#Film Companion

[cinematic-explorations]

Arundhati Roy in “Which Annie Gives It Those Ones. Screenplay by Roy, which won a National Award for “Best Screenplay” in 1989. Shah Rukh Khan played a minor role in the film with four lines. The screenplay was written and acted in English. The movie was only broadcast once, at midnight, on Doordarshan. 

Source article written by Anupama Chopra, published Feb. 3, 2020.

(via Movies Ahead Of Their Time: In Which Annie Gives It Those Ones)

[redcarpet-streetstyle]

[maplemaplemaplemaplemaple]

i like arcade gannon a normal amount i think .

[faeriekit]

Ghosts of Those We Once Knew

a phic phight fill for @silverwing013

Warnings for: implied child abuse, accidental death, dead parents

**💚**

“Oh yeah?! And what are you going to do about it?!” Aunt Alicia snapped into the phone. 

There was a sound on the other end of the line, but Danny couldn’t make it out all the way. There was another solution, but it was…risky; it would require going into his aunt’s bedroom— a well known, forbidden domain— to pick up the only other phone hooked up to the landline. 

…There was no other time to find out what Aunt Alicia was putting off. It had to be worth the risk. Danny crept up the worn carpeting of the stairs, hoping that his sneakiness would hold up to Alicia’s discerning eyes and ears. 

Her bedroom was dark. Carpeted. …Pink. 

Whatever. Danny took a deep breath, lifted the phone off the hook, and tried not to breathe too loudly into the mouthpiece.

“You have no right to keep Daniel in your dismal, miserable, isolated hovel,” someone shouted on the other end. Danny had never heard this voice before. He sounded like someone around Dad’s age, maybe? Maybe a little…smoother, despite the blistering anger coming through the line. “You live with no human contact for nine months out of the year. You speak to no one. Do you— is Daniel even enrolled in a school? Did you get any sort of educational provisions for him whatsoever?” 

“What, so he can get cocky and blow himself up in the garage like his parents?” Alicia snapped. Danny had to clap a hand to his mouth to hide his gasp of dismay. 

“You know full well that punishing your sister’s son by restricting his access to an education and basic human companionship is not a solution to your grief for your sister. You are out of your mind.”

Aunt Alicia’s voice got low. Aunt Alicia’s voice got mean. She sounded like how she looked when Danny had fumbled the water pail from the well or stepped two steps too close to the rhubarb patch out back. “Vladmir Masters, you listen here,” Aunt Alicia muttered. “That boy is everything left of my sister in the whole damn world. He is not going anywhere. Do you understand? Not for you to fill his head with her stupid husband’s supernatural hoo-ha, and not for you to snatch up and teach himself how to kill other people the way those two killed each other. Danny stays here. If you ring me up one more time, I’m going to do more than just mail dog crap to the front step of your stupid castle in Wisconsin.”

The phone cut off. It would be an innocuous end to a phone call, except Danny can hear the clatter of plastic cracking on plastic in the downstairs kitchen.

There was a moment of silence.

“Daniel Jackson Fenton, you get your butt in here right now!”

Danny jolted, heart pounding. He—he went downstairs.

Aunt’s Alicia’s lips were pursed, her eyes tight. “What did I tell you about missing all the sticks in the yard? It looks like a wreck!”

Danny felt his breath stick in his throat.

“Well?”

“Yes, Aunt Alicia,” Danny mumbled. He looked down and away. He wasn’t caught out eavesdropping, but…was this any better?

“If those sticks aren’t piled up beside the woodshed for kindling in half an hour, you can kiss your dinner goodbye.”

Danny hadn’t had dinner in three nights. He was very lucky he didn’t need to eat as much as living kids. “…Yes, Aunt Alicia.”

“So?”

…Danny went outside to collect sticks. It took until nightfall to get all the refuse from yesterday’s storm off the ground.

Aunt Alicia ate canned corn and carrots and butchered rabbit with hot sauce for dinner. Danny ate nothing.

Danny went to bed thinking about somewhere else he could go. Mom and Dad were dead—smithereens in the blast that had killed him and brought him back to life simultaneously. Jazz was in the hospital. He had no grandparents. He had no other aunts or uncles other than Aunt Alicia.

…Who was Vladmir Masters?

*

It took two days for Danny to decide to run away.

Or. Well. Fly.

