#cw heavy injury

[soulspite]

"Sorry bud..."

[the-path-of-dreamers]

Moon 4: An Echo

Encounters 2/3

[blairamok]

“how long did you have to burn before becoming fireproof?”

been reading the strange moon series by @racketghost lately and was inspired to draw up some crowley angst because that line absolutely haunts me. featuring season 2 angel baby crowley after their million light year freestyle dive into a pool of boiling sulfur. :(

[starry-bi-sky]

my body's aching like a knock-down drag-out

and my poor heart is an open wound A Childhood Friends Au snippet that very briefly delves into Danny's life post-accident. CW: Mild Mentions of Blood, Violence, VERY mild gore ig. Danny briefly recalls getting impaled during a fight.

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

What they don't tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it can hurt. That it can hurt more than when you were alive. That when you die, the emotions you die with stick with you like a leech that just won't let go. That emotions are ugly little thorns that stick their barbs into you and grow beneath your skin; or, at least, whatever’s left of it. 

Danny is familiar with anger. It kept him warm in Gotham, when his parents weren't home from work and he and Jason were crowding Crime Alley with their presence. It kept him warm in Amity, when the fresh sting of moving was still needling into his heart and he wanted nothing more than to rip and tear into the closest person next to him.

He's familiar with violence. With fights. With death. He's seen people die in Crime Alley probably every day. From overdose, from gunshots, from stab wounds; anything that can kill, rest assured he's seen it. He's familiar with getting his own knuckles rough and bloody when other kids turn and bare their teeth at him and Jason; they're all just starving dogs stuck in a fighting pit, primed and ready to rip out each other's throats. 

Black eyes, stomped hands, bloody noses. You name it; he’s had it. Gotham is paved with the blood of her children, and Danny likes to imagine that when he was born, the doctors handed his mother a file and told her; “Take it. He’s going to need it for his teeth.” 

Danny’s mom (and dad, for that matter) was too busy trying to keep him and Jazz fed, so Danny stole the file from her drawer with Jazz’s help, and did it himself.  

He’s familiar with anger, he thought he was getting better at it these days. It doesn’t come to him as easily as it did before. Of course, that was before Jason died. 

Danny is less familiar with grief. Caring kills and Gotham kills the caring, so Danny cares very little about other people. Or he tries to. But grief hurts. His grief hurts. It hurts too much. It hurts like a bug trying to crawl out of his chest; like a rat chewing a hole through his heart. Some days he wants to dig his hands into his hair and split himself down the middle. Some days he just wants to scream. 

He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead. 

He wants the whole city to hear him wailing, some days. It sticks itself in the back of his throat like bile, and Danny is one wrong retch away from letting it loose. It sticks in his lungs like all the tar he’s smoked in since he was nine. It pushes and aches at his temples, in his head, like his brain is trying to swell out of his skull. His thoughts becoming so loud they threaten to commandeer his tongue.  

He has no mouth, but he must scream. 

Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it hurts more than when you were alive. Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it’s violent. That it’s bloody. Or as bloody as it can be when everyone has no blood. 

Another thing they don’t tell you about being dead, is that it’s a lot like Gotham that way.

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies forget death itself. Blood comes easy, like water, and teeth are encouraged. Bring your own fangs to the fight. Dying is something you can just walk off. 

Danny’s been dead for three months. He can’t say he’s been walking it off easy. He’s perfected the art of turning his nails into claws since his heart was still beating, but he can’t say he’s perfected fighting other ghosts. 

Scrappy is just not enough. 

He feels like he’s back in Gotham again. Back in her death-shroud alleyways, fighting someone bigger than him. But there’s no Jason to watch his back, and Danny has to get himself out of there alone. Or he might just not get up at all. 

Black eyes, busted lips. It’s familiar to him like an old scent, Danny isn’t quite sure that he’s missed it. It’s more familiar than his fights with Dash. 

But there’s no one else who can do it but him. Not Sam, not Tucker. He can’t lose them too. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t. His heart can’t take another break, he already feels like he’s going insane. 

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies fight like death themself. He learns why when Technus puts a street sign through his stomach one day. It pins him to the asphalt like a moth pinned by its wings. 

