#timelines of decomposition

[dr-wormman]

Messing around with style & drew a Balthy… no reason for his name to be on here I just haven't done lettering in a while and wanted to

[purpleghoul87]

mike prepares for the job interview

since u guys seem to really enjoy the recently-scooped michael ... here's some more ... but it's a prequel to the first post >:D

[ part 1 if you missed it <3 ]

[butchyena]

finally landed on an apocalyptic event idea good enough to base a campaign on. thank fucking god

[anterieur]

when i was a kid my grandma had a dead dried lizard she kept in an ornate wooden box in her desk and she told me it was good luck and she would make me wish over the lizard for absolutely anything. we would bake a lot together and it started out as “go wish over the lizard that your crêpes will turn out good” and then it just started spreading to other things. like I’d go to her house to wish over the dead lizard for a good grade, to go to the zoo, for my friends to invite me to a sleepover. which is kind of funny in itself because my grandma is pretty catholic and you’d think that she’d make me pray to god rather than, you know, a lizard corpse. but also my mom was adamant i should be raised non-religious so maybe my grandma was trying to gateway drug me into catholicism (did not work). who knows. anyway learning that other kids did not have a lucky lizard corpse was a worse betrayal than learning santa was a freemason.

[forensicfield]

Sign of Putrefaction

Putrefaction is the term used for the process through which organic matter undergoes microbial decomposition and produces an unpleasant odor. This occurs after 10 to 20 days after the organism's death. Several things happen during the putrefaction....

Continue reading Sign of Putrefaction

[magical-reid]

could i pretty please request prompt #18 with spencer reid and a forensic scientist reader? would be super duper cool if she was part of the bones (tv show) crew, as i’ve always thought them and cm should have done a crossover. thanks!! ❤️

The Science of Luck

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: 1K

Prompt: 18: "I thought I had the worst luck, until I met you"

Summary: Dr. Spencer Reid, a staunch skeptic of luck, finds himself questioning his beliefs after an encounter with a clumsy forensic scientist, who joins the BAU team on a challenging case. Despite their initial bickering and contrasting expertise, the two begin to form an unlikely partnership while investigating a serial killer, leading to a surprising and potentially life-changing connection.

Dr. Spencer Reid didn’t believe in luck. Probability? Sure. Coincidence? Of course. But luck? That was just a cognitive bias humans relied on to explain randomness.

Yet, as he stood ankle-deep in Virginia mud, his pristine pants ruined, watching as yet another forensic scientist nearly slipped and took out an entire evidence table, he found himself reconsidering.

“I thought I had the worst luck,” he muttered, barely dodging a flying clipboard, “until I met you.”

The forensic scientist in question—you—wobbled but managed to right yourself before disaster struck. You shot him a glare as you readjusted your Jeffersonian ID badge. “Not my fault this crime scene is a swamp. And it’s not luck, it’s physics. Slippery surfaces, unstable ground, and a lack of proper traction—”

“That sounds an awful lot like an excuse for bad luck,” Spencer countered.

You huffed but couldn’t argue. You were a forensic scientist, not a field agent, and being thrown into an active crime scene with the BAU was not in your usual job description. You were used to working in the pristine, controlled environment of the Jeffersonian Institute—not chasing serial killers through the backwoods of Virginia.

And yet, here you were.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It all started with a body—or rather, bodies. Multiple skeletal remains had been discovered in various locations across the D.C.-Virginia border, the work of a particularly meticulous serial killer. The BAU had been called in due to the pattern of abductions matching an existing profile, but given the advanced state of decomposition, the FBI had reached out to the Jeffersonian for forensic assistance.

That’s how you ended up here—cold, wet, and questioning all of your life choices.

Agent Hotchner, ever the professional, barely batted an eye at the tension between you and Reid. “Dr. (L/N), thank you for assisting us. Dr. Brennan recommended you personally.”

You straightened your back. Temperance Brennan doesn’t recommend people lightly. “I specialize in isotopic analysis and forensic taphonomy. If your unsub is moving bodies across state lines, I can determine where they were before they ended up here.”

Hotch nodded approvingly. “That would be extremely useful.”

Reid, however, still looked skeptical. “That’s assuming there’s a pattern in the body disposal locations. If the killer is deliberately choosing random drop sites—”

You crossed your arms. “Then I can still tell you about the soil composition, insect activity, and post-mortem damage, which could help narrow down a timeline. It’s basic forensic science, Doctor Reid.”

A small smirk twitched at the corner of Hotch’s lips as he turned away. “Work with Dr. Reid and see what you can find.”

You and Reid stared at each other for a beat too long before sighing simultaneously.

“Fine,” you said.

“Fine,” he echoed.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Back at the Jeffersonian, you had the advantage. This was your turf, your lab, your meticulously organized work environment. And Spencer Reid—despite his genius—was a little out of place.

“Don’t touch that,” you warned as he hovered near a set of isotopic samples.

“I wasn’t going to,” he shot back, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You raised a brow. “I literally just watched you reaching for it.”

“It was a reflex!”

“Uh-huh.”

Despite the bickering, you had to admit—Reid was sharp. He picked up on patterns even before you finished running tests, and while his knowledge of forensic anthropology was limited, he had an uncanny ability to connect seemingly random details.

Together, you started to piece together the unsub’s movements. The isotopic analysis revealed that the victims had spent time in an area with a unique mineral composition—suggesting an underground water source near limestone deposits.

Reid’s encyclopedic brain immediately pulled up a connection. “There’s an abandoned mining town about twenty miles west of the last body dump site. It was shut down in the 1980s, but the underground aquifers match your analysis.”

Your eyes widened. “If the bodies were stored there first, that could explain some of the inconsistencies in decomposition rates.”

He nodded excitedly. “Exactly. We need to check it out.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The abandoned town was eerie. Old buildings, rusting equipment, and an unsettling silence. You were with Reid, Morgan, and Booth—because of course Booth had insisted on coming along.

“What are the chances the unsub is actually still here?” you asked, glancing around nervously.

