#abortion writing

[the-apocrypha]

Cottagecore Series DVD Bonus Features

By popular request: the deleted scenes of how Dream and Hob ended up confessing their respective Big Secrets to one another. Below the cut are a series of conversations that take place a few days after Dream announces his pregnancy with Orpheus, and they are incredibly angsty. They also heavily feature abortion as a conversation topic. These were originally written to intercut with at least two miracles but didn't end up working out due to tone issues, and also don't really work as a standalone fic, so. If you're interested--enjoy!

The possibility of a child—their child, their own, of them—had occasionally crossed Hob’s mind, in the same way that other fantastical things like dragons and public libraries did. Fleeting. Unformed. Simple, wonderful little daydreams. 

The reality of it was both impossibly more exciting and terrifying than he could have ever imagined. 

Hob thought of a beautiful child with tiny pointed ears and glowing amber eyes. He thought of a babe born to the world still and pale, never to draw a single breath of life. He thought of all the stories his mother used to tell him, the skipping games and the toy swords and songs that lived inside of him, waiting to be passed down to someone small and new. He thought of a fae child, enamored of the forest and magic and books of learning, with little use for its mortal father. 

Once, when Hob was young, his mother had been called to help an ewe who had been laboring for the better part of the day. Twin lambs, both trying to emerge at the same time.

They’d had mutton for dinner, that night. And for many nights after that. 

Hob could not stop thinking about it. About everything.

What if the child came out completely human. 

What if the child came out completely fae. 

“You told me once,” Hob said, the words leaving his mouth even as lead weights sank pits into his stomach, even as his heart said don’t ask this don’t ask this don’t do it, but he had to, he had to know. “You told me once. That it took you a very long time to grow up.” 

Dream paused. “Yes,” he said, at length. “But time in the realm of the fae is not so… linear as it is here. It is—it was subject to neither law nor order. Time was fickle. Changeable.” 

“You said that it was almost a hundred years.” 

“That was… a guess,” Dream said. 

Hob stared. 

“It was unusual,” Dream added. He did not meet Hob’s eyes. “It. It was a choice I made. The rest of my siblings came of age much faster than I.” 

“How fast?” Hob asked, heart in his throat. 

Dream swallowed. 

“How fast?” 

“The child is half mortal, Hob it should not—it will not age as a fae child would. It cannot, it—it will not have the same power, the same gifts, and moreover, the laws of this universe would not allow—” 

“Oh, you know that, do you?” Hob asked, eyebrows raised. “Like you knew that a mortal man couldn’t get you pregnant in the first place?” 

Dream flinched. 

Hob sighed, and scrubbed at his face. “I’m just. I’m just thinking. We don’t know what we’re going to get, eight months from now—” If they were going to get anything at all. “—and we’ve got zero precedent to go off of, here. It. It could be anything. It could grow like a human and take sixteen years and be done. But, it could also…” 

“It will not,” Dream said, but there was a traitorous wobble in his voice.

“It could,” Hob insisted. “It could, Dream, and we just. I just want to be prepared for that. I want you to be prepared for that.” 

Dream stared, like the whole world was crashing down around him. As if he had not considered this at all. “No.” 

“Yes.” 

“Hob—” 

“But, listen—listen, it’ll be okay,” Hob said hurriedly, and took Dream’s hands into his own. Put on the bravest face he could muster. “Whatever happens, it’ll be okay. I promise. I’ll be with you every step of the way, for. For as long as I can be. Even if it means being stuck in the terrible twos for an entire decade. You just might have to do the teenage years on your own, that’s all. And. You know. The thousand years that come after that.” 

Dream closed his eyes. 

Hob tried desperately to rally. “And, hey! The good news is, at least I won’t be around to give any dodgy sex talks when it comes time for that, since I obviously—” 

“Hob,” Dream said. 

“Though clearly pregnancy prevention isn’t your strong suit either,” Hob allowed. 

“Hob.” 

Dream’s eyes were open again, and they were full of tears. 

“Hob,” Dream said again, and it caught in his throat. “Hob, I—I am not going to live for another thousand years.” 

Hob frowned. “But—”

“I made,” Dream said, and with the next blink the tears spilled over, “a bargain.” 

The reason that Hob had kept it a secret for so long (was because he was a coward) was because, in his opinion, there had been no good that would come of the truth. 

Dream had assumed that the people of Eskham had turned against Hob for being a hedgewitch. He’d assumed in turn that mortals were prejudiced against any being with magic, which was a category that happened to include the fae but more importantly included Hob, who did not have the ability to summon tornadoes or fell ancient oaks. Dream still sweetly seethed about the injustices Hob’s own people had done upon him. He had yet to even once seem concerned for his own safety. 

This was fair. 

Dream had, after all, taken out an entire village of mortals in one wrothful fell swoop. 

Now, Dream had confessed what had happened in the aftermath of that massacre—what he had so readily sacrificed, to save Hob’s life—and it had been devastating in its own right. It had left Hob awake at night, imagining what it would be like to grow older and older and older, while his child did not. 

But it had also pulled on the string that unraveled whatever remained of their tapestried joy at the possibility of impending parenthood. The happiness was gone. The happiness should never have existed in the first place, because the ache of its absence was far worse than to have never known it at all. Hob could not believe he ever felt such simple, mindless elation at what had quickly become a question to which every answer was more horrifying than the last. 

Hob thought of a babe with perfectly pointed ears, stolen away in the night, drowned in the river. 

Hob thought of a child with huge, phosphorescent eyes, tied to a stake above a pile of dried tinder. Screaming.

Hob thought of black-nailed teenager who had had forty-odd years of childhood with its parents before they succumbed to old age, and left their child alone in a world it did not belong in. Orphaned. Ostracized. Hunted. 

It filled Hob’s stomach and left him unable to eat. It pressed down on his chest at night, and he could not sleep. 

And he knew what he needed to do. 

At the same table where Dream had confessed not three days ago, Hob sat himself heavily on the bench. 

Dream stared back wanly. He’d spent most of the morning vomiting copiously, which perhaps made this timing even worse, but Hob knew if he did not say it now he might never say it at all. 

