#keep fighting folks

[dandelion-roots]

[ID: a digital drawing of sklonda, pok and riz gukgak from fantasy high. sklonda is sitting in an armchair and holding newborn riz, her head angled slightly back and leaned up against pok's. pok is leaning over the back of the armchair, face pressed half against sklonda's and half against her hair. he's hugging sklonda, one hand at the nape of her neck and the other leaned against riz's little head. riz is holding pok's index finger with his tiny claw as he sleeps. everyone's eyes are closed and pok and sklonda are smiling. End ID]

[dragonsongmakhali]

having an absolutely godawful day please show me the photos u keep in ur wallet of your ocs to keep me sane 🙏

[filurig]

goatsss

[kirby-the-gorb]

[kissingarthurclaus]

Save me Lazytown....Lazytown save me

[your-unfriendlyghost]

mentally prepping myself for another 9.5 hr shift tomorrow…might end up committing a few minor crimes after but we’ll see

[spotaus]

Hey! The ask!! Lets see if i can manage to type everything i thought about in the time i got my break!!

So. I got thinking. (This was also a half baked drabble idea but didnt feel like making it a full one so you are getting the idea like this!! >:D)

We spoke about how Killer would be guarding Nightmare in the raid where Dream manages to steal him.

The problem is. If Killer can still move this guy WILL throw himself at Dream to save Nightmare. Meaning that Killer has to be mortally wounded. (Also works with why Nightmare rushes to shield his older brother)

So we got Killer just laying in whatever room Nightmare and him ahd been in. Probably slowly bleeding out.

On one hand. You can have the Knights run in right after. But then what is stopping them from splitting up, one part staying with Killer and one part rushing after Dream? And it has been YEARS since Dream last visited the castle. He may not remember everything quite right.

So... in theory. It should take more time for the Knights to get to Killer. But Killer is mortally wounded.

So. In comes!! Ccino (my beloved).

Ccino had been going towards killer and nightmare after helping the servants and maids evacuate or go to the bunker.

He gets there to see Killer pretty much laying there dying on the ground, Nightmare no where to be seen.

What does he do?

Ccino's crisis management skills activate. He wants to find Nightmare but he has no clue of where Nightmare went and he has no way to fight whoever took him. Killer is in front of him actively dying.

He goes to Kilelr's side.

Killer, the romantic idiot, probably realises he is fucking dying. So maybe he is like. Maybe i can confess? (Add some extra angst and make it that the hit was by either his neck or spine or soul. Making him unable to communicate)

Ccino is trying to keep the wound closed but he has no healing magic. He doenst even have first aid kit on him beyond the bare minimum. What does he do?

Well... he knows there is one being still in the castle. He does a little prayer and asks for help.

For Killer? Killer is slowly falling unconscious. He tried to confess but cant speak. He cant even apologise for failing everyone and losing Nightmare. At least Ccino is here in his last moments. He isnt alone. So he falls asleep.

Maybe some warm light guides him. A familiar voice that was once a friend? He tries to follow only to be stopped. Stopped by something sharp and pulling him down. Back into the darkness. It feels like when he fell into a bush. The way those thorns prick his bones.

Killer at first tries to follow the image of his friend (were they his friend? They saved him right? So why shouldnt he follow them?)

Only to hear so soft. So quietly from the darkness. 'Please dont let him die...'

And that sounds like Ccino... so Killer follows that voice. Goes into the darkness and it feels as if he traveled through a overgrown forest with sticks and stuff all pulling on his limbs.

And he wakes up. His skull in Ccino's lap as Ccino keeps the wound closed and did the best first aid he did. Moments later the Knights rush in to assist.

(Yes. The tree pulled Killer's soul back to the living side while the memories of chara were trying to pull killer into oblivion and get him to die)

Okay that is all. I wanted to get that out of my system.

Okay. Hi. As always, losing my everloving mind over this. Gonna make a Cut so it's easier to scroll hehe-

First off, you are SO right about Killer fighting till he physically can't move. I think that the combat between Dream and Killer is actually decently drawn out, because Dream is kinda in a frenzy (Storm growing outside + just obliterated Cross as far as he knows) and as a mostly long-range attacker it was stupid of him to try and fight Killer alone in a confined space. Killer's fast, and has a lot more to lose if he loses this fight (Nightmare is still hidden but low key stuck, and Dream is very adamant about ending his life) so he gets up close and personal for a while and lands quite a few solid attacks. However, Killer has also heard about Dream. He saw the distress on his little face when Cross admitted who had sent him and why. How Nightmare refused to send an assassination party to end things prematurely. This is Night's brother, so Killer won't kill him. As much as he wants to.

This leaves him at a direct disadvantage, and anytime he backs off to recoup Dream shoots arrows at him. (I also think he took a couple on purpose, because where he'd hidden Nightmare was the trajectory and he couldn't block it fast enough). And then, I like to think that when Killer gets in really close one time, Dream summons his blades, the ones he was still a novice with. But! One of Them peirces Killer's outer ring of his soul, and Dream jabs upwards (kinda using his other hand on the hilt to have more force) and wedges it into Killer's spine just past his ribcage. When Dream does this it his the magical equivalent of a vein, and when he shoves Killer away and off his blade, the other can only stay upright for a few stumbles before he teeters and falls onto his back.

Soul out in the open, covered in wounds (I like to think Dream's arrows peirce and burn), and now bleeding and seemingly paralyzed, Dream pulls out his bow again, ready to shoot Killer straight in his target soul. But, he's still selfish, and he wants to monolgue a bit, curse Killer (who he believes has been controlling his brother for so long) and shoots his hand, then a gash in his neck from a well-placed arrow, until he can see that dusty layer rising on Killer's bones signaling it'll be a slow death.

