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storiesbyrhi · 7 months

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Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson Series Masterlist The Grimoire The Timeline

Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence/some infrequent gore, swearing, animal death, no beta, death in childbirth (mentioned, not described), abusive parents, suicide, warnings updated each chapter.

Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?

Chapter Summary: Before death. 3170 words.

1986

Led Zeppelin.

Talking Heads.

Public Enemy.

The Grateful Dead.

Brian Eno.

The Clash.

Metallica.

New Order.

N.W.A.

The Cure.

Tori Amos.

Black Sabbath.

Cat Stevens.

Patti Smith.

Fleetwood Mac.

There were a lot of cassettes in your car. Eddie looked through them with interest. Some were store bought, their original sleeves intact, and some were mix tapes you’d made yourself.

“This is the more modern stuff. It’s easy to fall behind when you live so many lifetimes. So, I try to update what I’m listening to every decade. This is mostly 1970s and 80s,” you told him.

“Where shall we begin?”

“With hair like yours… Metallica?”

Key turned in the ignition, you ran the car and pushed the cassette into the player. Fight Fire with Fire began, the first few bars melodic and calm. Then, it kicked in. Eddie flinched at the noise, surprised but not alarmed.

He leaned forward, like he was trying to decode something hidden deep within the music. Slowly, a wide grin crept across his face. He snapped to face you. “What is this?” he demanded in pure delight.

“This is music,” you replied with a casual shrug. “Specifically, this type is called metal,”

“I like it.”

Eddie looked like he was going to cry when For Whom the Bells Tolls played. Like the guitar riff and gothic sound effects were going to heal the undead body he lived in. Fade to Black made the vampire melt into his seat. He laughed then held a hand out to you. You took it, letting him thread his fingers through yours.

“I do not know what happened to me. But if it was the only path I could have taken to being here in this… car… with you and this music, then I am glad I took it,” Eddie said, closing his eyes before you could respond with expression or word.

You watched him for a moment. Something about him like this – relaxed, weird, beautiful – made you want to squeeze him. Dig your nails in. Bite to test for firmness. It was muscle memory, you realised. Your mind didn’t know Eddie, didn’t remember him, but your body acted as though she’d been by his side forever. It was too easy.

“Since we’re already in the car, should we go get you some more appropriate clothes? Maybe some other supplies too?”

One of the large neighbouring towns had a Walmart that had just been built, and it boasted 24/7 opening hours.

Eddie opened his eyes and cocked his head. “Little witch, are you attempting to court me?”

You laughed. “Are you asking me if I’m asking you on a date?”

“A date,” Eddie repeated. He was a quick study. “Little witch, are you asking me on a date?”

He expected you to blush or groan with denial. The anticipation of your reaction was written all over his face. You’d not play into his trap so easily. Instead, you shrugged and casually replied, “What if I am?”

Eddie couldn’t control his face entirely; his eyebrows shot up and he smiled. “Then ask,”

“Eddie the unhexed, my mortal enemy, will you accompany me on a date to Walmart?”

…

1587

At the age of twenty, Edward felt old. Although he had only graduated from his teenage years days earlier, as he stood on The Lion’s deck face to face with the Atlantic Ocean, he was weary.

His mother had died in childbirth, which was not uncommon. The world hadn’t begun to record statistics on such occurrences, but all things averaged, eighteen of every hundred women would perish before the birth day of their baby was done. Likely, it was much more.

Edward’s father looked at him like he was the murder weapon of his wife, life-taking and constantly reflecting a bloody image back at him. He treated his son worse. Not as a loaded pistol or sharpened axe, but as a contagion. The plague or measles. Typhoid or smallpox. Something that elicited disgust, a disease to rid himself of at the very first chance.

Edward was sold to a farmer at age seven, destined to a life of hard labour and loneliness.

However, Edward was a fighter. He fought the conditions of his gory birth. The miserable childhood. And the farmer’s distrust of him around his daughter, Lizzy.

He didn’t have eyes for Lizzy. He kept his head down, tended to the animals, worked the land, and waited to be released from his workman’s contract. For eleven years, the farmer underfed Edward. He staved off malnutrition through the kindness of the farmer’s wife, the only person the farmer treated worse than Edward.

He was beaten and broken in, the subject of the farmer’s displaced rage at not fathering any sons of his own.

On the morning of his eighteenth birthday, Edward stood at his post expectedly. The contract was done. He had earned his freedom. Perhaps there would be an offer of legitimate farm work, which Edward would decline regardless. Perhaps a parting gift of a letter of recommendation. Perhaps simply a nod of acknowledgment. But nothing came.

He knew better than to go inside the family house, but by mid-morning, Edward couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong. Slowly, quietly, he crept in. Lizzy had grown up and left the farm, but there still should have been the noise of the wife.

The quiet was worse in some rooms than others. Edward followed the silence to the study.

The farmer was sitting in the corner of the room, curled up as if he weren’t the God-fearing iron-fisted master of the house. His rifle was held under his chin, ready for suicide.

The wife was sprawled out on the floor, eyes open and fixed on the ceiling, bleeding from somewhere Edward could not immediately see.

“Is she dead?” the farmer asked.

Edward didn’t move.

“This is your fault, boy… Look what you made me do.”

It didn’t matter that it wasn’t Edward’s fault. A second dead mother would haunt him.

The gun went off, Edward flinched, half expecting to feel the bullet pierce through his body. His eyes were screwed shut and he was terrified to open them. He stood in the void of unknown for an entire minute. He counted the seconds in his head, one… two…, while he tried to imagine how he could have been the catalyst for the violence.

The sight of the farmer, face torn off and entirely limp, was seared onto the lens’ of Edward’s eyes forever.

On the desk was the contract signed when he was seven. His father’s signature had faded, the sign of cheap ink. Other documents were strewn around, including some that indicated to Edward that it was a possibility the farmer had no intention of honouring the contract’s end.

Among the papers, Edward found the key to the safe that was hidden beneath the staircase. Inside was what he considered to be a small fortune, but to the farmer it was pocket money. Edward took the cash, knowing he was incriminating himself, and returned to his post. He slung his one bag over his shoulder, took a horse, and never returned.

For days, weeks, and months after, Edward sat on the cusp of calm, always expecting to be hunted down and hung for a double murder. After a year, he slipped from the cusp and into a sense of normalcy.

Edward found work in Plymouth, the port city home to enough taverns and underground establishments that he could choose between the kitchens or the brawling rings. He could butcher a pig as easily as he could take a punch. Ultimately, he earned the most when he picked up the lute and made music.

Despite landing on his feet, Edward lived in solitude, afraid that any woman he loved would meet an early death, and any man he trusted would turn on him for no reason. He went by the name Wayne, simultaneously distancing himself from his past while tying himself to it. Edward had only met his Uncle Wayne once. He had come for him when he was four, claiming that he could care better for his sister’s son than Edward’s father ever could.

When Edward was free from the farm, he considered trying to find Uncle Wayne. His father has ensured he knew nothing of the man though. He wouldn’t have known where to begin. Taking his name was all he could do.

For two years, Edward eavesdropped on the comings and goings of sailors, pirates, and kingsmen. In June of 1586, he heard of the return of ships from somewhere over the sea. They had run out of provisions. The attempt to colonise had been a failure. Next year. That’s what he had heard. Next year, they’d try again.

Edward felt, for the first time in his entire life, that he knew where he should go. The Lion’s manifest read Wayne Munson, birth 1567, and set sale on May 8 1587 with Governor White at the helm.

Sea travel was horrific. Edward was violently ill with motion sickness, his skin itched as the salt water dried on him, and he spent more time picking splinters out from under his nails than doing almost anything else. When, after two and a half months at sea, The Lion dropped anchor on the east coast of what would be come to known as North America, Edward could have kissed the earth. However, he was trying to maintain a low profile.

That is exactly how he came to learn that the violence he had been running from was an unstoppable force. In all his hope, Edward had underestimated the British’s capacity for it. When weapons were thrust into his hands at the turning of a war against the Native people of the land, Edward swallowed the stomach bile that had burst its way up into his mouth.

