#Dawn of the Black Axe

[roesolo]

STOP THE PRESSES! NEW MOUSE GUARD INCOMING!

STOP THE PRESSES! NEW MOUSE GUARD INCOMING! @boom_studios

Holy cow, was this a great announcement to read. Mouse Guard is an Eisner and Harvey Award-winning graphic novel and comic book series; it’s a fantasy setting similar to Brian Jacques’s Redwall books. The Mouse Guard was formed to protect mice against predators. It’s a great series; my son (now in his mid-20s) was a tremendous fan when he was a kid, which naturally got me reading it. We were both…

[geekcavepodcast]

"Mouse Guard" Returns with "Dawn of the Black Axe" for 20th Anniversary

David Petersen and BOOM! Studios have announced the next Mouse Guard story, in celebration of Mouse Guard and BOOM! Studios' 20th anniversaries. Writer Petersen will be joined by artist Gabriel Rodríguez for Mouse Guard: Dawn of the Black Axe.

Set in early Mouse Guard history, Mouse Guard: Dawn of the Black Axe will tell the origins of the legendary axe. "Adventure with the ancient weapon’s first mouse wielder and champion, Bardrick, as he sets off on an epic quest of good versus evil!" (BOOM! Studios)

Mouse Guard: Dawn of the Black Axe #1 goes on sale on March 19, 2025. The debut issue features a main cover by Gabriel Rodríguez and variant covers by David Petersen and Goñi Montes.

(Image via BOOM! Comics - Gabriel Rodríguez' Cover of Mouse Guard: Dawn of the Black Axe #1)

[onlyhurtforaminute]

CRUEL FORCE=DAWN OF THE AXE

[etruatcaelum]

[ @scareqrowbranwen | ? // for henrietta ]

“Hey, lady, wait–!”

The arm the huntsman throws out to bar her from disembarking before the craft has completed its landing impedes Henrietta not at all: she simply ducks under him and vaults outside before the man has time to register that she has no intention of acting the tame little civilian to his authoritative huntsman.

It is a drop of perhaps two meters. She lands light on her feet, sinking into a deep crouch to cushion the impact, and then springs up and forward to accost the first vaguely-recognizable youth she lays eyes on.

“You!” she cries. “Girl–” Not the one from the broadcast (and what had her name been? Rue? Rhubarb? something gardeny…) but she looks to be of a similar age, and her face has the same seen-it-on-the-news familiarity. Henrietta pulls up short in front of her, arms crossed and eyebrows disappearing into the riot of mahogany curls flopping over her forehead. “You look likely. I am here for Oscar Pine.”

[graphicpolicy]

David Petersen and Gabriel Rodríguez Forge a New Mouse Guard Saga

David Petersen and Gabriel Rodríguez Forge a New Mouse Guard Saga #comics #comicbooks

[ramoth13]

A Message of Hope: Aurë entuluva

For absolutely no particular reason, I felt compelled today,- November 6th of 2024, to write about hope.

There are days when Hope feels foolish; when you have just watched in horror as things that once seemed sturdy and unbreakable, crumble and burn. Whether it is an elvish city or a chosen path, when that happens, Hope feels naive. It feels like that's what lead you here to begin with. It feels like, if you had been more realistic and pessimistic, you wouldn't be so hurt.

For all of the things that Tolkien wrote about, his message of hope was perhaps the most resilient, poignant, and enduring. Few can forget Sam's hopeful message to Frodo:

Yet, today, for many people it may not feel that this is true. I know I often struggle with hope, but today does feel exceptionally difficult (for no particular reason, of course).

Tolkien's most hopeful message, for me, comes from his bleakest story. Húrin's story is one of defeat. Courage sprang alive when high King Fingon and the elves and men fought together against the blackness of Morgoth's reign. The Nirnaeth Arnoediad, or Unnumbered Tears, was a day when victory was close and Turgon, brother of the king, arrived with a mighty host,

"Then When Fingon heard afar the great trumpet of Turgon, the shadow passed and his heart was uplifted, and he shouted aloud: 'Utúlie'n aurë! Aiya Eldalië ar Atanatarni, utúlie'n aurë! The day has come! Behold, people of the Eldar and Fathers of Men, the day has come!' And all those who heard his great voice echo in the hills answered crying: 'Auta i lómë! The night is passing!' "

They believed that their courage and steadfastness had saved them, that daybreak was soon at hand. Tolkien understood, perhaps better than most, that there was a difference between courage and hope. For courage is what spurs action, brings change, and inspires duty. Courage is what makes the difference when the time has come, just as they continued to fight on against orcish hordes. It was courage that led them into the heart of Angband where the Dark Lord himself sat shaking on his throne. Courage carried them past the gates, but betrayal can cut through courage like a hot-knife through butter. The hill men betrayed the men and elves and the dawning light turned into a simmering dusk.

Darkness had returned.

So, where was the hope?

With the elves slain or fleeing, Húrin, leader of his people fought valiantly to let his people and what was left of his elvish allies escape. Courage did survive the betrayal of the wild men, but only just. And with each swing of his axe he cried out, "Aurë entuluva!" And with each felled enemy, he cried out again, "Aurë entuluva!" Even as his enemies surrounded him, overtook him, and even when taken by the enemy into the dark halls, he cried out for any allies that might hear him, "Aurë entuluva!" It was a promise of hope.

~ "Day will come again!"

Hope is not what makes us act, it is not what leads us to change: hope is what sustains us, what keeps us going when courage has faded and the dark night envelopes us. Húrin held fast to hope when courage and Valor had failed, when the efforts of good people fell short. I do not know what the future holds, bleak as it may seem, but I keep those words near me with every passing hour and in those moments where I feel as though I have been dragged into a dark lord's dungeon, I say those words:

Aurë entuluva!

Day will come again!

-

Courage will be needed when the day arrives, but until then, I will cling to hope.

I wish everyone peace and hope. It is the dearest thing I can wish. And remember, Aurë entuluva!

Namárië,

~ Ramoth13

[amazingmsme]

Last night I had an idea for an epic AU that is either really cool or really stupid.

So basically, the gods can be killed. But only with one specific weapon or tool that is special or sacred to them. For example, the Spear of Athena, or Demeter's labrys (a double headed axe for woodcutting). If they are wounded with that weapon, they might as well be mortal. Anything else, they can heal from. But this? Nah.

Which brings me to the next part. So remember how Poseidon is turned into Swiss cheese in 600 Strike? Well, Poseidons weapon, the one that can fatally harm him, is nothing other than his trident. You know, the very trident that Ody used to make him more see-through than cheap toilet paper.

So, I imagine that 600 Strike goes as normal, but Poseidon lives long enough to gasp out the word "please" like he does in the song, and then he just dies. Odysseus is confused as hell. He kinda pokes him with the trident, like "why is he just lying there?" Only to look on, horrified, as the god's body turns into a puddle of seawater and merges with the rest of the ocean.

