#(technically platonic intent but no matter)

[wosospacegirl]

Legally binding - Alexia putellas x platonic! r

Summary: Alexia Putellas didn’t plan to become anyone’s legal guardian. But a very determined 12-year-old with a forged Barça contract has other ideas — and she’s already moved in.

Word count: 4k

a/n: if this sounds like a Disney Channel movie, it’s intentional

Part 2

Masterlist

..

Y/n was a smart kid—sharp, resourceful, and quick on her feet. But the social workers at the orphanage, a quiet place run by nuns, always said she was using her intelligence the wrong way. 

They told her she should channel her persistence and curiosity into something more practical. Something like STEM or the arts.

And honestly, Y/n knew they had a pointt. She could do it. She could be anyone she wanted to be—if she just focused on the right path. 

But there was one thing she knew, deep down, more than anything else: she wanted to be a footballer.

It wasn’t a decision. It was just the way her heart beat.

Her love for football begn the first time a social worker brought a ball into the orphanage. It was a modest thing, scuffed and old, but to Y/n, it was the most precious thing in the world. 

She could still remember how the other kids’ faces lit up when they saw it. They didn’t need fancy equipment or a field, just a ball, and sometimes not even that..

They played with whatever they could find, paper balls, socks rolled into bundles, even erasers. 

Anything small enough to be kicked into became a football. It wasn’t about rules or winning. It was about the feeling of freedom.

For Y/n, that ball was more than just a game. It was a doorway to everything she wanted to be.

Y/n couldn’t contain her excitement when one of the nuns called all the children together to announce something that made her heart race.

FC Barcelon was forming a partnership with their orphanage.

A few of the kids, just a select, would get to train at La Masia once a week.

Y/n’s breath caught in her throat. Was it some charity project, a way for the club to get a tax break? Probably.

But when she saw her name on the list, all of that faded into the background.

She didn’t know much about Barça, just that it came from her hometown, from the city she rarely got to see.

The orphanage didn’t have a TV, no access to phones, and the nuns were their only teachers. So, there was no real school either.

Her world was limited to the small walls of the orphanage, and the little knowledge she could gather from the newspapers the nuns allowed her to read

It was her only window to the outside world, her only connection to a life she could only dream of.

Yeah, Y/n was pretty cut off from everything outside. But in that moment, none of that mattered. What mattered was this chance,,a chance to be part of something bigger. 

A chance to step out of the small world that had always confined her.

On her first day at La Masia, Y/n didn’t expect to impress anyone. But when she stepped onto the pitch, she gave it everything she had. 

Her skills spoke for themselves, and by the end of the session, she’d earned a few impressed looks from the staff. 

She wasn’t the fastest or the most polished player, but she held her own, especially considering she didn’t even own a pair of proper football boots. 

She was playing in sneakers that were two sizes too big, but she didn’t care. She was there, and that was enough.

But it wasn’t all easy. 

Some of the girls on the team looked at her like she didn’t belong. 

Technically, they were right. She didn’t. Not with her background. She wasn’t one of them. She wasn’t wealthy, well-connected, or even remotely like the girls who had grown up with football academies and proper training.

Y/n felt the weight of their stares, but she pushed it aside. She wasn’t there to fit in or prove anything to them. 

She was there for herself. She was here for the dream, and that was all that mattered..

Despite the looks, a couple of girls made it easier for her, Jana and Vicky, both around fourteen. 

They were kind and quick to see that she wasn’t like the others. Within minutes, they pulled her into their little group, showing her how things worked and making her feel like she wasn’t invisible.

The kindness didn’t stop there. 

During lunch, when Y/n pulled out her bottle of water and realised she hadn’t packed anything to eat, Jana and Vicky didn’t hesitate.

They shared their sandwiches without a second thought, smiling at her like she wasn’t some outsider but a new friend.

In that moment, Y/n felt something shift inside her. Maybe she didn’t have football boots. Maybe she wasn’t from the right background. But at least for now, she had a place here.

The second time Y/n showed up at La Masia, she couldn’t help but frown when she saw most of the girls huddled together on the left side of the pitch, eyes fixed on something, or someone, at far left.

She couldn’t make out what was going on, but the low murmur of excitement buzzed through the air.

Curious, Y/n walked over, trying to get a better view, but a few elbows shoved her back. She shifted behind the group and stood on tiptoe, trying to peer past the heads of the others.

“Hey, who’s that?” she asked, her voice sharp enough to cut through the chatter.

Vicky and Jana exchanged a glance, then looked back at her like she’d just asked the most ridiculous question in the world.

“Who is that?! Are you kidding me?” Jana said, eyes wide with disbelief.

Y/n raised an eyebrow.

“That’s Alexia Putellas. La Reina,” Jana added, almost reverently.

“Oh,” Y/n said, her brow furrowing. “That’s the queen? What’s she doing here?”

Vicky rolled her eyes playfully. “She’s not really the queen,” she said, though her tone held an edge of affection. “We call her La Reina because she’s Barça royalty. She’s the best of all time. The GOAT, you know.”

Y/n blinked, processing the words. “Goat?” she repeated, confused. “Cabra? What do you mean?”

Jana’s patience clearly wore thin. “Not cabra, Y/n! It stands for ‘Greatest of all time,’ she explained, grabbing both of their hands and pulling them through the crowd. “Come with me, I know where we can actually see her up close.”

Y/n couldn’t help but be intrigued. This Alexia Putellas was more than just a football player—she was something else entirely. And for reasons Y/n didn’t fully understand yet, that something seemed to pull at her.

They ducked under the bleachers, the ground gritty beneath their feet. 

Something warm and sticky brushed against Y/n’s cheek, but she didn’t even flinch. She didn’t care about the dirt or the discomfort, because now she could see Alexia. And, more importantly, she could hear her too.

Alexia was standing a little ways away, her blonde hair shining in the sun. 

She had this calm, open expression, a kind of warmth about her that made Y/n’s chest tighten in a way she couldn’t quite explain. 

She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but Alexia was nothing like she had imagined. She seemed... accessible. Human, even.

Not like the untouchable royalty that Vicky and Jana made her out to be.

“She’s like... amazing,” Jana whispered, her voice full of awe. “I wanna play with her someday.”

“She’s the best,” Vicky added, nodding in agreement. Her tone was reverent, almost as if she was talking about someone from a distant dream.

Y/n watched Alexia as she spoke with the journalist.

There was something undeniable about the way she held herself. 

Y/n wasn’t sure if she wanted to be like her, or if she wanted Alexia to help her become someone who could stand at that level.

“I came here because of the partnership La Masia formed with the children from Santa Clara Orphanage,” Alexia said, adjusting her jacket as she talked with the interviewer. 

“It’s important to me to meet them, to show them that football isn’t just a game.”

The interviewer nodded, intrigued. 

“It must be so special to be able to offer that to kids who may not have many opportunities to begin with. So, do you have any specific hopes for them? Any wishes for their futures?”

Alexia smiled softly, her gaze thoughtful as she glanced out over the training field. 

“Well, I think what I wish most for them is that they find someone who will guide them, a loving and responsible adult, someone who’s not just looking to be a saviour, but to give them the support they need to succeed.”

She paused for a moment before continuing, her voice more deliberate. 

“And of course, I hope they all follow what’s in their hearts. It doesn’t matter if that’s football, or music, or whatever. They need to feel supported, and they need to know that their dreams are valid, no matter what those dreams are.”

The interviewer smiled, clearly moved. 

“That’s beautiful , Alexia...so, you’re saying you see your role more as a guide, rigrh? Rather than someone who swoops in to fix everything for them?”

Alexia chuckled lightly, shaking her head. 

“Exactly. I’m not here to fix anyone. Barcelona is here creating opportunities, giving them the tools they need, and letting them choose their own path. They’re the ones who will shape their futures.”

Loving and responsible adult.

That sentence echoed in Y/n’s brain.

Alexia hoped the kids from her orphanage would find a loving and responsible adult.

Well, Y/n was from Santa Clara. And Alexia looked like a loving and responsible adult…

It all fit together perfectly.

Y/n’s mind raced as she replayed Alexia’s words over and over again. “Loving and responsible adult…”

What did that even mean? Y/n wasn’t sure, but she knew she didn’t need a parent. 

She had never craved that. 

She didn’t need someone to love her, to fix her, or to give a version of a family. What she needed, what she wanted, was an opportunity. 

And Alexia? She was the opportunity. She was the bridge between Y/n and the future she wanted.

Becoming a footballer wasn’t about being loved. It was about getting the right connections, the right guidance, the right support. Y/n didn’t care for a hug or a bedtime story. 

She didn’t need to be told “I love you” every night. No,, what she needed was someone who could get her into the right circles, someone who knew how to navigate the world she wanted to break into.

And Alexia? She was the perfect fit. 

She was a champion, the best of the best, according to the girls. 

If Y/n could convince Alexia to be her guardian, then maybe—just maybe—her dream could become real. 

She could train harder, learn more, and eventually, one day, be just like Alexia. And that, she thought, would be enough.

It was simple: Y/n needed Alexia to help her make her dream come true. That’s all. She wasn’t asking for a family. She just needed someone to show her the way.

..

The next morning, Y/n went straight to the orphanage library and got her hands on any book that mentioned Spain’s adoption laws.

And there it was.

In the third paragraph about adoption and guardianship, it said any child twelve or older could be placed under guardianship by an adult willing to sign the paperwork. 

It wouldn’t be full adoption, no name change, but the child could live with the adult, go to school, and get medical care under their name.

Kind of like a shortcut to being adopted. And since older kids were rarely chosen, this process was easier.

Y/n made her decision.

She was going to be adopted by Alexia Putellas. Whether Alexia liked it or not.

..

A few weeks later, the La Masia kids were rewarded with a tour of FC Barcelona’s official building.

That was the moment Y/n had been waiting for.

She memorised the entire guardianship clause and wrote it on her hand. Then, during the tour, she slipped away when one of the monitors wasn’t looking and headed for the second floor.

She found a room labelled Management and Contracts. It looked serious enough.

She locked the door behind her, walked over to a computer, and typed in the password.

ViscaElBarça. Easy.

She searched until she found Alexia Putellas’ contract. Jana had told her the star player was about to sign a new five-year deal.

Y/n opened the file, converted the PDF to a Word doc, scrolled to page thirteen, and inserted a paragraph in Arial size 3, a forged clause labelled 12(b) stating that:

‘Ms. Alexia Putellas Segura, herein referred to as 'the Guardian,' consents to and accepts full legal guardianship of minor Y/n [Full Legal Name], age twelve, a wardd of the Santa Clara Orphanage, n the contractual agreement between Futbol Club Barcelona and the Santa Clara Children’s Welfare Foundation. This guardianship shall be recognised in accordance with applicable civil codes and is binding upon execution.]

Then she turned the document back into a PDF and quietly saved it.

Her plan was perfect.

She was going to be adopted by the greatest footballer the world had ever seen, according to Jana, nd that would make her a great footballer, too.

..

A week later, Y/n was the first at the front door, waiting for the paper deliveryman. One of the nuns gave her a strange look,no one ever beat the nuns to morning prayers, let alone the newspaper, but Y/n didn’t care. 

She needed to know if Alexia had signed the guardianship contract

And there it was.

Right on the front page.

“Alexia Putellas signs new deal with Barcelona Femení.”

“Yes!” Y/n whispered to herself, pumping a fist. “I’m officially out of here.”

She ran back to her room, the one she shared with six other girls, all still fast asleep, grabbed her tiny backpack, and packed up the few belongings she had. 

Three shirts, one pair of sneakers, a toothbrush, and three old photos from her childhood. That was it. That was her life in a bag.

She made her way to the main office and knocked on Sister Maria’s door, but didn’t bother waiting for permission to enter.

Good morning, Sister Maria,” Y/n said, standing up straight, her voice unusually serious for a twelve-year-old.

The nun didn’t even look up from her desk. “What is it now, Y/n? No, you still can’t keep that stray cat—how many times do I have to tell you—”

“It’s not about the cat,” Y/n interrupted. “I’m here to say my sincere goodbyes.”

Sister Maria blinked and finally looked up.

“Goodbyes? Are you eighteen already? My goodness, how time flies.”

“No, Sister,” Y/n said. “I’ve been adopted.”

Silence.

“Adopted?” Sister Maria echoed. “Someone… wanted you?”

“I know,” Y/n said, unfazed. “Hard to believe. But yes. You can check the system. It’s official.”

If everything had gone according to plan—and Y/n was confident it had—the guardianship contract Alexia signed had already been processed by the Ministry of Sport and forwarded to the Ministry of Family Affairs. 

Which meant it would be reflected in Y/n’s file.

Sister Maria sat down at her computer, muttering prayers under her breath. A few tense minutes passed before she gasped.

“Oh dear Lord. You were adopted. A legal guardianship contract, signed and approved.”

“Exactly,” Y/n said. “So if you’ll excuse me, I have a new home to get to.”

She turned toward the door, but Sister Maria reached out and gently stopped her.

“Here,” she said, holding out a few crumpled euro notes. “For the metro.”

Y/n blinked at the money. “The metro?”

“Yes. How else are you getting to your new guardian’s house? They aren’t picking you up, right?”

Y/n paused.

Right. She hadn’t exactly figured that part out yet. 

Jana once mentioned that some of the players lived in an apartment complex near the training grounds… maybe she’d start there.

“Thank you, Sister,” Y/n said, taking the money.

“Be good,” Sister Maria said gruffly. “We don’t want you back.”

