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wormdebut · 13 days

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LET DOWN AND HANGING AROUND (CRUSHED LIKE A BUG IN THE GROUND)

Ahoy! This is my first VERY LATE ficlet for @corrodedcoffinfest ! My absolute bad for being so late, but BOY am I HAPPY TO BE HERE!

Warm Up Prompt One: Taxed. Word Count: 1000 (scrivener says 1000 Wordcounter says 979. IDK Man, it’s within limit), Rating: T, Pairing: None, CW: Swears, Smoking, Angst Tags: Eddie, Gareth, Jeff, Freak

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October 1987

They've been at this for fucking years. Eddie feels like a fucking girl scout.

'Well hello there Mr. Music Man, would you like to buy a box of shitty garage band metal?'

Except they weren't fucking shitty. All of the guys had been working their assess off, writing, playing shows, shitty gig after shitty gig after shitty gig.

But they haven't managed anything. Nothing, zilch, nada.

They had a small crowd showing up at the Hideout, and the owner, Benny, started letting them play not only their usual Tuesday but because Eddie had been helping him with placehe was letting them play Saturday nights now too, which was great because while he appreciates the likes of his uncle and Wayne's best friends on Tuesdays, there were almost twenty people every Saturday night and that was something.

They also had a standing gig at a bar in Indianapolis at least once a month, lately they've been playing The Barrel every other week and Eddie thought--he thought--that that would get them somewhere.

The guys were fucking exhausted but Eddie kept pushing because they could do this. Corroded Coffin was great. They were great and somebody was going to see that…right?

Eddie saw what they had. He did. But the guys--

"C'mon Ed, we can't keep sneaking Gareth into bars forever. I think we need to--maybe consider other options or--" Jeff rambles. They were supposed to be practicing but Jeff Williams had to swoop inwith his stupid common sense bullshit. Jeff motherfucking Williams is one of the best guitarists Eddie has ever had to the privilege of listening to, but Jeff wants to go college like a real boy!

Gareth cuts him off, "It's just the two bars man, and I have a fake, if I need it anyw--"

Would you look at that, it's time for Freddy to cut in. "Yeah, but you're three feet tall and have the face of a newborn child."

Gareth shoves at Freddy's chest. "Oh fuck off, man. At least I'm not a virgin!" He yelps and great. This is great.

Now the band is fighting, again, because Jeff wants to go to College, Goodie is a Virgin, and Gareth is short.

Eddie just want to play music.

If they all want to yell, Eddie can yell louder. "See. Do you see what happens when you start talking about 'other options' Jeff? Chaos--and not the fun kind!"

"See, Eddie--this is the fucking problem with you. All you care about is your music, your dream, It's all about you!"

Jeff is yelling at Eddie, Gareth and Freak are rough housing, how did this even happen. All Eddie wants is to do something. Be something. He believes in this, in Jeff, and Freddy and Gareth, in the band.

And he gets that everyone is taxed, tired. Eddie is fucking exhausted. Gareth is trying to not fail his senior year. He gets it, he does, but-- "You know what, Jeff?" His voice breaks, and isn't that fucking humiliating? "Some of us, don't have college as an option. Did you ever consider that?"

Eddie leans over and grabs his cigarettes from the table, before shoulder checking Jeff as he leaves.

——

What’s the fucking point? Eddie puts everything into lyrics that people probably don't even know, all of them spend hours writing and harmonizing, making sure chords make sense, just for everything to be a pipe dream. They haven't taken a break for anything. It's either work or school or Coffin Shit. They haven't played D&D in months. They've just been doing this.

But it's all Eddie has. How the hell was he ever going to get out of shitty ass Hawkins, if it wasn't this way? He didn't exactly ace his finals--even the third time around. Honestly? He's pretty sure they just let him pass, to get him the fuck out of there.

He lights up what feels like his eighth cigarette--it's not, it's his second--and stares out to the empty street. They use Gareth's garage to practice…for being as straight laced as she is, Ms. Emerson sure does believe in the band.

Dottie Emerson and Eddie. God dammit, maybe Jeff is right.

He should go back, he should go back and apologize, and let this go. He has the job at the Hideout, he can save and maybe move to Indy--play an acoustic at some bars or…something.

God, he's just so tired of this shit.

He finishes his cigarette, and tries to breathe. Breathe in--hold--breathe out--he doesn't realizes Jeff until he taps his shoulder.

"Hey." Jeff says, quiet. Eddie, just nods, grabs his pack and offers a cancer-filled olive branch. Jeff takes it.

Eddie doesn't say anything. Doesn't want to, doesn't know what he should say.

So Jeff does. "I'm sorry, Ed. I didn't mean to make you upset. I'm just fucking tired man, we all are and I do want this, I do, but it's fucking scary." Eddie turns, watches Jeff blow out smoke. "I got accepted to IU, did you know that?"

Eddie blinks. He did not know that. "No, you hadn't mentioned it."

Jeff turns to look at him, "I didn't want this to happen."

Eddie closes his eyes, takes in a deep breath. In--hold--out. "You should go." He forces a smile, watches as Jeff's eyes shine for a moment--no wonder he had that silly crush on him his second senior year, but it was only for like a week, leave it alone--before he srunches his face up, Eddie can't help but laugh. Jeff always does that, when he's stressed. It makes him look like a rabbit.

Jeff goes to speak, but Eddie cuts him off. "Let's do this Halloween show, it'll be our going away gift to our tens of adoring fans."

Jeff laughs at that, nods, and pulls Eddie into a hug.

Everything will be fine, with or without Corroded Coffin.

#worm brain #everyone buckle up cause I'm determined to knock all of these out #they will follow a story line BUT also stand alone #so note that even though eddie thinks this is the end thats a big fat lie #Steve is out there somewhere #and so will Corroded Coffin being famous as fuck #I promise #eddie munson #stranger thing #stranger things ficlet #pre steddie #cause BOY WILL THEY BE HERE #Corroded Coffin #All the boys. They are all here and they be fighting #corrrodedcoffinfest #worm coffin verse

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paladinbaby · 2 years

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wip snippet ask game

“Rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! And then tag people! This isn’t just for writing either. Sketch titles? Comics? DnD campaigns? If you have an unfinished project, it counts!”

i was tagged by beloved @grasslandgirl girl and simply can open, worms everywhere. i have so so many wips im gonna split these into fanfic and art and we’ll see how many blobby sketches i have going at anyone time. i am making up names for my sketches on the spot and i am now realising just how many unhelpful lyric titles my files have. ive included fics im not particularly working on bc it’s fun so a few of these haven’t been touched in A While

single all the way-u [d20, tuc]

margaret encino pt 2 [d20, stody]

did you get what you deserve? [d20, fh]

a level of confidence that makes you uncomfortable to the core of your being [ not used to it verse]

what was the end of the movie about [d20, fh]

before i bury you [naddpod c1, sad]

oops all faith based classes […911 ik]

god I never felt young, polaroid fic [d20, t7]

screaming at the moon in black lipstick [d20, mismag]

sofia time slip [d20, tuc]

plan m [leverage, sad]