“Dream,” Hob said carefully. The words stuck in his throat like glass, and they tore him open one by one as he forced them out. “There’s. The other day, when you told me about the bargain you made. I—there’s something that I should. Something I should have told you, before—something. Something.” He swallowed. “Something I. Something.” His nails dug into his palms. His heart was pounding in his ears. “Something—” 

“Hob.” 

Dream’s hand splayed across his chest is like ice on fire. Hob sucked in a breath, and relished the burn. 

He seized Dream’s hand in his own. Looked Dream in the eyes. Prepared to pull this one last thread of sanity for the person he loved more than anything in this world. 

“Something,” Hob said unevenly, holding onto Dream like a lifeline, “that I should have told you a long time ago. About. About Eskham.” 

Dream tilted his head, brows drawing together. “Eskham?” 

Hob nodded. 

“What about it?” Dream asked. 

He had no idea. He had no clue. 

“That day,” Hob said, and he was gripping Dream’s hand hard as if he could prevent the inevitable withdrawal. “When they came for me.” 

And Dream nodded. He reached out with his other hand to rest it on Hob’s forearm—a gesture meant as supportive that only served to make Hob’s stomach drop to new depths. 

But this was not about him. This was not even about Dream. It was about their child, carried one day into a town square with pitchforks at its throat and devil spawn in its ears. It was about deserved truths. 

“That day,” Hob said again. He swallowed against a dry tongue. Against the heart that was trying to escape through his throat. “That day. The mob. They weren’t looking for me.”

Dream stared. 

Hob’s heart was pounding so hard he thought he might be sick. 

He watched, as Dream’s face went from confusion, to realization, to—

Bloodless. 

Grey. Dead eyes and parted lips. Staring, but not seeing. 

“I—defended you,” Hob made himself say. “I wouldn’t tell them. Where you were. I told them that I loved you, that you were just as natural as any other creature in this realm and that I would rather die before I let any of them hurt you, and—” 

Dream yanked his hands back. 

Hob tried to hold on, but he wasn’t quick enough. Not strong enough. 

“You,” Dream whispered. 

“I don’t regret it,” Hob said frantically, almost angrily. He was losing control, the tidal wave of panic and horror sweeping him out to a roiling sea he could not swim in, and he barely knew which words would leave his mouth when he opened it again. “I haven’t regretted it for a single second, Dream, not once, not ever, I’d have burned on that stake a thousand times over before I let them touch you, I’d—” 

And Dream bolted. 

Hob leapt to his feet to follow—but his calf muscle seized, and he careened to the side and just barely managed to grab the table at the last second. Stood there, panting, gripping the table as his calf cramped hard enough to render the entire leg useless. Staring at the empty doorway. 

He deserved this, he supposed. 

It didn’t make it hurt any less. 

The summer air was thick and sweet beneath the canopy of the forest. The trees mostly blocked the breeze, but so also the warmth of the sun, which made it about as pleasant as any place was during the midday heat. They were sat at the base of an ancient yew tree that Dream favored, not far from the cottage, and had been for some time. Ravens chattered and rustled softly overhead. A large halo of bird shit was slowly accumulating around them. 

Dream inhaled as if to speak, for the third time in about as many minutes. This time, though, the words came. 

“I do not want. Our child. To be hunted.” 

Hob closed his eyes. “I know.” 

“We do not know what powers it will be born to. What features it will be born to.” 

Unspoken—the slimmest chance, the highest hope, that it would somehow be born wholly mortal. 

A mortal body. A mortal magic. A mortal lifespan. 

“We’ll do whatever we have to, to protect them. Whatever it takes. You know we will,” Hob said, and even as anxiety turned his stomach over, rage flared through him hot and fast. “Anyone that tries to lay a finger on our child, I’ll—I’ll kill ‘em. I would. Anyone. Everyone. And if they think I’m terrifying just wait until they meet the thirty-foot forest nightmare right behind me that can summon hail and rent the earth.” 

Dream swallowed. “Hail and earth. Did not save you.” 

Hob tightened his grip around Dream’s waist. “Yes it did.” 

“You—” 

“Yes it bloody well did. You saved my life that day, you fought, and if you hadn’t been there I—” 

“If I had not been there,” Dream interrupted darkly. He barked one harsh, bitter laugh. “If I had never inflicted myself upon you in the first place, then no mob would have ever come for you at all. You would be—” 

“Lonely,” Hob said. He tried desperately to keep the frustration from rising. “I told you. I would have been lonely, and bored, Dream, and I would have died in that house feeling as if I’d never truly lived at all. You are the best thing to ever happen to me.” 

“I nearly killed you,” Dream said. 

“You saved—”

“And now,” Dream continued, staring into the depths of the forest, “I have attempted to thrust a child upon you, without your consent. I have tried to sentence you to spending the rest of your meager years consumed in the care of a creature that will only suffer as a result of my own hubris—my own selfishness—and it will resent us. It will hate us. It will hate me, and it will be right to do so for—” 

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey,” Hob said, scrambling around in front of Dream, and cupping his face. 

Dream stared determinedly to the side, with eyes that were red-rimmed and shiny. His breaths came uneven and jagged. 

“You and I both know that you didn’t get pregnant on purpose,” Hob said fiercely. “You didn’t know better. I didn’t know better. Right?” 

“Hob—” 

“This isn’t something that you’ve done to me. To us. Neither one of us is to blame here. Not one little bit. And it wouldn’t matter anyway if it was, because whatever happens, you know that we’re in this together. We’re going to do what we always do, and make it work. Figure it out. Pregnancy, childbirth, parenthood, all of it. Together. Yeah?” 

Dream set his jaw, and at last met Hob’s eyes. Slowly, he reached up, and pulled Hob’s hands away from his face. 

“You argue. That we are absolved of any guilt, for what strife our child may face in life. Because we held no intention of conception, in our couplings,” Dream said. 

“...Yes?” Hob said, eyebrows raising. “I don’t think we can be blamed for bringing a child into the world when we didn’t know it was possible in the first place.” 

“Incorrect,” Dream disagreed. 

Hob opened his mouth, but Dream continued too quickly. 

“Ignorance acquits us from blame in the conception of this child, yes.” Dream’s hand moved, in the periphery of Hob’s vision, delving into the folds of his robe. “But we are not without agency, in these early months of pregnancy.” 

