#sounds more like it was rooms

[fideidefenswhore]

There was only one state suite [at Hatfield], on the south front overlooking the gardens and approached by a great stair, and this must have been assigned to Elizabeth. Under James Nedeham's instructions, carpenters and bricklayers set up rooms for Mary elsewhere, possibly on the ground floor or in the guest rooms on the north front.

Houses of Power: Everyday Life in Tudor Royal Palaces / Thurley, Simon

[golyadkin]

I cannot express enough that if your reaction, as a hobby artist, to not getting that many notes on your art is to say "maybe I should just stop doing art altogether" you need to stop posting art to tumblr

not necessarily forever, not even for long, but just stop putting your art on here and start doing it for you again, remember why you enjoyed doing art in the first place and stop relying on the attention of faceless people on the internet for your enjoyment of your hard work

believe me, I get it, nothing crushes the artistic soul quite like labouring for hours on a piece only for it to get like 10 notes, so you need to find your own source of joy in the act of creation and a lot of the time that means making art and not showing it to anybody

[xxplastic-cubexx]

Chat have we discussed drunk chess with cherik cause i just think. That would be the darnedest silliest thing they could do

[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. 

[mando-abs]

Guys, I’ve read the Wild Robot

And let me tell you, if I hadn’t recently taken a Children’s Literature class in college, I would’ve said this was the best middle-grade book I’ve read since elementary/middle school. I almost read this book in one night (I was sleepy 😴) like I couldn’t put it down.

The heart behind this book is astounding and it never shies away from showing complex and difficult concepts. You will fall in love with Roz and her gosling son along with all of the other animal on the island.

If you’ve got younger ones, I highly recommend reading this to them or having a little book club moment with them. However, be prepared for whatever hard questions may come your way (i.e. circle of life and climate issues). You know your child and how much they can handle/understand. If you’re like me and much older, it’s a quick read and a great way to finish off a long day. It’s a part of a trilogy and you bet I’m patiently waiting for my hold on a copy at the library.

If the movie is anything like the book (which, given a rewatch of the trailer, it’s looking like so), we are in for a special treat.

[sneeb-canons]

mind can rarely crack his joints bc his bones are metal and whatever and usually run pretty smoothly. but on the rare occasion that he can crack them. it sounds like the entire house is being torn apart by fireworks and violent explosions. his back snaps like a godsamn whip and his neck cracks so hard it's a surprise he didn't break his own spine. every single joint in his body will pop louder than anyone in the house has ever yelled, without fail.

he'll always make sure to do this in direct vicinity of both heart and soul because as he rearranges his internal structures they will stare on in sheer, absolute horror, especially considering that once he's done, he just continues on with his task as if it never happened and as if every atom in his body hasn't been split in two

Headcanon #632

[copia]

delighted though i am for ghost's growing success i'm keeping my fingers crossed for an obviously low-budget ghovie like the chapters before it. because the papa nihil darth vader breathing and seestor's car crash montage and the shitty nihil ghost effects and copia living in the hall outside a bathroom with no door etc all add a certain je ne sais quoi

[nyamcattt]

i saw a tweet someone made once that said, "moira and mercy bring that divorced energy that makes everyone uncomfortable." and they were so right!! there's even this voice line between them and wrecking ball 😭

[levshany]

Where’d you get the name Hamayun? Is it the name of the type of bird Philip is?

Short story:

Hamayun is the name of a bird creature from slavic folklore

Long story:

Hamayun is a bird of paradise, the messenger and herald of the gods. She sings for people and predicts the future for those who wish to know it. She's wise and knows everything about the origin of the world. Able to cast a dream with a glance. Her cry portends happiness

Hamayun is described either as a bird without legs and wings, forever flying with her long tail, never landing on the ground, or as a being with the body of a bird and the head of a man. Her head and neck are often adorned with jewels

Phillip is not biblically accurate Hamayun. He is much bigger, definitely not from paradise, and his cry doesn't portend anything good. Then why this design couldn't be called "harpy", which is more familiar to people? Well, because we already have Eda. I didn't want people to make unnecessary associations with her, so I decided to take something from fairy tales that were read to me as a child

Turned out that between Phillip and Hamayun it is possible to draw a couple of interesting parallels: they are similar with their wisdom and pride, and different in that Hamayun is the true messenger of the gods, while Phillip is false

The name "Hamayun" in my AU is used as an analogue of "Belos". Phillip was given this name by people. He did not come up with it. "Belos" doesn't exist in my story, neither as a name nor as a character. Hamayun is cruel, but only towards those who come to him with evil intentions. He kills people, but he doesn't have the mindset that humanity deserves to die. Therefore, calling him Belos in this case is incorrect

Thaaat's it

[oifaaa]

I'm not gonna lie I've been pondering for the last 30 minutes or so on what a good animated Robin movie would look like and Im kinda coming up blank I'm even getting stumped on which Robin the movie would focus on and outside of that what story should be the main focus

[lavenoon]

This started out as cat mirroring and fluff but unfortunately for Eclipse a lot of my trapcards have their origin in the first half of the 20th century and I'd like words.

@naffeclipse someone save him

*self insert Aster is not a girl (he/ she)

og detective au by sunnys-aesthetic!

[mysteriouspersonrambles]

Idk if it’s the fact that I’m exhausted but Norris’ voice at the start just sounded so off to me. Like it was so human and idk why but that actually started to freak me out a little bit. My brain knows something’s wrong but it can say what. Or it could be the 3 hours of sleep I got who knows

[mistyscenter]

Let me bitch and moan before posting positivity for a sec because Derek DLC doesn't make you feel like you're cheating on Cove if you're dating him because Derek is actually yours and Cove's friend so spending time with him and crashing to his place doesn't feel weird if you do a platonic route. Which is not the same for Baxter DLC because WDYM I CRASH TO BAXTER'S PLACE AFTER INTERACTING WITH HIM FOR 3 DAYS AFTER 5 YEARS HE GHOSTED ME WHAT THE FUCK-

[fi3stazo]

The top one is a request from insta that was cute enough for me to digitalize, on the bottom it’s just. Juan n José

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Do NOT repost, edit, trace, or use my art in any way. Thanks.

[science-lings]

Hey so you know how in tgaa families tend to have a symbol, like how the Mikitoba’s have the Sakura flower and the Asogi’s have that shield thing that kinda looks like a flower, which is important bc flowers are so important to the aa series as a whole, at least symbolically. They’re usually used to signify family, either with matching crests or name associations, and what I’m really getting at is that there’s a connection in my brain that went from ‘flowers = family’ and ‘there’s a running joke that the Naruhodō’s don’t know anything about flowers.’

Ryunosuke’s little dlc outfit change is important bc it absolutely covers him in the little four pedaled flower that represents Iris and I don’t think that’s just bc she’s the one that made it. Sholmes is covered in them too, that’s just Iris’ way of saying ‘you’re my family now and now everyone who sees you knows this’, she made them the most noticeable thing about his little mouse doll, whose flower ears match the one she made to represent herself.

This just adds to my conviction that there’s something up with Ryūnosuke and Phoenix when it comes to their family. There’s no pride in being a Naruhodo like there is in behind an Asogi or a Mikotoba. Is there no reason to flaunt his family crest or could there be something more going on there?

Also it was so easy for Susato to go by ‘Ryutaro Naruhodo’, and I think it says something about how close they were that she would chose a name so much like his.

[starrysharks]

the urge to make public character playlists for my little guys...