#what they did to shaggy borders on terrorism

[swamp-mirage]

If they wanted to make an edgy Scooby Doo show they would have simply let Scooby say fuck

[thatonegeekygirl]

Things That Go Bump in the Night

A Short Story

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the light of day the schoolyard was a cheerful place. Full of giggling children and their games, dandelions bobbing in the breeze, cars slowly drifting past and birds twittering in treetops. Midsummer attracted kids from neighborhoods both near and far, and the playground equipment, warm from the sun, was often a hurricane of flailing limbs and half-toothed grins. But late into the evening, with an ominously full moon overhead and silence pervading the motionless streets, there was none of that. Only a looming sense of dread that clung to fingertips and shirt sleeves like cobwebs. 

A group of elementary school kids tromped down an otherwise empty sidewalk. They were led by Kyle, a blond-haired blue-eyed brute of nine years who reveled in terrorizing younger students year-round. He had a long, ragged scar running down his left arm and a tall-tale to explain it. His three lackeys, Tom, Mackyle, and Sam--Sam of the female sort--trailed eagerly behind him. Nobody was quite sure which one was Mackyle and which was Tom, though considering they were attached at the hip, this was unsurprising. Trapped in the middle of the clustered gang was Benjamin. He was a small boy, bordering on frail. That last semester he had transferred from some school or another after an ‘incident’ with a bully at his previous one. He often ate lunch in the corner of the cafeteria, alone, and when he spoke it was usually only to whisper an ‘excuse me’ or ‘thanks’. 

In other words, as the bully Kyle knew, he was an easy target. 

“Cheer up, Benny,” Kyle drawled, “s’ah lovely evening for bushwackin’!” 

A look of horror spread across Benjamin’s pale freckled features, and he curled further into himself. Mackyle giggled, or perhaps Tom did. They passed the lonesome playground. Empty swings tilted back and forth in a cold wind, creaking forlornly as they went. As the children’s feet sunk into the soft ground of the field, and some unknowable threshold was crossed, the coal-black depths of the woods slunk into view. Not one student had dared to trespass on the pine needle-littered floor of the woods since before Kyle had arrived for his first day. Dark things, evil things, lurked amongst its boughs and brambles, everyone knew. There was no hurry to find out what sort of unspeakable horrors befell those who wandered into it.

That was not to say no one was curious. 

Kyle shoved Benjamin forward, and the boy stumbled. “Go on,” said the bully, “we don’t got all night y’know!” 

The three others leaned forward in anticipation. 

“B-b-b-but it's haunted!” Benjamin protested. 

“Yeah, that’s sorta the point,” Sam said, unsympathetically. “Guinea pig.”

“Do it, do it, do it, do it, ” Tom and Mackyle chanted.

“My mum will notice that, that I’m not home,” Benjamin whimpered, “it's late! She-she’ll come looking for me!” 

Tom and Mackyle halted their cajoling to exchange glances with Sam. This was true.

“I’ll do it if one of you comes with me.” Benjamin swallowed heavily. “I will. Just don’t make me go alone.” 

Kyle tsked, rolling his eyes. “Sam, give it here.” He held out a grubby hand and Sam placed into it a full shaker of salt. He unscrewed the vial’s metal cap and began shaking its contents onto the grass, the little grains piling on top of each other in white peaks. He twisted about until there was a circle of it around him and his friends. 

“Here,” said Kyle, “there’s a circle’ah salt now. Even idiots like you know evil things can’t pass over salt lines. Just run out there, and then jump into the circle before anything grabs ya. Wimp.” 

Benjamin’s quivering stilled, and he stared off into the woods for a long, creeping moment, his back to the older boys. When finally he turned, he looked down at the messy-but-solid salt line encircling them. Shaggy brown hair fell in front of his eyes and obscured his face. 

“A pity,” said he. “Nearly had you.” 

Kyle scoffed, arrogantly, though his eyes flitted nervously between Benjamin and the trees. “Says the idiot who’s gonna stumble through the creepy forest at night!”

“I don’t think you quite understand, boy.” Benjamin huffed a laugh that came from deep within his chest, guttural and rattling, like the wind chimes of driftwood and bone that hang from fishing hut porches.

The distant treeline lurched closer. Once-docile clouds swarmed in front of the moon, swallowing its comforting glow, and summer cicadas muted their songs. All was cast in shadow. 

The stillness in the air was smothering. 

The boy before them lifted a little hand. With idle patience, he uncurled his pinky and extended it over the salt border. The fleshy pad of the fingertip began to bubble and ooze. He hissed once, a smooth, noncommittal sound, and withdrew the digit. 

And the thing that raised its head was not Benjamin. 

A shudder rocked Kyle’s body as yellow, slitted eyes met with his own. Darkness seeped from the forest and crawled over the creature’s body, latching to its limbs and dripping in tar-like clumps to the ground surrounding it. Fingers stretched and cracked and hardened. Once dull teeth now ended in deadly-thin points. The face they had known as Benjamin Wheeler’s seemed, in that moment, nothing more than a poorly constructed mask.

“Ben…Benjamin…?” Kyle squeaked, knees weak with fear and threatening collapse.

It held up the burned finger, still seething sickly, all redness and rot. “Don’t you know, child,” said the thing with a sneer, “evil things cannot pass over salt lines...”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@jupitersspot picked out a horror one just for you :)

[hopelessromance21]

LONG DRABBLE/ONESHOT THINGY UNDER CUT

Grant couldn’t look at it.

He could stand just right and keep it in the corner of his eye, barely perceived, just on the outskirts of his focus (and he always knew where it was, never wanting it to cross the border of his peripheral into his central sight).

He hoped Link didn’t see the way his hand shook when they first introduced them. The way he swallowed down the rising bile. The way he paled, like he saw a ghost.

Maybe he did. Maybe he saw a ghost in this eldritch child. Maybe he saw the ghost of another child, who was 14, who was scared as shit but pretending otherwise, because if his Dad was perfectly fine then surely everything was?

And maybe he saw the ghost of that child, and he saw the exact moment that the glimmer of innocence and childhood joy left his eyes.

