#and Bela full on triggers them sometimes

[muffinsin]

Hiiii! Could I ask for fluffy hc between Bela and Cassandra? When Cassandra feels under the weather and is hurt after a hunt but is too embarassed to tell anyone but her older sister? I luv the dynamic between them you indirectly referenced in your other fluff hc post^^ about their family dynamics^^ (especially about Bela knowing as the only one that Cassie paints)🫶

Thank you so much if you decide to do it! Also take your time^^ and lastly- I wanna say I really luv your posts and it’s amazing how fast you get them out!

Absolutely! Mommy issues are hitting soooooo imma randomly give them to Cassandra because why not, hope you don’t mind! XD😬

thank you hon! I’m glad you’re enjoying my posts and appreciate the support immensely! :)

Let’s get into it! :)

Masterlist 1

Masterlist 2

Cassandra curses quietly under her breath when her leg gives in every few seconds. She bites her lip to keep from crying out in pain, as well as shedding a tear.

It isn’t much farther to her room.

She swarms brokenly, flies disoriented due to the pain she’s in. Blood drips down her ankle and runs down the side of her heel. Cassandra then hisses and whimpers under her breath.

Upon finally reaching her room, she closes the dark, wooden door quickly. She can’t make it quite to the bed even as she swarms, and instead falls to the floor.

Red, angry bite marks hug the pale skin around her ankle. Stupid bear trap! And stupid her for stepping into it!

Cassandra whimpers as she attempts to clean the dirt from the wound. It hurts more than it should, in her opinion.

Then again, she knows she’s always been squeamish. Something she is very adamant about keeping to herself

She thinks for a moment, as pain shoots through her entire body again: maybe she won’t need to clean it out? No matter, she decides. A new problem already caught her attention.

Upon undoing her corset and lifting the ripped stomach piece of her dress, she winces. There is a large bruise decorating her torso, and another, smaller one, next to it. Purple rings adorn both

She grits her teeth as she moves to sit up. It hurts!

She should’ve gutted that damn deer for kicking her this hard instead of merely cutting its head and dragging it with her

With a jolt, Cassandra’s eyes widen and her hands tap the wooden floor next to her. The head! She had dropped it when she stepped in the bear trap!

For a moment she felt tears welling up in her eyes, frustrated how all her injuries are in vain. She is fast to dig her sharp nails into her own arm- a bad habit she has never quite grown out of- to stop herself from doing so

At last, she feels around her shoulder blades, hissing when her fingertips catch the cuts and thorns in her backside from when she fell into the rose bush

Today really isn’t a good day for her!, she thinks pitifully.

Cassandra feels overwhelmed as she attempts to plug one of the thorns out, yet seems to only push it in further. It hurts when she brushes her fingertip over her irritated skin.

For a long while, she sits in silence. Then, to her relief, she hears a familiar hum from down the hall. Bela! Cassandra didn’t expect the woman to be in her room, instead off doing Mother’s business somewhere in her office or the dungeons. She feels relieved to hear the woman nearby.

The brunette considers her options for a moment, eyeing the ugly, purple bruises and feeling the prickle of sharp thorns in her skin, hissing as she brushes over the swollen, red part of her ankle.

At last, she decides. Bela won’t tell anyone if she comes to her- she knows this. She trusts her.

On wobbly legs she pulls herself up, hissing and whimpering as she pulls her dress down properly again. She brushes any tears that slipped from her eyes away from her cheeks, then focuses her remaining strength on swarming out her room.

Bela jumps as her door is pushed open, her humming pausing momentarily as she notices one of her sisters move in her room.

As the door is closed behind the swarm of flies, she turns her back to it again, resuming her book eagerly. A small smile plays on her lips as she hears Cassandra’s shy “Hi”. The blonde is quick to set her book down again, slipping her bookmark inside to mark the page.

When her sister turns around, Cassandra can’t help but blush in embarrassment.

“Cass?!”

She feels Bela’s hands on her immediately, wide, golden eyes scanning her. The older woman smelt the blood even before she saw her sister’s injury. When she does, she gasps loudly, which merely adds to Cassandra’s embarrassment.

“It’s n-nothing bad. Not a huge deal”, she grits out in pain.

Yet, tears of relief well in her eyes when Bela kneels down, gentle hands cupping her lower leg as she takes a look at her wound. Clearly, her sister isn’t impressed with her fake reassurance, and Cassandra is silently thankful for it.

“How did this happen?”, the blonde asks, golden eyes set on the wound. It’s dirty and at a high risk of infection, dirt and dried blood sticking to it. Cassandra avoids her sister’s eyes even when the blonde looks up at her. “Bear trap…”, she mutters quietly, yet it is loud enough for her sister to hear.

“Did you go out hunting on your own again?”, Bela scolds softly, and Cassandra nearly feels tears dropping at this. The blonde notices her younger sister’s sudden tension. She sighs, bright golden eyes meeting Cassandra’s dark golden ones.

“It’s alright, we can fix this.”, she says instead. “Don’t tell Mother”, Cassandra pleads quietly. The blonde nods once, acknowledging and confirming this. The brunette knows her sister dislikes keeping things from Alcina, ever the Mommy’s Girl, but feels pride and happiness within her as she knows Bela will keep her promise.

She feels her sister drag her heel from her injured foot, and whimpers when the woman gently blows on the wound, removing the small dirt and sand that sticks to her skin.

“We’ll need to clean this out, Cass’”

She tenses. “Are you sure? You know we heal fast! We won’t need to-“

Bela’s stern look has the brunette shut her mouth again.

She watches silently as her sister moves about the room, collecting tissues and rags, disinfectant and water.

She allows herself to relax. Bela will help her- Bela will take care of her. She feels partly embarrassed for needing her big sister to take care of her- it’s been long since Bela had to look out for Cassandra and Daniela this way. Still- this feels nice…

Cassandra jumps when her cheek is cupped gently, but eagerly leans into the warm touch. She would never admit that she purred quietly as Bela stroked along her bloody cheek, comforting her despite the pain Cassandra was in.

“I’ll be right back. I’ve got to get some more rags and bandages”, Bela speaks softly, adamant on keeping her sister calm and comfortable. After centuries of living together, she has learned how to deal with her siblings.

Cassandra nods, watching as the woman flies off.

She looks around her sister’s room instead, her fingers sliding alongside Bela’s soft, red bedsheets. She remembers curling up here during thunderstorms as she was younger, Bela’s calm voice lulling her to sleep as she read Cassandra a story.

She blushes when she finds the portrait peeking out of Bela’s closet- she recognizes it immediately, it’s a portrait of the eldest sister, drawn by her ages ago. She had lifted it to her with the small plea of keeping it a secret. Knowing her sister keeps it in a secret, yet common place has Cassandra feel pride in her chest yet again- Bela must like her painting so much, she looks at it every day, yet keeps it hidden away in case Daniela is to walk into her room and find it.

