#Tw infant death

[mewtwoandme]

Previous Part Here

Summary:

Sivith is forced to fight back, leaving her baby to hide in the bushes as she tries to lure the hunters' pokemon away. The lycanroc stays behind, discovering the baby mewtwo hidden in the bushes. The baby tries to defend itself by biting the hound on its snout, ultimately leading to its unfortunate end in the jaws of the midnight lycanroc. Witnessing the death of her baby, a mother's wrath is unleashed...

!!!WARNING!!!

This comic contains graphic imagery such as blood, severe injury, child endangerment, and infant death, that may be disturbing to some viewers. Viewer discretion is advised

If you are uncomfortable with any of the following CWs, do not proceed beyond this point.

No one will be spared from a mother's wrath....

[taviamoth]

A baby was killed by an Israeli air strike that targeted a camp of displaced Palestinians in Rafah.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Cultivation

The rope creaked softly, suffering under the weight it was not meant to bear, as it stretched out, seemlingly endless into the mist. This had once been a bridge. The entrance to this lonely place. Humble as it was, the simple rope bridge had once stood for time immemorial. A path of safety above Soul Eater mists below.

Terrible creatures and unspeakable monsters dwelled down there. Things that devoured. Even the mists themselves, were said to drive men mad. Cause hallucinations and aggression. Qi draining in nature. It was like a living thing that digested you slowly.

Unless, of course, you could escape.

Or, it was said, if you were like the legendary immortal who had founded this temple. HE had apparently just walked. Refused the mist's their hold on him. Then climbed the cliff face to this mountain top. I somewhat doubted that tale. But then again, staring down at the rolling mists... it seemed impossible that ANYONE could have ever survived them.

The bridge creaked on, in the soft breeze. There were days it's groans sounded like the cries of a beast in pain. Tortured. When the wind rattled and dragged at what remained of its form. Trying to pull it from it's post. Down, down, down to it's final end.

There was a boot print. Terrible and damning. Cracked, IMPRINTED, deep into the base of the pillar that once held up one side. Far away, the bridge must surely still be stable. Both pillars standing tall, like gaurds. Like brothers. But here?

One powerful kick.

And the bridge had disappeared out from underneath all those that stood upon it.

Everyday... every day I come. Every day I look upon this bridge. Upon the boot, a terrible sin imprinted into stone, and I tell myself I do not recognize the size of it. That my suspicions are wrong. My instincts surely lying. Because... because if I do not?

What can I do? What could I POSSIBLY hope to do? If my suspicions WERE correct? If in this place, lives a monster? I am not stronger them him. Without him, I would be utterly alone. He has insured I am all but dependant on him. Not teaching me how to cook nor clean, farm nor fight. All practical skills are lessons for another day. Forever another day.

Yet...

Yet, I MUST know.

I torture myself with this. The wondering. The questions I do not not ask, for fear he will not even bother hiding behind lies. I stare at the old, long dried blood that stains where the bridge once ended. The shimmering heavenly gold. Somehow... some horrified, gut wrenched, SCREAMING instinct... knows it to be the blood of Tree Fruit.

It is the blood of the unborn. Those that will never get the chance, now. They... they were not even apart of anyone's body. Were wholly seperate, dependent and their protectors for survival. Were FRUIT for God's sake. Just as I had been. Souls reborn, not from flesh, but clean and new, from a Divine Tree. Ascendant from some other place.

I don't know WHY they were taken from the Tree. Why I was. My memory is spotty. It was too soon. I had not forgotten yet. Was not READY yet. It should have been safest to stay there. Be born into the world. Yet... they were on this bridge, instead. Attacked. The blood of infants stains the stones and will never wash clean. I can not... I was still FRUIT, then.

I can not REMEMBER.

And so I come. Again and again, before this rope. That stretchs out into the mists. Above far more terrible things. And try to recall. Make sense of it this terrible thing before me. This bridge. A long, worn, straining rope. With old, well-worn wooden planks, weathered by the ages, that... that hang like bodies.

Strung up in an endless row.

That whisper as they clack and groan with suffering in the wind, "A crime. A crime. Great evil was committed here!"

I tell myself... like a child hiding from monsters they KNOW are real. Trembling and blood soaked, terrified, as they crawl as far back into some small dark place as they can... I... I do not want to compare the boot print in that stone to Lei's. That they would be different sizes, even if I did.

I do not convince myself.

I never do.

"Shimei, this disciple wonderd where you were..." calls out a familiar voice. Deep in the way dangerous waters are deep. Smooth and placid at the surface. With something deadly I can not see, far, far below. "This one has found you at the bridge again. What captivates you so? You missed your morning snack. Should be on your way to early morning meditations."

My smile is more of a grimace, as I turn.

There are days... when forgetting is easy. When the tranquility of this place seeps itself into my bones. The comfort he deliberately arranges for me. The scheduled repetition. It is... trance-like.

Sitting with tea and snacks. Watching the early morning's sunlight dance off the distant mist. As birds wake and dew settles. The world hushed. Cup warm in my hand. Coat dropped over my shoulders. It is beautiful. The meditation garden is beautiful. EVERYTHING here is beautiful.

It is the fact that it is... empty, that bothers me.

This was not a temple built for two people. Remote as it must be in the world. The sect built this place for a reason. And each day that passes? I am more convinced that reason was to have a place to fall back too. The temple is lovely... but more then that? It is a FORTRESS.

