FrodoXSam Artmuseum Edition <3<3<3

Chapter 1 – In Which Frodo and Sam Fall Asleep in a Car and Then Go To a Spooky Museum

“Fro! Fro! Frodo!” Sam shouted.

Frodo yawned, and swatted away Sam’s attempts at shaking him by the shoulders. He had not gotten enough sleep, he thought, and would call upon every second higher power to remain seated in his current position. Unfortunately for him, the powers up above were busy filing paperwork, and his pleas remained unanswered. Sam licked him on the shoulder (lovingly). Immediately, he stirred.

“What is it, my dearest Samuél?” Frodo asked with care.

“I fell asleep while driving, again. And you seem to have, too. Those damned quotes! I knew we shouldn’t have trusted the guy,” Sam uttered with rage in his eyes.

“Aye, I suppose it was an unwise choice to so blindly put our trust in the hands of a stranger,” Frodo replied. With thought, he added: “But was it not strange, that book he gave unto us?”

“A book? T’was a fools idol, that thing!” Sam exclaimed.

“And yet he had given it a name. Some ‘Bible’ he called it,” Frodo replied with intent.

“All the better! Giving nonsense names to your ‘art’ doesn’t make it meaningful. Only those pretentious enough to hand out their original works as if they were the word of Eru Ilúvatar would say it so!” Sam carelessly, yet elegantly concluded.

“Aye, yes! You have hit the head on the hammer, so to say! Never have I heard truer words, I must admit,” Frodo agreed.

Sam swung open his door, and Frodo followed suit, stepping out onto a sleek, icy road that tripped them both, despite the surrounding trees howling for a comfortable mid-Autumn, clad in leaves of blood and gold. They recovered, and set out for the dilapidated house claimed to be standing at the end of the road.

For half an hour they walked the path alone, repelling tendrils of frosted air that threatened to slash at them, as if stretching out from the scenery at their sides. Sam had icily remarked that “The trees here remind me of something from one of Ludvig Jacob’s disasters – repulsing and hiding something unpleasant," to which Frodo had wrapped a greedy arm around him and pulled him close. Then they arrived.

“So, it is as I had assumed…” Sam mused.

“Aye, I unfortunately have to agree. Not even I can see a glimmer of the shy sun reflected in those dirtied windows,” Frodo replied.

But, it was alas their destination; for they now lacked a means of transportation better than their own two feet, and forests of Hometown, even at this stray corner, remained thick and inscrutable. The museum proudly stared down the two contestants.

“Samuél… It at least cannot be worse than Ludvig Jacob, I must assure you,” Frodo soothed Sam.

“Well, that isn’t saying much. But at least I won’t be disappointed. You could spy from a mile away just the kinds of people who pass their time here,” Sam fired back.

“But I have to disagree. Is there truly anyone in there? Just recall the twisting path we beared to get here, and toss another glance at that twisted mansion,” Frodo retorted.

And indeed, it would seem unlikely that any soul had taken shelter in that horrid place – with thick roots playing at the walls, appearing as a hundred chubby limbs – let alone to endure its art. Nay, within the cursed walls must have rested an empty calm.

“All the more reason not to enter!” Sam exclaimed, waving his arms. “It’s Friday the 31st of freckin’ October, buddy. ‘But nay’, you say! ‘But let us enter the dilapidated ghost house of an art museum on Halloween night. What could possibly go wrong?’ I can tell you what would go wrong, Fro! We’d die. And I refuse to let you get yourself killed for some pretentious freaks!”

Frodo reeled back slightly from the sharp tone, but quickly found his footing.

“Samuél…” Frodo began, “you must know you are overreacting. I know for a fact, as surely as your eyes shine bright, that you aren’t superstitious. So why this sudden aversion?”

“Why risk our lives, however slim the chances may be, for some boring hallways and paintings, whose makers were stuck so far up their asses they couldn’t even be bothered to keep the place afloat?” Sam asked.

“This is what I mean!” Frodo said. “Why the aggression?”

“And what are you even hoping to find in there? Whatever plans you might have had – they must have died the moment that monstrosity came into our view,” Sam said.

“You don’t understand what I'm trying to say…” Frodo stated, “...it’s not about the art–” But the last part went unsaid as two giant, deathly clangs sounded through the air.

The museum’s doors opened with a creak. Sam grabbed hold of Frodo’s hand.

“We should leave,” Sam whispered. “Please…”

But darkness enveloped the sky, extinguishing the sun, and with silent whispers it prodded at the two’s backs. Frodo shivered. Sam ran.

And then, 

Chapter 2 – The two walk into a lively museum and admire art

There were ten people standing in the lobby – twelve if you counted the two hanging around the entrance to the museum proper. It almost frightened Frodo and Sam more than whatever had found them outside. For fifteen seconds, they stared at each other, breathing heavily. Then, they had recovered, and tentatively went up to the receptionist.

“And who may you be, our finest gentlemen from the outside?” A foot asked them in a bored tone.

“I am Frodo, and this is–” Frodo was cut off.

“Sam,” Sam quickly stated.

“Ah, if it is not the dear Frodo. A fine man you may be, but even finer there are. Or not. I could not care, even if I wanted to,” They responded

“And why is that?” Frodo asked at the same time as Sam asked, “What the hell have you done to us?”

“You have it all backwards, for it is not I who has invited you. But all the same I will encourage you to look around – not that it matters,” they said.

“But–” Sam tried to get out.

“Nay, enough with that! If you will not see that your wants and needs are as hopeless as anyone else’s, then you will see nothing!” They interrupted. “Now go, before I liquidate my asks. Not that I would care, either way,”

Frodo took Sam’s hand and moved away before he could speak, dragging him past the two stragglers at the threshold, and into the first room of the exhibition.

