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whillywisp · 3 months

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No winter lasts forever; no spring skips it's turn.

Summary: Reader has insomnia, Finnick has nightmares. Both have a little comfort to share in District 13's grey little compartments as the winters approach and an impending doom settles itself in their chests.

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Male Reader (requested)

Warnings: nightmares, mentions of non graphic torture, mentioned past drug use, implied forced prostitution, insomnia.

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: I'm so terrible sorry about how rambly this is and how long it took me to finish this. Exam season is kicking my ass but at least it's out now. Hope you all like this. I did my best <3

𓆜𓆞𓆝𓆟𓆜𓆞𓆝𓆟

You spent far too much time awake for your liking.

Far too much time left alone in thoughts that plagued your peace, left your chest aching from panic that made you struggle to breathe and far too much time aware of everything.

Worst of all though, it gave far too much time to let insomnia induced migraines develop and make the next day worse than the one before. District 13 was not known for giving painkillers or treatments for things they didn't classify as life threatening with a generous heart.

Days underneath layers of earth, surrounded by metal and blanketed by the condescension of those that boasted surviving as frugally as humanly possible, made you wish you still had access to those little lilac pills that were passed around on marble trays at Capitol parties, the little butterfly embed in it's centre your last thought and the taste of cherry lip gloss still on your tongue as you passed out cold for long enough for the sun to rise twice.

But the wistful longing for Capitol drugs and the relief they brought were interrupted by a long arm wrapping itself around your chest and a puff of warmth washing over your skin as Finnick pushed his face into your neck in his sleep, his golden hair in your mouth and soft snores in your ear. You sighed, wrapping your own arm around his shoulder as you closed your eyes. Not for the first and more than likely not your last either, you envied your husband's ability to sleep through just about anything.

Husband.

The thought of associating that word with the man in your arms with his pouting lips pressed against the underside of your jaw made your cheeks burn a little red and a giddy smile cross your lips as you watched your breath fog in front you.

Years spent yearning for little more than slaps on the back given as a token of boyhood to months spent waiting on a victim who was haunted by the graves that lined to salute his victory. Years spent waiting for green eyes to meet yours with the devotion that you knew he could feel to hours spent with hands begging for relief on skin stained red from need before the march to your own funeral. Years spent in hidden peace as the world corrupted you too and then months spent apart where his screams for help, the smell of your own blood and beady eyes that imitated them became your only company.

Years. Yet again you spent far too many years yearning for something. Yearning for relief. And it came in the form of a wedding underneath layers of earth and metal, surrounded by people a little less stoic and a boy who's smile resembled the very sun that your skin craved, far too spoiled with kisses from its rays and his pillow lips.

You both were clad in identical, standard grey '13 haute couture boxer briefs, your skin cold to touch from sweat that had dried in the chill of approaching winter and Finnick's as warm as the sand on District 4's beaches in summer. Sunshine, you breathed into golden hair, a small smile pressed into the top of your husband's head.

Your heart still sang as you felt the little bruises he had kissed into your skin ache slightly and you sighed, blinking up at the dark ceiling in exhaustion. This was the most exhausted and comfortable and loved and sleep deprived you had been in a while.

Sleep. You needed sleep. This was getting ridiculous.

You huffed, gently manoeuvring out of Finnick's octopus grip as you tried to wiggle out of bed until you were standing next to the bed, your heart breaking a little as Finnick immediately starts searching for you in his sleep, mumbling incoherently and you put your pillow into his grasp to let your scent pull him into the safety of sleep long enough for you to take a short shower.

The compartment you both had been assigned didn't hold much besides a bed just big enough to fit two adult men and a small bathroom cubicle that didn't have a warm water supply, that was only in the communal bathrooms. Still, you didn't complain, knowing the only way you would less tired was if you shocked your body out of its sleepy state, even if it meant staying awake for the rest of the night.

You washed yourself down slowly, taking time to run the scentless soap into your skin and washing away your earlier activities. Finnick had never been one to constantly crave sex, far too scarred from what he was made to do and what he had to watch you do, but ever since you both had been married, he was insatiable, his hands wandering the length of your body every night and your need for the intimacy making you crave his too.

Finnick's sitting up in bed, wrapped in the duvet and sniffling softly. His hair sticks in every which direction and the bright light of the bathroom makes his green eyes look wider and, with a painful tug at your heart, you realise they're stained with tears and red rimmed.

You pushed the thoughts of your earlier activities away, your cheeks burning as you shiver under the cold water shower. You stand there long enough to have your teeth chattering before stepping out of the shower and drying yourself quickly. You pull on the first thing your fingers touch — a thin, grey sweater that's too big for your lithe frame — and a pair of sweatpants before stepping out of the bathroom and jumping a foot in the air.

You close the bathroom door behind you before quickly making your back to the bed, gently cradling his face in your palms, a part of you melting when he leans into your touch immediately, keeping your voice low as to not startle him.

"Love, what's wro—"

"You were gone," he whispered, his voice breaking with your heart at how desperate he sounded. "You were gone a-and the room was dark and I thought...I thought I heard you screaming—"

"Shhh," you whispered gently, tugging him close until he rested his head against your chest, muffling a sob in the sweater as you gently kissed the top of his head, wrapping your arms around his trembling form. Finnick had far, far too many nightmares about the time you were taken by the Capitol, the months he spent alone, waiting for District 13 to rescue you. While your mind actively blocked those days spent away from him, his was hell bent on tormenting him through his dreams. You sighed, gently whispering to him.

"I'm here, baby. I'm right here. I just needed to clean up a little because I couldn't sleep. You just had a bad nightmare. It's okay. I'm okay. We're okay." He sniffled softly as you wiped his tears away and peppered his face with kisses. You sit there with him in your arms, humming softly to him as you wait for your racing hearts to slow down. It was an old, old sea shanty, sung on boats by sailors with voices too rough.

He eventually calmed down and you sighed, tugging him until he lay down with you on the bed, his face burrowed into your chest. The silence of the room is less suffocating now that you both managed to shred last dregs of fear from your limbs, leaving behind exhaustion and something you weren't very familiar with — sleepiness.

You almost doze off, Finnick's warm breath against your throat too comforting when you hear his small, sleep laden voice whisper softly into the silence.

"I want to move out of The Victor's Village when we get back."

You blink into the darkness, tightening your arms around him. You weren't exactly surprised by his statement but the randomness of it still catches you off-guard. "Oh? And go where, baby?"

Finnick shifts against you to look up at you, his wide, green eyes and pink dusted cheeks making him look so adorable that you can't resist kissing the tip of his nose, making him scrunch it as he continues. "A small cottage on the cliffs overlooking the ocean. We'll decorate it with seashells and get a dog."

You chuckle softly at his enthusiastic future planning, running your fingers through his hair as you nod. "And a cat. And hydrangeas to decorate the front porch. And you could knit us all cute little sweaters to wear around the house."

Finnick beams up at you, his dimples making your heart ache with affection. This is what you fought through hell for, making sure he could lay in your arms like this and smile softly up at you as you both daydreamed of a future that looked so distant but felt just as real as the present.

He snuggles impossibly closer to you as he whispers, his voice serene. "I will. I'll knit you a pink one. And we'll make sure the yard looks like a little meadow where our kids can play."

You press gently kisses to the top of his head, rubbing his back gently as you smile. "Of course. We'll get a swing set too."

You feel him press a kiss to the base of your throat, smiling against your skin as you fall silent again. You could feel his breathing slow down, his lashes fluttering against your skin and just as you think he's falling asleep again, you hear him whisper softly, all the wistful longing for a peaceful happy ending with you bleeding out to leave behind a familiar anxiety, anxiety that he only let you see.

"We'll be okay, right?"

He sounds so afraid that it breaks your heart, leaving you to close your eyes as you try to breathe past the pain of seeing him struggle to hold onto happiness. You tilt his head up and gently kiss his lips, his sigh of relief giving you the strength to summon all the confidence you could as you whispered back.

"Of course, baby. We'll be perfectly fine."

Finnick breathed out softly in relief before kissing you again, pushing you onto your back before straddling you. Your hands immediately reach for his hips as you sit up, pulling him impossibly close, desperate to feel him, to know he was right here and yours to love.

You didn't like lying to him, didn't like not feeling confident in your own words, didn't like the uncertainty that came with a promise like this. But if it gave his mind the temporary relief to shed the worries and leftover tears and breathe a sigh of relief, then so be it.

#finnick odair x reader #writing #fanfiction #hunger games #finnick imagine #finnick odair #finnick odair x male reader #finnick odair imagine #moonfm

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vanfleeter · 7 months

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Scaredy Cat // JTK

Characters: Jake x Tommy (son) x Fem!reader Warnings: Spooky. Fluff. Haunted woods. Creepy clowns. Mentions of chainsaw. Scarecrows. Author's Note: Welcome to Jaketober!

Summary: Jake's all for the spooky and the scary, the gory and the horror until it comes to haunted house.. And the woods.

If there’s one thing Jake doesn’t particularly like is haunted houses, prisons, forests, whatever. But this Halloween, he gave in and promised to take Tommy to a haunted house. You didn’t see the harm in it. People took their kids to haunted houses all the time.

“Mama!” Tommy exclaims as he jumps up and down in front you. “Daddy’s taking me to a haunted house tomorrow!”

You look over at Jake, a shocked expression on your face. Jake shrugs his shoulders and stuffs his hands into the pocket of his jeans. After all the years you’ve been together, he always refused to go to those things.

“I bet you’re gonna have so much fun with Daddy.” You say as you pull the four year old on your lap.

“You do know you’re coming too.” Jake says.

“Why? Are you scared?” You tease.

Jake scoffs. “Pfft, no.. Tommy might need you.”

“Mmhmm..” You giggle. “Okay, it’s bath time and then off to bed.” You say, patting Tommy’s leg.

The next day flies by a little too quickly for Jake’s liking because now he’s driving the narrow gravel road to the haunted woods. Woods. Why did it have to be the woods? Ever since Josh suggested the Haunted Woods, Tommy hadn’t been able to be quiet about it. He’s eager to see the tall man with the chainsaw and the witchy lady who jumps out at you from behind some tall boulder or whatever.

“He is your kid.” You kindly remind him as you hand Jake his coat and beanie. “Why is it that you can watch horror movies with no end in sight, but haunted houses are a hard pass?”

“Because horror movies don’t have real people jumping out at you.” Jake says. “And touching you. Oh the touching, so creepy.”

“Well lucky for you, no one will touch you unless you pay an extra five dollars to wear some glow in the dark thing.”

“Easiest five dollars for me to save.” Jake says as he slips on his coat.

Parking the car in the already crowded field, Jake cuts the engine and gets out. In the distance he can hear the screams of those who have fallen victim to the man with the chainsaw. His attention is pulled away from the woods as he feels Tommy tugging on the hem of his coat sleeve.

“Daddy! Let’s go!”

Buying their tickets and rejoining them by the fire, he finds Tommy bouncing on his feet as he eagerly waits for their group number to be called. He keeps talking about the man with the chainsaw and each time he does, there’s a scream and Tommy’s face contorts into a wicked grin.

What kind of kid is he raising?

Thirty minutes pass by and the number of their group is called and Tommy jumps up and down impatiently for Jake to hurry up. Tommy can tell Jake is a little nervous. He steps up to Jake and grabs his hand. “Don’t worry, Daddy–I’ll protect you.”

Jake hears you trying to stifle a laugh and he snaps his head to the side to look at you. You quickly cover your mouth and shake your head.

Making it through the creepy corn maze, Jake only jumped a few times and nearly punched a scarecrow when it came up behind him. Arriving at the exit, he heaves a sigh of relief earning little giggles from Tommy.

“Come on Daddy! The man with the chainsaw is next.” Tommy says as he drags Jake down the pathway towards the sinister looking cabin.

Inside the sounds of the chainsaw whirring to life make his blood run cold. The impending doom. He knows it’s not real. It’s all fake, but why does it still frighten him and yet not an ounce of fear paints his son’s face?

The door cracks open as they make their way through the threshold and into the cabin. “Daddy..” Tommy says, looking up at Jake.

“Finally afraid?” Jake smirks.

“No, but you still are,” Tommy says. “You’re squeezing my hand too tightly.”

Jake’s smirk drops from his face. “Oh.. Sorry..” He loosens his grip on his son’s hand.

Winding their way through the cabin, with jumpscares making Jake curse and immediately apologize, they reach the one part where he knows the man with the chainsaw will jump out. And even knowing it, he still jumps sky high and out of his skin. Tommy giggles beside him and squeezes his hand.

“It’s okay, Daddy, he won’t hurt you.”

“Yeah, Daddy,” The man mimics. “I won’t hurt you.” He says. “For now..” He starts up the chainsaw again making Jake flinch and he laughs. “Don’t be such a scaredy cat. The pain won’t last for long and it'll be all over before you know it.”

Tommy drags Jake through the final tunnel and out to the clearing behind the cabin. “Daddy, are you okay?” He asks. “You look a little green.”

“It smelled god awful in there..” Jake says.

You step beside him and rub his back. “Maybe we should head back to the car.”

“Oh but Mommy, the clowns!” Tommy exclaims. “We have to see the clowns.”

“Buddy, I don’t think your father can handle anymore–”

“Nope, no..” Jake straightens back up and fixes his coat and beanie. “I am determined to finish this, even if it means having nightmares for the next three weeks.” He puffs out his chest, clearly making a show for Tommy. “Bring on the clowns.”

“Yes!” Tommy exclaims as he throws his fists in the air. “Let’s go!”

It wasn’t until they reached the arch leading into the clown section that Jake stopped in his tracks. It wasn’t people dressed as creepy clowns or mannequins that jumped on a motion sensor. They were huge bobblehead clowns. Huge, painted heads that bobbed and weaved, coming closer to you before falling backwards again. Maniacal laughing boomed from speakers hidden around as creepy circus music played in the background.

Not only that but they had to go through a blowup tunnel that leads to a different part of the clown section.

The squeezing of the tunnel was too much for Jake. “I don’t like this very much!” He calls out to no one in particular.

