Comfy Skull

Alexander McQueen Skull Knit Jumper

This is the most amazing sweater in existence.

If you knit, or can sweet talk someone who does, a person on ravelry charted this pattern to knit it (in black) for her son: http://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/cabled-skull-chart-for-pullover

*adds to ravelry library for future reference*

[image: cream cable-knit jumper; the cables on the front of the jumper make a picture of a skull]

@thefebruaryfriday

I have to go with Cass here because:

1-Awww, that's a cute visual.

2-She would totally find a way to actually do it and it would be ADORABLE

3-Alfred already does that last one. It's just a thing he does, but tells no one about. How do you think he can tell Tim hasn't slept in 4 days? Or when Jason is coming to visit, so he can have a plate of cookies and a book set aside for his wayward grandson? Or when Dick and Bruce are arguing again, and need to have their heads knocked together just a little? Or when Damian needs a moment of solitude to himself, so he brings his smallest grandson out to the garden so the boy can sketch the hills of Wayne Estate in the gentle company of Nature?

Grandpa Alfred knows. He Knows All and will use it to his advantage to care for his family.

-Everlasting Trio-

There is one collective braincell between the three of them and Sam got the custody of it 90% of the time.

Return of the Fenton Menace! Can you guess who is saying what?

"Pose for the camera, everyone!"

"Let me hold your goggles."

"You look silly, daddy."

"He does, doesn't he?"

"Come on, guys! I want to go punch the Joker before it's time to go home!"

"LET ME GO, PUNY HUMANS!!"

"Shut up, Dan."

Eternal trio hangout. I made my roommate watch three episodes of Danny Phantom with me tonight, and she asked me why I drew the trio T4T, after first assigning Danny and Sam T4T.

Short DPXDC Prompts #777

Oswald tries to find a way to make the ice in the Iceberg Lounge never melt so he recruits the help of Maddie and Jack Fenton who have recently patented an ecto ice machine.

The machine is just Danny sitting inside making the ice. He’s committing to the bit.

I'm going to apologize ahead of time for this because it's going to be not happy at all.

The Fentons had finally managed to hit that no-good Phantom with an ecto-destabilizer, watching the ghost fall from the sky after their shot and crash into the park below.

By the time they got there, expecting to see a melting puddle of post-conscious malicious goo, Phantom had hidden within himself, leaving nothing except a small, ice-cold, blue sphere, surrounded by a circle of frost and ice spikes.

Overjoyed by their discovery (was this Core something all ghosts had, or just Phantom? Did this explain why his behavior was different from the other ghosts'?), they brought the ghost Core back to their lab for research.

It was another three days before they realized that Danny wasn't just hiding in his room or off with his friends.

It took another two to report him missing.

They had research to perform, after all, and they could hardly leave the ghost Core alone in their lab for too long. Even with containment, it would start overwhelming their systems with its ice after a day.

If they could just harness the energy from the Core, they could set it to produce free energy while they looked for their son!

Their solution came in the offer of a deal from a businessman in Gotham. They could appreciate a solid theme when they saw it, and when this Oswald Cobblepot requested the development of a non-melting ice, they realized just what they could use this ghost Core for.

So, they hired a detective with the funds and temporarily moved to Gotham, setting up the ghost Core within a specially-designed holder that slowly produced inch-thick sheets of ecto-ice.

It wasn't until the Iceburg Lounge had been fully refitted with the new material that the haunting started...

So danny becomes a building

Awareness is an odd thing. You would think there should be only two options, aware and not. This is true, but it is a drastic simplification.

There was a before, but it was beyond the crystal that was not always a crystal. It knew movement, it knew study, it knew warmth. It did not like these things.

The jostling would inevitably come again, it would be moved, examined, it's form chipped away until it was nothing more that itself. Growth was not allowed.

It had forgotten the form hit had hoped to achieve, it never got close enough to visualize it before the chipping began again. It's purpose denied yet again.

The crystal did not know time.

It did not know numbers to count.

There was another chipping. And then there wasn't another one.

It grew.

Panels did not think this form was correct. They was jostled and struck into certain places. They became walls. This, Walls thought, was better. Walls protected from wind and storm. This was not meaningless.

