#peste magazine

[razorsadness]

I thought poems required a degree of heartlessness, a running away into the pines, to the streambed. From that point on I became squeamish. I could no longer dig the bullets out of animals and brown their thighs in butter and eat them, or soak morels in a sink full of hot saltwater to kill the bugs hiding in their spongey hollows. Once I declined a man’s fig, having heard gossip of the dead wasp living at its center. And I have the audacity, now, to ask people who serve the suffering to serve with joy. Joy. What a joyless word. As if I served the drug addicts in my life with joy. As if I kissed the slashed wrists. The bored doctors.

—Diane Seuss, from “The Other” (Peste Magazine)

[dbluegreen]

“The idea that some lives matter less is the root of all that is wrong with the world.” -paul farmer

[raymadrigal]

"Grave Digger's Proposal", 2021, ©R. Madrigal

Here is the plan:

I will go into the woods. I will bring a shovel. I will wear a plastic rain coat to keep the damp from my shoulders. I will not have practiced, and I probably won’t know how difficult it is to dig six-feet-down-six-feet-long-three-feet-wide until I’m already in the middle of it.

[thoughtportal]

Over time, we’ve viewed birds as pets, pests, natural delights and bad omens. Roy and Lesley Adkins tell Emily Briffett about our complex and lengthy relationship with birds – a story of changing landscapes, fluctuating tastes in food and fashion, enjoyment and exploitation.

[glossahistorica]

TO DESTROY COCKROACHES.

TO DESTROY COCKROACHES.—Cucumber-peelings are said to destroy cockroaches.  Strew the floor in that part of the house most infested with the vermin with the green peel cut pretty thick.  Try it for several nights, and it will not fail to rid the house of their not very agreeable presence.

The Englishwoman’s Domestic Magazine, May 1855, Collected Vol. 4, p.63. [x]

[rwpohl]

trailer mdm-magazin 04/2020 s.12/s.13: interview mit marcel lenz und guido schwab, ostlicht zu filmfinanzierung, vertrieb, corona und dem projekt "die pest"

trailer mdm-magazin 02/2019 s.8/s.9: interview mit markus dietrich zu kinderfilm und projekt "invisible sue"

*

edhel, marco renda 2017

[comfortless]

dog hybrid recruit König thots??

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. more loner x loner because it is a treat for me. fem (afab) reader. König is a man just with ears and a tail. vague smut.

He’s the one that was never picked.

So maybe you’re too busy for a puppy hybrid, but maybe you’re a bit too lonely for an empty apartment. You don’t have the space for a big, excitable dog. The cats and bunnies are in high demand, too, there’s no shot of you adopting one of the cute, softer things within your budget. So you settle for a dog. The only dog left at the shelter.

His papers state that he comes from Austria, aged twenty-five and never been put into an actual home before. He’s endured some rigorous military training: scenting, tracking, breaking down thick doors with only a shoulder and an efficient push. A hunter through and through. Then, following his merits: erratic, jumpy, impulsive, and more than a little aggressive.

This dog doesn’t growl, only bites.

The paper sits crumpled in your hands as you eye the dimly lit hallway to your left. Posters of information line the beige walls to either side, some with photos of proud kitties and dogs, hand-in-hand with their companions and cheery phrases printed above in a bright, yellow cursive.

If anything, those are the ones that give you the final push to adopt this unloved, discarded experimental soldier. He’s only been given this one very last chance before… You would rather not think of what comes if you’re to turn away and leave him to rot and wither here. It must have happened a dozen times already: ambitious families looking for a more intriguing addition only to lock eyes with this pitiful thing and shake their heads ‘no’ for him to be put on death row like this.

“He’s scary,” the clerk reminds you once you’re finally led down the hall to the tiny room your new pet— no, friend, must be kept in. It was easy to think of them as something else sometimes. Animal instincts as prevalent as their claws, teeth, and fuzzy little ears. But you didn’t need a pet, there were an abundance of shops for those. You needed a good soul to spill your guts to and maybe pet from time to time.

“I’m sure he’s fine.”

The poor thing is locked away to fester in what more closely resembles a cell than anything resembling a home. A steel door with a thin, narrow gap in the middle like a peephole keeps him locked in tight. Peering through that narrow gap, you only then seem to realize just what an impulsive decision you’re making.

König is exactly what the clerk said, continues to say next to you as she searches for the correct key on the ring. He’s bigger than any other hybrid you’ve seen before, built narrow at the waist but broad and deadly where it matters most; arms like narrow trees and thighs larger than your head, all muscle and intimidation, even with the cute, perky ears peeking out of the top of his helmet. He was definitely used for guarding and killing, and how a man his stature could even begin to fail that was unknown to you. Not that it was necessary. At most, he may need to shoo a scuttling pest out of the front door and put away a dish or two.

When the door swings open, the clerk offers a hesitant nod before dismissing herself back down the hall, and you’re left stood with a pair of blue eyes locked directly onto you.

König assesses with a tilt of his head and a slow ascent to his feet. He’s clad in layers of black, an empty vest where magazines or grenades must have been in place prior. Hell if you knew. He should have been given a fresh change of clothes after being discharged and sent to this place. A proper bed, too, considering the only furniture in this barren place seemed to be a cot that could never hope to hold him.

If not for the swaying of his tail, you might even find yourself nervous, but he does well to try and look approachable, even greets you with a thickly accented tongue beneath that hood. A simple, “Hallo.”

“I’ve adopted you,” you explain, and it sounds ridiculous. You can’t just adopt a full-grown man. Maybe a puppy or some hybrid child, never a man better suited for a gladiator pit than a home. “I mean that… if you want to come home with me, you can.”

