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     meats: ups-dogs:

The Bandanna of Betrayal.The Shawl of Shame.The Horrible Hankie of Hunger.The Do-Rag of Dietary Deprivation and Despair.Upon my arrival at the Patricia Green Winery in Newberg Oregon, I was confronted with a horrific sight that left me with an awful and impossible dilemma; I could either respect the cruel and inexplicable demands of the customer by denying biscuits to their dog Maggie, or I could break their rules and yield to the almost hypnotic, yearning gaze of her pleading eyes as she beseeched me to proffer her daily treats.I considered my options carefully as I looked around to see if anyone was watching. Their wishes were clear, but what harm could *one* biscuit possibly do? What kind of barbaric monster would force their sweet dog to wear a sign around her neck prohibiting treats? How could I possibly be expected to withhold her daily Milk Bone? What had she done to deserve such barbaric treatment? And how many biscuits could I sneak to her without getting busted?Fortunately, my questions were soon answered by the arrival of her owner who graciously explained the reason for this seemingly abusive act. It turns out that the vineyard had been hosting their annual fall wine tasting all week long, and was providing the guests with salami, prosciutto, breads, and various types of gourmet cheeses to be paired with the wines. And in her role as official tasting room mascot, Maggie was allowed to circulate freely amongst the guests, who of course were rendered as powerless as I by her beseeching gaze. The result of their copious offerings of such rich meats and sharp cheeses upon her digestive system are best left to the imagination, and her humans were left with no alternative but to take drastic action in order to prevent Miss Maggie the Manipulative and Malodorous Moocher from rendering the tasting room uninhabitable.Fortunately for her, however, the feeding ban did NOT apply to ordinary dog biscuits, thus leaving me free to be the hero and ease her pangs of hunger on what turned out to be Quadruple Biscuit Friday. All was right with the world once again!By Scott Hodges.
    

        
        
        
        
        
        
        
        
    

    

        

            
            

                
                 meats: ups-dogs:

The Bandanna of Betrayal.The Shawl of Shame.The Horrible Hankie of Hunger.The Do-Rag of Dietary Deprivation and Despair.Upon my arrival at the Patricia Green Winery in Newberg Oregon, I was confronted with a horrific sight that left me with an awful and impossible dilemma; I could either respect the cruel and inexplicable demands of the customer by denying biscuits to their dog Maggie, or I could break their rules and yield to the almost hypnotic, yearning gaze of her pleading eyes as she beseeched me to proffer her daily treats.I considered my options carefully as I looked around to see if anyone was watching. Their wishes were clear, but what harm could *one* biscuit possibly do? What kind of barbaric monster would force their sweet dog to wear a sign around her neck prohibiting treats? How could I possibly be expected to withhold her daily Milk Bone? What had she done to deserve such barbaric treatment? And how many biscuits could I sneak to her without getting busted?Fortunately, my questions were soon answered by the arrival of her owner who graciously explained the reason for this seemingly abusive act. It turns out that the vineyard had been hosting their annual fall wine tasting all week long, and was providing the guests with salami, prosciutto, breads, and various types of gourmet cheeses to be paired with the wines. And in her role as official tasting room mascot, Maggie was allowed to circulate freely amongst the guests, who of course were rendered as powerless as I by her beseeching gaze. The result of their copious offerings of such rich meats and sharp cheeses upon her digestive system are best left to the imagination, and her humans were left with no alternative but to take drastic action in order to prevent Miss Maggie the Manipulative and Malodorous Moocher from rendering the tasting room uninhabitable.Fortunately for her, however, the feeding ban did NOT apply to ordinary dog biscuits, thus leaving me free to be the hero and ease her pangs of hunger on what turned out to be Quadruple Biscuit Friday. All was right with the world once again!By Scott Hodges.
                
            

            
            
ups-dogs:

The Bandanna of Betrayal.The Shawl of Shame.The Horrible Hankie of Hunger.The Do-Rag of Dietary Deprivation and Despair.Upon m...

            
            
        

    



        

        
        

            







     meats: I wrap my own meats
    

        
        
        
        
        
        
        
        
    

    

        

            
            

                
                 meats: I wrap my own meats
                
            

            
            
I wrap my own meats

            
            
        

    



        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            







     meats: The Turkey Story
 So it's 2001, and my family drives from fu
 California and like three blizzards to get to Ohio for
 into
 a nursing home and it's their last holiday in that house.
 So its a bit bittersweet but ultimately a good thing.
 Since it's their last holiday there, the family pulls out
 all the stops when it comes to dinner, all the Russian
 desserts come out, as does the Lethal Bacon Mashed
 Potatoes and the horrible candied yams with the mini
 marshmallows dish because not all expressions of love
 are
 even if they are si
 In the spirit of going
 alout, Uncle Bobby smokes a Turkey
 Uncle Bobby started cooking as a boy
 foil-wrapped potatoes into a campfire and has been ad-
 dicted since, and now has a hand-made smokehouse in
 the backyard where he makes various cured meats and
 other delights. He seasons the turkey in the traditional
 manner, but he and grandpa have a shared passion for
 SO
 Game Hen seasoned that way, for them.
 Then Bobby has a Brilliant Idea. He realizes that he can
 stuff the turkey (once it has been smoked) with regular
 stuffing, and there is still plenty of room for him to put
 the game hen inside THAT, and stuff the game hen be-
 cuase why not? He confers with Mom, and she explains
 how to cut open the turkey so there's dramatic reveal
 as the stuffing and game hen come out. It's Genius.
 Except, of course, that my Aunt Sue is attending, Uncle
 Cliff s
 after her
 So the day of the dinner, tensions are running a bit
 high, between the marathon cooking, the kids al being
 trapped indoors due to aforementioned blizzards,
 and Uncle Cliff deciding that the best way to amuse
 himself is by hiding from the adults in the basement,
 getting drunk and rambling about how various ethic
 groups were destroying America. Being that I had close
 Muslim friends that were leaving the country becuase of
 9/11, 1 was near tears from this nonsense and ready to
 n roughly five times my size.
 Sue, for some reason, keeps coming down and
 defending him, or telling us we're rotten children
 for 'attacking him, becuase she Must Stand By Her
 Man, even if her man is a hefty bag of dog feces with an
 ugly
 mustache
 My sister eventually boits upstairs to tattle and
 my grandfather limps down to the basement and
 brandishes his Hip Bone Cane, hands rock-steady in
 spite of the Parkinson's slowly taking over him.
 Firstly Cliff, It may not be my roof much longer but
 while you are under it you will be civil, or Ill beat your
 skull in. Also, dinner's ready, everyone go wash up.
 We go upstairs and sit down, and do the
 traditional "Name one thing you're thankful for as the
 bread gets passed around the table, and things calm
 down a bit. Bobby brings out the Turkey and everyone
 goes OOH becuase it's really pretty, them Mom carves
 it open so that the stuffing spills out dramatically along
 with the game hen and there's an appreciative gasp all
 around becuase it looks cool.
 Only Sue KEEPS gasping, in utter horror, before getting
 up and clasping her hands to her face ala Edvard
 Munch and shrieks
 OH MY GOD IT WAS PREGNANTI
 We all stare at Sue. We all look back at the
 fully-dressed-cooked-and-stuffed birds that in no way
 had any internal organs in them or ever gave live birth
 Then we all looked back at Sue, trying to figure out
 where to begin but since shed been trying to justify
 Cliffs behavior she was pretty much free-associating
 conspiracies and scandals now, and just kept going.
 IT WAS PREGNANT MY GOD WE'VE COMMITTED AN
 ABORTION WE'RE ALL GOING TO HELL FOR THIS, I'M
 SO SORRY JESUS She goes into full pearl-clutching
 gibbering horror at this point and falls back into her
 chair like it's a Victorian fainting couch only it's a
 shitty chair from the Eisenhower administration so it
 collapses and she slams into the floor, sobbing and
 kicking her feet like a toddler
 Everyone watched for a moment before my Mom sighs
 heavily and starts carving and serving the turkey while
 my grandmother mouths she's not coming back
 Cliff, reactions delayed by about six beers, finally
 notices his wife is on the floor and tries to pick her up,
 are assisted by Dad,
 who is saintly patient man and less immune to this
 jacknapery at that point. I am stuffing dinner rolls into
 my face to keep from laughing at this grand spectacle
 ICANT EAT IT, I REFUSE TO PARTAKE IN THIS
 BARBARISM Sue begins but Dad puts on his best
 Kindly Father voice (he was heavily involved with the
 catholic church and even considered becoming a priest
 before getting drafted but that's another story)and
 assures Sue that she need not eat, or even be in the
 room if she wants. She nods, placated by being the
 center of attention again, and Dad goes in for the kill.
 I wouldn't want you to go hungry. Can I make you
 some
 That would be lovely." Said Sue, joke flying over her
 ng 747. I recall watching my grandmot
 her nearly choke to death on the green beans over that,
 and everyone pointedly trying to avoid talking about
 anything poultry-related while Sue sat there and ate the
 most ironic scrambled eggs in the history of mankind.
 Shortly thereafter, Cliff threw up in the sink and they
 went home, and the party got underway properly, with
 Grandpa raising a toast to Mom and Uncle Bobby For
 t Turkey has been an
 staple since then. I'll see if I can hit Uncle Bobby up for
 instructions but if you decide to make it 1. you HAVE
 to shriek "OH MY GOD IT WAS PREGNANT when you
 carve it open, or it's not authentic and won't taste as
 good 2. Share the pictures with me,
Very planned Parenthood
    

