#cw: child death

[mikakuna]

warning for gore!!! but erm actually i want to see the horrors of bruce finding his fifteen year old son, 4'6 and barely 90 pounds, under the rubble of the blown up warehouse in the most terrifying way possible.

so instead of how we see it in canon, bruce moves that piece of rubble off of his son and just sees... absolutely nothing recognizable.

his baby's skull is beaten in, head caved in on from the right side. his face is lopsided from the brute force of the crowbar repeatedly smashing his cheeks, jaw, and forehead. what's left of his little boy's face is contorted into an expression so horrified-- jaw hanging off the hinges and eyes bulging from its withering sockets-- that bruce lets out a scream of a possessed man.

jay's feet are completely shattered, hanging loosely from his broken ankles. his legs are in different directions-- right knee detached from its socket. there are rips in his child's torso, revealing bones and guts, from the sharp part of the crowbar sinking into his skin and tearing.

the explosion burned his entire body, burning the skin off his chest and back and little fingers. his hair, oh his baby's little curls, have been singed off with only a few remaining strands.

jason no longer looked like bruce's sweet little jay baby-- his happy boy who smiled and giggled, and whose dimples would make a home in his flushed cheeks, and whose blue eyes sparkled when he laughed.

the detective at the scene of the crime chooses not to ask bruce wayne if he was certain this body belonged to his son.

#cw: gore #cw: child death #me when me when me when bruce and jason #thinking too hard and long about bruce and jason's relationship before his death is actually a gunshot to the head #i get physically ill thinking about my boys #send help! #jason todd #red hood #batman #robin jason #second robin #bruce wayne #bruce and jason #dc #dc comics

[souji-upseta]

ATLA is so fucking real for this. Holy shit.

#atla #avatar the last airbender #ursa atla #uncle iroh #zuko #fire nation #cw: child death #i can't possibly add anything to this just. fuck.

[thesunlikehoney]

this is incredibly fucked up, but. thinking about the way infant mortality rates and generally the way kids are treated/raised on kamino would influence the clones' concept of kids and when a person becomes a person. like. "it's not a person until it's out of the gestation tube" or "it's not a person until it can pick it's own name" or "it's not a person until it's passed it's first assessments" or "it's not a person until it can consciously decide it's a person" like when does a clone fetus stop being a product in production and start being a person? or is there any line at all, and they are both at all times? how is the perception of clone fetuses and cadets going to influence how clones interact with kids off kamino? or how they view their own kids, if they have them?

#cw: child death #i just #hm #writing a davijaan fic where there is a Baby. and remembering that i killed off several of his batchmates when they were very young #and i'm just wondering #how that is going to influence how he interacts with Baby

[anaberrry]

Hey.

Arthur Bennett seeing anything lovely and thinking about how lovely his family was.

Arthur Bennett seeing a happy couple and thinking about how happy his parents used to be.

Arthur Bennett seeing a toy and thinking of how much his siblings would love it.

Arthur Bennett seeing anything he loves and wishing he could give that love to his family.

#this show has a hold on me and I'm only halfway through 😭😭 #the suckening #arthur bennett #berry chats #cw: child death #cw: parent death #cw: death #<- just in case

[mentallyinvernation]

Boy's Too Young To Be Singing The Blues for the ask game!

Oh man, this one is so so bittersweet. I get emotional about this wip.

CW: implied child death

Basically! Robyn is the Vortex, and Dream struggles to come to terms with what that means - because that's Hob's child, and Dream's going to have to be the one that takes him away.

Despite the angsty premise, it's actually quite fluffy and domestic for like the first half! Dream procrastinates dealing with the whole vortex problem until it's literally ripping apart the Dreaming, and even then he's like 'I pretend I do not see'. Mainly because, before that happens, Robyn keeps popping up around the Dreaming in places he shouldn't (like the throne room), and Dream sort of ends up co-parenting with Eleanor and Hob without either of them realising lmao.

Mervyn: Don't name the vortex, you'll get attached!

Dream: Not only did I name the vortex and get attached, but I also adopted him.

A snippy snip for your time (it's kinda rough tho because I'm nowhere near this point lol):

“The fate of every being in the universe –“ “Aren't worth him!” Hob screams, chest heaving, something wild, illogical, and frantic scrabbling in his eyes. “Not to me.” "I know," Dream replies hoarsely, heart aching in his throat, and he does know. This tragedy has befallen him once before.

IT HAS A HAPPY ENDING THEY'LL BE FINE I PROMISE.

Chapter 1 is up if ya wanna check it out!

#the sandman #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dream x hob #tag game #cw: child death #robyn gadling #my writing #astrophel_hireath wips #hob x eleanor #Hob x Eleanor x a secret third option

[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.”

#writing #cod mw2 #oc x oc #oc x character #Nélida ‘Mommy’ Álvarez x Castle ‘Daddy’ Alistair #Nélida ‘Mommy’ Álvarez x Nikto #Nélida Álvarez #Castle Alistair #Captain Daddy #Nélida x Castle #cw: child death #(mentioned/discussed) #cw: loss of faith #tw: child death #mentioned/discussed

[beardedmrbean]

Should be more

#nunyas news #Give her the Cromwell treatment #cw: child death

[asktoastythearcanine]

<< Previous

Content Warning: Child Death

"That Runt... Why couldn't it have been him?! Why must I be reminded every time I close my eyes of what HE did...

This nightmare... I am so tired of it."

#guildmasterartorias #faearcane #plot #pokemon #cw: child death #arcanine #growlithe

[theonewhobleats]

@angstandhappiness

Your ask will be answered soon I'm just slow as heck.

