Tw: Death - Blog Posts

There is so much to say but I don’t have the words right now. All I can say is that he was such an inspiration and that I am going to miss him so much.

I sobbed when I watched the video, and for a while after too. It’s okay to mourn and grieve. Techno was such an amazing person and he did so much for so many of us. My heart goes out to everyone who has cared about him, particularly his friends and family. Sending hugs to everyone that needs it, because god knows I do

If you can, please donate to the sarcoma foundation or buy his merch, and check in on anyone you know who might be affected by his passing. And please, please be respectful to other content creators - don’t spam their chats or make them feel pressured to talk about it

Fly high Alex Technoblade. You will live forever in our hearts

Some art for what I am tentatively calling my Frankentwins AU!

Uncolored ver. below cut

Guess who's going on an amasai writing binge

Me

@amasaiweek day 3: family/forgiveness

*sigh* alright here we go

Tw for: knives/scalpels, blood, death/dead bodies, literally the whole thing is angst so look out

Lots of spoilers for @kagazuly 's beta au fic!! Don't read if you haven't gotten past chapter 3!!

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There was a blade pressed against Shuichi's throat.

It had all happened so quickly. He had gone to check on the medic in the warehouse, and-

And there was a hand on his wrist, and a sudden falling, and a weight on his chest so that he could just barely breathe if he made his breaths shallow enough. And there was the sharp, bitter sting of the knife at his throat.

Shuichi was going to die, just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. All because of- he looked up at his killer's face- Rantaro?

Rantaro?

But-

But he was our leader, the person most dedicated to ending the game, the violinist thought. We trusted him more than we trusted ourselves and each other.

It was all an act, then, huh? He got us to trust him, and now he's going to kill me and escape, probably.

He looked up at the green-haired man's face again. His eyes were wild, feral, as if he was driven by instinct rather than his morals. An idea came to Shuichi. Could... Monokuma have brought back the Despair Disease? No, I'd think that repeating the same motive twice would be too boring for Monokuma... Then, did Rantaro have it all this time since looking after the patients, and managed to fool even the mastermind into thinking he didn't have it?

The blade pressed closer to Shuichi's neck, and he felt warm blood slide down onto the floor beneath him.

This was not the Rantaro he knew.

Memories of the previous trial came flooding to him, of Himiko's dismembered body, the blood spilling in a scarlet puddle on the tile, stained weapons scattered around, Angie's crazed face when the others figured out she had the Bloodlust Disease. The man above Shuichi looked like that now, ruined by his own Bloodlust Disease.

He was going to die.

Shuichi was going to die.

Hesitantly, he looked the medic in the eyes. "R-Rantaro?"

Time seemed to stop for a moment.

Rantaro's breathing slowed. Shuichi felt the blade slip away from him, and the medic put what Shuichi could now see was a scalpel in his pocket.

Rantaro let out a sigh, shut his eyes, and stood back up, turning to face whatever he'd been doing before. He paused and, without looking back, tossed an alcohol wipe from his pocket to Shuichi.

"Sorry. I thought you were going to kill me. Use this, it'll clean up the wound, and there's plenty of bandages in my lab," he said nonchalantly.

"You... You thought I was going to kill you?!"

The blonde boy stood.

"Dont think I'm gonna forgive you that easily, Rantaro."

"Fine."

"I... I COULD HAVE DIED!!'

"If you're just going to yell at me, go work your issues out with Kiyo. I'm the medic here, not the therapist."

He turned his head to look at Shuichi.

"Besides," he said in a stern yet ominous whisper, "it's not like I havent killed anyone before."

Shuichi froze in terror. "W-Wha-"

"Even medics have to kill to survive, sometimes. War is war. I'm not the only one, either. Most of us have been the cause of another's death, in one way or another. We're all killers, Shuichi. Killers all crammed into one place, under circumstances that mean we can't help but distrust each other, no matter how much we try to tell ourselves we have allies. Reminds me of the battlefield, now that I think about it."

What... was Rantaro saying?... They couldn't... trust anyone, that was true, but...

He took a few cautious steps toward the doorway and was going to leave, when he heard the medic speak again.

"Hey, Shuichi?"

"What?"

"You said you won't forgive me, right?"

"Um, yeah."

"See what I mean?"

"What?"

"You see, Shuichi,

"There's no forgiveness on the battlefield."

Past..

Tw: blood, death

Childhood Bites Chapter Three: No One Will Miss Him

⚠️TW: Graphic, Blood, Violence, Death, Cannibalism⚠️

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒰ঌ‪‪𐂯‬໒꒱꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦

The first hit shattered something.

Zeke wasn’t sure if it was bone or resolve.

The bat connected with Campelter’s ribs, sending a shockwave through Zeke’s arms. The crack was sickening, a sharp, wet sound that mingled with the boy’s scream.

Campelter collapsed onto the dock, curling in on himself. His breath came in ragged gasps. “Zeke—w-wait—”

Another swing.

This time, it caught his knee. Something popped.

Campelter wailed, clutching his leg, writhing on the wooden planks.

Zeke stood over him, bat gripped tight, chest heaving.

This should feel wrong.

He should be shaking, throwing up, panicking.

But he wasn’t.

He was calm. Steady.

And hungry.

The familiar ache twisted in his gut, gnawing at his insides, demanding more. He swallowed hard, his tongue darting over his lips.

Campelter coughed, blood dribbling from his mouth. His good hand reached out, weak and trembling. “P-please…”

Zeke tilted his head.

He should stop.

He could still walk away.

But then he thought of Stan and Ford—how Campelter had tormented them, laughed at them, humiliated them.

And suddenly, the decision wasn’t hard anymore.

Zeke dropped the bat and straddled Campelter’s chest, pinning him down. The other boy squirmed weakly beneath him, his strength draining fast.

Zeke’s breath came slow and deliberate. He leaned in close, his lips brushing against Campelter’s ear. “You smell delicious.”

Then he sank his teeth in.

The taste exploded in his mouth—copper, salt, warmth. The skin split beneath his teeth, muscle tearing as he bit down harder. Campelter’s body jerked violently, his muffled screams ripping through the night.

Zeke didn’t stop.

Couldn’t stop.

He ripped away the first mouthful, blood coating his tongue, thicker than anything he’d ever eaten before.

It was intoxicating.

Campelter’s screams weakened into gasping whimpers. Zeke barely heard him. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, drowning out everything except the wet, sticky sounds of chewing.

His fingers dug into Campelter’s flesh, prying open the wound, sinking his teeth into raw muscle, devouring.

Bite after bite.

It was better than food.

Better than anything.

The hunger that had tormented him his whole life, the emptiness in his gut—it was gone.

And for the first time, Zeke felt whole.

Hours Later

The night stretched on, the waves lapping softly against the shore. The wooden dock was painted red, but Zeke didn’t notice.

He sat cross-legged beside what was left.

Which wasn’t much.

Flesh, muscle, organs—all gone.

Picked clean.

His hands were drenched in blood, sticky and drying, his face smeared crimson. His stomach was full, warm, satisfied.

All that remained of Campelter were bones.

Zeke wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, exhaling slowly.

He stared down at the remains, waiting for guilt to settle in.

Nothing came.

No regret. No horror.

Only the quiet, absolute certainty that this had been worth it.

Campelter had been a bully.

He made Stan and Ford cry.

He hurt people.

No one would notice when he was gone.

Zeke got to his feet, stretching. He glanced down at the bones, tilting his head. He could leave them, let the ocean take them.

But no.

He didn’t like leaving things unfinished.

One by one, he gathered them up, taking his time. The dock was surrounded by tall, wild grass, the kind that no one ever bothered to clear. Zeke buried the bones there, deep in the sand, hidden beneath tangled roots.

