#terror fabulous

[culturalappreciator]

[chroniclesofnadia111]

Mid-late 90s/ early -mid 200s dancehall✨💫💫💫

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

Peter Lorre as Montresor Herringbone walling up Vincent Price as Fortunato Luchresi

Tales of Terror; The Black Cat 🐈‍⬛ dir. Roger Corman

[lukasspookas]

fun ghoul nightmares :[ more ghoul than fun tbh

[whenthegoldrays]

very sorry to Mary, girl I know it must’ve been the worst three days of your LIFE, but I can’t help but find the whole Jesus-lost-in-the-temple-at-age-12 situation absolutely hilarious and baffling. like?? I get that his parents didn’t miss him on the first day, and that the next three days were spent looking for him, but what about the kid himself? wasn’t he like, aware that his whole family must’ve left without him? who took care of him for those four days? who fed him? where did he sleep??? did none of the Pharisees or anyone wonder where the kid’s parents were?? did no one ask him??? just a colossal screw up by everyone involved, absolutely fabulous 10/10 no notes

[gallusrostromegalus]

The Van Has Officially Declared It Spooky Season

---

I've got my parent's van for the week and it seems determined to establish my status as The Local Cryptid by terrorizing an innocent 7-11 clerk.

...I might need to back up a bit.

My mother is an eminently sensible woman who knows herself well, and when The Plauge hit, she knew she'd need some sort of mentally and physically engaging craft project to keep herself from going insane and massacring the local zoning and water management boards (even if they have it coming). So she and Dad acquired a utility van and converted it into a camper van because while they love camping, they're past the age where their joints and immune systems will tolerate sleeping on the cold ground in a nylon tent.

They did a terrific job of it and my mom taught herself woodworking and carpentry and now the van has it's own cabinets, fold-away dining table, and removable queen-sized bed with memory foam mattress. My Dad was already a computer engineer, but he learned the dark magics of automotive software and electronics to install after-market backup cameras, a media player that would take a terabyte hard drive and a solar-powered battery and outlet so they could wake up and just turn on the kettle and griddle for breakfast without having to exit the van into a cold morning on an empty stomach.

Truly, the height of Camping Luxury.

My parents are both in their mid-seventies and my primary life goal is to be at least half as cool and hale as they are when I get old.

Anyway, they take it out at least a dozen times a year and it works fabulously, but, being as I am on good terms with my parents and also finishing the process of moving house, I've been borrowing it to move large and cumbersome objects that will not fit in the back of my equally lovely but minuscule Honda hatchback.

It's a Great Van. Very easy and comfortable to drive. Stunningly good MPG for it's size. The best cruise control I've ever had in a car.

It's just also. Quirky. Mischievous, even.

---

If this van has a fault its that it bears the unfortunate affliction that all lightly used white utility vans have in that the combination of an utter lack of branding features and the large dent/scrape I accidentally put on it while trying to escape a Denny's last Thanksgiving means that this vehicle is one addition of a Badly Spray-Painted "FREE CANDY" on the side away from being the sort of vehicle you see in an edgy horror movie.

It's got the same issue that Doberman Dogs have where they look like the sort of creature that likes to snack on toddler's faces whilst actually having personalities made of marshmallow fluff. This vehicle is unnecessarily menacing and I think nothing short of an airbrushed Epic Van Wizard will correct this. People see this van pull up and lean over and squint suspiciously at me when the driver's side door opens, and then look moderately confused when, instead of Charles Manson, a small, potato-shaped creature with neon purple hair and a statistically unlikely assortment of dogs emerges.

My own two dogs, Herschel the Hanukkah Goblin/Corgi and Charleston Chew The Taco Dumpster Dog, Do Not Like The Van. Even with the bed in it, they have a tendency to slide and roll around in the back, and both WILL chew through dog saftey belts or other attempts to secure them in there.

On the other hand, my house mate's dog, an exceptionally tall standard poodle whom we lovingly call "The Creature", loves the Van because SHE wears her doggy seat-belt with only mild complaining and gets to sit up in the passenger seat like A People.

Also like A People, The Creature likes to stand and walk around on her hind legs. It doesn't hurt her and it's entirely voluntary, but every so often I will feel a hand on my arm and instead of my husband or friend, it's a canine that's taller than I am on her hind legs who wants to stare at my face with soulful, concerned eyes. The Creature's favorite thing is that she is exactly the right height for me to hold her arm in Genteel Fashion and walk around the pet food or hardware store with her like I'm a count escorting a debutante around a royal ball.

---

As it stands, I am set to inherit this vehicle whenever my Honda gives up the ghost, and I fully intend to paint an Epic Van Wizard on it when that time comes.

The other peculiarity of The Van is that while Dad did manage to successfully install all his after-market electronics, not all the electronics get along. Sometimes, they fight for Dominance. The Terabyte Music Player and the Backup Camera have a particularly contentious relationship, and turning on the music has about a 25% chance of turning on the backup camera as well, and turning on the Backup Camera is equally likely to turn on the music.

Firthermore, The Van has a favorite song.

