#i know plenty who find the puppets unnerving

[1-800-roflmao]

Was rewatching Mr. Meaty and in one of the episodes in season 2, they had a puberty fairy and when I saw him, plus the title, it made me realize Maury the Hormone Monster made a reference to this episode (it could be coincidence but lord the similarities lol).

The main difference between the two is the Puberty Fairy is much more wholesome than Hormone Monsters. Puberty Fairy was less about raging hormones and more about accepting growing up happens, it doesn't have to be scary, and it's about more than suddenly being interested in boinking everything and everyone. Puberty Fairy even assured him he didn't have to give up everything he enjoyed as a kid, it's perfectly fine to a little bit of a child at heart.

ANYWAY, it just tickles me to realize Big Mouth made a reference to Mr. Meaty and how it flew over my head for so long.

[midas-well]

Bid

Staring into the mirror, I cannot recognize myself as I once was, nor as I came to be. The girl in the mirror is not me. With a complexion manufactured to be bright and warm, full of life and vitality. She shares my dull, lifeless eyes, and yet I know that, deep down, that shouldn't be me. That the bright, innocent shine of curiosity and wonder was stripped away long ago.

I don't listen to what they are saying. A lady decorates my mask with a brush softer than a beloved kitten's fur, in stark contrast to the stony hands that hold me down in my seat, making sure I can't leave even if I fought. Sometimes I feel the chains that bind me start to dig deeper into my flesh, as though it were threatening to shatter me into a million beautifully broken shards of fleshy glass; a meat pie that everyone wants a slice of.

I can barely focus, my body's bruises having been sealed away with the liquids and powders generously applied, ensuring nobody sees it. Nobody likes the discolored fruits. The body encasing my battered soul is jostled, handled as though I were not a human being, like I were a doll they saw fit to move and tilt and bend and break however they pleased. The angle of my head is tilted painfully, allowing the lady easier access to more of my face and jaw, and denying me the ability to look into my own lifeless eyes.

I'm barely even present for the presentation. They talk up how beautiful I am, sweet poison as they pretend I hold value. If I did, why would one wish to be rid of such value? Is it simply to find amusement in the dogs who slobber at the sight of 'quality meat'? Do they believe I will lose it so fast that I need to be traded out within a certain number of days? The puppet I pilot is walked out on stage, showing off the pristine appearance the lady gave me. Give a little spin, show the good stuff. It's demeaning.

Numbers blur together past my ears, only able to catch a couple of them clear enough. The way he speaks to me tells me the numbers are too low to him. And as such, more is demanded of me to prove my value, because it has to be proven. What can the little doll do? I have grown too accustomed to the way this vessel is treated that I feel nothing as they show off how obedient of a plaything I can be. No tears; it would ruin the pretty lady's makeup job; it would show weakness, emotion, violation; it would be ugly—or maybe some people are into that, but that's not how I'm being marketed. I'm to be completely compliant to any handling with no complaint.

The voices get harsher, louder as a select handful from the crowd get excited at the prospective goods they can get their undoubtedly gross, tainted hands on. Higher and higher, everything goes. Every sense is being ravaged by the onslaught of stimuli. The greedy bastards, whom intend to take full advantage and profit off their enjoyment.

When I come to once more, I am sat by the east side of the auction hall, back to the warm, biscuity looking wall. The floor under me feels simultaneously cold on some areas of the tile, whilst others are an almost unnerving kind of warmth. It takes several long moments for my brain to catch up, for my eyes to be capable of focusing on the sights before me, to truly feel what was so disconcerting about the situation.

It is dead quiet. That's the first thing that caught my attention proper, as I was not being directed by the taller beings, nor was I swamped in the overstimulating cacophony of number calls. Then the stench, though surely it must've become familiar enough to not seem so bad in the moment. It's not an easy feat to ascertain the distinct scents of a myriad of scattered corpses, yet if given the chance, surely each would be just slightly unique enough—though I fear what it would give away about their past life.

I can only bear to catch brief glimpses of the gore surrounding me. Piles of soft pink and deep red flesh, plenty of parts with dried brown blood that is nearly black in an oozy stasis. The air is foul, death hanging in the air and weighing it down. Many mangled corpses are unrecognizable, features struck out and mashed, limbs and organs impossible to trace back to the host bodies. Of the few that are distinguishable, most are far enough away to be difficult to identify... save for one in particular that can't help but be seen.

A woman's head, near untouched beyond the proof of decapitation at the neck, rests like a trophy where the auctioneer takes the bids. An indescribable feeling of unease washes over me at the sight. Flickers of memories that are not mine come to me, flashing in my mind, recontextualizing the way I look at the carnage scattered about. The insurmountable rage and pain at the injustices dealt to me, how it must feel to pounce on a tall being that is suddenly so small to me. The feeling of blood on my raw skin becomes vibrant like a neon sign, impossible to ignore.

...Did I do this?

In the bits of memory I can recall, however, it is not my body doing this. Not what I have grown to believe is my body. It is far more insectoid in form. A looming mass, standing tall from my body as though it has shed its skin and revealed itself and the danger it can pose. Many spindly, long limbs, sharp enough where it matters. Thick and tough, tougher than the humans that provoked it. Everything is tinted red in the memories.

I feel nothing towards these memories, even the few explicitly violent scenes. They do not feel like me, they feel foreign and strange, as though I'm simply watching a movie. But it is connected just enough to leave a different churning sensation in my stomach, one that deep down acknowledges that it is undoubtedly this monster, these memories, that caused the fleshy mess that lay before me. And with the only sound being any vehicles driving past outside, I feel something drip down onto my skin. For the first time in… however long, I'm crying.

[will-come-a-poet]

I never do digital art (so please be nice) but I’ve been playing around on Procreate and the Welcome Home brainrot hit me a little too hard so I now present my very messily drawn Welcome Home character. 

More info about her under the cut if you care :) .

*Artistic outlets include singing and writing *Can have a bit of a morbid sense of humor (however that would fit in a children’s puppet show) *Never leaves her home/clinic without her nurses' bag (always prepared- bag almost has a Mary Poppins quality) *Tends to take things a little too seriously and doesn’t understand sarcasm

~Relations with over characters~ * Probably ends up spending a lot of time around Eddie thanks to his clumsiness * “Mx. Frank please come pick up your husband”

* Speaking of Frank, I feel like she would enjoy exchanging knowledge(TM) with them (aka nerding out over special interests). She probably shares her poetry and other writings with him.

*Julie and Barnaby would probably cause her a lot of anxiety thanks to their energy/stunts *” Oh! Mr. Barnaby, please be careful!” / ”Mrs. Julie, as much as I love your cheeriness I’m afraid that your game is a little too dangerous”

*Sally only gets a pass because of Holly’s weakness in the theater. Sally is probably also the only puppet who knows that she can sing (and maybe Eddie if she slips up and starts singing while working). She’s also one of the only ones who can get Holly involved in her antics.

  *Poppy is probably Holly’s best friend in the neighborhood. They bond over their mutual anxieties and love for their neighbors. Holly visits her quite a bit when not at her clinic or checking in on the other puppets.

*Encourages Howdy to always have plenty of healthy food/snacks at his stop. Teaches the caterpillar proper body mechanics so he doesn’t hurt himself while lifting all those heavy boxes. I feel like the guy has got to have hurt one of his arms at least once leading to Holly being able to give a lesson on proper cast care and taking rest when needed. *” Mr. Howdy do you think we could order some of those bandages shaped like rainbows? Oh, thank you so much!”

*Finds Wally charming (because who wouldn’t?) but a little unnerved by his habit of just staring. Also, she can’t remember a time when she’s seen the puppet eat? Oh well, at least he seems to like apples. Has probably commissioned at least one painting from him.

*No romantic interests at this time but would not be opposed to one.

