#terror on the prairie

[geekysteven]

Hey Duras, how did that right-wing Gina Carano movie do?

[Image description Duras from Star Trek saying "it was a bomb"]

[irreplaceable-spark]

I subscribed to Daily Wire during Black Friday. I’ve watched 2 of their movies, Run, Hide, Fight and The Hyperions. Both were really good! I will probably watch Terror on the Prairie next. If you have been looking for films with no agenda, solid story, and emotional buy in, I recommend watching those 2.

[smallnico]

sorry, i'll stop posting about this now. i just think it's important to add the context to my previous post that i would rather be in hell forever than in space. and i would still rather be in space than willingly use generative ai for anything.

[catgirltoes]

Briefly felt the span of geological ages weighing down on me, ama!

[muirneach]

u know a movie is astronomical ass when the second highest review starts like this

[headspace-hotel]

My mamaw has the book right now so I won't be able to read it for a little bit but my mom read The Worst Hard Time by Timothy Egan which is about the Dust Bowl and it puts in perspective all the environmental books I was reading from the 1940's and 1950's and the sense of agitation and intensity in them.

Everyone is like yeah yeah the dust bowl we've all heard of it, but the Dust Bowl was apocalyptic. The USA practically eliminated the bison—we are talking thousands of square miles of land littered with bones, enormous pyramids of skulls—and committed genocide against their caretakers, and then settlers ripped up the prairie grasses (which protected meters of top soil) with plows

And what happened was, half the country became in engulfed in horrific dirt storms that turned the sky black and reduced visibility to a few feet. Even indoor environments were full of deep drifts of dirt. When it rained, it rained mud instead of water. In ENGLAND the snow was RED because of DIRT. People died from pneumonia because they were breathing the dirt into their lungs.

Even before mom started reading this book, I was reading American books about the environment from the mid 20th century, and they are animated with the zeal and terror of people who have realized that human mismanagement could make the USA literally uninhabitable. I realized, "Oh. This is right after the Dust Bowl." cause of how they talk about erosion, and I realized just how formative the Dust Bowl was in terms of environmental policy.

Reading about various wildlife species, I realized also how utterly apocalyptic the conditions of the past were for animals. Deer were almost eliminated from my state. Deer.

Why do we have the Migratory Bird Treaty Act? Because just about every large bird species almost went extinct from uncontrolled commercial hunting. We almost had no swans, no cranes, no egrets, no storks. We lost the passenger pigeons and Carolina parakeets, but we could have lost Basically Everything.

So many of the ill-conceived decisions to introduce species to this continent are easily explained by how apocalyptic this period of time was. Why did we think it was a good idea to introduce Kudzu? Because in the 1950's, erosion sparked a visceral apprehension of CERTAIN DOOM, and logging had made the whole southeast start washing away! Why were so many exotic antelopes introduced to Texas? Because every native large animal was almost wiped out!

From my other readings on the subject (Changes in the Land by William Cronon is a good one) devastating environmental destruction started just about as soon as Europeans started controlling the land, and I am guessing that if you examined the timeline of environmental disaster alongside the migrations west, it would support the argument that settlers started pushing west more and more rapidly because of land degradation and environmental disaster.

I wish this was commoner knowledge, getting to where we are now has been a journey. Environmental history doesn't start in 1970's.

It is not the case that things have steadily gotten worse over time and recently are becoming extremely bad, rather, different parts of the environment have become both better and worse in steps forward and backward, and many seemingly unremarkable things around us were earned by a vicious fight, which we can learn from and continue...

[virginreprise]

. ・. ゜. -: ✧ :- INDEBTED TO ✧ YOU

jackson!joel miller x reader ・゜゜・．

° : ⋆ₓ ₒ slight ddlg dynamics, smut, age gap, dirty talk, daddy kink, joel's perverted inner monologue, just pure filth whilst i try and get junky pride pt3 finished lmao

2.7k words ┊ ┊ ┊ ˚✧

˚ · • . ° . AO3 ˚ ·. • . ° .

Brief murmurs of Tommy’s chastising fumbled in the back of his mind, the harsh way he’d shook his head—told him you were far too young; that a man like Joel had no business talking to someone like you. Someone hardened and vulnerable, despairing and mutilated by life and every tribulation that had befallen you. 

“She was a child when all this happened,” he’d informed, almost caring as they shared a beer in the empty bar: the usual intensity and hubbub of Jackson’s population had dwindled to the few who dared venture into the snow when the moon hung high and the lanterns flickered off. Footsteps covered by the ever-falling white—lost to the prairie. “You had a child-“ 

Joel had cut him off with a stare, heat forming in his stomach that bubbled and raged—hard to keep down as he gripped the bottle, hand wet with condensation, and grabbed his jacket. Ready to take his leave. Tommy had known he’d gone too far and they’d never spoken of you again, Just Joel’s quiet, mumbled monologue and his little brother’s lingering disproval that seemed so irrational when you’d sunk on his lap and called him daddy. 

