#tw: child death

[ohdeerfully]

K hear me out, a wife! Reader x Alastor and Charlie finds out they had a kid when they were alive. (I don’t mind what the kids name is but make them young and passed due to Spanish flu, dark I know)

omg this has been sitting in my drafts so long, i love requests like this </3 im sorry if it seems rushed, i really wanted to finish it!

Mourning Dove

Alastor x Reader (angst, slight comfort at end) TW: CHILD DEATH, child sickness, reader referred to as a woman but doesnt effect story too much join my discord! ═══ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ═══

You sat yourself unceremoniously at the bar in the hotel lobby, shoulders slouched and cheek squished against the cold countertop. You weren’t one for alcohol, but you didn’t mind the company of Husk. He didn’t say much unless prompted, but that didn’t bother you. It was nice, honestly, after a day of dealing with the others.

“Somethin’ the matter?” Okay. Nevermind about him not saying much.

“Hmm?” You responded, barely peeking up from your finger that dragged patterns in the surface you laid against. “I’m good.”

“You don’t look it,” Husk observed, and you knew he was referring to the discoloration of your eyes and the residual dampness of your cheeks from crying. Your hair was a mess, too. Yeah, you looked like shit. “Tough day?”

“I guess, yeah,” You sighed, pushing yourself up and leaning back in a stretch while your fingers gripped the countertop to steady yourself. “Just thinking about… Y’know.”

He didn’t pry, and you were thankful for that. Husk did know a little, actually, and knew better than to push for more details. After being stuck with Alastor for so long, with the guy owning his soul and all, he inevitably learned some deep shit about him and, by extension, you. He just grunted in response and went back to spot cleaning his bottles of booze.

“(Y/N)!” A chipper voice called your name, and you squeezed your eyes shut in frustration. You thought you were done with all of this for the day, and you were so ready to just go to sleep. “I wanted everybody to join me for dinner today! We have a few new residents, so I want everybody to meet each other.”

You squeezed your lips to prevent a harsh word from responding to Charlie’s invitation. You were so tired. You feigned a weak smile and looked at her. You wanted to say no, to say you needed to sleep, but those huge, pleading eyes of hers caught the rejection in your throat. You tried to reason with yourself that Charlie doesn’t host stuff like this very often. It would just be one night. You’ll survive.

“Okay.” 

She clasped her hands together and jumped on the balls of her feet, thanked you, and took off to find the next resident to invite. You held your head against your hand and you sighed dramatically. Husk looked at you from the corner of his eye, but opted to remain silent. You stood up after a few more minutes of quiet sulking, deciding you should fix yourself up for dinner.

In your room, you gently fixed your hair and threw on a casual outfit. Nothing super nice, just in case food started flying–knowing the antics of some of the hotel residents, it wouldn’t be a surprise.

You slowly made your way to the banquet room, which Charlie had installed for events like today. You could already hear the low murmur of small talk, and you were surprised to see a few new faces. Not a whole lot, just about five, alongside the familiar faces of your friends. Charlie’s hotel was, slowly but surely, becoming more successful.

You spotted Alastor quickly–he was hard to miss due to his height. You settled yourself in a chair next to him at a long table that Charlie had dragged into the room for everybody to sit at. You felt your skin prickle with the familiar sensation of static, which increased slightly as his attention turned towards you. He gave you a grin before focusing his eyes on the racket that was already picking up. You watched his smile curl, a bit sinister, as the sound of shouting caught your attention.

“-my fuckin’ business!” You picked up the tail end of Angel Dust fuming at Vaggie, one pair of arms crossed under his chest. He had a third hand on his hip, with his fourth hand jabbing an accusatory point at the woman in front of him.

“Guys, please!” Charlie pleaded, pressing her shoulder against Vaggie’s in an attempt to move her away from Angel. “I don’t want to scare my new guests away!”

“Tell this bitch to keep her nose outta my shit! I can’t have my fuckin’ life on the line because she doesn’t like my job!” Angel spat. There was a dangerous, maybe even frantic, look in his eyes. Before Charlie could say anything, Angel had spun around and stormed to the table. He ripped the chair out and slammed his body down. All four of his arms were crossed now as he glowered at the wooden tabletop.

You sighed, and felt a headache already forming. 

Angel’s spirits quickly changed when Husk sulked into the room. He had his paws stuffed in his pockets, and glared at the air in front of him. He sat down at the other end of the table, but Angel was quick to stand up and saunter his way over to sit next to the cat. You couldn’t quite catch the flirtatious remarks that made Husk roll his eyes. 

You observed them for a while, watching as Husk slowly grew more comfortable in the small talk he and Angel shared. He would never admit it, but you knew Husk didn’t hate Angel’s company. Husk seemingly said something about you to Angel that made him whip his head up to look at you. You quickly averted your gaze.