        
        
        
        
        
        
        
        
    

    

        

            
            

                
                 meats: The Turkey Story
 So it's 2001, and my family drives from fu
 California and like three blizzards to get to Ohio for
 into
 a nursing home and it's their last holiday in that house.
 So its a bit bittersweet but ultimately a good thing.
 Since it's their last holiday there, the family pulls out
 all the stops when it comes to dinner, all the Russian
 desserts come out, as does the Lethal Bacon Mashed
 Potatoes and the horrible candied yams with the mini
 marshmallows dish because not all expressions of love
 are
 even if they are si
 In the spirit of going
 alout, Uncle Bobby smokes a Turkey
 Uncle Bobby started cooking as a boy
 foil-wrapped potatoes into a campfire and has been ad-
 dicted since, and now has a hand-made smokehouse in
 the backyard where he makes various cured meats and
 other delights. He seasons the turkey in the traditional
 manner, but he and grandpa have a shared passion for
 SO
 Game Hen seasoned that way, for them.
 Then Bobby has a Brilliant Idea. He realizes that he can
 stuff the turkey (once it has been smoked) with regular
 stuffing, and there is still plenty of room for him to put
 the game hen inside THAT, and stuff the game hen be-
 cuase why not? He confers with Mom, and she explains
 how to cut open the turkey so there's dramatic reveal
 as the stuffing and game hen come out. It's Genius.
 Except, of course, that my Aunt Sue is attending, Uncle
 Cliff s
 after her
 So the day of the dinner, tensions are running a bit
 high, between the marathon cooking, the kids al being
 trapped indoors due to aforementioned blizzards,
 and Uncle Cliff deciding that the best way to amuse
 himself is by hiding from the adults in the basement,
 getting drunk and rambling about how various ethic
 groups were destroying America. Being that I had close
 Muslim friends that were leaving the country becuase of
 9/11, 1 was near tears from this nonsense and ready to
 n roughly five times my size.
 Sue, for some reason, keeps coming down and
 defending him, or telling us we're rotten children
 for 'attacking him, becuase she Must Stand By Her
 Man, even if her man is a hefty bag of dog feces with an
 ugly
 mustache
 My sister eventually boits upstairs to tattle and
 my grandfather limps down to the basement and
 brandishes his Hip Bone Cane, hands rock-steady in
 spite of the Parkinson's slowly taking over him.
 Firstly Cliff, It may not be my roof much longer but
 while you are under it you will be civil, or Ill beat your
 skull in. Also, dinner's ready, everyone go wash up.
 We go upstairs and sit down, and do the
 traditional "Name one thing you're thankful for as the
 bread gets passed around the table, and things calm
 down a bit. Bobby brings out the Turkey and everyone
 goes OOH becuase it's really pretty, them Mom carves
 it open so that the stuffing spills out dramatically along
 with the game hen and there's an appreciative gasp all
 around becuase it looks cool.
 Only Sue KEEPS gasping, in utter horror, before getting
 up and clasping her hands to her face ala Edvard
 Munch and shrieks
 OH MY GOD IT WAS PREGNANTI
 We all stare at Sue. We all look back at the
 fully-dressed-cooked-and-stuffed birds that in no way
 had any internal organs in them or ever gave live birth
 Then we all looked back at Sue, trying to figure out
 where to begin but since shed been trying to justify
 Cliffs behavior she was pretty much free-associating
 conspiracies and scandals now, and just kept going.
 IT WAS PREGNANT MY GOD WE'VE COMMITTED AN
 ABORTION WE'RE ALL GOING TO HELL FOR THIS, I'M
 SO SORRY JESUS She goes into full pearl-clutching
 gibbering horror at this point and falls back into her
 chair like it's a Victorian fainting couch only it's a
 shitty chair from the Eisenhower administration so it
 collapses and she slams into the floor, sobbing and
 kicking her feet like a toddler
 Everyone watched for a moment before my Mom sighs
 heavily and starts carving and serving the turkey while
 my grandmother mouths she's not coming back
 Cliff, reactions delayed by about six beers, finally
 notices his wife is on the floor and tries to pick her up,
 are assisted by Dad,
 who is saintly patient man and less immune to this
 jacknapery at that point. I am stuffing dinner rolls into
 my face to keep from laughing at this grand spectacle
 ICANT EAT IT, I REFUSE TO PARTAKE IN THIS
 BARBARISM Sue begins but Dad puts on his best
 Kindly Father voice (he was heavily involved with the
 catholic church and even considered becoming a priest
 before getting drafted but that's another story)and
 assures Sue that she need not eat, or even be in the
 room if she wants. She nods, placated by being the
 center of attention again, and Dad goes in for the kill.
 I wouldn't want you to go hungry. Can I make you
 some
 That would be lovely." Said Sue, joke flying over her
 ng 747. I recall watching my grandmot
 her nearly choke to death on the green beans over that,
 and everyone pointedly trying to avoid talking about
 anything poultry-related while Sue sat there and ate the
 most ironic scrambled eggs in the history of mankind.
 Shortly thereafter, Cliff threw up in the sink and they
 went home, and the party got underway properly, with
 Grandpa raising a toast to Mom and Uncle Bobby For
 t Turkey has been an
 staple since then. I'll see if I can hit Uncle Bobby up for
 instructions but if you decide to make it 1. you HAVE
 to shriek "OH MY GOD IT WAS PREGNANT when you
 carve it open, or it's not authentic and won't taste as
 good 2. Share the pictures with me,
Very planned Parenthood
                
