yeah i’m thinking about parallels in my own book. yeah it’s gonna be all day sorry.

What is honor compared to a woman’s love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms… or the memory of a brother’s smile? Wind and words. Wind and words. We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy.

Jon Snow - and family that haunts him, because sometimes ghosts make for the best love stories.

Guardian Spirits: Clockwork sends Danny to spirit-Gotham to get adopted an internship with Batblob & Spirit Robin while he takes care of things back home [link]

What's Outside: Batfam being feral cryptids with mechanical wings & Bruce being a good dad to all his kids [link]

Dies Irae: Jason ends up running across de-aged Fenton siblings & later the rest of the de-aged liminal class while busting a lab run by some assholes in white [link]

Mothman: Bruce was scared of moths instead of bats, the robins are inspired by both birds & lightning bugs, and they all are somehow terrifying [link]

Possessed Dolls: Prompt by Phoenixcatch7 where the batfam pretty much possess doll bodies in their fight against crime in Gotham (they already have a few drabbles that are really fun go check it out)

(Edit) If links don't work:

[1] Guardian Spirits https://www.tumblr.com/puppetmaster13u/search/guardian%20spirits

[2] What's Outside https://www.tumblr.com/puppetmaster13u/search/what's%20out%20there%20au

[3] Dies Irae https://www.tumblr.com/puppetmaster13u/725753067441733632/jason-is-almost-offended-because-nightwing-just?

[4] Mothman https://www.tumblr.com/puppetmaster13u/725463846517702656/what-if-instead-of-being-batman?

[5] Possessed Puppet Au https://www.tumblr.com/phoenixcatch7/tagged/Possessed%20doll%20au

Something something “she called for Simon and Ghost answered” something something

I think I can with certainty say I'm past the halfway point with this. there's not that much random dialogue left to make up

I can only hope the switch works as intended on other computers, since a different timing left them mid-transition. it seems like it doesn't interrupt the bubbles switch but it's only if the menu switch/shell reset comes at a specific point before it 🤔

sakurascript is really weird with calling functions, but I Think if you call it as a variable ( %(function) ) it doesn't interrupt the script?? maybe??

[Image ID:

Two gifs showing off Vega complaining about the messiness of Windows' system32 folder, providing the user with a link to open it and see for themselves, and the right click context menu changing its color scheme alongside Vega switching to Rigel.

End ID]

Some wip line work for a cute freebie double-sided bookmark for the first few people to grab my book at the con I’m debuting Mil-Liminal at next week, I love parallels!

Johnny and Caro are from my webcomics Seemingly Dark and Mil-liminal, read both on tapas or Webtoon!

TW: canon-typical graphic violence for The Quarry (all under the ‘keep reading’).

Particles and Waves: A Ghost/Love Story

Dylan Lenivy knew he was going to die.

Not in the abstract way that everyone knows they’ll die eventually, but right now, today, in about the next 30 seconds. To say he was too young to die would have been a cliché, sure, but it would also have been true. He’d graduated high school in May and turned 19 in July. He’d just finished two months working with his friends as a summer camp counselor. He was supposed to be starting college in a week, he’d already packed for his move before he set off for camp. He’d kissed his crush in a game of truth or dare beside a campfire just that evening, his heart in his throat and cheap beer on his breath. He’d even managed to save his friend Kaitlyn from a werewolf attack in front of the Hackett’s Quarry Summer Camp lodge. He’d lost a hand that night, too, so it wasn’t all highlights, but, on the whole, Dylan felt like he had kind of a lot going for him. He would have preferred to stick around.

Since not dying didn’t appear to be in the cards anymore, though, Dylan hoped his end would at least be quick, that the grotesque, oddly fleshy werewolf, drooling and snarling inches from his face, staring him down with its demonic red eyes, would rip his throat out in one bite and be done with it. Unfortunately for Dylan, this beast had other plans. It gave him entirely too much time, sitting there in the cab of the magnetic crane at the Hackett scrapyard, to anticipate what would be an unrelentingly brutal end. As soon as it had knocked the blowtorch from his right hand, his only hand, he knew the fight was over. His one available weapon had flown to the left side of the cab, where his handless arm dangled uselessly, at the same time that the wolf had grabbed his remaining intact arm in its jaws.