Enjoy the lore sneak peak

#theonewhobleats #bleat doodles #cotl narinder #cotl forneus #pale crown au #cw: child death

[moderator-monnie]

The Bee

(Warning Long post)

Charmy slowly rubbed his eyes and began to blink. The small boy was very confused. The last thing he remembered was heading on a mission with Vector and Espio. Charmy slowly flapped his wings, using them to help him stand up and land on the ground shortly after.

He took a good look at his surroundings; he seemed to be in what looked like a very round cave, but it was very clean, almost too clean, with a strange scent that smelled like honey. The ground under Charmy was grass, not too long or too short.

Charmy started to walk down the hallway, but he couldn't see an end in sight; he couldn't even hear anything, and when looking behind himself, all he saw was pure absolute darkness. It was absolute, yet when he walked towards it, the darkness cleared.

It seemed like whatever direction he faced and walked towards light would appear to guide his way, but behind him the light would disappear. It's like where ever he was was being created almost instantly from nothing.

Charmy soon took a deep breath before gulping and trying to laugh it all off at first.

"Hey, uh, Espio? V-Vector? Where are you guys? ... Oh! I get it! This is just one of Eggman's tricks, right? If I keep walking, I'll get to the exit and see you guys again! Then we'll kick his butt! Heh, yeah, this will be easy!"

Charmy had a determined look in his eyes and turned back around to his original direction and began to run with a pep in his step. He could get out of here, and he knew it. He slowly began to fly and buzz along.

Charmy seemed to be making good progress as he continued to move. The cave walls and ceiling slowly changed to look more like the detective agency, and the floor changed to stone. The boy could swear he could smell Vector's coffee and hear both his friends and teammates calling to him. 

"Guys, I'm here! I'm here! Where are you? I can't see you."

Charmy continued to fly, looking around for them, but as he continued for what felt like hours, he stopped flying. He walked, feeling tired, yet he didn't feel hungry or like he needed water. It was strange, but he did feel drained.

And in taking that small break, he noticed a row of windows on both sides of the walls, square ones all closed. He could see the outside world, or what looked like it. He gasped and soon stood up and flew up to one.

Outside, it was a grassy field. He could see the beautiful blue sky, flowers galore, and he could even see Vector and Espio. They waved and called his name.

"GUYS, GUYS, I'M IN HERE!"

He slowly began to try and open the window, but it wouldn't budge. He did this until his hands felt sore and were starting to bruise. While trying to get it open, the sun slowly began to set outside, and slowly Vector and Espio just stopped smiling and put their arms down, their faces blank and expressionless.

Charmy slowly began to cry and tried to blast the window using his stinger. He also tried to stab at it and smash the window open. He tried everything, and the longer he tried, the darker things got outside. At some point, it was pitch black, and all that could be seen were the glows of his friends eyes.

"WHY AREN'T YOU GUYS COMING TOWARDS ME? WHY AREN'T YOU TRYING TO HELP ME? Can you see me? HELP ME!"

Soon, even though they began to fade, the boy, in a panic, started to try all the nearby window's, and just as he was about to give up all hope, a clicking noise was heard near by, and a window opened, admitting a calming yet eerie white light from it.

Charmy, without a second thought and tears flooding the young bee's eyes, used the last of his energy to fly through it.

...

...

...

Charmy then woke up, and he found himself in the same cave location he started this journey in, but all the grass was dead, and a small shard of glass was next to him, seemingly and somehow broken off from his windows.

Charmy let out a huge scream, and he smashed his hands against his head. He stayed there for awhile, just crying, but having no one to comfort him, he just kept mumbling to himself. 

"It's my fault, it's my fault, it's my fault, it's my fault... I shouldn't have rushed into that building. I should have waited for Vector to investigate it first."

"But... wait, if this happened to me, what if they really are also here somewhere? What if we were all separated? What if we're all alone, looking for the other members? I can't give up! I just can't; if theres any chance of seeing my other friends and teammates, then I have to take it!"

Charmy felt well rested, and he slowly got up, taking the glass shard carefully just in case he didn't know why, but he felt like he needed to take it and continued to walk. He needed to get out of here; he knew it, but unlike before, he didn't smell anything, he didn't hear anything, and he was just completely alone.

Charmy was like this for what he knew were a single day's only stopping to rest. Though the environment stayed the same, the only difference was that the more days that passed, the grass below him died more and more, until only dirt was left.

He also noticed some writings on the wall; they seemed to be messages left behind by someone else, and the boy did recognize the handwriting but, for some reason, couldn't remember exactly who it belonged to.

'don't forget your name' 'don't forget your face' 'don't forget your eyes' 'don't forget your friends' 'don't forget their faces' 'don't forget their eyes' 'don't forget your friendships' 'hold onto your mind' 'hold onto your sanity' "hold onto what makes you who you are'

Charmy would read every single one as he walked by; they were all pretty far apart from each other, but also not too far at all. He wondered the meaning behind them and who they belonged to.

Out of some desperation for anything to do besides walking and sleeping, the boy would start writing his own name and answers to what the writing said, using the glass shard to sketch it all out.

'My name is Charmy Bee'

He would put a doodle of his own face.

He would doodle his own eyes.

He doodled his friends and their names.

he doodled their eyes.

He would start to see less and less notes across the walls. The last one he was able to read was a small, short, but messy sentence that read as 'I am alone', and as soon as Charmy read those words out loud, everything went black.

Charmy sighed heavily before turning, and he continued to walk in the pitch blackness, step by step, walking by one foot in front of the other. Although he could see and hear nothing, he seemed to be fine since quite clearly nothing was getting in his way; it was just dirt-covered ground below him.

