#Marquee = Phantom

[comp-lady]

Dew doesn't care because he knows the moment they all get off stage Aurora is going to grab Swiss by the neck. How dare he. Oh if he wants to be a little slut, she'll treat him like a little slut.

Meanwhile Dew is going to sit back with a juice box and enjoy the show >:3

everybody writing dew being the desperate fuck from that video but what i think you’re failing to consider is that dew does not even look at swiss HOWEVER swiss marches himself across that stage and curls himself around dew. grabs him. dew is not even phased and swiss is biting him and grabbing him. you don’t get it do you? SWISS IS THE DESPERATE BASTARD HELLOOOOO

[markbbrooklyn]

The new marquee is live at the Majestic!!!

[butch-muppet]

holy shit today is the tenth anniversary of me seeing phantom on broadway for the first time and subsequently becoming obsessed w poto…

[rea-grimm]

Sleep protector Crocodile

You had a big challenge ahead of you. You loved surfing, and you loved sandboarding even more. You felt like it was a sport made for you. You didn't need good wind or waves. All you needed was a desert with dunes you could ride. 

You were so good at what you did that you were among the top of the best and even had the opportunity to participate in the Sandboard World Cup. You were so happy about it that you couldn't sleep for the first few days. 

Your enthusiasm didn't last long, however, as you had a bad accident during the competition and woke up without part of your leg. You were devastated. You felt like it was the end of you. 

You couldn't imagine life without a leg or even a prosthetic leg. What about racing? You didn't want to give it up, but you didn't have many options. 

You wanted to get back on your feet as fast as you could, but it wasn't as easy as you imagined. You could move with the prosthesis, but what you couldn't handle was the phantom pain. 

It happened at night, or when you were at rest, when you thought you could feel your leg again. That it itched and you wanted to scratch it and then you realised that wasn't possible. The spot then started to hurt, as if the limb was still there. 

This led to insomnia, where you just lay there at night staring at the ceiling. Quite often, you found that you were keeping yourself awake mostly on energy drinks, and when you got tired, you dreamt of sand. Giant dunes that were dangerous and swallowed up your opponents and you. 

Very often, your lost foot began to sink into the sand. It hurt like hell, and the sand slowly began to bury you alive. You were drowning in sand and you couldn't get out. You felt like the pressure of your dreams was pushing you down in real life. Or was it the other way around? You weren't even sure anymore. 

What you were sure of was that if you didn't do something about it soon, you'd be so tired you might as well forget the whole competition. That's why you turned to magic for help. 

You found the best psychic in the area on the internet and decided to go to her for help. Sure, you could always try pills or other meds, but you were never one for the ordinary stuff.

Plus, this sounded a lot more interesting than some pills where just reading the package insert would put you to sleep. No, you wanted something unusual and out of the ordinary. Something like your favourite sport. 

To your surprise, the psychic you'd found was in a nearby casino, which was humorously shaped like a pyramid, with a golden crocodile with a banana on its head. This was actually your overall first visit to the casino in question, as you may have been a gambler with a life, but not someone who would seek out slot machines and other games of chance. 

You had no trouble finding her corner, which looked like a tent or the entrance to a marquee. Unsurprisingly, the psychic was already expecting you. You got the impression she was telling everyone who came to her for effect. 

What you didn't expect, however, was that she had guessed the exact reason you had decided to seek her help. At that exact moment, all humour passed over you and you believed she knew how to help you. 

The psychic took you inside her tent, where she first performed a palm reading and laid out the cards that told her how best to help you with your problem. 

She stood up and left you alone for a moment. You got the impression she was looking for something. Moments later she returned with a teddy bear that looked very unusual at first glance. 

It was a sandy and black teddy bear that was wearing an orange and black plaid vest and had a long black coat over its shoulders. But what caught your attention the most was the scar that stretched from one cheek to the other, a golden hook for one paw and a long crocodile tail. 

"Teddy bear? And this one is supposed to help me how?" You didn't understand and began to question her again. She frowned at you and uttered that if you didn't want it, it was your fault. 

You looked at the teddy bear once more and for some unknown reason, you got a chill down your spine. You finally took the teddy bear. You thanked her and were about to leave when the psychic stopped you with a warning. You weren't allowed to let him out of the cage, whatever that meant. 

Since you took the bear home, your sleeping patterns have improved many times over. Your insomnia had evaporated and instead, you slept like a log all night and into the morning. 

However, you woke up with sand in your bed with no idea how it got there. Of course, ever since you got your teddy bear, you've dreamed about the desert and sand in general very often. It didn't even have to be sand, sandboarding or anything like that. 

It also happened that the sand in the dream was much finer. It caressed your lost leg and warmed you up nicely. It was a kind of pleasant massage that made the pain go away. 

You've also often seen out of the corner of your eye a very tall man with black hair and a long coat that reminded you of the one the bear wore. 

If something startled you or something strange happened to you, you even heard the kind of laughter that you used to hear in your dreams. And in the same way, you woke up in the morning and your room smelled of cigar smoke even though you were a non-smoker and didn't even own cigars. But all these things reminded you of the man you saw out of the corner of your eye and whose voice you heard in your dreams. 

The sandboarding competition was the very next day and you felt that you had done everything you needed to do. Despite all that, you felt that it wasn't all. That it could have been done better.

You went to bed with these thoughts and worried that your thoughts would keep you up all night. Fortunately, that didn't happen and you fell asleep as quickly as you always did. 

In your dream, you were in the middle of the desert, not a cloud in the sky and no water or civilization in sight. The only thing you had with you was your trusty board that you hopped on and decided to ride down the dune. 

But the sand began to move as if it were alive under your board, pulling you in an unknown direction until you reached the rocks and the cave at the same time. However, the entrance to the cave in question was blocked by bars. 

You were already thinking of taking a different route when you heard that iconic laugh again and your eyes glittered in the darkness of the cave.

"It took you quite a while. I have a feeling you wouldn't have found your way here if I hadn't helped," the voice spoke and you saw something, or rather someone, move in the darkness. Very soon whoever was in the darkness of the cell walked over to the bars and you could see who it was. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," you replied, watching the man you had seen out of the corner of your eye for the last few days, who was close to you even when he was behind bars. 

"I know why you got me. Let me out and I'm sure all your dreams, no matter how big, will come true," he spoke in a convincing tone, a slight smug smile on his lips. 

You immediately remembered the warning the psychic had given you. That's also why you immediately dismissed him and wanted to move on. But even after you left, the sand made you come back. 

The man behind bars was very convincing and before you knew it, you decided to let him go. You had no idea how, but as soon as you touched the bars, they unlocked. 

The man came out of the cave and walked over to you. He towered over you, looking you over. You had the impression that he could see into the very core of your soul. He grinned and put a hook under your chin and made you look at him. 

"This is going to get interesting," he smiled smugly, and you could see that he was pleased with you. 

When you woke up that morning, your bed was full of sand. Even more than usual. So much that you felt like you were at the beach or a sandbox. 

You sat up in bed and immediately remembered that strange dream. At that moment, you thought you heard his distant laughter. 

You got out of bed, made your bed and were wondering what to make for breakfast when you realized that your teddy bear was missing. In that moment you could have turned the bedroom upside down, but it was as if the teddy had vanished off the face of the earth. 

However, you didn't have much time to look for it, as you had to get to the venue of the competition, about which you had mixed feelings. Once you got to the registration and picked up your number, everything went by almost at the speed of light and you didn't remember much of it.

But what stuck in your mind and mattered most was the race. You stood at the top of the dune and with a deep breath as you cleared your head and heard the sound of the siren you started down the dune. 

The start was calm and everything went according to your plan. In your head, you had prepared a precise procedure of which tricks to perform when and where. What you hadn't counted on was the fact that the sand under your board started to behave strangely. Like it had a will of its own.

At that point, all planning went by the wayside and all you had to rely on was improvisation and freestyle. You never knew exactly how the sand was going to move and more than once you ended up airborne. 

However, thanks to all this, you managed to pull off many more tricks than you had originally planned and your descent absolutely amazed the jury. From then on, there was also a buzz around the course about who had it in the bag. 

You were the clear winner and you could go and collect your prize. You got the gold medal along with an invitation to the next competition. With gifts from fans and medals, you stood on the podium for the press to take your picture. 

As you stood there, you thought you saw the man of your dreams in the crowd. Your eyes met for a moment before he grinned and was blown away like sand by the wind. As if it were a mirage or a fata morgana. 

As soon as you had a free hand and could move freely you made your way to the crowd, hoping to find your sandy protector. However, he was nowhere to be found, so you returned to your tent to rest and pack your things. There, to your surprise, your protector was sitting in your chair. 

"Crocodile," you said in surprise, a smile spreading across your face. You got the impression that he was really happy that you had won. You walked over and wanted to thank him. But he took a drag from his cigar before he sat down and stopped you. 

"Too many eyes here," he uttered, looking towards the door where footsteps could be heard. You looked to the door and then back at Crocodile, but he was as gone as sand and disappeared. Less than three seconds later, reporters walked in, wanting to interview you briefly. 