But, when he finishes cursing out Killer, is ready to fire the final shot? Nightmare had been hiding in a wardrobe, when Killer had stopped talking he'd gotten worried and peeked out against his better judgement. Now, with the scene, he rushes into the crossfire and, like we've discussed, the arrow ricochets off the mask and knocks it off, revealing Night in his teen form.

And it's a quick pleading, a desperate little plea from Nightmare not to kill Killer, or hurt his knights or the people. To just stop. And Dream, after his moment of shock + probing Night's emotions to find this really is him, scoops him up. His intention was to finish Killer off, but the storm outside roars louder and he can feel a strong emotion hurrying his way, so he decides to retreat. Killer should bleed out anyways.

And now finally to your point!!! Ccino is absolutely the best option! The Knights have no idea what's happening inside, and all they can. Do to help is keep Blue and Ink occupied. Cross is down for the count and looking rough, and they just have to trust that Killer got Night out or somewhere safe. Ccino? Ccino finished his part of the job, efficient af, and is rushing to go find Nightmare and Killer. He doesn't know Dream got in, he doesn't know quite where they'd be, but he can kinda sus it out based on carnage and wet steps in the halls where *soneone* got it. If they did, Killer would probably be stalling with Night nearby.

And like u said, he gets there and finds Killer actively dying, and crisis management kicks in! Ough everything about this moment is so perfect... Ccino never learned medicine, and has no healing magic, so he can only make Killer a little more comfortable and put pressure on his wounds to try and stop the bleeding. And he *sees* that soul injury. No matter how well he staunches the blood flow with his apron, that would surely kill him without treatment. And Killer seems to still be conscious, but barely. He's fading. And silent, which is deeply eerie and Wrong.

And good gods. Killer wanting so so bad to confess because, he's gonna die anyways so he wants to get it out, but he Literally can't say anything?? Wauhh!!!!!

And Ccino reaching out to the Veing in the castle... praying, begging for Killer to be saved, because Ccino refuses to leave him alone, and also refuses to lose him. Killer was Night's first knight, the most important person in that kid's world (Ccino doesn't count himself). All the Knights rely on Killer for guidance and support. Ccino needs Killer in his life, this idiot, this criminal, is somehow one of his favorite people in this castle. Please, please, please don't let him go. Keep him here until help arrives. *please*.

And the Castle obliges. Not only is Killer the one who protected Nightmare, the prince who is restoring this land, but Killer is one Ccino values. Ccino is here, stopping his wounds, begging for help to save a life. He hasn't done that before.

And!!! The description from Killer's perspective!!!!! For all intents and purposes, it seems the warm friendly voice (Chara!!!) Should be the one he follows. It's gentle, beckoning towards a soft glow, it's peaceful. And then the tree's method of getting Killer back is to snag him. Darkness, unpleasant contact that stabs and pricks and scratches. It's not nice, it's not subtle, it's dragging him back into pain and agony of his injuries (even if it's not immediate). But Killer doesn't fight because he hears Ccino! Even if he doesn't process that it's him, it unlocks something in his core that makes him decide to take the hard route and push back through that dense forest until he's back to the living realm. Still on death's door, but alive!

Oh I love this visual so dearly, frothing at the mouth about it....

And ofc the aftermath. Dream couldn't find the main entrance, so he snuck out a servant's door and signaled from outside that he was ready to go. The militia (I think the guard was busy holding off militia members from entering the castle walls) retreats first, scattering into town and Rogers demands no pursuit, hold the walls strong. Then Blue and Ink narrowly escape by simply using Ink's magic puddles, appearing somewhere else in the city through a big enough rain puddle. (Though, miles out they're still dodging the occasional lightning strike).

Only after they're too far off do the knight rush back. Horror's got Cross (in critical condition due to a blow to the side of his ribs+spine but ultimately stable) and Dust leads the way to search for Night and Killer, also following the trail Dream had left, and... they find Ccino and Killer. Killer is very very much limp in Ccino's lap, they're basically sitting in a pool of Killer's blood, and Ccino upon spotting them rapidly tells Dust to go find a healer and bring them here. Immediately.

Horror sets Cross nearby and focuses his efforts on trying to help Ccino put pressure on Killer's wounds but he can't do much either.

But, y'know, the healers who have magic for it are able to stabilize him (they are flabbergasted that he's not dead) and Cross is alright too. Dust + Horror go searching for Night. Nowhere to be found.

[thelunastusco]

Oh my fucking GOD.

The ISSTD information about CDDs is NOT about system accountability. It is NOT about "well you have to make sure that a demon system member knows they're in a human body and anything they do will also hurt them too". The ISSTD isn't supporting the personhood of system members.

"This translates to--"

Stop.

Y'all are literally jumping through hoops to convince yourself and others that the ISSTD sees systems as different people sharing one body if-that-is-how-someone-identifies when that is flat out not the case. Will some providers be good about it? Sure! There are definitely providers who accept systems as different people if that's what they say they are, but that is ABSOLUTELY NOT what the ISSTD suggests.

The DID patient is a single person who experiences himself or herself as having separate alternate identities

It can be helpful to use the terms that patients use to refer to their identities unless the use of these terms ... would reinforce a belief that the alternate identities are separate people or persons rather than a single human being with subjectively divided self-aspects

the patient is not a collection of separate people sharing the same body

patient should be seen as a whole adult person

You can't "translate" these quotes away as being "actually they mean--" because no, no they don't mean anything else. They mean exactly what they say: that plural folks coming in are not separate people even if they say they are, but one person with fractured aspects of their singular psyche.

