#the Comeuppance (creature)

[inspectorspacetimerevisited]

Once the Inspector realised that the Comeuppance wasn’t the threat it was made out to be,

he had no choice but to save it, even if it cost him his life. (Which, naturally, didn’t happen.)

[mcflymemes]

THE MUMMY (1999) PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue from the film, adjust as necessary

looks to me like you're on the wrong side of the river!

by the way... why did you kiss me?

it seemed like a good idea at the time.

that's called stealing, you know.

is it dangerous?

stop it! you'll kill them!

get me a glass of bourbon.

this just keeps getting better and better.

this door doesn't open.

who opened that chest?

i only want four!

the map! i forgot the map!

i think he's filthy, rude, a complete scoundrel. i don't like him one bit.

i guess we go home empty-handed... again.

look what i got.

i think you found something.

what exactly is this man in prison for?

you just got promoted.

you're with me on this one, right?

keep him busy.

we are in serious trouble.

this creature is the bringer of death.

you must not read from the book!

where are they taking him?

there's only one person i know that can possibly give us any answers.

can you look me in the eye and guarantee me that this isn't all some kind of flimflam?

i'm a very lonely man.

look at my library!

you're gonna get yours, [name]!

never did like camels.

what do you suppose killed him?

time to go.

take my hand, and i will spare your friends.

will you look at that?

do they know something we don't?

i need a new job.

have you no respect for the dead?

i've dreamt about this since i was a little girl.

you dream about dead guys?

patience is a virtue.

any last requests?

loosen the knot and let me go.

i don't think we need to know this.

ooh... that's gotta hurt.

you... i just don't get.

you probably won't live through it.

everybody else we've bumped into has died. why not you?

you're wondering... what is a place like me doing in a girl like this?

yeah, i was there.

can you swim?

of course we don't let him go!

you'll be dead when they do this.

i think i'll kill you.

think of my children.

i only gamble with my life, never my money.

i may not be an explorer or an adventurer, or a treasure-seeker or a gunfighter, but i am proud of what i am.

give me frogs! flies! locusts! anything but you!

compared to you, the other plagues were a joy.

i am so very sorry. it was an accident.

you are a catastrophe.

oh my god, i hate it when these things do that.

is he supposed to look like that?

of course i can swim, if the occasion calls for it.

now, because of you, we have failed.

you think this justifies the killing of innocent people?

what did you say?

i don't want to tell you.

let me get this straight.

you don't have any children.

you lied to me.

i lie to everybody.

what makes you so special?

sorry. didn't mean to scare you.

the only thing that scares me are your manners.

have you got any bright ideas?

i'm thinking. i'm thinking!

you'd better think of something fast.

what are we going to do?

wait here! i'll go get help!

i thought you said you didn't believe in all this fairy tales and hokum stuff.

forget it! we're out the door, we're down the hall, and we're gone!

i told you not to play around with that thing.

you heard the man. no mortal weeapons can kill this guy.

listen! we've got to do something!

is that my problem?

i appreciate you saving my life and all, but when i signed on, i agreed to take you out there and bring you back. end of job, end of story, contract terminated.

that's all i am to you? a contract?

you can either tag along with me or stay here and try to save the world.

do something!

you know, nasty little fellows such as yourself always get their comeuppance.

what's the challenge then?

rescue the damsel in distress, kill the bad guy, and save the world.

death is only the beginning.

why are you going back?

i'm going downstairs to get me a drink. you want something?

[gamequoteshowdown]

Quote 1: "A merciful leader may grant a second chance. Only a fool allows a third." - Rudolf, Fire Emblem Echoes Shadows of Valentia

Quote 2: "These creatures are the great Precursors?! And I wanted to evolve into... No! Aaaaggghhh!" - Count Vegar, Jak 3

Propaganda under cut

Quote 1: Idk man it just goes hard (it also shatters Berkut’s pride into a million little pieces:))

Quote 2: Funniest scene in the game. Plus it involves Vulgar ("Vegar!") getting his comeuppance for what he did to Jak

@ultimafangirl

[pocket-watcher]

Feel free to expand upon this or not, I just want to share! Lately I’ve been loving the idea of an obedient angel sub boy and a bratty devil sub boy who constantly bicker with one another, being hypnotized to act like the other. So the little devil becomes all sweet and obedient, and the angel gets naughty— trading the traits they hated about each other. Fun little karmic punishment.

Hello anon (wink wink) it would be my pleasure to write a little something for this idea! Let me know what you think :D

“I’ve just about had it with you two! You are adults now, so stop fighting like this!”

The angel and demon squirmed under the pressure of their elders.

It wasn’t their fault that they were fighting! Or that their fight led to the extinction of what the big guy called “dine-o-sores”.

“He started it!” The little devil pointed at his angel adversary.

The angel gasped. “He’s lying! I would never engage in such foul behaviour unless someone made it my only option.”

The angel batted his big eyes up at the elder angel and elder devil. It had little effect.

“What do you think we should do?” The elder angel asked the other.

“Oh… well, I feel like some karmic justice is needed. Don’t you think? Let them walk a mile in each other’s shoes.”

The elder angel opened his mouth to interject but…

“That’s not actually a bad idea.”

“Just because demons are bad doesn’t mean our ideas are. What are you, stereotyping?”

“Good heavens, no! Of course I’m not. I treat all creatures with love and respect…”

The elder devil soaked in the awkwardness in the air.

3… 2…

“I-In fact, I trust you to dish out their comeuppance accordingly.”

The elder angel vanished in an instance.

Bingo.

The elder devil smiled at the two. “Oh man, this is going to be good.”

“So, what’s our punishment?”

“I bet his punishment would be watching a porno or some shit, you prissy prude.”

“Well then your punishment would be a full day’s honest work granting prayers!”

“Shut up, both of you. And hold still… this will hurt.”

ZAP!

Both of the younger ones were left alone, the elder demon using their distraction as an opportunity to leave.

“You two better stay here until that wears off!” He yelled as he left them to it.

“What did he do to us?”

“I don’t know! I don’t feel any different, do I look different?”

The two studied each other.

“Nope, you still look as good as always.” The angel said with a wink.

A blush formed instantly on the devil’s face. “…you’re acting weird.” He said with a laugh, then stopped and studied further. “Are you okay?” He asked, concerned.

The angel let out a hearty belly laugh that the devil had never heard before.

“I’m fine! Loosen up, short stack. Don’t get your tail in a twist.” The angel twirled the demon’s tail playfully, who snatched it back.

“Quit it! Something is wrong and I can’t put my finger on what it is!!”

“You’re just imaging things. I’m leaving.”

“No you are not!”

“Hey! Who’s the angel here?” He poked the other on the chest. “I can do whatever I want… unless you’re going to stop me, hm?”

“But w-we were told to stay here…”

“Fine, but you have to entertain me.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“I’m not sure…” then a smirk “Are you going to corrupt me, little demon?”

“I-I wouldn’t. I haven’t. I promise.”

“What if I ask nicely?”

The angel wrapped his wings around the demon, a devilish look in his eye.

[roamingtigress]

Dutch arrives in the afterlife as a broken man and gets his comeuppance, but he is broken in such a way where doesn't understand *why* people are upset with him.

How will his reunion with those whom he loved so dearly and yet hurt them go?

That Other Place by Roaming Tigress

There was smoke, dust, fog, a combination of the three being swirled among each other in the dark cave. A dimmed broad ray of light came through a hole in the roof that dramatically silhouetted the form of what appeared to be a huge serpentine creature with what seemed to be a thousand arms. The massive being was towering over some far smaller pitiful creature lying in an awkward heap the dirt; it eyed it hungrily. If one had mistaken the bloodied orange and brown enrobed figure for a discarded pile of clothing, they would be forgiven.

Then, the pile of laundry slowly stirred up into a sitting position, revealing the form of a pitiful man of average size, and short cropped greying hair, bloodied and matted. He almost innocently, stupidly stared at the menacing form before him. He wasn't scared, puzzled maybe, unaware where he was, but not scared. He was trying to recognize what this being was. Maybe, innocently, he was in wonder of it. Maybe the man thought he was looking up at a terrifying dragon from those storybooks he read as a boy.

This man? Dutch van der Linde.

A hollow, broken shell of Dutch van der Linde.

In life, Dutch van der Lnde was respected, hated, feared, and loved at some time. Some even loved to hate him. He had led a notorious gang that was chased across the lands when the 'Old Wild West' was dying. he was a complicated man who had killed, loved, and manipulated hundreds; his silver tongue was as much of a weapon as his trusted pair of Schofields. He thought he could charm his way through life. He dreamed ambitious dreams of achieving greatness against the force of modernity and a world that had no place for men like him, his gang. He sadly could not make those dreams of his come true.

Now in the afterlife, the land of the beyond, Dutch was getting his and facing the consequences of his actions.

Normally a full restoration of health -- the mind and body -- comes with the passageway into the afterlife. But for whatever reason -- some Powers That Be may have decided that Dutch had to atone for his sins in a particularly harsh way. Maybe there was a glitch in the process of coming into the afterlife. Whatever it was that was the cause or reasoning behind it, Dutch's brain had gone further into ruin.

When Dutch stepped back off that cliff to end his life, the massive head injury that killed him on those sharp rocks below had, for the most part, carried over into the afterlife. The damage to his face was by and large 'repaired' by some supernatural afterworld force, likely not for his sake but for the sake of those living in the afterlife; even here, nobody would want to see scrambled grey matter dripping out of a hole in the head. It was the inside of his head where the damage remained, however. It would reduce him to halted speech and uncoordinated movements, and most damaging of all, his mental state, his mental capacity, was torn asunder.

