#but i think wolf fits her personality better

[dollfat]

giving into the [outlander] peer pressure and deciding opal moved to the city after leaving the wilderness. probably around age 13.

her and her mom took whatever shitty jobs they could, usually physically demanding and not always legal. neither were especially good at socializing and opal was overwhelmed by all the people and noise. she still thinks of the Outlands as her home.

[commsroom]

this is a sensitive topic for me, so i really hate that i have to make this post, but unfortunately it keeps becoming relevant: stop infantilizing hera, and stop making excuses for it.

"well, she's literally four years old" she's been fully conscious with an adult mind for most of that, awake for most of that, and in multiple places at once for most of that. do you think that is comparable to a child's life experience, or is it maybe representative of something else?

i assume you understand why it would be wrong to call lovelace "literally two" because the fact that she is a clone is textually representative of the trauma she's been through. i also assume you understand why hera occasionally making flippant or frustrated comments about her own struggles living as an AI is different from the text telling you who she is or how you should regard her. it's science fiction, and it's a show that uses science fiction concepts in ways that resonate with real ones. the ultimate fact of the matter is that hera could've been in a lab for 30 years, or for 200 years, in a different setting, and be written the exact same way: as a sheltered, isolated adult woman without real life experiences.

hera is not a child or teenager in a natural stage of development. she is an adult who never went through the usual stages of development or life milestones, who has adult friendships and responsibilities, but who feels she is permanently ill-equipped to handle her life because no one ever taught her how, or gave her the space to make mistakes. if you don't understand why this distinction is important in discussing her trauma, that there are real, adult people who feel the same way, people who feel they've only been alive for four years, women who were never girls... then i really don't know what to say to you.

and i guess i have to say it: it's inherently infantilizing to say her peers see her the same way they see an actual child, or to say she needs them to be parental figures, especially eiffel of all people. "adult women have parents too" not ones that are 30 year old men! and parents have responsibilities to children, even adult children, that are different from the responsibilities two unrelated adults who care about each other have. it fundamentally reframes hera's most equal relationship in a way that diminishes her autonomy within it. (and if you're arguing it's all equal anyway, then what does it add? why don't you consider friendship as important?)

i know some people will dismiss that point because i view eiffel and hera romantically, but i've never argued you have to. if you want to go down that road, it says some pretty awful things about the couple of writers and actors who also view it romantically if you think she was meant to be viewed as a child, much less comparable to his child. you're inventing problems that don't canonically exist.

i just don't understand why you would make it about eiffel at all - and eiffel does not have the right to be a parent; the only thing that will heal his relationship with his real actual child is in relation to his real actual child - instead of discussing what a disabled, isolated, traumatized adult might be able to offer a disabled, traumatized kid. isn't the whole point of hera not being like pryce about breaking cycles? why make her a passive figure in her own story when her entire story arc is about taking control of her life?

there's no utility to this line of thought that doesn't further demean and alienate her, while implying she isn't ready to be a fully autonomous adult person. i don't think most people mean to be ableist, but hera is canonically a disabled woman, and i don't like where that line of thought leads. and yes, she's just a fictional character and can't be hurt by it, but everyone brings some real-world biases to how they engage with fiction. she's written as a marginalized adult person, and her womanhood is textually tied to defense of her personhood and autonomy (as well as a parallel to lovelace, also a marginalized woman.) to paraphrase minkowski - "you are going to show [that woman] some goddamned respect."

[mediumsizedfountain]

It's been years, but I'm back on my Star Wars shit.

I think the thing I love most about Oshamir as a ship is how much of a female power fantasy it is, and the show unapologetically leans into that aspect.

Like, Qimir as an undeniably powerful and dangerous man, but he very rapidly started shifting into the more submissive person in the relationship.

He's not a tyrant or a fascist or a warlord or anything like that which could be triggering and icky. He's a lone wolf committed to his own freedom and making his own path as he sees fit. He's a killer, but only when those deaths either protect/defend his freedom and independence, or advance the cause of his power and his personal journey.

HOWEVER, bro is also clearly lonely and touch starved, and willing to take on fake personas in order to find something resembling friendship.

This is where the female power fantasy comes in.

The minute he meets Osha, he's so immediately taken with her that he drops his fake persona and nearly reveals himself. Then when he is ready to kill everyone else to protect himself, he goes out of his way to avoid killing Osha, flirts with her mid battle, keeps checking that she's paying attention when he's talking. The man is crushing on her big time. He even seems impressed every time she fights against him.

By the end of the battle, when he finds her unconscious in the forest, our boy is already halfway in love.

What better power fantasy could there be? Not only does the most deadly man in the galaxy not want to hurt her, but he's totally smitten when all she's done is point weapons at him.

The fantasy only gets more intoxicating from there. Not only does he tuck her into bed and tend her wound, this guy COOKS HER SOUP and respectfully sets up his makeshift bed across the room.

From the moment she picks up his lightsaber, Osha starts losing her fear of him, because it's obvious this dweeb is just peacocking by showing off his nice body and his artfully arranged tendrils of hair and flirting non stop.

The way he literally puts his life in her hands and remains unflinchingly honest and straightforward with her while helping her work through her complicated emotions is only icing on the cake. Not to mention he keeps inviting her to join him, but every time she rejects him he just quietly pouts and respectfully backs down.

I'm not going into detail about how he follows her around like a devoted puppy for the rest of the season while also respecting her personal boundaries.

The bottom line is: Leslye Headland created the ultimate female power fantasy by giving Osha an overpowered monster who instantly falls for her, willingly and eagerly defangs himself, devoted himself to her needs, and submits himself to her choices.

It's also perfectly clear that he can still transform into a monster, but now he's OSHA'S monster. And he's also Osha's biggest fanboy and her eager emotional support person.

Leslye just knows what the girlies like and served it up to us on a platter.

We are so fed. Now just hoping Disney has the guts to keep trying something new by giving us a second season.

[crguang]

somethin’ bout those tears of yours… how does it feel to be adored?

Shrieks or symphony? They’re all the same to her. However, your cries will always sound better than any orchestra.

warnings: smut, finger fucking, kafka eating pussy like i know she can, afab!reader, dom!kafka (duh), dacryphilia (thats the whole point of this if im honest)

wc: 3,2K

A/N: wow guys um. this didn’t go as planned but im not really complaining, i never write smut so i dont know whats going on but enjoy nonetheless

As eloquent as Kafka is, she can’t seem to be able to put into words why the sight of your shiny eyes and pouty lips moves her so.

It’s not so much a feeling of pity they rouse as a sort of pleasure that courses through her like rain seeping into clothes. It’s a soft delight, the kind she recognizes as when she closes her eyes and lets the high notes of a violin fill her senses. Emotion twisting your features is like a carefully building crescendo— first come the furrowed brows, then the scrunch of your pretty nose and the tremble in your lips, and finally, big, fat glassy tears running along your full cheeks. The melody reaches its climax as your eyes meet hers, the dulcet tones of your poorly contained cries bringing forth something Kafka’s never found in another person. It’s a sadistic sort of pleasure to experience, perhaps, not that she’d ever care about the gaps in her morality.

She particularly enjoys the gloss in your gaze when she’s between your slick thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh, tongue swirling around your pulsing clit. Kafka sometimes rolls her eyes at how easily you are taken by emotion—she’s almost certain it’s a facade, it has to be— and thinks you’re working in the wrong business, but she can’t complain when you’re such a pretty crier. Like a loyal dog, she makes your wants happen regardless of whether you find the courage to utter them. Your jaw clenches in anger after a rude interaction with a stranger, and Kafka threatens him in an alley. Her finger’s always been loose on the trigger. Your hand trails down her bicep in that purposeful way that lets her know you want her, and Kafka buries her nose in your cunt until tears cloud your vision and you’re firmly pulling her mouth away with a hand in her hair. She takes in a breath, lips parted and coated in arousal, as she revels in the way your chest stutters and your wet eyelashes flutter. You’re at your prettiest like this; bare, sweaty, pliable under her steady hands. What a sight it makes.

Kafka sighs lustfully, a palm against her cheek as she lets the thoughts dissipate. You haven’t noticed her stare yet, too preoccupied by your argument with Silver Wolf to spare her a glance. She doesn’t care to listen in and instead waits until the heated debate inevitably has you stomping towards her with an irritated pout. Your arms cross over your chest and the crease between your brows deepens when you plant yourself in front of her.

“This girl will argue over anything.”

Kafka’s usual smile doesn’t faze you, nor does the way her fingertips linger on your skin when she pushes strands of hair out of your face. She only hums in acknowledgment. Your nose bridge is crinkled in frustration, as is the corner of your eyes, and it’s almost enough to hear the familiar symphony that sounds between her ears. If Kafka were to psychoanalyze her every thought, she’d have wondered if witnessing strong emotional responses fascinates her because she doesn’t have any. People attract what they lack, do they not? It would explain the shiver that caresses her spine when she’s face to face with a pleading victim. Her pupils grow twice in size to take in as much of the scene as possible, and she lets violins and cellos reach their crescendo in her mind until death descends and everything stops. The following silence brings satisfaction, a fitting end to a beautiful symphony.

Silver Wolf passes by the two of you with her eyes glued to her phone screen and mutters a mocking comment she intends for you to hear. You grit your teeth. The whole thing’s pretty childish and certainly unserious, but you both have strong opinions on what constitutes a good video game, apparently.

“She likes to rile you up,” Kafka grips your chin with three fingers and turns you back toward her. “Don’t mind her.”

“I’m not letting myself be bullied by a girl who can’t reach the highest cupboard without a chair,” you say the last part loud enough for Silver Wolf to give you the middle finger as she walks away.

With the source of your frustration gone, your muscles relax bit by bit until you’re sighing and running a hand down your face.

“I need some air.”

Kafka fetches your coat.

You’ve forgotten the entire ordeal when you and Kafka step outside of a clothing store, a spring in your step that appeared after the two of you spent half an hour looking at leather jackets. You ended up buying one for yourself after Kafka’s extensive comments and suggestions. The paper bag sways as you walk through the busy streets of an unfamiliar city. You’ve never been to this planet before, everything was a sight you wished you could stop and admire for more than a few minutes but being a Stellaron Hunter didn’t come with vacations. You were here on a job and would be leaving in two days, according to Elio’s script. The first part is done, the second takes place tomorrow, which allows you a moment of reprieve to simply wander around this strange city. Your sense of orientation and perception is excellent but you let Kafka lead you through bustling markets and tight alleys to get back to the base. She doesn’t say it but you know this wide detour is a way for you to take in as much of the city as you can, so you pretend not to see the man hurriedly making his way towards you and let him push you closer to her in order to grab her hand, effectively steadying you. Neither of you lets go the whole walk home.

The place is quiet when you make it back two hours later. Silver Wolf is probably curled up in a corner with a game and the others are nowhere to be seen. You waste no time in pulling out the jacket and discarding the bag once in the living area, taking off your current coat to shrug the new one on. Kafka takes a seat on a couch, one leg over the other, her chin in the palm of her hand as she watches you.

You carefully adjust the collar and tug on the jacket so it fits perfectly, then turn towards her.

“So? Does it look as good on me as you said it would?”

The corner of Kafka’s mouth lifts as she replies, “Hm… Swirl a little for me.”

You turn a few times, allowing her to see every angle. You zip it all the way up but decide you like the look better when the jacket is open. You even take some steps to and fro, delighting in the way Kafka’s usually blank gaze diligently follows your movements.

“Yes,” she finally says after a moment, “you definitely make it work.”

“Yeah? You’d pick me up from a bar?”

There’s a playful tilt to your voice when the question leaves your lips. Kafka’s smile widens. Her eyes lazily trail down your figure, then back up to your face. She leans back into the couch and tilts her head slightly to the side, fixing you with a level stare.

“I would.”

You hum in thought as you step close enough to settle on her lap, knees on each side of her hips. Kafka doesn’t move when your hands clasp around her neck. You see the amused twitch of her lips, though.

“Do you think I’d look super mysterious so you’d approach me to see what my deal is?”

“No. You’re too expressive to be mysterious.”

That answer makes your brows furrow and your nostrils flare.

“Just like that,” Kafka teases.

You roll your eyes. “So you’d only approach me for my looks? How romantic of you.”

“I’m not trying to be romantic. But,” a gloved hand sneaks under your shirt, fingers splayed out over the expanse of your back as they trace the bones of your spinal cord, “I could show you a very good time.”

“Oh, really?” You watch her peach lips when she speaks, absentmindedly leaning closer.

