#involuntary sedation tw

[direwombat]

it's been seven days since our last wednesday... tagged by @madparadoxum and @cassietrn for wip wednesday and also tagged by @henbased and @simplegenius042 for a last line tag (tysm all~ <;3) tagging @socially-awkward-skeleton, @adelaidedrubman, @detectivelokis, @river-ward, @inafieldofdaisies, @vampireninjabunnies-blog, @euryalex, @clonesupport, @schoute, @strafethesesinners, @strangefable, @shallow-gravy, @deputyash, @harmonyowl, @voidika, @g0dspeeed, @gaeadene, @ivymarquis, @neverthesameneveranother, @josephslittledeputy, @sstewyhosseini, @aceghosts, @purplehairsecretlair, @poetikat, @wrathfulrook, @confidentandgood, @trench-rot and anyone else who has something they want to share! chapter 5 of katc startin off with the cleansing :) here's a slightly cleaned up excerpt from one of my writing sprints yesterday. tw for attempted drowning

[John’s] blue eyes pierce through her and his teeth glint nefariously, almost glowing pearly white in the moonlight.

She comes to a stop in front of him. Another cough rattles from her chest and a violent, involuntary shiver shudders through her.  

The book in his hand snaps shut and his arm darts out to stop the Peggie escorting her. “Not this one,” he says. With a shake of his wrist, he hands the Book of Joseph to the man and stalks forward, crowding into her space. His tongue darts out to lick his lips and he grins wickedly. “This one’s not clean.”

Sedated as she is, Sybille is unable to duck out of the way. Her vision swims, and all three of him close in. He moves like a viper. His hands encircle her throat, and with the weight of his entire body he pushes her back into the river. 

She barely has enough time or wherewithal to suck in a deep breath before plunging back into the frigid waters. Not that it does much because the second she’s submerged, John is strangling her. His thumbs press heavily against her windpipe with the intent to kill. 

A stream of bubbles comes rushing from her mouth as she screams. Her mind goes entirely blank, a surge of adrenaline shooting down her spine and she thrashes against him. There’s no strategy to her movements, just a primal kind of fight —a brute force that comes from having no other choice. There’s no thought, just sheer instinct and will to survive. 

Her foot makes contact with the side of his knee, causing it to buckle and he releases her. With flailing arms, she breaches, desperately gasping for breath. A pair of hands grasp at her, but she lashes out again, clawing blindly. Her blunted nails dig into soft skin, and with as much force as she can muster, she digs in, raking down as hard and deep as she can. 

A howling cry of pain echoes into the night. 

A set of large, strong arms loop underneath her armpits, hauling her from the water. Her back is pressed up against her Peggie Guard’s chest, and he keeps her pinned there. She kicks and screams, trying to reach behind her to claw at her captor in a frenzied attempt to tear herself free.

John staggers back, bending over and clutching at his face. Blood oozes from between his fingers, dripping into the water, and he hisses a curse. When he pulls his hand away, his eyes are wide. A series of deep scratches mar his face, dragging from his forehead down his cheek, broken only by where his eye is protected by his brow and eye socket. He stares in astonishment at the red staining his palm. 

His mouth hangs agape and his brows knit together.

Astonishment turns to insult and insult then turns to outrage. His lips curl into a snarl and his gaze darts back to her. A growl slips through his clenched jaw and he narrows his eyes in a glare. “Animal!” 

She bears and gnashes her teeth in response. With a feral grunt, she tries to lunge at him — finish the job, take his eyes — but her guard keeps her restrained. 

John scrambles towards her, and when his hands wrap around her neck again, he squeezes. Her hands fly up to grasp at his wrists, trying to pull him off her and her guard releases her. John forces her back, overpowering her, but before she’s forced under for a third time, something stops him.

Clear as a bell, Joseph’s voice rings out from the riverbank. “Do you mock the cleansing, John?”

John freezes and his grasp around her neck loosens. Slowly, he rights himself and pulls her back up onto her feet. His hands slip from her throat to fall impotently by his sides. Fear and guilt both flash across his face before his eyes glaze over. He bows his head, staring vacantly into the rippling water, and his shoulders hunch as he curls in on himself. He shifts his weight and takes a step back, revealing the sight of his brother standing a few yards behind him. 

