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fandomnerdespressourself · 1 year

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let's stay alive and meet again. Okay?//05

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"...You were with him.” She turned over to Cheong-san.

“He was behind me, but..."

"Then where is he?”

"I don't know."

“Wait we are another person short..”

"We're missing Min-jee too," Wu-Jin said as he looked around noticing the familiar girl's presence wasn't around.

"They're both missing.."

Hwa-young looked at Soo-jin who in turn only frowned at her, both were worried for their friend and Su-hyeok.

Nam-ra looked outside in search of Su-hyeok and Min-jee but found nothing all she saw were two zombies that ran by and one appear to close up to block out her view.

……………..

Soft cries were heard Yoon Gwi-Nam looked over at the crying girl before moving forward to cover her mouth, "You. Shut your mouth." She softly whimpered. Gwi-Nam heard a slight gurgle sound and looked over to see it was a zombie. He waited for a moment as it dawned on him that it was either her or him. With that, he pushed her out from where they were underneath. The girl crawled away to get far but was unsuccessful. Her screams were heard as well as her flesh being bitten off. Shin Hyung-Seo and Gwi-Nam flinched at the sound but remained quiet. They both ended there when the outbreak began in the cafeteria. With nowhere to run Gwi-Nam went to the kitchen, sacrificed the lunch lady, and hid under what appeared to be a stove. Hyung-Seo was already there.

……………..

"Rescue team Three, head to Hyosan Hospital. Team four, head over to the accident at the Hyosan intersection. Team two, you have another call. Fire, Hyosan High School. Please head there right away. Ambulance One, stay where you are."

So-ju looked at the radio and picked it up, "Team One. We've arrived at the accident." Soon other dispatchers answered in order.

"Rescue Team Two. We'll head to the accident at Hyosan High School."

"Accident reports keep coming in. All units, standby where you are."

Nam So-Ju, Kim U-Sin, and Park Young-hwan got out of the vehicle. So-ju looked over to the side as he heard a female scream, a blackbird flew by and landed above them. They looked at the bird for a moment before So-ju told them let's go. All three medical dispatchers ran into the building.

……………..

Park Mi-Jin smoked a cigarette in the bathroom stall while sitting on the covered toilet seat quietly.

"We should stay here a bit longer."

"Right. Okay."

Plastic was heard for a bit before a small thud hit the floor, Mi-jin had just thrown the now empty cigarette box on the floor.

"Do you think they're gone?" Yoo Joon-sung said as he stood by the bathroom stall's door.

"What do we do? Shouldn't we call the cops?" Lee Ha-lim replied as she sat on the covered toilet.

"We can't go out now."

"I'm sure they're still out there."

"Who's smoking in this situation?"

"Who are you to hide in the girls' room? Be a man. Wimp." Mi-jin said while taking a small drag from her cigar.

"Why, you... Who are you?"

"Leave her alone. It's Mi-jin." Ha-lim reached out to grab Joon-sung's wrist.

"Mi-jin? Park Mi-jin?"

"Yes."

"Joon-sung. I'm really dizzy." She said sickly, she looked sick too.

"Is it bad? What do we do?"

"I don't know. It's weird. Every sound is muffled, and I'm dizzy." Mi-jin was minding her business until she heard Ha-lim explain what she felt. She looked over at them before resuming back to her quick smoke session.

"Ha-lim, it's probably just from the shock."

Let's go to the hospital once things calm down outside, okay?"

"Okay." A squeak was heard as a bathroom stall was unlocked and opened. Mi-jin then knocked on their door.

"What is it? Who is it?"

"Hey, open up." She then bangs on the door before going to kick it, "Open up. Now!"

"Why, you-" Joon-sung mumbled as he unlocked the door. Just as he opened it he was pulled outside by Mi-jin, "get out."

"What are you doing?"

"Don't move," Mi-jin said while pushing Ha-lim back with a toilet plunger. She searched the girl for a bite.

"What's wrong?" The sick girl asked before she groaned in pain due to Mi-jin reaching out towards her to push aside her shirt. There on Ha-lim's body near her shoulder was a bite mark. Mi-jin moved back and immediately shut the door.

"What are you doing?"

"Fuck, let go of me!" Mi-jin yelled out while pushing away Joon-sung's arm from her.

"Mi-jin," Ha-lim said while looking at the door thinking about how to get out.

"Listen carefully. You know how to play tag, right? We're all hiding here to get away from someone. But now... You're it." Ha-lim's nose began to bleed, small whimpers were heard as she began to cry silently.

"Don't just stand there! Help!" Mi-jin yelled at Joon-sung who was just standing there on the side whereas Mi-jin was holding the door, struggling, to prevent Ha-lim from coming out.

"But Ha-lim's in there."

"Ugh, She was bitten. Do you get that? Now, help." Reluctantly Joon-sung went to help Mi-jin.

"Mi-jin, don't do this... I'm okay... Let me out." Mi-jin glanced at Joon-sung before backing up from the door slightly, "Shut up, zombie."

"Joon-sung, don't do this. Let me out." Ha-lim began to plea. The blood fr her nose continues to run down spreading slightly on her pale lips and now down her chin. She kept trying to get the door open, but failed miserably, "We ran away together earlier. I save you."

Those words seem to have hit a spot on Joon-sung, Mi-jin came back after going to the cleaning supply corner and grabbed a mop, "If you let her out, we all die."

Ha-lim gave up in trying to get them to open the door and instead grabbed the metal above the bathroom stall's door and pulled herself up.

"Shit. Shit!" Mi-jin panicked a bit and thrust the mop in Ha-lim's face. Ha-lim fell back, the back of her head smacking the metal part of where the toilet was connected to the wall.

"Get it together! Look up."

"What do you want from me?" Joon-sung exclaimed.

"We have to kill her."

"Kill Ha-lim?"

"She's not Ha-lim anymore. She's a... Zombie." Ha-lim's eyes rolled back as she began to transform. Somehow she managed to look more pale and sick, her bones began to crack, eyes turned bloodshot red. "Still, I don't wanna," Joon-sung said. Ha-lim looked over at the door panting, the virus was still fighting her and would soon take her over.

"Do we have any other options?"

"I don't know."

"Mi-jin. I hear you." Ha-lim said weakly.

"I know."

"Do you really have to do that to me?"

Mi-jin didn't like this, but she couldn't figure out any other way, "You're going to turn, eventually."

"I- I know. But you..." Ha-lim began to struggle to speak, but continued, "I will kill you first. I'll kill you before anyone else."

"Bitch."

"Mi-jin. I'm so scared" Ha-lim cried out before arching her back in pain. Bones crunching and body spasmed. The door began to shake due to zombie Ha-lim hitting it. Mi-jin stomped on the mop on the end causing it to break, "get ready." She said glancing at the door before looking at Joon-sung, "Hey! I said get ready."

"For what?"

"We gotta kill her." Mi-jin took small deep breaths to prepare herself before seeing that Joon-sung wasn't moving, "Are you gonna hold that forever?" Joon-sung looked at her and slowly let go, his hands slid down the door, and took a few steps back quietly and slowly. The door creaked open, and there zombie Ha-lim was biting the air, she turned around as the door opened. A loud growl was heard, Ha-lim now a zombie went straight for Mi-jin. If Mi-jin could change this she would, she gripped the now broken mop and lunged the spikey part of the broken mop into the zombie's mouth, and out came through its neck. The zombies growled unfazed and continued to walk toward Mi-jin. More and more did the zombie slide down the stick, "What are you doing?!" Mi-jin yelled out to Joon-sung who was hiding in a corner behind her. After wincing and groaning he went to help Mi-jin push the zombie back, "Why won't she die?" Joon-sung said while panicking.

"I don't know. Maybe it's not the right spot." The zombie grabbed onto the side of the stall and pushed forward against them. Soon its head lopsided and it stopped growling and an arrow had lodged itself through her neck. A few seconds after it fell, "What?" Mi-jin and Joon-sung let go of the mop letting the body fall. Mi-jin turned towards the door. Jang Ha-ri walked in a stance ready to hit them with an arrow too. Immediately Mi-jin and Joon-sung put their hands up, "Stop. Not us. We're fine." Ha-ri ignored her, instead, she pulled her arm that held the arrow in between the bow's bowstring back more.

"Not us, Jackass!" Hearing someone yell, Jung Min-Jae hurried in to look at what was happening, "Hey, I think they're okay. Zombies don't curse."

Ha-ri didn't budge, "Shoot if they turn." Min-Jae didn't question her, instead, he just followed her instructions.

"You crazy bitch. We're fine- ahh" just as she was about to push Ha-ri the speakers of the school squeaked loudly.

……………..

Ms. Park took a moment and rubbed her hands on her shirt as she desperately wanted the blood off of her hands, she looked around the room before going over to the Microphone connected to the intercoms around the school. She took a deep breath and pressed the button. All the students in the school winched at the loud sound the speakers produced, soon it was replaced by Ms. Park's voice.

"Students and teachers of Hyosan High School. I'm Park Sun-Hwa, the English teacher. Something strange is happening throughout the school. Some students are attacking others indiscriminately. So please flee and find a safe place. And if any student or faculty hears this and is able to, please call the police and the fire department. Students, hide somewhere safe until help arrives. If you can get out of the school, please get out. I'll say it again. Some students are..." Ms. Park looked down and took a deep breath as she swallowed back her fear, "Hey, everyone... You're okay, right? You're not hurt, right? I don't know what's going on in here or how this whole thing happened, but... Still, find a safe place and hide. I... I'm sorry... I can't help. Don't get hurt, okay? Please, let's stay alive and meet again. Okay?"

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allgaeswelcome · 2 years

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That one Nekonatural post no one asked for (part 2)

So I wrote that whole thing about This Tornado Loves You, and now, being the Totally Stable Genius I am, I have decided to go through the ENTIRETY OF NEKO CASE’S DISCOGRAPHY and see how it applies to Supernatural. Totally stable. Totally.

The Virginian (1997):

Album notes: TBH there’s not much in this album overall that I associate too strongly with one character or another. Most of it is just some fun vibey stuff, but I’ve l kept in the thigs that were noteworthy :)

Bowling Green: Also a fun song. Gives off the vibes of something that Dean would listen to in a bar with a pool table, trying to win some money.

Jettison: Other than a mention of Sandman, nothing here.

Lonely Old Lies: Sad drunk Dean vibes.

The Virginian: idk why but this gives my young!Mary vibes.

Furnace Room Lullaby (2000):

Album notes: Mostly vibes like Virginian, but these vibes are a bit more specific, I feel.

Set Out Running: The imagery in this song feels like Weechesters in the back of the Impala, staring out the window. But also a bit of pre-Stanford-Era!Sam. Not sure why.

No Need to Cry: Not entirely certain why this is a thing, but this has the vibes of Sam and Dean hanging out in their motel room some evening.

Twist the Knife: Sam/Ruby vibes. Violence and scary shit but also romantic tension. Interesting. Ambivalent relationships are always fascinating. But Sam and Ruby deserve their own meta post outside of what songs remind me of them.

Canadian Amp (2001):

EP notes: For an eight-song early career EP, this is more content than I expected to be able to report lol.

Andy: Other than having the name of a Supernatural character, there’s not much here.

In California: This song is giving me Stanford-Era!Sam missing his family and hunter friends. But especially his family. I mean this song is literally about missing home from California sooo…

Blacklisted (2002):

Album Notes: Well, finally we have a full album that we have actual things to say about, other than just looking for vibes! Yay! One of the best things about this album is that it’s like solidly Americana, which very much fits with like early seasons Supernatural.

Things That Scare Me: I saw a post (https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/ierohero/638369516999639040?source=share)

once that said that this song should have cold opened season 4 of Supernatural, and I totally agree. One of Neko Case’s strengths is how vividly she can paint a picture with just a few words, and this song is a really good example of that.

“Blackbirds frying on a wire/same birds that followed me to school when I was young/were they trying to tell me something/were they telling me to run?”

I see this as a thing along the lines of how Sam’s always had these prophecies hanging over his head literally since before he was born. Especially since black birds of many sorts are often used as bringers of prophecy in many different mythologies across the world.

“Claim your soul’s not for sale.”

I mean, given that Sam’s metaphorically (and somewhat literally) damned from the beginning, yeah.

“Hunted by the American dream/Haunted by American dreams.”

I think Sam left for college partially to escape the toxic masculinity of his father’s world (more on that in a couple of albums) and the whole “American dream” thing fits well with how his family presents to the world, even though how they were raised clearly haunts the Winchesters throughout the series.

Outro With Bees: Even though this isn’t like super tied into canon, I’m a sucker for Honeybee!Cas so I thought that this would be a cute song to acknowledge in the context of Supernatural in general, but Destiel in particular.

Lady Pilot: Just thought this would be a fun song to throw into my meta shit cause like. Dean hates flying. Same here, buddy. Same here.

Tightly: This song feels very Castiel. Just like the vibes of wandering around at night, seeing everything and participating in none of it, content to just be. Not exactly where ‘covet’ would fit into the context of this but…

The Tigers Have Spoken (2004):

Album Notes: I have pretty much nothing for this album. Like, at all. I’m also not super familiar with it sooo…. Sorry everyone.

Wayfaring Stranger: This song just gives out hunter vibes, idk how to explain it. Maybe it’s the wayfaring part, maybe it’s the danger part, maybe it’s the family piece. Who knows.

Fox Confessor Brings The Flood (2006):

Album Notes: I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t more than a little biased towards this album. This is the main one I grew up with, so I have a history with it. Also, this album is mostly vibing with all of the Winchester trauma episodes so like have fun with that I guess?

Star Witness: This feels like a Dean!trauma flashback scene from his teenage years. “Hey there/there’s such deadly wolves/round town tonight/round the town tonight.” Also gives the vibes of one of the werewolf episodes.

Hold On, Hold On: “The most tender place in my heart is for strangers/I know it’s unkind but my own blood is much too dangerous” This feels like Stanford-Era!Sam

“Hanging round the ceiling half the time/hanging round the ceiling half the time.” This makes me think of the Mary/Jess parallel in the first episode.

(I’m not the only one who thinks this, there’s also a post of those lyrics and pictures from the plot here: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/rollthatbeautifuldeanfootage/661172516829773824?source=share)

“It’s the devil I love/and it’s as funny as real love/and it’s as real as true love”

Cage trauma, anyone?

John Saw That Number:

I’m only including this because of a reference to the Pit and some ambiguous biblical symbolism.

At Last:

“I wish to stay among my people/relation now means nothing/having chosen/so defined”

Blah blah family don’t end in blood blah blah hunters as found family blah blah Bobby is actually the Winchesters’ dad.

Middle Cyclone (2008):

Album Notes: This one is legit just the meta thing I wrote earlier.

This Tornado Loves You: I already have a whole meta piece, just for this song. I’ll link it here:

https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/allgaeswelcome/693039661372899329?source=share

The Worse Things Get, The Harder I Fight, The Harder I Fight, The More I Love You (2013):

Album Notes: This is another childhood favorite, so I’m gonna have some biases here too. Also this one is mostly be a ton of Winchester trauma (esp Dean) like Fox Confessor.

Wild Creatures: The first line of this song is, “When you catch the light/you look like your mother” Dean canonically looks like Mary and that’s why John hates him. The last line of the song is, “There’s no mother’s hands to quiet me.” This applies to both Winchesters because Mary. Again.

Night Still Comes: “Did it poison my food/is it cause I’m a girl/if I puked up some sonnets/would you call me a miracle” This gives me Jo vibes. She’s always defiant of the patriarchy.

Man: (I think I should start this one off with the disclaimer that I’m a trans!Dean truther.)

This entire song. Encapsulates Dean’s rather unhealthy relationship with his gender identity well, I think.

“I’m a man/that’s what you raised me to be/I’m not an identity crisis/this was planned/I’m a man.” Again, along the lines with Trans!Dean headcanons, this very much fits into the whole self-made man thing that a lot of transmascs have going on. And regardless of how we read Dean’s cisgenderedness or lack thereof, I feel like the part about that’s how he was raised to be by John still stands. John had an unhealthy ideal of what he thought a man was and he vomited that up onto his sons.

“I’m a man/and not just casually/I pull the sparks full-time” This goes well with Dean’s whole gender-as-performance thing he has going on. We see him in the series try to make himself seem more like a man from time to time even though it’s unnecessary. So again, Trans!Dean.

“I’m a man’s man/I’ve always been/make no mistake/I’m invested in/a woman’s heart/it’s the watermark/by which I measure/Everything”

Okay, number one: Man’s man. That’s essentially what Dean kind of wants to be, yk? He’s kinda obsessed with living up to his dad’s perception of what masculinity should be.

Number two: The part about having a chunk of your identity based around you being invested in having a woman is very… comphet sounding. Which, as anyone who has seen the show and spent at least a bit of time in the fandom knows, that’s something Dean seems to struggle with. If we’re going with the majority-fandom headcanon that Dean is bi.

“and if I’m dipshit drunk/on the pink perfume/then I am the man/in the fucking moon/cause you didn’t know/what a man was/until I/showed you”

The juxtaposition here is very interesting, but outside of that:

Number one: Dipshit drunk on the pink perfume sounds like more comphet.

Number two: You didn’t know what a man was until I showed you fits in with Dean’s like LOOK AT ME IM A MANMANMAN thing.