She hums in agreement. Her free hand comes to rest on your waist while the other leisurely wanders up and down your back. Her gloves are thin and the fabric feels expensive against your bare skin. You don’t notice how close you’ve gotten until you look up to see Kafka’s lidded eyes fixed on yours. A shiver runs through you when the pad of her fingers reaches your nape.

“You’d leave with me, wouldn’t you?” She asks with a low drawl to her words.

Kafka’s pleasure in asking questions she already knows the answers to is lost on you. She revels in making you admit things you’d otherwise keep to yourself in an attempt to fluster you, and loves watching you fight with yourself while thinking of a response. Surprising her is no easy feat but is always a treat.

“Maybe.” You say simply.

“Maybe? I’m offended.”

“You’ll live.”

“Hm. Perhaps I should be more convincing, then.”

Her chin tilts upwards and your eyes close to await a kiss that never comes. You feel Kafka’s steady breath on your lips for a moment before she leans back and raises an amused eyebrow at you. There’s a crease between your brows when you meet her teasing gaze.

“What? Were you expecting something?”

You decide to play her game and jut out your bottom lip in a petulant pout. Her lenses don’t hide the way her eyes catch the movement.

“Are you saying you’re not going to kiss me?” You whine a little, pulling her closer by the back of her neck.

The hand that was on your waist lifts to take hold of your chin. Kafka swipes her thumb over your bottom lip.

“Is that what you want?”

The cocky smile painting her face annoys you, but you know that she’ll give you what you want. She always gives you what you want. You nod, and as your lashes flutter you can tell the exact moment she realizes your submission is an act. A low chuckle leaves her, the hand on your back trails up to close around your nape in a forceful grip, and she harshly pulls you to her until your mouth crashes on hers. It’s a rough and hurried kiss; you feel her tongue push past your lips as you try to match her pace. Kafka keeps you where you are with only a hand and forces you to follow her lead, a clear reminder of who’s in charge between the two of you. Your guts tighten as she kisses you long enough that you have to exhale sharply through your nose to avoid getting dizzy. Her tongue explores your mouth like it already knows where everything is and swirls around yours in a way that has you arching against her.

You recognize the look in Kafka’s eyes when she suddenly pulls away, bottom lip shining with saliva. You’re sure she can feel your heartbeat sending ripples through your chest with how close it is to hers. An unapologetic smile makes its way onto your face. You take great pleasure in knowing she’ll make you regret your blatant manipulation.

Frustration builds inside you at the same unhurried pace as Kafka’s single digit plunging into your cunt. Her lips ignore your clit as they plant wet kisses to your slick folds, her tongue occasionally dipping between them with strokes far too light for your liking. It’s been half an hour and Kafka’s still between your thighs, savoring the taste of your arousal with no care for your release. Her gloved finger feels good against your walls and the wet sounds it makes as she thrusts it inside you only turns you on more, but it’s not nearly enough to make you come. Your wrists tug on their restraints— the glowing pink silk keeps them above your head on the mattress, unable to move. You tilt your head to the ceiling and groan for the hundredth time.

“Kafka, come on…” Your whine is real this time as you look down at her figure between your legs.

Kafka only hums over your twitching clit, then deserts it completely and raises her head to meet your eyes. Arousal stains her mouth, giving it a pretty sheen like the one on her favorite coat. Her finger opts for a massage and rubs your clenching walls as your lips part to let out another pained whine. Kafka watches the way your hips greedily chase your release, bucking towards her appreciative mouth.

A breathy moan breaks your pout when her tongue licks a long stripe up your slit. It’s warm and wet against you, and it sends pleasant shivers down your spine every time it makes contact with your needy cunt. Kafka takes her time tasting you and it’s in moments like these where you curse her patience. She has no issue working you up for hours because she knows the end results will be satisfactory, so she turns a deaf ear to your complaints and pleas. There’s a coil in your belly begging to burst and you can’t do anything but try to get Kafka to care.

“Please? Give me more…”

Kafka’s lips abandon your folds with a wet sound. She sighs exaggeratingly and adjusts herself between your thighs so she’s kneeling, then holds you down with a hand on your hip.

“So noisy,” she says, a glint in the depths of her eyes that you’re not sure you like. “Don’t make me shut you up.”

“Don’t be mean.” You groan in frustration when her finger completely stops moving inside you. “Come on.”

“Mean?” Kafka repeats, a slow smile spreading across her lips. “Fine.”

She plunges three fingers inside your waiting cunt at once, hard and fast, and the sudden intrusion has you choking out a surprised moan.

“W—Wait—“

You don’t have time to adjust to the stretch, she doesn’t let you. The next breath gets caught in your throat as her fingers drive inside you with a speed you’re not accustomed to, effectively shutting you up. She brings her other hand to press rough circles on your clit, forcing the sensations to overwhelm you completely. Your hips stutter. It feels good beyond the initial shock, great, and you’re still huffing out short gasps while you eagerly take in her digits. Your vision blurs at the edges. You can still make out Kafka’s intense gaze on your face, drinking in your expression like the sight alone could make her come.

Once you get used to the rhythm, moving against her hand and sighing in relief, Kafka stops entirely. You struggle to let out a pained noise as her fingers leave your cunt at once before you even have time to beg.

“No,” you whine, “please…”

You’re getting irritated and desperate, the feeling curls around your throat and threatens to spill in an embarrassing sob. You swallow it as Kafka slips two fingers past her lips. She suckles on them while you try to control your breathing, taking longer breaths and willing your heart to slow down lest it bursts. The digits come out wet with a mix of saliva and arousal. She spreads them apart to see the sticky string that connects them, before bringing them down to smear it over your sex in a teasing manner.

You exhale sharply when her thumb swipes over your clit a few times, not enough to build your orgasm back up despite the pleasure it brings. You tug on your restraints a second time and feel humiliated when Kafka only watches you with lidded eyes and a happy smile. You know what she’s after, what she wants from you. It’s the only way you can get her to fuck you like she means it, so you take another deep, shaky breath and keep quiet.

“Oh…?” Kafka’s middle finger circles your entrance when she witnesses your resolve. She doesn’t say another word, simply pushes it inside in slow thrusts.

You bite into the flesh of your cheek as her thumb massages the base of your clit then teases the tip. Your chest heaves but you’re determined not to make a sound. She masturbates you the way she wants to; circles your pulsing clit, slides a forefinger between your slick folds, watches the way her middle one disappears inside your cunt as if swallowed. You take it like she wants you to, also, because she’s the only one who can push you over the edge. When you least expect it, Kafka thrusts three fingers inside you at the same pace as earlier, knocking the wind out of you until you’re a moaning mess. With every sharp thrust and the pressure on your clit, you get closer to your release. Then she stops, drastically slows down to a mere massage that has your nose scrunching up and your lips trembling. A lump forms in your throat after she denies you for the third time.

She plays you like a string instrument, denies you relief she knows you crave, until your brows twist in that pretty, familiar way and she hears the bright, crisp tones of a melody meant for her ears only. Her lips part and the pupils beneath her lenses swallow the pink of her irises. She stills, muscles taut, senses attuned to every crease of your skin and quiver of your features. You take in a shuddering breath through your mouth, your eyes screwed shut in frustration and need and finally, you cry. Fat tears spill from the corner of your eyes and slide down your skin into your ears. Kafka’s reaction is instant. Her fingers drill into you, fast, rough, unrelenting. She moves to hover over you as your orgasm builds in your belly and reverently kisses your tears as they escape your eyes. Her mouth is gentle while her fingers are not; there’s a distinct ringing inside her head when the sound of your whimpers hits her ears and the salt of your tears coats her lips. It’s as she feels your cunt squeeze tight around her fingers while she softly shushes you that Kafka realizes something else.

You come with a broken cry, pleasure coursing through your body like a sudden shock as the coil in your stomach finally bursts. Kafka tears herself away from your glistening face to watch how you gush over her fingers and ruin the sheets under you. The sticky mess makes her own cunt clench, she particularly enjoys how messy things can get during sex. Her silk glove is positively dirty, the material gleams in the light and is thick with your arousal when she takes her fingers out of you.

You’re coming down from your high with your nose buried in Kafka’s neck, and occasional sniffles can be heard as her cleanest hand strokes your hair. This feeling she’s become familiar with suddenly has a name, it swirls around her ribs and snakes under the sturdy walls of her heart. Kafka doesn’t need to be eloquent to know that she adores you. She adores you especially when she makes you cry because she can soothe it all away afterwards.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Hi! I really like your writing, and I was wondering if I could request a Yandere!Platonic 1st Years (+Grim) with an Eri!Reader?

How would they feel learning of her abused, trauma, and her unfamiliarity with general society and social norms? (Who’s looking murderous when they see just the scars littered around her arms and legs when her bandages are removed?)

Though it’s a whole different story when she says she sees her power as nothing but a ‘curse’, and her existence a ‘burden’ that only makes others suffer? All because of the man named ‘Overhaul’, the one who did this so her? (Who’s about to go feral when she admits she doesn’t remember how to smile?)

But she starts to become more positive thanks to Grim and slowly the others (She likes Grim and is very sparkly eyed because he talks, breaths fire and thinks he’s amazing)

Imagine when she says she made a friend all on her very own who’s ‘like her’, though they lightly chastise her that she shouldn’t talk with strangers (It’s Malleus, they’re both lonely, have horns she has 1, while Malleus has 2, have an incredible power that’s very dangerous, and they’re unfamiliar/slow with society)

Eri Reader | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

You’ve been through so much….so you’ve been told. The pain, the heartbreak, the constant voice in your head that has guilt weighing on your little heart. Your transportation to Twisted Wonderland couldn’t come at a better time. They’re going to welcome you cage you to this new world more than willing to spoil you to your hearts content:

Grim 

“Oi oi servant they all think we’re monsters!”

“...yeah?”

“Yeah! So we gotta show them we’re gonna be the greatest mages in here!”

“Oh….okay!”

He’s the perfect chaotic companion

He teaches you to allow yourself to do what you want

Granted his guidance isn’t all knowing

No matter how tasty Heartslabyul’s tarts are you shouldn’t eat them everytime you visit — especially without permission

Either way you’re learning to forgive yourself and allow you to have fun

And leave it to Grim to say whatever snarky thing you’d like to say when your big-brothers get in the way

“Nyeh! You won’t be able to do anything against my flames, nyah!”

Ace Trappola

“Hey if I catch you moping about that plague doctor guy, I’ll sock ya in the head!”

“Ace?!”

“I-i-i won’t!”

In a weird way you’re so used to being bullied (by kai) that you tend to take his bully-affection to heart

You know he cares, he just won’t tell you often

He reminds you of a certain blonde…

It also makes you more privy to his very willing desire to steamroll over anyone he deems a problem for you

“I think he meant that as a joke, Ace…”

“Joke schmoke, I warned you, you stain! I’m putting you in the medical wing.”

“Ace, please!” 

Deuce Spade

“(Y/n), did you eat today? Are you feeling well? Do you need me to carry you!”

Mother hen of the group

He’s hovering close behind even when you don’t see him

Always making sure you’re safe and happy as can be

He’s teeming with anxiety if he’s not watching you himself

Even worse if you get hurt accidentally or on purpose

Now he’s Mama bear totally bearing the claws to protect you

He’s not going to leave you to defend yourself

Especially when your abilities hinge on your mental state

He’s trying his best

“Are you doing the breathing techniques Crewel recommended? Where’s your paper bag?”

Jack Howl

“Hello little one.”

“Hi.”

“Would you…like to sit on my shoulders?”

“Yes!”

Your #1 guard dog

Doesn’t have to worry considering Deuce is freaking out for him

He’ll be the sane voice of reason because Ace isn’t anywhere close to reliable in his eyes

Naturally he entrances you with his tail and overall dog-like personality

But don’t forget he’s got the bite force of a wolf that he’s not afraid to use if he deems fit

“Pup, don’t stop yourself from having fun or being…young. I–we will keep you safe.”

Epel Felmier

“You’re so pretty.”

“...Thanks.”

You’re the only one who can get away with calling him that

And he loves nothing more than escaping Vil to find out what other sweet makes you smile sweetly 

He’s also one of the first to join Ace as part of the self-proclaimed protection committee

He’s also one of the first to suggest taking it further than a mere beatdown

Anything for his new little sibling

“If there’s no body…there’ll be no problems.”

Sebek Zigvolt

“TINY HORNED HUMAN! WHERE IS YOUR DIASOMNIA PIN!” 

“Uhm…Ace took it from me…said it was unfair.”

