#alien from LA

[eightiesfan]

[cinemacouture]

Alien from L. A. (1988, dir. Albert Pyun)

[ufoandmermaid]

[stumpyshocky]

[davidwatchedthat]

1/25/22

ALIEN FROM L.A., directed by Albert Pyun, 1988.

[ebenelephant]

in my sam-and-dean-fuck-during-stanford-era-thus-ruining-their-relationship-and-causing-them-not-to-talk-for-almost-twenty-years-in-which-time-dean-becomes-a-firefighter au, dean and bobby nash are really good friends. just, fyi.

[funeralprocessor]

I feel like the existence of the skirmishers (and everything from Chimera Squad) make XCOM come across as massive pricks wrt the aliens. Like the game goes out of its way to dehumanize the aliens (exclusively referring to them as it, saying their all brainwashed and mind controlled, etc) but then turn around and have ex-Advent be people who were at least aware during their time as drones, vipers and sectoids and mutons being obviously sentient and having their own culture, hell, the Ethereals are clearly people too. And then Chimera Squad shows us a future where they're actually treated as such and nobody makes as big a deal about it as I think they should.

[lesbians4armand]

frankly while i understand people who found interview with the vampire boring compared to the insanity of the rest of the books, i feel like they are missing out on the heavy allegorical nature of it as a story of grief because i found it so so strong in that respect

[featherymainffins]

*remembers Dungeon Meshi* The Winged Lion

[esta-elavaris]

Had a moment today that exemplifies how my family thinks but like, in a way that’s just very sad and makes me glad I don’t think that way.

Showed a relative the amazing painting that friend did for me, and her first response was “you’d be able to sell that for some good money!!!”

Like. No????

For months I’ve discussed this creative trade with this friend, we’ve talked about what the other wants, we’ve gotten excited about it and traded progress pics as we work on it for each other, gotten stoked over making plans to get to the post office and seeing the other finally get it, and it’s just been a very wholesome and very fun project. It took six weeks for us to complete these projects, and now I have something on display in my room that makes me very happy, that’s objectively beautiful, and that I know a friend put a lot of effort into making for me and was THRILLED when I adored it.

And my family’s immediate line of thinking is “make a few quid from it lol”.

I can’t imagine the headspace it must take to go through life like that.

[slashernipples]

In me heart, Killer Frequency has like, 8 movies, 2 failed reboots, and a tv miniseries.

[apendice-chileno]

I actually hate his shit brown color coat 

[sorrydearie]

!: that classic collapse into someone’s waiting arms

(something something sickly victorian child)

“Repeat after me—”

“I’m not a fucking child.”

“—we do not touch the haunted dolls.”

“If they didn’t want people touching them,” Martín argued, “they should have put up a sign.”

“You mean on top of the rope fencing them off from irresponsible people with a death wish?”

Ah, fuck.

Martín hated to admit it, but Andrés had a point there. 

The corduroy rope was hard to miss, actually. Bright-red, it looped around the displayed dolls like a bold-faced challenge.

Strangely enough, the dolls were the only exhibits to be fenced off. All of the other artifacts in Señor Rodrigez Cabinet of Curiosities – dusty old ouija boards, monkey paws, and various occult paraphernalia – were suspiciously accessible.

Probably because Señor Rodrigez knew very well that he'd built his empire on random trash.

Even so. Martín didn’t appreciate the snide comment. He wrinkled his nose, annoyed, and made a point to glare at Tatiana when she laughed at him.

Taking sides now, was she? 

Whore. 

Come to think of it, Martín wasn’t usually so hostile. 

It must be the creepy dolls, staring at him with their dead, beady eyes. Those porcelain faces with round, rosy cheeks. The irritably long lashes, like little spider legs…

It unnerved him. Creepy little fuckers.

“Anyway. I’m calling their bluff.” Martín waved his hand, dismissive. “You don’t actually believe that I’m gonna get possessed by a sickly Victorian child if I touch them? That’s ridiculous.”

The corners of Andrés’s lips dragged down. Just like they always did when Martín ‘disrespected’ the dead. Or the demonic. And, one notable time, the yetis. 

“Of course you’re not gonna get possessed,” Andrés clarified, matter-of-factly. As though Martín was slow or stupid – or both. “You’ll get cursed. Plunged into a life of despair. Bad luck is going to follow you around like a vengeful ex and you’ll be left with nothing. No money, no friends, no love life.”

