#will try to do some later
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to be completely honest, this whole experience has taught me most people will want to help you if they’re able to. people have been donating money to us to help us escape, a lady at the airport gave us a drawstring backpack after seeing we were in pain trying to haul everything, people have been helping us this entire time.
the world is way less scary than our family has made it out to be
#not a heritage post#i’m so sorry about the lack of original tf2 posts lately#will try to do some later
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main take aways from Halloween (1978) rewatch:
michael myers is canonically 21??? this bitch should be at the club
*sees tiddies* ***MURDEROUS RAMPAGE NOISES***
that's it that's the movie
outside of the fact that everyone who has sex is murdered by the narrative, this is a surprisingly chill portrayal of female sexuality? these teen girls are horny and actively enjoying Getting It On with their boytoys. no pushy boyfriends sneaking in through their bedroom windows--these ladies are taking the initiative to sneak out and GET SOME. one of them gets laid and then immediately orders her boyfriend to get her a beer. (yes she gets Slashered soon afterward, but so does the boyfriend so honestly, gender equality.) yes the Final Girl is the only one not having sex, but she's not bullied for that, nor are her friends slut shamed except possibly by being murdered by the narrative
actually the only character who is shown being morally condemned on-screen is michael myers. specifically FOR his violent overreaction to other people's sex lives. (people he is spying on). metaphorically, the villain is American Puritanism sticking its judgy nose into other people's business.
aka Michael Myers Is A Republican
but actually the real villain is the doctor. guy's a judgemental, shaming, pathologizing asshole. and he's been in charge of michael's care since he was SIX YEARS OLD? kid never had a chance. i'd go on a killing spree too
also the parents. where are the parents? it's halloween night and all the teenage girls are home babysitting their younger siblings? come to think of it, michael's first victim was his own older sister, whom he killed while she was babysitting him. teen girls are really shouldering a labour burden here. maybe parentification is the true villain
side note: mike commits his first murder wearing a clown costume...which is never referenced again? his 'iconic' costume is a generic mask and wig and jumpsuit, when we coulda had a Killer Clown Michael Myers??? travesty
i like how the Final Girl and her friend casually smoke weed in her car. yeah she's an honor student and her friend is the sheriff's daughter. yeah they smoke weed. so what it's 1978
(to reiterate, mike is 21 and should be at the club. im not saying he shouldn't be rampaging, im saying it's sad that he broke out, tasted freedom for the first time in his life, and immediately snuck back into his childhood home to go rampaging. let's have a remake where he goes to a nightclub and has a few beers. maybe some slutty dancing. then rampage)
oh no he's hot
#HALLOWEEN#halloween the movie#michael myers#do you think he's a mike? mikey? to his friends? if slashers had friends?#i'll be honest i was expecting this movie to be way more of a bitch to its female characters#i mean yeah they died but so did some dudes#there's just a lack of cattiness compared to the way most later movies portrayed teenage girls idk#yeah the Final Girl is a Virgin and a Bookworm. but there's no bullying or any strong sense that's she's morally superior to everyone else#mostly she AND the other girls feel a bit sorry for her lack of a social life. one even tries to set her up with a date to the school dance#solidarity! trying to get your nerd friend laid!#overall it's just teenagers being teenagers and then a slasher comes in and ruins everything with his Lack Of Chill#like yeah dude sometimes teenagers have sex. get over it#also something to be said about how while the girl who survives is the one who isn't sexually active and dresses conservatively...#ultimately those things aren't ENOUGH to prevent her from being targeted#you could say that the other girls 'provoked' the villain (the same way women irl are so often accused of provoking their attackers)#but ultimately that doesn't keep the Final Girl safe. it just delays the inevitable.#because violent men never need excuses. no matter how eager society is to provide them.#ultimately she is at the mercy of the same violent whims because it was never her behavior that invited the violence.#gendered violence doesn't need an invitation.#also she doesn't save herself the doctor saves her#it's not her actions or choices that put her in danger OR save her from it--once again it is the whim of a man#no this wasn't intended to be a feminist movie it's just fun how you could argue it that way
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completely innocuous vash sheet :) fr practice
#my art#trigun stampede#trigun#vash the stampede#trigun vash#trigun stampede fanart#trigun fanart#vash fanart#STILL dont know the tags gomen ill do research one of these days#anyway . 4 gd days later hes finally done#here is what i am learning . i love his design sm. but jesus CHRIST#all the individual elements r so time consuming i want to tear my face off. im slowly getting more familiar w the arm but God.#im so peeved at how long this took but i am trying to cut myself some slack. remembering tht his design is a 24 hour endeavour#and i drew 4 of him#3 of which being fullbody 2 of which being foreshortened 1 of which being a Maid Dress#the price i pay fr self-indulgence.....the price i pay fr [redacted]#this started out as a treat fr me n it became my purgatory#but it is DONE and now i can look at vash in a maid outfit and tied up and jacket off turtleneck Out and shirtless and- *is shot dead*#anyway huge shoutout to mey rin black butler fr being the og Maid With Gun#stole the thigh bustle from a panel of her it was just too good#anyway take it enjoy the fruits of my labour enjoy him i am . exhausted.
