a burnt ship

In celebration of Halloween, I’ve compiled a list of horror films from several different sub-genres along with links to their respective IMDB pages. Please note that the films listed below may contain scenes that some find triggering, disturbing, or upsetting; if you have any concerns over a film’s content, I highly encourage you to research it prior to watching in order to make as informed a choice as possible. 

PSYCHOLOGICAL HORROR: films that inspire fear and tension by creating an unsettling atmosphere.

FEMALE-CENTRIC FILMS: horror movies featuring women in starring roles outside of the “final girl” trope.

GRAPHIC HORROR: films containing depictions of extreme acts, like heavy violence, body horror, and gore. Not recommended for those offended or disturbed by explicit, potentially-upsetting media.

HORROR ANTHOLOGIES: also known as “portmanteau films”, these movies contain multiple short segments that are sometimes connected by a main plot.

THRILLERS: scary stories with a suspenseful plot.

MOVIE MONSTERS: horror films starring a variety of creatures, from vampires and werewolves to Lovecraft monsters and evil clowns.

HORROR CLASSICS: definitive movies from the pre-1970’s horror era.

SUPERNATURAL HORROR: all things paranormal, ghosts and ghouls.

OCCULT AND POSSESSION: movies with rituals, demons, and possessed souls.

ZOMBIES: a category encompassing everything from Romero’s undead to the living infected.

FOUND FOOTAGE: movies comprised of camera footage filmed by hapless characters.

HAVE FUN WATCHING, AND HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

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Hey I’m backkkkkk.  I haven’t drawn a comic in ages but here we are.  Haha remember this? The ol’ “undertale Sans and underfell Grillby should be a thing and also Underfell Sans can come hang out too” wellllllllllll here we are. 

this is part 1.  when it turns into sansby kissing stuff i’ll lose my nerve and stop posting it but you’ll at LEAST get a few more updates before then.  um.  i’m sorry.  in advance.  for everything that i have become.

it continues … [ part 2 ] >>

I’ve had to start learning Latin for my course and it turns out that learning an ancient language is pretty different to learning a modern one.

When I started Spanish I started off with colours and stuff.

In Latin we’ve gone straight into this

“THE TROJANS ATTACKED THE GREEK SHIPS AND BURNT THEM. HECTOR KILLED PATROCLUS WITH A SPEAR.”

I can’t tell you my name in Latin but I can explain murder very well

4

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Burnt Condiments [UF Grillby / UT Sans / UF Sans]

back @ it again with the Burnt Condiments.  This stupid ship I love it so much hahah.  Thank you for your patience with the million years between updates rip i’ll try not to do that to you again.

A Burnt Ship


Out of a fired ship, which by no way
But drowning could be rescued from the flame,
Some men leap’d forth, and ever as they came
Near the foes’ ships, did by their shot decay;
So all were lost, which in the ship were found,
They in the sea being burnt, they in the burnt ship drown’d.

—  John Donne
The search is on for the lost ships of Hernán Cortés, conqueror of Central America

The Spanish conquistador Hernán Cortés landed in Yucatan, Mexico, in 1519, eventually to conquer the Aztec empire of Central America. Now, 500 years later, Mexican researchers plan to find these lost shipwrecks and explore them to see what artefacts they might hold.

Popular accounts suggest that Cortés burnt his ships to prevent his men from attempting to flee. But Cortés himself claimed in a letter to the Spanish king Charles V that he sank, or ‘scuttled’, the fleet off the coast of Veracruz.

About a dozen ships are thought to remain at the sea bed in the Gulf of Mexico, where he left them. They have never been found or explored by archaeologists.

The Sub-Directorate of Underwater Archaeology at Mexico’s National Institute of Anthropology and History (INAH) has announced that it plans to dredge the shores where Cortés landed to recover the ships, the Mexican newspaper La Crónica de Hoy reports. Read more.

So Close I Can Taste It, I See What’s Mine And Take It- Part 7/?

Summary: You are the daughter of Robert Baratheon. During the events of S6, you are reluctantly sent to secure an alliance. It is not what you expect.

Paring: Euron Greyjoy x reader

Warning: Smut, swearing.

A/N: Part 7….slightly shorter chapter of sorts until the wedding smut which is coming soon.

You waited by the door, watching Euron’s discussions with his small council. You could imagine it wasn’t much of a council and more Euron giving commands and people obeying. Still, you found it nearly impossible not to watch him. He was so captivating, he drew you right in.

