#tw fear

[truths33k3r4]

CHAPTER 29 - Beginning of Their Nightmares

The hopelessness that had once infiltrated its way into Don’s anxious heart vanished as soon as he heard the sound of his twin’s voice. All his doubts and the many ‘what ifs’ plunged into the forgotten corners of his mind as he called out to his brother.

“Raph, are you alright?? They didn’t hurt you, did they? Do you feel ok? How many fingers am I holding u-”

“- GEEZ DON- You’re makin’ my headache worse! I’m fine, you can stop freaking out now.”

“I wasn’t freaking out. This is not freaking out.”, Don gestured to himself as best he could whilst being tied down to the floor, “You’re ok? No injuries?”

“Yeah, bro. I’m fine.”

Don recognized the exhaustion laced into his brother’s usual tone, but besides that nothing seemed amiss. All the purple-clad brother had to go by at this point was his hearing, seeing how his brother was still morphed and distorted into nothing but tired and angry pixels.

“What can you see?” Don asked with a hint of ember in his tone, still annoyed with the aching reminder that he still didn’t have his glasses.

“Uhhhh..”

Don heard the whispers of fabric sliding across skin. He quickly connected this to Raph’s mask tails moving as he turned his head to search their new cell. Quickly following was the subtle taps of Raph’s fingers, signifying he was beginning to get anxious. He would always do his little taps when school got too boring, or when he was waiting his turn to join in a sparring session in the dojo; He wanted to move.

“Raph, are you tied down too?”

Don’s ears caught the shuffling sounds of his brother squirming.

“DUH. Otherwise I woulda been over there smackin’ you in the head for letting us get caught like this.” Raph’s voice didn’t burn with bitterness, but instead warmed with brotherly affection. Or at least- as affectionate as the hothead could manage, going against every temper-fueled bone in his body. Don could just imagine the smile gracing his twin’s face.

Even when we’re captured he can’t help himself to tease me. Never change, brother.

“Yeah thanks for that lovely sentiment, dear twin of mine. But we still need to focus on an escape plan. Now you, the only one in this room with proper vision, describe to me what you see so I can calculate a way to get us out of here. Please and thank you.”

Don could tell from the muffled vibrations that Raph was biting his lip as he hummed to himself.

“There isn’t much, brainiac.. Four walls, a roof and a floor..”

“Thank you for explaining to the audience that we are indeed in a room.”

Don still had that same feeling of someone watching him and his brother, so going by that, he theorized there was another camera hidden in the walls of their cell.

“Oh shut up, dude.. At least I’m not blind.”

Don’s countenance fell at the reminder. He knew his brother didn’t mean for his words to become sharp blades, but Raph’s ignorance didn’t negate the fact that his simple sentence drove a piercing sting into the freckled brother’s heart.

Even with the pain of his brother’s words pulling him down, Don still took the opportunity to get some ribbing in as well.

“Well, at least I have a functional brain, compared to your useless, tied-down muscles. Intelligence can’t be restrained.”

“Ha! Yeah right. Call me when someone wins a wrestling match using nothin’ but their brain.”

“Not exactly what I meant- but regardless, we need to find a way out of here.”

As much as I’d love to continue in this lovely banter, we really need to focus here, Raph.

“Are you tied to the floor too?”

“Not exactly.. I’m on a table.”

Raph tugged and yanked, but no rings of chains echoed. It sounded closer to straps of leather, accompanied with a small tink of what appeared to be a belt buckle.

“You’re what? On a table?.. Like a surgeon’s table?”

Don should’ve thought through those sentences a bit more thoroughly before allowing his brother to hear them.

“A WHAT? Surgeon?!”

Don’s shoulders rose as he hissed through his teeth in regret. Raph’s tugs and yanks became far less controlled by the second.

Yeah, perhaps I should’ve thought that through a bit more..

“Raph stop- you’ll dislocate your shoulder or break your wrist- just.. Calm down.”

“THIS IS AS CALM AS I’M GONNA GET, DON. Cause if this is ANYTHING like in the movies, THEN I AM WAY PASSED SCREWED.”

“Yeah, we’re BOTH gonna be screwed if you don’t let me use your perfect little vision spheres to find a way out of here!”

“I TOLD YOU THERE’S NOTHING IN HERE!”

Don could sense the stress building in Raph’s body, like lava filling to the rim of a volcano. Only instead of the raging inferno being fueled by his temper, it was being fueled by something far less predictable: his fear.

If Raph has a meltdown he’ll be more useless than I am. Calm him down FAST. Use facts. They almost always help me in stressful situations such as this, so hopefully it will be the same for him.

“Please stop yelling. A headache will make my brain, the only useful internal organ I have left, far less helpful. And panicking isn’t going to help anyone. You’re only going to further injure yourself.”

“I’M NOT PANICKING, I’M STRESSING THE CRAP OUT.”

Ok yeah- that didn’t work. Try being more real and honest with him. Less facts, more truth.

“Noted. But if you continue like this you’ll have a panic attack, and that will render you either catatonic or inconsolably violent. Neither of which will help us here.”

The constant tugs of leather stopped.

“.. Did you just call me a cat?…”

You know what, I can work with this! At least when Raph’s confused he’s not moving or hurting himself.. Yes, keep him asking questions, it’s helping him calm down!

“You know, catatonic. Comatose.”

The pixelated blurb that was Raphael’s head tilted ever so slightly.

Hehe.. This is fun. I should do this more often.

Don continued on as he began to list synonym after synonym, further deepening his fiery brother’s confused, dazed state. As long as it kept Raph from hurting himself and panicking, then he would be happy to oblige to confuse the heck out of his brother. Don couldn’t help the growing grin on his face as he specifically chose the most convoluted of words; ones that would leave Mikey with his pupils slowly separating. Normally it would annoy him that his family and brothers didn’t understand the meanings to his wide variety of vocabulary. But now the thing that he had been teased and ostracized for..

.. had become his greatest strength. And with this assumedly useless gift, he had been helping to calm down his fearful brother.

“Don, what the shell are you even sayi-”

The melodious sounds of Raph’s confused tone were jarringly cut off with a sharp gasp. Don twisted his head to face the blur which was his brother.

“Raph??”

Don REALLY WISHED HE COULD SEE.

“Raph what’s wrong?? What’s going on?”

Did he see something? Is he hurt?

“Quiet Don, someone’s comin’.” Raph shout-whispered to his brother, as his voice changed to ‘protector mode’.

All Don’s work to calm down his brother vanished before his malfunctioning eyes, as the sounds of footsteps drew nearer to the door of their cell.

Don’s posture straightened as much as he could manage while still being tied down to the floor. Memories flashed behind Don’s eyes of the Man touching and prodding him like some science project.. He had felt so small under the monster’s watchful eye.. The cells of humanity flowing in his veins seemed to disappear as he refused to speak in front of his captor. It was worth it though.

It was worth it to not reveal to the Man just what he was up against.

It was WORTH IT to keep his humanity from being seen by the monster.

The door opened. Don’s spine shivered at the sound of boots.

Ochitsuke. Focus, Donatello. FOCUS.

As the Man walked towards the chained-down mutant, his pixels combined and formed into a crisp image. But for once today, Don was absolutely fine with not being able to see clearly if it meant he wouldn’t have to peer into the ghost’s face again. The mutant leaned as far back as he could as the Man’s face edged closer. The familiar sound of Raphael’s growls echoed from the back of the room.

“Welcome to your new home. Here you’ll form so many new memories.”

Don’s muscles all tensed as he fought with all his might to not back down from the creature of a Man. His stiff form wasn’t helping the growing ache in his wrists from the chains and cuffs, but it was worth it to prove his strength and will to his captor.

I WON’T BACK DOWN, YOU DEMON.

The Man reached out his hand to Don’s face, caressing the fabric of his mask. The purple-clad mutant let out his own warning growl, but that did nothing just as it hadn’t before. The Man’s slender hands brushed across Don’s cheek, making that same awful chill enter into the mutant’s soul.

Don wanted to throw up if it meant the horrible feeling of dread in his stomach would cease.

