#Hood & Howells

[manchesterau]

2016/2023

[dellinah]

I am heartbroken and frothing at the mouth that I have yet to see anyone on Tumblr mentioning the YT animation Bun hunting: overture

You'd think a furry animation inspired by 30-60's cartoons with a lot of fanservice would be popular here (for one reason or another)

It's barely 3 minutes long but I'm IN LOVE

with the animation style. Yeah

I wish I was in the mindspace to talk more about it bc this animation made me happier than I can say rn and it deserved a ramble but anyway

There's just something about seeing the old (obviously(?) Song of the south-inspired) Disney 2D animated style done SO WELL in this era that made me really happy and even so short it seems so cute and promising and all of it is SO WELL DONE

I would give anything for this to be longer but I'm so happy with what we got. I hope Piti Yindee and the team get to do more with it eventually

[ilysweetleaf]

[rabbitcruiser]

The Chicago Tribune began publishing on June 10, 1847.    

[simstationdance]

The older boy managed to get his sister to behave, allowing the remainder of the funeral arrangements to proceed without incident. As the two of them exchanged terse, yet pleasant goodbyes, he reminded Olive to get her ‘cemetery issue’ - whatever it was - sorted by the time of the event itself.

Meanwhile, the little girl was feeling bold today.

By the time Olive had any time to react, soap was already pouring out of the entire fountain. The older boy cursed under his breath, “Damn it, Annie. Where’d you even get that shit?”

He hurried down the steps and started roughly dragging her along by the arm. “Thanks for the help, Miss Muenda, I’ll have the money by next month. See ya then! Sorry about the fountain, bye!”

Olive simply grimaced, watching them leave.

[pissterdaniel]

Analysing what the TIT merch could be

I've been going frame by frame of today's video to work it out

Black hoodie

In the mirror reflection you can see hood. Based off of the direction of the hood, it looks like the print we see is on the back of the hoodie. I believe the print only features the tvs of the set.

2. Potential front of hoodie, or a separate item

We aren't shown much of this at all, so it could be the front of the previous hoodie. The text reads 'Terrible Influence.' It's giving 'Daniel Howell' metal tee from WAD. The material looks softer and thicker than a tshirt, so this will likely be a hoodie/crewneck

When Dan is showing this one off he says "__ like a bit of chrome"

Okay, rewatching the clip, it is definitely the front of that hoodie. He picks it up and then it jump cuts to him showing the front. We just aren't shown the second between him walking to camera and flipping it over

3. Poster tshirt

Very clearly the poster but on a shirt. You can make out text at the bottom where it says 'Terrible Influence (tour?)'

bonus: the tshirt that was revealed

Let me know what you guys all think! I am just glad there is a black hoodie, that's all I wanted. And cheers to @boardgamedanny who pointed out that you can see the hood in the mirror

[lalulutres]

American Radiator Building.

Art Deco in New York.

Opened in 1924

Architects R. Hood, J.M. Howells, . J. A. Fouihoux.

[eleni-cherie]

list of artists (actors & musicians) I like/stan who are openly and vocally pro-palestine:

marina, coldplay, penelope cruz, javier bardem, calum hood & ashton irwin (5sos) angelina jolie, alexandra savior, matt helders (arctic monkeys), zayn, eric andre, john cusack, mark ruffalo, dan howell & phil lester, serj tankian (system of a down), rage against the machine, hozier, the weeknd, richard gere, macklemore..

hopefully even more of my faves will use their platform to be vocal & spread awareness.

remember, don't base your morals solely on what your faves tell you or don't tell you - but it's important to urge celebrities to use their platform to spread awareness about important topics + it's good to show support to those who do so there's no reason for them to "be afraid of losing their career if they do" and this way more and more will feel confident enough to join.

also donate to grassroot organizations like CareForGaza and GazaDirectHelp who are in the inside and help directly.

and I also wanted to add this here, a joint fundraiser for Palestine + Sudan!!

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

The Fire & The Selkie

In the ocean, especially this far North, warmth can be hard to find and harder to keep. But a spark starts on an island, far into the frigid waters. Will it flicker out, smothered by the winds and the mist? Will it ignite? Or, will it burn everything to ash?

Main character; Keith Howell

Content; Gender-neutral reader (they/them pronouns), maritime and selkie shenanigans

Content Warnings; Swearing, some fear

Word Count; 2.9K

You should have heeded the elders' warnings.

“Red sky in morning, sailor take warning.”

But you couldn’t afford not to go out on the water, and an old rhyme wasn’t about to dissuade you from missing out on earning some money from checking the crab lines and cast nets.

But now, several hours away from the safety of dry land, you found yourself fighting the waves and winds to keep your boat from capsizing. And with no crew, you were burning both from the cold, and exhaustion. You knew that if you survived this storm, you would most likely be sick if not with a cold, but also hypothermia.

It wasn’t the time to imagine the consequences of today if you didn’t live long enough to see tomorrow.

You spat out the salty water from your mouth and braved the storm. This was hardly your first one, but a dread weighed you down. The quiet part of your conscience, a part that was much older, was screaming caution.

Not caution about the storm, but of something else.

Nothing but fishing tales made larger than life. Is what the rational part of your brain argued, but it was unsure.

While there was no such thing as monsters that lay in wait under the waters waiting for a boat to devour, you did know that if you were to capsize, you wouldn’t be coming out of the water alive. The frigid water would sap all warmth from you, and you would slowly sink to the bottom. The only evidence of you being a destroyed boat drifting to some coastline.

You gritted your teeth as a particularly freezing wind blew back the hood of your coat, causing your eyes to sting from the salt in the air. You didn’t even bother trying to fix it, knowing that it would be a fruitless endeavour trying to keep it up — you could use that energy elsewhere.

