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greensparty · 1 year

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Talking with Michael and Shawn Rasmussen

A few weeks ago I attended the 2023 Boston Underground Film Festival and the Opening Night Film was Jeffrey A. Brown’s The Unheard, which just premiered on Shudder. What got my attention about this, was screenwriters / producers Michael and Shawn Rasmussen.

2023 Boston Underground Film Festival: Michael, Shawn and Jeffrey during the Q&A with BUFF Artistic Director Kevin Monahan

The Brothers Rasmussen have become friends of mine over the last decade though the Boston film scene. 2005′s underrated Long Distance was co-written by them. Then they wrote 2010′s institution thriller The Ward, which was John Carpenter’s first movie he directed in about 10 years. Then they wrote and directed 2013′s Dark Feed, a horror movie about a movie crew filming in a scary location. They wrote and directed the indie horror film The Inhabitants (I was lucky enough to attend the private cast/crew/friends screening in 2015). Then they co-wrote Alexandre Aja’s Crawl (one of my 10 Best Movies of 2019). With The Unheard, Michael and Shawn have created a psychological horror film that was one of the highlights of this year’s BUFF. Plus it was filmed in Boston and Cape Cod. I recently got the chance to talk to Michael and Shawn while we both were attending BUFF.

movie poster

Me: I’ve hung out with you both many times over the years at BUFF, sat next to you at screenings, and hung out at festival parties. This year you had the Opening Night Film with The Unheard. What was that like for you guys?

Michael: It was pretty awesome. It was surreal.

Shawn: We’ve always wanted a movie at BUFF, but to have a movie as the Opening Night at the festival was unbelievable. It wasn’t something we expected to happen, it was just a huge surprise when our director [Jeffrey A. Brown] reached out and said “Hey guys, the film is going to be at BUFF and it’s going to open the festival” and we were just stoked.

Me: I’m sincerely happy for you guys. Something I’ve talked to you about with Crawl is that the house was like a character in and of itself. In The Unheard, there is something similar in that the house is like a character. Is that something intentional you were thinking about throughout the writing process?

Michael: Well, maybe less the house and more the Cape. We had stayed out on the Cape in the off season, especially in the Outer Cape (Wellfleet and Truro area), it’s kind of a spooky setting for a horror film. And the way sound travels out there. That time of year when no one’s around, it seems a little different, so we thought would be a great place for a horror film. So the Cape was something we were trying to make a character...in the script at least.

Shawn: We were always feeling it would be cool to shoot a film in Wellfleet in the off season.

Michael and Shawn

Me: Looking at your filmography: you’ve written something for someone else to direct like The Ward, you’ve gotten the financing in order to direct your own micro-budget films like The Inhabitants, and developed a project with a director like Crawl. Do you guys like where you’re are at this time in your career where you can write and produce The Unheard, work closely with the director and film in Massachusetts for a Shudder production?

Shawn: Well, yeah on this one we are producers, but the way we like to put is we are kind of more creative producers. So it’s more in the development, working with the director in the pre-production. Whereas when we were directing stuff, we were on the ground doing the physical production. So where we are at is more focusing on the creative producing part of it and working with visionary directors like Jeffrey, who when we spoke to Jeff the first time we knew he had a vision for our story that was unique and that he was passionate about. We had seen The Beach House and said this is someone we’d love to work with and see what he would bring to one of our stories, because it’s a very collaborative medium.

Michael: Yeah, I think every time we’ve ever worked with a director they’ve always brought something to the project, whether it was Aja, Jeffrey or Carpenter - they kind of elevated what we already had on the page. We love working with great directors, it makes our job easier [laughs].

Me: Between 2007 and 2012, I worked at AMC Networks in their post and media services department. A few years after I left is when they launched Shudder. In the early years it was mostly streaming the horror and genre movies that they had, but then they actually got into producing some films, which is great for targeting that audience and knowing your film is going to reach the audience you want to see this. What’s it been like working with Shudder?

Michael: It’s awesome, I’m a subscriber. Shawn and I are. So it’s exciting to know when we go in to look at new releases on there, we’re going to see something that we wrote and produced.

Shawn: They are really filmmaker-friendly. There’s a lot of filmmakers that we know that are doing original projects for Shudder and they are really supporting the filmmaker’s vision. I think Jeff felt that tremendously on The Unheard. They are very auteur-driven and very much supportive of whatever the filmmaker vision is of that project.

For info on Michael and Shawn Rasmussen: https://www.instagram.com/rasmussenbros/

For info on The Unheard: https://www.shudder.com/movies/watch/the-unheard/ef08766525c1f63c

#interview #the rasmussen brothers #the unheard #boston underground film festival #jeffrey a. brown #film geek #the ward #crawl #the inhabitants #john carpenter #Alexandre Aja #shudder

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darklydeliciousdesires · 6 months

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Immortal Beloved - A John Shelby/Vampire OFC Story.

Well, guys. It's happening. Kinda happening. Testing the waters, yep. We'll go with that. I'm not convinced it's any good despite my best efforts, so I thought I'd see what you thought by sharing the prologue. Who knows? You might love it and then I could feel a little much-needed cheer when I'm going through a bit of a black spot at present, but if not then I know I have to go away and work harder on it. Either way, your feedback matters to me, and I thank in advance those kind enough to leave it.

The story will differ slightly from canon here and there, as you will notice, but not so much that's unrecognisable. Slightly AU, shall we say!

Here we go!

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 1,956

Warnings - Adult themes + vampire content throughout. Minors DNI!

Prologue

He stumbled, muttering cusses that fluttered off to permeate the silence of the night, rooting his feet as he straightened, pulling his overcoat around himself more. The cobbles underfoot already twinkled with a smattering of frost, the air thick with winter mist and pungent coal smoke, John feeling his pale skin tremble. The bitter December cold greeted him with her usual sting upon that night.

“Don’t get so pie-eyed that you don’t know what’s what, John. That goes for all of us.”

John Shelby wasn’t always the most proficient at following orders, especially when a bad business day had led to his arrival at The Garrison, a decision to sink nine whiskies one after the other and six pints, thus leading to him sitting there sloshed and grinning.

His troubles had been far behind him as he’d revelled in merriment, loudly championing to his cohorts exactly what he would like to do to Clara Bow, for instance, should he have the screen siren within his lustful clutches for long enough. He’d heeded Tommy’s advice to begin with, but on that day, the loss of over a grand thanks to a horse who should have lost, and a jockey with other ideas, his elder brother’s words of warning had fallen on deaf ears.

“Fucking Rasmussen’s,” he muttered, sniffing as he at least attempted to walk up Watery Lane in a straight-ish line. “Bastards can fucking try and ‘ave me, but they won’t. Fucking Geordie cunts.”

The Rasmussen’s, of the family Rasmussen, were a definite thorn in the side of anyone with the surname Shelby at that moment, the Newcastle criminal outfit currently making their presence known, and loudly. Barges that moved through the canal systems anywhere close to their areas within the north had been firebombed, their cargo sunk, Shelby bookmaking stands ransacked at the races, and threats to the family delivered with malicious intent; stay out of the north, or else.

The Shelby’s were not the type to simply back off, though. They were the type to be on their guard against any reprisal attacks, vengeance against the kind of Shelby retribution the likes of which had - after quite the bloodied brawl - sent the Rasmussen’s scarpering from a race meet in Derby two weekend’s past.

The family would not simply roll over and take the threat lying down, and neither would the Rasmussen’s. They were great in number, and where hand to hand strength lay, perhaps the most formidable in force that the Shelby’s had ever encountered. That strength did not seem normal, more deity gifted than naturally arising.

