at him, a warm smile enveloping his face.

You smiled back, and for a moment the two of you stood in silence just looking at each other. Eventually, you yawned.

"I'm sorry." You spoke. "I really should be getting home."

"Why don't I walk you back to the village? I'd hate for you to get lost out here." He gestured in what you assumed was the direction of the village.

"That would be very kind of you."

In the low light of the lantern, you swore you saw him blush, but it was probably just your imagination. Heisenberg led the way back to the village, all the while you talked about the book. Eventually, you found yourself in front of your home.

"Home already?" You spoke under your breath, disappointment in your voice. "Thank you for walking me home Lor-" You caught yourself. "Heisenberg."

Giving a bow you started up the steps of the house, but a hand gently took your arm, halting you. Looking back you found Heisenberg to have a nervous look to him.

"Yes?" Your voice was soft.

"Would, would you want to do this again? Reading for me I mean."

Butterflies danced in your stomach, a part of you was nervous at the idea but another part screamed for you to say yes.

"I'd love to." Your voice was eager, and the words slipped off your tongue before you could realize what you were saying.

Heisenberg took a breath he seemed to have been holding.

"How about Sunday nights. I'll meet you at the fallen tree, do you think you can find it again?"

"Sure, we can meet around midnight, if that's alright with you?"

"Of course, midnight is perfect." Heisenberg smiled.

"Then it's set. I'm looking forward to our meetings." You gave him a big grin.

"Goodnight." Heisenberg tipped his hat and started off.

You stood a moment, watching him disappear into the night before going inside.

Heisenberg's cheeks flushed red as he made his way through the village. He'd nearly had a heart attack at asking to see you again, and you saying yes? Well, it made his heart skip a beat. You made him feel funny, but oddly enough it felt good? Heisenberg wasn't one for emotions, at least ones other than anger, but you made him feel happy, happier than he'd ever been. He just had to see more of you.

The next Sunday you found yourself at the fallen tree. Heisenberg was already there. Sitting down beside him you began to read. As usual, you read until you were tired and the lamp was dim. And once again Heisenberg walked you home. For months this was your routine until slowly it started to change. The two of you began to talk before you'd get into the book, at first it was polite conversation, then it started to grow into more in-depth ones. You'd talk about things you wouldn't normally share with others, even your own parents. It wasn't one-sided either, Heisenberg himself began to open up to you, share with you feelings and thoughts he obviously kept to himself. Eventually, he even asked you to call him Karl. A year since you'd begun meeting and the two of you felt like old friends, sometimes you wouldn't even get to the book, you'd just spend the night talking. Karl seemed to understand you, to accept you for who you were and what you liked. You felt seen.

You were not quite aware of how seen you were.

You sat at the fallen tree waiting for Karl, you thumbed through your book of poems noting which ones you thought he'd enjoy. Rustling caught your attention, you smiled expecting Karl to emerge from the bushes but were horrified when instead a group of villagers appeared.

"There you are." A man you recognized as Father Enescu spoke.

"W-what are you doing here?" You nearly fell backward off the tree.

"Following you of course, Mr. Adamache told me about how he saw you going into the woods on Sunday nights, I didn't want to believe it was true but here you are plain as day."

The villagers behind him grumbled together in response.

"So what?" You stood up, trying to put on a brave face "Is there some law against going into the woods at night?"

"No, but it sure is suspicious." Father Enescu huffed. "We suspect you're taking part in witchcraft or demonry. You are an odd one, and I wouldn't put it past you to be in league with the devil."

"No such thing!" You exclaimed.

"We'll see about that." Father Enescu grabbed you by the arm and started to drag you back in the direction of the village.

"Let go!" you yelled attempting to pull yourself from his grip.

You two struggled a moment before you kicked out hitting him square between the legs. Father Enescu doubled over in pain and before you could react the angry mob lunged forward to seize you. Pushing you down to your knees two men held you down by your shoulders as a third man raised a newly sharpened ax. The metal glinted in the moon light as it began to drop, you closed your eyes waiting for impact. It never came. Gasps filled the air, opening your eyes you saw the ax inches away from your head, the man clearly struggling to force it down. But instead, the ax was pulled from his hand by an invisible force and swung around to catch the man in the leg. He fell to the ground, the ax now embedded in his fibula.