The werewolf (was it Nick, he wondered. Or his boss Chris Hackett? Or another of his friends who’d been bitten and turned while he wasn’t looking? Surely it hadn’t been long enough since Dylan had seen him for it to somehow be Ryan) was taking its sweet time gnawing through what had been Dylan’s good arm, tearing muscle and sinew, splintering bone. And there was absolutely nothing he could do; no way to fight, no way to flee. He could only curse and cry and scream, so that’s what he did. The pain was indescribable. It was so much worse than the chainsaw, worse than anything he could have imagined, and it just would not stop.

Dylan wished that Kaitlyn could have come put a bullet in his head, euthanized him. That would have been a relief. Failing that, though, he hoped she was running already, hoped she’d gotten a decent head start out of this werewolf choosing to finish him off so slowly. Run away Kaitlyn, he urged her mentally, run!

He’d expected to pass out from the hemorrhaging by this point, especially given that this was Dylan’s second bloody attack of the night, and the last one had come complete with an amputation, but no, that would’ve been too easy. His stupid, stubborn body was so determined to keep itself alive that it just kept sending out bursts of adrenaline that he could do nothing with but shake and suffer. He remained conscious and screaming for several more unbearable seconds.

Though the pain and the terror wouldn’t quite allow Dylan’s all-too-short life to flash before his eyes like a movie montage, he did get momentary visions. He saw his mother, who he knew would be devastated beyond all consolation, and the packed bags and boxes that would never make it to his college dorm. He thought of his ginger cat purring on his lap, of Ryan’s smile and that little beauty mark at the corner of his mouth that Dylan thought might be the most attractive thing he’d ever seen on a human face, and of how it felt to be on the receiving end of Kaitlyn’s infectious laughter. He thought of everything he would miss, the blazing blue summer skies and the sound of boat paddles softly churning the surface of the lake, the faces of his friends in the bonfire light, all the songs his favorite bands would put out that he would never get to hear. And none of this distracted him from the pain, it only piled on another layer. It filled him with longing and sadness and, worst of all, guilt. He was dying, through no fault of his own, really, and he felt so damn guilty about it, about what it would do to everyone he loved.

Eventually, the monster ripped his arm in two and tossed the severed forearm to the side. Dylan might have made a ‘no hands’ joke now if only he hadn’t been too busy with the whole dying in agony thing. The creature then grabbed him by the throat with its huge, clawed hand and he was ready for that, he welcomed it now. But instead of crushing his windpipe and ending his torment, it merely used the leverage to hold him still (wow, really? he thought, this is just gratuitous). Then, it switched its attention to his other arm, the one that had arrived to the scene of his demise already down a hand, and proceeded to slash that one completely off at the upper arm with its claws. He felt the arm tearing away and the gush of blood, but he didn’t cry out then—the blackness had begun closing in on him too quickly, and Dylan was grateful for that. He was barely even aware that the beast had ultimately gone for his throat with its teeth because it did so only in the very end, once there was not one single shred of mercy left in the act. His last thought, as his heart stilled and his breath left his ravaged body, was oh, finally, thank fuck.

Dylan Lenivy had died, but that was only the beginning.

————————————————

Redoing the landing pages for my fics because I finally learned how to use tumblr semi-properly. 😅 Late to every party. Don’t mind this if you’ve already seen it!

Hello, friends! This is me *finally* getting around to about a million weeks worth of tags from @kiwiana-writes (and half a dozen other eternally patient individuals) so... here we go!

This is coming from a little thing that has, of course, spiraled into a much bigger thing (and because what better time of year to write a ghost story than Christmastime, amirite?)