Surely it was natural: when denied something, there’d be an overwhelming intensity to have it. That when he was told “No,” he’d ignore every obstacle that conjured in his space. 

Maybe Joel was just stubborn. Or maybe you were just so sweet he couldn��t take his brother's advice and leave you alone. 

But you’d ended up in his bed, writhing underneath him whilst he held your wrists above your head and stretched you wide open—cooing at your pretty little whimpers as he nestled between your thighs. 

“There you go, baby.” He stroked the hair away from your forehead, eyes flickering down to gaze at the space between your legs—the way he disappeared inside of you as his balls pressed against your ass, slick dribbling down onto his bedsheets that he’d changed just hours before you’d come to him. He didn’t care, though. God, he’d be able to smell you all day, have the sweetness of you permeating throughout the room until the scent carried its way into his everyday life. 

Patrolling the surrounding area, you’d be there—dancing along his nose. In his workshop, as he sanded away the rough wood, making something for you as a Christmas present, he’d be able to feel you around him, taste you on his lips and hear the remnants of those staccato moans as you came around his fingers. 

“Daddy’s got you,” he mumbled as he breathed out a soft moan, the tightness of you around him causing him to pause—to contemplate his words that came so sinfully from his already tainted lips. 

Jackson should’ve been a new start, a new beginning where he could leave the horrors and the terror behind. But you: pretty little thing that barely spoke, who responded to every question with a quiet nod or a shake of your head and hoped that someone else would verbalise every feeling for you, had ruined those hopes for him—had shattered the image he’d created whilst hammering a nail into the wall, ready to hang his paintings on. 

You were sweet. So damn sweet. 

With a harshness in your eyes that hinted at similar pasts, at losses that neither of you could overcome. Why Tommy didn’t think you were fucking perfect for each other, Joel would never know. 

“Daddy’s here, darlin’, all for you.”

They were incoherent blabbers, things that Joel would never say if he wasn’t so drunk off pussy and the look on your pretty little face as he began slowly moving his hips. 

“D-daddy?” 

God, you sounded so fucking pretty. All glassy-eyes and fucked out with a little bit of drool pooling at the corner of your mouth. He lapped it up with a solid kiss, an arm wrapped around your waist as he tugged you close to him—wanting to feel every part of you, every soft piece of flesh, pressed against him. 

“Shhh, it’s okay.” Another kiss to your forehead, grinding his pubic bone into your clit—wanting to stay wrapped up like this forever; hoping that you’d stay with and warm his bed after all was said and done. Keep moaning that name of his, that filthy little name that would give Tommy an aneurysm if he heard it, until you came and cried all over his cock. 

“Hurts,” you managed to get out. “S’too big.” 

The pride that seized him was unlike any other, the light chuckle he let out unable to be prevented as he pressed another kiss to your forehead, one to both cheeks, your nose and then lips. 

“I know, honey.” His fingers found their way between your thighs, stroking circles into your clit—attempting to appease the ache as he rolled his hips into you. “Deep breaths.” 

Kisses fell from your lips to your jaw, trailing to your neck where he sucked, smiling as you keened and bucked your hips. 

You took it so well. Took everything he gave with no complaints, writhing around in his bed, messing his covers and calling his name. 

Daddy, Daddy, Daddy. 

It fell from your lips so perversely, but so pretty that he didn’t have it in him to tell you no. 

He’d be your daddy if that’s what you wanted. He was the right fucking age, silver in his hair—in his goddamn pubes too. His bones ached, knees cracking as he stood from the couch, back completely giving up on him after that one time a year ago when he’d held too much firewood in his arms and he’d gone tumbling down with the logs, crashing to the floor and having to crawl back inside his house. He hadn’t gone on patrol for a good few weeks after and he’d been careful with the damn fragile thing ever since. 

He was fragile. Fragile and old with a pudge to his tummy that never seemed to go away no matter how much he tried, wrinkles spidering near the corners of his eyes, and a pretty young thing in his bed that clenched around his dick whilst the adrenaline pumped around his body in seismic waves and made him forget all about the backache as he hovered over you. 

“You feel good?’ he asked softly, fingers still rubbing at your clit as you wrapped your legs around his hips. 

You nodded, nonverbal, unable to bring your thoughts to fruition as you mumbled incoherent things into the space between your lips. 

“C’mon baby, tell daddy how you feel.”

You whined, gripping his shoulders and digging your nails into the taut muscle. 

“S-s-s-so good, daddy.

