#clearly so unused to not having to do everything by herself

[sugaredrhubarb]

one thing about me is that i will be falling asleep to videos of men (who only show their hands) explaining their niche hobbies or skills. miniature building? vintage toy restoration? sheep shearing? farriery? drain clearing? lock picking? logging? oh baby!

[tooclevertobehappy]

Hidden in plain sight Part.2

TRIGGER WARNING: Mention of blood and injury

Clara was worried. She thought she had done a good job hiding her issues over the past few weeks, but Ingrid's visit to her house yesterday and the text she sent afterward showed that maybe she hadn’t done as well as she thought.

She’d been there when Ingrid came, hiding in her room and nursing new bruises. They had been the whole reason why she canceled dinner that night—knowing she wouldn’t have been able to hide the pain that inhabited her every move.

That’s what worried her the most. She’d done so well hiding it so far, and the possibility of it all coming to light terrified her. She couldn’t handle the thought of her teammates finding out, of them looking at her differently—like she was a shattered mirror, ready to break at any time. She wasn’t fragile.

Clara had handled everything thrown at her so far: her mom leaving, her father’s descent into drinking-induced madness, the bruises, the cuts, the pain. She had gone through it all and stood tall in the face of it. She would not allow them to see her as weak.

So, she went to training, already dressed in her kit to avoid changing in front of her teammates, armed with a dozen excuses, ready to handle Ingrid’s inevitable questioning. But Ingrid didn’t ask questions. She didn’t even come to talk to her. She stayed in front of her locker with Mapi, giving Clara only a small smile when she came in—nothing else.

It confused Clara even more. She had come into the changing room ready for war, only to be faced with peace. She didn’t know what to do.

She stayed in front of her own locker for a few minutes, trying to figure out a new plan of action for the day. After a while, she sat down and put on her football boots, her eyes darting around the room every few seconds to make sure no one was watching her before making her way out to the pitch.

Her first mistake was allowing herself to relax after avoiding questioning. Her second mistake was getting lost in her thoughts while walking out. The third and fatal mistake was walking headfirst into Alexia as she exited the facility.

The blonde captain reached out to steady her before Clara could topple them both over. Grabbing her by the shoulder, Alexia was so concerned with staying on her feet that she missed the flinch of pain on Clara’s face when her hand tightened on her shoulder.

“You okay, nena?” the captain asked.

“Y-... Yeah, I’m alright,” Clara gasped out, the words barely escaping her.

Clara wished she could smack herself. Her voice was raspy, unused to speaking so much. She knew she had made another mistake when Alexia’s brow furrowed, her eyes scanning every inch of Clara’s face.

Clara could feel her stomach drop. If she had been worried about Ingrid and Mapi finding out, she was terrified of Alexia. The captain was known for not dropping issues until she fixed them, and Clara did not want her to find out about her situation.

“Are you sure? You seem... off?” Alexia demanded.

“Yes! Yes, I’m good, fine, all good!” Clara exclaimed, her voice more frantic than she intended. When Alexia raised an eyebrow in disbelief, Clara added, “I worked on my homework a little later than usual yesterday. I’m just a little tired.”

Alexia surveyed her from head to toe, a frown etched on her features, clearly unconvinced by Clara’s explanation. But with little time before practice, the captain was obliged to let the matter go for now.

“Let’s go before we’re late, nena,” she said, placing a hand on Clara’s back and leading her toward the training field.

The two walked in silence, taking in the last few minutes of peace before the chaos of training. Jona had planned for them to face off in an 11 vs. 11 match to work on set pieces for their next match against Valencia.

Clara didn’t like this type of training. Everyone was rowdier than usual, all obsessed with winning and claiming gloating rights until the next match. She liked playing with the team but wasn’t overjoyed about facing them on the pitch.

Though the players usually tried to be more careful not to bang her around due to her age, the inevitable collision was always a concern.

She took extra care to stretch longer than usual, more aware of the general ache in her body, being careful not to injure herself so close to a game. Caro joined her, as the two usually stretched together, appreciating the last few minutes of quiet before the storm.

If Caro noticed Clara taking longer to stretch than usual, she didn’t say anything, but Clara could feel her eyes lingering on her when they joined the rest of the team.

The training went well. They practiced passes, took shots on goal, and Clara felt confident that, like always, she had managed to fool them. She even felt a little proud of herself.

But the dreaded 11 vs. 11 match was next. While Clara was confident in the team she was in, she wasn’t sure she could keep up. Normally, she would run circles around everyone, her youth granting her more stamina than her older teammates. But now, she was hurt and tired, and all she wanted to do was sleep.

The bruises littering her ribs pulled at every movement she made and rendered her unable to pull in as much air as she usually could, she found herself straining to stay concentrated as the rough stop and turns she made as she ran seemed to pull at every bruise and cut she had.

Still, she powered through. She even managed to chip the ball over Cata’s head and received a few head pats from her teammates for it. They all congregated near the goal, waiting for a corner to be taken. Though Clara wasn’t small, she wasn’t the tallest on the team, but she had a knack for heading the ball when no one expected it.

As the ball left Mariona’s feet, Clara jumped between her teammates and headed straight for the ball when she collided with something. She was pushed off her intended path, still in the air, and fell back, hitting her head directly on the goalpost. Silence overtook the pitch as the sound of Clara's head banging on the metal post seemed to ring through all of them.

For a few seconds Clara felt nothing, her eyes could barely stay open and all she could see was a blurry mess of colors, then came the pain, like a fire spreading over her head she clenched her fists, and the only sound coming out of her ended being a small whimper before her beaten down body had enough, and she felt herself slip into unconsciousness.

The whole team stared in horror at Clara’s body sprawled on the ground. The noise her head made when it collided with the post froze everyone in their place.

The trainers that were stood a couple of dozen feet away stared running, grabbing medical equipment as they went, calls for an ambulance could be heard as they approached.

But none of the players moved, all staring at Clara laying still on the ground as if moving would make the horror real.

Finally, Ingrid snapped out of her stupor and rushed to her, sliding on her knees next to Clara, her hand hesitantly reaching out to her shoulder.

“Clara? Can you hear me?” Ingrid frantically asked.

“Nena? Come on, open your eyes for me,” Mapi added. Ingrid didn’t know when her girlfriend had joined her, but she was now kneeling on Clara’s other side, holding her hand.

The small striker didn’t answer, remaining limp on the ground. When they finally managed to get her on her back, they were terrified to see the blood covering Clara’s face marring the usually joyful traits on her face, making her look younger and smaller than she truly was.

They were soon joined by the trainers, who wasted no time pushing them away from Clara. They carefully cleaned her forehead, revealing the gash responsible for the alarming amount of blood. They wrapped her forehead in gauze, shone a light in her eyes, and tried to get her to regain consciousness, but to no avail.

After a few minutes, the decision was made to immobilize Clara on a board and transport her to the hospital for a brain scan to rule out further injuries. The team stood back, watching as Clara was put in a neck brace, lifted onto the board, and strapped in before being taken away in the ambulance that had been called as soon as the trainers noticed she hadn’t gotten up.

Even though Clara was no longer on the field, the team stood in silence for a few minutes, staring at each other, wondering how everything had gone wrong in just a few seconds.

Ingrid was holding Mapi’s hand so tightly that the defender wondered if she would still have a hand by the time they let go.

Jona understood that there was no way practice could continue after Clara’s fall and dismissed the team for the day.

Ingrid and Mapi rushed to the changing room, hoping to shower and change quickly so they could head to the hospital. Neither of them was comfortable with the idea of Clara being alone and unconscious in an unfamiliar place.

On their way there, they ran into Alexia, who seemed to be rushing as much as they were.

“You’re both going to see the nena, yes?” she asked, more ordering than asking. “I’m going too, as soon as I’m showered. Leave her stuff here, and I’ll bring it to her as soon as I’m done talking to Vicky and Esmee.” While she too wanted to check on Clara, she had to make sure the other youngsters on the team were okay after witnessing the injury.

Ingrid nodded and continued dragging Mapi to the changing room. As they quickly showered and changed before getting in their car, Ingrid couldn’t help but let her mind wander to the what-ifs.

What if Clara was seriously injured? What about her brain? Why hadn’t she woken up on the field? She couldn’t help but wonder if things would’ve gone differently had they checked on her in the changing rooms, but Ingrid didn’t vocalize those thoughts aloud, knowing Mapi’s tendency to overthink and panic. But the way her hands gripped the steering wheel left no room to question how worried she was.

After what felt like hours but in reality was only about half an hour, they finally arrived at the hospital and rushed into the emergency room. They went straight to the reception and gave Clara’s name.

They exchanged worried glances when they were told to wait for someone to come and get them. Worst-case scenarios sprang to mind as they sat in the waiting room. Finally, someone called their name.

However, it wasn’t a doctor or nurse—it was a police officer.

[maxdibert]

I don’t think Lily’s a particularly empathetic person tbh. Petunia’s a cow, but they were obviously close once and Lily doesn’t possess the sensitivity required to understand that it’s coming from a place of being made to feel less than. She flirts with James while her friend is choking on soap suds and throws Severus’ otherness right back in his face after he does the same to her, but only one of them thinks they behaved poorly in that situation. She’s fine with dating an abuser once he (publicly) calms down a bit, but doesn’t require evidence of him making amends to his victims. It’s an interesting character quirk, her self righteousness, but not one that tends to come with introspection. I wonder if people mature mentally in the afterlife? If she’s stuck at 21, forgiveness is probably off the table. If she’s 38, well, I think it’s totally reasonable to be angry at the prophecy debacle, but she also has decades of evidence of his genuine atonement.

Severus is so self-loathing and desperate for connection that he’s incapable of accepting he’s ever got a point when it comes to conflict with Lily, and Lily is a golden child unused to being held accountable for anything. It’s a toxic combination even when they’re children. Add in the fact that Severus’ mistakes indirectly got her killed, and I think they’d both end up feeling that her failures as a friend were so insignificant in comparison it’s not even worth discussing. Maybe the best case is that doing some more self-flagellating and her blessing him with forgiveness even with no reciprocal exchange allows him to move unburdened onto a Lily-free afterlife.

Yes, I think you’ve absolutely nailed it. Severus feels so terrible because he had a deep emotional dependence on Lily. And honestly, I get it—a marginalized kid from a conflict-ridden home, likely neglected by his parents, with zero social skills. I’ve always thought Lily was his attachment figure, which is pretty common among people with emotional deficits: they latch onto those who show them any affection in an exaggerated way, leading to dependency. And clearly, Lily didn’t see their friendship the same way, because she didn’t have those emotional needs.

I mean, as much as Petunia was conditioned to be resentful and we dislike her, we can probably credit her when she implies multiple times that Lily was the favorite child. It’s logical: Lily was the "magical" child. Plus, being the younger sibling likely meant she was spoiled by default, and being a witch added another layer of fascination for her parents. She was probably used to a lot of attention and praise, which only solidified during her school years as she became popular, well-liked by adults and peers, and widely considered very attractive. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if she was a bit egocentric, which fits with her inability to put herself in someone else’s shoes or care about anything unless it affected her personally.

For instance, she didn’t care about Mary McDonald being bullied because Snape was her friend. But the moment Snape stopped being her friend, she suddenly brought it up. Like, what? It didn’t bother her before? Or did she not care because she didn’t need leverage against Severus? And isn’t it convenient that she "hated" James because of how he treated her friend, but once that friend wasn’t in the picture, she ended up dating him? What, did she suddenly forget everything James did, or was it just that she no longer needed to pretend to care? In my headcanon, she was all about appearances. She got involved in the war because it affected her directly; if it hadn’t, I think she wouldn’t have cared at all.

That said, I don’t think Severus owed anyone an apology. I mean, I understand why he felt guilty, and it’s commendable, but if I’d spent five years being bullied and harassed and then my ex-best friend—who witnessed all of it—started dating my bully? I swear I’d burn her hair off. I’d grab a lighter and make a bonfire right in the middle of class. And then I’d pluck her eyelashes out, one by one. Honestly, it’s like if your friend decided to date a guy who tried to assault you—what the actual fuck, girl? What are you even thinking? Let her mother apologize for raising her with no sense of ethics.

[ice-man-goes-bwoah]

This is a really specific request so it's absolutely fine if you don't feel comfortable doing it but protective Liam standing up for his autistic gf to her dad or older man family member who keeps being willfully ignorant and making comments

Support||Liam Lawson x fem!autistic!reader

Word count—769

Liam’s patience finally snapped as the older man—her father—leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a smug look on his face. The latest comment had been the tipping point.

“I just don’t get why everything has to be so complicated with you,” her father said, his voice dripping with condescension. “You make a big deal out of nothing, and it’s like… people walk on eggshells around you. Life doesn’t work like that.”

Liam glanced at his girlfriend, who sat rigidly beside him. Her eyes were fixed on her lap, her fingers twisting anxiously around the hem of her shirt. He could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she was trying to shrink into herself, and it made his blood boil.

“Enough,” Liam said, his voice firm and steady.

