#Michelle Speck

[thebunsquad]

Hello everybunny and welcome to Fil's first video on the channel. It's storytime with the Bun Squad! Also, Fil tells lies. I am not tall. Am smol bun.

[sentientsky]

the fact that this profound, world-rendingly beautiful movie that leaves me in wracking, heaving sobs every time is not more popular kills me

[petrichor-moss-and-lightning]

we’re all small and stupid, but we create meaning through radical acts of love and compassion

[the-desilittle-bird]

Author's Note- Took a little break from studies and wrote this down. Hope you like it. Also, requests are always well appreciated.

Thank you and Enjoy your reading!

Never Yours

Daemon Targaryen x Niece!Reader;

Husband!Cregan Stark x Wife!Reader

Part 2

Summary- The Lady of Winterfell returns to her home to find a jealous loved ones and a broken lover

Tag List- @minaxcarter, @eliseline, @blackhoodlea, @little-moonbeam-666, @neenieweenie, @omgsuperstarg, @avalyaaa, @shopping, @bbgmonsay, @michelle-26, @krokietinio, @hc-geralt-23, @chevelledahuman, @thekayarlene, @narcy, @helloitsshitzulover, @muushwrites, @daringboba, @bi2simps, @issybee0611, @yariany02, @agathe, @5moremin, @candypurplebutterfly, @saraelizabeth26, @moon-light1415, @targaryenmoony, @stargaryenx, @instabul, @shine101, @hyacinthus007, @mcam623, @eudximoniakr, @carissa_griffin7777, @marvelescvpe, @severewobblerlightdragon, @deltamoon666, @thatgirlthatreadswattpad, @ultrav0lence, @savagemickey03, @sunmoon-01

Warnings- Drunk & Angry!Daemon, Curse Words, Verbal Abuse (Sorry!), Westrosi Things...

GIF Credits to @thequeenwechoose

(Y/N) sat in the carriage, her daughter's hand in hers as she watched Aemma cooing to her youngest brother, Bran, only two summers old. (Y/N) had always wished for children, many; but she had never imagined to actually have them.

Cregan was a man of passion, as she had came to know in the years of their marriage. He was kind and honorable, but it was never him for the dragon princess. As much as she had came to love and respect the wolf lord, her heart belonged to another.

"We will be able to meet our cousins, right mother?" Viserys asked, excited to meet the cousins he had heard of. The worst part, the only bad part about living in the North was to tell her children about her family but never actually letting them meet.

But that changed when they received a raven from the king, asking them to march to the capital for some reasons kept unknown.

"Yes, you will, my love," (Y/N) smiled, watching out of the window of the carriage as it came to a halt in the huge courtyard of the keep. The door to the carriage opened and the Princess and Lady of North was the first one to step out of it, followed by her children.

A smile graced her face as she greeted her sister, standing beside her husband, her former lover uncle. "It's been quite some time since I saw you," Rhaenyra said with a smile, studying her sister who had grown up significantly.

"I didn't get time to visit between the responsibilities of North and motherhood," the second child of Viserys and Aemma said with a shrug before looking down shyly. "I have heard you have given birth to six children."

(Y/N) flushed at her sister's comment, whispering a small 'yes'. She heard her elder sister laugh, before she glided over to her children, all of whom stood in a perfect line as per their age.

Most of her children had took after their father while her eldest two sons were perfect replicas of herself. Silver hair and violet eyes with other worldly looks. They were her dearest of all.

Daemon and Viserys.

Rhaenyra smiled widely while on her inner side, she felt a sense of jealousy as she looked at (Y/N)'s children. Though most of them looked like the Stark Lord, only those with sharpest eyes could make out the small Valyrian features in them. May it be the lighter shade of browns as their hair, or the barely visible specks of lavender in their eyes.

Her children and (Y/N)'s both had a father not belonging to Valyrain descent and yet, (Y/N)'s children looked more like the dragons than her owns.

Her eyes studied her sister from far, observing the clear contrast they had started to have, unlike their youth. While Rhaenyra's waist had thickened after bearing her children, (Y/N)'s seem to be intact.

The few differences in (Y/N)'s looks were the length of her silver hair, which had grown significantly from the time she last saw her. Her skin seemed to glow in the sunshine brighter than it did before. And the size of her bosom; they had grown due to motherhood.