“Just hold on to my hand Daddy!” He hears Tommy call in the darkness of the tunnel.

Emerging from the blow up tunnel and regaining his breath, he comes face to face with a clown. A human clown. A human dressed up as a clown. With crazy makeup and fake blood running down their face.

“Oh hi Mister!” Tommy greets the clown, who keeps his eyes narrowed in on Jake. Jake gives him a sheepish smile and a small wave accompanied by an awkward chuckle before Tommy is dragging him along.

“Did you say hi to a clown?” Jake questions as he dodges another clown who jumps out behind a tree.

“Well yeah, it makes it less scary.” Tommy says as he proceeds to smile widely and wave as a clown slowly approaches the two of them.

“Well hello little boy.” The clown says. “Care to join me for some fun?” He laughs a wicked laugh before snapping his eyes head upwards to look at Jake. “Well well well.. Who have we got here?”

“That’s my dad.” Tommy says, earning a smitful glare from Jake.

“Ohhh, Daddy.. Has Daddy come with you to protect you from the scary things in the woods?” He says as he slowly circles Jake. He can feel the man’s breath on the back of his neck and the scent makes him scrunch up his nose.

“I think someone needs a breath mint..” Jake comments.

The clown presses his face in closer to Jake who slowly leans away. “And I think someone needs a little lesson in manners.”

Jake tries to put on a confident front, although he knew he wasn’t fooling anyone, even himself. The clown mocks his pose and laughs. “What’s your name, boy? I want to be your friend.”

“In your dreams..” Jake sneers.

“Oh I don’t have dreams.. But you do..” The man snickers and taps the side of his own head. “And you’ll see me every night when you close your eyes, waiting.. Scheming.. You can’t escape me, no one can.”

By now, Jake’s heart is racing his chest. He wants nothing more than to rid himself of this clown. The clown chuckles and cocks his head at Jake.

“I suggest you get a move on now or you won’t be coming out of these woods alive..”

Tommy grabs Jake’s hand and drags him down the path, past several more creepy clowns who giggle and reach for them, muttering eering sayings as they pass. They finally reach the end of the trail and come out back to the field where they had started. The bonfire glowing brightly as people chatter and laugh.

“We did it!!” Tommy cheers. “Wasn’t that fun?” He says as he holds into Jake’s hand and jumps up and down.

“Yeah,” Jake scoffs. “Fun is an operative word…”

“Want to do it again?” Tommy grins.

“Aha!” Jake laughs. “Never..”

Tommy lets go of his hand and runs over to you. “Daddy was scared.”

“Was not!” Jake calls after him.

“Then what were you, hmm?” Tommy says as he rises up on his toes to make himself seem taller. He has his eyebrows raised and a smirk playing on his face.

He is most definitely Jake’s son.

“I was simply.. Startled.”

“So in other words..” You say as you reach for his hand. “You were scared.”

“Oh Jakey boy!” He hears the creepy clown’s voice. He slowly peers over his shoulder. The clown waves at him, his fingers wiggling to and fro.

“Let’s go..” Jake says as he quickly ushers you and Tommy back to the car.

tag list:

@losfacedevil @lightmylove-gvf @ignite-my-fire @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @writingcold @jaketlove @mackalah @lexii-nv-c @thetroublegetssoloud71 @em-gvf01 @katiegvf @joshkiszkaenthusiast @takenbythemadness @jakekiszkasmommy @objectsinspvce @gvfmarge @heckingfrick @bluemeadows77 @laneygvf @sacredmachine @jordie-gvf-admin @gvfpal @killerqueengvf @jaketlover @jordinlkiszka @alwaysonthemend @hellowgoodbye @anythingforjtk @hi-hi-hello11 @anthemofgvf @gretasfallingsky @songbirds-sweet @wildbluesorbit @klarxtr

If you would like to added to my tag list, feel free to reach out! If I missed you, my apologies, please remind me! Also if you user isn't highlighted or underlined, I also apologize, tumblr is a butt.

#jaketober #jake kiszka #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka fanfiction #dad!jake #haunted woods #scaredy cat #jake gvf #greta van fleet #gvf

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wheelchair-wizard · 3 months

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Irish Celtic mythology

VOL 2

The Banshee: A Haunting Specter

The banshee, known as “Bean Sídhe” in Irish folklore, is a mysterious and eerie figure deeply entrenched in Celtic mythology. She is a harbinger of death, a spectral messenger who appears to forewarn of impending doom. Let us delve into the haunting details of this ethereal being:

Appearance:

The banshee is often depicted as a veiled woman with long, disheveled hair that cascades down her back.

Her attire is ancient and tattered, reflecting her timeless existence. A flowing gown, sometimes white or gray, clings to her spectral form.

Her eyes are piercing and sorrowful, reflecting the weight of her otherworldly burden.

Cries of Mourning:

The banshee is most renowned for her keening wails. When a prominent family member is about to die, she materializes near their dwelling or by a riverbank.

Her mournful cries pierce the night, echoing through the valleys and hills. These eerie sounds are said to be an omen of impending death.

The banshee’s lament is both a warning and a lamentation—a farewell to the living and a beckoning to the afterlife.

Ancestral Guardianship:

The banshee is deeply connected to specific Irish families, especially those of noble lineage. Each family has its own unique banshee.

She is a guardian spirit who watches over her chosen clan. Her appearance signifies the imminent passing of a beloved family member.

The Three Forms:

The banshee can manifest in three distinct forms:

As a beautiful young woman, singing sweetly by the water’s edge.

As a matronly figure, veiled and weeping, her grief palpable.

As a haggard crone, her features twisted with sorrow and age.

The Morrigan Connection:

Some legends link the banshee to the ancient goddess Morrigan, a deity associated with war, fate, and sovereignty.

The Morrigan, like the banshee, embodies both life and death, weaving the threads of destiny.

Crossing the Veil:

The banshee straddles the boundary between the mortal realm and the Otherworld. Her presence is a reminder of our mortality.

She beckons souls toward the next realm, guiding them through the veil.

Respect and Reverence:

Despite her eerie reputation, the banshee is treated with respect and reverence. Her role is not malevolent; she merely fulfills her duty.

Families honor her by acknowledging her presence and accepting her message.

In the moonlit glens and mist-shrouded hills of Ireland, the banshee continues her timeless vigil. Her cries echo through the ages, a haunting melody that binds the living and the departed.

Christy, Male, Irish, Dad, Family man, Friendly, Easygoing.

Hi Guys.1st about me. In short.I caught a deadly virus. I'm now severely disabled with some cognitive disfunction.BUT I'm not giving up.Into Nightcafe Ai and other Ai generators.I was a builder,A scuba diver,Hill walker,Sports charity supporter.[Run,Swim,Raft race etc to raise funds] A gardener and anything to do with outdoors.Love animals of all kinds.Family man and loved to chat with anyone.Every nation,Every country,Every people.I loved speaking to everyone.

I'm Irish and we call it loving the banther,ie The Craic and the Chat.

Now.

I'm trying to invent something To raise funds for a new electric Wheelchair and something that makes people smile & brightens their day. If one person laughs.Everyone around them smiles.It.s lovely. It's like a good virus.

If by some Miracle I raise these funds.

Any extra funds will be donated to the S.V.D.P.

St Vincent De Paul for families and people in dire need of help.They are a wonderful charity in need of our support.

PLEASE.

Help me with ideas and thoughts to achieve this goal. I will read & take every bit of help I can get.Everyone is welcome to help.

Thanks Guys.Christy.

NOW. This is NEW business me. Thank you for using our Shop. All of our content is completely FREE.except enhancements. If anyone would like to contribute and support our Shop. There are some easy to use donation links below. We hope you enjoyed our shops content. ©MyFrontDoorMedia.

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light-lanterne · 6 months

Note

Not that I doubt your writing speed, but in the event that it takes you a while to get through your Bylerween stories to the point that they can't end up in the event... would it be possible to request a small summary of the things you'd planned?

hello ! thanks for the ask ~! there are all the reasons to doubt my writing speed, unfortunately, so by all means, a small summary is a perfectly reasonable request !! these are not the final synopses (maybe not even final titles), so please forgive how rushed and imperfect they are x.x

please be warned, though: out of the list with warnings for the event the @bylerween2023 mods posted, at least 90% of those themes are mentioned and alluded to in this post (let alone the stories themselves). proceed with caution.

an offering @boycattj, @byelerss, @catboy-cabin, @cosmobrain00, @dark-quill, @conanssummerchild, @fenixashes, @fluffyfangirl, @foodiewithdahoodie, @holyvirgilscriptures, @hyperfixationcentralsvoid, @rotisseries, @wheelersboy, @yearninginblue. forgive me for tagging you all in unfinished stories, but i thought maybe you'd find some of these concepts interesting >.<

- - - - - - - - ☽ day 1 — ghosts and hauntings ☾ - - - - - - - -

the old barn on cornwallis road

will's house is haunted. not by a ghost or a spectre, but by the cries and suffering of all the boys his father has kidnapped, tortured, and murdered over the past couple years. young as he is, there is nothing he can do but sit and watch as the boys perish, their resentful eyes following his every move as he performs his part in their abduction and killing, fantasies of escaping by himself nothing but a distant dream he'd be better off forgetting. that is, at least, until he meets his dad's latest victim. he's younger than the others, yet far more resilient and determined to escape. more importantly, however, he is kind and understanding with will and so, will's dreams of freedom slowly begin to include this boy. unfortunately, however, they remain dreams and will is instead forced to witness as mike's spirit and fight leave him as the days go by and the brutality lonnie enacts on him becomes worse and worse, his death an impending doom they cannot avoid,,, unless, of course, will manages to do something to save them both.

- - - - - ☽ day 2 — slashers, gore and body horror ☾ - - - - -

a sun to his moon

goat fae will has a normal, quiet life in his small community. he spends his days playing with his friends, cloud gazing, foraging for delicious berries and, quite literally, looking for greener pastures. one day, as he is making his way back home, he gets caught by a strong storm which forces him to seek refuge in an old abandoned barn, the pitch black darkness and his runny nose effectively restricting his senses to the point that he can only hear. and hear he does, when he catches a noise by his side and realises that there is someone in there with him. mike, to be precise; another lost soul who got caught by the storm. they can't see each other, or smell each other, but simply by talking they decide they really enjoy their time together and thus, when the rain stops and they're able to leave, they arrange to meet the next day and have a proper conversation. so they go, then arrive at their meeting spot, then come to a halt as they realise that they'd both made the same mistake: they'd assumed the other to be the same species as themselves when, in fact, mike is a wolf fae, the likes of which are notorious for eating goat faes.

- - - - - ☽ day 3 — demons, devils and exorcisms ☾ - - - - -

blood for the blood moon

it is the 16th century and will is having a tough time. his birthday is a week away and that would normally be a reason to celebrate, but this time he can't bring himself to cheer up even though he knows he should. in one week, his twin sister, jane, will be accepted into the town's council as their high priestess, her magic bringing peace to the village and convincing even the most religious old people of her goodness and pure intent. him? he's not special like jane. he's just a nobody who doesn't quite belong, who doesn't get invited to these events, and who can't even get his crush's attention, no matter what he does. mike hasn't always been a part of his life —or anyone's—; in fact, will can't even remember when they met. all he knows is that he cares so much about mike and it's entirely unfair that everything he does for him goes unnoticed. just last week, will helped him find clean water (just a couple days after the town's well was deemed poisoned), saved mike from biting into a rotten apple (the entire harvest had turned out wrong), scared off that nasty wild goat that kept following them both (its big horns a massive danger), and even warded off that stupid girl who keeps bothering mike even though he's clearly not interested (her broken arm should serve as a reminder to stay away, right?) he does all these things for mike and all will gets is silent stares and teasing smiles and he loves those, but he wants so much more and he doesn't know what to do and it's all making him so angry that he's beginning to believe a demon might've gotten into him, or something. but surely that can't be. demons are not real and will won't change his mind on the matter; not even if jane keeps bugging him about mike's red eyes and his supposedly dark, evil aura.

- - - - - - - - ☽ day 4 — psychological horror ☾ - - - - - - - -

the secret in mike wheeler's basement

there is a secret mike keeps in his basement. it's something important, something he treasures more than anything in the world. but he won't show anyone. not even dustin, when he visits for his weekly check-ins on his childhood friend. not even lucas or max, who only get to come back to hawkins every other month and can't bear the sight of mike's current home. not even el, who's tried to peek into mike's brain more than once only to be met by absolute darkness. and to be entirely honest, mike's silence is quite frustrating. the fight against vecna left them all tired and scarred and moving on from it all has been really hard, but they all still want to keep in touch and thus, the fact that they all make an effort except mike has left them a bit bitter. it's as if everything he's ever needed is there, in the basement, and the party would love to know what's got their friend so enthralled he can't even make time for them anymore. maybe will knows what's in there. he did come back to town for a few weeks sometime last year, during the summer; back then, will had wanted to show his then-boyfriend around town and there had been a couple clashes with mike, but as far as the others knew, everything had smoothed over when the boyfriend left suddenly and mike had will all for himself again. maybe it was then that mike showed will what laid beneath the floorboards, and maybe will held the answer as to why mike's entire house smells of acetone and dry blood. but there's no way of knowing. no one's seen will in a year either so as far as the party's concerned, mike's probably just obsessed with one of the weird life-like dolls he started making once he moved into the old creel house.

- - - - - - - - - ☽ day 5 — came back wrong ☾ - - - - - - - - -

a deal with god

will's life hasn't been easy: poverty, shitty dad, shitty classmates, shitty town. it all used to get to him, back when he lived in hawkins, but now, in retrospective, none of that is as bad as what his life is now. it could be worse, though. being abandoned in a dark, cold, alternate dimension is truly a horrible experience to go through at the tender age of twelve, but at least he's alive, right? more importantly, he's found a way to survive and, quite frankly, thrive in this place his friends called "the upside down". and sure, the powers he developed are big part of why he's even made it this far, but he dares say he's assimilated rather well in the ecosystem and he's almost ready to call this place home. but not yet. first, he needs to help henry destroy the other world. the one where he's been forgotten by the entirety of the town, and where his name is only ever uttered in mockery by everyone he ever loved. not mike, though. mike's the only one who still cares for him and continues to search for him even now, five years after will was taken and everything changed for them all. mike's the only one who's asked about him now that the gates are open and the "upside down" has filtered into whatever's left of hawkins, and he's the only one who seems willing to go on their own to try to find will. mike still cares, and will loves him for it, and that's why he's not going to let him go with the rest. a singular human surviving should do nothing to disturb his and henry's plans and so, will's decided he's going to keep mike alive. even if he has to lie and manipulate mike into coming with him, and even if he has to ask for henry's help.

