#key hill cemetery

[theseimmortalcoils]

Nadia Van Der Westhuizen and her glorious red hair at Key Hill Cemetery, Birmingham, England - from FB.

[nicholasbritel]

My cemetery's in Key Biscayne. It's one of the prettiest in the world. The sky is blue, palm trees, rolling hills. The one is Los Copa's really sh*t. [sigh] What a pain in the ass you are. And it's true: you're not young, you're not new, and you do make people laugh. And me? I'm still with you because you make me laugh. So you know what I got to do? I got to sell my plot in Key Biscayne so I can get one next to you in that shithole Los Copa, so I never miss a laugh. Robin Williams and Nathan Lane as Armand and Albert in The Birdcage (1996) dir. Mike Nichols

[farfromstrange]

Do No Harm

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: (Not) A Greater Woman

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Your tendency to self-destruct tears down everything in your path, even your best friend. Though it is Claire's secrets, in the end, that have you fearing for your life.

Warnings for this chapter: ANGST, Heavy on the angst (18+), alcohol abuse (and everything that comes with it), mentions of alcoholism, mentions of child and domestic abuse, mentions of suicide, bad coping mechanisms, Reader is being unfair, needles, mentions of drugs, self-destructive behavior, violence, faint allusions to sexual assault

Word Count: 3.4k

A/n: ...and ending on a cliffhanger. Classic. I purposefully wanted a lot of raw dialogue. I wanted Liv to say things she doesn't mean because she has problems and she needs help. I wanted Claire to be on her last straw because mental illness is hard on everyone involved, just to different degrees. Mental illness does funny things to people, after all. Please, heed the warnings.

Read Chapter 15: (Not) A Greater Woman here on AO3!

In your dream, far beyond the never-ending void of darkness, there is a little girl. She’s running around a field of bright white daisies, carefully picking those she deems pretty enough to be made into a flower crown. The sun is shining down from above, and it’s so peaceful there, far away from the bustling of the city. 

A woman calls from somewhere north. The little girl turns toward the distinctive sound, waving her daisy-filled hands. “Daisies, mommy!” she says, unstable on her little toddler legs.

The woman chuckles. “I can see that, darling. You want to come over here for a second? I have to reapply your sunscreen.”

Such a beautiful summer day, you think to yourself as you feel the breeze against your skin. The little girl doesn’t protest. She takes the daisies and runs up the hill to her mother. 

They are the spitting image of each other—matching braids, matching overalls, and matching smiles. At what point in life does the candle blow out, and children who once believed in all the good in the world turn into cynical adults? At what point in life does the magic end?

When the woman calls out this time, the name she utters sends a shiver down your spine. You look around yourself, but there is no one but you, the little girl, and her mother, and neither of them seems aware of your presence in the vast field of daisies. 

The realization slowly dawns on you that the girl with stars in her eyes isn’t just any little girl finding solace in nature, she is you.

Within seconds, the daisies turn to dust. You look down, expecting to see a sliver of green, but you find yourself standing in a pile of ashes instead. First, it is ashes, then it is grass again, and then, you’re standing before a marble gravestone in a crowded cemetery in the suburbs of San Francisco.

That is why you hate summers; one second, you’re happy, and the next, the person you love most is ripped from your bare hands. 

When you think about your mother, you only remember the good days. Though somewhere in the faint distance of your mind, tucked away in a neat box that you once locked and threw away the key, are pictures of her crying. Pictures of her lying in bed for days as your father tried to coax her to at least eat something. 

You remember the times she used to yell at him, completely apathetic, and you had to watch from your doorway down the hall as she bullied him away. You doubt he ever noticed you there. In reality, your mother had more bad days than good. The tumor was growing uncontrollably inside of her, but every time he took her to the doctor, they sent her home with another psychiatric diagnosis. 

You were only a child, a toddler, you didn’t know any better. You only wanted your mother. But you lost her, and shortly after, you lost your father to the impossible power of drugs and alcohol. 

You swore yourself you would never turn into him. After years of taking care of him, you swore to yourself you would never touch a bottle of liquor. You would never make the same mistakes he did. 

Until one day, you did.

No matter what you do, you might never outrun the cycle of self-destruction you were born into. 

Your eyes flutter against the iron curtain keeping them shut. You’re trying to fight your way out of this godforsaken nightmare, but someone seems to be holding a sledgehammer to your head. Thud, thud, thud. It’s hollow, at first, then quickly turns sharper.

“Liv,” a faint voice breaks through the cotton in your ears. “Liv, hey! Can you hear me?” she asks. 

The world is too bright when you finally open your eyes. With the pounding headaches comes a wave of toe-curling nausea, and before you know it, you’re hunched over the edge of Claire’s couch, reality crashing into you like a tidal wave, and you’re motioning for something, anything, to empty your guts into. 

Just in time, she puts a bowl in your hand. A mix of alcohol and pure stomach acid burns its way through your esophagus, traveling from your stomach out through your mouth.

If only the memories were erased, the physical pain would be much easier to bear. You can still see them, clear as day in your mind. Matt, the empty restaurant table, and the bottle of vodka you drowned in—it’s all coming back to you now. One would think that drinking yourself into oblivion would work like a wet towel on a dirty whiteboard, but the brain can be powerful in upholding the clarity of painful memories. Once again, you have fallen victim to your psyche. You destroyed your body again, and again, it was for nothing at all. 

“Easy.” Claire wraps a hand around your hair. “You’re gonna rip out your IV.”

You catch a glimpse of the tube sticking out of your arm, attached to the bag of yellow propped up on the backrest. 

“What?” you pant. 

It doesn’t make sense to you. None of this makes sense. She is coddling you like one of her patients. After what you did, you hardly deserve it. The things you said to her seem so cruel now in retrospect, but you were drunk and angry, and you didn’t know how to listen. You didn’t want to listen. So, you picked a fight because that is what you do best—pushing the people you love away. 

“It’s a banana bag,” Claire states. “Don’t ask.”

“Well, I am asking.”

“Perks of a nurse’s apartment. Free drugs.”

“Criminal,” you mutter.

“Anger issues,” she retorts. “Somebody’s gotta make sure your ass doesn’t die from alcohol poisoning, so…” 

Nerves do funny things to people. Some start pacing, others try to breathe, and Claire hovers. It is her job to do so. To be there. To take care of others. And she is the first to try and save something that seems beyond repair. To her, nothing ever really is.

She reaches for her medical bag. “Here,” she says, handing you a wrapped aspirin. “This should help with the hangover.”

You ignore her. “What time is it?” 

“Little after five.”

“In the morning?”

“In the evening. You were out for over twelve hours.”

“Fuck!” You try to sit up without ripping the needle out of your arm, but even the slightest movement turns your stomach around. 

The next curse comes with a gush of stomach acid. Your muscles contract, and you empty your guts into the bowl.

Claire growls, “Stop moving.”

“No. I need to–” You retch. “Uh, I need to be at work in a few hours. I need to… go home.”

You convince yourself that if you breathe through your nose, you won’t vomit. You won’t pass out. The pain won’t consume you whole. You reach for the aspirin, after all, to at least try to numb what you destroyed.

“You still have alcohol in your blood.” She stops you. “You can’t operate like this.”

You push the bowl aside. “I have patients, Claire,” you say. “I need to check on them. If I don’t, I’ll get fired. People could die.”

“Are you really that irresponsible?”

“I’m not drunk anymore.”

“Oh, yeah?” She reaches for the breathalyzer, wherever she got that from. “Blow into this,” she says, “and we’ll talk.”

You grind your teeth. Your eyes flicker between the device and her face. She looks smug—so fucking smug. You push it away from your mouth; you’re going to fail, anyway. Setting foot in the hospital would be gross medical negligence, and you refuse to be that person. 

Claire nods. “Thank you. You’re gonna call in sick to work, and I will make sure you’re sober enough by tomorrow for your next shift.”

“Is that all you’re gonna do?” you counter.

A pause, and then, “I’ll come back when the time’s right,” she says.

You want to ask, what if the time is never right? But the tension wraps around your neck like a noose, and you find yourself suddenly unable to talk. 

Life as you know it is over, you have to face that. Things will never be the same again. Claire might never be the same again. As much as it hurts, the cycle of life always finds ways to fuck you over, and you just have to accept that.

You watch as Claire busies her hands, as she keeps hovering, and the words she said last night before you passed out come back to mind. Do you want to turn into your father? You could get nauseous again just thinking about it. “What you said last night,” you begin, “about me turning into my father…”

She stops rearranging the furniture, but she doesn’t turn around to you. “You want me to say I didn’t mean it?” she asks.

“I want you to tell me the truth,” you say.

“The truth?”

“Yeah.” You sit up straighter, holding onto the needle in your arm. “Do you really think I’m like him?” A grunt slips past your lips. “I mean, is that how low you think of me?”

Claire scoffs. Her eyes slip from you to her hands in her lap. “I asked if you wanted to turn into him, I didn’t say you already were. ‘Cause even if that’s not the case, you’re on the best path to doing so anyway.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Seriously?” She gets up, towering over you, and you have no choice but to let her; you don’t have the energy to fight back. “All the drinking, picking fights, and feeling sorry for yourself? That’s not an indication?”

“I have bad coping mechanisms, yes, but that doesn’t mean–” but you get interrupted. 

“Bad coping mechanisms,” Claire snickers. “Right.”

“I’m not like him and you know it,” you say. “You know I’d rather die than be like him.” 

“If you keep going like this, you will die.”

Your eyes roll back into your head. “I had a few drinks. I didn’t snort a line of coke and started beating the person I was supposed to protect senseless. You know why?” You raise your voice high enough for it to crack. “‘Cause I’m not like my father!”

The sound travels back to your ears, and you flinch at the shrillness of it all. You swore years ago that, no matter how miserable you get, you would never let the pain get the better of you. You’re still functioning. You are not like your father because you’re still functioning. Or are you, after all, just lying to yourself? 

Your life has been a burning trash pile for so long that you forgot what normal even is, but maybe you are the reason it hasn’t stopped burning yet. Maybe it isn’t the trauma or the fact that Matt stood you up but you are the one pouring gasoline into the fire. 

You’re not functioning, but you can’t possibly admit it.

“You’re using alcohol to escape,” Claire says. “You know who does that? Alcoholics. You’re an alcoholic.”

“I am not an alcoholic!” you snap.

Your mind is a continuous loop of, take it back, take it back, take it back. You just want her to take it back.

Instead, she throws her arms up in the air. “My point is that you can’t keep going like this. You can’t drink yourself into a coma at every minor inconvenience. You’re gonna end up dead in a ditch one day, and I won’t be there to bail you out.”

You manage to pull yourself together enough to rise from the couch. “I don’t need you to bail me out! I don’t need you to do anything,” you tell her, so sure of yourself. 

“You’re my best friend, for fuck’s sake! I’m here. I’ll always be here,” she says, “but I can’t help you if you keep destroying yourself just because you think nothing fucking matters anymore!”

“I’m not some broken thing you need to fix, Claire! It is my life! Mine!”

“You know what? You’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t stop you from killing yourself.”

You shake your head. “I managed to survive before I met you, and I can do it again.”

You try to tell yourself that she isn’t the reason you’re still alive. You try to tell yourself that she is just another person in your life and that you will survive if you lose her. Life would be easier if she wasn’t who she is.

Upon your words, Claire doesn’t move a muscle. “Okay,” she says. “Fine.”

Infuriating.

“God, I wish I’d never met you!” 

In the fallout of your outburst, there is quiet. The words seep into her skin like radioactive material. You watch as it poisons her, as it poisons every good memory you made together over the past two years as though it never meant a thing.

You can’t believe you said that.

“Well,” Claire finds her voice again after seconds stretched into hours, “that makes two of us. But you know what? I won’t stand in your way. I’m done.”

The words die on your tongue.

“I’m gonna take a walk, and when I come back,” she says, “I want you gone.”

“Claire–” you start.

You have never seen her so distant, so beside herself. She reaches for her coat on the rack. “You know how to remove an IV, don’t you?” 

“You think that’s gonna hurt me?” you try to engage her one last time, waiting for a reaction, anything to tell you that she isn’t going to walk out on you.

That she isn’t about to abandon you.

That you didn’t just ruin the one good thing in your life by not knowing how to keep your mouth shut. 

Because you were so angry at yourself you took it out on her like a fucking sociopath.

“No,” Claire chuckles, breathless to no end, “you don’t need me for that. You never did.”

The door falls shut behind her.

For a moment, you think it’s a bad joke and that she will turn around and come back, but one minute turns to two, and the door remains closed. You are left alone in a strange apartment with a strange cat, trapped in a grave you dug for yourself.

A greater woman would run after her. A greater woman would apologize and beg her to come back. A greater woman would not be a coward when faced with the reality of having pushed her best friend away—because she has no one else. You have no one else. But you’re not a greater woman. You claim to be; you want to be, but you are far too screwed up for that.

You press a finger just above the needle, slowly pulling it out of your arm. The sting is unlike the thousand cuts every one of your breaths is marinating with salt. An inferno has taken over your body, but you have no more fight left in you. 

You are done.

You ignore the blood spurting from the superficial wound, reaching for your coat instead. Your steps are far from straight, your vision is blurry and you don’t have any money, but you would be damned if you stayed.

Just as you’re about to drag your sorry ass to the exit, the door rattles. It’s subtle, but it’s there, followed by the relentless drag of steel boots along the hallway outside. 

The uncoordinated turning of the knob stops you in your tracks. 

Claire has a key. 

The woman who lives here has a key, and she is still with her ill brother.

You are either having hallucinations, finally losing your mind or someone is trying to get into the apartment—and it isn’t Claire.

You back away, step after step toward the window. As if you could survive a jump from this height. As if you have the guts to jump.

That rattling is so familiar—too familiar. 

Someone kicks at the fragile wood, and your heart drops to your stomach, dissolving in the acid. Voices start to overlap in a language you don’t understand. You have nowhere to run.

The irony of it all almost makes you laugh. You pushed Claire out of the apartment she’s staying in; you pushed her out of your life, and now someone is trying to break in with you inside. It seems like karma of the highest order.

Your mouth opens in a gasp as the door flies off its hinges, and you come face to face with two men. Strangers covered in scars.

You don’t scream.

You don’t run. 

They certainly expect a reaction out of you, shouting orders in Russian to each other to surround you, but you are tethered to the ground by the roots of an invisible tree. Your blood runs cold, clogging the arteries leading to your heart, but you still can’t run. 

Pointless is the only word that comes to mind. Fighting back is pointless. You want to curl up and die. To let natural selection take its pick. You can’t say you don’t deserve it because that would be the biggest lie of all.

