Danny taking a job in construction after high school to help repair all the property he constantly damages. has weird hours and pays well. Danny’s torn between guilt that he’s making work for himself and relief that he can at the very least make up for it.
caught in a cycle of accidentally breaking streets he just fixed.
tiny Danny, surprising his coworkers with how strong he is. Danny slowly getting more visibly muscular and having a valid excuse for it. still pretending to be clumsy so his coworkers don’t question his injuries. people joking that he’s more of a hazard than the ghosts are.
Danny steadily getting really good at crafts and using his growing knowledge of construction and architecture as an advantage in ghost fighting. Danny eventually fighting an architect ghost, that brings buildings to life. Danny just sighing in the wake of the ordeal cause he knows he has to fix all this.
Danny sometimes being strait up lazy and sticking around to use his powers to fix things up after fights. because now that he knows what he’s doing, it’s so much easier than just leaving everything a disaster and having to fix things as a human later. but he can never get as much done as he wants cause ghost hunters. the rest of amity is like ‘hey let him work.’
working on an engineering degree cause it can contribute to his trade and get him in the door of some space program. even if he doesn’t get to space, he can help make rocket ships and help other people get to space (low-key might sneak onto a space shuttle when no one’s looking)
Danny pursuing his dreams in a different way and achieving some amount of satisfaction in doing it. his parents are really proud of him, because even if it isn’t ghosts, he’s still making a difference and his prospects seem better.
Danny still being 100% tired
just construction worker Danny!
“Danny pursuing his dreams in a different way” ur killing me dude
The Abandoned Sanzhi UFO houses, New Taipei City, Taiwan
The Sanzhi UFO houses were futuristic pod-shaped buildings built in 1978 which were then abandoned a couple of years later. They were (and still remain) a great area of interest worldwide due to their architecture and the mysterious and tragic deaths that occurred during their construction. The buildings were fully demolished in 2010 and the site is now being converted into a seaside resort and water-park.
On bad days I remember. The rest of the
time I am free. They say this world we live in is grey as though that
were a bad thing. There is no colour here, and there are those who
claim it is not a blessing. I think they forget Before. Or they do
not understand. A blessing. A gift. There is pain here, but it is
only waiting. There are other pains, but they are not real.
Sometimes it is hard to remind them of
that. There will be a whispering of voices from the real world.
Sometimes flashes of memory desperate to imprint. I move. The Grey
Lands are my home. The living have no power here. I move past others.
People. Buildings. Entire towns and technologies all as real as the
final breath of the dying. Not captured, but suspended. There are
places beyond the Grey Lands, but I have no desire to know them.
I wander what becomes familiar. Drift.
They say the Grey Lands are as large as the world of the living, but
they are wrong. Only so many things produce a ghost. Certain places,
events, buildings, people. And everything that is a ghost fades over
time. We are like dew, fighting against the sun, almost never knowing
why we fight.
That I can think thoughts like that
worries me at times.
I have met him before. Briefly. In
passing like two wishes in the night. He walks up to me in a casual
movements, hands deep in the pockets of jeans. He is thin and solid
both, a ghost and something Else as well. I know his story. Once
every ghost in the Grey Lands did. The only ghost denied entrance
into the Grey Lands entirely. But now here. He has been for some
I stop and wait. There are few
ghost-eaters, and few of those become ghosts. Dyer was one. He has
power here, as he did there. “I am not a poltergeist for you to
banish,” I say. Formal. Distant.
He smiles. The smile is crooked and
easy and he does not stop when he does. “I am aware of that.” His
voice sounds soft but it is not soft. “Not all ghosts have the
presence to return from the Grey Lands to haunt the living. Some
never even have the drive. Of those who do, only some become
poltergeists. Those are the ones I destroyed, when I had to. Then and
“You can destroy a poltergeist in the
real world from the Grey Lands?” I am shocked, and do not hide my
“Their surprise is part of what makes
it worth the effort,” Dyer says. “But I am not here about them.”