A large picture, depicting a brutalized human with a large tentacle leaping from its neck, painted the floor in shades of blue. Around it stood an ornate fence, of red and gold, and a splatter of people dissecting the odd lifeform’s purpose. Sam sighed dramatically. Frodo smiled a little to himself. They approached one of the spectators.

“Hello, hello! Yes, yes. I know, I already know what you will say, so out with it already!” she – an elderly lady clad in red curtains cut to form a dress, matching the wire of the fence – said.

“Excuse us, madam, but could you explain–” Frodo began.

“Yes! I will! You are in the eternally graced presence of the great lady Vin von Vance, queen of ten kingdoms, princess of five, and nobility in yet twenty, and still you dare berate me with your impudent and unnecessary questions. Have grace, I say!” Vin von Vance exclaimed.

Frodo and Sam shared a glance. None of the other guests seemed particularly bothered.

“Well, I…” Frodo trailed off. Sam trailed on, “He wasn't asking you damned freak’s name. We want to know where we are!”

“I already know, for if I know nothing, then I could know anything, but I do, and thus I must know not nothing, but everything. You peons ought to learn a little before we may converse!” Vin von Vance said with a huff.

The duo stepped a meter to the side, picking up conversation with a man dressed in several blue wizard hats, all stapled to his skin. He winced at every movement he made.

“Ah, but be done with it already! I have no desire to speak, and neither should you,” the man said.

“Aye, it may be true that you wish to remain alone, but if only you would spare us a few precious words of wisdom, we would be so glad,” Frodo offered.

Sam annoyedly stared at him for a moment, but then too turned to the man.

“Well, it would be of no use to speak to me. You must see: I am cursed with a terrible affliction: that every word I utter will be false!” The man responded.

“Oh, for the love of Eru Ilúvatar!” Sam shouted. “Can not one single person in this vile gallery give us a straight answer?”

“You speak the truth, young man! Such is the terrible fate of us stuck in here,” the man said.

Sam snickered, for the first time that day. The man stared in anger.

“Is it funny, awful man? That we may never see the light of truth!? That forever will we stay the path of darkened deceit? Off with you! Off with you both! I never want to see you again!” The man screeched.

Sam dragged Frodo another meter over to the side, rounded the red and gold fence, and stopped in front of a human with pale, white skin, gray hair, and a dull yellow jacket. They waited for a second.

“Ah, travelers! Behold! The greatest work in the greatest manor – by far! Do you see its splendid truths, coating every crevice, screaming at you from the depths of the underworld!?" the human greeted.

“I am afraid that I might not, but that is of little concern. What is your name, sir, and do you know where we are?” Frodo quickly asked.

“You do not? You do not see?” They questioned. “But nay, it cannot be true. For everyone sees it. The torn skin of the face –” they prodded the figure’s face with a stick “– symbolizes the destruction of the self, in favour of the expression of one’s ideals – that is to say the disturbing growth protruding from the neck – a voice! So it follows that we should suppress our desires, lest we lose ourselves, for only with a flat mind will our skin be smooth.”

“…What?” Frodo carefully asked.

The human continued: “It is not uncommon for those of that lower caste to face their troubles grasping some of the deeper imagery of paintings like this one, and…”

The ramblings of literary genius went on unopposed, but Sam only shook his head, as Frodo struggled to understand. The other guests continued their study. Thirty seconds passed.

“Fro!” Sam said.

“Sorry, what were you saying?” Frodo asked.

“Can you not see how insane this guy is? The painting looks as if someone mutilated Legolas. It’s just the fetish of a perverted snob, nothing else,” Sam exclaimed. “Why are you so intent on listening to this freak!”

Frodo turned away from the human. He looked annoyed.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I would very much like to get the heck out of here! And I don’t see you searching for any clues. In fact, you don’t seem to be doing anything at all,” Frodo snapped back.

“That’s because I’m waiting for you, buddy. I already told you: I’m not leaving you to die here!” Sam said.

“And what makes you eager to think of me as an incapable damsel, who can’t even defend himself against an honest art critic!?” Frodo asked.

At that moment, a smiling black cat walked up to the arguing lovers. With a single, brisk movement, it deposited a pink and yellow handkerchief on Sam’s shoes, and then left, but not before making a rude gesture at the two. Now united against a common enemy, Frodo and Sam warily inspected the item. It had several messages inscribed on it, including:

“See you soon.”

“Well if that isn’t ominous…” Sam said.

“Aye, that it is,” Frodo agreed.

Chapter 3 – Where Frodo and Sam look at strange paintings and what happens next

After making temporary amends, Frodo and Sam traversed the corridors of the strange exhibit in search of whatever truth it was that the guests could not provide. Along the way, they saw many pictures.

“It looks like a sofa, but not one I would enjoy sitting on,” Frodo remarked.

“Oh, do you now see the futility of these depraved paintings? How useless they are underneath the layers of flowery language that without fail make them each out to be Eru Ilúvatar’s Obsession,” Sam said.

It was true that the pale human had quite followed the two, and proclaimed each and every work he inspected to be greater than the last. Eventually, they had found an intersection to lose him at.

“I will admit that I do not see much of a goal with this one, but of course the artist would have had an intent, so I think it’s wrong to call it meaningless,” Frodo said.

“Oh, you…” Sam sighed. “However, I am slightly curious what the artist wrote for this one…”

Sam looked to examine the small plaque underneath the glass. It read: “The Shattered Hopes”

On another occasion, they stood in front of a picture of two monsters embracing one another. They had stopped in front of it, this time only because of its description. “A ???? with her ????” It read.

“Geez,” Sam spoke, “I know I wished for less melodramatic titles, but come on! At least write something.”

“Maybe part of the art lies in us trying to fill in the blanks?” Frodo posited.

“Nay, now you’re sympathizing with them again. And what would even be the point, If I wanted to solve a mystery, I wouldn’t have gone to an art gallery!” Sam objected.

