#casper jones

[ghostiiest]

idk silly thing i forgot to post… theyre blasting off again

[daisychainsandbowties]

Is there anything more beautiful and tragic than Lilith’s self-destructive longing to be loved?

i wrote a little something for this. a little bit of davy jones au

/// lullabies in salt

Lilith sings to her, sometimes, when the ship becomes a ghost and all of her crew are just specks of watery light. They move through the rigging, each one turning into what they really are.

Or what they long to be – Lilith has never been certain of this as she stands alone among them all, watching as eels curl around ropes dangling unattended, as crabs wander the deck with their claws scraping softly on soft wood.

Jellyfish strung like floating lanterns up above as thought trying to replace the night sky.

Her crew, to whom she is not gentle, and yet here they are in their simplest form; their wishful thinking that endures to this depth and makes light for her where there should be none. She has watched their bodies change, like hers, over the years.

(there is no need to admit to herself that she has lost count of them)

They are always so astonishingly alive in the beginning, and of course Lilith is just a ghoul to them. She has to be. Pacing by day in her coat that always drips cold water, her swords lending weight to her hips where flesh and fat and all her girlish ends of her have faded away.

She’s seen how they look at her – eyes bloodshot, gleaming in the candles her crew carry with them onto the wreckage of ships. Lilith wonders each time if this makes for a better ending, as she paces in front of the survivors where they kneel in their shallow saltwater graves, variously bloodied and always on the edge of death.

Her crew, who have all made the same poor choices, whisper that it is. Better.

“Why?” she asks them, her voice moving like water over sand.

Her crew, who she thinks of as beautiful because what else to think or to feel about them? Their faces cracked open by barnacles and occupied by every crawling thing that lives inside the ocean. A girl of seventeen (dead) who did not endure the crossing from England; her eyes replaced by the broad caps of jellyfish, who looked up from her whalebone dice and said, “It’s better to have a choice, I think.”

Even now, she is shy, though the sea has reclaimed all of her girlishness. Her forearms are chitin and her teeth are coral, and even as Lilith stood by, waiting for her to summon her voice again, a tiny krill crawled out of her left ear and settled on the lobe like an earring.

The girl touched it, smiling, as though a pretty boy (or another pretty girl, Lilith supposes) had set it there with bare hands. “I wasn’t ready to be dead,” she told Lilith, quiet but fierce, “And I don’t regret this.”

“You will.”

As the ship falls, passing out of sight of sunlight, Lilith searches for the marshlight of that girl in the strung-shadows, in the ghosts. There are a few she suspects.

One, a dolphin turning loops around the mainmast. It is the pink kind that live out somewhere on the continent west of Europe – oh, Lilith can’t remember the names they put on maps. What she remembers, from the queer knowing of things that is her deathbed companion, is that this creature is a freshwater thing and does not belong here.

Its shape climbs and climbs, into the crow’s nest, and then the ship shudders. They are done descending.

The light vanishes.

Lilith steps away from the wheel, fingers unsticking reluctantly from the barnacle-choked wood. Maybe there is no wood left at all, she realises, taking in the twitching mass of creatures that have consumed every inch of what was once a clean and solid shape.

(what has she done to them?)

Her memory is cloth eaten by moths, and all of this is probably her fault, but she cannot remember why.

Sometimes, when she falls asleep (at last. Always at last) with the ship’s organ falling silent around her, she dreams of a rainswept shore. Scrawny palm trees and dried seaweed strewn along the sand.

Kneeling there like one of the flotsam she fetches out of the sea, face uptilted to taste the rain, to feel it run between her teeth. One last taste before her trembling hand raises something that makes her fist ache. She is shirtless in her dream, lurid in the shine off of drenched skin. Her scars all laid bare for that ruined island to see.

(did she burn them out of their little church on the hillside. did she paint the parish bell with blood and turn the neat little houses to cinders. did she-)

Perhaps the island was deserted when she came, rowing away from the Dutchman in the longboat with her crew watching in their silent way. Arms flung over the railings, hands fiddling with bits of wood or scraps of leather.

She went to where they could not witness her and stripped down. Laying her coat over a fallen tree and leaving her shirt as a smear of white on the sand, weighted by rain. She kept her pants (she has others) and knelt, placing every last letter into the box. A handful of flowers long turned dry and delicate as she shielded them from the rain, snapping the lid shut to protect them.

Turning instead to a smaller chest, all filigreed in the shape of sea creatures. Lilith didn’t make it herself. In the way of things, the ocean brought it to her in the ruins of a dying ship. It knows her mind and what she intends, and there is only a little mockery in the gifting of a chest.

(a locker)

 Sailors, among all types of men, are good at poetry because they see so little of it.

And so much.  

Lilith has seen so much and she remembers certain things with clarity like crystal – warped, but unashamed. Carrying light somewhere, if not where it needs to go, if not exactly all the way to the eye of the beholder.

She remembers kneeling, naked, and something in her hand (terrible) and tears tracking toward her mouth to make the freshwater taste of rain vanish. It was a knife, she thinks, that left hard welts in the flesh of her hand and made her bruise for days.

Her palm a cup of bluegrey turning green, turning yellow, turning on her as she walked unsteadily through the ship.

(and lilith is no fool)

She knows what she’s missing, and few besides her know that it is difficult to walk without a heartbeat – that there’s a rhythm to it. Stumbling like a drunk for days with the ship all run dry of rum.

“When do we make port?”

Her crew, as things crawled up on the deck.

They were afraid at first to become more like the sea, lashing out so she tipped more than one eviscerated body over the railing in that first week. Bodies weighted like anchors to their doom, since they could not sleep without serving her.

(she came back, later, and found them in their shallow graves alongside hidden reefs or close to islands they used to visit in passing, just to lay on the beaches and drink)

“Sorry captain.” Voices almost vanished into seawater and the soft rolling of waves across the ocean floor. “Glad you came back for me.”

(what else could she do? this is all her fault)

 It was cheating, but Lilith made deals and traded favours with other ships to get them supplies. “I’m a ghost, if anyone asks,” she’d tell their captains, who were always variously afraid of her. “Speak of this at all of your own volition and I will send her to find you.”

“Who?”