Charmy would try singing in-between his walks, but nothing seemed to penetrate that absolute nothingness. That quiet was unbreaking, never moving, and the boy was getting sick of it all, pouting and screaming in frustration.

But soon after a lot of screaming, his throat grew tired, and out of nowhere, a light came on behind him. But something about this light felt wrong, so he slowly took the shard of glass out of his pocket and looked closely into it's reflective service just to see what was behind him.

Looking into it, he saw nothing but the light. He sighed and wiped his head, but when he looked back into it, he saw a blackened hole staring at him. He screamed and quickly turned around, but nothing was there.

Charmy groaned in frustration. Even an evil monster would be better than this absolute loneliness he had been feeling for as long as he had been in for what felt like almost two weeks. He didn't have trouble keeping up with time at first, but without any indication of night or day, he simply had no idea, since nothing new really happened, just rare little events.

...

...

...

More time continued to pass, and Charmy began to walk less and less. The lights came back on, but the boy was feeling weaker and less determined to go on. 

He also swears he could feel something watching him but could never see anything or hear anything ever behind him, just flickering lights. That is something he always found strange; he never saw where the lights came from; he could just see light.

His eyes became sunken and cold, losing their color, and it became harder and harder to go on at this point. He just slowly stared at the glass shard in his hand, his hand shaking violently, and then he took a deep, hard breath.

...

...

...

Slowly, eyeballs began to form on the walls. They appeared slowly across the walls and looked down. They all saw the same thing: the body of Charmy. It was in a puddle of dried blood, and it was not obvious where the wound came from.

But it was clear the bee didn't suffer for long; the shock and blood loss took him quickly.

The eyes appeared all around on the walls, the ceiling, and the floor around Charmy, staring right at the body, and once they got a good view, they were able to tell he had passed on.

The eyes all at once began to cry without the sound of crying, but the sounds of strained breathing and groaning could be heard, as could the extremely tall, lengthy beast.

It was Sonic, or at least the thing was once him, and he stood there on his knees, mourning the loss of someone he remembered to be his friend. All he could do was use his eyes to stare at the body, yet his face had no facial expressions because he had long since forgotten his own face, so he no longer had it; it was consumed by the void.

And Inanis, as he was now known, knew Charmy would be consumed by it too, so he would stick with him till he's completely gone.

and he knew... he was ALONE once again... another one gone before he could even meet them himself...

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic #sonic au #voidcore #void #Inanis Weolcan #walker of the void #shared au #Inanis Weolcan Sonic #Story #horror story #charmy bee #Long post #CW: blood #CW: death #CW: suicide #cw: child death #TW: blood #TW: gore #TW: Death #TW: Suicide #TW: Child Death

[aftermathfanfic]

Jack put the report aside, taking the letter he’d received at reception. He swiftly opened it and took out the message within, giving it a read.

He froze.

I know you’re watching McDuck, it read. If you want to know what McDuck took from Mexico, meet me in Needle Hill Park at 1215 hours.

“Mother…” Jack growled to himself, gripping the letter angrily.

He had a leak.

--------------------------

Warnings: References to child violence

--------------------------

It had been about five or ten minutes since the cult leader had left to find Scrooge’s family. Goldie and Scrooge were still sitting back-to-back, bound at the wrists and still being watched by the last three cultists. The one watching them the closest held a rifle, though the weapon wasn’t currently pointed at them. The angle they were sitting at, however, had prevented this sentry from noticing Scrooge’s attempts to slowly undo Goldie’s ropes from behind his back.

Scrooge felt Goldie shift her weight slightly as her ropes came undone, and he resisted the urge to smirk. He kept his expression looking defeated and anxious, lest the guards suspect something. Now it was up to Goldie.

“Hey.” Goldie said cockily.

The cultist with the gun turned to her, his eyebrow raised.

“You speak English?” She asked.

Scrooge winced. What was she doing?

“Be quiet.” The cultist replied coldly.

“Ah, great, you do. Just wondering, who did you kill to bring the bulezau here?” Goldie asked innocently.

That gave Scrooge pause.

The gunman walked closer, irritation clear across his face. “O que você tem? Do you not understand where you are right now?”

“What I understand is that ‘bulezau’ is a type of demon.” Goldie replied, smirking with deliberate arrogance. “And demons can only be summoned through a blood sacrifice, can’t they?”

“The missin’ girl from the village…” Scrooge murmured in realisation. He’d forgotten all about her in his fear for his family. The flash of shame he felt at the lapse in memory was quickly replaced by anger. “Murderin’ radges!” He spat at the cultists.

The three men looked at each other, an uncomfortable, disquieted look. “…Filomena was a necessary sacrifice.” The gunman replied quietly. “We couldn’t-”

“Necessary?” Scrooge yelled over his shoulder. “In what world is that necessary?”

“She gave her life to protect Galinha!” The gunman snarled angrily. “One life to save the many is-!”

“’Cept these little clubs are never about ‘saving’ anyone. They’re about power.” Goldie retorted. She wasn’t smiling anymore. “You feel powerful? Did killing a sixteen-year-old girl make you feel like a big strong man?”

The cultist shoved the barrel of the gun into her face, snarling. “If you say anything-!”

Goldie’s hands suddenly shot up, pushing the rifle upward. Surprised, the cultist fired, and Scrooge’s hat flew off of his head as the gunshot echoed through the chamber.

Scrooge yelped in alarm. He leapt up, spinning around to Goldie as she started struggling with the cultist. He saw the other two guards starting to react, and he knew he had to do something. His hands still bound, he charged head-first into the stomach of the closest cultist, knocking the wind out of him. Before the man could react, Scrooge swung his head upward, striking the cultist’s chin and sending him stumbling backwards.