"What the hell, do you think you're doing?" A familiar voice rang out.

The villagers turned, the two men letting go of you as they spotted Karl.

"L-lord Heisenberg?" Someone exclaimed.

You could see Karl's shoulders rising with each heavy breath, his hammer in his right hand, and his face pulled into a scowl.

"I said what the HELL do you think you're DOING?"

Father Enescu had gotten back onto his feet, albeit a bit unsteadily.

"My lord, we were just dealing with this girl, we suspect she's participating in witchcraft." He grabbed you by your hair, pulling you up.

You yelped in pain, this only made Karl even angrier.

"Let her go." Karl stomped forward until he was right in front of the Father.

"E-excuse me?" He stuttered his grip lightning, yet not fast enough for Karl's liking.

Karl grabbed the man's wrist and twisted it, the sound of bones cracking filling the air. The rest of the villagers had begun to back away, quickly getting the hint that you were off-limits. Pushing Father Enescu away from you Karl turned to you. Raising his gloved hand gently it hovered beside your face before cupping your cheek.

"Are you alright?" His voice was suddenly soft and scared.

"Y-yeah." You spoke softly, your voice cracking a bit.

"Good. Excuse me a moment then."

Turning back around, Heisenberg surveyed the frightened villagers, a few of them helping the Father to his feet.

"If you're wise you'll go back to your homes now, and forget this ever happened." Karl raised his hammer bringing it down into his other hand.

The villagers nodded and ran off back home. Turning to you once again Karl dropped his hammer and pulled you into a tight hug. You were taken by surprise but melted into the hug. Holding onto Karl you began to cry. He held you closely, rubbing circles into your back.

"It's alright, I'm here. I'm not letting anything hurt you."

"I can't go back, I just cant." You cried.

"Of course you're not going back, you're coming to live with me," Karl said rather sternly.

"What?" You looked up at him confused.

"I want you to live with me. I, I've been thinking about it for a while. You said no one else understands you or appreciates you in the village. But I do. And, I, I love you." Karl looked down away from you.

Placing your hand on his cheek you guided him to look at you.

"It's rude not to look at someone when you're talking to them." You laughed lightly.

Karl chuckled and leaned in, connecting his lips with yours.

Standing there in the moonlight it felt unreal, but your tight grip on Karl proved that it was in fact real. Your heart fluttered and your head spun. But you liked it. You both did.

#karl heisenburg x reader #karl heisenberg #re8 #re8 x reader #resident evil #my writing

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p5x-theories · 8 months

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Do we have any ideas for what bird or birds Leucothea Is based on? The black makes me think of a crow or raven (might be relevant because Poe was name dropped in Beneath the Mask.) the tail is very brightly yellow making me think of canaries maybe the white bird isn’t a dove but a canary (in the coal mine) since white canaries exist. Yet another omen of danger. Not necessarily apocalyptic though. The mask/beak is giving me some sort of parrot. So intelligent birds with skills of mimicry and birds used to protect humans/human institutions associated with bad omens and death.

Hmm, maybe! Those are probably the first three birds that come to mind for me, too, though admittedly I'm not great at bird identification.

I thought to check it, and the SMT Wiki actually suggests something else. I think they might be onto something: "The caged bird on Leucothea's hat and her feather-laden design may be a reference to Byssa, a woman in Greek mythology who refused to honor Athena, Artemis and Hermes. As punishment, she was transformed into a Byssa bird, considered sacred to Leucothea. This bird is theorized to either be an owl, given its name's similarity to words referring to them, or a seabird such as a gull or shearwater given its sacredness to a sea goddess."

Honestly, the first thing that came to mind for me with the caged bird in Leucothea's design, along with the information that Seiji's parents are rich but evidently aren't very close with him, is the typical "caged bird" motif for a character that isn't allowed to spread their wings and fly on their own, so to speak. We see it with Yukiko in P4 as well- her family has a specific idea of what they want for her and her future, which she feels like she gets no say in. She's not allowed to do what she wants or try things for herself, let alone really leave Inaba to figure that out, so her Shadow's monster form is a caged bird. I could see Seiji being in a similar situation, though maybe in his case it's more a desire for genuine affection, and a cage of how he was raised/his parents' expectations?

