#to conclude: october was fucking insane

[edelweiss-buttons]

I would like to convey how truly insane the last few months have been for me on a queer/pop culture/adhd hyperfixation level (it's a long list):

april/may ish: ted lasso s3. trent crimm, fav character since s1 is confirmed to be queer - something that I had quietly headcanoned but didn't think would actually happen in the series

july: wwdits s5. (I learned how to pirate tv shows for this one.)

also july: good omens s2. (it was fun and gentle and romantic until I discovered that ofmd s1 prepared me for the emotional destruction of that last episode)

also in july: grandson concert!

end of august. ofmd s2 trailer.

september: taskmaster s16 starts! very fun and very homosexual

the stressful hour in september that was getting noah kahan concert tickets

then came october. three shows all started within the same two days (all are massive hyperfixations)

oct 5: our flag means death s2

also oct 5: loki s2 (literally didn't know about this one until the day of lol)

oct 6: bbc ghosts s5

also october: the magnus protocol trailer

I think the loki s2 finale should get it's own point on the list due to how much mental space it occupied.

writers and actors strikes end! the amount of ofmd s2 bts content was and still is absolutely wild

november: the ballad of songbirds and snakes movie!

and now I just found out that amulet book 9 is being released in february 2024. somehow I missed that announcement from a month ago

in the upcoming months, so far its looking like:

bbc ghosts s5 christmas special

the magnus protocol

the final amulet book

noah kahan concert

#to conclude: october was fucking insane #basically every single fandom i'm in released new content within the last few months. bro I just found out i have adhd in january - #and now you're expecting me to be able to sanely deal with all of this? #ted lasso #ted lasso s3 #trent crimm #wwdits #wwdits s5 #good omens #good omens s2 #grandson #taskmaster #taskmaster s16 #loki #loki s2 #our flag means death #ofmd #ofmd s2 #bbc ghosts #bbc ghosts s5 #the magnus archives #the magnus protocol #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #amulet series #amulet book 9 #noah kahan

[asoulwithadream]

TEASER REVIEW BECAUSE I'M DEAD

it's him. he's back. HE'S BACK. BESTIES HE'S BACK. i'm sick. his letter has caused my entire brain to shut down. "I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU. I LOVE BEING NEAR YOU. BREATHING THE SAME AIR" bestie how did you find ao3 in 1717? AND THEY GAVE US ALL THAT IN THE FUCKING TEASER TOO?????? dude he looks so fucking heartbroken– YEARNING RAAAAAAAH

THIS FUCKING SCENE— he CUSTOMISED THE TOPPERS TO LOOK LIKE THEM I'M CRYING SOBBING ROLLING ON THE FLOOR. omg omg omg omg they love eachother so much PLEASE. and poor sweet ed jesus he has been CRYING AND HE LOOKS SO EMPTY IM SICK IM DYING IM DEAD. i'm sick, i need the icu help. does this mean he's good at painting.

GOTH UNIFORMS. THEY'RE REAL. im so incredible sick frenchie has cat claws. HE HAS CAT CLAWS IM DYING. and JIM HAS A PAINTED BEARD and SHAVED SIDES. i'm actually going to burst into tears. my heart is going to stop at any moment. even FANG HAS A COOL NEW UNIFORM

i don't think i'm alive anymore at this point. THE PARALLEL. THE PARALLEL. and 9 guns he literally turned into the kraken. HE TURNED INTO THE VERY THING HE HATED HELP ME PLEASE (also did anyone notice the scene where he rose out of the ocean was very similar to potc??????? help??????) stede please stop looking lovingly out in the distance my heart has gotten enough beatings

competent stede in red. FABULOUS IM GOING TO CRYYY 2. izzy hands it's izzy isreal it's you PLEASE this is so reminisence of all the ao3 fics— izzy's finally realised what ed has become and needs to go find stede and bring ed back PLEASE HELP I'm GOING TO CRY IZZY AND STEDE BEING FRIENDS NO NO NO NO NO HELP HELP HELP HELP this is his road to self discovery and acceptance and love i'm feral

that's the same place mofos THAT'S THE SAME PLACE. THEY'RE CLOSE. omg they're going to end up FIGHTING EACHOTHER AREN'T THEY AREN'T THEY OR IS IT THE FIRST TIME THEY SEA EACHOTHER . (also, COMPETENT STEDE?????) HELP ME THEY'RE SO FIGHTING. OMG what if they're running TOWARDS EACHOTHER OKFLAIKHFL please this is insane i will cry david jenkins you have forsaken us all.

minnie what are you doing to stede. HE DOESn'T WANT IT. He'S UNCOMFORTABLE IN SUCH A STATE. LITERALLY THE NAME OF ONE OF THE EPISODES ANNE LEAVE HIM ALONE, (and do it to me) (please i'm desperate)

these two barbies are having the times of their lives.

im convinced that "susan" (whoever ruibo quan is playing) is a mermaid. buttons is being taught the way of the sea by her since she is part fish. she is setting him up with the ocean so they can make sweet love, instead of yearning like captain blondie and emo over there

WHO'S FALLEN IN A RIVER IN LEGO CITY. IT MUST BE SOMEONE ON BLACKBEARD'S SHIP MATES IS IT ED????? ED HAS FALLEN OFF A SHIP IN LEGO CITY. HELP ME WHAT IS GOING ON HERE. I NEED TO KNOW I NEED TO KNOW I NEED TO KNOW OMG THE REVENGE ISN'T SINKING ISN'T SHE??? PLEASE DON'T DO THAT TO ME

THIS IM SORRY BUT WEE JOHN IS LOOKING ABSOLUTELY FABULOUS, ROACH HAVING THE TIME OF HIS LIFE, AND IS THAT PETE THAT MUST BE PETE IT'S PETE ISN'T IT IT'S BLACK PETE. we don't have enough content with pete. YOU KNOW WHY? or else it would have to include LUCIUS. HAH. got you there david

well. that concludes my current rant. other parts of the trailer have been excluded bc they deserve their own posts OR others have phrased it better than me LMAO (yeah because what i wrote is peak shakespeare)

october 5th can't come fast enough help me

**UPDATE: FULL THEORY BASED ON THIS

#ofmd #our flag means death #rant #ofmd teaser rant #ofmd s2 #ofmd 2 #stede bonnet #ed teach #david jenkins #taika waititi #rhys darby #they're back they're really actually back #october 5th

[trylobite]

currents, part one

                                        journal entry # 42

                     may 3, 1998 - 4 days before graduation

looking back on the countless hours spent loving and being loved by pj these last two years, i never imagined things would end like this. i never thought i would end things like this.  

we have been fighting more and more recently. he thinks im unhappy, everyone thinks im unhappy. fuck, even i thought i was unhappy with him for a while, but I don’t think that’s it. It may sound totally juvenile and cliche, but I think im too happy with pj, and its becoming so terrifying. why are the best things always so fucking terrifying?

the love we share is bursting from my every seam and that’s why i can’t continue. i love him so much, so truly but, after days of contemplation i’ve concluded that despite being surrounded by all this love, i feel so dejected. i want to be a good person and love people with my entire soul, and right now, i don’t fucking know anything, especially not the importance of loving and cherishing someone else for all that they are. thats what i do know.

i dont think it insane of me to say that i don’t want to look back on this relationship years from now, having not ended it, and us both be miserable.

the devastating thing is, if that were the outcome, i don’t think he would leave me like im about to leave him. he’s too selfless. i don’t want to do it, truly i don’t. i don’t want to murder his spirit in the process of figuring out who i am, but is it nobler to sacrifice myself for the man i love the most and never be able to give him the love he deserves in return?

maybe that was too poetic, but dear journal, i really mean it.

i know what i must do, it was bound to happen. i just can’t let myself hurt him anymore. i know that once im gone, he will be happier.

