#death mention tw

[akiss-from-a-rose]

"I said better," Aaliyah teased. "I've yet to be properly charmed, your highness. You still need to prove yourself. I'm afraid I've got to dock a few points for the lack of horse riding skills. I fear those are a necessity." She actually didn't care for horses. The modern invention of the automobile was truly incredible. "Sounds thrilling. You're giving up a real good time to be here and get drunk and dance, aren't you?" she asked, a small smile on her lips. She trailed her hand up one of Rangi's arms and leaned in. She murmured, her voice soft, "May I tell you a secret? For many, many years, people died around me, too." She grabbed the sleeve around Rangi's wrist and tugged, pulling her forward. "All the same, let's not risk it for the moment. Window shopping. Might be fun that way," she said, dragging the taller woman to the dance floor.

Rangi gave a little fist pump of victory. "See? I can be charming. I'm so charming. I'm like prince charming. Just not as much of a square. And I can't ride a horse." Her face contorted a moment before she gave a hearty chuckle. "You and me both, then. I know, it was really hard. I'm such a saint, coming here instead of hiding in my morgue. It's disappointing, I have a fresh body to autopsy. I haven't had a good one in a while, nice and pristine, no horrible external injuries." And, wow, talking about dissecting bodies probably wasn't the best way to flirt, but Rangi just couldn't help it anymore. Words poured out of her mouth faster than her brain could process them. "Hmmm, you say that, but you've never met me. See, everyone around me just--" she spread her hands out as if forming a fake barrier in front of her, "--dies." She gave another eager nod. "That's me!" She moved towards the other woman before stopping, holding her hands up in a surrendering motion. "Right, got it, no touching. Just look. Like window shopping! But, I mean, it's like not even working right now, I've had waaaaaaay too much alcohol. And you know over the clothes it's much less vivid." She paused, then shook her head, "Anyway, yes, dancing! Let's go!"

[hidden-by-a-trench-coat]

Collecting my angsty thoughts about Tarquin from Lost In Your Eyes and his guilt about everything and putting them here because I NEED to talk about them

SUUUUPER long post after the read more just so you know (oh, and mentions of death, guilt, hallucinations, and angst and all that fun stuff - so keep that in mind before you continue)

Anyway, I love Lost In Your Eyes and have so many thoughts, so here they are transcribed from the discussion on the Discord (practically just me talking to myself but hey. Also, wow, hi, I realize if you're on the Discord you might have no idea who I am because this is the one social I have that's not the same username so I can hide from my IRL friends just in case - anyway, I'm Shadow. Continue forth with this knowledge my friends):

I wrote about it a bit in my fix-it fic, but I love considering how guilty Tarquin must feel about losing his entire crew. That’s 53 people he lost. People he cared about and knew by name - and I imagine him to have cared about every single one of them. Imagining how it would slowly break his spirits over time watching them pass one by one and not being able to do anything about it. And yet he has to ignore his emotions because he has the remaining crew members to care about and to keep alive - he can’t fail them, too (though he soon proves to himself that he very much can over and over and over again, no matter how hard he tries. He can’t understand why he can’t just keep them alive)

By the time there’s only 3 of them, he’s barely keeping himself together. The dread he feels as the number ticks down to 2 remaining isn’t comparable to anything in the world (Imagine him by that crew member's side, desperately trying to hold himself together and stop himself from crying as he silently begs for him to stay with them. Because they're so close to land. And after it doesn't work - because of course it doesn't - he sits there on the floor holding the hand of his second to last remaining crew member, which is already becoming colder by the second - and cries) - they’d been so close to getting even 3 of them to safety, and yet he couldn’t even do that.

And then the last one dies (and to make it worse, he dies right after an act of pure betrayal, taking down his beloved Amanda in the process, which could not have been easy for him to process. They'd been traveling together for 3 years, he probably trusted him the most, and then he does that? Without explanation? It must have hurt so bad) and it’s just him and he hates it. He doesn’t think he deserved to survive as opposed to everyone else. He could have taken someone’s place. He was the captain, he should have put his crew first.

He has nightmares for the rest of his life about every member of his crew at least once. He remembers all of their faces so vividly. They’re begging for help, for him to do something. To save them. And he never can. He's just forced to watch.

It doesn’t help that the same thing happened to Amanda. He finally gets to her and yet, she dies, too. He couldn’t save his crew and he couldn’t save Amanda - the one person in the world that he should be able to save, even if he couldn’t save everyone else. He feels like everyone he grows to care about will befall the terrible fate of death and there’s nothing he can do about it. He blames himself endlessly for her death, wondering if he could have saved her (and the rest of his crew) if he’d just done something differently. He regrets ever even leaving when he could have just stayed with Amanda and nothing would have gone this way

And I feel like he'd be terrified to make any future friendships or connections because he thinks that he's going to end up getting them killed in one way or another - and so he ends up isolating himself. Maybe he deliberately spends another 3 or more years at sea on his own. Maybe it's a way for him to feel like he's making up for their deaths or asking for forgiveness or whatever but it just makes him feel worse in the end

Oh and I imagine he hates sailing now, too but he does it anyway because he feels like he has to. Because if he stops he has to find something else to do and he doesn't know what else he could do (though he's starting to doubt he can even sail, either). Any joy he used to feel from having the wind in his face and the smell of the ocean is gone. Maybe the smell of salt makes him feel sick now