God, he felt so fucking filthy, so depraved, so perverted. But, amongst all of that, he felt good. He felt undeniably euphoric with you wrapped around him, name echoing in the darkest corners of his mind and slipping from his throat so naturally it was like he was born to do this for you. To take care of you. Your sole vocation was to be his pretty baby for the rest of his life—not lift a goddamn finger as he did everything you asked him to. 

Get home after a long day patrolling to you in the kitchen, waiting for him eagerly and throwing yourself into his arms to give him a kiss. Tell him how much you missed him. That you’d been needing him all day. 

Joel just wanted someone to look after. And if that meant being labelled as a pervert by his brother and possibly by the entirety of Jackson, so what? 

“Yeah, I’ll make you feel good,” he murmured to himself, the words soft and delicate as he closed his eyes for a brief second, savouring the feeling of your heat around him and pulling you as tight to him as he possibly could. Breasts pressed against his chest, the softness of them against the wiry hairs: a contrast so delightful and thrilling. 

He brought his lips down to yours, tongue pressing into you—wanting to consume. To taste every single part of you. 

Hips began their movement, your mouth hanging open as he continued to lick at you; he pressed down on your stomach with intention, hand moving from your clit to the soft space above it and felt himself inside you, moving softly, scraping against every spot that had you shaking and twitching.

You gripped him tighter, whimpers and moans gracing the air, nuzzling into his touch when he stroked a hand down your cheek to admire the unmistakable and overwhelming beauty of you: all drunk off his cock and losing yourself to the feeling of him sinking deep inside you. 

“You like Daddy’s cock in you, huh?” His voice was strained with lust, dick jerking inside you when you clamped down on him—his words the biggest effect. He loved it: the way you’d start squirming and gaze at your shoes every time he spoke out of turn, every time something filthy fell from his lips. You loved hearing him talk, whisper dirty words that he daredn’t bring outside the four walls of his room. 

The left side of the bed that had been empty for so long, just waiting for you to warm it, to have your scent sink into the mattress and stay there for eternity. 

Understandably, you struggled to answer his question, just nodding slightly, almost imperceptible: the tiny little head jerk. 

“C’mon, baby, use your words.” 

You whined, digging your heels into his back, gripping tighter onto his shoulders; he was sure you’d leave marks, big long scratches down the expanse of already scarred skin. Decorating him with an ardent display of passion and desire—marking him as yours. 

He would be yours. 

Every breath, every cry, every laugh: yours alone.

In turn, he would get to keep you, locked away in his house, safe from every danger that crept outside the walls. 

“Love Daddy’s cock,” you mumbled, face heating in embarrassment at the crudeness, pressing your face as best you could into the pillows. Joel refused. He would not deny himself the pleasure of staring down at you as you took him, lips parted, eyes screwed up in pleasure with tears dripping to your temple. 

Fingers found your jaw, turning you to face him, enamoured by the way you clung and bucked—wishing for all of him. 

“Daddy,” you moaned, lips turned into a pout, a cry escaping you as his hips sped up—thrusts coming quicker. The arm around your waist tightened, tugging you upwards so he could reach deeper. Balls fucking deep. 

“There you go,” he encouraged, kissing softly at your collarbone, nipping slightly as he moved to your shoulder. “That feels good, don’t it, sweetheart?” 

This time, he didn’t mind when you didn’t reply, too focused on you gushing around him. Practically drooling from that tight little pussy as he snapped his hips upward and felt his head go funny—mind clouded by the heat of you. He was fucking burning up, everything on his mind spewing from his lips as he leant over you; ignoring the ache in his hips that served as a gentle reminder that he was old. That this was still wrong and that if anyone ever found out about what he did to you and what he let you call him, they’d exile him from Jackson and look back on the days of the pervert next door: Joel Miller. 

“Tommy says I’m too old for you,” he grunted, hand grabbing at your wrists when they fell from his back—too cock-drunk to keep them on him. “Says that I’ll ruin you.” The monologuing had been unintentional, the sentences that formed something that he was desperate to keep to himself. Too late now. All restraint had been lost as soon as you’d coaxed his fingers into your panties and shown him just how much you wanted him. “You like it, though, don’t you? You’d do whatever—fuck—whatever I tell you like a good little girl. Wouldn’t you, baby?”

You nodded enthusiastically. 

“Whatever you want, daddy.” 

He chuckled, eyes full of mirth as he kissed you softly, slipping his hands into yours and pushing them down into the pillows. He couldn’t bear the thought of you leaving, some part of him still thinking that this was all just a sick joke, that you didn’t actually want an old man like him and were going to run away the first chance you got. But, you called his name again, that fateful moniker that had his dick twitching in his pants, all doubts were lost. 