Their grabby hands reach for you. “Take it,” John’s voice pipes up in the back of your head. “Take. It!” And if it were him, you would run. 

God knows what they want to do to you. They have the same evil in their eyes as he had. A million worst-case scenarios cross your mind, all worse than the mercy of death, and your muscles thaw. A switch is flicked. You break out of the ice, sprinting around the coffee table to get toward the door just when they think they can get to you. Russian obscenities fall from their lips, and you swear you can make out the name, “Claire,” along the lines. 

They will not get her, and if they get you, at least they won’t have her.

You should have listened when she said there are some things she just can’t tell you. You had no right to be mad. What has she gotten herself into? What has she been suffering through without you?

She always had to bail you out. Even when you thought she chose herself, she was still choosing to protect you. What a fucking fool you are.

You catch the eyes of a boy, a teenager, on your way to freedom, the two men shouting behind you, and his broken brown eyes break your heart like a porcelain vase. He looks so guilty, so shocked to see you there, and it only takes you a moment to recognize him.

He’s bleeding.  

“Not Claire,” he chokes out in his broken Spanish accent, even after you shake your head and scream for him to run, but it’s too late. 

They don’t care that you’re not her. They grab you, and you scream again as they tear you to the ground. You barely feel the blood pooling under your nails, dragging along the splintering floorboards. Adrenaline forces your body to fight back, to kick, and to cry out for help, but like all those years ago, no one hears you.

One of the men grabs your hair and forces your head into the wood. Your temple splits open under the sheer force, blood splattering everywhere. For a moment, you only hear your heart racing in your ears. You can taste it on your tongue. The lights blind you, and they are whiter than they used to be. 

You’re painfully aware of the hands dragging your limp body toward the door. T copper and dirt in your nostrils are a toxic combination of scents that remind you of death, and you might just die tonight. Physically and emotionally, you might die.

You’ve been begging for death to come and get you, but now that he is knocking on your door, you don’t want him anymore. Not like this. Not after everything you survived to get here. This is not how you want to go out.

“Help,” your lips form the word as an incoherent whisper. “Help, please…”

It’s too late. Consciousness slips through your fingers, and darkness overcomes you like a total solar eclipse. Though unlike before, you are not floating. You are not at peace. There are no daisy fields or graveyards.

This new darkness is empty, vile, and eerily familiar, too. When you finally succumb to it, thoughtless existence is all that is waiting for you on the other side—or perhaps, purgatory.

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @thatonegamefish @danzer8705 @kakamixo @littlehappyperson @atemydadforbreakfast @stevenknightmarc @zheezs14 @shouldbestudying41 @kiwwia-wiwwia @writtenbyred @echo-ethe @kezibear @peterbarnes @littleagxs @silas-aeiou @scoliobean

[dalekofchaos]

RE1 is getting remade for the 30th Anniversary and here's why I support it and what I'd love to see in the RE1RR.

Updated with the next gen graphics in the RE Engine

The plan is obviously to remake RE5, but we need to do Wesker's OTHER big appearances first. I believe we should get the following released in the specific order. 1, 0, then Code Veronica and finally RE5. Cause if you tease RE5 and have Wesker, you should have the three games that featured Wesker before his death in RE5.

The atmosphere and tension of the Spencer Mansion in the new age and basically RE1 meets Village. The visual aesthetic of Village’s Castle Dimitrescu for Spencer Mansion.

Better characterization. Flesh out all the characters. Improve the plot/story.

Chris and Jill’s campaigns to be separate and different, so by the time they meet at the end they’ve both had their own adventure, and you need to play through both to see both sides. Perhaps give Chris the mines and Jill the guard house. Expand the mansion, and when they separate at the start they pick up different keys and access different areas. That way they story would be canon regardless of what happens, and there would be some variety. Also have Rebecca and Richard as playable paths, similar to Sherry and Ada in RE2R.

A playable Wesker mode with him having to move about the mansion and into the lab under a certain amount of time.

Also would like them to keep the REmake music (especially the save room theme), though they could always release a Deluxe Edition like 2R with the OG music too?

Additions. I would be happy with an entire new floor in the Spencer Mansion. Or making the Residence 3x as long. Adding a forest section, either during the opening and/or later in the game. Extended playable sequences for Rebecca and Barry – different locations for each, like how the Orphanage was entirely new for Sherry in 2R. An abandoned greenhouse near the guardhouse with Plant-42 and similar experimentation , an extended cemetery with more tombs, a third floor in Spencer Mansion, more floors in guardhouse, etc.

Making S.T.A.R.S. matter. The game begins at the R.P.D. After picking between Chris and Jill, you make your way from the garage and up into the department proper, crossing paths with various characters referencing the recent cannibal killings and the fact that Alpha and Bravo have been assigned. The walk through the RPD could be intercut with news reports and police banter about what’s been happening. You can interact with the various characters as much or as little as you want en route to the briefing room. Chris and Forrest can talk some trash and reference their apparent contest for top shot. Enrico can be seen helping Rebecca organize her equipment and her nerve. Joseph can be given more personality than being puppy kibble. Marvin can be caught informing Rebecca that she won’t be the rookie in a couple more months. Chief Irons can greet the player with the mask of a competent professional because his mind was still intact. Hell, perhaps we can even catch a glimpse of whatever act Wesker put on for the two years that made these people trust him. Wesker and Enrico would then host the briefing that will send them into mountains, still treating this like they think the suspects are hill people or whatever, culminating in Bravo Team taking point while Alpha Team remains behind. There could be some more small talk or some kinda time lapse before Richard makes contact in a panic before communications break down. Alpha Team immediately preps and heads out, complete with changing clothes in the locker room and gearing up. The player will actually play the search through the woods, discover the crashed helicopter, and play through the mad chase to the mansion where the game as we know it begins.

Throw the players off by changing the keys and rooms

Zombies, Crimson Heads and every other BOW in the first game

Defense weapons and head stomping

Lisa Trevor(she could work like as a stalker enemy)

Same notes, but add in some new ones

All the puzzles, but mix it up

Just give us “One more second and you were ALMOST A JILL SANWICH” let Barry be the cheesy bastard that we know him to be

Stick with the REVIll face model for Chris, but younger and less steroids. Like how many faces can he wear?????

Stick with the RE3R face model for Jill, but don’t let it look like she just got out of being dipped in the sewer

Include Zero as DLC. My pitch of a RE0R. But the main requirement for RE1 is for Rebecca to NOT be cowering in the corner. Rebecca CANNOT be in the corner cowering from a Hunter when she is more than capable. A simple scream of surprise, but when we reach Rebecca, we see that she's perfectly fine

Bonus costumes For Chris:Made In Heaven outfit, BSAA outfit, CVX STARS outfit For Jill:RE3 original and Remake, BSAA, RE:Resistance, and RE5 Battle Suit.

And finally getting what we never got in the original or the 2002 remake. The ending that has Chris, Jill, Rebecca and Barry in the chopper. So my big idea to make this happen is this. If we play as Jill, Chris makes it to the mansion with us. Jill and Barry go and investigate, while Chris and Wesker are outside. They vanish. Richard will mention that Rebecca Chambers left the mansion after hearing Brad’s radio and went to get help. We will later see Rebecca in the cell with Chris in Jill’s story. For Chris’ story, Barry makes it to the Mansion. Chris investigates the gunshot while Wesker will say they will split up and investigate the Mansion and everyone vanishes. Later in the game before we get to the lab, there would be a dropped Barry’s photograph. Later when we get to the cell, Barry will be in the cell with Jill. Barry apologizes to Chris for what he’s done and Chris understands why he did what he did and he can help make things right. Ultimately in both playthroughs, all 4 S.T.A.R.S. members work together to fight the Tyrant until ultimately Chris or Jill destroys the Tyrant with the rocket launcher. It ends with all 4 members escaping in the chopper as the Mansion explodes.

[beautifulmakkaris]

If you're missing Lockwood and Co, don't despair! Here are some recommendations from fans of the show and books to help fill the void while we fight for season 2 - please share far and wide <3

All recs are from responses to this post, myself and things I've seen floating around the internet (ie, Goodreads suggestions/lists). Recs may be based on specific characters, ships, tropes, genres, worldbuilding or just general ~vibes.

Please make sure to check all content warnings before reading/watching any recommendations on this list.

Books (standalone)

Spellbound by F. T. Lukens

The Agency for Scandal by Laura Wood

The Dead Romantics by Ashley Poston

The Cheat Sheet by Sarah Adams

This May End Badly by Samantha Markum

Cemetery Boys by Aiden Thomas

The Ex Hex by Erin Sterling

A Sky Painted Gold by Laura Wood

The Hidden Dragon by Melissa Marr

Trouble by Lex Croucher

Books (series - *ongoing)

Shades of Magic by V. E. Schwab

Skulduggery Pleasant by Derek Landy

A Good Girl's Guide to Murder by Holly Jackson

The Locked Tomb by Tamsyn Muir*

Virals by Kathy Reichs

The Shades of London by Maureen Johnson

The Raven Cycle by Maggie Stiefvater

Jackaby by William Ritter

Charlotte Holmes by Brittany Cavallaro

The Checquy Files by Daniel O'Malley

Alex Stern by Leigh Bardugo*

Stalking Jack the Ripper by Kerry Maniscalco

Scarlet by A. C. Gaughen

Renegades by Marissa Meyer

The Diviners by Libba Bray

City of Ghosts by Victoria Schwab

Percy Jackson & the Olympians by Rick Riordan

Mokee Joe by Peter J. Murray

Mortal Engines by Philip Reeve

Murder Most Unladylike by Robin Stevens*

Letters of Enchantment by Rebecca Ross*

The Left-Handed Booksellers of London by Garth Nix

Dreadwood by Jennifer Killick

The Empyrean by Rebecca Yarros*

The Bartimaeus Sequence by Jonathan Stroud

Ankh-Morpork City Watch (Discworld) by Terry Pratchett

The Mistborn Trilogy by Brandon Sanderson

Scarlett & Browne by Jonathan Stroud

His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman

Books (graphic novels)

Locke & Key by Joe Hill

Television series (*-ongoing)

School Spirits*

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Shadow & Bone

Wednesday*

Stranger Things*

CW's Nancy Drew

Shadowhunters

Locke & Key

The Bastard Son and the Devil Himself

Spooksville

The Midnight Club

Teen Wolf

Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency

Grimm

Please feel free to keep sending recommendations my way and I'll update this list as often as I can! Also let me know if you enjoy anything you found from this list, I'd love to know if you found it helpful :)

[yourartmatters-itswhatgotmehere]

so, alright, here are the movies/MEDIA that make me go *oh shit I'm so bi, omg bisexual panic*

so, alright, here are the MOVIES that make me go *oh shit I'm so bi, omg bisexual panic*

(it can be very bi-vibes movies or simply movies that make me feel how very deeply i love being bi, or the ones i just enjoy rewatching-not necessarily with bi/queer representation!) : Red, White & Royal Blue 2023 , Wicked (Part 1) 2024 , The Mummy 1999, The Little Mermaid 2023, The Little Mermaid 1989, Anne Of Green Gables 1985, Anne Of Green Gables:The Sequel 1987, Anne of Green Gables: The Continuing Story 2000, The Road to El Dorado 2000, Mulan 1998, RENT 2005, The Cutting Edge 1992, Ten Inch Hero 2007, Rebel Without A Cause 1955, The Fallout 2021, Better Off Dead 1985, Anastasia 1997, Cinderella 2021, The Idea of You 2024, Rise Of The Guardians 2012, 10 Things I Hate About You 1999, Do Revenge 2022, Charlie’s Angels 2019, Bottoms 2023, Cadet Kelly 2002, Lemonade Mouth 2011, Purple Hearts 2022, Carry-On 2024, The Little Vampire 2017, John Tucker Must Die 2006, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies 2016, The Princess and The Frog 2009, The Addams Family 1991, Addams Family Values 1993, Treasure Planet 2002, Atlantis: The Lost Empire 2001, The Favourite 2018, Challengers 2024, Upgraded 2024, Fallen 2016, The Half Of It 2020, A Biltmore Christmas 2023, Feel The Beat 2020, My Old Ass 2024, Time Cut 2024,(+ will probably keep adding to this soon-ish)

+TV SHOWS that my bi heart loves:

One Tree Hill(OTH), Shadow and Bone, Roswell 90s(OG), White Collar, Reign, Mary & George, Heartstopper, Wild Cards, Living for the Dead, Warrior Nun, XO Kitty, Wednesday, Maxton Hall : The World Between Us (2024), Jurassic World Camp Cretaceous(JWCC) & Jurassic World Chaos Theory (JWCT) , Percy Jackson and the Olympians, Dawson's Creek, Vampire Academy 2022, Fallen 2024, Willow, Dickinson, Heartbreak High, Bridgerton (S2), Teen Titans, Legacies, TheAddamsFamily(1964-1966), Love Victor, Lockwood&Co, Queer As Folk, The L Word, Shadowhunters, Ginny & Georgia, Get Even (2020), Geek Girl (2024), Agatha All Along, Cruel Intentions 2024,

-also bi4bi stories: Fiyero Tigelaar & Elphaba Thropp(FIYERABA)(Wicked (Part 1) 2024), Morticia & Gomez Addams(The Addams Family), Li Shang & Mulan(Mulan1998), Peyton Sawyer/ Rachel Gatina & Brooke Davis (BREYTON/BRACHEL)(OTH-One Tree Hill, canon to me idk), Ariel & Eric (ERIEL)(The Little Mermaid-TLM, also canon for me), Alina Starkov & Mal Oretsev(MALINA)(SAB-Shadow And Bone, also canon f me), Kate Sharma & Anthony Bridgerton(KATHONY/KANTHONY),(Bridgerton since S2, yup, this is how i see them), Kenji Kon & Brooklynn(KENLYNN/BROOKJI?)(JWCC-JWCT-Jurassic World Camp Cretaceous-Jurassic World Chaos Theory), Percy Jackson & Annabeth Chase(PERCABETH)(Percy Jackson and The Olympians), (ANYHOW let’s stop assuming any f&f or m&m couples are lesbian/gay and f&m straight because BISEXUAL PEOPLE EXIST!)

