#do not give my poor baby a fate worse than death

[g1rld1ary]

I hope that it's ok to ask for another imagine :)!

Can I plz have an imagine where Lockwood has a panic attack during an investigation & the reader has to help calm him down 🥹🥹🥹?

ofc it's ok baby!! feel free to request whenever you like xxx

wc: 1257

cw: implied f!reader but no pronouns, panic attack symptoms, series-accurate threat of death/violence

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Your legs ached. That was the mantra running through your head as you sprinted down an empty street, worn-out Converse slapping against the cobblestone.

A case had gone south, no surprise. The four agents of Lockwood and Co had been investigating an old treasure trove of a home that belonged to some creepy old rich guy, but had been interrupted by relicmen stomping through the door and ransacking the place for all it was worth. Tensions had risen and violence had been threatened, so there you all were, sprinting for your lives through the streets of London.

You took a sharp right, yanking Lockwood down a shady-looking alleyway. You figured it couldn't have been worse than the fate you'd meet if you stayed on a straight path. George and Lucy didn't follow you, but you had faith that they'd figure something else out like they always did.

You both kept running for a few blocks, twisting and turning so it was unlikely anyone would be able to follow you. When you were sure no one was behind you, you began to slow down, catching your breath as you doubled over. You should really start working on your cardio.

As you straightened up to your full height your eyes zeroed in on Lockwood, leaning against the brick wall and hands clutching it like his knees might give out any second. You studied him for a moment, taking in his cloudy eyes and shallow breathing and it became increasingly obvious that Lockwood wasn't simply unfit.

You were in front of him in an instant, holding his forearms to hopefully keep him upright.

"Lockwood, what's wrong?" You asked, shaking him slightly in an attempt to bring him out of his stupor. It didn't work, Lockwood was babbling incoherently, nonsensical sentences cut off by heaves of ineffective breaths.

"George... Lucy... gone, where--"

He was swaying, getting closer then further as he tried to push himself off the wall with poor balance, bringing both himself and you to the ground. You followed him to the muddy floor both because his weight was pushing down on you and because you needed to be with him, hands creeping up to cradle his face.

You weren't sure what you were doing, really. Lockwood was usually the most under control of the lot of you, if anything he was more likely to be comforting you after a case. But if Lockwood needed you then you'd be there, even if it meant soiling your work trousers.

"Lockwood, they're going to be alright. Lucy and George are smart, I'm sure they're already home, but we can't meet them there unless you breathe, okay?" You could tell he wasn't really listening to you, clearly not by choice, and tried a different tactic.

You stayed knee-to-knee with him, forehead resting on his. You kept your right hand on his cheek but brought your left down to his stomach, holding it there light but firm.

"Feel my hand?" Lockwood nodded in response, "I want you to breathe there, so your belly pushes against my hand, okay?" You could feel him begin to try, which was all that really mattered. You whispered quiet affirmations to him, encouragement to keep going even despite the hiccups bringing his breathing back up to his chest. You tried to ignore the awkwardness of your hand placement, maybe acceptable for friends but a little weird when he was your boss. At this point in the case, you weren't sure which role he was playing more.

You stayed in that exact position for a string of long minutes, waiting for Lockwood's breathing to slowly return to normal, his posture becoming more balanced and assured. After a while, his words returned too, mostly comprehensible.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," He said to break the silence, pulling his head away from yours. You were sorry for the loss of his body heat.

"Don't be ridiculous," You replied with a lazy wave, "You've seen me much worse. It's nothing."

You stood first, offering a hand that Lockwood took gratefully, stumbling into you with weak legs. You managed to catch him so you both stayed upright, slotting yourself in under his arm to support his weight.

"Sorry," He said again, "I'm just... really tired all of a sudden."

"Stop apologising." Flowery language wasn't really your thing, "Breathing into your chest, like when panicking, is a big waste of energy. You're putting in a heap of physical effort and hardly getting any air in your lungs. Add in an extreme change of heart rate and of course you're gonna be tired."

Lockwood looked down at you, admiration clear on his features. You averted your eyes, unsure of how to act in the situation.

"C'mon, let's get home." You interrupted the moment, whatever it was, leading Lockwood through the streets despite being his personal crutch.

Arriving at Portland Row brought all the typical warm feelings and then some. Particularly because the lamp on in the front room meant someone was home, and you didn't have to be a genius to know who.

Hugs weren't really a thing at Lockwood and Co, but you thought Lockwood was probably uncharacteristically close to breaking the unspoken norm when he saw Lucy and George sitting at the kitchen table, playing a game of hangman on the thinking cloth.

He refrained, instead ruffling Lucy's hair in the way she pretended to hate and patting George firmly on the back. You thought they were probably close enough by now that they could communicate almost exclusively through these socially acceptable 'dude' signs of physical affection.

You set to work making tea for both of you as Lockwood sat next to Lucy, helping her guess the stupidly long word George had chosen. There was no mention of the previous incidents.

You followed Lockwood upstairs when he claimed it was time for bed, quietly worried by his willingness to try for sleep.

"You alright?" You asked from the bannister as he'd cracked open his door. Lockwood turned quickly, small but genuine smile on his lips.

"Yeah." He nodded, "I'm all good. Thank you again, you were really brilliant, and I don't want you to think that I don't appreciate it. You. Without you I'd be..."

"You'd be fine. You'd have figured something out, Lockwood. You always do." You cut him off softly, fidgeting with your fingers.

He looked like he was about to disappear into his bedroom but suddenly Lockwood was walking towards you, and before you could process it he was hugging you tightly, arms wrapped around you in a way that felt almost protective.

After a moment you returned the gesture; so much for the 'no hugs' thing. It felt nice though, Lockwood was warm and his arms felt comfortable around you. You wondered why you hadn't tried it sooner.

The moment didn't last long though, and Lockwood was a foot away before you'd even realised his arms were gone from your middle.

"Um, goodnight," He said with an awkward wave, beginning to laugh softly at his own ridiculousness.

"Goodnight," You replied with a quiet giggle, returning the wave to make him feel better about it.

You bit your cheeks the whole way up to your bedroom in the attic, begging your smile not to escape.

[kerubimcrepin]

Wakfu Season 3, Episodes 1-6

//tw mentions of SA

Episode 1 - Fallen Heroes

I had a very long discussion with a friend of mine, who is a fan of medical settings, about how cool the existence of IV within the lore of Krosmoz is.

We didn't come to any conclusion. It was just us fanboying about this. Because my friend loves medical things and I love putting character into situations (some of which would not be survivable, if them being put on IV wasn't possible) (big fan of the concept of Joris getting poisoned and very sick and Kerubim and Atcham freaking the fuck out).

Funnily enough, during the making of my YouTube series, I discovered that there are two Sram-venerating women named Toxine in this franchise.

Adamai harbouring feelings of violence towards the members of the brotherhood is a good idea, (<- obviously the guy that wants Joris to beat the shit out of Kerubim would say this), but man, it could have been so cool if someone competent was working with this idea.

Episode 3 - Oropo's Tower

I should admit, this moment was probably a big win for Tristepin Mental Illness fans. Also, this is sadly the most explicit they can get with the reasons why Tristepin might hate being the Iop god in a cartoon.

He has plenty of reasons. Not only had Iop had 394824 demigods who hated him and felt abandoned by him while suffering fates worse than death (all gods have those) and just as many mortals he took advantage of using the power imbalance of godhood and promises of love (all gods have done that), he also canonically sexually assaulted a woman.

Ngl, if I was Tristepin, I would be considering killing myself — however, the kids and the wife would be sad.

They shuoild do this to Yugo too. He also had other wives. Albeit in an infinitely less insane way than Tristepin. Ankama.., please stop ignoring how existentially horrifying the Eliatrope demigods are.

In the Dofus MMO Kerubim pretty much calls the brotherhood of the forgotten an emo club of people with too much free time on their hands doing nothing but whining about their daddy issues.

And he was so real for that.

Btw canonically, Mishelle/Coqueline makes him feel intimidated (due to her grand age) while she herself doesn't really care about him (besides liking his good attitude towards animals), and is actually besties with Otomai.

Episode 4 - Beastly Girl

I like to headcanon that Joris's relationship with Coqueline is that he projects onto her ("oh god.... being 7 forever would make me kill myself.... even being 3ft tall is already horrible and makes me want to die..... the poor woman must be suffering") while she's like,, 1. probably doesn't think of herself as a "woman". I think she would describe herself as a creature, maybe a girlcreature, and 2. is literally chilling and doesn't give a single shit about anything but animal welfare and direct anti-god action.

I think talking to her would kill Joris because he'd realize that not every immortal person is as insecure about Literally Everything as he is.

She literally says, "the only good gods are ex-gods". We stan a leftist girlcreature?

This screenshot can be used as a reaction image for so many different shows. More fictional parents should say "my child is NOT ascending to godhood and shedding their mortality, becoming something beyond my comprehension, before they're of age. Fuck you."

Episode 5 - A Iop Hides Himself to Cry

You want to read @bitter-panacea's analysis posts about Goultard so bad.

Despite my negative feeling on s3, this is a WIN for Goultard fans, as far as I'm aware. (and Goultard enjoyers, since I kinda consider myself one)

I;'m going to walk into the sea.

Episode 6 - The Ecaflip's Scratching Post

YEAH BABY, A FULL ON IN-SHOW CONFIRMATION OF MY "USH HAS A DIFFERENT MOM THAN KERUBIM AND ATCHAM" HYPOTHESIS.

This might not seem like a contentious issue to normal people. Gods have... a lot of different lovers, so it seems normal to assume that Ush has one mom, while Kerubim and Atcham are twins like Eleley and Flopin, and have a different mom...

But a cancelled game that Tot really liked and still considers canon had really weird "there's an Ecaflip priestess who is the CEO of Giving Birth" lore, and was planned to be the mysterious mom of Kerubim and Atcham (and many other demigods), which contradicts a lot of previously established lore (ankama LOVES retcons. sadly).

I am quite open about thinking this is stupid and not considering this canon until they show her to me in an actual released media (and even then I will find a way to headcanon a better reality). Seeing the series itself acknowledge that Ush is not Atcham and Kerubim's full brother makes me feel quite better.

Hi Ush were you doing [SEXUAL ACTS REDACTED] upon cats again.

Cute...

A normal thing for a Bontarian to do. Blue-clad (metaphorically, he isn't wearing blue but white. Still very Bontarian though) man over here protecting kids and women. While also beating them up.

But unironically, I think it's cute that he has this gap moe of being an evil man who also saves people and cares about honour (because that's a proper thing to do) despite cheating constantly.

Somehow, his shallowness and "I mostly care about appearances, even if I do have a moral code" sort of behaviour is just as Extremely Bontarian as Joris's.... 30 mental illnesses.

THE OST IN THIS EP IS SO GOOD. ECAFLIP FANS WINNING ONCE AGAIN.

Hey past me! Maybe he really does pay these cats to put up with his insane behaviours. 🤨

Yugo, I'm gonna be real with you:

he's probably heard Joris and Kerubim say these exact words at least twice before,

He is reallllllly weird about cats and I am unsure if that's illegal in your setting,

He lured in people to kill in his tower for sport serial killer style.

He's bontarian. -20 morality and honor points immediately.

[bucketofchum]

oh my godd poor Atumu..... poor baby ahh

-shy anon

Yeh the part I didn't write about (the roughly TWO years he spends bed bound and restrained, starved and dehydrated and neglected, while not knowing why or what was going on - if he did anything wrong/what he did to deserve this) were literally some of the worst thing moments of Atumu's life. It was SUCH a bad time not just for physical deterioration reasons but also bc of the mental anguish of "why is this happening? What did I do?"

It's so so so fucking miserable.

In the end, it was actually a moment when King was high (sometimes King uses opium to cope with life), and stumbles into Anhar's room and talks to Atumu/Anhar that Atumu is roused out of his comatose state. The really really tragic thing is that he would have been responsive if anyone actually engaged with him. But no one did. Radu and Dani would be the only ones who drip honey water into his mouth, or give him sugar water enemas just to make sure his body was absorbing some water and nutrients. But besides those rare minutes in the day, he had absolutely no interaction with anyone while literally being bound on the bed. If King had come in to talk to him at any point in those many many months, Atumu would have been responsive. But he didn't.

So it was only when King was high out of his mind and goes into the room and rambles, speech slurred, to Anhar that Atumu becomes responsive. He asks for forgiveness. Then he asks for death.

So King is like sloppily making out with barely lucid Atumu, and Atumu is kissing back hard, but just cuz he's so fucking dehydrated that his throat just tastes like metallic blood and King's saliva is just about the only moisture he has gotten all day. King is too high out of his mind to realise that Atumu is actually awake and conscious, and definitely too delirious to understand what's going on and to give Atumu actual water 😭😭😭

So they have a sloppy make out session but it's just King being high and Atumu being so fucking dehydrated. And when Atumu can finally speak, his first words are an apology. "I'm sorry, Master. Whatever I have done, I am sorry." He doesn't know what he has done to deserve this fate, but he knows he must have done something. It's all he can think about, when he can think. King is still way too high to understand what's going on. Doesn't realise these are the first words that Atumu has uttered in almost a year. He just slurs a "Hmmm? Whuh--"

"I understand that I have failed you. You are in good hands with Danica and Radu. If you have no further use for me, I ask that you end my life." And King is still too high out of his mind and just falls asleep on Atumu. Atumu would cry if he had any moisture to spare. He also just like...he doesn't even know if he's still alive. Atumu also goes to sleep again after that bc he basically thinks he is dead.

The next day, King wakes up and is like..?? Oh boy wow that was embarrassing. He wakes up in the arms of his comatose captive slave, who resembles his most beloved life companion, after getting absolutely wasted on opium. How embarrassing. It's not a record low, but still bad enough that he would rather not talk about it. He mutters a soft apology to Anhar just out of reflex of politeness, and here is where Atumu actually responds.

Oh my god wait I just realized it gets so much worse before it gets better holy shit I'm about to break my own heart fuck.

Okay so Atumu responds, but just a soft exhale, mouthing "Master". And that's more movement than King has ever seen from Anhar in the past year or so. So he frantically grabs water to give to Atumu. He has to drip water into Atumu's mouth with his fingers first before Atumu can even properly drink. Atumu downs several glasses easily, but King stops because too much water too fast is also not good.

Okay so uhhhh-- I'm gonna fast forward through this bc it is still too heart breaking for me to deal with rn but I'll post about it later maybe. But uhhh. Okay so Atumu and King actually have a moment to talk. Like for real. Atumu again asks for forgiveness and death. King is entirely confused. He has never heard Anhar speak to him with such reverence. King is the only thing that matters to Atumu in his life, so if King does not want him around anymore - does not need him - he has no reason to continue to be alive. King is honestly confused by all of this.

