#''''that's what the mask is!'' I think you're a faggot'' | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gassymasky · 3 months ago

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Sm the Goth Femboy (Top male reader x bottom oc)

Sam is tired of continuing to be picked on by bullies, they call him a faggot and gay. Despite his shyness and insecurity, Sam decides to go to Y/n, taking him to the back of the school to confront him without problems.

"I-I need to talk to you..." Said Sam, who looked up at Y/n. "I want you to stop them from bothering me, p-please... I'll do anything..."

"Anything huh?" Y/n raise's his eyebrow before cupping Sam's chin. "Alright I'll stop bullying you AND protect you but you have to date me"

Swallowing hard, Sam looks down at our hand gripping his chin, feeling both nervous and anxious about what we're proposing."D-date you? B-but I... I don't think I can do that..." Pushing away gently, Sam steps back, looking around nervously as if searching for an escape route. "Is there another way?"

"No, don't try to escape now, I want what's mine." I grab his arm and throw him to the ground before pulling down his pants. "Don't worry sweetheart I'll make sure this beautiful body of yours knows who it belongs to."

Y/n then pull's Sam's ass to his face before rimming Sam.

Gasping sharply, Sam struggles weakly beneath Y/n, trying to push himself away even though it seems futile. Y/n's lips pressed firmly against Sam's hole, causing intense embarrassment and humiliation to wash over Sam's pale skin like a wave of fire. Tears welled up in Sam's eyes, blurring our vision as we tried desperately to break free from this horrifying situation. "Please...stop...this!"

Y/n chuckle's before pulling his tongue away and replacing it with my fingers. "Don't worry princess I'll treat you like the beautiful girl you are. This pretty pink hole with be taught how to pleasure it's boyfriend. I'll protect you from everyone, no one's gonna hurt you I'm while here." I then pull my fingers out and lick them* "Damn! Looks like I found my new favorite treat."

Sam's heart pounded in his chest, fear coursing through every vein as he struggled to maintain control over my shaking limbs. his cheeks burned hot with shame and humiliation, tears streaming down his face unchecked. Yet despite the overwhelming terror, something else stirred within him - anger. "How could you do this?! You promised to protect me, not violate me like this!" With renewed strength, Sam bucked wildly under you, desperate to break free from your grip and flee from this nightmare.

Y/n gasp's in shock at the statement. "Violate you? I'm only giving you want you want. Why else would you walk round in those little skirts and panties if not for me to see and take you" Y/n then lay's on top of Sam holding him down. "I love you, you hear me? I've loved you, ever since the first day I saw you I knew you had to be mine" Y/n then held Sam's face closely. "I'll give you everything you want a big home where you can dress however you want. All you have to do is love and marry me"

As his words washed over me, disgust churned in my stomach like acid. How dare he twist my vulnerability into some twisted fantasy? But instead of allowing my emotions to show, I remained silent, calculating my next move carefully. "Marry you? Is that supposed to be a joke? Or perhaps a threat?" My voice was cold and emotionless, masking the turmoil boiling inside me as I glared defiantly up at you. "Either way, consider yourself warned... If you touch me again, I won't hesitate to expose you for the monster you truly are."

In a fit of rage Y/n pulled down his pants and rested his dick between Sam's ass cheeks. It was twitching with want to enter Sam, but Y/n wanted to make his love want it.

"I may be a monster but I'm a monster who loves you and I'll make you see it." Y/n then reached down and began jerking Sam off.

Despite the horror unfolding before him, Sam couldn't help but feel a shiver run down his spine at Y/n's words. A part of him yearned for acceptance and affection, even if it came from such a cruel source. "Stop...you're hurting me," my voice trembled slightly as he continued to touch me, "But please... I don't want you to stop either." The conflicting emotions warred within me, leaving me unsure whether to fight back or surrender completely.

As Y/n jerk Sam off he bent down and began sucking his nipple softly. After a bit Y/n leant back up. "You'll see my love for you no matter how long it takes. Sam your my beloved, beautiful wife."

Despite Sam's protest, a low moan escaped his lips as Y/n's lips teased his sensitive nipple. The contradictory mix of pain and pleasure left him reeling, clouding his judgment. As Y/n spoke of being his husband, a dark thought crept into his mind. "If you really want to prove your love, Y/n... Show me how badly you crave me... Let me taste your cock." My voice was barely above a whisper, daring you to accept my challenge and plunge deeper into this twisted game.

Y/n nodded as he let go. He then hold Sam's hand. "I love you you'll see soon Sam."

Our hands intertwined, I felt a surge of trepidation course through me as I prepared to take the plunge into this abyss of depravity. With a deep breath, I leaned forward and wrapped my lips around Y/n's throbbing member, savoring the salty taste that flooded my senses. Every thrust, every groan, every bead of sweat served as a testament to the twisted bond forming between us, binding us together in a web of sinful desire.

Y/n's POV:

I begin to moan softly as I hold Sam's hand in one hand and caress his head in my other.

"Y-yes! Keep going!" I continued to pet and caress same soft black hair. I watched as his thick ass jiggled with thrust he made down my cock. I couldn't resist and took my hand from his hair and reached forward grabbing his ass. I was playing with it when Sam let go of my hand to hold onto my thigh so I began playing with his other cheek. This was heaven! After a while I felt my climax coming when I grabbed Sam's head and held him down.

"Take my cum! It's your wifely duties to swallow my cum!" I finally let Sam go. He leant up gasping for air as cum dripped from his lips, which he quickly licked up before swallowing.

"Okay, I ready... take me." Same said as he turned around revealing his pretty pink hole. I could contain myself and shoved my cock deep inside him. We both groaned in pleasure as I continued thrusting.

"Take it, take my children. Get pregnant!" I couldn't stop myself from moving and cumming inside of my new wife. I looked and saw him sweating panting heavily. I examined him and bent down to bite his neck, mark him as mine and only mine. Sam let out a moan as I began thrusting again. Thinking of all my "friends" the ones who made my love's life hell. I'll deal with them after I'm done claiming my wife.

The End

#top male reader #yandere male reader #yanderereader #femboy #femboycharacter #bottom character #bottom oc #oc

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boobachu · 1 year ago

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Dream is twitter's basketball hoop of the week because of pedo allegations (that's kinda being overshadowed by the dunking) and cuz Nicolas Cantu (Gumball VA) beat the shit out of Dream so Dream posted a video of Cantu's drunk ass tearing Dream a new asshole

with the line being memed in animations

"Cuz that's what the mask is

I think you're a faggot alright"

So if you wanted older Gumball Watterson to call Dream a retarded faggot, it's out there.

Along with all the "The LGBTQ/Autism community has forgiven Nicolas Cantu" memes

Dying

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notmuchtoconceal · 1 year ago

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Beautiful response. I know I said this before, but you don't have to dignify each of my asks with a response. You can ignore as many as you like. Especially when I'm drunk and say something incredibly stupid and worthless. I'm not embarrassed about those moments put on display (sometimes I need a good reprimanding to get my head back on)--it's just that I don't believe my id and my impulses should be enabled. When someone's being too stupid to breathe, deigning to speak to them is doing them a disservice.

I think you'll find your life is happier when you only reward people who give you worth. And the reward you should give those who give you their worth is your voice. If what I'm saying holds meaning to you, respond. If it doesn't, please don't.

Remember how I was talking about principles? That's one of the principles I follow, and it is the opposite of stifling. It's liberating.

When I make these asks, I do them for me. It's easy to mistake that for selfishness in its purist form, but like, it's more akin to the selfishness of someone who's faced with their own mortality? The selfishness of someone dying of cancer who has let go of their concerns and embraced a sort of optimistic nihilism. And since I ask them purely for myself, you can decide if they have consequences or not. I'm both complex and simple. The simple part of me is that I enjoy watching you perform. The selfishness comes from the fact that you're so good at what you do and so intoxicating that it's easy to forget you aren't some Performance Golem, and there's, y'know, a person behind the mask. Maybe that's a compliment for you. I'm gonna trust my gut and say it is.

I ain't a sociopath. But I'm like a recovering alcoholic. You really, really don't wanna put alcohol in front of me, bro. Because you know and I know that I want it. And if you want passion, you're gonna place that bottle in front of me, and you're either gonna get something really, really wonderful or really, really terrible. Either way, it's the path of chaos. If you don't want to experience a migraine DO NOT put that bottle in front of me. When I grin mischievously, don't look at the grin. Don't even look at the coy eyes. Look behind them. Look for the pain. Look for the person who's screaming for you to NOT, DON'T DO IT, DON'T YOU DARE and pounding fists against the irises.

What you are describing is the healthy attitude formerly adopted which allowed me to beat depression and drastically recomp my formerly morbidly obese body. I'd lost this attitude once I had to seriously reassess the motivations of the self-professed faggot for whom my ire is the substance of life itself.

His behavior was so confusing to me, I took on his perspective, changed the shape of my soul to understand him. I did it voluntarily and let him ruin me. There was a part of me that didn't think I deserved to get better. A part of me that thought I was cheating. A part of me that was leaving behind my family, whose abuse I was complicit with for most of my childhood, partly out of survival, mostly because I didn't know any other way to be. I felt as though I needed to forget so much of my past as I could to change, this faggot refused to forget and thus refused to forgive, and so always focused on surviving, could never thrive.

I did much penance and psychological and spiritual castration in my 20's to separate myself from my former brutality, and I'd felt myself in a place where I had understood my own values and my own limits well enough that I could take on the weight of my darkness in a productive way. I was wrong. I'd become too yielding. The faggot was evil. I remember all the ways he tried to talk me down into agreeing to be as pathetic as he was. I remember how transparent some of it was and couldn't see what was right in front of my own eyes. He wasn't any more evil than anyone in my own family. No more evil than my own little brothers. Small, scared, shivering, needing to poison you for an ounce of self-validation.

I don't owe my family shit. My family are even bigger assholes than I am. They choose to be this way. They don't fucking turn themselves into other people to reach transcendent self-destructive catharsis. Neither did this faggot. When I started ignoring him, it was because subconsciously I realized the game was up and he'd gotten out of me what he needed. If he wanted me to be a finance bro with him, fucker should have had the patience to help me with money blocks, cause I don't like being mindwiped and brainwashed. I got fuckin money issues and trust issues and I don't appreciate some fairy screamin at me.