You gripped onto the wheel tightly, barely being able to feel it, and pressed forward. 

Did you know where you were going? Not in the slightest. If you didn’t at least steer into the waves, the only place you would be going was Davy Jones’ locker, where many of your more reckless and overly confident community members had found themselves before.

Some would say you were reckless and overly confident as well, it was always a calculated risk. Even today.

Just today was by far the largest risk you had taken yet, but the potential yield from those traps and lines would be able to not just feed your community but also could prove to change your life from being just an errand runner, to finally running your own boat. 

To finally be a captain of a crew, and not being some lackey for the drunkard in town. To be the one making orders yet still treating your crew fairly. To be fully in charge of your own life and not be at the mercy of others.

A flash of lightning struck the horizon, providing a blinding light in the darkness that was the storm. And from that darkness, you could just make out a tall, dark mass that pierced from the ocean.

Please, please, please. You silently begged the sky to send another bolt of light to illuminate the way. Just long enough for you to figure out how to navigate there.

BOOM!

A crash of thunder. Any second now, light would follow.

As if answering your call, lightning danced throughout the sky, just long enough for you to steer the boat to face the island.

Fighting the waves, and screaming back at the howling winds, you were also laughing like a madman, all sense of sensibility — and perhaps sanity — thrown out the window. The time for that was long gone, and you were rapidly running out of both energy and willpower, but also gas. The needle tipping right above zero.

It was a last-ditch effort, and you didn’t slow down as the boat practically crashed into the rocks at shore.

Another boom and flash of lightning seemed to congratulate you on surviving and welcome you to the island. And while you were relieved that by some stroke of luck that you had made it through the storm and made it to some semblance of land, you also knew that this island — a speck in the middle of a frigid sea — was not just a lifeline, but also a death sentence if you couldn’t call for help, or someone didn’t find you.

But fighting the panic that was starting to build in your chest, and threatened to choke your breath, you hauled the boat further up shore to where the waves and the thick mist couldn’t reach, and flipped it to the side, watching water pour out. Once only a few drips trickled out, you flipped it upside down, creating an artificial cave, blocking out the roar of the wind, and the outside world.

After hours of noise, the relative quiet made your ears ring. But you couldn’t relax just yet, knowing that if you fell asleep now, you wouldn’t wake up.

Adjusting the boat — how a dingy piece of metal managed the storm avoided you — you shuffled like some absurd hermit crab to where you could place the damned (or blessed?) piece of metal so you could get some airflow. 

To survive, you needed fire, but you also didn’t want smoke inhalation to be the death of you, nor hypothermia.

You poked around in the few storage containers you had on board since they were the only dry things you had on hand. A pot, a steel wool sponge, some batteries, and a threadbare blanket, that was what you were willing to sacrifice.

“Come on,” you whispered, a white cloud escaping from your mouth, “work for me.”

You placed the battery on the steel wool sponge and mentally sighed in relief as you saw it slowly turning red before catching on fire. Gently, you placed the small fire on the blanket, anxiously waiting for it to spread. 

Soon, the cold from the hours of exposure was traded for the warmth of a fire. But the burning from the cold was replaced with shivering that shook your whole body. 

Knowing that it would take much longer for you to warm up if you kept on the layers of soaking fabric, you gently peeled away the layers until you were just wearing the slightly damp thermal leggings and top.

Scooting closer to the fire you made yourself comfortable, as comfortable as you could knowing that finding help was nearly impossible and sat there, knowing better than to fall asleep.

… 

Sometime throughout the night, you had drifted to sleep from exhaustion and the comforting warmth of the fire. The cawing of sea birds waking you from a dreamless sleep.

The storm had passed, but it had left its mark.

You had bruises, the aching kind that would definitely be an ugly shade of purple and oh so tender, and now in the weak light of day, you could see large dents on the boat, from where the waves had continuously struck at the haul.

Crawling out from your makeshift shelter, you stretched out, feeling and hearing all sorts of cracks and you groaned at feeling the tension release. Sleeping on cold rocks didn’t do you any favours, but you were thankful that you made it to see today.

But since you could actually see more than an arm's length in front of you, you took the chance to inspect the craggy island, to see if there was anything of use besides the abandoned fishing nets and other man-made debris that had also found its way here.

You walked down the narrow shoreline you had beached yourself on until it slowly opened up to a larger beach. There wasn’t much, a seabird here or there, but what caught your attention was a seal, basking in the weak sunlight.

You had seen seals before, but never for long since they would slide into the water at the first sight of humans. And you stood there, just looking at its content sleeping face.

The seal was cute, just look at them, but you kept on moving, going towards a small cliff by the water that was encrusted with marine plants. While not super appetizing, they would be enough, plus you didn’t feel confident in trying to catch one of the aforementioned seabirds currently. So the algae would be enough for now.

Happy with your collection of assorted marine plants, you started making your way back. You looked back though, hoping to see the seal one more time for an added dose of some much-needed serotonin, but they were gone, the only evidence that they were there was the slide track going towards the water. 

Your mouth twitched, nearing a frown, before you shook your head and continued back to camp, not really looking forward to your meal.

It was more or less the same when you got back, but the same feeling that you had while in the storm, to be cautious.

But what danger could be found on some craggy spire in the midst of the sea? As far as you knew, you were the only other person here. But your brain and your body were on high alert.

Ignoring your breakfast of ocean-provided greens, you carefully looked around your camp. All seemed as it was before you left, but upon entering under your boat, you found a large fresh halibut on the rocks, dead.

