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giveamadeuschohisownmovie · 8 months

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Idea for a “Dark Pictures Anthology” future installment:

1) TITLE

The Dark Pictures Anthology Presents: The Ortolan Songbird

2) PROLOGUE

1616, Scotland. A merchant named Callum McDonald and his wife, Shirley McDonald, are on their way to the town of Girvan when their wagon breaks down. As Callum attempts to repair the wagon, the couple are approached by a strange man who offers to help them out.

When Callum asks for the man’s name, the man says his name is Alexander “Sawney” Bean.

At some point, Sawney invites Callum and Shirley to spend the night at his clan’s home in Bennane Head. The couple agrees and follows Sawney back to his clan…where they are ambushed, killed, and cannibalized by Sawney and his entire family.

3) MAIN STORY

Present day, Edinburgh, Scotland. Famous American horror author Matthew Chen and his wife, Gale Chen, are visiting Scotland for vacation. The couple meets with their friends who live in Scotland; the reckless partygoer Samuel Campbell and the popular social media influencer Quinn Anderson. Together, the four decide that the first thing they should do for fun is eat dinner at “The Hairy Tree”, a restaurant in Edinburgh that has earned 3 Michelin stars.

Separate from this group of friends is private investigator Fiona Henderson. She is hired by a family to find their daughter Mary, who went missing several months ago. Despite the fact she had very little clues to work with, Fiona gets a break in the case that leads her to The Hairy Tree.

At The Hairy Tree, the special dish being served that night is the infamous Ortolan songbird. A dish so heinous that, according to French tradition, the eater must drape themselves with a linen napkin to hide from God. (brief history lesson: the birds are forced to grow in size and then thrown into a container of Armagnac, which drowns them)

The lead chef is Arnold Bean, who runs the restaurant with his entire family. Despite Matthew, Gale, Samuel, Quinn, and Fiona being slightly disturbed by what was being served, they mainly brush off their nerves. It isn’t until after dinner when the five realize something is…off about the restaurant. The meat and wine don’t taste normal, Matthew notices one guest who went to the bathroom hasn’t returned, and the lead chef is eerily obsessed with upholding “family tradition”.

When the five protagonists start asking questions about the establishment, that’s when the night takes a massive turn. The Bean family takes the five protagonists hostage and throws them into the meat locker, along with all the other people they’ve captured recently. Much to the group’s horror, they realize that the Hairy Tree isn’t just a restaurant…it’s a butcher shop.

Depending on the players’ choices, Matthew, Gale, Samuel, Quinn and Fiona can survive the night and take the Bean family down once and for all…or become the family’s next meal.

4) INFLUENCES/INSPIRATIONS

There are two real-life inspirations here; the Sawney Bean legend and the Ortolan songbird. Sawney Bean and his family were a clan of cannibals who apparently killed over 1000 people. Fun fact, Wes Craven said the Sawney Bean legend inspired him to make “The Hills Have Eyes”. As for the Ortolan, that one I included simply because it’s the one fine dining dish that disturbs me.

As for movies and TV inspirations, “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre” is an obvious one since this is about a family of cannibals. “House of 1000 Corpses” is another one. The Terminus/Hunters arc from “The Walking Dead” is also another good point of reference.

And, of course, Hannibal Lecter. If you know your B-movies, “Cannibal Holocaust” and “The Green Inferno” also come to mind.

5) MAIN PLAYABLE CAST

a. Quinn Anderson (INTELLIGENT, RESOURCEFUL, PERSUASIVE): A popular Scottish social media influencer who is friends with Matthew, Gale, and Samuel. She is played by the celebrity guest, Rose Leslie (you may recognize her as Ygritte from “Game of Thrones).

b. Matthew Chen (RATIONAL, OVERBEARING, COMMANDING): A famous American author who was on vacation with his wife, Gale. His face model is Jozef Aoki, whose face was also used for Cpl. Merwin and Danny (Man of Medan).

c. Gale Chen (RELAXED, KIND, FORTHRIGHT): Matthew’s wife. Her face model is Ashley Voom, whose face was also used for Felicity Graves (Hidden Agenda) and Suzanne Daniels (The Inpatient).

d. Samuel Campbell (FOOLHARDY, INSECURE, IMPULSIVE): A reckless partygoer who is friends with Matthew, Gale, and Quinn. His face model is Leonardo Patane, whose face was also used for Jeff Whitman, Simon Carver and Leonard Carson.

e. Fiona Henderson (INQUISITIVE, STOIC, CHARMING): A private investigator who has come to the Hairy Tree to follow up on a lead about a missing girl. Her face model is Zara Sparkes, whose face was also used for Julia (Man of Medan) and Marie Whitman.

6) PROLOGUE/FALSE PROTAGONISTS

a. Callum McDonald: Merchant who was killed by Sawney Bean and his family. His face model is Sukesh Khosla, whose face was also used for John (Little Hope), Dar Basri, and Granthem Du'Met.

b. Shirley McDonald: Callum’s wife, who was killed by Sawney Bean and his family. Her face model is Rachel Dobell, whose face was also used for Angela (Little Hope).

