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loloinlove · 1 year

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The Ever After - Ch. 5

Good morning y’all. Chapter 5 is live on AO3 and you can read it - here.

Penelope walked out of her room with Eloise and Violet on either side of her, trying to seem as calm and serene as her future mother-in-law. It wasn't an especially long walk to the foyer where Violet would leave them to find her seat, but Penelope did not doubt that Violet was anxious to get to Gregory and Hyacinth, who had a penchant for getting into mischief in a matter of moments. She said as much to Violet, who gave her a thankful smile and another light squeeze on her shoulder before she was quickly walking down the rest of the steps and out of sight.

They walked in silence the entire way, Eloise holding onto her arm a little tighter than strictly necessary, but she understood her friend -and her fear of marriage- better than anyone else and didn't begrudge her grip.

Eloise had spoken with her plenty of times about her fears of marriage, and though Penelope could understand that someone as independent and strong headed as Eloise would fear getting smothered under her husband's personality, she'd had to remind her that Anthony was not the sort to push her into getting married, though he certainly could have if he'd wanted to. She knew that Eloise never needed to marry if she didn't want to and that Violet only pushed Eloise because she wanted her daughter to be happy and to find love, but she'd never truly force Eloise to marry either.

Penelope had offered her own opinions on marriage, though they differed from what Eloise had envisioned. Her plan had always involved getting married at some point, though to whom she hadn't the faintest idea, and enjoying some of the more basic benefits of marriage, namely that she could go where she liked when she liked. Soon she would have no need of a chaperone and could choose to take a Lady's maid with her if she wanted, and she was looking forward to that the most. Though Eloise often had to remind her that while it was true that a woman gained a great deal of freedom once they married, the marriage itself could be just as much of a prison as well.

They had both heard plenty of stories about women who were absolutely miserable and at the whims of their husbands. She had reported on plenty of unhappy marriages over the last year or so, and she didn't think that would end any time soon. It painted a very macabre portrait, and with Eloise's added fears of pregnancy and childbirth, it was no surprise to Penelope that her best friend would resist the marriage mart any way that she could for as long as she was able.

Penelope certainly didn't blame her.

When they reached the foyer, they were unsurprised to find it still occupied with the staff still working on preparations for the reception. They were, however, surprised to see Colin waiting for them over in the corner snacking on a biscuit. Penelope hadn't been sure how she would feel about him being there on the actual day, but now that he was there, she felt immensely comforted by his presence. He had been scarcely at Bridgerton house in the few weeks that Penelope was there, always in and out of the house, running errands for Anthony that he wouldn't tell her about.

They had been friends for many years, and though he would not tell her what he had been up to, they had spent plenty of time together when he was around. They had discussed art and literature, and sillier things like the latest gossip and especially the food he got to enjoy during his travels. They had even spoken about her courtship with Anthony.

Penelope had thought of telling him of her feelings, but when she had confirmed for him that she and Anthony were indeed courting -with the intent to marry- he had been overjoyed at gaining another sister. There was nothing in his countenance to suggest that he felt anything but true happiness that she would be joining their family, and she decided to keep her feelings to herself. She could not burden him with that knowledge as it would not be fair to either of them or to Anthony, who had been especially kind to her since he'd rescued her from Berbrooke.

She had been slowly putting her feelings for him away over the last few weeks and had mostly succeeded, though sometimes the thought of Colin still set her heart to fluttering.

She wished that it didn't.

She wouldn't carry her feelings for Colin into her marriage with Anthony, as that wasn't fair to him, but she had no idea how to let go of the last of them, though maybe time and distance would help. He'd be leaving to travel again a week or so after the wedding, though she didn't know where he was going. She was sure he had told her, but her mind just could not come up with an answer.

"Pen," He said, rushing to chew through the rather large piece of biscuit he had shoved into his mouth. "Mother said you looked beautiful in your dress, but I must admit that her words did not do you any justice. Surely I must get Benedict to paint you, or maybe just a few lines of poetry, as we are pressed for time today, I rather think."

"Why are you here, brother," Eloise said snappishly, "Should you not be with the rest of the family?"

Colin rolled his eyes at Eloise's rather rude remark. She'd never had much patience with the sentiments and feelings of others.

"I'm to escort Pen down the aisle," He said, looking nervously at Penelope. "I mean to say, that is, if would like me to. I understand if it makes you uncomfortable, but I-"

"Colin, it's alright. I could not ask for someone better," Penelope said, though a pocket of worry had opened up within her. Did he know that Daphne had invited Marina? It would be quite an awful shock if he didn't. As much as Marina had hurt her, it was mostly through her words rather than any direct action taken against Penelope herself. Words could be very easy to forgive, but what Marina had done to Colin was much more than a few hurtful words.

"Eloise, may I have a few moments with Colin? I wish to speak to him before...well, before," She stated.

Eloise nodded and walked a few paces away so as to give them privacy and still act as a chaperone, though it really was unnecessary as she was to be married in just a few minutes and would no longer need one.

"What did you need to talk to me about, Pen?" Colin said, a little worry seeping into his tone.

"I'm very grateful for everything you and your family have done for me. You have always been as an older brother to me, and now that I'm about to join your family, I would feel awful if I did not at least warn you that-"

"If you are about to warn me about Mari- Lady Crane, I am already aware that she is here. Daphne wrote to me when she first thought of inviting her, and though I did not expect that I would have to see her so soon, I would not deny you having family here today. Today is for you and Anthony, and though that was also unexpected, I am sincerely overjoyed that you will finally become a Bridgerton. Let us take care of you Pen," Colin said, gently interrupting her.

Penelope was astonished at his heartfelt words. Colin wasn't the type to be serious, not to the degree that Anthony was at any rate, but she appreciated his words nonetheless. It had hurt, finally voicing that she and Colin could truly be no more, but it did not hurt as she had expected it would and decided that she would learn to be content with Colin's friendship.

She was unsure if she could grow to love Anthony, but she would try to form a foundation of friendship at the very least. She had not wanted a marriage like her mother and father's; one where there seemed to be no affection or care shared between them. Her mother had mourned her father of course, the way that any gently bred woman would, but Penelope thought that most of her mother's grief came from the fact that they had never managed to have an heir and that their future had been so uncertain before her mother had managed to get ahold of the finances enough so that they would not end up destitute.

She'd helped out with her Whistledown funds when she was able, as she could not be too obvious about where the extra income was coming from, but it had helped until they got over the worst of their troubles. Spending the off season at their country estate certainly helped keep them afloat for another season, though her mother had complained the entire time. That mattered less now that she would probably not be returning to her family's country seat unless she was invited as a guest, which she thought would be exceptionally unlikely after her last argument with her mother.

A sudden throat clearing tore Penelope from her thoughts, and she noticed that Eloise had come back, though not because she was impatient.

Music had started up, signaling that it was time.

Colin and Penelope stood off to the side so that when the doors gently opened, Eloise was the only one in sight. She really did look lovely in her gown, though she knew Eloise could not stand it, and she certainly liked being the center of attention less than she did the dress. Though, from the little that Penelope could see of her before Eloise left their sight, her friend was managing to keep a sedate pace instead of rushing up the aisle to her place as Penelope's maid of honor like Penelope knew she wanted to.

It wasn't but a few more moments until the music changed again, and Penelope knew it was her and Colin's turn. They stood there for a long moment, Penelope unable to make herself move and Colin waiting patiently. Her reluctance must have been obvious, though he made no comment as he placed her arm through his and gave her a small nudge.

"Chin up, Pen," Colin said quietly, moving them into position. "Or you'll miss the look on Cressida Cowper's face when she sees how gorgeous you look."

Penelope let herself imagine it for a few seconds before banishing the picture from her mind. Colin had once again done a wonderful job of helping her with her nerves.

She took one step, and then another, and another until she and Colin were in front of the doorway. Everyone stood up and turned to look at her, and though she still disliked being the focus of all their attention, she felt a sort of calmness wash over her and kept walking. She searched the crowd, making sure that her Mama had not snuck in somehow, and found herself relaxing further when she could not see the distinctive red hair of the Featherington women or their loud fashion choices.

She kept her head pointed forward, looking first at Eloise, who gave her a small smile, and then at Marina and her husband Lord Crane, who looked supremely uncomfortable with all of the looks that he and his wife were receiving. She wanted to look around and find Cressida, but her eyes moved to Anthony, and she had to admit that he did indeed look handsome. His face was unreadable, but when he saw her looking at him, his face softened and he gave her a warm -if tense- smile.

She had been agonizing over getting married, and though she was grateful to Anthony for saving her from Berbrooke, she still couldn't help but feel as if she had taken something away from him.

She knew that becoming a Viscount at such a young age had left him with little choice in life but to take up his role as the head of his family, which left little time to himself for things that Benedict and Colin were able to do freely, like traveling, or pursuing a career. Eloise told her often of how hard he worked to keep them comfortable, and how busy he was all the time. It sounded to her as if he hardly seemed to take a moment for himself, and she felt as if she was going to be adding to his workload. It didn't sit well with her at all, and though she knew he would fight it, she hoped that she could help take care of him the way he took care of his family, though, by all rights, it should have been someone else in her place making that promise.