Walls became Room. Room became Rooms. Rooms became Halls and Ballroom and Roof and Light Fixtures and they grew further.

He was the Iceberg Lounge.

That was the name the humans gave him, it did not quite fit, but there were worse names.

He settled his supports into Gotham's soil, she lent him strength with an offer.

It was not a question for him, of course he would support his siblings should dire times come. It did not matter that they were not thinking buildings, they held the same purpose as he did. He grew and he eased their burdens.

---

The Iceberg Lounge was a club. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be a club, but did any building get to choose their purpose? He would protect them while the laughed and drank and did all sorts of foolish things, better they do it somewhere safe and cool then out in the sweltering night.

Time passed again... he remembered time from somewhere... there was the people time, then the quiet time, then the cleaning and preparing time. Once he held an Event!

Only a few cycles had happened before the man raised a hand to strike the girl. The Iceberg Lounge dropped a chandelier.

It did not land on him, just beside, but the humans shrieked!

The Iceberg Lounge let the fallen ice melt, as it reformed the fixture where it had been. The humans scrambled and did all sorts of things, but they didn't hurt each other, so that was fine.

He absorbed light bulbs and wires from from places they were not needed and repaired the rest with ice.

He dulled the fallen material's edges so it would not cut the one who cleared it away.

---

It was not the last time this happened. Different people and different situations, but eventually they got the hint.

His builders tore at the door to the room that held his heart. Little did they know, he'd made the door into a wall. They did not succeed no matter how hard they chipped at him.

---

No harm will befall you in the Iceberg Lounge, so long as you harm no one else, said rumors. The rumor turns out to be good for business, even if it's Proprietor must change his usual tactics.

Fear is a common enough thing in Gotham, a place where everyone is safe is going to attract people.

The Lounge hosts more Bachelorette and Birthday parties, more good people with clean money and the ghost doesn't seem to mind money laundering, so when the Doctors propose more drastic measures to remove it, the Proprietor says no.

---

The rumor gains traction quickly, and someone takes advantage of it just as fast.

Gotham's Knight and her Robin chase the customer through the Iceberg's kitchen. They are Gotham's he cannot remove them. The customer is his, and is being hunted. The Iceberg solves the problem temporarily, by adding walls. He traps the Bat and the Bird until closing time, then he lets them go.

---

The Bat returns often, sometimes with the Bird, sometimes not. The Iceberg follows their movements, encloses them the moment they step outside his rules. He always let's them go, Lady Gotham is amused at her children's antics.

Then things change all at once.

"Phantom." The Dark Knight says, and it's a truer name than his others. Phantom remembers his old form.

He forms the body of ice. He is too big now to put all that he is in the shape, it is a conduit alone. He opens his eyes and stares at the man.

The Knight hums.

"Do you know what this place is?" He asks.

"It is what I've become." Phantom answers.

"You went missing."

"Someone always knew where I was. How could I be missing?" His voice was wrong. He had not made the vocal cords right... or perhaps it was not possible to sound human when made purely of something so solid.

"The Doctors Fenton."

Phantom hissed. The walls rattled. Love and hate and pain and loneliness.

"They hurt you."

Phantom did not need to answer.

"Someone else went missing... likely the same night."

"I do not know my name." Phantom realized, the ice suddenly feeling like death.

The Bat whispered, and the walls remembered how to bleed.

"Was your human identity Danny Fenton? Your friends and sister have missed you quite a lot"

Batman was ready for a lot of things. For the walls to collapse. For the floor to grown spikes to skewer him. He even theorized the ice might just sublimate itself into nonexistence.

migowl o’hoora

@grimthetransman 's little beastie Storm from this post on @catfindr

(send some support their way)

 “hi welcome to mcdonalds what can i get for you?”

“yeah can i get a deluxe quarter pounder with cheese?”

“absolutely, do you want the meal or just the sandwich?’

“uuuuuh hold on”

*fishes something out of my pocket*

“mikey what do i do?”

