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sharksnshakes · 2 years

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Confrontation - Bane, Jonathan Crane (Nolanverse)

Gn! reader is sick of Bane’s threats and Crane’s jurisdiction. In a moment of bravery (or stupidity!), reader tells the villains exactly what they think.

A/N; tom hardy’s bane motivated me to work out and I am not even joking. takes place during the events of tdkr. also, these are two separate mini fics with the same prompt! crane’s feels ooc but MAYBE IF HE HAD SOME SCREEN TIME it’d be easier to keep him in character...

Wordcount; 530

TW; mentions of death, mentions of violence, mentions of injury, suggestive themes (nothing explicit), reader has no sense of self preservation and kind of gives pick me but the villains are into it

Bane

“You have no power over me,” you hiss, jabbing your finger into Bane’s chest.

He’s a hulking figure, and intimidating, too, especially with the mask obscuring half of his face. His breathing is too loud, too harsh, and too ragged to feel human, skin stony under your touch.

His brow lifts. “Is that so?”

That strange accent sends a chill down your spine, but you nod your head anyway. “Yeah, it is.”

He watches you wordlessly. You can’t stand the silent staredown, so you state your mind.

“You might have a bomb capable of blowing this city to smithereens,” you start, “You might be able to crush my windpipe with your pinkie finger. But you have no domain over me, no say in my actions, and absolutely no ground to stand on right now. So back. Off.”

Bane stills, as does the crowd watching. For a moment, you’re convinced you’ve signed your death warrant. It’ll only be a second until the hulking man grabs you by the scruff and tosses you into judgment himself, and with the way he’s staring at you, he’s probably thinking of several creative ways to do it.

After a painfully long silence, the monster of a man chuckles.

“As you wish, little one.” He steps back, and your hand drops from his chest, falling uselessly to your side.

His next words are spoken softly at a volume only you can hear:

“Your fire is admirable. I hope you put it to good use.”

Crane

“You have no power over me,” you growl, jabbing your finger into Crane’s chest.

He watches you silently, a gleam in his eye. He’s tall, but not too much taller than you are, and you match his amused stare with a withering look. The position of judge, jury, and executioner has evidently raised Crane’s self esteem; it’s also overinflated his ego.

“From where I’m standing,” he says, frowning at you mockingly, “It sure doesn’t seem like it.”

You scoff. “I’m not afraid of you, Dr. Crane.”

That’s what does it.

His eyes sharpen, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Really?”

You open your mouth to speak and he grabs your hand. The next thing you know, he’s pressing a canister of fear gas to the side of your face, your body flush against his. When he speaks, his voice is several octaves lower.

“What about now?”

He’s enjoying this, and you don’t need to look at him to know it.

You breathe deeply, steeling yourself.

“I’m afraid of being sprayed with the toxin, and I’m afraid of what I’ll see. But no, doctor,” you say, irritation overpowering your fear, “I am not afraid of you.”

Something glimmers in his eyes when you call him by his professional title: he’s a narcissist, indeed. A beat passes, then two, and he backs off as quickly as he came.

You step back, withdrawing into the safety of your group. All eyes are on you, whether you want them or not; a few onlookers boo, disappointed by the lack of death or incapacitation. Crane looks out at them, amused, and a smile tugs at his lips.

“We’ll see about that.”

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nobodyisneurotypicalinthebureau · 8 months

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Warning: Mentions of injury/amputation ahead

Michelle: On a scale of one to ten, how bad is it?

Carmen: It's about a 7 point...arm ripped off.

Michelle: MY ARM IS WHAT-

Context: in my Michelle lives AU, I decided to have her narrowly escape being crushed by the bell. However, it left her with an injury leading to her arm having to be amputated.

I'm currently writing a fic where Carmen comforts her after this incident.

#criminal case #criminal case save the world #criminal case season 3 #criminal case headcanons #headcanon #headcanons #carmen martinez #michelle zuria #angst #incorrect quotes #trigger warning #tw mentions of injury

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yharnamcrow · 14 days

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⏰ arrival in the world of pokemon

It's vertigo inducing. Moments before, Eileen had been sitting, leaning against the architecture to catch her breath. The Bloody Crow was gone. At last. The young Hunter did good work. Always such a worrywart too. The kid should think more about themselves. No matter now. She had popped her last two blood vials. The cuts on her chest are sealed, but that doesn't stop her body from remembering the feel of choking on her own lifeblood. Eileen breathed, eyes closed.

