#devil moon ridge

[stimvampsoda]

MARNIE "THE KID" KIDDMAN

The Horseman of Conquest

"Tell me to pull the trigger. Tell me to put a bullet in your fucking head and I'll do it."

x x x x x x x x x

[wormss-inc]

adopted children + sabe

[animusrox]

MY LETTERBOXD

TOP 10

1.    Dune: Part Two 2.    The Substance 3.    Hundreds of Beavers 4.    Anora 5.    Dìdi 6.    Nosferatu 7.    Nickel Boys 8.    The First Omen 9.    Sing Sing 10.    Civil War

GRADE A 

11.    No Other Land 12.    Robot Dreams 13.    The Peasants 14.    Conclave 15.    Smile 2 16.    Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes 17.    We Grown Now 18.    Memoir of a Snail 19.    The Last Stop in Yuma County 20.    A Real Pain 21.    It’s What’s Inside 22.    Red Rooms 23.    Sometimes I Think About Dying 24.    A Different Man 25.    Better Man 26.    The Brutalist 27.    Heretic 28.    His Three Daughters 29.    Hard Truths 30.    Evil Does Not Exist 31.    Late Night with the Devil 32.    Alien: Romulus 33.    MadS 34.    Rebel Ridge 35.    Humanist Vampire Seeking Consenting Suicidal Person 36.    Challengers 37.    Strange Darling 38.    Flow 39.    All We Imagine as Light 40.    Longlegs 41.    Saturday Night 42.    The Apprentice 43.    Terrifier 3 44.    The Seed of the Sacred Fig 45.    A Complete Unknown 46.    A Quiet Place: Day One 47.    Juror #2 48.    Wallace & Gromit: Vengeance Most Fowl 49.    Oddity 50.    Kneecap 51.    Touch 52.    Mayhem! 53.    The Order 54.    In a Violent Nature 55.    Small Things Like These 56.    Twisters 57.    Hit Man 58.    Woman of the Hour 59.    Stopmotion 60.    The Wild Robot 61.    Deadpool & Wolverine

[Tap 'Keep Reading' For My Full Graded List]

GRADE B

62.    The Devil’s Bath 63.    The Bikeriders 64.    Sasquatch Sunset 65.    The Lord of the Rings: The War of the Rohirrim 66.    Monkey Man 67.    Last Straw 68.    Abigail 69.    Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga 70.    Tiger Stripes 71.    The Book of Clarence 72.    The Instigators 73.    I’m Still Here 74.    The Coffee Table 75.    The Return 76.    Problemista 77.    Trap 78.    MaXXXine 79.    Love Lies Bleeding 80.    You’ll Never Find Me 81.    Between the Temples 82.    Marmalade 83.    Blitz 84.    Speak No Evil 85.    Asphalt City 86.    Piece By Piece 87.    Wicked Little Letters 88.    We Live in Time 89.    Super/Man: The Christopher Reeve Story 90.    V/H/S/Beyond 91.    The Dead Don’t Hurt 92.    Suncoast 93.    Maria 94.    My Old Ass 95.    Immaculate 96.    The Truth vs. Alex Jones 97.    Cuckoo 98.    Daddio 99.    We Were Dangerous 100.    The Outrun 101.    Infested 102.    Monolith 103.    Azrael 104.    The Last Showgirl 105.    Babes 106.    The Fire Inside 107.    Lisa Frankenstein 108.    Here 109.    Thelma 110.    Queer 111.    Out of Darkness 112.    Y2K 113.    Handling the Undead 114.    Bad Boys: Ride or Die 115.    I Saw the TV Glow 116.    Arcadian 117.    Transformers One 118.    Never Let Go 119.    The Piano Lesson 120.    Beverly Hills Cop: Axel F 121.    Wicked 122.    Gladiator II 123.    Carry-On 124.    Blink Twice 125.    Self Reliance 126.    Fly Me to the Moon 127.    Boy Kills World 128.    Kinds of Kindness 129.    Nutcrackers 130.    Skincare 131.    Ezra 132.    The Front Room 133.    Mothers’ Instinct 134.    Inside Out 2 135.    Omni Loop 136.    Girls State 137.    Beetlejuice Beetlejuice 138.    Your Monster 139.    Babygirl 140.    Mufasa: The Lion King 141.    The Greatest Hits 142.    Horizon: An American Saga - Chapter 1 143.    Magpie

GRADE C 

144.    The People’s Joker 145.    Nightbitch 146.    Road House 147.    Young Woman and the Sea 148.    Am I OK? 149.    Music by John Williams 150.    The Killer’s Game 151.    Oh, Canada 152.    Wolfs 153.    Sting 154.    The Idea of You 155.    Don’t Move 156.    1992 157.    Werewolves 158.    The Killer 159.    The Shadow Strays 160.    Rez Ball 161.    MoviePass, MovieCrash 162.    The Fall Guy 163.    Lee 164.    The End 165.    Godzilla × Kong: The New Empire 166.    The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare 167.    Madame Web 168.    Caddo Lake 169.    Watchmen: Chapter II 170.    Watchmen: Chapter I 171.    Salem’s Lot 172.    The Exorcism 173.    The Watchers 174.    Kill 175.    Jackpot! 176.    Rumours 177.    Damsel 178.    My Spy: The Eternal City 179.    Drive-Away Dolls 180.    IF 181.    Spaceman 182.    Joy 183.    Joker: Folie à Deux 184.    Megalopolis 185.    Monster Summer 186.    Lovely, Dark, and Deep 187.    Bob Marley: One Love 188.    Kraven the Hunter 189.    Moana 2 190.    I Used to Be Funny 191.    Goodrich 192.    September 5 193.    Hold Your Breath 194.    Apartment 7A

GRADE F

195.    The Platform 2 196.    Arthur the King 197.    Shirley 198.    Back to Black 199.    Land of Bad 200.    Poolman 201.    Emilia Pérez 202.    The Room Next Door 203.    I.S.S. 204.    Brothers 205.    Knox Goes Away 206.    Mean Girls 207.    Krazy House 208.    Slingshot 209.    Mr. Crocket 210.    Argylle 211.    Sonic the Hedgehog 3 212.    Winnie-the-Pooh: Blood and Honey 2 213.    Afraid 214.    Tuesday 215.    Spellbound 216.    Justice League: Crisis on Infinite Earths Part Three 217.    Justice League: Crisis on Infinite Earths Part Two 218.    Justice League: Crisis on Infinite Earths Part One 219.    The American Society of Magical Negroes 220.    Subservience 221.    Time Cut 222.    Night Swim 223.    Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire 224.    Red One 225.    This Is Me…Now 226.    Despicable Me 4 227.    The Union 228.    Ricky Stanicky 229.    The Beekeeper 230.    Honeymoonish 231.    Hot Frosty 232.    The Deliverance 233.    The Garfield Movie 234.    Lift 235.    Atlas 236.    Trigger Warning 237.    House of Spoils 238.    Borderlands 239.    Tarot 240.    Venom: The Last Dance

Bottom 10

241.    Imaginary 242.    Unfrosted 243.    It Ends With Us 244.    Dear Santa 245.    The Crow 246.    The Strangers: Chapter 1 247.    Harold and the Purple Crayon 248.    Rebel Moon - Part Two: The Scargiver 249.    Dirty Angels 250.    Miller’s Girl

[astra-ravana]

Witch's Marks

Throughout history, certain bodily features, marks, and signs have been associated with witchcraft. Some were used as evidence in witch trials, while others are esoteric indicators of magickal potential. This guide explores birthmarks, scars, deformities, palmistry signs, and other physical features believed to mark someone as a witch.

The Devil’s Mark (Historical Accusations)

During European and Colonial American witch trials, interrogators searched for "witch marks"—signs that a person had made a pact with the Devil. These included:

• Birthmarks, moles, or skin discolorations – Believed to be "kissed" or marked by spirits.

• Unusual scars – Especially if they did not bleed or were insensitive to pain.

• Extra nipples or "witch's teat" – Supposedly used to nurse familiars or demons.

• Cold or unbleeding spots – Accused witches were pricked with needles; if they didn’t bleed, it was considered proof of guilt.

• Webbed fingers or extra digits – Rare genetic traits mistaken for supernatural origins.

Many of these were simply natural bodily variations but were feared in times of witch hunts and superstition.

Birthmarks & Deformities (Signs of Magical Power)

In folklore, specific birthmarks were considered signs of innate witchery or past-life connections to magick:

• Crescent Moon Birthmark – A birthmark in the shape of a moon was thought to indicate a connection to lunar magick and intuition.

• Pentagram or Star-shaped Marks – Rare but sometimes reported, believed to signify natural protection and spiritual insight.

• Heart-shaped Birthmarks – Associated with love magick and emotional sensitivity.

• Red or Wine-Colored Marks (Port-Wine Stains) – In some cultures, these were seen as marks of a fire-witch or one chosen by spirits.

• Marks on the Hands or Feet – A birthmark on the palm was believed to give heightened intuition.

• Eye Discoloration (Heterochromia or Unusual Eyes) – Seen as a sign of second sight or fae lineage.

Palmistry Indicators of a Witch

Palmistry holds many signs that indicate a natural witch, healer, or mystic. The most significant ones include:

• The Mystic Cross or Secret Cross(X Between Heart & Head Lines) – A powerful mark of psychic ability and magickal talent.

• Psychic Crosses - Potent psychic ability, blessed by the planets at birth.

• The Healer’s Mark (Multiple Vertical Lines on the Mercury Mount) – Found on those gifted in energy work, spellcraft, and healing.

• The Conjure Mark - A star mark under the ring finger that indicates special talents in magick and spiritual favor.

• The Mystic M - 'M' shaped lines that indicate heightened intuition and mystical abilities.

• The Ring of Solomon (A Semi-circle Under the Index Finger) – Indicates a deep understanding of occult wisdom and esoteric arts.

• The Deep Cross - An inverted cross that symbolizes cleverness, trickiness, luck, and a connection to the crossroads.

• The Psychic Triangle - Indicator of strong psychic abilities.

• The Fate Line Merging with the Life Line – Shows a destiny closely tied to magick and spirituality.

• Astral Travel Lines - Indicator of ability to transcend time and space.

• The Debtor's Mark - Indicates a generational curse, appears as an 'X' on the thumb.