—— october 30, 2000 ——

i breathe in deeply letting the crisp, autumn, pennsylvania air fill my lungs.

ever since graduation ive been up north in the glum state of maine trying to connect with myself. i tried college up there for a few weeks but dropped out because all it was doing was adding to the stress and heartbreak i was putting myself through.

inever told anyone where i was going, just my parents so they could send money every now and then. but to everyone else, i sort of…disappeared.

i spent most of my time in maine with my neighbor, edith. shes this feisty little hippie lady in her mid 60’s, and she took me in when i was at my lowest. edith runs a quaint little bakery in town, which she sort of manipulated me into working at, but to be honest i’ve never minded. she has a luxurious garden thats full of herbs and spices used in her shop. we have spent many hours back there in her garden just talking, crying, laughing,. she taught me so much about the mysterious ways humans live and adjust. she would tell me stories from her life that taught her about empathy, love, betrayal, and remorse. i’ve learned a lot from ole edith and for that i will forever be in her debt.

edith is actually the one who convinced me to come back after all this time, to my home town. i didnt want to, for reasons obvious to both edith and i, but as i hinted at before, once edith wants something shes relentless. she told me to come and visit for a few days over halloween weekend, and if it was horrible i could give her a call and she would buy my train ticket back immediately. i reluctantly packed my bags and rang my parents to tell them the news.

so here i am, in the backseat of my family car that we have had since I was 10 years old, I can still smell the cigarette smoke from when my mom was an avid chain smoker in the early 90’s. i have the window down letting the sharp, icy wind swirl my hair all about my face. my headphones are blaring against my ears so loud that im almost positive my parents could hear the music over the wind. i’ve been playing matchbox twenty’s “yourself or someone like you” album on repeat the entire train ride here, and I don’t know if it’s the nauseating loneliness in rob thomas’ voice blasting into my head for hours or if it’s the weight that these familiar streets carry but im starting to feel very anxious and lightheaded the closer we get to home.

i let go of a shaky breath i didn’t know i was holding as we pass the skate park me and the boys spent a million nights at fucking around, smoking, getting drunk. i would always complain when steve brought his “magic dust”, but pj always promised if anything happened, he would make sure i was taken care of. bam and ryan always just laughed in my face and told me to loosen up, fucking assholes.  

bam margera has been my best friend ever since i can remember. we grew up next door to one another, and with no other neighboring houses being as close as ours are, it was inevitable that we would become attached at the hip. we would always hunt for bugs and crawfish down in the creek by my house and use them to scare his mom, april. i remember when ryan dunn moved to west chester, it was like our team was finally complete. we were literally the three musketeers, and no one could separate us. my mom always hated the fact her sweet little angel was being turned rotten by some gross little boys, but i think she grew to love them as much as i did over the years. our parents thought that once we hit puberty the three of us would naturally fall apart, but i think the awkwardness and uncomfortable changes of puberty only brought us closer. our interests obviously did start to differentiate more, like bam and ryan got into skating and bmx, and i got more into reading and writing, but it never caused a rift. they were my brothers, until the very end. until i left.  

i remember the day they introduced me to the rest of their friends. i only ever hung out with bam and ryan on our own, but i knew of their other friends through the stories they would tell me. that day bam and ryan said they were going to take me to the skate park to show me this “gnarly trick” that bam had finally mastered.

i always found it amusing because the guys absolutely refused to go to the actual skate park in town, we always went to this abandoned pool in the outskirts of the suburb that bam had declared their territory the beginning of freshman year.

i wanted to be supportive of his hobbies, so i went willingly, but turns out there was no trick and i had been lied to. i was greeted by many new faces that day, one being a face i will never forget.

i shake the memory of our first meeting from my mind as my dad pulls into the driveway. the lawn is decorated with the ghost decorations the boys and i made years ago for a halloween bonfire. i frown at the memory, wishing i could get amnesia to forget all these good things ive left behind. as i step out of the car my shoes make a squishy noise against the orange and yellow leaves that have fallen into the driveway. there are puddles soaking the pavement, turning it into a dark and depressing gray. mom told me over the phone yesterday about all the rain they have been getting lately. seems like even the weather in west chester was preparing for my arrival.

i look over to bams house and try to suppress the ache bubbling up in my chest. i don’t want to be here; I feel like my happiness is being slowly sucked out through ribs.

ever since i left this shitty little town ive been able to grow and become a better version of myself but being back has already started to affect me. i don’t want to revert back to the person that ive worked so hard to let go of, i want to be free from that life and those mistakes.

the whipping of birds playing above my head pulls me from my internal monologue and with my head hung low, i creep up the driveway. my hand touches the ice-cold knob, but something stops me from entering. I can’t put my finger on what exactly, but then I hear it, the faint rhythmic buzzing from the bass of someone’s car getting closer and closer. my eyes fly to the top of the hill near the end of the street, and I can feel my heart start beating harder and a knot growing larger in my stomach. for a split second i can’t differentiate between the bass vibrating the air around me and the deafening knocking of my heart at my ears. as the car came barreling down the street, my body starts to weaken and i feel as if all my bones have been replaced with jello.

they were in chris’s van, and they were listening to some weird band that bam was obsessed with (if i had to guess) on the loudest volume possible and with all of the windows down. i knew i needed to stop looking and go inside before I got caught, but something about seeing them acting so…normal…without me wouldn’t allow me to look away. however, that feeling is soon washed away by a tender ache piercing through my chest.

the pout on my lips is suddenly replaced with an emotionless, cold expression as i spot pj in the back seat. despite the look on my face, my heart has never felt so sore. his warmth is radiating through the car’s windows, and i feel like i can almost hear his rich, gravelly voice ringing in my ears. I can still remember the way his cologne would mix around in the air and fill my lungs with pine and cigarette smoke. I can still feel his soft palm and calloused fingers brushing along my lips and cheek, and his soft pink lips dancing over my jaw and down my neck. this is all too much.

as they pull into the driveway next door, i watch them file out of the van and into the garage. I take a second scanning over all of them, seeing new tattoos and new injuries. they were all there, from what i could see. chris, steve, ehren, dave, ryan, bam, and pj.

when I finally give my eyes permission to look at pj, i am met with those beautiful dark brown pools, that once held so much admiration for me. they were now full of confusion and anger.

it took me a second to even realize he had noticed me and from that point on all i could focus on was escaping the situation. i swing my backpack over my shoulder and rush for the front door, but by the time i pass through the threshold of my childhood home, full of so many memories, i knew the secret was already out.

© blackjello, 2022

#i hope u guys like part one :0 #sorry if its bad okay pls dont judge me im literally sick u have to be nice to me #i decided to post it now bc i want some feedback on what u guys think is gonna happen or what u wanna see happen in part 2 #i made a lot of last minute changes to maybe seem more cohesive but i didnt proof read again lol #johnny knoxville x reader #johnny knoxville #pj clapp #jackass #bam margera #ryan dunn #steve o #chris pontius #ehren danger #dave england #🪲 #🩻

[dimitrescus-bitch]

Right Behind You (Diego Hargreeves x Reader)

When Diego got home, you had two bags packed already. You’d heard the news and knew exactly what to do. He’d want to go home and be there. Hopefully, he’d want you there too. He had a tendency to shut you out, even though since he learned that you were like him, one of the October 1 children, he began to open up a little. That was when your relationship really began to blossom, when he started to let you be there for him like tried being for you. 

“If you don’t want to go, you don’t have to. My family is a different,” Diego warned you. 

“So is mine,” you told him. “But you’re there every weekend for brunch with me. I can do this for you. I’m gonna be right behind you every step you of the way, even when you don’t necessarily want me.” 

“What about work?” Diego asked you. 

“Fuck it, Patch has my personal if it’s important enough.” You wrapped your arms around his neck. He smiled and moved past you to grab his bag. You went to grab yours, but he beat you to it. “Always a gentleman.” 

“It’s how my mom raised me,” Diego told you. You knew that he was excited about seeing his mom. He talked about her sometimes, the impact that she had on him. You knew he felt bad about not going back to visit her, but you didn’t blame him. Living with his father couldn’t have been easy. You knew how rocky parental relationships could be, especially with fathers. 

The mansion was huge and Diego gave you a tour of it immediately after he’d gone to see his father’s body. He seemed a little off, but you chalked it down to the fact that his father had just died. Diego told you a bit about his siblings before they arrived and you knew that this wouldn’t be an easy time for him. He introduced you to his mom, Grace, and Pogo, who seemed charmed by you. 

“This is insane,” you said as you laid on his bed with him. “You grew up in this place, wow.” 

“It’s something,” Diego agreed with you. His siblings arrived soon after your tour had concluded and he introduced you to them. You weren’t a big fan of Luther based off of what Diego had told you, but you were a huge Allison Hargreeves fan. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you had a crush on my sister.” 