Her father raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I said enough,” Liam repeated, standing. “This isn’t okay. And it hasn’t been okay for a long time.”

Her father leaned forward, clearly affronted. “Listen, young man—”

“No, you listen,” Liam cut him off, his tone sharp but controlled. “I’ve sat here all night listening to you talk down to her, dismiss her feelings, and act like her autism is some kind of inconvenience for you. And I’m done with it.”

Her father blinked, clearly unused to being challenged. “I’m not being dismissive. I’m just saying she makes things harder than they need to be. Back in my day, people didn’t have all these labels. We just got on with life.”

Liam let out a short, humorless laugh. “Right. And how’s that working out for you? Ignoring reality doesn’t make it go away. It just makes you blind to it. Autism isn’t a ‘label.’ It’s part of who she is. And what you call ‘making things harder’ is just her trying to exist in a world that wasn’t built for people like her.”

“She’s fine,” her father said dismissively. “She just needs to toughen up.”

Liam’s voice rose, his frustration spilling out. “She’s already tougher than you’ll ever understand! Do you have any idea how much courage it takes for her to face people like you every day? To advocate for herself when people constantly dismiss her? You’re supposed to be her family. You’re supposed to support her. And instead, you make her feel small.”

“Liam…” his girlfriend murmured, tugging at his arm. Her voice was quiet, but there was a waver in it that broke his heart.

He turned to her, his expression softening. “No, you don’t deserve this,” he said gently but firmly. “You’ve been putting up with this for too long, and it’s not fair to you.”

Her father threw up his hands. “Oh, come on. I’m her father. I know her better than you do. She’s just being dramatic.”

Liam’s jaw tightened, and he turned back to the older man. “You don’t know her better than she knows herself. And if you think this is ‘dramatic,’ then you haven’t been paying attention. She’s told you what she needs. She’s told you how to support her. And every time, you’ve ignored it. Do you have any idea how much that hurts her? How much that undermines her?”

Her father opened his mouth, but Liam didn’t let him speak. “You think you’re the authority on her life because you’re her dad? You’re not. She is. And it’s about time you started listening to her instead of dismissing everything she says. Because if you keep this up, you’re going to lose her.”

The words hit like a hammer, and her father’s bravado faltered. For a moment, he looked genuinely unsure of himself.

“She’s not asking for anything unreasonable,” Liam continued, his voice quieter now but still firm. “She just wants to be understood. Respected. Loved for who she is, not who you think she should be. That’s not coddling. That’s what family is supposed to do.”

The silence in the room was heavy, broken only by the sound of his girlfriend taking a shaky breath. She looked up at Liam, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Liam turned back to her father, his tone softening just slightly. “You still have a chance to fix this. But it starts with you admitting that you’ve been wrong. And it starts with you trying. Really trying.”

Her father looked down at his hands, clearly uncomfortable. For the first time that evening, he seemed to be grappling with Liam’s words.

Liam reached for his girlfriend’s hand, intertwining his fingers with hers. “You’re not alone in this,” he said to her softly, his voice filled with quiet determination. “Not anymore.”

[seramilla]

(Have fun with Carmilla’s response!)

Lute fidgets with the mane feathers that had grown from her neck. She stayed in her room thinking about what Emily said with a scowl for weeks.

“Forgive myself…what a joke…why should I forgive myself?…”

The end of her hair brushes across her shoulders as she sits up. She throws the covers off and glares hatefully at her digitigrade. She isn’t even sure when they changed but she stopped caring. It’s just one more thing to add to the pile of things she hates about herself. She hops off the bed and immediately regrets her decision unused to her new legs. Lute loses her balance in an instant and snarls at herself for being so pathetic. She forces herself to get up and uses a bedpost to get used to her new balance. A few steps around the room and she’s as good as new…in a manner of speaking. Lute has always been highly adaptable to survive no matter what, sadly enough. The familiar faint sounds of steel clashing reaches her ears. She perks up at the prospect of a training room. Lute cracks her door open and peeks out finding an empty hallway. She silently slips out and closes the door behind her then follows the sounds to their source only to find the overlord and…and Vaggie. Lute slinks into the room unseen and stays out of sight.

She watches them from the shadows on the balcony, eye glowing like a creature at night. She’s never seen Vaggie look so happy since…well since ever. She can admit to herself that she’s jealous of how much happier Vaggie is down her despite what she had done to her. She can adm-

A familiar spear pierces the column beside her head making her freeze.

“Vaggie! I’ve told you n-”

“Someone else is in here *watching* us!”

Carmilla raises a brow and looks as Vaggie leaps up letting her wings out and flies to her spear.

She recognizes the shape hidden in shadows and stares in surprise. She hadn’t once expected to see the beast out and exploring her home.

Lute panics seeing Vaggie closing the distance AND Carmilla spotting her and scrabbles away on all fours sticking to the shadows. How humiliating and fitting for her. She’s been reduced to nothing more than a lowly animal in her reactions. She slows a bit thinking to herself that maybe it’ll be over with if she lets Vaggie catch her.

Lute peers over her shoulder only to yelp as her cheek is cut and seconds later gets tackled to the ground. She instinctively hides her face behind her disproportionate arm and whimpers.

Vaggie sneers at the demon spying on her and her ma-mentor.

“Who are you, what do you want!?! Stop hiding your face and talk!!”

Lute flinches at the tone and softly whimpers out a quiet apology.

“Speak up! And show me your face!!”

Lute slowly lowers her arm unable to meet Vaggie’s eyes.

“…i’m sorry, for everything i have ever done to you…”

She forces herself to lock their gaze.

“…I’m so sorry for forcing those extra drills on you, for forcing those errands on you…”

She swallows hard.

“…I’m sorry for cutting out your eye…and tearing off your wings…I’m sorry for killing your dragon friend…for-”

Vaggie’s laughter makes her freeze.

“I’m sure you are ‘sorry’…Lute.”

She flinches at the disgusted tone used on her name followed up by a scoff.

“You’re just sorry for what you’ve become and probably think apologizing will fix this. Well it doesn’t matter because I’m NOT going to forgive you. Heaven CLEARLY knows you don’t deserve forgiveness since you’re down here now. Oooh how the mighty have fallen.”

Lute stays quiet looking up at her.

“Nothing to say?”

Lute struggles to find the words making Vaggie scoff.

“That’s what I thought.”

Vaggie grabs her spear and turns to leave when Lute grabs her. She turns to yell at her to let go but the words die in her throat at the sight of an empty eye socket mirroring her own.

“I AM sorry Vaggie…I DO mean it…I don’t want or need you to forgive me. I NEED you to know I am SORRY…”

Maybe it the desperation in her voice or the pained self loathing in Lute’s remaining eye but she relents and nods.

Lute lets go of her just as Carmilla arrives and a new wave of panic fills her soul. She could tell what kind of bond these two had. A mentor and apprentice…as well as a mother and daughter. She wasn’t stupid, it was like how Adam had been like her older brother…not that it mattered anymore he was gone…everything she had was gone. She scampered away before the Overlord could say anything, retracing her path back to her delegated room. She closes the door and hides beneath the bed hoping the overlord will leave her alone, that Vaggie won’t explain what that was about. The mane of feathers on her neck stands on end as the door slams open dashing her hopes. The woman is pissed…but who hasn’t been with her lately? The feathers flatten accepting her fate as the bed is flung away. Her hollow gaze looks up meeting furious red orbs.

“You better start explaining yourself you pequeña perra vil, or I will send you to Lucifer personally.”

“I…I’m sorry I-“

“What I mean is-“

“It’s because-“

She tries over and over again and again but chokes up every time. How can she began to explain it to CARMILLA FUCKING CARMINE, the former angel that fell protecting the identity of her lover that happened to be the EX HIGH SERAPHIM SERA? She knows she’s pissed at her. Who isn’t? She’s hated herself for so long for her preferences, believing she was fucked up and WRONG for just liking girls. She remembers the first time she told Adam and how he slapped her. She never brought it up again. She buried EVERYTHING deep down inside and hated it, hated that part of herself because her mentor the person she thought she could trust told her she was wrong and disgusting for it. Lute tries to explain all of it but it hurts too much and cuts so deeply into a VERY old and forgotten wound that has been festering inside her far too long. She keeps trying to tell her wanting to tell SOMEONE…but she keeps choking up and gagging on the words she was trained to hate and revile.

Carmilla stares at the broken beast looking up at her desperately trying to explain itself to her.

Lute pounds her fists against the floor furious she can’t speak her own truth. So she starts small.

“…i hate myself…”

Carmilla rolls her eyes at the obvious but freezes as the creature continues.

“…i have for so long…i’ve hated what i am for so long now i don’t think i could ever see myself as anything ELSE than how i look now…”

Carmilla’s breath hitches in her throat. This reminds her of the way Sera sounded when she spoke of how guilty she felt about their love they had for each other.

“…I remember the first time I shared my…my preference…with my mentor…I thought I could trust him…”

The overlord’s heart sinks.

“But then he was yelling at me…screaming that I was wrong. Adam slapped me over and over again until I rejected what I am. So there must’ve been something wrong with me. I’m a mistake…then I thought…maybe if I am really good and do exactly what I was made for it’ll fix itself.”

The broken black and gold eye looks at her desperately wanting to be seen and heard for once.

“It didn’t so I tried harder and harder…then Vaggie joined the ranks. We were close once friends, sisters…I think I wanted to be more but I couldn’t because that would be WRONG. I was jealous of the praise she got. Adam praised her so much…it’s not fair.”

Lute grits her fangs.

“I denied liking her like that and SHE got praised for being herself. I was so mad at her and myself. So when I caught her sparing that sinner, something broke. How does that SINNER get mercy when I DON’T? I saw red and lashed out. I-”

Carmilla watches her grab the feathers on her twisted arm and tug.

“It’s all I’ve known…but I’m so tired…so tired of it all…pain makes it numb for a bit. Emily says I need to forgive myself but I’m just a mistake. Mistakes don’t deserve forgiveness. That’s what I was told. I can’t forgive myself.”

Lute looks up at Carmilla feeling so raw and so exposed, wanting…she’s not even entirely sure what she wants anymore but she knows she doesn’t want to hurt anymore. Tears blur her already ruined vision as she looks at the floor and starts to wail. She’s exhausted from countless years of feeling so angry and hating herself. Lute is certain she can’t have what everyone around her has. Maybe that’s what she wants? Probably but no one would ever want something like h-

She flinches away feeling a large hand between her wings and gently rubs her back. Then looks up at Carmilla deeply confused as tears stream down her face.

Where Carmilla had seemed about to tear her a new asshole when she came into the room a moment prior, Lute flinches under the fallen angel's touch, and drops face-first onto the floor in a prone position. She has never felt lower than she does now, so her position on the ground should mirror that. She's fully prepared for the overlord to slap her, punch her, strangle her, or do any number of horrible, painful things to her body. It would be exactly as Lute deserves, and couldn't possibly be worse than anything she's faced thus far down here.

Except it is...so much worse. Carmilla kneels over her, still looking so much taller and larger-than-life, simply leaning down on her knees above Lute. The hand between her wings doesn't move to inflict pain or serve justice; Carmilla's large claws just...lie flat on her back for a moment. Even through the fluff around her neck, Lute can feel all the distilled power flooding through Carmilla's body, waiting to be let loose at any given moment. An angel of Carmilla's former status always has that air about her. Even if she weren't lying prostrate on the floor, Lute knows not to make any threatening movements in her presence, if she values her head.

Which she doesn't, but that old training and instinct of hers still wants to keep her alive, despite everything. She knows even less of what to make of Carmilla when that hand actually starts to move, stroking Lute's back in a comforting motion, ruffling the feathers like one might the hair of a child.

Wait, is Carmilla Carmine trying to COMFORT her???

"One thing about being in Hell..." Carmilla begins, intentionally stroking the feathers at the top of the wings on Lute's back, "...is that mercy and forgiveness are the rarest commodities down here. There aren't enough souls you could possibly pay for that. Emily has all but offered it to you on a silver platter. The only thing you'd have to do is reach out and take it. Oh, if we were all so lucky."

Lute sniffles some more, and hides her face in the floor so Carmilla can't see her crying. Carmilla continues to stroke the wings on her back and the feathers around her neck. Lute might think she's doing it to mock or taunt her, but there isn't an ounce of mirth in the overlord's voice. Not like when she'd barged in a moment before.

"Yeah, on the condition that I forgive myself first!" Lute explains, just running through her head again how ridiculous that sounds. "It's not just Emily I've wronged. Her, Sera, Vaggie, and even you! It's not my place to forgive myself of that! And it's not her place to say that's all I'd need to do!"

"Yes, you're right," Carmilla hums, looking off into the middle distance, staring at the wall above the tossed-over bed, pondering Lute's statement. "Each person you've wronged will have to set the conditions for how you can make it up to them. That's how apologies work."

"I don't deserve forgiveness, anyway. I don't want it."

"So you're just going to give up?" Carmilla asks. "Stay in this room until you starve to death?"

"Why not?"