(Now the fun part) After around 3 seconds Odysseus feels a white hot pain all over his body, before promptly blacking out.

When he comes to, the storm has faded away, and the sea is as calm as a sleeping toddler. He sighs and gets up from the rocks he was laying on, only to realize that everything felt off. Now is he going crazy, or is everything more defined and colorful? And his hearing sounds like it got better as well. And the ground seemed farther away than normal. Had some god blessed him? Was this Poseidon's way of conceding their battle? No, that can't be right. The trident is still lying there. Odysseus reaches to pick it up, and freezes in shock.

His fingers have membranes in between them.

It's only then that he takes a good look at himself. There are patches of scales all over his arms, legs, and torso. He now has fins on his arms and legs, and ears as well. His nails have gone from blunt to long and sharp. Pulling a lock of hair in front of him shows that it's longer than it used to be, with streaks of blue and teal. Catching his reflection in the water shows him that his eyes have changed from brown to a striking aquamarine, and the whites have turned black and, are those fangs?

Something is terribly wrong here. While he is sifting through all of the possible causes in his head, he hears a voice to his right. It's a merman. Why is he calling Odysseus "My lord?" What is going on?

On Olympus, the gods are shocked that one of their own had been killed. Then, as the implications begin to dawn on them, they feel something that a god never feels. Fear. One of the strongest Olympians was killed by a mortal. Could this happen to the rest of them as well.

Back on that rocky patch, Odysseus came to a sudden, chilling realization. He looked at the water around him, and tried to will it to do something, anything. To his surprise, the water began to churn, before turning into violent waves, as the skies darkened again, reflecting the storm in Odysseus's mind.

Ody is no longer Odysseus, King of Ithaca. He is no longer the monster that Poseidon had turned him into. He is now Odysseus, God of the Seas.

It's a little rusty, but I thought it sounded like a cool idea. What do you think? Also sorry for the ramble.

- 🧁 anon

MDJSMSBDD LITERALLY LOSING MY FUCKING MIND OVER THIS OMGGGGG! I LOVE the idea of a god’s weapon being the thing that can kill them! & it adds so much weight to everything Odysseus already did to add killing a god onto that list is bound to have some kind of effect on him!

This is such a cool, interesting concept & I’m eating it up! Love the description of god!ody

[the-griffons-saddlebag]

⚔️ 𝗡𝗲𝘄 𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗺! Shade and Shine
Weapon (handaxe), legendary (requires attunement) ___ These two axes are magically bound and count as a single magic item with regard to the number of magic items you can attune to. You gain a +2 bonus to attack and damage rolls made with these magic weapons, which return to your open hand after you make a ranged attack with them. If the two axes are separated and you are holding one of them, you can use a bonus action to cause the other one to teleport and reappear in your open hand or at your feet (your choice each time). When you make an opportunity attack using the axes, you can make two attacks against the provoking creature instead of one, once with each axe. 𝙎𝙝𝙖𝙙𝙚. The first axe, named Shade, is made from an inky black metal. Thin plumes of smoke emanate from several small holes found across it. While holding Shade, you can use a bonus action to exude a dark aura, which lasts for 10 minutes or until you use the weapons' Shine property. For the duration, any creature within 10 feet of you that attacks you immediately takes 2d6 necrotic damage, as smoke-like blades lash out and strike it in return. In addition, your attacks with "Shade and Shine" deal an extra 1d6 necrotic damage to any target you hit with them. Once this property has been used, it can't be used again until the next dawn. 𝙎𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙚. The second axe, named Shine, is made from a pale silver metal. Thin rays of light glimmer from a series of small holes found across it. While holding Shine, you can use a bonus action to exude a brilliant aura, which lasts for 10 minutes or until you use the weapons' Shade property. For the duration, any creature within 10 feet of you that attacks you immediately takes 2d6 radiant damage, as blades of pure radiance appear in a flash of light and strike it. In addition, your attacks with "Shade and Shine" deal an extra 1d6 radiant damage to any target you hit with them. Once this property has been used, it can't be used again until the next dawn. 𝙎𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙖𝙡 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣. While holding at least one of the axes, you can use a special reaction when a creature that you... ... Continued in the comment below! ___ ✨ Patrons get huge perks! Access this and hundreds of other item cards, art files, and compendium entries when you support The Griffon's Saddlebag on Patreon for less than $10 a month!

[readingasoiafachapteraday]

THE WORLD OF ICE & FIRE

Reading Order & Thoughts Apparently

//Investigative read with the aim of finishing a fanfic <SPOILERSGALORE>

~this is not intended to be useful in any way shape or form do not construe as such but laughing at it is ok~

The Dawn Age

-dragonglass arrowheads found in giant ribs could be from children-giant war but also cud just as easily be wight giant

-brandon the builder was taken to a secret place by the children when he sought help to build the wall hmmmmmm okk

-“the manner in which Brandon learned to comprehend the speech is a tale in itself and not worth repeating here”?????? WTAF fuck u condal i mean yondel tommen loves stories

-greenseers can see distant events AND COMMUNICATE?hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmplotdevice

-wolfcontrolling skinchangers maxxx common, separately called wargs? stark blood fuckfest much????

-Seastone chair on old wyk wo any ppl SUSSAUCE

The Coming of the First Men

-alleged timing 8000-12000 yrs ago hmmmmm if ww are 6000 yrs ago it’s almost halfway hmmmmmmm

-what they running from? first men possible valyrian ancestors upset w the animalxhuman experiments? conveniently vague time periods

-first settled on DORNE that goddamned desert summins up w ur magic stone i will find u

-greenmen antlermen same same????

-arm of dorne, marshes, all considered natural disasters but w doubt so why not children cause doom of valyria possible??

The Age of Heroes

-ringforts this ringforts that fist of first men this infrastructure that

-find thenn constr. & every single built structure NotW

The Long Night

-do monkeys and elephants have anything in common

-Barth’s “fragmentary treatise” everything shat out by Barth & Munkun makes me want to kms

-Fomas ur understated & prolly right u religious fuck

The Rise of Valyria

-new power in east right after LN recovery, what festive timing gee i wonder if these events r related

-first empire ofc ofc just after old ghis & Qarth & YiTi & Asshai but those r “claims” yea we don’t talk bout that look dragons! blood sacrifice!

-five great wars w ghis “when the world was young” hmmmmmmmm

-Shadow texts say dragons tamed by “people who had no names” hmmmmmmmm

Valyria’s Children

-Qohor&Norvos founded following religious schisms? Only Qohor smiths still know to rework VS

-way way way too many mentions of wealth & human flesh needed in the mines

-fire vs water

-sus that andals & rhoynar both fled from Valyrians but in the second coming “the gods” spoke to the HS while the waterbenders fought both times

-is the long night just fire vs water 2.0?

