#gutter garbs

[brokehorrorfan]

Gutter Garbs has released a Halloween 12x15 print designed by Yannick Bouchard for $25 and two shirts designed by Brandon Stecz and Nathan Thomas Milliner for $30. They'll ship the week of September 8.

[horrororman]

#GutterGarbs

#ANightmareonElmStreet2FreddysRevenge

#horror

[mannyblacque]

Art by Yannick Bouchard | Instagram

Prints at Gutter Garbs

[rainbowthefox]

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Gutter Garbs Horror Shirts (@guttergarbs)

[germ-t-ripper]

23DEC22 Loving this Scream Factory 10 year anniversary shirt by Gutter Garbs.

[tw1l1te]

Your writing is sooo good, i especially love the suggestive's one. And the smut 🙈

I really loved your story with the reader showing skin et flirting. Do you think you could do the same with War (my fave) and Time pretty please? ✨💖

And sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language

Anon 🐎

I love Time so much, he helps with the daddy issues

𓇢𓆸.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Wars

Being a Captain was difficult in so many factors.

He had to be precise, smart, authorative, put together.

And right now, he is the complete opposite of those things.

After a messy run-in with some enemies from Legend's Hyrule, most of the group was covered in blood, monster guts, mud, you name it.

So Time suggested they all go wash up in some nearby hot springs, specifically the more private ones for your sake.

By some blessing or curse, Wars was allocated the same hot spring as you, the hot mist of the spring already getting to him

You told him that you'll go on the opposite side of the spring to avoid any awkward eye contact or body's touching.

You both turned around to give each other privacy, stripping all of your clothes and setting them on the side to be washed after they were clean.

You got in first, sighing at the hot water encompassing your entire body. You kept your back turned as Wars got in, letting him have some of his dignity

At the go-ahead, you turned around propping your back against the rocky wall, lazily scrubbing away at the caked-on blood and mud on your forearms.

Wars followed your motions, trying to distact himself from the growing bulge under the water. It was impossible considering the curve of your breasts was very visible through the water and your bare shoulders looked a little too unmarked-

"Wars? Can you get the mud off of my back, you know how unflexible I am."

He nodded, knowing if he said a word his voice would crack, giving away his little problem

Just half a foot away from him, he gently scrubbed the mud off, not going any lower than the surface of the water, after all, he was a gentleman he didn't want to be

You suddently spinned around, your face meeting with his chest

"Why don't I help you out...?"

Pardon-

Did he hear you correctly?

Did you want to...

"Turn around! I'll get your back, you stink!!"

By the Three, he needed to keep his mind out of the gutter.

Time:

He wasn't sure the last time he saw himself wearing the Hero's Garb.

It must've been, what, 5 years ago? 10? He lost track of time.

So when Wild showed him the outfits he had stashed in his Slate, he was suprised to see that it was the very same tunic, and not a replica.

He was suprised a second time when he saw the whole set being worn by you: his Sunflower

You walked back to camp, entranced in a flower you were holding, too preoccupied to notice the eldest taking your form in

By the Three, he forgot how skintight those tights were... but you made them look tailored to you

You look up, a slight blush on your ears, "O-oh, hey! Wild gave me your old tunic to wear, I hope you don't mind."

"I don't mind at all, Sunflower."

He wish he could've taken a picture of how cute you looked, stuttering and blushing.

You walked up to him, the curve of your ass being just barely visible for him to see. Something about you in his clothes made his darker side ignite.

You were called by Wild, needing you to taste something by the fire. You jumped up, jogging up to wild as the short green tunic flounced at your movement. Your chest bounced slightly as you skipped to the cook, Time's eyes slightly lidded at your form.

You leaned over, hands on your knees, giving Time the perfect tease. You looked back at him for a second before biting your lip, giving him the thought that you were doing this on purpose.

You were gonna end him-

𓇢𓆸.𖥔 ݁ ˖

[downtowncannibal]

theres a black Christmas board game Kickstarter going around. Dunno how legit. Wonder if it'll get traction since it's the big five o anniversary. What do you think what can black Christmas fans look forward to in terms of official merch in the future, if anything?

Yes ! It is legit, as I've seen some advertising for it + product videos (and it's also being sold by a reputable company, Stop The Killer!). Although I haven't seen any listings for the actual board game, there is one thing up for preorders right now, and is to released in December!

Along with this, there's also a 6' Unicorn replica listed, which is supposed to come with the board game.