“Don’t worry,” Y/n replied with a grin. “I’m not coming back.”

..

Alexia had played in front of ninety thousand people.

She had captained both club and country, stood on podiums with medals heavy around her neck, even delivered a speech in Parliament once, with a microphone that cut out every third word and a sea of ministers blinking up at her.

But nothing—absolutely nothing—had prepared her for walking into her apartment at seven o’clock on a Wednesday night and finding a twelve-year-old girl sitting on her sofa.

Just. Sitting there.

Like she lived there.

Alexia froze mid-step, one boot still halfway on, the keys slipping loose from her fingers and clattering to the floor.

“…Por dios? [Oh God]” she said, her voice suddenly higher than she remembered it being. “Quién eres tú? [Who are you?]”

The girl turned around, perfectly calm, as if the famous footballer bursting into the room hadn’t startled her in the slightest. 

“Oh. Hi,” the girl said casually, her legs tucked underneath her,

Alexia blinked. “Who are you?”

The girl tilted her head, eyebrows raised like Alexia was the confusing part of this entire situation. “You’re Alexia Putellas, right?”

“…Yes?

“Perfect,” the girl said, brightening. “Then everything’s fine. I’m at the right house.”

She patted the cushion beside her invitingly.

“Do you want to sit?”

Alexia recoiled like it was cursed. “No, I do not want to sit...what...how did you get in here?”

She looked around wildly, as if the answer might be hiding behind the kitchen island or crouched behind the bookshelf. 

Maybe someone would burst in, yelling sorpresa! [surprise!] and explain this whole insane setup. Maybe she had fallen asleep in the car and was dreaming this.

“The window was unlocked,” the girl said.

“It wasn’t.”

“Well,” she replied, stretching her arms over the back of the sofa, “then I’m very resourceful.”

Alexia’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

“It’s the third floor,” she hissed, stumbling backwards until her hip hit the counter. She stared at the kid. “Did you scale the building?”

The girl only smiled.

“Okay. Noo. No, absolutely not. What is happening right now?”

The girl, still nameless, reached into her backpack and pulled out a thick folder. 

It wasn’t a school folder. 

It was a serious folder. One with a fake FC Barcelona letter and, horrifyingly, red stamp across the front that read:

LEGAL ADDENDUM.

She handed it over like it explained everything.

Alexia took it with both hands, mostly because her brain had stopped functioning somewhere around the phrase “unlocked window.” 

Inside was a single newspaper clipping—cut out so unevenly it looked like a toddler had done it—with a photo of Alexia signing her contract.

“There was a clause,” the girl said matter-of-factly. “In your new contract.”

Alexia stared at her, her mouth dry. “A clause.”

“Yep. Clause twelve, subsection B. Guardianship exception.”

Alexia blinked. “Guardianship. Exception.”

“Uhum.”

“For whom?”

“For me.”

The girl pulled out more papers, each one worse than the last. 

One had what appeared to be the signature of the ‘King of Spain’—in blue marker. Another was a crayon drawing of a house, two stick figures holding hands, labelled “Me and Alexia

Alexia's eyes widened in pure horror.

“Where is your mother?” she asked slowly.

The girl beamed. “You’re my mom now!”

Alexia dropped the folder like it had burned her.

“I’m what?”

Alexia stared, mouth open, the girl beamed like this was the best news ever.

Nope. Not happening. Absolutely not.

“Kidding,” the girl said, flashing a grin. “Kind of. You said in that interview last month that you hoped all the orphan kids would find a loving, responsible adult.”

Alexia’s jaw dropped. “And what the hell does that have to do with… with this?”

“You said you adored us.” The girl’s voice got quiet—barely a whisper. “I figured… I adored you too. So.”

Something in Alexia’s chest twitched.

The girl looked up at her with the sort of fierce, casual defiance only kids had. 

“I’m an orphan. If you didn’t get that already. So you don’t have to worry about like, my real parents showing up or anything.”

Alexia pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. “I’m going to get arrested.”

“No, you’re not,” the girl said cheerfully, already lounging deeper into the cushions. “You’re Alexia Putellas. Who’s gonna arrest you?”

Alexia stared at her—this strange, sharp-edged, audacious child who had just moved in like it was the most obvious thing in the world—and let out a weak, exhausted noise from the back of her throat.

“This,” she muttered, “this is exactly why I don’t do interviews.

Her brain was racing with thoughts of calling lawyers, agents, and possibly the police, but she couldn’t quite make herself move. 

The absurdity of the situation was almost paralysing.

The girl, this little stranger, was sitting on her sofa, hands folded in her lap, staring at the television like it was an alien object. 

Her brows were furrowed in concentration.

Alexia watched her for a moment, then shook her head. 

This was unreal.

The silence between them stretched until the girl looked up, her expression expectant.

“So, uh,” she began, her voice a little tentative, “what’s for dinner?”

The question hit Alexia hard.

Dinner. Right. She hadn’t even thought about food yet, too distracted by the miniature crisis unfolding in her living room.

She opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by the sudden growl of her own stomach.

Alexia closed her eyes in frustration.

“Well, kid, I—” She stopped herself before the words could spill out. She wasn’t exactly prepared for this situation, wasn’t prepared for any of it. 

But as she stood there, her mind raced. She’d have to figure out how this was even possible. 

But right now?

Right now, the girl needed food.

With a resigned sigh, Alexia turned towards the kitchen, opening the fridge with one hand, still clutching the paperwork the girl had handed her in the other.

“Alright, let’s see what we’ve got,” she muttered under her breath. “This is insane.”

And yet... she still opened the fridge. Still started pulling ingredients. Like feeding this girl—this strange, stubborn kid–somehow made sense.

She’s probably hungry, Alexia thought. 

She broke into my apartment, but she’s just a child. A very determined, mildly terrifying child.

She sighed. God help me.

She glanced over her shoulder to find the girl still sitting there, waiting patiently.

“Have you ever had dinner like...this?” Alexia asked, unsure how to phrase it without sounding too out of place.

The girl looked up at her, an odd sort of quiet in her eyes. “Not like this. Not... regular–we just had soup.”

Alexia felt something tighten in her chest, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it.

“Well, kid,” Alexia said, her voice softer than she intended. “You’re about to have something regular.”

She grabbed whatever was in reach—leftover pasta, a couple of eggs, and some questionable vegetables—and set to work. 

It wasn’t much, but it was something. Something stable. Something she could handle right now.

The girl didn’t talk again, just watched Alexia prepare the food like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Maybe this wasn’t a disaster… at least not yet. But Alexia knew she was barely holding it together. Jjust barely.

And, for now, feeding this girl was the only thing she could focus on.

..

a/n: honestly, this was just a random idea that wouldn’t leave me alone, so I had to write it down. I’m not sure if there’ll be more, but I had a blast writing it and just wanted to share! :D

Part 2

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Malefic Attachment.

Pairing: Yandere!Malleus x Reader (TWST)

Written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.

Word Count: 3.0k.

TW: Platonic (At The Moment) Yandere Malleus, Manipulation, Deliberate Social Isolation, and Obsessive/Delusional Behavior.

The worst thing about you, Malleus had decided, was that you’d chosen to be his friend.

‘Chosen’, because you’d been the one to approach him, a dazzling smile painted across your lips and a dozen questions about his life as royalty in a faraway land on your tongue, and ‘worst’, because he couldn’t think of a single other thing about you that he despised so fervently, or for that matter, that he disliked at all. He couldn’t be sure when he came to such a grim conclusion, although it had most likely been some time between the fourth time you’d sought him out in the minutes between your classes and the seventh you apologized for having to cut your conversation so short, nor was he entirely certain why the thought of having any claim to you left him so unsettled, despite how innocent your relationship was.

Briefly, he’d considered keeping you at a distance, telling his retainers to make sure you stayed at arm’s length, but he hated the thought of inconveniencing Silver and Sebek, and he hated the thought of having no claim to you at all even more. He’d never hurt you, nor was he possessive by nature. Most days, the only thing he craved was to sit by your side and—

“Malleus?” He felt a shoulder nudge into his side, a glanced down to find you, of course ��� staring up at him, smiling as if you already knew he’d been too lost in his own thoughts to listen properly. Immediately, it was all he could do to settle into place and smile back.

Most days, the only thing he wanted was to sit by your side and be with you, and it would’ve been a shame to squander such a golden opportunity to do just that.

He moved to apologize, to explain himself, but there was no need. You were already rolling your eyes and returning to your previous posture; curled into yourself, your legs folded against your chest, chin resting on your knees. It was strange – what lengths such a small creature would take to make itself even smaller. Malleus couldn’t help but find it endearing, the way he might’ve found a plush toy endearing, or a particularly charming prey animal. “I just don’t understand what’s going on,” you sighed, slumping further into yourself. Instantly, Malleus knew that whatever the cause of your distress was, it would not survive much longer than that night.

Still, he listened intently, as you went on. “I mean, I have to be the problem, right? I’m the only common factor – well, me and NRC, but it’s not like people are avoiding school.” Another sigh. This time, when you buried your face in your knees, it remained there. “They’re just avoiding me. I must’ve done something wrong.”

“Never,” he said, because it was true. Because you were infallible, save for your poor taste in companionship. “I can’t imagine what would lead you to believe such a terrible thing. Did someone tell you that?”

There was no real point to asking. He would’ve known if someone had planted such a vile thought in your head; would’ve dealt with it on the spot. Despite his reservations, Malleus made a hobby out of your safekeeping. If something were to happen to you, a human brazen enough to share his company so often, it would’ve reflected poorly on him.

(It’d occurred to him that you were not the first human to ever approach him, nor would you be the last, but Malleus opted against lingering on such technicalities. You were the only human to enjoy the spoils of his protection, and that was enough to make you wholly unique.)

You didn’t answer, not at first. Instead, your attention drifted from him to the view you two so often enjoyed together. It’d been difficult to convince you to join him here – on the roof of Diasomnia’s tallest tower, where one could make out mile after mile of dark, inviting forest in every direction and the dark colors of your dorm uniform blended into those of the night sky – but it’d been even more difficult to convince Vil to let you slip out after curfew. While Malleus knew he had no right to question the nature of your soul, he did often wonder why you had to be placed into Pomefiore, of all possible dorms. Schoenheit was one of the stricter house wardens, outmatched only by Rosehearts. It was difficult to steal a student of his dorm away at the best of times, and Malleus rarely wanted to see you at the best of times. If you’d belonged to Savannahclaw or, should he be so lucky, Diasomnia, there would be no need to rely on Schoenheit’s sparse charity after he’d already gone to the lengths necessary to seek you out.

But you were precious to Malleus, and there were few things he wouldn’t do to ensure your happiness. He cared about you – irrationally so. “My lab partner,” you admitted, eventually. Malleus felt something deep within his chest lose its shape, and yet his smile could only seem to widen. “I don’t know him that well, so it’s not like I have any right to feel… betrayed, I guess, but—”

“You have every right to feel exactly how you feel,” he interjected. “What did he say?”

Malleus already knew. He wanted to hear from your lips, though.

“It’s a little hard to remember.” And yet, you didn’t hesitate to go on. “I think… I think he might’ve said it was too dangerous to be around me. That I was a hazard to have in class, or something.”

That was only half-true, although he doubted you were lying deliberately. Just ‘a hazard to be around’ would’ve been more accurate, on its own. “Is that all?” He moved closer, draping an arm over your shoulders. Automatically, you melted into his side – your body slotting perfectly against his. “You have to know how untrue that is. You’re an excellent mage, and a pleasure to—”

“He’s not the only one, though.” It was the first time he heard your voice so pitiful, so distorted. Malleus couldn’t help but find it endearing. It would’ve been better for both of you, if you allowed yourself to be more reliant on him. “My roommate – that’s someone you have to share a room with when your dorm doesn’t unanimously decide to worship the ground you walk on, I know you’re probably not familiar with the concept – requested to move last week, and—” Your voice caught in your throat, your gazing turning downward. Malleus felt his fangs sharpen behind his lips, but repressed the urge to act on his less wholesome instincts. “There’s this boy in my third hour – from Ignihyde, I think. I swear, I’ve never even talked to him, but last time we had class together, he just came up to me, and—” You paused, shrunk into yourself. You attempted to pull away from Malleus, but he only drew you in tighter, and your resolve gave away far faster than his patience. “He called me a freak.”

Ah.

Malleus had wondered what’d come of his brief conversation with your classmate. It was a tamer offense than what he’d expected, although you were having a much stronger reaction than he would’ve hoped.

You weren’t wrong, for what it was worth. You hadn’t spoken to that particular classmate, but you could have. He’d planned to confess to you during your shared period, although he hadn’t thought to phrase it quite so romantically. Sebek had overheard him building up his courage, and it’d only taken a few words from Malleus to dissuade him from doing anything so foolish. Not that it was foolish to want to be around you – if that was true, he would be the biggest fool of them all. It was only foolish to think that someone so insignificant, someone so unimportant had any more right to be around you than Malleus did.

He couldn’t help but notice, as time went on, that all of the people you may’ve once considered friends were rather weak-willed. It was a tragedy, really. Malleus was aware that he had a reputation among the mortal portion of NRC’s student body, but that was no excuse to act the way your ‘friends’ always seemed to – sniveling and shaking, brought to tears by even the implication of a threat. He worried, at first, that they’d go running to you, spout off something awful and exaggerated that painted his protective habits in an unflattering light, but as far as he could tell, it was unfounded fear – an easily dealt with one, at that. Should anyone ever try to put anything but distance between you and themselves, he’d—

Well, he couldn’t hurt them. You wouldn’t care for him as much as you did, if he tried to.

