#all the way up to his ear

[lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar]

[cubbyhole-for-flea-bee]

Macaque spent the whole season Big-Damn-Hero-ing and was NOT happy about it xD

[the-woman-upstairs]

Really fucked up that, when they’re young, Patrick and Art are SO tactile with each other, so comfortable sharing the same space. Art lets Patrick touch him and move him and physically overwhelm him and easily acquiesces to it, if not outright enjoys it.

Then in the present, they’ve been so far out of each other’s orbit for so long, held such animosity that when they have their moment alone in the sauna, Art physically recoils from Patrick’s close proximity! It’s so painful to watch because even as Patrick’s goading him, it’s so obvious he wants to be able to get back into Art’s space. But Art has erected all these walls around himself, he refuses to give Patrick an inch or even admit to missing how close they used to be!

AND THEN we see Art and Tashi later and he wants her to hold him, to be gentle with him, and just TOUCH him. Like, he does miss that kind of close physical contact! He either doesn’t know how to ask for it or is uncomfortable being that openly vulnerable. Worth noting that he pretty much always defers to Tashi in regard to initiating physical intimacy (with their first kiss, though he does state his desire, SHE has to be the one to make the first move). And it seems pretty obvious that Tashi herself isn’t comfortable providing that intimacy, whereas Patrick actively seeks to provide it (the hug/forehead kiss after their win together in the early years, dragging the stool closer to him).

Art has tried very hard to act like he doesn’t need physical affection and even though his discipline and devotion to Tashi has made him a stronger tennis player, it’s made him a hollow person, which, in turn, has kept him from becoming a GREAT tennis player.

All of this, of course, is why the ending hits so damn hard.

[puppyeared]

axolotl

[shaylai]

That's not who he is anymore, Macaque.

[turtleblogatlast]

Leo getting hit with a truth curse but instead of forcing him to admit to super sad or worrying things it’s things like “it was me who broke the remote” “I saw Mikey prank Donnie and helped hide it because it’s way funnier if he didn’t know who it was” “I rip my clothes to look more like Raph’s because he’s really cool” “my stripes aren’t even red they’re pink!”

[unriding]

me n moze say good morning to the world !!! ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ

art by @rabbbitseason of course <3

[yayll]

~ a little something about you and Dazai trying to love each other a little bit less ~

It's Sakura season, and it's not being shared with someone you love. That's fine, you think to yourself as you sit on the bench, the sunset overlooks the port and you have the park to yourself. The fragile petals fall all around you, covering you in flakes of pink, like snow that won't melt. Though they will shrivel up, you think that might be worse than the instant loss of a melting snowflake. The thing about snowflakes is they melt upon warm contact but these petals won't melt at the touch of cold nor warmth, they'll lie there until their beauty fades along with what's left of their fleeting life. You stare at one in particular as it lands into your coffee cup, floating at the top instead of sinking.

That's what it was like to be in love with Osamu Dazai, and what it was like to sense his dreadful presence approaching you like the wind billows on a starless night. You ignore him, staring down at your coffee cup like it's going to save you, knowing it won't. In your peripheral vision, he looks spectral, and you catch a wave trying to get you to look up along with a familiar voice that reeks of faux friendliness.

"Are you always this avoidant when people try to greet you?"

You bite the soft flesh inside of your cheek, gripping your coffee just a bit tighter, unresponsive.

He continues, hands tucked into his coat and a smirk on his face.

"The blooms are nice today, eh? At their peak. Thought I'd stop by to enjoy them but it seems someone's already taken my favorite bench. At my favorite spot. What a shame."

After another long pause, his voice loses the playful edge and he says your name in a firm tone. This causes you to finally snap to attention, eyes wide and as fragile as those petals that shower you both. He smiles once more, but it's uglier this time, mocking. You mirror him by calling out to him right back, a hint of bitterness in your voice.

"Dazai."

He steps closer, towering over you. He always thought you looked best when you were looking up at him. It would almost sting that you're using his last name if it weren't for the fact that it sounded so good coming out of your mouth. He leans down to you just a tad bit.

"Sooo flustered..."

"I'm not flustered."

It's a joy to know he can still make you feel something, you were always wearing your heart on your sleeve, and your emotions on your precious little face. He sighs dramatically, waving his arms around.