Difficulty getting here is not even a fraction of the defens it holds.

So WHY?

WHY are there only two people here?

I nod, stepping towards my "shixong" as he insists I call him, dispite there being just the two of us. His hand reaching out to take my arm, guide me. I no longer need help navigating these halls. But he does not stop. Clings to his excuses to coddle and touch. It is a fight I can not win. I pick my battles. But, before his hand reaches my sleeve. Knife!

A throwing knife, shrieks near silent through the air as it cuts between us. Nearly removing Lei's fingers as it does. I jerk away, startled. He whips around towards the bridge.

"GET AWAY FROM THAT CHILD!"

The voice that roars that command has the distinct rasp of old age. Sure enough, a figure in flowing robes surges forward from the mist, running light as a feather across the single rope that remains of the bridge. Long white hair and beard. A wrinkled face, more accustomed to smiling, now turned into a fierce and determined scowl. The robes of a Grand Master.

There are a handful of warriors following him.

But the one that I can not look away from... it's... it's like looking through the lense of a half forgotten dream. Blurred by angles all wrong. But oh... oh how could I forget that face? The one that stares at me with such fierce and fearful determination?

...Shijie?

More then an older sister, less then a mother. Whisperd promises, muffled by liquid, from long ago. I know that face. KNEW it. It once smiled down at me, as I grew upon my branch, and promised we would be family. Loved me. Beautiful and patient, as she whispered about all the wonders of world.

I was...

Oh.

I was supposed to go with HER.

Be raised by HER. A little sister, a daughter, someone she could guide and grow with. My memories struggle to come together, but faced with familiar faces? They TRY. Especially as power begins to surge around me. Terrible and familiar. The beginnings of a fight.

Someone on my branch. Not my sister. Pale as morning mist and just as untouchable. He seemed lonely. I was lonely. Far from other Fruit, an awkward thing, high up, and on an old twisting branch. That had missed all nipping and cultivation by being accidentally hidden by the leaves surrounding it. The fruit was supposed to grow lower to the ground, where it could be watched. Safe.

But I happened anyway.

And I was alone.

No others to spend my time with. No disciples to come and care for me, day to day. So when the mist man came? I clumsily... reached out. Pat pat. There, there. I'm here, "dude". (I... can not remember what that word meant. But I know I knew it. It was friendly, I think.)

He was surprised to find me, up there.

I don't not think he told anyone.

I...I think he was supposed too?

But it did not matter in the end. Someone else found his hiding spot. Found me. There was much shouting and alarm. Elders, I think. Doctors, to insure I was well. Great relief, that I was a hardly little thing, developing as I should. After that? I had constant visitors. None that seemed very interesting... until... until my Shijie.

They were looking, I think, through interested parties for a match. Who would adopt me. Then there was softness. Sweet, golden days. The mist man visited. Anger from him? Not at me. Displeased. Covetous? I did not understand. Something wrong was growing but I was unborn... did not have a name yet for the sensation.

Just that is was...Dark.

Then it was night time. A beautiful moon through the branches. Smoke, black and terrifying. Screaming and the clash of swords. Unbearable heat, climbing and climbing. Lights blinking out. Dying? Were... were they dying? The great Tree, divine and holy, groaning in agony. Wood popping from heat. Splintering from blows.

Feet upon my branch. Running, running, running. Falling too their knees. Swordsman's hands. Bloody, wrong, not my shijie. Where is my shijie? Sister! SISTER?! I am being pulled. No. No, it is not time. It is too soon. The Fruit is not ready.

The hands do not care.

I am torn out by the roots.

Where the Tree should be... is nothing. I SCREAM. It hurts! A void. The ocean of life gone, gone, GONE! Already I am starving. Destabilizing. Dying again. Scared! Please! I am-!

A hand wraps around the raw nerves of my roots. They are wrong. I know them, but they are WRONG. Where is shijie? Sister... SISTER! Please!! Energy floods back in, as though it never stopped. But... but it is not clean. Like brackish water after so long in clear springs, I choke as I try to adjust.

Moving.

Running.

Where is the Divine Tree? I want to go home.

Others join. Burned. Bleeding. They have Fruit too. I have never been so close to others. They sound nervous too. Scared. But they have their family. Why do I not? There is some plan. A bridge that goes on and on. Below us are terrible things. They are talking? The end in sight.

"-viously you can't... -ep her, she's not your child. Y.. -eat thing protecting her th.. -ll be so relieved you have her child. N.. -all we have to... -ait out this..."

Something ugly is rising. Danger. DANGER. No, no, NO. STOP. Run! Bad thing is coming! I don't-! I can't-! Covetous, terrible, tar-like WRONG! Seeping up like festering! Stop it, stop it, STOP IT!!

The sound of a sword being drawn.

I am tucked close. Cradled like something precious. As a blade sings destruction through the air. A shocked and betrayed cry. Confusion. I can see horror on faces, feel terror from the other Fruit. Two of them are dead. CRUNCH. The bridge violently lists to the side, weight no longer equally supported.

Time seems to slow... as ancient metal slides free of stone.

Half those on the bridge are gone in an instant, as the floor swings out from below them like a trapdoor. Those that remain? Are the souls fast enough to grab the rail that still remains. The boards, as they fall. They hang above certain death, as their friends fall screaming in primal fear, to horrific death below.

How long can they hold on?