She wished he'd had the chance to find love and happiness with a woman of his choosing, someone that could honestly offer their love and commitment to him, but as she was literally walking forward to meet him at the alter she thought her wish unlikely to come true.

When they finally made it to the altar, Colin gently let her go with a little push, and then she was in front of Anthony, the Vicar standing before them, the Bible in his hands, no doubt ready to see them wed so he could go on his way.

She held onto her bouquet and stepped up to meet him, glancing at the people gathered as they sat down at the Vicar's behest. The Bridgerton clan was gathered in the front row on Anthony's side, Colin having hastily made his way to his seat between Franchesca and Hyacinth. Next to her, Violet was already dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, with Gregory on her other side.

On the opposite pew sat Daphne and Simon, making a very pointed statement of their support, especially with her own Mama and sisters missing. Lady Danbury was seated a little farther down, and when she caught her eye, the older woman winked at her.

At the sound of the Vicar starting to speak, she turned back to face Anthony, finding him looking at her with a curious expression on his face. She wasn't sure what had caused such an expression but decided to think on it later.

"Dearly Beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, to witness the joining of this man and this woman in Holy matrimony..."

Penelope listened as the Vicar made his speech to everyone gathered in the pews behind them, but found herself looking at Anthony, who seemed not to be listening at all. He looked like he was thinking hard about something, and it was only when the Vicar cleared his throat and motioned for Anthony to begin his vows that he snapped out of it.

"If you would repeat after me, My Lord, 'I, Lord Anthony Bridgerton,'"

"I, Lord Anthony Bridgerton-"

They continued on in that manner until it came time for her to say her vows, and though her voice trembled, she managed to say them just as Anthony had. She was immensely proud of herself for not stumbling over her words.

A moment later, the Vicar pronounced them man and wife and they turned to greet the guests gathered before them, who were politely clapping as the two of them made their way back down the aisle together and out to the foyer.

They didn't have any time to speak, because as soon as they moved out of the immediate vicinity of the doorway their guests startled trickling out, the Bridgertons first amongst them. Hyacinth was the first to offer her congratulations, excitedly complimenting her dress and hair, and then immediately switching to Anthony to inquire about their living arrangements. Hyacinth wanted to know if they would be staying at Bridgerton house, and was halfway through asking if she could have a pony for her next birthday when Violet interrupted.

"Hyacinth dear, Penelope and Anthony have many people who would like to wish them well. We can discuss this later, perhaps when they return from Aubrey Hall."

Violet lead Hyacinth away and the rest of the Bridgertons quickly followed, though each of them made sure to extend their congratulations. Daphne and Simon followed suit and even extend an open invitation to visit anytime, though Daphne joked that the offer was only for Penelope.

Anthony squawked in fake outrage, earning a giggle from Penelope, who had caught Anthony's attention once more. He'd looked at her with that same curious look on his face, and she was reminded of his earlier expression. She had no time to think about it, or even question him, as the expression was gone in the next moment.

The Duke and Duchess spoke for a few moments more before they said their goodbyes, leaving her and Anthony to face the rest of the invited members of the Ton.

She wondered how offended everyone would be if she and Anthony left early. They wouldn't be able to leave just yet, though, from the irritated expression on Anthony's face, she was willing to bet that they would be making their escape sooner rather than later.

#the ever after #the ever after ao3 #itsneverpolin #bridgerton fic #Bridgerton #penthony #anthony x penelope

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ciarashoggoth · 9 days

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A Report! From Inside The Walls of Yesterday

Where we last saw our brave heroes, they were deep inside the Mall Mart backrooms, after a noticeable power outage that may or may not have been caused by my own hubris~

The power outage, however, was not where the day ended. Context is important here, so that you will understand why I am due for a small meeting of sorts. "It's just some classes," they say. "Think of it as reeducation on the core values of Mallmart,"

With determination in my gut, I had stormed the fields of Mallmart that afternoon, heading straight to the heart of the beast- our pharmacy and beauty section. The power outage made this part of the store particularly difficult to manage. Price scanners could not be used during a power outage. Looking up items for customers could not be done during a power outage. Labels could not be made, during a power outage. So places like pharmacies, where there are so many small nearly similar looking bottles of medicines, ointments and vitamins can seem particularly daunting.

However, this was not the only danger of the pharmacy and beauty section, as if items cannot fully fit on shelves, they go to 'topstock', the space at the very top of the shelf where items could not be reached by customers. This, was always overstuffed in pharmacy. So as I got ready to put a bottle of melatonin in topstock, I almost didn't notice something warm dripping onto my scalp.

I looked up, and saw pitch black, oozing through the cracks of the skylight of the pharmacy's ceiling. Impossibly dark, making me wonder just what was up there. Did I see a glimpse of something? Hidden inside the dark mass of ooze? Did it even matter? I felt an arm roughly tug me away from my spot underneath the skylight. "Girl, you smell like roadkill now." Kara stared at me as I blinked owlishly, coming out of my daze. However long I stood under there, trying to decipher the contents that was dripping over me but I was a mess. And indeed, it did smell like roadkill but mostly gasoline.

And, since it was just close enough to the end of shift, I did not get drive home to get cleaned up. I had to work with the stuff all over me. The posts continued to be dead quiet with no interaction.

The store continued to stay in chaos, a thrumming pulse coming deep from the bowels of Mallmart as I stocked the chemical aisle. 'What have I done, all I wanted was to be popular- I must've done something horrible in a past life to deserve this. No one in the history of being in pain has suffered as much as I, a Mallmart associate covered in black ink has today'

"Shouldn't they keep her in the back where she isn't stinking up the store?" Three young teens talked amongst themselves. "Keep your voice down! I heard that chick is hella weird. She just randomly showed up one day in Niceville-"

"Can I help you?" I ask, turning on my heel to face them. Immediately, two of the three became bashful and shy, but the young girl with long brown hair grinned. "No, but you clearly do. What's your aesthetic? Special ed. barbie?"

"What's your aesthetic? Being a big bitch-"

My eyes locked with my manager's, and I sucked in air as if trying to suck the words back in. My lips pressing together until they turned white-

A Lesson, in talking to customers, with Madame Macabre!

When engaging with an angry customer, should you;

A.) Ask How You Can Better Help Them?

B.) Count to 10 Mississippi In Your Head While Working To Keep Calm

C.) Accept That You Are a Small Spec In The Vast Unending Universe And That Soon You Will Be Dust Along With All Your Problems

Answer; D.) All Of The Above

You should never resort to calling the customers names, because this could deduct Mallmart points from your account! What are Mallmart points?

Mallmart points are points you can collect through hours worked, and diligence. These can be traded in for when you need to take time off, or in this case, when you have a small infraction.

I was not fired. Instead, they kindly asked me to take the Mallmart reeducation course so I can "better understand Mallmart's values". I am not at the mercy to disclose what Mallmart's reeducation program entails.

Mallmart's reeducation certainly does not involve them taking you out to a shady back alley to hit you with sticks until you promise not to insult customers though.

It's not.

Trust me :)

So, I limped into the breakroom, sitting in a heap at the table, a moan slithering from my lips as I open a can of soda. "That bad, huh?" Taylor from Mallmart asks, her voice wonderfully flat. "I am going to scream, Taylor dear,"

"Don't do that-"

"It's too late, I'm screaming."

"You're just drinking from your soda though-?"

"Internally, Taylor. Internally."

"Oh."

#daily report #humor #horror #weirdcore #liminal spaces #suburban goth

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kaxwiththefax · 6 months

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The graveyard shift oc: revamped

Graveyard shift made by @thecryptidart1st / @thegraveyardsh1ft

Go follow him / check out his content before you continue. Thanks

Name: Rowan ■■■■■■

Full name: unknown

Gender: nonbinary (they/them)

Age: 13-19

Height: 5'7

Nationality: Peruvian

Weight: 190

Species: undead creature (possibly screaming banshee or zombie)

Occupation: streamer / fridge stocker

Skills/powers: undead qualities, immense control over their rabies, super speed, strong sense of sight and smell, ability to pass through walls, screaming, lots and lots of screaming without getting tired/sore throat, doesn't need to eat, drink, sleep, breathe or blink

Type of character: antagonist

Type of villain: angered creature

Faceclaim: Charlie write as rodrick heffley (#notmyrodrick)

Streamer claim: Poofesure

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Death

Their death was sudden and unexpected, and their family and loved ones were left without a proper goodbye. Rowan was a passionate animal lover, especially when it came to dogs and other animals that were often misunderstood by the public. They would happily rescue injured and abandoned animals, giving them a second chance at life and showing them love and compassion.

But, sadly, their compassion and love for animals would be the cause of their death. One day, while trying to rescue a stray dog, Rowan was bitten and contracted rabies. Despite their best efforts to fight the disease, they succumbed to it within a few short months. Their death was a tragedy that left a void in the hearts of those who knew them from their stream and loved them in real life, especially their friend.

Rowans friend was so utterly destroyed and devastated, they decided to make a deal with unholy energy to bring them back to life, but it backfired when they came back as a ghoulish creature, Rowan bit them and they're friend contracted rabies.