Dread swung sudden and hard into Hob’s chest, like a fist. 

“...What do you mean?” 

Dream held out his hand between them, and uncurled his fingers. A cluster of flowers rested there. 

Tansy. 

“It sings to me of… release,” Dream said. His thumb brushed over golden petals like spikes. “Of choice. Liberty. Of the harmonization of poison and medicine, as one.”

Hob took in a deep breath, because he was, for the first time in days, hopeful. 

Hob was also terrified. 

Hob was sick, sick, sick, sick. 

“I believe,” Dream whispered, eyes boring in Hob’s, “that it would be enough. To—take care of it.” 

There was a cup of water on the table, steaming and yellow with tansy. 

Choice, Dream said it sang. Release. Liberty. The harmonization of poison and medicine, as one. 

But to Hob, it was silent as a grave. 

Dream was holding the cup so tightly his knuckles had gone white. The steam had long disappeared from the cup, leaving only a stagnant yellow tonic. Hob had offered to leave the cottage twice and allow Dream some privacy, and on the second time Dream had grabbed his hand, hard, and he hadn’t let go since. 

Hob’s fingers ached where they were threaded through Dream’s, but he did not complain. 

He sat in silence, and watched Dream raise the cup to his mouth. 

Watched him inhale. 

Watched him close his eyes. 

Watched him press the rim of the cup to his lips. 

Watched as Dream froze, and was perfectly still for an eternity save for the tremble of the cup in his grasp—

And the cup slammed down onto the table, sloshing poison everywhere, and Dream gasped, “I cannot. I cannot, forgive me, Hob, I—” 

Hob grabbed him and pulled him in hard. “It’s okay—” 

“—I cannot do it, I cannot—” 

“—you don’t have to—” 

“I should,” Dream snarled, gripping the fabric of Hob’s tunic and pushing back. There were tears streaming down his face. “I should end it, I should be rid of it. It is. It is the only humane option, the only option that guarantees that—that—” 

“I know, love,” Hob said miserably, his own throat going tight and hot. “I know that. But—” 

“Hob,” Dream choked out. He tried to inhale, but could not. “Hob, I can—hear it.” 

Hob’s heart skipped a beat, and his mouth went numb. “Y-you—” 

“I can—” Dream slapped his hands over his mouth. He stared at Hob in horror. 

Dream, who could hear the songs of river stones and the herbs in the garden. Who communed with foxes and ancient oak trees alike. Who had come to Hob with news of this pregnancy but without explanation as to how he knew. 

“You can hear it,” Hob repeated blankly. 

“I should not have told you,” Dream said, shaking his head. His eyes were blank and unseeing and wet with tears. “I. I should not have told you, I told myself I would not, I—it should not matter. It does not matter.” 

“What does it sound like?” Hob asked. 

Dream looked up at him. His mouth opened, but no words came out. 

“Dream, what does it sound like?” 

He shouldn’t ask. 

He couldn’t not know. 

“Like. A songbird,” Dream whispered. 

A songbird. 

“The most beautiful—” Dream choked on a sob. “The most beautiful songbird, Hob, the most wonderful songbird in the world.” 

And Hob. Hob, quite abruptly, could not imagine a world where he did not one day get to hear that song. He could not imagine a world in which he did not get to hold their child in his arms this winter and instantly fall in love with whatever features the world had seen fit to give them, mortal or fae or some splendid combination of both. 

He could not imagine what it would be like, for Dream to sit at this table and drink down poison and then listen to the song of their child go silent. 

Dream sobbed in his arms. He begged for forgiveness—from Hob. Their future child. The universe. I have failed, he said, over and over again. Selfish, and weak, and worthless, he named himself, and he would not be consoled with any combination or repetition of words Hob had to offer. 

But still, the tansy sat untouched. 

Eventually, it went out the window. 

And the songbird lived another day.

[brandwhorestarscream]

part 2 of D-16 carrying Sentinel’s sparkling please?

Your wish is my command, anon! I had a lotta people asking for this, so many messages! Ya'll are so sweet, I really appreciate it, so thanks for that! Let's get right into it ^-^ part 1 is here, part 3 here, part 4 here!

Orion is at his side in an instant, yelping, "Dee, no! Stop, you'll hurt yourself!" As he forcibly grabs his friend's servos to stop him from tearing himself apart. D-16 shrieks a wordless noise of agony, and then collapses forward onto Orion to begin sobbing violently into his shoulder. Clutching onto him like a lifeline, wailing with all the devastated force he can. Bawling against Orion and falling to pieces, brokenly asking what he's going to do. 

Orion numbly wraps his arms around Dee, letting his chin fall onto his shoulder. His arms slowly tighten, til he’s clinging with near-denting force, and his optics begin to sting with tears too. It hits him later than it did D-16, what exactly Sentinel did to them. That he intentionally got them drunk and lied to them, he lied, lied, lied about them being special and lied about caring for them, all so he could make them pop their panels. It sinks in, slowly, exactly what he took from them: he robbed them of their first time, something that should’ve been one of the tenderest, loving moments of their lives. He used them and threw them away just because he could. He ravaged their bodies selfishly, under false pretenses, without a care for how it would effect them. He touched their sparks. He raped them, both of them, and a sob suddenly flies past Orion’s lips. It hits him all at once, with a feeling like a train has just plowed into his chassis full-force, and all he can do is cling onto D-16 and wail. They cry together, desperately holding onto each other there on the cavern, weeping with all the force of their broken, disgusted sparks.

Alpha Trion stands vigil over them, observing in sorrow, letting them mourn and grieve all that they’ve lost. His spark aches for them. Poor, poor children… they’re so young. Too young to be forced to weather something like this, such an egregious sin… he watches Elita approach them with a haunted look on her face, B-127 wandering closer in her shadow, and she reaches a trembling servo to gently rest on Orion’s shoulder. He grabs onto her wrist like a lifeline, face angling up to look at her lost and broken, optics shattered and expression void of all hope. She bows her helm, mouth pressed into a thin line and lips trembling. Struggling not to cry for them. B-127 creeps closer and, after hesitating for a moment, pads forward to glom onto D-16’s arm. He’s silent as the bigger mech cries, patting at his arm and trying desperately to think of something he can do. But there’s nothing, not really, nothing in the universe could ever soothe a pain like this.