And then she tips over and falls.

Her eyes are wide open. Feather cloak fluttering and flared, voice choked. She falls. She falls from a crack in the sky that seals behind her, a ragged, bloody thing that looks like an Amygdala's handiwork gone wrong. Were she anyone else, she would scream. She doesn't. Instead, she somehow manages to turn, to use her cloak to maneuver her dropping body. Her legs and ankles grind against each other when she crashes to the ground, the shock travels up all the way to her teeth. She grimaces, wobbles, falls. They're not broken. It's a close thing nonetheless. She lies on her back gracelessly, limbs akimbo. There is sun in her eyes. She hasn't seen the sun in so long.

A crunch in the underbrush. An animal unlike any Eileen has seen before is approaching her. White fur with a red sheen, claws and tail the color of spilled blood, with a face of the same color, a sickle-like horn branching off. It eyes her, before sitting down in front of her prim and proper. There is a glint in its eyes that Eileen hasn't seen in decades. A gleam she hadn't been aware of missing so. Her throat closes up.

"Come to finish me off?" Her voice is as creaky as that of the bird she resembles. The beast shakes its head. Intelligent, then. Back in the brush, there are more noises. Voices. Those of a child and an adult. Eileen doesn't move.

#pokemon irl #rotomblr #pokeblogging #tw blood #tw mentions of injury #//its yharnam 🤷‍♀️

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sweetandsourstalker · 2 years

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For both HS and normal Yen:

12. What was the worst injury your muse has received?

#art #answered asks #ask game #high school!yen))#HS!AU))#tw concussion #tw mentions of injury #yen & lizzie

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indulgentdaydream · 3 months

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Can you write something where the reader is badly injured in some way and jason rushes her to the manor for help and everybody is confused on who she is bc they didnt even know he was in a relationship (despite them being together for awhile) but they see how soft and cute he is with her. (I’ve never made a request so sorry if it got kinda rambley)

anon you’ve got me TEEMING with ideas I LOVE the trope of nobody knowing jason has a girlfriend and they find out but it is NOT by Jason’s choice nor reader’s.

Also omg? Your first ask is to lil ol me?? That means this is a special occassion. And you’re doing great I’ve def sent worse asks.

Out of the Bag

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader || Hurt and Comfort.

Word Count: 1,862

Warnings: Injuries, swearing, near death experience, blood, knife mention, stabbing, canon-typical violence, use of pet names (princess, baby), drug (pain med) use

You were sat in an alleyway, vision going in and out.

“Tell me something, princess. Anything.” Jason’s voice rang out in your ear.

That’s right. In your right hand, you held your phone, to your ear. Your other hand was pressing the fabric of your coat to the side of your stomach. The blood had soaked through, becoming sticking on your palm and fingers.

You should’ve listened to Jason. You shouldn’t have walked home alone, at night. Luckily your phone had been in your pocket and not your purse, which had been stolen from you by the same guy who decided to stab you.

“Princess,” he sounded panicked.

Right. “Wish I had kicked him harder.”

You heard a sigh of relief leave him, “That’s my girl.”

The phone slipped from your grip a little as your head swam. The sight of blood coming from your own abdomen made no help in quelling your nausea.

You fixed the phone. You had called Jason the second the guy ran off, leaving you to bleed out. He was driving, you think. Tracking your phone to try and get to you. “How far?”

He said something you didn’t hear. Your vision was swimming, your side was aching, and you couldn’t help but keep this funny understanding out of your mind that you were dying.

That this is something Jason had come back to your apartment with a few times, claiming it was nothing. It was something.

You heard him call your name, “What’s around you?”

“I’m tired,” you mumbled.

It seemed to happen in a blink of an eye. Jason was trying to tell you to stay awake, to look at the alley around you. To look out towards the street and tell him what you saw. Then he was there, standing in front of you, his helmet hiding his face.

“I’m here. I’m here, baby.” He cupped your face, tapping your cheek to get you to open up your eyes. He crouched down, pulling your hand from your side to assess the damage.

You smiled lazily and leaned forward, resting your forehead against his shoulder.

Jason muttered a slew of swears as he pressed something soft yet hard against your agonizing wound. You let out a yelp before Jason was picking you up, placing you on his bike.

He’s talking fast, “Fuck. Okay, listen to me. We’re going to go somewhere new, okay? There’s nowhere around here except there for me to get you safe.”