“Maybe, she is very age appropriate and a movie star,” you joked and Diego rolled his eyes. The two of you stayed in the house together for the next week. Diego had wanted you to go home, but you insisted on staying there with him. When the people with guns came to the house, he had tried his best to hide you, but you were right there behind him. You didn’t really know how to fight that well, but you did your best. Your strength came when he needed emotional support. 

“I’m sorry,” Diego said as he stared at the now-lifeless body of Grace. You walked up behind him and wrapped your arms around him in a hug. You kissed his cheek and just held him for a moment. When he stood up, you watched him turn around and then wiped the tears from his face. 

“I’ll always be right here behind you. No matter what,” you told him. “I love you.” 

“I l-love you too,” he stuttered. You took his hand and walked him out of the house. You took him back home and laid with him until he was feeling better.

#Diego Hargreeves #diego hargreeves imagine #diego hargreeves imagines #diego hargreeves x reader #the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy imagine #the umbrella academy imagines #the umbrella academy x reader #tua imagine #tua imagines #tua x reader #tua

[the-quiet-winds]

The Gravity of Tempered Grace (part seven)

[part one] - [part two] - [part three] - [part four] - [part five] - [part six]

[Part 7: On the Weeds That Looked Like Daisies]

The Life and Times of Jane the Queen, Chapter 15 - The Issue of Royalty

“Jane had been in confinement at Henry’s request starting in September of 1537, her only company being the physicians and her ladies in waiting. She went into labor sometime in the evening hours of October 9th, 1537. The labor was long and painful for Jane, lasting for an additional three nights and two days as the baby was not well-positioned. Finally, at around two in the morning on October 12th, Crown Prince Edward VI was born, and Jane was elated. She had a child, her child, and it was a son. Her son would be the king of England one day, and she knew Henry would be just as excited as she. 

With this son, Jane had power and security. She would be able to do or ask for anything, and Henry wouldn’t say no. She had done what Henry had been waiting for for years, and now he was indebted to her.”

“Henry, please, you don’t want to do this.”

He just grins, truly sadistically. “Of course I don’t want to, but you leave me no choice.”

Catherine steps forward. “He would never do it,” she says courageously, hoping to call his bluff. “He loves her too-”

She’s stopped rather abruptly by Jane crying out in pain and falling to her knees, clutching at her chest, as Henry squeezes the heart in his hands.

Kat and Anne drop to her side, trying to comfort her as she winces and grimaces and tries to breathe, while Cathy has to hold Anna back so she doesn’t strangle the former king.

With a laugh, he slackens his grip, and Jane gasps for air.

The whole thing feels quite surreal to Catherine, looking on as a bystander as her once-husband all but tortures her closest friend.

She suddenly feels incredibly lightheaded, all the insanity of the last few hours catching up to her at once, and she wants to throw up and pass out at the same time.

Steeling herself as much as she can, Catherine fixes Henry with a dagger-filled glare. “I don’t know what sick, twisted game you’re playing here, but you need to cut it out. This is Jane’s life we’re talking about.”

“Oh, Catherine,” he simpers, “still thinking you’re so brave and strong. But without this,” he holds Jane’s heart out tauntingly, “you’ll just lose. And this time, there is no second chance. Just death.”

Catherine knows she pales at that.

“You all are just going to have to watch while I kill her,” he concludes softly.

Suddenly and without warning, Kat lunges at him. Even if you were to ask her, she probably wouldn’t be able to tell you if she was grabbing at the heart or just trying to get him, but he overpowers her easily.

He shoves her to the ground, and is immediately attacked by a small, incredibly angry Anne Boleyn. 

“Hands off my cousin!” She all by shrieks, throwing herself at Henry just as Kat had done.

And again, just like Kat, she is easily deflected and sent down to the ground.

“This is fun,” Henry chuckles. “I have to say that I really do enjoy this.”

It’s a twisted sort of standoff, except Henry holds all of the power. He has Jane’s heart, and as long as he has it, he’s in charge.

No one can risk what he would do with it if they were to try something all together. 

Kat and Anne stumble to their feet, and it’s Jane, surprisingly, who steps out in front. “Henry, please, let’s stop this.”

“Don’t come closer,” he warns, and Jane’s feet root to the floor.

“Look, Henry, please, we don’t need to do this,” Jane says softly, patiently. For a moment, it’s almost as if they’re back in Hampton Court, just the two of them. “We can go anywhere, do anything you want to do. It’s all up to you.”

“Jane,” Catherine says, “what are you-”

“You were right,” Jane continues, as if Catherine never even spoke. “You’re the only one who loves me. Why don’t we leave?”

Henry looks taken aback. “Is this a trick?”

“No trick. Just you and me. Isn’t that what you wanted in the first place?”

“O-of course, but-”

“Then what are you waiting for? We can go right now. Leave all of this behind.” Testing her footing, Jane manages a step forward, taking Henry’s free hand in both of hers. “We can go have a life together. We can have children, we can live the life we never had.”

Henry looks beyond Jane’s shoulders to the other former queens, all in various states of shock and betrayal. “What about them?”

“Who cares?” Jane asks. “We have each other, isn’t that what matters here? Just give me my heart and-”

“No,” Henry says immediately, pulling back. “No, this is all just a play for the heart, and you won’t get it.”

“It isn’t,” Jane tries to soothe him. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. But what kind of life would that be if I didn’t have my heart? I wouldn’t be able to really, truly love you or our children. How is that fair?”

He contemplates this, and Jane takes his hand again. “You spent all that time telling me how proud you were of me, how you just wanted to help. Haven’t I earned your trust at this point?”

After an agonizingly long pause, he gives the tiniest nod of his head. “If this is a trick, so help me God I will-”

“It isn’t a trick,” Jane says quickly, trying to abate his nerves. “Please, just trust me.”

Henry takes Jane by the shoulder and, in one fluid movement, plunges her heart back into her chest.

Time, in the most impossible way, seems to freeze.

Then Jane gives a slight cry of pain and then a great gasp, like she had spent all this time underwater and just finally come up for air.

No one is quite sure what to expect, now that Jane is suddenly feeling all the things she’s been unable to feel since they were brought back to walk this ground again.

She looks back to the queens, and for a moment, they think maybe she did double-cross Henry, maybe it was just a ploy.

But she smirks, turns back to Henry, and throws her arms around him.

He returns the embrace immediately, and Jane can feel the chuckle low in his stomach.

“I can’t believe you didn’t trust me,” Jane says, pulling back from Henry slightly. “Did you really think I’d rather stay here with them than go be with you?”

“I guess I owe you an apology.” Henry kisses her cheek. “Shall we go?”

“Just let me go gather my things, then I’ll be back down.”

She hurries up the stairs after that, and Henry is left with the dumbfounded faces of the five other queens.

“What the fuck?” Kat whispers.

“There’s no way,” Cathy says. “There’s… there’s just no way.”

“Looks like old Janey is a more faithful wife than any of you bitches,” Henry laughs. He sobers immediately after, falsifying concern. “What about your little show? Will you replace Jane, just like I told her you all would?”

“You sick fuck,” Anne hisses. “You did this!” 

Henry holds up his hands. “She has her heart back. This is all of her own volition. She chose me.”

“She wouldn’t have,” Catherine says faintly, more trying to convince herself than anyone else. “She wouldn’t just… abandon us like that.”

As if summoned, Jane slips back into the room, a duffle bag slung over her shoulder.

“Shall we?” Henry asks, offering his lady his arm.

Jane looks at the girls one last time, some of them on the verge of tears, and she looks impossibly indifferent.

She takes Henry’s arm. “We shall.”

“Jane, please,” Anna suddenly blurts out. “Don’t leave. We need you. We love you, Jane, for real.”

“Don’t lie,” Jane says coldly. “You just know that without me, you don’t have the complete set, which means you don’t have the show. Well guess what, we all have to move on eventually.”

“Is this really what you want?”

It’s Cathy now, sounding younger and more fragile than any of the girls had heard her be before. “Do you really want to go with him, despite everything?”

Jane meets Cathy’s eyes. “This is the best thing I can do.”

Before any follow-up questions can be asked, Jane pulls Henry out the door and into the night.

She doesn’t even have the decency to say goodbye.