Thinking about Tarquin watching the waves for those 3 other years he goes back out on his own wondering why they haven't consumed him yet. Why they decide to spare him even after everything he's done and how he doesn't deserve their mercy. How he would almost rather the waves be harsh and unforgiving. Maybe the challenge would distract him. Maybe it would make it easier to pretend that surviving the tough storms would be like his crew was forgiving him, even a little bit

(I had a whole thing in my fic about how he feels like he doesn't deserve to sail anymore and that Amanda would be so much better at it because she managed to do his 3 year journey in so much less time. And on her own - and yet he could barely even get 3 people across the ocean alive even after his years of experience. I think if she did somehow survive and they needed to return, he would have stepped down from his position as captain and made her do all of the sailing of the ship feeling as though he wasn't worthy of the position and that she was just so much better at it)

Imagining Tarquin during his time alone at sea hallucinating members of his crew or Amanda - especially Amanda. How much it would hurt him to realize that they were fake. Maybe at some point he's so disoriented for one reason or another he mistakes the hallucination as real and breaks when he realizes it's not. The amount of hope he would feel - however futile or impossible - thinking that someone of his crew managed to survive despite everything. And then it disappears and suddenly he's so terribly alone again

Imagining him in front of the hallucination of Amanda begging for forgiveness. Maybe the hallucination accepts (Amanda would) but maybe it’s more Tarquin’s perception of how he thinks she’d react and so she doesn’t accept and he understands why she wouldn’t. Maybe he even thinks he deserves it. Maybe it even convinces him that Amanda hates him now. Whatever happens I think it would break his spirits even more

Meanwhile, Amanda watching from the afterlife with sadness watching Tarquin’s mental state decline over time and being unable to do anything about it

Actually, imagining her actually being on the boat with him as a ghost. She can’t do anything to support him physically, of course, but she’s trying her best to protect him, hoping that somehow he can sense her there - maybe that’s why his boat is so safe despite everything

Maybe Tarquin actually sees her ghost one time but he doesn’t believe it’s real - because it can’t be - but he talks to her anyways because that’s what he’s done every other time he’s seen her. And she tries so hard to be there for him, trying to comfort him. He can’t feel her touch, but he imagines it anyways. And for the briefest of moments it’s like she’s there again. For that brief moment - nothing more than a second - everything is okay again. And then it’s not. Because she’s not really there.

He can’t hear her desperate attempts to try and get him to just take care of himself

An in a different universe, imagining Tarquin eventually deciding to head home after the events of the play. He realizes he needs to tell all of the families of his crew about how their family members are dead. They probably knew the risks but he still feels terrible thinking about telling them (even if they don’t know his entire crew died). But he feels obligated to tell them, because that was their family member.

Thinking about him realizing he’ll need to tell Amanda’s mother that she’s dead. He knows he can’t wait to do that because that’s her mother. So one of the first things he does when he gets back is goes to Amanda’s house (what was Amanda’s house, he supposes) and knocks on the door. She is not excited to see him and probably asks about Amanda, but he asks to be let in so they can talk because he can’t do this outside and it feels more respectful if they’re both sitting. He’s not very good at hiding his grief - he almost certainly hasn’t been sleeping well - and so she lets him in.

And then he has to tell her. He probably has to force the words out because he doesn’t want to say them. Maybe he’s still in denial, but either way saying them aloud hurts him even more. Amanda’s mother is almost certainly angry at him (because of course she is. She always had this negative impression of him in the first place and this just proves all of her worries - how Amanda should have never been with Tarquin in the first place. Hell, maybe Tarquin even agrees with her now. Because if he hadn’t fallen in love with her, then maybe she would have still been alive. And even if they weren’t together, at least Amanda would have been happy and alive doing something different and with someone else), and he certainly doesn’t make himself sound much better, after all, he’s been blaming himself for her death this entire time. And so he sits there and just takes it as she yells at him, and he probably thinks he deserves it.

That was a lot, but I just have so many thoughts and I need to put them somewhere - thank you so much for reading my crazy collection of thoughts, I hope it didn't hurt too much

[xan-izme]

𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞𝐬

Part 1: Dinner Time

Prologue

TW: Past neglect, death, violence, mention of blood, drinking

Tag list: @pix-stuff, @sweetconnoissurgarden, @craftymoonchaos, @jsprien213, @hebaoffside, @bunbunboysworld, @melonylla, @numbu5, @tatsuri-zomushiki, @formulas-bitch, @fantasyhopperhea, @otterluver05, @caged-birdies-blog, @minkyungseokie, @una1002289, @vanessa-boo, @welpthisisboring, @sirenetheblogger, @salfishers, @meeeeeeee-stuff, @eylsiankub, @lilithskywalker

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"Eight years in hell. . ."

You were seated on top of a desk playing with a snow globe in your hands.

"Can really make you go crazy." Your head hits the wall behind you, slowly turning to the bleeding man on the ground, once again receiving a blow to the face from a man dressed in dark red.

"P- please. . . I don't know anything. I swear." The man whimpers as he begged.

You sighed. "You're lying. I really, really hate liars' doctor." You through the snow globe onto the ground, shattering the glass. The man in red took your small fit of rage as a signal and pulled out a gun, pressing it against the doctor's head.

The bleeding doctor felt another type of fear the moment he felt the cool metal against his temple.

"W-wait! Wait! Please! I have a family; I'm begging you please!" The doctor cried and begged. The man in red glanced to you, you sighed and waved you're hand off. The man in red put his finger on the trigger, about to shoot.

"WAIT- Gotham hospital! She was at Gotham hospital!"

The man in red paused and glanced over to you.

You walked closer to the doctor, crouching down to the man's current level, as the man in red slowly pulled the gum away, the doctor felt a large wave of relief wash over him.