The Man took both his hands and wrapped them behind Don’s head, fluidly slipping off his purple mask. The Man pocketed it with the smoothness of a master thief.

“You won’t be needing this. Not an inch of you will be a mystery once my studies begin.”

Don’s face being fully presented to his captor made the mutant shrink in discomfort. Sure it was just a piece of cloth with two eye holes.. But he had worn that mask since he was twelve years old. It was part of his identity. But now he watched as the Man continued to deny everything that made him him; Proof to Don that what was coming for him and his brother would test everything they had in them:

Their constitutions.

Their will.

Their faith.

And especially..

..their understanding of who they are.

“These walls have kept many different… creatures at bay, and over time all of them fell. Some to their madness.. Some to my blade.”

Don’s spirit suddenly felt the embers from his brother’s seething flame.

The Man turned to face Raphael, but stayed uncomfortably close to Don’s side.

“Ah yes. Rabid Red..” the Man tsked in a facade of pity, “Seems the surplus of sedatives did nothing to cure you of your infuriatingly pitiful temper. But that’s fine with me.”

The Man reached for his coat pocket, while refusing to break eye contact with Raph. By the sound of his brother’s growls not wavering, Don figured the Man’s intimidation attempt wasn’t so successful.

But then…

All went silent as the Man revealed a syringe filled with a noxiously potent green liquid inside. The Man rose off the ground and began walking towards Raph, a frighteningly bright smile spread across his face like some awful infection.

“.. I want you to be fully awake for every second.”

Don’s pupils constricted as he turned his head to face his brother.

RAPH NO!

The cap of the syringe was removed with practiced hands, revealing the needle shining in all its horrible glory.

“.. I want you to feel every fluid ounce of agony slowly creep through your skin and into your blood. I want you to see the monster I know you are.”

Don’s ears drowned out the sounds of his captor slowly drawing closer to his brother, and instead focused on the shivering breaths and tight gasps escaping Raph.

He’s terrified.

“.. This is what you get for biting me, freak.”

NO! PLEASE STOP!!!!

Don’s heart painfully beat in his chest as the Man creeped into the pixelated shadows, once again becoming the faceless Specter that would forever haunt the freckled mutant’s nightmares.

RAPHAEL!!!!!!

Don’s hearing finally betrayed him as the sounds of his brother’s anguished cries seared into his ears.

Andddd that's it for this chapter!....

.. Is it bad that I truly enjoyed writing for Specter in this-??? Is something wrong with me?... Have I officially lost my shell? Heheh.

To God be the glory!

~ Melissa

MASTERPOST <- PRIOR CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER ->

#my version of tmnt!! #the strength in weakness #SIW Don #SIW Raph #tmnt #hurt/comfort #angst #captured #tw needles #tw fear

[silverskye13]

Helsknight showing up bloody at Welsknight’s base please I need suffering 🙏

There was something to be said about the stupid things he was willing to do in the name of self preservation. Damn his fears, and the unfairness of the universe, and the uncertainty of living [and dying] and everything else. The unknown had always been his greatest weakness, his greatest betrayer. Pity it was also one of the few inescapable things about living in general.

To say Helsknight stepped into Hermitcraft would be a terrible injustice of what stepping normally, let alone gracefully, looked like. What he actually did was stagger and drag himself into Hermitcraft on unsteady and shaking limbs. There were holes in him. He hadn't really taken inventory of them yet. Admitting he had a wound [or several] was enough. The minute he admitted the wounds were bad, in certain terms his mind could comprehend, was the minute shock would steal his senses. He was on Hermitcraft for the specific reason of dodging death, and it seemed to him shock, on any level, meant dying. If he wanted to die and roll the dice of respawn, he would have died in hels, in the alley he'd been jumped in, where he could at least take comfort in familiar cobblestones and the knowledge he'd dragged all his attackers down with him. But he didn't want to die, so he was here.

It was dark. He was inside a building. He was bleeding. Wels was nearby. Those were the only things he needed to know for certain. Helsknight looked around, trying to ignore the sluggish tilt his vision offered when he moved too quickly. The double vision of trying to parse memories of a place that weren't his battled with his wounded animal double vision and together they made him feel nauseous, more so than his wounding already did. Helsknight balled a fist against his sternum, like he could hold himself together that way, and concentrated very hard on walking and nothing else.

Helsknight didn't like being this close to Wels. Not while he was this injured. He could feel the awareness of his other half like a spider on his skin. There was a reflex-like urge to shout and try to shake it off, the instinct-like certainty that if it rested on him long enough it would find a reason to bite him. And he knew, in the way only experience could teach, that if he could feel Wels, Wels could feel him. Helsknight had the sensation of walking a tightrope: his body insisted speed was the only thing that could save him, while his mind insisted he must stay unnoticed. He must balance necessity with making his thoughts and emotions small, and it was hard work to do when he was losing blood.

Helsknight blinked slowly, tiredly. He picked a direction and walked, a hand pressed to the wall, keeping himself upright. Wels's potion room was nearby, a borrowed half-memory informed him, he just had to get there. He searched his drifting thoughts for a poem to repeat in his head, to keep fear and uncertainty from rising. His heartbeat was quickening, a symptom of something; panic, or fear, or blood loss, or all three combined. He was fixing one of those things. He needed to carefully manage the other two, before Wels felt them. The only poem he could think of was in Middle English, and mostly gibberish to him, which told him it came from Wels's memories somewhere.

Why have ye no routhe on my child?

Have routhe on me ful of mourning;

Tak doun o rode my derworth child,

Or prik me o rode with my derling!

[Rhyming child with child was a lazy, but this was written back when one could convincingly spell "down" as "doun" so he supposed he shouldn't be overly critical. The real trick was figuring out if "derling" was supposed to mean "darling", or some other archaic word lost to time. He could only figure out so much from context clues. "Mourning" apparently transcended centuries, and that seemed fitting. Everyone knew mourning, in some form or another.]

An ache opened up beneath his clenched fist, or it had always been there, and his body was only just now reinforcing the fact that it was important. It felt like the mother of all cramps in his muscles, and he stubbornly pretended that's what it was. He needed more potassium in his diet or something, and the gods would forgive him the smear he left on the wall when he leaned on it, waiting on the intensity of his pain to ebb. The doorway he was walking towards seemed close, but also very, very far. Closing distance with it was going a lot slower than he thought it would, and it was only one short hallway. He was glad he'd decided to do this, instead of his other half-considered option of attempting to walk across hels to the Colosseum. He wouldn't have made it.

Dread pooled in his stomach. Dread, and other more physical things, like blood, probably, but he pretended the dread bit was more important. He could feel Wels pricking on his skin again, an insistent spider twitching at a breath on his web. Helsknight breathed out the steadiest breath he could manage.

More pine ne may me ben y-don

Than lete me live in sorwe and shame;

As love me bindëth to my sone,

So let us deyen bothe y-same.

[Sorwe. What medieval idiot thought "sorrow" was spelled like "sorwe"? Maybe it had something to do with inflection. Poetry was half words, half rhythm. Maybe "sorwe" was supposed to indicate they wanted the reader to pronounce "sorrow" as a single syllable, so it sounded more like "sore". That's also probably why "bothe y-same" was sitting there like word vomit. They meant "both the same", but wanted it read without a pause between the first two words. It was really the method for the madness that mattered with poetry.]

Helsknight blinked. He was in the potion room. He couldn't fully remember the walk down the hallway, but that didn't matter. What mattered was there should be health potions in here somewhere, his salvation. Relief edged his vision in stars, and he once again felt Wels's attention cant in his direction, confused and curious. Wels didn't associate feelings of relief with Helsknight. It wasn't an emotion they felt in each other's presence, and it was far too strong to be muffled by the distance to hels.

[He knows I'm here.]

Helsknight opened a chest and rifled through it. His vision was protesting. Stars and tilting that would turn to spinning soon made a clutter of his eyes. It got hard to distinguish the colors of the stoppered bottles. He picked up one that felt overly warm to his cold and shaking fingers. He was pretty sure it was a health potion. It felt too hot, but he reminded himself he was cold from losing blood, so it should feel hot. Hesitantly removed his fist from where it was balled in front of his sternum, and let his eyes unfocus when he grasped the bottle's stopper. His hands were so unsteady, it took a couple tries just to grab it, and when he pulled on the cork, his fingers slipped off weakly. He tried again, eyes closed with concentration, pouring every ounce of his strength into the act of pulling a stopper out of a bottle, only for his hand to slip right off again.

