#Polly Ann Young

[metropolicinema]

[gatutor]

Loretta Young-Georgiana Young-Sally Blane-Polly Ann Young "El gran milagro" (The story of Alexander Graham Bell) 1939, de Irving Cummings.

[internatlvelvet]

Young sisters, c. 1935

[scholarofgloom]

[badmovieihave]

Bad movie I have John Wayne part Two of Two it has West of the Divide 1934, Winds of the Wasteland 1936, Hell Town 1937, The Lawless Frontier 1934, The Man From Utah 1934, Randy Rides Alone 1934, Blue Steel 1934, Sagebrush Trail 1933, Angel and the Badman 1947, and McLinTock 1963

[esonetwork]

Invisible Ghost | Episod 369

New Post has been published on https://esonetwork.com/invisible-ghost/

Invisible Ghost | Episod 369

Jim discusses a classic horror film from 1941 – “Invisible Ghost,” starring Bela Lugosi, Polly Ann Young, Clarence Muse, John McGuire, Betty Compson and Terry Walker. There is something strange happening at the home of Dr. Charles Kessler (Lugosi) involving several murders. Find out more on this episode of MONSTER ATTACK, The Podcast Dedicated To Old Monster Movies.

[donut-wraith]

now what's the extent of childhood trauma

Alright.

You ready for a hard 'tag your oc' challenge?

Tag an oc who doesn't have childhood trauma. At all. Who's family is still alive.

I'll wait.

[agalychnisspranneusroseus]

Ok if i'm gonna write an actual fanfic i need to take the timeline seriously. Especially with the three Plantar siblings' ages.

So in canon Anne is 13, Sprig is 10 and Polly is 5. If I want Anne to arrive to Amphibia at 3, Sprig must be a newborn and Polly wouldn't have been born yet. Which means the Plantar parents must still be alive for some 2 more years, and die when Anne is 5, Sprig is 2 and Polly is a newborn AT LEAST.

But I don't want that. I want Hop Pop to find Anne the exact same day the herons killed his child. Make it poetic. That would make Sprig a newborn and Polly an... egg?? Thinking about eggs could help delay some things but I doubt frogs in Amphibia have gestation periods longer than 1 year, so even if they laid Polly's egg like one day before dying, you still need to keep the Plantar parents around for one year. That, or delay Anne's arrival by one year and have her land in Amphibia at age 4, but I also want to push it back as much as possible, to bring her to Amphibia as young as possible. Is 4 really the youngest I can go? The other option is to mess with the ages a little and make Polly a bit older. Or just not think about it this much. I can just say Anne spawned there at age 3 when Sprig was a newborn and Polly an egg. Let's say Polly hatches one year later at the latest. Now Sprig is 1, Anne is 4 and Polly is a newborn. Nope, no no no, Polly needs to be younger. Okay so if I want her to be a recently laid egg when her parents die, Sprig needs to be around 4 at least. And Anne needs to be at least 7.

I hate this. Ugh. But I don't want Anne to meet the Plantar parents! The whole point is that she never had actual parent figures! That Sprig and Polly's bond with their dead parents is something she can't share! Something that sets her apart! Something that will lead her to seek out her birth parents 20 years later when she finds out Hop Pop lied to her and hid the Calamity Box, coincidently at the same time that her marriage with Marcy and Sasha is falling apart! Or should I just kill my darlings and accept Anne will be adopted by the Plantar parents? I don't wannaaaaa 😭 I want them to remain a mystery! I want them to haunt the narrative without ever being present! Having Anne meet them ruins the poetic aspect!

The other option is reducing Anne and Sprig's age gap maybe?? Sprig is 4 when his parents die and Anne could be 5??? Noooo, the big sister - little brother dynamic is ruined if they're so close in age!