It felt right.

Like cleaning up after a good meal.

Weeks go by the summer sun hung high over Glass Shard Beach, casting golden light over the waves. The air smelled of salt and motor oil, the usual scent of work and freedom.

Zeke walked alongside Stan and Ford, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. The three of them were heading toward the shore, where the half-built Stan-O-War sat waiting for its daily dose of fixing, hammering, and general goofing off.

“Okay, hear me out,” Stan said, kicking a loose rock down the sidewalk. “We steal one of Ma’s pies, but we take it before it cools down so she won’t notice it’s missing until, like… way later.”

Ford pushed his glasses up. “That’s the dumbest plan I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah, because it’s foolproof!”

Ford sighed, shaking his head, and Zeke chuckled softly.

Just a normal day.

But then—

Stan suddenly stopped in his tracks.

Ford followed suit, and Zeke nearly bumped into them.

“What the—?” Zeke started, but then he saw what they were looking at.

A poster.

Taped to a telephone pole, the edges curling from the breeze.

MISSING: CAMPBELL ‘CAMPELTER’ HAYNES.

LAST SEEN AT GLASS SHARD BEACH.

A washed-out photo of his face stared back at them, smiling wide like he hadn’t screamed and begged for his life just weeks ago.

Zeke’s stomach twisted—not in fear, but in satisfaction.

It was almost funny.

Nothing left but bones, buried deep beneath the sand. No one would ever find him.

“Whoa,” Stan muttered, stepping closer. “So, wait—Campelter’s just… gone?”

Ford frowned. “Looks like it. His parents must’ve put these up.”

“Yeah, well, good riddance.” Stan crossed his arms. “That guy was a jerk. Maybe he ran away or something.”

Ford, ever the cautious one, didn’t look so convinced. “I don’t know… He was a bully, but this is weird. People don’t just vanish.”

Zeke felt Ford’s gaze shift toward him, and for a split second, his stomach tightened.

Ford had a way of noticing things.

But Zeke just shrugged, keeping his face neutral. “Guess we won’t have to deal with him anymore.”

Stan snorted. “Yeah, no complaints here.”

Ford hesitated, then slowly nodded. “I suppose.”

And just like that, the moment passed.

Zeke let out a slow, careful breath, glancing at the poster one last time.

No one will ever know.

The three of them continued walking toward the Stan-O-War, the conversation already shifting to something else.

Stan was laughing.

Ford was rambling about an idea for an engine upgrade.

And Zeke?

Zeke was still hungry.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

TW: death

So... If you don't know, TinFoilChef also known as TFC has passed away recently... I personally never watched him but he's still a huge part of the hermitcraft community and person lost... My regards go out to his family, friends and community... He will be missed dearly...

This year's truly has been horrible... First Techno and now TFC...

We'll miss you big guy... Hope you rest well. Your legacy shall live on with us, and you shall stay in everyone's hearts and in spirit. Thank you for all you've done. The blood God shall live on!

TW: IMPLIED DEATH, SCREAMING^

No art for today. But here, have some memes I made, I think that’s fine to post on my art account?

I actually love Reggie’s design and the artsyle, don’t take it the wrong way! But his squinting eyes impulsively reminds me of Trump...

Reminder that Jughead plays Zelda

!MAJOR GORE! 

I finished the WIP. I don’t usually draw much gore, but I did want to draw this. Trying your best to make something look as scary/disturbing as possible is definitely a challenge, props to all the horror game creators!

Reaper

This one has kind of a tarot card vibe and even though the body and outfit is really simplistic, I do like this one. I took the liberty to replace his scythe partly because I’m lazy and partly because a knife is a more threatening and useful weapon in my opinion. Lineart only version below cut 

Masterpost

Carnivore

Venom, don’t eat that random guy- noooo!

Masterpost

Feather

I will finish this! Sorry for another WIP! Also, this probably counts as cheating but feather (fjäder) means mechanical spring (and feather) in my mother tongue so it was the only thing I could think about

FINISHED DRAWING 

Masterpost

You are just a fragment of my imagination

it feels insulting to cry out loud

when some have loved and lost you

and I've only lost.

It was a Thursday evening, near twilight when they brought them in. A large, burly man with tattoos, and a skinny man whose skin was clear of mark or blemish – he was, indeed, remarkably attractive to the inobservant outsider, who did not know why they were sent here.

Dressed in orange jumpsuits, they were escorted from the prison bus to the building – a fancy modernist apartment building, surrounded on all sides by desert, and at a nearer radius, a barbed-wire fence. They were brought to the fence-gate – a sturdy, steel affair – where a guard station stood. The guard inside was chewing nicotine gum as the two approached, and he pushed a single button to open the gate. As it opened, he stepped outside the box, to speak to them.

Chained at the hands behind their back and at their ankles, the prisoners were flanked by guards dressed in full riot gear. The man from the guard station raised a hand when they were a  couple meters away, and they stopped.

“Hello, prisoners 22998 and 22999. Pardon the cliché, but welcome to hell.”

The prisoners both looked at the finely-made but arguably poorly maintained apartment building, looked at the guard, but remained silent.

“You see, back a few years, we decided to switch up the usual ‘executioner’ method.”

Gesturing grandly at the building behind him by spreading his arms.

“This is the grand Hotel Del Gran Inferno; jewel of Great Basin. Or at least, that was the plan.”

He looked up at the sky and laughed.

“Here, four hundred years ago, a band of Spanish conquistadors slaughtered a group of native americans that fled here. They say that it’s that blood that created the great evil that stays here.”

He looked back at his prisoners, and crossed his arms at his chest.

“But, I doubt that. I think what’s here is older – something of blood, something that draws tragedy to it, not the other way around. Either way,” he said, “The hotel never saw a single customer, and every worker on it – some four hundred men and women, not to mention their children – has died of some accident working on it. As such, it is partly unfinished. But it still stands.”

He pointed at his prisoners. “You’ll spend the rest of your days here, prey for whatever devil haunts these halls. Don’t worry,” he laughs again, this time a somewhat manic sound, “It won’t be many days. None have lasted the night. Running only ever gets you so far.”

The prisoners remained silent. No one had told them about this transfer, but they handled their surprise well. After all, they’d been on death row for quite some time.

The man from the guardhouse gestured on, and the guards flanking them walked them to the inside of the gate, unshackled them, threw them forward, and shut the gate behind them, locking it with a thick padlock.

“Good luck,” said the guard, blowing the pair a kiss. “We’ll be by in the morning to collect your corpses.”

With that, they all climbed into the bus and left. The skinny prisoner walked to the gates and heard the buzzing. Looking at it, he could tell that touching it would probably blast him back a few feet. Looking at his newfound prisonmate, he hatched a plan within seconds. Waving the man forward, he seized the man by the throat and bodily pushed him back-first into the fence. The larger man screamed as the electricity coursed through him and blackened the flesh it touched. The skinny man then jumped, clambered up the man, and jumped over the top of the fence. Landing with a roll, he looked back and laughed at the larger man, now collapsed on the ground, as he turned and ran towards the sunset.

By the middle of the night, he had made good progress forward and had found enough wood lying around to build a simple fire. Lighting it with flint, he sat at it and looked at the stars. Soon he’d be free again. Licking his lips, he laughed. Demons, he laughed. What nonsense. Soon he’d be free to be the only demon the world ever needed – soon he could kill again.

Closing his eyes, thinking he needed sleep, he turned away from the fire. Then, he heard it. Bolting upright and smiling, he recognized the sound. It was a young girl singing, singing a nursery rhyme he knew well.

“London bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down…”

He looked and saw the source. A girl with her back turned to him. No older than nine, with blonde hair, she was his preferred prey. Wetting his teeth with his tongue, he growled, a low, bestial sound. He snuck up behind her as she finished the tune.

