#tw paralysis

[rottmnt-residuum]

part 9

oooo donnie fed up

⇇ | ⇽ | index | ⇾

[lizaaardstuff]

Hellebores (shattered)

Hey guys, I’ve decided to try something a little new. This is a fic I’ve been working on for the last month now, and I wanted to share a small snippet of the beginning with you guys since it’ll be a bit longer before I’m able to post it on ao3.

This is a Donnie centric story that will take place after the invasion (like my other fanfic), but the beginning kicks off during the end battle.

⚠️Trigger warning for this fic will include: Major Character Injury, Permanent Injury, Paralysis, Internalized Ablism, PTSD, Medical Stuff; you know, the works.

Please let me know your thoughts once you’ve read this, I’d love to hear them <3

Word count: 1,845

———

Being apart of the Technodrome was... incredible. Being so wholly welcomed into such vast knowledge and power was thrilling- world changing. He was everything. He was everywhere. Nothing was out of his reach. He could feel the space in his head expand, his senses heightened to new levels, and as long as he ignored the pain in his shell and the prickling in his limbs and the pressure in his head, he would describe this as the best experience of his life. Truly, nothing could ever compare.

And then he was ripped out.

Violently.

Without any care to what it would do to him.

And suddenly the greatest experience of his life had turned into a living nightmare. He had never felt pain like this before, and not a second too soon, he blacks out.

———

"...nie!"

"Donnie, wake up!"

Donnie's eyes blearily crack open, dizzying colors invade his senses, and he fights the urge to close them again. He can hear himself wheezing, struggling to take in a full breath. He feels his head dipping down towards his chest, and he realizes he's being held up. Blinking to try to clear the haze from his vision, he looks around to his brothers, who are all being held up by the same gooey Krang matter. Donnie almost does a double take when he sees Raph, with the Krang's influence gone, but he doesn't even get a second to revel in this new development, because Leo and Mikey are suddenly yelling for him again.

"Donnie, c'mon, you have to fight it!" Leo shouts from across the room. A flash of blue lights up the room, and Donnie can feel the electricity of his brothers ninpō light up in his chest. And now that he's focusing on it, he can feel Raph's ninpō there too, strong and steady. Feeling that spark ignites something within his own kindling, and when Mikey's ninpō joins the mix, that's all the push Donnie needs before a beam of striking purple joins the cacophony.

There's yelling, but Donnie's ears are ringing, and everything sounds like it's happening behind a wall of cotton. He sees everyone's ninpō burning away the Krang matter that was holding them up, and he assumes the same was happening to him, but he could barely feel it.

Donnie drags in a breath, feeling like he was breathing through a straw, and uses all of his strength to lift up his right arm to pull at the Krang gunk that was pulling at his neck. If I could just get a moment to catch my breath...

And then the Krang matter is gone, and he's falling.

Donnie lands hard on his side, pain flaring through the upper part of his spine and echoing out across his chest, and the impact forces a weak cough out of him that takes away the little bit of air he had managed to gain in his lungs.

"Donnie!" he hears from above, but his eyes are slipping shut again, his energy spent.

There's a soft thud next to him, and a gentle hand on the side of his face. "Donnie, open your eyes man, please. C'mon, just open your eyes."

Leo.

Donnie slowly peels open his eyes again, despite how badly he wanted to just let them remain closed. Because Leo asked nicely.

Donnie drags in another breath.

Why is it still so hard to breathe?

"There you are," Leo sighs, a confusing mix of worry and relief painted on his face.

Donnie hears quick footsteps behind him and a soft gasp, "his shell," "oh Donnie," but when he tries to turn his head to see who's talking, Leo's hand that was still on his face presses down lightly to keep his head in place. "Don't move."

Donnie's head is starting to feel light from the lack of oxygen.

"Oh my god, Leo, what do we do." Mikey. That's Mikey. Donnie's fingers twitch against the ground as he tries once again to turn his head to see his baby brother, but Leo's hand remains firm.

"We have to move." Raph. His big brother is here too. Wait...

Donnie's already unsteady breathing halts, his eyes going wide. "Wait," he croaks out, all eyes turning back on him, "if you're all here... the Krang." Donnie's words slur, and his sentence ends in another wheezing breath.

The others share a confused look above him. Leo looks back down to meet Donnie's eyes, gently taking his hand with the one that wasn't securing the softshell's head. But Donnie could barely feel it. Everything felt so disconnected and muffled. Shock, maybe.

"Donnie," Leo says sharply, like he'd been calling his name a few times. Donnie drags his eyes back up to Leo, blinking through another round of haze. "Donnie, you're holding them off. Or, at least I'm assuming it's you. There's a big purple dome around us, and you're glowing, so..."

Huh?

"Leo," Raph says urgently from wherever he is. Donnie still can't see him or Mikey. If only I could just sit up... "We still need to get the Krang through that portal." There's hesitation in his voice, and Donnie wishes he could see his face.

"I know!" Leo snaps, voice trembling and eyes brimming with overwhelmed tears. It felt so unlike him. He'd only seen Leo make that face a few times in their lifetime, and most of what he could count were from the last 24 hours. Donnie focuses solely on flexing his fingers around Leo's hand, and Leo squeezes back automatically, looking back down at him but still talking to Raph. "I know, but- we can't move him like this."

"Leo, we can't stay here," Donnie hears Mikey say from somewhere above him.

Donnie watches as a tear rolls down Leo's cheek, catching the purple lighting of Donnie's ninpō. Then Leo squares his shoulders and his face hardens, eyes glancing up to meet the others above him, and Donnie knows that he's come to a decision.

"Raph, in a few minutes I'm going to need you to pick up Dee. As carefully as you possibly can. I'll portal you down to a safe spot. Donnie actually managed to get the ship pretty close to the portal before the Krang grabbed him and Mikey, so all Mikey and I have to do is push the big guy through. I need you to watch Dee, if you can find anything hard and flat to lay him on once you're down there, that would be best. Make sure he doesn't move." Good, Donnie thinks as he listens to his twin slip back into his leader voice, Leo's got this covered. Donnie can feel his eyes slipping shut again right as Leo's eyes shift back over to him. "Dee, look at me, I need you to focus."

