#looks straight out of an analog horror game

[puppyeared]

8 and 18 for the ask!

8: any reoccurring dreams?

mmm sort of? sometimes i dream about my old friends or something about running through a maze that looks like the one in mariokart 8. im not sure why

18: do you believe in ghosts/aliens?

aliens is a yes, ghosts are a maybe!! i know there are a lot of ghost stories that get debunked scientifically because we know things now that were considered supernatural back then. but its the really disturbing stories that get me the most because i spend a lot of time thinking about it. my favorite is the mary celeste, an abandoned ship that had all traces of people living on the ship but the crew was missing, and nobody figured out what happened ooouuu

[crtter]

I really enjoy those “exploring abandoned online games” videos but I always think it’s so funny when they go “Oh everything is made out of static repeating textures! The models are just 2D images shaded as if they were 3D! It’s just like an analog horror ARG or a liminal space!” <- guy who was born after the Wii came out and doesn’t know 3D games used to look like straight up shit

[somewhereinthewoodsalone]

(Even more Apollo info for an rp)

(Crappy ref yaaay)

Apollo is one of the newest Overlords, along with his twin brother, Artemis.

He looks like a humanoid sun with one eye (his right eye, it is red and gold), and wears a dark brown semi-cloak.

He is very cheerful and excited. He loves life. If you piss him off, though, he will happily tear you apart from limb to limb in his demon form.

His full demon form looks like it's straight out of an analog horror game, the top half of his face covered in pitch black shadows, his eye tiny and creepy, and his mouth stretched into a pitch black, unbelievably wide smile.

His pre-death name was Sol.

Random, useless facts about him:

-He lived in Maine

-Was 25 when he died

-Died in 2012

-Cause of death was getting shot in the head by a police officer after he and Artemis were caught murdering a bunch of weird cult guys because of epic backstory reasons

-Thinks Alastor and Zestial are poggers, thinks that the Vees are an utter joke, though they're an entertaining one

-Describes Zestial as "chill spider grandpa who would probably manage to sneak $100 into handshake with grandkids"

[unsleepingtales]

The one gift daylight savings has given me is that for one week, burrow’s end comes out at 11 pm instead of midnight. Onwards!

Ooh what’s the group name gonna be

(tense yet whimsical music)

Spectacular

Ooh yay puppet show again

God they’re so creepy

OOOOOOH it’s so good it’s so good

AVA

Her charisma is SO low 😭

BABE why would you say that

Brennan and Siobhan my HEART that was beautiful

Beautifully done

Oh they’re all so insane <3

Brennan is so good at cutting right to the core of Daughter Experiences

The worldbuilding here is incredible Aabria I am in awe

Girl I saw you almost say weapons 👀

This is so fucking funny

Human remains??

Oh the rehearsed propaganda is so much

(Erika lets loose a savage battle cry)

The new yorker analogy <3

They’re all so In It

GIRL

W h a t

Babe that’s radiation poisoning

REAL

You JUST met clothes

Aabria & twins that are impossible to tell apart 2 for 2

Them <3

He’s so good at this actually

Rogues ftwwwww

I’m so excited to see how Izzy handles Arcane Trickster things bc I will be taking notes

Oh these children are going to have to go to school

I’ve never seen anything 💀

Such a ten year old asshole moment <3

That little smug flipping off

She just has an aneurysm or something

So it is some version of human language

SO GOOD SO COOL

But also how have none of them noticed the thing on the back of their clipboards

Biting the walls rn.

Couples that game together destroy erasers together <3

Saving throw??

Oh ok she’s Actually having a thing

“This is a safe space-” “Deception Check!!” The immediate cutoff 💀

What’s the point of me anymore 😭😭

OH LORD

Why I oughttaaa

Tonic immobility! Neat!

Parenting!

I too hold my collarbone when I get nervous

Oh Tula’s gonna love that…

He was so sure he wanted to keep the kids with him for the day and so quickly regretted that

They’re so good!!

Bryan Cranston

Thank you Brennan for highlighting that joke

Love the split screen moment

Girl

OK IM GLAD ITS NOT JUST ME WHO THINKS THE BRITISH GRADING SYSTEM IS BIZARRE I’m currently studying here and the idea that I could get a 50 on the essay I turned in yesterday and that would be a pretty good mark is batshit to me

Also how are we up to #42? Will there be a complete list somewhere at the end of the season?

Oh god Tula’s so real for that

The immediate emotional and physical crash after prolonged stress once there’s safety

They’ve immediately started calling it population control instead of population support lmao

You’ve been here less than a day you can chill a Bit

In neverafter we were on the road to shoeberg, now we’re on the road to hats :)

Erika has SO many werthers

The tonal shift from Tula talking to her family to Tula talking in a diplomatic sense is fascinating

Ohohohohoh girl

Babe

That’s a teenager

Sweetheart

What is Brennan planning why am I nervous

That is so not how that works

Honey oh god

Memory check <3

Oh Erika handled that so well

Why is D20 dealing so much with grief rn. I didn’t need this.

(I did need this I didn’t want it I know that’s the point but god)

I love character choices

What is happening

YES rocky horror ref and YES Brennan’s Tim Curry impression

Oh god the new student anxiety is so real

Oh ok it straight up is real world radiation I thought maybe it would be like. Fictional parallel or allegory situation but nope straight up this is nuclear radiation

My name is Normal Size Jaysohn and my sister can read

The most sidekick-y kid 😭 PLEASE

Siobhan <3

Bi jaysohn

They’re teenagers now and it SHOWS

When’re the bnei mitzvot?

I love our little fourth wall stunts

Siobhan looks so cool like legitimately I know she’s doing a bit as a student trying to look cool but she looks great

Aabria and her consequences <3

What the fuck is happening

What

Why have they started a GANG

Ok well at least he not congested anymore

Never mind

He grows up and becomes one of those guys always chewing tobacco but it’s mint

Troubling. This is incredibly troubling.

Jaysohn-

Siobhan has had her leg up this whole time <3

Thorn 😭

Jesus Christ

Aaaand the party’s back together :)

Help her out here man

She’s so seventeen years old

Keep it together-

Oh god

AVA

She’s so eldest daughter

We gotta get through the series.

BARBARA STOATSAND

Oh yeah because leaving the kids with Thorn went so incredibly well an hour ago

The emotional manipulation involved in every aspect of this

Checkitoutcheckitoutcheckitout

Real tears at the table 💜

What a rollercoaster

Plus NINETEEN

Avaaaa

BOX OF DOOM MY FRIEND

Brennan and Siobhan sitting next to each other is so fun

HELL YEAH BABE

Chill this is all chill

WHAT

He’s unfairly good looking

This is so cool Aabria oh my god

What the fuck man

YEAH NO SHIT

Horrifying. Truly? Legitimately? Horrifying.

Well maybe they know something about the blue

I don’t think anyone ever hid that from you? Maybe I’m having trouble distinguishing in game vs above game conversation but I thought that had already been brought up

Ok so they did already know this. Glad I’m not losing it

Oh shit

Clover. Like the crushed clover from the story. God.

Good for her getting the breakdown and rant she deserves

The tears at the table today

Oh that one hurt coming out huh

Terrifying! Good god!

Augh

A lie oh god oh fuck

WHAT

ARE YOU KIDDING ME

Oh the theater kid energy is palpable

hell.

next week looks insane oh god.

ANYWAY this was fun see you next week I guess <3

[gugf]

Man, i really don't know about theories from now on.

The new series for me is a sort of enigma with "What was the point? What was the message?" questions. Although it seems like this, I really doubt that there is no point at all. Even from the early interviews it's been said "We also get a lot of people just asking ‘why have you made this? and what is this for?’ which is probably the worst response for us."

But, reading more and more interviews, I kinda get a feeling, that what's going on it's so weird and inconcrete, that even creators themselves can't describe this. That's why their descriptions feel so vague.

And, as a person who enjoys making abstract art herself, for me at least, I can relate to that. Usually I just come up with theme or idea, some cool looking things and metaphors, and organize it into something that feels coherent. Than, just interpret it how you feel.

Yeah, the reason is very subjective. But with all interviews, that is why I personally don't buy theories that suggest that dhmis has some complex lore, and all of this can be explained logically via simulation or something similar. No offence for those who enjoy that reading, btw. The whole point with dhmis is that nobody is really sure what is going on, and you can fill the gaps by your own liking, making it into something special specifically for you, and it will not be wrong.

But if we're going for an intent... Than we need to find a theme of the series. All art is created with some message. Even if it's something as simple as "look how pretty this tree looks".

That's why i find a simulation theory about web series sounding really boring (no pun intended). Especially if it adds a villain with a cartoony motivation such as "more money" or "i hate my son so fucking much, but i still make sure that he wouldn't be socially isolated". It makes the conflict just really simple, and requires a story being taken by a face value. And the message, i guess, don't let some weird puppet produce your show? Cause it's not like creators going for "situation sucks but we still have each other", looking at how cynical the show is, and how creators describe the characters themselves. They are straight up calling them: "pathetic", "moron", "asshole" c'mon. And also there isn't such scene in the series where they try to comfort or even understand each other to be that kind of message. It's much likely to be intended as a metaphor for something far more simple. Something that's also relatable for the creators themselves.

If I understood it correctly, of course. I know, there must be the reason that theory is so beloved, but I, for the love of god, can't get it. (And it's kinda about the whole categorie that goes under the description of: characters are in distressing situation by the direct fault of roy and also leslie all along).

And I also personally don't want to believe in "characters have a souls of a real dead people from mullhoven in them" I know, it has some basis, but it's basically a plot of most analog horror, or games with creepy hidden lore out there. It's done to death, and I'm not really sure if it adds anything to the story, besides Yellow being Leslie's dead son. But still, eh? Why does it's "you're not my real son", then? (Maybe Yellow is just based on him? Or, if Leslie didn't create the characters, just one that looks the most alike, who knows. That was really what my "you will never be a real boy" drawing was all about)

But, the things I set with, honestly, not better. Now, besides the "Desperately trying to tie two series together", after reading the interviews, I can only say they that here might be something TAWOG-esque going on, like, with the TV in the teaser playing the show, and the sitcom logic being incorporated into the story.

It's kinda because the show doesn't even feel like a finished story. And the words "I don't think this is the end" only support this. Even if it's kind of jarring that after 6 years we got only a part of the story, that we are not even sure when or will it ever be finished, I'm really glad, that at least now theories have more variety to them, and people willing to let go of the original series as its own independent story if it's true or not. Now, it's almost feels like real science.

I think, only time will tell which was the closest one. But, It doesn't mean that I won't continue to study this thing from all the different angles. I know, they want to say something to us. And I really want to know what it might be. Besides, it turns out as something boring (what is unlikely), I always can create an interpretation myself.

This was mainly discussion about the show, not an attack on theories or headcanons. Remember this, ok? I don't want this post to discourage anyone to be wild and creative. I mainly wrote it as a frustration about how seeing the show from a perspective of only one theory makes discussion about what show might mean really stifle.

[deputy-morgan-malone]

muse aesthetics: horror edition.

An aesthetic game found here.

Not tagging anyone, but feel free to consider this an open tag!