[anhed-nia]

BLOGTOBER 10/17/2020: SPOOKIES

What do we watch, when we watch movies? This question was sparked by my SOV experience with the very different, and differently interesting BLOODY MUSCLE BODYBUILDER FROM HELL and HORROR HOUSE ON HIGHWAY 5. Within the Shot On Video category, one can find inventive homemade features that are driven entirely by blood, sweat, and the creators' feeling of personal satisfaction. The results are sometimes fascinating, in their total alienation from the conventions and techniques of mainstream filmmaking, and after all, one rarely sees anything whose primary motivation is passion, here in the late stages of capitalism. But, all this talk about what goes on behind the camera points to a discrepancy in how we consume different kinds of production. The typical mode of consumption is internal to the movie: What happens in it? Do you relate to the characters? Are you able to suspend your disbelief, to experience the story on a vicarious level? One hardly needs to come up with examples of films that invite this style of viewing. Alternatively, we can experience the movie as a record of a time and place in which real people defied conventions and sometimes broke laws in order to produce a work of art. SOV production is usually viewed through this lens, where the primary interest is not the illusory content, but the filmmakers' sheer determination to create. We find some overlap in movies like EVIL DEAD, which simultaneously presents a terrifying narrative, and evidence of what a truly driven team can create without the aid of a studio, or any real money to speak of. See also, Larry Cohen's New York City-based horror films, in which a compelling drama with great acting can exist side by side with phony but beautiful effects, and exciting stories of stolen footage that would be dangerous or impossible to attempt today. I'm thinking about these different modes of consumption now because I just watched SPOOKIES, a legitimately cursed-seeming film whose harrowing production history has superseded whatever people think about what it shows on the screen. The lovingly composed blu-ray from Vinegar Syndrome includes a feature-length documentary that attempts to explain the making of the film--which is accompanied by its own feature length commentary track by documentarists Michael Gingold and Glen Baisley. The very existence of this artifact suggests a lot about the nature of this movie, in and of itself. The truth behind its existence is as funny as it is tragic.

I'm not going to do a whole breakdown of the tortured origins of SPOOKIES, which is much better told by the aforementioned documentary. To summarize: Once upon a time in the mid 1980s, filmmakers Brendan Faulkner, Thomas Doran and Frank Farel conspired to make a fun, flamboyant rubber monsterpiece called TWISTED SOULS. It was wild, ridiculous, and transparently fake-looking, but it was loved by its hard-working creators; as a viewer, that soulful sense of joy can rescue many a "bad" movie from its various foibles. Then, inevitably, sleazoid producer Michael Lee stepped in--a man who thought you could cut random frames out of the middle of scenes to improve a movie's pace--and ruined it with extreme prejudice. Carefully crafted special effects sequences were cut, relatively functional scenes were re-edited into oblivion, and the seeds of hatred were sown between the filmmakers and the producer. Ultimately, everyone who once cared for TWISTED SOULS was forced to abandon ship, and first time director Eugenie Joseph stepped in to help mutilate the picture beyond all recognition. Thus SPOOKIES was born, a mangled, unloved mutation that would curse many of its original parents to unemployability. For the audience, it is intriguingly insane, often insulting, and hard to tear your eyes off of--but in spite of whatever actually wound up on the screen, it's impossible to forget its horrifying origin story as it unspools.

As far as what's on the screen goes: A group of "friends", including a middle-aged businessman and his wife, a vinyl-clad punk rock bully and his moll, two new wave-y in-betweeners, and...a guy with a hand puppet are somehow all leaving the same party, and all ready to break into a vacant funeral home for their afterparty. Well, this happens after a 13 year old runaway inexplicably wanders in to a "birthday party" in there, that looks like it was thrown for him by Pennywise, and he has the nerve to act surprised when he is attacked by a severed head and a piratey-looking cat-man who straight up purrs and meows throughout the picture. Anyway, separately of that, which is unrelated to anything, the island of misfit friends finds a nearly unrecognizable "ouija board" in the old dark house. Actually this thing is kind of fun-looking, having been made by one of the fun-havers on the production before the day that fun died, and I wonder if anyone has considered trying to make a real board game out of it...but I digress. Naturally, the board unleashes evil forces, including a zombie uprising in the cemetery outside, a plague of Ghoulie-like ankle-biters, an evil asian spider-lady (accompanied by kyoto flutes), muck-men that fart prodigiously until they melt in a puddle of wine (?), and uh...I know I'm forgetting stuff. One of the reasons I'm forgetting is because of this whole side story about a tuxedo-wearing vampire in the basement (or somewhere?) who has entrapped a beautiful young bride by cursing her with immortality. That part is a little confusing, not only because it doesn't intersect with the rest of the movie, but because sometimes it seems contemporary--as the bride struggles to survive the zombie plague--and sometimes it seems like a flashback, as our heroes find what looks like the mummified corpse of the dracula guy, complete with his signet ring. So, I don't know what to tell you really. Those are just some of the things that happen in the movie.

Some people like this a lot, and have supported its ascendance to cult status, which is a huge relief when you know what everyone went through to make this movie, only to have it ripped away from them and used against them. I found SPOOKIES a little hard to take, for all the reasons that the cast and crew express in the documentary. It holds a certain amount of visual fascination, whatever you think of it; something of its original creativity remains evident in the movie's colorful, exaggerated look, and its steady parade of unconvincing but inventive creature effects. But then, you have to deal with the farting muck-men. What was once a scene of terror starring REGULAR muck-men, that sounded incredibly laborious to pull off, became a scene of confusing "comedy" when producer Michael Lee insisted that the creatures be accompanied by a barrage of scatalogical noises. Apparently this was Lee's dream come true, as a guy who insisted everyone pull his finger all the time, and who once tried to call the movie "BOWEL ERUPTOR". But, of all the deformations SPOOKIES endured, the fart sounds dealt a mortal injury to the filmmakers' feelings, and even without knowing that, it's hard to enjoy yourself while that's happening.

Actually, all the farts forced me to ask myself: Is this...a comedy? Like for real, as its main thing? As the movie slogged on, I had to decide that it wasn't, but I was distracted by the notion for around 40 minutes. I was only released from this nagging suspicion when the bride makes her long marathon run through throngs of slavering zombies who swarm her, grope her, and tear off her clothes, before she narrowly escapes to an even worse fate. The lengthy scene is strangely gripping, and sleazy for a movie that sometimes feels like low rent children's entertainment. Part of the sequence’s success lies in its simplicity; it is unburdened by the convoluted complications of the rest of the movie, whose esoteric parts never fall together, so it seems to take on a sustained, intensifying focus. The action itself is unnerving, as the delicate and frankly gorgeous Maria Pechuka is molested and stripped nearly-bare by her undead bachelors, running from one drooling mob to another as the horde nearly engulfs her time and again. Actually, it feels a lot like a certain genre of SOV production in which, for the right price, any old creepy nerd can pay a small crew-for-hire to tape a version of his private fantasy, whether it's women being consumed by slime, or women being consumed by quicksand, or...generally, women being consumed by something. I wish I could describe this form of production in more specific or official terms, because I genuinely think it's wonderful that people do this. Anyway, Pechuka's interminable zombie run feels a little like that, and a little like a grim italian gutmuncher, and a little like an actual nightmare. Perhaps it only stands out against its dubious surroundings, but I kind of love it--and I'm happy to love it, because apparently the late Ms. Pechuka truly loved making SPOOKIES, and wanted other people to love it, too.

Which brings me to the uncomfortable place where I land with this movie. On the one hand...I think it's bad. It's so incoherent, and so insists on its impoverished form of comedy, that it's hard to be as charmed by it as I am by plenty of FX-heavy, no-budget oddities. Perhaps the lingering odor of misery drowns out the sweet joy that the crew once felt in the early days of creation--which is still evident, somehow, in its zany special effects, created by the likes of Gabe Bartalos and other folks whose work you definitely already know and love. But I feel ambivalent, about all of this. On the one hand, I can be a snob, and shit on people for failing to make a movie that meets conventional standards of success. On the other hand, I can be a DIFFERENT kind of snob--a more voyeuristic or even sadistic one--and celebrate the painful failures that produced a movie that is most interesting for its tormented history and its amusing ineptitude. I'm not really sure where I would prefer to settle with SPOOKIES, and movies like it. (As if anything is really "like" SPOOKIES) With all that said, I was left with one soothing thought by castmember Anthony Valbiro in the documentary. At some point, he tells us how ROSEMARY'S BABY is his personal cinematic comfort food; he can put it on at night, after an exhausting day, and drift to sleep, enveloped in its warm, glowing aura. He then says that he hopes there are people out there for whom his movie serves that same purpose, that some of us can have our "milk and cookies moment" with SPOOKIES. Honestly, I choke up just thinking about that.

[enkelimagnus]

Grey

Bucky Barnes Gen, 1378 words, rated T for Hydra shit

Jewish Bucky Barnes, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier: Episode 3 Power Broker

Bucky, Zemo and Sam are in a car to the airport where Oeznik is. Bucky takes the opportunity to seize an enemy.

TW: death of family?

Read on AO3

Part 19 of Making a Home - the Jewish Bucky series

-------------------

Breaking Zemo out is a death sentence.

Bucky’s aware of that, in the background of his mind. He knows that Zemo wants all supersoldiers wiped out. There’s no reason for him to make an exception for him. Especially considering Bucky’s track record. He’s got more blood on his hands than every other super soldier alive combined.