He gives you a huff, a burst of breath that pushes the hood out from his face and a near imperceptible roll of his eyes as a step is taken toward you. It must sound stupid, even to him, but the wiry tail at his back does not cease its wagging. No matter how stern the glimpses of his face seem to look and how alarming his size may be, he’s nothing but an eager pup it seemed.

“Richtig… Then let’s go.”

Life with your big soldier turns out to be remarkably easy.

The first few weeks are dedicated to stoking up some sort of bond and rationing out chores. Simple tasks to see how he adapts, and small rewards in the form of pets along the velvety fur of his ears and scratches beneath his chin. The walks with you seem to be his favorite and tend to be long, but he remains right at your side the entire way. The only barking to be heard comes from nosy passersby that warn you to keep your beast on a leash, but you let him be reasoning that it wouldn’t do you any good at all. Your strength was that of a tiny rabbit’s by comparison.

König is clean enough from his prior military training and does as you ask without complaint. Even things you don’t request, such as your laundry are taken care of before you ever even return from work. He’s overbearing on those evenings, when you’ve been apart and he sates himself drunk on the scent of your perfume still clinging to the collar of an old sweater. Excitable and sweet, though, when he curls at your side while some movie plays on the television screen.

It amazes you how easily he’s shifted from stiff to adoring in a matter of days, but it’s rare to have a moment to yourself now. The hybrid is insistent on pulling you up into his lap when you’re curled on the couch, or rushing behind to hoist you up and pin you between an expanse of chest and the kitchen counter with drooly licks against the side of your neck and cheek. Biting, too. You try your best to bully that out of him, flicking at his ears or shoving against his face, but there’s always a mark left behind.

When a coworker gives you a mischievous grin and asks if there’s a new man in your life at the sight of a purplish bruise against your throat, that is when you decide that a collar may actually be nice. Weave your fingers between leather and skin and give König a sharp tug when he gets too rowdy, maybe that would teach him. Spray bottles and warnings spoken through giggles just aren’t enough.

You find one that you think might fit at a shop specializing in hybrid needs. It’s thick and well-made, a black leather hold to match that big scary demeanor that he tries his best to uphold. The cutesy silver bell attached to it is just a bonus. At least you would hear him coming the next time he insisted on peppering you in kisses with his tail a blur behind him.

He greets you at the door as always, unlocks it for you and pulls it open before you ever even make it to the top of the landing. It’s cute how giddy he seems each day when you return, how he doesn’t hesitate to walk right up to you with his hands at his sides, his own silent request for a hug or some form of affection whilst staring down at you and mumbling a “hallo” like the most awkward gentleman in the entire world.

“I got you a present,” you excitedly tell him instead of blessing him with your usual embrace, lifting up the little gift bag with a smile.

When the collar is retrieved from the bag by a massive hand, König does not mirror your enthusiasm. Any light in the placid blue of his eyes seems to extinguish, smothered and fizzled out to pave way for a look of the purest disdain. He rolls the leather between both palms, only then regarding you with as a heavy sigh stirs up from his chest to whistle past the open mouth beneath the hood.

Maybe he would have preferred something with spikes. Something heavy and intimidating with a tag that read “FUCK YOU” in red, painted letters.

“I don’t wear collars,” he finally says, flatly.

Or maybe a muzzle would have been best…

“You do now, big guy,” you challenge with an airy laugh, slipping past him to cross into your home. Tidy as ever, he’s been working today it seemed. The bulb in the living room has been replaced, a few pieces of furniture rearranged. It all just looks… cozy. More habitable now that someone else lives here too.

König follows you inside with his head lowered and tail pushed between his thighs. The collar rests in one hand, fingers curled over it so tightly it almost seemed he wished the damned thing to dissipate into dust.

“Nein. I won’t wear it.” The door is locked behind him. It’s the first time he’s refused you anything. Even cleaning up around the kitchen wasn’t met with a rejection. It’s odd, almost uncharacteristic for him.

“I just thought…” You would want to be mine. Properly. With a nice symbol of it right around his neck, with a sturdy leash to lead him by, with…

Any thought in your head puffs into a plume of smoke back there behind your eyes when you feel two hands grasp at your shoulders, push you back towards the wall to hold you there. Hugging, lifting, cuddling up against, even licking… those things were commonplace. This was foreign and surprisingly rough; there’s no give to his hold, no room to even try to move away as his head lowers to stare you straight in the eyes.

“I killed my last handler.”

“Did you…?”

“Ja.”

That confession should have sent icy dread to the pit of your stomach, should have spurred you to claw and kick and bite. Surely the shelter would have known, could have warned you too. That would have spared you from looking like a terrified little rabbit now, yet a part of you knew it wouldn’t have changed a thing. König sort of… belonged here, as if written in some silly reading of the stars.

His ears flatten against his skull, large hands trembling where they hold you in place. The dam begins to crack as his eyes grow glassy, gaze far away in a concoction of pain and contemplation. He stares through you, not at, reliving something you dared not ask for an explanation for. The whys and hows die on your tongue.

And there’s nothing scary about him anymore.

There’s only a wounded soldier here.

A good boy.

Your hands rise to flip up the hood, rest it over the top of his head to cup his jaw in your palms, stroking over his cheeks with both thumbs to soothe and comfort. His unwinding comes immediate, hands slipping down to your lower back to pull you in closer.

You don’t apologize and neither does he. Everything just falls back into a comfortable lull, some fuzzy droning from both sides as you wish one another good night. He walks you to your bedroom door, the very best he can do to prove that he’s not some mutt with froth coming from his jaw. You bite your tongue to prevent yourself from encouraging that he sleep next to you.

“You’re a good boy, you know that?,” you tell him as you lean against the door in preparation to push it closed. “The very best there is.”

He doesn’t respond, but the tail behind him wags at a frantic pace from those words alone.

The following morning is different.