Dutch would be able to recognize the people in his life in varying levels of recognizability, many whom he had hurt, some he even killed, but he couldn't remember how he hurt them. Mentally, he was somewhere between a small child and a fragile senior citizen whose memories were starting to fade, who 'fought all his life' as he once had said in life. He had little fight left in him now.

Dutch's silver tongue also couldn't help him anymore; it might as well have been cut and thrown to the 'beast' before him.

The 'creature' before Dutch was an angry mob, consisting of the people whom he had hurt and killed in life, clustered tightly against each other and some even fighting among each other to get to the source of their anger. Some might have even been defending him, but this he couldn't make out. For a brief moment, Dutch thought he heard the voices of John and Arthur attempting to call the mob back before their voices were drowned out. He recognized the voice of Bill and Micah jeering at him but he was unable to recognize what they were saying, and maybe even couldn't recognize the jeer in their cruel voices.

Innocently, Dutch crawled over to the beast before him on his hands and knees, unaware that his curiosity and his confusion would get the better of him. Despite the scrambled state of his mind -- or maybe especially because of it -- he desired the company of someone in this strange land that he had seemingly awoken up into. Perhaps this creature too sought comfort and companionship. The surroundings looked much like they did in life, but . . . Different, somehow.

"W-what . . . What are you? W-where . . . W-where am I?" Dutch tilted his head like a confused dog hearing an unusual sound.

And then the 'creature' attacked the stammering man in reply.

Dutch was slammed to the hard floor of the cave, and it was then that he realized that this 'creature' wasn't some fabled dragon he had read about in a childhood fairy tale compilation, but what seemed to be an unpenetrable army of a thousand angry people descending upon him in rage. These were people he had memories of, both familiar, some vague; enemies, but some that he had loved and loved him.

Only Dutch didn't understand *why* these people were angry at him.

"Monster!"

"Traitor!"

"Murderer!"

"Coward!"

"Hosea's the leader now!"

These words at the moment were foreign to Dutch; he had some semblance of recognition that they were *negative* words, but not the meaning of them.

The man tried in vain to get away, his movements stifled and awkward. When he got up to run as instinct told him, he stumbled back down, his legs not quite connecting to his nervous system which was seemingly on strike. The expression on his face was one of confusion, and he felt as utterly lost as he looked. The once bold and cocky van der Linde was now terrified of the very people he once barked orders at and hunted ruthlessly. Briefly, he did fight back, pitifully, mind you. His efforts consisted of half-hearted pushes, maybe an ear was bitten that might have been Micah's, could have been Bronte's, could have been Milton's, the only semblance of any remainder of the fight that was left in him. In life, he was a good scrapper -- but he just ended up shoved back hard onto the ground, and was only kicked, and punched harder.

"I-I . . . " Dutch, trying to make himself as small as possible, held his hand up to the crowd in a distinct signal of surrender. "I-I . . . Don't . . . " His chest rose and fell rapidly as he fought each word out.

"G-got no . . . Fight . . . N-no more."

There was a distinct sneer in the tone of one of the mob. The voice was that of Edgar Ross, who seized Dutch by his hair. "What's the matter? Did you lose your silver tongue on the way out there, van der Linde?"

Dutch managed to break away briefly when Edgar suddenly let go of him when a scuffle broke out among the mob. Bill and Micah though, were onto him. They each grabbed a leg and pulled him back like a conjoined two-headed crocodile dragging its victim into murky waters. In an act of desperation, Dutch clawed at the rock floor of the cave with his gnawed-down fingernails in an attempt to crawl away, but it was no use. As he was pulled back into the crowd, Dutch clung to whoever's legs like a scared child, and he pressed his bruised and battered face against their leg. Bill and Micah let Dutch go then, but the terror Dutch felt hadn't waned. His dark eyes screwed tight as if to shut out the attack; if he can't see them they can't see him. Hot tears streamed down Dutch cheeks and onto the other man's pants, his body heaving with each breath he took, pitiful whimpering sounds escaping from his throat.

The legs belonged to that of Arthur Morgan, who Dutch rescued from the pits of hell, taught him to read -- and hurt him deeply as well. And yet, here he was defending him at the same time he was fighting his inner anger towards Dutch. The younger man couldn't quite push the renewed pain back, but . . . Something felt so *off* to him about the way Dutch was like in this strange after-world. Something told him the old man wasn't manipulating him. He seemed so . . . Vulnerable, submissive, even. Something inside Dutch was so broken that Arthur couldn't quite grasp it at first. And then, he remembered the vision he had of his passing, the vividness of it, and it ended right when his head hit that particular rock.

'He really hit his head hard on the way down there.'

Arthur couldn't let the mob torture Dutch further. Nor could he beat him. It wasn't right, it wasn't honourable. He wasn't even sure that Dutch, in the state he was in, recognized who he was just yet.

"STAY BACK!" Arthur barked, his tone not matching the gentle gesture of touching the older man's shoulder when Dutch flinched from the anger his voice, as if assuming his anger was directed at him.

"C'mon, Black Lung, let us have some fun!"

A sense of protectiveness was fighting back the anger and disappointment Arthur felt towards Dutch. He knew exactly whose taunting voice that belonged to and if he could, he would rip his head off with one pull.

"Fuck off, rat!"

Michah's voice sounded like it was echoing through some chamber in the cave, no longer part of the crowd now that his victim was unreachable. "We're all here in eternity, Black Lung. You won't be able to always protect him."

There was truth to Micah's words, as much as Arthur hated to admit it. He couldn't always protect his father. Micah and several others would be back for him when the timing was right or they were bored, but as long as Arthur was here with him, no force could hurt him now. No longer bogged down by the viciousness of tuberculosis, he had returned to being the big shire horse of a man he once was. He had a massive beard that draped past his collarbone now, a formidable figure standing guard. Maybe it was to do with the state he was in, but Arthur seemed even bigger and taller than what Dutch remembered him being. Maybe it wasn't him. Maybe it was some omniscient being standing guard over him for whatever reason.

For Arthur, while Dutch was, well, a bit fatter now, he also seemed more fragile than he remembered. When he first met him on that fateful day, Dutch looked so tall and as intimidating as Arthur looks to Dutch now. But now he looked like a sad, broken old man.

In his feeble mind, the childish 'if you can't see them, they can't see you' trick seemed to work for Dutch; it seemed the attack was abating. There were no more blows -- none were thrown once Dutch clung onto Arthur -- and no more insults. If he dared open his eyes Dutch would have seen the fearsome shape of the mob drawing back into darkness, as if a force stronger than them, something fiercer, was pushing them back.

Then, it was as if a lightbulb had gone off in Dutch's battered head, a flickering light bulb, swinging violently in an office of a ship during a storm as the electricity flickers on and off. He swallowed hard and opened his eyes in wonder.

It really was Arthur. His beloved son, Arthur.

"A-Arthur . . .?" Dutch whimpered out his words, and then shrank, expecting to be hit, kicked, punched, as the others had done as some of the last moments of Arthur's life came into view.

Arthur instead let out a sharp breath, a sigh, and nodded. There was so much to say but there was only so much he could say to a man who didn't know what was going around him. "Yeah, it's me, you . . . " He sighed again as he rubbed the back of his head with his free hand, the other still resting on Dutch's shoulder as he was trying to find the right words and ended up thinking out loud.

"Something ain't right with you," Arthur paused, half to himself, half to Dutch. "Even more so now."

Dutch looked up at him with bewilderment, blinking rapidly. He didn't understand what Arthur was saying nor could he detect his tone, but he knew this man in another life, and that he loved him. And maybe that love still extended into the afterlife. After everything, Arthur was not among the men who attacked Dutch in that mob.

"Arthur."

With a cry, Dutch hugged him around the waist in realization, and Arthur let out the third sigh in less than five minutes. He patted his shoulder and returned the embrace as best as he could in his position.

"S-sorry . . . . Sorry . . . I'm sorry . . . " His voice was plaintive; not the loud baritone that he was all too familiar with.

"I know, I know . . . "

The source of the crowd's departure from the scene stood before Dutch and Arthur.

It was Hosea.

He stood grimly before them as if judging the situation. The shadows cast onto him made him look foreboding and to someone in the state of mind that Dutch was in, terrifying.

"Dutch."

Hosea's voice was firm and direct, his arms crossed over his chest.

Dutch hid his face against Arthur's leg and shrank down to the ground , trying to block out the sight of him. Maybe like the others, he'd go away, leave him be with Arthur.

Arthur looked over at Hosea with an expression of a silent plea, and after giving Dutch one more pat on the shoulder, he gently eased him out of the embrace. When Dutch tried to cling to him again, he firmly but carefully removed his hands from him once again.

This time Dutch didn't cling back, as if thinking it was futile, his fate was sealed.

"You better go with him, Dutch," Arthur's voice was firm as he saw the look of confusion, but there was an empathetic tone.

"It's Hosea. I know you've missed him."

Arthur's heart cracked when he saw Dutch's expression hadn't changed much. He helped him up onto his feet and steadied him when his legs weren't sure of what they were supposed to do. The larger man steadied him with one hand on his shoulder and the other on his hip -- something that spooked Dutch at first, who reacted perhaps as if he was being attacked. When he got Dutch settled back down with a pat on his shoulder, Arthur again started to carefully and slowly lead him toward Hosea. He was careful and slow with him, but also sensed that Dutch could make a run for it and did not let him go.

"Hosea, Dutch. The love of your life. Your soulmate. Your sweetheart."

