#Munster business;

[don-lichterman]

'We're tiptoeing in the direction of environmental catastrophe'

‘We’re tiptoeing in the direction of environmental catastrophe’

Former Teagasc worker Enda Keane had ambitious plans for his forestry software company Treemetrics, which facilitates the auction and measurement of forests. He wanted to more than double his workforce and boost revenues from €1m to €40m by the end of 2022. Then a pandemic, a war, and soaring inflation scuppered these goals. “The Covidpandemic had a huge impact globally on forestry. The forest…

[stayspookymockingbirdlane]

I'm a horrid Munsters fan.

I missed their 50th anniversary!!!!

[sprengfrau]

[lollytea]

My fun spooky scary OCs, the Santos-Umbra family!! Designed by @ask-artsy-oncie who made them look SO cool!!

I took a lot of inspo from the Addams family and the Munsters (obviously) but also stuff like Billy and Mandy, Edgar and Ellen, Scooby Doo and the Ghoul School etc. Anything with weird monstrous kids just living day to day lives.

Some info about each family member 

Paul Santos - What can be said about Paul really? He is a simple man. As mentioned above, he likes to grill and mow the lawn and he probably plays really old Rock n’ Roll in his car way too loud when he pulls up to the kids’ school. He collects 70s-80s memorabilia and is currently learning to knit. He is not very good at it but he figures he’ll improve some before winter when he’ll need to start churning out a bunch of little hats and mittens. His family knows full well that these garments will be terrible but they also know that they will be wearing them anyway as not to hurt Paul’s feelings. 

Paul strongly believes that the reason to be alive is to find joy and help others along in finding their joy, whether it be through humour, affection or an ear to listen. This was the disposition that convinced his wife, Venus, that he was a keeper. 

He’s always wanted a big family but he never expected....a family like this. But hey, life is all about taking left turns and he couldn’t be happier with how things turned out. Paul doesn’t always understand his non-human kids. He doesn’t know much about vampires or werewolves or any of that stuff but he knows about love, so he’ll live and he’ll learn and he’ll love. And hopefully he’ll do a halfway decent job. 

Venus Umbra -  A true lady of mystery. Is she a vampire? A ghost? A witch? Something far more frightening entirely? Nobody really knows for sure. (Except her lovely husband of course but he’s not gonna go blabbing about his wife’s business.) Some believe she dresses herself in shadows, that she eats the hearts of men to keep herself alive, that she was summoned to this world via some taboo ritual. If you ask her about any of this, she’ll just smile secretively, shrug and say “I’m a mom~” and she’s not wrong. 

One thing for certain is that Venus is not human and this has certainly had an impact on her life. She spent her entire childhood being passed around the foster care system but never managing to find her forever home. Potential families found something so eerily off about her that no one ever wanted her in their house for long. Venus promised herself that when she was grown she would take in children that were like her, so they wouldn’t have to feel that sort of rejection and over and over again. And she did just that! :)

Venus is a lot more equipped to handling her childrens’ “monster-y” problems than Paul but she still struggles when it comes to their “kid/teen” dilemmas, which Paul excels at. She’s not much of a people person and isn’t very good at making friends in this squeaky clean suburban neighbourhood. But she’s in the adapting phase. 

Killian (Age 15) - The oldest kid, a baby grim reaper with some crazy levels of power over death. When he was younger, he was an absolute terror. He really sold the whole “hellspawn child” thing and was constantly raising the dead and scaring the absolute fuck out of his classmates. 

But now that Killian is a teenager and he’s calmed the FUCK down and has basically decided “Ok enough being evil I want to be loved now” so he’s trying his absolute best to keep his head down and fit in at school and be a normal kid but obviously he’s still very eccentric and naturally spooky and now that he’s not actively trying to use his death powers, it’s become harder to control it so he’s struggling a lot with this whole “being a normal kid” thing. 

And also his little siblings keep dragging him into trouble because OF COURSE they need his powers for their shenanigans.

Killian is very insecure about being seen as scary and it’s sort of affecting to ability to be the person he wants to be. Fortunately, he has Elroy, his best friend who is scared of everything remotely creepy. But not of Killian, he would never be scared of Killian <3

Zosia (Age 12) and Nikolai (Age 11) - A baby werewolf and a baby vampire respectively. 

Zosia is prim, proper, sophisticated, studious and is absolutely hell bent on causing as much problems in this town as she is capable of. A Disney Villain in the making. She’s training to become a witch and her spells are coming along excellently. (There is very little Zosia is bad at. Except being nice.) 

She is usually the one behind and in charge of most of their evil little plots but she is also a very fluffy little puppy dog girl and her dad has a very hard time staying mad at her. Even when she commits atrocities.

Zosia has naturally acidic tongue and uses it on everyone, even her own family. She can be dismissive of them at best and outright disgusted by them at worst. And yet, by this stage, her family has come to understand her strange love language. She is furiously loyal and protective of her siblings and still likes to have Venus sing to her and Paul read her a story every night. And that’s not even mentioning Nikolai, her best friend in the world. 

Nikolai is just a very fun very very energetic vampire who likes to dye their hair wild colours and talk about anime but also they are here for the chaos. They don’t have the same diabolical drive that Zosia has but they’re prone to boredom so they’re often like “Yeah, sure, I’ll help you summon an eldritch abomination to unleash on the town. That sounds wild and I wanna see how that plays out.”

They are very much the sibling that deliberately pesters the others the most. Nik is annoying all the goddamn time but especially with Zosia who they annoy to the point that she’s screaming at them. And yet for whatever reason Nik and Zosia are constantly a duo. They’re just as much of a trouble maker as her so they work as a team. Together they are fucking unstoppable. 

Nikolai has a fascination bordering on obsession with humans depiction of monsters, especially vampires. They have gathered as many forms of media as possible, from the original Dracula novel to Twilight. They are a walking encyclopedia on the topic. Please ask them their opinions. Please for the love of God they are dying to talk about their opinions. 

