#I feel like such a shaking rat...

[frog-chemicals]

hi did you finish the fic about the bad kids and their various autistic traits? I'd love to read it

Oh! It is nowhere near finished! (I’ve been doing SO many Other Things)

But! That does not mean I will not be informing you of my Many Elaborate Headcanons and Why I Have Them!

I think either Gorgug or Adaine would be the first to get diagnosed with anything.

Adaine, obviously, gets diagnosed with anxiety first. I think from there on out she gets Actual Therapy, which then leads to her getting diagnosed as autistic. I think she really struggles with learning how to unmask and actually be comfortable in her own skin, in being her own person.

A lot of the autistic traits she does not hide could be explained by her being a High-Elf Wizard.

She’s very blunt, she’s very fixated on things making sense, she hyper focuses on Her Specific Field of Interest, she’s peculiar about how her things are organized. She only likes when a select few people touch her and that’s not even all the time.

When she does allow herself to unmask, I think most of her stims involve swaying and repeating phrases, spell names, spell ingredients, those sorts of things.

Gorgug’s parents care about him so much. However, I don’t think he actually gets diagnosed until he’s in his teens. There’s probably a few reasons for it ranging from his parents simply not realizing due to gnome culture being incredibly autism friendly to it being really hard to get a half-orc kid diagnosed with anything that won’t end up with the stigmas of said diagnoses causing them more difficulty in life.

That being said, Gorgug’s autistic and probably deals with a lot of body dysmorphia.

He’s one of the people who adapts most easily to learning that What He Experiences Has A Name. He probably does have a brief moment of “Oh. So I am different.” only to once again realize that everyone he’s surrounded himself with are also different and they’re awesome, so him being different is, if not also awesome, completely okay.

He generally struggles socially (bad at social cues, doesn’t know how to make friends, awkward around strangers), he likes listening to Brain Explosion Music, he doesn’t pick up on a lot of things at the same speed that most other people seem to.

I think that when he stims, it’s usually not something very obvious. It’s a lot of playing games it’s his hoodie strings, drumming on things (picked up from Fig), humming a song to himself. That sort of stuff.

I think it takes until after Ayda discovers she’s autistic for the rest of The Bad Kids to Figure It Out.

In my mind, at least, it starts with her asking Fig and Adaine for help making a presentation so she can explain Herself better to her friend.

Adaine already knows a thing or two, having also been diagnosed (probably pretty recently) but it takes her reading Jawbones books for things to fully click that “Oh. We’re all like this”

She still helps Ayda with her presentation, of course. She is her best friend, after all. But it does very much result in a secondary presentation in which Adaine thinks all The Bad Kids are autistic, which several of them had already started to suspect during Ayda’s presentation about herself and her autism.

Riz is most obvious. The only reason he’s not diagnosed is the fact it’s expensive and there’s not a lot of mental health professionals who know anything about goblins in the area.

He’s autistic and has both anxiety and insomnia as a direct result of it.

Initially, he tries to deny it and goes to his mom basically trying to convince her to agree that it’s just goblin stuff, right??? She tells him that not only is he a Remarkably Autistic Goblin, he gets it from Pok.

I think his stimming involve a lot of, for lack of better words, instinctive behaviors? He chews on things, he chitters, he taps his claws on things, he takes cover in small, comfortable places (like his friends backpacks or jackets, especially while they’re wearing them).

But a lot of it is also very,,,, Detectively. Yeah. That’s a word. Why not.

He repeats words and phrases regarding his cases, he scribbles down notes even if he already has the information, even if he knows he will remember, he clicks his pen and probably does some pretty sweet tricks with them too. His clue board making should absolutely be considered a form of stimming, in my opinion.

(Also, him joking about Shooting People being a stim is Very Funny to me)

Kristen I think is pretty chill about it initially, only to have a breakdown about her entire worldview being changed again at a later point.

She has a pretty blatant special interest in religion to me.

She also has adhd and dyspraxia.

Most of her stimming involves a lot of movement. She picks up on hand flapping from Ayda, sways a lot, brunches her legs, taps her feet, taps her hands on things, stretches out and flexes her body a lot. She probably used to play with her hair a lot when it was longer. While she still does, she’s mostly moved on to using the frankly absurd amount of stim toys she’s keeping stored somewhere. Most of them end up getting “borrowed” and lost in the pockets of her party at some point.

Sometimes she sings old hymns.

Fig tries to act cool about it. Fig is not cool about it. She already struggles with Being Herself and Wearing Masks enough as it is. Finding about the ADHD makes sense, really. Finding out about the autism is a slightly higher hurdle to get over.

For a lot of her life, she was so incredibly focused on fitting in, on making the pretty popular girls like her enough to include her, on making sure no one noticed just how much she felt like there was something different about her.

And then it turned out she is different. She’s a tiefling. She’s bisexual. She’s autistic. She is so little like the girl she used to be, like the girl she pretended to be.

It’s difficult, for a while, I think.

But, one thing about being nothing like the kid others expected you to be, is that it’s supper fucking punk.

It still takes a good long while to discover who Fig truly is, but she’s finally starting to feel true confidence that she doesn’t need to know just yet. That she’s allowed to be figuring herself out. That she’s allowed to be complicated and messy.

I think the way she stims is pretty similar to Kristen. There’s a lot of movement to it. She drums on things, bounces her legs, shifts her weight around a lot when she’s standing, plays with her hair, generally likes keeping her hands busy with something. But she also has a pretty big oral fixation. While her chewing habits aren’t quite as intense as Riz, I do think she tends to chew on stuff like pens when they happen to get near her mouth. I think her smoking habit is also pretty strongly influenced by this.

Fabian is the one who struggles most. While it’s fine for his friends to all be a little odd in all their different ways, he cannot have anything wrong with him. I think it takes a lot of talking before he even accepts that maybe it’s okay for something to be strange about him as well. Even if he is becoming his own man, that boy still has so many insecurities about who he is as a person.

I think he has a similar social struggle to Fig. He seems like someone who fits in. He feels like someone who’s supposed fit in. He adapts so easily whatever situation he’s put in, hoping that maybe if he’ll bend himself the right way, he’ll actually fit somewhere.

But he’s never actually had friends his own age. Sure, part of that is because he’s been on pirate ships up until he was, like, 16 but part is also the fact that, for so long, he’s been trying to be who his father wants him to be that he barely knows how to be his own person.

He struggles socially the same way Fig does. He doesn’t know how to fit in with people that actually like him, so he puts on his rich boy jock persona and he fakes it until, well, something happens. He uses humor in an attempt to deflect the fact he doesn't understand when talk about things in roundabout ways. He acts like he doesn't care when people talk about things that he struggles to understand. He barrels through a team sport solo because he figured it would be more effective that was.

And unlike Fig, who could have probably continued to be that sweet little cheerleader for years to come hadn’t it been for her horns, people realize he’s different, realize he does not fit in.

Fabian struggles with accepting it the most but he does have somewhere he fits in, even if he spent so long trying to deny it. He fits in with this party of weirdo misfits that love him just as much as he’s realized he loves them.

I think, when he finally allows himself to unmask enough to stim, it’s a lot of dancy movement and a lot of vocal stims. He bounces on his feet, he sways on his legs, he hoot-growls to himself a lot. Also, because I love projecting onto Fabian, I think he gets a "Kipperlilly Copperkettle" vocal stim at some point. I also like to think of him as dylsexic but that is a purely self indulgent headcanon

[dailykugisaki]

Day 163 | id in alt

Nanami is so resolute in what he believes it's actually astounding how he didn't get to have a proper conversation with Kugisaki.

[encantresse]

"Dorothea...?"

Disbelief mutes Caspar's voice down to an uncharacteristically soft volume. His heart hammers in his chest. He blinks. She's still there, war-torn but beautiful as ever.

"Dorothea!"

Her name scrapes from his throat loudly now, hoarse from all of the times he'd shouted it in the chaos of the fall. (Dorothea. Ferdinand. Edelgard. Bernadetta. Linhardt. All of them were etched into his vocal cords until they burned.)

He crashes into her in a whirl, arms wrapped tight around her. His breath hitches. He's not sure if it's laughter or sobbing that he's stifling into her shirt.

her first instinct is to fight back. there's an attempt to shove the person off, panic taking root as she recalls how those enemy mobs had charged them, and the men conjured by pasithee's magic, and how they'd grabbed at her, attempting to force her down—

—when that voice finally registers.

and then, blinking back the fear that clouded her, dorothea notices a familiar shade of cyan that could only belong to the boy she hoped she wouldn't have to mourn. the face she saw in those dreams, on the occasional nights when she didn't wake up in fits, wracked by guilt at how they'd managed to separate from him. wondering if he was alive or dead, if he was scared, if he could ever forgive them for moving on...

"...caspar?" she whispers hoarsely, a questioning note in her words before it occurs to her that this hold has only ever belonged to one person. the one whose smile always lit a room and whose laughter echoed down halls, making it impossible to ever feel lonely or unwelcome. the one who'd become like family in such a short span of time, a fellow black eagle and brother all in one.

"CASPAR-!"

it comes out as a wail at first, before devolving into a stream of laughter-turned-sobs as she wraps her arms around his torso and squeezes him, burying her face in his hair and not caring if she draws back puffy-eyed.

( there comes his name again, on her lips like a hymn. caspar, caspar, caspar! )

when she does manage to pull away, dorothea presses a kiss to his forehead and hastily wipes away the stream of free-flowing tears. "you're alive-! we were so worried. oh, caspar, we wanted to go back, but we couldn't. so much happened, and—"

another body-wracking sob, and he's pulled in once more.