Donnie would have rolled his eyes at the slider if he wasn't feeling so sluggish. Instead, he tries to hum to let him know he's listening, but it turned more into a weak groan.

"Before I have Raph pick you up, I'm going to do a quick check to see how you're doing. I need you to keep the shield up, okay? Can you do that for me? No, don't move your head, I got it," Leo adds quickly, pulling their hands apart to stop Donnie from nodding with both of his hands.

"Okay," Leo says, more to himself, as he finally lets go of Donnie's head, throwing a sharp glare in his direction with one more, "don't move," as he picks up Donnie's wrist to take his pulse.

He frowns, clearly not pleased with what he's feeling, but he moves on anyways, carefully shifting his head to lean against Donnie's chest. It was difficult since Donnie was on his side, and Leo seemed to take extra care in making sure not to jostle him. Leo's frown only deepens. This check up clearly wasn't going well. Damn, there goes my perfect test scores...

Then Leo goes to check his eyes, but without a pen light to use and the lighting around them being so dim, he gives up on that, moving to hold Donnie's hands instead.

"Squeeze my hands," Leo instructs.

Donnie has to dig through his energy reserve moving his fingers, and he notices that his right hand reacts before his left. Huh. But either way, he manages to give Leo's hands a weak, lopsided squeeze, which seemed to be good enough for now because Leo nods approvingly.

"Okay, now wiggle your toes for me." The slider sits up a bit straighter to look at the softshell's feet. Or, where Donnie assumes they must be, because he can't feel anything below his chest. Donnie's never been in shock before, and after this experience, he never wants to again. Though, that's a bit redundant. No one ever wants to go into shock, that would be masochistic. But Donnie definitely would rate this experience a zero out of ten, would not recommend-

"Donnie, focus," Leo says, placing a hand on Donnie's arm, bringing Donnie back to the present. "I need you to wiggle your toes." Was Donnie becoming delusional, or was there a hint of desperation in his brother's tone? Probably both.

So Donnie wiggles his toes like Leo has asked of him, if only to ease his brother's concern.

"Donnie, seriously, man. Move your toes so we can finish this up. I know you're feeling kinda out of it right now but-"

What? "I already did," Donnie mumbles out, immediately wishing he hadn't spoken when such a simple task leaves him breathless and dizzy.

"What? No, dude, you didn't. Try again." Leo's tone sharpens, eyes going wide, despite his casual wording.

Donnie furrows his smudged brows. "What're you talkin about?" Donnie tries to get an arm under him to push himself up, turning his head towards his legs, confused, but the second he tries to move, Leo's on top of him again.

"Stop! Stop moving," Leo shouts hurriedly. Donnie can feel the sharp sting of Leo's panic through their interlinked ninpō, and suddenly there's a shift in the air. Ignoring Leo's frantic pleads and shaking hands, Donnie tilts his head up slowly, painfully, and sees the large purple dome he had accidentally created to surround them shudder. A loud pounding followed by muffled rage filled roars could be heard just outside of the shield, as the Krang leader slams his fists into the structure, clearly becoming impatient.

When the Krang brings his fists down again, the structure glitches.

Donnie gasps, along with his brothers, and by pure instinct he pushes more energy into the shield. The world starts spinning and the corners of his vision go dim as he uses up the last of his reserves, and when Donnie blinks his eyes back open, his head is laying on the ground again. Leo's shouting something to someone, and there's a flash of bright, neon blue, and there's a large arm shifting under him. The last thing he sees is a burst of purple pixels as the dome shatters before his eyes slip shut.

———

Okay so I really have no idea how to format anything on this app, so if it’s hard to read, I’m so sorry 😭

[evenmoreofadisaster]

If you ever were to write/draw it I would love a fic where future one (Leo?) Shows up to antagonize current one like in that art you posted 🙏

Ngl I struggled a bit w this one but i managed to get something going :)

!! Minor spoilers for the EMD finale up ahead !!

--

Halfway through the movie, One gets hit with the feeling that he’s being watched. When he looks into the darkened hallway, he sees nothing. Suspicious that an intruder might’ve found the lair, One stands up and investigates. The others don’t seem to notice him slipping away. If they did, they didn’t bother to ask where he was going. Which made it much easier for One.

About two seconds after he enters that hall, a hand wraps around One’s face and drags him deeper into the isle. The slider grunts, latching onto the wrist with his claws while his opposite hand goes for the knife attached to his belt. One hooks his fingers around the blade and almost stabs his kidnapper in the leg. Before One can hit his target, he’s thrown into the wall.

One grimaces but his grip tightens around his weapon. “Big mistake, pal,” he growls, pushing off the stone surface to attack the large silhouette in front of him. The figure snatches One’s jaw between its claws and shoves him back. His weapon is knocked loose, which leaves One clawing at the figure’s arm. He tries to shove him off, squirming and seething, but the figure doesn’t let up his grip.

“Still playing games, huh?” he says in a steady voice, eyes glowing a dark, rosy pink.

One’s brows pull together. “What the hell?”

“You don’t know who I am?” He asks. Now that One’s hyper-aware of the situation, he recognizes that voice as his own. He sees the red crescents and the scar on his face. But despite the obvious traits, this version of himself is different. Bigger. Stronger. It’s not until he makes this connection that One’s body starts going numb.

“Well, I know you,” he continues. One’s panic officially sets in as the lack of feeling spreads from his reflection’s hand, into One’s chest and arms, and down his legs, completely immobilizing him. He doesn’t realize that his double has gotten close until he’s speaking in his ear.

“Do you really think they’re going to forgive you? Shredder?”

One wakes up in a cold sweat when he feels something sharp plunge into his heart.

[dumb-butt-with-a-sword]

Stan: You need to get rid of that thing.

Stan: I'm serious. You know this is wrong.

Ford: Stop! I know you're faking! Please... You can't be....

"Please don't leave me again."

Hold him as tight as you want. He can't come back, even if he wanted to. Side note: is it gay to cling and talk to what is essentially the breathing husk of your ex?

Yeah, sorry about this au. I'll probably make an angsty one shot fic about it. Bill's still alive btw. He's just empty.

[ash-isnt-writing]

Hemlock.