They bred ‘em hard as nails in the north, apparently.

As he staggered, lying down was exactly what John wished to be doing, once again standing to root his feet upon the slippery cobbles, looking up at a streetlamp which had begun to flicker slightly, the bulb then suddenly popping with an audible bang.

First assuming a stray bullet had been responsible, it was just the sobering shock he needed to quickly take stock, his sky-blue eyes scanning the darkened street for any kind of movement through the thick fog, drawing himself up taller as his hand automatically hovered over the gun nestled within his ever-present holster. Bang, bang, bang, another three streetlamp bulbs all shattered, plunging the lane into darkness, John feeling the effects of the whiskey diminish as his senses prickled on high alert.

He stood statuesque, his ears pricked, eyes still darting from left to right while his hand curled around the thick handle of the gun, primed, ready. They wouldn’t get the better of him, oh fuck no. He blinked, and a figure finally came into view a couple of hundred yards ahead, seemingly appearing from nowhere. He blinked again and saw that the woman dressed in white and stained with blood had moved again, John shaking his head in confusion.

It must have been the drink. People did not move from one side of the street to the other at such a speed, seemingly vanishing and appearing once more within a blink.

She appeared to be on high alert, John watching as she sniffed the air, a deep, foreboding rumble sounding through the night. He wondered whose dog was out at that hour, until it hit him; the growl was coming from her. It was a noise neither of human nor beast, an eerie, echoless reverberation, his heartbeat amping up a notch as he watched.

Another blink and she was once again moved, a tearing sound filling the air, followed by a shrill cry, gurgling noises, spluttering. Looking to his right, he witnessed the woman dragging a man who had been concealed within the shadows out into the street, her mouth clamped upon his neck. John stood motionless, his eyes widening as he viewed the scene, a cold snap of horror shocking his bones as he witnessed her yank the man’s head clean from his neck with frighteningly swift finesse.

His jaw began to tremor, his grip upon the gun in his hand tight as she walked to him, her fingers tangled in the black hair of the severed head she carried, a shock of crimson painting her chin and neck from where she had gorged upon the blood of the now lifeless, headless body slumped upon the cobbles.

“Who the...” he began as she halted before him, changing track. “What the fuck are you?”

Her lips curled into a smirk, holding the severed head aloft, blood and sinew dripping onto the ground below. “I am the one who saved you from Samuel Rasmussen. He waited for you.” Her head jerked back a fraction in the direction of the darkened lane. “Same as his three friends.”

The silken purr of her voice was so alluring, it almost overrode the fact that John stood so terrified, he honestly did not know what on earth to say next. Had he truly seen what he saw? Was this merely a whiskey hazed dream? Surely, he was about to wake with a start, a thumping headache accompanying the morning that followed such peculiar dreams, for this couldn’t be real.

Could it?

Dropping the head to the floor, her hand reached for him, John’s shaking grip upon the gun solidifying as he thrust his arm forth, attempting to press the barrel to her skull. He found himself disarmed faster than he could comprehend, the Webley revolver landing with a clatter upon the ground.

“Shhh,” she soothed, her enchanting eyes flitting over him, her long nails gently trailing his cheeks as she viewed him intently. “I mean you no harm.”

Studying her up close properly, it was then that he noticed them, the two long, pointed teeth in place of where her canines should have sat, the smooth white smudged with red. His heart pounded like a war drum, his entire body feeling light. The lithe muscles of his form pinched tightly in fear, yet a juxtaposing sense of calm seemed to swirl through him at her softly delivered words.

“You can trust me. I wish nothing more than to instil that within you.” What on earth was that accent? He couldn’t place it at all.

How exactly, he could trust a woman who had just decapitated a man with her bare hands after drinking his blood, he didn’t know, but he felt on an instinctual level that he could. Unless it was the whiskey. Whiskey, of course, had the power to lie.

The woman, though, seemed to be earnest in what she had told him, her nails stroking her cheeks as she studied him, her blue eyes flitting, taking him in. Oh, how she approved of what she gazed upon. He was magnificently handsome. Her nails stroked a hail of goose bumps over his alabaster skin, reaching his neck as she leaned forward, sniffing him. A contented sigh fluttered over her lips.

“Your blood smells like earth and fire, honey and dark orchids.”

What?

He frowned, perplexed, opening his mouth to speak. No words came forth. He was so overcome by her that speech was beyond him. It felt like she was pouring soothing waves of calm into him, and little did he realise, but he was correct. Her kind could transmit energies to humans in order to placate their fears.

Staring down at her, it struck him sharply, how much she didn’t quite look like she belonged there. Striking she was, with her milky skin that matched his own, her throat and chest covered in tattoos, symbols and swirls he didn’t recognise whatsoever. He knew tattooed ladies existed, but he was yet to witness one up until then, the dark-haired, blue-eyed woman smiling, her nails like sensual daggers upon his neck.

She was unlike anyone else he’d ever encountered, a woman of distinct enigma.

There was something about her that didn’t fit, decapitation and blood drinking aside. She looked as if she’d come from another time, a different age. This yanked at his interest almost as much as her allure, her pale skin seeming to glow beneath the light of the moon, now unincumbered by clouds as it shone its rays down upon them.

“You are perhaps the most beautiful creature I have seen in a long, long time.”

No, it was not he who uttered those words. It was the woman, her statement one of parting, John blinking and finding her vanished once more into the night. She’d left him breathless, with every hair on his body feeling like it was standing on end.

Vampires tended to have that effect on the living.

While the third youngest of the Shelby men made his way into their abode, the vampire moved at speed, perching herself atop the roof of one of the opposing back-to-back houses. The dark slate tingled against her bare feet, but being a creature of zero body heat unless she was sitting close to a source of warmth, it was of no bother to her.

She sharpened her senses to the night, listening intently to every noise, every rustle. A bottle rolled over and tinkled over the cobbles a few streets away, a gentleman a few further on than that regurgitated the many beers he’d sunk in a nearby pub into the gutter, too, but other than that, all was quiet.

Well, mostly all.

Within the homestead she had been watching over, she heard the brand-new object of her desire being berated by the woman named Polly, as she’d gathered. Closing her eyes, she saw the one she knew to be named John there in her mind, a throb reverberating through her. Goodness, how handsome he was close up, perhaps the most divine man she’d encountered in a while.

He carried himself with such pride and confidence, being a member of a notable criminal outfit, of course he would. A vampire of her age could tell so much more about a person, though, just by studying them, as she had with him and his family from the shadows. For all his acts of violence and authority, of which she had witnessed a couple, she sensed a man a little less ruthless than his elder brothers, with a heart a touch softer.

It was the softness within him that pulled her in the most.

She had gone there that night with the view of a single-minded agenda, only to encounter John Shelby up close for the first time and realise that her plight was perhaps not going to be quite as polarised as she’d first envisioned. Confident that the family were safe from any further acts of violent subterfuge, the vampire took one last look at the house.

“Until next time, beautiful creature.”

She was gone into the darkness within a blink.