It couldn’t have washed up to shore, the tide didn’t come up this high. Upon flipping the fish over you found one large puncture mark.

Something had killed this fish and left it in your camp while you were gone for less than three hours. And while one part of you was grateful that you wouldn’t just be dining on seaweed, another part of you felt sick with dread.

You weren’t alone. They knew about you, maybe even have seen you, but you haven’t seen them.

You felt dizzy, and running out of your boat tent, you vomited into a rocky crevice.

“Tch,” you huffed, wiping your mouth. “If you think this is some sort of game you can fuck right off!”

Spinning around you hoped to see someone trying to hide, or to at least hear some sort of sound, but all you found was a seabird sitting comfortably on your boat, and another (or perhaps even the same) seal sitting at the tide line.

They looked at you curiously and turned their head to the side. Like they were surprised by your outburst.

You furrowed your brow, “Maybe I’m just going mad. Swallowed too much seawater.”

Shaking your head, you crept back under your shelter. But there was no denying that the fish was caught by someone and not by yourself. Your stomach gurgled, and putting aside your suspicion, you started a fire and prepared the fish. You might have not caught it, but like hell were you going to let it go to waste.

Soon, the suspicion was replaced for contentment at finally getting some hot food into you. And you looked outside, wondering when you would be getting an answer.

…

...

...

Keith didn’t have company very often besides the seabirds, so he took to sunbathing when possible, fighting away the cold of the ocean. Warmth was a hard thing to be found.

Sure, that jangly fellow visited every few months, but he hardly counted as good company. Something about him irritated Keith, but he couldn’t put a finger on it, so he just stayed polite, waiting for the man to leave. Their interactions were icey, much like the ocean waters that he knew.

But there was now a new visitor, they crawled out of the raging sea, a fire burning bright in them. Even though they were shrouded by darkness and mist, there was a warmth. Keith could only watch in curiosity as they fought their way out of the water and made a camp.

Fire was a rare and precious thing, not easily made or kept here, the cold and damp forcing it to die out sooner or later. But the new human, who was looking half drowned and half dead, was burning so brightly that Keith could only watch as orange light slowly illuminated the makeshift shelter they had made.

Humans rarely ever brought anything good with them, the litter on the beach being evidence of that, but he couldn’t help but be intrigued. Even while exhausted and barely holding on, they were fighting where some may have just given up.

In a place that was typically cold and isolated, Keith couldn’t help but think that maybe the ocean had finally answered his call for a companion.

So he watched, and took notice of their shivering form. Unlike himself, humans weren’t made for this type of weather. He couldn’t just waltz in though, not wanting to scare them away. 

After what felt like hours, the human finally fell asleep, somehow getting comfortable on the rocks even though they would definitely leave bruises on their skin. Keith slowly made his way towards the shelter, and looked curiously in, making sure that there was no chance that they were still awake.

But nope, you were out cold.

Keith slowly took off his seal coat, morphing into a man, and gently placed it on you, knowing that it would warm you up. 

A part of him was a tad disappointed that you didn’t turn into a seal like him — you would have made an adorable seal — but he felt his face warm up as you burrowed subconsciously into his coat, curling up into a ball. Warmth in his face? That was new… but not unwarranted.

And he stayed on the other side of the shelter, by the entrance, but still close enough that if you woke up suddenly, he could take his coat and high tail it out of there if need be.

Giving your coat to a human? What am I thinking?

But he also didn’t want you to die. You brought vibrant warmth to the cold landscape. While he knew the fire could bring warmth, he also knew it could burn and destroy, consuming everything in its path.

He also knew that in order for him to be bound to you, like the old wives tales told, you would have to not only take his coat, but also give it back. The tales said nothing about him lending and then taking it back without you knowing–

The rustling of the pebbles moving took him out of his thoughts and he snatched his coat back and made a beeline for the water, quickly throwing it overtop of his self. Once back in the relative safety of the sea, he peered over the waves to see you crawling out of the shelter and stretching out, much like he did when sunbathing.

And then you were making your way down the shore, heading west, towards the haul out beach. Knowing that you were headed somewhat in that direction, Keith made his way there.

Its not so I can see them, no, just trying to warm up is all.

But he usually didn’t get a flutter in his chest from the prospect of sunbathing. 

Naturally, he arrived before you did. Judging from his prior trekking experiences with that Silvio fellow, he reckoned that he had at least an hour before you stumbled your way to his haul out site. So, he stretched out, much like you did, however without the aforementioned cracking of every joint of his body.

He had a nice chat with some seabirds that were passing by, and mainly just enjoyed the weak sun that peaked through the clouds.

Then he heard your footsteps, and looked at you.

You looked back, only for a brief moment though, before continuing to the shoreline, picking up seaweed and algae. And even from the distance between the two of you, Keith could hear the gurgle of your stomach.

So, he went back into the water, into the depths, and hunted down a good sized halibut — surely a 5 pound fish would be enough for today? And left it in your shelter as a sort of welcoming/please don’t die gift.

But he wasn’t expecting you to come basically running out of your shelter and hurl into the cliff side.

“If you think this is some sort of game you can fuck right off!” You snapped, and Keith shrunk into the water.

Did you not like the gift? Did you find it offensive? Did he do something wrong?

But your ire, or what he assumed to be ire, cooled down and you went back into your shelter and Keith could smell the distinctive aroma of fish cooking. He usually preferred his meals cold, but he couldn’t help but wonder what hot fish tasted like.

He knew though that he would never have the chance, one human knowing of the existence of selkies was dangerous enough — what with the folk tales that still circled around after centuries — and while you may be intriguing, he couldn’t risk endangering everything just because you piqued his interest.