“Statistically?” Reid started, but before he could finish, a gunshot rang out.

“DOWN!” Morgan shouted, pushing you behind cover as bullets ricocheted off the crumbling brick walls.

Your heart pounded as you scrambled for safety. “I am so not cut out for this!”

“Yeah, well, welcome to our world,” Booth muttered, drawing his weapon.

Reid, crouched beside you, looked equally shaken but determined. “Stay close to me.”

“Not like I have many options!”

A tense firefight ensued, but the BAU and Booth’s tactical skills won out. The suspect was apprehended, and the nightmare was over.

Mostly.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Back at the Jeffersonian, you were still rattled. Lab work was one thing. Nearly getting shot was another.

“You okay?” Reid’s voice was softer than usual.

You exhaled. “I will be. Just… not used to being a target.”

“Statistically speaking—”

“Reid,” you warned.

He smirked. “Right. Not helping.”

There was a beat of silence before he hesitated. “For what it’s worth… I think your bad luck might just be situational.”

You gave him a look. “Says the guy who gets kidnapped at least once a year?”

His lips quirked. “Fair point.”

Despite yourself, you laughed. “Guess we’re both unlucky then.”

He nodded. “Yeah. But… maybe that’s not such a bad thing. I mean, we did solve the case together.”

You tilted your head. “Are you saying we make a good team?”

Reid shrugged, but there was a hint of a smile. “I’m saying… maybe luck isn’t the worst thing. As long as you have the right person to balance it out.”

You studied him for a moment before smirking. “Are you flirting with me, Dr. Reid?”

His ears turned red. “W-what? No! I mean—maybe? I just meant that—”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but smile. Maybe you were unlucky. But if it meant crossing paths with Spencer Reid?

Maybe, just maybe… luck wasn’t so bad after all.

[stillgrows]

Was did seem a little reductive when talking about the Doctor now, which was strange. Knowing he wasn't gone in the way they'd anticipated was going to take some time to settle in. It felt strange, like it was knowledge their mind didn't know how to process, could feel it grating up against centuries of accepted certainties that didn't know how to be proven wrong. They'd get used to it eventually.

Their lips parted as Epsilon's simple statement about killing a drake, but they fell silent to observe as instructed, hands finally lowering from his face so they could lean away from him for a better view of his hand on the desk beside them. For a moment they weren't sure what point he was going to prove here, but then his fingers curled against the resin surface and proceeded to dig into it. It was mostly effortless to their eyes, although a scrutinizing movement of their gaze from his fingers and up his hand to his forearm revealed a slight rigidity, a flexing of his tendons beneath the skin. It wasn't taking nearly as much effort as it should based on appearance.

And his hand came away undamaged, resting on the desk beside them.

"I should have guessed that your musculature was organic; working out would be pointless if it wasn't." They didn't have to do anything to maintain their form or strength, themself. "But you doing it all for appearances sake..." They grinned a little then clicked their tongue, carefully hooking their feet under the seat of the chair to pull him closer between their legs now that they weren't leaning forward into his space. "Not that the ego and vanity are anything new." It was far from a revelation, but knowing the skeleton did all the lifting in a way that rendered more muscle mass unnecessary... it was amusing, in a fond way.

"But... back to the strength you've been hiding." Scaramouche didn't think there was much they could do to surprise one another at this point, but maybe they'd underestimated the Doctor's penchant for keeping things to himself and how that was a trait that lingered in all the segments, no matter how long or how well he may have known them. This detail nagged, no matter how curious they were about his physical makeup. Lightly, they cupped his chin in their fingers, eyeing him curiously. "What were you talking about? You killed a drake? When?" Admittedly it was getting harder on a technical level to get in and out of Inazuma, making their trips there longer. Even if finding a way through wasn't harder, things within the nation were getting less and less stable, meaning they needed to be by Ei's side more. Soon things would come to a head, they were sure, then who knew how long they'd be stuck in that country.

Which all meant they weren't around as much as they used to be; gone were the days of keeping each other up to date on all the intricacies of all their plans. Sometimes there was too much to relay and things fell through the cracks—or, in this case, Scaramouche had been suspicious due to a single slip of the tongue on Epsilon's part and then putting most of their time and energy into unraveling each and every thread of that mystery that led them here.

But Epsilon himself killing a drake felt like the sort of detail that was too big to fall through the cracks.

Scaramouche’s impression of Dottore was right on the mark. From the memories stored in his head, Epsilon understood that. To be objective was to remove all emotion from the observation. What he, personally, made of the why didn’t matter in the big scheme of things. This had all been decided long before he became conscious. With no say in the matter of his existence, the most control he had was to add emotional connotations after the fact. People have always made stories up about themselves.  

A control freak and a creature of habit. Epsilon smiled ruefully. “Was, is, will be. I won’t say you’re wrong about him. I’d know.” With the small noise of Scaramouche’s tap against the vial, the earring swung back and forth ever-so-slightly from the momentum. He tilted his head minutely toward the opposing side, as if in annoyance. Nowhere near escaping their grasp, or even trying to. 

Their hands crept upward, onto his face, his mask—their touch memorizing the surface once more. Epsilon made a soft tutting sound at their words, mock offended. “Fragile? You think that lightly of me? So mean. But then again…You haven’t seen much, have you?” 

He sighed, and stretched out his right arm in front of him, holding it to the side rather than between the two of them. The fingers moved slowly, flexing, before he settled his hand on the desk next to them. 

“I killed a drake, you know,” He said. “Not with my bare hands, but that isn’t necessary to this particular discussion. Now, observe.”

The hand that rested upon the desk curled into a claw, fingertips pressed against the smooth surface. And then, with seemingly very little effort on Epsilon’s part—perhaps a bit more tension in the tendons, a bit more force intentionally exerted—they began to sink. The material of the desk, like the other counters in the laboratory, was exceptionally strong. Some sort of cured resin that was particularly resistant to damage from cutting or incendiary means. Pure pressure, however, seemed to do the trick. Epsilon had, after a few seconds, managed to essentially stab shallow holes into the now-cracked and suffering desktop.

