#third. fiddlesticks

[wireveined]

i try to fend off the demons (chonny jash hyperfixation) but every time they leave (chonny doesn’t post for a while) they’re back soon after (he posts a new song and i get to draw the frames from the mv and/or fanart with the lyrics)

[galaxiasgreen]

⛅💗Nippy

Fluffy Ominis x F!Muggle-born!Reader [T-Rated, 1.5k]

He laughed, a rich sound, deep from his chest. You glanced sidelong at him then. The glow of the lamppost was cleaving shadows over his face, cutting at angles, accentuating what you'd never noticed about him before – his beauty. Sebastian was boyish good looks, round cheeks, a devilish smile. Ominis had none of that same charm, but there was something so divine about his features, his sloped nose and knife-sharp lips, hair combed back in golden-brown waves. And his eyes, despite not seeing, were... intense, unforgettable. Vivid.

It's cold on the way back from Hogsmeade, and you forgot your jumper.

A/N: This is a scene from Troublesome and Unladylike Chapter 2, but it’s edited to work standalone. Jumper-sharing trope, Oh No He's Hot, banter and fluff ahoy. Reader is Gibby, but no prior reading is required. Enjoy <3

[read on AO3, read on Wattpad]

It was during third year that something about Ominis changed for you.

It wasn't a particularly warm day that March weekend, so it was a mistake on your part to go to Hogsmeade with him and Sebastian, late that Sunday without a proper cardigan. The afternoon had deceived you, the sun whispering against your skin, and by the time you'd bought everything but your usual stash of sweets, a swathe of clouds had rolled in, a grey ribbon across the sky.

"What do you mean, the essay was twenty inches?" Sebastian crossed his arms. "You're pranking me."

"It was twenty, Sebastian," said Ominis, exasperated. "I told you it was twenty."

You nudged your head towards Honeydukes. "Okay! Just to replenish my midnight snacks—"

"You said it was ten!"

"I specifically remember saying add another ten."

Sebastian said a word you could not repeat. "It's due first thing in the morning. Blast it. I better go back. Can I take a look at yours?"

"So you can copy it? I don't think so."

"I wouldn't copy it. Just... take inspiration from it. Verbatim."

He made the approximation of a glare, and Sebastian, wincing, turned to you with a desperate gleam in his eye.

"Gibby? Please?"

"Sure!" you chirruped. "But only if you're okay with a mediocre-to-dreadful Potions score!"

Sebastian threw up his arms in exasperation. "You two, honestly. I'll ask Anne."

When he hurried off, back to the carriages, Ominis snorted. "You're very secure in your mediocrity."

"It's one of my best traits."

To that he laughed. "Very well then. Honeydukes?"

By the time you came back out, armed to the teeth in your weekly supply of cherry pops, Fizzing Whizzbees and rock, the sun had dipped below the horizon, and a sharp wind sliced through the village. It only exacerbated by the time you stepped out of Hogsmeade.

Where there were no carriages.

"Fiddlesticks," you muttered. "We must have missed the last one."

His lips buttoned in displeasure. "Makes sense. You took a profoundly longtime deciding between cauldron cakes and pumpkin pasties."

"It's a hard choice to make."

"Well, now we're going to have a hard walk."

About an hour, down the meandering path back to Hogwarts. Ominis gathered his belongings and headed off, wand drawn for navigation, and you scrambled to catch up.

As the chill deepened, the canopy snuffing the coming rays of the moon, you kept close to his side, aware of his warmth.

"Are you mad at me?"

"Why would I be mad at you?"

"For taking so long in Honeydukes."

He scoffed, not seeming particularly annoyed, albeit a little inconvenienced. "I know you well enough now to know you cannot be rushed in there. And I could've left you if I wanted. I just decided not to because I am a good person."

"My papa says if you have to tell people you're a good person, then you're not a good person." Teasing filled your voice. "I guess that makes you really quite terrible."

"Oh, yes, waiting for you. How rotten."

"Suppose I could give you the Good Person award. You just have to admit how amazing I am."

"Only a Good Person can bestow the Good Person Award, so I'm afraid you don't qualify."

"I take offence to that. I'm spectacular."

"Incredible how you manage to be simultaneously spectacular and mediocre."

"Hey!"

He laughed, a rich sound, deep from his chest. You glanced sidelong at him then. The glow of the lamppost was cleaving shadows over his face, cutting at angles, accentuating what you'd never noticed about him before – his beauty. Sebastian was boyish good looks, round cheeks, a devilish smile. Ominis had none of that same charm, but there was something so divine about his features, his sloped nose and knife-sharp lips, hair combed back in golden-brown waves. And his eyes, despite not seeing, were... intense, unforgettable. Vivid.

Your gaze unwittingly travelled down the column of his neck. He'd grown taller since you'd known him too, lean in the way a river meanders, lazy in its strength. Sturdy biceps were hidden within woollen sleeves – not muscular, but not flimsy, either, you knew from when Sebastian cast a Shrinking charm on his shirt once. The Gaunt family were all inbred, generations of parents and grandparents that were cousins, so Ominis was a product of centuries of incest – but aside from his eye condition, and his somewhat ropey gait, there were no physical indicators of poor health.

He was... arrestingly exquisite.

Oh. You blinked. Why am I thinking that?

"What's the matter?" he asked suddenly.

You flushed. "Hmm? What? What do you mean?"

"You're quiet. That's never good."

"I— can be quiet," you said, a little breathless. "I'm... thinking."

"Don't hurt yourself."

You swatted him, and he smiled lightly.

"Dare I ask what occupies your mind?"

How good-looking you are. "Sweets."

A tsk. "I don't know what else I expected."

You fell into companionable silence, but now something had shifted in your stomach – something that drew your eye back to his profile again, drinking in the details, the beauty marks, the even jaw, finely slashed, the quirk of his smile—

You stumbled suddenly, toe hitting a jutting rock. You flailed your arms, bags rattling, before you managed to right yourself – and noticed how he'd reached out, ready to catch you if you fell. Ever the gentleman.

"Careful," he warned.

"Yes, sorry, too busy staring at— the view."

The view being you. You forced yourself to watch your feet, frustrated. Stop staring. It was terribly perverse to take advantage of him when he couldn't see, not to mention impolite and very unbecoming of a lady.

