#Went to see the evil dead on the big screen w a friend recently

[tapeworrmart]

Scaredy-cat 💫💀

[bujeetles]

a very messy (m-rated) panda shrine avengers fic. to the two people reading this, hope you enjoy!

Peter Orso fucking hated his boss. He had always disliked Francis Monogram, his blatant favoritism towards the main branch and his upper management outlook were bad enough, but this? This was the last straw.

“Ah Agent P. Apologies for calling you on your day off.” he said through Peter’s watch, voice fuzzy and picture weak, because Peter had been hiking, and there wasn’t much signal on the mountain. He didn’t actually sound apologetic at all.

“As you’ve probably heard, some of the Avengers were recently in Danville, and OWCA had a manner of cooperation.”

“So?” he signed, raising his eyebrows even further than was probably necessary.

“Director Fury feels it necessary to set up protocol, in case a similar situation arises. We have elected to send you as the OWCA liaison.”

Peter bit the inside of his cheek to avoid a growl, because seriously? They were shacking this bullshit paper-trail nonsense on him?!

“Why not yours?” he asked, carefully steeling his face so it comes out neutral, instead of infuriated. After all, Agent Perry, Codename Platypus, had been the heroic savior of the hour, or whatever. (The pictures were pretty fun to look at, if he was honest. Very Silver Age.)

“Our Agent P is busy.” He said, like that was any excuse, they were all busy. “Seeing as your nemesis is currently...offline, you are our best option.”

Offline. What a lovely little euphemism, so peaceable, so voluntary sounding. How utterly bullshit. Mystery wasn’t ‘offline’, he was missing, he might even have been abducted, though Peter didn’t have enough evidence to say one way or the other. But Monogram could never say something like that, it would imply he gave a shit. In fact, he was probably actually sending Peter because he was tired of him using paid time to look for Mystery.

“When.”

“There will be an agent waiting as soon as you arrive back in civilization, Agent P. Do hurry.” he said, and hung up.

Fucking asshole.

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

Peter finished his hike, but there wasn’t any of the peace he’d hoped for in it. He had thought, being away from the city, he might think of some way to find Mystery. It was strange, he’d always been a thwart and run kind of agent, never staying with one person for long. He’d seen every type of evil there was and some things that weren’t so morally defined. He was unattached, and he was good.

And then Mystery, who never told him anything, and yet he was drawn back and back again, in his traps, in his non-specific monologues. After the kidnapping turned coffee date, they’d gotten closer to traditional, what with overarching the tragic backstory out in the open, but Peter kind of liked the not-knowing, having to figure it out from what little he did know.

Now he wondered, if they were normal, functional, healthy nemeses, maybe he could find him. But they weren’t. They were weird and wrong and made for each other.

He shook those thoughts away as he made his way into the parking lot, he didn’t like Monogram at all, but most of OWCA was solid. He couldn’t afford to let them down just because of his situation.

At first, he didn’t see anyone. The lot was empty, mini-vans and sedans everywhere, the occasional non-family car. His motorcycle. One blink later and there was a woman, tight-laced, no nonsense, gray suit. Very obvious, as far as secret agents went, but well, SHIELD was secret only in name, so perhaps it was appropriate. He walked over to her.

“Identification.” she said, in lieu of hello. Not exactly incognito. Still, he fished out his OWCA ID and she narrowed her eyes at him.

“I thought Agent P worked in Danville.” Peter sighed. Monogram really was leaving it all to him, huh.

“You sign?” he asked, because he hadn’t brought his notebook with him, since it was his day off. He could use his phone if it came down to it, but he didn’t like to. The brightness hurt his eyes.

“A little. Mostly military. You might have to finger spell.” she replied. Not ideal, but at least she wasn’t forcing him to write, nor was she being rude about it.

“Not that Agent P. He’s Platypus. I’m Panda.”

“Weird naming system you guys have got going on.” she said, and he snorted, because she didn’t even know about the alliteration convention, or Agent CH out in Arizona, or was it New Mexico?

“I’ll have to verify your identity on the Helicarrier, but I was going to do that anyway. Let’s go.” she said, and before he could ask their means of transportation, he saw the light gather around him, his stomach start to lurch.

‘Shit. Teleportation.’ Was his first thought. His second, ‘I’m going to pass out.’ He was right.

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

Peter woke up on a cot, with a headache and no sound. He could still feel the vibrations of the Helicarrier under him, but his aides were gone. Not on the table, not in his pocket. He swore under his breath, he’d already been on his spares, and OWCA insurance always fought tooth and nail when he requested a new pair. He wondered if SHIELD would pay the bill, this time. It was clearly their fault.

Something hit him in the head, not enough to hurt, but to get his attention, and there was a guy in purple and black spandex in the door, grinning wide. Peter didn’t pay a lot of attention to heroes, but the bow slung over his shoulder was a bit of a dead giveaway. Hawkeye.