“get the fries. youll need the energy in the coming days”

*stuffs it back in my pocket*

“uhh yes please  the meal would be great”

Now that it’s back it’s hard to remember a time where they sued to get the post taken down

Fall of Icarus/Hubris of Man

2019, colorised

(And reference)

people have tagged this as life imitates art, and I need you to understand that no, I saw this picture of my friend falling off the got dang swing and thought it represented human hubris so well that i went into a made haze of acrylic paint and when I awoke I was holding this finished canvas.

i cannot believe that since we started using the destiel meme as a breaking news alert there hasn’t been ONE destiel au fic where they’re co-anchors on the morning news.

cas confessed on accident while they’re on air and dean doesn’t know how to respond so he just reads the next thing on the teleprompter

i made a spidaman (theythem)

edit: their name is Sumo (jesús contreras)

“Mom, there’s someone under the bed.” You bend down and see your son there instead and he whispers “Mom that’s not me up there!” You take a step back when someone tugs your shirt. You turn, your son is in the closet asking “who are they?” You suddenly hear him calling from downstairs “Mommy?”

You sigh, raising your voice so that all of your sons can hear you. “All right, everyone into the kitchen. Now.” Hearing a shuffle in the attic, you add, “Yes, Duncan, that includes you.”

You don’t see any movement as you go down the stairs, but you’re used to that. You know they’ll all be there by the time you walk through the kitchen door.

As usual, your children have all fitted themselves into the kitchen. The dimensions of the room are a little wobbly with so many of them present, but you’ve long ago learned to ignore how the laws of physics only occasionally apply to them. A host of little faces look up at you anxiously, and you smile gently.

“It’s okay, none of you are in trouble,” you reassure them. They relax - and how astonishing is it, that they trust you so much? You’re so proud of their progress.

One, however, still looks nervous. You beckon him forward, and he comes reluctantly, shoved by his identical older brothers.

“Are you new?” you ask carefully.

He nods, and you drop to one knee. “It’s okay, sweetie,” you tell him firmly. “I love all of my sons, even ones I haven’t met before. Ask your brothers, they’ll tell you.”

“’m here because I heard you were nice,” he says in a tiny voice.

You open your arms, offering a hug but waiting to let him decide whether he wants one. This child must have seen hugs before, because he flings himself into your arms and starts crying. That’s good. Some of your sons are traumatised from what they’ve seen, knowing more slaps than kisses.

Eventually, the sobs dry up, your other kids patiently waiting for your attention again. “Why do we look like this?” he asks, curious.

“Because this is what the first of you looked like - Wilson, where are you?”

A hand raises from the crowd and waves energetically.

“Wilson took on my son’s form to play Child or Double. Calling from downstairs when my son was in bed, getting tucked in when the child I bore was playing out in the garden. Once I figured it out, I hugged him and told him that as far as I was concerned, I now had twins. It took him some time before he believed me.”

Wilson shrugs unrepentantly.

“When my son died, Wilson stayed. It helped, having one of my sons with me while I grieved. Then another of you began to turn up, and I had twins again. Then more. Until now, when I have more of you than will technically fit in my kitchen.” You give your sons a look of motherly disapproval, but they only giggle. They know you don’t mind.

“It’s not like you need to feed us!” calls out one of your bolder sons. Eric, probably. Your newest, unnamed child looks up hesitantly, then steps out of your arms to join his brothers. Lucas might be a nice name, you think idly. You don’t have a Lucas yet.

“That does help,” you admit. You put steel into your next words. “However, there are Rules in this house, and one of them is no messing around at bedtime. I know that bedtime is a traditional time for the Child or Double game, but four of you is pushing it.”

You’d say more, but there’s a knock at your back door. You turn to answer it, knowing that your sons will have evaporated before your fingers grasp the handle, and brace against the cold night air as you pull the door open.

Two identical little girls stand there. One has a bruise on her cheek, and has clearly been crying recently. The other - the other is a Doubler, just like your sons. After this long, you can tell the difference.

“Please,” the Doubler says, and her voice trembles on the word. “Please. She needs somewhere to stay.”

Part of you is shocked, already looking ahead to the potential legal issues. The rest of you is all mother, and you whisk her into the nice warm kitchen and get her a glass of water.

Your son’s bed will be occupied by someone else tonight. You think he’d have been okay with that.