But he also couldn’t just ignore you.

You were a fire, and he couldn’t let you run rampant on his island because of the slight chance that you would burn everything to the ground.

...........................................

Masterlist

[freckliedan]

it’s like dan preemptively knew the slutty way he took that hood off would spark a wave of I Need To Get Her Pregnant because like obviously. oh my god my oenis. so he was like never fear… i am ALREADY pregnant. the egg baby is here. and i think that’s magical he knows us so well <3

from the bottom of my heart. dan howell i will get you pregnant or die trying.

[cozyfoxy]

Mystical Paths

Summary: The Howells have been the proud owners of a small but famous bookstore since the 1800s. They are known for being the only shop that collects original copies of magic writings. Dan works as the bookkeeper of the shop. As the busiest season approaches, one of the most renowned magic families reaches out to the shop and offers to gift them an original Spellbook of sorts. Little did Dan know that these offers would change his life forever.

First Chapter

Read on AO3

Genre: AU

NO WARNINGS

In just one week, Howell’s Mystical Enchantments had earned more money than they typically would in a month. Having Philip Lester’s book in their possession had proven to be a true blessing for the family. Dan was incredibly grateful for the gift, but even more so for the protection that Philip had given him. He truly had needed it.

Overall, the book had been very popular and had gone off without a hitch, however, no one had been able to read it yet. Most customers would swear under their breath and storm off when they saw blank pages, others would groan, but thank Dan for his time, sometimes giving him a tip. Some customers though, would get angry, even violent towards the brunette.

The first time it happened wasn’t too bad. The woman whom Dan knew to be a quite powerful alchemist from Ireland had attempted to throw the book to the floor when she was unable to read the pages. The attempt was of course a failure, as the book had stopped just above the floor and leaped into Dan’s hands, perhaps for protection. Dan really had no idea, but it had brought unwanted attention to him from the crowd.

“Well, well, well. I’ve always been told that Howells don’t have magic, eh? I think this youngin just proved they was lying.” An older woman called out from the hood of her cloak.

Dan had stuttered nervously, trying to find a way to explain the truth when a voice that made the brunette think of honeysuckles on a warm Spring morning sounded from the book. “Idiots. The book is charmed! Daniel here is the keeper, the protector. No, he wields no magic himself, that’s our job. Now, I suggest we all calm down before my creator is summoned. He won’t be as gentle as I am.”

Despite his nerves, Dan felt himself smile when the book moved itself back to the pedestal that it had been displayed on. He walked over to the next person in line to take their payment and continued with his day as normal. Well, as normal as he could with such a powerful book in his possession.

The next time a customer had gotten angry, it had been aimed directly at Dan. A taller man, not much older than Dan had tried to read the book and failed. The man had groaned like so many others before him and set the book down, before glaring at the books keeper.

“Your family is filled with lying cunts. No way this book is from the Lester’s. You all are just trying to make a quick buck! Fuck you all, I want my money back!” the man yelled, moving closer to Dan.

Dan swallowed thickly, shaking his head, “I apologize sir but we do not offer refunds here.”

The man laughed, a shrill, nails on chalkboard kind of sound, “Okay, yeah, that’s fine. Then I’ll just have to take it back myself, or get something just as worthy.”

“Okay Leon, let's leave the boy alone yeah? He ain't done nothing wrong, he’s just doing his job. Back off.” another man had called out, grabbing his friend by the shoulder.

Dan watched nervously as ‘Leon’ shook the hand off of his shoulder and began whispering a strange sentence under his breath, something that Dan couldn’t understand. Magic. Dan gasped and jumped behind a book display, screaming when books in front of him suddenly caught fire. The smell made his stomach wretch and chaos erupted around him.

“Leon what the fuck is wrong with you?!” the man’s friend yelled, using his magic to diminish the flames.

“Just getting my revenge.” Leon snarled, walking closer to Dan.

Before Dan even had time to blink, the room filled with a cold fog, and loud shrieks pierced the room. The room was otherwise silent, everyone had paused to get a good look at what was happening once the fog cleared. Some of the customers had pulled out their phones and they were recording what was happening.

Once Dan could get a good look, a gasp passed his lips. The same fox that had originally delivered the book tackled Leon to the ground and stood hard against the man’s chest. Leon looked absolutely terrified of the fox, he was shaking beneath the animal. Everyone around watched in shock when the fox seemed to huff into the man’s ear, and Leon began to glow a sickly green color.

“What? What are you doing?” Dan asked, walking closer to the crowd.

The fox only paused for a moment before pressing both front paws against Leon’s throat, making him yell in pain. With the yell, came a mist from his throat, the glowing green color leaving his body and forming a ball in the air. Dan stared at the ball with the rest of the crowd, covering his ears when the fox suddenly let out an ear-piercing scream; the ball moving towards him. The fox quickly swallowed the ball, seeming to shake its head in disgust before turning to the crowd.

“Let this be a lesson to you all, and anyone who dares to mess with the Howells in any way. I will not hesitate in any circumstance to step in and take control of the situation. You don’t want that, none of you do. And now, poor little Leon Whitlock has no magic, he will be an embarrassment to his family. Well, more than he already was.” the fox spoke in a very familiar voice, without moving its mouth.

Leon’s friend stepped forward, breathing unevenly, “You… you took his magic? That’s not even possible… no one can take magic from other people. Who the hell do you think you are?”

A charming, soft laugh graced the room, the fox moving closer to Dan, “Yes, I took his magic. It is very possible, but only for me, I suppose. And to answer your question, I am Phil Lester.” the fox explained before looking at Dan.