As he predicted, Dutch did try to get away, but couldn't get far and nearly tripped over himself. Arthur caught him and firmly straightened him back up as best as he could. "Easy, Dutch, eaaaasy . . ." Arthur spoke in the tone he'd be calming a scared horse, instead of the frighted, confused, broken man before him. He even soothingly ran a hand through his hair as it was one of his steed's manes, partially out of comfort and partially in an attempt to make him look somewhat presentable.

Arthur's voice was clear again. Now free of tuberculosis, his lungs had healed here. Dutch though was too fractious to have noticed. "There's no sense in runnin', Dutch. Easy."

What Arthur didn't know is that Dutch was trying to bolt *to* Hosea and that holding him back was making him panic. He flailed helplessly in his hold, and then . . . Broke down, crumpling again.

Hosea then decided what the next course of action should be. His expression was hard to read, but his body language was one of authority. He braced himself, uncertain as to if Dutch was pulling some sort of trick, but this way, he'd know the truth.

"Let him go. See what he does."

Arthur did just what he was asked of, and with a nod, he let him go. The two men were so focused on each other that his quiet exit went unnoticed.

Dutch lurched awkwardly to Hosea, falling at feet in an awkward kowtowing gesture of submission. He was expecting that Hosea too would attack him, and thus he offered himself up for further punishment. There was some vague memory of a few words strung together in his sound beating, that Hosea was the leader now. He had some notion that he had done something or many things terrible, though he didn't know exactly what it was. He didn't want to face the wrath of Hosea as well. Some animalistic instinct told him to look as small, helpless, and submissive as possible and he likely wouldn't be harmed, or at least too badly. Or maybe he would and it would be brutal, but swift.

"H-Hosea . . ." Dutch's once strong voice sounded so . . . Weak and meek.

"S-sorry . . . "

Hosea for a moment clenched his fists as he felt anger towards this pathetic creature clinging to him and crying on his boots. He thought about all the wrongs he had done, having his part in undoing all they worked for. A part of him even wanted to kick him as he was down, literally, even; Dutch was right in the position where he could give a boot to him right in the jaw.

He felt Dutch's hold on his legs loosen and then, grasp one of those fists that he felt he could have knocked him out with. It was a soft, placating gesture. In life, he often squeezed Hosea's hand when he wanted to soothe him when he was worried and angered.

Hosea though, saw this as nothing but an attempt to manipulate. He tightened his fists, and heavily breathed in and out, his eyes focused on the darkness within the cave.

'I should punch him right here and then, I'll do it!'

And then, seconds before he was going to strike Dutch, Hosea felt his lips on the side of his hand in an awkward attempt to kiss. His mustached lips were unable to quite coordinate it, and he grew frantic to perfect the gesture. He was so good at kissing in life; how come here, in this strange life, can he not manage to do them? It was then that Hosea knew something was 'off' about Dutch; in life, he got his way by kissing his hands when a mere squeeze didn't' do the job. He was still *trying* to charm him, trying to soothe his anger. His fists clenched harder a moment later, though, as if willing himself to not let this pathetic shadow of Dutch butter him up.

Hosea then felt his teeth lightly nibble at the soft flesh from the side of his hand. Now, one would think this is when Hosea would give him a good hiding, but something from his memory stirred within him.

In life, whenever Dutch was feeling particularly cute, playful even (especially to distract Hosea away from being annoyed at him), he would sometimes take hold of one of his hands, squeeze it, and kiss it. Then he would softly bite it with a devilish grin. Hosea would 'boop' him on the nose, call him his naughty kitten and shower him with kisses, often by a campfire but sometimes on a fine hotel bed.

This time though, there was no cheeky grin. There were just big sad and confused eyes looking at Hosea, belonging to a man trying to understand what was going on, who sensed Hosea's anger and was trying to do something about it. Dutch gave another soft bite, this time a little more playful as if he was picking up on the memory that Hosea had from all those years ago.

In life, Hosea and Dutch were soulmates and . . . Maybe, despite everything, the ties that bind weren't broken in the afterlife.

Hosea felt himself soften. He tried to push it back, but he felt the leaks in the dam wall and he was out of corks to plug up the holes. Before he could stop himself, he tentatively touched the side of Dutch's head, the side which he landed on when he ended his life.

At first, Dutch shrank and whimpered at the touch, as if not expecting such a gentle touch. Another river of tears streamed down his eyes and onto Hosea's fingers as they shifted to his cheek. Hosea was encouraging him to look at him, and he obliged.

"You are broken, aren't you?"

There was pain and heartbreak in Hosea's voice as he slowly kneeled down to Dutch's level and slowly cupped his jaw in his hands. He cradled his head against his chest, positioning in such a way that he could hear his heartbeat. Dutch slowly rocked his head in his hold, against his heart, craving that contact fro him that he had gone a decade without.

Hosea had always loved how strong his jawline was; it was a bit softer since he had last seen him but, it was still Dutch.

"Hosea . . . " Dutch's voice was almost a whimper; his brown eyes still took on that lost, confused look but the expression was slowly melting away to one where he was trying to understand, but only briefly as sadness crept into them.

"I'm . . . Broken . . . " It was hard for Dutch to string together two words in a row, but he *tried*; he was always talkative in life (to everyone's annoyance it wasn't always something of substance) and now, as if it was the punishment he had received, every word was a battle.

"Please . . . " He wanted to say more, but couldn't.

Recognizing this really wasn't manipulation, a mere attempt to get back into his good graces, Hosea let out a cry and hugged him as tight as he could. It about broke him to see how shattered Dutch was. He wasn't sure if he was going to remain in this state for all eternity, but . . . He'd be there for him. He gently rocked Dutch in his arms, kissing him on the cheek. Dutch responded with a little sound that he wasn't sure was a sound of contentment or maybe a cry; his cheeks were already wet with tears and dirt and blood.

The cave floor was cold, and hard. Hosea knew where he wanted to go with him.

"Come with me, old friend, let's get you somewhere more comfortable."

At first, Dutch hesitated as Hosea eased him up into a standing position. He looked away, his expression of shame. He even stepped away from him, fearfully backing away into another tunnel within the cave. He seemed scared, not of Hosea, but maybe fearing what he thought, in his foggy state of mind, what he could do *to* Hosea. Dutch struggled inwardly again as if battling some inner force within him, simply for talking. His voice was halted, stuttering, as if he wanted to say more but the words wouldn't come out.

"N-no . . . Monster . . . I'm . . . I'm a . . .. Monster."

Hosea wasn't present at the time of the beating, but he was certain the gang and the others who he had hurt and done wrong with in life beat that notion into him. He had done some monstrous things in his life but it pained him to think that's all he viewed himself as now. What had been done had been done and Dutch had paid dearly for it (and he was sure that wasn't going to be the last they'd give him trouble), but what had been done could not be undone.

The afterlife is as much of a place to heal, to reconcile, to move forward as a whole person again as it was to be punished for what one had done in life. Indeed, we can say the afterlife is as complicated as several of the individuals residing in it.

Hosea swallowed hard again. He wasn't going to let Dutch disappear into the abyss.

"You are *my* monster, Dutch," Hosea spoke gently, with affection, stopping Dutch before he could disappear into that tunnel by hooking an arm around his waist and gave a firm but affectionate squeeze.

"And I'm afraid we'll be stuck with each other forever in this weird place."

Dutch felt comfort in the tone of Hosea's gentle and affectionate tone of voice, even if the latter part of his message was something he couldn't understand. He didn't resist Hosea's embrace and leaned against him as he was led through the cave. For a moment, he even almost caused Hosea to lose his footing with his weight against him. He held onto Hosea as he was doing to him, perhaps mimicking, but when he stumbled over his footing in his awkward movement, Hosea almost went down as well.

"It's okay . . ." Hosea spoke again softly, patting him on his back as if thinking Dutch would feel bad about accidentally tripping him up. With a grunt, he straightened him back up. Dutch was a good number of pounds heavier than him.

"We're almost there."

Both men blinked rapidly as the sun greeted them at the mouth of the cave, Dutch -- who had arrived in the afterlife only a moment ago -- especially so. He died on not the sunniest day of the week, in winter; and being that he had spent some of his last moments in a cave, the sun was almost a stranger to him. His eyes needed time to adjust and he shrank at the harshness of its rays, hiding his face against Hosea's shoulder. Sunglasses weren't dispensed back in the day when one came into the afterlife.

Outside the cave, the landscape looked much like it did in their lifetime, but somehow. . . Enhanced. The mountains and the trees were still there greeting them; and before them, a massive oak's branches gently arching over the stream that still ran its steady pace as it had always done. There were the sounds of various birds, maybe some that some of the gang even took down for food or to complete the decoration on a hat.

"Oh Dutch . . . It's beautiful . . . " There was a waver to Hosea's voice as he stopped leading to take in the scene, and gently encouraged Dutch to take in the surroundings as well; it never got old to him and he wanted so desperately to share it.

"Eyes . . . Eyes, head hurt . . . "

Dutch's struggle to speak was certainly not an issue he had in life. He looked as if he felt shame and his body posture was slumped, defeated. He blinked rapidly, still protecting his face against Hosea's shoulder.

Hosea rubbed his back, holding him close in case he attempted to retreat into the cave. "It'll take some time. You're not used to the light."

" . . . H-head broken . . . " He paused as if seeking the right word. "S-shattered, smashed . . . "

"I know . . . " Hosea's voice was pained, and he hugged him carefully as if hugging him any tighter would cause him to shatter. He knew he had to be honest. "It . . . It might always be like that, but . . . " He squeezed his hand, thinking that if it was meant for Dutch to come here healed he would have arrived healed. A more optimistic side of him didn't discount that maybe because he never thought he was worthy of true redemption, he arrived only partially healed but that the healing would take place over time now with them reunited.