A poisonous flower that causes paralysis and, like all good things in life, death. The flower used to put Socrates to sleep for his moral philosophy. You’ve probably heard of it. Film, fiction, history, philosophy, botany, floriography, all that good stuff.

But what if I told you that there was a man. A man that wants nothing more than to be relieved of his curse. To be held, and to hold. A man that’s seen things no living, breathing being should ever have to witness, things that have shaken him to the core.

A man with skin of the very plant I’ve aforementioned and strikingly bright eyes of emerald. With hair of gold and with hands that tremble in anxiety, coated with drops of blood like the wake of an injured soldier, trekking through snow in the winter.

A man who knows nothing but suffering, nothing of peace or a restful sleep. A man plagued by the things he’s seen, the mistakes he’s made, the nightmares that dance in his mind to the cruel melody of his own heartbeat.

Can you imagine living like that, my dear reader? Having a life that follows the grace and beauty of a train wreck? A life as poetic as a car crash? A life full of misery, of shame, of blood? Living in constant fear of who you are, of a curse you’re bound to like how Ivy clings to a dying tree?

Hm. Me neither.

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A/N!!: Character credit (Ailean-Conall Hemlock) to @v-3-ll-1-ch-0-r / @v-3-ll-1-g-0-r-3 !! Idk I wrote this off the cuff with Alfred Hitchcock’s voice narrating the whole thing.

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[aswallowimprisoned]

Restless far from a Wine Dark sea - alt prompt Bedside vigil

Therapist Elias Freid visits on Shabbat evening.

@medwhumpmay

Tw complete body paralysis, locked in syndrome, life support, religious ceremony, Dead Dove Jewish vampiric whumpee, religious whumpee & carewhumper,

Not sure this is canon, but if it is, then it is set years into captivity

masterlist

≪ °❈° ≫

“Good evening Nathaniel.” Elias greeted the merman lying on the gurney, “It's a Friday, I thought I would give you a visit.”

The merman didn’t react, but Elias wasn’t expecting him to.

“I know you can’t respond, but Dr Orange tells me you can hear me and can understand everything I am saying. You're just locked in for now.” Elias touched Nathaniel’s forearm for the briefest moment. The merman wouldn’t be able to feel it - the stroke had cut off any conscious connection to his body, leaving him completely paralysed - but it gave Elias a shred of comfort. 

“So,” Elias put some lightness into his voice, “I thought we might prepare for Shabbat together. And before you think it, this doesn’t mean I think you are dying.” Elias fake reprimanded, before softening, “I just think it would be what I wanted, if I was you.”

Nathaniel still didn’t respond. The ventilator hissed as it portioned air into his lungs.

“I know I am far from the ideal person to help you with this, but we have prayed together before during times of trial, so I hope it isn’t too much of an imposition when I know you can’t tell me to leave.” Elias put the bowls he was carrying down on the chair, “I thought you might want to be clean before Shabbat started. I would like to pray with you for your recovery, and read you a few passages from the Torah. I hope it will help you, and allow you to find some comfort with our God.”

Nathaniel’s arms were unbound - there was no point restraining someone who couldn't breathe independently, let alone move.

“I am going to put a bowl under each wrist to catch the water, I am just going to touch you now…” Elias slid the large plastic bowls across the clean white sheet. Nathaniel’s hands dangled limply over them.

“Usually, I would warn you before the water hit, but for this I won’t, as I don’t want to interrupt the washing.” Elias took up the two handled cup of water, and set his mind to thoughts of God.

He doused Nathaniel’s right hand, then left, then right, then left, the water splashing up to the wrist, washing away sin. A final turn, right hand then left hand. 

Elias let him sit with the water in silent reflection for a moment, the only sound that of the droplets of water plinking from his fingers into the bowl, before towling him dry.

“May the One who blessed our ancestors —

Patriarchs Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob,

Matriarchs Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Leah —

bless and heal the one who is ill:

Nathaniel son of his father.” Elias spoke softly, reverently.

A tear slid down the motionless man’s face, and Elias wiped it away with equal reverence.

a/n This was proof read by 2 Jewish whump writers, but finding information about caring for the extremely ill was quite difficult. It is nevertheless one of my favourite chapters.

[maw-and-pawp]

Beneath Veiled Faces pt.1

Disclaimer: Robin's and Alma's views on vore doesn't reflect mine. Robin may come off as a little preachy in that one monolog, but just keep in mind that they have strong opinions formed from their own life experiences, and Alma has (less strong) opinions from her own. It's no way intended to say that one type of vore is inherently better than another- the reason the pred here gets the come uppance is purely plot armor lmao. Also, I've never been to a bar or had alcohol! Can you tell? XD Content: NSF/W vore, alcohol, intoxication, discussion of consent and ethics, panic attack, anxiety, unwilling vore, fatal digestion, hurt/comfort, secret missions, first meetings, secret identities, background murder, past slavery, not too graphic violence, unnamed female pred and unnamed ambiguous prey. Lots of fucking world building.

Robin scans the room once again, ears straining to listen to the wind from inside the mixed bar. The lights are dim this time of night, most patrons having either left or had one too many. The perfect time for most predators to make their move on people too drunk to properly fight back. Or run.

This area of the city has been struck with a string of disappearances, all prey folk. An obvious new hunting ground for an inexperienced pred. No matter. If they do this right, their target won't get the experience to get away with it smoothly.

The bartender gives them a strange look from across the room. Robin had tucked themself into the back booth, back to the wall, ordering only the occasional food. It was, admittedly, good food. They're obsessed with the cheese-stuffed potato skins and the sweet potato fries covered with some sort of sweet glaze. But they hadn't ordered any alcohol in a bar all night, just using a fork to stuff their face with finger food. And they had just been caught looking too closely at the patrons and the exits.

Stars they must look so suspicious. They just know they've got ‘that look’ in their eyes again, as Cedar keeps pointing out, that gives people the impression that they're ‘staring straight into your soul’. Ugh. Guess it's time to go up to the bar and actually order something, or blow their cover.

