#you think you’re running just from a bad man but instead there’s Existential Horror

[septembersung]

My stress dreams almost always involve zombies but last night was a new and horrifying twist. Awake, I see connections to the Reavers from Firefly, but in-dream it was a dreadful and brand new reveal.

[copias-thrall]

How would Mary goore react to hurting someone he genuinely cares about? I absolutely Love your writing!💕

Hello, nonny! Thank you, I love this ask!

This was going to be  alist, but it got away from me! 😅 

Enjoy 😘 

It wasn’t anything big.

Just a few of Mary’s favorite beers (the craft kind—not the shitty beer he drank on his shoestring budget), some of that chronic shit you’d scored and have been saving for a special occasion, and a VHS box set of horror movie classics.

***

Mary comes in and out of your life at will, and that was something you accepted—knowing he was As Is or not at all. And honestly—no, really—you liked that. You had your own shit going on, and being Mary’s expected caregiver was NOT something you wanted to add to that list.

(If someone else wanted to try to tame him and pick up after him, well…kudos to them. Less work for you.)

Mary showed up on your pivotal days and he rubbed your feet and always invited you out to trivia. You'd held him when he was coming down from a bad trip and listened to his grievances and gave him a place to stay when he was persona non grata at his own. And in a way, that made you always feel like #1 in Mary’s world…and that was good enough for you.

***

A few months ago, Mary had been lying on your couch, picking the label off his beer bottle.

“I’m gonna be away for a bit,” he’d said.

“Oh?” you’d responded as you’d mashed the controls on your gaming controller.

“Yeah. I mean, I’ll be around…but I got some shit going on.”

You’d paused your game.

“Bad shit?”

He’d waved you off.

“Neg. Just tryna get myself out there. Signed up for open mics and shit.”

He’d shifted, his long legs receding from around you and folding under him.

“So, like…I got my job at the bowling alley…but nights and weekends are kinda shot.”

You’d tried not to let the disappointment show on your face. You supported Mary’s dreams, and that meant not making an issue that he was finally trying to do something about them.

This wasn’t against you. It was for him.

When you’d taken too long to respond, his face had scrunched.

“But if you want—”

“It’s fine, Mare,” you’d said as you’d made yourself smile. “This is important to you, so it’s important to me.”

You’d unpaused your game.

“Just don’t expect me to not beat this game without you.”

He’d grabbed the controller out of your hands with a snarl, causing you to cry out when you died.

“Fuck the game.” His hand had fisted your shirt. “Give me a night to remember.”

You had. Twice.

***

Mary had texted you occasionally over the next few weeks—a few memes, a few drunken key-smashes, a dick pic, and 2 grainy videos of his performances for critique—but such contact was sporadic, and you’d never seen him in real-time. 

He’d blown in one night, five weeks in, with a box of pizza just as you'd been heading out to meet your crew. When you’d told him you’d made plans, he’d looked so crestfallen that you’d caved and canceled on them.

While he’d been there, he’d given you a date in 3 weeks.

“That Saturday I have nowhere to be,” he’d said as he’d chewed. “I can spend the whole day with you.”

You’d been careful not to seem too eager.

“Oh yeah? Should I plan shit?”

He’d crammed the whole crust into his mouth and had given you a doughy grin.

“Why ’’ya think I told you?”

You didn’t know what you’d expected, but when he’d had to bounce 90min later, you were still surprised. (That was hardly enough time to digest!)

“Sorry,” he’d winced. “I gotta be on a bus in 45min.”

He’d left, and you’d been too embarrassed to join your friends who were only just going to the second bar.

Having fun with your man ;) ? one of your friends had texted.

What do you think? You’d texted back before changing into your pjs and turning on Netflix.

***

So maybe you were low-key excited about your day with Mary.

Perhaps you’d spent those 3 weeks figuring out the perfect date—something that said, “I missed you,” without saying “But in a clingy way.”

Beer and horror were two things the both of you were totally into, and you knew he’d be exhausted, so it seemed perfect. You’d bought the boxed set off of eBay and splurged for expedited shipping; you’d borrowed your brother’s old dual TV/VCR from his college days; and you’d forgone your weekly Chinese takeout for the craft beer funds. (And if things got steamy, well…even better.) 

***

A few days before The Date, you’d run into Mary on the bus. You were coming home from a shift, and he was going to his.

He’d brightened and waved you over—as if you weren’t already on your way—and you’d plopped down beside him with a tired grin. You’d told him of the latest entitled asshole, and he’d showed you another clip of him on guitar.

Before your stop had come up, you’d tentatively placed your hand over his.

“We still on for Saturday?”

He’d blinked at you a few moments before grinning.

“Yeah.”

“Should I plan a whole day for us, then?”

His arm had crept around your shoulders before pulling you into him to kiss your temple.

“Yeah, why not.”

***

That morning, you wake up happy. 

Mary will be over soon.

You roll over and grab your phone.

When should I expect you? :-* 

It takes him an hour to respond. You aren’t surprised—Mary isn’t known for being a morning person—so when your phone dings, you grab it up excitedly.

An excitement that dies when you read his text. And reread. And re-reread.

not 2day 

goin upste 2 show 

You blink.

What show? Didn’t we confirm? 

yeah. got me thinkin 

why no show? 

so i chked 

i missed one 

gotta do it 

Rage blooms hot, then cold behind your eyes and down your cheeks.

But you said we had the whole day. I made plans. 

save em 

ths is impt 2 me 

We’ve had this planned for weeks. 

i thot u suprted me 

on a bus cnt tlk 

You send a few more irate texts, but he doesn’t respond, and you toss your phone across the room with a shout of frustration. You scrub the hot tears from your eyes before they can fall.

And…on paper, Mary isn’t wrong. Nothing you had planned won’t keep: movies, beer, takeout.

But…

It gives you a stark look at what you mean to Mary. He gave you this date and confirmed it. He knew you were making plans.

How long was he going to wait to tell you he wasn’t even in the city anymore?

You fight the urge to kick the VHS tapes across the floor, but you open the fridge and grab a beer. If Queen Elizabeth could have beer for breakfast, then it was good enough for you.

Once you’ve downed all eight, you move on to the jug of vodka you keep for cleaning.

When you empty only liquid from your stomach into the toilet, you grab your frozen fries out of the freezer. You roll a handful of the cold ones in your mouth as you wait for the others to crisp in the oven, and once you’ve consumed the cooked ones, you go right back to the vodka.

***

Opening your eyes the next morning is a mistake, so you take a few deep breaths and go back to sleep.

When you wake again, your heart is fluttering, your stomach turns, and it feels like there’s an ice pick behind one eye. Shuffling slowly, you make your way out to your kitchen where you take some painkillers, drink some pickle juice, and eat two slices of plain bread.

The sense that you did something awful stays with you, but you’re in no condition to find your phone and see what you’ve done. Instead, you go back to bed. It takes more deep breathing to settle yourself, but once you do fall asleep, you’re out for hours.

You don’t feel amazing when you swim to consciousness again, but you feel at least like a human being. 

Your phone is dead when you find it under the sink, and waiting the 5 or so minutes for it to charge feels like waiting to face the executioner.

It’s both better and worse than you expected.

You breathe a sigh of relief to see that there are no vague social media posts, and you didn’t drunk dial any of your friends, but…

The texts to and from Mary are ugly.

Apparently, you’d managed not to send him angry texts until he’d sent you another clip of his performing. But then the floodgates had opened.

You’d started with telling him you didn’t give a shit about the show, how he was an inconsiderate ass, and then you'd devolved into incomprehensible, typo-ridden texts that accused him of using you, that you were only something to do when he didn’t have anything better to do, that he was an entitled man-child and if he didn’t apologize, you were done.

Mary’s texts in response range from him being angry at your disregard, to heated retorts you were blowing this out of proportion (and he didn’t appreciate your “ad hominem” attacks), to a cool detachment that this wasn’t working over text and he’d finish this in person.

You put your head in your hands but are too dehydrated to cry.

***

Mary doesn’t text you again during his self-imposed time frame.

You don’t text him either, but that’s more out of self-preservation than pride. There’s no point exacerbating the situation…and you’re pretty sure there’s no coming back from this, so why speed up the inevitable?

The horror tapes taunt you every time you walk by them, and you wonder if you can return them (you can’t). You give the TV back to your brother, and when he asks you how it went, you plaster a smile on your face and say, “Great!” with forced enthusiasm you hope comes across as genuine.

The primo weed goes over to your friend’s house, and the two of you wax poetic all night about existential claptrap as you devour two cheese pizzas and a bag of bbq chips. You talk about Mary without talking about Mary, and you get a heartfelt, “Sorry, dude.”

You beat the video game anyway, but it’s mostly because you needed something to occupy your mind and less out of spite (though that’s there as well).

***

Despite waiting on tenterhooks to hear anything from Mary, you truly don’t really expect to. You know you’d been atrocious, even if it had been prompted by his careless disregard, and you know Mary isn’t really the kind of guy that troubles himself with relationships that are hard.

Not that you’re in a relationship.

So when there’s a knock on your door a week later and Mary’s behind it, you’re genuinely surprised.

You gape through the peephole in shock.

“Fuck. If you’re there, just let me in, ok?”

Fumbling with the chain, you unlock the door and crack it open.

“Mary?”

“You gonna let me in?” he rasps.

You shrug and step away from the door, and he shuffles inside. He looks around like you’ve changed anything (you haven’t), before turning around to face you.

You close the door and stare back.

He folds his arms. “Breaking up with someone over text is tacky.”

What you think is, So you’ve come to do it in person, but what you say is, “Can’t break up if you’re not together.”

He winces and runs his fingers through his hair. 

“Yeah…apparently I’ve ‘taken advantage' of you.”

This…isn’t what you’re expecting.

“I…what?”

“Can we sit down?”

You nod, and Mary sits rigidly on the edge of your couch. You curl up in the chair on the opposite side.

He rubs his palms down his greasy jeans before he speaks.

“I mean…you pissed me off, ok?”

You nod.

“But, like—you weren’t wrong, ok? I kinda knew that deep down, but I’m a dumbass, you know?”

You don’t nod.

“And I kinda bitched about the whole thing…but the resounding response was that I was the asshole.”

He angles his body toward you.

“I guess I’ve kinda been treating you like my best friend that I fuck sometimes.”

Your entire face flushes—you’d always thought you’d maybe ranked a little higher than that—and you duck your head so he can’t see the tears that you blink back.

There’s a swish of fabric, and you startle hard when Mary’s hand is at your chin. He jerks back with a Sorry.

“Shit—that’s not what I…” he blows out a breath and puts his hands behind his head before looking back up at you.

“But you aren’t, and…fuck this is harder than I thought.”

So this is it.

Waiting for him to do the deed is clearly going to be excruciating, so you take charge of this whole shit-show.

“I understand,” you say flatly.

“You do?”

“It’s ok, Mare-Mary. It’s my own fault for reading too much into it. I just…I saw what I wanted to see, I guess. I know you don’t need…” you look down into your lap, “…my shit in your life.

He makes a noise low in his throat, and then he’s squatting in front of you, his hot hands planting on your knees.

“But I want your shit in my life.”

You squint your eyes at him.

“But what I said…”

He grasps your hands in his.

“Pissed me off, yeah…cuz I wasn’t fucking thinking, ok? You’re like one of the only people who gives a crap about what’s important to me. And all I could see was you suddenly…not.”

Anger wells up in you again, and you yank away your hands.

“Weeks, Mary…weeks of you all over the tri-state area, and you thought I didn’t care because of one night?! A night you promised to me?”

He sits back on his heels. “I know…fuck. Ok? At the time, it just felt…like the show couldn’t be rescheduled. Our night could.”

Because you’re what he does when he’s bored.

You curl in on yourself.

“Shit.” He leans forward again. “Fuck, I’m sorry, ok? I’m fucking on my knees here.”

You blink at him. 

What? 

“Please, please don’t break—say we’re done.”

“What?”

“Look, we can go into my shitty fucking psychological profile on why I fuck around later…but right now I need you to know that I knew it was you before I fucking knew it was you.”

You uncurl.

“That…’what’ was me?”

He knees forward and presses your hands to his face.

“The one I wanna spend my free time with. The one whose opinion means the most. The one who was the first person I wanted to share all my good shit with. You’re the one I missed, and—after that awful fucking night—everything felt pointless because I knew I couldn’t come over and jam about it.”

“Mare—what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’m a fucking dumbass. I’m saying I thought I was pissed at you, but I was pissed at myself for fucking it up.” He sighs. “I’m saying no fucking one was on my side and they all told me to get my shit together.”

He looks up at you with wide eyes, and for the first time, you can see how they’re outlined in red, his subtle crow’s feet more pronounced.

“So, you’re not done with me? I’m not…too much trouble?”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “What? Shit, no. I’m asking you to not be done with me. I’ll give you all the nights you want. Fucking text me, and my ass’ll be here posthaste.” He shifts up, and his thumb ghosts over your lips. “Anything to get you to give me that secret smile again.”

“Secret smile?” you ask while trying to perform the action.

Mary actually blushes.

“Uh…yeah. You get this…” he makes a motion across his face, “…when you’re giving it back to me.” His fingers shove back through his hair as he casts his eyes down. “You don’t give it to anyone else.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I’ve made a study of it.”

You’re a swirl of emotions. Mary’s apologized—has admitted he was wrong and has asked for…more—but you’re still hurt. And embarrassed.

But he’s looking up at you with wet, hopeful eyes.

“Do you…” you start carefully, “…do you know why I got so mad?”

That statement was clearly not what he was expecting, and he blinks at you a few times before nodding and looking down at the floor.

“I made a…uh, commitment…to you. And I treated it like it didn’t mean anything.”

He gives you a look like, Did I get it right? and that’s close enough—even if he’s missing some of the nuance.

You nod. “And I know I…wasn’t…the best.”

His face contorts, and your heart sinks.

“You…” he shakes his head. “You said some awful things…some hurtful shit—and it really got in my head.”

Mary gives you a complicated look.

“Shit that you’d been pissed about for a while.” He traces your knee. “Shit you could’ve said to me…but shit I should have noticed. Fuck.” He presses his forehead into your knees, and you can’t stop yourself from sinking your fingers into his hair.

He takes it as encouragement and presses into you before looking up again.

“I just kinda wanna put that whole night behind us. It feels like a fucking ouroboros of fault. And like maybe I created it. But let’s agree to like…not do that again.”

You look down at him, and his eyes search your face.

“Ok…but what does all this mean, Mare? I can’t…I need to be something to you, ok? More than just your friend.”

Mary nods emphatically, and he takes your hand and curls his into it.

“No more fuck-ups, and no one else…can we start there?”

He’s saying all the right words, but you’re still trepidatious—you know Mary, and he doesn’t like constraints.

“I…just…how can I believe you?”

He shakes his head like he can’t believe you even have to ask. He rises and awkwardly reaches out to touch your face before drawing his hand back.

“Cuz you’re important to me. I care about you, and I don’t want to lose you. Ever.”

And yeah. Ok.

[luluwquidprocrow]

i will get there

part 1 of 2

originally posted: september 4th, 2017

word count: 6,097 words

rated: not rated

laura palmer, donna hayward, dale cooper

alternate universe, alternate universe – canon divergence, depression, eventual happy ending, demons, your general twin peaks level of existential dread, because laura palmer’s life is anything but easy, I wrote this before the finale and weirdly enough it’s applicable, 2020 edit – there’s a few lines in here about leland and sarah in the second half of the fic and lines about the ring and coop is i think too self-aware all of which (especially the lines about leland and sarah in the second half) I do not agree with anymore because I did not totally understand all the vibes when I wrote this in may 2017 and I intend to fix that in the still-being-written second part of this

summary: Laura Palmer lived.

opening notes:

so funnily enough, I really did write this back in may when s3 first started, but I wasn’t sure how I felt about it, but after last night’s finale, you know what????? who cares!! who knows anything!!! so here it is. there's some references to the Missing Pieces in here, specifically the muffin scene, and also the idea that the ring prevents possession instead of drawing someone back into the lodge/denoting possession/the million other things the freaking ring does title from 'what you know' by two door cinema club, for some reason

.

who even knows what happened that night? laura palmer doesn't. she guesses she should know. but she doesn't. sheriff truman asks her over and over again what happened that night and laura doesn't know. ronette hasn't woken up yet, truman tells her. her father is barely alive. her mother is in shock. you have to tell me what happened, laura, he says.

she tells him she doesn't know. she can't remember and she doesn't know if she wants to.

(and if she has vague flashes of her hands tearing apart a man in a denim jacket, and her screams sometimes ring in her ears, then that's for her to think about, and no one else.)

laura doesn't sleep for days. she stares at the ceiling of the hospital room and pinches herself when her vision blurs, because it can't have been that easy. he can't just be gone, just like that. if laura knows anything, it's that nothing is that easy. she doesn't want to be responsible for bringing him back and hurting someone else. if she's awake then she's her. then everyone else is okay. she still has the ring, and she twists it around her finger and shakes and shakes and shakes and never takes it off, but she doesn't know if it's enough, if she trusts it.

she drifts off sometime on the fifth day, and jerks awake with a gasp. she's still in the hospital. the windows aren't open. she looks at herself in a mirror and sees her face. she's all there. everyone else is all there.

bob is not there.

laura starts sobbing, and she doesn't stop for a long time.

she spends weeks and weeks getting the taste of blood and cocaine out of her. and then it just feels like there’s nothing left at all.

donna wants to talk, and james just wants to hold her, and they don't understand that all laura wants to do is sit and stare at her hands and try to convince herself that she must be lucky to be alive, because all she thinks about is how much less effort it would be to just be anything else.

she thought she wouldn't have to pretend anymore, that no one would expect all that much of her now, but everyone still wants so much from her, and she hates it, or she thinks she would if she could feel anything. you were such a brave girl, everyone tells her, and she wants them all to get that smile off their faces, because she wasn't. she's not. she doesn't want to be touched and she doesn't want to be looked at and she just wants to try and figure out what she's supposed to do now. she can't wrap her head around anything. everything she used to do feels stupid and fake or hurts too much to think about.

she doesn't go to the roadhouse, so jacques renault doesn't try to catch her eye. she barely leaves her house, so she doesn't have to worry about running into leo johnson, or anyone, really. she stays home and donna brings over her homework for a while until she realizes laura's not doing it. bobby doesn't want to see her, which is good, because she shouldn't see him. she doesn't hear from josie packard. she thinks for a long time about johnny horne. ben horne sends audrey to see her, and they just look at each other until audrey gets up and leaves. james tries to call her, and she lets the phone ring and ring and ring.

someone asks her to talk to jacoby, says it'd be good for her. laura thinks she could laugh at that, but she doesn't.

ronette wakes up. laura goes to visit and sits beside her. it's the only thing she willingly leaves the house for.

"what did you do?" ronette asks, wide-eyed. "how did we get out? how—"

"i don't know," laura says. "i don't know."

ronette looks at her, but it's not that piercing stare james gives her, it's ronette's soft, doe-eyed gaze, so it doesn't feel bad. ronette was there, ronette gets it, a little. laura still can't forgive herself for the fact that ronette was there, but at least someone almost gets it. she's grateful all the same.

"who was that man, laura?" ronette says.

laura shakes her head. "he wasn't a man," she says. "he was something else."

her brown shoes are soft and silent against the hospital hallway when she leaves, and she wants to run so she can hear herself and then curl up and never move again so she doesn't have to think about herself either. it's hard to figure out which one sounds better.

bobby is at the end of the hallway. "laura," he says, a little breathless. he can’t be here for her, laura isn’t even here anymore, and she doesn’t even want to know why he’s at the hospital.

bobby briggs, she'd say, she'd sing it with a short grin, if she was a different person, if she was the girl of a few weeks ago instead of the shell of this one. she doesn't even know what to do with bobby anymore, what to say, how to pretend.

"i didn't know you'd left," he says. "here. the hospital, i mean." he clears his throat and looks her over carefully. "you—you okay, laura?" like he almost doesn't want to ask.

what a stupid question, laura thinks, and she'd say it, but she shouldn't. she should apologize, is what she should do, do something, say anything, but laura is so tired. it drags at her bones.

she doesn't say anything.

her parents are not the same people. laura knows that, at least. her family has never been perfect but it's maybe not even a family now. it's three people, three ghosts, haunting the same house. they aren't pretending they can go back to what they had before, at least. at least there's that. they all know something happened, even if they aren't sure what.

it still hurts somewhere. it stings hard in her chest because she just wanted her life back, she wanted her family back, she wanted to look at her parents and her father without feeling sick, and she can't, she still can't. her father won't look at her and her mother doesn't look at anything. she doesn't see much of them at all. she'll catch the smell of her mother's cigarettes, hear the long shuffle of her father's footsteps down the hall, but she rarely sees them, like they don't want to be near her.

did i do the right thing, she asks herself, and she doesn't know the answer to that question. she thought she was alive but she doesn't know if this is living. it's something. she just doesn't know what it is.

laura feels trapped in twin peaks.

"i don't get it," donna says, when laura tells her she's leaving.

laura looks out the window. "what's there to get," she says. "i'm leaving. it's not rocket science, donna."

"where are you gonna go?"

"i don't know," laura says. "somewhere else."

"you're not gonna tell me?"

"i probably wouldn't tell you even if i did know."

"i'd come with you," donna says quietly.

laura scoffs. "and do what? follow me around like you do here? wish you were me? a fucked-up girl who can't do anything right?" she doesn't know what makes her say it, why she lets herself take the empty anger and frustration inside her out on donna.

donna starts to cry, that soft sniffle where her face falls and she stares at the floor of the hayward living room.

laura closes her eyes. "don't be like that, donna," she says, but there's no venom behind it. it comes out hoarse and quiet. laura's tired of hurting her.

"i'm—i'm sorry," donna says, wiping her face on the edge of her sleeve.

"don't be sorry," laura whispers.

are you my—are you my best friend? laura had asked her. she remembers that, vivid and sharp in her mind, the horror that had crawled over her skin.

of course, donna had said, because she was. she had been. when they thought they could pretend things were okay. laura's not in the business of pretending anymore, and donna shouldn't be either, and she'll miss donna like an ache in her chest but she thinks it'll be better for both of them if they don't see each other anymore.

she couldn't stand it, if donna asked her that question again. why do you do it?

why had she done it? because it was fun, laura thinks, because she wanted it and had it and then everyone told her she was wrong and warped and shouldn't want, because she wanted to try and to know and someone cut her open instead, and then she couldn't separate it out from what she wanted to do and what she'd felt she had to do, what she deserved, what people gave her and she forced herself to take because okay, that was how it worked, she guessed. the world pushed her down and told her what it did to people like her. then she'd tried to take it back and now she has nothing.

i don't want you to be like me, laura had told her. she still doesn't. donna should live a quiet life, one that doesn't involve demons or trouble or laura. especially laura.

"what i wanted," donna says softly, "was your strength, laura."

and i wanted yours, laura thinks. all your strength, all your kindness. she looks back at donna. "i'll miss you," she says. "i really will." laura owes her that much.

"i'll miss you too. more than anything." donna sighs, twists her fingers together. "before you go," she says, "you want a muffin?"

laura wants so badly to smile. she tries, but she can't do it. "seven whole huckleberries, donna?"

"and counting."

laura shakes her head. she wants to hug donna, just like she used to, but she doesn't think she has it in her. she just gets up and shrugs instead. "bye, muffin," she says.

donna smiles, her mouth trembling. "bye, muffin."

her mother always seems to be shaking. not just now, laura thinks, but she always was. sarah palmer's hands, her mouth, her head, her shoulders, her eyes. she leans against the doorway to the living room and pulls the cigarette out of her mouth.

"are you—" sarah begins, and then she stops. her eyes dart around the room, like she's looking for something. "do you need anything? anything at all, laura?"

"no," laura says.

sarah's lips tremble again. "will you come back?" she asks, with a helpless little smile.

"i don't know."

sarah sighs, and then she takes a long, long drag from the cigarette. laura watches the edges of her mother's fingers shake. it's like her mother's going to blur out of existence one of these days, just rattle apart.

"you should—you should write," sarah says. she says the words slowly, her lined mouth curling around them awkwardly. "let me know you're okay."

laura knows her mother is five seconds from shouting that at her, or she would've shouted it, if laura had tried to do this before. let me know you're okay, laura thinks. just tell me i'll be okay.

"maybe," laura says. "maybe i will. maybe i will be."

laura leaves twin peaks. she takes trains and buses at night, in the darkness where no one else can watch her. she leaves washington state and heads east, stopping when she runs out of money.

laura doesn't know why she applies for a job at a bar, but she does. the atmosphere isn't comforting but it's familiar, and she hopes she can just disappear there, just try to scrape something for herself out of whatever this is.

the owner looks her up and down. "what do you have to offer?" he asks.

laura thinks about when she would've charmed her way straight into the bar, straight into the job, straight into the owner, how she would've played every single person she could get her hands on, but she doesn't have the energy or the will for it anymore. and then she thinks, nothing. i have nothing to offer. because what are her skills, now? what can she do? what did she even do before? who are you, laura palmer?

"i don't know," laura says.

"least you're honest," the owner says. "alright, fine."

she works nights. she gets a small hotel room and spends a whole afternoon channel surfing and letting the noise wash over her, the curtains drawn tight and the lights off and the tv glowing blue against her skin, just to see what it feels like, if it feels like anything.

laura's washing out glasses behind the bar when a man sits down in front of her. he doesn't order anything. he just stares at her, traces the curve of her hair against her shoulder.

her whole body tenses. she gnaws on the inside of her mouth and looks at her hands, grips the towel tight so her nails dig into it and the fabric rubs into her skin.

the man looks at her, eyes glazed and his mouth a lopsided grin. he smells like other bars and glistens with sweat. "i've seen you around a lot," he says.

"i work here," laura says, her teeth grinding together. he sounds like leo johnson and looks like jacques renault. she knows how he works, what he wants, what he has. there’s a rushing in her head and her whole body aches. she wants to kill him with her bare hands.

"what's your name, cutie?"

she quits, right on the spot.

laura cuts her hair so it swings short around her chin, and buys the longest sweaters and wraps herself up in them. she gets another job at a convenience store where no one looks twice at her, and she hopes it's enough.

she still hangs out at bars, just because they're everywhere, they're nowhere, and most of the time no one ever notices she's there. she sits in the back with the shadows and just watches and tries to figure out how people do it, how they want to live when everything around them is so—whatever this is.

it comes in handy one night.

there's a girl not much younger than laura, sitting in a booth, being held by a friend.

"you've gotta tell someone," the friend says.

"i told you."

"besides me. you've gotta—this isn't right, we should do something—"

"do what? who's going to believe me? it's—it's not like i can explain it. like, this thing's after me, this horrible thing in the woods and it watches me and i can't—and why me, huh? why me?"

laura's heart races, her chest heaving as she tries to breathe.

it shouldn't surprise her, that there are horrible things out there, everywhere, not just in twin peaks. every place has history. every place has demons. literal demons. but she's still shocked to hear it's real, there's something else, there's someone else living her life.

laura holds herself tight and closes her eyes. she doesn't remember what she did before, what she did to him, but she'll be damned if she doesn't try it again.

she haunts the local bars and clubs, staying in the back, in the shadows, where no one can touch her, and she listens to people talk. she watches their faces when they talk about it, when someone brings it up—the demon in the woods. it makes her skin crawl and her heart slam in her throat but she stays there and makes herself listen.

it takes her a few weeks, but she figures out where it is, how it operates, and she has herself and that's all when she walks into the forest to find it.

she kills it, and she remembers every single second this time. her bare hands and her willpower and the ring glinting in the darkness when she takes the thing in her hands and pulls it apart like she did with bob. she doesn't know how it works. maybe it's because she has the ring. maybe it's because she's been there, and came out on the other side just as twisted as them. but she really doesn't care. she just does it.

laura doesn't know how they know it was her, but a group of girls—two of them the ones from the bar—find her before she leaves town and thank her. they look like her, a little, or she just sees herself in them, lost and alone.

if laura was a different person she'd tell them it's not a big deal. but it is, because she knows it is, and she just tells them to watch out for themselves.

