#tw mild injuries

[squidkiddoesstuff]

You killed her and it’s your fault

[pixlokita]

It’s been like 80 years but finally….Page 34

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[skipporeity]

bro omfg

[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.

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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. 

[aealzx]

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Update Post

Prologue | AO3

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Fighting humans was something Danielle was admittedly not too familiar with until being brought to Gotham. There had been other criminals that she’d had to chase off, police that she’d had to politely incapacitate so she and the others could escape, and even the unfortunate passerby that she usually overshadowed to lead them away from their hideout. But for all of those she’d always pulled her punches, knowing that she could do way too much damage and even kill the humans if she hit them with her full strength. Ghosts just tended to be more resilient than living people. Which meant she also couldn’t use any of her ectoplasm based abilities against them most of the time either. Both because of the damage it would do to the humans, and because she didn’t have a good way to recharge quickly. She didn’t need to end up as another comatose team member for the others to take care of.

Facing off against Deathstroke ended up breaking all of Danielle’s beliefs about fighting humans.

While Danielle still couldn’t use too much ectoplasm, she quickly realized she didn’t have to pull her punches. Jason was the first to technically engage Deathstroke, pulling out both pistols and firing mercilessly at the hulking man as he charged towards them. Yet for some unfathomable reason Deathstroke seemed impervious to the gunfire, the only bullets that might have hit him being slashed away with a blade like some ridiculous samurai cartoon. Jason ended up emptying both clips in his guns before Deathstroke reached them, and by that point Dick ran forward to block him while Jason reloaded. Instead of opening fire on Deathstroke again though, he holstered the pistols for now in exchange for his combat knife, not wanting to risk hitting Dick or Danielle in the crossfire.

Dick was definitely familiar with Deathstroke’s attacks, but that didn’t mean it was easy for him to fight the professional killer. Hits were heavy, and the combination of swordplay and martial arts was deadly to even trained combatants. He found he was glad Jason had insisted on staying, for while Jason had a much smaller blade he and Dick were so familiar with each other’s fighting style that it was easy for Jason to sneak in and target Deathstroke’s weak points, or take the heat away from Dick for a moment. It was something that Danielle found difficult to join in on, and her first attempt to punch Deathstroke proved unexpectedly useless since she held back as much as she usually did against living people. All it served to do was bring her in range for Deathstroke to immediately target her instead, his blade swishing over her head as she ducked with a slight yelp.

“Go join the others,” Jason ordered after watching Danielle make a useless attempt to help and almost get beheaded instead, getting Deathstroke’s attention by slicing at his blind side.

“I can fight!” Danielle protested, giving another test punch with more force behind it, only to have Deathstroke catch her hand. She felt his muscles strain under the impact of her punch this time, his hand pushing her off to the side just in case she broke his resistance. But as he kept ahold of her fist she just phased through his hand to pull back.

“Then stop holding back. He can take all you’ve got,” Dick directed, having been one of the ones who had initially taken Danielle down during the rescue capture mission. He knew she could hit hard. Stephanie and Damian had to help, and they only caught her because of Damian using sedatives.

With the others chatting between themselves, Deathstroke chimed in with a calm comment. “Make this easy on yourselves boys. This time I’m not here for you, so leave the girl and you won’t get hurt.” It should have already been obvious that his target was Danielle and the others of her team, for he all but ignored Dick and Jason when they weren’t in his face.

“Did you honestly think we’d even consider that option?” Jason demanded, quick to snatch his gun out of its holster and start firing again when Deathstroke caught Dick off guard enough to bodily kick him skidding several meters away.

“No,” Deathstroke admitted, leaving back to dodge the bullets for a moment. “But it was worth a shot.” He sounded almost bored, blocking the bullets with his blade once more before getting accustomed enough with Jason’s firing pattern to charge forward again.

As Jason lurched back, half blocking the slash with his knife but still getting cut in the shoulder, Danielle swooped in with a whirling kick to Deathstroke’s chest, phasing through Jason to get the best angle. There was enough force this time that Deathstroke grunted from the impact, getting launched backwards to tumble twice before righting himself and skidding on his feet.