Charlie had been standing by her own chair, and a cough from her throat made the chatter die down. You didn’t really listen to the overly sappy speech she had started to give, your mind drifting away in absent thought. You picked your nails into the edge of the table, fidgeting with the light cloth.

Alastor caught your attention by lightly nudging his leg against yours. You trailed your eyes up to his, meeting his red gaze. There was a hint of worry in his eyes, and his grin twitched at the edges as he looked at your exhausted face. He tilted his head in a silent question.

You merely shook your head in response, and mouthed a quick “it’s nothing” and hoped that he wouldn’t press. He didn’t, but you knew he’d ask again in a private room.

Charlie sat down again, and Vaggie rubbed her shoulder, murmuring a silent praise. You dragged your eyes across the table, making note of the handful of new faces. None of them seemed to take Charlie very seriously, but that didn’t come as a surprise. They probably just liked free food.

The food in question seemingly materialized out of nowhere, and you chalked it up to her “princess of hell” type powers that she didn’t use very often. You smiled gratefully and, though you didn’t have much of an appetite, you started slowly picking at the plate in front of you.

The room once again began to rumble with small talk, but at some point the multiple conversations began to melt together until the whole table was talking to each other in one. Charlie was doing most of the heavy lifting with keeping the conversation going.

“-the deal with the Radio Demon and that gal next to him?” You perked your ears when you heard this reference to yourself. One of the new guests, some sort of lizard demon, had a finger pointed at the two of you. He had a slight country drawl in his voice. You saw Alastor’s smile widen when the attention of the table turned towards himself.

“My darling wife,” Alastor stated simply, briefly placing a hand on your shoulder. His eyes were closed as he smiled proudly. You silently nodded with a light, polite smiling. “We knew each other in life. It’s only natural for us to remain together. It would have been a shame for death to do us part.”

“Didn’t think you was the type…” The lizard said slowly, eyeing the two of you carefully. You didn’t blame him; what kind of nut job would marry the Radio Demon? Though, as Alastor said, you were married before Hell, and he wasn’t so… infamous back then. He was actually rather sweet, besides the whole serial killer thing–which, in your defense, you weren’t even aware of till he was shot to death.

“Didn’t think ya were the type to have a kid, either,” Angel piped up absently, one arm thrown lazily over the back of his chair. You watched as Husk tried desperately to shut him up as he continued to speak, but you barely heard the words over the sound of your heart picking up pace, and the increased radio frequency of Alastor’s. His body had stiffened and his eyes had shot open, quickly narrowing as his smile strained and curled dangerously, his gums visible in a snarl. His eyes were not on Angel, but on Husk, whose ears were flattened against his head and a nervous look in his wide eyes.

You weren’t really paying attention though, but you felt the intense tension and rapid prickling on your skin. Your breathing became more labored and you pointed your face to the table to try to hide the building tears in your eyes. You had tried so hard, all day, to push back the memories that kept threatening to resurface. What are the chances that on the same day, the topic was brought up, destroying the wall you had built to contain the anxiety, regret, grief…

You were kneeling by the wrinkled, messy sheets of the twin bed your son had been in for the past couple days. Your heart was tight, and you could barely breathe as you looked at him. He gazed blearily at the ceiling, following the path of the rocking fan. Every breath he took scratched at his throat, as if there were pebbles blocking the path. He barely had the strength to cough. His lips were dry and cracked, and his graying skin still had a flush of fever. You used a damp rag to clean the dried snot under his nose.

You had tried everything. Every recommended antibiotic, every treatment, therapy, exercise; nothing had worked. Nobody knew how to treat the illness. You had even tried to work with witch doctors that Alastor knew. You had spent so much of what little money you had trying to save your little boy.

Alastor was often gone during this time, being the one to go out and find something new to try. You never left the room, even when your husband tried to push you to go outside to stretch your legs or take a shower. He promised to watch over your son. But you just couldn’t, not with David laying on these dirty sheets, looking so frail, weak, and small. You had often called him little dove, and it made you sick to think that your nickname was now like a cruel adjective to describe his current state. A sick, frail baby bird. He had barely eaten in the past eight days, and you didn’t want to admit to yourself that any scratchy breath he took could be that last one.

You stiffened when his head rolled over towards you, and his eyes struggled to focus on you. His cracked lips grimaced for a moment, followed by a sharp, grating cough that made your heart drop and your eyes sting. You reached a shaky hand forward to smooth down his knotted hair.

“Am I going to be okay,” David said weakly. His voice caught on the tightness in his throat multiple times. “I feel really bad.”

“I know baby, but you’re okay,” You said tenderly, continuing to stroke his hair. “Your dad is getting you some new medicine. You’ll be okay.”