Considering his point made, he extracted his hand and shook some dust off it, settling it back in a spot that wasn’t quite so destroyed. This way, Scaramouche could plainly see that he was no worse for wear. 

“To answer your question: my skeleton is metal, mechanical. Joints are either powered or hydraulic, which allow the exertion of a great deal more strength than an ordinary person would be capable of. The sort of force that would break bones, or tear away muscle. Which brings me to musculature”—he drummed his fingers on the desk in emphasis—“it’s just meat. It can be destroyed or built in the exact same way as in a normal human. Other than appearance, the perk to this whole system is that the skeleton doesn’t require muscle to move. Muscle supports it, and allows finer, more delicate motions where excess strength isn’t needed.

“The concept of bimodality may tragically be lost on you, I’m afraid. But I imagine you can understand how it would not be sensible for me to crush everything I touch.” 

His pantomimed annoyance at their (perceived) superiority couldn’t quite cover the excitement at getting to elaborate on the inner workings in detail. There was a spark in those eyes that he shared with his creator—eyes the color of molten rock, animated by some interior light. The joy of building, the joy of taking apart; it was one and the same, in the mind that sequestered it. 

[kelsh]

A (somewhat) accurate process of Mike rotting after he got scooped because I'm literally obsessed with the stages of decomposition and I've been curious about it since seeing that cutscene in SL.

disclaimer!!! I did not use gore photos or non-con photos of the deceased, my references were pigs or medical literature

Close-ups below + decomp timeline:

Stage 1 - Immediately after to a couple hours since death, Pallor Mortis (paling of skin) and Algor Mortis (gradual loss of body heat) occurs. Livor Mortis (pooling of blood to extremities) begins to set in.

Stage 2 - A couple hours to a couple days after Michael's death, Livor Mortis has become fixed, giving the lowest extremities on his body (hands, feet) a purplish hue. Rigor Mortis (stiffening of muscles) occurs and fades after a few days. Autolysis (destruction of cells by the self) causes loosening of skin, fluids released gives it a sheen. Eyes start to cloud.

Stage 3 - A couple days to almost a week since his death. He should be bloating like a balloon but the giant fucking hole in his stomach from the scooper releases all gases (he stinks.) Ennard puppeting his body made it hard for flies to land but they eventually got there and the maggots have hatched. Continued decay of his flesh turns him greenish and makes his skin slough off. Liquefied meat seeps from his orifices. Eyes are fully clouded.

Stage 4 - A week to a couple weeks since the scooper. Bro is experiencing premature male pattern baldness. He's all squishy and slimy from the body fluid and rotting. Exposed parts become a purplish-black colour and the maggots are graduating to further life stages. Eyeballs cave in, get eaten, or in Michael's case, pop out.

Stage 5 - A couple weeks to a month since bro's death. The last chunks of his hair are holding on by a miracle. Most of his outer flesh is eaten away and is almost entirely a purplish-black. Maggots have mostly turned into flies and left for college.

Stage 6 - Ennard realizes they can't stay in a zombie anymore and decides to dip. Leaves Michael a fresh set of eyes as a "sorry" gift. His rotting has thankfully stopped but it'll take a while for him to regenerate. Or not. I have no idea how remnant works. For now, he's basically a sack of rotted flesh and exposed bone. Bald.

This entire post is essentially-

[avayarising]

Deaths of Tim Drake

Part of the Batfam Death Project.

Unfortunately, Tim is wrong. At the time of the above panel (Robin War 1, 2015), Tim had died twice. To be fair, though, this being New 52 where Tim was never even actually Robin, they have presumably unhappened or, at least, been forgotten. (However, current canon is that all timelines have happened, so they still count.)

Tim has died three times and visited an afterlife twice. There are also a further three occasions when he might have arguably died, though it is not shown on panel.

Total time dead: a few days.

Verifiable deaths

1. Killed by the Joker (Emperor Joker, 2000)

Tim was killed by the Joker after Joker stole reality-altering powers from Mxyzptlk and remade the universe to his liking.

By the look of his corpse he was shot several times in the chest, possibly with a machine-gun.

Time dead: At least a few days. By the look of the corpses, Dick died before Tim – his body is noticeably more bloated – but neither has been dead more than about a week or two. On the other hand, Joker has powers over reality here, so he could have them appear at whatever stage of decomposition he wants.

2. Drowned in Blüdhaven (Robin 2:145, 2006)

Tim drowned in a water attack by a villain called Monsoon during an attack on Blüdhaven by a large number of meta villains, just hours before Blüdhaven was bombed by Chemo.

He was resuscitated by Laura Fell, the Warlock’s Daughter (his school friend Darla returned from the dead), who says she used CPR (the resuscitation is not shown on-page).

Of course, the person who gave her the CPR that didn’t help when she died was Tim, so that’s a hell of a thing to bring up just now.

Time dead: unclear, but probably in the order of minutes – Laura is grabbing him and pulling him out as he’s losing consciousness, so it can’t be long.

3. Electrocuted by Evil Future Tim (Detective Comics 1:966–967, 2017)

Tim’s Evil Future Batman Self (pulled from the future by Dr Oz) helped Tim escape Dr Oz’s extradimensional prison, where they were both imprisoned. When they got back to Gotham, Evil Future Batman Tim incapacitated Red Robin Tim with a powerful electric shock so he could go and kill Batwoman without interference.

Tim staggered to a nearby hospital, removing the more recognisable parts of his Red Robin outfit (which at this point in time actually looks just like his Robin outfit) on the way, and collapsed in the doorway. His heart stopped and he had to be revived by defibrillation.

Time dead: a minute or two at most.

Bonus extra deaths

(Implied, inferrable, ambiguous and arguable deaths)

1. Possibly died briefly during his splenectomy (Red Robin 5, 2009)

As Red Robin, Tim got stabbed in the spleen, and almost died from blood loss. He was picked up and treated by the League of Assassins, and woke up next to a Lazarus Pit. He was told, however, that he had not been resurrected, nor been submerged in the Pit for healing, but had only undergone surgery.

