#Alex what have you done to me

[laiqualaurelote]

Charles only agrees to go to the drag show because he’s hungry.

“I know it’s not your scene,” Crystal is saying as she thrusts a flyer into his hands, “but I’ve got to be there for Niko and I don’t want to go alone.”

“Can’t be alone if Niko’s there,” says Charles absently. He wonders if Al Dente still has the two-for-one deal after 10pm.

“She’s tech-ing the show, you dumbass, I don’t want to be sitting in the audience by myself. Don’t worry, it’s super chill. Nobody’s gonna give you a lap dance — well, not unless you want one, that is.”

Charles likes to think he’s being a pretty great ally. Sure, his girlfriend left him for another woman, but he can’t even be mad about it because it’s Niko, who is the best and sweetest person on earth whom Charles could possibly be replaced by. If Niko’s decided to work a drag show, then all those queens are aces in Charles’ book. Which is not how queens and aces normally work, but Charles could use a new normal.

He scans the flyer. Lot of words, font neon and squigglier than he likes, but one name jumps out at him: BARBARA LASAGNA. God, he would die for a lasagna right about now.

“I’m in,” he says. “Meet you at Soho direct on Sunday?”

Charles’ plan was to sit in a corner and not draw attention to himself, but this goes out the window once the club’s owner clocks him. He’s bare-chested beneath a lush fur coat, which he’s somehow decided to combine with a black leather skirt. “First time?” he drawls, looking Charles up and down. 

“Yeah,” says Charles warily. “What’s it to you?”

The bloke chuckles. “Oh, no need for all that, sweetcheeks. First-timers sit in the front row, them’s the rules. We like to give the fresh meat a proper welcome.”

Crystal is barely hiding a grin behind her hand. This is not very chill, Charles tries to telegraph at her with his eyes as they are ushered to a pair of seats at the tip of the thrust stage. When they sit down, a spotlight swivels to catch them in its beam as the rest of the audience cheer. Charles, blinded, squints at the tech booth, where Niko is giving them a thumbs-up. Crystal blows her a kiss. Charles pastes a grin on his face and stretches out his legs, the picture of ain’t-even-bothered.

The show is pretty brills, actually. After Charles gets over being put on the spot, he finds himself enjoying the acts: there’s a Girls Aloud group number, some spectacular high-splits from one Toni Brixton, even a Liz Truss impersonator who has them all rolling in the aisles. Charles is mad impressed by what the girls get up to in those heels. He reckons he’d break an ankle before he got five steps in their shoes.

“And now to class things up in this joint,” says the club owner, who’s also emceeing, as what looks like some kind of vintage dresser is rolled onstage. “Gifting us with her presence tonight — because what’s pasta is present — it’s Barbara Lasagna!” As the crowd goes wild and the lights fall and some kind of old-timey music Charles doesn’t recognise begins to play, the emcee calls out: “Barbara, are you decent?”

“Who, me?” comes this low, musical reply, and then Barbara Lasagna arches up from behind the dresser. She does it so quickly that her cascade of red curls flips over her head in a perfect arc and lands bouncing to frame the angles of her face. She’s sheathed in shimmering black satin which bares her shoulders and her long neck, and the spotlight pools in the carved hollows of her collarbones. She's wearing black gloves that come up to her elbows, and she leans like one long silken comma on the dresser and gazes out at the crowd and quirks one fine eyebrow.

“Sure, I’m decent,” she says.

Charles’ throat is weirdly dry. Should've got a drink before the show started. Barbara swings herself out from behind the dresser and sways down the stage — she’s tall to begin with, but those pumps have got her looming like the bloody Shard — and then she begins to sing. All the other acts were lip-syncs, but Barbara is properly singing, in her whiskey-on-the-rocks voice:

When they had the earthquake in San Francisco back in nineteen-six They said that Mother Nature was up to her old tricks That's the story that went around, but here's the real low-down Put the blame on Mame, boys, put the blame on Mame

She pauses centrestage to let her left hip describe a lazy curl in the air, a half-figure-of-eight. Charles can’t take his eyes off it. She sings, “One night she started to shim and shake — that brought on the Frisco quake”, and twists that hip, a sharp little accent.