She smiles at this.

On her table, a book is sprayed out. Cassandra can’t make out the title, nor does she care.

She reaches backwards, hugging one of her sister’s large pillows to her chest. The pain is becoming a lot, her ankle aching and burning. She forces back another wave of tears.

As she holds the pillow close, and inhales the blonde’s scent on it, a raw, almost forgotten need spreads within her: for a moment Cassandra wishes she was little again, able to simply hide away with her older sister protecting her.

Now she is an adult, and a fierce huntress at that. She can no longer expect her sister to look out for her, it would be embarrassing!

Yet, she yearns to cuddle up with Bela again, feel so safe and protected as she normally just used to feel as a child in Mother’s arms.

She smiles involuntarily when Bela returns, hands full.

“You like that? Dani too, I had to steal it back from her”, Bela comments with a small laugh, pointing at the pillow in Cassandra’s hands. She doesn’t seem to mind the blood her younger sister smears over it; or at least doesn’t show it.

Cassandra doesn’t answer, although giggles a little. It sounds just like Daniela to sneak off into their rooms and take what she likes.

She watches curiously as a bucket is placed under her leg. When bela lifts a glass of water and pours it gently down her ankle, she can’t help the surprised yelp of pain.

The blonde grips her fidgeting sister’s leg, gently, yet firm.

“Cassandra, we need to wash away the dirt. If this gets infected, we will need to tell Mother”, she argues. The brunette grumbles for a moment, yet stops squirming. She instead squeezes the pillow tighter as Bela continues pouring the water down her ankle, and with it dirt and some of the dried blood.

After a few minutes, the blonde seems done. Instead, Cassandra feels her gently dab a cloth against her ankle, mindful of the swelling and the angry marks the bear trap left behind. She whimpers in pain occasionally, yet stays still for her sister.

Another memory crosses her mind;

They were barely children, and Bela already was the most mature out of the three. Cassandra was crying as she clutched her crystallizing elbow. She had stuck it out the window for just a second, just to see what would happen. The pain was unbearable.

Yet, Bela was there, holding her in her arms as she put her own hands over the elbow. Cassandra wasn’t oblivious to how it made her sister’s palms crystallize a little bit as well. Eventually, all was well again. “Promise you don’t tell Mama?”, she whispered, to which she only received a small smile and a nod.

Bela had never told.

She is brought back to the current moment when she feels soft gauze wrap around her ankle. Bela’s movements are steady and gentle. The bucket and rag stands in the corner of the room.

When the ankle is wrapped, her sister rises from her kneeling position, smiling at the brunette.

She can’t help but whimper, alerting Bela something else was up. She can’t help but want her sister to take care of her other wounds too. Cassandra has no idea what is up with her, she craves the comfort the eldest sister offers, and had always offered.

Bela frowns at the mute woman. Without a word, Cassandra raises the broken part of her dress, exposing the purple marks underneath. Yet again Bela gasps at this.

“Deer”, Cassandra answers her silent question. Her lip wobbles as her sister hugs her. Despite the pain she feels at having the other woman’s hands right on the thorns, she embraces the comfort and love she is given.

“Can you lay on your back? I’m sure I’ve got some cream somewhere…”, Bela asks, worry written all across her face. What has her little sister gotten herself into?

Cassandra considers this for a moment. Strangely enough, she doesn’t want to disappoint Bela. At the same time, she knows the blonde wouldn’t be happy if she laid down with the thorns poking deeper into her.

“My back kind of…”, she trails off, unsure what else to say.

Bela raises an eyebrow at this. In the blink of a moment she swarms behind her sister, gently pulling her hair to the side to access the zipper of her dress. Cassandra blushes as it’s removed with ease and Bela studies the thorns in her back. She holds the front of the dress to her chest to cover herself.

“You’ve got to be more careful, Cass’”, Bela whispers. She sighs as she stares at the many thorns inside her sister’s soft skin. Some peek out a lot, others will take more to take out. She knows Cassandra won’t enjoy those.

Still, the blonde knows how to deal with the younger woman.

“Can you hold this for me?”, she asks gently, guiding another of her pillows to Cassandra’s hands. The woman nods eagerly.

Cassandra, would she not feel so safe and protected, would surely scold herself for being so vulnerable and soft around her sister. Yet she can’t help it. She knows Bela won’t hurt her, will always look after her the way she always has.

Cassandra, to her greatest shame and embarrassment, wishes she was a child again, able to hide away in her sister’s neck after a scary storm. She knows she isn’t supposed to act this way anymore, expected to be more mature now. Yet, she can’t help but feel so small and safe, vulnerable and happy with her older sister.

She barely notices when the blonde begins her work, sharp nails carefully pulling thorn after thorn from her back. The ones sticking out are easy. Bela drops them on the pillow held by her sister.

16 in total, she had counted; nine out already. There wasn’t a lot more to go!

The seventh was a tricky one. Cassandra squirms and whimpers, but eventually gasps happily when the little devil is out and dropped on the pillow too.

“Just six more, bug”, Bela promises when she notices Cassandra’s distress. The woman freezes for a moment- it’s been centuries since her sister used this nickname for her.

She feels comfortable and safe yet again. Cassandra had forgotten how dearly she missed being this close to her older sister. Bela was so often so busy with the wine business now, she missed spending time together. All three sisters are inseparable, yet Cassandra likes to think Bela likes her better.

When asked, the blonde insists she likes both her sisters in a unique way, how she treasures them differently based on their qualities and talents.

Cassandra doesn’t notice when number six and five are removed.

Tears fall down at number four and three, and she bites down on the soft, large pillow on her lap at number two.

Only one remains, the one she had accidentally pushed deeper. She whimpers as she feels Bela’s sharp nails dig in her skin for a mere moment. Then, with a triumphant smile, the blonde holds the last of the little bastards between her fingers. Cassandra smiles relieved. She allows Bela to clean her back too, purring quietly at the nice feeling of a warm rag against her. She blushes when Bela is kind enough to press a quick kiss to the wound number #1 left.

At last, Cassandra lays on her back, her dress pulled up, the bruises on her stomach and torso exposed.

Like promised, Bela retrieves and applies cream to it even as Cassandra laughs at the ticklish feeling.

“Is there any other wound, Cass?”, She asks, worried eyes taking in Cassandra’s body and searching for anything out of the ordinary. The brunette smiles tiredly. “All taken care of”, she promises. Her eyes feel a little heavy.

A question sits at the tip of her tongue. The blonde can tell; her patient eyes are set on Cassandra, until the younger woman eventually spits it out.