They cry until they can’t shed any more tears, til their bodies have completely exhausted their optical cleanser and lubricant stores, and they’re left dry sobbing and shuddering in exhaustion, slumping against one another and barely upright. It hurts. It hurts. Everything hurts.

“...little one,” Alpha Trion gently addresses D-16 at last, stepping forward and flicking the last of his tears off his face. “I cannot undo what has been done to you, but I can offer to relieve one of your burdens.”

D-16 sniffles miserably, still huddled close to Orion where they’re now sitting side by side on the floor. Orion is cross-legged, face in his servos, with Dee snuggled close against his side, his helm cradled on the blue mech’s shoulder. “Wh…” his voice creaks like a rusty hinge. “What do you…?”

Alpha Trion steps back and raises his palms to the sky, optics closing and exhaling a great puff of air. “ONYX!” his deep voice echoes through the cavern like a clap of thunder. “Onyx, my brother, I beseech you. Speak to this child in my place!”

A warm wind blows in from nowhere, with such force it disturbs the magnetic sand all around them. It begins to swirl, lifting from the ground and into the air to form a funnel, billions of grains chasing one another around and around and forming a curtain around Alpha Trion’s body. They cluster around and seem to consume him, rushing over his plating and molding to his form like a second coat of paint. His helm drops back so his face is parallel to the ceiling, then he gasps as his optics fly open. No longer blue, but a warm, crackling orange-and-pink, like a freshly lit hearth.

He stumbles forward, unsteady on his pedes, taking to one knee and his left palm touching the floor as he stabilizes. “Oh…” when he speaks, it is not Alpha Trion’s voice. He’s… a bit higher pitched. Warmer. Even gentler. “Mother… mercy…”

He shakes his helm and the sand stubbornly clings, before at last he raises his face, zeroing in on the frightened, confused quartet.

“Oh…” he straightens up, optics drifting from each of their faces before focusing wholly on D-16. His expression slips from bafflement to a sort of pained compassion. Not quite pity, but if the way his mouth turns down and his optics narrow with sorrow are any indication, his spark aches for them. “Oh, dear…”

“D-Did he say-” B-127’s optics are impossibly wide, and he’s frozen on the spot, unable to move his pedes. “O-Onyx Prime-?”

“Indeed,” he nods in affirmation, straightening up. Though he remains in Alpha Trion’s body, the sand constructs his visage, shaping around the crests of his helm and fanning out on his back to take the form of his wings. Wings that were missing from his corpse. “Though I wish our meeting was under less dire circumstances, children.”

“Y- You’re-” Elita is starting to frown, inching in front of her group with one arm out. “You’re… th-the god of death-” Oh, Primus. Is he here to reap their sparks? Has Alpha Trion channeled him here to take them away?!

“Do not fear, little one. Peace,” Onyx holds up one servo, and his optics glimmer with warmth. He smiles, gently, hoping to put them at ease. “I mean you no harm. I shepherd over the dead, those who have already passed on. I help them find their way home to Primus, and assist them in seeking rebirth, but I am not here to be your reaper. Please… do not be afraid.”

He approaches them and kneels down just before D-16, looking deep into his optics. “Brother Alpha has called me here to speak to you, child.”

“M-” Dee is clinging tight to Orion, spark pulsing in fear. This- This is death incarnate! They said his hands could bleed a spark from it’s frame with a single touch! They said he lorded over the afterlife and knew everyone’s date and time of death to the millisecond. Having him here, specifically to speak to him, made his throat threaten to close in panic. “Me?”

“Yes,” Onyx Prime’s servo gently touches his helm and he yelps, they all do, flinching away. But after several seconds he realizes, wait… he can still feel everything. He can still feel Orion beside him, can still feel the warm gush of his vents. Actually… he feels better. Physically, anyway: his frame is already beginning to lower it’s heightened temperature back into the green zone, the insistent, horrible pain in his tanks is abating. His optics peak open, and finds Onyx still there, smiling kindly at him. “Please… you needn’t be afraid. I swear to you, upon my graves, I shall not harm you.”

“Wh…” Elita gulps. “Why are you…?”

His optics drift lower, to D-16’s chassis and abdomen. His expression saddens. “You've been forced to endure something terrible… oh, you poor, poor thing…”

The Prime pulls his servo away from Dee’s helm, though not before giving him an affectionate pat. “Listen to me, little one. You are young, you are hurt, and the journey ahead will be very difficult regardless of the path you take. Forcing you to bear this sparkling forced upon you would be a great cruelty if it is not your choice to do so. If you would like, I will take them and return to the Allspark.”

D-16’s spark slams to a stop in his chest. He stiffens, and Orion sits up straighter beside him. Elita’s mouth falls open.

“Wh… What are you…”

“It won’t cause you nor them any pain. They will be safe, and you shall not be punished for it,” he nods down at him. “I know this one, as I know all of them. They are a good spark, they will not resent you if you don’t wish to birth them. They will love you just the same, just as I will, and just as Primus will. The choice is entirely yours, little one.”

Dee’s audials start to ring, and he presses both palms to his chassis. It’s warm, overly warm as it has been the last several decacycles, and before he’d thought it was the heat of fever, but now he knows it is because he hosts an infant soul anchored to his.

He feels frozen in place. He- he could… Onyx Prime would…?

He sobs again and covers his mouth, bowing his helm. “I- I don’t-” he chokes. “I d-don’t know! I don’t know, I- I dunno, I-”

Does he want this sparkling? Does he? He doesn’t know! When Alpha Trion had announced his state, he’d been so happy. Over the moon in fact, beaming with pride and so excited to share the news. They were living proof of his and Orion’s tryst with Sentinel, proof that they were loved and important, and they were so indescribably precious. Now, though… now, they’re… they’re…

Primus, he doesn’t know what they are! He wants to curse them, wants to rip them from his spark chamber and toss them away so there’s no evidence of what that monstrous false Prime had done to him. He doesn’t want to remember, doesn’t want a constant, hideous reminder of the worst thing to ever happen to him.

But… the part of him that was previously excited wars with the other half of him. He doesn’t know that that’s what this sparkling will be. He’d been so excited, so happy, and now in it’s place there’s sadness and horror, and yet another part of him is so angry and repulsed and… and…!