"Because we both know you're better than that," Carmilla states bluntly, halting her rubbing of Lute's feathers long enough to lift the girl's chin to look at her. She holds Lute's chin firmly in her grasp, forcing her to look at her.

"That your body went through such a drastic change is proof positive that you have much to atone for. You're capable. You wouldn't be here if that weren't the case. Satan knows I went through the same when I was thrown down here. I may never get my wings or halo back, but honestly, at this point, I don't care. I kept fighting. It's all I knew before, and it's all I've ever done. I never gave up. "

Tears stream down Lute's face again, and with Carmilla holding her chin firmly in place, she can't hide them anymore. "What if I'm done fighting? Fighting, and competing, and trying to be better than everyone else...look where it got me."

"That's your choice. But wallowing here in your own filth won't be much of a life. And I simply won't condone it. I'm not going to let you self-immolate under my roof, upsetting Emily, and reversing all the growth and progress that Vaggie's made. I will not sit back and let you sabotage that for them."

"Fine, then I'll get out of your fucking hair! I didn't want to be here, anyway!" Lute yells. She turns around, until she's got her back and the bulk of her wings facing Carmilla, and curls in on herself upon the floor. She starts sniffling more into the sanctuary of her knees, drawing them closer to her body, and feeling sorry for herself again, trying to give Carmilla the hint that she wants the overlord to leave her alone.

"Just go away. Please," Lute whimpers, wrapping her wings around herself, as if that will let her hide. "Just let me die."

Lute probably wishes she hadn't said that to Carmilla so quickly, because suddenly, that clawed hand that had been so gentle with her before suddenly grabs her by the scruff of the neck, pulling, and lifting her off the floor. Lute screeches and kicks, tail thrashing this way and that as Carmilla mercilessly drags her out the bedroom door by her thick neckline of feathers. She scrambles, but Carmilla holds fast. There's no way she can escape, being as weak as she is.

No! Lute screams in her own head, unable to speak due to shock. No, I didn't mean it! Please! Please don't throw me out! Don't throw me away! Emily...Vaggie...please, I need to--!

The wind is temporarily knocked out of Lute as Carmilla tosses her on the ground, and the bestial angel yelps as she lands on her tattered wings, which are still sore and inflamed from where she'd been extracting feathers before. A bright light is blinding her from above, and she whimpers before turning over, covering her face with her claws.

"Oowww..." Lute seethes between her teeth, rubbing the sore back of her neck where Carmilla had grabbed her. "Fuck!"

It's happened. Carmilla has thrown her out, leaving her to the bright, blinding light of the Hellish sun. Lute starts to cry again, trembling all over at the implications of what she's just done...now that she's all alone...

"Lute? Carmilla, what's going on? Why is she out here?"

Vaggie!

Lute's eye shoots open. It's still difficult for her to see anything, what with being thrown out of that dark, dank room and into the light so suddenly, but that voice is unmistakably Vaggie's. She doesn't sound too pleased to see Lute again.

Lute's eye struggles to adjust to everything around her. She realizes she's not outside, but actually under the blinding bulbs of the training room she'd spotted Carmilla and Vaggie sparring in earlier. From this angle, all the lights look like miniature suns. They are painful, too harsh on her new demon eye. She turns over to try and get up, and collapses again, whimpering. She's still not used to her own feet.

"It seems this one wants to die," Carmilla says matter-of-factly, standing there behind Lute with her arms crossed, clearly unamused. "Seems rather adamant about it, in fact. Since it appears you two have a score to settle, I thought I'd let you do the honors."

"WHAT?!" Lute and Vaggie screech at the same time. Lute swings her head around to look at Vaggie, with her hair tied up in a rather elaborate ponytail, wearing the same battle outfit that Odette and Clara always used when salvaging her and Adam's weapons.

Satan, the two of them really have changed, haven't they? Lute thinks. But the trajectory of that change could not be more different.

"Carmilla, I already told you!" Vaggie insists, looking at Carmilla with something resembling anger and frustration. "I didn't kill her during the battle, and I'm not going to do it now! Death is too good for her!"

"And why is that?" Carmilla asks, still looking like she couldn't give a damn.

"Because...she's hurt so many people! Hurt Charlie! I'll never forgive her for that! She needs to suffer for it!"

"And how much suffering is enough?" Carmilla continues. "When her body is no longer recognizable? When she's let herself starve to death, or is killed out on the street? How much more pain and atonement is necessary before it makes things right?"

Vaggie looks down at the pathetic jumble of feathers slumped on the floor in front of her. She holds her spear at her side, fist clenched tightly around it, as if she wants to shove it directly through Lute's still-beating heart. Lute doesn't think she'll ever get used to Vaggie's eye looking at her that way. She had cared for that eye's owner, once upon a time...and then she'd ruined everything, for her own selfish means.

But then Lute is surprised when Vaggie's eye softens. For whatever reason, the other former Exorcist's entire tone shifts when she looks back up at Carmilla, and sighs heavily.

"It won't," Vaggie says finally, throwing her spear onto the hard floor of the training room with a clang. "Nothing will. It won't bring back the people we killed, Sir Pentious, Dazzle...it won't make our bodies the way they were before. Violence just begets more violence."

"So what will you do, then, mija?" Carmilla asks. It is not lost on Lute how softly and affectionately Carmilla asks that question of Vaggie. How much love and understanding she provides for this angel, one who is not of her blood; not even her own daughter. But whom she's taken to claim as her own, just the same.

Vaggie smirks. Not in the hate-filled, disbelieving way she had before. It's more mischievous and playful, like when she and Lute had been about to spar or go out on the battlefield together.

"I guess I'll have to beat the will to live back into her, like you did for me," Vaggie chortles. Carmilla smiles. "Come on, Lute...let's see if you still got it in ya."

Fucking Satan, Lute thinks, what in the fucking Hell does Vaggie have in store for her, now?

[catsharky]

Wanted to post these separate from my Art Fight post because I spent too long on these references (really just Fallstreak's tbh) to keep them hidden away on the AF site. Also cause I love these guys and I haven't really talked about them much on here.

So for anyone who was curious about the previous art I posted of these OCs, have some actual information about them!

Nell

Full name Abnell Roache (will also accept 'Nella', but loathes being called 'Nelly'). A health and safety inspector for an interstellar cargo company, Nell becomes stranded on an ocean planet when the ship she's auditing- the ACS Endurance- experiences a catastrophic engine failure and tears itself in two.

Adrift on an endless alien sea with no guarantee of rescue and little emergency food, she has to survive with the help of Bas: an (illegal) AI inhabiting the chassis of her life pod's survival assistant. With her only goals being survival and finding any other survivors, she's unprepared to find herself making humanity's first contact with another sapient species; an alien biologist named Fallstreak who has also found himself trapped on the planet. 

She's thrilled to learn about Fallstreak and his people, as well as teach him as much as she can about humanity, and if she has an immediate, massively obvious crush on the tall faceless alien? Well, the only other person there to complain is Bas. Which he does. A lot.

Bas (Pronounced 'Baz')

An illegal AI inhabiting the chassis of a life pod survival assistant (though to clarify, in this universe all true AI are illegal because they require a human brain scan to be made and that's a legal rights nightmare). After years of only knowing his 'father', Richter (the engineer aboard the Endurance who purchased and programmed him), he boots up to find his home destroyed, his father dead, and himself in the company of a total stranger; Nell. 

He has a lot to deal with: keeping Nell alive, figuring out how to interact with someone other than Richter while also mourning his death, and acting as a middle-man/interpreter between Nell (who he has rapidly developed what seem to be romantic feelings towards) and Fallstreak (an alien biologist who's captured Nell's interest without even knowing what he has). 

And to top it all off? He has a text-to-speech Australian accent.

Fallstreak

An alien biologist with a bio-mechanical body, named after the cloud formation (look up 'Fallstreak holes', they're neat!) that most closely resembled an event that occurred on the day of his birth.

Extremely curious and wants to learn everything about his two new companions, as well as share his knowledge with them. Verbal language is all but entirely unused by his species, however, so the language barrier between Fallstreak and Nell+Bas is a large one. Thanks to Bas' assistance, he's able to understand spoken communication fairly well, and speaks (in very broken sentence structure) by vibrating the membranes in his gill openings, resulting in a voice that sounds somewhat like early English vocaloids; understandable but clearly not a natural voice.

Living a fairly solitary life isn't uncommon for his species, and he hasn't had the opportunity to experience romantic interest before, so when he meets Nell and begins to fall for her, he's more than a little confused (oblivious) about what his emotions are doing. Unfortunately draws some jealous ire from Bas as a result, but is pretty oblivious to the AI's attempted rivalry. 

--

All three of these guys are from a WIP comic called The Rive that I hope to finish some day. I have most of the story figured out, and quite a bit of it scripted and ready to go, I just need to actually draw the damn thing.

[choccy-zefirka]

Sooner or later, Astra's dreams melt into a blood-red haze of distorted, screaming faces. As usual. She does not remember — it hurts to remember, like that thing at the back of her mind is digging its long serrated claws deep into throbbing, inflamed brain matter — the last time her dreams ended in any other way. On any, even remotely, better note.

She did use to get nightmares before, certainly. But just a scant handful of them. Mostly the twisted imprints of the things she'd occasionally glimpse in the Warp on her geology survey voyages towards new worlds, along half-forgotten Warp routes. And, of course, the echoes of muffled screams, of strangled breaths, of gunfire in her bleeding ears — reminders of what she endured when she was captured by pirates and set loose on a "hunting reserve" where Voidborn like her were the game.

Now, that is long in the past. And just as Drusus' Blessing — her research vessel, her home — is a tiny speck of rust next to the hulking hive-world mass of Theodora's Fatum Audacium, so do the flashes from her other life seem an oasis of blissful serenity, compared to the visions that started haunting Astra when she got saddled with this damned new ship.

To think. All of this happened because of one bloody person. Her mother, she supposes. Though she never was that to her. She was just some nameless noblewoman who'd browbeaten and bribed and bawled her way aboard the Blessing, despite the ship being in no way suited to entertain a highborn guest, let alone one heavy with child.

All she ever did for Astra was push her out — a squirming, malformed little freak — into the embrace of the Void, for the crew to care for (if they deigned not to toss her out the airlock), before hopping off in the nearest spaceport, never to be seen again.

And Astra would have been content for their connection to begin and end right there. She would have gladly kept on living her life with no other mother than the Blessing herself — and her Navigator. The latter was, after all, the one who cradled Astra in her scaly arms and promised to raise her against all odds. Mutant to mutant.

But no. Oh no. The Throne granted her no such luck.

Turns out the mysterious woman was, in some shape or form, a von Valancius. Not Theodora herself, that much Astra knows. But maybe niece of hers. A cousin. Twice, thrice, twelve times removed. Who knows. Who cares.

Either way, the little freak she birthed and abandoned is now a grown freak. A sallow, lanky, nigh-hairless thing. With perpetual bruises under her uncannily pale eyes. With oddly shaped ears that have led some people — those unused to creepy crawlies like her, not like her crew was — to gossip that she's part-xenos. And with an inheritance that gives her nightmares.

This time, she dreams of Rykad Minoris.

First, her head pounds and her throat contracts under the onslaught of little horrors. Like memories of the blasted finery that the governor's Master of Ceremonies shoved her into, for her pointless "triumph". Yes, that also counts as nightmare fuel.

The impossibly tall, bullet-shaped powdered wig gripped her forehead like an unrelenting vice... Wouldn't it have been a sight if her skull burst, brain matter raining on the waiting commoners instead of a promised bounty of gifts, and the posthumous rumor about her being a psyker was added to a list of everything else freakish about her.

And the dress, that layered cake of blinding gold and outrageous magenta, had clearly been snatched from the wardrobe of some refined, shapely lady dancing her days and nights away on a sun-kissed garden planet. It hung off Astra's gangly form like off a garden rake. Too broad and flappy where a healthy human, untouched by the poison of the Void, should have had curves; and painfully tight round her soldier's shoulders. The fabric's texture drove her to agony: a myriad mini cannon blasts of formic acid injected into her skin non-stop by an army of invisible, but very angry ants. The underwires, meant to accentuate a statuesque bosom, stabbed her with each attempt to play the benevolent Rogue Trader and wave to the crowd. And every other ill-fitting bit chafed her to a bloody pulp. And worse of all, the rectangular skirt — so unwieldy that she never would have clambered onto her chariot tank without Abelard's help — slowed her down when something rippled over the body of her conquered enemy, and the people, the very people whom she was supposed to protect, began to scream.

After the little horrors, comes the planet's fall. The collapse of the entire system. She barely finishes mindlessly writhing and clawing at herself in her sleep, trying to pull down the biting fabric that is not there anymore, when an overwhelming inky wave rolls over the skies in her memories. The darkness, once again, envelops everything: deep, cold, blank and lifeless, so unlike the familiar glimmering calm of her beloved outer space.

She dreams of the collapsing sun, and the swirls of dizzying purple, clinging like pus-filled sores to the streets of the city that had barely begun to heal.

She dreams of wailing smoky shades phasing in and out of reality, the boundaries of Realspace becoming as blotchy as broken pixels on a possessed cogitator's screen.