That was, if you ever found out.

Again, his mind drifted back to Schoenheit; all narrowed eyes and pursed lips and disapproving scowls every time Malleus mentioned your name. It didn’t make him angry – he’d never been quick to anger, and it would only be childish to change that now – but he didn’t care for the way he felt when he was apart from you, when he couldn’t find an excuse to do away with the flimsy barriers that separated you from him. He didn’t enjoy the tightness in his chest, the dryness in the back of his throat, the way every little inconvenience left him on the brink of violence. No, he didn’t care for the way he behaved when you weren’t with him.

Yet again, his mind turned to Vil.

Perhaps he was more prone to anger than believed himself to be.

“Mortals,” He was talking before he realized he’d wanted to. His gaze flickered from you, still despondent and curled against his side, to the landscape, all-but pitch black under the thick veil of night. “are fickle creatures. They tend not to trust what they don’t control. Humans, especially.”

Another jab to his side, albeit not as forceful as the first. “Keep in mind that you’re talking to a human right now, Mal.”

“How could I forget?” This time, it was Malleus who detached from you, pushing himself to his feet and offering you a hand to help you do the same. With a huff, you followed him, mimicking exasperation as you let him guide you. “I only meant to say that you might not be entirely understood by such short-lived creatures. I mean, you’ve seen how they act around me.” He squeezed your hand, and bashfully, you looked away. “You agree, don’t you, (Y/n)?”

It took a moment, but with a small sigh and slight smile, you nodded. “…yeah, I guess. It’s not like teenagers are supposed to be nice or anything.”

“You agree, then. They’ve been treating you cruelly.”

Your smile wavered. Malleus considered that it may have been your fragility that’d endeared you to him. Or your inability to hide it, at least. “Well, I wouldn’t call them cruel, but…”

“But?”

“They can be mean, sometimes, I guess. The people in my dorm, especially.” You forced an airy laugh, turning away from him entirely. “I… I think Vil might’ve told them to keep an eye on me. They’ve been acting like I’m under house arrest, lately.”

“You must know how unfair that is.” Almost as unfair as Schoenheit’s attempts to keep you away from him. “And I’m sure you must know that you’d be much happier in a dorm with more open-minded students.”

Immediately, your expression dropped. You tried to pull your hands out of his, but he only tightened his grip. It pained him to exert any amount of control over you, but some pains were necessary. Those that kept you within the scope of his protection, especially. “I… I don’t really like where this is going, Malleus.”

“You haven’t even given me a chance to explain myself.” He didn’t realize his hold had tightened into something bruising until your lips quirked downward, eyes narrowing as you struggled to choke down a fractured whimper. Reluctantly, he released you, but his hands soon found their way to your shoulders. You couldn’t run, not on a rooftop, not very far, but there was no reason to give you the chance to. “I only think that you should consider how happy you could be if you—”

“Malleus,” you interjected. “I really don’t—”

“If you belonged to Diasomnia,” he finished, despite your protests. Impressively, you managed to bite your tongue long enough for him to explain himself properly. “Our students are much less territorial, and the majority are still human. If you’re afraid you’ll be an outcast, don’t be. You’ll still be among your own kind, just a less hostile breed.” When you failed to move, he gave himself the luxury of a less restricting form of affection – bring one hand up to cup your cheek. “I’m only trying to suggest that you seek out a more suitable place for yourself. It’s not as if staying where you are will make you any happier.”

“…I like Pomefiore, though. And it’s not like everyone’s avoiding me.” A lie, albeit one plausible enough to send a bolt of white, searing fear from the deepest hollow of Malleus’ chest to the back of his throat. He flinched, but caught himself before his pointed nails could harm your delicate skin. If you had any friends left (aside from himself, of course), he would tear them apart. He would carve their hearts from their bodies. He would—

He would change that.

There was no need to be so gruesome about it. Not yet, at least.

“You care for it more than you care for me?” He made sure to keep his tone light, teasing, only letting it dip into something more serious when you bit the inside of your cheek and looked away. “Please, don’t tell me that you still think they’re worth your time.”

“They’re not all bad.” You still weren’t looking at him. Malleus might’ve been more annoyed if he thought you had anything beyond him to pay attention to. “Vil’s a really good house warden, and—and, we have these skincare nights once a week, which might not sound very fun to you, but—Well, I haven’t been invited recently, but—”

To your credit, you didn’t need him to say anything. All it took was a sympathetic look, his palm slotted tenderly against your cheek, and you cracked before he had the chance to say a word.

“…but, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t.” You shook your head, shrugged, as if it wasn’t a matter of true concern. As if you wouldn’t give anything to be as near to him as possible. “It’s not like I can just decide to change the nature of my soul. That’s between the dark mirror and…” Another chirping laugh, like windchimes and birdsong and silver bells. Malleus could only hope he’d hear it again sometime soon, in a more celebratory context. “…itself, I think.”

“Normally,” he admitted, running his thumb over your cheek. “Save for when you have another extremely competent house warden to petition the headmaster on your behalf.”

Even in the dim light, he could make out your cheeks flush. Good. He wanted to have an effect on you – any effect at all. “Malleus, I—I really can’t ask you to do that. You’re already so busy, and I really don’t mind—”

“(Y/n).” Immediately, you went quiet. He rarely used your name, and you knew to pay attention, when he did. “If you can tell me, honestly, that you do not believe you’d be happier in Diasomnia than you currently are, I’ll drop the matter entirely.”

You pursed your lips, your eyes meeting his own for the first time since he’d broached the topic. “…and if I couldn’t say that?”

Biting back his grin would’ve been impossible. He could only hope you mistook his delight for relief. “Then consider it done.”

You really were a delicate creature. A few seconds of quiet anticipation, a gentle squeeze to your arm, and he all-but watched you fold into yourself, crumpling under the weight of your own isolation. A small, unsteady smile spread over your lips as you pulled away from him altogether, only to throw yourself into his chest; your arms winding around his neck as you pulled him into a lung flattening hug. After a startled beat, he returned the gesture, pulling you that much closer as you buried your face in the leather of his coat. “Thank you thank you thank you thank you,” you stuttered, speaking quickly enough for each word to slur into the next. “I—I just haven’t had anyone to talk to, but you’ve been so patient, and so nice to me, and I… I really don’t know what I’d do without you.” You pulled back, looking up at him. Your smile was brighter than he’d ever seen it, and Malleus took a moment to savor that he’d been the one to draw it out of you. “You’re the best, Malleus.”

“Think nothing of it.” He was tempted to pull you back, to hold you for just a few seconds longer, but you were already tearing yourself away from him, clapping your hands together as you rambled excitedly about how much fun it would be to stay in the same dorm, how much more time you could get to spend with him and Lilia, how excited you were to get to know Silver and Sebek and all the other underclassmen who liked to, in your own words, ‘bite at his ankles’. It was only when you took an over-eager step towards the rooftop’s ledge that he took you by the arm, pulling you back with an airy chuckle. “It’s gotten late,” he explained, snapping his fingers. In the blink of an eye, the two of you were standing in his dorm room, the rooftop and the night sky’s expanse left behind entirely. “Why don’t you spend the night in one of our spare rooms? I’ll make more appropriate arrangements in the morning.”

You agreed without a second thought, and as he walked you through the shadowed halls of your soon-to-be home, he decided that he’d been wrong, initially. The worst thing about you wasn’t that you’d chosen to be with him. Really, your closeness wasn’t a bad thing at all.

The worst thing about you, undeniably, was that you could still choose to be close to people who weren’t Malleus.

Thankfully, he was already taking measures to fix that.

[reverseexorcist]

★ 𝐅𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐝 ★

"If it's alright could I request Carmilla Carmine x a fem reader who's a fallen angel? Like maybe they met during extermination and got their wings ripped off for not wanting to kill Carmilla's kids or they were already in hell with Carmilla for some time before the extermination? If you don't want to do this that's totally fine, and sorry if this isn't how to request stuff :)."

Honestly, with how this ended, I'm really tempted to write a much fluffier part 2 to this

Part 2 ↫ Right here

➲ 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚 Carmine + !Fallen Angel!Reader

➲ Romantic ☐, Platonic ☒

➲ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 Count; 3,462 Words

➲ Warnings/notes; Female reader, descriptions of gore/blood, canonical Lute slander (sorry Lute), romantic or platonic wasn't requested so I went with platonic to fit the story more (if the requester wants romantic just feel free to ask me), mother mode Carmilla (she might be a bit ooc because of this),

Oh wow.

Oh wow were you shaking.

You couldn't tell if it was from the excitement or the nerves - Probably both if you were being honest with yourself, but you couldn't shake off the vibrating feeling tingling beneath your skin that made you want to fly laps around heaven. Your stomach was doing flips, but you led mask only reflected your nearly psychopathic grin and twitching eye.

Even after your lieutenant Lute shot you a stern look, no doubt pissed off because you couldn't sit still for five goddamn seconds, you still couldn't resist fidgeting with your spear. It was sparkly, and somewhat heavy, and a murderous weapon that was entirely yours! It was also cold, freezing almost. Even against your gloves it made your palms feel numb and seemed to shine in sync with your own valiant excitement.

Baby's first extermination, basically. While the name certainly sounded scary, you'd been waiting for this day for six months (you and the other forty-five cadets in your platoon) and you were ready to do your best! Sure, you were still technically a rookie, hanging around the flock and bringing up the rear of the exorcists, but this was how you proved yourself to rise the ranks, right?

Your heart stopped beating in your chest when you finally reached the front. Holy shit, that was the high seraphim! Sera, right? Oh wow, she really was much much taller in person, towering above the clustering sea of black and white murderous intent. Her outward vibe was motherly and caring, but you could see the glint of distain, guilt and regret sparking in the deepest depths of her eyes. Which was confusing, because you were doing a good thing, right? Ridding the divine planes of sinners irredeemable souls.

The thoughts crowded your mind - Evil, twisted monsters crawling around like bugs in the brimstone crowded crevices of hell. You could only imagine the satisfaction of killing your first hell spawn.

It would have to be cool no doubt. Something big with lots of teeth and claws and that could breathe fire! You had to come home with a cool story to brag about. You'd heard the tales from all your superiors. From everyone including the first man Adam himself, your respectably awesome (if a little terrifying) lieutenant Lute, to the other lieutenants like Michael and Gabriel. You'd have to off a demon built like a mountain to get their attention.

And by the big man himself, you were going to do it. Even if it took you a hundred years, you could already see yourself commanding a group just like yours, bearing a helmet with horns big and curved and bold, black stripes stippled along your ivory wings.

With a very particular pep in your step, you saluted the high seraphim Sera respectively, head cocked up just so you could regard her kindly warmth in fullness. Her smile didn't reach her eyes, and although she swiftly sent you on your way with the rest of your platoon, you couldn't help but let your nerves sway your resolve ever so slightly.

It didn't matter though! You unfurled your wings with perhaps a bit too much of a dramatic flair, but with your spear in hand and helm polished so it shined with malevolent glory, you kicked off without a second thought, tailing right behind where you were supposed to be.

Your first impression of hell was the heat.

With the extermination already well under way, raging fires were already burning up half of the city sending whorls of smog up into the air. You easily battered it away with a few strong flaps of your wings. With your head on the swivel, your eagle-eyes peered around the desolate land for the forms of the sinners struggling to thrive below, silhouettes hidden by the thick layer of smoke and ash blanketing the landscape.

Lieutenant Lute furled out her wings below you, a screeching war cry echoing throughout the battlefield as she all but left your rookie platoon in the metaphorical dust. The sound itself only spurred you on, itching for the blood of a demon on the blade of your angelic spear. Without a second thought, you tucked your wings to you sides and dived below, headfirst into the fray.

Billowing flames licked past you harmlessly, though they burned like hell (which seemed rather apt, considering where you). You didn't falter, flying through the embers like a goddamn phoenix ready to cleanse the realm sprawled out beneath you. The solid wingbeats of two of your fellow cadets only strengthened your resolution, a holy fire burning in your soul - An itch to clear the filth of devil scum away. This was the chaotic strength that your captain had sought to build in you, and now you were finally able to act on it.

But everywhere you looked, you only found simple, humanoid souls running and screaming in terror. Eyes wide, half-dead or bloodied beyond belief as they scrambled to find shelter from the onslaught of exorcists like yourself. Nowhere could you see the mangled forms of the demons you'd been taught to slaughter. Descriptions from your seniors before you passed through your mind - 'gleaming eyes with with wrath and lust', 'gangly limbs twisted to an unholy form', 'mouths filled with rows of sharp teeth, and claws like knives'.

You faltered, confused. The words of Lute rang out in your mind.

"Of course, it's not like they can actually hurt you. You're all warriors, the toughest, just use your spears to stab the shit out of them!"

You were alone now. You couldn't hear the comforting sounds of your fellow rookies behind you anymore. They were well in front of you now, peering around with a similar confusion to yours. But to your absolute horror, they simply shrugged their shoulders and dived forward with bloodlust evident in their glowing white masks. Silver points of spears were jammed through the heads of the terrified demons below. But were they demons? They didn't look like them at all. Every single book you'd seen depicting demons drew them as eldritch monsters with too many eyes to count, tentacles and claws and fangs with nary but bloodlust and vile thoughts hidden within their slitted eyes.