He sobs again, clawing at his helm. “I DON’T KNOW!” he shouts, grinding his denta. “I don’t know, ok?! I don’t know!” how can he? Everything is such a mess in his helm, emotions at war and raging back and forth, grappling for dominance and all trying to shove the other down. He’s scared. He’s hurt. He’s sparkbroken. This is his first sparkling. Perhaps once he’d dreamed of this day, but pictured it so differently, hand in hand with someone who meant more to him than anything else, both of them with transformation cogs because they were good and hardworking and had been rewarded for their efforts. Perhaps he had dreamt of a home, with- with someone special, and a family with one or even two precious sparklings. It was a dream that was supposed to be achieved far into the future. Now, broken as he is, he worries it never will. Never can. It would be an impossibility, as he is now… if he kept this sparkling, he would have to look at it every day knowing he did not love the sire, and never could. He would have to look upon them as their only parent and know that his dreams of a happy life died long before they were even born.

But… if he lets them go, if he lets the god of the dead pluck them from his chest, he might never be fortunate enough to conceive again. What if this first sparkling is his only sparkling, and in letting them go, he loses his one chance? It’s too soon, it’s too early, and circumstances are dire, but… is he prepared to let them go? Knowing this could very well be his only chance?

D-16 sobs again, and Orion’s arm wraps around his shoulder, pulling him close against his chassis. Dee’s face burrows into his neck, whole body shaking as he whimpers again and again that he just doesn’t know!

“...peace, my little one,” Onyx Prime’s voice is rife with sadness and empathy. “You need not make a choice now, or even today. I… I apologize for bringing you further distress, but please know,” he places his right servo over his spark in oath. “The Primes are with you. When you make your choice, utter a prayer to me, and I will come to you if you require my aid.”

With a sigh, all of the sand suddenly falls from Alpha Trion’s body with the whisper of countless grains trickling to the floor, and when he blinks his optics become blue once more. “Ah…” he takes note of their distress, and shakes his helm sadly. “Poor children… rest. You are weary. Rest, and I will feed you.��� once they’ve eaten and had time to process, he can reveal more to them, but that can wait.

They have suffered enough for one day. 

...

And that's where I'm gonna cut part 2! Poor, poor Dee... this is the worst day of his life, but at least he has Orion to support him. I hope ya'll enjoyed this angst nugget :3 if you want part 3, ya'll know what to do. Abuse the crap out of my ask box lol. Gimme your thoughts or predictions as well, that's always fun

[royaltea000]

This is the best arc ever.

[redgoldblue]

so assuming Avery is actually pregnant / doesn't early-trimester miscarry (which is not a given), there's two reasonable ways this can go, right. number one is she gets an abortion, the plotline is used to pull them all back together again, and they all have some collective hurt/comfort about it. number two, the one i would write - don't get me wrong, i'm all for women getting career-driven abortions, but hear me out - is the one where she does have the baby. under the cut bc it got long.

she goes to med school at first while pregnant - Max is right, it can be done, people in my cohort did it - and either gets lucky with the timing of the actual birth being during holidays, or just works her way to getting time off for a few weeks around it. And then... there's a baby. And you know what else there is? There's two dads (because we're 100% Mamma Mia-ing this bitch. they never find out who the bio dad is and they never seriously try. Baby comes out with Avery's exact skin tone so that's no clue.), and an entire cruise ship worth of backup babysitters. So Avery goes back to med school, and leaves the baby with Tristan and Max.

And, yes, raising a baby while also running an infirmary with a rotating cast of temporary substitute nurses filling Avery's role isn't the easiest thing they've ever done, but Robert loves fulfilling grandparent duties any time he's not on duty; Rosie gets one of those strap-on baby carriers and walks her (i don't know why i've decided the baby is a her but i have now) around the engine room pointing out parts and explaining concepts and hey, the baby never complains about her Michigan stories; Corey gets a cart and a bundle of clean sheets and pushes her down the corridors until the smell of laundry powder automatically makes her start laughing.

Max and Tristan make a pact to send Avery at least two photos a day - which ends up getting supplemented by everyone else who's with Baby - and FaceTime her most days, and whenever she gets a few days off she meets them in port. (The most expensive part of baby-raising ends up being her flights to wherever the Odyssey happens to be at the time, at least until Robert finds out and figures out a way to start paying her 'maternity leave', despite her insistence that the whole point of this is that she isn't maternity-leaving and he should probably be paying himself that and anyway, isn't she technically not an employee right now?)

And the thing is, during this time, Max and Tristan start... realising some things. Like how neither of them feel like they've lost their only partner, because they.. haven't. Like how the co-parenting's been working out better than either of them expected, because they fell instantly (minus a few minor bumps) into a shared rhythm. Like how sometimes they look at the other one holding Baby and feel like their heart's about to explode.

Also, they've both started sleeping in Max's bed. Because Baby's spent so much time sleeping in the corner of the infirmary that now if she wakes up at night and can't see both of them, she starts crying inconsolably. And obviously Max's suite is more suited to multiple inhabitants, and they're usually too damn exhausted to even remember the first time they were in this bed together.

(usually. most of the time. and when they're not, they don't make it the other's problem)

So at the end of the first year of this, the last two days of the year's last cruise have been packed with crisis after crisis after demanding patient after crisis, and as soon as they finally wave the last passenger off they hand Baby gratefully over to Robert and go crash out in Max's bed.

Avery was supposed to be meeting them on board tomorrow, but her last exam gets unexpectedly moved up by a day (believe me, med school loves to pull that kind of shit on you), so a couple hours after the passengers have gone, she shows up to surprise them. And finds Robert (a known ody3 shipper) first, who lets her take Baby with minimal captainly sulking about it, and while she rocks and kisses Baby, tells her (as a known ody3 shipper) that the two dads will be on the Pelican deck, but they're probably asleep.

Avery kinda frowns at him, but doesn't question it, and takes Baby up with her to Max's suite to find them. And they are both fast asleep, on either side of Max's bed with a space carefully preserved between them (because it's usually where Baby would be and they're both terrified of accidentally rolling onto her in the middle of the night). She's also exhausted after exams, so she crawls into it, lies on her back with Baby on top of her chest, and goes straight to sleep.

