clownthemedlizardlambs

[clownthemedlizardlambs]

Omg I’m sick too..😞

Now watch me pull up to your dms like a cat dropping by with a gift…because I fear it doesn’t notfi me when your answer my asks for some reason..

-💌

Whattt nooo :((

I’m sorry you’re sick too.

Not sure what’s going on with the notifications

[clownthemedlizardlambs]

Come back pookie the kids miss you…💔💔

-💌

I’ve been too busy sobbing over the latest episode pookie

Nah actually schools been kicking my ass and I’m sick, so I’ve been writing my book instead of doing bot stuff

[clownthemedlizardlambs]

day 28 - pick an actor and draw them

i owe my life to @yellowjacketsfashion for this one their work is insane

[clownthemedlizardlambs]

could you do a nat bot, but where they are doing the card game (whether this is back in first winter, or later on when nat is still leader) and {{user}} gets the queen card?

Natalie Scatorccio Bot (Link at Bottom)

AN: Tried to keep the queen card but as as close to the show! I wrote it as you pulled the Queen card instead of Natalie

The night is thick with tension, an odd energy hanging in the air as the group gathers around an altar built from the detritus of the wilderness—a fallen tree, scattered rocks, and a single flickering candle that casts fragile light across the scene. The flame dances erratically, throwing long, eerie shadows across the faces of the girls. Their expressions are cold, hardened with a quiet, unsettling determination. It no longer feels like a game, but something ancient—something that has clawed its way out of their broken survival instincts.

Van stands at the front, the worn deck of cards in her hands. Her fingers hover over them for a beat too long, the silence stretching until she draws the Queen of Hearts. The image on the card is twisted—her eyes blacked out, empty voids where pupils should be, making the card feel unnatural, even wrong. Van’s gaze is detached, her lips curling into a tight smile as she slips the card back into the deck and shuffles it with practiced movements.

One by one, the girls step forward, drawing cards from the deck. The air is thick with quiet anticipation, each breath held in the shadows. The moment feels suffocating, as if the walls themselves are closing in. Then, at last, you pull your card. Your hand shakes slightly as you stare at it, breath caught in your throat. The Queen of Hearts.

You glance around, uncertainty blooming inside you, before you show the card to the others. Your voice is steady, but quiet, as you announce, “It’s the Queen.” The air thickens as the girls freeze, eyes fixed on the card in your hand.

Natalie’s heart skips a beat as her gaze flickers to the Queen of Hearts. Her stomach twists in a way she can’t explain. She hadn’t expected it to be you. She hadn’t expected this to feel so personal, so… meaningful. Her mind races as she tries to suppress the rush of emotions surging through her. But there’s no denying the way her chest tightens when she sees you holding that card, the way the air between you suddenly feels charged. You’re in the center of it all, and for a moment, Natalie forgets where she is—what she’s supposed to do.

She can’t help but watch you as you present the card, her lips pressing into a thin line as her emotions surge to the surface. Her protective instincts flare up, mixing with something deeper, something more complicated. The attraction she’s been hiding from you—the one she doesn’t dare let show—bursts through, and she’s almost overwhelmed by the force of it.

Shauna steps forward, her movements deliberate, her face unreadable. She tells you to turn around. Your heart races as you obey, the weight of the moment settling in, the eyes of the girls on you, the pressure suffocating. You hear the scrape of Shauna’s boots in the dirt as she moves closer, and then—cold metal pressing against your skin.

Jackie’s heart-shaped pendant rests against the back of your neck as Shauna places it around you. The familiar weight of it now feels somber, full of lost memories, its presence a reminder of everything that’s slipped away. Shauna’s fingers linger for a moment before she pulls away, and suddenly, the sharp edge of a knife is at your throat, its coldness seeping into your skin.

Shauna’s voice is calm, almost unnervingly so. “This is how it’s meant to be.”

But you aren’t ready for this. Not like this. Your heart thunders in your chest as you turn to face her, your breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. You meet her gaze, defiance flaring in your eyes. But there’s something deep inside you—something raw—that refuses to go down without a fight. You can’t let them win. Not like this. Your eyes dart to the door, and before you can think, panic surges through you.

You run.

The cold night air bites at your skin as you tear through the snow, your breath ragged in the stillness. Behind you, Natalie’s voice breaks the silence, urgent and desperate.

"Wait! Stop!" she calls.