"You're quiet again."

"Sorry, sorry," you said automatically. You hoisted your bags to wrap your arms around yourself. "Just— trying to stay warm."

"You're cold?"

"It's a little nippy."

"Nippy?"

"Sorry, Muggle thing— I mean chilly."

More than that now. The sun had dipped, leaving a paint stroke of indigo in its wake. Hogwarts was in view, but it seemed no closer, the path winding and long. You hadn't even passed the balcony yet, where all the older students hung around to do lewd things... like holding hands (that had been quite the shock when you first got here).

Ominis sighed. "You should've brought a jumper."

"I know. I'm silly."

"Tell me something I don't know."

You halted to put your bags down and pull your shirt sleeves over your hands. "I'll be okay. I'll jog it!"

A ruffle of fabric pulled your head back up. Ominis had pocketed his wand, sticking out of his trouser leg, and was shucking his jumper. The shirt beneath it caught, flashing his midriff when he pulled the wool off – you flushed an even deeper colour when he offered it to you.

"W-What are you doing?"

"It's cold," he said, like it was obvious. "You can borrow this."

"But— then you'll get cold."

"I'll be fine." He shook it again. "Take it before I change my mind."

The wool was coarse, a dark green with the Slytherin insignia emblazoned on the breast, but warm – warm from his body. Great Scott. You scrunched it before sliding it over yourself, and of course it was too big, drowning you, but it was the scent that disorientated you worse than a Confundus charm. Ominis never bothered to use cologne, preferring some scentless soap, but still it smelt of him. Sweat and wood and an oily lotion. When you finally pulled your arms through the sleeves and your head through the neck hole, glasses askew, you were dizzy with it.

Lord have mercy. Your gaze flickered to him – he'd picked up your bags of sweets with one arm. One well-defined arm.

"Let's go."

You could barely swallow. What on earth is wrong with me? But your heart was pounding, your ears ringing. He turned away to go, but he was also surrounding you, invading your thoughts with zero intention to leave.

If you were a Muggle, your mama would've thought to bring you to church with an agenda by now, introducing you to boys of similar age in hopes that later in life you'd find a match, marry, and start a family. When you were younger, the local baker's son Timothy liked to joke you could marry each other, an easy escape from the societal obligation to court. You'd agreed as all children do, appalled at the idea of parading around to search for a husband.

Magical folk didn't follow those same customs – strange as it was to adjust – but that didn't mean you didn't think about the future, about marriage. That, one day you might like to have a family. That it would be nice to marry someone of your choosing, someone both handsome and kind.

Someone like Ominis Gaunt.

Oh no, no, no, you thought. Please do not take a fancy to your best friend.

But by then, it was too late.

"Thank—" your voice came out as a croak, and you tried again. "Thank you for this."

He slowed about two strides away. "Bring a jumper next time."

"I will."

"Mean it."

"I do mean it!"

He smiled again, and your heart bounced. "We'll see."

Please reblog/ share if you enjoyed <3

[read Troublesome and Unladylike on AO3, Wattpad] [Divider credit]

[shapelytimber]

Look, social media aus are very dumb but fun to do fklxkdk Illya would make short videos (mostly) about fashion, and Napoleon would be very unsubtle about being a Spy

I am formally apologizing to the uncle fandom for tiktoker Illya Kuryakin, I have no regrets (also @quijicroix is part responsible, being my evil advisor)

Here are the posts in details, and the profile pics :)

[COMMISSIONS]

No process this time, just me yapping for way to long about every choice and refs that went into this dumb au below vvv

Illya is younger than Napoleon (I usualy headcanon him at around 25 and Napoleon 35ish), so I think their use of social media would be quite different : hence Illya on Tiktok and Napoleon on Instagram. Also it's not the 60s so Illya can be like 10% less reppressed :)) but as a debuff Napoleon now has the technology to call him a nerd

Illya's page started as a cover for some affair, but he ended up kinda enjoying doing it in his free time. It's like a hobby for him, a way to experiment with fashion ! It's what made him want to pursue fashion design as a career after his curent spy job. And also I think he gets more and more nervous the more followers he gets, because as a spy having a chance to get recognise in the street is really bad dkdldlos Napoleon teases him endlessly that he became a tiktoker (as he should)-

Did I, at one point in the project, had to scrap the thirst trap idea to keep the fashion nerd vibes ? Yes I did, but just know he uses the "twink" tag :)

• The first post is a ref to the discotheque affair, not the best episode and a great miss for not including a disco Illya outfit, so I made him one to match the other :D

• The second is to the Hot number, but he gets to wear the thrush pattern !

• The third one is what made me do all of this ! Because, if you're not french, you might not know about one of my favorite yearly twitter threads : Met Gala outfits as INSEE graphs by Clara Dealberto ! Don't care about the met gala, but this is very funny :) and such a Illya Kuryakin thing to do kdkdkd

• fourth one isn't fashion related, it's a ref to popart and the "he has Dostoïevski eyes" line that made us laught a lot

• A little Fiddlesticks for the dog post, because it's a banger episode. Plus a nod to he dog expert from it, with whom Illya had palpable sexual tension fkfkfkl I like to think they kept contact ;) (shoutout to this fic (Intensity by AconitumNapellus) who absolutely get the vision, 10/10 guy to "cheat" on your boyfriend with)

• and the final one is a make over because of course it is

As for Napoleon, being older and less invested in this, an instagram made sense. But crutialy, I get such strong modern oss117 vibes from Napoleon (the way he shoots his gun, the goofy faces, the awkward stance everytime he enters a place, the inexplicable in universe rizz...) dkfkldls modern oss117 was a parody of both 60s james bond and older oss117 movies, but I'm now convinced they also whatched some uncle while doing these, it's just so obvious- anyway all this to say, in the second movie oss117 has to pose as a photographer and gets way too invested in his cover (it's his thing don't question it), and at the end of the movie we get to see all the photography he took during his mission..... Let me tell you how hard it was to resist him having an instagram full of blurry women on the street (canon 60s napoleon would have done it I'm sorry)- but what I kept was the pretty "badly" shot pics of random things, tho you sometimes get the odd decent pic taken by Illya. And he gets to be in a duck floatie as a treat and nod to oss <3