#askmarietheapprentice #leucothea #fleuret #theories

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dweemeister · 6 months

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The Abominable Dr. Phibes (1971)

In the late 1950s and 1960s, American International Pictures (AIP) was a minor Hollywood studio with an outsized reputation. AIP, which made nothing but low-budget pictures and B-movies during its existence, focused on cornering the market for teenagers and young adults. Rather than making an endless string of superhero movies, AIP instead relied on its Beach Party series and related films (1963-1967) and inexpensive horror movies (usually involving producer/director Roger Corman). One of AIP’s mainstays for its coterie of horror films was none other than Vincent Price. A longtime character actor for 20th Century Fox, Price had only begun to regularly feature in horror films beginning with House of Wax (1953). From there, he became a regular on AIP’s Edgar Allan Poe adaptations (very loose adaptations, mind you) under Corman’s direction. No matter how dastardly Price’s characters schemes were in his numerous horror films, Price’s almost effortless charm always pored through, to the point that one cannot help but root for his schemes to succeed.

Though Roger Corman was not involved in The Abominable Dr. Phibes (Phibes rhymes with “bribes”), a portion of Price’s fans point to his performance here in the title role as the Vincent Price-iest of all. In this darkly comedic horror film directed by former production designer Robert Fuest (the 1961-1969 TV series The Avengers, director on 1970’s Wuthering Heights), the film’s deliberate campiness demands more absurd motivations, plot developments, and aesthetic choices than some viewers might be comfortable with. In short, this is not the ideal introduction to Vincent Price or AIP’s horror movies. To enjoy the first Phibes film is to be in on the joke, to accept the film’s inherent silliness.

The opening credits help set that mood. As they roll, Dr. Phibes (Price) ascends from beneath a flight of stairs, playing on organ Felix Mendelssohn’s “War March of the Priests” from Athalie. His only company in this fiendish lair are his tall, silent assistant Vulnavia (Virginia North) and his animatronic band, the Dr. Phibes Clockwork Wizards. Reported killed in a Switzerland car accident in 1921 alongside his wife Victoria, Phibes (who carries heavy facial scars and lost his speaking voice in the crash) is hellbent on seeking revenge against the British doctors who presided over Victoria’s failed surgery. Instead of going to therapy, Phibes murders the doctors instead. One after another, the doctors die in increasingly elaborate ways – each homicide inspired by one of the ten Plagues of Egypt as described in the Book of Exodus. After the third doctor dies, Scotland Yard finally begins connecting the dots under Inspector Harry Trout (Peter Jeffrey). Trout soon realizes that the deceased were all directed by Dr. Vesalius (Joseph Cotten). This revelation only begins to unearth Phibes’ wicked plot.

Elsewhere, Hugh Griffith plays a helpful Rabbi and Terry-Thomas plays one of the doctors. Derek Godfrey and John Cater play Inspector Trout’s superiors, Crow and Weaverly, respectively. Aubrey Woods, whom most know as Bill the Candy Man from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (1971), plays an eyewitness named Goldsmith.

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The screenplay by William Goldstein (who returned for the sequel), James Whiton (his only major writing credit), and Fuest, is no one’s idea of sensible, intelligently structured writing. The transitions between the scenes involving Phibes, his assistant, and the victims to Scotland Yard and Dr. Vesalius are untidy. Goldstein, Whiton, and Fuest attempt to make more of a mystery out of this film than they should, but it only serves to make the investigatory half of the film as a dumping ground of expository dialogue. The scenes with Phibes are the zanier, far more interesting parts of the screenplay – even though the character can no longer speaker (the writers engineer an inexplicable workaround, but this unlikely development can have a pass in the context of this bizarre work). For the scriptural scholars among us, some of the stylish killings of the unsuspecting doctors take liberties with the stated Ten Plagues of Egypt. Though perhaps unacceptable to those demanding strict adherence to the holy texts, the thematic divergences of those murders are still so cockamamie that most viewers probably do not mind.