#john shelby #john shelby fanfiction #john shelby x ofc #john shelby smut #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fic #john shelby fanfic #john shelby fic

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mote-historie · 5 months

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Olga Alexandrovna (Russian, 1882 - 1960) aka Olga Koulikovsky Romanova, Still life with flowers in a sunny window with a view to the garden, s.d. Private collection © photo Bruun Rasmussen

Grand Duchess Olga Alexandrovna of Russia was the youngest child of Emperor Alexander III of Russia. Her older brother was Tsar Nicholas II. She was raised at the Gatchina Palace outside Saint Petersburg. Olga's relationship with her mother, Empress Marie, the daughter of King Christian IX of Denmark, was strained and distant from childhood. In contrast, she and her father were close. He died when she was 12, and her brother Nicholas became emperor. In 1901, she married Duke Peter Alexandrovich of Oldenburg, who was privately believed by family and friends to be homosexual. Their marriage of 15 years remained unconsummated, and Peter at first refused Olga's request for a divorce. The couple led separate lives and their marriage was eventually annulled by the Emperor in October 1916. The following month Olga married cavalry officer Nikolai Kulikovsky, with whom she had fallen in love several years before.

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andromedaexists · 3 months

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The Death I Gave Him || Em X. Liu

★★★★★

TW: SELF HARM (ON PAGE, WARNED), SUICIDAL IDEATION, SUICIDE (PAST, MENTIONED), MAJOR + SIDE CHARACTER DEATH

I feel like I need to mention how this book was recommended to me

Now that we know this very relevant background: The Death I Gave Him is one of the most mind meltingly fucked up thing I've read in a while, and I've gotten into erotic horror as of late

It is a queer and sci-fi retelling of hamlet that managed to be even more fucked up than the original, something I didn't think possible. Did it hit the sci-fi mark? Yes absolutely as soon as Horatio was introduced that was a yes. Is it queer? 100% it is because idk how else to describe what happens with Hayden and Horatio. Is it Hamlet??? Absolutely it is Hamlet may not be present by name but good fucking lord is the story interwoven into the very fabric of this book.

This book is also very unique in it's presentation, which I fucking love omg. It starts with a prologue that's less of a prologue and more of an academic introduction into the rest of the book. You see, this book and the recounting of what happened that night in Elsinore Labs is a recreation by a student a hundred years later based on what remaining evidence they have of the events. This is really fucking cool!!! Please give me more books like this!!! Learning about the student and their motivations through footnotes in the book is so fucking awesome!! Seeing where they had evidence for what happened versus where they created a fictional account based on personality, probability, and remaining dialog…. Stunning. Truly.

I also quite loved the interspersing of mediums in this book. We have traditional fictionalized prose mixed in with excerpts from Felicia's article after the events mixed in with readings from Horatio's systems and message logs from Felicia's pager!

It's all just so brilliant.

I'm making the call here to add the spoiler warning because I want to get into the characters a bit, so just be warned [SPOILERS AHEAD]

So, as per Hamlet, the first thing to happen is the death of the King. This time, our King is Dr. Graham Lichfield. A renowned scientist and researcher working on the Sisyphus Formula.

His son is Hamlet, of course. He's known as Hayden in this book and we get to see his descent into madness mostly through other people's (or other AI's) eyes. He is a pathetic man with no spine, just the way Hamlet should be.

Hayden's Uncle is Charles, of course. He didn't work on research with Graham and Hayden, but he does run the labs more or less.

Then we have the security guard: Rasmussen. I think he's supposed to be a stand in for Rosencrantz & Gildenstern, but honestly I read Hamlet back in high school and though I watch it at least once a year (David Tennant is the best Hamlet, I will die on this hill), I don't really ever remember Rosencrantz & Gildenstern. So this is just an educated guess.

From here, we have the Xia's. Felicia Xia and her father, Paul Xia. They are security and they are our Ophelia and Polonius. The brother exists as well in Arthur Xia, however he is not physically in the building and does not show up until literally the last chapter.

That leaves one. Horatio. Also knows as the Elsinore Labs Operating System. He is the AI of the building that has slowly gained consciousness over Hayden's life. He is also intrinsically linked to Hayden after the man turns on his NeuralLink so we know a lot about what's going on in Hayden's head because that's where Horatio resides.

Of course another key player in Hamlet was his mother, and while she is present as a character, she is not physically in the building.

And why do I keep saying physically in the building? Well that's because after the death of Graham; Hayden, Charles, Rasmussen, Paul and Felicia Xia, and Horatio are locked into Elsinore Labs. That's right, this is a locked door thriller.

This book is everything to me, like I am genuinely just so…. god I can't even think of the words for it and I am writing this the day after I finished it!!!

I was on the edge of my seat the entire way through the book, especially when we get lines like these:

It was Hayden Lichfield who I remembered. Not because he was brilliant (though he was), but because he was afraid.

Hayden Lichfield was afraid of death, because he was afraid of failure, and he spent his whole life trying to reverse it.

Hayden was not like me, but he was afraid of the same things that I was, and his fear changed the world.

What we understand of Horatio is inextricably entangled in what we understand of Hayden.

I would haunt you very cautiously. Leave some vague messages alluding to my existential dread in your shower every morning. Nothing special.

The Sisyphus Formula wasn't enough. It was never enough.

Do you want to live because you want to live, or because you're afraid to die?

Then be afraid. I will take you afraid and alive over anything else.

He splits himself open, willing or not, digs fingers into himself, thinks maybe the edges of death are pressing in at the edges, maybe finally he will find repentance here at the end of all things.

Just because you've been a jackass doesn't mean you've messed everything up irrevocably. You'll have good days and shit days and eventually there'll just be days, you know?

I am feral for this book, I am foaming at the mouth. I need to be buried with this book when I die. This book is intrinsically a part of who I am not in the same way that The Teras Trials and Bloom are. It speaks to something in my very soul

Anyways! I think that's really all I can say on this book without writing a whole ass analysis of it (which I would gladly do if people wanted that), so I will leave it here!

#andi reads #book reviews #booklr #bookblr #lgbt books #queer books #queer book directory #the death i gave him #em x. liu #em dash liu

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womblegrinch · 8 months

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Peder Severin Krøyer (1851-1909) - Degn Brøndum sitting in the dunes with his hunting dog

Oil on canvas. Painted in 1898.

21.7 x 31.9 inches, 55 x 81 cm. Estimate: DKK 1,500,000-2,000,000.

Sold Bruun Rasmussen, Copenhagen, 18 Sept 2023 for DKK 1,700,000 + B.P.

The painting can be considered as a preparatory work for Krøyer's larger painting Skagens jægere (The Skagen Hunters) from 1898, and is located at ARoS, Aarhus Art Museum.

Degn Brøndum (1856-1932) was a merchant, innkeeper, hotel owner, co-founder of Skagens Museum and brother of Anna Ancher. Around 1880, he took over Brøndums Hotel in Skagen after his father.

I like the intensity of the dog's gaze. A proper dog.