Although there hasn't been much promo for it, you're absolutely right about the big 50 coming up. I think that'll definitely cause a push in Black Christmas references in the mainstream horror fandom, however, I believe that if there is going to be a real, big, horrifically marketable push for the Black Christmas Board Game/book, it lies in the Terrifier 3 release. That is going to push Black Christmas wayyyy into the public eye for a bit.

Black Christmas isn't obscure by any means, but there's just not much fandom around it. However, it is one of the original christmas horror movies, and Terrifier 3 is said to have references to it. I think inevitably Black Christmas will have to be brought up.

And in that regard to the fact Black Christmas just doesn't have that demand for product, I also don't think fans can be expecting anything big anytime soon, it's just not profitable, even with the Terrifier release. We've had special movie releases in the last couple years (The 4k addition, The Bob Clark collection) but, something huge and beyond a new Gutter Garbs shirt? Nah.

Regardless, im still hoping for some new commentaries with the living cast.

[johnny-dynamo]

Trick Or Treat by Gutter Garbs

[scarepackage]

Gutter garbs text notifications teasing the fuck outta me letting me just see STEPHEN KING'S but not the movie title and I look and it's the 90s IT...it's never gonna be Christine is it do they know how little merch there is I already own whatever there is please for the love of god

[ordo-scriptus]

The Cult of Admonition cut its teeth in underhive wars, and the Water Cartel's purple-garbed Enforcers were just one of the foes they struggled against - until the hammer of the Moebian Sixth fell. As the Cartel lost ground, more and more of their numbers turned to the Dark Powers. Their trademark uniforms, once barring all access to the Torrent, were now only seen in two places: upon the bodies strewn in the gutters, or marching amongst the Cult. #warhammercommunity #darktide #renegadesandheretics #bloodedkillteam #moebiansixth #cultofadmonition #forthesixth #warhammerkitbashing #paintingwarhammer #paintingwarhammer40k #chaoscultists #imperialismilitia #imperialguard #traitorguard #astramilitarum #warpcults #ageofdarkness #horusheresy #hobbystreak #hobbystreakday416 (at Wakefield) https://www.instagram.com/p/CnAsdvINH8P/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[brokehorrorfan]

Gutter Garbs has released a Japanese-style Halloween 24x18 matte poster by Dismay Design. Now through Sunday, October 6, it comes with a free set of five buttons. Priced at $40, they'll ship the week of October 24.

[iviarellereads]

The Shadow Rising, Chapter 1 - Seeds of Shadow

(THIS PROJECT IS SPOILER FREE! No spoilers past the chapter you click on. Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For the link index and a primer on The Wheel of Time, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

(Wheel icon) In which this is our first, and only, book without a prologue.

The Shadow shall rise across the world, and darken every land, even to the smallest corner, and there shall be neither Light nor safety. And he who shall be born of the Dawn, born of the Maiden, according to Prophecy, he shall stretch forth his hands to catch the Shadow, and the world shall scream in the pain of salvation.(1) All Glory be to the Creator, and to the Light, and to he who shall be born again. May the Light save us from him.  —from Commentaries on the Karaethon Cycle Sereine dar Shamelle Motara Counsel-Sister to Comaelle, High Queen of Jaramide (circa 325 AB, the Third Age)

PERSPECTIVE: Min. The Wheel of Time turns, ages come and pass, a wind rises and flows to Tar Valon, where Min has finally arrived. Her hair is a little longer, and she's wearing an actual dress, and she hopes nobody recognizes her. With luck, she'll be back on her horse, at a nearby inn, in a few hours.(2)

She gets to the front of the petitioners' line in the entry hall and introduces herself but is distracted by three Aes Sedai looking in on the entry hall from different archways.(3) She has visions: one has a sickly brown halo around her, which looks like it's rotting. Another has a human skull on her shoulder. The third has blood running down her face. They're all going to die, on the same day as each other.(4)

The Accepted taking petitions, Faolain, tries to dissuade Min from her request. Min gets back to business and introduces herself by her full name: Elmindreda. She insists any woman has the right to ask a question of the Amyrlin directly. Faolain finally agrees, she'll send word to the Keeper, and ~Elmindreda~ is to wait here.

While she's waiting, Min sees more visions; an Accepted in a cage; Sheriam, the Mistress of Novices, looking battered and bruised; a Brown sister whose aura fades like a guttering candle flame. Death, wounds, captivity, and death for so many.

Eventually a novice comes to bring Min to the Amyrlin's study. On the way, she sees Warders who will get gaping, mortal wounds, with swords and spears dancing in their auras. Some will die on the same day as the Aes Sedai in the entry hall. Another Aes Sedai appears to have a silver collar around her neck, making Min almost want to scream.

