not-close-to-straight:

Vampire Queen (Diana Prince/Valkyrie)

(This is… Halloween-y? Idk I had a thought and I wrote a thing)

The man lay twisted on silent cobblestones, limp against unfeeling rock.

All too loud his cries had risen, ripping through the late night quiet, echoing through empty streets, falling on deaf ears as curtains were drawn and doors were bolted and eyes were turned away.

He should have known better, they will say in the morning when the newspaper boys find him.

He should have known better, they will say when the doctor isn’t called because he already knows what happened and it isn’t worth his time to care.

He should have known better, they will say when he is tossed aside like so much trash, an unmarked grave that is more a gaping hole where one more nameless body is added to the already too high count.

A man should know better than to wander the streets at night, the whores will say with painted lips and rouged cheeks and a smile that speaks of a certain knowing that the men will never have, a type of knowledge that comes from working the street, from knowing who and what lurks in the shadows to pluck a man away, to take his very soul.

“He wasn’t to your liking, my Queen?” She says from the dark, bending to dip her finger in a river of red and drawing it to her mouth to taste, to inhale, to breathe in what had once held so much life.

“He tasted bitter.” Her Queen answers, and she is terrible and ancient, her voice a whisper to the one she loves and a scream to those whose eavesdrop, a beauty too rich for the Underworld and too vibrant for man, speaking in low tones of secrets and millennia and a hunger that is never quelled.

“He was a politician, a crooked judge.” The other counters, each consonant a death sentence as if his choice in career had marked him as deserving for this fate.

“Ah.” The Queen smiles, sharp edges and sharper fangs curling over her lips, a sure sign of death reflected in her silvered eyes. “Then of course he was bitter.”

“We shall find you something sweet?” She offers then, and it is her own body that she gives over, as desperate tonight for her Queens teeth in her neck as she had been that first night and every night after.

“My love, you tempt me.” The Queen answers. “But it is still before dawn and the hunt calls me.”

“You know they call you their Saint.” She murmurs, “The women of the street do. You strike down those that hurt them, that are too rough, that take what they want . They call you a saint, an angel.”

“I am neither.”

“You are so much more.”

When they kiss it is more gentle than anyone would ever know, a touch of lips, a barest breath, a sweet touch as if the other is too fragile, to precious, as if the night wind that winds through their hair could tear them apart, as if too sudden a moment would break their unbeating hearts.

“You don’t regret it?” Her Queen asks, just as she has every other night. “You don’t regret being mine.”

“I could never.” She whispers and this time the kiss is full of teeth and tongue, fangs and growls, greedy breaths and grasping claws and when Her Queen pushes her into the dark, against a wall, she goes willingly, bares her neck willingly, never closes her eyes because she will never tire of the way her Queen gasps with the first taste of blood, of the way the silvered eyes melt scarlet with desire, with the way her Queen tears at her clothes until they are bare beneath the moon and the night bears witness to their passion.

And then, as they lie together and pant into each other’s mouths, as the shadows themselves rearrange to cloak them from sight, as the city lies quiet and waiting, holding its breath until the Queen speaks again—

—it is then and only then, soft and sweet and yearning, “My darling Valkyrie, how did I ever think I lived without you in my arms?”

“Diana, my Queen.” The name is reverent, a whisper, a privilege, a prayer. “Come hunt with me.”

***************

***************

Another man lies on the docks, pale and still and empty, the fog surrounding him, hiding him until the sun pushes it away and a fisherman spies his form.

Two last night, they say with worried faces. I wonder if she is angry.

Two last night, the doctor says and it’s too early to drink but he drinks anyway. Something must be wrong.

Two last night, they say and no one mourns the politician but the other had done nothing wrong. Why did she take two?

Two last night, the whores say as they leave their corners and head towards home, smiles sharp and brittle and longing because they know what the men will never know.

Two last night, because nothing piques the Queens appetite like moments beneath the moon and the stars with her love, two last night because after crying her pleasure to the abandoned streets she was ravenous, two last night because the Vampire Queen had torn the second ones throat and watched her love, her Valkyrie, drink until she was full and sleepy and had carried her back to their dwelling to watch the sun rise.

Two last night, and no one could be bothered to care.