If anyone has suggestions pls send them i'm STUCK

[detentiontrack]

Sometimes I think about how Polly probably doesn’t remember much about Anne because she was so young when they were together, and then my day is ruined

[filmnoirsbian]

Hi !! I was wondering if you had any book recs/favorite books? Things that you think of as inspiration or just plain like? Genuinely curious. <3 im in love with your work btw i spent the other day binging your patreon

Some favorites that deeply impacted me from a young age up into teenagedom: the Animorphs series by K. A. Applegate, Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein, Oddly Enough by Bruce Coville, The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Little Sister by Kara Dalkey, The Enchanted Forest Chronicles by Patricia C. Wrede, The Tale of Desperaux by Kate DiCamillo, A Series of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snicket, The Chronicles of Prydain by Lloyd Alexander, Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury, the Septimus Heap series by Angie Sage, Piratica by Tanith Lee, the Inkheart series by Cornelia Funke, His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman, Holes by Louis Sachar, The View from Saturday by E. L. Konigsburg, Shizuko's Daughter by Kyoko Mori, The Sea-Wolf by Jack London, Walk Two Moons by Sharon Creech, Criss Cross by Lynne Rae Perkins, Everything on a Waffle by Polly Horvath, Surviving the Applewhites by Stephanie S. Tolan, The Last Book in the Universe by Rodman Philbrick, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle, Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe by Fannie Flagg, The Iliad and Odyssey (allegedly) by Homer, The Táin by many people, Harlem by Walter Dean Myers, Esperanza Rising by Pam Muñoz Ryan, The Wall and the Wing by Laura Ruby, The Lord of the Rings by J. R. R. Tolkein, The Hainish Cycle by Ursula K. Le Guin, Till We Have Faces by C. S. Lewis, The Ethical Vampire series by Susan Hubbard, The Howl Series by Diana Wynne Jones, the Curseworkers series by Holly Black, The Turn of the Screw by Henry James, Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov, The Raven Cycle by Maggie Stiefvater, Frankenstein by Mary Shelley, The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep by Philip K. Dick, Android Karenina by Ben H. Winters, An Autobiography of Red by Anne Carson, Beloved by Toni Morrison, A Stir of Bones by Nina Kiriki Hoffman, the Mistborn series by Brandon Sanderson, Deathless by Catherynne M. Valente, World War Z by Max Brooks, This is Not A Drill by K. A. Holt, Fade to Blue by Sean Beaudoin, Carmilla by Sheridan Le Fanu, The Moth Diaries by Rachel Klein, Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman, Crush by Richard Siken, Hopscotch by Julio Cortázar, The Hunchback of Notre-Dame by Victor Hugo, Devotions by Mary Oliver, The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

Some favorites read more recently: The Expanse series by James S. A. Corey, Engine Summer by John Crowley, Lovecraft Country by Matt Ruff, The Princess Bride by William Goldman, Heart Berries by Terese Marie Mailhot, My Best Friend's Exorcism by Grady Hendrix, Reprieve by James Han Mattson, House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski, Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn, Kindred by Octavia Butler, Reading Lolita in Tehran by Azar Nafisi, Station Eleven by Emily St. John-Mandel, The Crown Ain't Worth Much by Hanif Abdurraqib, The Refrigerator Monologues by Catherynne M. Valente, Convenience Store Woman by Sayaka Murata, Tender is the Flesh by Augustina Bazterrica, The Girl with All the Gifts by Mike Carey, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson, The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison, She had some horses by Joy Harjo, Bright Dead Things by Ada Limón, The King Must Die by Mary Renault, Books of Blood by Clive Barker, Rosemary's Baby by Ira Levin, Cassandra by Christa Wolfe

Plays: The Oresteia by Aeschylus, Electra by Sophocles, Los Reyes by Julio Cortázar, Angels in America by Tony Kushner, August: Osage County by Tracy Letts, The Bald Soprano by Eugène Ionesco, The Trojan Women by Euripides, Salome by Oscar Wilde, Girl on an Altar by Marina Carr, Fences by August Wilson, The Glass Menagerie by Tennessee Williams, M. Butterfly by David Henry Hwang, Our Town by Thornton Wilder, Sweeney Todd by Christopher Bond

Graphic novels: The Crow by James O'Barr, DMZ by Brian Wood and Riccardo Burchielli, Eternals (2021) by Kieron Gillen and Esad Ribić, Watchmen by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons and John Higgins, My Favorite Thing is Monsters by Emil Ferris, Maus by Art Spiegelman, Tank Girl by Alan Martin and Jamie Hewlett, Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi, Through the Woods by Emily Carroll, Anya's Ghost by Vera Brosgol

[doyouremem8erme]

Hello everybody! Let me tell you about Amphibia.