On the way into the study, Gawyn exits it, and recognizes Min. He asks if she knows where his sister and Egwene have gone, and she panics, they haven't arrived yet? No, they arrived from that first trip, then took off again shortly after, supposedly to some farm, for penance, but he can't find out where. Min flinches as she has a vision overlay Gawyn: he'll be wounded on the day the Aes Sedai die. She's almost glad the wondergirls aren't here so she doesn't see that they're involved in it too.

She tells Gawyn if they're doing penance on a farm they're probably sweaty and in the mud hip deep, and he's the last one they'll want to see. She challenges his motives for being worried, he's sworn to defend Elayne, alright, but why Egwene? Well, he's just worried, and anything that happens to her... or Nynaeve, he guesses... might happen to El, too. Min tells him he's a terrible liar, and she has business to see to. Where can she find him after? In the practice yard, he says. Min sees another vision, a blademaster's sword, but she can't tell if it belongs to Gawyn or threatens him.

Gawyn goes on to the practice yard, and Min gets shown into the Amyrlin's study, finally. Leane recognizes her instantly, and says she looks more like an Elmindreda in a dress than her usual garb. Min grumbles about being named after a girl in a story who sighs at men all the time, then gets startled at seeing a vision of Leane screaming. She's told to go in directly.

Siuan Sanche, the current Amyrlin Seat, sits in her modest chair at her modest table in the grandly decorated study. Min's vision of Siuan is of her laying naked on the floor, and there's something else odd about the vision she can't place. Siuan asks what she saw, and says it probably means she'll take a lover, though she's no time for any of that these days. Min is doubtful but lets the conversation move on to her other visions and the terrible trouble so many Aes Sedai and Warders are about to face. They speculate for a bit on what it could be, when it might happen, for a long while. The most likely guess is that it's a Black Ajah action.

Min comes to the real purpose of her arrival, the message that Rand was headed for Tear, on his own, without Moiraine's approval or guidance.

“Burn him!” Siuan barked. “By now, he could be dead! I wish he had never heard a word of the Prophecies of the Dragon. If I could keep him from hearing another, I would.” “But doesn’t he have to fulfill the Prophecies? I don’t understand.” The Amyrlin leaned back against her table wearily. “As though anyone even understands most of them! The Prophecies aren’t what makes him the Dragon Reborn; all that takes is for him to admit it, and he must have if he is going for Callandor. The Prophecies are meant to announce to the world who he is, to prepare him for what is coming, to prepare the world for it. If Moiraine can keep some control over him, she will guide him to the Prophecies we can be sure of—when he is ready to face them!—and for the rest, we trust that what he does is enough. We hope. For all I know, he has already fulfilled Prophecies none of us understands.(5) The Light send it’s enough.”

Min asks if they really mean to control him, and Siuan says, well, of course! A fool boy, headstrong and stubborn, maybe already half-mad, running loose? Would you trust to the Pattern, to destiny, to keep him alive? This isn't a story, he isn't an invincible hero, and the Creator won't make some miracle happen if Rand's thread is snipped out of the Pattern. Not even as the Dragon Reborn. Siuan notices Min's facial expression at her rant, and realizes Min loves Rand. Min tells her she's not the only one, three women will be bound to him. Nothing about whether he'll love them back, but they will all three love him.

Now, she's delivered Moiraine's message, can she put on her own clothes and go? Go where, asks Siuan, and Min says, to Tear, or wherever he is by the time she gets there. Siuan says it'll be foolish to be too close to him right now. Min says the Tower's not much better and, once the Red Ajah finds out who Rand is, Min might be arrested by them for helping a man who could channel, regardless of who he is to the Pattern.

Siuan smiles and says then she'd better not be recognized. She may wish to keep coat and breeches hidden for a while. Siuan plans to use Min as bait for the Black Ajah who no doubt remain in the Tower.

She'll have to change her hair a bit, but at least it's long enough to curl now, and Leane surely remembers some use of face paints. She must keep going by Elmindreda for the time being, and she should fit the part. As reasoning, Elmindreda encouraged two suitors and must now take shelter until she can decide between them. Some women still claim sanctuary for reasons as silly.

Min asks if Siuan always gets her way, and Siuan replies with a cold smile, usually.

PERSPECTIVE: Elaida, who absolutely recognized Min going to see the Amyrlin.(6) She's angry that the Amyrlin has disappeared the wondergirls, especially Elayne who should have been Elaida's protégé.

