#yes it doesnt make sense

[vanillashayy]

A Particular Night

- Fluff! [Solomon x MC]

Cocytus Hall was.. quiet. Well, of course. It was only my master, Solomon the Wise Sorcerer and me, his apprentice, in this big mansion. It was very different from the House of Lamentation. I mean, seven completely different demons all living under the same roof? I'm glad that I'm their attendant or 'devilsitter' because only I can control them but... It can be tiring.

And today was that especially tiring day. Solomon had not said anything to me. He would usually call or text me if he was going to be late. Although, sometimes he can be completely quiet - that means he WILL come back home late. It was... Sad. To me.

I wanted to be comforted by the person who understands me. Who is always with me all the time - good and bad times. Sure, I could march for the House of Lamentation but... This is the past. I was not tired only because of my role here, but also because I have to keep a big, time-space warping secret from EVERYONE. Everyone... Except my master.

I sometimes think to myself that this must be how Lucifer felt. Having to keep a really big secret from his brothers about their own sister who was presumably dead due to the Great Celestial War. And if we were to talk about the future Lucifer... Exactly how many centuries did he have to endure? How many centuries did he have to be silent about that one secret? I feel that. I know exactly how it feels.

I was in the living room of Cocytus Hall when I was lost in thought. I could feel a gentle hand being placed on my shoulder. When I turned to look, I smiled instantly. Relief and warmth washed over me. "Welcome back, master," I said softly although my voice sounded tired.

"Hey. Good to be back," the human sorcerer smiled back at me softly. Just seeing his face made my heart feel at ease. Was it his magic? "Are you alright? You seemed to be spacing out just now."

"Huh? Was it that obvious?"

"Honestly, yeah. You didn't seem to notice me when I walked in."

I rubbed the back of my neck with a sheepish look on my face. "Right... Sorry. Maybe I was tired."

"Then why didn't you go to bed? It's really late now. I'm surprised that you're still out here."

I shrugged my shoulders weakly. Should I tell him? I mean, I've been waiting for him all day so... Why won't I say it?

"MC?" He sat next to me on the couch, "Did something happen when I was gone?"

"..." I did not know what to say at the time. I want to tell him, I really do. But I feel like... It might not be important. I mean, it was just about me being tired and maybe lonely. Why does that matter to anyone?

"You know," he held my hands in his. It felt... Warm. "you can tell me anything. I told you, no need to keep anything to yourself. Teacher's orders."

At that, I took a deep breath and tried to find my voice.

"... I'm tired."

"Tired of what?"

"Tired of... Everything. Why was I sent here? Why this timeline? Everything is so unstable... They don't remember me. I CAN'T make them remember me. When will I get back to our timeline? Are they looking for me? Will I... Will I survive all of this...?"

There. I said it. The room was silent. We were both just stuck in this tranquil living room. Despite that, the tension was thick and palpable. I did not know what to expect from my master. Will he brush it off? Will he acknowledge my vulnerability? I did not know. I was too tired to think about the consequences that came with what I just spit out.

Out of nowhere, I was pulled into his arms. His gentle embrace had my head on his chest. I could hear it... His heart beating in a soothing rhythm. I could feel it... The warmth of his body slowly enveloping mine. I felt... Safe. I felt... Strong.

Even so, I hugged him tighter. Grasping the black fabric of his shirt and pressing my face into his chest. A soft sob followed, although it would become a full-on breakdown. He did not judge.

In fact, he did not do anything. He just held me in his arms. I could have sworn that I could hear him mumbling some sort of incantation softly by my head. Maybe that was why I felt warm and at ease. Either way, I felt better. I felt like I could keep on going through this... Whatever kind of ordeal that person gave me. The one called 'Nightbringer'.

The next thing I know was I woke up in my room, on my bed. It was definitely morning but the Devildom sky was dark as usual.

"Hey! You're up."

The sight of that silver haired human made me beam a little smile. "Morning..."

In his hands, I saw a... Tray? Like, a food tray- wait...

"Morning! Just in time, too! I just made us both breakfast! I know you said that I was banned from the kitchen but I think this one turned out really well! Come on! Try it!"

Did I survive the breakfast? Yes. Well, with only a quarter of my soul left in me it felt like. I'm glad Thirteen said she would always watch over my candle.

Devilsitting is exhausting but it is DEFINITELY better than eating the cooking of the strongest sorcerer in humankind...!

[just-null]

wrestling to be the first to greet you (they broke into your house)

[correctopinionhaver]

"i just don't think i can bring a child into this world" said person in a developed country whose child would have a greater life expectancy and more resources than 99% of humans throughout history

[cosmicalls]

kinda thinking about neil's gunshot and how we don't hear it. totally silent. it reminds of the "if a tree falls in the woods" question. neil dying alone in the middle of his father's study.

and it's such a loud weapon, too, which makes it seem all the more intentional that it was cut out. in his last moments he went out with a bang, but nearly no one hears it.

even before the night of the play: his friends and keating independently told him to just talk, and perhaps he'll get what he wants — but he knows that's impossible. no one else truly understood. they didn't really hear him.

just like rebelling against his father to be in the play: did it matter if he was found out anyway? he knew when he was caught that it was over no matter what. does his death mean anything if the only one to hear the shot was the very same man who controlled every aspect of his life?

if neil falls and no one is around to hear the gunshot, did he contribute a verse?