+BOOKS/ BOOK SERIES that my bi heart absolutely LOVES:

Artemis Fowl Series by Eoin Colfer, Shatter Me Series by Tahereh Mafi, The Folk Of The Air Series by Holly Black, The Diviners Series by Libba Bray, The Devouring Gray Duology by C.L. Herman, GRISHAVERSE books (Six of Crows!!, Shadow and Bone, King of Scars-3 mini series) by Leigh Bardugo , This Woven Kingdom Series by Tahereh Mafi , Fallen Series by Lauren Kate, Elixir Series by Hilary Duff, The Cemetery Of Forgotten Books Series by C. R. Zafón, The Keys To The Kingdom Series by Garth Nix, Infinity Cycle Series by Adam Silvera, Anne Of Green Gables Series by L. M. Montgomery, Bloodlines Series & Vampire Academy Series by Richelle Mead, An Ember In The Ashes Series by Sabaa Tahir, The Selection Series by Kiera Cass + STANDALONES Lauren Kate-Unforgiven (standalone book in my opinion), Eoin Colfer- Airman, David Nicholls- One Day, Gayle Forman-Just One- Day & Year & Night (mini series), Vanessa Len-Only a Monster (mini series here too), Adam Silvera- History Is All You Left Me, Adam Silvera- They Both Die At The End , Adam Silvera- The First To Die At The End, Becky Albertalli-Imogen,Obviously, Mason Deaver- I Wish You All The Best(+short novella here!), Casey McQuiston-Red, White & Royal Blue, Casey McQuiston- The Pairing, Casey McQuiston-I Kissed Shara Wheeler, Casey McQuiston-One Last Stop, Aaron H Aceves-This Is Why They Hate Us, Page Powars-The Borrow a Boyfriend Club, Wen-yi Lee- The Dark We Know, Mason Deaver-The Feeling Of Falling In Love, Sophie Gonzales-The Law Of Inertia, H.E.Edgmon-The Witch King & The Fae Keeper (duology!) , H.E.Edgmon-Godly Heathens & Merciless Saviors (mini series here!) , Carlos Ruiz Zafón- The Midnight Palace, Isabel Abedi- Whisper Haunted House, Francis Scott Fitzgerald- The Love Of Last Tycoon, Leo Tolstoy- Anna Karenina, S. E. Hinton- The Outsiders, Becky Albertalli & Adam Silvera-Here's to Us & What If It's Us (duology),(will keep adding here probably!)

-also bi4bi stories: Violet Saunders & Isaac Sullivan (The Devouring Gray + The Deck Of Omens (duology), Kit Fairfield & Theo Flowerday(The Pairing), Noah Byrd & Asher Price (The Borrow A Boyfriend Club),Jonah Collins & Dylan Ramirez (They Hate Each Other), Nathan Allan & Ben Benjamin De Backer (I Wish You All The Best +I’ll Be Home For Christmas),

https://www.instagram.com/the_bi_library/ & @ the-bi-library here on tumblr!!

BOOKS TO LEARN MORE ABOUT BISEXUAL HISTORY & ACTIVISM:https://www.tumblr.com/ruimtetijd/686000390089621504/list-of-books-about-bi-history-and-activism-from

+ https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Q--nIkJu0OS0BgiyZmdKVwOVg1G90SFzWijNDWFTt58/edit#heading=h.wqkaxpi7o5je

+about THE MUSIC:

love you all, we need MORE bisexuality in media!!

+some links:

The Bisexual Flag, its meaning and history!:https://www.tumblr.com/yourartmatters-itswhatgotmehere/762664140472008704?source=share + Lani Kaʻahumanu talking about how bisexuals have ALWAYS been around!:https://www.tumblr.com/yourartmatters-itswhatgotmehere/762663819491328000?source=share

.https://anythingthatmovesarchive.carrd.co/ &https://anythingthatmovesarchive.carrd.co/#scans &https://anythingthatmovesarchive.carrd.co/#about

also i recommend this podcast ‘A Little Queer Podcast’ by two incredible bisexual people Capri Campeau and Ashley Whitfield. episode linked here, ‘Debunking Bisexual Myths and Stereotypes’ :https://open.spotify.com/episode/3wcP8HBIY0IyVxROjpZPNg?si=TIHDv-eFQi-mdsCS6zKzNA (all covered here for real!) +also check ‘A Bit Fruity Podcast’ by Matt Bernstein (very educating one!!) + Bisexual Brunch Podcast (UK) by 3 bisexual people, 2 men and 1 woman! here:https://open.spotify.com/show/3tH2DAjYrk2cXdYRSqt5nS?si=2ae6bb60b1534366

let’s talk about biphobia/Kit Connor (Max Hovey TikTok) important video:https://www.tumblr.com/yourartmatters-itswhatgotmehere/770851818143186944?source=share +Bisexuality has never excluded trans and non-binary people. Please stop spreading this lie. It actively harms trans/n-b bi people and bi people with trans/n-b partners. STOP BI ERASURE :https://www.tumblr.com/yourartmatters-itswhatgotmehere/770848612526735360?source=share + WHAT IS BISEXUAL ERASURE:https://www.tumblr.com/yourartmatters-itswhatgotmehere/770848534830399488?source=share + ‘ANYTHING THAT MOVES’ ATM 90s Bisexual Magazine is Shockingly Relevant Today--- Despite the joy of reading this bi-centric work, however, it's telling how little has changed since 1991--The first several stanzas of "This Poem Can Be Put Off No Longer" by Susan Carlton, featured in the first issue of 'Anything That Moves.' Credit: Anything That Moves / The poem continues, but the point is clear from the start: Bisexual people aren't believed for who they are. They're belittled and told to "choose a side," that they're bisexual for attention. It's difficult to think that this poem is over 30 years old. The poem "truly could've been written yesterday... or 50 years ago," said Marshall. "How long do we have to keep screaming the same things to the world over and over until people stop pretending we're speaking another galaxy's language?" --- The solace of Anything That Moves, however, is that even though progress has been slow, fellow bisexual people can relate to the shared experience detailed in its pages.:https://www.tumblr.com/yourartmatters-itswhatgotmehere/770848263124500480?source=share

THIS song (bi bi bi THIS IS OUR SONG!!) by Sub-Radio (the lead vocalist Adam Bradley is bisexual♥) :https://www.tumblr.com/yourartmatters-itswhatgotmehere/765512527066087424?source=share &https://www.tumblr.com/yourartmatters-itswhatgotmehere/765512891127480320?source=share + THIS BAND SINGING THE BLACK PARADE but make it ever more queer pride parade♥ :https://www.tumblr.com/yourartmatters-itswhatgotmehere/765565710891155456?source=share &https://www.tumblr.com/yourartmatters-itswhatgotmehere/765565917201612800?source=share (you’re scaring Ron you’re scaring Rooonn) + an awakening with HSM(?) :https://www.tumblr.com/yourartmatters-itswhatgotmehere/765565797378719744/mndvx-subradioband-happy-pride-yal-anyone?source=share

(+IMPORTANT) (Nov,2023)-A Bit Fruity Podcast (created by Matt Bernstein (gay American Jewish man) Ep with Moe Dabbagh, a gay Palestinian American with family currently in Gaza. ‘Queers for Palestine & The Power of Pinkwashing’. Palestine has been occupied for more than 76 years now, since 1948 year. This ep gives you a LOT of information, especially if you are one of the people who can’t see right through the propaganda; or the ones who go ‘well if you’re gay then go to Gaza and see how that goes for you’. Queer Liberation is a liberation of Palestinian people. We can’t have one without the other. Free Palestine. Free all the people that are not yet free. This is where we start!! Ep on youtube :https://youtu.be/Xsgdk-DDSXc on spotify :https://open.spotify.com/episode/62WOjKJYih6lhuisP8tmZH?si=soRArGs1QeWqEzEaiSVlUg on iheartcom:https://www.iheart.com/podcast/269-a-bit-fruity-with-matt-ber-117844074/episode/queer-palestinians-the-power-of-129612460/(keep learning & keep showing up!)

!!.http://alqaws.org/siteEn/index & https://queersinpalestine.noblogs.org/ + https://www.instagram.com/queersinpalestine/

[a-usernamelol]

Summary:

Allan Waite, a strange student from Hogwarts, finds a group of poachers trying to break in a vault and save the rest of their company from certain death. Despite his better judgment, he decides to help.

Word Count For The Nerds: 5826 words Page Count For The Nerds: 13 Pages

The sun pounded down forcefully on the dirt and grass, which only doubled the bombardment on Allan’s skin, yet years of outdoor attention and activity had made him sturdier to the sun’s constant war, but years of hoarding clothes on his person had also kept all but his face pale. He was used to it, however, and pushed forward through the blur of heat of the ground, towards some unseen goal he wasn’t even entirely sure about himself. 

Allan kept walking forward in the grassy hills that provided little cover, passing along a cliffside edge that threatened to toss him over with one step to the right. Down there, he could see a poacher camp, set right outside a cave. Cages were stacked in rows, and in one lay the key to the entrance of the cave, a large cube with a symbol on it. They seemingly had figured out it had to do with the cave in some way- or it wouldn’t have been so heavily protected. He could see the water from here- just a ways away, past the camp which was set on another cliff. Then again, this was the coast- you could see water nearly everywhere. 

He clicked his tongue to himself, making his way to his current destination- a nearby cemetery that had long since been abandoned over the course of decades, turning and walking towards a bridge built across the river he had been following for the past day to find his way. The heels of his boots met stone, found grip, and held weight with each step forward. Thankfully the bridge was still sturdy, and he soaked in the view once more, glancing over the edge towards his right once again, watching the glittering water sparkle like a thousand gemstones in the setting sun, spreading the fire towards the beaches which served as the only divider between the two. A path slowly crept away from the sands, and up towards the bridge, dividing the cliff into two.

Everything is as it should be. He thought, satisfied with the rare quiet- too quiet, really, with a poacher camp nearby. Sure enough, his quiet was disturbed as he noticed a pair of legs sticking out from behind his view of the rocks. He moved just enough to see the full form and frowned when he recognized the mask on the face of the body.

A dead poacher? That seemed odd to him- poachers, as with any group, at least to some extent, defended each other. It was rare to see one alone- let alone dead. Creeping to the side a bit more to see past the rocks, he noticed what appeared to be another corpse- although it was hard to tell, since it was tucked closer to the cliff he had just walked away from, the shadows leaving it obscure to his vision. Curious, he deviated from his mission, and quickly jogged across the bridge, back the way he came. 

He found a spot in the rocks where he could clearly see the bodies, and soon realized there was still more he had missed due to his position before. There were, in total, four poachers, two of which were dead, both laying in a similar fashion, near what looked like white symbols Allan could not quite make out, but which looked distinctly familiar. Another sat with his legs pulled up against his chest, tucked into the cliff in a way Allan could never have seen him from his position before even if he tried. He looked like he was weeping behind the mask, shivering and hugging himself, muttering half-incoherent thoughts and words.

The last poacher was groaning loudly in pain, bashing his shoulder into a metal gate tucked into the cliff, leading to a cave. He would walk a few paces back, run forward, and slam his whole body weight into the door, before doing it again after each inevitable failure. 

Allan crouched down to watch them, curiosity eating at his heart the more he watched their clearly desperate efforts. They weren’t paying attention to their surroundings, clearly, since neither of them seemed to notice him.

“I can’t hear their screams anymore.” The poacher tucked against the cliff sniffled out, saying the first genuinely understandable thing yet. The other turned and looked at him, frowning and pausing his assault on the door, before letting out a loud, exhausted sigh and slamming his shoulder into the metal again, the bars cutting into his shirt and skin, bruising him badly enough he bled under the shirt, causing it to stick and itch. He paused again to move his shirt so that it no longer itched, and Allan bit the inside of his lip.

On one hand, poachers hunted and killed defenseless beasts. On the other, these poachers in particular were clearly desperate, and it looked like the rest of their party had been trapped in the cave. Although Allan didn’t want to help them, knowing how they had hurt others while working under Rookwood, he also felt terribly sorry for them- as they clearly were trying to rescue their team- assuming there was any team left to save.

Allan got up and climbed down the cliff, jumping down and catching himself, before hopping down again onto the dirt path with a soft thump. The frightened poacher squealed in terror when he saw him and jumped up, his wand immediately at the ready. This alerted his friend mid-slam, and he too twisted around to face him, hissing a threat.

“You! You’re that damned student! You have a lot of nerve showing your face around here.” He spat. Allan didn’t flinch, only shrugged and raised his hands in hopes to show he meant no harm.

“I’m not sure you’re in a position to say that, with what looks like a good chunk of your crew dead or missing in action.” Allan then nodded to the poacher who had yelped, and noticing how badly he was shaking, he gave a friendly smile. “Sorry for the scare.”

The poacher shivered and backed up against the wall, leaving his more sound comrade to step forward, unconvinced of Allan’s attempts at peace.

“What do you want, boy?” He growled through gritted teeth, which Allan could hear through his mask.

“I want to strike a deal. You want to go find your companions. I want to see what’s in that cave. I can unlock the door, and we can split the profits. I don’t want to fight you- put the wand away, please.” Allan explained slowly, emphasizing his words so it hopefully registered.

The poachers glanced at each other, seemingly worried for another potential bloodbath. Eventually, the both yielded, and slowly put their wands away, still studying Allan’s every move warily. Allan smiled and lowered his hands, creeping forward and fixing his gloves. He took a cocky bow, trusting them to not attack him for the few seconds he wasn’t looking at them, and he raised an eyebrow.

“Thank you kindly. I think we should get acquainted. Allan. Allan Waite. You two?” Allan raised his arms to gesture to the poachers. The terrified one shivered and remained silent, still not trusting him enough to speak. The other, however, shifted awkwardly from one foot to another, and huffed in irritation, clearly not thrilled at being on friendly terms with their number one enemy. Still, he adjusted his shoulder blades and stood up straight.

“Vincent, if you must know.” He declared proudly, “You’re not going to attack us, then?”

“Don’t be silly. You’re helpless. I have class. I want to help you.” Allan shook his head, putting his hands in his coat pockets and blowing a lock of magenta hair out of his eyes. Vincent snorted, and although Allan couldn’t tell, he could have sworn the poacher rolled his eyes. 

“Well I’m so very glad that we’re so helpless that the great Purger of Dark Wizards feels bad for us.” Vincent crossed his arms, the defensive gesture signaling to Allan that he did not trust him, and rightfully so, in Allan’s eyes. The other poacher sunk back into his crying position and began to sob. Both Allan and Vincent turned towards him and Allan frowned, furrowing his brows in genuine sympathy. He took his wand out of its sheath and slowly walked over to the gate, Vincent watching him the entire way, wary of his every move.

“What are you doing?!” He hissed the second he saw the wand, just a little bit of fear creeping up into his voice. Allan chuckled at his reaction.

“Unlocking the door, you fool. Do you want to find your friends or not?” Allan replied, snapping in a way that left little room for argument as he cast Alohomora on the lock. He walked right by a gawking Vincent, who huffed and adjusted his cat skull mask as the door swung open with an agonizingly slow creak. Allan turned to look back at the frightened poacher and smiled.