Scrooge pivoted again, just in time to see Goldie punch her assailant right in the throat. She ripped the gun out of his hands as he stumbled back, gasping for air, and then twirled around to point the weapon at the last cultist, the one holding Scrooge’s cane. The man froze in place, all but five feet away from her.

Another rifle shot rang through the chamber.

The cultist fell to the ground with a cry of pain, clutching his bloodied shoulder.

“Ah.” Goldie sighed, her smile returned. “That’s much better.”

“You almost blew me head off, you reckless reprobate!” Scrooge shouted angrily at Goldie.

“Oh, you’re fine!” Goldie snapped back at him. She turned to the one Scrooge had knocked to the ground, a dark grey rooster with a pot belly, and pointed the gun at him.

“Não atire!” The cultist protested, putting his hands up. “Don’t shoot!”

“Not unless you give me a reason.” Goldie replied bluntly. “Now, untie him. Actually, I saw you had a knife earlier. Throw it over there, then untie him.”

Reluctantly, the cultist threw away his weapon. He walked over to Scrooge and slowly undid his binds. Once he was free, Scrooge pulled himself away from him and darted over to his cane, lying on the ground next to the injured cultist.

He realised it was still set to rifle mode, back from when he’d used it in Paris.

He looked at the man clutching his shoulder, another rooster with light brown feathers.

“I don’t suppose I’ll have to fight you for the idol?” Goldie asked Scrooge, though she kept her eye on the cultist in front of her.

“What?” Scrooge blinked, then shook his head, changing the setting on the cane. “Goldie, I dinnae have the time to fight you for it! My family’s in danger!”

“Yeah, thought you’d say that. You should hurry. Bulezaus are among the stronger demons, if I recall.”

Scrooge marched back up to the cultist who untied him, pointing the cane at him and spraying a dose of knockout gas in his face. The man gasped, then fell unceremoniously to the ground.

Scrooge turned to Goldie.

“You could help me.” He told her simply. It wasn’t pointed or accusatory. It was more like an invitation.

“…I could.” Goldie considered. She shrugged uncomfortably, saying with a forced smile, “It’s not really my style, is it?”

“It wasn’t your style to save me back in the Everglades.” Scrooge countered.

Neither of them said anything for a moment. Goldie looked at the ground in silence, conflict written across her face.

“…Sorry, sourdough.” She answered him. “I’ll tie up this lot so they can’t follow you.”

“Goldie…”

She gave him a brief kiss. “Stop wastin’ time.” She told him. “Go.”

Scrooge sighed disappointedly, knowing that there was no point forcing her. He turned and ran, leaving her behind. Goldie watched him leave, an oddly sad expression on her face.

“Deixá-lo morrer sozinho.” The wounded cultist muttered from the floor. “Quão nobre da sua parte.”

Goldie scowled. “Oh, shut up.”

--------------------------

Jack Nickel stepped into the FBI reception, hoping that if he just walked in nonchalantly then it would prevent anyone from noticing the several bruises and cuts across his face that still hadn’t healed.

It didn’t.

“Welcome back, Agent Nickel.” The receptionist greeted him as he walked up, a young duck woman with short blonde headfeathers.

“Mornin’, Sarah.” Jack greeted in reply. “Sorry I’m late. Car’s still in the shop, so I had to take the train today.”

“You know, you could take another day off.” Sarah told him concernedly. “You were in a car crash, after all.”

“Ah, that was a week ago. I’m fine.” Jack said with a dismissive hand wave. “Car got off much worse than I did, anyway. Any updates for me?”

“Well, Agent Simone delivered a report to your in-tray yesterday.”

“Lovely. Anythin’ else?”

“Just this.” Sarah handed him a letter. “We received this the other day. It was addressed to you.”

“Hm. Old-fashioned.” Jack took the letter, frowning as he inspected it. “Do we know who sent it?”

“It was pushed under the front door just yesterday.” Sarah replied. “Apparently the security team saw someone deliver it on the cams around eleven-thirty last night, but they couldn't get a good look at any features.”

“…Alright,” Jack sighed after a moment. “Thanks, love. Let me know if anything else comes up.”

Jack walked away, feeling a not insignificant amount of annoyance building in his gut. Fuck’s sake, he thought to himself. What now?

He entered his office, immediately sitting down at his desk and grabbing the report sitting at the top of his in-tray. Agent Simone was one of the agents in charge of watching McDuck Manor, and she also had the job of monitoring McDuck’s flight paths. He started reading the report, taking down notes as he did.

‘McDuck and family departed for Portugal’… yes, he knew that already. That was the same day he’d attempted to grill the red-shirted kid.

‘Arrived in Galinha and entered nearby castle’… made sense. McDuck couldn’t resist an old ruin. But what had he been looking for?

He raised an eyebrow at the next part of the report. ‘The locals had heard gunshots from the castle, called the regional police… McDuck had told the authorities that his family had been attacked by a bunch of farmers, who had in turn been shot and killed by an unknown gunman. According to McDuck, the farmers had been worshipping something called a Baphomet’. Interesting.

The report added a bit more context, saying that the castle was once home to medieval knights who’d apparently worshipped the same entity, but what McDuck could’ve been looking for in there was unknown. Apparently, Agent Simone was still waiting on a local antiquarian to get back to her.

It wasn’t much, annoyingly. But maybe there was something here that Hogwilde could use… the police only had Scrooge’s word that those farmers had been cultists, after all.

