ghostly image

Animorphs Major Arcana

I’ve been getting into tarot lately, as you may have noticed in Putting Down Roots. I really wish I were a visual artist at all because I’ve been thinking a lot lately about Animorphs imagery I would use for the Major Arcana in the tarot. I’m a very visual thinker and have vivid images for each, though I haven’t thought of all of them yet. So I’ll just lay out what I’ve got and see if anyone is inspired.

The Fool

The Animorphs in the construction site, looking up at Elfangor’s ship as it descends. They look awed and terrified at the same time.

The Lovers

At the bottom of the card we see Mr. Tidwell’s head, eyes closed, gently smiling, the outline of his brain glowing behind his face. Above his head we see two versions of Tidwell: Illim!Tidwell, holding up real!Tidwell as tears stream down his face, but under the tears he’s smiling, because he’s not alone.


Cassie in wolf morph. She’s growling, and a ghostly image of human!Cassie has her hand on the wolf’s neck, soothing, holding back the wolf’s deadly power. A visual representation of how she holds the animal’s instincts in check.


Cassie and Karen in the woods. Cassie holds Karen by the shoulders at arm’s length, looking down at her, trying to decide whether she and Aftran will live or die. Aftran, through Karen’s eyes, looks up at her, afraid and defiant at once.

The Wheel of Fortune

The Ellimist, in Ketran form, in the vast starry expanse of space, holding a skein of glowing threads – timelines, as he describes them in The Ellimist Chronicles. He holds a single thread from the skein, contemplating it.

The Hanged Man

This card has two Evas. Edriss!Eva stands in executioner’s garb on one side of a tree, holding the free end of a rope she’s used to hang real!Eva by the foot. On the other side of the tree, Real!Eva has a look of utter determination on her face – is that rope holding her up starting to fray?


Human!Elfangor and Loren hold hands. Behind human!Elfangor is the ghost of his Andalite self. All three of them are watching a clock on the wall, where the minute hand is about to hit twelve. The end of one life for Elfangor and Loren, and the beginning of a new one.

The Devil

The dark mirror of Illim and Tidwell in The Lovers. Taylor’s head is at the bottom of the card, eyes open, a hard stare, smiling cruelly. Above her head we see Sub-Visser!Taylor, undamaged from the fire, fitting a prosthetic arm to real!Taylor, who makes a fist with the prosthetic arm, teeth bared in anticipation.

The Tower

Jake and the Howler falling from the tower on the Iskoort planet, struggling with each other, Jake in mid-morph.

The Star 

Hirac utzum, from 33: The Illusion. Under an alien sky full of alien stars, Elfangor presses a blazing white tail blade to the forehead of a young Andalite who looks lost and in pain. Behind the young Andalite are the ghosts of a boy and a hawk. It’s Tobias.

The Moon

The whale from 4: The Message. The moon shines down on her as she guides four dolphins and a shark through the dark ocean.


A ghostly Rachel, looking small standing before the vast Ketran form of the Ellimist, infused with the timeline-threads of the universe. Between the Ellimist’s face and hers it says “You were brave / You were strong / You were good / You mattered.”

The World

A round table. A negotiation. Cassie, Ax, the governor, an Andalite general, Toby Hamee, and Arbron are all standing around it, spreading their arms or arm-equivalents on the table as if in offering. At the center of the round table is a map of the galaxy. The war is over, and anything is possible now.

We Walk Through The Fire

Obi-Wan Kenobi had found that on the whole, dying was a lot easier than being dead.

He remembered his death quite well: standing in that hallway, cut off from the painfully familiar hangar bay by Darth Vader’s furious hatred and a rushing squadron of stormtroopers that were pale imitations of the men who had served under him once. His joints had screamed for mercy and his muscles had quivered from exertion.

The fight with Vader had taken far more out of him that he wanted to admit and he was losing. He knew it in his bones. Vader was powerful and even with his prosthetic limbs and respirator, he was still a great deal younger than Obi-Wan and the Force had always been stronger with Anakin than it had been with Obi-Wan.

Anakin. When was the last time he had said his beloved friend’s name aloud? When was the last time he had allowed himself to think back on those golden memories of a time before Darth Vader and the Empire?

Had it been so long?

“Your powers are weak, old man,” Vader said, his voice artificially low, no doubt a creation of Sidious’s meddling, perfecting the weapon he had carved out of Anakin Skywalker.  

Obi-Wan had said something ridiculous and Jedi-esque in return, something about how if Vader struck him down he would become more powerful than Vader could possibly imagine. Something Yoda and Qui-Gon might have approved of.

They were the last words he ever said. To Vader.

To Anakin.