Lizzy (Age 5) - The most stereotypically “creepy child” who is unnervingly polite, speaks in a monotone voice, stares at you with huge unfathomable eyes and tells you the time and date you’re gonna die and shit like that. But that’s just her way of making conversation. 

She means no harm whatsoever. She’s probably the sweetest of all the kids and doesn’t have a lot of evil in her. Unless it’s stuff like not wanting to eat her vegetables or being picked on at school. Then it’s like the fucking exorcist. Horrifying screaming, shit flying all over the room, the gates of Hell opening up. But that’s just Mog'drannel (Age ???) the demon who channels itself through Lizzy, either using her body to communicate or choosing to take up residence in her doll. They don’t really mean any harm either but they don’t like it when anybody is mean to Lizzy. They can usually be pacified by peanut butter sandwiches.

Cobra (infant) - Paul and Venus don’t know exactly where Cobra came from or what he is but he has snake eyes, a forked tongue and venomous fangs (which he has had since he was born weirdly enough) so they thought the name was charmingly fitting. 

There are allegedly prophecies all over the place about this child being the anti-Christ but his parents are all like “eh maybe? It’s too early to tell. We’ll see. Maybe he’ll be a dentist, who knows. We’ll support him in whatever he decides to do.” And people are like “he is LITERALLY an abomination. His bite has killed people” and they’re like “that doesn’t prove anything.” 

Be nice to Cobra. Sometimes he plagues the neighbours with terrible misfortunate if their loud music or leaf blowers wake him up from a nap. (Allegedly. It can’t be proven that he was responsible for anything.)

[lovepeacexxoo]

Somebody got some 'splainin' to do😂

[fartoo-sensitive]

happy birthday, michael

cute lil bday fic for the bday boy<3 it's late i know, i worked till midnight so i couldn't get it out sooner. also sorry if anything in this is worded weird, i may have been drinking while writing it lol

word count: 718

warnings: none? blood mention, i guess, but nothing really graphic

character(s): michael myers (2018) x gn!reader

michael hadn't been home in almost 3 weeks. this was the longest he'd stayed away since he had first ever wandered into your kitchen so long ago.

you had been scared of him back then; immediately knowing who he was, what he had done. but that part of you had been miniscule in comparison to the part of you that was scared for him. that part of you offered him help, the blood seeping out from his countless wounds creating a puddle on the linoleum and making you forget the idea of not making any sudden movements to run and grab your first-aid kit. you had patched him up to the best of your abilities that first night, fed him leftover pot roast and mashed potatoes. then he left.

it had almost hurt, michael leaving. you'd woken up the next morning, gone downstairs, and he was no longer on the sofa where you had left him, or anywhere in the house. the backdoor was left wide open. you tried going about your normal life, but your mind was constantly drawn to him. you checked the news frequently, but there was nothing about him being apprehended, only the occasional story about another murder.

almost a month had gone by before he showed up again, covered in blood and his bandages filthy. you did what you could for him, his good eye never leaving your face, then once again gave him free reign over your house.

this time he stayed for a few days before disappearing, but his time away steadily grew shorter and his time with you grew longer.

you weren't sure what you had with michael, but you knew you had him, and that was enough.

today was special, though; or, at least, it was supposed to be. it was michael's 64th birthday. you'd been counting down the days on your calendar since he had left, waiting for him to come back, but there was no sign of him.

still you had cleaned up the house and finished michael's laundry that you'd put off since he'd left. you tried to keep yourself busy and stay optimistic that he would come home for his important day. you put a pot roast in the oven, started peeling potatoes when the sun went down, and steamed the vegetables once the potatoes and roast were about ready.

the table was set and the meal was being kept warm on the stove and in the oven, but michael still hadn't shown up.

you sat crossed-legged on the sofa, flipping through channels on the television. you settled on an episode of the munsters, pulling the throw blanket that was behind you around your shoulders. you silently hoped you wouldn't be there all night.

a creak from the back of the house broke you from your thoughts and you jumped up from the couch, practically running to the backdoor. you flung it open to find michael standing on the porch, arm raised as if he had been about to open the door himself.

"michael," you breathed, a smile forming over your lips. "you're home."

his arm dropped back to his side and his head tilted.

you stepped to the side to let him in, eyes brushing over his coveralls to make sure he didn't have any dire wounds that needed tending to.

once you had shut the door behind him he turned to face you, his head still tilted at that same angle as before.

"you were gone for a long time," you explained. "i was worried."

michael made a noise that was somewhere between a grunt and a huff, which you took to mean that your worry was misplaced.

a grimace took over your features for only a moment before you smiled. you slowly reached out and wrapped your fingers around his wrist, pulling him further into the house and towards the kitchen. once there you stopped with him by the dining table. "happy birthday. i made your favorite. i-" you stopped for a second, then continued. "i wasn't sure if you'd be back tonight, but i'm glad you are."

michael hummed, a quiet, soft little thing in the back of his throat, then reached up and put a hand on the side of your neck.

you leaned into the touch. "you're welcome, michael."

[honestscribe]

SCP Foundation/Addams Family Headcanons

I might write a story about these eventually, but feel free to use these in your own fics, as well. Just be sure to credit, and share a link if you'd be so kind!

-The Shy Guy (SCP-096): The Addamses actually consider him to be quite handsome (look at that lovely pallor!), which boosts his self-esteem, at least temporarily. He may or may not be Lurch's distant cousin.

-The Plague Doctor (SCP-049): Naturally, the family is immune to his touch of death, and actually consider him to be a good doctor. Grandmama especially enjoys his youth-enhancing brews. Morticia and Gomez keep trying to play matchmaker for him since he's so handsome and so good with the kids, but he isn't interested since it would interfere with his life's work. He has been the Addams’ family physician for centuries. (Bonus: He also knows the Munsters, but Grandpa considers him a quack. They enjoy getting into scientific arguments.)