Sketches

i have never seen black sails

they are simply friends [lensa]

Halloween <3 [lensa]

family time [d20, acoc]

i love them [naddpod c1]

duck newton, just a guy [taz amnesty]

you find yourself completely alone [naddpod c3]

i knew you [dr who]

pete rowan sad art [d20, tuc2]

are you guys stressed? [d20, coffin run]

wuvvy <3333 [d20, acofaf]

sometimes you have to kill your dad comic [d20, fh]

I think this is everything. tagging @wuvvywover @creacherkeeper @lichfucker @literalliterature @little-bee-draws @gilears and anyone else who is up for it bc i find these lists fascinating

#again I’m not actively working on all of these #i have not written fic in forever so I’m not even working on most of them rn #but yk they still count #personal #ask #wip game

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charaznablescanontoyota · 1 year

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!! >:)c

doin some of these before bed let's gooooo

soren arias is one of the many adopted kids of nyx, the head of the tartarus crime family. their superpower is being hypercompetent at deductive reasoning - they're constantly taking in their surroundings, and can draw connections between/conclusions about pieces of information much faster than regular people. they're a huge, annoying know-it-all who always assumes they're the smartest person in a room and unfortunately they're right a good 75% of the time.

in terms of the jobs they do for their family, they mostly act as a fixer by going to crime scenes and carefully rearranging the evidence to point to a completely different conclusion. they also help track down people who owe the family money, and do some private eye business on the side for an extremely exorbitant fee. they're very prone to being overstimulated due to the amount of information they're constantly taking in, and love having a "watson" figure to infodump their findings to (if they don't have one they'll just use a tape recorder and play it back later to take notes on relevant info).

outside of vprp which is their normal 'verse i've rped them in a modern fantasy-ish verse that has fae in it, and soren's plot over there is that they're the only one who could figure out how to release the prince of the unseelie from a glass coffin he was imprisoned in, and now they're engaged to him and worming their way into fae politics. they are very smug about it.

send me !! and i'll tell you about an oc!

#marn ocs #vprp tag #oc meme

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conversationswithrobots · 1 year

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Headbang into the afterlife

ChatGPT was asked to write “a commercial starring Guzzle the Wonder Cat, the mascot for a company that sells biodegradable caskets on eBay. Guzzle is uncouth and vulgar and he's not afraid to make jokes about death, constantly. Include a short song in a death metal style about why it's awesome to have the earth reclaim your body after you expire. Make it funny but also poignant.”

Guzzle the Wonder Cat stands in front of a camera, his fur disheveled and his eyes wild. "Hey there, kitties and humans!" he says in a gravelly voice. "Guzzle here, the mascot for the best damn company out there: Biodegradable Caskets on eBay. We're the only place on the interwebs where you can buy a casket that won't pollute the earth when you kick the bucket.

"Now, I know what you're thinking: 'Guzzle, how can a casket be biodegradable?' Well, let me tell you. Our caskets are made from 100% natural materials, like bamboo and wicker, so when you finally shuffle off this mortal coil, your body will be able to return to the earth without leaving a big ol' mess behind.

"But don't worry, we're not just some tree-hugging hippies over here. We know that death can be a real bummer, so we've added a little something extra to make your final resting place a little more... metal. That's right, folks. Each of our caskets comes with a built-in death metal sound system, so you can headbang your way into the afterlife.

And now, for a special treat, here's a little death metal ditty I like to call 'Return to the Earth.'

Verse 1:

In the ground I'll lie As the worms crawl by But I won't be sad 'Cause I'll help make the earth glad

Chorus:

Return to the earth, yeah, that's the plan It's the natural way for a dead man No coffin for me, no stone or grave Just biodegradable, that's my way

Verse 2:

As I rot and decompose I'll feed the plants and the bees And when I'm just a memory I'll help the earth grow and be free

Chorus:

Return to the earth, yeah, that's the plan It's the natural way for a dead man No coffin for me, no stone or grave Just biodegradable, that's my way

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pwophet · 2 years

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💖 verse – steel ball run

yoo ji soo “joins” the steel ball run as a merchant, touting off their many, many wares to any racer (or not-- they don’t discriminate!) that is in need. what do they sell you may ask. and to that all i’d like to say is this: it is a mystery!

💖 information – basics

they’re an enigma to a majority of the racers, coming off rather as a random event you’d find in a video game or on an old-school virtual pets website. whenever they appear, it’s never expected but, at the same time, not exactly unwelcome, either. it’s a bit of a mixed bag with them, seeing as their rates for their merchandise is rather... inconsistent, for lack of better word. say you’d like to purchase a big jug of water (do not ask where they found water in the middle of a desert. do not. that is rude, and you are rude for wondering about it.) that is ice cold-- that’ll be approximately five worms, give or take.

... oh, what’s that? you wish to buy this cool rock they found? that’d be twenty dollars. take it or leave it.

ji soo is, for all intents and purposes, a ray of sunshine whenever spotted. they’re always eager to greet new customers, all the while lugging around what looks to be a wooden coffin on their back. whenever set down, it hits the ground with a terrifying, loud THUD but it doesn’t deter them. in fact, picking it up yields them no resistance at all. it’s kind of wild how things work out like that, huh.

unbeknownst to a majority (maybe even all of them, depending.) of the racers, they also server under funny valentine as one of his agents. their reasons? who knows! why did the president employ them? Who Knows! they’re sure having a fun time, though. loyalty regarding the president is hard to determine with them, as they have no problems whatsoever relaying “sensitive” information to those that... well, simply ask for it but it’s always masqueraded in passive aggressive messaging and tones. ji soo is a very transparent individual but looks down on cheats, liars, and thieves. whenever they set up shop, they expect nice, clean fun and this is always in effect.

there’re rumors floating about, too, that in the dead of night ji soo can be heard having full-on conversations with the coffin. in broad daylight, the coffin is full of nothing but their various wares and plethora of stock. at night, however, some say that there is someone (or, maybe, something.) residing within the coffin-- responding to ji soo in kind. gentle and fondness clear within their voice, making ji soo laugh and showering them in praise. some racers claimed that those that have managed to glimpse within the coffin at the late hours have never been the same, claiming that they have “become witness to god, a thing that isn’t man nor woman-- a thing that is both holy yet unholy.” and dropped out of the race shortly after.

which is kind of silly when you think about it.

why would ji soo be lugging around an old god in a race? pfft... you guys and your wacky imaginations...

💖 information – horse

there is no horse. they are the horse.