Only the daring ones asked, and sadly Lilith liked the daring ones. Their smiles and how their fingers lingered on her cold wet hands, fascinated instead of repulsed – give it time.

A hunger to them as they stepped a little closer – they met on her ship, and in their eyes it was because she preferred it this way, and not because her ship would not allow her to leave. “Who will you send?”

She’d smile, like a girl who did not need to keep secrets, “The sea.”

It was close enough to the truth. Lilith does not remember anything of how it came to this, but she sourced paint, canvas, charcoals and paper and anything her crew might need to remember for her. All of her kindest acts have been out of fear.

In their stumbling and then better and then beautiful attempts at painting, or sketching, Lilith has seen the bottom of the ocean as it changes over years. The crawl of objects along the ocean floor as the waves return. They are more loyal than the rest of the world together.

Sometimes she would be stupid and end up in her cabin with one of these odd little artists – her crew which is a collective and also individual. Individuals.

They were like anyone else to fuck – messy, and good, and quiet afterwards, tracing the mark of her own sword on some crewmember’s stomach.

Of course she is not so much of a fool as to say, “Who did this to you?” even in jest, but she wonders.

Who did this?

It doesn’t feel like her, but she remembers and it was and she left markings on her map at each place where she sent a panicked body over the railing.

All of them were right as they came at her with cutlass, saber, chunks of rotting wood.

“You did this to us.”

(and she did. she did)

It is not punishment enough, she knows, to have watched them change, one by one. Bodies she knew – fucked, cooked for, defended with her own – turned to bodies she only recognises because she never looked away. Afraid to blink, sometimes.

She gave them paper and paint so that they could remember, and there is a little booklet in the dry-store of her crew before, or halfway through. Her crew slowly undone as the Dutchman turns and turns around the ocean like a tiger in a cage.

And she is not brave enough to remember why she did it to them.

Lilith has no interest in drawing things, or putting smears of colour down to try, try, try and represent what happened to her. Lilith is a liar, and that should make her an artist too, but she takes what she has and puts it onto piano keys.

Happy, in the end, to remember little beyond her own naked chest. Nothing but a beach, a knife, a bloody shape in her hand.

(still beating)

It has been like this forever. Lilith with lichen growing out of her hairline and glassy teeth growing under the veins in her wrists. As a child she read about Moray eels and their teeth, and as usual her dreams have come back to infect her.

She is sick with longing, disfigured by it, and sometimes she wakes up with her arms bloody and soaking her bedsheets. Prongs of a glasslike substance sticking out of her wrists – and it is terrifying, but Lilith cannot die.

(and ‘cannot’ is a terrible thing, even when it is about death)

Tonight the ocean is calm and nothing has died, so Lilith moved through her crew. Oh, they are quiet sometimes especially when the stars come out. Night so clear you can feel it reaching for you.

Their voices all around her and their hands reaching out, sliding off her slick skin. Lilith, their fresh-drowned corpse, with new shapes sprouting now from her jawline. Following it all the way home into her mouth.

She loves their hands. She loves them.

The new ones as yet unbroken by the slow crawl of time, with their human faces. Almost, now, she finds their eyes unnerving – all simple shades of brown or blue or black or hazel or grey. There is so much weather in these living-dead things. So much of land.

As the sun fell she moved through them, listening, composing something in her head that sounded already as though it would be a sad song. She is good with only two emotions in music.

Anger, and this strange melancholy that falls over her crew when there are no bodies to collect. No limbs floating in the water and no blood in the seafoam.

No sharks.

“Let’s go down”

                                                      “Lilith”

                       “Captain”

    “Let’s go down”

Lilith has seen more of the ocean than anyone alive. Her body is spyglass, map, compass, and complicated in all the ways that saltwater is. There are no clean deaths out here.

Only drownings.

She took them down, waves rushing up the length of the ship to swallow their bodies one by one and how they floated for a while as the crushing took hold. Their bodies ignored it, and Lilith felt only the familiar ache in her wrists.

Here, at least, she cannot drip water onto the deck beneath her like a poor excuse for a heartbeat. Her crew were, at first, themselves.

She hates to find them beautiful, but there’s a helplessness to it; to Lilith and her long acquaintance with the sea.

I miss you.

The thought stepped out like a ghost to frighten her, and Lilith flinched against the wheel, but she did not let it go. Beach, knife, rainwater, and a bead of sharp pain somewhere on her chest.

Sand, blood, and the water catching up to catch her, and drinking it down.

“Are you thirsty, Lil?” (a voice she does not know)

Her crew are beautiful. They are the ocean and they are her and they float so perfectly as the ship descends, dragging their shapes out of sight. Light-swallowed and turning into light as they unravel.

(she will not describe them)

Only their ghosts, strung up into blurry wavelengths as the depths settle like an absent heartbeat around her. Quiet as her grave.

Lilith waits.

Her ship is lost now, barnacles loose in the water around her as they try to flee. (where? there is nowhere to go)

Catching one, she turns it over, watching as featherlike cirri tease from its tip, combing the water even now for food. It is not afraid of her, or it would have retreated into its shell, and Lilith lets its tiny appendages tease over her fingertips. There is plenty to eat on her skin.

She sets it on her forearm, feeling it secrete onto her skin, burrowing down among fine hairs and into flesh. There is a momentary bloom of blood in the water and then Lilith turns her attention out toward the ocean, to where a shape lurks now on the edge of seeing.

“Hello darling,” Lilith whispers, and a kraken’s arm punctures out of absolute darkness, easing toward her like a tongue parting lips, parting water. Easy as a knife parting flesh, carving out space for a ghost.

It moves through her crew, who scatter like wavelengths of light (that is all they are for now) from its path. The barnacle, newly apart of Lilith, quivers against her bones.

The arm stops, extended, a few inches from Lilith where she stands just shy of the ship’s wheel. It is cold at this depth, but Lilith cannot feel that any more than she can feel sunlight on her skin or the taste of food in her mouth.

She reaches out with her left hand so as not to scare the barnacle (who knows its place in the grand scheme even if Lilith does not) and lets the very tip of that unfathomable arm reach forward, curling all around her.

