I want to write a amity charcter based off of him so bad🥺💖

@apinklion01

YES. YESYESYESYESYES!

Jack Fenton says fuck

Jack Fenton was many things: a caring husband, a faithful friend, a devoted father, and most importantly, a ghost hunter. A damn good one if he said so himself. He had spent years hunting ghosts, along with Maddie, and in the past, Vladdie, to try and make the world a safer place. Before, it had mostly been about proving the skeptics wrong and being the hero, but now it was more to protect his family.

Maddie, of course, could take care of herself. No matter how much his brain screamed that he needed to protect her, she’d probably do a better job protecting him. Jazz and Danny however, were an entirely different story.

Little Jazzie saw herself as a mature adult, which apparently meant that anything ghost related was beneath her. He couldn’t get her to pick up an ecto weapon unless they were in the process of being attacked by a ghost, and even then, it was difficult.

And then there was Danny. The poor kid was so terrified of ghosts that he ran at the first sight of them. He couldn’t even watch live television if a ghost was being filmed. If Danny was going to stay this scared of ghosts, then protecting himself from them wouldn’t be an option. Jack had to put himself in danger, to protect his kids.

But sometimes it wasn’t just for the sake of protecting his family. Sometimes the ghost hunting was nothing more than a bit of fun. Which was why he was currently driving the Fenton Ghost Assault Vehicle at 2:00 am over to the warehouse district near the outskirts of town.

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JACK FENTON SAYS F-

🐈‍⬛

Him :3

poor boy he was just 14

YESSSSS!

head empty, only strawberry cow

Do strawberry cows make strawberry milk?

when you die your voice gets added to the Gangster’s Paradise choir

The year is 2040. It’s been ten years since the bombs fell, turning cities to ash. Most of the survivors have died from now, either from radiation poisoning or from starvation. You haven’t seen another human being in two years. Part of you fears you’re the last left.

You come across an old farmhouse, fallen apart from years of disrepair. You don’t pay attention to the dead parents lying in the bed, you have more pressing concerns. You don’t even spend more than a second thinking about their son who they killed in his sleep to save him from the torture of an empty belly.

You grab what you can. Medicine, bottles of water, a few rounds for your rifle. And, on a whim, you grab the old Walkman buried in a drawer. It works, if only barely. That night, you sit under the stars and you listen to music for the first time since the world died.

The song on the tape is “Gangsta’s Paradise”, by Coolio. At first, it sounds like you remember. You feel like a person again as he sings about the valley of the shadow of death. But then, the chorus starts, and it is the stuff of nightmares. It is loud, so loud it makes your eardrums bleed, the sound of eight billions souls screaming for mercy. Somehow, through the noise, you hear voices you recognize. The voice of your wife who was incinerated in the blast. The voice of your son, whose body gave out two weeks later. The voice of the farmers and their son that they spared. And you know that, very soon, someone will listen to this tape and hear your voice.

“You knew who I was this whole time?” 

“What, because you were so subtle?” Their best friend, their villain, raised an eyebrow. Almost amused. Maybe mocking. “Please. You’re a terrible liar.”  

“But-” The hero didn’t know how to finish. It felt like all of the air had left their lungs. When they’d finally realised that their best friend and the villain were one and the same they had assumed there was no way they could possibly know who the hero truly was - because if they knew, the villain would never hurt them. Except…

The hero swallowed. 

You, they wanted to say. How good a liar have you been this whole time?

The villain took a step closer, looming over them as the hero scrambled backwards on the floor with their suit and mask in tatters. Every movement ached. 

“I told you to back off,” the villain said, softer, with a flash of fury and anguish and teeth. “I told you that you’d get hurt.” They slammed their weapon down, blocking the hero’s retreat. “You refused to listen.”

“So, what, now you’re going to kill me?” The hero’s heart raced. 

The villain’s head tilted.

“No,” the hero said. They tried to think through the blinding hurt, to not doubt every moment the two of them had ever spent together. They met their villain’s eyes. “No, if you were going to kill me, you could have done it before now. If you really wanted to.” 

“I never said I wanted to.”

The hero faltered. They fumbled for a weapon, a defence, a stall - anything. There was too much left to do. Too many people counting on them. 

They could think of absolutely nothing. 

The villain levelled the tip of their second weapon in the hero’s direction, power rippling dark tendrils around them, and pressed it oh so gently against the hero’s throat. 

“I should kill you,” the villain said. “You’re going to be nothing but trouble for me. You’ve been nothing but trouble for my plans.”

“This isn’t how we help.” It came out barely above a whisper. “You’re better than - than those plans.”

The villain smiled at that, though there was something sad to it. “You realise you’re the only person who ever thought I was better, right?”

“I thought I knew you better. Prove me right.” 

The villain stared at them for a moment longer; apocalypse incarnate, death wrapped up in human form. Then they shook their head, laughed, and pulled the weapon back from the hero’s throat. 

“Thank-”

“Don’t thank me. I won’t kill you,” the villain said. “I’m not anywhere near through enough with you for that.”

They slammed the weapon back down. 

“But we’re both going to wish,” the villain crumpled next to them, cradling the hero’s head tenderly in their hands, as everything spun. “That I did, love.”

And everything went black. 

X)