That may be so. It still leaves open the possibility that Tim did briefly die on the operating table and was resuscitated by more normal medical processes. It’s also possible that the White Ghost was lying by omission and, even if Tim wasn’t submerged in the Pit, some Lazarus Water was involved in the operation.

Time dead: Maybe a minute or two, if anything.

2. Arguably died when he was shot by a hundred drones at once (Detective Comics 1:940, 2016)

Jacob Kane (Batwoman’s dad and Bruce’s maternal uncle) had a plan to take out members of the League of Shadows (an offshoot of the League of Assassins) with targeted drone strikes. But the drones would have potentially killed a lot of other people too. Unable to actually disable the drones, Tim managed to hack them and reprogram them to all fire on him instead.

This was absolutely suicide, and it absolutely would have killed him had Dr Oz not spirited him away to his extradimensional prison. But you could argue that Tim did actually die at this point. Did he get transported just before the drones hit, or did his body get disintegrated and then reconstituted from his soul (which would count as death) in the prison?

Against the former, surely it wouldn’t have been hard for the other Bats to spot if his body had disappeared a millisecond before the lasers hit, and the panel appears to show his body beginning to disintegrate. Tim remembers the missiles hitting him.

On the other hand, when Tim manifests in the prison he is still as injured as he was before, with a swollen cheek and a bloody nose, and you’d think if his body was reformed it would come back fully healed.

Dr Oz’s answer is ambiguous.

Time dead: unclear. If he died at all, it was probably for moments.

3. Probably died in Death Metal along with everyone else (Death Metal 7, 2021)

Tim probably died in battle when the Dark Multiverse invaded and destroyed all the worlds of the multiverse. All the remaining heroes came together in a hopeless fight against an army of their worst nightmares, including an apparently never-ending swarm of groblins (mindless evil Jokerised Robins led by the Robin King, an evil child Bruce Robin).

Tim’s death isn’t shown on panel and neither is his dead body, but he is definitely in the group of Bats standing ready to fight (left, next to Spoiler):

As with Cass, Tim is likely to have died here, but he could have just been fighting elsewhere when we see Evil Child Bruce Robin taunt Batman over the fact that everyone is dead. In any case, everyone is fine again when Wonder Woman persuades the Creators to remake the multiverse.

Time dead: unclear; might be up to an hour, or longer if it takes longer to remake the world.

Afterlife visits

1. Pulled to the edge of the Abyss (Young Justice 1:19, 1999)

So apparently one of Greta’s (Secret’s) powers is the ability to create a portal to the Abyss – a rather horrific realm of the dead – within herself. She basically gathers people into herself to pull them in to the afterlife. She can also use this power to teleport/transport people by taking them through the Abyss – though it is not pleasant. She does this for Young Justice when Mount Justice blows up with them all inside it. In Greta’s internal portal, they experience falling into darkness, being burnt up, and being frozen and shattered. All the time, Greta is laughing cruelly.

And then they get spat out into a forest in the rain.

Greta is at pains to insist that she didn’t actually take them in to the Abyss itself, just the edge of it within herself. But it was still obviously absolutely nightmarish for all of them.

Time in in Greta’s internal afterlife portal: moments, or an eternity.

2. In the Abyss again (Young Justice 1:48, 2002)

Anita’s dad was tortured and left to die. Anita got there just too late, and then leapt into Greta’s internal afterlife portal to try and pull him out.

Ray and Slobo jumped in to get Anita back, and, after a little hesitation (unlike the others, he had been in before and knew the Horrors that awaited), Tim went in too.

Like last time, Tim experiences The Horrors, but Slobo (who says he has an understanding with death) stabilises him. They, with Ray, protect Anita from bat-monsters while she tries to reach her father.

Anita doesn’t get her dad back, but she does get to say goodbye to him. (This doesn’t help.) Everyone other than Anita’s dad is spat back out of Greta’s portal in the same place a short while after they left.

Time in Greta’s internal afterlife portal: a few minutes.

Batfam Death Project Masterpost

[clflowerrr]

Another late halloween art featuring zombie! Dokja and survivor! Joonghyuk

(When making this fanart, i was thinking this storyline haha)

Han Sooyoung made up a story about this photoshoot.

"Kim Dokja and his kids were out in a walk when the zombie apocalypse came. Kim dokja protected his kids of course, trying to go back to their place, but it caused him his life. Yoo Joonghyuk, on the other hand, was with his team. They just came back from their overseas competition.

Yoo joonghyuk set to go back to his boyfriend, but saw the kids instead (maybe with another teen/s that helped them? Han Donghoon and Jang Hayoung? And they camped in the apartment building the boyfriends and their 'kids' were living.) Gilyoung, Yoosung and Biyoo told him what happened and yoo joonghyuk set to find kim dokja. And he did find kim dokja. As a zombie."

(Han Sooyoung: here comes the drama! >o<)

"Yoo joonghyuk dropped his weapons with the sight of kim dokja, looking at his boyfriend like this. It broke him. He didn't want to be apart with him that's why he surrendered. As kim dokja got to him and got a hold of him, yoo joonghyuk swears that despite his boyfriend becoming a zombie, his touches were all the same. Careful, soft and loving."

(Yoo Joonghyuk: i will never do that. I will look for a cure to return kim dokja to normal.

Han Sooyoung: sure. But zombies go in decomposition stage. He'll be rotting. Therefore lets put that little opinion of yours in this little backstory for another timeline.)

"In another timeline, yoo joonghyuk caught zombified kim dokja, took him to his care and searched for a scientist for help. He found han sooyoung the great and her mighty gf yoo sangah to help him. Yet, the process requires time and time wasn't something they have. Slowly, kim dokja's body detoriated, succumbing to the decomposition of the dead afterall that's what he was. A walking hungry corpse.

Yoo Joonghyuk visited the basement where they put kim dokja. With his final message to his lover and a letter written for his team, he entered the cage and surrendered himself to kim dokja."

-

(Everyone: there really isn't a good ending?!)