Frustrated, nearing desperate, he looked down at himself for a clean place to wipe his hand on his tunic. It was a mistake. He knew it as soon as he did it. His eyes were inexorably drawn from the fabric to the poke-holes in it, to the wine-dark stain that flowed down his front and still dripped tak-tak-tak slow and inexorable onto the floor. It was a woeful amount of blood. He was honestly surprised he wasn't dead yet. Chalk it up to fortitude, and ignorance, and size. He had more blood to lose than some people did.

Helsknight's world suddenly gave an awful twist, vertigo and the crescendoing, cramping agony of his wounds, only staved off by how his now shattered ignorance, kicking him off his feet just as surely as a horse could. He slumped against the wall, and then to the floor, and the awful jarring of it hurt him worse. Half a dozen other wounds on him aired their grievances, and the big one near his sternum pushed blood onto his fist when he clutched it. Helsknight sat pinned, unable to breathe for many long seconds, feeling a bit like he'd been struck by lightning. The pain was blinding and numbing and overwhelming all at once.

Why-- have no-- have ye no-- something something...

[Words. Breathe. Think of words.]

[Gods... But it hurts......]

Why have ye no routhe on my child?

Have routhe on me ful of mourning;

[And what the hels did "routhe" mean, anyway? He knew the word "route". He knew the name "Ruth". Neither of them fit, unless his bloodless brain was missing something. There was a chance "routhe" was supposed to be read like "bothe", as a double word slurred together, but that still left "routhe the" which made less sense in context than "routhe" did.]

Right. He was supposed to be doing something other than bleeding to death on the floor. Helsknight blinked, looked down at his hand and realized the health potion he'd grabbed was gone. He must have dropped it when he slumped over. Looking around, he spotted it just to the side of his left boot, unbroken, thankfully, but it might as well be a lifetime away for all the good it did him. Helsknight knew without a shadow of a doubt he couldn't reach it. The idea of tensing his muscles and dragging himself forward to reach was exhausting, and he hurt so much he knew the movement would feel like tearing himself in half, and there were just some things a mind couldn't power through. Helsknight laughed dismally and let his head fall onto his chest. Both motions were white hot agonies, but all his pains were starting to blur together into a smear of overwhelming sensation that took thought away. It occurred to him he was breathing too fast, like he'd run too far too fast, and his fluttering heartbeat agreed.

[... It hurts...]

[Gods and saints it hurts.]

[I'm dying.]

A feeling he could only describe as doom fell on his shoulders, a cold grasp of fear that wrapped stony hands around his heart and squeezed. He'd heard of this. Never felt it himself. The utter sureness that if he didn't do something now, he would die. All the unconscious bits in his body in charge of keeping him working all unanimously agreeing they needed divine intervention, preferably right now, before they started shutting down. It wasn't something he often had occasion to feel, though he had heard people tell of it after particularly grizzly matches and bloody tournaments. Death was normally too quick in the Colosseum, or else he'd won his match, and even if he was falling to pieces there was a health potion too close to hand to let him dwell on his harms. This was so terribly different. Death stalked toward him unhurried and unbothered, waiting on him to finish drowning in blood. He might panic, if he wasn't already so cold and scared.

"Ah. This makes some sense, anyway."

Helsknight, who had stopped seeing the world in front of himself without really closing his eyes, refocused his vision on the open doorway. Wels stood there, an angel of death in azure and silver, his sword in his hand. His eyes were the ruthless blue of hels freezing over and lifeless corpses, and Helsknight thought there was no one else in the world he would rather not watch him die. But the universe hated him, so here Wels was, just as surely as if he was fated.

"I didn't think all that fear could possibly be for me."

Helsknight tried to reply, but all he managed was a dying-animal noise that strangled itself out when he tried to breathe a little steadier. He tried again, and this time managed a very weak, but vaguely defiant, "Fuck off."

"Rude," Wels said chastisingly. A glow of something like smug satisfaction prickled Helsknight's skin. The feeling came from Wels. "Especially given I'm the only person who can save you."

Helsknight chuckled, and then stopped when his body seized painfully around the motion. "We both know you don't want to save me."

"No," Wels admitted. "But I don't want to do a lot of unpleasant things I agree to do anyway."

"How... charitable."

"It is a virtue."

"Sure."

Wels didn't move. Well, he did move, but only to sheath his sword. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame, the image of patience, as though they had all the time in the world.

[Hungry spider. Waiting on a web for something to struggle.]

"If you're waiting on me to beg," Helsknight informed him through staggering breaths, "I won't."

"Too prideful?"

Helsknight searched himself momentarily for pride, and came up short. Pride would've dictated he die in the alley, instead of here where Wels could lord it over him. This was something different than pride.

"No."

"Then why not?" Wels asked, raising an eyebrow. "It's easy. Just say, 'Welsknight, please give me a health potion'. Or if you're feeling monosyllabic, just 'please' will work."

Helsknight managed a smirk. "Why not help me out of the kindness of your heart?"

"I don't have any kindness for people like you."

[People like you. What a loaded phrase.]

Have ye no routhe on my child?

There was an entire philosophical debate that could happen in the phrase 'people like you' that Helsknight had neither the time or the energy to bother with. Besides, it was all words Wels knew. Wels pretended to be a chivalric knight. Chivalric knights helped the weak. Chivalric knights saved the defenseless. Helsknight, for all the grievances of his existence, was both right now. Then again, the chivalric knights were also supposed to make war against their enemies mercilessly, so he supposed Wels would be in his rights, as a chivalric knight, to walk away and let him die slowly and painfully on the ground.

As if sensing his thoughts, and likely because he could actually sense his thoughts a bit, Wels said, "You are always going on about how I need to be a better knight. There's something ironic here. No matter what I decide, I think you'll owe me an apology regardless."

The feeling of doom, of bone-deep, agonizing dying mantled over Helsknight again and Wels stopped existing to him. His sense of urgency, of desperation to live clawed its way up his throat. He tried to move his arm, his leg. He got his fingers to twitch. He tried to lean forward, to drag himself with willpower alone towards that stupid potion just out of reach. The potion he wasn't even strong enough to open. His vision collapsed in quickly, and he only knew he'd cried out because he was breathless. But he hadn't moved, besides managing to lull his head forward onto his chest again. Cold fear crawled around in his empty guts, a relentless, caged animal that refused to stop squirming.

[I'm dying.]

[Breathe.]

[I'm dying.]

A shadow fell over him, a presence freighted with hate, and deserving, and dissonant guilt. Wels had come forward, only to stop short when Helsknight's terror swept over him like a wave, and he stood baffled by it, and guilty for it. The fool knight probably thought Helsknight was scared of him. If only. Helsknight thought he would prefer that. At least then he could manage to die gracefully. Wels's fortitude bricked itself up against him then, a bitter soul trying to will itself to be cold and cruel, and Helsknight was thankful for it. It staved off his fear, if only a little.

"What did you do to bring this on, anyway?" Wels asked breathlessly, trying to recover his resolve. Looking for a reason to hate him.

"I was... walking home."

"That's it?" He sounded so skeptical, it was almost funny.

"I committed the terrible sin..." Helsknight laughed out a breath, "... of being fearless when I should have been cautious."

"Hubris."

"Habit."

"Yeah right."

"If I got stabbed like this every day, I wouldn't have come crawling here."

Wels glowered, parsing this statement for truth. Helsknight might have mustered some hate in him for it, if he wasn't so scared. His vision had taken on a permanent blur, and he was getting cold. He hadn't gone numb yet, which was something he found profoundly cruel. He wanted to be numb. To stop hurting. To stop fearing.

[Breathe.]

Why have ye no routhe on my child?

Have routhe on me ful of mourning;

Tak doun o rode my derworth child,

Or prik me o rode with my derling!