“Nice!” Jason complimented, caught just a little off guard at the more Superman-like display of strength. 

“Your fault if he dies,” Danielle shot back, already very uncomfortable with how different this fight was compared to others. She didn’t want to kill anyone, but if it happened because of self defense she’d have to learn how to come to terms with it. As long as this guy didn’t just turn into another ghost like Skulker. That seemed like a nightmare in the making.

“Great. I’d thank you if you managed that,” Jason returned, readying himself for another round.

“No killing,” Dick countered, reaching them again and taking his position near Jason.

“Kill him. Don’t kill him. You guys should work on your mutual goals,” Danielle scoffed, following as the two of them rushed Deathstroke this time.

It really was unfair that the old man was able to keep up with all three of them. Danielle hadn’t fought Jason before, but Dick had been the main one she’d fought before, so she knew he wasn’t a wimp. Yet it seemed the only real hits they were able to get in were the ones that she snuck in between the others’ moves. Back and forth in a broken dance of ill intent, stealing blood when steps faltered or reactions were just a tad too slow. Deathstroke’s blade sliced Dick’s forehead and bicep, and Jason’s forearm and thigh in addition to the previous gash on his shoulder. But in return Jason had gotten two good cuts on Deathstroke’s ribs and arm. That combined with brutal hits from Dick’s escrima sticks and Danielle’s fists made her feel like they had done a near equal amount of damage to each other. Perhaps it would be a duel of endurance in the end.

As the fight dragged on it started to wear on those involved. Danielle was pretty sure Jason had a broken finger, and the cut on Dick’s forehead was bleeding profusely. Deathstroke had learned soon enough that if he got Danielle quick enough she didn’t have time to become intangible, small cuts drawing green blood to add to the red staining the silver of his sword. And if she bled, that meant she could be killed. Even if the injuries stopped bleeding soon after they were made. He’d just have to hit her with something harder then, and for that he strategically created an opening for himself.

By now they had gotten used to him targeting Danielle when she was close enough. So this time Deathstroke made a feint towards Danielle before switching his attack towards Dick’s neck. Luckily Dick’s reflexes were fast enough that he lurched backwards to avoid it, but it still would have left a large gash across his collarbone and chest if Danielle hadn't caught it. And that was the opening Deathstroke was aiming for, his other hand snatching a small pistol loaded with a shotshell from his armory and firing it into Danielle’s chest. The startled half scream from Danielle was cut off by both the shot shell beads, and Deathstroke’s foot kicking her from the air to tumble meters away.

“DANI!” Dick’s shout was accompanied by Jason’s renewed effort to beat Deathstroke unconscious, wordlessly increasing his offense to allow Dick to break away and skid to his knees near Danielle. As Dick’s mind whirled through all the first aid he knew that might help the girl, his hands resting on her back as she coughed, he was surprised to see her start shoving herself upright after a short groan. At first he thought maybe she hadn’t been hit by the shot shell, or it had been a non lethal capsule. But as Danielle shoved herself to her knees and snapped her head up to glare at Deathstroke with a snarl Dick saw the green blood dripping from multiple wounds on her chest and knew it had been a dead on hit. It left him a little stunned as Danielle pushed herself to her feet, spitting a small amount of green blood that she’d coughed into her mouth.

“THAT HURT, BITCH!” Danielle shouted once she was on her feet again, phasing a hand into her chest to pull out a pellet and hurl it to the ground. The comment was unexpected enough that Jason ended up distracted, both by Danielle still talking and the words she’d used, and got brutally elbowed in the side of the head.  As Jason collapsed to the ground, movements uncoordinated because of the blow to the head making his vision spin, Dick threw one of his escrima sticks at Deathstroke and charged forward to protect his brother.

“So that wasn’t enough either,” Deathstroke mused, knocking the airborne escrima stick aside and intrigued by Danielle’s ability to still be moving despite having taken a full round of shot shell ammo. 