His last words and they had been spent, wasted, on trying to prove that he knew more, that he was smarter than a boy he had crippled and trapped in a nightmare existence.

Not words of love, of loss, of forgiveness sought and freely given.

No, Obi-Wan just had to go and be the bigger Jedi, prove once and for all that Anakin had always been one step behind, one heartbeat too slow, that Obi-Wan was still the master and Anakin hadn’t learned anything.

But then there was Luke, brilliant, shining, caring Luke, who had so much of Padme in him, so much of what had been good in Anakin within him. Obi-Wan had no doubt that Luke would succeed where he had failed because for all of Obi-Wan’s Jedi posturing, for all of the mystical, esoteric nonsense he had occupied his time with on Tatooine, Luke was Anakin’s child.

He was Padme’s child.

Obi-Wan remembered smiling at Vader, remembered feeling the Sith Lord’s confusion through the Force, through the remnants of their bond as Master and Padawan.

But it was too late. Time to end the game.

He raised his blade to his face and closed his eyes.

He thought he almost caught a faint hesitant impression from Vader, a quiet, confused, Master? What are you doing?


Obi-Wan exhaled and reached out with the Force, took hold of his last attachment and faced eternity.

I am Obi-Wan Kenobi. I am a Jedi.

I tried and failed. I loved and lost.

I still love Anakin, in spite of all he has done.

I know there is good in him and that Luke will find it.

My time has ended. I cannot… I cannot save him.

That was never my destiny.

Goodbye, Luke.

Goodbye, Anakin.

He never felt the blade that cut him in two.

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God, I think I finally got this little blurb written after initially having the idea in like May? >_< This is based on @thebananafrappe and @azulandrojo‘s horrifyingly beautiful creation, Axetale along with @mercy-monster‘s fantastic drawings crossed over with Repo! the Genetic Opera’s song, Legal Assassin.

I shared the idea with Banana and she wrote her take on it, which is fantastic btw, go read it. She beat me to the punch with some details, so if you see similarties, creative minds think alike sometimes? I tried to keep to the lore the creators made for this world, so if there’s something that doesn’t jive, write it off as creative liberties. 

Enjoy part 1! 

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Anne - S1 - Episode 1

“Your will shall decide your destiny”

An exploration of the first episode of Anne the Series (aka ‘Anne with an E’). This episode is such a wonderful introduction to the characters and setting of the re-imagined Anne of Green Gables. Unique in tone and rich in nuance. It provides so many layers for fans to discuss! Click the ‘Read More’ link to head into spoiler territory…

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WidowReaper Week. Day 1 — Catalyst

It truly does not make sense. Even with the silence filling her one ear and the echoes of gunfire, she shouldn’t be… feeling like this.

A voice of a ghost is cut off as his commlink shatters. The last of his ghostly image disappearing down a dark alleyway, trying to lose the three thugs wielding knives and pistols, still flashes through her mind. Every other second. Slow, and fading, but suddenly there. Like her heartbeat.  

Muttering a curse in her mother language, she grapples from the rooftop. Her arms swing her to the next building as her fingers tap her helmet. The vision letting her see four red figures through a wall, mingling in a narrow side street.

Rolling to a stop, she positions her sniper in one swift motion. The view is narrow as her sights tries to focus on a target without Reaper being caught in the crossfire. Breathing slowly, her cold skin matches her cool heart. Her finger is steady and waiting for the moment to strike. The swift movements can only belong to him as a few shots from his guns dispatch one enemy, but a thug slips behind. Reaper is oblivious to the dagger rising above his head.

Her lungs expand, pausing as her sights settle on a tattoo peeking out from the thug’s neck.

Reaper doesn’t flinch at the bullet flying past, only finishing off the target in front of him. He straightens up. The bone white mask easy to see through the scope as he looks back at her.

Straightening up, she extends her arm to launch a hook forward. The steel claws catching the edge of a roof before she jumps. Swinging and controlling her descend with precision, she lands on the street. Already moving towards him as the wire recoils back into the launcher around her arm.

“You would have been killed,” She starts, voice low and dancing along with her smooth accent. The dark man turns to face her, throwing aside his guns before tilting his mask the slightest degree.

“I had it under control,” he growls, deep and echoing ghoulishly.

This is only their first mission. Mistakes shouldn’t be happening, and her body shouldn’t feel so caught on the edge. Her ribcage seems to be pressing against her lungs too lightly, her cool heart trying to pump against the cold.

“Then I suppose I didn’t have to stop that man from jamming a knife into your spine.” Sharp, and almost amusing. Her voice speaks a joke she can’t quite find the punchline to.

His hands still, the fainting wisps of smoke rises from under his cloak. Pressing the fact he is less than human, but more than anyone could know.