“New aides, if you want.” he signed, and it was confident, natural. Peter’s gaze flicked to his ears, the curling piece of plastic resting there. Huh.

“Didn’t know Hawkeye was deaf.” he said as he stood, tucking the box into his pocket. He didn’t really want to hear what he was feeling, not with the headache he was sporting.

“Try to keep it on the down low. Villains and all.” he said with a shrug, which was fair enough. “You’re from O-W-C-A, right?” Peter nodded.

“I’m supposed to feed you to the sharks, but as we are deaf bros I’m obligated to save you.” There was a dramatic tone to his signs, almost like he was performing. It made Peter smile. Perry was the only other person he could sign with easily, and he was all quick and efficient, like he was briefing someone. Of course, that could just be the circumstances. You thwart a taken nemesis one time and it’s all icy stares thereafter.

“Where to?” he asked, and Hawkeye grinned.

“We’re here to debrief, which means the gang is all here. How’d you like to meet the Avengers?”

He’s woken up to worse suggestions.

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

The first place Hawkeye inelegantly dragged him is a lab. Probably. Everything’s so techno-futuristic around here that it’s hard to tell. The occupant helped. It’s Iron Man, or Tony Stark, seeing as he wasn’t in the suit, poking away at screens and looking sleep deprived.

He wasn’t perturbed by their sudden entrance, at least, Peter was pretty sure he wasn’t. The damn screens meant he couldn’t see his lips, though they were moving so quickly he would probably have had trouble anyway. Well, couldn’t all be winners like Hawkeye, he mused, and popped the new aides in.

“-not to mention non-ripable pants for the Big Guy.” Huh. His voice wasn’t quite so deep, outside the suit. “Who’s your friend?” Stark asked, flicking the screens away. Bit late, but whatever.

“He’s the OWCA liaison, Agent P.”

“OWCA?”

“You know, the whole Danville thing?”

“Christ, is anyone ever going to let us live that down? Those kids were good though, hope they take up my offer on that internship.”

“Benefits of not having superpowers to take.” Hawkeye teased. Stark rolled his eyes.

“I don’t have powers either, dipshit. My suit is more zap proof now, though. So, what’s Agent P - you got something else I can call you? Seems a bit Men in Black.”

“Panda.” he signed, and Clint translated.

“That’s what the P stands for?” he asked, incredulous.

“Your name is Iron Man.” he deadpanned.

“Fair enough. Whatcha’ doing here, Agent Panda?” he asked, a little sing-song, like he was echoing.

“Avoiding my responsibilities.”

Stark laughed at that, long and deep, until his breath couldn’t sustain it any longer.

“I like this guy. OWCA might not be so bad.” he declared, clapping a hand on his shoulder. Peter should have stayed quiet. OWCA did not want to get on the bad side of literal superheroes, and overall it did a lot of good. But it felt wrong, not to forewarn him.

“My boss is a jackass.” He wore a scowl as he said it, his teeth grinding together in frustration. His rage had faded a little, being in Hawkeye’s company, but it was back now, and it burned.

“Oof. We’ve all been there. What’s his particular flavor of jackassery? Let me guess: bad insurance, overworked and underpaid.” Stark commiserated.

“My money’s on non-ADA compliance and subtle but consistent bigotry.” Hawkeye chipped in.

Neither of these accusations were wrong, and it’s not like Peter enjoyed them, but they weren’t the reasons he really hated Monogram enough to tell superheroes about it. He wondered if he should tell them the truth of the matter. Maybe they could actually help.

And honestly? Peter was desperate.

“My...” He paused. He couldn’t call Mystery his nemesis, it was a different term on their level. Part of the reason Peter didn’t pay attention to heroes was the evil that followed them, he didn’t like thinking about the cursed red Nazi still walking around. He was happiest when things were on OWCA’s scale. Preventable, personal, often petty. It was evil still, and the more extreme scientists might even be thrown in jail if schemes turned deadly, but for the most part? OWCA prevented the smart and broken from destroying the world by giving them something to do. With that in mind, the term he did use wasn’t technically a lie.

“My partner disappeared last week. He doesn’t want me looking for him.”

Stark and Hawkeye shared a look, one that conveyed information he wasn’t able to decipher, a wordless (and signless) conversation which ended on agreement.

“Let’s call the Cap.”

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

Everything after that was a bit of a blur, if Peter was honest. Captain America asked for everything he knew about Mystery’s last whereabouts, he told him. It wasn’t as hard as he thought it might be, not mentioning the villainy. Mystery was so closed off even his intentions weren’t obvious to see.