They hand over their ID and smile without teeth. The bartender eyes them a moment longer, before handing it back. He's a tall pred folk, one that would tower even above other mortal preds. As it is, Robin's palms start sweating in their gloves from having to almost throw their head back to look him in the eyes. They focus instead on the little enameled pin tucked across his collar, a cutesy little ghost saying ‘boo-mbtastic!’. As they start to read the menu for something light to sip, he speaks up. “I saw you looking around a lot tonight.”

“I'm waiting for someone,” they confess. It's not the whole truth, obviously, but they can't lie even if they wanted to. He chuckles. His voice rough enough it makes them shiver. They hope they're not flushing. “Got stood up, huh?”

They move to shake their head, but stop mid-movement. A sweet scent tickles their nose, and they have to swallow thickly against the sudden flood. The stool next to them shifts as someone slides in.

“Heyyyy bestie, no time no seeee,” the stranger says. A young prey woman sits next to them, swinging her feet and leaning her face in her hands. A faery prey woman. What in the world…?

“I saw you yesterday, Alma. Like I see you every night.” The woman - Alma - hands over her ID and smiles with teeth. Her pink nose is flushed red already, her pupils blown so only a ring of spring green can be seen. Has she been bar hopping? “Are they with you tonight, then? You can't keep leaving your dates hanging. This one's been here all night waiting.”

The other faery looks surprised, before turning her face to where he's gesturing. She looks them up and down, and smirks conspiratorially. “They are now! You don't mind, do you?” Robin shrugs. It doesn't matter to them, although now they'd have to find a way to thank her for saving their ass there. The man raises an eyebrow and mutters something fond under his breath about ‘damn kids, had me worried’.

They both order, and the bartender turns to start preparing the drinks. Robin tilts their head at the faint whisper in the wind. It's something to focus on instead of the way their stomach clenches. They've eaten enough food tonight, they don't need more, and they've just met Alma. That's not how it's supposed to go back in the homeland. And they've had enough of the nontraditional way. Never again.

She studies them over the edge of her glass of wine. Seemingly sizing them up in turn. After a moment, she comes to a decision, and hisses quietly in their mother tongue, words having a strange accent to them. “Y'know, I thought I was the only one on this side of the Veil.” She smiles toothily, swaying some. They resist the urge to grab her arm to steady her.

“Me too.” They take a sip of the sangria they ordered, trying to wash her scent down with another sweet thing. They need a distraction, so they ask the first thing that comes to mind to keep the conversation going, leaving one ear pricked towards the wind. “What brings you here?”

She snorts. “To the bar or the jungle? Because if it's the first, buddy that's so cliche to ask What's A Pretty Thing Like You Doing In A Place Like This.” Alma giggles as she downs the rest of her wine. She fully turns to face them, leaning her elbow up on the counter not made for her height. Her upright ears flutter, once, twice.

They roll their eyes. “I'm not hitting on you, obviously. You don’t have to answer that if it's personal.”

Alma rolls her eyes right back. She sobers some as she mulls it over. In a hushed tone, she replies, as if anyone happening to be listening could actually understand them. “I'm not the real Alma Florimell. Well, I am but not. It's a whole deal.”

They hum to themself. “Changeling?” They pretend not to be invested in the answer. Truly, how alone must she feel if she was willing to answer a vulnerable question from a stranger? Or drunk. Probably drunk. They shouldn't ask anymore questions like that, then.

“Yeah. Switched at birth and all. Like in a bad comedy drama. I'm lucky that my hosts wanted me even after they realized I'm not normal,” she rambles. The bartender notices that her drink is empty, and she motions for a refill with a muted smile. She sways again. Maybe she's had enough for tonight… They quietly ask for some water in english and push it towards her. “And, well, the real Alma isn't on speaking terms with hers, so I guess I dodged a bullet.”

“You are normal, Alma. Perfectly healthy and average for someone like you, as far as I can tell. And yeah, the plant thing is a little weird, but you're all just weird to me in general.” 

They decide to look around again, instinct telling them that something was off. Nothing was out of the ordinary at a glance, though. Exactly how it was before they got caught. They frown slightly to themself before turning back. They redouble their split focus towards the hunt at hand.

“Whatever…” she brushes off. There's no reason to believe them, afterall. They don't even know why they said that. Robin glances down to their hands. Half the glass is gone somehow. Oops. “Wait, how did you know about that?”

“It's really common. It would be weird if you didn't feel more at home with plants than people.” 

A momentary silence descends between them. Robin scrambles for something to say. They feel dizzy; from the alcohol or from the sweet treat they're talking to, they can't say. Their stomach rumbles in interest at the thought. They shake their head, realizing they're staring. 

It's Alma that breaks the silence. “So, what about you? How’d a windborne end up here? You're not trooping faeries. It must be hard living in a city, especially with no prey. Unless I don't know anything and I should shut up now. No seriously I won't be offended if you tell me to, I ramble all the time, especially when I've had too many. Like now. Yeah.” She sips her water to illustrate the point. The little preything really could talk, huh? Robin likes the sound of her voice, it's deep and smooth, reminding them of Cedar in a strange way. When he's totally relaxed and not nearly soprano from his anxiety. They take out their phone and shoot off a reminder to take his melatonin gummies while they're thinking about him.

Pocketing it, they finally process her words, and freeze. Well, she might not get it, but maybe they can subtly tell her a partial truth so she can draw her own conclusions… They pull up their left sleeve just enough to reveal the old brand curling possessively up their forearm. Their master’s use-name, written in the faery tongue in bold characters. It's an old and ugly memory, but their master’s attendants made sure it healed cleanly. The only apology they could give them as a child freshly ‘acquired’. They don't acknowledge the gasp to their right as they calmly explain, “I'm a free hound, but I can't ever be sure it would stay that way if I went back.”

They pull down their sleeve and fit it back over their glove snuggly. The leather squeaks as they testingly clench their fingers. Stalling, so they don't have to acknowledge the fear Alma is radiating at their side. Her heart is beating so fast, rushing blood close to the surface, making her scent flood the air. It's soured with terror. So dizzy, and shaky, they get up to leave her alone. It's fine. They get it.

Her fingers shoot out and clutch their sleeve. “It's fine! I'm sorry for reacting like this. Give me a minute, you don't have to go!” 