“That’s it,” Danielle spat as Deathstroke blocked Dick’s next attack, kicking off the ground and snapping forward once again. This time instead of pulling her fist back for a punch, or otherwise outwardly attacking Deathstroke, she kept going, phasing through Dick and Deathstroke’s weapon and arm, wisping into his chest. Yet neither Dick or Jason noticed her appear on the other side, and neither had time to fully react before Deathstroke was abruptly dropping to one knee and plunging his sword into the top of his other knee.

“..... What the…?” Jason huffed, the screeching tires of the batmobile drowning out the rest of his words while he staggered to his feet, openly staring at Deathstroke’s display of sudden onset of madness.

“How much damage do I have to do to stop this guy?”

The question came from Deathstroke’s mouth, but sounded odd. Dick and Jason paused in disorientation, glancing around for Danielle before Dick made a connection in his head. Jazz had mentioned something about ‘overshadowing’ to Danielle, and some of the reports from the past two months had records of people behaving oddly, suddenly defending the people they were chasing or fighting their allies, and then having no memory of doing so.

“...Dani?” Dick asked, not completely sure, but confident enough to hold his hand out to stop Damian and Bruce from joining the fight. It looked like Damian had Talia on his phone as well, holding the device facing them.

“No, it’s grandma,” Danielle retorted with Deathstroke’s voice, understandably irritable. “Now answer the question,” she demanded, jerking the blade in Deathstroke’s knee slightly.

—---

The silence provided by the batmobile’s soundproof encasing was broken by Damian’s phone ringing as they hurtled down the streets, destined to meet up with Dick and Jason to provide backup if necessary. They all knew Bruce was the one who could best deal with Deathstroke, but if what they said was true and someone had hired the man without Talia’s knowing then Damian figured he might be able to put a stop to the matter without a prolonged battle. As much as he would love to stab Deathstroke in the other eye, that usually led to injuries to his family that were best avoided. Luckily his call was quick to be answered.

“Damian.”

Talia’s greeting was simple, but his name was spoken with more love than Talia bequeathed to anyone else. Other than, perhaps, Bruce. Usually if Talia deemed someone worthy enough to have her answer their call she only commanded them to speak.

“Mother.”

The returned greeting was just as simple, for Damian had learned the habit from her.

“It is rare for you to call,” Talia responded, and Damian could hear the smile in her voice despite the tense situation. They both knew Damian reaching out to her directly was risky. Other children would have weekly calls with their parents while abroad, if not daily. But their situation was much too different to allow for such a consistent opening. “What concerns you?” she asked, knowing he would only call if there was important, but not critical matters at hand.

“We have discovered the League’s most recent contract with Deathstroke,” Damian informed her easily. No need to question if she was aware or not, her response would tell him. “I must insist the contract be terminated, or we risk damaging connections with important contacts…. I imagine this was not of your doing,” he couldn’t help asking if she was responsible.

“What?” Talia’s answer dispelled the sliver of doubt Damian had. Her anger still ran deep towards Deathstroke; there was no one who remained from Ra’s time as head that would ever be willing to affiliate with Deathstroke again. She was quick to recover though, pausing for only a moment to align the facts in her mind, and research the source of the contract leading them to her people. When she spoke again it was with mild confusion only because it was her son she spoke to. “You are not the target, nor are any of yours. Why are you involved?”

“The targets are my wards,” Damian responded simply.

The words caused Talia to pause again, thoughtful as she browsed through the pertinent information on the computer next to her. She didn’t recognize any of the targets, but seeing their listed crimes made her understand what had happened. A delivery to a research team, tasked with potentially amplifying the Lazarus pit’s attributes, intercepted by an unknown group of teenagers. Someone on the research team had stepped out of line and ordered the hit, somehow getting it past the League’s administration without even requesting her authorization. There were several people now on the list to be severely punished, if not terminated. 

Despite the welcomed revelation, the target location of this Team Phantom made Talia pause, questioning Damian’s words. “...You claim they are your wards, yet you keep them isolated from you. Far from your home,” she pointed out, and Damian clenched his jaw. She wasn’t trying to say he was lying, was she? Or did she think he was being manipulated? He wouldn’t put it past his mother to worry for him needlessly.

