#Crazy Store

[s-guacamolearts]

TOBY FOX THANK YOU FOR BLESSING US ONCE AGAIN WITH THE WONDERFUL NEWSLETTER

[soarrenbluejay]

Supervillains for a community. (Well, except those jerks over in Gotham, insular lot, but they’re they’re one problem) Of course they do- supervillains are a group defined by strong opinions and a willingness to see them through, often with a healthy dash of societal failures and trauma as a catalyst.

The fentons, while not active even on the online message boards, are well known and explosive when they do show up, full of fascinating insights and hours long rants on mad science on hair pin turns courtesy of that ADHD attention span. Bit of the cryptids you feel honored to bump into kind of deal. Besides, like a good quarter of the community as it aged, they’d settled down and had kids (not necessarily in that order) and taken it very seriously! Out in the middle of nowhere, where even the most fearsome government outpost members, the local branch of the IRS, quake before them in fear. Out of the way.

Reveal gone okay-ish, Danny moves to Gotham still to get some air bc now things are Akward and he landed that engineering scholarship which is loads better than any other college would give him with his track record. So- the mysterious Fenton children are finally crawling out of hiding! Everyone is psyched! And roll in to Gotham en masse to witness the fireworks!

Except Danny is Determined To Be Normal. He’s had enough of the throwing himself into harms way shit for a lifetime- he wants to be free to peacefully built Rube Goldberg machines and unintentional increasingly complex bombs to his hearts content. JAZZ, on the other hand- the coveted token Normal One, has finally snapped! She’s watched her baby brother she practically raised throw himself into danger over and over and could do nothing, and now that she’s exposed to this whole network of superheroes outside of small town Amnity, some of those uglier emotions are coming out. And boy is she pissed! And can’t afford to show it much while filing the paperwork to have Arkham legally razed to the ground!

See I love this idea of like, niches in superhero society. A villain the heroes know they can plop their kiddo down with for an exciting afternoon brawl while they take care of a particularly grisly case and come back to a few hours later ranting about some new life lesson and a new move they really want to try. A villain who has a functioning moral compass despite their somewhat batshit long term goal and you can contact to fuck with another villains’s plan so they can laugh at them and you can have an easy afternoon. One who pries up hostile architecture and fills in pot holes, idk man. Get creative here, there’s such potential!

So Jazz becomes a Training villain- someone the heroes know their sidekicks will walk away from in a fight 100% of the time, usually with some new lesson to ponder and only a couple of bruises. Sometimes even snacks!

She also absolutely ambushes mentors to check that they’re worth the kiddo, which they appreciate once they get over being jumped in a dark alley by a 7 foot Amazon trained force of nature. They are not used to being on that side of the jumping, it’s a little unnerving.

(Yes, she low key adopts Shazam upon checking in with him on cursory ‘is the main hero of this city and asshole’ checkin. Yes, the super clones get yoinked out from under Superman’s negligent thumb to go have a blast with Ellie. What about it?)

This however only encourages more assorted weirdos to crawl out of the woodwork. It’s not often one of their own forfeits their potential spot for the running of the coveted Most Normal I Swear prize, but when they do it’s bound to be good! But jazz is off hounding various heroes and punching the faces in of pedophiles and shit whenever there’s no cape within easy reach, and so is a mite bit harder to contact than Danny, who has innocently gotten an apprenticeship under a clockworker for access to their workshop and is gleefully going about doing nerdy shit with great abandon.

Plus this is Gotham. No one gives a shit if someone in the Mad Alchemist uniform and still smoking from their latest experiment pokes their head in a window to bother the local shrimp teen- none of the usual social rules apply, everyone’s crazy here! So everyone drops any and all attempts at masking and just acts their genuine unhinged selves, much to the alarm of the Bats and frustration of Danny.

Bc he cannot get these mfers to go. Away. Even liberal use of the creep stick has little effect when the interloper is calibrated for an opponent with super speed or laser vision or whatever, and he’s trying to maintain his guise as a Normal College Student Do No Investigate.

So he calls in the big guns. He’s not super active in the supervillain kids group chat ever since things in amnity calmed the fuck down post becoming King and then immediately using a loophole that says he will not take the throne until he is grown, as defined by finishing learning his trade a la the medieval standards Pariah set up. So he can just take his sweet ass time with his graduate degree and out of inter dimensional bull shit that much longer! Point is, he hasn’t taken the chance to rant over there in a while, so his Crazy friends are getting a lil worried.