Nearly Midnight, Honolulu: This song is obviously another Winchester Trauma song. Although the specifics of the song (and there are many) don’t really apply, the song still has flashback scene vibes. I feel like this fits in with something that John Winchester would do.

Calling Cards: This song has very Dean/Cassie vibes. The whole being apart in separate cities but still in love thing’s very Them, yk?

Hell-On (2018):

Album Notes: I only have two songs worth noting on this one, there wasn’t much content. Also this is the last album of original content Neko Case has released so this is also the end of my meta post.

Curse of the I-5 Corridor:

This song has very Teen!Dean vibes.

(“So I left home and I faked my ID/I fucked every man that I wanted to be/I was so stupid then.”)

Also just in general the emotional scenery of this song is very Supernatural.

Oracle of the Maritimes:

This has a lot of potential for some fun Destiel parallels:

“There’s no way I could tell you/how much I could love you/cause I’ve never been so scared of anything.”

Poor Dean. Dean and his internalized homophobia/comphet. But also Dean and his attatchment issues. But also Dean and his inability to open up emotionally to anyone other than Sam.

“He said/come on, sweet girl/lets find you an ocean/that goes with your eyes.”

As anyone who has ever read a Destiel fic can tell you: Cas has blue eyes that there have been endless metaphors for Castiel’s eyes, and oceans are definitely one of the more common ones I’ve seen.

#Destiel #dean winchester #castiel #sam winchester #Neko Case

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dansnaturepictures · 3 years

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23rd September 2021-Buzzard, Tufted Ducks and more at Lakeside and home

I saw the moon which has been one of the ones I’ve photographed most when at its fullest the past few nights I think early on this morning which I took the first picture in this photoset of and the second of some interesting clouds which would go onto to obscure the moon later. I took the third picture in this photoset of a beautiful Goldfinch that was shining in the garden just before going out for my Lakeside lunch time walk, taking a great yellow themed photo of sunflower and some low-hanging of the yellow buddleia which mixed nicely with the sunflowers which are dominating the garden lately which I tweeted a picture of on Dans_Pictures too.

I did a fairly long walk at Lakeside through the eastern meadows then through the lakes and back along the northern path. I saw a Blackbird well something I’m seeing a little bit more of lately and Small White and Speckled Wood made great butterfly sightings, as well as darter dragonflies on the whole walk.

Crossing the steam railway track and going along the path through trees in the field north of the steam railway station and I was thrilled to see a bold Buzzard soaring gently through the air in a circular motion. I was so happy to make out the sweet brown and prominent markings of this big bird of prey. Seeing one of my favourite birds I had a great connection to nature. I took the fourth picture in this photoset of one flying alongside another and on the way out approaching the steps up to the northern path I saw a Buzzard again possibly the same bird and a lady I spoke to pointed it out to a child with her too and she saw me checking with my binoculars and asked if it was a Buzzard I said yes as we all marveled at this enormous bird flying through the sky. After a really good run of Lakeside and home Sparrowhawks in recent weeks, a Red Kite out the back before we went to Richmond and Bushy Park in my week off last week; Kestrel was a star bird of prey and bird generally of my day yesterday and it was Buzzard today. Buzzards are one of the most satisfying subjects for me and I always love it whenever one flying quite low presents a chance for a photo of this wonderful raptor. I took the fifth and sixth pictures in this photoset of Kornwestheim lake today.

I then walked through the grassy area between the lakes and with my bridge camera on its once weekly trip whilst the young Great Crested Grebes are around as well as my DSLR and big lens I looked for this another of my favourite birds. I did see one in the end getting some nice views of it at the centre of the lake seeing adults on both Kornwestheim and Concorde the two joined lakes today and it was fascinating to see the humbug youngster dive the famous thing grebes do so it felt a crucial stage in their development. I took the eighth picture in this photoset of this cute bird. But this was not before I spotted a single male Tufted Duck on the lake, this blue and white beauty shown in the seventh picture I took today in this photoset a bridge camera zoom in. This was the first Tufted Duck I’d seen at Lakeside for a few months they disappeared as the spring went on and usually its the months more towards and in winter I regularly see them here so it hinted just a little bit at what’s to come like Black-headed Gulls in winter plumage is doing lately. The Tufted Duck a very welcome sight. I enjoyed seeing and photographing pineappleweed in the grass between the lakes it was nice to see it again this year.

After work as twilight approached it was delightful to see several groups of nearly a dozen Greylag Geese flying past as they do a lot in the time of year outside breeding season (when they are based at Lakeside all the time to breed) so is symbolic of autumn and winter for me too. I got the ninth picture in this photoset of the first group. Its amazing I guess that the amount of times I’ve seen Greylag Geese from the house I’d never got or really tried for a picture. But with the few I took of them today I had a head start in terms of getting the picture hearing them probably about a minute before I first saw them and I happened to have my big lens on at the time still on from the walk I think. It was another great moment with birds flying today, today I took some pictures fitting the “on the move” theme in the photography group I am in on Facebook that has themes. The geese do remind me of Brent Geese at the coast flying by and over which is how I fell in love with that species in autumn and winter when they migrate here one of my favourite parts of the season.

There was then another beautiful set of cloud formations as the evening wound towards sunset, the Greylag Geese were flying against these so the Greylag Geese photos included a good sky and vice versa interestingly. Including some nice bits of orange in the sky at sunset. I took the tenth picture in this photoset of one of the greyer bits of sky this evening.

Wildlife Sightings Summary: Two of my favourite birds the Buzzard and Great Crested Grebe, Tufted Duck, Mallard, Coot, Moorhen, Greylag Goose, Back-headed Gull, Goldfinch, Blackbird, Starling, House Sparrow, Woodpigeon, Feral Pigeon, Collared Dove, brilliant views of Jackdaws on the roof visible from my room out the back today, a nice view of a Chiffchaff quickly too, Small White, Speckled Wood, darter dragonflies probably Common Darter and it was interesting to see another moth in the house tonight I believe a Square-spot rustic.

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cryptke · 2 years

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just finished the book after like maybe 2-ish hours of sleep and two coffee, and I'm not disappointed. That's a great way to end a book, sorta like a full circle, with her visiting some places he's been to, and eventually returning to that diner. Genuinely amazing book, made me think a lot about what the *fuck* life actually is lol. I actually kind of enjoyed the nihilism aspect of the book, mostly because I haven't seen it very often in modern books, especially not executed well in a way that doesn't throw you right into the next depressive episode lol

I'm moving to Australia cuz i like really gotta get away from my family and this town, and I think *I* will commit serial mass murder if I don't put at least half the Pacific Ocean (or Atlantic, i think it's the atlantic) between me and them. Originally wanted to go to uni there, considered astrophysics, marine biology & egyptology, realized I have zero idea what to actually do with my life, so I'll be moving around a bit, probably a la circa supernatural (supplement the monsters with spiders), and see if something comes out of it, if a sudden life plan magically manifests before me. Visa only lasts for so long, so that'll be a ride ig..

the beaches in the far north of Queensland are literal fucking heaven, mangoes and coconuts on end - there's this old lady that always cuts the mangoes down and attracts all the cassowaries, which is an absolute pain in the ass because they mean as piss - but like feel free to drop in? motel room/apartment will always be open for you lol

absolutely stoked you actually liked my daryl request, and super glad you're out of the depression slump at the moment - and hopefully for a while longer. Even better that you've got a love interest on the line, definitely hope all works out well in that matter. Apartment hunting is literal hell, though it is fun, so i hope u can snatch a decent one. I once went hunting on Craigslist, did *not* go well, mistakes have been made.

you just threw me back like a bunch of years when i was thirteen and tried to craft my own fake id (with pic n all), to buy the worst possible brand of beer the local grocery store had stocked - it went horribly wrong, and that absolute cunt of a manager called the police to "teach" me a lesson. Thank fuck I'm more creative now.

and *please* share that rec for the other book you mentioned? in desperate need for some nicely dark, gory literature to sink my teeth in.

😭😭

the end of fucking Blackbird cracked something wide open in my brain. the scene where she's standing at the crossroads, i think it was, and she sees the street names............

i have respect for people who can root up their lives and transport themselves to a new continent entirely. it's like you're in a subgroup that managed to unlock the other 90% of their brain power

this new book is called Tender is the Flesh by Agustina Bazterrica, and you can get the pdf for free online if you just google "tender is the flesh read online free." essentially, at its core the premise is that in some nearby future setting, all flesh derived from animals has become deadly to humankind because of a mysterious virus strain making their meat totally inedible. so relying on their produce as we do now would have society facing mass extinction. basically, the world has no choice but to institutionalize and "normalize" human cannibalism as a last ditch hope. and BABY, THEY DO.

it is so incredibly fucked up because the story is not even an interpretation of cannibalism itself. that's not what's supposed to GETCHA. essentially, they start literally breeding human beings to create a sort of secondary species to solely rely on for meat harvesting. it introduces people living (with the mental capacity of domesticated animals) as slaughterhouse cows do. so you're exposed to a sort of conscious separation of people and then humans who are not people and will never be viewed as such. they're meat. the main character is a nihilistic, depressed butcher who's profession is to quite literally slaughter "the meat."

i think what makes it so intense is the fact that it's not a barbaric story where the cannibalism itself is meant to be the big shock affect. it's set years after the initial "transition" to this lifestyle the world has been forced into, and it paints a picture of this sterile dehumanization of society with the presence of specific laws regarding human breeding/a sense of normalcy and acceptance based around the whole thing, etc. really showcases how easily our morals can be stripped from us. a slow, lethargic horror with graphic social commentary.

book contains some HARD ass quotes though. weirdly philosophical.

“He tried to hate all of humanity for being so fragile and ephemeral, but he couldn't keep it up because hating everyone is the same as hating no one.”

"How many heart need to be stored in boxes for the pain to be transformed into something else? But the pain, he intuits, is the only think that keeps him breathing. Without the sadness, he has nothing left."

#the main guy.................is tasked.....with watching over a female human breeding cow......................#yeah.#whatever you're thinking?#it's worse #very much worse #like take what you're thinking and the ending of the book will be twenty times worse

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milwrites · 4 years

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Weird that it happened twice, right? introduction - masterlist

A/N: hey! this is a multi part fix i’ve been working on for a good while now; it’s a reader insert but written in the first person because i’m awful in second , but the main character isn’t described at all other than small, but compared to 6”2 cowboys it doesn’t really mean much... it will have smut in later chapters and is john x reader :)) also loads of smut and not too much angst at all.

word count: 3.9k

T/W: there is a lot of swearing later on, smut, canon typical violence and lightly described sexual assault although there is no graphic detail.

Brilliant, quick of wit and sharp of mind, are all words that were once used to describe me, the bastard born daughter of an English lord. My mother a simple welsh girl who an aristocrat fell in love with, who bore an aristocratic child, who died through complications during the birth of her daughter. I’m told I was held by my mother for only a few short moments, and was named by my father while taking my mother’s family name in remembrance. I was despised by my stepmother of course, who saw even a child as a threat, the bright eyes and aquiline nose too much of a reminder of the love her husband had had for another while married. This meant I was shunned and despised for most of my early life; spending my adolescent years split between being taught to read, write and speak various languages, and learning to ride, shoot and hunt, having verbal abuse thrown at me by my darling stepmother at every opportunity. It shaped me into a fiery young woman, and having been left virtually in the company of men and the closest thing to a mother I had in the form of an early feminist governess, I had many unbecoming ideologies for a woman: I had no desire to be married off, wanted women to vote and I believed myself to be equal to a man. the indignity.

At 13 I bred my beloved mare; the sire being father’s proud 18 hand thoroughbred, the dam the most stunning bay warmblood mare I had hunted on from an early age. Bonnie was born healthy and full of life; her personality only matched by her striking markings - she was bright bay with piercing blue eyes, black points and 4 white socks - and I fell in love on sight. For the next 3 years I spent hours bonding with the filly, teaching her manners in-hand to begin with, and slowly breaking her as she approached her 4th year.

- 1898

The crisp September air heralded the start of Autumn. Green leaves in the grounds faded to russet and brown, falling delicately into knee deep piles. Squirrels chattered from treetops, you could only catch glimpses of their brush tails before they bounded away. The changing season meant my birthday came around, complete with the usual lack of attention; it was widely ignored by the family as I was widely ignored as a rule. It came as a shock therefore, when the lady of the manor approached me in one of the many corridors, to wish me a happy seventeenth, complete with a saccharine smile, and to tell me that I was needed in the drawing room. “and for the love of god wear a dress,” she had added waspishly - the soft demeanour slipping.

I didn’t own that many dresses, opting for shirts and breeches most of the time, and so I was left with only the choice of a gaudy rose pink affair or a deep green silk that was scandalously low cut. Unwilling to pass on the chance to annoy, I opted with the green, sweeping my hair back into a simple knot, adorned with small silver pins and a pendant at my throat as ever. It had been my mother’s, and I refused to take it off since it falling into my possession. “Stay here Piglet my darling.” the terrier wagged her furry little tail and leapt onto the bed, challenging me to move her.

My shoes made little noise on the polished tiles as I moved toward the drawing room doors, hesitating as I opened it, a flutter of nerves in my abdomen. A man in his late forties stood up as I shyly moved into the room; all my confidence and bravado leaving me as I left the comfort of my own company. his eyes lingered on my body for too long, raking over the artificial curves the corseted gown created, my exposed clavicle and the delicate sweep of my neck and jaw. “Vesta, this is Mr Edwards. You are to be wed to him in the comings weeks.” “No.” I wasn’t sure if I’d heard it correctly to begin with, the refusal leaving my mouth before my brain even registered what was happening. A delighted smile was plastered on my stepmothers face; thrilled to be getting shot of the young woman who reminded her husband every day of the love he had lost, whom she would never compare to in his eyes. “I’m not marrying you. I don’t intend to marry. I do not wish to marry anyone, but most definitely not you.” He once again dragged his gaze down my body, and told me in no more words that it simply wasn’t my choice, my parents had made it for me and I would be leaving the manor as soon as we were wed. Panic welled up in my breast, and I stalked from the room and ran to the grounds, cursing the impracticality of a dress the whole time. It was leant on the wall of Bonnie’s stable, absent mindedly playing with a blade of hay that I saw my way out, saw the door of my cage open ever so slightly. “You know what, girl? I do believe our time here to be coming to an end, one way or another, and yet i don’t think i’ll be leaving the way any of them expect.” I spoke to the horse as though she may respond, and although the only reply I got was a prick of the ears and an affectionate head butt, it felt like the most I’d ever been listened to in my life.

Not a month prior, a train belonging to my father in america had been robbed; broken into and stripped of everything - he’d lost thousands and was furious: a Mr Van der Linde’s name being cursed daily. It seemed to me that perhaps Mr Van der Linde and I may have something in common: a shared lack of respect for the upper class? Or a personal vendetta against the family? All I really knew at that time was that if I could somehow contact this man, I may have someone to run to.

A week elapsed, and somehow, through pure chance and luck of the universe, I had a vague idea of where Dutch Van der Linde may be. I wasn’t stupid enough to belive that I would instantly find him, and for him to accept me into his “gang” with open arms, but if I could just find him and explain why I was there, maybe I would have a shot at starting over. A train ticket was easy enough to acquire, and I secured my place on a ship to america with little difficulty as well, even finding one that allowed me to bring Bonnie, the prospect of leaving her broke my heart - and the terrier that had been my faithful companion for so long as well.

Dawn. Silver beads of dew clung to every blade of grass, condensing in the cool air before running to the earth. The tiny wren and humble blackbird joined the dawn chorus, finches and tits lining the steadily emptying branches whilst singing their merry tunes. Life in the grounds was also stirring, stable hands and gardeners milling around; their tasks for the day stretching out before them. It meant that while dressed in a similar garb to a groom we went unnoticed as we rode through the estate, the terrier hidden completely in the long grass. She would snap occasionally at the insects taking flight, or stalking the frequent rabbits peeping out of their warrens. It also meant that most were too busy to see the bulging saddlebags attached to my horse, or the handguns holstered at my thighs. I kicked Bonnie into a faster canter as the imposing boundary walls came into view; moving as fast as we could toward the freedom I fancied I could almost smell.

Time seemed to pass differently as I trotted through the country lanes, my thoughts filled with images of the west: cowboys, outlaws, buffalo and saloons - an intoxicating mix of roughness and freedom that I ardently longed for. I barely noticed that I was at the town, even less that I was perilously close to missing my train. Rushing, I managed to get bonnie into the livestock carriage of the locomotive, and myself into a compartment that was empty before the train slowly left the station, and I took the first step away from home. English countryside blurred as the train picked up speed, yet I felt as though I had to take in every dry stone wall and rolling hillside; it was the last time I would see my home soil, and for all I had had a less than pleasant upbringing, the moors and heathland itself had offered me solace and chance to breathe. I felt tears threaten to spill from my eyes, blurring the landscape further, and I clamped my lips together harshly to hold them from scalding my face - this was no time to cry, I remember chastising myself.