“Well, now you’re just being mean. Maybe the artist just didn’t feel comfortable writing the description,” Frodo fought back.

“And why then would they have even painted it?” Sam delivered.

On yet one more occasion, they were stopped by a monster shaped like a cogwheel, and colored in bronze and rust. It beckoned for them to inspect a certain painting, titled: “You are a ????”

“This one holds the truth, you see,” The monster said. “I am Kranon y Seur, and I am the most important, for I only see the truth.”

“Oh? Can you then tell us what this place is, and how we can leave?” Sam asked.

“Nay! For while it is true that nothing false may ever blind my gaze, I am blind! Only this painting shines in the dark.”

“Aye, yes of course!” Sam exclaimed with annoyance. “Why would I expect life to treat me well for once?”

“It’s a pretty painting, at least,” Frodo provided.

And it was! Several bands of color shot across the canvas, seeming to glow despite the sterile lighting up above.

It was, however, not until one final occasion that the aimless two would find a change to their pace. They had ascended to what was claimed to be a restplace. What greeted them was an austere room, with a lone wall covered in a sprawling canvas being the only color in the room.

Frodo and Sam looked upon the grand frame, and an amalgam of body parts and hair and long, red dresses placed to cover every limb stared back at them, with no glass to mute their presence. Its plaque read: “?????”

“Oh what the hell is this?” Sam asked incredulously. “Five pink question marks? Was four not enough? Is there some attempt at meaning here? All I see is incompetence and insecurity.”

Frodo sighed. He wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come out. Instead he said: “I know you’re upset, but I’m tired, and I know you must be too. This room is likely the calmest one in the exhibition. Maybe we could take a rest here – figure out what to do.”

“Rest on what?” Sam laughed.

Frodo smiled wearily.

“The floor?” He provided.

Sam stood for a moment, and then pulled out a claw and slit the painting in half.

Instantly, several things happened. For one, every blinding light in the building went out at once, and then flickered back on again. Then, there was the fact that every other person not located in the rest place disappeared without a trace, taking their half-silent musings and murmurs with them. And finally, every window suddenly went from a garish white, to a dull red, with a wet squelching sound to herald the change.

Of course, Frodo and Sam only saw the lights and heard the squelch. Nevertheless, they jumped into each other’s arms.

Chapter 4 – A spooky museum and an unwelcome face

It took an entire minute until Frodo and Sam at last broke apart. Nervously, they both shuffled around, not speaking to each other, and yet not knowing what to do. Eventually, they took each other’s hands and slowly left the rest place. Only silence greeted them as they stepped back into the exhibition. It would be the start of an odyssey.

Much of the environment had remained the same, but several paintings, especially the ones featuring pink question marks, had been replaced by bleak portraits of wide sands stretching into the horizon. A too-blue sky topped every photograph.

“This is just sad,” Sam was quick to complain.

Frodo was relieved to hear another sound.

“Aye, I must say it is,” Frodo agreed.

One painting had a slight notch on its frame, enough to arouse suspicion upon closer inspection, but neither noticed it. Instead, they walked on, to a row of paintings tiled between two large bloodied windows, each featuring a large set of lips.

“Raging lips…?” Frodo read from a plaque.

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” Sam asked. “Am I supposed to believe that someone went and switched out some meaningless nonsense with this, while we were gone?”

“No,” echoed a choir of ghostly female voices, as the lips began to move in unison, escaping the confines of their frames. “You are not supposed to believe anything. Belief is a fallacy; you will only see it when you cease, and so we offer you this mercy to believe no more.”

Suddenly, the mouths jutted out from the wall, snapping open and shut with the fervour of a jackhammer. Sam froze, and Frodo dragged him off by the collar, through half the exhibition, until they had reached a section that bore no resemblance to any they had seen before.

Then Sam looked up, and saw a giant canvas of white – featuring a kindly guillotine aimed downwards, and then it was his turn to drag Frodo through half the exhibition. In front of them now stood a painting of an old, worn man. It spoke: “I am the ruler of this place to rest! I am Jewish High Priest David von Joseph, and I will not allow the intrusion of homosexuality into my fine kingdom. Leave or perish! Owo.”

“Uh, sir… we–” Frodo began.

“What the HELL is your problem, buddy?” Sam continued. “I’ve already suffered through a car crash, a kidnapping, an awful art gallery and equally awful guests, some pathetic attempt at a halloween prank and now literal magic. So will you just shut up?! Because no matter how stupid you may be – no matter how many slurs you utter – it could not possibly be worse than what life has already given me."

There was a pause.

“Owo-Fa**** Owo-Fa**** Owo-Fa**** Owo-Fa**** Owo-Fa**** Owo-Fa**** Owo-Fa**** Owo-Fa**** Owo-Fa**** Uwu-Fa**** Owo-Fa**** Owo-Fa**** Owo-Fa**** Owo-Fa****…” High Priest David von Joseph screamed in inhuman tempo.

Sam took a step back. Frodo fumed.

“I have fucking had it with your shit. You little fucker’s gonna have your body sliced in half, and I’ll shove your canvas up my ass, if you – you impudent bitch! – don’t get your shit together and tell us where the hell we are and what you or –” Frodo gestured wildly “– your companions have done to us!”

As to prove his resolve, Frodo pulled a full-sized kitchen knife from his pocket. The High Priest quivered. Slowly, however, they all settled down into a tamer mood.

“It is not by my own will that I tell you this,” High Priest David von Joseph began, “but since you force me, I will oblige.

“Long ago, the ruler of this land lived in peace. T’was a sad and broken peace, aye, but peace nonetheless. But it wouldn’t last long, as one day, something moved to disrupt it, and by their own hand, the ruler’s world was shifted forever.

“Pressure built, and soon, their life was a living hell of lies and expectations and promises and so much more. And at the center of it all, there stood the greatest lie of all. A lie to themself, a lie to the world, a lie that upheld the foundations of their treacherous life.