That evening, you collapsed on the couch. You didn't have the energy to walk all the way to your bedroom and you fell asleep within moments. Even in your dreams, you dreamt about the journalists and it seemed that they had become your new nightmare. But before that could happen, the sand blew them away.

The wind picked up, and though you hadn't seen your protector yet, you knew he was there. The wind made you feel cold and you rubbed your arms with your hands. 

Suddenly, a man's coat landed on your back like a blanket. At the same time, it was quite heavy, and you felt as if your knees would buckle under its weight. 

"Thanks for the help... and the coat," you smiled and turned back to where he was standing. Crocodile lit a cigarette and just laughed heartily at that. He was surprised that the mean old hag had given him to you in the first place. 

He finally looked at you before putting his hook around your waist and pulling you closer to him. He put his other hand behind your head and leaned in before kissing you. 

"I'm your protector..." he said as he pulled away slightly and looked into your eyes. "...I expect great things from you, and with my help, I'm sure you'll achieve them..." 

You woke up the next morning, and the first thought you had was that it had been quite a pleasant dream. It wasn't until you opened your eyes that you realized it wasn't just any dream. 

Instead of a blanket, you were covered by a heavy but comfortable coat, and on top of that, you weren't lying on your couch, but on someone else's. Crocodile had his arms around your waist and looked like he was sleeping too. You smiled contentedly before you laid your head on his chest again and closed your eyes.

Crocodile Masterlist

Sleep Protector Masterlist

For @sircrocodilesandflower

[schizosamwincester]

Okay like I get that he was Dracula in Monster Movie because that's much more thought of as an old Universal horror film, but like. Phantom of the Opera. Phantom of the Opera was also one of the universal horror films and the shifter's backstory is literally the same as Erik's. Everything could stay the same. Dean would be Raoul, Jamie would be Christine, Sam would be the Lieutenant. And I would be happy. Come onnnnnnnnnn. They knew that parallel was right there because they made it the title on the theater marquee! If they weren't cowards, they would have gone for it! And... and this is supernatural so I shouldn't care because this is the absolute least of its missed opportunities. Fiiiiiiine

[iamthecomet]

I have been summoned by a mention of aftercare. Which ghouls do you think As Doms require just as much aftercare as the sub? If any? Personally I think it's mainly Marquee/Phantom. He's a nervous homie in my headcanon

I think, from a very logical stand point--all of them, as doms, require some level of care post-scene. Especially if it's intense. But I agree with you. I think Aeon/Marquee probably needs just as much, if not more. He's nervous. It was so fun in the moment but now he's freaking out...what if he fucked up? What if he hurt someone? What if the didn't really want it? He is VERY prone to dom-drop and only doms when he's with someone he knows won't drop too deep. Someone he knows will care for him as much as he cares for them. Because otherwise they both spiral and that's a really bad time. I think the ghouls who experience serious dom drop the least are probably Cirrus and Rain. They are pretty sturdy about the headspace they're in when they go into a scene. It happens, obviously, but not frequently. I think the ones who experience it the most (besides Aeon) are Mountain and Swiss. Sometimes, they just need to be held, and reassured that everything that happened was wanted and pleasurable and that they did good.

[classicsubliminalbo]

Alpha Summer #2: The Fantasy Girlfriend Experience

Originally published Sep 27, 2022 This series is being revised

The thought came to Corbin as naturally as an instinct.

I need it in my mouth.

It was more than a thought now, more than a set of directives programmed into her head in the Alphas basement. It was planted, tested, and repeated until it was a part of her. I need to taste it.

A desire. A fundamental drive of Corbin’s core being. Some Alphas were given more to work with. Piper actively played an important role in the Alphas organization as Madison’s number one. But Madison would never bestow an honor like that onto Corbin. Corbin served no purpose to Madison but revenge. That’s why was in the bed of a random frat boy staring down his cock like it was a prize.

I need it inside of me.

His name was Mike. He seemed nice enough. He probably wouldn’t have been there if he knew the things rolling around in Corbin’s mind. But Corbin’s performance tonight could have won her an Academy Award. It had only been a couple of days since Mike picked Corbin at the Fantasy Girlfriend Draft. With the pick, Mike owned the right to take her one date. Mike was living out a fantasy tonight.

He wasn’t a bad looking guy either. Corbin may have even described him as cute once. He had a chubby face and a wide frame but couldn’t weigh more than 190. He squinted his eyes when he smiled, his face sinking into that residual body fat. He had a bushy head of wispy, golden hair that was more delicate than it looked. Corbin can tell that it was too good to last for him. In ten years he’d be sweeping what remained of his hair to cover the bald spot, fill out his body to match his look.

They spent the first leg of the night at The Yellow Room. The club shined bright in one of the rougher parts of town, a reflection of a time when River City was Romero’s up and coming social center. But those days were long gone. Despite its location, the club was popular with students. It was one of the few reasons that anyone ventured west of Stoker anymore. To get to The Yellow Room, they drove down a long stretch of road lined by the skeletons of failed businesses. The neighborhood hadn’t changed in thirty-five years. A boarded-up theater read “Filthy Felicia” on its marquee. Half-torn posters promising “XXX thrills” and “wide-open beavers.” Corbin smiled when she spotted a woman on the corner dressed to attract. Was it a kinship or something else?

The Yellow Room was as sanitary as any place on Carpenter State’s campus. It sat there on its own block, a sort of gentrified embassy. It was Mike’s first time at the club and he looked skeptical as they approached the bouncer. The bouncer is skeptical too, but Corbin placed her hand on Mike’s chest and pouted. She’d be hanging on him like this for the rest of the night. The bouncer stepped aside, and they were in.

Mike’s friends waited for him inside. They had the look of future lawyers and politicians. Mike had a pedigree too, the son of a judge, but his frat buddies had won the gene pool lottery. They came with clean smiles and effortlessly coiffed hair. No comb overs in their futures. They razzed him a bit about never leaving the frat house, but they were mostly there to support him. If Mike plays his cards right, their boy could get laid tonight. They didn’t know that Corbin already planned to fuck his brains out. It was the Alpha Way.

Corbin had always had a healthy sex drive, but she’d been insatiable since she joined the Alphas. That was Madison’s design. Few Alphas knew what Madison’s plan was, they simply knew to trust that everything happened for a reason. Still, curiosity tugged at Corbin like a phantom limb. She wondered for a moment how Mike played into it all.

The truth, of course, was that Corbin didn’t have a role to play in Madison’s plot. Piper had advocated for Corbin to the best of her ability. “She’s a savvy investigator. She can turn up all the names of the Samurai.” When that didn’t work she pushed, “Her blog has a huge subscriber base. She could be useful in drumming up support for the house.” But Madison didn’t care. Corbin was her plaything. Something to be punished, not rewarded.

The thought left as quickly as it came.

All Corban could think about was how badly she wanted Mike. He didn’t seem to know how to respond to all of the attention. He braced himself when she touched him, and she touched him a lot in that private booth. His friends egged it on. At some point in the night, they broke for the bathroom.

“Everything is going according to your design,” Corbin spoke into her phone, raising her voice to project above the club’s booming bass. On the other end, Madison seemed pleased for the check in but largely disinterested in the details. All she wanted was to know that Corbin was behaving as a good Alpha. Follow every order, question nothing. Corbin ached as Madison called her a good girl, and a moan escaped her lips that topped anything Mike would do to her that evening. In the privacy of the booth, Corbin slipped her hand beneath the skirt of her tight dress. She massaged her clit as she reaffirmed her oath to Madison. “Alpha is everything. There is only Alpha.” The call ended as Corbin spotted the boys. They were fewer in number now, their most handsome member Dan had broken off to fuck the girl he’d been eying all night. As the rest returned, Corbin watched one of the friends slip something into Mike’s hand. The curiosity returned, but once again it’s gone before she was back in Mike’s lap.

The night ended at Mike’s frat house. Corbin swore that she didn’t usually go home with guys on the first date. It was a lie, even before she was an Alpha, but she swore it because that was what Mistress Madison wanted her to say. It worked on Mike. They made out in his bed to the sounds of Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock in Speed.

“Corbin,” he said. She could see his red face even in the dim glow of the small television sitting precariously on the edge of his dresser. “I’ve never…”

“It’s okay,” she smiled, pushing herself up so that she was straddling him. “I’ll do all of the work.” “No,” he shook his head. “I’ve never even been naked with a girl before.”

For a moment, the smile on her face was the real Corbin. She’d always loved blowing a good boy’s mind. She slid off his lap and popped the button on his jeans. “Let’s start there then,” she said.

“I think,” he started, a little nervous. “I think I’m small.” “You think?” she asked. “I don’t look at them often.”

Slowly, teasingly, she slid the elastic of his underwear down his waist. He was hard and ready for her. He was right. He didn’t have a big cock but it isn’t small either. She told him that. She admires it, standing erect, inviting. “It’s beautiful,” she said, and she meant it. That was when the thoughts came to her. I need it in my mouth. I need to taste it. I need it inside of me. Her hand glided over the shaft and she looked up into his eyes and asked, “Can I lick it?”