Anne, Marcy, Sasha Waybright Blue, green, pink; heart, wit, and strength Three stars burning bright Come from beyond to expel the night

Hop Pop, Polly, Sprig Captain Grime, Toad Lord King Andrias Leviathan General Yunan and Olivia

Wartwood Valley, Toad Tower Newtopia and Proteus Wally Ribbiton and Toadstool Valeriana and Mother Olm

Red moon, Lean On Me You're better off without me Bugs and frogs, newts and toads Magic sword, mantis scythe

[Chorus:] Welcome to Amphibia! Though it's weird and random, it's the greatest fandom! Welcome to Amphibia! True, it may seem silly, but it will hurt you badly!

Hop Pop's secret, Family Shrub Corn thief, tea, magic beam Good frog, best friend Young Mrs. Croaker was kinda hot

Cannibal inn, chemistry Vinegar plus baking soda will explode Robot frogs, noir Hop Pop I love the found family trope!

Road trip, fwagon Mysterious factories Robots, cannibals Newtopia university

Kermit the Frog, Mr. Ponds Frog Soos licks himself Laser pointers, Anne's boyfriend Hop Pop is a theatre kid

[CHORUS]

Exploring in Newtopia Polly wants a crossbow Sprig is high, butch newts are hot Hop Pop killed a man

Hop Topic, Frog Claires Haunted basement sleepover A Day at the Aquarium The Plantars are headed home

Shipping wars, cape fires Bringing Fleafy back to life Temples, Flipwart, puzzles Toad rebellion, Warhammer

Heartstomper, No Big Deal True Colors got leaked Intense final scenes I'm sorry for everything...

[CHORUS]

New Normal, Turning Point Love rhombus, say whaaattt??? Pickle jar, rescue Possession theories coming true

Agent RuPaul, FBI Andrias cup size Yogurt pretzels, lightsabers Bisexual evil king divorce

Andrias, Barrel, and Leif Stolen box, prophecy It's time to start invading Earth!

[CHORUS]

In the episode Commander Anne-- Bisexual Sasha? Say tuned! Purple collars, robot judge Underground Wartwood

Twink newts, mushroom cult Buff Loggle enjoys his dress Killapillar kittens Domino is actual god

Dance battles, possessed friends K-pop powers, severed limbs War of the Warlocks, very cute! Vivisection, fire scythe

Core helmet, falling moon Secret spell, synergy boost Greatest treasure, calamity mode This fandom's about to explode!

[OUTRO]

[gatutor]

Polly Ann Young (Denver, Colorado, 25/10/1908-Los Angeles, California, 21/01/1997).

[internatlvelvet]

Loretta Young, Polly Ann Young, and Sally Blane c. 1930

[daibhidjames]

Silent Sundays Happy 114th Birthday To Sally Blane seen here looking cool at the beach with pals Louise Brooks & Nancy Philips. Blane appeared in over 100 films but mostly low budget or in supporting roles (including as a girl in a Valentino film), she also had an affair with singer Russ Columbo. Real name Elizabeth Young and her sisters were actresses Loretta Young, Polly Ann and Georgina Young. Maye she should have kept the name.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Immortal Beloved - Chapter Ten.

Thank you very much to all of you still keeping up with this :)

Previous chapters - Prologue One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 3,556

Warnings - 18+ only. Adult themes + vampire content throughout. Minors DNI!

“She’s gonna be a spoilt princess. I could fucking kill Bryn, if she weren’t dead already.” 

The way John viewed the scene before them so adoringly did not match his lightly delivered vexation, him and Polly standing and watching the heartwarming sight of Katie being led up and down the driveway aboard her new pony, Bryn's Christmas gift to her. “We agreed on a fucking rocking horse, and she goes and buys a bloody Welsh Section C!”  