"—you were all alone. we left you all alone. caspar, i'm so sorry."

[rewritingcanon]

ok im real fucking pissed bcuz i had to block a follower but just in case u dont know im anti-israel i hate israel omg get out of here if u like it fuck israel and the idf and i don’t stand with israel and get out of here if you do i think you’re fucking scum if you stand with israel get gone get out youre blocked youre blocked youre blocked

[direful]

i'm wicked isolated again & i have no goals or directions other than survive till june when i can see my bf next. i think this will do really interesting things to my brain as long as i can jumpstart my creative drive to process it.

[nedsseveredhead]

I never feel more like my father than when im doing conflict resolution. 5'1 but somehow get everyone to listen to me. Insane.

[lizardho]

Before I knew I was bisexual I was just insanely dramatic and weird around guys I liked. I had a crush on this guy in my ward - he was older than me, he played bagpipes and had a cheerful dog and an old Volkswagen bus that he worked on all the time. He also had nice scruff and unnaturally attractive hands and a good sense of humor, so I was like FULLY smitten.

I talked about him a lot and about how he was just so dang COOL, dang it, because he was so frickin’ cool. And I really liked him. I thought he was funny and smart and interesting and cool and fascinating and a bunch of other weird feelings I barely had the attention span to think about (I think my ADHD may have prevented me from coming out for a while tbh).

One day, I’m like 14-15, his dad is called to be my Sunday School teacher. His dad is this ex-military hardass with a chip on his shoulder for absolutely no reason and unattainable standards for his children. He spent most of Sunday School talking shit about his eldest boy and how he was rebellious and didn’t listen to him and how that was going to make him a bad adult and a bad son forever. How his son was too lazy and unmotivated to be successful because he didn’t listen to his advice on how to read the scriptures. He complained about how our generation was too weak to do things right and that our generation would surely be the one that brought the world’s downfall because of our laziness and sin.

And like, first of all, that guy can already go fuck himself for that. To clarify, that’s already stupid. BUT. He was talking about the man I had uncomfortable dreams about at least once a month. I couldn’t stand it. I’d get so mad I’d go home shaking sometimes because how fucking DARE he insult his hardworking stunning son by calling him lazy? For not reading the Bible the way his dad wants? When he’s already spending his time learning bagpipes? And fixing cars? And being cool? And cute? Who the fuck even cares if he uses the footnotes in the Book of Mormon? Who gives a rotten rat’s ass if he doesn’t use the scripture study manual his dad uses? He’s so cool he doesn’t even need it? So fuck off?

And eventually I got fucking Sick Of It and decided to mutiny. And by mutiny, I mean skip class. I’d just not go. And after a bit, adults started noticing and bugging me about it. At first, this was put off by small talk and excuses, but as my absence from Sunday School became more well-known, my excuses began to be rejected.

“Oh, Lizard, why aren’t you in class?” Uhm idk because my Sunday School teacher is mean to his kid and that makes me so mad wtf do you want from me? 🫠🤔

“Where’s your class, I’ll go with you!” Oh no ty I’d rather peel my own eyes than have my taste in men critiqued tyty 🩷

“Lizard, you should go to class, I’m sure they miss you!” And I miss the innocent days where my stomach didn’t hurt when a cool boy I knew was being belittled but unfortunately for us both those days are LONG gone and all that’s left is a budding psychosexual clusterfuck that will render me almost fully incapable of functioning for the better part of a decade so Bye Bye, sister Smith 🙂‍↕️

It had gotten to the point that ward leadership was involved. I was being approached by members of the Young Men’s presidency and the Bishopric to try and make me to back to class. They were telling me God had told them to find me and instruct me on my rebelliousness. This is where I implemented my secret weapon - women. Mormons are weird as hell about a lot of things, but especially about women. And I was GREAT with women. So to combat the leadership’s attention, I started helping women.

Our ward had a lot of new moms with babies who were, as babies tend to be, fussy. But for Mormon women the church is often their only social outlet, so they try to power through as long as they can even if it means enduring the exhausting ordeal of taking care of a fussy baby at church.

For what it’s worth, I have a lot of sway with babies. I got baby street cred. Me and babies have a rapport. I have always known this. I have always loved this. And in this crucial gay time in my faggot life my baby mind powers came in clutch - Every time I saw a member of the bishopric getting close, or a young men’s leader giving me side-eye, I’d start walking slowly towards class, passing by relief society. I’d wait until a mom’s baby had gotten too fussy and needed to leave the room, and I’d swoop in like a knight. “Oh, don’t you worry sister, I’ll bounce him a bit. You go back and hang out with your friends in class. You deserve a break.”

If it was a diaper change or something they’d tell me no. But if it was just some good old-fashioned baby fusses, I mean, they’d be moved almost to tears. They just got their social time back AND a free babysitter who is renowned as the Baby Whisperer. And because I was holding a baby as a favor for someone else, I of course could not reasonably be bothered to return to class.

So just like that, I was out of everyone’s sights. This went on for about a month before the straw that broke the camel’s back, which was that without my class participation the classes were quiet and awkward. I’d often take the brunt of Sunday school lectures by answering questions impulsively and over explaining myself enough that the clock could run out without anyone needing to do or say much. My absence meant everyone else was getting hit with the full unpleasantness of this guy’s bullshit. And so slowly, one-by-one, I had a group of about 8 kids on baby-holding duty. These new moms were so overjoyed, they and their husbands were both so actively in our corner that now chastising us was untenable. Now we had bargaining power. So the Bishopric approached us, confused beyond confused and uncomfortable beyond uncomfortable, and said,

“What’s it gonna take to get you back to class?”

The POWER I possessed in that moment was addictive. By being kind to the women of the ward and ignoring the Mormon de facto Rule of Law of following rules en-masse so the rule breakers feel left out, there were now so many people breaking ranks that we had effectively enacted a church boy labor strike. And they crumbled so fast it was almost like we had swayed God himself to our cause.

“I want brother assholedad gone. He sucks at teaching.”

I didn’t even have to say it. One of my rebels said it for me. I just nodded sagely and said “Yes, his class is not edifying. It’s better to not go and hold babies.”

And just like that, with a snap of my limp-wristed, Christ-wounding, bottom-brained fingers my faggot will was enacted. God’s revelation that brother shitdad was his chosen Sunday school teacher flipped on a dime. Suddenly brother shitdad was asked to be an usher and the fun dad of another one of my crushes was called in to teach us. I still stayed to hold babies a lot, but the rest of the class returned and all was well again.

Although I didn’t recognize it then, I think that was a formative moment for me in a lot of ways. I learned that being really persistently annoying will get me what I want from authority eventually. I learned that God’s will can be swayed by going in strike. I learned that ignoring men’s made up authority forces them to level with you as a person. I learned that caring for women, especially vulnerable women, can make a whole world happier. I learned that letting women rest can help them feel more love for the things that matter in their life. I learned that social bonds make everyone stronger and happier. And I learned that loving others in a gay way can change the world.

Be gayer. Read Terry Pratchett. I love y’all 💕

[the-fidgety-fiddler]

Lowkey might have had a cataplectic episode on the subway tonight.... not cool not chill

[arolesbianism]

Richard vc damn I'm doing such a good job at committing to this bit rn I'm so good at acting scared (<- is scared (<- doesn't realize that she feels emotions))

[draconicace]

LOVE WINS. NEVER KILL YOURSELF. RAT TIME.

[butyoudidthis4what]

No Man's Land

Jack Abbot x f!Reader

5.1k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || C.W.: mentions of blood, mentions of guns and shootings, mentions of death/dying/coding, CPR, anxiety about partner's safety, Jack's traumatized, reader's traumatized, mentions of dissociation and compartmentalization, poor description of medical events, potentially incorrect medical descriptions/knowledge, very very light smut, angst, age gap kind of implied with Jack but not explicitly referenced, no use of y/n or related, not proofread, no beta, I think that's all but if I missed any please (nicely) let me know.

Summary: This is my Pitt-Fest-But-Not fic. Development of your relationship through vignettes of the past and conversations between Jack, Dana and Robby. There's a shooting where you work. Jack is at the ED when the dispatch comes in and is terrified when he can't get in touch with you.

A.N.: If my Robby reads like John Carter I'm sorry, except that a little bit I'm not. I feel like I'm struggling with my Jack characterization but can't tell if that's just me hating everything I do. This is my take on one of my fave tropes where reader is in mortal danger. I needed a physical location that could be associated with reader and settled on a courthouse, but what it is reader does there is not described. Probably (definitely?) needs a part two. If you get the nickname, thank you, I feel seen. If you don't I explain it at the end. This is absolutely something I would call him, in part to fuck with people who know his real name. I would love to know if you enjoyed and to hear any thoughts you'd like to share.

“He has a girlfriend,” Robby smirks at Dana. 

She blinks at him. “I’m sorry, I thought we were talking about Jack Abbot.”

“Oh we fucking are.” Robby stifles his smirk and forces his lips to remain closed and as neutral as possible. 

“You’re shitting me.” Dana’s incredulous look breaks Robby a bit and he starts to laugh, tries to turn it into a cough when both he and Dana look up to find Jack staring at them as he takes his snow dusted beanie off. He gives Robby a ‘really?’ look even though he knew Robby would rat him out to Dana the second Robby had dragged it out of him. 