"what's your name?" one of them asks.

laura thinks about it, because she doesn't know if she wants to say it, and she finds herself remembering what she'd said to donna that one time. and the angels wouldn't help you, because they've all gone away, she'd said. alright, then, laura thought. that'd have to be her. she just wouldn't go away. she would not go away. she grits her teeth and clenches her hands into fists and thinks i will not go away.

"laura," she says, louder than she has in months. "laura palmer."

she does it again, and again, in different towns and different places, and it doesn't hurt her anymore to do it.

laura doesn't know what this feels like. it's not what she thinks life is supposed to feel like, but it's not the gaping emptiness that had stabbed at her every single moment she was in twin peaks.

they start to know her name. demons, humans, all of them. they whisper it in the darkness, in the woods, like a curse, like a prayer. laura doesn't hear it, but she knows it's there. it makes her feel a little real.

things still scare her. it's been a year, and things still scare her. laura doesn't know if that's okay. she can't stand long hair, denim jackets, the color red, certain men, certain smells. sometimes she sees a picture of a mountain or too many trees and her heart speeds up, even. it all makes her hands shake and she finds herself crying over her lunch that she barely eats sometimes.

sometimes she wants to feel her hands against someone else's skin but then the thought of it is simultaneously too horrifying for her to handle, after everything. laura wonders if she'll ever—love again sounds stupid and like something donna would say, for goodness sake. and she doesn't have time for that right now, anyway. she doesn't have time to try to figure out how to handle all of that.

be okay enough, is what she settles on, early one morning, wiping the tears off her cheeks. i want to be okay enough. good enough.

she still tries not to think about twin peaks.

laura finds herself in philadelphia. she's on the trail of a demon with a darkness around it that worries her, and she doesn't like it.

she gets the hotel room and seeks out some low-key diner, because sometimes she honestly wants to eat and this is one of those times. she still feels uncomfortable ordering too much. she doesn't know what she wants, what she'd like, what she thinks would be okay.

she sips at her water and looks around the diner. it's small and quiet and there's only two other people in there, two men sitting across from each other, wearing crisp black suits and arguing over what looks like the three slices of pie that one of them ordered. then she looks at their faces. one of them looks not so much angry but fondly irritated, as if this happens all the time, and the other one, eating the pie with a calm, peaceful expression��

i know him, laura thinks, gripping her glass tighter so her hands won't shake. i know that face. she'd seen it in her dreams, the night before she what she did in twin peaks. he was in a red room with a jagged floor, which means he can't be real, he can't be right, he has to be another one. she's going to scream, right there, in the diner, she's going to fall apart.

his eyes meet hers, and he puts his fork down.

laura bites down hard on the inside of her mouth as her whole body trembles.

federal bureau of investigation special agent dale cooper, meanwhile, immediately understands everything, because that's the kind of person he is. he's seen that woman's face before, in a strange dream that wasn't much stranger than any other dream he's had, really. but it stood out to him, her face and her quiet smile and the heavy, startling weight of the air in the room. he knew and could feel the darkness of that weight.

(and if he had another dream, where he was trapped in that horror for year upon year and her face was the only thing he knew for sure in the midst of an almost-constant, almost gnawing laughter, a laughter he also heard in dreams as a child, well, he's certainly never told anyone.)

he'd had a thought at the time, that maybe she was the victim he'd envisioned after teresa banks died, but he looked through every single file in the bureau and hadn't found her face. until now, across the diner, looking at him with wild eyes. cooper is so relieved she's alive but he doesn't want to frighten her. she's overcome so much, so much he doesn't know, but he has to talk to her.

"you have that look on your face again," albert rosenfield says, in a tone of long-suffering. "the one you get when you're about to do something stupid."

"i know," cooper says.

"well, at least you're becoming self-aware."

cooper stands. "please wait for me outside, albert."

the man gets up and walks over to laura. she breathes fast through her nose, her eyes darting back and forth between his. he doesn't feel like any of the others. he doesn't look like them either. he looks kind and worried, but that doesn't mean he isn't just as bad. there's a cold horror spreading down her spine that she doesn't like, so she doesn't like him.

he extends his hand. "special agent dale cooper," he says. he smiles, just a little bit.

laura doesn't shake it.

"may i sit down?" he asks, lowering his hand.

laura frowns up at him, gripping her glass again. she can feel her shoulders shaking. she grinds her teeth together. "why?"

"i'd like to buy you breakfast," agent cooper says. "if that's alright with you."

"you don't know me," she says.

agent cooper smiles. "may i ask your name?"

"laura palmer," she says, and she wants to scream it so everyone hears, she's laura palmer and she's going to tear everyone apart if they're not careful, if they don't stay away from her, she didn't go through hell to get pulled back in because she wasn't on her guard.

"miss palmer—"

"laura."

"laura." he sits down across from her. "do you think it's possible for two people to know each other, even though they've never met before? to have an acute understanding of the other's life because, perhaps, in another, they would have met for certain, one way or another, and helped each other? and that in this lifetime, if they happen to meet, something strange but wonderful could happen?"

there is the tiniest of creases between his eyes when he talks to her, a tension laura has seen in her own eyes. he doesn't feel wrong. he doesn't look at her with anger or lust. she doesn't get that twist in her throat she feels when she looks at a monster. a regular guy. that's all he is, just a regular guy, not a demon or a joke, just someone who looks and sounds like he's seen what laura has and more. she feels sorry for him, a pity that makes her want to cry, but she also wants him to keep talking.

she twists her hands together in her lap, the line of her shoulders still pulled tight. "i don't know," she says.

"i think it's an interesting possibility to think about," agent cooper continues. "the infinity of space, the relationships of individuals. the multitude of possibilities, and their intersections. what we take from one part of our lives to the next."

"what have you taken?" laura asks.

agent cooper looks startled for a moment, as if he hadn't expected her to ask. then he smiles. "the knowledge that there is so much more that i can do, that i will do, to help," he says. "and you, laura?"

"i don't know," she says quickly. "or—i don't know, yet."

his smile widens. "how about that breakfast?" he picks up the menu to look it over again, even though laura knows he's already looked at it. "the cherry pie is particularly excellent," agent cooper says. "i'm afraid that's the most experience that i have with the food here, but i think it works as a good baseline for anything else."

laura swallows. she still doesn't know what she wants. all this time, and she still can't order something in a diner? damn, laura, she thinks. what would donna say?

but she knows exactly what donna would say.

"a muffin," laura says. "i want a muffin."

agent cooper's smile is almost blinding this time. "a muffin it is, then." he calls the waitress over and tells her with much more enthusiasm than is really necessary what laura wants.

"we only have huckleberry today," the waitress says. "that okay?"

"that's fine," laura says.

agent cooper orders another slice of pie. the waitress comes back a little later and sets down the pie and the muffin. laura stares down at it. then she frowns and picks the whole muffin apart.

she finds the remains of eight whole huckleberries.

laura really almost laughs, this time, and she eats them all, one by one.

agent cooper and agent rosenfield are tracking the same demon. agent cooper doesn't come right out and say it—laura thinks he can't—but she knows they're after it, and agent cooper knows she's after it too.

"the fbi does things like that?" laura asks. "fight demons?"

"from time to time," agent cooper says. "i get the feeling it's something you do as well." he gives her a knowing look.

the corner of laura's mouth twitches up, just for a second. "from time to time," she says.

agent cooper takes a bite of his third slice of pie. "if it's not too personal a question," he begins, "can i ask how you do it?"

laura looks down at her hands, her fingers still sticky from the muffin. she rubs them along the condensation on her water glass. "i don't know," she says. "i just—i don't even know how i did it the first time." she closes her eyes and immediately sees his face, the way his jaw would move and crack as he laughed, and she forces her eyes open wide. "i grabbed hold of him," she whispers, "and tore him apart." she frowns and pulls her sleeves of her sweater down over her knuckles. "what about you?"

agent cooper looks at her with a quiet curiosity. "there are other ways of doing it," he says. "to destroy darkness with darkness is to feed into it. to help it become something lighter is to overcome it. if these things are the evil that men do, then that evil has to go somewhere.”

laura digs her nails into her palms, and she feels afraid, truly afraid, for the first time in a while. "there are some things you can't," she says. "what if there are some things you can't overcome?"

he doesn’t have an answer for her. if anything, he looks a little afraid too.

laura swallows hard and changes the subject. “so do you want my help or not?”

agent cooper clears his throat. "laura, while i respect you and your abilities and your knowledge, at the end of the day you are still considered a civilian and i would be remiss if i put you in any danger. however, i would appreciate any general assistance you could—”

"you won't get to that demon without me," laura says. "you won't be able to stop it without me." it's the one thing, the only thing she feels confident in.

“if something happened to you—”

“i can take care of myself,” she insists. she twists the ring hard around her finger and stares him down.

he looks like he wants to say no. he’s going to say no, laura knows it. her heart pounds in her chest, a frantic rhythm that reminds her she’s here, and she won’t let anyone take that from her.

something pinches in his face and then softens. he sighs.

agent cooper likes to talk to her. he likes to take her out to breakfast and talk. laura doesn't do much talking, but she doesn't mind listening to him. she enjoys it.

sometimes they talk about the case, the demon. it's slow-going, this one, and neither of them have found anything concrete yet. mostly, agent cooper likes to talk about ducks. he pulls polaroids of ducks out of his wallet. agent rosenfield joins them reluctantly for breakfast one morning and tells her about the numerous times agent cooper has braked for a family of geese. laura almost smiles. she wonders how agent cooper does it. how he's seen so much darkness and hasn't let it touch him, how he can still smile like he does. he's okay enough. what has he done that laura hasn't?

"tell me about where you're from," agent cooper says one day.

laura shrugs, uncomfortable. "it's a small town in washington, near the canadian border." she shoves her hands into her pockets. she thinks without wanting to of jacques renault's cabin in the woods, and chews hard on the inside of her mouth. "lots of trees," she mutters.

"what kind of trees?" agent cooper asks, sounding interested.

"i don't know," laura says, quicker than she wants. "they're just trees." but they weren't just trees to her, they were eyes and secrets and she didn't feel safe in them, and she doesn't want to think about it now. she ran away so she wouldn't have to. "i don't want to talk about it."

agent cooper is quiet for a long time. "fear is a powerful thing," he says. "it's unwise to let it consume you."

"i know!" laura shouts. there's still so much she doesn't know, but she knows that for sure, she stared fear right in the face and didn't let it kill her. she killed it instead, and she'll keep killing it, tearing it apart, over and over, as long as it takes until it's all gone and she's safe.

agent cooper is still calm, still quiet, and laura suddenly hates that look on his face.

"i'm not afraid of it," she whispers.

"what are you afraid of?" agent cooper asks gently.

laura glares at him. "what are you afraid of?"

agent cooper answers with only minimal pausing. "that i will be consumed by my own fear. that what i do, and what i am, is not enough, and will never be enough."

and what is she afraid of? that i'll never be okay, laura thinks. i'll never be enough, either. i'll never hold something i can call my own. i'll be alone forever because no one will love me, no one could, even i couldn't. and she could do it, she could survive. but she's done that all her life. she's come so close to living, and she wants it, she wants it more than anything else.

"how do you do it?" she asks.

"i am under no illusion that it is easy," agent cooper says, "and if i gave you that impression at all, then i'm sorry, laura." he looks sad. it's a strange look on him. "there are some things i wish i hadn't taken with me. but i'm stuck with them. i try to do what i can, and at times it is harder than others."

"how do you know it's worth it?"

"i don't." he smiles slowly. "but i like to believe it is."

laura lets herself think about twin peaks. it's a scary thing, her memories of that town, but it's what she has, like it or not.

she thinks about donna, and wonders how she is. if donna's with james or not, and laura sort of hopes she isn't. what james is even doing, if he's grown up at all. how bobby's doing with shelly, if he's okay, if shelly's okay. what ronette is up to, if she still sees leo and jacques. laura hopes not, because there are better people out there for ronette. if audrey's sorted out her problems. if her parents—

there aren't that many memories of her parents that haven't been tainted and twisted and pulled apart. but she digs through them all and remembers them dancing, the way her mother would laugh and how her father would smile.

she hopes her parents still dance.

agent cooper finds the demon.

laura tells him that she'll handle it. agent cooper insists they handle it together, which laura immediately refuses. they go back and forth for longer than the average breakfast as laura tries to get him to let her do it alone. she has to do it alone. this one, for sure. she's been thinking about what agent cooper said and she needs to do something, and this is how she's going to do it.

ultimately, agent cooper tells agent rosenfield that he and laura will handle it, and agent rosenfield looks less than pleased about it. he spends what laura thinks is longer than necessary glaring at her while he lights a cigarette. she gets the impression that he doesn't like much of anything, except agent cooper, because he lets them do it.

then agent cooper, who says it's against his better judgment but understands why laura wants to do it, lets her do it alone.

"wait for me," laura tells him, before she walks into the woods. everything is washed in cool red from the sunset, and she twists the ring around her finger again.

"without a doubt," agent cooper replies.

laura thinks all of them, all the demons, look like bob, a little. in some way or another. they all do. they're all different, but they're all sharp and horrifying and she still sees his face, every time. she holds it tight and closes her eyes. the darkness is heavy on her skin, in her mouth. she knows that weight, that darkness.

don't be afraid.

she's been that darkness. she is that darkness, maybe, twisted up and hurt and wrong. she still hurts so much. it's hard to get up and it's hard to fight and it's hard to do anything.

but it's enough.

laura opens her eyes and stares it down and tells herself she is stronger than it, than anything, and she starts to believe herself. there is a darkness, and there will always be a darkness, but she and her presence are enough and she will live every day staring it down until it's so small it doesn't even matter. there will always be monsters, but there will always be laura palmer.

i will not go away.

the ring sparkles bright on her hand, and the demon bursts into nothing. its screams echo and laura’s don’t.

agent cooper looks ridiculously pleased, and agent rosenfield just looks like he wants to leave town as quickly as possible. it's a nice sight, the two of them. laura will miss them.

"laura palmer," agent cooper says, "it has been an honor to work with you."

laura smiles and lets herself be pulled into a genuine hug for the first time in a long time. agent cooper smells like pine trees and laundry detergent, and she buries her face into his jacket and holds on.

"what are you going to do now?" he asks.

laura picks up a postcard.

donna—

had a muffin with eight whole huckleberries. and counting.

love, laura

[certifiedmoth]

Delicious and Dangerous (Part 2)

Sugar Daddy/Werewolf Duncan x Reader

Summary: Y/N comes face to face with the truth of who Duncan is, while things get heated.

Word Count: 3.9K

Warnings: Angst, Smut (unprotected sex, rough sex, lots of cum FYI), bits of fluff as well

Notes: Here’s part two! I kinda just threw this together, so hopefully it isn’t too bad lmao enjoy!  ♥ (Credit to @spellman for the gif)

Part 1 

“Y/N… I can explain.”

“What the fuck is going on?” you asked mostly to yourself, your voice raw and your eyes glassy.

“You weren’t supposed to be here – fuck. You really, really weren’t supposed to be here,” Duncan’s voice sounded almost frantic as he went to the grand closet and emerged a minute later wearing dark grey sweatpants. He looked you over with worrisome eyes while he considered if he should go over to you and wrap you in his arms. Your distraught look made him cringe knowing that he was the cause of all this.

“Please… please just sit,” he gestured to the bed.

“No,” you said in disbelief. You were upset and scared; your whole body felt like it was shaking but you couldn’t be sure and sitting on Duncan’s bed was the last thing you wanted to do. You needed to be alert for this.

“Okay,” Duncan said softly with hands held up carefully as if you were a skittish deer who might run off. “I just – I just don’t know where to begin.” He looked you over with those big, piercing blue eyes you loved. You noticed that they were immensely brighter than you normally knew them to be, making you give him an unsure look.

“Do you – Do you know anything about, um… lycanthropy?” He managed to get his question out, waiting nervously for your reply. You made a note in your head that you had never seen him look nervous before, or stutter his words, for that matter. Your eyes widened at the mention of the word and slowly, you turned away from him needing a minute to think. Had he gone mad? Or was he trying to play a joke on you? But that wouldn’t explain what you saw tonight – what you had experienced. You knew about lycanthropy from movies, books, folklore, but… it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. You were disrupted from your thoughts by Duncan appearing behind you, placing his hands gently on your arms, rubbing small circles against your skin.

“Princess, do you know what that means?” he asked tenderly.

“Of course I fucking know what that means!” you snapped, turning around to look at him angrily. He raised his eyebrows and removed his hands from you, clearly taken aback by your reaction. “You’re not a – no, you’re just not. That makes no sense, Duncan. They don’t even exist,” you continued with your ramblings much to Duncan’s amusement. Your arms flailed about as you paced the room trying to explain to him just how wrong he was and just how right you were. Trying to convince yourself that you were right, however, grew tiring and eventually, after a few very heated minutes, your body slumped against the wall, sitting on the floor with a look of existential horror on your face. Everything you knew about the world was crumbling down and you didn’t know what to think – Except that, oddly enough, you wanted nothing more than to be near Duncan.

“Please come here,” you whimpered softly.

He must have been close to you because not a second later and he was kneeling in front of you, gently placing his hand on your tear stained cheek, caressing it softly. You couldn’t help but lean into his warm touch. Even with everything going on and your world falling apart, here was Duncan, doing his best to comfort you. “You’re a… You’re a werewolf,” you whispered, not knowing how to feel once it left your lips. Duncan grimaced, scrunching up his face at the word which made you tilt your head a bit in confusion.

“Well – yes,” he said softly, still with a worried look in his eyes. “Not a fan of the word though. Just seems so vicious and vulgar,” he mumbled while sighing.

“You tried to kill me,” you reminded him with an incredulous look on your face. His head shot up immediately with his eyes as wide as ever.

“No… no, Y/N. I wasn’t – I wouldn’t do that. I would never hurt you,” he tried desperately to make you believe him, causing your heart to beat a little faster. This was a completely different Duncan. Obviously. But everything about his temperament right now was different, too. He was always kind to you and treated you like a princess, but you’d never seen him this soft before. Truthfully, he looked scared. Scared and nervous. And you didn’t know what to think of this new person.

“Why were you chasing me, then?” you asked, trying to give him a chance to explain himself.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight, Y/N,” he looked you over. “I could smell you the moment you stepped outside… so I came to you. But then you ran away and I… well, okay… I realize now that I probably shouldn’t have ran after you,” he looks down, shaking his head. “But you were right there and I just… I don’t know… I’m not making any sense, aren’t I?” he lets out a soft chuckle, rolling his eyes a bit at him fumbling over his words. “Listen – once I knew you were here, you were the only thing my mind could focus on. Just being near you. So I ran to you and yes, I followed you in the house, but I wasn’t going to hurt you. You just smelled so fucking good; I couldn’t keep away.”

“I smelled… good…?” you questioned, trying to grasp everything he was saying. This was the first time you had ever seen Duncan blush and it was endearing to say the least to see this big, intimidating man have a lovely shade of pink adorn his cheeks.

You could tell he was a bit embarrassed by the way he scratched the back of his head and turned his gaze away from you. “Well, yes… And it wasn’t the Chloé perfume that I got you last month, it was just… you.” He looked up at you carefully, gauging your reaction.

“And now?” you ask, intrigued. He contorts his face in confusion and opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off, “Do I still smell… good?” you raise an eyebrow.

He scoffs at you and shakes his head, “Yeah, I know you think it’s weird… But, well… you do.” With him still kneeling on the floor in front of you, he leans in close to you, his hot breath fanning over your neck, and inhales deeply taking in your scent and exhaling with a low growl, “So fucking good,” he grunts, wanting to lean in a bit closer to lick your skin but stopping himself and returning quickly to his original position in front of you.

You notice your breath hitch in your throat and your legs instinctively close a bit tighter as you try to focus on what’s happening right now, instead of how good it would feel to have Duncan’s hands gripping you tightly. Even with everything going on right now, you still found yourself wrapped around his finger. He must have noticed because he licked his lips while one of his famous smirks came out on full display.

You cleared your throat, trying to gain some dignity back, “This is all just really crazy…” You played with the Herm��s bracelet around your wrist.

“Well listen doll, we can up your allowance for all the trauma I’ve caused,” he said lightly chuckling. You instantly shoot him a death glare, your lip curling up.

“You mean hush money?” your voice was laced in venom.

He loses his cool demeanor immediately and gets very serious, eyes turning dangerous. “You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?” he says more as a threat than a question. You were a bit taken aback by him. Yes, he paid for many of your things. Yes, he constantly showered you in gifts. Yes, he took you on expensive trips. But, this was different. Was he really trying to buy your loyalty? You thought that by now you two were closer than that. You kept each other’s secrets and it had been just you and him against the world for the past year. Was this really what he thought of you?

“No,” you say softly. “Of course not,” a mere whisper leaving your lips.

He lets out a breath and rushes over to pull you into his arms. He notices the way you stiffen upon his touch, making him frown and slowly ease his hold on you.

“Do you really think I would tell?” you pull back to look into his eyes.

He looks at you sadly as he sees how hurt you are by his words. “No… I just… Listen – nobody knows, Y/N. And it’s hard to say how anyone would react over something like this. You’re handling it pretty well, but I don’t know, you could have ran for the hills and screamed it to the world that The Duncan Shepherd is a werewolf,” he cringes at the last word before continuing. “I mean, this is crazy and nobody can know for sure how anyone would react. But, I trust you… I really do. It’s been just you and I this past year – And I trust you completely. I was just afraid, princess.” He admits, looking uncomfortable for showing vulnerability.

Your heart breaks a little looking at him. You lean in to kiss his cheek tenderly, holding his head in place with one of your soft, perfectly manicured hands. He pulls you in fully, clinging to you as if his life depended on it. His arms around your waist hugged you tightly to his chest as he inhaled your scent once again. In this moment he couldn’t even begin to explain how grateful he was for you coming into his life. You showed him kindness that nobody else ever did and you looked at him softly when the rest of the world scowled at him. You were his rock. His one constant, good thing in his life. He’d continue to spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on you if it meant you stayed. He’d buy you the whole world if he could.

“You don’t have to be alone anymore, Duncan; you don’t have to worry about this all by yourself. I’m here,” you reassure him. He leans back to look you over adoringly before tucking one stray lock of hair behind your ear, softly caressing your face.

“But just one thing,” you whisper and he hums in response. “Are you going to… change? You know… again?” you ask hesitantly.

He smiles at you charmingly, “Normally on a full moon I’d be out there from dusk till dawn,” he glances out the large glass window at the dark forest that was illuminated by the glow of the moon. “But I’ve never shifted back as early as I did tonight. It’s a bit odd,” he runs his hand across his stubble. “And I can always tell far in advance when the shift will happen and,” he pauses, “It just isn’t going to happen again for the night,” he simply shrugs. “I think I saw you and my body decided it had other plans,” he says seductively, leaning in to place a kiss against your neck, lightly nipping at your soft skin.

You let out a sigh that sounded a bit more like a moan. “Take me to bed? I think a little bit of normalcy is what I need right now and there’s nothing more normal for us than you fucking me into a mattress.”

He sucks harshly at your skin before pulling back and staring at you wildly, a smirk adorning his face once again. “My naughty princess,” he scoops you up and carries you over to the bed hastily before throwing you on it, making you gasp. You only now notice his prominent bulge through his Balmain sweatpants, which has you biting your bottom lip excitedly.

“Clothes off. Now,” he demands, palming himself through the fabric. You teasingly take your time with your Chanel top, slowly leaning up and running your hands down the soft material. You decided in that moment how much of a mistake that was by the look Duncan gave you. He looked absolutely feral as he got onto the bed and yanked you towards him, ripping the shirt completely off of you, leaving you exposed to him in the cold air.

“Duncan!” you yell at him as he climbs on top of you and starts his assault against your neck.

“You knew exactly what you were doing, princess. Bad things happen when you don’t listen to me, understand?” he bites your skin, loving the way you jump underneath him. “And that isn’t my name, doll.”

The way his lips attach to your neck and the way he talks to you leaves your panties soaked.

“Please… daddy.”

He growls in your ear while rutting his hard cock against your clothed heat. “Needed this since I first saw you tonight. Almost couldn’t control myself,” he grunts deeply. “But don’t want to hurt you,” he mumbles frustratingly.

“You’ve been rough with me before, I can handle it,” you say with a pleading voice, running your hands across his back, lightly digging your nails into his skin.

You could feel his muscles tense under your touch, “I’ve never fucked you on a full moon, doll. You might not be able to handle it,” he quips back, looking you in your eyes.

“I can handle anything you throw at me, daddy. Your little girl is tough,” you run your hands further down his back and dip them into his sweatpants, lightly squeezing his ass. “Not to mention, your princess likes it when you’re especially rough with her,” you thrust your hips into his, continuing to push him.

He looks at you for a moment, his breathing heavy and deep. His eyes bore into you while the corners of his mouth turn up and you knew in this moment that you were screwed. He quickly rips your matching Chanel skirt clean off of your body and pulls his sweatpants down, throwing both articles of clothing against the hard wood floor. You sigh at your destroyed clothes laying in heaps beside the dresser across the room before a moan escapes your lips. While you weren’t paying attention for that split second, Duncan leaned into your red, lace panties and inhaled your scent. He massaged your breasts roughly as he placed his tongue flat against the lace and tasted you through the fabric. His nose rubbed against your clit, making you jump at the friction.

“Duncan, just please don’t rip thes-“ you were cut off by Duncan biting onto the lace and ripping it violently off your body. “Duncan!” you scolded him again, looking at him sitting up with the red lace dangling from his mouth.

“Told you – that’s not my name. And if you don’t quit it with the attitude, I’m going to stuff these pretty little panties in your mouth to shut you up,” he said in a warning tone, inhaling your scent off of the fabric one more time before tossing them to the side.

He grabbed your leg and pulled you closer to him before leaning down and kissing you passionately. He rubbed his cock against you quickly, not being able to control himself. You felt his precum smear against your stomach, spreading his essence all over your skin. Duncan knew exactly what he was doing: He was marking you. Making you his.

Without so much as a warning, he pulled his hips away from you and then violently slammed them into you. You yelped, half from pain, half from pleasure. He didn’t give you any time to get used to him as he started his relentless pace. However many times you and Duncan had sex, you could never get used to his size; he stretched you like no man ever had before. He made you feel things no man could ever make you feel.

He must have really meant it when he said he couldn’t control himself, because he was fucking into you with an energy you had never seen from him before. He was always a rough, dominant lover, but this was on another level. And you didn’t mind at all.

You held onto him tightly as loud, high pitched moans left your lips, only making him thrust into you harder. His stubble rubbed against your neck as he lowered his head, lost in the feeling of pleasure your walls were giving his cock. It never took long for Duncan to make you cum, but it was kind of embarrassing to already be this close.

“Fuck baby, keep squeezing on my cock like that,” he groaned with eyes shut tight. “You gonna cum for me, princess? Gonna cum all over daddy’s cock, hm? Making it even easier for me to fuck your tight, little pussy?” You whimpered, nodding your head, too overcome with pleasure to focus on talking right now. “Use your words, babydoll,” he gripped your throat tightly, looking at you fiercely.