But the demons in front of you looked just like people. You could see the way their faces contorted in terror. You could see them scrambling to help what you could only assume were friends and family, pulling them along and carrying the ones who couldn't run for themselves. You could only feel your heart fall as you watched one of your best friends land on top of a sinner already crushed by rubble, turquoise skin stained red. The begged and pleaded and cried, but their voice was silenced as the spearhead sunk into their skull.

You flinched. The world around you ignored you completely, and for once, you were completely happy to go unnoticed.

Shakily, you touched-down in a nearby street. It was littered with already oozing corpses, but other than that it was peacefully empty. At least here the sounds of violence and pain and terror was muffled, far away enough that you could at least try to distance yourself and get your breathing under control.

You barely reeled in a gag as the smell of blood invaded your senses.

Was this really what you wanted to do for the rest of your life? You could still see yourself in your mind's eye, a model exorcist like your lieutenant now leading her own platoon into another extermination. Maybe this would be a one off, just a shock to the system that would get your mind reworked into killing mode. But, the more you thought about it, the more your heart clenched in pain and terror that seemingly matched the suffering souls around you. You were an agent of heaven, you thought you were killing mindless monsters, not those with human souls! Sure, there were probably shitty people fucking around down here, but what about all those who had to sin in self defence?

A chorus of startled gasps startled you out of your panic ridden stupor. Your wings flared up, trying to make yourself look bigger, more threatening as you wheeled around. The spear in your hands looked more like a prop at this point, and it was clear that you had minimal idea how to use it inside a proper battle. But still, you fumbled with it and pointed it threateningly in the direction of the two demons that had appeared right behind you.

They clutched each other, stumbling backwards and further away from the danger of your angelic weapon. One of them placed an arm in front of the other, her eyes narrowing behind her red-tinted glasses as if she was both terrified by you, but was daring you to do something about it.

But still, you could see them shaking from where you stood. They both seemed rooted to the ground, the one with platinum blonde hair refused to take her eyes off of you, but the demon behind her (maybe her sister? A friend?) was looking around nervously.

You could see yourself reflected in those crimson specs, and for once it made you freeze. You'd seen yourself in uniform plenty of times before, the steel boots and guard gloves and the led, horned helmet, but it always seemed almost comforting before. When you were surrounded by your cohorts, it made you fit in. Out here, you realised, you were the monster.

The ever-present smile on your mask shrunk, falling into a grimace as your grip on your weapon tightened. Your wings drew in, you shrunk backwards, almost stumbling over your own feet in the process of trying your hardest to get away. You never wanted to scare people.

So drowned by your own confusion and fear and reckless thoughts of worry about the future that you didn't notice the confusion growing the faces of the demons in front of you turn into abject horror as a far more ominous silhouette grew behind you.

"I thought I taught you not to hesitate," Lute growled in your ear, placing her free hand on your shoulder and digging her fingers in till your were sure a bruise was marred into your skin. You didn't respond, couldn't even if you wanted to. The trembling that rattled you only grew stronger, and you fumbled as your hands cramped painfully. With a resounding clatter, your spear dropped from your grasp an on to the brazen brimstone floor.

Lute growled.

She didn't say anything, but she knew. The both of you knew by now. You couldn't kill a sinner.

Lute didn't even hesitate before shoving you to the ground. Your head collided with solid stone painfully even with your helmet on, stars shining behind your eyes as her words blurred together as she pressed her foot firmly between your shoulder blades. Your wings shivered and spread involuntarily, and you feared the moments that would come next. Lute was unpredictable, but this could only end with bloodshed.

The two girls still hadn't moved, transfixed in horror as they watched the scene in front of them play out.

Asphalt stung your hands and you tried to claw your way to freedom, fingertips digging into the scorched Earth as you started crying. Lute, however, was stronger than you. Of course she was, she'd been doing this for centuries, and you were still a fledging on her first trip out of heaven.

You never thought it would end like this.

Lute dug her fingers into your wings, tangling into your still downy feathers before she yanked with all her might. The scream she tore from your lips was hellish, agonising, yet the blended with the sounds of violence all around you. You were sure you blacked out several times throughout the process, but by the time your old lieutenant was done with you, barely anything but feathery stumps and golden blood remained of your wings.

You could only curl up, cry and watch as Lute tossed clumps of feathers aside as she stalked toward the two demons that still hadn't had the thought to run. And for the first time in your life, you felt sorry for the sinners that populated hell's ring of wrath.

She would make them suffer, that was for sure. If she was happy enough to tear of another angel's wings, you could only imagine what she would do to a sinner. You didn't want to imagine, and your mind was fuzzy enough that you thankfully didn't have to.

The sound of something sharp rang throughout the air. It made you groan in pain, the sound piercing your ears and making your brain rattle in your skull. Sharp - 'Tink tink tink tink tink.' If you could see the look of relief coming across the demons faces, a part of you might've urged Lute to run. Only, she had just torn your wings off with little qualm, and now you had no shits left to give if she lived or not.

The exorcist never got the chance to strike, her weapon torn from her hands and thrown across the street till it collided with a bloody body. Lute herself barely had time to react before she was struck over the head once, then twice in rapid succession. A whirlwind of white and angelic steel and pure fury launched herself in the path between the two demons and the exorcist. It was almost exhilarating to watch, seeing Lute strike out with her fists in a pathetic attempt of hand to hand combat against her new foe. Whoever they were, they were really fucking fast, almost too fast for you to keep up with.

The fight was over before it started. Without her weapon, Lute couldn't do much against the sinner she was pitted against, and as ruthless as she was, she knew when a battle was lost. In a flurry of black and white feathers, she fled. And then the newcomer's attention was shifted to you.

At this point, you would've welcomed death. The pain alone was making you drift slightly, and you didn't even have the energy left to groan when whoever nudged you slightly with something hard and cold.

"Mother.." The words were so soft, floating away from your ears.

"We need to leave." It was undoubtably her. That voice was the one who beat Lute into the ground.

"What about..?" That was the one who called out for mother.

"Won't she tattle?" So that had to be her sister.

Those words sent a dose of adrenaline through you. With as much strength as you could muster, you clawed yourself into an upwards position. You could feel the clotting blood running down your back, but if you were going to die, you at least wanted to do so with some dignity.

Shakily, with much more effort than was really desired, you reached up and peeled your helmet off.

It clattered noisily like glass against the floor, and suddenly the world was much brighter, much more red and the air was laced with more sulphur and death than you could imagine. But what really surprised you was the look of shock written across the sinner's face.

She was tall. Really tall. The only person who could really compete was Seraphim Sera or maybe Adam, but you really couldn't tell with how delirious you were.

"Una niña?" They all looked surprised.

The one called mother took a few steps forward, confusion and anger clearly present in her eyes. But, as she kneeled down in front of your comparatively tiny form, you realised the anger wasn't directed at you.

"Did she try to hurt you?" She turned back to face her daughters. They both shared a look, but ultimately shook their heads no. That right there, was your saving grace.

She looked back at you, hair pinned into high horns, and took your helmet in her large hands. She passed it off to one of her daughters, before gently scooping you into her hold.

You whined, writhing minutely in her hold as the searing phantom pain of your wings being torn off returned. Fat tears rolled down your cheeks, and yet the demoness tutted softly, shushing you like you were a baby.

Her daughters followed without a word, and you and the family unit moved swiftly through the desolate roads. So many questions were running through your mind, and yet you couldn't find the answer to any of them, your thoughts to lost to the fog of blood loss to ever truly return.

"You better not betray me," Were the last words you heard before promptly passing out.

The plushness of a soft blanket was the first thing you felt waking up. For a moment, you felt nothing but relief realising the entire thing had been a horrid nightmare, but when you tried to rustle the numbness out of your wings, the relief was replaced with horror when you realised that your wings were just straight up missing, only two feathery stumps remaining in their place.

That made you shoot up in horror. You didn't even care about the sharp sting that ran down your spine and into your very being, you were a bit too concerned about your current predicament.

"You're awake."

That made you promptly scream before ducking under the covers like you were a nestling again. A soft sigh reached your ears, but you dared not to venture out from the warmth of the thick covers.

Not like you had a choice, though, as you were soon pried away from their safety. It was her, the demoness with the high-pinned buns. She looked down on you, red eyes glowing in the low light, and yet, you couldn't sense a smidge of hatred towards you. Only distrust and sadness laced her expression.

"How old are you?" She asked after the silence had gone on long enough.

"I'm a fledgling," Is all you said. You didn't really fancy giving too much information. Although, the look of horror the crossed her face maybe suggested that you'd already given away plenty.

"Obligan a los niños a hacer esto?" She raised a hand and carded it through her snowy tresses, locks of white hair threaded loose as she paced back and forth. You only watched her, slowly sinking back into the comfort of the warm blankets.

"You're still a child." It was a statement.

You hated being a child. You didn't want to be a child, at least, you hadn't wanted to be a child in the past. You wanted to join the ranks of the exorcists, and to do that you at least needed to be juvenile. Hell, you were lucky enough to make it into the cadets while you still had baby feathers decorating your wings. But now, the fact that yes, you were still technically a kid made your saviour look upon you with more than just disdain and hatred like any other exorcist, but rather she looked upon you with an emotion that you'd never seen before, and not one you could really name.

"You are a child, and now you have fallen," She eyed your mostly healed wing stumps, and you couldn't help but reflexively flex them anxiously. The literal weight off your back made you want to cry.

"Was this your first extermination?" She gazed upon you with a guarded look. You nodded.

"And you didn't hurt my daughters?" Another nod from you. That seemed to make her relax just a tad.

"Could you ever hurt someone?" That made you pause, the memories of the extermination rushing back to you full force. Tears grew at the corners of your eyes, and still, you answered with a simple 'no'.

She exhaled a sigh of relief before closing the distance and kneeling down to your eye level.

"Carmilla Carmine." She reached a hand out toward you. So that was her name.

You clutched your hands close to your chest, fearing her touch, but gave her your name anyway.

"What are you gonna do with me?" You asked, voice cracking. Her gaze softened, finally letting her guard slip for just a moment.

"Well, you weren't going to make it out there by yourself. You'll be staying with me," The words took a moment to sink into your mind. Well, at least it was better than death.

Gently, like she was working with a scared animal, Carmilla coaxed you out from the comfort of the bed, slowly ushering you to her side. With your wings missing and their remains bandaged, head bare and missing your exorcist helmet, it felt like the safest place in the world.

"Welcome to Hell."

Rules + Info,

Masterlist,

[not-xpr-art]

Len and Tommy's life told through nine photos ~

A fanart based on the Inside no 9 episode 'Bernie Clifton's Dressing Room' because I loved it so much!

(09/2024)

See below for close ups and unnecessarily detailed explanations of each individual artwork lol

First wanna say that I spent wayy too long on these (like 25+ hours), especially trying to make them look like actual old photos lol... also trying to get their likeness right for the various ages was really bloody hard lol, but hopefully each photo has the essence of each character even if it might not look 100% right pfft...

Second thing is that the dates & locations are very much my own subjective thoughts on their life and not particularly rooted in the canon of the show lol

Also I did go really heavy with the colour symbolism lol...

Ravenhill School, 1965.

The year they met, both are around the age of 10 (give or take). Len is 3 from the left in the top row, Tommy 2 in from the left on the bottom row (also I tried to include references to the other 2 League Of Gentlemen guys... Though I think the only vaguely recognisable one is Jeremy pfft)

Also shout out to @lapis-lazuliie for the idea that they met at school!

(side note, this is the least detailed of all the paintings not just because I was too lazy to render all those children's faces pfft but ALSO because of the significance of them being less recognisable or prominent in each other's lives in this point...)

I was planning on making another childhood/early teen photo but couldn't really think of any good subject matter that could also fit thematically with the episode (also the fact both are coming from poor families who would have had limited access to cameras in this era means we can just pretend that there are just no photos that really exist of them at these ages pfft...)

Photo booth in Leeds, 1974.

Both in their late teens, they'd (well, mainly Tommy) gone to a photo booth in Leeds with the intention of getting some professional looking photos only for Len to immediately make Tommy laugh once they got in there lol

The middle photo is covered in lines as Tommy had planned on throwing it away, only to find he couldn't bring himself to do it in the end... Is it platonic? Romantic? Both? Who knows, you decide lol! I mainly wanted it to be a candid moment between two people that love each other lol

(final one is them play fighting because that's kinda just what 19 year olds are like pfft... also I think photo booths technically gave you 4 photos? so let's pretend there was another photo that they did throw away for whatever reason lol...)

Rehearsals, 1979.

Deep in the midst of practising their routine for some of their first performances!

I'll admit this photo was mainly me wanting to include something more episode specific lol and also to get in some much needed heavy handed symbolism (the crease in the photo separating them, the bottle in front of Len's face, etc)

Polaroids taken at Tommy's flat, 1985.

In-between shows the two often spent a lot of time at Tommy's place (featuring that god awful sofa the previous home owner had left). I did originally plan to have them in the sofa shot together, but was finding it hard to figure out who would have been taking that kind of photo so figured it made more sense to make it shots they took of each other.

Also marks the beginnings of Tommy's weariness (& Len's over drinking...)

Outside the Glasgow Pavilion, 1988.

The morning of that fateful performance...

Ok not much else I wanna say about this other than the reference I used for the pose had Reece sorta awkwardly clasping his hands in front of him which I really liked but unfortunately in my art it just looked like he was trying to cover his crotch so I had to change it pfft...

Tommy standing at Len's grave, 2024.

The sixth anniversary of Len's death, and the sixth time Tommy has travelled across from France to lay flowers at his grave. Photo taken by Leanne from the inside of a taxi (I'd like to have had more references to her in these photos but was unsure of dates/ages where it would have fitted...)