Especially with only one hand?

A few already lost their grip on their Fruit in the sudden shift. Can only stare in numb and mind blank horror, soul deep agony, as the bright little lights fall... and fall... and fall...

Inside my Fruit I SCREAM.

I do not remember after that. Only being born. It is a blur of trauma my mind must have refused to keep. D..Damn it. DAMN IT! I jerk away from Lei. I had known. I hadn't WANTED to know... but I had KNOWN.

The Grand Master attacks. His blade crashing like the might of a wrathful god against Lei's. Sending him sliding back. The master pressing his advantage, warriors rushing to fan out between the fighters and me.

Arms. Soft yet unimaginably powerful, the scent of tea and the medicinal flowers she proudly grew for the sect, I was pulled into an embrace. My head tucked against her neck. Arms bordering on too tight. As though I would disappear at any moment.

"Shimei.." my shijie whispered, a wounded sound. "This sister has you. We have come to rescue you. The traitor will never hurt you again. Come!"

This felt right. I nod. Follow her towards the bridge.

"Thief."

Lei's snarls. Never has there been an uglier, more venomous sound. One of the warriors, acting as a shield, dies preventing my sister from being speared through the heart from behind. Desperately, she scoops me up. Breaking into a sprint.

"Do you truely think you can take this one's Disciple from him? His WORLD!?" An unhinged laugh echoed along side the clash on blades. "There is NOWHERE you can hide her, that I will not find! She is MINE! Belongs with ME! You can run but there is NO WHERE you can hide!"

I cling to my sister as she jumps up on the rope, racing away from the gilded cage that was my only home. Over her shoulder, Lei is locked in combat. The ugly something I had always known was there, finally out in the air between us. Demonic energy spilled from him like radiation. Sickening and every bit as caustic. His eyes wild as they lock onto me.

"I'm going to BURN everything that gets in my way, my disciple." He croons, the grin spreading across his face a thing that will haunt me. "Just like before. NOTHING will keep you away from me. Nothing! I am going to hunt you down, drag you to ascension, then spend the rest of time making you MINE."

"And nothing will stop me, child. Not even you. Why?"

"Because I LOVE You."

[rawrsatthetree]

Oh omg I just had such a fucked up idea for Ascended Astarion

Tw: infanticide and pregnancy. Gn but Tav is able to become pregnant.

Ok so since Ascended Astarion doesn’t make Tav break things off with Halsin imagine Consort Tav finds out soon after the events of the game that they’re pregnant.

However Astarion can immediately tell it’s not his child but Halsin’s much to his anger and disgust.

But instead of forcing Tav to terminate the pregnancy he allows them to carry the baby to term while also gently warning them that a spawn and a mortal’s child isn’t very likely to live.

He even allows them to tell Halsin at the reunion party.

However when Halsin tries to come and be involved Astarion makes sure he’s kept far away from the Crimson Palace. Simply telling Tav, “you know how fickle Halsin can be, I’m sure he’s simply too busy with his hoard of orphans. But don’t worry little love, I’ll always take care of you.”

He tolerates his consort reeking of Halsin’s stench for 9 months, pretending to be loving and supportive while they carry another man’s child.

As soon as the infant is born, Astarion’s mood changes as his mask slips off. Tav panics and cries to be given their baby, suddenly realizing Astarion intentions.

He has the infant killed right there in the room as Tav is held down screaming and fighting.

He uses his power over them to alter the memory of their perfectly health baby being killed in front of them so they believe that it was still born.

With Tav’s memory successfully changed they simply cry and ask to hold their baby just one time.

“I’m so sorry my love” Astarion holds them and comforts them as the now dead infant is given to them to hold.

He allows them to grieve the little bastard, once again playing the loving master they adore so much.

“It’s not your fault my love, the infant was simply too weak. But not to worry, I’ll give you a new child. A strong child, with the blood of the ascendant. As many children as my dear consort desires.”

[sixpossumsinaclownsuit]

Coming from someone who first heard Just A Man from the trending audio in the art/oc/animatic community, the lyrics are sheer fuckin' poetry and magnificent... but there is ZERO preparation for the fact that the song is about INFANTICIDE—

[glossysoap]

NO! ugh, okay. the previous ask about the girl faking the pregnancy reminded me of this girl i went to high school with-

TW: PREGNANCY AND INFANT DEATH

so this girl, T, was a notorious liar about the most random things, like saying she had siblings when she had none, and would send guys fake nudes (like, she was 5’0 and skinny and pale but would send guys nudes of tall, curvy, tan girls??) so we all knew she was always making shit up, and no one believed her when she said she was pregnant with her bf at the time, and even if she was, the times didn’t match up with how far along she said she was, so it would have been a different dudes baby anyway…

another girl, H, was pregnant and sadly her baby passed after birth. she posted a couple photos on socials to announce his birth/death.

then about a month later, T POSTS THE SAME EXACT PHOTOS OF H’S BABY AND SAYS ITS HER BABY WHO PASSED!

obviously H saw them and recognized her own baby???

there was a video of H yanking T out of her vehicle by her hair and whooping her ass in a parking lot. we also live in a little town, maybe 15k people. everyone knew about it 😭

DEAR GOD 😭😭😭

[medusamagic]

Okay, I know we like to joke about the Samus Aran trans thing largely because of that one comment one dev made, but if you took an honest trans reading of Super Metroid, the character becomes so much richer.