His mother’s death weighed heavily on him. The farmer’s wife too. Edward wasn’t a passivist, he had earned coin by beating men bloody, but he was not a killer. Certainly, he would not unjustly kill.

He thought maybe he could lie to the kingsmen, weave a story of priesthood. Here, in this new place, he would bring the holy word of God. A task the Queen herself would find more than noble. A task that could not begin with red on his ledger.

Alas, a colony of only a hundred would rely on each other. He had not the economic or social currency to show weakness. So, he fought.

Edward volunteered for any role that would take him out of the offensive lines. He went on reconnaissance trips and kept watch as others slept. He learned how to offer the most basic of medical aid, and how to sneak away from action without being missed.

It was on one of these secret trips that Edward came across a Native American who looked equally as surprised to see him. Edward had wandered off into the woodland that surrounded the colony, his weapon slung lazily over his shoulder, and his attention on the strange mushrooms growing along the forest floor.

The two men saw each other at the same time and froze in almost mirror positions.

Edward watched the man’s eyes flick to the weapon, then back to his face. He could tell he was reading him. Assessing what kind of White man Edward was. Slowly, Edward opened his hands and held them up, palms showing in a sign of submission.

“Peace,” Edward said softly.

The man took a step forward, a steely expression held firm. Edward tried not to flinch, instead offering a nod. The man came closer and closer until he could really see him. Neither of them wanted to cause the other harm. Edward knew that his individual intentions were irrelevant. He was part of a brutal regime.

In the distance, a gunshot echoed, startling both men. They ran in opposite directions, like two same-sided magnets repelling apart.

Edward told nobody of the encounter.

Just over a month later, the colonists were in a tense sort of truce with the Native Americans, but their resources were diminishing faster than they could be regenerated. They moved up the coast while the British fleet prepared to leave for England.

“If this is to be a true settlement, not a failure like Lane’s, we need provisions,” Edward listened to one of the colonists beg Governor White. It was a town meeting of sorts. “Return home. Tell them it was a mistake to come without a proper show of force. We need help.”

The fleet disappeared over the horizon near the end of August.

Within days, the knocking began.

Knock, knock.

When the sun set, a low mist would bleed out from the woodland. It came over the ocean, crossing the beach to get to the colony. Somewhere deep within it, something knocked twice, as if at a door asking for entry. They knocked on the hour, every hour until sunrise.

Knock, knock.

At first, the colony responded with a British stiff upper lip. They ignored it. They swallowed their fear. Then, when the cause for concern couldn’t be contained, they blamed the Native Americans. Except, it wasn’t how the Native Americans operated, and they hadn’t seen anyone but their own since the ships left.

Paranoia and dread set in. Superstition followed.

“What ungodly force has come for us?”

“Could it be the witches? They’re all over this land, you know!”

Edward listened to the unraveling of the people around him, but never offered his own theories or fears. Instead, one night, when the mist came in and the colony locked itself away, Edward found higher ground and watched. The mist was alive. There was simply no other conclusion to draw. It moved too quickly and appeared to have no relationship with the weather. It had a purpose. It licked around the settlement like it was hunting for something. Someone. Anyone.

Knock, knock.

Come morning, the colony’s livestock were slaughtered. Edward had stayed up all night, but he hadn’t seen it happen. There had been no devils in the mist.

Knock, knock.

The children cried and the women kept themselves busy with work. The men burned the animals’ bodies, too afraid to eat any of the meat.

Knock, knock.

The next night, Edward took his perch again. And the next. And the next. Until, a week later, they came from the darkness.

He knew that they wanted to be seen. They knocked on doors, rapped knuckles on axes left in stumps. They knocked on trees and rocks, riding the fog in.

Edward saw them and there was nothing to be done about that. He saw their human forms wear human clothes but make inhuman movements. He saw them dancing, dragging animal carcasses behind them like royal capes. He saw them, and they saw him.

The colony was ripped apart. Men, women, and children all treated with equal brutality. Edward stayed positioned in his higher ground perch, witnessing evil while he held his breath and tried not to scream. Bodies limp like rag dolls. Blood drip drip dripping into buckets when neighbours were hung from trees. Horror. Carnage. Damnation.

It almost felt like mercy, Edward thought, the moment the warmth bloomed across his neck and down his chest. He stumbled as he stood from his hiding spot. The vampire was watching him curiously. Edward held a useless hand over the bite. It was mercy that he hadn’t seen the monster coming. He hadn’t felt the pain of the injury. He could just die, easily, simply, finally.

The vampire’s face broke out into a gleeful smile, its teeth off-white and sharp.

“Filius,” it hissed. Son.

The vampires had come for misery, mostly, but they had been watching the colony. They had watched the violence leveled at the Native Americans. They picked out their favourites, like children at a petting zoo. Favourites would be turned.

Edward had never been anyone’s favourite anything, until then.

When he dropped to his knees, the vampire was crouching before him. It reached out and patted Edward, watching his skin’s colour fade. Then, it pushed him onto the ground, leering over him.

Edward could feel himself dying. It was a strange sort of fading, unlike falling asleep, and nothing like he’d have expected. His senses were somehow still sharp. The sounds of the colony being bled and burnt. The smell of death and fire. He could see it all then, when the vampire bit down hard on its own wrist, tearing a gaping wound.

“Pótó,” it said to him.

Edward didn’t understand Latin, but he knew what it was saying. Drink. He held his lips together tightly. He would not follow at the heels of a monster. Whatever it wanted with him, he would not abide.

At first, Edward’s resistance amused the vampire. It let its blood drip and dribble onto his face. It grew bored quickly, clutching Edward’s head in its hands, its nails digging in, ready to pry his jaw open.

It was a blur. A weapon. Not enough to kill a vampire, but enough to send it tumbling away from Edward’s body. He felt strong arms wrap under him, pulling him up. Someone was dragging him away, yelling in a language he didn’t understand. There was fire, arrows dipped in it. Then, there was blackness.

Edward dreamed one last time.

The mist, it had still set itself upon the colony, but it wasn’t vampires. It was the witches. They looked like his mother and the farmer’s wife. Like the girl who could carry more pints at once than anyone else in the bar. Like the kid who lived on the streets that Edward would spare more money for than he could really afford.

The witches came with spells to heal and potions that tasted like warm honey, and reminded him of something he couldn’t place. They told stories to the children and baked enchanted bread with the women. For the men, there was nothing, but they watched from the sidelines with humility.

When Edward woke, the magic was gone.

He roared in pain, shooting up and panicking when his body was entirely out of his control, raging in agony, thrashing. Hands held him down, a voice doing its best to soothe him. It wasn’t enough.

Edward’s body felt hollow, like all his organs had shrivelled up, the blood lost through the septic wound in his neck. And, like any bones left inside him had shrunk too, turned brittle and too small to let him move as he wished. His flesh burned as if he’d been roasted on a spit. Everything was pain. There was nothing else.

It took only minutes for Edward to collapse again. He was vaguely aware of his own consciousness. Vaguely able to tell he was in some sort of cave or tree hollow. Something naturally formed and sheltered. Vaguely aware of a face he recognised hovering above him. As hands tried to stop the bleeding, Edward’s eyes closed.

End Note: For the anon that suggested it - 1986 Eddie listening to metal for the first time.

A huge thank you to @jo-harrington, who models exactly what it means to be a thoughtful writer. You help me navigate the writing world.

So... Did you ever think you'd get an Eddie origin story?