"Are you sure?"

The doctor nods "She s-saw Doctor Hill, that's all I know, I promise that's all I know."

You stay silent for a moment before standing up. "Thank you for your cooperation."

The Doctor felt relived. Wanting to go back to his wife and kids, hug them as tight as he could-

BAM!

The Doctor fell with a thud. Blood slowly seeping out of his body as you tossed the gun you used to shoot the doctor to the man in red.

"That's for lying" You mumbled as you stare at the doctor's body with indiffrence.

You've been out of Arkham for almost a month now. You should be relaxing, try to fit back into society. But no, your mother was missing, the Falcone's didn't know where her whereabouts were, some made comments of her abandoning you the moment you got out, which coursed them to have a slow death for their crude comments.

Your mother loves you, and you know she would never abandon you. So now you're searching. But you aren't getting to her fast enough. And your growing impatient. You wanted to come back out into the world and run into the arms of your mother, but your just met with Gotham's ugly mug. It angered you beyond words.

The man in red, Rex, works for the Falcones, but has come to be loyal to you. Rex followed behind you as you walked out of the room and down the halls.

"Give doctor hill a visit for me, will ya?" You spoke coldly as your heels clicked loudly walking down the empty hall of an abandoned building. Rex nods before speaking up.

"What about you Miss Falcone. Are you going back to the Falcon manor?"

Ah, yes. You took your mother's last name. All done in paper. No more, Y/n Wayne. That little girl is dead.

". . . No, I need to grab a few things."

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Alfred knows you have been out for a month, so why have you not come back to the manor?

Alfred tried to keep in touch as much as possible during your time in Arkham. Every phone call, he could hear that sweet innocent girl he knew fade. He has tried to phone you multiple times but no use. Even tracking you down with was difficult, Alfred has tried to tell Bruce about his worry for you not coming home, But Bruce seemed to almost immediately shut down at the mention of your name.

He's worried for you, he just wants to see you, and make sure you're okay.

There was a met Gala being held today. Preparing for it was exhausting, but it was like that every time a gala had to be held. Everyone scattered all over the manor.

With a heavy sigh, Alfred entered the kitchen, the gala's close to an end, the rich of Gotham turning in for the night. But Alfred comes to a stop when he noticed a woman in the kitchen, dressed in a dark red dress, her back faced to him as she picked up a glass of wine.

"Excuse me ma'am, you're not supposed to be in the back here." Alfred spoke firmly with his usual stoic expression. The woman in red slowly turns around with the wine glass in hand. Then she spoke, the face, Alfred surely does not recognize, but the voice. He knows your voice.

"I rather be away from the crowed, if you don't mind." You gave the older man a small smirk as you see the realization hit him.

"Miss Y/n?"

Your small smirk cracked even wider. Alfred walks closer, shocked to see you here, in the kitchen munching on some sweets, just like you used to when you were younger.

You shrugged with a small giggle slipping from your red lips

"The one and only"

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

"Miss Y/n, come, Master Bruce must know your home!" Alfred might not show it a lot, but he is overjoyed to see you in the manor again. You've grown so much.

"Ah, well I was hoping to just grab some things from my old room and head out." You try to walk off to the back staires

"Nonsense, come, come." Alfred needed you to meet the family. For the family to see you. He touched your back as to lead you out of the kitchen and into the dining room.

You immediately flinched away.

Your negative reaction causes the butler to coil back.

"Miss. . .?"

You let out a weak cuckle.

"Sorry, I'm not fond of being touched." You began to meekly rub your hands together. Alfred comes to realize your time in Arkham has damaged you in some way's he might not be able to know yet.

"No need to apologize miss Y/n." Despite the small awkward moment Alfred still managed to have you walked out to see the others.

You felt an immense amount of DeJa'Vu. The walls, the detailed engraved in these walls. These walls haunted your dreams. Only half of your childhood was spent in this manor. You remember running down those stairs once Bruce came home from work. Skipping through these halls after getting a solo part in choir, something Bruce never really paid mind too.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸��🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Almost everyone was here tonight. Jason, Dick, Cassandra, Tim, Damian and Duke. Steph couldn't make it. Barbra was spending time with her father. And. . .

Bruce watched as his children chat, argue, laugh. He smiles to himself as he takes a sip of his glass of white wine.

"Where's Alfred?" Damian spoke up as he turned his head in search for the butler that is always usually hovering around. Bruce shrugs

"Most likely in the kitchen."

Suddenly, the doors open, in comes Alfred with a smile on his face.

"Alfred." Bruce can tell Alfred seems to be in a more chipper mood than he was in half an hour ago.

"We have a visitor." Alfred's words confused the others. Then you stepped up. You scanned the room. Some faces new, some old. Others were still confused, either not recognizing you due to the years that have passed, or the fact they simply didn't know who you were.

But Bruce didn't take long to recognize you. And the way he paled at the sight of you, it just made you smirk at his reaction. Dick was quick to follow the realization.

"Y/n . . ." Bruce mumbled.

Jason's head whipped to Bruce once he heard the name. Looking back at you then to Bruce.

"Y/n, we thought you were still . . ." Dick tried to speak, but he seemed to get more uncomfortable with just thinking of his words.

You wait for Dick to say the words, but clearly, he was still in shock to say it.

"Arkham? I've been, rehabilitated." You say this with a soft smile.

Jason, trying to process what the actual fuck is going on right now stayed silent. Damian also confused spoke up.

"Father who is this woman?"