“Can I sleep here tonight?”, she questions. The blonde confirms this. “You know you and Daniela are always welcomed here, Cassandra”, Bela confirms for her again. She removes the pillow with thorns and smiles as the younger woman moves in her bed properly.

“Will you also…cuddle me?”, Cassandra asks quietly. She wishes for once there was a loud rainstorm in sight. It should embarrass her to ask for her sister’s comfort a lot more than it does. Bela agrees to this all too happily. She’s missed using her little sisters as teddy bears, hearing their silent purrs when they felt so safe and happy.

It’s such purrs that she receives when she turns off the lights and climbs in bed too, Cassandra’s head on her lap, her fingers in brunette curls. “Scratch”, Cassandra whispers, as she often did as a child.

Bela laughs at the fond memory, her sharp fingernails settling against Cassandra’s scalp as she scratches gently. The woman’s purrs increase in volume.

“You’re not bad with the whole bandaging stuff”, Cassandra says awkwardly. Thankfully, the older mutant understands. “You’re welcome, Cass”

[bellatrixobsessed1]

The Killing Cure (Part 8)

He doesn’t want to admit it, especially not to himself but he finds it quite heartwarming to listen to her read stories to those girls. He imagines a scene where she is still large and imposing; Daniela, Cassandra, and Bela are curled up in her lap, propped up against her, and sitting upon her left leg respectively as she flips the page of a book. Her free arm, holding Cassandra close.

In reality, Lady Dimitrescu sits in Cassandra’s lap while Bela leans upon her right side and Daniela on the left. She doesn’t hold a book at all, but rather relays her story from memory; either she has spun the tale herself or she has read it so many times that she doesn’t need the book itself anymore. Ethan isn’t sure which of the two is the most precious.

She pauses her story and inhales sharply. “Do you need a bedtime story too, Winters?”

“I...uh...well, I…” He rubs the back of his head.

“If you’re going to listen in, you might as well pull up a chair.” She grumbles.

“But don’t think for a moment that you can join the family huddle!” Bela declares.

He lifts his hands. “I wasn’t planning on it. I was actually planning on finishing up with that deer. The meat has almost been prepared…”

“Are you finished?” Lady Dimitrescu asks. “Because I would like to finish.”

“Sorry.” He mumbles as he pulls up a chair.

“Where were we, darlings?”

“The bat just took flight on his fluffy, gossamer wings.” Cassandra smiles.

“Right yes. On  wings both fluffy and gossamer, the bat leaves his roost for the night…”

Now that it has lost its startling boom, her voice is quite relaxing, hauntingly so. Deep and rich, the auditory equivalent sinking into a plush chair. He can’t make sense of the story itself but he finds that his eyes are growing heavy.

He remembers when Mia would read Rose to sleep, even if Rose couldn’t comprehend a thing. Sometimes he thinks that she was reading more to him than the baby...he hadn’t realized just how much he missed storytime…

He swears that Lady Dimitrescu’s eyes are growing heavy too. And then her voice trails off and Daniela shouts, “Hey! Wait! Mother, you didn’t finish!” But the woman is out. Out and snoring softly. Daniela folds her arms across her chest. “You finish the story, Bela.”

“Me!?” Bela replies, “I don’t do good at story telling. Cass?”

“I always forget the dialogue.” Cassandra frowns.

Three pairs of eyes fall on him. He doesn’t know why he had expected any different. “I’ve never heard this story before in my life!”

“Then make one up.” Daniela quirks a brow as though that was the obvious conclusion and he is a complete dolt.

“Maybe I should take your mom back to her room…”

“Mother…” Bela lets the word sink in. “Is comfortable right here.” As if to elaborate, Cassandra rubs the slumbering woman’s shoulders. He wishes that she wouldn’t have drawn any attention back to the woman. To the way she curls up and leans into Cassandra. To the lax expression on her face--the sort he never seems to see on her in wakefulness. It is no wonder she has fallen asleep so readily; due to pain and stress he can’t imagine that she has slept particularly well in quite some time. Maybe he shouldn’t disturb her.

“Story, Winters.” Daniela demands again.

He thinks to tell the story of the Village of Shadows. He can’t imagine that they’d like to hear that one, all things considered. Instead he spins a tale of a man who went on a hunting trip with his teenage daughter. By the end of it, his stomach flutters with longing.

By the end of it, the three are asleep alongside their mother. Somehow, she looks smaller still, in sleep. Perhaps it is the way the nightgown hangs off of her body. He supposes that he will have to let the Duke know that she needs a size or two smaller.

He gives a slight jerk when each of the siblings tumble into three separate piles of snoozing flies. He wonders if they do this every night? They must do it often enough if Lady Dimitrescu doesn’t even twitch at the insects on her body.

He hates to admit it, but the woman is gorgeous. Somewhat frail, but skin pale and patchy in places. But she is lovely. Her generous figure, alluring...he finds his face flushing again. She isn’t even awake to take her jabs at him and he is flushing. God, he should have left this unholy castle while he had the chance.

.oOo.

Alcina winces upon waking, the cramping is back. It is more bearable, at least she can walk. But it is still a horrid ache. Leaning heavily against the bedpost, she heaves herself up. Her vision tilts ever so slightly, she feels around her nightstand until her hand comes to grasp the supplements and the bottle of pills. She massages her temples, she can’t remember which she is supposed to take or if she is supposed to take them both.

She moves them about in her hands and frowns to herself. She should know this, she should know how to take care of herself. She leans herself against the nightstand, a slip of paper drifts to the floor. Alcina stoops down to pick it up, ignoring the protest of her muscles.

‘Immunosuppressants - take once a day Dietary Supplements - as needed’ His penmanship is so atrocious that she can barely read it and his lack of punctuation is vexing. She wonders if modern schools fail to teach children how to write. Though she supposes that she has to appreciate his forethought to leave her instructions.

She swallows the pill and holds the supplement, she isn’t sure if she needs it. She isn’t sure how to tell. Her body is sending her so many cues lately and she isn’t sure what goes to what and which are important to pay attention to.

She could use a drink or perhaps a drag from her kiseru. She only has maid’s blood wine and that no longer suffices so she reaches for her kiseru. A hand clasps around her wrist and she scoffs. “Winters,” she growls, “remove your filthy man hand from my wrist.”

And he has the audacity to laugh at her. “You shouldn’t be smoking. That can trigger your condition. And besides, smoking is horrible for humans anyhow.”

“And who has told you this?”

“Oh right, you haven’t been human since, what, the thirties?”  He chuckles. “Modern science, that’s who. New research.” Something about the way he says new makes her feel as though it is old news. Very old news.

“But right now we need to worry about your porphyria. Smoking triggers that.” He repeats.

“So can stress, Winters. You’ve taken everything else from me, you can let me have this.”

And the foolish man thing rolls his eyes. His hideous blue eyes… “you still live in a castle with all of this,” he gestures around the room. “And you still have three, very needy, kind of annoying daughters.”