Dreams are such fascinating little things. The rocketfire launching of electricity across the sleeping grey matter of the human brain, reabsorbed into that thing that we call self and played out across the movie screen of the mind like a palimpsest of reality, a being that has been before, but also never ever was.  Dreams have long been Henry’s companion in the world. When he was young, young enough that he could remember the sound of his father’s voice, the soft folds of his face when he smiled evident under Henry’s pudgy fingers and not through the cold, smooth gloss of a picture, he’d liked to think of them as channels on a television. Too scary? Not funny enough? Simply grab the remote, and change the channel. Problem solved. Usually. (He doesn’t and won’t ever talk about the summer he’d watched The Blair Witch Project and had needed to sleep in Bea’s room for over a month.) But then time had pulled its cruelest trick of all, and suddenly the things happening in his waking hours were far harder, far scarier, far nastier in the pit of Henry’s stomach than anything his mind could create to supply him with at night. This is also, coincidentally, the time in his life at which Henry stops sleeping through the night.

Tagging a bunch of folks who've tagged me, a couple of folks I just want to hear from, and of course everyone who feels like sharing! @kiwiana-writes @rmd-writes @nontoxic-writes @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @sparklepocalypse @celaestis1 @indomitable-love @cricketnationrise @lilythesilly @eponymiad @schittposting @thedidipickles @grapehyasynth @affectionatelyrs @happiness-of-the-pursuit @inexplicablymine

An idea I had for a thiam au, was S4 Liam getting taken by ghost riders literally after his first full moon. Can y’all imagine the angst in that? Jenna Geyer feeling lonely in an empty house even though she knows she doesn’t have a child. Dr.Geyer/David Geyer buying lacrosse gear but realising he doesn’t have a kid. Scott feeling like someone’s missing even though Stiles & the gang are with him. Mason always getting an extra slice of pizza for someone who’s not at his house.

•

“Liam!” Mason called out from the horse he’s riding on with Brett, Theo’s eyes lock onto another teenager running towards them with someone by his side.

He’s beautiful.

Theo doesn’t miss the way the kids hair falls across his face, until he is looking up at Theo, cocking his head to the side, blue eyes widening.

“You’re hottie!” Scott’s beta spits out excitedly, before he’s realising what he had just said. “I mean, Theo, your Theo Raeken, I didn’t mean to say that, please forget that I said that”.

Theo’s laughing though, more relieved than amused, that through all the terrifying event’s happening in Beacon Hills that someone hasn’t fully fallen into the darkness.

“We’ll, it’s a good thing you’re cute, Dunbar”, “He knows my name” Liam whispered out loud until he was being suffocated by Mason, only for a moment before the other was smacking him.

“If you ever patrol by yourself again, I’ll kill you, I swear to god Liam, this shit was not funny”.

“I missed you too Mase” he murmured, the man that had been running with Liam was holding a gun, a ghost rider’s gun.

“This reunion is very adorable, but let’s move it along people, the hunt isn’t over yet and I have a feeling McCall didn’t have a plan”.

“Scott! Oh my god! We need to find Scott” Liam stated looking around for a car or a free horse, Theo decided to put him out of his misery.

“Hop on, you can ride with me” he reached out towards the beta, who grabbed his hand without a second thought, Theo pulled him up with a small smile.

He could hear the rapid beating of the younger’s heart, “You nervous?”, “Maybe, but I’m always nervous around horses”, “And here I thought it was just around me”.

Theo smirked watching Liam blush, before he pulled on the reins, Liam settled for a moment before leaning against Theo.

He would’ve spoken but Liam was carrying a familiar scent, one that had plagued him for an age, as his arms came around Liam’s waist. He inhaled one last time before breathing out her name.

“Tara” he murmured.

ages ago (literally only like seven months ago) i started a poe party role swap au and honestly i don’t know if ill ever finish it despite it having some banger lines so. here’s my (incredibly vague) outline. if you even care.

hg dies before the story even starts. he begins to haunt a house, a mansion, finding a space in the attic where he can focus on becoming slightly more corporeal and therefore work on his inventions. later, annabel stumbles upon this attic after she moves in, and despite being startled at first she begins to adjust to living alongside hg. they’re besties <3

eventually, annabel decides that the house has been remarkably empty, lately, and she invites a few of her friends - authors, most of them, but her childhood friend as well. hg has heard stories about this friend, but none of them can compare to him finally meeting lenore in person. the whole being incorporeal thing is very handy when it comes to nearly falling into your own soup.