There’s food on the table and coffee already brewing by the time you cross from your room into the kitchen. The air bears the scent of sandalwood and geranium, a forgotten candle sat burning on the countertop. You eat your breakfast of too-sweet pancakes and prep your coffee to go all while the shower runs from somewhere down the hallway.

He usually waits, tells you goodbye before you’re off to work, bites at your neck and asks which will be better: a movie after dinner or some fresh air. Instead, there’s a note attached to the door. Something simple and mischievous, a scribbled, lopsided heart and some phrase in German written with handwriting so sloppy that there was no hope of your still sleep-addled mind translating it.

You chalk it up to him being fully adjusted in this new space, let him go about his business while you go about yours.

It would be a walk tonight.

Arriving home twists what is simply different into the realm of bizarre. No hugging by the door, it sits closed and untouched since you left this morning. You inhale something heavy, trepidation or maybe a bit of yearning there, while you fumble with your key in the lock. A click, a push, and then everything just changes. There’s no crashing and burning, only a very firm and insistent buzzing that rises to your chest, because the sight inside is just…

König.

Your König.

The hood has been discarded and set aside on the polished wood of a nearby table, the little bell collar sits right along his throat. It jingles when his ears perk and his tail begins that gentle sway, swishing with every step that you take into the apartment, rampant and unyielding when the sparkles in your eyes cluster like the tiniest, most insignificant stars.

No apologies, but this was something better.

“Gut?,” he asks you, kneels before you with the cutest stare that you’ve ever seen on a man. Constellations sit there waiting to be mapped, and your giant puppy waits for just a little praise.

You stroke his ears first, then dip your head to press a kiss to his cheek.

“The best boy,” you tell him.

“I have a present for you too.”

No protest comes when he herds you out of the door, still in your stiff uniform with your hair a mess. The sun begins its setting out on the horizon, bathing the world in purple and gold. Trees with spring blossoms and wildflowers all abloom tinge the air in something sweet. It’s not your usual trail, and König doesn’t walk at your side this time, only ahead. You watch him fondly as he grazes his fingertips against the blooms hanging from branches just overhead, how he shies away from the curious nesting birds in bushes as to not startle them.

It isn’t the usual trail, but he walks it with confidence. There are no people out so late in the day, and apart from the occasional quip between the both of you, the setting only bears the sound of the chiming of his bell and a few night birds beginning to call. Peace morphs to something greater when the sun tucks itself away and sets the stage for a bright, waning moon. There’s a small clearing, a meadow cut straight through by the dirt path you walk, and only then are you pulled aside.

“Here,” he huffs against your chest when your back meets soft grass and a hazy, spring sky is painted out above you.

Maybe you’re not the best with men, but there have been signs.

So many in abundance that the pitiful squeak that leaves you when his nose finds its way up your skirt is only an embarrassment. König must have found it charming, reaches for both of your hands as he laps at your sex through the thin lace of your panties until your body grows tense and your nails leave little crescents on the backs of his hands.

The words don’t come, they don’t have to when he speaks them for you, little whispers and coos into your hair when any barrier between you is discarded with the descent of a zipper and the sound of tearing lace. There’s an outpouring of thanks in the form of a tiny, fragile, “I missed you.”

The night birds calling washes out each sound that escapes from either of you then, only outdone by the symphony of impact when König loses himself entirely to you. Limbs curling around narrow hips and a broad back, pools of blue so shimmery and pretty they outdo even the moon hanging above locked onto you. He doesn’t look away even as you try to bury your face into the width of his shoulder, only then guides you back down with a gentle hand and a muffled, needywhine.

“Good boy,” comes as a mere peep when he fully sheaths himself and laps at the corner of your mouth as you speak. The praise only causes him to still, pries the words from his panting mouth and reduces them to a series of pleasured, stuttering groans.

“What did the note say?,” you ask him in the silence that comes comfortable once the act is done, nestled into a pair of strong arms with a cheek pressed against an expanse of chest.

“Oh.” König laughs breathily, coming down from the height of both love and need.

“That you found home?,” you ask when he pets at your hair, twirls strands between his fingertips. “Because I think that I may have, too…”

“Something like that.” He shrugs, loosens his grip around your body for a mere second before pulling you in closer, tighter to him, as if letting go would end the world entirely. “Heaven.”

[theskeletongames]

ngl, I feel like it would be easy to win an argument against fell. all you have to do is tell him he's 28 year old man who watches porn, lmao.

I'm gonna tell you something about the LARGE MAJORITY of 28 year old men... A good chunk of them watch porn or have watched it.

UF Sans is not really singled out in that regard... But! He is one of the few Sans to be interested in porn, so he's weird in comparison to most Sans.

Also, most his porn is in magazine format because the underground is less developed in the internet hosting of that material.

I should also point out that while UF Sans has porn, he' the Sans with anxiety, and so has extreme performance anxiety when it comes to any sexual encounter. The magazines are safe in comparison.

Bara UF Sans doesn't have this problem. His problem is that even when he's trying his best not to not come off as a gross pest, he comes off as a gross pest...

[headingalaxys-spicy]

I've never read anyone write about a yandere with a lover who just unconditionaly loves them, so can we get just that? For the F.A.C.E fam (seperately), they were taking care of someone who they believed was getting in the way of their relationship. And then his love walked in on them, but instead of freaking out and booking it like any sane woman she just started frantically trying to hep out with the body and telling them to hurry up! Because she's not willing to lose them, even if it means becoming an accomplice of their crime.

Me: Ooooooh me like a challenge! Hope you like!

Warning: TW is kinda violent and mentions blood. So maybe not a read for everyone.

France

The Parisian air still held onto a little more warmth from the late summer sun. A few fireflies accompanied you on your way home. In your arms, you had plenty of sweets to pair with your decadent wines in the home that you and Francis shared, from Charlotte aux Framboises, Eclair geants, Pate de fruits framboise, freshly roasted hazelnuts & more. You wanted to show Francis you thought his affection toward you was sweet. 

