#poor boy needs therapy

[t0tally-n0t-3m0]

So I was thinking...

Martin was jealous of Melanie, Basira, and Daisy because he views aggression, meanness, and dismissiveness as a form of affection. His mother, the only family member he had, was mean and dismissive of him for something that wasn't his fault. And Jon, the man he loved, was a straight-up dick to him for literally no reason for a while, so he convinced himself that that's how people show affection. Melanie, Basira, and Daisy were all very aggressive and mean and dismissive of Jon, so Martin thought that they all liked him because he really doesn't know what healthy love looks like.

[cajapeydoesthings]

These guys where in the tags, and I totally agree with them!

Watched the true Potential episodes again.

[dazzling-raven]

This was basically the last two seasons, right?

[starry-bi-sky]

"Stillborn? No, no, still born." -- DPXDC AU

Based off a comment I saw where Bruce knew about Talia's pregnancy in the earlier comivs, and was ecstatic to be a father. So much so that Talia feared he'd give up being Batman for it, so when she gave birth she put the baby (Damian) on a doorstep and (seemingly) told Bruce that the baby was stillborn.

Instead of Damian, that baby was Danny! Meet Daniel Brown, the 14 year old foster kid whose been living with the Fenton family for the last two years. He's about two years older than Damian.

His last name, "Brown", was a generic surname given to him because the note he came with didn't have one on it. It just had the name "Danyal" on it, but albeit 'Daniel' was the one that had been put into the system for, I'll be totally frank here, racism reasons.

(I looked it up to make sure, and it's generally not permissible for foster parents to change the names of their foster kids even if it's a permanent residency, and for that reason Danny doesn't have the last name "Fenton".)

Danny's got ✨~issues!~✨ He's been through a handful of homes growing up, most of them terrible for a variety of reasons. Which has, as a result, left lasting scars. He's generally a very sweet kid, just very distrustful and jumpy. He's got the signs of a kid suffering from PTSD, and a handful of other issues including attachment and insomnia. His inferiority complex could rival Damian's, and that's going to make for an interesting mutual hatred for when they finally meet.

(something I'll get into later)

He still has the blanket he was found in. It's made of a very high quality material and is a beautiful emerald green with little golden thread accents, it's high quality as a result has Danny clinging onto a desperate hope that his bio family might be out there, and the only reason they gave him up was because of some outside factor. It's been taken a few times in old foster homes, and he's flipped out each time.

While he still calls Jack and Maddie by their names, he likes them well enough. The bar isn't that high though, and while they're some of the better foster parents he's had, "better" doesn't equal "safest". Their laboratory malpractice. Basically, C- Fenton Parents. They're negligent by virtue of being engrossed in their work, but they do care equally about Jazz and Danny. So he doesn't hold it against them that much.

He kinda prefers it that way, their loud affection is overwhelming and Danny doesn't know what to do with their attention, even if he craves it. It's a bit of a complicated situation.

They took in Danny because they genuinely wanted another child, but didn't want a big age gap between them and Jazz. It was actually Jack's idea to foster, and they discussed it with Jazz beforehand. She was all for the idea. Thus, a handful of weeks later, a ton of paperwork, and inspection later, and Daniel Brown entered their household with a trash bag in one hand and eyes like shards of stained glass.

His relationship with Jazz is kinda strained, but that's by virtue of her constant psychoanalyzing and helicoptering. Like with the parents, Danny's overwhelmed by the attention and also just, straight up doesn't like the fact that she's telling him that there's something wrong with him. He knows that, thank you. He pushes her away when she does this.

Other than that though? When Jazz isn't smothering him and is acting like an actual sibling and not a third parent, they're pretty close, and Danny really likes her. They've hung out a few times on their own volition, and Jazz showed him how to take better care of his long hair.

His school situation,, pretty similar to canon with the bullying, albeit with a few more instances of him blowing a fuse and lashing out against his attackers. He's a rather angry kid, but it's quiet. It builds up, piles on top of itself, until eventually, like a volcano, it erupts and burns everyone within radius.

Danny's got a fire core, not an ice core. Phantom's hair is made of white magma; thick and heavy, setting itself on fire when his anger runs hot. When he gets angry, his skin begins to char and split open to reveal pulsating lava underneath, and he crackles and pops like a raging forest fire.

I haven't decided yet on how he meets the batfam -- i've got two ideas but they're both in opposition to each other, and drastically alter how the rest of the plot goes. But I do know that him and Damian hate each other in the beginning. And it has nothing to do with inheritance or "being the blood son" -- although their blood relation absolutely plays the major role in their disdain for each other.

Simply put, they're jealous of each other for the same thing: thinking that the other was wanted.

Damian hates Danny because, unlike Damian, Bruce knew about Danny since conception and wanted him from the moment he heard about him. He had a whole nursery set up, and still does. He never took it down -- just locked the door. Damian was thrust upon Bruce without warning, and he feels like he forced himself into the family. And while on some level Damian knows and understands that Bruce wants him and loves him as much as his other children, that doubt and feeling of inferiority still remains. He looks at Danny and sees him with what Damian always feels he needs reaffirmed.