💖 information – stand

their stand, for the most part, remains about the same. its effects and strength, however, depend on how close they are to their “shop”-- aka, the coffin on their back. the closer they are to their shop, the stronger their stand is and its protection over them.

strangely enough, a lot of customers have reported of hearing a strange, low frequency hum in their ears the longer they remain at ji soo’s shop and feel a strange... terror, almost, at the prospect of leaving. as such, they have no problem providing free food and drink (do not ask, just accept.) in order to help their poor, downtrodden customers regain their strength.

#✨ VERSE 04： HAVE YOU HEARD THE GOOD WORD？#✨ HEADCANON： I GUESS I LEARNED SOMETHING NEW ABOUT MYSELF！#It Is Done.

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ashes-in-a-jar · 2 years

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Hey hey, Garfield does not prefer it when John is gone, he's a tsundere and loves John a lot, he just doesn't know how to show it cuz he's a cat. He's just as upset as the dog if not more so that John is not there.

Garfield, just like all of us, is extremely upset that Jon decided to allow his boyfriend to stab him in order to release the eldritch monsters plaguing the world, a thing he allowed to happen by being traumatized over and over again by worms, clowns, spiders, chairs, coffins and beaches.

He's very sad that, while banishing those monstrous beings, Jon was sucked through with them into another dimension to possibly die or land in a different world, causing the spread the horrors out of this one to an infinity of other universes.

He's also very sad the Jon vs. John discourse is not contained to tma-verse alone but has spread to Garfield-verse as well. The worst horror of them all tbh.

But he shows it in a cat-like way and we respect that and offer our condolences.

#This is a joke please #Big tma spoilers though XD #Tma #Ask #Unreality tw #Tma spoilers #garfield

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gwydionmisha · 3 years

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The Haunted BY JOHN MASEFIELD

Here, in this darkened room of this old house, I sit beside the fire. I hear again, Within, the scutter where the mice carouse, Without, the gutter dropping with the rain. Opposite, are black shelves of wormy books, To left, glazed cases, dusty with the same, Behind, a wall, with rusty guns on hooks, To right, the fire, that chokes one panting flame. Over the mantel, black as funeral cloth, A portrait hangs, a man, whose flesh the worm Has mawed this hundred years, whose clothes the moth A century since, has channelled to a term. I cannot see his face : I only know He stares at me, that man of long ago. I light the candles in the long brass sticks, I see him now, a pale-eyed, simpering man, Framed in carved wood, wherein the death-watch ticks, A most dead face : yet when the work began That face, the pale puce coat, the simpering smile, The hands that hold a book, the eyes that gaze, Moved to the touch of mind a little while. The painter sat in judgment on his ways : The painter turned him to and from the light, Talked about art, or bade him lift his head. Judged the lips’ paleness and the temples’ white, And now his work abides ; the man is dead. But is he dead ? This dusty study drear Creaks in its panels that the man is here. Here, beyond doubt, he lived, in that old day. “He was a Doctor here,” the student thought. Here, when the puce was new, that now is grey, That simpering man his daily practice wrought. Here he let blood, prescribed the pill and drop, The leech, the diet ; here his verdict given Brought agonies of hoping to a stop, Here his condemned confessioners were shriven. What is that book he holds, the key, too dim To read, to know ; some little book he wrote, Forgotten now, but still the key to him. He sacrificed his vision for his coat. I see the man ; a simpering mask that hid A seeing mind that simpering men forbid. Those are his books no doubt, untoucht, undusted, Unread, since last he left them on the shelves, Octavo sermons that the fox has rusted, Sides splitting off from brown decaying twelves. This was his room, this darkness of old death, This coffin-room with lights like embrasures, The place is poisonous with him ; like a breath On glass, he stains the spirit ; he endures. Here is his name within the sermon book, And verse, “When hungry Worms my Body eat” ; He leans across my shoulder as I look, He who is God or pasture to the wheat. He who is Dead is still upon the soul A check, an inhibition, a control. I draw the bolts. I am alone within. The moonlight through the coloured glass comes faint, Mottling the passage wall like human skin, Pale with the breathings left of withered paint. But others walk the empty house with me, There is no loneliness within these walls No more than there is stillness in the sea Or silence in the eternal waterfalls. There in the room, to right, they sit at feast ; The dropping grey-beard with the cold blue eye, The lad, his son, that should have been a priest, And he, the rake, who made his mother die. And he, the gambling man, who staked the throw, They look me through, they follow when I go. They follow with still footing down the hall, I know their souls, those fellow-tenants mine, Their shadows dim those colours on the wall, They point my every gesture with a sign. That grey-beard cast his aged servant forth After his forty years of service done, The gambler supped up riches as the north Sups with his death the glories of the sun. The lad betrayed his trust ; the rake was he Who broke two women’s hearts to ease his own : They nudge each other as they look at me, Shadows, all our, and yet as hard as stone. And there, he comes, that simpering man, who sold His mind for coat of puce and penny gold. O ruinous house, within whose corridors None but the wicked and the mad go free. (On the dark stairs they wait, behind the doors They crouch, they watch, or creep to follow me.) Deep in old blood your ominous bricks are red, Firm in old bones your walls’ foundations stand, With dead men’s passions built upon the dead, With broken hearts for lime and oaths for sand. Terrible house, whose horror I have built, Sin after sin, unseen, as sand that slips Telling the time, till now the heaped guilt Cries, and the planets circle to eclipse. You only are the Daunter, you alone Clutch, till I feel your ivy on the bone.

#The Haunted #John Masefield #Poem #Poetry

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niuniente · 4 years

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youtube

Mokoma - Kuollut, Kuolleempi, Kuollein (Dead, Deader, The Most Dead)

lyrics both in Finnish and English under the cut (as I know there are Finnish students here who might benefit from the lyrics)

Face pressed against the soil Pressed there in the dirt for a reason I will figure myself throughout I will weigh the changes, terms and life

I have finally made my mind to die Doesn’t matter if I do it here or there At least here’s some fresh dirt And to worms the dirt is the most precious gold

I’ve been dead for a long time already So why really bother anymore Build the coffin, dig the pit Lords, amens, hells, heavens

I have seriously made my mind to die Do it here, here, not over there Bring a corpse stone to be laid on top of me The ranks will shrink smaller with a one once more

Sometimes it gives Sometimes it gives The life knows how to take A man’s part is To take a part The man knows how to take I am Dead, deader, the most dead one Dead, deader, the most dead one Dead, deader, the most dead one Dead, deader, the most dead one There he reaps like he sows With a struggle and pain I will be killed, too A familiar story to everyone of us There’s no need to argue about it

No need to sweat anymore Go forward, work hard All’s good for the one who suffers Together with the worms in the lands of dead

Sometimes it gives Sometimes it takes The life knows how to take

I am Dead, deader, the most dead one Dead, deader, the most dead one Dead, deader, the most dead one Dead, deader, the most dead one