He’d figured that if he wanted to find out who Vladmir Masters was, he’d need an internet connection. His cell had been on the Fenton Fone Plan™ and had been disconnected from the Fenton Family Patented Ghost-free Satellite™ for almost three months now. But, you know…what was a public library for, if not getting information?

The two-day waiting period was mostly just Danny getting his stuff together, making sure he didn’t leave anything behind, finding anything worth stealing…

…There was a picture of Mom with her big hair at graduation, a black robe thrown over her Hazmat suit. Her hair had been so big. Lots of people were beside her, including Dad, and someone with a matching hair stripe. They looked happy.

It didn’t matter that it had been Aunt Alicia’s photo. The picture had gone into his backpack next to Bearbert Einstein and a filched pocket knife.

Mom was Aunt Alicia’s sister, but Madeline Fenton had been his mom.

…Was still his mom.

Would…would always be his mom.

Danny wouldn’t cry. He wasn’t going to cry. Still, the flying and everything was still new to him. It took almost ten minutes to get himself off the ground without floating off willy nilly.

It took another half an hour to remember how to go through walls.

By the time Danny fell (as in actually, literally, leaned up against the wall and then realized he’d not made contact the way he’d expected to) through the house wall, it was almost eight at night. Aunt Alicia was still listening to Prairie Home Companion downstairs on the radio.

Whatever. He was out of there. He was sure he looked crazy—his hair was white, which was almost impossible to hide—but all he had to do was get out of there fast enough that no one connected one teenage runaway with a backpack to Danny Fenton.

It was fine.

It was all going to be fine.

…And if there wasn’t someone who’d help him. Well. Being homeless didn’t sound…so bad…?

…Or maybe he’d just squat in the burnt out ruins of Fentonworks. That sounded fine too.

*

Morning broke. Danny ended up in a tiny town somewhere in Mississippi.

A nice guy at the coffee shop gave him a cup of water and told him where the local library was. A librarian plugged her login details for him on a public computer, and Danny was able to look up one “Vladmir Masters”…

…CEO and owner of DALVco, millionaire, and Green Bay Packers megafan.

Holy crap.

Like… There were hospital wings with his name on them. Charities operating out of his company. Every picture of the man was perfectly taken in perfect lighting with perfect suits and precise smirks and bright-white magazine article paper.

Danny went back up to the librarian. “Do you have any articles on…uh…Vlad Masters?”

The librarian smiled warmly. “Ah, school project?”

“Sure,” Danny lied, milk on his tongue.

Vlad Masters was a self-made millionaire. He lived in a castle in Wisconsin that used to be owned by a dairy empire kingpin. He went to—

Danny read the line again

—He went to the same college as Mom and Dad. The year looked right, too. They might have even graduated in the exact same year. If only Danny could still check Dad’s college ring in the bottom of their junk drawer.

Wisconsin. Vlad Masters lived in Wisconsin.

…Danny was really lucky he was never all that hungry anymore.

Danny got another cup of water at the coffee shop, washed his face in the bathroom, and got ready to fly another night.

He was no sextant, but he could probably figure out how to get to Wisconsin after a couple of hours of flying, and a little time to gauge the sky.

It would be easy.

…Danny’s white-topped, pale face stared back at him from the restroom mirror.

It had to be. It would have to be easy.

*

So, a cheese castle looked a lot like a regular castle.

Danny squinted up at the stonework. Nah, that looked like…a castle. That being said, it looked more specifically like the castle he was looking for—the one that had been featured in Vlad Masters’s house tour in Architecture Daily magazine two years ago.  

Same…roof bits. Same big door. Danny swallowed. Same…tower? Were there better words for these? There were definitely better words for all the tricky stone bits in the castle.

Whatever. Danny was praying that the man was actually home today, as opposed to flying across the country on some kind of business trip. Rich people did business trips, right?

Danny floated up to the front door. There was no doorbell.

…Danny bit his lip. Okay. So there was no doorbell. There was a very large, brass door knocker. It looked kind of like a big monster face, with a ring held in its teeth.

The knocker was just high enough off the ground that Danny had to float to get there. Lifting it was a struggle.

When it knocked, the whole door buzzed with sound.

Danny waited.

…He waited.

And…Danny waited.

No one came.

Danny picked at the skin of his lip. What if he just…went in?

Like. It was a big house. Maybe Vlad Masters just hadn’t heard him at all? Maybe he was just…in the basement or something…?