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chair + helmet for funsies
#xmen#xmen comics#xmen tas#xmen 92#krakoa#charles xavier#professor x#snap sketches#need to practice drawing this helmets 3/4ths angle hi#gotta make this post quick cause i told my bro we'd carve pumpkins before i left for the week#BUUUUTTTT ANYWAY yeah while i was browsing my comic shop the first time i ran across this story and thought it was cute#it was the tas/92 adaption of krakoa but i only skimmed it#i thought of picking it up at some point but as for now it lives as a memory in my brain. i do wanna look at it closer tho#tbh at some point i think i wanna try to do a design for charles that features his actual krakoa design but with a chair/hover chair#i think itd be fun cause ngl i always like drawing his chair and not getting to with krakoa stuff makes me sad#if i get to that i dont think it'll be like. a staple with my krakoa art but just somethin to do for fun#ok i think thats all for now. i think im gonna do a movie charles doodle page later cause I Am Once Again Working Out His Face#so fingers crossed ith that plan !!!! for now its pumpkin time BYE
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The art of the deal. The brick was so hard to draw for no reason. (Gangle canonically has a bodypillow and watches anime)
#the amazing digital circus#tadc#tdac#tadc caine#kinger x caine#royalteeth#kingleader#tadc gangle#tadc zooble#im back guys!!!!#uploads might be slow but I'll try to release a comic strip tomorrow#though I dont have any saved up :[#Instead I might do a lot of small posts as well as doing some asks so I can open them back up again later
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HE WAS SO MAD
#classic Kakashi DID disobey orders for his kids#It's insane when people say he'd never act rebellious against konoha when the evidence is there in the classic#or course things changed in shippuden#but in the classic? he went to the land of the waves mission without reporting the the classification was wrong#because he wanted to help tazuna properly#he allowed sasuke to fight in the preliminaries with the cursed mark and secretly sealed it went it was over#he hide the fact that a three men cell was needed for the chuning exams to give sakura the space to decide for herself what she wanted#he was all the time hiding information and acting on his own#even when he says later that he couldn't do much for them it's not because he didn't try#the village fucked him over they set him up for failure and in some sense he knew it#he accepted to be their sensei because he cared for them and he was on their side#I'm fully convinced that if shippuden had followed the classic as it was supposed to do kakashi would have rebelled in more than one way#but it didn't happen :( so#Kakashi Hatake#naruto#Tsunade Senju#Naruto Classic
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small little doodle page for you @niceguyanonymous !!!!!
((I tried my best, I'm not a very good writer, but I hope you like it <33 sorry I didn't put too much detail into this one, I wasn't sure how exactly to interpret it!))
#edgar electric dreams#edgar#electric dreams 1984#electric dreams#my art#ms paint art#I need to draw more of him#he's SO cute#pls send asks to my askbox if you guys want to ask for little doodles of him!!#I'll do more colored stuff later but I struggled a bit with this one xD I need to get better at drafting comics#mini comic#I may not be a fan of magic or suspension of belief.#but I personally think he should be allowed to wag his tail#he deserves it. as a treat#some notes:#yes I did write this myself#I hate poetry I'm so bad at it HEKDBDKDB#also I figured he'd try to write in rhymes!!! since he's been told to use those#he's trying to be as smooth and impressive as possible
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one thing about ik is that she will always reach out
#obey me#art#i had the idea for this and managed to bulldoze through drawing it all without losing motivation halfway through#but Do Not expect me to post art this frequently in future#idk how to do panels so if the middle bit with the text might be laid out weird#i added the stars and feathers and stuff because there was a bunch of empty space around the boxes#obey me satan#jtta ik#(btw the crumbling symbol next to the exploding feather is the wrath symbol from in-game)#(with the pride symbol attached upside down at the bottom)#(not so much symbolism as it is just me whacking you over the head with the point but it looks cool)#i had a lot of fun doing satan's more monstrous design so i might try my hand at some of the other demons later?#i do have some ideas for levi (deep sea creatures are just really fun)#also happy nightbringer release day!! it showed up on my homescreen like half an hour ago and i was like “wait what”#for some reason i thought it wasn't releasing til next week??#the new genshin patch is today as well so looks like i'll have plenty to do with the rest of my free time for the easter hols#(i promise i'm also working on the next chapter of jtta but i am so stuck on how to get lucifer actually Talking)#anyway. here's a gold star for making it through all my rambling in the tags for anyone who did so: ⭐
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💕!
