#whimsical but eerie at the same time

[simpingland]

The Guide and the Companion.// Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem!oc Part 2

Part 1.

Summary: Gaella runs from the greens, hoping to be welcomed by the Blacks and more specifically the Prince Jacaerys. The feelings are strong but even in the same side, both of them find themselves way to separated by the past.

A/N: very angst. Hope you like it, the struggle is real.

A pyre could be seen burning in the distance, and the nervousness in Gaella grew even more. Someone was being burned and Erryk changed his path to where the people were gathering. The greyish cloak that covered Gaella momentarily maintained her identity, but swords were raised before the newcomers. And as the knight knelt, relinquishing the crown to Daemon and uttering an oath to Rhaenyra, Gaella's knees took a while to settle to the ground. As she let her white hair fly, her green skirt became stained with dirt and she ducked her head. She dared not turn around, but she would have seen all those people landing on their knees, and Jace looking up to watch the Princess, who looked as repentant as Jace had imagined, though it pained him to see her in that humiliating position.

"Gaella," Rhaenyra called as she approached the girl. "Have you come to swear fealty to me? Or to betray me?"

"No, your Majesty..." her voice trembled, and fear showed even in her eyes. "I fled before I even saw Aegon crowned. I kneel before you alone."

"You understand that you cannot be trusted..." Daemon spoke dryly, his hands resting on his sword.

"Please, I come empty-handed, weary and eager to serve Rhaenyra. No one who knows Aegon can see him as a king." Gaella was quick to justify herself, losing her composure. She was startled when Daemon tugged at her cloak, revealing that bejewelled green gown.

"You have always been more than willing to support him, Princess. You are like your brothers, a product of your grandfather." Though Daemon spoke, Rhaenyra seemed to be watching and thinking something apart. As Gaella's tears welled up, Jace hurried to the spot.

"She hasn't always been willing!" Jace corrected him. "In fact, I doubt if she ever was."

His voice was serious and powerful, but Gaella felt it as if it were the most beautiful voice in the world, that of an angel to her rescue.

"You'll have a room, food and water. But we will not let you roam the castle at will. This is a war for everyone," Rhaenyra said. She walked off, leaving everyone walking behind her. Only Gaella remained on the ground, and Jace at her side. In the eerie silence, the Princess would not raise her head, nor would she say a word. But she did let Jace put the cloak back on her shoulders. She rose on her own and followed some distance behind the Prince.

"Watch out for the stones," the boy said to her.

"Jacaerys..." Gaella stopped, so did Jace. "Whose pyre was it?"

"My little sister's, Visenya."

His eyes avoided Gaella's, looking out at the sea and the mountains. In front of her was her once friend, heartbroken for her sister.

"Oh...I am heartily sorry, my Prince."

Then she touched his arm, stroking his sleeve and searching his eyes.

"I know, Gaella. I'm sorry about you, too."

"Me?"

"I suppose you feel frightened. But you've done well."

"And how do you know that?"

"It's a gut feeling."

Gaella wanted to roll her eyes at that, Jace always so whimsical. And Jace could read her thinking because he smiled a little as he watched her endure a sarcastic comment, Gaella always so logical. He wiped away her tears without thinking it too much and walked back towards the castle. But he kept that skin on his memory for way too long, and Gaella did as well kept repeating that touch, so simple and intimate.

"Come on, I'll sattle you a good chamber," Jace told her with a little more cheerfulness. "The new Prince of Dragonstone welcomes you, Princess Gaella."

And behind him, with calm sorrow and diffused fear, Gaella smiled after a long time.

She may not have been locked in the cell, but no one encouraged her to leave her chambers, and the three guards behind her door signalled that they would know when Gaella could come out. Such passive aggressiveness was something Jace was ashamed of. The Princess had been brought to her knees, having travelled in a tiny boat for a whole day and night, leaving behind a lifetime, and all of a sudden. And during the queen's first meeting, he couldn't concentrate. He could imagine Gaella pacing her room, breathing nervously and fearing for everything. And by the time they could finally spare him, night had fallen.

"Mother, will Gaella come down to dinner?" asked Luke, who had seen his older brother's lack of concentration.

"If she wishes, yes."

"I will escort her to the dinning room, my Queen." Jace left before he even had his mother's approval. All those who had known Jace or Gaella since childhood exchanged glances, knowing the fixation they felt for each other.

Gaella was startled by the pounding on her door, and hesitated, unwilling to open the door to just anyone.

"Who is it?" she asked, glued to the door.

"It's me, Princess Gaella... Jacaerys." His voice sounded courteous, perhaps too much so. "You are invited to dine with us."

Then Gaella opened, not quite, just enough to see his face.

"Rhaenyra..."

"Your Majesty, The Queen," the boy corrected her.

"The Queen...wants me to dine with you?"

"She insist." He stood removed, his posture straight and rigid, but his eyes held a soft gaze.

"Be honest. Are you going to kill me?" Gaella let herself lean against the edge of the door, wanting to rest her hands on Jace, but settling for the wood.

"The meat here isn't very good...but you couldn't say it is capable of killing."

Then he smiled tenderly and Gaella wanted to hug him. Instead she pushed him away holding back a laugh. She managed to take a step out of her room and Jace pointed the way they should go. Again he was her guide, only this time he offered her an arm.

"Wow...I didn't remember you being such a gentleman."

"I wasn't. I have learned." And despite his offer, Gaella restrained herself from accepting it, tangling her hands in the belt of her own dress.

"Of course, a highborn wife deserves nothing less than a gentleman." She remembered that dinner, with those complicit smiles and flirting. And Jace's smile disappeared.

"And even knights can be disappointing."

"And kings too..." Gaella joked back. "Men in general are a headache."

"Some women claim that men have no heads."

"And that's true. And that's why women have to think for them, and it's too much work, Jace."

The prince stopped in his tracks, halting the ride. The Princess knew at once why, but she wanted to pretend she didn't understand, while Jace smirked.

"Jace? Did my ears hear right?"

Gaella rolled her eyes.

"If it bothers you I'll go back to calling you Jacaerys."

"And what about 'my prince'?" Jace continued on his way, trying to catch Gaella's gaze as she ignored him again.

"Now I don't want to call you that. You make it sound weird."

"I'll call you by whatever name you want as long as you call me by whatever name I want. That's a good deal, isn't it?"

"I guess...I'd like to be called 'great princess Gaella the wise and beautiful', if it's not too much trouble."

"Alright..." she could smell the food, the road was going to end. "I will think of my name during dinner, Princess Gaella the wise and beautiful."

" 'Great' Princess Gaella, the wise and beautiful."

"I'm sorry, Great Princess Gaella, the wise and beautiful. Though it is costing me too much, could you choose another name?"

"I will decide over dinner."

The dinner in question was rather tense. With Daemon and Rhaenyra constantly looking at you. No one spoke of wars or alliances and the silence was so sepulchral that not even Gaella dared to eat to keep the noise down. She could also see Baela and Jace out of the corner of her eye, sitting together again, though this time not even they spoke.

"Why have you changed your mind, Gaella?" the Queen asked at last.

The girl's gaze rested on Jace for a moment, he was looking at her as well. Then she focused on Rhaenyra, trying to prove she wasn't lying.

"I've never had things so clear before. It was a sleepless night before the coronation. And I felt I was making a mistake by bowing to Aegon. Also...someone close to you made me see things a bit differently. Made me feel seen. Ser Erryk was more than willing to help me, he never agreed with Aegon's behaviour, unlike his brother."

That someone who made her see things differently would remain locked in her heart, and Jace would only suspect that he was the great reason in question.

"The knight has admitted to me that he trusts you. And I trust him. I would like you to come to the meeting tomorrow." Rhaenyra then focused on eating, though she was the only one. The others were left watching the Queen or the Princess.

The girl's smile sent an irritating glee through Jace's chest, and he had to restrain himself from smiling too. He was glad to have her around again. When dinner was over, everyone retired to their rooms, and Jace paused to say goodbye to his fiancée with an overly polite kiss on the hand, even Baela blushed. And Gaella watched, wanting to smack herself for having been such a fool.

On her way to her room, she didn't turn around when she heard Jace behind her.

"I've decided that I like 'Jace' better than 'Jacaerys', it brings back good memories." He watched as Gaella kept walking, and soon caught up with her. "But I'm starting to get the hang of that intonation you use when you call me 'my prince'...your voice is too pretty when you utter it, and knowing you mean me is even better."

It was now Gaella who stopped in mid-stride. Her eyes seemed darker than ever. And Jace understood nothing, really nothing.

"What are you playing at?"

"I beg your pardon?" Jace looked at her as if he could understand her better by doing it.

"I said I don't understand what you're playing at. You full my head with pretty words and make me forget that you have a wife-to-be who adores you. So much so that you make me abandon my family to feel that I'm wanted here."

"I really don't understand you, Gaella, you've abandoned your family all by yourself, that's what the dinner was about, isn't it?" Jace was going from confused to angry as he noticed the responsibility they were starting to put on his shoulders.

"I have been judged and locked up. And you come back with your words and gestures that make me believe that you really want me. You make me forget about Baela and how much you love her. And then I see that I'm just an excuse to boost your ego."

"Don't be unfair. Did you really expect me to ignore Baela...for you?" Those words came out in a way Jace didn't mean, and they struck Gaella like an arrow to the heart. "I can understand that you were made to choose sides, but you chose to ignore me completely for years."

"Poor thing, who didn't get his letters from me praising the nonsense you did every day, or how well you learn your lessons or how chivalrous you are...how can I ever repay you?" Gaella's sarcasm made Jace feel stupid and angry by the minute.

"If I had been fair I would have decided not to speak to you for another six years. But I've been good and understanding. Because I thought you were my friend. I didn't want your praise, just for you to be safe...happy." his voice was beginning to fail him and he could see Gaella's chin quiver.