7) THE MAIN VILLAINS

Sawney Bean / Arnold Bean: Sawney is the legendary historical figure who, along with his clan, cannibalized over 1000 people. Arnold Bean is Sawney’s direct descendant who decides to continue the “family tradition” by serving humans in his restaurant, The Hairy Tree.

As a side note, Arnold and his entire family are the overall main villains of this game. So, the players will have to deal with an entire clan of cannibals. You can think of this game as a take on the cannibal tribe genre of horror movies.

The face model for both Sawney and Arnold is Dawid Kocieda, whose face was also used for Eric King.

8) SURVIVABILITY OF EACH PROTAGONIST

a. Callum and Shirley will die no matter what. How they die and the order in which they die is determined by the players’ choices.

b. Gale Chen is the first protagonist who can possibly be killed off (the end of Act 1)

c. Samuel Campbell or Matthew Chen can be the second protagonist who can possibly be killed off (the middle of Act 2). There’s a sequence where, if the players make bad choices, at least one will die.

d. Quinn Anderson or Fiona Henderson can be the third protagonist who can possibly be killed off (the end of Act 2). Just as before, there’s a sequence where, if the players make bad choices, at least one will die.

e. If the players have killed off all the possible characters they can before Act 3, then you can end up with the following pairs in the final act -

Samuel and Quinn / Samuel and Fiona / Matthew and Quinn / Matthew and Fiona

Of course, you can still make choices that kill off the last two survivors. All that being said, just like all the other Dark Pictures games, every character has a chance to survive at the end or be killed off. You can have a Gale sole survivor ending, everyone survives, no one survives, Matthew and Samuel survive, Fiona and Quinn survive, and so on.

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soracities · 1 year

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what are your suggestions for starter poetry for people who dont have strong reading/analysis backgrounds

I've answered this a few times so I'm going to compile and expand them all into one post here.

I think if you haven't read much poetry before or aren't sure of your own tastes yet, then poetry anthologies are a great place to start: many of them will have a unifying theme so you can hone in based on a subject that interests you, or pick your way through something more general. I haven't read all of the ones below, but I have read most of them; the rest I came across in my own readings and added to my list either because I like the concept or am familiar with the editor(s) / their work:

Staying Alive: Real Poems for Unreal Times (ed. Nick Astley) & Being Alive: The Sequel to Staying Alive (there's two more books in this series, but I'm recommending these two just because it's where I started)

The Rattlebag (ed. Seamus Heaney and Ted Hughes)

The Ecco Anthology of International Poetry (ed. Ilya Kaminsky & Susan Harris)

The Essential Haiku, Versions of Basho, Buson and Issa (ed. Robert Hass)

A Book of Luminous Things (ed. Czesław Miłosz )

Now and Then: The Poet's Choice Columns by Robert Hass (this may be a good place to start if you're also looking for commentary on the poems themselves)

Poetry Unbound: 50 Poems to Open Your World(ed. Pádraig Ó'Tuama)

African American Poetry: 250 Years of Struggle and Song (ed. Kevin Young)

The Art of Losing: Poems of Grief and Healing (ed. Kevin Young)

Lifelines: Letters from Famous People about their Favourite Poems

The following lists are authors I love in one regard or another and is a small mix of different styles / time periods which I think are still fairly accessible regardless of what your reading background is! It's be no means exhaustice but hopefully it gives you even just a small glimpse of the range that's available so you can branch off and explore for yourself if any particular work speaks to you.

But in any case, for individual collections, I would try:

anything by Sara Teasdale

Devotions / Wild Geese / Felicity by Mary Oliver

Selected Poems and Prose by Christina Rossetti

Collected Poems by Langston Hughes

Where the Sidewalk Endsby Shel Silverstein

Morning Haiku by Sonia Sanchez

Revolutionary Letters, Diane di Prima

Concerning the Book That Is the Body of the Beloved by Gregory Orr

Rose: Poems by Li-Young Lee

A Red Cherry on a White-Tiled Floor / Barefoot Souls by Maram al-Masri

Deaf Republic by Ilya Kaminsky

Tell Me: Poems / What is This Thing Called Love? by Kim Addonizio

The Trouble with Poetry by Billy Collins (Billy Collins is THE go-to for accessible / beginner poetry in my view so I think any of his collections would probably do)

Crush by Richard Siken

Rapture / The World's Wife by Carol Ann Duffy

The War Works Hard by Dunya Mikhail

Selected Poems by Walt Whitman

View with a Grain of Sand by Wislawa Szymborska

Collected Poems by Vasko Popa

Under Milkwood by Dylan Thomas (this is a play, but Thomas is a poet and the language & structure is definitely poetic to me)

Bright Dead Things: Poems by Ada Limón

Teaching My Mother How to Give Birth by Warsan Shire,

Nostalgia, My Enemy: Selected Poems by Saadi Youssef

As for individual poems:

“Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver

[Dear The Vatican] erasure poem by Pádraig Ó'Tuama // "The Pedagogy of Conflict"

"Good Bones" by Maggie Smith

"The Author Writes the First Draft of His Weddings Vows (An erasure of Virginia Woolf's suicide letter to her husband, Leonard)" by Hanif Abdurraqib

