#owen draws horror

[doctorwhommm]

countrycide is truly one of the episodes of all time

[szollibisz]

rotting from the inside

[everydaym0nstrosity]

Drawings from 2010 for my upcoming album, The Day I Became A Vampire (2024). I did the first 3 and my friend Bri Nicole did the 4th one. This album was originally planned for release in late 2012 but was shelved and remained unreleased for many years... until now.

[itsjusteds]

The basal ganglia of my brain has been completely absorbed by a revolutionary, contemporary musical called Spies are Forever. Because I dabble in the arts and have too much free time I've decided to draw all 55 characters each day until I've drawn them all.

Today's character is The Deadliest Man Alive >:] Day 6/55

[ghost-qwq]

idk even what to say with this post tbh

[schlock-luster-video]

Remembering classic horror actor Dickie Owens on the anniversary of his date of birth.

R.I.P. (1927 - 2015)

[haildante]

[aria0fgold]

I just realized that this current sketch am working on would be the first time I properly draw Cain and Owen, I gotta make this extra pretty then.

[illuism]

🕳🐇 . iLLu’s Limited edition AIR BENT IT©️ Tees.

[angelkissiies]

tiny surprises

abby anderson x reader

cw : threesome , owen , best friends turned lesbians , probably so much more.

wc : 3.1K

a / n : HAPPY OWEN SLANDER SUNDAY ANGELS ,, ENJOY !

“You came.” Abby breathed, hovering in front of the door, her muscled form blocking all view of the inside. Her eyes were soaking you in, from the tiny shorts to the large black t-shirt she recognized as one of her own, the sight alone was enough to make her want to jump your bones right here right now. 

You nodded, face heating up from the weight in her stare, shifting on your heels as you clutched your bag in front of you. “Of course,” You hummed, tongue darting out to moisten your lips. It was no secret that the two of you had something else going on, though neither of you’d ever acted on it, that was until now. It seemed like a joke at first, the idea of Owen proposing a threesome with a girl he KNEW his girlfriend wanted to fuck, but alas it was true– him going as far as to offer to do it at your place. You vehemently denied, wanting to keep the essence of him away from your place. “Why wouldn’t I?’ 

A smirk pulled at the lips of the blonde, opening the door wider to allow you to come in, never letting her gaze falter– eating up every glimpse she could get of the lace outline underneath your clothes. Right now, she felt no better than a man. “Owen,” She called out behind you as you pushed into the apartment, letting the door click closed before sliding the lock back in place. “She’s here.”

The sound of his name made you shift uncomfortably, considering the fact that you’d only ever slept with women up to this point– this was going to be the first time you’d even seen a man, let alone sleep with one. Owen wasn’t the worst-looking guy, having seen infected for so long you’d grown to normalize weird-looking things, so you were hoping this experience wouldn’t be the worst– which there's no way it would be a total loss, seeing as Abby was there. “You look really, uh, nice.” You managed, watching her pass you, her body clad in a tight black sports bra and matching gym shorts– a combination you’d seen many times before. 

Owen popped into the room before she had a chance to respond, his hair wet and clothes completely gone. A white towel was wrapped around his waist, shielding your eyes from his naked body. He had a goofy smile on his face, looking between Abby and yourself. “Hey,” He began, sitting on the edge of their shared bed, beckoning the two of you to come down the stairs. 

Abby took your hand, leading you down to the bed– grabbing your bag to sit aside for you. “You can back out at any time, there will be absolutely no hard feelings, okay?” She hummed, eyes coming level with your own as she took a seat on the bed, next to him. “Do you have a safeword?” 

You came to stand between her legs, her hands drawing you in, nodding slowly. “It’s mercy,” You glanced between the two of them, making sure they could both hear you. “What about you guys? Safewords or just anything I should know before we get started?” The last thing you wanted was for this to go so wrong that someone got hurt, something you’d heard horror stories from Manny about. 

“Safewords, no. We don’t use those.” He spoke, chuckling lightly, before continuing. “And we have a dynamic usually–,” 

The blonde raised her hand to him, shaking her head, the other hand wandering down the expanse of your lower back. “Let’s just.. see how this turns out, okay?” She offered up, coming to toy with the waistband of your shorts, her eyes lapping hungrily at the quiver that had entered your legs. “Go with it and see how it feels.” If she hadn’t been wet before, the harsh contrast of your bodies sent a gush of arousal into her cunt, making her unconsciously clench her thighs together. 

Owen gave her a sharp look, which she promptly ignored, making him huff lightly. He shifted on the bed, using his hands to block the growing erection he’d begun to develop. He’d be lying if he said the way Abby was touching you wasn’t turning him on, her massive hands coming to drag down your body. 

Abby looked up at you, taking in the eager look in your eyes before she came to a stop at the soft curve of your hips. “Tell me you want this.” She spoke, voice heavy, fingers digging into the t-shirt. Your comfort was her biggest concern, glossing over the pulsing in her cunt at the thought of touching you. 

“I want y-,” You stopped yourself, correcting yourself. “This. I want this.” 

Her hands pulled you down onto her lap, legs settling on either side of her muscled thighs, lips chasing yours. It was like a fire had been lit beneath her, the soft contrast of your skin driving her insane– she just needed to touch you, as long as she possibly could. It was a side of the woman that Owen had never seen, watching in awe as you whined into her mouth, hand moving to palm himself through the fluffy fabric of the towel.  