You were lying to him, and to yourself. But you couldn’t help but cling on to a morsel of hope–it was all you could do, really. David just looked towards you, his eyes flicking around slightly, unable to truly focus on anything.

“I’m tired.” He said. His breathing was labored.

“I know.”

Your emotions threatened to spill from your eyes as you watched him turn his head back towards the ceiling, eyes shutting. You didn’t want to cry; you couldn’t, not in front of him. You needed to stay strong for him.

You pressed the back of your hand to his burning forehead, and then trailed your hand to his chest, lightly pressing against him to feel his heartbeat. It was slow, and slowing. Your own heart picked up in response. 

You heard the door in another room open, shut, and footsteps quickly pace towards the room. The door cracked lightly, and the tall, thin frame of your husband peeked in. He held a brown back tightly in his fist. With one look into your eyes, he knew something was wrong. Or, well, more wrong than usual. 

You clenched your jaw to prevent any sob from escaping your lips as he sat the bag down on an end table and kneeled next to you, gripping your waist tightly as he looked at David. The boy’s breath had gotten dangerously quiet.

You watched as his eyes opened again.

“I’m tired.” He repeated, weaker this time.

Both you and Alastor leaned towards the bed, his hand on David’s leg as you gingerly lifted the boy’s head into your arms, pulling his light body towards yourself. You shifted yourself up into the bed with him, trying to wrap as much of yourself around your son as possible. You could feel his heartbeat getting slower with every weak breath he took.

“Sleep, then,” your voice trembled. You felt Alastor grip your shoulder, his other hand softly rubbing David’s arm. You couldn’t describe the expression on his face. “I’ll see you in the morning, little dove.” You lied.

“In heaven?” He responded. Your breath hitched at his words. He knew, somehow, that he was dying. How sick it was, for such a young boy to be aware of his impending death. How cruel God was.

“Yeah, I promise,” Was all you could muster. You worried that any more would destroy the dam that held back your tears.

It broke, though, when you felt David’s heart finally stop. You choked on a sob once, twice, before finally you started wailing. Screaming. You held a vice-like grip on the boy, both your arms and legs secured around him. Alastor was still quiet, but he had sat across from you on the bed and pulled you towards him, securing you and David’s still-warm body in an equally tight grip. You could feel his strained breathing and tight jaw against your head. He said something, but you didn’t hear him.

Your mind rushed back to the present when you felt a hand on your back. Your head whipped towards Alastor, who was looking at you. The table was dead silent, and there was still a look of rage in his eyes, but his smile held a softness that was only ever given to you. Your heart still beat strongly, and you struggled to breathe, but you were at least glad that your mind was still back in the present.

Evidently, barely any time had passed. Angel had a nervous look in his expression, which he tried and failed to mask as Husk cursed at him. Charlie was looking at you in worry.

“(Y/N),” She said softly. “...How come you never-”

“Truly, there is no point in speaking of life before death,” Alastor interrupted her, the usual cheer in his voice lilted by a masked emotion. You knew he felt the same grief as you, but he was a million times better at acting naturally. “What a waste of time and emotion.”

Alastor stood quickly, his hand trailing against your shoulders as he walked past you and towards Angel and Husk. Husk’s ears flattened to his skull again as Alastor loomed over them, hands behind his back as a smile twisted his features.

“Husker, my friend,” He said, the cat demon visibly flinching at the mention of his name. “Let’s take a walk.”

Husk didn’t move, and the room grew heavy with tension with every second as the sound of radio frequency got louder and somehow sharper. Alastor bent at the waist, his snarling smile inches away from the panicked expression on Husk’s face. 

“Is the tomcat getting too old to hear?” You barely picked up Alastor’s words, but you definitely heard the threatening tone in his voice.

The cat swallowed hard before standing up. He shot one last infuriated look at Angel, before whipping his head back to attention when Alastor tapped his cane against the ground impatiently. The two of them left the room, and the tension in the air immediately lifted when the door shut.

Charlie startled you when she placed a delicate hand on your upper arm, and she guided you to your feet and out another set of doors. A weak smile touched her expression.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asked as you both went up the stairs towards your hotel room. You shook your head silently at her offer. She only nodded back, and said nothing more. She opened the door to your room for you, and waited till you settled down in your bed before saying a string of comforting words that you didn’t really pay attention to. The door clicked softly, and you once again began to sob.

Only a few minutes passed before you felt your skin prickle with a static-like feeling. You had grown to find comfort in the odd sensation, and felt incredibly relieved when you knew Alastor was sitting next to you. You didn’t even hear him enter the room.

He pulled you wordlessly against his chest, lying the two of you down. You twisted yourself in his grip till your ear rested against him, listening to the odd drum of what you assumed was a heart.

