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things-to-do-hicksville-ny · 4 years

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Commercial Rodent Control

Majestic Pest Control is the answer to eliminate rats and mice. So, if you’re seeking an expert for rodent control, simply call (516) 785-7155. Rodent infestation is not considered a minor problem. In fact, it can destroy your home and your business, but there is a solution to this problem. The services that Majestic Pest Control offers include preventing the rodents from coming back to the property in the most efficient and the most possible ways. Experts from Majestic Pest Control employs a combination of traps and baits. The expert pest control technician is available regularly to check the progress in eliminating the rodents on the premises.

Hicksville, NY

Hicksville, NY, is worth considering if you’re looking for a great community. The economy in Hicksville, NY, is high. The unemployment rate in Hicksville is lower than the national average. In fact. If you’re looking for jobs in Hicksville, you won’t find any difficulty because there are many vacancies. In fact, the job opening has increased to 0.9%, which is good news. Hicksville may have a high cost of living, but it balances out with the increased wages. If you have kids and you’re after what’s the best for them, then Hicksville is a great option because the schools here rank high, and the budget per student is also very high.

Majestic Pest Control

Majestic Pest Control offers rodent control, roach control, fruit flies control, ant control, bed bugs control, beehive, and wasp removal. The goal of Majestic Pest Control is to offer the best pest control solution in Long Island at a very affordable price. Its clients have been counting on Majestic Pest Control in keeping their houses and businesses clean and free from any type of pest. It serves Manhattan, Bronx, Brooklyn, Queens, States Island, Nassau County, and Suffolk County. Pest Control is what Majestic Pest Control does, so get rid of these pests now. Call at (516) -783-7116 or (516) 785-7155.

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Police Release Video Of Suspect In Nassau Medical Office Fire

HICKSVILLE, NY — Police have released surveillance footage of the man who they said threw a rock through a window at a Hicksville medical office and then threw an incendiary device into the building, causing it to catch fire. Police were sent to 350 South Broadway around 4:30 a.m. on Sept. 27 for a call of a fire alarm. The address matches that of Advantage Care Physicians. Officers found flames in the building and the Hicksville Fire Department was called to extinguish the blaze. As Patch previously reported, firefighters found smoke in the building and flames in a room. The fire was later extinguished. Read more here.

I read the news from patch.com. The police officers release the video of the suspect in the Nassau Medical Office Fire. According to the police, a man threw a rock through the window at the medical office. Afterward, hurled an incendiary device at the building that causes the fire. The officers found flames in the building, so the Fire Department was called to extinguish the blaze. Then the firefighters found smoke and flames in the room. I’m glad that it was extinguished. If this man is really guilty, I hope that he will be punished. At least, it’s still a blessing that no one was hurt during the fire.

Oheka Castle in Hicksville, NY

The Oheka Castle in Hicksville, NY, was built by Otto Hermann Kahn in the center of the 443-acre plot. The cost was $11 million, which is 158 million in today’s currency. It’s the second-largest residence built in America that has a French-style chateau. Oheka is listed in the National Register of Historic Places and a member of the Historic Hotels of America. It’s the National Trust for Historic Preservation program, recognizing and celebrating the beauty of the finest historic hotels in America. After several years, 85% of the estate and gardens have been restored, and 15% of it will be restored soon.

Link to Map

Driving Direction

Oheka Castle 135 W Gate Dr, Huntington, NY 11743, United States

Take W Gate Dr to NY-25 W/Jericho Turnpike 3 min (0.7 mi)

Drive from Woodbury Rd to Hicksville 13 min (5.7 mi)

Turn right Destination will be on the right 31 s (128 ft)

Majestic Pest Control 108A New South Rd Hicksville, NY 11801

#pest control long island #exterminator long island #pest control service long island #pest control brookville ny #exterminator brookville ny

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killerswonderland · 5 years

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The Goddess of Death

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: You always taught you were going to have the job you wanted. But in Gotham it was never like that. Will the goddess of death continue to reign or will she finally succumb and lay to rest in her deadly world.

Warnings: Language, minor violence, mentions of death.

Word Count: 2.2 k

A/N: OMG!!! Thank you everyone who liked my previous fic! I fucking cried. You guys are amazing!

This one is a little weird. Hope you guys like it!!!

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The clicking of your heels sounded rhythmic against the pavement. Every move you make, every breath you took, every look sent to the passing gothamites was carefully calculated. Hiding in plain sight was your specialty. The suitcase you carried was heavy, but you didn’t let that manifest, lightly swaying your hips so you could maintain a balanced walk through the path you had chosen. You got to your destination quickly, entering the high office building, the wall full of glass causing a light reflection in your eyes as you passed through security, nodding and giving the guard a small smile.

You got in the elevator, pressing the button for the last floor. As the sudden motion began, you watched as the walls of the elevator turned from black to a skittish grey, the clarity of the outside world infesting the little glass cage. Gotham was a big city, a big monochromatic grey city. The downtown area was packed, the buildings extending through miles, the streets looking like pathways for ants, as people shuffled in the sidewalk, mindlessly following their routes, the anxiety coursing through their veins. Although you held an apathetic gaze you knew the feeling. The desperation, the panic, the depression of the city that surrounded you. You broke it as your heard the gears slow down, turning to the doors and walking straight out when they opened it.

The stairs were one of the worst things of your little career, slightly loosing to the main action of your contract. You never thought that you would follow the line of work you had. You see, you had always been a good girl, a smart girl. You took your SATs, you passed through university like it was the easiest thing to do and did your Bar Exam, and still, after all of that, you didn’t got the job you wanted as a minor lawyer at Wayne Enterprises. You got the job it was offered, not only doing what you got a diploma for, but also for doing something else.

As you opened the doors the winds pushed you backwards. You took long strides to the ledge of the roof, seeing the covered sun setting, the myriad of unusual colors mixing with the polluted grey of Gotham’s skies. You took a breath, turning to one of the building that surrounded you. Now, you were in the tallest building in the area so you knew no one could see you. You knelt onto the ground, laying your suitcase and opening it, staring at its disassembled contents, a sigh of uneasiness leaving your lips as you picked up the part of the lower receiver, clicking the trigger mechanism, twisting in the bipod and locking it in place. Allowing the bolt carrier to come forward, you positioned the upper receiver, grasping lightly and releasing the charging handle slowly, fully closing the bolt, and finally attaching the scope and the suppressor. You laid onto the floor, position ready, breath held. You take a shot and you can hear the screams even from the distance. You raise yourself, clicking, twisting and snapping the rifle, disassembling back into its harmless form, closing the suitcase and leaving the building.

Hel, that’s what you were called. The heir of Loki. The nordic Goddess of Death and ruler of the land of the dead. Your boss was the great crime lord Black Mask, and you were not only his lawyer, which sounds ridiculous since he only deals with criminals, but also his number one markswoman. You hated the job, but the sum of money you received was enough for you to become calloused with the deaths.

As you enter your apartment complex you feel a tranquil sensation overtake you. You lived in a small but comfortable studio apartment, as you didn’t liked the opulent style your boss and colleagues flaunted. It also helped you feel more human, knowing your neighbors, hearing their talks about how the prices of tomatoes were raising. “You seem tired sweetie” you hear the softly spoken voice of your elderly neighbor Nanci say as you get to your door. Tiredly looking at her you just give her the most sincere smile of your day and she responds with a sympathetic one as you opened your door, getting promptly inside.

Taking your shoes of you walk through your living room and past your bed, entering the bathroom only to peel your clothes like they were hazardous and enter your little bathtub. In days like these you felt relieved your boss gave you the rest of the night off as a reward for a job well done, and always sunk in your tub, darkness engulfing you, warm water washing your sins. You guess you laid there for an hour, the flames of the candles you lit slowly extinguishing, until you decided to leave the warm comfort. As you raised you felt the brisk air, coming in contact with the water that trickled down your body, you shivered, quickly going for a fluffy black towel and drying yourself so you could put on the old silk robe your grandmother had given as her parting gift.

When you left the bathroom the apartment was dark, the penumbra settling in. Not that it was uncommon for you to leave the lights off, enjoying only the lights that came from the city. You moved to your dresser, putting your light flannel pijamas on and laid in the bed, a drained sigh escaping your lips as you closed your eyes, waiting for another dreamless night to take you in.

You guessed it was 3 a.m when you heard a thump, eyes opening immediately as you shudder from the chilly autumn air. Even though Gotham was a cold city, your apartment was never cold as it was now, so you knew something was wrong. You felt as someone, or something, was observing you. You breath hitched in your throat when you saw the tall figure through the wooden carved divider and you slowly made your way to the wall of your wardrobe, gently removing the ebony wood, getting the pistol you left hidden for the day someone would try to get their revenge on you.

You walked calmly towards the living room where you saw the shadow, positioning yourself so if you needed to take the shot it was going to be certain.

“The only thing I don’t understand is how someone as smart as you is working for someone as dumb as Black Mask” the shadow tonelessly said, a red helmet shining as the city lights entered you apartment. He turned to you, the blue electronic gaze clearly analyzing your stance, gloved fingers brushing the gun in his holster.

“And I don’t understand why the most psychotic vigilante broke into my apartment”, your caustic tone dripped from your tongue. Breaking your stance you lowered the gun, returning the hammer and putting the safety on as you sit on the sofa, putting the pistol in the coffee table between you and the vigilante. “That wasn’t my first option of a job, you know,” you point it out, the tiredness in your voice making the stance that he held soften.

You stood there, a comfortable silence setting as he took his gun from the holster and, imitating you, left it on the small table and leaned his back on the wall, still staring at you. You closed your eyes momentarily, taking a deep breath as you raised your body from your couch and moving to the kitchen “You can sit down, if you want Red Hood. I guess we have a lot to talk and if I don’t have a coffee you better just die before I get to the gun again” you confessed, hearing a light mechanic chuckle coming from the living room. You start to boil water in your stove as you hear hard footsteps, “And please take the shoes off, leave them by the door” you demanded and soon later heard the a slight “ompf” as the heavy boots dropped to the ground, with that you smiled and thought that at least you would die in the hands of a considerate vigilante.