[Derworth... "Dearworth", probably. Beloved. So "derling" was probably "dearling", which turned into "darling". Middle English was strange. Just slightly to the left of normal. He didn't think "tak" was a word anymore, except where it existed as pieces of words. "Tak" to "take", to take hold, maintain, maybe. "Tak" to "tack" like a nail. "Prik" also, like "pricking" flesh, like a point digging.]

"Hold down the road, my dearworth child," Helsknight muttered. "Or pick me a road with my darling."

"What?"

"Stupid poem."

"How much blood have you lost?"

Helsknight laughed, and his whole body flinched, and for a moment he couldn't breathe because his pain was so alive and electric it almost stopped being pain. The concern from Wels was laughable. He wished Wels would make up his mind about whether or not he cared. Then he could get on with dying, and the terror would stop, and the universe would take him or it wouldn't, and if it didn't, he would respawn and sleep for a week. He felt Wels's hand on his wrist, which was its own kind of hilarious.

"Trying to figure out how many heartbeats I have left?" Helsknight asked.

It would be nice to know. If Wels figured it out, he hoped he would share the information. Then Helsknight could keep count.

"Your heart's too fast."

"That happens."

Wels stood up and paced, all nervous energy, back and forth across the room.

"You don't deserve my help," Wels told him scathingly, angry for how conflicted he felt. "You don't. You've been nothing but cruel ever since we met."

More pine ne may me ben y-don

Than lete me live in sorwe and shame;

["Pine", like pining. Or pain. More pain? Punishment maybe. "Don" to done. Something like: More pain to me could not be done than to let me live in sorrow and shame.]

Helsknight decided whoever wrote this poem had never been stabbed. He'd felt both sorrow and shame, and neither of them packed quite this amount of punch, in his opinion.

"It probably goes against my tenets anyway," Wels continued, still pacing. "And yours too. Aren't you the one who follows some crazy death god?"

"... Saint... of Blood and Steel."

"He probably thinks dying in a puddle on my floor is glorious."

"... they."

As love me bindëth to my sone,

So let us deyen bothe y-same.

[Maybe he was just getting better at this, or maybe this part was just easy. "As love I'm bound to my son, so let us die, both the same." It didn't flow very neatly when it was simpler. Maybe Middle English wasn't that stupid.]

"I can't help but think you did this on purpose to... I don't know. Test me somehow. Prove you're better. Weak again, Welsknight! For helping your enemy when you should have let him die, or speed him along. Don't you know knights are supposed to be cruel?"

Helsknight tried to call up his own tenets, or Wels's tenets, or anything to do with knights and their duties. He got a little lost on his way, his thoughts meandering and dying, and gasping back to life again when they remembered they were supposed to be searching for something. Something he was scared of. Dying. A wave of fear crashing over him that made Wels flinch, and bid Helsknight keep breathing, because any agony was worth not confronting that one, great, crippling unknown.

"What would you do in my place?" Wels asked him suddenly. "Answer me that, perfect knight. What would you do if the person you hated most showed up one day bleeding on your floor?"

That... was an excellent question. Helsknight searched briefly for the answer, and found it wasn't very hard to find.

"I would help."

"You're lying," Wels said guardedly.

"I... can't lie."

"Then you're dodging the truth. What would you do?"

"I would heal you if I could. Or I would kill you if I couldn't." With strength he didn't know he even still had, Helsknight leaned his head back against the wall. It was easier to breathe that way. To talk.

"Why?"

"No creature is deserving of dishonor or pain."

"That's not a tenet."

"It's not a chivalric tenet." Helsknight shrugged one shoulder weakly. "Chivalry states you can hang my guts from the ceiling if I'm your enemy."

"It does not."

"It might as well."

Wels didn't seem to have a ready reply for that.

"What is routhe?"

Wels blinked down at him, guarded and confused. "Routhe?"

"Routhe." Helsknight repeated, as though it were helpful. "Middle English."

"As in?"

"Poetry."

"Use it in a sentence."

"Why have ye no routhe on my child?"

"Ruth." Wels said, a bit too quickly, like he'd known what Helsknight was asking and was trying to avoid the answer. "We don't use it as ruth anymore. It shows up in rue, like regret, or sorrow. And... ruthless."

"Merciless."

"Yes."

Why have you no mercy on my child?

"Why are you asking about Middle English while you're bleeding to death on my floor?"

Helsknight let out a breath. It hurt, but everything did. "Stupid poem."

"Can I hear it?"

"I'm busy bleeding to death on your floor."

"Tell me and I'll heal you."

There it was again, asking for an excuse. That was Wels's real cowardice, his failing as a knight. He was scared of making decisions. Scared of dealing with the consequences of his actions. Paralyzed by indecision. He wanted to hate Helsknight because it was justified. He wanted to watch him suffer, because hatred allows suffering. He didn't want to label himself cruel, nor be accused of weakness, or softheartedness, if he showed mercy. And he didn't want to pick up his sword and kill, if it meant killing someone defenseless. He wanted Helsknight to give him a reason to act, so he could blame it on him later if it turned out wrong. Given it would likely be Helsknight rubbing his nose in it later if it was wrong, he couldn't really blame him for that.

Helsknight closed his eyes and counted his heartbeats, and pretended he wasn't scared.

"Do what you will."

An hour long minute ticked by. Helsknight felt the time moving like it was physical, like he was falling through it and he couldn't catch himself, and he was nearing his limits. He thought the only thing stopping him from begging for it all to stop was the crushing weight of his fatigue, the exponential strength it took to take his next breath, and that stupid poem, skipping in a circle in his head. It kept his thoughts away from his fear, from bearing the weight of the unknown that came next. It was still there, a nameless, formless anxiety that formed the undercurrent of his thoughts. But he didn't have to think about it when he was busy being annoyed about a poem stuck in his head.

Wels moved. He stooped to pick up the potion Helsknight had dropped and unstoppered it deftly. He was surprisingly gentle as he helped him drink, aware that every movement could cause pain. Helsknight could feel Wels's caution in the air like wings, like a bird hovering before it lands. The first potion wasn't enough to heal him completely, so he got a second from his chests and helped him with that as well, one hand hovering over Helsknight's wounds, waiting on the skin to knit back together. Helsknight got to his feet, shaky, and feeling like he'd been wrung dry of all vitality. There was no pain to speak of, but he was thirsty, and hungry, and exhausted.

"You should rest before you go anywhere," Wels said, words of pragmatic care that sounded stilted coming from him. "I can get you some water."

"I'll be fine," Helsknight told him, allowing himself some hesitant pride now that the smothering pain was gone. Even exhausted, he could think so much more clearly now -- think at all, really. And he thought the longer he stayed here, the higher the chance Wels would come to regret his decision to heal him. They were not made to like each other. They didn't even respect each other as enemies. And Helsknight knew if they fought now, he would lose, and he might lose very badly, if Wels decided to leave him to bleed out again. It was something Wels had never done before, but if he could convince himself Helsknight deserved it, he would.

"Do what you will, then," Wels said, bitterness creeping into his tone. He probably thought he was being coy and ironic. Helsknight mostly thought it was annoying.

"The poem isn't mine," Helsknight said. "It's one you've read before. Middle English. Why have ye no routhe on my child. I don't know the title. It might just be the first line. I think it's a lament."

"... I see."

"Next time you find yourself bleeding out on someone's floor," Helsknight snorted, "Pick something stupid like that. It makes things... manageable."

"Right... manageable."

Helsknight gave a helpless sort of shrug, as though what he'd just said were perfectly normal.

Wels mustered an enviable facsimile of concern when he said, "I've never felt terror like that before."

Helsknight felt his already parched mouth somehow go drier. The sympathy he felt rolling off of Welsknight was sickening. Literally. He could feel himself becoming nauseous.

"What are you so scared of?"

Shame, red hot and searing, clawed at the inside of Helsknight's ribs. He wished so badly he could hide it. Distract himself from it. At least turn it into anger. But he was tired, and he didn't know how to bring his emotions back to heel, and Welsknight was already giving him an open, piteous look like maybe they'd stumbled onto something significant. He could feel hope there, like maybe there was a reason they hated each other like they did, and if Wels could figure out where that fear came from, they could find common ground -- or at least the leverage Wels needed to make Helsknight relent.