I could see bustle of Liverpool docks from the carriage windows in little time, causing my heart to thump with excitement and a flash of nerves to hit me when I spotted the liner that would be carrying me to America. I shivered, blinked a few times at the bright sunshine and pungent smell of tar, kerosene and wrinkled my noise at the tang of the ocean. A familiar squeal caught my attention and I turned in the direction of it to see two men struggling with Bonnie, my golden-brown horse rearing and threatening to kick out. “Here, I’ve got her,” I had rushed over to the men, who handed me the horse gratefully once I’d flashed my identification to prove the mare was mine. “Easy now, girl, i’m here.” I liked to think the horse settled a little, when in reality she still eyed up every man, horse and boat, displaying no signs of being any calmer.

The liner called for passengers to begin boarding, asking for those on horseback to come on before those on foot. I felt another kick of nerves, but clicked Bonnie forward onto the boarding bridge and on into the boat itself. Her stall was clearly marked and I felt easy enough leaving her there, happily munching on a hay net. The stable hand reassured me that the mare would be exercised every other day, and I would be able to visit her whenever I pleased. I’d hidden Piglet in my luggage, selfishly wanting my angel as close as possible.

6 weeks passed, and a longer 6 weeks had never passed since for me. Yet they faded into nothing when I heard the age-old cry of “land ho!” and could see American soil at last.

Bonnie took a lot of reassurance to walk down the bridge into Blackwater port, taking against the shouting of workers on the ground and the sounds of building work in Blackwater itself. Once we were off the boat, I made a beeline for the bank, with Bonnie looking sideways at every person, horse and inanimate object that had the audacity to move in her direction. I recalled the architecture of Blackwater being so much less ornate than even the most basic of English homes. The buildings were boxes, from that which I could see, no detailing on the facade or patterning to the brickwork. I hitched up outside the bank and walked in, giving the bank teller my warmest smile and hoping that I looked old enough to be withdrawing such a huge sum of money. I answered the teller’s questions with as much confidence as I could muster.

“(L/N). Yes, here’s the key. Yeah. All of it please.” The teller obliged me without question thankfully and I stowed it all into my satchel while still within the bank, unwilling to let anyone see the depth of my wealth.

“Armadillo then my girl.” I spoke gently to her, setting off down the dusty trail to the small town around 20 miles from Blackwater. Piglet barked happily as we broke into a canter, running alongside us until she tired, me slowing bonnie when she did.

It struck me as we rode that everyone around me was much more heavily armed than I was, my twin browning m1900’s seeming lonely without a repeater or rifle backing them up. “Seems to me like we may have a little stealing to do.” I remarked, vaguely talking to Bonnie and more speaking out to myself, a dreadful habit one picks up from spending too long in one’s own company.

We set up a small camp a few miles from Blackwater, not wanting to push too far on the first day and frankly I was slightly overwhelmed by how different it was from the sleepy rural setting of my home estate. The first ball of tumbleweed that had crossed our path had set Bonnie rearing, the mare presuming it to be alive, and Piglet tearing after it, engaging the “quarry” in a chase. The arid desert daunted me somewhat, I didn’t like that sand stretched as far as the eye could see, only broken by towering rock formations and train tracks extending into the distance. It felt lonely and inhospitable.

I composed a letter by the light of the fire, using a page torn from my journal and a pen I had taken from my father's study, struggling to word it and frequently finding myself gazing into the darkening night, unable to find the right words. Once I was reasonably happy with it, I addressed it to “Tacitus Kilgore” an alias I had heard rumours of, used by Van der Linde for mail, and stowed it in my satchel to send the next day. It embarrassed me that I hadn’t fed my girl all day, and so tossed an oatcake and a chunk of carrot to where she was tethered to a broken tree stump, and tore a hunk of bread off for myself to eat with the ration of meat I had bought in blackwater earlier, and downed it with a bottle of beer. Warm, sleepy, and full, I lay back onto the bedroll and watched the stars, the only unchanged sight I had come across. Lulled by the blissful familiarity, I fell into a dreamless sleep, the howling of the coyotes waking neither me nor the dog curled into my side.

The road to Armadillo was quiet, all sounds muffled in the canyon Bonnie was steadily carrying me through. I soaked up the warmth of the blazing sunshine with a contented sigh, and it came as a welcome surprise when I saw a speck on the horizon moving toward me. It crossed my mind that this may be the only person I would see until I reached the town, where a hold up would be much more conspicuous and a sure-fire ticket to jail. I just hoped they had what I needed. The speck turned into the clear shape of a horse, large and quite heavily built from what I would see, with a rider who looked to be male. The horse came further into view and I decided that it was a war horse of some sort, a Hungarian Nonius perhaps, dark brown with a creamy mane and tail, and the rider had two guns strapped to his back.

I dismounted bonnie and set her a little off the road, and pulling a face mask on, I stood in the middle of it - pistols drawn and loaded. The rider pulled his horse to a halt in front of me. “You mind movin’, doll? Got places to be.” That voice. It was a drawl, incredibly attractive and dripping with arrogance. I glanced up at his face to see that he was disarmingly beautiful: a sharp jaw and high cheekbones, dark eyes framed by long eyelashes and jaw length raven black hair. Easily the most perfect man I had, and ever would, have the fortune to come across. “No can do I'm afraid. This is a robbery.” My voice was crisp and I patted myself on the back internally for not wavering or backing down. “Off your horse. Now.” I pointed one gun at him, motioning with the other for him to dismount and move to the side. I think would have sounded awfully threatening if my ever-useful dog hadn’t, for lack of a better word, wiggled, over to the man and started licking his hands. “Pig!” I hissed, sharply beckoning piglet with my head. I continued the holdup. “Guns on the floor. Then hands up, handsome, where i can see them.” My anonymity gave me an unexpected wave of confidence that I never had otherwise, and my voice had taken on a slightly flirting tone. I went and picked up his rifle, admiring it in my hands for a moment then strapped it to my back, and took his revolver to toss it back toward him. Unable to walk away from the horse, I went over and offered it a peppermint from my pocket, letting it snuffle in my pants after finishing to try and find another. “You are aware I'm still her ain’t you?” The man’s voice turned my head and I whistled bonnie back to mount her, his rifle the only thing I had actually taken. “Er- thank you,” I spoke nervously, pleased that he had put up little fight, and seemed amused rather than angry. “‘M john!” he called after me as we cantered away. “Probably better you don’t know who I am, isn’t it?” I questioned back at him finishing by throwing him a mocking salute.

A few days passed and I made good use of John’s rifle, taking a pronghorn down and living off of the meat until I could reach another shop. I had posted the letter and having stayed near the post office for a night or two, had received a reply to meet Dutch in Armadillo saloon the next day. Bonnie was fresher than normal after having had two days wandering in the heat while we waited for the letter and while I continued to acclimatise myself to the environment. It was a cooler day when we approached Armadillo, meaning I allowed the horse to really go - a fast canter that moved to a gallop within seconds and set the wind racing through my hair. It was with a great amount of reluctance that bonnie returned to a walk through Armadillo’s empty streets, and with even more reluctance that she halted to be tethered outside the saloon.

I took a deep, steadying breath. My new life was within grasp, all I had to do was not fuck this up. I pushed though the doors, hiding my wince as the smell of stale alcohol filled my nostrils. The bar seemed like a good place to start; while I really didn’t want to be hammered, a little dutch courage wouldn’t hurt me in the slightest. “A whiskey, please.” I ordered while pulling the change from my pockets, forcing a small laugh at the bartenders joke about me looking too young to drink. I downed the shot in one go while telling myself that the burn as it slid down my throat was nice. A man in a red waistcoat caught my eye, and he noticed me starting eerily quickly, beckoning me over with a move of his head. He was with two other men: one older looking who had warm eyes, I thought, and another who seemed to be more battle worn, but smiled at me nonetheless. “Y/N L/N?” the red waist coated man asked. I nodded with a small smile and recognised him as Dutch van der Linde from the bounty posters that my father had acquired. “You’re a little smaller than i expected-” he began, before the older man cut him off. “That’s a fine weapon,” he remarked with a twinkling grin, and although a little confused, I replied that I had grown fond of it, but admitted that it wasn’t technically mine. “Ya stole it?” the other man asked, to which I grinned and inclined my head. The men then introduced themselves: the older man was Hosea Matthews, the younger Arthur Morgan, both of who’s hands I shook, Dutch's too. Dutch spoke again, holding my letter in his hand and wondering aloud why a fine young woman such as myself had fled England without a word and was so desperate to become an outlaw in his gang. I quirked my brows and drew in a breath, telling him my whole sorry tale, ending it by drawing the money from my bag and placing it on the table before them. “I was cut from the will, for refusing to marry that old man. But my father had started an account for my mother before she died that i found the key for. This is all of it.” Hosea was already counting the money, his brows creeping further up his head with every note he found. “This is over 10,000 dollars.” he talked only to dutch at that moment. I began to explain that I wasn’t trying to buy myself into the gang, that I could shoot, hunt, scam, and was excellent with horses, to which Arthur paused me to explain that no one thought I was, giving me a short smile and pouring me another whiskey. We were the only people in the saloon, so when the doors creaked open for a second time it drew our gaze to the man entering the room. “Ahh, Marston!” Dutch called to him and beckoned him over. “This is our newest addition, not much younger than you my son.” I frowned a little, then a wide smile cracked my face in two as his words sunk in. A relieved laugh left my lips unchecked and I thanked the men happily. My voice must have seemed familiar to Marston, who had been looking to Arthur to gauge his reaction, because he looked at me for the first time. I raised my head too, curious to see who this younger man was. We both froze as our eyes met. “Hello again, darlin’.”

A look of disgust passed over Arthur's face. “Please tell me y’all haven’t...” he trailed off. “I’m - sorry?” I offered, moving to pull the rifle from my back. John laughed at me, telling me I could keep it if I wanted, he’d already replaced it. I stuck out my hand, which he grasped firmly, hands warm and calloused against my skin. “Y/N L/N.” “John Marston, for the second time.” He shot me a wink as he said it, and I looked away, embarrassed. Dutch broke the following silence, asking what the hell just happened and why I was giving him a rifle? John answered before I could, looking slightly pink in the face as he told them that I had robbed him few days earlier. All three men erupted into uproarious laughter, Dutch giving me an approving look that sparked a warm glow of pride within me: I hadn’t had approval or praise like that for the past 12 years.

chapter one + colter next :))

#john marston x reader smut #rdr2 #john marston #john marston x reader #red dead redemption two #writing #be gentle im scared this is my child

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theanimeview · 4 years

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My Interpretation of Blackbird by Junji Ito

By: Casea Mhtar | @madamekrow

Mature Content Warning: This post contains content that we at The Anime View do not think is suitable for everyone. The genre of the work being reviewed is Horror. Possible triggers or subjects could include severe mental illness and suicide. By clicking "Keep Reading," you understand that you may encounter such content. Viewer/reader discretion is advised.

Do you feel the cool winds as they blow through the trees? Do you hear the fallen leaves rolling down the street, scraping against the sidewalk as you pass by? Do you notice the air of gloom hovering over you even on a bright and sunny day? We are now in the throws of Autumn, as we creep closer and closer to Halloween. I hope you’re as excited as I am, because for today’s post I will be delving into a story by Junji Ito, who is also known as Japan’s Master of Horror. I feel he needs no more introduction than that, since one google search will immediately prove why he has such an honorable title.

The one I will be discussing is from Fragments of Horror, a manga of short stories. He created this manga after an 8 year hiatus and it certainly appears that he was rusty in terms of storytelling. Generally, this manga has been received as being rather subpar in comparison with his other works. Which is why I chose this story from Fragments of Horror, the only one that stuck with me even years after I had finished reading the book. It often gets overlooked, making it all the more enticing to shine a light on it.

Blackbird

Kume is out birdwatching, the first time he’s done so in a long while, when he hears someone calling out to him. It’s a stranger lying on the ground, pleading for help. This man gets carried away to the hospital on a stretcher as Kume follows behind. When speaking with the doctor we learn that this man, Shiro Moriguchi, had a terrible fall resulting in both of his legs being broken. Not only that, but he also doesn’t have any family or friends to call, and is unemployed. They all wonder how he survived that long and with a stutter, he explains that he rationed whatever food he had in his backpack.

Later, he begs Kume to stay the night with him and he agrees with mild concern. Moriguchi continues to open up about not having anyone in his life. In fact he never knew his family, expressing that he grew up in an orphanage. Kume replies, “You can talk to me about your troubles. We have a connection now.” before turning over and the two going to sleep for the night.

Kume is awakened by a strange noise, immediately disturbed by the sight of a woman shrouded in shadow on top of Moriguchi, kissing him. She slips off of Shiro, walks to Kume and smiles directly in his face, then proceeds to calmly walk out of the hospital room. Moriguchi spits out a lump of raw meat and begins to panic that she has come back. Kume asks for more information and Moriguchi confesses to him what really happened during those four weeks of being injured and destitute, how he was truly able to survive. Seven days after his fall, he was running low on food when that woman appeared with her cheeks full, chewing and chewing. She kissed him, pushing raw meat into his mouth as it sizzled on his starving tongue. Leaving without a word, only to return the next day. This time, her kiss produced warm blood to quench his thirst. She is the one that kept him alive during that time, but he no longer needs her help. In fact, the meat lost its delicious taste, and he is left feeling as though he shouldn’t be eating it at all. Moriguchi was terrified, so Kume decided to stay with him another night in the hospital.

Once again, Kume was awakened by the woman feeding Shiro in the middle of the night. Immediately, Moriguchi spits out an eyeball from his mouth while the mysterious woman chuckles and leaves. Kume decides to follow her through the halls and out of the hospital. But right as he touches her shoulder, she turns into a large, black bird and flies off into the darkness.

The following morning they choose to alert the authorities, though they leave out the details of her flying into the night. Without the authorities present, Shiro panics about her being some kind of bird monster. Confessing that when he was an infant, he was abandoned in the corner of a park, alone for about a week or so. It’s a miracle that he survived, making him wonder if she was feeding him then as well, as though he is her chick.

Detectives show up the following day, revealing that the eyeball and meat are both of human origin and from the same person. Shiro and Kume are questioned, but can only answer what they know. This leaves the detectives without much to go on and with no way of knowing who the flesh and eyeball came from. But the woman hadn’t returned since Kume saw her fly away.

At a train station, Kume congratulates Shiro on his full recovery. He asks if Shiro has plans to find a job in Tokyo, expressing that it’s a shame he doesn’t stay since he could introduce him to people he knows. Moriguchi is thankful for the offer but declines, saying that he feels he needs to start anew someplace else in order to escape the shadow of that woman. Though, when Shiro’s train leaves the station, Kume sees a large black bird following behind it. He eventually receives a postcard from Shiro, not hearing anything about the bird woman, in fact he seems to be doing just fine! This allows Kume to brush off what he saw as being a kite or an eagle.

Three years later, Shiro Moriguchi was found dead in a frozen crater on the summit of Mount Fuji. They also discover that the meat and eyeball from earlier matched his own DNA, meaning that during the time of his horrible fall, Moriguchi was being fed the flesh and blood of his future self. His belongings were found near his corpse, including his journal with the details of what had happened in his last few days of being alive and frightened. She entered his locked apartment and started taking bite after bite of his flesh. He tried to move overseas, but she quickly found him and flew him to the summit of Mount Fuji. Cold, distressed, and alone, he passed away.

It appears to be winter as Kume goes out birdwatching in the forest again, thinking about the findings after Moriguchi’s mysterious death; When he hears something rustling in the tree near by. He turns around, startled by the bird woman, perched on a tree branch above him. Kume steps back, and with no more ground left, he falls down a cliff and breaks his leg. She readily flies down with her cheeks full. She feeds Kume mouth-to-mouth, as he notes its unpleasant taste.

My interpretation

I had an entire post planned out, depicting all sorts of theories I came up with. I investigated the kanji of their names, the meanings, what the backstory could be, even speculating how this bird woman functions based on my findings...

Until I admitted myself into a mental hospital, staying there for seven days and seven nights. It allowed me to look at this story in a different way. I’m sure my interpretation isn’t truly what it’s about, nonetheless this is what it personally means to me.

It appears to me like the Blackbird is the embodiment of Depression as she only comes to Moriguchi when he is most isolated and defenseless. Technically, since Shiro was being fed meat from his future self, he was the one keeping himself alive. Much like depression, there are times where we can get ourselves through completely on our own, but it comes at the cost of our own lifespan. People with severe mental illness, such as Bipolar or Depression, have a life expectancy of 10 to 25 years less than people without mental illness. Yes, that does include suicide, however this premature mortality is mostly cause by physical chronic medical conditions. People with severe mental illness often don’t get the proper care that they need, as their mental health deteriorates their physical health. I believe Shrio Moriguchi partly expresses these facts. He received wonderful care for his injured legs, but he didn’t get the treatment he needed for his Depression. This resulted in his physical debilitation and mental decline.