As a young girl, you’d been told after the failed rebellion, that the Ironborn were just about a step up from Wildings in their lifestyles of raiding and thieving and that the Iron Islands were full of criminals, who’d steal your gold, fuck you, slash your throat and throw your corpse in the gutter.

You’d even been told the Greyjoys had a habit of being the biggest upstarts, a house of criminals and troublemakers. Smalltime Lords with overinflated egos. Yet when you slept in Euron’s arms, you’d never felt safer or more protected.

You wondered what your father or your grandfather or even your uncles would have to say of you sharing a bed with the same Greyjoy who burnt the Lannister ships back during the first rebellion. The thought was somewhat entertaining.

Euron had confidently confirmed it was him one night after you lay together. You’d just rolled your eyes playfully at his bravado and told him you’d hoped he’d be targeting the right ones next time. He’d laughed then pushed you into the bed, kissed you until your lips were swollen and fucked you so hard you still felt it at sunrise.

You walked into the main hall timing your entrance just as Euron was dismissing his small council and he smiled as he saw you.
“My love, Come sit with me,” Euron extended his hand out from where he sat on the Salt Throne wearing his crown.
You approached, took his hand and he put you in his lap and you stroked his short brown hair.
“When will we marry,” you used your other hand to cup his cheek.
“As soon as we can, my love,” he murmured into your ear. “Within the week, I don’t want to wait,”
“Neither do I,” you ran your hand down his neck and to across the exposed skin of his chest, where his tunic ended, brushing the line between skin and material. Your hands traced a long thin scar, a map of his worldly travels.

Euron caught your thoughts as you did and narrated as you traced your fingers over his lean, muscled body.

“A scrap with one of the Second Sons,”

Your hands found another

“Some fisherman in Pentos,”

you moved to another scar. “Got that in Asshai,”

Euron continued this and you kissed each one, before working your way up to kiss his lips.

“You are the only woman I have ever wanted to marry in my whole life,” Euron rasped against your skin, he kissed your hand and looked into your eyes. “Never cared for marriage or the idea or a real wife” he paused and shrugged “Until I met the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. The best woman I’ve ever had,”

You laced your fingers through his.

“You’re mine,” he spoke, his deep voice like gravel to you.

Euron’s breath was soft against the skin of your neck, a contrast to his facial hair scratching against you, as he whispered how he’d give you all the kingdoms he could, how he’d destroy anyone who got in the way, how he’d give you a title befitting of a a woman like you, you wouldn’t be Lady Baratheon, you’d be his Queen of the Iron Islands and he’d conquer anyone for you, before he claimed your lips in a deep kiss.

It was most likely not the bedroom talk most ladies would favour but it worked for you. Your hands found the front of his black coat and you used it as leverage to pull yourself closer into him You could hear the sounds of pleasure from his throat and untangled yourself from him, standing up.

Euron raked a gaze over you, studying you carefully, as if he was calculating why you’d freed yourself from him.

Letting him watch for a moment, his head tilted, tongue sticking slightly out, you stood in front of him, before you reached up slowly and purposefully and undid the dress you were wearing, watching the look on his face turn into a smirk as it fell.

You’d deliberately just worn your dress and forgone the shift you’d usually wear under it. It had been cold most of the day but you were now warm, in a room with a roaring fire and the look on Euron’s face made the earlier cold air worth it. You pushed your hair over your shoulder and returned to his lap, straddling him in his chair and rubbing him through his clothes.

Euron moved you on his lap so you could feel his hardness and know that he wanted you right there. He kept one of his arms wrapped tight around your lower back and one of his hands tangled in your hair. He looked at you in adoration.

“What,” you asked gently, cupping his face in your hands.

Euron paused for a moment before replying

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,”

He used the hand in your hair to move your face closer to his and he placed kisses on your lips, before moving his mouth to your breasts, circling your nipples with his tongue and nibbling just slightly harder. Your pulse quickened and you could feel your wetness pool between your legs.

Leaning back slightly to give Euron a better view, you began to run your own hand over your opening, letting him watch as you rubbed gently, sliding your fingers across yourself. You continued this, using your other hand to reach into his breeches and free his already hard cock.
Adjusting yourself so his tip was pressing against your entrance, causing Euron to groan against you. Your eyes locked on him as you pushed yourself near to peak with your fingers, making sure to gasp out his name as you did.