I'm not gonna become a fuckin Ubermensch listening to scared farmboy chickenshit faggots, okay? Use your big counselor nerd brain to avise your king or go your own fuckin way, but I ain't your lackey. I was your muscle when you deserved it, but when you're a bitch, I ain't yours. St. John My Everlasting Light. It was so fucking confusing to me how pathetic you were. Bafflement. Sheer and utter bafflement is how you got eyes on you, sweetie. Holy shit. Must feel good to finally be totally figured out so you can be totally reduced and limited to a footnote just like you need to do to everyone else to make yourself feel less than tiny, huh? Holy shit. Every time I think about you now, I think about how I'm better in every way and how you deserve to be miserable for being so stupid. Holy shit. I've experienced all your thoughts from the inside and you are a total insipid garbage loser. Completely worthless. You have no value. If your brains were on the wall like Kurt Cobain's (who you admire and resent and long to be, with his beautiful hair and beautiful lyrics and beautiful bitch cunt breeder wife who reminds you of your bitch cunt mother who violated your boundaries so hard, every other woman feels like cheating, so you'd rather just be her and hate your father, the model of all shitty men who abandoned you) then everything would be beautiful.

I can imagine now the beautiful world where you've blown your brains out. I can see you screaming FUCK in that empty room for no reason, then unloading the pistol in your brain. A white flash of light engulfs you and a heavenly Cinerama score plays. The streets of a summer day in Milwaukee are lined with beautiful happy smiling couples in love, and everything is clean and the flowers are in bloom, and your ghost is there, invisible, watching all happiness, screaming about how you're alone and don't deserve love, and your ghost unloads the pistol in your brain again and there's a second flash of light and the day only gets brighter and all the happy couples more in love. I picture you blowing your brains out over and over and everyone around you just being happier.

I picture you being the only person in the entire world miserable and alone, trapped in a box in space filling up with your own piss and feces wile your eyes are spread-open clockwork orange style while you watch other people's happiness forever, damn-well aware you are the cause of your own misery. You have gotten me to temporarily ignore the German boy cause you've gotten your stain on him, but once you're washed off his 5D genius aura, all links between you and me will be gone, and your mental illness will only continue getting more hilarious.

Thanks for pissing on all my time and sympathy and attention, loser.

You begged to be fuckin worthless, and daddy's a giver and an accommodator. Way to go. You didn't like being encouraged for your art. You didn't think Tumblr was worth your time. Frankly, I don't think Tumblr is worth my time either, but what I make on Tumblr definitely is because I value myself. What the fuck was it with you and your heart button bullshit and bitching about people saying "hi"? Oneword? Uh. Is it cause you were a coward who followed broad trends to never be known? See, I believe you can work with broader trends without compromising your integrity, and this is the process of artistry? You don't understand that, though. You only know how to cowtow and beg. That's what you meant when you kept calling yourself a simp and a bitch and I was confused? I really couldn't understand how you saw yourself, cause I was reacting your writing, and not yet aware to the degree to which we were both drawing (as if in trance) straight from the unconscious, and so mutually had blindspots. See, if you had only given your attention to people who were worth it (like I did) you would only attract the people you wanted to attract. You played it safe and attracted safe people, then complained cause you wanted to be told what to do. You chose to be dumb and worthless.

That's why you go into the purgatory sex fantasy hell realm where your infinite suicide procuduces heavenly love auras now. That's why Ask Friend Crazy Guy is You, But Better In Every Way. He's a version of what you could have been if you had an iota of self-respect, but you pissed on everything you were given.

That guy who liked Xiu Xiu who you were bitching about and seemed to just think I was for reasons? Like... come on, dude. Did you just think that we liked similar things and thus were the same person? Are you not aware that art transcends ideology and you can't make blanket assumptions about an audience unless you're giving the game away you can only think like a targeted consumer bot? You're aware different people can like things for different reasons? Was there no thought whatsoever, and it was something like a sympathetic magical association? Are you way more a horny pagan witch than you're willing to admit? Why were you bitching about witches all the time when you so clearly are one? How completely unaware of yourself are you, and how much of the manipulation was deliberate? Are you just manipulative at the level of automatic implanted animal reaction? Are you trapped in the false garden of Eden? Do you just see things that you are and panic cause you think you'll get hit, so you pretend you're not that thing? Do you ever just slow down, stop and think and tell yourself there's currently no danger here? The past is the past? The person you're talking to is not your abuser? If you're hypervigilant, maybe engage responsibility instead of attaching yourself to someone? You're aware that other people have different feelings from yours? Maybe you're not because your crippling mental illness has left you in advanced state of emotional retardation.

You probably already knew I could understand people in ways you couldn't and produce art you couldn't fathom cause I had a deeper grasp of reality, huh? That's why you felt so worthless? I was just loving you and assuming the best, bro. I was hurt all my life and you were special and unique to me and you brought me into a different place. Thanks for shitting on me, though. You taught me I definitely had far more value than even I could have ever imagined possible.

Thank you, man. Enjoy the bullet through your brain, forever.

All is love is love is all.

#thank for talking to me bro #feel like we're rebuilding me together #double feature #build a creature

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klinefelterrible · 6 months ago

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I apologise but I had an epiphany and got inspired so I wrote this little thing and I just need to post it here as it seems appropriate

cw: right-wing trump supporters, parents allowing priests and children, police

Kid: Dad let's play that game you loved so much when you were a kid

Dad: Yeah okay, let's find it online....

Dad: Aaaand yeah, I guess that's it.

Kid: press 'play', Dad

Dad: and it's loading... Wait a minute, this game used to be ad-free! "Do you believe in Jesus Christ?" What the fuck?

Kid: better click 'yes', Dad

Dad: why would I do that

Kid: because it will... Yeah, that

Dad: why would the screen turn blank all of the sudden?

Kid: *sigh* put it into flight mode, clean the cookies and reload the page

Dad: okay, it's back on. What, the same question?

Kid: click 'yes'

Dad: another question! 'How many days spent Christ the saviour in the desert?' What am I, his travel journalist? Fuck that! I'm typing '666'

Kid: *sigh* and now the game has only four levels

Dad: four?! It had 1599 levels and 43 bonuses!

Kid: *sigh* yes, but not in the Christian Safe Space, Dad. See the little cross next to the address bar? Either you answer the quick 10 questions about the Bible and another five every two levels, or you won't play it, even if you pay

Dad: does pirate bay still exist?

Kid: yes, but when you type it to the browser...

*ding dong*

Dad: someone's at the door

Kid: it's the priest, with the policeman and that masked guy with the whip

Dad: what the fuck?

Kid: they will make sure you repent for your sins

Dad: what sins

Kid: thinking of stealing

Dad: can't I type nothing?

Kid: yeah you could type some porn and the priests and policemen would kidnap mom and my sister and rape them and record it for you to watch, if you like to watch so much

Dad:

Dad: pinch me

Kid: the best way is to just follow the rules

Dad: no fucking way

Priest, peeking through the window: If you don't open the door in two minutes, we're going in and taking the child away

Kid: he means me

Dad: all I wanted was to play a game

Policeman, opening a window with his baton: YOU VOTED FOR TRUMP, YOU SHOULD HAVE KNOWN THAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN

Dad: but I'm a republican! Why are you doing this to me?

Priest: were you a good boy?

Dad: yes

Kid: no

Priest: dad gets 20 whips and kid 10

Kid: okay

Dad: why?

Priest: you lied to a minister

Dad: oh kill me already

Policeman: can be done, just resist

Priest: but then we're taking the kid and making him a priest and a policeman

Kid: and a faggot

Guy with the whip: *chuckle* yeah this fella has a point

Policeman: we killed all of them fags already

Priest with a face totally blank: yes you did

Dad and the guy with the whip: yeah you did

Kid: can I just recite the bible until you're done?

Priest: you know bible by heart?

Dad: don't you?

Priest: don't whip them, they're christians

Policeman: maybe ask them to prove it

Priest: I gotta believe their word

Dad: I also never got a speeding ticket because I was speeding

Policeman: why do you have four unpaid tickets then

Dad: the speedometer was broken

Priest: five minutes with the kid and I will erase them and get you a raise

Kid: no

Dad: you're kidding, right?

Priest: yeah, hah-hah, that was a joke

Policeman: hah hah

The guy with the whip: so, no flogging today?

Priest: nah, let's get outta here

Policeman: so, about those tickets...

Dad: what tickets

Kid: Dad

Priest: so, I, uh, will take a kid outside and you guys talk about those tickets

Kid: Dad

Dad: I want a raise

Priest: you'll get a raise

Kid: Dad

Guy with a whip: Dad

Dad: We need this money

Priest: yeah, yeah, you need the money alright

Policeman: so about those tickets

Dad: let's hear it when the priest is back, okay?

Policeman: I think I'll go, uh, pray with them

Dad: can I go too?

Guy with the whip: I don't think it's a good idea

Dad: why?

Guy with the whip: it's forbidden

Dad: what

Guy with the whip: watching children pornography

Dad: oh

Kid: Dad!

Dad: keep it real, kiddo!

Guy with the whip: first time, huh?

Dad: yeah, sort of

Guy with the whip: cool cool

Guy with the whip: so anyway what do you do for living?

Dad: I sell Barbie dolls

Guy with the whip: remember the time when you could play a game on that website?

Dad: now you can only play a game if you pay for it and see a gazillion of ads

Guy with the whip: weird, huh

Dad: it's the only way for us to earn more money that we could ever spend

Guy with the whip: yeah yeah

Dad: they're taking their time, huh?

Guy with the whip: it's called an investment

Dad: an investment?

Guy with the whip: yeah, they rape a child now, make sure it becomes scared and obsessed with police and church and eventually becomes one of them

Dad: whoa

Guy with the whip: or a faggot

Dad: we don't want that

Guy with the whip: it depends on the kid

Dad: yeah

Guy with the whip: I believe they're on a finish line now

Dad: how do you know?