#six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #jane seymour #catherine of aragon #catherine parr #katherine howard #anne boleyn #anne of cleves #julie writes #the gravity of tempered grace

[vinylfromthevault]

The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion “Orange” released 25 years ago today, October 12th, 1994. Matador Records, silver vinyl. Tonight we’re catching JSBX’s drummer Russell Simins’ band S-E-R-V-I-C-E at Cactus Club in Milwaukee. We saw them last month at our neighborhood street party, Bay View Bash, and back in May 2017 in Indianapolis at Hi-Fi Indy and they are amazing. Here’s a couple of shots from those shows.

Orange, my favorite JSBX record and their third or fourth (depending upon how you count the first two releases from 1992) LP, is at times sparse, chaotic, funky, punk, bluesy but always amazing. The lead track, “Bellbottoms” swells with strings and a funked out groove before hitting the staccato’d “bellbottoms” anthem. The song inspired Edgar Wright to write the 2017 movie Baby Driver, the soundtrack to which was nominated for a Grammy (the song “Chase Me” in the movie is a remix of “Bellbottoms” by Danger Mouse featuring Run the Jewels and Big Boi). “Wright laid in his bedroom listening to the song on repeat, visualizing a car chase set to “Bellbottoms.” He also started coming up with the idea of a character: a getaway driver for a bank heist, who cannot do his job properly without the right music playing.” (IndieWire) “Ditch” is hip-shaking sexy and “Dang” has fantastic, crazed harmonica solo by Judah, matched by Jon Spencer’s insane theremin. The first of two excellent instrumentals on Orange comes next: “Very Rare” slows down the beat to a hypnotic rhythm overlayed with Spencer’s signature guitar twang. “Sweat” is iconic JSBX giving us the classic line “That’s the sweat of the Blues Explosion!” “Cowboy” is weirdly mangled country-western (not my favorite track on the album) but the title track “Orange” returns to the slinky JSBX groove (Spencer name-drops ‘Star Trek’ and manages to make even that sexy). Side B leads off with “Brenda” with Spencer singing longingly, just a little too high out his range, for a girl and her money. “Dissect” is thick with musical chaos and “Blues X Man” is a “12-bar back-country roadhouse blues and back-alley back-seat eros to Lower East Side boasting about the Blues Explosion’s musical virility. It begins sparse and skeletal before adding a female backing chorus and DJ turntablism, turning traditionalism upside down and scraping country and city down to their nubs in order to make everything bleed.” (Allmusic) “Full Grown” is balls-out insanity beginning with the line “Baby baby you sure like to fuck FUCK!” and “Flavor” is hilarious, rattling off all the cities where the Blues Explosion is number one and the band gets Beck on the phone to croon out “flavor.” (The remix of “Flavor” is even better, featuring Beck and Mike D in a wicked funny video.) Orange concludes with my favorite JSBX track, the instrumental “Greyhound” which is monstrously awesome, best played at 11. 

#jon spencer blues explosion #jsbx #jon spencer #russell simins #judah bauer #punk blues #alternative rock #matador records #vinyl #colored vinyl

[vrijschrijven]

I am reflecting on the past year but mostly on the past couple of months. I think it is important to realise that maybe about a month and a half ago I would have tremendous trouble seeing myself in this situation. You see, over the past couple of months I have lived in a haze, though the haze is getting slightly clearer, it has taken a lot of work for me to get to this point. But let’s start at the beginning. (tw for a lot of things beneath the cut including but not limited to; suicidal thoughts, self harm, negative thoughts, medication and therapy)

In hindsight, I think my downward spiral started somewhere around August. After an assault when going out I was reminded of a situation I had suppressed for quite a while. A situation in which someone I trusted took advantage and I was too scared to say or do anything about it. To this day, I have no idea if he knows what he did, if he remembers it, and I have concluded I do not care. The fact remains that he did what he did when he should not have. After the incident in August I was reminded of the feeling of helplessness and anger, both with myself and with the people involved. I felt, in both situations, that I should have done more than I did, though my therapist thinks I did the “safe” thing in both situations. I still wish I had kicked someone in the balls.

I hadn’t been my best, even before this happened. I couldn’t really remember the last time I cleaned my room thoroughly, my dishes were covered in various states of mould and I made sure people did not visit me. I was ashamed of what was happening but I was mostly angry with myself. I told myself I was lazy, a fuck-up, that any “normal” person would be able to do these things and that I was failing as an adult.

I went on vacation with one of my best friends and due to what had happened in town I felt uncomfortable sleeping in the same bed as him even though I trust him with my life. This made me feel terrible and on-edge. I did not want to think these things about my best friend but it did happen. I started to get into my own head, which is something that happens every once in a while, but this time it got worse and worse.

I wanted to run and hide but I had nowhere to go because I was still on holiday. I wanted to lock myself in the bathroom. Luckily Ted gave me space and I called my dad, crying and panicking, because everything felt so useless. I could not see a future in which I would be happy.

The end of August came and went, September was no better. My whole life was, quite literally, a mess. A mess which I did not want to share with the world so I pretended everything was okay. I went to work, I went to a pubquiz on Sundays, I hung out with people but made sure to do it at their place or in town. I was broken on the inside but showed no cracks. And then September 25thhappened.

I have kept a blog on and off throughout my life, and when I couldn’t sleep this night I started to write again. I felt myself back at a point where I had been for quite a while but was too scared to admit to. I was back at feeling like I did before I started taking antidepressants. I felt like I was back at the bottom of a cliff and everyone is above me shouting the climb is easy but all around me are rocks falling and I cannot for the life of me see a path to get up there to join everyone. It took everything in me not to step out from my place and let a rock crush me. I was scared, scared because I had started self harming again. Only minor things, like pushing my nails into my arm just so I could feel that pain instead of all the noise in my head. But I was scared I would become tired of evading the falling boulders and stop and just give up.

I went to work that morning, went about my day. But in the back of my mind there was still this voice that kept telling me that it would not matter if I was no longer here. That it would be easier for everyone because I was a burden anyway. And when I woke up the next day, after having suffered a panic attack at a concert I attended with a friend (the first one since starting medication) I came to the startling conclusion that maybe I was not just a lazy fuckup. I was passively suicidal.

You see, I did not care anymore. I could not envision a future. I had no goals, and if I had them I would be convinced I did not deserve them or would ever get to them. I could not see myself in the next three months, let alone three years. It felt as though everyone around me was going on with their lives and achieving things and here I was.

I did not want to clean, I did not want to do anything because I simply did not see the use of it. I went to work, because it was expected of me to do so and I was afraid of disappointing my colleagues and I did not want to burden anyone else with my problems.

On September 26th,I hit my breaking point. And a lot of people will tell you they’re glad I did. Glad I broke at this point because it could have been so much worse. I went to therapy, crying behind my sunglasses all the way in the bus. I was sobbing uncontrollably by the time I got into my psychologist’s office and with her help I called my parents. I was scared and ashamed. Because it meant that I had to show them, and the world, what was going on and the mess that my life had become.

My parents came over, we cried a lot, they helped me clean the shitheap that was my room and I went home with them. The following day my dad and I came back to clean some more. I was a crying mess, still so ashamed of what had happened, what I had let happen. That evening Lotte came from Utrecht to visit me in Hengelo with my parents and we cried around the kitchen table. Because I had given up on life. Because I had no idea what to do now. Because I was scared of the future. She cried because she loves me and hated to see me like this, wishing I could see myself the way she sees me.

I went to therapy three times the following week. My parents joined me for one session. It was easier to tell them why I try and solve everything myself with my therapist there. I don’t want to disappoint people. I constantly feel like I’m doing just that and talking to them about what is bothering me will only make that worse.

It went okay for about two weeks after that. I worked half days, slept through most of the rest of the day, did not feel the need to do anything. Even though the physical mess was gone from my room, the mess in my head continued.

I fell down the wormhole again halfway through October. I didn’t trust myself anymore, I was panicky and started hurting myself again. I couldn’t fall asleep and when I finally did I would wake up several times a night because of nightmares.      

I texted friends, not trusting myself enough to be alone. I am so blessed to have an insanely great support group around me. Within minutes on of them came over, another called that she would be there after an appointment she had and a third just came over later. I was panicking, I was not seeing the fucking use in living. I had no motivation. I just wanted to sleep and never wake up. You see, I still wasn’t activelysuicidal, but my reasons for not being that were suspicious at best. I would think about not waking up the following morning and how great that would be. Or maybe I could get hit by a car. I did not want to do anything ‘active’ because people would feel guilty about it, they would say they should have done more to prevent it from happening. I did not want that. So, if something were to happen, something that was out of my own hands, they would not have to think those things and I would still get what I wanted. I didn’t want to die, but I did not want to be here either. I just wanted to disappear.