Danny claws at the metal like how an animal caught in a trap chews off its leg, and every move is blinding pain. He thinks he was howling, but it’s hard to tell. He couldn’t recognize the sound of his voice. 

He bleeds green. It mixes in black with the pitch blackhole in his heart, which throbs and twists and cries in time with his reckless panic. The finger-choking terror of dying again strangles out the air he doesn’t need. His blood evaporates, only to reabsorb into him. It just bleeds out again, cycling like a snake eating its own tail. 

Danny breaks his nails clawing at the metal, and eventually gets it in his mind to pull it out. So he does, and the end drips ectoplasm green as he gets to his feet. In red-vision, Danny sends the sign back with snarling, vicious fervor. The pain is irrelevant in his rage.

Only after the fight does the hole the pole left start to close. Danny doesn’t shift human until it’s gone. Unlike other injuries, a scar stays behind. Ugly; mottled, it aches for a week with every twist and stretch his body makes. He hates it. 

Being dead is agony. 

Every part of him is in pain. Every step, every word he speaks, everything he does, it is prerequisite with pain. The body is temporary, but the soul is forever, and death has carved into it with its freezing green hands and left him with never-ending heartache. It has torn from him and stolen what of him it could, and in return it’s left him with sorrow. 

His pain is his grief, and he’s sobbed in the safety of his room more times than he can count. It’s still as fresh as the day he heard the news of Jason’s death. He knows, instinctively, that it will stay fresh forever. 

In his room, Danny shoves his hands over his mouth and shrieks in whatever, muffled way he can into his pillow. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. He needs to be louder. He needs to be heard. He refuses to be. 

Being dead hurts. 

[pmpwbrrs]

[loadedchekhovsgun]

oh dude i just remembered this one thing i have Okok um cwilbur scar refs!!!! pre and post lightning death (the canon i have set up for him is that his 'return to utah' was, y'know, 1) a lie and 2) another suicide by sailing out into the godamn ocean during a storm and he got HELLAAA struck and "the afterlife" is a different realm of death than limbo ITS A WHOLE THING im insane about it) ive always been realy proud of these so i'll post them here!!! hella tw for heavy scarring and burns and like a HOLEE in his arm (limbo thang) crazy stuff!!

the gold is a result of the failed revival attempts by eret and phil & co he's FUCKED UP!!!! love him

[matryoshkalex]

yesterday was izuku day so heres a lil dump of kinda old villain!deku art i realized i never posted here!!

looking at him in context of aiden is so funny because they are,,,,,, similar. i made aiden 10 years ago tho and had completely forgotten about him when i designed this izuku lol but u can tell they were both designed by the same person HA.

most of these were made in about march of 2023 so,,,, its been over a year at this point wow

n e wayyyy i had a whole plot for him buuuuut i dont know if i ever will work on that </3 i kinda wanted to make a comic for him but who knows

(more sketches/doodles under the cut!!)

[morganmerylhodgepodge]

Madison Paige

Obsolete character sheet image -you can see here I attempted to do a hand-drawn idea of imagry on her jacket to replace the images in the game. I ultimately decided to just simplify the jacket and not include the design at all.

Current character reference sheets (excluding out of context spoilers)

[byanyan]

(whispering) btw, if you ever need to get a good idea of what byan's about and/or the sorts of things your muse might see them wearing, i have a handy pinterest set up for them that should help 💜

[ares-xix]

the undead || the undying

birthday scratchings for lukan @kirkhamme-r (characters and story his)

[harpsicalbiobug]

man I hope I didn’t break my fucking patella (RICE is helping but I think this thing needs an x-ray) just because the bike lanes are full of sand and grit and slippery from all the weird fucking rain

[leighsartworks216]

The Viper (Part 4)

Jaskier x gn!reader

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine - Part Ten - Part Eleven - Part Twelve

I gotta stop writing these so late at night but that's what I get for having a broken sleep schedule

Warnings: swearing, canon typical violence, explicit descriptions of fighting, blood and death, angst, Geralt being a dick, reader getting angry at Geralt for being a dick, Jaskier being soft (that is the only fluff in this), ANgSt

Word Count: 2208

Masterlist

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Screams flooded the drab and dreary halls of the Viper keep. They echoed around every corner, every dead end, every twist and turn, stairwell, bed chamber. No place was safe from the agony that poured from the innocent child's mouth.