Then we have Kume, he was finally able to scare off the Blackbird for some time, as he was Shiro’s only support system. However, Moriguchi continued to distance himself, allowing the Depression to creep in once more. Why did the Blackbird target Kume? Well, relying on one person to be there for you, night after night as the lady shrouded in darkness overcomes you. That person being the only one you entrust with your woes and traumas. They are the only one you depend on to help stave off your Depression. Imagine that person, waiting to read your letters or postcards, making sure that you are okay, only to later find out that you did not survive. You have been taken by the Blackbird, your Depression. That can severely impact someone’s mental health. That is why it’s important to have a support system of not only friends and family (of origin or otherwise), but also of medical professionals that you trust. Kume did his best to be there for Moriguchi, even offering to introduce him to more people, which would allow Shiro to build up a support system. However, Moriguchi did what he thought would be best, resulting in him inadvertently isolating himself further and further into the Blackbird’s grasp. Even in his time of desperation he turned to old habits of writing in his journal, pleading for help in those pages without the intention of reaching out as well. Being trapped in an icy cold hollow atop Mount Fuji is the perfect representation of his severe isolation.

I know this all too well, the devastation your loved one feels as they watch you deteriorate. You fall deeper and deeper into dysfunction, while they are helpless to do much more than to hold your hand through the nightly crises. Kume was there for Moriguchi, accepting all of his issues and willing to confront the Blackbird, even keeping it from coming back for some time. He was open and ready to carry some of the crushing weight that Shiro had been burdened with his entire life. Thus, falling victim to the debilitating gravity of Depression that Moriguchi could no longer cope with. Falling prey to the Blackbird chewing away at his future self. Little by little, bite by bite; Depression can take days, even years off your life.

Yes, my interpretation is rather… depressing. But I do believe it is important to recognize your unhealthy patterns, the patterns that detail your decline. In addition to reaching out for help when you feel yourself isolating further into the harsh depths of your inner turmoil. Not only that, but it’s spooky week! What is possibly more terrifying than confronting the realities of your mental illness?

Happy Halloween!

Of course I wouldn’t just leave you hanging like that! Here are some links for more information on not only how to reach out, but also what kind of help you can expect in terms of calling a suicide hotline or hospitalization. As well as what type of therapy might be better for you and what your options are if you can’t afford it:

10 Ways to Reach Out in a Mental Health Crisis

Here's What Happens When You Call Into A Suicide Prevention Hotline

What Happens When You Are Hospitalized For Depression?

4 Differences Between Cognitive Behavioral Therapy and Dialectical Behavior Therapy and How to Tell Which is Right For You

What To Do If You Can't Afford Therapy, According To An Expert

#Junji Ito #Ito #Fragments of Horror #Horror #Blackbird #Analysis

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scribbles97 · 4 years

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Left Behind -- Chapter 20

In which another familiar face makes an appearance

PART 1 / Chapter 14 / Chapter 15 / Chapter 16 / Chapter 17 / Chapter 18 / Chapter 19 / Chapter 20 / Chapter 21

Read on Ao3

Shrugging into her uniform, Lucy glanced around the corner of the building they were in the shadow of. Only a few hundred yards away she could see the giant launch pad that supported Gaat’s new Zero-X, pain in sight for anyone to see out in the middle of the desert.

Hugh was stood next to her, checking over the stun gun Lucy had allowed him to bring along, having flat out refused that a real gun would help anything. A strand of hair had escaped its combed back gelled look, falling down over sunglasses that weren’t really necessary in the shade. She resisted the urge to tuck it back into place for him, knowing how particular the man was about his hair just as his daughter was. He looked up suddenly, tapping the arm of the glasses once and glancing behind them.

“Kyrano’s back.”

Lucy followed his gaze and let out a sigh she hadn’t realised she had been holding as the other man joined them.

“No sign of Gaat. Only four goons patrolling the base of the launch pad.” He murmured, glancing between them, “I’ve placed the disruptors, so once you’re past them you should have enough time to get in there.”

She nodded, “Once I’m in the pair of you get clear, who knows what power that thing’s going to put out if it launches.”

“If it launches you get yourself somewhere secure young lady and activate the pressurisation balancer in your suit.” Hugh told her, dropping his sunglasses to look over them with a stern blue eye, “We need you coming out of this safe, do not forget that.”

Her face fell at the reminder, the anxious little voice in her head coming back to the fore as she nodded, “We all know the history with Gaat, he might still be angry and upset, but we know he wouldn’t--”

“I’m not convinced, Lucy.” Kyrano cut her off, “He left Jeff on the Zero-X without an escape and you saw what he did to me just after that.”

She didn’t want to admit that maybe he had a point. Gaat had changed, from a rejected and hurt young man to a vengeful and angry adult. She had never anticipated that knocking him back would trigger such a lifelong hate of the very people he had once been close friends with.

Glancing back to the launch pad, she knew she hadn’t anticipated many things that had happened in her life.

“We’d best move before someone realises we’re here.” She sighed, reaching down for her helmet.

Hugh and Kyrano nodded, each turning to peer past her around the corner. With a final glance to her each gave a slight smile of luck before jogging off to work their magic.

She remained stood as Tanusha had taught her, back pressed flat against the wood of the old storage building, breathing soft and shallow, moving as little as possible in the hope she wouldn’t be noticed. The comm between the three of them was open and it was hard not to flinch at the sudden crack of a gunshot.

Kyrano was using rubber bullets, Hugh the stun gun, both made the noise for effect. She could only hope that it was their shots she was hearing.

There were muffled shouts, calls of trespassers as the goons apparently spotted the pair. Still she waited, unclear as to whether the plan had worked to draw them away from their posts.

“You’re clear Blackbird.” Hugh gasped between a chuckle, “They fell for it!”

She didn’t have time to scold him for the nickname as she turned the corner of the shack and glanced around, ready for any stray goons coming her way. As promised though, the coast was clear, leaving her free to dart across the open space, sprinting for the launch pad.

The sand made running difficult, each foot sinking in and moving away from where it should have been as she went. It was different to the sand of the beach at home, dryer, finer, less resistant to her weight. There wasn’t time to dwell and think about it though. She knew where she needed to be, right under the access ladder that would put her at the belly of the new ship. It was the quickest route in, and the only one that Kyrano had disrupted from the view of cameras.

Ducking into the shadow of one of the struts holding the platform aloft, Lucy allowed herself a moment to catch her breath as she looked back over the distance she had covered. The bright sunlight of the day made the view clearly empty of any shadows that may have been following her. Part of her wondered where Hugh and Kyrano had got to, but the thought was quickly brushed aside. The men were capable of looking after themselves and had promised to watch each other's backs. All she could do was trust them to get out of the way and stay out of trouble until she needed them to pick her up.

The climb up the ladder was easy, and she was thankful that she had considered taking the grapple pack with her for the mission knowing it would have taken her twice as long without the rope to help tug her against the pull of gravity.

After that it was simply the small matter of the hatch to deal with.

“Kyrano,” She beckoned as she attached the disruption device he had given her to the handle, “Get me in there.”

“Your timing is terrible,” He whispered, “can you wait a second?”

Sighing she glanced around, hanging from the hull of the ship wasn’t ideal when anyone could come by at any moment.

A grunt across the comm was quickly followed by a groan as Kyrano sighed and cleared his throat, “Unlocking the hatch now.”

A clunk followed by a hiss and she managed to pull the door open and slip inside. Smiling, she pocketed the disruptor and glanced around, “I’m in boys.”

“Good,” Hugh replied, “now get downloading the plans and get bloody out of there.”

Rolling her eyes she shook her head at him. Even if he couldn’t see her she knew he’d pick up her response from the silence. Hugh was like that, somehow he always just knew.

Stepping carefully across to the ladder that would take her further into the ship, Lucy frowned.

“It’s too quiet.” She stated, partly to herself and partly for the others to hear, “A ship ready to launch shouldn’t be this quiet.”

Clicking her helmet off she listened again. It struck her at just how silent the ship was, no buzz of electrics, no hum of ventilation, not even the quiet tapping of settling metal.

Just, nothing.

“I’m going straight for the cockpit.” She told them, “The download will be quicker from there and I’m certain there’s nobody else on board.”

“I wouldn’t risk it Luce,” Hugh disagreed, his statement punctuated by the heavy thud of skin on skin, “We still haven’t come across Gaat here.”

Something was drawing her in that direction though, the same sort of feeling that she had always got when the boys were up to something they shouldn’t have been. It wasn’t quite mother’s intuition, but there was something similar there that had her disregarding Hugh’s point and climbing the ship.

“Lucille?” Kyrano prompted after a moment and a slam of a car door, “Where are you?”

“Hush.” She hissed at them, pausing on the ladder as she reached another hatch. Pausing she listened to the silence again, only for nothing to interrupt the loud ringing of nothing in her ears.

Reaching out she carefully tested the handle, pursing her lips when it shifted freely under her touch. A ship ready to launch wouldn’t have such easy access to the cockpit, she knew that even Gaat had a thing about protocols and security. So why was everything so easy?

Climbing through the door, everything that had been screaming at her that something was wrong came to the fore. The cockpit was all laid out wrong, it was entirely what it shouldn’t have been.

She suddenly had the horrible feeling she had walked straight into a trap.

A ship designed for vertical take off followed by horizontal flight should have had a cockpit in line with the rest of it’s body. She should have been standing on the back wall of the room, facing what should have been the floor.

Except what she was stood on was the floor, and what she was facing was the control panel. Two seats positioned directly in front of her that from a simple glance over she knew weren’t rated for space flight.

“You’re early.”

The voice was deep and young, not one she had expected. Spinning to face the far corner of the room, her eyes widened at the dark hulk of a man that stepped from the shadows.

She recognised him from the pictures Hugh and supplied when Kyrano had told him about Gaat’s new assailant. All broad muscles and short dark hair.

“You’re the Mechanic.” She stated, standing straighter as he stepped towards her, “Gaat drew you in with a promise of money and power did he?”

The man snorted, his brown eyes watching her closely, “He calls himself the Hood these days.”

Rolling her eyes, Lucy shook her head, “I don’t deal with stage names, his name is Gaat. Now, what did he draw you in with?”

The man’s eyes narrowed, “It is bold of you to assume he offered me anything. Do you not know the Hood well enough?”

“I’ve known Gaat longer than you’ve been alive.” She leveled his glare, “I hardly believe that you would simply build him a new ship like this for nothing.”

He looked around the cockpit, shaking his head as his shoulders fell slightly, “I did not choose to build it for him. It was the Hood that sought me out, and informed me that the first Zero-X was successful in its launch, despite what we first believed.”

She shrugged, “So what? He offered to fund a new one for you? Said he would test it? I wouldn’t believe him you know? The man doesn’t share things that he wants. He will take it all from you and use it for his own twisted gain.”

Brown eyes turned sad and his lips curved down from the firm line they had been set in, “He already has.”

There was sadness in his words, hurt for something that he had apparently lost even if he hadn’t admitted to it. She knew what Gaat was like, how he took whatever he wanted by whatever means possible. Just what lengths had he reached to draw in the young man in front of her though?

“Who are you?” She asked, reaching out to him, “What’s your name? Gaat isn’t the only one in the world that would help you build a new Zero-X. If you came with me, I could help you. Whatever Gaat has taken from you, I’ll try my best to help you get it back.”

“Your husband was onboard my original ship.” He murmured, stepping back when she stepped closer to him, “Do you not simply want my design to find out if he is still alive?”

She felt her own shoulders fall as she nodded in admission, “Yes.”

“And what would you give me that the Hood cannot?”

Shrugging she glanced about the ship, “Your design to use as you wish and funding to create further engineering masterpieces?”

It wasn’t quite a smile that curved his lips, and there was something about his eyes that still looked dead and empty. He seemed more relaxed though, more willing to talk and listen to what she had to say.

Part of Lucy wondered if perhaps he didn’t need persuading, but rather, saving.

“You might appreciate this then,” The Mechanic reached into the pocket of his overalls and held up a chip, “Keep it safe.”

Reaching out as he threw it across the space between them, Lucy looked to it with wide eyes and nodded once.

“Thank you.”

He nodded back at her in response, “I cannot simply leave with you today, the Hood… he would kill me.”

Swallowing hard against the foul taste in her mouth, Lucy nodded again to him quickly, “I’ll come and find you. I’ll make another plan and get you out of here, I swear it Mechanic.”

His smile was ever so slightly lighter as he reached to the door, “Call me Michael.”

Before she could acknowledge him, he was gone, the hatch closed with a firm thud. Once again she was left in nothing but silence.

That was, until a low chuckle broke into her thoughts.

#thunderbirds are go #Thunderbirds 2015 #Lucy AU #Lucille Tracy #Hugh Creighton-Ward #Kyrano #scribbles writes #Lucy Fic

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pacifistofpatience · 5 years

Note

this may be the most self indulgent thing I've ever asked, but what sort of weddings would each of the skeletons want?

((ANON TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR THE MONSTER YOU CREATED!!)

Elop-ish—Papyrus, Red, Rus, Pappy

Quite one/family and friends thing—Sky,Sans, Boss, Jupiter, Mars

Big Party!!—Black

And on top of that:

Mix and match- Jupiter, Sky, Pappy, Mars, Boss

More monster centered- Black, Rus, Sans

More human centered- Red, Papyrus

AND ANOTHER (This is more of an afterthought):

More likely to be running around talking with others (Within Reason! Of course!): Mars, Sky

Stays by your side the entire time: Black, Sans, Pappy, Red

Follows you around: Rus, Jupiter

Drags you with him: Boss, Papyrus

Below the cut is a very long post along with outfits depending on weather you’re a dress or suit wearing Human

Undertale

Is Papyrus gonna be there? Awesome. Oh shoot wait how about Tori? She’d love it. Well if we’re gonna invite them then we gotta invite Undyin and Alphys and… Sans started out thinking it would be a quiet little thing until he remembered that he actually… has a good amount of friends that would be pretty sad (Or hell bent on beating him up) if they didn’t get invited to the wedding. A lot of the planning going to be left up to his S/O with his little additions here and there that… don’t quite make it an actual wedding but somehow make it feel like the best day of their lives. Honestly, during the entire planning session you’d think he didn’t doanything, but then he comes out actually looking nice for once in his life and (if they’re doing them) with his own, tear inducing, vows that it hits his S/O just how much they love him.

Songs you could dance to: Can’t help Falling In love with you – Elvis/ Fast Car - tracy chapman

Impulsive to a fault Papyrus falls hard and fast. It’s not that his emotions are any less genuine because of how quickly he moves, it’s just that sometimes he needs to take a step back and think of what his S/O wants before he jumps on the old marriage wagon. If he had it his way, the two of them would be married five months in and already living that blissful married life. But, given the chance to plan out the wedding, Papyrus would love to experience a human marriage first hand! He’s been to plenty of monster ones! And knows the steps well enough that you two can have your own one at a later date!

Songs you could dance to: Lucky - Jason Mraz / Earth, Wind & Fire - September

Underswap:

Sky has the wedding planned out long before he proposes. He’s probably been dropping little hints here and there, asking what colors his S/O would love to have for a party. Would they prefer an indoor or outdoor one? At some point they’re going to think he’s planning a surprise party for them… or… something? His S/O will be unsure of what it is until he’s finally popping the question! And then it’s a whirlwind of planning and sending out invitations as both of them rush to get married (Which is part of the reason why he had it planned out so far in advanced!) Thankfully! Sky is very much flexible and willing to work with his S/O to make this the perfect wedding! And, while you guys are at it, how about you pick and choose some of the fun monster and humans’ bits!

Songs you could dance to: I’m Yours – Jason Mraz/ Ed Sheeran - Photograph

Pappys a sweetheart, and he loves his S/O dearly…but…maybe they could do something with less people? Maybe even something with no people. Pappy is not good with the whole ‘get married in front of a crowd of people judging him’ and, stars, if he’s going to pour his (nonexistent) heart and (very much anxious) soul out to his S/O he’s going to need the peace. More than anything he’d rather jump into the heat of the moment and marry you in some far off place somewhere with a nice view (both outside and right next to him) and just… somewhere he can just outright tell his S/O how much they really mean to him. Of course, he knows that it’s a lot to ask of someone, so he’s willing to work around his insecurities in order to make it the perfect day for the both of them. Or, if yhis S/O is willing, he’d be happy to do the whole party marriage thing and than on their honeymoon have a small, Two person affair.

Songs you could dance to: Iris – Goo Goo Dolls/ Marry Me- Train/ Poet – Bastille

Underfell:

The moment Red decides that his S/O is the one is the moment he knows he’s jumping all in. And that means he needs to act now, before he chickens out (like he did the last three, four, five times) He didn’t mean for it to happen like it does, but you two are probably on vacation or something and he spots a ceremony happening and just, suggests it offhand (in that totally not joking tone) and the second his S/O seems down with it is the second he’s yanking them along and thinking that as long as he can get the ring on quick enough there’s no way they can call takeies backies. (one thing he would be adamant about though is having a Elvis impersonator there, he doesn’t care what for he just needs)

Songs you could dance to: Honeybee – Steam Powered Giraffe/ Safe and Sound - civil wars/ Take Me To church – Hozier/

Boss Is actually… Pretty quiet about the whole affair. After he asks he spends almost all his time quietly planning everything out as soon as he possibly can, its not nerves that have him, but theres a buzzing, giddy, energy thrumming in him that if he doesn’t use for something he’ll probably end up bursting! That goes all the way up until the big day, where he’s there and his just sees his S/O and crashes, Error 404 Boss not working. Its like the wave of what he now knows was anxiety just dispersed the moment he saw them there, real and solid and undoubtedly his (Because sometimes he was worried that at any moment they could change their mind, any second they could see him as he sees himself and just… just leave… and stars he cant deal with that) But then his S/O is there, and getting married and spending the rest of their life with him because his S/O loves him and… And he’s so in love! During the end of the night there’s going to be that one big kiss where he ends up sweeping his S/O off their feet and just… never puts them down. Then for the rest of the party he’s just there holding them in his arms shoving them in everyone’s face because “LOOK! LOOK! THIS IS MY BEAUTIFUL AND STUNNING WIFE/HUSBANDS/PARTNER AND THEYRE MINE!”