Deputy Morgan Malone (FC5)

bold whatever applies and repost; don’t reblog! Feel free to tag me if you do this!

gothic horror 一

gaslights. corsets. ballrooms. candlelight. mist. starless nights. full moons. cobbled streets. horse-drawn carriages. mysterious strangers. bogs. moors. forests. mountains. castles. velvet. silver. brass. gold. jewels. domino masks. the opera. dangerous romances. tragic romances. violins. roses. lilies. empty graves. crosses. cemeteries. snow. ice. the gallows. crows. milk-white skin. ambiguous illness. fangs. pointed nails. something howling in the night. capes. gloves. top hats. straight razors. lightning. pipe organs. underground caverns. bats. mice. rats. ravens. cats. pearls. attics. talismans. axes. wood. isolation in a room full of people. vampires. werewolves. ghosts. coffins. western europe. eastern europe. bones. churches. catacombs. mausoleums. spiders. books.

classic horror 一

black and white. powder puffs. red lipstick. winged eyeliner. white kitten heels. black lace lingerie. icy blue eyes. rain. abandoned cars. skeletons. acid. poison. voyeurism. switchblades. strangling. overcoats. looking over your shoulder. trans-atlantic accents. private detectives. dinner parties. haunted mansions. alcohol in glass decanters. cobwebs. perfect blonde curls. kitchen knives. shock. cellars. dust. dark alleys. empty streets. driving at night. horn-rimmed glasses. radiation. zombies. serial murder. paranoia. the city. witches. the devil. cannibalism. conspiracies. amulets. abject terror. the american south. the american northeast. england. analog cameras.

slashers 一

bloodbaths. massacres. wanton nudity. newspapers. leather jackets. letterman jackets. converse sneakers. obscured faces. social unrest. bonfires. lakes. babysitters. suburbia. high school. lockers. dead leaves in the fall. jack-o’-lanterns. outdated television sets. nightmares. psychiatrists. hospitals. unstoppable forces. gunfire. police. landline telephones. household objects turned into improvised weapons. halloween. secrets. revelations. character masks. scrunchies. queerness. wild curls. jeering children. parties. fire. swearing. revulsion. california. the american midwest. ambulances.

paranormal horror 一

malevolent spirits. seances. spells. missing bodies. hidden graves. white noise. static. flickering lights. rings of salt. demons. poltergeists. dark histories. old buildings. cold air. mausoleums. wells. urban exploration. a dog barking at something you can’t see. black ooze. old photographs. faces you can swear you’ve seen before but can’t for the life of you figure out where. dark bodies of water. crucifixes. priests. possession. exorcisms. dolls.

cryptid & urban legend horror 一

aliens. blinding light. dark woods. driving at night. claw-marks. bite-marks. men in black. dismembered bodies. sewers. flashlights. cell phones. video cameras. cars with tinted windows. abandoned houses. unlabeled casette tapes. bugs. big cities. urban crimes. clowns. something rustling outside your window. glowing light. unsolved mysteries. suburbia. mirrors. the american pacific northwest. the american midwest. hiking / backpacking.

thrillers 一

daylight. fluorescent lighting. morgues. asylums. unwavering eye contact. tension. lit rooms with no one inside them. a dog digging in the newly-planted flower bed. steely gazes. paperwork. anagrams. codes. convicted killers. missing persons. law enforcement. federal agents. small towns. suspicion. paranoia. subdued terror. dimly-lit parking lots.

[teamrocketmemes]

[ LUXIEM 1ST ANNIVERSARY ] PART 1

In honor of Luxiem’s first anniversary, this is a sentence starter from this Vox Akuma VOD where they reminisce about old phrases they all have said in a game format. I’m taking both the phrases discussed specifically as well as other funny quips said during the stream. Content warning for mild language. Feel free to change pronouns if necessary.

“I’m a really smart guy and I definitely thought about this really hard before we started.”

“Are we introducing ourselves??”

“Sussy among us…”

“I’m the detective guy, but there’s someone cooler next to me.”

“[Name] is eating spicy noodles by choice now.”

“I was having the cravings and I—I just went for it.”

“There’s no such word as can’t.”

“Burrito?? Is that a Naruto character??”

“You swear to everything holy that these are not fabricated??”

“Why does it look like you etched his name in blood??”

“I was right on his ass shoving that thing in.”

“Every single [name] quote has the word POG in it.”

“UnPOG.”

“I felt a strange vibration in my wenis.”

“Google it. The Flagina is real.”

“I got to Urban Dictionary and I don’t think I wanna read this out.”

“I have a meme for this. Hold on.”

“My phone is on 5% but that’s enough.”

“Staff, for legal reasons, that’s a joke.”

“Guys… How do I delete my canvas??”

“[Name] has created a horror so real that it won’t leave.”

“If I keep on guessing, one of them has to be [Name].”

“Let’s have a look at what—” Burps really loudly.

“You want to fight me in Tetris after seeing my brain??”

“They do call me the master baiter.”

“No!! I like his hat!!”

“I feel like it’s me but when the fuck was this??”

“When I read it, I can hear [Name]’s voice.”

“Here’s [full name], he says LOL.”

“This is a historic quote.”

“They didn’t say laugh out loud, they said LOL.”

“If someone ends with a full stop, I feel very threatened.”

“The grammar police in my head is just like ‘You gotta do it [name]’.”

“We had to just decipher something that was written in binary but we didn’t realize that it was binary–”

“I was straight up incapacitated for a while…”

“Oh! the double penetratio–”

“I will be putting some of you on blast today.”

“This is me but I stopped earlier, in my defense…”

“No matter what you say, it will always return to bite you in the ass.”

“My favourite position? I like beieng on my computer playing League of Legends.”

“You’re absolutely right. League absolutely plays [name].”

“Are you a mistletoe? Because I want to be under you.”

“BRUH.”

“What’s something funny… Does anyone remember the movie Sky High??”

“All I know that it’s like— My Hero Academia several years before it came out.”

“If they’re asking for a kick in, they should get a kicking.”

“Waitwaitwait— I’m drawing a funny.”

“What an unit indeed.”

“Meow, bottom.”

“Only real ones remember.”

“Ooooh the memorie– Wait, no.”

“Mine is the default Windows wallpaper.”

“You guys know the incident I’m talking about. Don’t try to play dumb.”

“That might be the most awesome thing that’s ever gonna happen on this stream.”

“I’ve never had more raw panic into my body than when it kept going after the car.”

“You exposed yourself on this one.”

“Liar has 5 letters.”

“Why is [name]’s number all the way to the right??”

“I feel like a worm on a piece of concrete.”

“See, the first question you ask is would you say this to yourself??”

“I have this really bad habit of having these really overly specific analogies that I never remember but everyone else does.”

“Did [Full name] say this??”

“[Name] really is the kid who reminds the teacher that they had homework.”

“Who really needs restraints such as handcuffs?? There’s a perfect space between the tip of my show and the heel where your wrists fit just right.”

“I can’t guess because I don’t know what this means.”

“That’s such a mid S.”

“I’m drawing with a mouse. It’s good enough.”

“Unless you did not know, I don’t wear heels.”

“[Name] is depicting a fucking cave drawing.”

“Number 12 is, I guess, cock.”

“All of my quotes are sexual.”

“I’m sorry for putting you on blast.”

“It’s not that there’s something in the sentence that blatantly gives away who it is.”

“Does he know?? He doesn’t know.”

“Like, dude, you don’t understand, it’s rectangles man.”

“Most likely to become a Bro…”

[5-leaf-clover]

The GTS for Gen 6 and 7 is so fucked up now it’s honestly insane.

I was trying to get a Volcanion on the Gen 6 and 7 GTSs a few days ago bc Home GTS banned trading “special Pokémon” which is such a total buzzkill but I digress (btw if anyone wants to trade me a Volcanion for what I think is a legit Gen 5 Victini hit me up, idc if it’s legit as long as it’s theoretically not hacked). When I looked for a trade offering Volcanion, I was hit with offers that are straight up impossible! Like, I know people used to love making trades like “I give you a Pidgey from Route 1 for a Level 1-10 Genesect ahahah lmao”, but these trades have values that you literally can’t hit, even with hacking. I saw shit like “Level - Quit the GTS” and “Gender - [nothing]” on literally every trade. Oh yeah, and the player icons were analog horror rip-offs, the skin didn’t show up, there was no hat sometimes, and in rare cases, the player icon was literally nothing (this was only for XY player avatar icons since the other icons weren’t customizable). I actually found someone who the game thinks I could trade with, I think it was Volcanion for a Zigzagoon, but the level value was nothing. I don’t think the game liked that, because when I went for the trade for shits and giggles, I ended up with an error message I’ve never seen before. It was so totally bizarre!

Gen 7 GTS was about as functional but waaaay less flashy. There were no Volcanion trades up when I tried, so I went for Amaura instead to see if I can find any obviously hacked trade offers. I think I saw 4 legit trades before the game froze like it was the Ice Age. I think what happened is the game couldn’t load the trainer icon because it froze as soon as it came on screen.

I plan on reposting this with pictures if I ever figure out how to send them to my laptop. So uh, like, don’t fuck with old GTSs I guess, there’s nothing of value there.

[nerdysuccubus08]

Just some random story I felt like writing

Blaise wasn’t exactly one to seek out trouble. He’d always been on the sidelines, keeping to himself and not trying to get into anyone else’s bullshit. But, somehow, he’d gotten himself in trouble so deep, he’d lost his job and been evicted from his apartment…Which was why he was now standing at the doorstep of a rundown funeral home that looked straight out of a Tim Burton movie. Blaise takes a deep breath, then knocks on the door. He’s barely lifted his knuckles from the mahogany door when it suddenly opens. “Blaise! It’s so good to see you! It’s been, what, 5 years? I haven’t seen you since high school!” Came a surprisingly chipper alto. There she was. Lilias Crowmer. She looked different now. The nerdy goth girl he remembered from high school had been replaced with this redheaded Morticia Addams clone. He sighs.

“Look, Lili, can we just keep things professional?” The gothic beauty laughed.

“I have no intention of doing the contrary…you have no faith in me, don’t you?”

(If anyone wants me to continue this, let me know. I basically binge watched a bunch of MatPat videos on Analog Horror and Indie horror games, and wanted to write my own!

[shak3speara-shak3speara]

The Children under the House (Analog Horror) X Transformers Prime AU Part 2:

It's that time of the year when exchange programs rule the halls of the school. There are quite a few students coming from all around the world, most notably Asian countries that would like to experience American culture.

Students like Miko Nakadai. A spunky Japanese girl who is very fluent in the English language. Jess would know; Miko hasn't stopped talking to her and Raf during lunch break for a few weeks now.

Jess appreciates her new friend. Always so energetic and, maybe a bit of a risk taker, but she is true in spirit. Very interested in music too, although she prefers breath-hitching heavy metal and ear-shattering punk rock.

One day, Raf invites Jess to play with his remote controlled yellow car in a rather far area up a small highway. Jess doesn't own a toy car like Raf's, though that certainly doesn't mean she can't have fun racing the little sportscar on her skateboard.

Raf's mum calls, evidently to check in on how Raf and her are faring in the great orangey unknowns of Jasper. He bargains for five more minutes and luckily his mum obliges. They are about to begin the third and final deciding round of the race, when they hear something odd.

A boy. Screaming. Getting louder. No, no. Closer. They watch on in stunned awe as a boy riding a sleek navy blue motorcycle skitters his way down to them from a higher ledge where the highway was built.