Maybe this child was coated head to toe in viscera and blood and guts and everything else imaginable, about to throw up, struck with terror and horror because oh god, he just killed something. And oh god, underneath that fear he felt just a little excited, and when he emerged, alive, almost unscathed, he almost felt proud of himself.

And his father looked so relieved when he emerged, bloody and shaking. And told him “Good job bud, way to go. You’re a man now. You did it, just like me.”

Maybe he saw a ghost. So Grant didn’t look at them.

Nick couldn’t stop staring at the Doodler.

When following his son and his friends, among his own friends backstabbers, Nick’s eyes drifted toward the eldritch form that was split in two. Two halves of one boy. Two halves that could never be whole.

Among them, he saw someone he hadn’t seen in a long time.

Shaggy hair like his dad’s, wearing a hand-me-down tee brandishing an up-and-coming band does he remember standing backstage, all smiles and brimming excitement as his dad sung to a cheering crowd?, a little sleepy-eyed and chilled out does he remember sitting with his dad on the couch, smelling that musk, and feeling safe and warm?, standing with his shoulders slouched.

When he smiled it didn’t reach his eyes. There was an ache in his chest and he knew why, but he could ignore it just like his dad.

And then his almost-twin stood beside him. So close they nearly blurred into the other.

Hair trimmed and neat when was it cut?, wearing a button up shirt and khakis did he like those clothes? did he?, eyes bright with a fire soon to be unleashed is this what he is? what he was supposed to be?, standing rigid and trying to be everything his father was.

When he smiled his teeth were a little too sharp, and his eyes lit with brimstone. There was an ache in his chest but he didn’t know why, he could never explain it, and so he ignored it.

Nick would stare at the two and wonder…

And he would feel that ache in his chest.

Sparrow did his best to be polite and kind.

He forced a smile, tried to remember what his dad told him. “Everyone deserves love”, Henry would say, and offer the shirt off his back if it helped.

Sparrow tried to look on without anguish at the little boy that looked back at him through the Doodler’s eyes.

A mess of hair, full of sticks and bugs and dirt, colorful bandaids speckled across his arms and knees and elbows along with his freckles. Wearing that jersey that said “Go Doodlers!” with that childish drawing.

Smiling so big and bright it hurt his face. Hiding his tears, soothing his brother’s temper and his father’s broken heart, and neglecting his own hurt.

Suffocating under the shadow of being one of The Twins. Never just Sparrow, but Lark and Sparrow.

Feeling the chaos writhe in his bones, a force so old and deep, so ingrained in him that it is him. Being utterly terrified of the feeling. Burying his fears for a later day, some other time.

Looking at the Doodler personified and feeling that writhing, squirming ache in his bones again.

Sparrow forced a smile and pushed on.

Lark grit his teeth and kept focus, never looking for too long. He didn’t stare, he didn’t avoid looking. He would bite his tongue and give the Dood the briefest attention needed, and then move on.

Every time he looked, he flinched at the image he was met with.

Hair a mess, brown skin and freckles, bandaids scattered over his cheeks and forehead and arms and legs. Wearing that stupid jersey.

Eyes rolled back to the point of pain, the whites of his eyes overtaken with grey static. The grey seeping out of his mouth, filling his lungs. Drowning him and strangling any sound he could make of anguish.

His fist clutching the knife he drove into his father’s back with a twisted satisfaction he didn’t want to acknowledge. A chorus of words chanting in his ear. “Henry Oak is the unsung hero. Henry Oak is the unsung hero. You Know What To Do.”

Feeling his father’s hands cling to his body. Still hugging him, despite the pain. Holding him to his chest as if he could protect him from this, a danger of his own creation.

Terry never laid eyes on the Doodler. Not in their human form. The last thing he saw was Terri smiling at him. His daughter, smiling at him.

What would he have seen? Perhaps the familiar image of a boy, 15, angry. Angry at his stepfather. Angry at his mother. Angry at the world. Angry at nothing in particular.

Maybe he would’ve seen this boy hissing words of venom into his cellphone. Rejecting freely offered care, tossing it away with the words “you know what? I hope you die,” slipping past his teeth.

Maybe he would’ve seen this boy, shadowed by the taller figure of his “father”. Both cloaked in dark robes. The boy feeling the ache of exhaustion in his bones, and a pinprick pain in the back of his head. “Just a headache,” Terry Sr. would tell him.

Maybe he would see this boy perched atop a tall tower, spell book in hand. Shouting incantations into the sky, runes glowing at his feet, magic power making the wind churn around him. Ron pleading with him in the background while he wiped tears away on his sleeve and kept reading.

Willy had plenty to deal with as a teen. Growing up in the ‘30’s and 40’s had it’s challenges. He was homeless for a time, he worked and struggled and failed and always had this yearning for more, and did whatever the fuck he needed to get more.

But he didn’t see himself as a teenager.

Instead, when he looked upon the Doodler’s shifting form as it rose from the inky darkness summoned by Scary, what flickered into form was a man.

Grown and aged. A ring on his finger that he intermittently removed. Drenched in water, skin grey and clammy. Eyes clouded over and dead. Water filling his lungs, burning in his chest as he gasped for air.

He saw Willy Stampler, drowned.

So it's been established as of s2 ep 39 that Dude appears to take a different form for every person - specifically, he seems to be a humanization of the sources of anxieties integral to each person's respective experiences with teenagerhood.

What do we think about Grant seeing Dude covered in blood and shaking from killing an unseen chimera. What do we think about Nicky seeing Dude torn two ways in the throes of a never-ending identity crisis. What do we think about Sparrow seeing Dude making himself so small, trying to be everything to everyone except himself. What do we think about Lark seeing Dude with static pouring from his eyes, dripping from the knife in his hand.

What do we think Willy sees (What do we think Terry Jr. would have seen).

What do we think.