"Mhm, sure you're not. You're lying... And it's honestly boring me to death! And I love death!"

You look away towards the port and roll your eyes, a quiet scoff escaping you along with it.

"Oh, so we're doing this."

It's almost like they're flirting, he thinks. Just like old times, maybe. It sends a thrill down his spine.

"Yes. We are."

You smile faintly, but it disappears just as fast as it materialized.

"I'll head out now and leave you to your favorite bench at your favorite spot, then."

He doesn't even allow you the chance to stand up before he shifts to stand fully in your way, imposing himself with an unreadable expression on his face that's hiding his real thoughts.

"Stay here a minute, I'd like to ask you a tiny little thing."

You tilt your head, the way you used to every time he perplexed you with some nonsense he'd spew out either to toy with you or when he'd say those three poisonous words you could never handle hearing from him.

"Dazai, I don't know if that's wise..."

He knew what you meant by that, because if you stayed like all the other times, you'd never leave. He sees the effect he has on you and he uses that to his advantage. His voice softens, something you aren't used to anymore.

"... But will you do it anyway? Stay here?"

You bite the corner of your lip and sigh... Of course you do.

"I guess... I will."

His eyes narrow and he fights back a smile at the thought of being able to stump you like this.

He's not sure where he's going with this but he's sure he'll think of something to say, he just wants to keep talking to you a little longer. He invades your personal space, and almost reaches out to place a hand on your face but decides not to, opting to keep the unbalanced dynamic going. You breathe out, unable to handle the silence, your cheeks already turning pink.

"Seems to me like you're stalling."

He observes you knowing how desperate you are to hear what he has to say, enjoying the moment of simply holding your gaze when he really should think of what the hell to ask you. He becomes dangerously close, his voice taking on a velvety approach with that lazy smile you love so much.

"Me? I'm doing nothing of the sort."

You look down at your shoes shamefully, something that would have made you so giddy to hear before now just feels like a slap to the face. Your eyes flicker to the way his hands now rest at his sides and it makes you wish they were wrapped around your neck instead. It all causes you to mumble without thinking.

"You always want to stop me from something... You keep me frozen in time."

He tilts his head, finally reaching out to take your hand but when you don't meet him halfway he settles for hooking his pinky around yours instead. He won't move it until you do first.

"Is that so bad? To be frozen by me?"

You're losing this battle, you know that because you can feel your heartbeat in your pinky when he tightens it just a little but it's enough to feel him invade you even further. He feels it too.

"I wish I thought it were..." You say, lamely.

"Why don't you, then?"

He asks quickly, amused. He squeezes your pinky harder and it's starting to cut your circulation off. You look back up with that ridiculously innocent face that always made him want to jump into the river, you didn't even know how precious you looked that way.

"You know why, Osamu."

Oh it's like a shot to the heart when you switch to his first name. How dare you. He wishes you'd say it under different circumstances because he doesn't like this one. That, plus the urge to mock you for your emotions always being so damn sincere causes his gaze to shift. It's less playful now as he stares into your eyes, his voice going low.

"... I don't think I do."

You bite the inside of your cheek again and taste blood from how hard you're holding back the urge to just. Go. But you can't and you won't. It's the same doomed story over and over again.

You murmur with pathetic longing.

"No, you never seem to."

He's figured out his question, and he figures why he's holding your pinky like he's a tourniquet and you're bleeding out, but he doesn't intend on saving you, he's not that kind of guy.

It's dark now, and the Sakura petals are slowing down their fall to death, almost afraid to interrupt the tension going on here. He nods towards you, amused.

"Please, enlighten me."

You look away, a sad smile on your face.

"I don't know if I'm strong enough for that tonight."

He knows that, and you're stupid if you don't think he knows every single little thing about you. This is all just a review. This is all just his way of making sure you haven't moved on this time for sure.

"Aww, look at you, unable to resist me.~"

He mocks you, yet moves his over hand to the small of your back to really make sure you stay here with him. You instantly regret letting your heart speak for you when you said you'd stay earlier. You frown, eyes glistening as the moon makes its presence known. The moon doesn't care to interrupt you two, but somehow it feels like it's on Dazai's side more than anything.

You shake your head, sighing.