The change to come over and shout at their batshit crazy but (mostly) well meaning parent AND see Danny? Score!

The bats, however, are getting awfully suspicious about this one kid that villains from all over the country are flocking to, especially young and upcoming ones as of recently! And he’s acting his engineering course- all the worst rogues are known to have flown through their PhD studies prior to Cracking. They seem to have a real problem on their hands with this Fenton guy.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 254

So. Danny might have accidentally become a bit of a cryptid. He didn’t mean to, but he’d become a bit nocturnal- like many an Amity Parker- and it wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t be bothered to make sound when he was tired. Or pretend to breathe or, okay, he could see why he kept freaking people out at the grocery store he kept going to. 

But it wasn’t his fault! He has to get food too! And really is it anyone else’s business? Seriously he thought that people wouldn’t be so surprised with how much magic is everywhere. Like you’d think they’d never seen someone who wasn’t fully human before or something. 

Oh great, there’s a journalist at the grocery store now- he’s going to ignore that and finish his shopping and then continue his online work. Ooh, and eat icecream. He deserves it for potentially putting up with this. 

Oh, it’s a little baby reporter, first couple of article thing. Adorable. 

[endlessartpumpkin]

"He hums, sleepily. His gaze is trained on the fireplace now, seemingly mesmerized by the flames dancing there. But when she drapes a blanket over him he drags his gaze up to meet hers."

A young Time and Malon from this beautiful fic by the amazingly talented and lovely @adrift-in-thyme! <3

[cripplepunkbarbarian]

Gorgug establishing a web of magic emotionally linking TBK to one another in the Nightmare Forest for support and then a year later not only forcing himself back into consciousness to continue protecting his friends but also strengthening the portals summoning their allies from across Elmville:

(link to original artwork)

[avenoirn]

(a day late posting) may store update!! shop is open again until june 9! with some new ASL merch AND ace pin set ❤️‍🔥 everything else is available as usual!

✨ international / locals ✨

(form for locals is still closed at the moment, it will open this friday, may 10 9 PM WIB)

shares & reblogs are highly appreciated! thank you so much again for supporting me always 🫶❤️💙💛

[crushedsweets]

Toby specifically stalks this elderly lesbian couple because one of them started spouting off nonsense about demons and slendy wants them to stop poking their noses in the paranormal.

Toby decides to purposefully make it obvious they’re being stalked by a real person instead of haunted, but he just further convinces both of them that they have a demon in their home. Nothing he does works and he doesn’t really wanna kill them. Starts sending them emails saying giving the demons attention gives them more power.

The ladies give ignoring the “demon” a shot, so he stops purposefully breaking into their house and moving stuff around and scaring them. Now they truly believing ignoring a demon is how to stop a haunting. They no longer stick their nose in the paranormal. This is a successful Toby mission. And he stole a lot of money and jewelry in the process. Extra Toby points

[reirei404]

Sketchbook doodles of my beloved 🥰🥰🥰🥰

[en1gmaaaa]

Public domain is a beautiful thing because how else i would manage to find the jonhlock tea

[couthbbg]

not romantic, not platonic, but a secret third thing (choosing each other year after year, spending decades of our careers, and therefore the majority of our hours on earth, together, not because of fate or destiny, but because we wouldn’t let it happen any other way)

[foegoal]

i really want to stay at rogers place || a love letter to the 2023/2024 season.

[yantao-enthusiast]

there should be more platonic rpf. like can i please get smosh chanse and angela working at Burger King or something. or like shayne and trevor working at opposing sports stores and getting way too into the rivalry. like idk i think that’d be really funny and also a lot less weird than The Alternative

[osseincactus]

Okay @sp1derc1der I know it isn't exactly what you said, but I spent all day at working thinking about them in an Ikea so....

Taking a child (your 40 year old husband) to a furniture store so he can buy a stuffed plushie of a sea animal <3

[kuromi-hoemie]

> all i want for christmas plays overhead but it's not mariah carey

> “please enter your phone number”

> a cacophony of beeps from everyone scanning their own items

> “please place your item. into the bag” *not bagging anything*

> only two volume options are full blast and less loud

> card reader beeping loudly as it fails to read 3 times before it lets you swipe it

> all of this happening constantly on all of the machines too so their noises overlap with each other

SHUT!!! UP!!!!!!