And then silence.

How many was that now? A dozen? Two? More? It was hard to keep track.

A young boy dragged himself across the cellar floor until he was right by your side. He was shaking. You couldn't tell if it was from fear or from the cold that bit at your own fingers. Something was different about him from the last time.

"What's going to happen next?" he asked. His voice was still high pitched and innocent.

Your breath came out in warm puffs of air. "I don't know."

His eyes were transfixed on the wooden trapdoor keeping you all trapped down there. Ah, that's what it was. His eyes were blue this time. Why was that?

Suddenly, those shock-blue eyes were staring at you. They were wide and watery.

"W-What's your name?"

"Y/N. What's yours?"

His voice came back muffled and distorted. No matter how hard you strained your ears, you couldn't make out any clear syllables.

The cellar door opened. Dozens of wide, young eyes stared up at the towering silhouette that peered down, backlit by a warm sun. A large hand reached down and grabbed another child that kicked and screamed as they were dragged away. The cellar door shut.

You both moved closer to each other. Cold hands grasped each other in the darkness, tiny bodies pressed as close as possible to stay warm and assure the other that they were there.

"We'll make it through this." His voice wavered. Yours would have, too.

"I want to see my ma," you whimpered. "My pa."

His hands gripped yours tighter.

"Me, too."

You fell asleep to the distant sound of screams. Cold, but not alone, you woke up. You turned to look at the boy in the darkness. He-

"Viper!"

You shot up in the chair, hand automatically falling to your waist where a blade would have been. You were met with wide, blue eyes.

"Finally!" Jaskier groaned. His hands fell from your shoulders in a huff. "Eyck is missing and Yoran, he's... well..."

"He's what, Jaskier?" You rubbed sleep from your eyes. Where the hell were you? Oh, yeah, that's right. Jaskier slept in your bed last night and you slept in the chair. No wonder you were so disoriented.

The bard sighed. "Someone killed him."

Your eyes snapped up to meet his. There were no lies to be found in the sympathetic look he held. You jumped up, pushing past him and out of your tent, to see for yourself what had become of your employer.

Sure enough, when you burst through the tent flap, Geralt was already there, kneeling by the Temerian man who lay dead in his cot, neck sliced open. His yellow eyes looked to you. They held just as much sympathy as Jaskier's.

"Oh, fuck." Yarpen came up by your side, keeping his distance from the blood that pooled around the cot. It soaked through the soles of your boots. You didn't care.

"Was bound to happen eventually." You didn't have to turn to know it was a Reaver talking. He stood just at the tent opening, peering inside with a grimace. His dark gaze turned from the corpse to you. "A Nilfgaardian guiding a Temerian?" he scoffed. "Like a rat fucking a hag."

You ignored just how Yarpen stepped away from you; carefully, as if you would slit his throat open next.

-

"Our people used to mine these mountains. We know a shortcut that will take half a day off our journey.” The Reavers were far ahead, by now. The rest left behind slowed down to listen to Yarpen. “Let the Reavers take the long way around. We’ll nab the treasure before they even set foot in the cave. We’ll watch each other’s backs until we reach the next peak, then every man for himself.”

Two bodies were found that morning. Yennifer's escort, Sir Eyck, and your own. Nobody else suspected Yennifer of killing Eyck. You on the other hand…

All morning, you had trudged along far behind everyone else. Still, they glanced and peered over their shoulders to make sure you weren't about to make a move against them. The only few who trusted you - Borch and his guards, Jaskier and Geralt - could not sway the minds of the Reavers and Dwarves. Yennifer, you suspected, did not trust you for your title as a Nilfgaardian alone.

“What say ye?”

“Let’s go!” Borch answered.

"Only thing: that murderer can't come," Yarpen spat, turning to Geralt.

The White Wolf's lips curled into an offended snarl, brow furrowed and eyes burning with a fire only reserved for monsters. But before he could say anything, your hand was on his shoulder, turning him away from the Dwarf to face you. The flaming eyes of the Witcher met with your own, gleaming with the warmth and comfort of an amber mead after a long day.

"I'll meet you at the top."