• A Star on the Mount of Moon (Near the Base of the Palm) – Indicates prophetic dreams, intuition, and a connection to spirits.

• Curved or Clawed Index Finger – Called the "witch’s finger", symbolizing strong will and magickal power.

• Unusual Fingernail Shapes – Some traditions claim long, almond-shaped, or black-ridged nails indicate magickal energy.

Facial & Eye Features of a Witch

Certain facial traits were thought to reveal innate magickal abilities:

• Different Colored Eyes (Heterochromia) – Considered a sign of foresight or fae ancestry.

• Deep-Set or Piercing Eyes – Often linked to hypnotic power and psychic perception.

• Naturally Arched or "Fox-Like" Eyebrows – Some folklore says this reveals a cunning or spellcasting nature.

• A Widow’s Peak Hairline – In some cultures, a widow’s peak was seen as a sign of powerful intuition.

Other Supernatural Bodily Features

• Toes of Equal Length (Greek Foot) – Thought to be a mark of spiritual leaders, witches, or powerful souls.

• Long or Slender Fingers – Associated with energy manipulation and spellcasting.

• Naturally Cold Hands – In some traditions, this was seen as a sign of spirit sensitivity.

• Naturally White or Silver Hair (Young Age) – Seen as a sign of wisdom beyond one's years and magical lineage.

• Unusual Hair Growth Patterns – Some cultures believed a single streak of white hair indicated past-life magic use.

• Unusually Pale or Unnaturally Dark Skin (Relative to Ancestry) – In folklore, extreme contrast in skin tone was thought to mark those "touched" by magic.

Scars & Witch Marks from Rituals

Some witches intentionally mark themselves with scars, tattoos, or ritual wounds as signs of initiation, devotion, or power. These include:

• Self-Carved Sigils or Runes – Done in blood magic or personal empowerment rituals.

• Burn Marks (Fire Walkers or Flame-Proof Witches) – Some traditions claim that a witch initiated into fire magic might have a burn-resistant patch of skin.

• Scars from Spiritual Battles or Shamanic Trials – Found in spirit workers and energy healers, especially in Indigenous traditions.

While historical witch marks were often used to persecute and harm innocent people, many esoteric traditions still recognize certain physical signs as indicators of magical gifts. Whether birthmarks, palmistry signs, or deliberate markings, these features connect people to the ancient mystical heritage of witchcraft.

Do you have any of these witch marks? Many believe that discovering such features can be a sign of magical potential, past-life witchcraft, or a deep connection to the unseen world.

[imasradiantasthesun]

District 12 Family Trees

Here are some family trees I made for my thg fic holding bright! I include a good amount of worldbuilding and fleshing out of some side characters (aka Bristel, Thom, Leevy, and Delly) in it, so I thought hey might as well draw some trees to help clarify my thinking. First, some notes on the structure:

The numbers in brackets are the characters' ages at the time of the Reaping for the 74th Hunger Games. I didn't feel like assigning specific birthdays for everyone, hence just the ages lol. Some characters' ages differ from canon in my fic: Katniss, Peeta, Delly, and Madge are all 18, Prim is 13, and Rory is 12

My use of "clan" here is super arbitrary, it doesn't actually mean anything lol

Names in quotation marks are nicknames/what they go by

Plenty of people in the older generations are dead, again I just didn't feel like specifying it unless it's relevant

Some notes on my decision-making in general:

I accidentally made Katniss and Peeta's maternal grandmothers have the same maiden names please ignore that lmao they are NOT related closely At All, it's a normal amount of distance lol

Ashwin is supposed to be older than Jubilee, not younger!! and Carson is supposed to be younger than River and Rylee (who are twins)!!!

Some of the names chosen for some Seam characters are Indian names, because I headcanon that people from the Seam can be a mix of a ton of different stuff, including South Asian

The idea that Mrs Everdeen's first name is Alyssum (Alys for short) comes from Mejhiren's fic When the Moon Fell in Love with the Sun

I continued the bread theme for Mellark names lol. Mr Mellark's first name is Nick, from pumpernickel. I also once read a fic where Peeta is of Jewish descent, which I really liked, so some of the breads are of Jewish origin: Hal is from challah (which can also be written as hallah), and Bab is from babka

In Holding Bright (which is an au, hence the variety of small changes I have made to canon lol) the Reaping takes place on June 1st (instead of the canonical July 4th), and it's also canon that the Games start exactly one week after the Reaping, so therefore in HB they always start on June 8th. Therefore, the teenaged deaths set after June 1st -- Glory Salsbury, Maysilee Donner, and Ridge Littlefield -- were all in the Games.

As explained in chapter 9 of Holding Bright, Ezra and Petunia Rainwater started a tradition of giving their kids long ass floral names lol. Their first child was relatively spared, with the name Foxglove, though he still went by Fox; their second child, Devil-in-a-Bush (or just Dev) fell in love with a woman who also just so happened to have a super long floral name, Queen Anne's Lace (though she went by Lace). All of Fox's descendants were spared from this naming tradition, to the point where his daughter, Hazelle, gave all of her children only four-letter names. Meanwhile, Dev's descendants got the longest names ever lmao: Chrysanthemum had five children: Morning Glory, Lily-of-the-Valley (aka Leevy), Stairway to Heaven, May Night Salvia, and Forget-Me-Not.

I have a headcanon that in Town they tend to give their children middle names, while in the Seam they don't (why? I don't know <3). In Town middle names came into use because they wanted to honor loved ones who have passed away, but because of the Games and all that it's considered bad luck to give your child the same first name as a deceased loved one

However, because I'm lazy I only wrote out the middle names for the youngest generation because I didn't want to come up with middle names for every single Merchant character lol

Katniss and Prim have middle names because their mother is from Town. Madge's middle name comes from Maysilee, just like Katniss's

I'm going with the popular headcanon that Katniss is indirectly related to Lucy Gray through Maude Ivory. Katniss's father's name follows the same conventions as those of the Covey (name from a ballad + a color). I had originally planned for people to only really know Mr Everdeen as Jet, hence why the family tree says Gordon Jet "Jet" Everdeen, but I have decided against that!! he went by Gordon Jet!!!

The first part of Mr Everdeen's name comes from the Scottish ballad Lord Saltoun and Auchanachie, in which the protagonist, Jeannie, is in love with a poor man named Auchanachie Gordon. However, despite Jeannie's resistance, she is married off by her parents to the wealthy Lord Salton/Saltoun; Jeannie then dies of a broken heart before Auchanachie Gordon returns and also dies. I thought Gordon is a fitting name, considering that Mrs Everdeen left her life in Town, where the wealthier Mr Mellark was in love with her, to marry the poorer Mr Everdeen

The second part of Mr Everdeen's name, Jet, comes from the color jet black; jet is also a type of coal

Some allusions to another canon character + my minor OCs:

Rooba is the name of the butcher in canon, so here she is Delly's aunt

Madge's maternal grandmother, Magnolia, has the maiden name Blackwell. She is distantly related to Maggie Blackwell, the carpenter's daughter who went missing about a decade ago

Thom’s maternal grandmother, Nomi Goodwin, was originally from Town

Bristel's mother, Juniper, passed away from complications at childbirth

Gale's maternal grandmother, Anika, has the maiden name Reeves. Gale is second cousins with Sparrow Reeves, the female tribute from 12 in the 68th Games who made a lasting impact on her district due to the brutality of her death

River & Rylee Ludlow are the 17-year-old twins who tend to pick on Madge a bit. No wonder they're related to Mrs Mellark...

Mrs Mellark's brother, Noah, died in the Games. Her other brother, Elijah, took over the apothecary shop from the Stewards after Alys ran away to be with Gordon Jet

Ivy Fairweather is the Undersees' housekeeper, usually referred to in HB as Mrs Fairweather. She and her husband probably have a ton of kids, but I just didn't feel like writing them all out lol. Ivy's maiden name is Claymore, which is also the last name of another OC, Hetty Claymore, who mysteriously died; Ivy is Hetty's like second cousin whatever-times-removed or something (aka practically a distant aunt)

[park-jimin-isnt-real]

🍂 pairing: yoongi x reader (platonic) 🍂 rating: pg 🍂 au: "over the garden wall"-esque 🍂 genre: autumn?? a lil spooky, a lil whimsy, a lil mystery; not quite angst, not quite fluff 🍂 this part: you wake up on a bench in a forest, with no memory before then of recollection of how you got there. the person greeting you gives you three options: going into the Great Unknown (never to be seen again), wandering the woods (until you become an Edelwood tree), or spending a month in Devil Town. 🍂 tw: none for this part 🍂 wc: ~3.5k 🍂 track: Devil Town ~ Cavetown: "Life's alright in Devil Town, yeah, right, no one's gonna catch us now." (subtrack, Come Little Children ~ Adriana Figueroa, FamilyJules) 🍂 devil town masterlist 🍂 main masterlist 🍂 an: ahhh i can't believe it's finally here!! super special thanks and shout-out to @theharrowing for being the catalyst, inspo, and beta for this little project. i really hope you guys enjoy this and please let me know what you think!

"Led thru the mist, by the milk-light of moon..."

A warm forest canopy greeted you when you opened your eyes, the vibrant reds and oranges of the leaves dense enough you couldn't see the sky. The surface beneath you was hard and cold, with uncomfortable ridges digging into your back. The air was a little chilly, a little misty. You looked around, trying to get your bearings.

The tree trunks were thicker than you'd ever seen before, the bark on them nearly black, with strange holes and creases that almost looked like faces. Slowly, you sat up, carefully moving your limbs to stretch them out. You were lying on a bench, you discovered, in a small clearing next to a well-worn path.

Why did you wake up on a bench?

How did you get here?

"Hey." The voice was quiet and calm, but it still startled you. You thought you were alone out here. "How are you feeling?" You turned towards the sound and watched as a person came into view, almost like he was materializing from the mist between the trees itself.

"Who are you?" You asked as you moved backwards on the bench, hoping to keep some kind of distance between him and yourself. If you had a better idea of where you were, you would've run.

"I am the Guide," he answered, coming further out of the shadows. His hair was light and windswept, his face soft, his cat-like eyes deep and sharp. He kept his hands in the pockets of his coat. You weren't sure if that was comforting or not.

He also didn't really answer your question. "What does that mean?"

"It's pretty straight forward," he responded, "I guide. And I know you have plenty of questions, so just get them out now."