• Pinned post is because it became frustrating for him having to respond to people asking him if it was his real name or if he was a far right french man simping for Bonaparte

• first post is not a ref, but if my very sexy flat car was burning in the desert I would take a pic (ft Illya despairing) kdkdkd

• Duck floatie is a oss117 ref

• selfie with a beautiful woman (ft his finger), no ref I just love drawing women

• also Fiddlesticks for the cute Napoleon fox !! And to kinda link the two profiles :)

• and finaly Spy with my face ! He tried taking a picture of his date (I'll let you decide who it was), but oops front facing camera kdkdkdk

Can you tell I had a lot of fun doing this ? I love this show way to much omfg

PS : if you've never seen the recent oss117 movies, you should they funny ! But oh god some jokes are terrible- the first one is the best, minus one gay joke frankly not great. They nail the gay joke in the second one but oh god... They do not always win the 'is our character a piece of shit or is the movie problematic' gamble so be aware of that. And the 3rd one is shit don't bother

PPS : I don't use Tiktok, I tried my best to emulate the feeling of it but be aware I have no idea what I'm doing dkkdld

[sunsetseason8910]

Pjo/hoo characters as things I've said pt.1

Percy: do you wanna play mermaids with me???????

Nico: that episode made me feel like a rotting corpse. Overall 10/10 would recommend

Leo: oh fiddlesticks, I'm third wheeling again

Annabeth: get some braincells for a second and bare with me *proceeds to rant about honors algebra*

Hazel: I'm gonna put this cute crystal sticker on my chromebook but it's gonna hide the chip i accidentally gave it by dropping it down the stairs

Nico: I've had three cups of coffee and an energy drink for breakfast and I'm thriving

Percy: *in choir class when the choir teacher says to stop talking* i just waNNA BE PART OF YOUR SYMPHONYYYYY EEEYAAAH cue the dolphin noises

Leo: *in honors algebra* ask me for the answer one more time and I will light your best friend on fire for funsies

Piper: ,*doing lipstick in the reflection of someone's glasses* quit looking at my lips you weirdo

Jason: sometimes I debate giving up on my lifelong dreams and becoming elle woods for the fun of it purely because I'm blonde

Nico: *in choir class* *singing with the accompanist* WAKE ME UP, WHEN SEPTEMBER ENDS

Leo: i kinda hate him with a passion but 90% of it is he's got better hair than me

Piper: if you don't shut up ill sacrifice you with a pumpkin spice candle *talking to someone with a cinnamon allergy*

[nerdasaurus1200]

I do feel bad for Cassandra here cause you can clearly see she’s horrified and anguished by the realization of what she’s truly done. But at the same time that third expression makes me laugh cause it looks like she’s thinking “If you don’t shut the fiddlestick up-“

[sasoxichomoshi]

WHY STAR GUARDIAN NILAH IS CREEPIER AND WAY MORE TWISTED THAN YOU REMEMBER

First of all, i want to thank and credit  Sir Catnip III for uploading the novel on youtube. All the screenshots on this post were sourced from their videos, so again thank you Sir Catnip The Third !!!

Star guardian 2022 summer event surely added a lot of new content regarding the AU, and i couldnt be more happy that nilah took an special spotlight in it

(people will say that it’s not true but i have arguments that, in fact, nilah had a major role in the development of the novel story, however people are not prepared for it nor it’s the topic i wanna discuss here)

Before i dive further in my analysis, i need to refresh your minds (or bring up the evidences to the table)

in the second chapter of the novel, it was revealed to us the nature of Fiddlesticks and what happened to Harp

[context: Syndra is describing what happened to Harp after she fell]

basically, Harp fell and due to an external force, she turned into the monster Fiddlestick we know

(also notice how Fiddlesticks battle act goes by its formal title as part of The Ten, which ashlesh makes part as well)

proceeding with the analysis, now looking at what nilah exposed at the novel

nilah directly affirms that fiddle and ashlesh are alike... they are both fallen guardians 

you still didnt get it i believe

ok so... in short, nilah carries a trapped undead guardian in her waist....

cute, isnt it?

(isnt it just like carrying a coffin around?)

ok now i will indulge myself with THEORY AND HEADCANON MOMENT, so from now on be aware that it’s gonna be my interpretations and imagination at play

the whole thing goes further: nilah also says that ashlesh is the star of joy - a pretender star, to be more specific (notice how zoe, despite being a pretender star, is also called star guardian, confirming again that ashlesh was once a common guardian)

this is something oddly interesting, since fiddle is just described as a monster and the only star related directly to it is zoe

this could put ashlesh higher on the hierarchy “can this thing destroy the universe without sweating?”; fiddle is presented much more like a local thread going after tasty star guardians, ashlesh could devour the universe if free

now let’s analise ashlesh situation: is a star guardian (very happy very cool), gets corrupted/crazy, becomes a pretender star, ultimately falls BUT its existence and influence goes on...

what if ashlesh had a different motivation? what if ashlesh was too obsessed to die...? 

i mean, zoe lives in anarchy, refusing to follow any rules 

fiddlesticks represents the fear the guardians have to face

as fiddle represents its main thematic from the base runeterra, so do ashlesh; “[it pushes joy to its hideous extremes, feeding on the dark, inverted aspects of the emotion, like delirium and obsession]”

ashlesh could be, in this case to make things more interesting, an counterpart for zoe; if zoe respects no rule, then ashlesh follows everything to a literal point 

as star guardian it values discipline, discipline spirals into obsession, it wants to serve the First Star so bad it starts to hallucinate, until it is so deep in a state of delirium that it begins to consume everything, without discrimination...

ashlesh is a very interesting character in the SG universe because we have no information about it unlike fiddlesticks, yet we can affirm that, once, ashlesh was just another teenager, living the best of their lives...and then the oath happened

as for last thought, i imagine how things would develop if ashlesh was originally part of nilah’s team? some will say that this is not possible (i actually have a theory explaining this) but im here for the sadness and angst ehehehe...

[incorrect-targon-quotes]

Atreus: So you were never gonna bring up the fact that you sealed away all the Darkin and now they all want to kill you? 

Zoe: First of all, it wasn't me, it was Myisha. Second of all, I handled it! And third of all, if you're getting stressed out about the Darkin I'm never gonna tell you about Fiddlesticks.