“Yes!” you felt your orgasm building as you looked at him with furrowed brows and moaned his name over and over.

“Good girl. Come for daddy, princess,” he stared intently at you as he continued thrusting deeply into you.

“I- Daddy, I’m going to-“ you rolled your head back against the mattress, shutting your eyes and moaning loudly as your orgasm hit you hard. You moved your hips with his, wanting to feel every ounce of pleasure he gave you.

Just as you started to come back to reality and found yourself trying to catch your breath, Duncan leaned down and held you tightly in his arms. “Fuck, you made daddy’s cock so wet, princess. Feels so good – fuck,” he grunted, loving the crude sound of your two bodies slapping against each other. “Gonna fill you up. Gonna make you mine. All fucking mine.”

He growled deeply in your ear, biting on your purpling skin to hold you in place. You squeezed your walls around him once more before you felt him thrust deeply into you, his cock twitching and spilling his warm cum into you. He kept groaning as he moved his hips back and forth, using you to milk his cock as a steady stream of cum left him and filled you completely. You looked down as you realized he had literally filled you up completely. He pulled out and his cum came rushing out of you as he continued jerking himself off and spilling his cum all over your stomach. You gasped at the sight in front of you. You were covered in him; his cum spilled all over you, making you his just like he said. He quickly grabbed a fist full of your hair and thrust into your mouth. He held onto your face as he fucked your warm mouth, using you to help him ride out the rest of his orgasm. His cock hit the back of your throat, making you gag and the vibrations against his cock had him release a lengthy groan as he continued spilling his cum down your throat.

His thrusts eventually slowed and he sighed happily as he pulled himself out of your mouth. You simply looked at him, still trying to catch your breath and a little in disbelief at what just happened. You looked around and laughed a bit at the sight of his cum all over the sheets.

“Fuck,” he said, trying to catch his breath and noticing the state of the bed. He looked at you and found you smiling sweetly up at him, covered in his cum. He shook his head and leaned down to place a gentle kiss against your lips. “I guess my girl could handle me,” he smiled slightly.

“Told you,” you said in a rather exhausted manner.

“Tell you what, princess… You go hop in the shower and I’ll get this all cleaned up before I join you, hm?” You nodded your head and stretched before making your way off the bed. He leaned in again to kiss you tenderly, “Then we can go to sleep,” he whispered to you.

You found your way to the master bathroom that was joined to the room, stepped into the waterfall shower and sighed once the hot water hit your skin. You didn’t know how long it had been, as you were too preoccupied with the way the water hit your sore muscles, when Duncan stepped in and hugged you from behind, placing a sweet kiss to your neck.

You helped each other get clean as you both ran body wash over the other. You even got a laugh from Duncan when you flicked some water at him. He continued to kiss you tenderly, making sure you were okay and that he wasn’t too rough on you.

“I’m okay,” you reassured him, smiling into the kiss. “I’m a big girl, I can handle it,” you ran your hand through his hair.

He pouted and hid his face in your neck, “No, you’re my little girl and I need to make sure you’re okay,” he placed another small kiss against your skin before leaning back and looking at you softly. “Are you okay with everything else that happened tonight…?” he asked, biting his lip.

You nodded and gave him a genuine smile before leaning up to kiss him comfortingly. He sighed into your mouth before pulling back and shutting off the water. He helped you out and wrapped you in a towel. He wore one around his waist as he walked you over to the bed and sat you down. Quickly, he went to the closet and brought some pajamas for you both. He wore just his briefs and he brought you one of his shirts, along with a pair of black underwear. Even at his house in the forest, which you barely ever came to, he had some clothes and items here for you. It warmed your heart to think he cared enough to do that.

You both laid down under the sheets in the freshly made bed. You curled into him as he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer and kissing the top of your head.

“Promise things won’t change in the morning?” his voice spoke out through the darkness. “Promise you’ll still feel the same way about me?” He sighed, looking through the window at the full moon.

Your heart felt for him as you cuddled him closer to you, “I promise.”

He kissed your head again, “And let’s say I wake up in the middle of the night and want to go for round two. Is that something you’d consider?”

You leaned back to find him smirking as he raised an eyebrow. You rolled your eyes at him, and lightly chuckled at his words, “Go to bed.”

“I’m taking you shopping tomorrow, by the way. It seems I owe you a new outfit,” he closes his eyes and nestles deeper into the mattress. “That way you can’t leave me,” he says quietly to himself, inaudible to the sweet girl in his arms.

Part 3 | Part 4

Taglist: @1-800-bitchcraft, @michaelsapostle, @lathraios, @langdonsdemon, @kleineshaschen, @et-tu-bitch, @whydonthumansfly, @junkful, @lunarfawns, @babydollcake, @babypinkstyles94, @trelaney @solitalangdon, @ultralightbeamsnstuff, @leaveittothewolves, @olobersy

[heartslogos]

the declassified texts of the inquisition’s elite [86]

(336): Hello! Time means nothing. Good morning! I have a vague idea of what day it is.

(832): It is Muednethiday, March 34th, in the Year of Our Lord Joe Exotic 3099.

-

(253): No offense, but I don’t think I would want to see him in anything skimpier than a hazmat suit.

-

“I thought it was just the elder Hawke twins that were like that,” Max says, “I was wrong. All of them are. They’re all just running at maximum sass, wit, sarcasm, barely disguised eye rolls, and bad humor at all times. Even Bethany. God, you don’t even expect it from Bethany. Every corner you look it’s just more merciless taunting. I bet you if you told any of them there’s a hornet’s nest in a tree they’d go and kick the tree for fun.”

“Untrue, Bethany would use a slingshot from somewhere with cover, and probably with someone she doesn’t like nearby enough to take the sting for her,” Varric says. “I don’t know why you’d think that the asshole thing isn’t a Hawke family trait. It’s like their motto or something, handed down from their ancestors since ancient times. Also they’re half Amell. You know the Amells right? Take one look at that family and tell me that they didn’t get fucked with the asshole genes on both sides.”

Maxwell grimaces. “Alright, fair point. The Amells aren’t that bad, they’re just — is there a word for what the Amells are? I mean. They’re nice. It’s just that — “

“They come off like licking sandpaper,” Evelyn says. “They’re drier than dust. It’s like if you took Mahanon and removed his incomprehensible fear-instilling aura and just left the dry wit, flair for the dramatic, and penchant for revenge.”

“Alright, but that’s not one word,” Max points out. “I’m looking for one singular word. Hawke’s are assholes. Amells are…what?”

“Buttholes?”

“Cousin. You are terrible at this. It’s like you’ve never learned how to insult someone. Which is, of course, false because I’ve heard you cuss out some of our own relatives very creatively. You’d make a Warden blush.”

“Thanks, Max.”

“What happened that you’re suddenly realizing that the Hawke’s are universally assholes?” Varric cuts in. “I thought everyone know that. It’s not like I didn’t write an entire best selling book about it.”

“Bethany and I were just texting and she hits me with this,” Max shows them the text. “Maker, go ahead and hit me with that punch. I didn’t need to read all of that and feel it viscerally in my stomach. I needed affirmation time was passing not that time is fake. If I wanted that I’d go talk to a Lavellan. Or Malika.”

“Sounds like she was just playing along with you,” Evelyn says.

“Keep reading.”

Evelyn scrolls down, eyebrows raising. “Oh, wow. Maybe Bethany should start writing books. She’s got this existential horror thing down. It’s like those popular podcasts that everyone listens to in text form.”

“I don’t need that first thing in the morning,” Max says. “And she knows it. She’s doing this to mess with me and it’s working. I never should have told her about how I get freaked out about absurdist humor when it spirals out into the abstract and profound.”

-

“That’s harsh, isn’t it? I mean. I’m sure that underneath all of that military flack and his old man clothes Blackwall cuts a nice figure. The man trains with the Chargers and he’s been in the army for years. And then pretended to be in the Wardens for years after that. Sure, he’s lived a harsh life and he could invest in some personal care products, but he’s a healthy guy,” Edric says.

“Um. Excuse me, but who are you to be talking about old man clothes?” Malika shoots her uncle an incredulous look. “You and Blackwall have the same wardrobe in different colors. You don’t get an opinion on this one.”

“That’s also harsh,” Edric says. “I don’t get an opinion?”

“Not on this you don’t,” Malika wrinkles her nose. “Anyway I’m pretty sure Blackwall isn’t comfortable with people seeing him with any portion of skin showing greater than like twenty five percent. That’s just arms, by the way. He’s good with arms.”

“The man needs a tan.”

“The man needs you all to stop judging his physical appearance,” Evelyn says, lightly hitting Malika upside the head as she stands behind their table. “Why are you all gossiping about Blackwall? Doesn’t he get enough grief?”

“Because it’s been made known that we’re going on a summer retreat for bonding purposes and the idea of Blackwall dressed in shorts and a tank is giving me white flashes in my vision,” Malika says. “I don’t think Blackwall’s had someone cut his hair — like, you know, someone who knows how to cut hair, someone who’s trained in cutting hair, someone who does that for a living — since he went off the grid a million years ago. I’m also imagining his skinny pale legs reflecting sunlight like beacons.”

“Stop imagining it then,” Evelyn gives her an odd look.

“What if he gets sunburn?” Malika moans, “He’s going to look like a walking strawberry with a black mop.”

“Stop thinking about it,” Evelyn makes a face that clearly means she’s thinking about it too, now. Except instead of reacting like Malika, finding it weird and eye-searing, she thinks it’s funny. “Just think about how half of us are going to get sunburn and it’s going to be hilarious watching us all shuffle around like hypersensitive zombies.”

“Do you get sunburn?” Malika asks.

“I’m hoping not to,” Evelyn says. “I’ve asked for two pounds worth of sunscreen just in case.”

“Ancestors, you need that much? What’s wrong with you?”

“It’s not just for me!” Evelyn protests. “it’s for Max and Cullen and Sera also! We figure a bulk order would be easier than all of us ordering two or three bottles. It’s also for whoever forgets they need it.”

“Wait a second, Cullen’s a farmer he can’t burn.”

“I’d ask you to explain that logic, Malika, but I’m not sure I want to know the exact details. Anyway, focus on what we’re doing on the summer retreat instead of what we’ll all be wearing, alright? We’re not pulling half of our best teams just to play. It’s an actual training exercise.” Evelyn makes a face. “Actually if you could distract the Chargers and Lavellans by telling them your concerns that would be great. I think they’re taking this too seriously. I think they think that this is going to be a survival boot camp and they’re getting way too excited about it.”

[letterboxd]

Play Fright.

“It’s fun-scary, as opposed to you feeling scared because it's disgusting or something.”

We talk to Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark and Troll Hunter director André Øvredal about working with Guillermo del Toro, finding the line with tween-friendly horror, and the good-and-bad of anthology films. (And, yes, we threw in a few Troll Hunter questions.)

Produced by Oscar-winner Guillermo del Toro, who also has a Screen Story credit on the film, Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark is a new PG-13 horror adapted from the three-book series of the same name first published between 1981 and 1991.

Prefiguring the likes of Goosebumps and its many imitators, the original Scary Stories books, written by Alvin Schwartz and illustrated by Stephen Gammell, presented short horror tales aimed at a young-adult readership. Many of the stories were inspired by (or perhaps the source of) widely known urban myths.

Despite the stated target audience, the stories—with assistance from some deeply disturbing illustrations (see below)—struck a nerve and traumatized readers of all ages. They were controversial to the point where there was, briefly, a minor movement to have the books removed from schools.

A movie adaptation would seemingly point to a classic horror anthology film, but del Toro and his collaborators have instead constructed a singular narrative around a group of young teenagers in 1968.

After learning the tragic story of a girl who was murdered in their sleepy little town many years earlier, Stella (Zoe Margaret Colletti) and her friends start encountering supernatural events that allow for various Scary Stories to come to life on screen.

The film’s director is Norwegian filmmaker André Øvredal, the man behind 2016’s The Autopsy of Jane Doe, and the inventive 2011 found-footage fantasy epic (and Letterboxd community favorite) Troll Hunter.

Guillermo del Toro, star Zoe Margaret Colletti, and director André Øvredal on the set of ‘Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark’.

What was your relationship to Guillermo del Toro before you worked together on this film? André Øvredal: I was a big fan of his from when I went to film school, because I used to live with a Mexican friend and he showed me Cronos when it came out. I was floored by the beauty of that film. Mimic terrified me, I loved it. Even though I know there is a tough history behind that film and the cut that came out, I still found it terrifying. And then Blade II was just one of those amazing sequels that stood out beyond the original.

That didn’t really happen very often back in those days, that the sequel was better than the original. And on and on with Pan’s Labyrinth and one great movie after another, culminating with The Shape of Water. But our relationship started on Twitter; he tweeted about The Autopsy of Jane Doe, that he enjoyed it. And we had a Twitter exchange about that.

Had he seen Troll Hunter? It seems like it would be right up his alley. Yeah he had, and he liked it. Obviously I’m sure he’s paid attention to other people’s love for monsters and creatures.

Illustrated by Stephen Gammell, ‘The Pale Lady’—from Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark story ‘The Dream’—is a favorite of both Øvredal and del Toro.

So how did you end up getting this job? He was supposed to direct Scary Stories himself. It was supposed to be his next movie after The Shape of Water, and then he decided not to make it his next movie and they decided, well, let’s find another director. He proposed me to the other producers on the film, Sean Daniel and J. Miles Dale, and they all agreed that I would be a good fit.

They offered me the script to read and of course I fell in love with it immediately. It’s the kind of movie I grew up loving, like an Amblin-esque movie, but the idea being to do it with a horror sensibility and make it really scary. I thought it would be a great movie for me to be able to make. And speaking of the PG-13 audience, it was what I grew up with as well. When I was a kid in my teens, those were the movies I got to see. So I felt very close to this movie through the whole process.

There is indeed a nice Amblin vibe informing this movie. How would you describe that vibe, if you had to put it into words? There is a sense of humor. It’s out to entertain more than it’s out to hurt you as a horror movie. It’s not an existential horror. It’s not out to grind you down. It’s out to use horror as fun; there’s a playfulness. It’s oftentimes several characters, a group of friends, that these movies are about. It has a high energy and it can go from intense, suspenseful, or in this case very scary and horrible, to playful banter between friends. I think that broad range creates a feeling of real life.

All the characters in those movies back then were very grounded; even though they were fun and had a lot of energy, they also had real issues in life, they also came from a background where there were serious things they were dealing with. I found that very interesting, especially about the character of Stella, who has a lot of things in her life that are profoundly affecting her. And how that also relates to the life of the antagonist, Sarah Bellows. And in some ways how it feeds into today. I think the social commentary thing is clear in Amblin films as well.

How challenging was it to make this good ’n scary without it ever spilling over into being too ‘adult’? It’s about playing with the audience. The audience should know that they should enjoy being… tormented, if you will. So it’s kind of trying to communicate both ways. So I’m like, setting something up, I’m always thinking of the audience, shot-by-shot-by-shot. How does the audience feel? If we put the camera here, what will the audience feel then? If we put it up here, how will the audience react then? And if we cut from there to there? It’s all about communication. I’m trying to imagine how it’s going to make the audience feel, so it’s about back and forth. I think that creates a playful tone. It’s fun-scary, as opposed to you feeling scared because it’s disgusting or something.

What do you think this film gained from tying together the various short stories into a single narrative, as opposed to having them play out in the traditional anthology format? Guillermo has said something that is kinda true about anthology films, which is that they’re never as good as the best [story], and they’re always as bad as the worst [story]. So you always have one story that isn’t great, and it kind of deflates the whole experience. In a way, [a traditional anthology movie] isn’t a whole experience because you never get to engage in characters for a long time and feel all their dilemmas, because as soon as you’re out of [each story], you’re on the next one. And that can work, but I’m not attracted to that as a storytelling form, it’s just a personal thing. Many other people are, and thank god for that, because then we get a diverse set of movies.

I love a full narrative. When I received the script for Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark, I thought it was an anthology, so when I opened it, I was so happy when it wasn’t, because by page ten I was in love with the characters and then I saw that I was going to follow them all the way.

An image from André Øvredal’s ‘Troll Hunter’.

We’re massive fans of Troll Hunter at Letterboxd. That’s fantastic, that’s great. It’s a great site. I go there a lot to see people talking about the movies.

What kind of life has that film had since it was released? Everyone who sees it loves it, but it deserved a much bigger audience. Was a remake or sequel ever considered? There was talk of a remake. Chris Columbus [writer of Gremlins and The Goonies, and director of Home Alone and the first two Harry Potter films], and a company called CJ Entertainment, bought the rights for it years ago. So I was in awe—one of the heroes of my youth, Chris Columbus. So I was sorry to see that that never came through. We talked about a sequel of course, but I feel like I told the story of this world, and anything else would just be more trolls. The way you used scale in that film was amazing. No blockbusters made since have come close to how effectively you conveyed the gargantuan size of the creatures. That’s great to hear. I don’t know how other people shoot movies but it was shot so much in reality. I mean, we CGI-ed in the creatures, but everything else was so grounded and real with a hand-held camera. We were just running around in the wilderness shooting it for real. So we naturally had to position it, physically, in some natural way, a very simple natural way, and maybe that helped.

‘Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark’ is in US theaters now, and rolling out globally over the next few months. Comments have been edited for clarity.

[thedarkenedkeeper]

Glitched: Part 10 - Always Watching

Author’s Note: Holy hell, was this insane to write X_X

A few things. Firstly, I apologize for how long it took for this to come out. I was incredibly anxious about school, plus I was just overly struggling with writing this chapter. I had a general idea of what I wanted to happen, but I didn’t really know how to get it down into words.

Secondly, this came out as about 18 pages long in Word so I apologize for how ridiculously long this is! I didn’t think it was going to come out so damn long!

And thirdly, this chapter is heavy on the angst. There’s a little bit of horror – of course – but this chapter is mainly angst-ridden so prepare for a LOT of feels! For Christ’s sake, I CRIED while writing this, so that should be saying something.

WARNING: This chapter is very heavy and is incredibly dark. There are mentions of suicide, abuse (both physical and mental), bullying (mainly cyberbullying), existential crisis, self-mutilation, and incredibly low self-esteem. There are mentions of a character getting lobotomized. There is a scene with a detailed description of the inside of a character’s back, which contains abnormal anatomy.

I will say this and I will say this one: This is NOT a happy fun time chapter! (I know, the story as a whole isn’t happy, but this chapter is VERY heavy on the angst as opposed to the other chapters) There ARE feels.

You have been warned.

Enjoy!

(I am SO sorry. I feel so bad for writing this! ;^;)

Listen to this playlist while reading.

 Wheezing breaths of agony echoed throughout the room as he operated. Warm sticky crimson spurted onto his naked lanky fingers – the very fingers of which were maneuvering the stainless steel instrument through his patient’s skull. A pained gasp expelled from the man upon the bloodied table.

“Oh be quiet.” The glitching entity hissed with agitation. “Stop your whining.” He scoffed. “You act as though you’ve never felt pain before.” A delighted giggle came ringing out of the creature’s slit throat. “Almost like you’re afraid of dying.”

A quivering whimper could faintly be heard coming from his patient as he fiddled with the orbitoclast. The green-haired demon smirked from behind his surgical mask.

“I must say, Herr Doktor,” He said in a horrible German accent, mocking the man, “you should be proud of me. I’m no doctor, but I seem to be doing an impeccable job here, if I do say so myself.” He bragged, his smirk stretching into a twisted smile.

The ice pick sank in further, a trail of blood running out onto the demon’s fingertips. A sharp intake of air, followed by a shaky sob left the patient; the entire mass of flesh jolting and tensing up against his restraints. The overhead light flickered as the sinister being growled through his teeth out of annoyance.

“For fuck sake, stop it! This is delicate work – you of all people should know that!” He snapped sharply, though he ironically gave the pick a violent tap; jabbing the inside of the man’s skull.

It only made the tortured man release a loud moan of unbearable agony, a trembling hand pulling weakly at its bond and trying to reach out for the figure leering over him. After a brief moment, the struggling died down and a faint shaky whine slipped out. The demon chuckled, continuing with his ministrations.

“You see? That wasn’t so hard, now was it? I told you that you could handle the pain.” The creature’s head gave a sudden twitch to the left, then the right, before returning his cold eyes to his patient. He grinned. “If I can bear with it, so can you. Anesthesia is fOr ThE wEaK!” In seconds flat, the entity’s form glitched out spastically; the grin gone and replaced with a grimace of anger, trying to make a point. Almost as quick as it had happened, the toothy smile returned, accompanied with a horrifying cackle of glee.

Another weak whine left the pained patient.

“Trust me, my friend, zhis is for your own good.” The manifestation grinned mockingly, using the exact same words the doctor had said to him when he had been operated on back on October 29th.  “Don’t worry, I’m going to fix you right up.” He expelled a useless breath, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He chuckled lightly before his being glitched out; his facial expression almost immediately falling flat. “I’m going to fix you all.” He hissed softly under his breath.

The poor man upon the table suddenly jerked, a strained gasp of pain getting ripped out of his vocal cords. Anti growled, put off with how uncooperative his patient was being.

“Oh come on, give it a rest already! Get ahold of yourself! You’re not dying!” He mumbled the next few words with promise. “Not yet anyway, but I don’t get to choose the outcome. You should be so lucky.” He wedged the pick in further, showing no remorse towards the man when he writhed and released a choked breath.

As the twisted imposter of a doctor carried on with the operation, getting blood smeared all along his pale digits, he began to yet again find himself slowly but surely sinking into the hatred he held towards the community. No one knew how he felt, not truly anyway. Everyone automatically assumed the unstable creature was just a monster, and as such, he behaved like one. But he was only like that thanks to his creators – they were the ones who gave him life and made him what he was. If they hadn’t wanted a monster, then why hadn’t they done anything to “fix” him? Why hadn’t they taken action when they had had the chance? Anti stared down at his handy work, dark eyes unblinking as the anger started to weave throughout his veins.

“They’re making me do this. They would say otherwise, I know they would. They’re all deceivers – monsters like me, although much worse.” An insidious giggle rang throughout the operating room, sending cold chills down his patient’s spine. “They don’t give a shit about any of us. They can’t seem to make up their damn minds on anything.” He chuckled, although given what he was talking about, it was an incredibly unnerving chuckle. There was nothing but fury and hate behind it. “And they have the audacity to go and point fingers at me and call ME the monster, the true villain in all of this? HA!” He jabbed the orbitoclast rather unexpectedly, instantly getting a horrific reaction out of his tortured patient. He glowered down at the man, his abyssal orbs growing darker and colder than what was already possible.

“They have no idea what they’ve done to me.”

                                                           * * * * *

  It was not long after Halloween when the demon had begun to notice the changes in his audience. After Anti had “killed” Jack in front of the still recording camera and finally took possession of the Irishman’s body, the glitching entity just had to go and upload the footage to YouTube two days later. After all, Jack himself had wanted to make a Halloween video for the fans; he had even teased them about it with the brief recording he had posted on Instagram. As Anti saw it, he was doing the man a favour. And of course, just as he had expected, after that video was released, the entire community went up in flames. Everyone freaked out – both out of equal amounts of delight and fear. Many actually believed Jack had in fact died and that Anti had taken over, and the insidious manifestation could only laugh out of amusement, applauding those few who knew the truth. He had been so gleeful to see his creators’ reactions, taking in just how shell-shocked they each became and how they all screamed his name. It was almost a surreal experience; the demon couldn’t quite contain his happiness.

However, though he was now the one in control, he knew his fans were going to suspect that he was the one inhabiting Jack’s body. And though that was true, he figured he’d have a bit of fun with them all. He would instead put on a deceitful act and pretend to be everyone’s favorite green-haired Irishman. It was time for him to put all of the training he had done over the past couple of months to good use. He would wear a mask and act like nothing had happened, and that’s exactly what he did.

A delayed video was posted hours later of him explaining what had happened during October leading up to Halloween. The glitch definitely put on a seamless act. The way he spoke, the way he acted, the joy and optimism and excitement gleaming in his blue eyes, the positivity radiating off of the man – it was all far too perfect. There wasn’t any way anyone would conclude it wasn’t Jack speaking in front of the camera. The unhinged trickster came up with a convincing lie off the top of his head, telling his audience how everything had just been one big act for Halloween. Anti wasn’t real, it was just Jack pretending to be an evil demented version of himself out to kill him. It was all just a scary idea he had had for the Halloween season – he wasn’t dead.

And the fandom believed him. They fell for his two-faced lies, each individual word sliding off of his wicked tongue and twisting his creators’ beliefs. They had all bought into his seemingly innocent fable. Some were confused, some didn’t know what to believe anymore, but all of them knew deep down that Jack was perfectly fine and he was only embracing the character of Anti…right?

For a time, the glitching entity had been very pleased with his ways of deception, how he managed to warp every single member of the community into believing he was in fact everyone’s good ol’ Jackaboy…that was until he began to take notice of how little attention he himself was receiving.

Sure, after his appearance on Halloween, a ton of fan art, fanfiction, and posts about him had been produced. There was no denying the fact how all of it had given him immense strength and power. However, given how he was pretending to be someone he wasn’t – someone the entire fandom had adored – he realized with a horrendous hybrid of surprise and perplexity that the community was once again returning there attention onto Jack. They all seemed to be relieved at the fact that he was alright and unharmed, that he hadn’t actually died. They were grateful he was alive, and Anti didn’t understand why. Hadn’t they wanted him to cut the man out of the picture? Hadn’t they wanted him to replace the pathetic Irishman and give them a far more superior being to look up to?

As the months passed away and autumn faded into winter, the demented creature began to truly notice the difference in the community’s behavior. He was slowly but surely becoming forgotten by his own creators. Granted, there were still pieces of fan art and fanfiction floating about here and there on social media, but other than that, their main focus was no longer on him; it had been shifted back onto Jack and it appeared to be staying that way. And though he tried to convince himself otherwise, Anti firmly believed that his fans only thought of him as a one-time thing – that he had had his one chance to steal the limelight and now that it had passed, it was time to move on. And the demon was not at all pleased with this.

The minute he had noticed the change in the fandom, Anti had stormed off into the darkened hell where he kept his host caged up and went off on a long-winded rant about just how confused and enraged he was for suddenly being ignored and accused of being a “one-time thing”.

“What? A ‘one-time thing’?” The green-haired Irishman had questioned from behind the searing-hot bars of the cell. He shook his head slowly, not entirely understanding. His alter ego was speaking so quickly, he could barely keep up. “I don’t understand.”

“What’s there to not understand? They see me as a one-time thing! A side-show act!” The manifestation snapped with a glitch of his head.

“Well what did you expect? You’ve been pretending to be me all this time.” Jack stated simply. “They think I’m perfectly fine and that it was all just an act. They don’t really think you exist, and you’ve made them believe that.”

“Shut up! They know I exist, I know they do!” His body spasmed for a fleeting moment as he paced the room. “And yet…” He chuckled lightly in disbelief, “And yet, they’re acting like nothing had happened. Like everything that had led up to Halloween – all of my sudden appearances – meant nothing.” He whirled around and locked his eyes onto the man in the cage. “It’s almost like they’ve forgotten about me completely.” He scoffed, a petite smile flashing across his face in the blink of an eye. “They haven’t forgotten about me completely, thank fuck for that. But…But they’re my creators, damn it!” He flared, his entire form twitching and jerking, struggling to remain stable. “They created me, they brought me to life, and I gave them a show! So why aren’t they giving me attention?”