Dana looks back at Robby. “Who? How did they meet?”

Robby holds up his hands. “You now officially know as much as I do about her.” Dana makes a noise of vague discontent but knows Jack well enough to know Robby is telling the truth. That’s all that’s been revealed. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It’s not worth it,” you whisper. Jack blinks and looks around, unsure if you’re talking to him. He has no idea who you are, has never seen you before in his life but it appears that you are in fact whispering to him in the middle of this bookstore. 

He raises his eyebrows. “It’s not?”

You shake your head, give him an almost conspiratorial smile. “No, he must have gotten a new ghost writer. It’s really bad in comparison to his other stuff. Save your time and money. I’ll give you a summary right now for free if you’re that curious.”

Jack smiles to himself a little bit as he sets the book back on the shelf. There’s something about you, your smile, the way you just randomly spoke to him. He’s drawn to you. An alarm goes off in some part of his brain telling him to ignore it, ignore you, he could get hurt. He pretends to weigh his options as he turns to face you fully. “How about for a cup of coffee?”

Your brows furrow in confusion for a moment. There’s simply no way this unfairly attractive man is asking to buy you a cup of coffee. “The summary?” You clarify. “That I’d give for free. You want it to cost a cup of coffee instead?” You let out a nervous laugh and some part of his heart aches because you’re so adorable. “I just want to make sure I understand before I potentially make an even bigger fool of myself.” 

“Yep.” He can’t help but laugh a little. “You give me the summary over coffee. Actually, you know what? You’re going to have to give me a recommendation too because now I’m going to have nothing to read.” He clicks his tongue at you. 

“Well,” you laugh out, all breathy as you try to pull yourself together. “You drive a hard bargain but I think I’m willing to accept those terms…” you glance at his name badge, “Dr. Abbot.” You give him a full smile and Jack knows then and there he’s totally fucked in the best of ways. 

“Jack.” He smiles at you as you both begin walking towards the café. “Call me Jack.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everything quiet enough after handoff, Robby walks out with Jack into the morning sun that does little to warm the breeze pulling leaves off the trees. “Any chance you can cover a shift on Thursday night?” Robby is asking, yes, but he knows it’s not really a question, Jack is always willing to work.

“Can’t.” Jack says simply, shrugging his shoulders. “Sorry.” There’s an expectant silence that hangs between the two as they keep walking.

“Care to elaborate?” Robby finally asks.

“No.” Jack turns and smirks at him. “It’s none of your and Dana’s business.”

“Ha!” Robby laughs. “So it’s her, it’s about her! The ever elusive girlfriend. Will we ever get to meet her? Or does she not want to meet us? Is she real?” Jack stops walking and gives Robby one of his looks. “Holy shit, is it someone here?”

Jack snorts at that. “No it’s not someone here. She’s not even in the medical field.” He sighs, half longing and half resignation of some kind. “She’s honestly dying to meet you guys, especially you and Dana, but I’m trying to protect her from this hellhole. It’s hard with schedules too, to find a time.”

“That’s such fucking bullshit,” Robby laughs. “Are you afraid to truly commit? Think bringing her here will make it too real?” 

It’s a valid question but one that Jack nevertheless resents. “No, actually, if you must fucking know Thursday is our one year anniversary. We have plans. So you’ll have to find someone else to cover. But I’ll bring her around soon,” he laughs through his nose to himself at your stubbornness, “if I don’t she’s liable to just show up one of-”

“A year?” Robby laughs, incredulous. “A fucking year? How the hell did you hide it for three months before I dragged it out of you?”

Jack ignores him. “Also, I’m moving to days. It’s better for us.” He’s so nonchalant about it, just states it like he’s saying the sky is blue, like it’s not going to make Robby’s eyes widen and mouth drop open like it does.

“I don’t,” Robby huffs a laugh, “I don’t even know where to fucking begin.”

“Then don’t.” Jack smirks, starts to walk again while Robby stays frozen, running a hand through his hair. “Go do some actual work.”

“I thought you found comfort in the darkness?” Robby yells after him. 

Jack slows and turns around but keeps walking backwards, one hand holding the strap of his backpack to keep it over his shoulder. He glances down at his phone and the photo of you that is now his wallpaper. He smiles to himself a little, yells back. “Guess I find it somewhere else now.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You giggle, honest to god giggle and Jack could lose his damn mind as he nibbles at your collarbone. “You know if my anatomy class had been this fun, I might have become a doctor too.” 

You’re laying on your back in bed as Jack kisses your sweat slicked skin all over as you both come down from your last round. He’s taken to 'teaching you anatomy' like this, identifying different parts of the human body with his mouth.

“Hmm,” Jack hums against you. “I’m glad it wasn’t then. Fuck doctors.” He starts to kiss down your chest. 

“That has become quite the favorite pastime of mine, yes,” you smirk. “Fucking one specific doctor, actually.” 

“Getting fucked by one specific doctor more like it,” he murmurs into your sternum. He kisses laterally, lips hitting your breast and moving towards your nipple. 

“I think we’ve established what those are,” you moan softly as he takes your nipple into his mouth. You let your hands run through his salt and pepper curls that you adore so much. 

“Can never be too thorough.” You giggle at him again and can feel him smile against you. “But fine, you want something new?” You nod, let your nails scratch gently at his scalp. 

“Nipple,” he kisses your nipple and then down your torso to right above your belly button, “to navel is no man’s land.” He continues to lavish kisses on the soft skin of your stomach before looking up at you when you don’t respond. 

“I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me or not.” You eye him with mock suspicion. 

He laughs and it’s your favorite sound in the whole world, you swear. Well maybe second, only behind hearing him tell you that he loves you. 

“I’m not. Nipple to navel is no man’s land. It’s a real thing. It’s one of the worst places to get shot or stabbed because there’s so many organs that could be hit and the place we’d expect to get hit would depend on whether the person was breathing in or out at the time, whether their lungs were inflated or deflated. And we generally have no way of knowing. It can be difficult to get clear imaging.” He starts kissing lower, down below your belly button, rubbing his stubble along your skin to tease you as he gets lower and lower. “It’s never a good time. Lots of poor outcomes.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s supposed to be his day off and yet Jack finds himself staring at the board and running a hand over his face. “It’s still so fucking weird seeing you here during the day and it not meaning something catastrophic has happened.” 

Jack turns to look at Dana. “I’ve been working days for a month now and it’s my day off.”

“You can go, we’re fine for now,” Robby nods at Jack. “Thanks for the brief assistance brother.”

“No, no,” Dana interjects, “he’s not allowed to leave until we nail down a time to meet his girl.” 

Robby raises his eyebrows and starts to tilt his head and open his mouth to agree with Dana. A dispatch comes through before anyone can say anything else and Dana grabs it, pinning Jack down with her eyes, daring him to leave before discussing meeting you. 

“Saved by the bell,” Jack huffs, taking his stethoscope off and starting to walk away. 

“Shooting at a courthouse,” Dana relays to Robby, “not a mass cas, just a few people, two a little iffy, one they’re already doing CPR on, a few caught in the race to get out. Two dead on the scene.”

It takes a few seconds for Dana’s words to truly register with Jack, but when they do his hearing fades to only a sharp ringing in his ear. This wasn’t happening. He’d been so reticent at the beginning of your relationship, waited so long to give in and define it and hand his heart over to you, terrified he’d lose you because of himself and who he was, his imperfections, his past, his trauma, his PTSD, his baggage, as he thought of it. He feels so stupid now, in the moment, not having worried about how he could lose you from a random act of violence, that in the moments he can’t be there to protect you somebody could come in and rip you from him. Just like that. With the pull of a trigger. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You know, I can confidently say this is the most unique date I’ve ever been on,” you tease Jack. 

“Hey,” he pants, “me teaching you CPR is a great date.” 

“It would be better if you took your shirt off,” you whisper and wink at him before letting your eyes linger on his arm. 

“If I did that you’d be so distracted you’d learn nothing,” he smirks at you, sweat glistening on his skin just a little. Just enough to drive you nearly feral for him. 

 “I think I’ve got the compressions part down, but I may need more help learning the mouth to mouth part.”

He rolls his eyes at you. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You fucking love it,” you shoot back at him, leaning into his space and bumping him with your shoulder. 

He can’t help but kiss you. “Yes,” the word is muffled against your lips, “yes I do.” He gives you a firmer kiss this time before he pulls away. “But really. You should know how to do it, just in case. It will help you feel in control in the moment if the need for it ever arises. You’ll know what to do.”

You bite your lip and smile at him. 

“What?” He eyes you with suspicion. 

You shrug. “Nothing, I just love you so much. Sometimes it overwhelms me, how much I love you.”

He can see it in your eyes, how much you love him, can almost feel it physically squeezing him like a tight hug. He’s really not sure what he ever did to deserve you or your love. “I love you too, Doll.”

“I love you more, Peter.” Your face pulls up into that usual self-satisfied and silly grin you get sometimes when you call him that nickname. It’s a recent thing. You’re calling him it more and more though, it’s becoming a natural way of referring to him. From anyone else he would hate it, hearing it between another couple would make him roll his eyes. But from you? He loves it more than you’ll ever truly know. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jack spins around.

“Jack you can still go, we’ve got it covered.” Robby looks at Jack for a minute and then meets Dana’s eyes as she looks to him after taking her own look at Jack. 

“What courthouse?” Jack asks. It’s quiet, controlled and clipped and almost missable in the chaos of the ED. He’s not looking at either of them, staring past them at a wall with a chest heaving more and more by the second as his face grows paler. 