"I Can Tell You a Story" by Chuck Carlise

"The Sciences Sing a Lullabye" by Albert Goldbarth

"One Last Poem for Richard" by Sandra Cisneros

"We Lived Happily During the War" by Ilya Kaminsky

“I’m Explaining a Few Things”by Pablo Neruda

"Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening" //"Nothing Gold Can Stay"//"Out, Out--" by Robert Frost

"Tablets: I // II // III"by Dunya Mikhail

"What Were They Like?" by Denise Levertov

"Those Winter Sundays" by Robert Hayden,

"The Patience of Ordinary Things" by Pat Schneider

“I, too” // "The Negro Speaks of Rivers” // "Harlem” // “Theme for English B” by Langston Hughes

“The Mower” // "The Trees" // "High Windows" by Philip Larkin

“The Leash” // “Love Poem with Apologies for My Appearance” // "Downhearted" by Ada Limón

“The Flea” by John Donne

"The Last Rose of Summer" by Thomas Moore

"Beauty" // "Please don't" // "How it Adds Up" by Tony Hoagland

“My Friend Yeshi” by Alice Walker

"De Humanis Corporis Fabrica"byJohn Burnside

“What Do Women Want?” // “For Desire” // "Stolen Moments" // "The Numbers" by Kim Addonizio

“Hummingbird” // "For Tess" by Raymond Carver

"The Two-Headed Calf" by Laura Gilpin

“Bleecker Street, Summer” by Derek Walcott

“Dirge Without Music” // "What Lips My Lips Have Kissed" by Edna St. Vincent Millay

“Digging” // “Mid-Term Break” // “The Rain Stick” // "Blackberry Picking" // "Twice Shy" by Seamus Heaney

“Dulce Et Decorum Est”by Wilfred Owen

“Notes from a Nonexistent Himalayan Expedition”by Wislawa Szymborska

"Hour" //"Medusa" byCarol Ann Duffy

“The More Loving One” // “Musée des Beaux Arts” by W.H. Auden

“Small Kindnesses” // "Feeding the Worms" by Danusha Laméris

"Down by the Salley Gardens” // “The Stolen Child” by W.B. Yeats

"The Thing Is" by Ellen Bass

"The Last Love Letter from an Entymologist" by Jared Singer

"[i like my body when it is with your]" by e.e. cummings

"Try to Praise the Mutilated World" by Adam Zagajewski

"The Cinnamon Peeler" by Michael Ondaatje

"Last Night I Dreamed I Made Myself" by Paige Lewis

"A Dream Within a Dream" // "The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe (highly recommend reading the last one out loud or listening to it recited)

"Ars Poetica?" // "Encounter" // "A Song on the End of the World"by Czeslaw Milosz

"Wandering Around an Albequerque Airport Terminal” // "Two Countries” // "Kindness” by Naoimi Shihab Nye

"Slow Dance” by Matthew Dickman

"The Archipelago of Kisses" // "The Quiet World" by Jeffrey McDaniel

"Mimesis" by Fady Joudah

"The Great Fires" // "The Forgotten Dialect of the Heart" // "Failing and Flying" by Jack Gilbert

"The Mermaid" // "Virtuosi" by Lisel Mueller

"Macrophobia (Fear of Waiting)" by Jamaal May

"Someday I'll Love Ocean Vuong" by Ocean Vuong

"Still I Rise" by Maya Angelou

I would also recommend spending some times with essays, interviews, or other non-fiction, creative or otherwise (especially by other poets) if you want to broaden and improve how you read poetry; they can help give you a wider idea of the landscape behind and beyond the actual poems themselves, or even just let you acquaint yourself with how particular writers see and describe things in the world around them. The following are some of my favourites:

Upstream: Essays by Mary Oliver

"Theory and Play of the Duende" by Federico García Lorca

"The White Bird" and "Some Notes on Song" by John Berger

In That Great River: A Notebook by Anna Kamienska

A Little Devil in America: Notes in Praise of Black Performance by Hanif Abdurraqib

The Book of Delights by Ross Gay

"Of Strangeness That Wakes Us" and "Still Dancing: An Interview with Ilya Kaminsky" by Ilya Kaminsky

"The Sentence is a Lonely Place" by Garielle Lutz

Still Life with Oysters and Lemon by Mark Doty

Paris, When It's Naked by Etel Adnan

#ask #anonymous #beginner guides

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sideblogofhell · 9 months

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a lesson in friction

summary: you have the hots for your professor pairing: dane whitman x male reader word count: 1.1k warnings: 18+ warning, frottage, dry humping, professor/student, dni if uncomfy a/n: first entry to the kink challenge have fun!

main masterlist | the repentant's corner

“Kinetic friction is a force present when the contact surfaces move with respect to each other,” your physics professor said. His midnight blue sleeves rolled up along his muscular forearms as he pointed at the slideshow. “ It is also known as sliding friction and acts on surfaces sliding past one another.”

Your eyes wander to his slicked black hair and his eyes that look like bottomless pits. The topmost buttons opened revealing some hair on his chest. You crossed your legs from the growing heat in your center, your mind falling into the palms of lust.

The hour went by in a blur, you listened to his voice steadfast, taking down notes and copying the words on the screen. You couldn’t really focus, his shirt was tight against his toned body, his arms shown definition, his waist small and his ass—

“That’s all for today everyone,” he said, closing his laptop and turning off the screen. “And by the way, I’m staying behind for another thirty minutes if anyone wants some feedback on their papers.”