She dreams of cultists, springing up again and again like black mold, no matter how much she scrubbed the planet clean. Of their sightless faces, all turned towards her, leering. Of hollow cheeks, burrowed by lumpy trails of crusted black tar: the last remnants of their liquefied eyes... Like a perversion of the weeping saint statues.

She dreams of Chaos Spawn, sickening blocks of misshapen mass lumbering about, hungry eyes blinking from crudely hewn shoulders, multiple mouths opening and shutting across swollen stomachs, on top of bulbous neck stumps, in the palms of grasping hands. Snatching, ripping, chewing, gargling on thick jets of crimson that dripped down on the flopping, heaving, still living torsos whose arms and legs they were gnawing down to the bone.

She dreams of them, on, and on, and on. By the Throne, there were so many of those things. Far more than she had ever seen in one place. She relives the sight of them cleaving glistening, squelching paths through the swaying wheat field of terrified townsfolk... She walked across a wheat field once, on a faraway world where her ship stopped for supplies; the crowd parted exactly as the plant stalks did in her wake. Fragile, brittle, so easy to mangle and spit out in bloodied flour.

She should have paid them more heed. She may be rubbing shoulders with the high and mighty now — awkward shoulders, unfit for finery — but she remembers what it was like, to be small and forgotten. And to find company among those as small and forgotten as herself. The Blessing's Navigator. And the simple, common voidsmen. Kin not through blood, but through one simple act. They found the best blanket to wrap around the tiny, wrinkly greyish-white void rat, because she always felt so cold... And since the moment she could form a coherent thought, the rat resolved to return their kindness. She stayed true to her resolve all the way, as she clung to life with all her might, and dug and dug her way up the ranks — so much easier to do on a ship where the upper and lower decks are not each the size of several cities — and eventually became the Blessing's captain.

As Rogue Trader, she has the power to spread that kindness — blasphemy? heresy? so be it — even further. To all common folk. Everywhere. Tenfold.

She should have done that. She should have kept them safe.

"The answer remains the same! You cannot talk to the Lord Captain! She has not yet recovered, and you will not expedite that by barging in here! Good day!"

Astra blinks off the last of her nightmare's poison fog, and lies perfectly still — eerily still, the planet folk say of her fellow Voidborn — holding her breath as she watches her surroundings take solid shape. She is back in Theodora's immense landing pad of a bed — her bed now, she supposes, but it will never be more "hers" than the good old bunk in her previous quarters, where her few belongings were allotted perfectly in their own proper places, and the scent of fresh linen was the only luxury that truly mattered.

She lifts her bleary gaze past the endless expanse of the plush red blanket. The color and the crinkled terrain make her wistfully remember a planet she'd explored — the last planet she would ever explore before Theodora tracked her down. The task was to mark it as a potential quarry world for the Imperium... Oh, how she misses researching interesting rocks.

There's a figure standing a respectful distance away from Astra's bed, back turned towards her, still observing the shuffling retreat of whoever just got admonished for disturbing the Lord Captain. Even the vague outline of that rigidly straight spine, those strong shoulders — a fair bit broader than hers, and far less sharp and angular — is enough to have her exhaling in relief. She may not always see eye to eye with her Seneschal about the things he has been stubbornly shielding her from — no, she will go down to the lower decks to hear out the protesting workers, protocol be damned! — but right now, she breathes easier, knowing that there's an unflinching sentinel on the threshold between her nightmares and the waking world.

"Abelard," she calls out faintly.

He instantly turns around, with the precision of a soldier snapping to attention.

"Lord Captain!"

There's an odd, hoarse leap in his voice. An intonation Astra never heard from him.

She wonders what color Cassia would ascribe to it. For her own part, she pictures it as a thread-thin crack running across an otherwise perfectly hewn block of granite.

His face, too, looks as if a gust of wind erosion had swept across his usual mask of polite professionalism. The shadows underneath his organic eye are nearly as deep as Astra's perpetual purple bruises, and the trim of his beard has started to lose its pristine contours to a creeping stubble. For however long Astra has slept, he must have been awake the entire time.

"You were wounded."

He has forced his voice into its usual no-nonsense tone, but his nostrils flare slightly. Is he... admonishing her? Now Astra can tell for certain that she is fully away: she can feel her windpipe narrowing. There comes that sensation, the companion of her every waking hour. A drip of icy cold that's been oozing down from each of her nerve endings like water from a stalactite, for as long as she's walked among planet folk. A suspicion that she must have done something wrong.

"And you did not tell me. You had me use the last medikit on Mistress Tlass."

Well. At least Abelard has an explanation fo her. She can count on him for that. She can count on him for... so much.

Instinctively, Astra slides her hand under the covers, searching for the gash in her side. The nasty, tattered souvenir from a Chaos Spawn claw that she had to covertly press closed for about half the final battle against Aurora's cult. Her endless dream did include some clipped, jittery visions of her own bloody palm, of her quivering fingers... But somehow, she barely remembers the pain. Adrenaline, a true blessing from the Emperor.

Now, her fingertips meet only a thin strip of scar tissue. Abelard must have taken care of it after she... after she... What was the last thing that happened to her between Rykad and here? There was the fight, the rush to the spaceport... The roaring flames, the whimpering, cowardly nobles. More and more enemies blocking their way. Idira being tossed to the ground and nearly trampled by that towering Chaos Marine —

"She needed your aid more," Astra says, staring at the sandstone crease of her blanket. For a moment, the relentless icy drip stops. No, what she did was not wrong. It was right. She knows that.

She has a keen, burning sense of what is right, running through her gut like a crystalline core. She focuses on those unseen, glinting facets, and musters her voice into a quiet firmness that Abelard once called a sign of her "admirable resolve". The memory of his face when he said that to her, in the sickly flickering light of Depot 4, makes her concentration wobble somewhat. Unbidden, blood rushes up her throat, blooming in a blueish cloud under her mother-of-pearl skin.

"I could not in good conscience let people fuss over me when we had so much to do. The cult, the evacuation, everyone screaming in my ear whose lives have more value... And the moment we made contact with Fatum, Pasqal rushed me off to do the blood ritual for calming our warp engine. Where would I find the time to — "

Oh.

Oh! That must have been when she lost consciousness. Being drained of her oh-so-sacred von Valancius blood by a cybergargoyle must have proven too much on top of concealing a wound. She certainly cannot recollect anything else afterwards.

Abelard takes a broad stride forward. Something glints in his organic eye — light reflecting off liquid.

To Astra's astonishment — and more so his own, she is sure; this is the opposite of prim officer conduct — he lowers himself to his knees by her bedside and grasps her hand over the covers.

"I found you on the floor of the bridge, Lord Captain," he says. And with each word, the crack carves deeper and deeper into the granite.

"Motionless. Unresponsive. With Master Haneumann just — just standing there! Philosophizing about how the flesh is weak."

Astra raises her silvery eyebrows the merest fraction of an inch.

It has taken a bit of practice to memorize which planet folk expressions correspond to which emotion and situation, but quietly moving her eyebrows seems appropriate here.

"That does sound like him. I trust you were not too harsh to him. I don’t think he understands how organic bodies work."

Sometimes she feels she and Pasqal have that in common.

Abelard shakes his head.

"If I am to be completely frank, Lord Captain, I, ahem — I do not remember what I said to him in that moment. That entire swathe of time is distant. Submerged. Forgive my blathering, but every movement as I carried you from the bridge felt like drowning in swamp water. I should know — I was part of Navy expeditions to several jungle planets."

Astra swallows.

Another memory stirs her blood, blush seeping through her cheeks like a bruise. Her clumsy ascent for the triumph in her cumbersome dress. And Abelard's hand, firm and supportive, on the small of her back.

"You... carried me? In your arms?"

A charge of electricity seems to run through Abelard. The impeccably competent, respectful Seneschal once more, he tries to pull his hand away — but Astra, on an inexplicable impulse, grips his fingers and leans over, her heart hammering in her chest. She did not even have to go through her mental data slate of fitting gestures!

Her gaze leaps up and down Abelard's face. It makes her uneasy, looking people directly in the eye for too long, so eventually, she focuses on the frame of his ocular implant. Even so, she catches a glimpse of his pupil widening.

"Abelard — " she begins cautiously. An odd thing to ask, under the circumstances. But it's important — to her.

"Tell me: when you found me... Did you feel frightened for the dynasty's future — because you were about to lose another Rogue Trader... Maybe the last von Valancius in the universe... Or did you worry for — "

She cuts herself off. No. She should remember her lesson, reiterated dozens and dozens and dozens of times over.

What is important to her, is never important to others. Doing what's right means different things to her and to planet folk. To normal people.

This is not her world. Not the world of orderly, comforting solitary journeys on a hunt for rocks, with a tight-knit crew that rallied under a Voidborn because she was... herself, not because of her special blood.

In this world, she will never matter. Hers is to carry the von Valancius name, to lord it over those who would have spat on her just a Terran year ago.

And his is to serve that name — the name, and nothing else.

"Astra," he whispers suddenly. In his voice, she can hear the granite shatter, revealing something new, something fragile and precious, something she would be afraid to touch with even the finest geologist tools.

Deeply, reverently, as a pilgrim in prayer, he kisses her hand. In all its clammy, cold, long-fingered awkwardness.

Her heart races, as though she were plummeting down in a broken elevator — and before her rational thoughts can catch up to speed, she gets out of bed, almost getting tangled comically in those ostentatious embroidered sheets, and kneels on the floor beside him, their heads almost level (Throne, she forgets how much smaller he is than her), their lips inches from touching.

"I... I have something to say. If you will listen."

"Of course."

She exhales, resting her hand on his shoulder. Just the way he laid his hand on hers as he healed her, during their very first meeting. That gesture holds a special place in her mental data slate.

"I never hid the fact that I am out of my depth. I don't belong on Theodora's throne. She was a gemstone, before and after death; brilliant and unbreakable. Me..."

She looks to her core again, and the facets within her suddenly lose her luster.

"I would be imitation crystal at best. Easy to pulverize. But the one thing that's kept me from shattering... Was you. Always there. Beside me. With time, you became not just a Seneschal to me, but a friend... And then — "

She bridges those inches at last, brushing her mouth against his. He does not flinch back from her. And when she smiles hesitantly at the tickle of his stubble — less of a stabbing sensation than she feared — he smiles as well.

"I am honored," he says, as he takes her hand in his again. "If you recall... That moment when we were returning from the lower decks, I was challenging your decisions, you were retorting back, insisting that your way, the new way, was right..."

He runs his thumb in circles over her palm, as if charting his own thoughts.

"I looked up at you, and it was as if for a moment, I understood how Mistress Orsellio sees the world. If I may say something foolish — your colors shined so bright, I could scarcely breathe."

He clears his throat and casts his gaze away for a moment. "It... seemed prudent to me, as an older man, as one sworn to your dynasty's service — to... to conceal my feelings, but after today, there can hardly be any turning back."

"No," she agrees, breathing the word out through half-parted lips. "Abelard, I — "

This might not be how such things go in Cassia's books, but... She's always thought it fair to clearly announce her intent.

"I would like you to kiss me."

"It would be an honor, Lord Captain."

Just like when he performs any other task for the glory of House von Valancius, Abelard gives the kiss his all.

His tongue meets Astra's, again and again, determined to drink every last drop of her. He tilts his face so that his ocular implant does not cut into her cheek, and takes great care not to disturb the tubes that keep sustaining her weakened Voidborn immune system with medicae. His other eye slips closed, under an intently furrowed brow. It is almost a pity to tear her lips from his, but the next thing Astra does is to put a bit of gentle pressure on his chest; and heeding her command, loyal as ever, he lies down underneath her. On the floor, not the bed. But then again, the bed was never truly hers.

His overcoat pools over the floor, providing them with a makeshift blanket, and her fingers, used to high-precision tasks like cutting open a geode, easily undo the buckles on his chest plate's straps. She manages to do it one-handed, even, while her free hand weaves through his hair, and her mouth travels down his throat. He grunts a most unbecoming curse under his breath, his pelvis thrusting upwards a little bit...

The vox caster at his hip crackles.

"Seneschal! I hate to ask this again, but we really need the Lord Captain at the bridge! There are some disturbing signals coming from this system! This might be a hostile force approaching!"

Both Abelard and Astra freeze, her on top of him, her thighs wrapped around his leg, a particularly voracious kiss mark darkening his throat.

She huffs a few breaths, trying to sober herself up.

"I just woke up, Vigdis!"

Not technically a lie; her stomach does not even churn the way it usually does when she's forced to bend the truth.

"I will be there in ten minutes!"

"Thank the Throne! Please hurry, Lord Captain!"

"I will handle this, Abelard, and then I will send for you. Through the Master of Ablutions," Astra says while they pull each other to their feet.

Abelard quirks an eyebrow. Yes, she knows this facial expression.

"I see, Lord Captain. Just like you did when you could not sleep, and had me lecture you on etiquette."

"I could not help it," Astra declares, frank as ever. "You have a very beautiful voice, and I find it soothing to hear you talk."