- - - - - - - - ☽ day 6 — supernatural creatures ☾ - - - - - - - -

cruelty and the beast

(just going to link the original post i'd already made for this one >.<)

- - - ☽ day 7 — witches, wizards and necromancers ☾ - - -

the lost eden funeral home and crematorium

mike has always been fascinated by death. ever since he was a little child, he'd freak his sister out by bringing home carcasses he'd find in the forest, or by showing her the remnants of whatever poor critter he'd had to dissect during biology class. it is then no surprise that he'd end up working at a mortuary, embalming the bodies of the deceased every night and coming home with the smell of formaldehyde well ingrained in his brain. most nights, his time at the mortuary is filled with boring paperwork and the occasional facial reconstruction he has to slave over for the entirety of his shift. every once in a while, he is tasked with dealing with the result of a massive accident and struggles to catch his breath as he prepares up to a dozen bodies for their funeral. however his night goes, he tries to enjoy his job as much as he can, and he likes to think he's really good at it and can handle anything the world throws at him. ,,,that is, of course, until the night when he accidentally reads a passage out of his boss' necromancy manual and brings back to life the body of a young man who passed away under very violent circumstances. who, despite looking (and smelling) like a rotten zombie, seems to be a sweet and lovely dude who died far too soon. so, and because he is nothing but fascinated by the entire situation, mike decides to go a little further and try to bring the man fully back, no matter what it takes.

and that's it ! all the stories i was supposed to write for bylerween and which i'll slowly chip away over the course of the year x.x hopefully you found some of these entertaining ~!

#🎃#✨#🧸#byler #byler fanfic #byler fanfiction #byler ficlet #will byers #mike wheeler #dark byler agenda #bylerween2023

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radiaurapple · 2 hours

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Lucid Dreams of New Orleans: Chapter 3

CHAPTER SUMMARY: IN WHICH Lucifer makes a choice he is likely to regret.

The last time Lucifer saw his father, he was granted a fragment of His divine power — a punishment in the guise of a blessing — that he might serve as steward of the wayward souls cast down into Hell. It is a cruel gift, designed to ensure that he will always be haunted by his mistakes; Lucifer has endured the past seven thousand years by avoiding its use at all costs. But in the aftermath of the fight with Adam, Alastor's worsening injury threatens the foundations of his daughter's dream. Lucifer does what any good father would do: he uses his long-forgotten power to deliver Alastor's soul from the brink of destruction. In turn, knowing Alastor — with all his sins, past lives, and heartbreaks — teaches Lucifer a little more about what it means to be human.

[AO3 LINK]

Hi! here's the latest chapter of my radioapple fic!! things are gettin crazy!! Im very excited about this chapter so I attempted a drawing to accompany it as well ❤️ As always next chapter will be posted in 1 week. 📻🍎

Chapter preview below!

Charlie is still a little girl on the night of the first extermination. When the screaming starts, Lucifer is in her room, curled around her tiny body, his wings a cocoon around them –– he sings softly in her ear, even as she cries and bangs her tiny fists against his chest.

“Daddy,” she sobs. “Help them –– please!”

I can’t, he doesn’t say. She hasn’t learned, yet, that there are no correct moves in this game –– that he is a pawn locked in Heaven’s trap, always three steps behind.

It is Lilith who oversees the exterminations. In those years, she often returns with a scrape or two from an angelic weapon. These are a joy to heal –– her soul is made of Lucifer’s most treasured memories. It feels less like a curse, then, to crawl into her arms –– to press his forehead to hers and dive back into Eden.

When he touches her, it is easy to forget that Eden was an age ago.

When Charlie is thirteen, the Exorcists arrive six hours early; the denizens of Hell are unprepared, still out drinking to their own impending doom. It is a massacre.

When the rift opens, he is at Lu Lu World with Charlie. He brought her there to cheer her up before the extermination. The Exorcists swarm the park in seconds — Lucifer pulls Charlie against his chest to whisk her away, but not before she catches sight of a ticket-taker with an angelic arrow in his heart.

She struggles in Lucifer’s grip, her hand outstretched, as if there were anything she could do — and then they both dissolve in a red shimmer of light.

They materialize in the parlor.

Charlie snarls — her horns sprout from her forehead. “Let me go!” she yells.

Lucifer releases her instantly. She stumbles forward; Lucifer reaches out a hand to steady her, but she rounds on him and bats it away.

“I can’t believe you!” She says. “I know you heal Mom when she comes back from the exterminations. If I had that power, I’d be out there right now, trying to save as many lives as I could. They’re our people, dad!”

Lucifer frowns, removes his hat, and runs a hand through his hair. “Come on, Charlie. You know I can’t do that.”

Charlie squares her shoulders in defiance. “Why not?”

Lucifer sighs. He crosses into the dining room and sits at the table. He’s tempted to tell her the entire truth –– but of the host of indignities that come with his sentence, the worst has always been explaining each punishment to his daughter. Her naïve confusion when she learned he once lived in Heaven still haunts his nightmares.

He drops his head in his hands.

Charlie’s soft footsteps –– she pulls out the chair next to his and sits down.

Lucifer sighs and settles for a partial truth. “You and I are very alike,” he says. “It is sometimes more natural for us to … care.”

Charlie’s hand lands on Lucifer’s back. He looks up at her.

“One day you’ll understand that caring is part of our punishment here,” Lucifer says. “The more you care for these sinners, the more it hurts.”

[AO3 LINK]

#hazbin hotel #radioapple #alastor #lucifer #hazbin lucifer #hazbin alastor #appleradio #duckiedeer #fanfic #mine #ao3 fanfic #ao3

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narrans · 1 year

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56). "If you ever compare them to vermin again, I'll beat the shit outta you!"

PROMPT

56). "If you ever compare them to vermin again, I'll beat the shit outta you!"

Humans can be wonderful, giving, accepting creatures. They can shine a light in the darkest of times, providing aid and stability to those who need it. They provide hope to the hopeless, meals to the hungry, and endure the most wicked and unfortunate of circumstances if it is for someone they love.

Perhaps that’s why they could justify treating us so poorly…

Their kindness simply ran out.

Their tolerance could only go so far.

The cruelty built up and needed a place to vent like steam from a compression chamber.

We - that is… us pets - are not human, even though the only thing that makes us different is our size. Pets are, in essence, much smaller humans, the tallest of us reaching only six-and-a-half or so inches tall - and that was saying something. I, myself, am a solid five and a fifth inches tall, but who is counting?

Certainly not my so-called owners.

They could care less about me with the way they treated me before discarding me – literally. Up until that point, I had never known that humans could be decent creatures.

I remember like it was yesterday when everything really began. After being trained and “properly conditioned,” I was sold to one family as a birthday present for a little girl as her first pet. It was terrifying. Instead of a gerbil or fish, they picked me.

Little did I know it was going to only get worse there for several years.

The girl who “owned” me was a brat through and through. Her screams were ear shattering, but her tendency to hit whatever wasn’t cooperating was far worse. The bruises on my body left me a purple-yellow lump most days. I lost count of how long I was with them honestly.

It wasn’t until she broke my arm, however, that she decided to show me the only mercy I had ever received from her, but it was far from that at the time.

She threw me away.

She tossed me into that odorous hot pink tin can lined in thick black bags.

“Audrey! Please! Don’t do this. I-I-I-I’ll get better. Just…”

“Broken toys go in the trash. You are broken. So, you go in the trash. Good-bye.”

The lid snapped shut and, in a moment, I was plunged into darkness which lasted for hours. The last thing I saw were here dark eyes and wide toothy grin.

Haunting.

She was ten. She should’ve known better. No. She did know better and chose to do the wrong thing.

I slipped into unconsciousness from pain after trying several times to climb and claw my way out of the bag among the various snack bags that were half eaten. It was a miracle I didn’t slip into shock, because the next thing I knew was that I was being jostled around, taken out with the rest of the trash.

I tried shouting, but nothing happened; at least, nothing happened until the bag was still for a few more hours. While in the dark expanse of the bag, I felt another massive jostle again before the inside was flooded with light.

I remember my eyes adjusting just in time to see two pale green eyes widen before the impending digits of doom reached in after me. Trapped at the bottom of the bag and trying to protect my injured arm, I snapped out of my trance. I tried getting away and managed to land a solid punch on his finger, which, to my surprise, made his fingers retract.

“Woah, you’re alive?” he said in awe. My stomach churned as it sank into my hard plastic shoes. I remember kicking myself, thinking if only I had played dead in that moment, then I would be safe.

I’m glad I didn’t do that now.

Slowly, he tilted the bag and kept it propped open, speaking softly to me.

“Hey, sorry. Didn’t mean to make a grab for you. I just didn’t want to leave you in there like that. It’s not the decent thing to do,” he said. “You wanna come out of there? Or not ready to leave yet?” I wanted to sprint to safety, be left alone, and not have a broken arm to tend to, but I knew we pets never really got what we wanted.

Reluctantly, I stood and inched toward the entrance of the bag o he could just barely see me. My insides churned uneasily. I knew what was coming. I was going to be grabbed, bruises pinched between his fingers. There would be a breathless jolt that would whiplash my neck as I lifted up to his face so I could stare into eyes that were the size of my head. Only the most horrible fates danced before my eyes, but as I began the countdown to my demise, none came.

I kept counting just to pass the time as I continued to pinch my eyes shut.

Three… Two… One… Now.

No?

Three… Two… One… Now.

I breathed deeply and summoned what courage I could and squinted one eye open. Sadly, I didn’t manage a glance up and could only stare at his pants leg, which was horrendously dirty and looked like it was one of many layers he wore; and it was no wonder – it was freezing. His one hand hadn’t moved from the top of the bag, but that was all I could see at the time.

Heart racing out of my chest, I felt absolutely sick. Bile rose up in the back of my throat. I suppressed a cough and choked back the feeling that was compressing my chest.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed something – anything – to relieve the tension.

I dared to look up, and immediately I met his two massive pale green eyes and a face that undoubtedly once was full of freckles.

One look and I knew he was examining me, eyes latching onto my injured arm that practically hung limply by my side in two places as well as the aged bruises mingled with the fresh.

I didn’t know what it was, but I knew the look in his eye immediately.

Disgust.

However, it wasn’t disgust at me. It was disgust for me.

I watched a protective presence radiate from him like waves of heat. In his eyes raged a distain and loathing for the one who hurt me. A lump the size of his fist formed in my throat.

Was it possible he felt pity? Sympathy?

No… it was empathy.

His other hand, which hadn’t made a grab for me, was in a brace of its own, and I saw a healing bruise on his cheek that was now a pale yellow. Somehow, he saw and understood everything I had gone through. It was a thought I had a few times before that people could be unkind toward one another, but I had never actually witnessed it happening.

I watched a coaxing smile curve his lips as he snapped himself out of whatever evaluation he just performed.

“Hey there,” he said softly. “Bit banged up, are we? Let’s see what we can do about that.” He laid his hand on the ground for me to step onto, which was a new phenomenon for me since most humans would simply pinch my torso or wrap their sweaty fingers around my body. Thinking of no other option or alternative at the moment but to cling onto the thoughtful look in his pale green eyes, I stepped onto his fingers and sat down cross-legged in the center of his palm.

“It’s a tad cold out and I’ve got a little way to walk. Do you care for a pocket or shoulder in my hoodie?” he asked.

Wait…

He asked?

A choice?

“Um…” I fumbled, bracing my arm tighter against my body. A bitterly cold gust of wind whipped by. I didn’t want to be confined, but the pocket sounded warmer. Then again, I was already warming just by being near his hand. I did want to see where we were going.

As if he could read my mind, he asked, “Not used to choices?”

I shook my head.

“Figures,” he muttered, a hint of anger in his voice. “How about shoulder? I’ve got a scarf in my bag here. You can use it like a blanket.”

What kind of human was this?

I couldn’t help myself and nodded eagerly and, within no more than thirty seconds, he had wrapped his scarf around his neck and had nestled me safely in the folds of the fabric, pulling up his hood to protect the both of us from the wind.

Without another word, he stood and began walking down the street, tugging a backpack onto his back and walking briskly. I didn’t ask any questions, mind reeling from what was already happening.

I wanted to ask him questions. Where were we going? What was he going to do to me? Was he taking me to someone who would be my new “owner”? Or was he going to assume that role? Why was he hurt? How was he going to fix my arm? Was he going to fix it?

I decided against asking any of them though. I didn’t want to say something that might make him change his mind in helping me. He could easily chuck me into any of the trashcans that we passed by, landing me right where I started the day.

It was about an hour later when he seemed to spot what he was looking for and changed direction, now walking toward a part of a bridge guarded by a partially torn down metal fence. He slipped under with cat-like dexterity and climbed up the steep concrete pad until he was directly under the overpass.

He reached up and gestured for me to slip onto his hand.

“I need to get my area set up, and then we’ll take a look at that arm. Sound fair?” he asked. I decided to be compliant, though I wasn’t sure what this whole “area” was supposed to look like. He unraveled the scarf and set it off to the side, keeping me snuggly wrapped in it to keep me from being subjected to the wicked wind.

I could’ve run for it. I could’ve slipped away and slid down the concrete pad to freedom, but I didn’t move. It was already getting dark and there was no chance of me surviving the night with a broken arm and no supplies. Even with this stranger, I was still safer than I would be alone.

I watched curiously as he pulled his backpack off of his back and began assembling a one-person tent, a compact set of blankets, and a few lamps which he hung inside of his pale tan tent. He shoved his bag into the opening before poking his head out and looking back at me. I had to admit that I was a bit nervous, watching him make this tent and then move inside wordlessly without bringing me with him.