Then uhhh the beginning of the end. Atumu calls him by his real name, which I won't write here just out of respect for King. King freezes. His mind reels. His body immediately goes into a panic attack. There is only one human being - only one BEING in existence, that he can recall telling his real name to, besides his family. And that was Atumu. King just experiences a whole array of traumatic flashbacks, reliving the pain of losing Atumu, of losing their daughter. Centuries of mourning. He staggers backwards and collapses, heaving from the panic attack.

Atumu is still bed bound at this time. Not only bed bound but literally BOUND TO THE BED. his wrists are bound to each headboard post and his ankles to the end posts of the bed. His body has been bound in this position for months. His limbs, tendons, ligaments, muscles, are dehydrated like beef jerky. But hearing his Master wheezing, sobbing, crying, screaming, wailing, calling out his name - "Atumu" - Atumu fights to move for the first time. He needs to be there for his Master.

King is knelt on the floor, wailing and gasping, trapped in his own memories. The door is locked, so even though Dani and Radu can hear their Master, they can't get in. They desperately search for the skeleton key.

Atumu screams as he rips his arms from the bedposts. The ligaments in his shoulders and elbows tear horribly. But Atumu has tremendous strength when he needs to have it, and hearing his Master in pain like this necessitates this. He pulls his arms with such force that it breaks the wooden bed posts - the rope still tied around each post, and the other end of the ropes still tied around his wrists. Neither of his arms are functional anymore - dislocated either at the shoulders or at the elbows from this horrible action. They hang limply at his side as he throws his body on the ground, crawling like a worm towards his still sobbing Master. The wooden bedposts dragging behind him.

He has no use of his arms, so he can't prop himself up. But when he reaches King, he presses his face into King's lap and whispers "Master, I'm here. I'm here, Master" in response to King wailing his name. King grabs onto Atumu and cradles his head, sobbing still. King is still fully lost in his memories, in his mind. He is not at all present, but having something to hold onto, hearing Atumu's voice, seems to help a bit.

By now, Radu has found the skeleton key, and manages to open the locked door. Radu and Danica see a horrifying scene. Their Master, in horrendous distress, and Anhar - their prisoner ward who had tried to kill them some months ago - escaped from his bindings? The splintered wood of the bed posts still on the ground. The only conclusion they could make was that Anhar had escaped from his bindings and made another attempt on King's life.

They grab their Master to help him out of the room and lock the door behind them.

The next few days are spent with Dani and Radu taking care of King, making sure he is healthy and mentally okay again. Having recovered from his opium bender and emotional breakdown, he has had a bit more time to reflect. But he has work to do, so he plungez himself back into his work. Still, he thinks about that last interaction he had with Anhar. Was it a dream?

Meanwhile, back with Atumu, it gets worse. For three days, he is left on the ground, arms all but shattered from ripping them off the bedpost. No one came to check on him in those 3 days, so he falls back into the comatose state. It's to preserve the energy he doesn't have. His organs are failing and he needs to go into the comatose state to survive. After 3 days, by King's orders, Radu and Danica put him back into bed, tie him up again, and continue caring for him in the bare minimum way that they had before. More time (weeks? months?) elapse while King is on his work trips. Atumu's condition worsens.

Finally, King returns from his work trip. He can't stop thinking about what happened that day. Was it a dream? He knows he was high, so he can't trust himself. But he needs to find out for himself.

Against Radu's warnings, King goes to seek out Anhar again. The boy is so skeletal. Just a pile of bones, barely visible on the bed, arms strung up again. It's such a sad pathetic sight. He feels so bad, partially responsible for Anhar's sad state. He speaks softly to Anhar, which rouses Atumu. Atumu gasps a breath of life when he comes back into consciousness. He tries to whisper another apology.

King has come prepared this time. Prepared with water and honey for Anhar, and prepared with questions. Mostly, he is mentally prepared. Not sure what the answers will be.

"When we last spoke, you called me a name...what was it?"

"I... apologize if I am not permitted to utter your name, Master--" Atumu quickly whispers. His entire body is in so much pain and he wants only death. He is so so so sorry.

"What was the name you said? I have only told this name to one person."

"Was he not I, Master?" Atumu is beginning to doubt himself. It couldn't be him...could it be him? He's only a slave...maybe he is mistaken. His memory seems to have a lot of holes now anyway...

"What was the name, Anhar?" King insists.

"Master *****..." Atumu whispers almost inaudibly, and winces in fear that speaking this name will call upon an sort of punishment. But no punishment comes.

"Where did you hear of this name?" This time King is calm in hearing his name. He is prepared.

"I...I don't... remember..." Atumu is speaking the truth. He doesn't know. He doesn't remember.

In fact, King had told Atumu his real name after their daughter died. It was a heart wrenchingly tragic moment, and he wanted his most beloved companion to know his true name. So that at least one other being in this world would know him.

"What do you remember?"

Atumu remembers...his head hurting. He remembers waking up, as if from a long sleep. Not knowing what was going on. He remembers the attack -- they were under attack. He remembers feeling a hot knife slash his throat -- but King was hurt too. He remembers trying to save King's life. (He would never have thought it was King who slit his throat. He knows his Master would never hurt him. The only logical conclusion he could come to was that they were both under attack). And then he couldn't remember much else. He remembered the servants, Danica and Radu. They are humans. They are looking out for King. He knows he can trust them to take care of King...if he is no longer needed...

Slowly now, King asks... hesitantly... "What is your name?"

"My name is Atumu, Master..." he speaks slowly and deliberately at first...but then interrupts himself quickly, as he has noticed his Master and Radu and Danica using another name with him. "B-but if you should wish my name to be otherwise, I shall know no other name."

King's eyes widen. If he wasn't wearing a veil over his face, Atumu would see his eyes watering. "Atumu....how can this be? You were dead, Atumu. I killed you."

"I am not, Master. As you can see, I am alive and well." (Well, not "well"). "And I know that is not true, Master. You would never hurt me."

"It was an accident...I killed you... I carried your body....for years... I have lived lifetimes without you. I have lived half a millennia in your absence."

Atumu doesn't know what to say in response. He doesn't know any of this. He doesn't remember. He doesn't remember much of anything. He doesn't know what is true and what was a dream. He has no details of any previous life he had lived. "Well, I am here now, Master...in your service....if you will still have me..."

King chokes out a laugh through his tears. "Oh, Atumu, you really are as wonderful as I remember you to be."

And then they make plans for him to get better, etc, and then fun shit happens, yadda yadda yadda

I said I wouldn't get into the details, but I got all caught up with myself and this is one of the most heart wrenching moments and ahhh

Sorry again for the text dump ahhhhhh good bye

[anamericangirl]

I'm not Catholic but I am pro-life and a Christian so I can chime in with my thoughts if you don't mind and I know of a lot of good catholics on here so hopefully they will see this and add their thoughts as well!

1.Why is abortion and Pro-choice considered murder? It's considered murder because abortion is the unjustified and intentional killing of an innocent human being.

2. Why should a child conceived through coercion or rape be forced to be born? Because the circumstances of their conception do not change the fact that they are a living human being. A child conceived through rape has just as much value and deserves to be able to live just as much as children who are not conceived through rape or coercion. We're not "forcing" children to be born. We are simply not killing them. Children who have been conceived through rape being alive is not a bad thing.

3. Why should a child with a severe disability be forced to be born? Again, being born is not a bad thing. That child with a severe disability already exists and saying why should they be "forced to be born" implies that children with severe disabilities don't deserve to live. If you talk or listen to people who have disabilities they don't actually think their disability is a fate worse than death and wouldn't rather have been killed in the womb. We could just rephrase this question as "why should a child with a severe disability be allowed to live?" and it means the same thing. Because the only way to not "force" them to be born is to kill them. And whether or not someone else's life is worth living is not our choice to make. Even disabled people deserve to live. Especially if you are approaching this from a religious perspective that child, even if they are disabled, has the right to life and they are a unique and precious life that God loves and values. Why is the life of a severely disabled child worth any less than yours?

4. Why should a child who has little prospects in financial and emotional support be forced to be born? Because the value of their life and their right to life as a human being don't depend on financial prospects or emotional support. A child does not deserve to be killed because they may grow up poor.

5. Why should a child who will not be loved and conceived through a mistake, be forced to be born? Because whether or not a child is wanted should not determine whether or not they get to live. If the child is unwanted by their biological parents they can put them up for adoption where they are likely to get adopted by someone who does love and want them. Circumstances can and do change so it is cruel to kill a child based on the circumstances they are born into.

6. Why should a woman who has been coerced/raped, be forced to give birth? She's not being forced to give birth. If she is pregnant she will be giving birth no matter what. That is unavoidable. So she can go through the natural pregnancy cycle and the baby can be birthed alive when her body is ready to give birth or the baby can be intentionally killed through a surgical procedure or medication and her body can be forced to birth the corpse of a baby long before it's ready, which is the definition of a forced birth. There is also the fact that the baby is innocent in this scenario and does not deserve to die for the crimes of their father.

7. Why should a woman who cannot financially or emotionally take care of herself be forced to give birth? Again, birth is not being forced when we just don't intervene in the existing pregnancy to kill the child. Birth is going to happen either naturally or be forced early just so the baby is delivered dead. And she should give birth to a living baby because the baby doesn't deserve to die just because the mother is not currently in a good financial situation. She does not to have raise the child, but the child should not be killed.

8. Why should a woman with a disability be forced to give birth? She should give birth to a living baby because she is pregnant and that baby's live is valuable and killing a child because their mother is disabled is completely unjustifiable. Disabled women can go through pregnancy and birth and be completely fine. As a woman who has a disability myself we are not so fragile and weak. People having disabilities is not a good reason to kill someone. Even women with disabilities can have children.

9.Why should a woman who made a mistake on impulse be forced to give birth? She should allow her child to live because when she made a mistake on impulse she created another human life that has the right to life from the moment they are conceived. You can't kill innocent children because you made a mistake.

Those are my thoughts but hopefully some of my catholic friends will see this and chime in!

Question for Catholics: Abortion/Pro-choice vs Pro-life Edition.

Why is abortion and Pro-choice considered murder?

Why should a child conceived through coercion or rape be forced to be born?

Why should a child with a severe disability be forced to be born?

Why should a child who has little prospects in financial and emotional support be forced to be born?

Why should a child who will not be loved and conceived through a mistake, be forced to be born?

Why should a woman who has been coerced/raped, be forced to give birth?

Why should a woman who cannot financially or emotionally take care of herself be forced to give birth?

Why should a woman with a disability be forced to give birth?

Why should a woman who made a mistake on impulse be forced to give birth?

[juicyjuicy05]

So I was reading the goodreads summary of The Sun and The Star when I can across this

I swear to fucking god if the thing of equal value is Will I am going to kill Rick Riordan myself and just throw myself off a cliff oh my god

[maid-with-sunset-in-her-hair]

Hey! What do you think about character Mirri? Do you think she was involved in killing Dany child?

Hello Dot!! Mirri's involvement goes as far as suggesting the ritual, and then carrying it out on Daenerys' orders. It makes sense that Mirri tries to keep Drogo alive at all costs, because he’s the source of Daenerys’ power, and she’s the source of Mirri’s safety. It’s normal for traumatized people to priorize survival in the short term, and Mirri went through a lot of trauma, but it’s a very stupid plan in the long term. If the ritual worked and Drogo survived, he would be furious about his precious stallion that mounts the world getting sacrificed, not to mention the Dothraki’s superstitions about magic. Good thing he ended braindead, or Daenerys would’ve ended like the wine seller that tried to poison her.

Rhaego’s death is the narrative punishing Daenerys for not giving a fuck about other people:

"It is not a matter of gold or horses. This is bloodmagic, lady. Only death may pay for life."

"Death?" Dany wrapped her arms around herself protectively, rocked back and forth on her heels. "My death?" She told herself she would die for him, if she must. She was the blood of the dragon, she would not be afraid. Her brother Rhaegar had died for the woman he loved.

"No," Mirri Maz Duur promised. "Not your death, Khaleesi."

Dany trembled with relief. "Do it." (AGOT Daenerys VIII)

She doesn’t bother to ask who will die, as long as she’s not the one kicking the bucket, she’s fine with it. Some people argue that Mirri tricked poor Dany into killing her baby by not explaining the ritual thoroughly, but nothing would’ve happened if Daenerys didn’t think she had the right to kill an innocent person to archieve her ends. Deep down she believes she owns Irri, Jhiqui, Doearh, Jorah, Eroeh and everyone else in the khalasar, and she can do with their lives as she pleases.

But like, she could’ve said no? Nobody is forcing her to perform the ritual at gunpoint. If Drogo dies she’ll be sent to Vaes Dothrak, her survival is guaranteed, it’s not the life she wants to live, but it’s not a fate worse than death. Mirri has much more to lose in this situation.

[zevlors-tail]

Okay but hear me out

Dad villain Izuku.

( I mean dadzuku for the won but still!)

Like, him having his precious little boy/girl?

Fierce protective dad?

Huh...kinda sounds like the start of a Mob AU.

Idk i just like dad izuku so I thought you might too!

You have just opened a can of worms you cannot close!!! Haha but really, here's some pregnancy/baby headcanons because a lot of people tend to enjoy that. Not really my cup of tea, but I'll make an exception here. To your credit, you've got me really thinking on this. 😳

“Not really my cup of tea”, I say, as I make the world’s longest headcanons about Vil!Deku being a dad.

TW: Pregnancy, children, cursing. :)

Dad Villain!Deku HC's

-Look, Vil!Deku is already possessive as fuck. The second he finds out you're pregnant? He will literally be attached to you at the hip. Can't go anywhere without this man. Can you say coddling?

-He's so thrilled and nervous at the same time. Not about being a bad parent or anything, more about you or your child getting injured, threatened, or put in danger.

-It started with some symptoms that looked like the run of the mill flu. You probably got pretty bad morning sickness, and he fussed over you the whole time; held your hair back for you, rubbed your back, made you tea, the whole nine yards.

-Both of you just thought it was a stomach bug. But you just kept getting sick, and Deku actually took some time off work to stay with you and make sure you were okay (what a gentleman).

-After a week of being sick, this man is so concerned about you and your health that he calls a doctor to your place to take a look at you. God help that poor doctor because if he even looks at you the wrong way, Deku will obliterate him.

-Doctor asks if you could be pregnant, and both of you just kind of go quiet.

-Deku had thought of that possibility but refused to acknowledge it because something that good? Happening to an outcast like him? A criminal? To someone who was never worthy enough to be a hero? No. Way.

-But it did! You can probably see Deku's eyes visibly sparkle when the doc asks that question. The doctor leaves with the theory that you're pregnant and tells you to take a test.

-Congratulations! You're both going to be parents!

-Everything is so different after that. Deku has always been soft on you because you're his Sweet, but he's extra soft and caring now. Also extremely protective and possessive?