I called my psychologist but she had the day off, so another psychologist talked to me and told me to call my parents to come and pick me up. I felt like a complete and utter failure again. I talked about getting institutionalised with him and when I told my friends later that I was seriously considering it, one of them cried. I was beyond this point. I was confused as to why she was crying, but I understand that her reason was much the same as Lotte’s was.

The following day I spoke to another psychologist twice and the day after I went to see my own psychologist and the psychiatrist. I was relieved but still dejected at the same time. The psychiatrist concluded that I should up my dosage of antidepressants and we could re-evaluate after two weeks if maybe antipsychotics would be a good idea too. As of right now, we’re still looking into it.

Taking more medication feels like failing. It’s not the first time I had to up my dosage, but it does feel like the most important time. I keep having the same discussion with both myself and the psychiatrist about why it is okay for a diabetic to take medication but not for me. And I cannot answer that question properly. There’s a feeling inside myself that keeps saying that other people can manage their lives without these pills and I can’t even do it withthem.

I am reminded of my first psychiatrist who told me he was surprised I wasn’t addicted to drugs or alcohol. At times like these I have to agree with him. It would seem the easiest way to shut everything up inside my head. Instead, I push my nails into my arm and hope I can refrain from slamming my head against the wall just to shut myself up. I am too scared to lose control to start doing drugs and using alcohol to keep myself from feeling things would mean I have to suffer the consequences the following day at work and make it other people’s problem. So I suffer through it and against all odds keep thinking maybe some time in the future I’ll feel better. I have my good days, my okay days, but they do seem to fade in comparison to the overall prevailing feeling of misery.

I feel like I am not allowed to feel this way. I feel like I have nothing to be sad about, to be upset about, to have that feeling in my stomach like I can start throwing up at any given moment. I yelled at my psychiatrist that I just think it is fucking unfair how there are so many people who go through life without feeling like I do for one single day. Whilst I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, I do feel like it is fucking unfair that I feel like this every single fucking day.

Having good days is a weird thing, because I immediately feel like I don’t deserve it. Like if I have a good day, it negates the fact that I feel so shit most of the time and people will think I’m overreacting (or worse, making it all up) when I have days I don’t want to get out of bed and just want to lay there crying. Maybe not even want, it is not that simple. I do not want to, but I have no grip on wishing it would go away. This is also because I have no actual clue how I’m supposed to feel.

And so here we are. Halfway through November. Three months on from slowly realising I was killing myself. Am I okay now? Definitely not. I am seeing my psychiatrist every two weeks, my psychologist basically every week. I go to group therapy every week. I am still unable to work full days, I am managing 6 hours and this frustrates me immensely because I want to be able to be a functioning adult.

I still want to run and hide. I want to get hit by a car and stay in a hospital for a couple of weeks, the car hitting part is mostly so I have an excuse because it feels like the way I am feeling is not good enough reason. My psychologist thought institutionalising me would not be a good idea, because it would not solve my problems and I would be confronted with a lot more things than I would be able to handle (I am, after all, a people pleaser and I always want to help people so the environment would not benefit me).

I panic when I think about the future because I am still having the most insane trouble seeing it. But I guess I am managing. I made it this far. I am tired of fighting, of struggling uphill, and if I believed in a God I would probably say that he is testing me. But alas, I do not, and as of yet it just feels like I somehow deserved this and maybe it would be easier to just give up and give in to this invisible draw of futility by not doing anything anymore.

I haven’t yet, I am moving millimetres away from it at the time.

[biarology]

Past’s Future but Today’s Past

Oops, I haven’t written for a while. The last post says “3 years” but I am pretty sure its closer to 4. Imagine all the crap in my head that wasn’t released. That explains a lot.

Before I start my travel blogs here’s a summary of the last 3-4 years:

·       June 2015 – Mental breakdown with the tip of the iceberg being a friendship breakup. Man that hurt, more than romantic relationships. I guess because you don’t expect them to end? I broke my hand. Punched a marble wall in an elevator (crying and alone). I would have been pretty upset if it didn’t break actually, because a marble wall is pretty hard. Embarrassingly, I still couldn’t, and probably can’t punch properly, with the fracture being in the 5th metacarpal. The rest of the iceberg included: over working, over investing emotional energy into work (but how can you not, you’re working with people)(I’m much better an learning not to now), my half-sister was going through a court case against her step father for fucked up shit.

·       July 2015 - went to Bali with my friend for like 2 days lol (with a cast around my arm), because that was booked ages ago. Road tripped down from Darwin to Brisbane with Mum. Long days, long drives, but loved watching the scenery change. Great photos but they’re on Instagram a million scrolls down now. Stayed with my brother and his ex and their dogs and cats for about a month. Mostly in bed.

·       August 2015 – moved back down to Gosford and half lived with my parents there, and sister in Sydney. Got a job. Moved to Sydney in about October although work was contract and started on very low hours (~4). So I lost my $17g in savings towards someone else’s mortgage because independence is important to me.

·       Throughout Sydney time:

-          I got to know sister and sister in law better, they looked after me insanely. And gave me a cat, Dot. Who I love. And miss.  And then my twin moved back and away again but that was the best. Got to work with parents better.  Rekindled friendships, strengthened friendships, and made new ones. There’s too many of them but they know who they are. they are amazing, and again I don’t know what I’d do without them. Visited Grandam more (so hard to leave). I contracted for a total of 5 companies. And learnt boundaries and “my worth.” One company I’m still working for because they’re amazing and the boss has somehow managed to instil all my own values into the culture of his company. I also life modelled a fair bit. Went to Thailand for 5 days and NZ for 5 days plus some other roadtrips around Aus. Brother was pretty scarily low but now he seems good.

-          Saw a psych for a year or 2. Had panic attacks. Exercise is awesome etc.

-          I have(had...still weird to say) a boyfriend. For a year. He was good. I learnt how to be vulnerable and trust romantically, I learnt more about my needs and boundaries (lots of boundary learning over the last few years – professional/personal). He also taught me how to cook better (well the idea of cooking better not sure if I have practised it that much), and he always tried/s to enjoy enjoyable things, which sometimes I’m not very good at because my mind is probably stressed about something else. We lived together for 6 months. He now has my cat. I’m so glad they have each other and I miss them. Everything has felt so surreal since I actually decided I need to leave. I needed to leave because travel has been on my to-do-list, and work visas have age limits and my age is limited, so Im actually pushing it. Plus, I was just not coping there. We had different goals (travel vs settle), and some different values.  I’d had my mind set on leaving after my sister’s wedding and though I tried to push it back, I couldn’t. And maybe that made me more focused on the negative? Anyway, needed to travel and that’s what I’m doing.

I think that’s most of the 3.5 years summarised. Hhhmmm 3.5 years in 519 words :/

Awww I had some points for the future in my long last post. And now it is the future. Cute.   To conclude I’ll just address comments in that post, sentence by sentence:

-          Still have lots of love

-          Don’t really like myself at the moment though tbh

-          I no longer try to beat box, I forgot that I was doing that

-          I stopped listening to podcasts while driving in July 2017 because I realised it was contributing to my stress and fatigue – as I was never resting, always on the go

-          Body composition even worse now, wish I had what it was then lolz

-          Face/acne – improved once I went on the pill, came back when I stopped repeat etc. Didn’t come back once I ceased/decreased gluten/dairy

-          So was single for 54 months, and felt the same most of that time – content alone, occasionally lonely. Single again now, apparently.

-          Anxiety and depression. Always there. Quit the degree though so no more assignments, though that stress enjoyed report writing

-          Oh man did depression and PMS symptoms improve with diet and exercise! So much! I get cramps and nipple tenderness PMS, IF my lifestyle is shit, when its not, I don’t know theyre coming (have to rely no app haha)

-          Past/regret – still don’t regret things, as I look at everything as teachings. Though I regret eating so much chocolate

-          Future! I have not done WA. I am in Asia right now!! But haven’t organised any volunteering yet. Also not sure when/where/what, I currently need a break from helping people ( a bit drained from Sydney work)(I need to fix that Boom/Bust pattern of work and crash…). Don’t know about hiking at the moment I’m pretty unfit. Haven’t learnt guitar. I think I looked into it and didn’t know where to start so gave up.  Gymnastics didn’t improve much but sister got me into more climbing! Drawing improved a little with life drawing groups.  Boy did I fix up those dreads (Jess and I combed them out). Still haven’t done Martial Arts but planning to do a Kung Fu/Meditation retreat in a few weeks in Thailand. I better book that. Tomorrow… Am reading more – its apart of my bed time routine 😊. Oh I still need to learn how to write properly!! Grammar and vocab etc.