He doesn’t want to die. But if it happens, it should be fighting for something good, trying to make sure the serum stops being an option people can turn to. Trying to make sure what happened to him won’t happen again to anyone.

And if it takes Zemo… it will take Zemo.

They’re driving towards the airfield now, where Zemo says he’s arranged for transportation. Bucky chooses not to ask questions. The man’s changed from the prison guard outfit he’d stolen into something undoubtedly more expensive. He’s looking through the window, face frozen in thought and Bucky takes the opportunity to give him a once over.

When they’d first met, Zemo had the skittish look of a man running on adrenaline, caffeine, and the need to complete a mission. It was a look Bucky had seen before, before Hydra as well as during. The look of a man on the last rope, desperate and paranoid. There comes a time where the mission takes over the man, and all is left is that look.

It’s been 8 years. Zemo looks like a man again. He’s put on a bit of weight, rounding his cheeks, and a bit of age, with fine lines marking the corner of his eyes and his mouth.

In the reflection of the window, their eyes meet. Bucky’s been caught in his observation, and he doesn’t look away, holding Zemo’s gaze.

His eyes are still wickedly sharp. They aren’t crazed by despair anymore, however. Bucky hates how much he remembers what Zemo looked like, when he took his mind from him.

The corner of the man’s mouth pulls into a smirk and Bucky rolls his eyes and breaks eye contact before the man can make any sort of remark.

There are weapons in his clothes, or at least in his bag. Bucky doesn’t need to see them to know. Zemo’s a commander, a soldier, and he doesn’t have the same scruples against guns as people like Sam or Steve do. He’s armed. For some reason, Bucky’s thankful.

It’s unnerving to be here, in this fancy car, with this man sitting across from him. A vision from his nightmares. Bucky’s paralyzed in his seat, and even if he knows he’s the one in control here, he still feels the small scared and scarred part of him unravel in panic. Handler.

Once upon a time, he would have been expected to break a handler out of prison if he had somehow committed enough mistakes that they were arrested. He’d never had to do it, he’d always been good enough to avoid capture.

This time around, Zemo’s not pretending to be anything different than what he is. His authority is not turned off. It’s in full display, and it has been since Bucky walked into his cell and he decided to taunt him with the words.

Bucky has to admit the white hot fear those words bring into him wasn’t erased by Princess Shuri and her people. He knows Zemo saw it. He’s too sharp not to have noticed it. Bucky’s control over his body isn’t what it used to be when it was his only means of survival.

He’s lost a lot of control in the past decade. It’s for the best, of course. It means he’s healing. But some days, it feels like a malfunction.

At least, he can take solace in the fact that there is no way Zemo is as skillful now than he used to be. Eight years in solitary confinement doesn’t make for the right place to practice combat, or marksmanship. No, Zemo’s softer now. That’s one thing Bucky has going for him in this. He’s stronger, much stronger. But Zemo’s aware of that. He’s too smart not to be aware that Bucky could break his spine without that much of an effort.

He’s read the files. It’s what is the most unnerving about Zemo. He knows him. He knows him in a way that no one else alive does. Not only because he’s read the file, but because he’s the last man alive who had the privilege of controlling him. Bucky was a puppet in his hands, a slave to his will. They both know it. It’s a horrible sort of intimacy.

We have a history together.

Fuck. It’s going to be a lot of mind games in the days to come.

The road to Strausberg Airfield isn’t long, and Bucky lets himself stare at the view outside of the window for a while, mirroring Zemo.

“So what’s it like to see the outside world after a decade?” Sam asks, in an almost taunting manner. Bucky looks back at the new addition to their band of merry vigilantes.

Zemo’s eyes flicker to him for a brief moment before he looks back out. “I had forgotten how grey Berlin was in winter.” There is undeniable fondness in his voice.

He isn’t wrong. Berlin, and especially its formerly Soviet part, is very grey and square. There are pipelines running above ground the way they do in Russia, a lot of the architecture has that muted color-palette that Bucky associates easily with former Soviet Bloc countries. Was Sokovia similarly touched by the Soviet… aesthetic?

What he’d seen of Romania had been half old Kingdom gold and half Soviet steel. It seems to Bucky like it is a recurring theme in Eastern European countries. The bombs of the war left craters that the Soviets filled with grey. Sometimes, he wonders if his parents would have recognized their home city of Iași or if it had changed beyond repair.

He visited Iași when he was staying in Romania and searching for pieces of himself amongst the houses and museums and in the war memorials. Once he remembered his parents were Romanian, he managed to remember that the old country they talked about was Iași.

He had searched for the Barnes name amongst memorials of holocaust atrocities, not yet remembering that that wasn’t their real name. Barnes was the one they’d given at Ellis Island, the American identity, the one they’d chosen to assimilate. When they’d shed their Jewish, Romanian identity for something… more appropriate. Gershom had become Georges and Vina had become Winnifred. The Barasch family was now the Barnes family.

And of the Barnes, in 2024, Bucky is the last. His sisters married and took their husbands’ last name. His parents didn’t bring siblings into the US. Only them.

He’s the last Barnes alive, and he will probably die the last Barnes. He’s not exactly into the idea of having children.

Big families were always highly considered in the culture Bucky grew up in. Many children, good marriages, many descendants. Be fruitful, and multiply. They took that commandment seriously. He’s sure his sisters had plenty of kids. They always seemed to want them.

He wanted them too, back in the day. Marriage hadn’t felt like a terrible thing, even if he couldn’t marry Steve. They’d been aware of that, they’d known they had no real future together. They had an arrangement, the two of them. He’d known he’d eventually find a girl he would love, and that they’d get married and have kids.

One would be named Steve, even if it wasn’t a good Jewish name.

He closes his eyes for a moment. Nowadays… No matter how it hurts sometimes to know he’s the last one, he doesn’t think he could be a father, let alone a good one. It would be cruel for him to try and raise a child. They’re innocent. And he’s far from healthy.

Zemo’s still looking through the window when Bucky blinks his eyes open. Is he the last Zemo too? Does Zemo carry the burden of being the last of his family as heavily as Bucky does?

As the car takes a turn into the airfield and Sam and Zemo find themselves talking about the weather, of all things, Bucky settles into his silence.

[plaguedparadox]

Continuing off the Doctor Who one, what if Anti got captured by Sam and Dean? (Sorry just REALLY love the idea of SuperWhoLock being crossed over with the egos 💙)

Oh boy, it’s been a long time since I’ve even seen Supernatural so forgive me if the boys are OOC or act like the young versions of themselves. Also, I know this probably is for what would happen after they captured him but I just had to write how they met. I’m pretty sure if I wrote what happens afterwards it would be over the 2000 word limit I’ve set myself for these oneshots. Either way, enjoy.

The air crackled with static as the sound of heavy boots made its way across a dingy alleyway, the walls were wet with rain and whatever residue the residents in the area left it with. The traveller didn’t want to know, his arms being practically glued to the side as he had to remind himself that he was only walking to conserve energy. That there was a reason he was in America, so far away from home. He hated it when the people he messed around with began to travel as it usually meant he’d have to wait at home for them to get back or he’d have to hunt them down all over again and he simply didn’t have the patience to keep waiting around. A problem arose from that situation, however, as he knew little to nothing about America or rather how to navigate the area efficiently. He knew the UK and Ireland like the back of his hand, thanks to his prey having lived in both places. A glitched sigh left him as he walked, his feet dragging slightly behind him. Voices caught his attention, two guys arguing over something and, usually, that wouldn’t make him pause to listen in but as soon as the word ‘demon’ was mentioned, he knew he had to listen in. A cracked chuckle left his now grinning lips as he allowed his invisible code to pour into one of the duo’s phones, granting himself access, like a rogue app, to the microphone so he could listen in.

“Listen, Sammy. A demon is a demon, we’ve faced plenty of them before. I doubt this one is gonna shock us.” The shorter of the duo spoke up, his gruff voice dismissive as he checked over his car. “So what if it’s got a few little ticks and tricks we haven’t seen before. All we have to do is find its weakness and go from there.” He didn’t want to sound too smug but everything his little brother had told him about the wandering demon that they were hunting just left him a bit underwhelmed. Sure, they had never faced a glitch demon before but what was a bunch of rogue coding in a human form really going to do to them that a regular demon couldn’t. Dean appreciated Sam’s concern but the younger brother often aired on the side of too much caution, a good contrast to his throw caution to the wind attitude that did get the man into quite a bit of trouble. Dean threw his brother a quick glance, noticing the pained expression on his face as his eyes scanned the phone he was reading from. “What is it?”