Mike didn’t speak. He was frozen there in the bed. All he could manage was to bob his head up and down.

Corbin leaned in, pressing her tongue to the base of his shaft. She slid slowly, playfully up to the tip. Mike released an involuntary moan. She didn’t stop. She traced the head of his cock with her tongue, then closed her mouth around it. She took in every inch of him.

Madison was surprised by Corbin’s skill when she first saw her work on Jacob Maxwell in the basement. By that time, Corbin had admitted her attraction to both Piper and her roommate Kelly Gardner. Madison thought she knew everything about Corbin. But the new Alpha had experience with cock. There was little to teach her here, except for the eye contact. Always keep eye contact.

Mike tensed up as he looked down into Corbin’s glassy eyes. She began to work his cock now. In the thousands of times he imagined this moment, he never considered the anxiety. Corbin had promised Mike that the night was all about him, but he felt lazy lying there while she did all of the work. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. He wanted to reach out and place his palm on the back of her head like he’d seen in porn, but he was afraid to ruin the moment. He just laid there instead, fists clenched around the sheets as she took him to the edge. He wanted to cum, but he knew his body. He was afraid that if he didn’t cum fast, Corbin would grow tired and the mood would crash.

“Stop,” he said, blinking through sweat.

Corbin looked up with a worried expression. Her saliva creating a bridge between her bottom lip and the head of his cock. “Is everything okay?” she blinked. For a moment she feared what her Mistress would do to her if she learned of this.

“Yes,” he noded. “It’s just you’re so beautiful and…wait,” he sat up and reached for his pants crumpled up on the floor. He pulled out a small vile of gray powder. He paused, questioning his next move, before tapping out a pinch onto his knuckle.

“What is that?” Corbin asked. “Something my friend gave me tonight,” he said. “It’s supposed to take you places you normally wouldn’t go.”

“Baby,” Corbin cocked her head to the side. “You don’t need to take a drug just to have a good time with me.”

For a second Mike felt crazy. He’d never taken a drug in his life and he couldn’t believe that he’d gotten this close. But then he looked at Corbin sitting there on the edge of his bed in her underwear. He could still feel her lips on his cock and he wanted more.

Mike dove in suddenly, raising his hand to his nose and snorting the powder. He offered the vile to Corbin, blinking rapidly.

Corbin took the vile because it was Mike’s desire. It didn’t look like any drug she’d taken before. It hit her blood stream like a bullet speeding down the barrel of a gun. Her mind was set on fire. She fought through the rush of adrenaline as she finished Mike off. She looked up at him with a smile, swallowing every drop. He was relaxed now, infused with an inhuman stamina and ready for the real thing.

Corbin was aching for him too as she slid on top of his cock.

“Just like that baby,” he said, giving orders like a completely different person. “Baby,” she moaned as she began to rock her hips. “Take me, baby!”

As their rhythm picked up, Corbin felt and odd sensation spread through her body. Her consciousness was leaving. She was watching herself ride Mike from someplace high above the ceiling, floating off into the cosmos. She was suddenly aware that the woman in the bed was not her at all. She looked like Corbin, she sounded like Corbin, but she was an invading consciousness. And as Corbin floated higher into the vast void of space she feared that she would never make it back to her body. That the invader will go on living Corbin Arroyo’s life.

The scream pulled Mike from his own trance. It was a piercing, sobering scream from Corbin’s mouth. She fell off of him, hit the floor with a hard thud and backed into the corner of his room sobbing. Mike sat up quickly and held his hands out to quiet her down. “Hey! Hey!” he said frantically. “What’s wrong? What did I do?”

Corbin quieted down, but her heart was pounding. She looked around the room, confused. “Something’s wrong,” she said. She looked up at Mike. She looked through Mike. “I have to find Jacob. Why do I have to find Jacob?”

“Jacob?” Mike asked. “Who is Jacob?” “I don’t know,” Corbin shook her head. “I’m not supposed to know?” “Look,” Mike slid closer to the edge of his bed. He looked like a little boy with his legs folded beneath him. “I think you’re having a bad trip, Corb. I shouldn’t have fucked with the drugs, I just…I really like you and I didn’t want to fuck this up.”

Mike didn’t know it, but he was pulling Corbin away from her clearest thought in weeks. She was already forgetting Jacob when she turned her attention to back to Mike. This time she saw him clearly and she smiled. Master, she though, if only for a night.

“You’re right,” she spoke clearly, but monotone. “It’s a bad trip. I should continue fucking you now.”

“No!” Mike shouts back. “Let me take you home.”

There was an emptiness in Corbin as Mike pulled up to the Alpha house. It was the feeling of duty left unserved. She looked over at Mike in the driver’s seat and offered a meek smile. “I’m sorry for how the night ended.”

“It’s not your fault,” Mike smiled back. “I shouldn’t have taken it.”

Corbin reached out and touched Mike’s cheek. “You’re cute, Mike,” she said. Thoughts were swirling in her mind, thoughts that had been jogged loose somehow from the drugs. She looked passed the boy in the driver’s seat next to her and studied the dark, looming house. It called to her. She knew that she had no choice but to return and be punished. But in a moment of sobriety she looked back at Mike with clear eyes and she said, “You’re a good boy. Stay away from the Alphas.”

She kissed him, and then she got out of the car.

The thought came to Corbin as she walked to the steps of the house that she could run now. She could return to her apartment and tell Kelly everything that had happened. But something pulled her into the Alphas house, just as it always did. The lights were on in every room of the house. Even though it was late, the Alphas rarely slept. They kept busy schedules. She wondered how many girls were in those rooms right now facing the same fate that she had. She shuddered as she turned the knob.

Madison was waiting for her in the entrance. She saw the look in Corbin’s eyes, recognized the doubt.

“What happened?” she asked. “Nothing,” Corbin said. She realized that she’d failed to check in with Madison at midnight, a requirement that had been set for her the last time she tried to run. “Why didn’t you text me?” “I was with Mike,” she said. The drug was still in her system. She had more control than she believed. “We have rules for a reason, Corbin. I need to know…” Madison stopped when she saw the tears streaming down Corbin’s face. “Why are you crying?”

Corbin was sobbing as she collapsed into Madison’s arms. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she said. “I want to be a good Alpha, I want to make you proud of me. But I keep fucking up and I don’t know why.”

A part of Madison was relieved. From the look in Corbin’s eyes a moment ago, she thought she had another rogue on her hands. But the way Corbin had crumpled into her made her smile. She’d thoroughly broken this one.

She held Corbin tight, shushed her. “It’s okay,” she said in her most soothing voice. She leaned out of the embrace and pressed her hands to Corbin’s cheeks, looking into her submissive eyes. “Now tell me what happened.”

“I was good,” Corbin said. “I was really, really good. I swear!” “I know,” Madison nodded. “I believe you.” “But as soon as he was inside me, I just…I couldn’t recognize myself…I thought…” “Stop,” Madison commanded, and Corbin fell silent. “You’re an Alpha. Those are just bad thoughts.” “Yeah?” Corbin smiled. Madison nodded and said, “It’s just anxiety, love. Don’t you remember telling me that you’ve never felt like you fit in anywhere?”

That didn’t feel right. Corbin had never been insecure before. But Madison was telling her this, so it must be true.

“R-right,” Corbin said. “But you belong here, Corbin,” Madison continued. “You’ve always belonged here. Being an Alpha is everything to you.” “Alpha is everything.” Corbin repeated, her heart rate settling. “There is only Alpha.” “There is only Alpha.”

Corbin was slipping. The drug was losing its hold and Madison had worked her way back into her head. Her eyes clouded and her lips spread into a dreamy smile.

“Come,” Madison commanded, offering her hand. “We can talk more in the basement.”

Corbin sighed, took Madison’s hand, and followed her into the darkness.

[the-overanalyzer]

Eternally Yours - Batman Eternal #8

Second Bananas

In the pantheon of superhero supporting characters, some names are more recognizable than others. Vicki Vale, for instance, might never be Bruce's one true love, but she was still played by a big-name actress in a major motion picture. She's got a pretty well-defined character and a certain amount of mainstream cultural credibility.

Jason Bard, on the other hand, is mostly notable for how un-notable he's always been. He's been a supporting character on and off since the 60s, where he's usually Barbara Gordon's current or ex-boyfriend, but has occasionally starred in backups. Mostly he occupies the same tier on DC's detective roster as Tom Tresser does on the spy roster: when all the marquee players are spoken for, and you don't want to put in the effort of creating a new character, this guy will definitely be available, and the 5% of your readers who actually remembered he exists might just get a kick out of seeing him. He's exactly the kind of character the Glup Shitto meme was created to describe. Eternal might be the most page-time he's ever gotten in a single run since before Crisis on Infinite Earths, and the only other time I can recall seeing him in the last decade is as Artemis' new boyfriend in two scenes of Young Justice: Phantoms.

[rocketrecord]

Creem Magazine “The Elton John Interview” by Jaan Uhelszki and Lester Bangs published May 1, 1975

"I'm the Connie Francis of rock 'n' roll."