[w1737087]

[Gallery piece 9- Patron of Anarchy]

Patron of anarchy is a photograph I took of my first assigned desk 2019 October. It hints at my loosened morals and development into a next chapter of what I become. It’s come to mainly represent the days I fell into the search for a taste of real life.

See I was still a beginner in my lane of freedom that nobody understood how unseriously fundamental it was for me to go through a prolonged state of fuckery (lawlessness). For the days I had attended I would find myself with plenty of ideas to work from but harnessed all inside my head. I couldn’t find the means to start or know where to begin. You could imagine the difficulty of this nature. So I let days go by as I tended to nothing but the mental aches and troubles of being inside my head and dealing with whoever the hell I was that period of my life. I wasn’t much for an over thinker ever really but I was still suckered into remnants of melancholy that lasted that whole year over what I couldn’t exactly specify and I guess i had to do nothing but wait it out and think on myself a lot and how often I was doing nothing at my desk with all my empty books and inked pens.

The persistent feeling of being in and out place and not belonging followed me around more than I could bother to put up with. That’s a type of discomfort you couldn’t tend to in the right ways. I couldn’t settle down. I felt jumpy and tranquil all at once. Even so when round the clock I was bombarded by disorganised excerpts and loose words hanging for dear life on the tip of my toiled mind. Which was itself filled with the growing fear of aging and voids within me that widened by the mere fact of still accomplishing nothing with this life of mine, daunting me; haggling me to begin already. My seratonin levels hung down low due to this personal rush I entangled myself in and later predominately evaluated, the job I was working straining me of all blithe. A month prior those categorised as friends had surprisingly cut the thread holding us together which I was both mad and heavily relieved about too but altogether at this point of the year I was the one in this prolonged mess; heaved far away from me, very damaged and sulking in a clustered vessel of self ushered issues and frequently low emotions. I felt like clammy hands, stuck in mud and out of place. Like that Katy perry lyric in firework. Just discomfort in all parts of life, THERE. This place provided some endearing comfort like I dreamed it would. I found gradual solace whenever I’d come. Soon the freedom away from home gave me the chance to be someone only I would come to know existed since making friends was and wasn’t on the agenda it didn’t occur much. No one in existence was keeping up with me and The age of living was about to begin.

Semester attitude (out and ins of uni life):

I was alone much of the time lacking in productivity. I simply could do because I couldn’t enforce the energy to focus. I found myself in the contrary of any agenda I set any morning I’d wake and I was dreading the truth before me of accomplishing fuck all by squandering all this potential I had as time did a runner. I carried on however as our imperial universe that guides us all one by one toward our inevitable end decided to assign the free-flow-fuckery phase to me. When results of chance and spontaneity led me to inaugurate foolish behaviour of roaming under no rules or limitations to keep myself at bay I did things to only feed the mind and soul. (Level upgrade). Soon I was unknowingly falling into a new and improved version of myself I guess I couldn’t wait to meet. Flawed as hell but new. I reacquainted with a friend in me when I sat to drink spirits alone and inhaled mixed herbs among a companion or two in the grounds of my new fortress. Joy enamoured me a little more than when I was sober like the so called toxin was a remedy but poison. I was getting better. Things were happening for good reasons and I was rid of people unhealthy for me which induced my realisation in the fact that people failed to suffice in positions of companionship unlike my own wonders with myself. People seemed to take me away from me and i had the time to reflect and realise not to keep falling into people all the time. I was elated most alone since I couldn’t merge with the rest of humanity as well as I’d hoped. I felt people complicated everything. When you were alone you understood the simplicities of life and how you could just survive. To breathe was easier. Hence I concluded I could do all the learning from a distance and avoid people by any means necessary. I found I could do anything from sitting at this desk, even if it was nothing at all and get where I needed to be with my studies.

I went on to spend much of that year lacking in attendance. If I was to finally leave my house it was either to come here or go to work. So I would take the opportunity of bringing my homebody out to drink in the days I preceded to be in uni. It became a viable routine if I wished to attend. It was easy and convenient to just do it. I’d buy a bottle and down a jack intaking enough to meet my alter ego every step of the way till I got to see who else I could be. People often thought I had problems for the way I drank but I don’t think I could have explained to them without receiving pesky opinions my reasons of getting hammered. You didn’t need a day of the week to determine your occurrence of fun. Nor did you need alcohol. Spirits were just a method I refused to not be immersed by in those days. I just wanted in on the lucidity... to feel elevated more than grounded. To feel undefeated and childish. To see myself surprise myself through a new perspective of a much weaker me. You could join or not join, it was my world and everyone was merely living in it. It was new to me and I wouldn’t be done for while. Even if you hadn’t thought it I was in good control of myself. My favourite ally. Nothing could come between a true alliance.

I conclude it was sort of a solution I fell into, a mere highway robbery with the understanding and joyful experience in knowing myself through odd forms indulging in what life had to offer besides my imposed religious/cultured life sprinkled down from mother and father (the imposed life). I was a patron of this high, this getaway and freedom from them and any means of pretentious normality I’d known. It was interesting to know what I was getting up to and how exactly affordable provisions of this world can take me. The behaviours and dimensions i let myself enter through the feel of intoxication in my body and mind were anarchic; out of order. I felt a stimulation of numbness, mild insanity and abundant freedom to do without a second thought some things that didn’t matter even to just let loose and mess around. I wondered and adventured, lazed around and didn’t laze around. I laughed and spoke alone, I worked very little and indulged in the places of my mind keeping a trace on every part of me and my safety. Everything was total misdemeanour and I was glad to have not been a mean or somewhat terrible drunk. I was the good loving clumsy type. Sorry for the trouble for who encountered me but also not at all apologetic for anything. There was no rule of law on my back.

The woman who ran (2020) dir. Hong Sang Soo

Now that period is over and this creation inscribes the blast before the doom. The pandemic shortly arrived and all my la di da adventures were over. Being a homebody most of my life restricted me from much outdoor interaction and so I lacked the energy to ever leave my home which holds my predominant sanctuary but just for a month and over before the doom I attended my desk very frequently mentally preparing and gathering findings for my actual work and wanted to live in some more of this fun I created for myself. Though it was the universe who intervened again to halt that flow of lack of care I had going on of being an unserious first year..

Given my disruptive inattentive behaviour with myself and anyone in my way I couldn’t focus on studies. Even at home when all my days were spent sober. I couldn’t make myself do anything that wasn’t compulsory. So i decided with the understanding that art was a mere definition of anything and everything, my work was going to be about my troubles and inadequacies all through out. I found the way to win without looking. Just to save my own back really. Nevertheless it was all rendered through sincerity and passion.

[thedarkenedkeeper]

Glitched: Part 10 - Always Watching

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

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

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

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

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

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

You have been warned.

Enjoy!

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

Listen to this playlist while reading.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another weak whine left the pained patient.

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                                           * * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yet again, another painful pang.

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

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

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

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

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

No…this was something else entirely…

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

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

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

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

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

That had been back in early January.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is what they had done to him.

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

He was dead inside.

                                                        * * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                                           * * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

“I did what I had to do!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I knew it…I knew this would happen.”

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

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

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

Anti growled. “Lies.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go away! We don’t want you here!”

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

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

“Anti, why the hell are you here?”

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

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

“Glitch Bitch!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No…He couldn’t lock himself away…

But he could take his hurt out on someone else…

Part 9 - No Strings Attached

Part 11 - In Your Head

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

#this came out ridiculously long x_x #so sorry #but fuuuuuck #the angst in this killed me horribly #I actually cried both when I wrote it and when I proofread it #it's that painful #now if you'll excuse me #I'm going to go cry in a corner and question what I've just done #sorry not sorry #you shall all suffer with me #mwuhahahaha! #glitched #antisepticeye #anti #jacksepticeye #antisepticeye fanfiction #anti fanfiction #jacksepticeye fanfiction #antisepticeye fanfic #anti fanfic #jacksepticeye fanfic #angst #so much angst

[realsamcalloway]

6/4/18 - Interview with So-Cal Band, The Flytraps (www.brodydallechronicles.com)

Originally posted June 4, 2018 and appearing on www.brodydallechronicles.com.