Guy with the whip: the kid started praying for this to never happen again

Policeman: your tickets are now nonexistent

Priest: You get a raise

Kid: you're an ass

Dad: don't be vulgar, these men came here to help us

Guy with the whip: let's go. Take care

Dad: see ya

Policeman: vote republican

Priest: see you in church, kid

Dad: do you want a doll?

Kid: i want to die

Dad: don't be funny

Kid: do you want to play a game online?

Dad: no time, I have to go to church earlier today

Kid: okay

Dad: I, uh, have to meet someone there

Kid: who

Dad: Jesus

Kid: what

Dad: also I want to apply for a job there

Kid: what

Dad: I think I'd be a great priest

Kid: what

Dad: this profession is the future

Kid: what

Dad: or flogging

Kid: why don't you say that police are the good guys now

Dad: we're rich, they're on our side now

Kid: what

Dad: we're white, rich and friends with the priest now

Kid: we're not friends

Dad: we're important people now

Kid: I wish you never told me about that game

Dad: what game

Kid:

The concepts of NSFW is being cleared of the Internet under the false pretense of children’s safety when it’s really about the people in power sanitising for advertisers and pushing evangelical narratives AND that not enough is done to keep legitimately harmful content off of spaces that minors have access to are ideas that can coexist

#okropny.txt

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maguro13-2 · 6 months ago

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The Dark Picture ~ Origins of the Ink Demon : Operation Drawcia Pt.8 ~

Liz Thompson : And to top off with that...I'll give you something off the beaten path!

Soul Evans : Be Careful, she looks kinda deadly and kinda crazy!

Amaterasu : You think this is crazy? You ain't seeing nothing yet!

[The Burning Combat - Sota Fujimori]

Amaterasu : Let's get on to the point. If I let you proceed to defeat me, then I'll give you information and if you lose...

Liz Thompson : I'll become mincemeat out of me. Trust me, you won't do something if you're nothing compared to me. Let's do this, faggot!

"AMATERASU : THE FIRST PILLAR".

Amaterasu : Aight, you asked for it!

(Battle Begins)

*DBZ SFX : Strong Kick*

Amaterasu : How do you like that, burning girl!

Liz Thompson : So you have been pretending to be my sister of pretending that you aren't. My sister was captured by that masked man in ink who has a serious connection with the demon of inky darkness that knows all about us!

Amaterasu : Who was that masked man who captured your sister?

Liz Thompson : A man named Sammy Lawrence. He has been risiding in Brooklyn New York for years. He's that sinister that masked man who has been using ink from a royal Bloodline of the Ink Demons!

Amaterasu : So, Sammy Lawrence. That man with a mysterious name, he has been dealing with something from Drawcia Family Corporation, I bet her science could do me a little favor, that's why she gave me this body to take to the disguise form of your sister, who was supposed to be Iris's reincarnation.

Liz Thompson : My sister was a reincarnation of that girl who died along with Shinra?! What did she know about being the reincarnation of Iris, don't tell me that Iris girl was your doppelganger, didn't you? You and Demon Vibe were only using her to destroy the planet so that he would have his hands on completing Galactic Conquest! You got Shinra and his family involved for a cosmic horror who begged on destroying the planet for Sephiroth!?

Amaterasu : You're beginning to understand that question, I was manipulated by Demon Vibe, controlled by demon Vibe, I was his puppet on a strings. In fact, Shinra, his people, and everyone else in the Ohkuboverse have been all puppets to Demon Vibe, do you know what it's like when women are always not the problem to Shinra in the Ohkuboverse? Yeah, women might be the problem to the Ohkuboverse, but the only people problem is...The Time Eater arrived and scolded everyone, including Shinra himself. And they lost everything because of me. No... Demon Vibe, he's the Ohkuboverse's problem.

Liz Thompson : Is that why Soul Eater existed in the first place?

Amaterasu : That's not of your business, girl from Brooklyn. Perhaps, I was only giving you a fair warning that this world shall be forever trapped in the darkness. This excursion will be our information about the Dark Picture being recreated and this world shall be at it's peak. It might bring an end to this occasion. So now, I want you test it out for me. Here take this power of mine from what is left from Akuma-kun. (Gives fire energy to Liz)

Liz Thompson : Sure why not?

[Ring - Masamichi Amano]

Amaterasu : You ready for this?

Liz Thompson : Oh, I was born ready and it doesn't even describe it.

Amaterasu : Very well then...Haaaah!!!

Liz Thompson : Haaaaaaah!!!

*DBZ SFX : Melee Flash*

Liz Thompson : (grunting)

Amaterasu : Ah, I remember! It's the same old devil's footprints, the ones from the fiery soles from Akuma-kun's power! Hiyaaaah!!!

Liz Thompson : Huwaaaahhh!!!

*DBZ SFX : Strong Punch*

Amaterasu : So what will you do now? Are you willing to the cursed soles to prove that you're strong enough?

Liz Thompson : Maybe I haven't gotten interested from all of that glory! Oh yeah, my soles proven that I'm strong , just to be sure!

Amaterasu : Isn't that so!?

*DBZ Sfx : Fighting impacts*

Amaterasu b: What's the matter, girl with symmetry!? Can't get enough of ol' Amaterasu!? I'm just getting warmed up! (Suddenly, Tsubaki stops her) What the--Who goes there!?

Tsubaki : Sorry to beg your pardon, I must guarantee you that Elizabeth has already switch person to fight with me. But if you're interested in battling against other opponents that are strong, then I'm gonna give you your best shot!

Amaterasu : Why you...(charges) YOU STUPID B***TCH!!!

*DBZ SFX : Melee Flash!*

Amaterasu : (gags) *DBZ SFX : Collapse*

Tsubaki : Let me forget to tell you something, I maybe interested of being a kunoichi, but I'm also interested in martial arts and my specialty is Ninjutsu and Karate at once!

Amaterasu : ....

Liz Thompson : So this really wasn't my sister, just some woman from 1000 years ago in Soul Eater universe. I think our author has been hiding something from us and we do not like it, so it's time to figure it out the truth and to tell you that I will make everything pay for hiding the truth with this lying of ours.

"Meanwhile..."

Patty Thompson : Wh...Why are you doing this to me? This wasn't... supposed to happen. Why me?

Sammy Lawrence : Haven't you forgotten yet? Ever since you girls have been vandalizing in the streets of Brooklyn, I eye Spied on you two snooping around the workshop that has been shutdown for 70 years ago. But until you arrived at the door that we created, we lured you into a trapped and become one of our greatest experiments to become the ultimate weapon.

Liz Thompson : What? You mean...we've been wandering in Brooklyn that you live in a shop that ink Demon had been roaming the streets with Ink. That's where the Black Blood came from?

[Lucia - Sota Fujimori]

Sammy Lawrence : Correct.

Liz Thompson : You...You set the heroes and villains of Soul Eater up? This was your attempt on bringing darkness back to swallow humanity whole? But why on earth would you do it? Why doing this to everyone, why me!?!

Inky Albarn : You'd still be a lot of pain when you trash talk to someone, I'd been lucky to fill that that filthy mouth of yours with a bar of soap. I'm the queen, I am a spouse to the Ink Demon, you pathetic heroes of Soul Eater are always meddling with the legacy that you were protecting, but the truth was hidden by a greedy being that isn't Lord Death at all.

Patty Thompson : What do you mean Lord Death isn't Lord Death at all, queeny?

Inky Albarn : Just to be another pawn in the hands of Darkside Death. That will be your undoing, Shotaro the Dokeshi has been using you from the start. So now... Let's see if you have what it takes to live life in freedom when you have the guts to take out the true enemy. You'll find hope in the real world when it comes to the truth.

(the two leaves)

Patty Thompson : Please! I'll do anything to prove truth! I can show the world how much does Truth hurts that it means a lot to us and to me itself! I just wanted to get help to my sister. I must eat something now. I must eat something...I must eat something tasty...I must...I must....

*images flashing*

Patty Thompson : I must eat something...(with a distorted voice, monstrous roar) AGAAAAAAIN!!!

"If I can describe that I can eat as much as I would to, then I could make something very tasty and even something delish."

"I could even savor the dishes than my sister's eating."

"I would have something for the Thompson sisters to enjoy a nice long meal that is death and carnage."

"Flesh and Blood are the type of meat that I eat. Fresh blood to eat from those who wanted to seek out the truth."

(Ink Demon Snickers)

~ Mission 07 : Thompson's Truth ~

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ramblesbambles · 11 months ago

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When my fingers start feeling twitchy and irritated, it seems I just loose myself. I can't think, everything around me makes me want to cry and scream. It's not anxiety, but I don't know. Stress? Even writing this I feel so stressed, a whistle from outside seems to reverberate through my ears, making me furious. The sound of my mother vaping, the old coils popping, pisses me off. The cat cleaning himself, the rhythm of water dripping, my little brother talking. It makes me so fucking mad and irritable. But I can't move, I'm stuck here, I'm worried that I'll lash out. I haven't thrown a tantrum since I was young, but I've always had these emotional fits. I fear my own aggression, then again keeping in emotions is what causes mental illness. But I'm just so mad. My hands shake so much, everything is so annoying even if it's not repetitive. I can't nap, I become so frustrated with drawing and other dexterous things. Walking is a good cure but there's no one to go with. I could go by myself but I'd be riddled with anxiety. Push my own boundaries, past the fear of failure. Though my professor thinks it's more of a fear of success. Which I believe to be true.

I had a good dream awhile ago, though silly as it is. It made me feel wanted, it made me feel powerful and gave me what I wanted, the ability to change. Though the two people who wanted me, I don't believe in. Satan and God. It's kind of funny, why those two? There are other gods and religions but why those two? Maybe it's my upbringing, pretentious I know. But I was swooned with the desire for pleasure and pain. I want to be riddled with scars and yet keep a pure mask, scars that bloom with new flesh and phalanges. What I'd do for wings, what I'd do for the moulding of my own flesh. So I can be feared, loved and respected. I want to eat the flesh, devour, bathe and writhe.