            

            
            
Very planned Parenthood

            
            
        

    



        

        
        

            







     meats: excuse-my-tantrum:
I love watching their old videos
Ah, yes, the four main food groups: Corn, veggies, meats, and cookies.
    

        
        
        
        
        
        
        
        
    

    

        

            
            

                
                 meats: excuse-my-tantrum:
I love watching their old videos
Ah, yes, the four main food groups: Corn, veggies, meats, and cookies.
                
                

                
            

            
            
excuse-my-tantrum:
I love watching their old videos
Ah, yes, the four main food groups: Corn, veggies, meats, and cookies.

            
            
        

    



        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            






        

        
        

            







     meats: bibliotecaria-d:
ebonykain:

karacat:

othersideofforty:

erinnightwalker:

ripped-up-jeans-and-glitter:

erinnightwalker:


acaffeinejunkie:

erinnightwalker:

erinnightwalker:

geostatonary:

sixpenceee:

“A house I pass on the way to work has this sculpture in its yard. Its about 8 feet tall.”
(Source)

“HELLO NEIGHBOR STEVE, I WOULD LIKE TO INVITE YOU TO BARBEQUE ON THE EVE OF THE BLOOD MOON.  I FEEL WE GOT OFF TO A BAD START.”
“NEIGHBOR STEVE, DO YOU NOT WISH TO PARTAKE OF THE UNCLEAN FLESH-MEATS OF PIGS AND THE POLLUTED ESSENCES OF TOMATO?  PERHAPS YOU ARE A CAROLINA STYLE MAN, NEIGHBOR STEVE?”
 “PUT THE GUN AWAY NEIGHBOR STEVE, YOU KNOW I SHALL ONLY RISE AGAIN WITH THE DAWNING OF THE MOON.  WE HAVE BEEN THROUGH THIS MANY TIMES.”
“LOOK AT THIS PICTURE MY SON DREW OF YOU AND CHILD TIMMY, YOUR SON.  ARE THEY NOT THE PICTURE OF PACT-MATES?  THIS COULD BE YOU AND ME, NEIGHBOR STEVE.”
“YOU MISSED THE UNHOLY NEXUS OF POWER THAT IS THE KEY TO MY CORPOREAL FORM, NEIGHBOR STEVE.  YOU WILL NEED TO RELOAD NOW, SO I WILL GO INSIDE TO MY HELL-WIFE AND PUT YOU DOWN AS A SOLID ‘MAYBE’.“

I have the feeling that the families get along great except for Steve. Like, the wives are baking (questionable) brownies together, the kids are playing together, Antler Guy occasionally takes Son and Timmy to school (no car, just carries them in huge swinging strides through a nexus of ungoldly sights in a swirling netherworld shortcut. Sometimes they stop for McDonalds). Hell-wife gave them a potted Audrey Jr., Steve’s wife (who I now christen Sharon) gave them a begonia.
One time Steve tries throwing holy water but all Antler Guy does is thank him, saying that no, Antler Guy isn’t Catholic but it’s the thought that counts, he is so kind to water his creeping deathshade vines regardless.
For Christmas Antler Guy gives Steve a case of ammunition. To be funny/sarcastically mean Steve gets Antler Guy the world’s most hideous Christmas sweater, singing light-up reindeer included. He immediately regrets it because not only does Antler Guy love it and wears it for several months, it will never need batteries because Antler Guy powers it with his own eldritch aura.
When they come back from a holiday to Hawaii, Steve is horrified to find out Sharon bought them matching Hawaiian shirts. He is even more horrified that his wife means it that if he doesn’t wear it he will forever sleep on the couch.

I want to expand on this, since I see it’s still passing around and the ideas have grown in my brainmeats.
What drives Steve up the wall and down the other side is how… normal… everyone treats the Abominations. (Yes, that is their last name. No, it is not a joke. Son was asked his last name for the standardized testing at school, had a quick conference with Timmy, and decided that Son Abomination sounded good, “Since my dad calls your dad the Abomination anyway and we can paint it on your mailbox just like the Henderson’s did theirs!”. Antler Guy agreed and did a lovely rendition of it for the mailbox, with only a few glyphs of soul-rending terror added to keep up to snuff.)
The Great Plant Exchange went beautifully, though the Audrey Jr. (named Aubergine for the lovely shade of purple poison that drips from her fangs) is on a diet at the moment. She was in cahoots with the cat and the dog to get into the good people food and ate two frozen turkeys all herself. Now she’s restricted to the hallway table to answer the phone and the door. (Steve actually likes her, and keeps slipping her hotdogs when Sharon isn’t looking. Their door-to-door salesman rates have dropped dramatically since she changed abodes.) Hell-wife has almost gotten the begonia to bloom and say it’s first words.
The homeowner’s association just loves the Abominations. All paperwork stamped and dotted, in on time and in triplicate. Antler Guy likes filing, says it reminds him of his old job. There is a resident who spent 20 years as a lawyer and they have long, animated conversations about all sorts of things that make Steve swear to never need legal counsel.
Hell-wife joined the PTA and spearheaded a committee to fundraise in the fall with a haunted house. It was a county-wide hit, though the claims that a particularly rowdy group had been deliberately lost in a timeslip to the Outer Doors Of Chaos was firmly rebuffed. Most young people nowadays, it was agreed, just couldn’t appreciate flute music.
Antler Guy really does try to connect with Steve. The surprise birthday party was perhaps a bit much, given that most participants do not have the ability to suddenly materialize in front of the guest of honor to give them a hug. Sharon assured them that Steve normally screams on his birthday, and the remains of the cake were heartily enjoyed by all. (A plate was saved for Steve once he came down from the treehouse.)
After the Hawaii trip (which was a present for his birthday) and the Matching Shirt Ultimatum (which was Sharon’s attempt at patching things up with Antler Guy, he really was sad about the birthday screaming), Steve finally grabs his courage in both hands (plus the shotgun, which let’s face it is about as useful as a teddybear at the moment but it does comfort him) and confronts Antler Guy, about why such a group of……Abominations could possibly come to his quiet slice of suburban bliss.
“……BUT NEIGHBOR STEVE, WE HAVE ALWAYS BEEN HERE.”
“No no no, I read it in a book! Don’t you have to be invited or something?!”
“WELL YES, TO THE HUMAN WORLD. BUT THIS IS NOT THE HUMAN WORLD AS YOUR THREE-DIMENSIONAL BRAIN PERCEIVES IT.”
“What the hell does that mean?!!”
“DID YOU NOT KNOW, NEIGHBOR STEVE? LEGALLY SPEAKING, ALL OF THE VASTNESS OF HUMAN SUBURBIA IS, IN FACT, A PART OF HELL.”
“……..”
“THE FLAMINGOES ARE THE BOUNDARY MARKERS. IT WAS DECIDED THAT THE FLAMING SKULLS WERE TOO KITSCHY FOR MODERN TIMES.”