Personality

Due to the rabies, they act a bit "out of it" if you will. They have a tendency to blow up in anger at the smallest things, even when they're not directly affected. They're quick to yell, swear and blame others for everything that goes wrong. They can also be extremely temperamental, with mood swings that can shift from one extreme to the other in seconds.

Before Rowan died, they were kooky, illusive and almost invisible in real life, but when they were online that's when they decide to present themselves on games. They seemed more alive streaming to people. That includes the rage. They manage to rage at anything, even if it's like word cookies.

The role they play at Macabre Mart

They are the "deliveryman" or delivery kid. Their job involves transporting large quantities of food and other grocery products from a distribution center to a grocery store, ensuring that the food is transported safely and efficiently.

They climb in through the vents and drop the boxed products in the respective aisles and waits for someone to stock them.

If you are Henry then you can find them in the vents, walls, or the walk-in freezer. Henry has advised them to avoid everyone as to not put people at risk from their random anger outbreaks and biting coworkers and customers (albeit the others don't know they work ther, let alone exist)

When at home

He's usually streaming to an audience, they usually play splatoon, wii sports, Mario party, smash bros but they try other things too. Their streamer name is "Overtime." Because that's what they work.

They rage like Poofesure, so high-pitched maniacal laughter and screaming

Example/copy and paste link (turn your volume down)

https://youtu.be/DWi4ouHU2lY?si=X2fxI0pLjZwiZ-PZ

I hope you enjoy my silly little fello, Micheal :)

#artists on tumblr #digital art #art #my artwork #oc #original character #the graveyard shift

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wrongpublishing · 1 year

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BOOK REVIEW: CARSON WINTER'S SOFT TARGETS

by Elizabeth Broadbent, Staff Writer.

You have worked a shit job.

We don’t know each other. We don’t have to, because we’ve all done it. I worked at a hotel in Myrtle Beach which shall remain nameless (it was that really really huge purple one at the end of the strip that has since changed ownership so I can say whatever I want without offending the owner, who I can’t offend any more than I already have anyway because Reasons.) People, mostly Midwesterners, spent a lot of cold, hard cash on this vacay. Pause. Imagine the people that drop cold, hard cash on a very expensive resort vacation . . . in Myrtle Beach. If you don’t understand the meaning of this statement, please watch this video.

I alternately answered phones and took reservations—we were not allowed to get up, speak to one another, read books, etc. in between phone calls—or was roundly abused at the front desk by people who claimed they’d seen a roach on the ninth floor and demanded a free week’s vacation (newsflash: we had no roaches, and anyway, how the fuck would the roaches make it up nine floors, the goddamn elevator?!)

There were days when I prayed for a death that would not come.

Except what if it would?

What if you were working that Target/Wal-Mart/Piggly-Wiggly register and you could make it all end?

And not in, like, a permanent sense. In a temporary way. Maybe even in a blaze of gory glory. Didn’t you always wanna kill that bitch from accounting who ratted you out for reading under the table? Didn’t you always sorta/kinda/maybe wanna kick that customer in the crotch? Truthbomb: if you are the lady who refused to use our keycards and made staff members let you into your room every single time you left, I wanted to punch that hooker-red lipstick off your face (and no offense to sex workers, ‘cause I wear hooker-red lipstick all the time).

Carson Winter’s Soft Targets imagines . . . yeah, you could do all that. Then you could wake up, consequence-free, roll out of bed, and return to that shit job in the morning. What if some days just didn’t count? What if you figured out which they were, and you . . . did whatever?

Sign my ass up.

Our nameless narrator (yeah, he’s nameless; I checked, and Carson says I’m not the first to ask, so I felt like less of a dumbass) has this buddy, Ollie. He and Ollie are the dark-humor type. Y’all read horror, so you have that buddy. You know, the one you sit around with and say something like, “Okay, so when the zombies come/the aliens arrive/the serial killer breaks in, what do you do?” I mean like, hello job description, writers. Except their conversation revolves around workplace shootings, because, well, their data-entry job sucks ass.

Don’t pretend you wouldn’t do it.

Don’t worry it’s too macabre for you, either. I thought it would be—I approached this one with kid gloves, since my husband works in a place where, here in the grand ol’ USA, people execute elaborate shootings, then others offer #thoughtsandprayers. But when our nameless narrator begins musing on shattering windows with staplers, or perhaps a copy machine—would the kneecap break be worth it?—I was in.

These dudes endure the tedium . . . then discover a way to break free. But are there consequences to living without consequences? I just described every F. Scott Fitzgerald story ever, so if you sat through sophomore English, do the math (unless, like me, you failed it, but if you did, you probably know what I’m talking about, anyway._

It reads fast. As usual with Winter, the voice is impeccable (any read him in Split/Scream 1 by Dreadstone Press? Hot damn). His talent with characterization shows not only with the main characters, but the side peeps as well: I know Kayla and Wayne. I wish I didn’t. As for setting: please take me away from your bachelor pads. I’ve seen enough of them. They were very vivid.

He also sticks the landing. He really, really sticks the landing.

I loved this creepy little romp. Yeah, I called it a romp. It’s a wicked little fantasy, this juicy piece of what-if. Definitely worth picking up. I liked it as much as I’ve liked Winter’s other work, which is to say a hell of a lot.

Links:

Carson Winter (Instagram): @ wintercarson

Carson Winter (Twitter): @ CarsonWinter3

Tenebrous Press (Instagram): @ tenebrouspress

Tenebrous Press (Twitter): @ tenebrouspress

#review #fiction #horror novel #horror novels #book review #horror lit #gothic lit #horror fiction #indie horror #indie novel #indie press

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wweallresultspage · 1 year

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AEW Dark Results - February 21, 2023

1. Matt Sydal def. Slim J in 10:32

2. Julia Hart def. Devlyn Macabre in 2:48

3. Anthony Henry & JD Drake def. Jay Malachi & Oliver Sawyer in 4:10

4. Charlette Renegade & Robyn Renegade def. Lizzy Blair & Payton Blair in 2:27

5. Preston Vance def. Blanco Loco in 2:07

6. Tony Deppen def. Caleb Konley in 4:40

7. Boulder & Bronson def. Chris Sandson & Terry Kid in 2:05

8. Jora Johl & Rohit Raju def. Bryce Cannon & Dale Springs in 3:10

9. Emi Sakura def. Billie Starkz in 9:12

10. Brady Booker def. Dak Draper in 3:50

11. Cezar Bononi, Peter Avalon, & Ryan Nemeth def. Jarett Diaz, Jay Marte, & Rich Adonis in 3:51

12. Jeff Jarrett & Satnam Singh def. Brandon Tate & Brent Tate in 3:57

13. Trent Beretta def. Tony Nese in 14:15

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temple-of-mars · 1 year

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Temple Of Mars Hexerei Hand Of Glory Ritual Powder

https://merc.li/VjfkEXf5b?sv=0

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This 1 oz powder is hand crafted with a secret blend of herbs & other magical ingredients. This powder is not diluted nor dyed; many other powders are full of fillers, rendering them weaker. These are herbs & ingredients in their purest, most potent form. Powder may be dusted on pillows and crystals & items, added to dress candles & added to oils & magical workings to amplify them.

NO ANIMAL INGREDIENTS

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thechapelhg1 · 2 years

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A customer asked me recently where do you get all your stuff from...well on a recent occasion on a late Sunday afternoon (after the early trade had been) I nipped over to @theyorkshireflea at Skipton Auction Mart and still managed to find a gem or in my case a rare early 19th Centuary Italian Altar Cloth including old candle wax droppings this beautiful piece came from a dealers own collection @sharpeyeantiques. Although slightly macabre I did think where am I going to put it...well it ended up on @markbrazierjones table although I did try it out on Skelly Bob for those of you that have visited already,he sits peacefully in the dining room viewed from the Balcony Suite! 🎩🏴‍☠️ The rest of the furniture @markbrazierjones Artworks Marcus Harvey @damienhirst @marcquinnart @justinfitzpatr1ck Keith McIntyre @bunny_lake_is_missing #interiors #interiordesign #chandalier #furniture #artwork #artist #lighting #harrogate #fleamarket (at The Chapel Harrogate) https://www.instagram.com/p/CgTgFM1Ds1h/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#interiors #interiordesign #chandalier #furniture #artwork #artist #lighting #harrogate #fleamarket

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hexandbalances · 3 years

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Hello! I saw your post about summer solstice and was wondering if you could recommend any good Southern Gothic novels?

Oh, there are so many. I tend to prefer Southern Gothic horror subgenre (as Southern Gothic tends to include classics like The Sound and the Fury, To Kill a Mockingbird, and Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, etc., which are all well and good but don't quite scratch that itch). I'll include the first to come to mind, in no particular order:

Beloved by Toni Morrison - This one really is at the top of my list. There is a supernatural element but that’s not the true horror of the story. It’s truly wrenching.

Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn - More of a whodunnit than horror. There's an HBO series based on this that I also enjoyed.

Wounds: Six Stories from the Border of Hell and North American Lake Monsters by Nathan Ballingrud - I adore Ballingrud's work. He's based in Ashville, NC now and is a regular at Malaprops.