"You're being mean. You should be home tonight and so should I."

He keeps staring into you, thinking how beautiful you look when you become so vulnerable around him. He finally releases your pinky, unable to take it anymore, and cups the side of your face instead while the other one still stays on your back. He shrugs and sighs as well, though it sounds more like an imitation of one.

"Perhaps I should be home. But I don't feel like it. Neither do I feel like letting you scurry away."

This causes you to purse your lips and knit your brows together, your patience running out from his games. He should have taken you out back and put you out of your misery ages ago, it's not too late, you think.

"Then what do you propose we do?"

"Hmm... Will you let me kiss you?" He asks as if this were the first time he's ever done it. As if he were concluding a successful first date. Your lip quivers, and he can feel you tremble.

"Why?"

"Why not?"

When you don't reply, he moves his face until his cheek is against yours and whispers into your ear.

"Are you going to say anything, silly? Or can I take this as a yes?"

You finally breathe out, the shock somewhat subsiding. You don't think twice, you're just as pathetic as you've always been. But so is he for asking.

"Kiss me."

You said yes. He gets what he wants from you, thank god. He won't tell you that just this morning he had a dream, or rather a revelation of you letting him kiss you. That he blew off his duties at the agency and visited every single place you used to frequent together until he found you here to make the prophecy come true. That this is a selfish attempt at getting not just that kiss, but your entire being. Your noses touch, and he whispers once more.

"Are you sure about that? You don't sound so sure, little thing."

You swallow hard, and your voice comes out meek and soft.

"I always am."

"Even now?"

He doesn't even wait for your reply before he's closing the distance between you, locking your lips together and sealing you against him, as if worried after all this time you'd still try to move away and leave. The kiss lasts longer than it was intended to, but eventually Dazai removes himself from you, he couldn't bear it if you did so first. You never would, you think to yourself. His gaze is genuinely soft now, his cruelty melting away like a snowflake, but you're dying in his arms like the petal.

"You've always known I'm yours, right? And you're mine?"

You want to cry when he says that, if only it truly was that mutual.

"I want it to be that way, but it seems you only kiss me when no one's around."

The empty outdoor space that envelops them, along with the waves rhythmically crashing against the port punctuates the silence that follows after. Dazai breaks the pause, something about what you just said bothering him deeply.

"If I kissed you when everyone was around, wouldn't they start to look?"

He knows that's terrible thing to say to you, but doesn't want to admit that the thought of others seeing him happy makes him feel like it's an omen, that the second he openly recognizes he's yours you won't stay his for very long. That it will all be a dream from another world. You scoff as you look away, your eyes stinging.

"Mmm... You're funny."

"I'm serious, me being in a relationship? Imagine that. I think the whole agency would be at a standstill. How scandalous."

He doesn't mean that, but he doesn't know why he can't stop pretending he doesn't have feelings and just speak the truth. Surprisingly, you crack a small smile at that, trying to find humor in the fact that you'll never figure him out.

"They'd all think you're looney, which you are."

"That's an understatement! They'd think I'm deranged for letting such a cute person take me away from my very important duties.~"

He plays along with your sarcasm, what matters is you're cooperating.

"They'd all say I'm too good for you, anyway. Especially Kunikida." You really make sure that one hurts, but all he shows is a sly grin.

"It's just better if people don't know we're together, right?"

You look away, the moon's fully illuminating you both.

"It's better not to be together at all, Osamu."

Your words actually hurt like a knife to the chest, and once he goes there, he can't stop it. You weren't supposed to make such a permanent statement. He narrows his eyes, but his voice remains soft, desperate even.

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"You know what I mean, I'm not some secret you keep."

He somehow recovers and replies as smug as possible.

"I like you that way. Frozen in time, remember? The prettiest ice sculpture for me to adore for all eternity.... What else do you want me to say?"

You wince at that.

"Just say anything. Can you say it? Can you at least tell me you loved me at one point in time?"

That does it for him. You look so sad, you look so pliable and it's so attractive, but he's not looking to exploit that anymore tonight. It brings out something else. Something he can't take back.

"You do know I don't ever want anyone else, right? It was real to me then, and it's real to me now. Don't be dense."

