#tw - dying

[yesornopolls]

Are you afraid of dying? Not of suffering before you die, but specifically of dying itself?

[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.

[limitedgigi]

Hello can give yandere prince x fem reader headcanons please 🙏 😊

ofc!

yan! prince hcs

yan! prince who's parents died when he was 19 after being assassinated.

yan! prince who inherited everything before he was even ready.

yan! prince who is assigned a royal jester (?), a servant, and his own cook.

yan! prince who immediately goes back to his quarters and asks his guard to ask you, the servant, for some tea.

yan! prince who almost drops the tea as you hand it to him as he looks up at your face.

yan! prince who asks you to stop working for a bit and sit down with him.

yan! prince who gives you special treatment after your interaction, giving you more breaks, gifts, and praising you more.

yan! prince who is extremely jealous of the cook who's getting a bit too touchy with you when you collect the food.

yan! prince who orders the guards to behead the cook.

yan! prince who is upset when you start to grow distant, only coming to him to fulfill his requests.

yan! prince who threatens your job if you don't spend time with him. he knows how much you and your family depend on this job, and he even offers to increase your pay if you're really good.

"your mother is on her death bed, do you really want to see her die because of your stubbornness? i didn't think so."

[promptsforthestrugglingauthor]

Writing Prompt #2452

"Go on and kill me," he spat his blood in their direction. "I'll haunt you before dragging us both to hell."

[writingquestionsanswered]

Hard Times Humor Done Right

Anonymous asked: My current work deals with difficult topics. I have no issue writing wholesome, heartwarming, or bitter-sweet scenes, as in the inhuman environment humanity shines through brighter, and have done it before with a bitter-sweet comedy/dramady. This project is a drama, though, yet it needs humor as a natural "painkiller." And my main themes are hope and grief. What would humor done right look like in such stories?

[Ask edited for length] [Content warning: death/dying/grief]

Humor done right in a drama is humor done honestly. What that means is being honest about the fact that humor is a natural coping mechanism, and as such it shows up even in the darkest of times, even when it may seem "inappropriate" to polite society.

It also means being honest about what the humor means... what it means to the character saying the humorous thing, what it means to the characters hearing the humorous thing, and what it will mean to the reader. And part of that: situation and timing are everything.

Let's say you have a character who is dying because they used all their magic in the big battle. It's a done deal, can't be undone. They've accepted it, and so has everyone else, more or less. Now, let's also say this character has a funny phrase they say a lot to get the goats of their companions. It sometimes annoys them but also makes them laugh. Now, let's say you want someone to say this phrase when the character is dying. Let's start with who and the why (honesty), then we'll go with the when (situation/timing).

Who: the dying character Why: because it's a last laugh, a reminder of better times, and a way for this character to say, "It's been fun!" (It also serves as a fast-acting dose of THIS IS WHY THIS CHARACTER MATTERED to the reader right before the character shuffles off this mortal coil.) When: since it was this character's own phrase, they're the one dying, and they're saying it for the benefit of their companions, they could say it up to their last breath. Even in those critical seconds, it would be fair for that to elicit bittersweet smiles and sentimental laughter from the others. That's an honest moment of humor in an otherwise humorless time.

On the other hand...

Who: one of the character's companions

Why: as a sort of nod... a way off offering comfort to the dying character... we love you... this is why we loved you... we're going to miss you but we'll be okay and will never forget you.

When: since the phrase is being said mainly for the benefit of the dying character, a critical part of the timing is that they're able to enjoy it... if comes too late for them to benefit--to feel the love, to know they'll be missed but remembered, and to know their companions will be okay--then the phrase means nothing. It misses its mark completely. It would need to be said when they're still able to respond... to smile... maybe even come up with a comeback. In that way, it does all the things a moment like that should do.