(Lgy: i'll let hyung eat me too!

Sys: me too!

Biyoo: baat!)

[creative-classpect]

Prince of Life

The Prince of Life One who destroys life and growth, often with life and growth itself. A plague.

“You are alone, child.There is only darkness for you, and only death for your people. These ancients are just the beginning. I will command a great and terrible army, and we will sail to a billion worlds. We will sail until every light has been extinguished. You are strong, child, but I am beyond strength. I am the end, and I have come for you, Finn.”

Prince- destroy their aspect and destroy with it. They are incredibly active and a bit unstable due to their destructive nature. 

Life- major themes of life force, opportunity, growth, and luxury. Minor themes of options and optimism.

Abilities

Finality

The Prince of Life destroys life. They are a force of rot and decay. The turning of the seasons, the guiding hand of entropy, the unshakeable fact that everything that lives must die. The

At lower levels of the game the Prince of Life is simply good at killing, using nothing short of fully lethal methods. This can be anywhere from maximum efficiency like John Wick to insane overkill like say, Lobo. However they chose to go about their work they are skilled at it. No matter the tool, no matter the time, no matter their stamina, they are always ready to kill. This may manifest as extreme paranoia or a severely edgy personality. 

As the Prince of Life develops their ability to kill has begun to blossom, extending well beyond the point of death and into the decay, the rot, the decomposition. The Prince of Life has tapped into a well of necrotic energy and all the things that come with it. They may begin to unleash necrosis with each strike of their weapon, blast deadly radiation across the battlefield, take control over decomposers like insects, and even decay inorganic material, causing metals and stone to wither and corrode away.

By medium levels the Prince is no longer wielding death, they have become it. The destructive output of the Prince would multiply, becoming increasingly deadly. The faintest touch would be enough to cause any object, living or dead, to rapidly begin to decay, age, wither, rot, and die. While this effect is potent with touch, it could be spread over a massive area, unleashing clouds of thick miasma to wear down the stamina and will to persist of all creatures within their range. When the Prince destroys something it is next to impossible to heal or recover, all remaining potential drained out of it entirely. The only chance is to prevent the inevitable before the Prince brought finality.

At higher levels the Prince of Life is more than a simple force of death and destruction, they are unto the grim reaper itself. While others may struggle tirelessly against the wheel of time, the Prince is assured, unstoppable. They are the end, plucking the death that lives within all things, and allowing it to bloom. There is no need for haste, no need for worry, when the Prince arrives it is simply the end before they even need to raise their weapon. Fate itself is exhausted and all potential realities and timelines begin to collapse on the certainty of their doom.

A fully realized Prince of Life may even be able to kill other godtiers, regardless of it is heroic or just.

Biophage

The Prince of Life is able to destroy with life, harnessing the infinite potential of nature in the same way one may view an armory. Biological warfare in the most literal sense, from the smallest spore to poison to giant briar patches to ensnare. Life needs life to live. Every predatory instinct, every biological advantage, every weapon and tool loving crafted by nature to kill and consume belongs to the Prince.

At lower levels this can manifest in any number of ways. The Prince may be skilled in cultivating various poisonous plants and mushrooms, carve weapons made from wood, harvest deadly bacteria, weapons and tools made from the bones of predators, etc. As life is endless, so are the Prince’s options, it really comes down to a matter of their personal interests and combat preferences.

As the Prince of Life begins to progress this would evolve, becoming spontaneous rather than a more long term, laborious effort. Their weapon of choice would become supercharged. Creating rapidly regenerating mushrooms to use as grenades, spontaneously generating thorny spears, granting themselves augmentations like Wolverine claws or sharp fangs, etc. The Prince of Life would also begin the process of becoming the peak of what is physically possible. While all Sburb players are expected to develop superhuman capabilities, the Prince of Life would rapidly develop and exceed expectations for physical abilities, such as strength, speed, and reflexes. Wuxia levels of physical prowess. Strong like Equius, fast like Dirk, tenacious like Kanaya, etc.

At medium levels the Prince of Life has evolved to not simply wield a weapon, but to become a weapon, hosting their internal armory within themselves rather than relying on external forces. They could become a host to a deadly parasite, reshape their bones to create razor sharp weapons, and unleash laten poison stored in auxiliary organs or lying within their blood. By this point the Prince of Life would be inhuman, taking on aggressive and violent biological traits that would separate themselves from other members of their species.

At higher levels the Prince of Life would sit atop the food chain, not only in their supremacy in killing everything below them, but in that they have begun to transform past a single entity. Whereas other players and game constructs may be fierce combatants, they are ultimately a single body. Life grows, it blooms, it multiplies. The Prince of Life is not restricted to being a single physical entity in the way others may be. The Prince has become a nearly unstoppable engine, able to heal and recover from any injury as they push forward. They can become a multiplicity, creating a vast mycelium network that interweaves through the session, a hivemind swarm of ravenous predators, or exist as a parasite entity so that in the event of their death they may simply kill and replace whoever they have infected. The Prince of Life lives at the expense of others. As long as there are things left to die, the Prince of Life will continue to live.

With a fully realized god tier, the Prince of Life may be something like Doomsday from DC comics, an unstoppable juggernaut that adapts and evolves to any danger in a single minded pursuit to destroy.

Skills

Adapt and overcome- When reduced to 0 hp, respawn within 24 hours. You have developed a minor mutation, granting resistance against what killed you last.

From the root- Whenever you destroy something, you can choose to go all the way, erasing any trace of its existence and snuffing out potential to propagate. Even ideas may die

- - -

This post was commissioned! If you want to commission me or support my content, you can find me @ https://ko-fi.com/kesscal !

[everythingwasalreadypicked]

War Prize Al AU Masterpost

This is a Fantasy/Royalty PJO AU with Percy/Annabeth/Alabaster (aka Percalabeth aka Smartwatermagic aka Percabethaster xd) set place on a fictional land

Since the war prize au has gotten way bigger than I imagined here it is!