You both just stared at each other, as if speaking with your eyes. At some point, the scowl faded from Geralt's lips.

"Fine." The word was grit out between clenched teeth. Even as the group began moving, he lingeried for a moment longer, as if searching your eyes to make sure this was alright. They gave nothing away.

The groups split in two: the Reavers headed on the main path while Yarpen and the Dwarves led everyone else to the secret pass they knew. You stood still at the crossroads, watching as you were left behind; left to follow the group that framed you for the murder of two innocent lives.

Jaskier seemed to notice when you did not come with them. He began following at first, but then he glanced back and saw you, and he stopped.

"Aren't you coming?"

A weak half-smile lifted the corner of your mouth. "I'm afraid not," you said.

He stepped closer with the most concerned look on his face. He was making a habit of being worried for you, wasn't he? "Why not?"

"Yarpen doesn't trust me." You looked over his shoulder. He would be left here too if he didn't hurry up. "I'll be fine, Jaskier. Just..."

He cocked his head to the side. "Just what?"

Another weak smile. "Just tell me all about it when we meet back up at the top."

He grinned, eyes lighting up with that sparkle that meant he was undoubtedly preparing another ballad or poem. "I won't leave anything out, I promise."

-

The green dragon lay curled around her egg. The protectiveness of a mother over her still unborn child made your soul ache. It made you wish for that kind of love and protection from your own parents. Instead they tossed you away.

Téa and Véa had threatened you when you stepped inside, initially. All you could do then was stare at the “monster” behind the guardswomen as you mindlessly removed your blades from your belt and tossed them down at their feet. You remember whispering a promise not to touch the egg, not to near it or they had your full permission to kill you right there. They just watched, blades readied, as you sat by the dragon mother’s head and gently stroked her cold snout. That is where you stayed as Geralt, Yennifer, the Zerrikanians, and Borch - in his full, golden dragon form - fought against the Reavers.

In a haze, once the sound of fighting had moved outside of the cave, you stood and grabbed your daggers once again. As floods of more Reavers came, you joined the fight.

Your blades, sharpened and coated in Basilisk venom, sliced down man after man. But you fought messily. You were fueled by anger and rage at what the King and his men had done, at the hunt that was put on, at the Reavers who fought to kill the dragon within the egg. Your senses were heightened and dulled all at once. You could hear the footsteps of men, hear blades scraping and ricocheting off each other and armor, feel the tension against your arm as you plunged your weapons through flesh and muscle. And yet, you were deaf to the sounds of their blades cutting through your own flesh, or the pain that shot up your nervous system. You felt nothing but fire within your soul as your silver blade stabbed into a man’s jugular, or as it ripped out as you swung around to slice open another man’s stomach with your steel dagger.

It was only when silence fell, when all the Reavers lay dead at your feet in puddles of blood and innards, that your senses came back.

“You have fought valiantly.”

You turned quickly, blades held up in a weak defense. But Borch, now in his human form, did not look at all threatened by your actions. You sighed, dropping your arms back to your sides.

You were covered in blood - yours and that of those you’d just slain. You couldn’t even pinpoint where you were injured. All you really knew was that you were injured; every breath made your ribs ache.

The older man drew near, stepping over fallen enemies, and placed a warm hand on your shoulder. His smile was as warm as a hearth in winter. “Thank you for protecting her.”

You opened your mouth. Your mind tried to think of what to say. Instead, coming up with nothing, you just bowed your head at the man. He seemed to understand. Rather than pander you for a response, he gave your shoulder a light squeeze, and let you go. You glanced upon the green dragon one last time before you left the cave.

“Well, you look like shit.” Jaskier entered your vision. He was dirty and unkempt, but he was such a welcome sight. His little grin at his joke fell when you did not grin back. “What’s wrong? What happened?” His hands floundered around, hovering over your arms and shoulders as he tried to figure out just whose blood was where.

“I’ll tell you later.” Your voice was so quiet. It was only ever this quiet at night, when you would both stay up late together.

His brows knit together in concern, but he nodded nonetheless. He made a motion, trying to find the words. “Uh, uhm, potion- Swallow. Do you have any…?”

You nodded. On your belt with your daggers was a section that held a few bottles. You lifted your arm and tried to reach for one, but Jaskier stopped you when you winced.