“THAT FOOL. COME CHILD I SHALL BESTOW UPON YOU THE PIN AGAIN.”

Is definitely apart of a brainwash committee of his own and is insistent you become Diasomnia’s new mascot…under Malleus of course

His loudness sometimes scares you off but he means well

And will no doubt join the others if a few heads need to roll

“Rest easy, child. On my watch, no one will harm you.”

[cafecourage]

Little Red Riding Hood where Reader is Little Red but also a werewolf

Love Interest and rest of chain can be assigned however

(Cause I'm always down for a fairytale au)

I did a little twist on this. Idk if this was what you wanted. I had to ask doggo experts for how doggos act around each other. I am leaving this off on a small cliff hanger because I do want to write more of this.

Twilight didn’t trust the new person in the group. Well. It’s more like he didn’t know what to think of her. She came in like a hurricane running after the Shadow like it was her prey. Then when the dust settled and she calmed down the group quickly learned of why. The short of it being that for some reason the Shadow attacked her brother and she took chase. Which then led to her to finally agree to join the chain. Much to the Ranchers chagrin. However, he knows better than to start an unnecessary fight. Twilight could be civil.

Civility could only go so far.

Little Red, as Warrior’s likes to call her, noticed Twilight’s presence and slight unease of her and ran with it. Twilight couldn’t understand just why she was always running circles around him talking about this and that. It confused him to no end when she instantly would stick to him even when he was wolfie. He had to on more then one occasion threaten to bite Little Red’s hands. She never cared or backed away from Wolfie when he showed a bit of aggression. “He is going to bite you.” Wild warned her as he watched Little Red try to play with Wolfie.

She looked up at Wild while holding Wolfie’s face, “what? No the baby is just playing.” That comment only made Twilight growl more.

“Baby? Wolfie isn’t a baby.” Wild was torn between being completely amuse and helping Twilight out as he did know about his slight distrust of Little Red.

“No no no, Champion. This is a wolf pup. He has to be like…” Her attention draws to the wolf as she observes the good boy. “Man… I have to say maybe 10? He is very small even for that age. Wolfie is like an adult dog size but he is definitely a wolf.” She boops the snoot and quickly pulled back as Twilight tries to bite her hand again. This only makes her giggle more.

“I think your wolves might be just bigger than my Hyrules.” Honestly to Wild, Wolfie was the same size as most wolves, but he just shrugs and not questions that further. Twilight couldn’t understand why you were like this, he wonders if it was just an eccentric thing. He has met a lot of weird people in his life and Little Red might be one of them. After being free from your grasp he takes it upon himself to run away for now. Only because you don’t tend to grab his face while being Twilight and thats the most annoying part of being wolfie around you.

It wasn’t until they finally came to her era that he finally understood.

The village Little Red lived in was small, but cozy. It reminded Twilight of his own home. People tended to light up when seeing Little Red. But given the size of the group following them most villagers tended to just say hi and remarks that they needed to talk to her later. “My house is a bit further.” Little red said pointing to a path that ran into the woods. “It’s just me, my brother and Grandma oh and our cat. I’ll make sure to keep her out of your stuff. But we should have room to fit everyone.” She explains as the path slowly clears up to a cottage in the wood with a small garden. There was a small pup running around in the yard playing with said cat. Who was purely annoyed at ready to pap the puppy in the head.

Little Red’s eyes brightened “Link!” She calls out gaining the Pups reaction.

She dashes towards the house as the puppy starts running towards her. They meet halfway and the puppy shifts into a young boy. “You’re back! You’re back!” This Link giggles as he gets lifted in the air by his sister and spun around.

“I am! For now.” Little red nuzzles her brother’s face as she shifts her grips on her brother to put his weight on her hip. “Boy’s this is my brother. Link these are the adventurers I’ve been traveling with.”

She turns to the group with a smile. The chain was utterly confused and silent before Wind speaks up “Did he transform into a wolf?”

[sea-lanterns]

I think a wolf fits Arle better, what with the grey colors and having a pack of little buggers to look after

The Animal Hybrid AU is flexible so we can envision the women as any animal we want (they could be in different AUs of this AU lol) Wolf! Arlecchino sounds quite intriguing since I’ve always seen her as a feline person. But Arlecchino as a wolf hybrid makes me envision her as a big and fluffy beast 🫠

She’d be so serious looking but deep down, she’s just like any other canine (weak to belly rubs and being called a good girl). Nothing much changes from Panther! Arlecchino and Wolf! Arlecchino, as she’s still the same woman who is rough around the edges but maintains a gentle demeanor around her Vet Gf <3

I will say that the only notable difference is that she exhibits a more “pack mentality” and considers you the second in command of her pack. Even though you are not a wolf hybrid yourself, Arlecchino thinks very highly of you and sees you as the “pack mother.” 🤭

[kyliafanfiction]

I saw a bit in a Taylor/Amy fic (the latest chapter of Desperate Times Call for Desperate Pleasures) where Amy compared Taylor to a Necromancer Princess (it fits in Context) and that immediately made me think of a Fantasy AU of Worm. No shards/powers, or at least not in the Worm way, but playing with the characters.

And of course that has me thinking about who everyone would be in such a story idea:

Taylor - necromancer, obviously, given the inspiration. Maybe not a princess, but of some high birth. Danny Hebert is still his canon personality, but as a necromancer. Probably a distant father since the death of Annette. Maybe he's consumed with trying to find ways to restore her to full life or something. Doesn't control bugs, maybe? Or maybe she controls swarms of dead insects in addition to or instead of the usual skeletons and zombies? I'd lean to no bugs, just skeletons and zombies, but YMMV. Keeping her bullied/etc experience may be harder, but if Emma is also a noblewoman, perhaps of higher status (maybe Taylor's low nobility? Or not at all?)

Amy - she's a cleric of some healing-related goddess, presumably? The rest of her family are probably all Knights and Paladins of some sort. Her birth father could be some sort of Bandit King type guy who played up a 'honorable highwayman' schtick (and may actually have been a noble as well as a bandit) akin to the 'code' and 'better than the other villains' thing he had going in canon. Her guilt over not healing all the time probably wouldn't be a thing because there'd be too many other healers, but you could still play with the idea, and she'd still have that separation from her family because she's not a warrior.

Tattletale - no magic, just really smart. Probably a 'Rogue', if we were applying classes to it.

Rachel - Ranger, obviously. Has a wolf animal companion, maybe actually gainfully employed as one of the Royal Huntsmen or someone who prevents poaching on a King's Forest type place. or maybe she's a poacher herself. Probably the latter, but the former could be done well, IMO. Either way, definitely still pretty feral from not spending a lot of time around most people.

Brian - maybe some kind of Paladin of darkness type thing. He could be sworn to Taylor's father as her bodyguard (and Taylor still has her canonical attraction to him).

Alec - I'm honestly not sure. If I were wedging it into D&D classes, some form of Bard, but I wouldn't necessarily want to be bound specifically to classes. Still, he could either have magic specially around manipulation and controlling of the body, or maybe he's like, half-demon, or quarter-demon (and Heartbreaker is either a demon or half-demon) and that's the source of his power. I lean towards the latter.

Aisha - Illusionist? Uses her magic for lots of pranks and stuff, and gets really good at making herself invisible, etc.

New Wave - as I noted, the rest of New Wave would probably be knights/paladins of some sort. Maybe Vicky, Sarah, Crystal and Eric ride griffons or some other flying beast? Vicky on a Pegasus sounds really fitting. Also probably a noble family, but definitely recently ennobled or low nobility, to play into the privileged WASP upper middle class vibe New Wave has in Worm

Lung - could be an actual Dragon, could be a guy who shapeshifts into one, maybe a half-dragon (playing on his half-chinese/half-japanese canon backstory and how he was an outsider in Japan as a result). Warlord or roaming bandit type guy, probably. Oni Lee would be a teleporting assassin who works for him, and Bakuda as an alchemist making explosive compounds and such is there.

Armsmaster - a master Smith and warrior. Already has a Halberd. maybe he does enchanted runes into his weapons or something to make them sharper

Miss Militia - either she's a super skilled archer of some sort, or maybe a magic who specializes in big, flashy attack spells (fireball, etc)

Dragon - Secretly a construct (or disembodied animating spirit?) of some kind that has free will and sentience, but pretends just to be a construct-crafting mage? Might not be able to keep using that name if Dragons are a thing in-setting. Depends.

Kaiser - probably a normal noble in his public face (Max, of the House of Anders), known for his charity towards the poor (only the humans, of course), but secretly the leader of a racist militia-type group that persecutes nonhumans in the Kingdom? Or specific groups of humans. Or both. Probably doesn't have magical powers, but does have some cool enchanted gear he paid a fortune for, and hides just how good he is with a sword, except in his secret persona?

Hookwolf - actual werewolf? Still works for Anders, presumably.

None of these thoughts are necessarily final, really, and I have a few more, but nothing quite formed yet.

Obviously, more might need to worked out, including plot and the particulars of the setting (is Brockton the whole Kingdom? Is Brockton Bay one city? A major focus? Maybe Brockton Bay is a larger region, and some of the various parts of the Bay are distinct cities and towns in the Bay area. I have a setting that involves both Paladins and Necromancers in prominent roles that I might repurpose if I was going to write this... which I still might, but not yet).

Other characters could play all sorts of roles, would have to think more on their equivalent versions. Can't just make everyone some flavor of wizard/warlock/witch/etc, and wouldn't want to be married to specific 'classes', but it's a solid starting point anyway.

What would you all envision 'Fantasy AU' versions of some of the characters? Do you think I'm way off the mark with some of them? Obviously 'Fantasy AU' covers a wide swath of possibilities, so there's a lot of variation. Still, curious as to people's ideas with it.

Obviously, if I wrote it, it would be Taylor/Amy in the long run, (I am nothing if not a predictable, hopeless shipper) maybe involving Taylor (and the AU's version of the Undersiders?) kidnapping Amy at some point, who knows.

[wolfgirlguts]

Some pickup lines I've used successfully

I want you inside me, hot stuff

Girl, you'd look better as bones

Hey, wanna cancel some plans? Yeah like all of 'em

My teeth and I saw you from across the bar and-

Your fur's so pretty! Let's see how you look without it

If you think I'm treating you like shit NOW. . .

Aww, bad day? Wanna make it worse?

You don't need ALL those limbs do you?

Wow you smell desperate

If we skip the foreplay you might get to my guts in time to fuck what's left of the last girl before she's just sludge

You've got a smile I wanna knock some holes in

Your face is alright but you know what it could use? The pattern of my boot treads

But you'd look so cute on a missing person poster!

Wanna give some blood to a girl in need?

Hey your hooves look like they'd leave some big bruises. Like, say, on a wolf trying to eat you? Yeah maybe we should test that

You're 30? Awesome. Nice round number like that looks great on a tombstone you know

Your skull. My thighs. Want to find out which one's stronger?

(Just standing behind someone and letting my drool drip on her head)

What do you think? You ladies spitroast me, then I eat the two of you raw, seems like the perfect way to celebrate graduating this cooking class to me

Ever been choked to death with your own small intestine?

Wanna meet up later? Yeah I'll be in the woods on the edge of town waiting to drag you off when you get too close. How's 7pm sound? Yeah of course never to be seen again. Obviously

Come on stop fighting me. You've got a twin sister and it's not like the world needs two of you

Hey have you also been wondering how your hands would feel around my neck?

Oh that is a pretty name! Can't wait to forget it

Hey settle a bet. My friend over there says I can't fit your whole skull in my cunt, but here's what I think. . .

(Twirling my hair) Haha, you're so breakable

Yeah isn't it fucked up how I implied I wouldn't kill you too when I was eating your sister? Anyway wanna fuck me about it before you bleed out or. . . ?

Run.

[spider-jaysart]

Any hot takes or unpopular opinions about super sons?