“My fair lady…”

As he got close behind her, she turned, and he saw her face.

It was a face he recognized. One of his… a child he had taken and done away with as he pleased. Her screams were still fresh in his mind. But she was different now. Her throat he had cut, and the mark she bore – dried blood, at first unseen to him, was prevalent across her front. Her skin was bloated, from the bog in which he had left her, and maggots crawled visibly through her face.

Her eyes were white, with no visible iris or pupil.

Too late to avoid, she gripped him by the throat with one rotting hand and threw him back towards his impromptu encampment. She laughed, a childish noise undercut by something much deeper and darker. The very night seemed to shroud her as she approached, and she walked towards him.

He got up, looking for a way out, and tried to run away, for he was a simple creature – fighting or fleeing was all that came naturally to him. But he was unaccustomed to being prey – and what he was fighting was a far better predator than him.

With unnatural speed she bowled him over, and had him again by his throat. Her form seemed to stretch to unnatural proportions as she lifted him by the throat, off the ground. She laughed, “Why did you do it? Why did you kill me?”

He struggled at her grasp, trying to rip his way free, but her grip was solid. Far more solid than any young girl’s should be. The wind stirred around them into a near whirlwind, as she continued to speak.

“Why did you kill me, to sate the beast inside you? The truth is there, no matter how you pretend. You aren’t a demon. You aren’t even a man. You are… scum.”

She lifted her head up, revealing her neck to be not slit like he had done to the girl, but a ravenous maw.

“Burn,” she said simply, and threw him onto his fire. Screaming as he was set alight, he felt his limbs stretched out as if being drawn and quartered, and spiked pieces of ashwood pierced has hands and feet. He could not move as he felt his body burn, and the last sight he had was of the creature’s maw opening wider and wider, as if to consume all he was, body and soul.

Meanwhile, back at the Hotel, his betrayed fellow inmate was waking up, feeling like his head had been split in two. Looking at the fence and remembering what had happened, he found himself cursing the man who had left him there under his breath. “Damned little slippery bastard.”

Looking around, he saw nothing, but the abandoned building, and felt the cold. He decided it was probably best to go into the hotel, regardless of what the guards had said to him. If the place was haunted, it would hardly be a better end to freeze to death. If he was going to die, he was going to die inside.

Opening the door, he found himself in a spacious atrium, with a finely-made wooden staircase with red carpet. The place looked to have been fit for a king. He wandered down a darkened hallway, and tried the light switch. Nothing turned on. Sighing, he wandered still, into what he thought was a kitchen. Finding his way around in the dark, he found a couple full bottles, probably hidden there by one of the deceased workers. Wandering back to the atrium, and by the light of the moon, saw it was a bottle of orange Absolute and a bottle of Captain Morgan. Fit for a king. Taking a swig of the Absolute, he wiped his face, and sat on the staircase. What was he going to do now? He couldn’t run the same way the other had. Even if he did, he’d die of dehydration before he made it there. The liquor wouldn’t help, after all. He took another swig.

And what if the guard had been honest? What if this place was going to kill him? Why else would they put death-row prisoners here?

He sat there for a few minutes before he heard it. Footsteps, from upstairs. Knowing he full well was alone, and recognizing the cliché despite the onset of inebriation, he decided to go up the stairs towards it.

Walking down the upstairs hallway, he heard the footsteps still, and still he followed, still holding the bottles between the fingers of his right hand. Seeing a light beneath the door on his left, he opened it and stepped inside. It was a different scene.

It was the house he and his wife had lived in, when she was alive. He could see himself, holding a bottle of beer, sitting at a table in the corner. He could see her, with her brown hair and eyes, shouting at him and brandishing a knife. He watched as he stood up, he watched as she charged him, and he responded in the only way he could at that point, by hitting her with the empty bottle. She hit the ground like a ragdoll, and he watched as he kneeled down and checked her pulse before getting up and calling 911.

He took another drink from the bottle of Absolute, hoping it would chase away the memory playing out in front of him.

He watched himself go back to his wife and start begging her and praying for her to return to him. It was his fault. He watched as the police arrived, he did not respond, and they beat down the door. He watched himself being led away numbly by the police.

It was then that he felt her. Standing behind him, with a hand on one shoulder and her head on the other. “You did this.”

As he quickly turned, dropping his bottles, she bounced backwards. He saw her, the right side of her head caved partly in from the blow dealt years earlier, blood leaking from her ear. He ran past her, down the hallway, and she followed, jumping rather than running. Keeping a couple feet behind. He ran and turned down the hallway, finding a dead end – an unfinished ledge above a pile of rusted steel beams.

Turning back, he saw her leap and grab his throat. She held him aloft, as he struggled with her grip. “You did this,” she said again, her voice a menacing growl.

“I know,” he said, barely able to breathe, closing his eyes, “I know.”

“You killed me. You deserve death.”

“I did. I deserve death. Kill me. It’s been eating me alive. All these years, Therese. Maybe this is fate. Take my life, like I did yours. It’s… fair.”

She stopped. She seemed shocked. She looked down, and then dropped him. He landed on his feet, not falling over the ledge.

“You… deserve...,” she stopped.

He moved towards her. “Please. I deserve it. Therese…”

“I… can’t…,” she stepped back.

“The guilty must be punished…,” she said, “The guilty… not… you…?”

She sat down, shifting between forms. Therese, a child, a Hispanic woman, a tall man, a thin man, a twisted, shadowy mess. Finally, she settled into a form somewhere between the three most recent – a young girl, perhaps thirteen, with brown hair and eyes, with darker skin.

“You…” she stopped, and looked over the horizon. The sun was rising on the horizon. Turning into a floating ball of shadow, she disappeared.

Running down the stairs, he saw that the bus was arriving again. He saw the guards leave, the one from earlier laughing. He felt the hand again. Turning, he saw the girl again. She pointed at the guard from the guardhouse. “Guilty.”

He looked at her, suddenly understanding. “You… can’t go out into the daylight, can you?”

She shook her head. She began in a different language, then stopped. Beginning again in English, she spoke, “I am cursed to reap vengeance for as long as the sun shines not. Bring him here, to face his judgement.”

“Face his…? Is that what you call this? Judgement? You’ve murdered people.”

She shook her head. “I… am not the only curse this place bears. This is a place of death, to be a place of death for all eternity after.”

“If he’s so guilty, why don’t you get him whenever he comes into the compound?”

She shook her head. “He never comes in. He knows. He’s smart.”

“What has he done?”

“I won’t know until he faces my judgement.”

Watching, he saw the man from the guardhouse send in two guards, to check for bodies. Thinking quickly, as they entered, he grabbed a chunk of brick and threw it down the darkened hallway to the right. Looking at each other, then looking down the hallway, they moved cautiously towards it. When they had moved a safe distance down the hall, he ran out towards the open gate.

“Hey!” he shouted.

The man from the guardhouse turned towards him. “What in the hells-“

He began to draw a taser from his waist, but it was too late. Knocking the weapon from his grasp, the former prisoner pinned his arms behind his back and used his own handcuffs against him. “What the fuck – let me go!”

Dragging him backwards into the hotel, kicking and screaming, the former prisoner looked around. “Where the hell are you?”

Emerging from the shadows game Her.

Taking the form of a prisoner, she walked towards the handcuffed guard.

The prisoner had taser marks on his face and neck, and smelled of burnt flesh. “You did this.”

The guard screamed. “Get away!”

Another prisoner appeared, different person, same marks. “You did this.”

“Go away!”

Another appeared. Then another. Emerging from the shadows, materializing from nothing. The same mantra. “You did this. You did this. You did this.”