“Are you okay little dove? He didn’t hurt you, right? Just scared you?” Phil’s voice echoed in Dan’s head, making him smile.

“I’m okay, I promise. Just shaken up. Thank you for saving me. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” Dan thought back, watching as Phil nuzzled his palm, huffing and nodding before disappearing into thin air. The crowd watched in complete awe, most typing furiously on their phones. Dan was too bewildered to worry himself with what the crowd had just seen, he was too focused on the fact that he had just seen someone have their magic taken.

After the hectic week that Dan had gone through, he couldn’t be more thankful for the weekend. His parents had decided to make it a long weekend, saying that Dan needed a break from working so hard. Normally, Dan would argue with them, lie, and say that he wasn’t overwhelmed; but this time, he agreed. He desperately needed time to be with himself, to worry about himself instead of the magical world that he was thrust into.

He had always been around magic, but not so intimately. He had always watched from afar, getting only as close as needed for his job, but now, Dan felt like a magnet for magical energies. It was as if he could feel the warm buzzing of magic in his lips, in his hands, and his mind. Maybe it was because Phil was able to speak to him through his mind, he must be feeling Phil’s presence.

“You called?” Phil’s voice echoed in Dan’s head suddenly, making him jump.

Dan stuttered anxiously, trying to decide what to say, “Well, yeah I think? I didn’t really mean to subconsciously. Sorry I’ve just had a hell of a week, I’m all over the place. I mean, I’ve been around more magic in the past week than I have in my entire life. It’s a lot to take in.”

Phil chuckled softly, a gentle, warm sound, “I could tell it’s overwhelming for you. I can’t say that I understand, but I do want you to feel more comfortable. It will take time, but you will adjust, magic will just become a normal occurrence in your life. I can’t make the stress go away completely or anything; that’s more of my mum’s specialty. But I can help you calm down and relax if you’d like.”

“How could you do that?” Dan asked out loud, lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling. Maybe he was going insane, talking to a voice that wasn’t there. Sure, magic was real, but could this really be happening?

“I need you to trust me, Dan. I know that’s hard but just try. I need you to close your eyes until I say to open them.” Phil explained softly, a smile clear in his voice.

Dan debated with himself silently. Phil was telling him to close his eyes, but why? Could he trust someone that he didn’t even know? Could Dan really find it in himself to listen to what the strange voice told him? A sigh passed his lips before he allowed his eyes to flutter shut, still facing the ceiling. Phil had proven that he was going to protect Dan, so he wouldn’t do anything to harm him, right?

“Okay little dove, open your eyes slowly.” Phil hummed, pride evident in his tone.

The brunette opened his eyes slowly, gasping loudly when his eyes were met with a midnight blue sky, that enveloped him in what felt like a warm blanket. He could see the twinkling specks of light clearer than ever before. They seemed more like fireflies than stars, close enough to touch. The only sounds that touched Dan’s ear were that of a gentle wind and something that sounded like ocean waves. He could even smell the sea.

Despite his attempt to force his emotions down, tears burned the rims of his eyes as he searched for his favorite constellations. “How?” Dan whimpered, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He didn’t even know what he was asking really, he was in complete awe.

Phil chuckled, “Magic Daniel. I am capable of things that most people can’t even imagine.”

Dan shook his head quickly, “no, I mean how did you know this would help me relax?” he whispered, moving into a sitting position.

“Oh, that. Well, it's something that I always do for myself when life gets overwhelming. I kinda went on a limb, but I’m glad you like it.” Phil whispered, sounding unsure for the first time since the men had begun to talk. “Also, I’m… I’m well, here. With you. I know you can’t see me right now, I’m camouflaged, but I’m here. That’s why you’re not hearing me in your head anymore.”

Dan’s eyes widened and he looked around himself anxiously, attempting to find any proof of Phil’s words, “I didn’t even notice I could properly hear you… why are you hiding though?”

Phil placed his hand gently over Dan’s, smiling when a rose pink danced across the other man’s cheeks, “simply because it is not our time to meet entirely. It will happen dove, I promise. But for now, please try to rest. I know you’re exhausted.”

“Yeah… okay, I’ll try to rest. But can you maybe stay until I fall asleep? I feel safer with you here.” Dan whispered, slowly lowering himself back down onto his bed while the night sky continued to move around him.

“Of course, I would never leave you unless you wanted me to. Goodnight my little dove, sleep well.” Phil whispered, shuddering slightly before allowing his camouflage to fall and sitting at Dan’s feet.

Soft snores filled the room before Phil could even register that the man next to him had dozed off. He watched Dan’s gentle, calm breathing in complete awe. How could one person be so incredibly beautiful? Beautiful without even trying to be? Dan was truly a light, brighter than any star that even Phil could create. Despite the rules that Phil had set for himself, rules about waiting for the right moment for everything; he placed a tender kiss on Dan’s hairline.

“Soon, my little dove, you will fly with me again,” Phil whispered, allowing his human form to fade, falling onto four paws comfortably, before running out of the house.

[invisibleicewands]

The BBC’s new three-part drama The Way is Michael Sheen’s directorial debut. It has been nearly a decade in gestation, this story of civil unrest fermenting in Sheen’s Welsh home town of Port Talbot – cradle of militant unionism and symbol of working-class fury and pride. It has been created with writer James Graham (Brexit: The Uncivil War, Quiz, Sherwood) and – slightly more unusually, documentary auteur Adam Curtis.

The opening episode is something so different and fresh that even if you can’t say you’re actively enjoying it (though I was), the power and ambition of it all, the unashamed idiosyncrasy that permeates the direction, the allusiveness of the narrative and its slightly dreamlike (or nightmarish) off-kilter quality surely makes you sit up and take notice. It has a clear, accessible narrative at its heart, for sure, but the sensibility is rare and all its own.