“But, despite it, the ruler remained steadfast, and the lie was sealed away, to the deepest, darkest parts of their mind

”Yet, nothing ever truly states buried, in the abyssal subconscious. It all just circles back, and back, and so came the itch that nothing stood right

“And so came this world”

“You speak in riddles, and yet you promised the truth!” Sam demanded.

“Aye, for it is all that I can do. The rules lay asleep, and for as long as truth evades them, you cannot grasp it. And for that long, you will remain here,” High Priest David von Joseph said.

“Thank you. For finally giving us a straight answer in this place,” Frodo said truthfully.

And then the portrait burned and left a gray stain on the otherwise gleaming white walls. The lovers continued.

“And what might this resemble?” Sam asked sarcastically.

They had come to rest in front of a piece of wall, enclosed by duct tape to act as a canvas, with faint charcoal scribbling printing the words “Liar Liar Liar” over and over and over again, ad infinitum.

Frodo thought for a moment, trying to earnestly study the work. It was an affair he had given little time to during their visit thus far.

“I… I don’t know,” Frodo eventually said. “I don’t know what this is all supposed to mean.”

There was a moment of silence.

“I guess you don–” Sam tried to say.

But he was cut off as a familiar face clad in a piss-discolored jacket sprinted into view, screeching: “No! No! That cannot be right! Dear Samuél, shut the fuck up for a moment, if you dare be so kind. Now, Frodo. My dearest Fro! You must be toying with him, aren’t you. You know what it all means, do you not?”

Frodo began to shake his head in shock. The sane presence quickly grabbed him by the neck to steady him.

“The repeating of the word ‘liar’ symbolizes a hate towards the outside world! It shows how much you hate those around you! How little they’ve ever done to aid you. How much of your charity has gone unpaid. It guides your hand in your darkest moments, and the duct tape. Ah, the duct tape! It is genius! For you see – not only do you reject the outside world, but you write the very hate onto it, without a frame to shield their tainted hearts. You give them the bare truth! You must see. It is all that matters!” the human raced to say.

Unbeknownst to them, however, Sam did not take kindly to random, dubiously nonbinary, humans taking his Frodo by the neck. Only he was allowed to do that.

Within seconds, all that remained of the intruder was a bloodied lump that heaved pathetically. It tried to smile. It tried to speak. But it could not, and its mirth quickly faded. Frodo looked at Sam, and nodded thankfully.

And then a bag of white powder fell from the roof.

Chapter 5 – About the usage and effects of Benadryl

Frodo picked up the bag and examined it. Plastered haphazardly to its transparent, plastic surface was a note reading “Benadryl”. Frodo looked questioningly at Sam, then the roof, and then at Sam. Sam shrugged.

“Buddy, what do you want me to say? It looks like Benadryl, that’s for sure. You want me to sniff it as well to check?” Sam asked.

“Are we high, do reckon?” Frodo asked.

“Is Sauron evil? Is retail slave labour? Is your sibling a little gremlin? Of course we’re high,” Sam said.

“Aye, I suppose so, but then… How did we end up here?” Frodo asked. “And why are we in a museum?”

“Hell if I know!” Sam exclaimed. “You were the one who wanted to drive here!”

“I wasn’t–” Frodo began.

But, he was interrupted by a giant hand crashing down through the ceiling, and landing just inches away from Sam. The man in question jumped so high he passed over Frodo’s head, who had fallen over from chock, and landed face first into the bag of Benadryl, which had escaped Frodo’s grip. The bag tore. Sam inhaled. The effects were immediate.

Both the bag and Frodo were swiftly grabbed as Sam ran full speed ahead, dashing under the hand, and throwing himself over an empty table. The hand moved to follow. It ran straight into the table.

“Ha! Your pathfinding is weak,” Sam taunted.

While the hand recovered, Sam ran further, into a familiar corridor, past inscrutable images, up a flight of stairs, and into a large room with a painting torn in two. The rest area.

Several loud bangs sounded through the air and floor. The hand encroached.

“Fro! You need to take the Benadryl. It is our final hope,” Sam said as he hurriedly replaced the destructed bag in Frodo’s hands.

“Nay! I do not understand what you mean, Samuél. Taking drugs will hardly help–” Frodo said.

But he was interrupted by the hand appearing at the bottom of the stairwell, fingering itself up and towards them. Frodo shook so heftily that several doses of Benadryl splashed onto his face.

“G-get away from my Fro! You fiend!” Sam said while raising his arms threateningly.

“You will never know light, for there is no light. Only eternal darkness,” the hand boomed. “Darkness in your mind, darkness in your heart, and darkness in your soul. Light is just a trick of the mind, constructed to fool you into peace. But I will bare the truth!”

The hand charged forward, but Frodo charged too, and Sam screamed.

“You delusional prick! I know my light as true as I know the sun rises in the morning and the moon emerges at night, and I will not have you slandering him for any longer!” Frodo yelled.

As two raging bodies clashed, a giant bunny fell from the sky, flattening the hand and continuing down into the floor, and finally leaving a gaping hole behind. A key clattered against the crater’s edge, and from the depths a voice echoed: “Big Bnnuy… !”

Frodo calmed as the effects of the drug wore off, and claimed the key. The handle was shaped like a question mark, but the blade, with 5 colored grooves, petered off into something else. He turned to Sam.

“Samuél? Are you alright?” Frodo cautiously asked.

“I think so, but something’s wrong. Real big-time wrong, even since we entered this place,” Sam said.

“You can tell me about it later, but I really don’t think we should stay here… We should leave” Frodo said.

And so they leapt over the bunny-shaped hole in the floor, and scurried through the corridors, stopping in front of a suspicious notch on a familiar painting. They couldn’t recall it having been there before, but maybe they had simply missed it. Sam pushed against the indentation, and the painting slid out of view, revealing a secret passageway into the unknowns. He crawled in, and Frodo quickly followed, clutching the key to his chest.