Maybe her cold hands could touch the edges of his red soul.

Gracias.” He coughs out the word so quickly it sounds more like a huff of air then actual letters.


His mask flashes in the darkness, sharp claws curling into fists as his shoulders lower. “Thanks.”

She switches the weight on her legs and presses the butt of her sniper into her hip. Her blue lips slowly part as her chest lets go of the pressuring building inside.

“Don’t do that again.” She says, reaching one hand forward. He stills as her fingers twine over his claws. Loosening the fist and linking their forms in the darkness. Gently, her thumb smears away a blob of blood on his knuckles. Her skin sense the burning heat that radiates form his skin. Not quite alive, but not quiet dead.

“Come,” She orders, but speaks it in a whisper. Turning, her arm does not pull him along but he keeps the same pressure in her hand. Following, and allowing her to touch his fingers. The thought of letting him go causes a light shift of weight to her lungs. A feeling she does not rejoice in. Keeping him close, they snake through streets to return to their hideout.

Her skin is cold.

Her heart barely beats.

Her lungs hold still.

But her chest lightens at his touch.


O’Hare Mansion - 

The O’Hare Mansion once stood in Greencastle, Indiana. It has since been demolished but has left behind a legacy of some of the best pieces of paranormal photography every captured. 

A man called Guy Winters was convinced by some friends to join them in exploring the ruins of old mansion. The building, which had been built by the O’Hare family in the 1800s, had been out of use and had fallen into disrepair. During his exploration of the house Guy took many photos of the building and when he had those pictures developed he was shocked to see ghostly apparitions in the finished photographs. Upon further examination he also found that the spirits appeared on the orginal negatives for the images. 

These ghosts have been nicknamed the Pink and Gold Ladies. Guy sent the photos to a tv station who tacked down the surviving members of the O’Hare family. He met with Mary O’Hare who recognised the Pink Lady in the photos as her mother, Irene O’Hare, and told him that the room the Pink Lady is standing in was once her mother’s bedroom. 

Aku: Source of Inner Turmoil

Jack finally had time to just rest. For once he didn’t need to save anyone or flee the countless robots and bounty hunters that Aku constantly sent after him.

He was browsing some wares at a bazaar when he noticed a familiar face and at first he felt like he must’ve been dreaming.

A woman with short hair, long legs and an outfit to die for, this of course was Ikra.

“No…” he thought

“Aku would never use the same form twice?”

Ikra was on the other side of the bazaar talking to one of the locals. Jack, now too distracted to even focus on anything else just stared at her.

Why would he do this? What’s his ploy this time? He knows I’ll see through it”

Next to him a blue apparition appeared, much to Jack’s dismay. It was a copy of himself, just a younger version of himself.

So, Ikra again huh?” the other Jack said. “How long has it been exaclty since you got your heart broken?”

Jack didn’t answer this ghostly image of his past, he didn’t want to hear his taunts.

He closed his eyes and tried to calm down, then looking back in Ikra’s direction. It didn’t seem like she was after him, which was at least a plus.

Quite the source of turmoil eh? The only woman you fall for and manage to feel comfortable with turns out to be your sworn enemy?”

Jack simply breathed, once again ignoring his inner self’s mockeries.

You still have feelings for her don’t you? You love him, don’t you? Somewhere deep in your soul you wonder how much of your relationship for those many months was fabricated, isn’t that right?”

Shut up” Jack whispered out loud, clenching his fists. He decided to walk back to the place he was staying at, trying to forget this even occurred.

 “How are you gonna feel when you kill Aku then? Are you gonna be happy? My bet is you’re gonna be sad at the death of your soulmate”

Shut up!” he said, this time louder, the people at the bazaar noticing and staring at him.

“Perhaps that’s why you’re taking your sweet time killing Aku. It’s been years and you could’ve already forced him to make a time portal and then vanquished him.”

Shut up!” Jack yelled at himself.

In what world would a relationship between the two of you ever functio-”

SHUT UP!” he screamed, this time holding his head in vain and crouching down in the middle of the bazaar. 

After a while he just faked unconsciousness and laid down on his side. Jack knew that in a friendly town like this someone would come to his aid. 

He didn’t care if the people in the town thought him to be mad, he wanted the taunts of his inner self to stop;  He just wanted to sleep

He wanted to dream.

Dream of them together.

Phantom’s Tour

Day 8, prompt “sightseeing”. Enjoy!

„And on the right you can see Nasty Burger, place where you can get a tasty burger with highly explosive special sauce! There’s also a high chance to see a ghost attack – it’s the most haunted place, second only to the school!”

