#even tho he’s now just a ghost…

[kumakooo]

So I listened to Sasha Slex Soan - Dancing With Your Ghost and it gave me big feels of Mob!Beary and Mob!Whisky and I JUST

SO MANY FEELINGS

Okay OKAY, it's really their song. I almost cried when I drew this, my poor babies😭

[wyvernity]

been thinking about the sinnohtrio lately......plus misc other stuff

also, casual ko-fi drop!! get something in this sketchy style starting at $10 woop woop

[spaceistheplaceart]

found an old ekurei comic rotting in my files, decided to finish it. upon my rewatch of mp100 i kept noticing how many times dimple was referred to as a pet- but he's not ! ! ! he's a friend :)

[natelia-aldelliz]

Ghost after meeting Soap.

Price : Have you slept?

Ghost : Depends what day it is

Price : Go to bed.

[starry-bi-sky]

I'm in A Mood™ (stressed) so im going back to my roots of melting two character together into one person. So bruce wayne!danny fenton. Danny Fenton who, for eight years, grew up in a beautiful gothic manor with his mom and dad under the name "Bruce Wayne". Playing piano with his mother, running around the manor with his father.

Then when he's eight it's ripped away from him. There's blood on his hands and pearls pooling at his feet, and both his parents are dead in front of him.

And he gets shipped off to distant relatives "the Fentons" shortly after, Alfred close on his heels because someone needs to take care of him, someone that knows him. Bruce goes to the Fentons for the safety of anonymity. Gotham's press wants to sink its teeth into him.

Danny misses his city even if it took everything from him. There are shadows in his eyes and he's pale as a sheet even beside his distant cousins, and they change his name to "Danny Fenton' because nobody should know that their newest child was illustrious orphan Bruce Wayne.

They call him Bruce behind closed doors. Danny prefers it that way, he clings onto the name -- the one his parents gave him -- like a lifeline. He makes friends with Sam and Tucker. Tucker takes one look at the willowy, morbid little boy standing in the corner like a shade, ghosts in his eyes, and drags him out into the sunlight, and takes him over to Sam.

When Danny is twelve, he's still not over it -- and he's a little obsessed with the Fentons' research, with the morbid. He has books upon books on death, murder, detective work. Anything he can get his hands on. And stars. He loves stars.

Alfred owns the apartment next to them and comes over regularly. Danny clings to him.

When Danny is twelve, he's still quiet, meek, a shy little thing prone to being bullied. Freaky little Fenton with the night in his eyes and too-cold skin even before he put one foot in the grave. in a sleepover in his room with Sam and Tucker, he tells them the truth. They're his friends, he trusts them.

"My name is Bruce." he murmurs, voice quiet as the breeze, always quiet. he's staring at his star-covered sheets.

"Like Bruce Wayne?" Tucker asks, a joking tone in his voice.

Danny smiles a little, lamb-like with insecurity. "I am Bruce Wayne." And he takes them down to the lab, disrupting Maddie and Jack, to prove it. Sam tells them of her own wealth then shortly after. They start calling Danny "Bruce" in private too -- its trust. Thats what it is. It's trust.

Sam goes to media functions and comes back with aching feet and complaints on her tongue -- and Danny soaks it up all like a sponge, splayed across a beanbag chair with Tucker in her room. He's not envious of her, he used to go to events with his parents and they kept him safe from the ugly of Gotham's Elite. For the most part. He's had comments made at him, he doesn't miss them.

Alfred returns to the manor semi-regularly, Danny goes with him. he wanders the hallways and helps Alfred clean, the last thing either of them want is for their home to fall into disrepair. He brings Jazz with him next time, then Tucker, then Sam. They all help him clean, and he shows them his room. The one across from his parents', it feels strange.

When Danny dies when he's fourteen, the first adult he tells is Alfred. He and Jazz go over to his house more often than they stay in the Fentonworks building. At least at Alfred's, the food doesn't come to life. Alfred sits at the kitchen table and weeps when Danny tells him, Jazz is upstairs, and its just the two of them.