He’s about 70% sure they think Mystery is his lover, which is funny and fucked up and only two degrees away from the truth.  There was something kinetic in animosity, similar to sex, and he’s not going to pretend he hasn’t thought about combining the two with Mystery. So many secrets he could unravel under his tongue,  his fingers, and he could just kiss him and kiss him and never stop.

Reality wasn’t that kind. Reality was in the forms he finally picked up, another gut-wrenching teleportation, an empty apartment and a vague promise of news that might never come. Reality was insomnia, coffee he had to pour down the drain because one of the few things he did know is how much Mystery loves it, and he’s not here. Reality was tears that didn’t count because his eyes were still closed.

Reality could go fuck itself.

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

Four months went by, slow as an ocean current, before Hawkeye - civilian name Clint Barton - texted Peter an update that didn’t include some sort of apology. A photo of a rumpled looking man in a mask with the eyes of a cursed spirit, and a caption that killed in understatement. “he’s kind of grumpy, isn’t he?”

“Yes, yes he is.” he texts back, immediate.

“your bf is kinda dumb, you know”

“like brilliant and whatever but also”

“the only reason he disappeared is b/c of some very illegal wormhole manipulation”

“good luck with the charges on that”

“I’ll manage. When can I come and get him?”

“we were just going to drop him off tbh; you don’t have a good history with teleports”

“also wtf i can’t believe you had us calling you panda for months when your name is actually peter”

“aww he’s asking if you saw anyone else while he was gone”

“I mean he said thwart which is a bit of a weird word choice but seattle so who knows”

“No. I’ve been on desk duty this whole time. I got offers, but I refused.”

“double aww I told him what you said and now he’s all flustered”

“anyway meet us in this field in like an hour”

Peter put on his fedora and googles, sent an email about stopping his nemesis, his nemesis, who was back! He followed the coordinates to a park barely inside Seattle city limits, a little squalid, cameras broken or unattended. All the better for SHIELD’s fake secrecy agenda, when four people beam out of the sky. Thor and Hawkeye were holding Mystery steady, while Dr. Banner - Hulk or not the man had doctorates, while Peter had barely survived grad school - looked on with vague concern.

“Don’t you have somewhere better to be, Peter the Panda.” Mystery growled as he righted himself, and oh how he had missed it, the insults, the banter.

“Not at the moment.”

“Peachy. You know, in another dimension, you’re an actual Panda. And you still left me for Doofenshmirtz. Not exactly encouraging.” he accused, moving towards him, one, two steps.

“He’s not a bad night’s call. But you’re my nemesis.”

Mystery’s eyes went wide, and Peter regretted every second he’d spent stepping out, in downplaying how important Mystery was to him, because it was so obvious in his retrospect.

“You mean that?” he asked, a tremor muffled under fabric. When Peter nodded, the distance between them disappeared, the knife glinted against his throat.

“Very well, Peter the Panda. I will take great joy on obliterating you and bringing havoc upon the entire Pacific Northwest,” He pulled away and smirked. “Tomorrow afternoon. Don’t be late.” With that, he strode off into the depths of the greater Seattle area.

“Did we just rescue a super villain?” Hawkeye asked, blinking furiously.

“OWCA business. Don’t worry, he’s mine.”

[captainschmoe]

I Will Survive [Beta] - Chapter 7: No More

[A/N: This is the point in the story where I start to realize that I, at best, barely know what I’m doing. Go me?]

[Summary: In which literally every one of Sean’s friends makes an announcement, then there’s a nightmare.]

[Previous - Next]

Sean didn’t feel any kind of intro would be an appropriate one, so he just cut to the chase. “So, there’s been something really freaky going on, and... I didn’t want to talk about it with you guys at first. But now it’s reached... It’s come to a point where I’d just be endangering all you guys if I didn’t talk about it. So... here’s the deal...”

“So over on Jacksepticeye’s channel, he made this character called ‘Antisepticeye.’ He’s basically this evil- He’s literally this evil demonic thing that lives inside him. Eh, heheh...” Felix gave a nervous chuckle at how stupid that sounded. “But, like, if you heard the news recently about that girl in Oregon who was turned to stone, that’s Anti. That was him.”

“Because that happened to me, too. Here, let me show you my phone real quick...” Mark scrolled through the messages, finding the photo that was sent to Jack. He held it up to the camera for everyone to see. “So this is a text I sent to Jack. I didn’t actually send it, but it’s there. That’s my dead, stone body on the ground. That exact thing happened to me. Now I did manage to get out of that situation, and I would tell you guys how you can get out of there, too...”

“...but as you probably know from the news story, that girl didn’t come back like Jack and Mark did. And it’s the-” Marzia hiccuped in incoming sadness. She tried to swallow down the lump in her throat. “It’s the same with his girlfriend, Signe - Wiishu. She’s gone, too, and she hasn’t come back.”

