shrills

always-comment-on-the-mutton asked:

KATH, I WANT CAPTAIN CROSSBOW with "You embarrassed me this evening." Please! :o) (And congratulations!!! Many happy returns!!!)

It is embarrassing how far down my inbox I had to go to find this ask - always-comment-on-the-mutton  I am sorry it has taken so long! (And I know there are still more of you waiting as well) I think it is only fitting that the little story I planned to write for you, my favourite hungry sheep, spiraled completely out of control and became an 1000 word + number. I took a tiny bit of poetic license and changed ‘this’ to ‘last’ because dusty, hungover Granny was a funnier prospect…

The morning after the night before

It was one of the more difficult mornings she could remember. As the shrill of her alarm pierced the early morning silence, her eyes rebelled against the idea of opening at all. She may have been a respectable business owner in this community for more years than she cared to recall, her diner open as reliably as clockwork, but today the temptation to turn over in her bed and sleep off the after effects of last night’s celebration was almost stronger.

That damned clock was lucky her crossbow wasn’t to hand.

Forcing her eyes open, she tried to remember the details of last night’s celebration. All the residents of Storybrooke had wanted to be there to welcome the Saviour home – the Dark One’s Curse thwarted and the darkness contained far away. The details were definitely hazy – the wide smile of the Captain, the echo of Leroy’s foghorn voice off the diner walls, young Henry by his mother’s side. And someone knocking.

She wished she didn’t remember the knocking. And it just wouldn’t stop…

She sat bolt upright as the figure burst into her room. That explained the knocking, she thought, as her granddaughter eyed her up and down. Ruby’s eyes flashed and a decided smirk played across her lips.

“Feeling well this morning, are we?”

She barely recognised the sound that came out of her own mouth in response.

Ruby snorted. “That good? Excellent. Remember all the details? Because quite frankly, you embarrassed me last evening.” The pause was definitely for effect – just to let the enormity of that statement sink in.

“Yep – it was that good. While you get dressed and ready to help me sort out the disaster downstairs you think about it.” Ruby flounced out of the room, all legs and attitude, as ever.

What on earth had she done?

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

The first flash of memory came as she walked gingerly down the stairs to the diner.

“Captain!” she had called out. “Come have a drink with me!” Firmly ensconced with his now confirmed True Love, the pirate had smiled indulgently and planted a kiss on Emma’s cheek before joining her at the bar.

“Only the best for the hero of the hour,” she had announced, pouring generous tumblers of her best rum.  

“Hardly, milady,” he had replied. “It was, without doubt, a team effort.” She passed him a glass and held hers out, waiting for the clink. He obliged quickly and took an appreciative sip.

She threw back the glass, draining every drop in one long swallow.

She had a very clear memory of a highly arched eyebrow.

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They told us that a fire was born 
out of rubbing sticks or stones
or when a lightning kisses 
a lonely soul on the street
but I’ve seen a fire before
that wasn’t born out of those–
it was when the night sky chose to hide
all the stars and when the moon
chose to search for her half–her light was naked

Nothing was left but us

inside the darkest cave of our phantasm–
bones were rubbing, flesh ate flesh
cold sweat turned into strings of the harp
that sang of the impingement of the mountain upon the ocean–
the shrills of the grave from down below
beheaded the sullen cry 
of the one who was used to dying.

There were no sticks or stones
or lightning kissing a lonely soul–
there was only you and me
and yet there was fire. 

– Burning Bodies (EL) 

comfort fic

“No. No … I mean it.  Let go of my nose.”

Joan watched Sherlock and the 18 month old boy playing on the floor. A large white poster board and crayons lay ignored. Ignacio was more interested in Sherlock’s face.

“Ow! I mean it Iggy!”

“Why did you agree to take care of him?” Joan gave up trying to read and watched the child prodding at Sherlock’s cheeks with sticky saliva dripping hands.

“Ugh …” Sherlock grabbed at the child and peeled him away. “I didn’t agree. Mrs. Gonzales rang the doorbell, threw the child at me and said she’d be back within the hour.”

A shrill cry erupted from Ig. His small chubby hands flailed out in front of him and reached for Sherlock who kept him at arms length. “Watson, you’re a woman … Couldn’t you?” He motioned with the child hoping she’d take the bait.

Joan rolled her eyes, “No.”  She opened her book again. “I’m scared of children.”

Sherlock smirked. He brought the child back to him much to Ignacio’s delight. The child took put a small arm around Sherlock’s neck, his head on Sherlock’s shoulder and babbled.  Sherlock patted his back.  "Seriously, Watson, you were a doctor, and you can’t handle a child?“

“Nope,” was her only response. She watched them out of the corner of her eye. Iggy picked his head up, pulled his slobbery little index finger out of his mouth and poked at Sherlock’s eye, “oh-jo, ojo …” The boy was trying out his words.

Sherlock wiped away the trail of spit the boy left on his face. “Very good Ignacio!” He looked intently at the boy, “Ojo, indeed! And esto, que es esto?” He pointed to his mouth.