So... honesty, situation, and timing are the keys to doing this kind of humor right. :)

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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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[georgianaortiz]

OPEN | @lunarcovestarters

A. Capture the Flag [ The Cove's Jail ]

The retreat events weren't the kind of games Gia liked to play. Still, the vampire participated on behalf of the clan. Her loyalty to her people unassailable but questionable with everyone else. "Well I study prehistoric archeology, mostly, but a colleague of mine is a maritime archaeologist. Brilliant in his field." The brunette commended. "But bless his heart, he's a mess of a man. Steps out on his wife who gave him five children. He can't keep an assistant, either, and no one has to guess why." Head still shaking in disapproval, Gia continued on. "So this colleague, he told me that the bottom of the ocean is called the abyssal plain and isn't made of sand but sediment from everything that's ever lived in the sea. How interesting!" The exclamation was followed by an abrupt change in her tone as the eyes in the back of her head, from motherhood, told her someone was trying to escape. "Sit back down."

B. Canoeing [ During the Vampire's bracket ]

Wearing a long, flowing skirt, and kitten heels with a parasail and picnic basket in hand, Gia declined her canoe's paddle and settled into her little boat. The only thing she knew about boats was how to float down river. Which was a favorite past time of hers, growing up, as a young girl in Savannah. The middle child of a dozen and one siblings, they all loaded into oak boats with picnic lunches to bask in the southern, summertime sun. Today filled Gia with nostalgia and champagne, which she packed in lieue of her childhood's picnic lunch. She popped the bottle the second she set sail, bubbling with delight as the liquid poured over the top. "What a lovely day this will be!"

C. Bonfire [ Opening Night ]

They were all just stories at the end. Stories and bones; two of Gia's great loves. Scary stories her favorite kind, ever since childhood when she'd sneak out of bed, wander down the hall, and eavesdrop on her older siblings attempts to spook one another. In a sort of poetic irony that Georgiana amusedly appreciated, she was a ghost story. "They say I haunt the house where I died in Savannah. The story seems to change every few decades. I tripped down the stairs, my husband's misstress pushed me, an evil spirit from beyond did the deed.." A laugh, half-hearted in sound, proceeded the recount. "All are false, of course. They do have my portrait up, though the artist's rendition is hardly as damning as a photograph." Her tongue clicked in audible annoyance, as she grumbled something about stupid cell phones.

D. Werewolf BBQ

Why the clan was invited to a werewolf BBQ was beyond Gia's knowing. Once more, she joined in on the festivities like a good sport and brought baked goods for the food table. One look at the cuisine and she knew she wouldn't be eating anything she hadn't brought herself. Georgiana had a particular palette for human food these days, and it did not include anything that could be prepared on a BBQ. She resigned herself to drinking and people watching, making observations in her mind until someone was in ear shot to hear her commentary. "That guy.." The vampire gestured at someone, random, in the crowd. "..is a beer shy of being able to start a brewery. I give him another half hour, at best. That's being generous." Not so quietly she scoffed, "Light weight."

[kirbytransguy]

my OC Galactis!

(new image of him below)

(old and outdated image below!)

Meet Galactis! An adventure warrior and the first carrier of the sword Galaxia!

More info under the cut!

He found the sword on one of his adventures in a cave as he sneaked past some dark matters.

He felt something unique about it, but couldn't put his finger on what.

He was kicked out of his home as soon as he turned to an adult, bc of his transphobic parents.

Since then, he traveled to different places. He has seen Earth, Planet Popstar, Patch land, Halcandra, Ripple star...

Yet, his favourite must have been when he got teleported to an unknown place, the forgotten land! The waddle Dees were really excited to hear some of his stories in Waddle Dee town and the little name pun with the Delivery Dee just gets him squealing!

He is planning to start a little blog about his adventures on Youtube!

Now that was before the event happened.

Oh? You thought that since, he got out of his home, that everything will be sunshine and rainbows?

And...what about Galaxia?

It happened: Galactis was too confident.

He fell.

Silence.

Blood flowing, his little cries of help were unheard as slowly...he died.

But...

Something happened.

His soul got sucked inside the sword, making it alive.

Waiting for his next carrier.