"So no different to how things are right now," Tatiana chimed in, sticking out her tongue. Martín briefly contemplated pushing her into the display of cursed masks adorning the wall. How dare she butt into this?!

He glared at her. “You’re a nasty, disgusting, absolutely vile woman—”

“Martín!” 

Andrés gasped, and Martín frowned. What, was Andrés appalled by how Martín had spoken to his ex? They bickered all the time, it was kind of their thing.

But then Andrés grabbed Martín’s arm and dragged him close, eyes glued to one of the dolls displayed in front of them. 

“Did you see that?”

Martín blinked. “See what?”

“That doll’s arm just moved.”

“Bullshit.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“I’m calling you easily excitable.” Like a hot golden retriever, trained to detect the paranormal. “Maybe the air conditioning ruffled her dress, or something. It is chilly here.”

Andrés shot him an unimpressed look.

“I think I’m knowledgeable enough to differentiate between a gust of wind and a real-life demonic presence.”

“You said that the last few times, too…” Martín trailed off, frowning. 

He hadn’t realized it until now, but Andrés was still holding onto him. His fingers were curled, tightly, around Martín’s bicep. 

It was… distracting.

He cleared his throat, suddenly flustered. 

“Whatever,” he said, playing it off. Like Andrés’s touch wasn’t burning him through his clothes. “The only thing scary about these dolls is their fucked-up eyes. So don’t go pissing your pants—”

It all happened so fast. 

He’d been eager to seem cool and unaffected, and so he’d laughed and thrown out his arms – and knocked over one of the stupid dolls.

It tumbled off its pedestal, frilly dress and laces fanning out like a broken parachute, before sprawling onto the floor in a heap of broken limbs and human ringlets. Its dead eyes stared up at Martín, unblinking. 

Tatiana gasped in horror. 

“Oh shit,” Martín said. “That’s not—”

Good, he’d meant to say, but the words got stuck inside his throat when Andrés grabbed his face, crowding him.

“What are you—”

They were impossibly close, just a hair’s breadth between them. Martín could make out the specks of amber in his eyes, like particles of starlight. He could count Andrés’s lashes, and marvel at the perfect dip of his Cupid’s bow…

Martín’s heart knocked against his ribcage like a fucking ping pong ball. 

“Are you all right?” Andrés asked, searching his face. “I told you not to touch the damned thing. Do you feel any different? Light-headed? Fatigued?”

His words were rushed, and for a split second Martín mistook it for worry. But he knew Andrés better than that, knew how to read the signs: the wide eyes, the hitch in his breath, the flush to his cheeks…

The bastard was excited. About Martín getting cursed. 

Hijo de puta. 

Had Andrés no shame? Did he not care if Martín died at the ant-sized hands of an Annabelle knock-off? What if it toddled into his flat at the dead of night and axe-murdered him in his sleep? Would Andrés get off on that?

Martín opened his mouth, ready to give him a good talking-to, but changed his mind at the last second.

Maybe…

Maybe he could use this to his advantage.

“Actually… I’m feeling a bit faint,” he said, wrangling his voice into a croak. He coughed too, for effect. Look at him – weak and wearied and miserable. The poor, unfortunate victim of a powerful curse. 

He made his knees buckle and slumped forward, as if overcome by a dizzy spell, and Andrés’s arms opened for him. He drew Martín close, encouraging him to lean against him. Just like Martín knew he would. 

Andrés made a cooing sound. His breath tickled the hair at Martín’s temple. 

“Let’s get you out of here,” Andrés said, stroking Martín’s back. “The doll’s power over you will only grow stronger if we stay here.”

Martín nodded, and let out an afflicted moan. For good measure. 

From the corner of his eye he could see Tatiana hiding a smirk behind her camera. Martín couldn’t bring himself to care. Not as long as Andrés kept his arms around him, as long as he allowed Martín to tuck his face into the crook of his neck, and held him close.

Nothing mattered, as long as Andrés gave Martín his undivided attention. 

He’d milk Andrés’s sympathy for all it was worth. 

[blurrypxls]

The Griffin Siblings

L-R: Penelope 'Penny', Melody, Saffron 'Saff', Sam, Summer, Sky

[cosmicboyinthesky]

i will never get addicted to anything because i don’t make enough money to afford it. And also i feel yucky after any substance is consumed in one way or another. sooooo what im saying is im gonna have a good life

[growing-fire]

Mmmmmmh girl did we read the same book