Yes, you can agree to call them "people" or "individuals" if that's what the patient (singular) calls them, but they are ONLY alternate identities of ONE SINGULAR person, not their own people, and if calling them "people" makes the patient see them as separate people different from the One True Singular Person you're talking to, you are NOT to call them "people". The idea that a system is actually different people in one body is a false belief.

You are not a collective. You are, in their eyes, One Person. Period.

Yes, parts of the ISSTD sound really close to what the plural community would call system accountability-- the idea that "clinicians must hold the patient accountable for the behavior of any or all of the constituent identities", for example. But that is not system accountability. That is "you are one whole adult person, not separate people, and so accountability must be maintained as if you were one whole adult person regardless of what you believe or circumstances".

Yes, parts of the ISSTD sound close to accepting system members as separate people-- specifically the passage of "countertherapeutic for the therapist to treat any alternate identity as if it were more “real” or more important than any other". But again, that isn't because they see individual system members as their own, separate, whole people sharing a body. It's because "all alternate identities represent adaptive attempts to cope or to master problems that the patient has faced". Meaning, they are pieces of the One True Singular Person that have formed to cope or deal with problems, but are still that One True Singular Person nonetheless. So, sure, they're all "real" because they're all actually that One Person.

And for some systems, that might be how it is! For some plural folks who aren't systems, that might be how it is! But under no circumstance should the plural community allow themselves to be fooled into thinking that the ISSTD actually allows for the plural community to ever see themselves, in any way, as separate people sharing one body. It doesn't, and too many providers do not and will not see their plural patients in that way. Even if they mirror your language and play along. They can and will stop doing so, if they think that your system ACTUALLY considers themselves separate, unique individuals instead of "self-aspects" of One Person.

You can "translate" the passages into anything you want, but that doesn't change what is actually meant. Glossing over the fact that it flat out denies personhood because some other lines sound almost like community rhetoric changes nothing. We can't believe systems are literally talking themselves (and others) into thinking that the ISSTD sees systems as fully realized individuals when it says in plain language it doesn't.

We knew reading comprehension was dead, but c'mon.

What horrifies us is the potential that younger or less savvy systems will see that shit, accept it, and then walk into a therapist's office thinking "oh the ISSTD says to accept us as different people if that's what we say we are so it'll be okay". When that sort of thing USED to get plural folks put into mental hospitals against their will. When that sort of thing STILL winds up with systems being discriminated against, and in some cases denied treatment like trans health care.

Most singlets in the psych field DO NOT see you, a system, as different people sharing the same body-- even if they use your language. You HAVE to be careful and screen potential therapists. You HAVE to interview people to make sure that they will respect your system, and treat you/you all as you want to be treated. The ISSTD is NOT your friend, and providers who follow it will by and large NOT be the people you want to see, unless you're the sort of plural/plural system who sees themselves as "subjectively divided self-aspects" of One Singular Person.

The plural community has been fighting this bigotry for DECADES.

It has NOT stopped.

[bitchy-peachy]

Learn what actual "proship" means before coming at me with stuff that just tells me that you don't know what proship is.

[starry-bi-sky]

I had a thought, dear However scary About that night The bugs and the dirt Why were you digging? What did you bury Before those hands pulled me From the earth? I will not ask you where you came from I will not ask you, neither should you

-------- an extension of this excerpt because I've been thinking of Femme Danny and Jason all week. It's mildly suggestive, but that's really the only heads up needed. --------

Music blaring, bass heavy in her ears, Danny finds him in a ditch at the bottom of the bluff. She was leaving the observatory, and she nearly misses him as she turns out onto the last stretch of road leading back into the city.

She catches sight of him, just barely. A glimpse in the corner of her eye; something reflecting on the light. She thinks it's a deer at first, and instinctual terror that only the idiocy of a deer denting her car can give her, strikes her hard. There's no one behind her, so she slams the breaks.

Her car stops; there's no deer. She looks and looks, but there's no deer, no deer buddy — they always come in pairs. But something still catches her eye; light reflecting off leather, in the ditch below just a few feet in front of her.

"What the fuck is that?" Slips out of her mouth before she can really think it through, and she's pulling off to the shoulder, wheels crunching gravel, before she thinks that through either.

Danny's climbing out of her car within seconds, putting it in park and hitting her hazards as her door clicks open and she stands up on the ledge. The trees block the sky, and there is no moon beholden to brighten the land, only the dull light of the stars and the brights of her car.

There's a man in a ditch. And he's not moving. From the distance, Danny's not sure if he's breathing.

She breathes out for him; "Fuck." She's running around the front of her car, not thinking it through. Her feet crunch the gravel, bugs buzzing at her ears, and she's sliding down the small hill into the ditch to reach his side.

"Please don't be dead, please don't be dead." Repeats in mantra under her breath, she can smell blood; heavy and iron, mixing with the dirt and the grass. Her hands find his side, Danny rolls him over onto his back. Her fingers find his pulse, and she breathes relief. He's alive.

—---------

Danny finds no less than two — no, three guns, four knives, and an actual, goddamn shiv on the half-dead ditch man. But not a single ID or wallet.

The man reeks of danger, even in his unconscious state it lingers on him like a rich cologne. It's the human instinct to be curious, and maybe it's the blood and dirt that tells her he's bad news. Common sense, naturally.