Your eyes snapped to the young boy, your head tilt for a moment. Walking closer to the table. Your heels click as you kept your eyes on the young boy, and Bruce kept his eyes on you. Still not believing you were out.

"I'm his daughter. Blood, daughter." You spoke as you kept a playful manner to yourself. The Damian frowns. "Imposible. I'm fathers only blood child."

You paused for a moment. You seem to be analyzing the situation.

"Is that what dear old daddy said." Your chuckle, almost darkly, as you sipped on your glass of red wine. Alfred pulled up a seat at the end of the table, across from Bruce. You took a seat.

The room that was once filled with chatter and warm air was now silent and tension filled the air. You leaned back into the chair; Alfred re-fills your glass.

"Thank you, Alfred." You kept a small playful smile on your red lips. You let out a small sigh before speaking

"So, what did I miss?"

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

"𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚢?"

[charlie-artlie]

I think the death weirdos should hang out

[wolfislost]

I'm exhausted but I want to respond to this before I forget. Apologies in advance if my writing is a little sloppy.

I'll preface this by me saying that i'm not conceptkin, so this is all the thoughts and ruminations of an outsider.

I think it's interesting that you describe it as a collection of thoughts and experiences, distinct from a "conventional" identity. "Collection of thoughts and experiences" is almost word for word how I boil down my own experience as a werewolf. I tend to say that the label, for me at least, describes a "collection of behaviours and thoughts". I find that overlap interesting.

I also find that, in my moments of clarity, I tend to see death as part of a larger process rather than an end point. Ever since I found out about the concept of tree burial, I've been fairly certain that's how I want to be inhumed.

In hindsight, I think this is an expression of my animality and existence as kin.

My relationship to nature involves death as a necessity. Not just in the sense of predator and prey, but also in the sense of death by illness or old age. Werewolf or not, things die. I die. It's part of that cyclical pattern.

I remember not long ago, I spent some time in the woods just watching a swarm of flies slowly dismantle a corpse. It wasn't a traditional act of beauty, but I felt compelled to familiarise myself rather than look away.

I suppose what I'm trying to say is that despite not being conceptkin myself I also feel a kind of kinship with death. Not just as an agent, but also as an inevitable receiver of it.

The fear of endings is mitigated by the love of transformation, if that makes sense.

I don't fear the act of becoming something new, and I see death as an invisible but valuable part of that.

Death as the disolution of the self is a great way of explaining it.

For a time things are whole, before they inevitably become separate again.

I forget the quote, but some writer once said something along the lines of "why should we fear death, when we spent far longer not existing than we have being alive?"

In a sense death is a kind of return to a primordial wholeness. Back to whence we came.

In a time where people and animals feel more divided and separated than ever before, I can't help but see a kind of romantacism in that train of thought.

Anyway, a very interesting read! Thank you for sharing your experience! Feel free to talk about it more if you ever want to, i'll definitely be keeping an eye out.

I was having a conversation with a friend of mine about being death and decay conceptkin, and I realized maybe I should talk about that more here since its sort of an overlooked part of the community.

I think I frequently forget to talk about it because it doesn't feel like an "identity" in the same way that therianthropy does. It's more like a collection of experiences and feelings. I wouldn't say that I strictly am death, but rather that death and decay run through me and speak to me. I don't quite know how to word it.

Ever since I was a kid, I've been obsessed with death and decay, but not really in a morbid or depressing way. I've always felt a kind of intimacy and one-ness with it. I would always try to seek out decay and surround myself with reminders of it. Bones, scraps of fur, moss, mushrooms, lichens, detrivores, and scavengers. The cycle, metamorphizing the dead form of one, into the new life of others, feels so important and comforting to me.

I sometimes feel like I am almost able to "speak" with decay, not in the classic talking to the dead kind of way, I don't believe in that sort of ghost. Instead, I feel like I share emotions and echoes of images with the rotting things of the world.

Occasionally, this mixes with my lycanthropic identity, having shifts of myself rotting as a werewolf or being covered in shaggy lichens and algae. More often, it feels like I am just a werewolf that is deeply tied into death and the transformative nature of decay in a pagan sense.

I would classify the way it feels as very slow, solemn, yet intimate, and comfortable.

It is a great one-ness and dissolution of self into the world around you.

[capricorn-0mnikorn]

I have ~Thoughts~ on the Harry Potter Phenomenon that was

(Courtesy of memories prompted by this Tumblr Poll)

Back when I was a senior in college (back in the mid-to-late 1980s), I actually wrote a fantasy novel for kids aged ~8 - ~11 (in a self-designed course for a single credit, under the guidance of my Literature advisor), inspired by a series of dreams and recurring characters that showed up in them.

My advisor encouraged me to try and get it published. And so, I arranged with teachers from my old school to have a class of 30 or so 10 year-olds beta read it, and give me feedback for revisions. The kids also encouraged me to try and publish it.

So I did.

Now, back then, there was no "Self Publishing." The closest thing was "Vanity Publishing," where you would pay 100% of the publishing cost of your book, which would be printed in hard copy, for the benefit of having 500 -1,000 books shipped to your personal address, which you were then responsible for storing and selling out of the trunk of your car in a parking lot, somewhere. And if word got out that you were trying to claim credit for being a "published author" because of a Vanity Press book, actual publishers wouldn't touch you with a 40-foot pole.

If you wanted to get published, you had to buy that year's copy of Writer's Market: a listing of magazine and book publishers, and agents, with a brief description of what material they published, and what they wouldn't touch.

Guess what genre no agent or publisher was interested in handling?