Arrival of the Andals

-wtf is a fucking swan maiden

-writing the lines of the hugor hill story backwards is not as great a puzzle as u seem to think

-Urron Redhand ruled IIs by “axe&sword” for 1000 yrs, throwaway name? I think the fuck not.

Ten Thousand Ships

-Nymeria of Ny Sar SUS naming

-“few wish to dwell beyond the sound of her eternal song” faith close to old gods

-wtf r the orphans of the greenblood upto

-davos dayne my new OC, forgive me as i project onto u for the forseeable future

-seriously tho the best part so far, need a movie for THIS not whatever fart pudding they baking

The Doom of Valyria

—wtf is the difference between the 14 fires & R’hollor summins weird

-accidental poisoning of one of the flames? like pollution but magical bywaste pollution

-red clouds rained down dragonglass???? and black blood of demons which cud just be dragon blood as they pop in the air from toxicity

-dothraki & sellsword companies both popularised only in the power vacuum

-the conquerer’s attention lay west even as a child hmmmmmm

[theladyofbloodshed]

Chapter 5 of 6

The tolling of a bell signalled the calling to the church by Reverend Helion. Mist circled the church grounds as the citizens of Sleepy Hollow scurried across the hallowed land into their sanctuary.

Feyre, bedraggled and weeping, fell to her knees before Nesta near the doors.

‘The Horseman.’ She sucked in a breath. ‘He killed him. He killed them both’

Eris who had been at the back of the crowd, unsure whether his entry to the church would be a death knell for his head, surged forwards.

‘He killed Rhysand,’ Feyre wept, clinging to her sister. ‘Then he came for Elain.’

Nesta wrapped her arms around her younger sister then pulled her upwards, aiming for the doors of the church. She glanced over her shoulder at Eris, the look worse than a brand of hot iron. Feyre could not be controlling the Horseman. What was she to gain from losing her husband and her sister?

The sound of heavy hooves made the crowd turn silent. The Horseman galloped from the edge of the woods.

‘Go,’ Eris urged, a palm pressing against Nesta’s back to hurry her forwards.

At the gates to the grounds, Jurian’s horse stopped abruptly. The beast was unwilling to cross the sanctified ground. The Headless Horseman tossed his axe, but it disintegrated to dust.

‘The Horseman cannot enter,’ Eris cried. ‘It does not matter who he wants, he cannot cross the gate.’

There was too much hysteria for his words to be heard. The crowd had become a mob, pushing and shoving to hide beneath pews, to move from windows. Some of the night’s watch – Devlon and Bellius among them – aimed their rifles from the broken windows to shoot at the Horseman although little came from it. They would only succeed in aggravating him, as Cassian had.

It was chaos. All of it was chaos.

‘It is her the Horseman wants,’ somebody shouted, pointing a finger to Feyre.

The woman almost collapsed on the spot. Her face had already drained of colour.

‘There is a conspiracy here,’ she protested, as the crowd aimed for her.

Eris reached for Nesta. He held her tight to stop her from meeting the same fate that the mob would bring upon her sister despite her attempts at breaking his hold.

Feyre scrambled up the stairs leading to the lectern then a choking sound came from her. She spat blood from her mouth.

Through her chest, the Horseman had thrown an iron post.

In his arms, Nesta collapsed. She turned boneless, legs giving out. Eris hauled her into his arms, cradling her body as hysteria reigned through the church.

Feyre’s body was yanked towards the window. A rope had been tied to the iron post, drawing her from the church. Her body was stopped by the fence. He winced as the Horseman brought down his sword and took her head.

Eris thanked the stars that Nesta did not witness it.

He paused.

Upon Nesta’s hands was black ink. Strange swirling patterns covered her palms. The sorts of patterns that his mother used to draw in the ashes. The ones his father condemned her for.

She was a witch.

How could one so kind with such a loving heart be a witch?

Eris had been bewitched. His reasoning had been abandoned in favour of a fair face. Villainy wore many masks and none were as dangerous as the mask of virtue.

He held her until the dawn then he returned Nesta to her room out of duty. It had to have been madness or an evil spirit that possessed her. He prayed to God that it was satisfied. It had taken her sisters and brother. Taken the elders of the town. The evil-eye had done its work.

It was time for Eris Crane to depart Sleepy Hollow. He could speak to none of what had occurred in such a place. The only one that his heart longed for was at the centre of this mystery. Nesta Van Tassel would earn a fortune, both from her sister’s death and the Van Garretts’. His belief in the conviction was not strong. How could such a quiet and beautiful woman do such a thing? Had he been so blinded by her? Or had that first kiss been the spell that was cast upon him?

Whilst much of the village still slept after their night spent on the hard pews in church, Eris climbed into a carriage and wished for a swift return to New York City. It was a place without ghosts or witches. A place of reason. Of sense. Such things had been stolen from him in Sleepy Hollow.

He passed the three coffins belonging to Elain Van Tassel, her sister and her sister’s husband. It was difficult not to think of Nesta. Her whole family was dead. And he was to believe that she had done such a thing. That a woman who wore no jewels and entered the woods with him would commit such evil for wealth.

A voice whispered in his ear that much of the wealth should have been hers by birthright. Wealth could make fools of the wise. And nor could he forget the ink upon her palms.

Nesta Van Tassel was a witch.

Just as his mother had been.

But she had not been evil. His mother had always claimed, even with his father Beron beating her, that they were charms for protection. They were to protect them from evil spirits.

Eris’ blood ran cold. They were the exact same symbols. It had condemned his innocent mother and would now condemn Nesta for a crime that he could not believe she would commit.

‘Driver, halt!’

The driver brought the horses to a skidding stop. At Eris’ command, he turned the carriage back towards Sleepy Hollow.

Before the wheels stopped turning, Eris leapt from the carriage and hurried into the doctor’s building. Madja sat at her desk with a lamp chasing away the darkness.

‘Pardon the intrusion,’ announced Eris before striding through to the mortuary.

He lifted the lid from each coffin. Feyre was identifiable by the gaping hole in her chest. Elain wore the same blossom pink gown as she had at breakfast. But it was Rhysand that concerned Eris. A male who had gained so much by marrying Feyre. One who stood to gain more should the Van Garretts die.

Eris lifted Rhysand’s arm. There was a hastily stitched cut across his palm. Despite Madja’s protests, he pulled at the stitches until they came loose.

‘No blood flow, no clotting, no healing… When this cut was made, this man was already dead.’

[skylermadness]

Rustic Cabin (Lumberjack TF/MC/AP)

(Original Date of Upload: February 25, 2022)

I was going to upload this last year but it was sitting in my drafts because the formatting scared me.

Original Description:

Here it is, one of my favorite works to have written thus far! I had this idea mulling in my head for a few months now, admittedly, so finally writing it and getting it out there is really cathartic. And this is definitely one of my favorite human TFs to have written so far, especially since I was trying something a little new with it. I do think it would look better with formatting but unfortunately that never translates well over when you make it a .txt file. Nonetheless I hope it turned out just as good for everyone to read as it did for me to write!