#tim drake#dc robin#bernard dowd#dc comics#artists on tumblr#illustration#my art#timbern#like a month since td:r ended but i liked it a lot- so sad it got cancelled and rushed at the end but still enjoyed it#lots id like to draw but its been a busy summer#trying to get more practice with backgrounds- wanna do some proper studies later
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omg i just realized i never posted this vivian
#i will have more ttyd stuff probably...once i finish LOL#im only on chapter 7 but ive been taking some time to backtrack and get star pieces i missed. so i kinda just paused mid-fortress lol#the thousand year door#vivian ttyd#paper mario#<- Ah fuck i should have been tagging my spm posts as that too for organizations sake... Um im try to remember to do that later
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Cozy Glow is such an interesting litmus test for die-hard bronies. I was checking r/mlp to prep a post and there’s a discussion post about how she deserved what she got and. How do I tell bronies that children should not be tried as adults. How do I tell bronies that psychopaths and sociopaths deserve human rights and treatment and support. How do I tell bronies that cruel and unusual punishments are bad. How do I tell bronies that the death penalty is wrong. How do I tell bronies that a ruling body should not have absolute say over putting someone to death, least of all a 6-year-old child.
These are all my recent google searches.
#delete later#personal#these are all arguments I saw of why cozy glow deserved it btw#“if she was human she’d be tried as an adult for her felonies idc if she’s a child’ ok but she shouldn’t#“clearly she’s a psychopath so it makes sense she’s evil’ do you even hear yourself#reminder that they redeemed the racist politician trying to keep schools racial segregated because he believed in pony superiority#and not the 6 year old child villain#I don’t even really care about cozy glow she’s not gonna be in the AU but people are so fucking weird about her#“some people are just born evil and can’t be changed’ < actual arguement in the thread. do you hear yourself
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How do you draw so frequently???
I'm starting to think I probably have some passive ADHD so I end up always admiring ppl who can just constantly do stuff, it's like a dream, your art is also like a dream, Vasco is also a sweet dream, I really like Vasco, he looks really sweet
I set aside a little bit of time every evening just to draw, it's become almost like a wind down routine for me. It helps if I don't treat it as serious 100% effort hard mode art time, I usually multitask a little on the side, watch a movie or take breaks to do little chores around the house and art just sort of happens if it happens. Lately I've been making mostly personal low pressure feel-good pieces.
#this isn't really normal for me either I'm typically way WAY more shiftless#I've been unusually productive during these past few months but I may slow down sooner or later#drawing Vasco/Machete stuff is nice it gives me some badly needed serotonin and results in this positive feedback loop#so I keep making more#I also switched to different antidepressants earlier this year and I'm thinking maybe they have something to do with it#perhaps they reconnected some wires in my brain and suddenly drawing became a lot easier and more enjoyable who's to say#I'm just trying to make the most out of this creative period while it lasts#answered#anonymous#own characters#Vasco
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Anequs, Kasaqua, Kasaqua's mother from To Shape A Dragon's Breath by @moniquill!
#to shape a dragon's breath#moniquill blackgoose#illustration#art#books#accidentally got some giraffe vibes in here lmao#patterns copied from the cover....trying to do more with borders on my character art lol#2024 fanart#book fanart#I have some sketches of the other characters too will post later#nampeshiweisit
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atla!au designs part 3 !! one of these things is uh. not like the others
first year trio gojo/choso/nanami
#my art#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#fanart#jjk fanart#jjk atla!au#geto suguru#yuta okkotsu#mahito#lmhs#atla!au: design#squints at mahito i think i might b trying a bit too hard fr preliminary designs.......#they keep getting progressively more detailed OOPS#atla!au: art#i feel like no one will complain tho so ! anywayyyyy#thank u hisuian zoroark fr ur weird hair n bad posture. stole that 2 put on this freak n gave him some soul orb hair ties#idk if his design adheres very faithfully to anything that can be considered atla canon....but i like it so much ok sue me#i would unironically like mahito more if he looked like this#let him lean more Monster.......pl..pls.......#dont dig too deep into that statement . anyway.#this whole page is full of chars i just Never draw but i dont have a least favourite here ???? all of them look rly good imo??#waterbender garb suits geto's design so well he gave me No trouble#yuuta on th other hand i was Concerned for on account of th aforementioned Orange on a very monochrome char in jjk canon#but i think i made it work? he looks great in th tattoos also??????#maybe th rumors r true and im good at what i do GHFGHGHL#(oh ya after mahito i didnt want to draw Another monster-spirit so i omitted rika but she exists. probably looks similar 2 canon also!)#(sighs ill deal w her later. priorities !!!!)