He screamed as loud as he could as he was surrounded by the prisoners. Screaming like a banshee as he was enveloped, screaming as ripping and crunching of flesh began. Screaming as blood poured across the floor. Screaming that stopped all too suddenly as he did.

When it was over, nothing remained of the guard but blood and scraps. Only the girl and the former prisoner stood in the room. She handed him a key. “Go,” she said, simply, then vanished, fading into shadow.

Not needing a second chance, he left, got into the empty prisoner bus, and drove. Where he was going, he did not know. Only that he’d never see that hotel again – and never wanted to.

Story Shard 536

A death row prison where the you are killed by what you killed the most in life.

Writing Prompt #1

A man in his late 30's dies of unforeseen circumstances, but finds himself unable to move on to the afterlife. The angel and demon who keep bugging him don't seem to have any answers, and Death is starting to get annoyed with being unable to do his proper duties. It also doesn't help that in his first week of being a ghost, he's late to his own funeral.

Literally. He's sitting in the front seat of the car transporting his body to the funeral, and it's been stuck in traffic for hours.

Warning: Major major one piece spoilers of wano and egghead!!!!!

Tw: death & blood

The idea of luffy’s vivre card flash-banging sabo in that pitch black bilge is making me laugh so much

Bonuses:

Full pic of that last page👇

Here’s the full pic of this since it being a gif absolutely tanked the quality of the image.

Some little notes:

I felt like it would be in sabo’s best interest to cover up those funky little wounds imu gave him so that he doesn’t, ya know, bleed out and die or something cringe like that. So I imagine he used his weird coat thing as impromptu bandages.

Has anyone else noticed that his reverie coat doesnt actually have arm sleeves????? That coat has no other purpose than to drape over Sabo’s shoulders to make him look cooler and by god is it working. I cannot knock the hustle.

"He Taught Me That the Hand That Feeds Deserves to be Bitten When it Beats"

-The Hand That Feeds By The Crane Wives

Alternatively!

Corporate Greed Strikes Again

TWs: Corporate Greed, Kidnapping, Human Experimentation, Torture, Violence, Blood, starvation

Danny was running away, it was getting to dangerous in Amity for him to stay. There were new rogues every other day getting more and more powerful as they popped up. The GIW had gotten even more competent in their weapons making, but not in their situational awareness. Just the last week, he had gotten shot at least seven times keeping civilians safe.

For the safety of everyone in Amity, it was bet for him to leave.

For good.

So he packed a bag, made sure there were no current loose ghost, made sure no one was inside Fenton Works, and then promptly blew up the portal with a modified ghost shield to keep the damage to a minimum. Unlike others, he was well aware of where people were and how the could be killed.

So now that everyone thought him dead, he ran. To where? He didn't know. But he needed a pit stop somewhere to get some food. Danny landed on the roof of a building reaching for a map he had stored somewhere in his bag. Shuffling things around he couldn't seem to find it.

"Damn, must've dropped it," Danny muttered. Turning, he only got a second to look at the blur coming for him, but then Danny only knew darkness.

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

Danny runs away when theres more and more causalities in Amity. He blew up Fenton Works while inside to make it seem like he died, and to those that did know about Phantom, dead dead.

He makes pit stops, and at one point accidentally cuts himself as Phantom and leaves not knowing there was ecto left behind.

A scientist about to get fired from some big corp trying to get green/clean energy stumbles upon it, and thinks its his big break.

Soon he had the entire company board on board with his idea, no matter that it could be breaking meta laws and could get them all life in prison.

The hunt for the unsuspecting meta, one Danny Phantom, was on.

And then when the bounty hunters, somehow getting their hands on ecto weapons (Maybe the GIW donated them? Maybe they had commissioned them from the Fentons? who knows) get a ping of his location? They sent their best hunter and got poor Danny.

Danny soon wakes up and realizes that "Oh no, where am I?!"

He soon learns that is the least of his worries.

Danny is then tortured, and the people soon realize he has a human side, so they quickly modify the ghost chains to make sure he stays a ghost.

He then Bites a guard and is then muzzled.

The Big Corp soon starts draining him of his ecto while trying to figure out how his body produces it

After all, he who controls the supply controls the market

So while Danny can't turn back into a human, in a low ecto rich environment, and constantly being drained of what fuels his ghostly body, he begins to feel the effects of starvation, because "Ghost are dead, they don't need human shit." and quote.

Well Danny was a special lil halfa and needed food in order to fucking survive

Soon, his hazmat suit starts to become baggy, not fitting anymore and it slowly progress until his eyes start to become clear, becoming the pure ecto green of his flesh in blindness, his bodies way of trying to conserve enough energy until he can get out.

The scientist, seeing the green eyes immediately rip one out, wanting to see if his eyes had a more concentrated ecto that they could use. They quickly learn, no, its clear and has little to no ecto.

Danny's voice has stopped working a long time ago at this point.

The Bats then notice a once failing Clean energy company suddenly thrive.

They investigate and are disturbed to realize that they are using a purified Lazarus water as the main fuel.

They then hunt down the source building and sneak into it, trying to find the source

Bruce is then distracted, going down a heavily guarded hallway unnoticed.

He opens what could only be a vault door, then peering through a black netting with a green sheen, he see's Danny.

What happens after that? Idk but if someone wants to pick up they can :D

———————

Tbh its been a hot min since ive actually drawn smth so im a lil out of practice lol.

Anyways i wanna thank the besties (gender neutral) in the Batphantom Club House discord for giving me songs to put on the list 🤗

I needed smth to make the brain worms go brr and so im making my way through the list.

The songs on the list help me catch a prompt for a drawing, and, well a prompt lmao, whether its the lyrics or the rhythm or overall vibes lol.

Life is Fickle, Life is Short, But Never Should it Be That Short

TW's: Major character death(s), faked deaths, suicide, mentions of suicide, heavy angst (with some comfort), Violence, Kidnapping

Batman had been off world for almost two months now. He, along with the Lanterns, had gone to aid in gaining Earth a new political alley if they were ever to be attacked by something the Leagues couldn't handle.

Safe to say, Batman was ready to go home and have a makeup family dinner. The mission had gone on longer then any of them could have predicted, and so he had to miss the last dinner they had. Bruce was actually quite sad about that, he loved when all of his family was in one room even if he never vocalized it.

So after finally docking the JL's space craft, Bruce and co. quickly scrambled out of the ship, ready to fill out the necessary forms and get to their respective families and friends. Immediately though Bruce could tell something was off.

The landing, which at least would have someone there to greet them, was empty.

Hackles raised, Batman quickly signaled to the Lanterns with him that something was wrong. When he didn't hear at least some shuffling from them, he turned to the unusually silent men. They were all looking at their respective coms. Some had wide eyes, others mouths were hanging. They looked shocked, scared, even. Batman did not like that.

At all.

"What are you all looking at?" the demand rang out, causing the group to flinch as if they expected a demon to bust down the door and shred them to pieces. With glances, they collectively shoved Hal out as if choosing a sacrificial lamb for a wolves dinner. Batman narrowed his eyes in discomfort.

Hal said nothing, just slowly approached the kevlar clad man. Holding out his coms screen, Batman finally got a look at what they were all horrified of.

!ATTENTION! All Leaguers To Justice Hall For The Combined Funerals Of: Agent A, Nightwing, Redhood, Red Robin, Spoiler, Black Bat, Oracle, Signal, and Robin, At-

Deftly, Batman stared down at the message.

He felt numb.

So numb.

And then.

Rage.

Rage at not immediately being told.

Rage at not immediately being pulled from the mission.

Rage at the entirety of the Justice League for having a funeral without even telling him.