Here's some for the animated movie first:

Jon's voice doesn't suit him at all for the age he's supposed to be, it just kept throwing me off a little everytime he spoke with it. It's definitely not terrible though, it's just not for him at all

Idk about others opinions on Damian's voice though, but I really loved it. I felt like it fitted him pretty well and let his daring and mischievous side stand out really nicely. It's my favorite for him personally

I don't like that they white washed Damian in it once again when they could've definitely given him his darker skin and green eyes (I know this one's very popular already, but I just wanted to say it still). And when they showed the pitcher boy in the baseball game, he literally had EXACTLY those features on himself, which made it really feel like it was an actual annoying tease of some sort, since his model strangely looked way more like Damian than Damian himself did

And also besides all of that stuff, when Damian is in his Robin model, I feel like he looks perfectly fine and cool, but his civilian version looks a little weird to me for some reason. And I know that his hair in his Robin form is also a little funny too because of how long it is, but I don't really have a problem with it lol

Now for the ones outside of the movie:

I'm not so crazy about them being a Nightwing and Flamebird duo as adults. I want them to become their own identities, but not by using those mantles, cause it's still not completely theirs and isn't really fitting for them to me either, not even the Batman and Superman mantles either. Other characters like Dick, Chris, and Bette have already used them and made their names with it. Damian and Jon both actually deserve their own that let them shine in their real unique ways and stay independently remembered without their titles getting into the mix of confusion with other hero's. Everyone is allowed to have fun with it obviously though, no matter what I think

For a day job as an adult, Jon should become a scientist instead of a writer or reporter for the Daily Planet like his parents, because that's just totally boring and he's also his own person, not their twin. Just cause he's their child, it doesn't mean he's gonna be exactly like them and daydream about their hobbies. And it makes a lot more sense for science being his dream job too, because he's shown plenty of interest in it before

And for Damian, he should become a vetinarian as an adult, and credit to my good friend @camo-wolf for this next part here that I love, which is that he also owns his own company as a ceo to do it too, so he also has many more helpful clinics opened everywhere instead of just one

I'm not too crazy about their trinity with Lizzie and just can't see the boys having one either. It feels like it's just another thing to make them even more like their Dad's once again imo, but I think they're better off being kept as just a duo still. And unlike many other Damijon and Supersons fans, I'm also not crazy about Lizzie herself either :| (Not saying that I hate or dislike her though). I will say that the stories with the three of them together are pretty fun and cute though, despite what I feel about her. Oh, and for another little thing, even though it's Damian and Jon's thing in their relationship to fight and argue over things, it feels a little overdone in those books and feels like they're being more like just nasty to eachother with their certain comments and want to actually just get the other mad constantly

Speaking of groups, besides the boys having their little Supersons duo to themselves, as kids Damian and Jon definitely should've had their own awesome superhero team together a LONG time ago with characters their own age that could've grown with them like how it was originally planned for canon, instead of them both being shoved into ones like Teen Titans and other already established ones like that, because those groups have so much of their own stuff going on that just doesn't fit the boys and all of the members in them are usually much older than them too. For my idea about what they would have, I like to think that it's a fun group separate from the Supersons duo that both Damian and Jon lead and their main members could've been young close friends of theirs, like Maya Ducard, Kathy Brandon, and Colin Wilkes, and then for additional ones, it could be Tai Pham, Maps Mizoguchi, Flatline, Respawn, Suren Darga, Chris Kent, Irey and Jai West, Lian Harper, and even though I play around with their ages a lot in my own universes like randomly switching them both from toddlers to tweens whenever I feel like it, I'll say Mar'i and Jake too (idk if I'm forgetting any others). Then for the team name, I choose "Legacy's Youth" or "Youthful Legacy" or "Legacy's challangers"

And for another thing to do with groups, Dceased should've just let Maya and Kathy be the girls that teamed up with the boys, instead of forcing a deaged Cassie Sandsmark into it just to date Damian, create a trinity, and be the girl in a boys group, because unlike her, Maya and Kathy are the ones who actually have real relationships and history with Damian and Jon that were already made outside of that universe, so they both would've been much better picks. And without all of that dating stuff too, because them being boys and girls doesn't mean they should have to (plus, Damian and Jon seemed like they were the ones that were actually dating and also married to eachother instead in the story anyways lmao, so that's more proof that there was literally no need for it)

Jon's electric powers that came out during his Injustice crossover are so lame, cause that's not anything new. His solar flare is so much more dope and unique than that, what happened to it?!?! I prefer it way more

The team up reunion Supersons book that came out with Older!Jon and Damian in his new suit felt like their personalities were kind of swapped in some parts of the story, which was kind of weird to see and bothered me a little

During Damian's first time visit in the future, Jon should've been way more protective and stood up for him better when Saturn Girl and the other legion of heroes members began saying their hateful and nasty comments out loud about him right in front of his dang face. And even more defensive he should've been too when Saturn girl started messing with Damian's mind out of nowhere like it was okay and then put him to sleep, instead of just letting her like he did. He should've had complete second thoughts about the whole team right there and decide to leave after how uncomfortable they've made things, instead of still joining them anyways like they're still cool and forgetting about what had just happened. Jon's actual entire reaction during it all was just so naive and felt so ridiculous to me, it was disappointing

Jon and Chris Kent can both exist together at the same time, there is no problem with it at all. And just because Chris was taken away, that doesn't mean Jon's existence should be hated for it, it's the fault of DC writers for what happened, not him

Damian should also be able to finally have a sweet relationship with his Mother already instead of it still being dragged away from him all the time and also still being considered as an abusive one for him, because 1. being horrible to her child is ooc for Talia and 2. Damian deserves to have her in his life, not just Bruce as a Father. He should also be able to have a good relationship with the rest of Al Ghul's too and even a sibling relationship with Respawn as well, not just the ones he has with the Batkids. I know that some (or most?? Idk lol) fans don't like him because they say his origin made Ra's look bad for having him be abusive to him, but that's all very unnecessary blame on Respawn's character that he doesn't deserve at all, it was just a role he was put in as a victim, it's obviously the fault of the writers who wrote the story to be that way. I also feel like it would've made more sense that Slade raised him and was the one who had actually abused him, because he's done it to his other kids in the past anyways and him being a toxic parent is actually very in character for him

The Fortress of attitude is literally catching dust now that Damian and Jon have both completely forgotten about it for some reason, it deserves to make a comback!!

Jon used to have a dog named Ranger, I'm not sure what exactly happened to him (I guess he was forgotten about or whatever), but he shouldn't have been erased. He was adorable

I prefer Damian's pushed back spikey hair so much more over his current flat and long one, it fits him better. The current one does look nice on him and I get the reason behind why he has it, which is pretty sad, but it makes him look too similar to Tim and I don't like that. The same artist who made Damian's new hair that way in the first place also doesn't draw Flatline's spikey hair either, which makes me think they might actually have something against those kinds of hairstyles lol

Damian would so get along with Lois because of their sass and Talia would actually love Jon for how great he is to her Son

Annnnd I think that's probably all of my unpopular opinions about the boys for now lol

Thank you for the ask, anon!! I enjoyed answering this!

[changingplumbob]

Glenn showed Silver where he could shower and where he'd parked his stuff. As the werewolf went to clean up from his stint in the woods Glenn decided to take a quick stop at the tower. If he stayed at home he would just pace awkwardly. He thanked the watcher his grandfather was currently off with Phoebus and he didn't have to explain who Silver was or what had possessed him to let the werewolf in. But something about Silver just felt... safe.

Henri had left the tome on the potion of plentiful needs out so Glenn decided to read it. Not too many ingredients, and it was apple based which he managed to grow plenty of. He would need some pleasure though, just a few drops. But doing that with a guest in the house felt weird, especially when Silver was that fit. How could he do it and not think of him? But maybe Silver would want to help? They could sleep together and Glenn would get the pleasure for the potion when he- NO. No. He was Grayson's brother. The right thing to do was not throw himself at Silver simply because he was there.

Silver meanwhile enjoyed a nice hot shower. He didn't dislike the rain if he was in human form, no water to flick off fur. When he was done he went to brush his teeth, watcher help him if he had bad breath right now, only to break the sink... sometimes his strength still got the better of him.

Silver searched and found a toolbox downstairs, luckily Glenn wasn't back yet. Wait, did he think Silver needed a super long shower? Focus. Fix the plumbing, done it a hundred times. When he was stressed he could still hear his dad in his head.

You're doing it wrong Silver. Your brother was a disappointment but he could do more press ups than you with you sitting on his back. You'll never be fit for anything if you don't improve. What woman will want a wolf who can't defend her.

Well haha, jokes on you dad! Silver was bisexual so there was every chance he wouldn't want a woman anyway!

With the sink fixed Silver had a look around Glenn's room. He'd always liked when Glenn talked about plants on the show, he was so passionate! Of course that could have been editing? He had to make sure he got to know Glenn as a person rather than assume he would be exactly like how he was portrayed.

Looking at the bookshelf he saw some well read volumes that he knew centered around occult characters. When he was growing up there had never been any occults in literature, they were borderline illegal after all. But over the last few decades there had been more popping up in literature and he had to acknowledge the books had no small part in overturning the hunting law. He was flicking through one when Glenn came back.

Glenn: Was everything okay with the shower?

Don't mention you broke the sink.

Silver: It was perfect. I don't mind the rain though you know

Glenn: Me neither, it's nice. But I do love a good long shower. What you reading?

Silver: I was just checking out your selection. Did you read them growing up

Glenn: Yeah. I mean, we moved a bunch and there wasn't many kids for me to talk to so yeah. If it was sunny I was outside but with rain I had books to entertain me. What about you?

Silver: Grayson and I were always running around, mom had a hard time keeping track of us. But after... everything, dad kept me pretty busy with physical stuff. I didn't get much book time until long after that

Glenn: Yeah Grayson didn't tell us too much about what happened with him leaving the pack, just that he got the scar. I didn't want to pry by asking more

Silver: Very thoughtful of you

Glenn: I know! I am the soul of thoughtfulness, one of my many talents *stomach rumbles* Another one of my talents is cooking, can I interest you in dinner?

Silver: Just us?

Glenn: I mean... why would you need anyone else if you have me?

They headed downstairs and Glenn got out some leftover toast and eggs for them to eat from the fridge. Tucking in Silver was surprised to discover they weren't stone cold.

Silver: They're... still hot? But we were just upstairs, you had to have made these hours ago

Glenn: What can I say, I'm magic *winks* Oh by the way I've cast a barrier over the house so we don't have to worry about the others hearing you're here

Silver: How would they hear me

Glenn blushed and looked down at his plate. Silver worried he'd missed something. The way people talk had changed so much over the last century.

Glenn: Eating noises, I meant eating noises

Silver: No you didn't

Glenn: That's my story and I'm sticking to it

Silver shrugged and began to eat. The food was good, really good. He hardly had much hot food on his travels. Hot food normally required vendors that wouldn't look at you sideways and question your occult status before serving you. Sure he could lie but he'd never been very good at lying, except for that one time. But he'd never told anyone about that so the lie was the truth of those events now.

Previous ... Next

[willow-p012]

Kotoko's PTSD/C-PTSD Symptoms

So earlier I said I could make an entire post on Kotoko's PTSD symptoms, for lack of a better start, here it is!

Hyperarousal (feeling "on edge")

Someone with PTSD may be very anxious and find it difficult to relax. They may be constantly aware of threats and easily startled.

In the beginning of Harrow, we see her relatively relaxed, looking over her research, but then...

She turns to look at the camera, clutching her fist and seemingly startled. Even when seemingly alone, she can't relax fully, not for long. Then we see the wolf appears besides her, something she seems almost horrified with in the end of Deep Cover. Also, in Harrow, even within her own mind she is clenching her fist, tense.

Re-experiencing

Re-experiencing is the most typical symptom of PTSD. This is when a person involuntarily and vividly relives the traumatic event in the form of:

•flashbacks

When she sees Keiko, multiple images of other people being harmed flash across. While these could be other victims of the same man, I have also seen it argued that it is Kotoko in the past and that the man is just a fill-in of the sorts. It could be a traumatic flashback in that case.

•nightmares

I don't believe we have anything that exactly fits this criteria, but we do have other types of possible re-livings.

•repetitive and distressing images or sensations

The wolf is not only mirroring Kotoko with blood around the mouth, but is also looming over her. Many perpetrators of violence have nightmares of seeing blood on their hands, like Kotoko here, but it doesn't entirely seem like Kotoko sees herself as a monster, not fully. She is not the monster, but the monster is so terrifyingly like her, it is constantly looming over here.

"They’re still here, still here, it grates me"

Is the line that goes with this, and considering the insults she gave the prisoners before you may think she's talking about them, which she may be, but what she uses in Japanese is much more vague. More like "it's" as far as I know(?) correct me if I'm wrong. In this scenario, she could easily be talking about some form of trauma she is remembering.

•physical sensations, such as pain, sweating, feeling sick or trembling

Possibly just from overexertion, but her expression speaks of more (I don't think she's horrified by her actions or anything at this point). She looks absoloutely terrified for a moment before she looks certain in herself again. She's sweating (as mentioned before) and may be described as looking "sick", if we go by the flashback explanation for the scenes she sees before she attacks, then she'd likely just be coming down from it. Panic attacks and flashbacks both have heavy physical affects on the body, even without them literally being a form flashbacks can take.