#Peder Severin Krøyer #Peder Severin Kroyer #P.S. Krøyer #P.S. Kroyer #Skagen

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noloveforned · 3 months

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no love for ned is all set for tonight's show on wlur from 8pm until midnight. tune in live or catch up with last week's show on mixcloud when you can!

no love for ned on wlur – january 26th, 2024 from 8-10pm

artist // track // album // label spiritualized // ladies and gentlemen we are floating in space (original version) // ladies and gentlemen we are floating in space // arista gruff rhys // they sold my home to build a skyscraper // sadness sets me free // rough trade pip blom // i can be your man // bobbie // heavenly mary jane dunphe // fix me // fix me 7" // sub pop ekkstacy featuring the kid laroi // alright // ekkstacy // dine alone outer world // have // who does the music love? // happy happy birthday to me collate // the product // generative systems // domestic departure heavy metal // gebrannte amore // v: live at the gas station fighting the devil // total punk finnogun's wake // lovers all // stay young ep // what's your rupture? the rabbits // mori no uta // the rabbits // mesh-key kat haus // low calorie // manic cassette // rip bobby would // targets // styx // digital regress waylon jennings featuring lee hazlewood // rock, salt and nails // singer of sad songs // rca victor katy kirby // wait listen // blue raspberry // anti- the smile // friend of a friend // wall of eyes // xl nighttime // veil // keeper is the heart // ba da bing! ty segall // denée // three bells // drag city samuel goff, camila nebbia and patrick shiroishi // where borders shift // diminished borders cassette // cacophonous revival joe mcphee, mette rasmussen and dennis tyfus // death or dinner? // oblique strategies // black truffle phil ranelin // of times gone by // the found tapes: live in los angeles // org music che noir // low altitude // noir or never // de rap winkel lionmilk // strut, no walk // sauna saudade cassette // brother milk sounds resavoir // plight // transmissions from total refreshment centre compilation // blue note r.a.p. ferreira and fumitake tamura // jes' grew in osaka // the first fist to make contact when we dap // ruby yacht previous industries // showbiz // showbiz 7" // merge pretty in pink // turtles // pillows // little lunch / subjangle / hidden bay the umbrellas // three cheers! // fairweather friend // slumberland pale lights // streamlined // waverly place // jigsaw shiny times // safe to say // (bandcamp mp3) // (unreleased) comet gain // california // say yes! to international socialism 7" ep // wiija the smashing pumpkins // luna // siamese dream // virgin

#wlur #radio shows

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samseabxrn · 10 months

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hiiiii i have some questions….

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

13. What is a subject matter that is incredibly difficult for you write about? What is easy?

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

Hi Rowan!!! 🫂 Thank you so much for the ask, I loved thinking about all of these!

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

There are a lot of pieces of writing that have haunted me, but I'll share one of the first: I first read When You Reach Me by Rebecca Stead when I was younger, and I remember first reading it and feeling unsettled, feeling like I had stumbled into something I didn't understand. I re-read it recently for fun, and the impact was different. I really admire authors who write for younger readers, middle-grade novels, etc, giving kids these excellent books that get them thinking about the world.

More recently, a poem: "Reverse Suicide" by Matt Rasmussen was so simple and haunting; it perfectly captures that sense of wanting to wind time back.

I think my own writing haunts me in a couple of ways, different from reading other media: maybe if I wasn't able to finish something, or I couldn't articulate something how I wanted to—or maybe if I really liked something I wrote and it reminds me of a certain time in my life, and I want to hold on to that.

13. What is a subject matter that is incredibly difficult for you write about? What is easy?

I'd say two things that are difficult are revenge and grief. When I write about revenge, I get caught up in the big picture, in trying to make it mean something. Grief is even harder, I get lost in the details. It becomes very personal. I often write by trying to imagine myself in a situation or drawing on what I've felt; that makes writing grief difficult. A lot of things I love reading are hard for me to write.

What's easy? I'd say... growing up and feeling too young, wanting and imagining, missing people, the casual ways we love and hurt each other. Families—I love writing about family dynamics. Established patterns and adventures.

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

I have so many random details about this arranged marriage AU!

Aside from the Anderfels, I think I'm most curious about the Free Marches, so I have set the majority of it in Tantervale.

I love thinking about my Trevelyan's family. I imagine her as the youngest with one brother and one sister, the eldest. Though it has nothing at all to do with this WIP, I like thinking about how any of the three of them could have been Inquisitor: Aarush would be an archer going to bat for his sister, Kalpana a sword + shield warrior trying to protect her but stifling her. I think he would fall for Cassandra while trying to mess with her, and she would fall for Josephine who finally convinces her to loosen up...

I'm playing with the idea that lyrium dulls templars' senses of taste—and one facet of Cullen's healing is getting to taste and find joy in food again

Rylen has taken over Cullen's job and Hawke loves to hound him. I love to invent details that do not carry over so for one line of this fic, Rylen has a sister who is a mage. She is likely the reason he became a Templar.

One big thing about leaving the Circle for Ashna is not being a few floors away from a library, and she can't help but miss that; I'm thinking of whether Thedas libraries are mainly the domain of scholars/universities unless sponsored as a Chantry initiative. People would buy books instead, if they have the money—making them a luxury (Back to Wynne and her novels)

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

I'm going to nerd out a little—I'm really fascinated by translation in literature and how much the translator can shift meaning through their word choice. There's a lot of power there. From "La siesta del martes" by Gabriel García Marquez:

She was riding with her spine firmly braced against the back of the seat, holding in both hands a handbag of flaking patent leather. She had the careful serenity of someone used to poverty.

I first read this in a Spanish class, and the whole story is full of rich details. Every line matters, there are no wasted words. It's one of my favorite short stories.

Another line I keep coming back to is from this poem (one of my favorites) by Pablo Neruda:

Their volume of kisses breaks and goes under / fought at the gate of the summer wind

The imagery is light and fresh and it brings the idea of change, the freedom of summer—I think this is my favorite translation of this poem and pulls beautifully from the original. Another, from "Nothing but Death":

...and there are beds sailing into a harbour where death is waiting, dressed as an admiral.

#thank you again!! this was so interesting #i love to ramble #rowanisawriter #asks

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bitchinbarzal · 1 year

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Ryder calling his brother-in-law to ask him for advice on how to deal with his father because he is in the same situation

https://www.tumblr.com/bitchinbarzal/714887591724498944/okay-ryder-talking-about-how-heavy-training-was

“Listen, your dad was more scared of Ivy than I was of him” is what Sasha says but then he tells Ryder about that big fight him and Ivy had and how Sash had to get back in with Mat.

Ryder goes out of his way to impress Dylan.

And when he starts speaking Swedish Ras is like “Ok we keep”

“Dude!” Is Dylan

“You didn’t learn Swedish… just saying” is all Rasmussen says to his brother in law.

#Ryder and Lennon

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if-you-fan-a-fire · 1 year

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"EIGHTEEN-YEAR-OLD Raymond Latshaw, above, calmly admitted slaying five members of his family at their home near Loomis, Cal., according to police. The murder victims were his father, Amos Latshaw, 38; his stepmother, Olive; his grandparents, Charles and Bertha Bell, and his six-year-old brother, Charles. Los Angeles Detective Capt. Vernon Rasmussen declared the youth shot his father because "He beat me often without cause"; killed his grandparents and brother to cover up the murder of his father. (NEA Telephoto)" - from the Kingston Whig-Standard. April 2, 1943. Page 3.

#loomis california #murder #sensational crime #true crime #killing spree #shot to death #murderer #united states history #california history #world war ii #history of crime and punishment

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asiatico075 · 1 day

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¿Cuántas veces ha ganado Dinamarca el Festival de Eurovisión?

🎰🎲✨ ¡Obtén 500 euros y 200 giros gratis para jugar juegos de casino con solo un clic! ✨🎲🎰

¿Cuántas veces ha ganado Dinamarca el Festival de Eurovisión?

Historia de las victorias de Dinamarca en Eurovisión

La historia de las victorias de Dinamarca en Eurovisión es un relato fascinante que destaca la capacidad del país para brillar en el escenario europeo de la música. La primera victoria danesa en el concurso ocurrió en 1963, cuando Grethe & Jørgen Ingmann interpretaron la canción "Dansevise" en Londres, dejando una impresión perdurable en el público internacional.

Sin embargo, fue en 2000 cuando Dinamarca logró su segundo triunfo con la inolvidable actuación de los hermanos Olsen y su canción "Fly on the Wings of Love", que cautivó a Europa con su melodía pegajosa y su energía contagiosa.