“Shit..” The man hissed, moving his other hand to rest on your thigh, inching closer to the subtle wetness that pooled in your lacy panties. You were still fully clothed, much to his dismay, but that didn’t stop his advances– that was until Abby caught his hand. 

Her heavy gaze fell on him, silently scolding him, before pushing his hand off of you. “Consent, Owen. Did she say yes to you?” She rasped, tilting her head slightly, hand moving to rub the area he had touched gingerly. “Ask her first.” 

Owen rolled his eyes, tearing his gaze from hers with flushing cheeks. “Can I?” He asked, obviously annoyed at the obstruction, his eyes coming to meet your blown ones– gulping at the reaction Abby seemed to draw from you. He felt almost envious, wanting to be the reason you looked like that, but he settled with this for now. “I promise I'll be gentle, baby.”

You took a shaky breath, giving him a small nod, you weren’t excited about the idea of him touching you before Abby had a chance to– but you shook those feelings off, looking back up to the mess of a girl in front of you. You could feel his hand snaking over hers, cupping the clothed wetness of your cunt, making you shudder slightly. 

Abby watched your face, tongue darting out to wet her lips before she leaned forward to press open-mouthed kisses to the edge of your jaw, her hot breath sending a shiver down your spine. “You have no idea how long I've wanted this.” She hummed, just for you to hear as she hovered near your ear. “Wanted you this whole time.” 

You felt his fingers slip past the soft material of your shorts before he pushed further, pushing your panties to the side. You gasped slightly, tempted to move away with how roughly he pushed his fingers against your cunt– using two fingers to rub your labia. “O-oh,” You forced out, pushing your face into the crook of Abby’s neck. “Shit..” You were almost about to laugh, feeling his fingers pick up speed– giving you the equivalent of carpet burn on your poor cunt. 

You felt the girl beneath you’s chest shake lightly with a couple snickers, hiding the noise in the tuft of hair that had fallen in her face. She moved her hand to the hem of your shirt, pushing the fabric up to expose the delicate lace of your bra, her fingers grazing over the erect buds poking through the thin material. “Such a pretty girl.” She tutted, pulling the bra down to expose your breasts, sighing contently at the sight. 

Owen halted his movements, using his middle finger to part your folds, feeling around the perimeter of your slit. “Fuck, you’re so wet.” He groaned, dipping his hand under his towel to grip his erection– pumping himself greedily before pushing into your cunt. “Abby, your friend is so hot.” 

You burned bright red at the comment, tensing your stomach at the intrusion, trying to loosen up. His fingers were dry, adding undesirable friction to the soft walls of your cunt, but it didn’t seem to phase him– his fingers pushing until they were knuckle deep. A small noise of pain left your mouth as you pushed your face deeper into the skin of the girl's neck, trying to muffle yourself. “Mmh.” You hummed, feeling his hand drag your free one from Abby to himself. He pushed your hand under the towel, your curious fingers landing on the erection he’d been hiding the whole time. 

A sharp gasp left your mouth, causing Abby to whip her head up to see what had happened. Your eyes connected as you jerked your hand away, trying to conceal the laugh that bubbled in your chest at the feeling of his dick. It was beyond what you expected, in the worst way possible, the appendage only being about four inches– hard. 

Owen roughly yanked his fingers from inside you, grimacing at the wetness, standing up quickly to grab his shorts. “You fucking cunt.” He hissed, stomping around the room as he found his clothes. “And you!” He huffed, pointing at Abby. “I can’t freaking believe you, we're so done.” A choked whine left his mouth as he stared at the girl, awaiting her to try to stop him or something.. anything. 

Abby raised an eyebrow, looking over at you, before infectious laughter spilled from her lips– filling the room, much to Owen’s dismay. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath, tears of pure joy welling in her eyes. She’d spent so long sucking up to the man, that it just snapped, the truth of him and his short dick finally coming to light. It was autopilot with him, a familiar comfort of her past when all she really wanted was you. Now, she could finally have you– no longer hostage to the man bursting out of the room with tears in his eyes. 

You bit back a laugh, hands coming up to cup her face. “That was soo hot.” You teased, referring to the previous entanglement with Owen, exaggerating your words. “You sure you don’t wanna chase that sex god?” The words dripped with sarcasm, making her roll her eyes at you as she caught her breath, the door slamming loudly. That was something you’d have to explain to Issac later, not that it mattered now. 

She paused for a moment as if to think, before switching the two of you around– your body now pressed firmly to the mattress. She hovered over you, an old firefly dog tag dangling from her neck, dipping down to press a hungry kiss to your lips. “Fuck no,” She chuckled, nails skimming over your clothed stomach– itching to rid you of your clothes. “I have all I need right here.” Her mouth moved down your neck, leaving a trail of spit from your jaw to the sweet spot just below your pulse point– where she stopped only to suck a dark mark onto the sinfully soft flesh. 

“I just came here for you.” You gasped out, the words breaking as you felt her teeth dig into your flesh– biting at your neck. “Only you, Abby.” 

Abby could’ve cum from that statement alone, her hands latching to the hem of your shirt. “Sit up for me, okay, real quick.” Her words were airy, desperate as she craved the warmth of your skin on hers. “Need to touch you.” The draw of her fingers against your skin lit an ache in your cunt, an ache, unlike the one Owen caused. 

You allowed her to strip you of your top, your own hands moving to push your shorts down your legs, kicking them off into the floor. “You meant what you said. Really meant it?” You spoke, shivering in the now cold room, the sun beginning to fall below the horizon. You wanted nothing more than to have her, in every way possible, but something nagged you– begging you to be sure that this was real. 