Reblogging cause I kind of want more of this….


Since you asked nicely ^_^
Antler Guy, as one may have noticed, is a calm sort of fellow. In the face of human atrocities he displays a curious Zen sort of state of mind. Timmy asks Son if he’d ever seen his dad angry, and Son hasn’t. (When asked, Timmy says that yeah his dad gets mad, but it’s like the Fitz-Simmon’s chihuahua down the street- mostly high-pitched noise and occasionally TV remote chewing. Sharon replaces the poor thing every 3 months or so.) When pressed (gently, at the monthly book club, and with many cups of tea and at least one daiquiri), Hellwife admits that this comes from serving many years at his old job.
After the revelation of the nature of his neighborhood, Steve has not been overtly mean to Antler Guy. Not yet in the realm of friends, but vastly better than before. No more holy water, no more shotgun blasts. (Still the occasional jumpscare, but Antler Guy really can’t help that part.) They even occasionally share news over the fence as Antler Guy trains the creeping deathshade vines in proper oral hygiene, and Steve waters his lawn (and occasionally slips a goldfish cracker to a deathshade vine that looks particularly adorable. Aubergine has trained him well.)
Which is how Antler Guy learns about the peeping tom that’s been plaguing the adjacent streets. Apparently the pervert has been getting bolder, and rattling doors. He almost broke into one apartment, whose occupants were a single mother and her daughter, Mildred. Millie, a shy girl who is a great horror fan and firm friends with Timmy and Son, had missed school because of it.
Steve knew because Sharon had told him, on her way to deliver a tuna casserole and a double batch of brownies to the pair. (Sharon has been dubbed the unoffical mob boss of the Mother’s Mafia. She is quite pleased with this title.) He tells her to wait, confers briefly with Aubergine, and sends her along with, “Only as a loan, you know, but Auby wants to stretch her roots and she’d probably like getting all ribboned and curled anyway. Little girls still do that, right?” She has strict orders to bite anyone that makes Millie or her mother cry. (Steve is dubbed the official neighborhood marshmallow for this. The bookclub buys him a jar of marshmallow fluff in commemoration.)
He turns to look at Antler Guy, and freezes, much as a chihuahua will when faced with a hungry hellhound.
“You….you alright there buddy?”



“Ň̵̴̫̫̙͙̻̞͈̫̥̪̱͈͈̯̍̀̀͆ͫ̒̿̄͗͘͡͝ͅO̊͑̑͒̎͑̃ͬͭͮ̅̔̆̃̉ͯ̇͗̀҉̵̻̜̞͉̟͙͚̻̪̼̖̀͟ͅ.̵͈̣͈̙̣̜̻̭̩̝̠̞͗ͤͥ̓͗ͬ̓̄͊̓̅̐ͩͮͧͤ̽̐ “

“Uh, yeah, I guess not. Did you, uh, know you’re kinda fuzzing at the edges, there?”



“Ň̵̴̫̫̙͙̻̞͈̫̥̪̱͈͈̯̍̀̀͆ͫ̒̿̄͗͘͡͝ͅO̊͑̑͒̎͑̃ͬͭͮ̅̔̆̃̉ͯ̇͗̀҉̵̻̜̞͉̟͙͚̻̪̼̖̀͟ͅ.̵͈̣͈̙̣̜̻̭̩̝̠̞͗ͤͥ̓͗ͬ̓̄͊̓̅̐ͩͮͧͤ̽̐ “

“Right. Um. Well.” 
Steven makes a very ungraceful exit when space starts bending around Antler Guy’s still, unmoving form.
When Steve sees a shadowy form in his back yard when he gets up to pee that night, there’s no hesitation. He grabs the shotgun from the cabinet and peeks out the back door window.
Just in time to see a nebulous form of soul-wrenching terror engulf the man reaching for the door handle. A sliver of moonlight reveals a very familiar eyesocket. After a moment (and a sincere prayer of thanks that he had already peed, cause otherwise he’d have done it then and there) Steve opens the door. The nebulous form freezes, reality bending around the edges.
“Nice night for it, huh?”


“…..Y̮̮͍͔͇͙͙̟̐͌͛̓̏͞͡Eͩͭͮ̓̍ͯ̀ͧ͏̵̴̛̺̠̱͕̕ͅS͈̹̮̟̳̪̩̘͍̤̲̻͈̱̳̽̋́ͩ̃͋̎ͩ̈͆̀͘͢͢͟ͅ.̧̢͈̭̝̥̦͚͍̇ͫ̃̓͆̿̇ͪ͊ͧ̃͛͌͜͢

“

“Guy won’t scare anymore litttle girls, will he?”



“Ň̵̴̫̫̙͙̻̞͈̫̥̪̱͈͈̯̍̀̀͆ͫ̒̿̄͗͘͡͝ͅO̊͑̑͒̎͑̃ͬͭͮ̅̔̆̃̉ͯ̇͗̀҉̵̻̜̞͉̟͙͚̻̪̼̖̀͟ͅ.̵͈̣͈̙̣̜̻̭̩̝̠̞͗ͤͥ̓͗ͬ̓̄͊̓̅̐ͩͮͧͤ̽̐ “

“Good. G’night then. Oh, and if Hellwife has an extra Audrey Jr. that needs a home, let me know. Millie likes Aubergine a lot but Augy’s just too big for the apartment. Dunno if they come in miniatures though.”