You passed out nearly as soon as he started the bike.

Jason’s freaking. He had tried to keep you safe from anything like this. From everything less than this. And here you were, bleeding out in his arms as he carried you through the batcave. He beelined for the cots and the medical supplies off to the side. He knows his motorcycle couldn’t have been the smoothest of rides for someone in your condition, but it’s all he had in such a short time span.

He’ll apologize when you wake up.

When. He repeats. When she wakes up and when we can get the hell out of this place again and when I can remind her I love her.

No one was back from patrol yet. He set you down on the cot before tearing off his helmet. He tossed it aside, pulling out a med bag and ripping it open. He pushed up your shirt, examining your side and where he had placed the military-grade gauze pad. He curses at the amount of blood.

His hands are shaking. Jason’s hands don’t shake, but you’ve proven to him a lot of things you could make him do that he hadn’t known he was capable of in the last year and (almost) a half of your relationship.

Jason nearly drops the suture thread before another hand is reaching out from just behind him. It catches the thread and Jason looks back over his shoulder. Alfred’s there, moving up to you.

“Allow me. You keep checking her vitals.”

Jason hadn’t even heard him come up. He’s nodding, stepping back to let Alfred take over the stitching. He moves to the other side of the bed.

That’s when he catches sight of the dark figure moving closer from behind Alfred. Jason immediately fixes him with a deadly glare, pointing at Bruce, “Do not come closer!”

Bruce stills. He’s in his bat suit, his cowl hanging behind his head, exposing his face. He looks down to your body, “Who is she?”

Jason doesn’t want him here. Rather, he doesn’t want to be here. You should’ve been home by now. Getting ready for bed and sending him a goodnight text. He turns his gaze back to you.

There’s some hair across your face that he hadn’t noticed. He moves it out of your way without a second thought, “My girlfriend.”

“Finally feel some remorse for sending someone to their grave, Todd?” Damian’s voice spoke up, walking up and stopping beside Bruce, “He’s probably trying to just reverse what he did.”

Jason ignores him. He wants to yell, scream, and maybe shoot the little bastard, but he was right. In a way, this was his fault. He didn’t look after you. He should’ve offered you a ride. Called you a taxi. An uber. Anything.

Jason grips your hand into his. It’s a way to count your heartbeat, and another way to ground himself. To reassure that you’ll be okay. His other hand stays on your cheek. His thumb gently moves back and forth, stroking your skin.

He barely registers Bruce telling Damian to go wash up. When the brat is gone, Bruce speaks up again, “What happened?”

Jason doesn’t take his eyes off of you, “She was walking home from her friend’s. A mugger got her purse, she fought back. He stabbed her.” Jason takes a deep breath, “She still had her phone. She called me. I brought her here because it was closest.”

A beat of silence. Still stitching you up, Alfred speaks, “How come we’ve never been introduced?”

Jason shakes his head, “I didn’t want her near any of this. She’s bad off enough sticking with me.”

Once you stabilize, Jason brings you up to his room in the manor. He walks past Dick, Tim, Duke, Cass, and Steph without looking at them. They sit around the batcomputer, watching Jason gently carry you out ot the cave.

He changes you out of your dirty clothes once he makes a run back to your apartment to grab you some of your own spare clothes.

Asides from that, he doesn’t leave your side.

He lets you have the bed to yourself. He pulls up a chair beside it, waiting for you to wake up. He didn’t want you to be alone when you did, in a strange place after a traumatic event. It was a recipe for disaster.

The sun’s been up for a long while and Jason hasn’t budged. He sits there, your hand gripped in both of his, held up and pressed against his mouth. His lips brush over your knuckles whenever he speaks up. Uttering a “I’m sorry.” every now and then.

There’s a light knock at the door before it’s cracking open. Jason turns his head to find Dick poking his head in. Jason glares at him.

Dick steps further in, presenting the tray he was holding. There were two glasses of water, some solid foods, and lighter ones, probably for you. Jason looked back down at you, letting his older brother enter.

“Just… figured since you’ve been cooped up in here all day,” Dick begins, setting the tray down on the beside table beside Jason.

Dick moves back around. He stands at the end of the bed, leaning against the tall bed post that was meant to hold up a canopy. “I heard…” he trails off, before nodding and your body in the bed, still unconscious, “Who is she?”