-"It's just the grocery store. I can do it myself, it's alright!" You're out of groceries? He's going with you. You can't argue it. "I'll go with you." "What if someone recognizes you?" "They won't say a word about it. I’ll make sure of it." You know what that means...

-Pregnancy cravings are wild, but he's miraculously got it covered. Never forgets a single craving you've had. Always has your favorite foods on hand, including the odd ones. Pickles? There's three whole jars in the fridge. Certain flavor of chips? Always a bag in the pantry. And if there's ever an instance where you crave something he doesn't have on hand, he makes his lackeys go get it while he stays at home with you. But if he absolutely had to, he would get it himself.

-Nobody is allowed to touch you, especially not now that you're carrying his child. If anyone so much as breathes too close to you, they're toast.

-Keeps tabs on you 24/7. Has to know where you're at and that you're okay or he's worrying 25/8.

-Somehow he's even more crazy about you? Just the fact that you're pregnant with his child is enough to stir him up any day, any time. You've definitely caught him staring at your stomach obsessively several times.

-Takes THEE best care of you. You are your child's lifeline and the love of his life, so you have to stay healthy and happy. Once again...can you say coddling? Makes sure you've eaten throughout the day, brings you water, makes you rest, runs you hot baths, generally just keeps an eye on you to make sure you're okay. Oh, and if you're working? Say goodbye to that job for now. No way you're doing anything strenuous while he can help it.

-If you for some reason insist on keeping the 9-5 job and you manage to convince him otherwise, he visits you on your lunch break whenever he can and hacks into the security cameras way too often for his own good. Literally will be in the middle of a meeting watching live feed from your store. 

-Whenever the kid is due, he’s gonna have a bit of a rough time during the whole process. It’s hard for him, because he doesn’t trust the doctors and nurses at the hospital to give you top notch care when he’s not there, and he can’t really take you there anyways because of his villain status (do you think maybe villains have hospitals and resources for each other?? That would be kind of cool...). He ends up pulling some strings with a fellow vigilante/former villain connection who works in the hospital, and they work out some sort of undercover deal probably?

-Don’t question, just accept. He’s got it all covered. He gets to stay with you through everything and he’s got the best doctors and nurses on your case, top notch, extremely professional and comforting for you. They don’t bat an eye at a villain and his s/o and child, they just do their job and keep quiet about it (how does some extra cash sound?).

-Super tense right up until it’s all done. If looks could kill, everyone in that room besides you and the baby would be dead. But he softens right up once he gets to hold the baby. Despite you being extremely tired, you’re glad you stayed awake to see this, because there’s a certain look on his face. For a second, it almost seems like he’s back to how he was before...almost as if he was never a villain in the first place. The hope in his eyes is reminiscent of something old and nostalgic; it reminds you of when he aspired to be a hero. But still it’s not quite right.

-He is immediately mesmerized by your child. “They look like you...” He’s never held something so vulnerable before and felt so...warm, other than the times he’s held you.

-He would kill for both you and your child. If anyone ever threatened you or put the both of you in a dangerous situation, he would drop everything without a second thought to come running to save you. Pray for anyone who comes between the two of you; Deku will make sure they meet a fate worse than death.

-You both take turns taking care of the baby when they wake you up at night, but Deku will be willing to get up before you do nine out of ten times. He loves his child, he really does. It gives him something to take care of and nurture and it makes him feel hopeful again. That kid is his pride and joy.

-There was one time (but only one, because you absolutely ripped into him for it) where you heard the baby cry, and Deku offered to get up and take care of it, so you rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. But he never came back to bed, and the baby had been silent for a long time, so you got up to check on them to make sure they were alright, and what did you find? Deku, wide awake at his work desk with his laptop open, baby sitting comfortably on his lap with a bottle, and some surveillance footage and grotesque crime scene pictures pulled up. You were livid.

-”You better not be doing what I think you’re doing. You’re going to traumatize our child.” He looks like a deer caught in headlights when you interrupt his work. The baby just coos and gurgles, and you are absolutely mortified. He looks like he’s about to say something, and you cut him off before he can answer. “Whatever you’re going to say better be a damn good apology, Deku.” Oh, he’s in trouble all right. He just slowly shuts his laptop and brings the baby over to you. Kisses can fix everything, right? ;) He better hope so.

-Even though he’s a villain, the baby always goes quiet when he holds them. It’s like magic, almost. Sometimes you can’t get them to stop crying, and Deku will just come up and look at him with those soft eyes he reserves for only the two of you, and the baby just starts cooing and reaching out for him. Gee, favorites much?

-Never was there ever a moment more peaceful and serene than the time you came home to Deku asleep on the couch with his arms cradled around your child, face soft from sleep and the baby breathing lightly. You feel so lucky to have this in your life. It’s not easy being villains, but this was something you never expected to have, and it’s changed both of you for the better. 

Bonus:

-If Deku still has a relationship with his mom, you can bet he gets her to babysit when you decide to go back to work (if you do at all, because he really wants you to stay at home with him and the baby).

-If your mother wasn’t the best or isn’t around, congrats, Mama Midoriya is now your mother, and there is nothing you can do about it. And honestly? Deku loves seeing the way you bond with her. He’s made himself a tiny family that loves him for who he is. There’s no greater feeling in the world than that.

[five-rivers]

Loved chapter 4

Written for Dannymay 2021 Day 3: Portal, even though the connection is sort of tenuous.

.

Bad things happened when Vlad came to Amity Park. For that matter, bad things happened wherever Vlad was. It was part of what made Vlad Vlad. Some part of his otherness, some twist of the shadow-fabric he was made of that left rot and ruin wherever his hem brushed. Of course, Vlad was never affected by this misfortune. In fact, he seemed to suck the luck out of everyone around him. Like a vampire.

Along with sanity. But that was a given for the others, even partial others, like Vlad. Or Danny.

But Vlad didn’t even try to hide or ameliorate the effects he had on people, didn’t try to keep them safe, to make their lives shine like the precious lights they were.

(Danny drummed his fingers on his chest and wondered, if, perhaps, it would feel less empty if Clockwork let him become a jewel box.)

But that was the way Vlad was, and Danny felt him enter Amity Park like nails on a chalkboard. His skin started to itch. His teeth hurt. Pressure pulsed in his head like waves of heat coming off asphalt. Being human, being real, was too tight, too heavy. It would be so easy to slip into the cool waters of the Dream and cut through them to wherever Vlad was.

No. He couldn’t. As shown time and time again, that would just exacerbate things. No matter what Vlad did, it would be worse if they fought, especially if there was anyone there to see it. Like what had happened with Jazz…

Danny was beyond lucky he’d been able to snap her out of whatever Vlad had done to her, but she still was quite right. The Vultures had actually apologized on Vlad’s behalf, after that.

(And wasn’t that strange, standing in the Dream on ground covered by bones and feathers, the Vultures on a dead tree, speaking as one. A thing of terror, apologizing for their ward. For pain suffered through Love. For lines crossed.)

Still. He had better… supervise Vlad, for a lack of a better word. Make sure he wasn’t getting up to anything. He’d go as a human – as himself.

He sighed and splayed his hands out on the table.

“Something wrong?” asked Sam, who had been making a complex sigil out of her fries and ketchup.

“Vlad’s in town,” said Danny. “I—”

The doors to the Nasty Burger were thrown open with a bang as Jazz came running in. She ran halfway through the store, to weak protests from the employee behind the counter, and skidded to a stop in front of their table.

“Vlad’s here,” he said.

“You saw him?” asked Danny, concerned. “Did he try—”

“No,” said Jazz. “I can just—It’s like he’s under my skin, and I—” She made a sound of frustration and gripped both sides of her head with clawed hands.

“Hey,” said Danny, gently, grasping her wrists. “It’s going to be okay. I’ll take care of it.”

“Okay,” said Jazz, breathing deeply. “Alright. I shouldn’t have freaked out like that.”

“It’s okay,” said Danny. He looked back to his friends. “Anyway, I’m going to go see what he wants, okay?”

“I’m coming with you,” said Sam, standing.

“Me too,” said Tucker. “Sort of. Halfway.”

“You really shouldn’t,” said Danny. “You know what happens when we get together.”

“Which is why we want to back you up,” said Sam. “As long as he stays physical, there’s stuff we can do.”

Unless Danny was prepared to do something incredibly inadvisable, there wasn’t much he could do to stop her. “Okay,” he said. “Just… be careful. If it looks like it’s going to turn into a fight, you need to leave.” He didn’t want them to get anymore spiritually messed up than they already were.

“We know, we know, you give us the spiel every time,” said Sam.

Yes, and Sam ignored it every other time. Danny shook his head. “Alright, let’s—”

Danny was promptly interrupted yet again, this time by his parents rushing in wearing… He could loosely call them clothes.

“It’s retro night, baby!” shouted Jack.

It was not retro night. There was no such thing as retro night at the Nasty Burger.

“I’ll take care of them,” said Jazz.

“Thanks,” muttered Danny, sliding out of the booth. “Come on, let’s go out the back.”

The alley behind the Nasty Burger was fetid in a way that made Danny’s shadow lift from the pavement and float on the air. Something that inhabited rats skittered in the corners at Danny’s presence and ran for a storm drain. He breathed shallowly.

“Which way?” prompted Tucker.

“He’s actually coming this way,” said Danny, frowning, debating facing him in this alley, just to see the disgust that would surely paint itself on Vlad’s face, paper-thin mask that it was.

Reality rippled, the surface tension that kept the Dream from bleeding in snapping. A miasma rose from the ground. Vlad stumbled into the alley, clutching at his face, which was melting. No, transforming. No, stretching. No, layering over itself a in dozen sickening ways, all the masks Vlad wore flickering over whatever truth he had all at once.

“Help me,” he grated. His words felt sick, diseased.

“Guys,” said Danny, fighting back the urge to vomit, “run.”

“No!” shrieked Vlad. “Help me!”

And sanity fractured like glass.

.

Whatever Danny’s parents had done to stabilize Vlad had worked, to a degree. It hadn’t fixed the underlying problem, which Danny could still feel slinking through the Dream. It also didn’t fix whatever he’d done to Sam and Tucker, although it had kept it from progressing further.

Danny took a slow, angry breath and ran a mental count of the lives stored inside his chest. They were there, all of them. Whatever happened to Sam and Tucker, they wouldn’t die.

But Danny knew there were fates worse than death.

His fingernails left half moon impressions on his palms as he clenched his fists. The Dream roiled with his fury, the force of it enough to keep Vlad’s diseased thoughts away.

“Daniel,” croaked Vlad. “Cure me.”

“That’s what Mom and Dad are trying to do.”

“Find a cure for me,” said Vlad, as if he hadn’t heard Danny at all, “and you’ll find a cure for your precious little friends.”

Danny stilled. “You did this on purpose.”

Vlad laughed. “Of course, I did, my dear boy. What value is a simple human mind compared to those such as we?”

Any rage Danny had felt up to this moment paled in comparison. The mirror over the sink cracked down the middle, never to show a true physical reflection again. He hated—

A concerned tug at Danny’s throat jolted him from his thoughts. Clockwork. Clockwork would know what to do. He turned, and without a second glance at Vlad, strode bodily into the Dream.

.

It took Danny even less time than usual to find Clockwork, and, when he did, he immediately found himself at Clockwork’s center, deep within the castle that was his metaphor. Dozens of Chains were fixed to Danny’s collar, each of them completely taut, holding him perfectly immobile, the embrace of a relieved but panicking parent. Clockwork’s emotions, too vast for Danny to fully comprehend, were transmitted directly through those chains, microscopic vibrations raising gooseflesh on Danny’s skin. A wordless noise both distressed and pleased wound its way from Danny’s throat, continuing to echo long after he’d run out of the breath to maintain it.

Clockwork’s avatar cupped Danny’s face in its hands, long fingers almost completely encircling his head. There was more of Clockwork in it that there usually was.

“Clockwork…?” asked Danny, weakly, confused and overwhelmed by the sudden flood of affection.

Poor little one, whispered the avatar, this is what happens when matters are not properly attended to. The Vultures should know better, should take care of him properly… It pressed its forehead to Danny’s, startling a squeak from him.

Danny, reflexively, brought his hands up to clutch at the avatar’s robes.

My poor child. What are they thinking, letting him run around so ill, so that he might infect other children?

Clockwork saw Vlad as a child, too. Not surprising, considering how ancient Clockwork must be, but good to know.

That emotion! It was only a shadow, and even so-!

“Emotion?”

Hatred, hissed Clockwork’s avatar.

The collar around Danny’s neck constricted, a tighter, more Loving, more comforting, hug. Danny gasped, although breathing here was psychological rather than physiological. The cloth of the avatar’s robes began to wind up Danny’s arms.

Even the pale, human shadow of it is not something you should experience, my child.

Danny didn’t like being that angry, but—

Even the concept of it is too much, too heavy. You should not have to bear it. I should not have overlooked it. The avatar’s hands moved to the back of Danny’s head, pressing his face against its shoulder. It must hurt you so,murmured the avatar, carding fingers through Danny’s hair. Fear not. I will excise it. All of it, even the idea of it shall not touch you, shall not sully your thoughts.

The avatar stepped away.

“Wait!” shouted Danny, panicking.

Not being able to hate? Danny had mixed feelings about that, but he doubted he’d be able to talk Clockwork out of it, not with how damaging Hate could be. In the end, it wouldn’t be that much of a loss. Not being able to understand that it existed? Not being aware of hate at all? Being unable to understand that, sometimes, people would go out of their way to hurt one another?

That was dangerous. That would render him unable to even begin to comprehend vast swathes of human history and humanity.

“If I don’t know what it is,” said Danny, “if I don’t know that it exists, how can I protect myself against it?”

A gust of wind blew through Clockwork’s sepulchral hall like the sigh of a giant. It is my duty to protect you, my child.

The sheer possessiveness of the words lingered on Danny’s skin. He wanted to lean into them but held his imaginary breath.

But very well.

Danny let himself relax, slightly, even as the avatar walked to somewhere he couldn’t see, its silent footsteps giving him no clue as to where it was. With only the constant, regular hum and tick of Clockwork’s gears to stimulate him, it was hard for Danny to stay vigilant. He found himself drifting, his thoughts wandering.

Did his hatred of Vlad cause him pain, as Clockwork said? What was it going to be like, to not be able to hate at all, rather than just not being able to Hate? Would he still be angry at Vlad? He hoped so. The man deserved it.

Two points of frigid cold touched the back of his head, contracted into a single point, and pulled. Danny felt something within him come free, and he sagged as much as the chains would allow him.

The avatar walked back into view, and Danny recoiled from the thing he was carrying, clasped in a long, silver pair of tweezers. “Is that,” started Danny, before he swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “Was that in me?”

Yes, said Clockwork’s avatar, lowering it into a small, jeweled box. Danny felt relieved as soon as the lid closed on it and he was no longer forced to look at it. At the same time… Fear not, said the avatar. I could never destroy something of you. It will be remade into something more useful.