I am not kidding that Dad filled an entire terabyte hard drive with music and the software to sort it via the radio controls, but of all the Early Boomer Dad Rock (Kingston Trio over The Eagles) and Irish Folk and Symphonies and the entire discography of Weird Al Yankovic, The Van's favorite song- The one it picks to play as victory music every time it beats the Backup Camera at their weird electronic game of rock-paper-scissors -is The Liberty Bell March by John Phillip Sousa.

You all know this song already.

...but in case you've forgotten the tune:

Yeah.

The Van's favorite song is the goddamn Monty Python's Flying Circus Theme Music.

It does not play this song at a normal volume.

Every time I turn on the Backup Camera and it manages to turn the music player on as well, The Van insists on absolutely blasting this nonsense on at the maximum volume it's physically capable of producing, which I know is loud enough to be heard from the Denver International Airport's Pickup zone when they Van decided to start playing it from the economy lot about half a mile away.

Perhaps it's The Van's way of honoring the aesthetic sensibilities and sonic enthusiasm of Mr. Sousa.

...I can't help but wonder if the purpose of an Epic Van Wizard is to control this sort of faerie-like malarkey, and channel these chaotic energies into things like Spell of Don't Break Down In Nevada or Enchantment Of Always Have Good Parking.

---

So last Friday the 13th, I get a call from my friend and housemate, at said airport.

It's roughly 11PM at night, and I have already retired for the evening. I am in the exact minimum of clothing required to be a decent housemate and not scandalize the neighbors should I happen to walk by a window. My feet are up. There is a cat in my lap and fictional British people murdering each other in highly inventive fashion on the tv. -But my friend has returned from her friend's wedding,and either American or United Airlines has managed to lose her luggage, including, among other valuable possessions, the keys to her car. ...So she cannot just drive home as originally planned.

There are, as luck would have it, her spare set of keys not eight feet from me.

Being a good and decent person, I agree to bring the spare keys to her so she may get home before daybreak and not spend a semester's worth of tuition on an uber across the greater Denver traffic jam.

Being also that she Loves Activities, and it's her mom we're going to pick up, I elect to take along The Creature.

I am primarily focused on remembering how to get to the airport and not leaving my friend's spare keys on the counter, so I throw on a pair of flip-flops, step outside, remember that it's AUTUMN and my minimal evening attire is not sufficient thermal protection, step back in, grab the first coat in the closet I lay hands on, pull it on, check that I have her keys again and leave.

The trip to the airport is largely unremarkable, save that it becomes necessary for me to put on sunglasses to drive, despite it being nearly the witching hour and almost entirely darker than the inside of a cow.

It's necessary because this blissful darkness of night is violently punctured by a startling number of cars that seem to have installed miniaturized but no less powerful lighthouse bulbs in where their headlights ought to go so the oncoming traffic and sports cars that insist on tailgating me in the slow lane alike illuminate the road and my mirrors with the kind of radiance I'd normally associate with the arrival of a Seraphim.

I arrive at the distant highly discounted airport car lot where my housemate is waiting, deeply apologetic. It's nothing. I say. Once I see that your car starts up, I'm gonna go to that 7-11 across the way that I parked in front of, get a slurpee or something and I'll see you at home.

While she is retrieving her vehicle (an equally eccentric but much more stately Subaru that is old enough to be elected to congress) I rifle through the loose change in the glove box and discover that I have exactly $6.66 in small bills and coins. The Subaru, continuing it's long voyage into vehicular immortality, immediately starts up.

Upon her return, we all remember that my friend had all her camping gear in the backseat of the car and there is no room for The Creature to ride home with her parent, so I again assure her it's nothing, and will just take The Creature into the 7-11 with me. She is trained as a service animal and needs the practice after the plague.

I wave my friend off and turn to enter the 7-11.

I promptly trip over the jutting back bumper of The Van and fall, cartoonishly, face-first onto the sidewalk.

Fortunately, I have a lot of practice falling on my face, and have learned not to throw my hands out but instead cover my face, so my unexpected self-inflicted attempted curb-stomping lightly scrapes my hairline and nothing else -my sunglasses even stay in place- and I get up and resume my quest for a slurpee.

It's well known that the airport is a lawless place, and the 7-11 across from the discounted airport parking at the stroke of midnight is no exception.

I know it's the stroke of Midnight because there's one of those Audubon society bird-call clocks that makes bird noises, and my arrival is heralded by the twittering call of a Summer Tanager. I am almost charmed enough by the unusual choice of chronological device to excuse the exorbitant Airport-adjacent mark-up of Slurpee prices. I stand at the machine for some time, trying to decide on a size for the price and guess what the fuck "Blue Lighting Blast" is supposed to taste like.

The Creature is being Very Polite but is somewhat agitated, I assume because she *just* saw her mother for the first time in three days and then she LEFT with no explanation, so The Creature is on her hind legs, staring woefully into my eyes, asking to be escorted around the 7-11. Even though that's not what she's not supposed to be doing, there's nobody else in here, so I let her hang off my arm and discuss various Slurpee Flavor options with her.