   There was a feeling of comfort surrounding the man. Surrounding him was nothing but massive trees as far as the eye can see. It was beautiful. Comforting. It felt just like home for someone like him.

   A massive, hairy hand clasped onto the axe. The worn wood sent another pang of familiarity through his nerves. Over a decade, almost two, of use and it's still going strong.

   With a strength he didn't think he had before, he lifted up the axe and began to eye the tree. A noticeable indent was within the tree. So many years of work finally coming to a climax.

   He hauled the axe backwards and paused to savour the moment, and with one last swing…

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

   From what was once a previously unconscious state, verdant green eyes shot open. Forced open, rather. An annoying buzzing had started to go on and off.

    "Grrhg… I thought I had turned that off…"

   A young man laid on his back and stretched an arm out to a nearby counter before promptly slamming a fist down on a button, one that belonged to his alarm clock.

   He stared at the ceiling for a moment. A strange, foresty smell lingered in his nose, accompanied by glimpses of a forest within his mind. A part of him knew this was from a dream he had last night, but he couldn't quite remember much else. He wished he was able to stay asleep longer to find out.

   The man sat up and scratched his stubbly chin. "Today's s'pose to be my day off," he muttered to himself.

   This is Victor Marshall, and this was indeed supposed to be his day off. To be more accurate, it was his week off from work. And he was hoping to get a little more sleep in, in comparison to a normal weekday. But it was unlikely he'd be able to get back to sleep now.

   Resolving to reluctantly start his day, Victor sluggishly ran through his morning routine. Brushing his teeth, showering, aimlessly checking random sites for any updates. After showering he haphazardly threw on a navy blue hoodie, black sweat shorts, and some plain white socks. He didn't even bother to comb his hair, deciding to keep it in the messy style that he had preferred over the "prim and proper" style he felt obliged to have for work.

   After one last glance at Twitter, Victor shut off his phone and headed down to the kitchen to prepare himself some breakfast. He had a lingering mood for pancakes that he couldn't quite place the origin of. But finding them to be a little too work intensive for having just woken up he chose to just scramble a few eggs and call it a day.

   Once breakfast was all prepared Victor took a seat at the kitchen table and pulled out his phone again. A realization was beginning to dawn on the young man.

   He had nothing to do on his week off.

   While sitting around and aimlessly wandering the Internet had seemed to be an appealing expenditure of time, something was welling up inside Victor. He wanted to do something… more. 

   Unfortunately he didn't have too many options. His friends all still had work at their own jobs, and he wasn't too interested in doing something by himself like watching a movie or continuing one of the numerous game playthroughs he has hanging in the air.

   Twirling a fork in the air, Victor tried to think of something to do. Suddenly, a message notification pinged on his phone. Glancing down he saw it was from his father.

DAD Hey, kiddo! Heard you got a week off!

   Victor tapped the notification and responded.

YOU Hi dad. Yeah, got some time off. still trying to find something to do to spend that time.

DAD I don't have too much in mind, but I hope you can come up with something.

   Helpful, Victor thought. 

DAD Actually come to think of it… Do you remember Uncle Lance?

   Victor tilted his head. Uncle Lance… He couldn't quite put a face to the name, but it was familiar.

YOU not very well.

DAD I expected that. I think the last time you saw him you were still a little tyke. And that was what? 20-something years ago?

YOU Good job on making me feel old there, dad.

DAD Not as old as your old man! And definitely not as old as Lance would've been!

   Victor smiled, but he had to get his dad back on track…

YOU So who exactly is Lance?

DAD My older brother. He was such a great guy! He worked as a logger. Specifically at this cabin he owned all those years ago! Although after he went missing the ownership was transferred to your pa over here.

YOU er, missing?

DAD Yeah… we never quite got the details of it, unfortunately.  But that's beside the point! I think that cabin would be a nice vacation spot for a bit, if you're interested.

   Victor looked up from his phone and thought. It might be nice. Getting out for a bit. Although he was still a little curious about Lance's disappearance. But judging by the conversation switch it appears his dad might not have wanted to speak too much about it. After a few seconds he looked back at his phone.

YOU alright, yeah, I'm interested. send the directions if you have them.

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

   The cabin was located in a northern portion of his county, specifically a heavily forested region of it.

   Victor chose to only pack a few extra sets of clothing and his laptop. His father had assured him that the cabin was still well kept and that he had tried to "modernize it" a little in the event he ever decided to stay there. Although knowing dad, modernizing might be a stretch.

   The actual drive there was lengthy, almost half the day to be precise. Over the course of hours Victor watched as city skylines shifted to heavy forestry, packed highways dispersed into nigh-uninhabited roads, and the touch of humanity faded away as he went further up north.

   Once he got far enough his car was coaxed off the road by a dirt path wide enough for vehicles to pass through. Victor started to drive onto the path, his eyes occasionally looking away to take in the forest. Massive trees towered over the pathway with the sun shining through the cracks in the foliage. The only signs of fauna was the sound of chirping birds that echoed through the branches. Something about this forest felt welcoming to Victor. Welcoming and familiar.

   Ten minutes after entering the forest his car started to pull up to a clearing. A few birds flew up from the ground as he stopped, and his eyes started to take in where he was. Victor got out of his car and started to inspect the location.

   The clearing itself was the same packed dirt as the path save for a few patches of grass starting to sprout through. A log cabin stood in the middle of it surrounded by the dense forest. As for the trees, all of the trees looked fairly similar… except one.

   It was a tree that was beside his car. It was just as tall as all the others, just as thick too. But on the side of the tree facing towards the cabin was a dent. It was as if someone had been heaving an axe into it. Etched above that dent was a set of lines, seven to be exact.

   "Must've been uncle Lance's work…" Victor muttered to himself. He placed a hand on the etched lines, a feeling of familiarity yet again running through his veins. He felt almost entranced… but he broke out almost instantly, shaking his head. "That was weird."

   Disregarding whatever just happened Victor went to the back of his car and pulled out the dufflebag containing his items before heading into the cabin. The sound of the dirt crunching beneath his sneakers as he did so felt oddly calming.

   Flicking a lightswitch Victor found that the cabin had only a small layer of dust and next to no cobwebs. Once he walked in he found himself in the cabin's living room. Inside it was a sofa with a small table beside it, and a fireplace in front of it with a few empty vases perched above it. On the left to the living room was a kitchen that seemed fairly modern containing a functional stove, microwave, and blender positioned adjacent to a kitchen island. As for the right there was a bedroom with a large, comfortable looking bed covered with a red plaid patterned blanket. Beside it was a bedside table and a door that presumably led to the bathroom.

   Victor heaved the dufflebag onto the couch and started to look around a bit more. This place had an air of age to it, but it still had the touch of something recent. All the wood and carpets looked clean (or as clean as something with a slight layer of dust can be). And the touch of technology was almost non-existent, yet the kitchen was new and there were a few power outlets. 