Danny's ghost form wears pearls around his wrist and the gloves look stained with some kind of black substance. He looks like a child who died in a lab accident, but he also looks like a child who has shadows dripping off his shoulders, curling at his feet, hanging from his eyes.

because amorphous blob batman has my heart always and danny/bruce will not escape it even in death even if that IS the only reason im giving him Mild BatBlob Vibes...so far

when they go to the manor, alfred helps danny make a pile of stones between Martha and Thomas' graves, nobody but the two of them (and sam and tucker) will know what it means. (not even bruce's children later down the line, not for a long, long time)

danny dives into ghost fighting on shaky feet and not half as witty as he once was in one world. he's skittish, skittering between blasts from shadow to shadow and clumsily making his way through each battle. but helping people lights a fire in him. he still has shadows dripping off his feet but there's a purpose in his eyes.

and god help him, he's going to help people.

[little-pondhead]

I’m Not The Sun

—

Y'know, when Kon ‘died’, do you think a grieving Tim could have mistaken Danny for his best friend? Do you think that, in a moment of desperation and exhaustion, he might've kidnapped a floating Danny in an attempt to bring Kon home? And when he realized he kidnapped a random civilian, do you think he still kept Danny for a while as a replacement for Kon?

Do you think Danny got tired of being called 'Conner' after the first week but was too distressed himself to correct Tim? Trying to leave or tell the fellow teen his name was Danny was obviously sending the kid into a spiral. He seemed to think Danny was the dead spirit of his best friend. Maybe if he played along, this Conner guy would show back up?

Hopefully, before Tim completes his cloning research. Danny's been doing everything he can to sabotage the equipment, but even with ghost powers on his side, Tim is a smart person. Every time Danny sets him back one step, Tim takes two steps forward. And since he's well outside of his haunt, Danny is starting to feel weak and ill from lack of ectoplasm. He's running out of time.

Do you think Kon would feel upset that his best friend replaced him?

[bacchuschucklefuck]

love thinking kipperlilly spends her afterlife looking for lucy in a familiar forest

[kindaasrikal]

Morro except after all the healing and growing he meets the preeminent again and she destroys his mental state, leaving him once again without his sanity.

[freaky-flawless]

Well...damn.

I finally watched The Phantom of the Opera, and now I have to grapple with how much Operetta makes absolutely no sense.

Like I'm wracking my brain, and the only conclusion I've come to is that she'd make sense if she wasn't a ghost at all, but a siren.

Maybe after years of being cast out by his fellow humans, Erik finds refuge in the monster world which welcomes him with open arms, and also gives him the chance for a new start.

And given his love of opera, he falls in love with a siren and they have a child together. Thusly making Operetta half human, half siren.

This way, she can keep her hypnotizing voice, since she sure as hell wouldn't have gotten it from Erik.

[oneluckydragon]

got hit with the echo+sora brainrot so i am once more rambling in your askbox about it. because reasons.

anywho i think there is something truly saddening about echo's struggles to make peace within herself and how she truly finds it hard to find that peace when she is so certain that if the truth about her origins were to be revealed to the world, much less to *sora*, everything she achieved, everything she worked for, all of which matters to her most, will crumble away in a moment's notice.

but the fear of losing all your life's work is none compared to the fear of losing sora. the feeling of poison that settled itself within themselves and between each other out of fear and tragedy of what had happened to them is familiar. echo's resemblance to dusknoir was already enough to set the two off because of how much it had all hurt to see someone you love and yourself turn into a mockery and a splitting image of someone who had pretended to care yet showed he never did at all, but this poison is louder. it hurts to bare, to carry, and to have none but yourself to be its sole holder.

but this poison, this feeling of heartache is different. because whereas the previous pain was something both of them felt, sora was lucky enough to not have known the truth about the person who she cares for so dearly.

echo knows that she used to be darkrai. and it haunts her to have known that her previous incarnation was so *cruel*, all for the sake of it just feeling right. wishing to engulf an entire world in darkness, solely for whatever desire she used to have.

and for how much she knows, how much she will hammer it into her own head that she is *not* like that anymore, that she looks at her past with sneer and disgust and that she will not be the barer of evil anymore, it will not matter in the slightest when she will have to look at sora if she were to ever find out.

how afraid, angry and dejected she would look when finding out, and how she will go on the defense/offense because of how much this will overwhelm her.

because when echo looks at her own shadow, she sees herself for what she is. she knows what she is, be it out of shame or guilt.

but when sora will look at it, she will see a tall, contorting and menacing shadow, towering over with a bright cyan eye doing nothing but looking at her, as if tempting her to make the next move.

and she defends herself. from someone she knows will not harm her. she raises her arms up in self defense from a hand that would never hurt her more than the world has already did.

she knows echo will not hurt her. and thats why she is afraid.