Elton John is a man with nothing to hide. Meeting him is instantaneous recognition that his image - puckish but professional, easygoing, tolerant, a gentleman with a flair for sartorial supernova -is simply a totally natural and organic outgrowth of his private self. He is in love with his work, and it is a very healthy relationship. We found him in his hotel suite, cherub in a soccer uniform, snapping his fingers and bouncing while listening, with a self-critical attentiveness that bordered on the ruthless, to his latest single. In spite of being caught between myriad hassles - a new test pressing to okay, a radio station to run to afterwards, a slight case of the flu - we found him polite, charming, unaffected, as smooth as the white German wine he gave us and not even as saccharine. - L.B. Full interview transcript under the cut.

JU: I think that's because a lot of the songs on that first album were really serious love songs and all of a sudden here was this Liberace guy kicking out a piano . . .

EJ: All the songs on EJ were classically morbid. Most of our songs are pretty morbid. Someone once wrote that there's only one happy song on the whole album, "Harmony."

JU: I read once that the contrast between your comical clothes and your serious songs is part of the reason for your success.

EJ: I suppose so. I just don't know anymore. I mean when you look back at those costumes I used to wear - those weren't even costumes! They were Mr. Freedom jumpsuits. People thought they were outrageous. I think the reason we became successful is because we played more rock 'n'roll. A lot of people said, "I don't like rock W roll, you should just sit at the piano," but I think rock appeals to a much wider audience.

JU: The concept of rock 'n' roll used to be that parents weren't supposed to like it. Parents like you.

EJ: I know. Isn't that odd ... I don't mind as long as they buy the records. But it's true. I can see four or five rows when I'm on stage, and the cross section of people is staggering, it never ceases to amaze me. In the front row last night was a couple who must have been in their forties and I thought, "they must be friends of the promoters". . . then you get 13 year old girls and everybody. It's great. Though mothers seem to brood on me.

Lester: One problem you have in terms of image is you have a tough time right now building the mystique of someone who lurks, the phantom of rock or something like that. You've made yourself so accessible and pinned yourself as so positive ... Mr. Nice Guy.

JU: Other stars of your stature like David Bowie want to create a mystique that you can't see beyond.

EJ: That's bullshit. I hate that. It's all bullshit. I mean, why build a mystique? LB: What happened at a certain point is that people decided that the way to become a star besides writing a song is to say "I'm a star!" And stardom became very brutal... the ego had much more to do with it than the music.

EJ: There have been classic examples of people with no musical talent being built up even before their first record. In England that happens a lot. King Crimson was a perfect example. When they first started in England they played a few gigs at clubs like the Marquee and the press on them was just unbelievable and the publicity just sort of fell out from their people, people who surrounded them. And by the time their first album came out there was an unbelievable amount of excitement.

LB: Well, don't you think things have changed? I mean Bowie or Todd Rundgren steps up and says "Well I'm a superstar," and two years later he's still not selling.that many records but he's still saying "Yes, I'm the biggest star in history."

EJ: And what really annoys me is that people believe it. Especially in England, they're so gullible. You pick up the paper in England and you read who are the biggest stars in America and they say Yes, Bowie, Jethro Tull and they never even mention me. That's real bullshit. I can't believe that. You pick up the English papers and read "Steeleye Span Storm Across The States. " Really bullshit! But people believe what they I read. I do tend to laugh about it, it is a bit 11 of a joke.

I hate all that sort of moodiness you mentioned before. There's no reason for me to be moody, it's not all that important, I mean who really gives a shit. So Bowie's inaccessible and he's got a mystique and he's got a great stage presence. But so do people like Marlene Dietrich, who've been around 60 years.

LB: I think it's a very sick sort of personality cult.

EJ: I suppose so. I also know David wanted to be Judy Garland.

LB: It's almost on a Mel Lyman or a Manson level, I mean a Bowie or a Leon Russell. . . the people surrounding them are vicious, and they're supposed to be nice guys.

EJ: Oh yeah. I've always thought rock 'n' roll was people's music. It's always been a thing that everyone should enjoy, as far as I'm concerned, I don't see why they should bring moodiness into it. On stage you can create an image without all the hassles. Who needs it? I can walk into a room and be surrounded by just as many people as David Bowie. You meet John Lennon, he'll talk to you for 25 hours straight and he doesn't give a shit and he's been through the whole scene. Backwards, forwards. He still talks to you. Ringo does. Paul does. George doesn't. . .but I respect George for what he's doing, he's doing it because he really believes in what he's doing and he's not just some moody . . .

JU: He's not difficult, it's just an extension of that whole religious thing he's going through.

EJ: Right. I feel sorry for him in lots of ways and in fact like him. He might be being used. I'm very skeptical about religion. If something's that fanatical it can you for their ends.

LB: Another thing that you sort of step out of is that rock 'n' roll is so much associated with the burnout syndrome. You're supposed to do that, to live fast and die young. I mean Dylan looked beautiful in 1966 when he was on the edge of death; he looked better than he did the rest of his life. But the whole thing is such ah adolescent dream.

EJ: Well. . . I'm the Connie Francis of rock 'n' roll.

JU: Will you be doing orange juice commercials in ten years?

EJ: Like Anita Bryant (sings a bit of a jingle), no, no way. I've got very strict sensibilities like that. That's why people annoy me when they compare me to Vegas acts. I can't bear show biz.

These people come to my parties, not my idea, it's just a publicity thing. It's nice to meet them, a couple of them I really do like, Steve McQueen and Diana Ross and Cher. You shake hands with 70people. Barbra Streisand came into the dressing room when I was just wearing underpants and she went "OHHH!" I went, "Barbra, you must have seen it before."

JU: You know you make Rona Barrett's gossip magazine. Not many rock stars do.

EJ: She loves me! Well, I'm perfect fodder for her. I'm perfect fodder for everybody. If anyone's gonna say let's pick on somebody, let's pick on Elton. JU: But they can't pick on you.

LB: Not very good fodder for a scandal sheet. You seem to lead a pretty sedate life.

EJ: I'm not talking scandal. I'm talking about like in England with the money situation and everybody moving out. So everybody says... and I never said it in an interview, I mean, Rod says it in interviews... but the big headline will be "Elton Leaving England; Deserting a Sinking Ship. Well We Don't Need Him!" And if anyone's gonna be picked on it's always me. I take the can back from so many people.

LB: Do you ever find yourself in the syndrome of being on the road so much that the graph of your alcohol intake just goes up and up until you're just reeling and you lose control?

EJ: Yeah, that happened to us last year. We went to Australia and Japan and then we had a crisis . . . we'd been on the road for four and half years and we all looked like just unbelievable zombies, felt like death warmed up, and we were just at the point of breaking up. So we cancelled everything from there on. We had a big tour of England planned, a big tour of Europe, and cancelled both. And we just took time off. I went to a tennis ranch and I read in English papers that I was huge and they were right ... I'd put on about 45 pounds because I was drinking at least half a bottle of scotch each day. I just felt awful and I looked at myself-at 27 your hair's going, body's going, you're going. Also I'm the director of a soccer team. People connected with soccer do drink a lot, and I was beginning to drink like ... I mean I was just becoming an alcoholic. It was just ridiculous, so I just had to say no. I just started drinking again. I don't drink spirits, just wine and... The worst thing is the next day. I got to the point where I was taking things to get me over getting up. After two weeks of getting up and feeling like that you just feel like, "Ahhh." So I thought that's it, it's gonna be health from now on.

JU: So how's your romance with sports? I've heard you call yourself a sports groupie?

EJ: Oh I am, I'm an absolute sports groupie. I played doubles with Jimmy Connors, that was great; every time I hit a winning shot he used to sit on the floor and laugh. I'm not a bad tennis player and when you play with someto play better anyhow.

JU: Weren't you in a tennis tournament with Bill Cosby?

EJ: You know they have World Team Tennis now. Well, Billy Jean's team is in Philadelphia and I might get involved with that next year. I came over on the SS France to the States and went straight down to Philadelphia cause I had arrangements to play with Cosby, in an exhibition game. Usually they get 3,000 people at the Spectrum. They had 9,000 that night. It's one thing to go out there and play rock 'n' roll but to play tennis like a schmuck is another. I lost the first two games . . . but I knew I could beat him.

JU: You beat Bill Cosby?

EJ: Yeah.

LB: Do you think on one level being a rock star is like being a frustrated sports star?

EJ:It's been said that there's a parallel between sports people and rock people because they come from the same background. No way. Sports people go through hell. You have to be far more dedicated.

It's not a question of physical ability, because if you've got it you've got it, like playing the guitar; it's a matter of concentration. If a tennis player loses his concentration for one minute it can blow the whole game. I actually think it's more of a mind thing than it is a skill.

I was never any good at sports and I remember one year at school everybody had houses and on Sports Day they would compete against one another, and because I was fat they used to put me into the shotput. And the first time they put me into the shotput, I went to it it and the ball spun off my chin and fell on my foot and broke my toe . . . that was so funny . . . But I was never any good at sports except tennis and soccer.