Rhaenyra was aware about her husband's relation with her sister, something she never felt envious about until the very moment she saw him eying her with longing in his eyes.

Daemon stood quietly in the side, watching as his once dear lover smiled at her children. Children he had not fathered.

He hated Viserys for sending her off to the North, to marry a Lord who couldn't treat her as she deserved to be and yet, here he stood, looking at her with an ache in his heart as she looked happy.

He could see the way Rhaenyra's gaze stop at (Y/N)'s figure. While motherhood blessed the younger sister with beauty of heaven; something she already possessed when she was married off, Rhaenyra's had neither increased nor decreased.

He could sense the envy of Rhaenyra as she looked at him. But he couldn't help himself, he couldn't stop gazing at her and regretted shouting at her that fateful night when everything changed.

(Y/N) sat in her chambers, braiding her silver hair as she prepared to sleep. A low humming echoed around the room as (Y/N) sang to herself a tune she heard from a feast.

Just then, did the silence ended when the doors to her chambers opened and a drunk Daemon stumbled in, speaking to himself about something she couldn't hear.

"Kepus, you are drunk," she stated, as she stood up, helping him to her bed, closing the door quickly. "No, I am angry," Daemon hissed, his eyes bloodshot as he looked in the eyes of his niece.

(Y/N) frowned, placing a hand on his cheek to make him look at her. "Is everything alright?" She asked with concern in her voice to which Daemon laughed bitterly. "Iksan se drēje dārilaros naejot se dēmalion! iksan, daor aōha mandia!" (I am the rightful heir to the throne! I am, not your sister!" Daemon exclaimed, making the princess flinch.

He grabbed her hair, forcing her to sit on her knees in front of his as he hissed on her face, "Istin sagon va se dēmalion daor mirri dārōñe dārilaros qilōni kostagon daor gaomagon mirros." (I must be on the throne not some royal princess who can't do anything.)

"Where were you, Daemon?" (Y/N) asked with tears in her eyes as she watched Daemon stood up and make his way to the window. "Lēda aōha līve mandia, ñuha jorrāelagon," (With your whore sister, my love) Daemon stated calmly, as if it was no big deal.

"I wonder what will my brother do when he comes to know that zȳhon riñi issi līve," (his girls are whores) Daemon chuckled darkly as he turned around with a mocking smile. "One is willing to bed me, while the other-" he walked towards (Y/N), gripping her jaw in his hand.

"Warms my bed every other day."

The sky was of hues of purple, yellow and red; a beautiful combination as the setting sun peaked out of the horizon. The sea water a mirror of the sky, with glittering diamonds above the waves which came and went.

(Y/N) stood on a cliff, her silver hair was out of her braids, freed and blowing with the breeze. Her black and red dress damced around her feet. Her eyes closed as she felt the air caressing her.

"Zaldrītsos," (Little dragon) came a voice which took away all the peace she felt, leaving her with only a broken heart. "Skoros gaomagon jaelā?" (What do you want?) She hissed, turning around.

When no answer came, she continued in a bitter tone, "Iā līve naejot bāne ao? īlen ivestretan ēdā iā ābrazȳrys syt bona." (A whore to warm you? I was told you had a wife for that.)

"I apologize for my words, (Y/N)" Daemon said, his eyes filling with tears as he let his head hang low in shame. It was the dragon princess' turn to laugh, though tears stinged in her eyes. "Apologize? What for now, uncle?"

"Īlen iā mittys naejot pendagon bona ao jorrāelatan nyke, yn daor, ao mērī jorrāelatan nyke syt ñuha jaelagon naejot gaomagon gaomilaksir hen iā ābrazȳrys." (I was a fool to think that you loved me, but no, you only loved me for my wish to do duty of a wife.)

At last, a tear escaped the Rogue Prince's eyes as he let the truth in her words sank in. He walked to her, kneeling down as he cried silently. "You are right," he only whispered, surprising the dragon princess who stood speechless.

"I was only a selfish man who wanted the throne and nothing else. I was a fool not to see who loved me or not," he admitted as (Y/N) knelt next to him, letting him cry on her shoulder.

"It is too late now to regret, Daemon," she whispered as she let her lips hover over his cheek. "We have families to look for, duties to uphold," she continued, as her own tears escaped.