Sam glanced up at his brother before dragging his eyes down to his phone, his breath a tad unsteady as he read through the post that seemed to detail facts of the demon. “It says that it has a tendency to mess around with it’s prey, making them face their worst fears before possessing them and making them it’s puppets.” Facing their worst fears. They knew what that meant all too well but it still unnerved the younger Winchester to read it. “Shouldn’t we, at least, get Cas to help?” Dean didn’t respond, too busy looking at his own phone, confused as to why the screen was beginning to play up. He was sure that he didn’t download anything that could break the silly thing. “What’s up?” The younger brother asked, trying to grab his brother’s attention, his own eyes just noticing the weird green glitching. Green. Glitching. Sam quickly looked down at his own phone, brushing his hair out of his eyes as he hurriedly scanned across the post. Unfortunately, it was a lost cause as the glitching soon took over his own phone causing him to drop it in shock. “Dean, it might have found us before we had a chance to find it!” He exclaimed, backing away from his phone, unaware that his brother was doing the exact same. Both brothers were more than shocked as the glitches seemed to seep out of their phones like viscous fluid, combining together and slowly taking a grotesque skeletal shape before eventually bulking out and looking as if it could be a human trapped inside the gunk but the glowing green eyes that never seemed to blink stopped them from being fooled. This was the demon.

Scratchy laughter that seemed to jump and crack like it was a corrupted audio file left the creature as the dark liquid faded to reveal something that looked very human if it weren’t for his eyes, one almost entirely black and one that looked as if it could be normal if it wasn’t for the green sclera, and the huge torn up slit in the creature’s throat which bled but it didn’t seem to bother the creature in the slightest. “Ah, so looking for me, are you?”  It spoke through gritted teeth but the Irish accent couldn’t be hidden. “What makes you think you can stop me?!” It hissed, parts of it glitching away before reappearing. “I AM ETERNAL!” It stood its ground, knife suddenly in hand as it bared its teeth at the brothers. Dean, being the ever so cocky one, demanded to know its name after making a quiet comment about how the way it spoke made the phrase ‘I am eternal’ sound an awful lot like ‘I’m a turtle’, which made Dean’s voice bounce around as he struggled not to laugh. “My name? Antisepticeye. But most just call me Anti, or Master if they’re my puppet!” Anti grinned, showing off his teeth more, his face twisting far more than a human could. He could care less if he was giving himself away, the idiots in front of him weren’t his priority, they weren’t his prey. He just needed to find that stupid Ego that ran off, he wasn’t going to let someone else pull what the doctor had done.

The knife flicked around in Anti’s hand, more than ready to plunge it into the humans that were foolish enough to think they could take him on but he was going to wait, his grand entrance drained a decent amount of the energy he had left after he teleported across the ocean. Anti wasn’t afraid to leap before looking but it did leave him with disadvantages that he found annoying. “So, you’re the big bad glitch that makes puppets out of people?” Dean scoffed, rather amused by the shorter Irish demon. Out of all the horrors he had faced and people were scared of Anti? It was ridiculous. Thing was, Anti loved when people underestimated him, it motivated him to show them what he could really do. Red strings, invisible to the humans, began wrapping around his fingers as he got ready to turn one brother on the other. All humans are the same. Anti thought to himself before lunging for the shorter brother, not anticipating him to leap out of the way and point a gun at him. “Not so fast!” Dean announced, reaching behind him for something as a Latin word left his lips but he quickly froze as he noticed Anti staring at him with a questioning look.”Why didn’t that work?” He mouthed towards his brother who exclaimed the same thing after trying the word himself.

“You done?” Anti asked, his knife now just loosely being held by his side as he watched the brothers try to take him down with tactics that they assumed would work. “I’m not a regular demon, y’know!” He feigned insult before starting to fiddle with his knife, his more sadistic side yearning to come out and finish this pathetic game. He was becoming very impatient and his glitches spoke for him as they became more aggressive

Sam’s eyes lit up as he connected the dots. A glitch was coding or something that needed electricity but if you pumped too much electricity into something that relied on it, it would fry. He quickly gestured towards his brother to distract the glitch while he rushed off, seeking out and finding a power box. The younger Winchester called to his brother, letting him know where he was. Moments later, Dean sprinted out of the alley way and made his way over to the power box, a fully enraged Anti in pursuit behind him. The demon became frenzied after the older hunter made one too many turtle jokes. Just as Dean was about to hit the powerbox, he jumped over it and watched as Anti collided with it, the glitch being electrocuted and blacking out after a few seconds of being pumped full of electricity. It didn’t kill him but the brothers used the quiet time to take him somewhere secure and lock him up. Jokes just falling out of Dean’s mouth as they went on their way making Sam roll his eyes.

Anti woke up after an hour, groggy and confused but energised. Oh, so energised. It felt as if he had been chugging energy drinks and strong coffee for the past ten minutes. His glitches sparked around, no rhyme or reason to them as they used up small chunks of Anti’s over energised state. His now heterochromic eyes, white scleras but one iris blue and the other green, danced around the room as he tried to work out where he was even with his blurred vision. Rage slowly filled him as his memories from today played in his head causing his glitches becoming more erratic, allowing him to phase through and stagger out of his bindings. His nails scrapped against his palms, his claws becoming more evident. Plans crossed his mind, his sharp toothed grin growing wide as the sadistic images became darker and visceral.  

Oh, he was going to cause them a world of pain.

[cry-away-the-monsters]

Angel smiles a little, not seeing the one Michael has since he’s covered. She feels Springtrap flinch when Michael finally reveals himself, but she doesn’t flinch; she remembers how it was when she first saw the rot and decay stuck in Springtrap’s old suit, so she’s a little more prepared for what she sees than Springtrap probably is. She tears up a little as she notices that Mike’s starting to as well, letting go of Springtrap. She gently pulls Michael in for a warm hug, not minding the rather odd feeling and slightly unnerving smell coming from him. She doesn’t really pay any mind to him rotting, just focusing on comforting him for now. She pulls back to look at him, gently resting her hands on his shoulders.

“We’re m-more than happy to h-have you here, love. W-we’ll fix you up, j-j-just like we did f-for Elizabeth and the o-others. You can decide h-however you want to l-look, whether you want t-to look how you d-did before or if y-you want something like th-the others have. We c-can make it work; w-we’ve plenty of money t-to burn, so you d-don’t have to worry a-about pushing us too m-much,” she assures him, taking her hands away from his shoulders as Skylar walks over, letting himself come into view so Mike can see him before he speaks.

“I’m guessing everything’s fine over here now?” he asks, earning a small nod from Angel. “Good. Still keeping that knife outta here though. Don’t need sharp objects around when there’s a bunch of screaming kids everywhere and a pregnant woman in the middle of all of it. I’m sure none of them would do anything, but you never know when a wiggly-fingered Puppet’s gonna start freaking out the laughing bear,” he jokes, glancing at Molten Freddy running around with Charlie hot on his tail. “Like right now.”

Angel laughs a bit, wiping at her eyes. “I’m sure it’s o-okay, love...but...well. P-perhaps you do have a-a point,” she replies, earning a nod and a shrug from Skylar.

“Hey, I trust Michael isn’t gonna do anything, but y’know. Gotta be careful,” Skylar says, then he grins as he pulls Mike in for a hug and chuckles. “Aww, Theo’s gonna be overjoyed when they find out they’re gonna get an uncle and...uh,” he trails off, thinking for a moment. “...crap. There isn’t a neutral term for that. Uh. Well, I guess we’ll figure it out when we get there. I guess I’ll just say...untle for now. Aunt and uncle mixed. That should work, right?”

Angel laughs a bit, gently patting Skylar’s shoulder. “I-I-I’m sure it’s f-fine, love. Your sibling w-will understand when they’re o-old enough to express wh-who they are properly. W-we’ll act accordingly when th-that time comes.”

“Well yeah, but–”

“H-hush! I’m the one th-that’s supposed to panic a-about everything and think l-later, remember?” Angel teases, earning a snort from Skylar.

“None of us are supposed to be doing that, but go off I guess,” he responds with a chuckle.