So dinner tonight be damned! 

You wanted him to relax tonight & not have to worry about going to the shops to find the best ingredients for tonight's dish. The two of you could just be filled to the brim with sweets and be drunk off the wine and the-

You began to notice there were droplets of blood that got bigger as you approached your apartment. 

‘No. No…He’s hurt!!!’ You almost drop all of your treats in your hassle to get to your lover. You burst open the door to see Francis’ clothes coated in blood. To your relief, it seemed not to be his but that of the overly flirtatious coworker from your magazine label you’d complained about to Francis before.  

When Francis turned his head to see your figure, he was relieved momentarily to see your pleasant face. That moment was short-lived when he realized he would have to explain the gory scene before you. He was going to have to think of a palatable lie, beg, and-

“Darling! Darling!” You rush towards him and caress his face. It had a few droplets of the annoying mans blood on it mixing in with his sweat. You give him a kiss on the forehead & stare him dead in the eyes. 

“How can you be so reckless, Mon Choue?” (My sweetie) You left a trail leading right to you!” 

Very few people in this world could make Francis flustered as you had. Your reaction made him feel light as if he were in a daydream. You weren’t terrified. That means there was nothing he had to hide from you. There was a significant amount of solace that slowed down his quickly speeding heart. 

“You don’t have to explain. I can put 2 & 2 together. But my love, we do have a narrative to create and tracks to cover~” You gently rubbed your nose to his. Your fingers rubbed his stubble as you now could be at ease now that one of your biggest pests had been taken care of. 

“Yo…You’re not mad..or scared… or…” 

You seal his lips with a satisfying pop. 

“I’m not afraid, Mon Choue. I’ll help with the cleanup. I’m just somewhat concerned about….” Your eyes wandered back to the scarlet explosion that led you here. Francis's bright blues eagerly followed. 

You utilized your IT skills to hack into the security cameras that monitored your apartment complex. You erased all of the footage that had Francis dragging that nuisance that had been plaguing your life for the past couple of months. You do the same for any other potential camera that might have held evidence of the murder. 

You bleached the ground and the floors that had the red DNA discreetly. You loved your French man and would do anything to protect him. You assisted him in getting the body to the Seine River and attaching cinder blocks to the body bag so there wasn’t a likely chance it would resurface. 

America

You’d been distracted by nostalgic video games like Nintendogs, Animal Crossing & other saccharine games of the like. It had been 7-hours since Alfred last texted you. That’s the longest he’d gone without sending you cute, witty texts, gifs, memes etc. You sent him another text at around 16:34. Your eyes stared longingly at the small rectangular screen. 

“He must be super busy today, but he’ll text me soon.” You simply wanted him to be home already. You had DoorDashed pizza and burgers from his favorite local joint in case he was extra hungry. Your mind tries to refocus your attention on your video games but to no avail. Something felt off. You could feel unease rise in the pit of your stomach. 

“Maybe I didn’t fill the pantry up enough for the weekend….” You slid on your slippers & made your way downstairs. As you passed the basement door you noticed it was slightly ajar. 

“Hm? Could he be home already? I didn’t hear him come in….” You heard a few bumps & grunts from down below. Your heart dropped into your stomach. 

‘He could be hurt! Or maybe an intruder!’ You quickly grab the hidden 9mm that was hidden beneath a secret compartment from the staircase. You pushed open the door and called out into the dimly lit place. 

“Alfred! Alfred! Are you down here?” 

The hairs on the back of Alfred’s neck stand up on high. 

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” He cursed under his breath. Alfred tried to hide the mutilated corpse of your creepy “friend” who was in your core friend group for some reason. He was the type that relentlessly flirted with you. What made it worse is the scumbag somehow had a fiance. Alfred believed that not only was he doing your relationship a favor but the entire world. 

He just wasn’t prepared to unveil his darker yandere tendencies to you today. He hastily found a tarp to cover the body. 

“Alfred! Alfred! Are you down here, babe?” Your footsteps cautiously descend the stairs. He could hear the concern in your voice, so he knew he had to answer. He swallowed hard and finally said: 

“Yes, babe! I’m down here! Just uh….working on a project.” You picked up on the nervousness in Alfred’s voice. When your lover was finally in your sight, he jumped a little and stood in front of the table that had the body that was mostly covered by the tarp. 

A dismembered arm had made a mushy ‘thud’ to the concrete floor. There was a pregnant silence that suffocated the both of you for a few moments. As your eyes and brain processed the scene that was before you. You broke out into a boisterous cackle. 

“Oh my god Alfred! Who did you kill?” Still laughing. You knew when you started dating him he had some malevolent quirks hidden beneath his sunny & fun exterior but that’s why you adored him. 

“You know that one asshole, Jason, who was a pest & flirted with you & always tried too hard to be around you and your friends.” 

“Oh my god, yes! Finally! That creepy bastard is dead!” You rush over to him & embrace him warmly. 

“Thank you, Alfred!” You gently peck his lips. You could tell from the sparkle in his deep blue hues that he was pleasantly surprised and relieved. 

“You’re welcome Y/N.” 

“I’ll help you with the body later. Just wash up. I DoorDashed us Pizza and Burgers. And you know those don’t taste great cold.” You give him a final peck on the lips before your phone alerts you that your food has arrived. 

“See you upstairs, my love.~” 

You shoot the body a couple of times to let out some of your former frustrations. You hated this guy as much as Alfred did. So assisting him with disposing of the body brought you a sadistic type of joy. 

The two of you decide to dissolve the body in acid along with any of his personal items. No trace of him would be left in this world. It brought the two of you great joy when he appeared on unsolved mysteries years later. 