He tries to keep it together. Dana will say the name and it won’t be your courthouse and he’ll go straight to your actual courthouse, grab you, take you home and never let you leave. A perfectly reasonable reaction, he thinks.

“Jack-”

“What fucking courthouse?” It’s louder this time, almost enough to pause the chaos of the ED. 

Jack’s voice drips with what sounds like rage to most of those who hear him but is unmistakably fear to Dana and Robby. 

Neither of them have ever seen Jack like this, this scared, struggling this hard to keep it together, truly raising his voice for anything other than to quiet down an unruly patient. His eyes find Dana’s and they’re glassier than she’s ever seen them, the intensity of his gaze making it painfully clear he’s hanging on every word and the wrong ones will shatter him. 

She swallows and opens her mouth and Jack knows what she’s about to say before she even says it. And she does. The name of your courthouse. 

“I’ll triage.” He says it before Dana has even finished, the words hollow and breathless and commanding all at once. He spins and starts off to the bay doors with nothing more. He obviously knows from the report Dana gave that they won’t need triage. He just needed to get out of there and try to create an excuse to stay in the ambulance bay. He knows Robby won’t let him, that Robby and Dana already know you’re at that courthouse, could be a victim. 

Robby and Dana share another look, So you work at a courthouse. This courthouse. “Fuck,” Dana mutters, “I really hope we don’t end up meeting her today.”

Jack’s hand dives in his pocket as he strides to the ambulance bay. He already knows in his heart that there’s not going to be a text from you saying that you’re okay. He hasn’t felt his phone buzz. He never even kept his phone on him until you. 

Even though he knew he wouldn’t have any messages, waking his phone and seeing none hits him like a freight train all the same, right in the chest. It threatens to bring him to his knees, make him sick, but he can’t. He sets it all aside. If you do come out of one of the ambulances he can hear in the distance you’re going to need him at his best. But what if you’re one of the two people dead at the scene? He has to shove that out of his mind too, can’t give into the complete panic that threatens to consume him. 

Disassociate. Compartmentalize. Do the job. ABC. Assess. Stabilize. Repeat.

His fingers fly across his phone automatically, calling you having become so routine. He prefers it so much to texting, hearing your voice, communicating more directly. “Call me,” he starts, “the second you get this message. Or fucking text me,” his voice breaks, “please. Fucking please.” He hangs up and calls again, knowing he’ll get your voicemail again but trying anyway because it’s all he can do. 

He’s helpless, powerless, he can’t do anything to try and save you and that threatens to swallow him whole. 

Your voicemail recording telling people to leave a message plays again and all Jack can wonder is if this is all he’ll have left of your voice in his life. Your voice on your mailbox, maybe some voicemails you’ve left him, videos, voice memos you’ve sent. All distorted by recording, not your real voice. He can’t remember what your real voice sounds like all of the sudden. What your laugh sounds like, how you sound when you’re sleepy or in the throes of pleasure or telling him you love him. God, did he even tell you he loved you the last time he saw you, when he said goodbye? 

“I need you to call me,” he says into the phone again, pauses. “I love you.” He takes a ragged breath in and speaks through his teeth. “I love you so fucking much, so you have to be okay and you have to fucking call me.”

He sends a series of texts asking you to call him or text him or call the hospital or do anything to let him know you’re okay, asking if you are okay, asking where you are as though you’re going to respond. He already knows you’re in the back of one of those ambulances because of fucking course you are, because he’s not allowed to have anything good in his life apparently. How could he be so stupid to think differently?  

“Hey, we don’t need triage for this. The numbers are controlled.” Robby walks out to stand next to Jack in the ambulance bay. “If you want to stay you can, but you can’t wait out here to see who shows up, you have to-”

“Yeah, yeah, jump on the first patient that pulls up, I know, I got it,” he interrupts Robby. 

There’s a silence as Robby passes him a gown and ties for him before he does the same for Robby. 

“Jack, if she’s in one you cannot-”

“Like fuck I can’t.” It’s just a statement. Cool and collected and a projection of indifference. It scares Robby more than if Jack had yelled. 

“No, actually brother, you can’t. I’m telling you right now. You’re not working on her. We don’t work on family, on significant others, and you would tell me the exact same thing. It’s too risky, you’ll be too clouded.” Robby watches Jack’s jaw clench and roll as he stares out at the street. 

He wants to argue that of course he’ll be clear, he’ll be focusing on saving you, he’ll have never been so clear in his life. But part of him knows that seeing you like that on his trauma table, your blood all over the table and him and his hands might make him freeze.

“Fine.” Jack whispers. “But if she’s,” Jack has to pause and take a shuddery breath. “If she’s gone or really going and it’s inevitable you have to let me in. You have to let me try to save her. You have to let me code her, Michael.”

He can taste the rising bile in his throat just at having to talk about coding you.

The first ambulance pulls up before Robby can respond and Jack’s on it so fast Robby’s surprised Jack doesn’t get smacked in the face by the door opening. 

It’s not you. It’s someone who is very much not you and is clearly one of the iffy ones. 

Disassociate. Compartmentalize. Do the job. ABC. Assess. Stabilize. Repeat.

Jack forces himself to go emotionally numb as he listens to the paramedic rattle off vitals and history, trying so very hard to focus on this, something he can do, even if it’s not for you. By the time they hit trauma one Jack’s fine and in full swing, running it like he would any other trauma. Nobody on the team in the room with him suspects anything is amiss.  

He hates the way he can’t see the other’s who come in, that he has to stay with this patient until they’re stable and can’t go looking for you. He chastises himself for not having brought you here before or at least having you meet Dana and Robby. They don’t even know what you look like, couldn’t identify you.

“Jack!” He glances at Dana who stands at the door as he preps for the chest tube. “What’s her name?”

He yells your name at her, impassive and stoic as he reaches for the scalpel, ignoring the looks everyone throws each other at the slightest tremor in his voice.

“I’ll look for her.” Dana promises. He doesn’t respond. He can’t. He’ll fall apart. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The restaurant you’re at has to be the fanciest place you’ve ever been to. It’s the hottest place in the city and you have no idea how Jack snagged reservations here for dinner to finish out celebrating your one year anniversary. 

The lighting and low hum of other patrons talking to each other and glasses and silverware and plates tinkling is cinematic. You feel like the main character. But then that’s always how Jack makes you feel. 

“I got you something.” He pulls out a wrapped rectangular object. 

You click your tongue and tsk at him. “We said we’d do them at home! I didn’t bring yours!”

“I know. I have something for you at home too.” His eyes sparkle in the flickering candle light, a little smirk pulling up. “I didn’t mean for it to be a double entendre, but both are true.” You snort a laugh at him and take the gift from him. “Open it.” He’s still smiling, eyes still sparkling,  but there’s something there. He’s nervous. It makes you even more curious. 

You carefully unwrap the object until it reveals itself as a hardcover book. That same one Jack had in his hand a year ago and that you told him was bad and gave him a summary of over coffee. 

“Oh, Jack,” you say softly, eyes getting a little watery. It’s so perfect. So sweet and sentimental. The book that brought you together, that gave you each other. It’s almost like a physical representation of the foundation of your relationship in a way. 

“You have to open it,” he instructs you in a whisper.

You raise an eyebrow but do as he says. 

‘Move in with me?’ is written on the blank first page. 

You look between the page and Jack. “Is this?” You look back at the page and then up at him again. “Are you really asking…?”

He nods. “Move in with me. Or move somewhere with me, we can get our own place, it doesn’t have to be my apartment. We basically live together anyway at this point. Let’s just make it official, yeah? Wherever you want, you can decorate however you want. Just as long as it’s our place.”

You bring a hand to your mouth for a second before using your napkin to dab at the inner corners of your eyes to stop the tears from falling and look back at him. 

“You’re a romantic, Jack Abbot,” you hum all dreamily. 

“You better not tell anyone. Can’t have you ruining my street cred.” He smirks, but his expression and the way he fidgets show he’s still anxious. “So?”

You realize then you never actually answered him. Sniffling a little laugh and letting a few tears fall you give him his answer, voice thick and full of emotion. “Yeah, I think I’m willing to accept those terms. I’d love to move in with you… Peter.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He hears you counting to yourself before he sees you. “One, two…”

It’s not loud, just said in a normal voice, softer if anything because of how you’re panting, but Jack is so on edge and so desperate to find you he’d subconsciously been listening closely to his surroundings, military training kicking in. His head snaps to you and he doesn’t even know what to think when he sees you being rolled in on top of a gurney, performing CPR that would rival the quality of his own. 

“Why is she..?” He hears Robby question the paramedic as you roll in. 

“She was performing them just as well as we could and it was better to just scoop and run,” the paramedic explains. “She must have had one hell of an instructor.”

“Peter!” You yell, without looking up, not sure if he’s still here. You’re so used to it by now that the nickname is just what comes out of your mouth as you look for him. He’d texted you to let you know he was going in for a bit.  

Jack could sob and the entire team in the room with him can feel a crushing tension shatter. Maybe he does get a little teary just from the sheer relief. He tells himself it’s sweat in his eyes.

“Yeah Doll?” He yells back, not giving a fuck about everyone hearing him call you Doll, and you calling him Peter, knowing full well he’s going to have so much explaining to do about this entire situation, the confusion in the room palpable. 

“I’m okay!” This time he does laugh to himself. 

“Yeah I’d say so,” he mutters, smiling. He’s still anxious to see you, get his own eyes on you, feel you with his own hands. 