“Can feel you squeezin’ me, darlin’,” he said, pressing his pelvis purposefully against you, grinding down on your clit and watching your mouth hang open in ecstasy—eyes squeezed shut as you mumbled a high-pitched, whiny “Daddy.” The best one yet, as far as Joel was concerned. “You almost there, baby? You gonna cum all over Daddy’s cock? Gonna let all of them hear how much you want me? Huh?” 

You nodded vigorously, sharp gasps falling from your lips, body writhing underneath his as it built itself tall inside your stomach. Growing and growing until you were clamping down on him so tight he thought his dick would fall off. 

“C’mon, babydoll, let it out,” Joel coaxed, kissing all over your face, all down your chest and took a nipple in his mouth, sucked and grazed harshly until he felt you gushing—breath held as you soaked it in, and then a sharp cry falling from your lips as it washed over you. “There you go,” he murmured against your skin, hips slowing to guide you through, throat hoarse as he felt his own impending orgasm. 

Your head fell back onto the pillows, mouth dropped open as you tried to breathe through the sharp stabs of pleasure, Joel’s licentiousness overpowering his restraint as he pummeled into you as fast as his old bones would let him. He pushed his way through your stomach, almost coming apart right there when he looked down and saw the bulge. 

A choked groan forced its way out his throat, stomach tensing as his ears began ringing, not registering your soft whimpers and small sobs—the small daddy’s that you struggled to project above the beginning of Joel’s release. 

He outright moaned when he finally spilt inside you, cock twitching, arms shaking as he tried with all his might to keep himself balanced on his palms. 

“Daddy?” you were coming back into focus now, his bleary eyes regaining their vision and his chest heaving as he managed to breathe again—now able to fully take in the sight of you. Sweat on your brow, tears streaming from your eyes and lips full: evidence of his bruising kisses. 

“I’m here, baby,” he breathed out, indulging in your soft moan as he pulled out of you and collapsed onto the mattress beside you. He brought you with him, tugging at your waist and manoeuvring you so you lay close—warm body tucked under his arm. 

A soft kiss to your forehead, a repeated slew of “I’m here,” and “Daddy’s not goin’ anywhere,” leaving his lips as he held you as close as possible. 

Fuck Tommy, fuck Maria, fuck anyone who dared share their opinions of his choice in relations. You were his now, cum seeping from your legs—marking you. Claiming you. 

All he wanted was to take care of you, feed you, clothe you, bathe you, keep you happy, safe and warm and pray to God that you would never come to your senses one day and run far away. That you’d realise what you two had was…different. Not wrong, just different. 

He wouldn’t let you go. 

No, he’d keep you. 

Tucked into his side, a mumbled “G’night, daddy,” on your pretty lips, and the feel of you against him as your body grew heavy with sleep. 

He would stay up for hours after you’d finally fallen into slumber, watching the soft rise and fall of your chest, listening to the snores that he found overwhelmingly endearing. Kiss you a couple more times and breathe in your scent. Make sure that you wouldn’t escape in the middle of the night and go tell everyone what a disgusting, sleazy old man Joel Miller really was. 

Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.

That word rested heavily on his shoulders, all night lying awake and waiting to hear it again. 

God, he was in fucking deep; he wouldn’t be letting you go for as long as you were still wet and willing.

© virginreprise

thanks for reading ! i wrote this whilst thinking of that one guy who was perfect for me. i hope you can feel my longing and desire projected through joel's thoughts. if anyone's wondering about junky pride, i hope to get it out soon. i really really just love jackson joel more than anything and want him in me so bad.

[thegothicalice]

I absolutely love your style and was wondering as a cinemaphile what obscure, off the wall horror movies would you suggest for the spooky season?

Uhhhh how about various levels of obscure from the 80s and 90s? (Not a complete lists because I’ve seen literally thousands of films and forget half of what I watch and use Letterboxd to keep track)

1999– Idle Hands, Don’t Look Under the Bed, Bats, Ravenous, In Dreams, Lighthouse, Stir of Echos, Audition, Kolobos

1998—The Last Broadcast, Devil in the Flesh, Whispering Corridors, Urban Legend, Shadowbuilder, The Eternal, The Quiet Family, Strangeland, Deep Rising, The Wisdom of Crocodiles, Tomie

1997– The Relic, The Ugly, Event Horizon, Cure, Wax Mask, Snow White: A Tale of Terror, Quicksilver Highway, Office Killer, The Night Flier

1996– From Dusk til Dawn, Little Witches, Uncle Sam, The Frighteners, The Dentist, Karmina, Thesis, Tromeo & Juliet,

1995– Blood & Donuts, Screamers, Tales from the Hood, The Demolitionist, Mushrooms, The Girl With the Hungry Eyes, The Day of the Beast, Serpent’s Lair, Rumpelstiltskin, Mute Witness, Evil Ed, Project: Metalbeast, Habit, The Addiction, Tales From the Crypt: Demon Knight, Lord of Illusions