Atreus: I'm sorry, about WHO?

Zoe: ...

Atreus: Did you just say Fiddlesticks? 

Zoe: It's not really important right now.

Atreus: Like THE fucking Fiddlesticks? The primordial demon of fear in ancient legend, THAT Fiddlesticks?! 

Zoe: YES! Fiddlesticks, I think Myisha owed it money or something, is that really what you want to focus on right now? 

Atreus: YEAH! A LITTLE BIT! HOW DID MYISHA OWE IT MONEY?!

Zoe: I DON'T KNOW, AND FRANKLY, I GOT OTHER STUFF GOING ON RIGHT NOW!

Atreus: WHAT OTHER SHIT DO YOU HAVE GOING ON THAT IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN OWING THE PRIMORDIAL FUCKING DEMON OF FEAR MONEY?!

Zoe: I DON'T KNOW MAN! That's just my job! Sometimes you owe money to a demon and sometimes you uncover an ancient World Rune and kick off the Rune Wars, THAT'S THE GIG! 

[mushroompone]

rereading a bunch of your fics they're chefs kiss and i must curiously ask, are you working on anything currently?

🥺 my fics are chef's kiss?

You're so sweet aaa I am working on a few projects currently! I've slowed down a lot in terms of posting bc I've transitioned from writing primarily speedwrites to writing primarily longfics (20k words or more)

Theres three fics I'm very actively working on rn. The first I am sworn to secrecy on lol so I will not be giving any details at all.

The second is a horror fic I'm planning to release around Halloween! I'm very excited about it honestly, since my last horror fic (The Head) did very well :) this one will be about Cadance, and will probably clock in between 20k and 35k words.

The third is a project I've been planning and tinkering with for a long time. It doesn't have a firm title, but it's a sci-fi anthology-style fic with three interconnected novella-length tales coming together in a singular conclusion. The first novella is about Vinyl Scratch, Minuette, and Moondancer creating a traveling radio show. The second is about Octavia reuniting with her estranged twin sister Fiddlesticks. The third is about Night Glider and Wind Rider going on a long journey. The finale is about [redacted]. I think ideally I'd have all of the fic (meaning all four novellas) written before I start posting, but I may also post these one at a time as I finish each novella :)

I do also have a few shorter fics I'm hoping to post soon! It was like. Multiple months ago that krickis and I said we were gonna write Maud x Autumn Blaze, after which my life swiftly imploded and I had not a spare second to be doing anything! But I'm getting things back on track and should soon be able to start writing again in earnest. Probably mid-July.

Thanks so much for your message ❤️ it's sort of unbelievable that people not only read but reread my little horse fictions!! I'm always happy to talk about my writing though :)

[league-of-starlight]

Just for fun, intro animations for each character in my roster concept list.

(Outro animations will come later if you're interested.)

Ekko: Ekko rewinds into the battle, shaking his head. "Alright, third time's the charm.' He pulls out his weapon, flashing a smirk.

Jinx: Jinx walks into the arena, talking with fishbones. "Maybe we shouldn't fight." Jinx scoffs "Blah, blah, blah!" She pulls out her pistols with a grin.

Vi: Vi slips the gauntlets on, activating them. She cracks her neck and takes a stance.

Blitzcrank: Blitzcrank whirrs to life, looks to the opponent and says robotically "Target found."

Ahri: Ahri flies into the arena, holding one of her energy balls. "Come, let's see what you can do."

Zed: One of Zed's shadow clones walks in, before Zed's blades pierce it and he walks through them with a laugh. "None can hide from the shadows."

Karma: Karma is meditating before opening her eyes with a faint green glow. She gets to her feet and says "Every battle is a lesson."

Shyvana: A dragon lands on the field, before s storm of fire obscures it and out walks Shyvana. She exhales flares from her nostrils, standing ready to fight.

Fiora: Fiora walks into the arena, drawing her rapier and taking her stance. "Stand ready!"

Illaoi: Illaoi walks into the arena, looking to the opponent. "It is time for your test." She picks up her totem, hoisting it over her shoulder.

Gangplank: Gangplank is peeling an orange with his sword, looking to the opponent with a cruel grin as he tosses it away.

Pyke: Pyke leaps out of the ground, head held down, then his head snaps up and he says "I remember you..." before transferring to a fighting stance.

Kled: Skaarl is wandering along the ground, licking the ground before it notices the opponent. before she can run, Kled jumps on her back with his weapon drawn. "You're on my property!"

Darius: An Axe is planted in the ground before it is picked up and rests along Darius' shoulder. "This is for Noxus."

Katarina: Katarina flips into the arena, drawing her knives. She smirks, flipping some hair out of her face. "Better make this fun."

Swain: Swain marches onto the field. "It seems a general must fight his own battles." He shows off his demonic hand, making it flash red for a second.

Braum: Braum jovially walks into the arena, making a beckoning gesture to the opponent. "Come, let us spar!"

Lissandra: Lissandra enters the arena on a trail of black ice. She makes a small ice statue of the opponent in her hand. "It is foolish to face me." She shatters it.

Volibear: Close up on Volibear's paws crashing against the ground. The camera pans up to show him snarling. "Come, warm-blood! Fight!"

Neeko: The opponent walks into the arena, before they're revealed to be Neeko, who smiles cheerfully. "Surprise, Neeko here!"

Taliyah: Taliyah surfs in on rocks, jumping off to land on her feet. She grins. "Time to prove what I've learned."

Pantheon: A spear is planted in the ground, before it is pulled up by Pantheon who hits it twice with his shield in a "Bring it" gesture.

Soraka: Soraka descends from a pillar of light, as her staff twirls in front of her. "It seems you need instruction." She takes the staff and smiles softly.

Thresh: Close up on Thresh's lantern, souls screaming in agony. The camera pans out to show Thresh looking at it with a creepy chuckle. He looks to the opponent, twirling his sickle in anticipation.

Vel'Koz: There's the sound of a laser firing and screaming, before ash litters the ground. "Hm. Perhaps you will be a better test subject." Vel'Koz gets ready to fight.

Fiddlesticks: Fiddlesticks is in its scarecrow state before its head snaps up. It's body then contorts in the more primal form as in game.

Bard: Bard floats onto the ground, making unintelligible chimes.