Rage at not being there to protect his family from what had killed them.

And then, it clicked! It must be an elaborate, very, very, misguided prank. After all, Superman wouldn't let his family die! He'd hear the struggle, the fading heart beats, the screams for help.

HE'D HEAR THOSE!

Wonder Woman would have helped them as well! She had been given one of the few bat distress signals! They'd have pressed the button and she would've come running!

SHE SHOULD'VE COME RUNNING!

The League would have noticed!

THEY WOULD HAVE NOTICED!

So obviously it was a prank! A stupid, horrible attempt at getting him to cut back on work! That was it!

And with those thoughts, Bruce went sprinting down to the Zeta Tubes and teleported to the Justice Hall.

When he finally got there, it was decked out in black. Silly them, it seems as if he needed to go over what the Leagues bank cards should be used for again!

Silly, silly, silly.

Bursting through doors, he finally found the main hall.

With the entirety of the Justice League. Dark, Young Justice, the Titians, everyone.

And would you look at that! They were all wearing black! Silly them! Didn't they know that all black was meant for the Bats?

Scanning the room filled with people, with heroes, he didn't see his children or not children or even his father. Not a single one. Whipping around, he came face to face with 9 caskets.

9 photos.

9 pieces of his family.

Suddenly, Batman felt a heavy but gentle hand land on his shoulder. He would develop whiplash if he kept this up. The hand was connected to a Superman. To Clark. To a sad Clark. A guilty looking Clark.

Why was he looking guilty?

"B, I'm so sorry." Salty tears flitted down the man of steel's face.

But Bruce didn't care.

Because all too soon, he realized, it wasn't a prank.

It was real.

And he couldn't handle it anymore. He couldn't handle it at all.

Quicker then anyone there thought he was capable of, he whipped out that small piece of Kryptonite and decked Superman. It was an all out brawl between him and the Leaguers after that. And he wasn't the one loosing.

So he decided, 'Fuck it, fuck it all,' and left the Leaguers with bruises and new scars when the younger Leaguers asked him to stop.

He then Zeta Tubed his way to the Bat Cave. To the smoke filled, ashy rooms.

Everything was offline, everything was silent, everything was dead.

Climbing up the elevator shaft, he reached what should have been the manor. Instead it was a desolate waste land of ashes, burned wood, and silence. Well, almost desolate.

A single safe stood out in the wreckage. And in quick order, wielding something that he never thought he would, Bruce joined his children.

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

"Fuck! FUCK!" Superman shouted at the new funeral. One that wasn't ever meant to supposed to happen. But was a funeral ever meant to happen, ever expected? The man stared the rare photo of a smiling Batman. Of an alive Batman. Of an alive Bruce.

Tears ran hot down his face like molten lava, even as he heard the rest of the Leaguers joining him in his sorrow. He had went and tried to find Bruce after being knocked out, and only found his cooling corpse instead.

Supermans thoughts were interrupted when a bang, not all to unfamiliar, sounded out. Whipping his head up, he thought he was hallucinating. Because standing there were 9 dead people.

9 people who should have been dead.

"YO, where's B? We gotta debrief him on what happened-" Nightwings rambling got cut off as he looked just beyond Clark.

The others soon looked, and then the screams started.

"WHAT! NO! WHERE IS HE?"

"B, THIS ISN'T FUCKING FUNNY!"

"YOU UTTER BITCHES, YOU THINK THIS SHIT'S FUNNY?"

"DAD?! WHERE ARE YOU?!"

The wails of anguish filled the hall as the Leaguers surrounded them, trying their best to comfort the Bats as much as they can.

"What happened? Where were all of you?" Wonder Womans voice rang out above the quiet mummers and piercing wails. Alfred took it upon himself to explain, even if the wobbling voice hurt those surrounding him to hear.

"We were kidnapped by a rogue organization that figured out our identities. They were after Batman originally, but decided that the best way to get revenge was to torture all of us. They created clones, proceeded to slowly kidnap us one by one, until they eventually burned down the mansion with the husks inside."

And didn't that just make it so much more painful?

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

He was floating.

He didn't know where he was.

He just was.

But he felt wrong.

He needed to do something.

Something to protect.

Not something, someone.

Multiple someones.

He needed to protect those dear to him.

He needed to protect his family.

His family.

Where was his family?

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

With a sudden sharpness, a shadowy mass with flashes of grey skin opened its eyes. The eyes of the creature were pure white, and as it rose it's head, two horns became visible. It looked at where it woke up, surrounded in a cave system that pulsed with different colors, but blues being the most prominent.

Slowly, it got its bearings back to itself.

He knew he was dead.

But he also knew with a pulse of something, that his family wasn't.

And just like that, he was at two ornate doors, as big as the old manors door. He grabbed one handle with a clawed hand, pulling the surprisingly light door open. A vortex of green met his eyes.

All around was green.

He needed to fly.

He knew it should be impossible for him, but he didn't care, he needed to find his family.

To protect his family.

So with a flap of massive bat wings, he was off, looking for something.

That something turned out to be a giant, glowing, gothic castle. He quickly landed, hurdling through giant doors.

Soon enough, he met the one he knew would help. One that felt similar to him.

"̸̮͔̗̀̾̈́̕H̶̯̩̫̬͗̅̒̃͜ë̶̼́̆̿̿̒l̴̢̫͓̱̜̎p̷̻̩̻͇̯̞͌̅́̕ ̶͖̯͔̟̀̋̆͘m̶͉̹̳̯͑e̸̲̾ ̷͙̥̫̦̙̕f̶̡͎͈̾̾͋̓̐̀i̸̞̻͍̎̾͊n̷̰̻̮͓̤̆̄̾͒̅ͅd̷̢̦̩̓ ̴̞̼͈̦͕͛͊̚ṭ̵͖̂̂͗̔̾h̸̡͍̖̣̻͚̓͒̾͝ḙ̶̮́͛̇̎͘̚m̸̛̱̎̋̐̔͠,̷̧̰͕̤̬̝̑̚͝ ̴̹̃p̶̢̥͙̈́ͅļ̵͙̜̫͍̊̋̉̓ͅé̵͙͔̟̇ă̷̺͈̏̓͝s̵̙͖̣͔̔̊͆̍͘ȅ̵͇̍͒̚͝.̴̢̰̗͍̮̳̀̌̕ ̴̳͉̩̬̿̊̃͘Î̴͉̺̰̯̫̊̅͘ ̷̻͉͙̈́͛̍̀n̵͕̯̖̤͉̹̔͐̅̃̓̕e̷̡͉͕̖̅͆̊ē̷͇̊d̵̢̥̜̹̮͑͌͌͆͝ͅ ̶͕̫̿̈́̈́͝͠ẗ̵̪́̊ó̷̝̜̀̀͊͝ ̶̨͇͓͖̞̄ͅṕ̴̨̬̗͚̤́̔ŕ̷͚̐̊͆́̒ơ̵̰̜̭͙͒͑̒͐t̷͕̖͖̝̥̙̾́̕͝e̸̡̞͎͉͈͒͋̎͛c̴͉̘̔t̶̢͚̖̮͈̟͒̅ ̵̞̯̘̮̤̄͊͑̔t̵̡̪̭̜̟̕h̷̟̀e̷̟͊͜m̸̳̒͑̀́.̸̨̮͈͈̺̺̌̓̎̊̏̃"̵̺͚̰̹̗̃

And the Ancient made of cosmos, with flowing white hair, never ending green eyes, crowned with stars, ice and aurora's, agreed.

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

They were being beat by that same damned organization that cost them their colleague, their mentor, their friend, their father.

And they were all loosing.

Everyone was preoccupied with something, whether it was Kryptonite suits, incoming hoards of androids, or rogue powers spilling out. Flashes, bangs, and screams from all sides filled the air.