“Do not speak ill of them!”

“I haven’t taken everything from you, I’ve given something back to you.”

“Yes. Thank you for that, Winters.” She hisses.

His eyes fall on the pill bottle. “I gave you your humanity.”

“Whoever said that I wanted it?”

He doesn’t seem to have an answer for that. But she does; deep down, she did. She said that she wanted it, many times to herself especially during the first few months of her transformation. And then once again, just as fervently--if not, more so--when the mutation blossomed in full. When she, for a moment, thought that she would permanently take the form of a rotting, fleshy dragon with a liberal amount of teeth. Deep down she has craved the acclimation of her humanity.

And in those doubting moments, she forgot to fear the repercussions of getting her wish.

[caliphor]

HEADCANONS   —   CHAPTER  I.    sustenance. 

WARNING.   trigger warnings for the following content:   cannibalism , insects ,  gore .

FOREWORD.   it goes without saying that this applies exclusively to my daniela and @cericata​ 's bela so in threads if this comes up i will go with the canonical ways they've been shown to feed, but for the purposes of plotted writing and other headcanons this is what applies to this portrayal. mentions of other headcanons are here too so if something non - canonical seems to be stated as fact then i'll be going into it at a future date.

with that out of the way, let's talk about how the daughters of house dimitrescu sustain themselves. i'll begin with what we see in canon: killing their prey live and eating right from the source. while i absolutely do think that the girls do this often enough to bring up, i do not think this is how they ordinarily eat. during the time in which resident evil: village takes place, there's not a single member of staff in sight. their dresses and faces are filthy. the place feels completely barren like a lost piece of history. it’s implied that the family killed all of the staff to completely protect the piece of rose alcina received. i believe that this happened at least a few days to a week before alcina recieved the flask in preparation for the ceremony which means the girls were hungry. because of that i think the girls were desperate for a taste - can you blame them? it's like shaking a whole rotisserie chicken in a starving carnivore's face. if it wasn't for their complete devotion and obedience towards alcina and mother miranda, i'm sure whoever got their hands on ethan would have gobbled him up themselves.

SIDE NOTE: i think the three of them can not survive off of blood alone. it's good in a pinch if they can't get their hands on actual flesh, but they need the meat too. they have stomachs to fill. so many of them.

daniela in particular rarely goes out of her way to hunt her own food. she usually picks off of bela's catch of the day (cassandra's a bit harder to take from) when they're in those low periods where they eat the bodies straight after the kill. she is the weakest of the three daughters when it comes to the hunt. she is still a force to be reckoned with, don't get her wrong, but you're most likely to escape from her. she's also the neatest eater out of the three, usually keeping her dresses surprisingly unstained and her face easy to clean with just a few wipes. she likes it best when the flesh ISN'T fresh, contrary to popular belief. lots of flies are attracted to the smell of rotting flesh. as a hivemind of flies, yeah. she thinks it adds to the experience.

now onto how i think the family as a whole ordinarily eats! so, you know the tv show hannibal and how mister lector made those really pretty looking dishes out of human meat? well, the dimitrescu bloodline is a noble family that's dated back hundreds of years. the house is filled with expensive old furniture, there's portraits of the family around the castle in beautiful dresses, the matriarch makes her own wines with virgin maidens' blood. it makes complete sense that alcina would have their chefs make beautiful elaborate full course meals for them with the humans theyve hunted.

now, they're not stupid. the flesh is already cut and prepared for the chefs so that they're not aware of what exactly they're cooking - they're given a recipe and how they're supposed to present the meals so that there's no room for error. usually it's only the family that eats from this meal and the staff get their own normal food, but guests and favored staff like personal maids sometimes get to have some of their food too. without knowing what it is, of course.

[the-rogue-mockingjay]

Multiples of 3, 1-18 for your Ryder and 47,48 and 49 for Hawke 🤗 (or switch them around if you want!)

This took me like 8 hours bc I'm typing it all on a phone and got interrupted ripriprip. Anyway I don't remember multiples for crap lmao I hope I got it right 😂

Brynja:

What does their safe space look like?

Jaal. LMAO but for real, her room on the Tempest. She keeps the lights low, and has different color settings depending on mood and light sensitivity. She also has tons of light and fluffy blankets and pillows piled all over, and she took her dad's coffee machine and keeps it by her desk along with a ton of snacks and hot chocolate. On her bad days she hides under 20 layers of blankets and at times dumps her work computer in the crew quarters. When she's having a panic attack SAM will talk her through some grounding techniques or Jaal will sit with her. Sometimes they talk and sometimes they don't, but he's always her anchor and solid ground, his presence steadies her.

What kind of books comfort them? What books help them heal after a hard day?

She's a science nerd but: definitely fiction. Fantasy, historical, she's 100% a sucker for romance lol. Nothing steamy bc that's usually outside of her comfort zone, more like the tooth-rotting fluff variety lol. She needs soft hopeful stuff, she only reads angst if she knows it's got a happy ending.

What is your character’s trigger point? What makes them angry, sad or makes them go off?

Oh man. She has no tolerance for corruption and very little patience for bureaucracy. Cruelty will make her feral in a heartbeat: generally she's against murder, but the Cerberus scientists on Kadara trying to make a computer out of people's minds, well....I haven't decided how it goes exactly, but it may be the first time she actively chooses to kill someone instead of killing in self-defense. Any time someone says "You're not Alec" or "Alec would've made a different choice" or whatever, it hurts her deeply and pisses her off, she often gets snappy with whoever said it. When someone says they wish Alec was here instead, it doesn't piss her off, just.....aches, bc it tells her that she's not good enough, and it gives her the impression that people wish she was dead. Cora quits saying that stuff real fast.

Also, the day a human is exalted? That's the day she spirals into a deep deep depression. It'll be the big breaking point for her and honestly Cora will have to take over a lot of Pathfinder duties for a while. Witnessing the exaltation of angara, krogan and salarians is already chipping away at her and breaking her down, that'll be the last straw.

Are they an overall healthy person? Do they make for a good patient or a terror?

Ahahahaha she's mostly healthy? But her eating habits are GARBAGE. She snacks all the time, skips meals on accident, eats a lot or not at all and she can be picky. She never in her life drinks enough water.

When she's totally wiped out she's a good patient, once she's on the mend she gets really antsy and gets a little pushy about refusing help and getting back to work sooner than she should. Between the two of them Scott's the real terror, he doesn't bug for permission to do stuff like Brynja does,, he just goes for it, breaks out of the hospital and far too often reinjures himself in the process. They both can't leave bandages or scabs or the like alone, they always gotta pick at it.

What is the first thing people notice about them?