She couldn't get her phone to not focus on the raindrops on the window as she tried to take a picture of Tommy at her father's grave but then realised that she actually liked the pathetic fallacy and had it made into a print anyway lol (look I'll be the first to admit that this is the least 'realistic' in terms of a photo that people would take, but I couldn't resist the symbolism of it lol...)

There were a lot more ideas for photos I wanted to do but for obvious reasons had to keep it to just 9 lol

Also will be posting these on my ao3 with snippets of stories to go with each photo so keep an eye out for when I share that link!

[spooky-dice]

there’s nothing wrong w hc’ing riz as alloromantic from a canonical perspective and i’m largely a live-and-let person, but some posts make me feel like some of you should inspect why you feel aromanticism makes a character less compelling, less relatable, or less sympathetic.

does a character not being shippable make them less connected or interesting or has amatonormitivity convinced you that romance makes a person more whole and that platonic relationships are inherently less valuable or complex than romantic?

technically speaking, riz has never been explicitly confirmed aro. there is however, a good amount of canonical coding that implies he is. coding is sort of a tricky thing to determine if it is canonical or not, depending on whether it was intentional or not, and historically speaking, intentional queercoding was usually outright noncanonical and contradictory. given d20’s MO when it comes to queer characters it is likely the coding is deliberate, but it is not confirmed within text.

personally, i think the text does not require an explicit canonization to be aro representation. i would like it! but to me, riz’s story is already an aro story and it means a lot to me because it is one of the ONLY ones i can think of and the ways it explores aromantic loneliness. aro/ace representation in public media is still in its infancy, and despite recent pushes for queer rep, there is still an all-time total of zero (0) aro main characters and >10 side characters in film and television.

also, i think people should be mindful about levying phrases like “he’ll grow out of it” “it doesn’t matter” etc, because even if your intention is to talk about riz, real aro fans can inadvertently catch strays, and the safety of real queer people should take priority above all else

[cyanide-joe]

Grace Dahlia: The Dancer, The Integrity SOUL, The Fifth Sacrifice, The World's Most Tired and Pissed-Off Ballerina Mom.

She/Her (Trans)

Age at Death: 16

Stats: LV 4 (ExP to LV 6)

● Human: ATK 7 (+10) DEF 10 (+1) HP 40

● Monster: ATK 63 DEF 61 HP 2600

● Determined: [...]

Motivation: Protect the other reborn children and find a place where they can live peacefully far away from monsters.

Reasons for Falling: Needed to get away from it all.

Cause of Death: Axis

Personality: Bitter, cynical and defiant; Grace will stand her ground against the whole world if she needs too, and while she can be abrasive and standoffish to anyone she doesn't know, she is also very protective of the people she cares for. She is honest with her opinions and intentions (sometimes bluntly so) and highly values her promises while expecting the same from others. She also has a tendency towards perfectionism and holds herself and others to a higher standard, and can become ashamed/frustrated when those standards aren't met.

Relationships: The Reborn (Leader, guardian and parent figure), Clover (Naive and hurting, I can't let them be taken advantage of again), Nadia (Stronger than she thinks she is), Olive (Co-parent and platonic partner), Felix (Please settle down), Alice (Gental and protective), Frisk (Detached Concern)Toriel (Disappointment), Alphys (Pity and disdain), Asgore and monsters in general (Anger and Resentment), Humans (Disappointment and Distrust), Robots (Fear), Kanako (I hope you're happy and thriving), Chujin (...).

Magic:

● Bullets: Stars and her tails. Manifests ballet themed bullets during blue soul mode.

○ Green Bullets: Music Notes.

● Gravikinesis/ Blue Soul Mode: Can push, pull, lift or ground objects and people. Can use this to restrain others or allow herself or others to float. Incapable of fine control.

● Shadow body: She Can control the size, shape and number of her tails (max nine) and often makes use of them as additional limbs and weapons (teeth, claws, spears, ect). They are treated like bullets in combat. Additionally her shadow acts as a dimensional pocket where she can store objects and even people , including herself. When she does so her shadow can travel along any surface at a fairly fast speed.

Other Notes:

● The mask is her face; she can see, hear and talk through it only, even when it's removed, an eternal reminder of how she died.

● Has complicated feelings over her new body, understands she is no longer human but refuses to consider herself a monster.

● Has very complicated feelings over her killing spree.

● She has a passive awareness of what her tails sense and can see and speak through them if she concentrates, though she sees little reason to do so. They can sometimes act subconsciously on their own, and reflect/betray her current feelings or mood. The more tails she manifests the more effort she has to put in to maintain them, can only manage up to six without entering DT form.

● Among other things, she knows sign language, and taught it to Alice and Kanako. She also knows how to sew and , would use it to repair clothes and create her uniform.

● Has a goddam crowbar.

● Enjoys music she can dance and would love to start collecting vinyl records.

● Likes to think of herself as more mature than her age would suggest and hates it when others point out she is still technically a child herself.

● Willing to kill again if needed.

● Chose her name as a promise and reminder to herself, that no matter the hardships she faced she would rise above them, that she would not let life twist her into something cruel and hateful, that despite everything she could still be graceful, and then she went to the mountain.

● Doesn't forgive or forget easily.

● Fears she may be leading the other children on a path to ruin.

● Closet astronomy nerd.

(The Watcher, The Gladiator, The Hearth, The Survivor, The Dancer, The Judge, The Ambassador)

Art by @kays-artstuff and @howlonomy

[johnwickb1tsch]

you're the worst thing (i'm addicted to) PART 2

a john wick x Helen'sSister!Reader fic You are Helen's baby sister. When you meet John Wick at Helen's graveside, he invites you to dinner to celebrate her birthday. Set a few years after the first movie, 2-4 never happened. Use of y/n. Warnings: canon typical violence. Future reference to threat of noncon, (not John! because he's our assassin sweetiepie). Mourning. Smut. Grey areas. Questionable decisions. Sweetheart!John, BAMF!John Depressed!John - If you can handle the movie you should be fine here... PART 1

PART 2.

You tell him that you’ll meet him there. After your little crying jag, you have to go home and clean up. Maybe with some painkillers and a nap with an ice pack on your eyes you won’t look like death warmed over. He offers to pick you up, but you decline, knowing it would make the drive twice as long for him.

For a moment he seems like he wants to argue, but in the end he lets it go.

The restaurant is in Manhattan. It’s the sort of place you could never afford, and maybe even if you could, it wouldn’t exactly be your scene. You smooth your dress over your hips as you get out of your cab, hoping you won’t embarrass John. It was the nicest thing you own for a respectable rendezvous, a dark green paisley Etro dress with long sleeves that you’d scored at a thrift shop. It bared your shoulders with a wide neckline, but not much cleavage. You were behaving yourself tonight, despite the little suggestions the devils on your shoulders were whispering into your ear.  

Despite the fact that you arrive early, John is waiting for you outside, looking utterly edible in another black on black three-piece suit. Does he buy them in bulk? The thought makes you smile a little, a thing he returns in small measure. There is a sadness that cloaks this man like a mantle, and for a moment you wonder if that is what people see, when they look at you. You’re not sure you’re qualified to help him at all, but maybe, just maybe, there could be some solace in your shared grief for the same woman who left you both behind.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

Nervously, you look through the window at the glittering lights and swanky diners laughing over their expensive glasses of wine. You feel unbearably self-conscious. “Am I dressed ok for this place?”

“You look beautiful.” He says it so matter of fact, his tone completely platonic. And yet…

And yet.

He looks at you with a haunting intensity that grips you to the bone. He isn't even looking at your body. He's looking at your face, almost as though he's seen a ghost. 

You know you remind him of her, and you wonder if maybe this is a bad idea. 

But he shakes himself out of it, offering his arm, and even though you have an inkling that maybe you shouldn't, another part of you that is usually kept locked up in the dungeon with the rest of your worst impulses pushes you to take it, because you want to. Bolstered by his approval and your own special brand of foolhardiness, you slip your arm through his with your head held high.  

You haven't technically done anything wrong yet. Lusting after your sister's husband in an abstract way you never had any intention of acting on isn't exactly new. But the rest...is edging into a murky gray area.

What would Helen think? She'd probably be amused, truth be told, at least by your own inner turmoil. You remember that she told you once that she never got jealous when women went all googly eyed over her model-handsome husband, because she trusted him so completely. He doesn't even look at them, she said. 

Well. He'd looked at you, like he was a wolf and you were a tasty little bunny. Just the thought made you flush all over again, your fingers involuntarily flexing on John's bicep.

Dear lord, it was like granite. 

He looks down at you, curious, and you know you look as embarrassed as you feel. “Sorry,” you quickly apologize, looking anywhere but at his burning anthracite eyes. He pats your hand, but says nothing, sparing you the embarrassment of making up some lame excuse. 

You go inside, and the maître d’ is exceptionally solicitous. Welcome back, Mr. Wick. This way please, Mr. Wick. He and Helen must have been quite the regulars.

Once you are at your table John waves off the maître d’, opting to push in your chair for you. His fingers brush your shoulder afterwards. It was probably a mistake, but you cannot suppress a small shudder. He does not look at you as he seats himself, opting to pick up the menu.

You follow suit, your skin on fire. 

It was an accidental touch, you tell yourself.

He didn't mean anything by it.

You glance up from your menu, to find he is looking at you out the corner of his eye.

You tell your treacherous heart that attempts to pound out of your chest to settle the fuck down.

“So...what was Helen’s favorite dish here?”

He doesn't look up, and for some reason you are relieved.

“Guess.”

“Hmm.” You scan the offerings. It is mostly French leaning nouvelle cuisine. It all looks delicious, and very expensive. You know the moment your eyes find the line, and you smile. “The magret de canard.”

This time he does smile with you. It is tinged with nostalgia, and your heart aches. For him. For you. For the woman you are remembering together.

“She took me to Europe when I graduated from high school. She ordered that dish in every restaurant in France we went to. She said it was so delicious there was no point in trying anything else.” You cackle with another memory. “Then when we got home she was determined to learn how to make it. It went ok until the sauce. Holy shit, the black smoke in that kitchen was like a tire fire!” You wipe away a tear that is borne of mirth and memory. 

When you look across the table again John is smiling gently, as though he can see it perfectly in his own mind’s eye.

“She was a terrible cook.” He says it fondly, like it amused the hell out of him.

“I know. I am too, I’m not throwing shade here. Do you like to cook?”

The side of his mouth ticks up in a smirk. “Yes. I find it relaxing.”

Figures. He would be so perfect. One of many reasons Helen undoubtedly fell in love with him.

When the waiter comes John orders a filet, and you, the duck. “For Helen,” you say with a wistful curl of lips. He stares at you silently for a long beat before nodding, returning your smile perfunctorily. You marvel that you can already tell when his expressions are genuine, and when he’s playing the part he needs to for the sake of social nicety. Your heart aches for him. It must be so painful to be here, where he'd dined with Helen so many times. Maybe more like sticking a finger in a wound, than a brave act for the sake of nostalgia. What were the two of you thinking? 

It occurs to you, from things Helen had said, that maybe this is more than just her favorite restaurant.

“This is where you met, isn't it?” 

His eyes are fixed on a particular spot at the bar. “Right over there. She was meeting a client, but he canceled. So we had dinner together.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You didn't happen to have anything to do with that?” All Helen had ever told you about John's occupation was that he worked in security, but she had implied multiple times that he was resourceful, smart, and not someone to be fucked with.

The corner of his mouth ticks, his eyebrow rising slightly. You congratulate yourself for lifting him at least a little out of his funk. “I'm afraid it was just luck on my part.” 

“Fate,” you correct, toasting with your water glass, because you haven’t been brought drinks yet.

“It's nice to think so.”

“So then you had dinner.” You know the story. “Where did you sit?”

“Right here.” 

You feel a chill, knowing that once, your sister had sat in this very place, across from this very man, and changed the course of her life forever. You marvel at what that must have been like. You never fall for men quickly, usually keeping them at arm’s length for as long as you can manage. You’ve never experienced love at first sight, or first night, but looking at this handsome man across from you, it's not so hard to imagine.

“Did you fall in love that night?” you ask quietly.

“I did. I think for Helen...it took a little longer.”

Immediately you shake your head. “No,” you contradict, wanting him to know this. “She called me, the next day. She told me she'd just met the most amazing man and that she wanted to spend her life with him. I thought she was crazy.” You look around at the intimate setting, the low soft lighting and the swanky surroundings, a little misty eyed. Then, you look at him. This handsome devil with the soft eyes of a poet.

Helen hadn’t been frivolous. She hadn’t even been particularly romantic. Meeting John Wick changed all that.

“Maybe I understand a little better now.”

You look at each other from across the table. There is a longing in his eyes that you know you do not have the power to heal, and yet you would if you could. You would give a great deal to see this man made whole again—you’re not really sure why.

He looks away first, and you feel…raw. 

“Thank you. I…was the best version of myself, for her.” His long fingers trace a circle in the white table cloth, a hairline of a frown appearing on his brow. “I've slid backwards a bit, since.”

Hoo boy, did you get that.

“That’s ok,” you say softly. “We do what we have to, to survive.”

He looks up at you with those soulful dark eyes through his long hair. Your fingers itch to brush it out of his face. To touch him, and you absolutely know you shouldn't. Shouldn’t even think it. But there is something in the way he's been looking at you today. Something almost like…hunger, and your belly flutters with a thousand butterflies made of bad ideas and midnight longings.

“So…what about you? Are you seeing anyone?”