Same conversations happen, but Jess is there and gives a small wiggly-finger wave to the newcomers. Jack and the motorcycle.

She knows Jack is looking at her with surprise. 'How could she know the motorcycle was alive?' Well, she didn't. She thought a ghost was possessing it and shifting its structure somehow, or otherwise altering their perception of reality.

When Arcee transforms, however. That is when she senses something else at play. The motorcycle indeed harbours a soul. But it is not a dead one. The imitation of a heartbeat she practically feels - this is a living thing. A person.

An alien.

She skates over to Raf and Jack, tugging on their hands in silent plea to leave and possibly come back another time. Her cry doesn't fall on deaf ears, and another's captures someone else's full attention.

Raf yells at a Vehicon stamping his metal foot down on Bumblebee. "Big mistake," Jack all but remarks before starting to guide them away from the giant purple robot. They hear a sound of gradually accumulating energy looming behind them. They scramble frantically but in determined bursts of adrenaline to a huge pipe laying out in the open.

Jess, wearing roller skates and having not been given a chance to take them off, is helped up and through by Raf and Jack giving her support on both sides.

They wait out the battle, once they can't hear any semblance of the warring robots, they begin to walk back to town on the side of the road. They take turns getting to know each other with would you rather questions and then the game 21 Questions.

Jess was kinda sad that Jack wants them to pretend like nothing happened. After all, things like these don't always occur in Jasper. Besides, since they all saw it, they wouldn't have any qualms believing each other about the incident.

The next day comes by and school goes on as usual. Although there are a few awkward glances between Jack and Jess about yesterday in class (Jess usually has a straight face, this is no exception).

But then tension begins rising again. Especially when Bumblebee, as they learn is they yellow and black robots name, offers to give Raf a ride. Thankfully, Raf asks him to allow Jess in too, although Bumblebee likely became curious as to why Jess didn't speak. Maybe she couldn't speak just like him...?

On the way to base, Raf introduces himself and Jess. All three are surprised when Raf can understand his beeps, but Jess chalks it up to Raf and his obsession with computer coding and programs, possibly giving him subconscious insight to interpret the meaning of Bumblebee's beeps. He also gives Bee a bit of background info on how Jess traded ghostly sight for her voice. Bumblebee is still slightly confused, but thinks it's a neat ability for her to have.

And then, they almost smack into a firm towering rock formation.

Part 3 coming soon!

[isa-ghost]

Hooby Heeby Time to Watch Mandela Catalogue

THINK

Ah fuck me this weird grainy TTS voice shit always spooks me

But in that way yall JSE followers usually see me being horny for Anti. Its that Good Spooky

Hold the fuck up I gotta grab me some chips n dip we strappin in

OOH WE DOIN SOME DOPPELGANGER SHIT, POGGERS

Tag urself I’m bighead man in the middle

TELL an authority member about your encounter. Hm no I dont think I will, we’re gonna be besties and do crime

Identify the class type?? Ok so this is some SCP shit now

...Wait I’m thinking of Anti bc of that oh.

THE WAY I CRACKED THE FUCK UP AT “KILL YOURSELF” I WASNT EXPECTING THAT LMAOOO

NAH. NAH THAT FACE AT 2:22 IS STRAIGHT UP JUST SOME WALTEN FILES SHIT NAH. I SEE YOU

Type 3: Slender Man

hey not to be rude but fuck that thing in the corner he needs to make like socialism and distribute that tall equally. to me. give me some tall

VOL 1

Gotta say, the patriotic music in the background of this urgent emergency broadcast message is really fucking funny to me

Can’t use psychological warfare on me if I do it to myself already *that What meme music plays as the camera freezes on my dumb face*

T.H.I.N.K. THIS TOWN AINT BIG ENOUGH FOR THE TEW OF US /spits into bucket

Oh fuck yeah we in that analog horror babieeee

Idk Victim 2 kinda hot

Cesar huh 😏

Cesar haunted house poggies

Am I gonna regret jokingly simping

MICHAEL JACKSON??

OH NO GIRL THAT STUTTER BEFORE THE CALL CONTINUED SOUNDED LIKE THAT FREAKY AUDIO FROM THE WALTEN FILES THAT I WAS YELLING ABOUT A WHILE BACK

I have decided I do not like the stairway cam

New gender unlocked: Suddenly Open Door

O NO CESAR TURNED INTO A FOOTPRINT

“It followed me home, Cesar”

Me, chugging my flavored water rn:

I DONT WANT YOUR PRESENT UNLESS ITS A SEXY DEMON OC I CAN SIMP FOR

...I was mindin my business watching and my Discord crashed. When I paused my Discord came back and as soon as I unpaused MC again it crashed again. Hm.

WAIT WHO LAUGHIN LIKE THAT ITS KINDA SEXY 😳

You cant give me unhinged man laughter I just simp

UH OH! YOU MADE A SERIOUS FUCKY W U C K Y. NOW YOU HAVE TO GO IN the forever box.

When am I gonna stop memeing and start shitting in fear

HEY WHATS WITH AO ONI FACE ASS, NUH UH FUCK YOU BRO

But nobody came :)

HEHE ITS THE FUNNY TTS VOICE IN THOSE MEMES

When the caller has an emergency, contact the weewoo wagon

OH MY MANS CAN HOLD A LOW NOTE GO TTS MAN GO

Do not help a caller reporting an alternate encounter?? Bitch that sounds like something that should be your job. >America moment 🙄

“Nothing is worth the wait, nothing is worth the wait” Oh hello that’s getting saved as an idea for my OC shit later

Toddler stress responses?? Oh we in some psychology now, this my major :00 *waits for the horrific shit to happen*

I THOUGHT THE CLICK BETWEEN THE AUDIO PLAYING AND RECORDING RESPONSE TIME WAS A GUN COCKING FLAKSDF DONT SHOOT THE BABY

SHEEPIES :D

There’s a man in the closet? Its 2021, let him come out. He’s valid

Gonna be real with you I paused here for at least 10 min bc my streamer distracted me with a fart video

*sees hooded smiling man* *and then goes to sleep the end!!!!* HM YEP THATS NOT BAD AT ALL

iM SORRY BUT HOODED MANS EYES LOOK GOOFY ASF IM DYIN HIS SUDDEN APPEARANCE COULDNT SCARE ME

Why he look like a drug addict tho. He want sum crack

Curse my Gen Z humor, this is literally so funny to me and for what

OVERTHRONE

OH HEY ITS THE FAITH GAME TTS GUY WASUP DUDE

Hm that whispering’s not very pogchamp

WELL THATS A WHACK ASS MOOD CHANGE END CARD

INTRUDER ALERT

Who is this man, he looks like he did a crime

This TTS voice sounds like a Karen

Me coping with the creepy baby crying by focusing on how that saturated af pic of the crib makes it look like the blanket is just a giant slice of cheddar cheese:

Wtf is this music >_>

Yeah no I expected the hanging whoop there it is

GOD NO I HATE THIS EMERGENCY BLOOPING BECAUSE AS A KID I WAS TERRIFIED OF TORNADOES AND IT’D SCREECH ON THE TV WHEN SHIT GOT RLLY BAD

OVER 3000 CHILDREN MISSING W H A T

Okay how does all of this stuff connect bc I’m gettin interested and my crackhead hours are winding down

M.A.D

Okay the man in the corner boutta catch these fuckin hands

I am ironically so tired after the busy day I had I s2g I’m gonna pass out soon and some weird shit’s gonna go down in my dreams wish me luck

[ifmywishescametrue]

and bc i have no self control. #41 kisses to shut them up for rhodeytony

So this one spiraled so quickly, because I also have no self control! And now it’s a 3.4k words of 5+1 for Rhodey and Tony’s first kisses together. Hope you like it :)

The first time is something of a joke. Tony is doing that rambling thing like always, hands moving around rapidly and coming dangerously close to smacking passersby in the face. He gets more than a few dirty looks for it, but he doesn’t seem to be noticing. Rhodey isn’t even sure what he’s ranting about anymore. Maybe one of his professors, or that annoying guy in his physics class. All he does know is that he wants to get to the cafeteria before they run out of pizza and Tony walks slow when he’s talking. So Rhodey grabs him by the wrist when his hand flies in front of him again, spinning him around and planting his lips firmly against Tony’s for just a moment. It does the job of stunning him into silence, but it also makes him freeze completely on the sidewalk. Rhodey keeps walking, and Tony has to run to catch back up. 

“What was that for?” Tony asks, eyes wide. 

Rhodey shrugs, “Had to shut you up somehow.”

Tony makes an offended squawking sound, hitting Rhodey with the too long sleeve of his sweatshirt. Rhodey’s sweatshirt, technically. 

“That’s rude,” Tony says. “You’re getting me ice cream to make it up to me.”

Rhodey laughs, slinging his arm over Tony’s shoulders to pull him along. “Whatever you want, Tones.”

______________

If the first was a joke, the second is just the repeat performance. Between Rhodey’s basic training and Tony’s recent and sudden rise to CEO, it’s been almost three months since the last time they’ve seen each other. Basic has him questioning everything and feeling like a bit of failure. He should have been able to handle it better. The homesickness, the pressure, the constant grind of work. It’s been the dream for so long that he doesn’t know what to do with the feeling he has now. 

“Maybe I should quit.”

Tony snorts inelegantly, “Pretty sure that’s called deserting and it’s a crime.”

“So I’ll go on the run,” Rhodey argues, like it’s a perfectly reasonable response. “I’ll move to Tahiti or Fiji or one of those other islands. Wait, you have a private island, right? I could go there, and if anyone comes for me, I’ll just take a rowboat out to sea, and they won’t have any jurisdiction on the water to arrest me. I’m pretty sure that’s a thing. Right? It’s -”

Tony’s lips are a little sticky from the beer he’s been drinking, and his hands are warm where they cup Rhodey’s cheeks. He doesn’t understand what’s happening or why, and at first he can’t think enough to react. When he can think again he can’t decide whether to push him off or kiss him back, and he still hasn’t reached a conclusion when Tony pulls away. He doesn’t know if it lasted two seconds or two minutes, and it’s confusing to realize that he isn’t sure which he would prefer. 

“Wow, that is effective,” Tony grins. “Thought maybe it was just me it works on, but I should try that on board members sometime if it’s that good.”

Rhodey gapes at him when he connects the pieces. “Seriously, Tony? That happened two years ago, and I’m in the middle of a crisis right now.”

"No, you were spiralling and now you’re not," Tony says simply. "Situation resolved by not talking about it."

"That's not how that works."

"Of course it is. How do you think most fires get put out? By putting a lid on them until they die."

"Alright, ignoring that that's not even true, what the hell does it even mean?" 

"It's very true, and what it means is that I have put a lid on this irrational fire, so it doesn't have the chance to spread and ignite the rest of your life. Containment, honeybear. It's about containment."

"That's a terrible analogy," Rhodey says, and Tony tosses his hands in the air. 

"What do you want from me on the spot?" 

They spend most of the night trying to come up with something better, laughing and drinking the rest of the beer in Tony's fridge, until Rhodey forgets that he was ever stressed in the first place.

______________

Their third kiss is an accident. It happens somewhere in between Rhodey deciding that he hates Tony's new boyfriend and him realizing exactly why that is. 