“No, Joseph,” he murmurs, but is immediately hushed. 

[phoenixyfriend]

For your suddenly omegaverse au what exactly happened? Like I think obiwan and Anakin hop over from cannon verse to omegaverse but I am unclear on if there already existed obiwan and Anakin in omegaverse. Did they die early or do they just not exist or are they just not force sensitive and therefore not a part of the order? Is there still a sith conspiracy around Anakin?

Context: Original Post, Surrogacy, Worldbuilding, Obi-Mom, Soap Operas

So, from the original post:

There is no preexisting Anakin in the Omegaverse

Obi-Wan and Anakin just straight up don’t exist until they drop headfirst into the council room, already covered in blood.

To clarify: There has never been an Anakin Skywalker in this AU. There has never been an Obi-Wan Kenobi.

They don't know this for sure when they land in the AU, though. All they know is that the Jedi have no record of either of them. They figure, well, maybe they just got lost in the shuffle. Anakin wasn't found until he was nine, after all, and that was only by great coincidence.

The rest of this post has almost no mention of the omegaverse elements, FYI.

Warning: References to the Tusken massacre, explicit sedation and isolation of a mentally unstable individual threatening violence.

I don’t want to make light of institutionalization and involuntary holds, but Anakin is a character with a history of violence talking about repeating such an act, and that’s... a bit of an extreme case.

------

It's not that hard to convince the Temple to let them run a mission that lets them stop by Tatooine or Stewjon. Anakin cares a lot more, so Tatooine it is! Obi-Wan can tell there's something sketchy going on with Anakin's particular anxiety about this, but he rolls with it. Anakin was very specific about the timing for some reasons, and at this point, it's easier to just let it all play through.

They go well after the whole “congrats, you’re omegas... somehow,” thing has happened, a month or so before Geonosis would have happened. Obi-Wan has managed to help the council sabotage and delay the Separatist side of the war enough that they’ve gained... maybe a few weeks, maybe a few months. Just a little more time to keep a few more people alive. Nobody’s reached out to Kamino yet, and Jango isn’t staging a failed assassination to draw someone in, either. They’ve bought enough time for Anakin to spend his vacation time checking in on his mom seeing if he exists here, and Obi-Wan can go with him.

They get to Tatooine. They wander about, and Anakin doesn't actually explain where they're going, but takes them straight to where the Lars farm is. Obi-Wan lets Anakin tell him that it was the Force that led him to the right area. Anakin can sense that his mom is in there, and Obi-Wan chalks up the relief from his former padawan to 'she's here and we don't have to look for her.'

Anakin is... panicking. Just a bit. What if he shows up and it turns out this reality's Anakin is off doing something completely unrelated and she realizes he's the wrong person? Or what if she doesn't recognize him and he calls her Mom anyway? What if he fucks up and says something stupid or just starts crying on her? She'll think he's insane.

Obi-Wan... takes over.

Anakin stays hidden, listening. Obi-Wan knocks on the door, and asks if there's a 'Shmi Skywalker' in residence. Someone in town mentioned her. He explains that he has a young friend of about twenty years--they're not sure, exactly, because the friend doesn't know his own birthday, but it's about there--who happens to be a Skywalker, and they're trying to see if they can reconnect him with a parent. They don't have much to go off of other than the surname... the Shmi that lives here wouldn't happen to have ever had any children about that age?

No. She hasn't had any children of her own blood, actually, her only child is her stepson, but she'd be happy to meet this other Skywalker, if he's in the area. It's always nice to find family, and connecting with those that were separated from you is a big deal on Tatooine. She's not going to look a gift bantha in the mouth.

(Cliegg, dear, put down the rifle.)

Obi-Wan promises to let his friend know, bids them goodbye, and goes to find Anakin.

Anakin is having a bit of a breakdown.

As one does.

Anakin insists that they stick around for a bit, that they do what they can to protect the farm, because that's his mom, even if she's not really his mom, and Obi-Wan can tell there's a Lot Going On here. He assumes it's because Anakin's upset his mom doesn't know him, which is a little irrational on account of their two options being "Anakin doesn't exist (and so Shmi doesn't know him)" and "Anakin does exist (but Shmi doesn't know this Anakin, so she still doesn't know him)," but Anakin's not a very rational person.