FINNISH Kasvot painettu maata vasten Painettu multaan varta vasten Aion itsestäni kunnolla ottaa selon Punnita vaihdot ja ehdot ja elon Olen päättänyt viimeinkin kuolla Samapa teenkö sen täällä vai tuolla Tässä on sentään tuoretta multaa Ja madoille multa on kalliimpi kultaa [Verse 2] Pitkään olen ollut jo vainaa Miksipä nähdä siis liiemmin vaivaa Arkkua tehdä kuoppaa kaivaa Hospotit aamenet helvetit taivaat Olen vakaasti päättänyt kuolla Tehdä sen tässä tässä en tuolla Tuokaa päälleni ruumiinkivi Yhdellä jälleen harvenee rivit [Pre-Chorus] Joskus se antaa Joskus se ottaa Elämä osaa ottaa Ihmisen osana on Osaa ottaa Ihminen osaa ottaa Minä olen... [Chorus] Kuollut, kuolleempi, kuollein Kuollut, kuolleempi, kuollein Kuollut, kuolleempi, kuollein Kuollut, kuolleempi, kuollein [Verse 3] Siinähän makaan, niin kuin petaan Työllä ja tuskalla minutkin tapetaan Tuttu tarina kaikille meistä Siitä on turha vääntää peistä Ei tarvitse hikoilla enää Potkia teloja, tehdä tenää On kärsivän hyvä olla Kera matojen kuoleman vainiolla [Pre-Chorus] Joskus se antaa Joskus se ottaa Elämä osaa ottaa Minä olen... [Chorus] Kuollut, kuolleempi, kuollein Kuollut, kuolleempi, kuollein Kuollut, kuolleempi, kuollein Kuollut, kuolleempi, kuollein Kuollut, kuolleempi, kuollein Kuollut, kuolleempi, kuollein Kuollut, kuolleempi, kuollein [Pre-Chorus] Joskus se antaa Joskus se ottaa Elämä osaa ottaa Ihmisen osana on Osaa ottaa Ihminen osaa ottaa [Chorus] Kuollut, kuolleempi, kuollein Kuollut, kuolleempi, kuollein Kuollut, kuolleempi, kuollein Kuollut, kuolleempi, kuollein Kuollut, kuolleempi, kuollein Kuollut, kuolleempi, kuollein Kuollut, kuolleempi, kuollein Kuollein

#mokoma #finnish metal #music #finnish #metal

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ask-fantasy-sanders-sides · 4 years

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Ok, Remus, you might know this one.. Don't ever laugh when a hearse goes by, for you may be the next to die, they wrap you up in bloody sheets, to drop you six feet underneath. They put you in a pinewood box, and cover you up with dirt and rocks, it all goes well for about a weak, and then your coffin begins to leak~ ((the hearse song btw)) 🌠

Remus: Oh, I love this one!! --C’mon, you square, up the tempo~!

(Remus continues with the next verse, singing much faster and louder, as if it were a dancing tune. He grabs Dee’s arms and swings him around in a circle, and Dee gives a sarcastic, unamused smile, as if he’s used to this.)

Remus: And the worms crawl in, the worms crawl out, the worms play pinochle on your snout~

Dee: This was one of Virgil’s favorites, too. Look, now you’ve got him started, he’ll be singing this on loop for hours--

Remus: They eat your eyes, they eat your nose as you begin to decompose~! --Sing with me, Dee!

Dee: Ha! No.

#lets roll #☄️

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sunlitroom · 4 years

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John Masefield - The Haunted

#john masefield #poetry #haunted #ghosts #time #house #haunted house

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girlfriendsofthegalaxy · 4 years

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the larger courier six verse, media influences

tagged by @sybil-writes ty

the bibliography for this thing is extensive. my taste is wide and omnivorous. i try to drop what i was thinking about when i wrote a particular bit into the author’s notes, and i think i’ve credited all the direct references, but I consume a lot of dystopia and post-apoc media and harder scifi/fantasy with rules, and i don’t keep an accurate running list of shit I like, so i’m certainly not going to get everything in one post. this is mostly me looking at the very limited number of books i have with me and frantically looking at wiki lists like “yes read that liked that stole that”. if i link everything i will die. if you have trouble finding a specific thing lmk tho. this feels real goddamn pretentious like Ah Yes Look At The Media I Have Consumed but here goes

music: one of these days I will drop links to the network of playlists I have for these kids, but they’re all of Spotify and not super accessible. Danger Days, a post-apoc desert graffiti/neon/cars album by My Chemical Romance. the soft, nonsense love songs off Pretty. Odd by P!ATD. the poppy but sad neon bullshit of Too Weird To Live, Too Rare To Die also a P!ATD production. Wasteland, Baby! by Hozier, specifically Talk and Dinner & Diatribes. Halsey’s cover of I Walk The Line, Rihanna’s Desperado. Everything by Orville Peck but mostly Roses Are Falling and Take You Back (The Iron Hoof Cattle Call). Instrumental stuff: the opening to Silverado, the Billy the Kid musical, bits of Lawrence of Arabia. It’s Been A Long, Long Time. Fitz & The Tantrums’ Get Away. Mother Mother’s album O My Heart. Gorillaz’ Plastic Beach.

filme:

the Dollars trilogy ofc

the sheer bullshit nonsense of Wild Wild West and Blazing Saddles and Turbokid.

a lot of the interaction between many characters in a tight space from Stagecoach. my dad really loves John Wayne, so I am constantly thinking about Monument Valley even though that’s nowhere near the Mojave. honestly whenever i’m thinking about how to describe landscapes I’m thinking about The Searchers, even though I have a lot of problems with that film.

the colorful nonsense future of The Fifth Element.

the gritty self-surgery and prospecting of Prospect (2018).

SO much Trigun and Cowboy Bebop, for space western flavor and the same sort of analog-cassette-future. u kno how everything in Star Wars looks like it’s been there forever? the absolute opposite of a slick Apple future? that.

god I wish Firefly was...good

Akira, bc every time I think about motorcycles the Akira motorcycle slide gif plays in my head.

speaking of which probably a decent chunk of Adventure Time, esp the Super Porp episode.

a smidge of how a platonic trio works from Samurai Champloo.

anything with a big sprawling market and a chase scene, even though the only things I can think of are Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets and the first Indiana Jones. oh Skyfall also

the set dressing from Tank Girl

Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow. look I just really like airships and retrofuturisum but art deco

honestly a lot of Ghibli- the aviation fantasy of Porco Rosso, the gardens from Castle In The Sky, a lot of Sophie Hatter energy from Howl’s Moving Castle, the underground bits in Nausicca, the otherworldly sea from Ponyo (except the Fallout sea is probably much emptier). the lovely homey-ness and gadgetry of Sherlock Hound.