She thinks about Rand, and how if the rumours are true, there were two more ta'veren from his village. Everyone else thinks it's random happenstance, but Elaida knows better. When she met Rand, it was Moiraine who spirited him away from her clutches, Moiraine who was Siuan Sanche's closest friend as novices. She doesn't know if their plot goes all the way back to Rand's birth, but it's the last link to tie them together.(7)

Elaida believes that Rand poses danger to Andor, and her first Foretelling as an Accepted was that the Royal Line of Andor is the key to the Last Battle.(8) She's told nobody what she knows of Rand, but she knows he must be disposed of. She has a leap of logic suddenly that perhaps it's that Rand could channel, that's why Siuan and Moiraine are all over him, but... no, surely even they wouldn't be so foolish as to deal with one such as that?

She mutters aloud, who knows what that woman would do, she was never fit to be the Amyrlin Seat, and is overheard by Alviarin, a White sister. Whites are known for their dispassionate logic. Elaida thinks a moment, and asks Alviarin to walk with her, explaining. Alviarin says she has no proof. Elaida says, not yet.

PERSPECTIVE: Dain Bornhald, spying on the Taren Ferry from the north side of the river. Someone approaches him to say Ordeith was talking to three Tinkers, and now none of the three can be found.

Bornhald rides through the trees to the clearing where the Tuatha'an stand. Nearly a hundred horse-drawn wagons, brightly coloured as the people's clothes. There's an atmosphere of unease, and nearby, all their mastiffs lie dead. Bornhald wasn't willing to take the chance of his men being attacked, even if the Tuatha'an are peaceful.(9)

He draws Ordeith aside and asks if he killed the people. No, but he drew them away to ask them questions, and afterward they all ran away. Bornhald doesn't like Ordeith, doesn't like the orders that were vague about the relative chain of command between them, doesn't like the way his accent changes mid-sentence. Bornhald says he means to cross this river, no matter what.

Jaret Byar rides up and says the village is secured, and they claim there are no Darkfriends in their village, but further south, who can trust those people.(10) Bornhald says to send three hundred across, then the Tinkers, then the rest of the Whitecloaks.

Ordeith interrupts to say they'll scour the Two Rivers, they'll flog them and flay them, and [unclear, probably Rand] will come to [Ordeith] now.(11) Bornhald thinks his commander has tied him to a madman, but at least he's got a path to Perrin to avenge his father.

PERSPECTIVE: High Lady Suroth, who formerly made a deal with Liandrin and is definitely a Darkfriend, ignores her servants but sees the six Deathwatch Guards, who symbolize her triumph and her danger. They serve only the Empress and her chosen representatives, and will kill or die as needed. The sight of them reminds Suroth of a Seanchan saying:  “On the heights, the paths are paved with daggers.”(12)

Suroth wonders how long she'll be able to keep the Sea Folk from spreading word that the Seanchan are back and hold their islands. She wrangled control of the ships that fled Falme, all but a few, and nobody questioned her right to lead. There's no need to return to the Empress and declare defeat and failure when they still have their people and can try somewhere else.(13)

Three women await her in another room, two kneeling and one lying prostrate. The kneeling women are sul'dam, and one is a Voice of the Blood, not something sul'dam ever usually attain, but Alwhin knows too much. The woman laying facedown is a damane who used to be Aes Sedai.(14)

Suroth doesn't trust sul'dam anymore, but she has no choice. The very power of the Seanchan is built on the damane and control over them. They question the damane, Pura, about how the White Tower would control this Dragon Reborn. Pura says the White Tower would never try to control a false Dragon, they would capture and gentle him. The other sul'dam, Taisa, looks at Suroth, wondering if she wants Pura punished for the implication that one of the Blood had spoken untruth. Suroth shakes her head, not wishing to wait around during such a punishment. They keep questioning her in different ways, but Pura is desperate and trying to obey, she is telling them the truth. Suroth dismisses them all.

She's sent reports back home, carefully crafted, but the worst could never be written down. Only three other people know about it, and Suroth needs them all alive. But she has patience. We end on her thinking about whether to give this Dragon to the Empress or not, when she captures him.