That's right, Gentle Readers: Fantasy for children aged 8 - 11. I would have happily sent out a dozen queries for each story I wrote, if there were publishers and agents willing to look at them. But for three to four years of trying, in directories of two-columns of tiny print, and several [hundred]* pages long, I'd be lucky to find two or three outlets even willing to look at fantasy for kids.

The general consensus, across the publishing business, was that fantasy was a dead and obsolete genre. If it was for kids old enough to read chapter books and novels, it must also be firmly grounded in realism and actual history, because everyone knows the only people buying books for kids that age were teachers, who wanted stories with practical applications in the classroom.

***

After 3 - 4 years of trying, while I was in grad school, I finally got a rejection from the one agent who agreed to read my novel. A few days later, I received news that my mother had died from the breast cancer she'd been fighting, and my heart just went out of the project altogether.

A few years later, the first Harry Potter book was published. And it became a worldwide phenomenon. And it was the kids, themselves, who were driving the sales.

See, I think the real reason the books were such a success, even though they were never really very well written, was because they were in a genre the audience was hungry for -- a genre they'd been denied access to for all of their young lives.

Someone who is starving will think even moldy bread is delicious.

*Gosh, what a word to leave out via typo; the Writers Market rivaled the Manhattan Yellow Pages in length.

[miniar]

(Nov. 10. 2023) The blue lagoon in Iceland is currently closed (for a week) due to a high risk of a volcanic eruption within a kilometer (0.8 miles) of the popular tourist location.

When the gathering magma breaks the earth's crust, anyone visiting the blue lagoon will have (best case scenario) approximately 20 minutes to make it to safety.

If there are people sleeping in the adjacent hotel or gods forbid in the lagoon itself, the worst case scenario is the magma breaking surface beneath the lagoon.

The only truly realistic way to avoid serious casualties here is for the resort, hotel, and lagoon yo remain completely closed until the danger passes.

There are currently icelandic people calling for a 2/1 deal (or cheaper) on blue lagoon tickets for Icelandic people on twitter.

Do Not Go To The Blue Lagoon Until The Danger Has Passed!!

It's a lovely experience but it's absolutely not worth boiling alive or burning to death.

[j0celynh0rr0r]

Death Magic 🩸🔪

[audliminal]

Survivability Bias Pt 3

Masterpost - Ao3

Content warning: This chapter involves depiction of a train derailment and subsequent fire throughout. There is also brief mention of death. I will be putting a brief summary in the description if you prefer not to read this part.

Danny jolts up from his fitful sleep. He’s intangible and invisible before he’s even fully sitting up and he’s in the air before he registers the loud boom that woke him. Any concerns about his bright transformation are made totally irrelevant by the warning sirens blaring in his head.

Wait, no. Those are real sirens.

In the distance, lights are now accompanying the sirens; flashing as they speed down what looks like main street. It’s pretty clear where they’re going too, from the violent orange glow cascading over the tops of the nearby buildings.

I knew it, Danny thinks, flying towards whatever disaster is unfolding. probably it’s stupid to get involved, when he still knows so little about this place, but- well, old habits die hard. It doesn’t take long for the problem to become obvious, and Danny freezes as he struggles to process the scene before him.

The metal carnage is nothing like Danny’s ever seen before; what looks to be a freight train has derailed at the worst possible location, sending its cars careening into the various apartment buildings and stores on the east side of town, and to make matters worse, one of them has clearly crashed straight into the gas station by the freeway, and fire is spreading faster than Danny could have imagined.

Danny can already see two buildings blazing, but he quickly focuses his attention towards the carnage of the train itself. Luckily it’s fairly obvious what direction it was headed, and Danny moves fast, looking for the engine. In ghost form, physical sensations always feel a little more distant but even through that, Danny can feel his heart rabbiting in his chest. Luckily it takes less than a minute to find the engine, but as he approaches it, the presence of death catches in his throat, and he immediately knows it’s a lost cause.

He can’t sense any actual ghosts, though, so instead Danny whips around to stare at the derailed cars. He’s far more used to fighting than he is rescues, but he can hardly just ignore the possibility of people trapped, so he carefully begins phasing through the wreckage, searching and listening for signs of anyone. Already, people are starting to gather outside; both those who were nearby and those who have managed to escape on their own, and Danny is careful to maintain his invisibility as he works. 

Danny’s made it through about half the wreck by the time he spots the firetrucks arriving, he’s pretty certain that nobody’s trapped under any of the cars, and he’s also thinking more clearly. The fire has also gotten worse now, and Danny watches as fully equipped firefighters spill out onto the street, already jumping to work as the fire chief shouts out orders. Some rush to start battling the flames, but others head towards the crowd.

They’re getting headcounts, Danny realizes. It seems so obvious in retrospect, but of course, Danny would have to be visible to check with anyone. And now that they’re here, anything he tries to do in secret would probably just make things harder. There is, of course, an easy solution to that, but- Danny has yet to find any evidence that all the meta stuff is anything but propaganda.

Even as Danny considers the dilemma, he knows what he’s going to do. He’s survived danger before, after all, and if he can keep people from assuming ghost, then he’ll have an advantage on them even if it comes to the worst. Besides, there’s that whole great powers-great responsibility thing, so in a way, it’s kind of his responsibility...

Danny floats out of the wreckage before shifting into visibility, figuring it’s probably polite to approach in their field of sight.

“What can I do to help?” Danny asks, causing most of the crowd to stare in shock. Belatedly he realizes he’s still floating, but actually that’s probably a good thing. Makes it clear he’s a meta right off the bat, at least

“New hero, huh? Powerset?” The man responds promptly, leveling Danny with an even gaze. Probably the lack of shock is a good thing. Probably.