almost certainly some Metropolis for how I think about cities

thinking a lot about The Incredibles and earlier James Bond movies recently for that sort of sleek but still small physical gadget spycraft 60s bullshit

the team and found family dynamics in Leverage

The Man From U.N.C.L.E. the more recent film which I have stolen ENTIRELY too much of the Angel + Blondie + Six dynamic from

mad max: all of them, to some extent, but a lot of Fury Road. I have a theory about how the Dollars films take place in reverse order, bc of how they feel next to the Mad Max films. The first Mad Max film is about a specific person in a specific place and time doing really specific things. it feels like a movie made off the info of someone who was there. GBU also feels like that- it’s really place-specific in a way? The second Mad Max film is a little hazier, and focuses on mostly people trying to accomplish a goal. For A Few Dollars More also feels a little hazier, like it’s a little more metaphorical/a morality tale and it’s being told by someone heavily embellishing secondhand events. the third Mad Max movie is just over the top nonsense. feral children living in the wreckage of an old plane escaping in a working plane? sure. why the fuck not. For A Fistful Of Dollars also feels like this. of COURSE this big bad gunslinger drifts into town and escapes in a coffin and invents the bulletproof vest. why the fuck not.

books: i like shit that goes beyond the wander/scrounge/defend trio of verbs.

the trying to wrap your life around a huge unknowable event from Roadside Picnic,

too much Le Guin and Butler to really fit here,

god if anything i write ever has a tenth of the flavor of Kill Six Billion Demons i’ll be happy,

the postwar feel of Vonnegut and Heller,

Margaret Atwood’s biopunk Oryx and Crake trilogy

the incredibly sad decaying biopunk/mutation/last days novelette The Drowned World by JG Ballard.

the space-opera political machinations from the Ancillary trilogy by Ann Leckie.

World War Z’s accounts of survivors has always felt like reading terminal entries from Fallout games.

Philip Reeve’s Fever Crumb trilogy, for its interpretation of high-tech artifacts and archaeological reinterpretation of those artifacts.

Tales of the Bounty Hunters. Tales from Jabba’s Palace.

A Canticle for Leibowitz of COURSE.

the original three books in the METRO (2033, 2034, 2035) trilogy, for their tight dense locations and resource management and life-threatening travel/exploration.

the Family Trade comic by Jordan & Ryan, for setting and intrigue and a very unorthodox power source

Elizabeth Bear’s short story And The Deep Blue Sea, about a different kind of courier.

how Gibson’s The Sprawl trilogy (a trilogy i have MANY opinions about, not all of them positive) does worldbuilding when it implies a vast sprawling richly imagined world with casual in-universe references that you can extrapolate a lot from.

The Gernsback Continuum, for making me think about stranded architectural bits that survived

a little bit of the Empress’ energy from Cavendish’s The Blazing World.

the short story The Rational Ship by Caro Clarke, about a ship that runs on orgasms, from the EXTREMELY out of print Memories and Visions: Women’s Fantasy and Science Fiction edited by Susanna J. Sturgis. i’ve scanned it in as a pdf and will send it to anyone who asks. the stories in this volume are WILDLY varying in quality and terf-yness. i would not buy this book on purpose.

i think each separate Vault storyline is a tiny separate Lost World story, so just pick your favorite and insert it here.

Westerfeld’s Leviathan trilogy was FORMATIVE for baby me. biopunk! big trans energy! SKY WHALES

fucking hate Paolo Bacigalupi for what he does to his female characters but Ship Breaker was good from what I remember of it

there are three very oblique Sherlock Holmes references in “blow a kiss, fire a gun” for my own amusement.

Fallout scifi seems to be very Verne and Wells and Burroughs derived? a lot of very pulpy “pseudojournalistic realism to tell an adventure story with little basis in reality.” or “hey look at this COMPLETE NOVEL i found in a bottle by the sea OR locked in my weird great-uncle’s things, i shall retell it to you here”

idk i think The Road and the Hunger Games have so profoundly shaped the state of the genre, there’s probably at least a little bit of both these things in here even if I didn’t particularly like either of them. There’s also a lot of super bleak post-war stuff I read but am not necessarily incorporating, like Nevill Shute’s On The Beach. probably some Dune in here too if i’m being totally honest. why have a desert if there’s not going to be a giant worm, Fallout: New Vegas???

jesus i gotta read more lady authors. there are probably way more that i’m not remembering bc almost all the books i own are in a storage unit seven hours away that i haven’t touched in three years. there are probably way more comics also.

OH not a book but the decaying-rich-people-paradise of Bioshock. pity how they never made a third game

#ain't that a kick in the head #ty!!!#this was really interesting to think about #i'm not sure i answered it Right bc there's probably a way i could answer this more directly and draw closer parallels to shit #but here we are in an imperfect week with my imperfect brain

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oddsandendsandthings · 5 years

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Did somebody say Pokémon AU??

I honestly have no clue if this has been done or not. But here' what I'd think a Pokémon AU would look like complete with Pokémon teams.

So for the most part everything follows the show with the added bonus of Pokémon being a thing. The Magnus Institute exists to investigate and catalogue paranormal and supernatural experiences that fall outside the range of regular Pokémon shenanigans. So in the beginning, Jon is an even more cynical ass that chalks everything up to being just typical ghost Pokémon messing with people. But there are greater forces at work that fall outside of even Arceus's range of understanding. And there is more to fear than just Pokémon lurking in the shadows.

Jon: He wasn't like most kids with grand dreams of being a Pokémon master. He was and still is much more content reading a book than training Pokémon. All the ones in his team caught him more than the other way around which is really just par for the course for Jon really. He also can’t be bothered to name any of them.

Absol: It just started following him after the brush with the Leitner and just refused to leave. It tries to warn Jon about bad situations but the man has zero self-preservation instincts. Essentially acts like a beleaguered mom looking after her self destructive toddler.

Rotom: It really just kinda came with the tape recorder.

Unknown: Jon didn't intentionally catch it. The unknown just live in the Archives and made themselves at home in his office until one finally just tapped into a pokeball conveniently left on his desk. It likes helping him find real statements in the Archives and tries to work with its brethren and Absol to warn Jon about incoming dangers. He’s just too buried in statements to see ominous warnings literally floating above his head.

Buneary: It was the first and only Pokemon he ever purposefully caught. It hated him when he caught it and it still hates his guts now but they both refuse to let the other go out of spite. Tim gets a kick about teasing him about it.

Purugly: His first pokemon given to him when his grandma's purugly had kittens. It spends all its time skulking around the archives just doing cat things.

Chandelure: He caught it in the woods as a litwik as a kid and used it as a reading light. He doesn't believe in the stories surrounding them stealing your life force but it definitely does and he’s just too hyped on caffeine to notice.

Martin: I imagine Martin as the breeder type who loves to nurture Pokémon from eggs and just overly spoil his entire team. He of course names all his pokemon after Romantic poets.

Joltik: Used to belong to Jon before he gave it away after the Leitner incident. He really just kinda threw the ball as far as he could and it hit Martin upside the head. Jon doesn't realize that Martin was that kid or that that Joltik was his and it makes both of them very sad. The only pokemon he hasn’t named since he doesn’t know what Jon named it and it didn’t feel right to change it.