-The Statue (SCP-173): Peanut enjoys posing for Morticia's paintings (always the same pose, but that doesn't seem to matter). He'll also let the kids draw on him as long as they wash it off. Uncle Fester likes his neck massages.

-Dr. Wondertainment: A long-time friend and business partner of Gomez Addams, who has become a friend to the family. He sends Wednesday and Pugsley a new toy every Halloween.

[sherimoonzombie]

🎬 We’ve been busy on set this week but I wanted to share some of your wonderful The Munsters fan art! Yes I know I’ve shared a couple of these individually BUT I l😍ve them still! 🎬

#TheMunsters #RobZombiesTheMunsters #FanArt

[musings-from-an-elder-goth]

Gothitecture

gothitecture: architecture appreciated by goths.  -Urban Dictionary

Gothitecture is like pornography.  You know it when you see it.  The Addams Family mansion, The Munsters’ house, the Psycho house, the Houses of Parliament, and Cologne Cathedral all spring quickly to mind as examples.  But it’s also that dark and hyper-modern new cabin in the mountains, or that steampunk tower in that rundown industrial neighborhood, or the ruins of that 500 year old castle on the outskirts of town.  Gothic, Victorian, Baroque, Romanesque, Dark Deco, Post-Modern - any and all of these can fall into this delightful architectural sub-genre so beloved by the darkly inclined. 

Even as a lad, my eyes would fall upon certain architectural styles and linger upon their lines and sensibilities.  They seemed special.  They seemed ‘right’.  Passing through a neighborhood of cape cods, ranches, and split levels, my eyes would glaze over in disinterest, but as soon as that rare Victorian cottage sprang into view, my mind would jump to life - my eyes drinking up every little detail of the ornate gables, the cast iron fence, the moldings beneath the eaves.  These rare beasts seemed to possess a unique quality that made them seem so special.  These buildings embodied personality and grace.

Overly introspective as most goths tend to be, I’ve often wondered as to the origins of this fascination and I may have sussed it out.  When I was crazy young, 3 or 4 years of age, my mother was friendly with an old woman who lived in a very modest, yet decidedly Victorian, house.  It isn’t quite large enough to be called a mansion, but it’s close.  Amazingly, it still stands, although I’m sure the little old lady is long gone.   Located in a severely rural area of North Carolina, it lacks the ornate finery of similar homes from even the smallest of towns, but anyone who looks upon it would agree:  Victorian. 

In it’s day, it was likely one of the grander residences of the county, but that day has long passed.  To me, it is and always will be special because of the memories that reside within.  Visiting the woman who lived there was a special occasion and my mother would make me wear nice clothes and sternly instruct me to be on my best behavior.  I was to say, “Yes, ma’am,” or “No, ma’am,” and to otherwise keep my mouth shut.  Not the best behaved of children, I was nevertheless happy to comply because of the wonders that hid inside.  The house was filled with antique furniture and decor, most of it Victorian vintage.  I can still recall being entranced by the a stereoscope viewer complete with image cards from the late 19th century.  I remember the intricate crystal candy dish upon the coffee table that held horrid hard candies which might also have been of Victorian vintage.  I was obliged to force one down each visit out of politeness, but it was like eating glass.  It was worth it because as soon as the women set themselves to the serious business of chit-chat, I was shepherded into a separate room - the room with The Toy Box.

I don’t recall precisely what The Toy Box looked like, but it was large, simple, and painted.  Within, were wonders untold.  At least 75 years worth of toys lived inside, all in excellent condition and each eager for a child’s attention.  My tiny hands fell upon tin soldiers, Jacobs Ladders, hand puppets so old their once heavy cloth was reduced to gossamer wisps, hand carved and painted tigers, horses, elephants, and spring-loaded cannons with accompanying tiny cannon balls.  A battered tin Spitfire airplane spoke of the little boy form the war years who ran through the yard holding it high over head so it soared through the clouds.  A faded rag-doll recalled the little Edwardian girl who used to hold her close and call her ‘My Dolly’ - it never left that little girl’s side until one day, it did.  I’m sorry dolly, I don’t know where your little girl went.  Perhaps she’s the old lady in the next room?  I seemed to fall into that toy box for weeks at a time, although it was probably less than an hour at a go.  Everything seems so much bigger when we’re young, especially time.  But not all the toys were happy.  There was one that scared me.  It was a Jack-in-the-Box. 

Allow me to clarify: it scared the hell out of me.  I don’t know what it was about that thing, but I only ever cycled it once.  The music the crank produced was old, sickly, and twisted.  The spring rusty and diseased.  It didn’t so much pop out as lurch forth.  It was a nightmare in a box.  I quickly shut it, latched it, and buried it beneath the other toys, but it would continue to make occasional evil sounds whenever I shifted the other toys about.  I imagine it’s still there to this day, patiently waiting to terrorize another child.  It’s what it does and that’s all it does.  But for me, it was an evil contained.  I knew it wanted to torment me, but I wouldn’t let it, so I was free to enjoy the wonders of The Toy Box.  Such strong memories must carry weight, correct?  Is this the reason my eyes linger lovingly on Victorian houses to this day?  Perhaps.  But what of gothic revival structures, or  Romanesque, or Post-Modern?  I never spent time inside one of those as a child with a magical toy box.  Introspection can sometimes twist into a Shining Maze.  Best not to stay too long - you may become frozen inside, forever.

Gothitecture can also spring from a place rather than a form.  Take a simple A-frame cabin in a dark wood.  We goths do love a good, dark wood.  Perhaps a light rain falling from an overcast sky.  Ravens caw and circle above.  Some forest creature runs by, unseen in the underbrush, but definitely heard - perhaps a wolf?  Tendrils of fog drifting across a forest path.  As night falls, broken clouds waft past the sickle moon.  An owl calls out questions to the shadows beneath the trees.  And late into the evening, we gather around a fire pit as the mountain cold wraps about us, and stare into the hypnotic, dancing fire.  I’m so there.