When he got to your the kitchen island he sat down in one of the stools while you were putting the grounded coffee beans in a paper filter, covering with water as the dark liquid filled a thermic bottle, and not even the helmet could stop the smell of fresh coffee of reaching his nose. You poured it in two cups, sliding one back to him as you pulled your body up until you sat in the cold marble counter, holding the cup with your two hands and slightly blowing the steam coming from the scalding liquid. You hear the small gears of Red Hoods helmet twist and a light pop as he detached the crimson helmet and put by his side.

“Does the other mask serve as a dramatic effect?” you jokingly ask as you study his face. The chiseled jaw and the soft skin begging to be touched by your hands and the chapped lips begging to be kissed by yours. You shake your head, taking the indecent thoughts ou of your mind as he passes his hands through his raven hair and you thought you could see a clear white streak hiding between the dark locks.

“Yes” he answered giving you a sheepish grin and taking the cup of coffee into his hands, smelling e taking a small sip, a distorted quiet moan leaving his lips as he closed his eyes, muscles seemingly relaxing “You know, my partner would love this. He never sleeps so he needs caffeine all the time” he tells you.

“The secret is in the way you prepared it, fresh, saying no the the machines” you instructed, taking a gulp of the hot beverage, the sensation of the burning awakening you. Again you two sat in silence, the only sound being the almost silent swallowing. “I can’t leave” you mumbled, attracting his gaze from the cup back to you, eyeing you with curiosity. “I can’t leave, I signed a contract, I sold my soul to him. I know what I did is wrong, but it was the only way I could survive Gotham,” you said louder, your grip in the mug tightening, “I do the job and in return he keeps me safe and pays me a good amount. And if one day I decide to leave…” you stop, the panic arising on your mind, reflecting as you bite you lower lip and you see his jaw tighten.

He raised himself from the stool, his hands tightened into fists as he got closer to you, slightly looking down so the could see you in the eye since you jumped of the counter. “I can’t help you” he began “I was sent here to do a job. You see, I do get some gruesome jobs sometimes, after all, I do have to pay the rent so I don’t blame you there” he revealed, a dark tone lingered in his voice. You closed your eyes, hunching your shoulders and twisting your lips in a half, sad, smile. You heard him turn, walking back to the living room and picking the heavy pistol, pressing the hammer down. “What I can you, is kill you” that was the last thing you heard as the ringing in your ears started. The loud bang startling you as you felt the raging pain in your leg, warm crimson liquid leaving your as you fell on your knees.

You held the scream of pain, looking as Red Hood, face hidden once again by the helmet, walked back to you and kneeling onde he got in front of you. “Pack a bag, go away. I’ll take care of the rest and after I’m finished they won’t have a doubt that you’re dead” he calmly whispered, touching your wounded and spreading some of the blood in your sofa. He turned to you, helping you to your feet and you limped back to your wardrobe, getting the the bag you prepared when you first entered the job. You opened it to see all your money money, fake documents and some clothes laid neatly in it. You entered the bathroom, scattering on your cabinet for your first aid kit and promptly arranged a tourniquet, also popping some painkillers in your mouth. You keep hearing crashing coming from the kitchen, glass being shattered and now suppressed gun shots in you wall.

It was a misunderstanding to say that it was repairable. Your apartment was in shreds as Red Hood got closer to you, opening the fire escape so you could pass through it and both of you got down to the alleyway that stood in the middle of your and the neighboring building. The next thing you know you were hugging his back tightly as the motorcycle roared and speeded thought Gotham’s streets. The lights passing so fast you thought you were going to vomit. As the bike came to stop you noticed the neon lights mark the way to the bus stop.

“Get as far away as possible, and never come back. Gotham always remembers.” he says as a restrained mumble, never sparing you the look.

“Thank you” you said, lips quickly coming in contact with the cold steel of his helmet.

He watches you until you disappeared, never once turning to look back.

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd imagine #red hood imagine #jason todd #red hood #reader insert #batboys imagine #fanfic

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marypsue · 5 years

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they never really go away

[AO3]

Some houses are born bad. Some wicked intent forms each stone of the foundation and each shingle of the roof, some malice imbues every cornice and warps every floorboard, tuning a fine creaking instrument from innocent wood. Some houses are silos for darkness, gathered in some unspeakable harvest and stored away against the lean bright summer months, a refuge and shelter for things that blossom like mushrooms away from the light. Some houses are infested with wickedness the way other houses, kinder houses, more normal houses, are infested with ants or termites; and the wickedness proves far more difficult to exterminate.

Some houses are born bad; some houses achieve badness; and some houses have badness thrust upon them.

Some houses die bad.

Crimson Peak sinks. Hill House burns.

It doesn't matter how, or when. Perhaps Allerdale Hall, called Crimson Peak, suffers a slow suffocation, through long years sucked gradually into the bleeding clay ground, its reluctant inheritor never returning to see its beautifully-carven staircase rising from red nothing towards a rotten roof, to walk triumphant atop its shingles as it commits itself and its dead to living burial. Perhaps it happens all at once, the soft soil parting beneath it and flowing back in following the collapse to smother over turrets and widow's walk and chimneys all, leaving nothing but a small pucker in the peak of the hill to show it and all its secrets had ever stood at all. Perhaps the townsfolk of Hillsdale finally grow tired of Hill House's watchful eyes above them, its evil presence overshadowing their town. Perhaps a careless renter, in their haste to get away, leaves a fire in one of the grates, a fire that even the diligent Mrs. Dudley does not arrive in time to smother.

It doesn't matter how. Crimson Peak sinks, Hill House burns, and for whatever walked there, the story should by rights be over.

But some houses are born bad. Some houses are no sooner built than shadows, flying in from elsewhere, take root in their walls.

You called me here.

It was a charming patch of land, bordered on all sides by a wall of tall, cool oleanders, shaking their pink and white blossoms over the road and the little stream. It had been developed, or slated for development, but some tragedy or bureaucracy had claimed all but the very foundations of a little house which, Jill was certain, would have been equally charming. The land had stood empty and overgrown for years before she and Henry had driven by and fallen immediately in love. A few hours in the village office and the office of a realtor later, and it was theirs.

The builders had had problems from the start. The old foundation was too weathered, too overgrown - it had to be pulled up and recast, or risk the house being unstable. Once built on its strong new foundation, though, the house was quite unstable nonetheless. Angles sloped, just slightly, just enough to unnerve. Doors sagged unexpectedly open, and stood waving back and forth in not the slightest breath of draft. The stairs sang out in the middle of the night just exactly as though someone were climbing, up and up, on and on, into infinity. What should have been a bright and airy cottage developed, somehow, an indefinable closeness, a sort of darkness clinging to the corners like cobwebs, in defiance of every window and lamp. There was a lingering smell of earth.

Jill disliked it from the moment she first laid eyes on it, and Henry did too. But, having put so much of themselves into it, and having so little of themselves to put in the first place, they each independently resolve not to speak of it. They had had such dreams, when first they’d seen the patch of land, for the home they would build and the life they would live together there. Now, even with so many of their hopes dashed, they cannot let go of the only solid piece of those dreams that remains.

So they endure the miserable miasma of the house, hoping with a fervour that borders on religious that it will get better if they just change the draperies, air out the rooms, add more lights. If they only keep trying, keep trying, keep trying.

If they can only stay one more night.

She is all hard and armoured, like a glittering beetle, and she dislikes to be seen, yet still there is something about her - it - them. Something reminiscent of a time before, something dear and fleeting and lost, lost, lost. Something bright, and yellow, like a stray sunbeam. A little cat. A cousin, perhaps.

Something all sharp under its manipulative sweetness. Something dearly, dreadfully hated.

(She is wicked, Eleanor, wicked as bright red toenails on dirty feet. Wicked, Daughter, as Foxe's illustrated Hell. Wicked as a name written in blood.

And she knows your thoughts without your voicing them, does she not, you foolish girl? Her little gift of perception. She knows which buttons to press.)

Eleanor Vance had been her mother's caretaker, towards the end of the old woman's life.

It had been a thankless, grueling reality, and one from which Eleanor had never dreamed of escaping until, quite suddenly, she was out. Cut loose in a world in which she could not fully participate, not anymore; a world constructed at slightly wrong angles from the only world she knew. Little wonder, then, that the twisting halls of Hill House, so disorienting, repulsive, and frightening at first, quickly welcomed her as one of their own.

What fled from the smoking ruins of Hill House was not exactly Eleanor Vance, or even a shade of her. But it was followed, as it sped invisibly on an icy wind through the dingy, miserable streets of Hillsdale and down, out from the shadows of those encroaching hills into the world beyond, by a tremendous rattling and tapping, as though someone were banging on the walls of all of Hillsdale's houses and all the trees lining the narrow, winding Route 5, with a heavy, old-fashioned cane.

Lady Lucille Sharpe stove her mother's head in with a cleaver.

She would have liked to have been a caretaker, a nurturer, someone who encouraged lovely and cherished things to grow, and to that end she was quite willing to dirty her fine white hands. To be the gardener, the keeper, the shepherd or perhaps the sheepdog; the one who fought off the wolf, the one who killed live food for the young and toothless, the one who ground blood and bone meal for the roses. She never could have what she truly wanted, but she had her brother, his love. She had her house.

And that which she tended grew strangely, in the dark.

What sank with the ruins of Allerdale Hall was not Lucille Sharpe, nor had it been for a long, long time. It lay there, buried with the house it wore like a scarab's shimmering carapace, until the very beams and bones of Allerdale Hall decayed around it into something unrecognisable.

And then it stirred, as though waking from a long, sad dream.

A quiet resentment brews between Jill and Henry.

Each blames the other. For forcing their hand, for pushing them into a commitment to a house that should itself have been committed. What should have been a dream - their charming patch of land, their little cottage all their own - has turned nightmare; and now, rather than wake themselves, they prefer to turn upon one another. If she had not so desired the little dormer windows on the roof, the ones that glower down from the roof like calculating eyes, the ones that let in nearly no light. If he had not insisted on building so close to the line of trees, the better to protect from the wilder winter winds. If she had not exclaimed in delight as they first drove past.