Meanwhile, Danny hates Damian because he looks at him and sees him with everything Danny's ever wanted. He hates him because Damian grew up knowing both of their parents, with one of them for most of his life, and then moved over to the other. There was never a moment where Damian was (seemingly) left to doubt his place within the family. Damian was raised with the very same woman who left Danny on a doorstep, with no clue to his identity beyond a little green blanket and a note with only a first name. Damian was wanted everywhere, and Danny was wanted nowhere. Damian is Danny's replacement in his eyes.

(It's the little revelation that Damian grew up with their mother that elevates Danny from being quietly envious of Damian to downright despising him. What did Damian do, that Danny didn't? He could live with Damian living with Bruce -- Bruce didn't know Danny was even alive. But him living with their mom? Are you fucking kidding him?)

Damian never outright attacks Danny physically, but it's not like he hides that he didn't like Danny. Meanwhile, Danny, in all his repressive anger, quietly despised him from a distance until finally one wrong snide side-comment has him blowing up and it becomes a screaming match. They're both just enough similar to each other that when they look at each other they really just see a mirror.

They'll work it out together, eventually. But it'll be ugly and cruel and explosive, and they'll start mending the bridge to become brothers in more than just blood relation in the end.

But yeah, stillborn Danny has... a lot going for him.

[hairupintheair]

Omg I missed this the first time I watched the movie but it's Hug Time and the boys refuse to hug JD. They are Pop Trolls and they refuse Hug Time. It's not just Branch. All my boys are so broken. 😭😭

[demon-country]

One thing I like about Stolas is that he learns, and then he takes action of his own accord. He's not stagnant. Sure, he can be a bit oblivious and lost in his own head, but once he's finally informed that there is a problem he always makes a real effort to reflect on it and then do something about it.

We see it as early as Loo Loo Land, where he misses all the cues that Octavia is upset, but once she actually tells him what's wrong he immediately reassures her. He then promptly leaves with her, asks her what she wants to do instead, and takes her there despite not understanding the appeal. His focus is on her the whole time from the moment he finds her crying. He even carries her like she's a small child again the entire way back to the van, and she lets him because physical comfort is something she needs and he knows it.

We see it again after Ozzie's, where Blitz is finally honest about his belief that Stolas wants him for nothing but sex. After a night of heavy drinking, he immediately starts to reflect on things and comes to the correct conclusion that their deal needs to end, because in hindsight Blitz didn't seem happy or like he was having a good time like Stolas previously assumed, and then he tries to find Blitz a way to stay in business without relying on him. He gets a little side tracked because of the divorce, but he never gives up on getting Blitz an Asmodean Crystal, even when it requires him to wait several hours in Asmodeus' waiting room fresh out of the hospital.

We also see it in Apology Tour, where he reflects in his song and starts to realize that his behavior early on wasn't taken as him being cute and playful like he intended, but pushy and overbearing. Despite how Blitz hurt and yelled at him both that morning and the night before, he acknowledges that it wasn't malicious and doesn't try to put the blame for things going wrong on Blitz, although he doesn't yet realize that it's not because Blitz doesn't care, it's because he cares too much and is scared of that.

Stolas is learning and changing, but it's a slow process. It comes in pieces. Which is generally how it goes in real life, too. People don't usually change overnight, it can take years and years to fully unlearn bad behaviors and do better, but fuck if he isn't trying.

He needs problems spelled out for him though. He's been extremely sheltered and socially isolated his whole life, and there are a lot of things pointing to him being autistic as well. He's going to miss or misinterpret things that are just implied, there's simply no getting around that. For example, he was never going to realize that there are problems with how he treats imps in general without prompting, because that's been normalized for him and he's high enough on the food chain that almost no one is going to correct his unconscious bigotry. That is, until Blitz, who is perhaps the only person of a lower class Stolas knows who's not intimated by him in the slightest (other than Striker, who was torturing him at the time, which is yet another trauma barrier that will make it hard for him to reconcile with his racism/classism), tells him in a fit of rage. 

I'm sure he'll reflect on Blitz's words and what they mean about how he acts when it's not less than 24 hours since he got his heart smashed to pieces. I don't know about you guys, but I know firsthand that the humiliation and betrayal he likely felt after having his feelings mocked not once, but twice (first on accident, but the next very much on purpose. Oh Blitz, the self-sabotage is so painful to see) take a little while to get over. Let him reflect on how his over-enthusiasm had him running roughshod over Blitz first for a bit, which he's already in the process of doing, then when things aren't so fresh he'll be in a better headspace to consider his overarching biases.

And from a narrative standpoint, the fact that it's taking a while for him to work through everything is a good thing. Expecting him to just Know Better is unrealistic and would cheapen his character arc. He's fighting to do better for the people he loves despite his trauma and implicit biases making that hard for him, and if he is autistic then there are just some things he will always struggle with, like reading social cues. But for any of his improvement to feel satisfying for the viewers then it has to move at a reasonable pace, and unfortunately that kind of change takes time. It's difficult, but he's actually doing a pretty good job so far. He's making a real effort to fix his behavior. But you gotta be patient, he's basically fumbling blindly through this alone.

Anyway, I just really love that, slowly but surely, he's learning. He's not being babied by the narrative or the creators, he's holding himself accountable and changing himself for the better. If you want realistic characters with nuance and depth then you have to let them actually act in the messy, imperfect ways real people do. This is true for Blitz and his character arc as well, but that's for a whole other post.