[scary-lasagna]

Hey!, how are you?, I just read your "accidentally hurting/killing their s/o’s" posts you did for Jeff, E.J., Slender and the Proxies and I was wondering if you can do for Laughing Jack and Jason The ToyMaker?, it's okay if you choose to ignore it, have a nice day/night (n_n) <3

The poor bois. I decided to only do LJ to save time, but shoot another request and I'll be happy to do Jason :]

Laughing Jack

He didn't even realize what he did until your legs suddenly folded, and you collapsed into his arms.

You asked for some candy.

A single piece, no more or less.

Just to taste a sweet drop after dinner to bless your taste buds. After all, Jack always had the best tasting candy, considering he makes it himself.

But Jack, having a busy mind that night with recent work events and politics, happened to absentmindedly pluck one out of his pocket and give it to you to enjoy.

And it tasted better than usual, like all of your favorite flavors swirled into one piece of heaven. It was truly delightful, and you had no time away from the distraction of flavor to realize your organs were shutting down.

The poison set in very quicky, wasting no time in attacking your nervous system and bringing you crashing into Jacks shaking arms.

He cried out in hate towards himself, and disbelief that there was nothing he could do. Such a foolish act to create a poison and no antidote.

He wanted to say something. Anything. Anything at all that would soothe you in your final moments. But you were already gone. His distraught face was the last thing you saw before the life faded from your eyes and bloody tears cried wherever they could seep out.

You were dead.

And it was his fault.

He made the candy. He gave you the candy.

You died without a second thought. All because you trusted him.

Because you loved him.

[frownyalfred]

If this too much or too personal please ignore!

But I was just wondering if you had any advice for grieving? (I lost a close family member very recently)

I'm so sorry for your loss, anon. I don't know your exact situation, but I hope your loved one's memory is a blessing to you and your family. I'll leave my thoughts below the break, since I'll discuss death and dying a little.

I am, as many people on here likely know, still grieving the loss of my father. It was sudden and unexpected. It was bloody and somewhat traumatic for our family. Thinking about it still leaves me dazed and unfocused.

Grieving is such a strange process. I've been talking about it with my therapist weekly, and her main takeaway has been that there is no right way to do it -- and that it is far from linear. There are positive moments and regressions. There are funny memories and difficult truths to grapple with. There is anger, confusion, sadness. Despair. So many unanswered questions and moments that hover on the edge of veneration simply because they are the only ones you have left.

How did I grieve? I cried a lot, at first. I took off work and sat shiva with my family. I answered a thousand well-meaning messages and played one singular song on repeat on my phone. I barely slept. I dreamed and dreamed and dreamed. I woke up crying without remembering exactly what I had been dreaming about.

Then, as if in reprieve, my brain let up. I slept somewhat normally again. My body was no longer on the edge of tears at any given moment, nor was I entirely numb. Slowly, I began to think of normal things again; new television shows, updating a chapter, irritation at the banal things like traffic and work.

And anon, I thought to myself, this must be it. I'm no longer "grieving," or at least not in the traditional sense of the word. I was eating, sleeping, going to the gym and work, updating my works and hitting the club again on the weekends.

But I wasn't done. And I'm not sure I ever will be. I wanted to be done, in so many ways. I was mad at my father for dying, for making me grieve, for keeping me in this state where I couldn't be confident in anything I was feeling, any progress I was making. Where I could remain silent and resolute at his burial, but sob like a baby in my apartment when the concert t-shirt he gave me was stained by some soup.

But that's a lot to put on the dead. And sometimes I have to keep reminding myself that -- that he is dead, that there is a gap in my life I keep trying to skip over, like avoiding tonguing at the aching tooth in the back of my mouth. And when I forget, the world is more than glad to remind me, whether through well-meaning neighbors, colleagues, etc etc.

I suppose that's a long way of saying, I think I'm still grieving anon. I'm not sure I'm doing the best at it, active or involuntary as this process seems to be. I have an amazing support network, but so much of this work seems to be solitary, even when someone is sitting right next to you, crying with you.