World building

Random Trivia Part 1 + Part 2

Random Trivia Part 3

Random Trivia Part 4: Poseidon Fam Edition

How the war started

How the war went

Map of Sthenias-Atlantis-Epirus by @catihere

Religious background of the main three kingdoms + some others (coming soon)

Al is trans

How Ethan became Alabaster's lieutenant

Malcolm & Annabeth

Former Timeline

Al's freckles post by @bvckbiter

Potential endings of the au

Smartwatermagic's parents' lore

Poseidon & Al

Fake twitter memes

Fanfics

The fics are listed here in chronological order, while the dates are given in modern calendar, the au's characters most likely do not use that, so that is more for the convenience of the readers. This is neither how they're listed on ao3 nor the writing order. Please read the tags for the fic(lets) carefully.

decomposition (Set place in 1XX0, End of June-Early July)

[It was going to be a long ride to King Poseidon's court, too bad they hadn't let him take along his bags. He was going to be immensely bored without the books he had packed.]

Prince Alabaster has some misconceptions about what having had lost the war entails.

Or

Al's trip to Atlantis fic :3

sieged (Set place in 1XX0, Mid July)

"I'm going to kill her..." With just as fast as she came, Palas turned on her heels and left, leaving Lou blinking blearily behind her.

The first thing that crossed Lou's mind was: I need to shake the hand of whoever shook Palas this much.

The second thing that crossed Lou's mind was: I hope they continue to do so and give me an excuse to get rid of her.

Lou wants two simple things, really: Her family back and some control over her own life.

With a surprise visit, the latter may just get even harder to achieve.

but they've overcome their shyness (now they're calling me your highness) (Set place in 1XX0, Start to Mid December)

The way King Poseidon reddened in anger at the letter he got in reply the first time had been glorious, if Alabaster had to be frank.

If only it hadn't been overshadowed by Perseus still writhing with agony in his sickbed and Alabaster's life being on the line.

Defeated in war and sent to a foreign kingdom against his will, Alabaster has to navigate a foreign court with the unwanted company of Prince Perseus and Princess Annabeth. One problem: Someone tried to kill Percy and Alabaster is the main culprit.

instead you hoarded all that's left of me (Set place in 1XX1, January)

Alabaster hopes the frigid air does flay his skin off. Better him due to the freezing wind than Ethan and Poseidon’s head guard.

Drowning in guilt, Alabaster finds a perfect way to take it out on himself. Percy and Annabeth are left to pick up the pieces.

Tales of Epirus

They had been holding out their own pretty well in the war, or so Lou had thought. Until Alabaster's letters home started only being addressed to their mother, until they got less and less frequent and their mother started preparing for surrender.

The worst part? It wasn't enough the occupiers stripped the palace of anything valuable. They demanded Lou's brother, too.

Lou Ellen was never supposed to be the queen, much less a puppet one. Alabaster was supposed to rule, not be torn apart from his crown and family.

OR

Ficlets about this au. Centered on Hecate siblings for now.

Random scene musings

What it says on the tin. Snippets that were too short to put in "Tales of Epirus"

Lou and Alabaster fight

What it says on the tin, very short.

if only dust is what we come to (Set place in 1XX1, First Week of July)

Fanarts

The first anniversary of the war's end came faster than any of them could imagine; amidst all the ensuing succession crisis, the fanfare associated with court, the constant need to check over his shoulder at every step and learning the ropes of politics from the two people that might have actually been tricking him towards ruin.

Prince Percy has more or less adjusted to being crowned heir. Though he never thought he'd have to reconcile his loving father and Atlantis's hated King being the same person. Especially now, with the people discontent and an assassination plan brewing against the said father.

Princess Annabeth is resigned to being a chess piece on the board of politics, and relished when she's the chessmaster. But what can she do when her mother has eyes on the lands of her husband?

Alabaster, after one whole year of captivity, is back at home. One problem; he's not sure he wants his sister to see him like this. Queen Lou Ellen is not sure she wants to see him either.

Nico and Alabaster fanart + Alabaster in a fancy outfit

Smartwatermagic in Regency Era inspired clothing

Percabeth Wedding

Hecate Siblings Epirus Era Concept Art

Spin offs (by @bvckbiter )

Meme about writing Smartwatermagic

Alabaster doodle

your sweetest compromise (Set place in 1XX0, Start to Mid July)

“You will serve as an example of what fate awaits Atlantis’ enemies,” King Poseidon explains as Alabaster is dragged out of his cell, only to be shoved down to his knees before him. “While I understand that even former princes have their pride, it is my son’s wedding. This would be easier on both of us if you behaved civilly. Surely losing your crown does not mean you’ve lost your etiquette?”

Alabaster bares his teeth in an approximation of a smile. “Don’t talk to me about etiquette when you and your heir presumptive learned yours on the seas, amongst drinkers and whoremongers.”

Poseidon’s face grows dark with fury.

Stripped of his crown and made a political hostage, Alabaster's survival now entirely depends on the goodwill of Prince Perseus and Annabeth. Thing is, he's not quite sure if living is worth it. // or: how i imagine these three fuckers come to the arrangement they have in river's AU

Smartwatermagic -questionable- fluff

What it says on the tin

From the Annals of Epirus: The Warring Years, pp. 249-253 (Set place in 1XY0-1XY2)

Hypothetical bad end of the au. Part 1 of (?)

Good Boy

Somehow even more questionable smartwatermagic fluff <33

Alabaster fanart in fancy clothes

Smartwatermagic fanart

Chancellor Alabaster

For even more of this au; see #war prize al tag

Prince Perseus Concept Art

Fanart by @bugcitie

[dcdreamblog]

Of course multiversal info is among the hardest to get, and it's really understandable that the Justice League and other heroes don't spread more than necessary. The average person doesn't need the kind of existential crisis this could generate, but knowing to watch out for Crime Syndicates and that maybe that guy talking about stuff that never happened isn't just crazy can also be useful to realize.

With that in mind I've got a question about something I discovered online. It seems like a JLA after action sort of report where they reference meeting a group calling themselves the Justice Guild of America. Not much is included in the report, it seems incomplete. There's one picture included where it seems like these guys could be the Justice Society if everyone just chose different names.