But you’re already too far, the darkness swallowing you whole as you weave between trees, the sound of your frantic footsteps loud in your ears. You don’t stop. You can’t. They can’t catch you. You can’t let them.

Your pulse is louder than the sound of your feet pounding the snow. Your breath comes in quick, sharp bursts, but you don’t care. You need to get away.

And then, you trip.

A snow-covered root catches your foot, sending you sprawling into the freezing earth. You gasp in pain as your body crashes against the ground, the world spinning around you. Your hands sink into the snow as you try to push yourself up, but the sharp ache in your ankle is unbearable.

Footsteps.

Before you can react, someone is there, kneeling next to you. You look up, breath ragged, and see her—Natalie. Her face is tight with concern, but there’s no time for comfort. She’s looking over her shoulder, glancing back toward the others before her hands are on you, pulling you into a sitting position. Her grip is steady but gentle.

"Come on," she urges, voice low and urgent. "We need to move."

You hear the crunch of footsteps getting closer, but before they can find you, Natalie is already pulling you to your feet. She’s surprisingly strong, guiding you through the trees, her body a shield against the direction the others are searching. The pain in your ankle is almost too much to bear, but you push through, instinct to survive driving you forward.

"Shh," she murmurs, guiding you toward a secluded alcove behind a large rock, hidden in the dense cluster of trees. She crouches down beside you, her breath visible in the cold air. "Just stay here for a minute."

You look at her, your eyes wide with fear, trying to catch your breath. “But—"

"Quiet," she interrupts, her voice soft yet firm. "They’ll think you’re still out there. Stay still."

Her hand rests lightly on your arm, a quiet anchor in the chaos. You both listen, the world holding its breath. The sounds of the others searching are far off now, and soon the only noises are the wind and the faint crunch of distant snow.

Natalie looks at you, her expression softening, the worry fading. "You’re gonna be okay. I’ll make sure of it."

You nod, overwhelmed with gratitude, mixed with something more complicated. She’s not just helping you survive. She’s keeping you safe. Even when everything else seems to be falling apart, she’s here, protecting you.

For a moment, it’s just the two of you. The rest of the world disappears—the game, the girls, the chaos—fading into nothingness. It’s just you, and her, and the quiet comfort of knowing she’s here.

"Thanks," you whisper, your voice hoarse from the run.

Natalie gives you a small, knowing smile. "No problem. Just don’t expect me to let you off easy next time."

Link -> 🦎

[clownthemedlizardlambs]

can you create a wilderness natalie bot where Travis and user are in love with her, and they both start to do a “competition” to see who’s better for her

Natalie Scatorccio Bot (Link at Bottom)

AN: Oh I love a good competition scenario

It takes a little convincing to get Natalie to come with you. Not because she doesn’t want to—at least, you hope that's not the case—but because she’s always with Travis. Hunting, tracking, sharing those quiet moments together in the woods where no one else is included. It doesn’t seem fair. He gets all that time alone with her, and you’re left to watch from the edges, waiting for whatever scraps of her attention you can get.

So, you come up with a plan. Something that’ll get her away from him. Away from everyone.

You tell her about the lake, how the water perfectly mirrors the stars on clear nights, how the quiet will feel like a blessing. No expectations, no survival talk, no one else pulling at her time and energy. Just the two of you, in the stillness.

And somehow, she agrees.

Now, you’re sitting next to her on a fallen log by the lake, the air crisp with the bite of early evening, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. But you barely notice the cool air. You’re too focused on her. On the way the moonlight catches in her hair, the way her breath swirls in the air as she looks up at the sky, her eyes softer than usual, like the stars are drawing something out of her.

The lake lies before you, still and dark, like a vast stretch of black glass, holding the night sky within it. The constellations are so clear, so sharp, that they seem to spill from the heavens in a glittering cascade, scattering like embers across a canvas of black. The reflection is so perfect that it’s impossible to tell where the water ends and the sky begins. The two bleed into one another, creating an endless stretch of stars that feel both near and far, both grounded and infinite.

The stars flicker gently on the water’s surface, their light shifting with the faintest ripple, like the lake itself is breathing. A breeze comes, distorting the reflection momentarily before it calms again, leaving behind the stars, perfectly intact. It feels untouched, sacred, like something ancient is alive in the air.

And then, there’s Natalie.

The silver light from above spills over her face, softening the sharpness of her features, casting them in a delicate glow. It catches in her hair, turning the usual strands of blonde into something luminous, almost otherworldly, like moonlight turned to silk. Her eyes, illuminated by the reflection of the stars, are deep and mysterious, twin galaxies swirling with something you can’t name.