“Stay out here and guard the entrance. If anyone but us comes up, close the door immediately.” Allan ordered. The man nodded, still visibly shivering like he was experiencing his own personal earthquake. Satisfied with the nod for an answer, Allan turned to look down into the dark pit of a hallway, lit only by a few stray torches. Vincent leaned in a little next to him, looking between Allan and the hallway. 

“…It’s open.” He said after a moment, urging Allan to move already. Allan gawked himself, and rolled his eyes.

“Well- Yes I KNOW that thank you.” He started walking forward and into the stone halls. It was clearly man made- more likely one of the many treasure vaults like around the Highlands. Still, he crept down onto the rubble, quietly trying to avoid making any noise by avoiding the pebbles- An effort immediately foiled by Vincent who tripped on a stone slab, a loud Clunk ringing through the hallway. Allan winced and froze. He didn’t want to disturb whatever lay in here- lest it decided to disturb them. He looked back at Vincent with a scowl, who gave a tiny, albeit forced, smile.

“Any idea what happened here?” Allan whispered. Vincent shook his head.

“The gate locked behind them- all we heard were the shouts of a scuffle.” Vincent shifted away from the slab, careful not to touch anything else. Allan turned back around to keep moving.

“What happened to the men outside then?” Allan hissed quietly as he put his hand on the wall, feeling its rough texture. A nearby torch, sensing movement, lit itself. Allan squinted as his eyes adjusted to the sudden light. He was surprised any torches down here still worked- although he supposed it could be magic.

“Inferi out front. Lot of ‘em. Stupidly strong for a shambling mass of bones.” Vincent replied. Allan raised an eyebrow, surprised.

“…Inferi. Inferi took out three poachers? And then what? Left?” Allan replied, clearly dumbfounded by how three fully grown adults couldn’t just Confringo a bunch of Inferi. It seemed to be a poacher’s favorite spell. Vincent shrugged.

“I don’t know… They were stronger. Something was wrong. They were like- stone statues- and if you managed to get a crack open- they glowed red.”

Allan frowned at Vincent’s description. It sounded oddly similar to a particular pyramid-shaped object he knew of. Stone that glows red. Hm. 

“Any chance they attacked at night and crumbled to ash once the sun rose…?” Allan offered, throwing it out there that he might know what those things were. Or are- if there were any more. 

Vincent stopped and gawked at Allan, who continued forward. He scrunched his eyebrows and blinked, putting one hand against a stone wall as if in thought.

“How- how do you know that?” He wondered aloud, Allan just shrugged and gestured for Vincent to come along. It would be too much a hassle to explain. To a poacher no less. He didn’t exactly “help” poachers and Ashwinders often. This one just got lucky that he was curious.

The hallway opened, each wall suddenly swallowed by a larger, darker room. Allan had to blink a couple of times for his eyes to adjust- which was promptly ruined by Vincent casting Lumos. Allan sighed as he was blinded and he reached over to his left and to bat at Vincent’s wand. Allan’s hand stopped short however as the rough shapes he had started to see in the dark suddenly became clear, and he could see the limp, lifeless forms of several poachers, strewn across the floor like ragdolls with broken or even crushed limbs. He cringed enough his left arm returned to his side. He doubted any of them had very painless deaths.

That would explain the screaming dying out… He frowned. At LEAST the Killing Curse is painless. Whatever was in here certainly didn’t give any of them that mercy. Allan felt a little drool well up in his mouth and his hand almost instinctively inch closer to his wand. The pain they must have gone through… 

Allan slammed his right hand into his coat pocket and looked at Vincent who was staring in horror, even under the mask the wide eyes were visible, glittering from the light of his wand. Allan reached out again, but hesitated and sighed.

“I’m sorry.” Was all he managed to squeak out. He was one to talk, so he knew better to say more when he had a nasty reputation for taking out poachers in the Forest. Vincent nodded and approached one of the bodies, leaning down a bit to look at it and instantly recoiling at the smell of blood.

“…It’s like. It’s like the corpse of a bird that got under a carriage’s wheel.” He concluded. But human. Allan didn’t need Vincent to say it to know what he meant. 

Allan wandered into the room as well, looking at the roots coming out of the ground from trees that must be above them. He squatted down to inspect them. The soil was soft and crumbled easily to the touch. It was fresh.

“Vincent. Stay away from the dirt. And the roots.” Allan ordered with an air of urgency. Vincent seemed to clock it was important and frowned, looking over.

“Why?” An understandable query.

“I dunno. Hunch.” Allan frowned, standing up and looking around. “I just don’t like it.”

Vincent raised a suspicious eyebrow, the mask shifting up slightly on his face, conveying to Allan his doubt. Then again, Allan didn’t need to see his face to know he probably didn’t trust him. 

“…Right.” Vincent turned to move further into the room, spotting a wall to the left with loose looking bricks. Vincent wandered over, intrigued. As he did, the bricks, enchanted as they were, shot themselves back and reformed the wall, opening into a new, smaller room. Vincent jumped and scurried back in shock, unintentionally landing his heel in the crook between the floor and the root of a plant, his own momentum forcing him backward, and he fell to the ground, snapping the root with a loud “Ack!”.

Allan immediately turned around, worried as to the condition of his companion, but failed to warn the man, as a skinny, stone hand shot out of the loose dirt and grabbed his arm with painful force. Vincent, with his arm now pulled against the ground, gasped and tried to pull away to no avail.

Allan took a step forward to help Vincent, paused as he listened to the groans of other undead assailants as they pulled their bodies out of the ground. A quick glance around confirmed the worst of his fears, as at least four other ”inferi” surrounded them from all around the room. Allan realized quickly he had little time before they overwhelmed him, and he rushed over to Vincent.

Vincent gasped at the stone arm, which now slowly revealed a whole head and body. Vincent could see the “skin” of the creature wasn’t skin- but some sort of stone cracked and groaned with every swift movement. It seemed impossible to break from. It didn’t help that Allan himself looked panicked- although Vincent gathered that made sense. He was just a kid. Even if he seemed to know what was going on- he was still JUST a kid.

“Lumos!” Allan shouted, his wand giving light. He shoved it in the inferi’s face, which seemed to make it back away with a screech of agony. Vincent broke his hand away and scrambled up. The creature was completely still now that it was in the light- like some sort of… Undead statue? Now was not the time for questions.

“That’s what was outside! Merlin’s bloody cock-“ Vincent gasped as he scrambled away, taking the hint to grab his own wand and cast Lumos.

“Language.” Allan grumbled in Vincent’s vague direction, and turned around, waving the light in the direction of the other “inferi”. His aggressive motion made them swerve away the second the light moved away from them, but his wand gave a strained flicker. It was like they themselves were soaking up the light, and perhaps the very magic of his wand. 

“Alright, wiseass. How do we kill ‘em? Fire?” Vincent hissed back, waving his wand in the direction “Inferi” that had attacked him moments earlier.

“They’re stone. You can’t kill stone- let alone what’s already dead.” Allan frowned and looked back into the hallway, where the torch was still flickering with fire. He glanced at his wand, which was starting to flicker more as its unnatural light was drained- presumably by the creatures. With every spare second the light was out, they crept closer to Allan. 

He shoved his wand in his pocket and grabbed the stone arm of one of the monsters, vaulting himself over it to get out in front of them. Vincent let out a shocked gasp as Allan sprinted to the fire, only to be grabbed a moment too soon by the coat, Allan turned around and sucked in his breath. The whole room looked like a void- with the exception of Vincent’s wand. A single arm attached to a stone body reached out, gripping onto Allan’s coat.

Allan looked at Vincent, whose wand flickered slightly, causing the poacher to smack his hand in confusion. With little more consideration, Allan ripped his coat out of the grip of his assailant. He turned around with a frustrated hiss.

“Confringo!” A sizzling, swirling giant spark of fire leapt from his wand, hitting the “inferi” that had attacked him in the face. It froze, like stone, staring at him with what was left of cold, broken eyes. He didn’t have a second to think as the flame died out, and his wand sparked, indicating to him that he wasn’t getting anything out of it with these creatures around. Vincent frowned as his own wand flickered.

“Alright, smartshoes. What now? I can see those gears turning.” 

Allan stared at Vincent for a moment before something clicked, and rammed himself into the nearest “Inferi” and knocked it over. Vincent gawked.

“Are you INSANE? Do you have a DEATH WISH?” He hissed through his teeth as Allan sprinted out of the room back into the hallway. 

“Shut it, Dad.” He grumbled sarcastically as he grabbed the torch from the wall. Vincent gasped and sprinted forward, his wand going out in the same breath. Instantly, “Inferi” were on top of him with the speed of a bullet, yanking him back away from the hallway. He shouted out as he was pulled to the floor like he was nothing more than a ragdoll.

Allan stopped on his tracks as he watched Vincent get pulled into the darkness of the room. He bit his tongue to keep himself from uttering several unholy words.

He shoved the torch in the face of the first “Inferi” he could see in the dark, which let out a horrible screech of pain, as its stone skin cracked and shattered as easily as sugar glass. With one last effort, in spite of its pain, it reached its crumbling hand out and tugged on Allan’s coat, before falling to the ground in a million pieces. Allan fixed his coat and walked into the room, filling it with the natural light of the fire.

A loud roar of howls of pain pierced Allan’s ears like a spear. Each creature still as stone, but yet crumbled to the ground in an uproar of sheer agony, reaching up as they did. Vincent gawked as the magic of his wand returned to him, the light emitting from its point, and he looked at Allan in understandable confusion and relief.

“…What…?” He gasped.

“Natural light. Lethal to them.” Allan explained carefully, “That was the difference. They’re afraid of light. Fire is natural light. Unnatural things are afraid of nature because it always wins. Like… vines overtaking a brick wall.”

Vincent raised an eyebrow. He looked the kid up and down a bit, confused by how this teenager made such a conclusion like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“But- the torch was enchanted. It came on on its own.” 

Allan shook his head and started walking forward, looking around the room with the flame and wandering over to the wall that had moved just before the attack. “The stick would have been enchanted to LIGHT itself. The fire wouldn’t have been.”

He turned to look at Vincent, checking to see if he was following mentally. 

“Those things… They aren’t Inferi. They’re… like… Husks. Inferi have a little intelligence enough to talk and move. Those things? No. They just attack anything alive that comes near, like a golem.” Vincent said in a half panicked daze as he scrambled to his feet, dusting off the shards of stone. He felt vomit rise up in his throat when he realized that “stone” was now millions of pieces of dead bodies.

Allan laughed, and shook his head. “Oh no no no. They’re intelligent all right. Did you think it’s a spell that they only moved in the dark? No no, it’s a HUNTING tactic.” Allan smirked to himself as Vincent looked at him with horror.

“You mean… Those things… Could have… moved at any moment?” Vincent looked at the dust and shards on the ground and backed up slightly, immediately stumbling over a dead comrade, now coated in dust. He cursed loudly and looked at Allan with a new fire in his eyes, suddenly raising his wand in the boy’s face.

“Who ARE you?!” Vincent hissed angrily, as if all this was Allan’s fault.

Allan narrowed his eyes and frowned, tilting his head.

“Allan Waite. Feel free to tell your superiors that I saved your life. See how happy they’ll be then.” Allan walked towards the center of the room with a coy smirk. 

“We had a deal.” Allan tutted as he walked. Vincent’s hand quivered as he held up the wand, realizing that Allan was entirely unafraid- perhaps amused- about his threats. He pressed his lips together and put his wand in his pocket. 

“You’re a strange kid.” He decided aloud, causing Allan to snicker profusely. Allan wandered over to where Vincent first fell. 

“You’re clumsy.” He pointed out. Vincent frowned as Allan pointed out the very obvious fact. Allan moved silent as the dead of night, so of course Vincent was clumsy by his standards. 

“…Hm.” Vincent shook his head, not gracing the kid with an answer. He walked over, following Allan as he started to walk closer, the bricks moving and shifting, revealing a small closet-sized room, as dilapidated as the rest of the place. Inside was a small chest, about as big as a large suitcase. Allan narrowed his eyes and looked back at Vincent, putting a foot on the top of the chest before smirking. 

“THIS is what you fell over?” Allan chuckled. Vincent rolled his eyes at Allan’s mockery. Allan shook his head and took his foot off the chest, squatting down on the floor, and started opening it. Vincent grabbed Allan and pulled him away from it, the lid snapping shut with a loud clank. 

“What if it’s booby-trapped?” Vincent hissed. Allan rolled his eyes and brushed off his shoulders.

“Oh please. I doubt anyone who built this expected ANYONE to get past those creepy crawlies. Most don’t even know reinforced Inferi exist, let ALONE how to stop them.” Allan leaned down and lifted the chest lid anyway, causing Vincent to step back as if something would jump out.

Allan snickered as Vincent reacted, and looked down to spy their fortune. Inside was nothing but a light purple scarf, eaten partially by moths and maggots. Allan scrunched up his nose, picking up the scarf and holding it away from him like it was diseased. “...Well. This will give you lice and other pests for sure…” He said, Vincent, replying with a face similar to Allan’s own.

“...Lovely. All this, for virtually nothing. For Merlin’s sake, we can’t even split it!” Vincent huffed, before being met with the scarf being tossed at his chest. Instinctually, he reached up to catch it, immediately fumbling and nearly dropping it. “Nah. You can keep it. I’ve seen what I wanted to see. At least you’ll have something to show for your efforts.” Allan shrugged and turned to walk back into the room and from there the hallway. Vincent turned the cloth over in his hands and huffed before it registered that Allan was walking away and he whipped around to follow him, scampering behind as they crawled back into the light. “Now hold on just a minute! What am I going to tell my superiors? What am I gonna tell others?” Vincent declared worriedly as he scrambled back to Allan’s side. Allan just shrugged and tilted his head.

“What do you WANT to say?” Allan countered, turning around and raising his eyebrows curiously. There was, as there had always been, a glitter- or perhaps a shine, in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

Vincent sighed and leaned back against a nearby wall. He took a moment to stare at the overgrown ceiling, before frowning and looking over at Allan.

“We should get out of this place.” He observed, not wanting to get attacked by more stone monstrosities. Allan chuckled and nodded, clapping Vincent on the shoulder as he walked by.

“Fair enough.” Allan walked down the thin hall and put the torch back on its mount, waving Vincent over. Vincent didn’t hesitate to scurry out of the dark towards Allan, clambering through the loose rubble on the ground to get away from the pit of darkness. Once they got to the gate, Vincent shoved past Allan to scramble out, running over to his partner.

Allan frowned, looking at the partner at hand, who had sat with his legs pulled against his chest against the same cliff face the vault had been carved into. He walked over and dug through his coat pockets, which were endless by design, to pull out a worn glass bottle that had a piece of cork shoved in the top to keep the precious liquid in. He held it out to the poacher gingerly.