Her kraken hums and Lilith feels the reverberation of it mostly in her chest where there is plenty of room. She steps forward and the arms curls and curls – and Lilith is always dripping water but this creature is wet and she can feel it for once.

Lilith closes her eyes, feels her feet lift away from the deck and she is free, finally, of all that wood and tar, of a million nails and a thousand tiny chips in once-beautiful wood. She feels her barnacle rush toward the inside of her elbow where it burrows into the vein, opening her wide.

A blood trail follows them through the water as the kraken brings her close, away until the ship is just a mirage. Its mouth opens to show her rows of pretty teeth. Lilith has one on a leather cord around her neck, gifted accidentally by a shipwreck she visited one.

“Liar. A shipwreck you made.” (says a voice she does not know)

Its breath is only warmth here as the kraken lazes at this depth, letting faint currents shift her from side to side. They are still far from the bottom of the ocean, but this dark is preternatural anyway. This place hardly even exists.

Lilith, who has been granted space to move in the safety of the kraken’s grip, runs her hand over the suckers on its arm. It tastes her blood.

“Have you been well, dear one?” She asks this through the murk so her voice does not really travel, but the kraken hears her. She feels it twirling her lightly in place, humming more serenely as they dance farther from the ship, together.

Lilith kisses its wet flesh and looks toward her creature, her kraken, her ocean. “It is all I have, to hear that.”

It sends a small shockwave through the water in response – enough to make the barnacle shiver where it sits sipping at Lilith’s blood.

“Do you want me to sing for you?” Lilith spreads her palm over what passes for a kraken’s hand, sliding her fingers fully around the thinnest part, the very tip of its arm.

There’s a plea in its voiceless rhythm as the kraken twists in the water. There is so much of it that Lilith cannot follow every arm to its ending. Her creature is vast and it swallows the ocean around them. Everything, instead, is her.

(they are the same thing)

(ocean and kraken. ocean and girl)

Lilith sings.

[erstwhile-punk-guerito]

[vintage1981]

Celebrate 50 Years of Star Trek Animation with the Launch of Star Trek: very Short Treks

The first of five 'very Short Treks' to debut on Star Trek Day 2023 along with the first chapter of a new comic book!

Star Trek continues its salute to the 50th anniversary of Star Trek: The Animated Series with the launch of Star Trek: very Short Treks, five all-new animated promotional shorts, and the new comic book, Star Trek: The Animated Celebration Presents The Scheimer Barrier, both debuting on Friday, September 8 as part of the annual Star Trek Day global celebration.

Previously announced Star Trek Day programming and events can be found at StarTrek.com/Day.

CBS Studios is launching Star Trek: very Short Treks, a series of all-new animated promotional spots in the style of Star Trek: The Animated Series.

The very Short Treks will feature previously announced fan-favorite characters voiced by cast members from across the Star Trek universe, including icons Jonathan Frakes as Will Riker,��Doug Jones as Saru and Armin Shimerman as Quark, and a new line-up of exciting voices, including Ethan Peck as Spock, Gates McFadden as Dr. Beverly Crusher, Celia Rose Gooding as Uhura, Connor Trinneer as Trip Tucker, Bruce Horak as Hemmer, Noël Wells as Tendi and the legendary George Takei as Sulu.

Star Trek: very Short Treks comes from creative consultant Casper Kelly, best known for the viral smash hit Too Many Cooks and his work on Star Trek: Short Treks and Adult Swim. The first animated spot will launch on Star Trek Day, September 8, exclusively on StarTrek.com and the official Star Trek YouTube channel, with four additional animated spots rolling out weekly on Wednesdays through October 4 at 10:00 am PT / 1:00 pm ET. Titles and release schedule include:

September 8 – “Skin a Cat”

September 13 – “Holiday Party”

September 20 – “Worst Contact”

September 27 – “Holograms, All the Way Down”

October 4 – “Walk, Don’t Run”

Casper Kelly will also release a new comic book with IDW Publishing, Star Trek: The Animated Celebration Presents The Scheimer Barrier. The first chapter of the comic will debut digitally on September 8 on StarTrek.com with physical copies available at New York Comic Con in October.

Additional chapters of the comic will drop weekly on Wednesdays on StarTrek.com at 10:00 am PT / 1:00 pm ET.

[spacelandz]

A few reference updates and a few new designs of some of my sillies. along with some other tidbits. idk if i posted these already but i know at least one of them is New ghdvgsh

[radioactive-earthshine]

May I ask about the vaguely plotted Cissie fic? She's such a fun character, I'm really curious about what ideas you have for her

Hello!!!

This fic is just in it's infancy and planning stages. I have who, what and where and am slowly blocking out the other details.

It is a Casper AU starring Cissie and Greta where Greta is (inevitably) Casper.

The premise is mostly the same as the 1990s film (sans the Boo Brothers); Cissie moves into an old manor with her mother who is her comic self with an extremely high stress career as a publicist, that she quit for a lower stress career in the new town of [whatever the town's name will be]. Bonnie moved both herself and Cissie to the old manor as an effort to cut back on the stress of a big city and the demands of her old career.

Cissie could have remained at her boarding school, but Bonnie also wanted to try to reconnect with Cissie during this transition in her life, so much to her (awkward) displeasure they are sort of pantomiming a 'normal' relationship.

This is not a no capes AU but rather an AU where Greta's backstory has changed fundamentally and takes place during soon after Cissie quit being Arrowette.

There is fallout as a result of that with her and her mother, and the event that led to Cissie wanting to quit is a theme that haunts the narrative.

Greta, much like herself AND Casper, doesn't remember her life at all. She only knows the house, and the people that live there, and she's scared away multiple families. She is basically the same as she is in Young Justice, a Warden, but neither find out that she's not quite a real ghost until later in the story due to details which I will block out.

Cissie decides to keep her "secret" from her mother because she thinks her mother would react poorly and by damn the girl really just wants a friend and someone, anyone, to help her remember who she is.

Other story note details I have out right now is that Greta was in fact murdered by her foster brother in that house, and that's why she is terrified of the bathroom (she will go into any room but the 'guest bathroom').

Greta was murdered in the early 80s, this story takes place sometime in the early-mid 2000s. I just want Greta to be mesmerized by Blackberry phone, like one of the earlier ones. Otherwise if not, I'll push it back to the late 90s and have her be amazed at a DVD.