Neither wants the house any longer, and yet, some perverse pride or whimsy will let neither relinquish it.

It’s Henry who notices the smell of smoke. Who sees, from the drive, the thin, pale wisp rising from the chimney of the wood fireplace when he knows no one else to be home.

But it’s Jill who hears the crying in the small hours of the night.

It should have been new, and free, and fine, away down the hills, all strange and charming and peaceful. It feels as though the search for peace has been endless. Is endless.

As the flames had devoured binding veranda and great front doors and sugar eggs and cherub faces and delicate-patterned wallpaper, as heavy draperies and musty books and overstuffed chairs and tilted floors had fallen to ash and the very stones of the tower had warmed, as silverware had melted in its drawers and china cracked on its shelves, she had fluttered, broken-winged, to a refuge half-remembered. A magic square of poison trees, an enchantment that another her had promised once to return and break.

And, in slow stages, break it did.

Once...once, when such things could be dreamed, needed to be dreamed, imagination had populated this place with a palace invisible, with a warm and welcoming royal mother, with a knight-errant or prince upon a white charger riding down, bejeweled and smiling, from the hills. These visions do not quite come to pass, and yet.

The palace is a cottage, and rises slow, progress hampered by workmen’s irrational superstitious fears. The man and the woman who come to live there are quite young, no child with them, though one of the rooms is bordered with soft pastel animals. The woman sits there, in the rocking chair, most days, and looks out the little dormer window over the lawn and the road and the stream away at the back of the property, rocking and rocking. She is no queen, and no mother, but something in her presence is welcoming all the same.

And what comes down from the hills is no prince.

At first, in the failing light, it appears all white. White, with trailing pennants and ribbons of velvet red. Like an oleander. Like something from a storybook, like a fairy tale. (Always Prince Valiant for you, Eleanor - but then, would you ever do with anything less? Always the charming men with haunted birthrights, all empty behind the blue eyes. Always the ones lacking a mother. Always the ones who see you for how foolish you are, how easy to take in.)

But as the sun sinks, as that which comes from the hills draws nearer, it can be seen to be red. Red as clay, red as blood. It draws a train behind it, long and glittering, of satin sewn with fine glass beads. Or perhaps it leaves behind it a glistening trail of something wet and red and sticky, like an enormous crimson slug, a great vile clot of blood.

By the time it steps, or perhaps flows, into the shade of the oleanders, out of the sun, it appears quite black. It lies like a spill of ink, or perhaps oil, across the fine soft grass and little wild flowers, faint Stygian blues and greens gleaming in its depths, with its long train still glistening redly behind it; and it stares, eyeless as a skull, up at the house.

(Journeys end in lovers meeting, Eleanor; journeys end in lovers meeting.)

And, from the watchful eyes of the dormer windows, that which gazes eyelessly back recognises kin.

Henry is already sitting up in bed when Jill stirs awake.

“I was dreaming,” he says, and then stops, staring at the narrow silver bar of moonlight cast against the wall. “My mother. It’s been years -”

He falls silent, again.

“I’m sorry,” he says, at last. “I don’t blame you. I mean - I don’t mean to blame you. I know it’s not your fault, I only...” He stops, and gestures helplessly, as though he has run out of words. As though there are no more words left to say what must be said.

Jill wriggles her way up in the bed and leans her head against his shoulder. Henry puts his arm around her, and Jill pulls the blankets up around them. The weather must be turning, she thinks, pressing up against his side, seeking warmth as much as comfort. There’s a chill in the air, like the wind off a high glacier, biting at her bare face.

She isn’t sure, at first, if Henry has heard it as well. But then he goes stiff beside her, his staring eyes fixing on the door.

Beyond it, from down the hall, from the direction of the nursery, quite clearly, comes a pitiful, reedy cry, high and thin, like an infant far too young.

You and I, Eleanor. We are caretakers. We have always put the needs of others above our own desires. And has that not brought us our desires, in the end? Your small, earned measure of happiness?

Do you dare to seize that happiness, Eleanor? Do you even know it when it stands before you? Have you always been so ashamed even to know, to name, what it is you desire?

We, who have dwelt so long in darkness, have no use for such human things as shame.

You called me here, Eleanor. You.

10.

The house, never friendly, grows colder and colder around them. Jill takes to wearing large sweaters and thick socks. Henry turns the heat up and up. His lips thin into a firm line when Jill suggests a fire in the fireplace. She does not suggest it again.

Something thumps against the walls, always in the night, always waking them both from sound sleep. Henry says, firmly, that it must be the oleander branches, muses that perhaps they should not have built so close to the windbreak, after all.

There is a sound, like a woman softly sobbing, or perhaps singing, or perhaps screaming, that seems to leak down the stairs when both Jill and Henry are below. A fox, Jill was certain, at first. But she could not explain why it seemed to come from inside the house.

(The few times they’ve gone looking for it, it’s come from behind different closed doors. Jill’s never gathered the courage to open one. The time Henry did, there was nothing behind it but the pastel wallpaper they’d picked out for the nursery, and the rocking chair by the window slowly rocking to a halt.)

And then there are the things that only one of them see. Henry comes flying up out of the basement one evening, swearing that blood is coming up through the floor in the shape of human footprints, but when Jill goes down the concrete floor is clean and bare and dry. Jill runs herself a bath on another evening and screams when blood, not water, flows from the tap, but when Henry comes running the water is clear, if a little yellowed from the iron in the ground.

Henry slips into bed with icy feet one night, long after Jill had thought he’d been in bed already, swearing about a dog, it must have been a dog, he’d had to chase out of the yard. Jill wakes from a doze in the rocker in the nursery and sees, out the dormer window, away down by the stream, a small family in old-fashioned clothes, with a red picnic blanket spread out underneath them and a puppy or small dog racing excitedly around them, a bright red ball in its mouth. She thinks nothing of it, until she blinks, and they’re no longer there.

Moths keep getting into the house, somehow. They’re multiplying; there are three new ones for every one Henry kills, for every one Jill traps and throws outside. Their powdery wings rustle in the darkness of the bedroom almost exactly like someone in a heavy, old-fashioned dress circling around and around the room.

The cries come every night.

11.

Eleanor Vance had been her mother's caretaker, towards the end of the old woman's life.

You killed her, Eleanor. You know you did. As surely as though you had laid your hands upon a knife. You heard her stick tapping, thumping, against the wall. You heard her cries for help. And you. Eleanor. The good daughter, the dutiful daughter, the pious daughter.

You turned right over, and you went back to sleep.

Lady Lucille Sharpe stove her mother's head in with a cleaver.

Ah. Never the good daughter. Dutiful, perhaps. But never pious.

Do you know, Eleanor, what drives a woman to kill her own mother?

Oh. Yes. Of course you do.

12.

The moon is pouring silver through the window when Jill wakes, her fingers numb, her bones solid with ice. With nerveless hands, she pushes the covers aside.

The floorboards are like ice beneath her feet, and with each step, she can feel them sink slightly. Can hear the faintest sound, like something sucking at the boards from beneath. Like something oozing up between them.

She hesitates in front of the door, aware somewhere in the frozen cage of her brain that she is afraid to open it, afraid to reach out and turn the antique crystal knob she remembers picking out with such joy, such hope. It doesn’t feel like the kind of fear she always thought she’d feel. It just feels as though her mind is there, whole and intact, perfectly rational and calm, while terror goes on all around her.

Jill reaches out and turns the knob, opens the door, steps out into the hall towards the sound of an infant’s laboured cries.

The hall is all black, except where the moonlight lays a silver path down the middle, leading to the gaping black hole of a door that leads into the nursery where no living child has ever slept. Jill watches her own bare feet as she walks, all strange and white and almost glowing, hardly feeling her own legs move. Her arms are wrapped around her, her fingers digging into the flesh of her arms, but she barely feels that either. She becomes dimly aware, as she proceeds down the hall towards the void-black square of the nursery door, that she is shivering. She becomes dimly aware, as she proceeds down the hall towards the void-black square of the nursery door, that the single window that looks onto the hall should not admit enough moonlight to illuminate the entire path from her door to the nursery.

The dark door rises up before her, and swallows her whole.

13.

She is all hard and armoured, like a glittering beetle, and she dislikes to be seen.

In the sweeping train of her old-fashioned dress, though; in the thickly-oozing red stain that leaches slowly up through the floor where she stands; in the hollow gaze of her empty sockets, like high, darkened windows; she carries with her the sorrows and memories and longings of multitudes. Every one who ever died at her hand bleeds out around her; sometimes she is enrobed in crimson, sometimes powdered in white. She carries with her every lost one she has ever loved - or hated - or both. She herself is a haunted house.

She dislikes to be seen. Because it is impossible, on seeing her, not to know at once what deepest desires drip from her raw and bloody heart.

It is impossible, on seeing her, not to notice the helpless, twisted red bundle she cradles so gently in her arms.

(Those hands that pressed poison on helpless, trapped girls, those arms that bore lifeless bodies down into bleeding clay earth. Why not leave? Why not escape, once freedom was won? Why remain in a trap, why prolong the horror?)

Why go on to Hill House at all? Why not simply stop, and live some enchanted life in a little cottage with a blue door and a white cat on the step?

Lady Lucille Sharpe had been her mother's caretaker, towards the end of the old woman's life. Eleanor Vance stove her mother's head in with a cleaver.

They neither of them are here, in the little cottage with its hinges creaking in doorless chambers and its singing stairs and its bad angles to confound the eye and inner ear. And both of them are here, and their mothers besides, and the man they'd thought they'd loved and burned to see with another woman (do you know how the scent of burning follows you, Eleanor, do you see how you shed ash), and the woman they'd never admitted to themselves that they'd wanted and the daughter, the daughter, the poor lost traitorous wicked daughter they'd loved...

The horror...the horror was for love. Because freedom without love is no freedom at all.

14.

Henry wakes to Jill’s softly cuddling up beside him, curling close against him in a way she hadn’t done in a long time, since before the house was finished, since before she began clinging to him again in fear. He turns, to see her smiling, a smile, as well, that he had almost forgotten she could wear.