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Stuck in the middle of a forest made of
Flesh and bones and they're all scared of
A lost little boy who has lost his heart
Fear's not enough, they have to
Tear him apart —-------
There are two things Daniel Fenton knows that his family knows as well:
He’s adopted.
He can’t remember anything else before that.
‘Adoption’ is a loose term, implying that they went through the official legal processes and troubles of adopting a child into their home willingly, and with the full intention of doing so going into it. That is not what happened. What happened is that Jasmine Fenton found a half-dead child, in strange clothing, in the middle of the woods at her Aunt Alicia’s cabin, and then she went and got her parents.
What happened is that a twelve year old Danny woke up in the same cabin, wearing clothes much too big on him that didn’t belong to him, and with very little memory of before that moment. He wakes up like a spring being set loose, sitting up so fast he scares the daylights out of Jasmine Fenton sitting next to him. He wakes up, reaching for his sleeve for something that isn’t there, and when it isn’t his mind stutters, like he’s tripped at the top of a steep hill.
When they ask him for his name, he tells them, clearing muddled thoughts from his mind; Danny. He’s twelve.
(He thinks that’s his name, at least. It sounds right; it feels right. If he thinks really hard about it, he thinks he can remember someone calling him that, utter adoration in their voice. So it must be his name.)
The Jasmine girl convinces her parents to take him home with them, and they give him the spare guest room upstairs. He has nothing to fill it with.
It’s… a strange experience, to go to a ‘new’ home when he doesn’t even remember his old one.
The official adoption process… happens. He can’t say it’s easy, or difficult. He’s oblivious for the most of it, Jasmine intends on helping him settle in and Danny can’t say he enjoys the smothering. He learns that he is stubbornly self-independent, that’s one new thing he knows about himself.
His adoption papers say ‘Daniel J. Fenton’. Danny remembers staring at the name ‘Daniel’ for a long, long moment, something curdling sour in his sternum. His name is Danny, that he knows. But it’s not Daniel. But he doesn’t know any other way of saying it, so he keeps his complaints to himself.
(Jack Fenton boisterously claps his hand on Danny’s shoulder and jerks him around, grinning wide as he welcomes him into the Fenton Family. Danny’s mind blanches at the touch on his shoulder, an instinct snapping like the maw of a snake, telling him to cut off the man’s fingers for daring to touch him.)
(He keeps the thought to himself, tension rising up his shoulders the longer Jack Fenton’s heavy hand stays on him.)
They found Danny in the summer. It’s a perfect coincidence, Maddie Fenton says before she goes back into her lab with Jack Fenton. She says it’s enough time to allow Danny to adjust; that they’ll enroll him into the school year in the fall. Then she stuffs a canister of ectoplasm onto the top shelf, and disappears like the ghosts she studies back down the stairs.
(There’s something eerily familiar about the ectoplasm sitting in the fridge, something unsettlingly so. Danny knows what that stuff is, but he doesn’t know where. When the house is empty, he takes a can from the fridge and inspects it.)
Jazz wants him to leave the house. Danny doesn’t want to step foot outside of the FentonWorks building until he has something that quells the feeling of vulnerability he gets whenever he does. He tried to once, and he felt exposed. Unsafe.
He turned back around and went inside.
—-------
Where do we go
When the river's running slow
Where do we run
When the cats kill one by one
—------
One day, when the house is empty — or, as empty as it can be; the Fenton parents down in the lab, and jazz out with friends. Danny is making a sandwich, and he caves into the urge to flip the knife in his hands between his fingers. A childish impulse, but one he falls for nonetheless. It comes to him easily, like second nature, in fact. The slip of the blade between his fingers is seamless, flowing with an ease like water running down the wall.
He’s almost startled by it; his body holds memories that his mind does not. Muscles that know which way to move and twist, limbs that know how to hold and how to throw. He continues twirling it, fascinated, as if he were a scientist discovering a new species of animal.
It’s not for a handful of minutes when a new thought hits him; an impulsive thought that pops in the back of his mind like a firecracker; Danny moves without thinking.
He turns, and throws the knife. The pull of his shoulder, the flick of his elbow, is familiar like a hug. He knows when to let go, and the blade flies through the air in impressive speed, embedding itself into the wall with a hearty, loud thunk. Sinking into the drywall like butter.