The Dark-Thirty: Southern Tales of the Supernatural by Patricia C McKissack - this is actually an illustrated children's book but it was one I loved growing up.

Harrow County - a graphic novel series from Dark Horse Comics. It has a spin-off series, Tales from Harrow County, that is being released now.

Almost anything written by Shirley Jackson. I find Jackson herself fascinating, if not her work, and so I find myself favorably disposed to it.

"To-Read" items I'm looking forward to:

The Toll by Cherie Priest - southern Gothic with eldritch horror elements. Cherie Priest is very popular in Southern Gothic horror; she's also written The Family Plot and Boneshaker.

The Only Good Indians by Stephen Graham Jones - this takes place at least in part in North Dakota. It follows four Native American men after a traumatic incident in their childhoods. Jones has been described as "the Jordan Peele of horror literature" so my hopes are high.

Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno-Garcia - promises to be a slow-burn, eldritch (you may be noticing a theme), Brontës styled horror in Latin America.

My Best Friend's Exorcism and The Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires by Grady Hendrix - these just look like silly, fun reads.

To Be Devoured by Sarah Tantlinger - this one is set in the South but may not be Southern Gothic. It sounds very macabre.

Other Media (in case you're interested). Podcasts:

Old Gods of Appalachia (podcast, anthology)

Unwell (podcast, series) - this doesn't do a lot of horror so much as the classic strained tension of Southern Gothic, but some of the scenarios and one liners the characters whip out are delightful.

Alice Isn't Dead (podcast, series) - this takes place all over America as a trucker tries to find her wife who has gone missing. It absolutely captures the feel of Southern Gothic in its tone and atmosphere of seedy truck stops, Wal-Mart parking lots, and highway diners.

Music:

Adia Victoria

Chelsea Wolfe, particularly her Birth of Violence album

Rhiannon Giddens, previously of the Carolina Chocolate Drops

Zeal & Ardor (some)

Myssouri

The Goddam Gallows

Heathen Apostles

Murder by Death

#southern gothic #southern horror #horror literature #book recommendations #southern gothic aesthetic

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rockislandadultreads · 2 years

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Character-Driven Plot: Book Recs

The Intangible by C.J. Washington

Amanda Jackson has always longed to be a mother. The early weeks of her first pregnancy are a mixture of joy, anticipation, and uncertainty as she and her husband prepare for the journey ahead. Then comes a devastating loss. Even though her doctors tell her otherwise, Amanda believes she’s still pregnant. Her diagnosis is a rare, mysterious condition called pseudocyesis. Betrayed by her mind and body and her marriage strained, Amanda turns to neuroscientist Patrick Davis for answers. Patrick understands the strange twists and turns of the human mind better than anyone. But as he spirals ever deeper into Amanda’s illness, his own homelife crumbles as his wife, Marissa, struggles to cope with her own loss. Marissa’s unique and, some may think, macabre work is her salvation, but it’s pulling her further and further away from Patrick. As the two couples confront the fraught intersection of science, death, and human emotion, they venture into the darkest corners of each other’s lives. What they find there could change them forever.

Skinship by Yoon Choi

An exquisite collection from a breathtakingly new voice--centered on a constellation of Korean American families, these stories announce the debut of a master of short fiction.

A long-married couple is forced to confront their friend's painful past when a church revival comes to a nearby town . . . A woman in an arranged marriage struggles to connect with the son she hid from her husband for years . . . A well-meaning sister unwittingly reunites an abuser with his victims . . . Through the lives of an indelible array of individuals--musicians, housewives and pastors, children and grandparents, the men and women who own the dry cleaners and the mini-marts--Yoon Choi explores the Korean American experience at its interstices: where first and second generations either clash or find common ground; where meaning falls in the cracks between languages; where relationships bend under the weight of tenderness and disappointment; where displacement turns to heartbreak. Suffused with a profound understanding of humanity, Skinship is, ultimately, a searing look at the failure of intimacy to show us who the people we love truly are.

This Shining Life by Harriet Kline

Lovable, easy-going, charming Rich is dying of a brain tumour. Life and soul of every party, adored and relied upon by his family and in particular by his autistic son Ollie, no-one wants to believe what is unfolding in front of them. In an effort to convey his love for them Rich decides to send each of his close relations a present. He asks for Ollie’s help, but the combination of Rick’s vagueness and the pressure that Ollie feels means the task does not go quite to plan. And then more suddenly than expected, Rick dies. How the family learns to comes to terms with the catastrophe,and move on is at the centre of this beautifully written and uplifting novel.

Learwife by J.R. Thorp

"I am the queen of two crowns, banished fifteen years, the famed and gilded woman, bad-luck baleful girl, mother of three small animals, now gone. I am fifty-five years old. I am Lear's wife. I am here." Word has come. Care-bent King Lear is dead, driven mad and betrayed. His three daughters too, broken in battle. But someone has survived: Lear's queen. Exiled to a nunnery years ago, written out of history, her name forgotten. Now she can tell her story. Though her grief and rage may threaten to crack the earth open, she knows she must seek answers. Why was she sent away in shame and disgrace? What has happened to Kent, her oldest friend and ally? And what will become of her now, in this place of women? To find peace she must reckon with her past and make a terrible choice - one upon which her destiny, and that of the entire abbey, rests. Giving unforgettable voice to a woman whose absence has been a tantalising mystery, Learwife is a breathtaking novel of loss, renewal and how history bleeds into the present.

#fiction #to read #tbr #booklr #booktok #book tumblr #Book Recommendations #reading recommendations #character development #plot #library books #adult fiction #book recs #highly recommend

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mpdmd · 2 years

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Me: Making requests.

Someone: *criticizes my art several times*

Me: Do you by any chance want more Macabre art?

Someone: Yes.

Who wants or hopes to see more Macabre art (which I'm doing I just have a list and tasks and responsibilities to do) write in the Ask box (WDYW?) "MArt" and that Is it, anonymously.

I will post screenshots without revealing the identity of who commented on that.

#Ask #Ask for users #jsab la danse macabre #jsab macabre #CTYHMacabre

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hannigramficrecs · 3 years

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A/B/O

The One That Got Away by whatacunningboy [words: 4,694]

Hannibal Lecter had this macabre air to his name. Everyone knew who he was and in what he specialized in—assassination was his trade and no one questioned it. He could make anyone disappear with a simple trick or two. He never missed a target, he was quiet, and swift. Yet, he missed the biggest target of all.

Ethics & Aesthetics by fragile-teacup [words: 106,330]

Pride and Prejudice omegaverse AU

Beginning and Ending by LittleUggie [words: 36,888]

19 year old Will gets cornered in an alley right before his first heat. Hannibal steps into help him out and decides he wants to keep the young omega. Will eventually comes around, against his better judgement. Let the mutual manipulation and power games begin.

I Could Just Eat You Up by orphan_account [words: 32,604]

Hannibal breeds Will. A love story in bodily fluids.

Sirens Wail by Breakmybones [words: 48,495]

Will has been an Omega since his eighteenth birthday. He's been a Beta since his twenty-third. Finding a mate was never a priority - staying out of the spotlight and keeping his secret was. Enter Hannibal: dark, dangerous and keeping secrets of his own, Will knows what he is from the beginning, but he's more interested in understanding the beast than slaying it.

Bright Hair About The Bone by MissDisoriental [words: 484,669]

In a world where omegas are little more than trophies to be bought and sold, Will Graham has done the unthinkable by escaping a forced bonding. Already in high demand as a profiler, Will's determined to find freedom on his own terms.For Hannibal Lecter the outlook is far more straightforward: a slow, systematic seduction of the most uniquely captivating omega he's ever encountered.As the shadow of a new and terrifying serial killer falls over Baltimore, the stage is set to redefine all accepted meanings of passion, temptation, horror and beauty – and to discover the ecstasy of a genuine love crime.

Not Interested by Watermelonsmellinfellon [words: 64,333]

Will Graham, an Omega of forty-four years, finally finds himself interested in an Alpha. The only problem... that Alpha is not interested in him! And he can't stand it!

The Only Place I Can Hold You by snapdragonpop007 [words: 27,865]

“Hello, Jack.” These past two years had not been kind to Will Graham-Lecter. The solitary confinement that Chilton had promised would help had only seemed to make the omega worse. “I was wondering when you were gonna come talk to me.” Will hadn’t looked up from the book in his hands. He was running his fingertips across the pages, and when Jack looked a little closer he could see that it was full of photographs.

Friends To Lovers by Sirenja, TigerPrawn [words: 8,008]

When Harry Met Sally AU

Consortio by kelex [words: 23,088]

Every Omega in the land is brought to the lord on the evening of their first heat. Lord Hannibal usually doesn't choose to exercise that right, but this night's offering is too much for him to pass up. A virgin Omega in his first heat, with brown hair, blue eyes, and a spirit that can't be broken.

Sharing A Bed by TigerPrawn [words: 4,150]

Will, Hannibal, Jimmy and Zeller are sent to Butfuck Nowhere on a case and the small hotel has messed up the booking leaving them with only 2 rooms between the 4 of them. And specifically Omega Will having to share with Hannibal, the only Alpha on the trip.