The main sort of 'plot' is Cissie trying to help solve Greta's whole deal. Cissie finds out that she died in the bathroom fairly early on by looking through Microfiche archives and finding her obituary - but then discovers some odd details that don't add up and her own vigilante training starts screaming at her that something is very wrong.

Main foils to include will be Billy and the DEO. Thinking about making Greta's dad a big deal too but again, concept stages only.

It's really recent in concept so there are a lot of details I need to figure out, and refine but this is what I have so far as a concept - it's more ideas right now that need structure. I am hoping to start work on it in March.

I am thinking this should max out around 30-40K.

YES there will be a School Dance in the manor and yes there will be soft Cissie/Greta.

[transmascskywalker]

oh esb radio drama darth vader voice. you bring me such infinite joy

[hitchell-mope]

Spideychelle Casper au

Peter. Casper

Michelle. Kat

Rhodey. James

Quentin. Stretch

Killian. Stinkie

Toomes. Fatso

Agatha. Carrigan

Ralph. Dibs

[gameofthunder66]

THE FLOOD (Official Trailer) - In Cinemas 10 AUGUST

-watched 5/21/2024- 1 [3/4] stars- on Hulu

33% Rotten Tomatoes

[ghostiiest]

girls&gays&bart

+ extra doodles!!! (timber + just a bernard + dick as robin :3)

[daisychainsandbowties]

For Ava, piracy is Robin Hooding. Distributing ill-gotten gains is the best part.

For Beatrice, piracy is an escape. Being chased by the authorities has made her free.

For Suzanne, piracy is how she protects her girls. A means to an end.

For Shannon, piracy is a duty. Needs must.

For Mary, piracy is a job. A job with a built in soulmate.

For Camila, piracy is the family business. It is all about family.

For Lilith, piracy is the ultimate ‘fuck you’ to familial expectations. Found family is infinitely better.

god yeah i really do love the idea of ava, fresh-sprung from an orphanage and anointed with unholy power, fleeing through a maze of port city streets and running headlong into beatrice.

she’s got a pistol at her hip and a stack of books in her arms, smells faintly of magesmoke and blood, but she pulls ava into an alley, casts a simple ward and holds her there in the damp dark, alley cats wending around her boots.

one hand over ava’s mouth, the other trapping her arm against the splintery wooden wall until the guards (ava hopes that she thinks they’re guards) have moved on. then beatrice stepping back, appraising, going to collect her books from a neat pocket dimension she sketched into the air.

telling ava, because she follows, moth to a flame, “sorry about the rough handling. my name is beatrice, ship’s mage on the Cat's Cradle.”

she’s got the tattoos to prove it, almost consuming the skin of both arms as she tugs the cuffs up past her elbows; not down to hide them, but up, to reveal what she is.

at ava’s puzzled look she says, “it’s better, around here, to be seen as a mage rather than a woman.”

ava barely bites back on some loathsome quip, nods at her, then flinches at the sound of distant shouts.

beatrice casts a sidelong glance at her in her stained shirt, trousers cut at the knees. she's barefoot and bruised, staring like she's never seen buildings, or the sky, or a woman before.

she doesn’t even have a knife tucked into her trousers, or the slightest chance of making it through a night alone in this city.

there's a sigh trapped behind her teeth, but beatrice finds herself turning back. voice clipped, almost emotionless, “you look a little bit out of your depth.”

“no shit.”

but ava says it with a shaky laugh. she’s still more than a little preoccupied with how beatrice’s mage tattoos shift and slither in the interrupted light.

beatrice shrugs, “you know if you're interested, our surgeon needs an assistant.” her eyes travel hastily down ava’s body and then back up, “she says that small hands are helpful.”

“small hands?”

“to, ah, move around hers and to make stitches. i can’t say i really understand it, but, well-”

“magic doesn’t heal.” ava says this with bleak familiarity, like she knows the words by heart but would rather she didn’t.

she looks at her hands, tries not to think of what they can do, of the promise she made while half-asleep, to something that should not even be real.

“don’t you think that’s weird? you can do anything, but you can’t close a wound or... or fix broken bones?”

beatrice looks at her, shrugs uneasily. it’s just ink sitting under her skin, but the tattoos seem to shift and glisten wetly as she crosses her arms. “it’s not strange,” she says. “it’s the bargain we made.”

mages are oh-so-fond of trotting out that line. ava tries not to grimace at it. she is, after all, alone and penniless. she is being hunted.

“i’ve never done surgery or anything like that before,” she admits, looking down, braced for dismissal. her eyes stall on the books in beatrice’s arms. gods below i’m fucked. so fucked. i can’t even read, how am i supposed to-

“do you learn quickly?”

beatrice is looking at her calmly when ava rocks back on her heels and dares to meet her eyes. “you… what?”

“our surgeon can teach you, if you learn quickly.” beatrice pursed her lips, “if not, you could be one of the rigging boys, or… well, i’ll figure something out.”

ava stares at her, astonished. “but... why are you helping me?”

a raised eyebrow, muscles working under ink as beatrice clutches her books tightly. she looks odd and out of place in the dingy alley, with her tailored trousers and little silver buckles winking on her boots, through the dark.

“you look like you’re running from something.” ava clenches her fists at her sides, begging her abilities to stay under her skin.

beatrice seems preoccupied with her own thoughts, “someone helped me that way once, when i was… lost. you’ll meet her, i suppose. she’s my captain.”

“are you pirates?” ava blurts the question before she can stop herself, and beatrice’s gaze sharpens.

ava holds up her hands, “it’s just… two officers who are women and now your captain too. it occurred to me, is all.”

beatrice gives her a hard look, but she finds nothing in ava’s expression, beyond a measure of panic. maybe some fear, which is all for the better. "i suppose you'll find out." she's closed-off again, but not hostile.

yet, ava thinks. not yet.

“if you want, you can follow me. if not…”

beatrice frowns. already the sun is setting, dragging light back down along western shore, down into the ocean.

she turns away, starts walking, does not make a relieved sound when she hears ava start to follow. convinces herself that she doesn’t wish to make any relieved sound, at all.

one girl cannot be important, not in the scope of things.