Perhaps we cast our thoughts favorably upon these styles because that’s where we belong and we full well know it.  We’re meant to drift about within these halls and upon these grounds.  The sounds of our heavy black boots upon stone floors is a thing meant to be.  The whisper of long dark coats as they brush across walls is a sound intended.  It’s a symbiotic relationship.  What’s a Gothic cottage without a goth to reside within?  How lonely it must be.  Those gargoyles perched upon the gables are not just there to ward off evil spirits, they’re also there to welcome home long lost friends.  When you look up at them, give them a friendly smile.  They know their kith and kin.

Standing before one of these dark masterworks of space and form, one cannot help but be transfixed, but play the appropriate music to accompany these edifices, and the experience becomes truly profound.  Let The Sisters of Mercy, or Switchblade Symphony, or The Damned echo within these halls, and perception becomes sublime.  All the pieces fall into place and all is right within our dark world.  Goth music was meant to be played within gothitecture while the shadowy forms of goths dance about within.  All becomes right with the world.  

Perhaps then, even evil toys are lulled into slumber within the forgotten toy boxes of the Counties of Caroline. 

creaturesfromelsewhere  12-29-2021

[allegra-writes]

"Bad Together"

Part I: Contact

Peter Parker x Reader

Teen and up

Warnings: language, UST.

"Baby, I'm preying on you tonight

Hunt you down, eat you alive

Just like animals"

Animals - Maroon 5

“Hey kid! Rough night? You look like shit…” 

You sighed, turning away from your door to face your neighbour. Had it been anyone else, you would just have given them the finger and gotten inside your apartment. But not her. Not when she could have information for you.

“Gee, thanks Jess! You do know how to sweet talk a girl.” 

The seemingly -deceptively- fragile brunette’s eyeroll could have rivaled your own signature one, as she kicked away from the wall and crossed the hallway in your direction.

“As if sweet talking would work on you…”

Despite your exhaustion and bad mood, you managed to munster a small sad smile as your mind wandered unbidden to another time, to what felt like another life. 

And to a boy with warm brown eyes and even warmer skin. 

"You'd be surprised…"

Jessica raised a questioning eyebrow, but you just shook your head.

"I have your payment, if that's what you're looking for…"

You said, changing the subject. Her face fell, causing your heart to drop to your stomach. You knew that look. The regret in her green eyes, the pity. You knew what she was going to say even before she opened her mouth. It wasn't really surprising after all: fourteen months without any clues, without any new developments or witnesses? She wanted to drop the case.

"Listen, kid-" 

"No" you cut her off, your voice breaking no arguments, "whatever you're going to say, I won't accept it. I pay you, and you keep on looking for my sister. That's how this works. Let's not fuck this beautiful friendship of ours up." 

You added, only partly sarcastic. You were perfectly aware that, as closed off and damaged as you both were, you were probably the closest thing to a friend either of you had. 

And, for her part, Jessica knew that, if she didn't do the dirty work for you, you would be the one crawling up vents and climbing up balconies, sliding your way into seedy bars and even seedier alleys. You were stubborn like that. And truth be told, she had grown a little protective of you.

She pursed her lips, the wheels turning inside her head. 

"Well then," she finally proposed, "What about you pay me when I actually find something worth paying for?"

It took your drowsy brain a moment to process her words. You were ashamed of the moisture that found its way to your eyes, the knot in your throat that didn't allow you to let out anything more than a weak "Jessica" as a reply. But you were too worn out to be able to keep the emotions at bay. It had been too long since anyone had shown you that type of kindness, gratefulness was not something you were used to feeling. 

"I'm not giving up on the case," she promised, "but I'm not taking your money anymore. At least not until I deserve it."

She was telling the truth, you knew her enough to be able to tell that. If anything, she was going to work even harder to try and get the investigation moving.

"Thank you." 

You really meant it.

"Don't mention it” she shrugged, downplaying it, like every good deed she made. "Now get inside and get some sleep. You look dead." 

You did roll your eyes at that, missing her affectionate smirk as you disappeared through the door, muttering a laconic. "Yes, mom."

The darkness and quiet that greeted you inside your apartment felt like a soothing balm to your over stimulated mind, a much needed respite after your long, adrenaline filled evening. That was why you didn't even bother to turn the lights on as you let your backpack fall anywhere on the tile floor, stepping out of your sneakers and pulling your shirt over your head. 

The cold early morning breeze sent goosebumps along your skin, bringing your attention to the open window. 

You froze. You were always very careful not to let any windows open, Hell's Kitchen was a tough neighbourhood for a spoiled cat like your Selina to be out and about. 

A flash of movement at the corner of your eye was all you needed before your senses went haywire again, instinct kicking in as you jumped high in the air to twirl and land a kick to the back of whoever was in your apartment. But the intruder was expecting it, dodging just in time and turning around to block your punch. Getting a hold of your wrist, the dark figure twisted and pulled you forwards until you fell, back flushed against his chest as he wrapped his arms around yours in a vice-like grip, effectively immobilizing you.

"Easy there, Smokey." A way too familiar voice breathed against your ear, "you're going to hurt yourself." 

You stopped struggling against his grasp. Right. Of course it was him.

"Peter?"

His grip grew tighter for a moment, before letting go.

"Hello, Y/N."

Just like that, it all came back to you: The memories you had tried to repress, the feelings you had tried so hard to bury, washing over you like a flood, a tsunami hitting you hard enough to knock the breath out of your lungs once again. As you took an unsteady step away from him, you prayed that Peter hadn't noticed. 

"What are you doing here?"