Songs you could dance to: I’ll Be - Edwin McCain/ Shallows – lady Gaga & Bradley Cooper

Swapfell:

For Black, it’s less of a party and more of a “invite everyone I can so that they know this amazing and stunning person officially MINE’ thing. He’s going to invite every monster, he’s going to get your family there, and, if you don’t stop him, hell invite all your Exs too just to rub it in their noses that he’s the one you choose to spend the rest of your life with! Which may also make it more of a monster-oriented wedding, where you both have a collar to give to the other instead of the traditional wedding rings. A good amount of the wedding is him putting of a calm of easy front when hes pratcally just brimming with energy underneath, because their his, because he loves them so gosh darn much, because their wearing his collar and the restrain he’s using not to jump them right there is killing him.

Songs you could dance to: Hallelujah – Jeff Buckley/ I See the Light – Rapunzel ,

Rus doesn’t mean for the marriage to be sudden. Heck he probably would love to have something big and smoopy where he can proclaim to everyone just how much he loves his S/O, but the impulsiveness kicks in and… well Black had always been most of his self-restraint. His S/Os going to have to rein him in so that they can have a proper wedding like he wants! And Rus likes a little familiarity, so he’d prefer a monster wedding to a human one, especially because he desperately wants to see his S/O in the collar he picked out for them! (And stars he’s getting weak thinking about the collar they have for him as well!)

Songs you could dance to: Perfect – Ed Sheeren/ Die A Happy Man - Thomas Rhett

Horrortale:

Jupiter, ever the sweetheart, would probably have something for just the two of you if he could (Or, like, a lazy movie night that ended with you guys saying your vows and that’s it) but after a little while on the surface he started to come out of his shell again… and gained a few friends (Both old and New) that would be really sad if he just came back on day announcing he’s was married to one of the greatest S/O’s in the world without them knowing! So! With the help of the greatest little bro in the world! You guys set up a nice little backyard wedding (Or anywhere in an opened field) where you guys can celebrate however you want to!

Songs you could dance to: Thinking Out Loud – Ed Sheeren/ Blackbird – The Beatles

With Mars you never have to worry about planning! He’s going to be the one making calls and setting up dates and sending out invitations all on his own! And sure maybe he’ll burn himself out a little but he’s riding high enough that he cant tell! Just to make sure he doesn’t wear himself out his S/O will have to sneak their way into his very tight planning regime to make sure, and the best way to do that is to just… give their opinion. The second Mars hears his S/O’s input he’s already making room for them to help! And, while Mars is very much a practical monster, wouldn’t it be nice to have a… sort of fairy tale wedding? It doesn’t have to be all out there but… he would love to have something sort of… Mystical about it! Because, by the stars, does he feel like a miracle happened when his S/O agreed to marry him!

Songs you could dance to: Bubbly - Colbie Caillat/ You Are in love -Taylor Swift / Laughter Lines – Bastille

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stusbunker · 5 years

Text

Known Finale: Just One of The Many

A Supernatural DARK Fan-fiction

Featuring: Demon!reader x Moc!Dean, Dean x Chloe “CC” Collins: Hunter/ Nephilim Anomaly OFC, Charlie Bradbury, Castiel, Sam Winchester, Death, and Amara

Summary: CC deals with the consequences of her actions. Dean gets a voicemail and our reader finds that Winchesters rarely heed any advice. Some dialogue is taken from canon. This is it folks, the final chapter. Thank you so much for reading until now. xoxo Stu

Beta’d: @thoughtslikeaminefield and @dontshootmespence Ladies, I owe you more than I can express.

Warnings: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATHS

Series Masterlist

*^*^*^*^

Dark Dynasty

May 6, 2015

Sam’s Code Breaking Hideout

“Sam and Dean are like my brothers. I love them.” Charlie stood before Rowena, soft and sure.

“I know. And that steadfast loyalty will be your undoing, my girl,” Rowena’s brief kindness faded into a marked taunt. Charlie squinted at the witch’s retreating form before looking to CC for shared annoyance, instead she found a gentle agreement on the hunter’s face.

CC wasn’t one for cat fights and she certainly wasn’t going to add fuel to the fire Sam had started by shoving the hacker and the Queen Mother of Hell together, but Rowena had a point. Charlie was just more forgiving than most and CC had been in the life too long for that kind of optimism.

May 7, 2015

Crowley’s Earthside Operation

“--look, I get it. She’s unpleasant. She’s horrible. She has a messy workstation! What’s the dirt?! There must be something that I don’t know about her. Something I can hold over her as a bargaining chip. A demon lover?” Crowley was incensed with a hamster in a cage, which would have been concerning, if you didn’t understand the hamster as well as your boss. “You don’t need to paint a picture.”

You bit back a smile as the hamster spewed off Rowena’s questionable decisions like a grocery list.. Naturally, his birth came up along the litany. As his patience started to slip to microscopic proportions, you cleared your throat. “She once saved a little boy’s life.”

“You, not funny,” Crowley bellowed over his shoulder before he leaned down to glare at the hamster.

“Oh, come on, it is a little funny, but that’s only ‘cuz it’s true,” you purred, leaning your elbow on the opposite side of the cage’s lid, eyebrows raised in challenge. Crowley’s dark eyes danced over yours as the hamster that was once Olivette grew unnaturally quiet.

“What’s the punchline?” he demanded.

You sighed and mock whispered, “he’s still alive.”

“And?”

“I’ve met him. Tall, cherub curls and innocent as a Rockwell painting.” The hamster slowly crawled to your side of the forgotten wheel. Crowley listened as you explained the story you had pieced together, a tale of a friendly witch who’d been adopted by an impoverished farming family, lifetimes ago. Before you could give him more than the bare outline of Rowena’s startling past, he was bellowing for a minion and the taste of freedom started to ghost over your tongue.

Blackbird Motel

CC picked up the phone on the third ring; it was Cas in a panic. “Chloe, what are you doing?”

“Girls’ night out, grabbing some pay per view and thinking about throwing a motel party,” CC mocked as she checked that the door and the windows were secure.

“You know that the Stynes will stop at nothing to find the book.” CC rolled her eyes at the patronizing tone from the angel.

“Well, it’s a good thing we don’t have the book. Look, she needed a Rowena free space and I can’t blame her. Let the woman work so we can get this over with, once and for all,” CC closed her eyes as Charlie set up her computer, backpack full of notes left on the table untouched.

“It isn’t just Charlie I’m worried about,” Cas’s voice dropped in warning.

“We’ll be fine,” CC replied tersely. “I’ll call you when we know more,” she added to appease Charlie’s worried glances before hanging up. “Alright, I don’t think I bought us much time; work your magic.”

The rain muddied everything, CC’s alertness as well as any sound or scent outside. She hadn’t sat since they arrived, knowing that even a lumpy mattress would push her exhaustion away in the blink of an eye. Startlingly quick, Charlie found the cypher. Just as CC decided she would always bet on red, a gut dropping pound sounded at the door. She waved Charlie into the bathroom as she released her knife from her hip.

“I know you’re there, Miss Asimov,” a taunting drawl notched CC’s adrenaline to eleven. “You have it, I want it!”

CC’s mind raced, no time for witty replies now. She had been out of practice and somehow the Book of the Damned had juiced up this family into something she didn’t know how to kill. He banged again, voice genteel and grating. She inhaled and finally spoke, “it’s not here, Jethro. You can back off.”

“Well, that wasn’t too hard now was it?” And he kicked in the door. He was striking, refined and enraged, and missing half an arm. CC recoiled briefly before squaring up, knife at the ready, focus locked onto her target. “You’re not who I was expecting, darlin’. But either you’re gonna tell me where that book is, or I’m gonna take it out of your little redheaded friend.”

CC heard Charlie’s voice through the rain and the thin walls, but she doubted whichever Styne stood in front of her could. Help was on the way, all CC had to do was hold the guy off for twenty minutes and the cavalry could clean up. Except fights never lasted that long and the glare he was shooting, told her he thought he’d already won.

“You should leave, trust me.” CC walked toward him, he wasn’t overly large, a hair smaller than Dean. It was the unnatural way he moved, despite massive blood loss that had her questioning her every step.

“Not until I get what’s mine,” he bit the last word out with curling lips. He leaped at her, right hand swatting hers as he stepped into her space. Bloody stump of a forearm pushing into her throat. CC dropped lower, getting a nick to his side, slicing through waistcoat, shirt and flesh in practiced motions. He didn’t flinch; the only indication he felt the wound was how his nose flared as he looked into her eyes, disdain dripping from his every pore.

His hand locked around her wrist, squeezing, the tendons screaming until she felt her bones snap. She kneed his groin, using her center of gravity to push him back. Her knife useless in her misconnected hand, CC dropped it, leaving them to spar on more even terms. The broken in door swung on its hinges in the storm outside and just as CC spotted the shadow watching them a heart-stopping thwack and shattering of plastic sounded from the bathroom. In the second it took CC to realize they knew Charlie was still there, she froze. The blonde kicked her blade to his silent partner and before CC could get out more than a slight force of will against them, they had her caged in.

His mangled arm wrapped around her neck, unable to grant the pressure he wanted, so he tipped her face at the ceiling, broken wrist pulled across her chest like a frayed seatbelt. The other Styne, the one in the long woolen coat kept quiet, inspecting the intricate carvings on each side of her treasured weapon. The one restraining her let out a low whistle.

“Oh, that is nice, a bit too classy for the likes of you, though. Now, you gonna sit politely and let us finish our business here, or are you gonna make my cousin put you down with your own blade, girl?”

CC was, had, and would never be the type to sit politely. She jammed her left elbow into her cage’s ribs. A guttural shriek came from her chest as she tried to bend low enough to get him off his feet in an augmented arm toss. But that only occupied one of her opponents; with little more than a raised eyebrow the cousin jabbed in and down, pulling her collar open like a macabre off the shoulder number. Everything burned, CC fell to her knees, the blonde man walked her down. The gold started to spark in her periphery, and she willed her body to stop. She couldn’t heal, not in front of these kind of men, if any part of them even remained human. Suddenly a hand was on her jaw and her neck popped. She fell, broken and trapped inside her own mind.

CC watched their tailored suit pants and polished shoes retreat to the bathroom. The sound of blood thrummed in her ears masking the rain and the demands, but not Charlie’s cries. Those she heard as tears of guilt burned through until she willed her eyes closed with the last wisp of energy she could muster. She didn’t want to black out, she needed to stay in control, but her body stopped listening.

She sat up in a lurch of panic, neck reattached despite herself. Just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse, there he was, covered in Charlie’s blood.

“Chloe! Thank fuck, what happened?!” Sam crouched over her, eyes misting with grief and shame. She couldn’t answer him, her throat remained partially crushed, and it took nearly all her focus not to repair the damage-- to give herself the pain, a shallow penance for Charlie’s life. Her eyes returned across the room, to Dean holding Charlie’s face in his hands like a parent in comfort, stroking the hair from her face. CC’s sob came out in a shrill wail, gasps as the reality and terror flooded her senses.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Sam’s voice held more than the moment, it was a blanket covering their entire operation. The deceit that was supposed to help, yet it only pushed Dean further away from them all.

The Woods

Dean felt CC’s brows raise as his words cut into Sam at the pyre, but he didn’t care. This was on her almost as much as it was on Sam. He was so sick of people he trusted letting him down. But this, this was wrong. It was Charlie and she was gone. Screw ‘em. Screw all of them because he couldn’t look them in the eye anymore; their betrayal was beyond gut souring.

“Yeah, you had a shot. Well, you’re all terrible shots, ‘cause Charlie’s dead. Nice shot.”

Sam looked up, trying to find his words, to combat the monotoned cruelty of Dean’s voice. “You think I am ever--- going to forgive myself for that?!”

“You want to know what I think? I think it should be you up there, not her.” Dean barely even moved to deliver the last blow. CC cleared her throat, unable to listen any longer.

“Don’t get me started on you! This thing with Cas and the book ends now. Shut it down before someone else gets hurt. You both understand me?”

“What about you?” Sam was the beaten puppy that could.

“Oh, I’m gonna find whoever did this. And I am going to rip apart everything and everyone that they ever loved, and then I am gonna tear out their heart.” He wasn’t even enthused about it, it came off like weekend plans, point by point.

“Is that you talking, or the Mark?” Sam needed to stop asking questions.

“Does it matter?” Dean left the challenge hanging in the air, walking away. Leaving those responsible to watch Charlie burn.

The Prisoner

Dean waited on Rudy to run the plates while he pointedly ignored a call from Cease. Setting his sights on Shreveport, he went back to listen to the voicemail she left him. Which started off with oddly timid ramblings before she got to her point.

“Maybe in another life, we could have had something close enough to normal. But not after everything.” Dean could hear her sniffling; her voice came back with a bite to it.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am about Charlie, about everything. I should have protected her, but I couldn’t even do that for you. And I fucking hate that, but it’s on me. No matter what you say or do Dean, it is on me. Not Sam.

But apologies are for regret, and I don’t regret trying to help you. If goodbyes are forever, well I aint ready for that sappy shit.”

Dean closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the headrest, it didn’t even hurt anymore. Nothing could touch him; it was the ghost of loss that haunted him. The guilt of unfeeling. Somehow it all came back to rage. He huffed, tongue teasing his back teeth.

“So, I guess, take care of yourself because that’s what I gotta do now.” The line stayed open for a fathomless beat and then the electronic female voice was reading him his saving options. Dean slammed the end call button, leaving Chloe’s voice hanging in the ether between a saved and deleted message.

Curtis’ Motor Court

Brother’s Keeper

You sifted through the mess of Dean’s making, curious to see if he’d return. He’d certainly given the $39 a night room the rock star treatment. Without any current errands for Crowley, you decided to try your luck. Dean had gone radio silent and that only meant one of two things: he had succumbed to the curse on his arm, or he was done with you. Either way, you had to be sure. Sam found you in the end. He came in, gun raised and desperation bursting out with his big heaving chest.

“Hey there, Sammy,” you greeted glibly, perched beside the note and keyring. “He knew you’d show.”

“Who are you?!” Sam barked behind his intricate gun.

“Just looking for your brother, I’ve been hearing things and it sounds bad,” you sighed, letting your eyes fill in.

“What do you want with Dean?” Sam kept his gun in one hand and reached for his flask.

You raised your hands in surrender. “Same thing as you, want to make sure he’s still Dean. That he’s safe. That everyone is safe.”

“You’re?” Realization washed over him, causing you to hum against a giggle. The latest vessel’s voice bubbly despite your best efforts.

“Long time.” You stood holding out your hand, which you awkwardly tucked into the back pocket of her jeggings. “Heard you struck out on Crowley, too bad on that.”

“Yeah, well, he deserves it.” Sam stuck his tongue in the side of his cheek. “Have you seen him? Any idea where he’s going?”

“Not where, but what,” you sighed and looked up at Sam with warning. “He’s done, Sam. He told me so and after Charlie, I can only imagine—”

“Wait, what are you talking about? When did you see him? You know what, forget it. I’ll find him on my own,” Sam turned to go.

“If Crowley can’t crossroad deal something away and Cas can’t heal it off, who would Dean go to?”

“He hates praying,” Sam shook his head. He flinched, but instinctively caught the keys to the Impala you tossed to him.

“Somebody he knows, Sam. That’s he’s seen, face to face.”

He left without a goodbye or any gratitude, but you allowed Sam his head start.

Juanita’s

Outskirts of Tulsa, Oklahoma

You pulled up to the run-down restaurant just as Sam stormed inside, your demon senses telling you to stick to the perimeter. Death had already answered Dean’s call and the combination of voices left you enough to eavesdrop with. The hallway that lead into the main dining space was caked in dust. Dean’s voice bellowed, and it was as if you felt the hit his words landed on Sam. This wasn’t your place, this was a sacred conversation, of families and honor and things creatures like yourself couldn’t quite grasp anymore. It was also maddening.

When the punches started flying you stalked in, earning nothing more than a single finger shush from Death himself. Dean had the upper hand, but that didn’t make you feel any better about his state. Sam yielded, bloodied on his knees. Dean was dark and determined, flashes of a younger soul clouding your thoughts.

“You’ll never, ever hear me say, that you, the real you, is anything but good,” Sam pleaded from the floor. He spat and pulled himself taller. “But you’re right, before you hurt anyone else, you have to be stopped, at any cost.”

Your vessel’s blood ran cold. Sam’s tears somehow made their way to your eyes and he nodded to the eternal executioner. “Do it.”

Dean looked back to Death and he handed Dean his scythe. “Please, do me the honor.”

Dean took the weapon in awe, gauging the curve of the blade and the balance in the handle. He appeared transfixed and obedient. You tried to scream, but nothing came out. This wasn’t Dean’s destiny, no matter what Cain nor Angels decreed. He couldn’t kill Sam. Dean would not. He inhaled and faced Sam’s shaking form, towering over his brother who had been bigger than him for nearly twenty years. Everyone froze as Dean told him to close his eyes, something he probably said a thousand times before.