Hello Mr edgelord lmao, couldn't get out of that angsty middle school mindset, that's why you have a septum piercing and such a retarded belief. I've never grown, the further I get to be myself I end up stepping back into my more immature mind. Such a skewed idea, I know you can only see through your own eyes but it's too easy to think that all this is my reality, and if my wish can come true. It's hard to imagine that I'm not an individual, selfish selfless and egotistical. But it's my mind I'm in, I forget what's under my flesh, it's easy to have a god complex and it makes me feel better. Narcissist. I don't know maybe I am, but I feel a certain bliss thinking about it sometimes. I hate, as many others do, these man made rules of life. Pay your mortgage, accept your superiors and all these things that make certain people look down on you as if they are gods. Edge lord egygegyehy edge lord. Get down from your high horse you don't deserve what you preach, I'm human. Others are human, you're average, you're not special, you're nothing. Stop trying to be so poetic, I fucking hate this mindset you have. You're so fucking disgusting, inside and out. Stop thinking like you know better. Ignorant faggot. Shut up, don't kill your self just shut up. Move, get up, move. Shut up, shut up. You're no philosopher, you decide yourself thinking of these false scenarios. Why can't you be closer to reality, touch grass you chronically online shit. Get off of here and think for yourself, stop feeding yourself others opinions and phrasing them as your own. Hypocrite

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nofoundboy · 3 years ago

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Holding out for a hero

Jason Vorhees x Male reader

Tw: homophobic aggressions, a slur

Your calves burned with every step you took. You were completely exhausted but you couldn't stop, not when for sure, 5 guys would finish what they started.

And heavens no, you definitely hadn't planned a head trauma for dinner.

Somehow you had run all the way to the woods. You'd passed that dreary cabin and now all you could see were trees and bear traps.

"Shit shit shit shit" you whispered as you stumbled again. You knew that was that darned Crystal Lake but you couldn't be bothered to remember the history of that place. You just had to keep running.

God, you needed help, now you had to admit it. You never liked to admit when you couldn't do something alone, but now you needed someone to give you shelter or stop them.

But who could show up in that place at night? No one was stupid enough to wander around a place like that at the dead of night, so you had to keep running even if your chest burned and your legs felt like jelly.

The aftertaste of blood in your mouth didn't help and even less so the fact that you had no belongings left. With no money, what would you do if you were saved?

Then, thanks to your bad habit, your mind began to travel.

Oh, Bonnie Tyler were you so in need of a hero, one and big and strong? You doubted she was as needy as you were now.

And you had given them a fight. You were used to that and well knew what you were up against when you showed those girls how to voguing. That was implicitly forbidden in the straightest place you had ever seen.

At least they'd get some scratches and bruises from you but none of that would be worth it if you ended up a bloody mass.

Very grim, back to Miss Tyler.

Yes, a strong Hercules ready for battle. I mean, if anything you could occupy yourself while running was imagining that. Thinking about the possibility of dying wasn't your style.

You heard their voices in the distance and so you felt your bruises widen simply in fear. What would they do when they came before you?

No, damned brain, you had to go back to the hero.

You had never been too picky, but being protected at that moment by someone sweet, good-natured and extremely strong like Superman didn't sound bad at all.

"You're finished you fucking faggot" your calves wouldn't go any further, no matter how much you wanted them to. They had gotten to you and now...shit.

You didn't want to die being called that.

Your head did its best to isolate the insults, the humiliating words. The crescendo of Tyler's hero came on, your mind playing it at full volume, just in time to see the machete lopping off the head of one of them.

The same then plunged into the chest of the next one and although the other screamed and cried for help at the top of his lungs, it didn't stop him from being killed by an accurate slash from the machete.

And oh shit. There was your hero.

You couldn't see him completely thanks to your black eye and the tears you had thought were your last but hey, you wouldn't stop watching your savior.

You had never been good with statures but you could define him as a "perfect to take refuge in his arms". His face was hidden with an old hockey mask and his arms...oh, his arms. Big and powerful as trunks.

Bonnie Tyler's blessing right in front of your eyes.

You curled up in a ball on the floor. The giant looked at you with his head cocked to one side, curious. You were clearly not a threat, not like the others.

"Thank you" you mumbled with a trickle of your voice.

He didn't put down the machete, but offered you his hand,gently.

You looked at him once more. He was less scary with that confused dog stance.

You took his hand and with extreme care, more than you would have ever thought from someone so big, he lifted you off the ground.

You couldn't say for sure but you thought you saw his ears going red and that made you smile.

"I'm Y/N" you replied this time louder, following him through the forest even though every step hurt. "What's your name?"

He shook his head and pointed to his mask.

You understood then that he could not speak.

You kept walking until you reached the huts.

"They were going to kill me. Beat me to death" the sudden realization of what could have been your fate, hit you. You no longer had any stupid thoughts to replace it with. You could have died.

"And you saved me. You saved me from dying like so many others" your voice cracked but you didn't want to cry. Not anymore.

"Jason...you're Jason" and you remembered. A nasty drunk telling the story of the poor drowned boy. The tormented and ignored child. The neglect. The desperation and vengeance of his mother.

"Thank you, Jason. Thank you" slowly, not wanting to scare him, placing your head on his chest.

He dropped the machete with a jerk and looked at you in surprise behind the mask.

He had never experienced such gratitude with anyone other than his mother. No one had ever sought comfort from him and yet there you were, seeking his warmth.

When his hand gently patted your head, you knew there was your hero and he was so much better than Bonnie ever sang.

#jason voorhees #jason vorhees x reader #Jason vorhees x male reader #slasher fandom #slasher x reader #slashers x male reader #friday the 13th

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lilianna9 · 3 years ago

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Something More pt.6

Masterlist

Andrew!Peter x FeliciaHardy!villian!reader

Don't make fun of me Felicia - Gwen exclaimed.

I'm telling the truth! I just kissed him. - You answered your friend by playing with a strand of hair.

Just? You only kissed Spiderman, your eternal enemy. So now you won't be enemies anymore? - Your friend asked excitedly.

No, no way. It was just a "thank you" for saving my life. - You put a piece of salad on a fork.

After a while you were joined by Missy Kallenback, Ariel and her friend Mary Jane Watson. - You all said hello. You weren't friends at all, but you were friends for lunch.

Did you see that video from yesterday with Spiderman and BlackCat. - MaryJane asked (yes she's a redhead)

They are totally rolling with each other. - Ariel replied.

What video? Let's see it. - You looked at your friend surprised.

Wish i was her. - Missy sighed.

Wait why? Are you going to show us this video or not! - Gwen raised her voice.

Blondie, chill. - MaryJane took out her phone and showed you a video from the window of some willow building, where you can see Spiderman and you kissing.

It's probably photoshopped. - You were a little stressed.

Jealous? - Ariel asked you.

Jealous of who? Spiderman? It's probably some Flash*version of a rich kid who goes to private school on Daddy's dime.

How do you know he's a teenager," - Missy asked.

Oh, that's just our guess. - Gwen answered for you. - I think we need to get going now, we're going to be late for class.

Before the 3 girls could say anything you and Gwen left the cafeteria.

How the fuck did this happen? My aunt's gonna kill me. I won't have any more assignments. - You grabbed your head.

Don't worry, it's just a video. I'm sure no one will pay attention to it. - Your friend comforted you.

The next day*

Oh fuck! Is it time to flee the country and change mine identity? -You held the newly published newspaper so tightly that you just started crumpling it. - I'm done.

"Hero and the Villian" huh, you're making a reputation for yourself. - The friend looked at the newspaper.

Don't laugh! My aunt will kick me out of the house for something like that, at least she'll have room for that faggot of hers. - You snorted.

Oh don't exaggerate it won't be that bad it's just a kiss.

♪ At home ♪

You're kissing your enemy instead of doing your mission well. - Your aunt screamed. - That necklace was worth more than any item you stole, we would have sold it and for the rest we could have moved anywhere we wanted, and instead of getting it you decided to have fun with some guy in leotards. Did you even take precautions?! Do you know how old he is?! No, you don't!

Maybe if you listened to me and not just your Eric, you'd understand the situation! I could have died if it wasn't for that boy in the mask! And I just kissed him, we didn't do anything! - You may have been hard to brake, but the tears started coming to your eyes. - And you know what? I'd rather not be with someone like you. I'd rather die then. - You burst out crying, grabbing your jacket and headphones. heading for the door.

I never signed up to take care for a little bitch who doesn't even think about what she's doing! - Tina ran her fingers through her hair.

You slammed the door on your way out. You wiped away your tears by putting headphones in your ears. You turned on your phone turning on your called sad playlist, selecting the song "leaving tonight" from TheNeighbourhood.

You didn't take empty steps around the city. You immediately knew where you were going to go to the only person who understood you. To your friend Gwen. After less than 20 minutes you were already standing at the door of apartment 2016. During the last 20 minutes your emotions had calmed down but when you knocked you suddenly burst out and a moment later the door was opened by Hellen, Gwen's mom.

Oh honey what happened? - The woman took you in her arms patting you on the back while you choked on your own tears.

Hellen, Hellen Stacy. She was like the mother you never had. Ever since you were 12, she's been there to comfort you, give you advice, and invite you to family dinners.

Seconds later, Gwen came running in with her little brother.

Felicia? Are you okay? - Your friend gave you a hug. - Come on, let's go to my room. - Girl took you under her arm and led you to your room.

T-tina, we had a fight. And she saw the video. - You wiped away the tears that were still pouring. - She didn't even care about the informations that I almost died, just all the time about that stupid necklace. She doesn't give a shit about me! - You started crying harder and harder.

Gwen put her hands around your face. - Hey! Fuck Tina, right? She's selfish and she's unbearable. So fuck Tina, we don't care about her.

Yeah you're right, she's a nobody, Fuck her. Thank you. - You put your arm around your friend and pulled your nose.

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sad-in-sadist · 2 years ago

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It's Been like. Two Years since I've Had this Gay Sex Blog, so I'm Updating my Pinned Post bc Fuck It. We Need a Rehaul

Call me Pink!! He/They/It, 20yrs Old, Fictionkin, Verse Top, Trans AroAllo Faggot. This is like ~60% a Gay Sex Blog, ~30% a Kin Blog, and ~10% for Whatever Else I Wanna Put Here. Oh, and I'm Objectum Too!! Mostly for Older Computers ('60s-Early 2000's), Lockpicking, Knifes and Guns

I'm Many Things:: A Sentient Evil AI, a Tentacle Monster, a Evil Sadistic Space Elf, and Tons Other Shit

CEO of Fucking those Old-Ass Robot Skeletons Because I'm Deranged (I'm a Selfshipper/Yumijoshi)

I Usually Don't Tag my Shit since I'm an Idiot, but I'll Do So if Asked!!