Avoidance and emotional numbing

Some people attempt to deal with their feelings by trying not to feel anything at all. This is known as emotional numbing.This can lead to the person becoming isolated and withdrawn, and they may also give up pursuing activities they used to enjoy.

Q: Don’t you feel scared of killing people? A: If it’s for the world. How I feel about it is completely irrelevant.

Q: Don’t you feel a sense of isolation in your current situation? A: It feels like nothings changed. If the world gets even a little better just by me undertaking this isolation, then that is the role the strong play.

In both of these, she attempts to say she feels nothing about a situation or that her feelings are irrelevant.

Many people with PTSD try to push memories of the event out of their mind, often distracting themselves with work or hobbies.

Q: What are your parent’s occupations?A: They’re just the normal office worker and housewife. Did you want me to be born in with some unique circumstances?

She presses harder with the pencil when answering this question, perhaps indicating some sort of anger or avoidance when the topic of her parents (or just past) comes up. Though, I feel as if this is some of the most speculation in this post.

Feelings of worthlessness, shame and guilt

She seems to hate herself immensely, only loving herself through her role as a "savior".

Such as the conflicted look she has in this scene, before we're shown the bloody scales. While I do think she is also experiencing some form of flashback in this scene, we're clearly being shown that she understands her justice is violent on some sort of subconscious level. She likely does feel guilty because of this, even if she does not want to admit it, because of the manner it's being shown to us.

"From the beginning, I've never asked for your understanding! My actions, one by one, are bringing earth closer to peace. Useless Weaklings should just shut up and let me protect them!"

Losing it, losing it, What should I hope for

Laugh and I can get to like myself

She is showing a deep disdain and sense of hopelessness for herself. She searches for purpose in the label of "Hero" without any other way to feel as if she likes herself, hence why she gets angry in the first example when someone seems to speak up against her. Without her vigilantism, she feels worthless.

Problems controlling your emotions

Very commonly, those with C-PTSD will experience a lot of anger and unstable emotions.

*Sigh* How ridiculous... It's always like this...All of you weaklings always act like this... All of you enjoy seeing someone getting hurt...

All of you enjoy seeing a bad person falling down...

You keep asking for it, but as soon as it happens near you by your own choice, you all start complaining and evading your responsibility...You're always like this... Always such idiots!

Here, we can see her getting angry when denied her escapism of vigilantism by Es. If you listen to the voice drama, it almost sounds as if she's about to cry. As if she is experiencing a very unstable set of emotions and doesn't know how to control them so she is lashing out with anger. She asks them to let her keep her purpose, still angry,

If you don't have strength on your own, let me take care of it, Es! I can do it in MILGRAM!

Do you understand now?! Don't make me wait!!!

In the line I mentioned before, the "From the beginning" one, she is also displaying this. The only context I can imagine for this is someone who is horrified or denying her (Keiko in my theory), and when faced with this she lashes out with anger again.

In Deep Cover, we constantly see her anger surrounded by her being scared, desperate, ect. She lashes out when scared, sad, and other feelings because she seemingly does not know how else to deal with her feelings.

Finding it hard to feel connected with other people

I ffeel like this is already very well-explained with the quote

Q: Don’t you feel a sense of isolation in your current situation? A: It feels like nothings changed. If the world gets even a little better just by me undertaking this isolation, then that is the role the strong play.

When ostracised due to the fact she actually beat people within an inch of her life, she claims she feels no more isolated. From the beginning, she couldn't connect with them, even if she does have feelings of fondness for some. And her introduction immediately shows that she is weary of others, not wanting to say anything more than her name and age.

Yuzuriha Kotoko. 20 years old. I don’t feel like telling you much else right now. That is, before I find out what your intentions are.

She completely avoids normal people, further isolating herself by naming herself one of the only "strong" in a group of "weak", and via dehumanisation as a "tool"..... Oh, and that leads me into my next point.

Dissociation

The way dissociation manifests varies from individual to individual, though it always involves some form of distancing from the traumatic experience, memory or source of anguish.

In Harrow, we see her mindspace. The first time we see it, she is obviously stressed, with eyebags and an almost despaired expression. And then, she opens her eyes and she is in her mindspace.

When experiencing a source of anguish (her feelings towards the injustices of the world and the result of her overworking), she retreats into her own mind, sometimes completely by accident. Almost everytime we see this mindspace, she is surrounded by her research (her overworking and the despair she feels from seeing what is happening) or she is straight up seeing Keiko be kidnapped and possibly experiencing flashbacks.

She removes herself from "herself" in a way by calling herself a tool, a fang- inhuman. By calling herself that, accepting other people (Es) seeing her like that, she is removing herself from the larger group of "people" (and the events of her past by giving herself a current purpose), which also ties back into her disconnection from other people.

If other people recognise more or can se more examples please share!! She's so very dear to me and I want to understand her as well as I can.

[blues824]

Imagen izuru Kamukura dating the mitsuri kanroji.

💞He is the obanai to your mitsuri (he is more obanai and giyuu combined.)

🍡Imagen the contrast between them a person who constantly shows emotions and loves everyone dispite their flaws and has her own flaws with a guy who doesn't feel emotions gets easily bored and doesn't have any flaws.

💞Imagen her braiding izuru his hair like her and him letting her and him doing her hair in return.

🍡Imagen his reaction to her hair being pink and green because of her love for sakura mochi and learning that she had to eat 180 sakura mochi for 8 months staigt of it to acedently happen.

💞Or het mussels mass being 8 times denser than everyone even surpassing him and her being able to beat 3 sumu wrestler in a food competition.

🍡I know he whoud be able to be as flexible and as tallend with a sword like the mitsuri mc or even stronger but she doesn't mind she always wanted a strong and intelligent husband.

💞Her being a cat person and always doing adorable things and izuru is just starting their watching over her imagine her making a flower crown for him and him just walking around with it.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ANGEL!!!

Izuru Kamukura

When I say that this man fits your type perfectly, I mean it. You were invited to Hope’s Peak as the Ultimate Swordswoman, which made sense. The only thing was that you were well-versed in every weapon, and your signature was a pair of whips instead of a sword. However, Izuru could wield them just as well, if not better. 

Now, you were his perfect opposite. You were very sensitive to your emotions, being way more in-touch with them than he was. You don’t get bored too easily, and you are rather happy and joyful despite being shy. He, on the other hand, was not a fan of emotions, as they tended to get messy. He tended to think about the negatives, being a cup-is-half-empty kind of person. He was not shy, nor was he soft-spoken… he was just a lone-wolf.

But, here you were, sitting behind him at lunch and braiding his hair into smaller braids. All of your classmates were purely amazed that Izuru was just allowing you to do it as you talked to him and did his ‘daily affirmations’. Truth be told, your gentle hands felt good in his hair, and he found himself relaxing in your arms. You were the only one who could make him temporarily forget the pain he has gone through to be here, but he’s grateful for it because he has you.

Izuru has what one would call a ‘sleeper build’. His muscles won’t show unless he flexes them. Your muscles work pretty much the same way, but you often use yours more. He makes it known that he doesn’t care that your muscle mass surpasses his and that the concept of femininity has been frayed since the beginning. This came up when he saw you refusing food for the nth time. Afterwards, he gave you a box of sakura mochi, and his heart melted at seeing you so happy.

You totally call him ‘honey’ or ‘sweetie’, and again, everyone is questioning how you are still alive. In your mind, though, you were already married. Despite there being a certain absence on your finger, you have already pictured up an image of you and Izuru growing old with each other (think Ellie and Carl from Up). 

For your pink hair, he kind of guessed that it was because of the pigment in the sakura mochi you loved so much. But he didn’t really care. You were eating something you liked, and that’s all that mattered. Plus, your hair was a pretty pink color that allowed Izuru to distinguish you in a crowd, which he definitely liked. You stood out like a pink highlighter, and that’s actually Izuru’s contact name for you in his phone. Don’t be offended, it’s affectionate.

Once, you came to school with a flower crown in hand. It had all sorts of daisies and dandelions, and you placed it on your boyfriend’s head. You then placed a kiss on his cheek before heading off to drop your stuff off at your locker. Throughout the day, Izuru could be seen wearing the flower crown, as he didn’t bother to take it off. Plus, he didn’t want to make you sad by taking it off, so it stayed on.

[autisticlancemcclain]

Beast.

That’s how everyone describes him. Town to town, village to village, whispered voices describing Prince Keith’s roaring temper and snarling fury. The manners of a lone wolf and attitude of an angry grizzly bear, those are the rumours. He’s vile, he’s mean, he’s ugly and horrible and rude.

And Lance is supposedly engaged to the asshole.

To be wed.

Is this really what he has to look forward to, in life? Trading himself away for his future husband's riches, essentially? A life of luxury and opulence in exchange for his soul? He might as well make a deal with the devil. He might be able to stay at home, then.

“We’re here,” Marco says softly. He pulls on the reins, stopping Blue – the McClain's horse – in front of the impossibly tall iron gates. He swings off the saddle, landing soundly on his feet before reaching up a hand to help Lance.

Lance snarls at him, heaving himself off himself and stepping away from his brother, busying himself with stroking Blue’s broad, soft nose.

“Lance,” Marco tries, sighing heavily. “C’mon. I know it’s not…ideal, but it’s a castle, right? I know you’ve always wanted to live in a castle.”

Lance grits his teeth, keeping his back to his brother. Rage makes his hands shake and clench where they’re wrapped around Blue’s mane, so he forces himself to relax.

“You don’t know anything about what I want. None of you do. None of you care enough to know.”

“Lance, stop it. You have to know that none of us wanted this –”

“There are four things I know, brother,” Lance spits, finally turning to face him. Marco starts at the anger in Lance’s expression, the vitriol in his tone. Lance stalks forward, and Marco takes a small step back on reflex. “I know that the town gathered to choose one young person to be engaged to the prince, as is custom.”

He takes another step, but this time Marco stays where he is.

“I know that every single person in the town, man and woman and child, made their vote.”

He takes one final step, milimeters between him and his brother, jabbing his finger into his chest. Marco remains where he stands, face stony.

“I know that there are nine other people besides me in my family. And I know that there were only three people in the entire village who didn’t vote for me.”

Finally his face crumples, anger finally giving way to the pain churning in his chest.

“I know that six of you at least decided I wasn’t worth keeping. And for that, you’re all dead to me.”

Marco says nothing. His face remains impassive, not even a glint of sympathy or even pity in his eyes. Nothing but stoicism. Lance thinks of how his mother had already had a bag packed for him when the results of the lottery were made public, how she wouldn’t look him in the eyes. How his father wasn’t even home to see him off. How he wasn’t allowed to see his niece and nephew one final time. How he heard his siblings arguing over who would have to escort him to the castle, how Marco had drawn the short straw.

His heart hardens in his chest. He averts his eyes, wiping his cheeks. He’s only embarrassing himself.

Lance wraps his hands around Blue’s reigns and guides her to the gates with him. “I’m taking Blue.”

“Wait, Lance, you can’t –”

Fitting, that Marco speaks now.

“Consider it my dowry,” Lance snaps, and slams the gate behind him.

He ignores Marco’s calling, taking the first turn he sees on the cobblestone paths to finally duck out of his brother’s sights. Marco won’t follow him past the castle’s gate, anyway, but he’ll give up faster if he can’t see Lance, and Lance is tired of hearing him. He deserves the walk home, anyway. Lance hopes it takes him a couple days. Maybe he’ll send Blue back when he’s in a better mood.

If he’s ever in a better mood. Seeing that he’s basically locked into a fancy prison for the rest of time, now.

“C’mon, Blue,” Lance mutters, tugging her along. She noses gently at the back of his neck, but trots along happily. “Let’s find you a stable or something, huh? I’m sure a fuckin’ stone from the ground of this place is worth the entire town. If they don’t have a stable, I'm rioting.”

Lance keeps grumbling as he guides Blue along random paths, stumbling over poorly-kept paths overgrown with roots and vines. “Some place this is, huh, Blue? Our cluttered kitchen is more organised than this place. What kind of rich asshole prince doesn’t pay a groundskeeper, or something? Weirdo.”

Blue neighs at him, looking at him in a way that’s almost chastising, if a damn horse can look chastising.

“I’m allowed to call him names! He’s basically forcing me to marry him because he’s too horrible for anyone to fall in love naturally!”