Christ, but they’ve really cranked up the heating in here, haven’t they? 

Barbara has come all the way down to the tip of the stage now. Her curls are playing peek-a-boo over one eye, as she begins edging the hem of her left glove down, revealing the creamy skin of her upper arm inch by inch. Charles can’t breathe and he doesn’t know why, but somehow a whole strip show would be less agonising than watching Barbara Lasagna remove a single glove — and then without warning she raises her hand to her rosebud mouth and tears the glove off with her teeth and —

Charles must make some kind of sound then, because Barbara’s smoke-lined eyes snap to him. How she heard him over the music he does not know, but now she’s staring at him and he feels like someone is passing a lighter flame over the hairs on his skin. Barbara drops till she’s perched on the back of her heels — she’s got to have killer thigh strength for that — and then in one smooth movement she pivots off the stage and is towering over him. She drapes the glove over his hand as he sits, frozen. He feels the silk of it slide across his skin. “Mame gave a chump such an ice-cold no,” she sings, and then abruptly she slaps him across the face with the glove. It barely smarts, but Charles feels something hot spike through him from head to toe. “For seven days they shovelled snow—”

And then she’s gone. Through some magical means she’s somehow back up on the stage, whirling the glove like a slingshot before flinging it into the wings, sashaying to her final mark so she can strike her big finish: “Put the blame on Mame, boys — put the blame on Mame!” She pulls off her other glove, holds it taut and triumphant in the air, and then all the lights go out except the followspot, so that all they can see is the curve of her silhouette, and then that’s gone too, and Charles sits there in the dark amid the roar of applause thinking What. The. Fuck. 

('Put the Blame on Mame' is from the 1946 film noir Gilda, starring the legendary Rita Hayworth, whom the Barbara Lasagna photo reminded me of. This and @tumblerislovetumblerislife's art have driven me insane, actually.)

why yes i'm normal about ms barbara lasagna, why do you ask

(credit to @laiqualaurelote for coming up with the edwin/jessica rabbit quote!)

[plainlyraine]

I'm not fully caught up but I genuinely think its such bullshit that Sam has experienced the least horrors™️. He's the one obsessed with poking around, but Alice runs into the (dead) drowning victim. Yeah Gwen kinda elbowed her way in, but it sounds like she has her own shit going on and when she tried to confide in the crew his ass is LAUGHING? Bro is NOT learning. I hope he gets some suitably life-altering horrors soon 🫶

[radio-4-is-static]

The last song that was written, the last lyrics that were written was (for) the song “Hooked.” It starts off with the line, “I’ve got the fear / I’ve got the human fear.” And I realize that so many of the songs had an underlying theme of fear to them. But not necessarily succumbing to fear, but more like overcoming fear. “The Doctor” is about the fear of leaving an institution, and “Bar Lonely” is the fear of leaving a relationship. “Night or Day” is the fear of committing to a relationship. But fear is fascinating because fear is universal. We all experience fear. We all experience the same fears. But how we respond to it is individual. And that’s how we find who we are, our personalities. And overcoming fear feels good. That’s why we watch horror films or ride rollercoasters — because you overcome fear and then feel very alive for having done so.

– Alex Kapranos on the story behind Franz Ferdinand's latest album The Human Fear for AP

[joicecubes]

listen i’ve always been a sucker for sibling dynamics in media but holy fuck there is something especially gut-wrenching about stanford and stanley pines. i’m a big shipper so usually i latch onto those homoerotic friendship type dynamics but man…. gravity falls has me BAWLING over these brothers. i will never be able to listen to regina spektor’s “two birds” EVER again without thinking about the tragedy that is these two emotionally repressed old men. im so cooked

[giulliadella]

Since The Book of Bill dropped and Billford became canon, I am completely torn between the "Bill was a manipulative piece of shit who ruined Ford's life" and "UwU cute triangle and old man romance" and I am very concerned about that.