Tennis has exploded here. Someday soccer will just explode. But I love American sports too. I love the Monday night game; if I have a gig that night, I'm distraught. Hockey I love, and baseball.

I can't find any Americans who like baseball. I hate the fucking Oakland A's and they win it every year. I'm a Mets fan. I really wanted them to win last year.

JU: Mets used to be on the bottom. EJ: I always felt sorry for the team on the bottom. Texas'll do all right this year ... We were up in Montreal when they got back from Russia. We got into the airport at the same time.

JU: Montreal is a hockey town.

LB: Canada's a hockey town - what else have they got?

EJ: They've got Anne Murray.

LB: Do you like Anne Murray? s EJ: She's great . . . reminds me of « Dusty. I used to have pictures of Dusty stuck on my wall... about 400 of them. She was my idol. Dusty had a desperate desire to be needed.

LB: We hear that you're the Santa Claus of rock. Like Elvis. Like giving John Reid cars.

EJ: Well, its' just that I like giving away presents. My whole philosophy is ... / could be dead tomorrow or something gruesome. I've met so many people who are so miserable with their success. They never have any fun, they stay in their houses. I've got enough money. Really I don't think I'll ever be able to spend all my money. I very rarely buy things. I buy paintings. I have a great art deco collection. I buy a lot of clothes. LB: Do you think there's an element of compulsiveness in the spending and the way you push yourself to be prolific?

EJ: I've got tremendous drive. What you said before, Lester, about spending money now because you can make more tomorrow - that's true to a certain extent. I believe that I'll be around for quite some time. But I'm quite willing to admit that if something happened I could be the world's biggest bomb. I quite like that, that uncertainty. If our record comes in number one in England, great; when our Hits album went straight to number one, beat Bowie's album, I was absolutely delighted. We don't sit down and write something to go to number one but I'm always on the phone saying how's it going . . . especially with Rocket, the label, it's just murder. I worry more about that than I do about me at the moment.

LB: Don't you think there's an element of the ephemeral intrinsic to rock, very few rock stars sustain over the years, they become hacks like Elvis or Jerry Lee or Chuck Berry.

EJ: I don't want to be like them at all, appearing at the big hotel in town in 15 years doing "Crocodile Rock" for 40 old ladies. I know the time will come when I have to say "enough is enough. " LB: You think you'll be able to pack it in?

EJ: Yeah, there's lots of other things I'm very interested in. I'm very interested in the supper club at this time.

JU: What about film?

EJ: "Pinball Wizard," you're gonna die when you see Tommy, Ken Russell made me pull more faces in that bloody movie than I'd done in my whole life. Pulling the worst faces of all time. I get beaten in the movie.

LB: About the ephemerality, don't you think there's a point at which they know they've peaked? I think Lennon's at that point now, but people can't throw in the towel. They can't admit they're not as good as they were, that they've passed their prime and it's a very pathetic syndrome.

EJ: I suppose so. I don't agree with you about Lennon. He's got himself out of those two or three years of chaos. He was surrounded by chaos, John. And / he's got himself out of that and is on the verge of doing some really good things.

But I know what you mean ... I love reading a review that says "Well, Elton John is finished." I must say there was a review in CREEM of Caribou, and it was the worst review (by Billy Altman, November, 1974 - Ed.) It was great. It made me laugh. I don't mind reviews like that because it was very comical. When the guy said that I pinched "Honky Cat" from Lee Michaels that really finished me off.

One magazine printed a letter to the editor from a Kim Sand in Montego Bay, Jamaica, I'm sure John Lennon wrote it, that says "I'm tired of seeing this tired old closet queen and he doesn't even move around on stage anymore. Elton John belongs in one." It was worse than that. But I love those. LB: After we had Wayne Robins review Yellow Brick Road and he said "he doesn't have sufficient heterosexual good looks blah blah blah," we got this deluge of letters, "the girls at Beaver College think he's sexy and peachy keen." They're absolutely serious.

JU: How do you feel about being a sex symbol?

EJ: I can't understand it. I've always said that rock stars are supposed to be skinny and wasted. I think (with me) with a female it's very much a mother image, "Oh, hey, can I cuddle you. " It's a very subtle thing. In England it isn't. I can't walk around the streets there for fear that I'll get clothes ripped off. They're not subtle at all in England, they just go crazy.

LB: You had a turnover of fans at a certain point in your career which I would place at the release of Madman Across the Water. That's the point where I think a lot of the old Elton John fans decided you were jiving, weren't a serious artist, that you were finished. That's the point I began to like you. You took on a whole new audience at the very point where your initial audience split.

EJ: Like when I say at a show, "This one's from Tumbleweed Connection," there's hardly a ripple. I know exactly what you mean and I think you're quite right. Adding a guitarist made a difference; we've been a band ever since. LB: Did you consciously burn your bridges behind you?

EJ: I'd made my records with session musicians. We had a band but weren't making records together; it was ludicrous. They were getting uptight and I could see their point, and after Madman Across the Water we began to use other musicians more. I thought, "I've gotta start using the people I play with all the time. I've gotta start writing some different types of songs. " That album was Elton John stuck on a bridge. Luckily we went across.

Someone once said to me that I make the funniest records. He said it as a compliment. I mean, "Grimsby?" Grimsby is a pretty atrocious town. Singing a song about it that just makes it sound wonderful.

LB: Do you intend to make your records funny?

EJ: Yeah ... all these people spend all this time creating masterpieces, hours and hours really into things that are just five .chords. I could never believe that they thought they were creating, that they took themselves so seriously . . . I'm serious about some of my songs. "Don't Let The Sun Go Down On Me", is a serious pop song, but "Grimsby" -how can you be serious about Grimsby? That's the whole point of rock and roll.

LB: One last question. Perhaps you can clarify something I've been wondering about for a long time. Why is it, do you think, that there are all these acts like Slade, and Gary Glitter, the Sweet, probably Suzi Quatro, certainly Alvin Stardust - all those teeny tigers who are such a rage in Britain, and they all bomb in the States?

EJ: You have a more sophisticated audience over here. We have a better educational system, but your kids are much more advanced by and large. An English 14 year old boy who buys a Gary Glitter record is simply younger and more naive than a comparable American 14 year old who spends his money on, say, the Allman Brothers. You must remember that you have so many more media outlets over here, more radio stations and television channels and all the rest of it, so the poor dears are bombarded constantly; consequently they become a bit more callous, or at least less gullible. They grow up so fast I sometimes suspect they're older than I am.

LB: They’re certainly more jaded than you seem to be.

EJ: Faugh. Pity, isn't it?

[klapollo]

i walked by the majestic (the theater where phantom of the opera played) on my break and omg all the signs were gone except the one above the marquee and there was a cleaning crew taking shit out from backstage (door wide open mind you) and dumping it...........so wild to see

[holly-fixation]

Like Words on a Page

Summary: Sephiroth wanted to read. Hojo refused to waste time on teaching Shinra’s greatest warrior such a pointless skill on the battlefield. 

Little did he know the consequences of denial, until many, many years later.

An alternate ending to this story by @prismaticpichu . Please read her story before reading this, although this can be read on its own.

Please enjoy!

…

The dusty, untouched air clogged Sephiroth's lungs the moment he unlocked the door, the door guarding his painful truths, the spiral staircase spinning further and further into hell itself. A hell that turned his friends against him. A hell that gave them wings and cost them their sanity. 

He needed to know. What happened? What did they do in ‘Project S’? The answers were here. They had to be here, so he pushed forward. The moment he entered the corridor, his heart sank.

Books. Hundreds of books lined the walls. Pages upon pages he never once understood a single symbol in. The covers mocked him, their patterns proving nothing, explaining nothing, when he knew their insides held even less. Suddenly, he felt dizzy, vertigo forcing him to steady himself with the shelves. 

Poor little Sephiroth…

You’ve never actually met your mother.

You’ve only been told her name, no?

You’ve only been told her name. 

He couldn’t prove a single shred of Genesis’ decree. He couldn’t tell, he only glanced at the symbols on the marquee to try, try, to make sense of it all.

…This was it, wasn’t it? This is where he truly failed… All his answers were here. But he’d never learn them. He’d never understand. 

Learn... You deserve to know...

An angelic voice called to him, a feather light nudge forcing his eyes on the books through the spinning room. But he shook his head. He didn’t know. He wouldn’t know. 

The more he denied, the harder it pushed, a soft press in the back of his mind consuming his thoughts. Just one book, right? If he understood one, he’d understand them all. 

But he wouldn’t. He didn’t understand it, and opening a single page was nothing but a waste of time. As it always had been. 

Learn… It called again, its tone identical, not a shred of impatience. Just a reminder. 

He shook his head again, faster, harder, as if he could throw the call away. His hands clenched the wooden supports as the very blood in his veins reached for the ancient covers. For only a moment, his resolve hardened. If it didn’t listen to him, then he’d show it how pointless this endeavor truly was. He took a blue cover off the shelf and tossed it on the desk, taking a seat in the massive, throne-like chair. He opened the first yellowing sheet with determined, reptilian eyes. 