Oh my oh my OH MY, Sinnoh!!! YES YES YES!

HOW!!! IN THE WORLD!!! Are you so good at crawling into my head and creating these vivid analysis/snippets on my OCs??? I've barely shared ANY information about Echo and Sora because I've been wanting to hoard most of my stuff for when my fic is finally finished... but... I think you've broken my resolve a bit, if I'm entirely honest.

You know what? I'm so inspired by your accuracy and eagerness to talk about my girls that I'm gonna forgo my crippling anxiety regarding my writing skills and instead post a snippet of my WIP fic here as a treat for you. A teaser, if you will. Since I have no idea when the fic in question will actually be done and ready (or when I will be satisfied with it, cause the thing is currently 36,000 words and still slowly climbing). And now you've got me eager to share SOMETHING of my fic with you and anyone that might want to take a peek at it.

Please enjoy this conversation between Dusknoir and Echo. The topic deals a lot with what you'd described up above!! c:

[Note: this is an unedited part of my fic because I am still in the process of writing and it may change in the future, so please be gentle w/ me but I'd love to read any thoughts/comments that pop up while reading!! pls send asks or replies or anything really cause I love you guys]

+++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++ +++

“I’m going to tell you something now, and you are going to listen.” Echo commands with a sharp bite in her voice that Dusknoir cannot fathom ignoring. He pauses and then offers a slow nod, waiting, wondering what she could possibly desire to tell him at a time like this, of all things.

Minutes pass as Echo remains rooted in place, still as her own shadow, and her eyes dart around as she stares at the patches of dry grass and sand beneath her paws. Her claws clench and unclench, digging into the earth like daggers as the wind of the forest (it’s trees so close, just behind them, a looming sort of presence that could engulf them whole) whistles through the surrounding branches, carrying stray leaves of many bright greens through the chilling breeze. Dusknoir watches them dance around Echo, twirling, floating down, down, down… but it’s quiet, too quiet, and Dusknoir feels a shiver pass through him when Echo’s voice finally rings out through the silence.

"When I evolved, Sora was petrified," She says, nearly a whisper, an admission that melts away her confidence and appears to bring her a flood of both shame and regret. Her face twists up then, strangely, like she’d felt a twinge of pain from somewhere deep inside the very fabric of her own soul and was unable to quell it. "She couldn’t even bring herself to look at me most days. At first, my appearance… well, it reminded her too much of you. And eventually of someone I used to be.”

Someone I used to be. At that, Dusknoir’s immediate reaction is to recall Echo’s previous life as a human, as the miserable shell of a creature surviving alongside Grovyle that he’d relentlessly hunted in the dark future. A human made of contempt and anger and apathy, who never smiled or laughed or cried or screamed like the old legends said humans would-- an entity that simply existed rather than lived. An echo of a life long dead and buried. But, judging by her tone, by her voice, by some uneasy intuition itching in the back of his mind like a swarm of pestilent Ninjask… he knows that she means something else entirely. Something that she isn’t willing to share. And frankly, that concept utterly terrifies him.

Someone I used to be. Dusknoir wants to speak, to break his own silence, wants to ask the myriad of questions bubbling up in his throat because this isn't the first time she's hinted at another life beyond being human, but those questions die at the source like a flame doused in water. And always the coward, coward, coward, instead he takes the easy way out by doing nothing at all. Whether Echo notices his surge of inner conflict or not-- the nervous wring of his hands and the tremble in his spine that he cannot control under her gaze-- she does not react.