[minty364]

DPXDC Promp#58 Part 5

When he came too he was in the basement.

A soft hum came from the now activated portal, Danny couldn’t help but stare at it, the swirling green was mesmerizing and something in him felt a little different. He thought about what that might be for a moment but he was unable to tear his eyes away from the swirling patterns that called to him, beckoning him. 

“D-Danny?” Jazz said from behind him her voice was small and quiet, Danny almost didn’t hear her. 

He was sitting so he let himself fall onto his back and looked up at her.

She was right behind Damian and Tim who were watching him apprehensively, their hands held up in a defensive position. Jazz had a look of confusion and dread on her face while Damian also seemed confused but there was an anger there that Danny couldn’t quite place. Tim meanwhile looked like he was preparing to steal his emotions, probably because he was the eldest of the group. 

He wasn’t sure what was going on but he looked around the lab for the sink he knew had a mirror over it and when he found it he got up and walked over to see his reflection. Or well he tried, his body started floating as soon as he stood, he somehow was able to get to the mirror and looked at his reflection.

He was paler than before, almost as white as a sheet, but that wasn’t what caught his attention. His once blue eyes were a vibrant neon green, his hair once black is now white as snow. Even his hazmat suit inverted colors. White boots and gloves and a black suit. 

He fell back from the mirror onto his back as he shifted away from his reflection. It was terrifying that he could see Jazz, Tim, and Damian watching through him, he was transparent like he wasn’t really there.

He had really died, he was a ghost, the very thing his parents ranted on and on about every time he or Jazz was in ear shot. They’d rant about how evil they were and how they’d find one to dissect after the portal was completed. If that wasn’t enough he realized he couldn’t feel his pulse and he hadn’t been breathing this entire time.

He was panicking now, what exactly did this mean for him? Was his parents going to find him in the basement and try to dissect him? Should he go into the portal? If it did go to the ‘ghost zone’ as his parents called it shouldn’t he live there now? 

He could feel himself start to break as silent sobs wracked his body, he still wasn’t breathing but that probably didn’t matter if he was a ghost. 

If his parents were right about ghosts that meant he was a monster now, he probably wouldn’t be allowed near anyone again. He’d never be able to feel the warm embraces of his sisters hugs again. He desperately wanted to feel that warm again. It was the only feeling he could cling onto, and it was then that something happened. 

A bright light flashed around him, a ring around his center that split in two, one going up and the other going down.

When it was done, Danny was back in his white hazmat suit with black accents. He scrambled back up to see his reflection and he was indeed back to normal somehow and he was again tied to earth's gravity.

He could feel tears well up in his eyes again as he turned around to Jazz and their friends, “I-I’m alive?” he couldn’t stop his voice from trembling, his entire body felt chilly and he couldn’t stop himself from crying, sobbing as he struggled from air that he apparently needed again.

Damian and Tim shared a glance but Jazz ran past them as she pulled Danny into a hug. His sister was so warm and he couldn’t help but melt into it as the two cried sobbing and clinging onto each other. 

Danny was here and he was somehow alive, he was sure being a ghost was permanent but somehow he was alive and he could hold, hug, and protect those he loved. A warmth spread from his chest. 

He could tell he was indeed different now, but he wasn’t going to dwell on it at the moment. His sister was here and he was hugging her.

Damian and Tim approached slowly like they couldn’t believe Danny was here alive and well either. Damian scowled at Danny, he rarely got frustrated at him but here was and Danny didn’t get why, “why did you sacrifice yourself like that?!” Damian shouted.

Danny took a few calming breaths before speaking, “I-I tripped, I saw you and figured it was too late for me…”

Jazz and Tim looked at him terrified before Tim spoke up, “you mean they built the damn ‘on’ button on the inside?” 

Before either Danny or Jazz could speak up the door leading to the kitchen opened up, “kids? Are you still down there?” Their mom called before heading down the stairs. When she got to the bottom they could see the elegant green dress she wore that hugged her figure. She gasped as she dropped her purse, staring at the portal. “JACK!!” she shouted up the stairs before running over to the lockers to put her hazmat suit back on.

Jack walked down the stairs sullenly but once he too saw the now activated portal he rushed to put on his suit as well. 

“I thought you guys had left?” Jazz asked, pushing Danny behind her protectively, Danny wasn’t sure if she realized what happened yet but keeping him away from them until they had a better grasp over what happened was probably a good call.

Maddie shrugged as she put her goggles on her head letting it snap against her forehead with a little snap, “I forgot my Fenton-lipstick.” The reply was nonchalant.

The four friends found themselves getting pushed out of the lab as the scientists busied themselves measuring and taking readings from their new portal.

They quickly got out of the suits and gathered whatever they needed for the sleepover over at Wayne manor. Danny didn’t really care what he was packing, just shoving things into his book bag. Whatever had just occurred rattled him a little. He couldn’t help but worry that this was just the beginning. 

“That was quite some time you all took,” Alfred noted once they were seated in the back with Tim in the front and Danny in the middle in the back. Everyone kept glancing at Danny to make sure he was okay but he felt fine at the moment. 

“Uh, well,” Jazz started, “something happened to Danny,” she struggled to say. None of them were quite sure exactly what was happening but the sooner they got to a quiet space to discuss they were going too. 

