impossible to find a frankenstein recipe online that doesn’t start with a freakin novel about the guy’s early life in geneva… just gimme the ingredients and method
— reallyreallyreallytrying
GOD [inventing Dracula]:
ANGEL: Wh-what are you doing that for?
GOD: Shut up this is going to rock
— ActualLiam
Why is it that the 3 main types of monger are war, fear, and fish. What did fish do to deserve this
— _AlexHirsch
during october vampires are at their most powerful. they don’t physically get stronger it’s just a pleasant confidence boost.
— moonlandingwasfaked
Latin declensiouns and
Bookes yn libraryes,
Cafés with décor from
Storyes full scarye,
Long midnighte talkes about
Cool goblin kynges:
Thes ben a fewe of my favourite thinges.
— LeVostreGC (Chaucer Doth Tweet)
starbucks barista: I need a name for your latte
frankenstein’s monster: [long pause]
— AbbieEvansXO
If you see a kid sitting alone on a pier and soft music starts, you’re legally required to sit down and say “Hey sport – what’s wrong?”
— TheThomason
So disappointed. I was convinced my dog possessed an uncanny instinct for knowing when thunderstorms are coming, but it turns out she’s simply been checking the BBC Weather app on her iPad all this time.
— thewritertype
No one ever talks about how an oubliette implies the existence of a larger, and far more terrifying, oobly.
— Brainmage
If I am ever swept off my feet by a dashing widower and he takes me home to his ancient family estate, my first acts will be to move all his former wife’s stuff to a hermetically sealed storage unit and ask all household staff to submit to a biannual psychiatric evaluation.
Also I will oversee the installation of numerous safety rails.
And a modern fire suppression system. Fuck the Historical Society of Lesser Wibblesby or wherever, ain’t no Great Hall burning down on MY watch.
All family members, staff, and guests will be strongly advised to tie long hair back and forbidden to wear anything drapey or flowing after 8 P.M. Any guest not arriving with a modern pyjamas will be issued a set, ideally with a pattern of moose wearing Santa hats or something.
I will carry a screwdriver and a pocket knife. Doors that stick or lock behind me get one strike. Don’t think I won’t take you off your hinges, bitch, I’ve done it before.
In fact, an awful lot of problems could be avoided just by making sure everybody has some DIY skills.
Four words: battery-operated LED lanterns.
Dashing Widower Hubs gets exactly one cryptic utterance before we go to couples counseling. It’s in the prenup. Also, my will, which I will file with a lawyer under the age of 40, will stipulate that if I predecease Hubs, everything in my name is left to the Humane Society.
In the unlikely event that I start renovating and find suspicious bones, shackles, etc., we will seal that shit right back up and go to a hotel for the evening.
A young priest and an old priest will be in my contacts on speed dial.
Regarding relics: anything from foreign lands with a mysterious provenance will be promptly offered back to the country of origin. If they don’t want it, it goes to the British Museum by courier; their karma’s bad enough and Hubs and I can use the tax writeoff.
Anything that seems to be part of a local legend will be left STRICTLY in place. I’m not taking a chance on pissing off the Morrígan because I just had to move the rock garden. All such items will be clearly denoted by a tasteful but highly visible historical marker.
“Oh, that? Grandfather used to say it belonged to Morgana le Fay. Silly, what? Everyone knows these old legends are rubbish and it’s probably a ninteteenth-century repr… Darling? Darling, what are you doing? …Did you have those chainmail gloves and fireplace tongs ON you or
Cabinet of Curiosities? I think you mean CabiNOT of Curiosities, especially if there’s one thing that seems extraordinarily out of place, seems to have a component of polished bone/hair/mysterious reddish stains, or is preserved in formaldehyde and has tentacles.
The portraits of Dashing Hubs’ ancestors are truly remarkable works. They should probably be in a museum rather than lining the staircase. Don’t worry, dear, we’ve got an art budget and in a hundred years, our descendants will be thrilled to show everyone the breathtaking Rothko.
Speaking of the descendants, in case Hubs and I die tragically whilst Abroad, then along with the keys to the manor on their 21st birthday, our children will be provided with hardcopy house inventories and the abovementioned psychological profiles of the staff immediately.
Speaking of which, Hypothetical Descendant, I promise to believe me when you tell me you see someone who isn’t there, particularly if you draw unsettling and surprisingly consistent pictures of them. Also, maybe once a year we’re gonna splash a lil holy water on you just in case.
I don’t wanna be ageist here but why exactly is the Manor employing staff over 70? I get that this is their home and we’re not evicting them just because they’ve got cataracts or missing teeth but we really need to hire someone physically fit enough to maintain the boat house.
Also, two words: WELL COVER.
Climbing vines covering more than about 10 square feet will be killed with fire.
If the lights go out, the first words out of my mouth won’t be, “I’ll go check the fusebox.” They will be [to my fully charged cell phone], “Siri, play Sir Mix-a-Lot.”
No self-respecting ghost or axe murderer is gonna kill someone while the mood music is Sir Mix-a-Lot.
— lasrina