“I am no poltergeist. Nor haunting.”
“No, you aren’t. You never even
tried to be one, not even once. People call you back. They try to,
with their séances and requests. With tricks and wishes and stories.
“The Final Séance. I remember that
one. A hotel. My wife, others. A photo burned. Ten years was long
enough, she said then, to wait for any man. I thought it would stop
them, but people continue. Persist.”
“You could have gone to her,” Dyer
said, mild, without judgement. I think he is almost as old as I, but
there is no judgement to him.
“Two words. I could have said two
words. ‘Rosabelle believe,’ and Bess would have known it was me.
They still have them, these séances for me. I feel them every year.
Like small cuts. Pressure sores. She is dead, but they still try to
call me. As if a séance could hold me.”
“Death is a box one does not escape.”
Dyer pauses. “That sounded better in my head. Your wife did not
become a ghost.”
“No. It was a blessing. All those
years. Debunking. Disproving. Knowing
that ghosts were not real. I could not have faced her. I, the
King, shackled by that.”
it helps, there are many fakes. There are even those who fake being
true magicians, or think that managing a single exorcism makes them
into an exorcist. You could
not have known. The Grey Lands aren’t meant to be known by the
living, in case more desire to become ghosts.”
are you here?” I finally ask.
have been here longer than most. But all ghosts fade. The Grey Lands
are not permanent. Few things are –.”
are permanent things?”
Jay that I know of.” I wait. “It is complicated, and not
important right now. You have to leave, or some day you may be
laughs. “Nothing like that, as you well know. I can help you let
don’t know. An adventure, I imagine.”
stare at the ghost who could destroy me. I don’t understand all he
has said, but enough of it. I am old. I am tired.
yet. See me next week. Ask me then.”
nods, and walks away, drifting between two ghost buildings.
stare after him. I take a step. “Is it grey?”
turns. “Is anything?” Dyer asks, and he is so gentle it hurts.
say nothing else. And we are alone. And other ghosts are watching. I
am famous, even here.
Will there be a sequel to that amity lair au~? it sounds super interesting, dude!
I was planning to write a fanfic about it, but since I cannot write it right… here the plot:
Danny is seventeen and his life is the same as an average episode of the show (school, fight against the freak of the week, yadda yadda), but his parents have started to explore and study the GZ.
Atmosphere, phisics, and even ghost lore.
Danny has managed to convince them to have an approach a little less… fiery towards ghosts (they still don’t know his secret btw).
After taking some data on lairs, Maddie discovers that every lair emits a sort of ecto-signature of its own… the echo-signature. Then, by keeping her instruments on, she finds out that Amity Park -the whole city- has got one.
Then the Fentons start to do research to understand what this really means for the city and his inhabitants, and maybe to find a way to discover who’s the ghost owner of the “lair”. At the very end, yes, Amity Park is Danny’s city-lair hybrid,
and that’s why nobody relocates, even with all those dangerous ghost fights.
Everybody still got free will, they can exit the city, but they can’t stad the idea of live elsewhere. It’s a subtle thing. I’ve thought that Danny, once he’s aware of it but unable to make it stop, starts to make conscientious changes,
like repairing things destroied by ghosts, like buildings, by sheer will power.
Banff Springs Hotel [Alberta, Canada] - most haunted places in the world
Banff Springs Hotel is a grand hotel that was built in 1888 and is still open today. There are rumours that this is the hotel that inspired The Shining, but that has been proved false. There are numerous ghosts that are said to haunt the place, such as…
Sam, an employee who died in the 70’s. He supposedly talks to guests and even helps them with their bags and on the elevator. However, he vanishes if you try to tip him.
A bride who got married at the hotel. She died after a candle lit her dress on fire; she panicked and fell down the stairs pictured. She is said to be seen wandering the hotel in her wedding dress. Guests have also reported feeling cold or chills while they are on the staircase.
