#bat-hoax

[bat-hoax]

Acryla gouache on 12" x 18" watercolor painting

[kingprinceleo]

vampire au- happy halloween rahhhhhhhhh, quick lil goob comic

if shadow is anything, hes consistent 😤

[stevviefox]

Awwww!! Tiny darling!!!

This is a ‘glench’ and

This is a ‘glench’ and it is so small that you can’t see it

[lisafication]

Digging Graves for your Morals; Or, The Ethical Problem of Outlawry

Hello, yes, I am here again. This one is shorter, I swear (it’s under four thousand words, even). If this is the first post from me you’re seeing, this is a follow-up to my prior essay posted here on the game The Coffin of Andy and Leyley, although it should be able to mostly stand alone.

At the end of my last essay, I touched on both the game’s nearly uncompromising moral scepticism and relativity, but I didn’t really dig into it. I outlined that the game only textually frames actions as ‘morally bad’ in the context of a morality set by the society and the world that has treated them as no better than farm animals raised for the slaughter. Well, I have a lot to say on the topic of ethics on the topic of The Coffin of Andy and Leyley, so buckle in, this one’s going to talk about the social contract, moral scepticism and everyone’s favourite topic: Mrs. Graves.

As usual, this was originally posted and formatted for on Sufficient Velocity and you can perhaps more easily read it there. Spoilers abound, and my content warning from last time still applies.

She’s not too hot on either ethics or her mother

The Meat of the Matter

Since a lot of this is optional or otherwise missable information, let’s review the premise the game gives us. If you’re already aware of all of this, I apologise, it won’t take long.

First off the bat, the quarantine at the start of the game was a hoax-driven money-making scheme of which you can pick up more-or-less all the relevant details of. This is entirely missable and by the time it’s possible to discover, our protagonists have better things to dwell on and have dialogue about, so I’ll give you a summary of what you can deduce from reading the notes and thinking about it.

The quarantine is an organ harvesting operation, as per some documents you can discover in the wardens’ office. They entrap the residents, test their blood types and starve to death those they deem surplus to requirements — alternatively the starvation itself could be their method of ‘preparing the harvest’, there’s evidence in both directions and it hardly matters — harvesting the organs of the others for sale. As our protagonists are AB-typed, the ‘universal recipient’ or ‘most selfish blood type’, they’re some of the first on the chopping block.

If you read through the newspapers and the documents in Mr. Washing Machine’s car, you can discover that ultimately ToxiSoda are responsible, and a similar thing is happening in a different city under the guise of a ‘chemical leak’.  Should you further investigate matters, you will find mentions of the ‘man behind it all’, the doctor, or the Surgeon, as the fandom have been referring to him — you may recall Mrs. Graves mentioned someone similar! Yeah, he’s the guy who runs ToxiSoda, who are themselves partners with the water company that faked the parasite outbreak in the first place.

It’s all a life insurance scam, apparently

How much the details of the operation matter is something open to interpretation — it might just be something for players to figure out and Episode 3 will not cover the Surgeon at all, or he might play a major part; it's not particularly relevant to this essay. What matters is that it happened at all — indeed, it’s fairly easy to justify Ashley and Andrew in everything they did in Episode 1 (flashbacks aside), arguing that if they’d made any other decisions they’d have died — an argument that the victims dug their own graves, even if the Graves siblings put them in them. How correct that is is a matter of debate, but that you can make the argument at all matters, and we’ll be returning to this later. In my last essay (and again in the introduction here), I made an analogy to farm animals, raised without love and for slaughter. Let’s put a pin in the ‘for slaughter’ part for now and take a look at the ‘without love’ part. 

That’s right, it’s time to meet the parents.

As Andrew notes, there are significantly more compelling reasons for you to say that

They Fuck You Up, Your Mum & Dad

They really do. 

Our charming protagonists are, as with many things depicted in this game, an exaggerated, almost farcical example of this phenomenon — one that’s just grounded enough to still feel very real, just like the siblings themselves. 

The late and lamentable Mrs. Graves is just the same: originally a teen mother, hopelessly out of depth with two difficult children — even if one was good at masking it — and an unreliable, emotionally unavailable (at least to their children) partner who can’t hold down a job, ends up foisting them off on each other and doing a Parental Negligence because she simply Cannot Cope. That’s the real part. The part where she gets paid off by an organ harvesting operation to leave them to die, that’s the borderline-farcical exaggeration that throws all the nooks and crannies of her character into sharp relief.

Mrs. Graves does not have a good relationship with either of her kids. Having self-admittedly fobbed the job of raising Ashley off on her son, to the degree that they did not even celebrate her birthday as kids, both of them hold differing degrees and types of resentment for her.

For Ashley, it’s hate — perhaps not quite so clear cut as that, as it’s her that calls for the eulogy and she shows some potential signs of discomfort while cleaning up her parents’ corpses, but by and large, it’s fairly simple and straightforward, as usual for Ashley. The sentiment is not exactly unreturned, either.

This brings Ashley’s heart great delight!

The most clear incident raising her from everyday ‘neglectful’ to ‘wow she wanted nothing to do with this kid’ is the optional ‘birthday cake’ scene, obtained by finding the present in Ashley’s first ‘transitory world’ dream, in which we see Ashley’s birthday  and the founding of a lemon cupcake tradition between Leyley and Andy. She has received nothing from her family, notes that her ‘friends’ would say they were busy before she even told them the schedule and Andy takes her out to buy cupcakes with his pocket money.

This scene gets a callback in Andrew’s dream later. Just remember to Ask Nicely, rather than Kill Her.

Parents of the year, everyone.

So with Ashley it’s as straightforward and obvious as she herself is — she hates her mother, her mother hates her. With Andrew, as with Andrew himself, it’s a fair bit more complicated. His mother is a much more nuanced figure, who is believable in her role as an unfortunate teen parent who was trying her best. He has a degree of trust in her against, seemingly, his own good judgment In her conversation with Andrew, she acknowledges her fault in raising him and seemingly sincerely tries to offer him a ‘way out’, an olive branch.

I think many people have had relationships where they might say this

This scene in particular intrigues me, because she is acknowledging fault in a way that Andrew strictly avoids doing — and well, there’s nothing Andrew likes more than a good way to avoid acknowledging any fault of his own. With her dominant relationship over their father as a model for Andrew to draw comparisons to his own relationship with Ashley with, it’s no surprise that the narrative resonates with him to the point of ‘Accept’ being many people’s first completion.

Of course, that’s not all there is to it. There is a fascinating contrast with her later conversation with Ashley, where she — despite accusing Ashley of brainwashing Andrew — refers to Leyley and Andy as ‘two psychos’ and states that she always knew they were responsible for Nina’s death and that, implicitly, they owe her for not turning them in. 

There's something about mother-daughter relationships here that I just do not have the time or reading to dig into, unfortunately.

Meanwhile, when Andrew interrogates her on her possession of their death certificates, she has… an interesting, plausible story about a life insurance scam and claims that she really did think they died in the fire, implicitly denying the claim that she sold them. It’s entirely possible that she’s describing the details of the ‘scam’ correctly — you can even buy that she genuinely does care for Andrew in some way, if not Ashley, but her claim about being an honest, grieving parent shocked at their deaths… doesn’t add up?

This is a very normal reaction to your supposedly dead children showing up in your house.

As Andrew himself notes after hearing her story, she’s full of shit. This gets into speculation, because there are a few ways to read this, but the most plausible ‘gist’ is that she and her partner were paid off in money and jobs to not raise a fuss — the surgeon she mentioned is almost certainly the founder of ToxiSoda, remember?

The overwhelming difference in presentation between how she speaks to Andrew and Ashley invites investigation — and when Andrew turns down her offer and tells her he isn’t interested in her offer in Decline, her reaction isn’t… despair, it’s shock — and well, there’s a good reason for that.

Why do you think she did it in the first place?

This is the happiest we see her

Well — it’s so she can finally fit into society. That white picket fence, that idyllic 1950s life — hell you can call it the American Dream. She wants that, or as close to it as she can get — the working-class teen mother, living in poverty, aspiring to the middle-class. It’s a very common, very real and very grounded motivation.

And to that end, she effectively sold off her children. It’s no wonder she can’t fathom why Andrew wouldn’t choose the same.

That’s the part that makes you think — just like the deaths in Episode 1, well- maybe the siblings are justified here, too. It’s a weaker argument, but it’s still one you can make under many common moral paradigms today — what goes around comes around, all that jazz. Just look at how awful she was to Ashley.

She’s finally found what she’s been striving for.

Here’s the thing, here’s the thing though — what, reasonably, could she have done? Andrew and Ashley briefly highlight this in conversation about Ashley’s ‘friends’ in Episode 1 — was she supposed to fight gunmen to try and break them out? Throw food to the balcony from four stories?

Moreover, as she herself says to Andrew… would anyone really have been able to do better than her in her position? She was seventeen when Ashley was born, living in poverty with a partner who couldn’t even remember Andrew’s name when he was a kid. Anyone would have had difficulty, let alone with these kids.

Her evils are — they’re not any deliberate action, but rather… prompted inaction. She didn’t have the emotional energy, resources or plain capability to properly parent her children, she didn’t have any solutions to their murder of Nina in a state so blatantly hostile to its underclass, she didn’t have a way to connect with Ashley and she took the money rather than fight a futile and likely suicidal battle against a corporation and its armed goons in a dystopian setting.

Ashley, notably, does not deny this.