"I don't need your pity, white knight," Helsknight snarled. "Go sate your savior complex somewhere else."

Wels scowled. A cold wall of loathing, resigned and inevitable, closed itself around anything else he could possibly feel.

[As it should be.]

Hours later, home and safe, Helsknight cracked open his journal and wrote:

Why have you no mercy on my child?

Have mercy on me, so full of mourning;

Take down the road my dearworth child,

O give me a road with my darling!

More pain to me could not be done

Than to let me live in sorrow and shame

As with love I am bound to my son,

So let us die then, both the same.

#Situations Asks #rns asks #anonymous #tw wounds #tw blood #tw dying #tw fear #welsknight #helsknight #[jazzhands] mind the tags she's an intense one! #And also very long #4k words woooo #The poem in Middle English is Why Have Ye No Routhe On My Child #it is supposedly from the 14th century #but i had a very very hard time finding sources for it #so take that with a heavy grain of salt #i will say the middle english -> modern english translation is mine #done using the Chaucer Dictionary from the University of Cambridge #As well as the Oxford Middle English Compendium #take the translation with a grain of salt its one of maybe twice i've done something like this #but i think it stayed decently faithful to the source material #as faithful as someone who sucks at reading Middle English can make a translation anyway #rns ficlet

[incorrectbatfam]

Has Jon Kent ever met the other Jon? (Jonathan Crane)

I can only imagine how that would go...

Crane: With this organic compound, I will not only make you see your greatest fear, I will MANIFEST them.

Crane: *pushes a button*

Crane: Tremble as your worst nightmare comes to life!

Crane: *disappears*

Jon: *tears up because he's all alone*

#he is baby #jon kent #superboy #jonathan crane #scarecrow #superman #batman #superfamily #super sons #gotham rogues #dc villains #incorrect quotes #incorrect dc quotes #dc comics #headcanon #crack #tw fear

[loaflovesdoodling]

TW: HEAVY GORE, IMPLIED BONE INJURY, ANGST AND BLOOD UNDER CUT

Pleiades pleaded, as the Dollmaker's dagger dug deeper and deeper into his back, cutting right through his yellowish-colored flesh, golden blood spewing out, he had no way of fighting back, and stabs to the pancreas wouldn't have been enough to shut his cries up anymore.

His spine, she aimed at his spine. She tried to break it using her sharp blade, so she could easily rip it out of his body, leaving him absolutely motionless. She didn't care if he'd heal, like he always does, somehow; all she wanted in that moment was to make him suffer.

The warrior could feel costant hits on his vertebrae, like a hammer on a nail, it was terrifying, disturbing. painful.

His wails completely for naught. he felt a horrifying snap, followed by atrocious pain. His consciousness started fading away. All he could do... was look back.....

...and scream his heart out.

Dollmaker belongs to @ilikesillythingswooo

#WOAAHHH OKAY THIS WAS WAY TOO MUCH FOR ME HELPPP #I PROMISE I'LL NEVER WRITE OR DRAW ANYTHING THIS EXTREME ANYTIME SOON HELPPP AAGAHSHSJSBDJJS #SO SORRY IF I MADE Y'ALL UNCOMFY AAAAGSHSIDBSKSNAKANS #TO MAKE UP FOR THIS EXPECT SOME WHOLESOME DULCIADES IN THE WEEKEND <33 #kirby ocs #sir pleiades #< my goober #dollmaker #< friend's silly goober :DD #tw gore #tw blood #tw bones #tw bone injury #tw injury #tw screaming #tw angst #tw stabbing #tw crying #tw fear

[lilybug-02]

Happy October. Gotta practice my hands :P

Below are some creepy art sketches!

I often use dark and goopy eyes to illustrate horror. The dripping liquid often resembles tears. It's been a staple of my old creepy art for a long time.

#not sure how to tag all this. I just dont want to scare anybody too hard #tw gore #tw horror #horror #tw blood #blood #tw fear #my art #art #sketches

[icycoldninja]

I had this idea in my mind forever and it’s so cute :D!!! Basically DMC 4 Dante x wife reader who he saves her from a demon attack and afterwords she reviles that she is pregnant with there child

Oh yes, of course! Enjoy!

Home invasion (DMC4! Dante x Fem!Reader)

It had been a week since you took that pregnancy test after a rather passionate night with your husband Dante, where your soon-to-be motherhood was revealed. You were ecstatic, but unfortunately, weren't able to break the news to Dante because he'd left on an urgent mission, promising he'd return within a few hours.

You were sitting on your living room couch, caressing your stomach, daydreaming about how you and your baby's lives will play out. You wondered if you'd have a boy or a girl--or maybe even twins. Or triplets. Or quadruplets. Or...what was the word for 5 children born at once?

You didn't really have time to ponder the thought because you heard a low rumbling coming from ouside your living room window. Curious, you got up from your seat and peeked out the window, only to find yourself face to face with a growling, fanged demon, the only thing in between you and the vicious beast being the thin pane of glass making up your window.

Screaming, you turned and ran, barely managing to get out of the living room before the demon burst through the window and crashed into your house, snarling and clawing at the carpet. You ran through the halls of your own home, feeling more like a mouse running from a predator than anything else. You rounded the corner and dashed into your kitchen, snatching up the nearest kitchen knife in the process. You then hurried to a vacant closet and threw yourself into that, breathing heavily. Outside, you could hear the sounds of the demon tramping around, looking for you. Its clawed feet thumped against the floor; its low, bloodthirsty grumbles sent jolts of fear up your spine. You shivered, wrapping your arms around yourself and biting down on your lip hard to keep yourself quiet.

Dante, where was Dante? You never needed him more than you did now; you would have given absolutely anything for him to be here at this moment. You didn't have your phone with you, so there was no way you could call him for help. At the moment, you were trapped, hiding from a demon in a closet in your own kitchen.

You were shaking all over, hands clamped against over your mouth in an attempt to keep your whimpers of fear from escaping you. The demon stalking your hallways had searched the rest of the house already; you could tell because you heard the crashing and banging. It was only a matter of time before it got to the kitchen, and when it did, you would have no way to defend yourself save for with the knife clenched tightly in your hand.

The demon was getting closer; you could hear the sick gurgles rumbling from its' throat. You gripped the knife tighter and held it aloft in front of the closet door, fearfully awaiting the demon to open the door, where you would bring the weapon down upon it. Hopefully, at the very least, you'd be able to distract it long enough for you to escape. The inevitable soon came; the horrifically loud scraping of the demon's talons against your kitchen floor assaulted your ears, the stench of the demon's rotting body filling your nostrils. God, it was horrible. The demon neared your hiding place; you could hear its' breathing growing louder and louder. In the blink of an eye, it had lodged its' talons into the closet door, obsidian claws sinking into the wood like it were made of paper. In a second, the door was torn off its hinges and your arms were pinned above your head by the demon's powerful limbs. The knife you had planned to attack it with clattered uselessly to the floor; your plan had failed.

You stared up at the monster before you, tears brimming in your eyes. This couldn't be the end--you'd literally just found out you were pregnant! You were young, you still had so much life left to live! You simply couldn't die like this. It was wrong!

You shut your eyes, hoping that in the very least it would be a quick death, one you wouldn't have to see.

You waited, and waited, but the end never came. There was a choked gurgle, the sound of something splattering onto the floor, and then a gunshot. You opened your eyes in astonishment, shocked to see the demon, with the tip of a sword protruding from its chest, topple over into a pool of its' own blood, revealing your savior.

You'd never been more thankful to see that white hair and those shiny blue eyes in your life.

"Hey, babe," Dante whispered, lowering his sword, dropping to his knees, and holding his arms out. "I'm home." Tears streaming down your cheeks, you ran into your husband's arms, wrapping your arms around him tightly and sobbing. "I was so scared!" You wailed, burying your face in his chest. "I know, baby," He responded, holding you close and kissing your forehead. "You alright? Not hurt or anything, are ya?" You shook your head, wiping your eyes and smiling up at him. "I'm not hurt, and neither is the baby."