“And it’s terrifying. I mean, I’m proud of Jack for actually being able to hold it together as well as he is, and being able to talk about this, ‘cause... If I had to watch something like that happen to Mary, or Layla...” Ken sighed, gritting his teeth. “Think I’d lose my goddamn mind.”

“I don’t know what’s next. Or who’s next. I don’t think Jack knows, either.” A moment of silence in the black as Cry attempted to gather some thoughts. “I’m just at a complete loss for words right now. I’m just...” He sniffed. “I want nothing more than for them to come back and for everyone to be happy again.”

“It’s obviously possible for them to come back, if Mark and Jack could come back,” Amy said. “I believe we can get Signe back. I believe Alyssa’s family can get her back. I don’t really want to think about the possibility that they might not, but I guess...” She drifted off. “What can I do?”

“I mean, if there’s anything I can do that would bring them back, anything at all, I will absolutely do it. I’m scared, I’ll admit it.” Bob gazed off-camera towards the ground for a moment. “I just really want to be there for Jack, because it’s the right thing to do, and because I want to, and because I know he’d do the same for me if I was in that situation.”

“We just want Jack to know that he’s not alone in all this. Jack, if you’re watching this... You’l never be alone. You’ve got us, you’ve got all your other friends, you’ve got your community-”

“Yeah, we’ve always got your back!” Dan piped up.

“Always.”

“It’s ‘cause we love him.”

“Yeah.” Arin chuckled. Sappy, but true.

Wade shrugged and rubbed his eyes. “...eh, I don’t even know what I’m saying at this point. Like, I know everything’s so cheesy and cliched, but it’s true. It’s really true. And I really want to put my effort first and foremost into helping him. The videos can wait.”

“So Jack and I will obviously not be making any more videos for the time being. I’m really sorry, but I’m sure you guys understand? This is all very overwhelming, as I said.” Well, no shit, Robin. “I’ve said this probably a dozen times in this video already, ut it’s really important to me to be there for him, and try and help him... not lose his sanity, I guess?”

“And I know all you guys will be there with him, too. Like one big supportive family!” Ethan grinned. “So yeah. That’s about all I have to say about it, I don’t really know how else to end this video, so I’ll leave you with- oh.” His eyes widened and pointed off-camera somewhere, and his hand came up to his stomach. “Uh... Guys? I’m feeling kinda-”

The screen cut to black. Static sounds filled the speakers, growing in intensity and even ignoring any efforts to turn down the volume. Eardrums felt shattered. And then came the silence, broken only by the sound of Anti introducing himself.

“Sorry to say, h͝e͢'͘ş ģone.”

A still image, covered in wavering glitch effects, of Ethan’s petrified body lying on the floor replaced the black, with Anti’s disembodied voice narrating over it.

“Slowly but surely, I build my community. - Right under your nose t̡ḩiş ͢whole̢ t̢i̛me! - Oh, poor little Ethan... I di͠dn͟'͠t want͠ to do this. - I d͟es̸er͜ve better! - I nev̡e͟ŗ wa͠nted to do this. And yet you! - N̶ev̸er e҉v͜en͜ kne̸w͝... - You’re the ones who d͟r̡o̸ve me͟ this far!

“And here you were all wor̴ried about Jack’s ot͞h͘e͏r͡ ͟e̡gos...” Anti snarled at the word. “Well, don’t fret now. They’re aaalll safe and sound... with͝ ̷m͏e.” A giggle rang through. “I’m sure your be̢lovéd͜ 'blue boi’ will enjoy the c̸o͜m̷pany, too... - And his f̸ri͡end͜s.”

The screen cut to black again, and in typical Anti fashion, he gave one last one-liner:

“Oh, S͢͞ea̛ǹ̶͝... If you only knew...”

I want to be as happy as I used to make Them.

“I blame Mark,” Felix said, sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over with his head in his hands. “If I die, it’s all his fault.”

“You’re not gonna die, you drama queen,” Sean retorted. “I survived. I’m still surviving. Look at me.” He, too, felt the worst headache and tinnitus he could have ever imagined. He was honestly surprised that he could ever hear Felix at all, let alone normally.

“Still blaming him for this massive migraine.” He put on his best - honestly, worst - Markiplier deep voice. “‘Hey, Jack, Felix, go watch Ethan, it’ll blow your fuckin’ minds!’ Yeah, sure. My mind wants to be blown, all right. ...Goddammit.”

Sean snorted at the unfortunate word choice.

“Shut up! You know what I meant! My head’s gonna explode!” Felix lay down, curling up into a fetal position. “I’m just gonna lay here and hopefully either get better or more likely die.”

Sean sarcastically rubbed his back. “There, there, poor baby.”

“Everything’s spinning. Your voice is echoing. Tell my family I love them.”