© 2018 TRSB (Sam Bone)

The Flytraps on Opening for The Distillers, All Their New Fans & Tequila

By Sam Bone

Social media is fucking amazing and, in some cases, can lead to ‘mind-blown’ moments—Checking out a live show for a band that’s piqued your interest, combined with the option to stalk prey on social media like a salivating, hungry wolf, circling a potential kill.

The story goes that this is how Brody Dalle wrangled up the Los Angeles-based band, The Flytraps. Understanding and enjoying a band and then metaphorically passing on notes with scribbled hearts along with “Call Me” underneath, eventually led to the band being tapped to open for The Distillers reunion and return to the stage after 14 years.

In a nutshell and to recap:

Iconic female-fronted punk band from the 2000’s reunites and announces a short, six-date tour.

It’s been 14 years since the bands’ members were all in the same room, “plugged in” together.

Most of the tour sells outs 24 to 48 hours after it goes on sale.

Fans ask themselves: is this real life?

I chatted with The Flytraps’ Elizabeth Boyd in early April this year, and to say that she, along with her band, were “boggled” about the request to support The Distillers is a complete understatement; Was it some type of critical error? Was someone playing a super-fucked up prank? Did someone miss hear the word “Flytraps” when the actual band requested was The “Flatjacks?” (If this is a real band in existence, I’m sorry-- Not for the reference to your band, but for the fucked-up name.)

The truth is that they were sought after by Brody Dalle herself. I had to reassure Beth’s palpitating heart that Brody handpicks her support. It’s not an oopsy-doopsy... it’s a female Uncle Sam, pointing at your band attentively while declaring “I WANT YOU.” And, the odds are likely .0748 out of 1,000,000 that Brody Dalle would pluck your band off the Los Angeles Female-Fronted Band Tree.

A few days after the tour concluded and The Flytraps departed Dallas back to Los Angeles, I had the chance to chat with the band about their time with The Distillers, the reception by the sold-out audiences and the band’s promising future.

BDC: Sam Bone | K: Kristin (Lead Vox, Bass) | BB: Beth (Lead Guitar) | FR: Fabian (Drums) | CY: Chloe (Rhythm Guitar)

 BDC: To start and in keeping with the current chaos, what are your guys’ current feels and how has that changed since The Flytraps were formed in 2010?

BB: Our sound has changed a lot in the last 8 years and we’ve also had a few lineup changes as well. Compared to some of the old stuff, the songs are faster, heavier, and nastier than ever.

K: Well when we started the band I would say we sounded more like if The Mummies and The Pleasure Seekers had a blood orgy. Now we are more like if Suzi Quatro had KISS as prisoners in her Sex Dungeon. But one thing has been a constant since day one: ROCK & ROLL OR FUCK OFF!

 BDC: What was it like touring with The Distillers; how was the reception from their fans?

BB: Touring with The Distillers really seemed to be a turning point for us and it was a crazy experience playing to their sold-out crowds. We got a great response from their fans and definitely made a lot more of our own. We are so grateful to have been invited to open for them and had a great time hanging out with the band and crew.

FR: It was amazing, and the fans were more than we could ask for. Everyone was very welcoming and nice to us.

BDC: Any funny or over-the-top memories you want to share from the tour?

K: It wouldn’t be very smart to reveal how over the top we get… all I can say is we are out-doing ourselves constantly.

BB: Probably a few that shouldn't be shared, haha.

BDC: I noticed that your catalog contains one full-length (She-Freak, 2013) and then sporadic releases of singles/EPs. I know the music business can suck and it’s tough to maximize and stretch a buck; How do you guys handle that and how can you make more money (so us fans know the best way to support you)? How has this changed (-or stayed the same?) since 2010?

K: In the beginning, almost everything we did was self-released and in limited numbers; Recorded in a garage done by us or a friend. We've released several demo albums such as Worst Coast and Demos from the Deep. She-Freak was released by our friend Cumstain and his Oakland-based tape label Slop Bop. Since then we’ve just released a 7” on Outro Records and a 12” EP “Sunset Strip R.I.P.” on our label Power Plant Records, split with our friends from Burger. We have all of this and other weird shit for sale on our website. Also, we will be releasing Vol. 2 of our foot fetish calendar Flytraps Foot Feast this winter.

BB: Buying our merch definitely helps out a lot, especially when we are on tour.       

BDC: Keeping about sales, I chatted with Beth off-and-on during April and May, she said you guys sold through merchandise at an unexpected rate at The Distillers shows. That has got to feel awesome. Did you anticipate that level of reception?

CY: No, we didn’t at all-- We ran out of shirts half way through the tour! We didn’t expect so much support.

BB: Wish we had brought more! We sold out of shirts I think before our last show and completely out of vinyl by the end.   

BDC: Kristin, I read in an old OCWEEKLY interview that the po-pos used to frequently stop by your old rehearsal space and tell you to simmer it down. If you could run in to those same cops today, what would you say?

K: When the cops would come to our practices they were usually surprised to see me answer the door because we were all beach rats, had no air-conditioning and we would usually be in bikinis. The cops were pretty cool about it. If I saw them today I would probably say SUP?

 BDC: What are your thoughts about Burger Boogaloo in June? I mean c’mon now—John Waters, DEVO, Mudhoney and The Mummies! I read somewhere that The Mummies are one of your band’s influences. Have you met them before and if not, are you prepared?

BB: Russell Quan from The Mummies is an old friend of ours. We have played with a couple of his bands before, but this will be our first time playing with The Mummies!   

K: We are so stoked to be on Boogaloo this year, it's an insane line-up. You forgot to mention The Damned!! Whoever doesn't have their tickets better get to it because it’s for sure gonna sell out!                             

 BDC: Speaking of insane line-up—how do you handle nerves? Do you get nervous? Do each of you deal with it differently and/or is there that one member of the band who balances everyone out? 

K: I get more excited than nervous. Pre- show I’ll get a burst of adrenaline… It’s better than any drug, but drugs can make it even better!

CY: Tequila

BB: I haven't figured that one out yet… Sometimes, on stage, I will just stare at one person until they seem to feel uncomfortable and it will make me feel better.

FR: Booze tons of it. Yeah, I still get nervous before every show, I think we all do. I've noticed I become quieter. Just depends on the head space I'm in.

 BDC: Oh, and curious—pre-show rituals? Please explain.    

K: Usually passing around a bottle of tequila and praying to our patron saint, Rosemary Kennedy; JFK’s sister who was lobotomized at 23.

FR:  Getting all dolled up together.

 BDC: I feel that we're all about to witness a real revolution when it comes to female rock musicians, and as a male who happens to be a hardcore feminist, I'm all-fucking-for-it. What are your thoughts on being musicians in this Pussy-Grabber-in-Chief Era? I just read how the Trump admin is cutting Federal funding to clinics who deal with women's health. With the stage as a platform, and girls and guys looking up at you with shimmering eyes, do you feel any obligation to revolt or speak out?

K: Pussy-grabbing has been going on behind the scenes for a long time, in politics and show business. It’s finally coming to light because now is the time for truth and progress. We are so lucky to be born in this current age where we can be ourselves and make our own rules.

 BDC: What is next for you guys? What can fans anticipate? What's the future hold?

K: We have a lot of things happening; New videos, more records, more tours. We’re playing a new festival in Twentynine Palms, California in October called The Pilgrimage Campout. Keep a look-out. We're comin’ for YOU!

The Flytraps official website | The Flytraps on Facebook

Certain elements, such as links and photos, may have been removed from the original version of the above article.

#the flytraps #brody dalle #the distillers #the distillers 2018 #sam bone #trsb #sunset strip #sunset strip r.i.p. #trump #tequila #writing sample #author #interviews #los angeles punk #la music scene #kristin cooper #elizabeth boyd

[alanafsmith]

From rape law to war crimes: The hardest part of ‘hard subjects’ is teaching them

Academics and students grapple with trigger warnings and ‘cold calling’

Law is not, and never has been, “about pink happy stuff”, as one law student put it to us. Undergrads, even part way through their degree, will know that studying law can be a rollercoaster ride through the world’s most terrible crimes: from child abuse, discrimination and sexual violence to war crimes and human rights violations.