We eventually decide on an experiment in which I try a Small Blue Lightning Blast, and discover it tastes a bit like licking a nintendo cartridge but in a pleasantly satisfying way.

I go up to pay and realize something is amiss.

The Cashier is a young man staring at me with wide eyes, one had over the register and the other wrapped up in his rosary.

I look down at myself.

In my haste to reunite my friend with her spare keys and service animal, I had left the house in the following accoutrements:

Flip Flops. Not matching. It's below freezing outside. That last part is not particularly odd footwear for the weather in for Colorado, but it's an important detail for the rest of the ensemble.

Assorted scrapes, bruises, cuts and welts on my arms and legs that come with doing outdoor work and living in a house with three dogs and a fully-clawed cat that all want to be in my lap all the time. It's cold out, so vasoconstriction has pulled the blood away from my skin, a trait that served my ancestors well during the last Ice Age, but leaves me with pale skin to contrast the various wounds and I look like a corpse that fell out of the back of a pickup truck.

The black Bootyshorts with "CRYPTID" painted in bright red gothic font across my ass, that @theshitpostcalligrapher gave me for my wedding present.

A peculiar but extremely comfortable garment that straddles the line between "Lacy Camisole" and "Industrial-Strength Sports Bra" like the Ever Given straddling the Suez Canal. It is also Bright Red. with black accents.

The Jacket I had grabbed out of the closet, which is in fact, a black Velour Dinner Jacket.

The Tokyo-Ghoul inspired reusable anti-covid mask a friend made me with the set of Coyote Teeth.

My sunglasses, which are shaped like a Halloween Bat. The lenses are the wings and the body is the nose bridge. It is ALSO bright red.

A Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle that I have been audibly affectionately calling "Dear Creature" who is hanging off my arm like she's my Prom Date.

The Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle is ALSO dressed up in a black Dog Sweater that has white bones printed on it to look like its an X-ray jacket showing off her skeleton.

I look like I am taking my Very Fancy Werewolf Girlfriend to a particularly casual Dinner Party for Vampires, but the thing that's really selling it and probably alarming the kid the most is the fun accessory I acquired in the parking lot not five minutes earlier:

The "Small Scrape At my Hairline" is actually a painless but PROFUSELY bleeding head wound that I had somehow entirely failed to notice covering my face, neck, decolletage and magnificent cleavage with blood like a Tarantino Film Extra.

This does explain why The Creature has been delicately trying to use her bodyweight to push me down onto the floor for the last ten minutes. So I don't injure myself while we wait for the paramedics she hoped this kid called to arrive, you see.

The Creature has such a High and Naive Opinion of humanity.

I decide this social situation is already fucked, and the only way out is through, and with haste, before I start dripping on the floor.

"Hi there!" I say cheerfully, to indicate this is a visually alarming but not terribly serious situation. "Just a Small Slurpee!"

The Cashier has entered the relevant code into the register before I finish the sentence. His gaze flicks off me just long enough to look at the total, and he grips his Rosary harder.

$6.66

"Oh cool! I have exact change!" I say, taking the money out of my as-yet-unsanguined pocket without looking and slap it down on the counter. "You have a good night and be safe out there!" I wave, leaving.

I get in The Van, mortified, buckle The Creature up, and as I make to leave, I have to put it in reverse, which automatically turns on the backup Camera.

It also turns on the music player.

I make eye contact with the cashier as the dulcet tones of John Phillip Sousa boom from the van hard enough to make the windshield and the windows of the 7-11 rattle for the nine-and-a-half seconds I have to wait to be able to turn the volume back down. Not knowing what else to to, I give him a thumbs up, and leave.

Anyway, now I know what my Future Van Wizard has got to be dressed like, and what their familiar is.

---

If you enjoyed this story, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi or Pre-ordering my Family Lore Funny Stories book on Patreon

[theliterateape]

I Like to Watch Ep. 29—A New Year’s State of Mind

Closing out the year in films, D&D talk New Year’s Eve movies and find that the holiday is pretty bleak with serial killers, cuckolds killing themselves, and cruise ships capsizing. Happy Effing 2023!

[suzannahnatters]

Let Your Knights Weep

One of the big things I've had to train myself out of when writing medieval historical fiction?

The stiff upper lip.

This used to really bewilder my editor, who for some time attempted to nudge me away from having my grown men weep and wail and blubber, but for me it's an essential part of the setting. Whether in grief or fear, medieval people did not hold things back.

Here are some of my favourite quotes to explain.

First, a couple from two great 20th century medievalists:

CS Lewis in his Letters put it this way:

“By the way, don't 'weep inwardly' and get a sore throat. If you must weep, weep: a good honest howl! I suspect we - and especially, my sex - don't cry enough now-a-days. Aeneas and Hector and Beowulf, Roland and Lancelot blubbered like schoolgirls, so why shouldn't we?”