the rest of the story goes very similarly. the murders begin. one by one, our guests are picked off, strangely befitting deaths, thematically. lenore begins to spend more time around hg - he’s a genius and he can’t be killed! he’s, like, the perfect guy! - and they eventually get to talking, and then to befriending. hg tells her his life and death stories, though they’re both terribly boring. lenore, in exchange, tells him about being a runaway bride, her vengeful ex, and something about food poisoning.

hg begins to experiment, using lenore as his hands because becoming corporeal would require too much energy, and he comes up with a way to surveil the house around them without having to leave the attic. they’d be safe. he leaves to set up his newfound cameras eventually.

he comes back. the attic is filled with smoke.

lenore dies in his arms. even in death, herbert george is still a terrible name. he drags her body downstairs only to run into the cops, makes up some unbelievable lie about poison and comas and allergies, and for some reason they take it at face value.

they call in mary shelley, later, the necromancer that brought him back to life, sort of. she’s able to help them reconnect with all of their lost friends, for a moment.

(well. almost all of their lost friends.)

annabel survives. edgar does not.

it turns out that anne brontë is not anne brontë but rather charlotte brontë disguised as her sister, hellbent on revenge for what annabel’s taken from her. or… something. hg isn’t quite sure. but she brings in reinforcements - eduardo “eddie” dantes and a man named guy de vere who sounds far too familiar-

hang on.

they end up outside, eventually, somehow. annabel drives charlotte to the edge of the river. it’s not very deep, but the rocks are slippery and perhaps a little too sharp, and when she slips she doesn’t come back up for a while. she doesn’t come back up at all, some might say.

with nowhere else to go, the fight ends quickly. unfortunately, this leaves hg and annabel in an empty house with more ghosts than before - in both the literal and metaphorical sense, though primarily the latter. they spend their days in a haze, unfocused and lonely, despite still having each other.

and then, one day, as hg is tinkering with his thousandth rendition of a time machine (he’s still holding out hope), the attic fills with smoke once more. he panics on instinct, but there’s no need.

when the smoke clears, lenore is standing in front of him, ghostly and yet beautiful nonetheless.

(and then they get edgar back too and they all live happily ever after etc etc.)

grilled cheese: eaten. tea: drunk. sun through the window: warm and giving me life. it’s time to write about pallas and their fucked up evil mom*****

The woman in the window.🕯👻

this is a real pain in the ass but my panels are so stagnant and i have to like. try a little harder.

okay, so, i'm thinking

we've got our guy, right? old-ish, late 50s to 60s, dubiously human, definitely gay and possibly trans. I'm thinking of naming him julian? or maybe albert. henry?

and so Julian/Albert/Henry, he lives in a little cottage near/right next to a cemetery. graveyard? definitely a graveyard. sounds better.

anyway.

he lives next to the graveyard, and he takes care of it. cleans the stones, makes sure they're upright, waters the flowers, etc. he knows what all of them say, even the faded ones.

his partner died, maybe 10, 15 years ago? from what I'm not sure, but it was some sort of a disease, probably. whatever it was, they're buried in the graveyard, too. he's taken care of the graveyard since the old caretaker died, in the late 90s/early 2000s. they're buried there. when he dies, he'll be buried there too.

the world is sort of a modern-with-magic type of thing. there's magic, but there's also cellphones, cars, etc.

anyways, sometimes people come into the graveyard. the church that was there is gone, now, but people still visit. mostly people visiting relatives, but sometimes there's people who just like graveyards. generally our guy leaves them alone, but one day there's this teenager, there, and they're crying. and on a whim, he goes to talk to them. there's often people crying--its a graveyard, after all, he's no stranger to it--but this person isn't standing next to a grave or anything.

and he helps them. I dunno how, yet, but he does, and they start visiting more often; become friends. the kid's trans, too, I think.

oh, and he has a gray cat named Lady Eloise, called Ellie or El, for short. She's probably immortal (no one knows), and almost definitely magic. sometimes he swears she talks.

haha nice

Romance is sweet but let’s get to the real crux of the story with some ghosts ‘n’ stuff