The blonde nodded, holding her pinky out to you as she held herself up with one hand, eyes dancing over the blissed expression on your face. “I promise you, I mean every word.” Her voice was thick, breath coming out in puffs. “I’ve been waiting for you.” She meant it, every sleepless night being filled with visions of you– despite how guilty it made her. She’d never needed someone quite like she needed you, and yes, she knew that you felt the same way but that didn’t help her in shaking off the man who’d begged to stay together the past couple of years. She was free. Free to indulge in the girl she’d dedicated all of her wet dreams to. 

“No more waiting.” You ignored the pinky, hands latching to the straps of her sports bra– dragging her down to meet your lips. You couldn’t help yourself anymore, the need taking over, hips bucking into her thigh as you urged her to touch you. The self-respect you’d developed over the years crumbled, leaving you a trembling mess as your body begged for her touch, cunt soaking through the thin fabric of your panties. 

She groaned into your mouth, hand coming down to cup the clothed warmth of your cunt, a thick finger coming to trace the small bundle of nerves just beneath the lace. “You’re gonna forget that he ever touched you, I fucking promise.” She whispered, pressing a kiss to the edge of your lips as she pushed her hand under the waistband of your panties, slowly moving to massage the nub. Her hot breath fanned over your neck, making you shudder before she began pressing open-mouthed kisses to the welcoming flesh. 

A whimper left your mouth, tilting your hips up to meet her eager fingers, lips falling open as you felt the pleasure course through your body– her touch gentle as she felt her way around your body. You’d never been touched like this by her, yet, she seemed to know you better than you knew yourself. Her fingers moved with precision, the bumble being victim to her abuse. “F-fuck, Abby–,” You moaned, her name falling from your lips like a prayer, walls clenching around nothing. 

Abby let her fingers slip lower, gently rubbing over your drooling cunt, gathering your slick onto her fingers. It was obscene, the noise she released at the feeling of your puffy slit, her middle finger pushing in gently. Your walls body welcomed her, soaking her finger in wetness as she tested the waters– pulling it out before slowly sliding it back in, feeling the way you clenched around her desperately. “Relax for me, pretty girl.” She breathed, eyes locked onto your scrunched face– her free hand coming up to cup your cheek. “Look at me.”

Your eyes fluttered open, your stomach contracting as you felt her push back into your cunt, the sensation making you jerk your hips toward her. You let your lust-blown eyes land on her, seeing the desperation in her brow. “Need you, Abs. Need you so bad.” You whined, hand coming to grasp at her wrist– trying to grind against the mound of her hand. 

Her ring finger lingered at your slit for a moment before joining her middle, two fingers burying themselves in your heat. “I know, I know.” She nodded, chewing on her lip slightly as she began thrusting the thick digits in and out of your drooling cunt– pornographic wet noises filling the room as she drove them deeper than you’d ever felt someone go. “Good girl.” 

The noises made heat creep up your neck, embarrassing yourself with how wet you’d managed to get for your best friend. You were pathetically hers, whether you were ready to admit it or not. You both already knew, with the way you cried for her fingers, there was nobody else to make her feel so cunt drunk– the noises falling from your lips enough to make her soak through her boxers. “Please, fuck, fuck.” You hissed, fighting against the growing tightness in your stomach. You didn’t want the feeling to end, her digits filling you up in the most delicious way, but you couldn’t help the pulsing in your walls in response to her fingers curling in and out of your sensitive cunt. 

Abby picked up her pace, chasing your orgasm, her free hand moving to pull the fabric of your bra down– exposing your breasts to the harsh air. “We have all night, pretty.” She reminded, making your hips release some tension, realizing you could continue for as long as the two of you wanted. No interruptions. Her head dipped down to your chest, taking one of the erect buds in her mouth, using her teeth to pull gently. 

A squeaky moan left your mouth, back arching slightly, legs beginning to tremble under the pressure. Oh god, oh god, oh god. It was chanted like a prayer, the growing tightness making your hips retract from her– though that didn’t last long, her free hand moving to hold your hips in place, leaving you to submit to the slamming of her fingers in and out of your cunt. It was all so much, your thoughts blurring at the mind-numbing pleasure coursing through your body, heavy moans spilling from your parted lips as your walls contracted around her– the sudden euphoria washing over you, soaking her hand in a gush of liquid. 

“Oh goddamn.” 

The bed beneath the two of you was drenched in liquid, making you whine in embarrassment. “M’sorry, fuck-,” You began, moving a hand to cover your face before Abby grabbed your wrist– pulling it down to rest by your side, promptly cutting you off. 

She shook her head at you, a blissed-out smile on her lips as she dipped down to kiss you, now with a softness reserved for you. “Never apologize, that was hot as fuck.” She chuckled, her fingers slowly inching out of your swollen cunt, wiping them off on her now sweaty gym shorts. “I can’t fucking believe it took me this long to do this, I don’t think I’m ever gonna be able to stop.” She admitted, lifting herself off of you to grab some things to make you more comfortable. 

You followed her movements, body still trembling as you met her at the edge of the bed, looking up at her as she grabbed for your bag– digging through it for new clothes. “Does this mean–?” You trailed off, eyes hovering on her veiny forearms for a moment before meeting her eyes. 

“I’m yours,” Abby stated, simply, sitting your bag down– deciding to grab you some of hers instead. “You’re mine.”

“Swear?”

“Swear.” 