“Jill?” he asks, and that smile grows wider.

“Henry,” she says, with a little sigh, and puts her arms around him, her head on his bare chest. “I’m ready.”

“You - but -” The moonlight spills over her hair, turning it to a shining halo, softening the sharp angles of her face and blurring the fine worry lines that had started to gather around her mouth and her eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Sure,” Jill repeats, her voice almost dreamlike. “I want to try again.”

15.

There are things that tie them to a place...an emotion, a drive. Loss, revenge...or love.

Some houses are born bad. Some houses are no sooner built than shadows, flying in from elsewhere, take root in their walls.

The nameless house in its cage of oleanders was not perhaps born bad, but had badness thrust upon it. A box stuffed to bursting with pasts and sorrows not its own, with a restless longing that none who dwelt there had ever been able to fulfill.

But whatever walks there, no longer walks alone.

#the haunting of hill house #crimson peak #this is mary's fic tag #happy halloween folks #i read an interview with shirley jackson somewhere where she talked about hill house being based on a real house and how it burned down #(arson was suspected)#don't know how true that all is but do know it makes for a good story

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vixthefantheorist · 5 years

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The Discovery - Say Goodbye Aftermath

A/N: Hello, hello my fellow readers! Vix here and I’m back with yet another short story! This time however, this story is based on this amazing artpiece by Turquoise Magpie but its a commissioned piece to Jacksinsanity. So please be respectful to these two and give them some love! I saw this art piece via a friend who pointed it out in Jack’s discord server and… I fell in love with the image. And from it I had to write something that depicts how and why Henrik arrived there. Anyway, this story is focused on the good doctor, Henrik Von Schneeplestein! And a tiny bit of Marvin. I will say that I am talking out of my ass on some descriptions, like namely the house, I dunno what Jack’s house/apart is like, so I’m just throwing things together for the sake of the fic. And the smell of pumpkin… I never been around a pumpkin to know what it smells like. So again, just making it up as I went with it. As for what happens... it was Anti’s doing... blocking their sights until they see what he left behind for them... I hope you enjoy! *~*~*~*~*~*~*

October 31st 2016 What was once a fun pumpkin carving video… turned into a nightmare. Chaos reigned in the video once the star of the show was spirited away, leaving only the dark shadow to taunt and rant at the onlookers. They, who had no way of helping or stopping the situation that unfolded before their eyes; could only watch in horror as the light of life was snuffed out. All they were given were harsh words, words that stung and sliced into their hearts… the idea burned into their souls… that this tragedy was their fault. The mysterious being they dubbed, ‘Anti’, hissed and spat at them like an angry but cheeky cat; telling them that this nightmare was one that they brought upon themselves and the one they cherished. The shadow hissed icily that they only had one thing to do, only one thing to say to the Irishman that they lost. “̻̫̻ͅS̖̖̬a͏̼̱͖̟̰y̠̠̪̙ ̛͍̞̜̱G͠o͎o͙̰̼̻̼̺͜ͅḏ̖̞͉̹͝b͓̣̪̠̱̰ý͍͖e̼̠̬.̦̀”̶̩͉͕̱ *~*~*~*~*~*~* November 3rd 2016 Only a few days went by, things looked normal for the JackSepticEye channel with videos uploaded on time. But… something didn’t feel quite right. For the community’s part, it was unnerving, calling out to content creator in hopes of getting answers. But their words fell on deaf ears. And calls… emails… none were answered; not even a sight of him outside his house. Only on the videos did anyone see him. This struck the Septic Egos as strange. Jack was never one to ignore calls or email, especially from friends or family or potential sponsors. He would at least answer to say something about being too busy, or at least call back and apologize for missing a call. Even stranger was the constant restlessness of the community that the Septics noticed. They seemed very jumpy and kept repeating things and showing things that oddly… the Egos couldn’t see. Was Jack overworking himself again? It was possible and the videos could have been made in advance and queued to post to buy himself more time. So it was decided that Henrik should go check on him, in case Jack was sick then the doctor could provide some minor first aid. And so… Henrik Von Schneeplestein headed over to Jack’s place, whipping out a cellphone to call ahead. He listened to the phone ring as he drove over. After a few rings, the call was dropped into voice mail, Jack’s voice cheerfully reciting his message of apologizing for not being able to answer before it stopped and the beep signaled that it was ready for recording a message. Henrik frowned as he drove closer to the block where Jack lived. “Jack, are you being a little bitch baby again? You honestly need to stop overworking yourself, its not healthy and making everyone worry. Anyway, I’m coming over to check up on you for peace of mind. Do you know anything about what’s going on with the community? Everyone seems restless but we can’t see anything that could tell us-” The phone beeped again, signaling that his time was up and wouldn’t record the rest of his questions. “Damn it.” He swore softly, driving closer to the house and slowing the car to a stop. He got out and headed for the house, slowing a little as he noticed Jack’s car was at the driveway. “Least that tells me he’s home.” he muttered as he continued his way to the little path that led to the door. But as he looked up at the house, bright with a nice cheerful look to it…felt off. The cheery exterior seemed forced, like how Chase would give a false smile to hide his pain. It seemed far too still, like the home was holding its breath behind its false smile. Henrik furrowed his brows in confusion at the description that came to mind; then shook his head and headed for the door. “Must be getting paranoid, worrying over Jack and making me think something’s wrong with the house.” he murmured, nodding to himself, taking comfort from that logic. Granted, that didn’t stave off that feeling of wrong that gnawed at him a little. Still the doctor ego mentally waved the worry aside and gave the front door a hearty knock, standing back to patiently wait for an answer from Jack. Surely, he would have had to have heard that. A few minutes passed and… nothing. He frowned a little before giving the door another knock, a little harder and louder. “Probably asleep but come on, he should have heard it this time.” Another few minutes and still no answer. Worry spiked through him for a moment before replaced with irritation. Henrik exhaled, the rush of breath hissing through his teeth in annoyance. “I swear to god, if he’s playing another game instead of eating, I’m shoving his microphone stand up his ass sideways.” He griped, abandoning the need to knock on the door a third time; and choosing to rifle around for the hidden spare key. Jack always locked his door when he came home to record. He always had that fear of people walking in while he was distracted by games so he always locked the door behind himself. It took the good doctor a moment to find the key, hidden behind a compartment of the joke hallway key rack placed by the door. As if anyone would openly leave their keys there. But behind it, thanks to a bit of Marvin’s magic, was the key. Grumbling to himself mostly to keep the worry at bay, he fitted the key in and unlocked the door, slipping inside. The moment he entered the house was when the worry he kept ignoring, whispered to him. Something’s not right. The house was eerily quiet, the interior dark; save for the light coming through the window. Thankfully, sunset wasn’t until another few hours, so it wasn’t that dark. But it was enough to say that no one was here… or the resident was asleep. “Jack?” Henrik called out quizzically, wondering what the hell the Youtuber was doing. The house shouldn’t be this quiet, even if he lived on his own, there was always that something. Something that made the home more lively. But that something was missing, leaving the house to be as quiet as a tomb. The doctor shook his head, scolding himself for such a bad analogy, stepping further into the house to close the door behind him and set the key aside on a side table. “Jack, are you home?” Maybe he went out on a walk? He had been going on runs… but… no one has seen him since Halloween. “Are you alright? Are you sick?” Silence. Taking a breath to steel himself against the feeling of uncertainty that wrapped around him. Then flinched at the scent of something foul. It was faint but it was definitely there. Was something rotting? “All right, something is definitely wrong...” He murmured as he ventured into the house, wincing at sound of his own footsteps seemed to unnerve him further. He was closest to the kitchen and decided to check it out, since the living didn’t offer any clues besides it being empty of the Irish Youtuber. The kitchen, on the other hand, was just as empty of a person… yet it did offer a couple of clues. It was missing a table and the remnants of a cooked meal were still present, so he did eat. But there was a problem. The dishes had remained in the sink and the part of the scent of rot was coming from here, but not the scent he smelled from the living room near the stairs. That and there was a colony of ants feasting upon the leftovers of what was… chicken? Some kind of meat and vegetables, it was bit difficult to tell with ants all over the sink. Henrik twitched at seeing them thriving there, disturbed and a lot more concerned now. Everyone knew Jack despised cleaning… but there was no way he would’ve ignored the dishes to let ants just move in. How long did he leave the kitchen dirty? “Jack?!” The doctor called out louder, stressing Youtuber’s name as he left the ant infested kitchen to search further, his movements no longer hesitant and quiet. “My friend! Where are you?” The downstairs bathroom yielded nothing… same with the linen room, save for a pile of dirty clothes begging to be washed. The only other room left was the bedroom that doubled as the recording room and Henrik was already dashing for it, taking his phone out. He hit speed dial for Marvin. It didn’t even take two rings before the magician picked up. “Hello? Hey, Henrik! What’s going on? Jack ok-” Marvin the Magnificent greeted happily before being cut off by the doctor. “Marvin, whatever magic show you’re doing, pull a disappearing act and get your ass over to Jack’s house. NOW!” He hissed as he passed the kitchen to get to the stairs. “Jack’s house? Why? What’s wrong?” Whatever mirth that had been behind his tone earlier switched to concern and seriousness. “Hen, are you… are you running?” “Yes, I am! Where’s Chase? Just… call everyone to get to the house NOW, Marvin!” “Chase is with me at the magic show...” “Magic his ass with you then! Call Jackie and tell him to get here! I don’t know what is going but something is wrong and I need you all here to help me! If I’m guessing right then- Oh god… what is that?” “Hen? What is what?” Henrik ignored Marvin’s voice, flinching at the scent of rot… it was definitely coming from here. He paled realizing that the scent was originating from here the second floor of the house... It can’t… No, the scent wasn’t right. He shook his head, trying to not panic and analyze the scent of rot he was smelling. It wasn’t sickly sweet… not flesh… not a dead body… no… it was a little more bitter and sour. ...pumpkin…? A rotting pumpkin or the pulp of it..? Henrik’s eyes scanned the second floor, again not hearing Marvin calling him from the phone. “Why rotting pumpkin…?” “’Pumpkin’? Henrik, are you okay? What’s going on?” The doctor’s eyes fell upon the bedroom door, jolting a little at the sight of the door slightly ajar… and from where he stood… could see the room was dark. Pumpkin… Pumpkin… There was rotting pumpkin… Henrik stared at the door, moving quickly over to it, remembering now. The scent of rotten pumpkin pulp was thicker here. Jack was recording a Halloween special… Henrik hesitantly reached for the door. He was carving pumpkins for the community… he loved it back last year and thought it would be fun again this year. “Jack…?” He called softly, earning another concerned word from Marvin, who was on the move to collect Chase on his end, listening to what was going on. The video aired, the Egos couldn’t see anything wrong with it. To them it looked like an average pumpkin carving video… but community had been going ballistic after it aired, insisting something was wrong. “Please...” He whispered as he pulled the door the rest of the way open and stepped in the room… But no one saw Jack physically since Halloween… Henrik stared in horror, phone dropping from his hand and clattered onto the floor, earning a worried Marvin talking frantically to him, but… the ego didn’t hear the magician. The egos didn’t take heed of the community pointing something out to them. No one checked in on the Youtuber on Halloween when the video uploaded or the day after… “Oh...god...” “Henrik? Henrik! What is going on?!” Marvin’s voice was growing in panic the longer the doctor continued to mumble and speak softly. He was too dazed by what he was looking at to really hear or answer the magician. The bedroom was just as it looked in the Halloween video. Computer and recording set up out and unmoved, camera facing a table that normally didn’t belong here. That answered the question of where it disappeared to since it wasn’t in the kitchen. Burnt out candles were still where they were on the table, completely void of candle wax. Black plastic garbage bag was on the floor, judging from the smell, the pulp was in there and thus the culprit of bitter smell that wafted in the house. A carved pumpkin also sat on the table, grinning crookedly at the camera. But Henrik’s eyes saw nothing in the room, nothing in there was important. Nothing save the figure the pumpkin sat next to… The figure that belonged to the one and only… Jacksepticeye; who was slumped backwards on his chair and limp; eyes left in a half closed state but devoid of any kind of life. The way the body was positioned… it completely exposed his neck for the world to see. Henrik’s eyes reacted to focus on his friend’s neck, which blatantly showcased the clean, deliberate slash there, clearly indicating how he died… Died… “Why… why didn’t we..?” Henrik breathed in a horror, staring at the scene before him with wide eyes, feeling the burning of tears coming forth. It didn’t make sense… how did this happen? Jack hated using knives… they terrified him, he would never- And yet... Jack was dead. The realization hit the doctor hard, tears stung his eyes as they flowed freely down his face as he kept staring, burning the image of his friend’s corpse to his mind’s eye. He could never forget this moment…this chilling sight that would always haunt him for as long as he lived. He would never forget this terrible discovery. “My friend… Oh god... Why?” Softly, in the background, was sinister giggle and a pair of pure black eyes watched from the shadows. It smiled before it vanished, keeping itself hidden from view until the day came to reveal himself to the others.