A quick glance at Bruce to judge his mood, knowing he was listening, and Damian answered after Bruce nodded with some reluctance. “They are to be relocated, but only once they are without assailants. Damaging the manor would be an unnecessary annoyance.”

Talia hummed, a smile tugging her lips as she was now curious about the ones who had charmed her family. But Bruce wasn’t within the view of the camera, and as he slammed on the brakes and the cover of the batmobile slid back Damian hopped out of the car. He wasn’t sure exactly what was going on, but it looked a lot more promising than he’d initially imagined. Deathstroke was kneeling with a blade in his leg and Jason pointing a gun at his head. So Damian showed his mother the state of the assassin as Deathstroke spoke with a voice that was his own, yet words that were not.

“I have the ability to overshadow others, and make them do or say what I want while they’re completely unaware,” Danielle explained through Deathstroke’s voice. “It’s not the most comfortable state, but I can inflict more damage if I need to.” She was responding to a question from Dick, but as Damian approached with the phone held so Talia could see she was the one that responded.

“Then kill him,” she directed simply. “Many would welcome his demise.”

“That’s not how we work,” Damian spoke before Dick or Jason could respond, gaining a faint smile of his own. “Terminate the contract… Please.”

This time it didn’t take long for Talia to sigh in compliance, a fondness saturating her breath. “Very well,” she accepted, “Release him, and I will speak.”

No one moved for a breath, but after Damian nodded once Danielle’s sigh was half with Deathstroke’s voice before becoming her own as she floated out from his form. She stayed close as he grunted in the sudden realization of pain and what his current situation was, but Talia spoke up quickly.

“Slade. In light of recent information your contract will be annulled. You will be compensated half of your payment for your efforts spent as of now, and if you persist you will be hunted by the League of Assassins. You can take my offer, or be killed now. Which is it?”

Her terms were delivered quickly, and while Dick’s face scrunched in mild confusion as to who among them Talia thought would be willing to kill Deathstroke in her place, Jason shifted the pistol in his hand slightly to remind them it was there. And he deliberately ignored the way Bruce’s eyes narrowed at him. Deathstroke was enough of a pain to all of them that no one would miss him. Yet it turned out to be Danielle who tipped the scale.

“Answer fast or I might start ripping organs out. You’ll be surprised how many aren’t strictly necessary,” Danielle added, phasing her hand into Deathstroke’s chest to prove her point. She was testy, but she felt she had a good reason to be. She still had to dig the rest of those bullet shards out of her chest after all.

Deathstroke paused a moment longer, having not quite been swayed by Talia’s words just on principle. But after taking a testing breath and faintly feeling Danielle’s hand in his chest he realized dealing with the half dead girl might end up costing him more than he was willing to pay. So he answered soon enough. “Done. I expect to see the transfer before they’re out of sight.”

“You’ll get it when I deem it so,” Talia responded curtly.

Deathstroke watched the screen for a beat, gauging if he could barter any further before giving in. “I should have known you hadn’t changed your mind.”

“You should thank Damian instead of wasting your words on me,” Talia retorted with a scoff. “If I had my way, you’d already be dead.”

“Hmph. I won’t waste anymore of your time,” Deathstroke huffed. There was no way he was going to even consider thanking the demon child. He should have trusted his mind and not taken this contract in the first place.

“Consider yourself lucky we’re still paying you,” Damian scoffed in return, nodding his head for the others to start moving to the batmobile. “Show your face again near any of the Phantoms, and I’ll reconsider letting you live.”

There was a hesitant moment of the others not being sure if the conversation was done or not, but as Damian started to walk back towards the batmobile, turning the phone to face himself again, they followed suit. Danielle released her hold only when Jason and Dick were a few steps away, all three of them eyeing the man as they moved. Bruce made sure he was the last to follow, keeping himself between his family and Deathstroke.

“I will provide you with a full report tonight, Mother. If that is acceptable,” Damian spoke quietly to Talia once he was far enough away for Deathstroke to be deaf to his words.

“I look forward to it, my son. Be well,” Talia responded, her voice softening again with her expression moments before ending the call.