“
I̴̛̟̭͉̮̜̩̬̮̣̘̰͚̩͙̟̳͔̜̙͑̂̆̆͗͒̀ 
͖̖̰͉̥͖͔̙̤̺͍̳͈̹͙̣̞̇̇ͤ͒̅̈́͆̽ͧ́̚̚̕͘W̶̶̱͈̞͖̼̟̣̮̌͂͒̈́͑͌͒͋̍ͮ͗̈ͣ̓ͤ͘͟I̴̶̞̥̩͇̔ͩͦ̇̉̾ͣͬ̀̀̒͒ͧ͛͌͛͆̚͘͢ͅͅL̠̟͕̠̟̪̰̻ͯ͂͊ͥ̍̏͋̐ͬ̉̆̈̀͠L̸̞̭͔̮ͦ͑̉ͮͩ́ͬͨͣ͘͜.̴͈͎̮͇͓͖̱̻̣͊͊ͤͩ͊̑͗͞
 
̸̡̩̖̞̩̻̩̪̭͙̳͚͇̟̺͖̑͊ͫ̀͆ͨ̉̔̓̂̓̋T̷̷̟͉̟̻̻̪̞̰̯̻͈̣̰̬̻̾͐́ͭ̓̅́͡H͇̬̪̩̬̝̣͍͈͇ͯ͛̏͌ͮͧͭͦ͟͜A̴̴̤͕͈̤̮̞̱̯͔͕̙͔͖̰̬̰͈̠ͥ̏ͥ̍̽ͧ̀͝N͗̓͋̃̈̑̀̅ͣ̽̒̂̄ͯͩͤ͏̢͢͏͈̯͎̪͇̟̠͔̯͓͓̰̠̱̠̳͕̳͝K̢̓ͧ͛͛ͣ̄̓̓ͯ̍̈̈́̌͂̔͟҉̛̘̥̖̤̦̻̳͙͟
 
̢̢̻̥̹̣̞͉̘͇͚͍̖̯̘͚͔̗̩͓͐ͮ͂͂̀̚͘͠Y̜̞͇̳̗̬͎̰̙̜̩̪͎̞̙̠̔͂̌̃́̀O͇̺̲͙͍̬̳̘͈̱̜̝͔̖̊ͥ̿ͫͤͫͫͩ͋̓̃ͦ̈̄͢͟Ū̢͖̲̦̠̤͎̙͉̦͖̖͓͍̺̺ͪͯ͐͆͆ͭͯ͗ͦ̄̅̌̈̃̾ͭ̋ͧ͢͢͠͡.̶̸̞͓̞̹̗̻̣͈͕̠̬̦ͫ̆ͤͬͨͦ͒͂ͨ̿ͩͪ͘͞.ͧ͛̒̂̂͗ͨ̌͆ͥͭ͒̉͘͜͏̙͖̰̝̙̲͓̙͕͍̥̳̩́͠.̶̷̮͎̱̼̬͖̰͎͚͙̥̓͋͋ͦ̓̓ͯ͆͛̏ͫ̅ͯ.̨̧̙̤̳̮̺̙͖̞͔̗͎͍̑̆ͮ͐ͩͦ̌̽̾̏͘͠.̹̖͕̮͕̞̰͍͚͖̌ͪ̃̐̐̌̌̅̉͑ͧͪͪͬ̓͐́͛̿͘͞ ….NEIGHBOR STEVE.”

“Anytime.”
There are no more peeping reports. Millie brings back Aubergine and spends an entire afternoon teaching Steve the particulars of Augy’s new “hairstyle” (a gravity-defying mass of teased tendrils, ribbons, and barrettes) in between games of tag and hide-and-seek with Timmy and Son.
When Antler Guy and Hellwife present her and her mother Beatrice with a tiny Audrey Jr. (”pOOr ThinG Is a ruNT And wOn’T geT MorE Than A FooT taLL, BEa, aNd NeeDS a New FRiEnD”, assures Hellwife), both mother and child burst out crying. Millie names it Bella, after Bella Lugosi, and shows it to the excited group of boys (Steve and Augy included).


IT GOT SO MUCH BETTER!!!!

Life in a subdivision partly populated with eldritch and possibly magical (officially classified as “extra-dimensional”, for even when faced with the physics-defying nature of their new co-habitating citizens the government cannot bring itself to acknowledge them as “magic wielding hell-beasts”, as some high-ranking staff members initially suggested) goes on fairly normally. 
Sure, there are a few hiccoughs. The creeping deathshade vines get a stern talking to about appropriate afternoon snacks (”NOT the Fitz-Simmon’s chihuahua, I don’t care how much he has it coming or what he excreted where, now spit it out!”), Aubergine sheds all her leaves at once and snowballs the house (but does helps sweep up afterwards), and moonrise is a good time to watch the night-gaunts fly by (but on moondark it’s best to stay inside, no matter how prettily they glow. They’re somewhat similar to fireflies, and don’t always check to see if their partner glows as well. It wouldn’t be as much of a problem if they didn’t dive mid-coitus and drop just above the ground.)
While the neighborhood in general is accepting of the Abominations, when things get to be a bit much they tend to come to Steve. Since meeting Beatrice and Millie (and the formation of the Terrifying Triad known as Millie, Son, and Timmy) Steve is the adult human male most comfortable dealing with Antler Guy on the whole street. (Sharon as U.M.B. is widely held to have, well, steel-whatever-the-hell-she-wants, and Timmy is known to run over to Antler Guy and ask for rides through “that wobbly grey place, you know, the one with the REALLY BIG alligators?”. Still, the courtesies must be observed.)
So when a writhing sparking ball of snarling terror and teeth takes up residence in the Manzo’s tool-shed, and when Animal Control refuses to come (the street is banned due to a run-in with the deathshade vines), Steve is called. Having heard the description, Steve brings Antler Guy.
When they get there, Mr. Manzo is forcibly holding the door shut. Unholy yowling is coming from inside. At a gesture from Antler Guy, Mr. Manzo leaps away, and the doors blast open.
A 150 pound ball of whimpering, flaming something hits Steve and knocks him on his ass. The whimpering, flaming something proceeds to slobber all over Steve, his shirt, his pants, and a decent portion of grass in between distressed yelps.
“GACK!”
“NEIGHBOR STEVE, ARE YOU IN DISTRESS?”
“GAAACKLEARGHSPLUH- DOWN boy, HEEL, that’s a good- Antler Guy, what is this?!”
“I BELIEVE IT IS A HELLHOUND, NEIGHBOR STEVE.”
“Good grief, I didn’t know they came this big and…..and….. Guy?”
“YES NEIGHBOR STEVE?”
“Is he supposed to be…..skinless?”
“YES NEIGHBOR STEVE. THIS VARIETY WAS BRED TO BE LAP DOGS. THEIR FLAME IS MOSTLY WITHOUT HEAT, AND THEY HAVE NO SKIN FOR THOSE WHO ARE ALLERGIC.”
“…….laPDOG?!”
“YES NEIGHBOR STEVE.” Antler Guy lays a hand on the hellhound, who tries to burrow further into Steve with little success. “HE APPEARS TO HAVE BEEN RECENTLY WEANED. IT WILL TAKE TIME FOR HIM TO GROW TO HIS FULL SIZE.”
“……”
“THE SMALL BREEDS GROW MORE SLOWLY.”
A vile hissing emanates from the shed. (Mr. Manzo has long since fled for the safety of his kitchen.) As Steve attempts to calm the frantic hell-puppy, Antler Guy investigates. He reaches one long hand in behind the riding lawnmower and….. winces.
“NEIGHBOR STEVE?”
“Yeah- I’m right here, uh, doggie, not going anywhere- Guy?”
“I APPEAR TO HAVE AN…. ATTACHMENT.”
Steve is awed at the tiny ball of white fluff attached to one long, thin finger. He didn’t know that Antler Guy’s fingers COULD be bitten, much less by a tiny kitten.
Which is how Steve and Sharon got Clifford (”Aww c’mon Sharon, how could I pass that one up?”), and Antler Guy and Hellwife get Fluffy (”NEIGHBOR STEVE ASSURES ME IT IS A TRADITIONAL TITLE.”)