Dorothy Sayers, in her fabulous Introduction to her translation of THE SONG OF ROLAND, speaking of Charlemagne discovering Roland's body on the battlefield:

Here too, I think we must not reckon it weakness in him that he is overcome by grief for Roland’s death, that he faints upon the body and has to be raised up by the barons and supported by them while he utters his lament. There are fashions in sensibility as in everything else. The idea that a strong man should react to great personal and national calamities by a slight compression of the lips and by silently throwing his cigarette into the fireplace is of very recent origin. By the standards of feudal epic, Charlemagne’s behaviour is perfectly correct. Fainting, weeping, and lamenting is what the situation calls for. The assembled knights and barons all decorously follow his example. They punctuate his lament with appropriate responses:

By hundred thousand the French for sorrow sigh; There’s none of them but utters grievous cries.

At the end of the next laisse:

He tears his beard that is so white of hue, Tears from his head his white hair by the roots; And of the French an hundred thousand swoon.

We may take this response as being ritual and poetic; grief, like everything else in the Epic, is displayed on the heroic scale. Though men of the eleventh century did, in fact, display their emotions much more openly than we do, there is no reason to suppose that they made a practice of fainting away in chorus. But the gesture had their approval; that was how they liked to think of people behaving. In every age, art holds up to us the standard pattern of exemplary conduct, and real life does its best to conform. From Charlemagne’s weeping and fainting we can draw no conclusions about his character except that the poet has represented him as a perfect model of the “man of feeling” in the taste of the period.

OK, now let's dig into some quotes that I found just in Christopher Tyerman's Chronicles of the First Crusade and Joinville's Life of St Louis:

Truly you would have grieved and sobbed in pity when the Turks killed any of our men....

As for the knights, they stood about in a great state of gloom, wringing their hands because they were so frightened and miserable, not knowing what to do with themselves and their armour, and offering to sell their shields, valuable breastplates and helmets for threepence or fivepence or any price they could get....

When Guy, who was a very honourable knight, had heard these lies, he and all the others began to weep and to make loud lamentation....

They stayed in the houses cowering, some some for hunger and some for fear of the Turks....

Now at vigils, the time of trust in God’s compassion, many gave up hope and hurriedly lowered themselves with ropes from the wall-tops; and in the city soldiers, returning from the encounter, circulated widely a rumour that mass decapitation of the defenders was in store. To add weight to the terror, they too fled…

In the course of that day’s battle there had been many people, and of fine appearance too, who had come very shamefully flying over the little bridge you know of and had fled away so panic-stricken that all our attempts to make them stay with us had been in vain. I could tell you some of their names, but shall refrain from doing so, because they are now dead.

I could go on looking for quotes in all the other medieval literature I've read, but that would be beyond the scope of this Tumblr post.

In the meantime, this leads me to make some comments on how trauma was perceived.

In Jonathan Riley-Smith's The First Crusade and the Idea of Crusading, the author discusses the mental breakdowns suffered by the first crusaders during the second siege of Antioch, which caused many of them to flee at the moment of direst need:

In these stressful circumstances it is not surprising that the crusaders were often very frightened. At times, indeed, they seem to have been almost paralysed by a terror that they themselves could hardly comprehend. … When the crusade was bottled up in Antioch by Kerbogha's relief force it was gripped by such blind panic that there was the prospect of a mass break-out and on the night of 10 or 11 Juney 1098 Bohemond and Adhemar had the gates of the city closed. It is worth noting that many of those whom later chroniclers, writing after the events in comparative comfort in Europe, vilified for cowardice and desertion seem to have been treated more charitably by their fellow-crusaders, who must have understood what pressures they had been under.

--

In conclusion: the way we feel about things today in the English-speaking isn't necessarily the way people felt about things in the past (and this goes for other cultures, real or imagined, too). I'm continually catching myself writing people with stiff upper lips and emotional reservations, and having to remind myself that the culture was different back them. If a grown man wanted to weep, he could. That's a good thing. (Oh, and my medieval historical fantasy? Check out the Watchers of Outremer series on Amazon or wherever books are sold!)

[comradesaucegay]

The atomic bomb's explosion is pink. Death is now fabulous, and there is a sense of camp that removes the terror from a weapon that can destroy humanity.

hell is empty and all the devils are here

[piratefishmama]

Fake it 'Till You Make It | Part 3

“Alright so, how long has this throwing men at you thing been happening?” Not a sentence Eddie Munson ever expected to be saying out loud, especially not to Steve Harrington, but there they were, sat in the back of his van, which Eddie had parked just off of Cornwallis, his van hidden among the trees, safe from prying eyes.

They had to get their story straight, even if nothing about what they were doing was straight, that had to be straight. Especially straight enough to fool a goddamn lawyer like Lynda Harrington.

Eddie was just glad he’d left the pillows and blankets in there from the other week when he’d claimed he had a love nest in his van to a particularly horrified set of parents.

Nothing quite like the mental image of your barely legal precious daughter getting down an dirty in the back of a beat up old van. Fabulous.

It was actually quite nice though, he even put fairy lights up in there.