A family who was murdered in room 873 by their father. Since the murder the room has been closed but the ghosts still wander around there; reports such as vacationers waking up in the middle of the night feeling paralyzed as well as seeing fingerprints on their mirror that won’t come off are supposedly the room 873 ghosts.
Haunted homesteads? Check out these abandoned homestead properties, ruins, and spooky ghost towns you will find on public lands in New Mexico. View the entire photo collection with descriptions on BLM New Mexico’s Flickr. #BLMhistory
Choose Your Illusion: Psychotropic Fungi Spores, Visions, Hauntings, and Ghosts
Could psychotropic mold spores lurking in decrepit old buildings be the root cause of ghost sightings? In this story from The Daily Mail, science, mycology, magic, and myth collide in a bubbling cauldron of epic proportions, and I couldn’t be more excited! As if I need any more convincing that fungi are the masked & cloaked puppeteers pulling the strings of human history, researchers from Clarkson University are implicating the inhalation of toxic mold as a probable cause for visions, hallucinations, hauntings, and paranormal activity in some of New York’s most notorious haunted houses.
Researchers will be measuring air quality
in several purportedly haunted locales across New York State, in order to deduce if there is a correlation between the airborn mold spores and brain inflammation. They
will be comparing samples taken from several buildings where ghost
sightings have been reported with samples taken from ho-hum homesteads with nary a ghost in sight, to see if there is a difference in the types of
fungi between those two locales. “Experiences
reported in many hauntings are similar to mental or neurological
symptoms reported by individuals exposed to toxic molds,” said
Professor Shane Rogers of Clarkson University in Potsdam, New York. “Psychoactive effects of some fungi are well-known, whereas the effects of others such as indoor molds are less researched. Although
allergy and asthma symptoms and other physiological effects are well
established, there has long been controversy over the effects of indoor
mold exposure on cognitive and other functioning of the brain. Reports
of psychiatric symptoms including mood swings, hyperactivity, and
irrational anger, as well as cognitive impairment are prevalent among
those exposed to molds.”
No stranger to the far-reaching, miasmic, and often nebulous symptoms of brain inflammation, I can testify to the pervasive power of the altered states one can sink into under the right duress. According to the article, preliminary laboratory research on this subject is emerging that
“supports brain inflammation and memory loss in mice exposed to
Stachybotrys charatarum, a common indoor air mold, as well as increased
anxiety and fear.” Coupled with the subconscious suggestibility that permeates one’s experience in an infamously supernatural locale, we have an environment rife with illusory impressionability for spectral enchantment.
A friend of mine was reflecting on the widespread co-opting of mystical experience by the scientific community, and wondered aloud if it is truly wise and prudent to dismiss something that may be
magical as a construct of scientific phenomena. “Too much reality ruins the new eyes
of a child,” they ruminated. While I agree, I also believe that fungi and science are inherently magical, and the more mycology I
study, the more slackjawed, wide eyed, and agape with magic that I am. Where science and magic intersect is where Botanarchy dwells, and it is in this liminal slipstream where I prefer to hang my hat.
Clarke’s been walking through what
she guesses will be another ghost town, scavenging the buildings she comes to,
in hopes of finding supplies. Anything
will be of use to her now – bullets, bandages, medicine, something to craft –
of course bullets are higher on her list.
But she’s coming up empty. Again.
Of course it’s empty.
Everything is always fucking empty.
She can’t say that she’s
surprised – not really. Most buildings are usually picked up, nothing left but
the sorry remains of what the houses, department stores, gas stations, etc used
to be before the world went to shit.
She’s about to give up searching
this building, deciding to move to another one, when she hears a noise. It
almost sounds like footsteps and she leaps to her feet, jogging around the
stack she was rummaging through to give herself some cover in case whoever it
is has the same mentality as the hunters.
To shoot first and ask questions
This time, she won’t hesitate to
put one of them down. Not after everything they’ve taken from her. Her mother, her
best friend since childhood.
Well granted I had more bullets.
As she ducks behind the display
she was just rummaging through, she prays it doesn’t come to that.