Obi-Wan thinks tamping down the current crisis is probably a little more important than chastising Anakin's attachment issues, mostly because Anakin's hands are shaking, and he's looking a little wild-eyed, and like. Obi-Wan's not great at dealing with Anakin's many and varied emotions, but he's learned at some point when it's best to just... roll with it Until There's Less Risk of Stab or Sobbing Laughter.

He helps figure out some minor fuckery with the Force to hide the family in the homestead behind them from visitors, and to warn them to hide when someone comes by. It’s not a lot--mostly just meditating and asking the Force for a helping hand--but it’s nice.

Except, well, Anakin keeps fidgeting. He keeps panicking. He has them coming back almost daily for a week, always too scared to talk to his mom but insistent on protecting her, and always looking at the calendar. Obi-Wan wants to get back to the Temple, but whatever the actual hell is going on with Anakin is too big to just ignored.

A specific day comes and goes. Anakin is a mess of jitters and nerves, and finally Obi-Wan asks just the wrong (right?) question, and... they visit Shmi.

Anakin says they can talk later, he just wants to see his mom One Last Time.

(Obi-Wan is getting more and more worried, but he sits through the incredibly awkward meeting between Anakin and his alt-universe mom, watches as Anakin has no idea what to say and almost cries, and Shmi just kind of lets him do that and Beru--a sweet girl, Obi-Wan thinks, and very practical--tells him that this is all very normal for reunited slaves.)

(Obi-Wan wonders if maybe there’s some stuff Anakin never told him about how being a slave affected him.)

(Obi-Wan had thought they’d moved past most of this, but..)

The meeting ends. There’s hugging.

They get back to the ship, and Obi-Wan gets to watch Anakin fall apart. Obi-Wan gets to watch Anakin cry and scream into a pillow, hyperventilate and nearly punch a hole in the wall as he rages about how it was all for nothing! Obi-Wan gets to watch Anakin break into a million pieces in a way he’s never seen before.

Obi-Wan gets a confession.

Anakin tells him about the Tuskens.

It’s not an easy conversation. It’s not a short conversation, either. Anakin’s full of pain and misery and rising guilt, talks about how he’s been asking himself if it would be easier to keep his mother safe if he just killed them all now, except Obi-Wan would know, and be disappointed, and sure the Chancellor had said that they were little more than rabid animals, but Anakin doesn’t think he can kill the younglings again when his mom is still fine, and--

Obi-Wan sedates him.

He wants to say that he’s not proud of this, but... Anakin isn’t well. Anakin isn’t well in a way that is currently, specifically, revolving around doing extreme violence. Anakin is talking about going out and committing a slaughter as preventative maintenance.

Anakin stays sedated until they get back to the Temple, and he’s put in Force-suppressant cuffs--Obi-Wan quietly tells them to use something that can’t be sliced or taken apart by a droid specialist, and to avoid collars because Anakin was a slave for nearly a decade, and has a lot of traumatic associations--and in an isolated room.

It’s not a cell. Not technically.

He can’t just leave, though.

Obi-Wan hates himself for it, just a little. He doesn’t want to be doing this, not to his padawan, his brother, his son, but... a massacre. Even the younglings, he’d said.

(“He said he didn’t think he could do it again,” Obi-Wan mutters, half to himself and half to the mind healer that asks for his rundown of the situation. “I think he knows it was wrong, but...”)

(But he still did it, of course.)

It’s... better than Obi-Wan feared, but worse than he hoped.

Anakin is emotionally unstable. He has been, for a long time, but he’s usually functional. When the mind healer isn’t directly poking at his worst wounds, Anakin can more or less pass for... not okay, necessarily, but no worse than anyone else in the war had. He can say the right words. He can do a joint meditation. He can talk about philosophy the way a Knight that’s taken all the right classes does.

But part of Anakin still holds to the idea that the Tuskens deserved to die.

“This is my fault,” Obi-Wan whispers, more than once, resting his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. “I should have...”

“He was an adult,” says Mace, who isn’t Mace, not the one that Obi-Wan knows, but a newer friend, one that’s still figuring how to act around him. “Young, but still an adult. He made that choice.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t answer. Things aren’t that simple.

“The timing can’t have been a coincidence,” Obi-Wan mutters to himself, later on, but in the same spot, and the same position.