[hitlikehammers]

if you can’t write your own necronomicon, store-bought is fine 📔

(not ideal but: fine) — 1/3

for @klausinamarink, who prompted 'NECROMANCY' at the @steddiesummerexchange

Steve wants this clear, on-the-record, absolutely fucking crystal, okay?

It was not his intention to snoop through Eddie’s shit.

It’s not even a ‘respect for the dead’ thing. It’s just a ‘be a decent dude and don’t go through another dude’s personal stuff’ thing.

So like. Just to be clear.

It does not start out the way it…ends up.

——————

How it does start out is this notion that gets stuck in Steve’s head about the fucking gravestone they’re putting up. He hates the idea of it being installed over nothing, just plopped atop grass and dirt and just, just…nothing.

Almost like they’re saying Eddie was somehow nothing, and when the overall notion hits on that thought specifically Steve has this simultaneous urge to break a window and vomit, and it’s just, it’s not—

He needs to find a way to curb that feeling.

He hates it enough to mention it to the others, who don’t get it. At all. Maybe because it’s Steve, and they don’t think he knew Eddie enough to be this…this. Maybe because it’s Steve and that’s not Steve’s role, is it? Having the feelings. And if Steve was in a clearer frame of mind, maybe he’d be able to wonder if the people he’s asking just can’t handle what he’s asking, can’t process more of…any of it, not right now.

But he’s not. In a clearer frame of mind. He can’t process, either, beyond the kind of fucking all-consuming need to not bury nothing under Eddie Munson’s name.

So he buys a casket. Anonymously, uses his dad’s business card. Ships it to the place he knows is doing the stone, there’s really only one option in town and maybe they’ll be confused, or maybe they’ll be pissed, but Steve makes sure when it arrives that it sits on their doorstep, moves it in the night when it gets dropped after hours: unavoidable. Unignorable. Black on the outside and red on the inside, but Steve moves it all by himself and it’s still too light. It’s still empty. It’s not quite nothing.

But fuck if it’s enough.

The only two people he’s tried to broach the subject with—or who’ve heard him in the process—and who haven’t brushed him off are Robin, and that’s because she’s his soulmate, and they haven’t slept without one another in arm’s-reach at the absolute most since they lost—

Well. Since.

The second person is Eleven, and she’d just overheard Mike scoffing and Dustin blinking silently, and Steve had known when to leave a battle that couldn’t be won because it wasn’t even gonna be fought, but he had caught her with a crease between her eyes. Her face scrunched all thoughtful. Listening.

And if nothing else: not dismissing.

So when the idea strikes—not manic, it’s not a manic sort of idea, maybe it’s close, like in the ballpark of manic but hotdogs and millionaires are also in the same ballpark at the same time, y’know, and they’re nothing alike so fuck you—but when the not-manic idea strikes to put something, something that means something, that carries literal and figurative weight, inside that casket?

He tells Robin, who looks at him with sadness but not with pity, and who asks how they’ll manage it, rather than trying to talk him out of it. He’ll never get over how lucky he is to have her; never learn words that live up to how much she means to him.

But also: it’s good that all she does is ask how. Because Steve actually has that figured out.

He heads to Hop’s cabin when he knows both he and Joyce are gone. He explains in simple but plain terms, the kind he’s learning El appreciates best and processes easiest, especially when feelings are involved. And these feelings she grasps without hesitation, and fills in Steve’s vague ideas with concrete plans, and it takes less than twelve hours to see them at Forest Hills, where the government still hasn’t moved that goddamn trailer to give anyone any semblance of closure but definitely finds the time and manpower to put up new tape around the scene whenever it’s tampered with, fuck those motherfuckers all over again and—

Right. Well.

It takes less than twelve hours for El to distract the guards with a very minor fire on the other end of the park and some suspicious-sounding chittering she bets right on piquing their attention, giving Steve and Robin the in to sneak around the barriers and find their quarry: the version of the Warlock that never saw the Upside Down, knocked to the floor but in one piece. Weighty.

Something that means something, to mourn in the ground.