La tercera victoria de Dinamarca llegó en 2013 con la impresionante interpretación de Emmelie de Forest y su canción "Only Teardrops". Con una mezcla de elementos folclóricos y una voz cautivadora, De Forest conquistó los corazones de los espectadores y aseguró el trofeo para su país.

La última victoria danesa hasta la fecha ocurrió en 2019, cuando el grupo pop-rock Rasmussen interpretó "Higher Ground", una canción épica inspirada en la historia y la mitología nórdica que resonó en toda Europa, demostrando una vez más el talento musical de Dinamarca.

Estas victorias en Eurovisión no solo han traído reconocimiento internacional a los artistas daneses, sino que también han fortalecido el orgullo nacional y la identidad cultural del país. Con cada triunfo, Dinamarca demuestra su capacidad para destacar en el escenario europeo y dejar una huella indeleble en el mundo de la música.

Resultados de Dinamarca en el Festival de Eurovisión

Dinamarca ha tenido una larga historia en el Festival de Eurovisión, un evento musical icónico que reúne a países de toda Europa para competir con sus mejores actos musicales. A lo largo de los años, Dinamarca ha logrado resultados destacados en este concurso, ganando en varias ocasiones y dejando una impresión duradera en la audiencia internacional.

Uno de los momentos más memorables en la historia de Dinamarca en Eurovisión fue en 1963, cuando Grethe & Jørgen Ingmann se alzaron con la victoria con la canción "Dansevise". Desde entonces, Dinamarca ha logrado otras victorias, como en 2000 con la canción "Fly on the Wings of Love" interpretada por los Olsen Brothers, y más recientemente en 2013 con la canción "Only Teardrops" de Emmelie de Forest.

Además de sus victorias, Dinamarca también ha destacado en otras ediciones del festival, logrando altas posiciones en la clasificación final. La participación de Dinamarca en Eurovisión ha sido muy apreciada tanto por los críticos como por los fanáticos de la música en todo el mundo, gracias a sus actuaciones únicas y su talento musical excepcional.

En resumen, los resultados de Dinamarca en el Festival de Eurovisión han sido impresionantes a lo largo de los años, con victorias memorables y actuaciones destacadas que han consolidado su lugar como uno de los países más exitosos en la historia del concurso musical más grande de Europa.

Participaciones ganadoras de Dinamarca en Eurovisión

Dinamarca ha sido una nación destacada en el concurso de Eurovisión a lo largo de los años, con diversas participaciones que han dejado una huella imborrable en la historia del certamen musical europeo. Desde su debut en 1957, Dinamarca ha sabido destacarse en Eurovisión, logrando múltiples participaciones ganadoras que han emocionado al público de todo el continente.

Una de las participaciones más recordadas de Dinamarca en Eurovisión fue en 1963, cuando Grethe y Jørgen Ingmann se alzaron con la victoria con la canción "Dansevise". Este triunfo marcó el inicio de una exitosa trayectoria para Dinamarca en el concurso, consolidando su presencia en la competencia musical europea.

Otro momento memorable fue en 2000, cuando los Olsen Brothers conquistaron el primer lugar con la canción "Fly on the Wings of Love". Esta balada romántica cautivó al público y al jurado, otorgándole a Dinamarca su segunda victoria en Eurovisión.

Más recientemente, en 2013, Emmelie de Forest se consagró ganadora con la canción "Only Teardrops", emocionando a todos con su interpretación y llevando a Dinamarca una vez más a lo más alto del podio en Eurovisión.

Estas participaciones ganadoras de Dinamarca en Eurovisión demuestran el talento y la calidad musical que el país escandinavo ha aportado al certamen a lo largo de los años, dejando una marca imborrable en la historia de este emblemático concurso europeo.

Datos sobre los triunfos de Dinamarca en Eurovisión

Dinamarca es uno de los países con mayor éxito en el Festival de la Canción de Eurovisión. Desde su debut en 1957, ha logrado alzarse con la victoria en tres ocasiones, mostrando un talento excepcional en la música y el espectáculo.

El primer triunfo de Dinamarca en Eurovisión ocurrió en 1963 con la canción "Dansevise" interpretada por Grethe & Jørgen Ingmann. Este tema cautivó al público con su melodía pegajosa y su encantadora actuación, lo que le valió el primer puesto en el concurso.

El segundo triunfo llegó en 2000 con la memorable canción "Fly on the Wings of Love" interpretada por los Olsen Brothers. Esta balada pop logró conquistar a toda Europa y se convirtió en un éxito instantáneo, llevando a Dinamarca a lo más alto de Eurovisión una vez más.

El tercer y más reciente triunfo de Dinamarca en Eurovisión tuvo lugar en 2013 con la canción "Only Teardrops" interpretada por Emmelie de Forest. Esta poderosa balada folk logró captar la atención de los espectadores con su emotiva interpretación y su puesta en escena única, lo que le permitió a Dinamarca llevarse la corona una vez más.

Con estos tres triunfos en su historial, Dinamarca se ha consolidado como una potencia en el Festival de Eurovisión, demostrando su capacidad para destacar en el escenario internacional y conquistar corazones con su música.

Cantantes daneses ganadores de Eurovisión

Dinamarca es conocida por su participación en el concurso Eurovisión, un evento anual que ha catapultado a numerosos artistas al estrellato internacional. En este artículo, nos enfocaremos en los cantantes daneses que han logrado llevarse la victoria en este prestigioso certamen de la canción.

Uno de los ganadores más destacados de Dinamarca en Eurovisión es Olsen Brothers, quienes triunfaron en 2000 con su pegajosa canción "Fly on the Wings of Love". Este dúo musical demostró su talento y carisma en el escenario, conquistando al público europeo y llevándose la ansiada corona.

Otro cantante danés que dejó huella en Eurovisión es Emmelie de Forest, ganadora en 2013 con su emotiva canción "Only Teardrops". Con su voz única y su presencia magnética, Emmelie cautivó a la audiencia y se coronó como la reina de la noche, llevando la victoria a Dinamarca una vez más.

Asimismo, es imposible mencionar a los cantantes daneses ganadores de Eurovisión sin hacer referencia a Rasmussen, quien en 2018 triunfó con su épica interpretación de "Higher Ground". Con su imponente presencia escénica y su poderosa voz, Rasmussen conquistó el corazón de Europa y se consagró como uno de los grandes de la música danesa.

Estos son solo algunos ejemplos de los talentosos cantantes daneses que han logrado alzarse con la victoria en Eurovisión, dejando una marca imborrable en la historia de la música europea y demostrando que Dinamarca es una cantera inagotable de talento y creatividad en el escenario internacional.

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greensparty · 1 year

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2023 BUFF - Dispatch #1

Green’s Party is proud to be covering the 2023 Boston Underground Film Festival, which kicked off last night at the Brattle Theatre (Cambridge, MA). I’ve been lucky enough to cover the festival since 2016 (the fest took off in 2020 and 2021, and I was unable to attend 2022).

me at the Boston Underground Film Festival red carpet!

Last night I went to the Brattle Theatre and I actually got to sit next to my Cruising In The Van Productions chair in the 5th row! The Opening Night Film was The Unheard. Jeffrey A. Brown’s follow up to The Beach House is set to premiere on Shudder later this month, but the Massachusetts-filmed psychological horror film had it’s World Premiere at BUFF. What got my attention about this, was screenwriters / producers Michael and Shawn Rasmussen. Full disclosure: The Brothers Rasmussen have become friends of mine over the last decade though the Boston film scene. 2005′s underrated Long Distance was co-written by them. Then they wrote 2010′s institution thriller The Ward, which was John Carpenter’s first movie he directed in about 10 years. Then they wrote and directed 2013′s Dark Feed, a horror movie about a movie crew filming in a scary location. They wrote and directed the indie horror film The Inhabitants (I was lucky enough to attend the private cast/crew/friends screening in 2015). Then they co-wrote Alexandre Aja’s Crawl (one of my 10 Best Movies of 2019).