This might be the most amazing thing that ever crossed my tumblr dash


OMIGOSH I’m in love.


I LOVE EVERY BIT OF THIS

This is like the stoplight post. It is Tumblr legend, and I feel I must reblog it for those fortunate few who get to experience it for the first time.
    

        
        
        
        
        
        
        
        
    

    

        

            
            

                
                 meats: bibliotecaria-d:
ebonykain:

karacat:

othersideofforty:

erinnightwalker:

ripped-up-jeans-and-glitter:

erinnightwalker:


acaffeinejunkie:

erinnightwalker:

erinnightwalker:

geostatonary:

sixpenceee:

“A house I pass on the way to work has this sculpture in its yard. Its about 8 feet tall.”
(Source)

“HELLO NEIGHBOR STEVE, I WOULD LIKE TO INVITE YOU TO BARBEQUE ON THE EVE OF THE BLOOD MOON.  I FEEL WE GOT OFF TO A BAD START.”
“NEIGHBOR STEVE, DO YOU NOT WISH TO PARTAKE OF THE UNCLEAN FLESH-MEATS OF PIGS AND THE POLLUTED ESSENCES OF TOMATO?  PERHAPS YOU ARE A CAROLINA STYLE MAN, NEIGHBOR STEVE?”
 “PUT THE GUN AWAY NEIGHBOR STEVE, YOU KNOW I SHALL ONLY RISE AGAIN WITH THE DAWNING OF THE MOON.  WE HAVE BEEN THROUGH THIS MANY TIMES.”
“LOOK AT THIS PICTURE MY SON DREW OF YOU AND CHILD TIMMY, YOUR SON.  ARE THEY NOT THE PICTURE OF PACT-MATES?  THIS COULD BE YOU AND ME, NEIGHBOR STEVE.”
“YOU MISSED THE UNHOLY NEXUS OF POWER THAT IS THE KEY TO MY CORPOREAL FORM, NEIGHBOR STEVE.  YOU WILL NEED TO RELOAD NOW, SO I WILL GO INSIDE TO MY HELL-WIFE AND PUT YOU DOWN AS A SOLID ‘MAYBE’.“

I have the feeling that the families get along great except for Steve. Like, the wives are baking (questionable) brownies together, the kids are playing together, Antler Guy occasionally takes Son and Timmy to school (no car, just carries them in huge swinging strides through a nexus of ungoldly sights in a swirling netherworld shortcut. Sometimes they stop for McDonalds). Hell-wife gave them a potted Audrey Jr., Steve’s wife (who I now christen Sharon) gave them a begonia.
One time Steve tries throwing holy water but all Antler Guy does is thank him, saying that no, Antler Guy isn’t Catholic but it’s the thought that counts, he is so kind to water his creeping deathshade vines regardless.
For Christmas Antler Guy gives Steve a case of ammunition. To be funny/sarcastically mean Steve gets Antler Guy the world’s most hideous Christmas sweater, singing light-up reindeer included. He immediately regrets it because not only does Antler Guy love it and wears it for several months, it will never need batteries because Antler Guy powers it with his own eldritch aura.
When they come back from a holiday to Hawaii, Steve is horrified to find out Sharon bought them matching Hawaiian shirts. He is even more horrified that his wife means it that if he doesn’t wear it he will forever sleep on the couch.

I want to expand on this, since I see it’s still passing around and the ideas have grown in my brainmeats.
What drives Steve up the wall and down the other side is how… normal… everyone treats the Abominations. (Yes, that is their last name. No, it is not a joke. Son was asked his last name for the standardized testing at school, had a quick conference with Timmy, and decided that Son Abomination sounded good, “Since my dad calls your dad the Abomination anyway and we can paint it on your mailbox just like the Henderson’s did theirs!”. Antler Guy agreed and did a lovely rendition of it for the mailbox, with only a few glyphs of soul-rending terror added to keep up to snuff.)
The Great Plant Exchange went beautifully, though the Audrey Jr. (named Aubergine for the lovely shade of purple poison that drips from her fangs) is on a diet at the moment. She was in cahoots with the cat and the dog to get into the good people food and ate two frozen turkeys all herself. Now she’s restricted to the hallway table to answer the phone and the door. (Steve actually likes her, and keeps slipping her hotdogs when Sharon isn’t looking. Their door-to-door salesman rates have dropped dramatically since she changed abodes.) Hell-wife has almost gotten the begonia to bloom and say it’s first words.
The homeowner’s association just loves the Abominations. All paperwork stamped and dotted, in on time and in triplicate. Antler Guy likes filing, says it reminds him of his old job. There is a resident who spent 20 years as a lawyer and they have long, animated conversations about all sorts of things that make Steve swear to never need legal counsel.
Hell-wife joined the PTA and spearheaded a committee to fundraise in the fall with a haunted house. It was a county-wide hit, though the claims that a particularly rowdy group had been deliberately lost in a timeslip to the Outer Doors Of Chaos was firmly rebuffed. Most young people nowadays, it was agreed, just couldn’t appreciate flute music.
Antler Guy really does try to connect with Steve. The surprise birthday party was perhaps a bit much, given that most participants do not have the ability to suddenly materialize in front of the guest of honor to give them a hug. Sharon assured them that Steve normally screams on his birthday, and the remains of the cake were heartily enjoyed by all. (A plate was saved for Steve once he came down from the treehouse.)
After the Hawaii trip (which was a present for his birthday) and the Matching Shirt Ultimatum (which was Sharon’s attempt at patching things up with Antler Guy, he really was sad about the birthday screaming), Steve finally grabs his courage in both hands (plus the shotgun, which let’s face it is about as useful as a teddybear at the moment but it does comfort him) and confronts Antler Guy, about why such a group of……Abominations could possibly come to his quiet slice of suburban bliss.
“……BUT NEIGHBOR STEVE, WE HAVE ALWAYS BEEN HERE.”
“No no no, I read it in a book! Don’t you have to be invited or something?!”
“WELL YES, TO THE HUMAN WORLD. BUT THIS IS NOT THE HUMAN WORLD AS YOUR THREE-DIMENSIONAL BRAIN PERCEIVES IT.”
“What the hell does that mean?!!”
“DID YOU NOT KNOW, NEIGHBOR STEVE? LEGALLY SPEAKING, ALL OF THE VASTNESS OF HUMAN SUBURBIA IS, IN FACT, A PART OF HELL.”
“……..”
“THE FLAMINGOES ARE THE BOUNDARY MARKERS. IT WAS DECIDED THAT THE FLAMING SKULLS WERE TOO KITSCHY FOR MODERN TIMES.”