Robin’s peeking out the window, checking if the coast is clear for them to jet, for Eleven to ease off and meet them back at Steve’s car to go back to their evenings like nothing ever happened, save for the guitar in Steve’s trunk and at her signal Steve makes to follow with said guitar slung awkward across his back but then something…something pulls in him. It’s not even a catch from the corner of his eye or some shit, no, he feels it in the center of his chest:

What if it’s not enough?

So he grabs as many of the books scattered on the floor around a cracked and quaked-apart shelf in the corner as he can fit between both arms, all sorts and shapes and sizes, and then he’s ignoring Robin’s raised brow and crawling as quiet as he can back out of the trailer, out of the half crime scene, half quarantine zone, and running for the trees to get back to where they parked.

El’s waiting for them, and as he drives, honestly?

Steve thought he’d feel better about things, now. He thought this would start to calm that nauseous rage in him.

Maybe once it’s in the casket. Maybe once he feels the heft of it as a real thing.

Maybe.

——————

It would probably be logical to think that it’s the weight of the guitar that makes the shift, that turns the tides.

But that’d actually be a goddamn stupid thought because nothing about any of this—this town, what lies beneath it, the war they’re fighting the battle they lost, Steves fucking life now at large—none of it is logical, Jesus Christ. The guitar. What a fucking dumb idea.

Because it’s the books, of course.

It’s the goddamn books.

Because the guitar helps but it’s not enough. Steve tried his fucking hardest to lift Eddie’s body, had him in his arms but the gates were closing, the rope half-assed at too short after he’d cut Dustin off and with all of their wounds even Robin and Nancy—both with more upper body strength then you’d think—were basically fish in a fucking barrel and Steve was in worse shape but fuck if he didn’t get them out, get everyone out but—

He’d been the last, with Eddie. He’d felt the heft of that body, too cool against his chest but not cold, not yet—not dead weight, not dead weight, he was a person, he was this incredible person Steve was only just getting to know and he was, now he was—

No one had been unscathed to the point of being able to help Steve up. Steve had had the kind of shocking sort of clarity for being ready to stay with Eddie as the gate sizzled and narrowed, no man fucking left behind, right, but for the screaming growing ever more shrill for each failed attempt Steve made at holding Eddie different, at trying to get up and over the threshold together to no avail: he made the call the rest of them were screaming of him to make, despite the messiest fucking tears:

Leave him. He’s already gone. You’re not.

He knew how much Eddie weighed to carry, is the point. And the man was a lanky fucker with a little more build to him than first glance gave away but still: the guitar does barely half the work of filling the void.

Though the exact void Steve’s trying to fill might be…it might be more complicated than just the fucking casket not being empty.

But the casket does need more than just the instrument.

He sorts through the books he grabbed blindly; they all must at least be ones Eddie liked but…The Lord of the Rings. There are three of those, right? I feel like there are at least the three, and there are three right here that look so well loved they can’t not have meaning; Steve wanted to read them. He won’t be quick enough to read these copies, though, and that does feel like such a fucking loss, and that’s the point, isn’t it?

The grave can’t be empty. It can’t be meaningless. The marker’s meant to bear the loss.

They’re big, like, thick fucking books—one of about a hundred reasons why Steve hadn’t picked them up before. And no, he’s not…he’s not going to dwell on the why behind the way he lets his fingers flip the pages slow, stop here and there and drag the nail-tip across a line, a paragraph, wondering what some of the words mean, what Eddie would have thought of them, if he were here to ask—

There needs to be more weight. He shoves the trilogy to the side and grabs for…oh.

Oh, these are the…manual. Thingies.

For the dragon dungeons.

He lifts one, tests it: not as heavy. But there…there are a lot, and—

And Steve’s opening them too, flipping slow just the same: wondering. Wishing he could have a running commentary alongside that boundless energy even in the face of the end of the world, maybe because of the impending doom of the end of the goddamn world and Steve, walking shoulder to shoulder with him in those fucking death woods, he, it was, they—

“He was right,” Steve remarks, and realizes belatedly that it’s the first words he’s said to Robin where she’s flicking through a stack of books much quicker than him, clinical: all about the weight for the casket but Steve’s stuck on a page that takes him back to a conversation he heard only half of, the kids trying to catch Eddie up, trying to describe what they all call demogorgons and Eddie muttering under his breath about how that sounded absolutely fucking not like a demogorgon, and there a drawing right here, black and white and:

“They look nothing like they do in the game.”