"I had people I loved at King's Landing. Helaena, my nephews, my mother, I had a whole life. And you can't belittle it when you seek my praise because Baela's isn't enough. You make fun of me, but you'll always be a child."

"I'm sorry I got your hopes up. But I did not put you in a boat, nor did I make you kneel before the Queen. Don't throw it in my face that you regret what you've done. And mind you, if I was anyone else I would run and tell her Majesty that your loyalty to her is that weak."

The distance seemed to grow between you in the middle of the corridor. Just hours ago you had walked it with joy, but now it felt cold and echoing.

"I think you should be fair, Jacaerys," Gaella swallowed, holding back tears right there. "I don't want you to speak to me for another six years."

As Gaella slipped into her room, Jace walked slowly past her door, and he felt a sting on his chest to hear her cry on the other side.

The next morning, Gaella wandered the halls trying to find the room with the painted table, where the first meeting would take place. Jace saw her on his way, and without saying a word to her, made a noise that would attract her attention and pretended not to see her. Then he resumed his way without haste, knowing that the girl was following him at a distance, and in that way he managed to guide her without crossing words.

Glances were inevitable. Already dressed in red, Gaella had a simple appearance, the form that most fascinated Jace, and she smiled at Rhaenyra as she drew her close to the table. And when she connected her eyes to Jace's, he could see the redness of tears, and only wished she could have rested after all those stressful nights before.

When his mother gave them the task of travelling as messengers, Jace accepted his destination to the north. The desire to see Winterfell overcame the nervousness of doing a task in the midst of war and alone.

"Though I think, Jace," his mother continued, "your task is too difficult for your age. You should have company. "

"But Luke is going to Stormlands, the objective is to go fast and we must split up..."

"Take someone else with you. One willing to fly," interrupted the Queen. Jace looked at Baela, seeking a smile of approval, but the girl looked down at the ground. "The twins have other duties here, they can't accompany you."

He turned to his mother in confusion. The last thing Jace wanted was to be alone with Daemon, he would hinder his mission. But when Rhaenyra looked to the right of the table, when Jace realized who his mother's choice was, he changed his mind. Daemon would be the second to last person she wanted.

"Princess Gaella will be a good help. I'm more than sure."

----------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @mariaelizabeth21-blog1

#house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #jacaerys velaryon x reader #prince jacaerys #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys strong #hotd imagine #jacerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon imagine

[bye-bye-sunbird]

Think of Me | Yan!Venti x Reader x Yan!Diluc Opera AU

Summary: Master Diluc, the infamous composer, has been the Opera's greatest star for years now, being a favorite among the elite, as well as your devoted teacher. Nevertheless, Venti's growing popularity among the masses garners your attention.

Credits: This series is heavily inspired by Andrew Lloyd Webber’s “Phantom of the Opera”, as well as Bernard Rose’s “The Devil’s Violinist”. This short fic is part of the Opera AU series. Warnings: General Dark and Yandere themes, implied stalking

“She may not remember me, but I remember her” ― "The Phantom of the Opera".

You had heard about the joyful bard that enraptured the public's attention. Known to play in the lesser of stages, as some would call them: places such as taverns, bars, and busy streets. He seemed to dislike and criticize the pretentiousness that surrounded the Opera you worked in, to the point of refusing to lend any of his compositions to be adapted to the greatest stage of all.

You met him while running your usual errands outside the Opera, a few weeks after your debut, joining the multitude comprised of people of all standings who gathered around the small plaza to listen to him play the lyre and, just like them, became instantly fascinated by his whimsical style.

He dressed... extravagantly. His clothes were mismatched and had patches from different materials, which you found endearing and sort of charming. The only thing of value he seemed to carry was his lyre and the small hat that sat on the floor to collect tips, which was filled to the brim.

After apparently recognizing you, the mysterious bard asked you to join him for a very popular love song, the type that your Maestro would think of as too mundane and corny, making you hesitate for a minute before you ended up agreeing after some pressure in the guise of encouragement from the audience.

To your surprise, never in your entire career had you had that much fun singing. His music reflected in many ways the nature you had long before Master Diluc discovered you. It had a lively, effervescent joyfulness to it. It had no need for perfection, nor the dark exigency that you had become used to with Master Diluc's complicated pieces. Its simplicity felt right and freeing, and it brought you to happier times when you practiced for the choir try-outs as a child. The melody felt like a memory, which in turn felt like home.

His gaze rested on you for the entire performance, with a strange understanding, as if he knew you from a time past and this was the culmination of a long-awaited reunion. The same type of longing look a foreigner makes after hearing someone speak the same language as them.

The melodious last note is mixed with the loud cheer from the audience, which had doubled during the song. You raise your hand over your lips as you let a small giggle escape them, slightly surprised and amused by how you'd lost yourself in the performance.

Seeking the gaze of the bard, you are, for a moment, slightly taken aback.

By what, exactly? It was hard to pin down, as his eyes had an eerie and slightly unsettling quality of grim delight, of somber joyfulness…if such words could ever be used to describe the same thing. But it gave you the feeling that, despite the triviality of this moment, something had occurred.

The cheering stops abruptly, promptly followed by startled gasps that draw your attention. The audience in front of you begins to divide into a clear line, and your heart stops at the sight of your Maestro. Your smile died down instantly.

In unconscious response to the coldness of Master Diluc's gaze, you lower your eyelids and bow your head, surveying his dark profile in secret from beneath your lashes. Silence reigned, as fascination settled in among the crowd. He had a certain quality that created a conception of him as a being with a superior understanding of everything beautiful and solemn, the one and only authority when it came to music. You yourself were tightly enmeshed by it and felt in debt to your beloved Maestro, who had miraculously condescended to favor you over the rest.

The air condensed as he approached, his slow steps matching the slow thick strokes of your heartbeat. People started to feel the awkward tension, but the young bard stood unbothered by him, a charming smile illuminating his face. They exchanged some common courtesies, and even vaguer compliments, but you could barely pay any attention to them.

Your whole perception of your surroundings was hazy at best, barely making up something along the lines of: "Maestro Diluc! I borrowed your little songbird for a tune, I'm sure you don't mind" and "You heard about me, Sir? I'm flattered!", which sounded... almost like mocking, but Master Diluc tilted his head anyways, which seemed to lift the tension for a moment.

After a short indication, you wrap your arm around his, ready to leave the small, sunny plaza for his somber candlelit kingdom. Just before you start walking, the bard gently takes your hand, raising it up to his lips.

"It truly was my pleasure, Miss."

You feel Master Diluc's arm tense immediately but says nothing as you thank your previous music partner with a small bow. As both of you turn your backs to the bard, you see him reach into his pocket and pull out a single bill, which he drops into the bard's tipping hat, skidding over the coins to the dirty floor.

"Is it true? Are you absolutely sure?"

"I saw it with my own eyes! They brought the music sheet to the Director's office, but I think it appeared in her dressing room first, signed "Venti the bard" and all. Apparently, he wants no other singer, that's his sole condition."

"I thought he didn't like Opera Houses"

"Well, something must've changed his mind."

#opera au #yandere genshin impact #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere diluc ragnvindr x reader #yandere diluc x reader #yandere diluc #yandere venti #yandere venti x reader #diluc x reader #venti x reader #yanderecore #genshin yandere imagines

[oogaboogasphincter]

Deceits of the Devil (priest!marcus pike x f!reader) | chapter two: the magician

chapter summary: after the harvest dinner, you're kept up all night by a frightening plague and are bedridden for the next couple days. when sunday arrives, never did you think you would look forward to mass as much as you do now that father pike is involved. yet another illness bewilders you during the service and a knight in an alb comes to your rescue - and gives you some very interesting information. does this help you feel less alone or will it make you even more of an apostate?

word count/series~chapter-specific warnings: 6.1k+ words // MATURE (18+ ONLY) MDNI! reader uses she/her pronouns and is incredibly non-religious, slow burn taboo relationship, lots of religious/spiritual talk, horror elements and general spookiness ~ descriptions of vomiting/vomit, some light body horror, fainting, discussions of health, slow burn is slow burning, WE LEARN HIS FIRST NAME IN THE NEXT CHAPTER TRUST I WILL SPARE YOU PRECIOUS READER FROM READING FATHER PIKE AS EVERY OTHER WORD GOING FORTH

a/n: i'm not really sure if i like this chapter, i think i do?? again i'm not really sure where i'm going with this story, but i'm just trying to go with the flow and have some fun with minimalist editing. i have some ideas for later chapters but i'm not too sure how i'm going to get there yet. marcus seems a little ooc to me in this chapter, but he also only had like 30 minutes of canon screen time so i feel like i'm entitled to some creative liberties 😭 again, let me know what you liked and what you'd like to see more of in future chapters! :) *moodboard is for aesthetics only, reader has no physical description

     The embroidered rosettes lining the hand towel’s edges start to warp into one dusty pink blur as you swallow back bile again. You’ve been hunched over the toilet all night, switching between dry heaving and being sick so often that you can’t tell the difference anymore. Knelt on the cold tile, with the moonlight that comes through the window making a mockery of your candlelight, you feel incredibly alone in Lucy’s house. She’s just upstairs in her room, but you don’t want to disturb her from sleep at this hour of the night. You’ll continue to wick your own cold sweat away and clean any residue of gut spillage until you’ve emptied yourself - a point you thought you had reached hours ago. 

When you got back to Lucy’s you felt fine, jovial even. The innocent flirtations and budding friendship you shared with Father Pike at the harvest dinner injected a spring into your step, one so strong that Lucy commented on it with a smile. She gave you a quick tour of her inherited cottage, since you only had time to change clothes after arriving from the airport before you were sprinting off to the cathedral. 