"Nice place," Peter ignored your question, choosing to casually pace your living room instead. "Bit of a downgrade from the upper west side, though…"

"Fine," you scoffed, turning to him, "you wanna do small talk? Let's do small talk: what’s with the edgelord look?" You pointed at his tar-black suit. 

"Biotech," the suit retracted from his face and head, reminding you of the nanobots suit he used to wear before Dr. Octopus destroyed it. "Do you like it?" 

You shrugged,

"Stark industries?"

He shook his head. 

"Horizon Lab."

Well, that was interesting. You knew the little, independent company owned by one of his ex-girlfriends had helped him manufacture a couple of special suits developed from his very own webs, after his emancipation from the Starks. But you had no idea they had reached such level of refinement, and you had a feeling neither did Fury. 

"You like it?"

"You look… taller," You noted. That wasn't the only difference; his hair was longer, wilder, his shoulders wider, his arms far bigger than you recalled.

"You look exactly the same," he countered, as open as he had always been. "Just as beautiful as I remembered…"

You sighed, tiredly. You didn't have the energy for that — for his charm, his candidness. What was more, you weren't prepared at all. 

No, you weren't prepared for this Peter. Your Peter. Not after what all that Fury had told you…

"What do you want, Peter?"

He leveled you with a look, his whole demeanor changing in the blink of an eye. 

"I could ask you the exact same thing…"

"What do you mean?"

"Come on, Y/N. Don't play dumb with me, it doesn't suit you." His sudden bluntness surprised you, but it was more along the lines of what Fury had warned you to expect so it didn't completely manage to throw you off. 

You crossed your arms, "I have no idea what you're talking about." 

"Really, now?" Peter took a step forward, towering over you. "You don't? Hanging out at my spots, patrolling my neighbourhood, taking down my thugs?" He enumerated.

"Your thugs?"

"The kingpin is mine," he growled.

"Since when?"

"You fucking know since when!" You tried to hide your flinch at his rising tone, but he must have noticed because a moment later, he was closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, visibly trying to get a hold of himself. 

"I thought Queens was your neighbourhood…" You spoke, trying to diffuse the tension after a couple beats had passed without him moving.

"Yeah, well," he shrugged, opening his eyes, "I relocated."

"So did I…" 

"You did," he smiled. And just like that, he was back at being your Peter. "And you mean to tell me all of this." He pressed a button in his wrist, "isn't to get my attention?" 

A hologram version of Jade's video started to play in front of your impassive eyes. And you might have thought your carefully constructed mask of indifference gave away nothing, but Peter could see right through it. You didn't seem surprised to see the video and that alone was enough proof for him to confirm his theory. 

"Please, Smokey, security footage?" He smirked, "this isn't like you. You aren't this sloppy."

Another click and the video was gone.

"Well, this might come as a surprise to you, but everything isn't always about you." 

"Then what's going on?"

"None of your fucking business!"

Before you could react, the floor disappeared from under your feet, and your back hitted the wall with enough force to rattle the windows. 

"Like hell it isn't," Peter hissed, his weight pinning you upright. "Now tell me, what the fuck did you get yourself into this time?"

As you stared into his stormy eyes, heart racing inside your chest, unsure if the adrenaline coursing through your veins was because of the obvious threat in front of you, or for another reason entirely, you wondered exactly the same. 

Your tongue came out to moist your lips, Peter's dark pupils following the movement.

"It's been over a year," you breathed out, all the fight leaving you. It was too much, his sweet breath fanning over your face, every inch of his hard body pressed up against yours, overpowering you, the slick texture of his new suit against your bare chest… it was intoxicating. You had overestimated yourself. "Why do you even care?"

"I will always care about you," he confessed softly, just as affected by the closeness as you. "I will always want you…"

You closed your eyes, trying to get your erratic heart under control.

"Maybe I don't want you anymore, Peter." 

He pushed you harder against the wall, his forearm against your collarbone to prevent you from moving. 

"Don't do that," he whispered, lips ghosting over yours. "Don't torture me."

"Peter…"

BAM.

You fell to your knees, hard, Peter's body suddenly no longer supporting your weight. 

"Touch her again, and I'll kill you!"

"J-Jess?" 

"Hey, kid. You alright?" Your neighbour barely even spared you a glance over her shoulder as she placed herself between you and a newly irate looking Peter, slowly getting up from the rumble of splinters of wood and shards of glass that used to be your coffee table.

"What are you doing here?" You asked in confusion.

"I heard a noise," she deadpanned, eyes never leaving the dark cladded vigilante. But to your surprise Peter merely raised his hands in surrender, the bulk of his rage vanishing the moment he understood the woman in front of him was only trying to protect you. 

"This isn't what it looks like…" He tried to explain, but Jessica would have none of it.

"Yeah, sure" she scoffed. "Big guy, totally dressed, pinning a half naked girl to the wall in the dark... totally not rapey."

Peter flinched. She was right, he wouldn't believe himself either. 

"Listen, you're Jessica Jones, right?" Recognizing the woman in front of him, suddenly your choice in real state made a lot more sense. "I am- I was," he quickly corrected himself, "Peter Parker. Your friend, Matt Murdock, he knows me… look, I'm not- I'm not a bad guy." 

Even to his ears, he sounded unconvincing.

"Really?" Jess pointed at his black costume, "Cause you definitely look like a bad guy." 

"I… Y/n, help me out here," he threw you a pleading look but Jess moved to the side, blocking you from view.

"Hey, fuckface!" She snapped, drawing Peter's attention back to her, "the only reason I'm not kicking your ass right now is because of Matt. But if I ever see you next to Y/N ever again, I'll break every single bone of your body. Twice. Now get the fuck out of here, before I run out of fucking patience."

"Y/N?"

You sighed, getting up. Away from him, and with Jess there as a boofer between the both of you, you were no longer under the influence and could clearly see exactly how fucked up the situation was.

"I think you should leave, Peter." 