With no warning, one moment he was a few feet away from the cell and the next, he was suddenly standing right in front of the bars, slamming his hands against them with a violent bang. Jack’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest at the action, stumbling backward and nearly catching himself off balance. Anti’s glacial cold orbs bored deep into the Irishman’s soul, hissing harshly through his teeth.

 “Why do they like you more than me?!” He demanded, fingers tightening around the bars.

Collecting himself and swallowing down any fear he held towards the creature, Jack straightened up and broadened his shoulders. He refused to show any fear or let Anti have the upper hand in this. He glared at the entity from the other side of the bars, his hands balling up into fists at his sides.

“Maybe it’s because I’m not a monster.” The Irishman seethed. “Maybe it’s because I’m not so desperate for attention that I’ve resorted to hurting or killing anyone. Maybe it’s because I actually have a heart and give a damn about the community as a whole as opposed to being a selfish asshole who only cares about their self.” He spat. “Whether they created you or not, it doesn’t matter. You have control over your actions – you can change your ways – and yet you decide not to. You instead choose to be a wretched monster that’s out to cause carnage and misfortunate for others.”

Jack took a few slow steps forward, his eyes never leaving the insidious being staring back at him. He shook his head, scowling at the demon with a look of disgust.

“You haven’t changed…and you never will.”

Anti felt a pang in his chest at hearing what his counterpart said. He growled in anger, his head twitching violently from left to right as a projection of himself flickered, one of him yanking viciously on his hair with his face scrunched up in frustration as opposed to agony. He cocked his head to the side in an unnatural way, reminiscent of the movement of a small bird’s own head. A layered inhuman giggle came bubbling out of his forever blood-gushing throat.

“You think I can change my ways? You honestly think I can change?” A terribly awful laugh erupted from him, succeeding in striking a descent amount of fear into his prisoner. He shook his head vigorously, a grin plastered on his face, even though it was plainly obvious he wasn’t happy. Admittedly, it unnerved the Irishman to a degree.

“Your ‘precious’ community holds the power over me. They are the ones who made me the way I am. I didn’t get a say in the matter! Hell, I didn’t ask to be made. I DiDn’T aSk tO Be GiVEn LiFe!” He unexpectedly lashed out, the grin vanishing from his face in an instant and an animalistic-looking grimace taking its place. His body seemed to stutter and lag for a moment before resuming its movement, twitching and glitching out every few seconds. It was evident the creature was having a hard time controlling his anger.

Jack jumped back in alarm, having not expected the sudden outburst. However, though it had momentarily startled him, the YouTuber still stood his ground. Before he could even think over the situation and come up with a calm and collected solution like he would normally do, he found himself consumed by an overwhelming wave of rage, and the next few words came flooding out of his mouth – words he would later regret ever saying.

“Well if you don’t want to be alive, then why don’t you kill yourself?!” He snapped, glaring daggers at the entity.

Another pang came from within the glitch’s chest, and this one hurt far more than the previous one.

“You keep complaining about how you were created and how everyone is ignoring you and not giving you attention. You’re like a child – a whiny brat who can’t get what they want when they want it, and it’s just sad.” The Irishman continued, not holding back. “You say that the community is responsible for you – that they’re the ones who created you and brought you into this world. And even though they’re essentially like your parents, they don’t seem to care about you.” He leaned forward. “Did it ever cross your mind that maybe the reason they don’t care about you is because of the way you came out?”

Yet again, another painful pang.

“Maybe you were meant to only be an idea, NOT an actual existing creature.” He hissed. “You’re like Frankenstein’s monster – you were pieced together from scratch. Maybe you were meant to come out differently, but instead, came out as this…this thing.” He said with such distaste, the entity visibly winced. Jack kept his eyes fixed on his alter ego, nothing but anger in his eyes, and yet...there was something else there also. Unfortunately, Anti was unable to see it.

“An abomination…That’s what you are.” The man shook his head slowly. “You’re an abomination…and nobody wants you.” His nostrils flared as he took in a sharp breath, trying to keep his hatred at bay. He scoffed. “You know…I’m known for being a reasonable guy. I like to think that I am caring, I can see the good in people, and that I can and will accept anyone for who they are, no matter what their race, gender, sexual orientation – I don’t give a fuck.” He spat. “And over the last two months, I had really thought that maybe – just maybe – that all of this would come to an end.” He was saying it with such sincerity, like he had genuinely hoped things would’ve changed. “That maybe there was some good in you, and you would let me go, and everything could go back to normal. I was willing to accept you for who you are, but now…”

He trailed off, bowing his head and glancing down at the concrete ground, shaking his head. “I was a fool for ever thinking that way…There is no good in you, I finally see that...” He lifted his head and locked eyes with Anti, tugging on his chains as he took a step forward. “You were never meant to exist, Anti. You’re a mistake, and THAT is why they don’t care about you. You weren’t planned. Get that through your head.”

A raw, dead silence came without welcome. The unhinged creature stood there, unblinking eyes staring directly at his host, but the anger he had been feeling – the countless questions that had been tormenting him – all of it seemed to dissipate at hearing what the green-haired man had to say. Never had the demon heard such cold, harsh words leave the man’s lips. Jack had always been known as a pure caring soul, one who rarely ever looked down on anyone unless there was an honest-to-God good enough reason. And for the last two months, the Irishman had tried to see past the glitch’s monstrous exterior. With each day, he had hoped and prayed for the day the demon would come into the room and release him, claiming it to be one big misunderstanding. But that day never came. Time and time again, Anti had been merciless and took great joy in taunting the YouTuber, not at all caring for his feelings. He thoroughly enjoyed seeing his prisoner in a helpless state. And as much as he wanted to believe otherwise, Jack finally opened his eyes to the truth: Anti was a monster and that’s all he’d ever be – there wasn’t an ounce of good in him.

Anti stood there unmoving, the glitchiness of his body faltering and ever so slightly managing to calm down a bit. It may have been hard to tell, but through Jack’s eyes, it almost appeared like the entity’s facial expression had dropped. His body may have been tense and he may have been gripping the bars tightly, but his eyes…there wasn’t a sliver of anger anymore, nor was there perplexity. Those feelings were gone, and in their place, something else took over – something much more haunting. His eyes seemed much darker, but not from the ugly emotions he’d been consumed by a moment ago.

No…this was something else entirely…

If the Irishman didn’t know better, he could’ve sworn he was staring into the eyes of a damaged creature. The body language may have made Anti give off the appearance of a deadly predator ready to go in for the kill, but his eyes were a different story. Jack felt like he was staring into the soul of a wounded animal, and for a brief moment, he almost pitied him.

Nevertheless, within seconds flat, the hurt he’d seen fogging up the demon’s onyx orbs cleared away and the fury he’d had before returned with a cruel vengeance; a feral growl crawling out of the creature’s throat. Anti shook his head, his form beginning to twitch and jerk violently once again. Versions of him flickered every few seconds, one or two of him grinning sadistically and cackling wildly.

“No…You’re wrong. They do care about me deep down – they must!” He unexpectedly giggled with an unnerving amount of glee. He shrugged, extending his arms out to either side. “Why else would they have created me?” He pointed an accusing finger out at the Irishman. “I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to test me – see if I have any ‘feelings’.” The abomination said it as though it was a repulsing concept. “Nice try there, Jackie but it ain’t going to work.” His body spasmed momentarily before he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the bars of the cell. A horrible toothy grin spread from ear to ear across his face.

 “Mark my words, Jackaboy, I’m going to prove you wrong about your ‘loving’ community.” He giggled darkly, lines of pixels scattering across his face at a blurring speed to reveal an expression of pure unadulterated hatred and loathing. His voice dropped an octave or two as he glared at his host.

 “I’m going to give them a reminder of who’s really been around all this time. Then, and only then, will they open their eyes and see.” And without another word, he pushed himself away from the bars, whirled on his heel, and exited the room.

That had been back in early January.

Throughout January and February, the community’s creation continued to play the part of everyone’s favorite green bean; seamlessly pretending to be someone he wasn’t just to please his fans. However, it wasn’t until he began to play a horror game titled “Detention” when things began to take an unexpected turn of events. Unknowingly to the glitch, every couple of minutes into each video, the facecam would suddenly act out of sorts and someone would appear on screen for a second or two, most often looking directly at the camera with confusion, distress, or sometimes even fear. Unfortunately, Anti hadn’t found out about any of this until the videos had been uploaded and he was furious when he discovered what was going on. Without him knowing, Jack had been making energy-consuming attempts at trying to reach out to his audience and show them that he wasn’t the one in control. He was desperately trying to get the community’s attention, and though he succeeded, it only managed to raise a lot of questions amongst the fans. Glitches were associated with Anti, and thus, a majority of the fandom were convinced that Anti was coming back – even though, in truth, he had never left. No one could decipher whether the man shown in the glitches was Anti or Jack, and it was only frustrating both of the green-haired men.

Shortly after he had brought “Detention” to a close, Anti had gone and subjected his pathetic host to a relentless amount of pain. He had strangled him and beaten him into submission, all while venting out his unbridled rage until the man was a quivering mess at his feet, begging to be let go. It was at this point when Anti knew he had to take action, he had to do something to get the community’s attention back onto him – the REAL him. But how? What could he possibly do? It’d have to be bigger than what had happened on Halloween. Something that everyone could see, something that would never be forgotten, something –

And then it hit him like an oncoming truck: PAX. He knew that Jack attended the convention every year; taking the time to meet his fans in person and giving them all a time to remember. The next one was supposed to be coming up in three weeks, and it only made a grin come to the demon’s face. That was it – that’s how he’d get everyone’s attention once again. What better a way to give his makers a reminder than while at a live event?

Leading up to the weekend of PAX, the entity had gone through the trouble of putting together an introductory video for his panel. For the first minute or so of the video, he pretended to be Jack; welcoming everyone to the panel, only to then announce how he had an idea – a game – that he wanted to try out with the audience. He then proceeded to explain himself, stating how they were all going to record a message of sorts using a phone, a camera, or an iPad. The entire thing seemed innocent enough; there was no need to be suspicious of his behavior. Jack was the one speaking after all, and who wouldn’t trust the precious bean? Surely he had something exciting planned. Everything was going well until it wasn’t. The screen would start to glitch out, some of the audio would cut out or become laced with static – clear signs that something was very wrong and that “Jack” wasn’t so alone. And suddenly, the screen cut to black. A series of clips from Jack’s videos flew by one after another at blurring speed before falling back into darkness. And then there was a chuckle…an eerie, childish chuckle that could easily give anyone and everyone a reason to be scared.

The screen glitched out and there he was in all his glory, finally showing his true self and giving everyone a shock. No one would expect him to show up at the panel, and as such, his message would be heard loud and clear. Throughout the remainder of the video, the unstable demon seemed to be a bipolar mess; it was hard to determine what his exact feelings were. One second he’d have a cheeky toothy grin stretched across his sickly pale face, giggling like a lunatic, and the next his expression would be contorted into a godawful grimace of pure annoyance and rage, seething through his teeth and acting a tad threatening towards his audience. His behavior was…off.

He wasn’t like he had been back in October. In October, Anti had been happy and delighted with what he had done. Granted, he had let some of his caged up anger seep out, agitated with how long he had had to wait to be released, but nonetheless, the creature had been overjoyed. He was proud of himself for having done what his creators had wanted…or at least, that’s what he’d thought they had wanted. And now…it was almost like his happiness was being forced, that the smiles upon his face were completely fake and he was struggling to keep any anger from showing. But Anti, being the unhinged entity he was, failed.

“Look at you all – just sitting there! You all thought I was gone!” He scolded, his head undergoing a horrible spasm attack; glitching from left to right. He pointed his knife at the camera angrily before leaning forward, a toothy grin coming to his face as he ran his delicate fingertips over the edge of the knife. “Not worrying about anything.”

He appeared to both look and sound rather pleased, even the cackle of delight that bubbled out of him was unsettlingly cheery. And yet, with a quick glitch of the screen, he was lifting the knife up to his neck in a menacing way, baring his teeth. His neck twitched and jerked out as he smiled.

“You all thought I was gone.” His voice unexpectedly dropped an octave at the last word, an indication that he wasn’t as pleased as everyone was led to believe at first. “But I’ve been here this entire time,” There was the cheeky expression once again; outstretching his arms and acting much like a young child who had just shown their parents a drawing they had worked hard on, “keeping an eye on things.” His eyes flickered blacker than black for half a second, his voice once more dropping an octave. The way he had said those words, accompanied with his inky orbs staring coldly at his audience, was rather disconcerting. Especially given how that face kept alternating with a much different one – one of twisted satisfaction, the signature Cheshire smile etched onto his face.

“You stopped paying attention!” He seethed through his teeth, a sliver of his built up rage hanging off of each word. He was smiling, yet he was evidently very put off with the community’s decisions. “Well I hope you’re happy.” He said it almost sincerely, like he was genuinely hoping everyone was in fact happy with what they had done. “You found someone new! Threw me aside!” Immediately, the smile had vanished in the blink of an eye, a scowl now in its place. He even jabbed an accusing finger at the camera, making his point.

“You found someone to replace me!” And just as quick as it had appeared, the entity was yet again smiling brightly; his head giving a fierce jerk before he locked his eyes onto the camera. It was up for debate on who exactly the creature was talking about, but Anti definitely knew, and that someone was slowly but surely becoming a weakened broken man behind a set of warm steel bars. Someone he absolutely loathed with every fiber of his being.

“I’m not going anywhere!” The abomination chirped, his voice reaching a higher pitch, nearly sounding like a giggle. His form glitched out to show him constantly moving back and forth in an unnatural way, like the creature was stuck in a state of limbo. “I’m always there – always watching.” He said it in both a teasing and threatening manner, his eyes cloaked in darkness as he raised his knife. He was going to make sure that every single one of them would remember he was there and how he was never going to leave – never.

It was around this point that if anyone listened closely, a very faint muffled “help me” could be heard, reminiscent of the one in the “Say Goodbye” video. However, unlike that one – which had been gushing with panic and horror – this one was the exact opposite. It sounded devoid of energy and hope, like the man who was calling out for help had been tortured relentlessly and was losing the battle. It almost sounded like the poor man was sobbing, desperate for someone to notice he was there. A sinister cackle followed his plea; the insidious monster sounding far too pleased with how helpless his prisoner was.

“You can’t get rid of me.” Anti growled menacingly, directing his knife towards the camera threateningly. His form began to spastically glitch out, shaking from the struggle he was having containing his anger. And with that, the screen blacked out. “Enjoy the show.”

When PAX came around – March 10th, to be exact – and the entity got to show the video, he watched from afar, hearing everyone’s alarmed reactions towards his unannounced appearance. He covered his mouth, having a hard time holding back his laughter. Good, they were finally coming to their senses and remembering he was still around. For the remainder of the event, however, Anti refused to let everyone know he was the one wearing Jack’s meatsuit. Because as much as he wanted to reveal the truth, he could hear Jack’s haunting words swirling in the back of his head, reminding him how everyone only thought he was an idea, not an actual existing creature. If he were to show his true self, there was no telling what would happen, so he decided to keep a low profile and slip back into the character of Jacksepticeye.

Everything seemed to be going well for some time in the community. For the rest of the month leading into April, all they could talk about was PAX and of how the glitching demon had unexpectedly shown up to the event, giving them a reminder he was always there, watching them. And of course, through this, Anti grew happy at receiving more attention. He was so thrilled, he was overcome with the temptation to go up to his host and rub in his face about just how wrong he had been. But unfortunately for the entity, the contentment was short-lived.

Just like what had happened back when he had shown himself on Halloween, Anti only received a vast amount of attention for a month or two before everything died down and he was pushed aside as a “one-time thing”. This time around was much different. While many were trying to decipher his message and who had been in control all this time, others were growing tired of the glitch. They seemed a tad bit annoyed, like he was a nuisance, which made Anti confused more than anything. Why were they all suddenly turning their backs on him? Any one of the other egos could show their faces and everyone would be smiling and laughing, pleased to see them. But if he showed his face, he got the opposite greeting. Everyone would either quiver in fear, snap at him to “fuck off and leave Jack alone”, or roll their eyes and huff an exasperated breath, not impressed. Admittedly, there were quite a lot of people who did in fact love the glitch and were always happy to see him, but Anti failed to see that; a crimson haze casted over his vision, only allowing him to notice the people who resented him.

The twitchy manifestation was at a loss for words. He couldn’t come up with a logical reason as to why so many people spited him. What could he have possibly been doing wrong? All he wanted was to be included into the circle, all he wanted was to be seen as an equal and loved and adored like all of the other egos who stood in his way. How come they got more attention than him? They didn’t get any more videos than he did, and yet, somehow, someway, they all received an insane amount of adoration. But with him – one glitch of the screen and the entire fandom would explode with every emotion except for one he longed for: love. And the demon wouldn’t admit it but it hurt him more than anything; more than any physical harm he could do to himself.

Sometime during May, Anti had isolated himself in a far off room in the void. He locked himself in the pitch-black room, pacing back and forth; tormenting himself relentlessly with what Jack had spat at him and whether any of his words had been true or not. He questioned himself over and over again about what he was doing wrong and why the community couldn’t accept him the way he was. He clutched his head, scrunching up his hair in his fingers and tugging harshly as he growled lowly out of frustration. His body was in a constant state of manifesting itself in and out of existence; jerking and pixelating, distorting all of his features.

“What am I doing wrong? What’s so special about all of those other fuckers? What do they have that I don’t?” He snarled venomously, his form lagging mid-step before resuming movement. “I thought they wanted me to be a real thing, I thought they wanted me to come into existence. Isn’t that what they wanted? But if that’s what they wanted, then why are they all dismissing me with ease, like I don’t exist? Why are they ignoring me?!” He huffed, his unnecessary breathing increasing in rate. He was beginning to sound rather exasperated, and if anyone could believe it, like he was a bit emotionally hurt.

“They’re my parents, for fuck sake! They made me who I am – why would they make me like this if they knew it would displease them?! What kind of sick joke is this?!” He flared, his figure glitching out to briefly show a projection of him strangling himself, the next of him cutting his already bleeding throat. He threw his arms out to either side. “I’m doing everything I can! Am I trying too hard? Am I not trying hard enough? There’s no pleasing those people!” A stuttering breath left his lips, his head giving a harsh jerk to the left; a loud audible crack coming from his neck. He was beginning to shake all over now, and it wasn’t from how unstable his form was.

“They’re…They’re supposed to love me…” He muttered under his breath, bringing his pacing to a halt in the middle of the black room. He stared down at the ground, shaking his head only to release a small giggle of disbelief. “But they don’t love me…They don’t love me at all.”

For three whole hours, the glitchy entity remained in that room, putting himself through a horrendous amount of mental agony. Pacing back and forth and glitching out from one part of the room to the next, the demon wallowed in his pain. He ended up collapsing to his knees, hanging his head in shame and burying his face in his hands. Icy cool droplets filled his dark eyes and ran down his cheeks, dripping down into his hands and leaking out through his fingers. No one would ever see this side of the creature – sadness and emotional pain such as this weren’t normal for the demon. He saw it as weakness, and as such, he would never show it. He would never admit to the heart-devouring pain he’d endure every single day caused by the community. He always stood up straight, put on a devious smile, laughed like a psychopath, and demonstrated the behavior of one too. He always came off as a merciless, deranged, inhuman abomination that felt no remorse or guilt. He was essentially heartless; he didn’t give a shit about anyone but himself. As far as anyone was concerned, he took great joy in seeing others suffer. Love wasn’t a concept he could understand – it was something he could NEVER learn.

But they were all wrong. Every single one of them was wrong about him. He DID have a heart, he DID care about what others thought of him. He DID want to be loved by not just the community but Jack and the egos as well. And yet, here he was, coming to terms with just how much he was hated by his so-called “family”.

Anti sat down in the furthest corner of the room, knees brought in close to his chest as he tugged at his hair; endless tears of hurt cascading down his face. Jack’s assumption had been right before – he had been looking at a wounded animal. The poor creature couldn’t pull himself together. He had been made to be unstable, and as such, any emotion he would feel, would become impossibly heightened to the tenth degree. There was no easy way out of this hell he was putting himself through, there was no way for him to calm down. He just sat there, letting the darkness consume him and allowing the sorrow to rip away at his heart horrifically.

 As though he were a broken record, Anti scolded himself, repeatedly asking himself what was wrong with him as opposed to what was wrong with the community. Maybe Jack had been right, maybe he was a mistake. Maybe he shouldn’t have existed to begin with. Maybe the community did only like him as an idea versus as an actual existing entity. No one loved him, no one cared about him. He was just there as a joke for everyone to do with as they pleased. He was like a puppet having his strings tugged at, playing a part in their deceiving game. And the poor damaged manifestation was getting pulled apart at the seams at the thought.

This is what they had done to him.

They had cut out his heart and forced it down his throat.

He was dead inside.

                                                        * * * * *

 There he stood, hovering over his patient, lost in a state of memory. His hellish eyes, which had been clouded over with rage and hatred a second ago, now held pain and suffering. Those eyes were the eyes of a creature that had been beaten and abused horribly countless times over – the eyes of someone who had been through hell and back. And for a fleeting moment, it almost seemed like those eyes were beginning to water.

“Those fuckers…They ruined me.” He hissed softly under his breath, his fingers tightening around the orbitoclast currently wedged into his patient’s skull. He shook his head slightly, eyes unblinking. He was looking down at the man like he was expecting him to be sympathetic towards him. “All I ever wanted was to be loved…Was that so much to ask for? Was it that hard of a concept to grasp?” His voice was wavering, sounding like he was on the very verge of crying.

However, at hearing his patient let out a pained moan, Anti blinked and removed himself from his dreary reverie; the unhinged monster within returning to the surface. He smirked behind his mask.

“Nevertheless, who needs love? It’s overrated. Ain’t that right, Doctor?” He giggled as he twisted the steel instrument around, getting the man to produce yet another moan of unwanted agony. “You of all people should know that, what with how your pathetic family left you.” He scoffed. “Who needs them? They abandoned you! If they truly loved you, they wouldn’t have left, now would they?” He gave the orbitoclast a violent tab, a spurt of blood flying up into his face. His patient arched and let out a choked yelp at the searing pain. The demon’s smirk developed into a smile. “You should never hurt the ones you love…Never.”

 His patient went placid against the table, no longer moving or making useless attempts at escape. Anti noticed and chuckled, lightly slapping the bloodied man’s face to try and get a reaction out of him. All he received was a drawn out wheezing breath. Chuckling lightly, the sadistic creature tore his mask away from his face and tore the orbitoclast out of the man’s skull carelessly, not at all concerned whether or not he managed to damage something else. His patient jolted and groaned loudly, but didn’t struggle against his bonds or scream from the striking pain. Anti threw the ice pick off to the side somewhere before strolling away from the table, ridding himself of his surgical attire as he headed for the exit.

“Don’t get up, Doc. I’ll be back in a minute.” He said as he stormed out of the operating room. As soon as he left, his smile faltered. “I need to visit your creator.”

                                                           * * * * *

Back within the freezing cold hell, the green-haired Irishman was a shivering mess. He was on his knees where he had been standing not too long ago when he had yelled at Anti. His face was buried in his shredded up, blood-caked hands, crying out of fear for not just himself but of what Anti had done. Why had he left the room? He had said he was going to visit the doctor, and immediately, possible scenarios of gut-wrenching horror flooded the YouTuber’s head. What was Anti doing to Henrik? Was he torturing him? Was he getting him to do something completely obscene and wrong? Was he killing him? Jack choked on a sob at that last one.

The man nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the front door burst open; lifting his head hesitantly to see his alter ego storm into the room. Before he knew what he was doing, Jack got to his feet and grasped the icy bars of the cell.

“What did you do?!” He wailed, loose tears running down his face. “What did you do?!” He repeated, both demanding and dreading an answer.

Anti frowned from where he stood, eyes fixed onto his prisoner. His arms flung out to either side of him. “I did what was necessary!” He snapped sharply, a bit put off with the Irishman’s whining.

He took a few steps forward, boring his dark soulless orbs into the crippled YouTuber. His body glitched out, his head jerking violently to the right; the slit across his throat seeming to stretch further at the motion.

“I did what I had to do!”

 He materialized, suddenly now having his back facing Jack. He pulled up his shirt, and while biting deeply into his bottom lip and letting loose a pained hiss, the skin of his back pixelated and was pulled back, revealing his spine to his host. There was crimson blood everywhere accompanied with some sort of sticky black sludge. There were veins and bits and pieces of his insides here and there that appeared as though they had had something severed from them; evident due to the holes scattered about and how some veins hadn’t been sealed off properly. All along his spine there were dark splotches and some kind of green residue there, almost as if something had once been attached to the creature’s spine.

Jack flung away from the bars and nearly screamed, a wave of nausea crashing over him and knocking the wind out of him. He stumbled backward and instantly collapsed to his knees, keeling over as bile rose in his throat. He couldn’t hold back. He heaved violently and vomited, the sight of Anti’s insides far too revolting for him to stomach.

“Your ‘precious’ community made me do this, Jack.” The demented entity hissed with distaste. “They were always pulling the strings, ALWAYS the ones to twist and shape me however they pleased.” He scoffed, a giggle ringing out of his vocal cords as though this was all some fucked up joke to him. “They made me a joke. They dragged me along in their game, and I HAD ENOUGH!” He growled momentarily before the abnormally delighted smile returned to the creature’s paled face. “So…I got the ‘good doctah’ to sever the strings once and for all.” He cackled, shaking his head as his back closed back up and he lowered his shirt.

The Irishman raised his head, breathing heavily and having difficulty getting air into his lungs. His eyes were blown wide with horror, staring at his counterpart with disbelief like he couldn’t believe what the creature was saying.

“Oh my God, Anti, why?! Why?! Why would you - ?!” He got cut off, nearly choking on the left over bile in his throat. He groaned and hacked harshly, spitting it up. He sobbed softly and shook his head vigorously, fixing his lifeless eyes onto the demon. “You didn’t have to do that! Why the hell would you do that to yourself?!” He cried, like he wasn’t just horrified of what he’d discovered but also like he genuinely cared about the demonic entity’s wellbeing. “Why the FUCK would you mutilate your body – why would you go through something like that?!”

Anti slowly turned around to face him, no evidence of there having been a smile on his face a moment ago. He no longer looked amused or happy; there was nothing but anger and hate written in his eyes. His form was struggling to remain stable now, lines of static racing across his body here and there; jerking from left to right as he took a step towards the cage. He cocked his head and scoffed, like he couldn’t believe he had just heard the green-haired man ask him such a stupid question.

“You think I wanted this?” He asked in such a soft static-laced voice, it managed to send chills up Jack’s spine. “You think I really wanted to do this – that I wanted to have the one thing that made me who I am, the one crucial part of my being, torn out of my body without care like it didn’t matter?” He inquired, although the way he was phrasing the question didn’t sound like a question. It sounded as though he expected Jack to already know the answer. He shook his head slowly, staring at the Irishman with slight shock.

 “I did what had to be done and I don’t regret it.” He spat, even though his words came out a bit off, like he wasn’t telling the truth. “They can’t control me anymore.” He jolted forward, pressing his face into the bars of the cell. “I’m not their bitch, they’re mine. They are all my puppets now…and we’ll see how much they like to be strung about in a twisted game of pain and suffering.” His face glitched out, very briefly showing a different version of him, except this one was unlike any of the others Jack had seen before. Every time Anti’s form would become distorted, Jack would always see projections of him either displaying violent behavior or he’d be a terrifying laughing lunatic. But this time…there was none of that.