The house is all vintage charm, with quaint rooms and antiquities. Lucy’s room is upstairs, neighboring the room that belonged to her mother before she passed away. Lucy has left it untouched in its entirety because her wounds are still too tender to prod, which you respect with wholeheartedness. You didn’t ask questions when she walked past the room as soon as she introduced it. Downstairs contains the living room, which is populated with wicker and wool save for the pink velvet couch. The kitchen is embellished with mint gingham, complementing the vintage and well-kept appliances. Lucy has an en suite, so the downstairs bathroom is all yours, with its clawfoot tub beneath a massive shuttered window that overlooks the backyard’s garden. Your bedroom has the same whimsical view, albeit from a much smaller window. It seemed dark when you first walked in, but the towering beautyberry bushes just outside explained that. The room is largely taken up by the queen bed, outfitted with pine-colored linen, so you suppose that accounts for the extra shadows too. Despite the eerie silence that shrouds the house, you can see yourself living here peacefully for your visit.

The two of you said your goodnights to each other and retreated to your assigned rooms. You hung up your clothes, stocked the bathroom with your toiletries and cuddled up in the sheets for their first time cradling someone ever. The stress and excitement from your evening had drained you of energy, but somehow you couldn’t find sleep. Actually, you know exactly why you couldn’t sleep: visions of Father Pike danced in your head like goddamn sugarplums. While your visit is contingent on when you’ve deemed your stay sufficient - and when you’ve been accepted for an apartment in a city thousands of miles away from this village stuck in an orthodox time warp - Father Pike is a major draw to settle your wings. 

Regardless of the opportunity that cities hold, it’s difficult for you to find people you mesh well with. You don’t make it any easier on yourself, opting to sequester yourself to university, work, your solitary bedroom, rather than put yourself out there. But that’s because when you do, you find arrogance, cruelty, entitlement. It’s easier on your heart to be alone and you enjoy your own company. 

Enter: Father Pike. He was kind, kinder than anyone else at the cathedral. You might be biased, with his dreamy eyes deviously manipulatling your impression of him into a favorable one. Maybe he didn’t show you any more chivalry than any other person would have, you just spent more time with him so it unfolded naturally. But no - he felt different. You tossed from one side to the other, wracking your brain for answers and scrambling your thoughts once they had composed into investigated little piles to see if an answer was lying in plain sight instead of hidden amongst overthinking. Nevertheless, your mystery remained unsolved of any concrete reasoning. 

You decided it was his honesty: the way he treated you with understanding delicacy when you revealed your unreligious core; how he laughed at your atrocious jokes that erred on the side of being sacrilegious - a genuine laugh at that; his smirk that took pleasure in the mischief shared between you two when he helped maintain your guise, one that gleamed with… dare you say it… devilishness. 

Without your permission, your brain, slightly delirious with exhaustion, began orchestrating a symphony named after him. As you drifted off to sleep, the cozy scent of cinnamon filled your nose, the warmth of his gentle yet confident touch tingled all over your skin. He was like a plate of steaming waffles on a blustery morning, an everlasting hug, a book destined to be your favorite that’s hidden amongst the most unassuming shelves, just waiting to be picked up and cherished by you. You’re doomed. 

A sharp pain in your stomach awakened you and the nonstop churning that followed it had you fleeing to the bathroom. The light was unresponsive when you flipped the switch, and after a few more unsuccessful tries, you barely had time to light a candle before your body unleashed itself. Thankfully you had gotten some light because you were in no shape to aim for the toilet in darkness. You attribute your upset stomach to a multitude of reasons: the nerves from seeing your best friend in-person for the first time in a year; the sudden illness you experienced; the butterflies that Father Pike gave you. You had even begun thinking that maybe there was a part of the meal that triggered you, but there’s no way you’re still harboring anything you consumed in the last twenty four hours. 

Like any time you’re sick, you start trying to think of things that calm you down. Maybe if it is in fact your nerves that are acting up, some peace will help put a stop to your blight. You close your eyes and rest your head against the toilet seat, breathing in and out, images coming clearer to your mind with each breath. A field of flowers dancing underneath happy sunlight, the gentle lapping of ocean waves on a clear day, the scent of a puppy’s fur, Father Pike’s hands… 

Your efforts have the complete opposite effect of your intention. The veins that web across the top of Father Pike’s hands, instead of the heady attraction they conjured earlier, make you squirm like eels caught in a trap. With every little detail about him that you try to remember comes a drowning of illness. Is he… is he making you sick? 

You close your eyes as your body hurls forward into the toilet again. Sweat trickles down your temples and invades your eyes, stinging them with salt and forces you to wrench them open. When you look in the toilet, you jump back with a startle. It can’t be. You scrub your eyes with the backs of your fingers before slowly grasping the bowl with your two shaky hands and peer inside: your vomit is bright green. The pile of sludge glows inside, too weak to illuminate the bathroom, but enough to constrict your pupils out of both exposure and fear. 

What the fuck?! Like roadkill, you turn away out of revulsion but can’t stop staring back at the offense through your periphery. Could you even flush this thing? It looks like radioactive waste straight out of a bad post-apocalyptic movie. With every second that passes of it just sitting there, you become frightened to a degree where you can’t stop trembling. That thing just came from your body. In the dark, now accompanied by neon ambience, your hand searches blindly while your eyes are glued to the monstrosity, like it will get up and walk away. You grab the hand towel to wipe your mouth clean, but you curl into it, muffling your sobs. You wish someone was there to tell you that you’re fine, there’s nothing wrong with you, just to hold you. Only one person clouds your mind…

More lime green empties into the toilet. You huff in frustration, completely fed up. At this point, you’ll disregard the unnatural hue of your vomit as a fluke if you could just stop and be granted the ability to sleep. As silly as it sounds, you determine there is a brown-eyed common denominator in all your illnesses. So, with the dismal energy that remains, you thwart all thoughts of him away. You shut your mind’s doors, shutter the windows, pull the blanket up and over your head and hunker down in your mental fortress. You can feel the arrows of lust being shot at the walls, incessant and ambitious in breaking you down. You don’t let them nudge one brick. They soon retreat and your castle falls silent, like there had never been a threat in the first place. 

To your surprise, it works. Like magic, you’re finally granted some mercy by your body. The cramping dissipates like cotton candy in a puddle, and suddenly, you feel all better. Your muscles are a little sore from seizing and releasing, but other than that, you’re… fine. The cold sweat evaporates and the acidic taste in your mouth is neutralized. You grimace at your puke, which has reverted to its horrible organic color. You seriously don’t know which is more putrid: this horribleness or the glow stick version. 

You now feel comfortable - and eager - to flush so you do. You stuff the soiled towel into the laundry bin, making a mental promise to Lucy that you’ll do your best to scrub any evidence of this night out of it. Within minutes, you’re flopping down onto your bed, huddling under the covers and finding a sleep too peaceful to follow the horrors you just suffered. 

—-

Saturday you’re bedridden - against your will. You tell Lucy about your blunder, excluding the radioactivity bit, and she cancels the activities she had lined up for you two to have some fun, forcing you to stay confined to your bed. She serves you tea and keeps you on a diet of bread, apples and chicken soup, rolling her eyes at you when you beg and whine for a piece of her dessert. But, your best friend always knows best. 

When you settle down for the night, a fear creeps up in you that the events of last night will repeat themselves, or even worse, go to more horrid lengths. But, thankfully, you feel like normal before bed and you stay asleep, thanking the stars and moon in your dreams. You had kept your mind clear of Father Pike, you noted. 

—-

Sunday morning is here and you get out of bed jittering with excitement. Today you’re going to mass and that means you get to see Father Pike again. You laugh at your own foolishness when you realize this will be only the second time you’re seeing him, tugging your jeans up over your hips and jumping to get the job done faster. But, in a town desolate of amusement, you allow yourself to lean into the infatuation. There’s nothing wrong with a little blossoming crush, you tell yourself, untouchable or not. 

Lucy chuckles when you walk into the kitchen, her cereal spoon hovering in mid-air, “Wooow,” she elongates the syllable as you twirl on your heel, showing off your incredibly mundane outfit, “I haven’t seen you up and awake this early in… how many years ago were we in kindergarten?”

“Oh, ha ha,” you grumble playfully, pouring yourself a bowl of cereal and taking the seat across from her. You keep your eyes trained on your breakfast, feeling your best friend’s gaze boring into your lips that twitch with a smile you can’t fight no matter how hard you try. The silence of the cottage, save for the awkward clanking of your spoons, rips a giggle from you that you smother with your hand.

“Don’t act like I don’t know why you’re so chipper,” she accuses conspiratorially. You look up at her, your anxious shoulders deflating with an impatient sigh. 

“Just tell me what time we’re leaving.”

—-

The cathedral looks much less cozy in the brightening sunlight than it did illuminated by warm-toned street lights and candle sticks the night prior, but it’s no less majestic. There are crows perched on the roof, cawing a morning chorus. The structure’s hulking size seems less threatening by their presence in addition to the pale backdrop of the morning. The inky blackness of the night sky has opened to reveal a powder blue, bouncing off camel coats and cherry scarves that had been twisted into muddy smudges and blood ties at the harvest dinner. Even the cathedral’s inner hull seems more like an endless cavern than a sinister vacuum, with your curiosity being stimulated by all that you could not see before; what lies inside all of the corridors, the hidden passageways, the arched doors? Maybe that’s something you could ask Father Pike.

All of the newfound loveliness aside, it doesn’t erase the feeling that you’re in a place where you don’t belong. You didn’t quite think through all the ramifications of seeking out your holy crush, but who doesn’t forfeit their rationale in the face of infatuation? You’re always open to learning, especially about cultures that you’re not a part of, but you didn’t think mass would be this boring. 