“i’m ava, by the way.”

she speaks to the firm slope of beatrice’s shoulders. the day was too warm for a jacket, so it’s in her cabin, half-draped across the desk to hide her papers.

a half-turn, a nod of the head.

“pleasure.”

[duranduratulsa]

Up next on my 90's Fest Movie 🎥 and TV 📺 Marathon...Sleepy Hollow (1999) on classic DVD 📀! #movie #movies #horror #sleepyhollow #timburton #JohnnyDepp #ChristinaRicci #christopherwalken #MirandaRichardson #MichaelGambon #caspervandien #JeffreyJones #michaelgough #ripmichaelgough #christopherlee #RIPChristopherLee #lisamarie #marcpickering #ianmcdiarmid #DVD #90s #90sfest #durandurantulsas2ndannual90sfest

[noxposting]

Another year, another @phandomholidaytruce ✨

Merry crisler @datawyrms ! Hope you like it!! It's also on AO3 with an extra chapter

Something's Wrong with Danny Fenton

The realization that something was seriously wrong was like falling asleep; slowly, and then all at once.

There had been no catalyst, no trigger to speak of.

Miss Jones had been sick and, this late into the school year, they hadn't bothered to provide a replacement. Most of the class hadn't even bothered showing up anyway; with finals so close, they were either asleep of studying.

Cal would have done the same, was it not for the absolute chaos at home. The twins were off school for the summer already, and they made sure to make their presence known to every single resident of the house. Usually starting at 6am. Cal didn't feel like he got to choose whether to stay home or not.

This is how he found himself here, sitting in a mostly empty classroom, gaze unfocused as he soaked in the rare moments of quiet. In front of him lay an opened biology book, as he lied to himself that he was going to use this time to revise ahead of exams. Instead, the sketch of a duck wearing sunglasses was guiltily staring at him from the page margins.

His gaze had wandered to the window, towards the school-yard of Casper High. Today was a rather rare sunny day; it was early summer, but even during the heart of the hottest season there was a never-ending, persistent chill that seemed to choke the entirety of Amity Park.

Cal, of course, knew exactly where it was coming from.

It was a little bit difficult to live around here and not know about the ghosts.

He pushed his glasses up his nose nervously. He didn't have any particular strong feelings about ghosts, really. He had gotten used to them, in a way. But, truth be told, he was not a fan of the spine-chilling coldness that seeped through everything in their presence and lingered after they were gone. The way the town seemed never to be able to escape this coldness anymore bothered him, but there was not much to do other than suck it up.

Which was why rare days like today were a pleasant, welcome surprise to the locals. He could see his classmates lounging around in the grass outside, soaking up the sunlight like starving sunflowers, and it brought a warm feeling in his chest. Cal was always more of a people watcher, standing in the side and absorbing situations rather than getting involved.

He tried to ignore the tense feeling in his spine that made the hair at the back of his neck stand.

Also, he was studying. He looked down at his book and a second duck that had joined the first and was silently judging him, this time wearing a dapper top hat and a little bow-tie.

There was no haunting chill in this classroom. Right. He didn't want to go out and miss the time to relax.

His let his gaze passively wander around the room. There were only four others in there with him, all in different states of mental non-existence. Eleanor and Sally-Anne were sat opposite each other, heads close over the desk as they gossiped, their whispers providing a subtle background noise through the quiet room. Jonathan (the one with the glasses, not the one in the football team) was focused on the book in front of him and Danny, at the back of the class, looked to have fully dissociated, eyes glazed over. Now wasn't that relatable.

Cal sighed. Suddenly the chair felt a bit stiff, his shoulders a bit tense, so he pulled his arms behind his back in a big stretch. He couldn't help the groan that left his lips as he felt his joints pop. Grabbing the back of his chair, he twisted around -first the right side, then the left- to relieve the tension.

The tension, as if to spite him, stayed.

He got up, cringing at the scraping sound his chair made as it slid back, and he could see on the edge of his vision that his movement had caught the attention of the two girls. When he didn't say anything, they returned to their conversation.

Cal went around his desk towards the window and looked outside, once again marveling at the sunshine and trying to ignore the goosebumps travelling down his arms. He did briefly debate the merits of joining the rest of the glass out in the grass once more, but the peace of the quiet classroom was too tempting for his foggy brain. Still, he didn't feel like sitting in a chair for the next forty minutes. Looking around, he spotted a few unattended markers on the teacher's desk, and paused, a thought forming in his mind.

His fingers were itching with misplaced adrenaline, and he figured what the hell.

Pointedly not allowing any awkward embarrassment to brew, he approached the desk, grabbed the black and green markers and approached the blank class whiteboard.

Cal had always liked to draw. His mom said it's because his hands can't sit still (but she liked it, really, especially when he made her custom-made mother's day cards every year). The twins had no opinion about it, until his sister got her first celebrity crush and begged him to draw the poor guy with cat ears.

No ducks with accessories this time.

She later posted it online with a humble brag about how she had 'finished it really quickly, what do you guys think' but, considering she had barely hit double digits in age, Cal had let it pass.

The validation of elementary kids was not in his radar, exactly.

He never followed any particular theme -his illustrations were usually random, without much thought. He liked letting his mind and hand take him wherever, and that often led to either randomness or, as was often the case for his bigger, more planned illustrations, a lot of inspiration from his environment.

Was it a surprise that he had produced so many drawings of ghosts?

As Cal was suddenly, once again, very aware of the subtle chill (not quite a presence, but it existed and it came from somewhere), he figured that one more addition to his ghost collection wouldn't make any difference.

Even if he wasn't used to drawing on a whiteboard, he still felt the long, controlled strokes of the marker come naturally. His preferred style was either completely colorless (which had absolutely nothing to do with his tendency to draw during class, thank you very much) or with minimal color; he knew how to manage negative space to his liking.

He had to admit, the subject he had chosen was pretty perfect for the whiteboard; all high contrast black and whites.

Getting lost in the process was easy for Cal; applying long strokes across the board and thick filling to the black outfit allowed time and tension to pass him by, almost. The hair would be tricky; making sure the black marker was used faintly enough to translate the light, luminous color was a mission, and Cal was nothing if not a perfectionist when it came to his work. All aspects to a drawing needed to come together for a good result, after all.