It’s only about thirty more seconds before his patient is stable enough and he can rip his gloves and gown off and start putting fresh gloves on as he walks into the trauma room you’d been wheeled into. Normally he’d yell out for someone to talk to him or ask what they’ve got but not this time. This time he doesn’t even care about who’s on the table, only the person who came off it. Only you. 

You’re standing to the side now, watching Robby and the rest of the team work, impassive as pink tears stream down your face from the dried blood on it. You’re just so fucking overwhelmed by everything and now that you’re not doing CPR everything that’s happened is hitting you at once. 

Jack says your name as he moves to you, needs his hands on you. 

“Are you hurt? Were you hit?” He rushes out. His voice brings you back and you look up at him with wide, terrified eyes. He goes to look you over but you latch onto him, hugging him tightly, shaking a bit. 

“I’m fine, I’m okay, I’m, I’m sorry,” you start to rattle off, fisting at his scrub top and clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. In the moment he might just be. 

He hugs you back just as hard, kisses the top of your head. He doesn’t care who sees right now, all he cares about is you. “It’s okay, you have nothing to apologize for. I’m just so fucking glad you’re okay. I thought… I thought you were…” He doesn’t have to finish, you know what he means. “I can’t fucking lose you. I love you way the fuck too much.”

You’ve been so wrapped up in each other neither of you have noticed that Robby’s patient, the one you were doing CPR on, has started to code again. “Abbot, need you here!”

You let him go, nod at him. “Go on,” you whisper, “I’ll be right here. I’m okay. I love you more.” Jack nods at you and walks over, jumping in and assisting Robby.

It’s once you’re out of Jack’s arms, away from his warm body and more grounded in reality that you notice how cold you are, how you’re swaying because he was supporting you far more than you realized, how lightheaded you are, how your abdomen and chest really fucking hurt. You chalk it up to the adrenaline wearing off and being sore from the chest compressions you just did. 

On the other side of the room an instrument tray gets knocked over, metal hitting the floor in a loud clang. It startles you, makes you jump and twist quickly to see what it was, if it was another gun, another shot. You feel something almost tearing, a sharp pain across your abdomen and lower chest, a feeling of sticky warmth against your shirt.

You sway a little, start to realize how much worse the pain is now. It’s bad enough that you can’t even make noise to express the pain. There’s no air in your lungs, you swear. You realize your lightheadedness is now much, much worse, that you’re shivering from how cold you are. Or are you just shaking? You can’t tell. It doesn’t make sense. The room isn’t even that cold. You shouldn’t be so cold. Not unless.

You pull your shirt up slowly and look down and run your hand over your skin and sure enough, there’s a bullet hole seeping blood, about half way between your nipple line and belly button, skin now covered in a dark bruise. 

You cough a little, it’s quiet. It starts feeling like there’s water in your lungs. Like you can’t get any oxygen in even though you’re in a room full of it. The metallic taste in your mouth is what manages to seep into what’s left of your consciousness next. You cough again, into your hand, and feel something wet hit your skin. Blood. 

It hits you. You’re drowning in your own blood. That’s why it feels like you can’t breathe. You’ve been shot. In a bad place, one of the worst places, Jack had told you that night. You get scared, feel your heart pounding. It feels like you’re dying. You don’t want to die, don’t want to leave Jack. You’d just finished moving into your new place together, were going to spend all weekend unpacking and painting and getting furniture where you wanted it. You were going to make your home.

Time. You were supposed to have more time together.

“Hey, Jack,” you slur softly, struggling to keep yourself standing. Luckily he hears you. Your use of his first name and the slur to your voice has him panicking again already. Time slows as he turns around to take you in, eyes going from your face and the blood coating your teeth and trickling from your mouth as you try and smile reassuringly at him, down to your torso where you’re still holding your shirt up just enough for him and everyone else in the room to see the bullet hole and bruising marring your skin. “I think, I think I’m not good, it’s not good.” Your vision tunnels so fast you can just barely see Jack’s expression of sheer abject unadulterated horror and panic as you get out your last words. “Nipples to navel… no man’s land.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peter. Peter Rabbit by Beatrix Potter. Yes, I worked in a bookstore through college.

Part Two is up!

[missdynamighttt]

AGHHH sitting on bf! katsuki's shoulders while he cooks to make up for skipping the gym.

katsuki was supposed to hit the gym today. he really was. but the moment you wrapped yourself around him in bed, all thoughts of training went out the window.

“shit,” he muttered, stretching his arms above his head. “didn’t even work out today.”

you, still groggy but entirely unrepentant, grinned and nuzzled into his neck. “you worked out your patience.”

"yeah? and you worked out my ability to say no.”

you grinned wider. “exactly.”

even after every time he tried to move to adjust himself, you clung to him like a koala, nuzzling into his chest, whining about how warm and comfortable he was. and damn it, how was he supposed to leave when you looked so damn cute?

so yeah, gym? skipped. gains? delayed. but cuddles? so fucking worth it.

now, in the kitchen, katsuki is making up for it. sort of. with you sitting comfortably on his broad shoulders.

he'd already deadlifted you a few times while waiting for the pancake to cook, grumbling half-heartedly when you cheered like he was performing in the olympics.

"you're way too happy about this," he muttered, flipping a pancake with precision despite your weight balanced on his shoulders.

"that's because you're my personal chef now," you teased, playing with the strands of his hair like you were styling them. "and i'm basically remy."

"tch... the rat from ratatouille?"

"yeah!"

he snorted, shaking his head slightly to mess up whatever you were doing. "the hell you are. you ain't cookin’ shit."

"excuse you! i am the mastermind behind this whole operation, thank you very much. you're just my hands."

katsuki rolled his eyes, but he couldn't hide the smirk tugging at his lips. "yeah? then where's my little chef hat, huh?"

you gasped dramatically. "oh my god, we need to get you one!"

"like hell we do," he scoffed, adjusting his grip on your legs as he effortlessly lifted you up again, just because he could. you let out a small squeak, gripping onto his hair, and he chuckled.

"okay, okay, you're strong, we get it," you laughed, ruffling his hair. "now, my strong, muscular, incredibly attractive boyfriend—flip that pancake before it burns."

“i ain't lettin’ you control me," katsuki clicked his tongue but did as you commanded, all while holding you up like you weighed nothing. he should’ve gone to the gym today, sure—but honestly? this was way better.

"i practically do," you tug lightly on his hair, and to your delight, his head moves slightly in the direction you pull.

katsuki freezes. “...did you just try to steer me like a damn car?”

you laugh. “maybe.”

“hmph, you’re lucky i love you,” he mutters, adjusting your weight like it’s nothing. “but if you try to puppet-master me again, i’m droppin’ your ass.”

you grin, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head. “i love you too. and no you won’t.”

katsuki sighs, but you feel his shoulders shake with a quiet chuckle. yeah, okay, maybe he won’t.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ saw this on twt but i cant find the video again☹️☹️ hope you enjoyed!!💜

[flwrkid14]

Tim and Danny: Love, Trust, and the Weight of Protection

part 1

Danny knows what it's like to be hunted.

It’s been his reality for as long as he can remember—forever glancing over his shoulder, never truly at ease. Between vengeful ghosts, government agents, and countless other dangers, his survival has depended solely on his instincts, his powers, and the fickleness of luck. He has his friends—two best friends and a sister who would drop everything to stand by him, who he knows would always have his back. But the weight of that reliance feels heavy, a burden he can't quite shake.

Trusting others, truly leaning on them, has always felt like a luxury he couldn’t afford. He wants to feel safe, to let someone else take some of the weight, but the thought of putting them in danger because of him? That’s a risk he can't bring himself to take.

Then he meets Tim Drake.

At first, Tim’s protectiveness doesn’t faze him. It’s Gotham. You don’t date a Wayne-adjacent vigilante and expect anything less than a little paranoia. Danny’s been through worse. A tracker on his phone? Standard. Tim pulling files on his professors? Honestly, kind of funny.

But then, Danny finds out how deep it goes.

He stumbles upon a folder on Tim’s desk—his name printed neatly on the tab. Inside? Background checks on his classmates, neighbors and friends. Surveillance reports. A detailed map of his daily routine. Heart rate data. Sleeping patterns. Eating habits. There’s even a file on Phantom.

For a moment, Danny froze.

This should terrify him—it used to. Being watched, tracked for his every move, reminded him too much of those who hunted him, who’d wanted to tear him apart and dissect him like a lab rat. His first instinct was always to run.

But at that moment? He felt... safe. The notes in the margins weren’t cold or clinical like the ones his parents would have written. No, instead, they were worried. Make sure he’s eating enough. Possible threat? Keep an eye on this one. Look for ectoplasmic spikes—could mean trouble.

This wasn’t someone trying to control him. This was someone trying to protect him.

Tim’s not like the people who hunted him in Amity Park. There’s no malice in what he does. No intent to control or hurt. It’s all fear. Love, even. Danny can see it in Tim’s eyes when he stammers through an explanation, bracing himself for anger or rejection.

He’s scared Danny will leave.

And that’s what gets Danny.

No one has ever cared for him like this, no one willing to go through such lengths just to ensure his safety. Yeah, it’s intense, maybe unhealthy, even by the standards of a world that isn’t known for its normalcy. Danny knows Sam, Tucker, and Jazz would do the same—they’ve all put their lives on the line for him before, and he loves them for it. But Tim is different.