A deep guttural sound from Euron set your core on fire. “I want to take you here on my throne, my Queen,” He pushed into you slowly, already stretching you as you lowered yourself on to him, taking him inside you.
For a moment, you both stilled, savouring the feeling of being joined together again before you rolled your hips against him in a slow sensual rhythm. Your hands gripped his shoulders tight, nails dragging against his skin, no doubt leaving him with a new set of scars.

Euron’s hands found your hips and he bounced you against his length, snapping your bodies together with ease. You writhed and moaned on him as he held you against him, arms firm, bruising your hips as he came, burying his face into your neck and biting hard as he did. Watching him finish himself on you, set the coil which had been building inside you off, sending you over.

“You’re right, my King. I am yours,” you breathlessly returned your hand to trace along his scarred chest again, before you rested your head on his shoulder, bodies still tangled . “but you are also mine. Always”

**

Three days later, Euron had asked you to marry him again as you bathed together. You’d cocked your head and told him you’d already agreed to marry him and he’d then added a ‘in the morning, marry me in the morning,’ to the end of this proposal, causing you to nod and passionately kiss him.

You hadn’t informed the news of the marriage to anyone, instead opting to marry in a smaller low key affair. Euron had ordered any ravens be sent out after the ceremony.

Never in a million years would you have planned for this when you first docked in Pyke. Then again, it was entirely likely that Tommen or Lady Olenna whispering in his ear, would not have imagined this outcome either.
You were almost certain when the time came for you to return home, you’d no doubt return with the Iron Fleet and your new husband. Euron would definitely insist you were Lady Greyjoy not Lady Baratheon. If you ever returned home. It was unlikely whilst the Faith were there and even less likely now Tommen was working with them.

So you could dress and prepare for your ceremony, you’d decided to get ready in a separate room.

“M'Lady, forgive me if I’m out of turn….I’m supposed to offer counsel.., there’s other navy ships out there, if you wish to leave,” your handmaiden spoke as she styled your hair into a half up-half down style.
“He’s dangerous…The guard who attacked you…I heard Lord Euron tied him to an anchor and threw it overboard,”

Euron had told you over your evening meal how he’d treated your attacker in detail and then swiftly moved on to comment on how nice the food was in a completely casual manner. You’d gotten used to how he’d bring up torture over dinner or make loaded sexual comments in your ear when you were in public places.

It was most unlordly and in all honesty, it contributed to why you loved him so much. He was outspoken, and so wildly different from anything you’d ever known, and if anything it made you shake your head and laugh at how bold he was.

“After what Joffrey used to do to innocent people…how he killed that whore, how he beat the Stark girl….you think how Euron treats criminals would affect me?” emphasising the words innocent and criminal, you stood up and walked to the front of your mirror as she helped you into your dress.

On the mainlands, brides would wear ivory or white. You’d instead opted for a golden yellow gown, finely spun silk skirts and lace sleeves decorated with hundreds of tiny stones, so fine they were barely there, your cloak was black and longer than tradition dictated, fastened in place with a singular clasp.
No doubt Euron would want to have you new ones made using materials he’d paid the Iron price for, rather than ones made from King’s Landing silk. Ever the proud man.

“I know he’s not like the men in the songs you like. I’m well aware of who he is and what he is and I do not care, I’m not marrying him for the Iron Fleet. Euron and I belong together,”

She painted a smile on her face and applied a matching silver clasp in your hair and stood back.

“You look lovely, m'lady , the colours suit you,”

You let yourself smile and swayed slightly so the skirts flared out. “At least our banner colours are the same,”

Usually when a man and woman married, she’d take on his banner colours and wear them as a symbol of unity and representation of her new Lord husbands house. Not that had stopped Margaery wearing Tyrell green or your mother in Lannister red

Your guard stood at the door and bowed his head slightly to you. You’d forgotten you’d asked him to call for you when the time was near.
“Come to escort you to the ceremony, M'Lady, if you’re ready,”
Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself to breathe in deeply then out before turning to the guard
“Of course.”

Magpies

One for Sorrow

He’s been on borrowed time ever since Fingon fell and so he too falls.  It’s been pain and more pain, watching his brothers die and his people fail over and over again.  There can be nothing worse than this.  So in the end he surrenders to despair and the flames, to welcome the peace of death and the end of his regrets.

He’s wrong.  The ocean of regrets from before now seem like a drop when he realizes his last brother, the one who was always there, the one he loved best of all his family has chosen not to follow him for the first time.

