#mentions of dead family

[incorrectbatfam]

Tim: Poison is a magic transmutation potion that turns people into corpses.

Damian: This knife is actually a magic wand.

Stephanie: Meet me in the Denny's parking lot for a wizard duel.

Jason, cocking a gun: Magic missile.

Dick: What the fuck is wrong with you people?

[ghost-bxrd]

Prompt:

It’s turning out to be a bad day when Jason finds himself stabbed during a drug bust.

It’s turning out to be a very bad day when he starts to feel woozy (seriously, what the hell? It was just a little stabbing) and promptly collapses.

It’s turning out to be a monumentally bad day when the batfamily drop in on his drug bust.

And then the night takes a hard nose dive into catastrophically bad, because whatever toxin that blade was laced with? It’s making his heartbeat slow down into near flatline, paralyzing Jason in the process.

And now he’s stuck listening to his family lose it completely upon finding his “dead” body.

… shit.

[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. 

[pieridae-art]

I just realized that Jiang Fengmian and Jiang Yanli’s last words (that we hear in the story in his case) were directed at Wei Wuxian and not Jiang Cheng

Tbh I’d never get over that if I were Jiang Cheng lol at least he has Madam Yu

[lassieposting]

Concept:

Post-tadpole, Tav offers to help Astarion find a way to walk in the sun again, and she starts by going to different libraries and repositories and archives around the city to look for books that might be relevant. Astarion, obviously, has to stay in the rental room with the shutters closed during the daytime, so he can't come with her.

At some point, this takes her up to the posh part of the city, where the fancy ✨ scholarly ✨ archive is. She remembers most of the walk - it's not too far from the graveyard Astarion took her to, in the neighbourhood where he once used to live.

And like, it's never actually occurred to her that he could still have Actual Blood Relatives still living? It's not a topic she's ever thought to raise with him. But she has to sign in and out of the archive, and she just happens to notice the name three or four lines above hers: an initial and a surname she recognises.

Ancunín.

The same name from Astarion's gravestone.

A parent? A sibling?

A niece or nephew Astarion has never even met?

Thus begins a secondary quest of trying to reunite a broken family. Astarion is willing enough to talk about the few memories he still has of the thirty-nine years he had with his family before turning - a drop in the ocean compared to the 200 years spent suffering under Cazador - but he shuts down when she nudges him towards the likelihood that Mr & Mrs Ancunín are still alive. He retreats back behind the selfish, catty survivalist he was when she first met him and claims he has no interest in ever reconnecting. The pain in every clipped syllable says drop it, so she does.

But then he asks her, very quietly, several days later, what the initial was. He doesn't really react when she tells him - there's no obvious recognition, and he doesn't ask any follow-up questions or try to discuss it further. He just goes back to his book. She watches him out of the corner of her eye though, as she skim-reads her own giant tome of magical artifacts. A very long time goes by before she sees him turn a page.

For a good long while, the family issue gets put firmly on the back burner. They have other shit going on. Sometimes, it's following promising leads on a possible workaround for Astarion's sunlight allergy. Other times, it's the kind of ugly, ragged-edged breakdown that so often follows a period of relative safety and stability after a major trauma. He's been running in survival mode for two centuries, and now he's finally starting to feel secure enough for the rest of his mind to come back online, and all the trauma he couldn't handle at the time, all the pain and fear and tangled emotions survival mode was protecting him from, is catching up to him. During those sporadic episodes, trying to keep him from falling apart is her top priority and, well, time gets away from them and by the time he brings up his parents again, months or more have gone by, and they have a fairly good idea of what artifact of daywalking they need to find.

By the time it comes to actually meeting with them, still more months have passed, and they have already found it.

It's horrible, and heartwarming, and heartbreaking, and healing, and hurting, and so many other conflicting things that for a while - a long while - Tav doesn't know whether she actually did the right thing encouraging him to reach out to long-lost loved ones. It's a mess of moments that makes her heart ache for a dozen reasons. She finds out that Astarion looks most like his mother, but has his father's nose. She holds him for hours while he shakes and sobs into her shoulder because they never even left the city, they were here the whole time, and they never found him - and he's so angry and full of grief he doesn't know what to do with himself. She accompanies him to the home he was raised in, and the once-familiar surroundings jog memories he thought lost for good - he's glassy-eyed, recounting them to her, but she's fairly sure it's the good kind of glassy-eyed, so she doesn't mention it. She tries to make conversation at family dinner while he stares at his hands in his lap, dissociated, looking even more uncomfortable than she feels, utterly lost in a world that once fit him like a glove. There are a lot of feelings to try and mediate. They are all hurt, all damaged, all afraid, all looking for the ghost of a loved one in the face of a stranger.