[cometcrystal]

my spicy hot unpopular scooby takes

velma originally being a lesbian in the live action movie concept isn’t actually gay rights because it was supposed to contribute more to the Edgy tone/is equated to shaggy smoking weed so it was meant to be a joke and thus wraps around to actually being lesbophobic (note: this only includes the pitch and NOT linda cardellini, who is great, playing velma as gay. i appreciated her saying that)

marcie deserves to come back more than red herring does

sdmi is one of my fav versions of scooby but it’s nowhere near the best and it has my least favorite version of daphne. but people who act like it’s the WORST SCOOBY are dumbasses because the overarching plot is absolutely incredible and people who act like it’s the BEST SCOOBY are dumbasses because they’re dismissing 50 years of wonderful scooby material just bc sdmi has consequences

the only thing holding be cool scooby doo back from being the most well-loved scooby tv series is the fact that the character design looks like family guy. it literally has everything else going for it

the stage fright opening song (on the case) >>>>>>>>> terror time again

daphne and velma is really good

the mystery begins is really good

kate melton and sarah jeffery are criminally underrated daphnes

kate micucci is an OUTSTANDING velma you guys just miss mindy cohn (and like i dont blame you but... give kate some love)

nick palatas was an OUTSTANDING shaggy and if they didn’t wanna hire matthew lillard for scoob 2020 they should have hired nick

scoobynatural and kiss rock and roll mystery would have been PERFECT specials if it hadn’t been for the subplots about grown-ass men (one of them edging towards elderly and who is also A Real Person) preying on a teenage girl (perhaps not an Unpopular take but its still spicy hot)

fred designs don’t NEED ascots to be good freds. the ascot is just a bonus

scrappy doo isn’t that bad. he’s just a boy. any new character introduced at that point in the series where the entire gang except shaggy and scooby was gone for a long time. it just happened to be scrappy

shelma needs to be taken out back and shot dead and as a fraphne stan im sick and tired of seeing it be paired w that ship like the audacity....

the shaggy and scooby doo get a clue gang designs are extremely cute and actually some of (if not The) best designs the gang has ever had

scooby becoming more and more literate over the years doesn’t really bug me that much and i think the amount of coherency he has should depend on what’s funniest in that moment. him being able to talk in full sentences is funny in a lot of these newer things

people in the fandom who still call marcie “hot dog water” need to have their asses kicked

people circulating that edit of daphne and velma wearing each other’s PJs also need to have their asses kicked. ive already explained why but if you don’t know it was edited by a creep and tbh being like “lol gay” to this pic even if you don’t know its origin is still bordering on sexualizing teenagers bc of the idea of them swapping PJs and also i hate that version of daphne’s PJs bc it’s ALREADY sexualizing her and i AAAAAAAAAAAA

speaking of, a lot of people who ship vaphne (many of them who aren’t even into scooby that much lol) need to be nicer to fred because he loves his friends so much and would be so happy for them

scooby doo 2002 & monsters unleashed DID NOT need that many burp and fart jokes. it didn’t need any actually.

scooby doo 2002 fred DID NOT need to make as many wildly OOC misogynistic comments as he did. he didn’t need to make any at all actually.

return to zombie island wasn’t TERRIBLE but the first half was pretty bad. it was like fine tho

i can’t vibe with any of the gang besides daphne having siblings because most of them read extremely Only Child to me

will let you know if i form more as time goes on

[anonanimal]

some thots on M. Night’s ‘The Village’

this is...too long. spoilers obv

This isn’t college so instead of a coherent essay I’m serving up some disjointed paragraphs. I expect literally no one to read this. Please don’t. Ok, here we go.

At first I thought the dialogue was just awful, stilted, and impossible to work with, judging by the terrible performances of several otherwise decent actors, but the reveal that we’re in modern times makes it...kind of make sense. If you squint. They’re all modern people doing their best (and failing) to imitate the speech of last century. At least that’s what I tell myself to keep from fixating on the more obvious conclusion that M. Night badly needed some help with the script that he apparently didn’t get.

The twist was weak as fuck. If there had to be a twist at all, it should have been that the monsters are real, the outside world is modern, and has fenced off this section of forest to keep the monsters inside. A splinter group of humans, left inside for whatever reason, figured out how to coexist with the monsters but are stuck in the past. It can be set in the present day and the monsters can be real, ok? Instead, we got “the monsters are fake social control and it was the present day the whole time!! the buildup was for nothing!! haha you got shaggy-dog’d!!” If I had been at the premiere I would have booed. Roger Ebert really was right that the whole “fake monsters / modern times” twist was barely better than “it was all a dream.” Right up until the twist was revealed I desperately hoped that the monsters were real, because they had been handled so well so far, and that some original, spooky secrets about the monsters and the village would come to light. But instead we got that Margaret Peterson Haddix book.

Slapping a twist ending on this movie really did it a disservice, because there’s no time to explain anything. Instead of leading us on with the horror premise, we could have established that the monsters are fake and it’s 2004 early on, and we could’ve had a cool hybrid horror-drama about...idk, politics or something.

I have a pet theory that Walker killed both his father and the business partner and framed the business partner so he could inherit the money, finance his perfect society, and satisfy his megalomania by being the cult leader he was born to be. He was doing the racist tumblr pastoral fantasy before it was cool. Modern life is too corrupting, let’s all go back to a simpler time when the white people lived together in harmony on huge swathes of stolen land. No more cities, no more towns, only the racially homogenous village.

The one thing I liked about the movie, I loved. I love love loved the way the camera only gives you glimpses of the “monsters,” a blurry image here, a flash of red cloak there, the scratches too high for any animal to make, the way you sometimes only see the back of someone’s head as they look in the direction of the monster. It was the perfect amount of showing us something really is there and giving us the vaguest idea of what it looks like, but holding back so that our imaginations still do most of the work. I eat that shit up tbh.

It honestly kind of felt like this movie started out with the intention of the monsters being real, but M. Night couldn’t deliver on all the interesting shit he had made up (why do the monsters wear cloaks? why do they skin animals and leave the meat? what’s with the red marks on doors? why is yellow the safe color? how was the truce made in the first place?) and hand-waved it all away with his flaccid twist. BOOOO!!!