Danny nodded as much as he could and shuddered. He felt… dirty. Unclean. Just remembering what he’d felt, what he’d thought… It left a deep sense of wrongness.

Come, said Clockwork. I have just the thing for that. You are due for a bath. A cleansing, inside and out.

The metaphor of the chains fell away, leaving just the one, usual, slack one. Danny knew Clockwork could call them back at any time, that, in truth, they had not gone anywhere at all.

“What about Vlad?” he asked, twisting his hands around the hem of his shirt. “And my friends? Can you help them? Please.”

He felt Clockwork examine him appraisingly.

Perhaps the bath can wait for another day.

.

The mirror was a portal, tall and wide as a door, glassy surface gleaming with otherworldly light. The edges were crimped, filigreed, flared. Beyond the reflection, Danny could just make out the suggestion of movement.

It is not real, said the avatar, putting a hand on Danny’s shoulder, but a might-have-been.

“But I can find a way to fix things in there?”

The avatar did not answer. A prickling feeling rose up inside Danny, settling in his stomach. Somehow, this felt similar to when he’d eaten the mirror with the bad future.

It is,confirmed the avatar, briefly nuzzling Danny.

“Why?” asked Danny, just a little horrified.

Is it not satisfying to complete two tasks at once? I told you, back then, that our next task would be to remove those presents that seek to exclude you.

Danny didn’t understand.

You will. Clockwork’s avatar paused, as if thinking. This is what the Vultures should have done for young Vladimir, although they would have accomplished it differently.

“Oh,” said Danny, trying to wrap his head around that.

Clockwork’s avatar nudged him forward. Follow the chain when you are ready to come home.

.

Danny wasn’t connected to anyone in this might-have-been world. It was odd, watching every eye slide off him as if he wasn’t even there. If he wanted to interact with someone directly, he’d have to put a lot of force of will into it.

It was strange. Other than that, everything here seemed perfectly real. Not imaginary at all. The sun shone. People spoke to one another. The grass crunched under his feet.

The University of Wisconsin-Madison lay before him in all its questionable glory.

He’d have to find Vlad and his parents. They had rented a small lab space for their experiments with the Dream and research into the others.

Normally, he’d follow his connection to them to find them, or the disturbance Vlad made in the dream, but neither of those things existed, now. Not yet. Danny didn’t exist yet.

He could just wander, try to seek out questionable lab space, but the university’s campus was large. Normally, he’d ask for directions, but…

Yeah, the no one being able to see or hear him thing really didn’t allow for that.

But there was one other thing he could try to do, one other thing he could try to sense. Their experiments. They should send waves across and through the Dream.

He let his eyes drift closed and walked blind across campus. When he opened them, he was in a lab, watching his parents and Vlad working on a kind of magic circle, inscribed with runes.

A portal, intended to let humans directly access the Dream. A portal that had created Vlad, all because he leaned too close, watched too closely, seen too much, became something else, changed.

Something like anger stirred under his skin. After this, his parents had continued to experiment, continued to try to reach the Dream, to create a weapon against the others, and in doing so both doomed Danny himself and Amity Park by making what amounted to a highway for the others to come to the real world.

But they hadn’t intended to do that, he knew. They’d been trying as best as they could to fix things. Had been trying to defend the world the best they knew, portal or no portal. And speaking of the portal… If others could damage human sanity, if Danny, small and weak and almost-human as he was, could damage human sanity, then how much more could a direct link to the Dream do? Discounting, of course, that normal dreams could lead to the Dream… That connection was more tenuous. Filtered.

His anger was a distraction from what was really bothering him.

These people, they looked like his parents. They were his parents. But… they weren’t. There was no attachment there. Nothing. It was like looking at empty shells. No Love.

It was distressing.

He watched, waiting, making note of the symbols and the placement of the ritual objects and the technological enhancements. There had to be something here that would help explain why Vlad was having such a hard time, while Danny had transitioned to his present existence without much problem.

He leaned over his not-mother’s calculations, then his not-father’s, made note of the differences. Looked at the fire, the knife, and the carved cylinders. Some of them didn’t feel quite right. One of them had been nudged out of alignment by a soda can put down by not-Jack, shifting the circle, making it bigger. Could that be something?

Vlad leaned over to examine the circle, and, at the same time, not-Jack pushed a button on the tape player, which started chanting. Danny could feel the hole boring into reality before the first syllable was finished. They’d made the portal both too well and too poorly.

Danny reached for Vlad and pulled him back, out of the way of the opening portal.

.

Danny may have made a mistake.

He’d saved Vlad from becoming other. In doing so, he’d changed things, altered this entire make-believe world. The way the story was progressing was no longer the same as his own. Which meant that it might be useless for collecting clues for fixing Vlad, Sam, and Tucker. Mostly Sam and Tucker.

(He’d help Vlad if it wouldn’t hurt his friends, he didn’t hate the man, not anymore, didn’t desire his suffering. But his friends were, of course, his main concern.)

But he couldn’t just leave. He’d made note of all the flaws in the portal, but that wasn’t in any way conclusive, wasn’t a guarantee.

And, in the meantime, his not-parents and not-Vlad had continued working on the portal, which they hadn’t shut down, unlike in the proper timeline. Or had it been disrupted by Vlad? He didn’t remember the exact sequence of events. His parents had never been clear.

But the portal was on, it was working, and it was wrong. Everything was wrong. The portal was in a class of things that should-not-be.

Just like Danny, in this world. He… With the portal, and the way things were going, he shouldn’t exist here, the butterfly effect would keep him from being born, and he was becoming painfully aware of that fact. Literally painfully. It was starting to hurt, being here, a throb in the back of his head.

Or was that the portal?

Either way…

(He couldn’t shake the suspicion that he was breaking things just by being here. Everything was going wrong. So many little accidents.)

(Or was that the portal?)

He kept watching.

It had been… a while, now. It was easy to lose track of time like this, with no one to talk to. Days? Maybe? He’d been drifting, which should have been troubling.

Maybe he should go back. Cut losses.

(Besides, it was disturbing watching his parents flirting with each other. And Vlad. Even if they weren’t really themselves.)

Then his parents wheeled in a… What was that? He walked closer. This was about the same size around as the pillars that had done this to him.

Danny would never forget those, after all.

Something hummed inside him, picking up a kind of resonance between the active portal and the pillar.

The ground fragmented beneath his feet.

Reality followed soon after.

.

He found himself nowhere with nothing. Only nowhere and nothing.

Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no.

What had he done? He’d, he’d destroyed a world, he’d—

There was a gentle, but insistent tug on his chain. He followed it home.

.

He clung to Clockwork’s avatar, gasping, as if he was the only real thing in the world. His emotions were too much, too great, uncontained and roiling. They battered him like a stormy sea.

It’s alright, it’s alright, comforted the avatar. It wasn’t real, and now it never will be. All those worlds where you would not be. All gone.

No. No. No. Horror buzzed in his brain. He couldn’t have destroyed so much.

Never were,continued the avatar, Clockwork apparently oblivious. All disproven. Paradox. You could not be and yet you were. You were in the places you were not. So, now you exist, in all these places, in everywhere that could be, and always will. It stroked Danny, brushing away tears. Only one more to go, until you never were not, my beloved child, until you always were mine, as you were meant to be.

Danny keened into the robes of Clockwork’s avatar, distraught. Wind ruffled his hair.

Considering the point in time in which you were placed, said the avatar, Vladimir will be well again.

Danny looked up, hopeful for the first time in hours.

Mostly. The underlying cause has been removed. You should bring the rest to your… progenitors. They are at least competent in this area.

Danny nodded vigorously and attempted to extract himself from the avatar’s grasp. He was unsuccessful, although the avatar did adjust its grip on him.

You have had a difficult day, it observed. It then presented Danny with a cookie.

Confused, Danny took it.

A gift, said the avatar, Clockwork having evidently returned to his normal laconic mode.

“What’s it made of?” asked Danny, suspicious.

Love. What else?

.

“How do you feel?” asked Danny.

“Weird,” said Sam. “But okay.”

“What was it like?”

Sam shrugged. “It was like…” She waved her hand. “Watching a thousand different movies of my life, but they were all wrong. Like if they were crappy biopics done fifty years after I died or something.”

“Speak for yourself,” grunted Tucker. “I just got a lot of sand. So, so much sand. And sun. Do I have a sunburn?”

“No?” said Danny. “You look fine.”

“Ugh, I forgot you were white. You don’t know what sunburns look like.”

“I’d argue,” said Sam, “but you’re not wrong.” She fell back against her pillows. “I just want to sleep.”

“Same,” said Tucker. “I never want to see the sun again.”

“We’ll make a goth of you yet,” joked Sam, tossing a pillow at him.

“Okay,” said Danny, backing away. “Should I get the lights?”

“You don’t mind?”

“Sleep well,” he said. He hoped they would.

(Because he would not.)

[therenlover]

Would The Danny Bunch Survive A Holiday With My Family?

A/n: In the wake of recent life garbage, I have neglected to write a whole fic, and I’m sorry. In the interim, please enjoy this writing exercise I have put together in the hopes of nailing some characters I haven’t written for in the past in time for a larger project I’m working on! Cheers!

Characters: Laszlo Kreizler, Alex Kerner, Niki Lauda, Andrea Marowski, Ernst Schmidt, and Helmut Zemo

Rating: T

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Mild Misogyny, Mentions of Alcohol/Alcoholism, Mentions of Mental Illness, Non-Graphic Mentions of Death, Minor Spoilers for The Alienist Season One, Minor Spoilers for Goodbye, Lenin!, Spoilers for Rush (2013), Minor Spoilers for The Cloverfield Paradox maybe??? I haven’t actually seen the whole movie, blame Wikipedia if things are wrong. 

Laszlo Kreizler

NO

As the first of all of the Dannys to be put through the ringer, Laszlo Kreizler unfortunately would not survive a holiday with my family.

First of all, this man does not like massive huggy kissy crowds, so he’d already be off his game the second he walked into the packed house. That’s not why he’d die though, surprisingly.  

His downfall would be his status as an Alienist. 

There is simply so much mental illness and childhood trauma present at my family holidays that he would combust within 15 minutes of sitting in a room with all of my relatives.

Even if he were to somehow make it past the introductory phase, my family is nosey as hell, so they’d be grilling him about his arm and his own childhood trauma within the first hour. 

Laszlo, for all of his strength, simply wouldn’t be able to withstand it.

His death wouldn’t come from the initial combustion though. No, it’s not that simple. 

Knowing Laszlo, once he had combusted and entirely lost his composure the first time, he would become extremely intrigued about the interconnected nature of everyones issues with each other and he would start asking questions. 

That’s where the problems would begin. 

Because it’s one thing if my drunk great aunt starts badmouthing her sister at the table for abandoning her 90 year old mother for a lake house with her new boyfriend. That’s fine. 

But when Laszlo hops in and starts picking apart the mommy issues and underlying reasons for their decades long sibling rivalry? 

Oh it would be over for him. 

The yelling would never end. 

And, I have no doubt that Laszlo would start to psychoanalyze whoever started to yell at him, which would only lead to more yelling. 

In the end, someone would throw a probably full and probably fresh out of the oven casserole dish at his head and he’d be unable to defend himself because of his weak arm. 

We’d have to cart him out in a wheelchair and even if he were to technically survive, he’d never come back. 

Therefor, Laszlo Kreizler would fall victim to my family and die before we even got to dessert. 

Alex Kerner

YES

Ah, little baby Alex! A great contender here for holiday survival.

He seems relatively young in comparison to most of the Dannys on this list, though I don’t actually know how old he’s supposed to be. 

Based on his relative youth, he would automatically get points with the fam for not seeming like a creep or sugar daddy. Instead, he could be just about any dude I brought home from college. 

His skillset as a semi-skilled laborer would also earn him some points, seeing as several members of the family are in similar professions.

Alex might get lost in some of the more complex conversations about the local organic scene or the fine details of running a fine art gallery, but he would fit right in with the majority of the younger members of the family, smiling and nodding his way through the conversation. 

His enthusiasm and optimism would brighten the room and leave everyone excited to see him around again. 

There’s also the semi-small detail of him caring for his mother, which would earn sympathy from the older members of the family as they are in charge of caring for my deaf, blind great grandmother. 

Now, all of these aspects have already set Alex up for a successful survival of a holiday dinner with my family, but the real secret weapon he has up his sleeve is what really cements him in place as a survivor. 

What is his secret weapon, you may ask?

Lies.

Alex Kerner is really, really good at lying, and is even better at figuring out increasingly convoluted ways to keep his lies straight. 

If he managed to hide to fuckin’ Berlin Wall coming down from his mother for as long as he did, he could keep a couple of white lies up for appearances if he was asked any potentially embarrassing or weird questions that would make him look bad. 

He could also lie about enjoying my great aunt’s cooking, which is a vital skill for holiday survival in my family. 

Therefor, at the end of the day, Alex Kerner would not only survive a holiday with my family, but he’d probably enjoy it and get invited back for every subsequent holiday he could possibly attend. 

Niki Lauda

NO

Niki is another Danny that falls very firmly into the category of characters that would absolutely not survive a holiday with my family, for many, many reasons. 

First of all, just like Laszlo, Niki is not huge on going to big huggy kissy parties. 

Both adults and children would be all over him the second he walked in the door, which would probably make Niki get very uncomfortable and cagey. 

Little does he know at that point that people aren’t just all over you when you get in the door. 

No, no, no; from the moment you show up to the moment you leave, if you’re at a holiday with my family you are being basically accosted with questions and hugs and conversations that get weirdly personal. 

It doesn’t help that the whole entire house is packed and there are eyes on you at every moment, so he wouldn’t even be able to sneak in a break for air or a cigarette. 

If my own mother can’t sneak out for a smoke when she’s been going to these events her whole life, the new guy who’s still being vetted by the family sure as hell won’t be able to either.

Needless to say, Niki would start to get really, really tired of it all in an hour tops. I’ll give him until dinner at most. 

That’s where things would start getting really sticky.

See, a lovely little fact about the Niki Lauda that lives in my brain, as portrayed by Daniel Bruhl in Rush (2013), is that he’s just a little bit misogynistic. No more than would be period typical, but a little misogynistic.

Another fun little important thing to note is that my family is entirely matriarchal in nature. 

There are only 4 reoccurring male guests at family holidays out of about 20 to 25 guests at each event; My great aunt’s husband of many, many years, the two male siblings my mother has that live in the area, and the young son of one of those siblings. 

Men, specifically boyfriends, simply do not last in my family. They are considered pretty disposable and easily banned from family events after breakups or small mishaps. 

So, not only would Niki not have any other manly men there to chat about sports with over a scotch and a cigarette, he would be surrounded by so much estrogen that he would definitely struggle with his inner asshole even more than usual. 