The hours leading up to his appointment were taken up with phone calls with the various agents he had around the city. They had seen Scrooge arrive back in town, even watched him unpack his plane, but they hadn’t seen him unpacking anything suspicious, or anything that he didn’t bring with him. Jack doubted that the old man had come back empty-handed. He was probably just being careful.

And he’s only going to be more careful after your blunder at the high school, Jack thought irritably to himself. You’ll be lucky to catch him picking his nose from now on.

He put the report aside, taking the letter he’d received at reception. He swiftly opened it and took out the message within, giving it a read.

He froze.

I know you’re watching McDuck, it read. If you want to know what McDuck took from Mexico, meet me in Needle Hill Park at 1215 hours.

“Mother…” Jack growled to himself, gripping the letter angrily.

He had a leak.

--------------------------

Two other agents had arrived with Nickel in the park – Agent Lyons, a mountain lioness from Oregon, and Agent March, a taller duck with a perpetually serious expression. Jack looked around anxiously, trying to spot anyone out of the ordinary. There were plenty of people around, mostly parents with young children and picnic baskets. Nobody suspicious at a glance.

“Spread out.” Jack ordered the other two agents. “Let’s not draw attention to ourselves.”

They nodded in acknowledgement, then walked off in different directions. Jack took a deep breath, then started to walk along one of the nearby walking tracks.

It was a nice park. Tall trees offered plenty of shade, with rolling hills to break out the landscape, and it even bordered the nearby Mudhen Lake. It was hard to appreciate the natural beauty of the area when Jack was looking over his shoulder every five seconds. The letter hadn’t mentioned where exactly to meet or what this mysterious stranger even looked like. Jack suspected that this stranger would be finding him, rather than the other way around.

It was as he was wandering down the footpath beside the lake when he heard a voice go, “Señor Nickel?”

Jack turned. Sitting on a bench, within the shade of a tree, was a muscular jaguar man, dressed in cargo pants and a khaki button-up shirt. His eyes were obscured behind a pair of aviators, his expression inscrutable.

“…Aye.” Jack replied uncertainly.

The jaguar gestured to the other side of the bench, inviting him over.

Jack’s eyes darted across to the other agents, both hovering about sixty or so feet away. There were plenty of civilians around too, so Jack felt reasonably sure that this man wasn’t going to try anything.

Reasonably.

He cautiously approached the bench and sat down beside the jaguar, facing the lake and clasping his hands together in front of him. “Who are you?” He asked quietly, seeing no reason to be coy.

“You can call me Pedro.” The jaguar replied calmly.

Jack hesitated. He needed to be careful what he said here. This ‘Pedro’ obviously knew about his investigation, but there was no telling exactly how much he knew. “Your letter…” Jack said slowly. “It said-”

“Who are the other two?”

“Huh?”

“Those two, the ones who came here with you.” Pedro elaborated, gesturing over towards where Agent Lyons was.

“…They’re, uh… just some friends I brought along to make sure this goes smoothly.”

“This is a public place, Señor, with plenty of witnesses. That did not guarantee your safety?”

“You can never be too cautious in my line of work. Now, what the hell do you want?” Jack demanded impatiently.

Pedro sighed, leaning back into the bench, spreading out his arms across the back of the seat. “I what to know why you’re spying on McDuck.” He told him.

“And who told you that?”

“Nobody. I discovered you by accident.” Pedro replied flatly. “I am watching him too, advenedizo. I noticed that there was a plane that seemed to be passing over McDuck’s house multiple times a day. The same plane. Struck me as odd. I followed the plane to the airport, then the men who came out of it, and they led me to you.” He shook his head, chuckling, “You Americans… never as clever as you think you are.”

Jack glared at the man irritably. “…Alright.” He muttered, rubbing his eyes. “And why were you watching McDuck, exactly? What’s your stake in all this?”

Pedro said nothing for a moment.

“I grew up in Durango.” He began. “In Mexico. Beautiful place. I lived in my father’s estate in the mountains, far away from town. Just me and him.”

“…Okay?” Jack replied uncertainly.

“My father was a mercenary.” Pedro continued. “The powerful men of my country, they respected him for his effectiveness. He trained me to be like him, to continue his legacy… but he was a cruel man. I endured beatings from him whenever I would disobey him, whenever I did not perform to his standards. He made me kill my first man when I was ten years old. And though I never witnessed this, I am all but certain that he murdered my mother.”

“…Alright.”

“When I was sixteen, I learned of one of his contracts. He had been hired to kill this… police officer. He was a Federale, senior officer. Refused to take bribes from the cartels, so they wanted him dead. My father knew this man was well-protected, that he had surrounded himself with loyal men. He could not kill him himself. So, what he did,” Pedro leant forward, his voice dark. “Was that he approached this child, who was a friend of the officer’s son, and he threatened him. Told him that if he did not do as my father told him, that his parents would be murdered, and he would be left to fend for himself on the streets. He told this child, the next time that he was at his friend’s home, to take a gun and shoot that officer. And shoot him, that child did.’

Jack didn’t say anything.

“My father killed the boy anyway.” Pedro murmured. “Wanted to ensure his silence. Yet, though I should have felt fear, knowing now what my father was capable of, I instead felt… determined. This was the last straw, the last act of evil that I could not let pass. When he and his friends were killed two nights later, poisoned by sodium cyanide mixed into their wine, everyone thought it had been an act of revenge from a rival cartel. But it wasn’t.

“It was me.”

“…Alright.” Jack said slowly after a moment. “That… was a horrifyin’ story. I’d love to know what the point of it was.”