Alfred glanced at Danny from the rearview mirror as he drove, “will we need to take Master Daniel to the hospital?”

Tim cut in before anyone else could, “that’s quite alright Alfred, we aren’t exactly sure what happened but we might have a code lazarus on our hands.”

Danny and Jazz shared a look, they were both equally confused having no clue what code lazarus meant. Tim normally wasn’t this serious although Danny figured the circumstances weren’t normal either.

They'd discuss thing’s later when they had privacy at Wayne manor.

[offical-absolute-supes]

Where are you Damian?

A sigh slips from his lips as he stares over the edge of the building he was on. At this point he had begun to regret his choices in trying bond with his family. He wasn't even sure that anyone besides his father would come looking for him willingly and that made his heart clench painfully in his chest.

Weak.

I'm not weak! I'm not weak I'm not weak I'm not I'mnotI'mnot-

He shouldn't have opened himself up to them, should have kept them at a distance so that when they finally got fed up with him it wouldn't hurt so much.

He wants to get angry, needs to get angry, but can't.

The cold wind flows right through him as he sits on that lonely rooftop in the dead of night. His cheeks felt so much colder than the rest of his body so he brings a shaking hand up to his cheek and wipes it away.

Why am I crying? I shouldn't be crying.

So fucking pathetic. How are you supposed to be an heir if you let your childish feelings take over your every move.

He shouldn't be crying right now. He should be angry, should be strong enough not to break when those fuckers got upset with him. Should be able to keep his composure like he had been raised to but he just can't. Damian can't stop the tears that roll down his cheeks, it frustrates him that he simply can't bring himself to try and stop them.

He sniffles softly unable to let himself wallow in the feelings he doesn't want to feel. The shame, disappointment, and sadness makes him want to vomit.

"Damian?" A voice startles Damian out of his little depressed so fest he found himself. He hadn't even heard him come up to him.

Such stupidity would get you killed, letting your guard down.

Shut up.

Letting such pathetic emotions take over when you could have shoved them aside like you were taught-

Just shut up!

Letting this so called family get close to you so they could use you for their sick deeds-

"SHUT UP!" Damian shouts clutching his head trying to get rid of the venomous words out of his head.

"Damian are you okay?" A gentle hand rests on his shoulder making him flinch and resort to throwing who had touched him away.

"It's okay Damian breathe. Follow my breathing okay?" Follow his breathing?

What was his father doing here? He could hear his heartbeat against his ear... Or maybe it was his own. Damian couldn't tell anymore. Everything was just so... Loud.

Damian isn't sure how much time has passed but he felt a little better, more like himself as it could get even if he did feel utterly off. "Damian?" His father asks still holding Damian close blocking his view of whoever else was there with them with his large frame. He feels so tired and makes a hum of acknowledgement.

"I'm going to take you home now okay?" His father spoke his voice calm and gentle, it was strange. He had never heard him like this.

"Okay." Damian could handle this. He could handle going home. He just wants to sleep.

[asleepygremlin]

Another low quality meme but-

Look someone had to do it

[hunterevie]

Mentally scarring Sam with Destiel is one of my favourite pastimes in my fics.

[fablexdreams]

My roman empire is that Reaver is, or at the very least was, a human. That he had parents, and possibly siblings, and friends and a home and, from what is heard from his diary, a lover that he genuinely cared about. That he probably had a normal job, a normal name, and hopes and dreams and passion and probably so much love to give. It could just be my naivety and blind optimism, but I do, with all my heart, truly believe that whoever Reaver was before he, UNKNOWINGLY, made that deal with the Shadow Court, was good. That he had goodness in him. And that makes seeing him the way we do in the games, and him still looking so young, so much more heartbreaking. He really was just a dumb kid scared of losing everything, and he lost it all anyway.

[jaywaslost]

I Tried to Hold Him (but it didn't really last long.) [Kolour]

----

Helloo :) This is, once again, something I've forgotten thats been lying around in my docs unposted for no real reason!

I don't have much to say about this one here, perhaps trigger warning for major character death? Should be about it though. Enjoy :)

----

Sypnosis:

Colour healed him, put him back together.

The very man who kept him in one piece, held him like he was the most fragile thing in the multiverse with such gentleness, the one Killer found himself clinging onto.

He was colder than he should ever be.

Word count: 2.7k

Death was something Killer was familiar with.

It was something every Sans had long since gotten used to, but he was especially acquainted with it. The way it would come so suddenly, bearing its fangs and sinking them deep into the victim, leaving no time to process what had happened until it was too late to save them.

He had experienced it many times, but the amount of times he caused it far outweigh that. It’s what he would assume, at least.

The feeling of his knife tearing into the body of another, over and over to the point he lost count of how many had fallen to his hands. Hands and clothing covered in a thin veil of dust, all that remains after someone is gone. A reminder he is why they are no longer there, t̶h̶e̶ f̶e̶e̶l̶i̶n̶g̶ o̶f̶ i̶t̶ n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ l̶e̶f̶t̶ n̶o̶ m̶a̶t̶t̶e̶r̶ h̶o̶w̶ h̶a̶r̶d̶ h̶e̶ s̶c̶r̶u̶b̶b̶e̶d̶ w̶h̶y̶ d̶i̶d̶ t̶h̶e̶ d̶u̶s̶t̶ n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ l̶e̶a̶v̶e̶-̶ t̶h̶e̶ b̶l̶o̶o̶d̶-̶

It was almost like a dance to him by this point, the familiar weight of his knife grounding him in the midst of this sickening choreography he had become so accustomed to. It’d be a matter of time before the other monsters fell regardless of their skill, and he would simply need to last longer. A test of endurance, if all else failed.