In fact, we never have sports on, even on Thanksgiving. Poor Niki would be stuck hearing conversations about artisanal candlemakers and how to hand felt a woodland elf puppet.

Back to his downfall, the second he made a slightly sketchy joke about women in the kitchen at the dinner table to my great uncle, his fate would be sealed.

If you thought the yelling at Laszlo would have been bad, this yelling would be ten times worse, because he would be surrounded by like 20 very angry, very defensive, and very strong women waiting to beat the shit out of him and I would not be any help. 

He dug the hole, so he can climb out of it. 

In the end, his death would come when he tried to light a cigarette and calm himself down at the dinner table while trying to rescind his earlier statement, because smoking inside around all the precious textile art? Thats a big no no. 

My great aunt would grab the lighter right out of his hand, light up whatever cocktail she had at the moment, and throw it all directly into Niki’s face.

It would be like crashing his car all over again, only this time he would be surrounded by people who would rather he burn than try to get him out of the situation. 

Moral of the story, Niki would die within the first few hours of a holiday with my family because he made an asshole comment to a room full of women who don’t put up with that shit. Don’t be like Niki, even if you think you won’t get killed for it. 

Andrea Marowski

YES

Andrea is pretty much the polar opposite of Niki here, and I love him for it. 

He is very soft, very kind, very pure, and would never dare to say something rude at the dinner table like a certain racer we all know.

He couldn’t even say something rude if he tried to, because he probably wouldn’t have the English in his vocabulary to say the things he wanted to say even if he intended to say them out loud. 

But let’s be honest here, Andrea would never. 

Even with his limited English, Andrea would appreciate being surrounded by a whole bunch of people who think he’s the sweetest little thing since the invention of cake. 

My great grandmother, despite being almost entirely blind and deaf, would say he looked darling and he would immediately be a member of the family from the moment he stuttered out his thanks. 

Andrea, like Alex, is also relatively young, so he would get points for not being old enough to be my father. 

I feel like, because Andrea was shown living happily in a tiny village by the ocean with two old ladies, he would have an appreciation for craft, so he wouldn’t mind sitting quietly as my great aunt pawns off a handmade blanket from my great grandmother to him. 

He would also happily sit with the younger children and do whatever craft or simple game one of my aunts brought for them that time. 

The cherry on top with Andrea is his skill with the violin. 

My family is one that appreciates fine art a lot, but more than anything we appreciate music. 

I wouldn’t say that any of us are anywhere close to Andrea’s proficiency, but we definitely aren’t terrible, and we all can appreciate the effort, practice, and talent that goes into getting truly good on an instrument like Andrea is on his violin. 

He would be encouraged to play, of course, and he would happily oblige. 

If he felt comfortable enough, I could even see my great uncle grabbing his guitar, my cousin sitting at the piano, and my sister bringing out her own violin to do a little quartet with some simple song they knew as everybody else sang along. 

By the end of the holiday evening, once dinner was served and people were heading to the cars, Andrea would definitely be considered a member of the family. 

Needless to say, he’d survive and pass their tests with better than flying colors, even despite the language barrier. 

Ernst Schmidt

NO

Now, Ernst was probably the most difficult one on this entire list to put into the living or dying category. In the end, though, there were a few things that couldn’t be overlooked that send him into bad territory. 

To be fair, though, he would last the longest out of everyone who would die tragically at one of my family’s holiday gatherings. 

He, like the past two victims, would not be exactly suited for the mushy crowding that’s inevitable when it comes to my family. 

That being said, I think he would deal with it a little bit better than the other two did and would make polite conversation with the family when he could. 

The fact that he was trapped in a packed house filled with drunk people who have several generations worth of beef with each other, though, would start to get him eventually. 

If we consider all of the shit that happened while he was in space to be canonical minus, you know, the earth getting really fucked up, he would probably start to go a little bit nuts while packed together with that many passive aggressive people.

The second someone burst into tears on the way to the bathroom he would start to lose his shit. 

Still, I think Schmidt would probably be fine-ish until dessert was served, because that’s about the time where all the adults are absurdly drunk, so insanity ensues. 

They would start poking at him about his credentials and experiences as a physicist. 

He would answer their questions at first, but, unfortunately for him, the questions would turn more and more personal and uncomfortable as time went on. 

Did he ever still think about what happened up in space? Did he blame himself for not getting things to work correctly? How much did he miss his old world and old life? Did he ever have nightmares about what he saw? How much did it hurt to get shot?

They’d poke and poke and poke in their drunken state until poor Schmidt would snap at them, flying into a slight rage at their insistent probing. 

From there, he would be swiftly asked to leave and then “accidentally” run over while calling an Uber to take him to wherever he’s staying as my drunk great aunt tries to back out of the driveway to drive down the block to her house. 

In the end, Schmidt and his wit would be really close to surviving a holiday with my family , but he would, unfortunately, let his anger get the best of him, and it would be the last thing he ever did. Literally. 

Helmut Zemo

YES, BUT ONLY BARELY

Okay, so my earlier comment about Ernst being the most difficult out of everyone was incorrect. Zemo was, by far, the hardest to put into one category or the other. 

His wit and charm won out in the end, though, and I determined that he would survive one single holiday with my family. 

If he ever came back for a second he definitely wouldn’t make it, but he would succeed in living past the first one. 

Helmut’s problems start, surprisingly, not with the fact that he is a criminal. In fact that doesn’t even cause any problems for him. 

No, instead they start with the fact that he is 43.

I am 99% sure that my mother is 43, and I know for a definite fact that he’s older than one of my uncles who would be present. I, at the time of writing this, am 18. 

Needless to say, literally everyone would be massively suspicious of him and his intentions the second he walked through the door. The amount of money in his bank account definitely wouldn’t help in this situation either. 

The family would warm up to him eventually, though, because if there’s one thing Helmut is good at besides killing people, it’s making people like him even if they absolutely shouldn’t. 

With his expansive knowledge of what feels like literally everything rich and niche, he would slowly win over the older members of the family. Who knew the strange old man Jac brought home was so well versed in the American pottery scene, or that he could name specific jewelry artists from across the world that my family had done business with for years?

My family definitely wouldn’t. At least, not at first. 

Oh how they’d learn, though. 

Another nice thing about Zemo that would allow him to survive is his aggressive politeness.

No matter how many weird glances or dirty looks he got over the course of dinner, he would simply continue to be the best version of himself in the hopes of impressing everyone. 

He would even pretend to enjoy my great aunt’s cooking and get himself seconds, because I’m sure it would be easier to scarf down than whatever he and his EKO Scorpion squad had to eat while serving in the Sokovian special forces. 

On the tail end of reasons he would be accepted, Helmut Zemo drinks alcohol like it’s water, so he would fit right in drinking white wine and cocktails through the night with the rest of the adults. 

((I think he’d totally tease me about not being able to drink with him, but that’s a story for another time. Anyways...))

His slight downfall would come from something entirely uncontrollable by him or anybody else. 

And that something would be my flirty aunt. 

I love my aunt. She’s wonderful in her own special way. 

That being said, I know if a hot Sokovian baron with a nice smile and a fat pocketbook showed up to one of out holidays, even if he was introduced as my partner, she would be going for the kill all night long. 

This would make Helmut more and more uncomfortable as she got more and more drunk, because lets face it, he’s probably not very comfortable with being touched by near-strangers anyways, and being touched by a drunk member of his partners family who is very obviously coming on to him? 

That’s even more difficult to deal with. 

That being said, Helmut is a man who has been shown to be extremely in control of his emotions. 

He would swallow down whatever awkwardness he felt, make it to the end of the night, and, once he had escaped her clutches, he would politely say that he was never going back to another holiday function with my family again, though he would be happy to facilitate me still attending them. 

So, in the end, Helmut Zemo would survive one holiday with his sheer stubborn politeness alone. 

I will say that his patience would absolutely wear thin if he attended a couple more holidays and he would eventually die of a stress induced heart attack after being unable to politely decline my aunt’s advances. 

For now, though, he’s safe.

[whump-town]

God’s Gonna Cut You Down

Hear me out: I have no idea what this is but I’ve got three thousand words of this shit and it just keeps coming so before I throw myself into this new project, I’m gonna let you guys dip your toes in and see if you guys like and then I’m going to keep going anyways but-- 

Anyways, stay tuned for my rendition of Hotch’s backstory:

November 2, 1971

Virginia in the fall finds itself choking on tourists ambling about wherever they can find a high spot to rest. Stopping to watch deer jump out from the underbrush or hear receding birds shrieking their discontent at being found. The mountains draw in lots of attention but they’re hard to miss from a distance and there’s something about woods that draw the curious dangerously close. Moths to the light, there’s something about hearing the woods call out that never makes people question things as much as they should. Never thinking to back away until it’s too late. 

In a 50s Crosley station wagon, Aaron Hotchner is born silently. His father’s large hand over his still, pale chest as he makes no move to draw in a breath. It’s the woods calling his unnamed body-- attempting to lure the baby away from the life that awaits him. In the woods, deep where there is no warmth or chills only comfort and ease. Where he’ll never know the sting of the palm urging his little lungs to work across his face. He’ll be safe from the monsters that await him in the future he doesn’t have to have if he just comes to the woods. To their safety and their love. 

Two blue eyes crack open and for a moment all that is shared in that car is silence. Stuck right between life and death, abated breath. A soft whimper leaves the newborn’s bluing lips, squirming his limbs as he struggles on in this life that he has chosen. His mother pulls herself up to look at her son and husband, fearful of both of their silences that seem to continue to stretch dangerously on. She’s meant only with fear and the sight of her baby’s struggling limbs falling limply as his little chest remains still.

“He’s not breathing, Mary.” 

Aaron Hotchner is born during heavy rainfall, a peculiar way to find Virginia in November. The chill of the outside air rests heavily over him and when he is placed on his mother’s chest she recoils from the feeling. Shocked and overcome with fear for the child she has felt grow within her. The baby who delivered such strong kicks to her ribs and bladder now still and unmoving on her chest. 

“We have to go to the hospital.”

Clutched to his mother’s breast, she makes whispered promises. Attempting to lure her baby closer, to be louder than the woods her husband speeds through. Come home. Come home. She brushes her finger through the mess on his face, wet and sticky. His little arms and legs are drawn tightly to his chest as he rocks back and forth as the car barrels down the road. 

“Just stay,” she pleads. “I’ll protect you.”

The hospital tears them three ways.

His father’s angered shout sounding out behind him, making him jump, and for the first time in all his life, he gives a lively jerk. Little eyes peeling back open and lips parting. “Did daddy scare you?” a nurse coos. She rubs her finger along his sternum, making him squirm away from her and the unpleasant feeling. “There you are, sweetie. Go ahead and cry for me. Let me hear those lungs.” They press a stethoscope to his chest, listening to his lungs and attaching wires onto him. Still nothing.

“He’s a little bluish, hands and feet too.” A nurse coos, trying to get some reaction out of the baby seemingly content on just staring back and allowing his limbs to be pulled and moved at their will. “Heart rate is good. Respirations low, no cry. He’s about a four on the Apgar.” Not good but it’s something.

A priest is called in the dead of the night. He comes down the long winding hall, seemingly floating along a breeze as his long coat snaps back from his waist as he walks. The night is unsettled, he can feel it where his ribs meet his sternum. Just over his heart. Death walks alongside him but it’s not a race, it is up to neither to see how tonight turns. 

The priest enters the room without a knock, the room’s occupants wait for him. He can feel their unease fill the room to its brim. What a way, he thinks, to greet a child into the world. No wonder the poor thing finds itself in such trouble so soon. Born to young parents, not the youngest he’s seen but they still carry that light in their eyes he only sees in the young anymore. He officiated their wedding, the first person to greet them into this new world as Mary and Richard Hotchner. Since that day nearly a decade ago, he has been called to their side many times. The Lord has not found this couple as fruitful as their peers. Much younger couples, in and out of wedlock, have conceived and brought babies to term. 

Today, the priest prepares to pray for another poor soul. To recite scripture and confirm that all in due time, Mary and Richard must have faith. God will give them their chance. Maybe not this time or the times before that but in time. Everyone has their time.

The old priest hovers over Aaron, wrinkled hand resting just over where Richard’s had willing life into his little chest. His palm is met with warmth and if there was a diving rod for the religious, he would know it. As he knows here the shaky breathes of the newborn awaiting the most important decisions of his short life. “He has a good heart,” the old priest croaks. He moves from the bassinet, smiling at Mary. 

She’s a beautiful woman, with or without the bruises marring her pale flesh. The old priest takes her hand, stroking the back of her knuckles while she watches him with fear. She already mourns the child, he feels it. “Born into the rain,” he whispers, with a hopeful smile. “A symbol of promising harvest, you know.” He glances at Richard, sees that distrust and anger that burns brightly in the tall, thin man. He speaks to Richard now, draws the young man in with a voice as old as time itself. “God,” the priest promises, “he’ll do right by your family, Richard. Have faith in him, in that boy.” 

Mary sniffles, shooting a glance at her husband before turning to the priest. “We’re going to name him Aaron,” she tells him, shivering as though feverish. With a shaky smile, she pulls her blanket over her arms, hiding them from view under the look of drawing her limbs closer to draw comfort.

The old priest forces a smile, “it’s a good name. Strong. The name of Moses’ older brother, as I’m sure you already know.” There was once a time when Mary was just a girl in his Sunday school classes with lopsided pigtails and a bright, eager smile. Smart as a whip, it’s what he thought would get her out of this suffocating town. She got herself stuck in Richard’s fence, wire cutting down to the bone, and she learned to stop moving. Now they wait for the flies or something bigger, something worse to come along and end her suffering. No farmer with his sawed-off shut gun. A slow, bleeding end.

Aaron, the priest repeats back to himself. Exalted. Enlightened. He looks over at the bassinet, to the little fist the baby has curled around one of the wires snaking in and around his body. 

Bearer of martyrs.

With a sad sigh, the priest already knows that boy’s fate.

[sonoftatooine]

Whumpay 2021

DAY 14: SLAMMED INTO A WALL

Characters: Anakin Skywalker, Sheev Palpatine

Warnings: Physical assault

Summary: When Palpatine reveals himself as a Sith, Anakin makes a different call. It doesn’t go well.

***

Anakin felt the back of his head connect sharply with the Chancellor's ornate carved wall as he was slammed backwards from the strike he had been about to deliver and pinned beneath the crushing force of Darth Sidious' will like a butterfly trapped on display in a collector's glass case. He saw stars, his still lit lightsaber slipping from his hand and drawing a burning score across the blood red carpet below him as it fell to the ground. Groaning in pain, he tried to fight against the agonising, unrelenting Force grip that held him in place, but Sidious' power was absolute, indomitable. It was as if he were throwing his own power against an impenetrable wall, like the spews of lava falling harmlessly against the shields of a facility on Mustafar, and no matter how he struggled, he could not escape.