Aatrox: Aatrox's sword is planted in the ground, before it suddenly lifts into the air and in a flash of red, Aatrox appears, snarling at the opponent. "Come, face the world-ender!"

[rewoundreviews]

Rewound Review #450 : Cat's Eye

An anthology of 3 Stephen King short stories.

Jimminy Christmas is this movie ever hokey! I remember it being less than serious & not especially scary but I'd forgotten just how silly it is. I guess I should have been tipped off by the back cover insisting I'd be 'cat-atonic with fear'... Anyhoo, if you're looking for something a bit suspenseful but light-hearted, this is def worth watching. Of the 3 stories, I'd say I like the first one the best. As a former smoker, the threat of succumbing to the wiles of nicotine against your better judgement even when the stakes are high if you do is chillingly realistic. I was also pleased by the exaggerated cigarette usage in the party scene since it extinguished any lurking desire I may have had for a dastardly gasper. Furthermore, this installment features the most ridiculously wholesome exchange during an altercation with lines such as 'Where's my wife you turd?!' 'Oh Fiddlesticks!' & 'Forget the cat you hemorrhoid!' The second story is probably the most legitimately scary to me since I have a fear of heights but I don't see it as especially original & therefore not especially captivating. The third story is the goofiest with the tiny troll & his tiny dagger & the corny dad joke 'I certainly never realized Polly had such a big pecker!' but it's also the most charming segment for me since it more heavily features adorable little Drew Barrymore. Pro tip: make sure to stick around for the credits & the fantastic title song performed by Ray Stephens, lead singer of The Village People.

#vhs

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[crimson--freak]

[ID: all images are screenshots from the aforementioned screenplay. The first image reads :

17. EXT. CAMDEN HIGH ROAD. DAY. And runs with them over this fast track. Two hundred yards are covered at a hot foot. WITHNAIL slightly in the lead. They arrive under the bridge and collapse gasping over railings. WITHNAIL: “You could have grabbed the scarf. It was by your fucking feet…”

The second and third images together read:

60. INT. LIVING ROOM. COTTAGE. EVENING. The dissolve completes into candlelight and firelight. MARWOOD sits in front of the latter writing in his notebook with the assistance of the former. Big shadows on the wall behind him. WITHNAIL is fencing with himself again. Got a cigarette stuck in his maw. Decides to involve MARWOOD in the exercise and starts prodding selected areas of his back and neck. MARWOOD swats him off like an unwelcome wasp. But the wasp comes back. WITHNAIL: “C'mon . . . on your pins.” MARWOOD: “Stop it. I'm thinking.” The poing of the épée pokes the very centre of MARWOOD's head. WITHNAIL: “C'mon. 'Here's my fiddlestick; here's that shall make you dance!'” And he prods and pokes further selected areas of MARWOOD's body. With increasing annoyance the recipient knocks the pee away. WITHNAIL removes his cigarette to intone à la Shakespeare. WITHNAIL: “Oh calm, dishonourable, vile submission! Come on, you rat-catcher, will you walk?” MARWOOD: “Last time I fought you, I thrashed you into the ground.” WITHNAIL: “Thou speakest bollocks. C'mon.” MARWOOD is suddenly on his feet, retrieves another épée from the walking-stick tub. Now he's facing WITHNAIL across the table. MARWOOD: “All right, Withnail. Prepare to die. Three hits to win, loser buys the drinks.” Here comes some Errol Flynn - and if it's spelt wrong it's because it's fought wrong. But these boys can fence - evidently part of their drama school training. I'm not going to describe it because I don't know what it'lllook like till we're there. But MARWOOD gets a poke, 'One' into WITHNAIL's throttle, which enrages him. Fag still burning he lunges at the coat hooks and grabs the mask. 'Right, you bastard', and the mask goes on. The fight continues. WITHNAIL has donned the mask with his cigarette still in his mouth - a thing like a smoking beehive is slashing around the premises. MARWOOD finally wins. WITHNAIL takes 'Three' and is down on the table point in his neck - 'Yield? Yield?' And he does yield.

The fourth image reads:

WITHNAIL: “What are you doing? Prowling around in the middle of the fucking night?” WITHNAIL's bark redirects his uncle's torch. He coyly examines the floorboards. Clearly he thinks he's disturbed them at it. MONTY: “I had a punctured tyre. I had to wait an aeon” […]

The fifth reads:

[…] whisky he finds himself back at the windows. Night and lights and mist on the river. Any more of this and it's art. MARWOOD (V.O.): “How many more maniacs out there? Nurturing their turnips. Living in greenhouses with paranoid cats terrified by the sonnets of the Bard? Possibly thousands. Those with the money are eccentric. Those without. Insane.”

The sixth, seventh and eighth read:

23. INT. SERVICE PIT. GARAGE. DAY. A greasy little back-street dungeon. The Jaguar is shoulder height on a hydraulic jack. WITHNAIL and MARWOOD watch while a weaselish MECHANIC pokes beneath it with a naked 100-watt bulb in a little wire cage. Doesn't like the look of what he sees. Stubbing his butt he emerges to address MARWOOD. MECHANIC: “Bob or two either sida forty quid.” MARWOOD: “Forty quid? If we had forty quid, we'd buy a better car.” MECHANIC: “This thing's unroadworthy. I've seen better tyres hanging over the side of a tug.” WITHNAIL: “Nonsense. It's in first-class condition. Right, get it down, we'll service it ourselves.” 24. EXT. GARAGE FORECOURT. DAY. And the shot cranes down. Music and a bit of drizzle about. The Jag rumbles in and they dismount. WITHNAIL opens the boot, shouting mechanical instructions at MARWOOD. WITHNAIL: “Right, you service the water and I'll service the tyres. Then you can service the battery, and then we'll go home and get under the sink. An air hose and a watering can. A free service and a […] 25. INT. KITCHEN. APARTMENT. DAY. WITHNAIL is arse out on his knees in the cupboard under the sink. A forest of bottles surrounds him. Regiments of Guinness and Bass. MARWOOD is computing their value with a pad and pencil. The last bottle comes out and WITHNAIL stands and prepares for the total. MARWOOD: “I make it a tanner under four quid.” WITHNAIL: “All right, let's work this out. Three pounds nineteen and six, plus thirteen pounds three and nine National Assistance, plus your thirty-two quid three and four, that makes fifty pounds six and seven.” MARWOOD: “Does it?” WITHNAIL: “I've just said so, haven't I. Right, at eight and eleven a bottle, that means we can have ninety-six bottles of Greek Hock.” MARWOOD: “Ninety-six bottles of Greek Hock? You're out of your fucking mind.” WITHNAIL starts loading the empties. MARWOOD counts the money. WITHNAIL: “I'm not suggesting we spend the entire amount on Greek Hock. We'll have nine two-and-a-half litres of Eye-tie red and three dozen barley wines.” MARWOOD: “How much is that?” 26. INT. OFF LICENCE. DAY. A horrible pinstripe suit. Dandruff. This is their wine BROKER. And they're broke. And this is his wine. And WITHNAIL's pissed. BROKER: “Fifteen pounds twelve and a penny.” WITHNAIL: “Good. We'll have a bottle of Haig.” The BROKER goes about it. MARWOOD is unhappy with the last item. MARWOOD: “Don't be an idiot. We can't afford it.” The whisky joins the wine. The BROKER observes without comment. WITHNAIL: “You've had petrol. I want whisky.” MARWOOD: “I've had petrol? We've both had petrol.” WITHNAIL: “You've had oil.” MARWOOD: “Of course I've had oil! It's four hundred miles…” WITHNAIL: “I'm not sitting in that wreck all night without whisky. It's essential.” He moves for the bottle - arm on same plane as the wrecking ball.