Daemon's grip on her waist tightened as he heard her words. "Let's run away," he whispered into the crook of her neck, catching (Y/N) off guard. "We can't just leave, Daemon," she said sadly.

"What of our children?" She asked, gripping his bicep as she looked at him, expecting no answer. Daemon could only sigh, his eyes heavy as he placed his head on her shoulder as slowly, tears gathered in all the years without her came out.

Both (Y/N) and Daemon knew none of their wishes could come true, as what was done is done and the future is set already...

[kcsplace]

Ever since he was a child, Ted was able to see the remnants of Love on a person: little flares of light that strobe when the one meant for them is near.

His parents are practically lighthouses when around each other, their whole beings lit up like the very best of Christmas Trees, bright and shiny and constant. Young Ted is always a little sad when he meets the parents of his friends only to see mere glimmers of light left on them, if any at all. But he's determined that when he Grows Up he'll be a lighthouse too, he'll find his perfect Love too.

Then his father dies and his mother's light is shuttered forever. Not a shimmer or a speck of it remains. She's dark, no matter the passage of time since his father was buried.

After that, well, Ted's resolve to be a lighthouse dims. What is the point of all that Love if the loss of it can be so very damaging? Better to help others, to guide those whose light still shines than to seek it himself.

Besides, no matter how long he looks at his own skin, he cannot ever see a sliver of light bright against his fingertips or dancing along the length of his arms. Not when Shelley Masters held his hand at camp, not when Howie Kim kissed him under the bleachers, not even when he met a beautiful woman in a parking lot after a game.

She had shone though. Michelle had been radiant when she looked at him, and he had yearned for her in a way he had never experienced, his whole heart aching whenever she was near.

That must be Love, Ted supposed. Surely he just couldn't see his own. Stood to reason. If he could see his own light then he'd barely be able to see anyone else's surely? Because Ted loved freely and often and hard.

Too hard, it turned out.

Over the years Ted watched as Michelle's light dimmed, sometimes flaring back to life for a short time, only to bank once more, until it was little more than an ember

Until she'd come home talking about her new therapist. She'd glowed in a way Ted hadn't seen in years

He should have known better than to put himself through being in the same room as the two of them, but Ted was nothing if not stubborn, resolutely heading to meet Doctor Jake, determined to save his marriage.

Less than two months later, he touched down in London

Within hours, head still spinning, he was being hustled into a claustrophobic room filled with judgemental faces and sharp words.

It wasn't until he called upon a man a few rows back that he was almost blinded by a flare of light. He put it down to the glasses the man wore, and tried to focus on his question instead of the smooth timbre of his voice despite the ridiculing tone. It was that or allow himself to notice just how desperately attractive the man was, and Ted was already in enough trouble figuring out the off-side rule.

Days later, it happened again, only this time, Trent Crimm, The Independent, wasn't wearing his glasses. They were tucked into his hand, yet when he stood, he threw out a flare of light so bright it seemed to bounce off Ted himself, reverberating around the small room, unseen by anyone else.

It wasn't until their third meeting, the journalist striding confidently along the boundary of the pitch to stand a few yards away that Ted made a realisation as he gesticulated at the other man.

The light wasn't bouncing off Ted. It was Ted's own light flaring towards Trent, merging with the radiance Trent threw off with every step, a veritable supernova of Love between them.

Oh

Oh fuck

[midnightpink]

My Love Mine All Mine

read it here on ao3

Peter Stark was fifteen years old when he was murdered on September twenty-eighth, 2017.

He wishes that he could say that the world went quiet with his death, that the universe held its breath when he took his last, but that isn’t quite true. Peter knows (because, from his Heaven, he sees everything) that barely anyone even took a pause, took more than a single moment to know his name. He knows that he is a mere speck in the universe, a simple tragedy among millions.