[total-drama-brainrot]

Total Drama Psycho Noah AU, during the TDWT London Episode... What if Noah doesn't call the hidden Alejandro an eel, instead Alejandro and the other hidden Contestants saw Noah briefly showed his true insane colors to defeat the 'Ripper', with a big psychotic grin?... How would Alejandro feel about trying to bring up Noah's insane side, but Noah keeps denying it (and so does Owen, because Noah asked him to)? 😏

Psycho!Noah, under the assumption that he's alone with only Owen and the camera as his witnesses, going Full On Mania Mode on the Ripper? That's a fun thought.

I think, given the fact that he's on a Reality TV Show in the first place, this Noah would be upfront to the audience that he's... a little unhinged. Maybe he cracks a few jokes in the confessional (either during Island or World Tour) about his eccentricities, or maybe he really plays up the 'crazy' to paint himself as a wolf in sheep's clothing for the audience?

The second option there would probably work more in his favour, since him Just Being There would be a source of dramatic irony for the audience- something to keep people watching in anticipation, waiting for Noah's mask of mundanity to slip. He'd be 'good for ratings'.

I've decided that's the characterisation I'll go with. Psycho!Noah hides his true self from the contestants but, knowing that he'll be recorded 24/7, doesn't bother disguising himself for the audience- his nature will inevitably be exposed to them anyway, so why not cut out the middle man? At least this way, he gets the added pleasure of toying with the viewer's expectations.

-

So, given the fact that the only people he thinks are seeing him are people already in the know, what's stopping Noah from letting loose a little?

Nothing. Nothing's stopping him.

He and Owen step onto the double decker bus, the larger teen tiptoeing almost timidly onto the vehicle in his trepidation, whilst Noah follows casually behind him. He's a little disappointed, truly; horror themed challenges would be so much more interesting if they were, y'know, scary.

Luckily for him, things soon get interesting.

The shadowed figure of the Ripper drops from the ceiling with a thud behind Noah, assumedly crouched down on all fours like some sort of beast though it's hard to tell behind the inky, billowing cloak they're wearing. The motion would've been too fast for someone less capable to properly react to. Thankfully, Noah is very capable.

He pivots in place, catching the surprisingly fast arms of the Ripper before their taller frame can grapple him in his own deceptively strong grip, then forcibly bends the figure's arms until a sickening crack resounds through the bus's interior. The Ripper cries out a raspy animalistic shriek of pain, their forearms hanging uselessly limp out in front of them at awkward angles, and the clattering of something hitting the floor draws Noah's attention downwards. A knife, the Ripper's weapon of choice, gleams threateningly on the ground under the weak moonlight, having slipped from their incapacitated hand.

Well. That's certainly interesting.

Easing up his iron grip on the figure's disfigured arms, the cynic gingerly bends down to swipe the knife from the floor, then straightens back up triumphantly as he brandishes his new found weapon.

"Noah?" Owen's meek voice echoes from behind him. The bookworm tilts his head towards the other, who's fear-blown gaze is fixated on the sharp object in his unstable friend's unpredictable clutches.

The Ripper, momentarily subdued, continues to whine and groan in pain beside him.

"What's up, bud?" He responds, voice conversationally light and airy- a stark contrast to the Ripper's agonised gargles.

"Is- is that a knife?" The larger asks in a wavering tone. Noah isn't sure if it's the fear of himself with a sharp object, or the frankly pathetic display from the figure beside him, that's causing his best friend's hesitance. But he knows Owen- the big lug is a hardy sort, he won't stay scared for long.

"Hmm," Noah hums playfully, toying with the weapon in his grip. Feeble beams of moonlight shine and shimmer from it's blade, illuminating their surroundings in spectres of milk light, "Yeah, I think it is. Good eye, big guy."

A moment of tense silence passes between the two (somewhat ruined by the Ripper's incessant snivelling), before Owen's face splits into a shaky smile.

"Do you want to, uh, maybe, put the knife down?" He suggests.

Noah shifts his focus back onto the tool in his grip, theatrically ruminating over his friend's suggestion as he raises his free hand to his chin in a pondering motion, whilst his piercing gaze subtly flickers around the bus to locate the nearest hidden camera. He spins the knife in his hand thoughtlessly as he searches, deftly twirling and weaving the blade between clever fingers, sending spirals of light dancing through the darkness of their enclosure.

Once he's spotted the tell-tale red blinking light of a recording camera, he careens his whole body to face it. His features soften into a serene smile, highlighted by trickles of pale moonlight, as he addresses the camera.

"No. Not really. It's quite pretty. Don't you think?"

Noah waits a heartbeat, keenly listening for a response that'll never come from the recording device, before his smile splits into something wider. Something that splinters around the edges of his face and crumbles through his mask of tranquillity, revealing glimpses of wild delirium through its cracks. Similarly, his amusement-crinkled eyes widen with mania, irises contracting into pinpricks of molasses against the white of his sclera.

"And wouldn't it look a lot prettier... in a different colour?" The pessimist halts the spinning of the knife with a flick of his wrist, letting the question simmer in the stale air of the bus.

The Ripper, having finally regained their bearings, stumbles to flee from the bus.

Well. That's not very interesting, is it?

In the blink of an eye, Noah is suddenly nose-to-mask with them, holding the blade millimetres from the figure's neck almost tauntingly as he traps them against the fogged over glass of the bus driver's window, "Red would look really pretty."

"Noah," Owen whines petulantly, "we're supposed to capture the Ripper, not kill him!" As if to punctuate his point, the blonde tugs at the edges of the burlap sack he's carrying, shooting an imploring look towards his little buddy.