#jacksepticeye #dr. schneeplestein #antisepticeye #marvin magnificent #jacksepticeye fanfiction #turqouise magpie #jacksinsanity #ego fanfic #vixfics

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justkending · 6 years

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Knock, Knock. Part 2

Summary: You are a really good friend of the Padaleckis. Your apartment gets infested with all kinds of problems, so you have to move in with your friends for a couple of days. Little did you know who you would run into while staying there.

Pairing: (single) Jensen x Reader

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 1895

A/N: Had this in my head for a while, and thought I would put it to words, so here we are ladies and gentlemen. I do want to make note that I have nothing against the Ackles, and I love the family with all my heart. I can’t help what stories come to mind. Also let me know what you think. Debating on making a full on series.

Part 2:

A little backstory shall we?

When you moved here, life was all sunshine and butterflies. You met a great guy at your work and hit it off really well. You were excelling in your job, your love life was great, and you lived close to your best friend, so you were always out having an adventurous life.

Picture perfect, right? What could possibly go wrong?

Well, one day as you were headed to work after a ‘fun night’ with your fiancé, who had just proposed to you 3 months’ prior. Everything was seemingly perfect. You were in love and life felt like you were on cloud 9 almost all the time. Your fiancé told you he was going to come into work late since he had a doctor’s appointment that day.

You, being the trusting person you were, didn’t think twice and went on with your day. Halfway to work, you realized you had left your wallet at home and made a U-turn back that way.

While you were walking up the stairs of the apartment building and approaching your door, you heard a giggling inside the nice little flat you shared with your soon to be husband.

You didn’t have your coffee this morning because you were running out the door to not be late, so maybe you weren’t paying attention and you were on the wrong floor. You looked at the number on the door and sure enough, it was definitely the right one. Apartment 3B.

You cocked your head to the side in confusion and fished your keys out of your purse. Seconds before putting the key in the lock, you heard the giggle again. This time more clearly.

“What the hell?”

As you opened the door, you saw a half naked blonde pressed extremely close to your fiancé and both of their heads shot your direction.

“WHAT THE HELL?!”

“Honey! I thought you went to work!” he shouted to you trying to grab something to cover his not so private parts.

“Yeah, well, I thought you were going to a doctor’s appointment, but I GUESS WE WERE BOTH WRONG!” you shouted, throwing a pillow at the two. “UGH! I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS!” You ran into your room and immediately started packing a bag.

He stormed in there after you, blanket wrapped around him in an attempt to cover up his crime.

“BABE! It’s not what it looks like. Give me a chance to explain!”

“A CHANCE TO EXPLAIN?! Oh no honey. Do I look like I’m in the mood to hear some sad pathetic story about how you think you’re innocent in all this mess?”

“Y/N, don’t act like you’re that surprised…” he scoffed.

You stopped mid-packing and slowly turned around. If looks could kill, this would be a crime scene. Who’s to say it wasn’t going to be though?

“You’re saying I should have seen this coming? I should have-?” you huffed, blowing a piece of hair out of your eyes. “I’m sorry. I was supposed to get a hint at the fact that you were off screwing some other woman!” you returned to your packing. “Fuck that!”

He kept trying to coax you into staying as you furiously packed the necessities, so he could ‘explain’. You had a high sense of pride though and knew that if he was going to treat you like trash, he did not deserve any part of you.

You grabbed your bags and headed for the door. He followed and took it a step the wrong direction when he blocked your exit and grabbed your elbow to slow you down.

“Y/N, please! Just let me break it down for you. That way you see why it all happened. Come on baby. I need you.”

You turned to the woman that was sitting shamelessly on the couch literally watching everything happening while picking at her nails. Like she had better things to be doing.

“Yeah, no. I’m not your ‘baby’ anymore. You can call that girl,” you pointed to the girl on the couch then looked back at the slimeball that still had a hold on you, “whatever the hell you want. I personally choose the word bitch, but that’s just me. Now let go and move out of the way.”

“Y/N, come on be reasonable with me.”

You ripped your arm free from the man. “Move, or I’ll make you,” you threatened through gritted teeth.

“Y/N/N-“

Before he could make any more excuses you dropped your bag and connected your fist with his nose. Taking those boxing classes came in handy. You heard the sickening crack of his nose and shook out your hand. He fell to the side grasping and cussing at the pain and you heard a gasp come from behind you.

As you picked your bag up, and went to finally leave, you turned to the women one last time.

“Have a blast with this one. He’s definitely something else.”

With that, you left and only came back to retrieve the rest of your stuff when you knew he wasn’t there. That night you went to Gen’s and stayed for a few nights. You cried, screamed, and laughed while she helped you through the heartbreak. Helping with Tom and toddler Shep when you could to keep your mind off the situation. All until you found an ad on Facebook for a roommate seeking someone asap. It was semi-close to your job and really cheap. You jumped at the opportunity not wanting to take too much advantage of the hospitality that the Padaleckis were offering.

Within the next week you were living in a not-so-nice apartment 5 minutes longer to work than your past home, but doing ok. It was in a decent part of town, but the building itself was old and not really updated. It had been about 6 months of living there with your isolated roommate that you really only saw at night when he had his lady friends over. You both gave each other your privacy and didn’t really talk other than about rent and the bills. Sometimes you would talk in the morning when you ran into each other getting coffee, but it was always small talk not much more.

Now, to the present.

The reason you were staying at the Padaleckis now was because there had been an infestation of all kinds of insects in the building. You had noticed signs of it, but it was never bad until the last week. Roaches, beetles, ants, termites you name it, it was probably there.

They had to evacuate the building forcing you to phone your friend once again who welcomed you with open arms. Gen and Jared were the best and so helpful in all the crap that was taking over your life.

You had planned on staying for 1-2 days at the most, but the calls kept coming in saying one more day… one more day. It had been 5 days’ now and last night you got the call that the building was being completely shut down. The inspectors found more than just insects. The foundation was awful, there were rodents as well, and the whole place needed to be bulldozed pretty much. I guess that’s what you get for rushing into the lease, and only paying $300 a month.

So, Friday when you got the call of all that shit, Gen took you out with some of both your other friends and you just let go.

Bringing us to this morning of the hangover and meeting Jensen Ackles.

Don’t get it wrong. You watch the show and know who he is and you are a fan, but you weren’t really in the mood to ask questions and act all excited and thrilled to meet the handsome celebrity. So you walked away hoping to meet him in better conditions, and also to relieve the headache that was pounding against your skull.

After getting ready for the day and downing 3 bottles of water as well as 3 Advil, you met up with Gen at one of her favorite yoga spots in the area.

“Hey girly! How are you doing?” Gen said embracing you as you both walked into the quiet space.

“You know things could be better,” you shrugged, signing into the class. “But the headache is fading and I’m not as nauseous.”

“Good. Well, I have a whole day mapped out for us, but don’t worry, we will be home for dinner so you can rest at home too.”

“Thanks so much Gen. You guys didn’t have to take me in and you both are going above and beyond for me. I don’t want to be a burden, so kick me out when you’re sick of me.”