Hosea decided the mood needed to be lightened and he brought one of Dutch's ragged and worn hands up to his lips to kiss. Once kept in near pristine condition, they now bore the marks of a rough outdoor life, scarred from fights, from the elements. And yet, the top of his hand still felt velvet soft against his lips. He had to smile when he heard some sort of sound of contentment from Dutch. It was an odd sound, but a recognizably *happy* sound. He decided he wanted to hear that sound again, and gave a knuckle a soft kiss again. Sure enough, Dutch made that little rough, sighing little sound again. It made his smile grow.

"You know, you have a whole eternity to bother me."

At this time Dutch knew nothing about what an eternity was. He was back in Hosea's arms and there was nowhere else he wanted to be. Hosea didn't kick him in the ribs, didn't grab his hair and pull him back into the fray.

Hosea wasn't even sure that Dutch knew that he was dead and that he was now in the afterlife. He knew he had to bring that news to Dutch eventually, to get him to further understand what had happened to him, and had to rip off the bandage and tell him why everyone had been so upset with him when he arrived, but . . . Not now.

After a moment, shoving aside that heavy discussion topic, Hosea led Dutch down a well-worn path out from the cave to the giant oak. "That tree? It'll be our spot. We both visited here a long, long time ago when we first met."

The camp where they first met in life, was right by that magnificent tree. It and any trace of it were now long gone, but by where the tent was, was a pile of well-worn books by a bonfire.. One of these books was a well-read copy of American Inferno, which was once one of Dutch's. Hosea assumed that John or maybe Arthur left them there and maybe even made the fire as well, and he was touched by the gestures, but he blinked back tears when he realized that perhaps Dutch *couldn't* read now. He remembered there was a time when Dutch was so obsessed with those damned books that he thought he was having an affair with Evelyn Miller. It ironically pained him that he likely now wouldn't hear Dutch's enthusiastic speeches about the virtues of his writings. The gang tended to tune out, much to his annoyance.

Hosea wanted to cry; he already felt a familiar sting in his eyes and fought it back. It had been some time since he had cried a good cry; the last time was when he was reunited with John and Arthur, Lenny and Jack and Tilly. He needed so badly for the release of a good cry, but he wanted to be strong for his broken soulmate, who might not understand why he was upset. And then, he got an idea. A *plan*, if you will.

Hosea wanted to read out loud to Dutch. He wouldn't read him Evelyn Miller right now -- that material would be too hard for him to digest right now. Then, thoughts of Jack's reunion made him remember the little fairytale stories he once read to him when he was a small boy. Those books were in among the stack by the bonfire; they contained charming stories, simple stories, but they were so wonderfully creatively detailed that he had often enjoyed reading them himself. He remembered Dutch teased him now and then about it, but he paid him no mind; he'd always retort back about Dutch's favoured reading material. Maybe he could help jog something in Dutch's poor addled state.

Hosea squeezed Dutch's hand as he watched him look around looked about fearfully as if he was expecting to be attacked from the trees. It was heartbreaking for Hosea to see such a formally cocky and confident, frustratingly pigheaded and often arrogant figure in such a pitiful state. Yet, there was a small hopeful smile in the corner of his lips.

"I'll read to you, Dutch. I'll read a nice story to you."

Dutch looked at him as if he was trying to understand someone speaking to him in a foreign language. The tone in which Hosea spoke in was so pleasant to him, so whatever it was he was talking about sounded like something pleasant to Dutch. He looked . . . Curious, for the first time since he first encountered the angry mob he mistakenly thought of as some strange animal who was just as inquisitive about him as he was of it.

"You loved to read, Dutch," Hosea spoke soothingly, stroking his cheek as he took in that sad, lost expressoin of his. He noted his cheekbones were more prominent than he had last known him. "Come and sit with me and I'll read you a fun story."

It had been many many moons since anyone read a story to Dutch. Now and then when they could, Hosea and Dutch would read a chapter of a book to each other in the evening. Before that . . . His mother who may or may not have been among those in that bloodthirsty crowd who mauled him. Their relationship was a complicated one but she did instill his love of books into him.

"Books . . . " Dutch plaintively whispered, staring at the tidy stack of books, but then a light spark formed in his sad, tired eyes as if something had clicked.

Hosea smiled, a smile that could have lit up a room as he carefully eased Dutch down onto the ground when he saw excitement spark in his eyes. If he hadn't eased him down he might have taken a tumble in his enthusiasm.

"Yes, books! You loved them, and drove us mad with them," Hosea added with a light laugh as he sat next to Dutch, and pulled him in close as he leaned back against the tree. "And we have all the time in the world here in Eternity to read them. We have a big library, with an endless supply of books. You'll love it."

Hosea's smile faded when Dutch held the book in his hands and the confounded expression told him he didn't know what was even the title. Yet, the twinkle never left Hosea's eyes. He'll spend hours reading to him if he needs to. Maybe he could even teach him to read again.

Dutch may yet grasp the concept of an afterlife, that he had died and was sent to Eternity to be punished, but perhaps also to reunite with the man who may have been able to keep him together had he not died. But he was now grasping the concept of books and love, and maybe, the love he had of books. He had loved Arthur and Hosea in life and so very much does so in this strange new world, and maybe . . . They still love him.

"Love . . ." Dutch whispered, almost timidly, as if afraid to say the word out loud. He curled himself up and laid his head on Hosea's lap, clutching the book against his chest for a moment as if to emphasize what he was saying.

"Love . . . Love . . . You."

"I know . . . I know . . . " Hosea blinked back tears as he gently brushed a hand through Dutch's silvering hair. He missed how it looked in their life together, those curls were so beautiful. He wondered if he could grow it back here.

"And I love you."

Hosea wanted to say that his love had broken him. He had seen how Dutch unravel while he watched helplessly from the afterlife; there were so many times he wished he could have intervened. However, he knew Dutch couldn't comprehend how his love had broken him. He knew he couldn't understand much beyond books that he couldn't read, and beyond the attachment he had to Hosea and Arthur. He knew that logically, his attachment would extend to John as well, who was the very last person he had seen before he took his life.

John was also not among those who laid a beating on Dutch. Like Arthur, he valiantly tried to push the mob back. The recognition that something just wasn't right with him -- even more so in the afterlife -- further fueled the urgency to end the violence. He ended up being pushed to the back of the bloodthirsty crowd, but it gave him the opportunity to seek out the one who could put an end to it all.

John had found Hosea alone with his thoughts by a pond, sitting on a log as he watched Silver Dollar graze nearby as the crickets and frogs sang an eternal song. The moon reflected so beautifully on the still water. When his moment of tranquillity was interrupted, Hosea had thoughts of confronting Dutch head-on, telling him what a fool he had been in his part of ruining what they had built together, among so much, but . . . All that was before he saw firsthand how damaged he was. He could yell and scream at Dutch for doing all those foolish and reckless things, essentially turning feral towards the end, but what come of it? He could picture it in his head, his face turning red with anger and Dutch would just respond with that pitiful, confused gaze as he looked up at him with his knees held close against his chest.

"John and Arthur love you, I'm sure of it . . . " Hosea spoke softly with a voice that took on a tone of uncertainty with it. He was also careful to word his message into something simple that Duth could even get an edge of understanding.

"Despite everything, Dutch . . . " He added quietly, mostly to himself, but with more confidence as he idly played with Dutch's hair, gently tugging out bits of dried blood, mud and matted strands.

"I think they still love you. Yes, I still love you."

Dutch shifted slightly so that his head and shoulders were right into Hosea's lap, and he looked up at him with an innocent, even hopeful expression. There was even a hint of a smile on Dutch's mustached lips, so blissfully unaware of the inner turmoil simmering under Hosea's surface as he was processing so many feelings simultaneously. Hosea was good at hiding it, mind you. He was always a fine actor who could sell water to a drowning man.

"You're still frustratingly cute, you know that?" Hosea laughed despite Dustch's drastic downturn in fashion sense, and that beautiful hair chopped down so short.

That smile of Dutch's grew when Hosea gently traced a finger along the softening jawline, to the point his eyes crinkled up into little slits. He leaned his head back with a little whimpering sigh, encouraging his touch. He couldn't quite understand what Hosea was talking about, but he *felt* it. He *felt* cute. Hosea wasn't mad at him anymore, he must have been doing something right. For as long as he continues to be cute, Hosea wouldn't be mad, he thought. Perhaps a new concept, or an old one unburied, which often got Hosea's anger turned away.

"Oh I've got a smile out of you . . ." Hosea cooed, slipping another hand to his side, the side in which he was shot shortly before his death.

After a moment of hesitation, Hosea gently pushed up that bloodied patch of his orange shirt, revealing bruised skin underneath. The wound from the gunshot was closed over, but a dark patch of bruised scarring remained there. Much like the wound to his head, that scar seemed as if it was a reminder, and was only patched up to prevent others from the sight of his organs slipping out of his body. To his surprise, though, the skin on that area was as satiny-soft to the touch as he remembered. Hosea's caress was gentle; how he moved his hands in a slow, rythmic pattern was as if he was telling Dutch it would be OK to let himself heal.

Perhaps that's why Dutch was in the state he was in the afterlife; he wasn't giving himself that chance to fully heal because he *didn't* think he deserved to heal. Let's go with that.

Hosea stopped when Dutch stiffened, and he wasn't sure if his touch caused him some pain that might have been residual. But then, his smile grew as he saw Dutch was trying to hold back a . . . . Laugh, probably the first genuine laugh, in oh . . . A decade! He remembered he had a particularly sensitive midsection in life which seemed to carry over into the afterlife, too.