He lost many people throughout his lifetimes, one’s sanity can’t stay intact for long after seeing your own family be mangled over and over, but Killer had long since lost track of time when he snapped. It felt almost like he was torn to pieces and put back together by fragile thread barely holding his aching soul in one piece when he made that deal.

It was too late to take it back by then, a decision he regret for a long time after.

His first victims were the family he tried so hard to keep safe.

If he killed them, it would hurt less, surely.

He would make it fast and easy, they would not have to deal with the pain much longer.

If he left it to the human, they would suffer.

They did not need to suffer more.

S̶a̶n̶s̶ Killer would make sure of that.

T̶h̶e̶ w̶a̶y̶ P̶a̶p̶y̶r̶u̶s̶ d̶i̶d̶n̶'t̶ b̶a̶c̶k̶ a̶w̶a̶y̶ f̶r̶o̶m̶ h̶i̶m̶ w̶i̶l̶l̶ a̶l̶w̶a̶y̶s̶ h̶a̶u̶n̶t̶ h̶i̶m̶. D̶e̶s̶p̶i̶t̶e̶ t̶h̶e̶ f̶e̶a̶r̶ i̶n̶ t̶h̶e̶ o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶'s̶ e̶y̶e̶s̶, a̶l̶l̶ h̶e̶ s̶a̶w̶ w̶a̶s̶ h̶i̶s̶ b̶i̶g̶ b̶r̶o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶.

H̶i̶s̶ b̶i̶g̶ b̶r̶o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶ w̶h̶o̶ p̶l̶u̶n̶g̶e̶d̶ a̶ k̶n̶i̶f̶e̶ i̶n̶ h̶i̶s̶ c̶h̶e̶s̶t̶, t̶h̶e̶ o̶n̶e̶ w̶h̶o̶ b̶e̶t̶r̶a̶y̶e̶d̶ h̶i̶m̶ a̶n̶d̶ l̶e̶f̶t̶ h̶i̶m̶ t̶o̶ b̶l̶e̶e̶d̶ o̶u̶t̶ w̶i̶t̶h̶o̶u̶t̶ a̶ r̶e̶s̶p̶o̶n̶s̶e̶, s̶t̶e̶p̶p̶i̶n̶g̶ o̶v̶e̶r̶ t̶h̶e̶ s̶c̶a̶r̶f̶ h̶e̶ c̶h̶e̶r̶i̶s̶h̶e̶d̶ s̶o̶ m̶u̶c̶h̶ w̶h̶e̶n̶ h̶e̶ f̶a̶d̶e̶d̶ i̶n̶t̶o̶ n̶o̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶n̶e̶s̶s̶.

Killer felt nothing about that any longer, it had been a while since those events happened. It didn’t matter to him, they forgot him when he left with the last reset, afterall.

T̶h̶e̶y̶ d̶i̶d̶ n̶o̶t̶.

H̶e̶ w̶a̶s̶ s̶o̶r̶r̶y̶ h̶e̶ w̶a̶s̶ s̶o̶ s̶o̶r̶r̶y̶-̶

From those days, Killer learned the price one pays for loving another.

A mistake he refused to repeat. He learned his lesson, he was not stupid.

T̶h̶a̶t̶ w̶a̶s̶ w̶h̶a̶t̶ h̶e̶ w̶a̶n̶t̶e̶d̶ t̶o̶ b̶e̶l̶i̶e̶v̶e̶.

It was no issue for a long time, especially after he met the one who called himself “Nightmare”. A̶ f̶i̶t̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ n̶a̶m̶e̶ f̶o̶r̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ f̶r̶e̶a̶k̶ o̶f̶ n̶a̶t̶u̶r̶e̶. T̶h̶a̶t̶ c̶r̶u̶e̶l̶, v̶i̶l̶e̶ c̶r̶e̶a̶t̶u̶r̶e̶-̶ With him, Killer did not have to feel. He didn't worry about it anymore, he didn’t need to feel guilty anymore.

It was freeing.

I̶f̶ o̶n̶l̶y̶ h̶e̶ k̶n̶e̶w̶ b̶e̶f̶o̶r̶e̶h̶a̶n̶d̶, f̶r̶e̶e̶i̶n̶g̶ h̶i̶m̶ f̶r̶o̶m̶ t̶h̶e̶ s̶h̶a̶c̶k̶l̶e̶s̶ o̶f̶ s̶h̶a̶m̶e̶ w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ o̶n̶l̶y̶ o̶p̶e̶n̶ s̶p̶a̶c̶e̶ f̶o̶r̶ n̶e̶w̶ o̶n̶e̶s̶. H̶i̶s̶ f̶r̶a̶g̶i̶l̶e̶ m̶i̶n̶d̶ c̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ n̶o̶t̶ t̶a̶k̶e̶ a̶n̶y̶ m̶o̶r̶e̶ f̶o̶r̶ m̶u̶c̶h̶ l̶o̶n̶g̶e̶r̶, d̶e̶s̶p̶e̶r̶a̶t̶e̶ f̶o̶r̶ a̶ s̶o̶l̶u̶t̶i̶o̶n̶ h̶e̶ o̶n̶l̶y̶ d̶u̶g̶ h̶i̶s̶ o̶w̶n̶ g̶r̶a̶v̶e̶.