Sidious. Palpatine. The kindly Chancellor Palpatine who had always had time to spare to listen to him ever since he was a young child, no matter how trivial his conversation must have seemed to a man who was in charge of the entire galaxy. Palpatine who kept his secrets. Palpatine who had goaded him into killing Dooku, who had revealed himself to be the Sith Lord at the heart of the war that he had lost so many good men in, that had both built him up and whittled him down to half of what he was. Palpatine who had lied to him, had used him for as long as he could remember, along with so many others who he had pretended friendship with. The Jedi. Padmé. He snarled like a cornered anooba as the man approached him, wishing that he did not have the same face, the same gentle smile that he had worn before he had revealed the truth. He wished that he would snarl and rage back, show his true colours. Not look upon him with such unaffected disappointment, even after Anakin had tried to attack him, even while he held him prisoner against a carved stone wall that had probably cost more than Anakin himself had when his value had still been counted in wuipipi.

“You poor, deluded fool.” Despite his words, Palpatine's tone held more pity than anger. “To think that you could strike me down. As if I would ever allow it.”

A twinge in the Force and Anakin's lightsaber was flying into the man's outstretched hand. The old Sith held it up, examining it from all angles before turning off the blade with a smirk. Anakin fought down the urge to shudder. He remembered Obi-Wan's constantly repeated maxim. This weapon is your life. His life in the hands of a Sith. Oh Force—

“I have to admit, this was not the eventuality I expected,” Palpatine said conversationally, as if he were merely remarking on how cloudy Coruscant was this time of year. “Accounted for, yes, but I did not actually expect to have to use any of my contingency plans. Well done, Anakin—you've surprised me.”

“Do I get a prize?” Anakin gritted out.

He let out a yelp, more from shock than pain, as Palpatine drew back and struck him sharply across the cheek with the hilt of his own lightsaber. He felt his skin split, a trickle of blood trailing down from the cut left on his cheekbone.

“I had expected you to run to the Jedi Council,” Palpatine continued, calm and calculated as ever, seemingly unaffected by the sudden violent act. “They would come to enact their little coup and you, wracked with fear for your dear little wife, would rush to stop them and, in the process, seal your fate. But perhaps you don't care as much about Padmé as I thought you did. No matter. There are other ways to get you to turn, and as for the Council, they shall come of their own volition anyway.”

Padmé. Oh, Padmé. He had forgotten about the knowledge Palpatine claimed to possess in his rage. All he had been able to think about underneath the haze of fury was all the pain and the suffering that this man had caused. Of Ahsoka, forced to grow too soon, and nearly condemned to death for a crime she did not commit, framed by a former friend, beaten down by the war that he had orchestrated. Obi-Wan who looked more worn and tired and sad with each day that passed. Rex who had been bred for and lost so many brothers to a sham war as if they were nothing but pieces in a galaxy-wide game of dejarik. And worst of all, Padmé. Padmé who had worked tirelessly towards a pointless goal, trying to bring peace to the galaxy when all the former mentor she had once relied on as Queen—who had used her as a girl to gain power for himself—wanted was violence. Padmé who had spent most of her pregnancy stressed and alone whilst he was trapped fighting in the Outer Rim. Padmé whom the Sith Lord Sidious had tried to have killed under the guise of Count Dooku and the Separatists. Would she die now, not because she had become the target of a Sith Lord, but because her husband had acted with his usual recklessness and tried to strike before he had thought through the consequences of his actions? Or worse, would his actions give Sidious a reason to target her yet again? Had he, in his impulsive rage, doomed his dreams to come true?

“Fear not, Anakin.” Palpatine's lips twisted into a cruel smile, as if he had known exactly what it was he was thinking. Through his haze of panic, Anakin thought he could see a hint of yellow seeping into his eyes. “I will ensure that your wife and child are...taken care of.”

Dread pooled ice-cold in Anakin's stomach at the glint in the man's eye. Oh, Force, he meant— No, no—

“I'll kill you!,” he snarled. He pushed against the man's Force grip with all his might, reaching out in the Force for anyone who would listen, trying to warn them, call for help. “I'll kriffing kill you before I let you touch them. I'll—”

He was cut violently off as the Force wrapped around his throat in an iron grip. He sputtered, gasping for air.

“We both know you cannot stop me,” Sidious said. His voice, instead of the soft-spoken, cultured tones he usually associated with the Chancellor, came out as a dry, vile croak. “Had you submitted to me, I might have considered sparing your little family, but as it is...perhaps the loss of your...attachments will better demonstrate to you the value of the Dark Side.”

“Kriff...you!,” Anakin managed to gasp out around the pressure on his throat. Black spots were appearing in his vision, but he fought past them. Padmé was in danger. Padmé and the baby. He couldn't— He wouldn't— “The Jedi... The...the Jedi will...stop you...”

Sidious laughed, an awful cackle that set Anakin's teeth on edge. His grip tightened.

“No, they shan't.” Anakin's vision filled with darkness. “Sleep, Anakin. You will find the galaxy much changed once you wake.”

[shiversdownyerspine]

9. Closer

Just gonna sliiiiide this over here.

You are finishing up the last of the scramble on your plate, fighting off the lingering fuzzy embrace of sleep with the help of your coffee. So the suspense wouldn't kill you, you had asked Axel if their coming questions had to do with your ability. After all, the three hadn't asked all that much about it.

Axel confirms, and you ruminate over the approaching task, how best to handle it...but are distracted when Oscar and Otto return.

The younger brothers look scratched up and dirtied, but overall in good condition. Although it was kind of difficult to tell who looked worse...maybe Otto. Poor man was still in his long johns. 

Grinning, you tease, "You two alright? Both of you look like you dove headfirst into the blackberry brambles."

Axel snorts. You're not far from the truth.

He subtly signals the two with a pointed dip of his head in warning; their feet are filthy and they are about to track a mess into your kitchen. Sheepish, the younger brothers share a look and head back outside, probably to make good use of your garden hose. 

Not wanting to put it off any longer, you ask for a change in scenery for this interrogation once you are dressed. In the garden, specifically. Axel regards you curiously, but agrees to your request.

You wander over to the sink to rinse your dishes when he taunts, "Thinking of running? We will catch you. No contest."

You blink, "No no, no running. I'm just...eager? To get started? Or maybe to get finished..."

Throwing a look over your shoulder, you return the taunt, "But if I did run, and I made it into the forest? I think I could surprise you."

Indeed, you are a good deal faster and more reactive while in your Phase. At least when you're prepared. It certainly helps having nearly all of your senses improved, but playing hide and seek with three trained assassins? It would be difficult to say the least...but in your forest and lake? Your second home? 

You would have an advantage, even being technically untrained. Perhaps you could give them a run for their money...at least for a little while longer than if you had tried in the tight spaces of your cottage.

Speculation and theorizing is cut short when the lone man in your kitchen says quite matter-of-factly, "Otto caught you."

Pride ruffled, you can't help but bristle, "Okay. That? Was a series of unfortunate events. And in my defense? I didn't have anything to run from, nothing was threatening me. It was just a spider bite."

The eldest doesn't reply, just quirks an amused eyebrow at the memory of you, perturbed and fluffed, wrapped up in his puzzled brother's arms. It was...an interesting day, no doubt.

You fiddle with your wet plate, frowning.

"I was distracted with my lack of gloves, that I had let something so simple slip my notice. Dug my own grave in a matter of seconds. Then I heard the door, and there was Otto and...I froze. He lunged and I couldn't move."

Axel contemplates for a moment, "You wanted to run. Not attack."

He says as a statement what should have been a question, never one to be all that subtle with his demands. You feel your stomach drop a little; given the pieces of your revealed history, maybe he was now beginning to reconsider the threat you could have posed to Otto. To all of them.

Acknowledging his concern was easy, but explaining yourself was going to be a bit complicated.  

"I..I think I have an answer for that? But it's something I'd like to address with all of you. I'm going to get dressed first, I've been in pajamas for far too long."

You know he could simply repeat what you said to his siblings, but it was the principle of the thing. That and you really wanted to take a quick moment to yourself before this all goes down. He doesn't stop you.

Toweling your hands dry, you head for the couch to gather up your sleeping kittens and make your way to your bedroom. Axel returns his attention to his brothers who were currently fussing over the hose; Oscar was currently trying to convince Otto to look inside and see what was blocking the water, all the while he held a section kinked in his hand, waiting for the right moment.

The eldest sibling shakes his head.

Butternut and Pumpkin are curled at opposite ends of your bed; one buried in the pillows at the headboard, the other stretched out dramatically at the end. Both chirp a greeting as you open your door and step inside.

Thing 1 and 2 in hand, you deposit the wiggly babies into their 'room'. The two look at you with what you can imagine is disapproval, breaking your heart as they toddle towards the bathroom door with noisy complaint.

"Don't worry, you'll be let out again soon."

Their litter box training had been going swimmingly. Maybe it was about time to expand their territory? You think it'd go rather well, you'd just have to keep an eye out. Make sure they don't try to leave any little surprises for you and develop a nasty habit from it.

You swear their incessant meowing is growing louder. You sigh, shaking your head.

"The book was spot on when it called this breed talkative."

Taking advantage of the lingering warmth of your sleep with Otto, you decide upon a floral tunic dress with leggings instead of your usual chunky sweater and jeans. It's rare that you can wear a lighter ensemble like this, you'll have to find some way to thank Otto.

He does seem to really enjoy your baking, so maybe something in that vein.

As you dress you find your thoughts sombering as the previous conversation slowly ties you into a knot. You try to reassure yourself and soothe your nerves; you wouldn't have lashed out for no reason, wouldn't have killed them in cold blood. You have control. Besides, you're not a violent person. Surely they know that?

That fateful morning, if Otto had reacted with violence towards you, you would have defended yourself to the best of your ability and removed yourself from the situation once the opportunity presented itself. There had to have been a way around him, around his brothers, right? 

If Axel had decided you were too much of an unknown threat and had shot, you would have feigned death until you could slip outside and decide on the next step. You're fairly confident you could play dead and pretend well enough, despite the pain. The blue-clad man wouldn't have just emptied his entire clip into you, right? 

If you were being realistic, you were only considering the best case scenarios for you and the brothers if things had played out a bit...differently. Because if you thought too long about the worst outcome, your heart would squeeze unbearably tight in your chest and your eyes would water uncontrollably. 

You didn't want to think about what you would have done if the three had subjected you to too much injury and triggered your second Phase.

There was no denying it, you were incredibly fond of the three.

Maybe even a bit...smitten? 

At the errant thought you slap your burning cheeks with your palms, fighting against the helpless fluttering sensation of the heated butterflies in your stomach. Not the time. 

...Wait, does that mean there will be a time?

Focus.

Focus, focus, focus.

With a steadying breath, you head back out into the kitchen. There's something you need to grab first.

"One last thing..."

Axel watches curiously as you pop open a kitchen drawer and rummage around its contents for an item you have stashed away.

"Here we go."

You find what you are looking for wrapped in a familiar kitchen towel; an old paring knife, kept clean and disinfected. You unwrap it a bit, just to check on the condition of the blade as the light glints off the metal.

A minor laceration from this would be just what you needed to keep you in your Phase long enough to hopefully answer all their questions.

You weren't sure you could count primarily on verbally explaining all the aspects of your ability. Some things you had nothing to compare with, not to mention how tongue-tied you were before. You're not all that confident when talking about your ability, as discussing it is still incredibly new to you. Demonstration could be a good approach, all things considered.

As you turn from the counter, a rough hand grips your wrist and pulls your arm up, leaving you to sway unsteadily nearly on tip toe. In your personal space, you can feel the warmth of him without needing to touch. It feels like if you could steal a speck of body heat from one of these men, you'd never feel the cold again.

Axel stares you down, lips pulled into a tight scowl, frowning with familiar furrowed brow.

Oh. 

Probably not a good idea to bring out a knife without context, especially around an assassin. Maybe next time explain first.

"...Sooo...um. I can't...will my ability to activate. I-it's a defense mechanism, remember? It needs something to trigger it."

His face is worryingly expressionless as he looks to the knife in your hand. With deft fingers, he plucks the tool from your grasp, leaving you with the empty towel as he slips it into his pocket without a word.

Did he seriously just...

"...Really?"

The audacity.

Radiating cool smugness, Axel strolls to the screen door and looks pointedly at you. Waiting.

You don't budge.

Turning your attention to your knife block set, you hum, "You know I could just grab one of these, right?"

You assess the assortment, paying less attention to the man now stalking back to you.

"Although I'd much rather these be used for cooking, but what choice do I have? Apparently you have your heart set on being a mother hen-"

Your tirade is cut short as Axel's hands grip your waist to turn you to face him. He bends, curls an arm around your legs, and hoists you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Dumbfounded and indignant, your lips part for some sort of reprimand to leave your tongue. But you stumble over the words.

With an arm across the backs of your thighs to lock your legs in place and keep you steady, he walks completely unburdened once more to the screen door. You brace your hands on his back, feeling muscle shift underneath the material of his white Henley with each step. Well, needless to say, you can't really think of a retort at the moment. Hopefully your dress isn't riding up too much.

You can't help but wonder; is it just your imagination, or are the brothers getting a bit more...grabby with you? But more importantly, you cannot let this man have the last 'word'.

Fighting down the butterflies that have returned with a vengeance, you grumble, "Don't complain if I can't give you all some clear answers without my knife."

The large palm loosely holding your thigh gives a squeeze, followed by Axel throwing a comment over his shoulder to you, "We'll see."

Well now. Axel is honest to god mother-henning you. This was...unexpected? Infuriating? Kind of sweet?

...Oh yes. They're most definitely getting more grabby with you.

[rhmg-au]

I couldn’t resist, okay? The idea came into my head one day and it was like “write me please”, so I did.

The prequel’s next part will be coming soon, so please stay patient with me, I’m no good at being on time-

This is not connected to the ficlets I already made, so you could see this as an alternate timeline if you like.

This AU belongs to @rhmg-au . Please follow them, reblog their art, give them fanart, support them in any way possible, etc.

Charlie and Copper created by FlamingRedAnon.

TW: Blood, gore, death

(Mod Swanno: Read more because of length and content! ^^)

———

Four to one.

It didn’t seem fair, not in terms of battle, but why this fight is happening in the first place.

Four unlucky and unfortunate souls twisted into weapons, machines, their only purpose to destroy the Toppats.

It all began when Right Hand Man was taken away from the clan, just before the launch of the spaceship. His sacrifice made it possible for the rest of the members to escape from a fate they didn’t deserved, at the cost of his freedom and free will. Now, he’s referred to as Green.