“Hey. Drink this. No one thinks straight when dehydrated.” Allan furrowed his brows and pressed his lips together. Despite the terrified man being his enemy, he still felt… Well. Pity. They were only following orders after all, that didn’t make them the villains, just the tools. 

The frightened man snatched up the bottle, practically drinking the whole thing in one shot, before coughing.

“Water.” He observed roughly. Vincent seemed to raise an eyebrow at this, frowning. 

“Are you…” Vincent trailed off a bit, thinking before speaking. “Are you alright?” Vincent glanced at Allan for a moment, while the poacher nodded slightly, coughing again. Allan stood up, so Vincent followed. He looked at the curled up comrade with clear worry, before opening his mouth to speak to Allan, only to be cut off.

“Get that man a good meal and some safety. No one comes out the survivor of a slaughter, a survivor of mind. Not completely. Give him some time, and some compassion. You both just watched your whole team die in front of you.” Allan gestured to the man and then Vincent, giving a soft, kind smile. 

“That goes for you too.” Vincent gawked at Allan’s words and then back, before taking off his mask for air, sighing like a seal coming up for air. 

“I’ll take him back. To camp, I mean. Make sure he’s treated right. I’ll have a report to get to.” Vincent gritted his teeth. The last thing he wanted to do was face his section’s leader. Allan clicked his tongue idly. 

“Best get to it then, bud.” Allan did a sort of childish half salute and turned to walk away, but Vincent grabbed him by the shoulder with a calloused hand. Allan flinched from the grip.

“What about you? Where will you go?” Vincent bit the inside of his lip, pausing for his own thoughts again, as seemed to be a habit of his, before frowning. 

“Do you have… Anywhere to go?” Vincent finished, as if a creeping hunch had told him. Allan frowned. Maybe his demeanor had given it away. Allan had to pause and think for himself, unsure if he should give a poacher his location.

“I go wherever the birds go.” Allan decided finally, pulling out of the grip of the older man. The look on Vincent’s face gave away that his answer was unsatisfactory for the poacher, but he wisely kept his mouth shut and turned back to his partner, helping him up. Vincent shot Allan one last look of concern, before wandering up the hill between the nearby cliffs.

Allan watched them go with interest, letting them leave his sight before turning away himself. Vincent helped hold up his comrade the entire way up, knowing that he wasn’t in the right state of mind to lead himself back in one piece. 

Vincent practically had to pull the other man uphill by his shoulders, slowly making their way to their camp of origin to rest. By now, the sun was dipping below the horizon and it would be dusk by the time they would even see the lights. Vincent sighed gratefully when the orange stars popped out over the ground to greet them. Then, he noticed a silhouette he recognized, a woman in a coat and a tophat and let out a groan while he was still out of earshot. 

When the two men got close enough to see her better, he recognized the red hue of the coat and hat, as if they matched the fiery red of her constant anger. He tried to smile, but he was pretty sure his distaste snuck its way through his muscles to give his true thoughts away.

“Evening, Alicia.” He brought them both up to her and she scowled.

“Where’s the rest of your men?” She flatly replied, not even bothering to ask what happened to his companion. 

“They're dead. Inferi caught us off guard.” Alicia looked like she was going to lay into him so he quickly cut her off. 

“With all due respect, this man needs medical attention, stat.” Vincent gestured to the man beside him who seemed to choke on air and cough. Alicia raised an eyebrow and frowned, as she seemed to do constantly, and nodded, she turned to walk towards the fire to address a woman eating there.

“Get Marco. We have a man down.” Alicia said with just enough priority to get the poacher to drop her food and scramble up, rushing off into a tent, only to come back with another man only a few minutes later to take the weight off Vincent’s shoulder. 

He watched them all go, and rolled his shoulder where the other poacher had been holding onto him. He felt a pop and he grumbled in displeasure. Alicia seemed to glare at him at the mere sound, like a hawk on its prey, and he forced a smile, although still a little sore.

“Report.” She roughly growled, her eyes burning through him for answers. Vincent sighed.

“What do you want me to say? We were ambushed by some sort of magically reinforced Inferi.  Everyone but me and him perished. All we found in that damn vault was a moth eaten scarf.” Vincent signed and held up the scarf, pulling it out of his pants pocket and sighing

Alicia frowned and narrowed her eyes, as if she didn’t believe him. She probably didn’t, and Vincent knew that.

“And how did you two escape unscathed?” 

Vincent frowned and looked away from her prying eyes, glancing down the hill. He relaxed his shoulders as he basked in the view of the moonlite grass, swaying in the breeze like soft water. He saw something move and squinted, focusing his gaze under a tree where a nearly imperceptible shadow stood, so still it took him a second to register it was a person watching them from afar.

Allan. It had to be. He had to have followed them. But how? Vincent was trained to notice when people were following him, and the only things he had noticed on their journey was the spiders and occasional mongrel or wolf. He turned and looked back at Alicia, who he guessed hadn’t noticed him yet and smiled.

“I’m sorry ma’am. But that really is all there is to the story. We were defeated by mere Inferi, ma’am.” Vincent smiled under his mask as Alicia raised an eyebrow and frowned at him. After a moment she rubbed the bridge of her nose, annoyed.

“Your team must have had the brains of mooncalves, then.” She huffed and turned away, “Go sleep. We’re moving out for the forest at dawn.”

Vincent smirked and turned to look at the silhouette in the distance once more, who seemed to be creeping away from the scene, only stopping when seeing he was being directly looked at.

Vincent reached up and took off his mask, letting it hang by the strap in his hand as he pulled off the cloth over his head for air, revealing his unruly ash hair and eyes, matched by the light wrinkles of a man seen by time but not yet weakened by its flow. He gave the boy a light salute, too tired to give it proper form, keeping it for only for a moment.

He wasn’t sure how to thank him, but he’d seen people scarred by war before, and he trusted his gut. He would see this stranger again, somewhere, sometime. He knew it.

The shadow paused for a moment, before running away into the shadows, back in whatever path he had been on before the two met. Vincent watched for a moment, before, satisfied with his observations, turned towards his camp for some well deserved sleep.

END OF EXPEDITION 01

[so-long-soldier-writes]

Time to Go

isaac lahey x reader

summary: isaac's not quite sure what to do with himself after your death

tags: angst, hurt/ some comfort, implied character death, aftermath of war, work contains no violence, anxiety, awkward conversations, small mention of sex, unrequited love, heartbreak, title from a taylor swift song

word count: 762 | drabble #1

a/n: allison erasure; reader is in her place

The memory plays over and over in his head. The soft mutterings of those around him don’t block out any of the ruminating thoughts. His mind is cluttered and heart is heavy. A thousand people surround him, and they have no idea of the pain he carries. 

A soft appearance competed with a fiery personality, but you made it work. You were gentle and loving, but you could protect yourself and your friends like hell. In his eyes, you are just nearly perfect. 

Were. 

You were just nearly perfect. Because three days ago, a brutal fight took you from him. 

It took you from this world, and from your friends. A seventy year old ghost story ruined his life and ended yours, and now he’s trying to pick up the pieces to move on. He can’t. 

Yesterday was your funeral. They kept it low-key and between friends and what little family you had left. You were buried beside your mother and aunt in a small cemetery on a private piece of land. It’s all the same soil, though. The same earth. The same ground in which his own family is buried: his mother, his brother, his father. 

He hopes you can find peace, wherever you are. That you’re not hurting, nor mourning for your life like your friends will mourn your death. You deserve peace. 

⋯

After too long of a silence, Isaac grows restless. Any minute now, they’ll be called to board their flight, but between the waiting game and the chatter of those around them, his anxiety builds. Throat dry, he prepares to address the man beside him. His knee bounces quickly and he glances up twice before clearing his throat. 

“I, uh, I slept with her,” he blurts out, “with Y/N.” 

Chris tenses, but doesn’t reply. He narrows his eyes at the boy, previously nervous but now racked with worry. 

“I just thought you should know.”

In any other circumstances, he’d be whopping him on the ass right now. One for doing it; a second for catching him off guard with it; then a third, for his daughter, whom he’d never hit. But these are not normal circumstances. This is a boy, scared, and hurt, and in obvious pain. Chris sympathizes with him; his heart aches for him. “I know.”

Isaac looks up again, seemingly surprised. He doesn’t address that, though, and is quiet for a minute more. When he’s ready to talk again, his voice is shaky with threatening tears. “I loved her.”

Now it’s Chris’ turn to be surprised. He opens his mouth to respond, but comes up with nothing. Instead, he places a hand on the knee of the boy, trying to both settle and comfort him. It works a little. Isaac nods, lip trembling. 

You loved your father. You used one of your last breaths to say it, to beg your friends to make him sure he knew it. Isaac doesn’t mention to the man that you didn’t love him back. He doesn’t know if he could even admit it to himself. 

“I smell a strong emotion here.”

“Fear?”

“Anger.”

“Sounds like Lydia.”

…

“Did you wish it was someone else?”

“No. No, of course not.”

The girl hid slightly behind the hair blocking her face. Isaac couldn’t place the emotion he smelled from her. He couldn’t read her face. 

“Flight 130A to Paris, France. Boarding now.”

The flight attendant’s voice snaps him out of the memory. Chris turns to him, a sorrowful look on his face. “You sure you want to do this?”

Isaac hesitates. No, he doesn’t want to leave Beacon Hills behind. He doesn’t want to leave his pack, nor his friends, nor the family that took him in when he was desperate. He finally started to feel like he had a family, a real family. Isaac would give anything to stay. 

Yet, at the same time, he can’t stay. The memories are too painful and too vivid. They sting like daggers in his chest, like poison running down his throat. He’s lost so many people in that town; he’s due for a fresh start. 

And, even though he loves Scott and would protect him with his life… he hasn’t been able to look at him straight since hearing your confession that night. Knowing you never loved him. You were in love with your ex, his alpha. And while none of that was Scott’s fault, it hurts him too much to stay. 

So, he leaves. 

“Yeah,” he finally replies, looking out to the plane from the window, “it’s time to go."

[crimium]

My thoughts on the new Hifuu Album

Well, Taboo Japan Disentanglement just came out! after reading the story and listening to the tracks, I thought I'd share my thoughts on the album!

The tracks

I'm going to go through the album tracks in order and give my individual thoughts on them.

1 - Morning Comes on Tanabata Hill (Original)

This is surprisingly emotional for an opening track. The new drum set here is wonderful, and the piano is soothing and atmospheric. I do think the melody is kind of all over the place though, and it's a bit hard to follow. All in all, a really nice calming song.

2 - Tinkerbell of Inequality (Original)

I've been excited to listen to this one ever since the album got announced because of the interesting title, and HOLY SHIT THIS SONG IS AMAZING. The instrumentation is so weird but oh so good. The track is ominous but jazzy. The melody is catchy. It reminds me of GFC and CoSD, with it's apocalyptic futuristic vibe. This is easily the best track in the album. Solid.

3 - Does the Forbidden Door Lead to This World, or the World Beyond? (HSiFS arrangement)

Now we get to the arrangements. The song is sporting a new drum set and piano, and I can safely say that the instrumentation is a huge improvement to the original. To be frank, I'm not too much of a fan of HSiFS's instrumentation, now don't get me wrong, the songs are great, but they suffer a bit because the instruments ZUN uses are a bit lackluster. Here, that is not the case, this a great arrange. Something I do want to note, is that the BPM of the arranges seems to be lowered a bit from their original counterparts. Not a bad thing, but it's interesting to keep in mind as you keep listening.

4 - Smoking Dragon (UM arrangement)

HOOOOOOLYYYYYY SHIIIIIIIT. The key change. the new drumset. the new, climactic/triumphant atmosphere. The new section added in??? It's all so perfect, this does the original song justice. I love this so much. One of my favorite arranges in the whole album.

5 - Mugen Noh ~ Taboo Marionette (Original)

This song is calming, but sinister sounding as well. It hits a nice balance of calming and uneasy. The instrumentation, once again, is really good here. I do feel that the electric guitar a bit later in feels a bit out of place, but in general, the song creates a really good atmosphere, and it's definitely a standout track.

6 - Crazy Backup Dancers (HSiFS arrangement)

I don't really have much to say about this one, other than that it's a fairy good arrangement of the original song. ZUN added a new synth(?) into the mix, which gives it a distinct sound from the original. It's fun!

7 - Yorimashi Between Dreams and Reality ~ Necro-Fantasia (AoCF arrange)

ZUN. you can't keep getting away with this. This is peak. The song has a newly added intro of the Necrofantasia main theme before the song kicks in, and WOW does it create an atmosphere. The instrumentation is once again great and the key change (that just dissapears half-way through lmao) is also really cool. This is a great track.

8 - The Lonesome Path in Hitachi (Original)

A surprisingly upbeat track given the title. It's composed in swing rhythm, and because of that, it kinda reminds me of Let's Live in a Lovely Cemetery and Like the Brilliance of Fairies. Not that that's a bad thing, but it does make it sand out a bit less for me. Still a good track, though! Also ZUN chill out with those reverbs

9 - The Lamentations Known Only by Jizo (WBaWC arrange)

I like the new choir here, it makes it sound more dramatic. I am a bit disappointment that the flute kind of overshadows the Spooky Lead from the original, but it's not a bad arrangement at all. And man this drum set is really doing wonders rn

10 - The Concealed Four Seasons (HSiFS arrange)

WOW. TALK ABOUT A GREAT FINALE. This arrangement tweaks just enough without completely changing the vibe of the original song, and it's fantastic. About halfway through, there's a key change that makes it sort of feel like a phase 2 to the song, and it really completes the whole package. Fantastic.

11 - Apparitions Abound Even Outside of Night (Original)

Oh cool, what a nice, calming, uplifting trac- ZUN WHAT ARE YOU DOING. So the song starts off very calming and atmospheric, and then turns into digi-rock like a minute in. It's kind of jarring but I think it works, the song is still fantastic, and does a good job wrapping things up for the album, and the story. Speaking of which...

The story (spoiler warning)

Without going into too much detail, because I highly recommend you read the story on your own, the predictions of Merry and Renko being separated where not exactly wrong, although I think the story was a lot less heartbreaking than everyone thought it would've been. It serves as a nice drama and really shows how these characters relate to each other. Seeing Renko drop everything just to save Merry shows that even if they get on the wrong foot, they're still the Hifuu club, through and through.

In conclusion, this album is absolutely stellar. ZUN's instrumentation this time around is incredibly diverse, and I can tell he was having fun experimenting. The story is also well written, showcasing these two characters and their conflicting yet similar ideals. Please, go give this album a listen! It may have been 8 years since the last hifuu album, but it was definitely worth the wait.