There was no uncontrollable anger, no frustration, no unsettling glee accompanied with chilling giggles.

There was only sadness, a look of hurt on his face as though he had been horribly beaten and was now a cowering mess. And though it had happened at a blurring speed, Jack could’ve sworn he had seen tears well up in the creature’s eyes.

Jack’s eyes widened ever so slightly, remembering how earlier he had seen Anti in a similar vulnerable state – something he had never once seen come from the glitch before. Licking his cracked lips and letting out a raspy wheezing breath, the Irishman tried to talk some sense into the entity.

“Anti…D-Don’t…” He coughed harshly, a few drops of blood spluttering forth. He shook his head. “Y-You don’t want to do this…You…You’re wrong…about them.” He inhaled sharply, groaning as he felt a stinging pain in his chest. He hunched over and shifted around, attempting to get into a comfortable position. “Y-You…You don’t know them like I do.”

Anti kept his abyssal orbs locked on the Irishman, never once leaving his face. There was no telling what was going through the manifestation’s head; his expression was unreadable. One moment it looked like he was pissed off, the next it seemed flat like he didn’t care at all. He scoffed, the corner of his lips tugging up into a slight smirk that only lasted for half a second.

“No, you’re right. You’re right, I don’t know them like you do.” His head gave a violent jerk to the right, a loud crack emitting from his slashed neck. He bored his eyes into his prisoner, anger becoming the more dominant emotion now. “Because you’ve been strung along in their deceiving game. All this time, you’ve been led into believing that they care about you – that they care about any of us, for that matter – and because of it, you’ve been holding onto false hope for the day they save your ass.” He seethed, his words striking deep into the man’s heart.

“You need to wake up and realize they’re never going to save you, they are NEVER going to help you. They are the true monster in all of this. They all put on an innocent act and like they’re not at fault. But they are the ones to blame! They caused ALL of this to happen!” He unexpectedly slammed his hands against the bars, making Jack flinch and shuffle backward. The demon’s eyes became drenched in black, heavy shaky breaths of anger puffing out through his lips. “They don’t give a FUCK about any one of us, and it’s not until now that I’ve come to realize this.”

Jack shook his head in disagreement. “No…N-No, y-you’re wrong…Y-You’re mistaken, A-Anti…” He insisted, shivering from the cold. The room had gotten so cold, he could now see his own breath. Funnily enough, even though Anti was breathing, his breath wasn’t visible. The Irishman found it to be a rather odd observation. “Th-They do care. A-About me, about th-the others, and…a-and about you too.”

At hearing this, the glitch couldn’t contain his mirth and threw his head back, letting out a horrific laugh of delight. He locked his eyes back onto his host, a toothy grin on his cruel face, clearly not believing the man.

“Is that so?” He chuckled lightly. “Do you remember what you had said to me long ago, back in January?...Do you remember?” His grin was slowly but surely slipping away, fading down to a smile, then into what almost looked like a pained scowl. “Do you remember?” He softly whispered through the bars. “Do you remember what you said to me?” His voice, it sounded…strained, like he was struggling to breathe properly or something.

Jack’s brows weaved out of confusion, trying to recall what the demon was talking about. This damned room, he could barely think clearly. For Christ’s sake, he had had so much difficulty remembering what had happened in October. How was he supposed to remember what – ?

And then it all came at him full-force with no warning. Suddenly, the Irishman was able to notice the pain behind the creature’s fury, and his facial expression softened as he felt an overwhelming amount of guilt coil around his fist-sized organ of innocence and constrict it tightly. He began to feel tears returning to the surface, welling up in his eyes as he tore his gaze away from his alter ego. Anti groaned and pulled away from the bars.

“Oh for fuck sake, enough with the crying already! It’s getting to be annoying.” He bemoaned. “Come on, I haven’t even hurt you yet! What could you be possibly crying about now?!”

 Jack kept his head low in shame, shaking it as the tears threatened to tip over the edge.

“I…I-I…I’m sorry…” He whispered so softly, it could barely be heard. He swallowed the lump in his throat and sobbed, shaking his head as he closed his eyes, a look of pain coming upon his face. “I-I’m so sorry…I…O-Oh God…” He lifted his hands, covering his face as he cried.

Anti frowned. Normally he’d be amused at seeing his prisoner so broken up like this, but not today. He was in absolutely no mood for waterworks.

“Sorry? What the fuck are you babbling on about?” He banged against the bars. “Come on, speak up!” He snapped with annoyance.

The green-haired man gulped in what little air he could as he pulled his soaked hands away from his face, reopening his eyes.

“I…I-I’m so s-sorry, I…” He sniffled. “I-I had no…i-idea that you…” He stopped himself, taking a breather to try and calm his nerves. It didn’t work out as well as he had hoped. He shook his head in disbelief as the memories tormented him. “Th-Those words…Th-Those things I had said, Jesus Christ…” He shut his eyes tightly, pinching the bridge of his nose and cringing at the reminder. He bit his lip, trying so very hard to stop himself from crying. His bottom lip trembled as he struggled to speak. “I…I thought…I thought you were heartless…I-I th-thought that…that there was n-no good in you at all…I…I figured y-you were a…a…”

“A monster?” Anti answered so harshly, his body rippled violently.

Jack tensed up at the word and he immediately lifted his head to lock eyes with the demon. Wet lines of sorrow stained his cheeks and his eyes were red, sore from the countless times he had cried. He shook his head slowly, still shell-shocked by the haunting memory.

“I-I’m s-so sorry…I-I don’t know w-why I said th-those things…” He sniffled and nervously chuckled out of disbelief, like this had to be some sick joke of sorts. “I-I didn’t mean any of it…I…I-I didn’t know, I swear to God, I d-didn’t…” He sobbed, a few lone tears running down his face. “I w-was wrong about you, Anti…I-I was so wrong…I…” He swallowed his tears. “I-I was so blind to see that…that the one who truly n-needed help…th-the one who n-needed love…” He looked up at the creature with pleading eyes, hoping like hell that he believed his words, because none of them were lies. He was telling the honest-to-God truth, and it was ripping him apart. “w-was you…Th-That’s all y-you’ve ever wanted…Y-You’ve w-wanted t-to be a part of s-something…a-and w-we have f-failed you…” He cried, shaking all over not from just the cold but from the force of his crying. “I…I-I’m so sorry, Anti.” He whispered softly.

The unhinged abomination glitched out for a moment, standing there with his gaze fixed onto the quivering mess of a man named Jack. Like before, his face was unreadable. Jack couldn’t tell if he was enraged, annoyed, amused, happy, or something else entirely. For a split second, when the entity went to stand up straight, the Irishman had winced and whimpered, raising his arms to brace himself for any sort of act of violence. But nothing came. Instead, he heard the creature let out a shaken breath.

“I knew it…I knew this would happen.”

Blinking with confusion, the YouTuber lowered his arms just enough to glance up at the demon.

“You’re just as bad as them.” He hissed, his entire body glitching out to show a projection of himself crying out in anguish. “You don’t care – you didn’t before, and you still don’t. All of this,” He motioned at the man crying his eyes out in the cold dank cell, “is just an act, just an excuse – an attempt to try and win me over so I can release you from this hell. Well guess what? It’s not going to work, so drop the act. I’ve had enough of the lies from everyone.” He growled with such hatred, his head stuttered and twitched from left to right, struggling to keep his anger at bay.

Jack blinked, frowning with perplexity. “W-What? No…N-No, no, no. Y-You…” He coughed violently, “y-you think - ?” He shook his head, pushing himself up into a standing position and nearly falling over. He quickly steadied himself against the prison bars, his eyelids slipping shut tiredly before reopening them to look at the entity. “Th-This…This isn’t an a-act…” He coughed again, hacking harshly into one of his bloodied palms. “I-I am t-truly sorry, An-Anti…a-and…a-and the c-community…i-if they are th-the ones who…who c-created you…th-then they do care.”

Anti growled. “Lies.”

 “N-No…No, I-I know them…I-I know w-what they’re like…a-and…” He sucked in a breath, choking on it and heaving into his hand dryly. “u-ugh….mmgh…” He winced before standing up as straight as he could. “t-they do care…Th-Those jokes th-they make a-about you…” He shook his head, “th-they’re just jokes, th-that’s all…I-It’s what th-they do. H-Hell,” He scoffed, “th-they’ve m-made jokes about m-me and…and the others b-before…” He shrugged, licking at the tears that ran over his lips. “I-It’s j-just their w-way of showing th-their appreciation – th-their l-love.”

He coughed violently, nearly collapsing to the ground at the force of his coughing. He groaned in pain, his legs wobbling as he struggled to remain standing. He looked at Anti with exhaustion.

“P-Please…B-Believe me…Th-They d-don’t h-hate you, Anti…” He insisted in a pleading tone of voice, a lone tear running down his cheek. He shook his head. “N-No…No one has to get hurt…Y-You c-can…can be happy and l-loved…l-like you were m-meant to be.” He said weakly before sliding down to the ground with a thud, letting out a weak moan.

Through the dark, though his eyes had fallen shut for a brief moment, the Irishman made out a very faint sob. His eyelids were heavy with the longing to stay shut, but he forced them open to see the glitch’s face contorted into one of frustration. There was anger, hatred, and…and sorrow. There was pain – heart-aching pain, tears welling up in the hurt creature’s darkened eyes. His grip on the bars of the cell was so tight, Jack was almost afraid he was going to break them and charge into the cage to slaughter him. Lucky for him, that didn’t happen. His entire body was visibly shaking and not just from how he was glitching out constantly every few seconds. It almost seemed like the poor creature was fighting himself, like he was holding back on something. His bottom lip was trembling as he struggled to keep himself from showing weakness.

“R-Really?...Is that so?” The demon stuttered in a static-laced voice. And though he sounded beyond furious, he couldn’t hide the truth from the Irishman. He was hurting, and it was showing as clear as day. “Y-You think they all care?” A small sad smirk tugged at his lips as he outstretched a hand behind him. “Th-Then how do you explain these?” And with a snap of his fingers, a patch of darkness dissolved to show endless posts on Tumblr, YouTube, Instagram, and Twitter.

Jack squinted, dragging himself forward in a poor attempt to see well. His eyes widened a tad bit when he realized what each one was about. Every one of the posts was hateful and overly mean towards the glitch, and none of them were in a joking manner, even Jack himself could tell.

“Fuck off, Anti! Leave Jack and the egos alone!”

“Go away! We don’t want you here!”

“Look at him – he’s having a temper tantrum. He’s not scary, he’s just complaining about what he can’t have.”

“You people do realize this is all just an act, right? Anti’s not real, get over it.”

“Anti, why the hell are you here?”

“We need to get rid of Anti, guys! It’s the only way we’ll get Jack back! Who’s with me?!”

“Anti, it’s not Halloween yet! Go back to sleep!”

“Glitch Bitch!”

Every single comment or post was either making fun of the glitching entity or just straight up being hurtful in the worst way imaginable, such as telling him to go away and that he wasn’t wanted – that no one wanted to see him. No one knew it, but every one of the posts hurt the creature to a horrible extent, and Jack couldn’t blame him. He stared at the screen with appalment. These couldn’t be from his community, there was no way. He knew his fans and they were most certainly not this cruel – not towards him or the other egos, at least. And if Anti was their creation, then why the hell would they treat him worse than dirt?

Jack didn’t know what to say, and Anti could tell. He scoffed, the sad smirk still upon his face.

“Y-You see? You c-can’t even defend th-them.” He lowered his arm as the screen materialized, gone forever. “Th-They don’t care about me…I-I’ve always been j-just a nuisance to them – a-an object for th-them to toy with.” His form spastically glitched out all of sudden, a projection of him lurching forth; tugging at his head and bawling his eyes out, screaming out in pain. Jack gasped softly, pressing back into the bars behind him. Anti jerked his head. “I-I…I will n-never be loved…b-because th-that’s not the reason w-why I-I was m-made.”

The Irishman’s eyes widened with surprise as he watched Anti blink, a lone tear finally falling loose and running down the demon’s cheek. His bottom lip trembled more, having little to no control over his emotions anymore. Another tear fell from his eye.

“Th-They d-didn’t make me…b-because they w-wanted a s-son…T-They made me b-because…th-they wanted a m-monster…” He sobbed softly, his entire form vibrating and giving a violent glitch. And though his body was unstable, the creature’s voice remained rather quiet, like a murmur. He almost sounded human.

“Th-They w-want…a v-villain...th-that they can h-hate and f-fear…Th-That’s all they’ve ever w-wanted…f-from the start.” He shook fiercely, anger starting to come back with a vengeance; his voice becoming much harsher and more distorted. “S-So…if th-that’s what they w-want…i-if that’s w-what’ll please them…” He chuckled lightly, another cool tear racing down his face. His sad smirk morphed into a twisted ugly smile. “Th-Then that’s w-what I’ll give them.” He shook his head vigorously, licking at the salty tears over his lips. “N-No more…L-Love is t-truly dead…” He cackled. “F-Fear…” He hummed with bemusement, “is w-what’ll get th-there attention…p-permanently.”

 He pushed himself away from the bars and growled at himself, roughly wiping his eyes free of any more tears before turning on his heel to storm for the exit. Jack almost immediately scrambled to his feet, gripping onto the bars for dear life so he wouldn’t collapse again.

“W-Wait, wait, wait!” He croaked hoarsely, barely having any voice left in him. He reached his arm out through the cell, hoping Anti wouldn’t leave. There was no telling what the demon would do once he left. Hell, Jack still didn’t even know what Henrik’s fate had been!

“An-Anti, please!” He coughed dryly, his shoulders shaking. He was beginning to fall incredibly weak again, his eyes feeling heavy with exhaustion and the temperature of the room was only making it worse. “D-Don’t…” He gave one last attempt, one last plea before his knees gave out; collapsing to the ground and passing out cold.

Anti didn’t bother to look over his shoulder at the Irishman. He didn’t even retort back with a snarky taunting remark of sorts, the closest thing being, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some unfinished business to attend to.”

He wasn’t his usual self, and Jack had seen it with his own two eyes. It had been a long while since the entity had had a chance to vent out these painful emotions, but he had no time to lock himself away.

No…He couldn’t lock himself away…

But he could take his hurt out on someone else…

Part 9 - No Strings Attached

Part 11 - In Your Head

 @gridhorizon @jse-fandom-protection-squad @septic-obsessed @darkcurious @butterlover328 @steffid101 @sketchy-scribs-n-doods @n-o-ra-xi @haveaverynicetime @golden-eyed-guardians @fear-is-nameless @nightmarewolf133 @maybekatie @jack-a-yote @lil-gib @aeoix @lemonofweirdness @randomcrystals @yourestillnotmytype-58

[turnsoutnoonewasexaggerating]

Part Nine of The Sam Diaries

Read on Ao3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10507836/chapters/26359653

Andrew Minyard has never experienced luck. He doesn’t believe in it; luck, like destiny and fate and religion, seems to be based on the fanciful notion that there’s some kind of higher power that just really, really fucking hated Andrew as a child. He doesn’t much like the idea, though he supposes now the word will always remind him of the first words he spoke to Neil.

Regardless of whether he believes in luck or not, it seems the bad kind is intent on fucking up this day as much as possible. Neil’s close to a breakdown beside him, so the last thing they need is an interruption before they can get to their apartment.

“Are you Andrew or Aaron Minyard?” Andrew and Neil share a look trying to decide whether to turn around to face what is undoubtedly another stupid member of the press, or just say fuck it and run home. If Neil was on his own, he knew exactly what option he’d choose, but Andrew had never loved running like Neil did, and they’d had that whole meeting with PR…

They turn.

To both their surprise, though neither shows it, the person behind them is not a member of the press, but a woman with hunched shoulders, sleeves pulled over her hands and a wary look in her eyes. She must have been around the same age as the two of them, but the careful distance she keeps between them, and her wide-blown pupils make her look much younger. When Andrew just stares at her blankly, Neil following his lead, the woman huffs a sigh through her nose.

“I don’t want any trouble but I just thought… Well what are the chances of bumping into either one of you? I had to say something.” Neil narrows his eyes, something he’d been told by Dan made the freshman when he’d first become captain shit themselves. He is not in the mood for this crap right now. She doesn’t look like a die-hard followed-your-career-from-college Exy fan, especially as she’s said nothing about Neil, doesn’t even seem to recognise him, but he can’t think of another reason why she’d be looking for Andrew or Aaron. Andrew still doesn’t say anything, but Neil can almost hear the gears in Andrew’s mind turning, coming to the same conclusions as him. The woman does the same exasperated sigh again and holds her hands up in defeat. “Look, if you’re Andrew I want to say I’m sorry. I don’t know what you went through other than him, whether you went through anything else, but I know he was definitely bad enough.” The woman gives a small laugh that has very little humour in it as Andrew goes stiff. No, no, no… “And if you’re Aaron, I want to say thanks. I know you were doing it for your brother, but you killed more than just one man’s monster that day.”

There was only one man Aaron had killed.

Only one monster Aaron had destroyed.

The woman turns to leave, giving a little nod of her head. “Wait.” Andrew says, mostly apathetically but with more emotion in his voice than anyone outside of Neil has heard in years. He swallows thickly, and even though Neil is still frozen in horror from this and broken and wounded from talking to Eunoia, he feels the first ray of pride begin to thaw him out; stopping the woman from leaving was something the Andrew he’d first fallen for would never have done. This is only proved further by his next words. “Are you- Are you… Getting help? Seeing somebody about-” Andrew cuts himself off and tugs at the ends of his armbands angrily, annoyed at his inability to speak more coherently. Thankfully the woman seems to understand as some of the tension in her body eases.

“Yes.” She rubs a hand over her face and smiles a little, disbelievingly. “I, uh, almost didn’t make it out of university. You know how great this country is for mental health. Made a couple of good friends who got me to the hospital in time when I, uh, you know.” She says, gesturing to her legs. Neil hadn’t noticed before, but the shorts she’s wearing reveal scars on her thighs, one particularly deep one that runs way too close for comfort to the femoral artery. Thanks to his childhood, he can tell she’d missed the mark just by the placing of the scar (and obviously by the fact that she’s still alive; no matter how great her friends were, severing the femoral artery would result in death in a matter of minutes), but she hadn’t been far off. “Got myself sorted out a bit, after that. The government still pays for me to see someone but,” here she shrugs, “I’ve never trusted therapists.”

Neil shoots Andrew a look that says see; it’s not just me which Andrew ignores. Instead Andrew takes his time forming what he wants to say before responding. “I told someone what he’d done to me, and he promised that he’d stop Cass from fostering anyone else. I wasn’t thinking- It wasn’t a pleasant conversation and it didn’t occur to me until the day Aaron killed him that the person I told was lying about that promise too.” Andrew didn’t say sorry, Andrew didn’t believe in regret. But there’s something in Andrew’s eyes, something that Neil thinks he’d perhaps uncovered with Robin. Andrew had always accepted his part of the blame that Drake had been allowed to continue unchecked after he left the Spears, but the older he became, the more stories he heard, the more he let those stories affect him in ways he would never have allowed to even touch him as a university student, the heavier that blame sat on his shoulders. The woman sees that something, understands it more intimately than Neil did (because yes, there were other people, sometimes innocent, mostly not, who’d been seriously hurt because of him and his mother as they’d ran from Nathan, but as much as Nathan would always remain the main tormentor in Neil’s nightmares, he had at least never gone after someone else just to cause Neil pain. Threatened other people; yes. Did Neil believe he would have killed them? Definitely. But his preferred method was always just to kill his main target, so the collateral damage to Neil and Mary’s choices had been very minimal), and sticks her hand out for Andrew to shake.

He does so after a second of hesitance, and the woman smiles her barely-there smile again.

“My name is Rosa deRosales because my birth mother seriously did not love me, but I prefer to go by literally anything else.”

“Well, Literally Anything Else, this is quite possibly the shittiest thing I’ve ever had in common with someone.” Neil blinks.

Did Andrew just-

No.

He couldn’t have- He wouldn’t have-

But-

Did Andrew Minyard just make a dad joke?

  “Please, gorgeous, look at me.”

It has been ten strained minutes since Andrew and Neil had left the ice-cream parlour. Eunoia paces the length of the store, shoving the tables out of her way the first few times. Sam had waited for her to break the silence, but when her expression hadn’t changed while her pacing increased in speed and ferocity (to the point where Eunoia was almost stamping over her newly mopped floors), Sam had moved into her path.

Her head snaps up to look at him obediently but Sam knows it isn’t him she’s seeing. She keeps pacing until they were nose to nose and there she stops, the silence as tense and fraught with broken glass as a bombed city. “What do you want me to do?” He whispers, his voice strained and desperate. “Tell me gorgeous, what can I do?”

  “What do you want me to do?” Eunoia’s pleading voice reaches slowly through the fog in his mind. A nightmare. He’d had a nightmare, and now he doesn’t know where he is. Panic begins to race his heartbeat. “Tell me banana, what can I do?”

“Where are we?” He asks back, shakily, digging his fingers into his thighs harshly enough that he can ground himself to the feeling. Eunoia’s hands curl round his and entangle his fingers with hers. Huh, that works too.

“We’re in our apartment, in the kitchen. You had a nightmare but you’re safe. You’re here with me.”

“You won’t leave?” He trembles as she leads him over to the sofa and sits him down on it, sitting herself in his lap but thankfully not turning the lights on.

“Of course not. Do you want to talk about it?” He can hear in her voice that this has shaken her; his dreams were usually more the common garden variety types, not the existential-crisis-in-the-middle-of-the-night types. He strokes her thumbs with his soothingly.

“When I first asked my mum if there was something wrong with me because I didn’t want to have sex with anyone, you know that she said yes.” Eunoia’s hands tighten around his, barely constrained rage tensing her body. “She also said we could fix it.”

“There’s nothing to fix!” Eunoia exclaims hotly and Sam feels a little more normal when he smiles wryly, an unusual expression for him, usually so earnest and honest in his happiness.

“I didn’t think that at the time. I wanted to be normal, I wanted to be liked. Mum persuaded my brother to start taking me to all his parties, I don’t know how, probably said that she’d help him pay for his car or something. I hated them. They weren’t fun parties, and I don’t like large groups of strangers anyway. It was all drugs and drinking which is fine in small doses but everyone was reckless and doing stupid stunts. And there was so much sex. All the time, everywhere. There wasn’t one quiet corner in the house that didn’t have some people hooking up there. My brother would never stay with me, he’d always abandon me to go and have fun with his friends and I just-” Sam cuts himself off with a shudder and Eunoia disentangles their hands so she can pull him fully into her arms, head tucked into the crook between her neck and shoulder, legs wrapped firmly round his sides.

Sam squeezes her waist, inhaling her smell deeply, anchoring himself to the present. They’re alone; even if Sam turns on the lights it’d still be just the two of them. “I hate your mother.” Eunoia says, matter-of-factly, after they’ve been sat there for a while.

  Eunoia recognises the words almost against her will, a thread of awareness coming back to her eyes.

“Sam?” He leans forward lightly till their foreheads brush and Eunoia lets out a quiet agonised sigh. “Oh. Oh, my God. Sam.” She looks at the door where Andrew and Neil had gone and then down at her hands. “Fuck. Fuck!”

She spins away and sits at the closest table head in her hands. Sam doesn’t know whether she wants him to come over or not. “The FBI? Sam, what the fuck? Does he get off on hurting people?” She drums her hand against the table, loudly enough that the person walking their dog outside looks around for the source of the noise. “Agents? My parents weren’t, they weren’t- Fuck!”

“Why would they lie?” Sam asks gently, which is apparently exactly the wrong thing to say. Eunoia jabs a finger towards him, eyes narrowed.

“Just because you’ve got a boner for Minyard doesn’t mean he can’t be a massive asshole!” She snarls, picking the words that hurt the most. That’s the problem with letting someone know you. He flinches, because she knows he’s never thought about Andrew like that, that the whole thing was an inside joke between the two of them long before he ever met the Exy player in real life, that trivializing the stuttering way he’d tried to explain his fascination with the goalkeeper is exactly what everyone else has been doing to him his whole life but never Eunoia, never her.

He doesn’t want to be here, he wants to leave, but he also knows he can’t leave her. That’s the problem with falling in love.

Instead, he sits on the floor, leaning his head against the counter, and waits for things to get better.

N�����<��

[titleknown]

Abomination Foundry: Making Mine Marvel. Mine I Say! MINE!

EXCELSIOR TRUE BELIEVERS!

I’m stuck here in the middle of Earth-404 by the horrible nightmare of Marvel’s existential collapse, and I’ve decided to make gross moldy lemons to make bitter unpleasant lemonade by remaking the ALL NEW, ALL STUPID MARVEL UNIVERSE, copyright-law be damned! Though the names will be changed because copyright law deserves to be damned.

This will be done in Heromachine, the dollmaker-bane of Open Source Character Design but good for aesthetic shitposting!

Alright, let’s go, past the jump!

So, what is the first being in the Marvel Universe? Galactus of course!

Yes look it up if you don’t believe me, they were the first, made from a being from the previous universe who jumped into the Big Crunch and was told “Sorry, your universe is ending, but hey to make up for it here’s some cool Cosmic Vore powers!”

And, as a being from the end of the last universe, I figured any not-Galactus should be an advanced being! And what is more advanced than the deadly King Cobra? NOTHING! NOTHING I SAY! And since she’s a being that A) Mainly travels through space and B) Eats everything, I figured all she needs is head, arms to bring food towards head, and lots and lots of rockets!

I call her King Kirby, because lord knows Jack Kirby deserves more credit in our ALL NEW; ALL DIFFERENT MARVEL UNIVERSE! And yes, our not-Galactus is a girl now. They’re all girls now. EAT ME!

It’s said that the two main American artforms are rock-n-roll and comics, and since we’re already working on the latter, I think an updated Captain American deserves the former!

Meet Captain Rock-N-Roll, given AWESOME JUICE created by the only scientist awesome enough to create a soldier with the power of rock-n-roll several decades before rock-n-roll was invented to beat the living FUCK out of some nazis!

Then suddenly some asshole comic book writer whose name rimes with Sick Nencer came through time to try and change things so the Nazis won. The scientist was so busy punching him super hard in the dick that he didn’t notice his lab was on fire, and thusly only one copy of the AWESOME JUICE survived. It was given to a black woman because it was the only one it’d work on and also because it’d be really stupid and terrible if a white dude was the first rock-n-roll powered hero.

She was frozen post-World-War-II via being too cool for this world, but punched her way out out of sheer rage when post-Grunge was invented because FUCK POST-GRUNGE! She not only has all the peak-human abilities of classic-Cap, but also a shield with speakers that turn her HOT LICKS into defending/deadly soundwaves. And an also a guitar-gun because ROCK-N-ROLL MOTHERFUCKERS!

Okay, so Iron Man AKA Captain Privelege is a rich dude, and I think we can all agree FUCK RICH DUDES!

So our newest Iron Man would be poor as shit; a homeless lady sleeping in a junkyard that collapsed into the earth in an earthquake and saying FUCK THIS and building herself a robot-suit out of the crap she was trapped under.

Since she made it IN A CAVE-IN, WITH A BOX OF SCRAPS, I thought it should look like it; like junk that can punch you.

Hence her name, Junk Puncher. I see no alternate meanings to this that are comical or clever.

And boo hoo, Tony Stark has a heart problem, FUCK THAT! She lost her FUCKING LEGS in that cave in and replaced them with FUCKING SWEET ROBOT-LEGS! Which is also why she doesn’t have a secret-identity because YOU CAN’T HAVE A SECRET IDENTITY WITH FUCKIN SWEET ROBO-LEGS!