Here is this woman who has been conditioned for violence since a young age. Her body has transformed into a mass of weapons and armor, even going so far as to have a gun for an arm so she can only interact with the world through violence. No one even sees her as a woman; she's just a tool by which violence is enacted. She's sent out to carry out an act of horrific violence once more.

She carries out her orders once more until she finds a baby, a target that's too far for her. She instead takes it home, acting almost like a mother to her, an opportunity that has never been offered to her. For a brief moment, she forms a real maternal connection with the baby.

Then it's all stolen from her. A predator takes her baby away while it's at the daycare. Of course, the woman fights like hell to protect her baby from whatever threatens it.

When she finally finds the baby, it's too late. Her baby has been hurt in a very similar way to how she was hurt when she was young. Furious, she goes on a rampage, tearing through everyone who hurt her child until she's just about ready to die. Before she succumbs to her injuries, her baby shows her a juvenile kindness that assures her that in spite of everything, she's still a human being capable of true love and care. This gives her the strength to finally avenge the child that has been stolen from her.

Doesn't that feel a little familiar?

[fefesoutsiderstuff]

More holiday-flavored angst!

TW: infant mortality

Dally used to love Christmas but he had a baby sister who died on Christmas when he was like six so all he can think of is his mom screaming and his dad yelling at him to stop talking to him because he was on the phone (Dally was trying to tell his dad that his mom was crying but his dad thought he was asking to open presents; he was on the phone with the hospital). That was also the first time his dad hit him.

So now Dally hates the holidays. He associates them with confusion and not seeing his beloved baby sister or her blanket ever again and his mommy making horrible noises and his daddy refusing to listen to him and hitting him.

Santa didn’t come to visit him after that year either. He just left extra presents next door and the neighbors would have him come over.

It only got worse from there because no one really told him what happened and he had never had a prior experience with death so he had to figure it out on his own.

This was inspired by a Headcanon I saw somewhere on here that said that Dally had a little sister named Louisa who died in infancy.

[caer-gai]

"Do it for them."

(The flowers are supposed to be anemones (forsakeness) and begonia (warning))

For @queer-ragnelle 's May Day Parade, prompt 1 the morbid month of May/Mordred =)

[mewtwoandme]

Previous Part Here

!!!WARNING!!!

This comic contains graphic imagery such as blood, gore, severe injury, disembowelment, decapitation, dismemberment, infant death, and multiple character deaths, which may be disturbing to some viewers. Viewer discretion is advised

If you are uncomfortable with any of the following CWs, do not proceed beyond this point.

[taviamoth]

They tell you you have to respond to this peacefully.

Regardless of how vile they get, however bloodcurdling the crime, don't raise a finger.

They're allowed violence, you're not.

Fuck that.

Death to israel.

[threepandas]

Bad End: No Question

The republic fell slowly, then all at once. Rot building like a creeping cancer, in all the places the shining lights of luxury did not touch. Festering and untreated, all while I could do nothing to stop it. I knew it was coming, could see the story unfolding, yet? Was powerless to stop it.

No one listened.

Why would they? I was just a naive child, spouting nonsense. After all, they all said, they all believed... the Republic Was Forever.

Until it was not. Until it all died. And from the bleeding, screaming, ruin? The Empire came, swallowing everything whole. Right up to the end. While in my head, I knew how the story would unfold. Had tried and tried, to no avail, helpless and small as only children can be, as the tidal wave finally hit.

Believed, even as they lay dying. Even as I watch as the people cheer, as blood ran thick in the streets, clogging the gutters. The luxurites dead. Both guilty and innocent alike. The boot heels, upon the necks of the poor, no longer. Or so their leaders proclaimed...

Easy scapegoats. Obvious targets. The villians for their narrative, pay no mind to what happens next. The money and power, the land. We are HEROS! For the PEOPLE! You can TRUST US.

Ha.

Of course.

All hail the Emperor. Wealthier then any man has ever been. Truely, we are Free.

Yes, when the revolution came, I wasn't with them, my family. My "proper" social circles. That's probably all that spared me. I would have been hunted down, otherwise. Innocent or not. Can't have any of the old power bases lingering about, after all. People might get the idea to rally. Might miss the Old, when the New loses it's shine. Child or not, we can't have THAT, now can we?

The staff and volunteers of the soup kitchen, hid me with the other children as the adults boarded up the windows and doors. I held a young mother's child, looked her in the terrified eyes and swore, on my life, that I would gaurd her daughter with my life. I remember expecting to raise that child. To never see her again. Not alive.

Remember wondering, how far I could stretch the coin, if I pawned the pretty little bits of jewelry my parents gave me. Assuming they weren't ripped right off me, the second we got out. I had plans to hide them. Begun calculations. So many little mouths to feed. We had to stick together. We MUST stick together.

Then it was over.

My "disgrace" of an uncle came for me. Found me in the near ruins of my "silly little project". He was the one who had wanted to work. Had a stable worker lover everyone knew about but no one talked about. He was covered in bit of hay. Smelled strongly of horses. His lover had grabbed him and dragged him to safety, hidden him, desperately, among the stalls.

Out of our entire House...

An entire House, once noble, now wealthy. Out of HUNDREDS of people? Built over centuries, branches upon branches, marriages and adoptions. Wards and in-laws. Newborns to lovers to elders on their deathbeds? Of them all, so few remained. And yet... I could not even blame the servants who abandoned us. Who turned on their Slave Masters in all but technicality. They had been treated so cruely, for so long.