-

Or; an AU of The Lovely Bones where Peter is murdered by Quentin Beck.

by: SpaceCowboysFromMars

Words: 11,299, Chapters: 3/3, Language: English 

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con

Categories: F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Michelle Jones (Marvel), Quentin Beck, May Parker (Spider-Man), Steve Rogers, Happy Hogan, James "Rhodey" Rhodes

Relationship: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe)

Additional Tags: Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Protective Tony Stark, Pepper Potts Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Michelle Jones Needs a Hug (Marvel), Quentin Beck Being a Jerk, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Child Death, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Murder, Time Skips, probably the saddest thing ive ever written, Inspired by The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold

[inanimatefan1]

Mall sneaker fascination

Mall sneaker fascination

Josh had always been an observer. Working in a shop at the mall gave him ample opportunities to watch people come and go. But among the throngs of shoppers, one guy stood out. This guy always wore the most exceptional sneakers Josh had ever seen. Mesmerized, Josh began to notice a pattern in the guy's visits and his sneaker purchases. Driven by a strange mix of curiosity and envy, Josh hatched a plan. He discovered the exact sneaker model that the guy had recently ordered. After order online a bottle of TF fluid, Josh transformed himself into that very sneaker. As soon as Josh's transformation was complete, the familiar weight of the guy's foot pressed down on him. The forces pulling and pushing with every step made Josh's new form tense and flex. The guy's foot, snug against Josh's inner lining, produced warmth, which soon turned into sweat. Josh, now the sneaker, absorbed it, feeling the dampness spread. And then came the smell – a mix of leather from the shoe and the distinct odor of feet. But there was something intoxicating about the experience. The intimacy of being so close, of bearing the weight and movements, was different from anything Josh had ever felt. It was personal, immersive, and in a strange way, liberating. Days passed, and with each, the boundary between Josh the person and Josh the sneaker seemed to blur. He felt connected, tethered to the life of the man who wore him. The sounds of his live, the conversations, the rhythm of steps – all became a symphony that Josh relished.

However, as time wore on, the reality set in. The initial excitement faded, replaced by a growing desperation. Josh hadn’t planned on how to return to his human form. He was trapped. Every crease, every speck of dirt, every footprint became a reminder of his predicament. But as the days turned into weeks, Josh made peace with his new reality. The sensation, the intimacy, the symphony of sounds – he didn't want to give it up. At least for now, Josh decided to remain the sneaker, living a life so distinct from the one he once knew. And who knows? Maybe one day, he'd find a way back. Or perhaps, he'd choose not to.

In the beginning, the scent was subtle – a gentle musk that reminded Josh of new shoe leather mixed with a hint of foot odor. For Josh, now transformed into a sneaker, it was a novel experience. The fragrance was an intimate note, a testament to his bond with Michael, whose foot he cradled.

But as the days went on, the odor began to intensify. What was once a light musk transformed into a powerful, pungent aroma. It became a mix of sweat, grime, and the wear of daily life. Every step Michael took, every puddle he stepped in, and every humid day added layers to the ever-growing scent. Josh, unable to move or escape, felt the weight of his decision pressing down on him, much like the weight of Michael´s foot. The smell became overwhelming, permeating every fiber of his being. There was no respite, no moment of fresh air. Just the constant, stifling aroma. It became a sensory prison. Each day, as the scent grew stronger, the line between pleasure and discomfort blurred. Josh yearned for a breath of fresh air, a momentary release from the suffocating scent. But he was trapped, with no way to break free. The aroma, which had once been a symbol of his adventurous spirit, now became a reminder of his predicament. He was bound by his own choices, ensnared in a world of overpowering scent with no way out. Though he had embraced the experience at first, the relentless onslaught of the odor made him long for his old life. But how could he revert to his human form? Was there a way out of this fragrant prison? Time seemed to slow, every moment stretching longer under the weight of the scent. All Josh could hope for was a reprieve, a chance to break free from the aromatic chains that bound him.

Each day was a testament to Josh's resilience. With every step Michel took, every flex of his foot, Josh felt the strain on his fabric, the wear on his sole. He could sense the material thinning, the protective barriers breaking down. The inescapable odor was a constant reminder of the passage of time and his impending fate. Sometimes, during the quiet moments when Michel would rest on a bench or take a moment to tie his laces, Josh would reflect on his existence. From the bright, shiny days at the store, where he was admired by all, to the slow degradation under Michel's ownership. The thought of ending up discarded, forgotten, was a looming shadow over his existence. He imagined the dark, cramped confines of a wardrobe, pushed to the back, overshadowed by newer, shinier sneakers. Every once in a while, light would penetrate the dark corner, a fleeting moment of hope. But soon, even that light would be eclipsed by the weight of neglect. Worse yet was the thought of ending up in the trash. Cast aside, deemed unworthy, and left to rot in a landfill, amongst the detritus of other forgotten objects. The thought was unbearable. For someone who had once walked the bustling corridors of the mall, feeling the thrill of the world beneath him, this seemed a cruel twist of fate.