The ninth reads:

MARWOOD (V.O. - playback): “…perhaps thirteen million people in London. And if they all go once a day, that means end to end there'd be enough shit to stretch from here to Casablanca…” 6. EXT. ALLEYWAY. CAMDEN TOWN. DAWN. The street lights are still on. Utterly dismal. A carbon copy of a day. MARWOOD scurries and the camera hurries with him. Their combined speed puts the dripping alley in a blur. MARWOOD (V.O.): “I'm not working it out now. I'd done that before with Withnail. Also computed the Dresden route via Cologne. And Moscow in a day and a half…” Still hanging in as close as it can the camera turns a corner and now they're under a railway bridge. Rain hangs like dirty tinsel. The area is as shabby as the weather. MARWOOD (V.O.): “Thirteen million people in London, and Withnail's gotta be the only one who would bother to work that out. Why would he work that out? The bastard must be unique.”

The tenth and final image reads:

64. INT. LIVING ROOM. COTTAGE. DAY. A load of weather on the roof. A large fire in the grate. MARWOOD is stirring in the kettle. Fishes something out. Tastes it and decides it's ready. WITHNAIL is at the dining table. Already hacked one crust off and is working at the opposite end of the loaf. A complaint from MARWOOD as he transfers kettle to table. MARWOOD: “What are you doing?” WITHNAIL: “Getting the crusts. I like the crusts.” MARWOOD: “So do I. You can have that one. The other one’s mine when we get to it.”

/End ID]

So I've been re-reading the Withnail screenplay (don't ask me which number re-read this is) and I thought I'd list some of the things that don't make the film (things that I find really interesting anyway because special interest go brrr). List below the cut with some screenshots (there's a copy of the screenplay for free on Internet Archive if anyone is interested!)

• After they've run away from the "perfumed ponce" guy, Withnail complains Marwood didn't pick up his scarf

• During the phone box scene they were originally going to be cramped into the phone box together because..... it's cold....? Ok gay people

• The fencing scene, which was scrapped in favour of the bull scene. Never forget what they took from us

• It's revealed that Monty did indeed assume he caught them going at it when he walks in on them in the middle of the night. Not sure what he makes of this, seeing as how at this time he's under the impression that Withnail has rejected Marwood...? Does this not apply to sex?? Mr Robinson what does it all mean

• Some scrapped Marwood thoughts whilst they're at Monty's house:

• Before they set off to Penrith they go to get the car fixed but alas they're broke and can't afford it. Doesn't help that Withnail insists they spend the money on (you guessed it) alcohol

• Pretty small detail but during the first Danny scene Marwood is making a cup of tea for himself and Withnail, rather than getting dressed

• Withnail calculated the amount of shit needed to stretch from London to Casablanca?

• They bicker over who gets to have the bread crusts, which is cute but if you asked me I thought everyone agreed the crusts are the worst part? Clearly just goes to show Withnail and Marwood are built different

[fenlock]

Strange dream, may have been astral. Recording to look back on later.

I remember driving in the nearby city, the road and buildings along it were familiar and I know I've dreamed the exact same road. It doesn't exist in real life though.

Some sort of jump, or time skip, and I was in a shop. I distinctly remember feeling weird about it, because I knew I had just been driving and had no memory of actually parking or entering any shops. It was very fae-themed, and I again got the feeling I'd been there before, aware of the layout and knowing there were multiple rooms.

I went into a side room, to the right (I think?) of the main entry. Looked at a few items, only to get drawn into conversation with an employee, an older woman. She was sitting behind a cashier desk, which again felt strange as you'd think check-out would be done by the door and not in a side room. We made small talk, then she offered me a small glass pendant, deep blue with a horselike 'head' protruding from the front. I think it had something to do with horses as well, some type of magic or charm? I recall her saying "wild horses" anyway. Paid for it, then she offered me tea. I accepted, but was leery, the vibes of the shop felt off and taking food or drink seemed like an unwise decision.

Some more conversation. I remember socks? Long and dark gray, very thick like alpaca fur. Parted ways from the employee, only to be approached by a man. More talk about horses, this time rescuing them I believe. Aromatherapy was mentioned for sure, and herbalism for their health.

Another skip. I don't remember the end of my conversation with the man, but was in the same place, a small corner of a room with comfortable brown chairs. I got up to leave, and saw three people approaching through some type of screen or mirror. Was suddenly outdoors, in the back of a cart of some kind, while the three people stepped through a frame-type structure. First two were strange, one non-human with furry ears and an animal face (can't remember what kind. I think something small, maybe hamster or rabbit?). He was vague, I couldn't tell what exactly he was there for or what he wanted (can't remember what he said at all, now I'm awake, just that it was vague and I felt frustrated). Second one chimed in, but again why they were approaching me was unclear. Some sort of rant against another person (Fiddlesticks? Started with a F and had a sticks/styx sound at the end). Both got distracted and started tussling in the grass. Third person finally stepped forward, feminine with pale purple hair and a light southern accent. She said something about training my powers or abilities, and there was some kind of glow at her fingertips. The cart began to move, heading toward some kind of settlement.