1994– Tammy & the T Rex, In the Mouth of Madness, Lurking Fear, Cemetery Man, Death Machine, Brainscan, Nadja

1993– Love Bites, Doppelgänger, Necronomicon, Body Bags, Ed & His Dead Mother, Dark Waters, Skinner, Jack Be Nimble, Ticks, Carnosaur, The Temp

1992– Death Becomes Her, The Vagrant, Tale of a Vampire, The Unnameable II, Innocent Blood, Dr Giggles, Auntie Lee’s Meat Pies, Aswang, Sleepwalkers, Netherworld, Split Second

1991– The Resurrected, The Boneyard, Body Parts, Popcorn, Subspecies, There’s Nothing Out There, Highway to Hell, The Runestone, Cast a Deadly Spell, Children of the Night

1990– Frankenhooker, Fear, Nightbreed, Lisa, Mom, Grim Prairie Tales, Shakma, Pale Blood, Baby Blood, Mirror Mirror, Hardware, Meridian, Def by Temptation, The Vampire Family, Reflecting Skin, Demonia

1989– Sundown: The Vampire in Retreat, Nightlife, I Madman, Dr. Caligari, The Black Cat, Paganini Horror, Phantom of the Mall: Eric’s Revenge, The Dead Pit, The Phantom of the Opera, Dead Calm, Intruder, The House of Usher

1988– Paperhouse, Spider Labyrinth, Spell Caster, Sorority Babes in the Slime-Bowl-O-Rama, Cellar Dweller, Pin, 976-EVIL, Brain Damage, Rejuvenatrix, Blood Relations, Party Line, The Unnamable, The Wicked

1987– Psychos in Love, Blood Rage, The Caller, Stagefright, Graveyard Shift, American Gothic, Street Trash, From a Whisper to a Scream, Blood Diner

1986– Spookies, Poison for the Fairies, Vamp, Gothic, Deadtime Stories, TerrorVision, Witchboard, Trick or Treat

1985– The Doctor and the Devils, Phenomena, The Stuff

1984– Decoder, The Company of Wolves, Monster Dog, Sole Survivor, Special Effects

1983– The Lift, Wilczyca (She Wolf), Eyes of Fire, House of Long Shadows, The Hunger, Angst, Curtains, Blood Beat, Mortuary, The Keep

1982– Ferat Vampire, Next of Kin, The Sender, Tenebre, One Dark Night, The Living Dead Girl, Superstition, Alone in the Dark, Parasite

1981– The Black Cat, Fear No Evil, Dead & Buried, Possession, Night School, The Monster Club, Allison’s Birthday, Frightmare, Ghost Story, The Funhouse, The Pit, Evilspeak, Strange Behavior, The Nesting

1980– Macabre, Fade to Black, The Ninth Configuration, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow

These are all just what I’ve recorded on my personal Letterboxd since I started it in April of 2017, I’ve seen plenty more but tried to just pick possibly less-known stuff, some bad and some good.

[2024skin]

She just solved the problem of invasive species :0

this simply isn't true like not even remotely. people don't use it that way and if they did the concept of colonisation would be redundant

[slowlyoats]

The Lost Boys: What would they impulse buy at the grocery store? 

Marko 

those little capsules that you place in water, and they turn into sponge animals 

Don’t ask me why, but I could totally see him with a small hoard of them 

He would have them all organized by animal, all in their separate little tins and jars he’s collected from the beach

I definitely think he’s the type of person that would wait for the capsule to dissolve in the water fully before looking to see what he got! 

Paul HATES waiting, and wants to break the capsules when Marko’s not looking to see what he got 

At this point Marko has a LOT 

BUT he is still looking for that elusive blue giraffe 

Paul joked that he is going to take them all and make one giant, mega, sponge to wipe his butt with 

Marko says he will cut all of Paul’s fingers off while he sleeps and hide them around the cave for him to find if he does this 

Paul doesn’t suggest that idea ever again 

Paul 

cans of frosting 

This BOY HAS AN ADDICTION 

I definitely have this headcanon that Paul ran with a bad crowd when he was human and was deep into some hardcore drugs 

When he was turned, he lost the desire for that hard stuff (accept for his lettuce hehe) 

And that addiction somehow translated into his new Vampire DNA as an almost uncontrollable desire for all things sugar 

He definitely goes through different craving waves for sugary items 

In the past it's been sugar packets

baby bottle pops (but only the powder because he's a little maniac)

Honey sticks 

And even sugar cubes 

But now he is on a frosting kick 

So when David and the boys decide they are having a night in due to bad weather or just pure laziness 

Paul’s favorite thing to do is to grab a tub of frosting and a spoon, and go to town while watching cartoons on the semi-broken tv they have in the cave 

Dwayne 

Coffee

He LOVES a fresh cup of coffee 

And he is realllllllll fancy about it too

I’m talking Like French press fancy 

He absolutely does not keep his supplies in one of the living spaces in the cave though. He doesn’t like to share 

Which is completely understandable, given the fact that he is constantly around his brothers 24/7. 