Any knowledge if this was real, or someone writing a story and not making that clear?

So I feel like I should probably make people more aware of what to expect from the reports the League puts out. Since communication of things like that so people have a greater understanding is like, my job. So before we get to the actual question let me clear the air.

The Justice League is not a government organization and as such is not actually under obligation to release ANY report of their activity at all, they do so with the understanding that some information is too imperative for the world at large to know and to keep themselves transparent enough to maintain the public trust. But that comes at the obvious limitation that the Justice League is an organization that will always be more concerned with its code of ethics than anything beyond it. Redacted information in the League's press releases and the information they share with government and law enforcement exists in cases where the release of that information is harmful, adversely risky or prejudicial without actually adding context to the case at hand. Information like the names of their friends and family involved in a case are withheld with respect to the heroes' own secret identities, the names of victims or even perpetrators are withheld when the situation has concluded in such a way that the League thinks nothing would be gained by the pursuit of punitive justice. Sometimes information is withheld not for the sake of the general population but from well founded mistrust of law enforcement and the forces of government.

I also don't have any special access to this information from my position. I am a civilian academic who is in orbit BROADLY around a defunct superhero team from nearly a century ago, the only unredacted reports *I* get to read are the ones I dig out of wastebaskets from 1943. So, with that in mind, I will tell you what I can.

(An artist rendition of the "Justice Guild of America" constructed from League description) The Justice Guild were natives of a pocket dimension that the League found itself trapped in after a battle with a large robot in downtown Metropolis. The Flash, running at high speed attempting to contain the machine's explosive decomposition transported himself, Hawkgirl, Martian Manhunter and Green Lantern Jon Stewart into said dimension resembling an idyllic 1950s town.

They were met by the Justice Guild (Left to right: Black Siren, Tom Turbine, The Streak, Green Guardsman and Cat Man) and teamed up with that world's heroes to defeat a group of native supervillains and eventually a larger threat before they were transported home.

The most obvious note is, as you said, how sharply these heroes resemble the members of the JSA from our world. Black Canary, The Atom, The Flash, Green Lantern and Wildcat to be specific. As far as that goes there's not much to comment upon, they could very well BE the members of the JSA from our timeline altered due to whatever butterfly effect created this world. They could be entirely unrelated people who resemble the JSA through the machinations of Hypertime (about 80 levels in quantum physics above my pay grade)

The part of the report that's redacted is basically the entire last third which describes whatever final events allowed the Leaguers to return to our dimension and any other follow up information on the Guild or its members and I truly CANNOT answer what any of that information is or what its redaction might mean. Whatever it was it was kept from the public record because the League found some moral imperative weighty enough to outweigh the truth and I'm neither in a position nor a state of mind to pass judgement on that position without knowing for sure what it was or why it was made.

Whatever happened in that pocket dimension was important enough that the League left a very public hole in its own records in order to keep it a secret. I think that's demonstrative enough.

[yourlocaltreesimp]

May I ask Wild with a reader who got hit by Ganon's malice on the final fight and gets infected (like, veins turning purple, pale and clammy skin, drained energy and etc) pretty please?

In flesh, blood and bone.

Omg i’ve literally been obsessed with this since you sent this in!! Finally got around to it (after a while, admittedly) but I hope you enjoy!

Tw: Description of decomposition and gore.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

The cyclical war of good and evil had taken its toll down the timeline. Dues were paid in blood and flesh. Link knew this. He knew this very, very well. It was hard to ignore given the fact of it was branded into his skin. Time and time again, life through life he can understand his place. He was a means to an end in the eyes of many. He was a saviour to the others.

He was a Hero.

Even if sometimes he really wishes he weren’t.

He knew that he was unlikely to finish things. But perhaps with enough blood, with enough effort, with enough pain he could bring an end to things.

He’d paid in flesh. As many of the victims of the calamity did.

He was covered in scars, gained both prior and post the guardian ending his life for the first time. But make no mistake, it was not the matter of the scar that bothered him. The uneven texture in his skin wasn’t uncanny after a while. Skin was just skin. He didn’t feel much like himself anyway, so it wasn’t like it mattered. It wasn't the flush of blood or streaks of uncanny colour that bothered him. Well that’s not to say they never did. The looks he got while walking through villages were less than enjoyable, but you quelled that. One soft, loving glance and the whole world doesn’t matter. Let alone their hostility.

It was perhaps the sight of you now that made him hate his scar.

It was the reminder of what it meant.

The mold. The rot. The decomposition.

Malice, as the people called it.

And Oh how he hated it.

He was not usually so squeamish. The squelch of a dying monster or the marr of an unmoving corpse had never really bothered him. Not when it was his purpose.

The former was the before stages of the rot. It was just spilled blood. It was just body. Of course it wasn’t really living persay, but it was close enough that all he had to do was ignore the glassy eyes and he was fine. The latter was when the rot was already over. The bones were picked clean, the blood and flesh returned to the earth to start anew. Bones would always just be bone.

It was the inbetween that really, really began to bother him.

It was tender flesh melting and oozing. It was soft tissue becoming home to fungi. It was the body no longer being a body but not quite bone. It was You laboured to breath, the wind a hollow whistle in your lungs. It was how your eyes fluttered, bloodshot. It was how your tears were cold against your feverish skin, the salty beads puss filled and gorey. It was how your skin was pale and patchy in places, flushed pigmented and unhealthily purple in others. Your skin was sunken and sagged. It was how your skin was plump and pushed awkwardly against your bones.

The malice seeped through your blood. It pushed through your injuries, webbing over your skin and casting roots into muscles.

And all he could do was weep.

He was utterly useless.

He sat by your bedside for weeks as Purah tried her hardest to fix you.

He kept staring down at you, replaying everything. It should’ve been him. You should’ve never been there. He could do nothing but watch as that disgusting thing whittled you down to nothing. Malice clinging to your skin; you screamed. A noise of such absolute agony he nearly dropped the mastersword where he stood.