Two for Joy

It’s the worst physical pain he’s ever felt, and he would scream with it if he could spare the breath.  As it is, he rubs some salve over the burn, pulls his glove back on and keeps running.  The earth is shattering below his feet and he cannot afford to stay here.  Twin boys, they deserve better than this, better than being abandoned by their final parental figure.  They were never enough to make anyone stay, but they were enough to bring him back.

He’s half-mad with pain by the time they find him, but still alive.  His recovery is long, measured in decades, but it’s more than anyone else has ever given them and it’s enough.

Three for a Girl

Later they will say he fell for her beauty, but that was actually a very small part of it at all.  She’s not a girl, not a woman, not even a princess.  Rather she’s a force of nature, bound up in elven flesh and cloaked in her midnight hair, and he cannot understand how that human is so blind.  She could be the ugliest orc to walk Arda, and she would still take his breath away.  If only she would see, if only she would join them.  It would be worth everything he and his brothers had done.  If only she would redeem them.

She never does see.  And when his blade slides through the back of her son, he realizes that he never deserved to be redeemed.

Four for a Boy

He laughs when Dior stabs him.  He’s been enough battles, he knows the wound is fatal.  But the fool dies faster than he does, victim to his brother’s blade.  They may not reclaim the Silmaril this day, but neither would Dior hold it any longer..  His mother had been worthy of respect, this fool was lower than the chieftains who had betrayed them in the Battle of Unnumbered Tears.  They had gambled for the sake of better lives for their people; Thingol’s heir had held onto stolen property for no reason greater than pride.

In the Halls of Mandos, his first words are to his slayer.  “I told you so.”  And he is not alone in the chastisement.  When he finally leaves the Halls, his supporters are a legion.

Five for Silver

When he gets to their rooms he finds his son packing.  “You won’t need that.” he seethes.  “You’re not coming with us.”

“Of course I am-”

“NO YOU ARE NOT!” He tosses his sons bags back onto the bed and takes a few deep breaths.  “What you are going to do is go out there and denounce us.”  Tyelpe opens his mouth and he cuts him off before he can begin.  “I’ll write your speech for you.”

The Oath was going to kill them all, he would be damned to the Void before it kills his son too.

In the Halls Orodeth asks if having his son reject him was worth what he and his brother had done.  “Was Nargothrond worth Turin?  My son still lives!”  Orodeth is silent.

Six for Gold

It’s irony that ultimately leads to his death.  He’s fighting his way up the tower, trying to reach his brother’s side when he sees it.  A flash of gold falling down, in the hands of a black-haired, white-gowned woman.  The distraction is enough, causing him to miss h;s parry and receive his opponent’s sword to the throat.

It was a really stupid way to die.” he tells his twin ruefully.  “I grew up playing with Father’s Silmarilli, and one flash out the window, and I forget what I’m doing.”

“There are worse ways.”

Seven for a Secret Never to be Told

He doesn’t think he can do this.  All through out the trip they’d been battling Ossë, but every time he closes his eyes he can still see the blood, hear the screams.  He doesn’t smell the salt in the air, he smells death.  There’s no rest to be had, not even when they reach the far shore.  Everyone else is falling over exhausted on the sand, but if he stops moving he’ll start screaming and he doesn’t think he’ll stop.  As the hours pass and his father and older brother argue, he makes a decision.  While everyone else is distracted he sneaks back onto the smallest of the ships.  He doesn’t care what everyone else does, he is going back.

I’m sorry.  If I had known I would never have burnt the ships.  If I could have burnt in your place, I would have.”  These are Fëanaro’s first words when he comes to the Hall.  Not even to address Mandos, or his father or ask for his mother.

He stops walking away and considers, then turns around.  “You did burn.”  It’s not forgiveness, not yet, but he would put as much effort into rebuilding the relationship with his father as his father did.

Eight for a Wish

He grew up on wishes.  First, he wished to be as good a smith as his father and grandfather were.  Then he wished that the Valar from Manwë to Melkor had never interfered with his family’s lives.  He wished his father had allowed him to stay with him.  He wished they weren’t all dead (he actually got that one, when his cousins revealed they’d been hiding his uncle during Maglor’s long convalescence).  He moved beyond wishing and started acting to make his wishes real.  He wished to learn new techniques from other elves, other races.  He wished to make a kingdom where all people would mix freely.  But most of all, he wished he had gone with his first instinct and stabbed ‘Annatar’ in the gut when he first saw him.