She doesn't know what to do with him. Danny wants to help him, but the ghostly part of her, the one that seeks safety above all else — for herself, for her loved ones. Because growing up in a house of weapons on the tables for sticky, pudgy fingers to play with, and food that needs killing twice, and labs full of half-broken beakers and radioactive substances spilling onto the floor robbed her of it entirely, — tells her to leave him.

He's dangerous. Her core hums cold, freezing the tips of her fingers, making her ears ring. She forgets to breathe, her hands going numb. Leave him for the coyotes to find; for the bugs to feast on; for the mud to swallow whole. Leave him for the land. Nobody carries this many weapons on them unless—

He groans. In only the light from her high beams, his cracked lips split and makes a noise of pain. His chest rises, shuddery and slow, and he doesn't wake. The man slips back down into unconsciousness. But he's alive.

He's alive.

Danny exhales. It's springtime, wreathed in life. It's cold; he's cold. But alive. She shakes the chill from her fingers, resolution warms her lungs.

Carrying him up to her car isn't easy — dressed like fucking Dean Winchester and wearing half as many layers, the man is probably two hundred pounds. But she's been working out and taking boxing classes since sophomore year of high school. She throws him over her shoulder in a fireman's carry, and hikes them both up the hill.

She drives them home. Don't ask her why she didn't take them to the hospital; she can't give an answer. Not one that makes sense. She knows enough first aid to fix almost anything he might have.

Danny blasts the heat and turns the music on low; switches to something softer, more comforting, in case he wakes up. She kicks the passenger seat back far enough so that if he does, he's reclined comfortably.

He doesn't wake up, she can't keep her eyes off him anyways.

—---------

Danny lays him on the couch in her house. He gets blood and mud on the fabric, and she'll need to get a new one because of it. But she takes off his boots, strips him of his shirt and jackets, and flies to the bathroom to get her first aid kit.

He doesn't wake up the entire time she's putting stitches in his side. Nothing is broken, but he's bruised and cut. Some get band-aids, others get bandages.

The man has half as many scars as Danny does. Stabs, cuts, a few burns here and there. Danny has those too, but she doubts the man has been impaled before like she has. The luck of ghosts that they can't die by mortal means. Or curse, depending on how you look at it.

(There's a thin scar on his throat, like someone tried to slice it open. She sees it while she's stitching up a laceration near his collarbone, and Danny can't stop herself from huffing.)

("We match." She murmurs, joking dry and ingenuine. She doubts anyone's survived a botched decapitation like she has. At least his scar is thin and hard to see. That wasn't a good night for her; she had to sew it closed herself, alone out of refusal to let her friends help.)

When she's done, she collapses into the recliner beside him, and falls asleep. She slips in and out of dreams all night.

—---------

When she wakes up, the man is staring at her, sitting up on the couch like an animal listening for the predator nearby. It's a good thing she hid his weapons in the floorboards when they arrived. She stares back at him, eyes half-lidded with sleep.

He's handsome. She thinks, and wakes up fully.

—---------

His name is Jason Todd, he doesn't remember who he is.

That's... a problem.

—---------

She makes them both food, and she'll never stop appreciating the fact that she no longer needs to fight her fridge before the food inside lets her eat. She hasn't lived with her parents in years, and yet the awe still hits her some days.

"I thought I told you to stay seated." She frowns when Jason Todd enters her kitchen, a hand hovering over his bandaged side. They're both tense; awkward and wrong-footed. Off-kilter. It's not a surprise to her. He's amnesiac, she's a stranger.

Jason Todd blinks at her, leaning against the doorframe. From her periphery, he shrugs, only to suck in his teeth in pained regret moments later. "I got bored." He tells her.

"Well, I don't have painkillers," Danny retorts, cheek comes easy to her. Too easy, sometimes. "if you tear your stitches then I'm giving you a rag to bite into while I redo them."

Well, if anything, it gets a snort from him.

—---------

"So, do I have a shirt, or did you just find a half-naked, half-dead man in the woods and decide to take him home?" Jason Todd asks her from the table a few minutes later. She can see, even standing a few feet away, the gooseflesh rising bumps against his skin.

Her cheeks color pink, and she moves to the hallway. "You have a shirt," she says, "you have two actually, and a jacket. I threw the shirts in the wash because they were filthy."

The jacket was leather, so during the night, when she woke up from her many bouts of restless sleep, she got up and cleaned it by hand. "I would've done the same with your jeans, but I can take a half-dead man home," she opens the dryer and pulls out the shirts, "but I draw the line at taking off his pants when he's unconscious."

It gets a short laugh out of him; harsh and brief, and it makes her relax, just a little. Laughter meant just enough comfort to not be tense... most of the time. She returns to his side and drapes the still-warm clothes onto the table.

"What if my legs were hurt?" He asks her, raising an eyebrow even as he reached for the first shirt.

"Then that is called an exception to the rule, ditch man."

—---------

He stays with her. He has nowhere to go — and trust her, they looked. Or they tried to. But he has no social media that shows up under the name ‘Jason Todd’. Oh, there are Jason Todds, but none that match the way he looks — none of them his age, none of them with black hair and blue eyes, no white streak in the curls at the front.  

Well, there was one possible candidate. A Jason Todd-Wayne, infamous adoptive son of Bruce Wayne. But he died the same year Danny did, and unlike her, he didn’t come back. 

“Great.” Jason Todd sighs heavy, “I match with a dead kid.”