[pampersshrekayo11]

1) In CTGH and SH3, the main characters are young girls suffering from split personality. Each of them has a "dark side" that gradually awakens during the game. For Yu Midoshima (Alyssa), this dark side is Sho (Bates). And in the depths of Heather's subconscious lives Alessa.

2) This split has not psychological, but rather mystical roots. The ghost of her deceased twin entered Yu's body, and Alessa's soul moved into Heather's body.

3) The plots of the games are twisted around the mysterious past of the main characters. In the end, it turns out that Yu and Heather actually became the causes of all the events that happened.

4) Both heroines never knew their mothers, and their fathers turned out to be not biological.

5) Takashi Midoshima and Harry Mason did not plan to become fathers at all - the babies came to them completely by accident. Takashi dug Yu out of a grave in the cemetery, and Harry received little Heather from the dying Alessa's arms. But in the end, they loved their adopted daughters very much.

6) Takashi and Harry decided to rename their daughters to hide their true identities.

7) Both fathers gave their adopted daughters a strange amulet, which our heroines now always carry with them. In CTGH, the amulet allows you to prevent turning into Syo, and in SH3, the amulet stops the attacks of possession in the final scene.

8) In one of the bad endings of Clock Tower Ghost Head, the main character becomes possessed by the personality of Syo and kills her father with a knife. In the bad ending of Silent Hill 3, Heather becomes possessed by the personality of Alessa and kills Douglas with a knife.

9) Throughout the game, Yu Midoshima sees many strange things - but some of them are actually just visions caused by a hallucinogenic substance. In SH3, Heather also constantly sees hallucinations.

10) The scene with the discovery of the dead Harry Mason in SH3 is partly similar to the scene with the discovery of Masaharu's corpse in CTGH. Yu enters the room and sees (from the back) Masaharu sitting on a chair. At first, she thinks that the guy is alive, but then she comes closer - and notices a fatal wound on his chest.

11) In Ghost Head, there is such a moment: Yu finds a man's corpse on the table, and inside the stomach of this corpse is a key. A similar scene is present in SH3 - Heather finds the body of a dead dog on the table, and in its stomach is a key.

12) In CTGH, the heroine finds a drawer in the table, locked with a key. The key to this drawer is nowhere to be found - but you can find a screwdriver and break the drawer with it. Exactly the same puzzle with breaking out a drawer with a screwdriver is also in Silent Hill 3.

------------

Information taken from Forbidden-Siren.ru :3

[scotianostra]

February 2nd 1782 saw the birth of James Chalmers in Arbroath - he devised the adhesive postage stamp.

Oh I hear you say I thought that it was that guy Rowland Hill and his Penny Black, nope it was a Scotsman, from the mid 1820s he began to campaign for improvements to the speed of the postal service between Edinburgh and London, eventually succeeding in reducing the time letters took by a day in each direction.

At the time the postal service was fragmented and chaotic, and Chalmers was one of a number of people seeking to bring about improvements. Two key problems revolved around the charges made for post, which varied in a highly complex way depending on the distance the item of mail was due to travel, and finding a means of showing that postage had been paid on mail.

From 1834, James Chalmers was promoting the idea of an adhesive stamp which could then be cancelled when used. Change only came, however, following the publication of a pamphlet Post Office Reform: its Importance and Practicability by Rowland Hill in 1837. In it he proposed a single rate of postage, tied to the use of adhesive stamps.

The result was the penny post, introduced in 1840 alongside the world's first adhesive postage stamp, the Penny Black. Rowland Hill went on to achieve great acclaim, considerable wealth and a knighthood. James Chalmers, in contrast, died in relative obscurity in 1853 and was buried in the Howff, a burial ground in the centre of Dundee.

Pics are of Chalmers, a plaque at Castle Street Dundee, where he had his bookshop, and his grave at The Howff Cemetery in the city.

Loads more about the man here https://archive.ninetradesofdundee.co.uk/?wpfb_dl=3883

[rogueportraits]

Any institution has its fair share of ghost stories – spirits walk the hallways of museums, schools, hospitals, prisons. Few, however, have as much of a storied history as Arkham State Hospital. Nor do they often have their own cemeteries, headstones beaten down from decades of hard rain. Jeremiah walks between the overgrown rows of paupers’ graves, a wreath of rue and forget-me-nots held to his chest. The pathway beneath him is grass sprouting in hard-packed dirt. It’s his hour for lunch.

The hospital rises to his back, ivy-covered brick and new additions to the Arkhams’ ancestral home sprawling out. The cemetery hasn’t expanded in any considerable way in recent years. More medication, more successes; less funding, less patients. The unfortunate few who have no one to claim them are buried with their names, now, instead of a number that often doesn’t correspond to anything at all. But Jeremiah is in the older part of the cemetery, dug before Thorazine. The numbers are weathered away to faded imprints. He counts by memory, by steps, and finds himself standing atop his great-uncle’s grave. Six feet below rests the bones of Amadeus Arkham, the founder of all that Arkham was and is.

He died decades ago in a scrawl-scratched room with the attending orderlies not even knowing his name. That room has been tiled over now, made shiny and new and clean. Jeremiah kneels to place the wreath.

It had taken him months of lunch breaks to piece together Amadeus’ final resting place, an hour a day spent in the dark dusty cellars that worm beneath the hospital. His predecessors had thought proper disposal of patient files too much effort and had locked them below for “archival” instead. Jeremiah had opened a rusted file cabinet only to discover a warren of dead rats. He’d wondered if Amadeus’ records would share the same fate. But he’d found them eventually, stuffed into a leather folio stuffed into a rotten bookshelf. They’re safe in his office now.

Jeremiah runs a finger along the headstone, along the numbers so faded that he only knows them from the mildewed paper they’d been written on. If it weren’t an act of gross favoritism, he would have another headstone made. He considered claiming the body and reinterring it, once. The historical Arkham family cemetery is only a short walk away. That too would have been favoritism, would have been unexplainable, would have rattled loose things that Jeremiah prefers under lock-and-key.

He gets to his feet, dusting at the green tinge to his knee. He says nothing, because he knows how much the staff talk of him already. He is an Arkham, madness and its cure run in his blood. It wouldn’t do for him to be seen talking to himself, even if such things are natural when any other man or woman does them at their family member’s grave.

In a few days, Jeremiah will return to take away the wilted wreath just like he has every year. He will bury it over the hill, where the cemetery will eventually stretch in future decades, and he will return to work as though it were any other lunch.

Today, Jeremiah stares down at the obliterated slab that marks a man’s grave. Then he returns to work as though it were any other lunch.

[evanthenerd83]

"Cemetery Birth"

It was with a heavy heart that Mr. Smyth and Mr. Coleridge did the unthinkable.

Rumors had abounded about town. A low, hushed thing passing from one bar patron to the next handmaiden.

Nobody knew who had started the whole sordid affair. Who first claimed to have found trails near Hodge’s Hill, where good folk laid their own for that eternal rest. Thin lines dragged into soil.

These coiled. Only a certain thing could have made them. Albert Shale, gray of a man, and known for his ability to tell one scaled beasty from another, was called down by Constable Watson. A split glance told him what exactly came.

Many serpents hid amongst grass and beneath rocks. Their spawn wiggled up when these were lifted, innocently, unknowingly, by humanity’s. As intemperate as the Devil himself. Lashing out with forked tongue and fangs dripping, dripping, dripping. Most didn’t survive longer than a night.

Caskets frequently fell to invasion. Albert swung ale, breathed it, and regaled those of a certain persuasion with tales of rattles echoing from inside midnight-dark tombs. Loud enough to unsettle. A dull scraping against wood far below mourning feet. Snakes could find their way into well anywhere, if it was dark, warm, and secret. Even those reserved for the dead.

And the thought that one could’ve gotten near, let alone inside, her casket brought a stab of horror through both Smyth and Coleridge.

So hence they climbed that bulbous hill in the night. Snow alighted on their jackets and hats, the spade of Smyth’s shovel growing heavy, pregnant. Each man wished to be somewhere other than out there.

And yet.

And yet.

An intrusion upon her personage. Violation of sleep. Of the body. Though shut up about it, Coleridge remembered a dream, recurring and vivid.

It woke him with sweats and gasping, held clenched in fear’s grip.

An image of eye sockets once crystal blue, filled with light; so much light. But now, but now, only dark, so dark, and hollow; except for the brown length dropping out of that dark, that empty hole, forked tongue licking at the air.

Oh, how he screamed. And the black eyes were no longer there, those fangs no longer upon him. 

No longer in him. 

Inside.

Neither man spoke so much as a whisper.

To do so would have given shape to their grief, shared as it may’ve been, despite opposing subjects. For Smyth, it was the thought of undoing all his hard work.

Sixty years of age. Eyebrows tight together. He’d served the town ever faithfully and professionally. 

Coleridge however suffered personal grief for her. Dear poor Elizabeth, beloved wife and daughter. Fair-skinned Elizabeth. Blue-eyed Elizabeth.

The only child of a local industry haranguer whose lycanthropic claws dug ever deep.

She had fallen ill at winter’s arrival, descending into harsh fits of coughing; her lips consistently blotched with crimson, no matter how much he dabbed. And oh, he dabbed that handkerchief many times.

Leeches proved no less disastrous upon their application. Convulsions quickly followed. Each passing hour would bring a furtive glance towards her gourd-swollen belly. His thoughts parted between the fate of his wife and that of their child.

Nothing to be done about Mother Nature’s will, of course. A maid found her, pale-eyed, wide-eyed, the morning after. Doc relayed what he knew and slack-jawed Coleridge could only listen. At least she hadn’t suffered much.

Her father made all of the necessary arrangements. Carson built the coffin most expediently, using his best wooden planks. Smyth began to provide the manpower. And a day later, they would drop them, bury, leave. Mother and Fetus.

They finally came upon them. 

The gates to Hodge’s Hill were large, wrought from iron. On windy days, one could hear creaking and sputtering.

Smyth fished out his key, rusted over, then inserted it. They proceeded through. Jaws of headstones and crosses and a few mausoleums greeted the men.

But in silence. Minutes passed before they finally reached it, her grave. At the sober insistence of her father, Elizabeth had been buried near her dearly departed mother. Where this double plot was happened to be near the northern pinch of the town cemetery, below a giant tree with withering white bark, last leaves having fallen from heaven.

Memories returned. Smyth hefted his shovel, now too heavy, barely liftable. Its blade dully reflected moonlight partially obscured by clouds. Coleridge stood close. He watched as this man, hunching over on account of an aching spine, stabbed into soil, lifted its now gore-stained end, then once again plunged down.

A younger man would’ve done so quicker.

Yet such work definitely lacks the mark of experience. His bones and muscles are not trained.

He doesn’t know how deep one must pierce. Only after serving for as long as Smyth, whose preoccupation was respected by folk, regarded as valuable labor, can someone simply tell. Six feet requires hardness.

From somewhere a wolf howled. Soon more joined in. Coleridge did not know, or care, for them. All he could remember was the godforsaken terror of feeling, deep within his own heart, that some divine promise had been cut.

Perhaps his nightmare carried with it truth. Prophecy. Something was in fact inside the coffin. Spawn of Satan. The slithering form, fanged. 

Smyth dug himself into a hole, heaving assuredly.

This went on. Until Coleridge could no longer see his head from where he stood.

Dirt piled up. Clanging iron on rock grew less and less audible. The howling madness would wan, before dying altogether.

A lull in work. “Eh, Mister? Care to join meh?” He heard these and quickly went forward, mind unraveling at that thought. It would be there. When they opened her, their casket, something’d slither out from between gaping jaws or underneath the hem of her skirt or—

Fear potent as any herb or Scotch.

A knowledge that pales one’s face, chills the blood. Makes the grieving do the unthinkable.

He looked down into the now opened maw of the grave. Smyth stared up, knelt over wood nailed shut and once abandoned to worms. His boots were sufficiently dirtied.

Despite the ever gnawing cold, a sweat pin-pricked his forehead. Repetition never prevents the standard effect on human bodies. Age itself could prove rather dangerous. Hearts can tense and seize up, their beating frozen.

Quickly realizing what had just passed between them, Coleridge coughed. “Go on, do it.” 

Whatever glint presently within Smyth’s eyes flickered. But this only lasted for what might’ve been seconds on God’s clock. Then the old man smiled, nodding.

Smyth dug around the pocket of his green overcoat, retrieving a hammer.

Coleridge suddenly couldn’t breathe. He swallowed the thing responsible, leaden weight in his throat; the fear.

Simply seeing the hammer’s upturned claws made their purpose solid. To think that he’d be supervising… Ghosts of the mind had exerted such power, however vivid. Many nights brought forth phantasmagoric shades, demons and abominations that Nature shirked.

For God’s sake, he’d always suffered from these deviled spirits before. Eliza herself was always finding him in the throes of possession. Their influence could be exorcised by a strong shoulder-shaking. Why would he think last night’s edition was any different?

Coleridge scoffed at his vulnerability to such frank persuasions. The possibility of breaking away, rescinding his frenzied plea to Smyth, rose up. Just let it go and offer an apology. Blame their excursion on grief. Delusions.

And yet… 

… And yet… 

… He had to know.

Even if it meant defying life’s most immutable of laws— the finality of burial— he needed to be sure. Only seeing for himself would prove that it was a nightmare.

Coleridge said not a word. He watched as Smyth bent low over the lid, close enough so his nose grazed its wood, and positioned. One by one went the nails that guarded what lay inside.

Who was lying inside.

Smyth handed him his tool, its purpose now fulfilled. Coleridge took it in a mechanical fashion and promptly forgot.

The laborer shuffled to a different position so that he could tinker. Off came the lid, though not lifted. Instead it was slid aside slowly.

Flesh greeted them; paler now without the warmth of life. Eyes shrouded by gray gazed out towards destinations unknown. Unknowable. Both of her hands were still by her waist.

Coleridge didn’t notice his tears. It struck him, his wife’s beauty, so potent even after passing. They had buried her in the gown she’d worn during their small, enclosed ceremony. Shoulders laid bare and cleavage teased by the low cut of its collar. And still present, a bump indicating—

“Aye,” Smyth sighed. “Pity it was. Her passin’, I be meaning.”

He examined her face. One hand brushed against bundled curls and a cheek.

Some hidden part of Coleridge roared with lover’s passion. Such a man should not have been touching this woman. His woman.

His lips parted, order nearly tipping over tongue, but then—

Impossible.

Abominably!

Her bump bulged outward, skin gone loose. There were things inside it that pressed up against.