Danny paced midair. On one hand. He’d come all this way. He had to follow through. He had to see if there was…something. Anything. Anything at all—anything that could possibly connect Masters to his family.

Any connection that wasn’t Aunt Alicia would be worth breaking and entering.

On the other hand. Home invasion was and would remain illegal.

Danny grimaced.

He…stuck his head through the door. 

There was a hallway on the other side. A little end table. A guest book. 

…Okay. Danny slipped through the door. He was breaking and entering now— or at least…entering. 

Inside was dark. Gloomy. Comfortable, sure— lots of soft furnishings, curtains, couches, pillow, lounging things— but very…opaque in atmosphere. 

He was glowing, he noticed. That probably was pretty bad on the “trying not to get caught” scale. 

There was no one upstairs. Danny drifted through room after empty room and up into floor after empty floor. There was a kitchen, and the food therein were largely preserved items. There was nothing in the fridge. 

Danny’s stomach cramped. There was no one here. 

…Maybe he should look downstairs? 

The castle got colder the further down he went. The windows that at least allowed the minimal light that escaped through the tree cover in the castle vanished. The only light left was Danny. 

Danny floated down deeper. 

There were doors made of metal in a long, stone hallway. Each had different numbers on them. Danny followed the rows of doors.

There were wires on the floor. They were organized by color and bound by little ties, until they weren’t, and Danny eventually ran out of tangled webs of red and blue plastic to follow. 

They ended at a closed door. 

Danny hesitated. He poked his head through. 

On the other side was a ghost. 

Danny jerked back. He’d— he clapped his hand over his mouth. That was—! And sure, Danny was something like that now, but he’d never seen—!

He should leave. Danny should leave. 

Danny barely made it three doors down. 

Going somewhere? something asked him. Danny shivered. 

The ghost appeared on his left in ethereal white, black hair pulled behind him in some sort of half-halo. Unlike Danny, who was in something like half-hazmat, half-hoodie, the ghost wore a long, glowing labcoat, appropriate PPE beneath. 

Danny’s breath fogged up in his mouth. He flinched. “Sorr—” he tried. “Sorry, I’m sorry. I’m not supposed to be here.”

The ghost looked at him with bright red eyes. Danny floated a few steps back. Spying, are you?

Danny shook his head. “No!! No, I just— I was looking for— I wasn’t spying! I’m sorry! I didn’t know you li— died here! I’ll leave!” 

The ghost’s head tilted. For a second, Danny thought that he was going to throw a punch. And then—

You’re already here, the ghost pointed out, and opened a door. Beyond it was…something similar to a doctor’s office. An examination table with the paper on it. One of those blood pressure cuffs, attached to a printer for the readout. A sink. Sundry tongue depressors. You may as well consent to be helped. 

“...Helped with what?” Danny asked nervously, fingers flexing. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

The ghost hummed— not in the way voices hummed, but in the way high voltage sang in distant powerlines. You are newly formed, aren’t you? Most can tell a ghost’s nature from its presence alone.

Danny looked away. “Um. You know. You might be the first ghost I’ve ever met.” 

The ghost’s feet almost touched the ground. It stared down at him. It was taller than he was, and when it stared, it made Danny want to run away. 

…Truly, the ghost asked(?), and it took Danny a second to realize it was a question. 

“Maybe I died a little recently…” Danny tried, trailing off into a mumble. Was there a right answer to this? 

…I see. That would make this check-up more urgent, then. Might I encourage you to come this way? 

Danny followed him into the room. 

It felt… It looked and felt exactly like any other doctor’s appointment, excepting that the doctor involved in the process had blue skin and fangs and a hairstyle that defied gravity. The ghost still wore gloves and didn’t poke him or prod him too hard, though, so that was a bonus.

Danny got his pulse taken. (None.) Danny got his lungs checked. (Not breathing.) Danny got his resonance? looked at? Whatever that was? It was a big scanny thing that looked like an X ray and took pictures of his chest. 

The readings were real pretty, whatever they were; the whole film print was taken up with splotches of white and clear blue. It kind of shimmered when Danny tilted his head. 

You’re quite powerful for a newly formed ghost, the ghost offered, overlooking papers Danny couldn’t quite see on his clipboard. It flipped through once. Twice. You’re clearly not attached to your place of death, so that’s not why… Are you aware of any compulsions to follow an Obsession yet…?

A ghostly obsession? Danny knew what that was— it was one of his parents’ theories on why ghosts persisted after death! Was it was true? 