Two thirds of the way to the car Danielle felt the adrenaline wearing off quickly, causing her to drop lower until she was sagging to the ground on her knees. Her chest hurt, but at least it wasn’t bleeding that much anymore. It should be fine to take the rest of the shot shell pellets out now, so she took a moment to phase herself intangible without affecting the shards. “Ouuuhh, that was tiring,” she muttered, flexing her fingers as the beads clinked on the asphalt and rolled away. At least she was still stable. Now she just had to get back to the others and think of a way to calm them down when she got there. Something she didn’t have to worry too much about, for Dick had paused next to her and as soon as she returned to a tangible state he leaned over to quickly scoop her up. Without a word he picked up his pace to the batmobile, hopping into the backseat with her after Damian took the front.

Jason was walking backwards towards the vehicle, keeping his pistol trained on Deathstroke as the old man held his hands up in surrender, and staying aware of his family and their guest. He wasn’t planning on lowering the gun anytime soon either, but once he bumped against the batmobile Bruce snatched the gun out of his hand. It caused Jason to snap his gaze over to Bruce with a glare hidden behind his mask, but he knew Bruce was more than familiar with the look. And this time Bruce returned it for a moment before subtly nodding towards the car. They both knew the injury to his head had affected Jason more than he was letting on if Bruce had been able to take the gun so easily.

With a soft huff Jason hopped into the backseat with the others, folding his arms and deliberately not looking at Bruce. Luckily it wasn’t too difficult to do so, for Bruce was quick to climb into the driver’s seat and trigger the cover to close.

“Oracle, send support from the Justice League to make sure Deathstroke is properly detained. I don’t want to hear from him again,” Bruce called through the comms once they were all safely inside the vehicle.

“Copy that. I’ve also rerouted Spoiler to Signal and the others. Orphan will follow up to make sure Deathstroke doesn’t leave before the police get there,” Barbara confirmed, extremely pleased the situation was handled exponentially better than expected. “I’ve also asked her to make sure Hood’s bike gets brought home as well.”

It was appreciated, and Jason gained a small smile before texting her his gratitude.

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HHHHRRGGGH I hope I made it convincing enough for Slade to back off * wheezes * I could not find a good reason in my research, so I just tried something. I kept modifying this part like 4 times. =7=;

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@bellathecatastrophe, @cj-ghostemoji-destielpie, @asexual-insomniac, @wolfeyedwitch, @tkiesai, 

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[cckittycreative]

I really love this version of the song and I just really wanted to do a lyric comic to it for Cult of the Lamb. I'm pretty happy that I made it through this entire project as I tend to falter midway through these kinds of things and they never get finished. Apologies for the faint watermark - I attempted to run this through Glaze before posting it and, while I knew there'd be artifacts, I didn't realize just how badly it would affect the transparency and blur of certain panels and it....looked really bad. So I opted to put a faint watermark over each panel as low as I could make it.

[shkika]

These two slug cats have a lot of parallels to me so I really enjoy them. I love how they are the two starting downpour slug cats yet they are complete opposites.

You have Gourmand enjoying life, crafting and making use of the wonderful little things in life. Going back home and sharing those wonders with others. And (in my headcanons at least) Gourmand starts a family even. (The two little slug pups at the end of the campaign).

Artificer's campaign starts with losing family and subsequently losing yourself. Dedicating yourself to spreading the hurt and pain that was dealt to you. Finding your way into the deepest of parts of where the enemy resides until it's not even about the pups anymore.

[sarcasticmothdraws]

⚠️ Content Warning: Gore

Specifically head injury/blunt force trauma(?)

Vash is fine btw.

Btw this is not really an au or anything, more like redraws. I don't think the trigun gang matches these characters, I just thought it would be funny to put them in the saw bathroom.

[marskiiii]

tw mild blood

hello 00-1

[cuppug]

I haven’t finished anything at all lately. Im just not very satisfied overall with my art i have a ton of wips but not any actual will to finish them. I finished my comm sheet but I feel too embarrassed to actually post it without finishing that one request ive still been slacking on, i still havent finished it.. im just going to scrap it completely and star over because it looks ugly….!!!!!!!!!!!!