He didn't notice the tears in your eyes before, the way they glisten thanks to the moon who's always on his side. He's stern when he speaks to you, his eyes locked on yours to make sure you get it through you stubborn little skull how devoted he has always been and always will be, even if he doesn't show it in the way you want him to.

You're irritated and enamored as you sniffle.

"And what am I supposed to do with that information, huh?"

He speaks above a whisper, you barely hear it yourself; It might as well be an auditory hallucination. His face is solemn, matching yours for once. He's not hiding anything right now.

"Keep it close to your heart and be mine..."

He clears his throat, and moves his other hand from your back to the other side of your face, fully holding you, making sure you have no escape.

"... I'm all yours, so be all mine. Okay?"

"We really are the same kind of stupid, Osamu... Now what?"

You say with a scoff that turns into a small laugh, your voice remaining bittersweet even in between sniffles.

"Now?" His voice trails off, humming as he pretends to think. There was never another outcome to this story, he was never going to say anything different. It's just the way he prophesied it. The way it's meant to be.

"Now you're going to take me home. We're going to get back to your place, and you'll reintroduce me to your very cold and lonely bed I've missed so much as I hold you forever and ever. You'll have no choice but to fall madly in love with me again, as I am with you. Done."

He drops your face and takes your hand properly now, hoping to lead you away into the night. He knows he doesn't deserve this, so he has to make it count.

He's hoping you won't find him crass and reject his request, he doesn't mean to be so blunt. He's just a desperate idiot who refuses to see another season change without you.

When Dazai says he misses intimacy with you, it's because he does. It's because he wants to tell you that this is the last time the cycle repeats itself, this is how he ends it but he needs you to want it too. You stare at him in disbelief at first, your hollow breathing now becoming shaky with each inhale. You choose to believe him, something in his face tells you he's being real for once. Besides, you already have nothing, so you can't lose anything.

"... Then lie in it again. Convince me."

You tuck a strand of his messy bangs that frame his face behind his ear, and you realize how pretty he looks this way. You never noticed he could be even more devastating than usual. You hope he'll keep letting you push it back like this.

He smiles, his voice dropping to a pleading tone at your reverent touch. At your mercy.

"Oh, I plan on it. We've made it this far. Even if it wasn't mutual anymore, it doesn't make it any less true... at least not for me. And just so you know, I did love you at one point in time, and I love you now, you fool."

You look down once again at the fallen petals at your feet already turning brown, and you realize this won't be you tonight, or ever again. You realize there is meaning in all of this and you won't be the snowflake nor the petal, you're going to be Dazai's. You squeeze his hand back, the corner of your lip curling up as you both walk away under the moonlight.

[starry-bi-sky]

Blood Blossom Au: before the nightingale sings

---------

for my batdad blood blossom au, the one where Vlad poisoned Danny with blood blossom extract and Danny ran away from him and ended up tumbling into the care of one Pre-Robin Battinson Batman :). A quick oneshot telling the tale of the tragic deaths of the Fentons

TW: Major Character Death Warning

-------

Not all deaths are created equal.

That is a valuable lesson in life to learn. One that Danny learns when he is eleven years old, standing in the pit of his parents’ creation; the culmination of their life’s work. The portal to the other side, the realm of the dead. To the infinite. 

He learns that when he’s eleven years old, in a hazmat suit that sags on him, and boots that clunk when he walks because the only ones that fit are his mom’s, and even those are too big. In gloves that he has to clench his fists in because otherwise they fall off. In goggles that slide down his nose even when he’s tightened them the farthest they can go. 

He learns that when he’s eleven years old, choking on giggles that harmonize with the laughter of his friends’ who stand at the mouth of the tunnel. Sam’s holding a polaroid in her hand. They’re just being kids. 

They’re not laughing when Danny’s hand hits the safety lock — the one with faulty wiring, the only one in the tunnel. The only one he could possibly hit. They’re not laughing when the portal buzzes to life, and the lights inside switch on row by row as the generator begins to rumble and hum. 

They’re not laughing when Danny dies. They’re screaming. They’re not screaming when he comes back.

Not all deaths are created equal.  

Some are poetic, beautiful. The satisfying close of a book as it comes to an end, of the hardback thumping soft against the pages like the sound of a door closing. A train run its course.