She's tiny (like 5'2" tops), and she lacks the gravitas and authority that her father and Nadja carry. She's pretty easy to miss in a crowd, but when you do notice her? Her eyes stand out. They're violet, almost pink in the right lighting and they're not contacts because BioWare made the terrible decision of giving me a color wheel for the eyes.

Describe your character through a Brooklyn 99 gif or line.

Joke's on me I haven't watched b99!!! But I did some digging around and the line I found that's most her is probably “I’d describe the workflow today as dismal, with a tiny dash of pathetic.”

Hawke:

What is your character’s reaction when someone does something nice for them?

She's absolutely delighted, thanks the person with an entire paragraph's worth of jabbering and depending on who they are, a hug. Sometimes a side hug, other times a full-on hug. She's not usually that touchy so it surprises people lol.

Is your character easy to make cry? Or angry? Or annoyed?

No, but I think I can rank them by difficulty: annoyed, cry, angry. She is almost never angry and has the longest fuse known to man, so when she is angry it is TERRIFYING. Hell hath no fury like a Hawke. She doesn't often get genuinely annoyed either, she'll get irked but it'll only last like 3 minutes, people who truly annoy her she gets really passive-aggressive with, and it's usually nobles and templars who get that 😂 And when she cries it's only in private, so when she does break down in front of her friends it catches them off-guard. When Leandra died they expected it of her (like for real who wouldn't cry when your mom was murdered and turned into a Frankenstein monster) but when Act 3 rolled around and she broke down seemingly randomly, that's extra off-guard and I think of the group Bela, Sebastian, and maybe Merrill are the most equipped to handle it, based on their respective friendships with her.

What is your character’s biggest fear? Most irrational?

This might be stereotypical but: being dragged to the Circle. This bluebird can't survive in a cage, and she's part of the mage underground with Anders. She knows the hell they suffer and she's damn sure Meredith would execute her at the drop of a hat if she could. She's terrified of tranquility too, but I think outright execution is a little scarier for her, since it's a little more akin to being butchered like an animal. Tranquility kills heart and magic, execution kills everything at once, so that's her reasoning.

For irrational fears, I'm not sure. Probably losing her most important belongings, such as her parents' rings.

[OC ask game]

[justtheendoftheday]

Night of the Living Dead (1968)

“They’re coming to get you, Barbra.”

When the bodies of the recently deceased begin coming back to life to try and kill and eat the living, a group of strangers take refuge inside an empty rural home.

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Fright: 1.7 / 5  Barbras

For me the most unsettling moments of fright are near the beginning when the attacks first start occurring. Sure, packs of the undead banging on your door is a creepy idea, but the potential for some stranger to suddenly attack you is just so much more real.

I feel like this was probably a very frightening movie when it came out, but time has dulled its blade a bit. For devotees of the genre Night of the Living Dead probably doesn’t even cause a blip on their fear radar. But for less desensitized viewers I think it probably walks a nice line between being spooky enough to creep you out a little, but tame and dated enough that it won’t keep you up all night.

It’s easy to look back on this one and not remember any big scares. But that’s probably just because the movie isn’t really into big scares. It prefers to charge the atmosphere of a scene with spooky tension. Who will live? Who will die? What’s going to happen next?

Gore: 2.3 / 5 Butcher Counter Scraps

This one is tough to measure. Old school gore gore rarely measures up to modern standards, and the whole movie is in black & white (which always makes things seem a little less visceral to me). So by modern zombie movie standards this one is pretty tame.

On one hand there certainly is a bit of gore, but on the other hand it is generally used to suggest that something rather gruesome occurred instead of actually showing it happening.

For instance, they never show anyone getting bit or pulled apart or anything like that. But they do imply that such things have happened and then show the ghouls eating “human flesh.” Yet it’s pretty obvious to an adult viewer that the actors are just creepily munching on a prop arm or some meaty bit acquired from a butcher shop.

There’s also a couple of quick shots of a slightly decomposed skull.

For the most part the only gruesome things you actually see being done to people are things like getting shot or stabbed.

Jump Scares: Very few

There are a couple of potential startle moments, but they are a bit tame by today’s standards. I didn’t notice any really aggressive jump scares to speak of.

Review:

Night of the Living Dead is a film that goes beyond the confines of its spooky premise to work as a powerful metaphor for its time. While its depiction of women is unfortunately quite bland, the way it deals with race is incredibly interesting. It’s a movie that delights in creating tension more so than going for aggressive scares. While certainly tame compared to modern zombie films, it remains a really fun movie that establishes the heart of a Romero-style zombie movie: a group of survivors who are forced to question whether the real terror is being alone outside with the zombies or inside together with the other survivors.

Thoughts:

Ah, Night of the Living Dead, one of those cinematic classics that everyone has at least heard of even if they’ve never seen.

Is it just me or is anyone else always wary of “classics?” So many of them turn out to be quite boring, or dated, or—worst of all—problematic. And sure, they might have made a big impact on the field, but that doesn’t mean they’re inherently great art, especially decades down the line.

And yet sometimes you’ll watch a so-called Classic and you totally get it.

Oh! Yes, this is why everyone keeps talking about this one.

One of my favorite things about the Horror genre is that so much of it is built up from a foundation of independent works and passion projects. And so much about what makes this movie a classic is because it was made by a bunch of film nerds who just wanted to make a movie. The only limitation placed on them was the scope of their imagination and the confines of their budget.

And that is exactly what allowed it to work outside the usual studio box and synthesize something new.

Here is a movie that has lots of gore (unusual for the time), was shot in black and white (also quite unusual for the time), and it cast a handsome black man as the main character and definitive hero of the movie (very unusual for the time).

Now keep in mind that movie was made in late 1960s America! A time where institutionalized racism was clashing against the force of a powerfully determined and ever-growing civil rights movement. To see a black man being portrayed as the hero—let alone one who heroically fights against white bodies—was almost unheard of in the cinematic pop-culture of the time.

Romero has said that his script hadn’t called for a black man to be cast in the role of Ben, but Duane Jones was chosen for the role simply because his audition had been the best. And while it’s easy to believe that Duane Jones aced that audition (because he’s friggin’ phenomenal in this movie), it’s hard to imagine that they would have even considered casting a white dude in the role. If they had gone that route it would have fundamentally changed the nature of the story (which is just a nice way of saying that it would have ruined everything).

But luckily for us the creators were open-minded enough to cast the role without race in mind. And because of that Night of the Living Dead was able to (inadvertently) tap into the energy of its time. It’s charged with this backlash against American racism. Ben is literally surrounded by white people that want him dead. They either want to ignore his humanity and simply consume him, like the hordes of ghouls do, or they want him dead for threatening the status quo (like Mr. Cooper does inside the house). And in spite of everything he still sticks his neck out to protect the people around him.