And typically, what his, is theirs; and what’s theirs is his

He is allowed to have AT LEAST ONE THING to himself 

This man will LITERALLY lose his mind and take ALL OF THE BOYS out with him if they even THINK of messing with his coffee stash 

All this man needs is one cup of his nice French Press coffee at LEAST ONCE a week and he can confidently and calmly deal with the terror twins and dictator David 

David 

Black licorice 

What can I say? he’s an old man at heart (literally) 

I think he would have a little jar he keeps it in 

And he keeps an even littler jar of his licorice in his inside jacket pocket 

Whenever Marko or Paul sees him take out his jar YOU BET, they have a string of nicknames they berate him with for the rest of the night

Pa is there favorite (think little house on the prairie) 

But they also enjoy calling him 

Granddaddy or G-Daddy 

Gramp Vamp

Old Bones

And Dwayne’s personal favorite 

pop-pop

[adsosfraser]

10 First Lines

Rules: Share the first line of your last ten published works or as many as you are able and see if there are any patterns!

(I'm going by latest updated not by the last "published" dates because that's too much work to search through.)

Eventide (everlark): Peeta lunged forward on the decorative rug stretched out before him for what was probably the fifth time that night.

Da mi diebus mille (jamieclaire): Claire Beauchamp stretched her legs up the three steep steps towards the entrance of the plane.

She Moved Through the Fair (everlark): All around, dandelions that have gone to seed whip around us, dotting the edge of the landscape of waving green grass where train and prairie meet.

I would recognise you... (jamieclaire - also longer line since the first were straight up book quotes): “I was dead. Everything around me was a blinding white. And there was a soft rushing sound like the wings of angels. I felt peaceful. And bodiless. Free of terror. Free of rage. Filled with a quiet happiness.” A soft warmth brushed my hand.

Blood Pearl/Neamhnaid Fola (jamieclaire): Jamie played with the scratchy ruffles sewed to the cuffs of his sleeves, impatient.

Wild Rose (everlark): The blue sky stretches for miles, letting the heat sneak in and saturate the air with a clinginess that can only ever belong to the final long stretch of days of the summer season.

The Sassenach Faerie (jamieclaire): The sun had not yet peaked over the grey monoliths up on the hill.

Soup of Life (outlander fix-it): It was a veritable feast for a small creature such as him.

Chocolate, churros, princesses, and scarves (jamieclaire): “Claire, mo ghraidh, mo Sorcha, I love ye so verra much-” Jamie gulped, the bob of his throat catching Claire’s eyes. “Will ye-” 

roses love sunshine, violets love dew (everlark): In and out. In and out. The blond lashes steady me.

no one tagged me in this but i do feel like taking some hostages with me so if you fancy joining 🫶: @atelierlili @mollywog @thesweetnessofspring @rosegardeninwinter @thesunpersists @littlemarianah @unnamednarrator @notsocooljess @lara-frasers @liberalk1tsch @liusaidh-writing

[natalieironside]

I watched Terror on the Prairie because I thought it would at least be strange in some interesting way but it was the most underwhelming and just generally boring movie I've seen in ages. It's not even a movie, it's the negative space where a movie was supposed to be. It's like if going to the DMV was a cowboy movie. I bet your dad would love it.

Also there's a bit where Gina Carano is very clearly loading her shotgun with plastic-hulled shells like you buy at Rural King

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Noah Berlatsky at Public Notice:

Donald Trump has repeatedly promised that if he returns to the White House, he will deport every undocumented person in the US. Most experts say that would be 11 million people, but Trump has insisted that the number is closed to 18 million or even 30 million. Trump’s provided few details about how he would go about accomplishing such a massive forced relocation program, though he’s suggested he would deputize local police, call in the National Guard, and perhaps use the military. He’s also said, with some relish, that “getting them out will be a bloody story.” This past weekend, Trump turned his violent and dehumanizing rhetoric up to 11, proclaiming during an event in Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin, that migrants “will walk into your kitchen, they’ll cut your throat.”