I’m not even sure if this movie had any themes. The only one I could tease out is like... the dangers of overprotectiveness / romanticizing the past? Motherfuckers tried to create a perfect, peaceful, crime-free society, but I bet all the kids that grew up in the village are pretty traumatised by the constant threat of the seemingly very-real monsters they’ve been allowed to catch glimpses of. The monsters are only referred to as “Those We Do Not Speak Of,” adding to their potency (see: Voldemort). When monsters come to town, the people hide in their cellars, and there’s a throwaway line about drills, indicating they regularly practice their hidey-hole procedure like it’s the fucking cold war. The strain of the uneasy “truce” with the monsters must always be in the backs of their minds. They have the blazing border around them as a constant reminder. They obsessively shun the color red (which they only call “The Forbidden Color” or some shit) bc it attracts the monsters (honestly why did the “elders” make up that one? just another wacky form of social control? wtf. wait. is this all actually a cold war metaphor?????). Those that have only ever known the village are probably stressed af, I bet everyone has night terrors.

Well, if they ever attempt a sequel, the outline is already in place. The village is unsustainable. How will they choose who inherits the truth and the costume-wearing duties? The money financing the protection of the land can’t last forever, what happens when it runs out?

On a final note, I have to say that Adrien Brody’s character Noah seems extremely ableist. The fact that evil still found its way inside their “perfect” society, in the form of developmentally disabled Noah who stabs Lucius out of jealousy over Ivy, doesn’t sit right with me at all. If the intended message with that was “evil...uh...finds a way,” wouldn’t a non-disabled jealous rival character have served the purpose even better? Maybe M. Night was (extremely clumsily) trying to make the character of Noah fit in with the “dangers of overprotectiveness” theme by saying “look, if they lived in modern society he could have gotten proper help!” (which would be dumb tbh bc that ignores how badly disabled people are treated). Here’s a blog post by an actual disabled person that looks at ableism in several Shyamalan films.

Anyway, this could have been a very good straightforward horror movie, or a mystery/drama/thriller, and either format could have been used to tell a story about...idk social control or something, but instead we got a maddeningly unsatisfying half-baked waste of ideas. Maybe in 20 years it’ll get a remake or a “reimagining.” I rate it a generous 2.5/5 stars, not so much for what it was, but *sigh* what it could have been.

[fandom-queen-aka-trash]

Deep In the Forest

~Word Count: 1,517

~Written: April 19, 2018

~Theme: Bangtan as Guardian Spirits

~ • ○ ☆ ◇ ☆ ○ • ~

They say if one goes deep enough into the Bangtan Forest, he would either come out stronger, insane, or never return at all. Bangtan Forest had many a haunting story surrounding it, but no one knew anything for sure. Over the years, people lost interest in the ghost stories and stopped visiting the forest. The stories were passed off as folk lore or exaggerations. However, no one knew just how much truth the 'folk lores' held.

Deep in the heart of the forest, there reside the seven forest guardian spirits. They're sole job, to keep the forest alive and the strangers out.

"Ugggghhhhhhh." A low growl escaped from the mouth of what appeared to be a young man lounging in one of the many trees of the forest. His already tussled blue tresses lost all semblance of uniformity as he mussed his hair in frustration. From a distance, he looked moderately normal in his black hoodie and ripped jeans. But upon closer inspection, one would be unable to deny the eerie air that hovered around the boy. His eyes were too unnaturally emerald and his skin had an inhumane almost green glow to it under the pale skin tone.

"I'm so boooored." He groaned again, slumping farther down in his tree. This boy's name was Yoongi, or better known by the humans, Suga, and he was anything but human. He was the guardian of the trees of Bangtan Forest.

He glared at nothing for a while, looking every bit the seething diety he liked to portray before once again letting out a huff. He rolled off from his high branch, ignoring the branches that instinctively reached out to catch their master. He passed them all and landed on the forest floor with cat like elegance.

His brothers, fellow forest and animal spirits, weren't coming back for a while. Which meant being completelt alone with naught but the wild life and treesfor company. Yoongi lover the trees, but they hardly qualified as good conversation partners. They were satisfied to just let the breeze pass around them and watch the sky. Though Yoongi often acted stoic and fine being alone, he did need intelligent interaction eventually. So, unable to handle the stagnant boredom anymore, he went off on a walk.

Yoongi knew this forest well. After all, he had spent nigh on a century here. Never leaving. He was tethered here. This specific forest, this specific body, and this specific age. He'd tried many times in his endless days of routine to change things up. For the first years, he just explored evey inch of the forest. That had been the most exciting time of his life. New nooks and crannys and trees and animals and anything else he happened upon were enthralling. But as the years passed, they became novelties. He knew this forest like the back of his hand now and no new species had graced the forest in far too long. Some of the guardians could leave, but unlike his brothers, he was unable to change form or even leave the border of the forest. Jimin, Jungkook, Taehyung, and Namjoon could leave as they pleased for the day as long as they were back by night. However, Hoeseok, Yoongi, and Seokjin were stuck in the blasted forest, never able to leave. To say Yoongi was sick and tired of it would be an understatement.

"Hoseok-aaaahhhh! Where are you?!" He whined loudly to nothing in particular. Hoseok was a fellow plant spirit, specializing in more the flower realm. Whereas Yoongi was more in the trees, so he would get the message that the bored tree spirit was looking for him sooner or later. Preferably sooner before Yoongi went crazy and started terrorizing the wildlife. Jimin always got upset when he did that, being an animal spirit meant sympathizing with his fellow creatures. Especially when Yoongi messed with the deer.

Yoongi wandered a little farther down the trail, worn down by years of animal feet trompimg through and bored guardian spirits. Nature chirped all around him and the occasional animal passed by or curiously sniffed at him before they too continued on their way. However, he wasn't listening to the creatures. Rather, Yoongi was focusing on the whispers coming from the trees. Trees were his only connection to the outside world. The flowers were gossipers, so usually he had to get interesting stories from Hoseok. Where as the trees were practical. They relayed what they heard, never bothering with drama or over exaggeration. Most the time they only talked about the weather coming or anything threatening.

Something had stirred them up today. They all seemed agitated, their whispers too numerous and frustrated to make total sense to Yoongi. He furrowed his brow in confusion as he tried to concentrate on a specific birch tree as he gently laid a hand on the white bark.

'Stranger! Stranger in our woods. We dont like it. We dont like it' the old birch seethed beside Yoongi. His eyes widened in surprise. Stranger? There hadn't been one of those in years!

He let go of the tree and started down the path again. With his pace picking up, Yoongi did his best to follow the direction of the most agitated trees. The ones who were actully near the stranger would probably be the most upset.