Time skip, maybe? It was evening, instead of daylight like before, and I was still in the cart. I think there were small cottages around the path, but few and far between. A town, but definitely not crowded. Some kind of large, manufactured pool of water, extremely long and rectangular. The cart began to travel across it, not on top of the water but not fully sinking either. Water level came up roughly to the top of my chest. As the cart grew close to the opposite side, I got the feeling it was going to dive, and when it came back up it would be a new place, potentially dangerous. I know I did not want to go wherever it was heading. Had the idea of water > portal > waterhorses, and called out to some of my friends. The water got extremely dark, practically black, but I could tell something was different, and the feeling of dread went away.

Resurfaced in a new place, as expected. A huge field, still evening time, with lots of open pavilions strung with fairy lights. Festival vibes. Five of my kelpie companions were waiting a short distance away from the pool, far enough out of the way for the cart to come onto land but still close and intimidating. I hopped out of the cart, calling the kelpies my lovelies (as I do haha), felt/heard someone concerned they were glamouring me, but no one attempted to stop me. Very much an aura of confusion from the people nearby when I approached the kelpies without harm and was allowed to pet and croon over them.

Walked around a bit with my "guards", exploring the festival. Someone yelled something about why tf were there murderhorses roaming about, sounding annoyed rather than concerned, and I recognized the voice as someone I knew (not someone I know while awake, conscious, but I recognized him immediately in dream). Peered around Es so the person (a blonde man, appearing maybe in his 30s, long black coat) could see me and cheekily replied they were there for me and my comfort/protection. An immediate look of fond exasperation of the face of the man, very much an "ofc it was you" type of look.

Woke up shortly after this. I don't remember the end, but I think the blond man and I talked?

[clarklovescarole]

Feb. 7, 1937: The Girl of the Day

Whatta contract! 

And because of it, Carole Lombard is definitely the girl of the day out here in Hollywood. 

Tucked away among her personal effects is a brand-new agreement with Paramount which calls for two pictures a year, at $150,000 a picture, for three straight years – no options. Of course, other stars have come at higher figures. Carole could have got more money, too, but she didn’t want more money. 

The studio begged her to make four pictures per annum, which would have doubled the ante from $300,000 a year to $600,000.Now Carole still likes to make pictures, but she also likes some time to herself. She said no – she’d make two. Studio no likee – Carole no signee. 

So before another company had a chance to muscle in and grab her off – and there were plenty of them who wanted her – Paramount drew up the bill o’fare and shoved it under a pen. 

The contract also gives Miss Lombard the option of making a third picture a year, at the same price, either on or off the lot. 

That reads like a lot of dough. One might even say that it represents a typical Hollywood success, except for the fact that there is nothing typical about Carole Lombard or the place she occupies in the Hollywood scene. You have only to see the stunning blond from Indiana on the set, in front of the scenes and behind them, to realize that she has no imitators. Only one person could get away with being Carole Lombard, and that’s the girl herself. 

If you want to see the human counterpart  of a streamline steam engine – watch Carole Lombard at work. Her laughter is raucous- her language is lusty. Seriously rehearsing one moment, she’s hysterically acting out some humorous incident the next. 

That’s Carole – the darling of the press and sometimes their despair – the adored of the studio gang she works with. Her love of a laugh, her spark and her fire and her undisciplined effervescence, together with that determined will of hers, are just a few of the more explosive ingredients that make her the most vital and independent personality on the screen. She gives “spontaneous combustion” new meaning. 

Let’s go out on the set of “Swing High, Swing Low” where Carole is working. It seems as though that’s going to be difficult. The set is virtually closed. Miss Lombard isn’t any too fond of visitors on the sound stage. 

For many weeks, they tell you, she hasn’t granted a single interview and has left very definite instructions that she was not to be disturbed while working on “Swing High, Swing Low.” Upon hearing this, everyone nodded knowingly and said: “Uh huh,  she’s afraid people will ask about Gable.” 

Afraid? Carole Lombard? Fiddlesticks! 

Be that as it may, this reporter was unbelievably lucky, with the result that she went on the Lombard set at 11 o’clock one morning and remained until 4 o’clock that afternoon. 

The set was that of a cheap little cafe in Cuba. Fred MacMurray was there, and Cecil Cunningham and Director Mitchell Leisen and Charles Butterworth, and Carole was there. Oh yes, you knew the minute the weighty stage door was swung upon for you, that Carole was there. Every bit of business transacted on that set revolved around her. 

It was interesting to note that, still chuckling as she left her gold and white portable dressing room, Carole went directly into a scene in which she had to cry. How simply she did it. No walking up and down trying to work herself into a frenzy. No listening to woeful music, no waits, no delays. When her cue came she burst into tears – real ones. 

Ask her how it’s possible to turn on the faucet so convincingly without apparent provocation and she says: “The scene itself does it. That’s all there is to it.” 

“Like this picture?” she echoed. “Very much. It’s a grand story and we’re having the time of our lives making it.” 

“You know,” she continued, “that the formula for making motion pictures is gradually changing. Directors are beginning to let the characters evolve their own situations on the spur of the moment instead of concerning themselves so much with a plot. Yesterday we worked out a swell scene that wasn’t even in the script. “And I play the dumb girl again,” remarked Carole, laughing. “Maybe there’s a reason for that.” 

Interruption: Edith Head, studio designer, comes in with a batch of sketches for Miss Lombard to okay. (Delays, yes, but fascinating ones; fascinating to watch the blond star’s intent expression as she makes quick decisions and grants or refuses requests.) 

“Money,” repeats Carole, suddenly getting back into the swing of things, “Well, it’s nice because it enables one to make the people around them more comfortable. Other than that it simply means that it’s possible for me to look forward to the day when I shall be able to retire on a comfortable income.” 

Retire! Have we here a movie star who actually looks far ahead to visualize a time when she won’t be in pictures? 

“You’re darn right,” stated Carole. “Not me. I don’t want to be any broken-hearted ‘has-been.’ As a matter of fact I doubt if I ever make another picture after this contract is up.” 