Jason looks up at his brother, not letting go of your hand, “So you haven’t heard.”

Dick rolls his eyes, “You know what I mean.”

Jason raises his brows a little. He looks back down at you. His hand reaches out to brush along your forehead, moving away imaginary stray hairs, “My girl.”

Dick nods in understanding, “How long you two been together.”

Jason pauses in thought, “Over a year. Our anniversary was in December.”

A small, choked sound comes from outside the door, in the hallway. “A year?”

Jason looks up at Dick, who makes a face that shows he’s knows he’s been caught.

“Are they seriously listening right now?”

Steph poked her head in first, an apologetic smile on her face, “We wanted to know!”

Duke pokes his head in next, just above Steph’s, “And we wanted to meet her.”

Tim’s head in next, above Duke’s, “You can’t carry a random bleeding woman into the cave and expect the family of detectives to not be curious.”

Cass’ head appears below Steph’s. She nods in agreement.

Jason let’s one hand go of yours to wave his hand through the air, “What the fuck? She’s not even awake!”

“Well that’s why we sent Dick as bait.”

“For the record,” Dick held up a finger, “They built off of my original, innocent idea of bringing you snacks.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jason stands up, taking a few steps forward. He points them all back towards the door as they start to filter into the room, “Get—“

“What’s going on…?”

Jason’s whole body whipped back around at the sound of your groggy, rough voice. The others watch as he’s back at your side in a millisecond, his whole demeanour changed. “Hey, you’re okay. Everything’s okay. Remember how I said we were going somewhere new? You thirsty, baby? Here, I got you some water.”

“Oh, you certainly did not get the water,” Dick piped up.

Jason glared back over his shoulder as he held the glass of water for you, keeping the straw Dick had added placed in your mouth.

You stopped drinking, your eyes now on the other people in the room. You turned your head, propped up against pillows Jason had put there for you. You weakly raised your left hand to wave, “Hi… oh?” your gaze turned down to your hand. A heart monitor clip sitting on your finger grabbed your attention. You gave a confused pout at it, “I feel funny.”

Jason set the water aside again. His glare was gone. He leaned in, kissing your forehead, “You’re hopped up on pain meds. That’s why, princess.”

“Damn,” Steph spoke up, “I wish I got the literal princess treatment.”

Jason turned back around, pointing out the door, “Get. Out. Leave my girlfriend alone until she’s better.”

You looked at the strangers, pointing at Jason with your left hand, “I’m his girlfriend.” Your head tilted back against the pillows as you stared up at Jason, pursing your lips, "I’m tired.”

“I know,” Jason said softly. The others began to filter out of the room as he leaned down and gave you a soft kiss, this time on the lips.

From the exit, a collective, “Awwww,” sounded out.

“Out!”

Your drugged up voice came after his, once they were all back in the hall, “Nice to meet you!”

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paigelts05 · 1 year

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FNAF OC - Chofi: Chronophobia incarnate

https://www.deviantart.com/paigelts05/art/FNAF-OC-Chofi-Chronophobia-incarnate-842408878

https://www.deviantart.com/paigelts05/art/FNAF-OC-Chofi-reference-sheet-842409024

Published: May 19, 2020

Renegade File Server Location: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23843413