Dr. Phibes’ murders would make Jigsaw from the Saw series (2004-present) proud. To be clear, The Abominable Dr. Phibes is not a slasher film (a subgenre that was beginning to find its foundations by the early 1970s), but it contains elements that would become slasher hallmarks – an individual committing several revenge killings due to a past event, a sort of catharsis (in later slasher movies, sexual gratification) in the act of killing, and unusual manners of murder. Instead of horrifying the viewer with the wanton death, it is Vincent Price’s performance that keeps The Abominable Dr. Phibes within the confines of comedic horror. Due to reasons that I do not wish to spoil, Price’s Phibes scarcely makes a facial expression aside from his default, neutral gaze. His gait is deliberate and steady. Without the possibility of any facial muscular contortions or Price’s trademark smirk, so much of Price’s performance is through his eyes. From his thousand-yard stares, contemptuous gazes, world weary looks, and bemused glances, Price provides an enormous amount of the film’s soul and tenor with so little of his body. This sounds like a silent film director’s dream, but Price’s performance is a commanding one, in any era. His Dr. Phibes may not be in full control of his movements (thanks to Trevor Crole-Rees’ excellent makeup design), but Price is always fully in control of his acting. No surprise to anyone who knows Price’s work – always dependable to provide his utmost effort, no matter how dire the material.

The screenplay, nevertheless, keeps some emotional distance between the audiences and the title character. Though the film’s absurdity allows the viewer to scrap their sense of morality while watching Phibes slaughter each of the doctors, Phibes’ psychology is inaccessible until the film’s second half. The filmmakers, by not prioritizing Phibes’ mindset as much as they could, continually frame him as the villain amid bumbling detectives, the privileged victims (ensuring that the viewer cares not too much about their deaths), and the prideful Dr. Vesalius (whose hubris erodes as the film progresses, revealing his desperate humanity).

If anybody could be considered a co-lead here, that would be Joseph Cotten as Dr. Vesalius. The underrated and undermentioned Cotten, not at all known for his horror work and more for his collaborations with Orson Welles (namely 1941’s Citizen Kane and 1942’s The Magnificent Ambersons), performs ably here. Cotten replaced Price’s friend, Peter Cushing (Grand Moff Tarkin in 1977’s Star Wars, a regular as Baron Frankenstein and Van Helsing in Hammer horror movies), after Cushing fell ill. Cushing would have been ideal in the role, but never does Cotten act as if the unconvincing dialogue is beneath him, even if he doesn’t attempt to hide his American accent. As Dr. Vesalius, Cotten wonderfully inhabits his character’s desperation as his colleagues meet their ends, as if prophesied.

Set designer Brian Eatwell (1973’s The Three Musketeers, 1976’s The Man Who Fell to Earth) runs rampant with his design to Phibes’ lair. A curious combination of art deco and the garishness of 1970s colors serves the film’s ludicrousness. I am not sure how livable Phibes’ abode is – there are nary any bedrooms or any other amenities depicted – but the central chamber could be an ideal place for a raucous, demented soiree. Vulnavia’s ever-changing wardrobe in each of her scenes is also a delight, thanks to costume designer Elsa Fennell (1964’s Goldfinger, 1971’s Diamonds Are Forever). Perhaps there isn’t too much of association between campy costumes and sets with heartrending motives for murder, but that is exactly what transpires in The Abominable Dr. Phibes.

In addition, a laughably anachronistic soundtrack of swing jazz and Great American Songbook standards dot the film. I was not prepared for the appearance of either Mendelssohn’s “War March of the Priests” nor the legendary song that rounds out the closing credits. Phibes’ introduction while playing the former on organ readies the viewer not to take everything that is about to unfold seriously. For the latter song (again, I dare not spoil this), a brilliant solo trumpet takes the easily recognizable melody and swings it. Lyrically, this song’s placement in the end credits is fitting for what happens to Phibes. But I could not help but laugh the moment I heard the opening notes – a fitting send-off to a gleefully daft movie.

When The Abominable Dr. Phibes arrived in theaters, its poster showed the mutilated Dr. Phibes appearing as if he is about to kiss a woman. Above them read the tagline: “Love means never having to say you’re ugly.” This was a reference to Love Story (1970), with its (in)famous tagline and in-movie quote: “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.” The marketing for The Abominable Dr. Phibes confused audiences – was it a romance? horror? parody? – and the film struggled initially before AIP retooled its advertising to market the film as a horror film. On its low budget, the film was successful enough to warrant AIP to greenlight a sequel, Dr. Phibes Rises Again (1972). That sequel marked the beginning of the end of Price’s association with AIP, due to conflicts over his pay (while AIP’s box office fortunes were dwindling), his lack of satisfaction with the scripts coming his way (not even Price wanted to star in two Dr. Goldfoot movies in two years), and AIP’s plans to replace him with Robert Quarry as their primary horror star.