“The whole shebang, just over a month. But the men… that’s new. They haven’t managed to actually introduce me to anyone yet, one of the joys of queer shit being so frowned upon, they cant find a willing guy to come forward.” No-one daring enough to take the risk, not even for a Harrington.

“Can’t say I blame em, you’re having to pay me to out my own ass to your parents, they’re well respected, people expect them to be on the ‘right’ side of history” ‘right’ said with very sarcastic air quotes and matching tone.

“People are gonna be surprised then.” About as surprised as Steve was, probably. “So… are you… I mean… outing yourself? It’s… you don’t have to tell me but—I just… if they want proof i—I don’t wanna make you—” Steve was staring into his lap, awkward, cheeks flushed, adorable. Fucking… adorable… not a term of endearment he ever thought he’d throw at Steve Harrington.

So many unexpected turns for a Sunday morning.

“Mnhm, I’m ah… like you I suppose. Only I think I’m more of a five on the Kinsey scale…” at Steve’s raised brow and adorable puppy head tilt, Eddie smiled sheepishly, of course the King of the Jocks wouldn’t know what the damn Kinsey scale was. “That’s uh… it kinda measures bisexuality? It’s rarely an exact 50/50 split between liking guys and girls, most lean one way or the other, with an interest in more… I uh… I lean more towards men… you…”

“Girls… I think.” Eddie nodded, it was what he expected. “But—what’s the scale?”

“Zero to six, six being gay and zero being straight. I’m pretty solidly a five I think…” five made sense to him. He’d found girls attractive before, maybe even had a crush on one once, a pretty cheerleader who’d made his palms sweaty and his heart beat fast enough to make him turn tail and run in terror, but boys were his go to. “It’s not an exact science though, I mean shit, you don’t have to label anything.”

“… I feel like a three.”

“A three?” Higher than he expected but, as of that morning he’d thought Steve was a zero. No clue what so ever that he’d ever even entertained the idea of boys.

“Mn… I’ve… I’ve definitely been attracted to men before, a few men actually… some ruined it immediately by being assholes” Eddie didn’t want to guess, but a few jocks did come to mind “but… I’ve never tried anything, y’know?” Aww, never touched a boy, cute. “And telling my parents? That was recent, like, really recent, and impulsive. I just didn’t expect them to pull this whole ‘we can throw men at you now!’ Schtick so… to answer your original question, about two weeks now. Why?”

“Building a believable timeframe so we can have an idea as to where they might expect us to be in our ‘relationship.’ Your mom’s a lawyer right? Shits not gonna be as easy as telling them we’re dating and have that be that she’s gonna want the when’s, the how’s, the details, normal moms do, yours is a lawyer dude, we have to be spot on with everythin or this will be a total waste of time, and money on your part cause obviously, no refunds.” He may not be dealing as much as he used to be once he realised he had other more valuable services to offer,

And the party king stopped throwing parties??

But his policies were still pretty iron tight.

Steve just nodded his head, he understood, Eddie couldn’t get his time back so, however many days he spent there, he’d be paid for each one regardless of the outcome. “Alright… what do you normally do with these dates then?”

“Freak the fuck out of their parents usually. Be vulgar, insinuate things, the Gillespie’s hate being called by their first names?? No idea why, but that was an easy spot to poke at, I’ll talk about my band, offer weed to chill out, y’know, typical things that’d make a parent in rural Indiana pale at the thought that their sweet daughters had only skimmed the surface of the dating pool, finding just the scum the pool boy hadn’t cleaned out and settling with it.”

It could have been self-deprecating, in fact Steve almost told him not to think of himself like that but Eddie seemed genuinely amused by the whole thing, it was all an act.

He was a mischievous gremlin, he was making himself the worst of the worst in front of these people, he didn’t think he was that person, he just acted the part like some kind of drama club performance.

Oh god, wasn’t he in drama? “…That’s uhm… that’s a mental image.”

“I’m a storyteller” Eddie shrugged “sometimes I talk about DnD too, and—”

“I mean how do you prepare for them?”

“Oh… not much to prepare for on those ones, it’s usually just one night and the main goal is to fuck it up so bad that the girls’ parents don’t want their daughter going anywhere near that stupid pool out of the fear that she’ll settle for scum again, this is the first long term relationship I’ve had to fake! And you want me to fake it properly, not just fuck it up, I mean… It can’t be a surprise to you that I’ve never been in a relationship, right?”

Steve wanted to be polite, he really did! But no, it wasn’t a surprise.

Not because Eddie wasn’t attractive, it’d be a lie to claim that. Eddie Munson was… a special kind of attractive to Steve. The oh god what? Kind of attractive that only existed when a polo-wearing jock type like Steve, found someone like Eddie attractive.

That kind of attractive.

He had a nice, soft face, framed perfectly by a mass of badly maintained curls. Not badly in the way that they were dirty, just… it was clear he had no idea how to tame them, how to enhance them, how to do anything with them other than apparently put a brush through them and make himself look like he’d been dragged through a bush. Twice.

He had those big brown eyes, expressive, could easily find himself stuck in them if he looked for too long.

The smile with the dimples? Gold star on that one.