The irony wasn't lost on Josh. In his quest to experience life from a new perspective, he had inadvertently trapped himself in a cycle of degradation and neglect. Every morning, as Michel's foot slid into him, Josh braced himself, hoping to endure another day, to stay intact a little longer. As the days passed, Josh's thoughts shifted from escape to acceptance. He began to find solace in the memories of his time as a sneaker, the unique sensations, and experiences he'd had. The pain of wear and tear, the overpowering odor, they all became badges of his journey, of a life lived fully, albeit differently. In the end, all he hoped for was a dignified farewell, a gentle acknowledgment of the miles they'd walked together, the adventures they'd shared. And perhaps, just perhaps, a quiet corner in Michel's home where he could rest, reminisce, and slowly fade into oblivion.

The day had an aura of finality. The leather was cracked, the sole almost worn through, and the laces frayed. The once vibrant sneaker, where Josh resided, now seemed a mere shadow of its former self. Michel glanced at the sneakers, noticing the undeniable signs of wear, and decided it was time to let them go. As Michel gathered his household waste, Josh braced himself. He felt a gentle hand grasp him, felt the pressure as he was squeezed into a black trash bag. The surroundings were immediately dark, oppressive. All around him, the muffled sounds of discarded objects, the residual remnants of meals, and the weight of other waste bore down on him. It was a strange sensation, being amidst the discarded remains of someone's life. Every once in a while, a stray ray of light would pierce the darkness, illuminating the confines of his prison. But those moments were fleeting, and the oppressive darkness would return. The journey to the dumpster was brief, but it felt like an eternity to Josh. Every jostle, every movement was a stark reminder of his plight. And then, the finality of it all hit him as he felt the trash bag being tossed, landing with a soft thud amidst other discarded remnants. The environment inside the dumpster was stifling. The combination of odors – rotting food, old items, and the unmistakable scent of decay – was overpowering. But amidst the stench, the overpowering smell of the sneaker seemed to blend in, becoming one with the surroundings. Despite the grim surroundings, Josh tried to hold on to the memories, the times when he walked the mall's floors, the sensation of every step, the bond he'd felt with Michel. They were now cherished fragments of a life once lived. In the hallowed confines of the dumpster, amidst the discarded remnants of many lives, Josh awaited his fate. Whether it was to be part of a landfill, recycled, or perhaps, in some twist of fate, rescued, he did not know. But he took solace in the experiences he'd had, the unique journey he'd undertaken. For in the end, life was about the journey, the experiences, and the stories, even if one's existence ended up in the quiet confines of a dumpster.

The days inside the dumpster seemed to blur together. Each day, more trash bags were dumped, piling atop one another. With every new addition, Josh felt the weight increase, pressing down on him, squeezing the life out of the sneaker. The once roomy confines of the dumpster became tighter, more oppressive. The mingling odors became more pungent. Rotting food, discarded items, old fabrics, and a host of other discarded remnants created an aroma that was almost suffocating. Yet, in this environment, the worn-out sneaker with its overpowering scent seemed almost at home, blending in with the surrounding decay. Time seemed to lose meaning for Josh. The moments of daylight that occasionally pierced through the layers of trash became rarer. The weight above him continued to increase, making every moment an exercise in endurance. Then, one day, a change. There was a rumble, a vibration that resonated through the entire container. Suddenly, the dumpster was lifted, its contents shifting, causing Josh to be further pressed into the compacted waste. The movement was swift, and before he could comprehend it fully, there was a powerful force, a massive compression.

The compactor was ruthless. It pressed down, squeezing every inch of space, crushing the contents within. Josh felt an intense pressure, a force unlike anything he'd ever experienced. Every fiber, every thread, every bit of cushioning in the sneaker was compressed, squeezed, and flattened. And then, as quickly as it began, it was over. The world around Josh went silent. The pressure, the weight, the odors – everything became still. The journey, which had begun in a shop at the mall, culminated in this final moment of compression.

In this stillness, a strange serenity enveloped Josh. The memories, the sensations, the unique experiences all flashed before him. From the vibrant days in the store to the daily grind under Michel's feet, and finally, the oppressive days in the trash. Each memory was a testament to a life lived fully, albeit in a form most would never understand.