Tim is strong enough to face the dangers of Danny’s world and carry the weight of his burdens without hesitation. It’s something Danny could never ask his friends to do—not because they wouldn’t, but because they have their own lives, their own paths. They would drop everything for him, just as Tim would, but Tim does it with the resolve of a vigilante, already living a life where protecting others is his duty. This is someone who understands the risks, who’s already made those sacrifices, and still chooses to say, “I will protect you, no matter the cost.”

So, he smiles. He kisses Tim’s cheek. And he asks, “Can I put a tracker on you too?”

The way Tim’s eyes light up? Yeah, Danny thinks. This is love.

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

The batfamily doesn’t get it.

They corner Danny one day, all serious expressions and careful words.

“Danny, we’re worried,” Dick starts, voice soft. “About Tim?” Danny tilts his head. “About both of you,” Steph says. “This… surveillance thing. It’s not normal.”

Danny shrugs. “Neither am I.”

They might understand—on some level. They’d lived through their own kind of danger, faced their own threats. But for Danny, it was different. They didn’t grow up being hunted, didn’t spend years hiding from people who wanted to tear them apart just for existing. For him, trusting the wrong person wasn’t just a risk; it was a matter of life and death.

Tim’s methods might be extreme, but Danny sees the intent behind them. It’s not control. It’s care. Tim watches his back because he knows what it’s like to lose people. Danny lets him because he knows what it’s like to be alone.

“Tim’s the first person who’s made me feel safe,” Danny tells them, voice steady. “You see obsession. I see someone who cares enough to watch my back.”

They don’t know what to say to that.

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

Their relationship isn’t conventional. But in a city like Gotham, love isn’t always soft and simple. Sometimes, it’s vigilance. Sometimes, it’s knowing someone’s tracking your heartbeat because they’d die if it ever stopped.

Tim watches over Danny. Danny watches over Tim. It’s not about control—it’s about trust. About knowing that, no matter what, someone’s got your back.

The bats worry. They whisper about boundaries, red flags and healthy relationships.

Danny doesn’t listen. He knows what he’s got.

In a world where ghosts and vigilantes collide, where danger lurks in every shadow, Danny’s finally found someone who won’t let him face it alone.

And that? That’s everything.

[makeitworse]

GOOD ONES

the good ones always go. and when it’s survival over shame— namgyu’s all you can afford.

contains: darkfic. dub/noncon themes. misogyny. harassment. yandere-ish namgyu. smut mentions. suicidal thoughts + attempt (me in the games tbh). 18+

based on a request from @iziiurnamguygirl

you don’t know what it is about you that’s always drawn their eyes. the bad ones.

the loud-mouthed rapper 230 and his rat-faced lackey 124, that is. thanos and namgyu you’ve come to learn. they’ve had their sights leeched onto you since day one in this godforsaken slaughter island. like they were attracted to the scent trail of your fear.

catcalls followed you like a second shadow. 230’s tongue practically slithered out every time you passed by, and 124 just stood there grinning, whispering shit behind his hand as they watched you on the bunks.

it was because of them that you clung to your group: the “marine” men, plus the loony 456 who had supposedly played these games before. you didn’t believe half of the shit he’d spout— but you did believe in strength in numbers. in protection. so that billy and stu over there couldn’t try anything in lights out, crawling into your bunk as you slept.

and then there was also 388— daeho. the ponytailed one, with the kind eyes and warm smile. he insisted that you went to school together— swore he could never forget a face like yours. he was practically glued to you by the hip, and for a while, you let him. even liked him, in some quiet way.

but oh, did namgyu not appreciate that.

you could feel it in the way his gaze seared into your skin across the dorm. in the way his laugh turned meaner when you passed by. how he’d shove his shoulder into daeho passing in the hallway. his hands twitching at his sides like he’s imagining them around your neck or on your thighs— either’s equally possible.

but then thanos dies. and what follows is a blood-soaked ripple of events.

the lights-out murders. the players revolted. your group dropped like flies. your daeho lost his nerve, reduced to a shaking, curled-up mess. protection was gone, danger was nigh.

so stupidly, maybe instinctively, you found yourself drifting to someone whose better interests are keeping you around. namgyu.

because bad men don’t run when it gets ugly. they stand tall, flourish in the gore with a smile. you didn’t need it gentle or genuine or good. you needed to stay alive. and namgyu, for his own fucked-up reasons, could deliver on that.

namgyu’s all teeth and jealousy. suffocatingly obsessive. from the moment you approach him, you have to ignore his crude quips about you finally coming around, not acting like a stuck-up bitch. you have to suppress the urge to roll your eyes, launch your fist at his face, kick your knee into his crotch, whatever. you just nod and smile. let his hands creep up your waist, fingers curl around the back of your neck. because your survival depends on it. because the prospect of fucking you is enough for namgyu to value your life in this next game.

“you’re one of the good ones, you know.” he had murmured, nails digging into the shirt fabric at your hip.

“i’ll change your mind about this—” he flicked a finger at the red cross patch on your tracksuit, snickering. “you’re gonna want to stay.”

he’s basically already fucking you with his eyes. you know what’s in store for you, once the lights dim. he even tells you as much.

“if only i knew where you were hiding…” he smirked, voice low as his fingers walked up your thigh. “i could’ve had a little fun with you.”

he practically corners you as he asks if you and daeho got up to anything— demanding to know if he’s getting some other man’s sloppy seconds.

and then he’s enticing you into popping a pill with him in the next breath.

“it’s fuckin’ crazy,” he crooned, holding out a rainbow-coloured tablet between his teeth.

you don’t take it then. but you don’t turn it down, either.

that night, with the next game looming on the horizon and your insides curled into knots, you caved. it’s far from out of want or trust. you let namgyu touch you, let him kiss you, hands wandering beneath the covers as his body curls around yours like a noose. you let him chew off that little piece of control.

because you needed him docile. needed him asleep.

so you swallow down the bile burning your throat when he stretches you open, hand wrapped around the base of your throat as he fucks into you. he only has his way for a few minutes— it doesn’t take long before he’s collapsing on top of you, panting at your ear.

and then once his breathing slows, lips slackening against your shoulder with a firm arm draped over your stomach, you moved.

carefully, silently, you reached for his necklace. unlatched the tiny silver cross, slipping out the pills tucked inside. four. enough, you thought. he takes two to feel good. four might let you sleep forever.

you held them in your palm, stared for a long time. you listen to his shallow breath beside you.

and you decide that yes— death is better than bedding this maniac just to live another day.

so no more thinking.

you briefly hear the sound of him rousing next to you, but you don’t care— not wasting another second in cupping your palm over your mouth, letting the pills fall onto your tongue.

and then there’s a hand flying out, roughly prying your jaw open.

“yah!” namgyu hisses, fingers intruding into your mouth as he fishes for the pills. one crumbles beneath your molar, bitter. another slides down your throat. he manages to claw the rest out— wet and glistening in his hand, soaked in saliva and shame.

he was on top of you then, straddling your hips. chest heaving with hard breaths. eyes blown wide and furious.

“don’t be fucking stupid,” he growled, snatching a fistful of your hair and jerking your head back. “you wanna break up that bad already?!”

you just gawked at him, heart drumming against your chest as the pills dissolve into your bloodstream.

“is that all this was?” he spits, face hovering over yours. “let me fuck you so i fall asleep easier? so you could off yourself right next to me like some kind of twisted fucking goodbye??”

you don’t answer. can’t.

he shook you by the shoulders. “i picked you, god-fucking-dammit. chose you over every other dog in this place.”

his mouth comes to just below your ear, and you shiver when his lips ghost over the skin.

but then he’s biting down, hard; hand flying out to clamp over your mouth as you thrash beneath him.

“you don’t get to leave me.” he hisses, thumb pressing into the teeth mark blooming onto your neck. a reminder.

“don’t fucking forget it.”

mlist · taglist 〃

@lightinbug @sherrayyyyy @namsgyu @riddlerloveb0t @ttturnitup @rafesbunniebby @nicaeno @ferrarifinnick @loveesiren @madebybec @avsarchivez @frontwomann @szonyix6277 @namgyooner @thanosspills

[dawnwriterimagines]

Traitors Among Us

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x Fem!Reader Task Force 141 x Fem!Reader (Platonic)

PART 2

Part Three: The Guilty Plea

Part Four: The Verdict Due

Summary: You're a rat, a traitor. At least that's what Task Force 141 believes due to the evidence and claims scattered against you. It doesn't matter what you say, everyone's against you, ready to end you for it...until the truth comes out.

Warning(s): Torture, Heavy Angst, etc.

---

Drip.

Drip..

Drip...

Your shoulders seize up involuntarily as freezing droplets continue to hit your skin, eyes squeezed shut to try to ignore the sound that had been going on for who knows how long.

Another drop of water hits your spine from the faucet placed above you, it's cold as it runs down your bare skin. It feels like ice. Hitting the same spot over and over and over...

Drip...

Not even able to take a deep breath, you release a strained cry, it can hardly leave you, not that you hadn't cried enough already. You could feel the dried blood, tears and snot still on your face and a testament to your torment. You haven't been able to get the metallic taste of your blood of of your mouth since you got in here.

You breathe slowly, trying to relieve the pain in your chest. Body positioned downwards, chest pressed down to your knees, a leather buckle holds you down and over a metal stool. Wrists torn open by old shackles and stretched upwards to connect to the steel pipe in the middle of the room.

The stress position had been Johnny's idea, putting you in it to begin with. The bastard...