A great many things. Slender shapes swimming within. Horror blossomed outwards from the center of his chest, and his heart lurched—

Blood trickled down one leg. Not the hot and bright fluid of life, no. Such color would change after the moment of death. The darkened sludge ran in rivers!

Smyth took a sharp breath, stumbling back onto both hands. He resembled some befuddled crab more than a human. His eyes went wide. His lips were sputtering for words that did not come. Neither man screamed.

The bulge subsided for only a small merciful moment.

And then…

… Coleridge saw the river turn darker, thicker. Her skirt was disturbed by similar movements and pitchings as before.

Something slid out from between her parted legs. A head. Oh yes, a head breached into the new world, smaller than Coleridge had been expecting.

Less globe-like. More of an arrow-pointed shape. The mouth fell open and he waited, somewhat dumb, for the baying cry to spill forth. But what came was… Was… 

… Forked tongue.

Pair of fangs. 

Coleridge laughed.

He knew. 

Oh, he’d known.

Been knowing for hours and hours.

Satisfaction of being right met the horror, like a birth all its own.

Smyth breathed in, finally catching onto that scream.

With a hiss, the child came slithering even further, and soon would its siblings.

[rotworld]

27: Nobody Home

(previous)

despite its best efforts, anchor, too, has changed.

->contains gore, graphic description of corpses, mentions of child abuse

.

.

.

The road to Anchor is not the impossible maze you remember. It has been corrected, its kinks and wrinkles ironed out into perfect, smooth normalcy. You drive west out of Prismville and the rocky, steep hills turn to level streets, pockmarks and potholes to smooth, new asphalt. Is this arrogance? Are they so confident in the destruction they’ve caused, so certain that there is no one in the whole splintered wreckage of the Drift still able and willing to bring retribution? Is it an invitation? A trap?

It doesn’t matter. You’ve come a long way to get here and there’s no turning back. 

You see the iron fence, the freshly cut grass, the picturesque shopping avenues and cookie cutter suburbs, uniform rows of American Craftsman houses. You see the gate shut tight between stone pillars, Anchor’s name embossed on steel. It’s colder than you remember. A layer of frost blankets everything. There is no one at the security checkpoint to greet you. There’s not even anyone gawking from the end of their driveway, no passersby watching you with disapproval. In fact, Anchor looks strangely abandoned. You roll down your window and don’t hear anything. No talking. No footsteps. No signs of human habitation. You shiver. You can see your breath.

There’s no one, but there is a car parked right at the gates haphazardly, crumpled front end and bent iron bars suggesting a high-speed collision. 

You know that car, you realize; a bulky, silver SUV with snow tires. The fact that there’s no one inside, the driver side door left ajar, keys still in the ignition, doesn’t quell your rising dread. Your fingers tingle with dull, prickling sensations. The frostbite has reached your knuckles. Soon, you won’t have any feeling left in your hands. 

[NOW PLAYING ON THE RADIO: BLINDNESS BY METRIC]

For now, you stick to the plan. You pass the front gate for the courier entrance, a smaller, less grandiose gate on Anchor’s far side. You left in such a hurry before that you never got a good look at the place. No security outpost, no one waiting around to interrogate you, but there is an intercom system and some kind of scanner. Jamie rummages through your backpack for the chameleite Iridesce gave you. When you hold it up to the scanner, it beeps and a green light flashes. The gate rattles open. 

Iridesce was right; it’s fully automated, and it accepts the same piece of chameleite no matter how many times you scan it. Still, it seems odd that you manage to get the entire Nelton convoy and the Verlindans inside this way. Someone should have come down to investigate by now. But as you scan the chameleite a final time and drive through the gate, you find only drifting fog and empty streets. 

There’s no one here. No one driving downtown, no one strolling down the sidewalk, no one in the shops or the offices. The deeper you go into Anchor, the colder it gets and the more the sky darkens. You pass through a suburb as silent as a cemetery and catch a whiff of blood on the wind. There are subtle hints of something terrible happening here, ghosts of fear and violence. Doors left wide open in haste; a crimson handprint smeared across a patio door. The only definitive sign of carnage is a corpse with red slush for a head lying in a driveway. 

Bloody footprints splatter down the sidewalk and trek through the snow. He hunted here, but not in earnest. He was flushing out his prey, watching where they went. Following them back to the nest.

A knock on your window startles you. It’s Glenn, brushing a fine layer of snow from his shoulders. “I don’t like this,” he says. 

Jamie shakes their head. “We need to keep going. The labs can’t be far. Let’s stick to the plan for now, see what’s going on inside.” 

“I’m not saying we need to back out, I just don’t want us getting taken by surprise. This reeks of an ambush. A few of us should go ahead, do some reconnaissance.”

“I really don’t think this is the time to split up. But fine. Courier, what do you think?” Jamie asks. You don’t answer. Your attention is fixed on the suburban yard to your left. “Courier?” 

There’s a human arm lying there. There might be a body attached but you can’t tell, stiff fingers and blood-speckled wrist the only things poking out from behind a trimmed hedge. Looming there, just peeking around frost-glazed leaves, you see the very edge of a winter coat’s fur-lined hood; a glove clutching a gore-soaked tire iron. 

He doesn’t run at you. He doesn’t move at all. You watch him and he watches you, and then he retreats out of sight. You would wonder if you’d seen him at all if not for the arm still lying there, the blood sprayed across the front porch. What do you know about the Road Ripper? You’re marked. It’s you he wants but he’ll pick off anyone he comes across in pursuit of the hunt, waiting until his bloodlust reaches its peak. He can find you no matter where you go.

As long as the snow can get in, so can he.

“We keep going,” you say. “We stick to the plan for now.”

The labs are just as you remember them, the architecture drab and aggressively modern, everything unfriendly gray and harsh, clinical white. The convoy parks up and down the street, reconvening for one last discussion before you proceed. The last time you were here, you walked through the front doors. That isn’t an option today; there’s a metal shutter just past the glass, a wall of immovable steel. The windows are blocked with the same heavy shielding. You hadn’t expected everything to go smoothly but you didn’t think you’d get locked out so soon, either. 

“Have a little faith, courier,” Malachi says, offering a smile. “This doesn’t change much. We knew we’d need to talk our way inside.” Iridesce, too large to fit in anyone’s car, unfolds herself from the back of Malachi’s truck. He helps her out with a hand to steady her, the back of his car dipping momentarily beneath her shifting weight. “Jamie, you mentioned there are cameras at the door. You, Iridesce and the courier should stay out of sight until they start letting us in. Keep your heads down. Garvan, what will your people do?”

The Verlindans looks strangely unbothered by the cold. Even Garvan and the rest of the Stag’s allies, unabashedly nude, show little more than the occasional twitch of the nose in discomfort, sometimes shaking snow from their heads. Most of them have already started to walk away, ambling further down the block to another building connected to the main lab. 

“We wait here,” Garvan says. “We’ve got reinforcements coming and we’ll be taking our own way in.” He turns to you, his nostrils flaring. He smiles, baring his sharp teeth. “I can smell them, courier. They’re afraid in there, as they should be. Good hunting. We’ll see you on the other side.”

It makes you uneasy to separate but you nod. This is the smarter decision; splitting your forces, keeping Anchor on their toes. Malachi and the others approach the lab doors while you and Jamie huddle together in the cold. Something blocks the wind suddenly; Iridesce stands at your back, wrapping her arms around you both. 

You hear an intercom crackle. The voice coming from the speaker is muffled, barely audible over the howling wind. It sounds familiar, you think. A woman’s voice, brusque and standoffish. “Wh—what the fuck? Hello?” 

“Why are we locked out?” Malachi snaps. You’re startled by just how harsh he sounds. His tone is always so soft and cheerful. Iridesce squeezes you gently, mistaking your stiffness for cold or maybe worry. This is part of the plan. He has to speak with a particular sort of arrogant authority, snide and certain. He has to sound like he belongs here. He went out of his way to change before you reached Anchor, trading his cossack for a white button up, blue sweater vest and slacks. You have no idea how well he looks the part of an Anchor resident, but you can’t imagine the camera can make out much of anything through the blowing snow.

“Why are you—are you kidding me? We’re on lockdown! What are you even doing outside? You’re supposed to shelter in place until the alert’s lifted.”

“That’s ridiculous! You’re telling me we’re all just supposed to stay in our homes and die? That thing is still out here!” Malachi manages to both look and sound enraged, talking over the woman’s sheepish stammering. “You can’t do this to us. It’s inhumane. This place is supposed to be safe, it’s supposed to keep things out. You can tell Gallagher he’ll need to get himself a new goddamn research assistant, I’m finished with this.”

“Hold on, you’re staff?” the woman says quickly. “You should’ve been here hours ago. They already sealed the bunker. Look, maybe—if you scan your ID card—”

“My ID?” Malachi says, laughing sharply. “You want to see my ID? I ran here with nothing but the clothes on my back because some maniac broke my door down and not a single fucking security officer is answering my calls. You think I have my ID right now? You think I thought to myself, ‘Gee I better grab my whole briefcase in case some bitch at the lab decides now’s the time to play Rules and Regulations?” What else do you want, my birth certificate? My fucking resume? That lying son of a bitch Gallagher’s letter of recommendation? What a great fucking place Anchor turned out to be—”

“Jesus, alright!” 

There’s a shrill electronic noise, a warning chime, and then the metal shutters at the front door rattle open. Malachi doesn’t waste any time, propping a door open with his shoulder and rushing everyone inside. You and Jamie could duck into the crowd easily enough but Iridesce stops you. “You two behind me, dears,” she murmurs. You understand why immediately. The moment the three of you get within range of the camera, that brief alarm rings again and the protective shutter starts to fall. 

Iridesce catches it with one hand, steel creaking and bending from the unyielding force of her stone palm. She gives the camera a cold smile and nods sharply at the doorway for you and Jamie to scurry inside. 

Inside, the stench of blood is overpowering. The violence you saw in Anchor’s suburbs looks tasteful compared to this carnage. Bodies are strewn all across the lobby floor. The floor is slippery with gore and melted ice, blood and brain matter sprayed and splattered on every surface. You see the Ripper’s preferred blunt force manner of execution amplified to new sickening levels. Some of the corpses are barely recognizable as human anymore, so brutalized that all you see is meat in red-soaked clothing. The dead are frozen mid-crawl in search of safety; several lay behind a welcome desk. Others are clustered hopelessly by the metal coverings on the windows, hands still outstretched for corridors they never reached. 

You move cautiously at first, your group sticking close together, nervously peeking around corners before you proceed, but it soon becomes apparent that there are no survivors. Not here, at least. Anyone still alive has fled deeper into the labs. All that’s left is eerie silence, the faint echo of an alarm in another hallway. 

A creak in an open breakroom makes you flinch, stepping back in anticipation of an ambush. Before anything can move, Iridesce surges past you. You hear a scuffle; a table and chair crashing against the wall, a scream cut off. Iridesce lurches back out of the room dragging someone behind her—a woman in a labcoat, nacre fingers squeezing her throat. You recognize her, you realize, her auburn hair and sharp, watchful eyes. 

“Meryl Underhill,” Iridesce murmurs, tossing her to the floor. Meryl scurries back, trying to get to her feet, but Iridesce slams a hand on the wall beside her head and cages her in. “Where are you off to in such a rush, hm? I’ve got some questions for you.” 

“It wasn’t me,” Meryl says hurriedly, hands up in a pacifying gesture. “You—you were there, courier! You saw me, you saw, I was just passing through—”

The wall cracks under Iridesce’s fingers. Stone dust and plaster trickle to the floor. “You’re an opportunistic little snake is what you are. I know you requested access to the mines, Underhill, I keep very meticulous records. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t rip out your spine.”

“Because it wasn’t me! It wasn’t, I swear! That’s all Dr. Gallagher. He coordinates everything. He has a repair technician set off the anchorware, I don’t even know how it works!”

“A repair technician,” Iridesce echoes, scowling. “Like our John Doe, I suppose.” 

You’ve all seen him before; the man who could be anyone. Forgettable, unremarkable, a face that slips your mind the moment you stop looking at him. Even now, you struggle to remember him beyond his sharp, professional style and black gloves. In Nelton, he introduced himself as Bachman. Jamie knew him as Tiptree. Iridesce told you before you left Prismville that he was in the city’s records as Lange. 

“You lied to me,” you say. Iridesce glances back. She moves slightly, giving you space to look at Meryl, who stares up at you wordlessly. “You said you were from the University. You said you didn’t know what happened to New Ridgeway.” 

What kind of apocalypse works that way? she’d said, knowing full well it was Anchor.

Meryl’s shoulders sink. “I didn’t agree with that, you know,” she says. “I didn’t think it was right. And I know that doesn’t matter, and you don’t believe me. Of course you think I’m a monster. I don’t think you’d understand it even if I tried to explain. The Drift doesn’t bother people like you, courier, but the rest of us? Normal humans? We don’t want to live like this. I know it’s—it looks ugly from the outside, but we’re trying to make the Drift better, safer, for everyone—” 

A twinge of anger stings your heart. “I’m the one who wouldn’t get it?” you say, your voice rising. “What do you mean the Drift doesn’t bother me? How could you possibly know that? How could you know anything about me or what I’ve been through? It’s normal humans who hurt us more than anything. Not because it’s in your instincts, not because you’re hungry or even scared. You think we’re too different. That our suffering isn’t the same as yours.”

You’re thinking of Compass Hill and its factory and its cruelty, a town full of children robbed of childhood. You’re thinking of Jamie’s mother—exploitation disguised as outreach, a child lying on a cold exam table and a wet, wriggling thing slowly brought closer. You’re thinking of Nelton and all the memories shared with you in brief, surreal flashes. Two boys in a church and one who’s bleeding because his father says he’s sick and unholy. 

Jamie grabs your hand and you realize your face is wet with tears. You swallow hard and turn away from Meryl. You cling tightly to their hand, only vaguely aware of Iridesce’s calm, quiet voice asking questions and Meryl’s terse answers. The labs are completely locked down. No one is getting in or out anymore. The Ripper was here and Meryl’s only alive because she hid in a janitor’s closet and listened to everyone else die.

“I didn’t think it would be like this,” she insists, her voice cracking. “I didn’t think so many people would die. I thought Nelton was a mistake, that something went wrong—” 

“You’re detonating extremely sensitive, extremely reactive reality-anchoring equipment,” Iridesce says coolly. “Did you honestly think the damage would be negligible? Easily contained? It doesn’t matter, I don’t want to hear your excuses. You’re going to get us into the rest of the facility.” 

“I…I can’t.” 

“You can,” Iridesce insists. “And you will.”

“I don’t have access, I can’t disable the lockdown protocols!”