.....but the children? What crime did they commit?

I stood in the ruins of Manor after Manor, great house after great house, and wondered. Would I let this make me a monster too? Was this anger or grief I felt? Would any of us ever be free, from the sickening rot that had crept so slowly into the hearts of these people? Both, the ones I had called kin, and the very people who killed them. But oh... there were so many bodies to bury. So, so many bodies.

Some of them... so very, terribly, small.

But as we put out embers and buried the dead? The oh so glorious empire was rising. A fat and lumberous beast, settling with already groaning bones into the still smoking pit, where the Republic lay dead. And, benevolently, the Emperor saw no reason to kill us. We were informed by pristine letter, hand delivered, as we stood smoke stained and filthy, among the pyres.

At least... thank the gods. At least my Uncle remembered.

He and I, fellow outcasts and trouble makers, he recalled my "nonsense". How it had very much come true. So he took the Emperor's letter. Smiled benignly, with the bland promise of nothing. And gently corralled us few who remained into the only remaining dining hall, to pour over the letters as a House. A Clan. Together.

He looked to me with haunted eyes... and wanted to know.

I phrased it as a vision. It would be easier to swallow that way. Not unheard of, in legend. Not out of the realm of possibility. Just absurdly, absurdly rare. But... did we not live in world shaking times? It would make sense, it felt, that the gods would at least MENTION such things...

A novel, a lifetime ago. We were hardly the Protagonists. Not related in any way. Dramatics and death would surround them. A dark age followed, supposedly, by light. But... was the real world ever so simple? I didn't know. I could name all the players. What would occur.

It would be up to US to protect ourselves.

And we WOULD need to protect ourselves. For the Empire was not a kind place. Nor fair. It was the rot of the Republic laid bare. Without pretense. And soon... the purges would begin.

I was, of course, right. The people's blood soaked victory soon gave way to dismay, as they became targets. Divided. Conquered. Inquisitors, hand chosen by his most graciousness, the Emperor himself. I held my tounge, kept my piece... and hated it. Undermined what I could. Rebuilt my soup kitchen.

Attended court.

Because, of course, all we loyal subjects MUST attend court. Don't we love our Emperor so? See how we fawn! We simper and bask in his greatness! Oh we hang on your every WORD, most royal Majesty! We are entranced! Loyal, loyal subjects, all. Such decadent parties as the people starve.

Didn't my family perish for such similar actions? But, ah, they deserved it. Of course. And THIS is for MORALE!

I sip wine looted from the Redcrest family's cellars. They were dead now. Were proud of their wines. They made them for centuries. There shall never be more bottles, yet frivolous, we drink them away. What crime did they commit? Their workers? I close my eyes and keep my smile fixed.

A pleasant expression, because everything is Fine. Remember who you fight for, survive for, you are the canary in the mine. If you go silent, they know to run. The longer you live, the more people you can help, you can do this. Remember... sometimes rebellion is refusing to die. Refusing to let them pull hope from your desperate, bleeding, claws.

Just smile.

Everything is Fine! See? We're Smiling!

"Such a lonely seat. Not going to dance? Mingle? One might think you're not having fun." Comes from behind me, the voice an almost silibant rasp, rumbling thunder and the whispered hiss of a blade. If ever there was a voice made for threats and the confession of terrible things, it was this. "But how could that be? Such a loyal servant of his Majesty would never be so divisive and disrespectful. You must surely be ill. So, tell me then, your excuse?"

The only reason I do not jump, and splash on more reminder of tragedy right down my front, in a display I can not afford, is that I freeze up. Jumping would look guilty of something. It would not matter that he walks all but silently. That I did not notice him and was startled. That it is a simple, human, reaction. Why am I so JUMPY? Guilty conscious? Perhaps an Inquisitor and I should... Talk.

And dropping my wine? Making a SCENE? Am I seeking to undermine his Majesty?

That's ON TOP of the fact, that... frankly? My House can not AFFORD to replace a wine stained dress. With his Majesty's demands for constant decadence yet performative humility, his hoarding of wealth and demands of tribute? We are barely scrapping by. Most "graciously spared" survivors are.

Not ALLOWED to become lower class. Disappear into the masses and work or live quiet, modest lives. No. We must PROVE our LOYALTY to his Majesty. Constantly. Forever. Right up until we fail and are punished for it. In a sick game, no one can ever hope to win but him.

We are to continue on, as though he did not burn the world down. Yet in revamped parody of what was. Like a social outcast, holding towns hostage, to play out "high school prom" as the MOST popular kid, forever and ever and always more. Or ELSE. Because he never grew up and never got over it. Because people didn't like him. So he'll MAKE them. Kill them if they refuse.

The fifteenth version of this dress. Lace carefully taken off and redone elsewhere, I cycle through "new dresses" and trade with allies who are about my size. Who could possibly afford to meet the man's mad demands? When we are barely feeding are own? When he has seized our assets yet will not let us work?

We are dying.

Painted in what inherited gold, silks, and jewels remain. Terrified. We are dying.

"Nothing to say? How quiet. One might think you are... afraid. But how could that be? You would know, as a loyal servant of his Majesty, that you have nothing to fear from us. No Inquisitor would harm one of the loyal subjects, of our beloved ruler. You are perfectly safe... that is, of course, assuming... you are, in fact, Loyal."