The 5’3” brunette woman looks up at the oddly familiar-looking, rather grotesque, decayed version of the bunny mascot she once saw dancing around on a stage as a child, looking at him with a very confused look on her soft, rounded face, as though trying to figure out what the hell to say. “S-so uhm. Are you a-actually Spring Bonnie?” she stammers, a very soft voice coos out, a rather thick but pretty English accent quite noticeable. [[ cry-away-the-monsters ]]

“…Technically. I was once Spring Bonnie, I always wore this suit. It was mine…now I’m trapped in it forever. I call myself Springtrap now.” He responded, standing much taller than the woman, seeing as he was 7 foot. “It’s not so bad, I get to live forever and be something else…” He noticed how she had the same accent at him, it was not too often he met anyone around from where he was born. “You shouldn’t be here though, it’s dangerous…”

@cry-away-the-monsters

[petty-crush]

“Alien: Covenant”

-I fucking loved this film, utterly and wholly because Ridley Scott let his freak flag fly

-this film is mythological in stature; combining Greek gods, Mary Shelley, Old Testament, haunted houses, the cosmos; goddamn delightful

-as the first shot implies, the android David is our protagonist

-in fact this film starkly makes me realize that he is kinda the whole key to the “Prometheus” saga (which makes it separate from “Alien” saga) +everyone else plays second fiddle /he is an id for Ridley

-this might be Fassbender’s greatest performance yet; he is given great leeway and pedestals for the character and hits all of them on the bullseye

-I think the little opening mini movie is marvelous; deftly setting up the idea of mortality and creation

-nice to Guy Pierce play Weyland young, allowing him to put his distinctive gravitas stamp on the character

-the shot of David at the piano is a scrumptious shot that exists inside the film and by itself

-the scope of the space station with the yellow sail, immediately tips us off this will be a grand adventure, far away from the tight corridors of “Alien” and very much its own thing, in the 50’s sci fi mold +I love it

-didn’t expect a person to burn to death in their cryo sleep chamber. A sharp note to unsettle our nerves

-Fassbender plays a second, pretty much identical looking android named Walter, and his very small adjustments become pronounced the more we see him interact, creating a separate identity

-he is much more docile and very tender to the grieving Daniels (the wife of the burned man)

-Daniels is played by Katherine Waterson, who has a moppet look but fierce convictions

-I find her scene mourning his loss and their shattered co life together very moving and well done +interesting to note a woman getting over a man’s death when often in films it’s very much the opposite

-what is up with both films in “Prometheus” saga making the pilot the most amusing character, and a name actor playing them? Ideas Elba before, Danny McBride killing it here

-I laughed out loud when the Daniel’s ex is revealed to be James Franco; face timing while rock climbing without a safety rope is exactly what his reputation would infer he would do

-I find the use of McBride humming along to the transmission to the tune of John Denver very amusing +again echoing Elba playing Stephen Stills’ “love the one you’re with” (and I suppose the disco in Scott’s “The Martian���). 70’s music in the 22nd century. Interesting motif

-I like how the film establishes billy crudup’s character as a total chickenshit, unable to handle the responsibility of leading the crew +interesting detail where it talks about him being super religious, referring to his fellow colonists as “my flock”, leaving him thought to be unsuitable to delegate and survive under pressure

-crudup of course ignores waterson’s perfectly good advice and reservations, which makes me wonder if the morale of the Universe is “He should have listened to her; the story of the cosmos”

-it is very strange to see so such forest and green land in this series

-I particularly like the line “do you hear that? Nothing. Absolutely nothing”

-the chemical warfare of “Prometheus” is very pronounced as the black substance makes its way into the victims ears noses; again, this directly clashes with the Ripley saga but it’s doing its own thing here and and is pretty consistent

-nice little moment as Walter tries to comfort Daniels’ reservations by simply stating “it would make a lovely spot for a cabin” then walks away; contrast to Crudup’s character overselling how great he finds it, and continues to rattle off how over worried he found Daniels, this smothering her and make her apprehensive +brevity is the soul of wit is set up here

-good god, there is a ton of blood here, a smattering of it

-I find the scene where the first infected strobes out and spurts blood out his back to be effectively creepy

-I’m considering the creature in this film (“neomorph”) a in between. Not as well designed as the giger perfection, but a huge step up from the black sea liquor from “Prometheus”. It is startling and very well directed

-a masterful little shot as a dead colonist is shown partially in frame, his wedding ring clearly in shot, another man cupping his head, and whispering to his mouth “I love you”; succinctly setting up their same sex love and marriage

-the neomorph is definitely far more animalistic in this film. It’s given unhuman like movements, that suggest more primal instincts

-I cannot do justice to the goosebumps I felt as the party was lead by its stranger savior and we see the charred bodies and landscapes

-the stranger savior is at this point revealed to be David (with iggy pop type hair at first) who then hijacks back the film, rightfully so

-immensely hilarious moment as David shoulder knocks Walter, and adds “Hello there, brother”

-David is giving me Dr. Pretorius (“Bride of Frankenstein”)/Dr. Moreau (“Island of Dr. Moreau”) vibes +ie creators who bent the structure of biology and didn’t care who got destroyed in the way

-there is a long, long scene where Walter and David take turns playing the flute that is frankly worthy of an entire essay in itself

-firstly, it’s a big fuck you to anyone who was dismayed by the flute segment in “Prometheus” +there it was five seconds, here it’s like 10 minutes and two identical people are doing it at the same time

-secondly, they are playing the fucking theme to “Prometheus” on said flute +those is self-reference in the scale of Mel Brooks (and makes me think Ridley was grinning during the Sean bean-“lord of the rings” scene in “The Martian”

-the line to Watler from David “just blow, I will take care of the fingering”

-it is revealed that David unnerved people by being so human like in temperament that future versions like Walter were “streamlined”/neutered, so that Walter can play but not compose +there’s going to be a whole genetic modification bit coming up, but now I realize how eugenics/forced sterilization this sounds

-the contrasting glee in David’s voice and unease in Walter’s eyes as David relates how he was around their creator when he died, and David notes “he was stupid and weak, like all humans”

-the whole scene the camera is robotically swerving around clearly adding to the tension the audience feels in witnessing this unorthodox meeting

-needless to say, the film takes a monumental leap and variance in tone hereafter

-David mentions that Shaw (From “Prometheus”, last seeing going with David as a decapicated head) died, but she was “so kind to me” and David loved her -“much the same way Walter looks at you” (Daniels disagrees) “oh, does he call it ‘duty’? I know the difference”

-Ridley is really digging into the horror elements of the film as the neomorph comes up the wall and severs a woman’s head, leaving it floating in a full sink +the neomorph is eating her shoulder, shoring carnivore habits for the time in this universe

-one of the strangest moments (and there will be plenty coming up) where David and the tall albino neomorph are communicating via breathing

-the most emotion David has is when crudup kills it and David screams “how could you?!? He trusted me!”

-crudup has a equally odd non sequitur where he threatens David to “tell me what is going on, or I will destroy your perfectly calm composure”

-this film is bizarre and exploitive in the extreme

-for those that are keeping track, the importance hierarchy is as follows David neomorphs/xenomorphs humans +we are fucked

- my favorite sequence in the entire film as we see (via David’s memories?) that he dropped the entire payload of black goo/chemical weapons upon an unsuspecting engineer population (who look totally different from ones we saw in “Prometheus” in facial structures and eyes) and they die as the goo descends upon them like locusts. +it seriously looks straight out of Exodus as God wrecked his vengeance upon Pharioh

-so yes, that was the charred bodies we saw before

-we see the lair of David as it is littered with graphs, illustrations, designs of his work in the goo into the neomorph and beyond + his response, dripping with sarcasm: “idle hands are the devil’s anything”

-we are officially one step closer to classic “Alien” universe as the first facehugger is introduced (to kill crudup)

-Daniels is trying to reach Tennessee (Danny McBride) as still others are getting slaughtered, the neomorphs are clearly the hounds to David’s Satan

-line of the film as crudup wakes up to see David, asks him what his religion is, and he responds “Creation”

-a early beta of the xenomorph is here (still not quite Giger 100), as he splits from Crudup’s chest after the question, and he dances, mimicking the moments of David +David looks like a puppet master pulling the strings

-more facehugger madness as others go after the remaining human sheep

-much like “Prometheus” this multi million dollar film has a strikingly low opinion of humanity + at this point, two films in, the expendable nature of the vast majority of people therein is a feature, not a bug

-positively bizarre sequence as David tempts Walter to his side, kissing him(self) on the lips, before ripping out his neck battery, depowering him

-I neglected to mention just before that my second favorite line of the film, after Walter cited a line then asks who did it, David answers Byron but Walter correctly notes “No, Shelley. If one section of the orchestra is off, it changes the entire symphony doesn’t it?”

-David has officially gone too far

-David coos “no one knows what it is like to dream and be perfect like myself”

-remember early when I said the importance scales? Well, since Ridley seems to see David as a propionate of creation, therefore a creator it would perhaps follow as such Artists Art People

-possibly subliminal moment where David corners Daniels and she’s asks what really happened to Shaw, and David says “this” then forces a kiss upon Daniels +so did this robot, who was too human for other humans, teach the neomorph to rape?