It’s a tale of civil discontent, sparked by the death of a youngster in a vat of molten slag at the steelworks and his father’s self-immolation – in grief, in protest, in some unspeakable combination of the two – thereafter. The union blames management and decades of underinvestment. Management offers to reline a furnace, a sop to the emotion of the moment, rather than a recognition of needs. “We didn’t realise we were buying a mood,” says one of the new investors, with a combination of bafflement and frustration.

The unfurling of the unrest plays out for the viewer mostly through the long-established local Driscoll family. The late paterfamilias was a committed striker in the 80s, the failure of which terrible feat of suffering and endurance is largely blamed by the family for his death. His son Geoff (the stalwart Steffan Rhodri, last seen in the excellent Men Up at the end of last year) takes an approach to communicating with the bosses that is more pragmatic/conciliatory/weak/treacherous – delete according to political proclivities. He is separated from his wife and family for reasons that become clear over the succeeding episodes, as does the specific bad blood between his son, benzos addicts and petty dealer Owen (Callum Scott Howells), and his police officer daughter Thea (Sophie Melville).

As the internet is shut down within the town, tensions rise, curfews are imposed and riots between townsfolk and police start to break out. The Driscolls become the police – and the media – scapegoats for it all, and are eventually forced, along with Owen’s eastern European girlfriend, Anna (Maja Laskowska), to flee their home and their town.

Threaded through this growing but none-too-incredible – especially to a post-lockdown audience also being assailed with headlines about coming redundancies at Port Talbot’s Tata Steel (though business secretary Kemi Badenoch has extensive explanations about how government investment is actually saving the works) – dystopian landscape are, presumably thanks mostly to the Curtis influence, potent illustrative clips of real-life news and CCTV footage. Through them the sense of dislocation increases, while the themes of the drama only become more closely knit. From Graham – and, I’d posit, Sheen’s powerful sense of Welshness and all that means historically as well as currently – come the more mystical, ancient touches. The importance the town places on the works’ pilot light never going out; the sword made of the first steel forged in the town, long before modern industry got there; the red-hooded figure appearing and disappearing; Sheen as Geoff’s father’s ghost and/or manifestation of his conscience, pursuing him as they make their escape. And then, as the Cambrian borders become increasingly policed, there is (garbed in a costume somewhere between pastor, Clint Eastwood nemesis and Matthew Hopkins’ finest) the Welshfinder.

It is a bravura opening episode – powerful, confident, ambitious, confrontational and unexpected. It conjures precisely the feeling of a town on the edge, a tinderbox for the powder keg that is an increasingly divided Britain as a whole. Then it pushes things a little further and if you squint just a tiny bit, you could be looking at the future. Maybe even a blueprint, if you were so minded. It feels like a drama fully in the tradition of Bleasdale, Loach, Alan Clarke and Jimmy McGovern, and if it occasionally falls victim to the latter’s tendency to agitprop, that still leaves it head and shoulders above the usual fare.

It doesn’t quite meet the high bar it has set for itself over the remaining episodes. Although they gesture towards the issue of displaced persons and what is to be done with waves of desperate people, they become too much about the internal dynamics of the Driscolls and their family history to feel as innovative or thrilling as that which has gone before. But you can live off the first hour for quite some time to come.

[lieutenanthowell]

DYING BREED 𝑱𝑼𝑺𝑻 𝑫𝑹𝑶𝑷𝑷𝑬𝑫 𝑰𝑵. 𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗨𝗘.𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑜𝑚𝑠𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝑟𝑢𝑙𝑒.

[A SONG FROM YOUR CHILDHOOD STARTS PLAYING, A MELODY THAT REMINDS YOU OF A TIME WHEN YOU WERE A HAPPY CHILD — ONCE.]

How many times had he done this, by now? Well - never, actually. Never had Guin Howell had a helicopter to himself. No, he'd got used to swaying, on his feet half the time, crammed in tight with the musty funk and the gum-popping and the shit-talking. All the ways the rest of whatever Task Force he was trucking along with would get by, collar the nerves. Getting on his, all the while. Maybe he was missing it, though, the white noise they became - because this was one shit trip, alright. Not like the dogs. He'd stayed out late with them, even the first time dad and him stopped to borrow a sled, a team. Semyon had shown him how to take the traces off and tossed the brush. All that dense fur - he'd taken his gloves off to sink his nine-year-old fingers through their thick winter coats, down to the warm, living body beneath. First time he'd ever held a really, entirely alive animal, then. Semyon's sled dogs. Every one of them, brushed out and hugged around their ruffed necks in turn. Thanked. Good. All of them, good.

Which was what Semyon called him, in his crumpled English, shoving a goddamn Walkman into his hands. The old musher had shown him how to take care of that, too, the way you wound the tape back with a pencil and had to keep snowmelt out of the jack. But first, the old man had tried his best to say that Guin was a good boy, he did good work; then he set the headphones on, clicked the volume up, wind-blasted crow's feet crinkling in as the kid Guin had been, tousled and raw, startled and stared and smiled. Just music. But it'd been fucking magic, then. And the magic had sounded like Buffalo Springfield, of all things. There's somethin' happening here. He half-hummed along, bony elbows propped on his bony knees, hands lacing across his nape, forty-five-year-old fingers brushing the shaggy, much-worn coyote lining of his hood, tapping time at the back of his neck. But what it is ain't exactly clear...

[A FIDGETABLE, ANALOG ITEM.]