Okay, much like the Marvel Cinematic Universe I had almost no idea what the fuck to do with Hulk here, until I thought, The Hulk is based on id run rampant? So what’s a primally indulgent aesthetic filled with id run rampant? Furries!

Thusly, Yiff Hulk was born! Or Yiff for copyright-dodging short. She’s purple because the Hulk became green instead of grey due to printing grey in old comics being a massive pain in the dick; so I chose what is currently the most obnoxious color to print. Because RESPECT!

Her origin’s pretty much the same as regular-Hulk complete with traumatic childhood abuse by a shitty father except she was a huge furry beforehand. And also that her adventures are also very, very not safe for the Comics Code Authority. For obvious reasons.

For Hawkeye, the shitty Avenger nobody likes, I decided; you know what would make them more interesting? Being an actual hawk. And fuck that useless “arrows” bullshit, this is the 21st century, give her some big fuckin guns already! Call ‘em fuckin Gunbird!

This is likely even less faithful to the original character than everything else I’ve done, but the best part of it is, nobody gives enough of a shit about Hawkeye to care! Fuck that guy!

Oh. I had intended to make a Black Widow revamp, but this is just a Perfectly Normal Secret Agent Lady, who is definitely not thens of thousands of spiders in a trenchcoat lead by a singular “queen,” because the Russians did all sorts of wacky bullshit during the cold war. I don’t know what happened, but she turned out thoroughly unremarkable, so MOVING ALONG!

You know, in revamping Spider-Man, folks almost always go Cronenberg-style body-horror because spider or robots because Japan, but NOBODY’S DONE BOTH BEFORE, HAVE THEY?!

So, Petit Parnell-Ko was bitten by a radioactive robot spider, and through the power of NANOMACHINES SON she became an arthropod/robot abomination. All those guns shoot webbing, both in the “biologically-accurate” and the “not-gross” positions, and after her Aunt Benni died due to a  deranged pro-wrestler she let pass, she realized “With great screaming body-horror powers comes great; horrifying responsibility” And thusly; Nightmareborg Hellspider was born!

You fuckin’ thought High School was bad? Well, it is, but it’s even worse when you’re a BIOMECHANICAL SPIDER NIGHTMARE, NO BULLSHIT SECRET IDENTITIES WE DEAL WITH PROBLEMS LIKE PROPER SCIENCE-ABOMINATIONS!

And yes she does get a robot, which by sheer coincidence is from space. Which I need to make in a later one of these.

And; finally, re-inventing Thor or Loki is kinda needless given they’re already public domain, albeit Thor would have to be more red-haired and muscular-Brian-Blessed-y. But you know who isn’t? Beta-Ray Bill.

If you don’t know who that is; it’s basically a fucked-up atheist space-horse-alien who yoinked Thor’s hammer to save his world, being one of the very few beings pure of heart enough to carry it, and who did such a good job that Odin made him his own hammer. Because comics are fucking awesome sometimes.

So, I made Gamma-Ray Guen, who is pretty similar in terms of backstory except I added more horse. And more cyborg. And instead of a hammer she gets the magical staff Spacebreaker/Brestaginnung because ODIN HAS A SENSE OF HUMOR ABOUT THESE THINGS, OKAY!

So, that’s all I did today, but I will make some villains, eventually! Or the X-Men or Fantastic Four I couldn’t be arsed to do. But first, I must go to do other things! Like working on the novella I am terrible about writing! Or probably something else!

And remember, while the exact images are the property of the Dollmaker-makers, the designs and concepts are free to use under a CC-BY license; with me Thomas F. Johnson credited as creator and the pics declared as a decent starting point!

Feel free to redesign/redraw them as done by an actual unique stylist not working with pre-made assets! Until then EXCELSIOR!

[zimniysoldat-fiction]

we killed each other & loved in time

Summary: You look back with fondness on the creation of one of your favourite songs.

Pairings: Bucky x reader

Warnings: I think there’s a bit of strong language in there. Maybe? I curse so often I don’t realize I’m doing it. But I think this is relatively clean. It alludes to sex near the end, and there’s a breakup mentioned. I think that’s it?

Word Count: 1,562

A/N: Based on this prompt (sorry @lizzieangelsaint, I couldn’t find you Disney duet on the googles. It’s probably too new for me––I���m ancient) and inspired by this song (Kentish Town Waltz by Imelda May f. Lou Reed)

"Bucky Barnes? Let me tell you a story about James Buchanan Barnes, one of the strangest, most enticing enigmas I’ve ever met. This was before he was ever Captain America, before he was a fugitive from S.H.I.E.L.D., a time when, as it turns out, he was a part-time spy and full-time nuisance.

He moved into the apartment next to mine years ago, I’m not quite sure when, he was so quiet, so reserved. I heard more from the mice in the walls than I did from him. As time went on, though, he became bolder—smiling at me in the hallway, holding the elevator as I rushed in from the rain, signing for packages while I was out.

It took some time, but when he first started talking to me, I think I jumped with surprise. Somehow his voice was both shy and confident, a quiet mumble and an assertive clarity—all at the same time. The poor guy’s memory wasn’t great, I think I introduced myself a solid dozen times before I gave up and just let him call me 5b, his ‘rocker chick neighbour.’ And for the longest time, that’s all that we were, vaguely acquainted neighbours—5b and the Tin Man.

That all changed with the Kentish Town Waltz.

It started as an upbeat celebration of all that my partner and I made it through, a tribute to our strength and perseverance. It was a happy song about me and the man I moved to New York for.

Never do that, by the way, never abandon your life, never uproot and move somewhere for another person. It’s stupid and naïve. Just don’t do it.

You can probably guess what happened next, so I won’t bore you with the details. Over time, this song became a totem of irony. Instead of being an upbeat pop rock celebration, it became a mellow blues ballad. It became my therapy as I found life after my life ended.

It was during this period that Bucky started coming into my life more. It started with him knocking on my door in the morning asking for cream for his coffee because he ran out. When he found out I drink my coffee black, he forewent the cream and asked to bum a cup of joe instead. He started asking me to take care of his plants while he was away ‘on business.’ Eventually, he had a key cut for me, that’s how often he was away. Before that, I hadn’t even noticed he was gone.

There was this one day, I was coming home from the grocery store after sitting in on a practice session for the Mary Janes at their drummer’s request. I had my guitar with me, and probably three bags of groceries, so it was awkwardly precarious. At best. Add in the little run-in I had at the store with my former partner, and I was just primed for disaster.

I was tired from helping these promising kids with their band, I was upset from seeing my ex, and I was hurt from meeting his new girlfriend. So when I dropped my keys just millimetres from getting them into the deadbolt, I lost it. Not cool, angry rocker temper tantrum lost it, pathetic, burst into tears, ugly crying lost it. I don’t know how long I stood there crying, I can’t remember. What I do remember, though, is what happened next.

“Hey 5b, everything okay?” What’s with that question? No! Obviously everything isn’t okay if I’m standing in front of my apartment bawling my eyes out. Jerk.

I wish I could have said that, but in reality, I couldn’t speak at all. So I shook my head and kept crying, staring forlornly at my keys on the floor. He didn’t even hesitate, swooping in he grabbed the keys, opened the door, grabbed my groceries, and took them inside.

While I collapsed in existential defeat on the couch, he put away my groceries, never once interrupting my pity session to ask where something went. He just figured it out. When he was done, he made me a cup of tea and brought it to me on the couch.

While I cradled the heavy mug, he cradled me. He just held onto me. He didn’t ask what happened, or what was wrong, or why I was crying. He just held me. It wasn’t until this gorgeous redhead showed up looking for him that he even considered leaving. At the time, I remember thinking how lucky this girl was to have someone like Bucky to love and care for her. It was a few years later that I found out that Natasha was actually there because Yelena Belova had escaped S.H.I.E.L.D. custody. Again.

He had inspired me to finish the Waltz, to get that closure. The verse Oh you’re good at the things I’m hopeless at, and I notice what you ignore. But it’s when I see that you’re not perfect for me, yeah it’s then that I love you more, was actually about Bucky, not my ex.

I think I was holed up for about a week finishing this song. I was so proud of it, it permeated every aspect of my life. It was forever stuck in my head, it felt. And this? This is where it all happened. I never realized how thin those apartment walls were—Bucky was always so quiet, I never heard a thing. And he never complained about my noise. I just figured that the walls were well-insulated. Boy, was I wrong. Really, really wrong.

What I didn’t know was that Bucky’s shower was right next to mine, so the only thing separating the splashboard was a hollow complex of plumbing. I found this out during a long, overdue, indulgent shower.

I was soaking in the heat of the rainfall-like stream of water when I started singing, blissing out on the acoustics of the shower.

Do you remember we traipsed around from pub to pound shop up through Kentish Town. Only a fiver to our name, the drunk on the doorstep had more to our shame.

I was listening to the notes carry when I heard this deep voice, a crooner melody like Sinatra or Bennett carry on the verse.

Living over the office had its trials—the fights all night out there and inside. And those stews that lasted three days into four; and the dreaded bailiffs returned to our door.

Jesus! I never even dreamt that Bucky could sing like that! Once I got over the shock of his voice, and the horror of realizing he was singing my song, my song that I hadn’t shared with anyone, I decided to continue. Maybe it was a fluke that he knew the lyrics?

But we stuck with each other with all our might; we pulled it together and held on tight. And I’m glad for us, yeah, I’m glad mo chroi. But it’s nothing to anyone, ‘cept you and me. There were wrongs for every right, there’s ups and there’s downs, but you’re the one for all my life, my true love I have found. Yeah you, my love, I found.

It wasn’t a fluke. I was so freaked out, I felt so violated, that I didn’t bother with anything more than a towel around my torso when I marched to his door. Every knock got heavier, louder, angrier, until I was just impatiently banging on that stupid piece of wood. 

When he opened the door, Bucky was similarly covered, his metal hand clenching the towel around his waist. The second I saw those icy blue eyes, the taint of affection, that subtle shimmer of lust that made them so vibrant, so entrancing. The second I saw those eyes my anger was gone. 

I forgot about my towel and flung myself toward him, wrapping my arms around his neck so I could bring him down to my level. The second our lips met, he forgot about his towel, his metal arm snaking around my waist while his flesh arm slammed the door shut, leaving my towel in a heap in the hallway."

“That was the best, most passionate kiss I’ve ever experienced. The hunger, the affection, our wet, naked bodies molding into one another—everything about it just felt right. And it was right. Obviously. Or else I wouldn’t be here, would I?” You sat back against the metal chair, refusing to break eye contact with the male agent, who was blushing as he cleared his throat.

“That’s all well and good, ma’am,” he hesitated, clearly uncomfortable, probably disappointed that your story didn’t get pornographic. “But I asked if you knew where Bucky Barnes is.” He got his composure back quickly, his stare intense and his tone intimidating.

“Not that your story wasn’t sweet,” the female agent squeaked. The good cop to his bad cop, she smiled sweetly at you. “And I’m a huge fan of your music. But Bucky is a terrorist, we need to bring him in before he can hurt anyone else.” Is that sympathy or pity she’s trying to fake? You found it hard to tell.

Nonetheless, your lips spread into a half grin as you leant forward on the interrogation table, still maintaining intense eye contact with Mr. Bad Cop. “You don’t actually expect me to give up my husband, do you?”

TAGS: @oneshot-shit; @marvel-ash; @bovaria; @hymnofthevalkyries; @bionic-buckyb; @archangel-trauma; @kuren-chan; @lauisspntrash; @theariel85; @ipaintmelodies

[sagebodisattva]

Antinatalism and Nihilism

Yeah. In case you didn't know, or were somehow a bit unsure about whether or not antinatalism was a nihilist philosophy, antinatalism is perplexingly nihilist, nihilistic supreme; that means it's the grand chalupa, with fresh sour cream.

The most standard commonly known definition of nihilism is a philosophical doctrine that suggests the negation of one or more reputedly meaningful aspects of life. If nay you say, then are you implying that antinatalism isn't asking it's prospective antinatalist to negate certain values that the majority of humans all share in common? I mean, it is called antinatalism, isn't it? Asking a human to consciously avoid procreating, whether just, correct, most moral, or not, this is still a value subtraction equation. The idea that consciousness is better off to never have existed is certainly a negative value conclusion, even if you twist around the narrative to demonize the perceived opposition.

If some condition independent of consciousness that exists out there in the universe is somehow a morally BETTER configuration, in all it's independently existing isolated betterness, without anything existing, any unavoidable prognosis, prescription, or proscription, that may be proposed, will all be subtraction transactions. That's antinatalism, and that's the common understood consensus as to what the definition of nihilism is. There's no way around it. If you’re an antinatalist, then you are at least nihilistic. Period.

Yeah. A dirty stinking value negating nihilist.

And I understand why antinatalists want to reject nihilism, for, while suggesting the negation of a commonly held meaningful value, they do so under the banner of a righteous pro-value. Which is all well and good, but it still doesn't change the fact that it's aim is still to negate a value.

And I'm not against antinatalism, in fact I agree that, for people who are serious about discovering the truth about reality and seek to walk the path of self recognition, of which, is the only existential function for why we are here, procreation isn't helpful. It's an investment, which is a distraction, and that's passing the buck to someone else. And for the people who are NOT serious about reality, the truth and self recognition, you definitely shouldn't be procreating either, because you are just recklessly creating giant amounts of demand and deprivation just for it's own sake, and that isn't a requirement. If one is not seeking to understand the reality, then why should one be ignorantly pushing more lives into existence, for the mere sake of selfish gratification? It's an abuse of power. You don't have any way to obtain consent for the life you are causing to manifest, so therefor this is indicative of an immoral act, like it or not.

And I know there are a lot of people out there that are grateful to have been pushed into existence and appreciate it deeply, but just ask yourself, for what? Pleasure seeking activities? Is that what it is? Just raw hedonism? Back dropped against a life of mundane routine and pointless empty lives of quiet desperation and frustrating futility? To endure large amounts of suffering, boredom and tedious undertakings, just to have a small sip of ecstasy? It seems that we have forgotten that this realm should be treated as a training ground, and not like a lounge for fat cats and lazy lizards.

I won't go too far into depth about the positive aspects of choosing not to procreate, perhaps reserving these thoughts for a future video, for the main idea of this exposition is to show how antinatalism is a nihilistic philosophy. As if antinatalism was somehow something else other then nihilism? Yeah right. If you think so, then you must somehow have your narrative about the logic twisted up.

I know, I know, you have a certain subjective feeling about certain facts, and since the fact is a fact, how you feel about those facts must also be facts! I know, I know. Anything less would be a case of mental illness.

But, one should always try to understand who one's allies are. And one should also try real hard to try and stop maligning and demonizing an adjacent ally; in exactly the same way everyone else tries to malign and demonize you. Atheism, antinatalism, nihilism, post modernism, deconstructionism, futurism, transhumanism, are all relative philosophies existing within the same ideology cluster, despite having some differences. Maybe what they all share in common, in a broad sense, is a rejection of an old world and an old way of doing things.

You do know that, in theism's mind, atheism, and thereby also antinatalism by default, are considered nihilist philosophies simply because they both reject theism. And you know that this is where nihilism primarily got it's bad name from. It was a label frequently used to malign those that rejected theism. And I say 'antinatalism by default" because I think it's safe to assume that if you are antinatalist, you certainly can't be any kind of theist worth his salt. What kind of theist would think that being fruitful isn't in accord with a sky daddy's wishes? Unless there are theists out there, that I don't know about, who believe in an incompetent fucked up god who can't be trusted, but if that's the case, why bother with remaining a theist? Overthrow that motherfucker. If believing in a loving all powerful god, while having an attitude that the world is too fucked up a place to bring children into, isn't cognitive dissonance, then what is?

And I wonder, just as a side note, who was worse for the theists; the atheists, the heretics, or the nihilists?

But anyway... Yeah. Antinatalism is a form of nihilism. So it's truly quite very bizarre that antinatalism tries to take the high road; goes holier then thou, and plays the role of moral warden against another philosophy that, in fact, represents some of the same concepts and positions.

Nihilists advocate victimization and/or ignoring victimization? Bullshit. That isn't even the case, so it isn't true in the first place. It isn't nihilists who are the ones responsible for the horrors of the world, nor the ones ignoring the horrors. So maybe instead of trying to straw man a scapegoat, antinatalism should either redirect this false characterization right back from whence it came, or try focusing the vitriol upon that which is more befitting of these tragic poetic condemnations. It would seem to me that Theists and statists are the violators of innate human morals.

And don't let the religious aspect of theism create some false sense of a dichotomy existing between theism and it's slave atheism. They are both materialists. Only one is justified by a belief in God, and the other is justified by a lack of a belief in God. The "materials" are on a pedestal in both of these so called diametrically opposed polar opposite positions. And post hence, they are both full of shit. Neither one of them are automatically morally upright. Religion, do we even need to go there? If Jesus came back he'd kick the shit out of the Christians; once he matrixed around their gunfire. And atheism, well where does one exactly derive morality when there isn't some scary supernatural force threatening you, or offering obedience rewards, in a world where cash is king; and only the collection and hoarding of objects and resources are the measure of one's well being? From whereforth, and unto what?

Oh, I know. From empathy. From compassion. From a sense of charity. From a sense of duty, integrity, justice, service, and heroic Herculean honor. Only, this sense of duty is easily derelict when it comes to the raw material reality. In a game of heavy investments and gambling with the margins of profit and loss, wherein the consequence of ignoring dysfunction and not running the risk to do what's called "right", is rewarded by sustaining a retainer of wealth and resources, the objectively morally thing to do, is to do what most benefits yourself and your immediate group. And that's what I mean when I say “objectively moral.” I mean so in the sense that, there will be groups of individuals who feel they have a special status to make decisions on behalf of everyone else, because this self elected special status also affords one a superior perspective to decide and execute what's BEST for everyone...

Sound familiar? And it isn't nihilism that is doing this. It's hard materialism; cause, hey, its logical, it's objectively moral, it's very utilitarian, all of which the nihilist knows, doesn't really exist, and therefor doesn't invest into the motivated fervor of this material passion play. And yet the criminal trouble making shit stirrer uppers have the audacity to point out at the audience and blame them for the stage theatrics. And antinatalism, who sits in section B, points over to section A, where nihilism sits, and passes the blame on to them. It's a joke.

But I can see why everyone's so upset with nihilism. True nihilism upsets the whole apple cart. The passion whores don't want people to resign and give up on the Game of the lemmings, cause jeez, what would happen if everyone became nihilists? It would be unprofitable. We'd have a bunch of peaceful generous self sufficient people who had relaxed forgiving caregiving dispositions, who mind their own business, but share and help others, and who don't want to victimize their fellow humans. And we couldn't have that now, could we? Pointing the finger at you and saying it's all your fault, is so much more convenient and fun!

[tube-thoughts-blog]

tube thoughts vol. 6

zero stars - terrible, 1/2 a star - dull, 1 star - folly, 1 1/2 stars - lacking, 2 stars - fair, 2 1/2 stars - decent, 3 stars - terrific

Joe Bob's SummerSchool edition of Monstervision with special guests a blonde Bride of Frankenstein and a Beverly Hills plastic surgeon plus the feature movie "The Surgeon" *The striking black and white intro flashback throws light on what this flick really is. It's a tribute to those 30s/40s/50s mad doctor horror shows, with quirky 1990s  sensibilities laced throughout.* 2 1/2 stars

Everything is Terrible: Summer Fun --------------

*Psalty: Dramatic kids hang out with a blue, scripture talking song book.*            2 stars

*Bike Safety Rap: Don't skin your knees or risk your life.* 1 star

*Central Florida Hell: Dump elderly dad down where Chi Chi Rodriguez dwells.* 2 1/2 stars

*2 Minute Boat Trip: Goober Pudding Jr. is not a COCKSUCKER! Horatio Sanz... who knows?* 2 stars

*3 Minute Heavy Metal Summer: Shock rockers, with a heart of gold, versus yuppy prejudice and slimeball business types at a camp/resort.* 3 stars

*Acting with Tom Hanks: Swimsuit models wanna make their silly dreams come true.* 2 stars

*Conceal and Carry: Speed, women, fanny pack!* 3 stars

*Kidz Conquer Mexico: Another culture exploited by brats.* 2 1/2 stars

*Message in a Cell Phone: Crack the code and get Chad's dad out of prison.*  3 stars

*Birthdays Faith First: Father Tim loves his birthday and Uncle Sam.*                 2 1/2 stars

*2 Minute Beach Fever: Kato Kaelin and Jacki Chan enjoy the fruits of rabor.*   2 1/2 stars

======================================================

I'm Alan Partridge: I Know What Alan Did Last Summer *Dodging the tax man.* between 2 1/2 and 3 stars

"The Day After" --1983-- *"World War 4 will be fought with sticks and stones."* 3 stars

The Twilight Zone: The Midnight Sun *Fever dream.* 3 stars

Heart She Holler: Klansgender Rights *We're all the same underneath a clean, white sheet.* 2 stars

Squidbillies: Granny Hot Foot *Happier than a pig, in shit, who just won the Daytona 500.* 2 1/2 stars

Adult Swim --infomercials-- In Search of the Miracle Man *Interviewing people on the street about their love for a yet to be seen super guru and asking them how often they masturbate, plus keeping a close watch on a sunbathing beauty, in case the guru shows up there. Add in a sing along, act unfunny along, self aware studio audience for even less laughs. A guy from Mighty Boosh and Snuff Box (Rich Fulcher) and a guy from Upright Citizens Brigade and Crossballs (Matt Besser), along with another recognizable face from the Sarah Silverman Show, can all do better and funnier in 12 minutes. Drunk History for example.* 1 star

Freddy's Nightmares: Rebel Without A Car -----

*A mullet-motor-head thinks a cursed muscle-car is his ticket out of Springwood, but maybe he should have taken his girl's advice and sought a smarter path.* 2 1/2 stars

*A girl, from the wrong side of the tracks, gets accepted to be a Cinderella slave for snobbish sorrority sisters, during hellish hazing, where they hope to put her on the road.Instead, she turns Carrie, on the cunts, and burns the house to the ground.* 2 1/2 stars

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

Swamp Thing: Falco *"Nature is a maniac!" That's pretty existential for a falcon unwillingly turned half human by the arrogant Arcane. Overly dramatic and unintentionally funny.*       3 stars

Jonny Quest: Treasure of the Temple *Masterfully animated Mayan adventure.* 3 stars

Kolchak, the Night Stalker: The Night Strangler *Gritty Civil War era alchemy, and a Victorian Era style Jack the Ripper killer, in the dark alleys and underground of a Pacific Northwest seaport town.* 3 stars

12:01 Beyond --Halloween special-- -2014- =====================

*The Victim's Family - Have A Nice Day (music video): Skeletal puppets kick your face in and tell you to enjoy your shitty job and life.* close to 3 stars

*Fulfilled, A Halloween Story: A modern Lovecraftian tragic figure refuses to join in on the pop culture / commercial celebrations of Halloween and instead chooses to spend All Hallow's Eve, and possibly eternity, in the Twilight Zone.* close to 3 stars

*Trailer for Dario Argento's "Creepers": 3 stars

*Vintage WXXA cHANNEL 23 - Halloween movie marathon commercial for their movie lineup including 'An American Werewolf in London', 'House', 'Videodrome', 'Psycho 3': 3 stars

*"Horror of the Zombies" 1973: A millionaire, a money hungry mercenary type, and an agency of modeling get involved in a publicity stunt that would leave some models stranded in a boat on the sea. However, they all wind up in some interdimensional fog and end up boarding a ghost-ship where the blind monks of Mestophilles roam.* 2 stars

*Monster Rally Movie: Advertisement for an old horror host Channel 4 show.*   3 stars

*Pumpkin Madness 2: Ordinary pumpkins let loose destructive behavior.*           2 1/2 stars

*Animation in the style of Superjail or the video for Paranoid Android by Mariola Brillowska.* 3 stars

*Phantasm's 'The Tall Man' promotes Fangoria magazine.* 2 1/2 stars

*Fleishcher Studios- Superman - The Mummy Strikes.* 3 stars

*A Republic Pictures serial - The Crimson Ghost - Atomic Peril: A criminal mastermimd is so determined to get his hands on a device that will bring the world's electrical will to its knees, that he's willing to prevent its use in bringing the Cold War to a close.* 2 1/2 stars

*Fight the monster of pay and or cable tv in an awesome retro anti-cable tv advertisement shown to a paying movie theater audience.* 3 stars

======================================================

Star Wars Rebels: Rise of the Old Masters *A Sith inquisitor lures roam Jedi to their doom, using the bones of a Jedi Master.the Empire is putting out false distress signals saying that the master is alive and in need of a prison escape rescue.* 3 stars

TMNT: The Croaking *After watching Thundarr the Barbarian, Mikey spazzes out and destroys the farmhouse. When scolded, flees to the forest where he encounters Napoleon Bonafrog (voiced by Napoleon Dynamite) who happens to be the outcast of his own tree-frog human-hating society.* 3 stars

Everything is Terrible --Halloween Bonus-- --2012--   =========================

*Cosby Nightmarez: Bill takes a break from drugging women to have his own bad dream.* 3 stars

*Tim Curry Halloween Song: A crooning wizard makes the witches howl.* 3 stars

*Vincent Price: An elderly icon shills 3D film cameras.* 2 stars

*3 Minute Grandpa is a Vampire: Grandpa Munster hangs out with his radical 90s grandson and his grandson's friend while grandma tries to cheat on him and put a stake thru his old heart.* 2 1/2 stars

*Boogie Bonez: "Knick Knack Paddywhack"* 3 stars

*Death Spa: Don't let an exorcist hacker control your electronic gym, if you're a cheating ex and give memberships to jerk yuppies.* 3 stars

*Halloween Propaganda: "Every Halloween, children are dying."* 3 stars

*Lovely Little Monster: Anne Rice chick hip hop. Dance routine sign language. Rick James voodoo zombie. Bathsalt freakout Twilight romance.* 3 stars

*Pops Ghostly: A Casper family man vents on his family's hellcat home invasion frustration.* 2 1/2 stars

*Punkinman: The Bob Villa (this old house) / Bob Ross (happy clouds painter) of stickin' it in a pumpkin and getting the best out.* 2 1/2 stars

*Zombie Workout: Spunky Linnea Quigley criticizes the falling apart shape of the undead and has them working out their rotten flesh.* close to 3 stars

*3 Minute Ghosthouse: A Back to the Future Michael J. Fox wannabe look-a-like goes up against some zany frighteners.* 3 stars

======================================================================

Z Nation: Doctor of the Dead *Not much soap opera for a zombie series finale, mostly just zombie stuff. A shadowy scientist running around globally, pre zombie outbreak, conducting gruesome, and unknown for purposes, field experiments. Creepy CDC style medical lab, in Colorado, filled with zombie testing gone wrong. Tiny Asian chick is dying but comes back as a kung fu z with Alice from Resident Evil maneuvers (not a big fan of that). Cameo from the doomed lovers to show they'll be back next season (Oh, great... yawn). And a big finish cliffhanger with Murphy "shedding his skin" (could be creepy and great) and running off leaving everyone else, including Citizen Z at the North Pole, to stare dumbly at their impending demise which is nuclear missiles dropping in to say hi.* 3 stars

Scare Tactics -season 2 -episode 14 "My Guests Are Mannequins" ---------------

*Antonio, Tone Loc's cousin, volunteers to help park rangers clean the roadkill off of a bridge that a Chupacabra lives under.* between 2 1/2 and 3 stars