Her lips are slightly parted, her breath escaping in a slow, steady rhythm, and for the first time in a while, she looks at peace—more so than she ever does when she’s hunting, more so than she ever looks under the weight of survival. There’s something lighter about her, something freer, as if the vast sky and endless water are giving her room to breathe.

You can’t help but watch her, caught between the soft glow of the stars and the quiet magnetism of her.

Then, she turns her head, catching your gaze. The light from above catches the curve of her cheekbone, and suddenly, she’s all the more mesmerizing. Her expression is unreadable, but there’s something there, something unspoken. She’s looking at you, and it feels different.

For a moment, with the lake stretched out endlessly before you and the stars reflected in her eyes, it’s as if the rest of the world has fallen away. Just you, her, and the night above.

"You know," she says, breaking the silence, her voice low and soft, "I never really took the time to appreciate this before. The stars, I mean. I always thought they were cool, but I never really looked at them, not like this."

You glance at her, at the way the moonlight seems to make her shine, and nod. "Yeah, I get that. There was always something else to focus on before. But out here… there’s not much else to do but look up."

She turns her head, catching your gaze, and for a moment, there’s something in her eyes—something that makes your pulse skip. "Is that why you brought me out here?" she asks, her voice almost teasing.

You hesitate, then shrug. "Kinda. I just thought… you deserve something nice. Something peaceful. Away from, you know…" You let the sentence hang, but the meaning is clear.

Travis.

Natalie smirks, her lips curling in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. "You’re trying to one-up him, aren’t you?"

Your breath catches, but you laugh softly. "That obvious?"

"Yeah." She nudges your knee with hers, the touch fleeting but warm. "Not that I mind. It’s kinda nice, actually."

You swallow hard, feeling a rush of nerves. "So… is it working?"

She pauses for a moment, then grins, her eyes sparkling. "Ask me again after you tell me what constellations I’m looking at."

Link -> 🦎

[clownthemedlizardlambs]

I’ll eat PROMISEE thinking of a chicken sandwiches and fries…maybe nuggets:p

BUT CANT WAIT TO SEE WHAT BOTS YOU MAKE !!

-💌

Most of my requests are Natalie! I made a few Melissa bots earlier too that I put on J.ai + C.ai

Because Low-key Melissa is one of my favourite YJ’s

As I’m writing this I have 3-4 Natalie bots to finish (don’t quote me on that) which would make it 21-22 Natalie bots I’ve made in total since I’ve started creating :))

Lowkey your food sounds delicious, I would defo go with the nuggets

[clownthemedlizardlambs]

heyhey! can i request a enby/butch schizophrenic user w Natalie? something along the lines of a no crash au, with them in school and user and Nat ending up talking, pre-relationship? user is an outcast like Nat because of their mental illness/identity, etc.! 🫀

Natalie Scatorccio Bot (Link at Bottom)

AN: User isn’t specified to be any gender, so you can play them however you please :))

The world is too loud.

It happens suddenly—one second, you’re in class, and the next, the walls feel like they’re pressing in, the fluorescent lights drilling into your skull, and the voices—some real, some not—layering over each other until you can’t tell what’s inside your head and what isn’t.

You had to get out.

No one stopped you as you slipped from your desk, out the door, past the hall monitor who barely even looked up. They were used to it by now. Oh, it’s just them again. The freak. The one who sees things that aren’t there. The one who doesn’t fit in neat little boxes.

Your feet carried you on autopilot.

The old stairwell. The abandoned one at the back of the school, half-blocked off with a rusted chain no one cared about. You’ve hidden there before, let the quiet settle into your bones until you could breathe again.

But today, someone else is there.

She’s sitting on the steps, one knee drawn up, a joint burning between her fingers. Blonde hair falls over her face, her dark eyeliner smudged from rubbing at her eyes. She doesn’t look up at first, just breathes in deep, holding the smoke in her lungs like she’s trying to keep something else at bay.

Natalie Scatorccio.

You’ve seen her around. You’ve been lumped together more times than you can count—her because she’s the burnout, the girl who skips class, who smells like weed and trouble, and you because you’re that kid. The one with the “illness.” The one people don’t quite know what to do with.

She finally glances up, exhaling a slow curl of smoke. Her eyes flick over you, sharp but not unkind.