Still - his hands needed something. Rasping out a sigh, Guin dug into the kit bag clenched between his shins and came up with... a length of climber's rope, neatly wound and tied for travel. It'd do. Aching eyes on the cabin roof, then flickering closed, he let muscle memory guide his way through knot after knot: bowline, chain sinnet, alpine butterfly, figure eight double loop. Over and over, around and around. Sight unseen, like he'd learned, been made to learn, had to learn. And used, and used, and used. Over and over, around and around.

[ A PLACE OF GREAT PERSONAL SIGNIFICANCE.]

It was a strangle snare. In his hands. Guin blinked, the rope creaking as he watched his fingers at work, like a stranger's, finishing that poacher's knot. Couldn't quite recall starting it. And squinting ahead, at the inscrutably grey sky - he wasn't sure when he'd done that, either. His boots braced as the chopper trembled. Harder than it had been, which was saying something. Had to be closer, now. Closer to...

The landing. He didn't remember the landing, the last time he was rattling along in a helicopter. Just the flight. I didn't mean to. A whisper, but echoing through his head, anyway - Nadia's voice, her tremor. Vera's hands, gloved, steady. Red to the elbow. How the lean muscle of her forearms stood out, drawn tight as the strings of her violin. The oximeter cord twisted up in his bloody hand, clutched tight against the rattling stretcher. He'd had to hold on, kept holding, reaching, clinging. Crashing, over and over, around and around, alive and dying and dead in the stinking belly of another helicopter. Surrounded by the piled-thick wounded - the ones he'd helped load before the sky started moving, again, those millions of stars slipping loose from where they'd been pinning up the blue-black of that far-north night. The sky was fucking falling and they were flying through it and there wasn't enough blood, they kept saying. Last one. Out.

OUT!

Not enough blood, not enough air. He couldn't breathe, through the fucking - blood. He didn't have enough, nobody did, the Task Force didn't, but he kept choking on it all the goddamn same. Heaving, even as he twitched to the sound of that whine, like a wounded dog rising to howl. Then his chest was lurching, and his head was lolling, and the shock was skittering out and he was slumping over the side of that stretcher as something, God, clawed up the back of his throat and slithered from his torn-apart lips: half-clotted, coarse, sharp as fishbone. It hit the cabin floor like... like more than it was. Than it could be. And with the eye he could still see through - still feel, fully, in his ringing, rooted-around head - he swore, he could've sworn...

Just bile. On this chopper. That strangle snare was still clenched in his hand, pinned against the side of the thin bench as he spat once, twice. His jaw snapped shut, chin up at the twang of a steely spring; the pilot, faceless behind that helmet but turned around and staring, all the same. Silent. Which was how Guin decided to stay, actually, the start of an apology glancing off that smoked glass. Fucker could've flown better. But the shaking was his, now, not the helicopter's; with the heel of his palm grinding into his left eye, Guin hauled his pack onto his shoulder and one-handed the cabin door aside, the clang of it echoing across a lonely landing pad. Loud as it was - lancing, right through that throbbing eye - the noise vanished, quick, in the trees. The way things do.

[donnatroyprincessofthemyscira]

ComicList: DC Comics New Releases for Wednesday, September 27, 2023, by Charles LePage.

Action Comics #1057 (Cover A Steve Beach), $4.99

Action Comics #1057 (Cover B Jorge Jimenez Card Stock Variant), $5.99

Action Comics #1057 (Cover C David Talaski Card Stock Variant), $5.99

Action Comics #1057 (Cover D Rafael Albuquerque Card Stock Variant), AR

Action Comics #1057 (Cover E Al Barrionuevo Card Stock Variant), AR

Action Comics #1057 (Cover F Mikel Janin Justice League Vs. Godzilla Vs. Kong Connecting Card Stock Variant), AR

Batgirl Year One TP (2023 Edition), $19.99

Batman Beyond Neo-Gothic #3 (Cover A Max Dunbar), $4.99

Batman Beyond Neo-Gothic #3 (Cover B Christian Ward Card Stock Variant), $5.99

Batman Beyond Neo-Gothic #3 (Cover C Jorge Corona Card Stock Variant), AR

Batman Catwoman The Gotham War Red Hood #1 (Of 2)(Cover A Carmine Di Giandomenico), $3.99

Batman Catwoman The Gotham War Red Hood #1 (Of 2)(Cover B Karl Kerschl Card Stock Variant), $4.99

Batman Catwoman The Gotham War Red Hood #1 (Of 2)(Cover C Chuma Hill Card Stock Variant), AR

Batman The Brave And The Bold #5 (Cover A Simone Di Meo), $7.99

Batman The Brave And The Bold #5 (Cover B Saren Stone), $7.99

Batman The Brave And The Bold #5 (Cover C Ben Oliver), $7.99

Batman The Brave And The Bold #5 (Cover D Goni Montes), AR

Batman The Golden Age Omnibus Volume 1 HC (2023 Edition), $125.00

Batman The Golden Age Omnibus Volume 10 HC, $100.00

DC Connect #41, AR

DC Vs. Vampires All-Out War Part 2 HC, $19.99

Detective Comics #1074 (Cover A Evan Cagle), $4.99

Detective Comics #1074 (Cover B Kelley Jones Card Stock Variant), $5.99

Detective Comics #1074 (Cover C Mike Perkins Card Stock Variant), $5.99

Detective Comics #1074 (Cover D Pablo Villalobos Hispanic Heritage Month Card Stock Variant), $5.99

Detective Comics #1074 (Cover E Sebastian Fiumara Card Stock Variant), AR

Detective Comics #1074 (Cover F Evan Cagle Black & White Card Stock Variant), AR

Detective Comics #1074 (Cover G Mikel Janin Justice League Vs. Godzilla Vs. Kong Connecting Card Stock Variant), AR