In spite of how well it’s held up over the years, for a modern audience one part hasn’t aged especially well: its depictions of women. Now don’t get me wrong, it never goes for the overt sexism that many horror movies manage to. And yet its female characters still manage to be the most bland characters in the film.

The lack of depth is on full display in their depiction of the film leading lady: Barbra. She starts out well enough, but for the vast, vast majority of the movie she is reduced to a hollow character. She is near catatonic most of the time and even when she’s lucid she tends to just ramble on, only partially aware of reality.

If that wasn’t bad enough there are only 3 other women in the movie and their characters almost never step outside the frameworks of The Wife, The Girlfriend, and The Daughter. All the female characters seem to exist only to add depth to the male characters who are the actual movers and shakers of the movie.

(Although in her defense I will say that Mrs. Cooper’s occasional scathing remark to her idiot husband are highly enjoyable.)

The first time I saw this film was in high school and I had heard it hyped up so much that I ended up thinking it was all a bit silly when I first saw it. While I’m sure it was more shocking to see during its time, by today’s standards it is a rather quiet movie. But when I ended up giving it another try, I found that the quietness is one of my favorite things about it.

One of the little details I love is how they use cricket sounds throughout the movie. In spite of all the horror and death we witness, nature continues unabated. It’s as if to say the world doesn’t care about these people’s situation. That little sound that evokes quiet peaceful summer nights is twisted here and it adds this brilliant extra layer of creepiness.

One of the things I’ve always loved about Romero’s zombie movies is that they are always focused on the survivors, not the zombies. The ghouls are slow and stumbling, their only real threat is if they catch you unaware or you let them overpower you with their numbers. The real source of danger is always shown to be the people you’re locked up with.

After all, in these modern times what is more frightening: the masses pounding on your gates or the people you find yourself locked in with?

—————————————

—————————————

Content warnings: I didn’t notice anything particularly triggering in this one, but let me know if I missed something!

After-credits Scene?: None.

—————————————

Directed by: George A. Romero

Written by: John Russo & George Romero

Country of Origin: USA

Language: English

Setting: Butler County, Pennsylvania, USA

Sequel: Dawn of the Dead (1978)

If you liked this you might also like: Dawn of the Dead (1978), Day of the Dead (1985), The Last Man on Earth (1964), Shaun of the Dead (2004)

—————————————

Context Corner:

Night of the Living Dead may be the great grand-daddy of the modern zombie movie, but many might not know that plenty of zombie movies existed long before it was ever made. The first zombie movie being the 1932 film White Zombie starring Bela Lugosi as an evil witch doctor named Murder Legendre [100% serious. That really was his name].

However, these original zombie movies were very different things from what we consider zombies today. These pre-NotLD films were generally based around second-hand ideas of zombies as seen in Haitian folklore (and misattributed to the religion of voodoo). They featured dead bodies that were reanimated as mindless tools of their master or living people put into a zombie-like trance, not autonomous creatures on the hunt for living flesh.

The closest precursor to Romero’s vision of zombies was seen in the fantastic film The Last Man on Earth, a 1964 picture starring Vincent Price and based on the novel I Am Legend by Richard Matheson. There a plague sweeps across the country and the infected dead return to life as a type of vampire-esque zombies.

Fun Fact: In spite of its influence on the zombie genre the word “zombie” is never used in Night of the Living Dead. The undead are referred to only as “ghouls.”

—————————————

“So long as this situation remains, government spokesmen warn that dead bodies will continue to be transformed into the flesh-eating ghouls. All persons who die during this crisis, from whatever cause, will come back to life to seek human victims.”

[determineddaredevil-a]

A Look In The Past (Part 2) - Riskie

Trigger warnings for: child abuse (mostly emotional with a hint of physical), neglect, guilt trips, unhealthy relationships, bad guardians.

Riskie has always been hard work.

They were not supposed to be born at all – Ma and Pa made sure to remind them of that fact, every now and then. It happened as a matter of fact: Riskie complained about their only teddy bear falling apart or their trousers having a tear so their panties were on full display, and Ma started howling about how they were such a terrible child, never valuing their possessions, and then Pa would join, and they would go on and on whining how they never had any money and how money did not grow on trees and how it was Ma’s fault that they spent too much and Pa’s fault that he earned too little and Riskie’s fault that they were born in the first place.

Riskie knew that. They knew that they were a mistake, and if not for them, Ma would be a painter and Pa would be an actor, like they always wanted, and they would be famous, and have lots of money, and live in a huge beautiful house with lots of beautiful things. Ma always said that they were simply too determined to be born: she was always careful, she said, she just did not understand what was going on with her until it was too late – and now here they were.

Yes, here they were, the three of them in a little room all together. Ma and Pa and Riskie – Frisk was their name, back then – were squeezed together in a constant mess, with toys lying together with products and dirty clothes. There was a bad smell, and stains everywhere, and cobwebs, and dust. There were cockroaches, too. Riskie thought they were cute.

At least cockroaches were always there. Ma and Pa worked a lot and never had time for Riskie. They were always tired or annoyed or in a rush. We are doing it all for you, they told Riskie, so you should be grateful and not distract us with your whims. Well, whatever, they were fine alone anyway.

Riskie’s clothes always smelt funny because Ma only used the cheapest soap, and very little of it. They did not have many toys or books, or much of anything at all. They rarely ate sweet things, and when they got any they had to hide it, or eat it very quickly, so that Ma and Pa didn’t take them away. But they were quite fine with that. They could always just play outside. They were a life and soul of their company of friends. Their buddies loved them – were friends with them since their toddler years – and Riskie never had any difficulty talking to them, or making them understand what they wanted.

It all started when they went to school. Most of their buddies got to a different class, so Riskie was left alone – and in their smelly, stretched, worn clothes, with their unkempt hair and messy bag and dirty face, they quickly turned into an outcast. They always had difficulty reading and writing, and sometimes their mind wandered off so far that no one could call them back. They could never sit still. They could not keep themselves from finding trouble and getting into fights. When someone tried to say something mean to them, they saw red and the next moment they were already sitting on top of their bully and throwing one punch after another. It was not something they could control. And they were not proud of it.

Their teacher got angry, and shouted at them, and made them stand in front of the class while shaming them. In those moments, Riskie could not speak – they often couldn’t when they got hurt or nervous – and the teacher thought that they were only being difficult. Stubborn. Rebellious. The teacher demanded words and they would not come, they would get stuck inside, and Riskie could not get them out.

Ma and Pa were called. Then they were called again. They had to go and speak with the head teacher, and then again – many times. Riskie was hard work, everyone said. Riskie never objected. They knew it to be true.