Abelard smoothes back his hair. Two spots of tenderest pink brush over his cheekbones.

"Thank you, Lord Cap.. Astra."

"I will see you soon," she says — purrs? Emperor knows she's never purred before — before planting one last swift, parting kiss at the corner of his mouth and hurrying off to the bridge.

"I will be there," he calls after her, absentmindedly massaging the kiss mark.

"Always".

[thewriterisme1987]

A very Hayffie story. Part 4.

— —

By the time the fire had dwindled to glowing embers and the storm showed no signs of letting up, Haymitch finally said what they were both thinking.

“You’re definitely not walking back to the Inn in this mess,” he said, glancing toward the window, where snow had piled high against the glass. “You’ll freeze before you even make it out the garden.”

Effie, perched cross-legged on the sofa with her mug balanced delicately between her hands, sighed but didn’t argue. She was clearly too tired, and even she couldn’t deny the storm was merciless. “But all my things are there,” she said after a moment. “Clothes, toiletries—everything.”

Haymitch shrugged. “Guess you’ll just have to make do”

Effie arched a brow but said nothing. Instead, she set her mug down and stood, smoothing invisible creases in her trousers. “Fine,” she said. “But I’ll need something to sleep in, unless you expect me to wear this all night.”

Haymitch tried not to react too much to that—tried not to think about what she meant by this—but his mouth still felt dry as he grunted, “I’ll grab you something.”

He disappeared into his bedroom, cursing under his breath the entire time. What the hell was he doing, offering Effie Trinket a place to sleep? And why, of all things, had she agreed? This whole thing was edging into dangerous territory, and he wasn’t sure he had the willpower to stop it.

He rummaged through his wardrobe until he found a clean shirt—an old, soft button-down that had seen better days but was still good enough for sleeping. When he returned to the living room, Effie was standing by the fire, the glow casting warm shadows across her face. She looked up as he entered, and for a brief second, he was struck by how out of place she seemed here—elegant, composed, and completely at odds with his threadbare furniture and the cracks in the walls. And yet, somehow, she fit.

“Here,” he said gruffly, holding the shirt out to her. “It’s not fancy, but it’ll do.”

Effie took it, her fingers brushing his in the exchange. “Thank you,” she said softly, the warmth in her voice catching him off guard.

He cleared his throat and gestured vaguely toward the hall. “My rooms all ready for you. I’ll crash in one of the spare rooms.”

Effie opened her mouth to protest but stopped, tilting her head slightly as she studied him. Whatever argument she’d been about to make dissolved, and she simply nodded. “Goodnight, then,” she said, clutching the shirt to her chest as she disappeared down the hall.

Haymitch stood there for a moment, staring after her before shaking his head and retreating to one of the unused bedrooms. The room was cold and smelled faintly of dust, but he didn’t care. He kicked off his boots, threw a blanket over himself, and tried to forget the image of Effie holding his shirt like it was something precious.

But forgetting her, it turned out, was impossible.

The dream crept into his mind like a thief in the night. He was back in his house, the storm still howling outside, the fire glowing faintly in the hearth. But this time, the shadows seemed warmer, heavier. And then she was there, standing in the doorway of the spare room.

Effie.

She wore his shirt, and nothing else. The hem brushed the tops of her thighs, the fabric hanging loose and soft around her frame. Her hair, which she always kept so carefully styled, was down and slightly mussed, framing her face in waves of gold. She looked at him with an expression that made his chest tighten—a mix of vulnerability and determination, as though she was daring herself to be here.

“Haymitch,” she said softly, her voice like silk.

He sat up, his heart pounding in his chest. “Effie, what’re you—”

She crossed the room in slow, deliberate steps, her bare feet silent against the floor. When she reached the bed, she stopped, her gaze locked with his.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said. Her voice trembled slightly, but her eyes were steady, holding his like they’d always meant to. “And I didn’t want to be alone.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. All he could do was stare at her, at the way the firelight danced across her skin, at the way his shirt clung to her curves in all the wrong places. She was beautiful—breathtaking, even—and in that moment, Haymitch knew he was completely undone.

Effie leaned down, her hands resting on the edge of the bed. She was so close now, her scent—soft and warm, like lavender and something faintly sweet—filling his senses. “Haymitch,” she whispered again, her lips hovering just inches from his.

He swallowed hard, his pulse hammering in his ears. “Effie, I—”

“Shh,” she said, a small, teasing smile tugging at her lips. “You talk too much.”

And then she leaned in, her lips brushing against his in the barest, softest of touches. It wasn’t a kiss—not really—but it was enough to steal the air from his lungs, enough to leave him dizzy and aching for more.

He reached up, his hand cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin. She leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut as she tilted her head slightly, her mouth so close he could feel the heat of her breath against his.

And then he woke.

The dream shattered like glass, and Haymitch sat up with a jolt, his chest heaving as he struggled to orient himself. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of the fire in the next room, and the storm still raged outside.

For a moment, he sat there, his hands trembling slightly as he ran them over his face. It had felt so real—her touch, her voice, the way she’d looked at him. He could still feel the ghost of her breath against his lips, the warmth of her skin under his fingers.

Shaking his head, he threw the blanket off and stood, pacing the room in a futile attempt to calm himself. But the dream refused to leave him, the image of Effie burned into his mind like a brand.

And somewhere, down the hall, she slept in his bed, wearing his shirt.

The end of Part 4.

I promise part 5 will get a little steamier… 🤭

[beatricebidelaire]

She thought she was holding it together.

After all, she sort of expected this. She hoped she was wrong, hoped that things won't come to this stage, hoped that he wouldn't make choices that led to this, but deep down, she always suspected that this was - not exactly inevitable, but definitely not unexpected.

Sure, he has always been volatile in some way. Dangerous. But people say that about her, too. The chaotic twins, sometimes they call them, even though they aren't actually siblings and they actually look nothing alike. Still, he's the closest thing to a brother that she's ever had. Even now, after all that he's done.

The vileness of some of the crimes stuns even her, even if she thinks his betrayal is not that surprising.

Then again, she did kill his parents first. For a mission. She understands the reasoning behind the assignment, knows where it's coming from. The Count was becoming too dangerous. Sometimes she wonders if she's still allowed to judge O for what she's been hearing about him after what she's done, and yet -

She does, at least for some of those. Hypocritical as it might be, but she does. The unnecessary cruelness - was it always there?

It had been, brimming underneath, and she thinks she's always known that. She also thinks he would say that she's equally cruel - but she isn't, she's ruthless in some regards, maybe, but that's different. That's just steeliness. Efficiency. Capable of getting things done. But she knows he would just laugh at her. His eyes mocking and knowing. "We're cut from the same cloth, B," he would say.

She loved him like a brother.

Not anymore, but the bond is still there. Always there.

She hates him and misses him and still remembers their childhoods, the lawn of his backyard, their apprenticeships, the forest, their theater years, their everything. Ever so clearly. Her partner in crime, except now he's committing worse and worse crimes that she didn't realize he was capable of.

Beatrice is holding it together, at least on the surface. She has to. They're all worried about her, the one who'd known him the longest, the one closest to him. The one who fired the dart.

Beneath the well-kept together surface, she feels like she's falling apart.

She doesn't miss him, she just misses who he was, who she was, their childhoods, the more innocent years. But she can't let anyone see this. She has to be brave, to be strong, to be a volunteer.

She is absolutely keeping it together, which is why she's lying on the sofa of a locked room alone, hiding away, because that's what keeping it together means - that no one sees this side of her. If the light is not switched on, that's simply because it's cooler this way. Makes her feel like she's in some movie. This, she thinks, is cinema. (She is very clever.)

Then the sound of keys turning in the lock interrupts her misery, and the door swings open because some hotel managers are absolutely rude and will take it upon himself to check the supposedly locked and unused rooms that Beatrice has decided to hide in without informing anyone.

"Beatrice," Frank says.

"This is - method acting." She says, immediately, sitting up.

He turns on the lights. She hopes she doesn't look absolutely wrecked, or if she does, she hopes she looks like she's acting, that it's all just a performance.

He sighs. "It will ..... hurt less, eventually." He pauses. "At least, if you keep yourself busy."

Frank, in contrast with Beatrice, actually does have a brother who switched sides, Beatrice knows. Suddenly, the pretenses don't seem so important. At least, temporarily, she can allow the mask to fall.

"Explains why you're a workaholic," she mutters.

He rolls his eyes, just a little. Then he sits down beside her, and after a moment, she lets herself fall onto his lap unceremoniously, burying her face against the sofa. "Frank," she says, quietly. "How do you deal with this?"

"As I said, work."

"That's so you."

"I know," he sighs.

They're quiet for a few moments, and he adds. "J keeps a few bottles of brandy at my office. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if we opened one."

[apollobar]

Everything That is Left: Chapter 2

Chapter 1: Here

CHAPTER 2: ECHOES OF SUSPICION

Nightmares tend to slink their way into her mind like a snake. Silent and eerie as they slither against thoughts and memories, looking for a place to sink poisonous fangs. Tender spots too irresistible for an opportunistic reptile. Lucy has become no stranger to these types of intruders, often meeting them in the shadows of sleep. And tonight, if she allows it, she knows they will meet her again. The events of recent days primed and ready to welcome guests inside her head. So, instead she stays awake. A choice that leaves no door for nightmares to slip through.

In an effort to keep exhaustion at bay, Lucy does her best to occupy her mind. She begins by counting the leaves that hang above her. It is too dark to see what sits beyond the jungle, past the tree line where she lays. So she focuses on the plants closest to her, the glow of moonlight making it possible for her to sketch out the shapes of stoic branches dressed in green. For each leaf that she tallies, she twists the piece of seaglass around in her hand. Her own version of a click counter. 210, twist, 211, twist, 212… But then the wind comes and rustles the leaves like feathers and the whole thing has to begin again. 

Lucy goes like this for some time until finally surrendering the victory to the breeze. Bushes sway in celebration and her eyes close briefly, the tug of sleep enticing and seductive. Her bones have turned to stone thrown into wet concrete as Lucy sinks deeper and deeper into herself. Something slinks against her mind in anticipation and in a sharp moment of realization, she jumps to her feet. Panic trembling through her arms and pushing out the remnants of fatigue. 

From her new position she notices, more clearly, the sea of bodies laying around her. Fourteen people. Fourteen survivors from a total of a hundred and fifteen passengers who boarded the small cruise across the Pacific Ocean. John sleeps a few feet away from her, and she watches as the softness in his features twist and change to something Lucy knows too well. Dreams morphing into sinking ships and ink black oceans. And a surge of guilt rushes through her veins. It was Lucy’s fault they were all on that ship in the first place, coming at her insistence to go on a vacation together. Her need for some time to connect and relax together as friends rather than just coworkers. And now, because of her, they were in danger. If she could take it all back she would. She would go back and throw away that stupid brochure like Tim told her to do in the first place. A pang stings the back of her throat at the memory and she forces herself to swallow it down. Regrets are useless now, she tries to remind herself.

Ripping her eyes from her friend, she scans the area desperate for something new to take her focus. In answer, a piece of silver shines over to her left, and she smiles with gratitude as the sinking rock in her chest slips away for now. Walking over, sand crunching under foot, she discovers the remnants of the group’s lifeboat supplies. Piled together against the boat in a makeshift pyramid, left to be used later on. She picks up a hatchet, still glinting of silver soaked in moonlight. It’s one of two identical tools, each about the size of her forearm and with an unused blade still sharp to the touch. Lucy is careful as she lifts it. An item originally so easily bought at a home goods store, now promoted to a title of preciousness and necessity. 

Kneeling, she gently lays the hatchet across the ground away from the pile of tools, the other one soon following and finding a new home beside it. She’s slow and tender with each object she picks up and moves it, cautious not to harm anything as she separates them one by one. The world is quiet as she works. Muffled by the stillness of early morning, and a warm pink tint that begins to spread across the earth. Once each one is spread out before her, she rises and surveys the treasure of items, dusting sand off her pants in harsh strokes. 

Two oars, one compass, two hatchets, a dipper, four flares, one flashlight, one signaling mirror, a jack knife, one set of fishing tackle, five thermal blankets, and a first aid kit. 

Lucy scans the items again.

And then again.

A familiar wave of concern and suspicion ripples through her and she pokes her head inside the lifeboat. Her calloused hands brush and slide along the crevices of the boat before circling the raft as she kicks up and pushes the sand around it. When the boat comes up empty and nothing new is unearthed from beneath the ground, Lucy forces herself to take a deep breath as her hands push her hair back from the scalp. 

Something is missing.

----------------------- 

The camp has begun to rise and Lucy watches as each castaway wipes a terrible night’s sleep from their eyes. Groups have naturally started to gather together in the early dawn. A few people have started to scale the rocky coast for driftwood, walking up towards the stone cliff that sits a few hundred yards beyond. Some of them even venture tentatively into the jungle for dry kindling, careful and unsure of what kind of wildlife lurks within. From her seat next to the lifeboat she can see a group of three men on her left. They sit in a triangle, arms dangling over knees as they lament over injuries and sand fleas who snuck bites throughout the night. One of them, Jared, nurses the arm that he dislocated in the chaos days ago. He adjusts the makeshift sling she remembers Tim  made for him the first night on the boat from a belt. He plays it cool in front of the others, Steven and Henry, as they talk. But every now and again, Lucy will notice how his fingernails will curl into his palm and the color drains from his face with every accidental touch or brush from a harsh wind. 