And stared.

And Stared. 

And Stared. 

…

It didn’t matter. Despite the feeling, despite the call, despite his desperate desperate desire, the symbols mocked him with their utter nonsense and incomprehensible truth. 

He flipped ahead in further spite, scanning lines of graphs where only slopes made sense, analyzing diagrams of bodies with arrows pointing toward specific sections, yet in the boxes of possible explanation was more chaos of impossibility. He could look at pictures, checking the details of the drawn heart, body, or tentacle. He knew certain colors on the graphs correlated to specific results. Yet he didn't understand the labels, the keys, the information handed to him on this leather platter. It was all…useless. 

Useless. 

Useless. 

His eyes stung from the pathetic attempt of translating the truth, the symbols moving and taunting him. He laid the book face down and open, before dropping his head in his crossed arms upon the desk. He felt his own heartbeat, its rhythm trying to pull him back to the cluttered garbage on the paper. 

…I understand. 

He expected the phantom voice to scold him, to torture him, to mock him as well. Yet it spoke calmly, empathetically, capturing his mind in a sweet embrace, relaxing his shoulders instead of punishing his mind. 

They deprived you of knowledge so simple... 

His hands curled with his body. He wanted to hide in a hole. To escape these thoughts. To stop being so pathetic.

Let me help. 

His brows creased in confusion, but his exhausted body followed the silent request, lifting the book and flipping back to the first page. He felt an intangible force guide his hand until he pointed to the first word. The first symbol. 

[mu] - epsilon gamma lambda 7/7/1977. Jenova verified as an Ancient.  

He blinked rapidly, his breath bated as his hand followed along the line. The words stilled with that simple trick, and although they still lacked meaning, it was more than he ever could have asked for. More than anyone ever gave. He never admitted this lack of a skill, and no one around him realized his defect. 

They stole it from you. It is not a defect. You are perfect.

He almost asked the voice a question, to clarify who ‘they’ were, but he wanted the words on the page. He wanted it all, every drop of gated knowledge. Please. “Please…”

The soothing, velvety voice continued walking him through each word, revealing more and more about his own existence from each thought. With its aid, he soon recognized two symbols: ‘S’ and ‘a’. Small. Simple, in hindsight. 

So little time. It took so little time to understand even a few of the letters he feared his entire life. He could have learned quickly, yet they denied him. They denied him so much. As the voice kept translating, he followed and focused with every inch of his attention, absorbing as many details as he physically could. 

Seconds ticked. 

Minutes gone. 

Hours vanished in barely a thought. 

Maybe even days, yet he remained in the basement without the slightest desire to leave, or the slightest care to the passing of time. That was, until he hit his limit.

“Wait…” Sephiroth spoke weakly, his eyes closing as his body leaned against the shelves. His mind ached, too much information, too many questions festering as he forced himself not to interrupt. 

Rest. The voice suggested without a hint of annoyance, truly requesting for his own sake. 

He obeyed with little hesitation, placing the book open on the desk and laying his head on his arm next to it. 

In his dreams laid a promise, a future, a world he would make his own. It showed the moment his greatest caregiver abandoned him to the full clutches of the science department, when that same caregiver was the one that started this project in the first place. Shinra did this. Hojo did this. Gast did this. Genesis, Angeal. Everyone did this. Every human did this. And his rage grew slowly, the first embers breathing under ash. At its peak, green absorbed his sight, and the embrace that followed shattered him. He’d do anything to feel that again. 

He’d do anything. 

Anything.

He did not know that the dark haired boy he once called a friend came into the lab to check on him. He did not know the embrace he dreamed was a blanket wrapped around his shoulders in reality. He did not notice the meal and drink the boy laid out for him after so many days underground. 

He didn’t know that his single rest relieved the boy beyond belief, a smile he never saw as the boy left to fulfill his request. To be left alone. 

He only knew hatred. Violent and hungry. 

He knew where he needed to go. 

I know what to do. 

Wait for me just a moment longer. 

I’m coming for you. I’ll be there soon. 

M o t h e r . 

.

.

.

.

Thanks for reading! 

Author’s note: Thank you again to @prismaticpichu for letting me expand this. Please check out her stories if you want a (generally) happy/fun time! As for me, I’m insane, and I enjoy writing this ‘no hope’ type of story a BIT too much. I haven’t done a spin off ending of someone else’s story before, so I hope you all enjoyed it! This was fun! Thanks for reading!

[mediachi]

Fright Nights at Garfield's Nightmare (Creepypasta by Mediachi)

I’m sure not a lot of you have ever been to, or heard of, Kennywood. It’s a theme park located in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania that started as a popular picnic location, but has since evolved to host popular rides such as Phantom’s Revenge, Thunderbolt, the Exterminator, Jack Rabbit, and a ride that has been with the park since its early days; The Old Mill.

As its name implies; The Old Mill is a slow moving boat ride that takes place in the dark, with some of them having scenes scattered throughout. They’re commonly known as attractions where couples tend to do their “private businesses”, giving the ride-type its nickname: The Tunnel of Love. Kennywood’s Old Mill would undergo numerous themes and ride system changes over the years, including 1926 when the ride caught fire and was rebuilt from the ground up. In 2004, the ride received its most infamous overlay to date: Garfield’s Nightmare, which was based on the popular comic strip character… Well, Garfield.

The attraction took guests through scenes that depicted the famous orange tabby fat cat experiencing a nightmare (duh)---including being chased by an evil ice cream truck, eaten by a giant fish, coming face to face with a giant spider, and mice cooking cat stew. What made it stand out was the use of 3D. Many Garfield comic strips were reused, but painted in a specific color to where, when you put the 3D glasses on, it pops out at you. But it wasn’t enough to distract from how the ride was pretty terrible. And, funny enough, Kennywood themselves knew it, since they didn’t wanna make the ride too great or too scary considering Garfield is an IP associated with families. However, to the knowledge of nobody, that mindset would be thrown out entirely during the park’s Phantom Fright Nights, which was for anyone above 13 only, as the ride was constructed on the concept of having it switch-out during nights the event took place to make it much darker, grimmer, and scarier than what was presented to the public. I know this because I was one of the very few employees to witness it.

I was an employee at Kennywood during the 2004 season, mainly operating Jack Rabbit, and one of the perks was that I got to participate in an employee-only preview of that year’s Phantom Fright Nights event. Included was, what they dubbed, “an exclusive Fright Nights version of Garfield’s Nightmare”. I was confused when I saw it on the park map I was given for the event, because Kennywood never publicly announced this in any way. But I guess they wanted to test it with employees to see how they respond before making it public.

After going through the park’s entrance tunnel, which was adorned with blinding red lights and masked characters with weapons, through the smoke, Garfield’s Nightmare was the first thing I saw. With this “exclusive version” capturing my interest, I walked towards it and underneath the poorly lit marquee with Garfield, Odie, a Spider, the mill, and text that read the ride’s name popping out as 3D sculptures. The only difference I noticed in the queue was that the lighting was a shade of purple and green, obviously to resemble witch colors. But other than that, the worn-down rotting house that served as the show-building and a terrified Garfield looking through the window on top with its doors loudly opening and closing, remained the same.

I boarded my boat and put on my 3-D glasses, and after passing through a small outdoor section that led to the inside, plus the visible window that showed the security office (I still don’t know why they never bothered with it), I entered a long pitch-dark tunnel. The only sounds audible are a cold-howling wind, the pitter-patter and splashing of the water moving the boat, and even the clanking of a very small lift hill. At the end of the tunnel, I could see a light. It was a TV that played an introductory animation featuring one of the mice characters from the strip. Usually the mouse, through some scary voice changer, welcomes guests to the ride, tells them how frightening it is, something about cheese, before turning to face the screen, telling guests in his normal voice to enjoy the ride, and the video resets. Or at least, that’s how it regularly goes. Instead, as the boat began to move up the lift hill, the speakers blasted a loud demonic and distorted voice that spoke:

“WELCOME TO GARFIELD’S NIGHTMARE. A NIGHTMARE FROM WHICH YOU MAY NEVER AWAKE. THIS IS THE MOST FRIGHTENING ADVENTURE YOU’LL EVER BE ON.” 

I jumped. It immediately caught me off guard, but I quickly assumed that it was some sort of technical glitch. It wasn’t until the mouse slowly turned to face the camera; He had some sort of shit-eating grin on his face, and he whispered in an almost ghoulish manner:

“enjoy your ride.” His head slowly tilted to the side as if it was sliding off, his pupils growing to where his eyes have gone completely black, and his already wide smile grew wider and wider. My boat made a right turn, and it’s when I heard a splattering thud. I immediately turned my back to see what was happening in the video, but it had already reset itself. I turned back around and sighed, as I saw that the ride was dimly lit. I mean, it is a “dark ride” but it was usually brighter than what I was seeing. …Oh, that’s right. I have my 3-D glasses on. I take them off, and… No, it’s still very dark. Not a bright light in sight, plus the colors all just seemed pretty faded. I didn’t like riding with the glasses anyway. Food products decorated the dark hallway (some of them having faces and 2 of them being shameless Pepsi product placement), and to my left was a comic strip about Garfield falling asleep after eating so much. However, not only was I barely able to make it out due to everything being so dark, but for some odd reason, all of the strips had Garfield’s eyes completely blackened (Something that would apply to all of the strips but I’m getting ahead of myself). Eerie sounds were playing and the music had gone absent, but there was still dialogue from Garfield. Over the speakers he could be heard saying:

“I have this strange feeling of indigestion.” The boat moved into the next show-room, and up until this point I was thinking that maybe it was all just special effects and some extra stuff to make it look scarier, but other than that the ride was the exact same in terms of story. It ended up being the opposite.