The near shifting of heavy cloth against heavy cloth, the sigh as it slid against armor, markes a deadly presence behind me. Light, almost silent, steps are nearly lost under the music, as he moves. Circling me like a hunter. I force myself to turn towards him instead of shying away. Claw control back of my instinct frozen limbs, with desperate hands. I cannot, CANNOT afford this.

"Ah, but you are sick. Headache, perhaps? The drink too strong?"

Red eyes bore into me from a silver mask. Infamous claws, on hands that have done so much, are tucked behind his back like gentleman, out on a stroll. Bone white robes, over armored black under robes. Monochromatic, blood red, and silver steel.

The Grand Inquisitor.

"Perhaps you've tired yourself. With all that dancing you did not do. So many questions. So few answers. But then, ah, I've been speaking so rudely, my dear. Talking over you. How has your evening been, hmm? Pleasant, I take it?" His voice was as light and almost charming, as a gentle hand; wrapped delicately around the throat. Not squeezing, not yet, just a simple remind that it could. If he did not like, what you had or were about to say. "Come, sit, I insist."

The smile on my face felt like it was a dam under pressure. Like my teeth could only barely held back the screaming in my head. The mask of my expression, covered in hair line fractures, only just holding together as I nodded. Followed along. Hysterical comparisons to the march before firing squads, danced in the back of my head. I shoved them back. Down and far away. I... I had to be present. Alert.

The chandelier's light caught with terrible beauty, on the brutal points of his claws. As he gestured, almost a mockery of the polite gentleman. He would be one, if not for the unspeakable things he had done. He was certainly polite. His etiquette immaculate.

Social dances. A mockery of comfort. Mock, mock, mock. His mere presence, his brutality, desecrated it all. Made profane the familiar. For who? WHO? Could break bread with the butcher of men? Could smile politely and serve them thoughtful bits of nothing? Treat them as your own? Yet... yet we were all to afraid to resist. To refuse.

Did they delight? Forcing us to welcome them, where they clearly were not wanted? Where we could not refuse them? Perverting the purpose of our traditions and our ways? Was... was it funny? Or just another tool to use against us?

Smile, dip your head, a small curtsy or bow. The guest invited sits first, serve drinks, time appropriate food if you have it. In my head I knew each step. The etiquette of the classes and why each was the way it was. He did not reach for the pitcher on the table. Merely settled back into his chair, like a throne.

Was he deliberately breaking the social norm? To create discomfort and pressure me to talk? Did he not know? His past was shrouded in mystery. Perhaps he simply did not feel like it. Who, here, could insist? Shun him for his rudeness?

I tried not to sweat, under his heavy gaze. Did not partake. Sat, back straight, my gentle mask-like smile fixed, as I stared over his shoulder. A pretty doll. Ragged and worn around the edges. Trying desperately to appear The Good And Loyal Citizen, least something... Unfortunate, happen.

"What a lovely dress." He mused into the tense silence, breaking it to brutal shards. "Yet, I can not help but notice the shade. The cut and design. Madame Signe's work, isn't it? It suits you." Everything inside me went cold. It was. But if he recognized it...

"Yet? I can not help but wonder, my dear. Why the lace is in the wrong place? You wouldn't happen to be trying to pass off that dress as something new, would you? Trying to subvert and undermine his Majesty's very clear command? That would be treasonous. And you, such a loyal subject, would never."

He knew.

I didn't know how much he knew, but he DID.

Struggling not to shake, not to give everything away, I lied. Of course, I did. Right through my teeth. I would, I had, and I promised. Straight to the end. Lie and lie, until I had nothing left in me. I know nothing, I know no one, there is nothing here to find. Lies upon lies, all while those I love flee for their lives. Praying to gods I don't think can even hear me, that it will be enough.

The slight tilt of his head somehow projected a sense of mocking indulgence. One long leg crossed the other, lounging like a warlord. The clawed gauntlets on full, gruesome display. Every part of him, from the set of his shoulders to the angle he sat, radiated amusement. As though he were watching a silly little child, playing foolish little games. Getting into mischief, then trying to hide the obvious evidence.

Was I quite done? His silence seem to say. He can wait.

I tilted my chin up with a strength and defiance I did not feel. Yes, I was done. Let come what may. I... I tried.

"So afraid, dear citizen. Acting as though I'm some sort of monster in the night, out to butcher and hunt the innocent. One might get the wrong impression. You might even hurt my feelings." He laughs, a sound that seems to roll and fall dangerously, past grinning teeth. Sharp and deadly. "But of course... I understand, I do. About your dress. You can not help it."

"After all, you have not changed a bit."

....what?

"Still compelled, against all rhyme and reason, to tend to the wretched under classes. The filth and wastrels. Beggars and whores. Instead of purchasing dresses for parties? You, oh loyal Citizen, are of course, exemplifying his Majesty's great Mercy."

That's not what... He KNOWS it's not... Where is he GOING with this?

"Yes, we must make exceptions, perhaps. Have mercy. After all... you had nothing but the best of intentions. And how can I hold that against you? When you can not help what you are? Soft and foolish. So very merciful and giving. Humane."

He dropped the word like it was a joke. Almost snide, laughter haunting the edges of it like a pack of hunting hounds. As though humanity to others, itself, was laughable. What a joke, he seemed to suggest, the mere concept of mercy. Of compassion for the sake of it.