Dante took a second to process that. Once his brain translated and relayed the message to his emotional center, his eyes widened and his mouth fell open. "What?" Was all he could croak out. You nodded, your smile growing wider. "That's right," You squealed, "I'm pregnant!" Dante gasped, then let out some loud laughter before strangling you with a hug. "That's amazing!" He shouted, immediately smushing his lips against yours. "So awesome...we having a boy or a girl?" You laughed, snuggling into his hold. "How would I know, silly? I took the test earlier this morning."

#Dmc #Dmc4 #Dmc4 dante #Dmc dante #dante devil may cry #Devil may cry #Dante devil may cry 4 #Devil may cry 4 #Dmc4 fanfic #Dante x reader #dante x reader pregnancy #Dante x reader dmc4 #Cute #Fluff #Angst #Fear #Tw fear #requested #thanks for requesting #icycoldninja writes

[thesiblingsoftheblackandwhite]

Your dad should have kept you in the box more often. Hell, you shouldn’t have owned it in the first place if you let your brother get trapped. At least He did it on purpose.

[[VICTIM BLAMING, TRAUMATIC FLASHBACKS, PANIC ATTACK]]

Tinky’s gaze looks hazy.

Wha’ does that ev’n mean…?

A wall presses against his back. And another. And another. He slams into another cold, smooth, slippery slab. There’s another way, to his left - gaping yet narrow. Hollow looking, it stretches across, surely to another dead end. It’s not dark. It never is. Nothing but a bright yellow with sliding floors and what he’s learned is the ever-changing maze. The reflective walls loom from floor to ceiling, unclimbable. Before he can think, the passage slides away seamlessly, no longer visible behind a thick wall.

No, no, no! Please!

In desperate panic, he rams against it to claw at the bright yellow. Hooves scrape, never gripping.

Bring it back!

Pleading does nothing here. It doesn’t hear him, and he won’t either, now. He stumbles back, caught in the corner. It jolts against his warm, sweaty, fur with paralyzing cold. There is no noise but his heavy breaths, even those echo across every inch. The nothing presses against his ears. They pound loudly, hooves tugging them tight to his skin.

The yellow swirls in his vision, lacking any physicality. It shines against itself and him, bold or dark or light. Blinding all the same. There was no use in escape - there was none, he’s been warned. It tired him out, leaving him breathless and sick-feeling. If he moved his head too fast, he wouldn’t be able to walk straight anyway. Before, he had tried to find an exit.

He was left here until he was “obedient enough to consider letting out”. Though the offenses mussed together eventually. Punishment was punishment, and this was suitable for him. He had nothing but his own little toy. No other form of scolding. There was nothing more suitable for a god than this. There was nowhere to go. He could think about his actions, and their consequences, for days. If it would be allowed.

T’noy Karaxis pushes away from the wall, falling from the fort to the floor, gasping for air with glazed eyes.

#the lords in black #T’noy Karaxis #ask blog #rp blog #hatchetfield rp #Blog Event: Hatchetfield Citizens #tw abuse mention #tw fear #tw trauma #tw imprisonment #Tinky Torture Time

[saskiaxblog]

I HATE MYSELF SO FUCKING MUCH

#mentally fucked #emotions #tw selfhate #depressiv #tw self destruction #tw self destructive behavior #sadnees #depressing quotes #sad thoughts #anxienty #tw anxiety #tw eating issues #tw ed relapse #tw ed diet #tw su1c1d3 #tw ana thoughts #tw triggers #tw fear #tw sad thoughts #self destruction #sadgirl #sad but true #depressing post #darkness #dark quotes #tw hate #i hate my body #i hate myself #stany lękowe #lęk

[peanut-tyrug]

Idea for 3 and 4 I want to share

3 and 4 are shown to be both fairly recluse, but 3 appears to be slightly less recluse than 4, which can be seen in their promotional poster

3 is peering further past the book, a smile on their face, unlike 4, who appears to be more afraid and scared of moving forward

I’ve dug deeper into this though

Again, both of the twins are recluse, but 4 appears to more afraid than 3. In most instances, 4 can be seen hiding behind 3, or 3 is comforting 4. There are instances where the roles are swapped, but again, 4 appears to be more recluse than 3

I feel like 3 and 4 have a bit of an “older sibling/younger sibling” dynamic. 3 is the older twin, so 4, the youngest, clings to their older sibling for protection, like how a younger sibling would hide behind their older sibling for the same reason

#shane acker's 9 #3 #4 #tw long text #tw long post #tw mourning #tw fear

[delicatechildwitch]

Spores be upon yeeeee

Donatello stared as his latest customer left, happy with their new item. As expected, his friendship bracelets were popular. He pulls out his cell phone to text his success to Casey Junior. He switches to his conversation with Mikey, but before he could ask him to make more candies for his stall, a new customer walks up. Or ... Floats?

Not one to judge potential customers, Donatello turns to the hand, and tries to sound like the kid he appeared to be. "Enjoying the competition? I have souvenirs if you want them, snacks if you're hungry. It's all for affordable prices."

The hand flicks blue dust in his face, and Donatello rears back, falling off his chair.

He woke up, still in his cell. His ninpo shuddered, as something within his very soul took him apart.

"Stop fighting it." Krang One says, "Sooner or later, your soul will belong to us."

A chill runs down Don's spine. Already, he felt the bloodlust, the coldness in his soul. He wouldn't last much longer.

"Stubborn." The Krang whispers. "It won't last long."

And then he was gone.

And then he was many.

He was Krang.

He stood before his brothers, and held out a hand, forming a weapon around it. A gun, like what those useless humans and yokai liked to use. He aims it for Leonardo's head and squeezed the trigger.

"Donatello!" Michelangelo exclaimed. The name wasn't familiar. He wasn't Donatello. He was a Krang. He was-

"Donatello!" Michelangelo says again. The voice wasn't right. Too young. Too ...

"Uncle Tello!" The voice screams, and Donatello looks over to find Casey Junior next to him.

He was in a large room. People milled about, some looking at him from nearby. There was a bin of t-shirts next to him, knocked over.

"You're okay. You're safe." Casey says, putting his hand on Don's shoulder.

"You should kill me." Donatello whispers. "It's still there. I'm still a threat." Any moment the Krang would consume him. Use his soul as a template for weapons. Just like they did with Raph.

Casey pulls his hand away as if he was burnt. "Not again."

"Casey, I can't-"

"I can't!" Casey almost sobs out the words. "I-"

Don watches as Casey breaks down sobbing, covering his mouth.

After a second, Donatello pulls the kid into a hug. "Hey. I'm sorry. It's a big ask."

"I keep doing this. I keep almost killing people."

"No!" Donatello says, perhaps too forcefully. "Case, you're a healer. A healer in a bad situation, but you don't kill people."

Casey looks like he has more to say, but he keeps it in, wrapping his arms around himself as if to keep himself together.

Donatello wonders if he should pry. Or comfort. He wishes he could just fix the problem, but he was the problem here.

"You don't have to worry about the Krang anymore, Unc- Donatello."

He trails off. Casey offers him a flat smile. "You were hallucinating. I understand."

Don winces. Did he screw up? Was that why he wasn't calling him Uncle anymore? Still, he can feel his brain beginning to un-fog. He realized his soul didn't feel cold and his ninpo felt like his own. "I- Right. Uh, I am sorry. For ... For suggesting you ..."

Donatello shudders, trying to push away the residual brain fog. Trying to push away the memories.

"I suppose we should clean up." He says, brushing himself off and trying not to act unsettled.

#Casey got a distress signal. #I guess. #I don't know. #rottmnt #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt future donnie #turtle tot donnie #old soul au #tw fear #tw sui ideation #tw sucidal ideation #tw trauma #fratricide #tw mentioned major character death #Fear spores #tw hallucinations #old soul shop 2024 #tmnt au competition #supporter aus #au interaction #tmnt au interaction #old soul au noncanon

[thegizardofmars]

It's honestly sad to see the phrase "Delulu is the solulu" being thrown around as a cute little quirky phrase, when in reality delusions are life ruining and destroy your mental health.