But I digress. In The Unheard, we meet Chloe a young woman who undergoes an experimental procedure to restore hearing loss. She then goes to her family home in Cape Cod. She is haunted by memories she had as a child. That home was the last place she saw her mother before she went missing. She starts having auditory hallucinations and it’s not clear if that is related to the recent procedure or if strange things really are happening in the off-season of this Cape Cod home. This slow burn is a film I’m super glad I saw on the big screen as the Brattle just installed a killer new sound system. The sound design in this movie is off the charts and there’s a VHS element to this film was is creepy and haunting. Lead actor Lachlan Watson (NOTE: the actor goes by they, the character goes by she) gives one of the best horror movie performances in recent memory (up there with Mia Goth in Pearl and the cast of Nope). Also need to mention supporting actor Nick Sandow, known for his comedic tendencies on Orange is the New Black, here he really leans into this dramatic role as a former cop turned handy-man for the property. Highly recommend watching this with headphones on and not doing anything else while watching it.

Michael, Shawn and Jeffrey during the Q&A with BUFF Artistic Director Kevin Monahan.

The film was followed by a Q&A with Brown and the Rasmussens. Afterwards I hung out with them at the after-party. Good times!

Tonight: Films include Stand By for Failure, Spaghetti Junction, and Smoking Causes Coughing.

For info on this year’s #BUFF23: https://bostonunderground.org/

Stay tuned to Green’s Party for my coverage of this year’s fest!

#boston underground film festival #BUFF23 #the unheard #jeffrey a. brown #the rasmussen brothers #film festival #film geek

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darklydeliciousdesires · 6 months

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Immortal Beloved - Chapter One.

Oh guys, when I tell you I was touched beyond words at how this was received by you all. I have been sitting here squeaking with joy at your lovely reviews! If I have missed anybody out in my thank you notes, please take my humble apology and know that I appreciate you so much for taking the time to both read and offer feedback.

Okay, so on with the first chapter, then. You'll notice here that my imagination weaves with canon to make some slight changes, such as giving the boy's (and Ada's) mother a name, also I wrote John only to have one child with his late wife. It made sense to me, not having to pull focus from the plot too much by having to characterise four little ones on top of everything else.

So yes, here we are, then. I think I'm going to choose Thursday as our update day and keep it to once a week posting. Those who know me of old know that I often like to throw in a little surprise update sometimes, though! Once again, thank you so much for the feedback, and I truly hope you continue to enjoy it :)

Previous chapters - Prologue

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 4,057

Warnings - Adult themes + vampire content throughout. Minors DNI!

“John?”

He was still in a daze as he entered the back room, seeing Polly lift her gaze from the paper she read in front of the crackling hearth, her dark eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re bloody white as a sheet. If you’re about to be sick, go back outside. I’ve neither the desire nor patience for mopping up the contents of your stomach.”

“Nah, I’m... I’m alright, Pol,” he began, his voice just as vacant as the expression upon his face, the toothpick between his lips practically dangling.

She wasn’t convinced by his statement, placing the paper upon the arm of the chair and rising to her feet. “John, you look like you’ve seen a ghost, and you...” She sniffed his breath, her mouth down turning as she scoffed, “and you stink like a brewery floor. What did Tommy say, eh, about getting in this state. Look at you!”

Her admonishment barely even landed; John still in a state of shock at what he’d witnessed, his eyes flitting to the table. Whiskey. Yes.

Polly’s gaze followed. “No. There’ll be no more of that. You’ve had enough.”

Finally, he moved, side stepping his aunt as he reached for the bottle, uncorking it rapidly and drinking from it directly. “Believe me, Pol. After what I just saw, all the fucking whiskey in Ireland ain’t enough.”

She folded her arms, watching as he crashed down in the chair opposite the one she’d been comfortably sitting in. “Well, you don’t look hurt. Whatever it was, it can’t have been that bad.”

“Not for me, but...” he began, taking another swig of the golden liquid within his grasp, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve as his eyes found hers, “for the fella outside missing his head, I can’t say the same.”

“You bloody what, John Shelby?” Her voice rose like a siren, Polly’s authoritative boom filling the space. “A Rasmussen, I take it? And since when have you been in the habit of lopping off heads and leaving the evidence all over the bloody street? Holy shit, you boys will be the death of me!”

She then studied him a little closer. No blood. He'd have been covered in more than just a fine misting of crimson, should he have removed somebody of their head. It also wasn’t John’s style, as far as despatching of an enemy went. He was a gangster, not a barbarian. She wouldn’t have even pegged his elder brothers for such acts, and their bloodlust far exceeded John’s. Her statement was about to be recanted when her nephew offered his reply.

“No, not me. I didn’t do fuck all!” he corrected, gulping back more whiskey, the shock starting to soften as his muscles began to unclench, one by one. “It weren’t me, but you wouldn’t believe me if I told you what I’ve just seen out there.”

“Is that so?” she charged, moving swiftly to stand beside his chair. “Try me.”

He pointed his index finger towards the door, his eyes rounding once more as he relived it in his mind. “A woman, a fucking woman in a white dress, covered in blood, moving faster than I could see. She fucking... grabbed this fella, right, like he was a kiddie’s doll, bit into his neck, and then ripped his fucking head off. I ain’t lying to ya. I swear on my soul, that’s what I saw. She had these teeth, teeth like a fucking wolf.”

Polly lifted her chin, a wave of cold dread sloshing through her insides. She knew exactly what John had seen, but could scarcely believe it. They were back. “You’re drunk. Go to bed.”

His eyes narrowed, leaning forward in his seat. Her answer, it had been a little too swiftly delivered. “You believe me, don’t you? You know what she was.”

“I said go to bed.”

“I ain’t going nowhere until you tell me what the fuck that thing outside was.” Yes, Polly could be firm, but so could her nephew. It was a trait that ran strongly through the Shelby blood. She sighed, her shoulders dropping, striding to the cabinet and fetching two glasses.

“Pour.” John met her instruction wordlessly, tipping the whiskey into the glasses she held, taking the other from her. Polly sank into her seat, sipping her whiskey and pulling a cigarette from the case beside her, lighting up. “Your great-grandmother used to call them the shadow walkers, but it’s only since that Bram Stoker fellow wrote his novel that there’s been a commonly known name for them. That woman you saw, John, she wasn’t human. She was a vampire.”

John was baffled, and his face showed it. “But they ain’t real. I’ve heard of that book you’re on about, Dracula, isn’t it? They... they’re fiction.”

A light snort sounded from Polly’s nose, her cigarette glowing as she took a fierce drag upon it. “Most people think that they are. They think of them as nothing more than monsters of make-believe, dreamed into existence by the imagination of a brilliant novelist.” Pausing, she smirked darkly, sighing through her nose. “I wish to god above I was one of those people. They keep themselves very well hidden, the vampires. And who would believe it, that these blood sucking creatures of the night truly exist, eh? Seeing is believing, though, and by god, John. I wish you hadn’t seen her. Those things, they’re evil incarnate.”

“She saved me life,” he admitted, eyebrows rising a fraction. “That man, and apparently three mates of his, they were all waiting for me. The one missing his head was Samuel Rasmussen. She knew him by name.”

Polly cocked her head slightly. “What did she say to you?”