For right now, at least, he didn't seem to be a danger to you. If he was, he would've done something by now. Or maybe he was luring you into a false sense of security, getting you to drop your guard, and then he would strike. Still, he was offering answers of some kind, and you were in desperate need of those, however you could get them.

"Where am I?" You asked as you looked around again, hoping for greater understanding of the woods you had awoken in.

"You are in the Unknown."

Your gaze shot back to him, the Guide. "What does that mean??" You snapped more than asked, because while that was technically an answer, it still didn't tell you anything.

The Guide only shrugged, "If anyone knew, it wouldn't be called 'the Unknown', now would it?"

You could only blink at him, at his non-answers that he probably believed to be helpful. It took you a moment to regather your thoughts and move on to the next most pressing question. "Okay, so, what am I doing here?"

He didn't respond immediately this time. Instead, he opened and closed his mouth, the look on his face growing increasingly more frustrated. You glanced down, a movement in his coat pockets capturing your attention. It looked like his hands were shaking, or maybe he was clenching and unclenching his fists.

"I can't tell you that," he finally said, his voice less soft and comforting, carrying a bit of that frustration in its tone.

"Why not?"

"I can't tell you that either," he huffed. You opened your mouth again, but he continued, "And before you ask why again, know that I want to. I always want to. But I can't get the words out of my mouth. I'm not allowed to."

You felt just as frustrated as he looked. "So what can you do?"

That question seemed to relax him again, his body returning to its odd stillness as he continued to stand there. "I can tell you about the options you have now that you're here."

"Options?" You repeated. "Like what?"

The Guide finally pulled one of his hands out of his pockets, holding a single finger up. "Well, option one: you can walk off in that general direction," he gestured to your right, "towards the light, and enter into the Great Unknown." You turned to look where he indicated.

The path that the bench was next to led either left or right, and the way right was significantly brighter than its opposite. Despite the friendly glow, you felt unnerved.

"But don't people always say 'don't go into the light'?" Because going into the light often meant death.

"And you could listen to them," he said. "Those who choose to go into the Great Unknown are never seen or heard from again. But ultimately, that choice is up to you."

So that way was definitely death.

You looked back at him, hoping for something better. "And option two?"

"Option two is wandering around the woods here," the guide looked around at the trees, "until you eventually and inevitably turn into an Edelwood tree, whose wood—according to legend—is then harvested and turned into oil to be used in some ancient lantern that harbors the soul of the Beast that also wanders the wood."

Now you looked at him like he was crazy. "I'm sorry, what??" He didn't miss a beat or bat an eye, his voice stayed the same even, monotonous tone, he said all of that like it was just another day here, wherever you really were.

"According to legend," he repeated, then shrugging, added, "again, no one really knows. Supposedly, a couple of kids arrived in the Unknown a while back, and they defeated the Beast before taking their leave." He looked away from you again, turning his gaze to the closest tree and slowly looking up. "But if the Beast were truly gone, then why are people still turning into Edelwood trees?"

You paid closer attention to the trees surrounding you now, with their nearly black bark and face-like holes and creases, and felt hundreds of empty eyes fall on you in return. How many people had wandered through the woods here for the forest to become this dense? How many ghosts of screams could you hear echoing on the breeze?

How long would it take the same fate to befall you?

"Is there a third option?" You asked, much more subdued than your recent questions. Part of you wondered if the trees could hear you as well.

"Of course," the Guide answered, and you felt your shoulders relax just a bit at that. "Your third and last option is to spend a month in Devil Town."

You had to close your eyes and take a moment to breathe, to tell yourself to remain calm. "Devil Town."

"Yes. It's not an actual town of devils, that's just its name."

"And no one knows why?" You guessed, opening your eyes to glare at him again.

He merely shrugged, "If we did, it wouldn't be in the Unknown."

You forced yourself to breathe slower, counting to ten in your mind. Yes, the Guide had answered every question you asked, but every answer was a non-answer. They didn't satisfy any of the curiosity you possessed, they simply led to more questions and even more non-answers.

"So my options are, one: definitely death; two: becoming a tree; or three: going to someplace called Devil Town?"

"For a month."

"Huh?"

"If you choose to go to Devil Town, you can only stay for a month," he explained.

"What happens after a month?"

"You get kicked out and you have to make an official choice. Either the Great Unknown, or the woods."

"So if death and tree are my only options in the end, then why bother with Devil Town at all?"

"Well," he started, but then paused. He looked frustrated again, like there were things he wanted to say but wasn't allowed to. Finally, he sighed. "They're your only options in the end right now. Depending on how things go in Devil Town, when your month is up you could have some other, more rare options opened up to you."

That was the first bit of good news you had heard since you woke up. "Like what?"

"Like..." he paused again, still struggling against whatever force was trying to keep him silent. When he spoke again, this time he sounded strained. "Like staying in Devil Town permanently, or, even more unlikely, going home."

You almost stood up in excitement. "If I spend a month in Devil Town, I can go home?"

"Maybe. Again, it depends. There's a lot of things that factor into that becoming an option, and very few have ever achieved it."

"But there's a chance," you insisted.

"Yes," he conceded, starting to relax again.

Part of you wanted to jump up and start heading to the ill-named town, whatever direction it was in, but the other part of yourself held back. "Is that chance worth it?" You dared to ask.

"That's up to you," he responded, yet another non-answer.

You rolled your eyes, wondering when this cycle of questions and non-answers was going to end. "Well, you're the guide! Guide me!"

The Guide shook his head, "I can only guide you towards the Great Unknown or to Devil Town, but you have to choose first."

Something about that made you curious. "Did you choose Devil Town?"

"I did," he nodded, "and then I chose to stay."

"What's it like there?" If this was your best option, you at least wanted to know as much about it as you could before you officially chose it.

He shrugged, "Life's alright in Devil Town. There's not really much to do there, but plenty of people to talk to."

"When does the month start?"

"Once you set foot in the town limits. After that, you have to stay within those limits, or things start getting… messy."

"Messy how?"

"I can't talk about it," he almost snapped, probably getting annoyed at your ability to ask questions he can't answer the way he wanted to. You wanted to ask about that, but figured he wouldn't be able to tell you about that either. "Now, is Devil Town your choice?"

You took one last look to your right, towards where the Great Unknown lied, and then looked up at the trees around you. Death and tree would not give you a chance to get home. You took a deep breath, relishing the cool air, and stood up. "Yes. I'll go to Devil Town."

The Guide nodded, then turned towards your left and started down the path. "Follow me."

You walked behind him in silence. He didn't seem to be much for conversation now that you had made your choice. You looked around as you walked, trying to take in and appreciate your new surroundings, but the trees all looked like they were watching you and you couldn't hear any animals hiding up in the branches. The only sounds you could make out were your combined footsteps on the dirt and the wind rustling through the leaves.

You weren't sure how long had passed before you finally cracked and broke the silence yourself. "Do you have a name?"

"I am the Guide," he responded, rather curtly in comparison to your earlier questions.

"That's a title," you shot back. "Do you have a name? Something people call you when they're talking about you or they're trying to get your attention?"

He didn't answer you right away, and you thought he wasn't going to, that you would go back to walking in silence. After a bit more walking, however, he sighed and said, "I did once. Now I am the Guide, and that's how people refer to me."

"Just, the Guide? There's nothing else?"

"Yes." He stopped walking to turn and look at you, and you nearly ran into him. "Whoever we came to Devil Town as, that's not who we are anymore, so we don't have these 'names'." The Guide turned around again and continued on his way. "You'll understand more after some time there."

You didn't move for a moment, lost in thought wondering what he meant. How did someone just not have a name anymore? And why did he sound a little sad when he said it?

You shook yourself from your ponderings and ran a bit to catch up with him. The last thing you wanted was to get left behind, in fear that you'd end up lost and then turn into a tree anyway. You didn't ask him any more questions, instead letting him guide you in peace.

Soon, you could see a break in the trees ahead of you, and through the mist you could make out the silhouettes of buildings. You started to feel anticipation crawl up your spine as you grew closer, and you wondered at what point you crossed the town limits. Had your month started already?

You could practically feel the mist on your skin as you came out of the tree line, moist and sticky and cold. You wrapped your arms around yourself and walked a bit closer to the Guide, not wanting to lose him. In front of you, Devil Town came fully into view.

The streets were made of cobblestone, with not a sidewalk or stoplight in sight. People loitered around the sides of buildings made of brick, or by lampposts that flickered as if their light was from a candle instead of a lightbulb. Everyone was dressed similarly, in coats that looked fuzzy and warm, with plaid scarves wrapped tightly around their necks. Many of the adults wore formal hats, while children had beanies or earmuffs.

It was like you stumbled into a ghost town that someone had decided to bring back to life, albeit unsuccessfully, and the remnants had yet to fade away again.

As the Guide led you further into Devil Town, an important question came to mind. "Where will I stay?" There were so many small buildings and even smaller shops, but you had yet to see anything that resembled a house or apartment complex.

"With the Fool," he answered, though it didn't give you any more confidence. "He has a book shop with a spare room. That's where most people like you stay until the month is up."

"How do I unlock the option to go home?" You whispered this question, not wanting anyone to overhear you. Home must be a touchy subject for those who were still here. "Is there something specific I need to do?"

The Guide only sighed in frustration, a sound you were starting to get used to. "I can't tell you that." It didn't deter you this time, you simply changed your question.

"What can you tell me?"

He took his time answering you again, this time waiting until the two of you were standing in front of a wooden door. With one hand on the doorknob, the Guide turned to look at you. The intensity of his gaze—locked dead onto yours—forced you back a step.

When he spoke, that intensity was carried through his voice, quiet but pointed. "Devil Town is tricky, and those who are here are trickier. Whatever it is you are running from, it won't catch you here. It can't. But that doesn't mean you're safe. Don't trust anyone, not even me, and especially not yourself."

He didn't give you a moment to recover, to process his words, before turning the knob and pushing inside the building, leaving you to follow after hesitantly.

"Ah, the Guide!" A new, deeper, cheerier voice said. "What brings you here? Another lost soul to harbor?"

You didn't like the term lost soul.

You looked around as they spoke, at the shelves and shelves of books. Or, book. Maybe you were tired or maybe you had become too confused, but it looked like every book was an exact copy of the one next to it: same height, same thickness, same color, same title.

What kind of bookshop only sold one book?