Tristan and Max wake up before her, and when they look across at each other, at Avery and Baby between them, they both simultaneously realise, oh. oh. oh, this - this three, two-and-half, four people, all together - this is it. this is the love, this is the children, this might even be the home - the second, third, fourth bucket list items to happen in this bed.

[short-wooloo]

Considering the rise of forced-birth, anti divorce extremists in this country, people really need to appreciate the no marriage no bio kids norms/values of the Jedi

[allhailthe70shousewife]

Guess who is sitting around covered in ketchup, fantasizing out loud…

[raylazuko]

Two all 2 people who follow my tumblr

GUYS THIS IS REALLY IMPORTANT

If you’re of voting age in the US and not registered, PLEASE REGISTER NOW!

I’m endorsing Kamala Harris for president.

The fact that’s it’s even close makes me sick to my stomach.

You can disagree with Harris or Biden or their administration on a lot of things, but not seeing that she is clearly the better option is scary.

Queer people’s lives depend on this.

If you care about us, PLEASE VOTE

If you are mad at Harris for not stopping the genoc1de, remember that Trump will absolutely not stop it either and that he’s a moron who no one respects. I’d rather have a g3nocide overseas and have queer people (and poor people, women, poc) in the US protected than have a g3nocide overseas and not have them protected.

And if you say “well Roe v Wade overturned and other conservative laws happened under Biden” Remember this was the CONSERVATIVE supreme court that did this. And another Trump term will make the court even worse for decades. The implications of this are huge.

People are on the fence, it’s simple. If you care about your queer, disabled, poc, poor, female loved ones VOTE HARRIS. If you’re centrist and won’t vote because you don’t care you’re a pushover and a coward. If you’re farther left and think she isn’t left enough, yes you have a point but this is all we have, PLEASE use your brain and stop being chronically online and self impressed.

I don’t care if I lose followers for this at this point, I’m just out here doing everything I can, not to panic and want to hide who I am. A lot of people don’t have the options to move to another state let alone country and we just want to live.

I’m lucky to live in a very safe state but I’m still terrified.

Please care about us. Please vote.

[feroluce]

For reasons to be expanded upon at a later date (because I love the little bits about Boothill and possible paranoia/betrayal canon gives us so very dearly HNGH) I think Boothill like... He won't let himself fall into disrepair or anything of course, but he reeeeeeeeeeally does not like letting other people poke around at his body. It's a necessary evil to him. He does whatever maintenance and repairs he can himself. He started out with a massive knowledge deficit, simply because he didn't really have any exposure to that kind of technology until he left Aeragan-Epharshal, but he's taught himself a lot since then, he worked really hard at it!

Anyway, the point being, Boothill generally isn't super trusting of people.

But I think he would come to make an exception for Himeko, since he trusts Dan Heng a lot, and Himeko is one of Dan Heng's once-in-a-lifetime dearly beloved companions.

Himeko is so unflappable, I don't think she would even bat an eye about anything he throws at her, either. Like she enters the Parlor Car one morning (she's always the first one up) and Boothill is already there, waiting for her.

"Mornin', Madam Navigator."

"Good morning, Mr. Boothill."

And despite the fact that he blatantly broke into the Express (Pom-Pom is NOT happy about this JDKSAJDSKL), Boothill tips his hat, greets her politely, and is nothing but respectful when he says he has a favor to ask of her. Except it won't stay a favor long, of course- he has every intention of paying it back.

Himeko never agrees to things blindly, but she does bring up that all the knowledge Boothill contributed during the Charmony Festival was essential to preventing the universe from being pulled into Ena's Dream. And they were able to hold onto the Jade Abacus because Boothill used Tiernan's burial relic to summon the Galaxy Rangers instead. The Astral Express owes him a debt of gratitude, and besides, he's a friend of Dan Heng's. Of course she'll try to help him.

Boothill fidgets a bit, quickly brushes off the thanks, and tells Himeko he's having a problem with error codes. He keeps getting the same one, seemingly at random times, but the darn thing has no obvious cause. Dan Heng mentioned Himeko had been the one to rebuild the Astral Express. He knows it ain't the same, but it's not like he's askin' for any major repairs or nothin'. He was wonderin' if she could just take a look, maybe offer him some insight, since she seems to be somethin' of a mechanical wonder.

So Himeko walks him back to a another car, where she goes to tinker with machines without them crowding her bedroom. It's all neatly laid out and organized, and it only takes a second for Himeko to locate some specific device with a long cord. Instead of plugging it in herself, she holds the end of it out to him, like an offer rather than a demand, and Boothill visibly relaxes a bit. He still eyes it just a little warily for a second, but he accepts and plugs it into the port on his side.

Himeko pulls up the list of all recent errors, and they really are all the same. Boothill has had multiple temperature alarms over the past couple of weeks since the Charmony Festival, and they know it's not the environment, because Penacony is mostly dreamscape and kept mild year-round. The long-forgotten natural deserts are too far away.

Boothill is staring from the corner of his one good eye, so Himeko turns the hologram to let him see what she's doing easier. They don't appear to be false alarms. His internal temperature spikes and then slowly lowers again, high enough that if it lasted it would eventually cause damage.

One option is for her to start rooting through personal data, figuring out what he was doing at the time of each code, and tracing cause and correlation.

Instead, Himeko reads out the timestamps, and asks Boothill if he minds sharing what was happening around him when it occured.

Two weeks ago: He and Dan Heng went to explore Dreamflux Reef and found a bar- nice place, good atmosphere. Woman runnin’ it was a doll. Boothill left fer not even two minutes to get them drinks (Dan Heng knows like nothin’ about liquor, Madam Navigator, can you believe this guy) and when he came back, someone had already stolen his seat and was hittin’ on Dan Heng! Dan Heng didn't even care, just shooed ‘em off. Boothill laughed and said not to let him get in his way if he wanted to meet someone. Dan Heng looked at him like he'd grown a second head. Why would he want to leave with someone else, when he came here to be with Boothill?