Soon the whispers became a roar when Yoongi broke through the tree line and emerged into a small meadow.

He froze.

There. There was something he had not seen in over a decade. A human.

The human's eyes snapped up to Yoongi. Terror and confusion were evident on the stranger's face, but so was something else. Yoongi tilted his head as he zeroed in on the features of this new creature. Shaggy brown hair was tangled and peppered with folliage. Clothes that looked a little too large hung on it's the thin frame. Big, brown, innocent eyes took in Yoongi with just as much scrutiny as it's brows furrowed. The skin around one of its eyes was purplish in color and a scratch on its cheek marred the otherwise smooth skin. What strange markings. Why would a human find those attractive? It took a moment for Yoongi to remember that humans had specific genders. Trees didnt. Sure the other animals did, but he hardly cared about them. They were nuisances that hurt his trees.

The stranger was female and young. Yoongi guessed she was on the tail end of adolescence, but the way she looked now one might not be able to tell. She looked like a lost child.

"Wh-who're you?" She stuttered out, bringing her arms up around herself.

Yoongi debated taking the powerful diety route or the kind protector. Obviously powerful god was always more fun. "Suga, the guardian of these woods. And who are you to come into my woods without permission?"

The female cowered back, practically tripping as she retreated. "I-Im sorry. I was just trying to get away and then i got lost. I-if you give me directions out I'll leave right away." She negotiated.

Yoongi snorted. He had been too long by himself with only his brothers for company. He wasnt letting a visitor go that easily.

"Its too late for that, dont you think? You're in my territory now. Why would I let you go?" He scoffed, raising a brow. Hed forgotten what it felt like to lord over humans. It was a powerful feeling. He had missed it.

The female visibly took a deep breathe before lifting her chin in a vain attempt at confidence. "Because youre a benevolent spirit."

The statement came out more of a question, her voice quivering the whole time despite her efforts. Yoongi couldn't help the grin pulling at his lips. She was interesting. He liked her.

"Hmmm. You ma-"

Suddenly someone, or more like someones came tumbling through the foliage, cutting off the tree spirit.

"I got your message! I brought Jimin and Taehyung too." A familiar, jovial voice exclaimed as Hoseok stood up. His bright orange hair was tousled with flowers and plants stuck between the tresses. He wore much brighter clothing than his tree spirited friend. At their feet an oddly colored, gangly buck and fox were scrambling to their feet. The silver deer morphed into Jimin who was rubbing the skin around the small set of antlers protuding from his mop of silver hair.

"Ow! You landed on my antler again. Tae tae." He whined. The blonde fox morphed to reveal Taehyung smiling widely, his tail flickering back and forth as he sat crossed legged in front of his friend.

"Sorry." He apologized, looking anything but.

Yoongi wanted to hit them all. They had ruined his moment to intimidate a new stranger. These three were anything but scary. Namjoon, jungkook, or even Jin would have been better. But no. Instead the cute ones came, wearing over sized sweaters and blue jeans that enhanced the cute facad.

"Youre all insufferable." He growled to them, turning back to the female. He needed to try and save some face.

But she was gone.

[paulbenedictblog]

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Bbc news Tiroteo en Alemania: investigación sobre los vínculos de pistoleros 'profundamente racistas'

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Media captionMuhammed spoke from successfully being heart about how he survived the taking pictures

The investigation correct into a lethal gun assault in Hanau is specializing in whether others knew about or helped organise it, Germany's federal prosecutor says.

The suspect shot ineffective nine people "of migrant background" at two shisha bars on Wednesday night. He and his mother have been later found ineffective in his flat.

Peter Frank talked about materials the suspect Tobias R had posted online showed a "deeply racist mindset".

He had additionally been influenced by conspiracy theories, Mr Frank talked about.

Earlier Chancellor Angela Merkel talked about there have been many signs Tobias R, 43, had acted out of racism.

Speaking in Berlin, Mrs Merkel talked about: "Racism is a poison. Despise is a poison and this poison exists in our society and is already to blame for many crimes."

Thousands of people have attended vigils in Hanau and cities across Germany.

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Media captionFolks got right here together in Hanau and Berlin to be conscious the victims

Turkey says on the least five of the ineffective have been Turkish electorate. President Recep Tayyip Erdogan talked about he expected Germany to "throw gentle on all functions" of the assault.

Nazi salutes, banned swastika emblems and even the playing of the Horst Wessel, the one-time Nazi "anthem" - all have been cropping up in far-true extremist circles as Germany struggles to have a rising wave of home-grown extremism.

The predicament has been namely acute in - but not confined to - the east of the nation, within the used East Germany. There, unemployment ranges have been increased than within the relaxation of Germany and a simmering resentment, by some, of the recent immigrant arrivals has manifested itself in arson assaults on hostels.

In 2015 Germany opened its borders to an estimated 1.5 million refugees from the Heart East. Even supposing the volume of subsequent incidents entertaining them has been very diminutive, their arrival has been extinct by far true extremists to stoke ethnic tensions and recruit more younger men and females to their trigger.

Bbc news What did the prosecutor sigh?

Mr Frank talked about six people had additionally been injured within the assault, one of them seriously.

Quickly after the assaults the suspect and his 72-year-ancient mother have been show conceal in his home, both additionally shot. A gun used to be found subsequent to the suspect's physique.

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Media captionEyewitnesses filmed the aftermath of the taking pictures

Mr Frank talked about investigators wished to attach any hyperlinks the suspect can have had in Germany or doubtlessly additionally abroad.

"My sympathies to the loved ones of the victims. I wish the injured a swift restoration. It is miles a day that can stay lengthy in our memory and may presumably encourage our investigations," Mr Frank talked about at a short data convention.

Bbc news What carry out everyone knows concerning the assaults?

The shootings took location around 22: 00 (21: 00 GMT) on Wednesday, and the first target used to be the Uninteresting night shisha bar within the city centre of Hanau. Witnesses reported listening to a few dozen gunshots.

The suspect then travelled by car to the Kesselstadt neighbourhood, some 2.5km (1.5 miles) away, and opened fire on the Enviornment Bar & Cafe.