A little further on, another but more familiar group of three stand tall and huddle together in deep conversation, bound by a benefit of shared history. A history that Lucy shares as well, and draws her in from her spot on the surf, pulling her towards them now. It has been an hour since she discovered the items missing from their supplies, and since then a ticking clock has begun. Taunting her in the back of her mind with a tick tick tick. News like this is not something that will stay quiet for long.

Even from a distance, Lucy can make out the shapes of her friends. Angela’s hands are expressive as she talks, moving along with her. Tim crosses his arms across his chest in firm contemplation, and John wipes a sweaty hand down his jaw. An air of seriousness engulfs the discussion, but then again, all conversations have felt serious these days. When she reaches them, friendly eyes catch hers in recognition, but are too engrossed in their conversation at the moment to go beyond acknowledgement. 

“...inside the jungle! We can’t rule out the possibility that there is something or someone out there that could help us.” Angela continues, Lucy only catching the tail end of her response.

“What about rescue? I’m not sure packing up and leaving is our best strategy here,” John argues, his tone level but stern.

“A few of the others have already started on figuring out a signal fire, but John we can’t just sit here.”  Her voice has started to rise, desperation and truth ring in her words, and the men are silent as she continues, “It was a miracle that our lifeboat even survived that typhoon. Rescue may not know we are even alive. And even if they knew to look for us, who knows how far we were taken! They may not know where to start looking.”

All night, as Lucy counted leaves and organized supplies, Tim’s assurance of rescue from the day before rang in her head. His confidence at the time had wrapped around her like a blanket, providing a comfort she ached for. And as the night wore on, his words would float through her mind. Rescue is going to come. The whole time, she half expected–hoped a helicopter or rescue boat would shine a spotlight onto their camp, announcing the promise of safety. Lucy sneaks a glance at Tim, and she wishes that she hadn’t as all his comforting conviction falters with the fall of his chest. A knife twists into her fostering fear, and the air is cold on her neck as the semblance of yesterday’s comfort strips away. There’s a beat, and Tim finally speaks up.

“So what’s your plan?” He asks.

“I can take a group of two or three of us. Take one of the hatchets, some of the rations, and scout the area while the rest of you get a decent camp and signal fire going. We can walk the shore, and see if this place is as deserted as it looks. At the very least we may find fresh water or some fruit trees.” 

“As great as that plan sounds, we have a problem,” Lucy interrupts, pushing the fear down and seizing the opportunity. Angela’s eyebrows knit together and looks over at her.

“What do you mean?” She asks, and before responding, Lucy takes a moment to tentatively take in the rest of the camp. Everyone was bound to find out sooner or later, but until some sort of solution can be prepared, it is probably best to keep the amount of people in the know small. The men are a ways back now, a few standing to dust off the sand and move on to somewhere new. After a moment, she concludes no one else is close enough to hear without straining, but Lucy lowers her voice anyways.

“The rations are missing.”

“What are you talking about? We had enough for at least three more days,” Tim counters, lowering his voice along with hers to a harsh whisper.

“I know, but I’ve gone over the supplies a hundred times. They’re gone.” 

They all share a look, and Angela takes a few steps back to run a hand through her hair processing the information.

“Are you sure an animal didn’t take them in the middle of night?” John offers, always prepared to give the benefit of the doubt first. 

“I mean it’s possible,” Lucy says as she shifts her weight on her feet back and forth, “but the area was absent of any tracks and nothing else from the pile was touched...” Her voice trails as the other possibility hangs in the air like smoke. An unsaid accusation that seeps into the conversation, lingering and present. 

“God damnit,” Tim swears and leans in, “have you told anyone else?”

“Not yet, I figured it was best to keep it quiet until we came up with some sort of solution.” Lucy responds and earns nods of agreement. They are all quite close now, leaned in with low voices. The beginnings of a plan forming amongst the four of them. John and Tim suggest a stake out throughout the day and next night to see if the thief is brazzen enough to take something else. Angela proposes an investigation to weed out a suspect. But none of it seems to matter as chaos is carried up from the beach.

Lucy whips her head around, following the yelling and out near the lifeboat she sees them. Two men, Steven and Henry, who moments ago were lounging on the beach together, now entrapped in a shouting match with each other. It takes one second and a single push for their words to blend into something physical and fall to the ground in entangled limbs. She doesn’t think before charging after them, the others following right behind. Steven is taller and stronger than his opponent, his build lean with sturdy arms giving him enough edge as he hits Henry. The sound of knuckles hitting skin crackles through the air. A few feet away Jared calls for help, his shoulder stopping him from making any meaningful intervention.

“Knock it off!” Lucy commands as she reaches the fight, her voice landing on deaf ears. Steven’s hands are a blur as he continues to hit him and Henry tries his best to block what he can, pushing his arms up in front of his face. Lucy digs her fingers into Steven’s shoulders, and Angela steps in to pull Henry out of the way. She rips at his arms and as he swings his elbow back, he accidentally makes contact with Lucy’s face, smacking her backwards. The pain is sharp and the taste of iron fills her mouth. The new sensation startles Steven as well, as if he was unaware of her presence the whole time and he jumps back startled. Only now comprehending the crowd that has gathered, filled with wincing expressions and unease. Angela takes the moment to help bring Henry to his feet and John grabs Steven to restrain more than steady him.  

“What the hell is going on here?” Tim demands as the two men struggle to catch their breaths. Chests heaving up and down between charged glares. 

“Ask him! He’s a fucking lunatic!” Henry yells, as he spits out a mix of blood and sand. 

“Don’t act like you don’t know! You’re the one who ate the rest of the rations and left us here to starve on this rock!” Steven shouts back, and John’s grip on him tightens to hold him back.

“I told you it wasn’t me!”

Steven scoffs, and Lucy goes to shoot Tim a knowing look, only to find him already watching. His gaze trained on her since the fight, and she can feel something wet trickle down her chin. The bickering has grown irritating as the men continue to shoot remarks at each other. Steven convinced of Henry’s guilt, and Henry stern on his stance of innocence.

“You know maybe it was actually you who–” 

“Cut it out!” Lucy interrupts, her patience evaporating as she wipes the blood from her face. Her voice echoes as she speaks, “You idiots are forgetting that we are not the only living things on this island. It’s far more likely that an animal came to our camp last night and stole it!” It was a possibility that she dismissed earlier, but at this point the truth offers only contempt and suspicion. Useless feelings blocking any progress towards actually getting rescued.

“An animal that leaves no crumbs?” Steven mocks, and a few members of the crowd huff in agreement.

“Fine! Let’s say it was Henry! How is kicking the crap out of him going to get any of it back?” A flash of guilt floods Steven’s gaze as he glances at Henry. Most of his punches landed on his arms causing fresh bruises to scatter his arms, and neck. Lucy seizes the moment to continue, “We were going to run out of rations sooner or later. If we're going to survive, we can’t be turning on each other at the first sign of trouble. We haven’t even gotten a proper fire going or a shelter to block out the wind! We have bigger problems to be dealing with than throwing around baseless accusations!” 

Lucy’s speech rings around the group like a bell. All the bravado from earlier cleared away to defeat.

“So what do you propose that we do?” A blonde girl from the crowd speaks up and everyone turns to Lucy for an answer. One that she isn’t sure she’s prepared to really give at this moment. She takes in a breath as she searches for what to say, searches for a plan that could set them on the right track. The silence is stretching on for too long, and Lucy can feel the group’s doubt and fear inflating with every second she stalls. At last she sees Angela and recalls the conversation she walked in upon mere moments ago. With a nod in her direction, Lucy finally says,

“I believe you had a few ideas.”

____

Thank you to everyone for the support on the first chapter! I was really touched! Unfortunately I could not get this chapter out as fast as I hoped, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! You can also follow me on Ao3 @apollobar !

[taiblogcomics]

The Tim Has Come to End It

Hey there, canned nacho cheese. Well, here we are. It's finally time. By the end of this review, we will be done with Avengers Arena. Won't that be nice? There will be no more Child Murder Island. No more bad Hunger Game ripoffs. Arcade will probably get punched again. Anyway, let's get into it so we can get out of it~

Here's the final cover:

...which is just the first cover again, but more! Seriously, does this not encapsulate the whole series in one neat summary? Reusing the first cover might seem thematic, but then you remember it was also a Battle Royale homage. And it really digs deep into how few original or even good ideas are even in this story. Bad from beginning to end, just like the series~

So we open with Apex sitting in Arcade's chair, once again reminding us she's totally not a monster, you guys. You know, as she sits in Arcade's chair, going over his list of unused tortures (man-eating insect swarm, sentient typhoon, napalm winds) and admiring his restraint in not using them constantly, like she would have. Everything went to shit even with his hands-off approach. And as Apex continues to admire Hazmat exploding, she mocks Deathlocket, frozen to stare at the screen, as liking to watch. No, not a monster, not at all...

As nuclear energy continues to pour out of Hazmat, she begs the others for help. And luckily, Chase revives enough to notice her, and shouts loud enough to get everyone's attention. And to their credit, they do stop fighting once they see Hazmat about to a splode. Reptil turns into a giant crocodile and scoops her up in his mouth, rushing out away from shore. And then the detonation happens. Clearly you're supposed to believe they're both dead, but the comic has established that if it doesn't show their life meter at zero, they're not. So way to undermine your own tension, comic.

Continuing to demonstrate her non-monster personality, Apex screams at her TV, like any rational person or let's play fan. Don't be sad, you idiots, press the advantage! Yeah, not a monster. So she figures she has to do everything herself, running her finger down the list of torture options. And thus, the insect swarm is released, the ocean and sand both start to come to life as creatures to attack them... Cammi passes Chase back the Darkhawk amulet, and Nico breaks out the old Runaways catchphrase: "Try not to die!"

While watching this, Apex Not-A-Monster goes over to the paralysed Deathlocket and begins waxing nostalgic about how the hardest one for her to kill will be Deathlocket herself. After all, who wants to deliberately break their favourite toy? And that's when Locket swings around and punches Apex in the gut, shouting she's not a toy. And unlike Apex's proclamations of being not a monster, I believe Locket on this one. She continues to beat on Apex, and Apex begs her brother and other self, Tim, to give her back control.

And while Locket beats Apex down and aims her cannon at her, she's actually not a monster. Apex shifts back into Tim, and Tim begs Locket to shoot their shared body and end it. He can't wrest more control from Apex than this, all he can do is basically keep her clamped down and beg Locket. After all, if she doesn't take them out, then Apex will take control back and end her instead. It's a big dilemma, and both of them are begging and screaming, and the comic isn't going to do us the courtesy of showing that conclusion immediately~

The rest of the kids are still fighting, but not for their right to party. And then, very suddenly, it all dissolves. Everything falls to pieces and the fight stops. From out of the ground, Locket rises in a blue sphere of energy and a blood-soaked T-shirt. She did the deed. Arcade's fled, Apex is dead. It's over and they can leave. But before they can do that... They have to get their story straight. Chase thinks they should just tell the truth, but Cammi points out that even if folks believe them, they won't take it seriously because they're kids.

And that's when Hazmat rises out of the sea, free of any radioactive glow. She proposes they tell them nothing. Nobody gets details, because if they do, then Arcade wins. And thus does it end, with a Sun Tzu quote about treating your soldiers like your children, as the various heroes round up the survivors--even Darkhawk and Reptil are shown being recovered--and the news reports on the terrible actions.

Sixteen super-teens kidnapped and held for 30 days, by person or persons unknown. And while certainly the sick bastard who did it to 'em is responsible, so are the adult superheroes who "failed" the kids. Surely they're as much to blame, rant the TV pundits. And safe in a classy hotel, popping champagne and uploading the first of his videos to the 'net, we get one last glimpse of Arcade's horrible smirking face as the comic ends. While he's not getting direct credit, everyone's still talking about what he did. He won.

Let’s start with the most important thing. This series was started to kill off a bunch of teen superheroes. Never forget that. Be they the established ones--Mettle, Red Raven, Juston and his Sentinel--or a bunch of OCs made up for this story--Kid Briton, Nara, Apex/Tim--don’t forget their names. Much like our old review of Heroes in Crisis, don’t forget the side-characters who died to bring you this awful story.

That story’s still worse, by the way. At least the plot of this one was conducted by an actual villain. In the stupidest, most contrived way possble, but at least it’s not a story that exists to commit character assassination. Just literal assassination. This story’s awful, but only on the same level as the New 52 Teen Titans reboot. Which, come to think of it, also had a terrible Hunger Games ripoff as part of its plot. That’s essentially what this is: the Culling from Teen Titans stretched out to a full series.

