#corpse writing

[longlostinshadows]

And what loving you is like?

Loving me is when you treat me kindly when I couldn't. When I don't have enough strength to brush my hair, you have the patience to untangle them.

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Corpses writings 101

I am calling these corpse writing, because they have been hidden and muffled in my notes for too long.

[quadrantadvisor]

Thinking about DP x DC Jason Todd being a revenant again. Here's my scenario. Jason gets called that by some ghost. He's like "what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" He's heard the term before but he doesn't know any actual lore. He googles it. He scrolls past the Leonardo DiCaprio bear movie. He opens the wiki. Sees the words "animated corpse" and gets a chill diwn his spine. He starts reading the first section.

He closes Wikipedia.

That night he has a nightmare that his family buried him, again, this time with precautions. He wakes up in his own grave, full of stones, too heavy to move, to scream.

[ophliee]

Quick sketch GANG IS ALL HERE!!!

[trekkerac]

I see you are taking questions so two things. First, I love the frankenghost au! It’s 25% sad and 75% comedy and i love it. Two, since bill and stan can communicate with one another, is Bill actually able to do anything to stanley since he’s still sorta-trapped in the mindscape or can he only annoy the shit outta stanley ‘cause stanley’s a ghost?

Thanks! Yeah he can't actually do anything to Stanley, other than annoy or antagonise him. The only reason he hangs around him is to watch Ford. I would proabably guess he hasn't possessed his corpse is because he would still need a deal with his ghost since he's newly dead and still lingering around. So yeah. On about equal grounds here.

[itslarsyouguys]

Ok in a lot of video games, you'd have someone in your group that can do something cool, like talk to corpses, and then you never use it. Why do they do that.

Veilguard gave us a guy that talks to corpses and legitimately everyone in the group is solving problems by having this guy talk to corpses. He's talking to corpses left and right, I just had three separate cut scenes of corpse guy doing his corpse thing and I love it.

[mediumgayitalian]

i keep seeing sad posts talking about "may castellan making sandwiches every day waiting in hopes that her son will return" and.

guys.

there is no hope for may castellan. she is not waiting at the door with lunch and a tentative smile, waiting for him to come home even though he didn't yesterday, or yesterday, or yesterday, or yesterday. "in hopes" implies that there will come a day when that hope fades. in hopes implies she knows the odds are bad. in hopes implies reality will eventually catch up to her.

there is no hope for may castellan.

she is not waiting in hopes for her son to return. she is preparing, day after day after day (after day after day after day after day after) for the inevitability that luke will return to her. she does not know he is dead. she does not understand he is gone. she does not realize that time has passed; to her luke is nine, still. to her she is still placidly awaiting to return of a fourth grader. luke is not nineteen and betraying his camp. he is not twenty and housing a titan. he is not twenty one and watching his friends get slaughtered in an arena, twenty-two and forcing his sister to hold up the sky, twenty three and realizing, soul shuddering in his chest, that he has made a mistake he can never take back, that he can never undo what he has done.

luke castellan to his mother is a child who has not yet lost all his baby teeth. the cookies she makes for him are soft, because she remembers that. he still leaves the crust behind on his sandwiches. he has scrapes on his elbows and dirt on his nose. he flinches before he hugs her. he spends a lot of time outside, but he comes home before dark.

may castellan's tragedy is not that she is penelope waiting for odysseus to one day return and we know that he will not. may castellan's tragedy is that she does not understand her hero has left at all. may castellan's tragedy is that she will never understand, and she will continue to age, and continue to deteriorate, and one day she will die and she will spend eternity walking the dying poplar fields, whittled down to the memory of something missing from her.

there is no hope for may castellan.

[rottedghuleh]

♡ SLASHER/HORROR ICONS HEADCANONS ♡

UPDATES: My suggestions are open! I have a very small list of others I wanna do, so shoot me a suggestion and I won't shoot myself :). I am hopefully going to expand my writing at some point by either doing stories of my own OCs, fluff, and more things.