S̶t̶u̶c̶k̶ o̶w̶i̶n̶g̶ a̶ d̶e̶b̶t̶ h̶e̶ w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ b̶e̶ c̶a̶p̶a̶b̶l̶e̶ o̶f̶ r̶e̶p̶a̶y̶i̶n̶g̶, t̶u̶r̶n̶e̶d̶ i̶n̶t̶o̶ a̶ t̶o̶o̶l̶, a̶ t̶o̶y̶ i̶n̶ r̶e̶t̶a̶l̶i̶a̶t̶i̶o̶n̶.

If he was unable to feel, then the sensations in his chest were simply illness. His immune system was good, but even it gave out sometimes as any other one did.

It didn’t have anything to do with the one he had become so accustomed to, no.

He was too wounded to feel anything anymore, let alone one as pure as love.

Wound, after wound, after wound. Everything ached as he had been gutted of all empathy. Once fighting for love and now left with nothing, without the right to even dream of it any more.

Once with a gift of feeling so deeply, free as one could be in the underground, relaxed and happy.

The memories have never felt so distant.

A being made of events wrapped up together, trying to piece a person and falling apart constantly. That’s what he is.

A fraud, a construction of failed images and ideals, betrayal, dishonestly, filth all in a person’s form.

Something he would never qualify to truly be. Afterall, the soul has its own memory, his will never forget what he has done.

The blood that stains his hand is heavy from the sheer amount, but he has not the time to think about that.

But..

That man- the colours he brought into his world, these feelings that made him want something else-

Killer hated it. H̶e̶ c̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ b̶r̶i̶n̶g̶ h̶i̶m̶s̶e̶l̶f̶ t̶o̶.

He hated the way the other would always talk to him like a friend. Like he was an old familiar, the same as anyone else. He knew of Killer’s behavior and yet he never faltered.

When Killer decided to finally let him in, he learned the other's name was Colour.

Quite fitting. M̶u̶c̶h̶ l̶i̶k̶e̶ h̶i̶s̶ o̶w̶n̶.

Something about him drew Killer in. He didn’t know when it started- When he got so attached.

Killer didn’t deserve his kindness.

Colour never listened.

Killer warned him a multitude of times. Befriending someone like him will only end in pain. Colour only smiled at him, shrugging his shoulders.

“Doesn’t everything? Might as well do what I want to, won't you humor me?”

Speechless, he did.

Killer didn’t realize when they’d gotten so close. Before he knew it, all of his free time was spent with the man or thinking about him. He had something to look forward to for the first time in years.

It terrified him.

I̶t̶ w̶a̶s̶ a̶ m̶a̶t̶t̶e̶r̶ o̶f̶ t̶i̶m̶e̶ b̶e̶f̶o̶r̶e̶ N̶i̶g̶h̶t̶m̶a̶r̶e̶ n̶o̶t̶i̶c̶e̶d̶ a̶n̶d̶ k̶i̶l̶l̶e̶d̶ h̶i̶m̶. A̶ m̶a̶t̶t̶e̶r̶ o̶f̶ t̶i̶m̶e̶ b̶e̶f̶o̶r̶e̶ S̶t̶a̶g̶e̶ 4̶ c̶a̶m̶e̶ o̶u̶t̶ a̶n̶d̶ l̶e̶f̶t̶ t̶h̶e̶ o̶n̶e̶ h̶e̶ h̶a̶d̶ c̶o̶m̶e̶ t̶o̶ c̶h̶e̶r̶i̶s̶h̶ i̶n̶ s̶h̶r̶e̶d̶s̶, i̶f̶ n̶o̶t̶ d̶o̶i̶n̶g̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ t̶o̶ h̶i̶m̶s̶e̶l̶f̶. C̶o̶l̶o̶u̶r̶ i̶n̶s̶i̶s̶t̶e̶d̶ t̶h̶a̶t̶ h̶e̶ c̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ h̶o̶l̶d̶ h̶i̶s̶ o̶w̶n̶ w̶e̶l̶l̶, b̶u̶t̶ h̶i̶s̶ r̶e̶f̶u̶s̶a̶l̶ t̶o̶ e̶v̶e̶r̶ s̶h̶o̶w̶ i̶t̶ made K̶i̶l̶l̶e̶r̶ d̶o̶u̶b̶t̶ h̶i̶m̶ t̶o̶ a̶n̶ e̶x̶t̶e̶n̶t̶. H̶e̶ d̶i̶d̶n̶'t̶ w̶a̶n̶t̶ t̶o̶ b̶e̶ t̶h̶e̶ c̶a̶u̶s̶e̶ o̶f̶ t̶h̶e̶ o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶'s̶ e̶n̶d̶, n̶o̶t̶ l̶i̶k̶e̶ a̶n̶y̶o̶n̶e̶ e̶l̶s̶e̶.