Danny stares at it in shock, he feels relieved — about what? — before he feels the guilt. He scrambles across the kitchen to pull it out, heart racing in his chest at being caught, and prays no one notices the hole it left behind.
(He runs up the stairs before anyone can find him, food forgotten, and hides the knife beneath his mattress like a guilty murder weapon.)
After that, he leaves the house more. It’s more out of fear of being caught than the desire to leave. But Danny is quickly learning that among all things, he is someone who was dangerous, before he lost his memory. Even with his mind in fractures, he is still dangerous.
He’s not sure how to feel about that — he thinks he should be scared. He feels a little proud, instead.
—------
Hazel beneath our claws
While we wait for cerulean to cry
Unsettled ticks run through time
Enough for the hunt to go awry
—-----
There’s another thing he learns about himself. That he knows about since he woke up. He knows that he left someone behind. He doesn’t know who, but he knows they must have been close; he’s always looking down and finding himself surprised when the only shadow he sees is his own.
He thinks that he must have sung to them a lot; he finds himself humming familiar melodies when he’s lost in thought. Lullabies lingering at the tip of his tongue, an instinct to turn and sing them to someone beside him. He can’t remember the lyrics, but his mouth does, it tries to get him to say them when he’s not thinking. He can’t.
Danny’s found himself humming under his breath more times than he can count, trying to recall whatever it is his mind is trying to claw forward.
(“That’s a pretty song, Danny.” Jazz tells him at breakfast one day, Danny screws his mouth shut. He hadn’t realized he was humming. “What is it?”)
(Something mean and possessive rears its head on instinct, uncoiling like a snake from its ball. His shoulders hunch defensively, he bites his cheek to prevent himself from baring his teeth. He doesn’t know what song it is, but it’s not for her. “I don’t know.”)
He misses his person. Dearly. He knows, the longer he is without them, that they must have been close. Otherwise, he wouldn’t feel like he’s missing a chunk from himself. He wouldn’t be turning to someone who's not there; reaching for a hand that’s missing, birdsong on his tongue, a story to tell.
A dream haunts him one night. Warm and familiar, he’s holding onto someone smaller than him, they’re tucked into his side like a puzzle piece. He’s humming one of his songs that is always playing in the back of his mind, an unfinished tale of a harpy and a hare. Danny can’t remember their face, not all of it. He remembers green eyes, hair dark like his own, skin brown like his.
He loves them more than anything else in the world, a fact he knows down to his soul. He loves them so much it fills his heart with sunlight. Danny squeezes them tight, nuzzling into their hair; he makes them laugh. Then, he proudly boasts something. That when he takes something of their father’s, that his person — a sibling? That feels right — will be… the word fades from Danny’s mind before he can make sense of it.
His person hugs him tight, his… brother? And their mother — a woman whose face he can’t remember either, but who he loves like a limb nonetheless — appears, smiling. Her hands reach for them both, voice calling them, ‘her sons’. There’s ticking in the distance, it sounds like the fastening of chains.
Danny wakes up cold, tears streaming down his face. The details of the dream already fading from his mind like the cold pull of a corpse.
—-------
Harpy hare
Where have you buried all your children?
Tell me so I say
—-------
When school starts that Fall, Danny joins the sixth grade class, and quickly learns more things about himself. One of those things being that he’s smarter than the rest of his grade, whatever education he had before, it was better than the one he’s getting now.
Everyone knows he’s adopted right off the bat. He tells them when the teacher forces himself to introduce himself, but it’s not like they needed him to tell them for them to know; he never existed in their little world before now, and the Fentons are pale as they come. Danny is not.
He befriends Sam Manson and Tucker Foley; they ask him about the scars fading up and down his arms, they ask him about the scar carved diagonal across his face.
Danny, as politely as he can, tells them he doesn’t remember. He thought kindness would come second nature to him, his dream burned into his mind where he hugged his brother so sweetly. Apparently, his sweetness is only second nature to people he considers his own.
(It becomes even more apparent when Dash Baxter tries to bully him later that day, and Danny ruffles like an eagle threatened. His mind whispers, hissy and agitated, sinking like a shadow at his shoulder, several different ways Danny could kill him for talking to him like that, and fifteen more ways he could cripple him.)
(Danny ignores those thoughts, up until Dash Baxter tries to grab him. Then he breaks his nose on the wood of his desk. It’s easy how quickly the rest of his grade sinks him down to the status of social pariah.)
(At least Sam and Tucker still talk to him after that. When Danny goes to the principal’s office later, he wisely doesn’t mention the worse things he could’ve done than break Dash Baxter’s nose.)