Reblogging cause I kind of want more of this….


Since you asked nicely ^_^
Antler Guy, as one may have noticed, is a calm sort of fellow. In the face of human atrocities he displays a curious Zen sort of state of mind. Timmy asks Son if he’d ever seen his dad angry, and Son hasn’t. (When asked, Timmy says that yeah his dad gets mad, but it’s like the Fitz-Simmon’s chihuahua down the street- mostly high-pitched noise and occasionally TV remote chewing. Sharon replaces the poor thing every 3 months or so.) When pressed (gently, at the monthly book club, and with many cups of tea and at least one daiquiri), Hellwife admits that this comes from serving many years at his old job.
After the revelation of the nature of his neighborhood, Steve has not been overtly mean to Antler Guy. Not yet in the realm of friends, but vastly better than before. No more holy water, no more shotgun blasts. (Still the occasional jumpscare, but Antler Guy really can’t help that part.) They even occasionally share news over the fence as Antler Guy trains the creeping deathshade vines in proper oral hygiene, and Steve waters his lawn (and occasionally slips a goldfish cracker to a deathshade vine that looks particularly adorable. Aubergine has trained him well.)
Which is how Antler Guy learns about the peeping tom that’s been plaguing the adjacent streets. Apparently the pervert has been getting bolder, and rattling doors. He almost broke into one apartment, whose occupants were a single mother and her daughter, Mildred. Millie, a shy girl who is a great horror fan and firm friends with Timmy and Son, had missed school because of it.
Steve knew because Sharon had told him, on her way to deliver a tuna casserole and a double batch of brownies to the pair. (Sharon has been dubbed the unoffical mob boss of the Mother’s Mafia. She is quite pleased with this title.) He tells her to wait, confers briefly with Aubergine, and sends her along with, “Only as a loan, you know, but Auby wants to stretch her roots and she’d probably like getting all ribboned and curled anyway. Little girls still do that, right?” She has strict orders to bite anyone that makes Millie or her mother cry. (Steve is dubbed the official neighborhood marshmallow for this. The bookclub buys him a jar of marshmallow fluff in commemoration.)
He turns to look at Antler Guy, and freezes, much as a chihuahua will when faced with a hungry hellhound.
“You….you alright there buddy?”



“Ň̵̴̫̫̙͙̻̞͈̫̥̪̱͈͈̯̍̀̀͆ͫ̒̿̄͗͘͡͝ͅO̊͑̑͒̎͑̃ͬͭͮ̅̔̆̃̉ͯ̇͗̀҉̵̻̜̞͉̟͙͚̻̪̼̖̀͟ͅ.̵͈̣͈̙̣̜̻̭̩̝̠̞͗ͤͥ̓͗ͬ̓̄͊̓̅̐ͩͮͧͤ̽̐ “

“Uh, yeah, I guess not. Did you, uh, know you’re kinda fuzzing at the edges, there?”



“Ň̵̴̫̫̙͙̻̞͈̫̥̪̱͈͈̯̍̀̀͆ͫ̒̿̄͗͘͡͝ͅO̊͑̑͒̎͑̃ͬͭͮ̅̔̆̃̉ͯ̇͗̀҉̵̻̜̞͉̟͙͚̻̪̼̖̀͟ͅ.̵͈̣͈̙̣̜̻̭̩̝̠̞͗ͤͥ̓͗ͬ̓̄͊̓̅̐ͩͮͧͤ̽̐ “

“Right. Um. Well.” 
Steven makes a very ungraceful exit when space starts bending around Antler Guy’s still, unmoving form.
When Steve sees a shadowy form in his back yard when he gets up to pee that night, there’s no hesitation. He grabs the shotgun from the cabinet and peeks out the back door window.
Just in time to see a nebulous form of soul-wrenching terror engulf the man reaching for the door handle. A sliver of moonlight reveals a very familiar eyesocket. After a moment (and a sincere prayer of thanks that he had already peed, cause otherwise he’d have done it then and there) Steve opens the door. The nebulous form freezes, reality bending around the edges.
“Nice night for it, huh?”


“…..Y̮̮͍͔͇͙͙̟̐͌͛̓̏͞͡Eͩͭͮ̓̍ͯ̀ͧ͏̵̴̛̺̠̱͕̕ͅS͈̹̮̟̳̪̩̘͍̤̲̻͈̱̳̽̋́ͩ̃͋̎ͩ̈͆̀͘͢͢͟ͅ.̧̢͈̭̝̥̦͚͍̇ͫ̃̓͆̿̇ͪ͊ͧ̃͛͌͜͢

“

“Guy won’t scare anymore litttle girls, will he?”



“Ň̵̴̫̫̙͙̻̞͈̫̥̪̱͈͈̯̍̀̀͆ͫ̒̿̄͗͘͡͝ͅO̊͑̑͒̎͑̃ͬͭͮ̅̔̆̃̉ͯ̇͗̀҉̵̻̜̞͉̟͙͚̻̪̼̖̀͟ͅ.̵͈̣͈̙̣̜̻̭̩̝̠̞͗ͤͥ̓͗ͬ̓̄͊̓̅̐ͩͮͧͤ̽̐ “

“Good. G’night then. Oh, and if Hellwife has an extra Audrey Jr. that needs a home, let me know. Millie likes Aubergine a lot but Augy’s just too big for the apartment. Dunno if they come in miniatures though.”


“
I̴̛̟̭͉̮̜̩̬̮̣̘̰͚̩͙̟̳͔̜̙͑̂̆̆͗͒̀ 
͖̖̰͉̥͖͔̙̤̺͍̳͈̹͙̣̞̇̇ͤ͒̅̈́͆̽ͧ́̚̚̕͘W̶̶̱͈̞͖̼̟̣̮̌͂͒̈́͑͌͒͋̍ͮ͗̈ͣ̓ͤ͘͟I̴̶̞̥̩͇̔ͩͦ̇̉̾ͣͬ̀̀̒͒ͧ͛͌͛͆̚͘͢ͅͅL̠̟͕̠̟̪̰̻ͯ͂͊ͥ̍̏͋̐ͬ̉̆̈̀͠L̸̞̭͔̮ͦ͑̉ͮͩ́ͬͨͣ͘͜.̴͈͎̮͇͓͖̱̻̣͊͊ͤͩ͊̑͗͞
 
̸̡̩̖̞̩̻̩̪̭͙̳͚͇̟̺͖̑͊ͫ̀͆ͨ̉̔̓̂̓̋T̷̷̟͉̟̻̻̪̞̰̯̻͈̣̰̬̻̾͐́ͭ̓̅́͡H͇̬̪̩̬̝̣͍͈͇ͯ͛̏͌ͮͧͭͦ͟͜A̴̴̤͕͈̤̮̞̱̯͔͕̙͔͖̰̬̰͈̠ͥ̏ͥ̍̽ͧ̀͝N͗̓͋̃̈̑̀̅ͣ̽̒̂̄ͯͩͤ͏̢͢͏͈̯͎̪͇̟̠͔̯͓͓̰̠̱̠̳͕̳͝K̢̓ͧ͛͛ͣ̄̓̓ͯ̍̈̈́̌͂̔͟҉̛̘̥̖̤̦̻̳͙͟
 