Anyways, we picked apart the whole range of reasons why this series sucked over the course of the review, but let’s summarise. Arcade was turned into an all-powerful god-mode villain and gets away with everything. The teens were not given any actual motivation to murder each other, and waste loads of time futzing around instead of being heroes. The story exists to essentially kill off some D-list teenagers, and that’s just not an enjoyable plot. And much more!

Hey, while we’re here, did anybody notice my little game with the titles? To really ensure you don’t forget any of the kids who went through this, I put every one of their names into the review’s titles. 16 kids (plus one alter), 18 issues. The only one that didn’t get one was issue 7, because I didn’t want to dignify Arcade with the gimmick. Usually they were thematically involved with the given issue, either on the cover or doing that issue’s narration. And sometimes I had to shoe-horn it, like Red Raven’s. But it was a fun challenge.

Sadly, though, we’re not done. Because why should we, or these kids, get any kind of break? Oh yes. This god-awful mess got a fucking sequel. And we’re going to look at that starting next week. Won’t that be a scream~?

[monstersandothers]

I'll Keep You Safe Ch. 4

To Spiral

MASTERLIST

Kaia woke with a jerk at the sound of a roar all around her. It was muffled, but the volume and clearly violent tone that would have made her hair stand on end if she wasn’t drenched head to toe in the mate sac’s fluids. That roar was the sound of a predator, the creature that had already gotten her had gotten something else. She swore she could hear the beast gorging himself on whatever he had caught, the distant sound of snapping jaws and swallowing making her tremble. Would he have done the same to her if she had been awake when he took her? If she had been able to fight back? Would she have ended up in his belly instead of his mate sac if she wasn’t exactly what he seemed to want? Previous research hadn’t indicated that Silver’s prey on humans, but in the endless darkness that surrounded her, it was difficult not to get… paranoid.

She startled when the walls around her nuzzled against her, folds of flesh caressed her where she laid. She hadn’t realized that she was shaking until she had something to shake against. It was almost like the creature was comforting her, or trying to at least. Though the slick, hot walls of her prison made her shudder as they pressed more firmly against her, the action seemed like it was meant to be soothing. The Silver had been very gentle, all things considered. He must be able to sense her discomfort and fear, right? That implied a reasonably high emotional intelligence. But envisioning the blood from the creature’s catch running in rivulets down his throat only made her curl in on herself, fingers digging into the slippery flesh she laid on.

In the suffocating darkness, Kaia’s mind was beginning to falter. Her waking moments had been dominated by panic. Anxious worry about where she was turned to terror at being trapped, which turned to agonizing grief over the loss of her normal life. The only moment that hadn’t been completely terrible was when she reluctantly drank from the wall of the creature. The gentle sweetness of the fluid (milk?) shocked her system with such a massive wave of endorphins that she helplessly collapsed into dreamless sleep.

Now look at her.

Trembling in every limb, eyes desperately jerking back and forth trying to find the barest hint of light, gasping for breath as her body was nudged and prodded and slid against slippery, hot flesh. She sat up, her movement pressing against the membrane of the mate sac. Kaia’s body was rigid, muscles clenching in fright and feeling more trapped than she could ever remember. She was not normally claustrophobic, but when the walls were literally closing in, it was hard not to be. In her moment of terror, all she could think to do was to try to placate the creature, like one would try to speak to a stalking wolf.

“You can understand me, can’t you?” Kaia whispered, heart pounding in her forehead as she pushed it against the sticky membrane of a wall before her. Was it technically a wall if it didn’t turn into a floor or ceiling? Was it still a wall if it was made of flesh and oozing like an infected wound?

Thump-thump Thump-thump Thump-thump

The sound of the Silver’s heartbeat seemed to answer her own.

“Can’t you?” She asked, louder this time, unsure what she was expecting. Did she want this animal to be capable of speech? Would that make her situation better or worse? It had seemed to respond to her when she screamed and cried, so maybe it would somehow understand the meaning behind her words, if not the words themselves.

Maybe it would let her go if she asked nicely enough.

“Please, I need you to understand me.” As she spoke, Kaia’s eyelids slid shut, though it changed nothing. Her world was as dark with her eyes open as with them closed. The dark was everything, without variation or texture, and her brain was unused to having nothing to see. It was like she might as well not have eyes at all.

Thump-thump Thump-thump Thump-thump

Frustrated tears began to well, her hands clenched into fists. Then, she heard/felt that rumbling purring around her that sounded almost tender even as it rattled her teeth. The walls closing in also responded, retreating just enough that she felt the weight of their suffocating pressing lift. But it hadn’t been her words that prompted the creature to release her, she realized, it had been her tears. It could not understand her, of course it couldn’t. But deep inside, though only a day at most had passed since Kaia had been taken, the unbearable darkness and constant slide of slick flesh against her and utter lack of familiarity had broken down her perceptions. What she wouldn’t give to have someone to talk to.

But there was no one. And there wasn’t even anything to focus on besides the heartbeat, steady and maddening as a metronome, and the nauseating texture of the walls of her prison. Every movement made her shudder. It felt like sticky lotion was soaking through her clothes and her hair and every inch of her, but never soaked into her skin or dried in the humid air. It was in her nose and mouth and she swore it was seeping into her ear canals and her tear ducts, trying to clog them, the feeling many times more acute with her vision essentially gone.

With this flood of sensations making her skin crawl, a steadily rising current of anger started skittering across her form. This creature had snatched her away from her life in an instant, selfish and cruel and horrific, regardless of his instincts, regardless of his attempts at comfort. A bark of mad laughter left her mouth, saltwater spilling over her lower lashes. “Oh, of course, I start crying and then suddenly you respond, is that it?” Kaia spat out, furiously wiping her tears, smearing mucus-coated fingers across a mucus-coated cheek and cringing. The stuff was covering her anyway, but the sensation of wet on slimy wet still made her skin crawl.

“Sure, you swallow me down into this dark, wet hole and think that feeding me will be enough?” Kaia stumbled to her feet, snarling into the blackness as the rumbling tapered off. “Think you can just yank me out of the world and purr like a fucking cat and I’ll be ok with it? Huh?” She turned in what she thought was a circle, taking sharp breaths of the humid air as she spat poison. “You’re just an animal. I’m not letting you do this to me, do you hear me?”

Thump-thump Thump-thump Thump-thump

“Do you fucking hear me?”

Thump-thump Thump-thump Thump-thump

Though helpless fury was boiling hot inside of her, the swirling darkness around her and sticky fluid soaking her clothes to her form and the damp walls muffling her every sound were all spiraling together to form a haze of panic inside of Kaia. Her anger began to shift back into a cold, creeping dread which dug its freezing claws into her ribs. Her breath began to catch in her throat, every inhale a wheeze, and though her surroundings were warm as a womb, her fingers and toes began to tingle with a chill. She stumbled against a wall, while the throbbing flesh made her curl in on herself and wretch, the wall began to tighten around her once again. She couldn’t escape the constant nuzzling and clenching of the mate sac she was imprisoned in, the constant movement triggering a deep-seated panic that she was being digested.

Before her airway could close itself off completely, a scream burst from Kaia’s chest, “LET ME OUT! LET ME THE FUCK OUT!”

What followed was a stomach-lurching motion from the walls surrounding her, squeezing her tight enough to make her bones creak. Through the buzzing in her ears, Kaia couldn’t exactly ‘hear’ the Silver’s roar so much as feel it. She was pressed hard against the rigid edge of the tightly closed divot along the slick wall, the one that she assumed led to the creature’s esophagus. For a single second, horrifying and ecstatic, Kaia thought the beast wanted to force her through, to either swallow her down as a meal or bring her back up. But the divot remained stubbornly closed, trapping her tight, condemning her to the lightless in-between, an endless, crushing solitude that stretched out before her.

[aysun-demir]

"I'm sure," she replied out loud, her tone soft but her words sure all the same, "I feel like...most people think there is a certain way they should deal with loss, and somehow it never turns out to be the way they need. Grief...it's not a one size fits all sort of endeavor, you know?" Aysun was cautious about coming off too preachy. She never claimed to have the answers, and it was a touchy subject. Clearly Dhruv was already going through it, she really didn't want to make anything worse, even if by accident. But she was no stranger to death or loss or grief. Her job as a trauma nurse in the ER almost made it part of her job description. Still, she supposed it was different though, the loss of a patient versus the loss of a loved one.

When the voice in her head mentioned that his coat matched hers, Aysun's heart clenched, a little frown tugging at her lips. The funny thing about grief, while it sucked infinitely to go through it, it also sucked to watch someone you cared about go through it knowing there was nothing you could do to fix it. It was like a black hole, absorbing everything that was close enough. Words failed her for a moment, but she finally took a breath, offering a little nod and a fleeting smile. "I...understand. It...makes you feel connected to her..."

Following Dhruv inside, Aysun carefully set the basket on the table before pacing further into the home. Even without her enhanced senses, she could hear her fellow wolf in the other room, could hear the exertion of shifting back into human form. It was never a pleasant ordeal. When she heard footsteps approaching, she turned to face him, words on her lips, but they cut off abruptly as she was pulled into a hug. Out of instinct she tensed up, unused to the simple physical contact. She often reacted the same when family members sprung hugs on her in the ER, usually after she'd helped save a loved one. But Dhruv wasn't a stranger, he was a friend, and so she found herself relaxing a short moment later, her arms coming up to return the warm squeeze. "I- you don't have to thank me," she said as he pulled away, a light dusting of pink on her cheeks, "and I'm alright, I don't need anything. Why don't I make you a plate though? You must be starving if you've been shifted since yesterday. When did you last eat?"

Busy cooking? He asked hoping to the subject but unsuccessfully the things she said he was ignoring came rushing back to him. Death and grief were not new to him, Kitty was family as was Mason, and thinking about them in the past tense did not feel right. They were good people, kind and full of life, but life was snatched away for them in a blink. It didn't seem fair. No right or wrong, are you be sure about that? There seemed to be a correct way or at least one that others recognised as acceptable. He couldn’t be quiet and retreat into himself nor could he be open with his grief. Stuck in the middle was hellish but there wasn't much to do either other than move along with the days even if he didn't want to.

He looked down to his form, hers and mine coat colour match. I didn't want to let go. Despite knowing he couldn't stay like this forever, there was an unwillingness to do shift out. No one had, until now at least, cared to ask, it had just been him that had to explain his state first and hoped the explanation was sufficient for them to understand. In a way he hoped she'd understand that too, that this was his way of grieving, wrong or right, to him this was a tether to Kitty.

Pacing forward, Dhruv gave the door a slight nudge with his head to open it. Come in and headed inside the house himself too. I'd help with the basket but... it didn't need finishing. His form said it all. Make yourself comfortable. Had this been any earlier, there would be no chance of him to even entertain the idea of a shift back, even now an internal battle began to strike up at the possibility of it. Except now there wasn't a fear that held him back, just a want, and wants weren't anything concrete. As he looked to Aysun and the simplicity to her kindness, he began to see another tether too. A way back that didn't feel entirely terrible.

Leaving the main space towards his room, it took a while before he could turn. It was as if he couldn't remember how to shift, that inherent feeling, that way back seemed to have been fogged up by something till slowly, with much effort and thought, he sensed the path back. Having been through this ordeal for many a moons now it still did not get any easier. Catching his reflection mid-shift had the wolf and human in him swipe at the standing mirror to rid that grotesque image, shattering it in the process. Pained groans were masked with hard and heavy exhales till paws eventually turned to hands and shallow breaths turned into steadier ones. Leaning against the wall as he stood up on shaky feet, Dhruv felt his energy deplete at a rapid rate. Falling into bed was tempting but with company present, rest had to wait. So did clean up for the moment as he side stepped around the broken mirror pieces to throw on clothes.

He ran fingers through his undoubted mess of hair haphazardly and further futile attempts were made to not look dishevelled as he stepped out but he was certain he failed at that. Concerns on such a thing dissipated rather quickly though, seeing Aysun not in his wolf form had him pull her into a quick, light hug, done so without thought. "Thanks, love." And that encompassed a lot of more than he could verbalise. "Can I - uh, get you anything? It won't be as good as an entire basket of food.." he said falling onto the couch, exhausted from everything, "Thanks again for that."

[pigeonwhumps]

Registration

Sanctuary masterlist

Whumptober masterlist

Alt 5: ambushed

Thanks to @haro-whumps for the list of box boy positions (and position 5 in particular)!

Taglist: @littlespacecastle @whumpymirages

Anita takes Theo to be re-registered as her pet at the WRU.

2.8k

CWs: BBU, pet whump, collar, dehumanisation, 'it' as a pronoun for dehumanising, muzzle, Theo's fucky headspace, non-con nudity (non-sexual), caning, conditioning

Anita plucks the coat off the hook in the hallway and turns to Theo, who’s kneeling, eyes on the floor, grey beanie pulled down past his ears. It’s slightly too large but she hopes it’ll stop anyone else recognising him. They can buy a new one that fits today.