Kyle had been in and out to collaborate with Price on the interrogation, he didn't have the heart to do you any harm like his Captain. But, that didn't stop him from stomaching your screams as he turned the handle up, piercing cold crashing down atop you, it beats down on your back, by the time it's done your shaking, and your skin a bruising purple hue. It goes on like that for hours, even as you beg. He reads you the files again.

Price would then take the baton from the corner of the room, the side of your face already swollen from the last strike, you were seeing red out of your left eye and soon you wouldn't be able to see out of it if the swelling continued.

"Please..." you shivered, miserably.

"Over in a jiff, love, but i need somethin' from you, you know that." Was his reply, he tapped the baton against the metal below you, the reverb makes you jump each time, leaving you to stare at it as you watched his boots walk around you.

"Cap'n, It's not...It's not--me..." you tried, breathless. "I'd never.."

The steel baton came down on your shoulder, first. There was an immediate response from your constricted muscles, limbs that had all tensed up at once despite their numbness. Pulling at the shackles that kept you in place, the hit shocks you, nearly silencing you completely, it hurts, then it burns. Mouth open in a silent scream, you squeeze your eyes shut in an effort to block out the pain that crawled through your shoulder. "It's not me!"

You've been suffering from hypothermia for a few days since then. Your shoulder crushed right out of place or just plain broken, you weren't sure. It's not like you could feel much of your arms in this position.

It hurt. Not just the painful strain that this position was currently putting on your muscles, but everything else...

Of course, you've handled torture alike this before. Captured and tortured by enemies, ransomed for pay and fought tooth and nail to live, then found your way from that hell...only for the men who you'd kill for, to do the same thing to you with no remorse.

In the quiet of the empty room, you sobbed in agony. Squeezing your fists, but you couldn't even feel them, as far as you knew your fingers could only twitch in response to your demand.

You weren't sure what you were doing here.

Well, you knew. There was a mole, all evidence pointing to you, whatever it was had completely stunted their mission earlier in the week, left them hiding in a safe house for days until they were picked up by evac. Apparently, you'd leaked mission details to some hostiles over seas, you weren't sure which ones, they were hoping you could tell them. You had absolutely nothing, lost.

Of course, they didn't believe you. Although you expected to have at least a sliver of trust, someone to speak up against these claims and believe you...

It must've been too much to ask.

It came out of nowhere, at first you had been in bed with Simon, your fucking Fiancé, then that meeting with Price, then just...they'd cornered you in that room. Knocked you out without even an explanation, woke you up strapped down, confused, stripped of your uniform and feral as you demanded answers. Nobody listened to you.

That first night you thought you were gonna die. The second night you thought you had. The third night you were just convinced this was your hell.

You were soaked to the bone, and unable to stop shivering. The only sound you could hear was your own chattering teeth in this never-ending void of darkness.

It was so fucking dark in here, your eyes darting around to every corner, hoping for even a measly crack of light that your eyes could adjust to. Every sound, scratch, scrape or click made you jump, you couldn't see shit in here, so just about everything made you hyper aware. You couldn't help your anxiety as the sound of the faucet, the constant drops against your spine, the jingle of your shackles and the whimpers that echoed against the walls as you struggled to comfortably breathe. Maybe it was the thought of a mouse crawling up the stool and along your skin, or someone in here just staring at you in the corner, or the door finally opening for Price to start slicing into you demanding answers you didn't have.

You were on the cusp of losing your mind. If you hadn't already.

But it's been a few hours since then...

Maybe even a few days...

It could even have been a week.

You weren't too sure.

Simon had been the last one in here. He'd pulled the strap loose around your neck, hauling you up to an upright position by your jaw, eliciting a whimper from your lips. Able to breathe a bit easier, your lungs finally decompressing and you gulp down air greedily, "Simon..." this had been the first time you'd seen him since. He wears his balaclava, he is Ghost, not your Simon Riley.

As your bloodshot, swollen eyes raise to look into his cold ones, so unfeeling. You hadn't even realized you were so hopeful for his trust in you until then, looking at you like you were absolutely nothing to him, the same look he always had before pulling the trigger. "Simon, please, stop this..." your words slurred by your shivering, exhausted. "You know me...please."

Your tears slide over the leather of his gloved hands, while he holds tight to your face and cuts your pleads short with a painful squeeze. "Shut up," he says. His eyes are blank, but his voice is low and seething. "Shut the fuck up!" Simon harshly grits out to you, jostling you harshly. You squeeze your eyes shut, weeping miserably, throat closing up to your agony.

He had to know that you would've never done this to him. He should've known that. Given you the benefit of the doubt at least. You'd have never done this to him...

"I'm sorr-" you try, he squeezes harder to silence you swiftly, and snatches a tiny bowl off the tray he'd brought in. Raising your jaw a bit higher, he pours down a chunky broth into your mouth, letting it all just fall down to your throat. It's disgusting. He doesn't ease up for even a second as you toss and turn your head to breathe.

"Don't say a fucking word," he seethes, his hand enveloping your neck and keeping your head raised upward. "As if I should believe you..."

He then takes the next cup to do the same, your eyes bloodshot wide and you jerk away from him as you choke, unable to stomach anything, but he doesn't let you. This time you inhale accidentally, blocking your airway, eyes watering as you writhe for oxygen, your shackles clang violently as you attempt to retaliate, the first fight you've put up in days. His grip doesn't let up, even as you struggle and start to vomit up whatever he decided to shove down your throat.

When he finally lets go, you curve over and heave up whatever's left in your mouth, hyperventilating as you empty your guts on the floor. Hacking up whatever you can, it hurts, your throat burning from the sobs that leave you in between coughs. "If you love me, if you--ever had--" you spat at him. You'd given him everything, every part of yourself, nearly given him your life in the battlefield, and yet...it wasn't enough. "You would fucking believe me!" your voice cracks with the effort it takes to scream at him, to curse him to hell.

"My trust? That's what you want," Hollow eyes stare back at you, his attention flickering around to the uncomfortable shift of your shoulders in those cuffs. Your swollen left eye that had been hit so hard, the white of it had filled with blood. The black and blue littering your sides and your spine, the loss of color in your skin from the stress position and the cold that had you uncontrollably shivering. "You've had it before. You must've sold that to them too."

Your head drops to the stool again, releasing a heavy breath. "It wasn't worth much, if it was so easy to lose..."

Usually it's not very easy to set Simon off, you've known him always to be quite mellow, besides the barely concealed rage he had settled in his chest since you've known him. But, today, you were an exception.

Fisting a hand in your hair, Simon yanks at it, pulling you upwards for your to face him. His other hand coming up to wrap around your throat before your tortured scream can even manifest. In that moment, it feels as if he'd snapped your spine in half, having not used the muscles to stretch that area in over a week. Your shackled wrists shifting in the cruel position.

His eyes are wild and rageful, the balaclava that covers him twists just the same, his grip very telling to his violence as he squeezes down any chance at air or even a sentence. "Easy to lose..." he repeats, spitting in your face as he strangles you. "Easy t'lose your life! If you don't tell me the fucking truth," he pulls out the knife you'd seen him slit so many throats with before, you hear the familiar sound of it first then its cold steel pressing into the side of your ribs. "I'm gonna carve out your heart, and I'll take it real slow, let you feel every little thing I do to you in here," he shakes you harshly as a startled cry escapes you, your tears are burning hot against your cheeks. "You don't get to cry. Or whine. Or beg!"

"Stop--" you try to squirm away from him, to get as far away as possible, from this place, from this moment.

"Just tell me the truth," Simon's face twisted in agony, for just a second, his thumb drags along your jaw, meaningfully. "You'd be doing us both a favor..."

As his vast hand finally loosed around your neck just enough to hold you up, awaiting the bitter truth. Simon's knife catches on the protrusion of your ribs, nicking the skin, drawing blood on purpose. You stare up at the ceiling, the flickering old lights, the dripping faucet that's tormented your already fragile state for weeks now. "The truth..." you spoke, hoarsely. "You've all shown me...it doesn't matter to you. If it ever... Believe what you want--" you close your eyes, you're exhausted. Sleep had evaded you for days. "You and your truth and this team, you can all go to hell."

And finally he lets you go, letting your fall forwards, unable to find the relief of a cold floor but back to the strenuous position you'd been placed in. "AH!" nearly popping your shoulders out of place, or maybe they had, you bite down on your tongue, shaking in silence.

If you could see Simon's face, you could've relished in the uncertainty flickering in his eyes, the sudden doubt that led his knife back in its holder and his nails to bite into the flesh of his palms. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing leaves him, instead he stands there.

You can't say a thing to him now, everything that's happened was just a little reminder that whatever you said, whatever you did, it didn't matter. Their minds had already been made. You really would die here.

Simon stands there a little longer, he doesn't say anything, you're not sure if he stays there to watch your suffering a little longer or to wait to say another heart-wrenching thing. Maybe he's just there to wait for you to die. But, he just watches as you wretch and cry in a ball atop that stool.

He leaves not long after, he didn't bother to strap you down this time. He left the old light on, but it must've been older than you thought.

The single bulb fizzled out completely hours ago. Not unless one of them decided to cut the silence and turn on the light to start another 'questioning', so suddenly being able to see more than darkness wasn't anything to be excited about.

They'd leave you in the dark until then, to await the next moment any of them would grace you with their presence.

To be honest, you'd imagined you'd be stronger than this. But, there was nothing to hold onto, so what did strength matter?

It was too late anyway.