Araquanid: He named it Byron after Lord Byron. Pokémon who, depending on who you ask, either drowns unsuspecting Pokémon or cares for them. Fits Martin to a T if you ask me and he would take pity on a poor, misunderstood spider.

Sylveon: He named it Felicia after Felicia Hemans. He raised it from an egg he found in the backyard. It was also his first Pokemon period that he hid in his room because his mom didn't want any Pokémon in the house. When she did find it she begrudgingly allowed it. She always seemed to dote on it more than she ever did Martin himself...

Klefki: Named it Will after William Wordsworth. This little guy is half the reason Martin is able to get into half the places he does.

Chansey: Named Keats. Another Pokemon raised from an egg, it is just as doting as Martin is to the others in the archives. It is also consequently the most powerful member on his team.

Zorua: Named Percy after Percy Shelley. He initially thought he was catching a volpix when he caught it. He bonded with it over having to hide who he truly is too. It is the overprotective guard dog he deserves that no one realizes how dangerous it truly is.

Tim: his team is comprised of beautiful Pokémon that can absolutely kick anyone's ass at a moments notice. They are all as salty as they are beautiful. He names his pokemon after famous actors and actresses.

Roserade: Named Angelina after Angelina Jolie, it was the first Pokemon he ever caught, the two are a dazzling duo charming anyone that crosses their path.

Yamask: It showed up and started hanging around him after his brother was taken by the Stranger. After that, he knew without a shadow of a doubt his brother was dead. He dotes on it constantly because of it despite how much it creeps others out. He, of course, named it Danny.

Milotic: Named Kiera after Kiera Knightly, he evolved it from a feebas he hatched from an egg. He still treats it like his baby.

Lopunny: It was his first Pokémon. His brother gave it to him as a gift and he took it as a challenge to get it to like him enough to evolve. He named it Audrey after Audrey Hepburn.

Liepard: Its stealthy nature is extremely helpful when scouting locations and doing research for the institute. It also hates Jon as much as Tim does. He named it Jackman after Hugh Jackman.

Diancie: He inherited it from his bro after his passing. Danny found it while exploring an old cave and used to travel everywhere with him. It and Danny are still inseparable. Its name is Mila after Mila Kunis.

Basira: Her team is as practical as she is. They are all extremely powerful and could easily take down the entire league if she wanted to. She just doesn’t want to. Her no-nonsense attitude means she just doesn’t see the point in naming any of her pokemon.

Arcanine: What's a cop without their traditional canine companion? Her arcanine fell in love with Daisy's before they even had a clue they were made for each other and set them up in a very 101 Dalmatian style.

Serperior: Her first pokemon given to her from the local pokemon professor. They share the same unimpressed icy stare.

Mightyena: They are truly cut from the same cloth and is honestly more of her partner than her official partner.

Alolan Ninetails: Her strongest Pokémon and her fiercest protector. It loves playing mind games with people.

Umbreon (evolved during the Raynor incident. It seems especially keen on picking up on paranormal activities making it very useful to have on hand)

Mewtwo (cause if anyone has a legendary Pokémon, it's Basira. She caught it during one of the section cases she took and just didn't tell anyone)

Daisy: She is the “gotta collect them all” type of pokemon hunter. She catches any new pokemon she comes across and sends them to the local professor cause she has to fill that pokedex.

Arcanine: Second verse same as the first with this one of being a staple of being a police officer. It will look for any excuse to burn someone. The only person it likes besides Daisy is Basira and her Arcanine.

Houndoom: Her first pokemon she got as a houndour. She terrorized the neighborhood kids with it and is essential for her hunting down both new pokemon and perps.

Treevant: She caught it as a phantump after it showed up as she was looking into a cold case. At least if she never was able to file an official report, she at least knew how the case ended.

Sawsbuck: She caught it as a deerling and was the first pokemon she ever caught. What kinda hunter hasn’t caught a deer right?

Espurr: She got it after the whole coffin incident. She just kinda cam across it by chance and felt a kinship with it about having to restrain a flood of overwhelming power it holds.

Lyanroc Midnight form: It is as vicious as she is when in full Hunt mode.

Melanie: She is the one type kinda trainer and it’s, of course, ghost types. She is determined to prove the paranormal exists outside of ghost type pokemon.

Gengar: It was the Pokémon that started her fascination with ghosts and the first Pokémon she ever had.

Honedge: She found it when looking into that ghost train and couldn’t not catch it. When she’s threatening to stab someone, she uses honedge to do so.

Sableye: Found in an abandoned, haunted mine shaft.

Banette: Cause what kinda ghost hunter doesn’t have a haunted doll?

Gourgeist: She caught it as a pumpkaboo on her very first ghost hunting trip.

Spiritomb: Caught it poking around the wrong place at the wrong time she came across it and had to catch it cause if anyone would have a spiritomb, it would be her. It’s just as bloodthirsty as she is.

Sasha: Do I mean this team was made by Sasha or Not-Sasha? The answer is yes.

Mimikyu: The first pokemon she ever caught. Wait... wasn’t it supposed to be a pikachu?

Ditto: This one just speaks for itself.

Baynette: After she caught it she started reading up on the stories and pores surrounding certain Pokémon that put her on the path of working at the institute.

Gothitelle: It started crying nearly immediately after Sasha started working for the Institute but didn't buy into the wives tale about them predicting their trainer's deaths. It mysteriously disappeared after the Prentis incident.

Claydol: She found it wandering around artifact storage and felt bad for it.

Parasect: Her first pokemon. She really just found it as a paras in her parents' backyard as a kid and begged them to let her keep it. It evolved during the Prentis incident while trying to help her fend off the worms.

#I spent waaaaay to long on this #did you like my picks for pokemon teams?#think I picked wrong?#feel free to add more or correct things if you do!#pokemon AU #the magnus archives #tma #Jon sims #sasha #martin blackwood #daisy tonner #basira hussain

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sasorikigai · 4 years

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Life as an Ongoing Experiment || Immortal Verse

Aesthetics (x)

He must adapt the nature of a virus; changing, mutating through the genetic variation and capable of evolving. So, even though he necessarily doesn’t meet the definition of halcyon life, viruses seem to be in a "questionable" zone. Nothing good is truly lost, for it would always laying in dormant even when he believes if otherwise. Perhaps it was the newfound love of humanity, which had been repressed along with the warmth and passion he used to have that had drowned in the depth of his unending ambition to fulfill the needs of Ilaria Corporation in protection of his long-scattered family. Hanzo has chosen the life of a subjugated scientistt seemingly doing the work of a fallen God, not only to protect his wife Harumi Hasashi, but his daughter, Chiharu Hasashi remains estranged even when it kills his heart and suffocate his desire to watch her from afar. Even in his vulnerability, honesty and realness, Hanzo Hasashi, Arctic Biosystems’s head scientist with a brilliant, protean mind of a leader, maintains his calmness and level-headed phlegmatism within the leaden silver eyes and through enigmatic air with a sly, shrewd personality.