Josh's heart raced as he bolted upright, his sheets tangled around him. The pale morning light filtered through the blinds, casting a soft glow over the room. The familiar surroundings of his bedroom stood in stark contrast to the oppressive darkness and weight of the dumpster he'd just been in. He touched his face, feeling the sweat that had gathered on his brow, and took a deep, shuddering breath. The memories of the dream – being a sneaker, the mall, Michel's steps, the unbearable stench, the crushing weight – were all so vivid, so real. Shaking his head, he tried to dispel the remnants of the nightmare. The sheets were damp with his sweat, bearing witness to the intensity of the dream. With trembling hands, he took a sip of water from the glass on his nightstand, trying to ground himself back to reality. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stared down at his own feet, feeling an unexpected wave of relief. "Just a dream," he whispered to himself. But the level of detail, the emotions, the sensations – they felt too real to be mere figments of his imagination. As the day progressed, Josh found it hard to shake off the memories of the dream. Every shoe he saw, every step he took, brought back flashes of his surreal experience. He was more appreciative of his own feet, his own shoes, the freedom of movement.

That night, as he prepared for bed, he hesitated for a moment before placing his sneakers in the closet. A brief shiver ran down his spine. Gently, he placed them side by side, giving them a pat of appreciation. With a wry smile, he thought, "Better treat them well, just in case."

[ao3feed-irondadspiderson]

My Love Mine All Mine

https://archiveofourown.org/works/51041242 by SpaceCowboysFromMars Peter Stark was fifteen years old when he was murdered on September twenty-eighth, 2017. He wishes that he could say that the world went quiet with his death, that the universe held its breath when he took his last, but that isn’t quite true. Peter knows (because, from his Heaven, he sees everything) that barely anyone even took a pause, took more than a single moment to know his name. He knows that he is a mere speck in the universe, a simple tragedy among millions. - Or; an AU of The Lovely Bones where Peter is murdered by Quentin Beck. Words: 3467, Chapters: 1/3, Language: English Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Mature Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con Categories: F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Michelle Jones (Marvel), Quentin Beck, May Parker (Spider-Man), Steve Rogers, Happy Hogan, James "Rhodey" Rhodes Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe) Additional Tags: Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Protective Tony Stark, Pepper Potts Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Michelle Jones Needs a Hug (Marvel), Quentin Beck Being a Jerk, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Child Death, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Murder, Time Skips, probably the saddest thing ive ever written, Inspired by The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/51041242

[general-sleepy]

Look, as an exploitation film fan I watch a lot of sleazy-ass movies. Some of these are exploitative of real life situations. I've watched nazisploitation movies, a movie about Richard Speck's ghost killing people and a movie about John Wayne Gacy's ghost killing people, and more mondo movies than can be morally justified (I watched Goodbye Uncle Tom, for god's sake).

But The Conjuring 3: The Devil Made Me Do It made me tap out. In most fake haunting so-called true stories, nobody died. It's just assholes making shit up and people who are being manipulated by those assholes. (Even in Amityville stuff it's not directly about the killings). It's a little sleazy watching any movie that makes the Warrens look like heroes, but, this was a case of a real person killing another real person, a real horrific event that destroyed so many lives.

You can't make a dumb ghost movie about that. Maybe in a century, but not while some of the people involved are literally still alive. I watched the serial killer movies as part of my job (there was also a gross movie about Anneliese Michel), so I couldn't stop watching those. There's nothing keeping me watching Conjuring 3. I watched Evil Dead Rise instead. Now that's something you can enjoy watching.

You can't make a stupid ghost movie about that. There's no way to make that entertaining.

[private-bryan]

WIP Wednesday - She Ch8

“So, where’s this Olive fella then, Orla?”

She wasn’t surprised that all she got was a smile in answer; her cousin's gaze was glued to the glittering water of the Foyle, seemingly searching for something under the surface. Erin was just about to tap her on the shoulder and ask if everything was alright when she abruptly marched forward, wading out with a splash until she was knee deep in the river, and brought her fingers to her mouth.

A piercing whistle filled the air, far louder than anyone human should’ve been able to make; it was shrill enough that ripples began to spread out from around Orla, ripples that seemed to steadily grow, rather than fade, as they got further away. 

The other three of them winced at the sound, glancing back up the river to where the figures, now mere specks, were swarming; if she strained her ears, Erin could hear more horns blaring. Whatever Orla was doing, she needed to do it soon; there was ten, maybe fifteen minutes at most before they had company.