They'd broken you days ago.

---

The truth had come out, two days later.

"Oh god..."

"Oh my fucking God," Simon rushed down the corridor, Price tailing right behind him. "Oh my God!" his normal monotone voice now a mess of fear and panic, breathing harsher, on the cusp of hyperventilating with every stride as he ran faster than he ever had in his life.

Finally getting to the interrogation wing of the department, he bangs his fist on the plexiglass of those silently monitoring the rooms, "Open the fucking door!" he's buzzed in before he can pull on the handle another time.

Rushing down the hall to the now green lit room, lights flickering to life with every step closer down the hall of empty rooms. He nearly rips the door off its hinges as he bursts inside, the lights of the your tiny prison don't come to life as they should. Light spilling into the cell, to hit your limp figure first.

He doesn't deserve to say your name. "(Y/n)," Simon rushes over, to his knees instantly. A puddle of vomit, water and spoiled broth soaks through his uniform.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry," he sobs out his mistakes, unhooking your chains and cutting through your buckles as fast as he could. "Oh my god, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" he catches his fiancé as you collapse, turning over and off the stool, your legs having lost all sense of feeling. You fall into his arms, catching you carefully. "Price!" he cries out, desperately.

"They're on the way!" Your captain assures, he sees the medical team rushing down the hallway, a stretcher, a box of medical supplies. Christ.

You're freezing to the touch, your skin a hue of blue, not to mention the bruises, the cuts and the swollen areas throughout your face and spine. You suddenly inhale, sharply, coughing terribly. You're sick, breathing shakily, "Simon...?" you breathe, confused. You can't see. Your eyes swollen shut from your torture at their hands.

"It's me, it's me," Simon assured, although he knew it probably brought you no comfort. He snatches the blanket offered up by Price, your captain a mess of himself, holding himself together at the doorway, nails biting into the steel.

As Simon wraps you in the first glimpse of warmth you've had in days, you ease up a bit, fingers twitching upwards to pull the threads closer around yourself. "It wasn't..." you shiver, Simon listens intently as he rises with you in his arms, running off to meet the medical team halfway. "It wasn't me..." you gasp out. "It wasn't..."

Simon can't say a thing as he hears your tormented voice stutter in fear of him, lips pressed tight together, heart sinking and as the nurses take your body, he collapses to his knees.

Part 2

and if you'd like to support a fanfic hoe in need...would you Buy me a Coffee?

[casuallyanidiot]

Got a fair few asks about Danny (aka Yandere Farmboy) and what he'd be like in marriage, with kids and the In-Laws etc. So here are a few HCs about that !

Tw. BabyTrapping, Yandere, Power Imbalance, Forced Marriage, Implied Noncon, Slut shaming, implied abortion, implied homophobia/transphobia at the end, Fem! AFAB! Reader

The Marriage

I've gone into some detail about how Danny would treat you once he got his hands on you in another ask. He likes getting you all dressed up and proper, and he never wants to see you with dirt smeared across your face ever again.

Danny would want to wait until you were pretty far into your pregnancy to actually marry you. Hell, he might even wait until you actually have his baby. You'd asked him to just get it over with right after he got your parent's permission to take you away from the farm and into his home, but he wanted everyone to see what you had become.

You aren't just some rat scurrying around town anymore. No, you're his. And now there's no way you can deny it. Because if you do, you risk being shunned by everyone.

"That poor Petusky kid... getting stuck with that whore."

"She's lucky he even keeps her around. If it were me, I would've run her off a long time ago."

Danny had you moved into his family home soon after the events of the first fic. He likes sitting there, rubbing your growing belly and murmuring words of comfort. He forces you to recline in a plush, padded rocking chair he made with his father just for you.

"This is the happiest I've ever been," he praised as he pressed kisses to your skin. He smiled at the way you flinched, and he cooed softly. "The wedding venue is booked. Plus I've got the bakery prepping a cake. A big one too, with your favorite flavors," He said. You don't remember telling him what they were. "We just gotta wait until this little one arrives. Getting married will be the best thing that's ever happened to you, I swear. Weddings are just... stressful. Don't want anything hurting the baby now, do we?"

Of course he doesn't let you work. You're his precious wife, after all. Plus he seethes at the thought of failing you, of letting you slip from his fingers and back into a life where he can't control your happily ever after. You'll have no financial freedom, that's for certain.

He's eerily attuned to your wants and needs. he's spent years observing you, your interests. The way your eyes would trail longingly on the other women in town with their nicer clothes, the way in school that you tried and tried to keep up with other academically. You wanted a better life. He had that. He could give you that.

He adores you, he really does. He'd buy you old Bronte sister novels and sit there with you when you'd struggle to read them. He comes back to you every day, no matter how sweaty and caked in mud he might be, pressing flowers into your hands.

Maybe if he'd been less of a creep, less desperate to possess you entirely, then perhaps he could've been the love of your life.

The In-Laws

Danny's parents, like mentioned in the original fic, are pretty much the wealthiest people in town if not the entire area. They own several cattle ranches and acres upon acres of land that's perfect for tilling. Really they're the exact opposite of your family.

They aren't unkind per se, but you could definitely feel them judging you whenever you had spoken to them in the past. They'd smile at you in an overly friendly manner that felt empty as it looked nice. Just typical southern politeness wrapped in a shiny veneer.

That being said, when Danny came to them one day, dragging your shaking form in front of them, they knew something was up. There's no reason a girl like you should seem so upset that their precious baby boy was promising her the moon and stars. When he goes on to explain " She's gonna have my baby. I know you should wait until marriage and all, but we got to excited and well..."

A shotgun marriage with the town tramp. Not exactly ideal for a sterling reputation, but they could work with this. Most of the town would probably judge you no matter what, but Danny's parents subtly nudge people to think of you like some gold digger.

They can sense that Danny did something to you. You flinch sometimes when you think no one is looking, and his mother has caught you crying alone in some random room in their big house a couple times. Unfortunately, though, you're far less important to them than their son. If he wanted you that badly, he can have you. They're just gonna make sure everything stays under wraps.

Danny's father doesn't really care for you one way or another. He doesn't really get what his kid sees in you, but then again, he can kind of see why the boy grew up to be so damn possessive. He had traditional values pummeled into him from a young age, and what's more traditional than marrying your high school sweetheart and providing for her and your family? Once you get cleaned up a bit and start living with them more often, he quietly accepts you as part of the family. He likes whittling toys for your new arrival when he's not working or with his wife, and he finds you to be a pleasant addition. Overall, he'll keep his mouth shut on what Danny did for the sake of everyone in the family and for his own peace.

Danny's mother on the other hand is quite involved when it comes to you. Your her daughter in-law! Ain't that something? It's kind of clear that she doesn't like you from the beginning, but she can't get rid of you and sweep you under the rug in the way she'd like. If it was up to her, you'd be headed for some backwater clinic before being shipped off to the big city, never to be seen again. But Danny loves you, and she can't exactly stop him without risking putting him in jail or having their reputation ruined. So, you stay, much to her resentment.

Second to Danny, she spends the most time with you. She's a housewife as well, so she helps you learn how to take care of a proper household for once. Your manners and demeanor are awful in her opinion. You're too skittish and sad looking! So what if you've been forced to marry your stalker? Don't you know how many other girls would've killed for this, young lady? Just like her husband, though, she becomes more fond of you over time. Once you're settled in and start meekly accepting her offers to bake, clean, and do general busy work with her, she starts actually seeing you not as her son's property, but as her daughter. She had all boys after all, so it's nice to have another girl in the house. She keeps tabs on you for Danny, sending him candid photos of you and the baby once it arrives. Now that she actually likes you, sweeping the whole thing under the rug changes to include keeping you as well.

Danny has little sibling as well: two younger brothers. They're both far younger than him, and they don't really have an opinion of you one way or another. You just kind of... appeared in their house one day. Their mom and dad started stressing for a while, and you didn't seem too happy either, so what was this whole deal? I think they'd be very kind to you initially, bothering you to play and sharing sweets when they wished to, and they're both curious and annoyed about the fact that a baby is going to join them soon.

I think that while the siblings don't learn about what happened to you, their perception of love and morality would be heavily skewed by the fact that you, being scared and held in the house against your will, and their big brother are presented as the pinnacle of romance.

Overall, you'd be accepted, but there are definitely a lot of strings attached to that.

The kids

I think Danny really loves his kids with you. Or rather, he loves the idea of having a family more than he actually would the kids themselves. He's always had this dream that the two of you would be lost in a fluffy, domestic bliss until the day you died, and part of that meant a few little ones running around.

He's a good dad in the sense that he'd always be there for them. He'd take them to games, to dance practice, teach them how to work in the fields and buy them gifts. He's very present, but it's always with an undercurrent of control. You don't want to ruin this happy family, do you now? Your kids love their father, they love this happy home, so don't you dare think about leaving, okay?

In addition, I think that Danny would have a really hard time dealing with a kid that deviated from what he considered to be "normal" or "traditional". Part of his whole power in their very conservative town is that his family is a paragon of tradition and "societal values". It's how he trapped the reader after all. But if his kids threatened that balance of power by trying to leave the farm, go to the city, or be anything other that what he'd been trying to turn them into, I think he would genuinely lose it. His kids are not people to him, they are ideas and pawns that he'd become attached to.

If the kids turned out to be more like him in possessive, controlling behavior, then I think then he'd probably recognize them as their own individuals rather than just an fantasy he had for a legacy or a life with the reader.