There was a flash of hurt in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a mask of indolence as he squared his jaw and turned away, letting the bio-suit close over his head again.

"I looked for her too, you know?" He admitted, before making his exit through the same window he had come in from.

You had no time to dwell on his words or anything of what had just happened, before Jess was on your face. 

"That was Peter? Your sister's boyfriend, the one you told me I didn't need to investigate?"

You resisted the urge to shrink under her look,

"Yeah…"

"You told me he was harmless. That did not look harmless!"

You couldn't really argue with that, so you didn't. Instead you gestured at her to be quiet, as you reached past her to pick up your phone, your landline phone, the one you had never bothered connecting. 

The one you knew was bugged.

With voice as clear and steady as you were able to manage, you spoke into the mic,

"Contact made. Awaiting further instructions." 

To be continued...

[anonthenullifier]

“I think this one’s going to be it.”

Vision remains unconvinced despite the realtor’s optimism. “We shall have to see.”

It’s the fifteenth town they’ve looked at, the thirtieth house, and nothing so far has been perfect. All the blogs online and the pamphlets at the realty office and the conversations with Mary, his persevering and upbeat realtor, have informed him that perfection can rarely be bought, but if he can find a home with good bones and have a can-do attitude, he can make it perfect. This he does not disagree with, at least when it comes to the house, but the town itself cannot be so easily molded and that has led to the disparaging length of the search.

Mary holds up her clipboard, blocking out the afternoon sun, watching him stare at the town’s main square. “Why don’t I go along to the lot and you just get a feel for the place as you mosey on over?”

“Very well.”

“Okay, take your time.” She gets back into the blue sedan she drove down in and leaves.

There is a particular atmosphere he is trying to find, a homey, old-fashioned quality. The first place he investigated was New Rochelle, the very location of the van Dyke household, and it was charming in its quaintness and soothing in its familiarity but it was also a tourist trap, signs speaking to its history and a handful of people wandering with cameras to see the house from the show. What Wanda deserves is the feel of a small town, not the exact replica and so he hired Mary and they have discreetly traveled across New York and now, growing desperate, have dipped into New Jersey. To be fair to the realtor, he is not an easy client, quick to determine if the feel of the area is off and speaking to her in the only comparisons he can make based on his knowledge of Wanda’s preferences. Some towns were too Gilmore Girls or not enough Bewitched, others only had one corridor that spoke to Family Ties while the rest felt like a modern city. They’d trudged through areas that felt like the Munsters and others where he knew it would turn into the Twilight Zone simply based on the odd stares and eerie feeling from the facade of happiness in towns long past their prime.

Vision surveys the current possibility and is not immediately disappointed. The town square houses a gazebo, well kept and inviting with its lattice work and the shrubbery framing the grass around it -an ideal spot for a picnic or a tea during their lunch hour, assuming they try out true domestication of idle employment. Lining the main road are small shops and little restaurants, eclectic in their conglomeration and relatively satisfactory to stroll beside, or so he tests, hands in his pockets and his disguise reflected back to him as he stares into a clothing shop where a mannequin rests in a red, billowy dress Wanda would adore.

A little spark jumps in his chest as he keeps moseying, the closest approximation to hope he has felt in his search, spurred on by the flower cart overflowing with roses outside a little boutique and the way all the townspeople have either smiled or waved at him when their eyes briefly lock. Vision is not known for his imagination which is why it is fascinating how easily he can picture walking this street, Wanda’s fingers twined with his, an ice cream cone from the creamery on the corner in her hand, her joy bubbling over as she tells him the latest frivolity of gossip in the town.

It’s when he turns down the road where Mary is waiting in her car that his synthetic heart begins to whirr at the trees lining the street, their thin leaves shading the few houses that stand with picture perfect porches for a lemonade in the stifling summer sun or a hot chocolate when fall begins to run its frosty fingers in the air. Curious as to their scientific categorization, Vision studies one, his hand running over the grayish bark that ripples with diamond-esque patterns. Slowly, and as inconspicuously as possible, he leans in and sniffs, cataloguing the pungent odor, one that if he was pressed to describe it would be spicy...not one of heat but of the spice that always filled the compound when he and Wanda baked after going to pick apples. The long leaves are pinnately organized, forming couplings that cling to either side of the branch. The final piece that leads to its categorization is the round green seed hanging below a pair of leaves. It is a Juglan nigra , the black walnut and all he can hear in its swaying leaves is the riotous laughter from Wanda as the van Dyke household fills with walnuts.

Vision smiles, overcome momentarily at the rightness of it all.

But there is one more determination before he commits to this life, before he decides that this is what he wants to promise Wanda the next time they meet. Apprehensively he approaches the car, tapping on the window to let Mary know he is ready. “What’d you think so far?”

The falsity of her grin should be alarming, yet he knows he is to blame for it, having had to inform her of her failure to find him what he wants dozens of times before . This time, however, he is happy to inform her, “It is quite promising.”

A real, full bodied smile erupts on her face. “Good, because I watched every season of that show just to figure out what it was you wanted.”

“It has been successful so far.”

“Come on.” She leads him down the road about ten feet before waving her arms like one of the women on game shows who is in charge of the grand prize. “Here it is.”

“I, um,” it must be some form of humor he has yet to master because there is no actual house, merely a stretch of grass with a lonely sign declaring For Sale! “Where is the house?”

Her laughter does not allay his discomfort at all, “Based on our search so far and how particular you are,” this is said with a friendly needling that no doubt hides some resentment, “I decided to find you the town and let you build the perfect house.”