“No, no, no. Do not think for a second you are a burden. I had to tell you that like a million times last night, but I doubt you remember.” She nudged you as you two made your way into the main yoga room. “Jared and I love having you. You help us with the boys tremendously and are always helping around the house when you can.”

“I feel like it’s my way of paying rent. I don’t want to be a freeloader.”

“I know, and we appreciate that. It would be completely different if you were a slob and took advantage of us, but you don’t,” she said with a smile.

You laid out your mats and got situated before stretching.

“Ok. Ok. Just promise if I get annoying, or do start becoming a slob, you’ll tell me,” You asked of her making sure you were holding eye contact. “I mean it.”

“When has there ever been a time when I didn’t tell you what was on my mind?” she said, cocking her head getting a laugh out of you. “Trust me, I’ll kick your ass if I have to,” she said with a wink.

You guys did your yoga lesson leaving sweaty, but luckily you brought a change of clothes. Then spent the rest of the day getting your nails done, your hair done, shopping and treating yourself to lunch and a tasty dessert. By the time you were done, it was time for Gen to get the boys.

“I’ll meet you back at the house when I get Tom and Shep. Jared should be home from his interview by now so you’ll have some company,” Gen said packing her things into the car before hopping in the front seat.

“Sounds like a plan. I’ll get started on prepping dinner. By the time you get home you can help me cook,” you said walking to your car.

“Sounds like a plan Y/N/N!”

She drove off while you put on your classic rock playlist. That was one of your favorite things about Supernatural. The soundtrack had all of your favorite music.

You parked in the driveway once you arrived. Sure enough, Jared’s car was parked in the garage and you made your way into the house humming Ramble On by Led Zeppelin. You heard the TV on and decided to follow the noise.

As you were taking off your scarf you shouted out for Jared.

“Jar? You here?”

As soon as you walked into the family room you were met with bright green eyes.

“Hey! Y/N, right?” Jensen asked with a wide smile pointing to you.

Part 3

Tags:

@sleepless-sin @ain-t-bovvered @dean-winchesters-bacon@angelkurenai@unabashedsoul97@sandlee44@gripmetight-raisemefromperdition@cabbagewithissues @supersleepygoat@anotherwaywardsister

@torn-and-frayed @ravengirl94@carryonmywaywardcaptain @ezilyamuzed

@thosekidswhohuntmonsters

@purpleskiesandcherrypies @anise-d-castle6@adoptdontshoppets@casper57x@tailsoflightning@spookycowz @eve05glee @snffbeebee @angelessquirrel

#supernatural #jensen ackles #reader interactive #reader insert

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killingerpestsolutions · 5 years

Text

Pest Control Roanoke VA

“Where area unit you headed this summer?” this is a typical question that we have a tendency to all seem to raise each other to seek out out every other’s summer plans. Most answer this question by discussing their exotic vacation locations, their travel plans, or their plans for a stay cation. Some may even get in detail about their plans, but no one discusses bed bugs!

You’re most likely glancing around your house right away to check if you can spot a bedbug, aren’t you? That’s traditional. As your pest control consultants in the Virginia area Pest Control Roanoke VA has provided bed bug treatment for many families. in contrast to ants or cockroaches, which may be fairly straightforward to identify as they wander around your house scavenging for foods, bed bugs are a touch bit sneakier. Just like humans, bed bugs can’t inhabit a space while not leaving physical traces of their presence behind. These items of physical proof include cast off bed bug skins and exoskeletons (shells) that are shed as the bed bugs grow bigger. you may conjointly notice dark brown or black stains on your bedding, that could be a sign that bed bugs are pooping in your bed. One of the worst parts about bed bugs is that not like termites, they’re interested in eating on U.S.A. instead of the materials that make up our homes. If you’ve noticed red welts, burning and itchiness, or rashes anyplace on your body, especially when sleeping, it’s likely caused by bed bugs. keep in mind but that about seventy p.c of the population will not have an hypersensitive reaction to bed bugs, which brings U.S.A.

In the event of very bad dangerous bug infestations, the already dark eating can be therefore bad that bed bugs leave spots of blood on your bedding. These blood droplets type after they latch on and release their hold on your body.

Pest Control Roanoke VA tips to assist Check for Bed Bugs once you Travel

1. Check your sleeping room. Look carefully at the bed then at furnishings and areas round the bed, the night stand, lamps, paintings, loose wallpaper, baseboards, electrical sockets, and if you can, the panel. If you find bed bugs or their proof, request to be affected and inspect that area also. 2. Keep your suitcase within the vessel or in a sealed bag. 3. once you get home, open your suitcase outside the house and place the contents of your bags into a bag. Check your bags carefully with a bright light and hand glass before delivery it within. (recommends that you simply leave your traveling bag within the garage or an exterior storage unit.) 4. Wash everything you can. Clean clothes don’t need to be rewashed! simply place the clean items into the dryer for quarter-hour on ‘high’ (Recommends half-hour on high heat). carefully examine the other belongings that you simply had with you. Please check up on our latest report for additional info on this topic. we have a tendency to hope everyone includes a fun, safe, and bed bug free summer!

If you’re horrified to realize that you’ve been experiencing one or additional of those signs of a bed bug infestation, don’t panic. merely decision the bed bug exterminators at Pest Control Roanoke VA in Virginia. we can eradicate the bugs and place a bed bug bar set up in place so that they never come back back!

#Pest Control Roanoke VA #Termite Control Roanoke VA #Exterminator Roanoke VA

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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 8 years

Note

Could you do 1 or 54, please?

Short opinion: Anyone who says that this series became dark over time has clearly not reread the first book in a while.

Long opinion:

While it is true that there are lighter books (#14, #35, #44, #51) and there are darker books (#6, #22, #30, #33, #52) I’m not convinced that the series gets darker as it goes. Sure, the kids become more violent, more competent, and more morally compromised. Yes, the yeerks gradually win the war all the way up through #52 at which point they start losing. No, the protagonists do not grow as people over the course of the story so much as they fall apart as people over the course of the story. However, right from the start K.A. Applegate makes no bones about the fact that this is a war, one in which there will be no nice neat simple answers, so you’d better strap in, kids, because these depictions of trauma are not for the faint of heart.

This book is about its protagonists fighting a major battle which they lose. It contains a scene with Marco extracting a promise from Jake that Jake will kill him before letting him become a controller. It heavily implies that Cassie is the first person on the team to become a murderer, because she doesn’t have another way to stop the controller-cop from telling the other yeerks she was morphing. It features a battle in which the “good guys” suffer casualties (Tobias is trapped in morph; several human hosts get killed) while also accomplishing almost nothing to advance the war effort (they free one human? Maybe?), giving us the sense that Marco was probably right that they should have stayed home. It lovingly describes pieces of Elfangor’s body falling from Visser Three’s jaws so that the hungry taxxons below can devour them.

The series also doesn’t magically become lighter from there. The arc of #2 hinges on the horrifying realization that, as awful as Melissa Chapman’s life has become living with neglectful and emotionally abusive parents, the alternative is infinitely worse because those same parents are allowing their conscious willpower to be destroyed in order to shield her from slavery. #3 builds up to and then graphically describes a scene in which its narrator attempts to commit suicide. Although #4 is lighter overall, it explores the impact Marco’s death would have on everyone from Peter to Cassie. #5 has The Scene With The Ants. So on and so forth. But that’s what makes this series so freaking good: it is always horrifying, it’s always funny, it’s always heartwarming, it’s always tense, and it always features a clever balance of plot and character driving one another forward. K.A. Applegate is a grand master wizard when it comes to emotional flow, one who does far better than most series writers I’ve ever encountered (JKR, Cornelia Funke, Jonathan Stroud, JRRT, Jeff Lindsay: take notes) at imbuing her tragedy with comedy and her comedy with tragedy without ever mocking her characters’ real pain or overdramatizing her more ridiculous plots.

Anyway, this book doesn’t spend any time at all messing around before it launches the characters on their adventure. The narration fulfills the promise on the back of the book (“everyone is in really big trouble. Yeah, even you.”) right from the start by giving us enough details to make the Animorphs’ hometown vivid and individuated while also making it feel like Anywheresville, USA. Jake’s got the most “typical” (according to fiction, anyway) life of anyone on the team: married parents, golden retriever, one sibling, big suburban house, home computer, swingset in the backyard. And it turns out that not only are there aliens invading, there are aliens that have already invaded his house. Jake’s been surrounded on all sides by the war for weeks if not months, and he was just pleasantly clueless enough to avoid realizing that fact until Elfangor came along and woke that boy up. Of course Jake’s apple-pie life is the exception not the rule on this team, but the fact remains that he’s the “everyman” on the team… and he’s also under the most immediate threat of infestation. Jake punches Marco in the head for implying that Tom’s a controller (as Cates mentioned, Jake’s a heck of a lot less practical about the whole aliens-have-your-family bit than Marco is) and we can’t even necessarily blame him—he has the most to lose in this war of anyone on the team. The call knows where he lives; he doesn’t even have the option of refusal.

The plot wastes no time at all in having the kids encounter an alien and end up on the run for their lives, but also gives us tons of characterization along the way. Rachel thinks Jake’s an idiot for thinking he can protect her and Cassie from anything, but agrees to walk home with him and Marco so that Cassie can have a chance to talk to him. Jake really is kind of an idiot, since he’s apparently in the habit of climbing abandoned construction equipment in his spare time. Marco’s a fairly brilliant video game player and all-around more mature than Jake, not that you’d know it from all his irreverent jokes throughout this plot. Jake is adorably baffled by Rachel’s response to Tobias, because he thinks of his cousin as the kind of person who eats men for breakfast and totally fails to consider that maybe she’s got a crush like any other teenager on the planet. Tobias goes from “it’s a flying saucer” to “we find the yeerk pool, and when we do we blow it up and kill every one of those evil slugs” in about .03 seconds flat, and to some extent drags everyone else (especially Marco) into the war kicking and screaming. Cassie’s more than a little starry-eyed at the idea of becoming a horse, and in some ways she’s almost as naive as Jake about where this war is going. (Marco, by contrast, figures it out a lot faster: “You sure this is just the yeerk pool?… I see a guy with horns and a pitchfork and I’m outta here.”)