For the meanwhile just look at this horror drawing because thats just like one of the 3 things i actually finished over the span of weeks………. I dont like looking at it anymore.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Febuwhump Day 4: Obedience (Link/Midna)

Ao3

CW for blood and injury, torture, and mild body horror

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Midna is no stranger to the sound of screams.

Her people had cried out when Zant had taken the throne and transformed her beautiful kingdom into something dark and twisted. Their cries of agony and anguish had echoed in her ears as she fled, a hideous imp, humiliated and furious. And they have remained with her all this time, spurring her onward toward salvation and victory.

But the noise that fills the air now is terrible in its own right. It pierces her skull and sets her heart racing erratically in her chest. And it feels as though it has been going on for eternity.

In reality, however, it has probably only been a few minutes. It doesn’t matter though. Midna has never derived joy from seeing Link suffer. This time is no different.

“Midna,” Zant’s leering voice reaches her ears once more, cascading smoothly over the waning sound of the hero’s hoarse screams. “Be an obedient dear and lend me your power. Do so and your precious, little human need not suffer further.”

Midna’s gaze travels down to where Link kneels mere feet away from her. His body is rigid, held in place by invisible bindings. His cap has fallen a short distance from him; his tunic and pants are splotched with mud, sweat, and blood. Tears stream down his ashen cheeks and well in his eyes, turning their gray the color of a stormy sky. But there is fire in them.

“Don’t,” he gasps, voice painfully ragged. “Please, Midna.”

Zant flicks a hand and the hero tenses further, an agonized whine breaking free.

“Quiet, dog,” he growls. “Count yourself lucky that I have allowed you the dignity of this form rather than letting the twilight have its way with you.”

“Lucky?” Midna shrieks, unable and unwilling to restrain herself. The nerve of this man! Calling himself her king, banishing her from her kingdom, demanding her aid…and now, hurting the hero. Her hero. “Being a human in a twilight realm is excruciating and you know that full well!”

“Come now, Midna,” Zant purrs, rounding her once more. His attempts at sweetness are as sour as his breath. “Calm yourself. This…human is pathetic in comparison to us. He has enjoyed the fruits of his people’s cruelty for far too long. It is time he felt some small portion of what we have endured.”

Midna is seething now. If only she were in her true form. If only she had that shadow crystal. She would rip this monster’s limbs off and cast him into the light-filled world he so detests.

“What we’ve endured?” She spits. “What about the things my people have suffered by your hand? You call yourself their king while you turn them into disgusting beasts!”

She kicks out, struggling against her bonds. But they hold fast, as suffocating and restrictive as this world.

“I have made the kingdom what it long should have been,” Zant replies, tone darkening. “You would have had it fall into obscurity and disrepair. You would have had our people forget all that they have endured because of the light dwellers.

“But you evade the question, my fallen princess. Will you help me or not?”

Link’s eyes find hers. He is breathing hard, shuddering beneath the weight of his own form. And yet, he smiles. It is only the slightest upturn of the lips, like a thread of twilight stretching bravely into the world of light. But Midna sees it all the same.

“Never.”

The word when she speaks it, shatters the momentary silence. She doesn’t have to see him to know Zant’s expression has turned murderous.

(Though, if she’s being honest, does it ever not look murderous? The man is vile.)

Her eyes, however, are only for Link. He is looking at her with pride in his gaze, pride and…maybe the beginnings of something else? She can’t be certain.

Whatever it is, she doesn’t deserve it.

“No?” Zant laughs and it seems to echo in the cavernous space. “Well then. You truly have fallen far Midna, to conspire with light dwellers in such a way. It nauseates me!”

Power surges through the air, a projectile of pure darkness slicing its way toward the hero. The energy it emanates is so dark, so sinister the air reverberates with it.

Midna gasps as she realizes what is about to happen. With an enraged screech, she struggles even harder than before. But she is helpless to stop it.

Darkness, fierce and sharp, collides with Link’s chest. It keeps going, shoving aside flesh and muscle and bone to burrow deep into his heart. His eyes go wide, blood bubbling from his lips as he chokes on a cry.