You shake your head with your heart in your throat. Is he asking out of politeness, making chit chat, or does he want to know if you’re unattached?

The truth is you’ve never had a relationship that lasted more than six months, and a nervous little laugh escapes you.

“I’ve…never met anyone who it was worth the sacrifice. Things are always nice at first, but then he starts to try to mold you into the person he really wants you to be, and you realize all along he just wanted someone to cook his meals and wash his socks.” 

John lifts an eyebrow at this, the corner of his mouth turning up ever so slightly.

“Maybe you should try dating someone who can afford a housekeeper.” He looks up at you then, his dark eyes soft yet penetrating, and you swear he can see straight through to the depths of you. The look almost feels like a challenge, somehow. You try to meet him head on, but in the end the unbearable heat of it makes you squirm, and you look away.

The waiter saves you from what you might say next, bringing the bottle of wine John ordered. 

Thank god, because you need a drink.

[yanderes-galore]

Since you haven't written for them yet... Can I request Yandere Elo Kadu Baqzo and Ndo Kadu Baqzo aka "Colony" romantic concept if it’s okay?

I'm not sure I can do romantic due to them being... worms... but I will keep it general!

"Yandere"/Overprotective! "Colony" Concept

Pairing: Ambiguous

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Overprotective behavior, Violence, Possessive behavior, Murder, Stalking (?), Forced companionship (?)

If you think about it, regardless of the pairing, having Colony protective/possessive of you would be terrifying.

Their species, the Mgalekgolo, have the ability to merge with vehicles.

Not only that but the two bond brothers are capable of convincing other Lekgolo to aid them.

The creepiest part of this is the fact that their species is just worms.

Which means... I feel their intentions towards you are neither romantic or platonic.

They just feel they have to be around you and protect you.

They'd shed blood for you as a Banished Leader.

Unlike most "Hunters", Colony has a translator to give orders.

So they can communicate with you to tell you generally how they feel.

On the Ark Colony is responsible for controlling all the Lekgolo in the area.

So you technically don't have two Hunters after you... you have a hivemind of worms.

While loyal to Atriox, for this concept I imagine them attached to a fellow Banished member.

They cooperate with The Banished but have their own plans.

How they think is an enigma, which is why it's weirder for you when Colony or other Lekgolo keep clustering around you like you're some sort of worm whisperer.

While they do have translators their speech still seems robotic and unfinished.

They somewhat try to tell you they like you in some way but it still perplexes you and other members.

After all... even Atriox is intrigued that the Lekgolo hover and protect you.

Everything from the Skittering units to the towering Goliaths... since Colony controls them all they all swarm you.

If anyone gets too close a Lekgolo unit quickly comes over to punish such a notion.

In a way you could way Colony stalks as you always have some form of Lekgolo near you.

Out of all Halo yanderes, Colony is probably the worst.

Why? They have endless swarms of Lekgolo at their disposal and are probably the strongest Banished unit.

No one can come near you.

If anyone picks a fight with you they are a fool.

It isn't long before the roaring cry of Hunters echoes and they swarm.

Colony is not affectionate, it's mostly like having bodyguards.

Atriox lets them have you around since they seem oddly behaved when you're around.

You're both under good care yet imprisoned.

Colony sticks around you one way or another no matter where you go.

It's unnerving to have the two Mgalekgolo approach you so often.

Sometime they'll try to talk with you beyond orders but they can't hold longer conversations.

Again, not affectionate, but I can imagine you touching the exposed worms and them... growling? Vibrating? They seem happy.

While I can't quite pick a pairing for this they may fall under the Animal/Pet-Like category more than anything.

You have worm bodyguards that will squash anything that comes near you.

In a way they express what seems to be possessive behavior around you.

Colony themselves prefer to be around you more than anything.

So while they order other Lekgolo to be infantry and scout... they stay by you.

The entire time you're a bit on edge while the two Lekgolo stretch their "heads" towards you as the try to keep your attention.

It feels weird to touch the worms but they seem to vibrate in enjoyment from it... it's so damn weird...

Overall, I feel Colony acts more like overprotective bodyguards more than anything.

They're useful when they're on your side...

Yet with their strength and numbers... you aren't getting away easily.

[jadehaven]

"OK AND BEFORE YOU SAY “things just operate differently in this world”— No. No they don’t. Because if kissing between elves was normal, or not romantic, or just something viewed as extra intimate friendship, THEN IT WOULDN’T HAVE WORKED AS A RUSE."

Thank you for saying this. Elves are reverent, they don't casually touch each other or kiss each other. Intimacy for them is a very serious matter.

Even with Halbrand, Galadriel never reached for him, not unless she had his clear consent, and they were mostly clasping their forearms together. Galadriel never held his hands, and she never touched his face or his chest. With Elrond, she touches him without hesitation, and she immediately turned her face and pressed her lips against his when he kissed her. They can't now tell us that this kiss was frivolous. The camera zoomed in on their faces, it lingered on them for a very long time, and the music was not platonic-sounding.

I guess I'm annoying, but I don't want to see Celeborn return. What do you mean I'm meant to care about a missing husband who adds nothing to the narrative, especially after seeing Galadriel being this close to both Sauron (darkness) and Elrond (light)? I'm afraid they will shackle her to Celeborn and diminish her importance in the action, yeah no please no.

It’s all very confusing isn’t it? But I think it’s supposed to be in a way.

One thing I’ve noticed about the ROP writing is that it does a great job of allowing you to feel what the character is feeling if you’ll let it. This is partly why I think the kiss is intentional, because it leaves an impression, and a question that needs to be answered. They wouldn’t make it this unclear if they didn’t have plans to clear it up later.

At the end of season two, multiple “confusing” storylines have been concluded, that were left as questions in season 1. This should be another that we see answered.

I think it was important for the writers to show Elrond and Galadriel’s friendship intimacy as being so “platonic”. It could possibly play a role in figuring out these blurred lines, because technically neither should have any excuse to feel different about what’s always been “normal” touch between them. It’s a wonderfully brilliant layer to flesh out, as opposed to them responding a certain way to touch because they’ve never touched before. It shows history, and a history of love/friendship, which creates the ultimate strong bond that people love to see played out on screen.

Lastly I’ll say, that yes, the kiss reads romantic. Somehow thousands of lorebros have gaslit themselves into believing it’s not, but erm, yeah idk? The kiss with Estrid and Isildur felt less intimate that this one tbh. Not to mention Elrond and Galadriel having touchy scenes that are nearly identical to the scenes between Elendil and Miriel, and folks have picked up on the romantic undertones there.

Anyways. I hope we get more touchiness between them, and I hope it becomes more obvious that theirs is unique. Obviously we see some other “touchy” moments with Galadriel and other characters, but they don’t quite read the same. And I’ll mention, these scenes(with Brimby and Arondir, even Gil Galad) didn’t show up until the end of season 2, so now would be a great time to make the shift with her and Elrond. It might even feel less obvious this way, which I enjoy.

Thanks for the ask! Come again 🫶

xo Jade

[thecorefrisk]

Haikyuu OC rants!! (Talking about how her storyline was like and my feelings about it, basically.)

I made this Haikyuu OC once. And she was so, so sweet. Not because she was super bright and bubbly but because when I wrote her I looked at her and I went ‘that’s a cat’. ‘That’s a kitty.’

She was this 5’6 half-Japanese, half-Venezuelan girl who was rather sullen and quiet and always looked a little annoyed. But the reason behind that isn’t really some big trauma (technically). She’s annoyed because she injured her knee at a training camp during the summer which meant that she couldn’t play volleyball or do anything she liked for the rest of the summer and a portion of the school year because she was good. She was good at playing volleyball. So good in fact that she felt average at everything else.

And because her mother had to keep moving them around because of work… I had her be really good friends with Ushijima! (Tendou is another matter…)

It was cute to me (and still is). All I imagine was this:

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTjgLNNpe/

(It’s such a cute little trend.)

I wanted her and Ushijima to have this sweet friendship where sure, you could interpret it as romantic but they could also be platonic! I wanted romance to be ambiguous and simply a possibility rather than a certainty. That went for all relationships and to all the characters.

And I wanted her to get this sweet little moment with him where she was all healed up and now she could play both with and against him. And there was this little flashback to when they were just little kids, playing with what was simply a ball and the rules were theirs to make and break.

I did do the basic route. She goes to Karasuno. But I do not regret it.

In this, all she really had before Karasuno was volleyball. She didn’t really have friends other than Ushijima because she moved around so much and didn’t know how to keep a friendship.

(As in, didn’t know how to keep people as your friends and how to be consistent with people because Ushijima and her didn’t have that kind of friendship and she never really sought out friendships in her childhood. So she never learned how to be friends with people who would think she was ignoring them or the relationship would simply dissolve if she wasn’t consistently and frequently interacting with them. But it was also hard to remember to do that.)

I wanted this to be a story about a girl learning how to make friends in her teenage years rather than in childhood or in her preteen years. And I also wanted it to be a story about how the way you’re raised affects how you act but also how it doesn’t excuse your actions and misgivings.

Also, I wanted Tsukishima and her to have this relationship in which he kept trying to poke fun at her and she remained a brick wall lol.

There was this sweetness to her that I cherished. An innocence. Not that she was an ‘uwu’ sort of character but with her upbringing and her situation, it felt like writing a thirteen year old me. A girl who was trying her best with what she had. And how sometimes her best just wasn’t enough. Not because she wasn’t enough (though she could be considered not enough for someone else) but sometimes because people will just hate you or give you a hard time simply because of the assumptions they made about you.

And what also felt ‘innocent’ to me were her intentions. She was a character that I wrote that was so obviously autistic. She took so many things literally and face on.

For example, if her little brother ever said he hated her in a tantrum, she’d believe him and be hurt but she’d continue taking care of him and loving him.

This is because she herself takes such care in the words she says to others— even though they always come out a little too blunt or a bit too sarcastic or just off— that her first thought isn’t ’oh, he said that because he felt hurt and wanted me to hurt too’.

Her first thought is ‘okay, so my little brother hates me; that’s okay, he can hate me, but I still love him so I’m still going to take care of despite that’.

And I just—

She was the story I wanted people to tell when I was a kid. About a girl who felt and loved so deeply but people took a look at her and assumed she didn’t or that she wouldn’t and how those assumptions shaped her life. She was the autism story I wished someone would have told.

[ambrossart]

good morning!!! I hope this week is better than your last, I’m looking forward to the next chapter of Paper Men! I was rereading and noticed that it seems, of all her love interests, Patrick is the only one who doesn’t hold her to this impossibly high standard. I was wondering if you did this intentionally (because I can tell everything you’ve written so far has been) or if this could change? I feel like this is partially why I root for Patrick even though he’s bad news, he’s different than Henry and Vic… he’s openly interested in Evelyn and seems to admire her (admire might be a strong word for him) differently than the other guys have been. idk if any of this makes sense lol. just seems unlike Vic and Henry, he doesn’t need Evelyn to be perfect.

Well, tomorrow (or uh… today, technically) is my birthday, so this week is already gonna be better than the last lol. I was just really busy with work last week, and I'm still getting used to my new writing schedule. Normally, I have a little free time during the afternoon to write, but not anymore. Now I have to do all my writing late at night. I don't love that, but I don’t really have a choice.

Anyway, it absolutely was intentional to have Patrick treat Evelyn differently because I want people to understand why someone like Patrick (who, at first glance, probably doesn't seem like Evelyn's type) might appeal to her, especially at this point in her life.

When it comes to relationships, Evelyn is very direct. If she likes someone, either romantically or platonically, it's pretty obvious that she likes them. Evelyn's not good at holding in her emotions, and that, unfortunately, can be overwhelming for a lot of people. We saw that with Victor when they were kids. Evelyn came on very strong right out of the gate and Victor couldn't handle it, so he kept pushing her away until Evelyn eventually gave up and moved on. Then she got “involved” with Henry, which was a slight improvement but came with all kinds of other problems. And you’re right, he does hold her to an impossible standard. Henry demands perfection and absolute loyalty from his partner; otherwise he doesn’t feel safe. That’s all well and good for Henry, but it’s not exactly fair to Evelyn.

Frankly, Evelyn’s exhausted right now. She’s tired of putting all her time and energy into one-sided relationships. She wants to be wanted. She wants to be desired. So now here comes Patrick, who is very consistent and clear about what he wants: he wants her, that’s all. He doesn’t play hard to get. He doesn’t pull away. And he doesn’t place any expectations or restrictions on her. With Patrick, Evelyn can do whatever she wants. She can be clingy and emotional. (In fact, Patrick wants her to be emotional. The guy’s a leech; he feeds off that shit.) She can’t cross a line because Patrick has no boundaries. It’s basically impossible to make that man uncomfortable. That’s gotta be pretty liberating for someone who’s used to walking on eggshells.

Most importantly, Patrick displays a genuine (or at least a seemingly genuine) interest in her, her life, her hobbies. He asks questions. He listens. He remembers. Does he have an ulterior motive? Of course he does, but does that really matter? Eh, I’ll leave that up to you. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Right now, Patrick is exactly what Evelyn needs, and I think if she ever lets her guard down, she’ll be surprised by how attracted to him she really is.

… which is what Patrick is counting on. 😂

[kimium]

Hello, I’m the anon that asked about the platonic yan!au semi recently. You won’t believe how thrilled I was to see that update! Unfortunately I didn’t get to read it until my afternoon classes were over:/

But now I’ve read it and boy do I have thoughts!