“Ready?” he asked. I wasn’t sure. Was I ready? Still numb from the pain of my arm, I thought only for a minute before nodding and letting his hands cup either side of the scarf that surrounded me. He moved slowly and brought me into the tent where he set me on top of his backpack, a scuffed medical kit resting in his lap.

I didn’t get a good look, but I saw there were dozens of tools on one side of his kit, and they were all tools I had seen in my life. They were small tools – perfect for pets like me. Unease crept into my chest. Why did he have these tools? They looked professional, as if they came from a veterinarian’s office.

I shuddered as I watched his fingers reach inside and pull out some odd-looking tweezers.

“Now, let’s see about that arm,” he said. I recoiled immediately and shoved myself deeper into the fabric around me.

“No! You find someone else to play doctor on. I won’t have you practicing on me!” I shouted.

He sighed slowly and nodded a few times but didn’t try again. Was he frustrated with me? Or was he thinking of something to say. I got my answer when he spoke directly to me.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Look, I’m not here to play doctor and know a thing or two about setting small bones. Believe me. Fingers make good practice,” he said. “We’ve only just met, but I need you to trust me. You don’t want that arm just hanging there like that, unless you like having a nice jolt of pain every time something taps it the wrong way.”

I bit the inside of my cheek and curled in on myself, accidentally bumping my arm against my knee in the process. Would he work on my arm without my permission anyway? Was it better to give him permission or resist, demonstrating my free will?

Either way, my arm needed help and I was in no position to make it better.

“Fine,” I muttered. He moved his fingers closer and slipped his finger under my injured arm. His keen, pale-green eyes absorbed every detail of my arm, flicking every so often to the other scars on my body.

He lifted his hand again and I slid onto the columns of flesh clumsily, abandoning my warm spot by his neck and jostling my arm in the process. He set me down on the table which had several long-dried coffee stains and spilled sugar crystals. I sat there on the desk while he washed his hand and came back.

“Feel like telling me how this happened?” he asked as he began opening up the material he’d need to brace my arm.

“Tell me about yours first,” I snapped, regretting my tone immediately for fear of punishment. His pale green eyes flicked up to my own, and my heartrate spiked just for a moment before he sighed.

“My dad. Finally decided to defend myself and got hurt in the process. Now, your turn,” said Bruce. Defend himself? Against his father? There was definitely more than met the eye with this guy, but I could see he was waiting for my response, and I guess I owed him that much.

“Kid,” I spat. “She wanted my arm to bend the other way like all of her other dolls.”

“Yikes, I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Humans are terrible, but bratty kids are some of the worst. May I?” His fingers approached, gesturing for me to place my broken arm onto the pads of his fingers. My heart was pounding out of my chest. Every part of me was shaking, but I had calmed down from my outburst a few minutes ago just enough to lift my arm and lay it against the tips of his fingers. He kept his pale green eyes on me and better examined my injury.

“I’m Bruce by the way. I assume that kid gave you some ridiculous name? Or do you have a name that you’d like me to use instead?” he asked.

“You don’t want to claim your right to that?” I asked bitterly. Bruce scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Naw, I’m good. I’d rather hear what your parents named you,” said Bruce. I looked up at him, sensing he was being genuine. At least he had the decency of asking what my parents named me instead of what the training facility decided to call me. Did he know we actually had parents and weren’t just grown in a lab?

Fine. It was the least I could do since he did save my life.

“Pip. Just Pip,” I said.

“Like Pippy Longstocking? Or Pip like Pippen from Lord of the Rings?” asked Bruce.

“I don’t know,” I said, taken aback by his question. Was there a difference? Did my parents know the difference? “I like the sound of the Lord of the Rings one better though.”

“Me too,” said Bruce. His nimble fingers worked swiftly and, before I knew it, my arm was braced between fragments of popsicle sticks, string, and pieces of a cut shirt. Despite the size of his fingers, he was tender and careful. After I was bandaged up, arm in a sling, I stared at him as he carefully broke apart a pill meant for killing the pain and handed it to me. He also gave me some water to take with it as he began making some kind of dinner for himself, which came in those odd-packaged noodles.

We ended up eating in silence after I took the medicine before I summoned the courage to ask him about why he was out here on his own in a tent instead of a home. I had an idea of what happened when he mentioned his arm, but I wanted to hear it from him directly.

Turned out that he knew a little something about the viciousness of humans and empathized with the abuse pets suffered daily. His father was a cruel man, especially after his wife left him, leaving Bruce behind to endure alone. We compared scars and injuries, though I had to admit that Bruce’s injuries surpassed my own, which was surprising.

It was only because of the kindness of one other, a veterinarian who helped him through the darkest times in his life, that he was where he was in life. It was this veterinarian who he was going to go live with once he made it to his final destination. Bruce explained that his father made him move out of state “for a change of scenery” after his mother left, and Bruce finally had enough and was going back to live with the veterinarian.

I found myself endeared to him after hearing this story. Not only had this veterinarian helped Bruce, but he also helped him learn the skills necessary to help pets like me. He helped him see that there was no difference between us, and for this I would be forever grateful.

After talking well into the night, Bruce offered to take me wherever I wanted to go. Sadly, I had nowhere else to go. Bruce then offered me to stay with him, traveling as companions and not as pet and human. Whole-heartedly, I accepted and drifted off to sleep just under his chin when it was time for bed.

This was the start to something wonderful.

For the next four months, we traveled together in the most peculiar circumstances. We slept in odd places like under bridges and in parks in the evenings, and we used public electricity to charge his batteries. Sometimes, he collected cans or other odd ends for cash if he didn’t work the odd job. Never did he beg along the side of the road like the other nomads we came across while traveling.

While on the road, we came across more than just other people like Bruce. We came across others like me who were down and out, rejected, thrown away, or simple runaways. We soon found ourselves moving in an entire group of five, bringing three other pets along for the ride – Volley, Lowe, and Flick.

We made up the “Fantastic Five,” collecting spare change and living life on the road as we made our way across the country from one coast to the next. It was a good time for all of us. Late night talks and dream – real dreams – about the future. It was something none of us were really used to when given the chance.

For the first time, I let myself dream. I dreamt about walking on the beach and seeing an ocean sunset. The others had dreams of going to school, becoming an inventor, and even becoming a chef. Some of these dreams felt farfetched, but it was the fact that we could let ourselves dream that made the time worthwhile.

Of course, dreams were not the only things that made up our world. On our travels through the human world, there were still dangers and cruel humans. More often than not, Bruce had to fight away different humans so they would stay away from his things and, more importantly, away from us.

One particular individual, David, became a particular nuisance when we had to stay in the same campsite for a few weeks while Bruce gathered up enough money to stock up a decent supply of dried goods before making one of the longest treks of our journey yet. David would often sneak into or around the camp, pinching things from others’ campsites and claiming he didn’t steal anything when confronted.

Bruce, along with myself and the other three, were onto him from the moment Bruce set up his tent, and we were very careful to make sure to keep an eye out for David. From the moment that slimy git greeted us with a hello, I knew he was going to be trouble.

It wasn’t until one particularly warm morning, however, that everything happened.

I woke up, stretching into the warm spot by Bruce’s neck that I had grown accustomed to, and saw a shadow lurking nearby. I shoved the others awake and tugged on Bruce’s earlobe until he woke up.

“Hm? What’s going on?” he murmured sleepily, rolling over onto his back. The moment Bruce spoke, the shadow quickly vanished away from the side of the tent, and we were left alone once again.

“Pip? You see that?” asked Flick, rubbing his curly brown hair out of his eyes as he looked up toward the top beams of the tent.

“Yeah. Why’d you think I woke you up? I think it’s David again,” I said quickly, making sure Bruce could hear. In a moment, Bruce was sitting upright and was crouched by the edge of his tent, listening intently.

“You sure it was him? It might’ve been someone passing by,” suggested Bruce.

“I’m not sure, but I don’t know if it would be anyone else other than him,” I replied hastily, hoping I hadn’t raised the alarm for no particular reason.

“Well, did you see where he went?” asked Bruce. His hand lowered and, without hesitation, I stepped on and sat up on top of his shoulder so we could speak quickly and quietly without others hearing.

“No, but hopefully he’ll go bother someone else,” I said as softly as I could into Bruce’s ear.

“All the same, I think we should get out of here. Maybe it was him and maybe not. Regardless, we should get moving anyway. Besides, unless he really wants something of mine, David won’t follow,” said Bruce. I nodded in agreement, even though he couldn’t see me directly. “I’m going to fill up my water container and then we’ll be off.”

Without another word, Bruce quickly packed up his things and dismantled the tent, setting everything into his pack. The water spicket was only sixty or so feet away, which was quite a fair distance for a pet like me and my fellow companions, but it was, as Bruce would say, a “stone’s throw,” away from us. He would be gone from us for maybe thirty seconds and David was nowhere in sight, which was a relief.

“I’ll be right back,” he reassured as he moved quickly to the water spicket with his collection of empty containers.

The others and myself assumed our positions along his bag, slipping into pockets and securing our lines onto the edges of his bag, all while keeping an eye out for anyone approaching. My eyes were pealed sharp. I was keeping a close eye out – or so I thought.

One moment, my eyes were fixed on the nomadic campsite and Bruce mere steps away. In the next moment, the bag we were all on was being hoisted up into the air, jostling with the force of someone running away quickly. My head whipped around and felt my insides drop as I recognized the dark, matted hair on David’s head. I heard the others cry out indistinctly, and I knew in an instant we were in trouble.

Doing the only thing I could think of, I called out as loud as I could for the one person who I knew would be able to help.

“Bruce!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. “Bruce!”

Did he hear me? Did he even notice? All I knew was that I had to hang on within an inch of my life as my friends and I were jostled, thrown and bounced within an inch of our lives. My once broken arm ached with the force with which I tried clinging to the bag.

The nomadic campsite vanished from view as the thief darted from street to street with us in tow. A sick, churning feeling seized my insides. What was going to happen to us if Bruce didn’t follow or find us in time? More importantly, how were we going to help Bruce find his things and find us?

I didn’t have to worry or think for very long. Once we were a few streets over, David stopped running and threw the bag carelessly on the ground. We landed hard against the pavement, making my bones ache. The others cried out too, but I couldn’t see them from where I was on the top of the bag. Something else seized my attention – literally.

I was pinched harshly between the grubby fingers of the thieving human and was hoisted up into the air. I could smell the decay off of David’s breath as he squinted at me.

“Ah, I forgot about you little twerps,” he muttered. I glared up at him and squirmed in his grip, trying to get free.

“Get off of me and leave Bruce’s things alone!” I demanded. My insides were suddenly squeezed within an inch of my life. I gasped for air, trying to remember how to bring air back into my lungs.

“You making demands of me, pet?” he scoffed. “Squeaking and mewling all of your complaints. It’s a wonder why he keeps vermin like you around. I think I’ll do him a favor and exterminate the lot of you. One less mouth to feed.”

I felt his fingers start to tense around me again. My vision started to blacken. Every part of me screamed, and a shout of pain escaped my own body. The others were shouting, demanding for me to be released, but it did nothing for me. My vision darkened and I could see nothing.

Suddenly, I was completely weightless. What was going on? Was this dying? A jostled landing and a sudden relief let me bring air into my lungs again. I felt hands my size tapping my face and grasping onto my shoulders once feeling returned to my body.

I also heard a roaring shout from a voice I recognized all too well.

“Let go of her! And leave us alone!” shouted Bruce. There were sounds of dull thudding as David tried to fight back.

“Ow! Stop it! I was just looking after your stuff. I was afraid someone would st-”

“I’m not stupid! You picked the wrong guy to mess with! Don’t you ever come near my friends again, you hear me?” Bruce roared as his blurry form pounded David with his fists. David began to stumble away and retreat, wiping the blood away from his lips.

“Geez! They’re just vermin. They don’t feel…” Bruce grabbed the nearest rock and hucked it at David’s head as the other human ran away.

“If you ever compare them to vermin again, I'll beat the s*** outta you!” yelled Bruce. Thankfully, my vision returned in time to see the faces of the other three and Bruce hovering above me.

“Are you alright?” asked Flick as he began checking out my once injured arm. Volley lifted me up just enough for Bruce to lift me up into his palm. I sank into the warmth of his fingers.

“I’ll be fine,” I moaned, clutching my sides that I knew would have finger shaped bruises on them.

“Not until we’re far away from here,” Bruce muttered. “Come on. We need to get going before David decides to come back.”

We loaded up once again on the bag while Bruce carried me in his hand until I was well enough to sit up on my own on his shoulder. It wasn’t until we were several hours into our walk that I realized that I hadn’t thanked Bruce. I looked up and over at him, leaning into the crook of his neck and tugged on his earlobe to get his attention.

“Hey, Bruce. I meant to say it earlier, but thank you,” I said.

“It’s nothing,” said Bruce. “It’s the least I could do for a friend.”

I smiled to myself and curled in tighter. Bruce reached up and gently brushed his fingers against my side.

Friend.

What a human term, but what could be more fitting for us and our merry band.

The days were long, but we soon found ourselves on the doorstep of Bruce’s mentor and friend. The vet was an interesting man, but we – the other pets – took a liking to him almost instantly. We also took a liking to, as he called them, “house guests,” which were other pets like the three of us. Settling in took no time but, at the end of the day, there was no place I would rather be than by Bruce’s side, nestled into his neck as I had done for so long.

Humans are such interesting beings, capable of great evil and kindness. I was blessed enough to find one who knew cruelty and chose kindness instead.

We all have a choice, and now I choose to be happy.

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yeahcurrahhe-e · 11 months

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒

〚 𝐑. 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐈𝐑𝐒 〛

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ➛ language

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓 ➛ hi! I saw that your requests are open and I absolutely adore your writing so I was wondering if I could get eight from the angst prompts and/or two from the happy prompts with Ron Speirs? thanks love! — prompts used: “I can’t do this without you” and “wait for me, will you?”