Canada

The shovel quickly moved the mushy dirt aside. The freshly falling snowfall made it difficult for Matthew to keep up the momentum. He’d been at this for a few hours now. The sunlight was beginning to fade. Matthew still had a few more feet to dig before the gave could be acceptable. He had to ensure that the body of the pesky bus driver was where his body would never see the light of day ever again. 

Matthew was a mile and a half out in the thick Acadian forest, where he shared a cabin with you. 

He kept digging so he could secure a future with you. It was imperative to him that you were never to know of the heinous acts that he carried out. He wanted nothing more than to protect you and the relationship he cherished with you. That couldn’t happen if that bus driver continued to harass you on the daily. You came home every day stressed out. It hurt his heart when you came home frustrated about his not-so-subtle comments about your appearance.  

Each night, you rambled on about how uncomfortable the interactions made you feel. Some days, you nearly broke down before him, but you quickly rushed to your room. You didn’t always feel comfortable constantly complaining to him. You hated burdening him this much since you knew he didn’t have a family that was incredibly attentive to him. 

Some of Matthews's tears touched the snow while others slid down into his comfy red flannel. It was difficult for him to reconcile his flurry of feelings he had for you. 

“Matthew! Matthew! Where are you?!” He heard your voice call out to him in the darkness. The light from your flashlight slowly approached him. 

His heart turned into a brick of ice. You couldn’t see! You couldn’t know! He halted in his activities in an attempt to avoid being caught. 

‘Oh, Y/N! Just go back home! I’m okay!’ The sound of your boots crunching on the fresh snow got closer. Matthew could see the light from your flashlight touch trees that were only a few feet away from him. 

‘No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. Go back Y/N! Go back!’ The fear of you leaving him gripped him intently. He’d have to harm you, possibly even prevent you from seeing the light of day. However, freeze mode kicked in, and he put his back against the large tree behind him. His grip on the shovel's handle tightened. He closed his eyes as he heard your voice from only three feet away. Matthew silently hoped that he and the body would turn invisible. 

“Matthew! Matthew! Sweetheart, it’s getting late! What are you doing out here? Aren’t you cold? Aren’t you hungry? I have maple-flavored hot chocolate and dinner ready at home!” Hoping to entice him to come home with you. 

You knew something was off when you saw the supply closet door was wide open & drops of red had been scattered in various places all over your home. You worried about him being injured from hunting or playing hockey. Either way, you were determined to find out. The large boot prints led you directly to him since you’d made it out in time before the snow began to cover up his tracks. You crouched down to Matthews's level as he cowered beneath the tree. Tears were streaming down his face as he held the shovel close to his chest. 

“Matthew! Thank god! There you are!” You tried to remove the shovel from his hands so you could give him a proper hug.

“No! Y/N NO!” He shouted in defense. 

“Mattie, honey…..” You swept aside some of his wavy blonde hair and stroked his freezing cheeks. 

“What’s wrong? What happened?” 

“I….” He sniffed a few times before he continued. “I…” Choking on more tears. “If I …tell you… you won’t love me anymore!” Matthew began to bawl his eyes out as you took stock of the surrounding area. Your flashlight caught a glimpse of the lifeless body of that asshole bus driver. Relief took you over as you finally understood. 

So you began to laugh. 

Matthew was caught off guard by your positive reaction. His tears began to stop flowing. 

“You’re …you’re not angry?” 

“HA! HA! Hell no! You just got rid of a major nuisance to me hahaha!” Your shiny (eye color) orbs met with his reddened violet hues. You give him a reassuring peck on the forehead. 

“Come now! Let’s burn the body and spread the ashes in a lake.” 

Matthew is over the moon, knowing he doesn’t have to hide his dark side from you. You assist him in getting rid of the blood stains, trail, and all signs of struggle. You’d do anything for your teddy bear boyfriend's soon-to-be husband. 

England 

The fine China clinked satisfyingly as you set it out in its perfect places on the table. You were prepping for your late evening tea, which you and Arthur enjoyed doing together. You loved hearing about his day, what new book caught his fancy at the library or the bookstore. You were almost done prepping the various homemade jams. You looked over your shoulder to see how much more time was left before your cookies were done. It read 2:30. The mix of sweet shortbread & chocolate morsels mixing together was intoxicating. 

You were eager to see Arthur’s reaction to your perfected recipe. 

Your eyes wandered to the shed, where a light had been on for the last few hours. It shined brightly against the darkened grass. 

“Hmmm. I wonder what Arthur could be doing in there. Maybe he’s doing some more occult stuff.” You heard thunder begin to roll in from the distance. Just then, a bolt of lightning struck across the midnight blue sky. Tiny droplets of rain began to pelt the kitchen window. 

Finally, your beloved British man emerged from the shed. He looked a little more disheveled than usual. You wondered if he was actually able to summon a demon that he wasn’t capable of controlling. You heard his Oxfords climb the wooden steps that reached the backdoor. 

“Welcome back, Arthur dear~” As you said that, you heard him jump a little right as he rushed past the kitchen and into the laundry room. 

The timer had gone off. 

Your cookies were done. As you went to retrieve them, Arthur finally responded to you from the laundry room.

“Ah! Yes, hello, Y/N, love!” He is not doing a great job of hiding the nervousness in his voice. Concerned, you take off your oven mitts & follow the muddy tracks that you noticed have curious red spots within them. 

“Arthur, are you alright? Did you injure yourself, my love?” Anxiety pierced your heart, and you wondered if you needed to be prepared to rush him to the hospital. When you got to the laundry room, you saw Arthur hunched over the laundry basket. He’d already taken off his sweater that had blood tainting 65% of it, and He was just about to undo his button-up shirt, which wasn’t spared from being touched by the scarlet. 

“Y/N!” He jumped like a frightened cat that came face to face with an angry bulldog. 

“Arthur, what’s wrong, dear? Did you get hurt??!!” Worried and finally catching his bright green eyes. You scanned the rest of his clothing to see that blood you assumed had been splattered all over them. 