   Victor's eyes locked back onto the shelf that was above the fireplace. Between the vases was a framed photo.

   Walking towards the shelf and taking a hold of the picture frame, Victor found the image to be of a man. He was rather large, a mix of muscular and fat. The man was clad in overalls and a flannel, the first few buttons of his shirt unbuttoned to reveal his hairy chest. He seemed to be rather hirsute in general judging by his arms. One arm was holding an axe over his shoulder. He sported a thick beard with specks of grey on the chin, short hair that was greying at the sides, and a face that looked to be weathered. Through it all he sported a great smile, one that seemed to be of pride. 

   The man's smile made Victor smile. "This must be Uncle Lance," he said to himself. The man looked so happy. So jovial. Seeing this image alone had made Victor wish that he had met Lance.

   Placing the picture back onto the shelf, his eyes then caught onto something on the wall. It was an axe. Although the blade was rusted and the wood looked extremely chipped. Victor started to walk over to it, knowing it to be the axe his uncle used. 

   He felt overwhelmed with something. A feeling that maybe he too could wield that object. But the moment the skin of his hand touched the handle he was forced to retract his arm, hissing in pain. He spat out a "Fuck!" as he started to hold his wrist. "Must've gotten a splinter!" What had possessed him to touch old wood!

   He moved into the bedroom and started to look through the bedside table's drawers. He wasn't sure if a pair of tweezers would be in this place but he could only hope to find one.

   Unfortunately, a few minutes of hopeless drawer searching had been fruitless. No tweezers could be found, and strangely he found that his finger no longer hurt. Upon closer inspection, the splinter was gone…

   Victor chose not to think too much about it. But now that he was in the bedroom, curiosity started to bud inside him.

   Not too much was on the bedroom's tables save for another picture of Lance, this time with a younger Westley- er- his dad. Beside the doorway was a dresser that contained numerous briefs, jeans, and suspenders. And next to that dresser was a closet.

   Inside the closet were only flannels, all with plaid patterns. The only differentiation was the color of them which usually ranged from red, blue, green, and brown. 

   Victor took hold of a flannel. It looked so new, yet it still seems worn a little. And there was this smell, this musk coming off of it. It made his mind feel a little hazy.

   Hanging the flannel back up, he decided to stop skulking around his uncle's former living place and take a well deserved rest. Unfortunately, once he sat down and pulled out his phone he found the cabin had no reception. The last thing he had received was a text from his dad telling him to have fun. 

   Victor shrugged and placed the phone on the table beside the couch. He thought about pulling out his laptop and maybe forfeiting some of his downtime in order to work on some work documents, but he decided against it.

   Maybe sitting back and taking in the sounds of the outside would be good…

   The light of the evening Sun shone through the window as he began to relax. The bird chirps had slowed down, replaced with the rustling of the trees in the wind. The smell of the forest penetrated his olfactory senses again as he drifted into an almost daydream-like state.

   The feeling of longing to meet his uncle started to enter his mind. But he also felt like this was how his uncle spent his days when he wasn't working, just taking in the reality of where he lived. Perhaps this might be a great week for him after all.

   What felt like minutes to Victor was actually a few hours, with the Sun having now set and the darkness of the night now visible outside. The light of the cabin gave a sweet sense of solace, though. 

   Victor blinked and peeled himself off the couch. He turned his head to the kitchen and saw the time of day. After all of that he somehow felt tired and his muscles were starting to ache.

   He got up and started to head towards the bedroom. While passing a window his eyes caught a glimpse of a deer in the clearing. Another aspect of familiarity for the man…

   After reaching the bedroom Victor kicked off his shoes. But without even removing the rest of his clothes he instantly collapsed onto the bed with the sweet embrace of sleep taking him not even a few seconds later.

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

   Victor's muscles continued to ache as he slept, which had caused the entire cycle to be discomforting. Every few hours he'd toss and turn while grunting, muttering in his sleep on how he should probably be a little less intense during his work. Unbeknownst to him his aches were caused by something else. Something settling in his body.

   At first it was growing pains. A slow growth spurt occuring in his sleep, bones in his arms, legs, and back lengthening with each passing hour. There were times he'd hear a soft crack in a joint or in his back, an event that forced him to think again about work. About not overworking himself. 

   The growing pains were accompanied by muscle aches. While his limbs lengthened, they also bulked. Muscle mass growing in his arms and legs. His pectorals subtly increased in size while abs began to form. His hands were catching up with the changes too, growing larger and meatier. His fingers were basically sausages now.

   There was a point in the night where Victor resolved to sleep on his back. Loud snoring started to escape his throat at this time, having replaced what was once his quiet sleeping behavior.

   His noticeable musculature didn't last very long after that. With each inhale came a bit of bloating in his body. Fat started to accumulate on his belly, his hoodie starting to ride up it as a result. A set of moobs soon melted out from his pectorals. Many  of his features had also grown softer, his arms and legs looking thicker while his face looked chubbier.

   Another aspect of discomfort was then added in the form of itching. Victor placed a massive hand on his belly as it  began. This was due to hair starting to grow out of his body. A treasure trail was growing up the middle of his belly. Thick hairs were growing on the back of his hands and all over his arms. A bushy mustache grew out of his upper lip while the remainder of his facial stubble grew into a short beard. And as for the hair on his head, it looked to be shortening and darkening. All of this new hair was a deep black instead of the brown he once had.

   A  wave of changes then washed through his clothing. All of them grew to become a little bit more fitting on his body, but a few more adjustments had to be made. One of the sleeves of his hoodie began to roll up. Splotches of plaid-patterned red started to appear in the blue fabric. The hood itself began to shrink into more of a collar. Even a few buttons emerged while the beginnings of a split formed in the middle of the hoodie. The legs of his sweat shorts grew longer while the fabric thinned. And despite the fact he wasn't wearing his shoes, they were experiencing multiple shifts too: deepening from white to brown, the topline rising, and the overall look of them growing bulkier.

   It was here the changes were beginning to slow. Specks of grey were starting to shine in some portions of his hair, the palms of his hands seemed a little rougher, and his height had finished increasing significantly. His clothing had also paused mid-changes.

   Victor huffed as something began to shine in his eye. It was sunlight. How was it morning already?

   He blinked his eyes, mind still feeling tired. Last night was… severely uncomfortable. Maybe it was because this was a new place to sleep?

   As he shifted around his bed the springs creaked under his weight. Did they do that before? He could've sworn they didn't…

   He draped his legs and stood up off the bed. He caught a glimpse of his footwear, which now looked like a weird mix of sneakers and leather boots. But he didn't have too much time to dwell on that because he really needed to go to the bathroom now.

   Each step to the bathroom felt heavier than he remembered. The wooden floorboards would sometimes creak beneath his feet. Come to think of it, everything felt heavier than before. He unintentionally placed a hand on his belly and felt the thickness of it, which forced him to look down to see how big he's gotten. He… he wasn't always like this was he?? And why… why did his hoodie look partially like a flannel.