“They’re a good pony for a child to begin on, so I’m told,” Tommy spoke as he joined them, a mischievous smile playing his lips as John turned with narrowed eyes. 

“You were in cahoots with her, weren’t ya?”  

He sniffed, lifting his chin. “Heels down, Katie! That’s it!”  

“Don’t fucking avoid the question, Tom!” 

His laugh rumbled, watching as Bryn circled them around at the top of the drive and ran back up again, the little dun coloured pony trotting along neatly as her new owner squealed and giggled with delight from the saddle. “Might’ve lent a hand in the purchase.”  

John continued to mutter, chewing on his toothpick as Polly gave him a shove with her elbow. “Oh, come on, John. Like you didn’t buy out half of Rackham’s toy department for her as it was! A pony isn’t that different to some of those fancy rocking horses they had there, too. Have you seen the price some of them fetch? Holy shit.” 

“Yeah, but a real horse ain’t got its hooves nailed to a bit of wood, has it? A real horse eats a fuckload of hay and needs shiny bits of expensive metal nailing to its feet, and everything else that comes with ‘em! Bloody money pits, they are.” 

“John?” Tommy questioned, placing his hand onto his shoulder, his brother still viewing him from under a somewhat furrowed brow. “You aren’t exactly short of a bob or two now, are you? Stop being a misery and look how happy your little girl is. My stable lads will look after the pony, and Katie can come up here whenever she likes to ride him.”  

“Yeah, and that’s all gonna be on me, ain’t it, since fanny Anne over there is conveniently asleep all fucking day!” His continued pissed off splutters had his aunt and brother in soft fits, fanny Anne herself overhearing his protests.  

“Tommy is right, John,” Bryn called, halting her jog as she and Katie arrived back with them. “Stop being a misery.” Lifting Katie from the pony, she placed the tot down, watching her run back into the house as one of the stable boys led her favourite Christmas present back to the stables. John shook his head, pulling her close as the others entered the house. 

“For that, you’ll go over my fucking knee, Brynhild.” 

“Oooh,” she purred, stroking his cheek with her fingernail. “Is that a promise?” 

His hand found the round of her bum, smacking it hard several times. “Get in the fucking house.” 

Christmas Day dinner was always eaten on the evening in the Shelby household, the day itself preceded by gift giving and light snacks, plenty of port and whiskey, and a jolly good time had by all. John had felt a little bit out of sorts for not having Bryn by his side until 5pm when the sun had finally melted into the wintery horizon, Katie too making her displeasure known. 

It had been tricky, deciding what to tell the child in order to explain why she only ever saw Bryn in the evenings, John deciding simplicity was the best. “Sunlight makes her poorly, pige, so that’s why we only see Bryn at nighttime.” She’d taken her father’s word as easily as he’d delivered it, luckily. He’d reveal the truth to her when she was old enough to understand what it meant to be a vampire, feeling that four years old was much too young to truly grasp the concept.  

Before the merriment could continue, the matter of the spy locked up in the butler’s pantry had to be dealt with, Bryn, John and Polly going down to see to it themselves while everyone else assembled in the lounge. John picked up the telephone where Bryn had left it the previous night before descending the steps, the three of them waiting until the coast was clear of serving staff who were bustling around.  

“Good evening, young lady,” Bryn spoke as they entered, finding a very disgruntled looking Helen on the opposing side of the door. “I believe you have a telephone call to make, hmm?” 

The girl wanted nothing more than to scream for help, cry out the injustice done to her, but she knew no ears within the household that could hear would come to her aid. She was alone, discovered as a spy, with thirty pounds to show for her trouble. Taking the receiver she was handed, she made the call, uttering the lie she had been fed while the vampire who had instructed her stared unflinchingly, taking the phone away again once she was done.  

“Now I shall escort you upstairs to pack your belongings, as Mr. Shelby has directed me to escort you from the property as swiftly as possible,” she spoke, while John untied her bindings one by one, Polly observing from the corner.  