Ma and Pa started arguing even more. It was never quiet again. Riskie played in their corner with their half-torn bear and their crumbling Lego replica and listened to never-ending streams of angry screams and accusations. It got worse and worse and then Riskie was suddenly standing on the pavement with a bag of their things, and Ma and Pa were telling them that they’d stay with their grandparents for a little while. Ma looked aside all the time, and Pa was fidgeting. Riskie shrugged. Whatever, they said in their head, because something was squeezing their throat and they could not talk.

And so came Grandpa and Granny. Granny was old and cold and strict. She was Pa’s mother, and as soon as Riskie appeared on her doorstep she told them that Pa was too good for their mother, yes – he could do so much better. Granny always said that. She looked at Riskie through her cloudy glasses and shook her head and said that bad genes always show and you can’t expect a scabby sheep to give good lambs. Riskie growled and gulped down angry tears every time. Granny said she was going to raise Riskie proper, and good kids never cry.

To be honest, Granny did not care much if they cried or not, as long as they stayed silent. Her whole house was cold and stern and strict and uncaring, just like she was. She had ‘discipline’, too, which meant curfew, and keeping their room and bed in perfect order, and always behaving like a proper kid – girl – should. And if Riskie did not obey, she would grab their hair and twist them until there were tears in their eyes; and her hand never trembled when she did this – her gaze did not waver. She did not care much for Riskie, no matter what she said.

(Grandpa just watched his TV day and night and did not care about anything at all.)

Yes, Riskie was hard work, too hard for an old Grannie who hated mess and noise and unruly kids. And so Riskie had to move again, now to Aunt Bela. She was from Ma’s side of the family, but she was not Ma’s sister – Aunt Bela did not like Ma much, honestly, but she did not mind Ma’s children. She did not mind anything at all, and that was what Riskie liked about her.

(That, and her tiny black moustache above her upper lip. Riskie decided they wanted one, too.)

Aunt Bela lived with her large large family in a small small house. She was big and colourful and lively, and she always was nagging her brothers and sisters and children-in-law and everyone under her roof, but she was not angry – just loud and bossy. She managed a family alone, after all. She always ran around in a swirl of colours – she never wore grey or black, and she painted some of her clothes herself – and shouted, and complained, and ordered everyone around, and somehow everything went exactly how Aunt Bela wanted it to go. She had many children: Riskie could never remember which were hers, and which were children of Aunt’s brothers or sisters or cousins, because they all lived together and moved around a lot. Aunt gave them orders every day, and as soon as they were done with those, they were free to go. Poor little thing, she said to Riskie sometimes, stroking their head with the heavy, rough palm of hers. Poor little thing, even your mama does not want you. What can you do, when your mama does not want you? What should you do?

Riskie had a lot of fun with Jackie and the other kids there. They ran through the town like dogs on the loose, wild and ruthless and free, they climbed trees and searched damps and explored construction sites. Riskie got a lot to eat, too, they could get seconds and thirds and fourths as many times as they wanted to. The food was a bit too spicy, but they liked it anyway.

Then someone learnt that Riskie did not attend school while living with Aunt Bela (she was quite liberal when it came to formal education), and so they had to move again. They were tossed between several other distant aunts, cousins and brothers-in-law before they got to live with Uncle Harry.

Uncle was the best one. As soon as he saw them, he smiled at Riskie like he meant it and said sorry for the mess – even though there was little mess – and then said he was nervous, because he never thought he’d take care of a kid. And then he asked Riskie what their name was, and they could not speak again, but he did not get angry. He said that he was okay with waiting a little.

He was the one who told Riskie that they could be something else – if they did not feel like what everyone else was calling them. He taught them how to make whistles from pods, and he knew a lot about frogs – and he thought cockroaches were cute, too. He taught them sign language, as well, because he saw them silent and crying angry tears more than once. It was long and hard, and Riskie often got angry with him and with themselves because they could not remember a thing, but he sat with them and invented funny names for signs and tried tried tried until Riskie could finally speak with their hands almost as fluent as they could with their mouth. They now had a way to communicate even when their throat closed up and did not allow sounds to go through. They squealed for a good hour about this.

Uncle Harry was not very rich, he lived in a small flat and he worked a lot, too, but he still tried to spend as much time with them as possible. He was the first one who did, actually. He always joked with them, or sang funny little songs that left them in stitches. He was a good man – a really good one.

Sam was nice, too. He would come sometimes, and he ruffled Riskie’s hair and pecked Uncle Harry in the cheek, and they watched cartoons all together and ate cheap popcorn. It always stuck in their teeth, and they sat there making silly grimaces. They walked together sometimes, too. Not too often, unfortunately, because Sam was even busier than Uncle Harry, but Riskie always got ice cream when they did.

Then Uncle Harry got into an accident – a car hit him when he tried to jaywalk because he was running late. Riskie went to visit him in the hospital, together with Sam. Uncle told them that he’d be stuck there for a long, long time, and he would have very little money because of it, and there’d be no one to take care of them while he would be resting in plaster and eating hospital food. He said that he’d try to find someone else to take care of them, because they deserved better than what he had to offer.

Riskie screamed and howled and sobbed and clang to Uncle for what felt like hours, begging him to let them stay - promising him to be good and never ask for anything and eat very little - and they did not remember how they got outside. They got to Sam’s place for the night. There was barely enough space for the two of them. He let them sleep in his bed and went to lie on the floor himself. Riskie cried silently all night long, but Sam never stirred.

Then Riskie was pushed to some other woman – they never learnt her name, not really. She did not like them much at all. She was like Granny all over again, shouting at them for everything. She did not know sign language, too, and when Riskie went silent she only got annoyed. She did not know what to do when Riskie cried or threw tantrums because they missed Uncle Harry too much. And finally, she said she’s got enough.

Riskie overheard her saying that she was going to call social workers – she never looked into it much, she said, but maybe they’d find a proper foster family or something. Orphanages exist as well, she said.

Riskie was hard work, and they were not smart or quick on the uptake, but they knew they did not want to go to some orphanage or something. Because if their own mama did not want them, if no one in their own family wanted them, then why would anyone else? If they were nothing but a mess, a scabby lamb, an awful child, a bastard, a brat, a hard work – then what right did they have to drag other people down?

And so they packed their backpack and put on their sweater (it was stretched and worn, but warm still), and ran as fast as their legs could manage – they ran to the Mountain Ebbot.

Maybe they could live all alone there.

Maybe this way they would not cause problems to anyone anymore.

[supernaturallied]

October Prompts - Day 12 : Gore (Boris)

Some part of the bear's sadistic mind indulged in gore. The idea that his claws could sink into quivering flesh and draw forth gushing fountains of blood, expose clenched muscle fibers weaving together and trembling under his razor-like appendages. It was something that made him giggle to think about. Some dim primordial part of his brain was dedicated to the idea— the cause even— of inflicting pain on others and watching the life drain from their eyes in pools of red around their bodies. Even now, when his opportunities to do so we're limited. Since leaving the hospital with Wilson, the bear no longer felt the urge as strongly or as consistently as he had when things were still spiraling about in complete disarray and out of anyone's control. His focus narrowed down and his tactics changed, but his love for the scent and sight of blood did not share in this evolution. It had not whittled away completely, and there were still stones when he found himself able to indulge in his cruel fun.