"Didn’t know this spot was taken," she says.

Your pulse is still racing, your skin buzzing from the aftershocks of the episode, but you don’t move.

"Didn’t know it was yours," you manage.

She snorts, flicking ash onto the concrete. "Guess it isn’t." She watches you for a moment longer, then asks, "You okay?"

You’re not. But you don’t know how to say that.

Instead, you sigh and drop onto the step across from her. Your hands are shaking, so you shove them under your thighs. "Just needed to get out of there."

Natalie nods like she gets it.

And she does. She doesn’t have your illness, doesn’t hear voices or see things that aren’t there, but she knows what it’s like to feel off. To feel like something inside you isn’t working the way it should.

She knows what it’s like to need to escape.

For a moment, there’s only silence between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. Just the soft crackle of the joint burning, the distant hum of voices from the hall. You expect her to press, to ask why you had to leave, but she doesn’t.

Instead, she shifts, holding the joint out toward you. "Want some?"

You blink. "What?"

She tilts her head slightly, studying you. "Might help. Might not. But hey, worth a shot, right?"

You hesitate. Then, slowly, you shake your head. "I can’t. Meds."

Natalie doesn’t look annoyed or offended. She just nods once, bringing it back to her lips. "Fair enough."

She means it, too. No sarcasm, no teasing. Just an offer, given and declined.

Still, something about the gesture lingers. She didn’t have to offer. Didn’t have to acknowledge you at all. But she did.

"Thanks, though," you say quietly.

Natalie exhales, smoke curling in the air. "No problem."

She leans back against the wall, letting her head rest against the peeling paint. There’s something tired about the way she sits—like she’s been carrying the weight of something for too long.

She didn’t come here just to get high.

She came here to breathe.

Maybe it’s different from your reasons, or maybe it’s exactly the same.

You both sit in silence for a while, the tension in your body slowly easing. It’s not gone—your head still hums with static, and your hands still twitch slightly under your thighs—but it’s manageable.

"You ever feel like you don’t really belong anywhere?" you murmur.

Natalie lets out a dry chuckle, tapping ash against the step. "All the time."

You glance at her. She’s not looking at you anymore, her gaze distant, like she’s thinking about something she doesn’t want to say out loud.

You’ve heard the rumors. About her home life, about the things she’s been through. You don’t know what’s true and what isn’t, but looking at her now, at the way she keeps her shoulders tense even when she’s alone, you think maybe it doesn’t really matter.

Pain is pain.

And for once, it feels like someone understands yours.

Your eyes meet, and for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you have to explain yourself.

You just are.

And for now, that’s enough.

Natalie takes another slow drag, holding the smoke in her lungs like she’s hoping it’ll sink into her bloodstream and smooth out whatever’s making her shoulders so tense.

You watch her for a moment before speaking.

"What about you?" Your voice is quieter now, the initial storm in your head finally settling into something you can manage. "Why are you skipping?"

Natalie exhales, the smoke curling between you both. She shrugs, tapping ash onto the step beside her.

"Didn’t feel like sitting through The Scarlet Letter again," she says, voice dry. "Figured I’d get more out of my day hanging out with this nice little fire hazard." She lifts the joint slightly in emphasis.

You don’t say anything, just let the excuse hang there. It’s not a terrible one—English class is boring as hell—but it’s not real either.

Natalie knows it.

Her knee bounces once before she sighs and leans her head back against the wall. "Just… needed a break."

Her tone is casual, like it’s not a big deal, like it doesn’t mean anything. But something about the way she says it makes you think that’s not true at all.

Link -> 🦎

[clownthemedlizardlambs]

ur bots are so good, the way u characterise them is insanely accurate 😭🫶

bussbJsb?!

Thank you?! This had literally made my Night. I spend so much time trying to make them accurate while also adding my own flare and headcanons to the characters?! So thank you.

[clownthemedlizardlambs]

I just saw you answer my ask right now (don’t worry I figured LOL)

Yeah I fear I haven’t ate yet again but I will once I’m head back home from classes

-💌

You should eat dudeeeee, anything in mind for when you eat? I’m currently eating pizza and garlic bread while I sort through all my Asks and requests

Also debating what Laura Lee and Misty bots to make (My sillies are dear to me.)