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃 was swathed in silence, throngs of paratroopers not yet roused from anxious slumbers — there was still an hour spared for their innocence before they’d be careening feet-first into Hell.

Her own innocence was ticking away on a doomsday clock as she, being a commanding officer, had to secure final preparatory measures, a task that warranted her presence far before the remainder of Easy.

A compact arrangement of maps, stock lists, and company rosters was pinned against her chest as she sat beneath a breadth of one of the numerous stationed C-47’s; Winters and Nixon had ventured off to retrieve more cases of air sickness pills after Roe realized they were short about fifty. Their absence waded a lull into her restless high she had been entertaining for the previous few hours, and she could appreciate the silence before it was tarnished by crossfire, screams, and the other destructive symphonies of war.

She begrudgingly relaxed her back to the towering landing gear of the transport aircraft, absentminded fingers poking and prodding at her dog tags; it was a fine coolness on her skin in the tepid morning. Her languid gaze peered out to the bony black horizon, as the sunrise hadn’t yet drowned out the stark darkness with a bar of radiant gold. She wondered if she had already seen her last sunrise; they’d be descending into Normandy far before any vivid hues could bloom in the sky.

Before her overwrought mind could spin anymore macabre notions, she became abruptly aware that she no longer was alone amidst the sea of planes.

“Come to join in on the contemplation of our impending doom?” Y/N mused, intuition already discerning who had accompanied her there beneath the plane’s shadow.

The subtle gleam of a kindled cigarette and subdued oomph confirmed her instinct as Ron Speirs sat himself alongside her on the tarmac.

“You really shouldn’t be smoking next a plane that’s gassed up to the nines,” she chided, plucking the simmering stick from the bow of his lips, the tip of her boot prompt to extinguish it on the ground.

Ron sputtered out a merge of a scoff and a chuckle, “Well, then I would’ve gone out a way I wanted — before any Kraut got the chance.”

The vexation of being fleeced of his Lucky Strike, naturally vanished at the sight of his childhood best friend’s subtle simper. At how it didn’t quite reach her eyes; at how she may physically be there, yet her mind was already at the mercy of Ares.

“You and your theatrics,” she muttered, sportively nudging against his shin with the round edge of her boot.

Their few exchange of words was sobering enough to allow her from not skidding entirely a rabbit hole, one that seemed to be configured with quicksand. Almost as if they were kids again, the day's grot lacking on their sun-kissed skin as they laid side-by-side on her porch, summer air saturated with their laughter and banter.

It was a memory that lingered like a tattoo in her subconscious, may even come to haunt her the day Death greeted her on some European knoll or a village alleyway.

“I consider it more my last will and testament,” his tone reflected her previous murmur, deliberately filtered agitation manifesting in his fumbling of his crumpled Lucky Strikes carton. Y/N’s awakening forebode hung around like smoke now, and yet he couldn’t kick one indication of empathy out from beneath his toxic pride; their friendship had forever been constructed upon an implicit understanding that Ron wasn’t an overwrought displayer of emotion, and that Y/N was at peace with that. That same concrete pride wouldn’t allow for even war to crack it.

“A real sign of the times,” she halfheartedly stoked the airy banter further, mindful that Ron’s dry humor was a mustered effort to comfort her. Nothing new.

A grumble of obstinance blared in Ron’s head not even seconds later, a reminder from the world that everything beyond this airfield was decaying in destruction and blood, and all they may have eventually is each other — uncomfortable ‘what if’s’ be damned.

Yet, he just let it be, allowed the woman to brood alongside him like a forlorn spirit, though his conscious morally throbbed to do something.

And, by some divine intervention (at least in his perception), Winters and Nixon strode towards them with boxes of pills secured beneath their arms. The redhead part of the duo murmured like a prayer to himself a memorized index of all they had packed, the concise whispers flooding out when Nixon beckoned to Ron and her,

“Hey, Speirs, ‘ya know Dog Company’s plane is all the way down the strip, right?”

Despite Ron’s notoriety of being the toughest and most cutthroat son of a bitch in the Airborne, Lewis Nixon still treated him with an unchanging — yet characteristic — sardonic wit.

“Yes, Captain Nixon, I’m aware,” Ron curtly retorted, dour gaze pinned on the intelligence officer, one entirely disregarded by its recipient but recognized by the young woman at his side. For Y/N, it was amusing to see Ron fuss in a hardly stifled bate of frustration every interaction she witnessed between the two.

“Good. We should actually start to wake up the rest of the company here, Captain Y/L/N. If Speirs doesn’t mind, of course,” Nixon’s brazenness wasn’t cowardly as he spoke to the fellow officer, a trait that had Winters unamused, Y/N smiling subtly, and Ron essentially burning gradually like a furnace.

“Never would hold an officer from their duties,” the Dog Company officer attempted indifference in his response, an altogether miserable effort from where Y/N stood. Ron then nodded towards her, subtle on the fronts that counted in the presence of Winters and Nixon, only meaningful to her; an implicit, ‘wait for me, will you?’ — a trademark of their friendship as their clashing recklessness typically had one of them careening head-first into danger. Now, it was nearly a plea; ‘don’t go dying before I get to you again’.

She nodded back: I will wait if you will.

Then, he’s gone in a tense ballad of footsteps, beckoning down to one of Dog Company’s other leading officers, already delving into the other business demanding his attention. Her own back turns from him a beat later, individual footsteps crooning an uneasy tune as she followed Nixon and Winters to Easy’s billet.

And she’d never know how he turned around, garnering a fleeting glimpse of her silhouette amidst the graphite gloom of the June morning. The what-if’s were ever more haunting as he did, so with a whisper of anxiety bobbing in his stomach, he forced himself to continue on down the strip.

—

SHE HAD LANDED somewhere in Normandy’s far-reaching countryside.

Her heels are what landed roughly first into the crumbly dirt, legs nearly jamming at the jolt of pressure against them. With a haphazard lean on her thigh, then side, she halted her chaotic pace. The abrupt halt had her skidding a few feet in shell casings, shredded pine needles, and rocky sand before a slash of silver liberated her from its burdensome strings.

Replacing her knife to her utility belt, there was the realization of her saturated GI-issued uniform as it adhered oppressively to her skin with sweat. In frustration, she jostled away the puff of white cloth from her already worn body, her sour disposition stoked by the concoction of smells that billowed around her: gun powder, blood, and cow manure.

Despite the overwhelm of misery, she had to continue on. Easy was waiting for her. Ron was waiting for her.

Her legs burned horridly as she bolstered the mingled weight of her gear and herself onto them.

And, as the start of dawn’s sunlit hues split across the gun-powdered air, she recognized that she was alone in the wheat field. Her mind forfeited counting the few snagged paratroopers strung up like rag dolls in the towering trees, subtly swaying by their parachute’s strings when the branch was stirred by the summer breeze.

One branch lamented underneath the dead weight of its unwelcome ornament as she trekked beneath it, the soles of his boots nearly scathing the crown of her head. Y/N suppressed the gag that ached in her throat, jabbing her tongue into her cheek. Just keep going.

She did, even as the bloodcurdling sensation of boot heels almost taunted her down the dirt trail. Even as she knew that the very image of their marionette bodies would forever be dented into her mind. That she’d continue on towards possible salvation, whilst they would forever remain ghostly adornments on a foreign land’s tree, reminders of the price of war.

She hated this.

—

SALVATION — or the best substitute for it — greeted her in a near death scare. It was quick; one moment, she was traipsing through concentrations of mud, then a fleeting whoosh of a bush’s dry ends, accompanied by a purposeful hand on her forearm plucking her behind the shrub, an inherent gasp forced from her as she couldn’t position her weapon quick enough.

And now she was ankle deep in the muck with Ronald Speirs pressing a finger to her mouth, an insinuation that the enemy was nearby.

Something akin to a grunt rumbled at the back of her throat, remnants of shock from presuming she’d be greeting Death rather than him.

His smell of cigarettes and pine swirled around as he then shifted to crouch in front of her, easing her down with him, gesturing to still remain silent.

Both were tainted with the colors of the earth, blood — neither knew if it was their own — and sweat. Their rifles were hoisted by its strap against the subtle heave of their chests, minds pondering in the stern silence if either had to fire them — if either had killed.

A cacophony of disturbed dirt and pebbles then shot through the tension, a chorus of flustered German mingling with it, as the lurking enemy hastened off to a different position; undoubtedly hunting the thousands of paratroopers across the French terrain.

Ron idled, finger still urgently against her lips, keen on assuring that they were genuinely safe. With a reckless glance above the shrub’s bristled top, and all but exposing his head, he confirmed their absence and settled back beneath the hedge’s sanctuary.

“I could have shot you, you know,” Y/N blurted in a coarse whisper, palm pushing away his hand from her mouth, “I still might.”

“You almost walked right into a nest of Krauts. I saved you from having your ass shot to Hell,” he touted, leaning forward with elbows braced on his knees, finger poised for emphasis at her, “You’re welcome.”

The irritation that then irked amidst the camo paint on her face, made him aware that in his cruel attempt to inflict a cut into her recklessness, he had opened Pandora’s Box. And he didn’t like that look.

Therefore Ron Speirs mentally prepared himself for the reprimanding of his life.

“And if I had, you would’ve still bounded out of fucking Timbuktu, pumped them full of bullets and declared yourself a hero,” she muttered, her hushed tone more of a menace that it should be in the silence demanded by being in enemy territory; she was pissed at the world and Ron was unintentionally caught in the crossfire.

She gave a low, humorless whistle, considering him with a vexed tilt of her head,

“Believe it or not,” she continued, “But I can actually handle myself.”

“Y/N—”

She stifled him alarmingly quick, gesturing irately towards herself, “I went through all the same training you did.”

“I know-”

His words fell lame against his tongue once more as she interjected, “I’ve made it miles from whatever shit-filled field I was dropped into all by myself — without backup, without Ron Speirs in his shining armor, and I’m looking a whole lot better off than those who weren’t alone. I know because I walked underneath their strung up corpses on my way here.”

A dull thwack resounded against the earth as she bolstered herself up with aid of her rifle. She exhaled lightly, “I have to go find my company. I’m sure Dog and Easy will link up at some point-”

Ron interrupted her now, fluidly standing to mirror her stance, “I can’t do this without you. That’s why I did what I did — said what I did.”

And replacing all his cocky glory, is now a frown — she wonders if it was a blunder in his typically careful disposition. She wonders if his words are as well.

Y/N rolled her eyes, nearly too belligerently, and sobered the temptation to just walk away with a drawn inhale, “You’re joking, right? Making yourself feel better? I have twenty years of experience to know that you can stand just fine on your own—”

A hand plucked her beneath the flinty gaze of Ron Speirs, chests essentially against the flush of the others.

She twisted around furiously so she could push him away, the essence of a scowl on her face.

Yet, he swiftly thwarted her mid-shove, muttering harshly, “I’ve seen enough shit today to realize that maybe I can’t.”

Y/N then cocked her head, creases at the contours of her eyes as if thinking whilst they glimpsed away from him, and he knew he wouldn’t like whatever response was about to spew out from her, “Cause you need someone to kiss your ass?”

“Maybe if you pulled your head out of your ass, you'd realize that there are some people that give a shit about whether or not you live or die,” Ron essentially snarled in her face, his gaze fervid with fluttering chaos and madness, whetting the edge of his eyes.

The humidity of the summer rain seemed torrid in her lungs now, goosebumps washed across her exposed skin, and she wished she had walked away.

"Like who?" she beckoned in challenge, true to her haughty disposition, and arms folded across her chest.

The one small question had stirred the hurricane in the both of them and their blazing eyes strung in a tightrope in the biting air. Their steady breaths canopied in front of their faces as they glowered at each other, a verbal silence prevailing beneath the din of nearby crossfire.

“Like who, Ron?" she pressed after a beat of silence between them, the fire and gold of frustration in her eyes dripping away as her mind relented to the anticipation of his response.

“Like me," he admitted with his mouth abandoning all moisture for an arid wasteland of desert.

His whole mewl of a rant moments prior had fucked things up for sure. Even as he was blustering and calling into question her competence, he was aware how he was stirring an unspoken pot of exasperation between them. But she had scared him that morning. And Ron Speirs thought himself a fool whenever he fussed in fright over something - someone.

But, as he flanked position behind the dense shrub, and caught her approaching without the wherewithal for the Germans skulking beyond the stretch of greenery, he had felt cornered into a decision to interfere.

“I, uh, have to go — Winters and Nix will be waiting,” she more or less mumbled to herself, nearly as if to shroud the response that yearned on the tip of her tongue. She promptly shifted away from him, stifling a festering fuss that mapped a constellation in her mind.

He was agile — desperate — to snatch onto her hand before she vanished into the grotty cloud of action beyond their makeshift sanctuary.

Then, he squeezed; a precise gesture: wait for me, will you?

Boot still poised to traipse onto the path to the village poking upon the horizon, she squeezed back: I will if you will, because I can’t do this without you, either.

And perhaps, on this day of days, this wouldn’t be another what-if.

#hbo war #hbo war imagine #hbowar #band of brothers #band of brothers imagine #ron speirs

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profblahson · 7 months

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Dies Irae

Eight notes.

Hell, this theme can be identified in fewer, especially when you know what you’re looking for. But eight notes is about all it takes, and you’ve got yourself one of the most iconic themes surrounding death, horror, and the macabre.

Even if you don’t know it by name, you almost certainly know it by sound.

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This is the first post the month of spooky and macabre music for Spooky Season! I wanted to start off with a classic and widely-used piece (or chant in this case). I’m planning a few of these, so keep an eye out throughout the month!

Art by @nynehells , go check them out!

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What is the Dies Irae?

From Latin, “Day of Wrath,” this sequence is dated as far back as the 13th century. While who formally wrote the chant is not entirely known (originally attributed, however, to Thomas of Celano, but that is now debated), the text is clearly based on a Biblical passage, Zep 1:14-16. Below is both the Latin-English translation of the Dies Irae’s opening stanza, and the referenced Bible text.

The poem does in fact end on a more hopeful note, but the opening lines are harrowing, and where a lot of music draws inspiration.