“I’d take a step and Sora would flinch away.” Echo confesses, her markings flickering with light before going dark and dead, as if her body wished to snuff them out entirely, a deep seated rejection, a self-loathing so strong that Dusknoir cannot help but recognize it and empathize, and his heart aches, “It took ages for her to stop shaking when I’d speak. To stop looking at me like-- like I was going to…” 

Echo grimaces like she’s enduring waves of grueling torture and doesn’t finish that string of thought, but it’s not hard to make an educated guess on what went unsaid. Like I was going to betray her. Hurt her. Break her heart. She’s been through so much already and I couldn’t bear to be another influence in the history of her suffering. I hate myself because of how I made her feel. When her eyes went wide in fear and through them I could see myself staring back like some sort of burden, some sort of curse.

“I am not my past.” Proud and true, Echo straightens up and holds her head high, a spark igniting in her eyes, a glint of determination, a will to keep going and going despite such circumstances and strife, despite this horrid, unspeakable past that haunts her so, “And I am definitely not you. It’s taken a while, but I know that much now. I’ve accepted it.”

I am not my past. And I am definitely not you.

A sigh, a breath, and Echo glances at him with a certain sorrow that cannot be described, a sorrow that lingers even through the veil of her tenacity, "But no matter how I feel, no matter my conviction, my shadows still find ways through the cracks. Every time I think I'm getting a grip and that I might finally understand myself… I change all over again." She admits, sounding more angry and tired than defeated now-- like a mirror of her old self, her human self that had clawed and damned and cursed him, despised him more than anything. "I hate it. I hate that I never truly know who I am. That I have to learn about my past through stories others tell me, or through fragments of twisted, broken memories that I wouldn't wish on anyone. Through conflict and pain and… and..."

"Echo," Dusknoir murmurs her name softly, an offering, a potential escape if only she would wish to drop the subject and forget this conversation had ever happened-- if she'd overstepped and needed an excuse to back out, a diversion, an understanding. And briefly, Dusknoir wonders why she is opening up about this particular information, why she would delve into something so vulnerable, so personal. Why she would bring up this hurtful history when it obviously brings her great discomfort.

And then, he gets an answer.

“You’re lucky, Dusknoir." There it is, that wildfire burning in her eyes again. A spark that’s new and bold and startling. But lucky? No, never. He'd have to disagree, accounting the mountain of evidence that was his life and regrettable deeds.

"You already know exactly who you are and what you’ve done, and most importantly why. You have more than a tattered picture of yourself that reflects broken answers. And you can change with that knowledge. I see you trying.” She tells him, searching, looking for something so deeply and Dusknoir wishes he knew what it could be so that he could give it to her, because he would, he would gladly give it to her without a second thought if it meant they could be close again. But he isn’t a fool, and he’s wise enough to know they’ll never be like they were before. “And if somehow I could change, even as half-assed as I have. Well, then what’s your excuse?”

You can do it, say her unspoken words, I believe in you.

[justarandomlambblog]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 [END]

The second shackle comes off

Get adopted and feel loved, mangey cat

We're gonna pretend I didn't give Heket the wrong shaped crown aight? aught 👍

(explanation beneath the cut bc I didn't want dialogue)

The harvest comes. Narinder can't help but notice how sad the wheat fields are, the wheat growing small and patchy at best. He remembers how Heket would make the wheat fields flourish just by walking between the stalks. The memory of the fields she would create early in their godhood makes him feel somber, realizing now what the cost of being a godless land is; their entire lives are left to the limitations of the earth, without any god to help them thrive. These people are making the best of what they have, and they're happy even though it's not a lot.

Narinder notices some are harvesting wheat while others till the earth once it's been harvested, and the old dog explains that once this wheat is harvested they plant "winter wheat", which can be harvested in the spring before they plant their summer wheat. They till and fertilize the earth before planting the winter wheat, of course. Narinder tries his hand at harvesting the wheat, and the old dog begins to teach him how to use the sickle. Time passes.