The next scene took place in Jon’s living room, with Garfield sleeping on the floor in the middle of scattered food and pizza boxes. The yellow walls with small spiral patterns were now blank, dirty, and peeled; The furniture looked rotten and destroyed, and the cartoony evil eyes were gone. But instead, behind the moving door prop, was a tall shadowy figure with red pupils looking down at Garfield. This wasn’t portrayed by a cardboard cutout like most of the characters are either, this was an actual 3-Dimensional statue. It didn’t even look human. I had a so many questions on my mind that are too many to list, but I do remember one of them being:

“Is this some sort of elaborate joke?” The boat made its way to the next tunnel, the cardboard pictures that depicted ice cream plastered throughout were gone making it almost entirely pitch-black until it got to the comic strip where Garfield was seemingly being chased by a dog only for it to be revealed they were both chasing an ice cream truck. You know, riding this made me realize Garfield comics are not that funny (Unrelated). Garfield’s voice is heard again over the speakers:

“I never met an ice cream truck I didn’t like, or lick.”

The boat made another right turn, showing a moving 2D figure of a living ice cream truck with a scary face on its front with sentient ice cream driving it, audible creeks as it swayed back and forth, but instead of it chasing Garfield, it was running him over. It was shown in a manner that didn’t look all squash and stretchy, but instead looked genuinely painful like an actual animal getting hit. A fudge popsicle looks down at Garfield smiling, its face melting with its eyes popping out of its sockets.

“Mailman. The favorite snack of the decering people.”

The next strip depicted Garfield scaring a mailman, and the following scene showed the mailman next to an animatronic dog barking, its jaw larger than its head and its teeth sharp as spikes. But this time the dog was shaking rapidly and… Something was dripping from its mouth. It was red water. I didn’t believe it was blood, but when I got a whiff of a rather metallic scent I could no longer tell whether or not it was real blood. It had to be some sort of effect right? We had an employee blood donation a few months ago, but I doubt this is where our blood went, otherwise I’d be filing a lawsuit right now.

“Ah. Who’s scared of a tincy-wincy spider?”

The fourth strip showed Garfield batting off a small spider, and in the accompanying scene the moving 2D cutout of a spider drawn in a cartoon style was replaced with a giant animatronic tarantula. Its fur all black, its eyes beaming red, and its mouth opening and closing as it stared down and roared at Garfield. The walls were covered with real-looking spiders too. Thankfully the orange cat remained as a 2D cutout.

As the boat moved to the next scene, Garfield was not heard over the speakers like he has been throughout the ride. It was the scene where Garfield, in a comic strip, eats a small fish alive before a new showroom showed him being eaten by a giant fish (Funny I know). This would be the only time in the ride Garfield was in animatronic form, well, it only showed his legs, but I can’t tell if this was intentional or if it just broke, but Garfield was not moving. Other than that, this was the only scene left unchanged, and was the quietest part of the experience so far.

I had a little time to breathe, as I was still trying to wrap my head around what I was seeing. I didn’t drink or smoke anything before I got here (I’m not about that life), and I know I’m certainly awake. Did they actually approve of this? I know this is supposed to be for a halloween event aimed at mature guests, but this is Garfield we’re talking about. Why would they be okay associating all of this with the IP’s image? This thought circled in my mind as the ride continued.

The adjacent scene showed Garfield at the vet. Liz was pointing an injection needle at me with a very malicious look but the hole that would be used to spray air at guests as an effect was patched with an actual giant needle that was dangerously sharp. The cutouts of Garfield and 2 dogs on both sides were replaced by a stretcher on Liz’s left, which strapped tightly to it was an animatronic realistic looking yellow dog that seemed as if it had gone rabid. Foaming out of the mouth, growling and howling, squirming and kicking, and its pupils look dilated. Being that I loved dogs I felt tears in my eyes. Before my boat left the showroom the cutout Liz quickly moved towards me with the needle nearly a foot away from my face. My flight or fight kicked in if it hadn’t already, but thankfully I wasn’t stabbed, though I was certain they would get sued for that.

“Why do I have this uneasy feeling that I pushed the pizza guy a little too far?”

My boat moved through the scene where an evil pizza guy uses a frightening animatronic pizza box with chomping sharp teeth, but the pizza inside was replaced with a moving human hand, not an actual one of course. The cutouts of alive pizza boxes and drinks were gone, and the background was completely black. There was audio coming from inside the box of a man screaming, but it was drowned out by audio of the pizza guy laughing maniacally.

“I always say: One good pile of food deserves another.”

It was now the kitchen scene, aka the largest showroom in the attraction. There was no comic strip preceding it this time so for a few seconds my boat flowed through complete darkness. But when I got to the room, like the previous one it was almost entirely dark. With the exception of a horrified looking Garfield, a zombified Odie who looked to have cut his long tongue and wrapped it around his body, and what replaced Jon and a frankenstein hot dog was a person attached to an electric chair, their face covered in a bag, and shaking rapidly as loud buzzing noises are heard with the person audibly unable to breathe. Small flashes of lights are seen. My right was completely dark but I was able to see two small glowing red dots staring at me. Was that the figure from the first room? I assume so.

Finally, the boat made its way into the last scene. Knowing it was the one where the mice in Jon’s house were cooking cat stew I was thinking it was gonna show Garfield being boiled alive with his skin melting or something. Every scene in this ride was just some messed up twisted variations of the original and I was expecting the finale to be no different. …I wish I was right. What I saw was much worse. The comic strip wasn’t even the one where Jon scolds Garfield for not eating mice this one was completely different. Instead of 3 panels separated from each other, it was 5 all together.

Panel #1 showed Garfield sleeping in the pizza box surrounded by the mess but he’s squirming. It’s implying we’re seeing him have his nightmare from the outside.

Panel #2: Jon walks in and he’s visibly upset. It almost looked like the face of someone who was just told their mother had passed away. Jon was in a tuxedo, his mouth was quivering, eyes bloodshot like he was crying the whole way back, and he was holding flowers implying that he had another failed date with Liz.

Panel #3: He looked down at Garfield, who was still sleeping, and Jon’s expression went blank. His eyes were still sore but they widened as he stared down at his cat and the mess he made, sleeping in all of it.

Panel #4: Jon began to shake, his eyebrows furrowed, his teeth were gritted, and his fists were clenched. He looked furious.

The final panel showed a close-up of Jon’s angry eye in a drawing that resembled that one panel from the comic where Garfield is seemingly alone, he was clearly sweating and somehow his pupils went red. The red-eyed figure I already saw twice in the ride was Jon. A piece of dialogue was shown that was voiced-over. Jon spoke in a trembling sobbing manner:

“Garfield… What’ve you done?”

The strip ended there but it wasn’t long before Jon was heard over the speakers angrily yelling at the top of his lungs:

“What’ve you done?? WHAT’VE YOU DONE??”

I entered the final showroom, and it was Jon, in animatronic form and with a sadistic look on his face, strangling Garfield by the neck and slamming his head onto the ground with audible thuds. The background audio was nothing but distorted sound effects as far as I can describe it. Garfield, who was also an animatronic but his face was not seen, could be heard screaming in agony as Jon choked him. Behind them both were large and very detailed eyes looking down at what was happening. My jaw dropped at the sight; I felt sick to my stomach and part of me just wanted to jump off this goddamn boat and get out, but I realized it was entering the final tunnel. 

Typically the characters that tormented Garfield would be standing to my left as their normal friendly selves portrayed by 2D figures and Garfield saying that the nightmare was over. But instead the walls were stars, fog was covering the water, the sad song I recognize from Here Comes Garfield played marking the first time there was actual music in this god-forsaken ride, and a soft angelic voice could be heard:

“So long old friend. Your nightmare is over now.”

As the boat traveled through the tunnel, I was still in disbelief and in denial that what I just saw was even real. Questions were still running around in my mind, I was feeling light-headed, and it felt like I was about to throw up. I just sat back though, and let the boat finish its journey out of the show-building and back to the loading station. However, there was one more thing waiting for me at the end of the tunnel. The extra room where the mouse from the opening video would take your picture was instead a garden. All the characters that appeared throughout the ride were 3D sculptures, and they were standing by and facing a tombstone that read: ‘R.I.P. Garfield’. The music stopped, no sounds beside the water, it was just silent. Suddenly, the boat came to a halt; It felt like I was stuck there for a minute straight. 