Three things I've done/are doing because of my delusions:

1. I rarely if ever eat at a restaurant or other peoples cooking because I'm afraid of being poisoned. I literally have a cabinet of canned food I keep just to keep the paranoia away.

2. I've destroyed two phones and a TV (all of them my own property) in the past because I thought people were watching me through them.

3. I don't trust any mirrors in bathrooms (unless it's in my own house) because I believe there are people watching me from behind them.

#its exhausting #personal #mental health #tw delusion #schizoaffective #schizophrenia #paranoia #tw paranoia #tw food #tw fear

[holysugu]

predator/prey with alpha!getou is heavy on the brain tonight !!!!!!

cw ~ predator/prey, stalking, fear, getou chasing the reader in the woods. (let me know if i missed anything else!)

getou moves so quietly, so smoothly.

The only way you'd be able to tell he's near is by his scent. It's potent and spicy, tickling your nose as you take in deep inhales, eyes searching the wooded area around you to catch a glimpse of the source.

The tiny hairs on the back of your neck stood straight, sending pinpricks down your back and over your arms.

You felt your throat tighten, your body starting to shake in fear as you grew uneasy.

Where was that scent coming from?

You strained your ears, trying to listen for any sound at all, but all you got was the sound of the night wind whistling through the tall trees.

You couldn't move, far too scared to bolt through the dark woods so late at night. Who knows what else was out here?

“He-llo?” you called, voice mixing with the wind as it cracked in your swollen throat. You stayed silent, listening for any response.

Your heartbeat filled your ears, pounding inside your head, too loud for you to notice the wind had stopped. The woods came to a stand-still.

You opened your mouth to call again when you heard a twig snap behind you. You whipped your head around to look for the source of the intrusion. All you were met with was the tall trees and shrubs you'd seen before. No misplaced shadows or forms resembling human figures.

You turned your head back around only to be met with a dark form right in front of you. You stumbled back, falling hard on your back. Your hands dug into the dirt underneath you, caking underneath your nails.

The moonbeams created a halo over his head. If you didn't know any better, you would've mistaken him for an angel.

He smiled chillingly,

“You really have to pay more attention to your surroundings. It's dangerous out here at night.”

His voice was hauntingly smooth. A sweet contrast to the musk that was repeatedly being fed to you in intentional waves.

You stayed sitting on the dirt, fear prickling all over your body. You gulped, digging your hands deeper into the dirt, hoping it would help ground you in some way.

He stood there, not moving, only smiling at you softly as he slowly tilted his head.

“What's got you shaking like a leaf, hm?”

He knew the answer, eyes darkening as he looked at you.

He stalked forward, steps inhumanly quiet. Before his shadow enveloped you, you pushed yourself up, scrambling against the dirt in a hurry onto your feet.

You didn't dare look behind you as you weave through the trees, pushing yourself off the rough bark as you plead silently to anyone that was listening.

You saw twinkles of light in the distance, a clear sign of other people. Your saving grace.

You reached out toward the light, getting closer and closer, vision blurring with tears as you smiled.

You felt a warm hand grip the scruff of your neck, pulling you back into the depths of the woods. The light no longer in your sight.

You hit the ground with a strained exhale, coughing sharply as you gasped for breath. Familiar spicy musk fills your lungs, a heavy form pressing you back into the soil.

"Caught you."

#getou x reader #geto x reader #jjk x reader #alpha getou #tw a/b/o #tw predator/prey #tw fear #tw stalking

[writingquestionsanswered]

Daughter Terrified of King Father

Anonymous asked: I'm planning renaissance story where a king takes an infant as his ward/hostage because her father was believed to be a rebel leader and the king wanted to control him and extract information out of him. A few days after he was executed, it was found he was not a traitor but framed by his enemies. The king and queen loved the child and raised her like their own. She was close with both of them, but years later when she finds out the truth, she is devastated and scared of her dad/the king. He loves his daughter very much and feels bad to see her devastated. He tries to console her and apologize but she keeps crying and is terrified of him. What could he do to console her and reassure her, take the fear from her mind, and lessen her emotional pain?

[Ask edited for length]

You have the beginnings of something interesting here, but it doesn't quite work as-is for a number of reasons, and I want to get to those before we get to your specific question.

First and foremost, I'm struggling the the basis of the wardship. While taking someone's child as a ward can be an effective means to control them, it's probably not a great way to get information out of them unless the king said, "tell us what we want to know and you get your child back," which is a straight up hostage and not a ward at all. However, this falls apart a bit when the goal is execution, because the father is never going to see his infant again anyway. Also: where is the infant's mother, and why did the king and queen still keep her even after the execution? Are they punishing the mom for the father's apparent rebellion? (We'll circle back around to this in a bit...)

My next concern is I'm not sure why learning "the truth" would make the girl terrified of her father/the king. Executing traitors was a normal part of what monarchies did back then, and the girl would have known this. In fact, if she was raised as part of the royal family, she would likely attend important executions with her family once she was older. It would certainly be shocking to learn that her biological father was executed for treason and was found innocent a few days later--and she could be hurt and angry that this truth wasn't shared with her sooner--but it shouldn't strike fear into her heart. It's not as though her father/the king intentionally murdered an innocent man in cold blood. By executing a traitor, he was doing his duty to protect the kingdom--it wasn't his fault he had bad information. Even if that bad information was the result of negligence on his part, that still shouldn't terrify his adoptive daughter. Disappoint and anger her, yes. Terrify, no.

So, I don't personally feel that "terror" is the right thing to go for here. I think you'd want to concentrate more on the hurt of not being told the truth. Even though she has no connection to her birth parents outside of genetics--and would certainly have no memories of them--people like to know their roots, and she could feel quite betrayed learning that she's not actually of royal blood and that her father was executed for treason. The wrongful part would sting a little bit as well, even though she would hopefully understand that wasn't the king's fault. And then I think learning that there is or was a bio mom out there would sting, too, especially if she has since died and not being told about her sooner robbed the daughter of the chance to get to know her.

I think in this case, the king would console his daughter by explaining the circumstances of what happened. What he believed was true about her father--the reasons why he was believed to be dangerous and needed to be stopped. As well as the fact that he had been framed by his enemies, so the crown believed he was truly guilty of being a rebel leader. He might also try to explain why they chose to keep this information from her why they kept her instead of giving her back to the bio mom (there would need to be a really good reason), and then he might say some things to drive home how much he and the queen genuinely love her and have always seen her as their true daughter.

I hope that helps!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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#tw death #tw execution #tw fear #wqaadvice

[ravenzeppeli]

Claimed

Chapter 29 - Willing to Forgive, Definitely Won't Forget |Soft Yandere Melone x Reader Fluff|

Warning: strong language, nudity [forced]. MA.

"I am so sorry that I've been lying to you," you told Melone as soon as he closed your bedroom door. "I didn't want to lie to you. I did it because I didn't want you to attack Formaggio or Prosciutto, I don't want you getting hurt." You spoke quickly, immediately letting him know what you truly didn't mean to lie to him. You loved Melone and wanted to keep him safe.

Melone locked your bedroom door, making you nervous. When Prosciutto locks your door, it usually means you're about to get beat. Was he really going to spank you for lying to him? Your ass still hurt so bad from last night. You only lied to protect him. You didn't want him making enemies with the other men.

"It's okay, baby," he muttered, sighing as he turned to face you, tears in his eyes. "Baby.. you need to be honest with me. How badly did he hurt you? Please just let me see it, I want to see. What if you get an infection and die?" He looked genuinely worried, tears now rolling down his face. "I need to know."

No way in hell were you going to pull down your fucking pants in front of him and show him your bruised ass, the thought of it making your cheeks heat up slighly. It was so hard being comfortable seen naked, you've never just been naked around someone.

"No," you replied softly, his head dropping. "It's.. I don't want you to have to see that. I'm fine, I promise. You don't need to worry." You weren't in any pain right now due to the pain pills that Formaggio gave you. He only gave you a few, saying he doesn't want you to get addicted, so you've been rationing them out.