“I’m honestly kind of impressed.” Danny tells him, frowning despite her laughing disbelief. She scrolls through every social media she can find, and he just doesn’t show up. There are no warrants out for his arrests, no celebrity interviews with him in it, no missing news reports matching his description. Nothing. “How do you not have any socials? You’re like a ghost.” And she knows a thing or two about ghosts.

It’s equally as suspicious as it is impressive. Who are you, Jason Todd? She wonders, looking over to him.  

He merely shrugs, careful of his injuries, and slumps into his chair. “Don’t ask me, I don’t remember.” 

She gives him the guest room, and they go out and buy him clothes with what budget she can afford. She drags him to a thrift store first, to every thrift store in the city, and they come back with a decent enough haul that he has clothes for at least two weeks. 

—---------

“Danny, what is that?” 

She takes a long sip of her drink, Jason lingering at her side like a shadow. “A smoothie, Tucker.” She says, deadpan like it's the most obvious thing in the world as she slides into their favorite booth with practiced ease. “You know this, I always get one on Fridays.” 

Jason follows her easily, slow and careful, mindful of his sides. He’s back to awkward, tense, acting like an outside looking in. Like he’s not quite sure what to do in the face of her friends. They’ve been together for a week now, and she asked him if he wanted to meet Sam and Tucker with her. 

(“You’ve been cooped up here all week.” She says when he asks her why, her hands shifting the purse at her shoulder. In shorts and a tank-top her scars lay on display for the world to see, and while she's long since shed the worst of her self-consciousness, it still creeps up on her. She can feel his eyes on them, even after a week. “Some fresh air and a change of scenery might do you some good. Maybe even jog that noggin of yours.”) 

Sam and Tucker stare at her, expressions unreading on their faces. Their eyes flick to Jason at her side, and then back to her. Danny takes another longer sip of her drink, and when she lets go with an obnoxious smack, she jerks her head to Jason. “Oh,” she says like an afterthought, an impish smile shadowing over her lips. “This is Jason, I found him in a ditch on Sunday.” 

"You what!?"

—---------

She doesn’t know how it happens. It sneaks up on her like sunlight creeping across the grass, melting away the morning dew and warming the dirt. She loves him. She loves him, she loves him, she loves him. It’s a terrible, choking thing. Wonderfully beautiful, melting her from the inside out. 

She loves him, she loves him, she loves him.

It’s greater than anything she’s felt before. Different from when she nearly dated Valerie in high school — but so, so similar to it at the same time. Warm in its certainty, in its similarity, burning in its difference. 

Danny doesn’t even realize it until half a year living with him, maybe just a little bit longer. But she realizes when she comes downstairs in the early dredges of the morning, sleep clinging to her lashes and sunlight unfurling through the windows, and finds him in the kitchen making food already. 

It’s not the first time she’s woken up to him doing this. But it’s, for some reason, only now that it hits her how fucking domestic it is. With music playing soft through the speaker of his used phone, barefoot in nothing but sweatpants, and humming along under his breath. He’s gotten so comfortable here; he laughs easier now, smiles easier. It was like watching a flower bloom in real time. 

And the sunlight cards through his hair like fingers, caressing over his face in that loving way it does when it wants someone to see the breathless beauty of their eyes. 

Something constricts in Danny’s chest, tight, fond, wanting. Mine, her mind whispers, faint and distant, and knocking the air from her lungs like a fucking train. Her fingers curl tight around the stairway rails, she has half a mind to crack it in two. 

Then he turns and sees her, he always notices her quickly, and Jason smiles at her. 

Somehow, Danny manages to smile back smiling with the ease of breathing, even when her mouth runs dry.

(If she kisses him, will she taste sugar? She hopes not — white sugar is unfilling, sweet but with nothing else to it. If she tastes Jason Todd, she hopes she tastes caramel.) 

—---------

“Want to go throw axes with me?” Danny asks, draping over the back of the couch and hanging her arms off Jason’s shoulders. Her hand finds his hair, and her fingers tangle with the dark curls. She can smell his shampoo when she hooks her chin on the top of his head.

Jason stills, a book in hand — he’s always got a book, and Danny’s never had much artistic talent but she always want s to find a pencil, maybe some charcoals, and sketch the sight down on paper. Memory isn’t enough, she needs it burned into something tangible. She wants to burn everything he does onto paper, wants to remember every little thing about him.

Then he hums, questioning and low, and Danny tries not to shiver with greed to hear it again. She hums back, her next inhale clearing her head. “Well, it’s not just me, but Sam and Tucker too. A new bar opened up downtown and we were gonna check it out, and we have enough time to add another person to the reservation.” 

A silence, thick and thoughtful. Jason tilts his head back to look up at her, and she removes her chin and hand to look down at him. Her hair curtains over them both, locking her into his eyes — impossibly blue, and beautifully so, with teal lining the iris. 

He wears his thoughts on his sleeve, his brows furrowed and mouth puckered in lighthearted thoughtfulness. Quit making me want to kiss you, Danny thinks, and forces her eyes to remain on his face. Idly, her hands trace over his shirt, rising slowly to drag the back of her nail over his collarbone. 

Jason shudders, sighs out slow, and smiles easily. “Sure, what time are we leaving?”   

—---------

Danny sighs as if she aches; she does. Her fingers find Jason Todd’s hair, soft and slipping between her fingers like silk. He’s so close to her face she can feel his breath on her lips, it’s driving her crazy with it. 

“My god.” She murmurs, her voice slipping out without her consent as her fingers drop from his hair to trace featherlight touches down his temples, down his jaw. His eyes haven’t left hers, half-lidded they are, and heavy, staring at her like he might just swallow her whole. 