The Quinlan of this universe shrugs. He knows Obi-Wan better than most, right now. Psychometry’s helpful that way, and sharing Obi-Wan’s heat hadn’t hurt. “Seems likely. You said Sith were involved and setting traps, and a kid like yours, with that much power and trauma... ripe for the molding.”

Obi-Wan whines, and then catches the noise and stuffs it back down, locks it up tight with the other ‘instinct’ things he doesn’t like to think about having. The sound already has Quinlan shifting closer, and the smell is... intended to be comforting, he thinks. Reacting to his own distress, which he’s probably just pumping out right now, because he still doesn’t know how to--

“Can I help?” Quinlan asks, and Obi-Wan lets him.

Someone gets through to Anakin, maybe, or he just lets himself be ground down, or Obi-Wan’s entreaties that he can’t teach Ahsoka until he understands his crimes get through. He won’t be trusted around the clones until the Jedi can trust him to do the right thing, they inform him.

“I wouldn’t hurt the clones.”

“Nobody’s going to believe that until you understand your crimes and truly, actually feel remorse for them.”

There wasn’t a crime, technically. Not in this universe. That tribe is still alive, here, unknowing of the fate they escaped by dint of Anakin talking himself down from committing another slaughter.

(He tells the mind healer it’s because Obi-Wan was there.)

(He might have done it, he says, if he hadn’t thought Obi-Wan would be disappointed in him.)

(He says it like it’s a foregone conclusion, that Obi-Wan’s opinion is worth more than the horror of what he might become.)

“We’re going to keep an eye on anyone talking to Palpatine,” Shaak tells him one day, after Anakin’s been mental instability hold for two weeks. “We don’t know for sure how far the similarities extend from your universe to ours, but given everything else you’ve been right about...”

“That bad?” Obi-Wan asks.

Shaak grimaces, fangs glinting in the light. “I want to believe we’d have never allowed a child into such a position, but I can’t know what political leverage may have been used in your dimension... whatever reason was had to put Skywalker in those rooms, we know the consequences now--”

“What did he do to my padawan?” Obi-Wan demands, because Anakin won’t even tell him that. Anakin hasn’t mentioned Palpatine since they left Tatooine. Not to Obi-Wan.

“Nothing physical,” Shaak manages. “But the lies he told and the suggestions he planted... it’s good they haven’t met again yet in this life. We’ll all be keeping them far apart.”

He wants to take solace in that. “Why do you know before I do?”

“Skywalker values your opinion,” she says. “Only yours. He doesn’t want you more disappointed in him than you already are, so much of what is relayed to the council as a matter of security goes no further, but this was deemed necessary to share. He agreed to it, if you worried we’d broken his confidence.”

Anakin’s therapy would normally be entirely private.

Anakin’s therapy would normally not be in response to confessions of mass slaughter.

He hasn’t asked to be let out, which Obi-Wan hopes is a sign that he realizes at least subconsciously that he was in the wrong. The mind healer says he could have been released under watch by a Master probably a day or two after he arrived, but seems to be drawing some kind of comfort in knowing he couldn’t hurt someone even if he tried.

Obi-Wan is Anakin’s emergency contact. His next of kin. His healthcare proxy. Anakin has a right to privacy, minor as it is in such a situation, and everyone recognizes and treats him as an adult, but... Obi-Wan learns as much from the mind-healer as he would have back when Anakin was actually a child.

“He trusts you to make the right decisions,” the mind healer tells him, careful and unassuming. “He has... a lot of conflicting opinions about many things, including the order, the coming war, the nature of human reproductive dynamics, the Code... but he seems keen on the idea that you are his best reference on morality and ethics.”

Oh, good, more horrifying responsibility.

“He’s better,” the mind healer tells him. “I want to get him out of here before he starts going stir crazy while still relying on the perceived safety as a crutch for his mental health. And he--”

“He’ll be staying with me,” Obi-Wan says, heavy as anything. “I know.”

“Well... there’s a war coming,” the mind healer says. She offers a thin smile when he looks at her. “I don’t want him going out, but it makes him feel useful, gives him a direction for the aggression, and... the Council is adamant that we’ll need him as much as we need you.”

It’s true.