♡ A/N: I wanna keep up the writing even though I don't REAAALLLLYYY wanna write a full story smut, mostly because some of y'all seem to enjoy my fanfics and I wanna kinda try something new and silly. So here's some SFW and NSFW headcanons! YIPPEE!! ✨

Who will you all see in this list?:

♡ Michael Myers (RZ version)

♡ Thomas Hewitt (TCM)

♡ Otis Driftwood (HO1000C)

♡ Brahms Heelshire (The Boy)

˚ · . Michael Myers (Rob Zombie version) !

SFW:

♡ Generally, he's very cold. I mean, of course he is, it's Michael Myers.

♡ Michael may not show his love for you emotionally, but I think he would show you in other ways. Either by making or giving you one of the masks he's made.

♡ Total tummy and thigh guy. Michael probably would grab onto you when he wants something since he doesn't speak. Either if it's by him grabbing around your waist or laying a hand across your belly from behind.

♡ Secretly enjoys you playing with his hair. You could run your hands through it, push it out of his face, twirl it around your fingers. He's yours.

NSFW:

♡ A lot of people think that Michael would be rough and a kinky motherfucker in bed, I think that is where you're wrong. You have to consider this man spent a good majority of his life being locked away at Smith's Grove Sanitarium. He's not going to be experienced.

♡ Very handsy in bed. Either if it's gripping at your hips and tummy or holding onto your chest when you ride him. His hands have to be on you. Spreading your legs, touching you, slipping his fingers into your entrance.

♡ Michael is probably very quiet in bed until he gets close. When he feels like he's about to cum, he'll grunt and pant out as he tries to hold himself back from finishing inside you.

♡ The first time he did finish in you, he was more curious than scared. He dipped his fingers into your hole and pulled out whatever wet slick of you and his cum before licking his fingers.

˚ · . Thomas Hewitt !

SFW:

♡ He's a momma's boy, but he will treat you like you're the best thing that has ever happened to you (tbh, you probably are.) Thomas would be a total sweetheart for you and you probably would have him by a leash.

♡ Thomas would gift give. Sometimes it's a ring or bracelet from a victim, or if he wandered off, he would give you wild flowers that he ripped up by the root.

♡ Thomas probably isn't too fond of touching. There are days where he would insist on laying on top of you and won't move until you're almost crushed beneath him. Depends on his mood really.

♡ When you two first got together, Thomas was scared shitless. He was scared to even hold hands with you because Luda Mae had it so drilled into his head about how intercourse was bad before marriage. He of course was probably never taught what intercourse was besides the vulgar things Charlie would say around the house.

NSFW:

♡ Once again, probably didn't know what the hell he was doing. Thomas only knew that the ache in his pants needed to be taken care of. He tends to get sexually frustrated, jerking himself off until he's rubbed raw until you showed him the right way to do it.

♡ Once Thomas caught a scent of your arousal, he was immediately drunk. Since he doesn't speak, he would give you cues that he was in the mood. By pulling your hand against his bulge or by simply picking you up and carrying you off somewhere.

♡ Thomas would make sure Luda wasn't around before he fucked you. He was gentle at first but due to awhile of frustration, he would get rough and fuck you raw. You would often have to calm him down to keep him from fucking a hole into the floor.

♡ If Thomas ever marks you, his fingers would tenderly touch those spots. He may hurt others, but to you, you are his everything and you getting hurt by him was the last thing he wanted. You often would have to reassure him that it was a love bite.

˚ · . Otis Driftwood !

SFW:

♡ If I'm being honest, this is probably one of the meanest motherfuckers on this list. He loves you, yes, but in his own way. Even if he is a jackass and called you names, it was mostly out of teasing than rather being mean.

♡ Helping him with his "art" is one of his favorite things you do for him. Being able to have a living muse for once is better than the dead bodies that he had propped up around his room as "freaks of nature."