"I'm sorry baby, I hate to do this," he muttered. He quickly stepped towards you, hands wrapping around your waist as he spun you around. He pulled your pants down before you could stop him, your cast making your left hand useless as you tried to smack his hands away. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he kept repeating as he pulled down your underwear.

Tears filled your eyes, your face turning completely red. You weren't surprised, but you still felt humiliated. "I didn't want you to see!" You yelled at him, bending down to quickly pull up your pants, but he stopped you, his grasp weak, hands shaking. You could easily pull away.. but you didn't. It was too late anyways, pulling away would be pointless.

"Because you knew how fucking bad it was!" He yelled back suddenly, letting you go. "I can't.. I.. I.." you heard his footsteps trailing off, causing you to immediately turn around. "I'll beat the fuck out of him."

You pulled your pants up quickly, a low whimper escaping your lips as your underwear and pants rubbed against your ass. "Please don't!" That caused him to freeze up by the door, his back turned towards you. "Please! If you do, I'll never talk to you again!"

"What?" He muttered, his tone going dark, almost dangerous. "You'll never talk to me again? Are you fucking kidding me? You're my girlfriend!" He yelled, turning back to face you. "You will be my wife one day, how dare you say you'll never speak to me again!"

You looked down, the sudden aggression in his voice causing you to go silent. Are all seven of your boyfriends violent men? Did their lifestyle really fuck them up that badly? You're starting to feel trapped, like you can't speak freely or be yourself anymore.

Softly, his black dress shoes tapped against your floor, creeping towards you. "I'm not trying to make you sad, I'm sorry. I just love you so much, and I can't stand seeing those jack asses destroy you." He wrapped a hand around your waist, pulling you towards him. "Please don't be mad at me. I wouldn't hurt you."

It was difficult for you to say your true feelings out loud. You didn't want to express your love and one day get hurt, you didn't want for him to know how much you loved him, but you felt like him knowing that you loved him would make him calm down. You needed to tell him something that would make him calm down and not attack Prosciutto. You didn't want to cause violence amongst the group. The men fighting each other was something you did not want. You wanted all seven of the men to get along.

"I love you the most, and I loved you first," you replied. Melone likes honesty. That's exactly what you were going to give him. "I want all seven of you getting along and not physically fighting each other. You need to take into consideration that I'm stuck with Prosciutto. I want to be with you, but I'm stuck with Prosciutto, so I just have to tough it out. And you can't go hitting the other men. That stresses me out. I want you safe. Please, Melone."

You let your arms wrap around him, hugging his slender body, hoping that he wouldn't do anything drastic. You loved him, and you found yourself making excuses for his actions. Melone was really good to you, he was a great boyfriend, so you could talk him down instead of get mad at him. He deserved your love, not your anger.

"It's so good to hear that you actually want to me with me. Even if you're lying to me, I don't care, I'm so happy to hear it," he replied, voice soft as his arms wrapped around you, cool hands running up and down your back. "I want to beat the shit out of Prosciutto, but you are right. I am sad that you won't let me defend you, but I understand why. I'll keep my distance from him until I'm able to talk to him once more."

"I never wanted to lie to you in the first place," you told him. Lying to him was hard, and you regretted it, but you would lie to him if it meant protecting him. "If I lie, it's to protect you, Melone. Me loving and wanting you isn't a lie. I'm in love with you, and I love Pesci. The others are okay, and I care for them."

"Do you like Ghiaccio? He's a really good guy." Melone rested his chin on top of your head, a low sigh escaping his lips. "You need to come to me. Come to Ghiaccio. Come to Pesci. Do you really need to go to Formaggio or Illuso when you feel unsafe? You need to go to someone who won't hurt you."

You and Formaggio were starting to grow a friendship before he ended up breaking your fingers. You still found that friendship forming again, but you were cautious. At the end of the day, Formaggio had still cheated on you and hurt you, so you'll never let yourself fall in love with him. Like is as far as you'll go. Maybe if you ever get hurt again, you should just go to a hotel. Your boyfriends seem to make situations worse.

"I like Ghiaccio." You did like Ghiaccio. He was a good boyfriend to you. The two of you haven't moved past the making out stage yet, but you weren't going to pressure him for sex. He could take all the time he needed. You knew his situation with losing his fiancé and unborn child seven years ago. You were fine with him wanting to move slow. He was good to you, and his temper didn't bother you. He yelled, but he never made you feel unsafe.

Maybe Melone was right. Also, should you really run off to a hotel when you have boyfriends willing to actually treat you well and protect you? Shouldn't you be leaning on them more? It felt wrong running off to stay somewhere alone while being in relationships. Maybe you shouldn't consider that option. It might be a bad idea to run off when a situation occurs. You feel like you could start trusting Melone fully.

Melone pulled away from you, blue eyes staring down at you, his hands staying locked around your waist. "Listen to me.. you are my entire life. You are my universe, my reason for existence." His eyes landed on your lips. "You're my soulmate."

You stood on your tip-toes, planting a soft kiss on his lips, pink immediately dusting across his cheeks, a wide smile forming on his soft lips. "I love you, and you are my favorite. I'm going to be spending the night with you as soon as possible so we can spend some alone time together." You wanted to perk up his mood. You hated seeing him so stressed out and pained over you.

"Where are you staying tonight?" He muttered. "You need to be taken care of. You're hurt. I need to take care of you."

You were supposed to stay with him anyways, you were only going to stay with Illuso a second night because of the lie. "I need to go see Pesci, and then I'll just go to your place afterward." Illuso wouldn't mine, considering you already spent plenty of time with him last night, despite most of that time being him sitting in silence. He seemed off.. you wondered what he was thinking.

"Call me when you are done at Pesci's, then I will come pick you up," he said, squinting his eyes at you as you shot him a dissatisfied glare. "You aren't walking to my house, I may be only a 10 minute walking distance away from Pesci's place, but you're hurt. You aren't walking in this condition."

You were in no mood to argue with Melone, and you also didn't really feel like walking today. "Fine. I'll call you when I'm done."

He smiled, leaning down, placing a small kiss on the tip of your nose. "Thank you, baby. I'll take you to see Pesci now. You don't need to rush. Take your time talking with him."

You nodded. You were going to apologize to Pesci. You felt terrible for talking to him so poorly. He wasn't the one you should be talking to like that. You just wanted to keep him out of all the drama. You needed to hurry up and go to him, try and make things right. You hoped that he wasn't upset with you.

#tw nudity #tw nude #tw forced #tw blood #tw dark content #tw dark themes #tw threats #tw yandere #tw everything #ravenzeppeli #jojos bizarre adventure #jjba #la squadra #tw strong language #tw adult themes #tw language #la squadra claimed #tw mature #claimed la squadra #ravenzeppeli claimed #tw fear

[anti-endo-haven]

cw end of the world talk death talk delusion talk idk i’m just paranoid sui talk as well

//

i don’t wanna die i don’t want the world to end i don’t want the world to end i want to be safe i’m scared to go outside i’m scared to move because if i move the world will end i’m scared i’m so scared i’m so scared and i’m so close to ending it myself so i don’t have to suffer with this paranoid anymore so i don’t have to suffer

i want to wake up tomorrow i’m so scared i won’t

i’m scared to look at the moon i’m scared to see the sun i’m scared i’m scare i’m scared

i cant hear any natural sound without wanting to cry and being scared the world will end i

i know it’s just windy and rainy but i’m scared

i wanna be safe i don’t feel safe

-🪐🫀

The world won’t end from an eclipse. It’s fearmongering from assholes that want to cause issues for everyone and send the fear of some rapture. The world isn’t ending.

You are safe, it is okay to move. The moon is saying hello to the sun and just being friendly again. They haven’t seen each other so they want to be able to say hi.

The world will be here tomorrow so don’t give up on it. You are safe.

It’s okay.

#🪐🫀 #tw paranoia mention #tw paranoia #tw world ending talk #tw talk about the world ending #tw Christian fear mongering #tw fear #tw death talk #tw talk of delusions #tw talk of death #tw sui mention #tw suicide implied #tw suicide mention #tw sui talk #tw suicide talk #tw sui ideation #tw suicidality #tw suicide ideation #tw suicidal ideation #tw talk of the end of the world #tw end of the world talk