Fic Taglist: @paranoidmunson @idkidknemore @paprikaquinn @stardustworlds @loz-brooke @wyverntatty @vintagehellfire @dark-academia-slut @scarletwitchwhore @becks1002 @mrsdollardog @heyndrix @luceneraium @rosaline-black @devilinthepalemoonlite @goldencherriess @iamwhisperingstars @wiltedwonderland @blueywrites @breezybeesposts @jadehowlettthewolf @spikesvamp79 @foreveranexpatsposts @tortoiseshellspells @wingedpeachjudgegiant @stardustmunson @live-love-be-unique @fangirling-4-ever @reanimated-alice @b-irock @gh0stlybunnie @myown-worstenemy-2003 @woozzz @cyberxlust @hiscrimsonangel @buckysbarne @m00nlight101 @word-wytch @spicysix @briasnow-blog @goth-cowgirl-03

All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel

#Mine #Burning Yarrow #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson x You #Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson/You #Eddie Munson/Reader #Vampire!Eddie Munson #Witch!Reader

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musingmelsuinesmelancholy · 7 months

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Some things I’ve been thinking about. At times being an American trad witch is incredibly frustrating and at others it’s absolutely exhilarating, rewarding. Reconnecting with my ancestral ( primarily french and scottish ) lore, magical practices, witchcraft etc has and will continue to inform my practice but I’ll never be a “french” witch. I’ll never be a “scottish” witch. I can find a lone hawthorn or a sacred tree guarding a hidden spring to tie the cloutie to, I can divine via a snail’s mucus trail, Fly to the Sabbath to meet The Abbess, heed the Dame Blanches, pluck the golden bloom with songs to St Columba, safeguard me and mine via silver, spring water and juniper. Yet there’s many things I’ll never know or be able to do. Whether that’s because these things are so tied to the land or a specific place, language barriers, ( working to overcome this one ) or due to the ( well warranted) gate keeping of lore and practices.

This used to be a source of great confusion for me. I think because I was afraid( due to my previous new age fuckwittery ) to experiment, do anything other than what I understood as “traditional”. My understanding being too rigid at the time; the pendulum swung from one end of the spectrum to the other. This delayed my progress and “froze” me. I was left wondering what an “American” trad craft would look like; most our books do come from a European POV. Learning of our own magical traditions as well as those of my Canadian family ( still working on that one haha ) helped. Reading Robin Kimmere helped. Reading Schulke, him being an American and writing on American plants, helped too. I’ve come to know Sugar Maple and Plantain as powerful spirits. Both teaching important lessons on how to rectify my ancestors mistakes, to foster relations with the First Peoples and how to incorporate the magic of this land into my craft. Rather than being frustrated by my being American I see it as a challenge now. I get to explore spirits, plants, places, animals, spiritual/physical ecologies ( is even really a difference between these?) completely unknown to my ancestors. I get to reconcile the old and the new. To learn from Spirit Direct. Tradition isn’t the worship of ashes, it’s the preservation of Fire. New wood must be added to keep The Fire burning. The Devil of this land certainly is a spirit of the unknown.

I am the land, the land is me.

I don’t own it, to it I owe all.

To it my body will return, the tithe paid.

I’m not rolling hills of heather, white chalk cliffs, the monk’s island nor the azure coast. The memories of these places echo distantly in my blood, sung alive by my ancestors shades. Part of me they’ll always be; yet it’s not who I am. Not what I am.

I’m craggy shores, dull-jade waves bearing down upon the tired rocks. I am musky pine forests veiled in mist. Sun-venerating oaks hugging the shoreline. Bleeding alders in damp ground swelling. Proud maples sustaining generation upon generation with their boiled blood. Death-grey clay, exposed by running spring.

I am the kudzu, the itching moth, the knotweed, the Norway maple, the ivy wrecking havoc upon the land. My surname and light skin proof of a genocide ongoing. I am my ancestors sins; the specter of the Old Growth forests, their grief hanging over the land like a fog. Every interaction with The Land tinged with sadness, loss.

I am my maternal side’s copper curls. Melusine’s pride. Ave Landry! Ave Gauthier! Forebears mine.

I am my paternal side’s grief. The end result of decades of cultural warfare. The Jesuits stole our name….my hair will not be cut.

Never will I libate these glacier carved valleys with booze.

I am the plantain, learning a kinder way. The sumac reclaiming the orchard.

My Februarys, my Marches aren’t snow drops and daffodils peaking through the frozen ground. They’re steely skies and walls of sleet. Bloodroot heralds winters wane; not Brigid’s flower.

My June isn’t fields of poppies, it’s seas of crimson staghorn blooms skyward reaching.

My augusts aren’t golden shafts of wheat, swaying in summer’s last breaths; they’re explosions of neon-violet and honey-yellow. Corn ripening on the vine, supporting the climbing bean. The cicadas song reverberating.

Old Michaelmas marks harvest’s end, October potatoes long buried in soils darkness finally exhumed. The Devil his Rosy Briar to ascend and plunge.

With Novembers first snows the Dead come in.

I’ll never process around a standing stone nor know what it is to live and eat off the land my dead lay in. Finally, I’m learning to be at peace with this. To love and know the land I live on. I’ll always be a stranger here, a guest. I hope to be a good one.

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vertigovineyard · 6 months

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Samhain: Agere edition!!

For those of you that don’t know Samhain (pronounced “sow-win”) is a pagan religious festival taking place October 31st-November 1st. This Celtic tradition acted as a celebration to welcome in the harvest and “the dark half of the year”. This time of year is significant because many believe that the veil between the spiritual and physical world is thinning and therefore creating more paranormal or supernatural occurrences.

Originally fire was used as a community after harvest for the participants to take home and light the hearth. It was also belief that celts would dress as the “monsters” of their time in an attempt to prevent fairies from kidnapping them when the veil was thinned. During the Middle Ages people turned towards more personal fires and used carved turnips known as jack-o-lanterns which Irish tradition later switched out with pumpkins.

“Dumb Supper” was another practice during in which a feast would be set up for the ancestors the celts were expecting to cross from the other side and then be used by the physical people after the spiritual had their fill.

(Under the cut is my personal experience and practices)

Samhain is one of my favorite sabbaths to celebrate because it is during the time of year at which I feel most connected with my spirituality. I love to combine agere with these types of things as a way to bring together two different parts of myself that I chose.

List of things I do from Mabon(autumn equinox) to October 30th:

- Color magick: rearrange my wardrobe and current makeup styles to simpler and muted pieces as a way to slow down and focus on nature and the items I use

- Watch moon phases: keep an eye out for the phases of the moon during this time of year, this is because I feel more connected to the moon specifically and begin to write letters to her(the moon) as a way to manifest her energy and change with the seasons. This also allows for more rituals to be done during this time including lots of energy cleaning (I stay inside most days and I don’t want things to feel stagnant)

- Journal: journal all dreams, signs, numbers, or deck spreads that you happen to come across and stick with you. Intuition is very important during this step but don’t be scared and overthink things. Trust yourself so the self trusts you.

- Shopping!!: This one may not be seen as magickal as the others but for me it plays a big part in setting my energy for my space and my mental. This includes things like candles, blankets, books, incense, certain herbs, and even a new deck. I’ve also found that I tend to buy new jewelry before every season that sets myself up for the energy required to be attached spiritually so that may be a good subtle way to achieve this connection if you’re still in the broom closet.

During Samhain Activities:

- first things first is have my costume ready. I prefer to go by a more closet cosplay like take on my outfits so I can wear them for the entire day without any strange looks or restrictions. This is just a way for me to enjoy myself and also view it as a way of protection.

- Act as usual: seriously, I don’t spend all day thinking about the sabbath. I know a lot of witches may have a full day to celebrate but unfortunately I know a few who definitely don’t and I don’t want it to seem like you have to be dedicating all your time to it to be celebrating correctly. Spend time with your friends. Listen to loud rave music. Do whatever makes you feel most comfortable during this time and be grateful that you made it to this part of the year. This is usually the time where my age regression joins the most: I spend most of the day coloring spooky Sanrio Sheets, watching kids Halloween episodes, and eating whatever I want. Many people view being a witch as being strict with sabbaths and having a certain aesthetic when doing so, I don’t follow this belief and I just allow my kid-self to have the Halloween he’s used to as a way to have nostalgia and think of the good times the year has offered me before this moment.

-Dumb Supper: My favorite was of celebrating is having a dumb supper, which can be even more special as a kitchen or hearth witch. I do this at my working altar currently because I'm still in the broom closet but I still set up a simple dinner, light my ancestor candles, and do a few readings to listen to their advice. I am usually regressed during this because to me it feels like the one time of year I get to sit at the adult table and ask them questions and listen to their stories about their lives and all the things they learned they want to pass on to me.