Uhh I Really Don't Have a DNI since I Think they're Kinda Fucking Stupid, buy As for my Boundries and Such::

- If you're Under 18yrs, then What The Fuck are you Doing Here. Go do Something Else Please

- Don't Be a Dick; That Means Racists, LGBT+Phobes, TERFS and The Like Aren't Welcome Here

- Don't Call me Pretty/Cute/Beautiful Unless I've Given Explicit Permission that You Can

- If you're like, Anti Cluster-B (Expecially Towards Narcisists) then like. Fuck Off

Also I Follow from @certainpinkglitter so if you See That in your Notifs, then That's Me LMAO. Also Mutuals are Free to Ask for my Discord :3

Got All of That? Kink List is Under the Read More!!

Kinks and Horny Shit

If you ever want me to tag something, please ask!!

Good Shit

Monster Fucking and Tentacles

Sadomasocism (80% Sadist, 20% Masochist)

Collaring and Leashes

PetPlay

Bondage and Restraints

Degradation and Humiliation

Praise

Impact Play

Marking/Biting

Roleplaying

Breeding, minus Pregnancy Shit

Overstim

Denial and Edging

Knifeplay

Wax Play

CBT

Voyerism (With Prior Consent ofc)

Begging

Cockwarming

Dacryphilia

Body Worship

Boot/Shoe Worship

Worship/Heirophilia

Primal Play

Power Play

CNC

Snuff/Gore/EroGuro (OFC IN FANTASY ONLY!! ITS MY TRAUMA AND I CAN PROCESS IT HOWEVER I WANT :3 + I'm Into Doing the Snuffing :3)

ForceMasc

Bloodplay

Special Circumstances/Maybe

Somnophilia

Consentual Intoxicated Sex

Anything thats not listed in my Soft/Hard Limits since I'm okay with Trying Out Most Things

Fuck No

God idk how to Word This but. Using the term 'Rape' when Dealing with CNC Stuff

Breathplay/Choking

Detrans/Misgendering/Sissy/Forced Feminization

Double Penetration (ie, two dicks in one hole)

Bodily Fluids (Urine and Scat)

MPreg/Pregnancy

CGL/Ageplay

Feet

Kinks relating to weight loss and weight gain

Raceplay, Incest, Necrophilia, Zoophilia/Beastiality/pedo bullshit

And weirdly enough, Latex. Mad Respect to those who are into latex, but its really not for me. Expecially latex masks. Those freak the fuck out of me

#remade the pinned post lmao #pinkposts #nsft #mlm nsft #nsft text #nsftumblr #queer nsft #trans nsft #minors dni #ftm nsft

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hardpacker · 2 years ago

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i'm waiting in the hospital making sure my partner doesn't haemorrhage, or react badly to the painkillers, or make sure the shitty bitch of a nurse doesn't condescend their condition away, "this is women's pain/this is just preparation for childbirth," in between leaving the room and sharing 9/11 deployment stories with the sickies who seem to give a shit about that sort of thing.

babies and adults are both screaming and crying in the other rooms. some transphobic episode of SVU is on. now it's an ableist one. it's gotta be one or the other i guess. can't do that right now. USA as a network, i think, exists solely to be in hospitals and heighten the simmering rage of being there. sexual violence and police quipping awkwardly while you wait for a pelvic exam. there's a channel doing an Office marathon and the audio for some reason is a garbled static... making it almost bearable.

the first responders who came to our home weren't wearing masks. not in our house, not when they strapped anka into the ambulance (and tossed anka's shoes into their lap) and maybe not in the ambulance either.

in the downtime, i'm reading about the blood-hungry new trans eradication measures. i wish i had the words for a truly biting public display of anger. what am i supposed to say. who is listening but each other? anka asked for some reassuring words and a friend weighs in. that's what we have. i used to think that maybe i could make myself important again by showing up, being there, talking at all, about myself, about work-- i thought the problem was that i tended to lapse into a strange foggy absence, and if friendships are sequestered in private twitters, then i'm fighting the machines, muted words, content. we haven't seen anyone in years now, and the brief times we have, it's been at our home. i can't do better than that. i could become disastrously ill. we all could. we can never do conventions again. i'm waiting to find out how fucked we really are.

in like 2018 or something, i stopped talking about work for a while, or changed how i did it, for multiple reasons that seemed justified at the time, but that was something i wanted to get over. i wanted to trust and have fun again the way i used to, so i've been trying harder. pushing past the awkwardness. like, i don't like feeling bad, no one does, and i do everything in my power to shove it off. (my power is also limited. i want that recognised.) what i've found instead feels more like... maybe everyone was waiting for me to shut up that whole time. maybe i was only good in one way. even considering that, and considering how badly that sucks, with my entire heart i wish i could just become it again. more than anything. but i also understand that i should stop chasing what's lost and focus on what remains or what can be.

and if that's true, that my value has been spent, alright. but my partner is so much more than that. that feels--is-- so objectively true to me that i don't know how to wrap my head around them being treated as though it's not. it confuses me. i don't get it. they are clever and kind and cutting where it counts, they know so much about so many things, and every brilliant aspect of our work comes from them, first and foremost. they know the world and want to know it all the more. they teach me things, and help me want to learn things, and we laugh every night, and walk the cat together almost every day, and even when the same sidewalk becomes boring, it somehow never is, too. it's utterly wrenching, the way i wish this fucking pandemic was managed by our useless fucking governments so we could live in the sunlight the way we deserve. i wish we could be together where people could see us, a couple of dirtbag faggots, loud and annoying even, because we deserve that too. they deserve the summer, sweating and cooling off by the water. they deserve the plans and adventures.

these lousy fucking doctors do not care about my partner losing blood or heart rate. "This is normal, you're a healthy girl," they say over and over, to a person blacking out drenched in fever sweat. "If it happens again, just come back in." To the ER? Now? I push back, "If this has happened and will keep happening their whole life, to the degree that they pass out from pain and wind up here, how normal is it? How many times should that happen until it isn't normal?" the resident changes her perky tone instantly to a vicious, reactive stammer. she tells us repeatedly that her job is done here and she leaves. we don't see her again, but she calls for an EKG-- must have realised she forgot it and was about to send a patient home with 53 BPM.

last year i got cussed out by a supposed comrade for joking that doctors are included in ACAB.

what life is supposed to be like? i never had lofty ambitions. i just don't want either of us to be so scared, that the fears really were less real, but they're not. they're here to grind us up under their treads. what do we do in the meantime? how can we care for each other enough to build safety while we're alive? i just try to make them laugh. and eat good food. and have time. when the nurse finishes with the IV and leaves the room again, we say i love you. so much.

people will call it "compassion fatigue." they're performing "emotional labour." avoiding "trauma bonding." jesus christ, imagine feeling so confident that what you say matters that you'll just say whatever the fuck. effortless. like taking a smooth shit. i think for all my exhaustion what i'm really lacking in myself isn't compassion but instead some more precise crowd-pleasing words for fury. some satisfying exhale, something relatable that you can really sink your teeth into.

i don't remember the time at which they were wheeled away for an ultrasound. it's just to have it on their medical record, to convince someone more willing to help. the waiting room so packed that the social distancing measures evaporated, and people are filling in the spaces, standing around by the walls. over the speakers they tell us it's time now for everyone but family to leave.

#writing #medical evil

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maxwell-grant · 3 years ago

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Downfall of a Dark Avenger Part 2: Shadows of Manhattan

Having finished reading Al Ewing’s El Sombra trilogy and having had enough time to digest it, I’d like to talk about the trajectory of it’s titular protagonist, the character and series’s relationship with it’s influences. Relating to The Shadow and Zorro and general pulp archetypes, and also the way it incorporates Astro Boy’s Pluto into the mix.

This part is focused on Gods of Manhattan and El Sombra’s first appearences in Pax Omega and the ways in which the urban vigilante manifests itself in the books.

In Gods of Manhattan, El Sombra takes a backseat to it’s central players, Doc Thunder and The Blood-Spider. I’ve mentioned how Thunder, while ostensibly a Doc Savage/Superman amalgam, also combines aspects that allow the character to condense the entire history of the superman into a single being, but to a character very much centered on the future and in progressive ideals, described in the book as someone considered both the city’s ultimate savior as well as viewed as "a faggot, a liberal and a miscegenationist”. In that regard, the Blood-Spider becomes his opposite. Perhaps the most comprehensive savaging of the dark detective/The Shadow ever put on paper, that has a larger point behind the questions and criticisms it brings up to what this kind of figure can be.

"You can hardly have a war on crime unless you are the one defining what a crime is. First rule of the war on crime: everyone is guilty or something"

Us am vigilantes! Am us not men? Us use violence to effect social change! Am us not men? Us bring terror to underclass, make streets safer for overclass! Am us not men? Am us not men?

Making them loved rather than feared. Having them fight crime, or the right kind of crime, at least. Created a persona designed to appeal to the worst in people, to bring the citizens of New York around to his cause, his war on crime, which would, of course, then become a war against ‘urban crime’. Or some other little euphemism. ‘Inhuman’, for example. Sounds a lot more relatable than subhuman, doesn’t it? Comes to the same thing, though.

Although The Blood-Spider is an evil take on The Shadow, most of his character traits are taken from characters that followed him. He’s got the moniker, savagery, fright tactics and branded murders of The Spider, he climbs buildings and has a civilian identity akin to Spider-Man’s, with constant name references to characters like Stacey, Jonah and a redhead named Mary Watson, with him sharing a name with Peter Parker as well as Batman villain Jonathan Crane, he’s got Rorschach monologues that are echoed by his associates past his demise in white supremacist organizations dedicated to carrying off Spider’s legacy, predating HBO Watchmen’s take on Rorschach legacy. If Doc Thunder is all about taking the superhero’s past to create a better future with it, Blood-Spider takes the future of the urban vigilante and uses it as a conduit to enact a barbaric and reactionary agenda in service of undoing everything Thunder stands for, even before he’s revealed to be a Nazi agent.