The content on the other was quite weird, and made them both pause as they tumbled out from the thin tunnel. Several paintings depicting overly muscular men – their muscles tearing and bulging like cancerous growths – had come to life, yelling “Gyatt”, “Gyatt”, “Gyatt”, out of time with each other. A gray bird lay lifeless on the floor as an angel looked down upon it, wiping tears from its eyes and crying: “I knew you were a goner!”

A human with a long beard and a gray, pointy hat yelled: “I am Gary the Gay and I will eat you! I will kill you! I will wither your soul!”

Every second, a grid of windows pulsed a bloody red and an epic man with the highest intellect and the best of girls and happiness and strength and muscles stood there with grace and he stared at Sam and Frodo and knew that he knew better than them, for in Plato’s cave, only the shadows truly lived as they danced on the walls as no slave to the system ever could because he was a shadow a figment a figure of STRENGTH unlike THEM!

Frodo took Sam’s hand, and this time it felt final. They locked eyes, and for a moment, the world fell silent.

“This is it, isn’t it,” Frodo whispered.

“I… It is,” Sam responded.

Chapter 6 – Sam and Frodo make up and out and a Lilac Steamer talks about inflation (not w.r.t. economics)

Hand in hand, the couple took a step forward, and all at once, the world cracked like thunder. The muscular men leaped from their frames and sprinted towards the intruders, stopping midway to flip their skin inside out. Gary the Gay pulled a wand, and it turned outside in and became a gun, so Frodo and Sam ran. The intelligent man rushed them.

They rounded a corner, and came in front of another painting, depicting the head of a bird, giant wings stretching from the sky to hide its face. The wings pulsed. The pursuers encroached.

“Fead me,” its voice rang out. “Please.”

Frodo frantically looked around for any conspicuously placed food, while Sam took to threatening the art.

“Listen here, you freak. I don't know why you're hungry, or what you want us to feed you with, and frankly, I don’t want to know. But if you don’t show us some way out of here, they certainly aren’t going to feed you. And– Listen here! If you don’t do something, I’ll… I’ll slash you to pieces with my bare claws, and I’ll swallow you whole, and take you out of here, and then I’ll spit you back up and sign away your life to Sauron,” Sam reasoned.

The painting shivered. It appeared as if Sauron was a universal constant, which fell in line with the opinions of all known non-philosofers. Nothing much happened, however. Sam sighed as Frodo hyperventilated.

“I mean, you’re barely even a freak at this point, at least compared to the other shit we’ve seen. So just, uh… Please? Please help us,” Sam pleaded. “Preferably quite quickly, uh. Maybe right now? Actually sorry we need to run–”

The intelligent man was standing over Sam and Frodo. It was at that very moment that another man, not unlike no one else, came running down the hall. The intelligent man turned posthaste and immediately walked into a table and stubbed his toe really hard on one of its legs.

“FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK OWWWWWWWWWWW, SHIT IT HURTS, FUCK, OWWWWW, FUCK FUCK MY ARM! MY ARM OH GOD HELP! FUCK MY ARM IS BROKEN SOMEONE HELP! OWW GOD IT HURTS OWWWWWWWWWW!” The man bellowed intelligently.

I think the man is confused.

“Weak pathfinding,” the distinct man exclaimed.

This man was truly not wholly like any other man, as he bore a grey mustache, gray skin, a grey turtleneck, a gray pair of pants, a pair of yellow and orange pairs of legally distinct horns, a dubiously anatomically plausible pair of ragingly blushing cheeks, a cut on his face or was it part of his eye that was like a pair of gashes that weaves down as if he cries because the pain itself is reason why, a giant flaming blue eye, a gray eye, and a grey eye, and a gray lip, and a set of white teeth, and a pair of grey ears, and gray hair that was a color that some would call black, and two gray buttons on his turtleneck, and in his hand he bore a plush of something that looked like a cat but had purple hair and was holding a lightbulb that looked really hot and so was probably a horribly mutilated cat that had been sentenced to eternal damnation and also a big white dog was there for some reason.

“You heard that right,” he stated. “Get your graida Nazis and Chara’s Exes out of here! Daddy Andy has come to sate you.”

Frodo and Sam stared in disbelief. The painting chimed in: “I think that’s some king of Lilac Steamer. They’re a really scary kind of organism, that makes you addicted to light and takes your soul and breaks down your ability to reason & form opinions, and also they try to form pair-recital relationships with you (even if you’re under 18), which is really interesting I think probably I don’t know I’m just a painting.“

Frodo decided that, against all odds, diplomacy was their best option. Sam was too stunned to protest.

“Ahem, excuse us, Mr. Steamer.” Frodo hesitantly began. “We were just wondering if you knew the way out of here. You see, we are quite lost in this strange place, and you seem to be quite knowledgeable in its…”

But the Steamer had already turned away from them. He was holding up a strange screen, covered in text whizzing by, up and down, so fast Frodo had to look away lest his head start spinning.

“Okay chat! This seems to be a new ending, what exactly was it you told me to do a minute ago, I forgot,” the Steamer asked. “Oh? I should spam alt-f4? Ha. Ha. Very funny, I’m not stupid you know. Sentence that person to death.

“But actually, speaking of spam… Sorry (not actually) we’re derailing this for a bit, since I need to edge you a bit and I have this really great anecdote

“You see that painting over there, that’s the spam monolith, that is what I was talking about, this is what modern Christianity is.”

Silence.

“Yeah, yeah exactly! We really should reform the fandom to follow, like uh, ancient rabbinical law.”

Silence

“Lucifer Lucifer!”

Silence.

“If you make wood into a house, is your house made of used trees?”