—--------------
It clicks and it clatters in corners and borders
And they will never
Hear me here listen to croons and a calling
I'll tell them all the
Story, the sun, and the swallow, her sorrow
Singing me the tale of the Harpy and the Hare
—-------
More dreams come, of course they do. Each one halfway to forgotten whenever he wakes up, ticking faint in his ears. He is many different ages. He is young, shorter than a table. He is older, holding onto his little brother. He is singing in almost every single one. He is singing to his brother.
Danny can barely remember the lyrics, he’s begun leaving a journal by his bedside so that it’s the first thing he can write down when he wakes up. He’s a storyteller, he learns. He feels like a historian, trying to piece together a culture long dead and forgotten.
His most vivid dream-like memory is not a happy one, and for once he’s almost relieved he barely recalls it. He is somewhere that isn’t home, but his mother and brother are there. He is dressed in black, blades keen in his hands.
They are atop a moving train. They are fleeing something. His brother is struggling to keep up, he is small, and young. It’s beautifully sunny, they are somewhere green and lovely.
It is a fast dream.
His brother stumbles on something, and Danny, fast as a whip, snatches him by the back of his shirt and hoists him up to his feet before he can fall. “Watch your feet, habibi.” He murmurs low, a hand on his back. It’s hard to hear, there is wind in their ears.
His brother, face obscured in all but his eyes, which are green as emeralds, nods.
The dream blurs, but Danny falls behind. His foot catches on air — impossible, it should’ve been, at least. He never trips. — and he lands against the roof with a thud and a grunt. His mother and brother stop, and turn for him.
The train hits a turn before Danny can get up, and he shouldn’t have, something pulls on him, he swears, but he slips. He can’t find the purchase to pull himself up, cold fear hits him as his nails scrape against the metal.
His mother and brother’s horrified faces are the last thing he sees before he disappears off the side of the train.
(The ticking is at its loudest when he wakes up, pounding against his inner skull. He only manages to write down ‘train fall’ in his journal, before he’s flipping over to press his head into his pillow to get the pain to stop.)
—---
She can't keep them all safe
They will die and be afraid
Mother, tell me so I say
(Mother, tell me so I say)
—-------
When Danny is fourteen he is still humming songs he can’t remember, his mind still in a broken puzzle. But his room is now decorated with stars and plants in every corner. He has a guitar he keeps in the corner of his room, and he plays the lullabies in his head on the strings over and over again.
The ectoplasm in the fridge still unsettles him, still reminds him of a past he can’t recall. The knife beneath his mattress has returned to the kitchen — he doesn’t need it. He found a box in the attic last year, it had his name on it, and inside he found familiar, strange clothes, and more weapons than he thought was possible to carry on one person.
(Even without knowing that the Fentons prefer guns to blades, Danny knows, instinctively, that they were his weapons. He was — was? Is — a dangerous person. He takes the box down to his room to sort through. The weapons all fit into his callused hands almost perfectly — the grooves worn to fit his palm. They’re just a little small.)
(He tentatively takes a small blade with him to school one day, and feels much more comfortable with it sheathed beneath his shirt. He’s kept it on him ever since, like he’s reunited a lost limb to himself.)
Danny doesn’t have a name for his person, his little brother, nor does he have a name for his beloved mother. He’s haunted by dreams every few weeks, many of them repeating. He’s ingrained the words he can remember to memory, and the ones he doesn’t, he writes down in his journal. His little brother; Danny calls him a bird, he can’t figure out what kind. His little bird of some kind; when Danny takes something from their father — what, he can’t remember what — then his little brother will be a little bird.
(He doesn’t have a name for his brother, yet, but he’s calling his birdie in his head. It’s better than nothing.)
—------
Seeker, do you ever come to wonder
If what you're looking for is within where you hold
Will you leave a trail for them to follow a path
You'll soon forget
Home
—---------
When he’s fourteen, Danny dies. It does nothing to fix his fractured memories, much to his consternation. It just confirms something he already knows; that he was someone dangerous, and that he still is.
When the shock of death has worn off, Danny inspects his ghost in the metal reflection of the closest table. It’s blurry, hard to see, but shock green eyes pierce back at him, green like the portal. Lazarus, Danny’s mind whispers, and he blinks rapidly.
‘Lazarus,’ he mouths to himself. It’s familiar. Sam shows him with her phone what he looks like, joking that he looks like an assassin. Danny doesn’t think she’s that too far off.