Some are violent; unsatisfying; unfair. The unexpected shattering of an egg as it rolls off the countertop when nobody is looking, the unmistakable crack as it falls to the floor. It is abrupt and messy. 

But most are just… unremarkable. Unintentional. Clumsy. 

Danny’s family dies one night in late January. He is thirteen years old, barely a month away from fourteen. It is unforeseen. It is preventable. It happens. 

It happens like this: 

Their water heater breaks one Monday in January. It’s old, sitting in the garage, and has dealt with nearly sixteen years of Fenton-grade chaos and shenanigans. Of parents tossing scraps and junk into the garage as brief storage to come back to later. Of illegal tune-ups on their vehicles that result in something exploding. Of little children running around and knocking things over, playing with poles and sticks they find on the ground, on the shelves. Of being lived and used.  

Something had to give. 

Jack Fenton notices it immediately when he comes upstairs that very afternoon — his children at school, his wife downstairs — to grab something from the garage. The very same scrap and used material they store like squirrels to use later. 

He stops what he’s doing to fix it.  

It wasn’t supposed to be permanent. 

Despite what many believe, Jack Fenton is not the idiot people make him out to be. He knows what he’s good at, he knows what he’s not. He knows he can be passionate and obsessive and single-minded about things. He knows that he is a scientist, an inventor; an engineer. 

He knows that he is not a plumber. That fixing water heaters is not something he knows how to do, not safely. And he loves his family. What he does is only meant to be temporary — a fix meant to only last a few days until they can call someone in who can fix it for them. 

So Jack Fenton futzes with the water heater, gives it a temporary stitch to last a short while, and reminds himself to call a plumber later that day to come in and fix it. He turns and leaves the garage with the part he came for —  a sheet of metal for his wife to melt down — and disappears back downstairs. 

He does not make that call; it slips from his mind. 

It is not his fault. 

One day passes, then two, then suddenly it is Thursday. The water heater has still not been fixed, the water heater has been forgotten. It is nobody’s fault.  

Danny asks his parents at breakfast if he can stay over at Tucker’s house for the night. Just one night. They’re going to study for their math test and then play video games until midnight, but he only tells his parents that first half. 

He’s been doing well in school. Really well — better than he has in a while. There’s been a delightful lull in ghost appearances for the last few weeks. The living don’t know why, but Danny does. The Winter Truce always calms the dead down for a while, something about how the Zone cleanses itself twice a mortal year and that fresh wave of ecto clears out the old and brings in the new. 

This year Danny got to participate. He’s feeling the effects of it too, and he’s been sleeping consistently well for the first time since the accident. 

It’ll never happen again. 

His parents agree under the condition that he doesn’t stay up late, and Danny harmlessly lies through his teeth and agrees. He goes and throws overnight clothes into his school backpack, and when he leaves for school with Jazz his parents are already departed into the lab. 

The last conversation he has with his sister is in her car on the drive to school. Inane, mindless conversation to fill the air and pass the time. Jazz comments on how relaxed he’s been lately; Danny tells her about the Winter Truce. She listens in rapt attention. 

She tells him that she’s glad to see him so well-rested. She thinks her little brother’s been growing up too fast these days. She thinks he’s been too tense. Too caught up with the spinning of the world around him that he forgets about himself sometimes. 

When they reach school, before Danny can get out of the car, Jazz looks to her little brother and says; “I love you.” 

Her little brother’s cheeks turn an embarrassed shade of red. He makes a scrunched up, grossed-out face, but can’t hide the smile pulling across it. “Don’t be a sap, Jazz. I’ll see you later.” He tells her, yanking his hood up over his head. She hears the bashful, ‘love you too’ before he walks away. 

That is the last conversation she ever has with her brother. 

Thursday is unremarkable, passing by in its normality as it always does. There’s one, maybe two ghost sightings; shades lurking around in curious infancy that are easily spooked away by the presence of a greater being. Danny doesn’t even have to go ghost. 

Thursday evening is even less so. Danny goes to Tucker’s house — Sam has a prior arrangement with her slam poetry club — and the two of them study for an hour before they toss their textbooks aside and reach for the game console. 

Danny sleeps in Tucker’s room with one of the extra blankets on his bed, curled across the room in one of the bean bag chairs. It shouldn’t be comfortable, but to Danny it is. He sleeps throughout the night, the portal shut down by his parents before they’d gone to bed. 