H̶e̶ w̶a̶s̶ d̶i̶f̶f̶e̶r̶e̶n̶t̶.

…

They were supposed to be safe.

Months of planning. Countless trials and tricks, effort beyond what Killer ever expected a person to invest into saving him had finally resulted in his freedom.

His complete freedom.

The acceptance of it was a hard path to walk, but he never felt so loved.

If he ever doubted Colour’s dedication to helping him, he could no longer bring himself to after that. He owed the other everything, and for once it didn’t feel shameful. The strength he doubted before had been proven in front of him, a topic of conversation for weeks to follow. A̶t̶ l̶e̶a̶s̶t̶ n̶o̶w̶ h̶e̶ k̶n̶e̶w̶ i̶f̶ h̶e̶ w̶e̶r̶e̶ t̶o̶ l̶o̶s̶e̶ c̶o̶n̶t̶r̶o̶l̶, C̶o̶l̶o̶u̶r̶ i̶s̶ c̶a̶p̶a̶b̶l̶e̶ o̶f̶ g̶e̶t̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ r̶i̶d̶ o̶f̶ h̶i̶m̶.

Acknowledging his feelings was quite the wreck in and of itself. He could not go to Colour to ask, the man being the very subject of those feelings, but he had little else to go.

Denial only got him so far, Killer knew this feeling well.

It was love again, wasn’t it?

Maybe he was given a chance at being a person again?

..

And yet.

As his knees scraped against the ground, covering him in enough dust to the point it looked like it could have been his own mixing with the blood, Killer wondered if he was the laughingstock of every deity under the goddamn sun.

(If there were any, he knew they despised him. After all, a jester of the likes of him would never see the heaven they reside in. Yet, they had it in them to rip away the closest thing to one he will ever lay his eyes upon.)

After all of that effort.

All the work they put in.

Killer had finally gotten better. They finally had a chance, it was so close to being worth it.

Colour healed him, put him back together.

The very man who kept him in one piece, held him like he was the most fragile thing in the multiverse with such gentleness, was the one Killer found himself clinging onto.

He was colder than he should ever be.

Colour hated the cold.

Killer refused to believe the scene in front of him was real, truly, it felt like another one of his realistic night terrors.

Colour would never die on him like this.

And yet the limp weight in his hands told him otherwise.

This was a scene he was long familiar with, why did it hurt so much?

He knew better than to get attached, why did this hurt so much?

Colour was too good for him. He was never meant to be roped into this situation, he never deserved to be tangled in this mess. He was a good person, the best person Killer had ever had the honor of knowing.

If his suffering meant getting to experience the other’s warmth and comfort, then maybe it wasn’t all pointless.

..The missing fraction in the other’s head had gotten bigger. Instead of taking up the space of one of his eyes, it had teetered to them both.

The colours Killer loved seeing so much had gone dull, extinguished by his anguish.

He didn’t know what to do.

Killer’s eyes stung as his vision blurred, he pulled the other’s lifeless body as close to his as possible.

Perhaps he was crazy, wishing to hear a beat, feel a pulse, while holding the other.

Killer’s arms ached, he couldn’t feel the rise and fall of his chest anymore either.

He was gone.

The dust was his, and Killer would never get to see him again.

In his state, Killer failed to notice the figure approaching him. Towering over his hunched form was another he had found himself drawn to.

While it was not in the same speed, let alone situation, he always found Cross quite the interesting man.

The newbie to their little group, a clueless man who lost his world, trapped in a body with the ghost of a child who nearly killed them all. H̶o̶w̶ f̶a̶m̶i̶l̶i̶a̶r̶.

He was a funny little thing, easy to mess with and even easier to get reactions out of. Quite entertaining when Killer had nothing better to do with his days.

Killer was the first to notice the way Nightmare toyed with Cross. All too familiar, praise and mockery blended into sentences that would make one question their sanity. The man did not lie, but that didn’t mean he was honest either. A fact he never hid and more often than not, used against everyone who fell into his grip.

He tried to warn the monochrome one before, but his comments elicited no response. Killer didn’t bother to question it too much until the other approached him on his own once.

He couldn’t remember what happened that day.

His head hurt.

Cross stopped when his head lifted.

Their eyes had not met, Killer facing the same direction in front of him. Despite his inability to see what the other was holding, he could make a good guess on what was going on at the very least.

“Killer?”

The teary one’s head snapped in his direction before turning back to whatever was keeping him occupied. Cross didn’t have a chance to examine his expression, but that single glance was enough to tell him all he needed.

Only one person could get that reaction out of Killer, and judging by the dust, he was gone.

Killer’s whispers were inaudible, though he could make out a why.

Cross does not speak, as it is not his place to answer. The one being questioned is long gone, he will not return to answer no matter how much they may want it.

Suddenly, his voice spikes.

“Real nice of you to join us, what, the newbie wanted to feel good? Or is it that you’re glad someone else feels the way you did losin’ all of ‘em?”

His world.

Biting back a remark, Cross kept his mouth shut. Killer was the farthest from stable he'd been in a long time. This was a habit the other had, according to what Dust had told him. In a vulnerable position all Killer knew was to kick and scream, pushing people away until he could lash out and break himself enough to not feel anymore.