He doesn’t tell her that. He tucks the thought away with the rest of his secrets, and fiddles with the hood gathering at his neck, attached to a cape with torn edges swinging down to his ankles. He pulls it over his shock white hair. It shadows over his face impossibly so, until all you can see are his green-green eyes peering out like a wolf hiding in the brush.
He ends up calling himself Phantom.
(Maybe now he can start putting lyrics to his lullabies; his memories may not have returned, locked away with the sound of a clock, but the dead can talk. One of them may just have answers.)
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Home is where we are
Home is where you are
Home is where I am
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Dedicated to @gascansposts for being the one who introduced me to the band Yaelokre, and thus being the whole reason I was inspired to write this in the first place >:] Those lyrics at the line breaks are all from their album Hayfields.
#dpxdc#dp x dc#danny fenton is not the ghost king#dp x dc crossover#dpxdc crossover#dpdc#danyal al ghul au#amnesiac danyal al ghul au#songs in order of the album: the hartebeest / harpy hare / and the hound / neath the grove is a heart#musician danny has my heart and soul#yes this danyal IS an alternative danny from the other au. an au where things were a little better :) but still sucks#implied good mom talia al ghul#danyal is a momma's boy send tweet#dpxdc ficlet#dpxdc prompts#dp x dc au#dp x dc fanfic#danyal is sTILL five years older than damian in this au#no beta no edits we die like danny fenton#poc danny fentons#i didnt know where to end this :(( i was gonna go on but i blanked. i thought about going into his relationships with his rogues and so on.#but that felt too much like trying to just increase the word count rather than actually writing?? if that makes sense#ugh im gonna have forgotten to include things and im gonna be kicking myself later#morally ambiguous danny whoo! we love to see it#since this was just for fun it doesnt really go into it all that much other than like. it happens. and that danny realizes he's dangerous#phantom in a hazmat suit? nah phantom looking like an assassin >:].#danyal al ghul with damian and his mom: 🥰🌸✨#danyal al ghul with everyone else: 👹🔪#am i heavily implying that clockwork had smth to do with Danyal’s amnesia and appearance by the cabin? 👀 maybe#not enough danyal al ghul aus where him being an assassin actually. has some kind of affect on him
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sellllllll it's meeeeee. hehehehehehehehehhehe
so for ur writing exercises.... deku + light? please? pretty please?
:3c
heheh heheh hehe niku. this will be the death of me. me writing izuku for the first time 🥲 i will only do this for you </3
contains: established relationship, spoilers for the end of the manga, aged up deku but sometime in between the final outcome (he doesn't get the h*** s*** from bakugo yet), mentions of sex and scars
deku + light
izuku only sleeps with the lights off.
it isn't uncommon; many people you know can't sleep with even just a sliver of light turned on somewhere in the room. but the difference with izuku, you learn, is not that he's unable to stand the light―it's that he refuses to.
you quickly pick up on it the first few times he sleeps over.
he fidgets in bed, pretty badly, actually. the nightlight you sleep with glows a warm yellow, illuminating the side of your face and coating him in its afterglow. you chalk it up to nerves, how he pulls at his sleeves and adjusts his position constantly; he is, after all, one of the most anxious people you know.
and this relationship―it's new. heck, even you feel a little jittery with his arm wrapped around you.
the rhythmic tapping on your hip only increases pace. you don't think he realizes it, so your hand gently reaches for his, intertwining your fingers as you turn around in his arms.
he's close, nearly touching you nose-to-nose; the proximity leaves you fuzzy, a little ticklish, so you giggle, a soft "oops," as the freckles dusting his face almost glisten under the warm light.
"hi," you whisper, meeting his eyes; they stare back at you wide in surprise, "can't sleep?"
he looks almost guilty at your question, as if you’ve caught him with the one thing he's been trying to keep from you.
"just—" his voice comes out louder than intended, prompting him to chuckle nervously as he readjusts his volume, "just winding down, sorry."
you inch closer, nuzzling his nose lightly, "it's okay."
"did i wake you?" he asks, cheeks flushing pink as his eyebrows furrow in immediate concern. his expression is something caught between stifling a grin and feeling sorry.
you shake your head against the pillow you share, strands of your hair tangling with his. "just winding down," you tease, watching as his gaze turns softer, eyelids drooping heavier.
sometimes, you think, izuku holds the world in his eyes―a deep, dark green, the color of life. most times, they look at you with wonderment, bright and alive; photos from inko tell you they're the eyes of his inner child.
on nights like this one, however, they hide a depth in them weighted by what you can only assume is time, and all that has happened to him in such a short span of it.
you try your best to understand what lies beneath them, knowing full well he'll never tell you outright what truly bothers him.
"is it the light?" you bring up, some time after laying in silence.