In the years since the film’s debut in cinemas, The Abominable Dr. Phibes has garnered a deserved cult status. There was no stopping Vincent Price from leaving AIP, but AIP – with their Robert Quarry plans not even a secret – somehow undervalued the actor who was their principal attraction through the 1960s. An essential in Price’s filmography, The Abominable Dr. Phibes defies genre conventions, genre categorization, and any semblance of rationality. For those looking for some bloody horror as the mercury drops, look no further than here. The first Dr. Phibes films guarantees murders with a wink and, though not a smile, an animatronic band playing hits that have yet to be composed.

My rating: 7/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog. Half-points are always rounded down.

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

#The Abominable Dr. Phibes #Robert Fuest #Vincent Price #Joseph Cotten #Peter Jeffrey #Virginia North #Hugh Griffith #Terry Thomas #Derek Godfrey #John Cater #Aubrey Woods #William Goldstein #James Whiton #Sean Bury #John Laurie #Trevor Crole-Rees #Maurice Kaufmann #TCM #My Movie Odyssey

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writing-good-vibes · 9 months

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corey likes to feed crows so they'll bring him little gifts. Bo hates it because the crows will fly around and steal little trinkets off of the wax figures

corey does so many things around town that irritate bo, but feeding the wildlife is probably the most infuriating lol

haddonfield wasn't exactly abundant in wild animals, besides the usual suburban staples, but out in ambrose (which is a lot more rural), it's pretty important not to entice any critters that might cause problems.

crows are pretty harmless, in the grand scheme of things, and corey will sit on the front porch or stretch his legs on the garage forcourt and toss his crumbs to a couple of crows that hang around. soon the numbers grow and there's a murder that flies over regularly. crows are intelligent, and mimic humans a lot. corey gives them crumbs and later more substantial scraps) so they bring him leaves and pebbles and bottlecaps in return. corey isn't a trinket collector, but he keeps the gifts they bring him in a bowl on the back porch so they're tidy and out of the way, but he doesn't feel bad about getting rid of them.

eventually, with the crows making their home in town, they start picking at things, at the statues and the storefronts, congregating in the middle of the street where corey tossed a handful of bird seed. it irritates bo to no end, and he will scold corey for encouraging them, but he also doesn't mind so much when corey builds a feeder for them.

vincent is actually less annoyed than you might expect, he's watched the crow (1994) literally hundreds of times, and is the biggest edgar allan poe fan this side of the mississippi, so the overall gothic visuals the crows bring are right up vincent's alley. honestly, if he could tame one he would, but for now he settles on watching them circle the museum, their dark bodies silhouetted against the dusky sky.

#ask #corey cunningham #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x corey cunningham #house of wax 2005

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generoussheepchild · 1 month

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Crows Services

After Danny died he noticed that some animals had become more attached to him while others had moved away. Aggressive or death related animals seemed to react positively to his presence, although friendlier animals such as birds tended to fly away.

Of course, none of this prepared him for the number of crows that landed on his window daily. At first he was scared that they would consider him a corpse and try to eat him but after the third time they brought him a shiny object he assumed they just liked him.

Those crows became very fond of him, they let him pet them, they would perch on his head or shoulders, always present and sometimes even watching over him (A particularly intelligent crow he named Poe would drive his parents away with distractions).

So when he moved to Gotham to complete his studies he prepared for a farewell to his feathered friends; said friends simply ignored him and followed him around the city. Danny assumed he wasn't going to be able to fight them, so he let them be.

This is how the phenomenon called "The Invasion of Crows" began in Gotham, the animals were not aggressive but mostly indifferent, some of them agreed to carry letters as homing pigeons (After Danny asked them for the favor) starting "Crow services"

As long as you had the money or something shiny to pay them the birds would carry messages from one place to another, ironically they would give that payment to Danny, who only sighed and let them pass to his apartment, giving them: some food, shelter and a place to sleep, although he was worried the moment his neighbor would complain about the noise.