I recall frank discussions about them all when I was at university; my criminology tutor even asked the class whether anyone had ever been assaulted (and, later on, if anyone had ever been burgled).

That was in my final year in 2014/15. But that was also just moments before, or perhaps at the beginning of, the emergence of what has been termed “the age of trauma”, though others might call it the age of self-entitled, easily-offended millennial snowflakes.

This age of trauma is having real consequences on teaching law: Jeannie Suk Gersen, who teaches crime at top-three global ranking Harvard Law School, reveals some tutors have resorted to taking so-called ‘hard subjects’ out of their classrooms for fear of the harmful effects these discussions may have.

The most archetypal of all hard subjects is rape law and sexual violence.

Ironically, that these topics are actually on Harvard law syllabuses at all is quite a recent development. It’s down to feminist academics such as Susan Estrich, who worked successfully in the 1980s and 1990s to give these subjects more academic exposure. Having been raped before law school, Estrich recounted her frustration in the mid-1970s at not being taught rape law in law school while spending “an eternity” on homicide. Quoting Estrich, Gersen’s paper continues:

“No one would ever suggest that we should skip homicide in those years when we have students who have been touched by it, or skip insanity because some of our students have fought mental illness, or never mention drunk driving because we’re all probably too familiar with that.”

Gersen advocated teaching rape law in a way that squarely confronted hard questions, just like you’d squarely confront torture in human rights classes and warfare in international law. “What I have been fighting for, over these years, is not to give rape special treatment because it happened to me and to so many others, but rather to stop treating it specially,” Estrich said.

So is all this hard work to get rape law onto the syllabus about to be undone?

On the whole, students don’t anticipate being fully sheltered from difficult topics like sexual violence which will no doubt rear their head during a career in legal practice and, well, life. As one told us: “I do agree that students should certainly have the expectation of learning about such topics, as it would be quite foolish not to.”

But what they’re perhaps less prepared for is the pervasive, even omnipresent, nature of these hard topics. While undergraduates may expect discussions about murder in a homicide lecture, in the words of student Giorgia Litwin, the face of the Oxford Law School trigger warnings debate which we will come on to imminently, “when you’re going to a lecture on economic loss, you wouldn’t generally anticipate half of it being dedicated to the Hillsborough tragedy”.

I certainly remember feeling more emotionally challenged in law of evidence and medical law lectures and seminars — where hard topics provide the linchpin to lessons on witness competency, the admissibility of evidence, abortion, euthanasia and more — than I ever did in first-year crime.

These gruelling topics do appear to be seeping more and more into the core of law degree syllabuses. No wonder then, in this age of trauma, that talk has returned to the ever-polarising trigger warnings.

The ‘triggered’ concept has made it to meme culture. Image via Youtube

In May of last year an Oxford law student revealed that aspiring lawyers there are warned before lectures on sexual offences that content could be distressing. This riled Pump Court Chambers’ Matthew Scott, who used his popular Twitter account to throw scorn at “delicate Oxford flowers”.

Litwin hit back, stating these trigger warnings allow “people to make a choice for themselves about what they’re comfortable with and where they want to deal with it”.

Trigger warnings are controversial. There are fears they may be: impractical (given the number of hard topics and their frequency), exploited (by students who use them to miss lectures), unreliable (as teachers cannot gauge for definite what someone may be triggered by), and counter-productive (as they may cause more anxiety and pain than the lecture content would have done).

Gersen, for one, is not sold on the value of trigger warnings. “As one former student of mine, Clara Spera, put it: ‘Entering law school is the trigger warning’”, she firmly concludes.

It’s a view we anticipate will be shared by many of our readers. One law student tells Legal Cheek:

“What do these students expect when enrolling? Talking about grandma’s cupcake recipe? It’s obvious the harsher stuff like murder, rape and GBH will be in there… Lord Denning, whom so many of us admire, fought bravely in the trenches in the First World War. Doubt he needed a trigger warning when doing criminal law lectures.”

Others take an opposing stance. Olivia Potts, a former criminal barrister, is one of them. She tweeted:

Oh for the last fucking time: trigger warnings for law students are so they can MENTALLY EQUIP themselves if they’ve undergone trauma.

— Livvy Potts (@_Poots_) October 19, 2017

It doesn’t mean if you studied law in 1974 you were a better or hardier lawyer. It doesn’t mean that modern law students can’t cope. JESUS.

— Livvy Potts (@_Poots_) October 19, 2017

There are also concerns about how, exactly, these hard topics are taught.

Teaching style is unique. We all have or have had the professor who loved group discussions; the professor who spoke for 45 minutes at a time and would tut at raised hands; the professor who preferred small group work with a feedback-giving session at the end; and the professor whose mantra is directing questions at students even if they don’t have an immediate answer to offer.

The latter is what’s known as a Socratic professor, though many more will know them as a ‘cold caller’. Gersen is one of these; she makes it her aim to call on 30 to 40 students per lecture (a prospect that likely makes some students shudder). But if there are subjects which may upset particular students, on which students may have too personal an experience, then perhaps teachers should avoid this teaching style.

Gersen, for one, is having none of that. She sticks by her more forceful method because she believes relying on voluntary contributions in class produces an uneven distribution of participation, “skewed male and white, and away from women and minorities”.

Gersen believes in continuing with her Socratic ways, alongside other methods of teaching like pre-reading and group exercises, even in lessons on hard subjects. She thinks suspending one’s usual style of teaching is not a good idea “unless one wishes to convey a kind of exceptionalism about the topic” — which would be an unwanted head-butt to Estrich’s “stop treating [rape] specially” plea.

This is a view shared by Steven Vaughan, a senior lecturer at UCL. Writing on Limits of Lawyers, he said:

“What happens when we shy away and don’t have those conversations [about hard topics]? We make those topics ‘special’, but not in a good way. We foreclose debate, we stifle voices, we reduce the perceived relative importance of the subjects we find ‘hard’.”

But isn’t rape, well, ‘special’? For one, it’s a uniquely private offence, legal historians citing rape alongside witchcraft as one the most difficult crimes to grapple with from a law of evidence perspective. Then, the average age of a rape victim in both sexes is between 15 and 19, meaning university students may have very recent experiences of the trauma. Even Gersen admits “many feel that rape is different” in a teaching context.

Legal Cheek has spoken to two lecturers, Clare McGlynn, a professor at Durham University, and Tanya Palmer, from the University of Sussex, who both argue sexual violence is a topic to be dealt with on its own merits.

“Of course, there are many areas of law where people may have personal experience that affects their learning and understanding of a subject”, McGlynn tells Legal Cheek. But the prevalence of rape and sexual violence, and the particular shame and trauma that accompanies it, leads her to conclude “there are good grounds” for treating it differently to teaching the Unfair Contract Terms Act or the preliminary reference procedure in EU law.

Palmer adds:

“Law — particularly criminal law — covers many unpleasant topics. However, when it comes to sexual offences, there is a high chance that some students will have direct personal (and often recent) experience of the crimes studied. For those that do, it’s also likely that their experience will have been questioned, disbelieved, or trivialised by others, or even by themselves. So, participating in a class debate about whether a given set of facts ‘counts’ as sexual assault can be particularly challenging.”

In realising rape is ‘different’, McGlynn — whose specialisms include violence against women, gender equality and the law of ‘revenge porn’ — takes steps to introduce a variety of teaching methods into her classes to ensure they are taught in as inclusive and participatory an environment as possible. Palmer tells us she provides details of relevant support services in her module handbooks, online and at the end of her lecture slides.

Other initiatives include one at the University of Gloucestershire where students wary of voicing an opinion out loud are able to file answers electronically which can then be cited anonymously in discussions. The advent of ‘law mums’ and ‘law dads’ at some institutes gives students a formal link to aspiring lawyers one year ahead, who can be used as a support — and a heads-up — for younger students.

This extra layer of sensitivity may make Estrich shudder, but maybe it’s going to have to be accepted within legal education in this ‘age of trauma’. The multiplicity and subjectivity of hard topics on syllabuses means that even if enrolling on a law degree is a trigger warning in itself, it’s a warning that may prove ineffective even for those who take heed of it.

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from All About Law https://www.legalcheek.com/2017/11/from-rape-law-to-war-crimes-the-hardest-part-of-hard-subjects-is-teaching-them/