But for this, the most important part was the eyes.

Cal tightened his grip around the green marker. There could be only one color on this drawing, and it had to be the eyes. Sadly, a green whiteboard marker would never be quite the toxic green that he would have liked, but it was the principle that counted.

As he placed the last detail on the hair, fade enough to be as close to the bright white of the real thing, he uncapped the green marker. There was a sense of gravitas in the movement, the start of the final step to this work.

Or maybe Cal was just pretentious about it, who's to say.

"Wow, Cal, you're so good!"

The sudden voice made Cal jump and, even worse, almost draw a green line straight through the board and the almost finished drawing. He turned around to realize that everyone in the room was staring at him.

Maybe he should've thought this would happen, but he felt the heat on his cheeks rise nonetheless.

It was Sally-Anne who had spoken, turned around on her seat where she was facing Eleanor. Both were smiling. A few desks ahead, Jonathan had abandoned his reading and instead was looking at Cal with interest, head resting on his hand.  

Cal avoided all their eyes, fidgeting with the green marker instead "Um, thanks. Just a hobby, no big deal."

Sally-Anne raised her eyebrows. "Are you joking? This is amazing! It's like, the best Phantom art I've ever seen!"

Cal blushed even harder. "You're exaggerating, but thanks."

Eleanor gasped "Oh my God, no one better erase this! Quick, I need a picture!" she swiftly pulled out her phone and paused. "Hey Cal, can you like, put a signature somewhere on that? I need to take a pic."

Cal breathed out, muttering 'no problem' and obliged.

A stutter sound came from Eleanor's phone "Awesome! I'll send it to you if you want!"

Cal refused and Eleanor shrugged, sending it to Sally-Anne instead.

Soon everyone went back to what they were previously doing and Cal was happy to be ignored. Walking over to the teacher's desk to put the markers back (and maybe look for an eraser, if Eleanor and Sally-Anne didn't kill him first), he was suddenly aware of that ever-present yet so distant chill and his head snapped up towards the room.

At that moment, he locked eyes with Danny Fenton, and Cal froze.

It was impossible to pinpoint what was wrong exactly, which made things worse. Danny Fenton looked as he usually did; tired, bruised, head resting against his hand and unruly hair falling in his face. Yet there was something just wrong. His pallor was pale, unnervingly so, the bluing bruise against his cheek and graze on his lip contrasting dramatically against his skin. But his gaze was so sharp that Cal was sure that Danny could see right though his skin and into his brain.

It happened slowly, and then all at once.

Worst of all, Cal now knew where that ever so familiar chill came from, and he was almost shocked he didn't recognize it before. The aura of the dead was practically oozing off Danny Fenton.

Time felt like it was slowing down as Cal was locked in by those eyes, a shade of blue so cold it was painful and, for the first time, Cal realized that he was seeing Danny Fenton.

Cal wasn't sure how long he was trapped under that gaze. It felt like eons, but it couldn't have been more than seconds. As he felt his brain melt under the realization that something was frighteningly wrong with one of the people he knew, something happened that shocked him out of his spiraling.

Danny smiled. The faintest, most tired lift of lips, yet it was enough to transform the aura of wrong and that trapping stare, like deciding to let free an animal that was going to become dinner.

Just like that, with a movement so simple, the chill was passive again. Cal smiled back.

Feeling like he was floating, Cal went back to his desk. He took a seat as the bell rang and his classmates soon started filtering in, all of them taking a moment to show various levels of awe towards his drawing.

Throughout it all, Cal kept his head tilted and one eye, watching Danny's reaction. To anyone else, he looked like he had just woken up from a nap, groggy and unfocused. But Cal now knew better. He had realized the wrongness, and knew there was more hidden behind these icy eyes.

He didn't know what, he didn't know how. He didn't know when it had started, or why, but there was one thing Cal was sure of.

There was something very wrong with Danny Fenton.

[leclerc-s]

track 004. electric touch

─── ❝ i've got my money on things goin' badly, got a history of stories ending sadly ❞ ───

series masterlist // previous // next

APRIL 2017

DANIEL RICCIARDO AND MAX VERSTAPPEN RETURN FOR ON THE SOFA

comments

username these two share a special bond, i love it.

username max and daniel was a duo i didn’t know i need this bad.

username HE HAS A WHAT?

username danny, baby, this isn’t you. what about our 5 kids, our farmhouse, and 3 dogs?

username wonder who the slut is

username whoever this woman is, she’s not good enough for him.

username you don't even know who she is username he's not going to fall in love with you, he's not going to even like you if you keep shitting on his girlfriend you don't even know the name of username haven’t you heard? her name is casper

username everyone's shitting on his relationship but daniel seems genuinely happy. like geez, let the man be in love.

username daniel naming his girlfriend casper instead of using her actual name is such a daniel thing to do

username i was kind of expect joey or vegemite, something australian at least. casper’s gotta be an inside joke.

username daniel isn't dating daphne, but it would be hilarious if he would was because that means max and daniel could've been in laws and that's hilarious.

username that would've been so iconic. from being teammates to in-laws.

mae jones twitter is losing mind at this moment

daniel ricciardo why? i can't possibly assume why?

lewis hamilton didn't you just announce you're in a relationship with someone? i would assume that's why sebastian vettel he doesn't seem to care all that much

carlos sainz at least he didn't say who it was

max verstappen haven't you heard she's casper now? daphne jones i've disappeared from the media, i am casper, technically speaking.

mae jones it was smart of him to mention her as one of the friends he was hanging out with. people won't suspect her.

sebastian vettel i want to know how long this could possibly go on for. max verstappen knowing dan and daph, at least 5 years or more. lewis hamilton seems reasonable.

daphne jones ooh, i’m getting called a slut already

daniel ricciardo sweetheart no. daphne jones nothing i'm not used to already 🤷🏼‍♀️ carlos sainz i can defend your honor mae jones i can bite ankles. i am not above it. max verstappen we’re aware sebastian vettel you’re all children

max verstappen added one person

max verstappen don't make me fucking regret this gasly

max verstappen he was being a nuisance i had to add him mae jones that's a big word for elmo max verstappen fuck you jones mae jones woah, max, we broke up, you can't do that anymore max verstappen fuck off jones, that works better

lewis hamilton you have to swear to secrecy. what is said in the groupchat stays in the groupchat.