   Walking into the bathroom then brought him to a mirror, face to face with himself. Wider, chubbier face; thicker facial hair; black instead of brown hair; so much was… different.

   "What… happened last night…" he asked himself. His voice was so deep. Gruffer than it was before. He looked down and undid a few buttons of his hoodie-flannel to find that his chest had gotten hairier. "I wasn't always this hairy was I??"

   A headache started to emerge in his mind. He was so confused. "Uuugh… get a hold of yourself, Vic… Vi…"

   He forgot his name.

   He placed his two meaty hands at the sides of his head, letting out a few ragged breaths as he did so. His head was swimming in thoughts- his body, his clothing,  his name, even his own memories. Everything is conflicting with itself! But something was there trying to reassure him everything was normal. Everything was fine.

   "C'mon… Vin… Vince, everything's fine," he told himself. He's been living in this cabin for a few… months was it, now? Nothing about this should be out of the ordinary!

   He was snapped out of the chaos of his mind by the sound of his stomach rumbling. He gave his tummy a knowing pat while smiling weakly. "Maybe I should follow up on that cravin' yesterday and make myself some flapjacks…"

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

   "Nothin' like the smell of flapjacks in the morning!"

   He wasn't quite sure how this oven got here. He could've sworn it wasn't there last he checked! But he didn't care too much. He somehow knew how to use it, and he could still make that sweet smelling breakfast that always made his day better. Especially after that morning he had!

   The sound of Vince's weird footwear clomping on the ground of the cabin was slightly off putting. He was still a little confused about everything in general, honestly. His mind felt hazy, like something wasn't there yet. But maybe that's just the last remnants of sleep. Maybe after filling his belly and getting some energy he'd feel better!

   It took a few more minutes to fully prepare the remainder of his meal, but soon he found himself with those fluffy flapjacks. Once they'd been accompanied by a small slice of butter and some syrup he knew everything was ready.

   The moment he shoved a forkful of flapjacks into his mouth he was practically assaulted with flavor. So fluffy, so buttery, so sweet… it was as if he were trying these for the first time! And as Vince continued to dig into his breakfast, a new surge of changes ran through him… 

   Another round of fat started to pile up in his belly. If he stood up he would've noticed he was losing all sight of his legs and feet. His shoulders then broadened in order to keep up with his new body shape.

   In spite of that, his body wanted to persist. Bouts of strength radiated from his core and throughout his body. And even though it wasn't visible under all of that fat, he was gaining another burst of muscle mass.

   Specks of hair grew out all over his chest, with a thick thatch of it now visible from the portion of unbuttoned shirt he still had. His beard grew out becoming larger, thicker, a proper beard for someone like him! The hair on his head continued to shorten, however, and his hairline seemed to recede a bit.

   His clothing caught up to the changes too. The other sleeve of his shirt rolled itself up. The remainder of the hoodie shrunk into a proper collar. The splotches of plaid spread and got rid of any remaining blue while also thinning the fabric a little. More buttons trailed down the shirt until it became a proper flannel. Even a breast pocket emerged on the right side of the split.

   His sweat shorts could no longer be called that. The legs had grown so long they went a little above his ankles, the fabric changed to be a little thinner, and belt loops had manifested around the waist. A brown leather belt soon slithered around the man's waist before promptly buckling itself. And that wasn't the end of it's changes as straps slunk up the front and back of his body, snaking and branching in order to change those pants into suspenders.

   His footwear had finished their own changes too. The material changed completely into hard, brown leather. The topline reached pretty high, halfway up his lower leg. Shoe strings materialized and clasped the lip of the boot to his leg snuggly. 

   His mind clicked right when two clicks rang from the straps of his suspenders fastening themselves onto the pants. Licking what food remained off his lips, the burly bear of a man gave himself a good look.

   He smiled. "I don't think I've eaten like that in a decade! Always makin' yourself proud, eh Vance?" He didn't care that his body looked different. Or his clothes. Or even the fact his voice was so deep and powerful. 

   With his plate pretty much cleaned off he rose from his seat and took a look around. That air of familiarity he had yesterday, that was all because this was his home. It had been for a good while. He couldn't get the years right, but he knew he'd been here for a long time taking in the nature of the world around him. 

   Then a new memory popped up. Something he'd been wanting to do for a long time.

   His axe hung mounted on the living room wall. Wood worn, metal rusted. He couldn't remember how it got like that. He could've sworn he used it yesterday…

   Vance clasped onto the axe and lifted it from its perch. Holding onto it… it felt so different…

   In mere moments Vance's body changed for one last time. Where his hands met the axe his skin calloused and scarred with years of work getting put in them in seconds. More and more greys speckled into the black of his hair giving his body hair and beard a salt and pepper look. Grey also settled into the sides and back of his head hair. His hairline continued to recede a little, stopping right before it would be considered balding. And the remainder of his head hair shortened for one last time into a soft mat of hair.

   His face weathered and aged. Crows' feet indenting themselves into the ends of his eyes, wrinkles forming in his face, and a few stretch marks emerging through it all. It would settle to what would presumably be his late 50's, if he could remember his age properly.

   As for the axe, it underwent the opposite. The wood fixed itself by smoothing up and filling in chips, but it still retained a bit of wearing to it. Rust chipped off the blade and dissipated, the blade ending up looking cleaner and functional. This was the axe that Lance knew.

   Hauling the axe over his shoulder Lance smiled proudly. He knew what he was doing today.

   The lumberjack headed outside and took a moment to breathe the fresh forest air. It smelled like his dreams, he thought. Then he headed towards where the road met the clearing. A big red pickup truck was visible on the road. But that wasn't what he was headed towards. 

   He was headed towards a tree. The tree.

   It was bulkier in comparison to the rest. The trunk was really thick. A sign of it being really old. Likely older than him. The tree had a wedge in it, years of hacking away at it signified by this wedge alone. The seven lines above that wedge each stood for a year. He's been working on this tree for seven years.

   "And today I'm taking you down…"

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

   There was a feeling of comfort surrounding the man. Surrounding him was nothing but massive trees as far as the eye can see. It was beautiful. Comforting. It felt just like home for someone like him.

   A massive, hairy hand clasped onto the axe. The worn wood sent another pang of familiarity through his nerves. Over a decade, almost two, of use and it's still going strong.

   With a strength he didn't think he had before, he lifted up the axe and began to eye the tree. A noticeable indent was within the tree. So many years of work finally coming to a climax.

   He hauled the axe backwards and paused to savour the moment, and with one last swing…

   The sound of breaking wood could be heard as the tree started to fall into the forest behind it. Lance bellowed, "TIMBER!!!" as it did so.

   Finally, it was complete.

   He'd give one of the guys a call tomorrow to pick it up. It should have a good lot of lumber considering its size and width.