They rip their arm away, baring their fangs in a snarl. Heart hammering, they can't breathe enough air into their lungs, and their world lurches forward from the rush of adrenaline and oxygen deprivation. The stool rushes up to meet them and they cling onto it like a lifeline. Everything blurs out of their awareness for several long moments.

When they come back to themself, their ears are ringing, and the bartender has come from behind the counter and laid them down flat on the ground so they wouldn't crash and bring glass with them. He's speaking softly to them, and someone next to them is guiding them through a breathing exercise. They vaguely recognize it as the same one they use with Cedar when he has attacks. Their ears ring.

Robin is guided back onto the stool, Alma saying something to the bartender, who after a moment retreats to get them a glass of water. She very carefully doesn't touch them, but she does lean forward into their line of sight, pretty lips softly smiling. It doesn't reach her eyes. 

“Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you…”, she murmurs. “I didn't know.”

“I should be the one apologizing. Just. Don't touch me suddenly. Don't grab my arms like that. And we’re golden.” They gulp down their water in one big swallow. “Thanks for helping me through that. You didn’t have to.”

“Yeah I did, idiot. I messed up. I fix it. Thems’ the rules.” She leans back out of their space. “I think I owe you something now, though. For being frightened unnecessarily, and causing a situation where you'd panic.”

“You don't owe me anything. It's fine. It's over, and it was an understandable reaction to that. It's fine.”

She tilts her head, regarding them thoughtfully. “What about dinner? You don't seem like you've gotten enough to eat recently. Your presence is weaker than I know it should be. Or well, it's late for dinner. I could be dessert?”

Robin bites back the first three answers. They are not going to make decisions with their stomach, thank you very much. “Don't offer me your body out of a perceived obligation. That's weird. I would be weird for saying yes to that.”

She flusters. “Hey, don't talk about it like it's sex! And it's not obligation! I thought, maybe, that you would be tempted if I said it like that. To be honest, I just want to disappear right now. Be far away from everything. I don't know, the chiropractor is too expensive. I need to get factory reset and no one is biting. It's just fulfilling a need for eachother. And yeah, I am sorry for earlier. I know bloodhounds don't get a choice in what the person on the other end of the leash makes you do. It was irrational. You'd have torn my throat out already if you were still under someone's thumb. And I know that I get the munchies after a panic attack, I thought that it would probably be welcome to offer you a meal.”

They hum in thought for a moment, choosing their words carefully. “It's not inherently sex, you're right. But I need to approach it like it is. It's a lot of the same questions about consent and autonomy about our bodies. It's not like here in the mortal realm, they die from this all the time. They can't have a culture around respecting a prey as a person in the same way we can. It's inherently intimate, at least for me. You're both food and a person, but here it's food or a person. It's so strange to think about it like that. It feels wrong.” They shiver in disgust at the mere thought. “So following that logic, I'm pretty sure we're both too intoxicated to be making that decision right now.”

Alma’s voice turns teasing. “You've had literally one drink. You're not that much of a lightweight, are you?”

“Guilty as charged. It's the bird bones. Can't be too heavy to fly and all.” They smirk. “Who knew hollow bones were bad at making blood, too?”

“Oh boy. Let's hope you never have to go to the ER!”

“Yeah. Let's hope.”

They settle once again into a comfortable silence. At some point they relocate to the booth Robin had claimed earlier. Alma ends up ordering 3 more wines, and they show her the magic of the glazed sweet potato fries. She teases them for eating fries with a fork, and they dare her to wrap her hands in napkins and not get any grease or glaze on them. She fails spectacularly, over and over, until Robin can't breathe because they're laughing too hard. She playfully kicks under the table.

While they're having fun in good company, the other preds at the bar watch in curiosity. Some had been concerned earlier, when the short one had keeled over. Some were watching with bated breath, placing bets on when the little pred was going to stop playing with their food and eat the tiny prey. In anticipation or cynical worry.

And one was thinking to herself that the little pred was weak. That together with the tiny preything, they'd make a filling meal. The tiny prey was drunk, it wouldn't put up much fight. Couldn't walk, let alone run, so all she had to do was swallow the other one first. Oh yes. It looked so tasty. She hoped her prey paired well with the margarita she's been nursing the whole night. 

Her stomach burbled in interest at the thought of dinner tonight. Or perhaps, that was last night's prey still processing. Such a pretty thing, so trusting. It filled her up nice and good. She went home with a squirming gut that night, and put her favorite soap operas on. Rubbed her belly as it purred, bubbling and churning in delight as the little thing screamed for help. Slowly being drowned out by her massive gut roaring to life, thrashing getting weaker as her stomach clenched and melted her prey into nothing. Gods, she can't get enough of it. Truly, this was what she's been missing out on?

She follows them out after they split the bill, and the little pred helps the tiny one walk. They stagger a few times, and the two stop for a moment so the tiny one can bend over a bush. She hears them hiss quiet words to eachother in a language she's never heard before. They sound like snakes, but if snakes were Italian. How interesting.

She slips unnoticed past them with a casual walk. An alleyway was only a bit ahead, where they'd have to pass to call a taxi home. Perfect. Now, just to wait.

Robin sighs in relief as nothing ends up coming up. It's been a long night for Alma by the looks of it, and they mentally prepare to get strange looks from the taxi driver as they carry a nearly blackout drunk preygirl home. She'd probably be fine on her own, seeing as faery prey are fighters when they don't like what's happening. Vicious things. But it's rained recently, and if she passes out in a puddle…

The hunt tonight was fruitless so far. Well, maybe they could take Alma home and come back to continue. The predator has been attacking in a circular pattern across the city, Missing Persons last being seen at a bar and disappearing after the establishment closes, or after they leave. So the culprit is choosing the victims inside the building. 

Of course, serial killers or traffickers aren't entirely ruled out. But the broken antler pieces left in alleys suggest an amatuer predator breaking off the natural defenses of their prey, not wise enough yet to remember to clean up afterwards. Or someone clever enough to make it look like a predator attack to throw off investigators. Not that the police have been any kind of useful to a simple case like this so far. That's why they have to step in now.