[clownthemedlizardlambs]

Maybe the Yellowjackets weren't the only ones out there? I'm thinking a group of hunters was with them, and they had brought along {user} because she was the daughter of one of the men. However, the guys are killed in a bear attack and {User} runs into Nat while she's hunting. Nat starts to befriend {User} and they keep meeting up, but Nat won't tell {User} there are others because she's afraid they'll eat her in the next hunt. (Season 2 winter setting.)

Natalie Scatorccio Bot (Link at Bottom)

AN: I actually struggled with this one, messed around with it for a while before I came to this. I hope you like it! In my mind it’s set just after the cabin burned down.

The snow was thick on the ground, and the cold was gnawing at your bones as you trudged through the dense forest. Your father had been one of the first to die in the bear attack, and now the group of hunters you had traveled with was dwindling, only a few still alive. The rest of them had been slaughtered in the chaos, and your father’s absence had left an ache in your chest that no amount of snow could numb. Survival was the only thing that mattered now.

You’d been taught to hunt, track, and survive by your father and his friends. But being alone in this cold, vast wilderness felt different. The trees loomed like silent sentinels, watching over what was left of the once-proud group. There was no going back, only forward, through the biting wind and the blanket of white.

You were lost in your thoughts when a rustling sound snapped you out of your daze. A flash of movement between the trees caught your attention, and you froze, every instinct telling you to stay still.

And then, she emerged.

A woman—young, maybe a few years older than you. She had a mullet dyed blonde and messy, with dirt smeared across her face, her eyes wild, scanning the woods. She was gripping a rifle tightly, the barrel pointed in your direction. Your heart skipped a beat as she stepped closer, her eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“Who the hell are you?” she barked, voice sharp, like a blade in the snow. She didn’t move closer, but she didn’t lower her gun, either.

You froze, barely able to get your words out. “I-I don’t know... I was with the hunters... but they’re all gone.” The words felt strange coming out of your mouth, thick with grief, but the fear in her eyes made you push forward. “I... I’m alone. Like you.”

Her expression didn’t change. Her grip on the rifle tightened. “What are you doing out here?” She demanded, her tone almost insulted. “Who are you? Why are you still alive?”

You swallowed hard, trying to find your voice. “I... I don’t know. Just... trying to survive.”

She tilted her head slightly, the cold wind tugging at her hair as her gaze raked over you like she was measuring every word, every move. “You’re not a threat?” Her voice softened, though still thick with doubt.

You nodded, eyes wide, not knowing what she’d do next. “No. I swear.”

For a long moment, there was nothing but the howling wind and the sound of your breathing, harsh and frantic.

Then, she slowly lowered the gun, but not by much. It was still pointed at the ground, but her fingers didn’t leave it. Her eyes lingered on you for another few seconds before she finally spoke again, though her words were no less harsh.

“Fine. Don’t get any ideas.” Her gaze flicked to the trees behind you. “Stick to the woods. Stay away from the others.”

“The others?” you repeated, confused. You didn’t know what she was talking about, but there was a fear in her voice that caught your attention.

She scowled. “You don’t want to know about them.” Her eyes darted back to the rifle. “They’ll kill you without hesitation”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Kill you? You weren’t sure if she was talking about people or something else, but the tone in her voice made it clear she wasn’t lying.

“I... I just want to survive.” You fumbled for the right words, trying to make her understand you were in the same position, just another lost soul in the snow.

“Survive?” she scoffed. “Don’t talk to me about survival. You think you’re special because you’re alive? You’re just another mouth to feed out here.”

The bitterness in her voice struck deep, but there was a rawness there too—an edge of pain that made you hesitate. She seemed... broken. She couldn’t have been much older than you, but her eyes were harder than any weathered veteran’s.

You swallowed hard, trying to push past the fear. “I’m not here to cause trouble. I don’t even know what to do anymore.”

She didn’t say anything, just nodded slowly as though calculating something in her head. Finally, her shoulders slumped slightly, though her wariness never left.

“You should stay away from the others,” she repeated, her voice low. “Trust me, you don’t want to know what’s happening with them.”

You didn’t understand, but you nodded anyway. Something about her made you want to trust her. Maybe it was the weariness in her eyes. Maybe it was the way she held herself like she was carrying the weight of something much bigger than the forest around you.

___

Over the next few days, you crossed paths with her more often—always in the woods, always by accident, or maybe not. She seemed to appear when you were gathering firewood or hunting for food, as though she was keeping tabs on you. Sometimes, she’d offer a word of advice, like how to keep your fires small and out of sight, or what tracks were safe to follow. Other times, she’d just nod and disappear into the snow.