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 136

Contrary to popular belief, Jaskier was the one who said no to riding a horse. Jaskier willingly walks alongside Geralt and Roach. Because Jaskier is afraid of riding horses. Don't get him wrong! He loves horses! Just not being on them as they run 48 kilometers per hour. When Jaskier sprains his ankle walking, however, Geralt decides enough is enough and it's time to teach him how to ride and help him face his fear. Jaskier sits in front of Geralt on top of Roach as Geralt teaches him how to ride, and every time Jaskier gets too nervous, Geralt will hear his heartbeat tick up, and he'll hug him, or praise him, and Jaskier will calm again. Jaskier's been getting better. To the point that Geralt can now just walk alongside Roach and Jaskier, hand resting on Jaskier's leg or back. Geralt decides to surprise Jaskier with his own horse! Geralt finds something sturdy and gentle, but also pretty, knowing his bard will love to comb and braid the horse, and will want to show it off. It's a white horse, which certainly won't stay white on the road, but then again, Jaskier will most likely delight in cleaning the horse and admiring it's sheen when it's washed. Geralt presents Jaskier with his horse, and Jaskier is overjoyed. Sobbing with happiness, hugging and kissing the horse, and Geralt has never been more in love with his bard. The first time Jaskier rides his own horse, they go at a very gentle slow pace, as the horse seems unsure about being ridden. Jaskier cajoles and consoles it through it all, and soon enough they're riding at steady paces, both Jaskier and his horse now feeling safe and brave enough to go at a normal pace, sometimes even a bit faster. Geralt is happy. Until one day, big white wings materialize on the sides of Jaskier's horse, and the damn thing takes off with Jaskier still on it. Shit.

[dinah-lance]

eddie munson has no game and he’s delusional about it, you’ve heard it here first folks!

[hyakunana]

"Did you… also have someone taken from you right before your eyes?"

[cc-kote]

Nine people I'd like to get to know better

WOOPS I did not have time to do this for the past like, week but I've been wanting to bc I love silly little memes like this. Tytyty @ithillia for the tag :3

Last song: All Our Bruised Bodies And The Whole Heart Shrinks by La Dispute (It makes me think about Fives and it hurts so fucking much) 

Favorite colour: GREEN!! and also blue 

Last movie/TV Show: TCW of course, I had a Bad Autism Time™️ and my gf put on the fucking Umbara Arc to calm me down. It worked like a charm what the fuck is wrong w me lmfaooo. 

Sweet/Spicy/Savory: All of the above but spice hurts me. I do it anyway tho, mama raised a little bitch but she didn't raise a quitter lmfaoo. 

Relationship status: So fuckin down bad for my girlfriend hhh 

Last thing you googled: fuckjgn AO3 LMAOOO 

Current obsession: clonesclonesclonesclones forever. I haven't had a special interest/hyperfixation this deep since I was like 12-14 so like this is one of the most important things in my life tbh. Specifically like thinking about how their culture would work, and their solidarity, internal conflicts, shared trauma and how that would relate to those things. Their ideas about personal and cultural identity and how that would vary individually. Things like how their upbringing must have felt, how that affected them and who they became later in life, the things they're taught vs what they truly come to believe once they're out on the field, the psychological effects of O66 on the clones who survived and the devastating impact it must have had- Bro stop me or I'll keep going forever like. I'm in deep and tbh? I wouldn't change it for the world. 

NPT: LMFAO bold of this title to assume that I know 9 people on this site, or am brave enough to tag ppl I haven't talked to often fhsjdmksmf SO if you see this consider yourself tagged. Yes, You. idc if we've never talked It's probably bc I'm too baby, so (unless u don't feel like it) do it 👀 also @mamuzzy and @whatislifewithoutangst if y'all haven't already and wanna do this here u go! 

[nocek]

And this concludes the grand crossover event

(or does it?)

(it does but I was given a great idea for how to solve Gwen's problem :) )

the timeline of previous relevant comics:

[Jeff has a great fashion sense and Peter is the best hooker]

[Jeff is found and fucks are lost]

[bro landed up in the wrong universe and all he got out of it is a lousy bow]

[starry-bi-sky]

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.) 

----------

Home is where we are

Home is where you are

Home is where I am

-----------------

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.

[kkoct-ik]

i dont think i will ever forgive what the internet did to DID because please explain to me how "your sense of self is so torn apart you think youre multiple people" turned into "youre actually multiple people"

do you understand what i mean? please understand what i mean

[vanlegion]

[shig4dabi]

3/6 of the siblings™

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5

[basilbots]

Manifesting that by the time Moon actually decides to be there for his brother (which to make it crystal clear all this would entail is physically being there for Sun, he doesn't need to know what to say just sitting with him in the same room is an honest and welcome show of support that Moon has not attempted at all) Sun has gone off to hide somewhere so its too late

[varreblogger]

i’m going to be honest the real enemy is people who saw a grown adult man using feminine speech/mannerisms and were like oh well that means i have to draw him soooo thin and tiny and waifish. obviously

[skitskatdacat63]

Kinda 😾 rn cause I realized the Senna show made the "can we be equal? 👉👈" scene SOOOO much less intimate/cute. Upon watching it, I was too distracted by "Oh! They're referencing dialog that actually happened!!" but now I'm peeved having rewatched the actual clip 😭

Why would they do this to me specifically