"Yes," came the response from the only person you had met so far. "Is your spare room empty?"

"Of course!" You finally looked at the new person, the Fool, the Guide had said. He was much taller, and was actually smiling at you, with deep dimples in his cheeks. He seemed much kinder than the Guide had when you first met him, but his words outside the shop still reverberated around in your head. "It's right this way," he gestured behind him, "please follow me, miss…?" He trailed off, waiting for you to introduce yourself.

That was when you realized, the Guide had never asked for your name. He never wondered who you were, beyond "another lost soul" to guide through the Unknown.

Don't trust anyone, not even me, especially not yourself.

What scared you the most, however, was that you couldn't answer his question.

"I don't remember," you told them, your voice small and shaky in a way it hadn't been since you woke up on that bench. You were confused, you were concerned, but you hadn't necessarily been scared. "I don't remember my name." You looked back and forth between them, hoping for some kind of help, though you weren't sure what either could offer you.

The Guide merely blinked at your words, probably having heard them before, countless times from countless others he's had to do this with since he chose to stay here. The Fool continued smiling at you, also not concerned but seeming to offer you more comfort.

"That's alright," the Fool shrugged, "you can pick out who you are later. I'll help you, if you like." You wanted his offer to be kind and generous, but it only reminded you of the conversation you had with the Guide on the way here and it only added to the fear that now had a solid grip around your throat.

Still, you walked towards the Fool, wanting to lay down and rest and get a proper moment to think and process everything that had happened. You did try to keep your distance from the bookshelves, still put off by the repeating book.

"Take care of her," the Guide said, taking his own steps towards the door.

"You know I will."

"I know you will try," the Guide sighed, "we'll see what happens. And for you."

You looked back at him, "Yes?"

"Your time has started. Be careful with what you do with it." The Guide turned away, his hand on the doorknob. He didn't turn it, though, instead his knuckles were turning white with how hard he was grasping it. "And whatever you do, stay away from the Loner."

The Guide sounded strained again, like he was specifically trying to get those words out, like it was something he wasn't supposed to be telling you but managed to anyway.. With that final warning, he pulled the door open and exited the bookshop, leaving you alone with the Fool.

"Don't mind him so much," the Fool tried again to comfort you as he led you down a small hallway and up a short staircase. "He tries to act all intense but he's practically harmless." You didn't respond, still worried about too many things, still trying to process everything that was happening.

He stopped outside a simple wooden door and gently pushed it open for you. "Here is your room," he said, "get yourself situated, rest if you like. I'll be downstairs."

You stepped into the space, cozy but still void of any life. A single bed, a chair in a corner, a wardrobe in the opposite one. The window was thin and didn't have much of a view, but it didn't let the cold in.

"Thank you, um..." you trailed off, still unused to the strange naming system. You felt especially uncomfortable calling him the Fool.

"The Fool," he said for you, still smiling. A strange and silly part of you wanted to poke his dimples, just to see if they were real. "And you're welcome. Don't worry too much about forgetting your name. Like I said, we can pick one out for you."

With that, the Fool left you alone, closing the door but not all the way, giving you space but letting you know if you needed something you could go to him.

You went over to the wardrobe, gently tugging on the vintage-looking knobs, worried they would pop out if you pulled too hard. The doors creaked open, showing you clothes similar in fashion to what the people in town were wearing, all dark tones with simple patterns, somewhere between vintage pioneer and modern school uniforms. You shrugged off your current coat, the long, dark brown one you didn't remember how you had gotten, and hung it up on an empty hanger.

Then you tenderly sat on the bed, testing out the mattress before putting your full weight on it. It wasn't the most comfortable thing in the world, but it was better than the bench you woke up on.

Why did you wake up on a bench?

How did you get here?

What had you gotten yourself into?

🍂 thanks for reading!! 🍂 tagging: @secfir

[use-your-delusion]

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐫 𝐀𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 : 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬:

" Soon enough, the suspected bounty hunter pulls his horse to a stop, a Tennesse Walker with a pretty brown and white coat. His rider slides off as he comes to a stop, and your eyes stay trained on the man as he enters your campground, his eyes taking note of your horse and belongings all left behind beneath the canvas of your tent.

You move quickly and quietly then, keeping your footsteps quiet as you round behind him. He was crouched down, rummaging through your belongings. Anger flared inside of you - trying to turn you into the law was one thing, but going through a lady’s things while she’s not home? That was just disrespectful.

As you near, he held something in his hand that made your heart clench, making it almost painful to breathe as you raise the pistol in your hand, cocking it behind his head.

“Drop it.” "

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7K ish

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Mentions of domestic violence in this story! Lot's of it! As well as the death of a child, and general violence from RDR2 <3

Don't ever force yourself to read what you aren't comfortable with.

A cigarette hangs loosely from your lips as you raise a match to light it, inhaling deeply as the tobacco smoke fills your mouth and lungs. The match still burns, a bright, orange ember against the midnight blanket above you. Its stars shine down on you, almost mocking you in a way as they twinkle and rejoice with one another.

You wish you were a star. So far up in the sky that nothing from this plane of existence could touch you. Instead, you would be the one looking down on the world. Judging the poor souls who sell themselves to the devil to get by. Humans were nasty creatures. Lying, stealing, robbing, killing. All of it. Horrible business that you dream of getting away from, as if the opportunity would ever be so kind as to present itself to you.

Another drag of your cigarette, another minute of the stars judging you.

The moon sits high up on her pedestal, illuminating the world beneath her. She outlines the ridges and valleys of your face, obscured partly by the hat you wear. It had been your fathers; aged and worn but still as loved as the day he had given it to you. Two feathers were tucked between its ribbon, blowing in the wind that passes through your camp.

To think that this was your life now - you went from having everything, from being the woman others envied with your husband and son, a fine house and a fine source of income. Then it was gone, leaving you living out of a tent, cooking poor cuts of meat over a campfire. The only living thing that didn’t want to kill you nearby was the Andalusian who was absentmindedly grazing on a patch of grass, unaware of the danger he was in.

His dark bay coat is illuminated by the orange bath of light the fire gives off, its flames flickering high into the night sky as you stare wistfully into them, wishing you could wake up tomorrow and be anywhere but here.

All your life you’d sworn you’d never kill anyone, whether they deserved it or not, but in the past month or so that promise had been quickly thrown out the window and left to the wolves. Your body count was growing steadily each day, by no choice of your own.

Bounty hunters, traveling from all over trying to bring you in, dead or alive, as the posters read.

You’d learnt fairly quickly how to shoot a gun, and how to shoot one well, at that. Your husband would’ve had your head if you’d ever thought of using his rifle, and a part of you wanted to laugh at how he’d react if he saw you with it now, like an additional limb to your body. The other part of you saw no reason to laugh at anything anymore though, and so you didn’t.

Your face is solemn as you sit, losing yourself in the hypnotizing flames.

Your breath hitches as a flock of birds erupt from a tree, a little further down the trail of the mountain, and slowly you rise to your feet, grabbing the rifle without even thinking about it. Someone’s coming. The sound of heavy hoofbeats grew closer and closer, reaffirming the suspicion. Without thinking about it you throw the gun over your shoulder and run to the cover of some boulders behind your camp, crouching down low in the shadows as you wait for the bounty hunter to arrive.

Your hand swiftly moves to your holster, pulling out a cattleman, also having belonged to your husband not too long ago.

Soon enough, the suspected bounty hunter pulls his horse to a stop, a Tennesse Walker with a pretty brown and white coat. His rider slides off as he comes to a stop, and your eyes stay trained on the man as he enters your campground, his eyes taking note of your horse and belongings all left behind beneath the canvas of your tent.

You move quickly and quietly then, keeping your footsteps quiet as you round behind him. He was crouched down, rummaging through your belongings. Anger flared inside of you - trying to turn you into the law was one thing, but going through a lady’s things while she’s not home? That was just disrespectful.

As you near, he held something in his hand that made your heart clench, making it almost painful to breathe as you raise the pistol in your hand, cocking it behind his head.

“Drop it.”

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Valentine was a dump, as Arthur had come to work out. Instinctively, his nose scrunches up at the smell of livestock and manure, although he was sure the smell was getting to the wagonful of girls behind him more than it was getting to him.

“Could pick yourself up some bounties in there Arthur.” Uncle nudges him, pointing toward the local jailhouse. Posters were lining the walls but he shakes his head and looks away.

“Got better things to do then go on wild goose hunts.” Arthur responds, his shoulders and jaw tight from holding onto all of the tension of the past couple of weeks.

As the wagon pulls to a stop, the girls filter out, all smiling and laughing and discussing what trouble they could get into in the town. It made Arthur chuckle, their eagerness to go and charm some poor fool into handing over his wallet.

The ground beneath his boots is soft and muddy, but he walks through it without complaint, trailing behind uncle as he complains about one thing or another. The general store sits in front of them, a small building about as run down as the rest of Valentine.

The wooden boards of the structure are weathered and rotting, and Arthur tips his hat at the two men who sit in front of it, lazily smoking their cigarettes.

“You need anything Arthur?” Uncle asks as the two men stepped inside, offering tight smiles to the man behind the counter.

“A drink, if I’m supposed to be putting up with you all day.” Arthur grumbles, walking over the rotting floorboards towards a shelf, with fine whiskeys and bourbons on display.

He reaches for a cheaper bottle of whiskey, taking it to the counter and digging through his pocket for a money clip.

He’s low on cash - the gang's money, along with most of his own, had been left stashed in Blackwater, and there’s no hope of retrieving it any time soon.

While he was a halfwit, Uncle hadn’t had a bad idea when he’d pointed out the bounties to Arthur.

“Hey Uncle,” Arthur calls across the store to him after tucking the whiskey away safely in his satchel. “Keep the girls outta trouble, I’m gonna go have a look at the bounty posters.”

“Thought you said they were ‘wild goose hunts’.” Uncle laughs, mocking his earlier words in his best impression of Arthur.

“Shut up old man.”

He exits the store and unhitches his horse - a Tennesse Walker he’d stolen from some O’driscoll. He wasn’t Boadicea, but he was doing the job for now.

The thought of Arthur’s former horse bought a low, sinking feeling to his gut. There were few things he got to call his own and care about in his dying way of life, but that horse had been one of them. Everything he did, and all the women he saw come and go- Mary, Eliza, she was there with him through it all.

