#cold light of the day

[christmasxmas]

[serpentface]

The pylidaigh, a type of vampiric snow ghost, as imagined in folklore in and around the Highlands.

This is a ghost believed to come into being when a person dies in the snow and their body is not found before their soul (still trapped without its funeral rites) 'freezes' inside of it. The body then reanimates into a pylidaigh's twisted form. It looks like someone who slowly died of starvation, just a thin layer of flesh over bones. Its skin is as white as the snow itself, so pale it can blend seamlessly into a blizzard. Most of its body appears subtly stretched and lanky, save for its exceptionally unsubtle long, skinny arms, which drag on the ground behind it when it walks. After a big meal of blood, its belly swells like the abdomen of a tick.

A pylidaigh can only tread across snow and ice, and so doorways and windows are best kept clear of snowfall during the winter in order to prevent it from reaching inside. It mostly comes out to hunt during blizzards when there is little that can prevent it from catching its victims.

In spite of its fragile appearance, a pylidaigh is supernaturally strong, and can run at great speeds when it wants to. No mortal weapons can pierce its body, nor can any bonds known to craftsmen hold it in place. It is usually said that chains forged like iron but made out of ice can bind a pylidaigh and render it immobile, but this smithing technique remains tragically elusive to the average joe.

This ghost is either cast as a wildly dangerous but tragic figure, or one that is more simply malicious. In either case, it is described as experiencing nothing but bitter cold. It shivers endlessly. It retains distant memories of what it was to be alive, and it is motivated by a futile desperation to experience the feeling of warmth again.

In more sympathetic framings, it is described as using its freaky gibbon arms to capture its victims and pull them into an embrace, rather innocently trying to warm itself against their body. This inevitably fails, and the embrace becomes a bone crushing squeeze. When that too fails to warm the ghost, it rips out the person's throat and drinks their blood until the victim is as cold and drained as the pylidaigh itself.

In other cases, this more pitiable narrative of a ghost seeking warmth with no comprehension of its actions is discarded in favor of making it purely monstrous. Here it is a type of vampire with an insatiable thirst, practically a physical manifestation of the worst of winter itself. Some tales acknowledge both variants, suggesting a pylidaigh's violent attempts to warm itself may be initially devoid of malice, but turns into an act of furious jealousy of the warmth of the living after years of suffering.

The only (more or less) surefire method to permanently kill a roaming pylidaigh involves trapping it with fire. They are attracted to any source of heat, and will attempt to warm themselves with the flames (if not tempted away by a juicy living human body). The fire itself cannot kill them (as the sheer cold of their body is more powerful even than flame) but they can be trapped if kept near the fire long enough for the snow it depends upon to melt. This does not kill the pylidaigh either. The monster will remain in stuck in place (and potentially become a threat again if it snows more) for the duration of the winter. Only when the spring comes and all the snow melts does it revert into a normal human carcass (though mysteriously invulnerable to decay), at which point it can be cremated.

Pylidaigh in the wilds also revert to a human corpse during the snowless seasons, but will roam again each following winter unless it is burnt in the interim. It is of critical importance that any human corpse found in high mountain pasture is cremated- not only out of respect for the poor soul trapped as an earthbound ghost, but to prevent the threat of the possible dormant pylidaigh emerging next winter.

[lalaballa]

Goes well with Alex's "muscular regrets" exploding like "american sports"

one of my most tinhatted milex takes is that when miles mentions "the sins of Cincinnati" in cold light of the day is actually referring to the tlsp performance in cleveland. because bffr how much time has miles kane spent in Ohio.

[an-established-butt-dent]

Solas and Inquisitor Lavellan

[gutsby]

Like Father, Like Son

Pairing: bfd!Joel x Reader

Summary: When your boyfriend won’t, his father will.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Age gap. Dad[dy] kink. Infidelity — Reader cheats on her boyfriend with Joel. Pervy!Joel. Cocky!Joel. Subby!Reader. Finger-sucking. Spitplay. Joel c*ms on your tummy then fucks it back in.

Note: I was about to take a nap today, and this thought popped into my head. Couldn’t rest until I wrote it out LOL

Word count: 1.3k

The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, apparently.