At another one of Blue’s looks, Lance huffs, kicking a random rock off into the distance. “Yeah, yeah, okay. I’ll be nice. But, like, proportionally. I’m not going to kiss his royal ass, or anything. I’ll just refrain from kicking him when I’m so inclined.”

This time Blue’s whinny is almost amused.

Lance maybe needs to see if there’s someone his age around here to make friends with, or something. He’s going batty if his only friend’s a damn horse.

“Oh, hey, that looks like a stable. No other horses, though. And how old is that hay?” Lance pokes at the pile, which disintegrates to nothing at his touch. “Well, that’s not very welcoming. What kind of castle can’t afford some decent hay?” He guides Blue gently into one of the admittedly spacious stable stalls, carefully untying her saddle and harness and hanging it on the wall. He guides her head into a thankfully full water trough, and then sets off in search of some food for her. He hums quietly as he peeks his head in each of the other stalls, then steps outside of the stable. “There’s gotta be something somewhere.”

But there really isn’t. Lance must look for twenty minutes before he finally gets frustrated, stomping back to Blue’s stall with his hands on his hips.

“This stupid place is barren,” he tells her. She lifts her head from the water for a moment to neigh softly at him, nudging him gently. He presses a kiss in between her eyes, then pats her on the side before stepping to the side. “I’ll find you something, though,” he assures. “I’ll be back in a bit, okay? I’m gonna poke around ‘til I find somebody.”

He takes his time strolling around the castle grounds, whistling to himself and poking through every door he finds. He finds several garden sheds full of old, rusty tools, and several gardens that are completely overgrown with weeds. Every window he looks through is so caked with dust and cobwebs that he can barely make out anything. Every side door has a lock that’s completely rusted shut.

“Am I in the wrong castle, or something?” he mutters to himself. All earlier feelings have completely faded in favour of confusion. He may not know much about princes and royalty and riches, or whatever, but he’s relatively certain that most castles don’t look so…run down. Tired. Old.

Abandoned.

Finally he makes his way around to what must be the front entrance, with doors several dozen times the size of him. He runs his fingers over the grain of the wood, feeling a surface much rougher than he expected, like wood that hasn’t been oiled in years. Several rose briars grow across the door, holding it shut. Lance has to jog back to one of the garden sheds and use a dull pair of garden shears to hack them away. (He feels bad for destroying such beautiful plants, but decides he’ll save the buds and make a flower crown for Blue later. She looks adorable in pink, so she’ll look like a horse fit for a prince once Lance has finished braiding the roses into her mane.)

He’s expecting the door to be jammed shut, like all the others he tried, so he gives it a very hefty shove to try to encourage it to open.

And then lands on his ass with a yelp when the door opens easily.

“I love my life,” he announces to no one but the dank, dark entryway. “It is so wonderful here. First I get married off to some rando without any input, and then this entire stupid castle exists. If one more bad thing happens to me I am going to simply cry until I dry out like a salami, and then I shall allow myself to be eaten by crows.”

Lance swears he hears a muffled giggle.

“Hello? Is someone there?”

No response.

“Okay, I’m a little kooky, but definitely not so much that I’m imagining people laughing at my truly excellent jokes. I won’t bite, you know. And I promise I’m very charming and only a little miserable about my situation.”

There’s another giggle. He’s sure of it, this time. He tries to follow the sound, but it doesn’t really get him anywhere, because this stupid castle apparently decided to splurge on the creepy and imposing factor and skimp on all the lighting. He stumbles forward, hands outstretched, seeing if he can find an oil lamp or something. Hell, even a stick he can light with the scattered matches he has in his bag. He finally finds what feels like a table of some sort, and runs his fingers over it – grimacing at the thick layer of dust – until he finds what he thinks is a candelabra, which is hilarious. The place can’t afford a rag to wipe off the surfaces, but it can afford a real-life candelabra.

“I hate rich people,” Lance says mildly, striking the match on the rough door and lighting the three half-melted candles.

“Careful with that match, kiddo. This place is really flammable.”

Lance shrieks, throwing the candelabra – the living candelabra! The talking candelabra! What the fresh fuck! – to the ground and scrambling backwards. The candelabra clatters to the ground with a curse – what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck – rolling a couple feet before straightening itself out and bending its arms to its centre as a man might bend his arms to put at his waist.

The candelabra has a face, in the wax.

“What the fuck is going on,” Lance whimpers. The candelabra’s face seems to soften. Lance fights back hysterical laughter at his own mental pun, even though it’s objectively hilarious. It’s not the time. Now is the time to freak the fuck out.

“Hey, hey, take a breather,” the candelabra says. It has a deep, smooth voice, that makes Lance think of those shiny knights in the stories his Abuela used to tell him.

“You are a talking candle,” Lance responds.

The candelabra huffs. (Can the candelabra huff? Does the candelabra have lungs to huff, or is it just an attitude thing? Did Lance hit his head on the way to the castle ground, and is now dreaming?)

“My name is Shiro,” the candelabra says. He smiles softly. “You must be the fiancé.”

Lance decides, right in this moment, that he’s just going to accept his weird delusions until he wakes up. It can’t hurt, right? Nothing can be worse than being married off to Some Guy, prince or no.

“That would be me,” Lance says, trying and failing to keep the bitterness out of his tone. “Mail-order bride, at your service.” Shiro makes a face, wax eyebrows furrowing, so Lance decides to take pity on him. “Yes, I’m the fiancé. My name is Lance.”

“It’s good to meet you, Lance.” Shiro blows out the candle on one of his arms and holds it out. Lance shakes it, wary of the hot wax. It’s not Shiro’s fault Lance is in this garbage situation. “I’m sorry there was no one here to greet you. Over the years we’ve gotten a little…lax, in our hospitality.”

“That would explain the general air of despair and misery.”

Shiro laughs again, brightly and fully. “You’re a witty one, aren’t you?”

“So I’ve been told. My suitors lined up along the block, you know. I’m sure Prince Keith had to fight them off with his bare hands. Shame he ditched before we could be properly acquainted. I suppose we have the rest of our lives to get to know each other.”

“I’m sure it’s not proper for me to laugh at jokes at the expense of my Prince,” Shiro says, in a way that tells Lance he is holding back giggles.

Lance is very proud of himself. He may never be the smartest or strongest person in the room, but he’ll be damned if he’s not the funniest.

“I’ll wear you down eventually,” Lance says, waving a dismissive hand. “Now, do I get to meet the coathanger butler and duster french maid, or are you the only talking furniture?”

———

next chapter

[ariathelamia]

Hellhound HRT Month 9.5, (4 month Wolf, 5.5 month Hellhound)

Warning: This story gets a bit dark at the end.

Tic Tacs and New Clothes… 

Well… This little segment is gonna be hard to remember…. but remember I must… … since I myself… actually am unable to write or record anything right now but… ngh… better recount the steps on what got me into this predicament… 

So there I was, strolling down the shopping street of Hyper City, slurping some cold soda I got from the restaurant since I really needed something to keep me cool today. Since I pretty much burned through all my favorite shirts and tops except for this one, trying to get a hang on that flaming core of mine. Speaking of! Something I noticed about the fur on my chest is that some of it started to get REALLY solid… From the looks of it, the texture it’s taking on really reminds me of what Nyarlathotep and Mars have on their heads… I believe I remember Mars calling it a “crest”, another sign that I myself am not just becoming any kinda hellhound… but an Eldritch one. Don’t think I ever heard of something like that existing, which means there’s no one I can really ask about what to expect but to be fair… when was this ever the case in my transition, ever since I did that ritual. I shrug to myself, thinking that hey, just gotta be the first one so I can teach others that might choose this down the line~ sorta like Felic- i mean Felix that helped me figure out how to work my tail. Thinking about that just made me kinda excited, and I just had to give that pill bottle in my pocket a little tab… why was I so goddamn stupid to bring it with me… 

I decided to go get some tic tacs at a kiosk, was craving sweets that day like crazy! 

Putting those in my left pocket I strolled down the street, without a care when I accidentally bumped into someone…. A woman, not much taller than I was in a blue dress, I got worried that I might have hurt her… maybe she bumped into my chest? I didn't know so I sprung up and helped her. Looks like i wasn’t the first person she bumped into today, and she decided to be kind enough to suddenly and unexpectedly pat the dirt off my pants and shirt. I was trying my best to keep her hand that was patting my shirt from accidentally touching my crest so she didn’t cut or burn herself. After she was satisfied she stood straight, dusted herself off as well and then looked me in the eyes… something about them was odd… they were kinda… glassy, oh god was she about to cry?... no it seemed different... (Of course it felt different-... that's when it must have happened-... god i was such an idiot.. AM such an idiot-... urgh… focus FOCUS!!) 

We… said our goodbyes and she left down the road smiling… I sighed, put my hand into my right pocket and pulled out the little tic tac bottle… popped two into my mouth and-... god they tasted weird…  still sweet but something about them was off… they melted quickly and i decided to just shrug it off to my taste being different now, and headed to my destination.

A friend of mine told me how, when she transitioned into a Lamia, she definitely needed some fitting clothes that also kept her warm and mobile, and found this pretty awesome place that apparently other people she knew frequented and keeps all kinds of pretty cool clothes for pretty much any kinda therian out there.  So yeah i hoped they also had something fireproof that doesn’t melt or burn away, but also got more style than that stupid blue and gray hospital shirt they gave me in bulk…

So yeah I ended up finding that place pretty quickly, the “Heart Mender Boutique”. Looked pretty neat from the outside… but something made my hair stand up for a second when I decided to enter…  By now I could already tell, something bigger hid in this place. But I just shrugged it off, popped a few more tic tacs from my dispenser I grabbed out of my right pocket.. must have been like… 10 or 12 at once… after all the first two pretty much disappeared right away. That same shiver ran through my body again and I had to stop myself from gagging… even though the taste didn't seem so bad?? damn my body was getting weird (... getting weird my ass…) …. Anyway I looked around for a second by myself, checking some of the strange designs they had, some of these shirts were HUUUUGE, others really freaking tiny… some had extra sleeves for wings or extra arms… some were a bit more loose which probably could fit some nice amount of furr in, without pressing it all against your body… pant’s with tail holes… clothes that were waterproof… there were even some labeled to be “Shapeshift resistant”... still wonder how THAT works… but i couldn’t really find the fireproof ones… if they even had any… so I had decided to look around for some customer service… Didn’t take me long to find some that seemed to know what they were doing. There was a older woman, dressed in a lavender dress and a purple overcoat, neat dark purple hairstyle and a certain skin complexion that i just couldn’t remember the name of, even if i tried, who did later introduce herself as Willow, talking to another, younger employee with messy long hair and a clothing style that was quite more my kinda thing, which i would find out is called Samara. I approached the two since I weirdly felt even the slightest bit of a connection to them in my gut, waving to the two and interrupting their talk.

As it turned out I hit the jackpot since Willow was apparently one of the owners of the store, who was quite happy to help me out. Not that the other one wasn’t giving me a few looks up and down, already checking me out to probably see what kinda clothes could fit… though now that i think back on it… she did seem a bit tense after i approached… just like willow… but i just wrote it off to having been suddenly pulled out of their conversation by a hellhound with a smoking hot top… literally. Anyway after I put out the smolder on my shirt, I got led to a section of the store I must have missed before. She showed me how some of these clothes here were worn by all kinds of species with a bit more heat to go around… elementals, dragons… and apparently we also found something that seemed to be quite a fit for me. Some neat shirts with logos of bands and places I never heard of… but seemed to be popular where Willow came from. Turns out these were apparently styles from, what i knew as the “Sonic and Shadow” franchise, which i formerly thought were simply video games… leave it to Hyper City’s connection to basically every kinda dimension to make you realize that… reality is a lot more wobbly than you thought, (and that comes from someone who’s been pulled through eldritch dimensions).  While I was picking out some clothes, with the help of Willow and Samara, having a nice chat with them about our… quite similar experiences when it came to interactions with other citizens, we were approached by a third person… A man that looked about the age of Willow, his hair was slightly graying, styled in dreadlocks with a few golden ornaments, glasses just like Willow… a large loose overcoat with simple beige pants and a black shirt. Now with all three around me I couldn't help but notice that… the feeling I had when I stepped into this building was largely coming from the presence these three gave off… I meant to mention it in our talk but… well lets just say the man who introduced himself as Dominic, apparently the husband of Willow, seemed to be quiet… intrigued by me… as in… he started to hide his real intend of “interviewing” me, with casual smalltalk and a lot of questions. He was very formal.. like.. uncomfortably so, but that's probably just a me thing since formality to me is just uninteresting behavior… I usually keep stuff close to the chest and speak my mind as thought. Anyway he asked me a bunch of stuff about my transition, how it’s going, what kinda other changes could be expected so that we could look for clothing that has those in mind… I didn't know it was just odd to me so I kept the fact I clocked them as other eldritch beings to myself for now. They were very good at hiding that fact but… I have been around mars and that stupid tentacle bitch enough to be able to kinda.. feel that connection and recognize it, even if it is as well hidden as theirs is.