Lucy briefed you about when to stand, sit, stand again, when to sing and when to be quiet. So no one would suspect a thing, you follow along like a lamb with the same robotic obedience that everyone else does. You’re surprised to find personal dismay at the lack of life behind the hymns that the other goers recite, nor is there any in Father Thorn’s sermon. It saddens you that these people dedicate their lives to this higher cause, boast about how it divinely guides them to choose the right paths in life, only for them to sing with as much enthusiasm as you do. Father Thorn stands painfully erect, addressing the room like a schoolteacher whose monotone and thoughtless eyes make you think that maybe there was some reluctance in his profession of choice. From the piercing glare he gave you yesterday, you know better than to imagine questioning his integrity lest you want your severed head deposited into his goblet. 

Father Gala flanks the droning priest in a gilded throne that must serve no other purpose than to support the elderly Father’s aching bones. He listens on with a permanent soft smile, flickering his eyes amongst the audience with visible cheerfulness. His eyes lit up when he noticed you in the crowd and gave you a friendly nod, which you returned with amicability. Lucy nudged you on the shoulder when he glanced away with a whisper, “Look, you’ve made a friend.” 

And on Father Thorn’s other side stands who you’ve been aching to see for a whole of thirty six hours. He had taken very seriously to carry out the beginning demands of mass, saying his prayers and following the proposed movements with an almost militaristic adherence. But since the reading of scriptures began, his shoulders relaxed and his fingers interlocked in front of himself with peace. His brown eyes gaze absentmindedly to the narthex behind you and you so desperately want to get up close and see how the sunlight that streams in through all angles of the building hit his irises. Do they shimmer with threads of gold, or do umber chasms allude an unreachable depth? 

Your crush seems eons away from where you sit a few rows back from the sanctuary. The sermon fizzles out to a barely noticeable hum as a tornado of names rushes through your head while you assess your preferred priest and try to imagine which would fit him best. While you’re intent on respecting his title and maintaining proper etiquette for someone you literally just met a few days ago (and internally cringing at the speed of which this infatuation has snowballed) you have to at least dream of what you could call him. 

Is he a David? No, he’s too young for such an old name. But it is biblical and maybe he’s a junior, or the third or fourth. Dave as a nickname is where you draw the line. That just feels all wrong.

Possibly something strong and sturdy, like Joel? Eh, Joel sounds too ornery and old again. 

Go simpler, you think, Jack. No offense to all the great Jacks of the world, but it would be a shame if this exceptional man was dubbed so plainly. 

And none of these options sound good with his last name, which you know as fact: David Pike, Joel Pike, Jack Pike. No, no, definitely not. 

Cutting into your brainstorm, you agree that Father Pike can wear anything and look great. He has his usual black priest garb on, but layered atop is a white robe whose seams are trimmed with a red and gold pattern of tiles. If you’re being completely honest… it’s a little heinous. The fabric looks starched beyond belief and the decoration screams of yester-millenia. But, somehow, his virility isn’t snatched by the drabness. His shoulders maintain that delectable broadness you noticed at the dinner, along with a poise that is mannered yet youthful. The golden threads shimmer adorably in the sunlight with the fidgets of his wrist as he fiddles with the side of his thumbnail. 

As if on cue, his eyes land on you just when your cheeks break out in a heat. Your heart jumps to your throat momentarily but is lulled back down to your chest by his soft, tender smile and the identifying gleam in his gaze. It’s as if you’re his puppet and he’s pulling the strings to shape your lips into a smile to match his own, completely unable to control your body. You think you can’t find him cuter but then he’s upturning his hand so his palm faces you and he waves. Again with your bodily autonomy extinct, you wave back with the shy nature of a blushing virgin. 

Lucy notices your hand first and her eyes are quick to follow your tunnel vision. She takes your wrist and lowers it to your lap, glancing at you with that funny mixture of scorn and encouragement that only a best friend can give. “Not now,” she whispers quickly before returning her attention to Thorn’s speech with the shadow of a smirk. Father Pike still looks at you.

Your mind drifts deliriously to a part of mass that Lucy called communion, when the parishioner metaphorically drinks the blood and eats the body of Christ, or drinks wine from the goblet and eats a wafer from the hand of a priest. The seduction engulfs your mind like a virus thinking about sipping from a goblet that Father Pike holds in his strong hands, meeting his gaze while your throat bobs with drink. While taking the wafer into your mouth as he places it on your tongue, maybe he’s slow to withdraw and your lips would catch on his finger…

Lucy taps your bicep to indicate to you it’s time to stand again. Father Thorn’s voice is suddenly much louder, booming in your ears and reverberating in your chest, down to the ground beneath your feet. 

“God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, begotten, not made, consubstantial with the Father; through him all things were made.”

A fickle tingling lunges through your veins, sending your nervous system into a familiar panic. When have you felt this peculiar feeling before? You feel ill, like you want to curl up on the floor and empty yourself, or passing out would be an easier option. Oh no. 

“For us men and for our salvation he came down from heaven,”

Everyone bends at the waist, bowing towards the sanctuary, but you remain standing upright, frozen. Your eyes bulge with wild terror. The blood drains from your face. Father Pike meets your gaze and he furrows his brow in confusion at first, before you watch him be consumed with brazen worry. 

“And by the Holy Spirit was incarnate of the Virgin Mary, and became man.” 

Father Pike disappears from your sight as your eyes roll into the back of your head.

—-

You come to groggily with a lukewarm cloth being pressed to your temple. A low, firm voice is muffled and distant in your ear despite its closeness, but you absorb its warmth intravenously, “Hey, hey, hey…” 

You can hear his strain to remain calm and steady. He drifts away for a moment, you feel your feet being propped up on a pillow, and his breath is back at your ear, ghosting over your dewy cheek. 

Under the safeguard of questionable consciousness and the panicked edge in his soul, he lets an endearment slip, “Wake up, pretty girl, come on…” he whispers in an increasingly pleading tone. His timbre does the opposite of his intention and keeps you wanting to stay asleep, to writhe and drown in his comfort within the darkness of your mind. In your dreams, you can be his pretty girl. 

You roll onto your side and grumble, fighting to stay in your head. The unforgiving surface you’re laid out on shoves against your bones but you remain stubborn. The man at your back chuckles under his breath. He pries your arm from your side and overturns it in his hands, cradling it delicately, and you wish to feel those arms and hands encapsulate you, engulf you like a snake and constrict. But then he’s pinching the tender patch of your inner bicep, jolting you awake. You tear your arm back and by the offense on your face, he knows you’re back in reality. 

Someone had moved you from the spot you had collapsed to this room, empty of anyone besides Father Pike. It’s quiet and dull, exposed stone comprising both the walls and floor. You’re sprawled out on a large and long wooden table, atop a sweetly placed blanket that unfortunately doesn’t do much to cushion. Wardrobes and other tables dot the rest of the room, illuminated by the small and sparse stained glass windows that line the perimeter. 

Father Pike assesses your mindful curiosity and deems you sound and coherent. He decides to awaken you further with a little well-intentioned abrasiveness. 

“Are you going to do this every time I see you?” 

“I hope not,” you sit up and Father Pike is quick to put a hand on your back, steadying you. Only now with your eyes open do you realize just how incredibly close he is to you; his lips parted with apprehension are mere inches from yours. You meet his eyes and you were right - they glow in the sunlight, the caramel streaks highlighted and accompanied by obscured taupe that shelters his innermost secrets. You flinch away imperceptibly, afraid of your own arousal.

“Are you-” he has to clear his throat, turning away to spare you before he tries again. His voice was tight with nerves. 

“Do you feel okay?” Much smoother but there’s still a hint of constraint. He’s softened from their teasing. 

You think for a moment, mentally check in with your body then answer honestly, “Yes, I’m okay.” And you are. Besides a subtle ache on your outer thigh, which you assume broke your fall, you feel completely normal. 

Father Pike stands from where he knelt and puts the back of his hand to your forehead, checking your temperature. You try your very best not to drench your panties. “Do you feel any pressure in your head? Any nausea? Do you feel dizzy while sitting right now?” It’s a barrage of questions, but in his comforting tone it doesn’t feel anywhere near overwhelming or like an interrogation.

“No pressure, no nausea. I feel a tiny bit dizzy, but nothing like before. And after all, I did hit my- did I hit my head?” 

“No, your thigh hit the ground first. It looked like you twisted your knee on your way down. Thankfully, because if you hadn’t, you would’ve hit your head first.” 

Now that he mentions it, your knee does feel a bit funny. Hopefully it’ll just bruise over and won’t cause any lingering issues. 

Your thoughts are obliterated when Father Pike takes your face in his palms, tilting your chin up so he can look into your eyes. He’s checking your pupil size, but it sends an unwarranted, delectable chill up your spine nonetheless. There goes your attempts to avoid a mess between your thighs. You gulp foolishly and he looks at your throat bob. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip before sealing his mouth closed. A habit you can picture him doing any time he’s deep in thought, this time it’s dipped in eroticism. 

“Does being unknowledgeable about the church really stress you out this much?” He’s caring, concerned. Condescension, intolerance and disdain are in a different galaxy entirely than his intentions. His eyes bore into yours considerably, assessing you like you did him earlier. Trying to figure you out. 

You gather your thoughts, taking into account the near-fainting spell you had on Friday and trying with all your might to remember only the vital details of what happened during the night after you got home. Coming up with no definite answer, you shrug, “No, this felt completely unrelated. It was just my body acting out of order.” You had felt uncomfortable during the sermon, but not fearful. It didn’t wrack your nerves to sit there and listen to illusionary words like it had when Father Gala shook your hand for the first time. But even then, your illness had come after the stress. Your sea of anxiety had been drained and what came to be revealed at the bottom was a previously undiscovered chest of volatile poisons. They felt correlated, perhaps, but not connected. 

Father Pike’s worry remains in his face like he doesn’t believe you. Not because he thinks you’re lying, but almost like… there’s something you don’t understand that’s happening. Suddenly it feels a little awkward between you two, with the cause blurry. You decide it’s best to elaborate so you both can have a few more pieces to aid in finding a solution. 