“Here, let me.” He didn’t touch you - as much as he could avoid it, anyway. He found the red potion tucked into the front-most slot and carefully wedged it out of its holder, uncorked it, and held it out to you. He did not grimace in disgust as you drank it this time.

-

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.”

The words echoed through the mountain valleys. Jaskier’s fingers rubbed together, itching for anything to fiddle with as the insults sank into his chest. His throat felt tight. His eyes burned. Someone he had considered a friend, someone he could trust, depend on, only thought of him as a burden, wreaking havoc on his life.

“You fucking bastard.” Geralt’s eyes shifted from glaring at Jaskier to where you sat up on the hill. You grunted as you forced yourself to your feet, shuffling down the rocks to stand protectively in front of Jaskier. “No one asked you to claim the Law of Surprise, or make that wish with the Djinn. You only have yourself to blame.”

The Wolf’s lips curled into a sneer. “If he hadn’t dragged me-”

You scoffed, stumbling further down the hill to stand directly in front of Geralt. “No one forced you to go! Friend or not, you could have declined, you pompous git! You did this to yourself! No one else!” You stepped back. Despite being injured, far more than Geralt had been in that fight, you still stood with your shoulders squared. You were ready to fight again, at a disadvantage, just to protect Jaskier from Geralt’s misdirected anger. But Geralt’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly. He would not be fighting you. “Congratulations. Your blessing has been granted.”

You took another few steps backwards, eyes watching the Witcher to see if he would do anything. Instead of gearing up for an attack or trying to argue again, he just huffed and turned to gaze out at the view. Your shoulders eased.

You turned to look up at Jaskier. The bard was wide-eyed and speechless. His blue eyes shifted from Geralt to you - one a look of hurt and betrayal, and the other a look of awe and amazement. You placed a hand on his shoulder and turned him away from his old traveling companion.

“C’mon, Jaskier.” You kept your hand on his shoulder as you both walked back to the Dwarves’ temporary camp. “If we’re lucky, we’ll be halfway down the mountain by nightfall.”

---

Tag List:

@kmuir1

[hershelwidget]

people

inCREDIBLY normal about Owen and Angela right now. perhaps it's because they have the following in common:

"Doctor" title (one of them is lying about it though but still)

The two victims of the Octo-Crab Incident that were innocent

Owing their lives to the Captain

Seeing Theatre on the ship before the Incident

There's probably more that I don't remember right now but their dynamic with each other is probably one of my favourite things of the Beta Crew in general, they're just two kind hearted folks with vastly different stories to tell, but with the same goal: Make the world a better place

I'm not quite able to write the rant I want to about their friendship and why it matters and how it reflects in the Alternate Crew (the Octonauts seen in the show) and the Player Crew but instead I will show you a few more drawings :')

ok almost done. these last two are how they died + some words about that and they'll be under the cut

[Injury, (poorly drawn) Blood, Uncomfortable Imagery]

Angela was impaled and died near-instantly while Owen was crushed & drowned and died slowly. She was killed in a fit of rage by someone she thought was a friend while he was killed in the aftermath of those exact same events. One knew what was going on and one didn't, but they both died innocent and both died when they didn't need to.

I might make a similar post about Harry and Maggie, who both also lost their lives but the key difference being they were in the wrong. Should be interesting

[kiyolovesshipping]

I got too silly… sorrz,,,

[starry-bi-sky]

more cfau miscellaneous things because Childhood Friends Danny and Jason have my head and heart always and I need to finish rewriting chapter two dammit (and redo the half-finished chapter 4 because its just Not The Vibes). i'm almost through I need to get through the graveyard scene. (i just stubbornly refuse to have it be shorter than the original chapter and thats the little death. that is the mind killer.)

Danny and jason’s ghost forms both smell faintly like burnt flesh and cigarettes. However, Jason has a more smokey smell while Danny’s smells almost,,, electrical? In a sense? Like he just straight up smells like burnt flesh and sulphur while Jason smells like someone put him in a smoker first.

It’s very much an unpleasant smell but Danny finds an odd comfort in it just as much as he finds a comfort in the smell of nicotine.

(Jason post-revival smells burnt flesh once and is immediately offput by the fact that it brings him an instinctive comfort. He doesn’t realize its because it reminds him of Danny, and is uncomfortable by it.)