He comes back from six months overseas, and it's a few days ahead of what he was expecting. He told Tony Thursday, but his plane touches down in California on Tuesday morning, and he gives the taxi driver Tony's address without a second thought. Tony likes surprises, and he has no reason to think this might be a bad one. 

He uses his key to let himself in, fully knowing that Tony won't be awake yet to answer the door. The first traces of sun are just starting to filter in through the windows, and Rhodey sets his duffle bag down near the door before moving into the kitchen. Tony's refrigerator is nearly barren, but there are a few eggs and a green pepper that would be rotten by tomorrow that he can make due with. He finds an onion, too, and falls into a rhythm while dicing vegetables. 

It's this kind of thing that he misses when he's away. He misses having a kitchen and making what he wants in it, even if this isn't his kitchen or his first choice of food. But he misses the simplicity of it all. Life on the base seems alternate between too fast and too slow, but this is all his own pace. 

He hears footsteps on the stairs a little after the eggs hit the pan, and he glances over his shoulder to watch Tony shuffle into the room while rubbing his tired eyes. If he had stayed turned around a little longer, their third kiss wouldn't have happened at all. By the time Tony opens his eyes, Rhodey's back is to him again. 

Instead of instantly reacting, Tony slowly wanders over and puts his hand on Rhodey's shoulder. The words are mumbled when he says, "You're up way too early," and Rhodey doesn't have time to process how strange the sentence is, because he's being kissed the second his head turns. Not the shut up kind of kiss or even that sort of friendly peck he's seen people do sometimes. It's the kind where Tony's tongue is slipping between his lips, and his hand is wandering lower. The kind that friends don't share, but lovers definitely do. 

Rhodey falls into it without question. 

The spatula clatters to the floor from his hand, and Tony laughs into the kiss before pulling back. There's a grin and a joke on his lips that's quickly replaced by dawning horror. 

"Rhodey?" Tony squeaks out. His hand flies up to cover his mouth, and through it Rhodey hears, "Oh, shit." He looks down at the complete lack of space between their bodies, dropping the hand to raise them both in front of himself like a defense as he backs away a couple of steps. "Fuck, I'm so fucking sorry. I thought - you weren't supposed to be here yet. Thursday. That's - you said Thursday. Didn't you?" 

It's like ice water with how quickly the warmth of that kiss leaves his body. 

Rhodey raises an eyebrow and plays at unaffected. "I did, yeah. Seems like you should attack an intruder instead of kissing them, though." 

Tony's cheeks turn a vibrant shade of red, and he runs a still shaky hand through his hair.

"I thought you were someone else," he sheepishly admits. "It's just that from behind you, um, well you look a lot like Ryan, and he wasn't in bed still when I got up, so I came down here, and, uh, I guess you know the rest of that story." 

Ryan, Rhodey's mind bitterly repeats. The guy Tony's spent the last three months talking about on the phone and in his letters. It's always about him in some way.  He told me the funniest story yesterday, Rhodey or Isn't he so romantic, platypus? But Tony seems happy, so he fakes a laugh at a story that definitely isn't funny retold and agrees that string quartets are romantic instead of horribly cliché. He helps him plan dates when it's Tony's turn, because apparently that's yet another adorable thing they do together. 

He just barely suppresses the sigh before saying, "Don't worry about it, Tones. It's all good."

Tony looks relieved, and after an awkward minute or two they fall back into their normal conversation like it never happened. They talk about the missions Rhodey has flown for and the designs Tony has been working on between bites of burned eggs and coffee. 

Neither of them ever mention that Rhodey kissed him back. 

______________

Tony and Rhodey are both drunk for the fourth. The music is loud at the club, and the air is a smoky haze. It's someone's birthday, he thinks, but he can't really remember anymore by the fifth shot of tequila. 

He leans back against the bar on his elbows, watching in drunken amusement while Tony tries to put the moves on someone to hold up his end of the bet. The guy looks like he isn’t quite sure what’s happening, and Rhodey laughs into the rim of his glass. All he needs is one kiss, and Rhodey will be out the contents of his wallet. He isn't even sure what those contents are, and Tony wouldn't let him check before the handshake. It could be anywhere from a nickel to fifty bucks, he figures, which is worth it to watch this complete trainwreck. 

It takes another ten minutes of flirting before Tony finally gives up and comes back over to the bar. 

“Loser,” Rhodey teases. “What happened to having ‘game so good a straight man would fall to his knees?’”

Tony flips him off and steals the glass from his hand. “He has a girlfriend, which is the only reason it didn’t happen.”

“He didn’t even realize that you were flirting with him, did he?” Rhodey laughs, and Tony pouts pitifully. 

“The no touching rule wasn’t fair.”

“A good bet doesn’t involve actual harassment,” Rhodey reasons, just like he did earlier in the night. “If you can’t get them to kiss you by flirting with just words, they wouldn’t want you touching them in the first place. It’s called consent.”

Tony rolls his eyes, “I do not need to be taught about consent. I am the king of consent. Enthusiastic, resounding consent, even.” He pauses, and there’s a dangerous look in his eyes when he narrows them at Rhodey. “Okay, I know that this about to go against everything I just said, but it’s you, and we don’t have rules, right?”

“What?”

“Just say yes.”

“Yes to what?”

Tony leans in with enough time that if Rhodey really wanted to, he could pull away. He could put his hand over Tony’s mouth or step to the side or simply tell him no and Tony wouldn’t do it. 

But he doesn’t do any of those things. 

He lets Tony cup the back of his neck to tilt his head to the right angle, and he threads his hand into Tony’s hair in return. His lips taste like the vodka and cranberry juice from the stolen glass, until Rhodey has kissed him so thoroughly that he can’t taste it anymore. 

“There,” Tony says, grinning proudly like he’s just done something exceptionally smart. His breath is coming quickly, and Rhodey’s head is spinning with the thought that he’s the one that did that to him. “I got a straight man to kiss me. Pay up.”

Rhodey laughs, full-bodied with his head tilted back. “No, man. You definitely didn’t.”

Tony’s still a little too drunk to fully understand what he means by that, and he takes it as if Rhodey’s saying that he stole the kiss, rather than earned it. He spends most of the night after that trying to get him to kiss him again on his own accord, but Rhodey doesn’t want another one like that. He wants Tony’s soft-eyed gaze on him, and his body held tight in his arms. He wants to hear him say the same words he’s saying right now, but to have him actually mean it when he says the word please. Like he won’t be able to live for another second without Rhodey’s lips on his. 

He doesn’t want the joke anymore, but he knows he won’t ever get to have the real thing. 

______________

Rhodey is half asleep for kiss number five, and he isn’t even quite sure that it actually happens. He’s lying in a hospital bed somewhere in Germany, he thinks, and machines are beeping all around him. He can’t really remember what brought him here as he drifts in and out. There was some kind of fight - that much is obvious. He sees flashes of bullets in the sky, flames, and a rapidly plummeting altitude reading. Was it a mission gone wrong? An attack they weren’t expecting? One of the machines ticks a little faster when he tries to clear his head enough to think about it, and then darkness takes over again. 

When he partially wakes the next time, there’s something warm and solid in his hand. It shifts a little, brushing lightly in circles over his skin, and it takes him a longer amount of time than it should to realize that it’s another hand. But when he does, he knows without a doubt who it belongs to, and the thought sends him back into sleep with a warm feeling in his chest. 

He finds out later that he was unconscious for three days, and Tony hardly leaves his side for a minute of it. Rhodey doesn’t want to say how that makes him feel, so he falls back on what he does know how to say. 

“You should really at least go back to the hotel to take a shower. You’re starting to smell, man,” he says after the doctor leaves the room. 

Tony gives him a weak laugh, running his hand through his hair and grimacing at the oily texture. "Maybe in a little bit. You just woke up."

Rhodey shifts against the pillows, tilting his head to get a good look at him. His clothes might be the same ones he showed up here in, all wrinkled with a coffee stain on one of his sleeves. The circles under his eyes are darker than he's ever quite seen them before, and he looks too pale. 

Tony isn't supposed to look like that. 

He's supposed to be sunlight embodied, all tanned skin and bright eyes and fluid motion. But this Tony is slumped over in his chair, small and fragile looking like the wrong word could destroy him completely. This Tony offers him a brave face and a delicate smile that doesn't reach his eyes, and Rhodey can't stand it. Can't stand that it's his own fault he looks like that. 

Stretching his arm out, he turns over his hand to open his palm. The movement tugs at his injured shoulder, but he grits his teeth to hide the pain and it's worth it to have Tony's hand back in his where it belongs. He squeezes gently, and Tony squeezes back. 

"You almost died," Tony whispers. "You're not allowed to die."

"I won't do it again," Rhodey says, even though they both know he can't make that promise. 

Tony nods, and for now that can be enough. He switches the topic to something else so they don't have to talk about it anymore. So Tony doesn't have to say what the last three days felt like, and Rhodey doesn't have to admit that his last thought before the plane went down was regret that he'd never get to have this again. 

Tony makes him laugh until his battered ribs are aching with it, until they've talked about everything and nothing and sleep is pulling at Rhodey again. It's hard to keep his eyes open, and he fights it until he can't any longer. 

A hand runs over his hair, and down the side of his face to linger on his cheek. Rhodey leans into the touch with closed eyes as Tony murmurs, "I'll come back tomorrow. Don't you dare do anything stupid like dying while I'm gone."

He feels the warmth of Tony's breath on his skin the moment before Tony kisses him. It's a barely there, wisp of a thing, right on the corner of his mouth. There one instant, then gone the next. It's the last thing he feels before slipping into sleep again. 

______________

“I’m so old,” Tony groans, flopping down on the beach chair next to Rhodey’s. “Ancient. Decrepit. On death’s door.”

“You’re thirty,” Rhodey says, and he laughs at the pout on Tony’s face. “I’m a year older than you. What does that make me then?”

“A senior citizen, just like me.”

Rhodey lifts his beer from where the bottle was balancing in the sand and clinks it with the bottle in Tony’s hand. “Welcome to the club then. We’re happy to have you.”

Tony kicks off his shoes and tucks his feet under his thighs as he settles back in the chair. It’s quiet out here on the beach, away from the crowds and noise from the party. The crashing of the waves and the distant thrum of music are the only sounds, and they watch the water in the still of the night for a while. 

“Don’t you want to get back to the party?” Rhodey asks softly, unwilling to break their bubble of peace. “It’s for you.”

Tony shakes his head. “I like it better out here.”

“Want me to kick everyone out for you?”

Tony looks over his shoulder at the house, filled to the brim and lights flashing from every window. He leans over the inch between their chairs and rests his head on Rhodey’s shoulder. “No, they can have their fun in there, and I can have mine here.”

Rhodey cards his hand through Tony’s hair, feeling warm despite the cool breeze. “This is fun for you, huh? Sitting in silence?”

“It’s always good with you,” Tony murmurs, so quiet that Rhodey almost loses it to the ocean. He’ll always be thankful that he didn’t. 

He lets his hand go lower, slipping from his hair to run his thumb along Tony’s jaw, and it would be so easy, he thinks, to kiss him right now. To tilt Tony’s chin up and turn his head to the side just a little. To brush their lips together, slowly at first, then steadily growing more desperate as he gives in to everything he’s wanted for so long. He thinks of the way Tony would sound, if he would sigh or moan or whimper under his mouth. Tony would be sticky sweet from the buttercream on the cupcakes from earlier, and Rhodey would taste sugar on his tongue. 

