#i miss experiencing emotions

[takasgf]

if there is one media i grew up with, experienced it in different times of my life and kept love in my heart for it, despite not talking about it much often it would be gotg. I watched the first movie back in second or third grade, the year it launched on a pirated USB stick, and i wasnt supposed to. My dad put it on the tv, thinking i was asleep but i was not and i watched it secretly out of curiosity. I was immediately interested in all these fun characters. Its not like i havent watched many action movies my parents would put on after i was supposed to be asleep, but this one was different. I re-watched it many times, created the silliest self insert ocs for the universe, WROTE A BOOK BASED ON SAID OCS AND A FEW CHARACTERS I LIKED AND SHOWED IT TO MY SCHOOL AND FAMILY (they were so proud and so was i, until they made me read a passage from it in front of the entire class like 3 years later)). Then i watched the second movie at the cinema, LOVED IT, i remember it being such a fun movie (i sadly watched it only one time) and it fulled my mcu interest all the way through 2017-2019 until endgame happened and my mcu phase was over. I havent watched any movies after endgame and i dont think i will, except for gotg 3. I need to see it. I know i'll bawl my eyes during it because i already started weeping while watching the trailer. I love these characters so much, i love these movies so much, they are full of personality and color and humour and awesome music !!!!! I love S.tarlord so much and idc about his actor, but the character has impacted me and my creativity so , so much (in a good way). I love all of the Guardians and I wish to re watch the movies and that holiday special they made recently, but we'll see if i suceed. If i do, you can expect a GOTG!Ishigeru AU as well HAHA

[crunchchute]

Sam and Max if they were cool /j

[iheartbookbran]

i cackled before the season came out and everyone was freaking out about the brothel scenes because they wanted demi!Colin and now the possibility was lost forever, when it was precisely the brothel scenes (+ the diary bit) which cemented demi!Colin to canon prosperity!

[starry-bi-sky]

Blood Blossom Au: before the nightingale sings

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

TW: Major Character Death Warning

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Not all deaths are created equal.

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

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

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

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

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

Not all deaths are created equal.  

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

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

But most are just… unremarkable. Unintentional. Clumsy. 

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

It happens like this: 

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

Something had to give. 

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

He stops what he’s doing to fix it.  

It wasn’t supposed to be permanent. 

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

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

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

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

It is not his fault. 

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

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

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

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

It’ll never happen again. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nobody wakes up with their alarms. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Where are you?’ 

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

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

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

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

“Mom? Dad?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

He checks the garage, the car is still there. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not all deaths are created equal. 

But many of them are accidental. Unmeditated. Shocking.

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

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

Not all deaths are created equal

But all of them are unforgettable. 

[lyss-sketchbox]

do you have like,, any wriolette headcanons to share,, please I’m hungry,, I need wriolette food!!

Oh definitely, some of these are more wrio or neuvi specific tho but let me go off ok

Wrio has this one spot a lil far off from Meropide's entrance that he sunbathes in whenever he has the time. Its this lil cliff right here. It has a long stretch of beach, near the otter spot (TM), there's mobs to fight if he needs that, and it's not near any roads

Perfect spot for him to frostwalker/ice skate too

Neuv in one of his walks would find Wrio in his spot and Wrio would tell him this is where he goes to relax, Neuv would sometimes then use this spot too to relax in, Wrio welcomes him whenever they happen to meet here

I think Wrio never goes to the overworld until he is called in for that first meeting as Meropide's administrator, when he does step out he underestimated how much he truly missed the sunlight, the sea breeze, and the grass. It's not a big deal, he insists

Wrio would prefer sunny weather than rain, but the coldness of rain is more lively and refreshing than the cold of the fortress

Neuv can walk on water Furina style, he just chooses not to say whenever Wrio offers to skate with him. Basks in the feeling that he trusts Wrio so much to keep him from falling in

Neuvillette is a pianist while Wrio is a violinist (and does have a violin in his office) because every pairing in my book should be able to piano-violin duet the Merry-Go-Round of Life

Wrio is extremely observant, a skill he picked up from serving his sentence, it's how he's able to study and read Neuvi's tells and body language. It's very helpful whenever neuvi is too tired to talk or unable to drop the professional iudex face.