Stormchaser by YouAreMyDesign [words: 6,465]

One thing, Hannibal knows absolutely; Will is empty, all the time. He aches to be filled.

Pathology by YouAreMyDesign [words: 14,129]

In his periphery, Hannibal's head tilts. "Tell me," he purrs, "how exactly does one your age come to enroll in an FBI training facility?"

There Will Be Bells by Entropyrose [words: 36,639]

In Georgian England, male omegas are very rare diamonds. Baron and Baroness Graham have a plan to build their wealth and social status by offering their son Will's hand in marriage to a mysterious older Duke, an Alpha named Lord Hannibal Lecter. Will's personal feelings need not apply.

Alpha Mart by slashyrogue [words: 63,164]

Will needs an alpha. After years of fake knots, half-assed suppressants, and his own damn hand during heats he’s reached the end of his rope. He doesn’t do dating so he decides to waste his life savings and hype with the current trend. Alpha Mart.

Enchanted By Your Name by CarnivalMirai [words: 9,207]

“Now, my husband would prefer it if I got the job done quickly.” He says, slashing down the back of each gag as he passes each man, watching as the silk falls gracefully to the floor. “However, I want to have some fun. Considering you’ve troubled my husband so much… it’s only fair, right?” One of the men whimpered fearfully. Or: The name "Will Graham" is a name you'll only ever hear once.

I've Been Building Black Ships by cloudsarefluffy [words: 8,116]

Alpha Hannibal moves to the States with his sister Mischa after being overtly done with the fancy life of a count, and his blind omega neighbor gives him an insight into love that he never quite expected.

A Rare Find by hit_the_books [words: 5,379]

Life as an omega bookseller can be quite lonely. However, as the owner of Graham’s Books, Will Graham is reasonably content. That is until he meets—long-time customer and crush—Doctor Hannibal Lecter in person for the first time. Attraction blossoming between them both, Will agrees to a dinner date with the good doctor.

We All Have a Hunger by 1ntothew1ld [words: 12,260]

Hannibal will ensure a properly slow and painful death for an alpha who allowed a beautiful young omega to go to waste as this one has. Too skinny for his own good, a stuttering and humble mess. The likes of the omega in front of him belonged at Opera houses and in million-dollar mansions, not scrounging for his next meal. Meek and afraid in some disheveled row house. When he finally looked back up the alpha had to conceal the utter punch to the stomach that meager glance was, blue eyes full of innocence but also hunger.

The Doctor Is In by Kummerspeck7

Will nearly scoffed. "You can't expect me to believe you'd want anything other than a delicate flower to adorn your side, keep your ostentatious home, bare you the exact number of children you want--No more, no less-- all while being available at your whims." "Not at all." Hannibal disagreed. "I would no more put a wilting flower in my home than in a bouquet given as a gift. Tell me, Will, is that how you are treated? Forbidden from work, cloistered inside and used at Mr Brown's discretion?" "My Alpha's discretion." Hannibal looked pointedly at the curve of Will's neck, free from a single scar. "Not yet he isn't."

Sugar by Sweaty_dogman [words: 12,659]

Hannibal finds himself hung up on his friends mother, desperate to find ways to spend time with the omega. Will Graham is a beautiful, kind and single omega. The young alpha finds himself struggling to keep his emotions hidden.

No One Falls the Way We Fell by HigherMagic [words: 9,206]

Five years ago, Hannibal's mate died, leaving him with their young daughter. He's tried to move on, but Abigail keeps interrupting his sleep and insisting that she can see her mother in her room at night. Hannibal turns to Alana for help, and Alana gives Abigail a doll, someone to talk to and help her accept her mother's passing. Once the doll arrives, though, strange things start happening in Hannibal's house. It's impossible to consider, of course, but if anyone could defy death and return to them from beyond the grave, it would be Will.

Proud of You by CarnivalMirai [words: 11,748]

Will worked right up until labour to make money, through all the sickness and fatigue and swollen ankles, he worked to bring his little boy the best life. And it has paid off. As of last week, Hannibal has sent off his university applications. Medicine at Johns Hopkins, Harvard Medical School, Stanford University, and the University of Pennsylvania. He’s applied for a scholarship at all of them, and Will desperately hopes he gets it. He knows he will. He’s Hannibal, after all. His baby can do anything.

Venus Is Bright by wolfgraham [words: 7,237]

Tomorrow, he tells himself, tomorrow he'll set new rules, boundaries. He'll tidy up Hannibal's room and give him the talk, and download Matefinder on his phone. But is it so bad? So bad to wish that the world outside the two of them would just disappear and leave them be?

Creator by Caidepgun, wolfgraham [words: 5,589]

Will and his son, Hannibal, have an unusual relationship.

My First, My Last, My Everything by TheBl00dyFl0wer [words: 14,930]

Will Graham's encephalitis gets out of control and messes with his hormones, mutates him. May I present: Will Graham, the first known Omega.

Room 205 by HotMolasses [words: 9,220]

Will is an Alpha, but in name only. He's a hotel maid at the Graham Bed & Breakfast. He considers himself a freak; an Alpha with no knot, who dreams of a powerful Omega to dominate him. He's pretty certain that because of this, he'll be alone for the rest of his life. Then he meets Hannibal Lecter.

Howl by multifandom_fanfic_writer [words: 7,083]

When omegas go into heat, they go feral. Only an alpha strong enough to subdue them is a worthy mate. Will Graham has never found anyone worthy. After all, there is only one alpha Will plans to submit to – and he doesn’t even know their name.

Careful, He Bites by maxxeoff [words: 10,328]

Will Graham is a feral child. His dad died when he was five, and he lives with a wolf pack until he has his first heat. He's found, brought to Baltimore. Dr. Lecter takes an interest in him.

Predator by eijirouN_17 [words: 7,619]

Will hasn't presented, he doesn't give off any scent at all so everyone, including himself, assumes he's a beta. Then Will goes into heat. At a crime scene. In front of everyone. And Hannibal tries so hard not to go feral.

#abo

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letterboxd · 3 years

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How I Letterboxd #12: Joe Lynch.

Self-described cinedork and Mayhem filmmaker Joe Lynch tells Horrorville’s Brett Petersel about cinematic sausage, getting to direct Creepshow episodes and being a three-star starter on Letterboxd.

“Even when I watch what I would think is a real stinker, I also consider that there were many people involved in that film who didn’t walk on set going ‘okay people, let’s screw this up today!’” —Joe Lynch

It is always a pleasure to find film directors lurking on Letterboxd. Joe Lynch is a bona fide, OG member, having racked up more than 1,500 diary entries, giving half-star reviews to his own work, and creating lists of the movies that have influenced the making of his films.

There are the films that were in Lynch’s subconscious when he made Mayhem, a workplace splatter led by Steven Yeun and Samara Weaving. There are the movies he watched while researching the Salma Hayek-starring Everly. And this just in: films that influenced The Right Snuff, one of Lynch’s two episodes for the new Creepshow series—based on the 1982 horror-comedy classic and its sequels—which premieres on Shudder April 15.

Like so many of us, Lynch took time during the pandemic to catch up on films he had neglected to watch in spite of a previous career as a video-store clerk (a Criterion Channel subscription helped him get on top of the backlog). In this edition of ‘How I Letterboxd’, Lynch discusses how those classics have informed his craft, who his Letterboxd faves are, and why the horror genre is the future of the industry.

Steven Yeun and Samara Weaving in Joe Lynch’s ‘Mayhem’ (2017).

How long have you been on Letterboxd? Joe Lynch: I remember when Letterboxd was in its beta phase way back in good ol’ 2012 and I couldn’t wait to sign up, breathlessly waiting for an invite to the party. At the time, I had a digital database where I would log movies I’ve seen, but it was always subject to whatever laptop or device I had handy and would just be a mess of titles with no rhyme or reason.

When a member follows you, what should they expect? I put it right up top in my description: “I am not a critic”, just a lover of cinema. At first I didn’t want to write “reviews” in the description, especially since I first started using the service whilst in the throes of a horrible experience making a film that I thought would bury me and I’d never work again. I was like, and I still feel this way, “who am I to rip on a movie when someone can throw it right back at me? Like ‘dude, you directed Knights of Badassdom, sit down’.”

I’ve always had the highest regard for filmmakers who can get anything made. So even when I watch what I would think is a real stinker, I also consider that there were many people involved in that film who didn’t walk on set going “okay people, let’s screw this up today!” but instead were trying their best and circumstances just got in the way, which always happens. Having made a few films and TV now, I’m fully aware of the trials and tribulations that go into making a movie and have all the respect in the world for anyone who can steer that ship to completion. It’s hard making movies and even harder making one that is your original vision [and] that is widely embraced by an audience.

I have very weird tastes so don’t be shocked if you glance at my recent activity and you see Casablanca, The Silence of the Lambs or Bigger Than Life right next to The Legend of Billie Jean, Con Air or Candyman 3. I’m usually bouncing all over the place in terms of what kinds of movies I’m screening. From films recommended to me, to films that I may be watching for research, or even just how I’m feeling that day and maybe need a good laugh or a good cry or to be scared stiff. I like that kind of variety. There’s something out there for everyone and every emotion. If anything, I’d say expect the unexpected when it comes to my viewing habits.