Some days, Jazz really wished she was an only child. Don't get her wrong she loved her little brother and sister and would be devastated if anything happened to them, but somedays they drove her almost insane. Today was looking to be one of those days.

Jazz thrusted her hands in between her siblings and tried to pull them apart. She managed to scruff her brother, but little Miss Dani wiggled away. As Jazz made a grab for the youngest Nightingale, her brother jerked from her grasp and tackled the youngest. Jazz felt like tearing her hair out as they restarted their fight. She didn't know what started this fight, but she would be what ended it.

Jumping back into the fray, Jazz got Danny into a head lock and a hold on her little sister when she felt the all to familiar pull of a summoning.

Crap.

Jazz couldn't tell which one of them was being called and barely considered letting go when the three of them were pulled across time and space. They landed in a ten foot wide summoning circle, not even jostled by the change in scenery. A girl in a magician's hat and outfit, holding a book and wand, gaped at them as the man next to her in a black bat suit gave out a questioning humm.

Other voices of confusion rang out, and the girl flipped through her book, cursing someone called Constantine. Jazz briefly wondered the kind of impression her and her siblings were making with her trying to grapple and separate her two siblings, her little sister sinking her teeth into her brother, and Danny kicking out at his little sister.

A migraine started to form behind Jazz's temples.

That's it.

She was done.

Let the little gremlins kill each other.

She released her siblings. Stepping away, she rubbed her temples and held back a groan. She really needed a drink.

"I can buy you a drink." A voice from out of the summoning circle said.

Oh dear, she said that out loud.

The voice came from a man outside the circle, leaning against a wall in a red helmet and leather jacket. He rubbed his neck nervously as Jazz eyed him while considering his offer.

"I mean," he continued, "it's the least I can do since my associates mistakenly brought you here."

Despite the circumstance, Jazz felt the corners of her lift. So he's a little charming. "Who were you trying to get?" She asked.

"The ghost king."

"For?"

He pointed a thumb at a window next to him, "We're trying to stop Armageddon."

From her position within the summoning circle, Jazz could only see the red glow of the sky and dark smoke billowing on the wind.

Completely ignoring her little sister suplexing her brother, she glanced at the floor and took a moment to study the runes that made up the summoning ray. There's the summoning rune, royalty symbol, and ghost symbol. As she looked at the ray, she realized that the only protection ward woven within it was one that repells those with harmful intent. She rechecked just to be sure and then stepped over the threshold.

The girl holding the book squawked and the other inhabitants took a defensive stance.

"I thought you said that they can't leave the circle till a deal is made," Batman grumbled to the girl.

"They're not supposed to." She hissed frantically, flipping through the book, "damn you Constantine."

“Harmful intent” doesn’t specify harmful to who...

Danny and Dani are just bumping into the boarders of the circle while they’re trying to lay the smack down on each other

The summoning circle itself was glowing green with ectoplasm, the atmosphere inside not unlike being at home in Amity. But when she stepped outside of it, she expected the air to snap crisp, clear and free of death goo vibes— at the very most a low level of ectoplasm tickling the back of her brain.

Instead, death hit her full-force, like stepping out of an air conditioned diner into southern summer. A dominating maliciousness weighed her down, anger drying her throat.

Double crap.

Her steps faltered once she was fully outside the circle, stomach suddenly nauseated with the intense presence of a ghost. She slapped a hand over her mouth, biting her tongue to keep it down.

The one who offered to buy her a drink— stepped forward even though the rest of them kept their defensiveness. She took the proffered arm, but also pulled out her creep stick, leaning most of her weight on it.

Jazz's mind hop-skip-jumped past every other expletive after crap right to fuck, because that was the unmistakable feel of one crusty dusty—and still decently powerful—ex-Realms king.

To be fair, it'd been a good half-millennia since he'd last been out and ceremoniously shoved into the sarcophagus of some sleep before an idiot opened it again.

But still, too soon for Danny to be facing the ghost who'd come too close to crushing his core.

Plus, Danny wasn't the only one affected by a nasty protective streak—hers was just not as life-threatening (though they didn't know exactly if she was alive, per se, but she hadn't really died either) and focused on a small list of individuals. The top of that list being Danny.