Sam prevailed, he pulled scraps from his jacket and set them at Dean’s feet. Begging him to find his way back, to himself and to family. Death knew better than to let a sibling’s pleas go on too long.

“It is for family you must proceed, Dean. To be what you are, to become what you’ve become is a stain on their memory. Do it or I will,” he wasn’t demanding, he was calm in a finite kind of way. His words crawled in your ears and taunted your every memory of Dean; it was as if Death could reimagine him into someone else just by sheer force of will. Truth and your unshaken faith in the man Dean was, at his core, beat back Death’s sway.

Dean paused, genuine anguish in his features as he let Sam make the final call. Even though Sam nodded for him to proceed, Dean asked one last thing from Sam, “forgive me.”

He lifted the weapon and swung a wide arch, clear into Death himself. The puny man disintegrated before your eyes and suddenly you were in control of your vessel once more. You staggered into the room, legs wobbling from strain at fighting Death’s hold.

You missed a moment the brother’s shared before blurting out, “What the fuck was that, Dean?!”

“I think I just killed Death,” Dean sounded on the edge of fear. “Who even are you, lady?”

A dumbstruck Sam chuckled, “Dean, this is, uh, Chloe’s demon? I guess.”

“Y/N? Nice digs.” You smiled gently as Dean’s lip quirked.

“Wait, you know her actual name?” Sam sputtered as thunder rolled in, made from a wall of voices, out of nowhere.

“Does that sound right to you?” Dean worried just as the flash of lightning burst through the ceiling. You screeched as Dean groaned with the impact, the magic peeling the Mark of Cain from his skin like an instant laser treatment. Just as quickly as it arrived, it returned through the roof. You gaped at the haphazard miracle you had all witnessed.

You followed Dean cautiously, his hand reaching back to take yours, pulling the door shut behind you. Sam started talking through the disbelief. “This is good. Dean, this is good. The Mark is off your arm, nothing crazy happened, you get your baby back.”

Dean dropped your hand to take the keys from Sam. “Yeah, I’m sure everything’s perfectly fine.” Nothing came without a price. Dean headed to the car as sizzling jolts of pink lightning webbed across the sky. Pillars of bolts staggered like tendrils in patternless cascades. Then it stopped.

“What did Death call this?” Sam knew his victory speech had been a tad premature.

“The Darkness,” you and Dean said in unison.

Erupting from the points of impact came giant streaks of black smoke, denser and grittier than any demon. They shot through the sky like dancers hitting a mark, synchronized destruction. They merged in a nearby field and exploded into a boiling mound of matter, growing like an ancient horror show entity. Constantly expanding as you stood beside the pathless hunters.

“Get in the car! Let’s go, let’s go.” You didn’t even hesitate, Dean pointed, and you listened, sliding into the backseat as if you had never left CC, never been cast out, never been a demon. The sheer terror of the moment dwarfed the realization and you slammed your foot down to help Dean accelerate, a phantom driver. The Impala’s back tires spun through the mud and you gripped the middle of the front seat, desperate to make the escape. The rear wheel fell into a pothole and Dean threw his door wide, panicked.

“Dean!” Sam looked to the looming shadow as it grew closer, an unstoppable avalanche toppling everything it passed. In two breaths, it had overtaken the Impala. One moment you felt eyes on you and the next Dean had disappeared. Doors and windows all secure, but he was gone. The rolling black cloud jostled the car frame, knocking Sam out before you could ask him if he saw his brother. With every ounce of strength, you had you pushed the backdoor open, the endless tide of fog pushing you back, a tadpole against the current.

Losing your vessel was your only hope to find Dean in the Darkness, you left her outside the Impala and swam up. This wasn’t the soaring you found most freeing, this was a frenzy of sound and force thrashing against the streams of your being. You reached out with your senses, feeling for Dean, his heartbeat, his scent, his voice. Needling through the chaos desperate to find him. Then you heard his name on the wind and someone else’s tongue.

She stood with Dean in a clearing that was still drenched in shadow. She was dark lines and angles, elegant black dress hugging her effortlessly. He called out and you dropped down, trying to hold your molecules together in some discernible form. If he saw you, he didn’t reach out to touch you then. He was transfixed by her, by the Darkness personified. He stood challenging her, demanding why she hasn’t atomized him. Then she played him with the destiny card, endlessly bound by the mark on her clavicle. THE MARK, lock and key.

There was no thought, just white hot, blinding rage. You snaked between them, spreading out to hold her from him. He had come too far to be made into her mindless drone. You had to stop her, you had to save him. As she leaned forward, closing the distance between her and Dean, you screamed without vocal cords. Vibrating with ownership you tried to push her back. You felt her eye your gaseous state and suddenly everything ceased to be.

There was no longer Darkness, nor Dean, nor you. It was just, Empty.

Cedar Rapids, Iowa

Dean pulled away from the pristine farmhouse, leaving Jenna and Amara in the safety of family. He had another long drive ahead of him to catch up with Sam. Now that Baby was passenger free; his mind got too loud. He thought that Y/N had been plucked out of the car with him; he couldn’t see her, but he had felt her until he didn’t. There was a gnawing in his stomach on the whim of her bailing on him and her vessel. Something the Darkness said without saying filled the void of doubt with an unwanted certainty.

“No matter where I am, who I am, or who is in the way. We will always help each other,” she promised him. Dean felt it was more warning than devotion, though he couldn’t help but agree. He may have lost the Mark, but he was far from free of it.

*^*^*^*

Epilogue

#known series #dean winchester fanfic #moc!dean x reader #moc!dean #dean x demon!reader #demon!reader #dean x cc #dean x female vessel oc #dark finc #dean angst #spn fanfic #spn dark fanfic

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nowitsdarkfic · 4 years

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chapter twenty-seven (bud e luv bomb and satan’s lounge band)

October 23, 1988. New Orleans, Louisiana.

I haven't been able to find my shoes anywhere in Lars' place. Either I lost them in the restaurant or something else happened to them. Nevertheless, I don't really want to walk about the wet ground of the French Quarter barefoot. I found my ring in my jeans pocket, but I cannot for the life of me remember where I left my shoes. But nowhere in Lars' apartment can I find any shoes or boots or anything that seems to fit me. And the fact he hasn't woken up yet, at eight thirty, tells me I should probably bypass him and search for some shoes myself.

Meanwhile, I still haven't heard a peep from Ellen's apartment. I'm pretty sure I am the last person she saw given I'm met with silence each time I walk over there to knock on her door. I finally gave up about a half an hour ago when I decided it's better if I just take care of myself and fetch something to eat downstairs. I fix my shirt and head on downstairs with the coat over my body to see if it actually does fit me. Musty and scratchy, but does fit me well especially at my hips. I put on the gloves, which fit as though they were made for my hands. I lift my hair out from underneath the collar before wheeling around and heading out of the apartment. Lars is still sound asleep by the time I leave the apartment and head out to the hallway. The floor boards creak under my bare feet as I amble down to Ellen's door again.

Gently, I knock on the panel.

“Ellen? Are you there?”

I'm still met with silence.

“Ellen, it's Joey.” I feel odd saying this already. “I know you're probably gone now, like you went in your sleep but—” I don't know if it's the thirst of having drank a lot the night before or if it's the fact I was the last person for her to see me, but my throat is already closing up.

“—I want to tell you thank you. You know for... sharing your final moments with me and your last bit of wisdom. I'll admit I was a little unsure at first but—I don't know what I'm saying. You were a ghastly sick old lady taking her final steps and I want to thank you for letting me take them with you. But—I have to go now. I hope you and I can meet again one day.”

I sigh through my nose and feel the weight of the silence upon me. I close my eyes as I keep my hand on the door panel. I slide my hand down to the doorknob to feel it turn a bit. The door swings open and I'm met with a rush of cool air that smells clean once again. She's in there, I can sense it. It's like how I can sense Mrs. Snow or Vera in the same room with me. There's the corpse of an old lady in there but I don't really want to see it.

I close the door again out of respect for her. At least I can do one thing right for once in this past week.

I run my fingers through my hair before heading down the stairs to the bar and the restaurant, which is bustling with patrons and waitresses docked in black button up blouses and black and red skirts. I take a seat at the sole empty table near the stage, where the band of the day is setting up their amps and their equipment. A waitress strolls on over to me and asks me if I can have anything to drink.

“Cup of coffee please—no cream—and a blueberry muffin.”

She nods at me before stepping away. I can only hope I've got enough in my pockets to cover for it; I fold my arms over the top of the table and lean over so as to hide my face. I glance over my shoulder at the stage behind me and the girl in a lush crimson long dress that looks as though it's made entirely of velvet is setting up the microphone rack right down by her feet. I watch her stand up before the microphone itself and blow into it.

I adjust myself in the seat of the chair so my elbow rests on the top of the back and I'm facing her straight on.

She opens her lips and starts to sing “Blackbird” by the Beatles.

I learned to sing by covering the Beatles.

I can't help it: I do it along with her, but without my own microphone.

She lifts her gaze to me and our eyes lock together for a moment but it's long enough to coax a smile from her. I flash her wink and she wraps her fingers around the stand, to which I see a wedding ring on her third finger.

FUCK.

I sigh through my nose and that's when the waitress returns to me. I shift back around in my chair at the sight of a white mug of fresh black coffee and a big fresh blueberry muffin that I swear is larger than my fist. I take a sip of the coffee and it caresses my poor parched mouth with its warmth. I pick at my muffin, and I usually like my blueberry ones, especially the ones straight out of the oven. I think it just might be the hangover talking, though, so I keep drinking the coffee to the very bottom of the mug.

Little better. My headache is going away, but my appetite is still a ways off, though.

I pick at the muffin even more and once I reach the stump, I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn my head to find the girl who was up on stage standing next to me but with a jacket over her dress.

“'Scuse me—er, I hate to do this to you,” she speaks with a little lighter of an accent compared to Ellen's, “but I saw you singin' earlier, and I was just wonderin' if it wouldn't be too much trouble for me to ask you if could you fill in for me, please? I have an emergency at home that I need to tend to, but I don't want my band to be without a singer again.”

“Um—sure.” The butterflies rise up inside of my stomach because this is a total unknown to me.

“We're just a cover band and we're only gonna do a couple of songs before we head on home, anyways. We're just the openin' band for the main act in a little while.”

“Yeah, I'd be honored to—it's no bother. Just lemme finish my muffin—”

She returns to the band, all of whom are already taking their places up on the stage. I wasn't hungry before but I wolf down the remainder of the muffin stump before striding over to them. I wish I hadn't already drank down the coffee because the whole thing coats my mouth for a moment. I recall what Ellen had told me the night before given this is the Big Easy and that someone will have work for you. I adjust the lapels of my coat and climb up the trio of steps leading up onto the stage.

There's a black girl with dreadlocks behind the small drum kit, a sandy haired boy holding an oversized blue bass guitar with five strings, and two boys with pompadours atop their heads holding twin red guitars. They're all wearing white shirts and black and white leggings held up with black suspenders.

Like a lounge version of Anthrax.

“Hey, guys, I'm Joey,” I introduce to them. “Your singer just told me she had to run on home real quick and so I took up to the challenge.”

“No challenge here, man,” the bass player assures me, “we're just gonna play two songs and then we're heading out.”

“The first song we're doing is 'Hush' by Deep Purple,” the drummer calls out to me. “Do you know that one?”

“Hell yeah! Like, by heart!”

“I like this guy already,” the guitarist on the right chuckles, taking out a comb from his trouser pocket for a quick swipe over his head, “let's get on it.”

I pull the thread bare coat over me before ambling over the stage to the microphone stand. I curl my fingers back to better break into the black leather gloves. All eyes are on me and the fact I'm the one person up here dressed in black with disheveled hair, bare feet, and dark Indian skin. I gaze on at the crowd before us. I hope Lars will hear me belt it out as the four of them launch into their heavy, rough sound right behind me. It's like being with Anthrax again as I grip onto the microphone stand with my left hand.

I think about Maya, who's back in Seattle; about Ellen, who's upstairs; Brick, who's in the hospital; the fact I got drunk last night and lied to my parents; and most of all, I think about my past with Anthrax. It's all coming down on me like a pouring, torrential rain from the incoming hurricane outside.

But all I can do is sing out, and sing loud.

Since I woke up hungover, and I had just eaten a muffin, I haven't been able to warm up but I go forth with it anyways. My voice comes out broken and garbled, but loud and still plenty powerful from my last performance on State of Euphoria, even against the full sounding bass and the loud guitars. Their instruments are rough and filthy in sound, as though they hadn't spent a lot of money on buying them, but they're good musicians, though. They're a good heavy weight against my voice.

I'm loud, even with the breaks in my voice and my stomach tightening up. Ellen's firmly on my mind as I'm nearing the end of the first verse.

I feel a piece of my hair falling into my face, but I don't care. If anything, it just adds to it.

Ellen died alone and I'm the one soul grieving her at the moment.

My voice breaks even more when I hit the chorus and I throw myself into it even more. The four of them join in with me on their microphones.

I think back to when Anthrax and I did a song at the end of our album from last year, Among the Living, called “Bud E Luv Bomb and Satan's Lounge Band”, where I was Bud E Luv Bomb, the smarmy lounge singer blitzed off his ass on booze and cocaine and God knows what else. We did it as kind of a joke, but I had become that very entity.

I am Bud E Luv Bomb, and this is Satan's Lounge Band right behind me.

I run my fingers through my hair so everyone can better see my face. This is where I open my eyes to catch a view of the audience. Everyone is gazing on at me in awe.

I wonder how many of the people in here are aware that I was once the lead singer for a thrash metal band and am now caught up in a hurricane of strange events.

Probably not many, because the couple right in front of me lean together to say something. After the guitar solo, I hear the man on the right say, “he's got a lot of soul” and the woman next to him follow with “yeah, he's an amazing singer. Lot of melancholy.”

Melancholy, yes, especially at the moment. Amazing? Meh. I'm not sure about that.

#after the watershed #now it's dark #chapter 27 #new chapter #fanfic #fanfiction #heavy metal fanfiction #thrash metal #anthrax fanfics #joey belladonna #anthrax #noir au #southern gothic #dark sci-fi #amwriting #text

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shipwreckseemssweet · 6 years

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10 Figure Skating programs I love

With the FS off-season--and all related drama revelations--in full bloom, what better time to look back on beloved programs new and old.

Here are ten outstanding pieces (singles disciplines only) from the last couple of seasons that I managed to find online. I feel a bit guilty about not having put in Marin’s Romeo & Juliet. :(

10. Wakaba Higuchi - Skyfall (FS)

youtube

The best FS performance of the 2018 Worlds! I must admit I wasn’t a big Wakaba fan until this season. In my prejudiced view, I considered her too rough around the edges. Then she rolled out this season’s programs and I was sold. What’s more, she owned her FS - a mix of Bond music including Adele’s Skyfall - more than any other of her competitors. From her sleek dress to her cool final spin, Wakaba makes a case for a Bond girl movie starring her. And if her electrifying performance is any indication, it’ll be one to remember. The choreography unleashes all her power while funneling it in purposeful and creative ways, never letting the tension disperse. The crazy fast 3Lz3T may be her main weapon, but it’s the step sequence that steals the show.

9. Patrick Chan - Dear Prudence/Blackbird (SP)

I couldn’t skip over Patrick, our newly retired King of Skating Skills. Dear Prudence/Blackbird by The Beatles signaled his last great season and a return to form. A very good return, despite his jump ailments. If anyone can measure up to 60s pop rock, it’s Patrick with his effortless, flowing, confident skating. His classic elegance and somewhat old-fashion charm seem to recall a bygone idyllic spring. These are songs about inner awakening and struggles; about finding a place you belong. They seem to reflect Parick’s journey to reinvent himself. At the same time, Dear Prudence is about the beauty of nature: "The sun is up, the sky is blue, it's beautiful,” and it’s the pure feeling of connection to the music that stays with you.

8. Javier Fernandez - Malagueña (SP)

Another great skater on his way out. Coming into Helsinki as the defending World champion, Javier managed to skate this short program cleanly in its two-quad glory. For me this is his finest, most sophisticated SP to date. (I welcome the absence of comical elements.) Certain programs can only be performed to their fullest potential when given another season to grow, and Malagueña is a perfect example. It’s all about getting into character, making every movement count. Obviously, having Javier perform the flamenco - choreographed by a Spanish ballet director - and go the extra mile on every element really adds to the authenticity of the program. His effortless skating is just a rung below Patrick and Yuzuru. This is what an energetic and mesmerizing skate looks like!

7. Mao Asada - Ritual Fire Dance (SP/FS)

youtube

If Mao can’t make you love figure skating nobody can. All my favorite skaters use their bodies as silent musical instruments and Mao is the leader of the pack. Her musicality, arm movements, footwork, versatility, attention to choreography and emotional projection are absolutely unmatched. In what turned out to be her swan song, all her best qualities shine through. Portraying a mysterious black bird, Mao transformed the piano version of Manuel de Falla’s ballet with her charismatic, soft interpretation. Every step and turn, every detail of the performance appears uninhibited yet polished. She has reached a level of fluidity and complexity where jump errors no longer detract from the overall quality. Also, I love the ponytail.