A while after the space station was set up completely, Reginald Copperbottom disappeared without reason or warning. Several search parties were sent down to Earth and even around the station, but no signs of him were spotted. No notes or messages were found left by him, only bumping the concern and fear up by a longshot. Toppats were getting killed off at a much faster rate, causing Henry to bring the remaining clan members into the orbital station to prevent more casualties, only allowing them to leave if they have a viable reason to or it’s deemed safe to go back, which it isn’t. After this decision was made, no further deaths were reported. Reginald was only seen again when they raided the Government to get their fellow Toppats back, but he wasn’t the same. He was changed into a cyborg too, against his will, and just like with Right, had his memories wiped clean. New name? Copper.

Charles Calvin was a pilot who worked for their enemy, while he may came from the opposing side, one can clearly see how uncomfortable he was with the General’s choices, and wants to help. Unfortunately, his motives were discovered and he too suffered the same fate as Reginald did. Charlie is what he’s called by now.

Similar to his co-worker, Rupert Price is a high-ranking soldier in the Government, and like the pilot, is uncomfortable with the decisions of the person he takes commands from. But he has another reason why, he’s been trying to convince them to save a friend of his, however they kept denying as he’s just an average citizen who’s not worth saving and it provided no benefit for them if they do. These were more than enough to push him to his breaking point. His life took a turn for the worst when he was caught by the monster behind all of this, and was changed into something he never wanted to become. Before this though, he was tortured mercilessly for defying the expectations of a soldier. Prize replaced his original name.

All of them were standing before her, the only one who could possibly match against them, Sabine Setorion.

She couldn’t believe it.

But another thing that made it even more unbearable was that it was all thanks to her adoptive mother, the one who saved her from dying all those years ago, who treated her like a daughter…Dr. Vinschpinsilstein.

Even after all of the things they did, what she told her about them, she still decided to throw her words and the horrid acts to the wind for revenge.

But this isn’t simple revenge. This was too cruel to call it revenge.

Sure, they held her at gunpoint, made her turn Right into a cyborg, but they had no other choice. How else could they convince her to work on saving his life? Besides, wasn’t saving lives her job? Like how she did for her? No matter how it was demanded?

But…she couldn’t bring herself to hate her.

She’s blinded by her anger, the need for revenge, and has done inexplicably dastardly deeds, but hatred was out of the question.

Even with those conditions active, her care still shone through.

For now though, the only thing she should focus on at the moment was the fight she’s thrusted into.

And it was incredibly one-sided.

No one else could stand against these four walking machines, she’s the only one who could at least manage a short confrontation between herself and them.

But that’s not the only reason why she’s fighting a near hopeless battle.

All of those she ever brought herself to care about would be destroyed if she refused, including her mother.

Galeforce was cruel, there was no doubt about that, but this was insane. Not only was he putting countless Toppats and their lives on the line, and those she calls friends, but even that of his assistant. Just to satisfy his need for vengeance.

Blood spewed from her mouth, her burn had been covered up with the crimson substance that has found its way to the unhealed injury she still possesses to this fateful day. The scar which was sealed off years prior has been reopened in a painful way, the sting lingered with her for the rest of the fight. The stitches had undone, and a new one has been made to criss-cross the wound, effectively creating an X shape on her face.

Pain coursed through the entirety of her being, it was as if she was waking up from a coma but it was a worse version of it, like someone beat you senselessly while you were still unconscious, and you had the misfortune to wake up to experience the assault of agony it brought alongside your awakening.

The metal used to reconstruct her new body has been damaged severely, with five to one, she was barely even breathing. She never harmed anyone, because she knows that all of them are still human, still people who are worth saving, even if some of them are not from her side of the playing field. They were disabled (by her will) for the majority of the battle, only relying on evasion and defense as strategy.

It hurt, physically, mentally and emotionally. Knowing that under these circumstances, there was no real way to win. And to know that those she cared deeply for are forced to watch her eventual demise, and to know that those who have to end her can’t stop themselves.

All she could do was lay there, almost lifelessly, as she heard a command from the General:

“Finish her.”

As they prepared to end her second trial of life, she weakly spoke. “It-It wasn’t your…faults. I-If you c-can hear me, r-remember t-that.” You could hear it if you leaned in close enough, but they were quieter than total silence. They did nothing to help. They couldn’t hear her.

Yet she still tried.

A single, solitary tear escaped from her eye mixing in with her blood, a smile plastered on her face.

This was the end.

Four individual blasts came soon after.

The last thing she heard were screams and scrambling.

And she was gone…permanently.

———

I gotta admit, this was kinda rushed-

But hopefully you enjoyed the end result regardless of shortness and how rushed it seemed.

My poor baby didn’t stand a chance against four cyborgs, there was no realistic way for her to win unless she managed to snap them out of it.

Also I would like to say the reason why she was killed instead of being brainwashed like the rest: Dr. V was now against Galeforce, and unless he figures out how to do cybernetic surgery by himself, or finds another doctor, he can’t have another walking weapon at his disposal, leaving him no choice but to kill off Sabine.

I legit couldn’t think of a name that fitted Rupert’s rehabilitated version of himself, so Prize had to do (and no I did not use his last name as reference for it-)

Maybe I’ll do an alternative route for that possibility, who knows? ;)

Don’t worry, I’m still working on the prequel, procrastination and demotivation are being assholes to me at the moment, but hopefully I can combat them to bring another another work to this AU!

[softlilacmoonlight]

Everybody x Reader - Part Two (Angst Warning)

In group chat (with everybody)

(Y/N): Hey guys!

Everybody: (Commence mass and swift greetings.)

Beel Baby: How are you doing in the human world!?

Luci: I truly hope that you have readjusted well.

Asmo: We miss you! SO! VERY! MUCH!

In private chat with Lord Diavolo

(Y/N): Can I ask you a gigantic favor?

Diavolo: Anything! What do you need?

(Y/N): Can I come back to the Devildom permanently? I know it's a big favor to ask, and I know that it will cause issues with my safety. It's just... I'm all alone here in the human world. I promise I can work! I can continue schooling! I'll do anything!

Diavolo: (Y/N)... of course you can come back! We've all missed you terribly! When can we summon you?!

(Y/N): Gimme an hour! I can pack a quick bag to go and grab the rest later! Could I re-move into the House of Lamentations by any chance?

Diavolo: Of course! Also, from now on it's just Diavolo. When you get here, I need to speak with you for a moment.

(Y/N): Okay! Thank you so much, Dia!

Cue Diavolo processing nickname, and subsequently blacking out for a couple of minutes. Poor demon prince's pounding heart.

(Y/N) pov:

While Lord Diavolo summons everybody to RAD, I quickly pack a go-bag, grab the essentials, and make sure that everything is in order in my apartment. Rushing, I quickly check that the door is locked tight. Lastly, I sit on the couch and patiently wait for Dia to come and get me.

Suddenly, the sound of breaking glass sounds from my bedroom. Before I can even register what happened, a pair of hands force me back onto the couch. They cover and muffle anything coming from my mouth, while the attacker uses his body to force me against the couch making me immobile. No matter how hard I try, I cannot get myself free.

He takes out a cloth from his pocket, and I can't help but panic further. My assailant covers my mouth and nose with the cloth. In a matter of seconds, my brain feels fuzzy and my eyes close. Shutting me in a world of black.

~ With everybody ~

(The angels and Solomon joined them since Lord Diavolo summoned them all)

Third Person pov:

"Lord Diavolo, what is the meaning of this?" questions Lucifer.

To set the mood, Lord Diavolo is bouncing around like a giddy child that just got an early Christmas gift. Everybody is looking at him like he either a) lost his marbles or b) is the funniest thing on the face of the planet. Barbatos and Lucifer are barely containing their displeasure (except Barbatos is a master of hiding it), while Mammon and Levi are trying their hardest not to laugh. Satan and Belphie just watch in pure amusement... no Satan isn't taking a video. What do you mean? As for Beel, Asmo, and the other exchange students, they couldn't care less. They mainly just find it slightly entertaining.

"Lucifer!" exclaims Lord Diavolo in excitement. "I have wonderful news! You guys will never believe it!"

"Then spit it out already. I want to sleep," says Belphie with a heavy groan.

After getting Lord Diavolo to settle down, they re-ask him the question. "(Y/N)! It's about (Y/N)!"

"WHATD'YA MEAN! IS MY HUMAN IN TROUBLE OR SOMETHIN'!" half screams Mammon.

For once, in a blue moon, Asmo goes over to calm down Mammon. You can tell that Mammon is genuinely terrified that something happened. After all, this poor tsundere clings to you like the greedy demon he is. For now, Asmo set aside the normal quips and barbs, trying to take care of his brother. He knows that you'd want him to do so.

Lord Diavolo lets out a grand laugh. "No! She asked to come and stay permanently in the Devildom! I, of course, said yes! She asked to reinhabit her old room at the House of Lamentations permanently! Hence why I called the other exchange students to ask if they wished to rejoin the program or if they simply wanted to visit from time to time."

"SHE'S COMING BACK!" practically everybody screamed.

Mammon's eyes widen in excitement. "I'll have to take care of her again! N-Not that I-I w-want to. YA HEAR!"

"My snacking buddy will be back!" Beel's face looks like a happy little puppy.

Belphie lets out a tired smile. "Snuggles..."

"HUSH! We won't overwhelm her when she first gets here. We'll make her dinner and talk the night away. We still have school tomorrow, after all." responds Lucifer with a cool glint in his eye. Only people who truly knew him saw the fires of excitement in his orbs.

"Don't act like you aren't all excited either Lucifer." jabs Satan.

"Nonsense. The school will be getting a week off for 'important royal business'." states Lord Diavolo in all certainty.

Abruptly, Luke walks over to Lord Diavolo and gently tugs his pant leg, face bright red from having to do so so that the demon prince will recognize that he's there. Lord Diavolo kneels down, which obviously causes Luke's blush to intensify. He glances to Simeon, who gives him a smile and a nod of his head, before continuing.

"Simeon and I have decided that we would l-like to r-rejoin the program." stutters out Luke.

Lord Diavolo shines a gentle smile, all the while Simeon works to cover up his chuckles. "Of course Luke. How about I set up scheduled baking lessons for you and Barbatos?"

"REALLY! I-I mean sure, n-not that I w-want to..." stutters the flushed little angel.

"I am very pleased that I will get to bake with you once more Luke," states Barbatos gently to the flustered angel. Luke just responds with a small smile.

For the first time in this whole conversation, Levi pipes up. "When is (Y/N) coming?"

"Any minute now. I set the portal to grab her an hour after our conversation." he pauses and glances at his DDD. "And... now."

Everybody looks all over the room, eyes wide in excitement. All of their faces holding loving eyes and kind smiles. They just wait. They all know that strong spells like this take a while to be fully completed and properly completed.

Nevertheless, five minutes pass by. Then ten minutes pass, and then fifteen. By the time the twenty-minute mark passes, everybody is officially worried. They can't think of what could have possibly gone wrong.

"Are you sure you set up the time for an hour?" inquires Barbatos to the concerned lord.

Lord Diavolo just shakes his head. "I'm quite certain. I know for a fact we did since we sent texts, and both of us did agree on an hour's time. Here, I'll just try texting her. Who knows? Maybe she just lost track of time. She had to be on her couch when it activated."

In private chat with Lord Diavolo

Diavolo: (Y/N), did something happen? Did you have to leave the couch? Could you please answer? We're all terribly worried.

(Y/N): (Y/N)'s not here anymore. If you ever wish to see her again, then you better follow my orders.

Diavolo: What have you done to her?

(Y/N) Intruder: Nothing yet, but if you wish to get her returned to you, then you better come and follow the clues. Otherwise, I'll kill her. You have one hour to start the puzzle. I'd wish you luck, but quite frankly I don't want you to win.

Third-person pov:

That was the day that the whole Devildom trembled in terror. That was the first time they truly saw the fury of their future king and the full outrage of his closest companions. That was the day that made it clear to everybody. Touch the demon prince's, his butler's, and the seven deadly sins' closest loved one... you will suffer a fate worse than death. The other exchange students agreed with their... passion.

"Time."

"To."

"Save."

"(Y/N)."

And they all went together, as one joined force. The kidnapper will regret this, they swear that on their lives.

[doctors-star]

cowboys? cowboy content?? our sweet sweet traumatised cowfolks? pray tell what you have dreamt up for them

yeehaw

She sits very still and perspires gently, hands folded neatly in her lap. The clock ticks methodically on the mantelpiece, polished to a houseproud shine and sitting alone on a doily like a butte in the desert; in the visions she and her brother had shared, there had been more indulgences in her home than just the one brass carriage clock, the good kid gloves and the polished Windsor chairs, but that could all wait. Her husband, she had found, was not the type of man to make a great many purchases, and whilst he is unwell she can hardly go about spending money on anything but food and medicine for her poor darling.

There is a cough in the other room, harsh and bloody, and she shifts slightly on her chair. There will be time for that later, anyhow.

For now, she is restricted to sitting here in the front room with her knees together and hair neatly pinned away at the base of her skull as she waits in the oppressive, dusty heat. The wind is blowing from the southwest, carrying desert sands up with it towards the prairie, so there’s no chance of opening a window today to shift the air; in between the resolute, monotonous ticking, she can hear sand tapping at the glass and at the boards like a thousand ghostly fingertips, scratching to get in. But her house is one of neatness and cleanliness and pristine, precise pride, so there shall be no entrance for any ghosts or spirits here.

Noelle salts and burns her choices, careful lest they rise. Danser Town will be no different.

The door behind her opens with cautious, quiet motions - she has become used to the sound over the long weeks of her husband’s terrible illness as she sweeps from room to room without disrupting the patient. She turns and stands in one quick, nervous motion, but she has been sat still too long: it is less pretence than she would like that she sways dizzily, vision spotting for a moment. There is a careful hand under her elbow, but no more, and when she leans into it a little another hand catches her other shoulder to hold her steadily at arm’s length. Noelle recovers herself, eyelashes fluttering, and reaches up a hand to fan at her face. “My, this heat! I do apologise.”

“Indeed,” Williams says tightly, hands lingering about her arms disinterestedly to ensure she keeps her feet. “Will you sit? Or may I fetch you some water?”

“Please,” she says, gesturing through to the kitchen. Williams, politely, waits for her to enter first, to seat herself at the table in one of the good Windsor chairs, to direct him in the pouring of a glass of sharp, flavourful lemonade. He declines to take one himself. “But you must tell me,” she says, sipping her cool drink and watching him through her lashes, “how does my dear Tobias?”

Williams shifts his weight, resting his hands on the back of the seat he also declined to take. “Ma’am, you know I am not a doctor,” he prefaces carefully.

She does know. She would not have let this man cross her threshold otherwise.

He drums his fingers on the wooden hoop and she braces to respond to bad news. “Your husband is getting worse,” he says firmly, eyes fixed on his own hands, “and there is nothing I can do - ah, nothing I can give him that will make him better.”