The threads are unwinding. Yuu is slowly realizing that something is wrong. No matter how much they don’t want to. It’s fun seeing them put the pieces together only to reject the image coming into focus. Like if they just believe in their friends hard enough the dots will stop connecting. It really does remind me of someone caught up in a toxic relationship. Which, they are so, makes sense.

They say the first stage is grief is denial for a reason, after all.

Like, even when directly told that they’re being betrayed, validating their own burgeoning suspicions, they just… refuse. But less convincingly each time. It’s so sad;v;

But!

It is nice that they finally have someone in their corner that wants to see them succeed and will actively help them do so. Mickey’s a real pal, which Yuu certainly needs right now.

But on the other hand it seems that the NRC gang have gained some new allies of their own in Crewel and maybe Vargas. Curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal! No but seriously it was surprising to see Crewel be a more active participant in Yuu’s captivity. What changed I wonder?

I’ll be honest I’m having a hard time placing Grim’s intentions. He’s lying to Yuu but then he also does things that are too obvious to be brushed off so easily. He can be quite foolish but even he’s a better liar than that. But perhaps I misunderstood, he could be fully on board the keep Yuu hostage train. I’ll have to reread it to determine my position. But I like thinking that while he doesn’t yet have the courage to tell Yuu outright, he’s still trying to help in his own way.

And the sleepwalking happening earlier and earlier seems to be having some interesting consequences. It was simple enough to keep track of Yuu before, but now things are getting more complicated. The boys have to be on guard at all times. And that’s an exhausting way to live. Let’s see how long they can keep it up:)

Even Yuu seems to be getting worn out. I wonder if their sleepiness is the result of the mirror’s pull growing in strength or if this endless chase is wearing them down.

Also, this is more of a side note, but was Rook’s claim that the fireman’s carry is considered romantic in the Sunset Savanah legit? Cause if he’s serious that has some fun implications. Leona has been portrayed as especially possessive of Yuu in this series. And this is a yan au so that’s saying something. Not to mention Rook’s own comment that Pomefiore can’t be as blunt with their affections. I suppose everyone not named Malleus has to be subtle with their ship tease<3

In conclusion, thank you so much for another wonderful addition to my favorite series! It made my day:D

PS: Could I be yanon?

Hello Anon! I remember you and your lovely ask about my Platonic Yandere AU! I’m so happy to hear you were thrilled by my update! I completely understand the struggle of life responsibilities getting in the way of doing fandom stuff! Very tragic!

Finally, the threads are unwinding. It was so challenging for me to figure out how to unwind each thread and where to show the cracks. I’m happy to hear you like the pieces I’ve broken apart for Yuu to find and to see the true image underneath. It’s definitely sad that Yuu wants to believe in their friends so badly that they almost want to turn a blind eye. Yes, this has a bit of toxic relationship elements sprinkled in, but thankfully rather light because I don’t want the story too heavy.

Denial is the starting point, yes! Poor Yuu once they cannot linger in denial any longer and will be forced to deal with their emotions.

Yes! It’s about time to have someone in their corner! Technically Yuu kind of has two many three people, but we’re getting ahead of ourselves here. Mickey was an exciting element for me to introduce into the story! Works both for the game’s canon and for me to throw some self-indulgence here and there.

Crewel was always going to be someone in the corner of the NRC gang! I think it’s because I can see Crewel being a man who goes for what he wants and likes possessing things he desires. Vargas is also someone I think can rationalize horrible actions with his own logic that is a little skewed. I think that’s in the spirit of the characters both were twisted from.

So, I don’t think anything really “changed” in Crewel. When I wrote his perspective in part three, I wanted him to be someone who “sees the horrible, knows it is horrible, and proceeds to feel the horrible sink into his body until he believes it’s normal and fine”.

That’s the point of Grim actually: I want his intentions murky. I purposefully wrote him ambiguous. I think Grim has many facets to himself that fandom often wants to overlook because of his childish, a bit rude, nature. If there is any party in this AU that is truly conflicted, it’s Grim.

Yes! The sleepwalking was always going to grow more intense as time went on. The boys are finding the situation more complicated than expected and you’re right that it’s an exhausting way to live. Definitely a challenge for them.

The mirror’s pull is definitely contributing to Yuu’s sleepiness. The mirror is now trying everything in its power to bring Yuu to it and let them go home. That kind of strain has to wear on the body eventually.

Oh, the part about the fireman’s carry being romantic to Sunset Savanna is actually my headcanon. It’s a joke I made up in my story Just a Normal Citizen (Not a Dimension Traveler). I just thought it would be funny as hell for Yuu to be carried like a potato sack and that is somehow a romantic gesture. I should probably add this note into my end notes… oops. I forgot.

It isn’t that the other dorms can’t be as overt as Malleus with their ship tease in my stories (though in canon that’s the case for sure LOL). It’s just I think Pomefiore goes about many things with a careful, subtly to their actions. I think that suits the dorm. Other characters like Malleus and Leona are far more forward because they’re confident characters. That’s why I like writing Leona as possessive. I think he’s the kind of character to display those tendencies more overtly than others.

Thank you so much! I’m so happy you like this series and I was happy to answer this ask!

PS: Yanon? As in my Platonic Yandere AU Anon? You are the only one so far, so I guess if that’s what you mean the answer is yes.

[ennissg]

If nobody else asked them yet 3 and 8 for the asks?

I got the exact 3 and 8 ask for A’mos but since you didn’t specify which durge I’m gonna ramble about Dr. Vrach this time if that’s ok, I just think about both of them a lot🙏

Based on this ask. (also ty for creating it! And additionaly thank you for making it not romance specific!) While this is technically durgetash I wanna specify that it is strictly platonic between these two. Tho, I’d argue this doesn’t make their bond less unhinged. It might make it worse actually?

3. What did Durge think of the little wannabe Tyrant at the beginning? Someone competent or someone who tries really quite hard?

For this I hc they met way before Gortash even became a banite, before he was sold to Raphael even. Dr. Vrach never forgets a face, just like he never forgot the face of a certain lower city cobbler’s kid who tried to pickpocket him once but got away bc he couldn’t snatch a child in broad daylight with multiple witnesses, nor could he be bothered, when he wants to keep appearances as a well-meaning doctor. 

He is getting into his 120s when they meet a second time, both being a wizard and a demigod he was able to extend his lifespan way above what an average human has and he has full intent on going as long as he needs to bring his father’s rule and achieve lichdom himself. So, when he sees Gortash again, 10-15 years later, having successfully resurrected the cult of Bane in Baldur’s Gate and strolling over to the living(for now) flesh and blood of Bhaal for an alliance? Oh, he was intrigued to say the least. A man forged in the hells, fostered by tyranny, with an unstoppable drive for progress and absolutely no limits as to what is ethical  - what a terrifying combination for a human to have. What an amazing opportunity to observe this brilliant mind, he would’ve dissected his brain if it didn’t kill him instantly, too. He saw so much potential in Gortash, potential he could help him realize. Dr. Vrach instantly became invested in his work, he wanted to become his mentor, to teach him how much more death he can bring into this realm if he only had more knowledge.

And Gortash, finally getting that older nurturing figure in his life? Finally getting his talents not only recognised but encouraged and cultivated? Yeah, he didn't get an assassin for hire, he got a free uncle who's always elbow deep in gore and likes to call ghouls his "colleagues".

8. Both Gortash and Durge are sadistic little gremlins, so when it comes down to it, who's better at torture? And did they make a competition out of it?

Absolute torture olympics at the Iron Throne all day every day for these two. And, unfortunately, no judge survived to keep the score but it is definitely in Dr. Vrach’s favour. He is always up for “research” and there is no end to lucky participants in his very ethical humanoid trials™ as well as his lifetime experience as a necromancer and a self proclaimed medical professional. Sometimes he’d like to see how many organs a person really needs to stay alive, sometimes he’d try to turn someone’s skin inside out all in the name of curiosity of course. It's edutainment to him. Magic certainly helps to keep them alive longer, he’s not interested in seeing the limit of an average person, he wants to see the limit. Period. How much can one’s body endure before its soul is released to the Gods? How far can you go past organic matter? It was a regular Unit 731 when they got together. 

There isn’t much of a difference between Dr. Vrach’s research and torture though, so it’s hard to tell at times.

[atrpntime]

tell us some aphorisms abt art or like someth uve been thinking abt tht might seem embarrassing or pretentious to say

Sure anon, lets get pretentious; Not every created imagery is art. I would define art as the articulation of some idea, feeling or concept through a medium. intention plays a big role in this but is not entirely necessary. whether something is art doesn't mean its good or bad, plenty of bad art, plenty of not art.

Technical skill matters so much less than people think all that matters is the total aesthetic cohesion and appeal.

I almost never use reference unless there is something very specific from the real world i want to use. I have a photographic memory and innate curiosity about the world that i just learned how things work how to draw a scene how to place objects etc. Most all of the clothing, cars, buildings, objects etc i just designed on the spot, it is by no means perfect but I like to have that flow tapping from the internal platonic form in my minds eye. To pollute that stream by regularly diluting it with reference would lose the feeling as they say, the perfect is the enemy of the good.

[jesperwolf]

Ok ok, I don't do asks and technically this isn't an ask BUT, I thought of something... (Idk if it's something you would dig, but ehhh... Also excuse my poor writing skills, idk how to write or explain things to save my life). Also also, not as anon bc we die like Steve's characterization in EG.

What if Bucky was always manipulative and possessive over Steve? I love me some dark! versions of characters, and I want to imagine Bucky being like this from the beginning in canon compliant/canon divergence (after TWS). Also it would go nicely with their co-dependency, me thinks.

His intentions were never as pure and platonic as Steve thought. After all, Steve didn't have many people that cared about him so he didn't know better, even if his ma tried to warn him about that kind of person, she never suspected anything "bad" was going on either because Bucky was a 'good kid'.

Bucky was his only best friend and he did some things because Bucky wanted him to -like any normal friend would do, right?- , like the double dates Bucky planned, he did that for his sake -for the most part-.

So, What if Bucky thought of Steve as his from the beginning? He saw him one day and thought 'He is going to be mine' and he was just seeing how long it would take Steve to get with the program.

At first he would try to worm his way into Steve's life and heart with little things -innocuous stuff- like helping him, greeting him, asking him stupid questions, gifting him little trinkets, caring and asking about his mom, giving him side hugs -and increasing their physical contact little by little too, to make Steve more comfortable with him-, asking about his art, bringing him food when he was sick, etc. Basically presenting himself as a good fellow while testing the limits and what he can get away with.

And things started to escalate without Steve noticing, because it was something that Bucky just did for years, and it was normal for them to be like that. Bucky was the older kid that helped Steve, his first friend, then his best friend, his first kiss -its for practice Stevie! It doesn't count if you don't wanna- and well... Bucky wanted to be and would end up being Steve's first at everything that matters.

The double dates were just a front. Bucky liked to believe they were dates for just the two of them, but as they couldn't go alone... he used the ladies. He knew that the girl that would be paired with Steve would just dislike him, he planned for it to go that way after all -he's glad Steve is going to be left alone and will come back to him at the end of the day, but he's pissed off that Steve's not appreciated as he should be, because they would never appreciate him as they should, even if they were slightly interested in him-.

Bucky knew that there were some girls that found Steve kind of interesting -at least-, but he never approached them for double dates, and he actually discouraged them into pursuing Steve when they talked about it with him, but he did it in a way that wouldn't be seen as him talking badly about Steve, because he didn't. He put the blame on the girls instead, but he did it in a way that they couldn't be mad at him because he was that charming and good with words.

Steve's physical change didn't stop him from loving and obsessing over the blond. On the contrary he loves him the same, more even, because the dumb ass put his life on the line for others and for him, even if he knew Bucky would hate the fact he wasn't safe anymore, he loves him and will love him no matter what. But of course he would take advantage to explore the limits of Steve's new body and pass it as punishment just because he can.

With Peggy in the picture, he gets a bit self conscious, annoyed and jealous -But Steve promised him 'To the end of the line' already, so even if Peggy is there and is more convenient, he knows Steve's ultimately his- and well, Steve went to rescue him, he worked besides him, he slept next to him, he was with him. Not Peggy. So she was an inconvenience, but she arrived too late to make a bigger impact on Steve's life, so he isn't that worried.

After TWS, Bucky has Steve in his little finger, so he isn't as careful and subtle as before. Some of the others Avengers start to notice that something is wrong with their dynamic, and try to warn Steve, but Bucky has always been this way and Steve doesn't understand what's the problem, so he just ignores them.

Bucky? Bucky doesn't care anymore, Steve's his and they're finally together, officially together. Sure, he has trauma in spades and nightmares for months, but Steve follows him like a lost puppy and Bucky will take advantage of it like he always did.

_

Idk man, I was reading a fanfic that gave me this idea (of another ship and fandom tho, the charas -they were two- basically trained another into loving them. Manipulating his reality and feelings, but it was in a short period of time and when they were adults) and I just thought of Bucky worming his way into Steve's head and heart since they were kids and they being co-dependent because Bucky wanted it that way, and no one noticing in the 30s-40s because Bucky was a 'good kid' and after a 'good man'. He went on dates with women, worked on the docks, helped his family and 'helped his poor sick best friend' too, so he had a great reputation. -Bucky knew his way around people and he also knew how to fool them-

After TWS he would milk the trauma and years of torture to get away with being clingy -and more- with Steve. (Also I see him making a game out of escaping from Steve at first, to see how long it would take for Steve to give up. But he doesn't, and Bucky feels kinda exasperated but really pleased at the same time).

oh FUCK yes! Bucky always being that little bit twisted, willing to do whatever it takes to keep Steve 👀 And Steve just being so desperate for his approval and doing whatever it takes to keep Bucky happy... this got away from me a bit lmao.