So often it was just him and his teddy bear. Wilson would be weak, vulnerable, emotionally compromised from some sudden spell of his shell shock reminding him he was a broken and bitter man. The memories that resurfaced paralyzed him and sent him over the edge into blind stupors full of activities he wouldn't always be able to remember performing. And Boris knew everything that he did. He knew what made the man most insecure, what could trigger these thoughts in him. Sure, sometimes he would fight back, but it would only encourage the bear to act. He would poke, prod, and goad the old fool to action, berate him for all of his failures, all of his shortcomings, and when the opportunity finally presented itself, he would strike.

There was something satisfying about hearing Wilson’s guttural cries, watching him reel back and clasp at his injuries, hissing and writhing in pain that only seemed to worsen once he examined the extent of the damage. He would glare, and sometimes it would be weak, and in return, the bear would smirk. He knew when he had won. Sure it would come to bite him in the ass later, but he could never resist the urge to gloat and raise his claws still freshly wetted with the blood he had so proudly spilled. He was smug. Overconfident. And Wilson hated how proud of himself he was over it all.

Despite having plenty of targets that wandered in and out of the house now on a frequent basis, none of them appealed to him the way Wilson did. Or rather, Wilson didn’t come with the level of risk that anyone else did. Having sharp teeth, claws, and almost chaotically feral behavioral patterns were something the bear and Lucy shared, and something he was none too interested in having used on him. Kurt was a lot like Wilson in terms of personality and temperament, but without knowing what was going on inside his head, Boris was left to guess where the lines were drawn with the younger man, and that could very easily mean overstepping a boundary he wasn’t even aware of. And unlike Wilson, Boris was unclear as to how he’d respond to such a crossing. And Bela, mild-mannered as he was and despite their initial introduction, was still another vampire. More tame and docile than Lucy, but still a vampire in every sense of the word. He’d never seen the man particularly angry, but he was certain if he was caught by him under poor circumstances he would not want to find out what he was like in such an agitated emotion. Wilson was predictable, easy to push the buttons on, and much more fun to watch break down from his simple toying and trifling.

Decorating his sin with crosshatching lines, scars old and new blended into patchy messes amongst all the freckles and accompanied heinous words. Threats of consequences without Wilson’s compliance. Reminders of how little his sorry self was worth. The resurgence of memories he’d tried so hard to forget. Everything hurt just a little bit more when Boris cut at him with every syllable that spilled off his tongue.

Wilson was all out of bandages, mentally and physically. There was nowhere to run, there was no fighting back. He could only stand and watch as his skin continued to be plucked open by awful claws, hear the cruel laughter that accompanied the sounds of metal ripping through fabric, piercing layers of skin and severing tissues for the sake of a bit of sadistic joy. It reminded him of the nurses who had died whilst he’d fled. It reminded him of the fact he could have done something more to help them— he should have done something more to help them. It reminded him that his family was now in constant danger. A threat loomed over them at all times, and it was soft, fluffy, and capable of killing them all in a matter of hours if it so desired. How would he live with himself knowing he had the chance to intervene and let it slip through his fingers once again?

The answer was, he wouldn’t.

Developing a tolerance for the many ounces of blood he’d watched pool around his ankles took time, but it was time well-spent in his mind. Anything was worth the pain. His family was worth the pain. He would not lose more people that he loved and cared for to circumstances he could have prevents had he just been there. He’d vowed to himself that he would always be there when they needed him. He would always protect them, no matter what the cost to do so was. He would fight another war right on his front doorstep, he would stay up all night if he had to— he would do anything to avoid losing more family. Push come to shove, he would die for them if he had to.

A bit of gore for the toy’s amusement was a small price to pay in the grand scheme of things.

[muffinsin]

Could we get HC on the sisters s/o being jealous?👀 and maybe also a sexual version of them becoming possessive railing them with the strap? Thanks, if you decide to write it!!

🌲

I can’t believe I actually have the counterpart request in my inbox lol (the sisters being jealous). I’ll link it here once I’ve got it! (And I don’t forget lol)

Doing the HC in this part, and linking the possessive sex here! ;) let’s get into it!

Masterlist

Bela

Now, Bela isn’t one to trigger your jealousy.

She doesn’t flirt with anybody else even just to be a brat for your attention, and cuts it out when someone attempts to make a move on her

She is, however, very popular among the maids. This just comes with being the least bloodthirsty and sadistic of the trio sisters, you suppose

She is respected, but also loved. And most of all, fantasized of

Too often do you hear servants talk of her in an improper manner, wondering what lies beneath her black, tight dress and speaking of ways they would take her

It’s unfair to take it out on the blonde, though she doesn’t mind when you do

She will reassure you plenty, and sport sweet blushes when you mark her up

She’s all yours, after all

After passionate and possessive sex, she is usually full of your bite marks. She doesn’t mind, even finds some of them to be very erotic

Despite this, she wouldn’t be surprised if you stuck closer to her for some time. Those maidens would see who she loves. She loves you with all her heart

Cassandra

Cassandra likes to get you jealous. It’s fun to rile you up

Usually that side of here comes out when she feels submissive, though bratty

It’s unlikely for her to flirt with others with words, although she likes to have you watch her get overly touchy with servants

She just loves your reactions, and being punished for such behaviour

Of course she doesn’t want anybody else, she just enjoys teasing you;

she knows how to work her body to play with servants like prey, while being watched as if you’re the predator hunting her

It’s incredibly arousing to her and has her drool her arousal onto her panties within moments

Cassandra is the type to attempt to get you jealous whenever she’s bored too, absolutely

If she can’t get your reaction normally, this is her go-to. She loves it when you’re especially hard on her

Daniela

Daniela is…sweet, though not innocent

She likes to tease and rile you up at times by flirting with maidens, but most of the time, funnily enough, it isn’t intentional

Dani is a very touchy woman

It comes with being seductive and manipulative in ways, and the vixen can’t help but touch a servant’s arm for a little too long than appropriate, it’s like second nature to her and she doesn’t even realize it

This causes a little jealousy sometimes. Knowing she can’t control this eases it, though

What gets to you are the servants mistaking her touchiness for an invitation

Often you find one attempting to make moves on your painfully oblivious girlfriend, or attempting to fluster her while you’re right there

Daniela, if she picks up on it, doesn’t let it slide most of the time

At other times she’s too curious of what you will do with the situation

She loves possessive sex

She’s all yours and although she doesn’t need a reminder, she enjoys them a lot ;)