Her little gasp echoes in the quiet. Noelle pats at her cheeks with a handkerchief; Williams, politely, looks away. “Is there really nothing you can do?” she presses, playing the dutiful, caring wife almost by rote, now. “You are sure - there is no medicine, no-”

Williams’ gaze snaps to her. It is not so much the spitting fury in his glare that makes her recoil, fingers floating defensively to her sternum, as surprise at it coming from this corner. Will Williams has always been small and polite and harmless, prone to tipping his hat politely at people, and listening to old folks gripe about aches and pains, and crouching on rocks in the river for hours to look at plants and fish and things nobody else cares for. She sees him most often swept up in the dust cloud which follows Holden, Morin and McPherson as they roll all unruly about the town, and maybe it’s only in comparison to them that Williams looks so deeply unthreatening - but the man lets little children push him around, so. She does not think it unreasonable that she had not expected his ire.

“I can advise him to take some morphine for the pain,” Williams says, very slow and measured in a voice like banked coals, “and to watch what he eats and drinks. More than that, for either of you, I will not do.”

Noelle feels abruptly very cold. There is no sound but the distant ticking, an occasional violent cough from the back room, and the sand tapping at the glass like so many revenant ghosts.

Dying does not make a universal sound for all folks. You can’t listen out for it, no matter what some preachers might say; ain’t no choirs of angels, no whispering ghosts, no knocking at your chamber door. People die in so many ways, see, and it takes them all different. Sometimes death sounds like gunshots and screaming, sometimes like long, drawn-out silence and rattling, bloody coughs.

And sometimes, death sounds like watch what he eats and drinks. More than that I will not do.

Noelle sits frozen, her fate hanging from threads in this strange, nervous man’s thin fingers. Williams glances at the window, and sighs deeply. He steps around and folds himself into the chair, looking much smaller now he no longer looms over her like some great spindly crow. “Tommy reckoned I never should have come out to attend Mr Lloyd,” he says conversationally, turning in his seat to pour himself a glass of lemonade which he places on the table but does not drink. “He doesn’t like your husband awful much. Some daughter of a friend of an aunt, or something, used to char here before you married, fixing meals and scrubbing the boards and such. Mr Lloyd, he - well. I understand that her sweetheart was the doting type, see, so it shook out in the end, only they had to get her out to his place in the city awful fast and they married in an embarrassing hurry. People’ll always whisper that that baby doesn’t look like his pa, though.” Will pushes his glasses up his nose and leans back in his chair to fold his arms and watch her carefully, trying to work out if she had known that. If that, or something like it, was what excused the little labelless bottle behind the tin of tea. Noelle schools her features and attempts to look more unsurprised than she is. She would have expected something poor of Tobias, but nothing quite like this. She had known no specifics. Williams raises an eyebrow briefly at whatever he finds in her face. “Tommy only let me come see Mr Lloyd because I said I’d look in on you and make sure he wasn’t knocking you about any.”

Noelle raises an eyebrow in challenge, sipping her drink. “Do you worry about that, Mr Williams?”

He doesn’t cower or dodge her gaze, which she doesn’t quite expect. “I worry about plenty, Mrs Lloyd,” he says calmly, “but I don’t worry so much about you getting into a situation you couldn’t get out of on your own. Incidentally, Tommy’s gonna swing by and pick me up in-” he leans the chair back on two legs to peer at the carriage clock in the other room “-well, any time from now, since he’s late.”

Noelle hides a smirk in her lemonade. She must admit to quite liking this side of the town’s nervous naturalist; Holden would likely skin poor Williams if he knew what Will knew, and what Will was doing anyway. It was smart of him to bring a buddy, but it meant that he had known even before today what she was doing, and he had come anyway. “You’ve awful confidence in me,” she says, batting her eyelashes to see what he’d do, “for a little lady on her own. Why, as my husband is ill, I haven’t even got a strong man to take care of me.”

Will’s brow furrows slightly in apparent confusion in response to her slight flirtation. “No, you don’t,” he says, as though unsure what that should have to do with anything.

The surprise of it makes her laugh despite herself, though that does seem to worry Williams a little. He keeps turning the lemonade, undrunk, between his fingertips, making it rattle slightly on the table, and his eyes frequently dart to the clock on the mantelpiece to note how late his friend is. It loosens her tongue somewhat; Noelle is so frequently entirely honest with people, and it is oddly refreshing to stop talking in double meanings and half truths. She wants him to stay longer in this oddly honest space, where she had never really imagined herself being, and tell him so.

It reminds her of talking to Jonah, a bit, even though a man more unlike Jonah than Will Williams there never has been. Everything seems to remind her of Jonah, now that he’s gone.

“I had thought, once,” she says, watching his face but keeping her tone light, “that when a widow I might marry you.”

As expected, Williams looks poleaxed - quite blindsided by the idea. “I - don’t think you would have,” he says stiltedly.

She waves a hand. “Oh, not now, obviously.” She couldn’t possibly marry a man who has something to hold over her. Noelle could rule Will well enough, but - there was that flash of rage at being made her alibi, her dupe, and he could always ruin her.

“No, I mean - I wouldn’t have-” Will winces and tilts his head, uncomfortable. “I’m not - the marrying type, I think.”

Oh. Noelle shrugs; she could have made that work, too, but it would have been a terrible effort to drag him to the altar, and likely not worth it. “And your Tommy Morin - is he the marryin’ type?” she says, laying the implication on thick. “Or is it Finn Holden? McPherson, now, he’d be disappointing an awful lot of ladies, but…”

The blush spreads from his cheeks at speed, turning his fair northern complexion blotchy and red. “All my friends are morons,” he tells her flatly. “Would you marry ‘em?”

Noelle tilts her head to concede the point. “Naw, you always were the best prospect of the bunch.” Will goes, if possible, yet redder. He looks so like a kid, then, that she cannot help it; he reminds her, again, of Jonah when they were younger and running cons smaller than this one just to eat and even though they were the same age they had ever tried to protect one another. She wants to protect Will, now. “I won’t tell anybody,” she says seriously, and his eyes flick to her and squint, examining her face for sincerity. “You can - whatever you do about Mr Lloyd’s...condition. I won’t tell anybody.”

He tilts his head slightly, like he’s listening for something. “Why not?” he says cautiously.

Noelle turns her gaze on the table and her neatly folded hands there. Sometimes she tries so hard to look respectable she worries that it’s sinking in, making her really into those women who sit diminished and demure at their husband’s pleasure.

Tobias would shoot Will himself, probably, without even troubling the sheriff.

“Because I reckon a person ought to be punished for what they’ve done, not what they are,” she says eventually. “That seems...fair.”

Will nods sharply. “Suits me,” he says, a little too quickly. “But I’m not going to tell anybody about your husband, either.” Now it is her turn to cock her head at him, mirroring like a sharp-faced eagle competing for prey. Will shifts his glass again. “I don’t figure that many people are going to miss him awful much,” he says thoughtfully. “As, as long as no-one else falls ill like him, then, I suppose that’s all right. And - sometimes - people do bad things to bad people. Maybe, maybe he dies, and another aunt’s friend’s daughter has only the kids she wants to have with the man she wants to marry. Maybe you live unbruised. Maybe - maybe you pay your bills at the general store quicker than he did and German can afford credit for a starving family whose kids survive the winter.” Will throws up his hands. “I don’t know.”

Noelle looks at him for a long moment. “But you want to believe it.”

He sighs massively and leans forward to prop his elbows on the table and bury his face in his hands. “God,” Will says, the word muffled and cracking down the middle, “yes, I want to believe that. Of course I want to believe that.”

Noelle reaches out carefully and places her fingers on his forearm lightly. “Will, I think - whatever you’ve done, I-”

He leans back, her fingers falling away as he scrubs at his face. “I haven’t done anything,” he says sharply. “That was - that was someone else, and long ago, and - nothing.”

She doesn’t believe him. She doesn’t even get the sense that he believes himself; rather, that this is something he is attempting to persuade himself is true. But over the sound of the sand on the glass there comes the sound of boots and spurs, and Tommy Morin hollering for Will to come out quicksmart, for something’s gone terribly wrong and his expertise is required, so she never gets to ask. She supposes he wouldn’t tell her anyhow.

Will scrambles to his feet, collecting up his leather bag with a sigh of worried resignation. “Well, ma’am, that’s me,” he says, abruptly all polite once more, and Noelle almost - misses him. The other him, who had been honest and angry and not the moral stickler he had been pretending to be. “I don’t suppose you’ll need me out here much longer.”

“I suppose not,” she agrees, and passes him his hat. What she’ll do then, well… But certainly, Tobias Lloyd does not have long left to keep troubling Will Williams.

He turns to the door, but the wind suddenly picks up; the whole house is briefly sandblasted, the shingles drumming with the vicious, sharp stones, and Tommy quits his yelling to cough and spit. Williams makes a face which he cannot quite help, and Noelle must take pity.

“Here,” she says, passing him the glass of lemonade he had abandoned on the table. “Seems you might want it out there.”

He glances between her face and the glass and back again. And then, carefully, reaches out to accept it. Will drinks quickly, watching her face, and passes the glass back. “Thank you,” he says softly, and for a long moment Noelle wants to thank him too - for listening, and for believing that she might have the right of it, and for drinking her lemonade.

But then he pulls his neckerchief up over his nose and mouth and departs into the sandstorm, Tommy sparing only a moment to tip his hat at her before grabbing Will’s elbow and continuing to yell through the wind about something having happened to Finn’s wrist during undisclosed activities and now needing bandaging. Will twists over one shoulder to offer her an amused, exhausted look and a brief wave as he is hauled away into the dust, and Noelle stays standing in the doorway to watch them go with sand swirling around her ankles and encroaching into her pristine, proper home.

She leaves the door open a while. She’s never really wanted to be upstanding.

[spooky-luvur]

Hi! So i was the anon who requested the Dutch with a male s/o who had a abusive family. Can you do a part 2 with the reader just having PTSD and cuddle/fluff shit ensues

Hi!

I told myself I would start working on this right when I got it, like I did with the first part, but I got distracted replaying Oblivion all day, so I felt bad and put this together after that

Forgive me if I get something wrong. I personally don’t have PTSD, but my sister does, so I hope I have enough to go off of

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(Warnings: ptsd, mentions of abuse, language)

(Sorry for any spelling/grammar mistakes)

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At first, everyone was skeptical. But after seeing how you flinched at nearly every sudden move and have to constantly be by Dutch or else you start panicking, they decided to lay off.

Dutch had taken you in, brought you to his camp, introduced you to his family, and told you no one would ever touch a damn hair on your head again or he would bring them hellfire.

He’d saved you from a fate worse than death. You owe him everything. (suppose we can guess what choice (m/n) makes at the end of chapter 6)

Everything was fine, but...there were a few members you were more wary of than others.

Micah Bell and Molly O’Shea.

You and Dutch hadn’t...done anything...to make it seem like you were together. But the way he’d talk to you...look at you...it made those two stare. For different reasons.

The ladies of the camp had told you before you got here, Molly and Dutch were together. But just the day before, that ended, for reasons unknown to the camp. Now, the woman would give you odd stares from across camp. It made you tense, but Dutch would lay a hand on your shoulder and steer you away.

Now, Micah, was a different story.

Sometimes he would follow you around camp, just to see you duck and hurry away. It would make him laugh to see you scared.

He was like pa.

Today, Dutch and Hosea, another kind soul, had gone into town to attempt to rob some other poor fool. It was the first day without Dutch, and so at first, you only stayed in the tent. Until there was a voice from outside.

“Mr. (M/n)?”

You perk up. It was the young boy, Jack.

You see he’s holding something colorful in his hands once you exit the tent.

“Hi, Jack.”

“Hiya (M/n). I was gonna make necklaces. Do you wanna help me? You looked sad. Is it because Uncle Dutch isn’t here?”

“I’ll be okay, Jack. Don’t worry,” you give the boy a smile. “Now how about those necklaces?”

“You gotta twist the stems like this, see?”

“Got it.”

You and Jack sit by the fire in peace for a few more minutes, twisting and twirling the flowers around each other before there’s a loud scoff. Both of you look up, but you immediately duck your head back down.

Micah narrows his eyes, looking between you and the boy. His lips curl intro a mean grin.

“Careful Jacky boy, I wouldn’t spend too much time with ol’ (M/n) here. Wouldn’t want him to *rub off* on you the wrong way.”

Jack looks uncomfortable, and so you glance up and do something you know you’ll regret,

“Leave him alone, Micah.”

He laughs, loudly, attracting the attention of nearby gang members.

“Finally grew some balls, did ya??”

Jack stands, you following a moment later. The boy glances at you before running to get John.

“Didn’t think you’d have it in you to do much of anything, ‘specially since Daddy Dutch isn’t here to baby you.”

He steps closer, nearly making you fall back into the fire.

His hand suddenly snaps up as if he’s about to hit you, and this time, you do fall back. But strong arms catch you before you get burned, pulling you away.

You don’t feel it. You can’t hear the yelling around you. Your ears are ringing, everything’s muffled like a shot just went off right by your head. Your arms are wrapped tightly around your head, blocking off anything and everything.

When Micah raised his hand, you saw your Pa. In that split second, you saw all the times when he would do the exact same. Heard all the yelling, all the cursing. Felt all the beatings. Felt all the blood. The bruises. The cuts, the scars.

For several moments, you thought you were back there. Back at that horrible place, surrounded by those horrible people. Someone yells your name. A hand grips your arm, and you let out a terrified shriek, curling up tighter, away from the touch.

A choked sob leaves your lips as your arms are pried away and warm hands grip the sides of your face.

All the fear melts away once your eyes meet Dutch’s. He’s talking, his lips are moving, but you don’t hear it. All you can focus on are his wide, brown eyes.

“...kay, son, you’re okay.”

You blink, eyes overflowing with tears. It takes you several moments to regain yourself. It also takes you several moments to realize you’re no longer in camp, but further away, surrounded by trees.

“(M/n)? (M/n),” you’re lightly shaken.

Eyes still wide and brimming with tears of fear, you finally face Dutch, his name leaving your mouth, sounding like a kicked puppy.

He only looks at you with a tight face, but before he can say anything else, you slump against him, sobs racking your body. He sits back against a tree, pulling you between his open legs. He lets you bury your wet face into his chest, one hand stroking your back and the other buried in your hair.

You stay like that for several minutes, no words being exchanged.

After a long while, you stop crying. Your breath is still ragged, and you feel weak and tired, but you have enough strength to lift your head.

“I’m so sorry, Dutch, I-“

“No, son, don’t you be sorry,” he lets your head, being uncharacteristically gentle and kind. “Your reaction, with what you went through, was natural. I...apologize for Mr. Bell. I will speak to him.”

You sniff, pushing your face into the mans neck. He smelled of whiskey and cigars.

Dutch sighs. “I promise you, from now on, you’ll have a good life. Not always an easy one, but a better one.”

“Thank you, Dutch.”

“Of course, son.”

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posted 7-1-20

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