Given the immediacy and scale of the acute tension here—the planet is being taken over by parasitic aliens!—the chronic tension seems sort of silly. Jake didn’t make the basketball team, boo-hoo. However, he only wanted to make the basketball team so badly because he was hoping it would make Tom want to hang out with him again. Because Tom’s been acting distant toward his whole family recently, to the point where Jake’s parents are mildly concerned. Because Tom’s been wrapped up with this new organization, The Sharing. Because The Sharing seems to have some really strange effects on its “full members”… Because the planet is being taken over by parasitic aliens. I love the subtlety with which everything in Jake’s life comes around. The war has already started reshaping his school, his town, his family, and his whole life, well before he starts turning into animals and killing aliens. This book is scary, because not only is the invasion moving quickly but also because the Animorphs’ early attempts to fight back are like spitting on a forest fire. Anyone could be a controller. None of the other Animorphs know for sure about their own families until #49. These kids can’t even ask their own families and friends for help.

As scary as this book is, it still has room for a lot of wonder. Cassie compares them to ancient warriors tapping mystical animal spirits for help in protecting the Earth. Tobias reacts like every one of us sci fi fans would to finding out that aliens exist. Jake insists that there’s hope for the planet no matter what just as long as the andalites are out there. Right from the moment the Animorphs lose their first battle, both on a personal scale (they don’t save Tom, and lose Tobias) and on a cosmic one (they find out that Visser Three is a lot better at morphing than they are) this series sends the message: buckle up, because it’s going to be a hell of a ride. But as scary as it’s going to be, there’s still space for Marco’s awful driving, Cassie’s wondering fascination with dolphins and horses, Tobias’s crazy eagerness to embrace the bizarre, Rachel’s joyful exploration of her inner elephant, and Jake’s heartbreaking willingness to walk into hell in order to try and protect his big brother.

#asks #answers #animorphs #anonymous #animorphs reviews #the invasion #1 #i'll have to come back to 54

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“Pornography as a secret weapon,”

Posted on August 19, 2017 Author Zionist Report 1 Comment

The tribe continues to destroy Christianity and our moral values. Hollywood began by pushing for the ‘independence’ of women, today it is women who initiate sex and act like men. Brainwashing the masses has been easy, it has completely changed the masses perception of reality. The Devil’s rabbit hole is infinite and today he is in charge. Most seem to accept the Cultural Marxist poison being fed to them every day, and continue to follow like useful idiots the evil plan designed to get humanity to auto-destroy. We should hang these criminals and most of all, clean up the White House, all government institutions, and the Catholic Church which are all infested with disgusting members of this REPULSIVE evil tribe, that we hope burns in hell for ever.

“Pornography as a secret weapon,”

Source: darkmoon.me

Pornography is deployed today as a psyop or mind weapon: to pacify, control, brutalize, and ultimately enslave the masses.

“We corrupt in order to rule.” — Italian Freemason Giuseppe Mazzini

How do you take a nation of free and independent citizens and turn them into slaves? How do you do this slowly and imperceptibly, without violence, and with the willing participation of the slaves-to-be?

The answer is simple.

You corrupt them, undermine them, deprave them, demoralize them until they have acquired all the characteristics of slaves.

As the sorceress Circe, with a wave of her magic wand, turned the followers of Ulysses into grunting swine, you can wield your weapon of mass hypnosis, the media, over a nation and transform its citizens into willing slaves. You can learn to robotize man and turn him into a living machine. This is power. This is what it must feel like to be God — or the Devil.

Is there a secret weapon or “magic wand” for turning men into swine? Yes, there is. Sex is the secret weapon, the magic device, that turns men into swine.

1. Jews use pornography “to destroy gentile morals”

Who are the richest and most successful entrepreneurs of the $100 billion year porn industry? [1] The peddlers of pornography belong to all races, but one race above all stands out as preeminent in this field. Selling sex, like slave trafficking and moneylending, has always been a Jewish speciality.

Jewish academic historian Dr Nathan Abrams (above), perhaps the world’s most renowned authority on the Jewish role in pornography, let the cat out of the bag a few years ago in his controversial essay, Triple-Exthnics. [2]

Published in the prestigious Jewish Quarterly in 2004, this essay spelled out in detail how the world’s multibillion-dollar porn industry was dominated by Jews.

Dr. Abrams not only admits that Jews are the world’s most successful pornographers, he celebrates the fact. Jews, he tells us, have a grudge against Christianity,an “atavistic hatred of Christian authority” rooted in centuries of humiliation, and pornography is one of the ways in which they get their revenge on their Christian persecutors — the hateful oppressors who expelled them from 109 countries since the year 250 AD, always without justification. [3]

So it’s now payback time.

Jewish involvement in pornography [Dr Abrams notes candidly] has a long history in the United States. Though Jews make up only two per cent of the American population, they have been prominent in pornography.

According to one anonymous industry insider quoted by E. Michael Jones in the magazine Culture Wars (May 2003), “the leading male performers through the 1980s came from secular Jewish upbringings and the females from Roman Catholic day schools”.

The standard porn scenario became as a result a Jewish fantasy of schtupping the Catholic shiksa [non-Jewish female].

Jewish involvement in the X-rated industry can be seen as a proverbial two fingers to the entire WASP establishment in America.

Jewish involvement in porn, Dr Abrams believes, “is the result of an atavistic hatred of Christian authority: they are trying to weaken the dominant culture in America by moral subversion.” [4]

Al Goldstein (pictured), the publisher of Screw magazine, had once said — and Dr. Abrams is happy to quote him: “The only reason that Jews are in pornography is that we think that CHRIST SUCKS.”

Dr. Abrams’ indulgent attitude to porn is a little surprising. Here is a man who actually believes that Jewish domination of the porn industry is a stunning achievement. Jews get gold stars for masturbation promotion.

ADL National Director, Abraham H. Foxman, agrees with the “liberal” idea that pornography is a good thing — if not for the countless victims of porn addiction, at least for Jews who grow rich on exploiting those addicts. “Those Jews who enter the pornography industry,” Foxman notes with approval, “have done so as individuals pursuing the American dream.” [5]

Dr. Abrams, the sober Jewish academic, now ups the ante by adding a sinister touch to the controversy. “Jews are the driving force behind the modern pornographic industry,” he tells us smugly, “and their motivation is, in part, to destroy gentile morals.” [6]

To destroy gentile morals.

Note that phrase well. It amounts to an open declaration of war. For why should Jews wish to “destroy gentile morals” unless they hated the gentiles — in this case, Christians — and wanted to destroy our most cherished values?

There is no law to prevent this Jewish comedienne (pictured opposite) from uttering blasphemous obscenities against Jesus Christ and giving offense to 2.1 billion Christians by her infamous comment, “I hope the Jews did kill Christ! I’d fucking do it again — in a second!”

Just imagine an equally well-known Christian comedian coming out with a similar insult against the victims of the Holocaust: “I hope the Nazis DID kill 6 million Jews! I’d fucking do it again — in a second!”

Such a grossly offensive comment would be unthinkable. The comic who made it would be ostracized at once and never allowed to work again in the entertainment business.

And yet the Jew today, in the person of Sarah Silverman, is perfectly free to spit in the Christian’s face and is even applauded for this hate speech. The Christian can do nothing about it. He has become a slave in his own country — an object of ridicule and contempt.

2. How Jews Dominate the American Porn Industry

It comes as no surprise to learn that Jews dominate the production and distribution of pornography. If you want to learn more about these luminaries of lust and see what they look like, here is an excellent starting point.

In a now defunct article entitled Jews in Porn, parts of which have been published on Henry Makow’s site, Luke Ford notes:

Used to hatred from society, Jews will do its dirty work – such as money-lending in the Middle Ages or porn today – for the opportunity to make money.

Persecuted for millennia in the various societies they’ve lived in, many Jews developed an allegiance to their own survival as their highest value and care little about the survival of the persecuting society.

Even when Jews live in a society that welcomes them instead of harassing them, many Jews hate the majority culture.

Neither rooted in their own tradition or in that of the majority Christian tradition, they live in a community of rebels.

Because of Judaism’s emphasis on education and verbal dexterity, Jews dominate academia, entertainment and media generally. Porn flows out of this culture over which Jews exert an influence disproportionate to their 2% proportion of the American population. [7]

♣

Robert J. Stoller, M.D. in his 1991 book, Porn: Myths for the Twentieth Century, sought to understand the mentality of the people involved in the hard core pornography business. While interviewing some of the actors and actresses in California, he was told, “If you’re welcomed into the porn scene, it’s unbelievable. It’s an extended family…. So many Jewish people involved with it.” [8]

Today, most porn movies and porn videos in America are produced by Jews in the San Fernando Valley (pictured) in Southern California. This is located just north of Los Angeles in a sprawl of seedy suburbs known to locals as “Porn Valley” or “the Other Hollywood”.

Here Jews are the kingpins of the sex industry and own every single major studio. Chief among these is Vivid Entertainment [9], reportedly the largest porn production company in the world.

This is owned by Jewish multi-billionaire Steven Hirsch, sometimes known as the “Porn King”. Vivid generates an estimated $100 million a year in revenue, cranking out 60 films per year and selling them in video stores, hotel rooms, on cable systems and on the Internet. [10]

“Sex is a powerful thing,” Hirsch notes complacently. “This is the right time for us!” [11]

Another billionaire Jewish porn mogul, Paul Fishbein, founder of Adult Video News (AVN), is also headquartered in Porn Valley, California. Fishbein’s business associates, Irving Slifkin, Barry Rosenblatt, and Eli Cross are all fabulously rich Jews. [12]

So make no mistake: Porn Valley, California, is a Jewish enclave, as Jewish as Tel Aviv or Brooklyn.