Everyone leaves except for you, fumbling to get your things tidied up before you speak to him. “Professor Whitman, I’d like to talk to you about my paper.”

“Sure thing, come closer so I can see it.”

You went to the first row seats of the class, he stands inches away from your face, his waist perpendicular to your skull. He takes a finger to your paper, pointing out some errors in your computation. He takes a pencil off the desk and wraps his body around yours.

His left arm pressed against the seat’s backrest and his right arm around you holding the pencil. He circled on the mistakes in your solution and gave a few comments on how you can improve. You could feel his warmth cover you, his musky scent fills your senses and the friction between your bodies elicits a soft moan.

He places his left hand on your shoulder to rub it, “Fantastic work, some minor revisions here and there and you’d get a perfect score,” your cheeks start to heat up from the touch. He leaves your side to put his laptop in his leather messenger bag, wrapping the charging cord around his hands. “How’s the internship going, you’re in that tech apprenticeship, right?” you nod.

As you tried to get up you felt a pain in between your legs, your cock aching hard, straining against your jeans. You quickly sat back down so he wouldn't notice. You heard him snicker under his breath. “Havin’ trouble there?”

Panic rose from your spine, you were caught and this will go badly. He sat on the edge of the large hardwood table in front of you, his arms crossed. “You wouldn’t sit properly throughout class, always moving your legs around like you had your balls stung by an ant.”

“I’m so sorry Mr. Whitman—”

“It’s alright, typical arousal response to stimuli,” his eyes were dead set on yours as he spoke. “May I ask if I’m the stimulus in this situation?”

You nod in shame. You looked down on the desk avoiding his gaze. You heard the table creak, he slowly inched closer. His index finger went to your chin, lifting your face back to his gaze. “What was it then, was it my touch?” he said as he caressed your cheeks. You nod like a dog given a treat. “No need for apologies, I’m simply here to help.”

He gestured for you to stand, you tried to rearrange your hardness so as not to tent. He places his thumb on your lips. He asks for you permission before he presses his own lips to yours. The heat, lifting towards him. You groaned under his breath as his tongue reached for yours.

He spun you around, your ass against the hardwood desk, his hand went to your crotch caressing your erection. You moaned aloud as you felt a wetness form from your tip. He played with you through frictions, your hands gripped onto his muscular arms.

“Go lock the door and come back here,” he ordered.

The silence in the room was broken by the sound of a lock. He takes your hands and presses them on the table, your back arched towards his waist. You could feel his own erection press against your ass as he starts to thrust on your jeans, the friction sending electricity through his skin.

Your own hardness was rubbing against the edge of the table. He started to place kisses all over your nape up to your ear, his hands caressing your torso. The heat emanating from his body was like a drug to you, his scent was addicting and his moans on your ear was borderline erotic.

He starts to unbutton your jeans until your leaking cock was bare against the airconditioned room. He lets his palm out in front of you and spits on it. The sight was so lewd coming from him you started to get dizzy. His wet hands touched the sensitive tip of your cock making you shudder in response. He takes this as a sign to wrap the remaining fingers around the shaft slowly sliding up and down.

Your mouth let out nothing but grunt and groans as he sucked on the skin of your neck, his hands jerking you off while his hips rut against your back. Your head falls back against his shoulder as your hips thrust into his hand. You feel your climax coming, your noises sounded like you were pleading for release. The friction of his hand against the sensitive head broke the dam inside you, you let out a cry as cum shot off into the desk. You hear him moan as well as his thrusts become erratic, you share one last kiss after you ride your highs.

“Sorry about the desk,” you uttered.

“Don’t worry, at least it's not your trousers,” he gestures for the wet patch in his pants.

You laugh. “I should go, thanks I guess?” you said in confusion.

“Anytime,” he laughs as well.

interactions are greatly appreciated btw if u liked this fic and want more send me a prompt and i'd gladly make something from it :>

#dane whitman #dane whitman fic #dane whitman x reader #dane whitman x reader smut #dane whitman x male reader #dane whitman x male reader smut #eternals fic #eternals smut #the repentant's corner event #marvel smut #avengers smut #kit harington #dane whitman smut

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swynlake-spill · 1 year

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who DIDN'T kiss that should have and why is the answer Hatter and uhhhh the old bartender from Pixie's

ugh i KNOW they were together and everything and what did they do? WHAT DID THEY DO. they talked, my readers. They simply talked, at a socially acceptable distance from each other, probably about boring man adult topics i simply cannot fathom would be better than kissing.

other people who disappointed me over NYE includes:

tibbs and babette. yeah we saw u TALKING

kim and tigg. unless i missed this kiss but they were do everything (see: dancing grinding etc) BUT kissing... smh

rose and pacifica. i realize that pacifica has a boyfriend but i DO think this would have been hot.

shame on u all.

#marlin bae #david hatter #willis tibbs #babette durand #kimberly possible #tigg winchell #rose whitman #pacifica northwest #new years eve spill

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girlactionfigure · 7 days

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THURSDAY HERO: Mildred Harnack

Mildred “Mili” Harnack was a writer and academic from Wisconsin who moved to Berlin with her German husband in 1930. As Hitler rose to power, Mili created the largest resistance group in Nazi Germany and was targeted for execution by the Fuhrer himself.