At first he let them stay on the streets because they were supposed to be free, but after the sixth time he caught Damian Wayne trying to adopt one he just rolled his eyes and now the little ones were living with him.

So yes, when Jason finally decided to visit his neighbor he didn't expect the red eyed crowd staring at him and judging his actions, one in particular lunged at him and he swore he was about to gouge his eyes out before a voice yelled "Poe, wait! "

Said crow looked at him for a few more seconds before perch on the head of the prettiest boy he had ever seen, who approached to offer him a hand "I'm sorry, they're very overprotective" he muttered worried.

Jason almost fell over laughing when he noticed that this was B's "weird case" about the rise in crows alongside the supposed "new rogue" in town, when all he saw was a college boy with a murder of crows living in his house, maybe creating a new messaging system.

He was going to have so much fun with this, maybe he'd even manage to go on a date with his eyes intact, who knows.

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newedensgarden · 5 months

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The very first tattoo August ever got was a tattoo of an eye on his inner forearm. It is of his grandmother’s eye. His grandmother is the one he credits for starting the entire New Eden’s Garden. August hates his mother Marilyn but holds his grandmother very highly and adores her with all his heart. She died from old age a few years back, but he thinks of her every day because of the tattoo of her eye on his arm. She is always watching over him and, in his mind, she is watching him lead New Eden’s Garden so he must do the best job he can.

His sleeve represents heaven and hell and is very Day of the Dead inspired. August is quite religious, so this has a lot of hidden themes in it including roses, skulls, crosses, butterflies, and pretty women. He often says it is an 'I Spy' game for his life. The bottom part of his arm is hell, and the top part is heaven. His mindset is that if you are going to be in Hell, you might as well have a pretty girl there. The two women included in the sleeve are loosely based on his ex-wife who he only refers to these days as Parasite Eve but when he first began the sleeve, they were simply dating and not yet married or with child. In his mind, his wife would be with him whether he went to heaven or hell, so he included her loosely in both representations. This is the one that is most obvious that he is asked the most questions about, and August thinks it is amusing to give a different random answer each time, just to mix things up a bit.

One of the more important ones is the date in roman numerals behind his ear which he got when he was a freshman in high school. The numbers are 9 22 2000 in roman numerals which means Friday, September 22, 2000. The meaning for this is unknown except to those closest to him. The true meaning of this tattoo is that this is the official date where his family was a whole complete unit.

August has an IX on his bicep, quite large. In roman numerals it stands for the number 9 but to him it is a constant reminder. September 9th is when his daughter Elizabeth was born and nine years later on her birthday is when she died. So, nine is a very important number in August’s life. Ironically enough, so is the number 6 which is 9 upsides down and very reminiscent of the devil’s mark, 666. He has a 666 tattooed on his ass, mostly because it was funny and inspired by SLC Punk.

On the back of his calf August has a tattoo of half a moon and half a sun face, very similar to the doll of Angie – his younger sister. It also looks like her face when she was still alive and human, not in doll form, with the deformation down the middle of her face.

On his back across his shoulders he has a black crow with red eyes. August has always been known to be oddly obsessed with corvids. Crows and ravens are some of the smartest animals in the world, with their intelligence considered on par with chimpanzees. Crows also have a lot of symbolic associations. Everything from Omens Of Death And Doom or being the bearer of bad news to representing big transformation and even linked to Edgar Allen Poe.

On one rib he has cursive that says "Theres a Power in Belief" which relates to his faith and religion. It is not specifically Christian, but it is most closely related to Christian Mythology. He always claims it is more important to have faith, not what you have faith in.

On the other rib he just got a new tattoo. It's a womans face coming out of crow wings that looks more like a puffy collar. The woman's face seems to be a clown jester makeup at first but when you look closer, she has no eyes and is bleeding from her eye sockets with a twisted carved smile. This is a very disturbingly beautiful tattoo that nobody knows the meaning of. The true secret meaning is that this is a tattoo of a nightmare he kept having involving his ex-wife when she was set on fire. In his dream, she came to him with bloody eyes and a twisted grin and after having the nightmare so many times, it started bringing him an odd sense of comfort. Like he was making 'friends with his ghosts'. This marks the third tattoo that August has for his ex.