I joined a challenge on the FNAF amino to design a FNAF OC based on a phobia. The phobia I was assigned: Chronophobia: fear of time. I went down the posessed guard route, because let's be honest, I have a bias towards night guards. I also designed her features to all be related to timekeeping objects. Her hourglass figure, the glasses with the clock face on them, and her hair looking like an alarm clock. Generally, I wanted her to look like someone turned a heap of timekeeping implements into a person. Also, throughout the drawing, the sheet I used to design her slowly turned into a reference sheet because the drawing has things being flowy, and I wanted to make sure I had something that showed the details that may have been obscured. Also, I decided on adding blood to the drawing pretty early on because I wanted to get some more practice in for illustrating blood, and I think I'm getting better at it. I've decided to make her a meticulous timekeep and a ruthless taskmaster. She always seems to know what time it is in every timezone, and caries several watches, pocket watches, digital clocks, and a whole alarm clock. Her clipboard is to keep track of events, and whack anyone whose even a moment behind schedule. And her name? Chofi. And the ghosts name? Christie. =°•.🌹.•°= A woman sat down at the desk and placed a tape in the tape player. *Click* A video started playing. It's a recording from the security cameras. It showed the dining area. A ghostly pale looking man in purple - the head of security here - is standing in the cameras view, talking to a newbie. The first thing that was audible as they get nearer the camera is the newbie asking a question. "Who's she?" 'She' wasn't in the focus of the camera. Yet. "Her?" The man in purple replied, "She's, well, she's called Chofi. Nobody really knows if that's her name, or if it's its name. I believe it's hers though." "It?" "Well, you see her glasses? She can see out of them just fine. They're to stop us from seeing her eyes. She's, well, posessed. It's just that, she and the ghost possessing her share the body much more frequently than what's safe and - well - let's just say she's shared her time so much her eyes look like mine now." "Oh. I see. But why do you seem scared of her?" The newbie seemed scared too, and as the camera panned around, the woman could be seen. She had her hair in two buns, and was looking away from the camera. "Well, to say she keeps track of time is an understatement. She may look cute, but once you know her..." The man in purple trailed off mid sentence, like he didn't want to finish what he was saying. "Once I know her what?" "Once you know her, you'll understand why people fear time. You'll know why we also call her Chronophobia." As the man in purple mentioned Chronophobia, the woman turned around. As her face came into view, it was almost as if the camera had almost given up. The whole screen was static, and all that could be heard was static. And then something that sounded like someone saying "You're late" and what seemed to be a lot of shouting before the recording went back to normal. The man in purple seemed to be frozen in place, but the newbie nor the woman were anywhere to be seen. The static came back, and when it disappeared again, the newbie was back, as well as the woman - who was not facing the camera. The newbie looked like his hair was about to turn white with fear. When the woman walked off again, it seemed like the newbie had passed out. The recoding ended there. *Click* The tape was ejected. "There's something on the other side of the tape." A voice says. The purple man from the tape picks up the tape and put in in the tape player the opposite way round. *Click* The screen filled with static again. When the static cleared, the room was filled with blood. *Click* The woman ejected the tape. "No... Who did this?" She asked, not wanting to see the end of the video. The purple man shook his head and put the tape back in. "I'm sorry. Please, just keep watching. I hoped you'd watch it yourself, but I didn't know there was such a... Disconnect between you two." *Click* The tape started playing again. As the camera panned around, a figure could be seen looming over a mangled corpse. The woman quickly realised the figure was herself. *Click* It was the purple man who ejected the tape this time. "You've seen enough." He said. Something about him seemed like he felt sorry for the woman and her situation. "I can tell." The woman nodded, and even though her glasses covered her eyes like a one way mirror, it was obvious that they would be bloodshot from crying if it wasn't for her 8 ball fracture. "You don't remember any of this. Do you?" The purple man added. The woman shook her head. "It's alright. I know how it feels. You probably know that I saw what happened, but I want to help you. I could teach you how to keep Christie calm and therefore in check... " When the purple man talked about keeping Christie in check, the woman turned around. She was desperate for someone to help her. "But both you and her are so focused on making sure everything is on time, you've become the physical embodiment of chronophobia, but you've found the scariest thing about time yourself is that you can't go back, and you will need to face this. Are you sure you can deal with what could happen, Chofi?" =°•.🌹.•°=

#2020 #art #fnaf #artwork #fnaf au #Renegade AU Guards #Renegade AU #fnaf oc #tw blood #blood #tw mentions of injury #tw mentions of murder #horror #take the horror tag seriously #Renegade AU Ref #FNAF Renegade AU #fnaf fanart

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incorrectbatfam · 1 month

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Alfred: Miss Stephanie, what’s all over your arms?

Stephanie: Oh, my bruises? I can explain all of those.

Stephanie, pointing: Sparring practice, fight with a hammock, slept on an Oreo.

#source: grace and frankie #stephanie brown #spoiler #alfred pennyworth #batman #batfamily #batfam #batgirls #batkids #batsiblings #batman family #incorrect batfamily quotes #incorrect quotes #incorrect dc quotes #dc comics #tw injury #tw food mention

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kyuhudraws · 2 months

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Strong bird prince!

#fe reyson #reyson #fire emblem #fire emblem radiant dawn #fire emblem path of radiance #tellius #blood tw #injury tw #death mention tw #when will I ever get the colors of his clothing right?#or the pattern?#the angry galdrar noises is a joke I bet his galdrar sounds flawless

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rosdevw2 · 5 months

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hc of Dark surviving after showdown :]

He lost his arm and made himself a prosthetic, also his powers got weakened by Second's laser, bro's just trying to live his best life

#tw blood #tw injury #animation vs animator #alan becker #ava the dark lord #rossart #I love drawing dark #I fuck up second name nobody mention that

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starry-bi-sky · 16 days

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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.