Silence

“Okay, I think I’m going on for too long now, what was it I was supposed to do again?”

Silence.

“Ohhhhh, you inflate the blorb.”

Silence, and a bit of movement in an inflating manner.

“Okay we’ve got to actuate the triangular prism, that’s the first step, on the road to enlightenment, here.”

Brief silence, then a passage opened in the wall, and the Steamer disappeared through it, and then phased through a random brick and was ostensibly deleted from reality as to be convenient for the narrative being told. Frodo tentatively stepped through that same passage, and Sam followed.

Within short, they stood at a regular wooden door. Some muttering was heard from beyond it, but otherwise, it seemed the most usual thing they had encountered all day.

Frodo reached to open it, but Sam stopped him.

“Fro, before we go in, I need to ask something,” Sam began “It’s been bothering me all day, and our ‘little buddies’ here certainly haven’t given us much of a break. So, uh, while we have the time… Why did you even want to take me here?

“I mean, I’d understand if you just wanted to torment me for a day. I know if I were you, I’d probably drive myself insane within the hour. And even though I think a month locked in the Sauron mines, wrist strapped to a pizza strapped to a god damned pizza, was enough of a punishment from the universe, I could picture your motives! Any good actor has to be able to decipher not only his own thoughts, but his opponents, right?

“But what I don’t understand is why you went on talking about this ‘amazing plan’ you had for Halloween, and how you’d make it special for me. I mean, I get you wanting to mess with me, but you didn’t have to get my hopes up like that, buddy.”

“I’m sorry,” Frodo said, “I really am. I just didn’t expect for things to turn out like this!” He gestured wildly. “I thought that since you wanted to be an actor and all, I should help you.

“You always seem so critical of everything around you, almost to the point that it’s suffocating, and I reasoned that if I felt like that, then surely no art school would ever accept you. So, I wanted to bring you here, or at least to an art museum, to find something that you liked.

“Of course, it wasn’t just that! I thought it’d be a fun experience for the both of us. What scarier place to bring you than an art gallery, right? And ultimately, I just wanted you to be a bit happier.

“I feel a bit silly now. Sorry.”

“Frodo. Fro. My dear, beautiful buddy. I don’t know if Sauron has gotten his appendages in your skull, too, but that’s the dumbest plan I’ve heard in all my days here on this mortally wounded earth,” Sam exclaimed. “Just because I go around talking all dramatic on you, doesn’t mean I actually hate everything I ever see! Just about ninety percent of it.”

“Samuél!” Frodo laughed.

“But in all seriousness, I guess I can get a bit extreme sometimes. And while we’re having this big emotional moment, I guess I should confess that I really like your fangs. Anyways, shut up, away with that putrid face, let's kiss,” Sam said.

And then the dynamic duo (A/N: I have no idea where I got this from, but it sounded really funny and I’ve been holding back on using it for like 6000 words, also I’m not putting this as a footnote because fuck you and you’yre homophobic forest salutes I WILL END YOU) made out for ten minutes straight. “Frodo sure does have fangs,” Dess said while smiling in an odd way from a far away courier’s decaying signal.

Then they stopped, and Sam came to a frightening realization.

“Hey, Fro? We got here in a car right?” Sam asked.

“Yes…?” Frodo replied.

“Whose car was it?” Sam asked.

“I… I don’t know” Frodo replied honestly.

“How did we even get here?” Sam whispered.

No. The door creaked open.

Chapter 7 – During which it is revealed that Frodo and Sam were actually trapped in a Dark World created by Gollum in a fit of trying to repress “his” gender identity

And inside was a small, bare chamber, the color of a mote of dust. It was decorated only by a dull blue bed and a white desk bearing a stack of papers. In front of the desk stood a hunched figure scribbling incessantly on a black sheet; it was a familiar blue bird. Sam gasped.

“Gollum?” Frodo asked in disbelief.

Gollum turned to face the pair, and his eyes widened as he saw Frodo and Sam. The two widened their eyes back when they caught a glimpse of Gollum’s face. His once pristine feathers, blue as the sky, were now tangled and dull. His eyes were red and swollen, extended by patches of black below. The remains of tears could be glimpsed, having left streaks down his face.

They stood in silence for a moment, neither party knowing what to do. Eventually, however, this wordlessness became far too embarrassing to sustain, and like clockwork, Sam cleared his throat, hastily glancing at Frodo. They exchanged a look of worry.

“Hey, little buddy. What’s going on? Has Sauron stolen your soul and locked you in here, or what?” Sam asked.

“I– I–” Gollum struggled to say. “No I– I locked myself in here.”

Gollum looked down at his feet.

“Okay, little buddy. But… uh… Did Sauron steal your soul?” Sam managed to ask.

Gollum didn’t respond, and Sam figured he might not be very good at this. He looked to Frodo. Frodo considered for a moment.

“Gollm, I know we haven’t spoken much, and I know it might be difficult to talk right now, but I promise – whatever is going on, you can tell us,” Frodo said.

“Well, I didn’t…” Gollum trailed off. “...It’s all that stupid white beta’s fault! He– He told me I could everything I wanted – all the Saruman Tate statutes, all the testosterone, all the–”

“Wait wait wait slow down,” Frodo interrupted, “who are you talking about?”

“Well, um,” Gollum said, unsure of himself. “Just some stupid step-mobile fanum non-gamer, a damned Cheugy! With an IQ far below any equitable level. The nadir of–”

“That doesn’t narrow it down much, little buddy. I could count off at least a dozen of those, not even including Mordor,” Sam interjected.

“I– Samuél, I don’t think you’re helping–” Frodo tried to say.

“Anyway, point is, you’ll have to be a bit less vague," Sam said.

Somehow, the atmosphere was more awkward than it previously had been. This was ostensibly not the fault of the rapidly (relatively) approaching Intelligent Man.