“These people are animals,” Trump said, vowing that "I will liberate Wisconsin from this mass migrant invasion of murderers, rapists, hoodlums, drug dealers, thugs, and vicious gang members. We're going to liberate our country." This Trumpian dystopia bears no resemblance to reality. Trump went as far as to claim that “hundreds of little cities and little towns" in the Midwest are being "occupied" by migrants with "MK-47s." As untethered from reality as he is, Trump is deadly serious about attempting deportation on an unprecedented scale. Even making an attempt to round up that many people would lead to horrific suffering and the weaponizing of state terror against immigrants, Latinos, Black people, and Trump’s partisan enemies. In short, Trump is calling for a massive military operation that seems designed to lead to economic misery, concentration camps, and mass death.

Mass deportation would be massively expensive

Experts are skeptical that Trump could enact his terrifying deportation agenda in part because to do so would require vast amounts of money. The funds would have to come from Congress, and even far right legislators are likely to balk at the cost. In 2023, ICE deported 142,580 people with a budget of $420 million. Trump wants to deport at minimum 10 million individuals; proportionally, that would cost about $30 billion.

There would be huge additional costs as well. ICE currently spends some $2.4 billion a year on 41,500 detainee beds. Trump is calling for more than 10 times as much deportation; the cost for warehousing immigrants could also be tens of billions of dollars. Even that’s only scratching the surface of the cost. Immigrants contribute to the economy by paying taxes, performing needed jobs, and providing income for households that include US citizens. Undocumented people paid $96.7 billion in taxes in 2022; that’s all money that would be lost if Trump got his wish. In addition, the Center for Migration studies estimates that if a third of US citizen children of undocumented immigrants remain in the US after their parents are deported, the state would end up spending $118 billion to care for them. GDP could contract 1.4 percent in the first year. Losses could total $4.7 trillion over a decade.

As the Washington Monthly argues, deporting 11 million immigrants would cause a national labor contraction and recession; there could be 968,000 job losses for American citizens. National wage and salary income could fall by $317.2 billion. Total deportation costs could be $265 billion. In short, it’s impossible to fully anticipate or predict the cost of such a huge, wasteful, ill-considered program. But Trump’s deportation nightmare is likely to make the country poorer by trillions of dollars. Recession, contraction, and economic misery will afflict the US for years, and possibly decades.

Mass deportation will lead to mass human rights abuses

Analysts have struggled to quantify and describe the human rights implications of Trump’s deportation strategy. A militarized force going door to door throughout the country with sweeping powers to arrest anyone they deem suspicious is obviously going to lead to monstrous abuses.

Trump has also said that he would be open to creating mass concentration camps at the border to warehouse undocumented people. He’s claimed these camps would be temporary since he plans to deport people quickly — but it’s easy to imagine hundreds of thousands of people housed in “temporary” facilities without adequate food or water, subject to rampant disease and violence from guards. There are at least some historical blueprints that can give us a sense of how dangerous and vicious a mass deportation program could be. Trump has repeatedly touted the Eisenhower-era Operation Wetback, named for a racist slur, as an inspiration for his policy. The operation was conducted by a task force of around 800 agents, who set up roadblocks and raided homes and workplaces in 1954 and 1955. Eisenhower’s deportation program ejected between 300,000 and 1.3 million people in 1954-1955. The Mexican government helped, in hopes that returned migrants would help with the country’s labor shortage.

Donald Trump’s mass deportation plan to deport all undocumented immigrants is a catastrophic disaster for our economy and for civil liberties.

[fandomhcs]

dating/marrying abigail would include:

monster hunting dates? monster hunting dates.

abigail craves adventure. despite her parent's wishes, she would 100% join the adventurer's guild with you. whether she's fully ready for it or not.

need a protector while you're picking away at a hunk of copper? abigail's already on it, chopping a giant bug in half before you even know it's there.

sometimes she still gets a little scared in the mines, but with you by her side her fear slowly starts to fade. the two of you protect each other, and protect the valley as well. she thinks about it sometimes, what would happen if the monsters in the woods or in the mines wander into town. what would happen if something caught jas outside by herself? or evelyn? she starts to keep a closer eye on everyone at night. not quite patrolling, she tells herself. but whenever she's out at night searching for frogs or stargazing she make sure to check for any signs of danger.

farm life is boring in comparison, but she does sometimes enjoy the peace and quiet of it. she does realize that sometimes she needs to slow down and rest, the farm, and by extension you, help her do that without feeling guilty about it.

on rainy days or days where you two just want to stay inside, you guys will pile onto the couch and play countless levels of journey of the prairie king. one of these days, she's going to beat it all on her own. she swears.

the two of you could spend an entire day playing games, with an endless supply of snacks and drinks to fuel your efforts. but beware, she's competitive when she wants to be and she'll rub it in your face for days when she beats you at any game.

whenever you win, she'll pretend to be salty about it until you give her kisses.