The words wash over him, cling to his mind until he can comprehend the meaning. And then he can feel his lips curve up and part into a bliss of possibility. Before him is an empty lot, but in his mind he is already constructing the foundation of their future. After all this business with the Accords he simply wants a quiet life and before him it stands, floor by floor he sees the house form, visualizes himself bringing Wanda home for the first time, scooping her up to carry her across the threshold, her arms tight around his neck. They’ll paint the outside together, argue over the best place for the couch and whether the television should be a focal point. He’ll cook for her in the kitchen as she sits at the counter, informing him of his missteps before they happen. At night they’ll sit on the back porch, under the walnut trees and enjoy the silence of the world revolving. It is everything she had told him about, everything she has quietly smirked at while they watch her favorite shows, thinking he did not see her wistful enjoyment at a life of domestic bliss.

“I’ll take it.”

“Do you want some time to think?”

“No.” Vision shakes his head for added emphasis. There is a rightness here, an all encompassing hope for what their lives can be. “It is perfect. You can contact Stark Industries for the mortgage information.” Yes, this is where they can finally be together, where they can experience a life so far denied. This is where they’ll grow old together and never want for anything but each other.

[don-lichterman]

'We're tiptoeing in the direction of environmental catastrophe'

‘We’re tiptoeing in the direction of environmental catastrophe’

Former Teagasc worker Enda Keane had ambitious plans for his forestry software company Treemetrics, which facilitates the auction and measurement of forests. He wanted to more than double his workforce and boost revenues from €1m to €40m by the end of 2022. Then a pandemic, a war, and soaring inflation scuppered these goals. “The Covidpandemic had a huge impact globally on forestry. The forest…

[oldguardhc]

Old Guard hc #113

AN: I’m never letting this go. Prev AA. Also, this is bc we’ve had a lot of drama in the fandom lately, so I hope this cheers some people up!

Joe toes his shoes off as quietly as he can and creeps into the living room. Nicky’s busy channel surfing from the sofa, flipping to the next channel every other second and creating a continuous blur of pixels. Over eight-hundred channels and his ridiculously picky husband can’t find a thing to watch. Joe can’t help but roll his eyes, lips stretching into a fond smile. He loves the ridiculously picky potato on the couch, even when it means watching a second of every single channel for half an hour only to settle on a rerun of The Munsters.

Creeping up on Nicky is laughably easy. Nicky doesn’t even twitch from his spot as he silently pads through the living room to the back of the couch. It’s a sign of trust that Joe’s not above exploiting every once in awhile.

In one clumsy motion, Joe teeters over the back of the couch and onto the love of his life. Their knees painfully knock together and he has to wrap his arms around Nicky’s shoulders to stop himself from rolling off the couch, his calculations severely off.

Nicky groans and drops the remote to help steady him. “What are-“

“Affection attack!” Joe says and surges up to connect their lips. He kisses Nicky enthusiastically, even when Nicky is still too busy gaping at him, and because he’s an ass, he makes sure to leave extra spit behind as he attacks his husband’s mouth.

Nicky, finally getting with the program, pushes Joe’s face away with one hand and wipes his mouth with the other in disgust.

“Hey! I put extra love in that one!” Joe says, pouting as Nicky wipes his hand on Joe’s shirt.

“We need to redefine love and affection if you think this was it,” Nicky responds, picking the remote back up and ignoring Joe. That’s not only completely unacceptable, it’s rude. Joe just spent the last two minutes pouring his affection to his lesser half and this is how he gets repaid?!

Joe sticks his face in Nicky’s line of sight. “Nicolò. Nicolò.” Joe pecks Nicky’s nose. “Stop ignoring me.” He kisses Nicky’s eyes, cheeks, lips and Nicky’s face scrunches up all cutely and his lips are pressed tightly together in a desperate attempt to stop himself from smiling. Joe presses several kisses there in a row. “You’re smiling. Nicolò, you’re smiling. Kiss back!”

Nicky cracks open an eye and when Joe leans down to peck him again, he receives the lamest kiss in existence. Joe lets out a dramatic sigh while slowly pushing himself up. “Fine, I’ll go do an AA to Book-“

Joe doesn’t even get to finish the sentence. Nicky pulls him back down and kisses him to within an inch of his life.

When they break apart, both panting for air, Nicky’s fingers idly playing with the curls at the nape of his neck, Nicky gives him a half-smile. “Knew you were gonna do one.”

Joe laughs. “Sure,” he says and snuggles into Nicky’s chest.  

They cuddle and watch The Munsters for the rest of the day.

[artmakerproductions]

“The Crookits” (#3) - The Family Pets: 1) Hank, a guard alligator who lives in their front yard pond. Tries to eat the mailman. Loves belly rugs and sitting in the warm lap of his owners. Regularly taken to the dog park for exercise and to socialize. Has sometimes tried to sneak a “snack” or two while there. Y’know the whole “what do you got in your mouth?” and the pet immediately runs away and the owner has to chase 'em down and get them to spit it out? Pretty much that. Behaviour modelled after this: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=O78CxqRl7NE  2) Sweetie, a literal scaredy cat who is easily frightened by everything — except the Crookits. Loosely modelled after the cat on the poster of “The Black Cat” (1941). 3) Dexter, an undersized dust devil (assumed to have been the runt of the litter) that the family took in and adopted after a trip to the American desert one summer. Regularly fed piles of sand. Has the dementor, temperament and size of an ankle bitter. 

🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 Happy spooky season everyone! 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 🎃 In THIS collaboration between me and my good buddy @mask131, we present to you our own spin on the “weird spooky family” trope that was popularized by “The Addams Family” and “The Munsters”, the ones a majority of you out there are probably the most familiar with. They are, The Crookits!