Shoving Helen in Bryn’s direction, he picked up the rope, beginning to coil it in his strong hands, watching the way his vampire lover viewed him do so with keen interest. “Don’t think I’ll put all of this back where I found it.”  

Bryn returned the wink he gave her before escorting Helen out, leaving him and Polly behind in the pantry, the latter letting out a long breath before picking up a bottle of gin and pulling the cork out.  

“Well, that’s that almost done with.” Holding the bottle to her lips, she downed a mouthful, her face pinching as she swallowed. “Fuck, I don’t know how people can drink this shit! Tastes like perfume.” 

Going into his pocket, John retrieved his hip flask, unscrewing the cap and taking a long glug of the whiskey within, passing it to his aunt. “Me neither.” Taking the flask back, he swigged from it again, sighing as he screwed his eyes tightly shut. “We can’t trust no one. I ain’t even sure that she’s the only one who’s been sent by ‘em. Surely Edward wouldn’t be so fucking stupid as to only send one down here, eh?” 

“One’s all it takes, John. Besides, if it was anybody else in the house with her, reason dictates they likely would have freed her and ran for it while we were all sleeping, regardless of Bryn’s little blood link insurance policy,” Polly advised, lighting up a cigarette. “You’re right, though. This is the time we circle the wagons. Any new people sniffing around should be treated even more suspiciously than usual. I’m going to have a word with Bryn, too. I’ve been thinking. Those tattoos of hers, lovely that they are, are a fucking giveaway. She needs to extend her makeup down from her face and neck, or not show off her tits quite as much.” 

“Shame,” John sniffed, lighting himself a cigar, “they’re fucking cracking tits.” 

She rolled her eyes, opening the door. “Come on, you bloody letch. Let’s see to her getting the fuck off the property.” They headed back up the stairs, hovering by the door only a short time before Bryn and Helen joined them, the latter clutching her small bag in a tight grip. The outside air was crisp, a smattering of snow still present on the ground as she was marched away from the homestead and up the driveway. 

“How am I to get away from here now? Where do I stay?” 

Polly laughed a little bitterly, a final drag taken on her cigarette before she flicked it away. “Should have thought of that before, shouldn’t you, girl?” 

“Could I please have a car take me into town?” 

It was Bryn who laughed this time, her hand reaching out to cup at the back of her neck. “There is no point, Helen. You shan’t be leaving the property.” With a snap, her fangs bared, gleaming white through the darkness. “Ever.”  

Like lightning, her mouth clamped onto her neck, her hand muffling Helen’s scream as she began to drain her. Polly’s eyes rounded in horror, John a little taken aback, but more accepting of the outcome. Bryn wasn’t stupid; he had wondered if she truly intended to let the Rasmussen spy leave with her life intact.  

As soon as she felt her heartbeat still, her body was dropped onto the drive, Bryn licking her lips before receding her fangs once more.  

“Oh, Polly,” she sighed, placing a hand upon her hip as she gestured to the corpse. “Surely, you did not forget what I am beneath the charming woman you are coming to know, hmm? You might not have grounds to fear me, but anybody who crosses me does.” 

“If I did, Brynhild, you’ve certainly reminded me. Holy shit,” she spoke, lighting herself another cigarette.  

“I couldn’t risk her leaving here with only her word that she would say nothing. If someone’s word can be bought, then it is not to be trusted.” Looking down at the corpse, she felt not an ounce of anything, the coldness in her vampiric nature not stirred at all. “She served her purpose; did the job she was paid for. Now, she can do no more.” 

“I suppose Tommy gave you his blessing?”  

Not much got past Polly. “Indeed, he did. Now, can one of you tell me where I might find a shovel?”  

“Round by the stables, next to where they keep the saddles an’ all that.” John told her, Bryn disappearing and reappearing in a flash. Polly headed back to the house, John watching as Bryn struck into the frozen ground, the soil crumbling like sand under the power she wielded the shovel with. Usually, it would have taken two grown men about an hour to dig through frozen soil. For Bryn, she had dug out a deep pit in just over five minutes.  

“Okay,” she spoke, pulling the thirty pounds she had given to Helen the previous evening from her apron, looking down at the corpse with distaste. “Put her in.”  