They curse their circumstances in their head. If only there were more faery prey - willing prey - they wouldn't have heard about this so late. The wind would've carried the screams for help to them from anywhere in the world. But the longer they go without eating, the more the wind fades from their awareness, the harder it is to maintain the glamour that safely hides away their wings in a pocket dimension. They haven't eaten prey since they were a teenager…

They slowly lead Alma away from the bush as she straightens back up. The designated area for the taxi was just ahead, a little alley between them and the waiting bench.

Someone grabs the back of their shirt and yanks. They feel their body be pulled back into the shadows, reflexively letting go of Alma in the process. Adrenaline shoots up their spine. Something wet hits their face - drool - and they instinctively twist around in the grip of their captor. The attacker is over powered, or caught off guard by their strength, and loses some of their hold on them. Robin strikes out where they're guessing the face is of the predator, and tries not to grin when they feel a crack underneath their fist. They've struck true once again.

The person goes flying. They watch as they - she, bounces off the side of a dumpster and lands on her knees. A vindictive, predatory part of themself purrs in satisfaction in seeing their target brought low. She groans. Growls some generic insult. Or threat. They don't really care what she has to say.

“Found you,” Robin breathes, and Alma slurs. The prey woman leaning on the opposite wall wastes no time in reaching into seemingly nowhere and bringing forth five long purple needles. She throws them. One lands in the dirt by the target’s feet, one in the brick wall, two in the metal, and one strikes true into the predator’s engorged gut. They feel sick as they watch the flesh wobble on impact. The woman goes limp almost instantly.

Robin eyes her for a moment before turning their head to stare at Alma. “What do you mean, ‘found you’?!” They once again say in unison. They shake their head. “You first.”

“I ho arouuund,and…*hic* smell nice. It makes them. It makes them want meeee. So I figired, I've got Para. The stiff that makes you jot move. I trick em into eating it along with me if they're gonna just *hic* take meeee.” Alma rambles. “Yooou turn”

“...I go around and find predators that don't take no for an answer. And I make them take no for an answer.”

“Ohhh you're the killlllerrr. Cooooool”

 “And you’re the cause behind preds becoming paralyzed suddenly. Nice.”

“Yeaaah” She slowly sinks down the wall, and Robin moves to help her up. “I wanna go home now.”

The adrenaline is slowly starting to wear off, and the exhaustion setting in. Robin is tired down to their bones after tonight. All in all a successful hunt, with a new ally/friend to boot, but they've done more emotional work tonight than they have since the night they ran. “Yeah. Let's go home.”

Two taxi rides, a deadweight girl on their back up a flight of stairs, and a worried phone call later, Robin is closing their own apartment door behind them. They're asleep in Cedar’s bed before their head hits the pillow.

[divineprank]

Hello everyone! ♥ 

Sorry for the lack of activity from me on this side of my blog! I just wanted to give you a small update and let you know what’s going on. Allow me to warn you that the following will contain descriptive mentions of chronic pain, advanced arthritis, skeletal injury, spinal injury, paralysis, shoulder dislocation, surgery, and shoulder replacement surgery. I am a caregiver for my physically disabled mother who normally struggles quite a bit with her usual physical limitations. Twenty years ago, she was in a horrible accident that left her partially paralyzed from an incomplete spinal cord break. She can walk and talk and feed herself, but she’s quite limited in her daily life and she is often in a lot of pain as a result. 

Unfortunately, as she’s grown older, she has developed arthritis in her left shoulder, like many of us do. Sadly, it’s progressed to a point that her arm has literally dislocated itself. You see, she has stage IV arthritis -- this is the worst “grade” your arthritis can be rated. Having stage IV arthritis means that the cartilage has completely worn down and now the bone has been grinding against bone. What this means for her is her shoulder bones have ground against each other so much that it is no longer physically possible for her arm to remain locked in her shoulder joint where it belongs naturally. Because of how bad her arthritis is, reducing the shoulder dislocation--that is, to set the arm back into place--is impossible. There is literally nothing for her skeleton to lock together, the shape of her shoulder anatomy has been permanently altered due to the progression of her arthritis. Since they can’t pop her arm back into place, she is facing a total shoulder replacement. Right now she is in an immense amount of pain and her usual limitations have been amplified ten-fold. So, I’ve been really busy with helping my already-limited mother maneuver life around basically having only one arm, as well as trying to manage her terrible pain until we can get this surgery taken care of. We’re almost there, she just needs a medical clearance from her lung doctor because she just got over COVID. 

To those of you who are waiting on the asks you sent me, and to those who are expecting some older threads I have drafted: I am still here, I am still present and I definitely want to write with you guys. Ganondorf’s muse is on fire and I want to be a pyromaniac! But things will be a bit slow from my end for a little while. I’ve just got a lot going on at home right now, haha.  Please don’t let that discourage you from reaching out, though! Even though it sounds like I’ve got a lot going on, writing is one of my favorite ways to decompress, so I’m still VERY open to receiving asks, getting tagged and talking through IMs (or Discord with mutuals!) right now! Plus, I’ll definitely still be chipping away at what I owe you guys! I’m hoping to get a bunch done by this weekend! But yeah! All this craziness aside, I am normally kind of a slow RPer, but with the situation at hand, I know I’m going to be even slower, so I’m writing this because I’m a little paranoid that I’m coming across as aloof. I want to be open and honest with you guys in case it seemed like I was procrastinating or ignoring anyone! Thanks for reading; I appreciate your understanding and I hope you all have a great night! :) 

[the-great-donatello]

...leo says he smells pizza. also he cant move and he can see the humans.

. . .

[lololollywrites]

This is so, so, so fucking true. It's sickening. I don’t follow football at all, but I’ve had a really hard time seeing videos of this pop up unexpectedly on my feed. It’s so hard to watch, and I think I did see Damar’s brother request that the video be taken down of the actual incident. I can’t even imagine. The humanity of sports shouldn’t be lost; the people behind team colors, jerseys, and sponsorships. What I do know a lot about is gymnastics, and since Simone Biles was mentioned, I want to comment further on her situation.