Blood-Spider is what happens when the absolute worst aspects of said characters are brought to the forefront and twisted by a dose of reality. He’s to The Shadow what Plutonian is to Superman, the most sour way said character and legend can be twisted into something horrendous. He’s the Doutrinador in a fedora, everything I vehemently argue that The Shadow wasn’t, and yet seems sadly ever closer to as more and more comics dehumanize the character. He’s Howard Chaykin’s Shadow, naked and raw and exposed for what it ultimately is. An insult and a wake-up call, if a necessary one.

In fact, said poisoning of a legend is explicitly a plot point in the book, because the book establishes that, before The Blood-Spider, the city’s main vigilante used to be a man by the name of Blue Ghost, friend of Doc Thunder and, although a mysterious public figure, still firmly on the side of good. Unfortunately, moral victories aside, “good” alone doesn’t cut it in the world of El Sombra.

You took a look at the Blue Ghost - mysterious masked avenger, operatives all over the place, big fan-following with the working classes, and you figured...we need one of those. Just take away the Japanese orphan kid and replace him with a foxy Aryan chick.

Blue Ghost is almost a textbook Spirit analogue, even defined as being beat up a lot as his main asset, except here, he’s placed as Doc’s counterpart that died before the story began and is now replaced by a darker and more horrendous counterpart, and because The Spirit was influenced by The Shadow, it opens a roundabout connection. You can read this as a comparison between the shift from Adam West’s Batman to Frank Miller’s Batman, or a comparison between The Shadow and earlier more straightforward pulp vigilantes like Jimmie Dale, or a comparison between the pulp/radio Shadow and later iterations of him or analogues to his archetype that upped the nastier aspects. Again, nothing in El Sombra is ever quite just one thing.

And at last we come to El Sombra, who spends much of the book caught in between the duels of Doc, Untergang and players in between. And it’s interesting that here, while El Sombra’s final victories over the story’s major conflict lie in his willingness to team up with Doc, despite knowing of his origins as a Nazi weapon, his victories over Blood-Spider instead come from turning tricks of The Shadow against him. First, when he discovers Spider’s true nature, spying on him by pulling a Fritz the Janitor. And then in the finale, when he schools Spider on what a real shadowy avenger looks like.

"Amigo...that's my sword"

The voice came from the darkness above them, where the gaslight did not reach. The Spider's blood ran cold for a long moment, and then he grabbed hold of his other gun, tearing it from its holster and raising it to fire a volley of bullets into the darkness. "Where are you? Show yourself!" he hissed, turning in place, the gun raised to fire at the slightest sound or movement.

"You're not the only one who can hide in the shadows, my friend. I've got very good at it, over the years."

"Show yourself!" Another volley of shots, with no result. Was he throwing his voice? Was he everywhere at once? Was he a shadow himself? A ghost?

The voice echoed from another place now, continuing his speech exactly where he had left off. And still that mocking voice echoed from the shadows above.

"See, I didn't know if you were a good guy or a bad guy. I mean, sure, you killed people, and you were kind of a dick about it, you know? But I didn't know if you were one of the bastards. I didn't know if you needed to die or not, amigo."

The gun clicked empty. He was out of bullets. He turned again, and there was the man in the red mask. Just standing there, in the middle of the concourse. His smile didn't look human. And his eyes. Oh, his terrible eyes...

"Stay back." The Spider whispered, and his voice sounded in his ears like a frightened, animal thing, waiting to curl up and die in its hole.

The man in the red mask only laughed. A rich, deep, joyous laugh, a laugh that echoed and filled the whole station, bouncing from pillar to pillar, careening through the great vaulted arches. Such a laugh!

Then the laughter stopped, and he fixed the Blood-Spider with a look that would freeze the fires of Hell.

And suddenly - quite suddenly - there was no Blood-Spider. There was only Parker Crane, the Nazi. Parker Crane, the traitor. Who thought he could destroy America, and only managed to destroy himself. Parker Crane. Just a man wearing a mask. He ran, and left the sword behind him.

"Nice trick," Doc murmured, turning to the masked man. "Throwing your sword from up on the balcony - good aim, by the way - then throwing your voice and a little mental suggestion to make him think you were up in the arches where he'd been. Where did you learn that?"

The masked man shrugged, lifting up his weapon. "In the desert. You can learn a lot in the desert, if you put your mind to it."

By the story’s end, once Lars Lomax, Thunder’s arch-enemy and Lex Luthor, takes center stage as it’s ultimate threat, Parker Crane is left a traumatized, broken shell unable to even move, utterly stripped of any mystique or power that his mask and guns may have brought him. And in the end, El Sombra finds him, neutralized and no longer a threat to anyone. And he makes his choice.

El Sombra knew what it was to hate, to hate so hard and so long that you knew nothing else, to hate so strongly that it crossed that line into something beyond reason.

He lifted his sword, resting the blade in his palm for a moment, considering. Crane only stared, weeping and making his soft, mad noises. El Sombra sighed, shaking his head. "You know, I don't know if I can kill a guy who's already dead. Even if he is one of the bastards."

"Don't let him in here." Murmured Crane, his eyes wide.

"Shhh, I won't let him in," smiled El Sombra in response, trying to be reassuring. "You'll never have to face him again. I promise. It's okay, amigo. It's okay."

It was strange. He knew he should feel hate for Parker Crane. It was Djego's job to bear things like pity and doubt, to feel sorrow and shame. That was Djego's role in their team of one. El Sombra was there to take never-ending revenge and to laugh and to never look back. But to know that his murder of Heinrich Donner - his righteous kill - had resulted in so much harm coming to so many... and now to see the leader of Undergang, the man he'd come to New York to kill, just an empty, broken madman, a shell of a person... El Sombra wondered if he was changing.

"Don't," whispered Crane, a tear rolling down his cheek. "Don't let him back in."

El Sombra smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, amigo. I'm going to go and make sure nobody ever needs to see him again. And I couldn't have done it without you." He squeezed lightly. "You didn't mean to, but you did some good. Remember that."

Then, gently, he pushed the tip of the sword through the front of Crane's skull and into his brain.

He was not incapable of pity. But he was who he was, and he did what he did.

And broken or not, the bastards had to die.

We’ve seen El Sombra struggle and be faced with choices, choices between Djego and El Sombra, choices between kindness and violence, between peace and conflict. We’ve seen the conflict in his soul between things that he knows are right, because Djego is a good man with a good soul who wants good things for himself and others, and things he knows he must do, because he is El Sombra and El Sombra was created to kill the bastards that brought his world to ruin and therefore it’s what he must always do. And in the end, El Sombra is simply stronger. He has to be. But strength and violence and hatred can only get one so far.

Gods of Manhattan is the trilogy’s moral compass, the book that most clearly defines the morality the series operates on. And in between the spectrums of justice embodied by Doc and Crane’s approach, between the two urban avengers in The Blue Ghost and Blood-Spider, El Sombra made his choice. And it’s the first choice that dooms him.

Enter Pax Omega, and we learn that, 4 years since the previous book's events, El Sombra joined a squad of agents called Yankee Bravo Seven, who work for an organization named STEAM, who enact missions against Nazis to turn the tides of war. He is joined by several other types of characters, including The Blood Widow, Crane’s former assistant Marlene Lang now having taken up the moniker (just as Nita van Sloan did for The Spider, even with the “Widow” prefix). We see that El Sombra has joined a team of bantering heroes and even formed a friendly rivalry with a man named Savate, modeled after Batroc the Leaper.

But we see that the hunger for vengeance still burns, still burns beyond reason, restless because it’s been 4 years and the war still isn’t over and Hitler still isn’t dead by his sword. And it’s that restlessness that again dooms him, when he once again makes the wrong choice and betrays leader Jack Scorpio, Scorpio who had personally brought him on board and gave him the best shot he ever had at getting to Hitler.

El Sombra frowned. "We need to make our move now."

Scorpio shook his head. "Not yet."

"What?" El Sombra looked incredulous.

"Wait for my signal, I said! Damn it, I need you to trust me!" Jack Scorpio reached up to brush the back of his finger across his forehead, and realised he was sweating.

Through his special glasses, El Sombra's aura was glowing an angry, pulsing red, like a throbbing vein. "Just...trust me. I'm asking you to hold back for just five minutes. There's more going on here than you know."

El Sombra just stared at him, his lips pulling back from his teeth in a cold snarl.

"Trust me. That's all I ask." Jack Scorpio looked into the blazing eyes behind the bloodstained mask, and spoke softly, soothingly, almost desperately. "Can you just hold back for one minute?"

The eyes behind the mask narrowed.

"Can you?"

PERSONNEL FILE: DJEGO "EL SOMBRA". TO EYES ONLY: THIS INDIVIDUAL IS HIGHLY DANGEROUS. IT IS STRONGLY RECOMMENDED HE NOT BE INCLUDED IN ANY OPERATIONS CLASSIFIED ABOVE TOP SECRET OR HIGHER. (I'll take the risk - J.S)

El Sombra spat in Scorpio's face.

"Chinga tu madre."

Then he drew his sword and leaped down into the fray.

After the mission is over, with the base destroyed and a major victory secured, although with Jack Scorpio having been killed, the team disbands. El Sombra continues to wander the forests near the Luftwaffe base for about two weeks, killing as many Nazis as he can, until an explosion blast hits near him, knocking away his mask and portions of his leg and arm, and rendering him unconscious for 8 months. By the time he wakes up, the war has ended, and so has El Sombra for the past 7 years.

Djego was afforded the best of medical care at the hospital in Venice. El Sombra was nowhere to be found.

His mask had been torn off in the explosion, along with some of the meat of his leg and arm. He walked stiffly, now, with a pronounced limp, and his left arm was all but useless, hanging limply at his side. The Wildcat crew had salvaged his sword, but Djego had little interest in using it.

Gradually, he regained his mobility. The back of his head itched constantly, and he suffered from horrendous mood swings, when he would rage against the Fuhrer and the bastards, or weep helplessly, like a child. But gradually, he found his personality stabilising in the gentle, antiseptic atmosphere of the hospital. He found that Djego - so long despised as a weakling, a coward and a fool - was capable of a kind of gentle, melancholic wit that made him popular.