Flash #1 (Cover A Mike Deodato Jr. & Trish Mulvihill), $4.99

Flash #1 (Cover B Mike Deodato Jr. Card Stock Variant), $5.99

Flash #1 (Cover C Dan Mora Card Stock Variant), $5.99

Flash #1 (Cover D Rose Besch Creator Card Stock Variant), $5.99

Flash #1 (Cover E Blank Card Stock Variant), $5.99

Flash #1 (Cover F Rahzzah Foil Variant), $7.99

Flash #1 (Cover G Riley Rossmo Card Stock Variant), AR

Flash #1 (Cover H James Harren Card Stock Variant), AR

Flash #1 (Cover I Matt Taylor Card Stock Variant), AR

Flash #105 (Facsimile Edition), $3.99

Green Arrow #4 (Of 6)(Cover A Sean Izaakse), $3.99

Green Arrow #4 (Of 6)(Cover B Kendrick Kunkka Lim Card Stock Variant), $4.99

Green Arrow #4 (Of 6)(Cover C James Stokoe Card Stock Variant), AR

Harley Quinn #32 (Cover A Sweeney Boo), $4.99

Harley Quinn #32 (Cover B Jenny Frison Card Stock Variant), $5.99

Harley Quinn #32 (Cover C Rose Besch Creator Card Stock Variant), $5.99

Harley Quinn #32 (Cover D Joshua Sway Swaby Card Stock Variant), AR

Harley Quinn #32 (Cover E Corin Howell Card Stock Variant), AR

Harley Quinn Volume 4 Task Force XX HC (2021), $24.99

I Am Batman Volume 3 The Right Question HC, $24.99

Penguin #2 (Cover A David Marquez), $3.99

Penguin #2 (Cover B Darick Robertson Card Stock Variant), $4.99

Penguin #2 (Cover C Otto Schmidt Card Stock Variant), AR

Penguin #2 (Cover D David Marquez Black & White Card Stock Variant), AR

Power Girl #1 (Cover A Gary Frank), $3.99

Power Girl #1 (Cover B Jonboy Meyers Card Stock Variant), $4.99

Power Girl #1 (Cover C Sozomaika Card Stock Variant), $4.99

Power Girl #1 (Cover D Blank Card Stock Variant), $4.99

Power Girl #1 (Cover E Warren Louw Foil Variant), $5.99

Power Girl #1 (Cover F Otto Schmidt Card Stock Variant), AR

Power Girl #1 (Cover G Frank Cho Card Stock Variant), AR

Power Girl #1 (Cover H Warren Louw Card Stock Variant), AR

Spirit World #5 (Of 6)(Cover A Haining), $3.99

Spirit World #5 (Of 6)(Cover B Jessica Fong Card Stock Variant), $4.99

Spirit World #5 (Of 6)(Cover C Yoshi Yoshitani Card Stock Variant), AR

Static Shadows Of Dakota #6 (Of 7)(Cover A Nikolas Draper-Ivey), $3.99

Static Shadows Of Dakota #6 (Of 7)(Cover B JJ Lopez Card Stock Variant), $4.99

Static Shadows Of Dakota #6 (Of 7)(Cover C Demetrius Dawkins Card Stock Variant), AR

Tales Of The Titans #3 (Of 4)(Cover A Nicola Scott), $4.99

Tales Of The Titans #3 (Of 4)(Cover B Rose Besch Card Stock Variant), $5.99

Tales Of The Titans #3 (Of 4)(Cover C W. Scott Forbes Card Stock Variant), AR

Tales Of The Titans #3 (Of 4)(Cover D Skylar Patridge Card Stock Variant), AR

Tim Drake Robin Volume 1 Mystery At The Marina TP, $19.99

Unstoppable Doom Patrol #6 (Of 7)(Cover A Chris Burnham), $3.99

Unstoppable Doom Patrol #6 (Of 7)(Cover B Mikel Janin Card Stock Variant), $4.99

Unstoppable Doom Patrol #6 (Of 7)(Cover C Alan Quah Card Stock Variant), AR

WildC.A.T.s #11 (Cover A Stephen Segovia), $3.99

WildC.A.T.s #11 (Cover B Lesley Leirix Li Card Stock Variant), $4.99

WildC.A.T.s #11 (Cover C Rose Besch Creator Card Stock Variant), $4.99

WildC.A.T.s #11 (Cover D Mike Bowden Card Stock Variant), AR

[rabbitcruiser]

The Chicago Tribune began publishing on June 10, 1847.    

[simstationdance]

Discussing the specifics of a funeral is never a fun ordeal for anyone, least of all when that funeral is for one’s parents. With this - as well as the age of her clients - in mind, Olive’s earlier attitude seemed to disappear in favor of a gentler approach.

The older one - ‘Hoot,’ as he had introduced himself - did most of the talking, while his younger sister sat beside him, quiet as a mouse. Understandably, she looked as if she’d rather be anywhere else, anxiously shuffling in her seat and kicking her legs back and forth. 

Then, she rose to a stand and began walking around... much to Olive’s dismay.

Needless to say, it was difficult to focus on their conversation and on making sure the child didn’t put her hands where they didn’t belong.

Or wander off into a part of the house she wasn’t supposed to see.

Annie, curiously: Miss Muenda, what’s in that room? Olive: It’s just a closet. Nothing you’d be interested in. Annie: I thought I heard something. Olive: This is an old house, child. Sometimes old houses make strange sounds. Now sit down. Hoot: Come on, you heard the lady, Annie. Annie: Okay...