The Arctic’s harrowingly secluded and isolated facility offered Hanzo an open grave for him to allow to concoct such violent, deadly and zombie-like Narvik-B, as numerous children would be brought from villages in the vicinity to be experimented upon. The virus will rage in epic proportions if it does not contain within the quarantined levels, and if he doesn’t act on sneakily enough to evade the annihilitic wrath of Ilaria Corporation reigns down, there would be a cataclysmic heaving, without the prospect of tomorrow as he would forever be lost in the cradle, an arsenal of memory serving only as trinkets.

In desperation and demolished hope, he fights against worms, rats and flies that feast upon his skin, as emptied viscera of human heart fills with indistinguishable scheme to bring his daughter as one of the Centers for Disease Control (CDC) scientists, before his being could be filled with the creatures in his spine and he rots, becoming dust under the inescapable quagmire of his diabolical, atrocious wrongdoings, as he condemns himself for all the things committed in the name of science. He would often wonder if this whole journey of self-discovery would go on a full-circle, only to bring him back to the original point where his life would drag on without a miracle, as the turmoiled chaos of his world crumbling down would become unrelatable patterns, as his trials and tribulations will exacerbate and his heart would shatter and his sanity left in shamble as he would perpetually live in a time-lapsed world, where ghost imprints of the past will become the only evidence of his existence.

How he yearned to embrace death; as his blackened heart rotted in his ribcage, brain decaying within his skull, flowers blooming in his coffin, his stomach becoming a regrown garden with his lungs filled with maggots. However, as much as he would sacrifice himself for flesh and blood, all that work he has executed to keep his wife and daughter gone astray as he would wade into the lapping waters, rubies flowing from his abdomen to meet the blooming death - oh, how it hurts, as the beautiful diamonds of sunlight scatter forth his being. His body simmering with every emotion, every emptied dream of being a father to a wholesome family. The phantom of his love will reside in his heart, regardless of what he becomes now; the forgotten stranger of his wretched, blackened soul, having restored to be put in a daze and haze, with sweet smelling moments of the times spent in the cabin.

#✗ obsessive cathartic (headcanon)#✗ the ineffable testimony of spawned hellfire (scorpion)#✗ life as an ongoing experiment (immortal verse)#(I had to do it when I still had all the reeling emotions)#(I just finished watching Helix and gosh it was such a great marathon!)#(subject to be changed as I'm in 'fuck season 2' mode)

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animal-guardian · 6 years

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The host is a young 14 year old female called Mystic, who was raised in a gypsy family. Now some people believe gypsy’s are bad luck and were involved in witch craft. This makes them targets for harassment and such. Now this family actually was comprised of a lesbian couple that adopted a child from a family that was to poor to care for her anymore. They named the dark skinned child Mystic, she grew under their care not knowing about a Parasite that was growing inside her on her back. You see her birth parents had a secret about their child they didn’t share, not that it would have changed the gypsy’s minds but Mystic was born with a parasite having wormed it’s way into Mystic’s back when she was 7 months old in her mother’s womb. The mother had a parasite who injected it’s own egg into the mother’s womb which found it’s way on to the child where it will grow and develop with Mystic. This was done with the mother’s consent in order to have her baby protected when Mystic would get older. The gypsy family soon found themselves in a small town, they needed to stay and start lives for themselves, it was clear at a young age Mystic was well versed in Cryptozoology, and basic white witch magic. This made her terrifying to the other children...and the coffin shaped bump on her back wasn’t at all helping...But one child found her interesting and exciting..a very young child named Patricia. Now mind you that this Patricia was 6 years old and Mystic was 9 years old at this time but they hit it off well and Mystic even became Patricia’s babysitter. Mystic saw that Patricia was loved by her parents but they were always gone on business and the other kids found the younger child annoying from the way she wanted all the attention..most likely from not having her parents to give it to her. So Mystic was with Patricia nearly 24/7 and some times she’s have Patricia sleep over at her place to keep her safe and happy. These two became adoptive sisters with a tight bond to each other. And such they grew together but it was around when Patricia was 9 and Mystic being 11 that’s when it went haywire as a skullgirl attacked their home and were driven out of their town and home. Their families dying in the attack Mystic had her parasite some what developed but it was not strong enough yet and showed no signs of life yet. So Mystic took her adoptive sister and ran away with her from the burning town after a week or so the skullgirl was killed and that threat was gone. Sadly after 3 weeks the war started and their luck got even WORSE....both were kidnapped and enslaved by the medici. But after a year with Patricia now being 10 and Mystic being 12 They made a new friend called Marie surprisingly she was from their home town, they stayed tight together until sadly The Medici sold Mystic but she was damn well not being taken away from Patricia without a fight. Sadly she was overwhelmed and knocked unconscious...Patricia was devastated as she watched her sister being carried off and most likely never be seen again...this made the once innocent and optimistic Patricia turn colder and grow more attached to Marie. But Mystic is alive and trapped in the confines of a castle..along with her now fully developed Parasite she named Chambers...she eagerly searches for a way out to finally see Patricia again..she would hope to fully escape when she turns 14 this would be the same day Patricia is rescued by Big band and Valentine... ——— Well I always wanted to make a character know and interact with a cannon character so I did just that with Peacock and Mystic XD Peacock has little back history that’s known so she was absolutely perfect for this! Hope you guys like them! Also here’s a little more about them! ——— Mystic’s Parasite known as Chambers, acts very similar to Leviathan in terms of Being strictly loyal to Mystic, he is the more silent type, preferring to nod and or grunt to communicate. He can in fact speak full sentences! His voice is low toned to that of what some might think a grim reaper sounds like. He looks like a skeleton that has a coffin attached to his taking place of where his legs and his would be. This coffin is the base of their attacks. Summoning creatures of folklore and myths, such as, The Jersey Devil, Cat-ctus, Mothman, And even chupacabra. Some say she can even summon Cthulhu, well mostly his arm to pull people into the coffin, and then punching them out of it. Chambers and Mystic have already decided to be soulmates, so when older they would be married. They know each other more than anyone else could understand. When babies they spoke telepathically to each other learning about each other more and more this made the two quite enamored with each other and made them make their decision. ———- I’m really really excited cause I’m commissioned the great @wiirdo to do them in their skullgirls style! XD which is absolutely incredible to me! I’m really excited to see these two come to life! I will say these two make me more than happy story wise and design wise cause I put a lot of heart into them! So please don’t steal them or repost them! Mystic and Chambers owned by me!

#Mystic and Chambers #animal guardian #wiirdo #skullgirls oc #skullgirls

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asarsgyan · 3 years

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WITHOUT TITS THERES NO PARADISE: “The Love Killer” - Pelambrés View

On the cold floor of Café Salento, curled up, as if hiding the pain of its failure, lies a woman's corpse, pierced by four projectiles poisoned by oblivion: one that broke her ambition, another that erased her ignorance, one that broke her vanity and, the most certain, the one that killed her dreams.