♡ This one might come later in NSFW with the same the one above this. Playing chase. Be the helpless victim, tease him, cuss at him. It gets him wound up and to chase you down. The way you would act like a scared rabbit was more fun than just sitting around watching Grandpa Hugo bitch at the TV.

♡ Otis is considered the head of the family, which is meaning he'll try his hardest to provide for you as well. This also means, he's in charge. Otis makes the calls. Not in a possessive way, but in more of a husband role than anything.

NSFW:

♡ Will absolutely fuck you senseless. You talk back? You're getting bent over the counter and being fucked so hard not a single thought will form in your head. Otis loves the fight, even if it's teasing.

♡ Sometimes when you make him chase you, Otis would let the adrenaline get to him and it'll often lead to him getting hard. He'll tackle you to the ground, sometimes even at gun point, and make sure your pretty legs stay open for him.

♡ How he loves making you scream and moan so loud that others hear. Otis has to make sure that everyone can hear that your his. Sometimes that would be making you vocal and other times it would be fucking you right in the kitchen like it's nobody's business.

♡ Cock warming during when he's doing his art. Otis will make sure your pretty little ass stays sitting in his lap and if a single peep comes from you, he'll either pull his cock out and slap it roughly against your entrance or will thrust into you so hard you forget your own name.

˚ · . Brahms Heelshire !

SFW:

♡ Acts of service. Brahms wants to please you no matter what, he wants you to be proud. He'll leave you sandwiches in the kitchen, help you get to sleep at night, etc. You help him, he wants to return the favor.

♡ Brahms is clingy as shit. He has to be next to you, even if the grocery guy comes over. Brahms is around you, clinging onto your side or hips. He follows you like a little puppy.

♡ He'll ask for kisses, of course. It would be in that quiet, innocent voice as well. He'll ask for a kiss and wait for you to pull his mask up enough to see his lips. Brahms will give you small pecks to full blown make out sessions.

♡ Again, with him being clingy, he loves sleeping with you. He had stopped sleeping in his own room whenever you agreed to being with him. It meant long nights of his face buried into your chest and listening to your heartbeat to make sure you're still there.

NSFW:

♡ He's pathetic. Pathetic enough he whines and moans whenever he's balls deep in you. Brahms takes control sometimes, but he also wants you on top, usually riding him. If Brahms gets too impatient, he'll grab your hips and fuck up into you until you're both a leaking mess.

♡ Tease him. Tease his cock, his hole, anything and he'll be a panting slut. Slip a finger in him and it's enough to make his back arch and his legs kick. Just a small amount of teasing in general gets Brahms so turned on.

♡ Brahms absolutely has no sense. He doesn't care where you are, what you're doing. All he would do was pull off your bottoms to be able to have access. He would get on his knees while cooking and make sure to eat you out until you cum on your face. There's probably been a few times where you've had to order take out due to burning the food.

♡ His mask would be long discarded and his mouth latched to your nipple to suck and bite at it. He would get so needy that he would put his cock between your thighs until they are covered in precum. Brahms is needy. That's all.

[thatsbelievable]

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Raven Raven!!! Think about!! Ghost Marriage but if Skully was the ghost groom and he’s coming looking for a spouse 👁️ 👁️

Is this more Skullt cope—

He kisses the hands of every student and considers them all as candidates to be his spouse 💀 Opposite problem as Eliza, Skully cannot narrow down who he wants and ultimately decides to everyone can be his bestie 'til death do them part… (including Yuu, if you're into brain rotting over Skully that way lol)

aflhvuaevitutoqeblaeipof MAYBE SEBEK CAN BE THE COOL SSR SUITOR SUIT CARD THIS TIME... He'd look so cool, barreling into the venue to liberate Skully, giving a dramatic speech about love, and sending him fully into the afterlife... And let the vows the ones from Corpse Bride PLEEEEEASE OTL "With this hand, I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine. With this candle, I will light your way in darkness. With this ring, I ask you to be mine." AAAHAHAHAHAHHHHAHHHHHAHHAHhhHhHhHhHHHhHHHH and maybe instead of his spirit dissolving into butterflies, Skully becomes a cloud of wispy bats?? Truly the spirit of Halloween...