   Taking a look at the sky he saw that it had already become evening. This work was always so time-consuming, but in a good way. He enjoyed it.

   Once Lance was back inside his cabin he hung up his axe for the day. The man mused on how one of his buds would always tell him he'd always get the job done faster with a chainsaw. Maybe they were right, but something about heaving an axe at the trunk felt like it carried more weight to him. 

   He took a seat on the couch and let out a content sigh. Another day of work done, now it's time to relax a little and listen to the world around him. Although he did notice a few peculiarities, like a duffle bag he couldn't remember owning and a… cell phone on the desk…

   He picked up the cell phone and pressed the power button. Somehow it's battery still hadn't died. He instinctively unlocked the phone, Lance unsure how he ever knew the password. The last thing that was open was a message application to someone named "Dad". And for some reason, seeing the word dad reminded him of his brother Westley… It brought him back to that picture on his nightstand of him and his brother.

   Maybe he should take some time to visit him…

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

   Less than a week since Westley sent that last text to Victor. He kind of felt bad for neglecting to mention the cabin would have no signal.

   He wasn't sure why he brought up his brother's cabin in the first place. Considering Lance had gone missing there twenty years prior with no evidence as to how it happened wasn't really reassuring. But it was oddly compelling to do so. His son needed something to do and he was happy to provide…

   Westley sunk into his slightly oversized polo and looked over at a picture of him and Lance. He really did miss him…

   As if on cue he heard the sound of a car pull up outside his home. He had assumed it to be his son's convertible but after a cursory look out the window he found it to be an all too familiar pickup truck. He walked outside in confusion. They never found the truck either so why would it be outside his house?

   He heard a door slam all-to-hard before a figure stepped out from behind the truck. Clad in a flannel, suspenders, and leather boots; and just as hairy as he was when Westley last saw him; alive and walking towards him was Lance.

   The bearish man let out a hardy laugh. "There's my favorite brother! It feels like it's been years since I've last seen you!"

   Westley stepped back a bit, awestruck. "Lance? I thought…"

   He wasn't given a chance to finish his sentence as he was scooped into the warm embrace of his older brother. A slight headache formed in his head as all recollection of his brother's disappearance faded away.

   Lance let Westley out of the hug and smiled. "You thought what?"

   Westley looked down for a moment. "I uh, don't remember… But a part of me feels really glad to see you…"

   Lance placed a hand on Westley's shoulder. "I knew you missed me!"

   Westley smiled. "Yeah. I did…"

[whencyclopedia]

African Slave Life in Colonial British America

African slave life in Colonial British America was far worse than slavery practiced in the Americas prior to the arrival of Europeans. The indigenous tribes took people as slaves in raids, enslaved those convicted of crimes, and traded slaves between tribes but the enslaved were thought to have done something to deserve their fate.

The racial, institutionalized slavery practiced by the English colonists of North America departed from this paradigm by enslaving people who had nothing whatsoever to do with the English, forcing them to work for the remainder of their lives as slaves, and claiming their children as property which could be sold.

The life of a slave in Colonial America differed from colony-to-colony but had one aspect in common: the slave had no rights as a human being and was considered property of the master just as a wagon, mill stone, or axe would be. The white master could, and usually did, treat the slave as just another possession to be used and then disposed of when it no longer functioned as expected.

Africans were often enslaved by those of other tribes and then sold to European slave traders or were kidnapped by Europeans directly. Frequently, those who enslaved fellow Africans found themselves drugged, manacled, and shipped with those they had brought to the slave market. Once arrived in North America, the slave would be worked, in the Southern Colonies at least, from dawn until dusk six days a week, living under the worst conditions, and subject to sale by their owners just as any rake, hoe, or hammer might be. Slave life in Colonial America continued according to this paradigm from c. 1660 until slavery was abolished by the 13th Amendment to the Constitution of the United States in 1865.

Virginia & the First Slaves

The first Africans in North America arrived in Jamestown, Virginia in 1619 aboard a Dutch ship that needed supplies. These 20 or 21 individuals were purchased for the necessary supplies by then-governor Yeardley (l. 1587-1627) who put them to work on his plantation. At this point, the English had no concept of racialized slavery and, in fact, slavery had been abolished in England centuries before, so these first Africans were treated as indentured servants, given a set term of service ending in freedom and reward of land. Scholar David A. Price comments:

Although it is tempting to assume that these first recorded Africans in English America were also the first slaves, there is evidence to suggest they were not. They may instead have had the legal position of indentured servants, like many of the white newcomers, eligible for freedom after completing a period of service. (197)

This paradigm changed in 1640 with the enslavement of an indentured black servant named John Punch. Punch left his master’s service before his time was up, claiming poor treatment, along with two white servants. When the three were caught and returned, the white servants were punished with four years added to their servitude, but Punch was sentenced to lifelong enslavement. After this event, Virginia began passing laws restricting the rights of the black population, instituting slave laws in the 1660’s, and becoming an active participant in the Transatlantic Slave Trade made possible by the Triangle Trade route.

Continue reading...

[rebeccaajc93]

Here is my Top 10 Aardman Villains List:

*10. Lord Nooth from Early Man (2018) - He is maybe the hilarious Aardman villain, But He is not my forte, Because He is too cowardly for my taste. *9. Anthony Trumper from Shaun The Sheep Movie (2015) - He is maybe more dangerous than Lord Nooth, But He is too boisterous for my taste. *8. Piella Bakewell from Wallace and Gromit: A Matter Of Loaf and Death (2008) - Because She is a wolf in sheep’s clothing and a serial killer. *7. Victor Quartermaine from Wallace and Gromit: The Curse Of The Were-Rabbit (2005) - Because He is an arrogant hunter, who wants to hunt the rabbits for sport and wants to marry Lady Campanula Tottington for money. *6. Preston from Wallace and Gromit: A Close Shave (1995) - Because he is a canine equivalent to The Terminator. *5. The Toad from Flushed Away (2006) - Because He was originally the royal pet amphibian of the young King Charles III, But He was replaced by the pet rodent that made him very angry and upset, then He was flushed down the toilet and sent to the London Sewers. *4. Agent Red from A Shaun The Sheep Movie: Farmageddon (2019) - She maybe has a cold exterior, but She has a tragic backstory that made her feel very misunderstood and sympathetic. But thankfully, she redeemed herself in the end by giving Lu-La’s parents a hug. *3. Queen Victoria from The Pirates! In An Adventure With Scientists! (2012) - She is maybe the Queen Of England from the 19th Century, But She is a pirate-hating, katana-wielding ninja warrior. *2. Mrs. Melisha Tweedy from Chicken Run (2000) and Chicken Run: Dawn Of The Nugget (2023) - Because She is the most threatening out of the human Aardman villains and She is armed with an axe, She married two husbands, chicken meat products businesses and different outfits from the different decades, The First Movie’s case is wearing Burgundy tweed dress and black wellies, When she was with Willard Tweedy and doing the chicken pie business in the 1950’s. While for the sequel’s case is wearing the Pink Penelope Pitstop-Styled Go-Go Boots, black leggings, dark red gloves and plum-purple sleeved dress, When she is now with Dr. Marcus Fry and doing the chicken nugget business in the 1960’s. She is the first Aardman villain is returning for her revenge against her arch-enemies. *1. Feathers McGraw from Wallace and Gromit: The Wrong Trousers (1993) and Wallace and Gromit: Vengeance Most Fowl (2024) - Because He is the most iconic Wallace and Gromit villain, as well as his silent, but deadly nature. He is a diamond thief of the penguin, Who is disguised as a chicken and he is armed with a pistol. He is using Wallace’s technology and inventions for his evil purposes/intentions, For The Wrong Trousers (1993)’s case is the techno trousers. While for Vengeance Most Fowl (2024)’s case is the smart gnomes. Like Melisha Tweedy, Feathers McGraw is the second Aardman villain is returning for his revenge against his arch-enemies.