Bucky 'accidentally' stumbling across one of Steve's street fights and helping him out. Pretending he has no idea why those guys are picking on Steve. Befriending him like you said, love bombing him, impressing his ma. Taking care of Steve far more than a normal friend would - not that Steve would know.

Everything he does is carefully constructed to make Steve like him, to rely on him.

Pre-war Bucky warning Steve about others their age, telling him about the shitty things they (may or may not) get up to... the people that his ma talked about.If anybody tries to make friends with Steve, Bucky coming in between them - Steve doesn't need anybody else!

("Look, pal, I'm only telling you this 'cause I like you, okay? You seem like a really nice guy, so don't tell Steve I told you this, but he thinks you're annoying and can't stand you...")

("Steve, seriously, he's an asshole if he just ditches you like that. Don't bother with him.")

Just him making himself the centre of Steve's world, isolating him from anyone else... *chef's kiss*

The double dates? Perfect

-

Punishing Steve if he does something Bucky doesn't like. Giving him the silent treatment, guilting him, comparing him to others, acting passive aggressive. It works its way up, until Bucky just has to look at Steve disapprovingly and Steve starts to break down.

When they get into a physical relationship, Bucky is Steve's first everything. He's very pleased with that, and plans to be his only. But when he wants to punish Steve, it works its way into this as well - at the start, just making Steve choose between not cumming or getting spanked. Working up to various, more intense methods. And Bucky definitely won't be telling Steve about safewords.

-

Bucky hating to leave Steve alone when he goes to war. Worries about Steve meeting other people and relying on him less. He hates the idea of Steve losing his dependence on him. Becoming less sheltered. He hates the idea of Steve going to war even more.

Him being obsessed with the evidence of Steve's devotion to him, when the 107th gets rescued - proof that Steve will do anything for him. Although Bucky is pissed off about the serum, and Steve risking his life, and takes his anger out on Steve - punishing him. And absolutely testing his new limits!

Steve just accepting it, because he deserves it! He enlisted against Bucky's wishes, he risked his life multiple times, he didn't even ask Bucky's opinion about taking the serum (nevermind the fact that it was top-secret). Sure, the punishment's worse than ever, but he also betrayed Bucky worse than ever!

Oh, Peggy... Peggy could've been a threat, but Steve's already gone to the ends of the earth for Bucky. He just has to make sure Steve remembers that.

For Steve, Peggy was nice - it was good to have a friend while he was apart from Buck. But Bucky's a bit jealous, and gets upset whenever he and Peggy are together, so Steve tries to spend as little time as possible with her. Making up excuses so they're never alone together, so he can get back to Bucky.

-

When Steve wakes up in the 21st century, he's so lost and alone. He's never had to make friends on his own, he's always had Bucky for that. Everything is so different and he feels unsteady, like the ground is shifting beneath his feet. Steve catches himself talking to Bucky, sometimes, not to mention the countless letters he writes. He tried to pick up a pencil, once, but every line and every sketch was wrong.

He ended up burning those pages.

-

THE WINTER SOLDIER. Oh my god, I have so many thoughts here.

After the helicarriers, the Soldier goes and does his research on Rogers. Visiting the museum, studying Captain America's history. None of that explains why this man is so obsessed with him, why he would let something with his friend's face kill him.

Everything in him is screaming to avoid capture, so he stays on the run. He destroys HYDRA facilities, brutally killing the agents and scientists. His memories slowly come back about the man - Steve, he recalls one day - and his life before, and he remembers how the man was his.

The Captain is still desperate to find him, slowly trailing behind the Soldier's wake of destruction. Now, with each facility he decomissions, there's a stack of files and photos of how the Soldier was trained, how they remade him.

He stalks Steve Rogers when they're in the same city, always keeping his distance, watches as Steve loses sleep and loses weight. The man with him tries to take care of Steve, but Bucky is viciously pleased to see him fail each time.

Steve refuses to give up on Bucky, even as he learns what he's done and what was done to him. Bucky continues this pattern, wanting to see how far it'll reach - destroy a base, leave some information that will sicken Steve, watch as Wilson comforts him, move onto the next base - wait.

As the weeks and months pass with no sign of Bucky, Steve finds himself relying more and more on Sam, his steady presence and cool head. He's not giving up on Bucky, but sometimes it's nice to just take a break and be a tourist in whatever city they're in. They're definitely not going on dates.

And Bucky sees this. Watches them get closer. Go out together. Sees the way Wilson looks at his Steve. Finally, someone is appreciating Steve, but Bucky's not there.

After another one of those not-dates, after a quiet dinner together, Steve and Sam come back to find Bucky in their hotel room.

("Please, Steve, you have to help me. I can't do this on my own anymore." Bucky's voice trembles as Steve stands, frozen, drinking in the sight of his friend. He looks awful, clothes torn and hair tangled, but Steve's never seen anything better in his life.)

(Bucky pretends he has no clue where Steve just was, completely ignores Wilson as he tries to talk, just gazes pleadingly at Steve. And, bingo, he spots the exact moment Steve's heart cracks. He knows he's Steve's focus again, finally. The outfit was a nice touch, he thinks.)

When they get back to the US, Bucky asks to live in Brooklyn again. It feels like home, he tells Steve, and if there's no Sam Wilson or Avengers close by? Well, that's just a bonus.

Steve goes out, sometimes, but more often than not Bucky has nightmares, or a newly-remembered mission, and doesn't want to be left alone, so they mostly stay at home.

Bucky loves it.

-

They have sex eventually, Bucky convincing Steve that it won't retraumatise him or any shit like that. It's a relief for both of them.

Bucky introduces Steve to BDSM, telling him about how it's like what they did before but they've got all these new toys now. He still doesn't mention safewords, of course.

Now, you could either have Steve not have sex with anyone in the 21st century before Bucky, so he's desperate and lonely for companionship, OR you could have Steve having one night stands and Bucky punishing him for that, OR Steve tried dating and when Bucky learns about this, becomes upset and makes Steve feel guilty... hm many good options.

-

Steve doesn't go anywhere without Bucky now. They've both spent too long without each other, hiding their relationship, for them to waste this precious time.

But Steve's so glad Bucky's back. He's got his anchor point back, and he knows Bucky will always take care of him.

[constantlymisspelled]

4 - Mandalorian Divorce Court (and Marriage I guess)

[Text in image is as below]

i) Spouse Definition;

a) Romantic, lifelong partner b) Defacto partner in the eyes of the Law, Medical Professionals, and in Clan Law.

ii) Spousal Privileges;

a) Medical Preferential contact and Consent b) Parental Rights regarding Foundlings, Adoptees, and Children from previous marriages.

iii) Conditions for Legal Engagement;

a) The Mando’ade and their partner in question must both be past the Mandalorian Age of Sexual Consent. b) The Mando’ade and their partner, if the partner is not Mando’ade, must have the approval of a Clan Goran to be engaged.

[Text in images is as below]

iv) Consent and Age Restrictions;

a) Age of sexual consent varies between species to great degree. However, for the vast majority of humanoid species, the age of sexual consent is from fifteen onwards, if the other participating partner is within eighteen months of their age (upwards). The age of consent for any humanoid with a partner over the age of eighteen is explicitly sixteen – with or without sexual intent or participation. Sexual relationships that start before these ages and break these rules with humanoid aging individuals will face statutory rape charges. Humanoids of species that age at a slower rate – such as Halassai – are not able to give informed sexual consent of any kind until twenty, and that includes even humanoid partners of a younger age. If both parties are below age of consent, regardless of species, the partnership in question is to be physically removed from each other, and their guardians and clan face fines and jail time for either encouraging, or ignoring underage copulation. b) The Species Aging Index – Accredited to Ordo Technical College – is a comprehensive list of comparative ages between over two thousand of the listed Sentient Species in the Galaxy. The capacity to give sexual, informed, and clerical consent is referred to heavily by Mandalorian Laws to this specific list. Cross species relationships, whether they be sexual, familial, or generally platonic, are subject to the constraints discussed in this list. For instance, a Wookie must be at least seventy standard years of age to even consider adopting another sentient, let alone sexual liaison with another from any species. c) The legitimacy to give consent refers to whether the correct being is being asked for consent – a third party is rarely necessary for engagements, marriage, or divorce. However, witnesses are frequently required. A divorce cannot be filed, not a separation, without at least one partner’s explicit consent. A divorce or separation cannot be fled without any partner being the instigator – family cannot request a divorce on another’s behalf; however, a separation can be requested if there is proof of invalid, or inhibited consent at the time or marriage, or if abuse can be proven. For example, a partner could be under the influence, or trappings of another clan, and their respective clan can file for temporary removal from spouse in order for the partner in question to be psychologically assessed for any interference on the behalf of any clan, clan member, or partner. d) Consent under coherent capacity refers to either inebriation, ability to think independently (for example, mentally impaired Mando’ade with certain disabilities can not reasonably consent to specific matters due to their disability. Signing on a disabled Mando’ade’s behalf can be a position of extreme scrutiny, as Mando’ade with such disability are protected under Mandalorian law and are not to be traded as chattel or near-slaves to their partners.) injury such as concussion, and mental stability, referring to the old practice of Mando’ade taking war prizes in the form of unwilling partners. Such things are no longer to be tolerated in Mandalorian space, and those that attempt such practices will face Mandalorian Military Court.

[Text in image is as below]

v) Conditions for Legal Marriage;

a) Both parties must be present and of age at the time of the vows, and at the time of engagement announced to witnessing Goran and assembly. b) In the occasion of battlefield weddings, both Mando’ade must be in their right mind, with no head injuries, mind altering substances, medical or magical interference, and cannot either be currently wearing sentient trafficking garb, or currently be a slave. c) Mando’ade cannot marry a non-freed slave. Those who marry slaves and keep them as such are declared dar’manda and will face both Mandalorian and Galactic Court. The Freed are completely able to marry any Mandalorian once freed. d) Both parties must be able to give informed consent of their own accord – in the event of a Mando’ade with impaired mental faculty, their carer, who cannot be their future spouse, must be present and one of the signatories for the wedding. Only Mando’ade who’s mental faculty works beyond the significantly impaired grade can reasonably give consent for sexual conduct and intent.

[Text in images is as below]

vi) Conditions for Legal Divorce;

a) Divorce must be recognised by a Goran and witnessed by at least one third party, non-Clan aligned Mando’ade. A divorce cannot be completed without a witness. b) Reasonings for a Legal Divorce (Dar’Riduurok) can be of the following; a change in political, environmental and marital circumstances that cause undue stress to the partnership, the partnership’s children, or the partnership’s Clan. c) Reasonings for a Legal Divorce that declare one or more of the parties involved as Dar’manda (Resulting in a Court Recognised Absolution of Their Oaths) can contain the following; physical, emotional or mental abuse of the spouse requesting the divorce or children within or outside of the partnership’s Aliit. Spouses can divorce a partner without becoming dar’riduur by sending a request to both their local Astro Body Governor, System Governor, affiliated or unaffiliated Goran, Journeyman Protector Commander in Chief, and even the Manda’lor in office if required. If the Manda’lor in question is the being to be held to account, the House Alors can be notified in their stead. d) Divorcees from within, or outside of Mandalore – if they do not have the explicit exemption of a Court Recognised Absolution of their Oaths – cannot marry again and consider themselves Mandalorian afterwards. Divorce does not make a Mando’ade no longer Mandalorian, but ignoring these stipulations resorts in excommunication from Mandalorian Society. e) A Separation Request can be filed without divorce when necessary – such as when a Super Commando has a break in psyche and requires institutionalisation, a Separation Notice will be filed. Whilst, before and after a Separation Notice is filed, a Mando’ade can remarry. Mandalore does not define Marriage as between two partners exclusively – however, lack of notification to other partners can result in a Ban of Marriage and even a Separation filed between the Mando’ade and their ven’riduur in question. This can continue on to existing partners if required, and if the breach is significant. f) The removal of a Mando’ade’s Beskarta is not required to acknowledge a Divorce, Separation, or loss, and is up to the individual beliefs of the Mandalorian in question. g) A married Mando’ade can marry again with the same requirements as their first marriage for as long as a divorce has not been filed.

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vii) Children, Clan and House Considerations;

a) Children are permitted to disown a parent for their choice in partner, or choice to separate from partner or Clan. b) Children from a previous marriage – depending on the stipulations and the manner of the previous partners death, separation, or agreement to a new partnership member – are readopted by both their new parents, and previous parents in order to maintain family security. c) Warring Houses, or Clans in conflict, can not demand any prospective partners discredit, or denounce their oaths. Regardless of the Clan or House of any set of partners, Mando’ade are permitted to marry anyone of any sector, or belief, for as long as the children they raise are raised as Mandalorians. d) Children that are raised as Mandalorians, but do not wish to swear the Creed cannot, regardless of their parents, or Clan’s feelings, be disowned or disavowed in any way. The swearing of a Creed is not what solely makes a Mandalorian, and they cannot break oaths they have not sworn. This is not a legitimate reason for either separation, or divorce in Mandalorian Law.

[Divorce section, my beloved. As always, if you have any ideas or criticism feel completely free to let me know. The sections on consent are close to my heart for many reasons - including having a family member who cannot give Mental Faculty Able Consent - and so I hope I have made it as fair and bullet proof as possible, but I am always happy to make any improvements anyone can think of.]

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