Oh, yeah, he never did tell anyone else about Echo yet, did he?

“Hey, Felix?”

“Yeah? You wanna say your last goodbye?”

“No, something else. It’s gonna sound kind of stupid.”

“I’ll take a stupid eulogy.” Felix twisted around to face him. “Go for it.”

Sean rolled his eyes and leaned back against the headboard. He sighed. “So the last two nights I was visited by this... person, I guess? In my sleep. They don’t have a visible body, it’s just a voice, but we’ve been talking. They seem nice, they’re called Echo.” Felix nodded, continuing to listen. Hadn’t made fun of him yet. Well, it wouldn’t be the most ridiculous thing to have been told in the last couple of days. “They told me they want me to kill Anti.”

Felix narrowed his eyes. “Well, no shit, I hope so.”

“I don’t know how, though. I don’t even know if this Anti, like, follows the rules I made for him, or if he’s different somehow. I don’t know how to get rid of him, or how to undo everything he’s done...”

“Well, are you gonna see Echo again tonight? Maybe you can ask them.”

“Hopefully.” If I can sleep. He wasn’t so sure having a stone Signe in the house would do any good for his ability to get some shut-eye.

Felix seemed to catch on to Sean’s distant staring, as he reached out to his back and gave it a series of light taps in an awkward attempt at comfort; he didn’t even properly meet Sean’s eyes until he pulled his arm away. Still a nice gesture on his part, one that put the briefest and subtlest of smiles on Sean’s face. He added, “You can have Edgar and Maya sleep with you if that helps.”

“Nah, I move too much in my sleep. I’d probably crush them.”

“They don’t have to be in bed with you. We can put their little beds over there.” He pointed to a spot a few feet away from them.

“Mm, I guess that works. Thanks, Felix.”

“No problem.”

“You gonna be alright?”

“Eh, I’m feeling a little less shitty. Still gonna lay here for a bit if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, go ahead.” Sean pulled the blanket over him before leaving him alone, intending for it as a silly little “there, there, poor baby” joke, though Felix seemed to genuinely take it for what it was. Despite never showing it well to anyone aside from Marzia and the dogs, Sean knew he was a softie deep down. Maybe he’ll just leave him here and take the guest room himself.

A whole bunch of them!

Anti could practically taste infection in the group of teenagers - all of them! - down by the lakeside. What a convenient little haul; he could just drown them without the need to fool around infecting them first, and without any leftover kids screaming for help. Not that screaming would do them much good. What was the help going to do? Exorcise them back to life? Please. All screaming would accomplish for them would be to piss him off more. God, he hated screaming.

It hurt seeing their faces turn from confusion to awe to horror as they watched their idol - who should have been nowhere near their location - become who he really was. But it was a hurt Anti was willing to put up with if it would lead to his ultimate end goal. Besides, if he hadn’t before, he definitely crossed the event horizon now. He already went too far down this rotten path - might as well embrace it.

Ah. And the spontaneous conversion of another he’d met and spread his plague to recently, judging by the small, pleasant tingling he felt coursing through his nerves. Better get back home and guide all of his new citizens to the hub before anyone realized his host was missing.

“Echo?”

“Sean!” Echo sounded panicked.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s getting worse. Anti’s...” They were sobbing, hiccups interrupting them. “Anti’s just getting more and more people, and he’s infecting more people, and they’re dying, and-”

“Okay, settle down, little buddy.” Sean instinctively reached outward in front of himself, feeling a bit stupid when there was no person, no body in front of him to touch and comfort. “Listen, we can get through this. Right? You seem to know a lot about Anti, right? Can you tell me how we can stop him?”

Echo sniffed. “You ju- You just need to work with the community and Robin and promise that you’re not going to acknowledge his existence anymore.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s why he exists. You made him, you can destroy him. I can’t.”

“Well...” Jeez, destroy him? That’s a... strong word choice. “Isn’t there another way we can beat him without ‘destroying’ him?”

“You think he deserves to live?”

Sean bit his lip. “I mean, I understand where you’re coming from, but I’d really rather not...” No more Antisepticeye ever again? Like, ever? They could never talk about him ever again? And he’d be permanently dead? They literally have to murder someone who has a mind of his own now? Sure, Sean got it. He’s done horrible things. Emotions are high. Shit’s scary. But was that really the most effective solution? The more Echo demanded Anti’s death, the more Sean’s brain wanted to resist. He didn’t want to accept murder as the first solution, even against someone like Anti. There had to be another way. There just had to be. “...I’d rather not just outright kill him if I don’t absolutely have to.”

“Well, you absolutely have to,” Echo replied rather coldly. “He will not stop otherwise.”

“Well, what about Signe and Ethan-”

“I’ll make sure you get all your friends back!” Echo started panicking and shouting again. “Just trust me! Sean? Sean!”