pierre gasly i solemnly swear max verstappen i swear if you add fucking leclerc i'm going to crash into you at turn one whenever you start racing in f1 pierre gasly i still don't understand why you hate him but okay mae jones he still bitter about the inchident max verstappen honestly mae, stop bullying me. mae jones but you make it so easy

carlos sainz daphne and daniel are dating and you can't tell anyone, not even this charles max is talking about.

pierre gasly daniel ricciardo dating music legend daphne jones? that seems like tas de merde

mae jones THEY DON'T TEACH FRENCH IN JAIL YOU FUCKING BAGUETTE!!! lewis hamilton you've been to jail? mae jones once in monopoly...it was not fun daniel ricciardo i nearly lost my couch the last time we played carlos sainz I ALMOST LOST AN EYE!

pierre gasly HOW THE HELL DID LEWIS AND SEBASTIAN END UP IN THIS BEFORE ME?

max verstappen fernando is here too, he just never answers pierre gasly I'VE KNOWN YOU MOST OF OUR LIVES AND THIS IS THE TREATMENT I GET? daniel ricciardo seb is the reason daphne and i are together. lewis is nursing a broken heart. rip nico and lewis' friendship, you will be missed and you were iconic. as for nando, well you try telling no to a 2x world champion that ended michael schumacher's streak mae jones fernando alonso is a legend put some respect on his name

carlos sainz he has to prove he's willing to defend daphne

pierre gasly fuck kanye daniel ricciardo that's the spirit daphne jones no. stop. don't encourage this daniel. max verstappen no let him. he deserves it.

fernando alonso will you people shut up? it's 3am, go to sleep.

sebastian vettel you're old, that's why you're boring. fernando alonso and yet neither of us has won a world championship with ferrari. sebastian vettel i still have time i don't plan on leaving anytime soon, unlike you, quitter. fernando alonso just don't pull another multi 21 with kimi and things will be fine

mae jones uncle lewis, our dads are fighting again!

lewis hamilton they'll get over it in a few hours. they always do.

fernando alonso changed the group name to multi 21 seb

fernando alonso changed the group photo

daniel ricciardo yeah this isn't going away any time soon

max verstappen where did he even find a picture for this? last time it was just a picture of nando's car

daphne jones not this again.

pierre gasly this happens often?

mae jones too often. at least once every two weeks.

AUGUST 23RD, 2017

liked by maejones, pierregasly, maxverstappen33 and others

danielricciardo something about how the world moves on another drama but not for me.

view all comments

user92 mr.ricciardo, what does that caption mean?

maejones i see you did your research

danielricciardo i have it written down and underlined in red.

user61 coincidence that this is posted the same day daphne jones announces her new album? i think not

user31 song lyrics? danielriccciardo okay, sherlock and watson, calm down. you expect daphne 'expert secret keeper' jones, to tell me daniel 'blabbermouth' ricciardo her song lyrics? user89 he's got a good point. if anything she'd tell mae, her sister, and not one of her friends.

maxverstappen33 why that picture out of all of them? you have so many and you chose that one?

danielricciardo i think i look fucking great

¡leclerc-s speaks! we will not be speaking of today's grand prix. i live in delusion, charles is still, sadly, p6 and lewis is p2. i will take no arguments on this. enjoy this short chapter.

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

[geekcavepodcast]

James Earl Jones Has Passed Away

James Earl Jones, EGOT winner, stage, screen, and voice actor, has passed away. Jones' film and TV credits include As the World Turns, Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb, The Comedians, The Great White Hope, Claudine, Star Wars franchise, Exorcist II: The Heretic, A Piece of the Action, Paris, Conan the Barbarian, The Flight of Dragons, Soul Man, Allan Quatermain and the Lost City of Gold, Coming to America films, Field of Dreams, The Hunt for Red October, Lincoln (1992), The Sandlot films, The Lion King films, Clear and Present Danger, Jefferson in Paris, Casper: A Spirited Beginning, Robots, Jack and the Beanstalk (2009), The Angriest Man in Brooklyn, and Warning Shot.

Our condolences to Jones' family, friends, and fans.

(Image from Coming 2 America via IMDB)

[agentnico]

Top 10 WORST Movies of 2023

For every good movie there’s always a dozen stinkers, and 2023 brought out a lot of turkeys, and I’m not referring to all the poor birds that ended up in our bellies this Christmas season. It’s become a tradition for me every year to do a top 10 best and worst movies of the year list, and I tend to leave the top 10 best list till later as I catch up will the awards potentials, however with the bad list I get right on into it. There are of course many bad movies this year I didn’t see, as I don’t actively seek out to watch the bad ones, but I have heard that these following haven’t been the best: Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom, The Marvels, Indiana Jones 5, Shazam: Fury of the Gods, Expend4bles, Children of the Corn, Winnie-the-Pooh: Blood and Honey…… damn, a lot of films got a bad rep this year. Yet I have 10 other ones that I’ve seen that I thought were crap. Don’t worry if a film you loved ends up on this list, it will simply mean your opinion is wrong and your have to live with that. With that in mind, here’s my humble list of the shit-fest Hollywood had to offer in 2023…

10) ANT-MAN & THE WASP: QUANTUMANIA - Everything that is wrong with the current state of Marvel is exhibited on full display here. Lacking a sense of direction and exploiting the idea of the multiverse just for the sake of it, the movie is a dud. It feels like whilst trying to focus on going bigger and bolder, the movie lost the sense of fun that elevated the earlier instalments in the tiny hero’s franchise. Paul Rudd is still as charming and likeable as ever, however the introduction of Kang as the next MCU Big Bad is pointless seeing as this big baddie can be defeated by a bunch of ants. Don’t make no difference now anyway with Jonathan Majors losing the court case, but who in the first place thought “oh yeah, Kang is a badass who killed many Avengers, but a giant head of Corey Stoll should weaken him no problem”. Look, there’s no sugarcoating it - this movie is bad. Also, Bill Murray appears in this because…?