Please do, she thinks, tilting her head to the side to slot their noses next to each other. His hands tighten at her waist, fingers digging through her hoodie into her skin. He hums, questioningly, low and rumbling like a thunderstorm on the horizon. As if he can’t trust his voice to say something instead. 

Danny chokes on nothing’s heat and runs her thumb over his bottom lip, the flesh catching briefly on her nail. She can’t think straight with him so close to her. Not when he’s so close she can smell his cologne, not when he’s so close she can lean down and sink her teeth into his throat and leave a bruise. She should, it might clear her head. 

Instead, she sighs again, her mouth so close to his that she brushes over his lips when she says; “You’re divine.” 

In the end, she doesn’t need to think about leaving bruises on his throat, because Jason closes that centimeters’ worth of distance between each other and kisses her like he needs air. 

—---------

“Do you have to go, love?” Arms snake around her waist, slipping easily over her dress, and Danny laughs, soft and easy, as Jason pulls her flush against his chest and drops his head into the crook over her shoulder. He dwarfs her in the mirror, capable of curling around her entirely, and she raises a gloved hand to rake her fingers through his soft hair.

Danny hums deeply, tilting to bare her throat as Jason starts pressing kisses to the skin. “Vlad will be upset if I don’t show up.” She wasn’t sure of the importance of this party, but Vlad had promised her a hefty bribe to show up, and call her greedy but damn if she wasn’t going to turn it down.  

Teeth bite gentle at the underside of her jaw, and Danny laughs out of surprise. Jason smiles, indenting it into her skin, and his hand finds the slit of her dress and covers the burn scar on the outside of her thigh. “What about running late?” He asks, something impish in his tone. “I’ve never seen you wear this one; you look good in red.” 

Danny laughs again, turns her head to catch his lips against hers, and kisses him long and sweet. “Yes, he’ll be mad if I’m late.” She says when she pulls back. 

He pouts, and really, how else is Danny supposed to react other than kiss him again? So she does, happily. “Wake me up when you get back,” Jason murmurs against her mouth, chasing after her, “I want to help you undress.” 

—---------

Some days, death creeps up on her, and the phantom pains of it render her coiled into a ball in her bed. She wakes up at three am burning, her starburst scars rooting down to her bones to remind her of the feeling of being torn apart by the atoms and stitched back together again. 

Danny can feel her heart beating in her ears, fast and panicked like she ran a marathon, filling her mouth with iron and the urge to cough out her lungs. There’s a scream stuck in the back of her throat like a spider sac, and she writhes with her head in her arms for what feels like an hour before she forces herself out of bed, mind half-muddled like a zombie. 

Jason is still asleep, Danny doesn’t have half the mind to be grateful, she shuffles herself down into the garage and grabs a compressed canister from the fridge, hidden in a false shelf. She might not keep ectoplasm in the kitchen, but she does in the garage. 

She returns on second nature to the bathroom. She locks the door, shuts the drain, and runs the water to boiling, and doesn’t stop the faucet until the water reaches the little drain in the wall beneath that prevents overflow. The compressed canister cracks open with a hiss, and Danny dumps what’s probably an ounce of ectoplasm into the steaming water.

The effect is instantaneous, the water swirling and turning bright with ectoplasm all the way down. It’s diluted, and Danny only remembers to take off her sleep shirt before she slips into the water. 

Relief sinks into her, and chases away the worst of the pain. She sighs, she can breathe again, and dunks her head beneath the water. 

Then doesn’t get out until she’s freezing again and nearly peeling with wrinkles. 

(She goes downstairs when she’s changed into dry clothes and her hair is damp, and then collapses into Jason’s lap. Her face finds the crook of his neck, and Danny slumps, arms wrapping around his neck.)

(Jason’s hands find her waist, and his thumbs rub circles into her side, slipping under her shirt to run over the raised skin of the burn there. “What’s wrong?” He asks, murmuring low and close to her ear.)

(“Phantom pains.” Danny mumbles.)

(“Where?”)

(“Everywhere.”) 

—---------

When Danny returns home after finding Jason again, she feels numb, she feels cold. Her engagement ring is heavy on her finger and she feels like an outsider looking in when she looks down at it. 

She can’t get the way he looked at her out of her mind. It’s seared into her brain. 

Her back hits the door, and slowly she slides down it, a sob building in her throat. Her lip curling, her heart aching, her heart breaking. Too many questions inside her head for her to try and sort through them, but one is prevalent; Jason Todd is a liar.  

Danny shrieks his name so loud that she breaks her ceiling lights, and takes out the power throughout the entire block. There are dogs howling, cars wailing outside. There’s broken glass beneath her, scattered across the ground, cutting into her palms, and she hurts so much she wants to take the biggest shard and shred herself into ribbons. 

—---------

The memory fades away back into its small star-shape, and floats back up to the ceiling of her lair’s observatory. Danny watches it go, something small and aching still in her chest. Two weeks since she moved into the Zone, and she hates that she still loves him. She loves that she still loves him. 

She hates that she still misses him. She still visits Sam and Tucker, but Amity Park is tainted with the memory of Jason Todd; she needs away from it for a little while. Maybe a long while. She’s not too sure right now, she just needs to stay away. Somewhere where she can’t run into him. 

Danny pulls down another star to watch another memory again. One where they're dancing.

[littlefankingdom]

Me: I haven't listened to every Bloodywood's songs, but it's a great metal band and I think Jason would listen to it. Dana-Dan, a song about beating up rapists, for example, he would blast that shit. Bloodywood: *Makes a reference to Batman in one of their songs* Me: Oh no, he would hate that.