Neuvi learns by observation and attempts to pick up Wrio's tells in turn no matter how many times Wrio insists that he shouldn't worry about him <- fuck you gets loved back

Whenever they get engaged/married, their rings are simple white gold bands. Wrio replaces one of his rings with it, while Neuvi has his hooked to his cravat pin. It's so they're not too flashy and attract attention while still being with them even in work hours

Neuvi feels over the ring whenever he misses wrio

Wrio buries his face into Neuvi's neck so that he can hear Neuvi's purr of contentment better

Neuvi can get jealous but instead of cutting the convo short like Wrio does, the next time they are alone Neuvi just rubs his cheek all over Wrio's until he's happy

Wrio is touch averse, significantly more than Neuvi. While he and Neuvi had subtle touches before, getting together had pressured him to show more affection (because it doesnt bother him, he can love, so that he can be loved) Its one of the first times Neuvi was able to tell Wrio's tells correctly and to reassure him it isn't necessary and they can begin with... what they had before

They show affection primarily with holding or touching hands (ex. : holding hands when they sleep like otters, brushing knuckles and fingers when they walk, Wrio lifting neuvs hand to bury his face in it, etc.), a reassurance that the other is there with them, and they want to hold on just as much

[good-beans]

So everyone was just gonna wait ten years to tell me Bonetrousle fucks

[daredevils-advocate]

Fun fact!

Listening to Sleep Token hits a lot harder when you're sitting in the rain.

[aconstantache]

You're precious to me, Henry

[harp-bo-barp]

im rewatching s1, and i genuinely miss the raw emotion and horror of it, man. like I love all of the seasons so much, but nothing will compare to season 1 with winona's acting specifically. i swear, every single scene with her just ends up giving me chills. like she is actually so good, the duffers need to give her more acting like that in season 5 goddamn.

[lovethatlaiduslow]

ohh the bear s3 e1 was scored by trent reznor and atticus ross. that’s why the ep felt like my heart was being repeatedly torn out and stomped on 3000 times in the span of 35 minutes

[lunarharp]

lazy scribbling of my baldur's gate 3 characters

[mahuhumaling]

the last thing Pat wants is to let Pran slip through his fingers again.

— a drabble inspired by this fanart where Pat stays awake after the end of epsiode 4. he sits up and looks at Pran who has his back turned, asleep.

why does Pran drive him away? does he not care, did those 3 years apart mean nothing to him that he can just push Pat away so nonchalantly?

all he wants is to be back in Pran's life again — whatever that takes.

maybe it's easier to fall back on the kind of relationship they had before, instead of anything else because it's familiar: the genuine moments hidden beneath fake hostility, the teasing, the way Pran's whines don't quite reach his eyes, the way he relents at the end, as if he can never really hate him.

but now.

now maybe he's gone too far. he says he hates him, and for a minute Pat believes it.

maybe there's a pink painted line he crossed, an invisible road sign he missed, an alarm he slept through.

either way, hearing it stings. right there, in his chest. sharp. quick. the kind that makes him double over.

Pat replies with something, anything, to retort. it comes out flat, sounding more compensating than a diss.

he lays back down when he sees Pran roll over, closes his eyes even though surprisingly he's not that fatigued from the rugby game, and feels Pran tug the blanket back to his.

Pat lets him.

he stays awake, his mind not shutting down and his body still jittery.

but he has his eyes closed and feels his chest rise and fall from the breathing.

Pat opens it again and sits up. when he lays his chin on top of his crossed arms, the only thing he sees is Pran's back. he feels relief wash over himself.

at least Pran gets to rest. he knows that shoulder is still hurting him.

Pat doesn't get it.

what would it take for Pran to look at him like he did before? to talk to him as he did back in highschool?

he doesn't get it.

there's still something sitting on his stomach, heavy, unidentifiable. he can't figure out what.

but maybe if he sleeps it off, he eventually will.

maybe tomorrow, he thinks as he inevitably dozes off, succumbing to the night.

maybe tomorrow.

tomorrow when he wakes up, he'll realize why.

[hogans-heroes]

.

[stedebonnit]

Just saw a post that irked me that started off by saying Aziraphale has never suffered and as someone with religious trauma and who grew up in an emotionally neglectful and chronically invalidating envrionment I want to be the first to say that suffering is not defined by rigid standards and that there's a reason neglect and manipulation are classed as forms of abuse. I didn't finish reading the post because I got really angry seeing it so I apologize if I missed context by choosing not to engage further but I just want to make it abundantly clear that suffering and abuse are not black and white concepts, and just because someone is in a space that tries to paint themselves as good doesn't mean that they are good (I mean, seriously, if you haven't learned that from this show then idk if you've even watched it), and just because someone is unable to see that their situation is abusive does not mean that they aren't suffering (and in fact people saying that reeeeally smell of "if they were abusive why didnt you just leave?" Vibes)

[e-the-village-cryptid]

matilda the musical making me feel shrimp emotions

[amarkofcain]

how is there so much emotion in this puppet's face and why is it making me emotional