-Lighting: I always use candles on this night and other light up items such as star projections to bring a child-like thing into the night of Samhain.

-Journaling: after doing all of this I sit in bed and read through my journal from the month before and make any editions or notes, also documenting all that happened that night

I write this post to explain the origin, traditions, and personal practice of Samhain and I hope many of you can learn that it’s ok to incorporate age regression into spiritual or “adult” practices <3 Happy Samhain and Halloween everyone!! (Feel free to add on or tell me your costumes through reblogs or comments!!)

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leezlelatch · 1 year

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Copia x Female Reader: The White Suit (Ft. Portobello)

Copa pulls down his suit jacket and smooths back his hair, shaking his hands in front of him for a moment, and flexing his fingers as he breaths out slowly. Reaching forward, he opens his door, peaking around it to confirm that yes, it is you, looking ever so lovely, before swinging the door open all the way, his hand not grasping the wood for dear life raising, arm outstretched as if to say, "ta-da!"

"Hello, Cardinal!" You greet with a sweet smile, hands clasped in front of you.

You haven't seen each other outside of usual Ministry dealings since the incident in the kitchen, and concerned about little big Portobello, you caught the Cardinal after mass one evening to inquire about Portobello's health. To your surprise and delight, Cardinal Copia invited you to visit Portobello in the "infirmary."

Little did you know, Copia has been positively fretting ever since the hastily spilled words had left his mouth. What would you think of his rooms? Of being alone with him? Was he too forward? All of these thoughts are dashed out of his head and replaced with a pleasant buzzing the moment you greet him in that quiet, excited manner which dances around his heart and makes him think, at least for a moment, that you came to see Copia himself.

"Sister!" He exclaims, realizing he has been staring at you for a moment too long. "Come in, come in!"

Waving you forward, you pass him, arm nearly brushing his as the deep, heady aroma of his cologne wraps you in a warm hug and darkens your cheeks with a captivated blush.

In all the hundred ways you imagined his rooms, you are surprised and simultaneously unsurprised. Your eyes are immediately greeted by his desk, papers strewn across it, books precariously stacked and nearly toppling off the edge. A dark oak bookcase stands against the wall in the small space beside it, several different Latin texts shining out at you. His work space is chaos, and yet you are sure that if Copia requires a specific document, he can merely walk over and find it immediately. An organized chaos, perhaps.

The wall above his desk proudly displays Francisco de Goya's Witches' Sabbath, a piece you are easily and quickly mystified by.

"Are you familiar?" Copia inquires, his head tilts as he takes in your expression. His thumb and forefinger dance in a circle against the leather of his glove. He is not used to someone analyzing his space.

"Oh, yes!" You turn toward him, smiling and dropping your eyes from his intense gaze. "I've always enjoyed de Goya," you add quietly.

He nods good naturedly, pleased and impressed, and a long silence trails off between the two of you as Copia wills his rapidly beating heart to calm down, and you wring your hands in front of you, desperately wishing you weren't so awkward in front of the man.

"Would you like to-"

"Is Portobello-"

You speak at the same time, startling the both of you into nervous laughter. You take a step back as if to reground yourself and nearly trip over the small couch that also occupies the crowded entry room. Copia reaches out a hand to steady you, his touch sending little electric currents right into your heart, butterflies quickly taking flight in your belly.

"Falling for me already, Sister?" He quips, that stage persona slipping out for just a moment before his eyes widen and a blush erupts between the gentle freckles that powder his cheeks.

"Easy to do," you say back, your words catching in your throat.

Easy, indeed.

Copia's thumb gently passes over the skin of your hand as he lets go, his eyes gazing so deeply, tenderly into yours. There's a softness to his white eye that you do not expect, trailed on you so intently as it is. It isn't frightening or off-putting, sinister or strange, it is merely Copia. And you are finding, very quickly, that Cardinal Copa is the loveliest thing that you have ever seen.

"Our little invalid is right through here," he finally says, gesturing through another entryway.

You pass through to what you assume is his bedroom. A trundle bed is pushed against the far wall, covered in a simple grey comforter, blue pillow resting on top. There's a chair in the corner by the head of his bed that looks like it was taken straight out of a hotel room, and a long shelved table stretches across the wall closest to the doorway, full of candles, a record player, and other odds and ends.

You walk further into the room, drawn to the squeaking cages that sit reverently between the end of his bed and a small wardrobe. The cages are meticulously clean, full of very fine bedding and plenty of fun items for enrichment. Their water bottles and food dishes are full, and while a few little friends happily nibble away, some snooze quietly together in a corner or inside a brilliant replica of the Ministry. Overall, these babies are well taken care of.

You turn in delight back to Copia, but stop dead at the absolute mess of clothing he has piled on a couch near the door.

"Spring cleaning?" You giggle, watching in amusement as Copia hastily moves in front of the couch as if he can shield the mess with his body.

"Shit!" He curses, before waving his hands in front of himself in apology. "You know, eh, too many clothes, small space. My keep pile might be a little too big, but..." Copia trails off, embarrassed.

You hardly pay attention as your eyes fall on the small pile you assume is the "throw" pile. Walking quickly forward, your fingers grip the edge of the white jacket, your body shivering at the feeling of the snakeskin against your fingertips. His white trousers lie folded beneath it, taunting you.

"Copia," you say very seriously, all decorum thrown out the window. You notice him start slightly next to you at the sound of his name. "You can't throw this away."

Copia gives you a confused look, his eyes locked on the way you hold the white jacket close to your chest.

"I only wore it that one time so far, and I don't know...might be a little too revealing, huh?" He says, patting his belly. "You know what too much rigatoni does to you?"

You nearly gape at him. The man is completely oblivious. You are rather charmed by the way his suits cling to his figure, but this has everything to do with something a little below the belt. You may yet earn the title of Sister of Sin.

"But it's the white suit," you say slowly.

"I have a black one," Copia holds out his arms to punctuate the fact that he's wearing it. "And a red one. I was thinking of getting something new, maybe in blue..." He trails off at your expression.

"You just can't throw this away," you continue.

"Why?" He finally says, ever more confused.

"Because...I like it." You huff out a breath, gazing down at the white material in your hands with a vibrant blush. "I mean, everyone likes it...it's very....nice."

Copia watches the way your fingers bunch the material, the way your lips part as you shudder out a breath, the way your blush heats the skin of your neck and travels further. He's entirely struck dumb by your confession. You wanted him to keep the white suit because you like it. Because you like him in it. His quiet, blushing sister who saved a rat and smiles at him thinks he's attractive.

Copia's hands clench at his sides for a moment before he takes very careful steps toward you. Reaching out, he plucks the suit jacket from your hands and waits very patiently for your gaze to return to his. Your entrancing, pretty eyes are wide as they meet his, and he smiles at you with half-lidded eyes, sudden confidence powering his body and actions.

"I shall keep that in mind," he says softly, grabbing the trousers as well and depositing them in the "keep" pile.

"You might need it again...," you nearly whisper, heart pounding in your ears.

"Yes," Copia nods. "I think I will."

The Cardinal steps even closer, delighting with feral intensity as you let out a small noise from his proximity. Your pupils dilate as you return his gaze shyly, another tell that you are entirely effected by him. There is a time for nervous, awkward Copia, and there is a time for the Cardinal. And in just a few words, you brought him out. The Cardinal has thought about you with frequency since your midnight meeting in the kitchen, and having you here in his room causes a plethora of images to sweep across his mind.

"May I see Portobello?" You finally breathe in the intense silence.

Copia pulls back, and shakes his head slightly. No, now was not the time. His Sorella deserves to be courted, treated well and gently. The Cardinal would have to be content to wait.

"Of course," he smiles, placing a hand at the small of your back to guide you to one of the cages.

The very big rat snuggles into a blanket that has little ratties embroidered on the fabric. You wonder briefly if Copia made it himself, the stitching a little messy, but sweet. Grinning at the man, you turn and move closer to the cage, kneeling down a little so you're eye level with the snoozing rodent. You gasp in surprise at the small splint wrapped around his leg, a mish mash of splinting material, broken popsicle sticks with the edges rubbed smooth, and medical tape.