The Jewish saying "May their memory be a blessing" has been a good focal point for me, I think. It dovetails nicely with the Mandalorian saying "Not gone, merely marching far away." I've thought about both a lot in the last few months, because I'm a huge nerd and also because I don't think the cultures are too dissimilar.

Let your loved one's memory be a blessing in your life, anon. Remember the happy moments, and speak them out loud if you're able. Don't let their name remain sacred. Don't sanctify them, for we are all humans and humans are complicated, but don't leave their life behind you.

Those memories of them, those funny moments and sad days, fun trips and strange conflicts, those are all yours now. No one else has them. And when you and your family are gone, those memories are gone too.

Other small things that have made this whole process easier: Starbucks and DoorDash giftcards (seriously, some days are too hard), letting myself take time off hobbies (gym/writing) without penalizing myself, naming my grief and allowing myself to sit in it (I'm sad today about x, and I want to lie down for a few hours. I'm lying down because I'm feeling sad about x, and I'm allowed to feel that way). Going to the gym and running until the natural endorphins help. Talking with my families about good and complicated moments with my dad. Writing, when I'm able. Reminding myself it's okay to not be very functional, that it's okay to not be perfect and you would never expect someone who is grieving to be so. Talking to a therapist and getting treatment for what I experienced. Accepting the kind words of others, even if they hurt or are unintentionally difficult.

I'm sorry you're going through this anon. I know how you feel, or at least some of what you feel. I hope you have support and loved ones around you who can help shoulder some of this process.

<3 Jay

[promptsforthestrugglingauthor]

Writing Prompt #2364

She could feel every breath growing shallower, more difficult, inefficient. She was supposed to make it through this. She was supposed to save everyone and come back home to her wife the way she promised.

It was supposed to be a total victory. She wasn't supposed to be the hero who never made it home.

[varicspidey]

the concept of someone dying is so weird. all their stuff stays. all of their memories still exist but they're gone.

[wreckrinho]

whenever I get sick I have the extreme desire to simply do extreme bullying with my characters (I did the kidnapping comic when I was almost dying of a fever lol) so if my future drawings are angst or just really bad fights, dont judge me

its my way of coping (ig???) Sprry if it look weird, i know it does

[1-beansss-1]

~ Melting Ice ~

Winter king x gn!reader

Warning - dying, death, suggestive content, blood, and vomiting.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

Winter walked around the palace, pushing you on a wheelchair, humming while he walked.

"Winter, where are we going?"

"It's a suprise, snowflake.."

"Alright..."

You looked up at him and smiled. You lifted your arms up and motioned him to come closer.

"Come here!"

"What is it, Snowflake?"

He said, leaning forward, you put your hands on his cheeks and kissed him.

"I love you.."

"I love you too"

He raised back up and stopped at the doors of the palace.

"Close your eyes, snowflake"

You started to laugh as you covered your eyes.

"Is this really necessary?"

"Of course it is, snowflake. Are your eyes closed?"

"Can't see a thing!"

He opened the door and pushed you out. He took you to where the statue of him was. He leaned forward and put his head on your shoulder.

"Alright, you can look"

You moved your hands away from your face and opened your eyes. You saw the statue. It wasn't the statue you were used to seeing. He had made a new one, it was the two of you dancing together. You covered your mouth and felt tears sting your eyes when you saw it. It was so beautiful and special. He'd made it just for you.

"S-Simon.."

You pushed yourself up from the wheelchair and took a few steps closer to it. Your body shook slightly as you stood. You were so weak.

"Snowflake, be careful!"

He quickly moved to your side, putting his hands on your waist. You turned to face him. You were crying, but you had a big smile on your face.

"Simon! Y-You did this for me? It.. It's wonderful!"

You put your arms around him and leaned on him. He picked you up and held you tightly. He didn't want you to be on your feet for too long.