“Has David been troubling you all day?” He asked you when your sobs slowed and you caught your breath. You nodded. Alastor rubbed a soothing hand on your shoulder blade. You recognized the tone of grief in his voice as he spoke. “What a pesky boy, even all these years later.”

You wrapped your arms tightly around Alastor’s neck as tears began flowing again.

Though you would never tell him, you often hoped Charlie’s idea of redemption would work. Your husband himself would likely never follow that path; you knew he saw no point and enjoyed the power he held in Hell. But, you wished every day to see your son again. To see your little dove.

You had promised him.

[natjennie]

okay, bear with me this requires a lot of context. imagine that you wake up on a space ship with an alien species capable of telepathic communication with you. they are also capable of instilling you with the knowledge that everything they say is completely true, there is not a hint of uncertainty in your mind. they have weapons capable of obliterating earth pointed at the planet, and are forcing you to do one of two things in order to not fire. within the fiction of the scenario you are not being given the choice, but you the real you is picking which one of these things you'd rather have happen.

you must eat an 8 ounce serving of human baby meat, by default prepared like a steak (different preparations can be requested). you do not have to keep the meat down once you're done, but you have to get all of it in your body at one point. they do not provide any information about where the baby came from or how it died. if you complete this, they will deposit you back on earth and you will be free from legal repercussions of cannibalism, and it is generally agreed that you are also free from moral blame as it was against your will.

you will be surgically impregnated with a human embryo and must carry it to term and give birth. the embryo does not contain your dna, but otherwise you don't know anything about its origins. the aliens have advanced medical technology that gives you sufficient anatomy to carry and birth the baby, and keeps you healthy throughout, with no risk of long term complications or death. you have the choice to keep or give away the baby once you have given birth, and will be deposited back on earth.

if you refuse to comply in either situation, they destroy the earth and you are forced to live the rest of your life aboard the space ship as a prisoner, until you die of natural causes.

so,

[abla-soso]

Zionists cry about "atrocity denialism!" when sane people can not just simply accept their unproven narratives about Hamas, especially not when Israel has a very long track record of lying in the most outrageous ways.

Yet they're too comfortable engaging in ACTUAL atrocity denialism. Even when the atrocity is undeniable.

Shameless depravity.

[oh-katsuki]

a little zombie apocalypse katsuki!au drabble. my twd rewatch is giving me many thoughts...

cw: apocalypse au, reader is alone, mentions of death, implications of child death, grief mentions, reader is described as a "little thing" but that's more just the way katsuki talks, katsuki is a little gruff but he means well, guns, weapons, general apocalypse thoughts, mentions of zombies but we follow the "never call them a zombie" rule, katsuki and reader meeting for the first time, etc

the light of your fire is dim, embers burning low as you sit in a foldable chair beside it. you've got a metal spatula in your hand. you're not sure why you grabbed it when things went to shit, but panic does weird things to the mind. this, along with a few other oddities, are all you managed to take from your house when the world fell to ruin. everything else are things scavenged along the way or from people you'd met, joined, and lost.

the night is near silent and trees creak and crack like the hulls of great ships under heavy pressure, but the birds don't sing and nothing in the crowded wood you're taking shelter in makes a sound. well, except for you and the gentle crackle of your fire.

your head is on a swivel. it has been for months. ever since the outbreak, ever since the dead rose and began consuming and infecting the living, you've kept watch. a paranoid, never ending cycle that you suppose—if left on your own—will burn itself out. you swallow thick and return your attention to the fire, watching the tree line just in front of you for any hint of movement or monsters.

a branch cracks just behind you. a swift sound, followed by rapid footsteps. you stand, quickly turning your head, only to see a a figure a few feet away from you. they move quickly and the dancing light of the fire obscures their features from view. their eyes, most importantly. you can always tell if someone is dead or alive based on their eyes. in this light, should this stranger have that milky white film over them, you wouldn't be able to tell.

you make a small noise, something between a whimper and a shout, as the person comes to a stop in front of you and holds a gun directly between your eyes. the living. this person is alive. you're not sure at this point if encountering one of the dead would have been worse.

"drop your weapon," he says in a hurried voice. it's aggressive and threatening. it comes from deep in his chest.

you raise your shaky hands to your head quickly at the order, screwing your eyes shut as if looking in theirs would be a cause for attack.

"i-it's not a weapon!" you shout, voice cracking. "it's- it's a sp-spatula. it's a spatula."

the words are rushed and heavy, fear seizing your chest as you look down the barrel of the gun. the firelight glints off of it and you can make out the person behind the barrel's features. he's big, blonde under the grime, you think. a man. not the best thing to encounter alone at night in times like these.

you see him hesitate for a moment, eyes darting between you and the silver kitchen item in your hand. you drop it quickly.