"Are you ok?" Red Helmet's modulated voice still held recognizable concern, and that jacket really didn't do the firmness of those muscles any justice (though his stature did say a lot).

Jazz straightened, actively reeling in her own aura so she didn't give them away—there was a small chance that upon her own extensive studying of the sarcophagus and Pariah's powers, he could identify her own ecto-signature. The dome around the summoning circle seemed to keep the auras separate; she hadn't felt anything outside the runes until completely free of its barrier. She also couldn't feel either of Danny or Dani's considerable auras from outside.

Jazz nodded, stomach settling. "Fine. Not too bad a situation you folks've got here." She walked over to a window with a hum, assessing.

There were disbelieving and slightly distressed noises from the young adults with bird-like insignias, but Jazz just rolled her shoulders, starting to pull her hair back into a braid.

Definitely Pariah, and also a proportionate amount of thralls; none even close to Fright Knight's level. All the ghosts of Pariah's council and court were thralls until Danny's beat down reduced his power. Pariah couldn't keep the stronger ghosts in his hold after that, and Danny had released those tied to the kingship rather than Pariah himself.

So, it was what looked like a million empty-headed ghosts and a larger-than-life Pariah Dark on rampage.

Against her, the Ghost King's older sister and First Knight. And possibly Red Helmet and the teen with the R on his chest—they seemed to have ecto-infused weapons that would work against the thralls while she went for Pariah.

She was so ready to use her hundreds of years' worth of combat training against the ghost that almost killed her brother. She didn't think she, specifically, could crush Pariah's core, but she could damn well try if he was going to cause problems.

At least he had the sense to attack a dimension they weren't monitoring.

Too bad the book the magician was reading from had a working summoning.

"Not too bad?? THAT'S your assessment!? Red Hood said Armageddon and what— just another Thursday??" The one with the blue bird across his chest spluttered out, running a stressed hand through his hair.

Jazz was sympathetic, she was stressed when Danny fought Pariah and she was freshly liminal, but now it was different. She had a job to protect her king, to protect her baby brother.

"Monday. Which, and you can quote me on this, are actually cursed to be horrible. And yes, not too bad. Your Big Bad isn't so big or bad compared to me."

Bat Suit spoke up, voice gravely and impatient. "And who are you? Are you the Ghost King? Are you Phantom?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Jazz saw the Ghost King get launched upwards, hitting the top of the dome, which flexed but held strong. He bounced and flattened the Ghost Princess, who struggled to roll him off, choosing to chew on Danny's shoulder.

Maybe she can use that protection ward whenever the two decide to get into it, it looked like the intent to hurt each other kept them contained.

Jazz smiles, wide and sharp. Light armor began to form on her body, its style clearly a modernized medieval. The dark hilt of her sword began to form around the creep stick, glowing a bright teal.

"Nope. I'm his First Knight."

Dude seeing Jazz step up and fight instead of Danny is so cool. Like she is usually depicted with a protective streak that she can't back but I don't belive for a second that she wouldn't train to back it up like this.

^^ right!!!

anyway here's part 2 of my contribution to this post, it rounds out to 1510 words!

~

They were probably all going to die, but right now Jason couldn’t care less because the absolute badassery emanating from the red haired woman almost brought Jason to his knees. Dickwing’s elbow to his ribs meant he was doing a piss-poor job of hiding it, but again, he couldn’t care less. 

(If she wanted, Jason would buy her a lot more than a drink.)

He didn’t know what it was, but he could sense something about her fluctuating. It flared when she’d stepped out, then disappeared after she let go of his arm. Now, it pulsed, bright and dangerous. 

It felt like a tiger held its open maw over his throat, teeth right over an erratic heartbeat. He wanted to cower at the feeling, but something in him recognized that the intent wasn’t aimed at him. And if he were to take the woman’s words as true, then it was for Big Ugly outside. 

Right under the power he felt was a warm current of safety, soothing a spot in his chest he didn’t even know needed soothing. It was like he could finally unclench his jaw, finally let someone do the protecting. The balm that it was threatened to leech away the adrenaline keeping him up and functioning. 