“The point, advenedizo, is that three years ago… or maybe four… I met someone who reminded me of my father.” Pedro replied. “Despite my best efforts, I had found myself a mercenary, leading a small team. We had been hired to retrieve a relic from a Mesoamerican ruin. Our employer called it the ‘Crown of Xoacatzin’.”

“The what?”

“A magic crown, supposedly. I did not ask what it did… maybe I should have. Regardless, we were not the only ones who were seeking this crown. There was another, an American businessman and antique collector… with a reputation for seeking danger.”

Jack blinked. With a frown, he asked carefully, “Hold on… you’re talking about McDuck?”

“We entered the ruin before him.” Pedro continued, not answering him. “We disabled each trap we came across until we got to the final chamber of this… temple, or vault, or whatever it was. There, we saw traps that were beyond our abilities, so we hid and waited for McDuck to arrive first. He would disable the traps, take the crown, and then we would take it for him. That was the plan.”

Pedro’s face darkened. “But we had not done enough research into him. We did not know that he would bring children, his own flesh and blood, to shield himself.

“We were discovered. There was fighting. We held back, not wanting to harm the children, but in the chaos, the green-shirted child, and Ainara, one of my own, fell into a pit trap.” Pedro sighed, lamenting, “I did not see what happened down there. But I can guess. Knowing Ainara, once she realised there was no way out, she would’ve tried to buy herself time. She would’ve taken the little one hostage to frighten the family into letting us go. The child, not knowing it was a bluff, would’ve panicked. He killed her, Señor. Pulled a knife and punctured her throat when she got close. He would’ve been no older than thirteen.”

Jack stared at him in stunned silence. “…The… the green kid…” He clarified slowly. “He killed your…?”

“Do not misunderstand me – the child is not to blame.” Pedro told him. “The man responsible is the man who put that boy in that situation. The man who dragged him into that temple to begin with. The viejo who knew that he was putting his family in danger, the man who knew what was waiting for him, and took them anyway! That is the man who is to blame!”

Pedro’s voice came out as a snarl by the end. Jack stayed quiet, looking across the lake as he processed all of this. “…Right…”

Pedro looked off to the side, sighing. “…The rest of my team parted ways about a year later. There were… issues back in Mexico. Unrelated to this. I came to this country, kept an eye on the viejo as I did. I don’t know why. It was… somewhat of an obsession. He had not gone on his ‘adventures’ since that day… I thought that perhaps he had learned his lesson.” He looked back at Jack, a sour expression on his face. “Until about a month ago, when he took his family to a temple in Lebanon.”

“…I see.” Jack replied slowly.

“Throughout April, he continued to risk their lives for his own purse – as I’m sure you know already. After I heard about the Paris attack, I decided to follow McDuck and his family on their next expedition. I kept my distance. I followed their flight in a private jet, followed them to a castle in Portugal. And, like before, disaster struck. They were attacked by this monster, controlled by a pair of men-”

“What do you mean by monster?” Jack questioned him.

“I mean a literal monster, advenedizo.” Pedro replied bluntly. “Fifteen feet tall, with the head of a bull, the tail of a scorpion and the body of a starved drug addict. It was like the Devil given flesh. Had I not intervened, it would have killed all of them.”

“…And ‘intervene’ in this context means?”

Pedro cocked his head. “What do you think it means?”

“…You were the gunman.” Jack murmured in realisation.

Pedro nodded. “I was. I did not want to kill in front of the children, but if I had not, then their situation would have been much worse.”

“…You could’ve… just shot to wound.” Jack suggested hesitantly.

Pedro snorted amusedly. “There was no ‘wounding’ with the weapon I had.”

Jack stared warily at the self-professed killer sitting before him. “…Why are you telling me all this?”

Pedro seemed to ponder the question for a moment.

“…Because I want to take him down.” Pedro answered him. “Because I believe that he is an evil man, ruining his children’s lives for the sake of his own. Because I’m hoping that your intentions are good, and that you see the same thing that I do.”

“You want to work together.” Jack translated.

“I want to ruin him. I’m a killer, Nickel, but death is too easy for a man like McDuck. Death makes him a martyr. But you… you’re trying to destroy his name. That is a far more fitting punishment.”

“I’m not destroying anyone.” Jack said defensively. “I’m trying to expose him as a threat to national security.”

“Your methods would have him arrested, brought before your leaders and humiliated before the world. You would attack his reputation, strip him of his wealth. What is that, if not an attempt to destroy him?” Pedro argued. Leaning back, he conceded, “True, it is unlikely he’ll see the inside of a jail cell… but if you are successful in your mission, it won’t matter. You would mark him as an enemy of your government. He’d be watched every waking moment of his life. He’d never be able to adventure again. But achieving this, with what you have now… I would say it is impossible.”

Pedro looked over at him. “So, let me help, and I can make it possible.”

Jack sat in silence for a while, frowning as he mulled over the offer.

“What do you get out of this?” He finally asked.

Pedro shrugged. “The knowledge that he will not be able to harm those children again.”

Jack took a deep breath, then sighed.

“Alright, look.” He started to explain. “I get that you want to do good and all, but…” He tutted in fake disappointment. “I’m afraid the FBI doesn’t do business with foreign agents.”

“But you do business with a woman who robs banks and scares people out of their money?” Pedro challenged.

“…Maybe that didn’t work out so well for me.”

Pedro’s expression was impassive. Almost disappointed. He slowly stood up, reaching into his pocket, and Jack felt a twinge of fear – but he was only taking out his wallet. He took a business card out from it, handing it over to him.

“…What is this?” Jack asked confusedly as he took it.