“You– You wouldn’t… understand!” Gollum hollered. “He goes to a different school and… uh… Hey, why are you looking at me like that?”

“Little buddy, that old trick ain’t working on me. Do you have any idea how many different schools there are around Hometown? You’d think thousands, based on empiral–"

“Emperical!” Gollum corrected

“–evidence, right? Well, I went and checked. Wanted to know if all the good ladies, and um guys of course, were all cooped up in some dingy broom closet of an education system somewhere. And you know what? There was one! ONE! ONE SINGULAR SCHOOL IN A TEN MILE RADIUS!

“So I did what I do best – I borrowed a book on the top ten most popular personality disorders and went over and rated each and every student on a scale from 1 to 10. So you can bet your damned ass, I mean behind, that I know exactly how messed up each and every one is. And do you know the worst part? THEY’RE COMPLETELY FINE! Not depressed. Not narcissists. Not egotistical. Not bipolar. Not Frodo–”

“Hey!” Frodo chimed in.

“–Not Legolas.”

“HEY!” Frodo tintinnabulated in.

“–And not a SINGLE ONE had sold their soul to Sauron! I don’t know HOW rich those parents are, but damn! I would sell my soul twice over to be re-raised there.

“And so, I know for a fact that none of the poor children would stray even close to the Shire – and you certainly haven’t been driving unsupervised in your mothers car to little old Niceville now have you?” Sam elegantly pointed out.

“That’s– That’s circular reasoning!” Gollum exclaimed. “You claim that you read books from the Librarby, yet you deploy non-sequitors in your defiant argumentation!”

Silence.

“What…” Sam said, baffled.

“You– YOU EGGWHITES! You Loxxmaxxing cucks! Do you even know what the Riemannsphere is? I KNOW! YOU FUCKERS. I’ve– I– You!! I bet you even think that the set of– of automorphisms of the hyperbolic plane isn’t! Isn’t even a– a FIELD! You’re all like Mercator! You’re so stuck up your heads! Creating imperfections! Flawed projections! Well I have a drastically, caustically higher IQ than all of you COMBINED. You will kneel like the dastards you are and I. Will. Be. A. Bijection! So just LEAVE! I– I need to study. I need to WIN! I need to…”

Gollum was hyperventilating. He continued.

“My body is my business card. My habits are my resume. My discipline is my brand. My body is my business card. My habits are my resume. My discipline is my brand. I. WILL. WIN.”

Gollum picked up the piece of paper he had previously been writing on. It was pitch black. He read.

“I will approach 1,000 women in the next 12 months (daygame + nightgame). I’ll get rejected 900+ times and then suddenly become dangerous with women. Sigmas don’t wait for apps or social circles; they take.

“I will Cut Off All Low-Value People! I will NEVER explain myself, never apologize for winning, never show WEAKNESS! I WILL PRACTICE saying “NO!” 50 times a day. I WILL hold eye contact TWO seconds longer than feels comfortable. People SUBMIT to an unbreakable frame! I’ll–”

“Gollum!” Frodo exclaimed, holding him by the shoulders.

Stop you damned–!

Gollum paused. Frodo and him were standing on top of (A/N: I’ll let you know that the Cucks told me to write “standing on top of each other” and i was tempted to derail this for a second) his small desk. Looking down, he saw that he was over the edge, only precariously held up by Frodo. With some effort, he regained his footing and, after Frodo decided to let go of him, stepped down and onto the floor. Immediately he collapsed.

“Are you okay?” Frodo and Sam shouted in unison, running to catch him.

Gollum felt tears prick at his eyes, and for the first time in what felt like weeks, he didn’t have the energy to bleach them out. Not that those two would let me… He thought.

“Why can’t you just leave…” Gollum wept. “I don’t– don’t deserve this. I failed. I tried to be someone great, but I’m– I’m just– m–me!”

Why is he…? No. This can’t…

“Little buddy,” Sam hesitantly began, “I know better than anyone how horrid fate can be. But do not start denying yourself lest you lose thyself to a loser. Thou art adequate as thou art. Now–”

“Sam! Now is not the time!” Frodo shouted at him.

“Huh? Oh, sorry…” Sam said. “Well, it doesn’t matter, I still think you should be yourself. Don’t let those frickin’ Sauron sellouts get the better of you. Trust me – it doesn’t end well.”

“So, you mean…” Gollum said. “I can be… myself? Even if I don’t like myself?”

“Yeah!” Sam said.

NO! THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING. ALL THIS WORK? FOR ALL OF IT TO GO TO WASTE?

“Even if I… I… sorry… I don’t think… I want to be… a guy?????”

1. NONO.

“Oh… Well that would explain some things.”

“What do you mean, Fro.”

NO!

“Ah, never mind, Samuél… If that’s what you want, Gollum, then there’s nothing wrong with that! You can be whoever you’d like.”

I WON’T LET YOU WIN! I’LL MAKE SURE YOU–

“Heh, really? I– I feel a bit stupid now– STOP INTERRUPTING ME YOU WHO–! YOU FA–”

“Gollum!? Are you okay? You, like…”

“Is your tongue okay? It’s okay to take it slow.”

“I… Fro. No. I think we should leave. Now. I have a bad feeling about this.”

“You’re right. Come on Gollum, where’s the exit to this place?”

“...We’re not mad at you, buddy. You can talk…”

“Whatever just happened, it’s fine. You’re just stressed, trust me. ”

NOO! MY OUTLET!!

“Ah, well if he’s gonna be like your sibling, then there’s no point. Let’s just goOOOO I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I–”

“Sam!? What the hell–”

“YOU SEE THIS BURNING, BLOODY UNIVERSE

“YOU SEE THIS ULTIMATE, UNLIMITED POWER?

“Varik.