she'll tell you all about how she used to sneak out and come explore the farm before you moved in, about how she used to wield sticks as swords and play fight with sebastian and sam. they'd make this place their own little fantasy world, and now her fantasy has become a reality. sure, it's been cleaned up a little and it's full of cows and pigs instead of dragons and demons, but the farm is still hers to conquer. often she'll give you a heart attack while you're watering your crops by screaming at you from the top of an apple tree. nothing delights her more than your shriek of terror.

living away from her parents has allowed her to bloom into the woman she wanted to be. she has the space to explore, to find adventure, to run wild. she doesn't say it much, but she feels like she owes it all to you. the second you moved in you changed everything for her, and she loves you so much it crushes her sometimes.

whenever she's sitting by the pond playing her flute she finds that she ends up missing you sitting beside her on the harp. the sound of just her flute somehow doesn't seem right anymore, she misses the sound of you playing beside her. the two of you together, that's the music that fills her heart. so often she'll drag you away from your farm work just to rest beside her, to relax and let your music enchant the farmlands.

the first time you ever set up a picnic for the two of you on the summit she thought she was going to die. such sweetness made her heart catch in her chest. she isn't the best with expressing how much she loves you. it's too cheesy, to mushy, too private. but sometimes the small, simple things you do to show her how much you love her just bring tears to her eyes. which usually leads to her tackling you into a hug and whispering how much she loves you into your chest.

she'll often feed the animals for you. almost all of them love her, except for the turtle you adopted. ol' terry gives abigail the side eye every time she fills up his water bowl. she isn't sure what she's done to make him hate her, but the turtle constantly snips at her ankles when she gets near.

due to the dangerous nature of your trips to the mines and skull cavern, abigail learned how to make life elixir's just for you. she couldn't imagine how she'd feel it something ever happened to you, so she decided to do what she could to help keep you safe.

she befriends a cow. don't question it, she just does. a small calf takes a liking to her and so she named it welwick. it's her best friend.

the two of you meet with sam and sebastian at least once every week at the saloon. she doesn't ever want her friends to feel like she's forgotten about them now that she's moved and gotten into a relationship, so the four of you often hang out. you'll invite them over to the farm, you guys take vacations to ginger island, and once you and abigail even made them go down the mines with you. it ended up with sam in harvey's office bleeding from his forehead, but everybody lived!

abby's just happy with you, happy that you've helped her realize her own strength. the two of you are partners in crime, and a damn good team. she may not always be able to tell you how she feels, but she tries her best to make sure her actions show it.

[hollewdz]

another one of the many prompts from the years of g/t daydreaming i have done

Waking up from a deep sleep, you find yourself absolutely covered in dirt. The fuck? It feels like you were buried, but with some effort you're able to sit up and brush yourself off. Looking around, you see miles and miles of open prairie and rolling hills. This must be a dream, you tell yourself. The sun hangs low in the sky, and you feel the chill of nightfall creeping up on you. The number one priority is finding somewhere to sleep for the night, not that you're super serious about the situation, considering you're still in dreamland. You decide west is the optimal travel direction, as it will give you at least a little more daylight. After an hour of walking with nothing in sight, you see a town on the horizon line- relief washes over you. Thank goodness, I didn't want to figure out a way to camp. Something's strange, though, as you're approaching this town. The perspective is off somehow, and soon enough you figure out what the problem is- It's frickin' tiny. Not only that, but the town looks... mediaeval? Sort of? Thatched roofs, cobblestone pathing, lit torches, a well-used horse stable are just a few of the things you notice.

Movement calls your attention, seeing tiny pairs of eyes peek from nearly drawn shutters, slamming shut as soon as your gaze meets theirs. "What the fuck?" you can't stop yourself from muttering. Looking down to your feet, you see you've trampled a tiny field you had failed to notice. "Shit-" you breath, moving to an open area. "H-hello? Can someone help me out? I don't know what's going on..." Coming to your knees with a slight panic slowly setting in, you try knocking on the windows to see if any of these tiny people can get you some answers. "Ow!" Something sharp pierced your thigh- quickly turning, you see a tiny man with an equally tiny pitchfork, trying desperately to yank it out of your leg, presumably to get another attack in. "Hey, can you- OW- Dude, I haven't even done anything-" you stammer, going to grab for the small assailant. "Stillnes ûs of pro ic syndrige, ent!" he yells, giving a grunt as your hand finally finds him, dwarfing his form. The pitchfork clatters to the cobbled ground as you sit up and address the tiny, angry villager flailing in your palm. "Man, can you chill out? I really only want to know what's going on, I'm not gonna go godzilla on you all or whatever," But, when you bring the man to eye level and really get a look at him, you see terror and a determination you hadn't expected. The lingering sting of the pitchfork buzzes on your leg, and slowly, you come to a realization. "Oh. This is definitely not a dream, huh?"