̢̢̻̥̹̣̞͉̘͇͚͍̖̯̘͚͔̗̩͓͐ͮ͂͂̀̚͘͠Y̜̞͇̳̗̬͎̰̙̜̩̪͎̞̙̠̔͂̌̃́̀O͇̺̲͙͍̬̳̘͈̱̜̝͔̖̊ͥ̿ͫͤͫͫͩ͋̓̃ͦ̈̄͢͟Ū̢͖̲̦̠̤͎̙͉̦͖̖͓͍̺̺ͪͯ͐͆͆ͭͯ͗ͦ̄̅̌̈̃̾ͭ̋ͧ͢͢͠͡.̶̸̞͓̞̹̗̻̣͈͕̠̬̦ͫ̆ͤͬͨͦ͒͂ͨ̿ͩͪ͘͞.ͧ͛̒̂̂͗ͨ̌͆ͥͭ͒̉͘͜͏̙͖̰̝̙̲͓̙͕͍̥̳̩́͠.̶̷̮͎̱̼̬͖̰͎͚͙̥̓͋͋ͦ̓̓ͯ͆͛̏ͫ̅ͯ.̨̧̙̤̳̮̺̙͖̞͔̗͎͍̑̆ͮ͐ͩͦ̌̽̾̏͘͠.̹̖͕̮͕̞̰͍͚͖̌ͪ̃̐̐̌̌̅̉͑ͧͪͪͬ̓͐́͛̿͘͞ ….NEIGHBOR STEVE.”

“Anytime.”
There are no more peeping reports. Millie brings back Aubergine and spends an entire afternoon teaching Steve the particulars of Augy’s new “hairstyle” (a gravity-defying mass of teased tendrils, ribbons, and barrettes) in between games of tag and hide-and-seek with Timmy and Son.
When Antler Guy and Hellwife present her and her mother Beatrice with a tiny Audrey Jr. (”pOOr ThinG Is a ruNT And wOn’T geT MorE Than A FooT taLL, BEa, aNd NeeDS a New FRiEnD”, assures Hellwife), both mother and child burst out crying. Millie names it Bella, after Bella Lugosi, and shows it to the excited group of boys (Steve and Augy included).


IT GOT SO MUCH BETTER!!!!

Life in a subdivision partly populated with eldritch and possibly magical (officially classified as “extra-dimensional”, for even when faced with the physics-defying nature of their new co-habitating citizens the government cannot bring itself to acknowledge them as “magic wielding hell-beasts”, as some high-ranking staff members initially suggested) goes on fairly normally. 
Sure, there are a few hiccoughs. The creeping deathshade vines get a stern talking to about appropriate afternoon snacks (”NOT the Fitz-Simmon’s chihuahua, I don’t care how much he has it coming or what he excreted where, now spit it out!”), Aubergine sheds all her leaves at once and snowballs the house (but does helps sweep up afterwards), and moonrise is a good time to watch the night-gaunts fly by (but on moondark it’s best to stay inside, no matter how prettily they glow. They’re somewhat similar to fireflies, and don’t always check to see if their partner glows as well. It wouldn’t be as much of a problem if they didn’t dive mid-coitus and drop just above the ground.)
While the neighborhood in general is accepting of the Abominations, when things get to be a bit much they tend to come to Steve. Since meeting Beatrice and Millie (and the formation of the Terrifying Triad known as Millie, Son, and Timmy) Steve is the adult human male most comfortable dealing with Antler Guy on the whole street. (Sharon as U.M.B. is widely held to have, well, steel-whatever-the-hell-she-wants, and Timmy is known to run over to Antler Guy and ask for rides through “that wobbly grey place, you know, the one with the REALLY BIG alligators?”. Still, the courtesies must be observed.)
So when a writhing sparking ball of snarling terror and teeth takes up residence in the Manzo’s tool-shed, and when Animal Control refuses to come (the street is banned due to a run-in with the deathshade vines), Steve is called. Having heard the description, Steve brings Antler Guy.
When they get there, Mr. Manzo is forcibly holding the door shut. Unholy yowling is coming from inside. At a gesture from Antler Guy, Mr. Manzo leaps away, and the doors blast open.
A 150 pound ball of whimpering, flaming something hits Steve and knocks him on his ass. The whimpering, flaming something proceeds to slobber all over Steve, his shirt, his pants, and a decent portion of grass in between distressed yelps.
“GACK!”
“NEIGHBOR STEVE, ARE YOU IN DISTRESS?”
“GAAACKLEARGHSPLUH- DOWN boy, HEEL, that’s a good- Antler Guy, what is this?!”
“I BELIEVE IT IS A HELLHOUND, NEIGHBOR STEVE.”
“Good grief, I didn’t know they came this big and…..and….. Guy?”
“YES NEIGHBOR STEVE?”
“Is he supposed to be…..skinless?”
“YES NEIGHBOR STEVE. THIS VARIETY WAS BRED TO BE LAP DOGS. THEIR FLAME IS MOSTLY WITHOUT HEAT, AND THEY HAVE NO SKIN FOR THOSE WHO ARE ALLERGIC.”
“…….laPDOG?!”
“YES NEIGHBOR STEVE.” Antler Guy lays a hand on the hellhound, who tries to burrow further into Steve with little success. “HE APPEARS TO HAVE BEEN RECENTLY WEANED. IT WILL TAKE TIME FOR HIM TO GROW TO HIS FULL SIZE.”
“……”
“THE SMALL BREEDS GROW MORE SLOWLY.”
A vile hissing emanates from the shed. (Mr. Manzo has long since fled for the safety of his kitchen.) As Steve attempts to calm the frantic hell-puppy, Antler Guy investigates. He reaches one long hand in behind the riding lawnmower and….. winces.
“NEIGHBOR STEVE?”
“Yeah- I’m right here, uh, doggie, not going anywhere- Guy?”
“I APPEAR TO HAVE AN…. ATTACHMENT.”
Steve is awed at the tiny ball of white fluff attached to one long, thin finger. He didn’t know that Antler Guy’s fingers COULD be bitten, much less by a tiny kitten.
Which is how Steve and Sharon got Clifford (”Aww c’mon Sharon, how could I pass that one up?”), and Antler Guy and Hellwife get Fluffy (”NEIGHBOR STEVE ASSURES ME IT IS A TRADITIONAL TITLE.”)


This might be the most amazing thing that ever crossed my tumblr dash


OMIGOSH I’m in love.


I LOVE EVERY BIT OF THIS

This is like the stoplight post. It is Tumblr legend, and I feel I must reblog it for those fortunate few who get to experience it for the first time.
                
            

            
            
bibliotecaria-d:
ebonykain:

karacat:

othersideofforty:

erinnightwalker:

ripped-up-jeans-and-glitter:

erinnightwalker:


acaffeinejun...