lxvelythorns replied to your photo:It’s M-Mor-Mort- [screech]


Excuse me while I sit down and try to process this

It’s M-Mor-Mort- [screech]

Experiment in Fear


Harley dug her nails into her hand, staring at the phone. She’d been sat at her kitchen table for hours, staring at her mobile intently. It was the early morning hours, 2 AM or so, and she’d found she was restless… again. Wicked smiles, evil laughter, green, white and red all swirled about in her mind as she tried and tried to ignore them until she was sure that if she wasn’t mad already, she soon would be.


For months she’d been claiming that she’d “cured herself” of him, but it was only a pretty lie. He haunted her in her sleep most prominently, launching her from her slumber into a fit of screaming.

An idea had been swimming in her semi-deranged mind for days now, stewing and keeping her from sleeping. She’d become sick of lying there and had come to rest where she was now, staring at her phone in the dark. She hadn’t the slightest idea as to how to go about her idea, but she knew that she’d need help.

Help from a mind some-what like her’s. A fellow doctor;

Forcing a brave face, Harley grabbed the phone and dialed a number she’d gotten a long while ago. Harley could only hope he hadn’t ditched this phone for security reasons.

To her relief, the tone beeped, and the ringing started.

"Come on, Craney, pick up…”

It was 2 AM; such an unholy time to be up. Yet, here he was, poring over something or another, eyes skimming text and diagrams at a mad pace as he went over his plans another time. He’d been like this for hours on end, trying to predict every possibility, not wanting to lose to the Dark Knight yet again.

None of his minions dare interrupt him, lest they incur his wrath. Even one of the more trusted hires who had enough backbone to try to tell their boss to get some rest had gotten a beaker chucked at his head for his troubles. He had been lucky that the doctor’s aim was completely off, considering his right hand was in a cast. Otherwise, well, having a beaker filled with acid thrown at you was never a good thing.

That was three hours ago. So, colour him surprised when something broke the silence of his laboratory. The near mechanical ringtone of an old phone echoed throughout the room, eliciting a growl from the man. Straightening up and looking around for the offending thing, he managed to find it after a few rings and greeted “Yes, hello?” in a snappy tone.

Little thing



The little boy, hair white as snow, held up his cupped hands.

"I found a real little toad, wanna see?"

He gaped. A whole jar of peanut butter. He didn’t know if he could eat that much in a sitting, but he was certainly willing to try.

"We, we could make the worlds biggest peanut butter sandwich!" he announced, amazed. "A whole jar’s enough for that, isn’t it? It’d be as big as my bed! We could it it for supper!’

This human was fantastic! His mummy had told him that they were flighty things that barely managed to live half a century, but boy, weren’t they fun?

"Wait a minute…" he frowned. "Don’t snakes eat frogs?"

Children were cute when they weren’t being whiny, snotty little brats. This one was, dare he say it, a darling one.

“Oh, only some snakes eat frogs. There are smaller ones that eat insects and others that eat only eggs. We can get one of those!” And, even if they did get a frog eating one, the dead thing would surely be left alone. Most snakes did like to eat their prey alive, after all. A decaying frog would surely be unappetizing.

Holding his hand out, he hummed: “Now, come on. We can go and get that jar of peanut butter and maybe two bottles of milk. We don’t want to stay out here; it looks like it’ll start to rain real hard.”

The Addams Family, 1960s

(Source: vintagegal, via piranhascantsmile)

Back again and you didn't even call, Jonathan. I'm begining to think you don't like me.




Soaking wet from head to toe and in a shabby coat he stole off from some poor homeless man, he walked up to Wunsch with a none too pleased look across his face.

"Well, I can hardly call you when I don’t have your number. Let’s not forget you sent me swimming down in Gotham Bay when I did find you," he gruffed out through chattering teeth. His skinny body, of course, did nothing to help in staving away the freezing temperatures he had been exposed to.

He would have bit out too that, no, they didn’t quite like each other. But he drew closer to the fire instead, wary that she might push him into the freezing waters again.

"It’s only sloppy if you are." She rolled her eyes and continued to her car, unlocking it so he could get in and getting a towel from the truck for him to sit on so the seat wouldn’t get soaked. His rambling about being tired and the chatter about people being paranoid was noted but she let it go without comment. 

Walking around to her side of the car, she got in and once everything was in order, she drove off to the little hole-in-the-wall restaurant she’d mentioned. It was a tiny place, worn out but clean and the plump woman working behind the register smiled at Juliet as she walked in. The menu was in poorly done english, the words all correct but the context was off. Back in the small window to the kitchen was the sound of cursing in spanish before a young man looked out and then smiled as well. Something along the lines of damn customers arriving in the middle of the night what the hell do they want. But everyone there knew Juliet, knew she was a good tipper, and actually rather liked seeing her around. Startling as it may have been, some people actually did like her. “Order whatever you like, and you can do it in english. She speaks it well enough.” 

The ex-convict didn’t speak anymore as he got into the passenger seat, even lightly dozing off during the short ride. He trusted Wunsch well enough that she won’t try to kill him where eye witnesses may be.

The restaurant she took them to was rather rustic and homey. Nobody had yet to try and kick him out or shot him dirty looks just yet so he could feel slightly at ease being here. Besides, even if they watched the news, they probably thought he was some horror movie celebrity. Maybe.

Of course, their waitress might not be quite the same if she spoke English well enough. “Right. I’ll have the,” he paused, trying not to comment on the menu. It was really, really funny but it wasn’t their fault that English wasn’t their native language. “Fish tortillas? And whatever your house specialty is and some juice?”

if there can be 25 days of christmas

there can be 25 days of halloween


halloween should be 1 week long

(via tallmuppetchan)

    ᶤ ᶜᵃᶰ’ᵗ ᵗᵉˡˡ ʸᵒᵘ ʰᵒʷ ᵐᵃᶰʸ ᵗᶤᵐᵉᶳ ᶤ’ᵛᵉ ᶜʳᶤᵉᵈ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ʸᵒᵘ˒ ᵐʸ ᵇᵃᵇʸ
ᶤ’ᵛᵉ ʰᵃᵈ ᵒᶰᵉ ᵗᵒᵒ ᵐᵃᶰʸ ᶳˡᵉᵉᵖˡᵉᶳᶳ ᶰᶤᵍʰᵗᶳ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ʸᵒᵘ˒ ᵐʸ ᵇᵃᵇʸ

(Source: ngaobera-archive, via mxphxsto)