He didn’t have acne, or pimples, he didn’t stink, he clearly cared about basic hygiene, but that was all surface level stuff.

He was also expressive about his interests, which was an attractive trait, he was sneaky smart.

Sure teachers had all but written him off as an imbecile and he’d heard a few saying that over the years to the poor guys face, but Steve had seen Eddie do difficult multiplications on the fly.

He’d seen Eddie recite Shakespeare off the top of his head, prattle off verse after verse, sometimes free styling in perfect iambic pentameter if the teachers dropped jaw was enough of a sign.

He'd seen Eddie climb a rope in gym. Dude was squirrelly, he had muscle in those arms, and nobody in that gym knew where he’d built it. Maybe he wasn’t gifted at dodgeball, but he could sure as hell climb shit.

He’d seen Eddie be an effective businessman. Tommy had bought from him a few times, and he’d seen Eddie dealing at his parties. The guy knew his shit when it came to drugs, he didn’t just deal and bail, he stuck around and made sure people were safe. Could always answer questions if people had them, so he could retain knowledge just fine, it just had to align with his interests.

School didn’t work for him, that didn’t make him unintelligent. Steve could respect that. Steve could relate to that. Except he did feel like he was kind of an idiot.

But no… it wasn’t a surprise that Eddie hadn’t been in a relationship.

People looked at him warily in school, he put up a shield around himself made of barbs shot at every clique the school had, he fired off pastor at a megachurch worthy sermons about being against conformity and capitalism from atop school lunch tables.

He was in band, drama club, AV club, the dude was a nerd of the highest order, the ‘image conscious’ girls of Hawkins High didn’t wanna be seen with that.

So even if he did sort of like girls, stupid high school girls wouldn’t like him. Wouldn’t appreciate him the way he should be appreciated.

“…No, I guess it’s not a surprise… high school sucks though, man. There’s no permanence in high school flings.”

“Would have at least liked a fling though, that would have been cool.” Would he though? No. As much as it didn’t align with the whole rockstar life he had thought up for himself, he wanted something… bulkier. Something with more to it than surfing strangers beds. He wanted permanence.

Wanted someone to come home to, arms he knew, a garden he could fuck around in, maybe a tree to sit in and write songs on warm summer days.

A fireplace to snuggle up in front of with a special someone.

Maybe a kid, or three.

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, Eddie. Trust me. You had fun doing what you did, I got my heart stomped on over and over again, not fun.” It didn’t sound fun. Eddie wanted to reach out, it wasn’t far, they were in a small van, two pretty tall guys, there wasn’t much space there, he could have reached out but… the space between them still felt too vast.

“…Guess it’s a tend to your own field kind of thing then eh?” Steve looked at him with a small frown, a question in his expression “y’know… the grass is always greener on the other side? Just tend to your own field, the grass will grow. Do your own thing, it’ll be better for you…? That kind of thing.”

“Ah… then yeah, it’s a tend to your own field kind of thing.” Eddie smiled and gently bopped his head in agreement. A surprisingly comfortable silence stretched for a moment until “I think… a week would be best. Say we’ve been dating a week, but met at one of your gigs a few weeks back maybe? It’d explain why I’ve been less than enthused about any of their choices. I was already into someone.”

“…You know about my gigs?” Oh could those brown eyes get any bigger?

“Yeah? Tuesdays at The Hideout right? Dustin keeps trying to bribe me into taking him…” Eddie’s smile turned a little softer, warmer, prettier, he had such a soft spot for that kid it wasn’t even fair. “I could say Robin an I decided to check it out to see if it was ‘kid friendly’ enough to take him, Robin introduced us since she’d know you from band, you teased me about being there, but not in a mean way cause beneath all those barbs at us poor jocks, you’re actually really nice, and we just hit it off? Took us a bit of time to feel each other out cause it’s dangerous to be like us but once we did it was like… bam. Stars collided or some shit.”

“…You’re… surprisingly in tune with this queer shit, Harrington…”

“I’ve known I was bisexual for a while, Eddie… it’s not new to me, I know it’s dangerous, I’ve seen what jocks like me do to people like me… even when there’s no proof only rumour or because you look it… I know how dangerous it is to be like us… but do you think it’d work though?”

“…The barebones story is there, we can world-build. Now let’s talk boundaries.”

Part 5

[angermango]

i see your "Rachel Bronev". i also see all those true and wonderful "Rachel Bronev deserved better/should have lived/could have escaped/could have joined Targent/no fridging etc" takes. and i so bring to you:

Rachel Bronev survives, escapes Targent and becomes the Descole of the AU

TL;DR she heard her husband now runs the cult that kidnapped them and separated them from their children, and she's making that everyone else's problem (but especially Targent's).

i admit i haven't come up with a villain name or a proper set look on her costume yet lol. but she looks fabulous anyway.

(i also call it the "Putting the 'Domestic' in 'Domestic Terrorism' AU" for fun, and because i haven't come up with anything better/funnier to name yet :U)

[neil-gaiman]

Dear Mr. Gaiman,

No question from me, I just wanted to say thank you and to let you know how much my sister and I adored your performance with FourPlay on Monday. We both love your work and are string players so it was a magical experience to see such a genre bending quintet. We both left in a bit of a daze, feeling like we'd stumbled across a wonderful cabinet of curiosities.