A man should know better than to wander the streets at night when the Queen is out to roam.

mcufam:

I told Gamora how when I was a kid I used to pretend David Hasselhoff was my dad. He’s a singer and actor from Earth, really famous guy. Earlier, it struck me… Yondu didn’t have a talking car, but he did have a flying arrow. He didn’t have the beautiful voice of an angel, but he did have the whistle of one. Both Yondu and David Hasselhoff went on kick-ass adventures and hooked up with hot women, and fought robots… I guess David Hasselhoff did kind of end up being my dad after all. Only it was you, Yondu.

mojavejourneys:

fancyladssnacks:

reddragonsbreath:

barrett-the-babe:

caiusmartiuscoriolanus:

incestiel:

almostdiedthreetimes:

feasibleweasel:

autonomousartisan:

demoniccupcake:

the-guy-below-me-sucks:

doctorfeelbad:

couragemadnessfriendshiplove:

world-shaker:

Want to collaborate on a Google Doc with Nietzsche, Shakespeare, Dostoyevsky, Dickinson, Dickens and Poe? 

Click here. Start typing. Enjoy the hilarity. 

Ninja Update: Wanna see something fun? Mention Shakespeare in a sentence and see what happens. 

Poe kept writing distinctly into my sentences so I wrote ”Edgar, you’re not funny” aND HE BLATANTLY DELETED THE NOT I AM SO DONE WITH THIS ASDFKJL

OH GOD IF YOU TYPE “EDGAR ALLAN POE” POE ADDS A 😦 AFTER HIS NAME PRECIOUS BABY

Oh my God so I typed ‘Shakespeare’ and Shakespeare butted in and wrote ‘The lovely and handsome Shakespeare’ but Poe burst in saying ‘The dreadful and lonely Shakespeare’.

aND FYODOR DOSTOYVESKY ADDED ‘ I do not wish to make myself a laughing-stock before these idle listeners.”

I’M DONE.

Look what they did to All Star by Smash Mouth

“Somebody once hushedly told me the world is going to roll me. I ain’t the sharpest tool in the shed. She was looking kind of glocky with her finger and her thumb in the shape of a “L” on her forehead. Well, the years start voraciously coming and they don’t stop coming; fed to the rules and I hit the ground running. It didn’t make sense absolutely to live for fun. Thy brain gets smart but your head gets dumb. So much to do, so much to behold. So what’s wrong with taking the back busy thoroughfares? In everything one thing is impossible: rationality. You’ll never know if thou don’t go. “You’ll never shine if you don’t glow”, he growled incoherently. Hey presently, you’re an All Star. Get your game on; go play. Hey now, you’re a Rock Star. Get the show on; get laid. As well as all that glitters is gold, only shooting stars break the mold. ~All Star by Smash Estuary of opinion…”

Imagine putting your research paper in here and letting them go at it.

OH MY GOD I WAS WRITING AND EDGAR WOULDN’T STOP FIXING THINGS SO I WROTE “Edgar shut up I’m trying to write” and he changed it to “Edgar shut up I’m meagerly attempting to write” THIS FUCKING ASSHOLE

I typed in “Hello” and Shakesphere erased it and wrote “Begone with this rubbish.”

HOW R00d

I typed “party in the Usa” and Poe changed party to “ill-fated gathering”

I just used it to yell at Dickens about Tale of Two Cities, I am happy now

I typed in ‘hello other writers’ and Edgar Allen Poe changed it to ‘Hello secondary writers’

After I had been writing for a while Edgar suddenly deleted my last sentence and wrote “THE END.” rude son of a bitch

I have to try this.

Rebageled again but to add if the link above doesn’t work, try this one instead.

biscuitsarenice:

imagine… Alma Deutscher: Finding Cinderella

Musical prodigy Alma Deutscher aged 11 (seen here with younger sister Helen), is staging her first full-length opera, Cinderella.

Composer, pianist, violinist… Alma learned to read music before she could read words. She began playing the piano aged two and at four years old she was composing her own music.

not-close-to-straight:

Venom/Deadpool

(TW brief mention of self harm/suicide but it’s DP so… you know)

It’s like 3 am and I haven’t been sleeping and I had this weird thought that Venom/symbrock would be FASCINATED by Deadpool and not in like, a healthy way. Not at first.

Like maybe Venom goes after him because “we can eat bad people” but then, “oh wait, is he really a bad guy?” And then “he definitely just did some bad guy things so let’s eat his arm/head/whatever” and a few nights later they run into that unkillable fucker and are like???? Didn’t we eat you??

And it becomes a weird challenge for Venom to try and get Deadpool and Eddie finds himself sort of oddly…. like huh, there’s someone else like me?

Because like, DP is a monster all on his own, and he hears voices too but it’s not a symbiote who has changed to want to protect their host, no DPs voices are terrible and push him to self harm and he just laughs them off and pushes them away until he can’t anymore and that’s the first time Venom finds DP dead.