“Rhodey,” Tony whispers, looking up at him. The moon is reflected in the deep brown of his eyes, and Rhodey wants to keep this image of him in him in his mind forever. “Can I tell you what I wished for?”

“Won’t come true if you do,” Rhodey whispers back. 

“I think it’s the only way it might,” Tony answers, and he seems even closer than he was before. 

“What did you wish for?”

Tony’s cheeks are flushed, and Rhodey thinks for a moment that he’s going to lose his nerve to say whatever it is. He’s ready for the joke instead, but it never comes. 

“For you to kiss me,” Tony says with an unsteady breath. “For it to mean something when you do.”

Rhodey slides his hand a little higher, and he strokes across Tony’s cheekbone. He doesn’t miss the way that Tony’s eyes flicker down to his lips. “And what do you want it to mean?”

“Everything.”

“Everything,” Rhodey repeats, and Tony smiles, soft and unsure. “I think I can manage that.”

______________

Years later, Tony still likes to tease Rhodey about their first kiss, except now it's become their thing. The interrupted sentences sometimes get finished after and sometimes don't because kissing Tony is more important than whatever it was that he had to say in the first place. 

He loses count of what number they’re on. One thousand or one million, it could never be enough. They have all kinds of kisses now. Early morning, sleep-hazed kisses, and quick, little pecks on the way out the door. Good night kisses that turn passionate and desperate as often as they stay innocent and sweet. Reluctant ones when Tony is mad at him for something silly, lingering ones in apology. 

Each one still means everything.

[somewhereinthewoodsalone]

(Even more Artemis info for an rp)

(Crappy ref yaaay)

Artemis is one of the newest Overlords, along with his twin brother, Apollo.

He looks like a humanoid moon with one eye (his left eye, it is dark blue), and wears a dark blue and gold cloak.

He is very cold and calculating, and will through you into a wall if you touch him without his permission.

His full demon form looks like it's straight out of an analog horror game, the top half of his face covered in pitch black shadows, his eye tiny and creepy, and his jaw oval-shaped, dropping down almost to the ground, like an eternal, silent scream.

Artemis hangs out in a clock tower, where the 7 and 6 on the giant clock is actually a secret door to a room behind the clock.

His pre-death name was Lune.

Random, useless facts about him:

-He lived in Maine

-Was 25 when he died

-Died in 2012

-Cause of death was getting shot in the head by a police officer after he and Apollo were caught murdering a bunch of weird cult guys because of epic backstory reasons

-Scared the shit out of Vox in my AU because of more epic lore reasons

-Describes Zestial as "chill spider grandpa who would probably manage to sneak $100 into handshake with grandkids"

[rinusagitora]

The love, lead, and the undead.

Fandom: Monster Prom

Characters: Vicky Schmidt, Damien LaVey, Brian Yu, Oz, Zoe

Pairings: Brian/Damien/Vicky, Oz/Zoe, platonic Brian/Oz/Zoe

Words: 4.3k

Summary: Canon divergent. Chapter 3/?. WARNINGS— smut, alcoholism, depression, mentions of csa, childhood abuse, medical horror; Brian, Damien, and Vicky get together, but Vicky always has a reason to be nervous.

Brian spent a lot of time with Oz and Zoe. Their company was a pleasant reprieve from the hypermasculine mores of the football team. Besides, they engaged him pretty frequently. It was less like Brian crashed a date and more like three friends went out together and it was completely coincidental that two of them were an item.

Their company was healthy, Brian’s therapist told him weeks ago. He continued to struggle with depression even in undeath. The effort required for him to try anything was enormous. He didn’t watch television, he just stared at it. He slept through class. He winged it during games because he couldn’t remember Couch’s strategy. While Brian’s therapist was impressed with his ability to improvise, Brian needed emotional and mental enrichment. He was ill, possibly disabled, and he couldn’t do it on his own. That was where Oz and Zoe unknowingly came in.

While Brian felt a bit like he was a horse after a salt block stuck in a toy thanks to his therapist’s analogy, they were right. Oz and Zoe were good-natured and excitable, and they kept him grounded, even with their quirks. Who wouldn’t have gone a little looney if they were a timeless abomination? Brian was only in his twenties and he was already a fucking basket case.

Brian’s therapist-voice reminded him that wasn’t very fair to himself.

He appreciated their company, but he hurt too. It was better than the nothingness.

Brian wasn’t necessarily jealous of them. He was jealous of what they had: open and unabashed love. Oz adored Zoe and all her fiction, and Zoe adored Oz and all his crazy conspiracies. Meanwhile, Brian got to switch between selfies he had with Damien and Vicky for his lock screen because he didn’t have a picture of the three of them together. Brian felt pretty awful about his indecision. Vicky slept around in search of love, and Brian wasn’t what she deserved. Damien was active and vibrant, and Brian couldn’t have kept up. They deserved someone affectionate and engaged.

They deserved better. Brian smothered his therapist-voice.

Oz looked over his shoulder. The way he turned all the way around made Brian wonder if Oz had a spine. “Hey, you’re awfully quiet. Are you feeling okay?”

“Yes. I was just wondering whether or not I want to go to the bar after this.”

"Oh, I wanna go drinking!” Zoe chirped. “I saw this spring break movie and everyone was drinking until they couldn’t walk straight and it looked like sooo much fun and there were a ton of really cute boys.”

“That’s not how a normal bar works, but I’m down for a drink after this,” Oz replied.

It was Brian’s turn to buy tickets and Zoe took care of the snacks. The movie was likable, at least.

Brian looked through the corner of his eye. Zoe was curled up against Oz. His legs were folded and Zoe had draped one of her appendages over his lap. She lovingly stroked his cheek. They were so stupidly in love, it went straight to his motherfucking chest like a knife. Why couldn’t he have what they had? Why couldn’t he settle on just an average Joe to cuddle with? Instead, he wanted Damien and Vicky, he wanted them so badly he would have riveted himself to their sides. He wanted Vicky’s waist in his arm, he wanted Damien’s lips on his neck.

Brian suddenly braced the bar top with a full glass of bottom-shelf vodka under his nose. He quickly downed the entire glass. The burn came seconds later.

Oz sat next to Brian. “No offense, but you look like shit.”

“I just wanna get hammered right now.”

Oz slapped his hand over the top of Brian’s glass a split second before the bartender refilled his drink. Brian gave him a dirty look.

“No. There’s something on your mind, and we’re gonna stay here, sober, until you spill it.”

“I’m fine,” Brian grumbled.

“I’ll keep it between us. I promise. But you’re my friend, I won’t let you abuse your body like this.”

Brian swallowed a thick lump in his throat. It didn’t do much. “Promise?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“Everyone has someone special and I’m left out. You and Zoe were practically made for each other. Me? I’m miserable. I hate myself so much, I can’t choose who I love more: Damien or Vicky. If I was to tell either of them how I feel, I’d hurt them because I’d still be pining for the other, and I won’t ask them to both go out with me. That’s so selfish and perverted. But these feelings are gnawing at my insides the more I try to ignore them. I don’t want to keep feeling this, miserable, lonely, self-loathing.”

“Oh, Brian,” Oz said. “I’m so sorry. I won’t patronize you by telling you it gets better. It will, but it’s more important to me right now that you understand how fantastic you are. You are driven and fun, Brian. I love every minute I spend with you. There are people like me who want to be with you.”

Brian wiped his nose on his sleeve. “I wish I had a doll I could just take out of my closet when I need it and put it away when I’m done.”

“That’s not good enough for you. You deserve company; brilliant, fun companionship like yourself.” Oz rubbed Brian’s back. “Look. You don’t know how Damien and Vicky feel about you. You haven’t spoken to them in weeks, Brian. Maybe they’re okay welcoming you in as an equal partner. I know Damien at least used to be into you. Maybe that hasn’t changed.”

“No, I can’t. I’m a terrible friend. I’m just gonna bum them out.”

“Like you bum me and Zoe out?”

Oz’s argument made Brian pause. “I don’t know.”

“Humor me. Just ask them out, Brian.”

He nodded. “I will. Thank you, Oz. I think I’m gonna head home though. Tell Zoe I said goodnight.”

“I will. Goodnight, Brian.”

—

“Are you sure you want me to go home? My dads won’t mind if I stick around.” Damien asked. He lingered in front of her door as if it stormed outside. His concern touched Vicky, but she needed some time to mellow out from their fight because her wrist hurt from when she hit Damien earlier, and she didn’t want to seem like she wanted to keep Damien from his family.

“I’ll be okay,” Vicky said, “I love you, Damien.”

“Well, I love you too, but,”

“It’s okay, really,” she reassured him. “I need to call Vera anyways. Normally, I wouldn’t mind talking on the phone around you, but crime things might come up, and I’d rather not get you involved in felony conspiracy.”

“Well, okay. I love you. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” Damien replied. He hugged her. She held his face, and she kissed him. He kissed her fingers before he left.

With her apartment to herself, Vicky popped in a set of earbuds and dialed Vera’s number.

“How’d it go?” Vera asked.

“We made up. It got a little heated and I hit Damien after I let you go, but he doesn’t seem mad. I just feel awful about the whole thing. I’ve never had an episode like that.”

“What happened anyway?”

“Just… when I was a kid, my dad got into an accident, and I ended up dying. I was reanimated by one of his uncles. He experimented on me for a long time. When he died, his brother took me in. I… was taken advantage of there. And beaten. It got to the point where it was easier to jerk him off because at least he was nice then.”

“Damien was asking about my death. I don’t mind, he just… started prying into the whole thing and I remembered everything and completely imploded.”

“Dear God, I’m going to ream him a new hole tomorrow.”

“There’s no need. I shouldn’t have kept it a secret.“

“He still should’ve been more compassionate. That’s a sensitive topic, especially with your history. He’s so fucking stupid. God, I wish I saw what you did.”

“Well, I hit him hard enough that I think I strained my wrist, so….”

“Fine. Just… red flags, hun. I like Damien and all, but you’re not healthy, and he needs to be aware of that.”

“I know, Vera. Thank you. I need to hit the sack, though. Goodnight.”

“Alright. I’ll see you later.”

—

A day passed since Vicky’s first fight with Damien. They were out for dinner because Vicky forgot to eat breakfast and she gave Scott her lunch since he forgot to eat breakfast too. Vicky’s endless pancakes were half-eaten beside Damien’s fritters.

“So… Brian,” Vicky began, "I don’t suppose you’ve talked to him about us.”

“No. I haven’t seen Brian in weeks, actually.”

“Me neither…. We should talk to him, though. This is something important to you.”

“I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“Whatever happens, we’ll work through it.”

Damien smiled. “Thanks.”

“So… how do you wanna go about this, then?” Vicky tried to approach everything with a plan. Few things were done without a detailed outline of her goals and the steps of which to achieve them. If something went awry, she still had an endgame and a clear strategy to tweak. Her technique was necessary when she and Vera held up banks. Adaptability was essential, but winging it was dangerous.

Damien did not share Vicky’s viewpoint.

“Babe, we can literally just ask Brian out on a date.”

“I’m not gonna go up to him and ask if he wants to go out with us. He’s gonna feel like an afterthought. Or a fucking sex toy.”

“You like being a sex toy, though.”