I've been a huge fan of your work since my teacher read Coraline to the class when I was ten years old. At the time it felt like through your storytelling, you had peeled back the skin of the day to day and granted us all access to a fantastical place that felt more truthful than reality. It was one of a handful of moments that made me certain that I needed to do that too. You struck me as the rare sort of adult who genuinely remembered the joy, confusion, wonder and abject terror of childhood and I quickly made it my mission to devour every piece of your storytelling I could get my hands on.

Sitting there on Monday I had much the same feeling as I did back then. It was wonderful to be shepherded by such a talented quintet of storytellers with such respect for your respective crafts. The whole evening was amazing but my sister and I particularly loved your wonderfully spooky (and funny) reading of 'Click Clack the Rattlebag', your homage to Batman, 'In Transit', 'Neverwhere' and the fabulous encore of 'The Problem with Saints'.

A huge thank you again to yourself and FourPlay for a fantastic evening and for reminding us all of the magic of storytelling!

Thank you so much! It was so odd, the idea that our first warm-up gig was a sold out concert at the Sydney Opera House.

[ilovemesomevincentprice]

Vincent Price and Peter Lorre as Waldo Trumbull and Felix Gillie sitting on a casket in order to keep Mr. Black (Basil Rathbone) from getting out.

The Comedy of Terrors (1964) dir. Jacques Tourneur

[violettavonviolet]

Tim Drake fic recs part 2

all of these fics are finished and amazing! the word count goes up progressively and the rating is noted but do check the works for tags!

All fics marked with a star haven't left my brain since I read them!

Jaytim

these lines of lightning

smilebackwards

Summary:

“Sometimes when Bruce is being an asshole, the best response is to be an asshole right back,” Jason says, dropping down next to Tim and propping his boots on the milk crates he uses for a coffee table. “I used to go hang out with all the bad kids so I guess you’re already on the right track.”

4.8k teen

do me a favor

yasmindifference

Summary:

“So what were you thinking? Fake financial distress? Fake injury?”

“Fake boyfriend,” Jason said.

9k fake relationship teen

it takes a house, a village

defcontwo

Summary:

“If you shower my couch with love and affection, I might actually kill you.” Or: how Tim Drake buys a house, rebuilds his life, and accidentally falls in love.

10k unmarked, humor

A Gift of Knowledge *

njw

Summary:

Dick’s voice is hoarse with suppressed fury. “So, you’re just exposing us to this, this outrageous substance, and torturing us by leaving us here, bound and drugged?”

He has to know that’s not all. But he’s asking anyway, to get as much information as possible out of the villain before they’re left to their own devices. It’s what they’ve all been trained to do.

Tim squeezes his eyes shut, knowing what Joker is going to say. Knowing exactly what the evil madman is planning to do.

Damn it. Damn it all to hell, not here, not now. Not like this. 

20k mature a/b/o

Stripping Down *

njw

Summary:

Tim turns to him with a quick, shy smile before rapidly climbing the pole, waiting for Jason to position himself under him. “Like this?” he asks, arching his back, gripping the pole tightly between his shapely little thighs and beginning a slow, grinding descent. Jason did not realize until this moment it was possible to be so jealous of a fuckin’ pole.

Oh fuck, I’m gonna die again. Of embarrassment or blue balls, just take your fuckin’ pick. 

“Yeah, Baby Bird,” he says, almost not recognizing his voice for how throaty and deep it sounds right now. “Just like that.”

20k mature, soulmates

A Midsummer Night's Terror: The Great Escape

kleine_aster, njw

Summary:

A super-villain is on the loose, and he isn't called "The Kinkster" for nothing. On a hot Gotham summer's night, he entraps Batman and his allies, presenting them with a choice—to either succumb to lust, or perish in his maze. Badwrong ensues.

(kleine_aster's fabulous story, with a new ending by njw; posted with permission)

23k sex pollen explicit

I loved thee, though I told thee not, (--Right earlily and long,)

llamallamaduck

Summary:

The news that Timothy Drake, Gotham’s cryptid millionaire, has shot the Joker dead during a public live-stream hits the world like a freight train—and that is just the opening salvo of his bugfuck plan.

Maybe there exists, in the multiverse, a configuration of Jason Todd who will weather this with decorum, dignity and self-respect. This version of Jason Todd decides that the life of an academic is not, really, all that rewarding. In contrast, the life of Timothy Drake’s live-in house-husband is looking more appealing by the second.

24k mature

Re: Soulmarks

Moxibustion (RyuuzaKochou)

Summary:

JASON TODD - EXPOSED!!

By Vicky Vale (@vickyvalegazette)

BREAKING NEWS - Oscar-winning screenwriter, actor and all-around heartthrob Jason Todd has had his Soulmark exposed to the public in a wild escapade at the Gotham International Airport today upon his return from shooting his latest project. 