=====

(1) Some sickness needs to be cut out before you can heal around the wound. It has to get worse to save the whole. (2) Ever hopeful, but alas, it wasn't in a vision, so it can't be guaranteed to come true as written. (3) Myself, I'm tickled to see Ananda Sedai, having just finished reading A Swiftly Tilting Planet again where that's the dog's name. (4) That's not a good sign at all. And they keep rolling in after this. Something terrible is coming for the Tower, but what? Who? How? (5) I do love a story that takes deadly seriously the real way that our understanding changes over time. Context is lost to translation, to loss of cultural touchstones (look up the origin of "heckle" sometime, like what we do to bad comedians), to historical revisionism, and that's just the real life history. Add to that a measure of the vagueness of fictional prophecy, and you've got a recipe for nobody knows anything about what it means until maybe after the fact. For example, we know Rand is to be marked, by the end, twice by the heron and twice by the dragon. The herons came from holding his sword while it burned, and at the end of last book we saw that Aiel chiefs get a single dragon tattoo. Nobody in Randland even knew Aiel got a single one, so nobody would have any way to predict the existence of a dragon tattoo like that in the first place. And that's one of the prophecy portions we, at least, can see with the most understanding. How many more are just vague, and could apply to any of a dozen possibilities? Then we come to the real question: do you think Siuan and Moiraine really understand any of the ones they think they know? The ones they think they can guide Rand toward? (6) Ah, there's the complication. (7) Is it just me, or does she have some sort of grudge against those two for something? (8) And this is what she's latched on to. This is why she was in Andor, this is why she's so obsessed with mentoring Elayne. Because she had her own little prophecy that the royal line there would be critical to the Last Battle, and she wants to be there to make sure that her side wins. Now, given how Elayne's integrated into the group, she's probably not wrong. But we have had those other hints about someone of the royal line but not raised in it… (9) HOW DARE YOU! How DARE you kill those innocent dogs. (10) That good old small town distaste for the next town over is gonna get someone killed. Remember when it was just quaint of the EF5 to express distrust for Taren Ferry folk? (11) Admittedly, this is a loose guess, but if we look back it's clear: Fain's obsession has mostly been with Rand, not the others. It's tempting to think Fain wants Perrin as much as Dain does, but that's the influence of Dain's POV talking. (12) Hey, that's the title of one of the later books, not this one, that's cheating! Well, it's foreshadowing if you remember the context and think about the metaphor, but y'know, that's just details. (13) I'm sure nobody wants to declare openly that they failed in a task set them by the Empress herself, not in a culture so strict (some might even say so fascist) in its hierarchy. (14) We know her name. Egwene told us in book 2, chapter 42: Ryma, of the Yellow Ajah.

v

[gcldfanged]

'I want the K' // michal at @stormandash

Send me 'I want the K' and I'll generate a number [ACCEPTING] 5. Firm Kiss

Trigger warnings for misogynistic slurs and abuse.

Ji-ho stood there in nothing but a thin sheet wrapped around her like some breathing classical statuary from the old empire, content to blandly stare out the window as her guest (or what was left of him anyway) was dragged by the feet across the hardwood floor.

Such violence wasn't uncommon. Well, normally if the doormen were going to smash someone's head in for not settling their debts, they tended to do it somewhere else, like the wine cellar- Not directly in front of her.

"Fuck me, this'll take awhile to clean up- Hey, go check in with Marilee, will ya?"

She didn't have to be told twice, gathering the voluminous yards of fabric in one hand while strafing around the pool of brackish blood and into the hallway. She at least had some time to freshen up and maybe steal a breath of makhorka from the madame's pipe, if nothing else.

While resting in a lukewarm bath, the older woman fussed with Ji-ho's thick hair- Onyx black and as shiny as a crow's feathers after the rain.

"It's getting so long, maybe we should put it up-" Marilee trailed off, her wrinkled fingers pausing over a cluster of burn scars stamped into the back of the hostess' neck. Sucking a hiss through her teeth, the madame brushed a comb through the damp tresses instead.

"Ah, just leave it. I like it so much better this way."

There was a madness building in the parlour downstairs- Even worse than usual. Twice the guests meant twice the money, but also twice the problems. Everyone was on edge when the guests started to grow louder, just one more drink or pinch of snuff away from outright bloodthirst.

"Seems that we'll be moving to a larger venue pretty soon," Ji-ho muttered, closing her eyes as she exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. That could mean a number of things. New guests, new girls to compete with. They all smiled and played nice to each other's faces, but in that line of work, the stress of it all managed to harden into a fierce meanness, like the way sap turns into amber.

She was 'lucky', in that respect- There wasn't a lot of competition to sink their claws into the men she entertained.

"Does that mean you'll be running things here and he'll manage the new maison?" she asked cautiously, setting the long enamel and silver pipe aside.

"I don't rightly know, child. Perhaps you should should ask him."

Ji-ho could feel the pulse in her neck quicken, the blood pumping through her veins turning to ice. She stared into the greying water of the tub but didn't really see or acknowledge the chill of the wind, only the growing anxiety coalescing in the pit of her stomach.