So, why? What game was he playing? If he had to mercy to give me? Why even suggest...?

"Do you remember, the Revolution? That glorious rise, as the old fell away. As shackles were broken. As class lines no longer bound us. As we, both children, sat in the dark?"

Impossible.

No... no it... please, God, it can't....

The music was very far away. Muted, as though through blankets. Conversations becoming indistinct. Memories of stale air and dust. Packed earth beneath me and cold stone pressing against my back. The terrible, uncertain creek, of cheap woods from both the crates and ceiling above us. Everything that COULD be stacked against the doors, was.

Wondering if we would survive fire. If they, in their anger and hate, would think of it. Oh god, oh god, we were just kids-!

White hair, like bone, forever silent and staring. Never came close but showed up every time I did, they noted. A crush. Local boy, they mused. He was too thin. Bruises where there shouldn't be. Scars on skin too young. He didn't run when I went to him, but never came to me. I tried to feed him. Just one more story. So many tragedies, that I could do so little to change. All I had was soup.

"Ah~ there it is. You recognize me now. It's been so long, hasn't it, my dear?" Something pleased and horrifying, curled like spreading poison through his tone. "I am a man, grown, now. Have become quite accomplished, if I do say so myself. Wealthy, influential, well connected. Powerful. No longer weak and unworthy of your time."

"In fact," He leaned forward, as though telling a secret. Almost playful, despite the horror of his words. "It's my turn to control you. To be the powerful one. To have everything while you have nothing."

"I will admit... I have been waiting for this for a very long time. You were so beautiful. Trapped in you wretched blood bought finery, chained to the House that would keep us apart. I knew even then, that I would have you, that I was the ONLY one that could be allowed to have you. No one else. And oh, his Majesty has been so very, very obliging."

Folded papers were withdrawn from his robes. Offered almost carelessly. If it weren't for the intensity of his stare? I would believe he didn't care, how I reacted. With shaking hands. I smooth the pages as I open it. From the desk of the Emperor himself... a... a marriage contract.

"Exactly as I wanted. You'll never escape me again. Smile, my dear."

"We're getting married."

[themerrymutants]

Odysseus: What if I'm the problem that's been hiding all along?

Elsewhere in the underworld

Persephone: Hey babe? Is he Ok?

Hades: *uncertain shrug*

Odysseus: And if I gotta drop another infant off a wall in an instant so we all don't die? Then I'll become the monster!

Hades and Persephone: 0.o Nope, not ok.

[felixravinstills]

Ravinstill Extended Family Lore: The Fall of the House of Ravinstill

Extended Family Tree for Easy Reference

A Ravinstill Death Recap Within My Worldbuilding (listed in chronological order)

Albanus Ravinstill (Maximinius' brother and Felix's grandfather), died of unspecified illness

Gaia Ravinstill (Albanus' youngest child), shot in the head during an assassination attempt on Pres. Ravinstill's life (pre-war)

Kassandra Ravinstill (Gaia's infant daughter), suffocated to death underneath her mother's body

Creusa Ravinstill (Albanus' wife), died of unspecified health complications. Grief and stress weakened her.

The following died in the same bombing which was also an assassination attempt on Pres. Ravinstill's life (during the war):

Junius Ravinstill (Albanus' oldest child) & his wife Cythera & their children: Junius (II) & Tullius (Marius' older brothers) Sabina Ravinstill (Albanus' older daughter) & her husband Turnus & their daughter Lucretia (Gnaeus' older sister)

Ascanio Ravinstill (Albanus' younger son) & his wife Metaneira (Felix's parents), died due to rebels bombing the Capitol which hit their house (during the war)

Felix Ravinstill, died in a tragic car crash orchestrated by Coriolanus Snow

Gnaeus Ravinstill, murdered by the supporters of his cousin Marius who mistakenly believed that he had been responsible for the death of Felix, a misunderstanding orchestrated by Coriolanus Snow

Marius Ravinstill, murdered by the supporters of his late cousin believing that he had ordered Gnaeus' death (see fic)

Maximinius Ravinstill, died of old age

[ebullientheart]

violet. emily prentiss x reader

content — requested by @lucreziaq2001 . heavy warnings for child loss (stillbirth). please proceed with emotional caution. fem!bau!reader. grieving.

six months ago, you and emily lost your baby girl. the team are here for you on this day.

there is no earth-shattering comparison of pain that compares to losing a child. there isn’t an adjective or analogy that can describe the feeling to anyone who has not experienced that grief, and only a silent understanding between two that have. when you’d woken that morning, with emily already sitting next to you, she’d instantly had you in her arms, as though trying to shield you from this feeling. but such a shield could not exist in a world where you’d experienced such loss.

some point that night, your three year old son had climbed into bed with you, likely as a result of a nightmare. regardless of the reason, you were never more grateful for his presence. oscar was a quiet boy, but not still. never still.