Who is the lucky person with the matching mark? Who will color in the black shapes in Jason Todd’s Soulmark and Bloom with one of the hottest celebrities on the planet?

We will report on this as it develops! Stay tuned to the feed!

32k soulmates

Masquerade (Whose Face is Behind the Mask?)

chibi_nightowl

Summary:

Every so often, someone would take it into their heads that a masquerade ball would be a fantastic idea and make it into the biggest event of the year. Sometimes, they were a smashing hit. And other times…things just got smashed.

81k explicit

Timkon

The Mystery of the Superboy Shirts

Aviatricks

Summary:

The thing is, Tim is a detective, first and foremost.

And like most detectives, sometimes he just can’t let things go. 

(Or, how Tim acquires several hundred Superboy t-shirts)

4k humor gen

the honesty in your body

Laroyena

Summary:

Luthor's tech saved Kon's life at the cost of his mind. Tim must take a feral Kon across space to restore his humanity... which is just as difficult as one may think.

(Batman Omegaverse AU: unabashed TimKon porn detailing their original get-together in their early teens to their definite get-together in their late teens. But mostly porn.)

14k explicit a/b/o

Slip and Slide

Living_Free

Summary:

Battle for the Cowl AU

Bruce is dead*. 

The cowl has uncemoniously been dumped on Dick Grayson, who is kind of preoccupied with the fact that he now has a very small, very angry, Legacy-obsessed, Damian Wayne to take care of. 

As per usual, Jason is not helping. 

Tim is Sad, and is dabbling in the the treacherous waters of teenage dating, leading a superhero team, and running a company. 

It's up to the voices of reason (mainly Alfred) to make sure that the family does not crumble under the shadow of the Bat. 

*If you believe that after all the nonsense D.C. has pulled, there is no hope for you.

21k humor, the series is 200k+ and is fantastic

Catfishing

timkons

Summary:

Tim accidentally catfishes Kon. It goes about as well as you can imagine.

22k teen

Other

moving in stereo 

TheResurrectionist

Summary:

Clark closed his eyes, wincing. “Your children have some…guests.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Bruce muttered, setting aside the tablet.

“No, I mean…I think all of them, um. Have a guest, tonight.”

2k gen multiple

Against the odds

Heartslogos

It’s a child’s gambit to get mummy’s attention mixed with abandonment issues paranoia and an extreme penchant for vendetta.

3k tim/Bruce 00Q teen angst

say cheese

DairyFarmer

Summary:

“Why are there reporters-”

Dick stopped. His eyes locked on the TV.

“Oh, look at that Drake- you’re trending on social media.” Damian offered far too coolly to be any form of casual.

XxX

In which Tim's nudes get leaked online and he is surprisingly casual about it

4.8k mature

Sticks and Stones

Solemini (SoleminiSanction), SoleminiSanction

Summary:

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can cause lasting psychological damage."

The Core Four stage a long-overdue intervention.

Or, in which Steph's abusive tendencies are finally addressed.

10k timsteph abusive relationship teen

Troika

Glitterandlube

16k kon/tim/bart crack

The Wooing of Tim Drake

Titans_R_Us

Summary:

Tim didn't stand a chance.

Each action, each gift, each gesture was calculated for the best possible result. The source of this smothering affection is surprising but Tim can't find a single reason to say no...So he doesn't. The brat somehow worms his way into his heart one inch at a time.

Meanwhile Damian is quite pleased with how his courtship progresses.

20k damitim mature

[bloodymary83]

Joker serves so much C*nt in this comic!!!

For Justice League International Annual #2 1988, Joker insisted on not 1 but, 4 fabulous costume changes!!!

Joker first appears in high waisted Mom jeans, blue vest, silk pink shirt, and pearls that would make Martha Wayne jealous. He completes the look with his classic purple trench coat, purple fedora and Italian pointed leather heels.

The next outfit is a bit hard to make out. It looks similar to his “the Dark Knight Returns” classic white suite except it has dark blue cuffs, he’s wearing a baby blue shirt with the jacket, a pastel pink tie, his classic purple slacks and pink dress socks. His shoes (that he throws at the TV) are blue suede matching the cuffs on his jacket. His purple eye shadow is perfect in this.

The third outfit is “Rhythm Nation” meets Military Dictator. It’s a crushed dark blue velvet military suit, accented with pastel pink shoulder tassels, seams and a Victorian pink pastel top underneath. He wears a high waisted cinch belt with the outfit, accessorizes with gold metals and, does a last minute makeup touch up.

His final outfit is something out of Elton John’s closet. He has ditched the soft hues of baby blue and pink and gone for a bold gold jacket with heather green shoulders and matching heather green vest, he has a black shirt underneath with a red skinny tie. Red loose slacks with a thin white accent belt, a red heart lapel pin, matching heather green fedora and, lace up women’s boots with a skinny heel in gold.

Oh those were the days… can we please get this joker back DC? I am tired of the crusty clown B.O. look!

Joker deserves better than this!! (Joker Night Terrors #1 2023)