John rolled the cadaver until it fell from the edge and into the deep pit, thinking what a good job Bryn had done. It was at least eight feet deep. With their inconvenience buried, Bryn also dragging various debris over the unmarked grave so that the plot did not stand out, they headed back to the house arm in arm to join the festivities as if nothing had ever happened.  

Once there, they sat down at the long table with the rest of the family, enjoying the warmth from the fire as they ate dinner, Arthur being Arthur and proposing a very drunken toast that mostly consisted of cussing and hiccupping. Once the children had gone to bed, the later evening saw the arrival of a few close friends, Johnny Dogs among them, John not able to immediately offer an introduction as Bryn had excused herself to tuck Katie in.  

“So, you’re still alive, John? Not come to anything bad on those teeth now, eh?” he joked, John being able to detect the slight trepidation in his demeanour he was attempting to mask with humour.  

“Nah, nothing bad,” he replied, grinning to himself at the memory of just how erotic it was, to be bitten by a vampire. It never failed to do something to him that no human woman could ever compare with. It was fair to say, in fact, that the living had been ruined for John now he’d had a taste of what immortal felt like to fuck.  

Johnny laughed, waving a finger. “Oh, now would you look at that grin on the boy? That’s a grin of a... Jesus fucking wept!” His words were halted by the fact that in the space it took him to blink, John suddenly wasn’t standing alone beside the fire, an elegant looking woman in a dark green beaded dress appearing at his side. “Oh... oh so you’re the shadow walker girl, are ya? Oh, I see now, yes... yes. Um. Yes.”  

Johnny’s usual bravado becoming dented further with every syllable uttered had John snort laughing into his whiskey glass, the gypsy continuing. “Oh now, you understand me apprehension here? There’s a lotta bad blood between my folk and yours, there is?”  

“Not from my personal perspective, Johnny,” she spoke, halting his hand where he rapidly pointed between himself and her, stroking the back of it as she transmitted her energy onto him, calming his nerves. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Brynhild.” 

“You’re a Scandinavian girl, are ya? Oh, you must be with a name like that, eh?” 

“I am Norwegian, yes,” she confirmed, Johnny still taking a time to calm as his muscles stiffened. Bless his heart, though. He was trying his hardest.  

“Oh well that’s grand, so? I bet you get some fucking terrible winters all the way up there?”  

Bryn gave John a gentle shove as he shook with silent laughter. “We do, yes.” 

“Now tell me, love. You’re not hungry, are ya? Because I know you shadow walkers like the gypsy blood? I don’t want to be getting bitten, so, so if you could keep them teeth away, I’d be thanking you!”  

That was the moment John erupted completely, Bryn not able to bite back her smile. Oh, he was such a card. “Trust me, Johnny. My preferred blood source is standing right next to me.”  

His eyebrows almost vanished off his forehead entirely. “Now there’s a thing?” His eyes darted between them uncomfortably for a few moments. “Well, if that’s what tickles your fancy, John. And, and why not, if you like it? I mean I’m not making aspersions or nothing! If it floats your boat, and um, yours too, Brynhild. I’ll erm, I’ll go and say hello to Tommy now.”  

“Fucking hell!” he wheezed, him and Bryn both in mild hysterics as Johnny shot across the room, calling out to Tommy. “I ain’t ever seen a fella work so hard not to die of fright in all me life!” 

“I’m surprised he didn’t begin to glisten beneath his eyes with the effort, the poor man,” Bryn chuckled, composing herself. “I am sure once he’s used to me, he might calm down a little bit.”  

“I kind of hope he doesn’t, because I’ve never seen Dogs so flustered before and fuck, it’s gonna entertain me for ages, that!” he laughed, pulling Bryn close and kissing her cheek. The gathering lasted into the small hours, John and Bryn the first to depart to their room, Bryn flicking her hand in the direction of the fireplace as soon as they entered. The flames roared into life, the hearth sparkling amber as heat began to sweep through the chill of the room.  

“Right, now you’re probably wondering why it is you ain’t had your Christmas present from me yet,” John began, taking her hands and bringing them to his mouth, kissing her cool fingers as he smiled adoringly at her.  