And they sort of mourn, Venom does, because now their little game is over and they have to go back to eating normal bad guys and Eddie is sad because he thought he’d finally found someone who could understand his ‘demon’ because Wade had demons of his own?

But then, honestly what the fuck, Wade starts breathing again and complaining about how his head hurts now and ugh Venom could have at least carried him to a park so he could have woken up in a bed of flowers and Eddie laughs in surprise and it’s the first time he’s really laughed in a long time.

Venom doesn’t even phase Wade. When Eddie invites him up for pizza and beer, Wade doesn’t even blink when they get to the shitty apartment and suddenly Eddie is there and Big and Black and Gooey is moving out of his shoulder and taking their own form, Wade just shrugs and says “I charge extra for threesomes” and Eddie laughs again.

It’s healthy in some twisted way, whatever friendship they form because Eddie knows Wade is what he could easily become if Venom hadn’t decided to love him and take care of him and had kept ruining him instead. He could absolutely be a violent unkillable fool who laughs because life has fucked him so far over that everything is funny in some awful way. He could be alone and in pain— yeah, he knows Wade hurts, can tell that the scars and his mutation hurt constantly— and being around Wade makes him appreciate Venom more.

And it’s healthy in some twisted way, because they don’t have to pretend around each other, there isn’t a level of “acceptable” they have to maintain. They can eat mountains of trash, they can sit in the dark and let the depression run deep and awful, they can come out of it and the other one will shrug off the episode because “life sucks and then you don’t die because you’re sort of cursed so you just keep going”.

And it’s healthy in some twisted way because the first time they are binge watching Golden Girls and Wade is lying there, scarred and violent and not giving a single fuck, Eddie leans over and kisses him and Wade grabs him and kisses him back and both of them fully expect Venom to SCREAM and rip them apart because the thing is possessive AF—

—Black ripples from Eddies fingers and Venom touches Wade and hisses over the pain he feels lurking just under the surface, but then he spreads up Wade’s arms to his shoulders and up his neck and down his back and Wade starts to say something about being “down for doing the nasty with that tongue” but then he realizes that the voices are quiet, and he doesn’t really hurt just then and that he’s still kissing Eddie but the other is there too, wrapped around them but lying passive as if protecting them.

They are both fragile and damaged and pushed out of acceptable society and far from what they had been, but here they are wound together and it works.

It’s not love, not even close, but it works.

It’s barely even lust, mostly it’s about being able to touch someone and not being afraid of them leaving/screaming/hating it, but it works.

It’s random nights and early afternoons and weeks without saying a word to each other and doing dangerous things off roof tops because Wade can’t die and Eddie is Protected, and screaming when they fight and waking up from nightmares and pretending the other doesn’t hear even though they cling to each other afterwards and laughing until it hurts their sides, but it works.

The first time Wade sees Venom fucking Eddie, he gets popcorn and sits on the floor and watches because why not?

The first time Eddie goes down on him, Wade keeps up a non stop commentary on those perfect fucking lips and only shuts up when Venom presses against and into him and he finally gets a taste of that particular benefit.

The first time Wade kisses Eddie goodbye and calls him babe out the door all three of them go very very still because this is different than the usual.

Wade laughs it off, Eddie doesn’t say anything at all and Venom is curious.

After that, it’s the first time in a long time that Wade tries to hurt himself and Venom SURGES from Eddies skin and wraps himself around Wade to stop it all from happening.

It’s healthy in a twisted sort of way, whatever they have, and sometimes they joke about how the only other human Venom can stand is barely human at all.

But it works.

dare-to-dm:

themadcapmathematician:

tockthewatchdog:

tockthewatchdog:

i love that i have to go to menswear to find a shirt a human being in the world would wear and then when i do it takes me .5 seconds to find it. I love that

me: i need a plain black t shirt

target women’s section: would you like to have a giant scoop neck that would definitely like completely show at least one of your boobs. would you, an adult woman, like to wear a crop top? would you like to look like a human piñata. BLACK? I think you mean jewel tones babey!

target men’s section: yeah sure. it’s the first thing you see as you walk into the shirt aisle. have a good one

Women’s section: would you like a shirt made out of tissue paper that costs $34.99??

Men’s section: here’s 25 normal tshirts for a quarter

Women’s Section: Would you like to play fucking guessing games with our arbitrary sizing systems and style names?  Also, we added a bunch of fake pockets for your personal inconvenience!

Men’s Section: Here’s a bunch of pants organized by the exact inch length of your waist and legs.  With pockets that can hold more than just a credit card.