“What’s wro- aah!”

"Stay with me!”

Sean fell. How and where, he didn’t know, but he fell.

“Sean!”

The dusty, cobwebby back corner of the closet I get shoved in is the most empty and lonely place in this universe.

All of his friends are surrounding him, glaring at him. Gazes of anger, disappointment, and despair - a clear indication that they aren’t his friends anymore. There are a few spaces in the semicircle they’ve formed around him, and a few faces he looks for but doesn’t see - Signe, Ethan, Mark...

He knows where they are.

A strange yet familiar dark figure walks past him from behind, walking the semicircle and scanning its members. They stop at Felix. “This one,” they say, grabbing him by the shoulder, conjuring a shadowy set of handcuffs and locking his wrists behind his back, and walking him to Sean. Felix says nothing, nor does he even resist. He looks at Sean with eyes pleading for him not to harm him. Sean wishes he could oblige.

“Let’s go,” says the dark figure. They lead Sean and Felix up a series of staircases through a set of double doors behind them. They’re a sterile white with black railings, and the occasional smattering of worn paint and rust providing the only iota of color. They go up past the first floor. Second. Third. They never stop at any of the landings. How high does it go again? Sean looks up and tries to see, but the figure and Felix are leaving him behind. Too many for his poor legs. Pant, pant.

Finally, after far too many landings, they reach their floor. Seven flights, he’d counted. Right. Sean’s legs are rock-hard, compressed, aching, searing. It’s a miracle they didn’t crumble away into a dozen pieces each yet. There is a door with a shiny black lock, which the figure opens using their own finger as the key.

Inside are Signe, Mark, and Ethan, who, upon seeing the three of them enter, immediately line up in a row in front of Sean - Mark visibly struggling and stumbling to do so - dropping to their knees and gazing up at him with weariness that pangs his heart. Dribbling maroon wounds dot their bodies.

And now it’s Felix’s turn to join them. The figure shoves him to the ground, and turns to Sean with shining white eyes - no visible face - expecting him to make his move. Felix struggles to stand up on his knees, the handcuffs holding him down. No one helps him.

Only now does Sean think to look down at his hands. Long black nails dripping ichor replace his nails. His skin is marred with scars of varying degrees of freshness, some deep red, others stark white. Spots of blood stain his chest.

He doesn’t need any more information.

“Give ‘em a good smack,” the figure requests. “Hard as you can.” Their eyes narrow, and are practically targeting Sean like lasers. There’s a price to pay for defiance. Sean must obey.

He makes it quick. Doesn’t even look at his face as he does it. Felix winces and grunts as the cuts rip across his cheek. Trying to keep his cool. But there’s so many more waiting in line after him...

Next is Ethan, who already has a line of four puncture wounds in his throat and is bracing for impact. He still yelps as Sean rakes his face. Sean cringes, too. That yelp makes it so much worse. What did Ethan do? What did any of them do to deserve this?

Then Signe. She, too, has punctures in her throat, as well as a large blood splotch on her stomach. There are tears welling in her eyes.

He hesitates.

“Go!” booms the figures voice.

Smack.

Oh God, why did I do that? I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, oh God, she’s crying...

Okay. There’s just one more. Mark. Scarred with punctures and a stomach wound. There’s another one, he remembered. From when he stabbed him from behind.

Ugh, Mark’s looking at him like he wants him flayed alive...

Just get it over with...

Mark flinches but doesn’t make a peep, seeming used to this by now. He still glares at Sean. Not so much of active viciousness and aggression, but more that of a long-standing hatred ingrained in his soul.

I’m so sorry, guys...

The figure is drinking in the ecstasy released from the four of them. Their lack of a face makes it impossible for Sean to see how they truly feel watching him destroy the people he loves just for another hit. It’s the same reaction as before, despite Sean harming more people. The figure has been building as much a tolerance as a dependence. More, more, more, it’s never enough to satiate them for long. What happens when Sean goes through the whole crowd? Does he have to keep slashing everyone over and over again for the figure’s high? Or will even that fail to be enough? Is it even worth hurting them this much just so he can be fed and watered? Especially since Sean is going to die somewhere down the line anyway, no matter how well he’s being taken care of?

He doesn’t want to live like this anymore.

But he has no other options...

“That will be all.”

The figure disappears without a trace, leaving Sean alone with these people once so near and dear to him. They still are, he still loves and cares for them, but the feeling is hardly mutual. None of them want anything to do with him anymore. They’ve disowned him by now. The loneliness crushes his soul into dust and suffocates him with it.

Why me?

[cripplinganxietyflix]

I saw Valerian.