It was looking like the Leaguers were going to die.

The Bats, who should still be benched due to the traumatic and catastrophic events done by them, were not holding back. Blood was being spilt by all of them. The no killing rule was shot with a single bullet to the head.

So they didn't hold back, not at all.

But it still wasn't enough.

And they were loosing.

They were bleeding.

They were going to die.

And then the sky opened up, a massive vortex made up of glowing greens filled the sky. It reminded those who knew of them, of the Lazarus pits. But the fighting didn't stop. Oh no.

It only stopped when they came through.

A massive, humanoid being made of swirling galaxies with an infinite number of glowing green eyes and what could be considered a halo of floating white hair. Atop its head was a crown of equal proportion made of icy rods with stars twinkling weaved through an aurora pulsing around it all. It was terrifyingly beautiful.

And then, another one came out. This one was different, but oh so familiar looking.

It was as if a living shadow took shape, sucking in all of the light. It had two horns that stabbed through the air, with clawed hands and feet resembling the many gargoyles around Gotham. It's massive wings were pulled back, allowing for what little color, yellows, to peak through. It had a long, slender, spiked tail ending in a sharp looking diamond. Its hair, or what would have been hair, looked like it was slowly melting off, sliding onto what little grey flesh could be seen. It eyes were a pure, glowing white, and only when it opened its mouth, that too many fangs, not teeth, could be seen.

It was terrifying.

It was comforting.

And suddenly, shadowy ice spikes rose from the ground, impaling the ones trying to end the Leaguers.

The Bats.

After that, it was soon known that the Big Bad Bat was back.

And he was different.

H̵̢̜͇̩͙͊̓͐́ͅê̷̫̬͓͖͎̒̈́́̂̚͝ͅ ̷̧̟̝̟͖̭̪̬̪͇͙͝K̵̬͕͓̗̀̽̒̽̄i̴̦̪͒̇̿̑̄̀͝l̶̢̧̻̮̗̰͕̹̼͈͉̏ͅl̴̥̮̙̯͔͈̉̀͆̑͐͘̕ē̸̢̳̘͑̐̿̃͂͐͐͒͝d̶̨͍̬̗̦͈̙̩̰̍͐͑̌̆̃͜͝͠.̷̢̝̜̖͎̟̣́͗̍̌̂͑͒̌̌̔͜

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

srry, this got away from me lol. Anyways lemme know what you think of it :} Have any questions? Please ask! Just know it might take a little while for me to answer. Any criticisms? Welcomed as long as they are constructive!

Hear me out, a rodimus who believes that hot rod is dead (he doesn't wanna believe that he is hot rod).

Whenever he talks about his past before becoming rodimus, instead of saying "I did" he says "so hot rod...". And nobody knows why he talks like he isn't hot rod.

They don't understand until Megatron gets so annoyed by that, that he starts demending rodimus to stop talking like he isn't hot rod.

And rodimus just looks him, dead in the optics, and says: "But I am not hot rod, I am rodimus. Hot rod is dead. Don't you remember Megatron? You were the one who killed him after all, weren't you?"

And after he says it there is just silence. Because nobody knows how to react or what to say.

Nobody knows how to react to finding out that too become a prime, their captain literally died (I like to believe that rodimus doesn't like to talk about how he became a prime). That he died at the servos of the mech who became his co-captaim years later.

Or that he believes that who he was before is still dead. and not even the matrix can bring him back.

Skephalo Week Day 4: Immortality

TW// death

Sooo I kinda did a sad one here...since Bad is a demon he's immortal, but sadly Skeppy and Sapnap are just human, so he had to go through losing both of them and all of his friends :(

I just felt like drawing something sad today, sorry about that heh

also, just a few headcanons:

-Bad's horns change colors based on his mood; purple means loneliness and mourning

-Skeppy's favorite flower is a daisy, so Bad brings them to him and Sapnap's graves every week

Anyways, please enjoy the art. Love you all <3

Sorry for not being posting-. I was feeling upset.

I heard a Hard notice and…that’s why…heh- I will post smth later

This is so wholesome

loss of mein liebe | könig x f!reader angst (lowercase intended)

TW: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, severe angst, torture, blood, weapons, mentions of sexual assault (does NOT actually occur), NOT CANON AT ALL, NOT EDITED VERY MUCH, written at 3 am so probably incoherant at some points :p

2,000 ish words

it had been two weeks since she had been taken. kidnapped by the russians after a failed mission. neither kortac nor the 141 (who ironically were working together on this mission) had any idea where she could've been. that was until they had received a small parcel (addressed to konig). inside were her bloodied dog tags. konig immediately threw the items across the room and began researching where the package came from until finally, he was zeroed in on the location. somewhere in liski, russia. immediately, he called an order to drop everything to go save his little liebe.

a few days later, he now found himself alone in the basement of the warehouse, while the 141 scouted the rest of the building. konig walked around the dark, dingy spaces, looking for anywhere his little prinzessin could be. the building was suspiciously empty, the 141 reported, but konig was too focused on finding her to notice how strange it was. after stumbling upon a multitude of empty rooms, he finally came to the last room at the end of the basement hallway. peering inside the small window, he spied his liebe.

bloodied. beaten. unconscious.

he kicked the door open, forgetting all protocol. his liebe was more important. not that it was important anyway. other than konig and his princess, the room was empty.

her wrists are bound by rope and tied to the ceiling, caked in blood as they were too tight. a fresh scar dragged from her eyebrow to her cheek, caked with blood. her feet were an inch off the ground as she dangled from her wrists. her clothes were torn and bloody and her hair matted and dirty. she was hardly breathing. a dirty, bloody cloth was stuffed in her mouth, gagging her, perhaps to muffle her screams while she was tortured. a small, broken camera was attached to the corner of the ceiling.

“nicht schlafen, meine prinzessin…” könig murmured softly in german, softly patting her cheek. he felt his whole body tense up as he came near her--but then, he relaxed. noticing her ragged breathing, he cut off the rope with his combat knife.

placing her onto her feet, he held her steady and gently wiped her scars with his gloved hand. “please. open your eyes…” he whispered.

she stirred gently, opening her eyes and seeing konig. but she didn't see konig. she saw another man - coming to torture her. perhaps kill her. from behind the gag in her mouth, she began screaming and crying, the salty tears stinging the scar on her cheek. she kicked at konig, trying to save herself from more pain.

“schatz! it’s me!” könig cried, pulling her into a comforting embrace. “it’s me! i’m here to save you!” könig loosened her gag and gently pulled it from her mouth as her screams continued. “it’s your könig, your darling, your love… I’ve come to save you--” but her screams continued.

“i’m getting you out of here,” he assured, carefully picking her up and cradling her in his arms. “we have to go, my love. we have to go now.” but she still was in hysterics. flailing, screaming, kicking, crying. so hard that an old stab wound on her stomach began bleeding again. so much that her wrists began to drip blood onto the cold concrete floor.

“stop,” he said calmly in german, attempting to silence her by hushing her into his chest. “sweetheart, calm down. i’m here to save you, and you know it. i know it. but i can’t get you out of here unless you keep quiet.” he took his white handkerchief and carefully covered the wound on her stomach, trying to slow the bleeding. “you have to be quiet for me, my beloved, okay? i know you’re scared, i know i’m the last person you’d ever expect to see right now.”

she tries to talk from behind the gag in her mouth but all that can be heard are muffled cries.

“shh,” he repeated in german, shushing her into his chest once more. “my love, you know i’m the only person who could rescue you. you trust me, don’t you? trust that i’ll keep us both safe and that no harm will come to you while i’m here.” könig gently traced her face with his gloved hand. he carefully removed the gag from her mouth. “i need you to be quiet,” he said one last time.