Pulling up in front of the Sheriff's office, he hitches the unnamed horse. At this rate, it’s name was gonna end up being ‘Horse’ if he didn’t think of something better soon.

As he approaches the door, yelling can be heard from inside.

“C’mon! Just head up there and try again, would ya?” A man’s voice asks, almost begging.

“You outta your mind sheriff? Four of us went up there to drag her in and I’m the only one who came back! I don’t care how much your payin’, find someone else to bring the crazy bitch in.”

The second man burst through the door, almost running into Arthur before shooting one last dirty look at the sheriff and walking away.

The sheriff had his hand pinching the bridge of his nose, sighing and muttering something incoherent under his breath, but when he notices Arthur approaching he perks up, a bright, fake smile overtaking his features.

“You a bounty hunter boy?” The sheriff asks, standing up to greet him.

“I can be.” Arthur shrugs. “For the right price.”

“Two hundred dollars sound like a good enough price for you?”

A low whistle left Arthur’s mouth. “Two hundred? You gotta damn serial killer you want me to bring in or somethin’?”

“She may as well be. Nasty woman, that one is. Her poster’s over there on the wall. Y/n Cole.” He points in the direction of a cork board, and sure enough a poster is pinned to it.

“Wanted dead or alive?” Arthur asks, pulling it down to get a better look. A photo of a well put together woman was printed on it, beneath the large sum of money. She was wearing a fine dress, decorated with lace and frills, her neck adorned with an expensive looking pendant, and some silver earrings dangled from her ears. Her hair was curled and pinned back into an impressive up-do, and she looked more like the wife of a mayor than she did a serial murderer. “She don’t look very dangerous.”

“That’s what all the other’s said.” The sheriff sighs dejectedly. “Don’t put anythin’ past her though, she’s been guttin’ the boys like pigs up there. Crazy bitch.” The last part was muttered under his breath, and Arthur was unsure of whether or not he was meant to hear it.

“What’d she do in the first place?”

The sheriff lets out a humorless laugh. “Killed her husband and her son. Shot them both in cold blood. When the in-laws confronted her, she shot them too. She’s been hiding up in the Grizzlies for boutta month or so now, and any man who goes up there lookin’ for her doesn’t come back.”

“Sounds like quite the risk you got me takin’ than sheriff.”

“Pretty little wad of cash will be waitin’ back here for you if you do it though. Shoot her, stab her, tie her up and drag her back here kickin’ and screamin’, I don’t care how you do it, just bring us that Mrs. Cole and we’ll pay for your troubles.” The sheriff shrugs with a sly smile.

Arthur mulls it over for a minute, studying your portrait. You were a pretty woman, he realized, put together and wealthy too, by the looks of it, how hard could it be? The reward was highly encouraging too, two hundred dollars would make quite the difference for the camp, and it would make Dutch pretty happy too.

“Alright.” Arthur mumbled, tucking the poster into his satchel. “You said she was in the Grizzlies?”

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

“Told you to drop that, Mister.” You reiterate your words, pressing the cold barrel of your pistol against the back of the man's head. He drops the photograph, and his hands come up in surrender as you use your free hand to reach into his holster and pull out his own gun, tossing it away into the snow.

Despite the darkness, you train your eyes and ears into the surrounding forest, listening out for any other presence. No one else had ridden up with the man, but none of the other bounty hunters had come alone so far.

“Where are your friends?” You ask, still scanning the area in search of other men. Your heart pounds heavily in your chest - he seemed far too relaxed for a man with a gun to his head. Something had to be wrong.

“Came alone.” He mutters, before letting out a grunt as the heel of your boot came into contact with the middle of his back, harshly. He’s a strong man, but the kick takes him by surprise and he tumbles forward, landing face first in the snow, your gun never leaving the back of his head.

“Bullshit.” You hiss, landing another harsh kick to his side. “If you came alone then you’re an idiot.”

“I am an idiot, lady!” He protests, hand coming to clutch the side that had just met the end of your boot. “Now stop kickin’ me!”

You still, listening out for any sign of company, but you’re only met with the sound of insects and the crackling of your campfire. Your horse, Shergar, lets out a short whinny, pawing at the ground and clearly annoyed by the strangers presence - a mutual feeling.

“You’re really alone?” You ask, unable to stop the tone of confusion from seeping into your voice.

“Yes goddammit. Clearly a mistake on my part.” He sounds more inconvenienced by the situation than anything, like he was being pickpocketed rather than held at gunpoint.

“Clearly.” You agree with him, your voice quiet. “I gotta admit, I don’t really know what to do now.” You say to him, almost laughing. “Most the time, about five other men come runnin’ outta the bushes, guns ready and knives out. You really were stupid to come alone, y’know?”

“I realize that now.” He rolls his eyes, trying to find a way out of his situation. “Look, you can kill me if you want, but the only thing that’s gonna do is send more men up here on a witch hunt for you, and they won’t mind bringing your limp body back to Valentine.”

“None of the others have managed to so far.” You shrug. “Don’t see why I shouldn’t leave you here with a bullet and keep runnin’.”

“Cause your luck is gonna run out soon, lady.” He points out. “That or you can let me bring you in while you're still breathin’.”

“Bring me in alive today so I can swing tomorrow?” You ask with a humorless chuckle. “I don’t think so.”

“You really are a piece of work, huh?” The man asks, his blue eyes shining with something unreadable.

Before you can respond to him, he flips you over, diving for you and knocking you into the snow. The ice burns your face as you writhe and struggle beneath him until he has you where he wants you. He has you on your stomach, his knee pressing into your back to hold you still as his hands fight against your own to wrestle the gun out of your grip.

“Hey!” You yell out as he manages to wrangle it away from you, placing it into his holster to replace his own gun that you had thrown into the snow. Your hands blindly dart out behind you, trying to reach for him but he keeps his strong hold on you, and one of his large hands comes up to catch your wrists together and pin them on the snow in front of you. “Get off of me!”

“I didn’t like laying in the snow either lady, suck it up!” He retorts as he digs through his satchel for something with his free hand, and you feel your heart drop as he begins looping rope over your wrists, tying your hands together before getting to work on your feet.

Before he can start, your legs come upwards, and your feet come into contact with the man’s head, knocking his hat into the snow and eliciting a yelp from his mouth.

“You really are a crazy bitch.” He yells at you as you roll over onto your back, grinning up at him with a dangerous glint in your eye.

“And you’re a damn idiot like the rest of ‘em!” You shout back, spit flying from your mouth as you let out, perhaps the most ill-time laugh in history.

You aren’t quite sure why you’re laughing, maybe from anger or sadness, or from the dread of the gallows that were waiting for you, but you laugh, your head tilts back to face the night sky where the moon sits and watches you from her pedestal.

Your laugh soon turns into a choked sob though as you bite your lip and shake your head. “Do you feel big and tough, huh? Sending an innocent woman to her death?”

“You ain’t innocent.” The man shakes his head, spitting a bit of blood from his mouth. It taints the snow with its crimson color, ruining the innocence of the white sheet. “You killed your son Mrs. Cole. Did you feel big and tough while you shot your own baby? Huh?”

The world around you stops for a minute as anger clouds your mind, and you grind your teeth together so hard you’re surprised they don’t break.

“I have killed many people, but my son was not one of them.” You spit at the man through your clenched jaw. “You don’t know what the hell you’re on about, bounty hunter.”

“All I know, is that they’re gonna give me two hundred dollars for bringin’ you in. Innocent or not.”

“I’ll double it!” You say, not even thinking about the repercussions of your words as the reality of your situation dawns on you. This man holds your life in his palm - he chooses whether you live or die right now, and for the first time since you’ve been hiding out here, you’re powerless and at the mercy of a bounty hunter. “I’ll double what they pay you to let me go.”

He stops fussing with the rope at your legs at that, narrowing his eyes as he looks at you. Without his hat on, you can clearly see his face now. He looks to be mid-thirties, although he’s aged from the sun and the stress of his life, you’re assuming. His eyes are hooded, the bright blue color peeking out from beneath his strong brow bone. A couple days worth of a beard has grown along his jaw, enough to hide his lower face but not enough to hide the sharp jawline, or the scar on his chin.

“What did you say?” He asks quietly.

“I said, I’ll pay you double.” You reaffirm, your eyes pleading as you meet his own. The ice blue color gives away no indication as to what’s going through his mind, and in that moment you gather he’d be a great poker player.

“You’re gonna pay me, four hundred dollars, if I let you go?” He asks incredulously.

Now that he says it out loud, you realize how impossible your promise is, but nonetheless it looks like your only chance of surviving him.

“Yes.” You nod with a thick swallow. “Four hundred dollars.”

He lets out a low whistle, thinking about it. “That’s a lot of money.”

“I am innocent. And I’ll pay you to prove it.”

“And how can I be so sure, Mrs. Cole, that you’ll actually pay me. That you won’t run off the second I cut these ropes.”

“I’ll stay with you. Pay you back as I make the money.” You say, all but begging the man who appears to be considering your offer. “Most bounty hunters are travelers. I’m guessing you’ve got a camp set up somewhere too that you’re livin’ out of.”

“I might.” He shrugs. “But then what? I take you and your promises back to my camp, and then you run off in the middle of the night? You can’t be trusted. You’re a murderer.”

You weigh out your options, wondering what you could do to convince him. You had nothing of value on you, nothing of monetary value at least. The only thing you could offer him as collateral was something you would rather die than part with, but at this point, you dying was seeming more and more likely.

“Untie me.” You say softly, holding your hands out towards the man. “Untie me and I’ll give you some collateral.”

He considers it for a moment, eyeing you carefully, like he was trying to pick up on a lie or trick, but eventually he pulls a knife out of his belt and cuts the rope from your hands. “Don’t make me chase after you.” He warns as you stand on shaky legs and make your way to your bedroll where the man had been digging around earlier.

You drop to your knees, quickly finding what you were after, laying right where he had dropped it. A photograph of your son, when he was only two years old, held up high in your arms as you planted a kiss on the side of his cheek. A wide smile was covering his features, and in the photo your eyes are crinkling with a happiness they haven’t known in a long time.

“Here.” You begrudgingly hand him the photo. “It’s the only photo I have of me and my son. It’s the most important thing in the world to me. I get that back when you get your money. And if I run, I’m leavin’ that behind as well.” Your words are soft, almost defeated as he gently takes the photo from you.