"What did he say...?"

"Finnegan will escort you to him once you've gotten dressed."

Even if she wanted to draw out the process of garbing herself, she couldn't- The walking clenched fist of a doorman just loomed unpleasantly in the same room. He said nothing, didn't bother to look her way in the slightest. Probably was used to it, she reckoned, though Finn seemed like the type who was more interested in running his sword through someone's guts- That, or kicking puppies and tripping children into puddles.

The hostess followed her orders, climbing the stairs to the upper floors where Michal kept his office, of sorts. Finnegan rapped a meaty ridge of scarred knuckles against the door frame, only proceeding to creak open the thing once he was given express verbal orders.

She knew better than to speak without being addressed first, keeping herself quiet and still- Merely a living piece of common furniture amidst the lavish and opulent surroundings.

"Don't just stand there, whore- Is that any way to show respect for the man who dredged you up from the gutter, hm? Clothed you, fed you, gave you a stable roof over your simple little head?"

The word dripped like venom from Michal's sneering lips, spat out like a toxic wad of chewing tobacco. Ji-ho's jaw tensed, but she approached the writing table and curtsied, her ribcage screaming in pain as she did so. Marilee had laced her damn bodice so tight, it was a wonder her organs hadn't gotten squeezed up into her esophagus like a tube of paint.

"I am honored, Master," she replied evenly, trying to restrain her disgust for the slimy excuse for a human being languishing before her. That alone was pretty normal and yet Michal made it that much harder by being himself.

Michal merely rolled his eyes as if the gesture was barely acceptable, quill scratching against a roll of parchment with sharp motions.

"You have one simple job and you can barely manage that much- Do you even know how much money you cost me every second you're not sucking cock? At this rate, your debt will never be cleared. Fortunately for you, I am being generous enough to offer another way to earn your keep."

There was a terse silence that fell between them as Ji-ho's mind swam with frustration and confusion. Of course he would do this. There were always more expenses piled on, higher interest added to the now insurmountable number of coin she owed.

"But you said it'd be the last one months ago," she suddenly ground out between her teeth, fingers tightening into fists at her sides.

She realized she'd made a mistake well before Michal had pushed away from his chair and closed the gap between them, reaching out and grabbing her by the chin. His thumbnail dug into her lower lip, peeling it back to reveal the brand inked into the delicate tissue.

Ji-ho froze immediately, straining her muscles to be still and not push into or pull back from Michal's grip. Her eyes widened as he applied more pressure incrementally, the manicured edge threatening to draw blood. It was distilled from the same flower, the poison that they inflicted upon Bearers. Not only would she die, but it would be an agonizing way to go out.

"I'm sorry, Master, please-" she breathed, unable to mask her panicked fear.

"I'll do it... I'll go, whatever you say, I'll do it."

Michal loosened his grip and shoved her back, taking a step forward and presenting the leather of one of his boots. The same ones he'd used to go outside earlier, had collected all manner of street filth.

The hostess almost was tempted to just die anyway, to be done with it all. To finally put an end to everything. Yet her suppressed rage needed satiating, her desire for revenge growing to a higher note until it became all consuming. It was the mental image of Michal snot-nosed and groveling at her feet in abject pain that made her swallow her pride, digging her fists against the rugs and firmly pressing her lips to the disgusting tip of Michal's shoe.

One day, he would beg her for the sweet release of death. And she would refuse him, time and time again.

One day.

[reverend-dog]

Shepherdess

Smoke choked the cave, winding up from the ever-burning torches which flanked the dais. The effigy on the dais portrayed a feminine figure of generous proportion, reclining with a lamb in her lap and a shepherd’s crook jammed in the ground nearby.

Michael’s heart felt like a smith’s hammer against her ribs, as she knelt in front of the effigy. “Beloved Styrscha,” her voice quavered, and she fought a swallow to wet her dry throat, “attend me, I beg you. This very night, not an hour ago, I saw the Nyxian army on the march toward Black Lake Valley. They will reach the town before I can get there. And even if I could get there before them, who would I warn? We have no soldiers, not even a watch.

“Dear goddess,” Michael pleaded, “you know the Nyxians. They know no pity. Their hunger for pillage and murder drive them, and they respect only power. Please, send us an army, a champion, somebody to turn the Nyxian horde.”

The torches guttered, then flared up. “you already have an army,” whispered a voice in Michael’s ear. She whipped her head to the side, but saw only the cave wall. “a champion, you must provide. who is here?”