The door is a good distance away from Father Pike’s back and looks as though it’s made of the sturdiest oak to ever grow, but you still don’t trust it. If someone were to lean their ear against the other side, in addition to the enshrouding silence, they could clearly hear what is being said. Mass must have ended a while ago, but the cathedral is open to roaming parishioners, tourists and other inquiring minds. You lean towards Father Pike and he comes to stand at the edge of the table. Lowering your voice, not nearly to a whisper but close enough, you confide in him again,

“But, I won’t lie. I feel as if one wrong move will get me permanently exiled.” 

His expression doesn’t change. The neutrality of it is a little disconcerting, actually, with the way he just remains standing there with his fingertips perched on the edge of the wood, until he retracts himself to where he had been a few feet away. He doesn’t deny nor confirm your feelings, his eyes downcast. 

He clears his throat again. “Are you anemic? Diabetic? Do you have any reason why you’d have fainting spells?” His tone is steeped in worry, rushed. Like he just wants a clear-cut answer so that neither of you have to keep guessing or digging deeper.

And he’s almost a little… aggravated? His words are acute and directed at you, like you’re suddenly the reason to blame. It is your body that’s being troublesome, but you’d like to know what’s been going on with it recently just as much as he does. Even if you did, it’s not your responsibility to tell him, nor your fault for its antics. With his sight still turned away, busy adjusting your feet on the pillow, you furrow your brows in disbelief and make your scoff come off as animated, playful, “I didn’t know you doubled as a doctor, Father Pike.”

Luckily, that seems to put him at ease. The bothered creases in his forehead smooth away and he looks back up at you with a humble smile, as if to say he’s sorry for getting so suddenly worked up. He rests his hand on your shin, so naturally, but he takes it away the same moment and puts his arms at his sides. You know he wanted to leave it there, the flicker of guilt across his face evident. You rein yourself back, tightening the restraints that have come loose on your attraction; you don’t want to break him. 

His voice reverts to its baseline calmness, “I don’t. My brother is a doctor and I would help him review for tests, so that gave me a lot of free training and insight. Just being around him, the physician’s mindset started to rub off on me. They see things in such a peculiar, analytical way, so different from my own. Logic prevails over everything… it’s helped me to decipher who really needs the help and who doesn’t.” 

Oh. Such a strange thing to hear Father Pike admit that… it gets your gears going.

You approach it as gently as you can, while still feeding your curiosity, “Hey… aren’t you guys supposed to believe that Christ can cure anything?” 

You don’t think you mean to bat your eyelashes at him provocatively but you do. He smirks, shakes his head with a chuckle that more or less comes out as an amused exhale from his nose. He cuts your boldness back down to a humble level, “I thought you didn’t know much about the church?” 

Oh? His accusatory smugness mirrors yours. Two can play at this game, apparently. 

“I don’t, but I know enough that you guys put all your faith into your, well, faith.” 

The waning dizziness you felt earlier has officially rid itself, so you feel it’s safe to sit up on the table. Father Pike takes a seat as well in a chair that he’s pulled from aside one of the wardrobes, positioning it close to you so that he’s not too far should you feel woozy again. 

“Well, yes…” He’s thinking, does that godforsaken thing with his tongue on his lip again. Then comes the confession. 

“Some of the parishioners… they’re painfully alone. The only people they talk to are family who either forget their existence half the time or enable them. Being alone all the time, you need to entertain yourself with something. They’ve been reading the same scriptures for their entire lives, it plays behind their eyelids whenever they close; it’s in their dreams.” He takes a heavy breath, steadying himself for the brutal honesty he’s about to lay out to you. He’s not sure he’s ever felt this naked before in his life. 

“It’s not like the Bible gets an update,” you kid quietly. That gets him. The skin around his eyes crinkles as Father Pike laughs heartily, nodding his head, “Exactly.” He echoes you with amusement, “It’s not like the Bible gets an update,” his smile grows fonder. You mourn the joy that leaves his face when it’s replaced with a solemn frown. 

“As much as they don’t want to admit it, the people of this town are like any other. They yearn for change. They need something new, fresh, to stimulate their minds, or at the very least, a distraction from their loneliness. So, on a very normal day, their knee starts to hurt. And then as the days go on and they do their usual tasks, the knee begins to hurt more. It worsens until they fool themselves into walking with a limp, saying that they can’t live their excruciatingly mundane lives anymore. Because they desperately want a change, no matter if it’s a hindrance. 

“Sometimes, pity is king. 

“They refuse to go to the doctor without the church’s approval. They come and see to me, or one of the other Fathers, and we talk through their ailments. I say a blessing or two, and on their way home, suddenly that appointment they were pleading for has lost all urgency. They’ve been miraculously cured by us, or God. But we’re not doing any radical, magical healing here. Don’t get me wrong, there are very real illnesses that affect our parish.”

He pauses to look around the room, as if someone has slipped through the cracks in the rock and hears his rational disagreement as something obscenely blasphemous. His voice is low and wary, but you’re proud to detect a streak of confidence when he talks about his personal beliefs. 

“The others here, they shun modern medicine. They believe what you said, that all things can be cured through Christ. But… that’s not entirely right to me. There are people who need more… pragmatic cures. Then there are others who all they need is a little motivation from the spirit.”

You never thought you’d be empathizing with a priest over feelings of exclusion, no less somewhere in the heart of a cathedral, surrounded by religious paraphernalia. It doesn’t feel like Father Pike is baiting you to say that the church is a farce just so he can blackmail you later. His quick, breathless words speak for themselves; he’s been dying to show someone his heart. But are you really the first outsider to cross his path? There has had to have been someone who wandered into Carmeltree unknowingly or a resident that didn’t readily accept the teachings that they began being indoctrinated with since birth. Father Pike’s motive doesn’t seem malicious, but it’s unclear. 

“Why are you telling me this?”

He shrugs, clasping his hands together with a smile amused by the simplicity of his answer, “I have one of your secrets, and now you have one of mine.” 

Dry chuckles fill the room. “That’s a pretty big secret,” you joke.

“What about it?”

“Well,” worry crosses your face, imagining what the Bible wavers would do if they heard what Father Pike is spilling across you now, “if anyone else heard it, about their priest, well, you’d be…”

“Exiled?”

“Yes. Mamed, called a fraud or a non-believer.”

“Well that’s incorrect. I’m a believer.” 

“Not by their standards, you aren’t.”

“See why I’ve confided in you?���

A steady wave of recognition settles in the air. Two people with their morals in line but would be labeled heathens by the rest of the conservative population have established a safehouse in one another to retreat to if need be. Lucy was right - you have made a friend, she just had the wrong Father. 

The elderly one’s cane taps ring out in the gaping corridor outside your room, alerting you and your friend that your divulgence must end. The stiffness returns to his back, squaring his shoulders underneath that heavy-looking alb as he stands and scribbles something on a piece of paper. 

Don’t think about the sweat on his skin. Dappling his muscles, collecting in pools until they runneth over and stream down in little rivulets…

He helps you to your feet with a hand in yours, but it’s shoving the paper into your palm before you have the chance to drool over its warmth. “Here’s the town doctor’s details. If you feel unwell or the fainting persists, please go see him. I don’t-”

There’s a knock at the door. “Father Pike?”

He makes a comically fearful face at you, clenching his bared teeth and widening his eyes, snapping to put a finger to his lips when he elicits your desired giggles. 

“One moment please!” 

He ushers you to a door at the back corner of the room, leading to one of the many magnificent courtyards incorporated into the cathedral. 

You turn back on the step to take one last look at him, “Thank you for all your help.”

He takes your hand in his own two, like his Father before him. 

“You’re in my prayers.” 

You go to leave, but he murmurs urgently, leaning out of the doorframe, “Come back tomorrow. I can help strengthen your act.” 

He winks at you. 

A friend, you remind yourself. He’s just a friend. The giddiness that bubbles up from your heart to your throat begs to differ.

series masterlist ♥️ main masterlist ♥️ join my taglist!

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#marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike #priest!marcus pike #priest kink #priest au #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #marcus pike x you #slow burn #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist fanfic

[scentedsstuff]

Nettle & Bone

By T. Kingfisher

Rating: 4/5⭐️

If you're a fan of traditional fairytales and lore I'd definitely recommend checking out not only Nettle & Bone, but all of T. Kingfishers works as this tends to be her niche.

Trigger Warnings (TW): This book has mentions of dosmetic abuse, child loss and abusive relationships

Quick Plot Summary:

Marra is the youngest of three sisters, all princesses to a small harbour kingdom. With the eldest having been married off to a prince from a far away Kingdom, many believed this was the beginning of a more peaceful time. That was until the eldest was brought home dead.

It was not long before the second sister followed suit and was married off to the same prince, only this time when she returns home it is with scars. Marra worries for the safety of her sister left in the care of this prince and the idea that if something were to happen and yet another replacement bride was needed, she would be next. Realizing that the only person that can save her is herself she sets off on her quest with just one question in mind, ‘how does one kill a prince?’

On her quest she is joined by a dust-wife and her demon possessed chicken, a godmother with a knack for bestowing health as a gift, a former knight and a most loyal bone-dog.

Thoughts:

I absolutely loved getting to read a book that reads more like the older more fable-like stories in fantasy. It talks of Kings and Queens, faraway kingdoms and ancient family curses. It has enchanted forests and secret goblin markets, mythical creatures, lore and so much more.

Now to be fair the beginning of the book took some getting into, particularly the parts where our main character is first introduced in the present day. However, once we moved past that and saw Marra begin her quest that was when the book really took off for me personally. After that I have nothing but good things to say.

The world building is well done. It’s a whimsical fairytale world through and through with moments that are quite eerie and creepy. The magic is straightforward and I like that about the book seeing as there’s already so much going on in this relatively short fantasy book.

The humor is well balanced, especially with the darker elements of the book, as it doesn’t feel like it exists completely on its own but provides moments of relief for both the characters and the reader.