This is the most typical variation of the chant, in d minor. Already off to a great start, as d minor is often called one of the darkest and saddest keys in the circle. The closeness of the starting pitches (Me-Re/F-E is only a half step) adds tension, and the whole step resolution to our home note (Te-Do/C-D) is weak, leaving our ears a bit put off. We don’t travel far - only the distance of a Perfect Fourth, another interval full of tension, with little release. All this combined with such intense lyrics, it’s no wonder the music is so commonly used with death. Sung as a slow chant, and you’ve created a menacing piece of music that has haunted the world over for literal centuries.

Dies Irae in Music

The Dies Irae is ubiquitous in classical music and horror/thriller scores. We’ll take a quick look at some of the more popular uses of the piece! Two classical pieces and two modern pop culture references.

Hilariously, for purposes of this post, the first two examples don’t directly use the Dies Irae chant; instead, they set the text to frenetic, intense music (and I also like them :) )

Requiem - Mozart

The Dies Irae is part of the Ordinary, and so it’s included in Requiems, which is a Mass for the Dead. Mozart’s Requiem was the last piece he worked on before his death (passed before completing it), and it’s a huge choral work.

The Dies Irae appears relatively early on, and it’s a mood changer. Fast, aggressive, chaotic…it truly sounds like impending doom.

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The goal of this movement seems to make audiences feel the frantic energy of the text. It SCREAMS Day of Wrath!!

Requiem - Verdi

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Another use of the frantic energy depicted in the text. Verdi’s Dies Irae is also loud, bombastic, and quite literally hits you hard right away. Hear that gun-shot bass drum and timpani! The strings absolutely fly by; Intense and fast chromatic lines in the trumpets sound as though they’re heralding in one’s doom. (This one’s my favorite btw)

Common to both of these examples: dynamics are turned up to 11, their tempi are fast and relentless, and both use wicked scalar motion which, combined with the speed, create a blast of sound that simply pummel listeners.

Some more recent uses of the Dies Irae in media up next! For these two, we actually hear the chant proper, not use of the text.

The Shining Theme

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I mean, it's quite literally the Dies Irae! This movie even uses the second half of the chant that a lot of pieces and references don't get into. Right off the bat, hearing the Dies Irae, we know this film is going to include a lot of death (which is exactly what occurs). The main theme is played on this funky organ/synth, adding atmosphere, with little room for release.

Sweeney Todd

So, I’m gonna just link Sideways’ video on this musical, because he just does a better job than I ever could. Please watch this video because it’s oh so good.

youtube

The TL;DW of the video is: the Dies Irae is used throughout the music of Sweeney Todd. It’s literally baked into (pun intended) the score. Invert notes here, play it backwards there, change the rhythm a bit, or reharmonize it this way, and you can create an entire musical that hints at the themes of death right off the bat! It’s very clever writing.

Closing Thoughts

It’s obviously very difficult to separate the Dies Irae and the concept of Death, since even from its inception the text and music has, uh, been like that! The intense energy of the text lends itself to frantic music, and composers have taken advantage of this for a long time. Even when just hinting at the chant, the music takes on a more sinister, intense mood, and composers can take and morph the primary chant into what they want, while still implying Death.

I actually have two more classical pieces that use the Dies Irae that I’d like to talk about in a bit more depth separate from this post (plus this one is already long as is!). One of them is often cited as one of the first and most known uses of the chant to imply character death in the music; the other uses the theme a bit differently. I’m just excited to write and look at a bit more because they’ve got spooky and macabre elements!

Thanks for listening and your time!

#Youtube #spooky music #dies irae #profblogson

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strayrockette · 2 years

Text

Give Me Peace Over War

Next Part

Summary: A young girl struggles to accept her new reality and attempts to find a way out by any means necessary.

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x oc

Trigger Warning: Mentions of death, suicide, and feelings of depression. A gun also appears near the end. Lots of angst. Please do not interact if you are highly sensitive to these topics. Angst is my favorite genre to write so it can get very very heavy.

A/N: The topics mentioned in this story are not light and should be addressed accordingly. If you or a friend have thought about harming yourself please reach out to someone who will help guide you to a better resolution. And please remember that there is always someone who cares about you. Have hope and faith that everything will turn out alright eventually. Things take time and it needs patience and commitment for a better outcome.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

1-800-273-8255

Poem Title: And So To Madness, I descend by Khaëdra

retrieved from: allpoetry.com

Thomas Shelby Masterlist

Peaky Blinders Masterlist

Prologue

And so to madness I descend

Through these dark days, that never end

The waves come but I can't defend

Perhaps my fate's already penned

My first moment of awareness was capitalized on a birthday party. I was turning four but I did not feel like a young child who was bright-eyed and basking in the bliss of youth. The party raged on but my mind screamed that something was wrong. Smiling faces and gentle hands caressed my cheeks but I did not enjoy their touches nor did I seek them out. Joy turned despair the moment my fragmented mind conjured visions of life too distant from my present moment. Of a life that paralleled my current existence but did not overlap on one congruent line of time.

What doom upon me does impend

An angel to my side please send

Ever deeper doth my path wend

And ever darker with each bend

Whispers of a devil child ran rampant among the small travelers' temporary settlements. What little happiness my parents had of my birth and lived existence made way for wary glances and fear. Try as they might, they could not hide behind their eyes for I saw everything with clarity. Perhaps too much clarity.

Dreams, no nightmares haunted me. When sleep took me, visions of brown eyes gazing lovingly into my own left me choking in my wretched sorrow. Soft hands grasping mine, patting my cheek, and caressing my head filled me with longing I wished to be fulfilled. But every morning I woke to more despair and grief and could not fathom why I should live when my heart felt like stone.

Four days after my awakening-as I liked to call it- I found myself staring into the vastness of the ocean. The scent of sea salt assaulted my tiny nose and brisk cool air whipped my hair as I pondered what it meant to truly be happy. What would it take for this heavy feeling of absolute hell to lift off my shoulders? And for happiness to swell in my chest like the rising tide headed straight for me?

I see no sign of foe or friend

What does my solitude portend

How far do these glum halls extend

Most of all: who did I offend

Life was indeed a cruel fate. Death was a preferred bliss. But no matter how hard I tried I ended up back where I began. Living a life I did not ask for. A life I had no desire for. A life that was more a burden than a gift. My only imaginary foe was that of Life and my only friend was Death. But Death refused to claim my disconsolate soul. And life refused to leave me be.

I managed to live past the age of four. My clan refused to expel me from their side. Despite the edginess they felt around me, they vowed to care for me. Much to my displeasure. My parents did not celebrate my birthday. I could not remember the last time they had. Instead, they celebrated the new life of my baby sister.

They tried to keep it a secret, fear of how I'd react, I suspect. But I knew. I knew the moment they started smiling euphorically when they thought I wasn't looking. I knew when they giggled and whispered of happier times that would surely come.

Nightmares still plagued me and I still awoke to choke for air to quench the tightness in my throat. I was content for a time. Content to go along with the motions while wallowing in my misery.

Until my baby sister was born with hazel eyes and light brown hair.

"We're going to name her Lianna, what do you think?" My mother's voice was soft and wary as I stared emptily at the bundle in her arms.

I found myself hating everything about this baby girl. She doesn't have the right eye color and her hair should be curly, not straight. While nightmares haunted my sleep, they were often fuzzy and hard to envision. But at this very moment, a vision so clear blossomed in my mind that it made me wail. Because a brown-eyed, curly-haired brunette baby girl used to await my open arms with a dimpled smile and a joyful laugh.

But that baby girl no longer existed and did not await the moment I would open my arms for her lovely embrace. I found myself craving her tiny arms, wrapped delicately around my neck. Craving the sweet scent of chocolate, permeating her being because all she ever wanted was chocolate to fill her soft belly.

The baby girl who would call out my name. A name I could not remember but a name I responded to happily if it meant seeing her smile so widely her dimples popped. A baby girl named Ella. Lianna was not Ella. And Ella was not here.

That night, I stole the only gun my clan had. The gun was kept hidden in a box inside the tent of the clan leader. No one cared much where I went. As long as I was out of sight. Which was perfect, because there was no one to stop me from putting a bullet into my head; searching desperately for peace.

What foul feast must I now attend

All of my fire I've to spend

But still, my soul will not transcend

And so to madness I descend...

But peace was not meant for me it would seem.

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chrisevansdaughter · 2 years

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This is a heavy one so please if any of theses warning make you uncomfortable please don't read, if it affects you in anyway :)

The past always comes back to haunt us

Paring: Chris x teen! reader

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Warnings: mentions of past trauma, anxiety, panic attacks, mentions of medication and just Chris fluff

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Summary: you are working on set with everyone for CA:TWS, when a fight scene brings up past trauma of your childhood and Chris bring you're 'adoptive dad' on set helps you out knowing exactly how to help.

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Any requests are welcome my list of what i can do is pinned on my profile :)

Lastly any constructive feedback is welcome and reposting is welcome

*please DO NOT under any circumstances share this as your own or on any other platform unless shared by myself*

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So like any day on set it starts with the dreaded wake up call of the ungodly hour of 6am to start filming most of the action packed fight scenes that were fun to do don't get me wrong but they were so dangerous.

Y/N's POV

We were all called on to set hours ago starting the smaller fight scene to build up to the iconic highway fight when mine character, Steve and Sam finally see the winter solider for the first time, doing that scene was amazing from everyone working together but the only downside was the impending doom of anxiety that i felt because i just knew that it would bring up the past since, i don't do very well on highways with type of fight sequence that was happening.

I'd slipped away when i though no one was looking to go have a moment to try and prevent the panic attack that i felt coming on.

Little did i know that Chris saw when i thought the coast was clear to sneak away. I had an inkling that he knew what was going on because he knew me better than myself most of the time because he understood and was there to listen and comfort me when i needed it.

He was the father figure i never had..

Chris' POV

I knew something was off with y/n as soon as i had seen her this morning on set, she looked really on edge and wary of what was going on around her.

Knowing her tendencies to hide things i knew it was either a bad day for her getting in her head or it was her anxiety or pstd. When she disappeared off set earlier without anyone noticing or at least that what she thought.

I walked over to her trailer with the things i know that comfort her like one of my hoodies, and a bag of stuff that helps a lot when she's like this as being 'set dad' i've been here one too many times more than i want to but its hard for her, its unfair but i'm so proud of her for how far she'd come even with the looming past of her childhood still only years fresh in her head.

I knocked on her trailer door and didn't hear a reply, so i walked and saw her sat on the floor by the couch staring in to space with tear stained cheeks.

"Hey bug, are you okay?" i asked trying to get some form of reply out of her, whilst she was just visually making herself smaller and smaller out of the sheer panic and empty look that was present on her face.

that's when i knew it was a bad day.

Y/N's POV

There i was sat in my trailer on the floor, trying not to remember anything. trying so hard not to remember how my parents left me the way they did and how they mentally and emotionally hurt me.

All the noises around me jumbled together like it was a ringing in my ears that i couldn't cope with it, all i heard once i was slightly more aware, Chris was all i heard that was when i knew i was in someone's presence that i trusted.

I was safe.

"Hey bug, are you okay?" he asked whilst sitting down in front of me slowly trying not to scare me.

"I- don't I-" said trying to make sense of what was happening with the now ever present pressure now on my chest with tears streaming down my face.

****TIME SKIP****

Chris' POV

After an hour of sitting on the floor next to y/n she leaned in to me because she needed comfort after i talked her though two panic attacks because of how it took effect on her body with the stress and the trigger of the fight scene which i finally figured after calming her down.

Still visually on edge she went to go take some of her medication that she'd had prescribed for times like this but only could be taken with someone she trusted around her due to the side effects that y/n experienced which pulled on the heart strings, nevertheless it doesn't take away the heart ache seeing her like this. I said before i've been here more times than i'd like.

"Sweetheart how about after you've taken those meds we sit and watch Y/F/M (your favourite movie) and just relax. hm?"

"yeah i'm okay with that, i- didn't mean for this to happen. Sorry for dragging you in to this " i say shyly

"Bug it's okay not to be okay and you know i'm always here for you though thick and thin even if i'm not you're real dad i still see a need to protect you and comfort you if you need me." i said sternly with sense of calm in my voice since she didn't need to feel guilty about something that is her idiotic parents fault

"I know, thank you for that Chrissie." she said whilst giving me a massive hug which happily reciprocated.

**** TIME SKIP ****

After 3 Disney movies later, a load of snacks and cuddles later. y/n was finally fully relaxed and to be honest after all she'd been though in the last couple of hours and the early call times, long unforgiving days. we both just decided to fall asleep and plus y/n needed it. The Russo's knew what was going on so they were okay with it.

So that was that and it was day that came more often than not but i'm glad shes comfortable with someone who understands and treats me like her actual father even if i'm not.

FIN

A/N: personally i feel like this was a hit and miss, the idea as there but it is what it is. it comes in at just over 1k words. Hopefully you guys like it, i'm still toying with ideas and how to write them : )

enjoy!

#chris evans #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x reader fluff #chris evans x teen!reader #fluff #past trauma #marvel mcu #chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfiction

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unisexobject · 2 years

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Chapter I. Welcome To Hellfire

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: You are the newest student at Hawkins High harbouring a secret and dark past. Struggling to fit in and finish your senior year in one piece, you find yourself befriending the town freak. He slowly coaxes you out of your shell and you suddenly find yourself falling head over heels for your best friend. As if the stress of that isn't enough, an interdimensional monster threatens the lives of your new friends and subsequently Hawkins as a whole. What happens when your past comes back to haunt you, leaving you at the mercy of Vecna?

Warnings: Past trauma.

A/N: Never in my life have I written a fic, but here we are. Not the first time a curly brown-eyed man has made me act up. Imagine Stranger Things is set over the course of a year, along with you and Eddie forming a friendship throughout that time. This will be a part of a larger story. I'll be posting regularly to keep Eddie stans full and fed. Best friends to lover trope alert. I also like to recommend a song for vibe purposes. Onwards!