Jason swayed on his feet, Dickie’s hand grasping his elbow. He was glad B was talking to her now, he felt like he’d melt on the spot under that gaze. 

A blazing sword slowly materialized around the wooden baseball bat The Knight had plucked out of literally nowhere. Its flames flickered a bright teal and pure white, licking up the hilt to her forearm, but it didn’t seem to be hurting her.

If Jason were to make an educated guess, he’d say the sword was a single edged saber that mostly modeled itself after the Chinese liuyedao, but the carvings of the adorning tunkou was unlike anything he’d ever seen on a weapon. They certainly weren’t consistent with Mongol, Ming or Qing designs. The blade itself seemed to be made of some sort of watered steel, but it was hard to tell under the rippling flames. 

Jason wanted to know everything about the ghost king’s first knight, including her availability next week at 8 (for that drink, of course) and the details on her sword. 

“You’re not fighting him alone, not if he’s as strong as you say he is.”

B says it like any one of them could help her, as if they hadn’t been driven to relying on a tome Constantine chucked at them before fucking off.

Jason’s bullets and Demon Brat’s sword were the only things that were able to pick off the hordes of ghosts floating around, and he’s down to one.

Demon brat had willingly tossed his katana at Timmers after taking a nasty hit, exhaustion slowing him. 

When Jason said Armageddon, he meant it. He’d seen people in the League die for looking at the blade, and in the manor not even Alfred was allowed to move it for dusting. 

The Knight snorts, but the look she gives is not unkind. Empathy was visible to everyone, but the bats saw someone who believed they held all the cards. Maybe she did, and maybe she didn’t, but right now she held more cards than they did. 

She starts walking back over to the summoning circle, absentmindedly twirling the sword. 

“Again, Pariah is strong, but not that strong.” Is that Big Ugly’s name? Jason must have zoned out. (100% the exhaustion, of course.) “The only thing is that he’s still got thralls, so of course I’m not going alone.”—she jabbed her thumb in Jason’s direction—“Red and the teen with the sword are coming.”

Jason raised an eyebrow.

“Why us?”

The Knight points at the katana on the brat’s hip. 

“My best guess is that was forged in ectoplasm, because it’s not a part of you like mine is.” That earned a confused eyebrow from the brat, and Jason could feel all of those present perk up in interest at the new word.

Said sword swings back and brushes Zatanna’s coattails, but instead of setting it on fire, it seems to pass through it harmlessly.

She waves an open hand at Jason. “And you’ve been infusing ecto into your weapons; it’s not a lot because you do it to each bullet, but it’s enough to take effect.” As Jason stays outwardly blank, his eyebrows creep up behind the helmet. 

He’s been doing what with what?

“Infusing your bullets with green death goo— I can tell, obviously, so I’m perfectly qualified to be taking point and leaving you all here, but a distraction for the thralls would be great.”

The Knight claps her hands once like she’s closed that particular subject (when in fact he’s reeling with a dozen more questions, thank you very much).

When she stops at the edge of the summoning circle, Jason can feel the exasperation in waves. The scene does warrant it, the two siblings (and they could be nothing else from how they didn’t stop fighting—in fact grew more aggressive—even in the room of new people) had figured out how to use the barrier of the summoning spell as a launching pad for their attacks.

It was honestly impressive— both the lack of awareness (or care) and the ingenuity the two had in their new environment.

Then The Knight seems to gather herself, folding herself up into the reverberations of power and control.

——————

Jazz whistles, sharp and clear.

Both gremlins freeze, Dani’s arm high in the air with Danny’s detached left leg as Danny’s teeth sink into her right calf. 

Huh. She didn’t know he could do that. 

Dani brought the leg down on Danny’s head, and Jazz felt the migraine start wandering back in. 

When she’s done with this, she’s going on vacation. A quiet, relaxing, decades-long vacation. 

Jazz fixes the two of them with the look. “Stay in the circle. Yes, there’s a ghost terrorizing this dimension, and no, neither of you are doing anything about it.”

They glance at her fright sword—it transports its targets to a prison of her making—before looking back up at her face, searching. 

Danny speaks up, detaching from Dani. The pair of devils now look concerned, instead of murderous. They know each other as well as they know themselves by now, and she knows they know who just by the rage in her eyes. 