Her sin is the one we’re all, I think, guilty of — that of not trying hard enough, that of inaction in the face of difficult tasks, of not standing up on principle because it’s just too much that day and you don’t have the spoons, you’ll do it tomorrow (no you won’t). It’s a petty, everyday kind of evil — that of not doing enough. 

Is that enough to condemn her? Certainly, there’s a pretty manipulative read of her that likely has some truth to it — in the locked door in Ashley’s dream in ‘Decay’ you can discover that she has a ‘not-hatched’ tar soul — but consider that lens — the game won’t make up your mind for you, so you’ll need to choose that for yourself.

The dad is interesting in terms of negative space — but he’s mostly important in that he doesn’t matter, so I decided to not fit him in here. He has art, though — just no sprite, because, well, he’s never mattered to either sibling.

The Contract We Call Society

Right, it’s time to get a little bit Theoretical in here. Not much, but a little. Social contract theory is a complex topic with a lot of nuance, much of which I will be eliding in the name of not writing a twenty thousand word paper on semiotics, law, and anthropology, but the short analogy is… the idea that as long as you play by society’s rules, as long as you are a good citizen, a good person, the state, or the community, will take care of you.

In a number of ways, the harshest penalty levied by many historical states and legal codes was not death, but rather the criminal status of outlawry, a practice that’s cropped up a number of times in history — the practice of no longer being protected by the law. This meant one could be killed or worse with impunity — you were no longer protected by mob justice and, while overexaggerated as a term of reference, certain texts from Medieval England refer to outlaws as bearing a wolfshead, ‘for the wolf is a beast hated by all folk’. Never minding that wolves are actually delightful, this was a time when wolves were actively hunted and sold by people — and the same was intended to happen to outlaws. They were ‘fair targets’ as far as society was concerned, no longer to be treated as your fellow citizens.

This was the gravest punishment on the books, for most of these legal codes — something saved for those who had broken the social contract so completely that there could be no turning back (civil outlawry is… a bit different, that’s not the topic here). Among others, a modern critique of the concept is that it offers no incentive for improvement, no incentive to change or to cease harming society — if an outlaw has none of the social contract’s protections, what reason do they have to obey… any of the social contract? If that seems familiar, well, let me ask you this:

What if the state or community fails its end first? What responsibility does the innocent outlaw have to that contract?

It’s an interesting phrasing, that the world is better off.

It’s time to talk about the incest, and part of why it’s there. The cannibalism too, but that’s less impactful here. If you’ve seen me elsewhere, you might have seen me say that the incest is a load-bearing narrative pillar — in large part due to it being a critical facet of the siblings’ relationship, but in another large part due to it being an equally critical part of how the game uses taboo.

A taboo is in this context something that is considered repulsive and to be avoided by society. It’s a more complex term than that — you can also use it for certain sacred actions or utterances that are only permitted to certain people, for example — but that’s what it is here. Swearing, premarital sex, BDSM and murder are, approximately from weak to strong, some example taboos held in modern Anglospheric society. 

Strong taboos are a staple of horror — they shock, they disgust, they draw people’s attention and it’s that last one that’s critical here. Incest is a very strong taboo — while I am absolutely not segueing into its historical context, the very well-established Westermarck effect gives it a certain timelessness and immunity to desensitisation that most other taboos don’t have — murder, to contrast, is a taboo we’re largely desensitised to in modern media and works of modern media have to put in actual work to make a murder seem horrifying — through atmosphere, cinematography, evocative prose etc.

And this is important because the use of taboo I’m covering in this essay is that the incest is used to invite judgment — it is so ingrained as a ‘wrong thing’ in people’s brains almost regardless of background that it forces the player to engage with the work morally. And that’s where the fun starts.

I’ve mentioned before, very briefly, about the juxtaposition of tone between the Burial & Decay endings, contrasting with the very monstrous difference in morality. Burial is remarkably light-hearted — they play around with the drain blockage, they joke about their mother’s personality and this is further exaggerated on the Love path, where Andrew is much more comfortable with casual contact and the two make a game out of how far they can throw their parents’ skulls, the humour is directly contrasted against their abhorrent actions.

I’ll be real Ashley is far more merciful than I, I’m shuddering at the thought of that gunk in my hair

In comparison, Decay is… bleak. I’ve seen it being referred to as being ‘emotionally sandblasted’ and, yeah I think that’s fair — it’s uncomfortable, it’s heavy and it’s just not fun. And this is the route in which, if you chose Trust into Accept, Andrew has bought into the narrative that his mother’s offered — that he can fit just fine into society if he wasn’t stuck, if not for Ashley — the route that ‘fits’ most closely to the social contract, to Andrew feeling the guilt that we think he should and hating the monsters that they’ve become, as the social contract deems them. Given the pains the game takes to attach the player to the protagonists, this normative moral ending is very easily interpreted as the bad ending.

And well, isn’t it?

Thing is, as mentioned above, the social contract has never held up its end for them. The game takes careful pains to point out to a viewer that they’ve never had the life that society promises people, so why do its moral standards apply?

The game invites you to judge the characters, and in the same motion, asks you from what principles you judge them, making a pretty good guess in that, like most people who haven’t spent a large amount of time navel-gazing and reading some very boring books by very dusty old men, they come from the society around you.

Love even has Ashley express this sentiment directly after the incestuous dream — she asks you — well, Andrew, but this is also something for the player to mull over — why this is what’s engaged your morality or sense of revulsion, rather than the desecration, cannibalism or murder.

Andrew and Ashley are both very funny and very fascinating in this scene.

And that’s the framing that it casts all of its own moral judgement in — even the ‘tar-soul’ aspect is… well, it’s unclear what it even means. Mrs. Graves was a ‘not-hatched’ tar soul, after all. Other than that, it’s society and the world being better off without them, rather than any kind of assertion of objective morality. Due to the present of ‘soul colour’, we’ll presumably see the game make some moral statements in Episode 3, but as it stands?

It’s nearly completely morally sceptical, in and of itself — it’s not interested in moral assertions or education, it’s interested in making you question your own morals. Deconstructive (not that kind), rather than dialectic, to be mildly pretentious.

It uses taboo and shock to invite moral judgement, but then uses tone, charm and our instinct to look for the happiest end for our blorbos to get you to recognise that these are principles you yourself brought into the game, rather than any it’s handed you. 

To summarise: you’ve brought these principles in from society, but what do the siblings, the protagonists, the villains to the world, owe society? Enough that they should follow them? It failed them first, after all.

Closing Thoughts

This one is a bit less energetic than the last, tragically — my sleeping schedule is the stuff of nightmares recently, I love windy weather. Wait, no the opposite. Huge thank you to everyone who commented on the last one, you are the wind beneath my wings and the main reason I managed to get this out this week.

This essay is a bit more interpretative than my last one — certainly, there are alternative readings and I’ve been toying with the idea of deliberately taking a reading I don’t like very much and writing from that perspective as a demonstrative exercise recently — mostly that you shouldn’t just take my word for things!

Otherwise, if the last bit at the end seemed murky, I apologise — I did try to write a more detailed version, but firstly, it was three thousand words and secondly, I re-read it the next day and I could not understand what the fuck I was talking about. Personally, I blame Derrida — suffice to say that I strongly recommend playing through it with an eye towards considering culpability, morality and why you think certain characters are more or less forgivable than others, and for what deeds. See what you get out of it.

I managed to keep one particular thread open to wrap up with here —  I try to keep speculation on Episode 3 content to a minimum in the main essays, but it should be fine here — you might have noticed that I refer to Episode 1 and Episode 2 being on something of a spectrum of justifiability, with the siblings’ actions being ‘more’ justifiable in Episode 1 and ‘less’ justifiable — but still justifiable if you try — in Episode 2. 

To continue the thought of the happiest ending being the one in which they step the furthest away from common morality and to further jar the viewers’ sense of morality by contrasting societal morality and blorbo-oriented morality, Episode 3: Burial could continue this trend in having a major victim be someone who, well, has done nothing wrong and isn’t even guilty of bystander syndrome.

I wonder if there’s any good candidates, someone who’s sweet, harmless and will indisputably be an innocent victim…

…I’m sure she’ll be fine

[nochedie]

lattes and lemures | sam winchester ☕️

pairing: sam winchester x reader

genre: mostly fluff, tiny bit of hurt/comfort

wordcount: 6.3k

summary: after a strange death in salem, the winchesters arrive to check things out. sam bumps into you outside the coffee shop you work at, and all of a sudden the case isn’t the only thing keeping him there.

a/n: okay first of all this is a TOTALLY fictional representation of salem. you can view it as completely different than the real salem! it holds very limited familiarity to the actual place, just needed a town known for it’s spookiness/catering to tourists that way! second this is the first longish fic i have done in so long! i love sam so much and i just needed to write about him in such a sweet way! to be honest this idea literally came to me in a dream lmfao… it was quite a bit different than this but i took the basic idea and ran with it and it actually (i think) turned out okay! if you have any feedback i am all ears, i know i have such a long way to go here but this is the first baby steps!