“Only myself, dear Styrscha,” Michael replied. “But I am a simple shepherdess. I know no weapons, nothing of war.”

“you are a protector,” the voice countered. “valor lives in the heart, not the arm. what will you give for your flock?”

Michael’s head snapped up to stare at the effigy. The full import of the question sank in. “Everything,” she answered.

“then the champion is found.”

….

Crenelated boots and iron-shod hooves tromped dusty earth. Ebon leather and plate creaked in foreboding harmony to the rhythm of the march. Spiked helmets crowned faces tight with anticipation, or grim with determination.

General Vrynn rode in the middle of his troop, his mount the largest of all. His eyes reflected the moonlight, bright as a cat’s. Night was the Nyxian domain. They marched and fought while the sun slept. Not only did this allow them to catch their prey unawares, but it added to the fear that squeezed men’s hearts at the name Nyxian.

“Milord General,” Lieutenant Tass spoke up. “Scouts report a party in the road ahead.”

General Vrynn snorted. “Bandits,” he conjectured. “Deal with them.”

“Milord!” Lieutenant Tass passed the order to the vanguard, who broke rank and jogged ahead. Sounds of combat echoed back, clash of weapons and cries of pain. General Vrynn’s brow furrowed. “Too long for bandits,” he muttered. “And is that… sheep?”

The bulk of the troop continued forward, until the sergeant at the lead called for a halt. Lieutenant Tass tilted her head. “Milord General, Sergeant Gatt respectfully begs your presence at the fore.”

General Vrynn scowled. “What?” he growled, but kicked his mount forward. Ranks parted before him, except for one soldier who moved an instant too slow, and was trampled. “What is this?” he demanded as he drew up next to Sergeant Gatt.

By way of answer, the sergeant pointed ahead of them. There, strewn across the road and off to both sides, lay the cadre of scouts, limp and twisted. In the middle of the way stood a slender figure in peasant’s garb, head bowed, a shepherd’s crook in one hand.

General Vrynn rounded on Sergeant Gatt. He swung an armored fist, and stove in the sergeant’s head with one blow. “Cowards!” he raged. “Sally forth!”

Driven by training, faith, and fear, the troop surged forward, weapons raised. They trod over the bodies of their fellows, heedless.

The figure’s head snapped up. Eyes blazed, twin suns in a face full of youth. In the same moment, dozens of other eyes opened behind the shepherdess. They hung lower, angled more to the side, equally lambent. Muzzles parted, shrieks and bleats of rage sounded, and the strange enemy mounted their own charge.

At the end, General Vrynn sprawled in the dirt, trapped under the carcass of his mount. All around, what soldiers remained stood their ground until trampled and torn, or broke and ran. The general of the Nyxian army blinked away blood and dust, and tried to focus on the girl who stood over him. “Who are you?” he challenged.

“Just a shepherdess,” the girl replied, “ready to give everything for her flock and her home. Can you say the same?”

The general tried to sneer, but just then a ewe pranced by, a hand dangling from her muzzle. General Vrynn was no stranger to horror, but the sight struck ice in his chest and down his back. “Be done with it, then,” he told her. “Kill me.”

Michael shook her head. “No,” she replied. “You will live. Go, and tell people what happened here. Tell them Black Lake Valley is forbidden. Make them believe it.” She turned and began to walk away.

“They won’t,” he declared.

Michael stopped, and turned her head. “Then let them come,” she invited over her shoulder. Gathering her flock, she strolled into the shadows as dawn tinged the sky.

[germ-t-ripper]

02MAR24 I'm absolutely in love with this FRIGHT NIGHT II (1988) shirt by Gutter Garbs!

[gemkun]

@tavustlik said : i don't want to flood your inbox, so pick one or mix multiple idc: gutter. the trail of blood ends and you find the sender broken on the ground. plaster. it's not pretty but it'll do; you wince as the sender patches your wounds. waiting. you duck into the bus stop to escape the rain, intruding on the sender. listen. the sender disobeys and you swat their curious hand away. crossfire. you realize the sender asking you to put out a hit is your next target. ↬ ⭒˚｡🖁‧₊˚ 〖 down these mean streets . . . 〗

      ⸻       vanished   was   his   anticipation   ,   when   he   hurried   to   seek   shelter   ,   away   and   out   of   the   downpour   that   showered   relentlessly.   though   the   hammer   of   droplets   is   a   concern   washed   away   when   a   deafening   thud   strikes   ,   causing   two   collapsed   figures   to   tumble   onto   the   pavement   —   extracting   a   hiss   from   the   fallen   practitioner.   fortunately   ,   the   spot   he   lands   upon   is   absent   of   puddles   that   litter   the   streets.