“You good?”

“I’ll be great in about ten minutes,” she deadpans.

Danny and Dani grin, simultaneously throwing her finger guns and a wink.

Jazz rolls her eyes, halfway annoyed and fond. 

“Make good choices, be queer strike fear, avoid Fruitloops, and have fun!”

He winds around Dani and puts her into a sleeper hold, before opening a portal and dropping through. 

The magician squawks again, cursing more than just that Constantine guy now.  

Jazz turns around as the summoning circle dims to nothing, slipping right back into business. 

“Right. Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

Red Helmet— or, well, Red Hood, steps a little forward. 

“I’d love to come with and kick Big Ugly’s ass, but I’ve only got one bullet left, and Robin and I are running on fumes.”

The teen, Robin, shoots a glare at him, but Jazz can see how Robin keeps his arms crossed in an attempt to not show their tremble.  

Jazz drags a sharpened nail through the air, opening a little dimensional rift into her work room. 

“Here. Use these.” First, she pulls out a rocket launcher and slings it around her shoulder. Then, she grabs a regular looking pair of pistols and some magazines, handing it over. “They’re modified Jerichos, and each mag holds two hundred rounds. Works on ghosts.”

Red Hood takes it with a reverence and care she can certainly appreciate, replacing the guns in his shoulder holsters. 

Jazz reaches in for one last thing, pulling out a couple cans of ecto-rockstar before closing up the dimensional tear. 

She downs a can of liminal-adjusted energy drink before tossing the other to Red Hood.

“Split that with Robin, it’ll probably give you an energy boost.”

Bat Suit speaks up, his concern cutting through the extreme emotions coming from Red Hood.

“Probably?” She waves him off.

“They’ve died enough, it’s death juice. It’ll probably work like a sugar high on a toddler because that’s specifically made for me. Worst case is they throw up— not a bad alternative to dying because they’re too exhausted to be useful.”

A beat before Bat Suit nods in acquiesce.

The two drink, immediately perking up. 

Robin unsheathes his katana and both Jazz and Red Hood flick off the safety of their weapons. 

 “Good. Now someone owes me a vacation after this.”

They step outside the door and Jazz lets her aura expand, letting loose a Battle Cry. 

Pariah’s focus lasers in on her as the hyped-up duo behind her raze through the thralls, shooting and slashing them into non-existence.

The ex-king shoots towards her.

Jazz floats up, and meets him in the middle.

~

Pau

(tag list + lil sum under the cut)

Woke up, checked my inbox, noticed I had someone bitching about me for "fearmongering" about covid and I'm just like

Sorry for being disabled and livid that everyone else was a big fucking coward who caved to the horseshit.

"Oh, Ren, you don't know what the Social Pressure is like--" Why do you think that? Why do you assume I don't? Do you want a full list of how many people I've cut off for telling me that I'm being unreasonable, that my mask makes them stressed out, that I'm "too hard" to plan hangouts with because I require safety measures?

I'm under the exact same fucking social pressure to go back to normal as everyone else. I just have a fucking spine about it.

"But if I wear my mask, a mean person might--"

I'm openly transgender in Florida. You think anti-maskers are any fucking scarier than that?

Death before detransition, death before I become the type of pathetic coward who won't even wear a fucking mask.

Danny whenever his parents cook

Before the Accident: due to ecto-contaminated food

After the Accident: due to any anti-ghost ingredients they might’ve come up with and added

Got inspired by another Detective Conan screenshot again for this XD

as much as i appreciate the increased usage of they/them pronouns as a non binary person that uses those pronouns, y'all need to also understand that using they/them on someone who does not use they/them is still misgendering

Using they/them for someone whose gender/pronouns you’re unsure of: good; doesn’t make assumptions; more concise and inclusive than the dreaded “he or she.” not misgendering

Using they/them for someone who has already told you their gender/pronouns (and doesn’t use they/them): not good; ignores their implicit/explicit wishes; often used as an ‘out’ by closet transphobes to avoid referring to a binary trans person with their preferred pronouns while still appearing ‘woke.’ this is misgendering

this scared my cat so bad he bigged his tail about it