-Walter is back (they made a few safety measures since David) and this we get to see someone hitting his own face repeatedly +it is fucking weird to see this brawling action in a Ridley Scott film

-Tennessee is here to save the day, but now the brute pronto xenomorph is here, and this murder is getting more grisly by the second

-David asks Walter to decide whether to reign in hell or serve in heaven as he reaches for a knife

-the sequence where Daniels is held by a straight line as she keeps falling over the side of the ship, swings and shoots at the proto xeno is jaw dropping

-is Tennessee the giant claw dropper of doom as he uses an arm to crush the proto xeno? Seems like it

-you better believe I was eagle eyes to see if it was Walter or David helping Daniels

-aboard the main ship there is a unidentified life form aboard, but where are the co pilots?

-in a scene straight out of the sleaziest slasher from the 80’s (like prime “Friday the 13th”) the co pilots are having shower sex (to some r&b music) when the xenomorph puts his phallic tail between their genitals +then impale tongue’s the guy’s head. Sexploitation!

-every close up on Fassbender’s face is a mini master class in suspense

-I fucking cannot believe they brought back the xenomorph point of view, the first time since “Alien 3”

-this second proto xeno is slobbering like the cerberus he is

-my heart is pounding like a jackhammer the entire time Daniels is staying barely ahead of the creature

-“care to lend a lady a hand?” might be the mantra of this depraved series

-the subtle continuity of the cabin comes up as her face screams in terror as she realizes David is here, and there are no cabins in hell

-one final twist of the screw as David coughs up some proto xeno eggs and looks upon the vast laboratory of human frogs to dissect

-this film took everything I loved about “Prometheus” and kicked it up ten notches, while adding many many more layers of cosmic craziness. Oh, and blood. + I am fully confident the “Prometheus” saga will gain a cult following and be seen as one man’s tremendous exploitation of his own creation(like David?) and a particular, articulate and demented journey into space hell.

-I myself feel the flames get higher and higher, and wonder if I will be making repeat journeys to this particular corner again. I feel it to be so.

[rayalez]

The Heart of A Human

A Fantasy Story

He shuffled sideways against the damp walls of the sewer. He did his best not to make a sound, but every so often his foot would brush a broken bottle or rock. When that happened he had to freeze. It was crucial to his plan that the creature didn’t detect his presence in the slightest. Suddenly, his foot bumped into a cylinder-shaped object. It rattled and began to roll down the slight slope of the sewers.

He heard a loud snuffling and a growl. Shit! he thought. He remained perfectly still in the hopes it would overlook the bottle and think it came from some car hurtling above that dislodged it. After an agonizing wait, he peered ever so slowly around the corner.

It seemed to have decided the noise was not a threat and continued on its way towards the destination. The creature was fearsome, with razor sharp claws and long canines that he was sure could snap him in half.

But it was his fault, he was the one who had let this creature get here. But he didn’t regret it, not one bit. He stroked the sword at his side. No, he didn’t regret it; Moromnium, Killer of all, was now his. He owned the one sword that could kill anything in all the Worlds.

But he couldn’t let Metis find out he had used the machine. There would be hell to pay and she just might get into her head that it would be a fun experiment to use his heart to power it.

Finally the beast reached a corner where he could strike it. Silently slid Moromnium out of its sheath. He couldn’t help but pause a second to look at his prize. The pitch black metal seemed to absorb the faint light coming from the grates above. It was beautiful and the most deadly thing in All the Worlds.

He looked at the creature and charged toward it, Moromnium outstretched. As it heard him behind it, the creature gave a ghastly roar and charged at him. Its mouth was open and its claws ready. Readying his sword, he sliced downwards just as the creature was about to eat him whole. It’s head thudded down next to his feet in a rapidly growing pool of black blood.

Now, for the hard part, he thought to himself as he made his way to the creature’s decapitated body. He hated this part of the process, but it was necessary.

As if it sensed him approaching the body, the sword tugged his hands downward towards the chest of the fallen foe. Towards its heart. This sword had another name, this was the name it was infamous by: Heartseeker. And though its creator despised the nickname his creation had been given, it had stuck. And now Heartseeker it was.

In a few quick stroked he had cut out the beast’s heart and he skewered it with the sword. The shining glow of soul energy was absorbed into its midnight metal and the heart shriveled. Tossing the now-useless heart aside, he sheathed Moromnium.

He walked his way back at a considerable faster pace than he had on the way there and soon he was back to the ladder. Doing his best to conceal the rather conspicuous sword at his side, the man buttoned up his trench coat. He climbed up the ladder and pushed the grate open. Bit by bit it slid aside, letting in shafts of blinding light. When there was a gap wide enough for him to climb out, he stopped and made his way out into the abandoned warehouse. He blinked, his eyes still adjusting to the sudden influx of light.

After his eyes had adjusted he did his best to remove the black blood from his shoes — with little success, but luckily the blood blended in with his shoes. Doing his best to become presentable, he walked out into the lab.

“Where on earth have you been?” Martha asked worriedly.

“Nowhere important.” He replied

“Nowhere important.” She said with an eyebrow raised. “Bet you were off somewhere with Ro.. Is that blood?!”

“No, it was, umm…” He had to think quickly.” It’s tar, I walked into some tar. Quite annoying really, as I like these shoes a lot.” He rambled on, hoping to distract her.

“Mark, you can tell me anything. I promise I won’t tell Metis.” She said, rolling her eyes.

“Look I get it, you think I’m being paranoid,” He began.

“You are being paranoid.”

“But the truth is, I’m worth a lot more to her dead than alive.”

“Oh, come on. Even she had morals,” Martha said. “She would never use a human heart.”

Mark didn’t agree, he had seen Metis uncloaked in her charisma. She was ruthless and if she wanted something she would get it, trampling anything and anyone in her way. If she decided he was a nuisance, he wouldn’t put it past her to have him her first experiment with the soul energy of a human.

“Speak of the devil,” He muttered under his breath as Metis walked into the room. It puzzled him every time how when she walked into the room everyone grew silent as if to herald her approach.

“Mark, you’re here. Good, I need you to help me run a few experiments.”

“Um.. I kind have a date I have to..” he began, but he felt Metis’s grip in his mind.

Come! she commanded, and like a dog on a leash his legs moved not of his own accord towards Metis and his lips spoke not what he wanted to say, but the words of Metis.

He had gotten used to it, the inability to control his body. But it was still unnerving to hear his own voice.

A smile tugged on Metis’s lips. She was proud that no one knew of her ability, that she could control everyone in the room if she wanted.

Even when he stepped into her office, she didn’t release him yet.

“I am in charge. I don’t care if you have other plans. When I ask you to come, you come. Is that clear!” she yelled.

She relinquished control of his lips so he could respond.

“Yes ma’am,” he said meekly. He was glad that she had not pried about where he had been. He could not let Morominum be discovered. It was his only chance at freedom.

At last she let go, and he slumped, sighing. He followed her into the lab where the machine was. The machine that could transport between the Worlds. The machine that was powered by heart-energy.

“What will be doing this time?” Mark queried.

“I need you to find me a Hippogryph.”

“Why?”

“My reasons are my own,” she replied haughtily.

Mark inwardly sighed. Hippogryph meant the World of Creatures. Which meant he would probably have to fight all these monsters.

But then he remembered, he had Moromnium: he could kill them all, and in the process, power the Heartseeker up.

He stepped into the machine and tried not to look at the glowing red energy swirling inside the ‘veins’ of the machine. It was hard not to think that that was someone’s soul, someone’s heart once.

It was odd; any living creature has an imprint of times since they were an egg, and so, if the energy was used, it could travel back in time. And no one knew precisely how it worked. If Metis had one flaw, it was that she must know how everything operated, must be the puppeteer behind the strings.

This was what scared him most, that one day her curiosity would lead to an experiment with a human heart, more specifically a live human heart. They sometimes used the soul energy of a dying human, but those opportunities were far and few between.

The machine began to fade out of existence and his last glimpses before his departure into a different world was Metis’s calculating, cold grey eye staring at him with a fierce intensity. It was if she was judging him; his worth, his value.

As the void between the world rippled around him he was glad to be out of her penetrating gaze; out of the possibility of her seizing his mind again. It had been hard, but he had learned how to shield certain memories from her. But he always wondered if she could somehow sense that he was keeping something secret from her and that she would bust through and he would be history.

His soul energy consigned to the fate of powering the very machine he sat in right now. The very machine that was able to journey between The Worlds. The very machine that landed in The World of Creatures or as he prefered to call it right now The World of Shitty Quests given by Shitty People.

It had landed in the middle of some forest that probably had a name, not that he could tell considering his position inside it. He sighed and looked at the machine. It seemed to have a mind of its own sometimes. It could drop you in the middle of nowhere, such as here, or be kind enough to bring you to the outskirts of the forest. But not this time, no, the machine must despise him.