"do you have a weapon on you?" he questions, voice a little less urgent.

you shake your head in response and then shakily look beside the chair. there's a knife there and a pistol with no bullets. you're a poor shot and you'd run out of ammo the previous week. he glances to it, the gun still raised at you, and sidesteps to grab them. when he does, he cautiously lowers the weapon. you start to lower your trembling hands.

then, as if struck by some realization, the man stomps towards the fire and you jump as he does.

"the fuck are you doing lighting a fire?" he says angrily. "those things may be dead, but they can still fuckin' see. that's a good way to get yourself killed."

he stomps out the fire as he talks, urgently stamping out what's left of the low-burning logs.

"i- i didn't think there were many in the area," you justify, furrowing your eyebrows as you step away from him.

"and that's a risk you want to take?" he says indignantly. you wonder briefly what business he has worrying about you.

"what do you want?" you snap, "my food? weapons? life? what is it?"

the man scoffs, "jesus, none of that."

you narrow your eyes and take a step back.

"not all people who camp out in the woods are good," he says. "but i sure as shit didn't expect to find some little thing like you alone lighting a damn fire. stupid."

"there were more," you say indignantly, like somehow that makes it better. "force of habit, i guess."

the man pauses for a moment as understanding passes between the two of you. it's a relatable feeling. everyone has lost someone now. you just happened to lose everyone.

"got a name?" he asks.

you hesitate in giving it to him before deciding what it could hurt. the man nods as if he likes the sound of it.

"i'm katsuki," he furrows his eyebrows. "you're alone?"

you nod, swallowing down the grief that pushes at your throat.

"wasn't always," you respond, "but yeah. now i am."

he nods his understanding.

"come with me."

"where?" you say instinctively, a defensive edge to your voice. katsuki looks at you like your stupid, or maybe it's pity, like you're a wounded animal. probably both.

"where the fuck do you think?" he retorts. "we've got a camp a little ways from here. i saw your fire from one of the watch posts we have stationed around the place."

you look at him like he's a little crazy for even thinking to bring you there.

he scoffs and rolls his head over his shoulder. "look, we've got men and women," then he pauses, "used to have children. we're not gonna hurt you. world's gone to shit, do you really wanna keep at it alone?"

he's probably right. you've been alone for weeks now, exhausted for longer, and though your common sense tells you not to go off with a strange man in this kind of world, the promise of community is far too tempting. you nod and glance back to your camp. a measly collection of supplies.

"we'll come back for it when it's light," he says. "i don't know about you, but i'd rather not spend longer in these dark ass woods than i have to."

"okay," you say. the presence of another person both sets you on edge and makes you feel the fatigue even more. a gun's barrel on your nose followed by the promise of safety and you're going with him? you must be stupider than a horror movie protagonist. "do you take in a lot of strays?"

katsuki looks over his shoulder and you think you see him smile a little at the phrase.

"if that's what you want to call it," he says begrudgingly. "me less than the rest." then, with a softer tone of voice, barely noticeable with the quiet whisper you both have been speaking at. "i'm sure the others won't mind one more."

[ketrindoll]

After a russian missile strike on Chernihiv killed 6 year old Sophia 64 000(!!!) russians posted and reposted jokes, such as "Chernihiv. Selling child sandals. Unworn."

When russian missile hit Vinnytsya in 2022, killing 23 people among whom was 4 year old Lisa, tens of thousands of russians online mocked her disability, laughing at her death, or even making open claims that she's better off dead.

They think murdering children is funny. They think dead children are funny.

It's definitely not "just Putin". The russian society is rotten to its core.

[dontmean2bepoliticalbut]

[xxno-thoughts-just-chaosxx]

Beg Comic Series - Part 5

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

PART 4

PART 5 (You're here!)

Page 101

-

MASTER POST

[princesssarisa]

Possible unpopular opinion about Wuthering Heights:

I don't think Heathcliff and Cathy are secretly half-siblings. Nor do they view each other as siblings even though they were raised together (Heathcliff's constant "othering" by the adults in their life prevented that). And I do view their love as romantic, not platonic.

BUT...

The fact that they were raised as foster siblings is essential to their unique bond. Their love is a blend of romantic love and sibling love that only the strange nature of their upbringing could have created. And on a Doylist level, it makes perfect sense as the creation of an author who had five close siblings (that includes the two who died as preteens), but never experienced romance.

[imdefyingmavity]

Ghost!Alison this, Ghost!Mike that-

Allow me to go super dark for a moment (because that's totally new for me) as I raise you; Ghost!Mia.

Say she has an accident at the hotel when she's still a child, about seven or eight, results in her death but she remains as a ghost. Up until this point, her parents haven't really told her about the ghosts since she was a baby, they were waiting for her to be old enough to understand and keep it a secret. So this little girl wakes up to these people who seem vaguely familiar, either from her mother's bedtime stories or messages from "uncles and aunts far away" or suppressed baby memories, but they're the only ones she can touch now and are all acting like they've known her forever.