What’s your favorite feature to use and why? One of the residual effects of working at video stores as a kid was my desire to siphon people’s tastes in movies and possibly recommend films to others as well, so my favorite feature is the ease of use in logging films and being able to quickly recall those films as well in the event someone asks me “what’s something I should watch?”. Getting older, the “employee’s picks” in my head is getting a little harder to cross-reference than usual so to have the ability to whip out my phone and say “oh man, I just watched Possession and it was awesome!” is exponentially helpful to a cinedork like myself.

‘Big Trouble in Little China’ (1986)—a five-star film says Joe Lynch.

How do you rate the films you watch? For example, what type of film is worthy of a five-star review? Funny, I always start out on three-stars mainly because I’m so proud of the filmmakers actually getting it completed! I’ve been there! I’m somewhat biased in my reflections because I’m always rooting for the artists and from there, it’s usually gauged on both an emotional level and a technical level. I always get made fun of while watching movies because I can point out hidden cuts or when a shot is reversed but [I’m] not trying to point out flaws, it's just how my brain is wired at this point. When you pull the curtain back enough to see how the cinematic sausage is made, it's harder and harder to objectively watch a movie without trying to dissect how it was done. I try so hard to shut that part of my brain off to just passively enjoy a movie but it’s tough. I usually skew towards the positive.

The films I’ve given five-stars are movies that have continually affected me over the years and have inspired me as a person and a filmmaker, which is everything from The Empire Strikes Back, Dawn of the Dead and When Harry Met Sally... to Big Trouble in Little China, The Blob, The Last of the Mohicans. I looked back at my five-stars and it’s mostly movies that made a significant impression on me from an early age and continue to do so, maybe even more so as I get older and I view these movies in a different light.

The anthology show Creepshow returns to Shudder this month. Tell us about the two episodes you directed for the series, ‘Pipe Screams’ and ‘The Right Snuff’. Both Creepshow and Creepshow 2 were important films in my youth and even today, they were some of the first movies I remember where I wasn’t quite sure if I was supposed to be scared or laugh. These films proclaimed we could do both! As a disciple of George A. Romero, Stephen King and Tom Savini, Creepshow really shaped how I watched movies and how I made them—consider the anthology I did a few years back, Chillerama, as a prime example. So when Shudder announced the show, I had to do everything on my part to convince them I could take the baton from these masters of the macabre and do them and the many fans proud.

To come to the table and say “I want ‘The Right Snuff’ to feel like 2001: A Space Odyssey crashed into The Andromeda Strain, and ‘Pipe Screams’ is my homage to The Blob and Delicatessen”—and then everyone just immediately getting it—was a dream. Between the casts I was lucky enough to work with and the amazing crew, especially the FX geniuses at KNB, it really was one of those dream jobs I’ll never forget. I hope audiences dig the madness we conjured up on those!

Season 2 of the Shudder series ‘Creepshow’ returns to the horror streamer this month. A third season has been ordered.

If you were to expand the Mayhem universe, what would it look like? We tried! I pitched the producers the idea of the ID-7 virus in other locations and situations because in essence the idea of being uninhibited by mental and emotional constraints is so ripe. My favorite was the idea that it would get loose in a Wal-Mart or a mall on Black Friday when consumers swarm to these department stores for the best deals. You’ve seen the videos, it’s just mass hysteria. The footage already out there would have been perfect to use already and those people aren’t even infected!

Sadly it didn’t come to pass, mainly because they asked “how do we get Steven and Samara back?” and I didn’t want to force those characters into that scenario, Die Hard 2 style. Plus they’re both huge stars now and likely unavailable for the next twelve years. But the ideas people have thrown out to me show that it was impactful enough to warrant variant scenarios in a “what if?” way that’s really exciting. Who knows, maybe the ID-7 virus could find its way onto the set of a movie production…

What excites you about the future of filmmaking, especially in horror films? The world is embracing new faces and voices more than ever and it means we’re getting stories that may not have ever had the chance to flourish and be seen and heard before. For the longest time the system was much more rigid because executives and producers thought that the audience was much less accepting of a wider world view in cinema and I think the last ten years has proven them wrong. There shouldn’t be any more “token” character or “strong [insert non-white-male] character” descriptions in development meetings. I hear it less and less, which is great because that’s not our world and since cinema—especially horror—is and always should be a reflection of our culture and times, it should reflect these evolutions as well.

When I made Wrong Turn 2: Dead End, the discussions over how one of the characters—a Black character played by Texas Battle—survived at the end was not in the original script but I pushed for it mainly because it was rare for the Black character to do so in a horror film. That shouldn’t be an anomaly! Why can’t there be a ‘final guy’ or have the survivors be LGBT+ or a POC and not the usual stereotypes?

I think now it’s more commonplace to see this and it excites me for the future of the genre that artists are being more welcome to express themselves without it feeling like it’s a gimmick or a twist on the norm.

I think generations of kids growing up with horror now are gonna see these strides in the storytelling—and who’s telling the stories—and push it even further. Places like Netflix and Shudder are willing to take chances with new voices more than the studio system, now more than ever, and that’s only going to produce some great stories now and in the future.

Erica Leehrsen and Texas Battle in a scene from ‘Wrong Turn 2: Dead End’ (2007).

How has the pandemic affected your creativity and influenced your work moving forward? Aside from losing a bunch of gigs due to the shutdown and being delayed on shooting Creepshow—which was a blessing in disguise considering the time we took to further develop the scripts and design of each episode—one of the main effects of the pandemic was how it gave many of us the time to catch up on a lot of films, mainly older ones. As you’d see from my diary entries on this very site, my viewing habits changed from a lot of modern films in that rat-race of catching up with the latest release, to mainly watching films I loved in the past and a lot of ’40s to ’70s films that I never got around to.

We have the tendency as film lovers to keep a mental list of films we’ll eventually get around to as if we have all the time in the world, but with the threat of the apocalypse and no real new content coming our way at the usual rapid clip, it was so gratifying to buy an annual subscription to Criterion Channel and start watching films like The Old Dark House, The Crimson Kimono, Contempt and many others.

All of these films impacted how I view film now and have bled into future projects I’m working on—especially on the technical side, when the world wasn’t influenced vicariously through MTV coverage and letting scenes play out in masters or longer takes, relishing in the performance or the mise-en-scéne. So, silver linings!

Before we go, who are some of your favorite follows on Letterboxd? I’m a big fan of Sean Baker, who I’ve known for almost 20 years now! We worked together in NYC and I was already a big Greg the Bunny fan but our mutual appreciation for fringe and exploitation films, especially international horror and genre films, seems to have bonded us for life. I love when he posts what he’s watching. Even if he’s just saying he screened something on Blu or streaming, his thoughts on cinema are always enjoyable and engaging.

In the same breath, filmmaker Jim Cummings has the best perspective on modern filmmaking and he’s clearly a big fan of using Letterboxd, so whenever I see peers like them using the app it makes me feel less like an obsessive movie dork myself, who should be getting back to work.

Some of the other follows I really enjoy are cineastes like Elric Kane and Brian Saur, who are the hosts of the New Beverly podcast Pure Cinema. Writers Anya Stanley, David Chen, Walter Chaw and Lindsay Blair Goeldner, musician and filmmaker Brendon Small, writer and critic Brian Tallerico, author Glenn Kenny, filmmaker Rodman Flender—just to name a few people who clearly love film and love sharing their thoughts on films in a very thoughtful way.

More times than not, I’m getting some great advice for what to watch next in my “new from friends” section! Because, like being at the video store, it’s casual conversations like the ones on Letterboxd that I love and always steering me to new films or revisiting old ones with a new perspective.

Related content

Joe’s film influences for ‘The Right Snuff’ Creepshow episode

The Video Store: Hollie Horror’s list of horror films with memorable scenes in video stores

Office Workplace Horror: J Cara’s list of office horror and workplace thrillers

Follow Brett on Letterboxd

Follow Horrorville—the home for horror on Letterboxd

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potatocrab · 4 years

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just a flesh wound

After being ambushed on their way back to Megaton, Rosie proves that only she can get away with bringing a knife to a gunfight. Butch stares on in wild amazement, though he’s a little annoyed by those feelings—don’t ask, it’s complicated.

Butch DeLoria x Rosie Sheridan (Lone Wanderer)

2303 words | [read on Ao3]

What was supposed to be a speedy trip west to the Super-Duper Mart had quickly turned into hours of stalking raiders and scavenging the abandoned grocery store for food and medical supplies. Butch was quickly questioning why he’d agreed to tag along with Rosie in the first place. It’d barely been a month since hooking up in Rivet City—maybe there was still time to get away from whatever the hell kind of crazy she was constantly finding herself wrapped up in.

Not that he was one to back down from a fight—ma didn’t raise no coward—he was only annoyed that both Rosie and that Craterside supply lady had assured the building would be empty. If there was anything he’d learned from his short time in the Capital Wasteland, it was that danger reared its ugly head at every possible second. Butch made a point to remember to stop believing it when Moira said it would be safe. She was, after all, the same person who’d sent him and Rosie into Minefield.