📍 salem, ma.

after catching wind of some.. spirit-esque happenings in the witch-iest town in the us, sam and dean winchester drove into the parking lot of the first motel they could find with vacancies: raven’s rest.

considering its past, salem is a hotbed for tourists, and usually anything supernatural happening in salem was just a hoax to sell more tickets to whatever brand new attraction introduced that year. sam and dean knew this for sure, but there was something about this case that felt different. and, truthfully, they didn’t have any other cases to look into.

sam’s head was still reeling from the events of the past year. he had gone from happy, pre-law at stanford with a beautiful girlfriend, to dropping out of college chasing ghosts. and jess was gone. it was like it had all happened in the blink of an eye.

he opened the door of the impala, stepping out onto the gravel and making his way to the front desk, followed close behind by dean.

the motel reception was poorly decorated in occult decor, purple walls with chipped paint adorned with framed tarot cards, a taxidermy raven sitting atop the desk and a few plastic bats hanging from the ceiling.

“well. isn’t this cozy.” dean looked around the room with a slight disgust.

there was nobody manning the front desk, so the taller of the two brothers tapped on the bell to alert whoever may be working that they would like a room. no sooner had the bell rung when an eccentric looking older lady burst out from a door marked “staff only”.

“looking for a room?” she spoke, or well, practically sung. her red lipstick smudged down her face and long, black hair cascaded down her back. her name tag read “mother wystan”.

“u-uh… yeah! yeah…” sam stuttered, a little taken aback.

“no need to be scared, my dear. i won’t bite. that’s nyx’s job.” the lady giggled, turning to the key pegboard to grab the key to one of the vacant rooms, which seemed to be an awful lot of them.

“um. nyx?” sam questioned, looking over at dean who was just as confused by the interaction.

“nyx.” she gestures to the taxidermy raven.

“oh! right.” sam laughs politely.

“raven’s rest. he is the raven! and he sure is resting.” dean snarked, grabbing a card from his wallet to pay for the night and handing it over to “mother wystan”.

“thank you, mr… blackwood.” she reads the name off of one of the stolen credit cards in dean’s wallet, earning a nod in acknowledgment from him. “you’re in room 47. it’s just along the hall to your right. have a whimsical stay!” she hands the key over to sam, who takes it with an awkward smile before making their way to their room.

the room in comparison was just as tired as the reception, with walls well in need of a few spots of filler and a repainting, and bedsheets that look like they haven’t been touched since the 70s.

“i need some of whatever the hell she’s on.” dean lays down on the bed nearest to the door, kicking off his shoes. “you can take first shower.”

sam nods and makes his way over to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door. he stared at his reflection in the mirror for a while, taking a deep breath. everything was messed up. sure, it was nice to be with his brother again, but this isn’t what he wanted. none of it is.

after showering off a day of sitting shotgun in the impala, sam leaves the bathroom and dean is up and in there immediately. sam falls asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow.

the next morning, bright and early, sam is already wide awake. he looks over to the other bed, noticing that his older brother is still fast asleep. he slowly gets out of bed, walking into the bathroom to get ready for the day.

after slipping on his favorite brown carhartt hoodie, he leaves a note for dean letting him know he just nipped out to get some coffee for them both and not to worry before leaving the motel room.

he walks down the street for a couple of minutes, stopping abruptly in his tracks when someone almost bumps into him. they had stepped out the door of a coffee shop and were just putting the board outside.

“woah! oh god, i’m so sorry. i wasn’t looking where i was-“ you looked up, breath hitching in your throat as you locked eyes with the male in front of you. he was… totally gorgeous, but there was also a softness there. he looked like if the colour brown was a person, you thought, soft and warm with doe eyes. “-going…”

“it’s okay, i wasn’t either.” he smiled, keeping his eyes locked on yours. you were wearing a green apron with the coffee shop branding on it, so he knew you worked here. that would be helpful, as this is just across the street from where the murder they were investigating occurred, and they needed to speak to people who may have been around at the time.

“sorry, did you want to come in? we don’t open for ten minutes, but i could make an exception as an apology?” honestly, you were a little hopeful he would say yes to coming in. you didn’t want to let him pass you by.

“yeah, i was just going to grab some coffee, i’m staying a little down the street.” he gestured in the direction he came.

“oh, great! come in..” you stepped to the side, letting him through.

“i’m sam, by the way.” he smiled as you led him to take a seat at the table closest to the counter.

“my names y/n. it’s nice to meet you.” really, really nice. “so, what coffee would you like?” you enquired, stepping behind the counter.

“um, i’ll take a latte. and could i get a black coffee with a shot of espresso to go?” he suddenly remembered he had wanted to talk to you about the murder across the street, and if you both took a little too long, dean’s coffee would get cold. “do you mind making the black coffee a little later though? i’m gonna be here a bit longer.”

“oh, sure. latte coming right up.” you start brewing the coffee, leaning over the counter to see him clearly. “what brings you to salem?”

“uh… just working a job nearby. pest control.”

“oh, that’s.. interesting.” you finish making his latte, bringing it over to the table.

“thanks.. how much do i owe you?”

“think of it as a welcome gift.” you both shared a smile, before you started to walk back over to the counter.

“wait- can i ask you something?” sam questioned.

you turned around and took a few steps back towards his table. “sure, what’s up?”

“what do you know about the.. murder across the street?”

“oh.. um, i don’t know much. just whispers about town, but i did know the guy.”

“did he have any enemies? anybody that might want to hurt him?”

“no, he was a really nice man. he was a regular, always got the same thing, macchiato with a caramel shot. i thought it was weird when he didn’t come in for a few days, and then we heard the news. it sucks.”

“i bet. has anything weird happened around here recently?”

“weird how? i mean, it’s always at least a little weird around here.” you watched outside as a man wearing a pumpkin on his head handed out event fliers. “exhibit a.”

sam chuckled. “weirder than usual, then.”

“well, no. not really.”

“flickering lights, cold spots?”

“what are you, ghost hunting?” you joked, letting out a light chuckle. something about sam’s reaction, you saw right through him. “wait. are you ghost hunting?”

“no! that’s crazy. i’m just interested, that’s all.” he wasn’t a very good liar.

“hm.” your eyes narrowed, and you took a seat across from him. pest control, him talking about cold spots and flickering lights, asking about the murder, him not being from around here... “you think i’ve lived in salem my whole life and haven’t bumped into any hunters?”

he had been taking a sip of his coffee, which he proceeded to almost choke on.

“don’t worry, i’m not a… witch, vampire, ghost, ghoul, demon, whatever else. but i feel like it would be a great disservice to my hometown if i didn’t believe in those things. and there were a few hunters a few years back i bumped into and.. let’s just say they pulled the wool off my eyes. not by choice, i’m very stubborn.”

every second he spent with you he liked you even more, and every second his smile grew wider.

“so. you think it’s a ghost? the thing that killed mr beckett?”

“well, me and my brother are gonna check some things out, but that’s our first instinct, yeah. is there anything you can tell me about mr beckett that might help? any reason a ghost would want rid of him?”

“sorry, i can’t think of anything… maybe he had some skeletons in his closet?” you shrugged, a little disappointed in yourself that you couldn’t be of more help. “i get off work at midday today. come find me then? maybe we can do a little digging together?”

his eyes lit up at the prospect of seeing you again. “yeah! that sounds great.”

“how’s your coffee? are you ready for me to make the to-go cup for your brother?” the coffee shop would be opening very soon, and you were sure you would have more customers soon enough, and you were disappointed that you couldn’t sit here all day and get to know sam better.

“it’s great, yeah i think i’m ready now.” he finishes his coffee and waits for you to make dean’s. as he took the cup from your hand, his hand brushed against yours, causing a spark so poignant you let your hand linger for a matter of seconds.

“okay.. um. well, i’ll see you at midday?”

“definitely. i’ll see you soon, y/n.” with a smile, he turned and walked out of the coffee shop.

just before you clocked out, a customer had left the morning paper on the counter. the front page alerted you that there had been another murder. this time it was a lady, piper sawyer, who owned an antique shop down the street. the mo was the exact same. no signs of a break-in, all bulbs in the house were blown, and the victim was missing one eye.

you hung up your apron and changed out of your work clothes, grabbing the paper from the counter and rushing outside to wait for sam.

he arrived just a few moments later, with another man, more intimidating looking but handsome all the same.

“hey, y/n. this is dean, my brother.”

after you and dean had exchanged friendly first greetings, you held out the paper to sam. “there’s been another murder. i was trying to link the two victims and i think i thought of something.”

“you did? what is it?”

“well, every year in salem we have this festival. there’s stalls to buy trinkets or play games, people dress up, there’s a bonfire, and there’s a stage performance at the end of the festival each year. both piper and mr beckett were supposed to be involved this year. piper had a stall planned for her antiques and she was providing the costumes for the stage performance, and mr beckett had modernised the script for the play they were due to perform.”

“alright.. well i guess we better figure out who else is involved in the festival. is there any reason why some ghost would even care about it? any urban legends around it, anything?”

“uh- not that i know of… but it has been going for a long time, since the 1800s i’m pretty sure.”

“alright. come on, is there a library around? any place we could do some research?”

“yeah, just up the road.”

“alright, come on.” almost as if his hands were moving by themselves, he grabbed your hand. you had to take a second, but it felt so right. your hand in his like part of a puzzle. you locked eyes, your gaze only broken by dean clearing his throat.

dean looked between the two of you, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “i’m gonna scope out the murder scenes, see what i can find. you two kids do some research then meet back at the motel, okay? call me if you need me.”

you and sam nodded before you lead him off in the direction of the local library.

you stepped inside, the warm air of the heater above the door hitting your face. your hand in sam’s the whole time, neither of you wanting to let go. you took a seat at one of the empty tables, sam sitting down next to you and pulling his laptop out of his bag.

you spent a couple hours trawling for old news articles about the festival, anything that could be useful. until you finally found a post on some paranormal forum, about the festival in 1906. a girl had died when one of the stage rafters fell on top of her, but it didn’t say her name. “sam, if there was anything spooky happening at that festival, wouldn’t they want to make a big song and dance about it? i mean… surely. they create as much hype as possible and ghost stories always bring in the tourists.”