"Yes, snowflake. I wanted to show the kingdom their beautiful queen"

"I love you, I love you so much"

You put your hands on his cheeks and rested your forhead on his.

"I love too.. Snowflake.."

He smiled and kissed you. He gently put his tongue in your mouth. Your hands moved from his cheeks to the back of his head, gripping at his hair as he kissed you. He ended the kiss, you were breathing heavily.

"Are you alright, Snowflake?"

"I'm good.."

"Do you need to lay down?"

You got a big smirk on your face when he asked you this, you got an idea.

"Are you going to lay down with me?"

"Snowflake.. did my kiss make you excited?"

You nodded, leaning closer to him.

"Very...."

You whispered to him in a sensual tone. He blushed slightly and quickly glided back to the palace.

"Wow, Winter, you're in such a rush! You want me that badly?"

"Yes.... yes, I do.."

He quickly took you to the bedroom and gently sat you down, getting on top of you. You put your arms around his neck and smiled at him.

"Please.. my king..."

He leaned forward and started to kiss you.

The two of you made love, and when you were finished, you laid on top of him.

"Simon.. I love you.."

"I love you too, Y/N"

You smiled and moved closer to his face, kissing him. You started to get tired, really, really tired, so you closed your eyes. When you opened them, Winter was holding you in his arms. You could hear him sobbing. You looked up at him and put a hand on his cheek.

"What's wrong?"

"Y/N!? You're awake! Please, please don't do that to me!"

You looked confused. You just rested your eyes for a moment, at least that's what you thought.

"I.. I just closed my eyes for a moment.."

He shook his head and held you tighter.

"No.. no.. You've been asleep for three days.."

"T-Three? Oh, Simon... Simon, I'm sorry.."

He pulled your head to his chest and gently stroked your hair. He needed to hold you. He needed to make sure you were ok.

"Don't apologize.. I.. I need to work faster on finding a cure.. I'm sorry it's taking so long.."

You smiled and let out a soft sigh.

"I don't care.. all that matters to me is that I'm with you, I want to spend all of my final moments with you.. you're all that matters"

He squeezed you tighter. You felt him get colder as he started to cry more.

"Y/N, don't say that! Please.. I'll heal you and.. and you can stay with me forever.. please, please promise me you'll stay with me forever.."

You sighed. You knew you couldn't keep that promise, no matter how much you wanted to.

"Simon.. I..."

You tried to tell him that you couldn't promise him that, but the words wouldn't come out.

"I promise... I'll try my hardest to stay with you"

He raised you up from his chest and smiled faintly at you.

"Good.."

You put your hands on his cheeks and smiled at him. You wanted to cheer him up.

"Simon.. do you remember when we first met? You were so cold to me..."

He nodded and let out a soft chuckle as he reminisced.

"Yes.. I'm sorry, I didn't realize you actually liked me.."

You walked up to Winter's palace and knocked on the doors

The doors opened, and you saw a tall, handsome blue man. You didn't know The Winter King would be this handsome.

"I'm Y/N, I've come from a far away kingdom to see you"

"Just to see me?"

He felt flattered by your words. You grabbed his hand and got on your knee, kissing it.

"Yes, just to see you, my king"

You had forgotten about your main purpose of coming. You were too engrossed with how beautiful he was to even think about your disease.

"My, my, what a charmer you are.. Y/N.. did you need anything from me?"

You stood up, he reminded you of why you came there.

"Oh, yes, right! I apologize, I should have led with that.. you're just really distracting..."

He sighed and crossed his arms. He didn't think you were being genuine.

"Yes.. get on with it, what do you want?"

"I'm sorry, I-I need to ask if you can cure a fatal disease."

"On whom?"

"Um.. Me.."

He sighed and brushed his hair behind his ear. He figured this is why you were flirting with him. He thought you just wanted to get on his good side.

"But.. if you can't.. it's alright.. "

Your voice sounded a bit somber. You really wished he could, but you've already been to so many kingdoms, none could help you.