Next to the deceased, amid exaggerated shouting and as witnesses to the chaos, there remain several tilted chairs, some 38 caliber bullet casings, half a dozen employees running from one side to the other, like ants at the end In the fall, two inexperienced researchers and an open Bible underlined with red marker in Chapter 23, Verse 43, of the Book of Saint Luke.

“Countless gossipers, including me, the murderer, let us take a look at the scene.” I came to take a photo of the deceased that Mrs. Catalina asked me as proof the day we agreed to the crime. While I prepare the camera I think that this is a sublime moment, because if someone in this dunghill called world deserved death it was she, Yésica. They called her La Diabla for a reason. She was the worst human being who gave birth to hell. That is why when Mrs. Catalina told me that she wanted to see her dead, I didn't hesitate for a second and offered to kill her. Partly because she offered me her love in return, something that I have longed for since I was the wife of my employer, and partly because, because of that demon, Don Marcial became blinded and took the inheritance from Mrs. Catalina and the employeed me. Although I die for a kiss from my mistress, I would have killed Yésica for free and even paid to acquire the privilege of disappearing her. I hate her even when she's dead and I must admit that her spilled blood doesn't hurt. At the scene of the just crime, among so many astonished faces, mine stands out, which cannot hide a wicked smirk, the kind that goes with one to the grave. I will call Dona Catalina again to tell her that her worst enemy, the one who took her husband and the good life, no longer exists.

Two minutes ago I called her and she didn't answer. Maybe you have regrets. I will tell you that you can breathe without fear, that we can start a new life far from here and, why not, if you want, you can use my being and my love to be happy.

One last look. I shoot her again: this time four photographs, but none to the face because she is still upside down. I wait patiently, listening to gossip comments, until finally a Forensic Medicine official, one of those who count holes in the shot dead, turns the corpse over. I feel it strange. In a mechanical motion, they remove the hair from her face and cleans her face. As I portray the moment in amazement.

Something bad happens. God! The sun goes out. My illusions collapse in an instant. The woman lying on the ground is not Yésica. It is not the Devil.

The dead woman is my lady Catalina, of all souls. This Can not be!

What happened?

What did I do?

Everything is confusing. I cry my misfortune.

I have murdered the woman I love.

I glance at her purple lips and moan. I watchher and I look pale and I want them. Her little hands, no longer strong, hold a mobile phone and a red ink pen with which she crossed out the verse that narrates the moment in which Jesus tells the evildoers who accompany him on Mount Calvary: Truly I tell you that today they will be with me in paradise. That verse is crossed out with an inscription that sums up what was the ill-fated life of Doña Catalina: "LIES, WITHOUT TITS THERE IS NO PARADISE." And the poor woman was not lacking in reason. When she had them, the world fell at her feet. When she lost them, the world turned their back on her. At least from her point of view, that was her painful reality.

Shattered by the disappearance of the only woman I have ever loved in silence, I try to reconstruct the facts in my weary head and do not understand the deception. She told me that Yésica was going to be sitting at that table, with that white jacket, with that pink scarf, with that Bible that is lying on the floor with its pages played in the wind, at this very hour. But she lied to me. She put herself in La Diabla's place so that my assassins would kill her. Coward, she cheated on me. She played with the goodness that was born from my love. She laughed at me. I know that this pain will accompany me to the grave because the days I have left will not be enough to mourn it enough. I loved her more than my mother.

The stream of blood that comes out of Dona Catalina's stubborn head runs under the tables, cautiously descends to the sidewalk, as if she fears something worse, and walks slowly along the edge of the street, avoiding the feet of some onlookers and the front wheels of two Police patrol cars. I don't move my feet. I let the blood brush my shoes and reach down to touch it. I bring the sample collected with the tip of my index finger to my mouth and close my eyes, savoring the only little part of Dona Catalina that I can carry inside of me.

The stream, still warm, wriggles through the dust and dodges or drags some leaves that have fallen from the trees until it is lost inside a drain grate, a block below. Inside that sewer she mixes with the shit of the rich, the shit of the poor, the piss of both, and she begins to travel the city in a kind of macabre dismissal.

And, like the yellow water of Los Toreros Muertos, it goes under the houses of the bad guys who think they are good, goes under the houses of the good guys who think they're bad, goes under the worst, those who they do not believe one thing or the other. Finally, it falls over the waters of a stream that empties into the river where, kilometers and days later, it finds its outlet at the opening of the aqueduct in the city where Catalina's mother lives.

Without any foreboding, because her intuition dried up months ago, Dona Hilda picks up some water from the kitchen tap without imagining that it might contain some tiny particle of her dead daughter's soul. Sh drinks it with her eyes closed and exclaims:

"Thank you, God, for the holy water you give us."

If Catalina’s life was a monument to waste, her burial was an apology for sadness. After enjoying the pleasures of life in the best restaurants, in the most brutal sports cars, in the most luxurious estates, in the hotels with the most stars, one Thursday, three weeks after his death, on the edge of the Four o'clock in the afternoon, inside a very poor coffin, without ironwork like the ones she used in her expensive bags, nor velvet like the curtains of her mansion, under the frozen threads of an inconsequential drizzle, her body was buried in the Ce - Central chin with my unique and distant presence.

The men of Forensic Medicine deposited her corpse in a common grave with the ease of someone who throws some leftovers in the garbage can. Without a prayer and not a flower on her grave, my lady's human remains were thrown into nothingness. I watched them from a distance with a sting that burned my throat. I had an uncontrollable urge to get into the ground with her, but bullies are cowards. We like to disconnect lives, but we fear death.

When the men finished their work I approached fearfully, took some dirt from their new and gloomy home and put it in my pocket after extracting from their entrails a couple of fat, white, disgusting worms, of those diners of human flesh that they are in charge of reminding us that we are all the same. I still have that handful of dirt. On my knees I asked my mistress for forgiveness for having killed her, for loving her so much, and I lay down on her homeland to receive the water from heaven on my face. I am not good at making claims to God, but my silence was enough to make that man understand that he was not happy with him.

There, on that land that covers her poor remains, caring for her, reproaching her for her deception, swearing my infinite love, I fell asleep, seized by frost but with more pain than cold. I didn't hear from me again until a day later, when the same men who buried Catalina threw a corpse at me. I woke up scared, but my disgusted face let them know that I was not dead, although very dead if I was inside.

One of them managed to run screaming that I had resuscitated, but he soon realized his exaggeration and was teased by his friends. When they discovered that I was the mourner of the woman buried the day before, they lamented the mistake and offered me apologies that I had no qualms about accepting. I put on the grave of my beloved a cross made with shacks of trees and flowers of other deceased and I left thinking about how my life would be without her beautiful smile.

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