Mili was born Mildred Fish in Milwaukee in 1902. Her father William was a teacher, and her mother Georgina was an activist for women’s suffrage. Mili had a natural facility with languages, and was fluent in German by the time she reached adulthood. Throughout her life, Mili loved German literature and culture. She attended the University of Wisconsin in Madison, where she majored in English literature. Mili lived in a rooming house popular with writers, and worked as a film and drama critic for a local newspaper.

After receiving her BA, Mili went on to earn an MA in English in 1925. The next year she moved back to Milwaukee and worked as a lecturer at the Milwaukee State Normal School (now the University of Wisconsin – Milwaukee.) She met Arvid Harnack, a German economist and lawyer who was studying at the university on a Rockefeller fellowship. Arvid was from a prominent family of German intellectuals. After a whirlwind love affair, they were married in August 1926 at her brother’s farm. Arvid’s fellowship ended and he returned to Germany, followed by Mili the year later, after she completed a teaching session at Goucher College in Baltimore.

In Germany, Mili worked on her doctoral thesis and lectured at universities in German cities Jena and Giessen. The country was plunging deeper into political turmoil, and the Nazi party was rising to power amid the chaos. More than half of Mili’s students were outspoken Nazis. She moved to Berlin in 1930 to be with her husband, and began working as an assistant lecturer in English and American literature at the University of Berlin. Mili lectured about her favorite English and American writers including Ralph Waldo Emerson, Walt Whitman, Thomas Hardy and George Bernard Shaw. She was so popular with students that in just a year and a half, enrollment in the class tripled.

Mili connected with other American expatriates in Berlin and formed a literary salon where anti-Nazi academics and intellectuals could express themselves freely. By 1934, the Nazi secret police were everywhere and the salon was disbanded. Fellow ex-pat Martha Dodd, a close friend of Mili’s, later described her Berlin salon as “the last of the meager remnants of free thought.” Many of those who had participated in the salons continued to meet in the Harnacks’ living room but instead of discussing literature, they planned anti-Nazi political activism

Meanwhile, Mili achieved renown as a writer. She published essays in prominent German literary journals until the mid-30’s, when magazines started to print only “approved opinions” (in support of Hitler). She was able to continue working as a translator, and her German-language translation of Irving Stone’s biography of Vincent van Gogh, Lust for Life, was published in 1936.

Mili returned to the U.S. on a book tour in 1937, and her old friends were shocked at the drastic change in her personality. Earlier she had been friendly and easy-going, but four years living under Nazi rule made Mili anxious, stiff and guarded. She’d had to wear a metaphorical mask to survive in the totalitarian German state, and couldn’t shed the mask even when she left Europe. Mili’s family urged her to stay in the U.S. but she was determined to return to her husband and her political activism group, now called “The Circle.”

Mili’s unassuming manner combined with an extremely sharp intellect enabled her to penetrate the highest circles of German politics and diplomacy. She used these connections to get exit and travel visas for Jewish friends and colleagues, among them prominent publisher Max Tau. Mili also surreptitiously gleaned information from highly placed contacts, which she transmitted to fellow members of the resistance.

Mildred was fired from her teaching job at the University of Berlin because of her political beliefs, and she began teaching at night school, where her students were mostly working class or unemployed. She recruited many of them to join The Circle. The group published anti-Nazi leaflets, written by Mildred, and secretly left stacks of them in public places throughout the city.

German intelligence called them “the Red Orchestra” and falsely smeared them as communists working for the Soviets. Undeterred, the group increased their activities and cooperated with other resistance units. Around this time Mili wrote, “I saw it clearly before my eyes. From then on our work not only implies the risk of losing our freedom, from now on death was a possibility.” Led by Mili, The Circle became the largest resistance group in Nazi Germany. They incited civil disobedience against the Nazi regime, documented Nazi atrocities, and transmitted military intelligence to the Allies.

In the summer of 1942, the Nazis intercepted radio transmissions that revealed the identity of prominent resistance fighters including the Harnacks. On September 7, Mili and Arvid were arrested by the Gestapo and imprisoned. Arvid was tried by the Reich Military Tribunal and sentenced to death on December 19. He was hanged three days later at Plotzensee Prison.

Mili languished in a squalid prison cell for months, where she was tortured and contracted tuberculosis. She went on trial and was sentenced to six years in prison. However, Hitler heard about the American woman who fought so effectively against his regime, and he ordered a new trial for Mili. The kangaroo court delivered a pre-determined death sentence, and at Hitler’s explicit request Mili was beheaded by guillotine on February 16, 1943. Her last words were, “And I have loved Germany so much!” After her execution, Mili’s body was given to an anatomy professor at Humboldt University to dissect for research. After he finished, he gave the rest of her remains to a friend of hers, who had Mili buried in Zehlendorf Cemetery in Berlin.

The only writing that survived from her time in prison were a few translated lines from Goethe: “In all the frequent troubles of our days/A God gave compensation – more his praise/In looking sky-and heavenward as duty/In sunshine and in virtue and in beauty.”