Teenagers already being at the Nasty Burger were met with incredible sight of their local town hero/menace Danny Phantom, floating a feet above the ground, with a bright green “TOUR” sign in his hand. Around him gathered group of people – obviously tourists. They had cameras at the ready and T-shirts with Phantom’s face on them.

“If you don’t die from the cholesterol, I’m pretty sure one of the ghosts will make the job! Come on, now, let’s move to the school, and then we’ll see the highlight of our tour: FentonWorks!”

Phantom started floating down the road, leading the tourists and curious eyes of citizens. They’ve got a weird feeling it wouldn’t be the last time they saw it.

It was summer, the school was mostly empty. That’s why Phantom had no troubles with phasing through the door and making them open.

The group walked briskly after him, taking dozens of pictures and commenting on every little piece of decoration.

“This locker on the right, this destroyed one, it’s 724! It’s haunted by Sydney Pointdexter, boy who committed suicide because of bulling! Watch out here – if he spots you picking up on someone, he will make your life a living hell!”

Most people just took a photo of the locker and went past by; but some made deliberate effort not to be close to one of the scrawny kids. Maybe he just got a pass for few days.

“Here on the left is cafeteria – a place where you can die either from food poisoning or angry ghost of a Lunch Lady! She hates any changes to the menu – take the meat out and you have an attack guaranteed!”

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Retributor Paladins of the Anvils of Heldenhammer. Ancient warrior souls of a now destroyed world inhabit the minds and armor of those that bear the Lightning Hammers of the god-king Sigmar. Stoic and silent in their advance. Assailed by the memories of the lands they once called home being little more than a ghostly image of a bygone age. Their armor blackened with the ash left in their sorrowful wake.

my sister: oh hey, are you caught up with the adventure zone?

me, while the ghostly images of one thousand discourse posts drift across my vision: hahah nah i’ve kind of been slacking i guess


September 12 - Wish You Were Here

When Pink Floyd entered Abbey Road’s Studio 3 to record the next album after Dark Side of the Moon, they felt creatively drained. They had achieved all the fame and fortune that every rock band dreams to have, and the pressure was on to do it again. The band could have just as easily broken up, a victim of its own success.

David Gilmour had preferred to record the trio of post-Dark Side jams they had been developing on tour: Shine On You Crazy Diamond, Raving and Drooling, and You Gotta Be Crazy. But Roger Waters arrived at the concept of supplementing the Syd Barrett tribute Shine On with other new songs lamenting Syd’s absence and absence in general. Shine On’s crib mates were put on the shelf until the next album, Animals (with some retooling they became Sheep and Dogs, respectively). A secondary theme also emerged: criticism of the machinations of the music industry, in the form of Welcome to the Machine and Have a Cigar, the latter more blatant with lyrics from the first person perspective of a fat cat music executive spouting greedy clichés.

The packaging of the album also explored the theme of absence. The front cover: two businessmen shaking hands, a gesture that proves to be lacking sincerity when one of them gets burned in the deal. The back cover: an empty suit selling transparent Floyd records (and his soul) in the desert (note the various Pink Floyd stickers on the briefcase, and the record is Wish You Were Here itself). On an enclosed postcard: a diver without a splash. The inner sleeve: a veil in a windswept grove (look closer for the ghostly image of the woman behind the veil). All of this was to be wrapped in opaque black shrink wrap, forcing the art within to be absent from the record shop shelves and denying its use for the commercial purpose of selling the album. They compromised with the reality that the art is in fact a product for sale and must have some identification by allowing a sticker – depicting a robotic, inhuman handshake – over the shrink wrap. When Storm Thorgerson presented his concept to the band, they applauded.

Wish You Were Here was released 39 years ago today, September 12, 1975. It was an instant number one in the UK, where demand was so great that stores received only 50% of their initial orders. In the US, it reached number one in its second week. It was Pink Floyd’s fastest selling album ever. The album is a favorite of many Pink Floyd fans, and David Gilmour and Richard Wright cited it as their favorite as well.


the witch’s eyes lock on a            crystal         ball,             hazelnut hues fixated, making out a         ghostly         image         from within the tool. the         raven         haired         boy’s         skin         crawls,         goosebumps scattered on his body at whatever sight greeted him. it is in that moment that his         defense         mechanism         kicks in, all         expression         from his face         &         body,     gone.

❝             fuck  ,           i   can’t   ——  well  i  can’t  make          anything           out  of  what  i  got.  it’s not  my  really  my           strong           suit.          i  can  tell you  that  whatever  i  just  saw          ——          it           doesn’t           look          good,           &          not  to  sound  like  a           wuss,         but   i’d  suggest  being  weary  of  whoever  you  let  into  your          life           right  now.             ❞