Underneath his chest he has a tattoo of a bleeding cut going in a specific pattern. This is the way he cut his chest when he tried to take his own life, but when asked he just says it looked cool. Since he survived, this is his reminder to himself to never attempt it again.

His nipples are pierced, but usually only wears one. He also has gages, a nose and a lip piercing but doesn't wear them anymore except on special ocassions.

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readnburied · 6 months

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My Favorite Book Characters

This is a post I’ve been meaning to write for a really long time but I just didn’t know when to do it. As I continue to update this blog, I’m also learning about so many different types of post and articles one can write when it comes to books. And it made me want to bring a variety to my blog—to change things up a little rather than putting out the same kind of posts every month.

The characters in the books can really make or break the entire narrative and I wanted to share some of the characters which had a strong impact on me. This list is not an exhaustive one by any means and maybe in the future I’ll do a second or a third edition of this post. But for now, these are some of my favorite book characters.

Charlotte Davidson

First Grave on the Right by Darynda Jones

Charley Davidson is my ideal self. I strive to be like her but I’m not sure if I’ll ever quite manage to be like her in real life. She’s smart, funny, strong and independent. And best of all, she’s a detective which is my dream career by day and a grim reaper by night. So not only is she sassy but she’s kind and empathetic as well.

Gavin Mecozzi

Fearscape by Nenia Campbell

Gavin is my all-time favorite anti-hero. He is freakishly intelligent and clever; a true Mastermind in the making and his obsession with Val literally makes me love him all the more. He’s a psychopath and therefore is supposed to be unlikeable but it just makes me love him more.

Tess

Written in Red by Anne Bishop

She is probably my favorite side character. Tess is a Harvester which we get to know much later in the series but I love how her hair changes color and texture based on her emotions. Not only that, but people fear Tess and when she unleashes her power towards the end of the series, I can understand exactly why people are afraid. But other than that, she’s incredibly loyal and hardworking and fights to protect her loved ones.

Mia Corvere

Nevernight by Jay

This character is badass, plain and simple. And the reason she’s on this list is because of her ability to craft poisons, which is something that intrigues me immensely. I wish I could be as strong and crafty as Mia is. And her skills with a knife are impeccable, which is another thing I love about her.

Inej Ghafa

Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo

She’s a Wrath. A Wrath! If somebody can make me a wrath, please let me know because I want to be as fierce and intense as Inej. Her skills as an acrobat are awe-inspiring and I wish I could do half the stuff she does. I would feel so much more accomplished and confident.

Erik

Phantom Heart by Kelly Creagh

Erik is love. That’s all I can say about him. His tormented and loving personality has my heart. Not to mention the many Masks which are a part of his personality just adds to his allure. He is incredibly unique and I love the way he understands music. The way he’s so protective about the ones he love just makes me love him more.

Varen Nethers

Nevermore by Kelly Creagh

This boy. This beautiful, tormented, lonely boy stole my heart the first time I read about him. I love his artistic skills and the connection he has with Edgar Allen Poe. Varen has a lot of demons he has to fight and throughout the series I just wish I could be the main character so I can help him face his demons.

Holland

A Darker Shade of Magic by V. E. Schwab

I think Holland is my favorite villain. There’s so much depth to his character. He’s ambitious yet he suffers. He is evil but there’s so much pain inside him that I couldn’t help but empathize with him. And he definitely deserved better. I think out of all the characters in the series, Holland was the one who deserved better. He really did.

So these are some of my favorite book characters. There are plenty more but I could only mention a limited number and I would be writing about my other favorite characters in the future. Let me know if you’ve read about these characters and what you thought of them.