“Because I know you still care about me. I know I’m more than just a sex toy because you’ve defended my honor and my life in the past. I know because we’ve been good friends for months and months. We, the two of us, haven’t established the same trust with Brian. If we just ask him out, he’s gonna think the only thing we want out of him is a threeway. But I like him. Well, I like the idea of him, at least, but that’s another matter entirely. What’s more important is that he should feel like an equal, valued member.”

“… Vicky. I appreciate your sensitivity, it’s one of my favorite things about you, but you realize a date only translates to sex with me and douchebags, right? We’re asking him out on a date. Not a fetish ball.”

“Wait, what now?”

“Fetish balls. They’re like… demonstrations of certain kinks, but it’s a party. Sometimes they’re orgies.”

“What kind of fetishes?”

“All kinds. I’ll get us tickets when the next one rolls around,“ Damien replied.

“No, I digress!” she squawked. “Okay. We can ask him directly, but we have to let him know we’re asking him because we’re emotionally invested in him.”

Damien’s phone blasted a pop song. The caller ID displayed Brian’s name and Damien looked like he just shat himself. “What do I do?” he whispered hurriedly like Brian was within earshot.

“Answer it! Act natural!”

Damien picked up the call. “Top o’ the morning to ya!”

Vicky wanted to throttle Damien. Nonetheless, she pressed her ear to his phone to listen in.

“Hi, Damien,” Brian said. “I know this is a weird thing to ask, especially this late, but…” he sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“About what?”

“I… I really like you. I like Vicky too. Scott tells me you’re together now and I know how fucking bizarre this is, but I want to go out with the two of you. Dinner, a movie, whatever you guys want. I really just want time with you.”

Vicky’s mouth hung open. Damien looked over to her, helpless, and she furiously nodded.

“I-I have her here with me. We’d love to go, Brian. Let’s see Head Huntress tomorrow night at seven.”

“That works great. I’ll pick you up at Vicky’s.”

“Great, we’ll see you then.”

Before Damien even hung up, he whipped around and squeezed Vicky in a tight hug. “I can’t believe that just fucking happened! I can’t believe we have a fucking date with Brian!” He kissed her fiercely. “You’re amazing, you know. I love you so much.”

Vicky returned Damien’s embrace. “I love you too, and I’m so glad we have this opportunity.” That was all Vicky wanted, to make Damien the happiest man ever, after all.

—

Vicky held up her skirt and held a pair of lace panties against the polka-dotted pair she wore. Normally, she didn’t concern herself with the lingerie she wore, but she still felt guilty about her fight with Damien, and somehow, her guilt and libido were intertwined.

"Wear the lace one,” Damien said. He sat on her bed with his ankles crossed. “But you don’t have to… to fuck us, you know. I mean I’m not complaining if you’re horny, I’m always down for a blowjob, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to. Especially since everything kinda just crashed down the other day.”

"It’s more complicated than that.” She slipped off her panties. “I like having sex. I like the feeling, and I like the attention I get from it. But sometimes I’m in so much pain, I use it to distract myself, or make myself feel better. It’s situational.”

“Is this what you’re doing now?”

Yes. “No. Brian’s just hot and I want him to stuff his face in my pussy when he sees my underwear,” she lied.

“I know they make me want to stuff my face in your pussy.” Damien held her from behind and kissed her neck. “Are we almost ready to go?”

“I thought Brian was picking us up.”

“He’s outside.”

“And you waited this long to tell me?”

“I’m sorry,” Damien said. He pulled her to the curb where Brian idled his pickup truck. That time of year, it was dark, and his yellow headlights were oddly haunting. Vicky climbed into the back and she felt woefully overdressed. Damien and Brian both wore jeans and tees.

She felt… dirty, like she was about to explain her pricing to him.

"Hey, there,” Brian said. “How’s it going?”

“I’m having a good time,” Damien said. Vicky nodded, suddenly breathless. What the hell made her so anxious out of the blue?

They arrived at the movie theatre. Tickets and concessions were the kind of blur where Vicky smelled popcorn, blinked, and then they were ten minutes into the movie. Damien held her hand. His thumb stroked her knuckles. It made her want to cry. She was such a dramatic, selfish toddler. The second Damien hadn’t paid her attention, she combusted because she was a hypocritical brat. She fucked whoever she wanted, but she couldn’t take what she dished, and her loved ones had to pay the price.

When the movie ended, Damien stretched in the lobby. “I need to take a leak. Why don’t we go bar hopping once we’re done here?”

“I could go for a drink,” Brian replied. “See you in a second.”

Vicky mulled around next to Brian. He stood with his hands tucked in his pockets. Generally, he was stoic, it was hard to get a read on him, if at all possible.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked.

“What? No,” Vicky said. “I’m sorry. I think I’m coming down with a head cold.”

Brian combed back his hair. “I didn’t mean to drop off the planet. I just felt pretty bad about this whole thing. I didn’t want to make you guys feel like you were playing second fiddle or something. I still don’t want that.”

She smiled. "I know.” She ought to be honest with Brian, nonetheless. “I’m just… sick, emotionally. I want Damien to be happy, but I can’t help feeling like a third wheel, in a whorish way.” She held herself. “Some things happened to me years ago. I got into a fight about it with Damien the other day and… I’m still coming down, I guess.”

“I understand. I’m the same way. Oz had to twist my arm to get me to call you guys. I was miserable before I died, and I’m still struggling now.” Brian held her fingers like she was thin ceramic. “I want to burden your pain with you, though.”

Vicky looked him square in the eye. “I was sexually abused and experimented on when I was a kid. I have nightmares. I bury my feelings with sex. Sometimes, when I think back on it, I completely shut down. Just the other day, Damien and Vera had to deal with that. I couldn’t remember who Damien was. I thought my abuser was still a part of my life. Do you want to deal with that? Me dissociating? Screaming about how awful you are?”

“When I was a kid, I watched my mom overdose. I was shipped foster home to foster home until I ran away when I was sixteen. I have nightmares from when I was hitchhiking. I have scars. I’ve only been able to look at them for a couple of months without wanting to claw my eyeballs out. I overdosed and rot away in a ditch until I was reanimated by this bastard wizard who used me as a guinea pig. I was turned inside out a couple of times. Do you wanna deal with me tossing and turning in the middle of the night because I’m having nightmares?”

Vicky squeezed his hands. “I’m so sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean to minimize your pain, but I’m so glad you’re with us now.” They were Brian’s family. Anything which dared harm him had better prepared to meet her assault rifles.

“I’m glad I’m with you,” he said. He pulled Vicky into a hug. She held his waist, and she felt better. Like there was no second fiddle. Like she wasn’t a novelty whore. “You two make me want to feel things again. I bury everything with alcohol, but I don’t think I’d mind cutting back if you guys were behind me.“

She smiled. “Thank you.”

Damien returned from the bathroom. “We need to hurry to the bar! My pee isn’t opaque.”

“Too much information,” Vicky groaned. She wasn’t opposed to a drink, however. Maybe she’d get some crazy drunk sex in the bathroom.

—

Brian and Vicky hauled Damien inside with his arms around their shoulders. Vicky was less than sober herself, but at least she cared to walk. Damien wanted to kiss her ear instead.

“This way to my bedroom,” she told Brian.

They dropped Damien onto her bed. She pried off his shoes before he pulled her on top of him. “Vicky wore sexy underwear and we let it go to waste, Brian,” he said. Vicky giggled as he reached under her shirt.

“C’mon, less horny, more sleepy,” Brian said.

“Are you really drunk enough that you can’t get wood?” Damien groaned. “Buuuullshiiiiiiit, I had like… ten times what you did and I’ve been rockin’ it for an hour.”

“I can get it up just fine, I’m just not comfortable fucking someone so drunk they can’t walk.”

“I can walk, I just didn’t want to. She’s so soooo pretty.”

Vicky held Damien up as Brian removed his jacket. When they finally got it off, Damien fell, and he reached up to unbutton Brian’s pants. “C'mon, let’s have some fun, baby.”

“No,” Brian swat Damien away, albeit unsuccessfully since Damien pried him out of his boxers and kissed the underside of his cock. Brian shuddered. “You’re impossible,“ he grunted.

Damien licked and licked. Vicky watched with rapt attention: the way his Adam’s apple bobbed, the way Brian reluctantly caved in and pulled up his shirt for Damien. Damien was always so violent, so commandeering, it was unexpected to see him fawn over anything phallic, let alone an actual phallus. The penis was always something Vicky groveled to. She enjoyed it, but on the other hand, she loathed the pain it caused her and the power it had over her.

The scene awoke something in Vicky.

Brian held Damien’s head and slipped his cock into his throat. It bulged against his trachea. Vicky held his neck with one hand and pumped his cock with the other. Damien gagged, but he seemed to like it since he played with her through her clothes.

Damien popped Brian’s cock out of his mouth. "Fuck,” he gasped. Vicky worried for a second until he pumped Brian with his fist and licked the precum off the head. “Let’s get naked real quick.” Their clothes were quickly discarded. When they finished, Damien pushed Vicky onto the pillows and positioned her so his head was between her legs and his ass was groin-level with Brian. He looked back at Brian. “C'mon, I’ve wanted this forever, now.”

Brian’s eyes bugged out of his head. Vicky laughed. She rummaged through her nightstand, and then she tossed Brian condoms and lube. Damien stripped her panties as Brian applied lube to himself and Damien.

Brian pressed himself into Damien. They groaned in unison. Damien’s fingers dug into her hips, he rested his forehead against her bladder.

“Damien, are you alright?” Vicky asked.

“Yeah,” he answered. “Brian, you’re fucking enormous.”

Vicky almost wanted to give Damien a thumbs up. Anal sex wasn’t easy, especially if it was something large packed in there.

Nonetheless, Damien told Brian to go on. He turned his face back into Vicky’s crotch, and before he dove in, he smiled and licked his lips, as if he starved for her pussy even a day without it. It filled Vicky’s gut with heat again. Damien latched onto her clitoris, and he was furious as Brian was as he thrust into his pelvis. She grabbed his horn and smiled at Brian. Surely, it was an unbelievable visage, the objects of his infatuation intertwined while he fucked them. Brian whimpered, he grabbed Damien by the base of his tail, and Vicky realized Damien watched her, with his golden, fluorescent eyes, and his brows knit together. He blinked asynchronously as if Brian fucked him so hard he malfunctioned.

“Get in there,” she told Damien. He groaned as she used his horn as a handle to rub him against her groin. He pumped his cock with one hand as he used to other to hold her open for his mouth. He plunged his tongue into her, she hissed with elation as he rubbed the roof of her cavern.

Damien choked. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, he tremored. She felt his warm cum hit the back of her legs. Brian shortened and quickened his hip thrusts to milk every ounce of delight out of Damien.

Finally, Brian pulled out, discarded his condom, and kissed Damien’s neck before he laid him aside and crawled towards Vicky on his knees.

He looked hungry, she thought. Her breath picked up with anticipation.

“Let’s get you taken care of,” he said as he pulled her legs over his shoulders. She wordlessly stared into his eyes.

Brian awkwardly positioned himself and then pushed inside of her. She moaned. His cock curved up, it reminded Vicky of a banana, and with every thrust, it rubbed all the right places. She melted like Damien did. Her eyes rolled back, she filled the bedroom with her noisy rapture. Damien, once he caught his breath, held her by her neck and kissed her. Normally, Vicky wasn’t one for the taste of her own cum, but the entire situation overwhelmed her senses. Everything made her groan and moisten.