Early Friday morning, before the sun has even risen yet, before it’s even so much as a concept to grace the horizon, the water heater breaks again. It was supposed to be fixed. 

Carbon monoxide is a silent killer. Odorless and scentless, it kills within minutes. It fills the house like a shadow casting over the ground, creeping into the rooms. 

Danny’s family die in their sleep; painless and unaware. 

It’s not Jack Fenton’s fault. He didn’t mean to.  

Nobody wakes up with their alarms. 

Danny wakes up to Tucker Foley’s alarm on Friday morning, and he turns his head intangible and shoves it into the beanbag chair like an ostrich hiding its head in the sand. Tucker gets up before him, and throws a pillow at him as he reaches for the alarm. 

There’s laughter, messing around. The both of them get dressed, and Danny has breakfast with the Foleys that morning. He takes the bus to school with Tucker, and they meet Sam by their lockers. 

To him, everything is as normal as it should be. There are no ghosts for him to fight right now, school is as school does, and he’s on top of all his schoolwork. 

He does not see Jazz at all that morning, he doesn’t notice. Their schedules are so different, their routes on different paths, that it’s not uncommon for Danny to not see Jazz until he gets home some days. That’s if there’s no ghost attacks. 

At lunch, he gets approached by her friends. Worried creases between their brows, they ask him if he’s seen Jazz. She hasn’t shown up to any of her classes. She’s not answering their texts. It’s unprecedented of her; unheard of. 

Danny doesn’t admit to the concern that swells in his gut when they tell him this. He shrugs at them, and says he hasn’t seen her either. But it was probably nothing to worry about; she might just be sick and sleeping it off. 

He offers to text her and let them know if he gets a response, and that seems to ease her friends enough that they shuffle away in uncertainty. He keeps his word, and does exactly that. He pulls out his phone and opens her contact, and shoots her a message.

‘Where are you?’ 

He doesn’t get a response back, Danny is left on sent. He puts his phone in his pocket, and with a sense of unease creeping in the back of his mind, goes on with his day. He gets no response by the time the final bell rings; and he tries not to be worried. 

The house is quiet when he opens the door. Unusually quiet. He drops his backpack to the floor, it lands with a hearty thunk, and begins to take off his jacket. “Mom! Dad!” He yells. He hangs it up, and slips his shoes from his feet. “Jazz skipped school today!”

A laughable untruth that would get his sister all riled up normally; she should be able to hear him from the front door if she was in her room. The house just stays dead silent. 

He can’t even hear the usual banging and crashing from the lab. His unease returns. He reaches for the intercom that leads directly down to the basement, and presses the button to turn it on. A burst of static, and then he speaks;

“Mom? Dad?” 

Danny lets go, and waits for a response. He gets none back. That never happens, not when the house is this quiet. Not when he knows they should’ve heard him. 

Something sickly and fearful borns in the pit of his stomach, and begins to snake upward. He heads for the lab. The cool metal of the door is familiar in the grooves of his hand, and he doesn’t even need to think about the code as he punches it in;  he simply lets muscle memory guide him. It’s been the same since he was little. 

The door hisses as the pressure is released, and he swings the door open. He takes the stairs down two at a time. Something is wrong. His parents aren’t answering him. His feet pound against the metal. 

“Mom? Dad?” He calls again, more worried, more frantic. More scared. His voice echoes down the stairwell, and he reaches the bottom before it’s fully faded. The lab is empty. The portal is still shut down. 

It was four in the afternoon, they should still be down here. 

Danny races back upstairs, fear-raised nausea coiling in his throat. “This isn’t funny you guys!” He yells when he reaches the top, shoving open the door with more force than necessary. His head swims, his voice cracked. 

He checks the garage, the car is still there. 

“Mom!? Dad!” His voice bellows out throughout the first floor, loud enough that it bounces back at him and rings against his ears. He’s never raised his voice this much — mom would scold him if she heard him. But she doesn’t show up. “Jazmine!” 

Finally, he goes upstairs, and he can’t tell if what he’s feeling is anger or terror. Something is very, very wrong. 