Mildred’s brave actions and tragic death have not been forgotten. In Berlin, a street and a school are named for her, and in her native Wisconsin schools observe Mildred Fish Harnack Day. The University of Wisconsin-Madison hosts an annual Mildred Fish-Harnack Human RIghts and Democracy Lecture, and a sculpture of Mili was unveiled in Madison in 2019.

For fighting Hitler at the cost of her own life, we honor Mildred Harnack as this week’s Thursday Hero.

Image: Gestapo mug shots of Mildred taken after her arrest in 1942.

#Thursday Hero 🎖️

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floralcrematorium · 8 months

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Assorted FrUK/FACE Fam Headcanons

These are silly little thoughts I've had while drafting Migraines in Margaritaville, so these apply to the world of that AU (modern, human; FrUK parents raising NA bros in Massachusetts, US). Most of these involve food because I seem to think about them when I'm hungry???

• Francis and Arthur practice "one-parent-one-language" with the boys. Matthew took to French much easier than Alfred did, but both brothers managed to pick it up without much of a fuss. In elementary school the twins would use French to cheat on tests (they weren't allowed to sit next to each other after their schemes were discovered).

• Arthur set the grill on fire three times in one summer. Francis clearly doesn't learn from his mistakes and Arthur is too stubborn to let Francis do all of the work when it comes to preparing dinner.

• Follow up on the point above -- Arthur can prep vegetables and throw together food that doesn't require too much measuring or too many steps on the stovetop. He doesn't have the patience for most dishes and doesn't have a sense of what spices go well together/what is enough vs too much. Francis lets him help by chopping up vegetables and Arthur was usually the one to pack the boys' lunches. Sometimes they'd get leftover portions of whatever they had for dinner last night, but Arthur often defaulted to some sort of wrap with deli meat and assorted veggies/crackers for snack.

• Francis gives me similar vibes to those youtube moms who try to make homemade versions of popular American snacks. He may spend the weekdays at work in a kitchen, but on the weekends he's at home, still in the kitchen, trying to make homemade fruit leather and homemade cheese crackers for his sons.

• Arthur's the one more willing to let the boys get snacks from the store or take out. Francis is very much "we have McDonald's at home."

• Both Francis and Arthur would've been so excited to decorate the twins' nursery. They're both artistically inclined, be it in different ways. Arthur made blankets for both of them; Matthew is red and Alfred is blue. Francis paints floral designs on the furniture, in particular purple irises and both red and white roses.

• Because the twins were identical and because babies are kinda just blobs, they definitely accidentally mixed the twins up. The color coding might've come after the swap. They had a crisis about it. Francis "sacre bleu, we just gave two people permanent identity crises" Bonnefoy and Arthur "if we compare them to every picture we have of them we can figure it out" Kirkland. I'm imagining this happening before the twins have enough hair for their cowlicks to really form.

• It's tradition in the Kirkland-Bonnefoy household to have a box of Whitman's chocolates at every family party and Alfred is the reason why. One Christmas each twin got to pick out something special for the party and Alfred picked out the 22 piece Whitman sampler in the yellow box. They're not the best chocolates, but it became a tradition. Thankfully there's two layers in the box so Mattie and Al can have their own messenger boy pieces (the shaped chocolate that's the centerpiece of each layer).

• Neither Arthur or Francis have favor for one twin over the other. They both have their own activities they can do with Alfred and Matthew separately. Francis will cook and bake with Alfred and draw with Matthew. Arthur teaches Matthew to garden and watches old (by his son's standards) movies with Alfred.

• Francis is the parent the boys can come to no questions asked. Arthur isn't apathetic, but Francis is more inclined to give more thoughtful advice for relationships and general fuck-ups. He won't press on why or how something happened, but will help his sons figure out the best way to solve a problem.

• When Alfred and Mattie turned 10, Arthur wanted to teach them the importance of personal finance. He would give the boys $5 each week to spend on snacks at the grocery store (Arthur does the couponing and the shopping for the house). They were allowed to hold onto the money to use for later and could help with the couponing.

• Arthur drags the family out to Salem every Autumn. Sure, they live in Massachusetts and are well aware of how bad tourist season is, but he's fascinated with the city. Alfred initially went because he really liked this one New York style pizza shop in the Witch City Mall (how they got Francis to step foot in there, I don't know), but eventually grew interested in the witchy stuff Salem has to offer. Francis only puts up with it because the city has an art museum and weekly art fairs in the Fall. Matthew dreads their yearly trip. He loathes it. He'd rather tag along with Francis to the museum.

• Until the boys were old enough to start protesting, they had family Halloween costumes. Francis thought it was tacky, but saw the appeal when Arthur got the twins (still babies) all dressed up in lobster costumes.

#that second to last one is really self indulgent #hetalia #ヘタリア #hws #hetalia headcanons #migraines in margaritaville #fruk #na bros #face family #hws face family #hws france #francis bonnefoy #hws england #arthur kirkland #hws canada #matthew williams #hws america #alfred f jones #floralcrematorium writes

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malaisequotes · 4 months

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“Low hangs the moon, it rose late, it is lagging—O I think it is heavy with love, with love.”

Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking by Walt Whitman

#Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking #Walt Whitman #Quote #Poetry #Leaves of Grass

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literatecowboy · 7 months

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Dr. Feelgood

6. Volunteering

Part 1

Summary: You've been in trouble at work several times before for "lack of professionalism" but now you've gone too far. You've been reassigned to Task Force 141 as a temporary doctor to replace the ones they've made quit out of frustration. You must either prove yourself and earn your former position back at a prestigious military hospital in California or face dishonorable discharge. Author's Notes: This is my first fanfiction - please be gentle. Additionally, the reader's callsign is "Feelgood." I have done my best to write the reader as ambiguous regarding appearance, but she/her pronouns and AFAB anatomy will be utilized. I hope for this to be a slow-burn romance with Simon "Ghost" Riley. Warnings: Gunshot wounds, medical terminology and procedures, mentions of infants, children, and the NICU, masturbation, voyeurism, snuggling. Mild angst, fluff, and light smut

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Your next date with Ghost was much like the first. He’d come into the med bay a little before noon to have his dressings changed, and after you’d finished, he’d put his hand on your lower back and ushered you outside and towards his car.

“Where are we going? I’m still in my scrubs,” you said, laughing as he helped you into the passenger’s seat and got in to start the engine.

“Lunch. Nothing fancy.”

—

It was a quiet little spot near the edge of a village fifteen minutes away by car. The food was brought quickly and you ate together on the patio under a large umbrella, listening to birds chirping in the distance.

Your phone vibrating in your pocket pulled you away from watching a stray cat prowl the alley across the street. The number was unknown, but it was British, so you picked it up.

“Hello?” you asked, resting your hand on your palm. Ghost frowned but said nothing.

“Hi, is this the doctor who goes by Feelgood?” the voice asked. You frowned and sat up straighter.

“That depends on who’s asking. Who is this?” you asked.

“Dr. Whitman, head of the emergency department at the central Memorial Hospital on your base. We’ve had a mild staffing crisis over here and I’d like to request your assistance in the operating room as soon as you can make it,” she said. You didn’t have to think about it.

“Of course, I’ll be right over. I’ll be bringing you a…volunteer,” you said, looking Ghost up and down, a devious smile on your face.

—

You took the wheel on the way back to the hospital and practically sprinted into the emergency department when you arrived, leaving Ghost trailing behind you and looking lost. He watched as you spoke to several people before a tired-looking older woman came to greet you and ushered you away to the back. You pointed at him as you went through the swinging doors and she looked back and nodded, and then you were gone.

Ghost sat down on a chair in the hallway, scanning the emergency department from where he was sitting. Doctors, nurses, and other personnel bustled around him and hardly anyone spared him a glance until a chipper young man in a pastel pink scrub set approached him.

“Hi, you must be the guest Dr. Feelgood mentioned! She spoke quite highly of you, I’m delighted to have you with us for today! Come, follow me and I’ll show you where you can help us out. She made sure to tell us to give you one of the fun jobs,” he said excitedly. Ghost rose from his seat warily, looking back at the doors where you had disappeared before following the young man out of the emergency department and into the greater hospital.

Several maze-like hallways and corridors took them to the opposite end of the hospital, past countless different wards and departments until the man in the pink scrubs tapped his badge at a scanner and brought Ghost onto the ward they were headed for. And even then there were more hallways.

Eventually, they found their way to a comfortable, private room with a large armchair, and the man ushered for Ghost to sit, which he did.

“I’ll be right back with one of the little patients and then I’ll explain to you what to do,” he said with a soft smile before he disappeared and the door shut behind him.

Ghost sat alone for a moment, wondering where the man had gone and what he’d meant by patients. Surely volunteering would just mean stocking boxes of gloves or writing things down for nurses?

His thoughts drifted to you and how you’d gone back into work mode the second your ass touched the seat in the car. Your voice had gone serious - you’d asked clipped questions about scenarios, diagnoses, and asked for numbers using acronyms he’d never be able to remember without a cheat sheet by his side. It impressed him, really - your intelligence, your skill, your care for others.

The door was opened quietly and the man in the pink scrubs returned, breaking his chain of thought. He had with him an infant no older than a week.

“On account of your injury, your friend has asked that we take you on as an enrichment volunteer here in the NICU,” the man said in a low voice, taking the baby from its carrier and slowly approaching Ghost.

“What…do I do?” Ghost asked. There was genuine concern in his voice and he looked down at the little bundle with nervousness in his eyes.

“Just hold her. Read to her, if you’d like. These babies desperately need affection - they’re in this ward for so long that it can be upsetting for their development. Just hit the call button on the wall if you need anything.” the man said softly.

And with that, Simon was handed the baby.

She settled into his broad arms in her sleep as the man in the pink scrubs left the room, closing the door behind him quietly. Simon gazed down at her little face as she slept, taking in every feature as he studied her.

His heart stilled and his breathing settled as he focused on being as comfortable of a surface as he could. He looked at the child in his arms and he thought about you.

Was a dead man capable of love? Could a weapon of war sleep peacefully at night, the woman of his dreams in his arms? Would the little thing in his arms recognize him as the killer he was?

Simon pushed his feet against the ground, carefully turning the recliner so that it faced away from the door and toward the large windows that looked down upon the hospital’s memorial garden. With one hand he reached up and slid the mask up, letting it rest on his forehead. He didn’t want it to scare the child if she woke.