"Oh, I forgot. Silly me!" Noah exclaims jovially, smacking at his sizable forehead with his free hand. The Ripper beneath him whimpers at the motion.

-

In the First Class cabin, the majority of the Total Drama contestants stand gobsmacked at the display they just witnessed. Varying expressions of disturbance and fright are dotted across the crowd, and the more sensitive of the group have turned varying shades of nauseated green or horrified white.

"What the fuck?"

[sawdust-emperor]

You know what, normally this website and TikTok are fucking awful about spoiling movies, but by virtue of having such a well-crafted, meaningful message, somehow that didn't happen to I Saw The TV Glow.

In order to perpetuate that I'm going to slap my thoughts under a readmore - you really should go into this movie 85% unknowing.

I didn't see the twist coming. In fact, I didn't even know there WAS a twist, which is insane given how much of the message hinges on it. This is such an incredibly well-made movie it's unbelievable. Even when someone turns to look at you to talk, it's part of the narrative built in-universe. It's not supposed to be that kind of movie - Owen is not supposed to be narrating this life, he's supposed to actually be living it. The awareness that someone is watching - there is someone there to talk to - there is someone to scream at for help - that's not supposed to happen. Owen - Isabel - is not supposed to be on that side of the screen.

The chunk right before the ending leaves you with such a sickening feeling of choking alongside Owen. It inspired almost the exact opposite feeling in me than Everything, Everywhere, All At Once did - you are suddenly having a crisis in the movie theater or on the couch. It is a cosmic horror. The Midnight Realm is the entire world and it's also nowhere. You are on the wrong side of the screen. When she draws your psychic link on you, your tattoo from your favorite show, what connects you to her and yourself, it feels good - you feel good. You scrub it off because that show isn't for you. Your parents wouldn't approve. But you are on the wrong side of the screen. The show is ABOUT you. It's obviously 'for' you - but your fear is getting in the way of leaving this terrible, boring, dull, choking, familiar place. That place where you don't have the heart to stand up straight and demand to stay up late and watch a show. You stay in the house your dad died in and become him. Your family is in the script, but they aren't on screen. YOU aren't on screen anymore either, because the camera wandered off, it's filming some dumb, boring kid's show instead of the life you could have had. It's so far out of reach you can barely imagine where you should be now. You wheeze when you breathe. You're choking on dirt. You ignore that. You cannot believe in psychic powers. Or that you are beautiful somewhere else. You're so far off-script that you're screaming in an arcade and the other 'actors' have no idea what to do about it, so they freeze on you, and you are so very alone, on the wrong side of the screen.

There is still time. Oh my God, there is still time. If you can pick up the shovel and get in the fucking hole, there is still time to save yourself.

[everydaym0nstrosity]

New cover art for the CDr release for my album, Suicide Uplift (2010).

[dbarenzu626]

Old memory From the limbo From the night

Lost memory Coming back Remember the sun Remember the colours

~ M83, "Sunday Night 1987"

So over today, I took the time to check into a film that I've been very much looking forward to as I went about the day's events: A24 and Jane Schoenbrun's indie horror film "I Saw The TV Glow", as it had finally released on digital.

And with all honesty? It's now my favorite film of 2024 so far.

This film grips and understands the double-edged sword of nostalgia, the blessings of which it creates in the moment and the horrors that it creates in the long term when overabundant, all wrapped up in a trans-themed package. For me, nostalgia, especially nostalgia over television is a strong subject for me. Being neurodivergent and Canadian, I could spend hours upon hours talking about our own old television and even old shows that I was raised on. But the thing is, while nostalgia to me is viewed a positive, there are other situations in which nostalgia becomes a survival method or something that needs to be done to save face. In this film's case, we see a lot more of the latter than the former, we see what these characters' obsessions with "The Pink Opaque" leads to with the tumultuous lives that they lead and moreso, where that obsession can lead to, changes and all.

And it's through this that "I Saw The TV Glow" wrecked me, even with the very bittersweet ending we saw, I was sobbing hard and knew I had to draw something for the film. Jane's direction is bizarre and unsettling, but at the same time, able to touch viewers who looked into the film under the precedent that they themselves felt that strong form of nostalgia for a TV show too, like "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" or "Supernatural" or so forth. It's a risk of a film, one I don't think anyone but A24 would have given the go ahead to. Give it a go even if just once to make your own opinion and idea of the film, if it's up your alley!

Now, what I drew up for the occasion is reflective of the melancholy and the nostalgia the film carries, as well as the marketing A24 gave us: VHS tracking, pinks and purples and our main character, Owen, and the uncertainty with being so obsessed with "The Pink Opaque", mystery and all. I'm really happy with the results~ 📺

[vorezone-act8]

Inside your mouth I cannot see

safe vore fic. sorry if you realize what these characters are from lmao (owen is an oc stand in for the player but) warnings: emeto, body dysphoria/dysmorphia, mentions of actual cannib.alism/"h.ard vore" but it doesnt actually happen, suicidal ideation somewhat, suggestive implications unrelated to the vore

Owen couldn't keep this up for much longer. 

He'd been running from "Uthman" for twenty minutes at this rate. He couldn't claim to be in good shape, either, even before this happened; he'd barely slept since he got here, and he'd already been walking for ages. This place was awful labyrinthine for a place of work.

He was wont to give out eventually.

And so he did, a momentary falter of his footing resulting in him being tackled to the ground, vision spotting from the impact his head made with the floor.