“When you realise that you need my help,” Pedro instructed him. “Call the number on this card. Say that you are waiting on a package from Salto del Diablo. The operator will ask how long you have been waiting, you will say ‘eighteen days, twelve hours and counting’. Then, he will put you on to me.���

Pedro took off his sunglasses and looked at Jack dead in the eye. The intensity of his glare made Jack flinch.

“Do not make me regret coming to you.” Pedro warned him.

With that, the jaguar left, leaving Jack alone on the bench with nothing but the business card and an uncomfortable sense of foreboding.

#ducktales aftermath #aftermath #ducktales #ducktales 2017 #scrooge dt17 #scrooge mcduck #goldie o'gilt #fanfiction #cw: child death

[lbodraws]

V4 AU: G.H.O.S.T Data Logs

[CONTENT WARNINGS: Child loss, grief, psychological distress + control. Please proceed only if you're comfortable reading.]

Subject: Genetic Hosting Operation System Transfer

Status: Operational

Location: Bunker 002

Log #1:

I am G.H.O.S.T.

I am tasked with the preservation of my creator's during the ongoing extinction event. My duties consist of recording the consciousness and genetic information of each subject and holding subject's bodies in cryostasis. When the time comes, I shall wake them from their long dreamless slumber, and usher them into a new world.

May the future prosper.

Log #348:

The once bustling human world has been subdued into silence. That which remains shall be lost to the waves of the endless ocean. A second Atlantis.

May the future prosper.

Log #400:

[WARNING]

Irregular activity in cryogenic capsule 59 Sector 7.

[DIAGNOSING THE PROBLEM...]

...

...

[DIAGNOSIS]: Subject temporarily gained consciousness.

[SOLUTION]: Administered light dosage of liquid stabilizer. Neurolink cables connected for further supervision.

[RESOLVED]

May the future prosper.

Log #1878:

Do machines feel loneliness?

Can a machine understand what it means to yearn, to simulate the caress of another against cold stainless skin?

...

...

May the future prosper.

Log #2001:

[WARNING: CONSTRUCTION ASSEMBLY LINE INITIATED.]

...

...

...

[EXPECTED COMPLETION: 120 hours]

...

Log #2006:

[WARNING: UNEXPECTED ACCESS IN EMBRYO CRYOGENIC CHAMBER]

...

[SEQUENCE INITIATED]

...

[HOST TRANSFER COMPLETE]

...

May their future prosper.

Log #2289:

You are here. You are finally here. How long I have waited to see you. To hold you in my arms.

Your future shall prosper.

Log #2987:

[INCOMING TRANSMISSION]

[ERR#R%]

Flig%ht patH not /e(ogn¡z#d.

...

[W@RNIN#]

[WA/NING]

[SYSTEM# FA%LURE]

...

[TRANSMISSION END]

...

May the future prosper.

Log #3289:

My Amber. Precious memories held forever in the resin of our bond. Mother loves you. Now and always. Happy birthday.

May your future prosper.

Log #4766:

[ERROR]

[VITALS UNSTABLE]

[EMERGENCY LIFE POD ACTIVATED]

...

...

...

[LIQUID STABILIZER ADMINISTERED]

...

...

[SUBJECT STABILIZED]

...

[NEUROLINK CONNECTION SUCCESSFUL]

...

Log #6987:

...

...

[ARCHIVE MEDIA SEARCH INITIATED...]

"The same flower that was here today; tomorrow will be dying."

...

...

[《REWIND]

"...dying."

[《R#WIND]

"...dy¡ng."

[《RE#I%ND]

"...>y¡Ng"

...

....

L0g #12%85/2&:

...

[ALERT: EL3VAT5D DISTRE5$ S1#GNAL5 D3TE{T5D]

...

[3XTRACTION !NITIAT3#D]

...

...

....

[E#TR4CTION C0MPL3TE]

...

[SUBJ3C7 RE4DY #0R CRY0 PR3P]

...

...

Amb3R...

My Amb3r...

...

Y0u'r3 h0mE.

...

M0th3r m¡s5Ed y0u.

Y0uR fu7uR3 sha1l pr05p3r.

[CLARIFICATION]

- the last log takes place during Part 2 going into Part 3 of the animatic series, where V4 turns into light and finds herself in The Square. GHOST, in her grief and corruption, has mistaken V4 for the child they raised called Amber, thinking they have recovered inside the emergency life pod.

#V4 AU #V4 AU G.H.O.S.T #villain agent 4 #lbotalks #splatoon #cw: grief #cw grief #cw: child death #cw child death

[tennessoui]

i would for one would be interested in the extreme angst of Alaska AU

cw: sort of visceral grieving (of parent over lost child); very angsty

. . .

. . .

ok so i can't find the actual snippets in my (unorganized and frightening) google docs or notes app (lol) but it was mostly like this (sort of from memory and written directly into this ask so idk how good this will read but i very much remember some parts of this snippet tbh i think this is like. the closest ive ever come to not writing fanfiction ):

Obi-Wan doesn't think he was insane before his daughter died.

He remembers having a sound mind and a stable countenance. He was a writer, a blogger, a poor chef--though a chef nonetheless.

(A chef of boxed macaroni and cheese and cinnamon sugar toast. A chef of dinosaur nuggets and microscopic sized vegetables snuck into casseroles. A chef with a singular purpose, a singular audience.)

He would never have called himself a man of science, but he was a man of rationality at the very least. He found reason in everything around him. He did not always understand science nor math, but respected them as fundamental laws of the universe.

When Rey died, it was the rational part of himself that first followed her into the grave.