“Uh, flight obviously, enhanced strength as well, and um... The ability to turn people and things intangible?” Danny responds promptly. It’s far from his full set, but he figures those are the most relevant, and keeping most of his tricks under his sleeve makes him feel better about what he’s doing.

“Is the fire gonna hurt you? I’m not sending some kid in there to die of third degree burns or smoke inhalation.” The man frowns, giving Danny the distinct feeling he’s not particularly impressed with Danny’s answer.

“Oh! Yeah, no, I’ll be fine! I like, don’t exactly need to breathe? And I’m fine in extreme heat too, so it shouldn’t be a problem...” Danny trails off and the head firefighter narrows his eyes as he tries not to flinch at the assessing look. To Danny’s right, someone shouts and when he turns to look, he sees a firefighter wave their arm and plant some kind of flag before moving on. No longer paying attention to Danny, the chief walks over and speaks to another firefighter. Danny wonders if he’s been dismissed, but before he can do anything, the chief calls out to him.

“Alright kid, you’re up, I guess,” he says, when Danny walks over. “We don’t know how injured he is, so do not move him, but if you’re strong enough to move this stuff fast and safe, that’ll be a damn good help.” He gestures to the twisted mess that Danny’s pretty sure was the edge of a building. 

Danny nods, stepping forward to examine the rubble. The firefighter that spotted the man points to a couple beams.

“Those beams are protecting him from the worst of it right now, but we’ll need to move them in order to get him out, so you gotta make sure that there’s nothing that’ll fall on him him when you move them.” 

“Righty-o,” Danny says, stepping forward to grab the two support beams he’d pointed too. He carefully examines the rubble collapsed around and over it. It’s sort of like a puzzle, he realizes - not quite the same as fixing his parents tech; certainly nothing here is supposed to be smashed together like that, but-

Danny blinks and refocuses. If he  just moves a few things first, he thinks he can get enough cleared away and just intange the beams. He tries to be fast as he does, without forgetting the emphasis the chief had put on safety, and after a few moments, he’s ready to move the beams. He gets into a good position, and then carefully makes them intangible, ready to react if anything bad happens. When nothing does, he carefully pulls them up and away, watching as the waiting firefighters rush in and start to work on actually extracting the guy.

He watches for a bit as a backboard appears and they begin a very slow and careful process of getting the guy onto it.

“Kid,” the chief calls, pulling Danny’s attention away.The chief guides him towards one of the buildings that’s on fire. “Got two people trapped on the third floor here. The stairs are unsafe, so if you can, get yourself up there, locate them, and get them out.”

Danny nods, not waiting for further instruction. He flies up two floors, and goes straight through the wall with his intangibility. The majority of this building isn’t terribly damaged, but one side has collapsed in on itself so if that’s where the stairs were, he can understand the difficulty. The air inside is already thick with smoke, and he quickly stops breathing, belatedly remembering that he’s supposed to not get smoke inhalation. Luckily, it doesn’t take long to catch the sound of voices, and Danny follows it to a room where two people are huddled next to an open window. Right, that’s a smart way to limit the danger of the smoke.

“Rides here!” Danny announces cheerfully, dropping his intangibility. Both people startle as they spot him, but one recovers relatively quickly.

“Him first,” they say, nodding towards their companion, who definitely looks more dazed.

“Right, here we go!” Danny says, stepping forward, and scooping the person up, and wasting no time flying directly through the building, and down to the waiting paramedics. There’s no stretcher currently available, so Danny gently sets them on the ground away from the worst of the smoke, before flying back to get the other person. They’re already standing up, and waste no time in wrapping their arms around his neck as he picks them up and flies them out to the medics as well.

Danny hardly has time to set the person down, before the chief is pulling him away again. They send him in to save a couple other trapped people, but after that, it sounds like everybody is accounted for, because the chief starts focusing all their energy on putting out the fire, rather than just containing it.

Danny is surprised to find himself pulled into helping with this part too. He gets assigned to a fire attack team, and Danny trails along after the two firefighters as the enter the building and begin to fight the fire from the inside.Occasionally, one of them will point at some piece of wall or ceiling and ask him to check what’s on the other side. He goes where they say, looking for signs of the fire, and when he does spot flames, occasionally tearing stuff down so they can get to it with their fire hose. It’s honestly a fascinating process. Danny’s never been anywhere near a major fire and the fact that the firefighters actually do more damage to the building as they work echoes in Danny’s brain as a morbid refrain.

What they’re doing is clearly working though, because he can actually feel the ambient temperature going down as time goes on. He briefly wonders if he should be trying to use his ice powers when one of his teammates complains about how hot it is, but they have protection, and he doesn’t want to risk any more info on him getting out. And anyways, he’s busy enough just doing his job. By the time they leave the building, Danny is exhausted. The interrupted night’s sleep is making itself known, alongside the surprising realization that Danny has actually worked harder tonight than he ever has before.

He lets himself half-collapse against a wall beside one of the fire trucks, once they finish their work putting out the fire. Beside him, his teammates are divesting themselves of their gear. it’s funny, Danny was anxious about revealing himself at first, but this whole night - and Danny belatedly realizes the sun is beginning to drift above the horizon now - he’s not been scared at all. Sure he’s been worried; with people in danger he’s hardly going to feel good, but in the last few hours he’s both worked harder than he has in any of his fights, and he’s done it without feeling terrible. Now, with just everyone accounted for and just about all of them either fine or in the hands of doctors, he feels odd.