Shisha bars are locations the build people in finding to smoke a pipe identified as shisha or hookah. Traditionally show conceal in Heart Eastern and Asian worldwide locations, they are additionally standard in a few other parts of the sphere.

Characterize copyright AFP

Characterize caption Hanau residents demonstrated in opposition to racism

The shootings sparked a manhunt. Police identified the gunman by data from witnesses and surveillance cameras. Early on Thursday, they stormed the suspect's home, discontinuance to the scene of the 2nd taking pictures.

Hanau, in Hesse recount, is a city of 100,000 residents about 25km east of Frankfurt.

Bbc news Who've been the victims?

They incorporated German electorate and foreigners ancient between 21 and 44, Germany's federal prosecutor talked about.

Among the ineffective have been "several victims of Kurdish foundation", the Kon-Med association of Kurds in Germany talked about, along with that it used to be "indignant" the authorities weren't doing more to battle extremism.

A Bosnian and a Bulgarian additionally died within the assault, these worldwide locations' foreign ministries talked about.

Ali Can, a German-Turkish anti-racism activist, posted a recount of a buddy of his cousin, asserting that the buddy used to be amongst these killed.

Writing on Twitter he talked about: "We can not use a calm night out, we're alarmed for our lives. What goes on in Germany? Where is the protection?"

Bbc news What carry out everyone knows concerning the suspect?

Tobias R had posted movies and a form of manifesto on his net space, Mr Frank talked about.

In the manifesto he wrote that folks from more than 20 worldwide locations along with Turkey and Israel must be "destroyed", AFP reported.

London-primarily based German counter-terrorism expert Peter Neumann talked about the text contained "diverse, but mostly coarse true views, with a carry out-it-yourself ideology cobbled together out of parts found on the salvage".

Characterize copyright Getty Pictures

Characterize caption The suspect has been identified as Tobias R

"The sample is sure, and beneath no circumstances modern," he added.

In her observation, Mrs Merkel talked about there have been "many indications for the time being that the perpetrator acted on true-flit extremist, racist motives, out of hatred in the direction of people of other origins, faith or look".

Hesse recount Inside Minister Peter Beuth talked about the suspect had not beforehand been identified to the authorities.

The Bild tabloid reports he had a firearms licence, and that ammunition and gun magazines have been show conceal in his car.

Claus Schmidt, who runs the Diana Bergen-Enkheim taking pictures club that Tobias R joined, described him as "fully inconspicuous".

"There used to be not a splash of racism or hatred in the direction of foreigners, not even an awkward shaggy dog record. He used to be frequently friendly," he knowledgeable Reuters.

Gun guidelines in Germany are amongst the most stringent on this planet, and have been tightened extra lately after other mass shootings.

Bbc news Modern far-true assaults in Germany

October 2019:In Halle, an attacker kills two and tries to storm a synagogue, broadcasting the assault stay online.He later admits a far-true, anti-Semitic motivefor the assault

June 2019:Walter Lübcke, a pro-migrant flesh presser, is shot within the pinnacle at discontinuance differ and located ineffective in his garden.A suspect with far-true hyperlinks later confesses to the rupture

July 2016:An 18-year-ancient shoots ineffective nine people at a browsing mall in Munich forward of killing himself. Bavarian authorities later classify the assault as "politically motivated", asserting the teen had "radical true-flit and racist views"

Bbc news What has the reaction been?

Hanau Mayor Claus Kaminsky talked about it had been the "hardest day in our ancient past". He talked about the city had considered centuries of calm coexistence between fairly a few faiths and cultures - "That is why it's far so laborious to grab".

Hesse recount chief Volker Bouffier talked about the recount parliament had travelled to Hanau to illustrate its unity with the victims and their families. He talked about the assault "got right here out of a neighborhood weather" that existed "to a few stage worldwide" in which persons are targeted because they are fairly a few.

"We can carry out all the pieces to illustrate that folks don't can have to be haunted and demonstrate them that they belong with us, " he talked about.

Characterize copyright EPA

Characterize caption A minute's silence used to be held on the opening of the Berlin Global Movie Competition

Alternatively the co-chief of the far true AfD celebration talked about the assault used to be "neither true- nor left-flit terrorism" but the actions of "a madman". Politicians from the relaxation of political spectrum accused the expressly anti-Islam and anti-immigration AfD of stirring up anti-foreigner hatred.

In other reaction:

German Defence Minister Annegret Kramp-Karrenbauer: "The background have to now be clarified extra. Violence from true-flit extremists have to not enable us to relaxation, we have to stand in opposition to it"

Ursula von der Leyen, European Commission President and used German government minister: "I'm deeply alarmed by the tragedy that took location... in Hanau"

French President Emmanuel Macron: "Colossal sadness and my rotund enhance for Germany within the face of this tragic assault... I stand with Chancellor Merkel in this battle for our values and the protection of our democracies"

Germany's Muslim association KRM known as for more to be performed within the battle in opposition to true-flit extremism, asserting they'd requested for months that desired to be "a supreme stand in opposition to Islamophobia"

Had been you within the web roar? Piece your experiences by emailinghaveyoursay@bbc.co.uk.

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[neverjedii]

@ofthestcrs

The forest was no kingdom, and the Sorceress was no queen. She lived in general simplicity, all alone in her cozy stone tower, more like a groundskeeper than a ruler to the greenery she surveyed. But that didn't bother her. She'd had a taste of noble life in the kingdom far away, past the Western border of this forest she'd disappeared into it. She had no wish to return, or any particular motive to explore the kingdom which lay much closer, to the East. No matter that her life as a sorceress was sometimes lonely; it was always comfortable and never boring, so what more could she really ask for?

It was rather fitting that her life began to change on a breezy Spring afternoon. Spring was the season of new life, after all, and as she walked along one of the winding paths of the forest, her quiet singing in an otherwise ancient language seemed to break into an uneasy silence, as if the whole forest was collectively holding its breath. Into that silence, Abby then breathed one of her many spells, feeling a chill of wind whisk around her wrist as she lifted it from her thick sleeve. It was rather cold, the last remnants of Winter still showing their colors, but Abby's keen eye had spotted a bush of wildflowers in the moss, and her spell encouraged those same growths to take root all around. In an instant, the clearing around her had begun to thicken with colorful blooms, peeking through the dry moss. That made her think -- the forest was in need of a good rain.