"please… please don't hurt me." she whimpered.

“shh…” he gently shushed her again, using a finger to silence her. “i haven’t come to hurt you--you know that. i would never hurt you, not on purpose. i just need you to stay quiet while i get us out of here, okay, liebeling?” könig glanced to the door of the dingy, dark, dirty cell, and began planning their exit.

"who… who are you. please i want to go home. please i dont know anything" she begged, still not in her right mind.

“ich bin könig,” he said softly in german, placing a protective arm around her as he spoke softly to reassure her of his presence. “i know you’re confused, my love. i know you’re scared, and that you want to go home. and I’m going to take you home to your safe, warm bed, i promise. i just need you to help me out and stay quiet, okay?”

könig gently caressed her cheek, running his hand through her hair before kissing the top of her forehead.

her eyebrows furrowed. no torturer would kiss her forehead. finally, she looks into his eyes.

"k-konig?" she asked, tears streaming down her face as she remembered her beloved. "how did you find me? you have to go! they'll kill you! please! leave me!"

“no,” he whispered firmly, “i’m not leaving you here. you know i’d never leave you here. ich liebe dich. i love you too much to let anything bad happen to you. and you know that.” he stroked her dirty hair. “we’re leaving together,” he continued, “just please stay quiet. i promise you— you’ll be okay.”

and suddenly, an alarm rings out. they know he's here. they knew konig would try to save her.

it was a trap all along. konig's eyes fill with fear. his little liebe begins to cry again.

“scheiße,” könig swore under his breath, hearing the alarm ring out and the clanging of men’s feet as boots rushed towards the door.

he quickly pulled her into a protective embrace, holding her close to him, trying to think of a way out. there was only one exit in the room and only one way out of the dingy basement hallway. in an attempt to quiet her sobs, he put a gentle hand around her mouth.

“just stay silent, princess,” he murmured in her ear while the soldiers rummaged around. “it’s fine… we’ll be fine.” he promised as the sound of kicked-in doors began to grow ever closer.

even with his hand silencing her, another sob rings out.

“Nnein, nein, meine liebe… du tust mir so leid,” he whispered in german. he sighed and hugged her tighter, burying his face into her shoulder. “alles wird gut sein, nur halt ruhig.” he urged, trying to calm her.

könig held her close to him, trying to reassure her that it would be okay, even if it was a lie.

"well, well, well." a voice rang out. they had been found. the leader of the russian military walked in, a smirk on his face. "we knew you'd come for your little liebe konig." he explained as eight men raised their guns towards konig and the love of his life, who was still bleeding and crying in his arms. her tears doubled after realizing they had been caught. they were gonna die. she knew it.

“tch.” könig narrowed his eyes at the smug bastard standing in his way, clutching the love of his life tightly. he wasn’t about to die here, not when so close to his princess. not when she needed him. and he damn well wasn't going to let her die. that was never an option.

“i don’t care how many men you have, you’re going to have to pry my princess from my cold, dead hands,” he sneered, standing tall and pulling the knife from his belt. Two can play that game.

"hm. so be it! MEN! bring me the girl!" he called. four huge men with even bigger guns rushed forward, ripping the girl from konigs arms, pointing their guns at him to make sure he didnt move. konig raised his arms in defeat. one man escorted her back to the russian leader.

"well. it seems you have lost again, konig. it's a shame i have to kill your little princess in front of you. she is quite delicious" the russian man says, sniffing her neck creepily. she lets out another cry. "shut up!" the russian yells and slaps her across the face, splitting her lip and causing her to fall to the floor. he drags her up and holds a knife to her throat. "any last words, konig?"

"nein! nicht meine prinzessin! take me instead!" he snarled, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice. he had to get the girl out of this alive. even if he had to die in her place. the russian man simply laughed.

"oh too late, my boy. i might even keep this one for myself. she's so young and easy to break" he licked her neck, causing her to flinch. "i think i want to make this slow and painful. for both of you," he says cockily.

"nein! ich tue alles was du willst! schatz, lass mich die nehmen, bitte!" könig begged in german, looking around at the four men holding guns to him with a pleading expression. he wouldn't die for nothing, not without trying to save her. he had to try.

"maybe i'll make you watch as i take her. and then i'll make you watch as each of my men take her. only when i'm finished, will i make you watch as i slit her pretty throat and watch her bleed out like the swine she is." he spits.

“du verdammte arschgeige!” König swore in a growl, anger flashing across his face. he wouldn’t be powerless against a man who would harm an innocent girl. with his free hand, he threw his knife at the leader, aiming for the throat. the man simply sidesteps and the knife hits the concrete wall instead, clattering to the floor.

the leader laughs at konig's futile attempt. "well, have it your way. men! restrain him! he's going to watch as the life drains from her eyes." the eight men tie konig up, the same way he had found his princess. hands in the air, feet barely touching the ground. no matter how much konig tried, he could not escape.

"bitte, ich bitte dich! ich will sie nicht sterben sehen! ich liebe sie!" in his panic, könig forgot all of his english lessons and reverted back to his mother language in a desperate and emotional tone. He wouldn't let his girl die! könig struggled as the eight men tied him up, gritting his teeth and letting out frustrated growling noises as he tried to escape.

the russian leader only laughs. konig's princess lets a tear drip down her face.

"konig." she calls. he looks at her, his cerulean eyes full of tears. "it's okay konig. it'll be okay." she says with a knife against her throat. she smiles sadly. "i love you. i loev you so much. never forget that." she said trembling.

könig roared, desperately straining against the ropes that tied him up. tears streaked down his face as he watched helplessly.

“don’t talk like that!” könig cried, his voice cracking. "im going to get ou out of here!"

“ws ist nicht zu spät, schatz, ich liebe dich!” he pleaded, shaking violently and pulling desperately at the ropes. “don’t say it’s okay… ich liebe dich noch mehr!”

"say goodbye to your little liebe, konig!" the russian yells. his eight soldiers all release a booming laugh at konig's desperation.

“du verdammter arschgeige!”

könig threw his head back and thrashed wildly against his bonds, his voice growing hoarse and desperate as he yelled at the leader in a fit of rage.

“ich werde dich ficken, und deine verdammte arschgeige!” he roared, spitting as he shouted at the leader.

the russian man only laughs as he presses the blade into her throat harder and drags it swiftly across, cutting into the girl's jugular. he laughs as she holds her throat and blood spills out. he laughs as she drops to the floor, gurgling on her blood. he laughs as the life begins to drain out of her eyes. through all the blood, she looks to konig and lets out a gurgling "i love you." before she stills.

“nein! nein, meine liebe!” König pleaded desperately. "bleib bitte bei mir! ohne dich kann ich das nicht schaffen!"

but it's too late. konig's libeling is gone. the russian men laugh and walk out of the cell, locking it behind them. leaving konig alone with her lifeless body.

a dark, ominous feeling flooded the air and enveloped the room like a fog as if it were the embodiment of the very hopelessness that hung heavy in the air.

könig fell silent, tears freely flowing from his eyes as he looked down at his princess.

his mind went blank as he stood, bound and helpless, next to the body of his love. her dark brown eyes were still open and her blood ran from her mouth, filling the crevice the scar in her cheek had left.

finally, the ropes gave under konig's constant thrashing. immediately, he ran over to his little liebe.

könig held the body of his princess close to him, weeping silently as he cradled her lifeless body in his arms. the loss of his love felt like a stab to the heart, piercing his chest with such an unbearable pain that he thought he was never going to feel anything again. könig's sobbing continued, drowning in grief and sorrow that was as deep as the very oceans.

suddenly, ghost and the rest of the 141 kicked the door down, guns raised only to be met with the scene in front of them. they were too late.

ghost stood in the doorway, his heart dropping at the sight in front of him. "könig." he said, stunned and hurt. könig looked over at ghost with pained, tear-filled eyes, his arms wrapped tightly around the body of his princess, who lay lifeless in his arms.