“Not much,” he sniffed, sipping his drink. “Said what I’ve just told you, then said my blood smelled like earth and fire, other things an’ all but I forget what. Oh, and that I was the most beautiful creature she’d seen in a long time.”

She smiled, nodding slightly. “Well, she got that part right. You take after your mother in that respect.” It never ceased to amaze her, just how much John resembled Thora, her late sister-in-law. His blue eyes, lily skin and auburn hair came straight from her. “I’m warning you now, though. What she did for you won’t have been out of sheer magnanimity, oh no. There’ll be a reason behind it, and whatever that reason is, I am telling you, John, you’ll want for no part in it.”

He smirked, feeling a little more himself. “What if the reason is that she just wants to fuck me?”

Immediately, he found his ear clipped. “Fucking hell, Pol!”

“Take something seriously for once in your fucking life!”

He rubbed the side of his head, chewing aggressively on his toothpick. “I bloody am.”

Her snort dripped in sarcasm “Like fuck, you are. You’d want throwing right into the loony bin if you even contemplated that, you bloody daft boy!” She remained forward in her seat, her dark eyes fixing him in an unbreakable stare. “Don’t trust her, not even for a second, or it’ll be your head ripped off your shoulders and left out for the coppers to find next. You hear me?”

“You make it sound like I’m going to see her again,” he mused, swirling the whiskey around within the glass tumbler before sinking it.

“You will,” she assured, her tone bitter. “You will see her again, because like I said, they don’t do anything without good reason to, those creatures. But you’ll be prepared. Carry a silver knife and get up to the church sharpish, fill a little bottle with holy water from the font. When weaponised, silver will kill her and the water will burn. And whatever you do, John, never, ever invite her into this house. She can’t get in unless she’s invited.”

He had to wonder how, exactly, Polly had such a wealth of knowledge over them. “Have you ever met one before? You talk like you know them of old.”

“No, thank god, but your great-grandmother Boswell, she had. Those campfire stories she told us as babes, we knew they weren’t fibs. We heeded her warnings. They’re drawn to gypsy blood, you see, something about it being palatable.”

“She didn’t bite me, though,” John reasoned, Polly scoffing lightly.

“If she’d just taken out four other fellas, she probably wasn’t hungry. That’s what they need to survive, the blood of the living. Trust me, she’ll be back, but you’ll be prepared. Stab her in her cold, dead heart and forget you ever met her. Don’t even think twice about it. We’ve got enough to be reckoning with, what with these fucking Rasmussen’s and the pile of shit they’re throwing our way. I don’t need the worry that you’re being stalked by the bloody undead on top of that.”

“Why didn’t you mention any of this to us before?”

Sinking her drink, she cleared her throat, reaching for the bottle. “And have you think I’d gone loopy?” Her snorted words brought a smile to John, Polly continuing. “We just don’t speak of them any longer. They’re rare, not an everyday threat. I’ve never heard hide nor hair of them since hearing nana’s stories, since I was just a young girl.”

As the lie fell from her lips, Polly felt conflicted. She had to protect him, though. Keep the details scant. Besides, he was too drunk to take on anything else. Indeed, there was more she could have explained. She decided against it, clamping her lips between her teeth for a moment.

“Hang on,” he spoke, frowning a little. “What did you mean, when you said undead?”

“They aren’t alive anymore, John.” She paused, picking a little fleck of tobacco from her lip. “They walk and talk, but they’re not really living. Something about how they’re made, I don’t know the details, but yes. Undead. An enchanted corpse, basically.”

“I dunno about enchanted, but she was enchanting,” he began, the corner of his mouth upturning. “She was bloody beautiful.” His face further softened as he remembered that feeling of magic lingering in the air between he and her, the pull to her, her essence shining like the brightest star within a pitch-black sky.

“John, no. Absolutely fucking not.” Her pointed finger only momentarily wiped the growing smirk from his handsome features. “I mean it, do not even consider a fucking dalliance with a bloody vampire!”

He shrugged slightly. “I’ve took worse to bed.”

“John!” Her acerbic bite of his name had him in soft fits, the whiskey seeming to do the trick in placating the fear he’d felt at the time, now he was no longer in peril. “Your fucking face when you walked in here not ten minutes ago, looking like you’d seen a ghost. I was surprised your trousers were still dry, you looked that afraid!”

“Bloody hell, Pol. I was only pulling your leg,” he laughed, rising from his seat. “Don’t worry, I ain’t stupid. I’m going to bed. Maybe all of this is just a drunken dream, I dunno.” Suddenly, her foot shot out, kicking him in the shin. “Ow, what the fuck?”

“Did that feel like a dream to you?”

“No, it feels like it’s gonna be a whacking great bruise on me leg!”

She smirked, entertained at herself. “Good, might have knocked a bit of sense into you. Goodnight, love.”

“Yeah, night, Pol.”

He departed for the stairs, ambling up quietly so as not to wake Finn, entering his room and shivering upon the removal of his coat. His stripping of clothes into long johns and a vest was done at speed, diving under the bed covers and burrowing beneath the many woollen blankets. He hated that his room was the farthest from the chimney breast, meaning the heat didn’t ever reach the room where he could see his breath clouding through the darkness, it was so bitterly chilly.

The knocking through of the three houses that allowed for their once illegal bookmaking endeavours to be run from the Watery Lane properties meant one large communal home, Tommy and Arthur’s abodes flanking the three, John remaining within the house he’d been born in twenty-eight years previously. It was the home he and his late wife had lived in, before he’d sadly lost her four years previously.

Closing his eyes, he felt the pull of sleep tug at him, drifting off into dreamless slumber, awoken the following morning by the sound of the milkman’s cart doing the morning deliveries. Oh, his head. He needed tea and jam slathered toast, and quickly. Heading downstairs, he warmed enough water to have a wash and shave, combing his hair and returning to pull on a suit, opening the front door to take the milk in off the front step.

“Morning, Mr Shelby.”

“Morning, Jack,” he called back to the milkman, his cart paused, John turning to see a throng of people gathered a little further down the lane. “What’s all that about?”

“Some kids found a headless body down by number six, so I’ve been told. The bobbies are on their way. Shocking business for a Wednesday morning, I can tell you!”

John’s heart skipped on a beat as the night before rushed back over his neurons. He truly hadn’t been dreaming. “Blimey,” he began, feigning something as close to shock as he could, craning his neck a little further, able to make out the figures of his elder brother’s there surveying the scene, the local constabulary appearing right at the bottom of the lane. “Wonder how he ended up headless?”

Jack lit a cigarette, his chest tightening as he coughed. “Might be best not to know, eh?” He paused, John seeing it, the unspoken statement there upon the milkman’s face. Grim discoveries close to a Shelby dwelling. Of course, he suspected it had something to do with him or his brothers, but Jack was much too cautious to speak it. Their reputation preceded them, after all.

“I’ll be moving along now, Mr Shelby.” He flicked the reins, clicking his tongue. “C’mon, Beamish. Walk on.” The giant, bay shire horse snorted before continuing to the next house, Jack’s lad jumping off the back of the cart to lay the required bottles next to each door, both getting a good look at the grizzly scene as they passed it by, Tommy and Arthur having a brief chat with Sergeant Moss before walking back to meet John on the doorstep.

The former cocked his head back in the direction of the small crowd. “Know anything about that, John? How one of our adversaries came to be missing his head almost right outside our front doors?” He’d recognised Samuel’s face as it lay wide-eyed upon the cobbles ten feet from his body, remembering him from the race meet.