[starrymoonshin3]

when i was a kid i thought i’d grow up to be cool and successful but now i just spend my days obsessing over toxic old man yaoi between an autistic grandpa and a fucking triangle

[arklay]

hi hello i haven't been on here in ages but um i may be cooking something up 🫶

[hearts-are-connected]

Random Alex Casey Headcanons

There's an empty couch open to Casey whenever he needs it. I picture one of the Anderson's walking to the kitchen and finding Casey on the couch, sleeping deeper than he ever does at his home, and he stays for breakfast before hitting the road. Or they know he's been there and left early by the neatly folded blanket and pillow sitting in the living room.

Logan enjoys drawing pictures of tired, grump Uncle Casey while he's asleep. She says he's at his most relaxed.

The Anderson's keeping certain food items or coffee blend they know he likes in their home for such occasions. Even including gifts for him under their tree because it's tradition for him to join them Christmas morning.

If he reluctantly takes part in an ugly sweater competition or two, no one is wiser as he swears everyone to secrecy regarding their photos.

Casey and his wife Miranda got a divorce due to mounting issues. The worst loss for them being a miscarriage.

Miranda fell into bad habits, and as such, took her aggression and heartache out on Casey, who tried to make things work while continuing to do his job. It got so bad that in the middle of the night, after a particularly bad argument, Casey left. All he took from the home was his favorite three-piece suit, work related items, every drawing Logan had gifted him, and a pair of shoes. He then proceeded to walk aimlessly through the dark, leaving the car behind, seeing as it was in his soon-to-be ex-wife's name.

David Anderson was leaving to go to work the following morning and was surprised to find Casey asleep on their front porch with his small box of items beside him. After rousing him and collecting his things, David put Casey to bed in one of the spare bedrooms, which ultimately became his own until the divorce was settled and Casey found a place not far from them.

Casey is a fine cook, despite everything pointing to the contrary. For a man who looks like he survives off six coffees a day with the occasional sandwich, he can fix a meal that'll leave most wanting seconds or thirds. As a thank you to the Anderson's for their hospitality to him, he cooked enough food to last them a month and provided the recipe for each dish.

When Casey first met Saga, he didn't think much of her. Figuring she'd buckle under the pressure of the job and go back home to find another career. To his surprise, she became a bright light amongst her peers. Enough so that he took her under his wing personally to teach her what knowledge he'd acquired over the years. Not realizing that in doing so, he'd not only gain a new partner, but that he'd eventually come to be adopted into a family he would cherish and gladly give his life for.

The first time he met Logan Anderson was when she was only a day old. Reluctantly entering the hospital room, the sight of Saga laid up in bed cradling her newborn daughter had pierced his hard shell in a way he hadn't thought it would. When Saga and David finally convinced him to hold Logan, he did so carefully. It was one of the first times both the new parents had seen Alex Casey genuinely smile. Teeth and all.

Logan became the brightest light Casey could remember entering his life, aside from her mother, of course. To those at the bureau, he was still the same jaded, hardened agent they'd known for years, but to those who paid closer attention, small glimpses of change appeared. Little things like a child's drawing appearing on his desk, or a coffee mug with 'My favorite Uncle' printed on it alongside a cartoon fox.

He was once ambushed on a case resulting in numerous injuries and a decent recovery time. It was the first time Logan had ever seen her uncle hurt that severely. It felt as if each time Casey woke, he'd find a small reminder that she'd been there hidden somewhere near his bed. He occasionally woke to a small kiss on his cheek. He kept one of the smaller stuffed animals she's placed on his bed. Furthermore, he always packs it in his suitcase when he's away from home, either for work or the rare rest and relaxation. Saga's never let him live it down.

The angriest he's ever been, besides numerous incidents with his ex, was when he saw a group of older kids shove an eight-year-old Logan to the dirt at the playground. Saga swears all four boys who'd bullied her daughter ran home crying when confronted by Casey.