“Did he tell you why everyone called him the Hero With No Fear?”

“No.”

“Ask him.”

[bltzgore]

Building a Monster

Tw: medical whump/lab whump, alotta flesh and muscle and stuff of that nature, but not really gore, pain desc, fever, non con altering (surgery), probably some language in there, non human whumpee (female), being regarded as an it

Heavy iron cuffs held her arms at full wingspan. It was large by beast standards, but the nine feet absolutely dwarfed the humans working on her. If she had sense enough to focus on it she'd have pulled against it for reasons other than the involuntary responses to her agony. She had pulled on it because she didn't like feeling that vulnerable, she'd have pulled because who the hell were they to keep her bound up? She didn't know who they were, she didn't know who she was. She didn't know how she knew it was called a lab and that she was different from the things she knew were called humans that had cut open her chest to replace some of the flesh with machine.

She could only ever catch a few words from them before her body needed the energy for something else. She heard bits like: "massive chemical imbalance" and "You're gonna kill it with that shit." She was unable to process how that should have made her feel, there was too much to feel already. She couldn't give any time to focus on that little nagging feeling her mind that those words meant bad things could get worse. Right then all she could handle was the physical, and she didn't know how much longer she could count on that.

Her insides were running from one end of the spectrum to the other, maybe sliding across the icy deck of an unruly ship, as they froze and burned. The sweat drenched fur went from holding in a suffocating heat, like being under the plastic guard in a pool. Stuck between the heavy heat of the water and the tarp that amplifies and traps it. To the other end of things, stealing away precious heat with its evaporation, sending her muscles trembling. She was panting or shivering, maybe both.

Her muscles were all wired up, twisted, knotted together, far too tight. They should have popped. They were locked and she didn't know how to relax them. It was a constant pain slowly growing more brutal, blocking her ability to breathe. She was standing, she didn't know how. Her legs should have given up a long time ago, given in and thrown her to her knees if not flat on her muzzle. Her mouth should have been open, gaping as her body pled with her to find some sort of rest, but the merciless tension wouldn't let up anywhere. Her jaw was locked so tight the lab tech muttered some worry about her teeth splintering, before they decided it was safer to replace some teeth later while the beast was sedated, than loosen it and get bit while she was still fully aware.

She felt them open something, compared with all the other things tearing her nerves apart she hardly noticed the scalpel sliding along the lowest part of her back and into the top of her tail. It had been shaved in preparation, but no energy had been allocated to investigating the buzzing or cool tingle of rubbing alcohol. The tech tugged the skin away from the muscle with some strain, then studied it. He nodded something to his colleague, who showed him a chart. He muttered something about muscle systems then sliced another line into the striped flesh. He followed the marks made on the chart, messing up once and having to make an additional incision. They followed the muscles of the tail along the rest of the body, then sliced it off were the muscle connected to the rest of the body. A string pulled taught just sliced away, throwing both ends limp.

Once the fleshy bit was handled and the major blood vessels were clamped and cut the tech went to work handling the bone. That needed to be joined further up, removing the weaker bones of the tail belonging to the tiger in order to make room for the graft. He dug his way in, cutting through tissue he planned to mend or replace later until he reached where the tail met the spine. He had to be careful operating this close to the pelvis and the organs that resided within, but those he would also have to manipulate soon enough, so if he nicked one or two he wasn't too worried.

"Was the tail treated?" He asked, looking away from his work temporarily in order to change tools.

"Yup, it's ready when you are." his colleague answered.

"Excellent, get it in here. I'm going to cut the tail and I don't want that marrow exposed for any longer than it needs to be." He selected what many would have considered a tool just for the engineering field, my my how times change. He put the circular saw to the space right where the two vertebrae connected then pressed down the trigger. It buzzed and slid slowly through the gap. He watched, deeply satisfied by how easily it cut, he couldn't imagine trying to get it through the bone. They'd be there all week.

She tried to breathe, tried to ignore it, but the pain caused natural tension. She wasn't sure her muscles were capable of getting any tighter. Her spine started to arch, tipping her head up a bit, in a way she really didn't like but knew she couldn't stop. The buzzing of the saw ended with the thump of the old limb hitting the ground. She couldn't loosen enough to turn and see it, only feel the missing weight. It was a weight she hadn't known she needed. She felt like she was about to fall forward, turning just standing up into a balancing act.