"I think you're still a little ticklish too!" Hosea gently teased, his fingers dancing over his poor bruised and scarred belly, softer than he remembered it being, and eliciting more laughs. To him, Dutch's laughter was among the most beautiful sounds he had heard since arriving in the afterlife. That big hearty laugh of his was reduced to a silly squeaky sound as he submissively, lovingly offered himself up to him for more which Hose happily obliged.

After a moment, Hosea decided to leave Dutch wanting more. Predictably, Dutch gave him the pleading puppy eye expression that he still managed to pull off, after everything. His smile that came with it was almost sheepish, more lopsided than Hosea remembered, but still irresistible.

"Still trying to manipulate me are you?" Hosea gently teased. All the same, he gave in to that expression and scritched a little more before his fingers slowed into a massage. His eyes twinkled as Dutch offered that book to him. He gently took it from him and carefully repositioned himself in a way so that Dutch could follow the book as he read it out to him. He chuckled though as Dutch flopped back down. Maybe *he* was more comfortable but it forced Hosea to reposition himself a bit. Some things never change; in all their years together, Hosea was often forced to reposition in bed just because someone had to be more comfortable.

"Ah, this one . . . " Hosea's smile brightened, recognizing the title 'In The Land of Dragons.' "I read it to Jack before . . ." He paused, the smile fading. Among the last pleasurable moments he had of his life was reading that book to Jack.

Dutch picked up on the shift in the mood of his beloved and weakly squeezed his hand. It was a gesture that deeply touched Hosea; no matter how broken Dutch was right now, he still couldn't hide a thing from him.

"Well, we're all here together again," Hosea's smile returned as he gave Dutch's hand a light squeeze in return to emphasize. "Maybe I'll read it to him again if he so wants. He's all grown up now, though. Not sure if he wants a doddering old man to read to him again."

Dutch tilted his head to one side as he tried to understand what Hosea was saying. To him, it came together in a messy heap of words with no order to them. He did pick up on a few concepts; Jack, and reading. Yes, he wanted him to read to him like he remembered watching Hosea read to Jack. Despite the . . . Complicated relationship with the boy's parents, Dutch always had a soft spot for Jack. He'd often lean back and watch Hosea read to the boy by the campfire or a quieter location in the camp. Occasionally, as expected, Dutch would put his two cents but often just let the two have their quiet moment.

Jack was another who didn't join in on the mob's attack on Dutch. He tried to pull a few people back and got into a fight with some of them, but the mob grew too numerous. From there, he went on to find his father.

"Please . . . Read . . . ?" Dutch gave him the puppy dog eyes again.

"Still pushy after all these years, eh?" Hosea gently teased, leaning down to kiss Dutch on the top of his head as he gently eased into an easier position. Cute as he was to have him sprawled out on his lap like a puppy, he didn't think it'd be comfortable for him to follow along with him as he read.

Dutch's eyes had trouble focusing on the beautifully illustrated first page. He was growing frustrated with himself in this state, to have trouble even looking at a picture. The illustration featured a large and smug dragon looking down at a small boy who was bravely standing his ground, tiny sword and all. The colours were reminiscent of a watercolour painting and the thin lineart spared no detail. Dutch once made a speech to the gang that referred to the drawing, about the little man standing up to the federal government. The speech was one that Hosea tried to get people to get into but alas.

Hosea picked upon Dutch's frustration, and with a free hand, he traced a finger along his jawline. After a moment, his touch soothed him, to his delight.

"Can you see it, my pet?" Hosea brought up Dutch's old, old nickname softly and slowly traced a finger around the picture to help train Dutch's eyes on the page. He often pointed out the little details to Jack, and it reminded him of that.

"You liked this picture a lot for what you thought it meant to you."

Dutch still couldn't understand what he was speaking about per se, but he squinted, trying to focus on the picture. He was drawn to the colours that he felt were so pretty all those years ago. He even bought the book with his own money instead of stealing it for Jackie, as he used to call him. Hosea might have caught him reading it himself.

"In the Land of Dragons . . ." Hosea soothingly murmured out the title, running his hand over the title which was also lovingly detailed with the ends of dragon tails accenting the letters. "Written and illustrated by D. Houser."

Dutch blinked rapidly, slowly taking in the detail. And he got a gist of the details, the artistry, the detail, he was in awe. It was like all the horrors he had faced coming into the afterlife were far behind him now and he was dreaming. It was like he was transferred to some more innocent place.

Dutch's reaction did not go unnoticed by Hosea, and he was touched. He was reminded of when he first presented the book to Jack, all those years ago; how fascinated the boy was on each page, wondering what would happen next. It was a small book, only twenty-one pages but for Dutch, this would be the first step of a journey.

"Tommy was but a small boy, in a big world, and soon to meet even bigger dragons," there was almost a smile in Hosea's voice now he dragged a finger along the dialogue. "He didn't quake, didn't quiver as he walked through the spooky wood. Some of the trees themselves looked like dragons." He even added a bit of wonder to his voice as he worked a finger along the illustration of the twisted tree trunks and their branches. It was as if he was reading to that small boy again; this, he thought, turned out to be therapeutic for much for himself as it was to Dutch.

Hosea's tone might have elicited a certain spark in Dutch's eyes that threatened to errode the sadness and confusion in them. Maybe the concept of the story was seeping into his poor mind. Maybe he thought he was in the book.

"Are . . . W-here . . . Are we there?"

Hosea felt himself tear up again. He planned on telling Dutch at some point, when he's at a less vulnerable state, but . . . The question was asked.

"Well . . . " He set the book aside, leaving it open to continue after his explanation, and he took one of Dutch's hands in his own. He gently gazed into Dutch's curious eyes, his expression gentle, soft. He wasn't sure how much Dutch would get out of it, but it was worth a try and he would be patient.

"We . . . We died, Dutch."

Hosea paused, waiting for Dutch to absorb the news. He studied him carefully, waiting for any change in expression. Dutch still looked curious, almost innocently so. He hadn't quite processed it yet, but he was trying.

And then suddenly, Dutch's expression changed. The sad expression returned in his eyes, and the tears returned as if Hosea's ripping off the bandage opened up new wounds.

"When . . . When you . . . Went, I . . . I-I broke, shattered . . ."

"I know . . ." Hosea almost whispered, clutching onto Dutch as crawled up further into his lap. Tears that he fought hard to keep down to keep a strong front trickled down his face when he rested his chin on his shoulder. His hand moved over Dutch back in gentle, soothing circles.

"When we died . . . We got sent here there though so we could be together again. We all call it The Next Place. The afterlife."

Dutch buried his face against Hosea's chest as his fingers clasped on his blue jacket. "D-dont . . . Don't. . . " It was as if his brain's synapses were misfiring again, he couldn't say anything more though he so wanted to. He felt so vulnerable, so scared.

"Shhh . . . I'm not going anywhere. . ." Hosea cooed as he slipped a hand up underneath that ratty shirt, his hands gently gliding over his back. As he had spent some time sprawled out on Hosea, his skin still felt so warm there and less clammy than he did when he first reunited with him. Skin contact was what Hosea thought Dutch would feel connected to and reassured with; after all, they said so much through holding hands.

The touches soothed Dutch again, and he settled his head under Hosea's jaw. They would return to the book, but for the moment, he just wanted to cuddle up to HOsea as he had longed to do for far too long.

As if Hosea had absorbed what Dutch was feeling even if he couldn't articulate it, Hosea also just wanted to hold Dutch, and to do nothing else. He had almost forgotten how much he had missed him; he had seen the things he had done and was nearly blinded with anger, but now . . .

"We'll never be parted again."

*Never* be parted again.

Dutch felt something he hadn't felt in a long, long time:

Relief.

"Never . . . ?" Dutch's voice wavered as he looked into Hosea's eyes with some sort of acknowledgement in his expression.

Hosea whispered and gently cupped his jaw in his palm. He has always loved how strong it felt in his hands, even in his condition. "Never . . . "

"We're . . . " Dutch struggled for a moment, but his eyes never left his as that expression got a bit stronger. He was piecing it together and it hadn't gone unnoticed by his soulmate. "O-other . . . Place . . . " He slowly eased his face closer to Hosea's. He wanted to kiss, oh he so wanted to kiss him but could not connect his lips up to his and tears welled in his eyes for his failure to do so.

"Y-yes . . . " Hosea found his voice wavering as he felt Dutch's breath on his lips. After steadying the back of Dutch's carefully, he eased him into the gentle kiss he was asking for. It was a slow kiss, a gentle kiss, a kiss that was ten years in the making.

Together again, in That Other Place.

[sepublic]

Considering he's directly responsible for an entire year of Bionicle, I kinda wish the story did more to explore the weight of Chirox as the creator of the Visorak, given how much 2005 rightfully emphasized just how destructive and nightmarish they were, the impact they left on victims, our protagonists struggling with the mutations inflicted upon them by those spiders, etc. Especially with the Rahaga's efforts, and Keetongu and Krahka being survivors of genocide.

It'd have been cool to see Chirox be given some proper comeuppance for his role in creating these creatures with obvious malicious intent, given their test run on the aptly-renamed island of Visorak; Aside from Teridax himself, I think Chirox has had the most destructive impact on the universe out of the Makuta. That same year we learned who created the Visorak, we were also reminded of their destruction via the character of Tobduk, who brings up his vengeance towards the Brotherhood as part of his motive in killing Tridax; So having him, Keetongu, and/or Krahka show up in Karda Nui to deal a proper death scene for Chirox would've been great.

As it is however, Chirox is never really called out for his crimes in creating the Visorak, nor is it ever brought up to his face; I'd have liked to see the Toa Nuva react to the revelation that this guy made the dreaded Visorak they heard so much about from their Turaga. Chirox doesn't even get a proper death scene, he just disappears from the story after Takanuva whoops his ass (deserved), and his death by energy storms is meant to be presumed, eventually being confirmed in another source.