"Oh, sweet baby," you coo into the cage. Portobello looks up at you as if he recognizes your voice, sniffing at the air.

Copia kneels down beside you, an enraptured expression on his face as he watches you speak so warmly to his patient. You smile over at him, momentarily caught up in the loveliness of his gaze.

"I just adore him," you say softly. "All of them, they're so cute. You care so much for them, I think Portobello will make a quick recovery."

Catching your hand in one of his, Copia's eyes shine as he says, "Non hai idea di quanto questo significhi per me."

You don't understand, yet the sentiment is there, and you smile back at Copia, squeezing his hand.

You spend over an hour in his rooms, chatting, laughing, and holding your big baby rat. When it's time to go, you blow kisses at Portobello's cage, hearing Copia's quiet chuckle behind you. He guides you to his door, hand at the small of your back as he is quickly becoming wont to do.

"You know," he begins as you stand in his doorway. "You can come see him anytime you want. Or...I could bring him to you. He might like a change of scenery, huh?"

"Really!?" You gasp, excited.

"I think he likes you more than me," Copia grins crookedly. I like you, he says internally.

Leaning against the doorway, you glance down at the floor, suddenly shy again. Breathing out, you look back up at Cardinal Copia, watching as the candlelight from the hallway bounces across his features.

"I enjoyed spending time with you," you say. "Tonight was...very nice."

"Cara," Copia breathes out as if he's been holding onto it for a while. His voice is soft, reverent. "If I could spend every night half as lovely as this one, I would be a lucky man."

How many times can you blush this evening? Playing with your fingers as you smile, you say, "Goodnight, Copia."

"Bye-bye, cara. Goodnight. Take care! Sleep well!" He waves you down the hall, still there as you look back with each step taking you further from your Cardinal.

You cannot wait for next time.

#the band ghost #cardinal copia #cardinal copia x reader #afab reader #papa emeritus x reader #papa emeritus iv #papa iv #reader insert #impera #prequelle #ghost bc #copia

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cliozaur · 1 month

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I’m afraid I’m too traumatized by the current war to digest some of Hugo’s passages. They physically pain me, and I find myself crying when I read this: “Such a point of the field of battle devours more combatants than such another, just as more or less spongy soils soak up more or less quickly the water which is poured on them. It becomes necessary to pour out more soldiers than one would like; a series of expenditures which are the unforeseen.”

Given this, I can only react to two points. It amuses me that Hugo specifically writes about young English recruits whose inexperience rendered them intrepid, and then adds: “These recruits displayed some of the French ingenuity and fury.” It’s interesting how he generously attributes these ‘French features’ to the English soldiers.

It’s also noteworthy how Hugo draws parallels with different artists: he suggests that battle scenes are more appropriately depicted in the style of Salvator Rosa (an author of some of my favourite paintings representing witches’ sabbaths – dark, sinister, terrifying), rather than in the style of drawings by military engineer Gribeauval. The juxtaposition of Rembrandt (known for his mastery of light in darkness) and Vandermeulen (a painter of battle scenes) also nods in the same direction. It is more fitting to portray battles as dark, gloomy, and sinister events, rather than as realistic and precise depictions of what happened.

#les mis letters #lm 2.1.5 #les miserables #waterloo

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shredsandpatches · 17 days

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Teatro la Fenice's new production of Mefistofele (with Alex Esposito in the title role) opens tonight so I've been seeing a lot of preview pics on the bird site, including this one and a video of the chorus from the end of this scene (which does look cool despite the schlubby costumes on the two leads, why are they putting Alex Esposito in sweatpants, come on, they put him in fishnets for Gounod!). ANYWAY it got me thinking about the various props I've seen used for the globe in "Ecco il mondo." For the uninitiated: this scene is set at Walpurgisnacht, the witches' sabbath and the primary event of the infernal social calendar. At one point the chorus presents their sexy demon overlord with a globe, symbolizing his mastery over the world and prompting Mefistofele's aria about the folly of humanity, at the end of which he smashes it. (The original libretto mentions a glass globe, and they did have sugar glass in the 1870s so I think that's probably what it would have been.)

Anyway, if you look at the video from later in the scene you can see that disco ball earth looks substantially redder and more burnt out by the end of the scene, a lighting effect which I am guessing takes place at the end of the aria. Which is pretty cool! I rather like that! Not as much as something that can go boom, but still pretty neat.

Other prop choices I've seen, roughly in order of how much I liked them:

Nothing (Festspielhaus Baden-Baden 2016, ft. Erwin Schrott). Come on. Why would you do it this way. I love this production quite a lot (and I actually otherwise really liked their Walpurgisnacht staging) but sometimes it makes questionable choices and this was one of them. Projecting equations all over the giant stage skull does not count. LET MEPH SMASH THINGS.

Giant blue lighted globe (I forget what production this was, but I saw this scene on youtube and couldn't find it when I looked just now). Pretty attractive visually, and stood out amid an otherwise red-dominated scene. Also the closest on this list to authorial intent (and, let's be real, Boito would certainly have used a lighted globe if it were possible to do safely at the time). However, you lose a lot of the impact if your singer has to carefully drop the prop globe into a trapdoor. This is kind of a common theme in this post and a principle by which I would abide: if you can't break it, use something else.

Cow heart (Bayerische Staatsoper 2015, ft. Rene Pape). Well, it's certainly creatively gross! I'll give it points for that. It was definitely not the worst idea this production had in re: Walpurgisnacht. But there are also a few problems: one is the destructibility issue outlined in the last entry. If you do something gross like that it's not gonna be as effective if it doesn't get to go splat, which obviously the prop cannot do. Another is that it doesn't really go with the symbolism of the aria (why is the world a cow heart, specifically?). A third is that the scene had already placed a bunch of writhing pregnant women downstage which made me worry that things were going to go a LOT darker than they actually did. I neither need nor want to see sacrificial baby yeeting in Mefistofele, but if your production is generally committed to maximum squalor, you probably shouldn't do anything that would make the audience imagine it and consequently doubt that commitment.

Paper globe (Teatro dell'Opera di Roma 2023, ft. John Relyea). A solid choice! He spikes it into an oil drum fire pit and and it makes a nicely scary-looking flame for an instant. It would have looked cooler if it were bigger, but it was definitely visually interesting (unlike most of the scene, alas; Relyea was typically fantastic but the director did not give him much to work with in this sequence beyond dressing him like Mussolini) and appropriately destructive.

Latex balloon (San Francisco Opera 1989, ft. Samuel Ramey). This one sometimes draws sniffs from opera purists for being cheap and tacky, but honestly that's entirely on-theme: behold the world! It's a piece of crap! This staging is iconic for a reason (it's on the cover of the dvd) and the simple balloon is satisfyingly destructible (Ramey dramatically stabs it with a very large pin), easy to bat around before destroying it, and inexpensive to replace. Full marks. Of course, this is a famous enough production that any other one that goes that route will probably be seen to be alluding to it.

Because I am obsessed with this opera and have an unattainable fantasy of directing it I have a lot of thoughts about all kinds of staging details, and so I would definitely return to the "inflatable earth" well, but distinguish it by getting Faust into the act: the second and third verse of the aria, after all, are about how dumb and generally shitty humans are. (And I think it's important for stagings of this sequence not to lose sight of him, which sometimes happens.) I'm picturing Meph dragging Faust up "onstage" and handing the globe off to him, as a representative of said dumb shitty humans (a lot of teasing interspersed with aggressive flirting going on here ofc). At the climactic "Ecco il mondo!" he flicks a finger in Faust's direction, and the globe explodes in his hands, to the great delight of the chorus. It's different, and it's a nice moment for making your singers cooperate in selling it (Faust, of course, has the more difficult job here since he'd have to play startled at a stage effect he is largely responsible for carrying off). My throughline for Mefistofele is that it's fundamentally a toxic, destructive love story that's still somehow weirdly ennobling for the participants on some level, and the Walpurgisnacht scene is a pivotal moment in that arc (it's where Meph's switch flips from "I want to win my wager" to "I want Faust") so that staging choice would be a another little thing that makes that relationship central.