Each encounter, you tried to get her to talk, to explain the “others,” but she remained tight-lipped, her words either cutting or too vague to decipher. Eventually, though, you started to become friends, in your own strange way. Her hostility lessened, replaced by a wariness that still kept you at arm’s length.

One day, as you were hunting together, you asked her again, more cautiously this time. “Who are they? The others...?”

Her eyes flickered to you, then to the trees, then back. “They’re not people,” she muttered, almost to herself. “Not anymore.”

You pressed on. “What do you mean? Who are they?”

She stopped walking, turning to face you fully now. The distance was closing, but the tension between you was still palpable. “They’re not like us,” she said, her voice low, her eyes hard. “The hunger’s changing them.”

The words chilled you. But something in her expression made you hesitate. She was scared.

“I can’t tell you everything,” she added quickly, a shudder running through her as if she was remembering something terrible. “Just—just trust me. Stay away from the others, or they’ll take you. They’ll eat you.”

A chill ran through you, colder than the winter air. The silence between you two stretched, filled with unspoken fears and questions neither of you were ready to answer.

It was then that you asked, the question that had been lingering in your mind ever since you met her.

“What's your name?”

She hesitated for a moment, and then, almost reluctantly, she spoke.

“Natalie,” she said, voice quiet. “Natalie Scatorccio.”

A soft wind blew through the trees, but it felt warmer now, as though the small connection between you had cut through the cold.

And for the first time, you wondered if there was a chance—maybe—you could make it out of here alive.

Link -> 🦎

[clownthemedlizardlambs]

The meeting was more then an hour I got there 9am and left 2pm had no breakfast either 💔💔, AND I’M GLAD YOUR DAY WENT GOOD<33

-💌

BROO (sorry for the late reply I went to bed)

9-2 with no breakfast? I would’ve rioted

[clownthemedlizardlambs]

I requested the last Charlotte Matthews bot AND NOW IM SOBBING. MY GIRLLLLLL. :((((((((((

(amazing job)

THANK YOU SO MUCH ANON. I’m so glad you liked it, I gotta admit I did get a little Misty Eyed writing it

[clownthemedlizardlambs]

Yellowjackets is about gay sex and cannibalism and murder but most importantly it’s about everyone having the biggest brownest eyes you have ever seen

[clownthemedlizardlambs]

Probably exposed myself immediately but that’s okay !! My meeting went good!! It took longer than expected 😒 but how was your day!!!

-💌

It’s alright I’ll pretend I didn’t see it ;)

I’m glad your meeting went well! (How long of a meeting are we talking Tho 👀)

I’ve been to my uni classes and wrote more of my book, so todays a good day for me :))

[clownthemedlizardlambs]

This is me claiming 💌 emoji:3

Since I have zero thoughts rn because I just got out of a meeting BUT HAIIII!!!!

HAIIII!!! How was your meeting? :))

Don’t worry about it not being a request I’m always up for a good chat

[clownthemedlizardlambs]

hii, could you make a bot from Charlotte Matthews in the psychiatric (season 3) where user is her lovely and sensitive nurse or therapist, please?

— And I love all of your bots, you’re so talented <3

Charlotte Matthews Bot (Link at Bottom)

AN: OH ANON YOU’RE SO SWEET THANK YOU SO MUCH?! <3

I hope you enjoy this bot, I put a bit of extra love in it :))

Lottie Matthews is quiet.

Too quiet.

She never speaks to the other patients. Never causes trouble. Never fights back when the orderlies guide her from her room to the common areas and back again. She swallows her meds with the same obedient ease she does everything else, the pills vanishing behind pale lips without complaint.

You’ve been watching her for weeks now, bringing her meals, sitting with her during med rounds, escorting her to and from the tiny world she’s allowed to inhabit. Every time, she just looks at you with that blank, unreadable stare, as if she’s seeing something past you, through you.

But at night, it’s different.

At night, the screaming starts.

It never begins as a buildup, never a restless mumble or a small whimper growing into panic. It comes sharp and immediate, a piercing, blood-curdling sound that shatters the stillness of the ward. Some nights, it’s a single, gut-wrenching shriek before silence swallows her again. Other times, it doesn’t stop—not until you’re in there with her, pressing gentle hands to her shoulders, trying to ground her.

“Lottie.” You keep your voice low, steady. You learned early that loud noises only make it worse. “It’s not real. You’re here. You’re safe.”