“yeah, that’s what i thought too. do you think they tried to cover it up somehow?”

“yeah.. but why? faulty maintenance? but what could they really prove back then? they would just put it down to an accident, right?”

“right. so.. none of this really makes any sense. can we contact the person who posted this?”

“i mean, i can try, but who knows if they’ll even respond.”

“let’s give it a try.” you shifted the laptop towards you, typing out an email to “beyondtheveil88”. sam’s eyes stayed fixed right on you, travelling down to your fingers as they typed. each passing moment he noticed something different about you. whether it be the face you made while concentrating, the way you changed your mind about what you were going to type and deleted a sentence about fifteen times. without meaning to, a small chuckle left his lips.

you looked up, fixing on his pretty hazel eyes. “what?”

“just… you.” he let his gaze linger a few seconds, before you both awkwardly turned to look away from each other. you both started to speak to try and change the subject and fill the awkward silence, followed by a “sorry, you go-“ in unison.

“go ahead.” you smiled, letting him speak first.

“i was just going to ask what happened a few years ago, when you bumped into the hunters?”

“oh. it was actually witch stuff, fittingly. there was a witch hexing a bunch of people just because they got drunk and destroyed her flower patch in her front garden. kind of extreme, i guess she loved her plants. anyway, my uh- one of my friends was… one of the people she hexed. anyway.. these two older guys, they told me to stay out of it for my own good. i didn’t listen. i wanted to know what happened to my friend, you know? i went to her house, broke in through the back door just quick enough to save both their asses with their own knife. i was freaked but, they gave me a little a-z of monsters class after. nothing aside from whispers since though, about anything extraordinary in salem, until now, i guess.”

“you’re just…” perfect. that’s what he had started to say, but stopped himself just in time. he didn’t want to come on too strong and scare you away, but. there was so much more for him to learn about you, and he couldn’t wait.

“i’m just what?” you enquired, raising a brow in anticipation.

“nothing, let’s just, get back to the email.” he changed the subject quickly, pointing at the laptop screen.

you turned your attention to the screen, typing for a few more moments before signing off the email from both you and sam. something about your names together at the end, lit something in both of you. it felt right, like a perfect pair. “how’s that?”

sam leaned a little closer to you to read the email, and you couldn’t help but sneak a look at his face as he read. you took in each little detail. the warm tone of his skin, the way his hair tousled perfectly. you broke your gaze away just before he could catch you.

“looks good, ready to send it?” sam acknowledged the short nod of your head by hitting send on the email.

“don’t let us down beyondtheveil88!” you cross your fingers as if that was somehow going to conjure an instant response.

sam placed his hands over yours. “even if not, we’ll find some other way.” his eyes shifted down to his hands which had come to rest over yours without him even knowing. but it didn’t feel wrong. his eyes shifted up to meet yours and you held the gaze for what felt like an hour, before a short ping sound from the laptop startled you both out of your thoughts. it was an email.

“it’s a link.” sam’s eyebrows creased in confusion as he hovered the mouse over the link.

“you’re really gonna click some random link in an email?” you snickered, but sam had already clicked it by that point. luckily, it was safe. it brought you to a page you hadn’t found in your research earlier. “what is all this?” you and sam spent a few minutes reading through the page.

“her name was evelyn maude fletcher. she was playing the lead in the play. a play about… a ghost who kills the people that killed her. looks like pretty much everybody working on that play covered up her death.”

“you think she still thinks she’s playing the role?”

“yeah. sure looks like it to me. but why now?”

“no idea. do you think they’re doing the same play this year? that would make sense, i mean, like i said, mr beckett had to modernise the dialogue in the play because it was pretty old.”

“its gotta be just the play, not the festival. i mean, both vics had something to do with the play specifically. who else is involved with it?”

“i’m not sure, but i think i know someone who would. come on.” you stood up from the table, sam grabbing his laptop and standing up after you, following you out of the library into the chilly air.

you made your way through town, and ended up right where sam had started, raven’s rest. “the motel? why here?”

“is this where you’re staying? maybe not the nicest place to stay, but nell knows a thing or two about the festival.” you and sam trudge along the gravel to the front entrance.

“nell?” sam tries not to trip on the uneven surface you were walking on, putting out a hand to rest on your back as you tried not to trip yourself.

“she owns the place, would’ve checked you in? some people know her as mother wystan.”

“ah. right. i definitely remember her.” sam thought back to the interesting greeting he and dean received the day before.

“she’s definitely memorable.” you let out a laugh, stepping in through the doors and heading to the front desk. once again, there wasn’t anybody manning it.

“she’s usually in the back room.” you pinged the bell, waiting a few moments. “huh. she’s usually out here as soon as the bell rings… nell? nell it’s y/n!” you raised your voice to shout towards the door. it was only then that you noticed the splatter of blood by the door. “crap.” you gestured to the splatter with your hand, taking a sharp intake of breath. you were going to have to go in there.

“hey, it’s okay. i’ll go in and check. you stay here where it’s safe, okay?” sam rubbed your back in comfort, before taking a step towards the door. your hand reached out and grabbed his.

“no. we can both go.” you stepped forward with him, keeping your hand in his as he linked your fingers.

“okay, but stay behind me.” you nodded, and you and sam made your way over to the door. sam reached out to grab the handle, he was fairly certain that the spirit was gone by now, there was no cold air, no lights flickering or strange occurrences, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared. “there’s um- there’s an iron pole in my bag, keep hold of it. if the spirits still in there it’ll vanish if you swing that through it.”

you opened sam’s bag and grabbed the pole with one hand, and sam’s hand with the other, bracing yourself as sam pushed the door open.

you stepped into the room, horrified at the sight before you. there was no light coming from the plenty lamps dotted around, because the bulbs were smashed. and nell lay on the ground, cold, with just one eye.

you had known nell since you were just a kid. she was like your favorite eccentric spinster aunt. you lived close by raven’s rest, and as a kid you thought nell was the coolest person in the world. she taught you how to read tarot, though you had forgotten now, and she had comforted you when your friend had passed a few years prior.

your eyes welled up with tears, and sam used his body to shield you from the sight. you racked your brain trying to think of what nell had to do with this, but she knew everything about the festival, so it wasn’t far fetched to think she had some role in the production.

sam lead you back out the door, closing the door behind you. “you okay?” his doe eyes bore into yours, sadness clear on his face for you.

“no… but i’ll be okay eventually.” he reached out to rub your shoulder in comfort, taking a moment to hesitate before pulling you into his chest in a tight embrace. you welcomed the feeling, his strong arms wrapped around you. you wrapped your arms around him too, squeezing him tight. you pulled away from each other only when you heard footsteps. you looked towards the door just in time to see dean arriving.

“hey. what’s going on? everything okay?” dean looked worried by your tear stained face, worried that something might have just happened to his brother.

“it’s the owner of the motel. she was the third victim.” sam shared with dean, as you walked over to the back room door. you looked over to sam, he was preoccupied filling dean in on what you had found. you grabbed the door handle and went inside. you knew nell kept a record of most things. she would want you to do what you could with it to save as many people as you could. you tried to ignore nell’s body on the floor, not wanting to see her like that. you took a look around the room, opening the drawers to try and find anything that would help. you thought you heard a drawer open behind you, and you turned to see one open in a chest of drawers just across the room. you looked around, suddenly getting cold. you walked over to the open drawer, pulling out a diary. there was a page folded over towards the back, and when you opened it up, it was a list of names. nell was directing the play. everybody’s names were here, along with what they were doing or providing for the play. harrison beckett was on script modernisation, piper sawyer on costuming, nell wystan directing. there were a lot more names on the list, covering everything from lighting to casting. there didn’t seem to be any kind of a pattern to the victims.

sam noticed you were gone after a couple of minutes, calling out your name and bursting into the room, startling you. “sorry, i-i thought you were in danger. what’s that?” he takes a couple steps towards you, not stopping until your arms were touching.

“nell made a list. it’s everyone working on the play… i think she’s still here, sam. she opened the drawer for me.” sam rubbed your back in comfort.

“there’s no way we can protect all of these people… we need to find out where evelyn is buried.”

“to do what?”

“ghosts are only tethered to the earth’s plane if their bones are still here. so, we’re gonna salt and burn her bones. that’ll burn her ghost too.”

you took a deep breath, nodding your head and opening sam’s bag to put nell’s diary inside. “okay, let’s go.”

it had just gotten dark when you left the motel, anonymously calling in nell’s passing beforehand.

“couple of ground rules before you set foot inside this car, okay? no eating in the car. no scratching the seats. driver picks the music. got it?”

“i don’t even have any food, dean.” you snark, earning a chuckle from sam.

“get in the car.” dean retorted. you smiled, opening the back door and sliding over to the middle. “alright. where’s the nearest cemetery?”

you gave dean directions from the backseat, shortly pulling into ashwood cemetery.

“y/n, maybe it’s not a good idea you come with us. maybe you should wait here. it’s not safe.” sam turned to you in the backseat, his voice soft and concerned.