“Um,” Danny said, unsure. He hadn’t…had he? “Not that I know of?”

The ghost paused. It clicked its pen. It marked something down on Danny’s chart. Interesting.

Ominous. 

May I quickly test something? the ghost asked, looking up at Danny. It would only take a moment. If it does not work, there will be no other side effects other than mild discomfort and an activated flight response. 

Danny shifted. The paper crackled underneath him. “...Does it hurt?” 

No.

The ghost added nothing more. 

Danny’s…head jerked up and down. It was fine. It would be fine. 

The ghost’s hand circled his wrist. Its touch burned like fire. 

And then light, like how Danny burned away one form for another—

—Danny was left on the table, no longer weightless, no longer breathless. He was flesh. He was human again.

Vlad Masters stared back at him. 

…Huh. 

Mr. Masters— Vlad?— licked dry lips, staring at Danny, whose wrist he still held. Danny…didn’t know if he could move. Danny didn’t know if he knew how to move. 

“...Daniel?” Mr. Masters’s voice cracked. His eyes moved up and down Danny’s body, from his raggedy hair to his dirt-stained clothes to his beat-up shoes. “Daniel Fenton?”

Danny winced. “It’s just Danny,” he offered hoarsely. His throat bobbed. “You…know me?” 

Mr. Masters moved his grip to Danny’s hand, apparently moved to tears. Without the red in his eyes, he just looked…human enough. “Daniel— Danny, how did you— Are you dead? What happened?” 

Danny felt the weight of everything push down on him again, as if it had ever let up on him since the portal incident. Mom and Dad’s funerals. Jazz in the emergency room. Being resuscitated by the EMTs. Getting shipped out to Aunt Alicia’s house without warning. 

“House blew up.”

That was succinct enough, right?

The man’s face turned devastated. “I heard— I’m so, so sorry. I’m so sorry, Danny.”

…It was more concern than anyone had shown in a long time. His eyes were wet before he knew it. When he wiped his face with his sleeve, the dampness was enough to leave little streaks of mud on his face— and, ugh, he felt filthy. 

“It’s okay,” Danny lied, because it wasn’t. He pressed his sleeve to his eyes. “It’s…you know my parents?”

Mr. Masters took a deep, surprised breath. “Yes. We…weren’t in contact after we graduated from school together, but Jack always… He asked me by email to be your godfather, right before you were born. I said yes, but I have no idea if he ever filed the paperwork.” 

Oh. 

…Oh. 

There were clearly more secrets here. Mr. Masters was a ghost, and so was Danny. He lived in a giant castle that was clearly haunted, which was made obvious by the owner. He was Danny’s godfather, and Danny had never once met him. 

And he wasn’t Aunt Alicia. 

Danny sucked the spit off of his teeth with his tongue. “Can I stay here?” 

Mr. Masters made a wounded, desperate expression. “I would rather you did.” 

“Can you teach me how to be a ghost?”

The man persevered through what were clearly heavy feelings. “...If I must.” 

“Can I have dinner?” was Danny’s final question. “Like. On the regular?” 

There was a second where Mr. Masters’s eyes went red. The castle suddenly felt taut with anticipation. Fury crawled on Danny’s skin. He could feel the pressure digging in search of some way to burrow into his flesh.

And then it was gone. 

“Of course you can. You are a growing boy.”

Danny smiled shyly, barely showing his teeth. When he smiled for real in the mirror, he had fangs. It was better not to. “Cool.”

Mr. Masters nodded. And when Danny looked down at the floor, he changed his grip so that Danny could hold his hand and hop down like normal. 

“It will be alright,” Mr. Masters promised quietly. It seemed to be just as much for him as it was for Danny. “Or…I’ll take care of it. Whatever happens. You’re not alone, Danny.” 

Danny had been alone for almost half a year. It had felt like forever. “Thanks.” He sniffed. 

They walked upstairs from the basement laboratory together, in a way Mom and Dad never would again. 

[blossoms-phan]

thinking about this photo

[psalacanthea]

I'm doing that thing again where a random scenario is showing up in my modern AU fic and I have to think of everyone's preferences so: BG3 companions, ice cream edition.

Wyll: The only man alive who gets an ice cream cone and somehow never drips. He loves a good quality vanilla, but likes it with additions, like a handmade fudge ripple or butter pecan. Will eat an ice cream cone with a spoon, confusing everyone.