What people who don't follow gymnastics never fully understood about Simone Biles’ break in Tokyo is that it wasn't just that she was stressed and that she was trying to prioritize her mental health. Would that have been enough and 10000% justifiable and sufficient? OF COURSE. And I ADORE people who never asked any more questions than that. None were needed. But what that level of stress had caused with Simone was something called "the twisties" in gymnastics. This means that gymnasts get mentally lost in the air while flipping and twisting and literally cannot complete the skill; they bail early. No big deal, right? Wrong. They also have no way of guaranteeing they won't land on their head or neck. They're so mentally lost that their innate muscle memory goes out the window. 

The twisties are temporary - something similar happens in all sports, and is called "the yips" - but in gymnastics, it can be dangerous and even deadly. I used to take gymnastics (I was never good at all) but I have followed the sport for years, and Simone is - no contest - the greatest gymnast of all time, male or female, from any country. The sport is subjective in that there are elements of beauty and artistry involved, but even those who don’t personally love her gymnastics style don’t deny that she’s the GOAT. The fact that people who never watch gymnastics on any other occasion shouted at her from their couches to perform to their specifications (suddenly caring about gymnastics, despite not knowing the scoring rules nor being able to name any of the elements or skills) - for her country, for her team, for their entertainment - when she had already done SO MUCH (and when, don't forget, gymnasts aren't paid the millions of NFL athletes unless they make it to the Olympics, accept sponsorships, and therefore forfeit their right to compete in NCAA) made me sick. 

I respected Simone so much for not getting into the specifics of the twisties in every interview - mental health is enough and should always be, and she didn’t owe any people complaining an explanation - but I wanted to throw in their faces anyway just how ridiculous they were being. Do they have ANY IDEA how difficult (and dangerous) gymnastics is? That Olympic-level gymnastics takes at least 10 years of training at 6-8 hours a day, untold sacrifice, and countless injuries, at an age that means you’re putting a young body and mind through torment and pain? Do they think she just... didn’t feel like competing? After all that hard work? Honestly. People are so fucking stupid.

Simone tried. She did. There are videos of her training a day or two before she pulled out of competition; she fell on a dismount from bars that I’d never, ever seen her fall from. Not competing DID prioritize her team’s chances, if that’s all these stupid people care about, but it also prioritized her personal safety. She came back to compete in the balance beam event finals, and - while her performance was enough for a bronze medal - those of us who knew her abilities could see that she was off, almost dangerously so. They’d all be singing a different tune if Simone were their daughter. Or sister. Or friend. It’s that same old tired Conservative argument: They don’t care about other people until they’re suddenly forced to. They care about establishments and traditions. Like the NFL. Like Olympic gold medals. Concepts over humanity. And also, as I believe Simone mentioned, she’d been dominating the sport for YEARS. She won every competition she entered. Won almost every possible gold medal. Allowing someone else to compete in her stead that wouldn’t have otherwise been able to should be something beautiful and celebrated, and it WAS for the team. They came together to WIN A TEAM SILVER. Without the star everyone expected would carry them. That’s HUGE. And this WIN was overshadowed by people whining about Simone letting her team down somehow. Caring only about medal results is so... utilitarian. And so, so against what sports should be. 

Gymnasts have been paralyzed during competition - at the 1998 Goodwill Games, 17-year-old Chinese gymnast Sang Lan fell during vault warm ups and broke her neck. She remains confined to a wheelchair to this day and later sued the organizers of the event, citing poor organization; she was allowed to vault when another coach was removing a mat, leading to distraction. The event moved forward after her catastrophic fall, despite the other gymnasts witnessing this event and being visibly upset by it. Many of them knew each other, even those from other countries. In 1988, Julissa Gomez, an American gymnast once coached by the infamous (and highly controversial and abusive) Bela Karolyi, was paralyzed during vault warm ups at the World Sports Fair in Japan. She died three years later at only 18 years old. Her mother blamed abusive coaching techniques, as she thought the Yurchenko-entry vault Julissa was made to perform was dangerous and that Julissa wasn’t ready (at the time, it was a fairly new and high-level vault, especially before the wider modern vaulting table); she said that Julissa’s subsequent coach after Karolyi, Al Fong, was also to blame for her teammate Christy Heinrich’s eating disorder and that he made her “skin crawl”. In 1980, Soviet gymnast Yelena Mukhina fell after under-rotating a tumbling pass called the Thomas salto (now banned), landing on her chin. This left her as a quadriplegic, and she passed away in 2006 due to health complications. 

The Thomas salto, as I said, has since been banned for its inherent danger; other rules, such as the increased age limit at the Olympics and a different vaulting table, have been instated to help keep gymnasts safe, but injuries abound in the sport. Simone had reason to worry for her safety in Tokyo when she found herself with the twisties, as she performs tumbling passes and dismounts LITERALLY NO ONE ELSE IN THE WORLD HAS EVER DONE and maybe will EVER do. Though Yelena Mukhina was reclusive after her devastating accident, she did have this to say (according to ighof.com): “She criticized the Soviet gymnastics program for deceiving the public and for their insatiable desire for gold medals at all costs.”

So yeah. I don’t know what it will take for changes to be made or for people to stop blaming literally everything EXCEPT for the actual problem, which I guess is the inherent capitalistic tie to sports, but something needs to change. Quickly.

they need to stop this NFL season now i am not joking or being facetious they need to reevaluate how football is played fundamentally and it should have happened after Tua earlier this season

[unleashedart]

For everyone before me…

Wren’s past was marked with tragedy with the loss of his father in a racing accident when he was 13 and the crash of his karting friend that left him paralyzed when they were 16 but now standing on the podium he knows he wouldn’t be here without them

[deunmiu-dessie]

a paralysis demon plays with you at night, this time you're finally awake to see it.

you're not sure how it started. just that one day it did.

you'd wake up with sticky inner thighs and ruined sheets; the familiar pulsing of your clit, begging for attention almost overwhelming, and your muscles ached as if you had run a marathon the day before. tentatively you'd dip your hand into your panties, nimble fingers finding the hood of your engorged clit, eyebrows pulling together at the almost painful feeling it brought; then they'd drift lower, immediately sinking into creamy, wetness that pooled from your entrance and smeared your labia.

this perverse ritual had become your waking nightmare, weeks upon weeks of waking up to ruined panties and an insatiable hunger that couldn't be sated alone. frustration and tears intertwine, as your lithe fingers desperately caress and coax your clit but to no avail. it'd leave you cranky most days and unapproachable the rest.