But, eventually, there is a day where she overhears Astarion having a conversation with his father, and he sounds like himself - not the persona he puts on in public - and his father laughs at something he says in a way that's entertained rather than awkward. There is a day where his mother reaches out and he doesn't shake his head or step away - he lets her hug him goodbye. They have not slipped back into the graves they crawled out of in each other's lives - they are all very different people now - but they are learning new ways to fit together, and he seems to be pleased about it.

So she thinks, yeah, it was worth it.

[myokk]

Being this close to her mother, Eloise was struck by their physical similarities. As a young girl, it had been impossible to see, but now that she was a young woman they were striking. She felt as if she were looking in a mirror, but a twisted mirror: everything that was warm about her appearance was turned cold in her mother: hazel eyes to a frigid silver, unruly brown hair to straight black; her mother’s skin was somehow even more pale than Eloise’s, as if she were cut from marble. Everything soft about Eloise was made sharp in her mother, and Eloise wondered what had made her this way. She was terrified that in twenty years’ time, the two of them would be indistinguishable.

Had Elladora Black always been like this? Eloise couldn’t imagine any time when her mother might have smiled, or even huffed in quiet laughter. No moments where she had been caught staring at her husband with love and warmth in her eyes. Eloise had only ever known her as an ambitious, cold woman who was always striving towards some goal, even if it was known only to her.

Someone couldn’t spend their whole life like that, could they? Even growing up at the manor, Eloise had always had Leo to confide in and love unconditionally. Had her mother ever had something - or someone - like that?

“Soon, we will be the family we were always meant to be,” Eloise’s mother said, causing Eloise to startle out of her thoughts and stare her mother in the eyes. They were filled with longing. They were mesmerizing. Eloise shivered under the intensity, but couldn’t tear her eyes away. “Soon, we will be back on our way to being the most prominent pureblood family in Britain, with the help of you and your brother. You can’t fail us. You can’t.”

From chapter 23 of my fic, Before It Felt Like A Sin

this post is dedicated to @elliecutte the only other person who is as crazy about Elladora Black as I am😌🙏

[s3raphinaa]

the black "what am i supposed to do when you used to be my lifeline?" brothers

regulus "look now i'm alone again, i've gotten used to sleeping here without you" black

sirius "though i've tried i can't pretend that i don't sit around and think about you" black

[luck-of-the-drawings]

FOR A BEAT OF HEART, THE BREATH IS SHOT. AND WITHIN A BREATH, THE HEART IS CAUGHT. THE PIPES ARE BURSTING, UNDER GREAT STRESS, BOLTS TORN ASUNDER, MAKING A MESS. A FINAL COUGH, A FINAL RETCH, A GOREY SLOUGH, CLAIMED BY WRETCH.

[kaiiscottage]

Little Matakara and his brother since i haven’t seen anyone post them yet <3

[incorrectbatfam]

Stephanie: Isn't it weird that people kill mosquitoes just because they're annoying? Like, if people did that to other people I would've died years ago.

[whump-cravings]

Anybody else deeply obsessed with a character that doesn't flinch when abuses are heaped upon them, but when someone utters a word of genuine kindness to them, their defenses shatter. or is it just me

[faeriekit]

Ecto-Implosion '24 fic is OUT!

"It's a school night. It's dark outside. It's cold. Green— fog?— has invaded the whole house, and now he has to get his parents to tackle whatever that problem is. ...The only problem is, Danny woke up alone in his bedroom, and he can't seem to find them. Like. Anyone. Anywhere."

💚👻💚👻💚

Happy Ecto-Implosion, everyone!! 👻💚 I told y'all there was secret fic in the works! My partner for this project was @minnowmarsh, who not only gave me something great to work with but also was very open to spooky adaptations, haha 😄 Find their art here on their blog, @minnowmarsh, and find the fic right now on ao3!