However, before Abby could even begin planning out what materials she would need for such a spell, or turn on the path back towards her tower and the river, there was a sudden, far-off commotion. Birds squawked and fluttered up above the trees with a great rustle, but even louder was the noise of barks and snarls, growing ever closer as she stood there, realizing the source of them. The wolf pack was on the hunt.

Though the Sorceress was familiar with and peaceable to these creatures that inhabited her forest, she made it a general rule to stay out of their way, especially when it came to them and their prey. Hulking beasts just as intelligent as men, with eyes haunted by spirits were not something she usually crossed, but as she listened to the hunting calls, she picked out that something among them did not belong there; the desperate cries, not of a hunted animal, but of a human.

Then there wasn't any time for her to stand there and ponder the sounds anymore, for the source of the commotion was now in sight, and it was just as Abby had predicted. A pack of 12, great, shaggy wolves ran just at the heels of a person -- a young person, panting and crying out with terror as she stumbled over roots and rocks, only barely keeping ahead of snapping jaws. All of the Sorceress' general rules about the wolves had to be set aside now; she did have the power to exercise control over them, and though she didn't often like to use it, this situation simply gave her no choice.

So, when the young girl came barreling into the courtyard, and finally tripped over a root covered by the fresh wildflowers, she fell at the feet of the menacing, cloaked Sorceress. Abby, for her part, stood calm and firm, raising her staff up to the sky, and stopping the entire pack dead in it's tracks.

"This is not your dinner," she said in a firm, commanding voice, but an inhuman tongue. "Get back to whence you came and remember! I tasked you with chasing intruders away, not further in. It is my duty to deal with human fools that cross my path, not yours." With that, she brought the end of her staff back down, and, as if in a trance, every single one of the pack turned and padded off into the trees.

Now, all that was left was the quaking figure at Abby's feet. She looked down upon it from behind her carefully stitched mask, finding that it was indeed a human, a child, and apparently a girl. She was almost sure her figure did little to curb the child's distress, so she quickly pushed aside her robes and knelt down beside the little girl, reaching out a tentative, open hand to her.

"You are safe here," she declared in the human tongue, her tone soothing to match her words. "I will help if you are hurt and guide you if you are lost. But you are far from home, little one." As she continued to speak, her gazing at the child had brought about a sudden realization; she was wearing what could be described as nothing but a royal gown. "These are court clothes, are they not? How did a little Princess find herself so deep in my forest?"

[solomonfiore]

The Beast

"People talk sometimes of a bestial cruelty, but that's a great injustice and insult to the beasts; a beast can never be so cruel as a man, so artistically cruel."

Fyodor Dostoevsky

I became so accustomed to people that I began to feel as if I were one of them. Whether or not there was ever anything human about me is debatable. It goes without saying that I was no more than a beast according to my co-workers. The circus’ menagerie of exotic animals had all died off save for me, leading me to view myself as an important figure. Maybe that’s why I began to see myself as more than just an animal. I thought I was unique. Alas, I got cocky. I didn’t know my place and acted out of line. I brought about my own downfall. That’s what they tell themselves. That’s what they tell each other and members of the audience in those rare instances when my absence is brought up.

I kept to myself ever since I was a cub, but all of that changed when I fell in love with my boss. My paws muddied by the footprints of tourists on the trammeled ground, I was sauntering back to my tent when the trapeze swinger and first-in-command of the circus called out to me one dusky evening. She was getting high and drunk with the carnival workers around a bonfire. Empty pill bottles, broken crack stems, and used syringes were strewn about the site. Surveying the valley of the Arizona desert, the moon was an aquamarine cataract sewn into a sky defaced by fuchsia and ocher claw marks. The skulking vista of sandy bluffs enshrined the trapeze swinger’s resplendent aspect as she stood over the rusty canister of flames at the encampment. Having traded her diamond-studded leotard for a flannel shirt in the wake of that day’s show, her beauty was only further enhanced by the vivacious temperament of her garb, recalling autumnal mornings and the heartache of precocious lambs.

I waded through the swamp of clowns and freaks in her retinue to where she’d beckoned me, placing myself loyally at her feet as if praying before an altar of roman candles. I saw that she and her wacky entourage were playing a game of sorts. She pointed to an empty bottle of absinthe lying on its side on the ground between us. Its spout was pointed in the direction of Zorax the Strongman who was donned in a shaggy one-piece with his lips eagerly puckered in anticipation of a smooch from the sultry daredevil. With a pristine toe delicately wrapped in a black slipper, she altered the direction of the bottle, turning it to face me.

In a bundle that trickled through the spaces between her gentle fingers in luscious tendrils, she pulled her smooth locks of hazelnut hair over her forehead to gaze at me with diaphanous eyes more piercing than the stars of twilight. “Have you ever played Spin-the-Bottle, Kitty Kat?” she asked me, her mouth still moist from the 240 milliliter container of hydrocodone syrup she’d just downed in one swig. “Every once in a while I’ll give the old bottle a spin and offer to kiss whoever the lucky chap it happens to land on. It looks like your lucky night, Kitty Kat.”

Not just because she’d cheated him out of an intoxicating kiss, but as a gesture of honest concern for his superior, Zorax voiced his apprehensions. “Be reasonable, Miss Aida!” he protested. “Don’t you dare let those precious lips make contact with that atrocious beast. Do you know what parasites those dreadful creatures are known to carry? With all due respect, at least stick to the civilized members of your ranks. That abominable furball shouldn’t even be wandering the grounds freely. Its master Peg Leg Paul has become too lenient in his old age. There’s no telling what savagery you could incite if you rile up this animal’s passions with a kiss.”

Oppositional by default, the young lady took the bodybuilder’s admonitions as a cue to rebel regardless of whether or not they held any validity. She leaned forward and planted a kiss on my velveteen muzzle, leaving the imprint of an iris where her lips had made contact with my fur. Traceable by the finest sprinkles of glitter produced by the spectacle of that enchanting instant, the sweetest scent of lavender emanated from the salivary stamp on the crest of my nose. She eased away from where I faced her and the euphoria of this fleeting embrace bordered on unbearable to me. I gathered the courage to express my gratitude for this invigorated display of affection, but my vocal cords could only muster a growl.