#tw mild gore #cw mild blood #cw mentioned violence #dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dpxdc crossover #dpdc #dp x dc crossover #dead on main #dp x dc au #dp x dc fanfic #cfau #cfau danny #obsessed with the fact that danny just has the WORST fucking time after jason dies and baby i can make it worse #*kills you and makes you a banshee and puts you in an irrevocable state of grief*#delicious angst. danny is having the wORSt time ever lol. lmao even #was originally meant to explore the idea that danny can survive lethal injuries as phantom. which briefly got mentioned.#but i got away from myself. leaning reaaal heavy into the fact that danny's a banshee. At 19 he's got a pretty good handle of himself #but imagine being a fresh out the gate banshee. usually they get time to themselves in the zone to cry until their heart's content.#sorry danny. you have school tomorrow and family sleeping in the bedroom next door #kinda proud of myself. you can kinda see how Rath would've occurred here.#danny is going through it rn #was gonna add a snippet about the city's thoughts on phantom but couldnt fit it in

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echoingalaxies · 8 months

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"Close your eyes."

Said Caretaker to dying whumpee, caressing their hair, trying to make their last moments as peaceful and comfortable as possible.

Said Caretaker to scared Whumpee, holding a knife to Whumper's throat, about to make sure they never lay their hand on Whumpee again but wanting to spare Whumpee from witnessing any more violence.

Said Caretaker to injured Whumpee, cupping their chin and guiding their head up, not letting Whumpee look at the wounds covering their body.

Said Caretaker to sleepy Whumpee, who fears falling asleep because of all the traumatic nightmares they know they'll have, but with Caretaker by their side, whispering all kinds of reassurements, they might be okay.

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the-magpie-archives · 2 years

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You see, Martin says 'I grieved for you' to Jon, but this doesn't do justice for just what he would have gone through.

As most people know, having a loved one in hospital is horrible, but Jon's case is an entirely different thing. Assuming Jon was initially taken to a hospital in Great Yarmouth, it would've taken Martin a while to get there, even if he left right away. He might have missed Jon's emergency treatment, but he certainly didn't miss the worst of it.

Many people assume that CPR is a quick, simple, lifesaving procedure, it is not. Jon was found not breathing, and without a pulse, so he would have had at least 20 minutes straight of CPR, and that messes up a body. On a person as weak as Jon it would badly break ribs, and cause a lot of bruising. Even if Martin didn't have to watch Jon's chest be crushed to no avail, that type of damage is often visible.

I don't know if you've ever seen a dead body, but it's different to an unconscious one in every way. Jon of course, was not dead, but he would absolutely look it. As I'm sure you know, blood being pumped is what keeps the body warm, and breathing accounts for a large part of what we perceive as living, so the absence of both of these, especially in a loved one, is jarring, and likely to send anyone into shock

In lots of TV shows you see doctors calling deaths, but in reality it's actually quite a difficult thing to diagnose. It's not a quick check of the pulse and you're done, there's a lot of tests; there are many conditions that can look like death. In Jon's case his mind and nerves were still active, meaning it would have been picked up on fairly quickly, but Jon would have been assumed dead until these tests were completed.

The thing with a case like this, is there's nothing the doctors can feasibly do; as Elias says, it's an unknown quantity. The most likely course of action would be to make him as comfortable as possible, and redo the death checks every so often. There would be no hope for his recovery, but legally the hospital would have to do this, and would be able to offer very little comfort.

Although of course you want your loved one to survive, many family members of coma patients confess to hoping that they'd just die. The limbo of waiting is impossible to process, and having them there but having no way to communicate with them can be excruciating. There's no way to properly grieve for someone if you always have it in the back of your mind that they could wake up.

Giving up on someone like that is terribly and awfully painful. You can tell them you're sorry all you want, but you'll always be thinking about how they'd have wanted you to stay. Having to create both sides of an interaction like that when truly you're in control of neither is simply impossible to recover from.

Every action Martin took after Jon's death was justified, logical, even. To succumb to the lonely after leaving the man you love, sentencing him to die alone?

It feels right.

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