6. Boyang Jin - Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (SP)

Boyang is one of my recent favs despite there being room for growth in his skating and other components. Beyond the excitement of watching a young skater evolve, I think he has great potential in every area and will just get better with time. His jumps are already prodigious, his performances iconic. Underlying this program is the idea to present a more complete (and serious) version of B for the Olympic season as well as blend in Chinese elements. Unfortunately I don’t think he got the recognition he deserved. Infused with the right mix of composure and energy, this is an atmospheric character-based program that wonderfully shows his refinements in interpretation and control of edges. That step sequence is *fire*.

5. Carolina Kostner - Ne Me Quitte Pas (SP)

A very sophisticated and adaptable lady. At 31 and having lived through many system changes, Caro brings new meaning to the word “veteran” in singles skating. She first hopped under the spotlight with her stunning jumps, but stayed on the stage until today thanks to her masterful skating prowess and evolving artistic “voice”. Her effortless glide and changes of speed/direction are done on the deepest of edges; her arms move like a painter’s brush. Every movement of hers is flowing, full of love for what she does. And rather than a competitive spirit, it’s the emotions and experience she brings to her performances that keep her in the sport. As Lori Nichol said, this short program allowed Caro to be the athletic and sensual woman that she is.

4. Yuzuru Hanyu - Ballade No.1 in G minor 3.0 :) (SP)

youtube

Yuzuru knows how to start off the Olympic season with a bang: breaking his own WR in his first performance at the Autumn Classic. A horifically difficult piano composition, Chopin’s Ballade No.1, with its dramatic chords, abstract motifs, dynamic rhythm and interwoven themes running from subtle to stormy, seems to fit our agile FS King like an elegant glove. Over the years, Yuzuru gave us not less than three different and perhaps equally iconic interpretations of Chopin’s favorite music. This particular one is all about the aura and intricate details. Every element is blended with the music. The final jump combo comes out of nowhere. This emotional peak then transitions into the StSq which is majestic in its smoothness; it rumbles and flows together with the fiery chords running down the keyboard. All doubts are resolved yet the mystery persists. Nothing can be added or taken away--this is perfection.

3. Satoko Miyahara - Madame Butterfly & The Planets/Princess Leia (FS)

I adore Satoko’s skating, despite her imperfections (read: jumps). The world needs skaters like her, whose elegance, musical flow, precision, and subtle presentation touch your heart. Her body lines and layback spin are gorgeous; her multidirectional skating effortless. (That reverse Walley into the Salchow!) Satoko is a strong character performer. I loved her Goddess/Princess Leia FS from 2016/17, how original the choreography was and how engaged and fast Satoko seemed. It’s such a difficult piece to skate to yet she managed to showcase different sides to her. This year’s M Butterfly was, given the circumstances, a safer skate, but her emotional projection only increased. Her showing at the JNats was the finest in that regard. Butterfly’s anguish and suicide seem to become Satoko’s own struggle with her injuries. But the piece ends with a spin to the dreamlike yearning of Un bel di vedremo, as if we’re witnessing both Butterfly and Satoko’s rebirth.

2. Kaetlyn Osmond - Edith Piaf (SP)

IMO, to her belong the two best ladies’ performances of the 2018 Olympics. With Edith Piaf Kaetlyn has finally found an iconic short program! You can tell when a skater is truly feeling the music and looking happy while on the ice, and this program has accomplished just that for K. We meet a French young lady, sauntering down the streets of Paris, wanting to be noticed by someone special. Accompanying her is the voice of Edith Piaf, who sings Sous Le Ciel de Paris and Milord. The program has it all: purposeful choreography, powerful skating, sensitive interpretation of music, ease of movement, the speed going into her huge jumps. Her outgoing character just floats up so naturally. Thanks to her charm, K could indeed give Cotillard a run for her money.

1. Yuzuru Hanyu - Hope & Legacy (FS)

During the 2017 Worlds, Max Ambesi proclaimed this as Hanyu’s best skate, and also the best skate in history. I couldn’t agree more, even if everyone has their own favs. It was an inconsistent season before Hanyu had surpassed himself to skate clean a program massive in ambition and complex in expression. It was as if he’d become an ethereal nature spirit. He was the air, wind and water contained within the melody. He made himself appear weightless and effortless on the ice, seemingly not needing any strength to execute any of the elements. A dreamlike aura surrounded him. I just love how the program highlights his natural musicality and attention to detail. My favorite part: the serene StSq followed by the 3F as the music rises.

Bonus: Alena Kostornaia - Stella’s Theme (FS)

What a talented Junior we have! In her first international season Alena has shown she has nothing to fear from the Seniors. Her charisma, skating skills, and arm movements are those of a fairy. Her jumps are spiced up with steps/transitions. Her spins sizzle with creativity. Nothing feels rushed or incomplete. I challenge anyone to watch her lyrical, immersive performances and experience “backloading” done right. :)

#figure skating #music #mao asada #yuzuru hanyu #art #kaetlyn osmond #boyang jin #wakaba higuchi

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selenelavellan · 6 years

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Dirthalene body worship and office sex :D

I got distracted with plot but I DID IT

Reverse Evanuris AU

Dirthamen and the usual Evanuris are @feynites

Ana is @lycheemilkarts

NSFW

Selene has been under quite a lot ofstress lately.

Dirthamen knows this, as does much ofthe castle. It is not a secret that she has been struggling to mendties with members of her family whom she alienated during thefestival. That she has been tense and trying to return to a sense ofnormalcy in her home ever since she returned from her mothersterritory.

He would like to help.

That is where the trouble started.

They had fought, before the festival.She seemed to forgive him for his outburst upon her return, butit still hasn't been quite the same between them. Almost as though she has triedto force herself to move on, to take him back the way they had beenbefore, but something is holding her back. He can only assume he hasdone something wrong, without realizing.

That will not do. But heis unsure of how to aptly apologize.

It is a dangerous thing, to ask Des'dinfor advice. It does not escape Dirthamen that his markings have notchanged; that his lord has not changed, despite his seeminglypermanent transfer, and that his life and privilege still thrive atthe whims of the horned god.

Des'din has noticed the tension of hisother half as well though.

“She's doing that...thing,again” Des'din says, making a waving motion with his hand. “Ithappens. She's not good with stress. She holds onto everything untilit crushes her. Then she breaks apart, takes a deep breath, forcesherself back together, and starts the process all over again. It's aterrible habit of hers.”

“How do I help?” Dirthamen asks, alittle more pointedly this time.

Des'din raises an eyebrow, mouthcurling into a grin. “You need to give her another outlet, ofcourse.”

Dirthamen blinks in confusion.

“Oh, dear thing,” Des'din sighs,propping his head up on the back of his hand. “Distract her fromher work; pull her away from her worries, and let her have some timewhere she remembers that the world is not going to fall apart becauseAndruil is off pouting in the woods.”

“Oh,” Dirthamen nods slowly. “Howshould I do that?”

The grin curls back onto Des'dins face,as he pats at the space on the stone bench beside him.

“Come listen to my tale, littleblackbird,” He coos “And I'll share with you the weaknessesof my other half.”

It has been a very long day.

A shame it is only noon, Selene thinks.

She pushes open the heavy wooden doorsof her office, letting out a soft sigh at the pile of papers stackedhigh upon it. Ana is inside, browsing through a scroll detailing therecent movement of Elgar'nans peacekeepers near their border. Sheblinks when Selene enters.

Glances down at the desk.

Glances back to Selene.

...Curious.

“I'm just gonna....” The red headsays, pointing to the entryway Selene had just used and exiting theroom before finishing her declaration.

Selene doesn't bother chasing afterher; whatever Ana is dealing with, Selene trusts her to handle it.

Selene lets out a breath, tugging offher cloak and tossing it haphazardly onto one of the chairs as sheuncoils the braids that are in fashion in Sylaise's lands, and whichsomehow had been requested for her morning trip to check on theprogress of June's latest project.

It is far better than she had expected,at least. For all his faults, he really has learned an impressivelyefficient way to use his resources, even with a minimal amount ofspiritual sacrifice. Still not none, but at least 40% lessthan the original plans had called for.

Progress, however slow, is stillprogress.

It is with this mindset that she takesto her seat, leaning forward to begin her slog through the dayspaperwork.

A small, black tendril begins to windits way up her calf, and she nearly lights it on fire before sherealizes who is controlling it.

“Dirthamen?” She asks, glancingdown to find him kneeling beneath her desk. “What are you doingdown th-”

The doors of the room are flung openand she nearly jumps out of her skin as she watches CaptainDin'Durgen barge into her office, a crumpled piece of parchmentraised high above her head. Without even thinking about it, Selenescoots her chair further in, in an effort to hide Dirthamen fromview.

“Is something wrong?” Selene asksthe woman, who finally remembers herself and stops a few feet awayfrom the desk, standing at a soldiers attention.

“There has been a mix up,”Din'Durgen asserts, before hastily adding “My lady.”

“Alright. What sort of mix-UP?!”Selene squeaks out the last wordas the tendril moves further up her leg, brushing against her corejust lightly enough to let her know where it is.

Din'Durgen clearsher throat “Ah, it seems as though all of our spiritually enhancedweaponry has been seized by your blacksmiths?”

It takes a fewmoments for the words to register to Selene, whose mind seems to bemuch more interested in the fact that Dirthamen has started trailinghis mouth and hands up the length of her legs.

“Uh,” Shefinally manages, forcing herself to focus. “Yes. I'm having theshards re-purposed.”

“For what?”Din'Durgen demands.

“To regrow in thedreaming,” Selene admits, trying to hide a shiver as Dirthamenshand traces the shape of her calf lightly enough that she can feelgoosebumps prickling her skin.

“Andhow are we to defendourselves?”

“Withyour-” Selene shakes her head, trying again to pull her focus tothe meeting with her guard captain, and away from her lover who hasapparently decided he would like to be exceedinglymischievous today “With your training, and your skills.”

“So we are to dieon the battlefield with only the words on our tongues and the storiesin our hearts?” Din'Durgen says wryly. “My lady, I know yourpurview is secrets, but please-what am I to tell my people?”

“I-” Selenestarts before getting pulled into a moan, Dirthamens mouth bitinggently on the soft skin of her inner thigh. She tries in vain to cover itwith a cough. “My research team is looking into a newmaterial for your weapons. One that has more naturally enchantedproperties. I discovered it while I was staying with the Lady Mythal.If we can harness it correctly, it should be able to lead us into awhole new era of energy that doesn't require spiritual sacrifice atall.”

“And in themeantime?”

“In themeantime,” Selene says, voice rising slightly in pitch as shestands abruptly to keep Dirthamen from delving his tongue inside ofher “I expect you to do your job the way I ask of you. You may takeyour leave now.”

Din'Durgensface twists slightly, ready to make another argument before Selenepushes out an air of impatience, and points directly to the doors.“You are dismissed,Captain.”

The turquoisehaired woman drops to a bow, and makes a hasty retreat.

Selenefollows closely behind, locking and warding the doors behind her beforeturning and staring at the desk.

“Whatdo you think you're doing?” she says aloud.

Dirthamens headpeaks just over the edge of her desk as he says plainly “I amtrying to give you an outlet.”

“An outlet forwhat?”

His head tiltsslightly. “Interesting. I...did not ask that question.”

Selene drags herhand down her face. “Des put you up to this.”

“Not...precisely.He only mentioned that I should make my attempt somewhere that youoften find stressful. Since the council chambers would beinappropriate given their shared nature, your office seemed like themore reasonable choice.”

“And he told youto do...what? Surprise me with oral?”

Dirthamens mouthopens.

Closes.

He humsslightly in consideration before fully crawling out from beneath herdesk. “I would like to try something,” He finally decides.“If you would permit me.”

Selene feels herheartstrings tug, but stares over him at the piles of papers still on her desk.“I have so much to get done...”

“None of it istime sensitive,” He assures her. “I have already checked.”

“You read throughmy official paperwork?”

“You told me Iwas permitted to read 'anything I could get my hands on'.” Hepoints out.

Selene sighs andshakes her head fondly. “I did. I did say that.”

“May I make myattempt?” He tries again.

Selene slips herfingers into the loops of his robes, pulling him slightly towardsher. “I suppose so,” she allows.

The tops of hischeeks turn a soft pink at the gesture, but he clears his throat andtakes a step back.

“If you wouldhave a seat, I think this would perhaps be easier.”

Selene raises askeptical eyebrow. Chair sex in here? Really? Not quite theamount of support they usually need. The back of her chair is highperhaps, but several feet away from the wall. It's not meant towithstand a surplus of weight or movement, not like the ones heenjoys being tied to in the bedroom. One good thrust and they'll bothgo flying backwards.

Still. She canalways catch him, if need be. If something goes wrong, she'll simplyhandle it.

She always does.

Without furtherarguments, she seats herself back in her chair, scooting it fartherfrom her desk to avoid any temptation to multitask. Time sensitive ornot, she still has responsibilities after all.

But she sits upstraight, one leg crossed over the other expectantly, ready forwhatever Dirthamen might have in mind.

He kneels down infront of her, and her first instinct is to tell him to stand, thatit's ridiculous for him to act like this. He knows better than mostshe's no actual Goddess.

But his hand grazesover her knee and gently, so gently, uncrosses her legs.

“Just relax,”He says quietly, glancing up to make momentary eye contact, his baredhands still resting gently on her knees.

Such a small thing,really. The focus, the contact, the care for her in his words.

Her heart skips abeat all the same, words caught in her throat as she nods incompliance.

He places a softkiss to the top of one knee in thanks, eyes drifting closed and handsdrifting lower, thumbs rubbing small circles into the backs of hercalves. Affection is not unusual behavior for Dirthamen; quite theopposite, really. But this is...this is something different.

The way he exploresthe length of her legs, the attention and compliments he gives, theway he seems to savor every moment of this time...

It's worship.

She can feelherself heating up at the realization, even as he continues to takehis time with her legs and thighs. While he presses just firmlyenough on the tender flesh of her inner thighs to make small divots with his fingers,praising her softness, telling her how much he enjoys her, how muchshe means to him.

It is just words,really. Words coupled with affectionate touches, with genuineaffection and love and devotion pouring out of him.

It takes her breathaway. Ignites her in ways she hadn't expected, relaxes muscles sheforgot were capable of such a thing. His hands pull away the ribbonthat had been keeping her robes together and slide against her sides,reverent and unabashed while his mouth presses against the soft pouchof skin from where she is now slouching. Every inch of her is alight,straining and expectant, every touch like a new spark of magic fromhim. He goes slowly, so slowly it's almost maddening, but theanticipation is such a wonderful burn, his mouth and praise the balmshe craves while he takes his time inspecting and exploring everypiece of her.

Selene isn't sureprecisely when the scales appeared on her spine, or when her taildecided to make an appearance until Dirthamen is paying attention tothose pieces of her the same as he has the rest. She is on her kneeswith her back facing him, head raised towards her ceiling and breathscoming in shallow bursts when he runs his tongue over her scales andsends a shiver that makes her keen, tail dragging against thecold stone of the floor beneath them.

“Dirthamen,”She finally begs, head swimming in her hypersensitive state, hishands and mouth and ardor flooding her senses, thoughts falling awayas he makes a small bite on the crook of her neck, flooding her in anentirely different way.

Any other time shewould worry about the mess she must have made of her office chair,but now...now, all she can think of is him, is the way hemakes her feel, the relief of his presence, the love swelling withinher, ready to overflow and the blazing heat in the pit of herstomach.

He seems to noticethat she is approaching her limit, whispering more praise in her ear,telling her how well she is doing, how much he loves her, howgrateful he is to have been gifted her trust while he lifts her outof her chair, splaying her open on top of her desk instead.

A familiar,brightly colored container is pulled out of one of his pockets beforethe robe is discarded entirely. He coats one finger in it, slippingit inside of her with ease-

And she comesaround it.

Embarrassinglyearly, some corner of her mind thinks.

His own surpriseflares briefly around him before he reins it in and continues hisministrations, slipping a second finger in with ease and laving moreaffection over her sides and chest, a few tendrils sliding up hercalves once again, pulling her legs open a bit wider.

She hums as shefeels them, thoroughly relaxed, and considers the inspiration.

Subtly, as much asshe can hide it, she glances to where the discarded containerlays and carefully moves her tail closer to it. Pulling in on thecurls of hair that usually cover the end and softening the rough edges ofher scales, she rolls the extra appendage around in the lubricationbefore nudging it carefully against her lovers rear entrance.

Dirthamens eyes goslightly wide as he notices her actions, and she raises her eyebrowsup in challenge.

“Fair’s fair,”She coos, gently brushing her own hands over his cock.

He shivers, and shethinks he might be about to argue so she slides her mouth over hisbefore he can. Encases him in her arms and flips their positions,until he is the one splayed open on her desk and she is the one withtwo feet on the ground, devouring and drowning in the taste of him.

“Is thisalright?” She checks, pulling away just enough to speak, his breathstill warm against her lips.

“Yes,” Hebreathes, and she hums in thanks as she delves her tongue back intothe warm wet of his mouth, the tip of her tail pressing gently intohim in unison.