If you’ve ever spoken to me at length about movies, there’s a good chance my thoughts on “headache cinema” have come up. It’s an umbrella term I’ve come up with that encompasses the deluge of loud, obnoxious, brainless, neutered, hundred-million-dollar-budgeted trashfests that are destroying theater culture as we know it. I’m talking about the Disney’s Marvel franchises, the post-Matrix Wachowski migraines, the Transformers films- head-exploding visual fuckfests that leave the average adult feeling like they’ve crawled out some hellscape version of a McDonald’s play palace birthday party. This brand of film is easily my least enjoyed and most disliked. The vast majority of the time these movies are castrated down to a PG-13- or worse, a PG!, they’ve got bloated budgets, dumb plotlines, stupid dialog, and best of all: punching, loud noises, explosions, TOTAL SENSORY OVERLOAD. 

For many years I have hated superhero movies and glazed over at Hollywood’s air-horn retreads of movies like Clash of the Titans and Independence Day: Resurgence and the recent Ghost in the Shell mishap. I hate movies like this and I find them at least majorly to blame for the death of the hard R-rated action flick. There are exceptions to the formula, like Mad Max: Fury Road, the 2014 Godzilla, and Dredd, but generally speaking, they’re unwatchable. I will be the first to admit that I’m not a big fan of whimsy, but I will be happy to defend my position on this. Giant blockbuster action movies are generally dumb and boring if you’ve got more than two brain cells to rub together. I do try to balance my feelings about people who like brain-dead, ham-fisted, infantile PG-13 sci-fi action movies with my penchant for unrepentantly trashy, low-brow 70s and 80s exploitation horror films. I know for a fact that there’s a certain segment of cinema elitists who would see my interest in that subgenre as an undeniable sign of being a philistine troglodyte, which slightly tempers my extreme prejudicial judgment of those who love headache cinema. 

I can pick up the hanging thread to unravel this tapestry. It’ll lead you through all of the recent loud crashing DC fiascos and the rainbow of annoying apocalypse and disaster films and CG shitshows. Once you hit the Star Wars prequels, you’re getting close. But the film that started all of this hatred is Luc Besson’s The Fifth Element, easily in my top five most despised films of all time (that’s a list for another day!). 

It feels a little bizarre for me to say that I hate Luc Besson. Léon: The Professional is one of my favorite films of all time, and easily my favorite film of 1994. But aside from that and 1990′s La Femme Nikita, I find Besson wholly intolerable. His movies tend toward obnxious, incomprehensible, overwhelming, anxiety-inducing horse shit. And while many people are happy to agree with me, it seems no one outside of myself is willing to slaughter the sacred cow that is The Fifth Element. Some see a sci-fi fantasy classic, I proffer that it’s a grotesque panacea of ADHD, loud noises and cringey acting. To Besson’s credit, most of the time his films don’t take themselves seriously, and that’s fine. But The Fifth Element is the first film in my memory where I felt literally assaulted and invaded by the unfettered gaudy head-spinning madness of big, loud, overwhelming movies. My level of general calmness could be compared to a that of a frightened rabbit with combat shock, so I try to be cognizant that this dislike has less to do with objective quality and more to do with my personal preferences and tolerance levels. Let’s be real- I’m a person with severe, crippling anxiety. Headache cinema is not made for me. 

That being said, I saw the trailers for Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets, and I immediately started getting Vietnam flashbacks of Chris Tucker in a wig and leopard print jumping out of my television and screaming into my face. My significant other has a much more relaxed attitude toward these things and a seemingly endless well of patience for Luc Besson, so I had a feeling I was going to end up seeing this film in theaters and I started mentally preparing for it. And I’m really glad that I did all that emotional gestation, because I found Valerian to be surprisingly tolerable, aside from being a chaotic discombobulation of ideas that all generally have the potential to be good but fail because Luc Besson must have the attention span of a squirrel. And squirrels plant trees because they literally can’t remember where they’ve left their nuts. I couldn’t dream of a better summation of why Luc Besson turns nearly everything he touches into abject shit.

Valerian is essentially a very straight-forward narrative about a couple of federal agents (?) in space (???) who uncover a conspiracy involving a group of displaced aliens. They spend the film unraveling a mystery surrounding an enigmatic void in the middle of a space ship (?) or man-made planet (???) that contains thousands of different species from throughout the universe that live in surprising harmony. The alien refugees and the void on the ship or planet are related, you will later find. 

That’s basically it. It’s a simple storyline with simple elements like “war is bad” and “the powerful oppress the powerless” and “love is universal and always wins.” If you dig down past all of the color and noise and distraction, that’s the basic bedrock. I think I was expecting this movie to be a convoluted mess, and to a great extent it absolutely was. But I wouldn’t say that the story was the weakest part of the film. 