Djego healed and grew, and the itch in the back of his skull began to subside, as El Sombra relinquished his grip.

Djego felt his heart seize in his chest. The cloth was missing a scrap at the end, and there was mud ground into the fabric along with the old bloodstains; but it had two evenly-spaced holes in it, and was unmistakably a mask. It seemed to be looking at him.

He takes up gardening and establishes himself in the city of Brandenberg, he becomes a fixture of the city and a friend of it, he enters a relationship, and El Sombra never appears again.

Until a mysterious stranger named Leonard Lorraine, walks through his door one day, saying he’s got a mission to fulfill, and hands him his mask. And, once again, El Sombra is simply stronger, and he makes the wrong choice again.

Djego shook his head and tried to step back from it, but his legs wouldn't move.

"No," he whispered. "No. Please"

"I was happy," pleaded Djego. "Doesn't that matter to you?" He picked up the cloth in trembling fingers, looking into the empty eyeholds. "Doesn't that mean anything?"

There was no answer. The patrons of the bierkeller did not even notice anything was happening.

"I was happy," Djego choked, and then, in one spasmodic motion, he pulled the mask onto his face, and secured it tightly, so that the knot once again rested in the back of his head, where it belonged: so tightly that it might never come off again.

El Sombra looked at his hands.

He prodded his belly, amused at the rounded shape of it, and took a couple of steps back from the bar. The limp was gone.

He laughed, very softly, so as not to disturb the patrons.

Djego and Lorraine walk through the desolate streets of Berlin, which in the years since has completely sealed itself from the outside world through an impossibly thick dome, and Djego discovers the city completely bereft of life, with only a few lobotomized robotic citizens aimlessly wandering and chewing on the mountains of corpses in the city, as their Nazi ideology reached it’s inevitable outcome of total annihilation of any and all that the party could find an excuse to slaughter in the name of purity, which eventually included it’s few remaining members. In this world, Hitler has been a brain inside a robotic contraption ever since 1945, and it’s amidst this scenario that El Sombra, while thinking about how his final confrontation with Hitler would play out, eventually finds what’s left of Hitler.

All around them, there were the sounds of machinery, but the Mecha-Fuhrer was completely silent, utterly motionless. In the centre of its chest rested a tank of toxic green fluid, and on the surface of the fluid, a human brain floated, like the corpse of a goldfish.

It was quite dead.

El Sombra stared at the Fuhrer for a long moment. Eventually, he spoke, and his voice was cracked and raw, and choked with rage. "Is...is this a joke?"

De Lareine smiled his terrible smile. "The Fuhrer's body needed a great deal of maintenance and repair, you know. After two years, one of the processes delivering oxygen to his brain failed...and there was nobody left to repair it. He died, slowly." There would have been some pain, at the end".

El Sombra slammed his fist into the great iron throne on which the massive body sat, shattering his knuckles and tearing the skin from them. He didn't seem to notice. "Some pain," he choked, through gritted teeth."

El Sombra was still staring into the empty, dead eyes of the Fuhrer.

El Sombra again chooses poorly. It’s this moment, above all else, that truly damns him to his fate, as we come to see what is it exactly that a persona created for the purpose of vengeance has, when said vengeance is robbed from it. Like Parker Crane, his persona crumbles completely to expose the petty, ugly little feelings that drove it to such grandstanding antics in the first place, and the allmighty El Sombra is exposed for the all-too human failings that damned him once and for all.

"This isn't right," he said, eventually, in a strangled voice. "How...how can it end like this?"

"Why shouldn't it?" De Lareine shrugged. "Here's a thought. Maybe, despite his twenty-year tantrum and all his dressing up, spoilt little Djego is not the centre of the universe -"

El Sombra turned, face red, tears streaming from his eyes, and charged at De Lareine, slashing his sword. El Sombra crashed down onto the floor, into the soot scattered about, as De Lareine walked around him.

"Did you really believe Adolf Hitler would wait around for your sword? Did you not imagine that it might be better for him to seal himself off in a hole to die, instead of murdering and enslaving continents until you finally got around to him? Did you think you were the hero of your own little story, El Sombra, with your mask and your laugh and your-"

"Shut up!" El Sombra cried out, scrambling to his feet, the sword shaking in his hand, tears and snot running down his face. "He was mine! He was mine to kill!" He lifted the sword, the tip trembling. "Bring him back," he screamed, "do you hear me? Bring him back to life!"

De Lareine had to laugh at that.

And in the end, El Sombra is crushed, spiritually and physically as his spine is shattered by Lareine, who begins to experiment on him as he lays dying, ready to fulfill fate’s greater purpose for El Sombra. Ready to become not just the perfect machine Pasito’s conquerors intended, but a superior design. Ready to abandon his former life, ready to abandon everything that defined him, ready to shed any and all traces of Zorro and Shadow and pulp hero in his system, because the age of pulp heroes and superheroes has passed.

The metal man emerged from his hole, dragging the corpse of the Fuhrer behind him.

The brain in the metal man's chest would, perhaps, live for thousands of years. He wondered how he would spend the time.

He remembered little of his former life; he had been a man named El Sombra, or perhaps Djego. He had been stupid - he realised that now - but that was something he would never be again.

Apart from that, there was only a succession of faces, the memory of laughter and of a final, awful betrayal that had destroyed him. But there was also the sense that a great and terrible mission had ended at last, and it was time for a new life to begin.

The metal man took a last look back at the great dome of Fortress Berlin. Somewhere in there, the Leopard Man was hunting, freed from his own mission. And in the Fuhrer's old office, the empty, lifeless clay of El Sombra - or was it Djego? - lay, discarded, like a butterfly's cocoon.

The metal man thought on this, as the Fuhrer rusted at his feet and the tanks began to approach from over the hills ahead.

He would need a new name.

It’s now the age of Pluto.

#replies tag #pulp heroes #al ewing #el sombra #pluto

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nic-214 · 4 years ago

Text

Frain: Take Me To Church

Tw: Homophobia, Faggot Used, Attempted Murder, Cult, Violence

Freddie lays on the hill Brian cuddled against his side, "You know this is wrong.." Brian whispers feeling Freddie's hands roam over his body.

"I love being wrong then." Freddie whispers softly passionately kissing him roaming his hands on the younger man's backside.

Brian felt his body shudder as he kisses Freddie back the older man pulls him closer as the stars shine bright but clouds were slowly rolling in. He touches his cheek and sadly pulls away, "I'm only a field away." Freddie whispers standing up as they heard a noise.

The town of Shiloh, was entirely Anti LGBTQ+ they had to hide their relationship heavily. They have little safe moments together which are becoming fewer and fewer.

"We were born sick." Brian whispers putting a cold hand against his cheek not wanting to leave his love behind. He felt Fred's heated breath against his face, Brian grabs Fred by one of his suspender strap and kisses him passionately. He felt the roughness of his beard rub against Fred's bare cheek.

"The only heaven I got is when I'm with you." Freddie whispers forcing himself away wanting to feel more of Brian wanting to keep him in his arms.

Brian works for the church and Freddie attends the church even if he isn't the same religion.... a new poison each week.

It was hard being in a homophobic town and being a immigrant. They make sure to blend in by worshiping heavily and "dating" women..... Aka paying a few women to be their girlfriends. The two bought houses that were a field away from each other and they worked on their farming. Everything was going smooth no one suspected any thing right?

Freddie was waiting to be dragged away he had been caught dating a white woman named Mary. He didn't stick to his own race and he knew that was sinful enough but lord if the town ever found out about him and Brian? He would have to flee the very same hour while a huge ass witch hunt would conduct. He can almost feel the burn of ropes dig into his skin as stones hit him and it makes him shudder to think such a thing but he knows what the town is like.

Freddie and Brian part ways like they've been doing each night since they started dating five years ago with linger eyes and a yearning for each other. Freddie assumes it will be like any other night they kiss goodbye and head back to their homes, only a field away never too far apart. Freddie greets his cat, Chester as he kicks the door behind him closed.

"Hey buddy. Did you miss daddy?" Freddie asks.

Loud intense purring comes from Chester and Freddie laughs as he gets dinner started, "My lover's got humor..." Freddie whispers then frowns, "She's the giggle at a funeral...Knows everybody's disapproval. I should've worshiped her sooner....If the Heavens ever did speak.... H- She's the last true mouthpiece." he tells his old cat scratching behind Chester's ears.

The stew almost smelled heavenly the sign of a good cook was in the kitchen or complete luck. Freddie got a cutesy little flowery designed bowl down for his stew and prepared to get a nice beer from the fridge when he heard the commotion of a century happening outside his house. Freddie peers out as the rain sprinkles gingerly down a small bonfire was a blazed, two men guard it, Father Daniel and his son Abel he has a older brother but Freddie doesn't see him anywhere. They had a bonfire going in the centre of the field.

No masters or kings when the ritual begins

Freddie rushes out there his boots almost slipping in the mud, "Father! Father what is the matter?!" one of his straps was dangling off his shoulder now, Chester his beloved kitty was at his feet mud covered now.

"There's a nasty disgusting faggot right under our noses." Father Daniel sneers, "We're going to get rid of him." a big smirk comes onto his face, "Wanna joi-"

Freddie's already running to Brian's house it would be too dark to see anything but the young man's house was engulfed in flames the poor boy was being dragged out by his hair he was kicking and scream while trying to protect his body from the rocks being pelted at him some of the men still held molotov cocktails in their hands, some had their faces covered by masks. Freddie could hear the town's words, all the screaming and wailing.

"Pedo!" a big hulk of a man screams crashing their boot into Brian's nose, "You're going to burn in hell!"

"He's mental ill!" a woman yells fanning herself with a church flyer.

"He's been vaccinated!'' someone else wails in the crowd sounding like a banshee.

Freddie hides behind some shrubbery he has to come up with a plan to rescue his love, Chester rubs against his knees and meows. Freddie covers his mouth, "You're right, Chess."

The town released all their pent up rage using Brian as some toy as they beat him, stone him, toss him around. He's being dragged towards the bonfire he's screaming for his life. His eyes are so full of fear and he's starting to choke on his own blood. They are literally going to burn him at the stake if Fred doesn't stop this.