[polkadotjohnson]

To come out this year (2024)

Rosario (dir: Felipe Vargas, est. release date September) (changed to 2025)

In Search of Darkness 90s (dir: David A. Weiner, November)

No release date as of yet:

Dust Bunny (dir: Bryan Fuller)

The Life of Chuck (dir: Mike Flanagan)

The Cure (dir: Nancy Leopardi)

Epilogue (dir: Michael Fimognari)

Murderbot (TV)

One Piece (TV)

Lost short films:

The Pandora Experiment (dir. Mike L. Taylor, Matt Steinauer, Collier Landry)

Arc of a bird (from the director of Cass, Hugh Schulze. David plays the same character)

Credits (dir. Hugh Schulze)

Head Case (dir. Collin Schiffli, Bradley Jakubik)

Band (dir. Collin Schiffli)

Keen (dir. Jimmy McDermott)

Say When (dir. Greg Fitzsimmons)

Tweet Me in NY (dir. Traven Rice)

All the Pretty Girls (dir. ???) (Robert Goldman perhaps?)

Girls Will Be Girls 2012 (not a short) (dir: Richard Day. From Reddit: I heard the director, Richard Day, had some technical setbacks with not being familiar with green screen work/a lot of his work being lost when his hard drive crashed. According to Coco Peru, it's in some sort of post-production limbo state, so who knows?)

Also apparently this got successfully backed on Kickstarter, so maybe we should kick some start into the director's butt?/cringe

Things to keep an eye on:

Hide Your Eyes (written by David, dir. Erica Scoggins, could be in development hell)

Can't Stop the Dawn (dir. Marianna Palka or Tony Armer, status unknown) (could also be called "Terminal Kill")

Jack and Jill (unknown, mentioned in Dast's old webpage)

Her Director (unknown, mentioned in Dast's old webpage)

One and Only (an (old) screenplay by Eve)

Other things I'm looking for

Last Drive In With Joe Bob Briggs episode (I think it was season 5 episode 1)

Games We Play (Special game show)

No Calls, Please (Funny or Die sketch)

Master Class (Funny or Die sketch)

Master Class II (Funny or Die sketch)

Axe commercial from 2010 (mentioned in old blog)

Ad against smoking (mentioned in Steve Agee's podcast)

BestBuy commercial (mentioned in 3conomics' hater's blog)

WATCH

(1) Various

(2) Various

(3) Cass & Under the Pyramid

(4) Double Black

(5) Various

(6) Shortcake

(7) Cora

First two links might not work on mobile because it sure as hell isn't working on mine but it's just the links to my Vimeo and YouTube playlists, you can see them on the header of the blog

[kc5rings]

Picked up Flintlock: The Siege Of Dawn because it was on sale and I gotta say I’m enjoying myself

I like axes and swashbuckling and this game marries both of those things rather well, heavy axe swings punctuated by decisive barks of black powder

[vindickyoutive]

Baby John/Homelander whump

tw / implied child abuse

July 11th, 1990’

So I just turned nine.

I’m used to writing with my right hand, but they stuck it in a really hot oven, and the skin hasn’t healed all the way back yet. I’ll try not to smear the ink on my hand. They’ll start asking me what happened.

I have a cast over it so it’s going to be okay. It still hurts, but not as bad as the first couple of days, that’s a relief. I think the doctors were getting tired of my crying. I couldn’t help it. For the first couple of days my arm had really hurt and it kept bleeding, every-time I looked at it, I felt like vomiting.

Studying human anatomy, they resort to graphing their own skin. How barbaric.

John pauses, shakes his head and scratches his word out. He doesn’t yet want to reveal his festering cynicism towards humans.

I wanted them to cut it off, maybe axe it again, but that hurts too much. Too messy. I think they hate when I bleed everywhere. They get frustrated, as if it’s not supposed to happen with me.

Anyway I try not to cry that much anymore. It just happens.

The scribbling stops abruptly as John perks up, hearing footsteps approaching his door, he slips his pencil between the pages and shoves the notebook underneath his pillow. He draws his blanket up his shoulders, wrapping it around his body, sitting up on the bed, pressing his back up against the pasty, blank, white wall.

John settles his hands on his lap as he crosses his legs, sitting criss-cross applesauce.

Doctor Abraham enters his bedroom, slipping his glasses to the bridge of his weird looking nose, he dawns a black lab coat, signifying his importance - or maybe that’s just what John believes, he doesn’t know the hierarchy here. Not for sure. What he does know is that Vogelbaum is his father, that’s what he’s been told. He doesn’t have any reasons to question it.

A trinkle of surprises twists into Doctor Abraham’s expression. “You’re expected to be asleep already, John.”

John rocks side to side, avoiding the doctor’s concerned gaze, he absently runs his hand up the wrist of his cast, wetting his lips. “I’m sorry, sir. I was just about to go to bed.”

“May I see your arm?” Doctor Abraham asks, approaching the boy’s bed, extending his hand out expectantly before John could even give his consent. “Did they clean and change your stitches today,” he queries as John places his arm in his grasp with little choice, sitting still as the doctor loosens the cast, the sound of tearing velcro resonating as he undoes the straps.

“Yes, doctor.” John answers quietly, glancing over at his pillow so he wouldn’t have to see his wounds and he has to crinkle his sensitive nose up as the smell of burnt flesh burns at his watering eyes.

Doctor Abraham twists his arm, scrutinizing the peeled flesh, the slowly progressing self-healing on his wrist wrapping around his forearm seemed to be backed up, perhaps the repeated ministrations of shoving the boy’s hand into the thousand degree furnace wasn’t the grandest idea.

“It’s best to do it again before going to bed, we don’t want to risk infection,” is what the doctor eventually comes away with, releasing the boy’s arm, grinning at him. John gives him a crooked smile back, unsure of what to truly make of that.

His arm hurts, and he shivers as Doctor Abraham strokes his back. “I’m glad you didn’t go to sleep, John.”