#read n buried #booklr #books and reading #reading #books #book #books & libraries #currently reading #book blog #book community #Authors #bookstagram #bookstaexplore #bookstan #bookclub #booklover #readersofig

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ylove-bandaesthetics · 2 years

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omgg yes having a raven or a crow as a pet would be so cool they are so pretty and intelligent 🖤

Ikr?! They’re so fucking beautiful and precious to me! Most people get freaked out by them but I love them! And I didn’t even know ravens could talk until recently! I came across this video of a raven saying “nevermore” on youtube like in the famous Edgar Allan Poe poem and I melted! ✨

#🎃🎃🎃

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azomi · 3 years

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The Curse of the Oracle: Corvids in Myth and Lore

by Giles Watson, A Witch’s Natural History

There are cultures in which corvids are revered. For the Koryac, and other tribes from within the Arctic Circle, Big Raven is at once the world’s creator and denizen. It is often remarked that the mischievousness of corvids is derived from boredom, like an intelligent child deprived of toys; Big Raven and his wife cure their ennui by becoming demiurges. The mountains are his excrement, and Raven himself is both celestial and earthy. His human weird is cantankerous, swallowing the sun in anger when his love-designs are thwarted, and puking it out again when he is tickled by his beloved. During a deluge, he resumes the form of a raven in order to fly to the heavens, so that he can plug up the vulva of the universe’s wife, which is shedding unremitting rain. This Siberian mythos has its counterparts across the Bering Strait, for the Raven is also regarded as creator amongst the Inuit and the Haida tribe of the Queen Charlotte Islands.

Pre-Christian myths about corvids are characterized by not hatred, but by awe. Crows have always had the dubious honour of carrying the curse of the oracle, baring uncomfortable truths to those with too much power. In Greek mythology, the crow, originally white and personified as Cronus, was an oracular bird, and was said to house the soul of a king after his sacrifice. The crow was cursed, blackened, and banished by Athene after he reported to her that Herse, Pandrosos and Agraulos had plunged to their deaths from the Acropolis. Variants of this story, reinterpreted by Ovid, remain sympathetic towards the crow or raven, who is turned black for telling Apollo quite truthfully, that his lover was unfaithful, and given a croaky voice for being tardy in fetching a cupful of water after being distracted by a meal of figs. A Christianized variant from the Tyrol has the child Jesus blackening the raven for soiling water he was about to drink. Perhaps this in turn was part of the genesis of allegations about Jews and witches poisoning wells...

A thirteenth century bestiary insists that “the raven signifies the blackness of sinners”, but rather than dwelling upon this notion, proceeds to contrast the raven’s supposed neglect of its nestlings with assiduousness of the crow: “Men should teach themselves to love their children from the crow’s example.” However, the bestiaries were quick to deride the classical reverence for corvids: “[The Greeks] say that the crow can reveal the purpose of men’s actions: it can disclose the whereabouts of an ambush, and predict the future. This is a great offence, to believe that God entrusts His counsels to crows.” Christian hegemony ensured that corvids, once the oracular birds of classical and Celtic paganism, were now suitable only as auguries for the heterodox. For Shakespeare, a fearful faith in the prophetic utterances of corvids could only be suitably expressed by a villain:

Stones have been known to move and trees to speak;

Augures and understood relations have

By maggot-pies and choughs and rooks brought forth

The secret’st man of blood

(Macbeth, Act 3, Scene 5)

Macbeth feared that corvids would denounce hi as a murderer, as in the case of the child-murderer Thomas Elks in Knockin, Shropshire, in 1590, but it was now left to witches to consort with them directly, or even to become them. Isobel Gowdie’s confession (1662) included crows amongst her favourite forms taken by witches for the flight to the Sabbat. Possession of familiar crows was a sure sign of an old woman’s isolation, a folk belief summed up neatly by Seldiy Bate’s lyric:

There was a woman by the hill, if she’s not dead she lives there still.

The henbane all around her grows, her only friends are big black crows.

Most damning for corvid reputations was the advent of the Black Death, which swept Europe in the mid-fourteenth century, killing between a third and a half of the population of England. Whole villages were wiped out, and survivors were often to few, or too terrified of contagion, to bury the dead. This unprecedented human tragedy can only have been a boon for carrion birds, whose taste for human flesh had previously only been indulged on battlefields and hangman’s gibbets. The sight of great flocks of black birds descending on the waste land, and picking the eyes from the skulls of one’s neighbors or relatives can have done little for the estimation of corvids in the minds of survivors…

By the nineteenth century, it seems, the demonization of ravens was complete. The Romans had interpreted its call as “cras”, Latin for tomorrow, an expression of hope. Poe’s raven only says “Nevermore”, a prophecy of doom.

#crow #raven #blackbird #myth #lore #corvid #giles watson #witch's natural history

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