what the hell was happening? at first, you believed it to be mere wet dreams, lost in the recesses of your mind. but the inability to find release, even with your touch or the mechanical hum of a vibrator, defied all reason. your sanity teetered on the edge, the constant ache and unrelenting wetness between your thighs, the demands of university, and the grueling hours at the fast-paced coffee shop on campus only exacerbate your torment.

breathe; you had told yourself. you just needed a day to sleep, in order to get back into the groove of your usual hectic life. and so, you make the decision to abandon your responsibilities, forsaking work and classes, seeking solace within the confines of your bed.

but that day you saw it.

as the night grew later, you found yourself slipping in and out of consciousness, struggling to keep your eyes open, you clung to the last shreds of wakefulness, determined to finish the movie that had lured you in with its promises of thrills and chills. the laptop, perched on your chest, emitted a faint glow, casting eerie shadows across the room. but despite your best efforts, the battle was futile. with a heavy sigh, you surrendered, closing the laptop and setting it aside.

that should've been it, you should have gone to sleep and woken up the next morning bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, no longer raging and horny, stressed and tired— just your normal self. yet, as if possessed by an unseen force, your eyes snap open, jolting your mind from the peaceful slumber you had so eagerly embraced, but not your body.

the room was cloaked in darkness, save for the feeble glow of a night light by the door. the time couldn't have been later than two in the morning, leaving you with ample hours until you needed to start getting ready for the day…so why were you up?

grunting you attempt to reach across to your desk and grab your water bottle, your throat suddenly dry and scratchy. but you couldn't move. in fact, your whole body felt numb, as if you'd been submerged in an ice-cold lake. you could feel the hair on your arms standing on end, your heart thumping painfully in your ribcage, desperate to escape from your chest and out the window just above your bed. frantic, your eyes darted around your room, flitting over the darkened corners and further on before subconsciously gazing upwards. it gazed back at you.

it was inky black, as if a void had materialized on your ceiling. barren of any discernible features, a foreboding presence emanated from it, sending chills down your spine. its limbs, neck, and torso twisted unnaturally, giving it a grotesque and elongated appearance. tears welled up in your eyes upon witnessing it, and you attempted to scream, only to find your mouth was sealed as if stitched with needle and thread.

the creature descended from above with erratic movements, settling above your figure and menacingly bringing its face closer to yours. this couldn't be happening, it must be a dream and in a desperate attempt to escape, you tightly shut your eyes and began counting backward from ten, gasping for air with each haggard breath.

however, a phantom graze on your thigh startles your eyes open. the creature was still there, its taloned, inky black hand slowly trailing along your clammy skin. even without a face, you could feel its gaze upon you, sinister and scheming. swallowing thickly, goosebumps follow in the wake of its touch, like tiny flames igniting your skin.

and almost as if accustomed to its advances, your body ignites with a dizzying heat, pussy weeping and your clit throbbing eagerly, readily despite your heart skipping and restarting all in one second with fear. its touch is tantalizing and deliberate, momentarily vanishing underneath your oversized night-shirt before returning to the heat of your thighs, talons pricking your flesh.

the creature's game finally comes to an end as it finds your fattened clit, which eagerly presses against the fabric of your panties, craving any form of touch. its assault is steady but firm and the touch immediately sets you off. your body, needy from weeks of being unable to orgasm, finally reaches its limit. you can feel the knot tightening in your tummy, a sharp, zinging pain in your lower abdomen, and the tensing of your thighs.

however, just as you approach your climax, the creature abruptly stops, shifting its touch to your slick inner thighs, face pressing closer to yours, leering and mocking. without the constant stimulation, your orgasm subsides, leaving you with a throbbing ache in your hips, cunt drooling with your arousal profusely.

your eyebrows cinch together, tears staining your cheeks before you're hit with a realization. the constant feeling of never being satisfied and not being able to cum, was because of this…creature.

its pitch-black visage suddenly splits into a sinister grin, revealing rows of serrated teeth gleaming with viscid, thick saliva. its voice is otherwordly deep, it's guttural, and raspy; fingers returning deftly to your clit to rub circles. "do you remember now?"

[owlyjules]

Wisptober Day 27: Heavy

“His grandfather had warned him that he could hunt and kill any creature on their estate except for the tall white elk wandering the woods. However, the young lord was brash, arrogant, and a glory hound… Since he cut off its head, he has suffered terrible nightmares of a heavy weight crushing him to death.”

Sorry for the lot of blood this time! It was inspired by the idea of sleep paralysis and heavy conscience mixed together!:)

(And a dash of the gothic dark stories where they tell the guy NOT TO DO something and then THEY DO IT and then they get their ass haunted and are like "woe is me for I am tormented and am a fool")

[gravemud]

There You Are

[thegorgonist]

Her troubled heart has summoned a Night Mare from the depths of her mind.

In my shop

[newtabfics]

have you ever had any sleep paralysis demon thoughts?👀

Oh god yes I have just like...listen okay. You're a laying on your stomach kinda sleeper for this scenario.

Having woken up from a wet dream and realizing you can't move. You're aching but you don't know what's going on. All of a sudden, this voice just purrs in your ear, "I know what you desire. I can give you that."

Somehow, you know it can read your mind and you're just begging as you blink slowly, seeing a clawed hand wrap around your limp wrist, holding you down as you feel something grinding against you.

"Let me make your dreams come true."

The demon starts grinding against you, teasing you by pressing the tip against your panties until you're soaking them more than you already have. It moves them aside and just slides in easily.

It waits for a long moment before you feel that cold breath on your ear. "Let me stretch it more."

Through whatever demon magic, it somehow is thicker and stretching you.

A quiet gasp of a moan escapes from your limp body, eyes fluttering in pleasure as it begins to just rut into you until you choke out a weak moan, still unable to move as your orgasm hits.

The demon just smirks and keeps moving, keeps making you tip over that edge. It's that energy you're radiating. It's so delicious to him. He can't stop until he's pouring himself into him, growling and pressing so deep he's practically teasing your womb.

When morning comes, your legs ache as you look down and see not a trace of that strange dream.