There’s a burst of static, the droning tone of an intercom announcement echoing down the empty halls. “Courier. I can see over the surveillance feed that you’ve arrived safely. That’s a relief. I was starting to worry, given the conditions outside. Have you given my offer any thought?” 

Your throat tightens and your chest burns with fury. He sounds so calm and polite, no different than he did when you met in Prismville, or Nelton, or at the rest stop. 

“I’m willing to unlock a few doors, but you’ll have to come alone. We need to talk and I’d prefer a private conversation.”

“Fuck you!” Jamie snarls. “They’re not going alone.”

John Doe hums in amusement. “Let me rephrase. The courier, and only the courier, is welcome. If it helps, Dr. Higgs, consider this less of an invitation and more of an exchange.” 

There’s a sinking feeling in your chest. “What do you mean exchange?” you ask.

There’s a brief pause. You can’t remember his face, but you can imagine the feeling you get from his tranquil expression, the unnerving emptiness to his smiles. It felt like he was wearing a mask, always keeping his true thoughts and feelings tucked away. “An exchange,” he says gently. “You, for the Singer of Compass Hill.”

(next)

[coulsons-fullmetal-cellist]

Operation Sleepy Hollow

(Dieter x horror loving female)

Words: 1, 789

Summary: you and Dieter go somewhere special for your two-year anniversary and Dieter has something extra special planned

Warnings: failed proposals but not what you think, body injury, crazy shenanigans, Dieter being Dieter and lots of adorable fluff and some fun history! I did lots of research but if I got anything wrong, please let me know!

Check out masterlist here

Dieter looked again at the small box made out to be the key from The Mummy. He’d lost count of how many times he’d sneak a look at it over the past year. He was hoping to go through Operation Sleepy Hollow: take girlfriend to a place she’d enjoy for anniversary, propose in romantic spot, spend the night making passionate love, best boyfriend award guaranteed.

For your second-year anniversary, you were going to a place you’d enjoy, somewhere you always wanted to go: Sleepy Hollow, New York. Originally called North Tarrytown, it changed its name to Sleepy Hollow in 1996. It came to popularity but Washington Irving’s ‘The Legend of Sleepy Hollow’ where the author now lays to rest in the cemetery.

Still having time before checking in, you went to Tarrytown in order to just wander around the picturesque town. The Tarrytown Music Hall wasn’t open, but it was still beautiful in its exterior and Dieter adored any historic exterior and so adored this town. After lunch, you went to the Sleepy Hollow Souvenir Store and tried to not buy so much.

Dieter insisted you splash out for accommodation, so you were spending two nights at the Castle Hotel and Spa. The room was lavish with a four-poster bed and fireplace. Wrapping his arms around you, Dieter insisted on immediately trying out the bed.

As you had planned a few nighttime festivities such as the Pumpkin Museum of Art, the Pumpkin Carousel, the Pumpkin Windmill, and the Pumpkin Planetarium, you saw no problem in this.

*****

The following morning, you had breakfast at the Headless Bagel, purely because of its name. After picking up some Halloween themed pastries from a bakery, came all the walking. Starting on Beekman Avenue, you made your way along the Hudson River to find the lighthouse which was built in 1883. You then made your way to the Sleepy Hollow, originally the Tarrytown cemetery which changed its name to the Sleepy Hollow Cemetery to honour author Washington Irving. His monument was protected from picky tourists, but you went to honour him in passing. You found the Headless Horseman sculpture before making your way to the bridge. It wasn’t the bridge that was in the film or from the folktale as that was now a modern bridge commissioned by the Rockefeller family and now has a placard stating its historic location. This bridge was a beautiful wooden one and hauntingly romantic.

This was the perfect location for Dieter to propose. It didn’t want to do it on the bridge as he didn’t trust himself not to fall into the river. He waited until you both crossed the bridge. Your back was to him the moment he got down on one knee, he moved to get the ring out of his jacket pocket when something caught his eye.

“Ah! A snake!”

It was at this point you turned around to find your boyfriend running towards you in fear. He sort of glomped you but had enough sense to not fall to the ground. He pointed to where he thought he saw the supposed snake. You looked over to where he was pointing but only saw a stick.

He felt embarrassed at the blunder but was soon replaced by sadness that he missed out on the perfect opportunity to propose but he shook it off.

The next location the Union Church of Pocantico Hills held the last works by Henry Matisse. Dieter was mesmerised by the stained-glass windows, and he quietly explained the story of how Nelson Rockefeller commissioned the artwork for his late wife, Abby in 1948. He pointed out the Rose Window, Matisse’s last work and the nine windows which were designed by Marc Chagill, a Belarusian-French artist you hadn’t heard of, but you certainly found the windows beautiful.

It certainly cheered Dieter up and he thought of going to Plan B of Operation Sleepy Hollow: propose over a romantic candlelit dinner followed by a night of passionate lovemaking, bagging best boyfriend award in the process.

*****

After lunch, you went back to the hotel for a break before dinner. You had made your way to the bathroom, so Dieter knelt down to untie his shoelaces; he had the sudden thought of relocating the ring box, so he reached over to get it from his jacket but then something broke.

You heard a pained scream and rushed out of the bathroom. Dieter was on his knees unable to move with tears streaming out of his eyes. He was taking short breaths as moving any part of his body was causing immense pain.

“What happened?”

“My back!” he gasped. “My back!”

You put a hand to his chest, “Let’s try and get you up, okay?”

Putting hands under his armpits, you managed to get him sitting on the edge of the bed. You took his shoes off with no problem.

“I’m going to give you a painkiller, okay?”

He didn’t nod as he feared it would cause pain, but you gathered from his whimper that he consented, so you managed to administer it.

“Now I need to take your pants off.”

It was a gruelling experience for Dieter and the whole time he was whimpering in pain and mumbling how the removal of clothes should be sexy, but you managed to get him down to his boxers and lying face down on the bed. Leaving him for a few seconds, you came back from the bathroom with a hot towel and placed it on his back. He settled down after a few moans of pain. His back was very tense and twitched whenever you touched it.

The painkiller must have kicked in or the hot towel was working but Dieter was soon feeling less pain in his back. Soon after he felt a cooling sensation, the towel was removed from his back, and you were rubbing something in.

“What is that?” he asked.

“It’s Tiger Balm, it’s really good for muscle pain.”

He gave a groan of approval and soon you heard him snoring softly.

*****

Dieter woke up sometime later, he didn’t dare try moving and he worried that his back would flare up again, so he stayed where he was. He managed to follow you with his eyes as you came back into the room.

“How are you feeling?”

“A bit stiff,” he mumbled.

“Well, you are going to have a deep tissue massage tomorrow morning. I went down to the front desk and booked you in while I cancelled out dinner.”

“You did?” you nodded. “But what about the Farmers Market?”

“I can do that on my own. I don’t think you’d survive all that walking.”

He grumbled in agreement, “Unless there was lots of sitting.”

“Do you think you could handle sitting now?” He gave a mumble in place of a shrug, so you managed to slowly get him to stand up. After putting on his teddy bear coat, you moved him to a chair with good back support and placed an ottoman under his feet. He grumbled his thanks.

“I’m sorry I ruined our anniversary.”

“You didn’t ruin it, it’s not your fault your back died on you.”

“But we were going to have a romantic dinner and…” he couldn’t finish his sentence.

“Have a night of passionate lovemaking?”

Dieter almost started crying at the thought of all that was being missed out.

“We could try,” he shyly suggested.

“Sex won’t fix your sore back; it might make it worse.”

“It might. If I lie down the whole time and you can sit on my-“

“We’re not risking anything,” he pouted. “We can do gifts?”

He wiggled his toes in excitement, “Yes, let’s do presents!”

You moved over to where your bags were. Pulling out your present for Dieter, you moved over to his bag. He stopped you opening it, just letting you carry the whole bag over to him. Pulling out a wrapped gift, he handed it to you while you put his bag away and put your gift in his lap.

He gleefully but carefully unwrapped his present to reveal the glorious tie-die beneath.

“I’m Kenough?!” he held up the hoodie. “I love it!”

It was now time to unwrap your gift; it was a book.

“Making the Monster: The Science Behind Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein.”

“I figured you might want to learn all the history science stuff behind your favourite book.”

You hugged the book close to you and made your way over to Dieter in order to plant a giant kiss on his cheek. You gently hugged him.

“I love it! I’ll not to read it all in one sitting.”

“You want to read it now, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but how about some room service?”

*****

“How was the massage?”

“Amazing! My back is still stiff, but it doesn’t hurt like hell anymore,” he was sitting in the armchair donned in his new favourite hoodie. “How was the Farmers Market?”

“Amazing! So much lovely produce! I could’ve bought one of everything, but I don’t know if I can bring back fresh produce.”

“We’re in the same country.”

“Yeah, but isn’t there a rule about bringing food across state lines?”

“I don’t think so.”

You hmphed, “I guess it’s just an Australian thing. But I got lots of other great things!”

You pulled things out of your tote to show your smiling boyfriend: jams, soaps, various baked goods as well as…

“Cheese?”

“You bet I got cheese! If I can’t bring it back with me, I’ll eat it all on the spot.”

“I think you can bring it with us.”

“I also got you a handmade heat pack. They told me that when it heats up, it smells like pancakes.”

“So I’ll smell like pancakes?”  he loved the thought.

You were surprised you still had room in your suitcase after all your purchases, but you managed to fit everything in. Thankfully, Dieter brought his trusty Crocs with him, so he didn’t have to endure the thought of how he was going to put his footwear on.

The hotel staff were very helpful in getting your luggage and Dieter into the car and soon, you were both on your way back to New York City.

As Dieter watched the trees go flying past, his mind began to wander; he was rethinking his proposal plan. Halloween was approaching and you were both heading to a fancy costumed ball. It would be the perfect opportunity to propose as it was your favourite time of the year so you would already be in a happy mood. So now it was Operation Halloween Proposal: dress up and go to romantic themed ball, propose in super romantic setting, spend the night making passionate love, best boyfriend award guaranteed.

Films referenced: The Mummy (1999), Sleepy Hollow (1999), Barbie (2023)

Book referenced:

Lovingly tagging @boliv-jenta @simpingcowboy @ellenmunn @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @brilliantopposite187 @chaithetics @myloveistoolittle @cevans-is-classic @glshmbl

[littlevampie222]

🎃 It’s October 🎃

That being said, I thought I would give you guys some Horror/Halloween recs that are streaming for FREE (with ads) on Tubi, Pluto TV, & Freevee right now! Most of these are horror movies, but there are a few kid friendly options on these lists!

📺 Tubi: 📺

Interview With The Vampire

They Live

The Frighteners

The Return of the Living Dead

Sometimes They Come Back

Christine

The Witches of Eastwick’

Elvira Mistress of the Dark

Village of the Damned

From Hell

Once Bitten

Phantasm

Death Becomes Her

Brainscan

Cemetery Man

It Follows

The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (1974 Original)

Poltergeist (Remake)

Fright Night (2011)

Insidious The Last Key

Rob Zombie's Halloween & Halloween II

3 From Hell

Donnie Darko

Tucker & Dale Vs. Evil

Slumber Party Massacre

Slumber Party Massacre II

Sleepaway Camp I-III

The Town That Dreaded Sundown (Remake)

Hellraiser

Hellbound: Hellraiser II

Children Of The Corn

Creepshow 2

The Changeling

Demons

Prom Night

Prom Night 2: Hello Mary Lou

Prom Night (2008)

Season of the Witch

The Love Witch

Inferno

Maniac

Night Of The Demons

The Prowler

Pieces

Stagefright

The Addams Family (2019)

I Know What You Did Last Summer

Resident Evil

Planet Terror

Deathproof

Hell Night

Dark Night of the Scarecrow

The Mutilator

Madman

Curtains

The Howling III

The Stepfather II

The Blob (1958)

Basket Case

Day of The Dead

I Spit On Your Grave (1978)

The Hills Have Eyes 2 (1984)

The Hills Have Eyes (2006 Remake)

House On Haunted Hill (1959, in color)

House On Haunted Hill (1999)

The Exorcist III

Dead Silence

Rec

Rec 2

The Collector

The Collection

The Fog (2005)

Feast

V/H/S

V/H/S/2

All Hallows Eve (precursor to Terrifier)

Girl On The Third Floor

Terrifier

Haunt

Hell House LLC

Polaroid

Hatchet II

Hatchet III

Stitches

Spirit Halloween

Tales Of Halloween

The Mist

The Last House on the Left (2009)

Maniac Cop

Maniac Cop II

Puppet Master

Puppet Master II

The House On Sorority Row

Chopping Mall

Freaks (1932)

The Phantom Of The Opera (1925)

13 Ghosts (1960)

The Thing From Another World (1951)

Nosferatu (1922)

Night of the Living Dead (1968, In Color)

📺 Pluto TV: 📺

Practical Magic

Coraline

Evil Dead 2

28 Weeks Later

Jennifer's Body

Scary Movie

Scary Movie 2

The Crow

Jeepers Creepers 2

The Haunting (90s)

Oculus

Near Dark

Teen Witch

Carrie (19 )

The Rage: Carrie 2

Carrie (remake)

The Ring The Ring Two

Child’s Play

Pet Sematary (Remake)

The Woman In Black 1&2

Joyride

Crawl

The Faculty

The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (19 )

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2

The Wicker Man (1973)

Killer Klowns From Outer Space

Terrifier

Pumpkinhead

P2

Night of the Living Dead (Black and White)

The House on Sorority Row

Tucker & Dale Vs. Evil

The Babadook

Invasion Of The Body Snatchers ( remake)

The Changeling

The Monster Squad

Hellraiser

The Bye Bye Man

Stephen King’s Sometimes They Come Back

Wishmaster

Creepshow 2

Night of the Demons

Phantasm

C.H.U.D.

The Return of the Living Dead

Vampire's Kiss

The Howling II

Once Bitten

Mandy

Paranorman

Donnie Darko

Maniac

Tamara

The Town That Dreaded Sundown

Motel Hell

Elvira’s Haunted Hills

Slumber Party Massacre

Sleepaway Camp

Sleepaway Camp II: Unhappy Campers

31

Stagefright

Prom Night

Prom Night 2: Hello Mary Lou

The Collector

Pieces

Hell Fest

The Lord’s Of Salem

📺Freevee: 📺

(Free with ads if you have an Amazon Prime subscription)

Sabrina The Teenage Witch (1996 movie)

The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (197 )

Black Friday

Elvira’s Haunted Hills

Tourist Trap

Nosferatu (1922 In Color)

The Hunt

Feast

Dont Hang uP

The First Purge

An American Werewolf In London

You’re Next

This is only a fraction of what these apps have to offer. I just did my homework and came up with some of the top options you can stream for free! Happy watching!