[altocat]

Is there any hope for Sephiroth? Or is he doomed to semi-exist in the lifestream and hate Cloud forever?

More or less, Sephiroth is stuck as the villain until his soul can finally peacefully pass on into the Lifestream for good. And that's a matter of Sephiroth's choosing. Some people argue that it's Sephiroth's Jenova cells that prevent him from moving on, but in OTWTAS he's shown to be able to relinquish bits of himself into the Lifestream, namely his memories. The Remnants were able to dissolve as well. And I do believe the canonical explanation was that Sephiroth's hatred and will were simply so strong that he REFUSED to dissolve. Something of that nature.

So in order to escape his own doomed fate, Sephiroth has to CHOOSE to let go. It might not be the comeuppance that his victims would have wanted, but it's the ultimate endgame for every living creature on Gaia. And Sephiroth is human despite everything. He has to let go of himself and move forward in peace.

[kandisheek]

FIC REC WEEK 18 – CREATURE FIC

AUTHOR SPOTLIGHT: newtypeshadow

The sheer amount of creativity in newtypeshadow's fantasy universes is really impressive. I love all of the different types of magic and creatures that they explore, and the world building is off the charts. Plus, the way they write Bucky, Tony and Steve is just lovely, in any constellation they come in.

Here's some of their work that I think you should check out:

The Werewolf, the Witch and the Vampire

Pairing: Steve/Bucky/Tony Rating: T Words: 2,297 Tags: Urban Fantasy, Getting Together, Protectiveness

Summary: Whoever had broken into Bucky and Steve's backwoods cabin had used a key, Bucky's favorite mug, and was now sleeping in their bed. "This is feeling very Goldilocks, isn't it?" Bucky said.

Reasons why I love it: All of the dialogue in this is super fun and engaging. And the action towards the end even more so. I love the descriptions of Bucky's shifted form, and Tony's magic is super intriguing. I feel like I could read entire books about this 'verse and still not get enough. This fic is wonderful, and you should definitely read it!

Adventures in “Catsitting”

Pairing: Bucky/Tony/Winter Rating: T Words: 2,898 Tags: Symbiote Winter, Pranks, Fluff and Humor

Summary: Tony is stuck in flerken shape at the Tower, in the dubious care of Clint Barton—the Avenger who constantly mocks him for being an adorable little house cat. At least with the pet buttons Bucky programmed for him, Tony can tell Clint to knock it off. The problem is whether Clint will actually listen.

Reasons why I love it: Oh god, Clint truly has a death wish, pissing off the resident flerken. Not to mention the symbiote (and can I just say what a fucking cool concept Winter the Symbiote is? Because it's awesome). This fic is hilarious, and I hope you give it a read!

Little Red Running Witch and the Big White Wolf

Pairing: Bucky/Tony, Steve/Peggy Rating: T Words: 2,569 Tags: Werewolves, Hurt/Comfort, Soulmates

Summary: Tony, an unschooled witch, has fled from Ty, his sorcerer captor, only to attract the attention of a big white wolf. If the wolf catches Tony, he's dead. If Ty catches Tony, he won't be that lucky.

Reasons why I love it: There's so much to like about this one – suspense, action, BAMF Peggy, werewolf mates, Ty getting his comeuppance, it's all great. I love the hopeful ending, and protective Bucky is always a treat, especially when he's all wolfy and growly. Definitely give this one a read, if you haven't already!

Happiness: A Song in Three Parts

Pairing: Steve/Bucky/Tony Rating: T Words: 3,166 Tags: Soulmates, Kidnapping, Sharing a Bed

Summary: Tony's just a kid when he first hears the music. He's human, no one knows werewolves exist yet, and there's no sexy beefcake couple Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes coming out as werewolves and giving interviews to the press to explain the melody Tony heard sporadically during childhood is what werewolves—and the human mates of werewolves—hear when their soulmate is within a few miles of them. By the time he finds out what the music means, he hasn't heard a note in years. And when he finally hears it again, he's busy running for his life.

Reasons why I love it: Aaah, soulmates just warm my heart. I love the concept of a soul song, and the fact that Tony was already fantasizing about Bucky and Steve before ever meeting them is so cute. Plus, who doesn't like Bucky and Steve getting all protective over Tony? This fic is lovely, and you should definitely read it!

He kindly stopped for me

Pairing: Bucky/Tony Rating: M Words: 2,789 Tags: Rescue, Wolf Bucky, Flirting

Summary: When Tony magically summons help to save himself from spider-goblins, he has no idea the "help" that comes will bring him face to pretty face with death.

Reasons why I love it: Oh my god, the world building in this is fantastic. I'd love to know more about the Death beasts and how the whole magic system works, it's so intriguing. And of course, the Winteriron romance is absolutely wonderful. I love this fic, and I bet you will too, so go ahead and give it a shot!

[bonefall]

what cats are still prayed to and revered by the clans besides firestar or skystar? i fuckin LOVE the patron spirits thing you have going on in this rewrite, it’s so cool to see what cats are worshipped and why

There's a lot of them! I don't think there could ever be a "comprehensive list" without just listing most of StarClan. See, most cats will typically value their own family over others, leading to the patrons "waxing and waning" in popularity over the generations.

But here's some of the ones who are pretty consistently popular!

Thunderstar = Justice Comeuppance, fair judgement, and mercy are also things he can be invoked for. Remember that a Patron gains its power from belief. Much like how Saint Michael was once a patron of healing as well as war, associations for BB!StarClan cats can shift over time.

Bumblemumble = Speech, Diplomacy She became less popular in the Chivalric Period, but was a favored patron for Pinestar to invoke. She never totally went away, even though her name has become "Bombolmlemlaan," 'Sentence-Tonguetwister,' over time. (Her name is also used in reference to "being tongue-tied." Fitting that she's a bit hard to translate into English!)

Acorn Swoop = Prra A Clan culture-specific value. Perfect timing, promptness, coincidences of good planning. Arriving in the nick of time. Acorn Swoop is a good example of how cats can wax and wane as well; when Hallowflight dies (he is alive to the current arc in BB), RiverClan will probably prefer invoking him over Acorn for a while.

Sparrow Heart = Loyalty and Fidelity. This BURNS her a new one, btw. Many of the other spirits as old as her have begun to lost touch with their mortal lives, but she didn't join Clear Sky because she loves him. She didn't serve him for his own ends. She wanted his power, and in death she's been reduced to his eternal stooge. She craves his throne. (And I have to leave it there until we find out what the next few arcs have in store :3)

Speckletail = Protection Against Natural Disaster Storms, deforestation, pollution, whatever. Speckletail is invoked to defend Clans against oncoming doom, because girlie took out a bulldozer and the battle culture is obsessed with that

Stonefur = Winning the War/Losing the Battle An important god for lost causes. When you aren't able to win, he is invoked to make your death mean something. Needletail, for the first time in a long time, requested for StarClan to call down his strength.

Blackstar = Redemption And change in a better direction. Said to be reflected in frogs in particular, how they go from tadpoles to full creatures, associated with wetland health thanks to his ambitious Bog Project.

Sundrown Patrol = Directions Most of them are not dead yet. Feathertail is currently the only one in the role and protects travelers generally, but eventually her and her Cohorts will comfortably divide up the cardinal directions. Feathertail is South (Towards the Mountain), Tawny is West (Towards the Ocean), Bramble is North (Towards the Lake) and Crowfeather is East (Into the Wilderness).

Leafpool = Clarity Leafpool Moonpool is one of the most popular young spirits. In difficult situations, she is invoked for StarClan to see your sins and understand that you are trying to find the holiest way through them. The Firekin family is going to be a very strong pantheon eventually.

Palefoot = Bodies that Can't Be Recovered/Closure Anon suggestion that is canon now. Palefoot was murdered by Batear for killing Fenneldust and shoved into a bog where his family would never find him, because Batear was not allowed to go to ThunderClan to sit vigil for his best friend. When someone is lost and can't be buried, Palefoot is often invoked for comfort. He is actually sort of displacing Turtle Heart, who used to function in a similar way. She is being pushed into a more specific role for Lost Parents, not bodies or closure in general.

In addition, Dark Forest Spirits are also powerful... and thanks to the fact you have to use a direct line to get to them, quite capable of granting strength without holding back. They have no StarClan to answer to if they blessed the plans of the wrong cat.

So they can do curses for you, if THAT is what you're seeking. A whole lot of these cats tend to provide various types of revenge lmao... "We serve Vengeance here, sir."

Batear and Fenneldust = Retribution Evolved from a mix of how Batear's target went BEYOND his victim to deny closure to the family, and also the Fepfr which he was named for, Long-Eared Bat, which in Clan culture is said to have a modest song of mourning for every bat wrongfully killed. Fenneldust actually LOVED that he was willing to be so spiteful for her, and followed him to the Dark Forest. So if you want, you can call for them to cause pain to people who wronged you. If your case is bad though, they'll fuck with you instead. They aren't MALICIOUS spirits though... just mischievous.

Mapleshade = Revenge If you want your target to DIE, you give her a call. She is ACTIVELY malicious. She will stop at nothing to kill someone she agrees should go, even going as far as to fight a Fetcher to drag the target down with her. If you're just miffed at someone and want them to get karma, you talk to Batsy and Fenfen. If you want BLOOD, you talk to Mapleshade. But be prepared, because she is just as dangerous as that implies.

Cloudberry and Ryewhisker = Secrecy An obvious one, but one of the gentler requests of the Dark Forest. They will help you hide forbidden love from your Clan, and can be prayed to when you're having a close call and may be discovered.