"she's gone…." konig said, a tear dripping off his chin and landing on her cheek.

ghost walked over quietly , kneeled down next to konig and reached his hand towards her face. konig, thinking he was going to hurt her, pulls out a gun and holds it to ghost's face. "mate…" ghost says sadly. ghost reaches over to the girls face and closes her gentle brown eyes. "look. now she's sleeping." he said softly. the rest of the 141 boys were quiet, faces downcast, unspeaking.

tears filled könig’s eyes as they watched ghost close the girl’s eyes.

“she looks so peaceful…” könig whispered. He continued to hold the body close to him, a part of him not wanting to let go.

“thank you….” he muttered, lowering the gun.

"mates.. we have to go," soap said to ghost and konig. "we don't want to be here when they come back to find konig."

a dark silence filled the air, the only sounds being the soft crying and sobbing of könig.

könig looked up at ghost, his face contorted with anguish and pain as he sniffled, wiping away tear trails with the sleeve of his shirt.

a nod was the only reply könig could give, and he allowed ghost and soap to lead him to the exit.

konig looked back, hoping that maybe the world was playing some cruel joke on him. hoping that his little liebe would put on her perfect smile and jump up saying "just kidding." pull another one of her silly jokes that konig rarely found funny. but she never did. and she never would.

with the weight of a mountain on his shoulders and pit the size of an ocean in his chest, könig followed ghost and soap as they walked out the door and into the night.

the weight of the world felt like it was pushing down on him, threatening to tear him apart. but the weight of the ring box in his pocket seemed infinitely heavier.

könig's world had been shattered by the loss of his princess, and a piece of him died with her. a piece he would never get back.

i am

so sorry?

for my bad writing

for the scenario :)

UPG: added English translation! Sorry in advance if I got some things wrong, it’s not my first language and I don’t practice it often 👉👈

All the stuff I did for the Turtle Soup Ask so far! I wanted to translate it before posting it on Tumblr but honestly right now I don’t have the willpower to do that but still want to post it here…maybe I’ll update this post later 😔🙏

All the stuff I did for the Turtle Soup Ask so far! I wanted to translate it before posting it on Tumblr but honestly right now I don’t have the willpower to do that but still want to post it here…maybe I’ll update this post later 😔🙏

People who follow me for DHMIS art and then didn’t see any…this one’s for you 😳

UPG: if you live in Russia you can buy them here !

@artfennec @meg-girumi @dominicatale @bidinonsense @devilsfoolcake @gamingforeternity @yullalightk @lil-bobcatz @billygoat26 @the-lion-guard-88 @4thwallbreakerdraws2 @cattowersjails @varian-the-alchemy-boi @skykaykay @memeidiot

Stay safe, guys

Hello dear!

Sorry for bothering you, but it's important to remind you to turn off your asks for a few days! Bad things are going to happen on Tumblr soon...

Don t know anything about this but BETTER BE SAFE EVERYBODY!!!!!!

Small continuation of the previous post.

TW: mentions of death, self-harm

Liam was…He was…She could barely remember.  All she could focus on was that he was dead.  Deaddeaddeaddead.  And it was her fault.  He wanted to protect her.  If she was stronger…Not damaged not frail not weak not sick.  He might have been able to stay sane, but taking most of her share along with his made him the most unstable out of all of them.  She lost him the moment he made that choice.

Viola, pretty Viola with the pretty ugly, broken smile at the end.  She wanted to, tried her hardest to, to reassure her that none of it was her fault, but how could she come to terms with what she made her do, how could she come to terms with why she had to make her do that.  All the plans all the promises they made together turned to stardust.  Why wish on a star when it was too far away to help and you never knew how close it was to burning out.

Jake; she felt a bit of  pleasure at what she did to him.  They were always fighting in her memories even though she could barely remember anything at all.  He was always being mean to her.  Looking back she realized he was the one who believed in her the most.  He never did anything nice for her.  He always brought back things he thought she’d like when he went outside.  He was rude and her best friend and her hands were drippingdrippingdrippingdrippingdripping with his blood and she liked it and didn’t like it and he was kind to her and she forgot him.  He helped her learn her limitations and how to have fun in spite of them.  Everything she was died with him.

Father Brown was the one who ran the church and looked after them.  Looked after her the most because she was frail, so frail she could fall down from a single sneeze.  She hated it.  Hated being treated like the old vases next to the front doors.  She liked it.  Liked mattering to someone.  It was the most affection she had ever received from an adult.  He… she scratched her head some more.  He always made time for her.  Always told her about the places he’d been, always answered all her questions as much as he could, always read her stories to protect her from the nightmares and thoughts, always teaching her what she wanted to learn and what he thought she should learn.  He wasn’t just the church’s Father he was her father.

She scratched her head more and more and more and more and more.  She still had her memories.  She knew that.  They were just jumbled and still influenced by the medicine.  She just needed to dig them out.  So she dug at her skull until day turned to night and night turned to day over and over and over again.

Don't know if I'm gonna flesh this out more but here's a random plot bunny.

TW: mentions of death, self-harm

She couldn’t remember him.  Couldn’t remember who he was.  Who he was to her.  His face in her memories looked like the time…the time…someone…spilled his? Her? Drink on her sketchbook.  Who was he?  Why couldn’t she remember him?  Remember his face?  His face was wrong.  Wrongwrongwrongwrongwrong.  Why couldn’t she remember?

“I’m sorry —”

She couldn’t remember.  Whywhywhywhywhy?  She wants to remember.  Don’t take his memory away.  Please —!  Don’t leave her.

“I’m sorry —.  You’ve always been my —”

She wanted to remember.  Needed to remember.  Neededneededneededneededneeded.  How?  She scratched at her skull.  Scratched and scratched and scratched and scratched and scratched as if that would dig away the blurriness.  She kept scratching, knelt in the grass the soil that was left after everything was washed away.  She was stuck there like an abandoned Halloween decoration someone placed in the middle of the field forest and forgot about.  She needed to remember him.  She tried to dig the memory out of her skull until something fell.  

It was a friendship bracelet.  It was old.  Had fallen apart and been put back together again and again and again and again and again.  It was dusty.  And the colors were muted.  But there was a name on it.  Sora.  She stopped scratching and stared at the bracelet.  Repeating the name over and over and over and over and over again.

“I’m sorry Sora” 

She looked at the bone the bracelet fell from.  There were four others.  All old.  All dusty and muted and broken and put back together again carefully.  Gently.  Like they were loved.  But she wasn’t supposed to love things anymore.  Or people.  Did she have any loved people left anymore?  She looked at the names on the bracelets.  Viola, Liam, Jake, and…  She took off the one closest to where her pulse used to be and picked up the one that fell.  The one with her name.  She cradled them like they’d turn to dust at any moment like her memories almost did.  She still had loved things.  She still had loved memories.  They couldn’t take those away.  But…  She cried softly and brokenbrokenbrokenbrokenbroken and barely brought herself to whisper one word like a plea spoken like a sickly child asking if today was the day she left his side.

“I’m sorry Sora.  You’ve always been my daughter”

What did the memories matter when she lost the only people she wanted to create them with?

“I never should have let you go with them”

I already decided what I would do for the first chapter but I can't decide what to do for the second and I just want other people's opinions rather then spend an hour on a spin the wheel for each chapter so I'm doing another poll

This is all I can think of, for now anyway byeee (◍•ᴗ•◍)