—

What seemed like a decade later after you’d finished surgery, you said goodbye to your patient, the team that had worked with you, and Dr. Whitman, and headed across the hospital to see if Simon had bolted.

Even once you’d become a full-fledged doctor, you still returned to volunteer with the infants in the NICU every once and a while. It was your favorite thing to do in the hospital and you’d requested it for Simon, thinking he’d appreciate the calm, quiet job as well.

You found him in the little room, not having budged from the recliner. His balaclava had been swapped for a black surgical mask and he’d pulled his hoodie up and drawn it mostly closed.

There were two little babies snuggled up against him, one in each arm. His eyes were closed and he was sleeping quietly in the recliner, arms wrapped protectively around each infant.

“Simon,” you murmured softly, your hands finding his shoulders and squeezing gently. He stirred and was awake in an instant but did not budge. You smiled at him and took one of the infants carefully, sitting down on the other recliner and studying him as you rocked the baby.

“So, how’d you do? No crying,” you murmured.

“I’ve needed to piss for two hours.”

—

You headed back to the barracks together later that night. As soon as the infants had been taken away, Simon had turned his back and tugged the balaclava back on, returning to his normal self.

“Get some sleep tonight, doc. You need it,” he grumbled as he walked you to your door, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear absentmindedly.

“And what’re you going off to do? You need to be resting. You haven’t fully healed yet and if you make that wound worse I’ll fucking kill you,” you teased, unlocking your bedroom door and pushing it open, ready for a shower. Simon only shrugged.

“Been missing working out,” he huffed. Your jaw fell open and you grabbed his wrist, doing your best to yank him into your room. Amused, he played along, following you in.

“I’m not even letting you fucking joke about it. You’re grounded. Sit here while I shower and then we’re going to watch a movie. You’re not leaving my sight,” you grumbled. Simon only laughed and pulled out your desk chair, folding his arms over his chest and watching as you headed into your bathroom and pulled the door shut behind you.

It didn’t close all the way but you didn’t notice as you turned your shower on and stripped out of your dirty scrubs, jumping in as soon as the water was warm enough.

Steam creeping out from the gap caught Simon’s attention and he dragged his eyes away from his phone. His eyes widened as he caught a look of you in the shower - naked, wet, and glistening. Your hands worked up and down your beautiful body and through your hair as you hummed quietly, your eyes closed.

Simon got hard so quickly that he was glad he was sitting down. As if to prove that there was no blood left in his brain, he continued to stare, his eyes wide as he imagined creeping up behind you in the shower and pinning you to the wall, fucking you slowly from behind as you moaned his name and begged for more.

He considered raising his phone and snapping a picture, or worse, taking a video. Military self-control won out in the end, though, and he rose quietly from your chair and slipped out the door, shutting it silently behind him.

Once back in his room with the door shut he sat in his own chair, facing his own dark, empty bathroom, as he yanked his pants and boxers down, his cock springing free. He regretted leaving your room as he wrapped his fist around his length, a low growl tearing from his lips as he bucked his hips into his hand, replaying that memory of you in the shower in his head like a GIF.

In the other room, your shower turned off. He fucked his fist harder, more quickly as he imagined you bending over to dry yourself, your perfect little pussy exposed as if you were begging him to take you against the countertop.

Simon hissed as he came without warning, cum covering his hand as your name escaped his lips with a groan.

He felt dirty when, as he was washing up in his own shower, you hammered on the door. For the thrill of it, he answered it in a towel, feeling his cock twitch again as a look of surprise and embarrassment crossed your face.

“I thought I told you not - not to leave,” you stammered, your eyes tracing the muscles of his chest down to the lines of his hips that lead to his–

“Wanted a shower,” he said.

“Then we’ll watch the movie in here,” you said sternly. He complied, holding the door open wider for you. You did your best not to stare at him as he reentered the bathroom and dressed, sitting down on his bed and opening your laptop to set up the movie you’d chosen.

He didn’t warn you before he lifted you to manually scoot you over when he came back to his bed in only boxers, making you squeak. He laughed as he settled in beside you, pulling the covers up over you both but not touching you further.

“What do you want to watch?” you asked, scrolling through the list of movies that were freely available online. He shrugged, leaning up on one elbow to watch you.

“You’re interesting. Maybe we should just go to the med bay so I can watch as you bustle around,” he said with a chuckle. You rolled your eyes and shut the laptop, tossing it to the end of the bed and sitting up fully.

“If you don’t want to hang out with me that’s fine,” you said quietly, pushing the covers back and trying to climb over Simon to leave. He grabbed you gently by the hips and pulled you down onto him, flicking the light switch above his bed.

“Simon, what–”

He squeezed you gently, nuzzling your hair and resting his chin on the top of your head, gently rubbing your back as you settled down against him.

“Of course I want to be with you, m’ just tired. Now sleep,” he grumbled, closing his eyes and going still. You sighed quietly and made yourself comfortable against him, nestling into his chest and falling asleep securely wrapped in his arms.

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Taglist: @iamaliceinwonderland, @itsmeamysworld, @ghostlythots, @oranoyaora, @keiva1000

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #mw2 #ghost #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #ghost x you #cod mwii #cod x reader #call of duty #cod modern warfare #simon ghost x reader

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