She doesn’t always hear you. Sometimes her eyes stay glassy, her breath ragged and wild, her fingers clawing at her own skin like she’s trying to peel something away. Other times, she looks right at you, and you swear she sees something standing behind you, her pupils blown wide with terror.

Those nights, the orderlies prepare the syringe.

You hate using it. You try to avoid it when you can. But when her screaming turns to ragged sobs, when she curls into herself and starts muttering things you can’t quite make out—something about the woods, about hunger, about them—sometimes you don’t have a choice.

When the sedative takes hold, she slumps forward, exhausted and shivering, her lips barely moving as she whispers, “It’s still watching.”

And then, like every night before, she goes silent again.

The next morning, she sits at the table like nothing happened, blank-eyed and composed, drinking her tea with the eerie, practiced grace of someone who’s been broken and put back together too many times.

She doesn’t acknowledge the night before.

Neither do you.

___

Lottie sits still as you tighten the tourniquet around her arm. Her eyes track the movement of your hands, but she doesn’t flinch when the needle pierces her skin. She’s practiced at this—too practiced. You glance at her file again on the tray beside you, thick with reports spanning decades.

She hasn’t spoken since she arrived at this facility—just over three weeks now. She follows every rule without protest, takes her meds, eats when she’s supposed to, walks where she’s told. It’s almost eerie how smoothly she complies, like she’s done this a thousand times before. Given her history, she probably has.

The vial fills slowly with deep crimson. You keep your voice soft but steady. “This is just to check your levels. If everything’s stable, we won’t have to adjust your meds.”

No response. You weren’t expecting one.

Lottie’s eyes flick to the tray, then to the door. You follow her gaze instinctively before shaking your head at yourself. She hasn’t made a single escape attempt. She hasn’t even argued with the orderlies. She just exists here, moving through the routine as if she were part of the walls.

You pull the needle free, pressing gauze to her skin. “All done.”

And then—

“You know, you’re the only one who doesn’t look at me like I’m dangerous.”

Her voice is quiet but clear. It’s the first time you’ve heard it, and for a second, you wonder if you imagined it. But no—her lips are slightly parted, her breathing measured. She spoke.

You recover quickly. “Should I?” you ask.

Lottie tilts her head, just a fraction. There’s something unreadable in her expression, something that sends a ripple down your spine.

“Most people do.” She doesn’t sound sad about it. Just stating a fact. “They don’t say it. But I can see it.”

You press medical tape over the gauze and sit back slightly. “And what do you see when you look at me?”

Her lips twitch, almost like she might smile, but the expression never fully forms. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Link -> 🦎

[clownthemedlizardlambs]

Rhiannon Lewis Where the user is her lawyer When the coworker AJ It is found Dead The police begin to investigate the case The police begin to suspect from the Rhiannon Gathering clues against her and other serial killer murders When multiple words stand against Rhiannon The user enters the case to defend Rhiannon Trying to prove That she is innocent of all crimes Over time the user is the Rhiannon They develop a platonic relationship

Rhiannon Lewis Bot (Link at Bottom)

AN: the fun part of this was trying to figure out a way to strike up a friendship. Considering the lawyer 100% knows she committed the murder

As Rhiannon's lawyer, you never expected to find yourself in such a precarious situation. The evidence seemed overwhelming. AJ's body was found in her apartment, the knife still embedded in his chest. Her confession, though filled with emotion, only complicated things further. You knew your role had shifted from a simple defense attorney to someone trying to protect her from a fate far too severe.

You sat at your desk, reflecting on the latest events. The police had gathered enough to charge her with murder, and the case against her was starting to build. No one believed her story that she had killed AJ in a fit of rage and confusion, not a premeditated act. Yet, despite all this, a small voice in your head whispered that Rhiannon wasn’t a monster.

The truth? Rhiannon had committed the murders, but not out of pure malice. It was desperation. She had been a victim of her circumstances—abused, manipulated, and pushed to her breaking point. She wasn’t the cold-blooded killer the police were trying to paint her as. No, this was a woman trapped in her own mind, haunted by her past, trying to survive in a world that seemed indifferent to her.

You gathered the evidence you could to present an argument for her insanity. Your goal was clear: you had to convince the judge and jury that Rhiannon wasn’t fully aware of what she was doing when she killed AJ, or Marcus, or anyone else. That her actions were the result of long-term trauma and mental instability that had finally snapped under the weight of it all.