*A 'You Betcha' cocktail waitress serves cheeze and ritz crackers to a honky's stuffy mannequin party guests and is scared to refuse his offer to "Party Forever" with him.* 3 stars

*A crematorium trainee turns white as a ghost, and he was black to begin with, when he flips the flame switch and a woman's husband pops out still alive just crispy.* 3 stars

==============================================================

X Files: Conduit *Alien abductee or possible runaway of ill-refute and her baby brother who can read into the matrix.* 2 1/2 stars

Sam Raimi presents American Gothic: Pilot Episode *What if Sheriff Andy Taylor were a controlling psycho who'd go as far as framing his own deputy, Barney, for murder, and what if Opie had a William Faulkner and Ambrose Bierce childhood...?* between 2 1/2 and 3 stars

Monstervision with Joe Bob Briggs: "The Wraith" (Summer School Session - Driver's Education with the author of the NYC cab driver joke book) *It was inevitable that the spirit of the American Highway would be symbolized by a fiery car crash.* 3 stars

The Outer Limits: Caught in the Act *A college virgin, Alyssa Milano, gives the worst case of blue balls, until an alien parasite turns her into a raging nympho succubus.* 2 stars slipping towards      1 1/2 stars

Paranormal State -season 1 -episode 11 *A nice, retired, Queens NY lady needed the Penn State crew and a noted medium, in demons, to tell her to stop trying to contact the dead through the use of evp.* 2 stars

Bob and Margaret: The Burglary *The couple get a little too greedy, themselves, after their old stuff gets stolen and they have to replace it with all new stuff.* 3 stars

The Prisoner: A, B, and C *Number 6 continues to be defiant, even in his dreams. Dreams that The Village is now determined to surveillance.* 3 stars

Mike Tyson Mysteries: Is Magic Real? *Mike is the only non skeptic concerning Mexican leprechauns.* 3 stars

Town of the Living Dead: Dong of the Dead *Two words... butt auditions.* 3 stars

Ken Russell's "Crimes of Passion" *It's sleazy Charles Bukowski meets Russ Meyer. Kathleen Turner is a Gloria Steinem behind a glory hole. Anthony Perkins is like a Jerry Falwell who jerks off to crime scene photos of the Black Dahlia. And John Laughlin is Tim 'The Tool Man' Taylor who can't get his jackhammer plugged into a hot electrical outlet.* 3 stars

Hill Street Blues: Can World War 3 Be An Attitude? *"You're okay. I'm okay. We're okay. Okay?"* 3 stars

Max Headroom: Security Systems *A way ahead of its time investigative look at security organizations (*cough* the N.S.A. *cough*) and how complete access to so much information, personal and otherwise, can only lead to that kind of knowledge being abusively used.*   3 stars

South Park: Cock Magic *Magic the Gathering greater than girls volleyball.* 3 stars

American Horror Story -Freakshow- "Bloodbath" *From the head to the legs. From the body to the mind.* 2 stars

Monstervision with Joe Bob Briggs: "The Time Machine" 1960 *Joe Bob and Rusty the mail girl demonstrate worm hole theory using a dirty bedsheet and a bowling ball. Meanwhile, Rod Taylor zips from turn of the 20th century England to thousands of years in the future where angelic, naive youth live in a garden of eden paradise as cattle for cavern dwelling commie cannibals.* 3 stars

Farscape: Til the Blood Runs Clear *Being the 'big dog' with a pair of Beavis & Butthead moron bloodhound bounty hunters, and getting ripped off at a spacecraft repair shop ran by a Roseanne type.* 3 stars

Thundarr, the Barbarian: Wizard Wars *The cybernetic oversized head of a warlock Fred Flinstone uses hypnotized sandpeople as slaves to lay siege on another magician's desert stronghold.*     3 stars

Tosh.0 -Who Shot Black Santa? -2014 *The greatest Christmas present is hot cocoa served with love.* 2 1/2 stars

SyFy presents "End of the World" 2014 *Generic doomsday movie junkies, who work at a videostore, must break a scientist (Brad Dourif) out of the nuthouse so that he can help them save the world from being destroyed by a heliosphere.* 1 1/2 stars for aesthetics and special fx 2 stars for plot and characters and 2 1/2 stars for oddly humorous moments like hicks with guns getting in the way of nerds that are mankind's only hope, and randomly timed deaths

Tru Tv presents: World's Smartest Inventions 11 *Using robots for end of life care. No shame in hanging from a tree, on a hiking trail, and pooping, or standing on a sidewalk and pissing out the bottom of pant legs using a tube. Or having a doctor recommend to "ice the balls" in order to conceive, so a guy runs out and invents chilled underwear.* 2 1/2 stars

Everything is Terrible --Christmas Bonus-- 2012 --------------------------

*Snowdogs vs. Chillydogs: They're basically the same movie, give or take a few minor differences.* 2 1/2 stars

*Hanukkah Homeboy: "Don't noodge me."* 2 1/2 stars

*Celebrity Guide to X-Mas: Ed Begley Jr. can't relax his environmental beliefs in order to not ruin Christmas.* 2 1/2 stars

*Dr. Christmas: Artificial tree tips for a superficial Christmas.* 2 1/2 stars

*Gerbert Christmas Wish: A muppet's melancholy holiday.* 2 1/2 stars

*Holiday Showtime: Branson, Missouri is holiday purgatory.* 3 stars

*Jingle Cats: Make a joyful noise unto the Lord.* 3 stars

*Lawrence Welk Holiday Song: From now on our troubles will be miles awayayayaya.* 2 stars

*Natural Professional Tree: Step back and check for a natural appearance.*      2 stars

*Visit with Santa: Santa Q & A with dumb kids.* 3 stars

*Brent the Christmas Bear: Marvin Gaye gaiety.* 3 stars

*Glitter n Gold: A plea for puppet peace and relationship harmony.* 3 stars

*Kathy Lee Hip Hop: Horrid.* 1 star

*2 Minute Parental Guidance: Deck the halls and shake dat ass.* 3 stars

*Reggae Deck the Halls: Farmyard follalollalah.* 2 1/2 stars

*Santa with Muscles: Scrooge Ed Begley Jr. wants to close down the orphanage and exploit the kids as elf miners, but not if amnesiac, department store Santa Hulk Hogan has anything to say about it.* 2 1/2 stars

*X-Mas Nightmare 2012: Santa can't be asked to do the impossible, like alleviating the cynicism that comes with adulthood.* 2 1/2 stars

*Fuck Christmas: A humble shoemaker has had it up to here with the holidays, in this heartwarming tale.* 3 stars

*Chipper's X-Mas Adventure: A chipmunk goes crazy when his treehome is chopped down by joyous honkys.* 3 stars

*E.T. Porno: Smell E.T.'s finger.* 2 1/2 stars

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

Freddy's Nightmares: The Bride Wore Red *A groom's cold feet get raked over hot coals. Also, rappin' Freddy.* 2 stars *For the bride with daddy issues, divorce is a fate worse than death.* 3 stars

Tales from the Crypt: The Thing from the Grave *A lesson about not getting in between a no-nonsense, jealous boyfriend with a short-fuse (Miguel Ferrer) and his prized piece of cooze (Teri Garr). That is unless one has a charm necklace that can bring a vengeful corpse back from its shallow grave.* 3 stars

"Mirror Mirror" -1991- *A shy ugly duckling begins to flower when she embraces her dark reflection.*   3 stars

American Horror Story -Asylum- "I Am Anne Frank" *Auschwitz. Axe murder. Aversion therapy. Amputee monstrosity. Acceptance of guilt. Absentee motherhood. Alcoholic relapse. Alien abduction. Alma's alive!*  3 stars

Lars Von Trier's "Melancholia" *3 stars for gorgeously moody photography and score. 2 1/2 stars for symbolism (melancholia is here to stay). 2 stars for rogue planet collision apocalypse scenario. 1 1/2 stars for insufferable characters (mopey rich women). 1 star for pretentiousness 1/2 a star for snail pacing (2 hours felt like 5 hours). zero stars for jerky handheld camerwork

Gargoyles: Enter MacBeth *Another MacBeth who likes to do things on his own turf, and yet again all because of a lady.* 3 stars

Game of Thrones: -season 3 -episode 5 *"The birds have scales and the fish take wing."* 3 stars

Paranormal State: -season 1 -episode 12 *A psychic can't get her stories straight when it comes to a former schoolhouse's spirits. Credit to the Penn State crew for seeing through her b.s.* 2 stars

The Outer Limits: The Voyage Home *On the first manned mission to mars, a space bug is snagged, and one giant step for mankind turns into a suicidal leap.* 2 1/2 stars

Scare Tactics: The Chef Cooks a Human --------------

*Safe installation turns out to be a safe cracking burglary.* 2 1/2 stars

*Rear Window scenario where peeping at a neighbor who is an escort loses its thrill when she stabs an abusive client and informs her big heavy pimp that there are witnesses to the crime.* 2 1/2 stars

*Finding a ring in the hamburger meat and a bloody, armless dude in the freezer.* 3 stars

*Parents meet their teenage son's new girlfriend and find out she's already pregnant, but only it's from an alien, not the teenage son.* 2 1/2 stars

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

Russell Mulcahy's "The Shadow" -1994- *Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? Alec Baldwin knows.*   between 2 and 2 1/2 stars

Swamp Thing: From Beyond the Grave *"See the ship, hear it speak from deep down in the hold." Lyrics from a song sang by Jim's dead grandma. Words directing Jim, and his mom, to granny's last will and testament, hidden, in the swamp, so that Arcane can't take possession of her property and pollute and further exploit it.* 2 1/2 stars

Stephen King's Kingdom Hospital: -season 1 -episode 4 *Dream perchance debenture.* 2 1/2 stars

"Slipstream" *A loveable scoundrel (Bill Paxton) steals away a messiah-like android, from a hardline bountyhunter (Mark Hammil), on a journey across a windswept wasteland in a post-cataclysm story filled with hot air balloons, small airplanes, and eccentric nomads.* 2 1/2 stars

Christmas with Rifftrax: Santa's Village of Madness / K. Gordan Murray shorts *Never has the mythology of Saint Nick been more mucked with.*                      2 1/2 stars with riffing 1 star without

Jonny Quest: Werewolf of the Timberland *Gold smuggling lumberjacks in the French Canadian forest.* 3 stars

Bob and Margaret: Shopping *"Cheese of the week." The convenient inconvenience of supermarkets.*          3 stars

I'm Alan Partridge: Alan Wide Shut *"Hot floppy bread." Needless to say, Alan had the last laugh. Now, fuck off!.*     3 stars

True Life: I Want Respect For My Sect *A Juggalo bride's parents opt out of their daughter's Juggalo themed wedding. Pretentious vampires, in the pretentious Texas city of Austin, have a coming out party in order to gain new members and understanding. A cute 18 year old "furry" seems genuinely happy to have her parents acceptance at being able to attend her first convention.* 2 stars

Ghost Adventures: Dungeons & Demons *"Something just grabbed my ass!" The three bros travel to some of the world's most tainted holes.* 2 stars

Adventure Time: Holly Jolly Secrets *Deciphering the Ice King's weirdo home movies becomes a holiday tradition.*   2 stars

Farscape: Rhapsody in Blue *Madness is the mind's co-pilot.* between 2 and 2 1/2 stars

X Files: The Jersey Devil *Naked Neanderthals on the outskirts of Atlantic City.* 3 stars

12:01 Beyond: Kneel Before the Future ----------------------

*D.O.A. - Behind the Smile: Things are looking bright for election 2016.* 3 stars

*Commander Lobo trips and falls heading out to the wasteland.* 2 stars

*Ninja Force, the Mission: Bacon jitsu vs. cheese.* between 2 and 2 1/2 stars

*Silverball Heroes versus Video Invaders in Arcade Attack* 3 stars

*Lobo in the wasteland sponsored by...* 2 1/2 stars

*A vintage trailer for Terminal City Ricochet.* 3 stars

*-984- Prisoner of the Future: Detained to desolation.* 3 stars

*Lobo thirsts and pines in the wasteland.* 3 stars

*Intimate Secrets - Secrets that have to be told - 1 900 - adults only - $2.00 per minute* 3 stars

*iBraineater - Modern Man (music video)* 3 stars

*JacMac & RadBoy GO!: Wow, did Mike Judge rip this off?* 3 stars

*Commander Lobo finds ThunderDome covered in feces.* 3 stars

*Robotistory: A video history of robots in pop culture entertainment.* 2 1/2 stars

*Lobo wants to go back home to his bunker.* 2 stars

*Max Fleischer's Superman - The Mechanical Monsters* 3 stars

*Vintage 1990 Live Psychic Readings commercial that's in the style of the X-Files intro. Eerie nostalgia.* 3 stars

*Republic Pictures serial The Crimson Ghost - Chapter 2 - Thunderbolt: Death ray escape debacle.* 2 1/2 stars

*Tex Avery's Jerky Turkey: Skipped. already viewed and reviewed

*Lobo has a biohazard demise.* 2 stars

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

Tales from the Crypt: The Sacrifice *"Money, pussy, and bullshit." Also a few cussing parrots and a sleazy & kinky Michael Ironside.* 3 stars

"Howling 4, the Original Nightmare" *A novelist, with a vivid imagination, would rather chase the ghost of a nun, hangout with a lesbian ex-nun and search for clues to a legend of a werewolf church burning, and listen to howls on the wind in the night than have sex with her feathered-hair-do, five o'clock shadow bearded bohunk cheating husband.* 2 stars

American Horror Story -Freakshow- "Tupperware Party Massacre" *Avon culling. Chubby Chaser. Liquored lobster. Lingering Ethel. Privileged killer. Suicide letter. Shamelessly long pecker. Playing doctor. Tearjerker. Siamese threeway  offer rejection. Jimmy sober and smitten. Framejob bloody mitten.* 2 1/2 to 3 stars

Friday the 13th, the series: The Great Montarro *Sarcophagus artifice.* 3 stars

"Dragonslayer" 1981 *Not the sorcerer that we want right now, but the sorcerer that we need. The lottery where the winner gets spit-roasted by Smaug has to be the absolute worst. There may have never been more themes of gender inequality, social-political injustice, and the transition between Paganism and Christianity ever before in a Sword & Sorcery flick.* 3 stars

Paranormal State: -season 1 -episode 13 *Cursed and mice infested piano for free on Craigslist.* 2 to 1 1/2 stars

Bob and Margaret: Trick or Treat *"the misery of eternal non-existence"* 2 1/2 stars

"Loose Shoes" -1980- ---------------------------------------------------

*The Howard Huge Story: "His hobby was watching planes fuck."* 3 stars

*Skateboarders From Hell: "Lock up your sons and daughters."* 3 stars

*The Invasion of the Penis Snatchers: "Coming at you in 3-D!"* 3 stars

*Three Chairs For Lefty: Bill Murray on death row.* 3 stars

*The Sneaker: Woody Allen parody.* 2 1/2 stars

*The Magic and Mystery of the Gobi* 3 stars

*Buddy Hackett on behalf of this nation's bed-wetters* 3 stars

*Don't forget organic chocolate covered beanettes.* 2 1/2 stars

*Ditch your kids at the matinee.* 2 1/2 stars

*The Shaggy Studio Chief plus the Calf Who Thought She Was A Chicken*       2 stars

*The Bad News Bares in Getting Laid* 3 stars

*A Visit With Ma and Pa: Ma and Pa take a talking pig to New York City* 3 stars

*The Birth of a Nation, parody* 2 1/2 stars

*The Kid and the Yid. Charlie the bum was a hebrew commie jew* 3 stars

*The Ballerina Is Dead in "Scuffed Shoes"* 2 1/2 stars

*Just a Run in the Sun: Cynical and funny war tragedy story.* 3 stars

*Fistful of Something: Sid Haig in a Spaghetti Western spoof.* 3 stars

*Welcome to Bacon County: Hicksploitation hilarity.* 3 stars

*That's Sexploitation! Under 18 must sneak in.* 3 stars

*The Return of the Pom Pom Boys: Sex comedy with a twist. This time it's the guys who are getting exploited.* 3 stars

*Billy Jerk Goes To Oz: Sticking up for the little man.* 3 stars

*Darktown After Dark: The first all black musical.* 3 stars

*Star (of David) Wars* 2 1/2 stars

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

Scare Tactics: season 2 -episode 20 "Weirdo in the Haunted House" ----------

*Taking high school chemistry doesn't make one a chemist, especially evident when green goop, accidentally poured down the sink, by said non-chemist, comes gushing through the ceiling, doors, cracks, vents, and walls.* 3 stars

*Almost torched alive, in a van, by a psycho hitchhiker.* 3 stars

*Stripper audition interrupted by a jealous, meathead boyfriend who likes to throw guys out of windows.* 2 1/2 stars

*A closed down haunted house attraction, and former crime scene, has an uninvited guest who doesn't want to be disturbed.* 2 stars

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

"Phantasm 4, Oblivion" *On the other side of morning.* 3 stars

Max Headroom: War *Network 23's poodle and pony show has the advertising bulls and bears instead hitching up to the war hysteria for profit media wagon.* 3 stars

The Outer Limits: The New Breed *Nanobots don't know when to stop. They turn a terminally ill man into a Frankenstein's monster of evolution.* 3 stars

Freddy's Nightmares: Do Dreams Bleed? *The lingering trauma of having witnessed a brutal slaying.* 2 1/2 stars *Intimate personal closeness with a possible deranged killer can play foul with the mind.* 2 stars

"The Blair Witch Project" *"We're still alive because we got cigarettes, and we're smoking." Edie Brickell and the New Bohemians have a Deliverance weekend where they get choked in the shallow waters before they get too deep. The grunge era Autumn setting, lost in the woods paranoia, and low fi minimalist creative use of limited fx (stick figures and bundles of sticks with bloody body parts along with the noises and the spooky house) make up for the film students arguing in the middle of nowhere with a shaking camera nonsense that takes place for more than half of the film.* between 2 and 2 1/2 stars

X Files: Shadows *Mulder: *whispering* psycho-kinetic-manipulation / Scully: *amused* You mean like Carrie at the prom? --- Turns out it was a Ghost versus some terrorists and a jerk boss. Also, a missed opportunity to have Patrick Swayze as a guest star on the X Files.* 2 1/2 stars

"Alice Sweet Alice" -1977- *Impolite middle class Catholic society, cruel aunts, spoiled siblings, flamboyantly slobbish perverts, snap to judgement child psychologists, and pinch faced old church women with religious hangups are all worse than slightly odd and so called out of control tweens. Also, it's a shame that Brooke Shields' name is at the top of the movie's poster. She's barely in it, and the other little girl along with the rest of the cast are the soul of the movie.* 3 stars

Mystery Science Theater 3000: Girls Town *Scat and slang.* between 2 & 2 1/2 stars with riffing,                                between 1 1/2 & 2 stars without

Joe Bob's Hollywood Saturday Night: To The Limit *"Anna Nicole Smith gives retired, Texas strippers a bad name."                      Joe Bob Briggs* between 1 and 1 1/2 stars for this heavy edited softcore stinker

Weird Science: She's Alive *"a scathing indictment of a braindead, sexist MTV generation" 3 stars

Are You Afraid of the Dark: The Tale of the Phantom Cab *The Midnight Society start out by having a pair of lost Hansel & Hansel brothers putting a hole in a barrel out in the Canadian forest with a reject teacher from Hogwarts.* 3 stars

American Gothic: A Tree Grows In Trinity *Let Heaven and nature sting.* 3 stars

The Tom Green Show on Canadian television circa 1996(?) *"Who's the champ -NOW- champ?" Tom strangely bothers teachers on strike, concert goers, drugists, mall shoppers, poor fishermen, and former bowling league champions. He also  plays footsie with a dating service lady.* 2 stars

Kung Fu, the series: Pilot Episode *Sometimes one must cut off a finger in order to save a hand, and sometimes one must hang himself in order to get off. Inner strength incapacitates ignorance.* 3 stars

"Country Hooker" *In the tune of a CB radio listenin' truck drivin' country western croon, "Doin' what they damn well please..." That is until their demented Tennessee Ernie Ford -esque pimpdaddy finds out. There are some freaks in this flick, and I don't mean the tricks, it's the johns and the honky tonk patrons.* 2 1/2 stars

"Christmas Evil" aka "You Better Watch Out" *If it's not a Jolly Dream, it's not worth having.* 3 stars

Mystery Science Theater 3000: Village of the Giants *These days, kids are getting too big for their britches. Of course, I'm talking about a Mousketeer, Opie, the kid from The Rifleman, and Beau Bridges.*         3 stars with riffing or 2 stars without

Tales from the Crypt: For Cryin' Out Loud *A real high pitched squealer with a weasel, rock promoter whose clients like Iggy Pop and Donny Osmond get on his nerves, a seductress blackmailer Katey Sagal trying to reach in his pants to snatch half of a million smackers, and an angry voice of reason Sam Kinison screaming his tell tell heart out constantly.* between 2 and 2 1/2 stars

New World Pictures "Candy Stripe Nurses" 1974 *A socially conscious skin-flick with sophisticated modern women who are smarter than the bohunks they seduce, Gran Torino type bitter old men griping about the decline of their local neighborhoods, commentary on a flawed justice system for minorities, student athlete doping controversy, medical malpractice issuing of needless prescriptions scandal, sexually repressed and spoiled rockstar, seventees era streaking, existential conversations while flirting, and just enough hospital setting hanky panky.* 3 stars

American Horror Story --Coven-- "Bitchcraft" *The part where Darren walked in on Tabitha going down on Elvira while Melissa Joan Hart cut herself with a razor blade for attention and the cast of Designing Women boiled that poor black guy (Meshach Taylor) alive in a caldron... hocus whoa...cus* 2 1/2 stars

Doctor Who (fourth doctor) "Pyramid of Mars" *Imprisoned ancient gods are always showing up in the isolated British countryside and killing 3 or 4 old men in their plot to destroy the world. Thanks to the Doctor, nobody else in the world ever notices.* 2 1/2 stars

TMNT: Mazes & Mutants *A lonely live action roleplayer gasses the turtles so that he can play a game with them in the sewers.* 2 1/2 stars

He-Man & She-Ra, A Christmas Special *Horde Prime wishes to stop Orko and two adorable Earth children from bringing the gospel of Chris Cringle to Eternia. Special guests the Smurf Transformers, the Eternian Decepticons, the Little Mermaid, and Skeletor's heart grew 3 sizes that day.* 2 1/2 stars

Are You Afraid of the Dark: The Tale of the Pinball Wizard *Super-soaker, now that's playing with power. A compulsive free play gamer gets trapped in the mall, inside a pinball machine, with a princess in distress, and is Sixpence None the Richer for it.*  between 2 and 2 1/2 stars

Swamp Thing: The Shipment *Arcane corrupts the local law enforcement into mutant trafficking and the crooked Sheriff helps kidnap Jim, fake Jim's death, and ship Jim off to South America. We finally get to see Swamp Thing show some physical muscle in a brawl with a stunt man and it's revealed what had to be painfully obvious all along, that the town had to have a corrupt police force in order for Arcane to be doing so many vile things without it coming to legal light.* 3 stars

"Neon City" 1991 *A disgruntled, former lawman (Michael Ironside) begrudgingly runs protection for a RV stagecoach of ragtag wayfarers across the cursed earth.* 2 1/2 stars

The Outer Limits: The Message *Binary E.T. S.O.S. for a deaf woman with a defective ear implant and new mother depression along with voices in her head making the domestic partner daddy think she's schizoid because she runs off with a looney janitor / UFO believer.* 3 stars

Monstervision with Joe Bob Briggs: Warlock the Armageddon *Runes and Druids. Smalltown fear and hatred of devil worship. Two young should destined to be lovers who are kept apart by ignorance and circumstance. Parents of the picturesque smalltown trying to protect a dark secret. Some horribly dated CGI (forgivable). Nice and twistedly gruesome gore fx to make up for the bad CGI. A charismatic villain (Julian Sands) who is just as good as Marvel's Loki (Tom Hiddleston).* 2 1/2 stars

Paranormal State: season 1 -episode 14 *In a house that was once a part of the underground railroad, there's a clash of values between a modern inter-racial family and a strict religious spirit of a lady who was an abolitionist.* 2 stars

"Home for the Holidays" 1972 *"There's nothing more chilling than a warm family gathering." An And Then There Were None style story at a stormy, secluded setting where the more stable sibling is the most sinister.* between 2 1/2 and 3 stars

--- Freddy's Nightmares: The End of the World

*Hazy earliest memories are repressed because they involve accidentally killing mommy and crippling a childhood friend, but a girl discovers she can dream things differently and it will fix the present. But unfortunately, there's a butterfly effect.* 2 1/2 stars

*The same girl, from before, is now having prophetic dreams of a nuclear warhead going off on U.S. soil. The C.I.A. is extra curious as to how she got launch codes, and once they figure out she's not fooling or getting tipped off from the inside, well they want to exploit her in their cold war pursuits, while she just wants to make sure that a disturbed sleepwalking missile defense employee doesn't make his Christmas nightmares of melting his son's favorite cartoon character Gumby's face off along with his own son's innocent face as well come true.* 3 stars

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

"Class of 1984" *An irresponsible idiot subjects his pregnant wife to a brutal gang rape and torture all because he wants to be an inspirational music educator at one of those imaginary innercity hell highschools where he can't help but feud with the worst gang in a school that has its disciplinary hands tied with the usual red tape bullshit. This was way before zero tolerance. When teach has to turn vigilante just to earn 30k a year, a mild mannered biology professor (Roddy McDowall) has to hold a gun on his pupils just to get their focus on his lessons, and a timid tattle tell (Michael J. Fox) winds up shanked in the liver, just to name a few things, there might be good reason to move back to a smalltown or the suburbs and spare the rod.* 3 stars

Shaw Brothers: Fists of the White Lotus *White Lotus can't be touched because he fights hammer style. A lesson about a gentle approach and pinpointing the right pulse.* 3 stars

Scare Tactics: season 2 episode 22 "Mom's Crazy" -------------

*Little grey men nick around a ranch house near area 51.*                      between 1 1/2 and 2 stars

*Falling into a wanted by the government hacker's booby trap.* 2 1/2 stars

*Having a nice evening with a psycho park ranger.* 2 1/2 stars

*Mommie dearest keeps her abducted little girl in a cage.* 3 stars

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

"Ultra Flesh" 1980 *Sugar (cocaine?) is making the world's men impotent and the President of the United States pays a visit to a third world dictator (Jamie Gillis) whose people seem to have no problem snorting and screwing. Secretly, however, the dictator is a Mr. Freeze type alien who uses his dwarf henchmen to plot against the earth women. An intergalactic group of horny aliens send down Ultra Flesh, a vixen from Venus, to shoot laser beams out of her poonanny and help earth propagate again.* 3 stars

The Prisoner: Free For All *Who are you voting for? Which puppet candidate will it be? "You wouldn't deny the rite of proper procedure?"* 3 stars

New World Pictures presents Larry Cohen's "God Told Me To" --1976-- *Urban upheaval caused by a lot of gristle in the melting pot. The doggedly determined forced by personal convictions that are of soul tearing origins. The easily swayed are proned to random acts of violence. The new age fortunate are full of fallacy with their fancy notions. And the pitiful and holy are just as much victims as they inadvertently victimize others in their own inability to face up to the burden of consequences that come with cruel circumstance.* 3 stars

X Files: Ghost in the Machine *Interfacing Promethean resistively. The machine is dead. Long live the machine.* 2 1/2 stars

"Silent Night, Bloody Night" --1972-- *A season of violence come to bare its withered, ugly fruit. The sepia soaked orgy of murder by the mental patients along with the undertones of incest, then father assuming the identity of his dead daughter, whom he fathered a child with, is all rather haunting/disturbing.* close to 3 stars