“morning, baby.” you whispered, enveloping his tiny hand in your own. the beam he offered you sent shockwaves of love through the resolute cracks in your heart. the tight grip on your upper arm told you that emily was feeling the same way. she released her hold mindfully, and instead passed a hand gently over your stomach. sometimes you could feel a phantom pain there. not this morning though.

you moved slowly. everything was lulled into a half-pace, with emily’s gentle encouragement and oscar’s plea for pancakes serving to keep you moving. slowly, slowly, you mixed the batter, while emily warmed up the stove. occasionally, she’d squeeze your hand to remind you of her presence.

i wonder if violet would like pancakes. her brother certainly does.

usually, you had to push these type of thoughts to the back burner of your brain; you were likely to be incapacitated for the day if you let them dominate. but today, you permitted yourself the pondering. if there was a day to think about violet, it would be days like these.

a small budgie landed on your window sill, uncommon for houses in the city, and you had to think it was a sign. you saw them everywhere. you knew it was probably because you looked for them, but how could you not look for your baby in every aspect of the world?

“mumma?” oscar approached you while you were deep in thought, lightly startling you, though you welcomed his attention.

emily saw the tears on your waterline and intervened, scooping up her son and placing him on her hip as she said, “let’s give mumma a moment, yeah? we can go set the table.”

you smiled at her sadly, and she again held your hand as she passed you, before trailing away to let you have your thoughts. sometimes, they were a refuge, no matter how full of grief.

at that moment, your phone buzzed. it was hotch, which you were somewhat expecting. hotch and jj were the others of the team who had their own children, and therefore the most empathetic. and hotch had felt the fear of losing jack, the same day he did lose haley, so he was the one who could connect the most.

“when i thought, for a while, i was going to face my son’s funeral, i lost control,” he’d muttered to you in hospital, where you lay in a numb aftershock, “and that was only a thought. if there is anything, and i mean anything, we can do for you… you let me know.”

sometimes you cried, sometimes you shouted. sometimes emily did too. sometimes oscar asked why he never met the sister he’d been promised, and there was no answer for that. no why in the cruel, vexing world. but there was healing, gradually.

you slid breakfast to three settings on the table, bitterly wishing for four, with that same soft, sad smile from before, “here we are, my loves.”

while your son dived into the food enthusiastically, emily did not sit down at first. she rounded the distance between you to pull out your chair, something she’d done since your first date, and rest a hand on your shoulder. it wasn’t uncommon for the passing of a child to push couples apart, but it had glued you and emily together. the constant touches were just a reminder of the love still left in the world, one that extended far beyond to where your baby rested.

there was no combating the pain, but months of therapy helped you accept it as undeniable evidence of love. love for violet, love for oscar, love for emily, and love for yourself.

while your son was entertained with his junior lego set, you dried the dishes that emily washed, loading the bowls from earlier into the dishwasher. by the time you had finished, still moving sluggishly, the clock read half ten, and emily checked her phone.

“are you feeling up to some company, sweetheart? the team want to come and say hello this evening.”

you cast your eyes down to your hands, and finding them free of tremors, you agreed. it took some time to dress for the day, including a moment in the mirror where you had to shed some tears. emily reciprocated this reaction, and the two of you swayed in each other’s hold for a while. eventually, oscar became bored of his inflatable book and twisted his way in between the two of you to insist on ‘up!’. you laughed wetly, wiping your cheeks (too harshly based on your wife’s disapproving stare and careful repeat that followed), and bent at the waist to hoist your demanding toddler ‘up!’.

eventually, evening arrived, and you felt only minorly more prepared than before at the prospect of people in your home that day. nevertheless, you shook your body free of tension and headed outside at the sound of approaching vehicles. you tried not to think of that same sound, accompanied by sirens, coming to take you away six months prior.

emily descended the steps before your porch to meet the others at their cars, probably to issue an unnecessary but appreciated reminder for them to be sensitive. you stood in the doorway, determined to have the remainder of the day a comforting memorial, with oscar leaning his face on your shoulder. at the sight of the incredibly colourful and therefore toddler appealing penelope garcia, however, he quickly wanted ‘down!’, which you gave with a bright smile at his joy. one that surprised you, as you didn’t think you would be capable on such a day.

first to greet you was hotch, who had driven over garcia, jj and rossi, who greeted you in turn. morgan pulled into the drive at the same time, with reid in his passenger seat. there were all dressed in their varying styles, but they all sported a purple, or specifically violet, accessory. hotch’s tie, rossi’s shirt, jj’s bracelet, morgan’s shoelaces, reid’s vest and… garcia’s entire ensemble. hair included.

you willed the overwhelming emotion, as a result of their support, that scalded your throat back down into your chest, where it settled warmly. an acknowledgment of the family you found in these people.

there was confusion on your part when they did not try to enter your home, instead lining up on the roofless section of the porch with you. you turned to emily for an answer; she wrapped an arm around your waist and directed your attention to where garcia had brought your son to the cars. the two emerged holding many balloons, all violet, and begun handing them out to the line up of you.

“do you want to say anything?” emily mumbled to you, while the others pointedly chattered to alleviate any pressure you may have felt.

you choked and shook your head.

emily cleared her throat, leaning on you as she said, “we love you, violet.”

and the balloons went up. nine of them, twirling skyward with no weight to hold them down. they flew up and east, with the wind, and you stood until the last one edged from your view.

the sun set, and streaked her colour across it’s domain, bathing you all in that light and love you didn’t expect to feel on that day. that gentle hand on your heart, reminding you that you were not alone, and she was not alone.

[hairtusk]

Threads (dir. Mick Jackson, 1984)

In an urban society, everything connects. Each person's needs are fed by the skills of many others. Our lives are woven together in a fabric. But the connections that make society strong also make it vulnerable.