"Owen," the thing mumbles. No—even like this, Uthman wasn't a thing. He was a person; a person who would feel terrible about this when he woke up. "Need them. Your organs." His breathing is ragged.

Fighting to keep consciousness, Owen writhes in his grasp, but it's no use. Instead, he tries to reason, "You don't want this; you’re going to feel horrible, later. Uthman, wake up, please—"

Uthman's hands, pinning the other man to the ground by his wrists, tremble. His eyes focus again for a moment, practically drawing his own blood by how hard he's biting his lip. "Trying." Tears prick at his eyes, despite the grin his face has contorted into. It's pained. “I’m sorry.”

He's not sure why he wants to tell him that it's okay, to comfort him, as he finally slips into darkness.

Uthman is fighting himself. He's just lucid enough to resist the hunger for a few more moments, but it's impossible. It hurts—and the only thing that will make it stop is if he sates it, or he’s knocked out. But Owen wasn’t able to do the latter. He has to hold off, just for a few more moments. He won’t forgive himself if—

He half-doubles over in pain on the other’s unconscious form, yelping like the animal he is. His stomach feels as though it’s trying to digest itself.

The opposing instincts of the desire to protect him from further harm and to consume him, thus stopping the pain, converge into overwhelming mixed signals that freeze him in place. In inaction. A momentary blessing.

But unfortunately, it results in a bizarre compromise.

The Devil's mouth experimentally opens, and he shoves Owen's head inside. It fits alarmingly well. The clay making up the flesh makes it disgustingly flexible, too. Impossible. It shouldn't be able to fit a man inside. But it can.

Even screaming inside, the hunger is now beginning to cloud his horror. He can taste Owen’s blood, which he can’t stop himself from licking off his chin. The animal in him wants to finish the job. Wants to be full. It's been starving for so long. 

The human is terrified.

But this is the only conclusion The Devil can come to that will satisfy both instincts. Swallowed whole, instead of torn to shreds. No longer hungry, but Owen might survive if Uthman snaps out of this state fast enough.

All it takes is a swallow to bring his shoulders into his throat, then another for his torso, then his legs—

A purr rises in his middle as his poor friend's form settles into it, arms wrapping around him in a lovesick fondness. He curls up on the floor around his stomach, like an animal at rest.

Lucid again for a moment, Uthman is wracked by a sob as his bleary eyes grow heavy against his will. It's too late.

————————————————

Uthman wakes up nauseous, and aching all over—from falling asleep on the floor, apparently. He groans as he sits up, aching back popping. Eyes squinting from residual exhaustion, he scans the room. He doesn't know how he got here, or why.

Confusion quickly turns into alarm.

The last thing he remembers is being with Owen. Where is he? Did they split up? What would cause a lapse in memory like—

He notices a splatter of human blood right beside him.

Panic rises in his core.

"Mr. Webb?" He calls out urgently, fearing the worst. "Owen??" He attempts to stand up—but his stomach lurches unnaturally at the sudden movement, as if bloated.

His blood runs cold. The lingering taste of metal in his mouth—

He retches, but nothing comes up. He buries his face in his hands—both of which he doesn’t want to be his own, especially right now. But they are. This monster is you. You killed and ate that poor man. Didn’t you?

Hot wet tears deface his disgusting visage even further, as they should. He curls in on himself, no, around what was left of the friend he didn’t deserve. “I’m so sorry,” his monotone cracks. “I-I knew I should have stayed away—I’m so selfish. I’m sorry, Owen.” 

He really is selfish. Owen will never get to see his children again, nor will he get to go home. All for what? Because he was just so desperate for human connection that he couldn’t just help from the sidelines, when this man’s family was on the line—when he knows how dangerous he is? Boo fucking hoo.

He shudders violently as he gags. It’s painful.

That man is dead, and

“...Uthman?”

His ringing ears almost don’t catch the sound. Not until it’s repeated, louder: “Uthman! Hello?” It’s Owen’s voice, oddly muffled. Eyes blurry but wide, he once overs the room in disbelief. “Owen?” His voice trembles. He doesn’t see anything. “Where are you?”

“I don’... know,” the man tiredly answers, then poses a question of his own: “It’s too dark to tell. Were you… crying?” 

A shuddering breath is taken in. He scans the room again. “I was worried I… killed you. I’m glad I didn’t. Are you hurt? Do you recall anything? You sound tired, so I’m assuming you were unconscious.” 

There’s a beat of silence.

“...I remember you… knocking me over. Hit my head, must have conked out. I don’t hurt anywhere else, though. Guess you… left me alone?” He seems to be just as confused. 

It’s starting to concern him how clearly he can hear Owen’s voice, despite neither of them knowing where he is.

“I should check you for a concussion,” Uthman thinks aloud. “Can you move?”

Immediately afterwards, a wave of nausea hits him as he feels—something move, inside of what, unmistakably, must be his stomach. Realization hits him like a truck, but as a literal doctor, he finds it hard to accept that this is possible for him to do. They should both be dead. 

Well… if he were human, that is. Right.

“...I’m cramped. Can’t really tell.” Owen’s voice is alarmingly lacking any fear about the situation he’s in. Even without knowing what Uthman has realized, being trapped in a cramped space you can’t see is terrifying. Maybe he does have a concussion. “Wet, also.”