She recoiled from me as if she had accidentally touched a maggot-infested carcass. “That beast growled at me!” she cried. “Take it away before I have it euthanized!”

Having emerged from his drunken stupor to find me missing from the stable, Peg Leg Paul had been conducting a search. He stumbled upon the scene at the encampment at an ideal time to intercede. Vicious beatings from his cane of thick, gnarled wood served as assurances to the crowd of entertainers and hired hands that I would be dealt with severely. When the blunt instrument broke into splinters over my skull, he removed the wooden appendage extending from the stub of his knee and bludgeoned me with that. My mangled hide of broken bones was escorted back to our tent with my master dutifully in tow, sparing no lenience when it came to extolling punishment via a battery of blows from his artificial limb.

But Peg Leg Paul’s unwavering discipline failed to curb my desire for the ravishing trapeze swinger from that night henceforth. I took to combing the bristles out of my fleece every morning and dyed my hair with henna to give it more flare; I practiced walking on my hind legs to appear more human; I studied the history of Tutankhamun and the Great Pharaohs with the sole intention of telling the object of my ardor about a time when my breed was worshipped. Most crucially, I did everything in my power to give a voice to the passel of thoughts running through my lovesick mind, but not so much as a ‘meow’ was issued from my frustrated maw whenever I attempted to speak.

Much to my master’s consternation, I no longer accommodated my training with the usual deference and patience. Jumping through fiery hoops and opening my fang-ensconced jaws for him was too commonplace for me. These tricks failed to challenge my intellect and keep me stimulated. Rudely indicating my boredom, I would yawn or smack my leathery lips during his long-winded tutorials. These absent-minded displays of ennui cost me dearly. Bedtime was greeted with every inch of my body throbbing with excruciating pain from my exasperated keeper’s wallops.

I frequently snuck into the main tent to watch Aida practicing her death-defying stunts. My heart would rev up to a rumbling flutter at the sight of her twirling around in whimsical circles high above my head in defiance of the laws of gravity. I would watch this angel in ebony tights fly through the air with baited breath, her body as nimble as the exoskeleton of a butterfly. Observing these aerial dervishes were glimpses of eternity itself. Throughout my day, I could think of nothing but the irrepressible joy I experienced every time I’d borne witness to one of her performances.

After a particularly enthralling show, I followed her into the tent where everyone was having lunch. To communicate my admiration for her, I sat by her side and attempted to lick the back of her hand. She withdrew from me with a flinch before my tongue could make contact with her smooth skin. Annoyed, she found her place at a separate table where she proceeded to rifle through her fan mail. Seized by a flush of humiliating despair in reaction to this cold and dismissive gesture, I summoned up all my will to express to her the dejection I’d just sustained. Flashing my razor sharp incisors inches away from her face, I let out a blood-curdling roar.

The opiate-addled mumblings and inbred drawls of her hungry employees bustling about the dining area were hushed as she stared at me with a mixture of indignation and terror. I immediately recognized the terrible error of my conduct. I bowed my head and lowered my eyes to her submissively, but it was too late to rectify the appalling offense.

“That is the last straw!” she hollered. She pointed at me and yelled to her bodyguards, “That creepy cat has been stalking me! Forget issuing a restraining order. I’m the judge and jury of this circus. Lock up that perverted puss and throw away the key!”

After a thorough flogging, I was confined to a cage and could no longer participate in the festivities. My master was so fed up with my unruly behavior that he wouldn’t even grant me the attention of a daily beating. My only friends were the birds that came to snack on the nests of fleas in my coat. I was treated like the most verminous genus of the mammalian order by staff and visitors alike. Spectators made fun of me. They threw beer cans and firecrackers into my cramped domicile. My health took a turn for the worst in captivity. Dr. Goreslime, a traveling quack and distributor of some of the finest sizzurp in the states, diagnosed me with mange, distemper, renal dysplasia, peritonitis, feline leukemia, and a congenital bone disorder hitherto unknown to the medical profession.

For such a cruel master, Peg Leg Paul must have been struck with an epiphany of sympathy. For he knew of the adoration I harbored for the lovely trapeze swinger while predicting the impending extinction of the last of his pets. Knowing me as soon to depart this cursed popsicle stand of human exploit, he implored the young woman to visit me. She agreed to his invitation after some cajoling.

Carefully stepping over the droppings and puddles of urine dotting the cement floor, she looked down upon my sad visage when she reached the corner of my cage where I lay dying. Their lids encrusted with marmalade beads of mucopurulent discharge, my giant emerald eyes had been sanded down to a dull olive hue; my once regal mane took on the rusty grain of a Jewish toupee; and my golden flanks were caked with milky diarrhea. A pinch of girlish sympathy roused her, and she let out a sigh. “You were roaring like you ruled the world the other day, Kitty Kat,” she kidded. “You no longer want to come out and play? What’s all this fuss about, silly?”

She ventured to wrap her arms around my colossal head and that delicious lavender scent from her flowery pores once again caressed my ruby nose. In a final exhalation, I summoned up the strength to speak to her. “I just wanted to talk to you,” I purred before the most merciful of all the ancient gods came to transport me from this mortal hell to where I would find eternal sanctuary - my heavenly den in the Egyptian azure.

Solomon Fiore – January 15, 2016

<photo: Aida Rodriguez of the Kitsune Klan>

Special thanks to Aida Rodriguez.

Solomon Fiore is the nom de plume of

Oliver Lodge, an author who lives in New York. He has been published in “Sirens’ Call Publications”, “Ravenwood Quarterly”, “Whorror House”, “Living Paranormal Magazine”, “Creepy Campfire Quarterly”, “Aaduna”, “ANON Magazine”, “Blood Puddles”, “Yellow Mama”, “Inner Sins”, “Gutter, Grimy, Scum”, “Body Parts Magazine”, “Blood Moon Rising Magazine” and a slew of other rags he’s too lazy to list. A selection of his works can be accessed here in addition to the following links:

https://solomonfioreauthor.wordpress.com

https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100019080735694

Further inquiries: solomonfiore@yahoo.com.