Why did I hide it? … Well my record with eldritch has been 50/50 right now, and i don’t know if these are like mars who transitioned… or like Nyarlarthotep who were born this way and i didn’t wanna get more eyes like THAT on me… 

I tried to keep my answers as short and truthful as I can, while still just trying to pick out some clothes for myself. They were nice overall but that could be just a charade… maybe… urgh i hate how paranoid i have become… if only i had talked to them more openly… maybe what happened later could have been prevented… maybe they could have helped out now… 

I did end up buying a bunch of clothes to replace those i lost, taking a quick look at the “looking for part timers” poster behind the counter and putting that at the back of my head, and popped a few more tic tacs since damn, all that talking and questioning and finding out made the sugar craving pop up again. I did get a quite confused look from Samara who was packing the clothes when I did that… Asking me if that’s normal… I did raise an eyebrow myself, holding out the now almost empty pack of tic tacs to her and asking if she wanted one… she declined quite profusely and just finished packing the bag and handed it to me… maybe she’s allergic?... Are eldritch allergic to tic tacs? WILL I BE ALLERGIC TO THEM? IS THAT WHY THEY TASTED SO FUNNY?!... It’s kinda embarrassing what mental gymnastics i did there…

I grabbed one of those store cards with me and waved them goodbye, vowing to return for some more clothes once I get more money…. I hope I can still keep that vow…. 

Everything seemed perfect… I got a bunch of new clothes… met some quite nice people… had no ill run in with a pedestrian calling me slurs or a danger… and i even finished my pack of tic tacs… I had put my new clothes into my home, actually put one on ‘cause the one I was wearing had a couple burn holes by now… weird how that happened even though i had made sure to keep myself calm and happy at best… anyway i decided to do one last stroll through hyper city to end the day… best decision I made cause otherwise I’d probably be homeless after this. 

While strolling through the streets I ended up noticing that… my legs felt really bad.. like.. they hurt quite a bit so i decided to find a place to sit down… ended up walking into an old skate park i knew was around the corner.. plenty of benches and space here. I was texting my Therapist about the day, her name is Amber, it’s the one Mars frequently goes to and recommended to me. For someone who works with Erian she’s actually quite nice and really helpful! Though while texting my phone suddenly seemed to overheat… luckily i managed to send her a last message about where i’m headed for the night, just to finish off my report of the task she gave me to get those clothes and get some sense of normalcy. 

That's when things got bad… Not only did my phone overheat.. it started to melt in my hand! that's a baaaaaaad sign of overheating for me.. I quickly dropped it to keep the damage minimal and to the casing alone, can’t afford to burn through another-.. and did a check on my core. It was BLINDINGLY bright after i removed the shirt… how did i not notice that?! How did I not notice how hot I was actually getting!? I looked behind me and noticed the smoking smoldering footprints I left behind me and panicked… I NEVER got THAT hot before. I looked down, noticing not only that I pretty much burned off my pants and boots, which were  sadly not AS fire resistant as my top, but also that… I was literally melting the concrete ground beneath me. This is bad… really bad. I did here the clattering of my tic tac pac which must have just fallen through the remains of my pocket, when I noticed something that shook me to the core. In front of my very eyes, that tic tac bottle seemed to shift- INTO THE BOTTLE THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO HOLD MY HRT MEDS!

How was this- why !? Empty!? when- the tic tacs- oh no… no no no no no NO NO NO!!!!

With that realization… came the pain… like my body was finally allowed to register things again. At a very bad time. The heat was disastrously painful… I felt like I passed out and got jolted up by it alone multiple times before I even hit the floor… hit the floor? When was I even falling… Why couldn’t I feel my feet anymore?!

That question got answered the second I looked down… My feet had literally broken off by the ankles, as I was looking at the crumbling bits of paw formed ashes that used to be MY paws. I clutched my chest as I heard the park's sprinkler system spring to life, though the water even didn’t make it halfway to my body to give me that sweet release of cold I so desperately craved by this point. The park quickly filled up with a thick fog of smoke and steam… and I could feel myself slowly sinking into the ever melting ground beneath me.

By then I also started to lose the feeling in my hands that were clutching my chest… I looked at the slowly graying claws and fingers that broke off of my body, like the ashes of a cigarette that could no longer hold on to the rest of it. I started vomiting up thick globs of red and gold glowing liquids, whose consistency reminded me of magma… were those my organs that melted?!  Probably…

I couldn’t help but be reminded of that time I met Nyarlathotep… she warned me… how I would end up burning up into a pile of ashes… I thought she was just trying to scare me… I never thought she was actually right… 

Tears of the same kinda hot liquid started streaming down my face.. by now the only thing i could feel was heat… and pain… and fear. I didn’t want to die… I DON’T want to die… 

In my head I kept crying out for help… the only thing that kept me from crying out in my voice was that my lower jaw had already turned to ashes itself. Only pathetic noises and yelps of pain came out of that fiery half maw of mine. As my body seemed to be covered by darkness.. and brimstone. 

Something I hadn't noticed and only started to realize later, was that the smoke and steam covered up the strange material that formed out of the molten concrete and whatever my body was leaking at the time… until it formed a hard shell that must look like a black and red glowing blister on the ground.  Despite not having a heart anymore… at least none that i could feel… I could still hear a beat…  The shell itself seems to beat LIKE a heart… with every single one the glow intensifies for a second.. before dying down… The beating of this shell… this Chrysalis… ended up calming me down enough to realize that… the pain was… gone?... I… was gone… but yet I was still here… molten and broken down into what I believe to be a shining sphere of heat… is this what it thought to be my flame organ?.. 

Whatever it is.. it seemed to contain everything of me… my entire being was now condensed to this single, white and gold glowing orb… 

I don’t know what is going on… and I am beginning to more and more lose my grip on reality itself… I keep rerunning these memories in my… i wanna say head but… urgh i don't know!!

I can hear the noise of sirens outside… some people shouting orders… but they are too muffled to make out what they are saying..  I feel myself slipping away again… when will I wake up again?... Will I be able to recount what happened today?... Is it even still today?...

Will “I” even be the one waking up again? … Why can’t I help but imagine this damn grin of Nyarlathotep… telling me in her obnoxious voice how she was right…?

Why is it that I somehow WANT to see her again…? 

Damn… here comes the darkness again-... so… calming… so…

...

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Edit: FORGOT TO MENTION!! Samara, Willow and Dominic, as well as the Heart Mender Boutique were created by the wonderful @home-sweet-hive and star in his ??? HRT series!! Go check it out!!

Also the Nyarlathotep mentioned in this story appears in @dawning-mars Eldritch HRT! Definitely check it out, it's amazing!! It even has me in it now X3 - Nia

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[recurring-polynya]

Bleach Returns 2024 - Day 7 - Aftermath

This was the first thing I started for Bleach Returns 2024, and the last thing I finished. For theme weeks like this, it's always nice to have ideas that can fit under more than one of the prompts, in case you have to switch it around. This one could just as well have ended up under "Unlikely Pairs" -- they day I turned out to have skipped, but I needed the extra time, and I think it fits better as an "Aftermath" story anyway.

In any case, I have held the belief in my heart for ages that a truly underrated part of the Blood War was the fact that out of everyone in the Gotei, the only two people that got to see Komamura's wolf-man form were Iba and Hinamori, and I wanted to know if they ever talked about it later. I accidentally wrote it in the present tense, so it came out about a thousand times more melancholy than I intended it to be, but I'm actually pretty happy with how it came out. Consider this my Komamura Tribute Fic: you were a real one, sir, and for, like, 30 seconds you were a total smokeshow. Somehow I doubt you truly gave up your heart for good.

Rated T for one mild curse and endorsing lying to your boss | read on ao3 |

---

"Why are you asking me?" Rukia frowns. "Renji is a perfectly adequate liar." And your friend, she doesn't add.

Hinamori has an answer for this. She would have preferred to ask Renji, too. "He's too nice," she explains. "I know that I'm really bad at this, and he'll tell me I'm fine when I'm not. This is important. I need to do it right."

Rukia screws up her face and for a moment, Hinamori worries that she feels insulted, either on her own or on Renji's behalf. It's usually pretty rude to come up to a person and ask for their help in crafting a convincing fib. Hinamori knows Renji well enough-- she knows Rukia well enough now-- to expect that it would be taken as a compliment. But maybe not.

Rukia huffs. "You're right," she grumbles. "He's always been like that." She sighs expansively. "But if he were capable of running a team grift on his own, we never would have met, so I suppose I can't complain." And without any further preamble, she launces into a dissertation on the theory and practice of lying.

Hinamori blinks as she tries to take it in. There are fundamental precepts. There are classic techniques. There is ontology. There are hand-movements and eyebrow wagging. Hinamori should have brought a notebook, not that she could manage to get it all down. A lot of what Rukia says sounds like something Renji would say, but with far more conviction. He always used to say that he learned most of his chicanery from Rukia, and for the first time, Hinamori starts to believe it.

Rukia stops abruptly in the middle of an illustrative anecdote that has something to do with Kurosaki Ichigo's gym teacher. "What, exactly is the falsehood you need to fabricate?"

Hinamori tells her.

Rukia squirms for a moment. Momo realizes that she doesn't know if Rukia was asked to testify at any inquiries regarding her own captain. She wonders if she should have asked Renji after all.

"Look," says Rukia, in a way that is somehow simultaneously gruff and delicate, "Hinamori." She clears her throat. "I know it's extra weird because he's the Captain-Commander now, but you can just lie to Captain Kyouraku. It doesn't have to be convincing. He will ask you the question and you can say what you need to say and he'll write it in the official report. Whether or not he believes you is unimportant. He wants you to lie."

"I know," says Hinamori. "But I don't want it to just be a nod and a wink. Captain Komamura wouldn't have liked that. He was a good captain and a kind soul. Iba told me that he often tried to help people save face. I want to do a good job on my lie, for him. For Iba, too."

Rukia's brows furrow. She sets her jaw. "Your heart is very big, Hinamori," she says. "There are special techniques for lying with your entire heart. I will teach them to you."

"Thank you, Kuchiki-san," says Hinamori.

---

"Shortly after I became his lieutenant," Iba says, facing forward, standing at his fullest height, "my captain informed me that, in the case of his death, he had arranged a special exemption from the standard funeral rites for Gotei captains. He said that, if it was within my power, I should make sure his body was returned to his people."

"That is correct," the Head-Captain agrees. "Werewolves have a different path through the resurrection cycle than we do."

It takes Iba a moment before he is able to continue, but when he does, his voice is steady. He speaks in the cadence of a Lieutenant Delivering a Report. They can all do it. They all do do it. Momo does not remember anyone ever teaching her how. It just comes with the job. Iba's voice is naturally a little froggy, which Momo has noticed before, but it's even more evident when he is forgoing his usual tough guy turns of phrase.

Iba describes the damage sustained by his captain's bankai during the battle with Sternritter E. He makes a remark for the record about the unique relationship between Captain Komamura and his bankai. In this case, Iba says, the damage was more than Komamura could heal, would ever be able to heal. Iba states that by dismissing his bankai, Captain Komamura was able to eke out a few more hours of his life, but that his end was inevitable. This is why Iba and his captain did not regroup with everyone else, and why they declined medical assistance. Iba fought Soldat with his captain until the bitter, bloody end. At that time, zombies had begun to appear on the battlefield, and Iba felt it vital to deliver the body of his captain to the werewolf clan as soon as possible, so that it did not fall into enemy hands. That is why there is no corpse. "But my captain died honorably, in battle," Iba concludes. "I was there when he fell."

It takes some time for Head-Captain Kyouraku to finish up his note-taking. Lieutenant Ise is faster at transcription, Momo thinks, but she is not here. There is so much to do these days. She must be busy with something else.

Kyouraku's eyes scan quickly over his notes. "Thank you, Lieutenant Iba," he says. "Very complete. I don't think I have any further questions."

"If you think of anything later, please don't hesitate to ask, sir," Iba replies.

Kyouraku turns his gaze to Momo. "I understand you are able to corroborate portions of this, Lieutenant Hinamori?"

Momo straightens her spine and clears her throat.