-

In an au of an au, Danny’s altercation with Rath ends with Rath regaining enough of his sanity to snap out of the grieving state and ends with him breaking down. Instead of being souped and imprisoned, Rath, who is permanently 14, decides to Move On into the unknown. He’s exhausted, heartbroken, and tired.

(Is this influenced heavily by the ParaNorman scene where he talks to Agatha and helps her move on? Yes. But it doesn’t fit with the Original Storyline so im shoving it into an Au of an Au.)

Rath tells Danny that Jason lied to them (which he genuinely believes), and that he’s tired of waiting/looking for him/grieving. Jason is gone. He isn’t coming back, he abandoned them. And he wants his mom and dad, and his sister, and his friends. And he’s ready to join them.

He leads Danny out to Gotham, which other than Amity Park might’ve been the only city left untouched due to Rath’s own mental block on the place. They go out to the park he and Jason used to frequent or up to one of crime alley’s rooftops, and there Rath lies down and goes to sleep. Only to never wake up again, materializing into nothing as his soul moves on.

Before Rath leaves, he forces Danny to promise him that he’ll only wait for Jason for ten years. After that if he doesn’t find him, or if Jason doesn’t show, then Danny has to move on. Whether that be like how Rath does, or if its inly mentally/emotionally, doesn’t matter. He has to move on. Don’t wait for him. Don’t waste his time any more.

(“Oh, and if you find him, kick his ass for me.”)

Danny reluctantly agrees, and Rath lies down. Danny sings to him as he falls asleep.

(Angsty points if the vigilantes including Red Hood caught wind of their presence and were silently watching from the shadows. Rath might know they’re there, but Danny’s too focused on Rath to notice.)

(If only so that Red Hood realizes that this is what happened to Danny, and that Danny is gone before he can make things right. The tragedy, folks. The angst. The initial realization that Danny was Rath, and then also that Danny was dead and has been dead for years, and that before he moved on, he moved on believing that Jason abandoned him.)

(like i said it doesn't fit in the original timeline/storyline hence why its an au of an au and isn't nearly a fleshed out, but i was largely just focusing on the tragedy of Rath moving on and Jason being alive to see it and realize just who Rath is.)

-

Just like how the Lazarus pits shot Jason's twiggy 4'6-5'4 (depending on what you find) feet tall and 86lb ass up like a tree an essentially fixed his malnutrition, the portal did the same thing for Danny.

(granted i forgot about malnutrition and danny's likely stunted growth at first -- his family lived in crime alley and despite both his parents working, I don't think they had enough food all the time. He probably wasn't as badly malnourished as Jason was, but he wasn't healthy either.)

Granted his ghost in its "natural" state (14) is short, and his growth spurts were slow at first, it did result in him reaching his dad's height. There were points where it just happened overnight, like a baby. He went to bed one night 5’6 and woke up the next day 5’10.

Jazz is shorter than him. Although I have't decided if she's even liminal at all (and if she is, it didn't cure everything because she would have also suffered childhood malnutrition, and since in au canon their parents didn't get their hands on physical ectoplasm until after they got to Amity Park. So the exposure is less.)

-

Danny's voice absolutely sounds like canon Dan's. It kinda just dropped one day when he was 16-17 and never went back up. Sam and Tucker sometimes ask him to just talk about anything because they find his voice soothing.

I'm not sure yet how Danny would feel about it at first considering Rath, but I imagine that Rath, when he did speak, would have had a quieter and scratchier/weaker voice considering he's spent the last decade shrieking and crying.

(and i suppose technically that shouldn't have any effect on his throat considering he's a ghost and idk if that would actually affect him, but i like the idea so im keeping it)

In the beginning you could hear him from a mile away by the sound of his loud, echoing wails, but ten years later you can only really hear him by the soft, shuddering sobs he makes. Like he's gasping for air that isn't there. The future is full of very quiet survivors.

And it's much easier to speak when you pitch your voice upwards (especially when whispering/speaking quietly) so he might've spoken in a higher, airy pitch in order to be heard. So Danny might actually find a comfort in having a lower voice.

[pmpwbrrs]

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Yaaay stareater