The fact he was still unharmed standing as close as he did was a miracle all on its own. Killer's body tensed as footsteps approached him again, his hands shaking more in tandem as he gripped onto the torn jacket in front of them like it would bring the man who held his heart back to them.

It would not, the stillness under his hands hurt more.

Colour was never this still, he hated feeling stuck.

He was in pain and Cross is the only one he has left.

“I can see you holding your emotions back from here, you can grieve if you wish to. Loss is unbearably” He began, trying to offer any comfort he could.

“‘Grief’? Am I allowed to feel that?” Killer’s voice had only sounded this empty on two other occasions, Cross shuddered mentally at the memory.

“What do you mean”

“After what I’ve done to all the others y’know? I shouldn’t even be capable of feeling this it’s not— what would make me worthy of it?”

“Killer—”

“Am I allowed to do such a thing? Mourn the loss of somethin’?”

Cross sighed.

Killer’s grip on the coat tightened, at this point his hands were probably bleeding through the fabric.

The fact Colour did not dust as quickly as any other monsters was not really helping their predicament, Killer could not bring himself to look at his face.

The pedestal Killer placed him on was crumbling just like his body, to say Cross could stand watching it was a lie.

They had spoken, become friends once upon a time.

Nothing that mattered now, he was gone.

Gone just like everyone else Cross had ever valued.

“That’s what he’d want you to do? Say something along the lines of how you don’t earn the right to feel sad”

In all seriousness Cross was pulling that entirely out of nowhere. He had no idea what Colour would have said in a situation like this, he had a way with words neither of them ever quite got to.

He snapped out of his thoughts when Killer let out a small giggle, likely at his words. The small smile on Cross’s face dropped when that laughter quickly turned into sobs.

Killer’s hand found itself covering his mouth immediately, trying to conceal any sound that came out of it.

He would not be weak like this.

He shook like a leaf in the wind, more fragile than he ever looked before.

This was not Killer before him, it was not the apathetic murderer he had heard so much about.

It was a boy his age broken by circumstance, one who lost his world the moment he got to have it.

His hope was torn out of his hands the moment he felt comfortable enough to dare and imagine a better existence.

Cross could not find the words to comfort him.

H̶e̶ w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ k̶n̶o̶w̶ h̶o̶w̶ t̶o̶ c̶o̶m̶f̶o̶r̶t̶ h̶i̶m̶s̶e̶l̶f̶ a̶f̶t̶e̶r̶ a̶l̶l̶, s̶o̶ w̶h̶y̶ w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ h̶e̶ b̶e̶ a̶b̶l̶e̶ t̶o̶ c̶o̶m̶f̶o̶r̶t̶ s̶o̶m̶e̶o̶n̶e̶ s̶o̶ s̶i̶m̶i̶l̶a̶r̶?̶

Seating himself next to the other, he gently pulled Killer’s hand aside, gripping it just tightly enough to keep it in place.

Killer didn’t look him in the face, but he didn’t need to.

The man basically launched himself into the taller’s embrace, all the walls Cross saw him put up crumbling in record speed as cries choked their way out of him.

Grief, confusion, sadness, betrayal, hurt, all hitting him at once.

The emotional baggage he carried was never light, but it would never change.

The one who could have made it do so was never coming back.

Killer didn’t even get to say goodbye.

He would never be coming back.

[spaghetsquid]

Petition to rename Ragbros to Ragrich/Rag-rich bros. Family doesn’t need to share a last name. And it’s unclear if Kaeya ever went by the Ragnvindr name. I think Ragbros is cool, but I think we should also consider that Kaeya has a last name of his own

[glittergoats]

“Earlier, you asked us if we came to die...”

[baldurswifey]

This page is so heartbreaking in multiple ways, this is trauma in a page

First, baldur mentions he tried to unalive himself A HUNDRED AND TWENTY NINE TIMES. A HUNDRED?? AND TWENTY NINE TIMES??? 129?? That is a LOT. The number isn't even the main thing, the concept of him trying SO HARD to get rid of his curse, even if that means giving his life away, is so heartbreaking and explains how much he suffered when he was cursed.

Second, he mentions how badly the presence of Freya affects him on a daily basis. Whether he's around her or not, he feels TORMENTED by her. The way you could see his hatred face the moment he realized Freya was there with Kratos and Atreus; that's just insane. Imagine not being able to stand a person - especially your own mom, the woman who gave birth to you - to the point you want to die just to not feel their presence on your body or your soul.

That is CRAZY.

Third, Baldur implies he would LOVE to become a father.

At first when you read the sentence you think it's just a way to remind her of how badly she affected him, but when you read it the second time you actually realize he implies it. Baldur would love having a child of his own, but ONCE AGAIN the curse his own mom gave him stops him from following this dream of his. This is definitely the most heartbreaking part, because (in my head, this is not in the book or anything) I feel like baldur would want to take care of his kid the OPPOSITE way baldur's parents took care of him. Freya traumatized him and basically gave him a free pass to dangerous forms of insanity, and Odin took advantage of it and made Baldur his little puppet.

Give this man a second to breathe.

PLEASE.

[padfoot-lupin77]

Is it a coincidence that all my fav characters are in urgent need of therapy?