Meanwhile Alison is distraught because her daughter is dead but she's also THERE and she can see her and talk to her but can't hold her. And worse for Mike who doesn't even get that and every attempt the girl makes to hug her parents ends up hurting her until she stops trying and just let's this woman calling herself her Auntie Kitty hug her for them. And Alison wants to stay at the hotel for as long as possible to be with her daughter but realistically she can't, maybe they have other children at this point too who need their lives to go on.

But eventually after the tragedy of it all passes, Mia learns to like being a ghost, she loves her aunts and uncles, and if anything is upset that her mum never introduced them sooner. She likes watching all the people, she likes learning so much cool stuff from her new family, loves doing dance routines with Kitty and watching Robin and Julian haunt the guests with their powers - maybe she has a power herself. Alison and Mike never quite recover but at least they have this small condolence that their daughter is safe, in a way, with people who love her and are taking care of her, and they can visit her the same as they do them.

Must not plan to write it as a fic, got way too many wips at the moment! But wanted to put it out there as a sad but potentially cute idea.

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Halloween prompts no. 2

After things go horribly wrong and the GIW established militant law in Amity they manage to track Danny and Daniel down. Weakened and cornered, they're forced to fight. They win in the end of course, but while Danny was trying to help Dani get through the ghost proof fence a shot rang out and Dani watched her big brother fall to the ground.

In denial, she dragged him through the hole they created and flew them to safety, muttering words of encouragement the whole time. She didn't know how long she flew or where she was, but she found herself confronted by a man in a red helmet and leather jacket, talking to her in that voice you use for scared children, asking if she was okay.

"Please help him!" She begged, tears in her eyes, "He's hurt, please save him!"

Red Hood glanced at the older boy she had been carrying around. The one who created the blood trail he had followed from the freaking hole in his head. He examined the gunshot wound and the boys half lidden glassy eyes. Kid was gone. Probably for a while now. He turned back to the girl, looking at her desperate face and not really knowing what to say.

Fuck. Looks like he has a new sister.

"I think I know someone who can help." Bruce had an adoption problem, and this girl needed a little more help than he could provide.

[doombum]

Michael and Elizabeth meeting up again in Fnaf 6, with Liz as Scrapbaby, but Liz still doesn't recognize Mike as her brother, but as Eggs Benedict. And she kind of feels bad about the whole thing because she didn't really want to hurt anyone and was just desperate to escape, and seeing Mike again, she fully understands how messed up the whole thing was. Especially since she sees that he has a family (Jeremy, Gregory and Cassie often come around the pizzeria to help out) and wasn't some random lonely guy nobody would miss like she had thought.

It doesn't help her guilt that Mike is trying to free her, and the others', souls, despite what she did to him. She doesn't really understand why he would do that, and so they eventually start talking a bit, as much as they can with her messed up voice box and his own difficulty to talk after the scooping.

And Mike is torn up about the whole thing because he knows that it's his little sister, and he knows she doesn't know who he really is, but they have become rather friendly and he still hasn't said anything. But he's terrified of doing so, because he doesn't want her to feel as awful as he did when he killed Evan.

But a part of him is also terrified that she won't care, that she'll be happy, because of everything that happened at SL, and because she always loved William so much and wanted to make him proud. And he would feel even worse for thinking like that, cause it's his baby sister, and she wouldn't be like that, but he can't help thinking about it.

Jeremy tries to reassure him about it, and to convince him to talk to Liz because she deserves the truth no matter what, but Mike is way too scared to lose her again for that.

I'm not too sure what would happen when Liz eventually finds out about it all. She would obviously feel much worse about killing him since he wasn't actually a random stranger, but she is also hurt that Mike kept it a secret. Maybe she would understand his point of view anyway, after a while thinking about it.

[padawan-historian]

[nelida-alvarez]

Tomorrow

@charliemwrites

I debated for some time whether or not I should post this, but in the end, my desire to share stories won.

Cw/Tw : mentions/discussion of losing faith (religious) & mentions/discussion of child death. Take care of yourselves <3

It was rare for Nélida to be uncomfortable. Sure, there were things that annoyed her, things that stressed her and things that made her afraid. She wasn’t ashamed to admit that- she was human, and it was in Men’s nature to feel, whether the emotions were positive or negative. Things that made her uncomfortable though? Things that made her skin crawl with unease and the desire to be anywhere else than where she was at the moment? Those were rare. Oh, they existed. And they made her soul tense up when mentioned.