#mefistofele #hot faust summer #faust friday #my imaginary production of mefistofele is fucking amazing you guys #child death for ts #(hypothetical and pretend)#how to destroy the world #opera

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silverthornwitchery · 6 months

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My Experiences With The Horned God

Ok goes without saying but this is my own experience, my upg. Whether or not things are historically accurate is NOT my concern with this post. I am simply documenting my experiences. I am also NOT a reconstructionist, I am an Eclectic Neo-pagan that draws inspiration from NUMEROUS sources.

In my experiences Worshipping The Horned One and The Goddess, they're definetly like, the Primary Godheads/Energy Archetypes of the universe/nature.

My experiences with the Horned One aligns pretty well with Feri tradition, albeit he's a bit more Faceted for me.

I Experience Him as The Lightbringer, The Lord of the Forest, and The Royal Darkness/The Arddu. I'll go into Detail Below:

The Lightbringer - The Solar and Illuminating aspect of the Horned God. This form of him is the divine rebel, and very much into embracing the joys of life and pleasure. I Break the Lightbringer down into two more facets: The Blue God, and The Solar God. Both are relatively similar but to me the Blue God (this name stems from Feri) is the more esoteric and taboo aspects of light, and The Solar God is the more nature based and wild aspects of the sun itself.

The Names I use currently for these are Oberon for the Blue God, and in the past for the Solar God I've called upon Apollo and his various celtic forms, but I can't seem to find a name that sticks. I've also used Lucifer for the Lightbringer as a whole, but I'm trying to frame this side of my practice in English and Celtic folklore specifically for sake of ease. I am including things like Shakespeare, Arthurian Legends, and so on in this.

The Lord Of The Forest - This tends to be the popularized form of the Horned God. Fertility, Nature, Animals, Magic, the Cycle of Life and Death. He is blending of both the LightBringer, and The Arddu. The Lord of the Forest is a seasonal God. With the Oak King being his Spring and Summer forms, and the Holly King being his cthonic Fall and Winter forms, but name wise, I use three.

Cocidius/Callirius being the more human form of this God. Mostly human aside from ears and antlers or horns.

Herne is the Median between human and Animal, primal yet civilized, he is at least to me, 50/50 in terms of man and beast, but can shift between either pending what you are doing. The way he manifests to me and his energy feels is basically Hircine from TES, and I have worked with him under that name in the past.

Cernunnos to me is the Animal aspect of him. He speaks through nature itself, and is the large stag in the woods. He is cthonic, he is liminal, he is primal. He is the green forest itself in the warm seasons, and the dead and rebirthing forest in the cold. Cernunnos is the masculine embodiment of nature itself.

The Arddu - The Dark/Shadow aspect of the Horned God. He is the master of the Witches Sabbath, the embodiment of death, decay, and the shadow. Since he is death he is also rebirth and transformation. He is not malevolent, actually quite the opposite, but he is not opposed to destroying things to rebuild them, nor is he opposed to baneful workings in any ways. The Arddu as I understand him, often appears as a humanoid black goat or Stag with a candle lit between his horns. Sometimes his head is a skull, sometimes it is not. Sometimes he is more human in appearance. Regardless, The Arddu fulfills the role of "folk devil" in my own practice, though I've moved away from calling him that, as Arddu, meaning Dark One, feels more natural to me. Though I am not against, and actually quite enjoy the reclamation of the word Devil.

The Arddu comes to me in two colors, Black and White.

Black is the color of the fertile soil, which is made that way through decay. Black is the color of the shadow, the subconscious, and the taboo. That which we as people are taught to fear, but once embraced gives us immense power. In this form he's been coming to me as Arawn, but also in the past has come to me as Sathanas and the archetypal Sabbatic Goat. He dons the skull of either a Stag, Ram, Wolf, or Goat, or has those skulls for his actual face.

White is the color often associated with the otherworld, and the Wild Hunt. The White Arddu is the Light Betwixt the Horns and the winter snows. He is faery king in essence. To me he manifests in a more humanoid form, and is very fae-like. He is a trickster, a teacher, and a phantom.. to me he appears as Gwyn Ap Nudd, and I understand Gwyn and Arawn to be two sides of the same coin in my path.

#upg #pagan #the horned god #wiccan #witchcraft #folk devil

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thislittlekumquat · 8 months

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I want to say, genuinely and without malice, that if you are using the word "sabbat" to describe wheel of the year festivals like Saimhain, Mabon, Ostara, etc, you should find a different word.

There is no hidden history or forgotten tradition where witches of yore used that word. It was assigned to witches' gatherings by witch hunters of the late medieval/early modern period in Europe specifically because in their minds it was no better than, and explicitly akin to, the Jewish sabbath (not to mention the fact that sabbath isn't even the Hebrew word. So the modern "sabbat" is like 3 layers removed from the original target of racism).

There is no possibility of reclaiming this word as an anti-Christian act of defiance, or as a feminist act of defiance. Modern, currently alive Jewish people deserve to have goyim, no matter their creed, learn about antisemitism and ways to drop it from our vocabulary and our actions.

I love the wheel of the year and I think it's a fascinating mix of old and new spirituality, so let's not taint it with antisemitism so old you couldn't even communicate with its originators because their version of english/french/spanish/german would be too archaic.

For further, accessible reading on the history of witchcraft, I recommend authors Owen Davies and Ronald Hutton, and the book 'Drawing Down the Moon' by Margot Adler

#i am begging yall to read one single work of history #it is our duty to not just parrot random stuff #its peak toxic individualism to say well my personal practice doesnt impact others #if you cant do this one thing you'll never be able to do more important things #witchblr #witchcraft #wheel of the year

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bestiarium · 1 year

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The Kallikantzaroi [Greek folklore]

In the folklore of Greece and surrounding countries, there are tales of the Kallikantzaroi, a race of evil goblin-like creatures. These monsters resembled giant, humanoid creatures with black fur with the ears of a donkey, the hind legs of a donkey and very large reproductive organs (Kallikantzaroi are always male). The details vary: sometimes they were blind, tiny, or deaf.

In Greece, it was believed these creatures could only be seen during the twelve days of Christmas, when they crawled out of their tunnels to plague the people on the surface world. During this time the creatures would plague people by scaring them, stealing food, urinating on food and similar annoying pranks. They roam villages by riding on horses, although sometimes their mounts are large roosters instead. During the rest of the year, they spend all of their time deep under the ground, where they try to saw the world tree. Should they ever succeed in this task, the tree that holds up the world will fall down and the world will be destroyed. Luckily, every Kallikantzaros forgets about this task during the holiday season. When they come back down in January, the monsters find that the world tree has completely healed itself in their absence, and they start sawing again. The concept of the ‘world tree’ used here refers to a tree that supposedly held up our world. It originates from old Greek paganism.

Every Kallikantzaros used to be human, for in the 17th century it was said that boys born between Christmas’ Eve and New Year’s Eve were destined to turn into one of these creatures (later, this belief changed to children born on Christmas day specifically). To prevent this from happening, the people of Chios (Greece) had a ritual where the newborn child was held close to an open flame to burn their feet. After the soles are scorched, the infant is soothed. We can assume this practice was well intentioned but in reality, all it accomplished was the torture of innocent babies.

Also in Chios, it was said that in the last week of December, all Kallikantzaroi went into a frenzy. During this phase, the creatures ran around and clawed at anyone they found – for they have very long and sharp nails – and asked them “hemp or lead?” If the victim answered “hemp”, they would be attacked further and left half dead. Conversely, if they answered “lead”, the monsters would leave them alone.

Merry Christmas, by the way! I wish you all happy holidays, and stay safe from the tree-cutting holiday goblins!

Source: Ginzburg, C., 1991, Ecstasies: deciphering the Witches’ Sabbath, Pantheon. (Image source 1: ΟΕΔΒ, 1961, image taken from Wikipedia) (Image 2: the Kallikantzaroi sawing at the base of the world tree. Image source: ΟΕΔΒ, 1961, image taken from Wikipedia.)