“Owen,” Uthman starts, trying to keep his voice level. He nearly tries to make eye contact with his stomach, but averts his eyes out of shame. “I think I know where you are.” He sucks in a breath. “...For some reason, in that state, I just…” The words are hard to get out of his mouth, because he can hardly believe them. 

“Swallowed you whole. Instead of something more immediately lethal.”

There isn’t a response for a moment. 

Then, wordless, panicked thrashing against his internals. There it is. The fight or flight response kicking in. He grits his teeth in pain, instinctively clutching at his middle, as if to make it stop. He releases his grip near immediately, not wanting to hurt Owen any further. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before—and it’s terribly nauseating. 

Maybe that’s a good thing, vomiting would be welcome to this situation. But—

“...Y-you shouldn’t care, but just in case you do, that does hurt,” he clarifies.

It stops quickly. “Sorry,” Owen apologizes. His voice grows quieter. “...I was scared.”

“No, it’s—it’s completely understandable.” Uthman sighs heavily as his muscles relax. “I mean, anyone would be afraid if they were… literally eaten by a monster.” His eyes unfocus, staring into nothing. He really is one, isn’t he?

“...Don’t… call yourself that,” Owen manages, shifting himself around in an attempt to get more comfortable. Uthman cringes at this horrendously invasive feeling. This is, quite possibly, the worst way to have to confront his non-human biology. He almost tuned out what Owen said.

“It’s true, though. A human, and most other animals, physically could not do this.” He grips his wrist as it trembles. “But that’s not important—I need to get you out of there. Our digestive systems aren’t designed to handle this much, so you should be fine for a while, but I’m not going to wait around for you to get hurt, and I’m sure you don’t want to, either.”

There’s a beat, as if Owen were thinking on what to say, for whatever reason. Uthman finds the answer pretty cut and dry, so this strikes him as odd. His passenger settles with a, “...Fair.”

Uthman pinches the bridge of his nose, sucking in another breath through his teeth. “Yes.” He moves to stand up—but hesitates. “...Uh. I’m going to get up. Alright?” There’s a noise of acknowledgement from inside, so he takes that as his go-ahead. Legs trembling slightly, he uses a nearby wall to stand to his feet…. hooves, rather. Right. He hates this.

It shouldn’t be as easy to walk as it is. He hates that Owen is like nothing more than a little added weight to his body. That’s an entire person. You can hardly even notice that he’s there.

…It’s hard for him to calm his spiraling thoughts with this situation. 

Thankfully, Owen breaks the silence: “What are you, uh… going to do? Try to throw up, right?” …Maybe not so thankfully. This is another thought rabbithole to go down. At least it’s a more helpful one to go on.

“Well…” Uthman has to think about the logistics of this. He was able to get Owen down, so he should be able to come back up. But the space is so tight he doesn’t trust he won’t suffocate within, or that he won’t choke on him, this time. Actually, is there even enough oxygen in his stomach for Owen to begin with? Is it not a concussion, but a lack of air?

His head is spinning with concerning questions and possibilities.

“...I think I’m just going to cut you out.”

“HUH?” Owen barks in alarm. “Just throw up! You’re a doctor, you know sometimes you just gotta throw up—”

“I’m not scared to throw up!” He blurts, feeling the skin beneath the fur on his face flush. “I’m worried you’re going to suffocate. It’ll make me feel better if I just… surgically remove you.”

“Have you ever even performed surgery on yourself? What if you mess up? You could cut me.” Owen strategically doesn’t mention that he’s actually more concerned about Uthman hurting himself, because he knows that he doesn’t care about his own wellbeing right now.

It works. Uthman groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “...Okay, good point. Maybe I should just… try. But I’m not sure… where would be an appropriate location. The floors here are all hard.” God, this is embarrassing. “I guess I’ll head back to my office. There’s pillows and stuff…” He sighs. 

Just as he was about to start moving again, he feels some sort of pressure from within. He can’t help but look down, as much as he really doesn’t want to, and thus confront this reality in its entirety. It’s repetitive, it recedes and presses in again a few times.

“It’s really not that bad. Take your time to get there.”

…He realizes it must be Owen’s hand, patting him.

His face grows hot. He doesn’t like that it felt nice, and especially not that his stomach responds with a growl. No, no, no, you don’t like this. “D-don’t tell me that,” he chides, trying to keep himself composed. “It’s not okay, and I don’t want to think that it’s okay. My instincts might kick in again, and then they might not let you go. I won’t forgive myself if I…”

Pat, pat. “You’re more freaked out about this than I am, Uth. Breathe.”

“You SHOULD be freaked out!” He explodes, all of his emotions finally breaking the surface and spilling. “What if I killed you? What if I DO kill you by waiting too long? Your kids need you, and—and I…” I need you. I’m so selfish. God. 

His breath shudders as he continues, “...When I get you out of there, I think you shouldn’t even talk to me from a distance—I’m more of a danger to you than any help, at this rate. I’m not to be trusted. I have selfish intentions. I want this.”

“No!” Owen moves suddenly with his exclamation, causing Uthman to wince. “God damn it, Uthman, you’ve helped me more than anyone else down here! I don’t care that you lose control now and then—honestly, I don’t even mind if you do end up killing me. I’d prefer that over anything else doing it!”

That takes him out of it. His eyes open wide in horror. “...What? Owen, you—you wouldn’t just let me kill you, would you?”

“Of course not! I just—well…” Owen sighs, and Uthman can tell that he’s curling into himself, receding away the farthest he can in the little space he has. He tries not to notice how much he can feel this, implying that the walls of his stomach are squeezing around him. “...You heard Stinger. I’ve… probably already failed my kids. I don’t care what happens to me, I just… want you to be there.”