His brows are furrowed as he inspects it, running his thumb along where you stand in it. After a moment, he must deem it worthy because he tucks it away safely into a pocket on the inside of his jacket.

“Grab your things Mrs. Cole.” He says softly, making his way over to his discarded hat and placing it atop his head. “You’re comin’ back to camp.”

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

“You never told me your name.” You point out as the two of you amble side by side, Shergar traveling through the mountain ranges with ease after having spent so long up here with you. The bounty hunter's horse, on the other hand, was skittish, hyper-aware of his surroundings and the cliff edges that surrounded him. A couple times his foot had slipped and a sharp whinny had escaped him, his head throwing back high in the air with the whites of his eyes showing, clearly unnerved this far up in the mountains.

It wasn’t just a fear of falling though, occasionally a wolf howl or a roar from a bear could be heard, causing Shergar to prick his ears nervously towards the sound and add a slight spring to his step, eager to escape the predators.

“Arthur.” The man grumbled, blowing his breath into his hands and rubbing them together to warm them up. “Arthur Morgan.”

“Arthur Morgan.” You tested his name on your tongue, the name slipping out easily.

“And I know your name, Mrs. Cole.”

You shook your head. “That’s my married name. I have no business using it anymore.”

“So what do you want me to call you then?”

You told him your name, your real name, from before you made the terrible mistake of marrying Evan, and he repeated it with a small nod, as you had done with his own earlier.

The sun was up now, beating down on you harshly but still not enough to melt the ice that ran cold through your veins. You had grown used to the freezing temperatures after spending so much time up here, but you could tell Arthur wasn’t enjoying himself at all.

His blue coat was wrapped around himself tightly, the collar brought up to protect his neck from the biting winds.

“You couldn’t have picked a warmer spot to hide out?”

“Not many people wanna come up here unless they have to. Figured it was safer for me than some place down there.”

“Suppose.” He hummed. “You would’ve been up there during that god awful storm then?”

You snorted. “Yep. Though that was the end of it for me. I could barely see three feet ahead of me let alone find or cook food. That and the fact that I probably got hypothermia.”

“Yeah it was like that for us too.” Arthur said solemnly. “We were camped out by Colton for a week or so, me and the rest of my…” he trailed off. “Family.”

“Not a nice place.” You offered. “Hell were you doin’ up there with your family anyways?”

“We’ve both got our secrets.” Arthur shrugged, and you gathered that you wouldn’t get anything more out of him.

“I suppose.” You agreed.

“I mean, I’ve got my secrets.” Arthur corrected himself. “Your crimes are plastered all over the state.”

“I didn’t kill my son.” You said harshly.

“What about your husband? And his family, huh? Suppose you didn’t kill them either.”

“Like you said, Mr Morgan. We’ve both got our secrets.”

The ride continued in silence, a tense air settling over the pair of you as the snow gradually melted away. The mountains grew smaller and smaller behind you, and the air grew warmer. Birds sang and deer hopped about, taking off as you and Arthur trotted beside one another along a makeshift dirt road.

You crossed a shallow point of a river, the water coming up and splashing against your legs and tickling the underside of Shergar’s belly. It washed away the mud that had been caked against his hide from weeks in the mountains, where the only creeks and rivers were frozen or too cold and dangerous to enter.

“Nearly here.” Arthur’s low drawl broke you from your thoughts as he steered off of the road onto a worn trail through the grass. It led through forest for a few yards until you spotted a clearing up ahead, where wagons and tents were set up like a miniature village.

You could hear voices, men and women, even a child, all talking and laughing with one another.

He pulls to a stop before you completely leave the safety and privacy of the woods, a somewhat concerned gaze on his face. His eyes are narrowed and you can see he’s thinking hard about something with his parted lips, his tongue coming out to dart them with moisture momentarily.

“Y’know how we mentioned those secrets that you and me both got?” He asks, turning to look at you and you narrow your eyes.

“Yeah. Why?” Worry seeped into your tone at his own. For a man so sure of himself, he almost seemed hesitant to bring you into the camp.

“This- This family of mine ain’t the best, ok?” He started, stumbling over his words a little. “You owe me four hundred dollars, but that means you also owe Dutch Van Der Linde.”

Your eyes widened. You’d heard that name more and more frequently in your travels lately, and not for anything good.If you could remember correctly, him and his gang were wanted dead or alive for some ferry robbery gone wrong down in Blackwater. Come to think, you’d also heard Arthur’s name thrown around a lot.

“You- You’re in the damn Van Der Linde gang?” You asked, your tone growing in pitch as your arm comes out to slap his bicep.

“Hey, what-”

“You murder and rob your way across the whole country, you’re wanted dead or alive and yet you come here and you judge me for my crimes? Crimes I didn’t even commit!”

At your voice, heads turn in your direction, curious gazes from the women, and bloodthirsty, threatening looks from the men. From behind the trees they still can’t quite see you properly, something Arthur is thankful for as he slaps a hand across your mouth, your hot breath escaping your nose and fanning across his fingers as he shoots you a warning glance.

“Keep your damn mouth shut.” He warns with a low voice, his eyes shooting back to the camp where everyone seems to have gone back to their business.

When he’s sure you’ll stay quiet, he removes his hand from your soft skin, his mouth opening and shutting while he tries to find the right words.

“Look, I’m not gonna take you to Valentine, and neither will Dutch when he hears about our agreement.” Arthur says pointedly. “But there are other men in this camp, who will jump at the chance to hand you over for two hundred dollars, so you keep your mouth shut, ok?”

“Ok.” You nod, feeling a growing pit in your stomach. Suddenly, you were unsure of whether or not coming here was truly the best idea. Maybe you had been safer in the Grizzlies. Maybe you should have taken your chance to run, leaving your treasured memory behind in Arthurs pocket.

As if he could read your thoughts he sighed, hanging his head and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Look, I’m gonna keep you safe here, ok?” He promises, and you can see in his eyes that he truly means it, although you know that to him, it’s nothing more than keeping the promise of four hundred dollars safe. “But not even I am gonna be able to stop some of these men when they learn the truth ‘bout you.”

“What are we gonna tell ‘em then?” You asked, throwing a worried glance at the camp. “They’re gonna wanna know who I am and what I’m doin’ here with you, won’t they?”

“Yeah they will.” A frown overtook his features as he continued to think. “Alright, we’ll tell ‘em your name is Miss Flinders, from Strawberry. Your daddy just got eaten by a bear or somethin’.”

“A bear?” You ask incredulously, one eyebrow raised. “If my daddy managed to get eaten by a bear, he might just be more of an idiot than you.”

“You got somethin’ better?” Arthur asks, a little offended that you hadn’t liked his suggestion.

“Yeah, I do.” You roll your eyes. “Miss Flinders from Strawberry was running away with her fiance, planning to elope. He took her money and left her stranded. You found her in the hotel there, with nothing left but her horse. Her family won’t take her back, and she’s got nowhere else to go.”

“I personally like the bear, but whatever works for you, Miss Flinders.” Arthur says in a mocking tone.

“We ain’t doin’ the bear.” You deadpan.

“Fine.” The outlaw relents. “But I found Miss Flinders like a drunken harlot begging for money on the streets. I was like her knight in shining armor, offering her a bed and some warm food.”

“Yeah you’re a real gentleman, Mr Morgan.” You draw out his name sarcastically.

“Don’t push me girl.” He warns. His voice had a way of sounding more dangerous than the growl of a wolf, you had come to notice in the short time you’d spent with him, and for all of your confidence you couldn’t deny the effect it had on you, leaving you swallowing thickly from his threat.

When he’s satisfied with your reaction, he gathers up his reins and spurs the Tenesse Walker forward, leaving you to trail behind.

“Uncle Arthur!” A young boy's voice is the first thing you hear when you emerge from the clearing, hiding in the shadow of the man in question.

“Jack!” It’s quickly followed by a stern woman’s voice, and you catch a glimpse of her grabbing a hold of the boy's forearm, dragging him off in the direction of a campfire, a pot of something cooking over it.

“C’mon.” Arthur says to you, dismounting from his horse and waiting for you to do the same.

You can feel curious gazes meeting you as you walk through the camp, Arthur’s hand finding its way to the small of your back to guide you.

“Keep your head down.” He instructs, his tone low as you near a group of men.

“Brought a whore back Arthur?” One of them lets out a drunken yell and a laugh, and you can hear the others laughing and whooping. 

“Shut your mouth Micah.” Arthurs all but growls back at him as you continue to walk through the camp.

Some women offer you odd glances, looks that hold curiosity and even jealousy to some degree as you’re guided to a wagon with a canvas awning. Beneath the awning is a cot and a few other assorted pieces of furniture, holding belongings you can only assume belong to Arthur.

“Just stay here and sit tight for a minute.” Arthur tells you when you reach his wagon, giving you a small push toward the cot that was set up there.

“Where are you goin’?” You ask, making no move to sit down. It felt wrong to intrude on his space like that, whether he’d given his permission or not.

“Gotta find Dutch.” He explains. “Tell him about this agreement of ours.”

“Wouldn’t it be best if I came with you then?” You frown a little, not liking the idea of the two dangerous men talking about you and your bounty while you weren’t there. On some level, you know you can trust Arthur to a degree - after all, he’d had the opportunity to hand you over for the money, and he hadn’t taken it, but you were still doubtful, especially if Dutch Van Der Linde was going to have some hand in your fate.

You’d heard of the notorious outlaw, even before you were on the run. Robbing, murdering, leaving a trail of death and destruction everywhere he and his gang went. And yet, when Arthur, his right hand man came to get you, you weren’t met with a cold, heartless man who wanted to trade you for money at the first chance you got. Instead, he was open to your suggestion, and accepted it, albeit begrudgingly. 

Of course you still owed him money, and lots of it, but he knew that would take time, and he would need patience, but in the meantime you would still be provided with warmth, food and protection from other hunters, something you were beyond grateful for.

“No, just stay here a moment. It would be best if I spoke to him alone.” Arthur sighs, a hand running down his face, as though he were deep in thought. And you suppose he is, how is he supposed to explain to his boss that they had two hundred dollars sitting in their camp, just waiting to be collected on, but they weren’t going to touch it in hopes of it giving them four hundred? With no plan or promise as to how you were gonna get that money?