#Greek mythology #humanoid creatures #monsters #mythical creatures #strange tree cutting holiday goblins #folktales

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fanfought · 27 days

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music and film

music : what kind of music do they like ? do they have any specific favorite artists / bands ?

her favourite genre is definitely indie/alternative, but she also enjoys pop and classic rock a lot. she also casually enjoys a lot of old early 2000's kpop (girls generation, brown-eyed girls, 2NE1.)

she definitely gravitates towards artists like mitski, noah kahan, gregory alan isakov, maggie rogers, phoebe bridgers, florence + the machine, laufey.

she also heavily gravitates towards wlw artists like renee rapp, fletcher, muna, girl in red, kehlani, hayley kiyoko, brandi carlile, boygenius, chappell roan, beabadoobee. and in addition, she really enjoys music from taylor swift, sabrina carpenter, halsey, lady gaga, in terms of top 40.

she has a very large classic rock playlist for when she's at the dojo, it is so big that you'd think a middle-aged man made it. bryan adams, guns n' roses, the who, CCR, aerosmith, black sabbath, led zeppelin, quite literally every classic rock hype song you can think of. the only other playlist she will train to is the playlist she has labeled "glitter gel pen songs".

film : what’s their favorite movies ( or in the case of muses that haven’t seen them, what WOULD be their favorite movies ? )

there is no universe where suki would not have been raised on the films of our lord and saviour michelle yeoh. crouching tiger, hidden dragon will always be her favourite movie, and the sword fight scene between jen and shu lien was absolutely suki's bi awakening. though suki has seen a lot of classic martial arts movies, michelle yeoh movies were quintessential to her upbringing and always her favourites. she does also have a soft spot for kill bill vol. 1 and 2, particularly because she had a crush on every woman in that movie.

she also really loves girlhood/womanhood movies like sisterhood of the traveling pants, ladybird, little women (all of the iterations), steel magnolias, fried green tomatoes, frances ha, and the farewell. these are her feel-good "i need to have a good cry" movies.

on the complete opposite of the spectrum, she LOVES horror movies. supernatural and science fiction horror are her favourite subgenres, she doesn't really enjoy slasher films much at all. favourites include but are not limited to alien, aliens, the exorcist, the vvitch, the conjuring, the blair witch project, nope, the thing, jennifer's body, and annihilation. kudos to anyone who can make it through a horror movie with suki, she gets so happy when someone watches them with her.

#hookedswords #headcanons.#this became very long. oops.#can u tell i've thought about this a lot

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theold-ultraviolence · 2 years

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Sooo are we headcanoning (Is that a word?) that eddie loves art?? Does that mean art museum dates??

EM, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SENDING THIS! I had been struggling all day to write a fic to cope but I was too sad and this brightened my mood immensely. This is a scenario didn't know I needed in my life but NOW I can't stop thinking about it. And as an artist myself, you bet I got a little too excited, I had way too much fun putting this together. Prepare for a long ass post with references and everything!

ARTWORK HE LIKES

His favorite artistic discipline would be painting and printing (he likes the graphic look of woodcuts and silk screen prints).

It’s canon that he has a print of ‘The Scream’ by Edvard Munch in his room from that scene in ep 8 where he goes 'THIS IS MUSIC!' , So definitely he might be his favorite and it makes so much sense because his artwork is super dark but also whimsical in a way. Edvard Munch's work is also inspired by his own depression and anxiety so I feel like Eddie finds reassurance in representing/expressing your feelings through art, be it visual art os music (in his case).

I feel like his favorite artistic movement may be the German Expressionism from the early 20th Century. He relates to them because the artists of that movement were basically prosecuted for representing society in the inter-war period so crudely, so he admires that. His favorite collective is Die Brücke.

But I definitely see him as a fan of Surrealism as well because of how many rock album artwork is based on that, primarily Pink Floyd’s albums.

He’d be a MEGA FAN of Mexican artist Remedios Varo because of her mystical paintings; her work is heavily based in tarot and magic. Bonus point that he thinks it's very metal for a woman to paint in a male dominated scene.

He also likes these two paintings by Francisco Goya. The one of the right is titled 'Witches' Sabbath' so... it's a no brainer why he digs it lol!

And likes Francis Bacon too because he says his artork is 'so metal'

Now, that boy has spent most of his life listening to records while starring transfixed at the album covers, and Eddie would definitely be the kind of hardcore fan that knows all the little details about the production, down to the artist that designed the cover. So he’s a fan of the company Hipgnosis – who’ve designed the covers of a number of bands! Mainly Pink Floyd. Although their work leans more towards photography.

Not by Hipgnosis, but his favorite Sabbath covers are these:

Also I feel like Eddie definitely likes to draw, is the kind of guy that has doodles all over his notebook but he also has super detailed portraits and designs for his D&D characters and the potential artwork for Corroded Coffin’s logo and future album covers and I bet he designs their merch too.

MUSEUM DATES

I really don’t think there are art museums or galleries in Hawkins, so if you were going to a museum date I think they’d be out of town.

But as much as he loves art, I don’t think you’d go on a road trip specifically to go to a museum; I headcanon that his income comes from his drug deals but also working shifts at Thatcher Tire, mostly during the weekend, so you don’t have the necessary free time or means to take road trips frequently.

BUT, if there’s a concert in a nearby city that you guys really want to see, you make the trip worth it and make it a whole weekend affair.

You ditch school that Friday and hop on his van really early in the morning, all packed for the weekend, stocked up on snacks and with a fresh film roll on your camera, arriving just in time for the big show late at night.

I’m not from the U.S. so idk what else is near fictional Hawkins but from looking at the Indiana Map (and what I recall from my experience looking up band tour dates lol) I feel like the places you’d drive to for a concert would be either Chicago or Indianapolis.

Saturday is when you go sight-seeing around the city and the first stop is always the art museum!

You’d go to The Art Institute of Chicago or The Indianapolis Museum of Art

HAND IN HAND THE ENTIRE TIME

Obviously he’s excited to see the collections but is also excited to see whatever contemporary show they’ve curated each time.

Loves taking notes about the contemporary artists he sees (in his mind he’s building up a list of references for when Corroded Coffin is famous and they need a pro to design their album covers, because while he is good and has good ideas for them, he dreams of collaborating with a professional artist and supporting them as well!)

We know is a jittery ball and can’t ever be still for a minute so he’s the kind of guy to admire the works kinda quickly – he scans them over and if an artwork doesn’t capture him he moves on to the next in a flash.

But the ones that do catch his attention have him all transfixed – if he has to sit down to admire them he will, and he’ll comment on each little detail that makes it interesting.

But what he loves the most is making fun of the work! Not in a mean way at all, but he just loves to make it a fun experience. Despises the kind of bougie, condescending douches that like to feel all intellectual and superior when talking about a work a pompous manner

'Nah man, art is fun' art is meant for you to enjoy it, so you make fun of all portraits and does the voices of each character in a painting

“She looks like she needs to loosen up that corset,” “that one looks like my lunch after that one night I got drunk by myself and threw up on Wayne’s couch,”

He also points to the abstract or goofy looking characters in the paintings and goes, “that’s you”, “that’s me”, “that’s how we look like after when we get shitfaced together”

You’re laughing so hard that the guards are constantly shushing you all throughout and you get mean stares from the people, but you couldn’t care less

He definitely keeps the brochures of the exhibitions

And he’s super knowledgeable about art techniques in general, he goes, “oh these are acrylics,” , “this is from Picasso’s blue period”, “this was shot with kodachrome print,” etc etc etc. But he’s not condescending about it in the least and you’re always amazed by how intelligent and knowledgeable Eddie is, no matter how badly he does in school. He’s an actual walking Encyclopedia but everyone underestimates him.

ALSO PDA TO THE MAX. He constantly has an arm around you, hand inside your jean pocket, kissing in between each artwork that you see, and just random kisses on your temple/head as you walk by each gallery.

Loves photo-ops and is extremely excited when there’s an interactive exhibit!

If the menu isn’t expensive, you grab lunch in the museum’s cafeteria where you further discuss everything you saw. He loves hearing your opinion about the artwork and is specially keen on knowing what was your favorite

Because he gets it in a postcard at the Museum’s souvenir shop. He always gets you either a postcard or a tote bag.