  though   ,   that   does   not   undo   the   fact   he   is   already   wet   from   his   prior   episode   of   weather   exposure.

  faintly   ,   the   pitter   —   patter   draws   him   back   to   the   land   of   the   living   ,   and   his   eyes   crescent   until   the   full   moon   waxes   towards   his   run   —   in.   ah.   ❝   you   ?   ❞   strain   echoes   ,   summoned   from   his   chest   that   rises   and   falls.   in   a   tempo   faster   than   his   usual   rate.   ❝   why   are   you   here   ?   ❞

  speculation   stirs   before   he   can   help   it   ,   pondering   what   ifs   and   hypotheticals   ,   before   he   moves   onto   verifying   potentials   —   whether   or   not   they   uphold   any   semblance   of   truth.   all   in   the   span   of   a   few   seconds   whilst   he   moves   to   upright   himself.

  but   he   cannot   hide   the   struggle   as   his   legs   straighten   ,   and   a   grimace   works   its   way   across   an   afflicted   countenance.

  and   it   seems   his   company   catches   on   quick   ,   with   how   his   eyes   search   his   personage.   his   exploit   to   conceal   is   a   fruitless   one   —   when   there   is   a   dark   patch   that   stains   his   cloth.   even   if   it   borders   on   being   faint   as   opposed   to   noticeable.   so   too   ,   does   the   doctor   follow   the   trail   of   his   gaze   ,   identifying   how   it   slips   to   the   clash   against   his   otherwise   pristine   garb.

  knuckles   bruised   ,   he   plants   a   hand   to   obscure   the   splatter   on   his   attire   ,   veiling   it   from   prying   ,   avgin   eyes.   ❝   it’s   just   a   scratch.   pay   no   mind   to   it.   ❞   yet   ,   it   is   never   enough   for   the   stoneheart   ,   and   dissatisfaction   announces   itself   as   a   hand   strides   to   its   mark   —   snatching   the   wrist   belonging   to   the   barricade   over   his   wound.

  before   he   pries   it   off   ,   and   a   layer   of   crimson   greets   him.

  immediately   ,   his   scorn   follows   in   the   swatting   of   his   intrusive   grasp   ,   and   the   academic   narrows   eyes   at   the   director.   it   was   to   be   expected   ,   since   he   never   did   adhere   to   prescribed   directions   ,   but   veritas   still   mirrors   his   annoyance   in   his   scowl.   ❝   did   you   not   hear   me   ?   i   said   leave   it.   ❞   he   did   have   every   capability   of   dealing   with   it   ,   as   a   doctor   and   all.

  to   his   dismay   ,   the   act   of   swiping   a   curious   hand   brings   him   to   stumble.   and   on   his   last   legs   ,   he   collapses   once   more   ,   against   the   male   that   occupies   this   bus   stop.   fingers   climb   ,   before   he   grips   the   material   that   adorns   the   sigonian   ,   if   only   to   steady   himself   from   tripping   completely.   there   ,   a   sudden   breath   curls   ,   exhaled   upon   the   torso   pressed   forth   ,   instantaneous   once   he   detects   the   hand   that   flaps   his   garment   aside.   where   gleaming   dual   —   toned   irises   can   survey   the   laceration.

  he   dismisses   the   chide   that   falls   from   the   one   expected   to   receive   it   instead   of   dishing   it   ,   until   agony   spears   from   the   nerves   that   fire   once   his   body   stations   into   the   vacant   seat   at   the   scheduled   pick   —   up   zone.   soon   enough   ,   he   recognises   there   is   no   room   for   protest   once   the   liquidation   specialist   makes   up   his   mind   ,   and   in   this   case   ,   it   refers   to   the   insistence   to   attending   his   injury.

  an   offering   he   would   have   declined   to   any   other   asker.

  ❝   stubborn   gambler   ,   try   not   to   do   a   sloppy   job.   it   would   be   counterproductive   if   your   application   requires   readjusting.   ❞   glancing   ,   he   observes   the   tools   of   his   sleight   ,   now   tasked   with   staunching   rivulets.

  but   as   he   does   so   ,   he   scopes   above   ,   eyeing   the   covering   that   shields   the   two.   and   it   stays   ,   tipped   skywards   ,   to   watch   until   the   clouds   roll   away   and   take   its   storm   with   it.

  perhaps   ,   it   is   a   good   thing   ,   that   the   other   is   distracted.   leaving   the   rain   to   be   nothing   more   than   a   distant   memory.