But now he was playing pack-brahmin, loaded up with more than a few bags of assorted junk they’d looted. Rosie’s load was considerably lighter, which Butch supposed was fair enough, considering her smaller frame. He was surprised she’d survived this long on the surface without bulking up, at least a little bit. Without meaning to, his eyes roamed down the length of her body. When he realized he was watching the curve of her ass as she walked, he frowned.

She noticed him staring—scowling—and her expression fell. “What?”

“Nothin’” he feigned ignorance, snapping his vision to the sky—immediately regretting the decision as the sun created blurry spots in his eyes. He huffed, adjusting one of the heavier bags. “Why’d you drag me out here?”

“You could’ve stayed in Megaton,” she mumbled.

“Pfft.”

Butch dared to glance over, only to find Rosie staring at her shoes as she walked with a full pout—why’d she always have to be so upset? Was it something he said? Why were girls—why was she—so complicated and moody? Why did he care? Whatever.

“Guess it’s a good thing I tagged along,” he mused.

In an effort to pack light, she’d left her plasma rifle at home. Which was a shame—when she managed to aim the thing correctly, it packed a serious punch, and Butch loved watching the weapon turn their enemies into bright green piles of goo. Rosie wasn’t much of a sharpshooter with anything else, which had him questioning how she’d managed to survive the Capital Wasteland for so long.

He eyed the holstered pistol on her hip, reminding himself not to stare at her ass. “Always knew I’d be a better shot than you, four eyes.”

Rosie whipped her head around, a blush already radiating over her cheeks. “I—”

Before she could—or couldn’t—say anything, a flurry of shots rang out in their direction, causing her to shriek in surprise. Butch barely managed to take notice of the group of hostiles running over the hill when more gunfire echoed around them, a stray bullet whizzing past his face and into the nearby pile of rubble. He didn’t hesitate to grab Rosie’s arm, practically pushing her behind the nearby burnt out car.

“Hey!” she yelled. Despite the danger, she obviously didn’t take kindly to being manhandled. She tried to push him away, but he tucked her head lower, even if that meant their bodies were huddled close in the confined space. Rosie didn’t hide her agitation. “Butch!”

“Would ya’ rather get shot at?” he snapped, holding back from shoving her into the dirt—though, maybe that’d be the safest hiding spot for her. He grumbled as he dropped the bags he was carrying, pulling free his pistol from its holster. “Thought we got all the raiders?”

Rosie shifted to lean her head back just enough, peeking over the edge of the car’s roof. She yelped, ducking back down as a spray of bullets came in their direction within seconds, ricocheting off the rusted metal of their flimsy hideout. At least the pre-war car was already smoked-out by a previous fire, otherwise one well-placed bullet and they’d be atomic toast.

“Those aren’t raiders,” Rosie explained, adjusting her glasses. “Those are Talon Company mercenaries.”

Butch checked to ensure his weapon was loaded but found that he didn’t have much ammo to spare after their grocery store escapade. “What’d ya’ do to piss them off?”

She didn’t have a chance to respond, though he could tell she was irritated by his pestering—but when wasn’t she? Instead, the two became instantly preoccupied by the advancing mercs, shooting off automatic rounds from a nearby barricade. When they paused to reload, Butch dared to pop up long enough to return fire, trying to count how many Talon bastards he saw as he squeezed the trigger of his pistol. At least one of his rounds managed to find a target, the man’s body crumpling to the ground as the others shouted. Rosie must’ve been shooting too, because another mercenary body fell shortly thereafter.

“You’re a good shot after all, four—”

He was rudely interrupted by the last Talon merc jumping out from behind the concrete barrier, blasting more rounds from his reloaded assault rifle. Rosie instantly yanked Butch back behind the car, but not before he felt something sharp and hot graze his skull. Within seconds he could feel something wet dripping down the side of his face, and when he lifted his hand to touch, it felt sticky. Gross.

“Oh God,” Rosie’s voice was hushed, if not panicked, eyes wide as she looked at him in what he could only describe as absolute horror. Not that she hadn’t looked at him like that before in their youth—but now, it was…a little worrisome. He pulled his hand away to see blood staining his fingers. Oh—yeah, that was bad. “Butch?”

He blinked, wondering why he didn’t feel any pain, considering he’d just been shot in the head. Was he dead already? “I don’t—”

Rosie shook her head, dropping her weapon to the ground so she could cradle his head in her hands, carefully. As if they weren’t in the middle of a firefight—except, the Talon mercenary seemed to have stopped shooting again. Either way, she seemed much more concerned about his injury, tilting his chin to the side and leaning closer despite his protest so she could examine it.

“It’s just a graze,” she sighed, relieved. “Medically—a flesh wound.”

“Oh goodie,” Butch had a hard time feeling excited when there was blood pouring from his head. “Patch me up, will ya’?”

“Come out! So I can finish the job!” the Talon mercenary yelled out, interrupting their clinical assessment.

Rosie’s eyebrows knitted together into deep concentration. “I think he’s out of ammo.”

She was right—he hadn’t reloaded or tried to fire on them in the last minute or so. Butch looked down at his own pistol and clicked free the magazine, muttering under his breath when he saw there was only one bullet left to spare. No way in hell he’d be able to make the shot in his condition. And Rosie—she might as well just shoot straight up into the air. As if she could tell he didn’t like their odds, she shifted to tug free the combat knife strapped to her calf—something Butch had never seen her wield. He knew she carried it, but as far as he knew, it was all for show, or for cooking when out on the open road—not for…

He eyed the large blade in her hand. “What’re ya’ gonna do with that?”

“There is more than one way to kill a person,” she responded, sounding more sure of herself—and more deadly—than ever before. Butch gulped, unsure if he was scared or excited—his heart was certainly racing, but he decided to blame it all on the adrenaline rushing through him after being shot.

Footsteps crunched in the dirt, signaling the merc was closing in on their hiding spot. “I don’t have all day!”

Rosie seemed to steady herself with a shaky breath, nodding once as she jumped up from her crouched position.

“Hey, wait—” Butch tried to stop her, but lacked the energy to pull her back to safety.

It didn’t matter anyways, as she startled the Talon mercenary into dropping his weapon—it hardly mattered if it was loaded or not. He defaulted to swinging his fists towards her, but Rosie’s small frame made her agile and able to dodge the incoming blows. Even though her attacker was more than twice her size, Rosie proved to be a worthy opponent. She grabbed onto the man’s armor, yanking him close as she plunged the knife into the gap along his side, twisting the blade once it was buried deep enough. Brutal, but effective.

Butch watched on, stuck in his own delirium, wondering if he was imagining the scene playing out before his eyes. He had a hard time believing the same scrawny nerd he used to tease back in Vault 101 was capable of killing a man with her bare hands. Rosie struggled to balance the weight of the mercenary as he gurgled his last breath, collapsing against her before she gave a sharp shove so he’d topple to the ground instead. She was breathless, chest heaving in and out as she studied the red-stained knife in her hand with a pensive frown.

As soon as Butch made a pained sound she was back at his side, tossing her weapon to the dirt and digging through her bag for her case of medical supplies.

“Okay,” she mumbled to herself, wiping at brow with her forearm, causing blood to streak down her skin like a macabre stain of warpaint. Butch wistfully thought to himself that it looked beautiful. Okay—maybe he was more delirious than he realized—did he have a concussion? How much blood had he lost since that gunshot…graze…flesh wound? Rosie wasn’t supposed to be beautiful—she was…she was…

“Ugh.”

“Hold still,” she instructed. She’d cleaned her hands with a bottle of purified water and dampened a clean towel with what remained. Though, as soon as she touched it to his scalp, he flinched away with a yelp. “I said—”

“Yeah, yeah!” he argued, leaning back when she gently tugged on the other side of his face.

Butch remained quiet as Rosie worked on cleaning his wound, carefully and quietly explaining to him everything she’d need to do in the process. He seemed to recall she always had good bedside manners as her dad’s clinic assistant, even when she had every right to refuse treatment or enact revenge on the likes of him. One of those dreamy thoughts came back as he wondered if her hands had always been so soft—ew no—what? Butch blinked hard, forcing the idea from his mind.

“More stitches from Stitches,” he muttered instead, unable to hold back from teasing. Rosie sighed, shaking her head in disapproval as she finished of the final tiny thread. Butch rolled his eyes—couldn’t she take a joke. “What’s the damage?”

“Lucky for you, the scar will heal,” she noted. “You’ll be back to breaking hearts in no time.”

What’d she mean by that?

Butch watched as she packed up her supplies, focusing more on her solemn expression. He had to wonder if he, or his injury, was the reason. He reached out to catch her hand, sliding his palm up to hold her wrist. Rosie flinched, glancing down at his hand like his touch alone burned her skin like fire. He’d noticed that reaction before—when he’d pushed them to safety and on numerous occasions before. When would she stop reacting that way around him? Sure, they’d had their difficulties in the past, but he’d apologized, and they both had agreed to a fresh start. He really needed to figure out why he cared so damn much in the first place.

“I’m just one big burden, huh?” he huffed, instantly dejected by the own voices in his head.

Rosie peered at him, alarmed. “What?”

“Admit it, Stitches,” he pouted. “You can’t wait to be rid of me.”