“Please,” she quietly begged Brian, “fuck me harder.”

Brian pushed Damien out of the way. He clutched her head with their bodies flush and fucked her hard enough the bedframe creaked like music. Her nails dug into his back. His teeth sunk into her neck. Vicky was in Heaven, so close to the edge of Paradise.

She climaxed quickly. Brian filled her like a hose, and her legs trembled uncontrollably.

Brian fell onto her. He kissed her bolts. “Stay for a second,” she told him as her chest heaved. Disobediently, he pulled out, and his cum oozed onto her sheets. “Dammit.”

“Sorry,” Brian said. He grabbed the tissues on her nightstand and wiped the excess of cum off her. She would have rather he left it, but her sheets must have appreciated his cleanliness. “I meant to come on you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t have internal reproductive organs, so I can’t get pregnant.”

“Well, I shoot blanks, so I’m less concerned about pregnancy and more concerned about smearing cum everywhere,” Brian replied.

“Well, thank you,” she said.

Brian rolled over and sighed pleasantly. Damien kissed them both. “You guys are amazing,” he said. Both Brian and Damien’s arms were thrown across Vicky’s waist. It wasn’t claustrophobic. She felt adored. Sated. She wished she had more mouths to kiss her boyfriends with.

“Y’know, my parents want to meet you guys,” Damien said.

Was Vicky not pinned by a set of heavy arms, she would have jumped out of bed in surprise. It felt like a hot ball of lead was punted into her belly. It made her throat swell.

“Since when?” Brian asked.

“My dad Stan texted me when we were in the movie. He’s wondering if tomorrow works for you guys to come down to Hell.”

“Sure,” Brian said.

“Me too,” Vicky agreed.

Nonetheless, Vicky was nervous…. The kings of Hell were sure to look down on a lowly whore and robber like herself. She almost wanted to beg Damien to reconsider. She knew she wasn’t good enough for a prince with a future more enormous than anything she was destined for. Damien’s fathers were sure to despise her. They were sure to boot her to the curb.

But Brian and Damien promised to shoulder the hard times with her. She convinced herself, well after her boyfriends drifted off to sleep, that she would wait to see how it turned out.

[what2watch2night]

Today In “Believe The Hype”: PARASITE (기생충). A Film That Will Remind You Why Is It A-okay  Wanting To Eat The Rich, BUT ALSO Why It Is Bad To Actually Do It/Eat!

Oye, Oye film folks, behold your new champion of mastered bonkerz-ness with all the LAYERS in the world: PARASITE. Because, absolutely yes, there is nothing (or a very select few!) out there like.

It blows mind and hearts!

PARASITE is as thoroughly entertaining as it is, indeed, a deeply layered think-piece.

It bends multiple genres and follows no rules, it is the kind of movie where major things are predictable but details of the story are unpredictable; even though its ending might surprise more than one, it is about the journey. 

Thus you stay engage and eagerly await for things to unfold one after another like a masterfully played game of cards where you receive the right card at the right time or (because we love food analogy around these parts!), a perfectly planed 5 courses meal proportioned and timed for optimal satisfaction and fullness with all the nutrients and vitamins, plus, of course the cherry on top!

To stop with comparison and metaphors, which already abound in the film in ironic and non-ironic ways, let’s start by giving a bit of background.

* beware, the following is a review with FEELINGS!

 This is the story of the Kim family living in a messy narrow and unfit basement in Seoul and making ends-meet folding pizza boxes or doing low paying odd gigs.

Everything starts to change when the son, Ki-Woo played by Choi Woo-Shik , who cannot afford to pay for his higher learning education despite being brilliant, is given a rock artifact and, the opportunity to interview for an English tutor position for a wealthy student living in a very luxurious mansion. 

It is a subject he excels at, but because he does not come from the “ right background” he has to lie about his credential and origins. So, he finds a way to food the gullible rich mother, ms. Park (Jo Yeo-jeong) to let him tutor her daughter, then, he convinces her to hire his sister Ki-jung (Park So-Dam) as an art teacher/therapist for her hyperactive son. Later the Kim children who have an absolutely brilliant and genuine brother/sister chemistry, managed to find a way to make the Parks hire their dad, Ki-taek (the always excellent Kang-ho Song recently seen in the amazing Korean hit A TAXI DRIVER) an unemployed driver, as their personal chauffeur, and, soon enough, their mother (Hye-jin Jang) is also working under the same roof.

The family is now able to earn enough money to not depend on charity, or, living without knowing what to eat tomorrow, but of course, things are never that easy for people born to struggle…

But, that is already too many spoilers

The casting is marvelous and as mentioned before the chemistry is wonderful. 

The cinematography with all the fluid camera movements is giving us a genuine sense of places and is surgically precise and truly there is some truly compelling scene of water fight of people moving around in the house filmed "action-style!". 

The score is 100% aptly suspenseful but not giving away anything.

The film performed as a play in many acts and the genre evolves from scene to scene, from pure dark comedy a-la Nordic Cinema, to disturbing horror sequences (as if straight from Peele’s US! (to subtle emotional familial scenes bringing to mind Kore Eda movies, and it is also mixing various Bong Joon-Ho cinematic elements. 

It is a real unique treat but the issues the movies is addressing are what really what makes for a poignant, relevant and timely film.

PARASITE tells the truth like it is about the reality of social and class inequalities in big cities - Begin side rant: trust us we know sadly too well! From all the disappointing visits after visits looking for places on from Craigslist that are relatively high-priced for rooms that end up being a FRICKING closet with no windows or a suffocating solarium turn into a bedroom... And when you laugh out the inappropriateness of it all, the landlord/letting agent tells you that is how it is now and 10 other people will take it if you don't because they are desperate...

Meanwhile, as it is not infuriating enough, some despicable bachelor bro living in high-tech high-rise bachelor pad bigger than your family house OR wealthy folks like the Parks who, might not be evil but are not necessarily more worthy of all their riches than a family like the Kims have no clue about their privileges...

And, if you want to be even more depressed/angry, think of all of us or people you know, working minimum wage -  or FOR FREE - selling items you will never EVER afford while, again, some assholes who deserve absolutely nothing do. Or for those of us contributing to something that will basically make billions of dollar and getting no recognition for it.

You cannot make this stuff up life as a non-rich or privileged person is alienating AF, and sometimes, indeed, we all secretly want to EAT THE RICH - even if we are vegan! - but hopelessly wait for the apocalypse because at least we will all suffer the consequences… (Well hoping all the billionaire bunkers get destroyed magically first so those rich folks can be homeless like the rest of us! Well, we can go on and rent for DAYS about this F$%#ed-up world, the 1% invention, and companies making trillions faster than anybody else but not letting their employee go pee... ON TOP OF THAT people and friend who are "positive thinkers" want us to be grateful for what we have ignoring reality! GET LOST we say ;)  Ssssssigh end rant!- 

So that is precisely why PARASITE is a must-see for the good 75% of us who can relate most intrinsically. 

It is fair to say that, like going to therapy might be, PARASITE is cathartic for viewers in many ways even though the ending might be less than hopeful.

We devilishly root for this family of parasites to do bad deeds in order to get what they want but might never get because deep down - and from the beginning, it is established that - they are good people.

Circumstances and society put them in the ground in the damp basement because  some greedy owner probably wanted to get some money out of desperate people ready to live in unsafe condition tax free! (seriously f@#k these basement room/studio/house and those people, who purposefully build those light-less caves so they can make extra cash out of debt-ridden students who just want to live closer to where things happen... At least the concept of the maid room was all the way up under the roof with bird poo! Haha, see how this whole thing is giving us “LIFE RAGE”!)

This family, like the domestics in the rich people house, are at the bottom of the stair and has to come up to find the light so they have to make their way, unlike the rich dude who gets some poor man to lighten the path for them methodically.

MORAL OF THE STORY:  9/10

PARASITE exceeded expectations in all aspects. It won the Palme d’or, might even win an Oscar, and now that it is officially representing South Korea for the award(s) -  and, that is totally true good news considering BURNING might have been a bit of a mixed bag or relatively overhyped-  and is rightfully claimed as Bong Joon-hoo's best.

The way class struggle and socio-economical issues are always woven into the fabric of his films, but they have never been clearly  displayed and central to the story like in PARASITE. 

In every scene, at every second class-warfare and inequalities are made apparent, as well as, the causes and/or consequences of this failure of society to be just and fair TO ALL on is constantly exposed.

Our condition from birth dictate who we are no matter how hard we try, we will be afraid of not belonging like PARASITE protagonist's, having to fake their way in as it is the only solution but not the final one.

So on the bright side; those of us who are always screaming inside, or boiling (in vein) over injustices we suffer for the 1% to live like royalties, will find comfort in Bong's movie as he managed to channel this anger and feelings creating a beautiful contemporary piece of Cinema with fully developed characters that do the screaming for us!

[madscientistjournal]

Fiction: Tempo Rubato

An essay by an unnamed musician, as provided by Jonathan Danz Art by Errow Collens

Tonight, backstage is too hot, too dark, too much like some high-ceilinged mausoleum straight out of one of those old Friday night TV horror shows. The strap of my dinged-up Telecaster bites into my shoulder. Tonight, like most nights in recent memory, this guitar is like my very own stone of Sisyphus. Truth be told, I don’t know if I can roll it up the mountain one more fucking time. I don’t know if I can go out on stage yet again and pretend I’m me.

Vegas–swarm cams, drinkbots, holo-betting, omni-feeds, every last bit of it–can go to hell. The guy on stage now, the Buddy Holly impersonator, even with his bitglam in effect, comes off more like an impersonator of a Buddy Holly impersonator. He’s opening with “Peggy Sue.” Poor bastard. There’s nowhere to go from there but downhill.

Everyone’s an entertainer these days, what with voice plugins, appearance modifiers, movement enhancer neuro-mods, and every other trick. There’s no work at the art anymore, just show up and let the tech do the work.

Me and my new band, we’re the only completely analog performers in Vegas. Re-Invaded And It Feels So Good, that’s our act. Real clever stuff. The crowds eat it up. It’s fresh, in a manner of speaking, especially after seeing a hundred enhanced shows in a hundred casinos. After a while, it all blurs together.

I know, I know, that’s what they said when we were all flooding into the U.S. during the British Invasion. I’m a connoisseur of irony. But when something stands out from the pop-star one-offs and Rat Pack 3.0 crooners, people take notice. People don’t know they’re craving something different until they get it.

These Vegas performers could stand a lesson in “less is more,” but instead they’re all in on everything. All that tech must seem like magic to these fools, but tech ain’t magic. Believe me, I know from magic. Not like this Buddy Holly guy.

Look, I liked Buddy Holly back in the day–we all did–but that sound aged about as well as a bottle of piss. When you hear it, you know exactly when it came out. It never evolved. Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if his plane hadn’t crashed.

Sometimes I wonder if Buddy wasn’t the lucky one.

~

It was the 1960s, and the Beatles exploded out of Liverpool with us right on their heels, and the British Invasion was on. The money began rolling in free and easy like juice through a Marshall stack. In a move that would become the hallmark of making it in rock and roll, I bought a posh estate in the English countryside.