"I've just been trying to live to the fullest"

He thought about it for a moment and turned around, walking into his palace.

"Come, follow me.."

You quickly followed him, and the doors closed behind you.

"Your majesty, I really appreciate this... I'm sorry I bothered you, you must be really busy.."

You paused for a minute and smiled at him.

"Do you have a consort?"

He looked at you and looked a bit confused at your sudden question.

"Why, are you looking to be mine?"

He teased, leaning closer towards you so he could see your face.

"I figured just you would. You're way too handsome... but if you don't.."

He laughed at your words and leaned away from you.

"Oh, you don't have to flatter me to get me to heal you"

You tilted your head and grabbed his hand, kissing the back of it.

"I'm being genuine! Even if you didn't heal me, I'd still think that you're the most handsome man I've ever seen"

He pulled his hand away from you. He looked disgusted with you, but you could see a slight blush on his face.

"Quit it..."

He still thought you were just trying to flatter him. He started to walk quicker. He was getting a bit frustrated with you.

"I apologize, your majesty.... I.. I'll hold my tongue"

You let out a soft sigh and stayed behind him. You didn't want to upset him more. He got to his laboratory, walking to an examining table.

"Come, sit.. I'll take a look at you"

You quickly followed his orders without saying a word.

"Take off your shirt.."

He said, turning around, getting a stethoscope, and putting it around his neck. You blushed slightly and took your shirt off. You wanted to tease about him seeing you shirtless, but you stayed quiet. You didn't want to make him mad.

"Hmm? No clever remark? You really are holding your tongue.."

He said as he turned back to you. He pressed the stethoscope against your chest and listened to your heartbeat. You looked down at your chest, watching what he was doing.

"Strange.. it's beating irregularity.."

He mumbled to himself and put the stethoscope down. He grabbed a blood pressure cuff and put it on you.

"How did you figure out you were dying?"

"I went to my doctor when I realized my body was weaker than normal. They did some tests.. it took hours.. Then they told me I had some sort of disease.. and they didn't know how long I had left.. It could be years or.. or days.."

He nodded and took the cuff off after he checked it. He did tests on you to figure out what you had. He mumbled to himself, trying to figure this out. He looked a bit frustrated.

By the end of all the tests, you were exhausted.

"I.. I don't know what this is.. but I do know, if I don't do anything. You'll roughly have... a year"

You smiled when you heard the news, and your eyes started to water.

"A-A year? It's not long, but.. at least it's not a.. a few days.."

You wiped your eyes and looked up at him. You felt ashamed you started to cry in front of him.

"I'm sorry I'm crying.."

He put a hand on your sholder and smiled at you.

"It's alright.... I.. I'll try to find a cure.."

"Y-You will? Oh, Winter! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

You pulled him into a tight hug. He hesitated before putting his arms around you. He hadn't been hugged by an actual person in a long time. You leaned back a bit so you could see his face.

"Is there anything I can do to repay you? I'll do anything.."

"Anything? Y/N, you shouldn't say that.."

He said, letting out a soft chuckle.

You got on your tip toes and put your arms around his neck.

"Why? Do you have something in mind?"

He shook his head and quickly pulled you off of him. He didn't want you to close. He still didn't really think you liked him.

"If I'm going to find a cure, I'll need you here.. alright?"

"Of course"

"I've always found you attractive, Simon"

You leaned forward a bit and kissed him. When the kiss ended, you yawned and rested your head on his shoulder.

"I.. I'm tired.."

"It's alright.. rest, Snowflake"

You closed your eyes and drifted off to sleep as Winter held you in his arms.

You became bedridden shortly after, sleeping most of the time. Your mobility slowly got worse. Winter had to help you with simple tasks, like eating and going to the bathroom. While you slept, Winter often went to his lab, trying every way he could to find a cure for you.

Next >>

[chrisbitchtree]

My brain, waking me out of a deep sleep every three to four days at 2am

[alvisgate]

Alvi felt needles in his heart.

[yesornopolls]

have you ever watched someone die?