3. The Jewish Role in Child Pornography

According to the British charity, National Children’s Homes, 55 percent of the world’s child porn in made in America. [13]

It would be astonishing to learn that Jews were not in the forefront of this sordid enterprise also, given that they dominate the porn industry as a whole. [14]

Pedophilia is a worldwide phenomenon, but it is an undeniable fact that a large number of Jews who practice it appear to do so with a certain impunity. Roman Polanski, after he had drugged and raped an unconscious nymphette, got off the hook lightly. All he had to do was buy a one-way ticket to Paris, France. Nothing was done to bring him to justice.

In July 2000, Brazilian police tried to arrest the Israeli vice-consul in Rio de Janeiro, Arie Scher. He was wanted on suspicion of running a child porn ring from the Israeli embassy. Vast quantities of pornographic material had been found on his computer. What happened to Scher? Nothing. Claiming diplomatic immunity, he hopped on a plane to Tel Aviv and that was the last that was heard of him. [15]

Another Jewish pedophile too important to receive serious punishment for his crimes was the son of the famous science fiction writer Isaac Asimov. Found in possession of the hugest cache of child pornography in California, a federal crime normally carrying a 20-year sentence, David Asimov was to receive a slap on the wrist: six months home detention.

How is it he got off so lightly? “A look at the players yields the answer,” a sensational news report reads. “Asimov’s child porn stash was so big that many child victims and perpetrators would have taken a fall had Asimov been zealously prosecuted at trial.” [16]

There is one law for the Jews, it seems, and another for us lesser mortals.

4. Jewish Gang involved in Child Murder and Snuff Pornography

If 55 percent of the world’s child pornography is produced in the US — according to the British charity National Children’s Homes — 23 percent of the world’s child porn is produced in Russia. [17]

Whether or not Russian child porn is dominated by Russian Jews remains a nebulous issue. There is a high probability that it is, given that there is more than enough solid evidence of Russian Jewish involvement in sex trafficking, kidnapping, pedophilia, and even child murder in the production of snuff porn movies.

See endnote 17 for more on the subject of the Jewish role in the world child porn industry.

Here is a news report first published in October 2000. It will give the reader some idea of the depths of depravity to which some pornographers are willing to sink:

JEWISH GANGSTERS RAPED, KILLED CHILDREN AS YOUNG AS TWO ON FILM

Rome, Italy — Italian and Russian police, working together, broke up a ring of Jewish gangsters who had been involved in the manufacture of child rape and snuff pornography.

Three Russian Jews and eight Italian Jews were arrested after police discovered they had been kidnapping non-Jewish children between the ages of two and five years old from Russian orphanages, raping the children, and then murdering them on film.

Mostly non-Jewish customers, including 1700 nationwide, 600 in Italy, and an unknown number in the United States, paid as much as $20,000 per film to watch little children being raped and murdered.

Jewish officials in a major Italian news agency tried to cover the story up, but were circumvented by Italian news reporters, who broadcast scenes from the films live at prime time on Italian television to more than 11 million Italian viewers. Jewish officials then fired the executives responsible, claiming they were spreading “blood libel.”

Though AP and Reuters both ran stories on the episode, US media conglomerates refused to carry the story on television news, saying that it would prejudice Americans against Jews. [18]

According to the Talmud, 3-year-old girls like this are fair game for sex with adults (Sanhedrin 54b). Killing them is permissible too. “The best of the gentiles deserves to be killed,” the revered Rabbi ben Yohai states authoritatively in the Talmud. [19]

5. Mass Enslavement through Sex

It is a tragedy that the Jews should have been allowed to deploy pornography to such good effect that they have succeeded in enslaving entire nations, as Circe with a touch of her magic wand enslaved the Greeks, turning men into swine: an apt metaphor for what lies ahead for the masses under their new masters.

“A really efficient totalitarian state,” Aldous Huxley once noted, “would be one in which the all-powerful executive of political bosses and their army of managers control a population of slaves who do not have to be coerced, because they love their servitude.” [20]

Organized Jewry seems to have no moral scruples about profiting from the sale of pornography. They show no concern about the proven fact that highly addictive and dangerous erototoxins are released into the brain after contact with pornography and can cause progressive brain damage. [21]

Nor do these porno-centric Jews have any qualms of conscience in regard to the wholesale corruption of families, whether Jewish or non-Jewish or show the slightest concern about the tragic descent of children into the hell of compulsive masturbation and porn addiction — a subject I have covered in detail in a soon-to-be-published article.

These sex entrepreneurs, intent on easy profits, have eagerly sought to provide the masses with the cheapest and deadliest of tranquilizers: opportunities for endless orgasms, by way of a ceaseless flow of pornographic images in the mass media they control.

This is one way to achieve world domination without the need for revolutionary violence or military conquest: to take entire countries and turn them into giant masturbatoria.

The model citizens of the future will be happy masturbators. This enthralling activity will keep them occupied throughout the day. It will make them docile and complacent, sated and semi-somnolent, like drugged dung flies in a cesspool or swilling latrine. They will be too busy debauching themselves to mount revolutions or plan revenge attacks against the shadowy elite who have been the architects of their slavery.

These are not the world-changers and wizards of the future of whom Nietzsche said, “Behold, I show you the Superman!” Because of their degeneracies, their weaknesses, they are destined for the dustbin of history.

MEN IN STRIP CLUB

“Behold, I show you the Superman!” — Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spake Zarathustra

___________________________________________

Here is what Brother Nathanael Kapner has to say on this subject. It is a neat summation. The fact that Kapner is Jewish makes his words even more compelling:

“The degradation of Western Christian social life did not merely happen, it was planned, deliberately fostered and spread, as outlined by The Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion. This systematic undermining of the culture of the West continues today.

The instruments of this assault on Christian culture and consciousness are the weapons of propaganda: the press, television, cinema, and education. The chief fount of the propaganda is the cinema.

From his capital in Hollywood, the Jew spews out an endless series of perverted films to debase and degenerate the youth of America and the Western world. Divorce replaces marriage, abortion replaces birth, and the family becomes the battleground of individual strife. The Jew has attained his goal in destroying Western culture.” [22]

I am afraid I cannot agree with Kapner’s sweeping conclusion that the Jews are entirely to blame for the decline and fall of Western culture. If the West has gone to hell in a handbasket, the goyim are as much to blame. Their enthusiastic complicity with their own corrupters has been their undoing.

The society we get is the society we deserve.

6. Conclusion

There is little doubt that the virulent sex epidemic we witness all around us is a deliberately planned sex psyop. This is what governments want.

The Puppet Masters who pull the hidden strings of our Western regimes, all masquerading as democracies, have managed to manufacture exactly what we see when we look around us: widespread neurosis, mass misery, the collapse of moral values, Christianity in ruins, and the coarse brutalization of the common man.

No need for gulags for those who consent to their own chains.

ENDNOTES

[1] “Worldwide pornography industry approaches $100 billion.”

[2] Nathan Abrams, Triple-exthnics, (Jewish Quarterly, Winter 2004, Number 196). Nathan Abrams on Jews in the American porn industry.

[3] 109 Locations whence Jews have been Expelled since AD250

[4] Nathan Abrams, Op.cit.

[5] Quoted in Nathan Abrams, Op. cit.

[6] Nathan Abrams, Op. cit.

[7] Quoted in Henry Makow, Jews and Porn.

[8] Robert J. Stoller, Porn: Myths for the Twentieth Century.

[9] “Hard Times in Porn Valley.”

[10] Vivid Entertainment (Wikipedia).

[11] Forbes magazine, “The Porn King”. # 20,000 pornographic videos are produced each year in the San Fernando Valley, roughly at the rate of one new porn video every 40 minutes. (Rachel Alexander, Porn Addition at Crisis Levels.)

[12] AVN Magazine (Wikipedia, history).

[13] Penn State Law Professors Trot Out ‘Female Porn Leaders’ to Whitewash Realities of Adult Industry (explicit language).

[14] Dr Lasha Darkmoon, Masters of Porn: The Systematic Promotion of Sexual Deviance. (See also n.2 above, Dr Nathan Abrams, Triple-Exthnics).

[15] (1) Brazilian police stake out diplomat accused of running kiddie-porn ring (07/06/2000). (2) Israeli Consul Assistant involved with prostitution of minors escapes from Brazil (07/05/2000). (3) Brazil links Israeli consul to child prostitution (07/05/2000).

[16] Isaac Asimov’s son, his involvement in child porn. Link lost. We receive the message, “Server not found. Firefox can’t find the server at www.newsmakingnews.com.”

[17] Penn State Law Professors Trot Out ‘Female Porn Leaders’ to Whitewash Realities of Adult Industry.

Since 55 percent of the world’s child porn is produced in the US (see above), and since 90 percent of US porn is produced by Jews in the San Fernando Valley, California, it follows that Jews dominate the child porn industry in America.

In addition, if 23 percent of the world’s child porn is produced in Russia, it is more than likely that Russian Jews are behind this sleazy industry in view of the well-known involvement of the Judeo-Russian mafia in sex trafficking, sex slavery, prostitution and pornography in general.

This would make the Jews the predominant purveyors of child pornography in the world — a remarkable achievement for a race who make up no more than 0.2 percent of the world’s population.

[18] “Jewish Gangsters Raped, Killed Children As Young As Two on Film.”

Note. The article quoted above has also been published on a reputable Canadian website, the Jewish Tribune, giving it an added authenticity. Scroll down to: “Jewish Gangsters Raped, Killed Children As Young As 2 On Film. JEWISH CHILD PORN / SNUFF FILM RING DISCOVERED.”

[19] Michael A. Hoffman, The Truth about the Talmud. A Documented Exposé of Supremacist Rabbinic Hate Literature. Excerpts from Michael A. Hoffman’s book, “Judaism’s Strange Gods” (2000).

[20] Dr Lasha Darkmoon, The Sexual Subversion of America (Part 2). An edited abridgement of E. Michael Jones’ 2003 essay, Rabbi Dresner’s Dilemma: Torah v. Ethnos.

[21] Dr Lasha Darkmoon, Pornography’s Effect on the Brain.

[22] Bro. Nathaneal Kapner, The Judaic Destruction of Western Culture.

Aug 21st, 2017 12:41:26pm

https://zionistreport.com/2017/08/commentary-pornography-secret-weapon/

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