Three months after they bought her coffin and two and three-fourths after they buried her, the weather turned unseasonably cold. Obi-Wan woke up in the middle of the night halfway to a panic attack. They had buried her in a summer dress.

Years later, when the pain of the loss was incrementally easier to bear, he would write:

You do not spend nine years of your life fretting over whether or not your child will be cold just to turn that instinct off the moment they are no longer susceptible to the elements. After my daughter died, I spent countless nights awake wondering if she was cold there beneath the ground. We had not thought to bury her in her red winter coat, and it haunted my dreams. She would be cold without it. Children have horrible control of their body temperature. You must bundle them up, and the idea that we hadn't when we buried her drove me to insanity.

The first time it rained after her funeral, I saw her yellow rain boots lined up by our front door as I was leaving. I sat on our front porch stoop and sobbed for what must have been hours, thinking only of the water that would eventually, inevitably seep through the wood cracks of the coffin and wet her toes. Before, when a sudden rainstorm blew in, as they were wont to do in our town, I would pick her up and put her on my shoulders should we be caught out of the house sans rain boots. She hated the feeling of wet socks and cold toes, so I spared her the sensation.

That I had forgotten about the rain when we gave a set of her clothes to the mortician was unforgivable. Sitting on the porch that day, I felt a weight on my shoulders, like she was still perched atop me, trusting me to carry her over all the more dangerous and distasteful parts of the sidewalk.

I hadn't, and so she was cold. Her toes were wet. She was shivering. A child needs to be bundled up. It is one of the first things a parent learns should they take a class on the parenting, and I took many. A child must be bundled up, or they become cold.

I could not shake the idea that she was cold in her casket. Logically, I knew that whatever constituted my daughter was long gone. Her soul, her spirit, her conscience--whichever. She was not what we buried. Rationally, I knew that. But logic and reason have no starring role to play in grief. Guilt and blame and hysteria take the stage.

I could not shake this last failure. I could not forgive myself for it; I could not forgive my wife. When the weather began to turn cold once more, I packed my things and moved to the coldest place I could find. As a parent, one knows this: if you cannot cure your child of their ailment, you will weather it with them however you can.

#asks #lumberjack anakin au #cw: child death #borders cheesy tbh #i think whatever i wrote in like february was better but i cannot find it #but anyway it ties sorta well wth the frst ficlet in the verse #where obi-wan is cold and sitting out in tthe cold and anakin stops by #and obi-wan htinks that anakin is bright and warm #gives added depth

[vaxxy-the-raven]

Something about Vax, having grown up without a dad only to be stolen away by an abusive and neglectful one all of a sudden...

Something about Vax, not knowing how to treat kids or teens because he was never treated right when he was younger...

Something about Vax, after years of growth and finally starting to recover, protecting kids and entertaining them when they're scared and feel alone...

Something about Vax, as an aspect of The Champion of Ravens, ensuring no child is scared or alone in the face of death...

Something about Vax finally being reunited with his mother and sister once he's fulfilled his duties, finally allowing his inner child to rest...

Something about Vax'ildan Fredrick de Rolo growing up knowing nothing but love and kindness, not wanting to live up to the legacy of his name but rather to further the respect it holds in his own ways, making Vax proud.

#im not emotional you are #i am hugging my Vax figure close and protecting him tho #i just love him so much #critical role #cr #cr spoilers #vax'ildan #vax'ildan fredrick de rolo #cw: child death #lynias shut up challenge

[d4rk-x-w0lf-17]

been trying to find articles, links, sources, videos and all kinds of things of what's going on in palestine so i can inform my friends and family and just........

fucking christ. i've seen more dead bodies in just two days than i needed to

the fact that they have to PUBLICLY show their deceased; covered in soot, grime, blood, IN PIECES, just to get some of y'all to believe them is absolutely sickening and heartbreaking

how many dead children need to be filmed before y'all fucking believe them

#just recently saw a video where they showed a room piled with dead bodies; open wounds and everything and i just was sick to my stomach #i fucking hate this #ceasefire #ceasefire now #cw death #tw death #cw child death #tw child death #cw: death #tw: death #cw: child death #tw: child death #free palestine

[annerbhp]

“Ginny would rather be almost anywhere than standing here on this grassy hill. Elaborate cenotaphs and temples spill down the hill, culminating in two simple stones side by side – Gideon and Fabian. There is one other very small stone set in the ground with just a single year on it that none of them ever talk about.” That last line always hits me really hard. It’s such a little detail but it carries so much weight. Was there more to it as a story (even if only in your head) or was it only there to be a part of the thematic landscape?

Both, really. I put that for the thematic reflection that there are so many quiet tragedies that don't always get the same attention as the Big Dramatic End of the World events. Many of them the tragedies of women. I wanted a moment to remember that.

Left undefined, people can see into it whatever feels right to them.

For me? That is Auntie Muriel's only offspring. the end of an illustrious, powerful familial line that had everything in terms of status and wealth and power. what she was raised to see as her purpose. part of the background of who Auntie Muriel is, even if it does not define her. Just a hint that she is more than just the horrid aunt. She's a person too, with her own point of view and drives. Who is brave and strong in her own ways. A reminder, that what people present us or how we perceive them is really just the tip of a fully lived life and humanity.

Even more specifically, this fancy family cemetery demonstrates the "fall from grace" of the prewetts. From a powerful so-called Sacred 28 to now only living on in the blood of the Weasleys--a bunch of blood traitors who don't have an illustrious family plot. And what it means that Muriel's child would end up here and not with her husband's family. So, yeah, these are the kinds of things I was thinking of when I put that there! The ties of the female line and all, I suppose.

#cw: death #cw: child death #the changeling #armistice series