[ghostbsuter]

The notification came not even a second ago, and it had him fly across the city just as fast.

Nightwing barely acknowledged the thrum of the Batmobil following closely behind, already on his way to west end of Gotham City.

"5 Assasins in view, more possibly hidden away. A child, around 11, leading them." Oracle's voice was clipped in the way Dick knew she didn't like this.

This screamed like a trap, why else would the League of Assassins be in Gotham of all places?

He lands on the roof, tense and gripping his escrima sticks tightly.

Batman is on his tail, taking over lead, and they are near the group of unwanted guests.

He sees Red Robin on the other roof, backup if needed.

The child clicks his tongue at the sight of them, shaking head with a grumble. "Danyal, Father has found us, we should get this over quickly."

The amount of shock and confusion he feels makes him wonder if it were a dream.

Another click of tongue but not from the child in front of them, no. It was another child re-appearing from the invisible spectrum.

His hand around the throat of a limp talon.

"I didn't think he would be so fast." The other child comments.

"As expected of father." The first child, green eyed and serious nods. Towards batman.

"Now, for the reason we are here."

He steps to the edge of the building, and Nightwing desperately wants to get him from it, clearing his throat.

"I, Damian al Ghul, heir to the demon's head, formally declare war on the Court of Owls." Damian's voice is loud, unforgiving and unrelenting. Eyes burning.

It almost made him miss the words he spoke.

"The League of Assassins has a claim to Gotham," the boy spits. "And i won't let some society take it from us."

The unnamed twin throws the limp talon from the edge with a grunt. "Take that as a warning!" He halfheartedly shouts after.

And so it began.

[anonymousangstmonster]

Prompt #53

“So where’d you guys bury it?” Danny said walking over to the trio’s usual lunch table.

Sam paled as she looked over to Tucker. “Bury what?”

“My body.”

Tucker started to tremble. “We didn’t bury it.”

[caainhurst]

Are you interested in queer media centering around a gay trans man? Are you a fan of the TV shows Hannibal and Interview with the Vampire? Do you long for writing that calls back to the 90s Gothic genre defined by Poppy Z. Brite? Then this novel is for you. For years Vincent MacLachlan, agent of Britain's Secret Intelligence Service, trans man, and recently turned vampire, has been on the trail of a prolific, anonymous serial killer who defies profiling. The latest break in the case has taken him to San Francisco, and to handsome, charismatic dance instructor Nick Reynolds. Nick becomes Vincent's new link to the hidden world of magic, though Nick is also not what he seems, and invites Vincent into the intricate bondage and sadomasochism scene. Although Vincent thrives in this new atmosphere with Nick, it ignites buried feelings from his childhood; things he thought he had left behind. Will Vincent's bloodlust swallow him whole, or will Nick destroy him first? Master & Servant is my debut novel, the first in a trilogy. Please join me in exploring just how far Vincent will go in his journey of vicious self-discovery!

Hello all! In September I will be partnering with BackerKit's Booktopia to introduce my debut novel, Master & Servant. It would mean a lot to me if people would spread the word about our project and give my novel a chance!

[satellitespinner]

corpse bride au ellie williams anyone?

[baejax-the-great]

Really have to assume that anyone saying hector didn't deserve to die the way he did didn't actually read the Iliad

[starry-bi-sky]

Blood Blossom Au: before the nightingale sings

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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

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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. 

[deadsetobsessions]

DC x DP PROMPT

Danny, visiting Gotham, notices a concerning amount of shades gathered at the bays. Turns out, the bays are where Gothamite villains and goons alike dump bodies. This is very interesting to the Bats, who only figured out that this 6ft. something guy (who did not have a Gotham accent at all) kept lurking suspiciously near the waters.

Danny thinks Jay is a particularly strong shade because he’s had zero sleep, running around trying to help the shades: *trauma dumps to Hood*