That’s where we were between tours in ’70. One night, December 11–Christ, you’d think I’d forget after so long, but the memory is like tough old scar tissue that’ll never go away–anyway, we were in the studio, turning a three minute song into something epic. I dove into my solo, weaving amplified heat through drums and base and rhythm guitar, stitching it all together at first. Then I began teasing strands out into the dark corners of sound. My fingers slipped and slid high on the fretboard. My guitar wailed and moaned with an urgency I could feel. I raced out ahead of the rhythm, then eased back into the mix by turns. I scooped time from some measures and poured it into others. The world around me wobbled and shimmered.

By the time the cops barged in, I was fully lost in the solo. It was as if someone had accidentally stuck a needle in my artery and my life was spraying out everywhere. It wasn’t blood, though, dig? I swear it was life itself flowing from me, streaming into my mates. Everyone was higher than an old vicar’s waistband. The cops’ shouting tore it all down and the music collapsed. I was wasted, could barely stand.

The cops’ arrival probably saved me, but all they saw was some weed, some pills, and whatever, and that’s all they needed to know. They grabbed their headlines for busting some punk kids who’ve risen far too high, and I grabbed some jail time. Prison was no great shakes, but there was something about the monotony of the routine. It freed up time to think. And I had a lot to think about.

~

Vegas Buddy Holly slides smoothly into “Rollercoaster.” It’s a checklist for him: hit this note, do that hiccup thing, take three steps. Technically, it’s perfect, but there’s no love for the music, no heat. Choosing to impersonate Buddy Holly is purely mercenary. He’s found a niche and it pays. It’s calculated. And I’ve got to tell you, hearing exactly the same thing done exactly the same way night after night gets tiresome.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not the music itself; I feel like I could play forever. It’s everything else. Some might say the world has passed me by, but I’d argue it’s the people who flock to this place on the regular who are being passed by. Was a time when people would spend hours parsing song lyrics or album cover art. Now everything wheels by like startled birds, gone in an instant, replaced by the latest streaming shows or VR episode or vending machine stimdrugs. We’re so fixated on what’s coming next, we can’t enjoy whatever it is we’re consuming right then and there.

The marketers’ll tell you their latest con expands the mind and taps into unexplored landscapes of the imagination. Rubbish. It’s about making money. It’s always about making money. Just ask ol’ Buddy Holly on stage there.

The guys in my band are no different. Sure, they tolerate the analog sets, occasionally even enjoy themselves when they’re not thinking about it. But they’re just gigging with me to pay the bills while they seek online stardom. That’s where the real money is, even if the odds are so long they stretch well beyond the horizon. They just need one video to virus out, and they’ll have it made.

I hear you, telling me to fuck right the hell off. I made my money, so why shouldn’t they make theirs, right? I say, have at it. There’s no magic there. You want magic? Strip it all down, get rid of the enhancements. Focus on the music, the guitar strings beneath your fingers, the vibrations of your vocal cords, the buzz of a packed venue. If you let yourself fall deep enough, you’ll find the space between it all.

You’d think songs almost a hundred years old would lose their luster, but that ain’t so. There’s that quote about not being the same person who crossed the river the first time or some shit. There’s truth there. Songs are like rivers, always changing, waiting to show you something new, if you’re willing to look. That’s why I hang around, every single day and twice on Saturdays.

~

After the bust, I couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened at that rehearsal. I needed to know what that was. As a band, we were looking forward, working on new songs, planning new tours, finding new ways to spend our windfall. But as an individual, I’d decided to look backwards as well.

I searched for answers in the deep, slippery roots of music, looking for the faintest whiff of anything even remotely like what happened the night of the bust. Whenever we hit a new city, I scoured libraries and bookstores and pored over rare tomes, letters, and sheet music for something like magic.

Then I found tempo rubato.

Now, I know you’re thinking of that Styx song about the robot. That was Japanese. Tempo rubato is Italian, mate.

The definition of tempo rubato in music texts refers to, and I quote, “the slight speeding up and then slowing down of the tempo of a piece at the discretion of the soloist or the conductor to be more expressive.”

But here’s the thing, Tempo rubato isn’t just an Italian term on some sheet music like sotto voce or fortissimo or any of that lot. Now I had no idea if the concept originated in Italy or not, but the Italians nailed the naming of whatever this phenomenon is.

In Italian, tempo rubato means stolen time.

As a musical cue, that was all fine and well, but I was positive there was more to it than that. Slowing down, speeding up, everything I’d been doing that night, it was all there.

I began playing around on stage, messing around in subtle ways with what almost killed me the night of the bust, learning, refining. I did it carefully until I unpacked tempo rubato and put it to work for me. I pilfered small bits of time so as not to cause harm and, as much as we played, the stolen time accumulated like the juice on a mob loan.

~

We’re a long way from Vegas, now, aren’t we? What does this have fuckall to do with tech enhancements and swarm bots and flash androgynous technicians? Well, hang tight, bruv, I’m getting to that. Besides, Buddy Holly’s got one more song yet.

He launches into “That’ll Be the Day.” When he hits the chorus, like he does every night, I can’t help but think that maybe in some alternate universe I’m dead, and he’s here in Vegas in real life, the original watching some mercenary performer imitate me.

“That’ll be the day that I die,” Buddy sings. Well, the real Buddy Holly boarded a plane that flew him right into his grave at the tender age of 22. And, despite the booze, the drugs, and other depredations of the body, here I am still going strong well beyond my expiration date. Is it fair? That’s not for me to say, but I’m fully aware of the irony.

The ubiquitous “they” insist everything that’s old is new again and I’m inclined to agree. Maybe that’s true, but it’s a cycle, ain’t it, which bloody well means everything that’s new becomes old again as well.

I think about all those musicians who hung around too long. I’d need more fingers than I’ve got to count everyone who couldn’t let it go, guys who wished they headed out at the top of their game, leaving the fans wanting more.

But damn if every time I hit that first chord on stage, I’m not transported back to our first live gig in Coogan’s Pub in Dartford. Now there’s a magic all its own, you know? Throw in the fans and the applause, and small wonder musicians can’t let it go.

What I miss, though, what has me in this funk, is that I’ve got no one to share any of this with. Everyone’s gone. What’s the use of hanging around as long as I have if you can’t share the honest-to-god artistry?

There are days I’m aware the only person I’m really playing for is myself, searching the music for ghosts of the long-gone boys who crossed the Atlantic and got rich with me. There are days I wonder if stealing time during all those tours with them might have hastened their respective ends. Shit, we were all getting older. People just age differently, right?

I search through the music. Maybe some combination of sound will bring them back, but inevitably the ghosts are always just out of reach. I’ve seen musicians wind up searching elsewhere, the needle or the booze or something just as deadly even though we know whatever it is we need isn’t there at all. And sometimes you don’t even know you need anything at all until you’re shown otherwise.

~

Inside some nondescript sound studio in Memphis in the late ’20s, I was waiting to record an interview for some classic rock retrospective podcast. At least I think they were still calling what we did way back when “classic.” The host was explaining to an angsty lad on the sound crew what vibe he needed and who I was.

But damn if every time I hit that first chord on stage, I’m not transported back to our first live gig in Coogan’s Pub in Dartford.

“Seriously?” the angsty lad asked. “I thought that guy died years ago.” No embarrassment. No apology. Just a statement of fact with perhaps the smallest hint of a question or accusation in his tone. That’s when I realized I couldn’t keep on as myself forever. No matter how good I felt, no matter how I looked, someone would do the math and start asking questions I had no intention of answering.

And so I did the only thing that made sense: I disappeared to sort things out. For a few decades, I traveled to places where people had no idea who I was. For a while, it wasn’t so bad, the newness of it, you know. I tried out things I couldn’t do when we were touring, things like gardening and painting and woodworking, whatever struck my fancy.

Even as I did these things, in the need was always there, waiting. I told myself it was just the music I needed, just the feel of the guitar in my hands, the heat of the stage lights, the cheering crowds. I mean, the music was definitely part of it, but I missed what I was able to do with the music even more. I needed tempo rubato.

What better place to resurface than Vegas, the impersonator capital of the world? If I couldn’t be me, at least I could pretend to be me. I mean, I had me down pretty good.

~

Buddy Holly wraps up with a deep cut, one of his b-sides that has surprising layers. Something about this song appeals to Buddy. I can tell, because he loses himself in it. He’s so close to touching the music and doesn’t even know. The crowd applauds just enough to encourage Buddy Holly to do an encore.

Buddy Holly launches into a respectable version of “Not Fade Away.” Huh. Normally he trots out a tired medley of songs that roll into that other song that’s not by Buddy Holly but about Buddy Holly, when his plane crashed, and the music died, and all that. Tonight, Buddy Holly’s veering off script.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

One more song to figure out how I’m going to break it to the band. Since I returned to Vegas–what has it been, 30, 40 years?–I’ve asked myself why I keep going so many times it feels like a vocation unto itself. If there’s an answer to that question, I’ll be damned if I know what it is. Now’s as good a time as any to call it quits.

“Hey, Billy,” I say to my bassist.

He turns to me and raises his eyebrows in question.

Time to tell the crew tonight is the night I stop, but the words die in my throat just as Buddy Holly strums the last chord of his encore.

The applause for Buddy Holly packs more punch this time around, there’s real enthusiasm behind it. Buddy comes off stage. His bitglam distorts and winks off. Bruv looks tired, but he’s smiling.

We nod at each other.

That simple gesture is like a smack upside my head. It’s straight out of those days right before the British Invasion, back when we were just one of a hundred bands were trying to make it. Yeah, we hated each other, but there was some measure of respect for the fact we were all chasing the same thing. There’s a camaraderie that comes from mutual suffering.

Maybe I’ve been too hard on ol’ Buddy.

Then the host is announcing us to the crowd. Cheers and stomping feet shake the building. The crowd is as amped as I’ve ever heard it. That sound … that sweet, goddamned sound washes over us. The hair on my arms and the back of my neck stands at attention, expectant. My heart thrills and prances inside my chest. A smile spreads of its own accord across my face.

Billy smiles the same me. He’s feeling it too. “What were you going to say?”

My guitar feels lighter, and the only thing on my mind is strumming that first chord. “Forget it,” I say.

Billy’s no longer the fresh-faced kid I brought in to hold down the beat a few months ago, but that’s what the business does to a musician, isn’t it? The pull of the stage and the lights are like an old friend’s arm around my shoulder, warm and comforting.

A British Invasion musician learns the secret to rock on for evermore, but after outliving his mates and winding up as an impersonator of himself in Vegas, he wonders if it’s time to hang it up.

Jonathan Danz is a speculative fiction writer living in West Virginia with his wife, daughter, and cat, all of whom are artists in their own right. He attended Viable Paradise 21 and narrates for various science fiction, fantasy, and horror podcasts. He likes books, bikes, and beer.

Errow is a comic artist and illustrator with a predilection towards mashing the surreal with the familiar. They pay their time to developing worlds not quite like our own with their fiancee and pushing the queer agenda. They probably left a candle burning somewhere. More of their work can be found at errowcollins.wix.com/portfolio.

“Tempo Rubato” is © 2019 Jonathan Danz Art accompanying story is © 2019 Errow Collins

Fiction: Tempo Rubato was originally published on Mad Scientist Journal