Song Rec: Welcome To The Jungle Guns N' Roses

Calling your first week at Hawkins High an absolute mess was putting it lightly. Wandering around aimlessly, perpetually searching for your homeroom, perched awkwardly next to unfamiliar classmates and sitting alone to the side in the cafeteria at lunch, were just a few star highlights.

Moving to Hawkins Indiana was hard enough, especially with a disconnected family who barely took the time to talk about anything other than small infinitesimal things that occurred that day. This town was supposed to be a fresh start for you, for your family, but everywhere you looked held benightedness.

Ever since you crossed city limits, a terrible sense of dread and impending doom loomed overhead. You had heard rumours and twisted whispers of how this town was supposedly haunted. Cursed by strange disappearances and unexplainable deaths were among the few stories you heard in passing.

You had no idea why on earth your parents thought that such an isolated and albeit creepy town, would be the star destination for new beginnings. Yet, you persevered, too mentally exhausted to put up a fight. Not when this whole ordeal had been your fault.

Your life before here had taken…a turn to say the least and maybe leaving behind your past life would be a good thing. The only silver lining about Hawkins was a video store filled with decent films, along with a kaleidoscopic arcade which held all of your favourite games.

You could make this work, especially after acquainting yourself with Robin, one of the more quirky video store clerks.

While you were absentmindedly roaming through the aisles, an old Audrey Hepburn classic caught your eye. It was one you hadn’t seen before, The Children’s Hour.

“That’s a good one.” Robin remarked, hovering over your shoulder.

“If you like Shirley MacLaine, you might like The Apartment too.”

After watching both films which you were highly impressed by, you returned and continued taking Robin’s recommendations. In only a single week you had watched around 10 films, including Children of Paradise and The Hidden Fortress.

Robin Buckley was the closest thing you had to a friend in this god forsaken town and it made you feel slightly at ease.

Yet, as lunch inevitably rolled around on your second week, you found yourself unamused by the cafeteria, so you decided to go for a walk around the school to do some exploring and see what was nearby. Maybe you could find a secluded spot to listen to music, read or sketch, so you could enjoy solitude without thoughts of school work or the sound of chattering annoying teens in peace.

As you unceremoniously exited the cafeteria and wandered through barren halls, you eventually found your way to a large sports field. Trekking across emerald greenery, you came to a cloistered entrance that seemed like a gateway to the woods that encircled the school. The grass had all but disappeared on one spot, emerging as confirmation for some sort of pathway that may lay ahead. Looking toward the muddy soil, an outline of what seemed to be a thick boot sole blossomed.

Quickly glancing around to make sure no one was watching, you decided to duck under some tree branches and make your way further, adding your own little imprint on top of the umber dirt.

When you finally found a clearing with an old wooden table canopied by trees and accompanied by crunchy brown leaves, you thought yourself to be lucky. It seemed like such a nice secluded spot, close enough to the school yet far enough to get away when need be. The sun shone directly onto the table, bathing creaky wood in unimaginable rays of warmth. Enticed by the sight, you plopped your bag down amongst the leaves and hoisted yourself on top of the table surface with ease.

Eventually, you were laying flat on your spine with hands resting freely on your stomach. If someone found you, they might think that you were a corpse, but in actuality, you were finally alone and content for the first time.

The week had been a little rocky being completely and utterly new to everything, whilst being regrettably alone in it all. You were a senior, so it didn’t really matter whether you made indelible memories or impenetrable lifelong friendships. That ship had already sailed the very second you left your old town and set foot in Hawkins. At least it was only a year and your last one at that. You could totally do this.

“Boo!” Called a deep masculine voice, drawing you out of your serenity in a terribly frightening manner.

You yelped embarrassingly as you shot up, stumbling over the edge feet first and falling directly to your knees very ungracefully.

“Shit, sorry.” The voice started once more and this time, you attempted to search for its origin.

After the sound of crunching leaves grew louder and increasingly close, you caught the sight of a tall, lanky figure adorned with wavy ember locks that fashioned itself into a lions mane. Big brown eyes bored into yours as he crouched down, noting how you stayed unmoving.

“You okay?” He asked with genuine concern, a soft smile painted on his plush lips.

He wore raven-coloured jeans frayed at the knees along with some sort of devil baseball shirt and a leather jacket and denim vest combo.

You finally stood, dusting off wayward leaves that clung to your clothes. He rose too.

“Yeah.” You breathed. “Just some asshole thought it would be real funny to scare a girl alone in the woods.”

He chuckled deeply, backing away a little as you finished fixing your clothes.

“Poor girl. Wonder why she spends her time alone in the woods.” He replied sarcastically, wearing a shit eating grin.

“What are you doing out here?” He added after your pregnant silence.

You moved toward your bag, contorting around his large frame when he didn’t move for you, completely oblivious to your proximity.

“Could ask the same of you Sherlock.” You retorted, dripping with utter annoyance. You had finally found some peace only for it to be disturbed by a sardonic mountain of hair.

“Well…I uh, I usually sell drugs out here.” He replied, scratching his tattoo covered forearm as silver flecks of light reflect across his bulky rings. His ink adorned arms caught your attention, something he must have noticed.

“Oh, you like these sweet ole tatties?” He asked enthusiastically, pulling up the sleeve of his right arm even further. Trails of thick veins thrummed under his tender skin.

You held onto your bag, still annoyed and somehow confused over this whole ordeal. You couldn’t help but be engaged, even if you did so unwillingly.

“The bats are very…Ozzy.” You replied dryly, trying to think of something to say.

Suddenly he beamed, twirling a piece of his wavy har in-between his ring-clad fingers.

“You know, flattery works for me.”

You stifled a laugh, throwing your bag over your shoulder. Who the hell was this guy?

“Okay, I’m gonna go.”

You began to turn away from the unusual head of hair.

“Wait!.” He called out from behind you. “Where are you going?”

You stopped in your tracks, turning around to face him once more.

“Away from you, Cousin It.” You replied incredulously.

He gasped loudly and feigned hurt as he violently dropped to the ground.

You lurched forward, somewhat worried for a brief moment as his demeanour changed so suddenly. It was only when he hopped up laughing and childishly punched a nearby tree did you realise that he was a full on basket case.

“Jesus Christ, did you escape from the mental ward or something?" You asked, confounded by his countenance.

He began to walk toward the table, taking a seat and shrugging off his denim vest and leather jacket that had been littered by several band patches and large letters splaying DIO obnoxiously on the back.

“I’m just the town freak, I leave the fun stuff up to the real crazies.”

As he propped his head up on his large hands, you wondered if this was who a supposed Jason had called “the devil” in the cafeteria earlier in the week. You didn’t really like Jason all too much, but he was a terribly engaging speaker. You couldn’t help but listen to him, even if you did so absentmindedly on a table far away from his. You listened ironically really, only because he reminded you of a televangelist. All he needed was to be donned in all white, pushing his palms to the sky whilst saying that he, “feels the Holy Spirit.”

You hummed to yourself for a moment, standing across from his seated position at the old wooden table.

“So you’re the guy they say that has, satanic powers?”

He chuckled briefly, wondering if his reputation truly preceded him.

“Yeah.” He remarked playfully, drawing out the end of the word. “I’m using them right now.” He said with a devilish grin.

You couldn’t help but huff through your nose. His energy was unmatched, but at least he was less annoying and now rather more amusing.

“I don’t think that they’re working.” You retorted, folding your arms over you body as if you were unimpressed.

Unsatisfied by your unfazed demeanour, he leaned over the table, holding your gaze intently.

“How about now?” He asked, still playful but with a glint of mischief behind his eyes.

Inwardly, you were a little nervous. He was quite tall even just craning over the table and focused his big glowing irises onto yours.

Outwardly you kept your cool, shaking your head after a moment.

He huffed through his nose and retreated slowly.

“So, you’re not afraid of the devil?”

You shook your head once more, strands bouncing along with the movement.

“The devil can’t even beat a hillbilly in a fiddle contest. He’s got nothing on me.”

His face twisted in slight confusion before chuckling.

“You wanna buy something?” He asked, pulling out a metal container.

“What?”

He begun to removed plastic bags filled with different items from a small metal container, gently placing them on the table in front of you.

“I got weed, cocaine, oxy…”

Somehow you could still become even more dumbfounded by the actions of this strange man before you.

“I don’t want to buy your shitty laced weed that is probably just herbs from your mommy’s garden.”

His eyebrows raised in shock at your sudden abbraisveness.

“Well, I don’t have a garden, or a mom so that theory is out the window and I don’t know how to lace anything, so…”

You cleared your throat as you sheepishly scratched the skin along your neck. You suddenly felt bad for your brash comment, even if it didn’t seem to affect him in the slightest.

“Sorry.” You breathed softly.

You knew what it was like to not have someone important in your life. Someone who should be there but isn't. Someone you miss.

Watching your embarrassment, he motioned for you to sit across from him as he carefully packed his goods away. He was certain you weren't a buyer, that was for sure.

Your eyes darted around the woods for a moment, a little anxious and unsure as to whether this was a good idea.

“Don’t worry, no one is going to see the golden girl with the freak. No one ever comes out here, I mean, apart from you of course.”

You dropped your bag to the side and sat down across from him.

“I don’t care about what other people think and I am definitely not a golden girl. I was just planning my escape route in case you decided I’m a good target for ritualistic sacrifice.”

He chuckled to himself for a moment, all too aware of how others perceived how that was something he was even capable of doing.

“Well, you were a good target until you said you weren’t a golden girl, so now I’m back at square one. Can’t sacrifice a heathen I’m afraid.”

You eyed him for a little while, before introducing yourself.

“Eddie Munson.” He replied, extending a firm hand peppered with giant rings for you to shake.

You reluctantly placed your hand in his, taking note of his soft palms and calloused finger pads. The feel of metal ran cool against your warm skin.

“Like Van Halen.” You remarked.

Most of the metal aspect of your music taste came directly from your brother. Every time a song came on the radio, he would name what year it was released and what album it was from. If it was a particular favourite of his, he would even list the track number along with naming who wrote it. His obsessiveness subsequently filled your head with incessant knowledge of metal, even if you had found yourself listening to it more and more as of late.

“You like…metal?” Eddie asked as if he were astonished.

To be completely honest, you absolutely loathed this kind of reaction from men. It was almost like women couldn’t like anything and if they did, it was some big surprise and they had to be immediately tested on their knowledge in order to prove their loyalty.

“Well, don’t hurt your head with all that thinking.” You retorted.

His expression remained surprised as he continued to eye you intently.

“You know, I play in a band. It’s called Corroded Coffin.” He started, stretching out his chest a little. “We play at The Hideout on Tuesdays. We get a crowd of about…five drunks.”

You let yourself laugh, somehow growing comfortable in this odd situation you found yourself in. You weren’t really a tough or angry person, it just sort of emerged sometimes as a reflexive and protective measure against people and strangers. A measure that had gone into overdrive the second you arrived at Hawkins High.

“I like your shirt.” You blurted out, motioning toward his chest in hopes of lightening your mood.

Eddie looked down, pulling at the hem to pull it taut.

“I think that’s the nicest think you’ve said to me in this entire conversation.”

You grinned widely at his factual words.

“Don’t get used to it, it’ll be the nicest thing you’ll ever hear me say.”

He returned your wide grin at this and you noticed how contrasting it was compared to the way Eddie dressed. He seemed like a pretty intimidating guy, yet somehow couldn’t stop smiling or joking around with you. Eddie Munson was a walking paradox, a friendly guy trapped in a heavy metal body.

“You know, you should join our D&D game.” He mused, motioning to the shirt in question.

“Only the most righteous and worthy are gifted the honour of joining.”

His mention of a D&D game reminded you of two young boys who ran around the school begging anyone and everyone to join a particular club, the name of which escaped you in this moment. They seemed frantic in their pleading, almost as if everyone had repeatedly turned them down and they had been unsuccessful in their endeavour. You remember being thankful that your newness formed a barrier which deterred them from approach.

“You’re only asking me because your little club is dwindling and no one is interested.”

Eddie’s eyes widened like a deer in headlights. He begun to play with the denim of his jacket that rested lazily on the table.

“Maybe, but uh-“

“Let me think about it.”

His fingers stopped their fidgeting he looked directly toward you.

“You’ll play?” Eddie asked incredulously.

D&D reminded you of your brother. He had loved it so dearly as he spent hours upon hours writing campaigns for him and his high school friends. You always felt that fantasy games were silly but since…well, since now you decided to think differently. Your parents always worried how D&D was some elaborate ruse for devil worship, but you knew it was a role playing game for nerds. Nerds who wanted to escape the reality of daily life. You could definitely see the appeal of that.

Being at Hawkins meant you could be a new person, one that suddenly enjoyed role playing fantasy games in the midst of a small town satanic panic.

“Just tell me when and I’ll see if I can make it.”

Eddie gasped happily as he jumped onto the table that separated the two of you and clapped wildly like an overstimulated child.

“You are so immature.” You remarked out loud, leaning back a little so you could look at him from an upward angle, small smile threatening your resolve.

He crouched down real close, hovering ever so slightly above you.

“Welcome to Hellfire.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson reader insert #friends to lovers #stranger things #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x yn #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x female reader

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evolution-ofa-geek · 7 months

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Day 9 - favorite supernatural horror movie

-Final Destination - 2000

Starring

Ali Larter

Devon Sawa

Kerr Smith

Tony Todd

Chad Donella

Amanda Detmer

Sean William Scott

Synopsis: Alex is boarding a plane to France on a school trip, when he suddenly gets a premonition that the plane will explode. Shortly after Alex, a group of students, and his teacher are thrown off the plane, and to their horror, the plane does explode. Alex must now work out Death's plan, as each of the survivors falls victim. Whilst trying to prevent the next death, Alex must also dodge the FBI, who believe that he caused the explosion

There are so many to choose from and this is probably the unpopular opinion but Im not a fan of Poltergeist or The Exorcist. I know they’re legendary movies and I’ve seen about enough of those two to know the references here and there, but those movies didn’t strike me as “I want to fall in love with them so much.” Nope. Instead, my favorite supernatural horrors are from this franchise.