Iggy poked his little finger at Sherlock’s lips, “Booca!” He said with a smile.

Sherlock gave the boy one of his rare smiles, “Muy bien!”  Ignacio threw both arms around Sherlock’s neck and settled in.  Sherlock gently rubbed circles on the child’s back and found himself slowly rocking with the boy.

Joan watched. Sherlock had a way with children. She would have never guessed. But then he did seem to have an affinity towards all small creatures that needed care, whether they be turtles, roosters, bees or even babies.

Just a regular day (Older AU)

“Now remember, your essay on various insect life-cycles will be due next Wednesday!” Haga explained over the shrill bell that told the class the day was over.
The students chatted amongst themselves as they hurried out of the classroom door. Haga stayed at his teacher’s desk, alphabetizing his notes and things in a folder.

I Will Disappoint You.

Eventually I’ll say something that you’ll totally disagree with. I will disappoint you. I’ll come off shrill, inconsiderate, ignorant, and misinformed. Your favorite writer or pastor or celebrity will miss an angle or fumble a point or miss the whole thing. You’ll think, “How could I have ever liked this guy?” And we completely dismiss and demonize this person based off one sentence, one phrasing, one particular choice of word. I’ve done it, too. Farewell, forever.

Maybe it’s for a legitimate reason, and they really did go too far. I just wish we could give a little chance for conversation over coffee. It’s possible this person misspoke, because they’re just a person, and they don’t always get it right. It could be that they need the patience of dialogue to re-examine what they said, instead of the hasty hate-train that offers no fair exchange. I want your help. I want to know when I’m wrong – but it’s hard to hear what’s right when everyone is yelling. I want the freedom to make mistakes so that I’m not afraid to learn from you. I don’t want to be afraid that you’ll freak out when I don’t phrase things exactly as you’d like. We can tell when you’re ego-boosting your platform and winning internet-points with the choir. I’m not sure if you would listen to that sort of yelling, either.

I know there are some non-negotiables that we must agree on, like common dignity and humanity, but none of us will ever agree on everything. And that’s okay. I think we can have the nuance to disagree over a few things, but not judge an entire person based off a few degrees of difference. We can disagree and still be friends. It’s in our disagreements that we can become better together, and not worse.

– J.S.

vine

Welcome to chemistry

[-loud FWOMP caused by the flame-
Person: (offscreen) (screams shrill and loudly)]

Season 10- Dean and Cas’ Tie

Early Season 10: Dean casually and affectionately flips play!cas’ tie so that it is backwards and more accurate

End Season 10: Dean grips cas’ tie as he holds an angel blade above his heart, knuckles coated in cas’ blood, hand shaking and poised to kill

Cyhyraeth

The Cyhyraeth, also known as the Hag of the Mist, or the Gwrach-y-Rhibyn, is a ghostly spirit (comparable to the Irish Banshee) in Welsh folklore.

She is portrayed as un ugly woman, whose scream is regarded as an omen of death or misfortune

A harpy-like appearance: unkempt hair and wizened, withered arms with leathery wings, long black teeth and pale corpse-like features.

If someone is doomed to die, [their name] will be heard in her “shrill terror”. It will sound three times (growing weaker and fainter each time) as a threefold warning. Although often regarded invisible, she can sometimes be seen at crossroads or streams when a mist arises. 

Most often the Gwrach y Rhibyn will wail and shriek “Fy ngŵr, fy ngŵr!” (My husband! My husband!) or “Fy mhlentyn, fy mhlentyn bach!” (My child! My little child!), though sometimes she will assume a male’s voice and cry “Fy ngwraig! Fy ngwraig!” (My wife! My wife!).

Legends associated with the Cyhyraeth are near the river Tywi in eastern Dyfed, as well as the coast of Glamorganshire. Along the Glamorganshire coast, the Cyhyraeth is said to be heard before a shipwreck, accompanied by a corpse-light (an atmospheric ghost light). 

ART DUMP TIME.
Rei and Zen from Persona Q because I love them.
I’m so stuck in the Clock Tower, oh geez. I’m so close to beating this game!!!! But then I have to back in and replay it for the P3 side of the story.
ANYWAY Zen is supposed to be catching Rei but why isn’t his arm under her legs I didn’t think this pose through geez.

Ever hit moment when you’ve had a few too many drinks and have listened to your neighbor’s shrieking dog all day and it has reached past midnight and it is still shrieking and you just think the hell with it and open the door and yell at the top of your lungs ‘SHUT THE HELL UP.’  Not in the hopes that yelling will make the dog stop because anyone who really knows dogs knows yelling won’t make a dog be quiet, but in hopes that it will wake your shithole inconsiderate neighbors up so that they do something about their nuisance “summer outdoor dog.”  And then a few minutes later you see their porch light come on followed by precious, glorious silence.  It was worth becoming a momentary “the hell with it all” maniac.