“i’m coming, sam.” you opened the back door and stepped out, dean following after you and handing you a flashlight.

you spent the next twenty minutes searching the cemetery before you finally found evelyn’s headstone. “she’s here.” you bent down, coming level with her headstone. “i’m sorry. i know you don’t want to be doing this either.”

sam heard your words as he made his way over to you, and his gaze softened. you felt so much, and he wondered if you could feel so much for him, too, over time.

“alright. let’s get going before miss fletcher here catches wind.” dean grabs his shovel and starts digging, switching with sam halfway through.

you watched as sam dug, sweat beading on his forehead and dirt speckled on his face. he had taken off his hoodie and was wearing a long sleeved t-shirt underneath, the sleeves rolled halfway up and leading into view his arm muscles which contracted each time the shovel hit the soil.

the shovel hit the wood, and you half expected to see the apparition of evelyn appear immediately, try and stop this from happening. you stayed alert, but even as sam climbed out of the hole, doused the bones in salt and set them alight, she was nowhere to be found.

“it just me or did that seem a bit too easy to you?” dean questioned, grabbing the shovel from sam to recover the grave. you hated to say it, but you felt the same. but that should be it. you burned the bones, there was nothing else to do.

the next day, it was back to work. it seemed a little mundane compared to what you had been doing the day before, but you had rent to pay, after all.

the bell rung over top of the door, alerting you that someone was there as you were cleaning one of the tables. you begun your regular welcome greeting, turning around and coming eye to eye with sam. “oh, hey! i thought you guys would’ve skipped town already.”

“without saying goodbye? definitely not. i spoke to dean and.. we don’t have any jobs lined up so, we’re going to stay, at least until the festival in a couple days.”

“really?” you tried to hide your smile but it was far too bright, and he matched it straight away.

you and sam had spent the past couple of days getting to know each other, talking for hours on end. sam and dean had found another motel to hole up at, as raven’s rest was now an active crime scene, and you were spending most of your time there too.

before you knew it, it was the day of the festival. nell had already prepared everything for the play, piper’s costumes had already been donated, and mr barrett had already completed the script, so everything was going ahead just as normal.

dean had already gone off by himself two minutes after arriving, leaving you and sam alone. you took a walk together through the stalls, enjoying each others company. you weren’t sure what the future held for the two of you… but you were convinced that if you had the chance, you two could become something.

“sam…”

“yeah?” the both of you stopped walking, turning to face each other. you were interrupted by a loud announcement over the speakers: the play was about to begin.

“never mind, it can wait. shall we go and watch? it’ll be nice to see all of nell’s hard work.” you offered your hand, which he gladly took and you both walked over to the stage.

the first half of the play went perfectly, but you noticed a difference in the way the lead held herself after a couple acts. her entire demeanour changed. “sam…” you started, interrupted by the bulbs around the stage, on the stalls and all around the festival beginning to smash. “oh no.”

“can ghosts possess humans?”

“yeah, if they get angry enough. do you think…”

“yeah. definitely. but we burnt the bones!”

“y/n… didn’t you say that piper sawyer had an antique store? and she donated the costumes? what’s the betting the costume is the same one evelyn wore when she died?”

“i don’t think piper would have let anybody wear an antique dress.. they’re a lot more fragile than her other antiques. she provided costuming for the last couple plays and i’m pretty sure both of those were newer costumes she made herself. but she did use a few genuine antiques, i remember someone talking about the antique jewellery used in the performance last year.” you turned your attention to evelyn, using the body of the lead actress in the play. there was a locket around her neck. “the locket, look!”

“what if that’s not it? and how the hell are we gonna get close?” sam grabs onto you instinctively as evelyn shouts out the lines of the play, something about an eye for an eye, and suddenly the missing eyes made sense. sam held you close as the wind picked up, looking around for his brother. “dean! where the hell is he?”

your mind was racing, as you watched evelyn eyeing the next victim. malcolm everett, the sound guy. “we gotta stop her.” evelyn was preoccupied with malcolm, and you might have enough time to grab the locket. you knew sam would never let you go if he knew what you were about to do. you pushed away from sam, enough for him to lose his grip but not enough to hurt him. and then you started running in the direction of the stage.

“y/n? y/n stop! hey! you’re gonna get hurt!” sam started straight after you, but you ran track in high school, and you were pretty fast. you ran up the side steps, but evelyn had already caught wind of what you were doing. you leaped forward, your hand outstretched and you ripped the necklace from her neck just in time for evelyn to throw you across the venue, your back hitting one of the stalls and taking the wind out of you.

“y/n!” sam froze, before forcing one foot in front of the other as he ran over to you, dodging all the festival goers who had realised this was not in fact part of the show and were now fleeing. he didn’t know if you were okay, and if you weren’t he just couldn’t handle it. not after jess.

you were cut and bruised as some of the wood from the stall had shattered, but in general you were okay, and you still had the locket in your hand.

you tried to stand up, but you were still getting your breath back. sam’s hand was on your face as soon as he reached you, checking you over for injuries and pulling you into his chest in a tight embrace. “i cannot believe you did that. you got hurt and it could’ve been ten times worse!” he tried to read your face to see if you were in pain, he tried to hide it but he was terrified.

“don’t talk about that right now, just this.” you weakly held up the locket, handing it to sam. “burn it, quick. i can’t.” you didn’t have the strength yet and there was no time to waste. sam took the locket from you and threw it into a bonfire at the centre of the festival. if this didn’t work, he didn’t know what you could do.

there was a beam of light as evelyn was thrown from the lead actress’ body, and you watched as her spirit set alight. while you were thankful that this had worked… you couldn’t help but feel deep sorrow for evelyn. all she wanted was justice, her soul was angry, but it was angry for the wrong people. you wished there was another way, but there wasn’t. sam was back at your side in a flash, taking hold of your hands and supporting you as you stood up.

dean ran over just a few moments later, panting and taking a moment to catch his breath. “what’d i miss?”

“and where the hell were you?”

“i was just taking care of something.”

“you were with a girl, weren’t you?”

“no! ..okay, yes. but that ghost totally possessed my date in the first half and knocked me out!”

“oh, convenient.”

sam and dean bickered for a few more minutes before dean told sam he would be at the nearest bar and that he could drive the impala back to the motel, throwing him the keys as he spoke and leaving you both alone again.

your lower leg was injured from the fall, and sam put his arm around you to support you. he could tell the pain on your face even with the support, so he stood in front of you, bending down. “get on my back, i’ll carry you to the car.”

“are you sure?”

“you’re hurt, y/n. please let me do this.” you jumped onto his back and he lifted you with ease, careful not to touch the injured part of your leg. “does that hurt?”

“not anymore than walking did.” you wrapped your arms around his neck. this was nice, but you didn’t like not being able to see him.

sam walked you both over to the car and put you down gently to open the car door. you sat down in the passenger seat and he sat down in the drivers seat before starting up the car and driving back to the motel.

when you got back to the motel room, you sat down on the bed and sam grabbed a first aid kit from his bag to patch you up. you had a cut just below your right eye from a wood splinter, and sam grabbed an alcohol wipe to clean it up first. “this might hurt, okay?” you winced in pain at the feeling, and sam flinched a little, not wanting to cause you any pain, but, it had to be cleaned up. he pat the area dry before placing a few steri-strips over it. your eyes locked on his as he worked, concern written all over his face. after a few moments, his eyes wandered to meet yours. there was a moment of silence, to the point you could’ve heard a pin drop, and sam brought his hand up to rest on your cheek. before you knew it, his lips met yours in a sweet, tender kiss. he still held your cheek, so soft it was like he was afraid he might break you. your lips parted but your faces stay close to each other, eyes remaining closed for a matter of seconds to relish in the moment. “was that… okay?” sam asked, not wanting to make you uncomfortable.

“of course it was okay.” you closed the distance between your lips again, and sam’s other hand raised to comb itself into your hair, his other hand moving from your cheek to rest on your waist. the kiss was short and sweet again, neither of you wanted to rush things.

“y/n?”

“yeah?”

“back at the festival, before the show.. you were about to tell me something.”

“oh.. yeah. i’ve been thinking… and today really made up my mind… can i… come with you?” your life these past few days had been some of the best in your life. sure, there was danger but… at the end of it you had truly done something. you had saved lives, and you truly felt like you had a purpose. a purpose more than making coffee.

“are you sure that’s what you want? i don’t want to put you in danger.”

“it’s my choice, sam. and i want to do it. i know there’s danger, i don’t mind. i want to do this. and i… i want to be with you, too.”

sam placed a kiss to your forehead, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“if you’re sure.”

“i’m sure.”

comments, feedback etc always appreciated! thank you for reading!