Tommy watched as his younger brother stepped back into the house, his mouth thinning. “I think we need a family meeting.” With the elders of the Shelby family assembled, cups of tea poured and cigarettes lit, John recounted the events of the night before to his brother’s, Polly interjecting with details that backed up his story. Tommy listened passively, but Arthur, well...

His gruff laughter sounded through the air, sweeping a hand through his hair. His laughter was not mocking, though. It carried with it all the hollowness of fear. “A bloody what?”

“Arthur, you know he’s telling the truth,” Polly stated defiantly, her eldest nephew still laughing, laughing to stop himself beginning to shake with fright.

“What a pile of old shit! A bloody vampire, eh? Fucking hell, you two have lost your faculties if you’re expecting us to believe that!” Turning to his brother, Arthur was surprised to see Tommy completely unmoved by the story, his face unflinching, taking another drag of his cigarette.

“Come on, Arthur,” he spoke evenly, sipping his tea. “Nobody is having you on, and you know it.” Turning to John, he placed his tea down. “This woman, John. Long, dark hair with a tattooed throat and chest?”

He nodded a little dumbly. “Yeah, that’s her.”

Tommy sat back again, flicking ash into the nearby ashtray with a sniff. “She’s been watching the house for a couple of weeks now.”

“And you didn’t feel the need to mention that to anyone?” Polly charged him with, a deep frown settling between her eyebrows.

“Speak not of the shadow walkers, lest ye bring them into the light. That’s what our dad used to say,” he revealed, Arthur scoffing immediately as he threw himself to his feet.

“I ain’t listening to this load of old cobblers! Fucking mad, the lot of ya!”

“Arthur, you know it’s true. You saw what I did on that night,” he reasoned softly, Arthur’s agitation winding tighter by the second as he paced the flagstones. “It’s time to face up to what happened.”

“What night?” John demanded lightly, looking between them. Silence followed. “One of you better give me a fucking answer.”

Tommy paused, bringing his cigarette to his lips once more. “I’ve thought about that night here and there over the years, but never mentioned it. Dad told us not to breathe a word to anyone,” he began, Arthur making a start for the door, almost throwing it off its hinges and slamming it behind him.

Jerking his head in his wake he raised his eyebrows a fraction. “Terrified the life out of Arthur, so much so that he pissed himself. He’s never come to terms with that he witnessed, refuses to acknowledge it ever happened at all. He can’t comprehend what he saw, what we saw on that night, when dad took us up to the Black Patch when we were nippers to visit family. Now, I don’t know how much Polly revealed to you, but they aren’t spoken about, the shadow walkers as our gypsy kin always referred to them as, but for centuries, they had a pact.

“Gypsy blood to a vampire is what a fine wine or whiskey is to us, so for hundreds of years, vampires would guard the camps in exchange for feeding upon that blood. That was, at least, until the pact was broken. I don’t know why, and neither did our dad, but one night they returned, to hand out the punishment they felt befitting of that broken pact.

“Our dad did perhaps the only honourable thing he ever has as a father, and got on a horse, riding us out of there to the nearest church where he hid us away until the dawn. Vampires cannot walk upon hallowed ground, nor can they stand in the daylight, lest they burn to ashes. The rest of the camp weren’t so lucky. People were attacked, only very few surviving, but in a state of dread that one day, they’d be back. I suppose that day was last night, for I highly doubt she’s acting alone.”

John immediately stared at Polly. “Did you know all of this?”

She nodded in confirmation. “I did.”

“So why the fuck didn’t you tell me last night?” he demanded, his eyes narrowing.

“Because you were drunk as a lord, John. What I said was enough explanation without going into the finer details, of which I wasn’t sure you’d be able to absorb. I’m fucking surprised you comprehended even half of what I told you, to be frank.”

John’s puzzlement was clear as it ghosted across his face, sighing as he rubbed his brow. “But it don’t make no sense. If she was here because she wanted us dead, some kind of further punishment for our kin breaking the pact, then why am I still alive? She could have had me head off, just the same as she did to Samuel fucking Rasmussen, but she didn’t.” He felt his heart flutter as he remembered how fondly she’d gazed upon him. God, she was such a beauty.

Tommy shrugged lightly. “At a guess, I’d say she wants to rekindle the blood pact. Why she’d choose us and not one of the other families out there, well, I can’t answer that.”

“Which means she probably wants something else from us, something greater,” a frowning Polly mused, the dread in her voice quite clear. It was a distinct change to her usual confident, self-assured tone.

“And we’re not about to give her the chance to even broach it.” Tommy then turned to John, his eyes wide. “You’ll carry a silver knife upon your person from now on, as we all will. Her kind are not to be trusted. Killing that man, I suspect was to lure you into a false sense of security. Vampires are immortal; they have all the fucking time in the world to exact a plan. She’s biding her time.”

“She didn’t only kill him,” John snorted, jerking his head to the right. “Coppers will find another three bodies somewhere out there soon enough.”

Tommy rose to his feet, keen to move to his office and begin the day. “All the more reason not to trust her when she returns. Mark my words, John boy. She’ll be back. She’ll be back, I tell you, and it won’t lead to anything good.”

All talk of vampires, blood pacts and a family history unknown to John meant that he could forget his pounding head for a short time. After his refuelling with toast and tea, he walked through to the offices, grasping the ledger and beginning to write, the space soon filling, the usual loud chaos abounding.

Hangovers and mysterious, vampiric women aside, John’s day ended certainly more favourably than the previous. The favourite at Epson, Shamrock Pride pulled up lame in the fifth race, just as he was intended to. This netted a very tidy profit for them, John finishing his day with a spring in his step because of it.

The Garrison for a whiskey or three? Whyever not.

“Daddy?”

The soft grasp of a tiny hand curled his little finger, John pausing from pulling on his overcoat to look down into the big, green eyes of his daughter, Katie carrying a book within her grasp.

“You should be in bed, pige.” Pige. Short for pigeon, the fond pet name for his only child from his short marriage to Martha, his wife taken from him by the cruel clutches of consumption when Katie was mere baby in arms.

Poking out her bottom lip, she proffered the book forth. The Velveteen Rabbit. It had to have been their fourth read through at that point, the book only published six months before. “Please?”

He sighed softly through his nose. “Go on,” he spoke to his brother, “I’ll catch up with you.”

Arthur nodded, leaving John to place his coat over the back of the fireside armchair there in the front room, adjusting his trousers as he sat, Katie scrambling onto his lap. “Right, where were we?”

Opening the book, the cloth binding soft and velvety against his fingers, John laid the well-worn leather bookmark across Katie’s legs, stroking her strawberry blonde curls as he began to read. Ten minutes, give or take, and she would nod off with her little rosy cheeked face nestled against his chest.

Eleven and a half minutes later, and the soft little piglet snorts of a babe in slumber filled the space, John smiling down at her. “Let’s get you up them stairs, eh, pige?” Once he’d placed her into her bed and covered her in blankets, he laid a kiss to her forehead, whispering his love before creeping out, overcoat thrown on and a cigarette lit before stepping out into the frigid night.

Snowflakes fluttered down over the streets of Small Heath, John feeling winter tingle as his cheeks, the flames of the blast furnaces offering a roar of warmth as he passed them by, the lights of The Garrison twinkling through the inky gloom.

“John.”

The whisper of his name echoed through his ears, John turning, his eyes scanning for the source. Nobody. On he walked.

“John.”

It was louder than before this time as once again he halted, turning, looking for the female to whom the voice belonged. He almost dived out of his skin when upon his turn back, there she was.

The vampire looked even more breathtaking to him than she had the night before.

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