“I don’t think that’s right, though…” Nova said, sprawled on the couch with Keegan as they argued. Nikto was sitting in a love seat, doing crosswords almost absentmindedly as he quietly listened to the sergeants talking. Castle was reading a book, not really paying attention. Meanwhile, Nélida was sitting on the ground in front of her Captain, her back leaning against his legs.

“No, I’m quite sure… It's like that thing with Adam and Eve, right? Banned from Paradise for touching the forbidden fruit or something.” Keegan replied.

“Adam and Eve were expelled from Eden to prevent them from eating from the tree of life, which would have made them eternal, not because they ate the forbidden fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil.” Nélida absently corrected, shocking the two sergeants into silence. Noting the absence of talking, she blinked and looked up, meeting the bewildered gazes of her team.

“What?” She asked, a bit confused.

“I didn’t know you knew so much about… Bible-y things.” Nova said, tilting her head in curiosity.

“Oh.. yes, I guess I just… never talked about it.” Nélida tensed slightly, her hands playing idly with Castle’s shoelaces.

“Are you Christian?” Keegan leaned forward, eager to know more about her. A small pregnant pause followed the question, broken by a shuddering breath Nélida took.

“…was.” She whispered. Nikto frowned, shuffling in his seat.

“Oh.. well, what is, or was maybe, your favorite Bible quote?” Nova frowned a little at Keegan’s question, eyes darting between his oblivious self and Nélida’s crisped expression.

Castle had put his book down, lips pursing at the tense atmosphere in the room. He let one of his big paw-like hands slowly come down to rest against Nélida’s nape, the weight reassuring.

Keegan, realizing his mistake, opened his mouth to apologize, before being cut off by the older woman.

“It..” she started, clearing her throat as her voice broke.

Nikto crouched down next to her, presenting his gloved hand, palm up, to her. Nélida took it, taking a deep breath, before starting to speak once more.

“It is… or was, perhaps, Isaiah 41:10." She admitted, clearing her throat once more.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-" Keegan started, before being cut off by Nélida throwing a small smile his way.

"It's fine, amor, you didn't know."

Silence reigned for a while, before Castle hummed.

"Well now, what do you all say we play a game, hmm? Anyone up for strip poker?"

As Nova got up to go take the cards, Nélida squeezed Nikto's hand in thanks and threw a grateful glance over her shoulder at her Captain.

~~~

Nélida prefered to be the big spoon when cuddling. She just liked that position better. But sometimes, she just wanted to be held, to feel like nothing could hurt her when she was safely cocooned in her lovers' arms.

Castle rumbled quietly, scratching at Nélida's scalp gently.

"What's bothering you so much, mamí?"

"...just.. memories.." The woman mumbled, her voice slightly muffled due to the fact that her face was burried in the older man's pecs.

"Wannna talk about it?" Castle gently asked, like she was a feral animal that was being cornered.

"...Perdí a mi bebé... Mi hijo- mi hijo sólo tenía dos años y- murió..." She erupted in cries, Nélida's body was wracked with sobs, the comforting weight of Castle's hands caressing her back seemingly ineffective.

"I prayed.. I prayed so fucking much-! And my s-son, my son still.. still-!" Nélida gasped breaths in as Castle grounded her, his voice in her ear telling her to breathe helping.

"Doctors said it was CNS tumors..that there was nothing they could do, that- that it was too late.. that I noticed it too late.."

"I just- I- I miss him so much.. I wondered, why God? Why my son?" Her voice broke on the last word, trailing off into whimpers and sniffles.

Castle hummed, pressing a kiss to Nélida's forehead. He didn't quite know what to say, but he knew that what Nélida had said had probably been weighing on her for quite some time.

It took a while for Nélida to calm down, her eyes puffy and red with her anguish.

"Thank you for listening.. I-.. it's probably not fair on you, but I really needed to talk about it.."

Castle smiled sadly, a thumb drying one of his mamí's tears.

"I know this was difficult to talk about, but I'm glad you let it off your chest, love. If you ever want to talk, know that I'm here. If you don't want to talk and just want someone to hold you, I'm also here." He said, gaining himself a wobbly smile.

"Thank you, Castle... I really appreciate it."

Thye both knew she would hide anything was wrong the next morning. That she would burry her feelings deep inside her heart until they rose to the surface again. But for now, they fell asleep. Tomorrow would be different.

"...Perdí a mi bebé... Mi hijo- mi hijo sólo tenía dos años y- murió..." : “…I lost my baby… My son- my son was only two and he-.. he died…”

~~~

Isaiah 41:10

“Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

[goldenbloodytears]

Controversial Danny headcanon time: do you think he'd hurt children? I feel like as much of a monster as he might be, he would at least have some limits like no killing kids. Of course maybe that's just cus he's my skrunkly and I don't like the idea of him doing that but what do you think?