But these movies is like it hits you in the most expected and unexpected of places. Part 1) A Plane. 2) The Highway. 3) A Roller Coaster Ride 4) A Nascar Race 5) Waiting in traffic on a bridge. I freely admit that I love the franchise and have sometimes wondered if premonitions are real or if its happened to me thus the reason we make the choices we make.

But I love the first one even more. Devon Sawa (Idle Hands) Ali Larter (Resident Evil: Afterlife) and Kerr Smith (My Bloody Valentine). It starts off with Devon Sawa (Alex Browning) a High School student on a school trip with his classmates to Paris, throughout the entire ten minutes he begins to see these signs of impending doom, including listening to John Denver while in the restroom. They all get in their seats on the plane and the plane takes off only to be destroyed in the air… Alex wakes up, freaked out, and decides to test out his seat, and freak everyone out on the plane as well. The bully of the bunch see’s this and wants to punch him thus ejecting both of them, the bully’s girlfriend, Stifler who just showed up and trying to sit down, Alex’s best friend who was told by his brother to check on him, and the english/french teacher. Ali Larter gets up on her own and leaves as well and as she said it “if someone says the plane is going to explode, you’re just going to get up and go.” They all go back to the entrance and wait there. The bully decides to fight Alex and at the same time the plane explodes. Everyone looks at Alex like he’s some big crazy guy and then shit just ends up happening from there.

Its a great movie. I’ve watched this many times and I even joked about watching it the night before I have to go on a plane trip. Which I do end up watching it just to calm my nerves I guess. But lots of things end up happening here that they save more destruction for the second movie. The entire franchise is connected with different people, cities, and ways to die. A barbwire exploding into your body. A rock hitting a lawnmower and then hitting a girl’s face in the head. Or even doing gymnastics… Im sure you’ve seen that gif going around. It all adds up to final thing and that is You Cant Escape Death!

The story was originally going to be the concept for an episode of The X-Files (1993), which was inspired by Sole Survivor (1984). In this movie, a woman who was the sole survivor of a plane crash starts to be haunted by dead people that Death uses temporarily as vessels trying to kill her to correct its plan, and killing everyone who suspect about it.

Kill count: 292

Head Shot: Billy Hitchcock (Sean William Scott) getting decapitated by some metal shrapnel due to being underneath the train tracks while the train is running and landing on his face.

What is your favorite Supernatural Horror?

#31 Days of Horror #Supernatural Horror #Horror #podcaster #from under the apron #streamer

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klutetr · 1 month

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Ringu - Nakata

Going into this movie, it would be one of the oldest horror movies I have ever seen, and the only thing I really know about old horror movies is that they were pretty corny, at least from the ones I know. I’ve never been a huge horror fan, however, I do like thrillers and horror movies such as Nope by Jordan Peele interest me much more than the likes of ones such as Saw. With The Ring, I didn’t quite know what to expect because I had heard of it before (mostly from my mom saying she was terrified of this movie) but I didn’t really know how good it could be with my prior knowledge of old horror movies. I was pleasantly surprised by this movie and it definitely exceeded my expectations by not using cheesy jumpscares or over the top gore.

It opens with a simple yet chilling premise: a videotape imbued with a curse that dooms anyone who watches it to die in seven days. The film follows Reiko Asakawa, a journalist and single mother played with compelling depth by Nanako Matsushima, as she investigates the curse after her niece falls victim to it. The investigation leads her to a haunting tape filled with cryptic images and a warning of the impending death, setting off a desperate race against time to unravel the mystery.

The director masterfully crafts a mood of impending doom that permeates the film, utilizing shadow, silence, and an unsettling score that accentuates the film's eerie atmosphere without relying on jumpscares to imbue fear in the viewers. The Ring is set in a world that feels eerily close to our own, making the supernatural elements all the more jarring. The film's use of everyday technology as a medium for the supernatural was groundbreaking, transforming the mundane act of watching a VHS tape into a terrifying ordeal.

Central to The Ring’s terror is the character of Sadako, a figure shrouded in mystery and tragedy. The film gradually unveils her story, intertwining it with Japanese folklore and psychic phenomena, which adds layers to the horror. The moment Sadako emerges from the television is etched into the collective memory of the viewer’s as one of the most iconic and frightening parts of the movie.

What sets The Ring apart from many horror films is its emphasis on psychological terror over physical horror. The film taps into primal fears—death, the unknown, and the unstoppable march of time. The countdown to the characters' fated demise creates an undercurrent of tension that keeps viewers on edge, while the film's exploration of themes like maternal sacrifice, guilt, and the desire to protect our loved ones resonates on a deeply emotional level. I really like this style of horror as the feeling of being on the edge of my seat not knowing what will happen next usurps that of gore and jumpscares in my eyes. I think this movie’s use of this type of horror pairs well with its modern themes to create a gripping narrative that would keep anyone from this generation up at night.

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theboysfromaustin · 1 year

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One of my elementary school friends, the one I found a horseshoe in the vacant lot next door with and we decided that dead horses haunted the neighborhood, we were tooling around a construction site - not supposed to, but fuck the police. We stumbled across an old milk jug, and what was inside that trash, was some gentleman's Texas sun-baked piss. We accidentally spilled a lot of it, which was a mistake on its own, but that was also a good thing, because NOW, my friends, NOW....

We could hook a sturdy tree branch through the loopy bit and hurl this ballast at someone.

That someone happened to be Nick, who, at that time, was my mortal enemy. I hated him, he hated me, I think he could smell my gay trans-ness, but maybe it was just the smell of Waffle Crisp, which was basically all I ate at this point in time. He had like, 4 brothers and I think he's a priest now, go figure.

We carefully scouted the neighborhood and located Target Zero and with only screams of prepubescent fury to alert him to IMPENDING DOOM, the bottle hurtled through the air, spraying an arc of aged pee...

And hit the street well short of its intended victim.

Probably for the best, the smell scattered every child in the area, and we stalked off to regroup. Honestly, I think a lot of growing up is just looking for horrible things to throw at your enemies. One day, I spent time methodically filled a gallon Ziploc with pond scum using a stick, with the idea I'd leave it open, and when I threw it at Nick, it would explode and cover him in algae.

Didn't work, I'm queer as shit and can't throw to save my life. Didn't burst forth either, and then I lost my superior weapon to him because he wasn't a gay baby who was afraid to touch pond slime. Took several rounds to the back on that one.

I saw a piss jug today, reminded me of this story. That neighborhood was weird

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lov3nerdstuff · 3 years

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I've got you

*James Conrad x reader*

Parts: Oneshot/Drabble

Words: 1.7k

Prompt: "Imagine being on Skull Island (or somewhere equally as fucky) and Conrad shines a flashlight out into the darkness, only for several pairs of eyes to reflect back. His hand tightens around yours and every muscle in his lean body tenses. That deep voice gets low and quiet, warning you not to run. The second you try to bolt--because duh-- he tugs you against his firm chest and his lips are on your ear."

A.N.: This is a gift for @hopelessromanticspoonie who had this idea yesterday 💚✨ She (and her lovely anon) deserve some Conrad goodness! I hope you guys enjoy this quick little snippet 🖤 I am actually writing a longer Conrad series currently, but that will still take a while ☺️

______________________________

The low growling sounds outside your tent should have been warning enough, had they already sufficed to wake you up in the first place. If not that, then at least the distant screeching that carried through the cold night air at a bone-chilling frequency, haunting echoes in your mind filling the silence in between.

You should never have left your tent, should never have come on this bloody excursion to the middle of nowhere in the first place! But of course, you just had to be curious and go check on the noise by yourself instead of waiting for one of the men with the heavy guns to take care of it. Just had to prove to them that you weren't just the frail and frightened little thing they saw in you no matter what you did. You had to prove it to him. James Conrad, the man of both your daydreams and sleepless nights. Gods, you had been falling for him from the first day of this doomed mission. Him, with his incredible blue eyes and that unforgettable voice that could put the fear of God into every soul when he bellowed commands across any battlefield, and that yet would recite Shakespeare in the softest flowing melody like he was born to do nothing else. A voice dipped in liquid sin that should not be uttering compliments like languished breaths in the dark. Not without unravelling you softly in the sweetest torture known to man.

Well, you should have gotten a grip on yourself and your pathetic insecurities and just told him how badly you'd fallen for him days ago. Now, however, you were going to die lonely and frustrated, a mere hundred yards away from the well protected camp you'd been stupid enough to leave. Great job, idiot…

The same growling that had woken you up was all around you now, louder, so much louder than before and you couldn't believe that you had been so stupid to walk into this trap of… whatever was lurking in the darkness around you now. You didn't dare to move, didn't dare to make a sound… and simply clung onto the childish belief that if you couldn't see what was stalking you right now, it couldn't see you either. Not that you would've been able to see much anyway, with the stream of tears that was running down your cheeks now.

"Y/n! Are you out of your mind?! You shouldn't be out here alone in the middle of the night!" Conrad's scolding voice behind you, in that delicious British accent nevertheless, sent an immediate shiver down your spine, but unfortunately for more than one reason this time around. Gods, he was here… you only hoped that he had come as your salvation and not a second course to the hidden predators' nightly meal.

"James… They're everywhere, in the darkness… I'm so sorry." You whispered in a tear laced voice, too far frozen in your fear to turn around to him even when you felt his radiant presence coming up right next to you. So close that his warmth was almost seething on the chilled skin of your arm and shoulder. Gods… you had been so stupid indeed; you were absolutely bloody frightened and helpless out here, who had you been trying to fool!

When Conrad finally switched on his flashlight to shed some literal light onto the darkness ahead that you were still staring at relentlessly, you barely held back your startled scream by biting down hard on your bottom lip. There were eyes, so many eyes that reflected the light right back at you from the undergrowth in a glowing hollowness that spoke of nothing but hungry fixation and thus, impending death. Conrad next to you tensed in an instant, every muscle in his lean body coiling in a display of controlled strength, preparing to fight and defend himself. Or rather to defend both of you, for not even a broken second later his hand wrapped tightly around your lower arm as if purely on instinct, and your breath caught in your throat in return. A few deafening heartbeats long you both stayed frozen like that, until slowly, painfully, deliciously slowly, his hand slid down your arm to hold your hand instead, interlacing your fingers with his in the same unfaltering, strong hold.

"Don't move…" He drawled under his breath, commanding you with the deep tone of his voice alone to surrender his will no matter what he said. Thus you could only clasp his hand in a death grip in return, breath coming out in shallow pants as your heart thundered in your chest like the storm approaching in the distance.

And yet, when another loud growl announced that these beasts were drawing closer to you still, almost up your neck already with their teeth or claws sunk deeply into your tender flesh, the sound startled you so far beyond your reason that your flight instinct grew unbearable at last. Every fibre in your body burst in panic, and you bolted without thought, without reason, but you did not get far. Fast as lightning to match the thunder in your heart, Conrad's arm wrapped around your waist and he pulled you flush against his chest, holding you tightly against his strong body while your excess adrenaline merely caused you to whimper into the soft fabric of his shirt.

"Shhh... I've got you." His voice was surprisingly soft now, reassuring and calming almost as if just to soothe your fears, while the gentle brush of his lips against the shell of your ear caused you to shiver for entirely different reasons. A soaring heart and tingling exhilaration made for an odd mix combined with the prominent fear of death, but in the end it only heightened your every sense to the incredible. If you were to die now, you at least would do so wrapped up in the arms of the man you loved. La petite mort, only in the opposite direction of what you would have wanted for him and you.

"James…" You breathed into his chest, desperately trying to keep yourself from trembling too noticeably, which only made him tighten his hold on you with a sharp intake of breath.

"Shush now, darling, and listen to me…" He replied in an equally quiet tone, still staring into the hollow eyes of death with his head so closely next to yours. "I will throw the flashlight ahead into the forest as far as I can to cause a decent distraction, and then you and I will run back to camp without turning back. We should be safe behind the barriers we've set up. Do you understand?"

You nodded slowly with a shuddering breath, then turned your head ever so slightly to glance up at him with all those sharp lines of his stern features, while at the same time he dropped his arm from around you and instead took a tight hold of your hand again. Then in the matter of broken seconds, he threw the flashlight as far away from your path as he could, and finally dashed off back towards your camp while pulling you along by your hand. You were quick to comply, running as fast as you could while your lungs burned all the more, but both Conrad's death grip on your hand and the howling behind your back made for a magnificent motivation to keep running either way.

The hundred yards still were torture to your mind and body, but even without the light you could see the barriers drawing nearer and nearer. When you finally reached the gate of the improvised defenses, Conrad didn't waste any time to rush you through before it was barred off from the inside right behind you. The howling, however, remained right outside before the gates and still made your blood freeze over even now from the safety of your camp. Good gods… you really had cheated death. Again.

Panting, you finally dared to look up at Conrad once more. He was still clutching your hand as if he was afraid you would vanish if he let go, and when his burning gaze met yours in that undivided intensity, you couldn't keep your lips from trembling, nor your words from spilling over at last. "I'm so sorry, I… I really didn't mean to cause you so much trouble, I'm so sorry, I just… wanted to prove to you that I'm worth your-..."

You didn't get any further when his hand rose to cup your cheeks with a start, elegant fingers entangling in your hair as he pulled you close to him and pressed his lips to yours in every bit of passion and urgency you had been yearning for for so long. It took you but a broken second of surprise before you melted against him with a faint moan, returning everything he gave you and everything you had beyond. This was heaven… A heaven you were granted only after surviving in hell.

When you finally pulled back, both breathless far more thoroughly than just from your run, Conrad leaned his forehead against yours so very gently, and yet refused to release you from his incessant hold. "You are worth all there is and more, darling. I can bear absolutely anything for you, and with you, you must know that. All except for losing you."

"I'm so sorry." You breathed, eyes closed as you revelled in the roaring waves of unadulterated affection washing over both of you now. "You won't lose me, I… I won't let that happen. I've got you just the same."

Your words brought a smile to his face, you could feel it all around you, could feel it against your lips a second later. He wasn't a man of many words, you knew that, but the ones he spoke were always the most beautiful and honest to his soul. So you did know indeed, you both had each other and that was all you would need.

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