A massive tub was wheeled in, something heavy and scaley floating in the green tinted liquid.

"Perfect, bring it right over here."

The group rolled the tub over next to him, and by the effort of four techs they got a grip and lifted the tail. A fifth tech maneuvered a sort of arm with a small platform on it and two grippers on the sides up under it to hold it in place. The green rolled off the water resistant scales of a massive, albino, almost crocodilian tail. It was almost crocodilian because it wasn't shaped quite right. It was thick at the base then narrowed out but then grew tall and thin, forming more of a paddle before ending in usual sharp scooty fashion. It wasn't far from a natural shape, but the differences weren't minute enough to be ignored either.

The primary tech working on the tail shifted the arm back a bit, so as to see where he was working before he started. He would work first on the nerves that ran within the spine, and that used to lead into the original tail. He needed to test the edge to make sure they hadn't died. So he drew one of the various medical tools on the tray next to him and touched it very gently to the end of the spinal cord.

She screamed, not a human shriek, a bestial cry of rage and pain. The shock had been so intense, radiating up the most sensitive nerve in her body. She had jumped, or tried to. The intensity of it left her muscles twitching slightly, it was particularly bad in her neck, sending her into a loop of harsh nods up to the right.

The nerves were alive and well, with that he paired the cord of the tail to the one in the spine and carefully applied the medical adhesive. From there he connected the bone with steel plating, connected the blood vessels together as if carefully splitting wires. He connected the new muscles with various stitches or adhesives, then the skin with a similar process. Then he had to rewire a few things organ wise, as tigers and crocodilians have slightly different mechanisms for defecating.

She felt him working, from the tail to her bowels. It was a deep and violating feeling, to have someone toying with her biology, as if she were a machine for them to change as they saw fit. She seethed behind her lack of control, but she was far more desperate than she was angry. She was desperate to escape this living hell, run to somewhere she could make sense of what was happening, what she was, what they were doing to her.

"Alright, the tail is secure, set the IVs and get the substitute ready." He folded the arm away, letting the tail hang down off its new host. Techs at the front had already closed the working window. They were entering the final stage, swapping the natural mammalian blood for something that could be adapted for use in both the reptile tail and the mammal body. They would have to do this just long enough for the body to start making its own, which in the tests had only been a few weeks.

The artificial blood had already been prepped, just as he had asked, and they had needles in her veins in seconds. Both tubes linked up to the same machine, it would draw out the natural blood and administer the new stuff at a steady rate, in an attempt to reduce shock, but that was a pipe dream. The transfusion triggered an intense fever, but they were prepared, their countermeasures kept a fever of 104 from reaching 108 or worse.

She wasn't aware of much anymore, her mind was starting to lose its grip. She was somewhat surprised it hadn't happened already. So she wasn't alarmed when creatures she was sure she was supposed to call whales began floating through the walls. It was the fever mostly, but the sheer exhaustion was definitely playing into the hallucinations. For a moment she couldn't feel anything, not the pain, not the humiliation, not bitter cold that her fever had turned the air to. There were just the behemoths gliding through the walls around her. They passed by in magnificent pastel colors and patterns halfway between natural and mechanical lacing through their semi solid forms. All bright against the muted grey of her surroundings. But as she reveled in the peace and rest at the edge of her sense: "Alright, that's the last of it, lets snap her out of it and give her the muscle relaxant."

She didn't notice the first needle until they tugged it out of her. The whales, flickered then vanished, as a second syringe was jammed into her arm. The cuffs unlocked as her muscles did, and she collapsed. The floor was icy against her soaked fur, but it was good, something sure, and grounding. Laid out flat on the floor of the lab she took her first deep breath.

The techs looked towards the primary as they waited for her stats to suddenly dip, for the machines to start screaming that their hours of immediate work and years of preparation had all been for nothing. But the only sounds in the air aside from their hushed breathing were the consistent beeps of the heart rate monitor.

"She's stable.... you did it Hayes!" His underling was the first to have the wherewithal about him to announce this.

Hayes was still simply awestruck. He had done it. The third man in the world to crack the code on Meta beast soldiers. He peered down lovingly at his creation, with time she would be capable of amazing things, with time, they would both be.