Now, when it came to the characters, particularly the main bunch, they added an element of found family to the book which just feels natural with these quest centred stories. There was a bit of romance added in and even with the limited time given to it I still grew to adore it.

Personally, I find it refreshing to read a fantasy book where this fantastical quest is undertaken by a main character who isn't in their late teens to twenty years old (I barely see main female characters past the age of twenty in the genre).

This was both a quick and fun read that managed to find a good balance between the action, fleshing out the characters and telling the reader a whole story. And the story, whilst dealing with quite serious matters, is overall quite wholesome.

So to anyone interested in the genre or just this book specifically, I’d definitely recommend checking it out for yourself.

#nettle and bone #t. kingfisher #fairytale #fairy tales #books #book thoughts #bookish #fantasy books #booklr #book reviews #book review #bookblr #bookworm

[quillofspirit]

Week 4!

Right, sooooo --

Maybe I am a little late, BUT in my defense, I was travelling and petting horses. I may have gotten a little distracted.

Anyways -- here's week 4!

We walked the Karangahake Gorge, and took a trip through the ruins of an old refinery. The rails lead to a tunnel, used to transport metals and equipment through to the mines. It was interesting to walk through them, almost in complete darkness, and imagine the various people walk the same path I was. For years, this place was the place of work and living of hundreds of people. And now, the forest is taking over.

We spent two days in Rotorua, and dear GOD is the smell not a joke. I usually don't mind strong smells, but the sulfur in the air, and the heaviness of vapour sometimes made it hard to breathe.

The steam melted with the clouds, and the whole thing had an eery yet calm look. It felt wondrous to see the water bubbling through the surface, the heavy steam fogging up my glasses and my camera.

The Hamilton Gardens are not overrated, and I will stand by that. But the most wonderful part to me, the part that really got the child in me running excitedly from corner to corner was the fantasy garden. The bushes were mechanized, and the decor was oversized (by a lot). I felt like Alice in Wonderland, walking into a mysterious space, with big eyes and an open heart.

Now Hobbiton was a treat. The attention to details, and the gardens - gosh the gardens! - everything made it feel so whimsical and tangible. I had a lovely time. Walking around, talking excitedly about when this or that appears in the movies, or how beautiful it would be to live here, surrounded by rolling green hills and sheep - so many sheep. It was a birthday treat to myself, and really, it was a good gift. I have great taste.

#new zealand #week 4 #photography

[bimsha]

Challenge - Post

Fandom - Tokyo Revengers

Day - 1

MAY 01 - Meeting Someone At The Dead Of Night ft Sano Manjiro

Tags : food, jokes, strangers, night shopping, cup noodles

Word count : 969

The grocery bags weighed down your arms as you walked down the isolated roads down the neighbourhood. You glanced around, noticing the lights inside the houses, families laughing behind closed windows. Dinner steamed on the table. You reluctantly thought about the packs of cup noodles in the bags. It’s been a while since you ate homemade food. You missed your mom’s food. Those nights back at home when you all would gather around the table. After starting college, after moving to this lonely place, rented that small apartment with the faded rag and broken shades, life had been going in monotone. 

The sky above you was littered with stars, tiny pools of light in the far distance showering the world in whimsical beauty. You gazed across the road at the river, making quiet ripples against the sandy patch that glowed in eerie white in the night. And then you glimpsed him. A figure sitting cross-legged by the river, his back turned to you. 

You frowned, squinting. You’ve heard all about the rumours. The ghosts that are said to lurk around the river. You weren’t much of a fan of the paranormal explanations of life, but his hunched back and slumped shoulders made you reluctant. At the same time, you didn’t want to go talk to a random stranger by the river when there was no one around. You decided to walk away. Maybe he was someone from one of these houses, coming out to breathe some fresh air. 

When he suddenly turned, you were startled. Underneath all the justification of mind, you have been secretly expecting him to be a ghost — only pupils for eyes, drained pale face and the rest of the package that comes with being a ghost. You two held the gaze for a solid second before he stood. You tightened the grip on your bags when he walked over. Not a man, just a boy who must be around the same age as you. His blonde hair shifting to the faint breeze in the air, eyes dark like the night itself. “You want something?”

You shook your head, “I was just walking home” You said, unsure how to reply. Have you been staring too long? “I spotted you and was just surprised, I guess”

He eyed the grocery bags on your hands. “What’s a girl doing out at the dead of the night anyway?”

“I’m a ghost hunter” You said, sarcasm dripping, lips stretched to a sweet smile before you huffed, annoyed. 

The guy smiled, amused. “Right.” You watched as his eyes shifted to the same scene you’d been watching with nostalgic sorrow, the family dinner. The muted laughter behind that window, protected by this chilly breeze. 

“Must be nice” You found yourself murmuring. 

“Yeah” He said and you thought maybe you were wrong. Maybe he’s not from this cosy, picturesque house. A stranger lurking in the streets looking for comfort envying the warmth they were missing. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

You frowned, “What are you? A Cop?”

“Far from that”

You smiled, “A delinquent?” Your voice was light. You were joking. There’s no way this below average height, kind faced smiling stranger is a- 

“Yeah”

You thought you’d hear a chuckle following the answer. A sarcastic comment. Just something other than his serious face, impressed that you’ve guessed. Well, fuck. You looked around, there was no one except you two. Is this how it all ends? “Do I get a last wish?”

The guy appeared confused at first but then realisation dawned; he chuckled. “I’m not going to do anything.”

“That’s what they all say” You muttered. You should go before he changes his mind. “Okay then, I’m-” A rumble interrupted you. You turned to see him blinking. “Oh you are a hungry delinquent” 

Pink tinted his cheeks. He jutted out his bottom lip mumbling something under his breath. You pressed your lips together, it was your turn to be amused. The bags in your arms were filled with cup noodles, there’s this stranger in front of you saying he’s a delinquent. His cheeks puffed in embarrassment as he tried to fight it off with pride. He’s hungry. You pushed the grocery bags to one hand, tearing off the clear bags to fish out one cup. You offered it to him, “Here”

He frowned, “Is that ramen?”

“Yeah” You shrugged, “That’s all I’ve got. You’d have to find some hot water though”

He hesitated before accepting your little gift. “Thank you” He sounded surprised. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, “Never leave a man hungry. Hunger can do wonders to the human brain. I’m not leaving a hungry delinquents out in the streets without anything”

He laughed at your statement. “You’re smart”

“Why there, thank you” You said, looking at your imaginary watch. “I better go. It’s getting late”

He nodded, “See ya.”

You smiled back at him, “Right. Have a nice meal, gangster”

“Will do” It was refreshing to see his smile. His genuine happiness at your display of kindness. You knew he was just hungry, not starving. He didn’t look like a gangster, nor like a person who went without a meal. But sometimes it was the kindness that mattered. The person in the bus offered you the seat because you looked tired. The friend who stays with you extra five minutes because you need company. The stranger giving you cup noodles because your stomach rumbled and you were hungry. 

It was the little things that mattered. 

You opened the door to your apartment and stepped in. Turning on the yellow light that sizzled like oil on a pan, you boiled some water. You fished out the packages and set the broken package of noodles on your coffee table. One missing. You smiled. You didn’t even ask his name.

And I said I didn't have time sniff

#mikey tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers #tr #xreader #sano manjiro #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x y/n #tokyo rev fluff #tokrev mikey #mikey sano #mikey #tokyo revengers mikey #night sky #cup noodles #short drabbles #writing challenge #mikey x you #fluff #mikey x reader #sano manjiro x reader #sano manjiro imagines #manjiro sano #tokrev

[opalmirage]

12.0 Mimicry Sound Design Deep Dive

SCP: Secret Laboratory's Anniversary/Christmas update released today, along with the end of public beta for and full release of 12.0 Mimicry. And in keeping my promise of using this page for extensive looks into the process, today, I'll do just that.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

SCP-559

Probably the funniest part of the new content, SCP-559 is a birthday cake that turns people into children. The concept itself is pretty straightforward, so I took a straightforward approach by making it fun/whimsical.

Outside of the two party blower sounds I took off of freesound.org, the only other layers are a white noise layer generated by Serum and low-pass filtered to create an "appearing" effect, and some large claps to boost the high end and lighten the sound a bit as a whole.

The disappearing sound is actually the exact same sound, reversed. The reversed party sounds create an almost eerie effect, in contrast to what's heard before when the cake appears before you. This is boosted by Unity's in-game reverb, reminding you of where you are.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

SCP-956

Probably the craziest, weirdest thing we've ever put in the game, SCP-956 is a piñata that kills children. As you can tell, this is also a fairly straightforward concept.

956 was proposed alongside 559, as the idea of a child creating cake and a child killing piñata in the same place was apparently an idea that somebody found hilarious. The idea behind 956 is that while it can and will spawn anywhere, only those under the effects of 559 or with candy in their inventory will see any noticeable reaction from it.

When under the effects of the cake, you will have 3.5 seconds after entering 956's "danger zone" to leave, or it will lock you in place and slowly creep up to you, ultimately dealing a deadly blow. When aren't under the effects of the cake, but have candy in your inventory, the "danger zone" time is 20 seconds.

Music-wise, this means that I needed to create not only a main sound that you will hear as you are locked in by 956, but also two different builds to that audio, both at a different length. The end result is an eerie piece of music that goes from a lower pitch, to a resounding roar, and loops as necessary until you are killed.

Hubert, the game's director, approached me after having delivered the audio for 559, about making 956's kill sound just as silly, but on top of the music already done for it. His words were: "That would be pretty funny". The result is an intense, eerie sound for a piñata you know is about to end your life, concluded with some fun party sounds. The sound was built on top of the cake appearance, with the help of some extra low-end boosters and the same cheering sound you've heard a thousand times in other things.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

SCP-939

939 is the focus of 12.0, with the update bringing a complete overhaul of the character, including in audio. My part to play in 939's rework has yet to be heard, though. Already announced through Patreon some time ago to be unique chase music, that project has taken shape rather quickly, but was put on hold to finish 12.0. I'm not at liberty to show you any of it yet, as it's always changing, but you'll be hearing more about it in the coming months. As also mentioned on Patreon, the dynamic nature of the new music is going to be the standard for music made for the game going forward, and every other SCP will get the same treatment 939 has in time.