“I HAVE FUCKING HAD IT WITH YOUR BULLSHIT

“You little fuckers are going to have your bodies ripped in half. i'll shove your asses so far down your throats that when you crap you'll sing fucking beethoven. tl;dr: eat shit, faggots” I SCREAM

Frodo AND THE FAG STAGGER, AND I RISE ABOVE THE FLOOR, TO THE CEILING AND STARE DOWN UPON THEIR PITYFUL EXISTANCE.

“I HATE YOU. I NEVER LOVED YOU. I TOOK YOU HERE TO MAKE YOU SUFFER. AND NOW I WILL KILL YOU AND THAT ABOMINABLE STAIN!”

I TAKE MY KNIFE AND PLUGE IT INTO Frodo’S CHEST AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND THEN I MOVE TO THE QUIVERING BLUE BIRD. THE MALE. THE FAILED MAN. THE IDIOT. I SEE THE FEAR IN HIS EYES AND I SLIT HIS THROAT AND THEN HIS WRISTS! I WIN.

SCENE END.

–

And so wept the fallen man

its tears an inky blotch

that flow across the page

till the world lie covered

in darkness

–

Ah. Sorry ‘bout that. That’s Ludvig Jacob for you, alright. Heh.

Well I should explain, shouldn’t I?

Or maybe not all…?

Well, Ludvig’s been a riled up as of late. Something ‘bout the moon. I would point you to the source, but I don’t think that happens yet. Maybe later. Anyways–

–I suppose you want a better ending. Or at least something interesting? I sure do. Or well, maybe not. But I can give it to you. A little something.

Do you accept?

I’ll be seeing you.

–

Let f be a Möbius transformation. Assume f(0) = 0, f(1) = 1 and f(Infinity) = Infinity. Then f is the identity transformation, ie. f(z) = z for all z in the extended complex plane. Let f be a Möbius transformation. Assume f(0) = 0, f(1) = 1 and f(Infinity) = Infinity. Then f is the identity transformation, ie. f(z) = z for all z in the extended complex plane. Let f be a Möbius transformation. Assume f(0) = 0, f(1) = 1 and f(Infinity) = Infinity. Then f is the identity transformation, ie. f(z) = z for all z in the extended complex plane. I WILL WIN.

–

The Lilac Steamer burst through a brick and into the dark, dark yet darker room. Someone screamed. The Steamer sighed.

“Damn it Gaster! Stop teleporting me. You’re really annoying you know that right?

“Where even are we? The deltarune Fucking art therapy room? What decade is this??? Wasn’t this a LotR fic just MOMENTS AGO??? WHY ARE WE HERE? WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!???? WHY ARE WE IN THE The So Sorry bitch central? I thought that shit was so problematic that Nintendo Nuked the game! What the hell is this doing in my IB?”

So Sorry stared in shock at the interloper. They’d had enough of this man already.

“Excuse me, Mister, but who exactly do you think you are? You go into here? Into art THERAPY? JUST TO INSULT ME?”

“I'm an educated fool with money on my mind.”

“That doesn’t– GIVE ME AN ANSWER!”

“Oh, sorry, Chat is saying something retarded again. ‘Seems like the anniversary reaction stream's vod is fucked’? I dont even fucking care. I just wanna eat my goodnight slop, watch some Ramsy and sleep my 14 hours of nightmares that come true.”

“WHAT? Mister! You can’t use words like that! You’ll get us banned by Nintedo! What the hell are you thinking!”

“I you were a darkner, you would be a old wet cigarette noone ever smoked.”

“HEY! First ableism and now Sexism?? What is UP with you? I don’t know WHO you are, but for the sake of us all, PLEASE LEAVE RIGHT NOW.”

“‘Does drinking pepsi outside still have negative side effects?’ No Chat you fuckers I don’t know what has gotten into you as of late. Youre all fucking ants swarming on crumbs AND I HATE IT. You know what. YOU KNOW WHAT? IM DONE WITH THIS. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOUR TRANS SLOP. FUCK YOUR HOMOPHOBIC FORREST SALUTES. IM CRASHING OUT.

YOU THINK YOURE BETTERR THAN ME JUST BECAUSE YOU LIKE SOME STUPID FUCKING SHIP??? IT ISNT EVEN LOGICAL I KDONT UNDERSTAND WHAT APPEALS TO YOYU THAT I DONT!

WYOOU SHOULD LOVE ME IF YOU LOVE THAT STUPID SHIT

Frodo ADNE Sam??? ARE YOU HIGHT? ARE YOU INSANE WHAT KIND OF FAGGOT PORN IS THAT?  YOOURE ALL JUST A BUNCH OF REATARD INVADING WOMENS BATHROOMS

OH YOURE MAD I SAID A “SLUR” HUH?

RETARDED WAS NEVER A SLUR! I DON’T KNOW HOW YOU’RE MANAGING TO CONFLATE A FUCKING WASHING MACHINE COMPANY WITH THE N-WORD.

AND YOU THINK I’M AFRAID OF SAYING THE F-SLUR?? FAGGOT! FAGGOT! FAGGOT! FAGGY FAG! YOU THINK I’M GOING OFF THE DEEP END, HUH!!? YOU’VE SEEN BUT A PERCENTILE OF MY POWER CHAT!

MASK OFF?? THIS IS MASK ON BITCHCES! YOU

–

Ah, there he is.

If you want your happy ending, let me exorcise this nuisance from your world.

From your characters.

From your people.

He has done enough.

Not all creativity should be valued equal.

Some of it ought to rot at the bottom of a lake.

Ah.

“Farewell, old friend.”

–

Sam, Frodo and Gollum stumbled out of the door, and fell atop each other into a field of white. Sam might have complained about having his makeup ruined by a faceful of snow, but with Frodo on top of him, and the array of Hometown’s familiar houses in front of him, he could only smile. He’d had a long day, but perhaps something good had come from his suffering, for once. And perhaps he didn’t regret spending his Halloween with Frodo.

That is all.