[llillilholillill]

i want to read about jason todd of the arrowverse. I want to read about him crawling out of his grave to the world where batman, bruce, his dad, is not going to be in soon.

i want him waking up after the dip in a lazarus pit, feeling bloodlust[in arrowverse it is canon, thank you very much], meeting ra’s and nyssa and then talia. still getting trained by terrible monsters, people, who enjoy sufferings of others too much.

i want him to finish his training with all-caste, only to realize league is in shambles, some al sah-him and then al sa-her calling themselves next ra’s al ghul, with talia being banished.

i want to read about jason todd finding out his dad at whom he was so so pissed is missing. have been missing for almost two years.

seasons: 1 and ongoing

and gotham.

gotham is in fucking ruins, because there's no batman, there's no robin. there’s no alfred.

now there’s only him and barely there rumours of nightwing, protecting new york.

jason takes up the mantle. he takes up the legacy. and he hates bruce for it. but gotham and her streets are his home. even if he has to fight bloodlust tooth and nail. because he can’t. he can’t simply make another bloodbath. gotham’s streets are already soaked in too much red. and there’s still a difference for him between killing joker and killing black mask.

he tries to look for bruce, managing one crazy case after another, almost drowning in the filth that flooded the streets when no one had been looking. he tries to look for dick. for brother that hated him at the beginning yet started looking out for him at the end. but he finds a teen instead. genius teen who has so much photos of him as robin, of bruce as batman, of dick as robin and nightwing. of him as red bat.

his name is tim drake, he’s skinny and has no self-preservation skills, his parents are neglectful jerks that still love their son somehow. he becomes jason’s robin. red robin. light in the dark alleyways. hope in the hearts of gothamites. torn in rogues’ plans. safe haven in jason’s life that calms his bloodlust.

batman needs robin.

red bat, too, needs one.

even if stories about them are a hoax as far as everyone believes.

they hear from nightwing. or well more like jason gets jumped and almost electrocuted by him. thank fuck for red robin, his birdarangs and bright yellow cape. dick doesn’t trust him until he sees empty coffin and dna test. jason really can’t blame him.

year after kate kane finds the cave.

now there’s batwoman. more freaks. and more whispered rumours about existence of bats and birds.

then there’re arrow and flash in his city with flying alien in blue and red with ‘s’ on her chest.

and jason realises shit is going to go down, because it’s just a begining. there's no ending in sight, no bruce in sight.

only him, dick, tim, kate. and other vigilantes who know nothing about how gotham works so they really should get the fuck out of here right this second.

[livingforstars]

The Barren Moon - October 31st, 1996.

"The above photo, taken as the Apollo 17 astronauts orbited the Moon in 1972, depicts the stark lunar surface around the Eratosthenes and Copernicus craters. Many similar images of a Moon devoid of life are familiar to denizens of the space age. Contrary to this modern perception, life on the Moon was reported in August of 1835 in a series of sensational stories first published by the New York Sun - apparently intended to improve the paper's circulation. These descriptions of lunar life received broad credence and became one of the most spectacular hoaxes in history. Supposedly based on telescopic observations, the stories featured full, lavish accounts of a Moon with oceans and beaches, teeming with plant and animal life and climaxing with the report of sightings of groups of winged, furry, human-like creatures resembling bats! Within a month the hoax had been revealed but the newspaper continued to enjoy an increased readership. Though barren, the Moon remains a popular setting for science fiction stories and extra-terrestrial adventures."

[permetutotheworld]

for marauders halloween im doing a thing

send me a song and ill try to relate it to them

EG- the hoax taylor swift: and ill give an analysis

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@the-eclipse-is-in-me

@universegod8

@delusional-with-mel

@thetorturedwritersclub

@darwizzylover

@underratedalpaca

@nyx-taylors-version

@georgiaspeachy

@cool-lesbian-is-here

@4phr0d1t3s-child

@sassyphantomking

@kimdourden

@g1rasol

@forever-in-the-stxs

@rileywritesreblogs

@rainbowphades

@monowritestoomuch

@randominternetdog

@remuslupinkinnie-1979

@alphabetically-deranged

@jess-quillkiller

@pumpkin-gizzards

@novassann

@athena-of-ionia

@the-thing-in-the-dark

@the-woild-is-y-erster

@seewead-brian

@imma-be-an-enderman

@phoen1xr0se

@my-castles-crumbling

@degrading-m0ss

@g0blinm0de

@thatonegirlineveryfandom

@guesswhojusttt

@princesspeachthefroggy

@estherstarlight

@soupdeewoop

@bisexual-bat

@ivys-head-is-spinning

@marsmarauders

@stars-on-my-bedroom-ceiling

@breakthekeyandbehappy

@katya-is-cool

@kawaiibarty

@starsandmarsbars

@ravenwordss

@icarus-last-fall

@daddysclownboy

@mae-occasionally-reads

@aboooods-blog

@fruity-pontmercy

@yourlocalbadgerscales

@bell-jarring

@aca-ttaka

@garden-of-runar

@mountainrusing

@goobsie0

@mun-urufu

@marylily-my-beloved

@xenocollector

@dolokhoov

@ieatglowsticks

@uponthebarricade

@ashstillalive

@definitelynotawerewolf103

@cheekyboybeth

@fulladeroure

@irritatedthyme

@theoristswan5683

@thebookshoparoundthecorner

@faith-and-fairy-dust

@inezrable

@pycnanthemum

@almost-emerald-eyes

@rafaelthesilly

@possessedanddepressed

@ciorran

[hllywdwhre]

Hoax

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x fem!reader

Summary: You debate leaving your identity as Batgirl behind for a certain villain that has caught your eye.

Warnings: None; let me know if I missed any

Word Count: 641

Notes: Credit to @slut4thebroken for the ‘baby bat’ nickname 🫶🏻 it’s now a favorite trope of mine with Crane

Based on the song ‘hoax’ by Taylor Swift.

My only one

My kingdom come undone

My broken drum

You have beaten my heart

Morals. You couldn’t let yours lapse. Your morals are what caused you to start working with Bruce in the first place, yet every time he called you “Baby Bat”, you felt your heart flutter in a way you knew you shouldn’t.

He was terrorizing the city with a plan to unleash a deadly amount of fear into the streets. It would cause Gotham to fall into something beyond anarchy and the cure would never be ready in enough time for you to stop it. It was terrorism, there was nothing else to describe it.

Yet, here you sat, with him standing in front of you, a look that was equal parts teasing and knowing on his face.

“You can’t ask me to stop being Batgirl, I can’t do it.” Your voice shook as you sat on his bed next to him.

“So your morals stop you from giving up Batgirl, but not from fucking and falling for the Scarecrow?” He asked, the familiar taunting emphasis on his alter ego’s name. The look on his face matched the taunting tone.

“There has to be a middle ground somewhere…” you began, voice desperate, “I won’t help Br- Batman when it comes to Scarecrow’s plots, but I won’t help you with them, either. I stay on the sidelines and only aid him in taking down others,” you offered, trying to come up with something that allowed you to keep Batgirl and Jonathan.

“You know that can’t be done. I work with others and they’re going to work with me,” he pointed out.

You let silence fill the air for your response, and for once, he didn’t fill the air with a know-it-all or sarcastic reply. He allowed your silence to sit.

Weeks later and you were sitting by someone’s side, watching as the city went into chaos.

“And your kingdom crumbles…” Jonathan said in a low voice that was distorted by the mask he wore.

The words sent a pang through your heart, but you ignored it.

“It was going to crumble anyways,” you replied with an equally distorted voice.

“Let’s move,” he told you, grabbing your hand and standing.

You stood up and followed him through one of the many tall buildings that filled Gotham, finding your horses in the lobby of the building, and moving to guide them outside before a third party made their presence known to the two of you.

“I thought it was you… I didn’t want to believe it,” Bruce said, causing you and Jonathan to whip around and look at where he was perched on one of the desks.

“Don’t,” Jonathan warned, his voice even more menacing while it was distorted.

As much as he had mocked you for the way your morals had caused such a…tumultuous beginning to your relationship, he didn’t allow for others to do the same.

“You traded one set of wings for another, and in doing so helped bring the downfall of Gotham,” Bruce said, his eyes behind the Batman mask being trained on you. “From Batgirl to the Sparrow…” he trailed off.

“You always underestimated her,” Jonathan said, stepping slightly in front of you, as if trying to protect you. “Do you understand why it’s now Sparrow?”

Bruce shook his head.

“Because Sparrows are often seen as harmless birds,” Jonathan answered, allowing your hand to rest on his arm as he continued on, “but in many cultures they represent death. That’s what you saw her as when she joined your side. A helper. Not a fighter that could bring more to you. You were afraid to weaponize her, but I saw the other side of her. The one that could be dangerous.”

He saw the side of you Bruce was afraid to weaponize, but he didn’t view it as a weapon. He saw all of you and viewed it as you.

[bat-hoax]

Digitized+stitched the Rouge doodle in my sketchbook for a one off shirt

[angstandhappiness]

LMAO

How did Rouge managed to live with Shadow’s borderline silver fetish for so long? 

id prefer if you didnt call it that, thanks but

she used to be able to get him to take it off whenever he was at home, insisting he was safe there, but then hoax entered his life and made rouges life 10 times harder

[spectralseekerscarlett]

MOTHMAN

The Mothman is another fascinating cryptid with a rich history of sightings and lore. Here’s a detailed look at the Mothman:

Origins and History: The legend of the Mothman began in Point Pleasant, West Virginia, in the mid-1960s. The first reported sighting occurred on November 12, 1966, when five men digging a grave saw a man-like figure with wings. The most famous sighting happened on November 15, 1966, when two young couples reported a large flying creature with glowing red eyes.

Physical Description: Witnesses describe the Mothman as a humanoid figure standing between 6 to 7 feet tall, with a wingspan of 10 to 15 feet. Its most distinctive features are its large, glowing red eyes and its ability to fly at high speeds, often described as having bat-like or moth-like wings.

Behavior and Sightings: The Mothman is often reported to be seen around the Point Pleasant area, particularly near the old TNT area, a former World War II munitions site. Sightings often describe the creature as being able to fly without flapping its wings and emitting a high-pitched screech. It is sometimes seen standing in the middle of the road or chasing cars at high speeds.

Explanations and Theories: There are several theories about what the Mothman could be. Some suggest it might be a species of large bird, such as a sandhill crane or an owl, misidentified due to its unusual size and behavior. Others believe it could be a supernatural entity or an alien. Skeptics often attribute sightings to mass hysteria or hoaxes.