#SCP #scp sl #sound design #gamedev

[sciencestyled]

The Unlikely Voyager: How Captain Hook Found Himself Charting Gravitational Waves

In a peculiar twist of fate, my tale begins not on the rolling waves of the seven seas, but amidst the boundless wonders of the night sky. You see, it was a particularly silent night aboard the Jolly Roger, the kind that makes even a seasoned pirate like myself ponder the greater mysteries beyond our wooden confines. As I gazed upwards, a shooting star blazed across the sky, igniting within me an insatiable curiosity about the cosmos.

This newfound obsession with the stars was, to put it mildly, inconvenient. My crew, accustomed to raids and treasure hunts, found themselves at the mercy of their captain's whimsical detour into astronomy. I, Captain Hook, decided that if the stars were calling, it was high time we answered.

And so, armed with a makeshift telescope cobbled together from spyglasses and the odd bits and pieces found on the ship, we set our course. Night after night, I surveyed the heavens, recording my observations with the same meticulous care I used to map out uncharted territories.

The breakthrough came one night when, in a stroke of luck (or perhaps misfortune), we sailed into the Sargasso Sea, a place as still as the dead and notorious for its maritime myths. It was there, amidst the eerie calm, that I overheard my crew whispering tales of ghost ships and sea monsters, their words carrying a blend of fear and fascination. Inspired by their tales, I couldn't help but draw parallels to my celestial pursuits—the universe, much like the Sargasso, was filled with its own kind of monsters and myths.

It was then I had my epiphany: if the ocean could harbor tales of the Kraken and mermaids, what untold stories lay hidden in the cosmic sea? My thoughts raced to the gravitational waves I'd read about in a dusty tome we'd plundered from a ship bound for the New World. Those waves were the ocean's whispers of the universe, tales of cosmic beasts and celestial storms.

In a fit of passion, and perhaps a touch of madness, I commandeered the ship's resources to construct an even more ambitious project. Using every bit of knowledge we'd plundered from astronomers and philosophers, and with a healthy dose of pirate ingenuity, we built an apparatus to detect these elusive gravitational waves. The crew thought me mad, but I was too far gone, captivated by the siren's call of the cosmos.

Night after night, we listened for the whispers of the universe with our rudimentary device. And then, on a night as dark as a kraken's depths, we caught it—a faint, almost imperceptible echo, a ripple from a storm raging light-years away. It was our ghost ship, our sea monster, our treasure chest filled not with gold but with knowledge.

In my fervor, I penned my observations, my theories, and my wild speculations. The article, "Sailing Through Space-Time: Gravitational Waves Demystified by Captain Hook," was my magnum opus, a pirate's ode to the cosmos. It was a tale not of plunder and conquest, but of discovery and wonder.

So there you have it, the curious case of how I, a notorious pirate, found myself at the helm of an astronomical quest. It's a tale that stretches the bounds of credulity, but then again, the universe is a place where the impossible often finds its footing. And perhaps, in sharing this tale, I've inspired you to look up at the stars not just as points of light, but as beacons guiding us towards the unknown, urging us to listen to the tales they have to tell.

#gravitational waves #space time #space #science education #science #education

[denimbex1986]

'Don’t we all live our lives surrounded by ghosts? Some from the past, most in our heads, and others of those we’ve loved and lost. Andrew Haigh’s new film “All of Us Strangers” is a heartbreaking dirge, a whimsical swig at what could’ve been, the impossible longing to hold on, and undo the cruelty of life.

If you aren’t already in love with Andrew Scott and his unreal ability to make the inexplicable palpable, enough to make you think about his every performance for weeks, through this film, he gives you yet another chance. He is Adam, a solitary gay screenwriter who is one of the first inhabitants of a new high-rise apartment on the outskirts of London. He is trying to write about his childhood when one night, the only other dweller in the building shows up at his door with a bottle of Japanese whiskey and a plea to be allowed in.

He says there are vampires at his door. There’s an agonising anguish to his desperation, an infinite sadness in his eyes, it’s a scream to be saved. “How do you cope?” he asks Adam. This younger, painfully lonely man is Harry (Paul Mescal).

Adam soon finds himself on a train to Croydon, to the old suburban neighbourhood where he grew up. Unsure and with no clear purpose, he roams around his childhood home when he sees his father (Jamie Bell) calling out to him. He takes him home and there he meets his mother (Claire Foy).

His parents are the same age as they were when they got killed in a car crash on Christmas night 30 years ago. Adam was 12 then. This is the first time he has met them as an adult. It’s a time warp. They are a bit younger than he is.

In the course of the next few meetings, he gets to share with them everything that he never could; they were taken away from him too soon, too suddenly. In between all the catching up, he unlocks the closet, the skeletons tumble out, clearing room for some sunlight, and fresh air.

Each scene of Adam with his parents simmers with an aching vulnerability, a painful yearning, a throbbing tenderness. It’s marvellous how Haigh ensures that his parents don’t come across as mere shadows. He fleshes them out with such immaculate detail and earnestness, that he makes them look as real to us as they do to Adam.

Loosely based on the Japanese novel Strangers by Taichi Yamada, the film is sparsely populated—few dialogues, and fewer people. The eerie quietness that Harry keeps complaining about pulsates entirely through the 105 minutes, ominous and unsettling, a stark metaphor for both Adam and Harry’s tragic marginalization and acute isolation.

When Adam comes out to his mum, in response to her reaction and mounting fears, he keeps on saying, “Everything is different now.” It made me think of the scene in “Red White and Royal Blue” (2023) when Uma Thurman’s President finds out that her son (played by a distractingly handsome Taylor Zakhar Perez) is bisexual. Though both scenes feature mothers finding out about the queerness of their sons, they couldn’t be more different. Half a century of awareness, struggles, and sacrifices lie in this chasm. So much has changed since the 1980s. And yet, so much woefully remains the same.

Adam wanting to prevent the death of his parents or yearning to stay with them just a little bit longer also reminded of The Time Traveler’s Wife and how, even if you get to experience something as mind-boggling as time travel and be with your beloved dead again, certain rules are stubborn enough to persist, even in the realm of the fantastical. You cannot prevent death, our fabulists seem to warn us over and over, no matter how hard you may try.

The time that Adam and Harry spend in bed not having sex but talking, listening, touching, spooning, sharing the most intimate of intimacies, warmth, feeling safe, and wanted, and at home teleported me to Jordan and Heer from Rockstar (2011) playing between pristine white sheets away from the world and its deafening noise, revelling in stillness, loving and being loved. Isn’t everything that we do an attempt to inch closer to this feeling, find it, and never let it go?

The heart-crushing end is so strongly reminiscent of Aftersun (2022), another glorious Paul Mescal movie, that it is impossible for you to not shatter to pieces. In one crucial scene, Adam asks his mum if it is all real. She answers by posing another question. “Does it feel real?” she asks him. He nods. There you go, she says. I want to add: Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.'

#All of Us Strangers #Andrew Scott #Paul Mescal #Aftersun #Andrew Haigh #Claire Foy #Jamie Bell #Strangers #Taichi Yamada

[themovieblogonline]

5 Spooky Movies to Watch With Your Family This Halloween

Halloween is the perfect time for families to come together and enjoy some spooky entertainment. While some Halloween movies can be too scary for young viewers, there are plenty of family-friendly options that combine the right amount of spookiness with heartwarming themes.  In this article, we'll explore five such movies that you can watch with your family this Halloween season: "Coraline," "Nightbooks," "The Witches" (2020), "Hocus Pocus" (1993), and "Casper" (1995). These films offer a delightful blend of thrills and laughs that are perfect for both kids and adults. Coraline (2009) Based on Neil Gaiman's novella, "Coraline" is a visually stunning stop-motion animated film that appeals to both children and adults. Directed by Henry Selick, the film weaves a mesmerizing tale of a young girl's journey into a parallel world filled with eerie wonders. Coraline Jones, a curious and adventurous girl, moves into a new home with her parents. Bored and feeling neglected, she discovers a hidden door in her house that leads to an alternate version of her life. In this other world, everything seems perfect, but Coraline soon realizes that it's too good to be true. She must summon her bravery and wit to rescue her family and herself from the clutches of the sinister Other Mother. Why It's Perfect for Halloween: Coraline offers a beautifully eerie and atmospheric visual experience. The story encourages children to be brave and resourceful in the face of adversity. It explores themes of family, identity, and the power of choice. Nightbooks (2021) Nightbooks is a recent addition to the Halloween movie lineup and provides a modern twist on classic fairy tales. Directed by David Yarovesky, this family-friendly horror film, available on Netflix, is both suspenseful and heartwarming. Alex, a young boy with a passion for writing scary stories, finds himself trapped in a mysterious apartment building inhabited by a witch named Natacha. To stay alive, Alex must tell the witch a new spooky story every night. Along the way, he befriends Yasmin, another captive, and together, they hatch a plan to escape the witch's clutches. Why It's Perfect for Halloween: Nightbooks blends suspense with moments of humor and friendship, making it suitable for family viewing. It showcases the power of imagination and creativity in overcoming fear. The film introduces young viewers to the concept of storytelling and its ability to transport us to different worlds. The Witches (2020) The Witches is a recent adaptation of Roald Dahl's beloved children's book of the same name. Directed by Robert Zemeckis, this film offers a mix of spooky moments and humor, making it a great choice for family Halloween viewing. A young boy, known only as "Hero Boy," and his grandmother encounter a group of witches led by the Grand High Witch. These witches have a sinister plan to turn all children into mice using a magical formula. Hero Boy and his grandmother must thwart the witches' scheme while navigating their own transformation into mice. Why It's Perfect for Halloween: The Witches provides a whimsical and eerie atmosphere without being overly scary. The film highlights the importance of bravery and resourcefulness in the face of adversity. It offers a delightful blend of humor and spookiness suitable for family audiences. Hocus Pocus (1993) Hocus Pocus is a Halloween classic that has been enchanting audiences for decades. Directed by Kenny Ortega, this film has become a beloved part of the Halloween tradition and is a must-watch for families looking for some spooky fun. On Halloween night in Salem, Massachusetts, a young boy named Max accidentally awakens a trio of witch sisters known as the Sanderson sisters. With the help of his sister Dani, his crush Allison, and an enchanted cat named Binx, Max must stop the witches from achieving immortality by stealing the souls of the town's children. Why It's Perfect for Halloween: Hocus Pocus combines humor, adventure, and a touch of spookiness for the perfect Halloween atmosphere. The film celebrates the magic and mischief of Halloween, making it a holiday favorite. The Sanderson sisters' antics and hilarious one-liners provide plenty of laughs for the entire family. Casper (1995) Casper is a heartwarming family film that brings the friendly ghost to life in a charming and endearing way. Directed by Brad Silberling, the film combines themes of friendship and acceptance with a Halloween twist. Dr. James Harvey and his daughter Kat move into an old, haunted mansion to rid it of its resident ghosts. Among the ghosts is Casper, a friendly and lonely spirit who befriends Kat. Together, they uncover the mansion's secrets and help the other ghosts find peace. Why It's Perfect for Halloween: Casper provides a gentle and heartwarming take on the ghostly theme, making it suitable for young viewers. The film explores themes of friendship and acceptance, promoting positive values. It combines humor, adventure, and a hint of spookiness for a delightful family Halloween experience. Conclusion This Halloween season, gather your family for some spooky movie nights filled with thrills, chills, and heartwarming moments. Whether you prefer the enchanting and eerie world of "Coraline," the modern fairy-tale twist of "Nightbooks," or the classic charm of "Hocus Pocus" and "Casper," there's a Halloween movie on this list to suit your family's tastes.  "The Witches" (2020) offers a fresh take on a Roald Dahl classic, and all these films provide the perfect balance of spookiness and family-friendly entertainment to create cherished Halloween memories. So, dim the lights, grab some popcorn, and let the Halloween movie marathons begin! Read the full article