“This light dweller pretends to care for you and your world,” Zant sneers. “Perhaps, then, he will enjoy internalizing the shadows you inhabit.”

A skull-shattering scream pierces the air. Link thrashes, fighting desperately to get loose. Streaks of black crawl across his skin now, craters of molten obsidian amongst bloodless white.

“I wonder how much he can take before he breaks,” Zant muses.

He twists sleeve-hidden fingers and abruptly, Link crumples. Shadows dance in the air around him as he transforms. And then a beast lays twitching on the ground before her.

“No, stop!” The shout breaks free before she can restrain it.

But Zant doesn’t seem to even hear her. He is too enraptured by his own sadistic glee at Link’s agony.

The shadows around him grow thicker now, more potent. The obsidian marks spread like jagged lines of ink and blood oozes in their wake. They mar the hero’s lush gray coat, trickle into his once-bright eyes.

Midna inhales a ragged breath. If she doesn’t stop this, if she doesn’t act Link will die. That cannot happen.

She needs him to help her save her kingdom and her people. She needs him to save that little country town of his, and the kids who gaze at him like he is the sun itself, and the family he adores despite how they so violently despised his wolf form. She needs him to save the land Zelda has sacrificed so much for, the land Link looks upon with wonder.

She needs…she needs him.

So, she takes a deep breath and focuses. There is a crack, she realizes with a spark of hope, in the magic Zant is using to restrain her. She isn’t certain how she didn’t see it before. Perhaps, it wasn’t even there before.

It doesn’t matter. All that’s important is the way she can exploit it.

Midna forces her hands inside it, pulls it wider and wider until it is a gaping hole. Then, she shoves herself through, shattering her bonds as she does so. And when she opens her eyes once more, she is free.

She hits the ground with a dull thud and scrambles up. Zant whirls to face her, a screech of indignation ringing out as he unsheathes his swords. But she is too fast for him.

Fiery locks fly free, scooping the still-shuddering hero into their silken folds. Magic surges through her panicked and quick. And with a burst of sharp shadows, they are gone.

She lands them in Hyrule Field, for lack of a better place. It is far from most villages at least, with their mindless terror and ready torches. Gently, she lowers Link into the blades of green grass.

She can only hope that the teleportation wasn’t too much for him. But what other choice had she had?

“Link.”

Midna reaches out, ghostly fingers brushing his cheek. The word hitches in her throat, traitorous emotion struggling to break free. Fiercely, she shoves it back down.

“Come on, you idiot! Wake up!”

As if in response, his breath stutters. Gray-blue eyes flutter open, flitting about in a panic before they land on her. He shifts, brushing his nose against her immaterial form. A low whine echoes in his throat.

Midna lets out a shaky sigh. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. He didn’t touch me. Worry about yourself like you should.”

Link huffs a breath, seeming indignant. But his efforts are weak. His usual snark is gone with his strength, sapped by the madman who had sought to use him.

Shaking her head, Midna turns to gaze at the castle that bravely rises past the horizon.

“You just hold on, Link,” she murmurs. “I’ll get you the help you need.”

And after that? She’ll find the might necessary to hurl Zant into the sun.

[sporeclan]

FOXFOX!

Yessss

Love Wins <3

[rainbow-neko-artblog]

I made a Pokepasta called Monophobic Valentine recently and i've become mildly unhinged obsessed with them lowkey ya know?

[orbmanson7]

Some more sketchbook pages...

This one is a whole mess of stuff... Some OCs, some stuff for therapy in trying to explain aiws, some doodles from VoiceOfNurse's Rude Awakening (one of the best of many from the fic series What's A Little B&E Between Friends?), and then a little page where I tried to practice more with markers by doodling quite a few things, haha

[gallusrostromegalus]

Drawtober 2023, Day 1:

AEIWAM Chapter 4: De-Consecration

[emerald194]

A Toast

I don't know where to begin explaining the context, so I'll just say this: they had a really eventful grocery trip.

Raid belongs to @germanbugbo.