It’s not a bad feeling or anything, kind of like when he successfully beats a hard level in a video game, or how he used to feel when he finished science projects in middle school.

Satisfaction, he realizes. And that’s what it is, though it’s far stronger than any version of it that he’s ever felt before. He does have a lot to feel proud of too. He  helped, even though he wasn’t sure it was safe to, and he might’ve actually saved somebody’s life tonight.

“You did good, kid.” One of his teammates says, echoing Danny’s thoughts. He startles a bit, feels himself flushing, and then in his embarrassment, he feels himself tumble over into a full blush. It’s always felt more embarrassing blushing in his ghost form. The way his skin actually glows with the green tinge is just so obviously inhuman, and he tries to avoid, tries his best to seem normal and alive, even when he’s a ghost.

Of course, these people don’t know he’s a ghost, but from what he’s seen, most of the heroes out there at least look functionally human, and he waits for the firefighters around him to freak out at the reminder that he isn’t even remotely one of them.

“Damn,” one whistles. Green glow is a new one. Makes your freckles real cute though.” The others laugh, and the other of his teammates steps forward to pat him gently on the back.

“Stop embarrassing my new favorite hero,” the chief says, walking up to join them. “You gotta name?” 

“Oh, yeah!” Danny answers, desperate for a distraction from this line of conversation. “I’m Danny!”

“Danny,” the chief responds flatly. he almost sounds exasperated, though Danny can’t imagine why, unless...

Unless that absolutely sounds like he just introduced himself normal and they think he’s a hero and he sounds like a dumbass without a secret identity, which- technically isn’t exactly wrong. 

“Yup!” Danny says, trying to make it sound intentional. “Danny Phantom at your service! Y’know cause of the intangibility and like. It just sounded good?” There. That sounds plausible. If he actually does end up having to be a hero, though, he’ll probably need a different first name. If he gets a civilian identity, that is.

“Well, Phantom,” the chief grins, that same assessing look from before back, but noticeably more relaxed now that there’s no immediate danger. “We’re damn grateful for all your help, and if you need anything you come let us know, alright?”

“Yeah, one of his teammates echoes. “You’re an honorary firefighter now, you should come hang out at the station sometime!” A couple of the others echo the sentiment. It’s surprisingly kind, and Danny smiles at the unrelenting wave of welcome.

“I’ll think about it,” he offers uncertainly. “For now, I think I ought to go back to sleep for a few more hours.”

“That sounds like a good idea, Danny,” the chief says. “Just make sure to get something to eat first. You’ve burned a lot of calories today.”

“Yeah, will do,” Danny offers an awkward salute to the man, and then, before he can actually fall asleep standing up, he takes off to hunt down a good spot for a nap.

[retquits]

my grandfather passed last night.

i miss him more than i can express with words, so i painted my favorite photo of us instead.

thanks for teaching me so much. i hope there's good music where you are.💛

[lavendaers]

"you were pretty lucky huh?" phoebe teased, the corners of her lips turned up slightly as she tilted her head to the side. she hated the thought of not remembering him though and even hated the thought of not remembering her family even more. they were the most important people in her life. "it makes me wonder who else could show up and i'm not prepared for any of them." she shook her head, drawing in a deep breath. "i could though. i could. this place has proven that anything could happen. i could die tomorrow and wake up with absolutely no memories of you or anyone i love. i know you will though and i love you for that."

Coop softly chuckles and hugs her a little closer. "Oh, I was head over heals for the beautiful woman down the hall. Never imagined I was so lucky for her to actually already be my wife." He says smiling down at her while enjoying the sight of her relaxing into his touch. "It's understandable not to expect her here. I hadn't either and now I'm thinking who else may show up one day." The Cupid leans his head down resting his lips upon the top of her head for a long moment as his hand moves in a comforting motion on her back. "You're not going to lose her again here, you have plenty of time to work through that fear. Go at your pace but don't close off your heart to everything you're feeling. Take it bit by bit and if you ever feel overwhelmed, I'll be right here to help you carry it."

[kyuhu]

love is in the air or maybe not idk

[henwilsons]

THE HAUNTING OF BLY MANOR  ↳ 1.04 | 1.09

[atomicpirateperson]

rob's static 📺

if you're not aware, rob's static changes with his emotions, so i decided to analyze it for fun in a stupid post with gifs <3

dark: rob's static turning dark is generally for negative emotions, but not exclusively so. it's most often shown when he's feeling grumpy or evil, but also can indicate sadness, guilt, pain, realization, physical effort, or just being theatrical.

bright: his static getting brighter is often for joy or confidence. it's associated with adrenaline like excitement and surprise, as well as distraction, confusion, and tension. in the case of intense, aggressive anger, his static turns bright instead of dark.

flashing: his static flashing quickly between bright and dark most often indicates intense anger. the static having a single bright flash can show sudden pain, especially if followed by darkness. a slower flashing can mean fear or panic, like a warning signal.

rapid: the static speeding up significantly is like a heart rate speeding up, and is another sign of intense anger. it also occasionally means fear, excitement or confusion.

okay so "dead" and this next bit aren't really emotions, but they are worth mentioning. when rob is dead (or at least paralyzed?) his static goes dark and very slow, and because he was literally turned off with the remote, a power sign is displayed.

as far as i know this only happens once, in the scene shown above, but his static can zoom in/out to display him tensing up and relaxing.

and that's nearly all i have to say about that! btw the animators don't do things with his static in every scene, sometimes it just stays, well, static LMAO

here are some extra examples from the show:

[devilsmenu]

"Sometimes it's not meant to be like we thought" Sally said with a small sigh. "Gladly it didn't took him too long to recover his memories".