Now Carole casually means what she says, yet one wonders how it’s possible for a girl – a popular celebrity used to applause – who has worked as hard for her success as Carole has, to give it up for a private life  almost as ordinary as yours and mine. 

“Of course,” she admitted, “I have a natural pride in achievement but,” she scoffed rather disdainfully, “what is there in being a movie star after all? It’s such a transitory business – certainly nothing for a person to lose his head over. Today you’re in, tomorrow you’re out. If you make a good picture, everybody thinks you’re swell. If you make a bad picture, everybody thinks you’re lousy.

“There are a few people here in Hollywood who will never be happy because being a star has become an obsession with them. Something in their emotional makeup demands the adulation, the attention and the rah-rah that goes along with being a star. I like it, but I know that I can be happy without it. 

“And I can guarantee this,” she continued, “when I do step out of pictures I shall never be idle. I will take up designing or interior decorating. I have a fair flair for writing and I like to travel. Oh, I’ll be busy, all right, after I leave the movies.” 

And so, as Carole talks you begin to realize that inside that blond head of hers is a sane philosophy and a sensible outlook – rather surprising in a girl who seems, putting it frankly, to be such a flighty madcap both on and off the screen. 

“Oh,” explained Carole, “I affect that attitude purposely. I know – I shriek and cut up around the studio and the set. Sometimes I swear. There’s a reason. I do it to stimulate the atmosphere on the set. Long waits between scenes and the tiresome delays can be insidious, and unless you’re careful the mood behind the camera will turn up in your picture. I try to maintain a tempo by letting off steam.”

She does a good job of it, too. No one is ever bored on a Lombard set. 

Among other things, Carole Lombard is known as the girl who “gets away with murder” – as the girl who gets exactly what she wants around the studio. 

For herself, Carole says: “Yes, I suppose I do get away with murder – but I believe there is a good reason for it. When I fight it’s about something important, not about some little petty detail that doesn’t mean a damn thing. Most of my fights have been over stories, and those have been because I was honestly convinced that I wasn’t suited to the role. 

“I never flatly refuse to make a picture. Knowing that I’m not just trying to be funny, the studio is usually willing to consider my opinion and let me out of it if possible.” 

There are, by the way, only two things that Carole absolutely refuses to do when she goes to work. She will not have a director whom she doesn’t like and will not be interviewed by anyone whom she doesn’t wish to see.

And she’d rather not talk about Mr. Gable. You can’t blame her. She had rather an unfortunate experience. Someone misquoted her, very flagrantly according to Carole, and made it terribly embarrassing for both her and the gentleman. So Miss Lombard shut up like a clam, figuring that if she couldn’t be quoted correctly, she wouldn’t be quoted at all. 

However, if you don’t bring Clark Gable into the conversation – Carole will. He sort of creeps in unawares. Somewhere along the line you’ll catch that “Clark and I,” “Clark and I.” It will be about what fun they had at the San Diego Fair or some picture they enjoyed at a little neighborhood theater. 

Carole is also known as the town’s best practical joker. She says that she inherits it from her mother, who is a “genius at delightful nonsense.” 

That Carole is still a gagster of the first order was discovered by Mr. Gable on Christmas Day. She sent east for a handsome buggy, a two-seater, which Clark can hitch up to his horse. Then she went out into the valley, to a horse farm, and bought him a $4 mule and a ton of  hay to go with it. 

Yes, the Gable-Lombard friendship is still going strong and Clark is Carole’s steady escort around town. At the moment there is apparently little possibility that the two will appear in another picture together. 

They were, you remember, co-starred in a picture several years ago, before the present set-up. It was during its production that Clark received his first gag from Carole – an enormous ham with his photograph pasted on the front. Paramount made the picture, and it was titled, “No Man of Her Own.”

Feb. 7, 1937 – Arizona Republic

[companion-of-the-dragonmark]

What do you think happened to Fiddlesticks the Cat (whom was only briefly mentioned in Book 1)?

[ghastly-poltergeist]

Oh fiddlesticks! :( Not again, third time this week. Blast these wretched springlocks!

Its Springlock Saturday!! Reblog to Springlock your mutuals <3

[infinitedungas]

i have spent more of my precious time on this earth than i care to admit deciding which of the doctorwhos will say fuck

here are my findings, please enjoy

first doctor: swears once in a blue moon. always catches people off guard which he thinks is hilarious, cue much heeheehoohoo wehehehe

second doctor: a wholesome grandpa who has never said anything stronger than "fiddlesticks". gently bonks jamie on the head if he says a naughty word

third doctor: let off a litany of curses in front of the brigadier once, just to see what would happen (outcome: subject rendered puce and speechless)

fourth doctor: will let off a booming great “FUCKING HELL” when under stress but rarely in front of sarah jane. censors himself less around romana and definitely swears at K9

fifth doctor: absolutely does not swear, thinks it’s terribly bad taste and tegan swears enough for all of them anyway

sixth doctor: RIP peri and mel they put up with so much from this foul mouthed little rainbow gremlin. swearing intensifies when mel puts him on a diet

seventh doctor: swears with an impressive amount of creativity, mostly to get a laugh out of ace and usually in languages no-one else can speak

eighth doctor: swears often and with enthusiasm, prone to following with a ramble about the etymology of certain curse words

war doctor: has been through the wringer so hard that most swear words feel insufficient now, but will use a well-timed f-bomb now and then

ninth doctor: realises soon after his regeneration that northern accents were made for swearing. fookin ell rose it’s the fookin daleks

tenth doctor: keeps it extremely tame. most companions get a half-joking, half-serious “oi. language” if they swear - the exception being donna bc he quickly realises she is a lost cause

metacrisis doctor: canonically curses in the extended universe stuff and rose calls it “donna swearing”, confirming my suspicions that donna will say fuck and ten will not say fuck

eleventh doctor: absolutely does swear but people are always surprised / mildly scandalised by it because he looks about twelve

twelfth doctor: of course he fucking does, get in the fucken box clara we’re gonnae go shit up davros and his wee pepperpot cunts

thirteenth doctor: not a swear in sight. possibly got it all out of her system in the previous incarnation. yaz reacts with mock outrage if she even says “heck”