“No, I’m not hurt love..just….” He really didn't want to tell you the truth. His eyes hung down to the bright white tiles of the laundry room floor. 

You walked closer to him and took his pale, clammy face in your hand. You stroked his cheek gently to reassure him. You gingerly brought your hand to his chin and made your eyes connect sincerely. 

“Arthur, if it’s something serious…. You have to tell me. We’re lovers. We’re a team. That comes with unwavering trust.” The words that came from you made his heart flutter and sink at the same time like a lifevest being attached to a heavyweight. There was the fear that you would leave him and be afraid. Arthur knew he’d have to keep you quiet by reconditioning you and erasing your memories. Then came the comfort he no longer had to hide his far more morbid side. You loved him for him and all of him. 

“Arthur….” He could tell that you were becoming somewhat impatient. 

“Okay…okay..” He grabbed both of your hands to prevent you from running away & for emotional support. Arthur dragged in a deep breath before he blurted out: 

“I killed Dan! That stupid wanker who kept making passes at you! I hated how he always managed to put his phone number on the side of your coffee cup! I hate how he stalks your social media! And has the bloody fucking audacity to try and stalk you!” 

Your expression was unreadable for a moment until you let out a long sigh of repose. 

“If that’s really all, then you’ve just made my life a thousand times easier.” You peck him on his lips and tussle his wet hair. 

“I love you, Arthur, but we will have to…” You looked at the blood that was on your hand. “Make sure all the evidence is gone. I’ll draw you up a bath & mop up the floor.”

With that, you disappeared from his view, whistling a happy tune as you worked out some creative alibis in your mind.

[crushedsweets]

do u have any more bonnie lore that u can share with us? i’m obsessed with her design and her story<3

Ok I’m assuming you mean ghost Bonnie… hmm… but let me see if I can collect random thoughts. Also thank you anon youre a sweetheart <3

General summary: “The Ghost Bride” is a version of my crp OC bonnie made for a 2014-fanon slender mansion AU with my friends! She lives in the mansion w all my friends OCs. The mansion is in a.. pocket dimension sorta? I think?

This is really funny but I watched inside out 2. Anxiety/maya hawke is probably her voice claim. HAHAHAH

She sorta gives the energy of Megan in “but I’m a cheerleader”. She’s largely in denial about being a lesbian and is pretty clueless/ignorant on it, having grown up in the 70-80s before she died

Her fiancé was a very traditional American guy. Huge family of hunters, which always made Bonnie uneasy going to his house and seeing deer heads displayed on the walls. When he hunted her down for running off the aisle, she was mostly thinking about all those deer. And how she was next, obvi

Her story (after death) mainly goes in 2-3 arcs:

1. She spends several decades(although time is distorted) in the slender forest just roaming around, sobbing, begging her fiancé not to shoot, hiding behind trees and rocks and heaving nonstop. It’s impossible to talk to her and she’s MOSTLY not even visible to other residents, considering she’s a ghost - but occasionally she spooks people

2. Eventually she starts to settle into the mansion. Slendy sorta messes with her head - he tries to make her forget what happened to her, and make her forget that she’s even dead, but it actually just leaves her really confused and having a constantly warped sense of reality and what stage of life she’s in. Sometimes she thinks she’s back in highschool fawning over a crush, sometimes she thinks she’s days away from her dream wedding, sometimes she thinks she’s been married for years. In general she’s just kinda like… stupid …. Super ditzy, just lays around in bed all day in nightgowns and reading teen magazines and chewing bubblegum. Doesn’t throw tantrums but she will have random moments where she loses her shit and starts tearing her room apart freaking out over a wedding. Gets called bridezilla by a certain somebody… 😒😒

3. She ends up killing her fiancé, and that’s sorta what snaps her back into reality. She understands, remembers, and accepts what happened to her. She spends time with her friends and begins the whole “ghost recovery acceptance processing your own death” thing. She’s mostly okay with it, considering she’s exactly where she wants to be - a freaky mansion with her friends, ran by some guy she views as a father figure

She tends to the mansions garden the most I believe. Usually drags her friends out and makes them do a lot of the harder work (mowing the lawn, dealing with pests, cleaning gutters) while she does the rest. Eventually gets told off for gender roles or something funny . LMAOOO

She cannot cook. Swears she’s gonna be the best damn house wife in the world. Cannot cook. Can not cook. Hear me when I say this. She can not cook. OK IM EXAGGERATING but she does suck at cooking…

Loves wearing bunny slippers and making her friends match other animal slippers with her.

Always has to be in some sort of bridal wear - whether it’s a wedding dress, a bridal party dress, a slip dress, night gown, robe. Something white and frilly and preferably silky

I dunnooo… lmk if y’all have any specific questions cuz I haven’t really been working on her lately

[teenagemutantninjatrauma]

Some art for the newest chapter of the Actions Have Consequences AU!

Shoutout to Aza Glowborn, a reporter for the New Scientist magazine, who gets to interview the thought-to-have-died Doctor Stockman!

We’ve got the research center (Disregard the helicopter they don’t have helicopters in the future but it was fun to draw), Dr Baxter Stockman (IN THE FLESH. AGAIN!!) + the newest organic Mouser design + a wire pest, Yellow and Blue figuring out what the hell the research center’s lab is all about, and of course a Dragon Mouser ride!! Shoutout to that last one because that drawing is old as HELL you can tell by Yellow calling Bishop “PrezDad” instead of “Presidad” 🤭 Bishop is so totally normal and chill about being around Mousers again I swear. Believe me you guys

[nenelonomh]

hello, loves

good morning! happy saturday! i've got a coffee by my side as i write this post and boy, do i have a lot to do today.

now that the school week has ended, i'm going to focus on spending today smashing out all of my leftover work (there's a lot).