Oh boy I love controversial asks, I’m not kidding. Thanks for the ask, anon :)

Putting this under a cut due to the subject matter it entails, there’s also a mention of pregnancy.

TLDR; is no, he would not target kids specifically.

So, I think for starters it depends on how we define kid—do we mean anyone under the age of 18? Or a prepubescent child? Generally, I see him being open to killing teenagers… but I feel like he might not get much out of killing young children.

I can explain this here, it’s pretty simple. Children make good witnesses. An orphaned child also creates a sob story, and it creates a sense of anxiety in parents about the concept of their own mortality. You get continued publicity by way of continued community engagement about how this poor little murder orphan is doing.

Killing a kid gets fear and outrage… but it’s going to get lost pretty quickly among the rest of the murders, and at most it…what? Makes parents sequester their kids in their homes more?

I think his primary targets are always adults, whether they be young college students barely out of highschool or Grandma Shirley who lives down the block. I think teens would be a spur of the moment kill, something to keep engagement up, or otherwise collateral victims if they happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time when he’s targeting their parent(s).

Teens, like adults, are also a little bit better at trying to fight back. There’s going to be a little bit more of a thrill element related to it… whereas a child tends to have a very basic series of responses, cry, bite, scream, etc. They can’t really fight back… I honestly think he would probably only kill a kid if they posed a risk to him, like if his mask came off or something.

I think it’s a bit of a power complex thing… but I genuinely think he wouldn’t feel a need to target a child when his first kill was his dad. Like… if you can take out a middle aged man in presumably his prime… why would you need to purposely target children?

That’s Coward behaviour.

I think he wouldn’t target babies for the same reason (straight up just the baby scene from Halloween 2018).

I could see him maybe killing a pregnant woman though? Not entirely sold on this one. Feels a little dark, so maybe it would be the same as kids or teens where he doesn’t target them specifically, but it’s fair game when all bets are off.

ADDENUM: now that it’s been brought to my attention, I realize I failed to make one part clear. I think if he came up with a story that involved a child/pregnant person/a senior/ any sort of category that one might consider “bad to kill”…. I think he would still do it.

I think the story ultimately takes the priority, but it depends on what story he’s trying to tell.

Similarly, because his job as a reporter and interviewing family and friends is more likely to bring him into contact with other adults (since most people try to shield their kids and teens from horrible events)… the result still ends up being where he is more likely to focus on adults.

But I don’t really think it’s a “moral” decision. It’s based entirely on what he gets out of it.

[tendo-64]

rest easy, claus

rambles below, discussing the nature of this scene so TW.

it took me a long time to draw this scene. i was originally planning to right around when i got into mother 3 but i was a lot less comfortable with drawing more complicated stuff back then, and then i kept pushing it off because i wanted to make sure i could do it justice. it's a scene that left a big impact on me (though i say that as if that's something unique to me lol)

there's a million songs i wanted to pair with this drawing but i settled instead on an original caption. it's a double meaning: it refers to claus's guilt for leaving lucas behind so he can join their mother, but it also refers to lucas's guilt because he thinks this event was his fault, that he abandoned claus in his time of need.

after all, as i've talked about many a time in the past, lucas canonically harbored guilt for not going with claus to fight the drago, even if claus had told him no. he says as such in chapter 2 to duster and later his tanetane island hallucinations drive the point home even further. that aspect makes this scene even more painful to me, and is a large reason why lucas's guilt haunts me so much. there wasn't a happy ending. and also because, now, lucas doesn't just blame himself for claus's disappearance.

he blames himself for his suicide.

another detail, lucas broke the franklin badge in a fleeting burst of anger, because it took claus away. i'd imagine he immediately felt bad, flashing back to flint's outburst years ago for a second. but i suppose lucas wouldn't have wanted it anymore after the event it'd remind him of for the rest of his life (reminder, my claus lives au follows a claus who never died, so this one doesn't get revived)

my non-claus-lives-au definitely focuses on a lucas who has to come to terms with the fact his brother's death wasn't his fault and has to learn to forgive himself for it. it's hard for him at first, but eventually he does realize that he did everything he could, that claus's death wasn't anyone's fault (well except porky's). that's when he gets the semicolon on his wrist. to remind himself that he made it out of his lowest point alive, and yet to remember his brother who wasn't able to.

[stargliders]

So Kiss Me, as I Am Lost (ShiSaku)

My take on "CPR" for @febuwhump. It's an emotional ride with plenty of hurt (and comfort). Thanks so much for reading. 🫶

Rating: M

Summary:

The untenable stress of trying to open the Therapy Center while interning for the Medic Corps. The countless weekends Sakura had to cancel their plans to work on call. Shisui had always been there to encourage her and lift her up with his love. Now, Sakura felt she no longer deserved it. For Febuwhump 2024, Day 5: CPR

Read the one-shot on AO3