What did some substantial damage was the acting and dialog. The two leads had no chemistry and the actor playing the title character (Dane DeHaan) had a stunning drought of charisma. I think that his opposite, Cara Delevingne, has the potential to be a fun leading lady, but she never had a chance in this movie. The love angle was hackneyed and totally unnecessary to the point that the film would have fared much better if Valerian and Laureline were friends instead of a ~~will they or won’t they???~~ couple. I thought it was insulting to my sensibilities, and that sucks since the romance thing was such an ingrained aspect of the movie. I couldn’t tell if they were even in a relationship with each other or if Valerian had puppy love and Laureline has simply spent their entire careers fighting off his advances only to reluctantly agree to marry him after the film’s climax. This film could have really used a competent screen writer. I think I even could have lived with some of the eye-rollingly dumb but baseline-acceptable dialog you hear in Disney’s© Marvel™ Avengers Part 2: Electric Boogaloo. The villain (played by Clive Owen) was such a stupid caricature of literally everything that is wrong with Bad Guys in major American cinema- instantly hate-able, predictable, no angle or point of sympathy, stupid rationale for his actions-type of shit. And what’s really frustrating is that the Owen’s villain had a completely rational and utilitarian motive for his actions. But that gets torpedoed by the giant flashing neon signs that say “HE’S THE BAD GUY” and “EVIL PIECE OF SHIT” hanging over his head in every scene he’s featured in. It absolutely felt like the characters were totally empty and needed to be reworked from the ground up. I even thought Rihanna’s character had more depth than either Valerian or Laureline. Valerian’s a by-the-books soldier with a heart of gold? Could have fooled me! Laureline’s a toughgirl with a penchant for violent overreaction but still maintains a balanced moral compass? Hard to see through the horse shit nonsense they wrote for her. Character development and the script were both a total, unmitigated disaster.  

Another thing that I think the film failed at was building tension. Everything felt a little too whimsical and inconsequential. In the beginning, a bus full of mercenaries (?) is attacked by a violent hexapedal alien and Valerian and Laureline watch all of them die savagely with nothing more than a smirking “glad we made it outta that scrape!” reaction. It never really feels like they’re in any danger or that there’s any emotional peak or valley for the characters, with maybe a single, small exception. You watch a lot of people get shot to death and even a head get blown clean off and another cut right in half, but it all seems so cartoonish and trivial that you can’t help but feel like nothing really matters and it’s all just a low-stakes video game. 

But I don’t want to give you the impression that this movie is a complete trainwreck (it tries, believe me). There were things that I liked and appreciated. The visuals and alien designs were inventive and there was never really a moment where you couldn’t get lost in the scene. It kind of felt like Rick and Morty without the nihilism and good writing. Everything was very colorful, the universe felt very inhabited. Around halfway through, Valerian and Laureline have an almost brilliant run in with a species of giant food-obsessed frogs (I actually went through the trouble of looking it up; they’re called Boulan-Bathors) and I found the whole scenario to be kind of charming and cute. I didn’t really mind Rihanna’s cameo. The refugee aliens, the Pearls, were cool and appealing in the same translucent way as the Engineers of Prometheus. While I definitely felt some Avatar vibes, the whole opalescent, iridescent aesthetic was visually pleasing and I really liked the semi-androgynous thing they had going on. 

I think the strongest part of this film is the first several minutes that lays out Earth’s journey into space. It was beautiful and touching and enough to make you feel really depressed about the state of our space exploration programs and the hopelessness and polarization of our world affairs. I would liked to have seen more of a thematic connection to the introduction because it felt extremely dissonant with the rest of the movie, which, by comparison, is hard to feel particularly emotional about. If you’re not planning on seeing Valerian, I would at least recommend watching the first few minutes. If the movie had come full circle to it, you can see how it could have been brilliant. 

Overall, Valerian is kind of a giant mess, and by all means I should have absolutely hated it, because it is textbook headache cinema. I think that there was a wide dearth of missed opportunities with the material, and with a more competent screenwriter, a better cast, and maybe someone else in the director’s seat, we’d be talking about a viable start to a franchise. But too often Valerian ties its own shoelaces together and eats shit and expects us to be engrossed and entertained. The relationship between Valerian and Laureline- both as a friendship, coworkership and romance- either needed to be reengineered from the ground up or scrapped entirely. I think Dane DeHaan was totally wrong for the part of Valerian and I could see this movie succeeding in more ways had someone with more charisma been the leading man. Valerian desperately needed some tension, and the total absence of crisis or consequence left an unbridgeable emotional void. It’s beautiful- but it’s a mess, and that seems to be Luc Besson’s calling card. I doubt we’ll ever see another Léon, but if Besson’s next film is as much of an improvement on Valerian as Valerian was on Lucy, then we might have the potential to see something really special. And maybe in five to eight years when everyone has forgotten about this spectacle, we’ll get a decent reboot for the Valerian material. 

★ ★ ½