You get him a poster for his room, pins, or a mug (to add to his and Wayne’s neverending mug collection that lines up the walls of their trailer).

And last but not least, you take pictures of each other all throughout! You get someone to take a picture of the both of you in front of a painting, or you take pictures of each other admiring the artworks, as well as pictures outside the museum gates.

On sunday you return to Hawkins, but now you have all so much to talk about on your way back, from the concert to the things you learned about in the museum <3

#eddie munson #headcanons #my writing #stranger things #prompt fill #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you

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jurakan · 8 months

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Fun fact please?

Welp, it’s Hispanic Heritage Month, but tomorrow’s also Batman Day, and I’m having trouble coming up with something related to both of those, so, uh… we’re going with Batman. Do check out my Hispanic Heritage Month tag, though.

So Today You Learned about the opera in Batman Begins.

In the Batman mythos, traditionally, the movie that young Bruce Wayne sees with his parents the night they get murdered by Joe Chill is a Zorro film. You’ll notice that in Batman Begins, they don’t see a film at all, they see an opera, and Bruce urges them to leave early, because he’s freaked out by the bat-like figures on stage (Bruce in this version is scared of bats).

Today You Learned that the opera is Mefistofele by Arrigo Boito.

Now you probably worked out, from that title, that it’s an adaptation of the Faust story–a wealthy, skilled scholar sells his soul to the Devil for all of his desires, and then regrets it and tries to get out of it. The scene we see is the Witches’ Sabbath, when demons and warlocks and witches are all having a party to celebrate, and the demons appear to look like bats because, y’know, themes and all.

Hey, you know the story of Faust kind of follows Bruce’s arc in this film?

Nolan selected this opera for a reason. Bruce is someone who, on his quest for knowledge and power (specifically, the power to fight criminals and fix his city), goes and puts all of his trust in a charismatic figure with a fearsome reputation who assures him that he’s not really that bad–for Faust, it’s Mephistopheles, for Bruce, it’s Ra’s al Ghul (whose name is often translated as “Head of the Demon”!). He realizes that his demonic mentor is not as friendly as he seemed at first, and so he repents and goes against him–but freedom from evil isn’t as easy as you think, and it takes a lot more work than just leaving.

Kind of mundane and analytic-y, but I hope that works as a Fun Fact for you.

#Batman Begins #Batman Day #Today You Learned #Fun Fact Friday #Batman #Faust

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cryptvokeeper · 3 months

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The fact that the original pickmans model story specifically calls out the witches sabbath with contempt in comparison to pickman’s works makes the fact that the cabinet of curiosities episode just made pickmans paintings Goya knockoffs even more heinous

#Is this legible does anyone understand me

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nattensmadrigal · 4 months

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Ghostbath is cool, Ninkharsag is a good one, Church of Misery is kinda rad, Deafheaven is shoegaze that makes me cry, Afsky is rad especially in winter, acidbath always in my top

You probably know some of them or all of them, but just a few I've been jamming to lately

Thank you for all of these recommendations, let's go thru them one by one together shall we? Get ready for a long ass fucking post, i take music recommendations people give me really seriously Also I'll give you some recommendations back, deal?

First off: Ghost Bath I listened to Funeral, their 1st album release from 2014, picked out at random, really cool album art too!

Apart from the really goofy name that they had to like have the meaning explained on their spotify description seemingly too often misunderstood by the metal community (the last show i went to a lot of dudes over there seemed to love taking ghost baths), I really liked it, the second song in the album, Burial, kinda sounded familiar to me so maybe i've listened to this band before in passing on like a random DSBM playlist? Really deep sorrowful vibes, really liked the echo effects in Procession, the 4th song in the album, i would prefer more like actual lyrics instead of just vocal sad cries, i don't think they serve any real purpose, the instrumental already convey the feeling and emotion that the band wants to put out, but hey thats my opinion, maybe thats why i only like a handful of DSBM bands? 7.5/10 - If they make an instrumental album its definitely going to be on my album rotation!

Next up is Ninkharsag I listened to The Dread March of Solemn Gods, released in 2021 According to the metal archives They're a melodic Black Metal band from England This is 100% more my style, i get some like Dissection and like Mgła vibes from the 2nd track onward, favorite Track was for sure Under the Dead of Night, the lyrics in this album are so good, like actual poetry like seriously look at this! This is an excerpt from Lunar Hex; The Art of Mighty Lycanthropy

The frozen kiss of aeons, the solitude of night The wisdom of the wolven arts, rise deathless The purity of shadows, the everlasting hunger The oath that binds forever more, rise deathless ones Before me, I see the endless frozen vistas Beckoning me on into realms beyond the dark

Amazing album will definitely listen to them more 10/10 - Mr Bones i would like to get off the spooky ride

And then Mr bones dropped us off in The Church of Misery I listened to Master of Brutality, funny thing is, this isn't my first time listening to them, but i completely forgot the band's name, i only knew the album i listened to the cover was like a copy of Black Sabbath's Master of Reality's cover art, so thanks to you i found this band again lol They're more in the "i wanna die... but first i wanna smoke weed" spectrum of the metal Genre, nothing wrong with that mind you i've been dipping more and more in the doom stoner metal genre with bands like Merlock and Bongripper My favorite track of the album is their cover of Blue Oyster Cult's Cities on Flame with Rock and Roll, really liked how the vocals sound in that track

Next up is Afsky, a one-man project from Denmark I've already listened to afsky before more specifically the album Ofte jeg drømmer mig død, but never really got around to listen to the rest of the discography, today i listened to Sorg an older album released in 2018, and its just more of that later album i actually listened to, really solid ambience, makes me think of dark humid dungeons, searching for the exit while some random cult is preparing a ritual in a chamber below My favorite track was Vættekongen not just because of the silly name (sounds like donkey kong's danish cousin or something) but also i really like the hurdy gurdy in the beggining, such a cool instrument and really just lends itself to a medieval fantasy-esque kinda of atmosphere 10/10 - The danish really need to invent a less confusing language though, my keyboard doesn't have that fucking o with a stroke through it

I listened to Infinite Granite by Deafheaven, an American Post black-metal/Shoegaze band released in 2021 I'm fairly new to listening to shoegaze, 99% of my experience with it is Slowdive which i love, and giving my bloody valentine a shot, so i dont really have much to go on the genre, I've read somewhere about how some people listen to shoegaze because of the warm, slow sounds feel like a hug in your ears, and i can definitely can see where they're coming from, this album is really melancholic for sure but unlike that album by Ghost Bath, you can still see a spark of hope My favorite track in the entire record might be The Gnashing, i really enjoyed that solo, with Lament for Wasps coming at a really close 2nd 9.8/10 will definitely listen to more of them

Up next was Paegan Terrorism Tactics by Acid Bath, same deal as afsky, only listened to When the kite string pops and then didn't bother to listen to the other album, what a bad decision, the other album is like a classic nowadays, but this one also carries his own weight, my favorite Track on it so far is Venus Blue, i also really liked their decision of making sorta like a "intermission" track with New Death Sensation, like something less heavy to get you ready for the next part of the album 9/10 - At least its not a killer clown on the cover right?

Ok so now what i would recommend to you?

Bell Witch - Four Phantoms

The absolute GOATS of Funeral Doom imo, just really heavy, slow, less sorrowful like Ghost Bath, but more just pure ANGER

Black Shining Leather - Carpathian Forest

Trve Kvlt Norwegian black metal a real example of just complete like ghoulish sounds, with a really fucking kick ass cover of A Forest by The Cure in the end, really great album

Bog Wizard - From the Mire

My intro to stoner metal, what i would show to someone if they asked me what it is, they're huge nerds just like me and I'm a sucker for D&D References in like anything

Drudkh - Autumn Aurora

If you enjoy listening to afsky during winter, maybe this album by Drudkh could fit for your Autumn! i really enjoy it alot and it instantly popped in my head when finding for someone similar to afsky

#music #asks #thanks for the ask!#black metal #stoner metal #this was so much fun thank you so much #my-music-charts #i hope someone fucking reads this

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