Selene can'tremember the last time she felt so relaxed. The last time she was inso little hurry to be somewhere or do something. Hownice it is just to enjoy her lover, her heart, to feel the way hemoves beneath her.

It would be better,she thinks, if he were not trying so hard to restrain himself.

“Let go Vhenan,”She purrs against his neck.

“My form...” Hemanages, skin still flushed and his cock dripping precum onto his stomach.

“I've got you,”She assures him.

He hesitates amoment before letting out a soft breath.

The air in the roomchanges notably as he does.

Six large blackwings unfurl from his back, skin turning to a beautiful dark expanselittered with stars and eyes. His legs lose some of their solidity,most of his body past the knees turning into tendrils that match hisskin, and the room fills with power and magic, long restrained by hischain and mask and his own growing capabilities. She has to loosesome of her own to cover it, to hide that this surplus of power ishis, so that anyone passing in the halls will only sense her power, her own magic flaring out into the wards. Her own pair of wingsunfurl, and she feels her pupils shift as she does, still in controlbut vulnerable as her peripheral vision nearly vanishes.

That's alright, shethinks as his tendrils curl around her. Her waist, her hips, herlegs, her arms; she trusts him.

Trusts himentirely, as he lifts her over his still straining cock and shelowers herself down onto it, sliding her tail slowly in and out ofhim in tandem with the rise and fall of her hips. His wings flare andhis breaths become as shallow as her own, her own hands exploring asmuch of the expanse of him as she can reach, stars bursting andgleaming under the pads of her fingers. Feathers fall down aroundthem; hers, his, theirs.

Details become blurry while they losethemselves in each other, energies and words mixing and blurring andthe feeling of being touched all over simultaneously too much and not enough. Moansand groans and flesh on flesh, keening and orgasms and not even thecertainty of who between them is having them, only a shared desire to keep going, tosavor this, to make the most of being together again.

It is....very darkby the time they have stopped.

Selenes tail hasreceded and her scales have mostly vanished and Dirthamens form moreclosely resembles his usual one now, as they are spent and exhausted,hair damp and clinging and Selene is unsure if the insides of herthighs will ever be dry again after she glances down at the sloppymixture of their fluids still dripping out of her.

It’s a goodfeeling, though.

With the littleenergy still in her, she rolls over to Dirthamen, the two of them ona tapestry they seemed to have yanked off of her walls to lay on thefloor instead, and presses an affectionate kiss to his forehead.

“Thank you,”She manages.

He smiles, eyesonly half opened and his chest still rising and falling a bit tooviolently while he attempts to regain his breath. “Anytime.”

She snorts.

“Probably weshouldn't make a habit of completely destroying a room every time wehave sex,”

“There are worsehabits to have,” He notes, a mischievous gleam in his eye.

Selene shakes herhead in fondness before burying it in the crook of his neck, curlingher body up around his.

It is good to beback.

#reverse evanuris au #dirthalene #answered #thanks for the ask <3 #theladypirate

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dansnaturepictures · 3 years

Photo

16/07/2021-Blog 1 of 2: The wildlife

Big butterfly count at Lakeside and more

I took the first two pictures in this photoset of Woodpigeon, Starling and House Sparrow together and a male Blackbird from a productive session of garden bird photos out the back on the roof visible from my room against the endless and bright blue sky which was so nice to see. I took the third picture in this photoset of a nice purple flower in a basket in the front garden as I left for my lunch time walk an early lunch today due to something within my working day at 11 o’clock so it was a rare morning lunch time Lakeside walk in the grip of the arriving heat wave with the really bright sunshine.

Today was a day I had been looking forward to, the arrival of Butterfly Conversation’s ‘Big Butterfly Count’, the citizen science survey which becomes my obsession for these three weeks to take a health check on the nation’s butterflies via counting some key butterfly and day flying moth species. I always find it quite addictive, rewarding, positive and just so fun to do the counts locally at Lakeside and home, within Hampshire at some of our key butterfly sights as there’s always other butterflies to look for around this time of year to see in a year too and you can do counts whilst there and further afield too. I highly recommend this as a summer activity with such broad appeal to varied people: https://bigbutterflycount.butterfly-conservation.org/

The perfect place to start my counts for this year was one of the best places I know for butterflies, the eastern meadows and the area I know as Marbled White meadow. And in the absolute perfect conditions for looking for butterflies I had a fantastic first count. It was wonderful to see butterfly after butterfly flitting around, ones included in the count and otherwise and it was hard to keep up with them it was that successful. Meadow Brown like the one I took the fourth picture in this photoset of dominated as it so often does with 31 seen, I also saw 7 Marbled Whites, 6 Small Whites, 6 Ringlets, 2 Gatekeepers and 1 of Comma, Red Admiral and one of those day flying moths the Silver Y which I got the seventh picture in this photoset of. Key observations from this fantastic first count included that Small White as I have charted this week have had a nice influx going into the count which should allow many to be seen during it and its nice that I saw so many Ringlets as they seem to have quick seasons so by the end of the three weeks I may not be seeing as many and last year I worried about whether I would get any in the count with all the butterflies coming out so much earlier in 2020. The count is done these weeks when there are most butterflies about during the year, in 2020 it turned out all right as you could submit some counts ahead of the opening of the survey. To a lesser extend I feel this with Marbled Whites which have now been around for a good few weeks. Also Silver Y was a bit of a runaway star of my count as I’d only seen them a handful of times before. Whilst I only do a patch list for the animals I keep year lists for these days, birds, butterflies, dragon/damselflies and mammals this is another patch tick type moment as the first Silver Y I ever saw at Lakeside. It was really nice to see it buzzing through the meadow and looking so distinctive and beautiful. I wrote this down as well as I do even though its not one in the count but it was brilliant to see 10 Small Skippers during the count too.

During the count I enjoyed seeing the dandelion, carrot and beautiful pink bindweed shown in the fifth, sixth and eighth pictures in this photoset. These looked nice in the meadows alongside other great flowers including pink mallow, yellow argrimony and nice yellow lady’s-bedstraw which I tweeted a photo of on Dans_Pictures tonight. And I had a fantastic summer moment when out in the meadow watching the butterflies when I was immersed in the most divine meadow alive with long grass, a beautiful array of flowers and insects dancing along and above this oasis of abundant full of life area. It was simply gorgeous to see. In my next post with once again a very high amount of pictures produced to day with some landscape pictures I took today are views of these scenes. I took the ninth picture in this photoset of ragwort which alongside bird’s-foot trefoil looked very nice again today a strong flowers for this time of year.

On the way to a little look at the lakes planned for this walk I was euphoric to get exciting glimpses of a Purple Hairstreak again along the northern path after my amazing day seeing them yesterday for the first time at Lakeside which took my butterfly season to dizzy heights. Still in a good mood from last night I just loved seeing this dainty little gem of a butterfly that flitted around and landed on a tree this time closer to the eastern kissing gate entrance where Swifts sailed through the sky again today. It was exceptional to see this rare butterfly again and its so surreal seeing them two days running which I’d never done before for this previously for us a specific area further away in Hampshire Bentley Wood and that site in Sussex Knepp. What a wonderful summer moment in this very hot and sunny weather again.

I then went down to beach lake with Emperor and Black-tailed Skimmer giving exciting flashes of blue views again and I saw the unusual image of a family of Greylag Geese shuffling down the footpath and in the grassy fringes. This did look quirky and I took some photos I tweeted tonight of this as well as the tenth picture in this photoset which I took. It allowed me some incredibly intimate moments seeing some of the grown goslings and an adult with their warm and immaculate orange beak and nice brown feathers. Their orange bill did glow in the sun.

I submitted another Big Butterfly Count this afternoon for a Small White flying around the garden out the back I find it important to track butterflies in and around the garden too. This evening after work I liked taking in as I did with a photo taken on the way out for my lunch time walk out the front, the smashing buddleia bush out the back the green and purple bits of flowering looking stunning in the bright sunshine the sun hits it nicely around early-mid evening I liked finding out this week. I also took in the delicious display of varied and very colourful flowers in the back garden with love-in-a-mist, sweet William and others looking so good and I tweeted some pictures of some, orange and yellow flowers standing out again the orange one I see every year which I first saw in 2021 yesterday. A really engaging scene for the soul and I may have a surge in flowers at home pictures this weekend and indeed garden birds too as this weekend last year as I am looking after Missy all weekend with my Mum and her husband away for their five year wedding anniversary. So slightly more time at home this weekend. The sunset tonight looked fantastic and brightly orange too. I hope you all have a great weekend.

Wildlife Sightings Summary: My first Silver Y seen at Lakeside, two of my favourite butterflies the Red Admiral and Marbled White, Ringlet, Meadow Brown, Gatekeeper, Small Skipper, Comma, Small White, Purple Hairstreak, other moths, Greylag Goose, Black-headed Gull, Lesser Black-backed Gull at home, House Sparrow at home and Lakeside, Starling, Woodpigeon, Collared Dove, Swift, bees and flies.

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justforbooks · 7 years

Photo

The Loss of Jonathan Demme

By Anthony Lane

A fellow named Melvin Dummar comes across this guy—“a strange ol’ weirdo wino, layin’ out in the middle of the desert,” with a busted shoulder and a bloody ear. Melvin hauls him into his pickup and drives him to Las Vegas, where the old man asks to go. Along the way, they talk and sing; after some coaxing, the passenger even croons “Bye Bye Blackbird.” Then, after thunder and rain, he rolls down his window and sniffs the air. “Greasewood and sage,” he says. Before they part, he asks for money, and Melvin hands over the contents of his pockets—a palmful of loose change. “That’s it,” he adds. “That’s all I got.”

Such is the prelude, both easygoing and far-reaching, to “Melvin and Howard” (1980). Melvin is played by Paul Le Mat, and Howard, if you trust the movie, is Howard Hughes, played by Jason Robards. The director is Jonathan Demme, who died on Wednesday, at the age of seventy-three. Everything that there was to like about Demme is present in the scene: the contagious warmth that he feels toward his characters; the appeal to all the senses, not excluding smell; the consoling thought that, wherever you are and whatever you’re doing, music should not be far away; and the life-giving mix of movement and stasis—two people just sitting there, revealing something of themselves, while the truck chews up the miles and the day breaks free of the night.

Most of the tributes paid to Demme, in the past few days, have marvelled at the range of goods that was stocked, as it were, in the storefront of his films. Try the early exploitation flicks of the nineteen-seventies, like “Caged Heat” and “Crazy Mama,” made under the aegis of Roger Corman. Or the antsy and energetic comedies of the eighties, “Married to the Mob” and “Something Wild,” succeeded, at the start of the following decade, by the solid studio pictures, “The Silence of the Lambs” and “Philadelphia,” that came away with Academy Awards. Dotted through Demme’s career, meanwhile, were the music videos and the music documentaries, which harkened to figures as disparate as Bruce Springsteen, Neil Young (twice), the Pretenders, and, of course, the Talking Heads, in the imperishable hipness of “Stop Making Sense” (1984). Only last year, Demme filmed Justin Timberlake and the Tennessee Kids in concert at the MGM Grand, in Las Vegas—not far from where the hobo billionaire of “Melvin and Howard” asked to be dropped off, at the rear of his own hotel.

This chop and change suggests a reluctance to settle, not merely in a choice of genres but often in the mood space of a single film. Nobody who saw “Something Wild,” in 1986, can ever forget the giddying swerve of the plot. Jeff Daniels, as Charlie, is hardly the first stiff to be loosened up by a dangerous dame (think of Henry Fonda in “The Lady Eve,” being led in a merry dance by Barbara Stanwyck), but in the hands of Demme, with the hard-staring help of Ray Liotta, the danger becomes a blood sport. A pair of Hitchcockian handcuffs serves first as an accessory to sex and then as a shackle to bind the hero while the villain, in the next room, plies his demonic trade. You want to know if screwball can be used as an offensive weapon? Look and learn.

As for “The Silence of the Lambs,” one cause of its endurance, and the reason that, however busy I may be, I am incapable of dragging myself away whenever it plays on TV, is that its contents shift with every viewing. As we follow Clarice Starling on her first visit to Hannibal Lecter, down the long walk past the other cells, we hear the deep churn of the musical theme, and our scalps, as ordained, begin to prickle; and what do we discover, behind the see-through wall? A sprightly figure, standing to greet the lady, as erect as a butler, with the spectre of a smile. The gourmet has found his amuse-gueule. From here on, the horror of the film will be garnished with comedy, while the comedy (and this is the creepiest touch of all) will bear the rich savor of romance. “People will say we’re in love,” Lecter says, when the young F.B.I. trainee returns to him later in the tale—for a tip, for a clinching clue, or because she can’t help herself. Their expressions, viewed head-on, fill the whole landscape of the screen. Each can see nothing but the other.

That stark composition returns, in very different circumstances, at the end of “Philadelphia,” when the dying man (Tom Hanks) bids farewell to his beloved (Antonio Banderas). Hanging over that film—so timely in 1993, and so dated now, for all its tender and well-meaning ambitions—is a sense that it was, in part, an act of atonement for “The Silence of the Lambs.” Charges of homophobia had been levelled at the character of Buffalo Bill, the killer whom Starling hunts, despite the fact that Demme took explicit pains, as Thomas Harris had done in the novel, to disclaim any link between violence and the transgender community. In consequence, there were protests at the time of release. To someone of Demme’s patent decency, those will have struck home.

The profession of movie director is not one that we instantly associate with the modest and the benign, but somehow, like Anthony Minghella, Demme rose through the ranks. What was a nice guy like him doing in a job like that? Well, he was schooled by Corman, a gentleman on the throne of schlock, who oversaw, with approval, the ascent of his many protégés. (The roster is laughably distinguished: Scorsese, Coppola, Nicholson, Stallone, and so forth. James Cameron designed the spaceship for the Corman-produced “Battle Beyond the Stars.”) To listen to Demme and Corman shoot the breeze, in their commentary on “Crazy Mama,” is like hearing a couple of veterans recalling their comrades-in-arms, without rancor or rivalry (“Jim Backus, Mr. Magoo, God bless him; he was a delight,” Demme says, scanning the credit sequence), and an ancient dispute about a montage is fondly laid to rest. What the master made plain, according to Demme, was that, “if you lose the viewer’s eye, you’re going to lose the viewer’s interest. He also stressed the importance of having as many characters as possible that are in every way just as interesting as your main characters, even if they get less screen time.”

That is a crucial creed, because it implies not simply a visual knack but a reserve of moral generosity. Between “The Silence of the Lambs” and “Philadelphia,” Demme made “Cousin Bobby,” about Robert Castle, an Episcopalian minister in Harlem: a firebrand built like a fortress. I still remember Demme standing in the frame, arms folded, putting questions to his cousin and watching him at work, even if the matter in hand was something as prosaic as a pothole. There was a persistent liberal ardor to Demme’s politics (witness his 2007 film about Jimmy Carter), but he was also blessed by a larger liberalism: the imaginative outreach, hard to discern in the rampant studio movies of today, which assumes that everybody is worth stopping for—that there will always be folks who repay the camera’s attention. What he radiated, before or behind the lens, was an unstinting curiosity, and a faith that the most reliable map of character was the human face.

That faith, rather than nepotism, led him to cast the Reverend Castle in five more films—first “Philadelphia,” then “Beloved” (1998), “The Truth About Charlie” (2002), “The Manchurian Candidate” (2004), and “Rachel Getting Married” (2008). The last of these, starring Anne Hathaway, found favor in some quarters, yet its fretfulness seemed a small thing when set beside the shimmying tensions of “Something Wild,” and even Demme loyalists had to admit that the later movies suffered an unaccountable loss of pressure. “The Truth About Charlie,” especially, looked all the more forlorn because it was a remake of “Charade,” and there is no known galaxy in which Mark Wahlberg could be an adequate substitute for Cary Grant. Not too many people saw “Ricki and the Flash” (2015), Demme’s final feature, despite the zest of Meryl Streep as the middle-aged rocker of the title, yet the movie is worth revisiting, in the wake of Demme’s passing, because it proves that his inquisitive eye had lost little of its gleam. He was, among his other talents, a terrific picker of extras, and as Ricki performs in bars, or at family gatherings, he dishes up, in passing glimpses, a fine assortment of his fellow-citizens.

Demme was a man for small towns and back roads. He liked those pockets of America where there was fun to be had, at a bargain price, and weakness to be gently laid bare. Hence his penchant for Melvin, a near-loser with a wish list of hopes, and for the tallness of Melvin’s tale. Whether the Howard he came across, that night in the desert, really was Howard Hughes, as legend insists, was not the sort of conundrum to bother Demme, and I doubt if he gave a damn whether the infamous “Mormon will”—in which, years later, Hughes allegedly left more than a hundred and fifty million dollars to Melvin in gratitude for his Samaritan deed, like a mega-Magwitch rewarding Pip—was the genuine article or a fake. What Demme knew for certain, because his grip on our everyday fears and fancies was so secure, is that we want to believe Melvin, and that Melvin, the poor dope, wants to believe himself. The stories that we tell, in other words, may not always be true, and yet they are true of us, and that will have to do. The loss of Jonathan Demme is a sad surprise, for the films that he bequeaths to us remain, to an uncommon degree, the work of a good man.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

#JUST FOR BOOKS

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