It makes you wonder on some level why he hadn’t just handed you in when he had the chance to. It would’ve been easier, surely, than going through the trouble of bringing you here and convincing Dutch to let you stay. Of course the promise of double your bounty had some role in it, but now that you knew of the gang, you were confused. They could’ve gotten that money easily if they kept up old habits, which you were sure they did.

Arthur leaves you then, leaving you to awkwardly take a seat on a cot you could only guess belonged to him.

You hate to be nosy, but you aren’t left with much else to do as the rest of the camp carries on its life around you, occasionally throwing you a curious look. Instead of staring back, you let yourself gaze around Arthur’s makeshift room. You take note of the photos he has sitting on a nightstand beside the bed, one of them being a portrait of a beautiful woman with dark hair, perfectly styled behind her. He also has an assortment of weapons lying around, from guns to knives to ammunition. It makes you wonder what sort of business the gang has been getting up to since disappearing from Blackwater, but you figure it’s nothing good.

There’s a large tent set up in the middle of the camp, and you can see the familiar figure of Arthur talking to another man, an imposing looking man who you can only guess to be Dutch Van Der Linde. He’s smoking a cigar, and his face is set into a deep frown as Arthur speaks to him. You watch them with curiosity. Arthur has taken his hat off now, revealing his sandy brown hair that could probably do with a trim, and you watch as he runs a large hand through it, touselling the once smoothed strands.

With your eyes stuck on Arthur, you don’t notice as Dutch turns his head to set his gaze upon you, not until Arthur follows where he’s looking and then you’re quick to divert your eyes from the two men to the sight of some birds beyond them, nesting far up in the trees. Your heart pounds against your chest, trying desperately to leap out as Arthur places the old hat back on his head and makes his way across the camp to you.

Was he going to tell you that you were welcome to stay? Was he going to tell you to pack your things and leave? Was he going to tie your hands together and haul you all the way to Valentine to hand you over for the money? Possibilities run through your mind like a horse running from a wolf as Arthur approaches, and you can see Dutch in your peripheral vision watching the two of you like a hawk.

“You can stay.” Arthur nods his head at you. “Dutch is ok with it, but he wants to speak with you when he has a chance. Make sure he can trust you and all that.”

“I-” your throat runs dry at his words. You weren’t sure if it was from relief of having a place to stay, or fear of having to speak to Dutch Van Der Linde. “Thank you.” You settle on saying, your lips pursed together as your eyes meet Dutch’s from across the camp.

“It ain’t a problem.” Arthur says as he begins moving around his space and picking up several items you couldn’t quite make out. “You can handle yourself and a gun well, Dutch thinks you’ll be good to have around, once we know we can trust you. Until then though-” Arthur cuts himself off as he throws a handful of things towards you, “-you’re my responsibility.”

You furrow your brows and begin to sort through the things he threw at you, finding a bar of soap, some rags, and an old blanket you could use as a towel.

“Is this your way of telling me I stink?” You ask with a small chuckle as you stand up, cocking your head to the side to gaze at the man expectantly.

“You don’t stink, you just look like you could…” He trails off, thinking of a nice way to phrase his next words. “Freshen up.” He settles on. “And maybe run a comb through your hair as well.” He mutters, one of his hands absentmindedly reaching up to brush against your knots.

“Hey!” You say, a little offended, and you lightly slap his hand away. Despite your show though, you don’t protest when he adds a hair brush to the pile of items he’d handed to you.

“You got clean clothes on your horse?” He asks, ignoring the look you tossed his direction.

“What’s wrong with the clothes I got on?” You ask him, furrowing your brows.

“They’re still wet with snow.” Arthur says, like it should be obvious. “But if you wanna sleep damp, that’s your choice.”

Now that he’s mentioned it, you do still feel the dampness of the snow on your clothes, sticking to your skin uncomfortably. It was normal in the Grizzlies - there hadn’t really been any escaping it, but now you were dry, and much warmer than you had been in the mountains, and the thought of dry clothes that would stay dry made your stomach flip with excitement.

“Yeah, I got clothes on Shergar.” You answer him as the two of you make your way to where the horses are hitched.

“Kinda name is that?” Arthur asked, furrowing his brows as the two of you unhitched and mounted your horses.

“I dunno.” You shrugged. “It was his name when I got him, and I liked it.”

“Fair enough.” The man agrees with you, tugging on the reins of the Walker beneath him before gently spurring him forwards.

“Where are we headed anyways?” You ask Arthur, following him on the Andalusian, your hand reaching down to scratch at his neck with your nails.

“More private area of the river.” Arthur explains as the two of you trot out of the forest and onto the worn down dirt path. “You can clean yourself up a bit, and I’ll make sure no one else comes by.”

“So when Dutch said I was your responsibility, he just meant you were becoming my own personal little bodyguard?” You joke, your lips curling up into a smile as you turn your head to meet Arthurs gaze. You can tell he doesn’t want to smile but he does, shaking his head as the two of you trot.

“You’re worth four hundred dollars darlin’.” He explains to you, that low drawl sounding both threatening and alluring at the same time. “Of course you’re gonna have someone followin’ after you.”

The truth behind his statement stung a little. At the end of the day, these people could feed you, give you a place to stay, and keep you safe, but they weren’t doing it for you . They were doing it for your worth. After so long of being by yourself though, their motives didn’t matter to you. As long as you were safe and warm.

“You know I ain’t gonna run off.” You say to him after a minute of tense silence. 

“How can we know you won’t?” Arthur asks incredulously.

“You think I’m gonna leave a bed, warmth, and a steady supply of food? Or that picture you’ve got of mine?” Your heart aches a little as you think back to the photo you had given Arthur of yourself and your son.

Subconsciously Arthur reaches his hand up towards his pocket, brushing his fingers over it as though he was making sure the picture was still there. You note that when you’d given it to him, he’d placed it in his coat pocket, and now as he rode beside you in nothing but his work pants and black button-up, he still had it on him. 

The thought of him moving it onto his person made you worry a little less - at least you knew it would be kept safe, but still the fact that he held your most prized possession worried you.

“We’re here.” Arthur’s voice cuts you off, and he pulls his Walker to a stop as you near a concealed run off of the river. “Go clean yourself up.”

He turns the horse so that his back is to the river, and wordlessly you make your way towards it, shutting your eyes a little as the setting sun reflects off of the water.

For about the first time in a month or so - you feel safe . You have food and water waiting back at camp for you, and one of the most dangerous men in the country is currently keeping watch as you bathe, which in itself is a luxury you hadn’t been able to have in some time.

Perhaps this is a turning point for you, a chance to turn around the pitiful life you’re leading so far and make it into something worth so much more than just surviving to see the sun rise tomorrow. Perhaps you will be given your chance to prove your innocence, and tell the story of a woman who wanted nothing more than to avenge her son and was sentenced to death over it.