Over the late summer, autumn and winter, Narinder learns how to live this provincial, modest life. He tills the fields with the other villagers, he sees feral beasts for the first time in over a thousand years, learns to collect eggs from said feral beasts, learns how and decides he doesn't like to collect milk (the godless lands have more feral beasts than the Lands of the Old Faith ever did), has finally regained enough strength to draw water from the village well without help, learns to bake bread (with great amounts of help so as to not waste the precious resources with the inevitable first fifty failures), and attends his first lantern festival. All in all, this marks his approach to his second year here, most of his first year spent indoors recovering. (His fur is also getting long, something something new me new hair something (totally not an excuse for me to draw hair))

At his first lantern festival, Narinder decides to partake in what is usually a coming of age tradition for the village; he gets an ear piercing, choosing a symbol that will essentially act as his written name. He chooses a symbol that is a crescent moon inside of a sun, thinking of Aym and Baal when he sees it. (Note: He is not scared/nervous about the ear piercing, he isn't bothered by a literal pinprick of pain, but the fact that someone he barely knows is this close with a needle is what worries him)

Later on, days or even weeks later, the old dog gives him a chain with their individual symbols on it, with a loose chain hanging from the other side of Narinder's sun-and-moon charm. Narinder questions this and the old dog explains the symbolism behind the charms; two charms with a chain extending between them indicates marriage/partnership, and two charms with another charm on the chain between them indicates that couple's child/children. The one Narinder has is the latter, with the second parent's charm missing, indicating that the old dog views Narinder as his own son, now. It takes a moment, but Narinder realizes all at once that this is the old dog's way of extending an invitation to become family- and it's been so long since Narinder had a family... (And yes, the old dog is fully aware that this cat is thousands of years old (Narinder was very vocal about this in the first weeks before he eventually stopped bringing it up), but that won't stop him from deciding he's gonna be this abandoned, fallen god's new family)

Narinder goes to sleep, and finds that despite everything- despite how simple and quaint and, frankly, not easy life in this little godless village is, he's happy. He has none of the luxuries that he had as a Bishop; no worship, no reverence, no servants, no silks or satins or veils or anything of the sort. Here he's just... one of the people. Just another face in the crowd. And he's happy. Happier than he's been in a long time. Unfortunately for Narinder, he is failing to realize that this godless village is a little less godless every day he's there. But that's not necessarily a bad thing.

The village wakes up to their fields flourishing like they never have before. The wheat is taller than the tallest villager, and no one is really sure what to do about this, but there is excitement throughout the village. Narinder thinks of Heket again, reminded once more how she would make the fields come alive. The shackle on his left hand opens up before dispersing into light, and he remembers the way she looked at him in the days leading up to his imprisonment, the quiet and somber warnings she would give him. He takes a moment to grieve before turning his attention back to the present, back to the family he's creating now.

[ninashiki]

i feel like almost everything in utena has sort of already been extensively discussed in the last two (almost three) decades of utena's existence (not that there aren't new interpretations to be made, there always are) besides black rose arc (mikage+mamiya+tokiko). which is why they're so much fun to think about. i think the need to read between the lines makes it unfortunately easy to misunderstand or look past obvious stuff if you don't pay attention, but to me it's always been really obvious that mikage's arc is a literal representation of the erasure of queerness in ohtori (society?) by akio/everything he represents. and that's so fucking tragic! nemuro was never able to find a name for his desires. he lived and died as a puppet in the shadows.

[engagemythrusters]

okay so my current experiment in BDG3 is "what happens if you only recruit astarion in act 3"

how do i do that? shoot him down from afar before he talks to me, then rob him literally naked, then pass his corpse off to a character I don't plan on taking out and about with me this time. they'll carry the corpse until act three, then dump him after i murderise cazador. i'll see if i can revive him after that (or see if that ability wears off after act 1).

maybe someone has done this before. i don't know. don't tell me. this is my fun experiment.

[donaviolet]

Friendship is the most special thing in the world because no award could be give me bigger happiness than jumping around in my room and smiling because my pookie asked me if I wanted to match pfps

[bunnihearted]

🐇💭

[cowboy-robooty]

imma be real with u guys i actually unironically love danganronpa but only the source content i hate 99.99999% of fan content so fucking much.

LISTEN THIS IS A HETALIA BLOG NONE OF US ARE BETTER THAN DANGANRONPAERS AND EVERYONE WHO IS UNAWARE NEEDS TO UNDERSTAND DANGANRONAPERS TREAT KOKICHI THE WAY HETALIA FANS TREAT ENGLAND. EXCEPT WORSE. SOMEHOW 100000x WORSE