Karlach: She wants to go to the place where they mix in shit in front of you. Gummy bears and pretzels. Red hots candy and caramel corn. She's inventing flavor combos you've never heard of. Also likes the blue bubblegum ice cream.

Gale: Ooh! Well, since you're asking, he knows a wonderful place a scant thirty minute drive away that makes their own handmade ice cream. He's been known to indulge in a pint or two...perhaps with a nice glass of wine! Toppings? Well, that would ruin the experience.

Shadowheart: She goes to the same place as Gale, but she hoards her pints in her freezer and you're not allowed to touch them. They have a dark chocolate raspberry she's obsessed with. It's hers, though. You can have a bite. Just one. Fine, you can have another bite.

Lae'zel: She goes to the fast food drive through, orders a chocolate sundae, and leaves. If their ice cream machine is broken again, they will pay the price. Will climb through a drive-through window to fight your manager.

Astarion: Goes to the trendy, insanely expensive restaurant, orders the thousand dollar gold leaf covered, smoked white truffle and whisky ice cream dessert, takes a picture of it for his instagram, and leaves without paying by climbing out the bathroom window.

Minthara: She will take two scoops of chocolate ice cream. Nothing more, nothing less. If you fail to deliver exactly what was ordered, she will have your business destroyed on Yelp. Her prowess on Yelp is legendary. Sometimes Astarion helps her make video reviews of restaurants. She has millions of views, adoring fans, and has no idea.

Halsin: He'd prefer something else for dessert, but he's already here, so...maybe a scoop of pistachio on a cone? Will get distracted and end up with it dripping all over his arm. Whoops! Now everyone's staring at him while he licks his own hand.

Jaheira: She prefers a pastry, but fine. She'll let you know once she's tried every sample at least once. Hmm. Not bad. And...you know what? Never mind. She's full now. Thanks for the samples.

[pariaritzia]

Ranveer Singh and Tota Roy Choudhury performing kathak, an Indian classical dance form typically performed by women, in ROCKY AUR RANI KII PREM KAHAANI (2023)

[merciawintersageposting]

bloodweave coded classic films…

Cary Grant and Randolph Scott in My Favorite Wife, 1940.

Fred Astaire and Rita Hayworth, You’ll Never Get Rich, 1941.

Greer Garson and Laurence Olivier in Pride and Prejudice, 1940.

[parasauro]

AN ANGEL, A DEMON, AND A PLATE OF ROAST MEAT - QUEER INTIMACY IN GOOD OMENS’ “A COMPANION TO OWLS”

Spoilers for S2 EP 2 of Good Omens below the cut!

A “Companion to Owls”, the minisode pertaining to the second episode of the second season of Good Omens, brings us a significant reveal in that Crowley was the one to introduce Aziraphale to food. Deftly using the audience’s foreknowledge to bring illuminating tenderness to an otherwise simple scene, Aziraphale discovers the bliss of human food while hiding out an overhead storm. The scene plays out reminiscent of Hades and Persephone, a temptation and entrapment through food presented underground, or in this case a cellar. A more Christian-aligned interpretation of the scene lies in the particular observation that Crowley tempts Aziraphale into an innocuous bite that swiftly becomes an act of gluttony- a deadly sin not unlike the Garden. Just as humanity got quite a lot out of the whims of Crowley’s temptations, Aziraphale’s very first experience with food, which he comes to love deeply in arguable moderation, was an act of indulgence and gluttony. At a defining moment in his relationship with Heaven, his love for human food is not only contrary to the behavior of an angel, but sinful in itself. 

Since the act of Aziraphale eating is doubly characterized as a deviant behavior, it bears credence to analyze how this scene fits into the broader themes inherent to Aziraphale and Crowley’s queerness. Throughout the first season, Good Omen’s themes of ostracization, divergence from expectation, rejection of the accepted, and a connection transcendent of standard human definition permeate the queer experience. Both Crowley and Aziraphale have been consistently coded alongside the queer expressions of the various eras they’ve lived through. In relation to each other, Crowley is arguably more experienced in the then-seedier parts of Soho and the elements of queer life that entailed. Aziraphale doesn’t lag far behind, but his experience lies solidly with a different crowd of queer folk. Contextualized within their continuing relationship to queerness, the scene in the cellar takes on an additional interpretation. In the simplest terms available that preserve the content of the scene: Crowley offers Aziraphale his meat, and Aziraphale gobbles it down. 

Blunt, but accurate. 