“You gotta be kidding me”, I mumbled under my breath. I then felt my cellphone drop out of my pocket, so I bent over to pick it up. I looked back over at the scene… and I froze. My eyes widened, and I could feel a shiver crawl up my spine with a sense of danger. The figures had turned their heads to stare directly at me. It wasn’t the scariest part though. All of their faces were different. Some of them were blank, some of them had hollow holes as eyes and mouths, some of them had no mouth and only white pupil-less eyes, and some of them were all contorted. The mouse was there as well, standing ontop of Garfield’s grave and his head missing, though I could tell he was looking at me too by the way his body moved. I wanted to get off, but before I could do anything I saw a very bright flash, and just like that the boat was moving again and had finally gotten out of the building. After passing by a mini-waterfall I was back at the loading station, and above me the comic created exclusively for the ride where Garfield exits with all his nightmares following him was replaced with text. It was a quote from Jim Davis, Garfield’s creator.

“An imagination is a powerful tool. It can tint memories of the past, shade perceptions of the present, or paint a future so vivid that it can entice… or terrify, all depending upon how we conduct ourselves today.”

The nightmare was over. I immediately leapt out of the boat, and went to the nearest trash can to vomit. One of the employees walked toward me and asked if I was okay, and I yelled back, still breathing heavily and shaking.

“Are you guys high?! What the hell was that?!” I immediately apologized, assuring the employee it wasn’t their fault and that I just had a bad experience in there. They told me that I wasn’t the only one who complained, and that many employees were distraught and felt ill after riding whatever version of the ride this was. By sheer coincidence, a boat pulled up to the station with an employee in it, and he was lying unconscious. Paramedics called and the ride was shut down for the night; I later learned that the man suffered a heart attack due to the intensity of the experience, so it was one incentive out of a hundred others for Kennywood to not move forward with the Phantom Fright Nights edition of Garfield’s Nightmare. Before I left the area that night I was able to see that my ride picture was snapped. It was pretty embarrassing so I hope nobody else saw it.

I quit my job after the season ended, but I still visited the park from time to time because I still liked going there. I’ve given Garfield’s Nightmare the occasional ride from my visits over the years, watching it slowly break and age, until it finally closed at the end of the 2019 to be reverted back to the Old Mill. Every single prop was destroyed because Viacom, Garfield’s owner, didn’t want them up on the black market so aside from some references in the new ride, Garfield just no longer exists in Kennywood; Can’t say it wasn’t for the better, though hearing every remnant was destroyed makes me sad. Maybe the IP could come back to the park without some nightmarish horror attraction someday, and I can only hope there’s lasagna.

LISTEN TO IT HERE: https://youtu.be/IamzXsG5Nr8

[danielspoussart]

The Enchanting World of Broadway Shows: A Journey Through Theater Magic

Broadway, the iconic stretch of theater venues in New York City, stands as a symbol of artistic excellence and cultural significance. With its dazzling lights, captivating performances, and rich history, Broadway continues to be a beacon for theater enthusiasts from around the world. This article delves into the mesmerizing world of Broadway shows, exploring their evolution, notable productions, and the impact they have on audiences and the theater industry.

The Evolution of Broadway: From Humble Beginnings to Global Fame

Early Days and Golden Age

Broadway's origins trace back to the early 19th century when theater began to flourish in New York City. Initially, performances were held in makeshift venues, but the burgeoning popularity of theater soon led to the establishment of dedicated theaters. The mid-20th century marked the Golden Age of Broadway, with productions like "Oklahoma!" (1943), "West Side Story" (1957), and "The Sound of Music" (1959) setting new standards for musical theater. This era was characterized by its innovative storytelling, memorable music, and the emergence of legendary composers like Rodgers and Hammerstein and Leonard Bernstein.

Modern Era: Diversity and Innovation

Broadway embraced diversity and innovation in the late 20th and early 21st centuries. Productions began to explore a broader range of themes and styles, reflecting societal changes and evolving artistic sensibilities. Shows like "Rent" (1996) brought contemporary issues to the forefront, while "The Lion King" (1997) showcased groundbreaking visual effects and puppetry. More recently, "Hamilton" (2015) revolutionized Broadway with its blend of hip-hop, history, and diverse casting, earning widespread acclaim and a devoted fanbase.

Notable Broadway Productions: A Showcase of Talent and Creativity

Timeless Classics

Certain Broadway shows have achieved timeless status, continuing to captivate audiences for decades. "Les Misérables" (1987) and "The Phantom of the Opera" (1988) are prime examples, both renowned for their powerful narratives, unforgettable music, and grandiose production values. These shows have transcended generations, becoming cultural touchstones and inspiring numerous adaptations and revivals.

Contemporary Hits

In recent years, Broadway has witnessed the rise of new hits that resonate with modern audiences. "Dear Evan Hansen" (2016) explores themes of mental health and social media, striking a chord with younger theatergoers. "Waitress" (2016) combines heartfelt storytelling with an all-female creative team, highlighting the importance of representation in the industry. Additionally, "Hadestown" (2019) reimagines Greek mythology with a folk and jazz-infused score, earning critical acclaim and multiple Tony Awards.

The Broadway Experience: More Than Just a Show

The Magic of Live Performances

Attending a Broadway show is an immersive experience that goes beyond mere entertainment. The magic of live performances lies in the energy and connection between the actors and the audience. Every show is unique, with subtle variations that make each performance memorable. The thrill of seeing talented performers bring characters to life, coupled with the grandeur of the sets, costumes, and lighting, creates an unforgettable experience.

The Role of Broadway in New York City

Broadway is an integral part of New York City's cultural and economic fabric. The theater district, centered around Times Square, attracts millions of tourists each year, contributing significantly to the city's economy. The bustling atmosphere of Times Square, with its iconic marquees and vibrant street life, adds to the allure of attending a Broadway show. Moreover, Broadway plays a crucial role in the careers of countless actors, directors, designers, and other theater professionals, providing a platform for talent and creativity.

Challenges and Resilience: Broadway in the Face of Adversity

The Impact of the COVID-19 Pandemic

The COVID-19 pandemic posed unprecedented challenges to the Broadway industry. The closure of theaters in March 2020 brought productions to a halt, resulting in significant financial losses and uncertainty for thousands of workers. However, the resilience of the Broadway community shone through as virtual performances and creative initiatives kept the spirit of theater alive. The reopening of theaters in 2021 marked a triumphant return, with audiences eagerly embracing the magic of live performances once again.

Adapting to Changing Times

Broadway continues to adapt to changing times, embracing new technologies and trends. The rise of streaming platforms has expanded the reach of Broadway shows, allowing global audiences to experience the magic from their homes. Initiatives to promote diversity and inclusion have also gained momentum, with a focus on amplifying underrepresented voices and stories. The future of Broadway promises to be dynamic and inclusive, reflecting the ever-evolving landscape of theater and society.

Broadway shows are more than just performances; they are cultural landmarks that leave a lasting impact on audiences and the theater industry. From the glitz and glamour of classic musicals to the innovative and thought-provoking productions of today, Broadway continues to enchant and inspire. As the heartbeat of theater, Broadway's enduring legacy lies in its ability to transport audiences to new worlds, evoke powerful emotions, and celebrate the boundless creativity of the human spirit. Whether you are a seasoned theatergoer or a newcomer to the world of Broadway, the magic of these shows is sure to leave you spellbound.

[sports-live-result]

Sher-e-Punjab T20 Cup 2023 venue and Teams

The Sher-e-Punjab T20 Cup is a domestic T20 cricket tournament organized by the Punjab Cricket Association (PCA). The tournament is named after Sher-e-Punjab, the title given to Maharaja Ranjit Singh, the founder of the Sikh Empire.

The first edition of the Sher-e-Punjab T20 Cup was held in 2022, and it featured six teams: BLV Blasters, Agri King's Knights, JK Super Strikers, Trident Stallions, Hampton Falcons, and Royal Phantoms. The tournament was won by the BLV Blasters, who defeated the Agri King's Knights in the final. and you can see the Sher E Punjab T20 Cup live score 2023 here.

The second edition of the Sher-e-Punjab T20 Cup is currently underway, and it is being played from July 13 to July 31, 2023. The matches are being played at the PCA, I.S Bindra Stadium, Mohali

The top four teams at the end of the league stage will qualify for the semi-finals, which will be played on July 28, 2023. The final of the Sher-e-Punjab T20 Cup will be played on July 30, 2023.

Some of the marquee players who are taking part in the Sher-e-Punjab T20 Cup include Mandeep Singh, Gurkeerat Singh, Siddharth Kaul, Mayank Markande, Abhishek Sharma, Nehal Wadhera, Prabhsimran Singh, Baltej Singh, and Hapreet Brar.

Watch Sher E Punjab T20 Cup 2023 live score | Sher E Punjab live score

[iamthecomet]

Ghoul thought: I don't like the name Phantom much either.

I named him Marquee. He feels like a Marquee to me.

Ooohh! I really like Marquee. That's a great choice too!!

I love the creativity and variety in everyone's names for him. I think he will always be the ghoul of many names, I'm fine with that. I think that sort of suits him.