This is your second chance at life, with Arthur Morgan watching over your back to make sure it isn’t taken from you too soon.

~~~

Any feedback or comments are MORE than welcome, and would help me a great deal with motivation to not completely abandon this, however if you're more of a sit back and enjoy the show kinda reader, I completely understand! I am too on some level.

Anyways, I plan on following the order of the missions, obviously starting with Chapter Two at Horseshoe Overlook, and then just moving chronologically and maybe twisting a mission here or there. I also have a few plans on things to add in because why would I ever make life easy for my characters???

Lots of love <3

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

Haunting whispers from the Martian landscape make for a spooky 'soliday'

The Perseverance rover lurks in the quiet, cold, desolate landscape of Jezero crater on Mars, a place masked in shadows and haunted by past mysteries. Built to endure the planet's harsh conditions, Perseverance braves the thin atmosphere and extreme temperature swings. Its microphone captures the eerie whispers of martian winds, sending shivers down your spine, and records ghostly dust devils swirling across the barren terrain. Has the microphone caught the sound of a skeleton rattling its bones? We'll leave that up to your imagination.

Recently, Perseverance navigated the sinister slopes of the Jezero crater rim, seeking out a series of ramshackle ridges to uncover the rim's hidden geological secrets. The rover emerged from the shadows to descend into a field of light-toned rocks, illuminating the landscape reminiscent of bones and tombstones. Along the way, the rover encountered dark bedrock at Mist Park. Perseverance would then face another daunting climb back up the crater rim, venturing deeper into the great unknown.

Unlike vampires or other creatures of the night, Perseverance needs rest after long days of exploring the mystifying Martian landscape. As night falls, the rover sleeps after watching the sun sink below the horizon, casting ominous shadows across the landscape. The chilling winds howl through the night like a haunting lullaby for the fearless explorer. However, Perseverance sometimes wakes up from things that go bump in the night.

While instruments mostly conduct their scientific measurements during the day, they are not afraid of the dark, often tasked with observing what lurks in the shadows and gazing at the martian night sky. Perseverance occasionally looks up to image the auroras and to get a glimpse of Phobos and Deimos, Mars's two moons.

Mars is like a hotel where you can check in and out, but you can never leave. It has become a graveyard of long-dead landers and rovers, but Perseverance is nowhere near ready to leave the land of the living. In fact, the ghosts of past rovers and landers guide Perseverance on its journey. As we continue to uncover the secrets of Mars, we are reminded of its past and the mysteries that still linger. Join us in pondering the mysteries of Mars as we explore its haunted history.

IMAGE: NASA's Mars Perseverance rover acquired this image, which was selected by the public as the rover’s “Image of the Week,” of the martian landscape on the Jezero crater rim using its Left Mastcam-Z camera. The image was acquired on Oct. 22, 2024 (Sol 1306) at the local mean solar time of 13:45:41. Credit: NASA/JPL-Caltech/ASU

[stimvampsoda]

LAMB SHEPHERD

The Lamb

"I see my friends die almost every day. I see myself die almost just as often."

xxx/xxx/xxx

[wormss-inc]

assorted marsaiah 😍

[doubledaybooks]

BETWEEN TWO MOONS by Aisha Abdel Gawad

Set in the Arab immigrant enclave of Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, following three siblings coming of age over the course of one Ramadan, “a moving look at family, survival, and celebration” (Hanif Abdurraqib, author of A Little Devil in America).

[infinitelystrangemachinex]

13, 23, 33!

13. A naturally sheltered place

On the outskirts of Elenghul, there is a ridge with a natural outcropping just large enough for two or three people. It's perfectly sheltered and gives a view of Elenghul, the woods, the mists rising off the caldera, the harbor, and the main road. There's a path that's little more than a goatpath leading to the outcropping, but the path still has a name, Two Moon Promenade, for when people get above the city to look at the moon when it's positioned near Illuvitas, which glows in the distance like a second moon.

23. An evil spirit or divine antagonist

Longterm residents of Elenghul have little concept of a divine antagonist or of any kind of evil that people don't create and perpetuate themselves. However, Wanwathin residents of the city have taken the belief in the laughing wolf trickster deity from Illuvitas and truly turned it into a devil figure. It's said the wolf whispers to people when they sleep without dreaming, and giving into bad decisions or laziness the next day is due to the person listening to what the wolf told them. The figures the people of Elenghul revere have been silent long enough that even they begin to wonder if this laughing beast crept through the city's streets one night and tore out their beloved ones' throats. It would not have been the first monster in Elenghul to dare try.

33. A profession that is considered dirty

Elenghul employs street cleaners of all kinds, and what they often spend their nights sweeping, scraping off of wood and stone, and buffing off the ancient buildings' walls is often too unmentionable to bring up in polite company.

[crowdvscritic]

behind the scenes // ST. LOUIS FILM CRITICS ASSOCIATION AWARDS (2024)

I like to think voting in the St. Louis Film Critics Association has more Stilgar vibes than Feyd-Rautha vibes. Which is to say, more “As it is written!” and less “May thy knife chip and shatter!”

Though the 20-ish of us are all passionate about our favorite films, we haven’t resorted to knife duels to the death to determine winners (yet). This is my third year voting, and this is the largest batch of nominees yet. In 2022 we nominated 43 films in 23 categories, in 2023 we nominated 44 films in 24 categories, and this year, we nominated 53 films in 26 categories. Boy, I felt that increase. Though I had seen more new releases in 2024 than in previous years, there were still 28 titles I missed before my peers made them nominees. (And frankly, a few of them were barely on my radar, which highlights the varied marketing budgets available to different kinds of films.) I was able to squeeze 16 of them in the week between nominations and final voting, thus viewing the required 3-film minimum in every category except Horror. (The films I never got to: Alien: Romulus, Do Not Expect Too Much From the End of the World, Heretic, I Saw the TV Glow, The Last Showgirl, Late Night With the Devil, Longlegs, No Other Land, Queer, The Substance, Sugarcane, and Will & Harper. I did end up covering my eyes through much of The Substance after it was nominated for Best Picture, though!)

In the past, I’ve described our voting process and my ballot strategy. Little has changed since my 2022 and 2023 ballot round ups, so this year I’m keeping a pretty tight focus on the films themselves. As it is written: May thy watchlist grow ever longer!

Best Technical(-ish) Awards

Because these categories are so specific and varied, this is the time to let personal favorites shine or to acknowledge the merit in less-liked contenders. Re: the former, I wish Beverly Hills Cop: Axel F (which achieved many stunts practically) and Fly Me to the Moon (which sported an impressive wardrobe) had earned more attention for their efforts. Re: the latter, I couldn’t deny the Challengers score or the production design in The Brutalist even though those films didn’t work as a whole for me.

A few more thoughts: 

I’m surprised Blitz and Saturday Night didn’t make more of a splash this Awards Season

It was a lackluster year for soundtracks. Even though I listened to Mean Girls and This Is Me…Now more than once on my own time, I was surprised I couldn't think of anything to surpass them on my list

Say what you will about Megalopolis, but I was never once bored! Even with a bonkers final product, Francis Ford Coppola is a master craftsman

Best Genre(-ish) Awards

These are the categories that inspire most of my frantic binge-watching between nominations and final voting. Of the 16 titles I watched in that week, 8 were in these categories, as were 9 of the 12 films I never found time for. (As always, I couldn’t vote in the Horror category because nothing inspires me to watch the minimum three films needed to vote.) Some of this is a matter of taste: I’m not drawn to documentaries in my free time, and though I did watch more than four last year, I didn’t think they deserved nominations. (Piece by Piece featured great animation, but it revealed nothing new about Pharrell). Some of this is because of the weak marketing for international films before the thick of Awards Season: I don’t remember hearing much, if anything, about Do Not Expect… before my peers nominated it, and I struggled to find a way to watch Dahomey.

A few more thoughts: 

You shouldn’t be surprised if you know anything about me that I had already seen all the Action and Comedy nominees before nominations were announced

I overestimated the reputation of Gladiator II and Rebel Ridge among my peers, and I underestimated their love for Deadpool & Wolverine and Hundreds of Beavers

Let the record show I was underwhelmed by Emilia Pérez as far back as December

My final vote for Best Comedy was one of my toughest picks. I almost voted for Saturday Night (which made me laugh more), but I ultimately selected the sharper script of A Real Pain

My major discovery in the week between nominations and final voting was The Seed of Sacred Fig, which ending up making my top 10 of the year

Best Performance Awards

Here’s where my love for my top 10 films of the year—okay, and the Minions—shows. I wish performances like Josh Hartnett’s in Trap had a shot in the dark during Awards Season, and I’m baffled at the lack of campaigning for Javier Bardem in Dune: Part Two. While I’m not surprised, I hate that the Academy slept on The Bikeriders and Civil War in multiple categories.

You'll also notice the first of our two new categories this year: Best Voice Performance. I doubt our nominations will overlap so much in the future, but there were a lot of fans of Inside Out 2 and The Wild Robot for its inaugural event. 

A few more thoughts: 

Hard Truths was one of those barely-on-my-radar movies, but Marianne Jean-Baptiste wowed me so much she earned one of my few final votes outside my original batch of nominations

Like Soundtrack, Supporting Actress was a category I struggled to come up with strong candidates for, but Jennifer Lopez came through for me yet again. While I loved Nickel Boys, Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor’s role was very supporting 

Best of the Best Awards

Will Anora, The Brutalist, and A Complete Unknown stand the test of time? The consensus of this moment suggests so, though anyone who has followed Awards Season knows pop culture’s short memory. (I’m publishing this before Oscar night—it’s possible I’ll eat these words in just a few days.) You can tell from the small overlap between my top 10 and our cumulative top 10 that my taste varied from the consensus, but if I’d seen The Seed of the Sacred Fig sooner, it would’ve bumped Twisters off my list.

A few more thoughts: 

 Our second new category for 2024 was Best First Feature, which along with Best Scene, added five unique nominees

That Civil War scene feels like THE scene of 2024

My affection for Nickel Boys has only grown as Awards Season has continued

More of the Best of 2024

Check out more on the St. Louis Film Critics Association site

See the full list of our picks on Letterboxd

Read my personal list of the best films of the year

And add those films to your watchlist on Letterboxd

[toomagazineperfection]

A ridge tells his story. He is her to the tomb sitting .

He weaves me like her sap. His lie is her due satiate.

He rests on me his movie. A soap is a seeker of his mid.

He loops in me a sand. A light is seeker sane.

He dies in me a God.A God is a lonelier world.

A might Devil in his.He aights a love leaper moon of soil.

A lie of his tell. He sows a rope amount of his hedge in her.

A dot. A dot. To tell. He heaves tell.

A lie tell. A hoop. A moon.He holds sight.

A heaven of her only moon. He grapples moon.

She was loved and his breath seemed fun.

He was God of her poet. His God drinks his doll.

Overpowering is a lie as he satiates. His might loves his. A lovingly tells his.

He soaps. He writes over her a moon. A teller.

A tell. A tide. A tomb. A mine. A hectic.A God of his own great.

He loves. He lones. He sights. He sees. He draws.

Sunidhi

[vampsoda]

DEVIL MOON RIDGE

"I think people who hang on too tightly end up very, very sad, and very, very alone."

x/x/x//x/x/x//x/x/x

This is a stimboard based on a TTRPG I play with my friends.

[argusdreamer]

Reflections on the Paradox of Existence

Confessions of the twisted endeavors of youth's uncorrupted innocence, All becomest heresy, malediction and entropic discordance. The further we are from conception the larger our faults become.

It takes a sick atheist to reject all the entropy that comes with prosperity, it takes god to create a devil for us to realize we are not meant to be as we are.

We are a convoy of death spirals waiting to meet our final maker, we find the god in every demise and hope in every devil.

No fictive result of ours is the result of our suffering, rather our dependent relations converge us to bound incarceration.

This piece is meant to make you think about your ambitions, goals and dreams. You can't escape the irony of your making, be careful what you wish for. You'll need more than love, happiness and honesty to simply survive let alone thrive, let's make that a reality.

The image of the person is John von Neumann Directly from the wiki article:

John von Neumann (/vɒn ˈnɔɪmən/ von NOY-mən; Hungarian: Neumann János Lajos [ˈnɒjmɒn ˈjaːnoʃ ˈlɒjoʃ]; December 28, 1903 – February 8, 1957) was a Hungarian-American mathematician, physicist, computer scientist, engineer and polymath. He had perhaps the widest coverage of any mathematician of his time,[9] integrating pure and applied sciences and making major contributions to many fields, including mathematics, physics, economics, computing, and statistics. He was a pioneer of the application of operator theory to quantum mechanics in the development of functional analysis, the development of game theory and the concepts of cellular automata, the universal constructor and the digital computer. His analysis of the structure of self-replication preceded the discovery of the structure of DNA.

During World War II, von Neumann worked on the Manhattan Project on nuclear physics involved in thermonuclear reactions and the hydrogen bomb. He developed the mathematical models behind the explosive lenses used in the implosion-type nuclear weapon.[10] Before and after the war, he consulted for many organizations including the Office of Scientific Research and Development, the Army's Ballistic Research Laboratory, the Armed Forces Special Weapons Project and the Oak Ridge National Laboratory.[11] At the peak of his influence in the 1950s, he chaired a number of Defense Department committees including the Strategic Missile Evaluation Committee and the ICBM Scientific Advisory Committee. He was also a member of the influential Atomic Energy Commission in charge of all atomic energy development in the country. He played a key role alongside Bernard Schriever and Trevor Gardner in the design and development of the United States' first ICBM programs.[12] At that time he was considered the nation's foremost expert on nuclear weaponry and the leading defense scientist at the Pentagon. He designed and promoted the policy of mutually assured destruction to limit the arms race.[13]

Von Neumann's contributions and intellectual ability drew praise from colleagues in physics, mathematics, and beyond. Accolades he received range from the Medal of Freedom to a crater on the Moon named in his honor.