He swings the door of his parents’ rooms open first, and there they are, with the lights still off and the curtains still drawn. As if they hadn’t left their bed all day. Some of Danny’s fear lifts from his shoulders just by the sight of them, but he’s still trembling. Something is still wrong — the room smells… off. Not good, not bad. Just… off. 

He swallows dryly, his throat still thick, and steps into the room. “Mom, dad?” They do not stir. “Didn’t you guys hear me yelling?” 

There is only room static. Danny’s heart shrivels in his chest with a tenfold return of terror, he feels ill. He remembers, just now, that they’re not heavy sleepers, and his dad should be snoring like a freight house. 

Danny reaches their bedside in seconds, hand outstretching for the covers, “Momma? Dad?”

Not all deaths are created equal. 

But many of them are accidental. Unmeditated. Shocking.

Danny Fenton finds his family dead in his childhood home. He runs to his neighbors in hysterics, inconsolable, in tears. Nine-one-one is called, but there is nothing that can be done. They were dead for hours by the time Daniel Fenton returned home. 

He sits on the front steps of the neighbor’s house beside FentonWorks, his jeans slowly becoming wet from the snow that was unable to be scraped off, and watches the paramedics cart out his family beneath white sheets. There are police cars blocking off the street, yellow tape blocking off his house, red-blue lights lighting up the block, an ambulance on the scene. He is wrapped in a shock blanket, and he is missing his jacket and his shoes. His tears are freezing onto his face, he can’t feel the chill. 

Not all deaths are created equal

But all of them are unforgettable. 

[vaggieslefteye]

HUSK, Hotel Bartender & Concierge | 1x04 - Masquerade

"Oh, I FORGOT — you're the wise-old bartender who's seen it all! Get the fuck over yourself and pour me a real drink."

[vaguely-concerned]

the mourn watch background gives you such a GIFT in having other characters notice and call out on-screen that rook code switches like a motherfucker. the whiplash of hearing my snarky 'heeey I'm just a little guy! :>' funnyman rook speak the heightened ritualized phrases of the mourn watch with perfect seriousness and gravity completely naturally and/or break into an academic tone that can keep up with emmrich at the drop of a hat never stops giving me such endless delight. truly their real mind is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside some hideous mourn watch casual wear

[travelling-hydaelyn]

Lahabrea possessed Thancred before this questline even started which means these are back to back Laha interactions. Here is how he greets the WoL in the Waking Sands immediately after his Disney villain introduction.

Meanwhile in Minfilia's solar:

presumably he took a brief break from running Alphinaud's errands to go dramatically laugh at the WoL

[shepscapades]

Why does Ren have 4 ears? Are they all real or is one set fake?

Hehe I’ve gotten this question a lot actually! They’re all real— I like to think hybridization isn’t always a clean balance of traits, so Ren just unfortunately ended up with two sets of ears— his Dog ears being much more receptive to sound, naturally— and sometimes when the extra intake of sound is too overwhelming, I imagine he wears earplugs in his human ears to help adjust :> it’s a bit weird, but idk! i like to make designs funky and nonconventional! I liked the idea that Ren had hearing struggles due to wonky hybridization and just kept the concept :>

[fullunadulteratedart]

soooo are we talking about the way Luffy actually grabbed onto Zoro's ear before whispering into it to wake him up during the ep2 crate scene or...?

(excuse the crappy quality screenshot and brightening)

[turtleblogatlast]

Shockingly underrated thing about Leo is that he’s legitimately charming when he wants to be?

He’s the Faceman! He’s persuasive! That’s not just some random title he gave himself with no backing to it. People will listen to him. Even if they think he’s being annoying or if they’re upset at him, people listen to him anyway! There’s a reason his bros push him out front to talk to people, and when this happens, that talking nearly always works.

Moreover, Leo knows people. He looks at them and takes into account how they act and what they’re like as he makes his way through the conversations. It’s easy to forget this aspect of Leo’s character because he only brings it out when he really needs (read: wants) to, but it really is a notable part of him that always love to see.

And I say charm in particular because he has a knack for not only getting people to pay attention, but for getting people to stay and listen to what he has to say.

[lizzybeeee]

Who wants to bet that Anders was planned to be in that post-credit's Executor cutscene montage but they changed it to Bartrand when they realized it would go over real badly with everyone?