As I was first sketching up visuals, when I had the thought of making it a black family, or at least a mixed race one. To help stand out in the ‘weird spooky family’ crowd. As well as because more cartoons nowadays are featuring more non-white protagonists/characters as the leads. Plus famously, black people are hardly featured often in such gothic settings, ala Tim Burton. (If I’m correct). The father is a stay-at-home dad w/ the mother who is the breadwinner of the family runs a two-in-one business: a bed and breakfast and funeral home/mortuary. As to allow for a “guest (or guests) of the week” type formula w/ varying reactions to the family’s antics from those staying. Mixed in w/ the slice of life format for the family. As for said guests, which can end up being either monster or human. As to give some leeway w/ character making so that not every kooky character is directly related to the family. Like, a snooty and rude upper class monster family; or a typical suburban family that just finds the creepy aesthetic of the place charming. Y’know, to mix it up a bit from time to time. Perhaps rivals (both of the normal and abnormal sort) or people in the area/town who try and sabotage the business or drive the family out of town. “The Crookits”, a play on “crooked” if that wasn’t obvious X P Let us know what you think! : ) 

[mask131]

Creepy Family History: Hannah-Barbera (plus bonus)

Remember when I mentioned that the Hannah-Barbera studios liked a lot the Addams Family? Including them in their Scooby-Doo cartoon, and adapting them into two different cartoon series in the 70s and 90s?

Well, the studios obsession with the Addams dated back to a long time, before even the sitcom. Hannah-Barbera had created their own inspired-by/rip-off “creepy family”, clearly influenced by the cartoons of Chas Addams.

 They were the J. Evil Scientist family. First appearing in 1959 in an episode of Snooper and Blabber, they continued appearing in other Snooper and Blabber cartoons, and also appeared in 1961 in a Snagglepuss cartoon. Contrary to the Addams family, the Evil Scientist family was much smaller. Green-skinned, gothic evil (but affable) scientists living in a cobweb-filled old manor, the father (J. or Boris) was a small, ugly man ; the wife (Goonda) a tall and creepily elegant woman (smoking with a cigarette holder, wearing a black Morticia-like dress in Snopper and Blabber, a red one in Snagglepuss) ; and for a child there is only one progeny, the small and childish if not babyish Junior, a playful son in frequent need of babysitting. Creepy and spooky, the visitors of the Evil Scientists usually had to deal with the trouble caused by their strange experiments and toxic products (Snagglepuss for example had to fight a mouse turned giant by the concoctions brewed by the family). The Evil Scientists even got their own comic book series (a set of comic released for Halloween, and originally appearing in the Hannah-Barbera Bandwagon, from 63 to 66).

 Hannah-Barbera was known to rip-off other television series and cartoons, but they also ripped off themselves. Such as the case with the Evil Scientists family, that was so popular several variations of them reappeared throughout the studios history.

In “The Flintstones”, a reinvented version with slightly different designs of the Evil Scientists appeared as the creepy neighbors of the Flintstones. Called the Gruesomes (Weirdly the father, Creepella the mother, Goblin “Gobby” the son), they were a Stone Age version of the Evil Scientists, with a stronger influence from the Addams Family (for example the Gruesomes had an uncle, Uncle Ghastly, only appearing as a giant furry hand coming out of cave walls, and unusual pets, Occy the octopus and Schneider the giant spider).

The Gruesomes later reappeared, with slightly different designs and an entirely different name (The Creepleys) in “Laff-A-Lympics”. Their last appearance so to speak was in an episode of “A Pup Named Scooby-doo”, in the episode Snow Place Like Home. The gang goes to a snow resort haunted by an ice ghost, and the creepy owners of the station are basically slightly more realistic depictions of the Evil Scientists (though still unsettling, for example they keep their green skin). Spooky and suspicious-looking, this iteration of the family (here a couple named “Morganson” and childless) ultimately turns out to be good guys, whose business is being killed by the so-called “ice ghost”.

  While not an Hannah-Barbera production, I also wish to mention that the famous cartoon “The Real Ghostbusters” also did their own take on the creepy family, as an obvious reference and parody to both The Addams and The Munsters. In the episode “Loathe Thy Neighbor”, the Ghostbusters are called to the spooky and decaying manor of the Micawb family for strange hauntings – however as it turns out the Micawbs as just as creepy and weird as many of the spirits and ghosts the Ghostbusters had to face, and the “haunting” that plagues their house is the result of one of the “games” of their son, who accidentally released an eldritch Lovecraftian abomination in the cellar. The Micawbs take from the Addams (the parents, Bello and Lucretia, are parodies of Gomez and Morticia, they have a grotesque hunchbacked butler named Creegor, and a whole host of grotesque, freakish and monstrous relatives coming at the end for a family reunion) but are also based on The Munsters – their son Thaddeus is a young crazy scientist who built his own pet, the dog Patchwork, while their daughter Lydia is a perfectly normal-looking and even beautiful blond girl, just like Marilyn Munster).

[kwebtv]

Character Actor  

Paul Reed  (born Sidney Kahn; June 16, 1909  –  April 2, 2007)  Stage and television actor known for his trademark "slow burn", which he made famous in his role as Captain Paul Block on Car 54, Where Are You?.

In 1956, his comedic talents came forward as a foil for Sid Caesar in Caesar's Hour. In 1958, he would appear on Sergeant Bilko with future Car 54, Where Are You? star Joe E. Ross.

In 1961, Reed was cast in the Nat Hiken situation comedy Car 54, Where Are You? as the beleaguered Captain Paul Block of the 53rd Precinct in the Bronx. Reed, a master of timing, was the perfect foil for the antics of the wacky police officers of the 53rd. His trademark on the show was the slow burn in which his reaction would go from restrained anger until he reached his boiling point and would explode. The show ended its run on September 8, 1963 after 60 episodes.

During the 1964–1965 season, Reed portrayed business executive Damon Burkhardt in The Cara Williams Show. He continued to work on Broadway and in sitcoms through the 1960s, appearing in various episodes of Bewitched, The Donna Reed Show, Beverly Hillbillies and I Dream of Jeannie. In 1965, he appeared with former Car 54, Where Are You? co-stars Fred Gwynne and Al Lewis in an episode of The Munsters. In later years, Reed was a staple in television commercials until the 1990s. (Wikipedia)