9) THE BEANIE BUBBLE - Zack Galifianakis without any facial hair is truly a sight to behold, but that’s not enough to make this fluffy yet bland behind-the-scenes look at the famous Beanie Babies toys even remotely interesting. It’s as if this film can’t bear (thank you) to show the creepier side of these toys, as this should have been a more darker and messed up tale, especially with the lightly implied institutional sexism. Oh well, that’s that then.

8) WE HAVE A GHOST - If ever there was a movie that fit more to the phrase “Netflix & Chill” then this is it, as you will be too busy banging your partner or your sock than caring about a silent speechless David Harbour creeping about Casper-like and being all quiet and mysterious. To be fair he’s the only redeemable quality as the rest of the movie is a mishmash hodgepodge of genres that is neither funny, nor effective in its family drama dynamic. At least seeing Jennifer Coolidge jump out a window was mildly amusing. Mildly. Anyway, where’s that sock?

7) THE OLD WAY - It is truly fascinating that after starring in over 100 films, this is Nicolas Cage’s first ever western. Aside from that mind boggling revelation, this movie comes out with less than a bang. I don’t know, I was hoping for something a bit more mad, especially with Cage’s involvement. Heck, in the movie’s opening sequence Nicolas Cage is introduced with a sprawling Poirot-like moustache, and immediately I assumed that I am in for something ridiculous. However following that scene the movie cuts to 20 years later, and with that both the moustache and the hope for something exciting or weird is diminished to singular unseen atoms.

6) FOOL’S PARADISE - The directorial debut from It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia star Charlie Day (who also writes and stars), misfiring Hollywood satire Fool’s Paradise wastes a strong ensemble cast that also includes Adrien Brody, Jason Sudeikis, Jason Bateman, Kate Beckinsale, Ken Jeong, Common, John Malkovich and the late Ray Liotta. Look, in a way I feel bad about including this film on this list, as you can tell this is a true passion project for Day and one that has good intentions by attempting to go back to the old-school slapstick Charlie Chaplin-era of comedy, with a lighthearted satire on the way the film industry works. In this case the result is neither sweet nor funny enough, and as such it’s an unfortunate misfire, but easily the most disappointing inclusion on this list.

5) GHOSTED - Adrien Brody’s crappy French accent in this movie I could have forgiven, if only I have not seen John Wick: Chapter 4 a couple of weeks prior where I experienced the most delightful Parisian mouthing of Bill Skarsgard’s villain, so now Brody’s French-ish slur sticks out like a sore thumb. What else sticks out is that Ghosted feels like a film from the early 2000s, featuring every cliche of the genre and with a romantic pairing of Chris Evans and Ana de Armas whom share zero chemistry. Their kissing scenes reminded me of that Andrew Garfield/Emma Stone SNL sketch where they don’t know how to kiss on camera, only in this case it’s unintentional. Also featuring a slew of pointless cameos, and I do mean pointless, this is a throwaway campy spy-action flick that is destined to be forgotten.

4) THE EXORCIST: BELIEVER - Billed as the true sequel to William Friedkin’s original horror masterpiece, it really shouldn’t have strived for that. Ellen Burstyn’s return is a waste. For those excited to see her, she’s only in 3 or 4 scenes total, and the creative choices made with her character are such a disservice to the original movie. Without spoiling, it’s a choice that seems to be inspired by the modern woke culture, with Burstyn’s Chris having being studying the art of exorcism ever since the events that transpired with her daughter, and then when questioned about why she herself did not partake in her daughter’s exorcism she blames the patriarchy. The choice of bringing her into this narrative and then what happens to her…it’s basically taking a classic character and making them dumb. I must say though that the only actual shocking moment in the movie comes in a scene involving her character, and though that moment itself is memorable, the build up towards it is so stupid. Also, with the return of Burstyn it comes as no surprise within the movie when a certain other character pops in for a cameo. Does it add anything to the movie’s story? No, it’s just there for cheap fan service. As for the movie itself, the horror hardly works. It’s not scary at all and you really shouldn’t believe in this one.

3) THE SUPER MARIO BROS. MOVIE - Yeah, I know, my inclusion of this film on the list will rattle some feathers, but I don’t care, as for any of you pricks out there thinking that stupid “Peaches” song deserves an Academy Award nomination, you guys are stupid and must be high on some very powerful shrooms. If so, I hope you’re having a great trip, but the fact stands that this movie is bad. Simply doing fan service for the sake of fan service don’t make for a good narrative. Me and my friend were bored throughout, as this movie is 100% for kids. There are nostalgic elements to it all, but I do believe that Illumination and Nintendo should have followed more in The Lego Movie’s footsteps and targeted the film for audiences of all ages, due to the fact that many who grew up with Mario are now adults themselves.

2) LEAVE THE WORLD BEHIND - So much wasted potential. A long drawn-out slow shuffle to Nowheresville. A movie that offers so many ideas, plot points, and thread lines that are never answered or go anywhere. In Leave the World Behind things are truly happening under the motto “just because” and “why the hell not” and it makes the viewing experience immensely frustrating. Especially when the movie is nearly 2 and a half hours long and the anticlimactic abrupt ending is a slap to your face for wasting your time. Oh, and if I weren’t a fan of the Friends show before, now more so than ever.

1) 65 - Right ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to ask you all so kindly to rise up from your seats and give a humongous round of applause to 65 - the 2023 film to exhibit qualities of a top contender of the worst movie of this year. Look, I’m disappointed as you are. Adam Driver fighting dino-dinos’?! You’d be a madman to not want to see that! However here’s 65′s first mistake: there actually aren’t that many dinosaurs, let alone fights with them. I know right, I can sense the resounding aura of you, my kind audience, in unison thinking “what the f***?”. Exactly, what the fudge indeed. No, instead what we get is a couple of somewhat thrilling dinosaurs interactions, but overall the movie is just Adam Driver and this little girl walking. Just walking. Walking and whistling. Bunch of jackasses.

That’s it - we did it! Now I can happily forget I ever watched any of these and mentally prepare for what wonders of stupidity 2024 will bring to the big screen. As for my Best Movies of 2023 list, don’t worry, it’s a-coming. Still need to watch The Boy and the Heron and Poor Things and then all will be revealed…