“Whatever, have to make the best of it,” he said outloud to himself. Figuring that he was alone and no one could see him, he unsheathed the Heartseeker and prepared for a hunt.

“Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of fun.” He spoke to the sword in his hand that seemed to shiver in excitement at the prospect of killing something. It scared him sometimes how human it was, but he wielded the power. The weapon that could kill anything in All the Worlds. He held something that was almost older than time itself!

Could anyone blame him for letting it get to his head? No, they would do the same if not worse in his situation. He could’ve destroyed Metis; with the sword in his hand he could’ve broken her hold and given her retribution for his years of practically enslavement to her. But his conscience told him no. He could not kill a fellow human — well he could, but it was wrong. Though she’s barely human, he thought.

A low growl echoed from the trees, a Dire Wolf by the sound of it. Again Moromnium shivered in excitement in his hand. It was eager to taste blood again to take the soul of another creature. The wolf most likely thought the same, but then again Mark didn’t think it had seen the sword. As if in answer to his thoughts, he heard it retreating into the forest, obviously frightened of the sword.

“Not so fast,” Mark said cruelly. And chased after it. It had a distinct advantage; it was faster and was born and raised in this forest. However, with f Moromnium on his side, his power was increased more than tenfold, including his speed and strength. Mark practically glided over the earth, the trees hurtling by. He caught up to his hand and he swung Moromnium, who was singing a song of death and destruction, a song steel and blood. It bit into its fur severing it’s neck. Dragging his hand downwards to its heart, Moromnium greedily cut its way to the prize. Taking its heart energy it moved on.

And the process was repeated again and again. Minotaur, Chimera, Gorgon, Hydra… Soon, bloodlust consumed him and when faced with the object of his quest, Hippogryph, he swung his sword. He stopped it just above the neck of the Hippogryph, who was paralyzed in fear. The sword tugged, but he held it in check. It tugged again, harder. He sheathed it and leashed the Hippogryph with the rope at his side.

Realizing the sword was now sheathed, it bucked and shrieked, twisting in an attempt to get free. Eventually too tired to continue, it stopped, and eyeing Mark with disgust, let itself be led along to the machine that thankfully had not dematerialized.

After some effort he found his way back and pulled the Hippogryph inside the machine. He stowed the Heartseeker in his jacket as before and began his journey back. Hopefully back, sometimes it could take a few tries. Like said before, the machine seemed to have a mind of its own. If it wanted to take a vacation at the World of Tides it would go there and refuse to move for months.

Luckily, the trip went smoothly and after a few minutes of blissful blackness they arrived back at the lab. Metis was there it seemed she had not moved since they had left.

“You’re back. You brought the Hippogryph.” She stated.

You’re welcome, he thought sarcastically in his head.

Instead he replied, “Here you go.” , and offered her the end of the makeshift leash.

She took it again with no thanks and brought it off to God knows where to do some experiments on it. And again he worried that he might one day be one of those experiments.

He was not given a dismissal, but he decided his day was done considering she had just left. There would probably be Hell to pay tomorrow and some unnecessarily vociferous speech about his duties and where his loyalties should lie considering his past. Though by his reckoning she would be in no position to give him Hell. In fact the situations would be reversed.

Sure, it was true she had taken him in from the Lost World and brought him here, but past was past and he had long since paid his due. Metis howevers seemed to forget that fact and it was somewhat difficult to argue with Metis. Now, the tides would turn with the Heartseeker at his side he could control her. And if he revealed his possession of the legendary weapon, he was sure to gain enemies, but also allies. How many Worlds would surrender and grovel at his feet to spare them. He wouldn’t let them in on the particular fact that Moromnium was not at its full power. But it had enough power to force those who rebelled into submission.

And the world would bow at his feet, the seas of Trinity would part in his path, and all would know his name. He was knocked out of his fantasy by Martha shaking his shoulder.

“Earth to Mark. Your girlfriends here!” She said and practically shoved him out the door.

“She’s not my girlfriend. She’s just a friend.” He yelled back.

“Sure..just a friend” She yelled back sarcastically as she walked away.

“Sorry about that,” He said to his friend, “Martha’s just joking around.”

“I know Mark, but it’s just how the world is. No one assumes you’re gay, but everyone assumes you’re straight unless you don’t tell everyone.”

“I know Rose, I know.”, “Speaking of which, how was your date with Amy?” He attempted to light the conversation. He tried to listen to her response, but it was difficult to concentrate on such mundane stuff when he was going to dominate the world.

It just seemed almost pitiful how they lived their lives worrying about dates or bills when so much more was out there. An infinite amount of Worlds unexplored and they talked about the weather.

“Well, thank you for walking me home. It was nice to have company,” He lied, “I’ll see you next week.” he said.

“Bye Mark.”

“Bye Rose.”

With her out of the way he was ready to begin his plan of his domination of The Worlds. This required him to utilize the Heartseeker. It would take practice, but he should be able to travel Between Worlds using the sword. After all in its very nature a part of it was forged from every World and in theory should be able to travel home. In fact even part of it was from the void itself the piece of the Between.

From the safety of his own apartment Mark drew the sword. Its pull was stronger than ever dragging him towards the sound of his landlords heartbeat, his blood pumping through his veins. It seemed it was more powerful than ever. Now, was a good time if any to try and transport himself through the power of The Heartseeker.

He outstretched in front of him and willed it to transport him. Nothing happened. Again he tried and visualized every detail of a world he wanted to go to. He opened his eyes to a completely different place. He was inside of the castle of the World of Legends the center of the Worlds and the most important piece; the king. He controlled this World and he won the game; checkmate.

“What is the meaning of this.” He heard the king exclaim,”Why are you in my throne room!”.

In response mark held up Moromnium who was glowing with power and seemed to be sucking in the light.

“Is that..you wield the power..it exists.” The king stammered in disbelief.

“I suggest you yield, this world is mine.” He spoke softly, but with warning tone that promised any resistance would be quelled…forcibly.

“This is my kingdom and I will stand with it to the bitter end.” The king said bravely

“So be it.” He replied. And like an executioner cloaked in the shadow of his own blade ended the king.

There was an uproar screaming yelling quite a few people charged at him. Needless to say they were all dispatched quickly. But the sword demanded more than these inhabitants it craved the one thing he had not let it taste; it craved the heart of a human. And so of its own direction it brought him back to the one human he knew best; Rose. Who was talking with her girlfriend Amy and the sword. The sword needed the heart of the human; needed her heart. And so her heart was taken.

Mark had lost all control; barely a flicker of remorse crossed his face as he heard Rose scream a scream of loss and pain. He looked at her and hesitated for a moment, only a moment before ending her too.

And now his rampage began in full, the sword cloaked in a human body. His mind controlled by the power of an ancient entity that had been cloaked in steel and magic for millennia. Now it was free and it was ready to spill blood spill so much blood that the worlds would drown in it. And in its twisted being it would not stop until it had ravaged everything turned it all into oblivion its bloody kingdom to rule alone in the dark.

Millenia it had waited for this and it was going to savor tearing the Worlds apart. First the Human World and then the monsters and then the rest of them one by one.

It ravaged the lands and All the World trembled waiting for it to choose them next to destroy them. Metis was long dead in fact every one in that lab was dead except one. The only one stood up to him; the human Martha. She had survived hidden in the safest place on earth; the Safe , a place created for the sole purpose of containing the inhabitants of the lab in the machine.. And now she was perhaps the only one who could resist it.

With trembling fingers she started the machine, completely aware of the consequences that would befall her if she did this. She would be a savior, but at what cost. Putting aside her fears she went inside and started it. She hoped that the machine would be intelligent enough to understand what she was trying to do and cooperate with her.

It began to leap through the void and she found him at the isle of Trinity. The moment she saw him, how he held himself, the look in his eyes, she knew that Mark was long gone. Consumed by bloodlust and darkness. Her doubts eased that he did not deserve this fate she moved yet again and World Leaper materialized around him

Immediately, he tried to attack her, but she was ready. As he lunged at her, sword outstretched, she lept out of the machine into the blackness all around. His momentum carrying him forward, he too tumbled into the dark. The World Leaper left of its own accord leaving them in pitch black.

The space between the worlds from which there is no way out. The worlds had triumphed, but at what cost. Together they were consigned to an oblivion trapped in the space Between the Worlds.

She had saved All the Worlds, but she had an eternity to wait with a being more twisted than imaginable.