Saga and Logan are the only ones who Casey allows close enough to snuggle. Something he'll deny until blue in the face, but on more than one occasion, either Anderson can be found using his lap as a pillow while he uses said time to catch up on some reading.

[analexthatexists]

its been exactly a month since i posted some art and stuff but i assure you i have a good reason and that reason is I GOT DRAGGED INTO THE DEPTHS OF THE ABYSS BY ELDRITCH HORRORS AND CAME OUT WITH A RETURNING OBSESSION AND THIS FREAK.

So there was this roleplay me and my friends were doing and I had to design a new villian to replace an old one and so I came up with a design on the spot and now this old man exists and what do you mean people think hes hot whaaaaat

he's got no name, i've just been calling him THE KING because just calling him Nightmare feels weird and like I might figure out a nickname for him???

idk what i wanna do with him but i think hes cool... if i give into the urges i'll write more about him and his potential AU because yes i think im suddenly obsessed with this

oh btw in case you're still here um fun fact; the gem in his crown is actually malachite! this was just for fun and then i googled the symbolism behind the gemstone and then realized how ironic and fitting it was

additionally, the crowns of both the passive and corrupted forms took HEAVY inspiration from dreamcatchers, and I like the idea that the corrupted form lacks a mouth because the villagers tried to silence him (as in keep him quiet and refusing to let him speak his mind or have any freedom, but also eventually attempting to literally kill him. its something that still haunts him to this day presumably, and compared to other nightmares he's actually a lot more composed and quieter too, maybe somewhat because of that!) and...yeah, i stole the idea of "nightmare's tentacles resembling tree branches" idea from another design... I can't find the artist I got that idea from though... credit to @irriska for their Epimeliad!Nightmare design because that outfit inspired the one for this Nightmare!

[patron-saints]

crawl like a sinner (a riza/lust fanmix)

falling in love with someone who could never love you back is the exact kind of curse lust would wish upon her worst enemies. it is also something she thought she’d never experience.

listen on: spotify or youtube cover art in collaboration with: @amotleycrew

——— tessellate - alt-j triangles are my favorite shape / three points where two lines meet gimme what i want - miley cyrus pleasure leads to pain / to me they’re both the same hatchet - archive you could aim between my eyes and i’d still be yours to have looking too closely - fink truth is like blood underneath your fingernails / you don’t wanna hurt yourself hearts a mess - gotye but i’m desperate to connect / and you, you can’t live like this  hold me tight or don’t - fall out boy when your stitch comes loose / i wanna sleep on every piece of fuzz and stuffing that comes out  piece of shit - wet leg  and you are not in love, but it’s close enough  did it to myself - orla gartland now you're living in my memory / living in my mouth / living in the four fucking walls of my house october - the crane wives take my word, but keep the upper hand / i know you, you're the daughter of a lonely man blood orange - freya ridings could a life be like this, even with you?

[snixx]

be on tumblr long enough and you start associating all your favourite artists with specific mutuals even if you only met them after becoming a rabid fan. I hope you know you're never allowed to leave me now bitch you're NOT ruining my favourite artists for me

[vraska-theunseen]

i was so much more optimistic today i thought i was finally going to do something gradeable i did okay on my root passes for the 8 t joints after my teacher guided me and then much much better on my 2nd passes i was rlly hopeful and then when i started doing the third passes i was having problems even tho i was going at the right angle and about the same speed and i brought it to my teacher to ask her what to fix and she said "that's so weird i've never seen that problem before." WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHAT DO YOU FUCKING MEANNNNNN. i am going to throw up and die

[areyoudoingthis]

what if I rewatched all of our flag means death this weekend and fixed myself for good

[partynthem]

i can't believe red rocks is over. what am i supposed to do w myself now

[chaoswillcalmusdown]

i'm assuming the biggest demography for rwrb is americans bc there's a shocking lack of henry watching football (or supporting some london team) in the fanfic

[silas-is-sleepy]

It was an intentional kill, I'd be surprised if he gets brought back even if there were glitches that lead to him dying