(The reference is in Chakh Le, a song about the growing disparities between the poor and the rich, and using your fame and money to help the poor, and the ref is about bringing justice and vengeance for the lower classes like Batman. Some Indian metalheads understand more Batman than Batman's writers)

[dragonsongmakhali]

9 Fandom Peeps to Get to Know Better

tagged by: @sealrock (ty friendo! i love sharin' little factoids :D) tagging: @uldahstreetrat @displaykitkats @eorzeanflowers @ubejamjar @otherworldseekers @tsupertsundere @mimble-sparklepudding @starrysnowdrop @archaiclumina

three ships I like: i hyperfixate on 1.5 ships a year and they're basically always ocxcanon or ocxoc so their names/existence aren't anywhere near common knowledge o(*￣▽￣*)ブ but. y'all know makhali x khasan ('khasali' is their portmanteau) at least, so I can mention them! they make me so happy and I love them a lot :) every time someone says something nice about them or how in love they look i melt like a chocolate easter bunny on a tampa bay sidewalk last song you heard: TAIDADA, by ZUTOMAYO. favorite childhood book: is it brainrot-y of me to admit I don't remember? If you count middle school as childhood, I get to say "The Fall Of Reach" (yes, the Halo novel) and be technically correct (the best kind of correct) currently reading: re-reading, and it's a manga, but Yotsuba&! because my niece is about Yotsuba's age and I wanted to see if it's a good recommend to my BIL and SIL. currently watching: OG dragonball. it's a good wind-down show that we put on as we're going to sleep. I was a big DBZ fan when I was a kid, but I had only seen scattered episodes of Dragonball itself before now. currently consuming: gluten-free breaded chicken from the frozen aisle. pops in the air fryer and is done in less than ten minutes, tastes just as good as regular. A boon for when I'm too lazy to cook. currently craving: a good gluten-free sandwich bread. My bread of choice was nature's own butterbread, so if anyone knows anything like it that won't destroy my life, please let me know. it is dire. i haven't had a sandwich in almost a year-

[valkyurii]

“if you didn’t beat radahn before the nerf YOU DIDNT BEAT HIM”

[ludinusdaleth]

sometimes i check twitter after my exile from it and quite honestly i dont know if you'll find people so completely, utterly miserable who have convinced themselves that is the proper way to be. tumblr certainly has its own issues with mob mentality, and everyone at large is in a mental health collapse, but there is something genuinely scary looking from the outside in to that bird app where you can almost exclusively only converse in snark & dread and are actively shamed from leaving because you might miss a political post on there. in any community! i did not realize how miserable i was til i was extricated from it and even just peeking in i felt awful again, like losing progress. it encourages the worst of folk and folk on there believe theyre doing a necessary evil just to spite musk and it's genuinely sad. i wish i was exaggerating even a little bit.

[softquietsteadylove]

Second prompt is a lil crazier but I can’t stop thinkin about it: what about a flash forward to older Heracles! He’s a big strong warrior now and an even bigger mama’s boy, respects his pops and somehow they end up in trouble so of COURSE he has to help them! He owes them everything! idk just a thought, do with that what you will and I’m excited to read it! Thank you <3

"Everyone, get back!"

The days of war in Athens had finally calmed, but now Deviants were more common than ever. Where they had been all this time was a mystery, but the attacks were now a daily occurrence.

"Off the battlefield!" Thena ordered as she swung first her spear and then her sword. The Deviant reared back after getting sliced through its eye. She turned. "Now!"

Heracles offered a grin, as if that would soften his defiance of her. "But the people need help!"

Heracles had grown from a mischievous human child into a man fit to be named a demigod by the people. Born a human but raised by the gods, Athenians would say. He was of towering stature now, hair golden and noble of character. He had a fine weapon, forged by the hands of the Great Champion himself.

Although it was said he could often be seen in town walking alongside an old mutt with a wooden children's toy hanging from his belt.

Thena huffed, turning her attention back to the battle at hand. "It was not up for discussion."

Thena circled the beast. It was massive, like the Bull back in Babylon. It was shaped like a cavalry horse, if massive. Perhaps the story of the Trojan horse would become muddled with this as time went on. "Up!"

Gilgamesh, as if apparating from thin air, appeared at her side and grasped her waist. He even made a full turn, using his strength and velocity to throw the Goddess of War into the air. He put his hand up to his eyes to shield them from the sun, admiring her like a shooting star. "Wow."

Even with Gilgamesh's help, she landed just above the creature's haunches. She closed both palms and dug her swords both into its wiry musculature. It reared up in pain, leaving her to dangle from them with only her own strength.

"Thena!"

"Hang on!" Heracles, having ushered the last of the citizens away from the immediate vicinity of danger, rushed forward. He ran straight at the creature, his eyes on the woman hanging onto its back.

Both Gilgamesh and Heracles swarmed like bees to a flower, watching and waiting anxiously to see if Thena would be thrown from the goliath's back from sheer force of its movements.

Upon its back, she gritted her teeth. "Accursed thing."

She changed the shape of her blades within its flesh, hoping to lodge them therein like fish hooks or poison barbs. But the horse was easily the height of the city gates back on its rear legs like this. If anything, it was only standing up too tall--too far back. She let go of her own accord, swinging herself around. "Gilgamesh! Send it that way!"

He frowned. He didn't want his choice to be between catching her and saving entire blocks of the city. But he raised his fist, charging his energy around it. It wasn't as if the fall could do any real damage. He just would prefer to be the one catching her.