[inspectorspacetimerevisited]

Pensioners tend to get a bad rap for being willing to allow people to get into trouble without offering to lift a finger to help them.

The old people in ‘Time Geezers’ seem to buck against that, rescuing the Inspector, Emerald and Wilhelmina from the Comeuppance with fire extinguishers blazing.

[veinspill]

Chapter 1 - Gothic & Emotional

(AN: This series was originally a spoof of "my immortal," an infamous work of fanfiction. It has since grown into an original work as a satire of the themes present within "my immortal." fangs for the support!)

Another day. My blinds filter the light of the sun completely out, and the wallpaper is a dismal black. A vase of withered roses, having been hand-painted black, lies beside my antidepressants atop my nightstand. Another day rising out of my coffin, which in contrast to much of my room, is a vibrant shade of pink, equipped with speakers constantly playing through music. I turn to the totally retro lava lamp beside me, and with a flip of the switch, the room dimly illuminates.

It is mostly black. If it already wasn't obvious, I'm gothic and emotional, and my room is an extension of that - there are overhead, red lights which accentuate my gothic features, occasionally flickering to remind any guests of the labyrinthian darkness dwelling deep within my recesses. A few of my many, many friends have misinterpreted their meaning, often saying something along the lines of "red LED lights, huh?" It is frustrating to have your artistic vision be lost so consistently, and doubly frustrating when they're frequently right!

I'm realizing I should introduce myself - I'm Ra'zorblayde D, short for Darkroom, Veinspill. I am a total fucking hottie, and unlike many other goths, I don't shy away from non-black colors, with my signature corset being a comparatively bright shade of pink, and my skirt being an equally bright green. With pallid skin, pointed ears and fangs, I'm a vampire. I'm also a witch, with a retrofitted vibrator as a wand. I'm also a siren, but those days are largely behind me.

The fishnet shirt I wear was once an actual fishing net - amidst some rocks at sea, I once sang MCR to grizzled old sailors to lure them in, but they were posers and did not recognize any of my melodies. It was embarrassing! Almost as embarrassing as the harpoonist who attempted to spear me on the rocks, mid-chorus. Upon seeing a harpoon shooting towards me, I acted quickly, catching the spear between my middle fingers. I shrieked at them, telling them all to fuck off with the volume of a banshee, but they were unrelenting. In a last ditch effort, they threw a net at me. I will admit, they must've had some experience on the water, as when it made contact with me, I became fully, shibari-tied in the sailors' net. I had been tied like this before, of course, but never in this context! Upon the rocks, I felt the desolation of every plastic-ridden sea turtle, and I could practically feel myself choking on a straw. I brooded for a moment, sulking, brooding, eventually shedding inky tears as my more kraken-like ancestors had in an effort to deter them.

No matter my efforts, they steeled in their resolve, and had finally drawn the boat ashore. As the anchor made a thundering contact with the rocks below me, I grew hopeless. I had been the end of many people I'd come across in the sea - from grizzled sea captains persistently referring to me as a "white whale" (harsh, in retrospect), to lovers who had been separated by icebergs and small rafts, to dude-bro mermen who should have known better. I would have understood if, in this moment, I finally met my comeuppance for those encounters, and mulled over a few potential last words.

I soon realized I had been panicking, remembering the far scarier battles I'd overcome. Using my empathabilities, I channeled the destitution of the creatures who'd met their undoing through plastics, and as my inky tears collided with the net, I felt its fabric begin to contort and twist into... a sickass fishnet shirt! Now equipped with the stylish breathability of the net, I channeled my newfound energy into my middle fingers. With the harpoon, I wound my arms into a decisive throw. Yelling out "fangs for the memories, even if they weren't so great!" as I returned the harpoon, I heard it thunder through the air, crackling into, and eventually skewering the sailors. They toppled to the floor of their vessel, and frustratingly, were off-beat to my singing in doing so.

[yourverybestghoulfriend]

31 Days of Horror: Creepshow (1982)

Five tales of terror are presented. The first deals with a demented old man (Jon Lormer)returning from the grave to get the Father's Day cake his murdering daughter (Viveca Lindfors) never gave him. The second is about a not-too-bright farmer (Stephen King) discovering a meteor that turns everything into plant-life. The third is about a vengeful husband ILeslie Nielsen) burying his wife (Gaylen Ross) and her lover (Ted Danson) up to their necks on the beach. The fourth is about a creature that resides in a crate under the steps of a college, starring Hal Holbrook and Adrienne Barbeau. The final story is about an ultra-rich businessman (E.G. Marshall) who gets his comeuppance from cockroaches.

[whovianwatchingstartrek]

A Whovian Watches Star Trek for the First Time: Part 116 - Tilly in the Network

Star Trek: Discovery - Season 2 Episode 5 - Saints of Imperfection

This episode picks up exactly where engineering left off, with May pulling Sylvia Tilly into the Spore Network, and Michael is kinda doing this thing of burying herself into her work to distract from her sadness about the situation. It's very Vulcan of her, and I can't wait to see how it tears her up.

Meanwhile, Discovery has come across Spock's shuttle, however Spock isn't responding, and Discovery are left with no choice but to open fire before the shuttle can enter a nebula through which Discovery can't follow. They successfully immobilise the SHuttle, and bring it aboard, but to everyone's surprise, Spock isn't on Board: Georgiou is.

Now, last season I didn't like a lot of what they did with Georgiou after leaving her universe, they were a few interesting moments towards the end, but I didn't like that she her comeuppance so bringing her into the main universe in the end kinda felt unjustified. I'm still holding out for some villainous downfall this season, and here specifically, putting her right next to Pike who has built up as very much archetype of the paragon Starfleet Captain, when she is very much the prime example of what I imagine most Terran Captains are like (Granted, my sample size is very limited for them), should be a really interesting point of contrast.

Also the music that plays when she enters, is just perfect. I don't feel like I highlight soundtracks enough on these, but I love Evil Georgiou's theme.

Georgiou is still pretending to be our Universe's Georgiou, but Pike apparently has history with her. Georgiou's current mission for Section 31 is to hunt down Spock. Unfortunately Section 31 ties Pike's hands, and Georgiou is allowed to go free.

Last time Section 31 showed up, a few episodes ago, a couple of you pointed out to me they're they shadowy Group Enterprise too, I don't they were given a name back there, but if this is the same group, they seem be at least slightly more publicly known by know, both Michael and Pike recognise the Section 31 Badge that Georgiou has, whereas in Enterprise they seemed to exist entirely outside of Starfleet's knowledge minus a few people. I kinda wanna know what caused that shift.

The Engineering team manage to confirm that Tilly isn't and indeed is in the Spore Network. Sylvia is rightfully pissed at May for bringing her here, however she is willing to listen to her out. Unfortunately she wants her to kill some sort of creature that entered the Spore Network when Discovery started making it's jumps, and is currently destroying the world of the Network.

Meanwhile on Discovery, as Georgiou leaves, Section 31 drops off an official Liaison, in the form of Ash Tyler. Pike confronts Michael about how different Georgiou is acting from how he remembers her, and that conversation gets put off, Michael and Ash have a small catch up, but nothing really happens immediately and Ash leaves to report to the Bridge.

Paul's plan to rescue Tilly is to jump Discovery into the network, essentially use the ship as a gateway between the real world world and mushroom world. There are a few risks involved, it's been previously established that the mycelium in the network eat normal matter, so the crew would only have an hour to find and extract Sylvia, and there is a risk crew members could just end up like the crew of the Glen if they're in the wrong place when the jump happens.

Pike approves of the Plan, and he gives a really good No Man Left Behind speech, and everyone gets ready to go, and the side of the ship sinks into the network, and Paul and Michael get to searching. Sylvia and May board the Discovery too, although she takes a path to the Armoury to deal with the creature, although they quickly meet up, and Tilly explains the situation

I love that the Monster remains completely unseen until just now, when we find out he is Hugh Culbur, somehow corrupted by the something. Which obviously leaves Paul in a state of conflict. He thought he lost his partner, and he's been grieving really hard since midway through last season, and now he has a chance to save him, but May is still desperate to get Sylvia and by extension the others to kill him. Honestly I was expecting the monster somehow be related to the Tartigrade, so the idea that he's Hugh was a shock, and a twist that I love, even if it's undoing the most impactful death of Season 1.

Meanwhile on the bridge, things are going bad, the Mycelium are still eating away at the Hull, and the Bridge is Starting to fall into the Network, meaning the bridge crew have less space to work. Tyler however calls in some assistance from Section 31, with hidden communicator. A section 31 ship, apparently capable of disguising itself as an asteroid appears out of nowhere, and starts physically towing Discovery out of the Network's space

This little sequence with Section 31 is beautiful, it really showcases how much further ahead they are than everyone else tech-wise.

Meanwhile, Paul trying to convince Hugh that he's real is heartbreaking, he pulls through, and Tilly convinces May to stand down. They rush back to the cube and... Heartbreakingly Hugh is unable to crossover. This scene breaks my heart. Paul had so so much hope, and it just got ripped away from him, and AAAA! I am crying. Fortunately, Sylvia manages to think of a plan to use the Cocoon that dragged her in to create a new body for Hugh on the other side. With that, Paul completes the jump out of the Network, and everything is calm. The team spend time watching the cocoon, waiting, until May fufills her side of the promise, and Hugh is saved.

After this Mission, Pike and the Section 31 leader, Leland have a conversation with the Admiral. Who, one forces them to put their differences aside and work together, and two gives us new information about the Signals. The sites with the Signals have something called Tachyon Radiation, which I'm assuming is the Star Trek equivalent of Artron energy because Leland immediately connects it's presence to Time Travel, although Pike also says could indicate a number of other things, namely Cloaking Devices and Transporters. A Mystery to think about, I can think multiple ways all three of these could be involved with whatever the Red Angels are, Spock is still the best lead.