For a long while, she matched his expression, and didn’t say anything. Finally, she shifted to sit next to him so they were both leaned against the shell of the burnt-out car.

“Don’t—don’t tease me,” she warned, cheeks tinted pink.

Butch tried not to grin. “I won’t, I swear.”

“I—” she still hesitated. “I’m glad you’re around, Butch. Without you, I’d have found myself in trouble, injured or worse. And not just today.”

For once, he decided not to crack a joke. He thought about saying something profound like, he’d gladly take a bullet for her but for starters—he’d already done that—and that it sounded far more romantic than he wanted to be. He tried to play it cool, even if his head and heart were swimming with unexplainable emotions.

“That’s what happens when you’re in a gang yeah?” he shrugged. “Blood oath and whatnot. Tunnel snakes for life, remember?”

Rosie glanced at him. “I never joined the Tunnel Snakes. You just gave me your jacket.”

Butch shrugged again and stuck out his hand, initiating a handshake. “Good enough.”

She nervously laughed, slowly sliding her hand into his, awkwardly following along with the movements he’d perfected with the former members—she’d catch on eventually. Her touch lingered and he decided in the moment that saying something nice might go a long way, especially with Rosie.

“I got yer back,” Butch squeezed her hand and nodded. “Kay?”

Rosie returned the gesture, along with a tiny smile. “Okay.”

#fallout 3 #butch deloria x f!lone wanderer #butch deloria #rosie sheridan #rosie sheridan fics #otp: it's just a flesh wound #fanfic #some pre-relationship goodies #rosie with a knife!#watch her go!#sorry for making the same monty python joke twice in one week but hey #this is their OTP name

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themusikabox · 3 years

Text

Elegy for a Rat

“A strange occurrence leads to an equally strange first meeting.”

Dedicated to @gasolineghuleh, for inspiring me to get up and write for the first time in almost a decade! This is actually heavily based on an experience I had several years ago; unfortunately, this was a somewhat unhappy story, and while I’ve tried not to make it too graphic in the retelling, reader discretion is advised.

Content Warning: Animal Death

SFW, Word count 1,530

The night was warm, and the streetlights shone off the asphalt, still wet from the rain earlier in the day. You were on your way home from a raid on the local mini-mart, a pint of ice cream swaying by your side. You usually didn’t like to head out so late in the day on your own, preferring not to tempt fate, but you lived in a fairly safe part of the city, and for good measure you did not have any music playing to keep yourself that much more aware of your surroundings. Besides, it had been a hell of a week - you deserved a little indulgence, right?

The walk had been without incident so far, and you were making your way across the well-lit parking lot to your apartment block when some movement in the gutter caught your eye. As you paused to focus, you realized quickly that it was a large, brown rat. That in and of itself wasn’t so strange; racoons got in the dumpsters around here all the time, and the residents occasionally complained of mice problems, so it stood to reason that there would be rats around as well. No, what had grabbed your attention was its behavior; as it scurried up the groove of the gutter, it would leap up onto the curb for a while before leaping back down, back and forth, back and forth. Frankly, you were a little astounded - you had never seen a wild animal do something like this for no apparent reason before. Was it playing?

Curiosity got the better of you, and you decided to follow it (not too close, you remind yourself, it is still a wild animal after all). As you closed the gap, though, something seemed to be “off” about the rat’s movements. From a distance, it had indeed looked like it was jumping to and fro, but as you drew closer, the movements appeared more erratic, less purposeful, for lack of a better word. It started to make its way away from the gutter, and yet it continued to jump about as before, which definitely struck you as strange, given the lack of obstacles. By the time you were a couple meters away, it hit you why this looked so odd.

It wasn’t jumping; it was spasming, hard.

“Oh no…” you breathed, heart breaking at the realization. The rat’s movements were slowing now, as it tried to make its way back to the gutter again with a new, unsteady wobble. It stopped for a moment, its rapid breathing apparent to you even from a distance. One more advance was attempted before it stopped again, collapsing against the wall of the curb. It was still breathing a mile a minute, but it was beginning to slow, and you realized with horror that something dark was oozing from its mouth between shuddering breaths.

You found yourself edging closer to the poor creature. Logically, you knew this was a bad idea on multiple counts; spasms most likely meant it was sick, either from disease or from poison (a possibility that made you shudder), and coupling that with a natural instinct to avoid the large creature looming over it, the rat could very well lash out and try to bite you. And yet, a sentimental part of you didn’t have the heart to just leave it. It felt cruel, somehow, to abandon it to die alone now that you have seen it and acknowledged its presence. So you continued your advance, slowly so as not to startle it, and kept a good meter away for both your safety and its peace of mind.

“You poor thing… you didn’t deserve this at all, did you?” you murmured sadly. “I wish I had realized sooner, though I guess that wouldn’t have done you too much good, would it?”

You continued these mindless attempts at comfort until a polite cough snapped you out of your reverie. Your head whipped up with a startled flinch in the direction of the interruption. There was a man standing there, whose approach you had somehow missed even in the silence of the night. To be fair, he was clad head to toe in a black-as-night cassock, and his mousey-brown hair was topped off with what appeared to be a biretta (something was not-quite-right about its shape, but in the dim light you couldn’t put your finger on what, exactly). A priest, perhaps? You knew there was a Catholic church nearby, but you doubted there was a connection; most priests you were familiar with did not look like Vincent Price had an unfortunate liquid-eyeliner accident. He raised his gloved hands in truce - the universal signal for “I realize this is creepy but I swear I’m not trying to be.”

“Ah, scusami, I was just taking a walk, I didn’t mean to, eh…” The man’s eyes darted between you and the rat, his confusion apparent. “...Interrupt? Might I ask what you are doing?”

“Oh! I, uh…” You felt your cheeks heat as you mentally scrambled for an explanation. Deciding there really was no way to salvage this interaction without looking at least a little weird, honesty felt like the best way forward. You gesture to the fallen creature.

“I noticed this rat was behaving strangely, so I was watching him for a while, and, well…” A sweeping motion towards the macabre scene, as if to punctuate your point. “He’s dying, and I didn’t want to just leave him alone.” At this point, you’re just trying not to squirm under this man’s scrutiny.

“‘Behaving strangely?’ Strange how, if I may ask?”

“He… he was jumping about, or at least I thought he was at first, but after a while I realized that it was convulsions. I can’t believe I had thought he was having a good time,” you added guiltily.

“Saint Vitus’ Dance,” he murmured thoughtfully, almost so soft that you didn’t catch it. “A frightening way to go, if you cannot understand what is happening to you.”

“I think that’s why I wanted to stay,” you confessed. “Being able to control your own movement is pretty much the most basic free will you can have, and even that was getting robbed of him.”

After a moment of silence, he nodded (as though making up his mind - about you, perhaps?), walked closer, and joined you in kneeling a polite distance away. More silence followed as the pair of you watched the rat’s breathing slowed and, eventually, stopped completely. Your breath left you heavily as you nodded sadly at this final moment.

The sensation of your phone buzzing in your pocket ripped you out of this (oddly peaceful) moment. You checked the screen, and flinched guiltily upon realizing it was your roommate checking in on you - you should have been home ten minutes ago. You quickly tapped out a reply assuring your continued survival, then stood, wincing slightly from the strain of crouching for so long.

“Shit, that completely got away from me. I’m sorry, I really need to get going.” You glanced once more at the now-deceased rat. “I feel a little bad just leaving him there, but… he’s not in the road, so he shouldn’t get squashed, and I don’t think the local cats will want to bother him now. Maybe I can move him in the morning.”

“Are you planning on giving him a funeral?” the man asked, brows raised. His tone seemed genuinely curious rather than mocking, which you privately appreciated.

“Not exactly… This may sound silly, but it feels presumptive to bury a wild animal. I was only really planning on moving him to some grass, maybe by some trees to hide him a little better. Something nicer than concrete, at any rate. Anyway, it was… nice? To meet you, Mister, uh…”

“Ah, dove sono le mie maniere? I am Copia. Cardinal Copia, technically, but under these circumstances, I think the niceties aren’t needed.” Your expression must have betrayed you, because “Eh, not that kind of Cardinal,” was quickly appended to this introduction. You gave your own name, though just a first name for now - this was quite the unorthodox bonding experience, and while he did seem okay, if eccentric, caution never hurt anybody. To his credit, Copia did not try to press you for more information.

“Perhaps I’ll see you at the memorial?” you offered, half serious. To your surprise, this was met with a small but nonetheless sincere smile.

“I would like that very much. It’s not often that I meet one who would show such esteem to a rat.” There was something self-deprecating in his expression that suggested he wasn’t just talking of literal rodents. “A domani, then?”

“A domani,” you replied, smiling at his awkward charm in spite of yourself. A final nod was exchanged between the two of you, then you parted, heading in opposite directions.

What a weird night, you thought to yourself. What a weird guy, for that matter.

Still, when you showed up the next morning with a shoebox to transport the mercifully untampered-with “St. Vitus”, you had to admit you were happy to see the good Cardinal waiting as promised, funeral lily in hand.

#gasolineghuleh #the band ghost #cardinal copia #musika writes #cw: animal death

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