"hm?" he clarifies.
"do you have a hard time sleeping with the nightlight?"
his eyes widen briefly once more, as if shocked that you've caught him again. these split second reactions are ones you've learned to be attentive to when it comes to izuku.
"no," he tries to lie, but you know better as you turn to your nightstand and reach for its switch, "you don't–"
"it was hurting my eyes," you quickly make up an excuse, tucking yourself closer under his chin as you cut off his attempt to deny it again.
finding out that the light was the problem was the easy part—
you'd begun to notice much earlier on that izuku was barely rested on the nights he'd spend at your place. it was only when your old nightlight broke that you began to notice him waking up much later than you did, groggily rousing from a deep sleep.
—what was hard, was figuring out why.
at first, you suspected it was his scars.
"s-sorry, it's not—" he'd warned you, right as your hands gripped the hem of his shirt the first time you were about to have sex, "—it's not nice."
you didn't care though; you still don't care, and you've made that abundantly clear to him since. you love izuku and all his parts―all the nicks and jaggedy pieces of skin that make up who he is.
when you eventually ask him about it, with a request that he be honest with you for once, he tells you that it is and it isn't―the reason why he exclusively sleeps with the lights off, that is.
it's an odd, comforting relationship he has with his body—that he is simultaneously grateful and sorry for how its become a canvas, both painted and marred to symbolize japan’s historic last stand.
you find out the real reason when you catch him staring at his hands.
he does it often, when he thinks you aren't looking—his fists bunched up in the same way he used to watch the power of one for all course through his fingertips; the same way he used to prepare them in battle.
there’s a faraway look in his eyes that lingers, you notice—a little wistful if anything.
“do you miss it?” you finally ask. he gives you the same shocked look he does every time, as if he’s been caught with a secret he’s been trying to hide.
he’s learned a fair bit about you now, too, though—lying to you is futile when you’ve perfected reading his truth. he stares at his fists again as you take a seat beside him, moving to give you space. you rest your head on his shoulder gently, waiting.
“sometimes,” he admits, but you know it’s an understatement.
“i think about the vestiges a lot. i miss them the most, i think,” he continues, clenching his fists tightly, “i always try to reach out to them, but i guess it doesn’t work that way.”
“i… i try to replicate the right conditions every night, but…” then he lets go, stretching his fingers out wide. the scars on the surface ripple through his skin, telling its own story.
you hum, acknowledging what he means. silence sits with the two of you as you take his hand in yours, slowly unfurling his fingers until his palm reveals itself to you. it’s rough to the touch, seasoned with hard work and all that he’s been through.
“is that why you prefer the dark?” you ask softly, after some time.
it's not often that you stay up later than izuku does. when you do though, you catch him shifting in bed, moving from side-to-side. you pretend you aren't awake, but you hear him mumble their names, dwindling in volume as he dozes off to sleep.
he stares at his palm for a moment before he admits quietly, "yeah." his brows furrow as if contemplating whether to say more, but he shakes his head, dark green strands swaying to the beat of his embarrassed chuckle, "nevermind, it's silly."
"it's not."
you intertwine your fingers, sandwiching his hand between yours. a slight sheen glosses over his eyes as he tilts his head up to look at you. he draws in a breath, before it spills over.
"it's..." he finds the words, and you squeeze his hand in comfort, "it's easier to believe it was all real when the lights are out, and that maybe it can happen again."
#deku x reader#izuku x reader#midoriya x reader#bnha x reader#shotorus.workbook#it is here ! the first time ive ever written izuku ! i hope u like it niku !#idt i'll ever feel like anything i write of him will be enough but i tried !#SPOILERS FOR MANGA ENDING PLS DONT READ AHEAD#some stuff abt the blurb: i see this happening in the time between him losing ofa and before getting the suit from bakugo#so somewhere between when hes teaching#and i think its a lot of complex feelings ― he's happy he did what he had to do but is also mourning the loss of something he once had#i don't think i can ever convey that feeling fully but i hope i at least managed to touch on it here with him !#i see this as like . the period in his life where he's transitioning out of something he once knew into smth else entirely#i also hc reader to be his colleague (like a teacher or smth) but anyone closely related to the job would work !#really just someone who has a base level understanding of what he went through but doesnt know everything#which is why they're still trying to learn all these things abt him and read him better#and also why he tries to hide a lot of things from them still / is hesitant to share in fear of scaring them away smth like that !#thats all i can think of for now but ill let u know if i have other thoughts on this later on ! hehe#hope u enjoy niku !#ask#rep#ask game answered#most nervewracking experience of my LIFE writing him#stellamancer#niku.🥩
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