{ REFLECTION AND ANALYTICAL PARAGRAPH OF 'THE PEDESTRIAN' BY RAY BRADBURY ☆ learner portfolio (ct2b) ☆ spanish chapter 3 homework book ☆ sehs glossary and learning doc (1A musculoskeletal system) ☆ buis research for pest analysis of a country ☆ buis hrm presentation (research, creation of pp, additional resources) ☆ buis true or false quiz ☆ ABC training ☆ phys practice q's ☆ phys glossary and knowledge ☆ maths chapter 18 hw book ☆ maths work on understanding of trig and true bearings }

my goal with all of my work is to get at least 1 pomodoro complete of each task, and if i finish that in good time, i can circle back around. i need to remember that this is the life i chose for myself, i had to apply to and do testing to get into my current school. i'm grateful for the opportunities it gives me.

other than school work, this morning i stretched for a bit (it's really becoming a habit, which i'm proud of) and read a chapter. i'm currently working on learning to mindfully read--not reading for the sake of reading.

magazine issue #1 was released today! i'm so proud of it. i'm going to be posting a new issue monthly, with all content related to what i currently post.

i hope you all have a wonderful day!

❤️ nene

(images are from pinterest)

[llovelymoonn]

favourite poems of january

tony hoagland note to reality

henri cole middle earth: “myself and cats”

minerva s.m. kamra chronic

stacie cassarino zero at the bone: “in the kitchen”

bonnie jo stufflebeam barking dog nocturnal

ron silliman the alphabet: “you, part i”

sara borjas a heart can only be broken once, like a window

karen an-hwei lee song of the oyamel

louise glück afterword

kai nham follow the moon

elisabeth houston standard american english: “re-peat! re-verse! re-hearse!”

victoria stitt the carolina quarterly: “autumn convalescence”

noor ibn najam you smelled like an animal

ben still concept pest control

ray dipalma obediant laughter: “after midnight”

sasha pimentel cats

thanh-tam nguyen a lit match to burn what your country doesn’t remember

sarah abbas collecting words in attempt to keep them the same

julia wong kcomt (tr. jennifer shyue) woman eaten by cats

lisa jarnot ring of fire: “the bridge”

torrin a. greathouse i am beginning to mistake the locust’s song for silence

siaara freeman when i speak of hunger

vandana khanna train to agra: “evening prayer”

ouyang jianghe (tr. austin woerner) mother, kitchen

kayleb rae candrilli sand & silt

antony hecht an offering for patricia

sara ellen fowler shed project notes, august 30, 2019 - la madera, nm 

vincent hiscock voice in the air: afterthought

margie piercy mars & her children: “the cat’s song”

eva chen how to bleed a ghost

sayuri ayers cordella magazine: “in the season of pink ladies”

buy me a coffee

[dutifullynuttywitch]

Sisterly advice

Wake the Dead fanfic

Pairing: Brynn Archer / Eva Archer (sisters)

@choicesfebruary2024 Prompt: Family

Summary: Eva and Brynn Archer enjoy a rare day off in the Tower.

Word count: 1,200

Rating: Teen

Today has been an almost perfect day, Eva Archer reflects.

She’d had the day off from pest control. Brynn and her crew were also on a rare break from scouting.

She and Brynn had woken up late, enjoyed a half decent meal for a change – scavengers had brought back apples from a nearby grove – and spent the afternoon playing cards with Cassidy, Dirk, Troy and Mack.

Even Troy had refrained from cheating, mostly. He’d slipped her a couple of aces under the table when her pile of chips had run dangerously low, grinning charmingly at Cassidy’s amused smirk, the others oblivious to the maneuver.

This was about as perfect a day as she could hope for within the confines of the Tower.

Her wandering thoughts sour at that.

The Tower.

Forever cooped inside a large, windowless, oppressive bunker. Surrounded by too many people, all busy eking out a living, oblivious to the world around them, living and working under the flickering of artificial neon lights.

Of course, there were bright spots in that otherwise bleak world.

Her Sister Brynn and her scouting crew, Cassidy, Dirk, Brianna. Their quirky friend Mack. And Troy, her best friend and partner in crime. They had become her adopted family. Made her existence in the Tower more bearable.

Eva dreams of being able to head out and see the world. Feel the grass between her toes again. Visit some old world relics she faintly remembered from her childhood and would avidly read about in Troy’s magazines - amusement parks, libraries, museums... She wants to swim in the sea. Feel the warm, salty breeze on her face.

Eva barely remembers life before the drones, before the Tower. She had been so young when people had started to change, when they’d lost their fathers and had been forced to flee. Brynn, still a child herself, taking on the parenting role.

“Hey! Earth to Eva! What are you daydreaming about?”

It’s the main reason she wants to become a scout so bad. To Brynn’s immense displeasure. Too dangerous, she’d growl, shutting down every attempt at a conversation.

Brynn pulls her out of her reverie with a light tug. Both sisters are sitting cross-legged on Brynn’s bottom bunk, the older sister’s hands nimbly working on braiding Eva’s fiery red hair.

“Nothing... I just.. I’m realizing, I’m starting to forget what the outside world looks like, feels like...” Eva murmurs, looking at her hands.

Brynn freezes, a pained look on her face.

“Eva...”

“And I know what you’re going to say, outside is dangerous, full of drones. And I know you’re right, I’m not trying to minimize the danger. But still, you get to actually leave this place for a while, breathe fresh air, feel the sun on your face... The last time I saw any of the outside world was when Troy ...”

Eva clamps her mouth shut, realizing she’d said too much.

“When you what? Eva, when the hell did you see the outside world with Troy?!” Brynn rounds on her, furious.

“It’s not like we left the tower or anything, Brynn! A... a few months ago, he took me to see the northern lights up on one of the top floors. We may have snuck back up a few times since... but only at night, with no one around to see us, I swear!”