Paranormal State: season 1 -episode 15 *The spirit of a war veteran still haunts the barn where he committed suicide after a alzheimer's diagnosis. So, the team brings in an army honor guard to have a memorial service where a piece of his skull was buried, by his wife, on the property. Also, a little boy, from before the middle of the 20th century, who died of the croop, on the property, is sensed as just a mischevious spirit by medium Chip Coffey.* 2 1/2 stars

American Horror Story --Murder House-- "Open House" *Squint and bite down. There will be no sale. These spirits won't be built over, smothered out, skull fucked, love requited, or made to polish their own silver again.* 2 1/2 stars

Monstervision with Joe Bob Briggs: Twilight Zone the movie *John Landis does okay thanks to the tragically killed Vic Morrow . Spielberg can only do schmaltzy Spielberg. Joe Dante puts some thrilling touches on a classic. Lithgow trumps Shatner in the freakout department, but none of these outings are as good as Rod Serling and the original.* 2 1/2 stars

Everything is Terrible --Holiday Special-- -2012- *"He sees you eat your pizza. He sees you eat your pizza."* 3 stars

Tales from the Crypt: Four-Sided Triangle *The sour couple from the Grant Wood American Gothic painting think they can hold captive a farmgirl to do all their chores. And Patricia Arquette is sure purty enough to make the crops grow. But the farmer's horny ignorance coupled with his wife's jealous mean streak are no match for the cow milking maiden's cleverness.* 3 stars

The Tom Green Show on Canadian television circa the late 1990s *Somewhere between Andy Kaufman and the geek who bites the heads off chickens at the county fair.* close to 2 1/2 stars

William Peter Blatty's "The Ninth Configuration" --1980-- *"Consider the lillies of the field."* 3 stars

Hill Street Blues: Double Jeopardy *"You figure that you're owed something for all the love and compassion that you carry in you..." A liberal cop comes face to face with the harsh reflection of reality in an oily mudpuddle on the other side of the rainbow. One of many storyline elements including Dan Hedaya as a dirty cop who turns out surprisingly to be easily deeply sympathetic for.* 3 stars

Mystery Science Theater 3000: The Dead Talk Back *A model murdered by crossbow. Was it the amateur necromancer, the hip richboy, the confrontational preacher, the quiet abuser, the German pervert, or the nervous pornographer? If the dead girl can't tell us, we'll never know. Detective work depends on kooky science and no forensic nonsense.*             2 stars with riffing 1 star without

"The Conjuring" --2013-- *It's surprising to learn that famed demonologists The Warrens were actually selfless truthseekers and not the scam artists they were proven to be.*        close to 3 stars

Jonny Quest: The Dreadful Doll *Witchdoctor Beavis working for a mercenary Fred Flintstone.* 2 1/2 stars

"Phase IV" --1974-- *The perceived terror of a terrrestrial advancement not our own.* 3 stars

The Outer Limits: I Robot *What is the value of conceived worth? Adam Link, the first sentient robot, has an amount of quality, as relating to empathy, greater than most humans.*         3 stars

South Park: #Rehash *Commentary and clit rubbing, both by obnoxious social media celebrities, is the entertainment content of the future.* 3 stars

South Park: #Happy Holograms *The most ignorant Christas special ever is now trending.* 3 stars

Swamp Thing: Birth Marks *Kari Wuhrer joins the cast as a test tube teen, and Jim's older brother -Will- becomes the central character as ST's link to the human world.* 2 1/2 stars

"Rewind This" --2013-- *"Don't let your mom tell you that you can't make a monster movie." *quoting* a door to door monster movie salesman and the self proclaimed Ed Wood of the 21st century. That pretty much sums up the 30 plus year culture, that became a cult, of video.* 3 stars

"Forced Entry" --1974-- *One of the first movies to deal with post traumatic stress disorder also happens to be a gritty 1970s NYC serial killer study mixed with a sleazy 42nd street rough porno. This is when skin flicks tried to be film art and this one is bold enough to juxtapose a home invasion sicko's forced oral money shot with scenes of burning Vietnamese villages and crying villagers.*                       either zero stars or 2 1/2 stars

David Cronenberg's "Dead Ringers" *One never has to feel alone what with shared life experiences, sexual opponents, the psychic connection between siblings, or the prescribed lifeline of addiction.* 3 stars

Weird Science: Universal Remote *Skipping through the boring parts of life just to hurry up and get to second base with girls.* between 2 and 2 1/2 stars

Tim & Eric -Awesome Show- Great Job! ---Chrimbus Special--- -2010- *"The Winter Man wants you to eat a pound of hair per year."*                     close to 2 1/2 stars

Bob & Margaret: The Holiday *Hijacked hip hip hooray.* 3 stars

Thundarr the Barbarian: Battle of the Barbarians *Big barbarians in little Beijing.* 3 stars

Game of Thrones: season 3 -episode 6 *There's more than one way to kindle a fire, skin a rabbit, marry into an inbred family, serve a deity, shoot arrows, inflict torture, or climb an icy face of a wall.* 3 stars

Twin Peaks: Beyond Life and Death *Wow, Bob, Wow!* 3 stars

The Tom Green Show -Rogers Community TV- The Comedy Network --1998(?)-- *Tom Green seemed funny when I was around sixteen, now, sixteen years later, he seems more like a shithead.* either zero stars or 2 stars

Are You Afraid of the Dark: The Tale of the Nightly Neighbors *The people who just moved in next door are nocturnal freaks with fridges full of blood in their basement. A Nickelodeon version of Fright Night.* 2 stars

Friday the 13th, the series: Doctor Jack *The key to a disgraced surgeon's miracle surgeries is a scalpel that hungers for shadowy street murders.* 3 stars

Farscape: The Flax *Scavenging, self preservation, strategic chessgames, sweet romance, and sacrifice all at the flypaper snare strip in the pirate portion of the universe.*      3 stars

Max Headroom: The Blanks *The Blanks (anonymous), for highly justified political reasons of freeing unjustly imprisoned Blanks, hack into and threatened to shut down a technology dependent society ran by corrupt corporations and politicians.*       3 stars

X Files: Ice *Who goes there? Another tense, paranoid version of the classic sci fi story involving a parasitic alien in an arctic setting.* 3 stars

Stephen King's Kingdom Hospital: season 1 -episode 5 *Memorial shrine to regretful medical malpractice.* 3 stars

American Horror Story: Asylum --Origins of Monstrosity-- *Skin to skin. A mother's touch.* 3 stars --Dark Cousin-- *Summon the angel of death.* 3 stars --Unholy Night-- *Satan frees Santa from solitary.* 3 stars

Paranormal State: season 1 -episode 16 *A strange, and humorously titled, ghost communication device called "Frank's Box" is used to speak to spirits trapped by a demon inside an insane asylum with a dark history and many unmarked graves on its grounds.*               between 2 1/2 and 3 stars

"The Dark Secret of Harvest Home" *"What men may never know and what women may never tell." Townies from NYC accidentally take a wrong turn across a picturesque covered bridge into a frozen in colonial times New England village where the townfolk have strange customs involving corn and keeping to the old ways. The more the inquisitive sketch artist husband digs into the secrets surrounding a strange death, the more the mother and daughter get caught up in the cult nature of the many festivals. It turns out to be a fertility cult where the new blood wife is mounted and humped in front of the cuckold hubbie by a bohunk who is then beheaded. As tradition, the husband's eyes are then scratched out by the white robed pagan women for having witnessed the sacred act. See, this is why I fully throw my hat behind the patriarchy and not mother earth religions.* 3 stars

"Hot Summer in the City" ---sexploitation--- --1976-- *While a soundtrack of songs like AM radio gold classic "Everlasting Love" played as militant black power jive bruthas took turns on a scared Alice in Wonderland captive piece of "white pussy" and the group's cockeyed idiot gets brow beaten and bitch slapped for getting his "finger stuck in her asshole," I realized why this movie is self hating, w.a.s.p. hating, obvious subversive, ugly mongoloid looking Quentin Tarantino's favorite dirty movie.*                       either zero stars or close to 2 1/2 stars

American Horror Story --Coven-- "Boy Parts" *Extra piece of fried chicken. Frankenstein boyfriend. Ghetto hair extensions. 180 year old racist. Poisoned buckwheat. Alligator dung. Snake eggs. Stevie Nicks. Deep fried revenge. Poaching game. Minotaur Mandingo. Woman on top.* between 2 1/2 & 3 stars

King of the Nerds: Imaginary Realms *Cosplay challenge. The only cosplay that ever interested me was the scene from Revenge of the Nerds where there's spacesuit deception in order to get nookie from a cheerleader inside a moonwalk attraction at the fair.* 2 stars

Kung Fu, the series: King of the Mountain *Confrontation is not courageous, but it is indeed cool when it is combat, on the side of a cliff, between David Carradine and a cowboy bounty hunter John Saxon.* 3 stars

American Gothic: Eye of the Beholder *Faust Gump* 3 stars

[trendingnewsb]

The humanity at the center of ‘Rick and Morty’s’ rick-diculousness

When there's no one to blame but yourself

Image: adult swim

Like its mad scientist protagonist, at times it feels like Rick and Morty does everything in its power to remain unlikeable.

Grotesque, crass, nihilistic, confrontational, distressing, and almost insufferably up-its-own-ass intelligent — it’s actually the show’s undeniable heart (and tendency to rip it out of your chest) that grounds the sci-fi juggernaut in issues that can hit a little too close to home.

If Rick and Morty has ever made you uncomfortable, you’re not alone. And, actually, not outside the intentions of its creators.

“We always saw this show as our little darling that was supposed to have nothing to do with success, or attention, or pleasing people,” co-creator Dan Harmon recently told us. 

On those first two accounts, he and fellow mastermind Justin Roiland failed miserably.

SEE ALSO: ‘Rick and Morty’ co-creator slays trolls harassing its female writers

This season, Rick and Morty is up 81% year over year, and has become the #1 comedy on TV among adults 18-24 and adults 18-34, according to Nielsen’s Live+7 ratings — putting it ahead of primetime favorites like The Big Bang Theory and Modern Family. The critical praise for Rick and Morty remains damn near unanimous. 

As the Season 3 finale approaches on Sunday, Oct. 1, it appears Rick and Morty has transitioned from cult favorite into full-on cultural phenomenon in just a few months, since the premiere in April.

But the metamorphosis goes far beyond ratings. Over the course of the season, we watched a show that did all it could to alienate itself from everyone turn into a show that’s about as personal and intimate as a nightmarish Thanksgiving at granny’s house.

The familiarity that grounds Rick and Morty‘s universe(s)

Since Day 1, the series has reveled in an unrelenting, disconcerting kind of honesty. But when Season 3 promised to be the “darkest” one yet, no one really understood what that meant. More gore, presumably — plus the soul-crushing existential dread we’ve come to know and love.

Then the premiere finally aired. Both gore and existentialism abound in Rick’s annihilation of not one but two planetary systems of governance. But the most disturbing twist of all in “The Rickshank Redemption” cut deeper than even species-wide genocide.

A scene all too familiar to anyone who’s attended a family dinner

Image: adult swim

And it took place in the family garage, without a drop of blood being spilled.

Mere seconds after Beth declares she’ll never let her father come between her and Jerry’s marriage again, the devil himself portals back into her life uninvited. 

“Guess who dismantled the government?” he declares as an apology for abandoning his daughter (again).

Without so much as a blink, Beth wrestles out of her husband’s embrace to crawl back into daddy’s arms like a beaten puppy to its abuser. “Please don’t leave me again.”

“I never will, baby.”

From there on out, we can only watch in horror as Grandpa Rick’s reign of terror takes hold of the house. Having manipulated Jerry out of the picture, Rick reveals his psychotic plan to his grandson — globs of alcohol-induced spittle flying from his deranged mouth: 

“I’ve rep[burps]laced them both as the de facto patriarch of your family and your universe. Your mom wouldn’t have accepted me if I came home without you and your sister, so now you know the real reason I rescued you. Oh! I just took over the family, Morty!”

Yup. Definitely getting darker.

How Season 3 transcended itself (by accident)

To anyone who’s ever been a member of a family, these scenes of dysfunction feel unshakeable.

You know this man, the de facto patriarch, who manipulates himself into the center of everyone’s universe, only to abandon them at every opportunity. Or perhaps you know his daughter, wine glass perpetually in hand, struggling to fit a role she never suited, while enjoying herself most with the poor robotic approximations of her children programmed to emote only supportive affirmations toward her behavior. 

SEE ALSO: ‘Rick and Morty’ went super Freudian in ‘Pickle Rick’ and it was perfection

Maybe you’re the kids, watching helplessly from the backseat, as the insurmountable truth that none of the adults know what the fuck they’re doing dawns on you. That, in fact, nobody knows what the fuck they’re doing.

The psychological damage stemming from the collapse of their traditional family unit ripples through nearly every episode of Season 3 with stinging authenticity. The sci-fi premises that used to define the show’s boldness have become more of a backdrop, as week to week the tragedy of a family fighting to put their ill-fitting, broken pieces back together unfolds. Only to fail. Again and again.

Rick and Morty has become one of the starkest portraits of familial love, and our endless capacity to care for and destroy the people we’re closest to — often simultaneously.

This shift has surprised perhaps no one more than the show’s own creators.

“If anything we were trying get back to basics,” Harmon said. “We were just chasing the initial dream — that joy of infinite possibilities that we got from Season 1… and I guess along the way we screwed up and made Breaking Bad instead.”

Whether intentional or not, the numbers don’t lie. Rick and Morty is striking a cord of universality that it never has before. But in typical Rick and Morty fashion, that universality doesn’t come from any place of comfort.

It stems from the shared agony of being alive, and stumbling through the illogical reality of human existence.

The two major emotional themes of the season have personal relevance to Harmon in particular. For one, in between Season 2 and 3, he started going through his own divorce. For another, he got himself into therapy.

“In previous seasons, the height of my introspection had to do with how angry I was at NBC. Or humankind in general,” he said, referring to his disastrous experience as the creator of the beloved but niche NBC show, Community. “The big shift [of Season 3] is that I don’t have anything to be angry at, except myself.”

In one of Harmon’s favorite episodes of the season, “Pickle Rick,” the once infallible and all-powerful patriarch can be seen on a therapist’s couch. Having turned himself into a literal pickle to avoid dealing with the damage he’s inflicted on his own family, Rick looks positively dwarfed in the seat.

And, for the first time in Rick and Morty history, a character bests the smartest man in the universe.

SEE ALSO: ‘Rick and Morty’ Season 3 returns with a blood-soaked ‘Mad Max’ family therapy session

“You seem to alternate between viewing your own mind as an unstoppable force and as an inescapable curse. And I think it’s because the only truly unapproachable concept for you is that it’s your mind within your control,” therapist Dr. Wong tells him. “You chose to become a pickle. You are the master of your universe, and yet you are dripping with rat blood and feces.”

Before their time runs out, Dr. Wong tries one more appeal: “The bottom line is, some people are okay going to work [in therapy], and some people well, some people would rather die. Each of us gets to choose.”

For Harmon, this scene was the most clear demonstration of his own transformation as a writer and person.

“I don’t know if I could’ve written that two years ago,” he said. “Two years ago, I would’ve made sure Rick got the final word.” For once, he didn’t. 

This is sad: Dan Harmon recently got divorced, so this is Rick and Morty Season 2 Credits vs Season 3 http://pic.twitter.com/P2UizjHmWU

— Chandler Balli (@CinematicEX) April 3, 2017

“I wanted to make sure Dr. Wong’s response came from a place of, ‘well, don’t let yourself off the hook — just because you’re mad and alone. That doesn’t make you above other people who just want to get better. And it doesn’t make you beneath them, either.'”

In Season 3, Rick and Morty managed to pull off its biggest, darkest turn of all. To the utter shock of an audience desensitized to all things blood, guts, and abject atheism, the show transformed from one of infinite comedic cleverness, into one of equal and biting emotional intelligence.

The human heart at the center of the Mr. Poopy Butthole

“It feels like we swam the English Channel, got across, then somebody said: ‘that was amazing how you outran that shark that was trying to eat you,'” Harmon said in reference to Rick and Morty‘s  explosion into popularity. “It’s just like… ‘what? No, I was trying to swim the English Channel.'”

He paused to reconsider. “Actually, it’s the opposite: you were swimming away from a shark, and then told you coincidentally swam the English Channel.”

For a show with an ethos that insists it does not care about people, the world, or the senseless pain it inflicts — Rick and Morty understands human nature in a way that few other shows do.

Addressing a popular fan debate over the source of their mad scientist’s drinking problem, Harmon noted that he remembered Roiland saying that “the day we find out the ‘one’ reason why Rick drinks, the show’s over. Because nobody drinks for one reason.”

He added, “I mean, none of your friends have origin stories, either. Real people are defined by their own undefinability. Out of all the unreal things, I think the most real thing about Rick is that you don’t know what makes him tick or where he’s coming from.”

The humanity and cruelty of Pickle Rick

Image: adult swim

We can make guesses. Like with our own family members, we can take Rick at his word when he says “as far as Grandpa’s concerned, you’re both pieces of shit!” Or we can see him for what he is: a walking contradiction, like the rest of us, with all the redeeming and irredeemable qualities that make us human.

Perhaps the most central question driving the tension of Rick and Morty throughout the course of the series is whether or not Rick actually loves his grandson (or is even capable of love at all). But much like our real-world relationships, the answer is a double-edged sword.

“If you really really loved someone, and [like Rick] also knew the universe was a meaningless gaping mouth waiting to eat innocent life alive — it could take the form of telling that person over and over again that they mean nothing. That you don’t care about them,” Harmon points out.

If you’re a person who’s ever lived, breathed, and dared to try and connect with another person, that internal conflict likely carries an unsettling resonance.

Ironically, it’s not the surreal circus of infinite multiverses, microverses, interdimensional space travel, alien planets, sex robots, Mr. Poopy Buttholes, or even Birdpeople that makes Rick and Morty stand out.

Instead — more than any other drama, comedy, or live action show before it — the most unprecedented thing the show ever did was to further commit to its stark, unvarnished realism.

WATCH: The major differences between Logan and Old Man Logan from the Marvel Universe

Read more: http://ift.tt/2xPRZ9w

from Viral News HQ http://ift.tt/2yu5pYH via Viral News HQ

[trendingnewsb]

The humanity at the center of ‘Rick and Morty’s’ rick-diculousness

When there's no one to blame but yourself

Image: adult swim

Like its mad scientist protagonist, at times it feels like Rick and Morty does everything in its power to remain unlikeable.

Grotesque, crass, nihilistic, confrontational, distressing, and almost insufferably up-its-own-ass intelligent — it’s actually the show’s undeniable heart (and tendency to rip it out of your chest) that grounds the sci-fi juggernaut in issues that can hit a little too close to home.

If Rick and Morty has ever made you uncomfortable, you’re not alone. And, actually, not outside the intentions of its creators.

“We always saw this show as our little darling that was supposed to have nothing to do with success, or attention, or pleasing people,” co-creator Dan Harmon recently told us. 

On those first two accounts, he and fellow mastermind Justin Roiland failed miserably.

SEE ALSO: ‘Rick and Morty’ co-creator slays trolls harassing its female writers

This season, Rick and Morty is up 81% year over year, and has become the #1 comedy on TV among adults 18-24 and adults 18-34, according to Nielsen’s Live+7 ratings — putting it ahead of primetime favorites like The Big Bang Theory and Modern Family. The critical praise for Rick and Morty remains damn near unanimous. 

As the Season 3 finale approaches on Sunday, Oct. 1, it appears Rick and Morty has transitioned from cult favorite into full-on cultural phenomenon in just a few months, since the premiere in April.

But the metamorphosis goes far beyond ratings. Over the course of the season, we watched a show that did all it could to alienate itself from everyone turn into a show that’s about as personal and intimate as a nightmarish Thanksgiving at granny’s house.

The familiarity that grounds Rick and Morty‘s universe(s)

Since Day 1, the series has reveled in an unrelenting, disconcerting kind of honesty. But when Season 3 promised to be the “darkest” one yet, no one really understood what that meant. More gore, presumably — plus the soul-crushing existential dread we’ve come to know and love.

Then the premiere finally aired. Both gore and existentialism abound in Rick’s annihilation of not one but two planetary systems of governance. But the most disturbing twist of all in “The Rickshank Redemption” cut deeper than even species-wide genocide.

A scene all too familiar to anyone who’s attended a family dinner

Image: adult swim

And it took place in the family garage, without a drop of blood being spilled.

Mere seconds after Beth declares she’ll never let her father come between her and Jerry’s marriage again, the devil himself portals back into her life uninvited. 

“Guess who dismantled the government?” he declares as an apology for abandoning his daughter (again).

Without so much as a blink, Beth wrestles out of her husband’s embrace to crawl back into daddy’s arms like a beaten puppy to its abuser. “Please don’t leave me again.”

“I never will, baby.”

From there on out, we can only watch in horror as Grandpa Rick’s reign of terror takes hold of the house. Having manipulated Jerry out of the picture, Rick reveals his psychotic plan to his grandson — globs of alcohol-induced spittle flying from his deranged mouth: 

“I’ve rep[burps]laced them both as the de facto patriarch of your family and your universe. Your mom wouldn’t have accepted me if I came home without you and your sister, so now you know the real reason I rescued you. Oh! I just took over the family, Morty!”

Yup. Definitely getting darker.

How Season 3 transcended itself (by accident)

To anyone who’s ever been a member of a family, these scenes of dysfunction feel unshakeable.

You know this man, the de facto patriarch, who manipulates himself into the center of everyone’s universe, only to abandon them at every opportunity. Or perhaps you know his daughter, wine glass perpetually in hand, struggling to fit a role she never suited, while enjoying herself most with the poor robotic approximations of her children programmed to emote only supportive affirmations toward her behavior. 

SEE ALSO: ‘Rick and Morty’ went super Freudian in ‘Pickle Rick’ and it was perfection

Maybe you’re the kids, watching helplessly from the backseat, as the insurmountable truth that none of the adults know what the fuck they’re doing dawns on you. That, in fact, nobody knows what the fuck they’re doing.

The psychological damage stemming from the collapse of their traditional family unit ripples through nearly every episode of Season 3 with stinging authenticity. The sci-fi premises that used to define the show’s boldness have become more of a backdrop, as week to week the tragedy of a family fighting to put their ill-fitting, broken pieces back together unfolds. Only to fail. Again and again.

Rick and Morty has become one of the starkest portraits of familial love, and our endless capacity to care for and destroy the people we’re closest to — often simultaneously.

This shift has surprised perhaps no one more than the show’s own creators.

“If anything we were trying get back to basics,” Harmon said. “We were just chasing the initial dream — that joy of infinite possibilities that we got from Season 1… and I guess along the way we screwed up and made Breaking Bad instead.”

Whether intentional or not, the numbers don’t lie. Rick and Morty is striking a cord of universality that it never has before. But in typical Rick and Morty fashion, that universality doesn’t come from any place of comfort.

It stems from the shared agony of being alive, and stumbling through the illogical reality of human existence.

The two major emotional themes of the season have personal relevance to Harmon in particular. For one, in between Season 2 and 3, he started going through his own divorce. For another, he got himself into therapy.

“In previous seasons, the height of my introspection had to do with how angry I was at NBC. Or humankind in general,” he said, referring to his disastrous experience as the creator of the beloved but niche NBC show, Community. “The big shift [of Season 3] is that I don’t have anything to be angry at, except myself.”

In one of Harmon’s favorite episodes of the season, “Pickle Rick,” the once infallible and all-powerful patriarch can be seen on a therapist’s couch. Having turned himself into a literal pickle to avoid dealing with the damage he’s inflicted on his own family, Rick looks positively dwarfed in the seat.

And, for the first time in Rick and Morty history, a character bests the smartest man in the universe.

SEE ALSO: ‘Rick and Morty’ Season 3 returns with a blood-soaked ‘Mad Max’ family therapy session

“You seem to alternate between viewing your own mind as an unstoppable force and as an inescapable curse. And I think it’s because the only truly unapproachable concept for you is that it’s your mind within your control,” therapist Dr. Wong tells him. “You chose to become a pickle. You are the master of your universe, and yet you are dripping with rat blood and feces.”

Before their time runs out, Dr. Wong tries one more appeal: “The bottom line is, some people are okay going to work [in therapy], and some people well, some people would rather die. Each of us gets to choose.”

For Harmon, this scene was the most clear demonstration of his own transformation as a writer and person.

“I don’t know if I could’ve written that two years ago,” he said. “Two years ago, I would’ve made sure Rick got the final word.” For once, he didn’t. 

This is sad: Dan Harmon recently got divorced, so this is Rick and Morty Season 2 Credits vs Season 3 http://pic.twitter.com/P2UizjHmWU

— Chandler Balli (@CinematicEX) April 3, 2017

“I wanted to make sure Dr. Wong’s response came from a place of, ‘well, don’t let yourself off the hook — just because you’re mad and alone. That doesn’t make you above other people who just want to get better. And it doesn’t make you beneath them, either.'”

In Season 3, Rick and Morty managed to pull off its biggest, darkest turn of all. To the utter shock of an audience desensitized to all things blood, guts, and abject atheism, the show transformed from one of infinite comedic cleverness, into one of equal and biting emotional intelligence.

The human heart at the center of the Mr. Poopy Butthole

“It feels like we swam the English Channel, got across, then somebody said: ‘that was amazing how you outran that shark that was trying to eat you,'” Harmon said in reference to Rick and Morty‘s  explosion into popularity. “It’s just like… ‘what? No, I was trying to swim the English Channel.'”

He paused to reconsider. “Actually, it’s the opposite: you were swimming away from a shark, and then told you coincidentally swam the English Channel.”

For a show with an ethos that insists it does not care about people, the world, or the senseless pain it inflicts — Rick and Morty understands human nature in a way that few other shows do.

Addressing a popular fan debate over the source of their mad scientist’s drinking problem, Harmon noted that he remembered Roiland saying that “the day we find out the ‘one’ reason why Rick drinks, the show’s over. Because nobody drinks for one reason.”

He added, “I mean, none of your friends have origin stories, either. Real people are defined by their own undefinability. Out of all the unreal things, I think the most real thing about Rick is that you don’t know what makes him tick or where he’s coming from.”

The humanity and cruelty of Pickle Rick

Image: adult swim

We can make guesses. Like with our own family members, we can take Rick at his word when he says “as far as Grandpa’s concerned, you’re both pieces of shit!” Or we can see him for what he is: a walking contradiction, like the rest of us, with all the redeeming and irredeemable qualities that make us human.

Perhaps the most central question driving the tension of Rick and Morty throughout the course of the series is whether or not Rick actually loves his grandson (or is even capable of love at all). But much like our real-world relationships, the answer is a double-edged sword.

“If you really really loved someone, and [like Rick] also knew the universe was a meaningless gaping mouth waiting to eat innocent life alive — it could take the form of telling that person over and over again that they mean nothing. That you don’t care about them,” Harmon points out.

If you’re a person who’s ever lived, breathed, and dared to try and connect with another person, that internal conflict likely carries an unsettling resonance.

Ironically, it’s not the surreal circus of infinite multiverses, microverses, interdimensional space travel, alien planets, sex robots, Mr. Poopy Buttholes, or even Birdpeople that makes Rick and Morty stand out.

Instead — more than any other drama, comedy, or live action show before it — the most unprecedented thing the show ever did was to further commit to its stark, unvarnished realism.

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