He knew the dues were paid in blood. In body. In bone.

But why did it have to be you?

[dreamii-krybaby]

So something I noticed while looking some references for Doll’s father. Is that in the flashback scene I saw WD’s arm, probably from Yeva’s

So I decided to brighten up the image

Still can’t make it out? Here

At the end found out that at the far left bottom corner you can see Yeva’s body. There is also big oil stain on her abdomen or back, depending where she is facing

The “???” Might as well be a part of her body but I still thought of mentioning it as well

Another thing I noticed is that the corpse of Doll’s dad is still holding his camera

Smth else I noticed is just, how clean Doll’s dad (or how I like to call him, “Adán”) visor is? Like seriously compare it to his oily hands, there is no visible oil coming out of the gunshot wound

Same goes for Yeva, she only has oil coming out of her mouth, but the rest of her face? Pretty clean

Does that mean…Doll wiped out some of their oil in their bodies? That’s…sad man. Or maybe the little cockroaches cleaned them up

As for why Yeva is bleeding from her mouth, it can have a irl explanation:

I also started researching about rigor mortis and the process of decomposition of a corpse, because it could give us an estimate on how long have Doll’s parents been gone. Helping with the timeline but at the same time idk if it’s worth it. As well, their robot bodies may not follow the exact same logic as human bodies

[morphringwiselove]

saw this piccrew on my timeline and decided to use it to make Helena Trinidad (my BTD OC)

i decided to attach a dumb story for her. sorry. it'll be under the cut.

Helena Trinidad was a former vagabond who's scared of returning to her roots. She's down on her luck, job hopping around in hopes of finding some form of stable income. Eventually, she ended up finding a job at a shady warehouse in a much more shadier part of town. The pay was fine but she had to leave after a strange series of events.

She didn't think much of it at first. The plants could've been from her neighbors as a welcoming gift. Those petals near her miniature garden could've just been brought to her by the wind! Even if they seemed to pile by the windowsill in a strange way...

Then there were those dead pests.

She chalked it off as just issues that come with the territory. It's not like the apartment she's living in is all that good- it's a studio that can barely fit anything at all. As grossed out as she was, she would often carry them outside. It's better for them to be eaten then to rot within concrete walls.

It stopped for a while.

Then it got worse.

Roadkill would show up at her doorstep, the putrid scent seeping in and waking her. Not just any kind either; the poor animal seemed to be in a much more horrid stage of decomposition. Their furs would be matted in dirt, flesh turned to carrion, its remains the breeding ground for the gnats entering her home.

Before she knew it, she was scrambling on the floor, her door slammed shut and the memory of her screech bellowing in her mind. Alongside it was the thoughts who could of done this to her.

Helena knows that she's not the friendliest person to be around, but she also knows she doesn't give others a reason to antagonize her. Her neighbors doesn't seem to mind or really acknowledge her at all, so the likelihood that one of them could be culprit escapes her mind.

That warehouse house job? They seem to hire just about anyone, and rumors tend to circulate easily.

There's that one guy with the scars who can't keep his hair from his eyes. Former military. Schedules his days off near the end of the month. People like to joke that he has a secret bunker that he hides people in. Can't tell if he spilled beer on himself prior to work or if he doesn't give a damn that he smells like piss.

Then there's that guy she borrowed a box cutter from. He's a blond who stands tall with a slouch. He doesn't seem to talk much, but they had pleasant conversations in the past. He has a habit of sitting in the very back of the breakroom with his back to the door, spacing out. She remembers that he has a shitty fashion sense, and that the glazed look in his eyes tells her that he's clearly on something.

Whatever it is, she needs a hit of it too to calm her down from her current case of insanity.

In an attempt to return to reality, she calls the superintendent to help handle the carcass at her door. Annoyance, confusion, and reluctance was clear in their tone.

She explained the situation to them, and sadly there's not much that they can do. The apartment building doesn't have cameras nor any gate to protect its tenants. If anything, reporting it just landed Helena another fee for the apartment.

The entire incident left her more mentally wrecked then usual. She finally has a place and she can't even feel safe within the confines of her own home. She can't even ask for help without being punished.

Eventually it stopped.

There was no more strange gifts.

She was finally able to open the door in confidence of nothing being on the other side.

The memory still lingers, it always does. An incident like that imprints itself on your mind, your senses forever wary of its repetition.

One day, in a hurry to work, she felt the strange sensation of crunching underneath her boots.

Panicked, Helena looked back to see what she stepped on.

It was a wreath composed of ivy and poorly bent twigs, flowers placed within the gaps; violets, hyacinths, and lillies. The ivy were bent inwards the wreath to hold a small bundle of poppies.

She noted that the poppies seemed to stand out- like it was added last minute.

She crouched down and picked it all up, and noticed the tips of some the petals were wilting, seemingly ready to fall off.

She also noticed the putrid scent of death from her doorstep, congealed blood underneath her doormat. It looked fresh, the fluorescent lights within the hall giving it an unnatural sheen.

She went back inside her apartment, tightly grasping the wreath in her hand, not caring to pick up all the fallen poppies.

Helena calls the warehouse and quits.

It's happening again. She can feel her anxiety crawling up her throat, her worries wanting to visualize itself. Bile escapes her, the process all too familiar.

Guilt is eating her insides. Her position wasn't even that difficult. She still has the scanner and she needs to return at some point. She also needs to return that damn box cutter, even if there's plentiful at that damn place. Even if that guy doesn't want it back, she wants to put it in back in his hands. To let her apologize for disappointing someone at least.

The cycle is starting again. She couldn't change. Helena ran away again.

She wanted peace and quiet.

She wanted to be safe, and if she can't get that then she'll create it for herself.

It's reckless to just quit out of the blue, and it's not like she has a lot, but she just wants to feel safe, to be ok.

If she's able to escape once, then she can do it again. She can live, she just has to find a way.

There's an echo down the stairwell.

Dejected as he is, he needs to carry on to work, with or without her.

It's Lawrence's fault for scaring her with his gifts.