Now he’s really concerned. He pushes the welling warmth in his chest, much too literal, aside. “...You haven’t given up, have you? Stinger’s full of it. Even if he isn’t, you should still try, you know.”

“I was supposed to be comforting you, stupid.” 

Uthman laughs a little at that. “...It worked, I think.” 

He becomes aware again of the present situation and urgently starts walking, thankfully recognizing a nearby hallway as a reference point for the distance to his office. “I’m such a hypocrite, I said we shouldn’t wait but I drew this out longer by stopping to argue with you,” he hums, allowing himself to find a little amusement in this. 

As he walks, he notices how much the movement jostles Owen’s weight around, as though he were lugging him around in a bag. That can’t be pleasant. Cursing himself internally, he places a hand on his belly to keep it as still as he can. 

Pat, pat. Owen’s hand meets his, seeming to have caught on.

His face screws up in embarrassment, heat returning to his cheeks. ————————————————

Owen is expelled harmlessly out onto Uthman’s makeshift bed. It’s a lot less warm out here, but he prefers having his full range of motion, which he immediately uses to sit up and stretch his back out with a pop.

He looks up to poor Uthman above him, coughing still. “Uuugh,” he groans, wiping at his mouth. “You okay?” Owen asks gently.

The mascot blinks, then narrows his eyes at him. He clears his throat, composing himself. “I should be asking you that. I wasn’t the one that was nearly eaten alive.” He takes off his labcoat, using it to methodically dry off the other man in place of a towel. 

…Oh, yeah, he’d gotten so used to it in the past… 30 minutes? That he forgot he was absolutely drenched in spit and whatever else.

He crosses his arms, just letting it happen.

“If you had a concussion, it seems to have cleared up. I should check you for burns, though,” Uthman comments idly as he works.

“You gonna undress me?” Owen immediately regrets saying that, shutting his mouth from saying anything further at practically mach 5.

Uthman stops. Even with the fur covering his face, Owen can spot that hint of teal to his cheeks underneath. Actually, it was probably long present. “No, but I was going to ask you to remove them. Even besides possible injuries, your clothes are… probably ruined.” He looks away ashamedly. “I have a change of clothes in here.”

Owen chuckles awkwardly. “...Sorry, didn’t mean it like that.” He sort of did. “I appreciate it, but are you sure you don’t need them?”

“...They… don’t fit anymore, anyways,” Uthman bemoans as he continues to dab at any remaining saliva. Owen frowns sympathetically.

————————————————

Uthman finds nothing out of the ordinary after checking his skin, which is a relief, but also puzzling. Is the acid in a Gi.vanium-based digestive system that weak? Thank god for that design flaw.

The both of them find themselves hit with exhaustion after Owen gets changed and everything settles down, and Uthman… frustratingly hungry, with his stomach no longer full.

A distressing element about his body’s cravings is that they’re not supposed to happen at all. He has no biological need for food. But like a phantom limb, he still experiences the ghost of getting hungry from his memories as a human. 

He wishes it was just that, and that it didn’t manifest in animalistic, predatory instincts.

Having nothing else, he settles on a few granola bars, offering some to Owen, as well. He has to look away from him as he eats.

Uthman tries to convince Owen to go sleep somewhere else tonight, but isn’t able to—he’d have to risk running into another dangerous Case, or collapsing from exhaustion. There’s nowhere else to go. Begrudgingly, he allows it.

They settle into their separate makeshift beds. But… neither of them can sleep, despite how tired they are from the scare of the earlier situation.

“...Hey,” Owen pipes up after a while.

“Mmm?” Uthman barely manages to vocalize.

“...Could I sleep with you?” 

His eyes shoot right open, and he sits up. “What?? I’m sorry, I know you probably got used to it, but I could have killed you earlier, and I’m nervous even about this proximity.”

“I’m just cold,” Owen clarifies, embarrassedly. He feels like a little kid asking to get into their parent’s bed, and he’s a 40 year old man. “...And you’re warm. But I’ll deal.”

…Right. The temperature is low in here to kill germs, like a doctor’s office. He has no way of changing it. Naturally, being drenched probably made him chilly, too—

He sighs. “...Fine. I kind of owe this to you after that, I don’t want you to freeze.” He pulls up his blankets and gestures him over. Owen crawls in and settles next to him, unable to help nuzzling into his fur, sighing as he feels the other’s warmth wash over him. “...Thank you,” he mumbles.

Uthman tenses up. There’s those butterflies in his stomach again… oh, no, that’s physical, actually. It’s growling. His face flushes, turning his head away with a distressed grimace. He’s certain that he heard that. “Do you see what I mean? You really shouldn’t trust me.”

“It’s not a big deal—I mean, maybe you’ll just do that instead of trying to, uh, eat my pancreas, next time,” Owen jokes. Uthman really doesn’t find it funny. He wraps his arms around him, though, selfishly pulling him closer. He paradoxically relaxes, despite his heart beating out of his chest. “...Well, if it happens again, don’t say I didn’t tell you so.”

Owen sticks his tongue out mockingly at him. “Well, it was actually kind of nice, just so you know.” 

Uthman makes a strangled noise at that, hiding his face with his arm. “Please don’t say that.” Owen laughs.

They stop bickering and fall asleep soon after.

[schlock-luster-video]

Remembering classic horror actor Dickie Owens on the anniversary of his death.

R.I.P. (1927 - 2015)