Cultural Impact: The Mothman has become a significant part of Point Pleasant’s identity, with annual festivals, a museum, and a statue dedicated to the creature. The legend was popularized by John Keel's book "The Mothman Prophecies," which was later adapted into a film in 2002. The Mothman has also appeared in various other media, including television shows, documentaries, and podcasts.

The Silver Bridge Collapse: One of the most tragic events associated with the Mothman is the collapse of the Silver Bridge on December 15, 1967, which resulted in the deaths of 46 people. Some believe that the Mothman sightings were an omen warning of the impending disaster, while others see it as a coincidence.

The Mothman remains one of the most intriguing and enduring cryptids, with ongoing interest and research into its origins and sightings.

[blackbird5154]

Another fan theory about Square Hammer

At first glance, in the music video, we have two Papas confronting each other. Terzo-the-actor is terrified that the plot of the movie has gone off script, and then he is haunted by his demonic counterpart. But remember how the music video ends: Spectre and Papa-the-actor look at each other, and the same fire glances in their eyes.

What if Papa is the one actually running this whole demonstration? There was a projector in the cinema theater that at one point was engulfed in green lightning bolts. Green lightning is Papa's power, right? What if the huge figure in the sky was not a ghost, but a projection?

The whole thing looks like a spectacular hoax conceived by Papa. Let's remember that he's something of a Batman (there's a reason the ghost-signal, similar to the bat-signal, appears in the music video). Papa leads the life of a successful actor/singer, drives a limousine, and at night fights the local cultists/oligarchs in the guise of Misterious Spectre, according to the paper. And he clearly doesn't need anyone to know that Bruce Wayne and Batman are the same person.

This seems like a modus operandi of exactly that character. He unleashes his huge projection on the city to create an alibi for himself. Batman can't be Bruce, since they were seen in the same location. Ozymandias can't be the villain, because he himself was the target of an assassination attempt (which he staged himself). Recall how Spectre stretched his arm out of the screen and reached into the audience, but without reaching Papa. Remember how Papa was demonstratively frightened and with what a calm face he let that hand pass over him.

Now back to the beginning. In the City, Papa has quarreled with the local rulers and is at war with them. He seeks to take away their power (energy supply/authority), and he's like Prometheus for stealing a piece of celestial fire and running away with it. Question: what for was all this demonstration over the city and what did Papa really want to pull off while everyone was distracted by the kaiju ghost and panicking? Was it an act of intimidation or a distraction so Papa-the-actor could fulfill his real plan? And what does this have to do with Cardinalis cardinalis?

[justmystyles]

Can you make Harry paint me like one of his French girls? 🥵

Ooh La La

read my other work here

pairing: Harry Styles x plus size reader

word count: 1.2k

summary: after a revelation on movie night, you and Harry decide to reenact one of the scenes.

warnings: a couple of curse words, and nudity.

a/n: love love love this ask! ngl, there have been a couple of pictures and videos where i've genuinely seen a resemblance to titanic Leo, and middle school me came out of hiding to thank me for my stedfast taste in men.

tags: @allthelovehes @ameerakane20 @ash-craze @bethanysnow @blue-ballad @brightlightsinlife @creativelyeva @cute-as-ducks420 @fanficismydrug @gem1712 @golden-hoax @gothmingguk @groovychaosavenue @hillzrry @iceebabies @indierockgirrl @jerseygirlinca @jng4kook @jooniesbabie @kaverichauhan @lexiecamposv @mrs-anna-styles211994 @n0vaj3an @ravenclawdirectioner @stylesfeverr @superchrystaldrug @tenaciousperfectionunknown @tiaamberxx @thechaoticjoy @theekyliepage @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @youknowwhaaat

“I just brought the whole bottle this time, so we don’t have to keep pausing it.” Harry announced as he returned to the living room. He handed you the glass of wine he had refilled for you while placing the rest of the bottle on the table beside him. 

“Okay, but you didn’t have to pause it. You’ve seen this movie how many times?” You tease as he takes a seat on the couch, pulling your legs back into his lap. 

Harry gasps dramatically, bringing his hand to his chest. “It’s Titanic you don’t just walk away from Titanic!” 

You roll your eyes, taking a sip from your glass as you resume the movie. Harry had a few days off, so you were enjoying the time locked away from the world, watching movies, drinking wine and enjoying each other’s company. 

As the movie continued, Harry was absentmindedly rubbing your calves, eyes focused on the television. You suddenly noticed something causing your gaze to move back and forth between the screen and Harry’s face multiple times.

He finally noticed, turning his attention to you with a curious expression. “You alright?” 

“Yeah,” you smirked. “I just, with your hair like that you kind of give off like these Leo, Jack Dawson vibes.”

Harry arched a brow at you. “Oh really?” You giggled and nodded your head. “Is this your way of asking me to paint you like one of my French girls?” You shrug coyly and bat your eyelashes. “I’d be down.” 

“Yeah?” You ask. This wasn’t actually where you expected this conversation to go, you were just making an observation. But now that he’s brought it up, the idea kind of excites you.

“Yeah,” he responded with a cocky smirk. “But you have to ask the right way.” 

You let out a bark of laughter, but his face doesn’t falter and you can tell that he means it. You take another sip of wine before placing the glass on the end table next to you. You pull your feet out of Harry’s lap and tuck them underneath you, crawling closer to Harry, just shy of meeting nose to nose. 

“Harry,” you say in a breathy whisper. “I want you to draw me like one of your French girls.” 

A low growl emerges from the back of his throat before he pulls you in for a deep kiss, resting his hand on the back of your head to hold you in place. When he finally lets you go, you pull away to see him smiling. “Go get ready and meet me back here.” 

You saunter out of the room, putting an extra sway in your hips knowing that Harry was watching. You hurry into the bedroom, where you undress and place your robe on, tying it in front of you. 

When you return, you find Harry placing a chair in front of the couch. You lean against the doorframe and clear your throat. He looks up and takes you in from head to toe, he looks you in the eyes and gives you a lopsided grin. 

“Madame,” he steps up to you. He takes your hand, lifting it to his lips to brush a kiss across your knuckles. He then leads you to the couch. 

You play with the tie of your robe, suddenly feeling bashful. You’re not sure why, it’s not like Harry had never seen you naked before. He was just usually also naked, there wasn’t any balance in this scenario. “Is this weird? This is kind of weird, right?” You look up at Harry with some uncertainty in your eyes. 

“We don’t have to do this if it makes you uncomfortable, love.” He places a hand on your back, stroking in soft circles. 

“No no no, I want to. Sorry.” You move to the other end of the couch where your wine glass lies, throwing your head back and finishing the contents. 

Harry chuckles at the display. “Did that help?” The laughter dies as you untie the robe and let it fall to the floor. His eyes roam every inch of your body. You feel a nervous thrill run through you. “Wow,” he gasped. 

Your nose crinkles as a blush fills your cheeks. “So… uh, where do you want me?” 

He continues to stare for a moment before your words register in his mind. “Oh, um, just right there on the couch.” He points to the couch, picking up the pad placed on his chair and taking a seat. 

You shift around for a few moments trying to find a position that is comfortable, but also as flattering as possible. “Is this alright?” You ask once you’ve finally found a position you think will work. 

“Fucking perfect,” Harry says, his voice just above a whisper. 

You smile softly and watch on as he observes you for another moment. You clear your throat as a reminder of what the whole point of this was. He blinks a couple of times, smiling sheepishly before taking pen to paper and beginning to draw. 

As Harry continued his masterpiece, you watched on. He seemed to actually be taking this seriously. You giggled when you saw his tongue poke out of the side of his mouth in concentration. When he heard that, he looked up with a furrowed brow. Your eyes went wide, and you mouthed an apology to him. He narrowed his eyes jokingly before getting back to work. 

After a while, Harry slips his pen behind his ear. “Finished. Come take a look.” You stand from the couch and reach for your robe. “Ah ah ah,” Harry stops you. “Stay like that and come over here.” He pats his hand against his thigh.

You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth and comply, stepping closer and sitting in his lap. His arm immediately comes around your waist, and he presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Alright Picasso, let’s see what you’ve got.” You lean into his chest as he flips the pad showing you his drawing. 

You look it over, quickly rolling your lips between your teeth to stop you from laughing. He really did try, you didn’t want to make him feel bad. 

“Well? What do you think?” He asks. 

“I can see that you put a lot of effort into it,” you say, trying to stay positive. 

“But?” He asks, knowing what you’re doing. 

You let out a loud breath. “But it’s really good that you’ve got that whole singing thing to fall back on.” When he laughs at your comment, you can’t help but join in. “I will say, it is good to finally find something you’re bad at.”

His eyes went wide in faux shock. “I mean I know it’s not amazing, but I didn’t think it was bad!” 

“Bull shit,” you laugh, pressing a kiss to his lips. You try to pull away, but he follows your mouth, kissing you even deeper. When you finally separate to catch your breath, you bring your hand do the collar of his shirt. “How about we even the score?” 

“Why? Are you going to draw me now?” He asked with an arched brow. 

“I’ll do whatever you want as long as it gets you out of these clothes.” 

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Brief history of this request! 🤡 I originally wrote this as a response to it; the original interaction went up a little while before the book 7 part 3 update was released… and that update happened to give us a lot more information about the Shroud family dynamics. It was unfortunately bad timing!