In a more nuanced discussion, queer intimacy on film has historically necessitated deep coding and subtextual theming to convey representation. While contemporary queer film has seen significant bounds in this regard, the long canon of coded queer intimacy has remained a staple of queer storytelling. Among the most commonly coded activities is eating, ostensibly a quotidian task with romantic and even sensual connotations depending on the people involved- thus the discussion of this scene. In the act of presenting Aziraphale with a plate of food, Crowley takes on an introductory and mentor-like role, stewarding Aziraphale into an experience familiar to himself but novel to his companion. Aziraphale reacts in a manner of initial repulsion at the temptation, to concession to his desire and curiosity, to performance of expected disgust, and finally to uninhibited indulgence. Beat-by-beat, this sequence in the cellar follows the rhythm of an experienced queer person guiding someone’s “first time”. Notably, this scene is intense and invokes a strange sense of voyeuristic discomfort, but remains a non-sexual display of intimacy, adhering to many fans’ (myself included) interpretation of Aziraphale and Crowley as asexual and exploring what non-sexual modes of intimacy look like. As Aziraphale eats, Crowley holds the plate and watches with a smug smile on his face– Aziraphale has accepted and is now joyously partaking in the nonconformist behavior he discovered long ago.

Even beyond this particular scene, the pairing’s frequent outings are frequently justified by a “temptation” to lunch, dinner, or a drink often initiated by Aziraphale (e.g. Aziraphale “tempting” Crowley to try oysters in Rome, and Aziraphale “tempting” Crowley to “a spot of lunch” after switching back corporations as the most explicit examples). As such, the act of eating remains an act of intimacy between the two, if nothing more than a pretense to spend more time in each other’s company while hiding their true sentiments from Above and Below.

[harveyguillensource]

Teaser images for Companion with reactions to early screenings. Looks like Harvey's character Eli is having a good time at least - and sounds like Harvey did too.

[dying-suffering-french-stalkers]

Lawrence of Arabia on the big screen slaps just as hard the second time around

[desertmile]

My first attempt at drawing Nick Valentine (Fallout 4) and my 'sole-survivor' Velvet Young.

The two are taking a break from following Eddie Winter's tracks.

reference used from 1947 noir film "out of the past" - thanks @chell-lesbian

[cienie-isengardu]

Whenever the Lin Kuei go out on a mission, they probably use fake names that they draw out of a hat to avoid suspicion.

Bi-Han crossing fingers: Please don't be a awful name, please for the love of the gods-And it's Blake. Bland but it would be worse.

Cyrax: I got Conner. Not bad.

Kuai: I got Kandance...I don't know how to feel about this.

Sektor: For some reason, I got Simon. It just doesn't fit me.

Smoke cringing: I got Willow. It sucks. Can I pick another one?

Sektor: We don't have time for it.

Smoke groans.

Ha! But what if those dorks actually make up the weirdest name or pick the most difficult to say to mess up with people? I bet Tomas could pick Polish name like Grzegorz Brzęczyszczykiewicz just to be the pain in the ass while Kuai Liang and Bi-Han go with all the most unique variants of Ice or Cold in any possible language - or in case of Bi-Han, calling himself Shang Tsung just to irks one sorcerer if he is in mood to annoy him XD. Cyrax joins for the lulz, while Sektor is the only one trying to be not suspicious at all (and somehow always drawing the most attention because his life can’t be easy for once, not with those crazy bastards around 🤣)

But then again, Bi-Han may not bother at all; with the Mythologies: Sub-Zero's storyline, it seems he is destined for quick type of missions, as in get in, kill and/or steal and get out so I guess, one way or another, not many people will be left alive to tell his real name…

[bloomingdead]

that one person on youtube who’s decided bellara is secretly evil bc of the triangles in her design is killing meeeeeeee

[uziraphale]

I am a chubby cherub and I like it.

[folkhorrorrevival]

Books Spotlight: The Routledge Companion to Folk Horror and Folk Horror On Film: The Return of the British Repressed.

The following article is not a review as such to avoid accusation of bias as I (Andy Paciorek) have essays in the books (those being ‘Yesterday’s Memories of Tomorrow: Nostalgia, Hauntology and Folk Horror’ in The Routledge Companion to Folk Horror, and ‘Albion Unearthed: social, political and cultural influences on British Folk Horror, Urban Wyrd and Backwoods Cinema’ in Folk Horror on Film’ –…