Twelve days ago: While laying low- er, just rustlin’ up some grub- in the Moment of Blue, Boothill passed Dan Heng with March and Caelus playin’ on the beach, buildin’ sandcastles and the like. When he passed by again almost two hours later, they were still out there, with Dan Heng pullin’ March through the water on her inner tube and Caelus hangin’ off the back of it. He swam so fast! You'd think he was part water snake or somethin’. He looked happier ‘n a cat in a sunbeam… He has a nice smile, doesn't he?

Eleven days ago: Boothill was killin’ time in Dreamflux Reef when he turned the corner down a shady alley and saw Dan Heng, surrounded by three men demandin’ “protection money.” None of ‘em stood a chance, they were all on the ground before Boothill even blinked! So cool! Boothill wants to see that spear of his closeup- Anyway, Dan Heng stepped on one of ‘em on his way out, hahaha! Boothill stepped on the same guy a second time as he hurried to catch up.

Eight days ago: Here on the Express, actually. Boothill had mentioned bein’ curious about the archives, and Dan Heng personally invited him.

(“I remember that day, I saw you in the hall.” “Was there any problem with the heating that day?” “No, none. I don't think the temperature has anything to do with these error codes. I have a different theory, keep going.” “If ya say so.”)

Boothill was fascinated by an entry on aeons, and from a single question he asked about Lan, the two of ‘em ended up talkin’ fer hours. About aeons and Paths and Emanators, Acheron and Self-Annihilators, the Sea of Nihility, Tiernan, the Nameless and the Galaxy Rangers, their burial relics and their customs. Dan Heng finally just started writin’ and editin’ the entries in real time, with Boothill pointin’ things out and tellin’ him what to add in. They were at it so late that Boothill ended up sleepin' on a couch in one of the cars.

He'd figured there had to be something to make Dan Heng chatty- he'd caught just a glimpse of it that first night they met, sittin’ at the bar in the Reverie together. He'll have to ask about the archives more often, if it gets him all revved up like that.

One week ago: After that night of energetic discussion, Dan Heng was apparently hyped up, because after he'd downed some of Himeko's coffee (“You had some too, right? What did you think of it?” “It was great, even better'n chewin’ bullets!” "Thank you! That was my newest brew, I can't wait for everyone else to try it.") he actually asked Boothill to go hunting with him. Boothill asked who their target was, and was surprised when Dan Heng pulled out photos that looked like they were from March's camera, of all things, instead of a bounty or wanted poster.

And as he sat there, studying these pictures, Dan Heng explained that he wanted to hunt down these specific memory zone memes to record them into the archives. Planets with so much memoria are a rarity, especially with the Stellaron's activity thrown into the mix, which has surely affected the local “wildlife.” He might not get another opportunity like this for a long time. And Boothill had talked last night about his extensive expertise in tracking and hunting, so he should have plenty to offer here, Dan Heng would like to learn from his experience and see how he does things!

And oh, Madam Navigator, by the time Dan Heng was done speakin', his eyes were practically sparklin'! Just lit up like the sun! Boothill could scarcely believe it! The two of them couldn't even wait another day, they set out that very morning. It had been a long, long while since Boothill had tracked someone- er, somethin’- without the intent to capture or kill. It was…actually really nice. Nostalgic, but in a good way. It might even have been his favorite day on Penacony…so…far…

Boothill trails off as a couple of realizations crash into him. All the temperature alarms he's spoken about thus far- they've all happened in the company of Dan Heng. And now that he's thinking about it, he's pretty sure even the ones he hasn't yet talked about were with him, too. Dan Heng has been responsible for all of his error codes, every. single. one.

The screen in front of Himeko suddenly refreshes to the top of the list, displaying a new notification for the current time. Alert! Core temperature above normal range.

Himeko's knowing smile is sly as a snake.

Wwwwwelp, would ya look at the time, Boothill has some errands to meet, people to run, y’know how it is, he should really get goin'-

“Oh, Mr. Boothill? About that favor.” And Boothill jolts to a stop in the doorway because fudge, he can't just leave without hearing her out. He'd given his word. He has no problem running out on someone he thinks deserves it, but Himeko really had been kind to him to try and help him out. Her voice is just as knowing as her smile, Boothill can't turn around to look at her, or else he knows he won't be able to disguise the sound of his cooling fans kicking on.

“Don't make Dan Heng wait too long, ok~?”

“Y-Yes, ma'am.”

[theratcheteer]

People are wrong about Anya in a way that is saying Jimmy is right

A lot of the fandom thinks Anya sees her baby as a horrible parasite, which I truly don’t think is true. It is at odds with the games' theme of responsibility, and is more in line with how Jimmy thinks of the baby.

The main theme of the game is responsibility. The game has Anya and Jimmy show how people handle the responsibility of a baby. The idea that Anya would consider abortion is against what we have seen of her character. If any character in the game would want to kill the baby, it would be Jimmy, so he wouldn't have to take the responsibility of giving child support.

The horror aspects of the game, when it features the baby, are from the perspective of Jimmy. He sees the baby as this unwanted abomination that is going to ruin his life, mixing his fear of taking responsibility for the baby together with the symbol of the company that is going to turn him into the authorities.

Anya (whose name in Kurdish means ‘strength’, and in Hungarian it means ‘mother’) has an idea of this hatred, since she hid the gun so he couldn’t use it to kill her and her baby. As often as Jimmy shows how useless he thinks Anya is, she’s the one that is strong enough to take responsibility for the baby. Right before the crash, she talks with Jimmy to see if he will take that responsibility too, a responsibility he chooses to walk away from. She is the most devastated by the discovery of the mouthwash, something she won’t be able to drink because it will hurt her baby.

This responsibility she has for the baby starts out strong, but as the months go by and things get more hopeless, she has time to think of the worst-case scenario. With the way things were going, even in the unlikely scenario where she survived long enough to birth her baby, she would have to watch the baby starve to death. We know from Curly’s state that she doesn’t handle seeing people suffer well, so she ends up twisting the idea of her responsibility for the baby to justify her suicide.

[yinyuedijun]

also dash is it too crazy to get a comm of the sad depressed incest couple I invented? AGLDHSKSJ I just have strong vision for the fic aesthetics and they've been stuck in my head for 2 years

[bunnyreaper]

johnny is a good catholic boy, but a really shitty boyfriend. 