You are telling a story, Rukia reminds her. Parts of that story are true and parts of it are not. Start with the parts that are true.

Hinamori tells the story of fighting her way through the Soldat-flooded city, trying to rejoin her captain. It is their practice to maintain distance when he is using his zanpakutou, but she likes to be within shouting distance. In case he needs her. She talks about seeing the columns of light and feeling the burst of strange, acidic reiatsu as the Quincy unleashed their Voll Stern Dich. She does not mention the way her feet were already moving even before she felt her captain's reiatsu plummet.

One of the things that makes you a bad storyteller, Hinamori, is that you always needs to add in extra detail, even when it doesn't add to the story, even when it makes you not look great. Especially when it makes you not look great. It's like you're always afraid of people thinking you are lying, so you want to lay everything out there up front.

This is still the part that is true, and Rukia said it was important to build up some momentum, so Himamori allows herself the indulgence of being a bad storyteller. If I tell the true parts poorly, she reasons, the lies will be less obvious.

"When Captain Hirako was injured, I made a poor decision. I wanted to save my captain. I thought I could get the drop on Sternritter E. I thought I could fight her fire with mine." Hinamori swallows. "Captain Komamura saved me. I know he wanted to go on and fight Yhwach, but he stayed back to protect me and my captain. I know it's not really relevant to this inquiry, but I would like it added to record anyway, if possible."

"Captain Komamura was always looking out for others on the battlefield," Head-Captain Kyouraku murmurs as his brush makes soft swishing noises over the paper. "I've made a note. Please continue, Lieutenant."

It's not a lie to not say something. It's just editing. Hinamori had wanted to tell Kuchiki the thing, the thing she had to edit out, but Kuchiki didn't want to hear it. Kuchiki had, in fact, put her hands over her ears and sang "LA LA LA LAAAA" until Hinamori gave up. It had been a little bit rude, in Hinamori's opinion. You want to tell me because it feels like a secret, Kuchiki had scolded. It's not a secret. It's extraneous information. Throw it in the trash. Burn it to a crisp. Forget about it forever.

It sure feels like a secret, the thing she had seen. She tries not to think about it, afraid that if she does, it will leave a hole in her story the size of a werewolf and the shape of a man. Instead, Hinamori continues. "Captain Komamura ordered me to take Captain Hirako and leave. I wanted to stay. I wanted to help. But I had seen her explosions, and I knew he needed the space. He went to bankai as I left."

"You didn't actually see them fight, then," Head-Captain Kyouraku surmises.

"Captain Komamura's bankai is--was--very large," Hinamori states the obvious. "As I left, I could see it taking explosion after explosion. I could hear and feel the bombs. They were deafening. I shouldn't have, but when they stopped, I… I looked back. I saw Captain Komamura's bankai crumble to pieces. It did not seem like a thing that would be possible to survive."

"Indeed," agrees the Head-Captain. "A great loss for the Gotei."

"Agreed, sir."

Iba draws in a long breath, but says nothing.

"Anything else, Lieutenant Hinamori?"

"No, sir. That is all."

"Captain Hirako has declined to give testimony. He said he didn't think he had anything to add."

"Probably not, sir. He was unconscious for most of it."

Kyouraku nods as he finishes writing. He puts his brush in the holder, and folds his hands. "Thank you both. I'm sorry we had to go through all this procedure for something so simple as a death in battle, but he was a captain, after all. Usually, the Central 46 would hold a hearing, but I think this--" he pats his stack of paper-- "should suffice."

She has done it. It's over. Kuchiki was right. It was barely a lie. It was a careful arrangement of true things. Hinamori feels like she has run a thousand miles and bench-pressed the Soukyoku. She wants to throw up. She wants to go to sleep for a million years.

"It was an honor to serve under him," Iba says.

Hinamori has no regrets.

---

Okay, it turns out that Hinamori does have regrets. Not about the statement. She receives a short note from the Captain Commander several days later informing her that the ruling of "Killed in Action" has been accepted, and thanking her again.

She wishes she had said more to Iba.

Hinamori is very busy these days. There have been three wartime actions in the last two years, and for once, Hinamori has come through relatively unscathed. She wants to make the most of this by helping everyone she can. She and Captain Hirako take on paperwork from the Tenth while its leadership needs extra treatment to purge out the last after-effects of the zombification. It's only fair. Hitsugaya has done enough of the Fifth's paperwork. She goes to PT with her Third Seat, who ended the war with a pair of prosthetic legs. She volunteers once a week at the Pop-Up Mess Hall the Ninth has been running to help out the squads whose facilities were destroyed, or who simply can't spare the manpower (also, the Ninth has a lot of talented cooks, and it's as good an opportunity to socialize as you can get these days). She tries to make time for all her friends, but especially the ones who are injured or grieving or overworked.

Hinamori is friendly with Iba, but she's not sure they are friends. He's not quite part of the close-knit core of the lieutenants that she hangs out with. He has his own friends, she's sure. He's pals with Abarai (who isn't?) and Madarame, who finally showed up to a lieutenant's meeting this week, even if he did so with a facial expression like he'd just drank a glass of slugs. Hinamori just isn't sure…well, it's not that those guys aren't sensitive to each other's feelings--scratch that, Madarame is definitely not sensitive to people's feelings--but Hinamori can't help but wondering if anyone has extended Iba any sympathy that didn't come the form of a moment of manly, stoic shared silence or possibly a punch on the shoulder.

Hinamori intends to swing by the Seventh shortly before the end of the work day. She isn't sure how this is going to go, and she wants to leave her options open. Her plans are derailed slightly when, on her way out of the door, she runs into Ise with a pile of new forms and feeling chatty to boot. By the time Hinamori walks into the Seventh's administrative building, it is half an hour past quitting time. The hallways are already pretty empty, and even as she knocks on Iba's door, Hinamori resigns herself to trying again tomorrow. "Lieutenant Iba?" she calls tentatively. "It's Lieutenant Hinamori. Are you in?"

"Ah, yes! Come in!" Iba's gravelly voice calls back.

Hinamori slides the door open and steps through. Iba is hunched over some paperwork. "Sorry!" he says. "Just a moment! I'm trying to finish up--there!" He looks up. "What can I do for you, Lieutenant Hinamori?"

For a long, long moment, Hinamori stares at him.

Iba has brown eyes. He blinks them once, then suddenly scrabbles around on his desk, shoves over a pile of forms that looks suspiciously like the one Ise just foisted on her, grabs his sunglasses, and crams them on his face. "Sorry!" he croaks. "Sorry!"

"No, no!" Hinamori waves a hand frantically. "It was my fault! I didn't-- I didn't see anything!" Her stomach clenches. Why is she always seeing things she isn't supposed to see? She looks away, frantically, and her eyes land on the floor next to Iba's desk. There is a pillow there, and on the pillow, a handsome dog regards her judgmentally. "Oh!" she says. "Hello, Goro!"

Iba clears his throat. "He's, uh. I don't keep him in here all day. He just had his dinner, and I'm going to take him for his walk as soon as I…" He looks at his stack of papers and then looks at Hinamori. "I'm sorry, what did you need? Are those more new forms?"

Goro puts his chin on his paws and sighs.

Hinamori looks down at the pile of paper nestled in the crook of her arm. "This?" she says, trying to get her thoughts together. "Oh! Right! No, no new forms! I got some flyers printed up for my weekly meditation circle! Do you remember, I mentioned it at the last lieutenants' meeting?"

"Oh…oh, yeah," Iba manages. "Yeah, that's not really my…"

"For your squad," Hinamori emphasizes. "I was hoping you might be able to post them in a common area. Or you could hand them out to anyone in particular you thought might benefit. Everyone's working so hard and dealing with so much right now. It can be, well, sort of a subtle way to suggest that someone takes a little break. I got a little stipend from the Fourth, so we have snacks afterward, now!"

Iba nods. He obviously does not need even one more thing to think about. "Ah, okay! Yeah, great idea! Thanks, Lieutenant Hinamori."

Hinamori slides the stack of flyers onto an extra table that Iba has pulled up next to his desk, apparently for increasing its paperwork-holding capacity. "You can have someone deal with these tomorrow," she says gently. She kneels down to scratch Goro's head. "Are you doing all right, Iba-san?"

Iba misinterprets her and immediately begins to bluster. "All of this looks much worse than it is! I'm getting the important stuff done! Ask anyone in Squad Seven--who have been champs, by the way! You see how empty this place is? It's because I make everyone go home on time, that's why! They'd be working night and day if I didn't make them take a rest. Maybe I'll send the whole lot over to your meditation whatsit!"

"That's not what I meant," Hinamori cuts him off. Unlike the Head-Captain's office, this is a place where she doesn't need to be parsimonious with the truth, so she goes on to say, "I only brought those flyers over as an excuse to come see how you were doing. You must miss him so much, and you can't even talk to anyone about the way it really happened."

Iba's mouth opens as he starts to say something, but then he closes it again. "I do," he says finally. He jerks his head towards an extra chair sitting along one wall. "You wanna pull up a seat?"

Hinamori does so. "Have you…heard anything?" She knows that Captain Komamura is still alive because Iba told her when he came to ask her to testify at the hearing. When he came to ask her if she would help him tell the story the way Captain Komamura would prefer it to be told. All the same, she is wants to let Iba be the one to say it out loud first.

"Ah, one of his relatives is a regular at the weekly market outside the eastern gate. There was a letter." Iba is silent for a moment. "He's healed up from his war wounds. He says there are some faces he's glad to see again." Iba reaches down to scratch Goro around the ears. "The cousin, he sells mushrooms, actually, really good mushrooms, I guess they sniff them out of the woods or something. Anyway, he says that, ah, well… they're happy to have him home."

Hinamori feels sadness settle on her chest like a stone. She barely knew Captain Komamura at all, but she knows he must have overcome so much in order to join the Gotei, in order to live in the city. She loves Junrinan, and yet she remembers feeling the cold terror that she might be sent back there after…when it seemed unclear whether she could still be a shinigami. "I'm sure it will be an adjustment," she says slowly. She wishes she could think of something else to say.

Iba regards her for a long time. "You get it," he says. "I can tell." He groans and leans back in his chair. "Aaah, Hinamori, you're right! It's been agonizing not bein' about to say anything! Everyone thinks I'm sad 'cause he's dead, and I gotta pretend that's true, but I'm actually sad 'cause all I can think about is his wolf-mom given' him a bunch of grief about wastin' his time on shinigami shit!"

"Does he have a wolf-mom?" HInamori asks, suddenly curious.

"Hell if I know! He never talked about werewolf stuff, so I've just been coming up with stuff in my head. I'm sure it's all wrong."

"I feel like if he has a wolf-mother, he would love her very much," Hinamori said. "He seemed like that type."

"You're right, Lieutenant Hinamori," Iba said, wagging a finger at her. "You're absolutely right." He cleared his throat. "While you're here. Listenin'. Well--there's something I been wanting to say so bad I feel like I'm gonna explode sometimes. You, ah, don't mind, do you?

"Of course not," Hinamori agrees. "Go ahead."

Iba leans forward, crumpling some of his paperwork. One side of his mouth curls up into a boyish grin. Goro looks up, curious. "He was awesome, there at the end, wasn't he?"

"Oh," says Hinamori, "oh, my, yes."

"For the length of that fight, he was immortal. Untouchable."

"I will never forget how I felt when I saw his bankai," Hinamori blurts out. "It gave me shivers."

"I know! It was absolutely incredible. I've--I've been working on my own bankai and I just…it's never going to be that."

Hinamori tilts her head to one side. "It might be," she says.

Iba frowns thoughtfully. "He gave me something to shoot for, for sure. What a captain he was!"

"Mm," Hinamori nods, thinking about captains she has loved.

Iba looks away for a moment, then looks back. "Hinamori, I gotta ask. You saw my captain. In his human form."

Hinamori is momentarily shocked to hear the secret thing, said out loud and in such a casual way. "Yes," she says eagerly.

"He was…he was, like, better than average on the looks scale, right? I'm not…I'm into ladies, you know, I'm not much of a judge of that kind stuff. But, like. Wow."

"Oh, yes," Hinamori, who is generally very circumspect when offering opinions on other people's look. "He was--well, that's not really my type either but--" She clears her throat primly. "Whew!"

"Whew!" Iba agrees.

Goro whines and puts his paws over his nose. Iba laughs, the kind of big hearty one that comes from getting something off your chest. "I know I've already taken up too much of your time, Hinamori, but, uh…I don't spose you'd like to help me take this guy on his walk?"

Hinamori smiles. "I'd love that."