Gilgamesh punched up in the creature's direction. No contact had to be made. He was able to avoid hitting Thena in the crossfire, sending a blast of Cosmic Energy up at the thing's back, forcing it to fall towards the cliffs and away from the edge of town.

Heracles caught her. He had taken a running leap and jumped at a height that was questionable for any human. He even landed successfully, his sandals sliding on the dirt path of the city's entrance for some distance. He looked at the Goddess of War, "you okay?"

Thena frowned up at him (the large child, as far as she was concerned). "Unhand me."

"What?" he laughed, as if this were all a game they were playing.

"I told you to get to safety, that is what," she huffed at him, standing from his embrace and dusting her spotless white dress off. "You are mortal, since it bears repeating."

Young man as he was, now, Heracles still turned his big, sad eyes on her. "I know. But the people need protecting, even if you and Pops have it under control."

She huffed. She could not deny that protecting humans was always the goal, and that surely having more help with it was not a problem. But that meant conceding that the human before her was no longer a child clinging to her with a snotty nose looking for pastry scraps.

She had to concede that he was grown enough to risk his life if he so chose.

"The citizens are clear of the area. They will need you to protect them if the walls are breached," she sufficed to say.

They watched as the massive horse fell, shaking the earth around them. Its back crumbled the cliffside and sent it tumbling down the side of the mountain. The road into the city from the shoreline would be compromised, but at least it and the city gates were standing yet.

Heracles looked at the Eternals, now both shorter than he. "Hephaestus is gonna be mad."

Gilgamesh crossed his arms at him. "I would think the mortal one here shouldn't be the most reckless one."

"Exactly my thoughts," Thena joined him in their united front against Heracles' disobedience.

The human blinked as both of them turned the disapproval on him. He took a step back, holding his hands up in front of him, as if choosing not to see their disapproving frowns would keep them from existing. "Hey, I was just trying to help."

"And since when do I need assistance?"

Gilgamesh snorted. Heracles had stepped right into that dung pile.

The young man cleared his throat, correcting his posture and leaning down in an invitation for her to ruffle his hair. "Never, Goddess Athena."

Thena uncrossed her arms, pushing his head up and away, which ruffled his hair by happenstance. "Agitating child."

He rose to his full height again with a grin. "Yes, Mother."

Thena gave up on lecturing him, choosing to examine the damage and peer down to see if the creature still breathed.

Gilgamesh chuckled at the mortal man, facing down the Goddess of War with such cheek. "You're lucky she's fond of you, or you'd be down there with that thing."

"You think I don't know that?" Heracles laughed. He had inherited Gilgamesh's mirth and zealous sense of humour, of all things.

"It's still alive."

The two of them rushed over. Heracles eagerly reached out to pull Thena out of the path of danger. Gilgamesh slid forward to take his place alongside her, in contrast. But it didn't matter; all three of them plummeted down the cliff as the Deviant attempted to claw its way back up to the city limits.

Its gargantuan hooves slapped into the cliffs, crumbling massive boulders in its wake and making it tumble down even further with every attempt.

Gilgamesh threw himself at both Thena and Heracles, holding his arms above his head. He grunted as he did have to endure a boulder or two before Thena added her power to his and skewered a few with her trident. "Where's Sersi when you need her?"

The dust settled and the three emerged. Thena looked at Heracles extensively. "Unscathed?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," he chuckled as she turned and twisted his head, poked at his arms, even jabbed him in the ribs between the plates of his armour. "Ow!"

"Do not leave your vitals exposed," she took the time to lecture before going to check on the Deviant again.

Heracles ruffled his own golden hair as he followed. "You battle in a toga."

Gilgamesh elbowed him. "Don't talk back to the Goddess of War."

The human sighed, knowing he was outnumbered by his unwavering mentors/parents. "Yes, sir."

The horse was indeed still alive. But as much as Eternals were not gifted swimmers, Deviants truly sank like stones. The monster was thrashing as it continued to tumble downward until it reached the shoreline. Its own mass would soon drown it.

"We should bring Sersi, tell her to expand the landmass and keep that thing's body contained within the rock," Thena declared, still watching until the fight left her enemy's body.

"That's gonna make for some wild fossils someday," Gilgamesh muttered to himself as he too watched. Of course, he only watched for as long as Thena did. He slid his eyes over to her. "Should we...go get her now?"

"We must be certain this thing won't try to claw its way on land again." The Goddess of War had spoken, and that was that.

Both men sighed heavily.

She turned back to them and their petulance. "We will have to climb back up the cliff regardless."

They had indeed fallen a great distance.

Heracles leaned over the edge slightly, holding his hand up mostly for dramatic effect. "It's in the water now, I'm sure it won't take long to be submerged completely."

"Great!"

By the time he turned, Thena was already in Gilgamesh's arms, held like a maiden. His jaw dropped in offense at the idea that they were leaving him there. "Hey!"

"Since you're so tough, you can keep an eye out until Sersi gets here," Gilgamesh chuckled, happily holding his Goddess in his arms and preparing to jump most if not all the height they fell.

"Indeed," Thena agreed, furthering the betrayal. "If you do not wish to listen to my instruction, then you can take the service roads back up to the city. As mortals do."

Heracles pursed his lips (a habit picked up from the goddess herself). "This is unjust."

"Have Sersi walk back with you if dusk falls," Thena pointed out lastly before Gilgamesh charged energy under his feet and took off like a rock from a trebuchet.

Heracles shouted after his petulant parents (always sneaking away to canoodle). "I am not a child!"

[interstellerjay]

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