She began to nod, her grin a little twisted at the corner. “I had thought it to be somewhat lacking, yes, this much is true.”  

His smile grew, while on the inside, his heartbeat began to thrum in frenzy, nerves washing through him. “Well, that’s because I wanted it to be just you and me when I gave it to ya.” Taking a small box from his pocket, Bryn’s hands flew to her mouth with a gasp as she watched him drop down to one knee before her. “Brynhild, I know it hasn’t been long, but you mean more to me than any other woman ever has or will. I love you, sweetheart. Will you marry me?”  

Her eyes filled with tears, nodding rapidly. “Yes! Oh, my various gods above, a thousand times yes!” 

“Good,” he hummed, winking at her as he flipped the box open. “You can have this now.” 

There within sat on a little cushion indent, was the most beautiful ring she had ever seen. It was an emerald cut diamond, flanked by an art deco arrangement of smaller ones that all extended around onto the platinum band it was set upon. “It’s engraved an’ all.” 

Taking the ring from the box as he stood, she studied the inside of the band, gasping softly. 

My immortal beloved 

“Oh, John!” Her tears fell like crimson rain as he slid it onto her finger, taking his pocket square so she could dab them away, placing a kiss upon the tip of her nose.  

“Don’t you ever say I can’t be romantic.”  

“I never, ever would, my love,” she told him, falling into kisses that felt never ending as they began to strip one another of their clothes.  

“I love you,” he breathed, moving her hair from her neck. “I love you.” His lips met the side of her throat, hands cupping her waist to lift her. “I love you.” Clasping her tightly to him, he carried her to the bed, lying her down, thinking how he’d never seen a woman look at him in the way she was in that moment, his mouth falling to hers once more.  

His bee stung lips closed in a suck upon the pebbled peak of her nipple, fingers trailing through the petals of her cunt, pushing inside her, slick wet awaiting his touch. The rotation he used had her hips bucking against his hand, Bryn clasping his face and kissing him with filthy indulgence. Her groan poured out rich and rumbling, especially when his thumb moved to rub sparks at her clit.  

She was virtually dizzy with pleasure when he finally replaced his fingers with something much thicker, his mouth sucking lilac welts against her neck. His body became flecked with the goose pimples from the sensual glide of her nails down his back, charging across his freckled skin like a herd of wild horses. His arm trailed down her body, hooking beneath her leg and levering it forward until it touched her chest, his hand grasping her throat as he pinned her to the bed.  

The way it allowed his cock to sink in deeper had her wailing, teeth nibbling along her jaw, tongue following the patterns of the tattoos that swirled across her chest. His girth dragged at her, making her wetter around him, John utterly saturated with the gloss of her arousal as his hips began to drive like a piston.  

“Fuck.” He gritted, teeth grazing her throat, the wild heat rising between them both, his mouth swallowing down each of her little cries as their lips met, whispering his love tenderly. It was a heavenly juxtapose to how brutally he began to fuck her.   

Their kisses became magmatic, his forehead pressing to hers as he stared unflinchingly into the crystal blue of her eyes, until the fluttering of her cunt had him closing his eyes tightly, burying his mouth at her neck as he groaned almost helplessly.   

He lost any tentative threads of control, his thrusts staccato, cock making constellations burst through the hug of her molten walls, Bryn’s nails digging into his shoulders as she clung to him, rolling her hips up to meet each barbarously delivered thrust. The lightning jumped from strike point to strike point as the storm swelled and crashed, her entire body alight as he pulsed jets of hot cum within her.   

Utterly spent, breathless and all that was electrifying ebbing away, the sparks still gently fizzed through them as they stroked one another, sharing tender kisses. Everything was warm, serene and lazy, words of love whispered, adoration abounding. He fell asleep still inside of her that night, Bryn enjoying his warmth before gently moving him beneath the covers, getting up to go and sit upon the wide windowsill. 