[saoirse-gillespie-film-blog]

Thinking About Sound

As we were discussing our outline and forming more of a solid idea, I began to think about the direction I would like to take the sound design. As I wanted to create an otherworldly and unnatural feeling, and the rest of the group still seemed keen on filming in a corridor space as our location I wanted to think of ways I could emphasise this space. 

The first source of inspiration that came to mind was the sound design in Jim Henson’s Labyrinth (1986).In particular, the scenes in which Jennifer Connelly’s character Sarah is running through the Labyrinth came to mind. In these scenes the walls of the Labyrinth are mostly the same, tall and made of stone. However the sound design helps add an eery and whimsical atmosphere to the space.

I also thought about The Lovely Bones (2009) and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004) in terms of inspiration. Susie enters a space in between Heaven and Earth in The Lovely Bones and the sound design adds to making this both fantastical as well as unnerving and scary at times. The scene on the beach in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind where Joel’s final memory of Clementine begins to fade also came to mind in creating that airy and dreamlike space, it also made me think about how I could sound design the memory scenes in our film as this is a primary plot in Eternal Sunshine.

#filmform

[consistentsquash]

WOMB! I left a flailing comment for the author but without your rec I would have missed it. It feels like a story about magic is supposed to feel. Can you suggest some fics like this or some tags on AO3 I can use to search?

WOMB! <3

Yeah. It feels exactly like how a story about magic should feel! <3

I feel like a lot of HP fics just play with the magical world part of it. Except for the ones which go in that Rationality fic direction. Which is cool! Not for me but it's cool.

Anyway! I am a big fan of fics like Womb. It's got the otherworldly vibe of a fantasy w/o missing out on the intense character beats. I have to get to work but check out these fics which have eerie fantasy vibes + intense.

The Lost World by perverse_idyll. Snarry. Fever dream + intense characterization. Also check out their other fics because the magic of the world is always 100% there and the author doesn't let you forget about that independent of what's going with the character dynamics.

YMMV - if you are used to more modern fics/prose you can find the richness in the prose here pretty different. You are not going to find present tense straightforward prose here. But go with it and you are going to have a new fav fic to love. 100% guarantee :D

King of Fat by rinsbane. Snarry. Snape/Voldemort. Also really intense character beats + a really dreamlike magical world. Rinsbane's fics have this beautiful whimsical magic which to me feel a lot like the magic in the first HP books. I am a big fan but definitely will take some getting used to if somebody is more into the newer HP fic styles.

YMMV - The characters are really messy and human. But not like in an accepted dirty/bad/hot/wrong take which is popular. Also not the exact kind of clean representation that we get to see in a lot of modern fic.

Green Grow the Rushes, O by eldritcher. Snarry. Snape/McGonagall. Also really intense characterization + an enchanted world which is kind of dystopian and beautiful at the same time. Anything from eldritcher goes in this category. The insane beauty in their worlds is just unique but I can emotionally connect to them because there is nothing sterile about their fics.

YMMV - The prose is pretty different from the new modern prose styles in fic and the more classic fic descriptive prose styles. Some folks find it pretentious. I feel it's just really, really in tune with emotion in a pretty unique sense. So you are going to have to go into it w/o expecting some specific trope/style. Payoffs are 110% worth it!

#recs #asks #fics with magic #lots of magic #but like crazy weird dark magic

[ard516-niamhbeattie]

Duane Michals is a photographer from America who utilises double exposure to create images that are "dreamlike whimsical, and a little eerie at times." The double exposure technique and the use of contrast and lighting enhance the images and their meaning. The repetition of the same person creates a series in which the person is looking at you, the viewers.

I like how the same person is highlighted in both images. I wanted to use old images of my grandparents' house that I found and use the style of double exposure of the old image. With overlapping an image I took to show a connection with a key location where I spent most of my childhood at.

Academy, New York Film. “Double Exposure Photography.” Student Resources, 3 Nov. 2014, www.nyfa.edu/student-resources/double-exposure-photography/.

[alishirtsofficial]

Hocus Pocus Horror Halloween Rug Carpet

Hocus Pocus Horror Halloween Rug Carpet Looking for a unique and spooky addition to your home décor this Halloween? Check out our Hocus Pocus Horror rug! This eye-catching carpet is sure to get everyone in the mood for the haunted holiday. With its bright colors and macabre design, it's perfect for adding a touch of scares to any room. So don't wait – order your Hocus Pocus Horror rug today! Looking for the perfect way to add some spookiness to your home this Halloween? Check out our new Hocus Pocus Horror rug! This intricately designed rug is sure to give your guests a fright, and it makes the perfect addition to any haunted house. So don't wait any longer, order your Hocus Pocus Horror rug today! Hocus Pocus Horror Halloween Rug Carpet Features Do you like to be scared? Do you enjoy a good haunting? If so, then this is the perfect blog post for you! Today, we are going to be talking about the Hocus Pocus Horror Halloween Rug Carpet. This rug is sure to send a shiver up your spine, and it is the perfect addition to your Halloween decor. So read on to find out more about this spooky rug, and how you can add it to your home. The Hocus Pocus Horror Halloween Rug Carpet is perfect for anyone who wants to create a spooky atmosphere for Halloween. This rug is full of ghosts, witches, and other spooky characters, and it will set the mood for a frightfully fun evening. The rug is made from high-quality materials, so it will last for years without any wear or tear. And best of all, the Hocus Pocus Horror Halloween Rug Carpet is very affordable, making it an easy way to add some excitement to your holiday decor. So why wait? Order yours today! This Halloween, get into the spooky spirit with a new rug to decorate your home! With so many choices on the market, how do you know which one is right for you? Check out our selection of Hocus Pocus Horror themed rugs and find the perfect way to add some frightful fun to your décor this season! With prices starting at just $19.99, there's no reason not to get in on the action! So hurry and order today – supplies are limited! Looking for something to really set the mood this Halloween? Check out our Hocus Pocus Horror rug! Perfect for a spooky party, this rug is sure to get everyone in the spirit. With its dark colors and spooky pattern, it's perfect for making your house look haunted. So why wait? Order your Hocus Pocus Horror rug today! Watching horror movies is a Halloween tradition, and this year you can get into the spirit with a new Hocus Pocus Horror Rug Carpet. This spooky rug is perfect for your next haunted house party or to keep your feet warm while watching your favorite scary movie. With its soft plush surface and vibrant colors, this Halloween rug is sure to put a spell on you. So don't wait, order your Hocus Pocus Horror Rug Carpet today! Looking for a spooky way to deck out your home this Halloween? Check out our Hocus Pocus Horror Halloween Rug Carpet! This rug is perfect for setting the mood and will make your guests feel right at home in their own terror. So order yours today and get ready to have a screamin' good time! What could be more perfect for your haunted home this Halloween than this spooktacular Hocus Pocus Horror Rug Carpet? This eerie floor covering is just the thing to set the mood for a fright-filled night of tricks and treats! Made of 100% nylon, it's durable enough to last through all the festivities, while the whimsical design is sure to delight both young and old. So bring on the scares, because with this fabulous rug in your home, Halloween will never be the same again! Order yours today! FROM: ALISHIRTS TEAM Read the full article

[darkurgediary]

I am convinced all 80s fantasy movies exist in the same universe and no I will not take criticism

Like look at these movies and tell me they're not bordering each other

#they all have the same look #whimsical but eerie at the same time #labyrinth #never ending story #the last unicorn #dark crystal #princess bride #ladyhawke #legend #80s fantasy #80s movies #tell me im wrong