This will be a daily-update work until I run out of fic to post! Have a happy posting week, and happy, uh, imploding! ...Wait, that sounds wrong—

[ethan-elliott]

Found Heaven tour tonight which really means it’s time to be even more insufferable about Dead Boy Detectives

[zeb-z]

when Bad asks Foolish and Baghera “yknow what you do when you’re upset?” and Foolish quietly goes “go out into a desert?” he shot me dead in my home.

Foolish, who spent all his time in the dsmp out in the desert building on his own, never really appreciated. who’s only community builds were never really used - a massive fuck off mansion for Tubbo and Ranboo in Snowchester they never moved into, Kinoko Kingdom which got more appreciation by Quackity, who hated it, than any of the meant to be residents, and the Among Us bunker that never saw the light of day. who’s only friends ended up executing him at a banquet, and the other blackmailing him into joining his city. but it didn’t truly matter - he had the desert to return to, and another massive project to build, even if it was just him around to appreciate it.

the desert was as beautiful as it was dangerous. it was not friendly, and it was not kind, but it was where he built his life. it was where he retreated to when everything else was shit.

and then, however many years later, he finds companionship in the qsmp. people love his builds, use his builds - but appreciate him for more than that. he sticks close instead of moving thousands of blocks away. he falls in love with Vegetta, then he takes care of his daughter. his beloved Leo. he learns another language so she doesn’t have to struggle with his, and they teach each other as they talk. he gets her everything she asks for even if he rolls his eyes and teases her for being spoiled, because he loves her, because he’d move heaven and earth for her. he tells her that she’s good, and that she’s shown him that there’s more to life than just being alone and building all the time.

and then Leo’s gone. and when the panic has settled and the realization that he can’t do anything hits, he goes and works on the titan. he builds and tries not to cry. for a short time, he goes and takes people exploring since they’re also online, and he tasks himself with distracting them to cheer them up (with the bonus of taking out his aggravation on monsters), and he can’t be upset if he’s with company. but lately they haven’t been around, and he’s mostly alone again - so he goes back to building. returning to hours and hours on his own, making more headway in a few days than he has in a month on his build.

he retreats to the desert. where he’s alone, where there’s nothing but him and the sand and his builds, where there’s nothing else in the world, because the rest of the world is unbearable.

[wackpedion]

Hey can we talk about how disheartening it is when as a disabled person unable to work you're given money to live off of but its actually nowhere close to being able to live off of? And how it makes no sense? I am disabled, I have been officially judged by the welfare department as being unable to and/or impacted in my ability to work, so theoretically the money I recieve is to make up for this and ensure that I can live, but it's literally not even enough to cover rent most places let alone other bills and food. I am lucky in that I live with my mom and she covers many costs, but not everyone has that option, that or staying with their parents or a partner means staying in an abusive or harmful environment, studies show disabled people are more likely to be abused. This system is trapping them. And so then you're presented with two choices: Work, no matter how hard and damaging it is to your mind and body and health so you might be able to live, or do what you can with what little money the government gives you, if it's even possible, at detriment to you and your quality of life.

And honestly, this just feels like the government doesn't care and wants us to die. That's the message they're sending, when they say "we recognize you can't work, but we won't give you the money you need to be able to live". And what's sickening is that the people around us don't bat an eye about this and may even think what we do get we don't deserve or is enough. My own father went on an angry tirade to me about how he has to pay alot of taxes, a portion of which go to this, which just tells me he doesn't care about me or my disabled friends and familys wellbeing. That he would rather us die or destroy ourselves working so he has a bit more money in his pocket. It's a sick individualistic mindset, to only worry about yourself, and not care about having a functioning society in which everyone is taken care of, including your family, friends, and even yourself, in the case you become disabled or simply grow old. Who doesn't want that? To be against that isn't only harming your close ones but also yourself. Why are you so upset about the idea of contributing to a society that takes care of its people.

This is a bit of an unprompted post, this topic has just been on my mind for a while. I wish things were better for us and that we could all live the lifes we deserve

[diamondsunbursts-and-marblehalls]

dead boy detectives is the perfect cure for a broken heart