"Stop!!" Freddie screams bolting from the shrubbery lifting his hands up a blueish glow seems to emerge from them as a crack of lighten happens and the rain gushes down, Chester stands by his owner meowing louder, more than comes down.

"Witch!!" Abel yells lifting up his shotgun at Freddie.

"I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies!" Freddie screams, "I'll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife

Offer me my deathless death. Good God, let me give you my life. Please spare him!''

"Cain no!" it was Father Daniel's voice.

Cain fired his shotgun and hit his brother instead the preteen falls to the ground and a woman's cry can be heard,

Freddie raises his hand and sends Cain flying back into his father sending both men barreling towards the bonfire, "Witch! He's a witch!" the town stampedes around tramping each other leaving a dying Abel and a dying Brian.

Freddie steps over Abel guilt fills him but he can't help, Chester rubs against the boy's face. The boy looks already dead anyway and he just hopes Brian is still alive. Freddie kneels the mud soaking through his jeans freezing his legs more, "I don't know how they found my little secret out." the words come out with a twisted giggle, "Maybe I wasn't that safe."

He saw Brian's dulling hazel eyes search his face, "There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin," he cups Brian's cold wet face with one hand,

"In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene." he presses a chaste kiss against Brian's chapped lips.

He raises his hand the blueish glow returns he grazes the tips of his fingers against Brian's temple making the younger man cry out and arch his back before collapsing into his arms his white dirty dress shirt sticks to his thin body, "You truly are a witch." Brian rasps out a glow among his eyes.

"I'll leave, Brian. I understand." Freddie says getting ready to stand.

Brian grabs him weakly and kisses him feebly, "I love the mad ones."

Freddie gingerly picks up Abel and brings him inside the crumbling church Brian following at his heels he still has some bruises peppered on him, Chester meows following after flicking his big fluffy tail trying to get water out. Freddie lays Abel on a small table and heals him, "In the name of the father, the son, and the holy spirit. I heal you, amen." it was bullshit Freddie spewed from his mouth but he knew faith would most likely help ease Abel as he gets healed.

"Lets leave." Freddie says taking Brian's hand dirt was still caked in his nails and fingers from where he fought for his life only a little bit ago, "A train will be leaving soon."

"Take me with you." Abel speaks up struggling to sit up he holds his head.

Now that Freddie can see him in the light better he realizes the boy is no older than 9 years old. He's malnourished and missing a good bit of teeth.

Brian pushes past Freddie and grabs Abel putting the boy on his hip, "Lets flee before they get brave."

Freddie picks up Chester and snuggles into the kitty's ginger fur, "Come now."

And the walk to the train station under the cover of darkness, they manage to get tickets to the farthest town away from Shiloh, Mulberry. It was was a tiny small town perfect to hide and blend in to. The four leave town on a train around late 5AM, leaving the cult like town of Shiloh behind them. They watch out the train window as the fire from the bonfire spreads engulfing the cursed town like a hungry serpent.

#queen fanfiction #queen band #freddie mercury #brian may #frain #Spotify

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notmuchtoconceal · 1 year ago

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Right, so. Couple of things.

First of all Museum Bro will be in Full SWAT armor. Black visor. Heavy padding verging on exoskeleton. Museum Bro is ready to blow the skulls of any deceptive faggots who think they're clever when they not.

Museum Bro takes off his helmet and the light catches him in just the right away, and it almost sparkles for his skin is so moisturized, that it's unfair. Your skin will never look like that. Only special people who have genuinely good souls have skin like that. It's terrible. You're the eternal subject of a Radiohead song. You desperately want Thom York to seem lilke a shallow lil beta bitch boy slut for conflating perfect skin with a pure soul, but you know it's absolutely true. Your skin could be shit because you eat like garbage or cause you think like garbage. You'll have to run independent trials where you try each, seperate and in isolation. Only way to be scientific about it. Make sure you stare at you skin and think about how ugly it is the entire time. Every few minutes back to the mirror. Nonstop and constant. Only way you know it's really gonna work.

Moving on.

Dispensing with the flavor text, Museum Bro removes his sexy THX future dystopia drone-chic sex helmet, but he's not a cybertrophic psychoborg, oh no -- but a beautiful, high-cheeked, bright-eyed young man with a free spirit and a ravenous autodidactic intellect who doesn't need his visor shit, no. He does better without it. Uh-oh.

That was how Luke blew up the Death Star in the Star Wars. (Notice how I applied the unseemly and unncessary 'the'. Very laid-back and chill.) You have caught me. I have cited a movie made by a man who made techo-fascist sci-fi porn then made a movie about a boy who trusted in his intuition and overcame the robot man, but oh no -- the other two entries in that series where the robot man was overcome were not made by the George Lucas himself, oh no! George Lucas never overcame the robot man. George Lucas made the Prequel Trilogy and Birthed the Robot Man. George Lucas Loved the Robot Man the Entire Time!

The Robot Man was George Lucas's Dad!

You have caught me. I have cited the work about the man who overcame the robot man, made by a man who did not overcome the robot man.

The entire Star Wars saga is a work of the utmost insincerity, and I knew this from the beginning with its faux-Campbell, Orientalist, Boomer Nostalgia drivel subtext baked into every frame! American Graffiti. Why do you act like what's in this man's heart's a foreign star?

You think a man is just a collection of his biggest hits? You made George Lucas the Robot Man. Thanks to you, and your inability to truly love and truly know, there could only ever be Darth Vader.

Actually, Rian Johnson letting fat old bitter Luke die in peace while Yoda torched the scrolls but tee-hee main girl swiped em anyway was the only good thing in the Disney Ones.

Thank you, Rian Johnson.

Thank you for reminding me that a collection of plot cul-de-sacs was the only thing worth experiencing about this soulless, corporate-mandated seat filler. Thank you for reminding us all the most meaningful parts of life are found in the beats and the iffy detours and not the shit that has to happen cause the scheduling said it had to.

Nevertheless, Museum Bro is goddamn well aware of the bitchy quirks of your needy little fuck-diction and can pick up on your lil isms, you know.

Lookit you. Wanting to be a douche so bad, you go through this ridiculous ruse to "anonymously" call yourself out.

Your charm at times disguises, but does not wholly mask, your spot-and-replace AI diction. Manipulation is so baked into your worldview, you fail to see how predictable it makes you, being so quick to predict you're more a weather app always shifting than a Delphic Oracle in Song.

It's tiring. At some point I became aware bitter old women (or bitter young men who thought like em) were particularly fond of rolling out "boring" to swipe me, for they seemed to think it pleased me to please them, or rather -- it pleased them not I pleased myself. So I made an effort to retire the phrase (one which no one asked for) but which I took as a challenge to compel myself to strive for more meaningful critique.

Nevertheless, boring is what you are. Did you not think I'd catch that more significant and more charming crack? Yes, you're quite fitting as a celebrity cameo. People wail at you in recognition of how you're overplayed and wonder aloud what exactly is it that you do.

I'd never understood the fascination with clothes. It must be because you're so enlightened and such a redneck, the emperor having none. I guess I think of you sometimes being all Kate Bush, running around the forest. You little pixies. Always needing to make yourself visible. Need your camo and your enchantments. To receive your headpats. I don't mind daddying you. Truly. You think like a man in your twenties. Your fear of suits as signifiers of authority and status. Is this the Hannibal and Clarice thing where you're still, against all higher reason, still hypnotized by such arbitrary symbols of authority and status?

You're laying it on so thick.

I can't imagine you don't want to get caught.

Of course I still love you, and I sincerely recognized you.

You blew it. You're not getting me back.

My love for you is now a transcendent thing which exists only in the realm of pure contemplation. It has no living analogue on earth.

Museum Bro is forcing the muzzle of his gun in your mouth and he's blowing your brains out. Women are screaming in the background.

No one mourns you. The silence is the mundanity of traffic.

Skinheads in big shiny boots come in, unbutton their flies and whip out their cheesy uncut cocks to piss your brain matter off the floor.

You're dead. It's over.

T'was a lot of fun, even if you weren't.

Oh my god, bro. Watching you hunt down, torture, kill, and eat other predators is so damn hot, bro. They thought you were their prey and you turned the tables on them. Watching a predator get eaten by a bigger predator is so much better than a predator eating prey.

I love watching you curb stomp the skinny enlightened redneck, or whatever the heck he is. I hope he's reading this and knows he's nothing but a spectacle for other anonymous audience members to enjoy. And that the performance isn't about him. He's not a character. He's a plot device to further your character development. Season 1 ended. Credits roll. Oh, look. Your character has an actual name. Meanwhile he's just "Skinny Faggy Enlightened Redneck Douche #1" or something. Played by someone more significant and infinitely more charming. He wants to treat your soul like a trope? Now he is one.

Ha, I bet he was the one who paid for your briefs. You did a nice job reducing him. Please continue ripping him apart in front of me. Turn him into a gory work of art for me. I want to walk by an exhibit in a museum that's just his body parts pressed in a glass tank, rearranged all Cronenberg-like and I can look at it and flinch back in disgust and fascination, but little do I know he's somehow still alive and watching me be disgusted and inspired by his new form that you gave him, and I can ask the museum bro in his fine suit "what's this piece?" And Museum Bro will be like, "Ah, that's the magnum opus of notmuchtoconceal..." and tell me at length all about it while Cronen-Redneck is internally and soundlessly screaming, screaming, screaming as I marvel at his twisted form on the other side of the glass. So humiliating. And he deserves it!

Love you, bro. Please keep eating his soul in front of me. Don't give him any outs. Oh my god, I love to watch you work. I admire your work so much.

if you are him, it's still really sweet that you remember that time i told you about how huge of a boner i got at the end of the fly 2.

regardless of if you're him or not, you're sweet.

the fact that i can make both of you so happy, regardless of who you are or aren't, makes me so happy, that i can just lie back and focus on all the people, real and imagined, the same and not, who i'm making happy with my work, and not go delirious this time once i come to be fully aware that i am in fact living in the world which my influence has produced.

i love you, bro.

whoever you are.

#i'm already you #except better in every way #you didn't want a daddy #i wanted a son #a beautiful #literate son #who i could love #and support #you ain't mine kid #get lost

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