(¸.• ♛ → "oh, that's okay, well, i guess you could say that." it didn't work out just because they died and everything was just over, now she has no idea if diego was going to show up eventually in this place. "oh, i'm sorry about this, i've heard that can happen here."

[xan-izme]

𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞𝐬

Prologue

Part 1

Your mother was a beautiful kind and dangerous woman. In short. She was a Falcone. And for young Bruce, being with her was a thrill. Being Batman gave him a thrill, but your mother was a different kind of thrill.

Till she got pregnant. And the thrill was gone.

Your mother kept you of course. Counting the days till she gets to hold you in her arms. And when she finally got to hold you, to feel you close and hear your sweet little voice. The rest of the Falcone men decided that your mother wasn't ready to take care of you. So, they forced you out of her arms and sent you to Bruce.

Bruce held you once. And immediately passed you to Alfred. He was too young to become a father. (Never mind the fact he was already acting as a father to two boys)

He didn't have time to play daddy. Deep down Bruce did come to care for you over the years and attempted to try and hold you. But then Jason died, Dick distanced himself. Holding you, an innocent little thing, felt wrong.

When you were eight. You had tantrums. Night terrors. terribly scared of the dark. Thunderstorms especially. Gotham famous for its long dark nights and loud thunderstorms. Bruce, too busy with his new sidekick, Tim. Didn't have time to comfort you. No matter how heartbreaking your scrams for him were. Crying for him, so he can save you from whatever nightmare you have woken from.

But only Alfred occasionally Dick, would come and save you.

Bruce would give you toys, new dresses as a form of apology. He wouldn't give it to you directly. But have Alfred give it to you or leave it in your room when asleep. But no matter how many new toys he gives you. Those nightmares just never stopped.

Due to the neglect. Your mother was able to meet with you secretly. As years passed, she was able to steal you away when Alfred wasn't hovering around you. Take you to shop and give you whatever you wanted. Holding you in her arms and not wanting to let go.

Slowly, your mother was gaining the favor of some of the Falcones. To let her have you back. To welcome you back into the Falcone family. Once she gets the whole family to agree. She can make a case of child neglect against Bruce Wayne and take her sweet Babygirl back.

But when you were ten. Your powers began to kick in. You told Bruce, hoping your father would help you. Help you understand. Bruce, told you to keep it a secret. And to tell no one else.

Having a kid who was a meta was the last thing he needed at the moment. Trying to re-connect with Jason who still had deep hate for him instead focusing on his first-born child who was struggling to understand.

You felt like a freak.

And it wasn't long till you lost control of your powers. To keep it short. You accidently killed a few other kids with your powers. It was an accident. You swore. You see you would have just been left off. Your a kid. It was an accident. But most of all your a Wayne. But one of the kids you killed was a Falcone.

And Bruce couldn't risk you getting killed. He cared about you. Just not as much as he should. So, to avoid the wrath of the Falcone's. Bruce had to claim you were mentally ill. Sending you to Arkham. Only for a few months. That's what he said to you. That's what he promised.

You did your six months in Arkham. Six months turned to eight. Eight months turned to ten. Ten months turned to two years. Then finally, you were taken out from your cell. Lead by two prison guards. They said you had a visitor. You assumed it was another reporter. But was proven wrong when you see Bruce on the other side of the thick glass. You were shocked but happy to see your father.

"Daddy." You spoke softly as you slowly smile, putting your hand on the glass. Bruce hesitates to put his hand on the glass, once he does, he focused back to you. Your eyes stared at him with so much love and hope.

". . . Your case. . . the court decided you're, too unstable to attend court, so. . ." Bruce didn't look at you as he spoke. So, he couldn't see the smile on your face fade. Confusion taking over.

"But. . . I did my six months. . . I-I've been here for a year! Daddy, please I didn't do it on purpose!" You were on the edge of crying.

"I promise. I'll get you out of here as soon as I can." Bruce wanted to try and console you. But that was harder due to the glass between you two. He reaches out his hand to the glass once more. But the loud buzz that queued it was time for you to get back to your cell.

"Please Daddy don't let them take me!" You cried, putting both hands on the glass. You were in full despair. Bruce didn't know what to do. He can take the risk from the Falcones and get you out with a snap of his fingers. Or he can make it easy for everyone but you and wait till you serve your time.

". . . I'm sorry" Bruce can see you falling deeper and deeper into dispare.

Guards burst from the doors and had to forcefully take you away.

"No- No! Daddy please! DADDY!" Your screamed louder as the guards took you away, reaching out to Bruce who just stood there. And did nothing. As always.

Seven years later.

No one ever visited you again. Well, no one from the Waynes. But your mother visited you every week. Her visits where the only reason you kept saine.

Arkham isn't all fun and games. Obviously. You were immitted into Arkham's fucked version of rehabilitation. You started hearing things after your first month in Arkham.

. . .

You sent letters almost every day to the Wayne manor. But never got any back. None from Bruce. None from Dick. You and Tim weren't close. So, you didn't expect anything from him. Alfred prefers to call you. Wanting to hear your voice to make sure you were not lying to him when he asks of your wellbeing.

You stopped sending letters to Bruce a few months ago. Not like he'll respond anyway. You don't need Bruce. You have your mother. And she's all you'll need. She's your world now, your reason to keep living this pointless life. And once you're out, Mama promised to give you a big hug. Which you so desperately needed.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

"𝙸 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚢. . . 𝚍𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚖𝚎?"