(18+/mdni, f!reader, noncon/dubcon, impregnation, abortion, toxic behaviour, blasphemy... probably)

johnny was quite the manipulative little shit, really. he only decided to mention once you were getting hot and heavy just how catholic he was, how condoms were against god's plan and how they were unnatural. (besides, don't you want it to feel the best for him? don't you want to feel him with nothing between the two of you?)

of course anyone else can see he's fucking lying, but the sparkling look in his eyes has you convinced, and surely johnny would never lie or manipulate you like that, right?

he promised he would pull out before he came, promised he wouldn't get you pregnant just yet because he knows how much you don't want kids. definitely not now, maybe not ever. but your warm depths were just too tempting, breeding you was just so natural, you couldn't even fight him off as he pinned you down with his hard cock and filled you full of rope after rope of cum and groaned praises to you through the whole thing.

and then you found out you were pregnant, and johnny had to do everything in his power to conceal how fucking happy he was at this outcome. his girl, growing his child.

everything about it made him just want to pin you down and fill you again, after all you had nothing to lose now, it was all too late.

when you start to withdraw from him, he blames it on the pregnancy hormones, but then he realises the truth one day when scrolling through your search history. he expects to find you research cribs or baby names, but instead finds a medical website all about termination--you want rid of the baby, his baby.

he finds you in front of the mirror, looking at your growing stomach with misery in your eyes as plain as day. he doesn't see why you're so miserable when you'd be better off at home with your babies instead of out on the field with him. he kisses your shoulder, wraps his arm around your stomach and looks you deep in the eye--pinning you with a knowing gaze. all you see within is the situation he's trapped you in.

keep the pregnancy he forced upon you, or live with the fact that in his eyes, you'll always be the girlfriend that murdered his baby.

[averagebsdenjoyer]

dottore fans are so funny bc wdym "y/n has terrible nightmares so Zandik spends the night with them, craddling their head in his lap until they fall asleep🥺🥺" or "dottore is mean to everyone but has a soft spot for you" Dottore would literally call y/n a slur and spit in their grave after putting them in said grave. He is absolutely feral, this man is NOT for relationships and love, he probably thinks the cl!t is a myth to fuck with men's self esteem (greatest doctor my ass, he can't even hold a crying baby without shaking the little sperm for "experience")

[monstrouslyobsessed]

Hey, I have a question…. If the darling reader of Dilf fox wanted an abortion would her let to do this?

Even the baby don’t having any heath issues.

I’m asking this because poor reader already has to take care of 3 young children lol

i couldn't remember if i did answer an ask similar to this one. ah, well, i'll answer anyway

so unless there's something wrong with either/or the baby or his darling, papa fox would not allow any autonomy about that front, no. he'd be on top of it if the pregnancy is affecting his darling physically in any major way (mentally is...unfortunately another story).

and there are many beastfolks who are for having a big family anyway. fangedfolks are among those who loves having a big litter/pack, albeit it's more difficult to achieve with their afab human spouses. the highest and safest number commonly accepted by professionals (at least in the modern era) is generally twins. anymore than that is highly encouraged to be...medically subtracted, so to speak.

honestly though, i don't think papa fox would complain if he only gets one from his darling. they can always make more later anyway~and the way he sees it, more time for them. wink wink nudge.

[victorie552]

Ok, so I saw quite a few radioapple fanfics where Lucifer baby-traps Alastor, right? That's fine, whatever to make Radioapple happen, dark Lucifer is a nice touch.

But I'm yet to see a fanfic where Alastor just aborts the thing if he doesn't anything to do with any of this, 'this' includes babies, sex, relationships and Lucifer. Sometimes there's a good reason to not try abortion, sometimes there's a bad reason, the worst are where he leaves it with no reason/explanation. If he's characterisied as someone who values freedom AND is insane, then WHY would he just... let Lucifer babytrap him? At least make the baby un-abortable!

My personal wish is that one day I'll see a fanfic where Lucifer is very convinced he did everything he could to keep Alastor with him, and then we see Alastor just RIPPING the baby out himself (along with his reproductive organs). Like, it doesn't work, but goddammit, they're demons from Hell, make it INTENSE

[writing-oof]

lucky

TW: Implied/referenced SA, Past SA, Pregnancy mention, implied abortion

You wish you were angry.

It's so, so much harder being scared.

---

The ship crashes before anything can change.

(or: anya tells daisuke about jimmy. then, the ship crashes.)

(or: or: this game has grabbed me by the throat. ur welcome)

Alt Day of @ailesswhumptober "If you weren't around, I'd be long dead by now."

[fromtheseventhhell]

It's a fact that Dany's story is riddled with violence against women of color and that she's the perpetrator in several cases, so mentioning her race is actually necessary (Sansa being white has no bearing on her story because again, she never hurt or killed any woc). Besides burning Mirri, r*ping Irri and torturing the wineseller's daughter, she also slaps Eroeh in the face. She looted one city, destroyed another to gain an army of slaves, took over another one for a trial run at ruling and plans to abandon it to invade and destroy a continent that she (and the thousands of warlords she's bringing with her) has never been to to demand fealty from people who don't want her as their queen. Why don't you at least acknowledge that Dany is written as a villain and that your hatred of Sansa is, by comparison, irrational?

It's ironic that the biggest criticism of how George writes characters of color is that he uses them in service of white characters' arcs and that's exactly what you've decided to do in my inbox. Nothing about liking these characters, wanting to see more of their stories, or wanting better for them. Nothing about wanting to start a conversation about the racism in George's writing. Nope. Just you using these characters of color and their suffering, which you supposedly care about, as props because you feel a "pure", white character is being unfairly hated. I have to laugh. The only "hate" I've given to Sansa is disliking her annoying stans and pointing out how she's written in the books but apparently, that's enough to have you clutching your pearls.

And the thing about racism is that, for Dany to be capable of being racist, it would mean that race HAS to be a factor in their society. That would mean that Sansa, as a white woman, would subsequently benefit from her white identity. Which is why I found that so funny from the first ask you sent. You can't just decide that race is only a factor in a single character's story. I get it though, you haven't actually thought any of this through because your only motivation is to put down Dany and prop up Sansa. This is how I know you don't care at all about racism and you're just copying talking points you've heard instead of thinking for yourself.