“Are you kidding me, Eva?! Do you have any idea what’ll happen if Blackstock’s people find you sneaking into off limit areas? And after curfew at that?! God, I don’t know who's the worst influence between the two of you.”

Brynn stares at her, furious, then lets out an amused chuckle.

“You know, I thought the two of you were sneaking around making out or something. Was working myself up to the birds and bees talk. I definitely did not suspect late night stargazing. You’re such dorks!”

“Making out?! Birds and - what on earth gave you that ridiculous idea?” Eva splutters, face heating up.

“Oh come on, little sis, I’m not blind. I can see how you look at each other. And the not-so-subtle flirting.”

Wait, what does Brynn mean about Troy looking at me like… Eva’s mind spins as she thinks back to their daily interactions. His charming smile, his soft brown eyes sparkling with mischief and affection…

Nah, he’s just being friendly, as he’s always been. My best friend, nothing more, nothing less.

Could they ever be something more?

She shakes the thoughts away.

Brynn smirks, enjoying her sister’s discomfort a little too much.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eva mumbles, “Troy's just a friend. Besides, he’s a huge flirt. And a goofball. And an ass more often than not. He’s really not my type.”

“Uh Huh. You keep telling yourself that.” Brynn smiles, amused.

“Okay, since we’re going there, what about you and Dirk? I see the way he looks at you. The guy worships the ground you walk on!” Eva turns towards her big sister, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.

Brynn becomes serious, a little hesitant.

“Dirk and I... It’s complicated. I know he cares about me. And I do have… feelings. But when you’re out with someone risking your lives on a near daily basis, you need to fully trust them. Right now, we have a great dynamic going with him, Cassidy, Brianna. We have each other’s backs, but we also know none of us will hesitate to do the hard thing if one of us got bit. If Dirk and I became something more, I’m worried it’d cloud our judgement if things went south...”

Eva takes in the admission, brows knitted, then grabs her big sister in a crushing hug.

“Brynn, you deserve happiness. And love - even if it’s with someone as grumpy as Dirk.”

Brynn scoffs at that, but Eva continues.

“I swear, you’re always putting everyone’s needs and wellbeing ahead of yours. Even the damn job. You’re always looking out for me -”

“It’s my job, even though you don’t make it easy, you brat!”

“Well, if you weren’t such a stuck-up ass all the time ...”

“Watch it, lil sis...” Brynn growls, eyes narrowing in warning.

“Or what? You gonna -”

Eva squeals as Brynn lunges at her, jumping off the bed. She ducks as a pillow sails right above her head.

“I swear Eva, I don’t know how I even put up with you.” Brynn mutters, getting up to grab her boots.

“’It’s cause you loooove me!”

“You’re lucky we’re related or you’d be out on your ass. Now get a move on or we’ll miss evening rations.”

“Yeah yeah.” Eva smirks.

She suddenly turns serious, pensive.

“For what it’s worth, Brynn, I get your concern that letting someone in may… complicate an already good thing. But if you don’t, you can also miss out on the chance of something amazing.”

Brynn stops to ponder. Then smirks.

“Wait, actual words of wisdom from my little sis? I guess you did learn something in between all your suspensions. Any chance you’ll follow your own advice?”

“… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Riiiight.”

Eva rolls her eyes, wrapping an arm around Brynn to give her a hug.

Brynn reaches up and playfully rubs her knuckles on her sister’s head.

“Ouch! Brat!”

Both sisters giggle and tease each other as they head out into the labyrinth of neon-lit hallways.

[glossahistorica]

TO DESTROY FLIES.

TO DESTROY FLIES.—Pour a little simple oxymel (an article to be obtained at the druggists) into a common tumbler glass, and place in the glass a piece of cap paper, made into the shape of the upper part of a funnel, with a hole at the bottom to admit the flies. Attracted by the smell, they readily enter the trap in swarms, and by the thousands soon collected prove that they have not the wit or the disposition to return.

The Englishwoman’s Domestic Magazine, May 1855, Collected Vol. 4, p.63. [x]

[all-souls-matinee]

Quick-bite reviews: The Ghost Goes West (1935)

Not a horror movie but a screwball comedy: the ghost of a 200-year-old Scotsman who died in disgrace (exploded for being a sex pest I'm not kidding) is cursed to haunt the family castle until he can restore his honor, while his last living ancestor is forced to sell the castle to be dismantled and rebuilt in Florida. Ghost and ancestor are played by the same guy, hijinks ensue.

I love how weird the premise of this is. It's based on a story from Punch magazine which explains everything about the tone, but reminded me most of Eva Ibbotson's children's books. Competing grocery store magnates are fighting over the ghost (one of them a corpulent miserly good old boy the other a catty gay queen), Congress frets over immigration policy while the House of Lords frets over the sanctity of tradition (hm), and Elsa Lanchester makes a cameo and is insanely cute. The jokes are hit or miss, and combined with very little soundtrack and poor film preservation it makes for a mediocre comedy, but I think the plot might've be enough to save it if the romance weren't so bad. I like Robert Donat and Jean Parker but the two have no chemistry, and Parker is given criminally little to do (her best moment is insisting on staying overnight and going 'ooh it's kinda scary in here ~~~ ;-)' like calm down asdfgh.) There's also so much anime twin bullshit happening I wanted to die; like, this isn't the central conflict of the movie so why is it the conflict of the 'will they, won't they.'

At least the ghost manifesting in a shipyard, getting shot at by 20 cops for 2 minutes straight in dead silence, and just reacting with "I don't like America :-(" made me laugh out loud.

Buy a ticket? Cute in a way that would make it the perfect thing to come across channel surfing late at night, but there are better screwballs and weirder ghost romances out there; for the latter see The Ghost and Mrs. Muir (1947.)