At a staggering 6’4, Jimmy Miller is the single tallest boy in your class; his father, Joel, is scarcely an inch taller. Both of them prefer to keep their hair cut pretty short. Their shoulders are broad, and their jaws have a square-ish set—Jimmy’s chin and neck are dusted in the darkest black stubble imaginable, and Joel’s is all salt-and-pepper, thanks to the passage of nearly fifty years.

Jimmy plays football and lacrosse, and Joel runs the equivalent of a 5K on a daily basis, in addition to more strength training and core exercises than you’d think possible for a man even half his age. They both are able to boast physiques that are fit, taut, toned, and strong.

The only area where the elder Miller might have your boyfriend beat is in the way the tip of his cock can reach your cervix—and keep hitting it, repeatedly, in just the way you like it, to make you cum quicker than anything.

You shouldn’t have known what that felt like.

Your first instinct when Jimmy rolled off of you tonight and collapsed into the space beside you in bed should not have been to wait until he fell asleep and then sneak off silently to his father’s room. That was wrong of you.

This is borderline evil, what you’re doing with your hips in the heat and comfort of this oversized bed. Joel is smug.

He has a firm hold on your thighs watching you ride him.

“That’s it,” he drawls. He lifts his right hand and swiftly brings it down to smack the skin, and then he kneads. He nods, like this is something that he taught you to do. “Up an’ down, darlin’. Give that pussy what she needs.”

You really wish he wouldn’t say it like that.

Like you were in some way wanting. Deprived.

Like your boyfriend—his son—couldn’t make you moan and whine in the same way you’re doing it right now, cunt split in two by Joel’s big, thick, throbbing cock and your juices leaking out all over his belly. Jimmy’d been inside you, too, no more than twenty, twenty-five minutes prior, so Joel clearly wasn’t the only one responsible for this mess. He just helped finish it.

“I love him, Mr. Miller. I—I—I really do,” you whimper. With one shaky set of fingers, you squeeze your breast, and you feel a web of pleasure blossom down from your chest to the wet, greedy hole where you have him deep.

“‘M’sure you do.” Joel grins. “Gonna get hitched, buy a nice, big house, and have a boatload of kids? Is that it?”

“That’s what it’s gonna be.”

You bite your lip staring down at him, bracing your free hand on that broad, hairy chest, and then you nod your head, as if to convince yourself of what you just told him.

Then Joel flips you both.

He folds you in half, so your knees are pressed up against your chest and your feet are poised in the air, pointed to him. Joel hums, and he keeps on fucking you, not seeming to take issue with how loud the sounds of your cunt sucking him in happen to be. If anything, he likes it.

Your walls clench around him for what feels like the fiftieth time, and you writhe underneath him. You moan.

“Gonna leave this dick alone, too? Once you’re married, I mean.” Joel’s tone teases you. It’s steeped in incredulity and the experience of being over thirty years your senior.

“Y-Yes,” you stutter.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he simpers.

Then he pulls a long, sad face like this is the worst news that he’s heard all day, and he leans forward until his chest is flush with the backs of your legs and his cock is driven in to the hilt. He cups your face with his big hands.

“I’m gonna miss this pussy,” he says. Sighing. “Bad.”

“Daddy.”

You can’t help but say it when one hand drifts down and starts to toy with your nipple, and the thrusts keep coming in. The bed shakes with every stroke, and you can tell that you’re close to coming apart at any second.

Joel slides the touch that was cupping your cheek to stuff fingers in your mouth. He makes sure that it’ll stifle your cries—he knows you like to scream when you cum, and though he normally loves to hear it, along with all the noises your pussy makes getting stuffed, tonight he’d rather not have to fight his son. He fucks you harder.

He smiles.

“So when it’s late at night—” Another thrust. Another short, sharp intake of breath as you bite him and whine. “—and my son gets what’s his and leaves you needy—”

You bare your teeth and practically keen as Joel fucks you so deep that you can feel him in your lungs. His length drags in and out, in and out, until the imprint of every vein must be seared into your wet, velvety walls.

“Mr. Miller,” you moan, words garbled.

Joel shoves those fingers even further in your mouth at the same time he bottoms out inside your cunt, and both orifices leak with moisture. He licks the spit trickling out at either side of your lips, the old, sick bastard that he is, and you feel that silver-flecked beard tickle your chin. You can sense a little twitch in his cock from root to tip.