This episode was a fun conclusion to the May and Tilly Arc, I had fun with it, the rescue mission itself was great, and seeing Section 31 in Action. I still have enough to go on to narrow down my theory on the Red Angels are, and the end of this one kinda widened up the possibilities to it could be anything now. This episode was fun!

[eaturhe4rt0ut]

I’ve been thinking a lot about humanity. You have all seen America’s new president—Donald Trump. I don’t like him as a person, nor as a politician, but regardless, he won. He is who America chose. His campaign was a promise of hatred disguised as change. He said all of these trigger words that made angry, emasculated men feel a sense of power. A boys club. And we all know men love power. Castration anxiety, Sigmund Freud’s theory that men feel a deep fear of literally and metaphorically being castrated. So, they spend their lives being overly protective of their autonomy. I find it a bit humorous. I promise not to go on a political rant because, believe me, I am under-qualified to write a think piece on politics. But, what I am qualified to talk about, as a member of the human race, is humanity and our lack of it.

We hate each other, we want to see each other suffer, and we like to believe we are above the “others.” We are the wreckage of decades of biblically greedy and bloodthirsty men. People have been belittled and made to feel less than depending on their tax bracket—these people are desperate for a sweet relief that won’t come with shiny green paper. A wound does not begin to ache less when you shove wads of counterfeit cash into it. It takes time. It takes sacrificing selfish needs and wants to nurture these wounds back to health. We punish people we are angry at. We throw them behind bars to live like animals and then complain about their animalistic ways. We point and laugh at them and set up slideshows and banners on ways they could’ve prevented being a monkey in our zoo. We offer no compassion, and many of us say this is what’s right. Isn’t that alarming? We pledge against compassion and humanity because someone has angered us. And before you say, well… it’s not that simple! It is. You just don’t like the way it tastes when someone serves the ingredients to you without mixing in a little sugar to sweeten the taste of our callousness.

We shrink carnage down to collateral damage. The earth is collapsing and taking whole ecosystems with it because of our incessant need for oil and our ignorance of our quiet cruelty. We are egotistical beings, worried only for ourselves. We lack the ability to empathize and sympathize, our society has carved it out and fed it to the wolves. Seeing it as a futile limb of our identities. We’ve grown used to cut-throat politicians and apathetic world leaders. We’ve grown used to putting survival over unity, but when we look at nature—No animal survives without the other. Ecosystems. One creature provides for the other. We have successfully divided ourselves. We have dumbed ourselves down enough to think hatred is a path to righteousness.

Our damage to the human race is reprehensible. These events nestle themselves into our DNA, changing our brain chemistry. Our apathy, our rage, it is all passed down through your lineage. You are centuries worth of emotion and vehemence. This apathy will continue to shift and morph, depending on who you choose to be. You decide the kind of people our next generation will be. Will they bleed compassion or vengeance? We choose that. What will it take for us to find clarity—to see the destruction of what we’ve done? Will anything? Or will we continue to march towards our comeuppance?

[foodsies4me]

I love Apollo:Blood Wars! I’m desperate to see those three get their comeuppance! I know absolutely nothing about daemons but your fix does a great job at conveying the seriousness of the relationship. I wouldn’t of thought that Alec would have a parrot but it makes sense! If you don’t mind elaborating, what was your process for deciding everyone’s daemon?

Tbh, I’m a sucker for any story that recognises the lack of stellar siblingship in shadowhunters. Season one Alec is treated awfully and I love him being appreciated. Like, I get they’re teenagers but surely siblings would know the amount of shite he’s dealing with being acting head.

Love all your works and looking forward to updates!

Thank you for the kind words, nonnie!

For some reason, all of my leftover salt for the way Jace and Izzy treat Alec in season 1 came out in this fic, which means it takes some getting used to when I switch over to a fic where they are being good siblings.

Also, I am apologizing for the absolute ramble I'm going to send your way, but in my defense, you asked about the choosing process for the daemons! I'm only going to be mentioning the daemons we already have met to avoid rambling too much.

So, for Alec, I knew I wanted a bird from the get-go, and while I have seen a lot of fanart of Alec holding a raven or a crow I wanted to do something different. Then I just went for personality: I needed it to be an intelligent bird, social and cuddly with those it trusts and loves but picky about handing out that trust and so I ended up choosing a parrot. (I'll admit I was partially influenced by my own parrots, one of which I have heavily based Apollo's quirks on.) Additionally, I thought it was funny to give Alec, who doesn't speak much unless he's at ease, an animal known for talking a lot as a daemon.

For Magnus: Well who else but Chairman Meow could it have been? So, that one didn't take much thought.

Izzy got a black panther because I wanted something graceful, strong, and most of all dangerous. Several characters have daemons that appear harmless - either because of magic or because they're animals we tend to wrongly consider harmless. But, with Izzy, I didn't want that to be the case because Izzy gives me very strong "I'm dangerous. I know I'm dangerous. And I don't hide it" vibes in the series. And so, black panther!

Jace got a lioness (as well as two other forms that haven't been revealed yet!) for similar reasons. I wanted a dangerous animal, prideful if possible and, what with the whole "Jace is one of the best fighters the Clave has seen in years" I needed it to be a King of thee Jungle kind of dangerous so that's how I landed on a lioness for him.

Underhill has a snappy, eastern box turtle: smart, quiet, shy and harmless (at least at first sight). They're often considered solitary creatures, but they can grow really strong bonds with other turtles or their human owners when in captivity, and this ties into my headcanon that Underhill looks like a friendly loner at first (nice and kind but likes to keep to his own) but that he just needs some time to get out of his shell so to speak.

Clary has a dove and a bull (+ one more unrevealed form) the former of which she shares with Valentine. I liked the idea of Valentine using the fact that his daemon is a dove ( a symbol of peace and purity) as a way to further prove his righteousness and moral superiority compared to the rest when he was still starting out with creating the Circle. Clary having that same daemon is also my not-so-subtle way of showing how, despite being very against him in the series, Clary shows a lot of traits that are similar to Valentine. The bull daemon is another - is dangerous, but also fits Clary because of her bullheadedness, I run full speed without thinking of the consequences personality. (Or that's the way I read her at least.)

Jace and Clary's daemons having multiple forms will be dived into further as the story progresses, but it ties back into the whole "all downworlders have something special going on with their daemons" thing.

Kyle (yes I am talking about my OC's and their daemons because I am entirely shameless) has a dumbo rat: friendly, sociable, curious, inquisitive, and very intelligent (which works well with Kyle being the Head of the Investigation Department), cuddly and just all around very affectionate. Basically, they're golden labrador puppies but as rats, which fits Kyle.

Cécile has a Barbados threadsnake (the smallest snake species in the world! They are so cute and smoll!) They're solitary like most snakes and prefer a nocturnal lifestyle. They're non-venomous and prefer to spend most of their time burrowed in soft soil, which again works with Cécile who prefers to be on her own, which is why she spends most of her time working undercover in the mundane world in places where mundanes might unknowingly come into contact with demons.

I'm going to stop my rambling here before I really turn this into a novel, but yeah that is a very rough resume of the thought process I had when choosing the different daemons. :D

[fuckyeahfightlock]

Well, today's scary movie was an interesting one. I'll start out by saying, if talent and/or acting chops are somehow passed down by heredity, Miles Robbins definitely has the talent and chops you'd expect from the son of Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins. :-D

And Patrick Schwarzenegger has pretty much the talent and chops you'd expect from the son of Arnold Schwarzenegger. :-/

Daniel Isn't Real was written by Adam Egypt Mortimer (who also directed) and Brian DeLeeuw, based on DeLeeuw's novel In This Way I Was Saved. In this psycho-horror, college freshman Luke (Robbins) calls forth the support of his childhood imaginary friend (Schwarzenegger) in order to cope with his social awkwardness at school and family trauma at home.

This movie opens with a horrifying bang (literally) as six-year-old Luke (this child actor is painfully cute) witnesses a bloody crime scene, where he meets his new best friend, Daniel. Soon enough Daniel causes the kind of trouble that makes Luke's mother insist he is no longer welcome, and Luke "locks him up in Grandma's dollhouse." Years later, Luke is lonely at school, and his mother (Mary Masterson) is unraveling at home in a spiral of mental illness. In desperation, Luke unlocks the dollhouse and Daniel returns, helping him develop a smooth patter with the ladies, give comeuppance to his annoying dormmate, and develop his artistic skill. Eventually, it all goes wrong.

The film's "is Daniel a manifestation of Luke's new-blooming schizophrenia, or is Daniel somehow a real entity?" premise is so unsettling, and the slow reveal of good-buddy Daniel as an agent of chaos, violence, and cruelty is truly terrifying (despite the fact Daniel dresses like a douchecanoe and Schwarzenegger's performance is fairly one-note). Miles Robbins gives a tour de force performance that is endlessly engaging and brilliantly nuanced. The rules of the film were clear enough that what could have been a very confusing story is easy to follow (Daniel can occupy Luke's body, and does, and this is handled well, as are the sequences in the metaphorical prison of Luke's mind). In the first act I was tempted to label this one Gen Z Fight Club, but any comparisons are. . .well, I think they're legitimate, but probably a little too cute.

If you love a psychological horror--with some demonic overtones and creature design right out of a painting by Hieronymous Bosch--this film is for you. There is some body horror and a not insignificant amount of blood, as well as violence the filmmaker doesn't shy away from (apparently this is my Month Of Realistic Stabbings), but you can watch through yr fingers, because this movie is absolutely worth the time.