The Heart of A Human was originally published in Fiction Hub on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Discover more awesome fiction at https://medium.com/fictionhub

[jenmedsbookreviews]

One of those funny old weeks where, when I sit an think about it, nothing remotely interesting has happened. Oh … apart from me releasing a video review of Broken Bones by Angela Marsons as part of Bookouture’s vlog tour. Never done anything so terrifying in my life. What was I thinking agreeing to that one? I must be nuts and it’s not something I’ll be doing again in a hurry I don’t think. I’ve had more sleepless nights over that than anything else I’ve done of late, and I’ve plenty to stress me out at the moment, believe me. Still, we all survived the experience and I made Angie cry (iIm led to beleive in a good way) so all is good.

I think.

All work, work, work for me this week as I’ve been office bound for most of it. This has meant I’m not quite as tired as usual (bonus) and have had quite a good reading week. I cleared down a whole … wait for it … 19 books!!! Yes. You read that right. NINETEEN. One-Nine. 19.

Admittedly, 14 of them were Mr Men, which in truth isn’t quite as impressive, but they are still books. And I am still reviewing them. Sort of. Ish …

Anyhoo – moving on. Book post wise I came home this week to a lovely surprise from Avon, three books celebrating their 10th Birthday. Totally unexpected and it did chear me up on what had proven to be a very, very trying day. In my little bundle were Alfie, the Holiday Cat by Rachel Wells, An Orphan in the Snow by Molly Green and Henry, the Queens Corgi by Georgie Crawley, along with a lolly, pen and bag. Very happy blogger.

On top of this I received my Mr Men for Grown Ups books and my copy of the new print of Murder on the Orient Express. Loving my new books.

Netgalley wise – none. Not a sausage. See my restraint? Audible wise – nothing. Not me. Aren’t I being good? Amazon wise … well apart from the aforementioned MOTOE, and two of the four Mr Men for Grown Ups books, Mr Greedy Eats Clean to Get Lean and Little Miss Busy Surviving Motherhood –  well… I may have ordered a couple of books. Mr Men Dr Tenth (come on … it’s David Tennant as a Mr Man!!!); The Daughter by Lucy Dawson; Dark Skies by LJ Ross (I’m a character in it – I can hardly not …); and The Good Liar by Frances Vick.

Go me huh?

Books I have read

Mr Men & Little Miss – 14 of ’em. If you want to know more about them you can check out my reviews later this week or go look at the Amazon page right here. If you want to see my review of Mr Happy and Little Miss Shy you can find it right here.

…

Bad Sister by Sam Carrington

Then

When flames rip through their family home, only teenager Stephanie and her younger brother escape unhurt. Brett always liked to play with fire, but now their dad is dead and someone has to pay the price.

Now

Psychologist Connie Summers wants to help Stephanie rebuild her life. She has a new name, a young son and everything to live for. But when Stephanie receives a letter from someone she’d hoped would never find her, Connie is forced to question what really happened that night. But some truths are better left alone . . .

Gripping, tense and impossible to put down, Bad Sister will have fans of Sue Fortin, B A Paris and Linda Green hooked till the final page.

What a book. I absolutely loved Saving Sophie, such a brilliant debut, and I have to be honest this was every bit as gripping but in an entirely different way. A completely devious and unnerving read, I’ll be reviewing the book later in the week, but for now you can order your own copy right here.

…

The Puppet Master by Abigail Osborne

Looking for your next unputdownable psychological thriller? Then try Abigail Osborne’s unmissable The Puppet Master, a stunning thriller full of twists and turns.

Billie is hiding from the world in fear of a man who nearly destroyed her. But a chance meeting with budding journalist, Adam, sparks a relationship that could free her from her life of isolation and fear.

Unbeknownst to Billie, Adam knows exactly who Billie is and is determined to expose her and get justice for the lives he believes she has ruined. But first, he needs to convince her to open up to him. As an unwanted attraction blossoms between them, Adam comes to realise that all is not as it seems. 

Who is really pulling the strings? And are Adam and Billie both being played? 

One thing is for sure, The Master wants his puppets back – and he’ll do anything to keep them.

I’ve had this book in my tbr for a while. but with it’s re-release under the Bloodhound Books label, I’ve pushed it up my tbr and am so glad I did. A really twisted story, there are themes in this which will make skin crawl and nail-biting tension which will keep you hooked from start to finish. You can order your own copy right here.

…

The Future Can’t Wait by Angelena Boden

The Future Can’t Wait is the emotive and compelling second novel from Angelena Boden, author of the gripping The Cruelty of Lambs.

Kendra Blackmore is trying to be a good mother and a good wife, as well as pursuing her pressurised teaching career. Then Kendra’s half-Iranian daughter Ariana (Rani) undergoes an identity crisis which results in her running away from home and cutting off all contact with her family. 

Sick with worry and desperate to understand why her home-loving daughter would do this, Kendra becomes increasingly desperate for answers – and to find any way possible to discover the truth and bring her estranged daughter home…

The Future Can’t Wait is a gripping story of a mother’s love, and the lengths we would all go to in order to know our children are safe.

What would you do if your adult child disappeared and you thought there was a chance they may have been radicalised  by an extremeist movement? That is the exact problem facing Kendra in this absorbing story of maternal grief. My review will be published next week but you can order a copy of the book here.

…

Dying Day by Stephen Edger

Exactly a year ago, Amy, a young detective on Detective Kate Matthews’ team, was killed when she was sent undercover to catch a serial killer targeting young girls.

Kate never forgave herself for letting the killer slip through her fingers… 

As the case is reopened and the campaign to find the culprit begins again, Kate is told to stay well away, and for good reason: another girl’s body has been found.

Kate is determined to connect new evidence to the old to catch this monster before more innocent lives are taken. The trail runs cold when her prime suspect is found dead. But then why is the body count still rising? 

The answer is more terrible than Kate could possibly have imagined, and the killer so much closer than she thinks…

An absolutely heart-stopping crime thriller that will have you sleeping with the lights on. Perfect for fans of Robert Dugoni, James Patterson and M.J. Arlidge.

Gripping, tense, nerve-wracking – all of the above apply to this, the second book in the Kate Matthews series from Stephen Edger. I’ll be sharing my review as part of the blog blitz, but in the meantime why not pre-order the book here.

…

Hell To Pay by Rachel Amphlett

When a road traffic accident on a dark autumn night exposes a disturbing conspiracy, Detective Sergeant Kay Hunter’s investigation exposes a ruthless serial killer exploiting vulnerable young women.

With her enemies unmasked and her career spiralling out of control, Kay’s determination to seek vengeance for the victims brings her dangerously close to those who want to silence her.

Undeterred, she uncovers the real reason behind a plot to destroy her career and sets in motion a terrifying chain of events.

Could Kay’s need for revenge be her undoing, or will she survive to see justice served?

I am an unapologetically enthusiastic fan of Rachel Amphlett’s work. I have been waiting patiently (?) for this book. Kay Hunter book four. Four!!! DId it live up to my expectations? Did it tick all of my action seeking, story lving boxes? Well … come back in a couple of weeks and I’ll tell you. In the meantime, order a copy right here.

…

That’s it. My 19 book reading week. Norra lot really was it? Busy week on the blog with a mammoth Broken Bones inspired post fest on Friday. You can catch up with my week at the links below.

Broken Bones by Angela Marsons – Prologue Preview

The Strange Disappearance of a Bollywood Star by Vaseem Khan

Review: Puppy: Twelve Months of Rhymes and Smiles by Patricia Furstenberg

BlogTour: Clipped Wings by Jennifer Gilmour

BookLove: Annie – The Misstery Book Blog

Review: Murder Game by Caroline Mitchell

London Noir by Ann Girdharry

Review: Merry Christmas Little Hoo by Brenda Ponnay

Review: Santa’s Countdown to Christmas by Kim Thompson

Review: Mr Men & Little Miss for Grown Ups

Broken Bones – The Review… A Teaser

Review – sort of. Broken Bones by Angela Marsons

Review: Broken Bones by Angela Marsons

BlogTour: The Good Samaritan by John Marrs

BlogTour: Killing State by Judith O’Reilly

Wowsers – was I really that busy. Go me…

The week ahead is slightly less hectic, thankfully. I have a couple of blog tours for Whiteout by Ragnar Jonasson, Into the Valley by Chris Clements-Green and Bad Sister by Sam Carrington, a little #booklove from Tracy Fenton and some more Christmas reviews including the Mr Men marathon. Do join me.

Hope you have a wonderfully bookish week all. Afterall the trauma of Friday’s video review, I’m going to go an lie in a darkened room.

Jen

Rewind, recap: weekly update w/e 05/11/17 One of those funny old weeks where, when I sit an think about it, nothing remotely interesting has happened.