She didn’t have to wait long.

The water began to churn in the lough, bulging as something big, something massive, moved beneath its surface, rapidly swimming upstream.

Erin wasn’t too proud to admit to herself that she was bricking it as whatever it was came towards them, and if it wasn’t for the elated laughter coming from Orla she’d have legged it back into the forest - assuming, of course, that the jelly that had temporarily replaced her legs allowed her to.

The swell was only twenty feet out from the shore when it burst. Something raised out of the river, towering over them and snapping its rather sharp looking teeth, before crashing back down and drenching them with what felt like half the water in the Foyle.

“Fuck me!”

Edited to add: A bonus micro-snippet from Ch9:

For a brief moment she was glad it was James that had been taken, and not one of the others, as he would’ve got an absolute eyeful up her skirt had he been standing below; luckily for Michelle and Clare, she’d put on her big knickers that morning.

[mistyymichelle]

Michelle wanted to crawl in a hole and disappear , but she felt so stupid even feeling that. She was just a dust speck in the crumble of her friends around her. Thankfully the post spared her from saying which lost boy she was crushing on, and aired out everyone else’s problems and for that, she had to keep it under lock and key. It wouldn’t matter, and it didn’t matter. There were bigger problems at hand and she had to keep to that. So for a few days she kept to herself. Let out more tears in her pillow case than she’d like to admit, but who would she cry too? Everyone had something tearing them apart. Michelle agreed, like her heart was shattered,  to go for a walk with Nolan and Koda. Keeping up with their little co-parent thing. Sitting on the bench she chewed on her cheek as she waited for them. Staring at the ground, and losing herself in a pep talk to face him. To be around him, to see him and know everything was all just in her head. It wasn’t till small paws were jumping at her legs that she snapped out of it and pulled herself together. “Koda!” Picking up the puppy she cuddled him close and kissed the top of his head. Soaking in the comfort and love from the little guy. Thankfully they had a puppy to keep their attention, and not have to be around each other without a distraction. Though when she looked up to greet him, her mind went blank. Finding his eyes that once felt like home, and two arms that would catch her.. turned into a great unknown. Feeling her eyes pool with tears she ripped the gaze away to Koda, and the words feel out before she could stop them. “Is it true?” She said softly. || @flyhighnol​ 

[thebunsquad]

It's time to take a look at The Bun Squad's plans for 2023. I wonder if Zen will ever finish Danganronpa 2?

[nickssidewitch]

https://www.tumblr.com/nickssidewitch/761801776028663808/is-it-me-or-does-michele-lamy-have-a-very-dark

this is rick owens’s wife. shes also a fashion designer like him

I know of her. But regarding her energy, from what I can sense, her aura is a red with some black specks. She’s bold, passionate, really expressive, self-sufficient, and opinionated. She may be a bit stubborn, especially when it comes to her values and the people she loves. She’ll do anything to get a seat at the table.

Does this mean she’s inherently a bad person? Not necessarily. But those little black specks can definitely show up in her life as bad acts if she’s not careful or conscious.

[corditeheart]

"Yeah."

She leaves it blank. They can update it later-- honestly, Kiros might just be able to send her Laguna's medical history without the president getting involved at all.

Xu signs the last page

Then it's just waiting. She answers a few emails. More waiting. More emails.

"Michele Xu?" An equally-interchangeable pink-scrubbed nurse calls her name, leading them back into the belly of the beast. She is measured and weighed (and given a perky comment of, wow! you're tiny! that makes her want to drive the pen the nurse has in her hand through her throat.)

"Unfortunately," she replies as pleasantly as she can manage.

Blood pressure is taken, vitals logged, three tubes of blood drawn by a phlebotomist. She's given a little plastic cup that she dutifully fills and leaves in the tiny metal box in the restroom.

More waiting.

Her doctor comes in, equally pink and happy and model-blonde. She looks about twenty-five, too young to know what the hell she's doing, but it's not like Balamb is overwhelmed with choices here.

It's about the conversation she expects: Xu is forced to divulge a lot of medical history that she'd have really rather kept private, up through the last year. Her diet (varied, erring toward healthy but mostly just coffee and food when she remembers), her medication (an extended-release ADHD medication that she's been on since she was nine, and she doesn't think she can function without), her work and exercise habits.