Robin meets his gaze and still—somehow—her eyes are sad but they don’t pity him. Not yet, at least.

He’ll take it.

“Nothing in these is even really, like, connected,” Steve mumbles as he flips, flinches at the marked up pages on Vecna, Jesus fuck; “or workable,” he looks at the Mind Flayer and cringes, feels the urge to hide those pages from Robin even if she isn’t close, then decides to play it safe for probably irrational reasons and tosses the book to the side and grabs blindly for another one, oh cool, this looks like…spells and shit: “like, none of this looks apple,” Steve bites his lower lip, the word he’s looking for a little fuzzy when he’s scanning over the words on the page, because they’re, they’re not; “not even applicable, y’know, in reality,” but that’s vague, they’ve set foot in more than one reality, so does that even count as a caveat anymore but then, but then—and what they fuck is his heart pounding all of a sudden, he’s just sitting down, that’s not; but then;

“Or else, not for the Upside…”

His voice gives, peters out. His pulse is thick in his throat. He’s staring so hard at nonsense, at fantasy, at, at useless pretend things that won’t change anything, won’t fucking help, and why does it all hurt in his chest so fucking much and—

“Right?”

He looks up and Rob’s already got eyes on him. He can’t imagine how he looks. His vision’s a little…blurry, and it doesn’t even feel like it’s from tears, which…it does feel like it should be—but she might have crossed over to watching him with pity, now. He wouldn’t be able to tell.

But either way: Robin knows him, down to the cells. She knows the question he speaks out loud isn’t the question he’s asking. He’s not asking for reassurance, or confirmation. He’s not even asking her an opinion. He’s sure as shit not asking for permission.

Because he’s dizzy. His heart’s pounding, and he’s fucking dizzy, and it’s nonsense, it’s not real, it’s all a stupid game and the names don’t even match—

But. All of it was real. In some way, it was real.

It’s not an exact science, not a perfect match: it never was. But that wasn’t the point. It was a roadmap. It was a way to process the unfathomable enough to get from point A to point B.

And looking at the words on the page where his fingertip is drawing a long below: he can’t…not wonder. And if he’s already set on wondering, then fuck, fuck—the rage in his chest is easy, his heart doesn’t feel so squished and his might not sick up his lunch for the first time after trying to eat more than a peanut butter sandwich from the community hub. There’s something in this. It’s what he’s been searching for. He reads the words again, again, and again and yeah, they’re absurd, they’re absolutely insane:

RAISE DEAD

But maybe…maybe they’re a roadmap. Inexact but…but up to the task. What if.

They can’t not…try.

Steve will not live with himself if they don’t try.

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[civilization-illstayrighthere]

Hey so I’ve mentioned this a lot of times on my main blog, but I wanted to put this out over here since it is Hallow’s Eve. I always give out little tchotchkes on Halloween along with candy. This year, I’ve completely switched over to 100% doohickeys and doodads— think mechanical pencils, shaped erasers, little notebooks, squishes, vampire teeth and spiders rings and all. It started years ago in college when I signed up for a dorm Halloween event where kids from an area that was too dangerous to really trick or treat through got bussed in to trick or treat at our dorm. I bought some candy and dollar store Halloween themed stuff with what i had. And you know what the kids went ape shit over?

Motherfucking. Mechanical. PENCILS!!

These kids could not get enough of them. They literally went “PENCILS??!” I had never seen kids get so hyped up for pencils lmao. They were the first things to go. Candy is fleeting; the little pencils you can bring to school to flex are eternal, until you inevitably lose one of the refill parts and then they aren’t but listen, in that one moment they are infinite. And its nice thinking that maybe some kids who don’t always have access to school supplies not only get them, but get them in fun shapes and designs.

Anyway. I recommend people to give out fun stuff like this not just because kids seem to genuinely enjoy them, but also because there’s this thing called the Teal Pumpkin Project here in America. You can put out a teal pumpkin to show that you are giving away non-candy items and sign your address up so parents of children with allergies know that there are houses their kids can safely and happily trick or treat at! It’s a win-win! Plus, if you accidentally bought too much, it’s not like candy— just pack it away, pencils and fidget spinners will be good next year, too! :)