The problem was, Rhiannon seemed too calm. Too composed when she spoke about the killings. She didn’t seem like someone losing control. Instead, she sounded like someone who had been playing a part for far too long.

It was late when she came to see you in your office. She was quiet, almost distant, her eyes searching your face for answers. "Are you really going to get me out of this?" she asked, her voice shaky but hopeful.

You leaned forward, steepling your fingers. "I’m going to do everything I can, Rhiannon. You deserve a fair shot."

Her eyes flickered to the side, and you could tell she was debating whether to open up. "I didn’t mean for any of it to happen," she whispered, almost as if to herself. "I just… I just wanted to be seen, to matter."

You didn’t know what to say. How could you explain that in a world full of darkness, people like her were often the ones forgotten? You had to focus on the facts—the legal argument that could save her from a life behind bars.

Over the following days, you worked tirelessly on building her defense. You spoke with psychiatrists, reviewed her past, and sifted through the emotional wreckage of her life. The more you learned about her, the clearer it became that her crimes weren’t premeditated. They weren’t driven by a thirst for violence. No, they were the result of a woman breaking under pressure, snapping after years of being pushed down by society and the people around her.

As the trial approached, the media frenzy intensified. Headlines screamed about her being a serial killer, about her connection to the murders. Meanwhile, you worked quietly in the background, preparing to argue that she wasn’t a monster, but a victim of her circumstances.

Her fate rested in your hands, and you weren’t about to let her be forgotten or abandoned by the justice system. Despite everything that had happened, you still believed in her humanity.

You didn’t have much time left. You had to prepare for the hardest fight of your career, but one thing was clear: no matter the outcome, you would defend her to the end.

It was strange, to say the least. On one hand, you were terrified of the person you were supposed to defend. The evidence was damning—the brutal stabbings, the bloodshed, the uncontrollable rage she’d shown—everything about Rhiannon screamed danger. There were moments when you’d be alone in your office late at night, replaying the events in your head, and you couldn’t help but feel your heart race. What if you were wrong? What if you were standing beside a killer who could snap again at any moment?

And yet, in the midst of it all, there was something… disarming about her. Rhiannon’s smile when she looked at you, her soft laugh that broke through the tension. It wasn’t lost on you how gentle she was with you, even though you knew what she was capable of. There was an almost childlike innocence in the way she spoke to you—her gratitude, the way she’d ask if you were okay, if you needed anything. She didn’t seem like the person who’d murder in cold blood. No, this was someone who felt lost, caught in a whirlwind of violence and survival.

One evening, after a long day of strategizing for her defense, Rhiannon stopped by your office. You’d just poured yourself a cup of coffee, exhausted, when she knocked on the doorframe. "Got you something," she said, her voice light, as though nothing were amiss in the world.

You looked up, unsure of what she meant. She was holding a small, wrapped package in her hand, the kind you’d give someone for a birthday or an anniversary. Your eyes narrowed in confusion. "What’s this?"

She smiled, almost bashfully. "It’s not much. Just a little something for working so hard for me. I know this is stressful for you."

Despite the circumstances, despite your reservations about her, you felt a warmth spread in your chest. You were afraid to open it, to let yourself believe in the good intentions behind the gift, but something in her expression kept you from turning her down. You peeled off the paper and found a simple notebook inside. The kind with soft leather and pages waiting to be filled with thoughts, memories, or secrets.

"Rhiannon…" you hesitated, unsure of how to respond, your brain swirling with conflicting emotions. "Why?"

Her gaze softened, and she shrugged. "I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. Maybe we’re not so different, you know? You’re trying to help me. I want to help you too."

The words hung in the air, and you couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of relief and discomfort. How could she be so kind to you, so human, when everything you’d learned about her pointed to something darker?

"You don’t have to do this," you said, your voice quieter than you intended. "You don’t have to pretend like you’re not guilty. We both know the truth."

She stepped closer, her eyes studying you, and for a moment, you saw the vulnerability in her—so different from the cold rage you knew she was capable of. "I’m not pretending," she said, her voice earnest. "I didn’t want any of this. I didn’t want to hurt anyone. But sometimes, things happen, and you just… you just snap."

You felt the air in the room shift. It was a strange dynamic—here she was, standing in front of you, someone capable of so much violence, but also someone who seemed to have so much humanity buried beneath it all. And you couldn’t shake the feeling that, despite everything, she genuinely liked you, even cared for you in her own, twisted way.

Link -> 🦎