Invasive as hell. Squall doesn't get nearly as interrogated. But she supposes all he had to do was come in her. She's doing all the real work, here.

"Well," the doctor says with a pleasant smile. "We may need to take you off the medication as the pregnancy progresses, but I'll see if there are any alternatives if it gets very unbearable. I know it can be difficult. How's the morning sickness? Still pretty constant throughout the day?"

"Not unmanageable. It usually stops by late afternoon." Awful. A nightmare. The woman's perfume is about to trigger it. Xu forces herself to take slow, shallow breaths. "Does it go away?"

"It should, by your second trimester. Some mothers don't have it at all, and some have it for nearly six months. It's just luck of the draw, I suppose. You may want to try having your husband bring you a piece of toast in the morning before you get up, or keeping some crackers by your bed. Putting a little food in your stomach first thing, and sticking with fairly bland flavors, helps." The doctor skims her file a little further. "Alright. Because you've obviously had some paramagical exposure in your career, we're going to want to get an ultrasound today, and one every other week, just to make sure everything is okay. You're going to need to stop using anything at work that's paramagic-related, of course. Are you still actively in the field?"

"Not since last year." The less said about that, the better. She shifts on the paper-covered table, trying to ignore the fact that the sunshine-yellow walls feel like they're closing in on her.

"Great! Let's get you set up so you can see your baby."

And then comes the ultrasound, laid on her back with freezing cold goo smeared across her stomach (she regrets wearing anything silk).

And then there's a picture; the doctor taps the screen with one gloved index, pointing out a tiny little dot.

"There they are. Right there."

"That little thing?" God. It's nothing. It's a speck. She wouldn't have been able to find it at all on her own.

"Yup. Looks like you're about six weeks or so. Want to hear the hearbeat?"

If she hears the heartbeat, it makes it very, very real. She reaches, finding Squall's hand. Squeezes tightly.

"Yeah."

The next morning comes slowly.

It's about half after midnight that he makes the executive decision to get Xu into bed, picking her up from where she sat under his arm. Actually getting to sleep was a different matter. He could sleep through a bombing (Squall blames the depression medication), but Michele was different. Before the medication claimed him, he could feel her tossing and turning. And then, finally, soft slow breathing.

He woke with the alarm. Xu was already awake. He had a feeling that she had been so for some time.

Squall hated the reception room the moment they stepped into it. It's pastels and pamphlets about Family Planning and too-positive music for 0845. The pink-scrubbed assistant behind the counter had a smile that made him wonder exactly what drugs she was on, and how he could get some.

The chairs were standard and uncomfortable, and he shifts on the barely-padded seat.

"Laguna's got a heart-something. Or a leg-something. Certainly a brain-something, but I don't think that's what they're asking. Other than that, no idea." Such was the unfortunate of being an "orphan".

"You can probably leave it blank. I don't think it'll matter much."

[r-fenghuang-fanfiction]

Unconditional Love in Film and Television

So, I finally got to watch Everything Everywhere All at Once when it rereleased in theatres and I fuckin loved it. It's probably not for everyone, but it also kind of is. It deals with everything from estranged marriages to devastating nihilism to missed chances to the briefest most meaningless interactions, but at its core, honestly, it's about unconditional love.

Much like Sense8, it takes a hard look at the absurdity and diversity of our existence, at all the ways that we can hurt each other or lose each other and it says : I love you anyways.

I love you when you frustrate me, I love you when you bewilder me, I love you when you disappoint me. I love you when you're a stubborn mess who never lived up to your potential and I love you when you break my heart to chase your dreams. I love you when you're lost and ungrateful and completely bizarre. I love you even if you don't think you deserve it. I love you even when you push me away. I love you even in this stupid, ridiculous universe where nothing makes sense and I love you when all we have to look forward to are laundry and taxes. I love you and I will search for you through all of the noise and I will always, always want to be with you, even if we only have a few specks of time where any of it makes any sense.

And I think that's one of the hardest most revolutionary things a film can say. No irony, no distain, no cynicism.

I love you and I mean it.

(9/10 stars, loved it, would watch again. Please go see this movie!)

(Michelle Yeoh is a genius and Data is all grown up. And the rest of the cast is pretty great, too.)

(Trigger warning for violence and flashing lights, though.)