Your eyes roll, and your toes curl tight, the same as they’ve done for him the last three nights in a row.

No, this isn’t Jimmy.

Try as you might to pretend that it is, it just—

“—ain’t enough for ya, is it?” Joel must read your mind. “Jimmy ain’t doin’ ya like this, an’ he never fuckin’ will.”

The fingers slide out. They cup your chin hard instead.

“Mr. Miller, I’m gonna…” Your eyelids flutter back open.

It’s happening again. Your boyfriend’s father is balls deep, pounding you relentlessly into his bed, and your legs are pressed to either side of his neck, taking him in.

“Need a real man to make you cum, huh?”

You look up at him, eyes wide.

Between your thighs, your cunt is as stretched and sore and washed in a deep, heady pleasure as it’s ever been.

Then, you’re about to peak.

Frantically, you nod your head.

“Yes, yes, yes—Mr. Miller, make me cum.”

Joel beams. “Gonna let me fuck it in her, too?”

“Please.”

And he does.

Well, in Joel Miller’s own, particular way, he gets it inside—you cum around his cock, bliss rolling and pulsing and squeezing in time, and he lets you milk him all through it. Your walls constrict, pushing him right over the edge. Then he pulls out. Jerks his cock furiously. Lets his sticky-white spend paint your belly in the thickest, warmest ropes, until he’s completely spent. Then, no doubt thanks to the help of a Cialis or a Viagra taken earlier that night, your middle-aged man is able to stay hard for a good while longer. Keep his hypersensitized shaft in play just to make sure that he can stuff you full.

Unlike his son, Joel doesn’t do rubbers.

Unlike his son, Joel loves to play fast and loose with the term ‘pulling out,’ and when he unloads his seed all over your stomach, he makes sure that he fucks it all back in.

So, holding his still-pulsing dick by the base, Joel swipes it over where he came. Smears the stuff messily. Then, with jizz sticking to the tip and all down its length, practically soaking the whole underside of his shaft, he angles it down. He meets your gaze and slides it back in.

He pulls out, takes a little more, and pushes in again.

And again.

And again.

Eyes never leaving your own, smile growing on his lips, hips pistoning back and forth, gently, and a bevy of obscene thoughts no doubt filling his head, Joel leans in. He doesn’t stop until his nose is hovering less than an inch from yours, and then his hands slide to your thighs.

He sinks in.

He grins.

“Think my son will mind if I fuck you one more time?”

[letsbesharkfriends]

this is giving pretty man and his weird pet kind of vibes

[christmasxmas]

[livesinfantasyland]

There's just something about Will Shaw- beaten black and blue that gets me EVERY TIME!

[beyondthefold]

HENRY CAVILL as WILL The Cold Light of Day (2012) | dir. Mabrouk El Mechri

[caeyrines]

i like them a lot

[umathurwin]

ummmm. um

[nordicchristmas]

80 days left until Christmas is here ❄️

[squash3d-c3phalopod3]

I told myself I wouldn't make something for 413, but.....Davepeta.

Zoomins + Ramble below cut!

So, some of you may be wondering why June is there. Well, 1) it's her birthday, and 2) I personally headcannon that when Davepeta eventually met June, they ended up bonding.

Eventually, Davepeta helped June figure out she was a girl, and a few days before the (dubiously canon) Rosemary wedding, June ended up coming out as trans to the rest of their friend group!

I don't have a great timeline after that, but i imagine it causes quite a few revelations, which i've considered writing about if i ever feel like it.

[julialametta]

last winter / Rekawinkel / Austria / ©Julia Lametta

[icewindandboringhorror]

At what temperature INDOORS (not outdoor weather) do you start to become noticeably uncomfortable (sweaty, heavy, don't feel like doing anything, etc.) and begin trying to cool off yourself or your environment?

(Like, at what point do you start putting out fans, turning on the AC, getting ice water, etc. because the indoor room temperature has gotten too high for you?)

It's starting to get warmer weather where I live, so I was thinking about it/curious how this might vary :0

(sorry if the celsius conversions aren't entirely accurate, I just used a website to look them up/am not familiar with measuring things that way myself lol)

[christmasxmas]