He’s the first in his family after Miriel to stay in the Gardens of Lorien.  It doesn’t help.  He doesn’t want to be told it wasn’t his fault; he wants to do something to repent.  But the only thing allowed in the Gardens is passive contemplation.

Nine for a Kiss

He’s not sure what they first expected him to do when he reached the Halls, but apologizing to his son for burning him to death was apparently no it.  Nor did he seek out either of his parents.  (He was later disappointed to find his mother had already left the Halls.)  He also failed to live up to their expectations by not screaming at Mandos.  He did ask for explanation for the Doom.  And was surprised to receive it.  “I did not cause these disasters.  I only speak of what I see, and I did not see that until you defied  Manwë.” the god clarified.  They spoke often as time went on.  They did not always agree, but these conversations opened up new perspectives for both of them.  The Halls of Mandos became a more compassionate place, and he in turn started to understand how people could have such differing points of view, but not be enemies.  It was enough that by the time his brother (half, but hardly his fault), he was able to give a sincere apology.  It took longer for Nolofinwë to accept it, but by the time the younger had left the Halls, they were good friends.

One change he made to the Halls was suggesting that some of the souls would benefit from a less ethereal experience.  While some found the cessation of pain and trauma to be relieving and allowed them to think clearly, an equal number were too disoriented and disconnected to interact with other souls or with the Maia.  He himself found himself longing for the sensation of touch.  Of all the sensations he missed the one he longed for the most was his wife’s kiss.

 Ten for a Time of Joyous Bliss

It’s not that she didn’t want to go with them.  But she and her husband had discussed this before.  When (not if) they went, one of them would have to stay behind to take care of the duties and interests they had in Aman.  It hadn’t been certain it would be her, but then Melkor came, and she knew that there was no possibility that he would be the one to stay.  So she was the one who returned to hold Formenos.

And hold it she did.  Through the displeasure of some of the Valar, through the attacks of the Teleri, the scorn of the Vanyar, and the claims of other Noldor she held it.

(She has a soft spot for Arafinwë.  He was one of the first to claim Formenos, but he was the only one to go away after a single conversation.  And supported her rule there from then on.)

They all had gone.  But she had faith.

And her faith was rewarded.  First not-so-little Tyelpe, unable to heal in the Gardens of Healing, with a desperation for activity that she could understand.  Then Kano, reluctantly dragged back to Aman by his adopted son.  He never expected forgiveness, which helped make it easier to give it.  Then Caranthir was released and he came with an army.  Then her other sons.  And finally, her husband.

She did, however, give him the beating of his second life before telling him she forgave him.

Seventeen flotsam tales

1. This is a bottle, of what I could not tell you.

2. This is a twig from the tree not far behind you, though processed though the sea’s salt-sand alembic. It has something of a bone about it now.

3. This is a chip from the bow of a dead ship.

4. This is a claw, shed from something old and stirring in the ocean’s messy blankets, in the tangled-up warm depths where sailors sleep.

5. This is a fragment. A gaudy, sun-bleached fragment, from a toy long-lost and buried in a castle on the tideline. And its swimming days are over, when it frolicked with the fishes never heeding all the searching and the calling on the shore: come at last to almost dust, as forever plastic must.

6. This is a cuttlefish’s pockmarked shell.

7. This is a strand from a net that came unravelled, in its smoothness quite recalling all the creatures that slipped free. There were things that looked like mermaids but they weren’t.

8. A sliver from a smokestack of a ship that burnt at sea.

9. This is a widget from the bridge of a tanker last seen listing round the cape. It has traced a mazy path of ocean currents to this place.

10. This is a feather. Look further, there’s another. A trail of scrappy feathers curving through the lapping tide. At the end there is a bird that is building and discarding of itself a fishy finshape for the sea.

11. This is a coin worn smooth and faceless.

12. This was a letter from a lover lost at sea, telling softly of forevers to the elvers in the rivers and the plovers on the flats of the distant longed-for shore: but its letter days are over, gone to pulp and shattered bottle, washed of meaning, ‘til the only thing remaining is a silver seaglass stone, rolling lonely and alone.

13. This is a fragment from a crate, but the crate was always empty.

14. This is a knot. The things it tied are not, and will never be again, but the knot itself remains.

15. These are the pebbles that were thrown at a battle at the dawning of the world, and the pebbles now are older, gone to sand and salt and shingle, but they still retain a shadow of that morning’s golden light.

16. This is a shell from a fish that lived its whole life on the shell of a bigger fish, which did not venture far.

17. This is a cinder lately fallen from a star.