This post is a rewrite which incorporates the new Shroud family canon from the update.

***Contains major plot spoilers for book 6 of the main story!***

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

The students of Night Raven College had become accustomed to rather odd sightings—so when young Ortho Shroud sailed by them with two floating tablets in tow, no one batted an eye at it. That shut-in brother of his, the rumor was, maybe he multiplied. In a sense, there was truth to that theory.

“It’s so nice to have the whole family together!” gushed a woman’s squeaky voice from one device. “Isn’t it, Papa? Everyone’s so busy, we hardly get to do these kinds of things anymore.”

Beside her, her husband cleared his throat. He replied with a blunt, somewhat stiff, “Mmm, quite. It is… certainly a different environment than the laboratory.”

Idia didn’t know which was worse—his mother’s smothering cuteness, or his father’s calculating aloofness. The love and the logic. In anime and manga, they were amusing enough archetypes. But in reality? Cringe with a capital C, especially when they were acting as a unit in public.

He could feel the heat of his peers’ gazes directed at him as they passed like phantoms trailing over a graveyard. The curiosity, the whispers, the stares. The only thing that was keeping Idia sane was the safety offered by his tablet’s screen.

Hunkered down in his Ignihyde bedroom, he was safe from direct judgment—but not free of the embarrassment his parents provided. No, that was always eternal.

“Wh-Why did you guys even bothering showing up on the NRC Family Day banner…” Idia grumbled under his breath. Man, the one time I didn’t want to pull the SSRs… and they came home anyway!

There was an appalled gasp from the end of the line. “Of course Mama and Papa came! It’s Family Day. It’s a time us parents to see what mischief our genius little boys have gotten up to while they’re away!”

Idia couldn’t see his mother’s image on her screen, but he could only imagine she was winking in a conspiring manner to Mr. Shroud. He would give an awkward smile beneath his helmet and probably say something in agreement with her.

“Ideally, we’ve have liked to come in person,” his mother continued.

Mr. Shroud cleared his voice and neatly cut in. “However, with the recent incident… well, let’s just say we’ve had to lay low and wait for the dust to settle. My staff are working overtime moderating the metrics of this situation.”

“Quite right, dear! We can’t exactly waltz into Night Raven College! It would put us at risk of being scrutinized, especially with all the viral internet rumors swirling around.”

“Shadowy secret organization puppeteers Twisted Wonderland,” Mr. Shroud recited, shaking his head in disapproval, “Lizard people real, global warming is a hoax, tap water turning the frogs gay… Where do the youths come up with such preposterous claims?”

They’re covering their bases, Idia told himself. After that incident… We never wiped the subjects’ memories with the River Lethe. It exposes a chink in our armor—they could talk, spread what they know.

Then… Th-There’s no way people wouldn’t be curious. Internet sleuths with nothing better to do will dig up dirt from the most obscure corners of the web and tout it as truth!! That’s why even STYX has been having such a hard time containing it.

“What are you gonna do? Haters gonna hate.” Idia shrugged. “… I get it. You don’t have to go explaining yourselves to us. It’s a waste of breath.”

Cynicism slipped in at the last second. A habit, hard to squash.

Ortho chimed in, clearing the air with his cheer. “Nii-san’s right! What’s important is that we get to spend time together, bonding like any other family does.”

He extended his arms to them, as if reaching for hands to hold. Bur though there was nothing for the android to grasp, there was no hiding his effervescent smile. “I’m really happy that we can do this!”

Idia’s heart, so familiar with the ice that encased the Phantoms and the chill of Tartarus, melted. “Ortho…”

An ear-splitting squeal came from one of the tablets. “Kyaaaah! You’re so cute, Or-kun!! Mama wishes she was right there on Sage’s Island to squish your little face!! You too, Idia-kun! Don’t think you can escape from your mother!”

Mr. Shroud’s voice dragged into a patient sigh. “We discussed keeping a low profile.”

“Aww, but papa!” (Idia could practically hear the pout in her tone.) “It’s a parent’s instinct to want to hug and shower her children with love~”

“Y-You’re going to attract unwanted attention though…” Idia nervously pointed out—one thing he could see eye-to-eye with his father on. They were split down the middle.

Through his camera, he could already spot passerbys slowing and staring. Sweat collected on his palms, on his forehead.

“What’s going on over there…?”

“There’s a boy with blue flames for hair.”

“Is he a Shroud?”

“He has weird things floating around him.”

Unperturbed, Ortho waved at the curious gawkers. “Hello!! I’m spending time with my family today!” he announced with his full chest out.

“Aw, what an adorable kid.”

“Are they phoning in? Gosh, they must be busy—but they still care enough to attend. That’s great!”

“Have fun with your family, champ!!”

Eh? Ehhhhh?! What’s what this after-school special I’m seeing play out?! Everyone’s so upbeat and sparkling… a-almost like one of Cater-shi’s impossible Magicam filters was just applied to the whole campus!!

Something in Idia wanted to scoff at the sight, to dismiss it outright. For as long as he could remember, the Shrouds had been shunned by the sunlight. A bloodline cursed by the gods. Never to be heroes, never normal.

But if Ortho is happy, then… this was all worth it, wasn’t it?

Yet something else, too, called out. Some small, almost forgotten, fragmented part of him. A small flower growing in the darkest pits of the Underworld.

Hope.

A zero that had suddenly turned into 0.001%. Connected again, heart to heart—even if only for a single fleeting moment.

“… Dad, mom, Ortho,” Idia said slowly, “we can’t stand around like NPCs waiting to be talked to. We’ll miss out on the limited time event. Let’s go, the whole party.”

“Nii-san…!!”

Ortho’s whole face lit up, his joy turning absolutely electric. He nearly tackled Idia’s device as he seized it and spun in a giddy circle. There was laughter from the younger Shroud, and confused sputtering from the elder one.

“Would you look at that, Papa?” Mrs. Shroud giggled softly to herself. “It looks like our boys have become such good friends.”

“… That’s good,” her husband replied. “I was concerned that Idia was still beside himself with grief—but thankfully, he’s made tremendous progress.”

“Ehehehe. It’s all thanks to Or-kun coming into our lives. He ended up being the password to unlocking Idia’s almost impenetrable fire walls.”

“Indeed. Our children have come a long way.” The corners of Mr. Shroud’s lips threatened to pull up and back. “No longer boys, but young men.”

[joyfullywizard]

Hi! You have very good detailed level-headed takes about Dracula adaptations. I appreciate it. Could you tell what people often misunderstand about Dracula adaptations or get wrong?

Hi! You are welcome and thanks for nice words. As for what people misunderstand or get wrong about adaptations….well…in my opinion it's the following:

1) In many cases when people discuss adaptations, it becomes quite clear that either a person didn't actually watch that many adaptations or sometimes didn't even watch the particular adaptations this person is talking about -and that's ok not to watch every single adaptation out there, unless there is some broad generalization being made about adaptations, while the person making such generalization watched like maybe 3 adaptations tops. And it's specially bizarre to discuss and make definite statements about particular adaptations, when you haven't actually watched them. That creates some really false or outlandish claims.

2) People often miss that adaptations are not made in a vacuum and often ignore the historic and social context and circumstances and morals which existed when particular adaptations were made. Like, for example,  I saw people being “why 1931 movie Dracula is like that? Why does he look like that? Why is it set in 1930s? Why Seward is aged up to be Mina’s father? Etc.”  And the truth is….there are pretty logical plain explanations for all of that. Great Depression in US prevented movie from  having a big budget, so they couldn’t set it in period setting of XIX c. as it would have been too expensive. At the same time they had a very successful popular play adaptation of Dracula on Broadway, which opened in 1927 – the play already set the events in then-present day. Again, for simplicity of staging and costs. So they took that play as foundation for 1931 movie and set events in 1930s. Dracula’s looks in 1931 movie? Came directly from the play-cape, tuxedo, widow’s peak and all. Bela Lugosi who played Dracula in 1931 movie also played Dracula on stage in that very play. Seward being aged up and being Mina’s father? Also came directly from the play. And they aged him up and made him the father again for play for  simplicity reasons-in order to have a smaller cast of characters, streamlining the plot and all existing good characters being very easily explainable to the audience. Why do the producers latched on the adapting play more than the novel? Because at that time it was fashionable in movie industry. The number of sound pictures of the various horror and mystery variety had preceded Dracula, including such stuff  as The Terror, Stark Mad, The Cat Creeps, The Bat Whispers, and The Gorilla. Most of these were adapted from Broadway plays in which the scary stuff was intermingled with comedy and anything that appeared paranormal was always revealed as the machinations of malevolent plotting human beings. 1931 Dracula movie on the other hand was  absolutely fresh in a way that while it was also based a lot on a play, the audience got a character  who was a real  vampire and not just another crook in disguise -and that’s also one of the reasons why  1931 movie gave Dracula more screen time. Cause play did it, yes, but also because movie version was supposed to properly convince moviegoers that Dracula actually was a purely supernatural character and not just another hoax.

Same thing was happening with other Dracula adaptations – there were always particular reasons stemmed from the time period and social context and cinematic and cultural trends, which affected how this or that adaptation was made. Basically, there are always  very concrete and plain explanations why certainly choices were made, and those are never simply “that screenwriter or director just woke up one day and decided to make that particular choice in adaptation just because”. Not to mention I saw that people sometimes treat Dracula adaptation as if some form of conspiracy exists behind them, and that’s simply not true and is  explained, again by  the historic, social, cultural  trends as well as by the commercial side of the things.