Watching the diamonds sparkle upon her finger, she looked out into the pale blue of the moonlight, her eyes glancing back to where John slept. She knew that running was no longer an option, and it should never have been. An existence exiled from her offspring, standing behind those of power for protection, driven by her fear of being captured again was not who she was.  

Closing her eyes, her memories took her back over a thousand years, back to the siege upon Mercia, Bryn stood before a heathen army of a hundred Vikings, her heathen army. She heard her own bellowing war cry, their advancement descending the great hill in which they had waited atop, running into the valley to meet the oncoming men, while from the east and west, the remaining two hundred of her army had encircled the Mercian’s entirely.  

Wiping out those who stood in her way was in her blood. She had lived and breathed it in her human life, after all. Now, she had to find her way back to it in order to secure her future. Now was no longer the time for hiding. Now was the time to remember who she was.  

Now was the time for war.  

[archivist-crow]

The Haunted Atlas

Biograph Theater - Chicago, Illinois, United States

41°55′35″N / 87°38′59″W

The Biograph Theater is located on the north side of town and gained fame when Dillinger was gunned down near the alley outside on July 22, 1934.

Dillinger (1903-1934) enjoyed a spectacular career as a robber, earning him the title of the first Public Enemy Number One. Born in Indianapolis in 1902, he started his crime life at a young age, when he linked with the Dirty Dozen gang and stole coal from the Pennsylvania Railroad.

In 1924, Dillinger's professional crime life began with the attempted robbery and assault of a grocer. He served nine years in prison in Mooresville, Indiana, and was released in 1933. His time in jail was well spent, for he got to know many bank robbers who later became his accomplices.

Once out of prison, Dillinger became a robber in earnest, moving from city to city. In the space of 11 months, he robbed between 10 and 20 banks, plus police arsenals. He seemed to be a magic escape artist, evading traps set for him, and once even escaping from jail armed with a phony wooden gun. He murdered 10 men and wounded many more. A $10,000 reward was offered for him, dead or alive.

Dillinger hid at the home of his waitress girlfriend, Polly Hamilton. He was betrayed by Anne Sage (real name Anne Cumpanis), Hamilton's roommate. Sage was in danger of being deported and struck a deal with the federal government to inform on Dillinger in exchange for staying in the United States.

The fateful night came on July 22, 1934, when Dillinger took Sage and Hamilton to the Biograph Theater to see Manhattan Melodrama, starring Clark Gable. Dillinger was well dressed and wearing a straw hat. Melvin Purvis, the head of the FBI in Chicago, set up a trap. Sage would identify herself by wearing a red dress (actually orange).

When Dillinger exited the theater at 10:40 P.M. with the two women, one in a reddish dress, Purvis signaled his waiting agents to draw their guns. He identified himself to Dillinger and ordered him to surrender. Dillinger turned and fled toward an alley. FBI agents fired on him. Two bullets hit his left side and one entered his back and exited through his right eye, tearing it to bits. Dillinger was killed instantly and collapsed just short of the alley. He was rushed to Alexian Brothers Hospital, even though he was already dead.

Sage, who became known as the "Lady in Red," was paid $5,000 by the federal government for her part—but was deported anyway.

According to lore, instant souvenir hunters dabbed handkerchiefs in Dillinger's blood at the scene, before his body was whisked away to the hospital. Others hunted for bullet fragments.

Since that violent night, passersby have reported seeing glimpses of a ghostly replay of the killing. A blue-gray silhouette of a man is seen leaving the theater, running toward the alley, falling, hitting the pavement, and then disappearing. A ghostly figure also is seen hovering near the spot where Dillinger fell dead. The alley is known as "Dillinger's Alley.” The Biograph has gained a reputation for being haunted too; visitors can sit in the same seat once occupied by Dillinger on the last night of his life.

Popular lore persists that the man killed that night was not Dillinger, but a small-time criminal. Dillinger himself is said to have gotten away and lived out his life under a new identity. Little evidence exists to support the belief, which seems to be rooted in a common romanticism that denies the deaths of famous-and infamous-figures.

Text from The Encyclopedia of Ghosts and Spirits, Third Edition by Rosemary Ellen Guiley (Checkmark Books - 2007)