She bends down in front of him until he can see her, then reaches out and drapes the coat over his shoulders. He takes the hint and shrugs his arms into it, his eyes still confused – he’s very clearly unused to being kept warm, and she hates that. Hates everything she’s been able to gather about Theo’s treatment by his former owners. She glances down at the WRU sign language booklet, reminding herself of the signs – some for pets, some for owners. There’s some she’ll certainly never use.

“Comfortable?” she signs, and he nods. Not that he’d tell her if he wasn’t. “Good boy.” She strokes a hand through his hair once, which he leans into, and then stands, shouting in Tamil. “Paati! I’m going out now!”

“Good luck! And don’t forget the shopping.”

“I have a list!” she replies indignantly.

“Well don’t lose the list then! I know what you’re like.”

Anita rolls her eyes and turns to Theo, signing, “Come.” Her paati’s always worrying, but they need to leave if they’re to make their appointment at the WRU.

Once outside Theo seems somewhat uncertain, clutching his teddy close, jumping as a car passes close to the kerb. She takes his hand, keeping him by her side instead of slipping behind her as he seems to be attempting to do. It’s only a short walk to the bus stop, and Anita spends most of it avoiding the curious gazes of her neighbours, feeling ashamed despite herself. Clearly they now think her the sort of person to own someone willingly. She wishes for a moment that Theo hadn’t been dropped off at her shelter.

Then she looks at the pet walking beside her, head down, shoulders hunched, and feels a pang of guilt. It’s not his fault.

When they reach the bus stop he kneels in front of her and she reluctantly pulls a leash out of her pocket, Theo bowing to allow her to attach it to his collar. She needs to buy him a more comfortable collar while they’re out today. Pets aren’t allowed out without a collar, so he really needs a more comfortable one than the plastic one he was delivered in. Besides, Theo won’t let Anita take his collar off, even at home.

Anita stands with Theo on the bus, keeping a hand on his arm to hold him steady. His eyes are focused on the floor so Anita can’t see his expression, but he’s trembling. Scared. Anita strokes his hair while the bus is stopped at a red light.

When they exit the bus in the town centre they make their way to the council building, Anita holding Theo’s leash loosely, both their hands covering it. Anita stops in the courtyard just outside.

“It’s okay,” she signs, unsure what other reassurance to give, and mouths slowly, “we’ll be quick.”

“Yes, mistress,” replies Theo quietly.

They enter the building together. The WRU offices are on the top floor, of course, and the lifts are both broken, of course. They make their way upstairs, Anita cursing her luck, pausing frequently so Theo can catch his breath. Finally they make it to the fifth floor.

There’s a receptionist at the desk and Anita and Theo walk up to her. She looks up from her computer as they stop in front of her, Theo immediately kneeling at Anita’s side.

“Welcome to the WRU, how can I help?” the woman asks in a bored voice.

“I’ve come to re-register my pet. I have an appointment at 11 o’clock?”

“What’s your name?”

“Anita Ranjit.”

The woman clicks on her computer a couple of times. “Ah yes. Do you have the paperwork with you?”

Anita swings her rucksack off her back and pulls out the thick stack of forms she’d been given by the shelter Theo had been supposed to go to. “Er, here. This should be everything.”

The woman on the desk flips through the paperwork, and Anita strokes Theo’s hair, trying to calm him. She still doesn’t understand why he needs to be here.

“This all seems to be in order. If you could just leave your pet here, someone will be along to collect it shortly.”

Anita starts, a well of panic opening up inside her. “What do you mean, he has to stay here? Why? How long for?”

“Just half an hour, madam. We need to run through some checks.”

“What for? What happens if I refuse?”

“It’s company policy. Either you consent to the check-up or you don’t see your pet again.”

Anita grits her teeth, looking helplessly at the pet kneeling beside her. “Fine. Just give me a minute to explain.” The woman nods curtly and she crouches down in front of Theo, who watches her closely.

“Stay here for half an hour,” she signs, saying clearly afterwards, “I’ll be back.” His eyes widen and he looks heartbroken. She hates this. He was only abandoned two weeks ago, and for her to leave him, now, in this place... she doesn’t know what he must think.

“It can’t take anything in,” says the receptionist suddenly, as if she’s just remembered.

“Right.” She enunciates clearly to Theo now, accompanying her words with gestures. “I need to take that for now.” Theo hands his bear over with slight reluctance, pleading with his eyes, and she signs an apology, swallowing back more reassurances because everything isn’t okay, he’s not safe, she doesn’t know what’s going to happen in there. All she can promise is that she’ll be back. Instead, she squeezes his hand and runs her other hand through his hair.

Footsteps approach and Anita looks up to see a stony-faced man in a WRU uniform. “We need to take it now.”

Anita pets Theo’s head one last time and stands. “You know he’s profoundly deaf, right? I don’t want him getting in trouble for not listening or anything.”

“Of course not, madam. We have its records.”

“Good.” She forces herself to hand over the leash and clenches her fists, digging her nails into her palm so she doesn’t snatch him back, run after them as they lead him away.

It’s only half an hour. Just half an hour.

“Shouldn’t have filed the paperwork at the WRU if you didn’t want a check-up,” the receptionist says, not entirely without sympathy.

“Wait. I didn’t have to do this?”

“No, dear. You think everyone who takes part in a private sale registers with us? We’d have queues around the block. You can update the details online.” She takes in Anita’s stricken expression. “Someone told you you had to?”

Anita nods. “The shelter. He was delivered to the wrong place, and when I contacted them they said I could have him for free, provided I registered him officially with the WRU within the next few weeks using the paperwork they provided. I didn’t realise that there’d be check-ups.”

“It’s mandatory for shelters. If they’re adopting out a pet they have to check their condition first, for insurance purposes. People sue. Inflict an injury themselves and then claim it was there already, that they were mis-sold. Used to be pretty common.”

“That’s sick.”

“Mm-hmm. I’ll print you out a leaflet about the WRU check-ups if you want to read it.”

“Thanks.” She hovers around the desk awkwardly as the woman clicks a few things, and the printer starts up behind her.

“That your first pet, then?”

“Yes.”

“We have lots of resources on our website, if you need anything. Here.” She hands over the leaflet and gestures towards a set of chairs in the corner. “Take a seat. You can always leave and come back for your pet later, but you don’t seem the type.”

“No. Thank you.” Anita sits down and starts reading the leaflet through carefully.

Most of it is the usual polished WRU spiel, but certain phrases jump out at her. Full physical and behavioural examination... owner details updated... free muzzle for those on our shelter partnership program.

Dear god.

What kind of a world does she live in, Anita wonders, where these things are just an accepted part of everyday life?

_

Theo follows the handler down the corridor, eyes down, hands behind his back. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen but Mistress said she’d be back. He has to believe that. He has to believe that he can continue being Theo, despite the uniform this man is wearing.

The handler leads him into a white-panelled room lit by bright lights with a computer in the corner and drops his leash. He signs for Theo to strip, and once Theo’s divested himself of everything but his collar, the handler attaches his leash to a hook on the wall.

“Position 1,” the handler signs, and Theo spreads his legs so his feet are directly below his hips, back straight, arms held out at 45° angles to his body. The handler nods in approval.

Theo stands perfectly still as the handler examines him, taking photos of his scars and tattoos with a small camera. He tenses when the man’s out of sight, each touch to his back almost making him jump. Then the handler gestures for him to open his mouth.

He has a chipped canine and another tooth missing, and the handler snaps on a pair of nylon gloves, forcing his mouth open wide enough to take photos. Theo doesn’t understand what they’re for, but then, he’s just a dumb pet, he doesn’t need to understand.

Once the examination’s complete, the handler commands Theo through his 25 taught poses, then through the rest of his signs and learned spoken phrases, testing his obedience. Then he signs for him to get into position five.

Theo gets onto his knees, face pressed to the floor, palms resting either side of his head. In this position he has no idea what’s going on, and although he doesn’t need to, it’s up to his owner and handlers what he knows, it still makes his heart pound faster, and he starts trembling, his body defying every attempt to stop it. He didn’t used to tremble, he knows, it started sometime with his previous owners. He hopes that doesn’t stop him going back to Mistress. She probably wants a perfect pet, and he’s picked up many habits over the years that mean he’s not.

Stupid pet. Thinking again. He shouldn’t think, he shouldn’t hope, he just needs to obey. It’s what he was made for. This is why nobody wants him.

A sudden pain hits his back, a sharpness fading quickly to a dull burn. It throbs when Theo’s pulled back to his feet, back straightening as he gets into position 1. It’s a cane stripe, he’s sure of it. It won’t scar, but it’ll hurt for a while.

As it should.

Theo stands perfectly still, watching the handler pick up a handheld scanner and pull his arm out towards him, holding the scanner over the barcode for a few seconds.

He watches as the handler types something into the computer. He’s not sure what, and he’s certainly not curious. Bad pet. What’s that phrase? Curiosity killed the pet. His old Master was fond of it. So he’s certainly not curious.

It’s cold in this room. Colder than he’s been for over a week, but not quite the bone-deep cold he used to feel sometimes, while being punished in his old Master and Mistress’ garage.

After a while, the handler comes back to Theo and unhooks his leash from the wall, signing for him to dress. He does so with relief. He’s being allowed to dress fully again. That means... maybe Mistress wants him back? She wouldn’t want to lose her clothes.

The handler is holding a black leather muzzle and Theo gulps. No. No no no. This is why he doesn’t speak, this is what it gets him, and he’d taken a liberty speaking around Mistress earlier, she clearly doesn’t like it. Bad, stupid pet, nobody likes him speaking and he knows that. He opens his mouth for the smooth, silicon bit, and the strap is fastened behind his head, leather strips just touching his cheek. The handler checks the fit, sliding two fingers under the strap at the back of his head, and even though it obviously isn’t too tight it feels it, claustrophobic and smelly and he’s struggling to breathe. He takes as deep breaths as he can, and isn’t fully aware of his surroundings as he feels a harsh tug on his leash, following it obediently. He realises vaguely that he’s being led back towards the reception area, and although his eyes are cast down he still recognises his Mistress’ boots, kneeling down beside her.

He can stay with her then. He feels a great sense of relief as she hands him back his teddy. He’s not being abandoned today.

_

Anita thought she was prepared to see Theo in a muzzle.

She was wrong. Oh, so very wrong.

After what feels like an eternity, Theo’s led back into the reception by his leash, a thick black muzzle obscuring the lower half of his face. He kneels down beside her and she presses his teddy into his hands, giving him a quick once-over. He doesn’t look physically injured, but he is trembling. It’s probably best to get him out of here first and then take the muzzle off.

She swallows a sob and nods in thanks as the man hands her the paperwork. Oh, god, he looks trapped behind that. Trapped and scared and, as she bends down in front of him and sees his eyes, so damn hopeful, if a little glazed. How he can be hopeful she really doesn’t know, but it makes her feel incredibly guilty.

She signs for him to follow her and holds his leash loosely between their joined hands as he stands, walking with her out of the WRU office and down the stairs. Once they’re outside she leads him around the side of the building to a patch of grass by the river. It’s too small to be called a park, really, but it’ll do, and she sits down, gesturing for Theo to join her. He kneels down in front of her.

“I’m going to take your muzzle off now, sweetheart, is that okay?”

Theo takes a minute to process her words, but then he nods, and she reaches forward, unclasping the thick leather straps behind his head. The muzzle falls off into her hand, and she drops it quickly, noting the thick, spit-covered silicon bit with disgust.

He barely speaks as it is, and he certainly doesn’t bite. Even if you were cruel enough to want to put a pet in a muzzle, why use a bit? It’s just senseless cruelty.

Theo’s eyes are filled with tears as they gradually become more aware. Anita feels a tickle on her own cheek and brushes it, her finger coming away wet. It’s just– it’s so unfair. Theo’s a person, and to treat him the way the WRU do is abhorrent.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry,” she says, signing the apology haltingly too so Theo definitely understands it, as he trembles on his knees in front of her. “I didn’t realise they’d do that.” Theo twitches slightly towards her. “Hug?”

Theo nods, and she wraps her arms around him, careful that he can still see her if he looks up, keeping her hands on his back, where he can feel them. She feels her hoodie dampen as he leans against her chest.

She’s prepared to sit there for as long as he needs. Paati won’t mind if they’re a little later home with the shopping than planned.

How’s she supposed to take Theo to the Pet shop to buy a new collar after this, though? Will he be able to stand it?

Or will he think she’s going to muzzle him again? She has no idea what’s available to buy there, but it can’t be good, and Theo would think the worst even if he wasn’t so shaken.

She’ll sit here as long as he needs, though. As long as it takes for him to calm down. It’s all she can do, now. Maybe if she’d known about the check-up earlier, she could’ve found an alternative, or at least prepared him. Maybe if she was smarter about this, if she’d actually researched pet ownership properly after she got Theo...

Maybe, maybe, maybe. She shakes her head. Theo has no use for maybes now.

[slasherhaven]

howdy!¡,,, i love your writing👉👈. are u taking requests? if so could i request a (oddly specific) future s/o that is spared bc when they were unconscious and Luda was singing she called her mama so Luda decided to keep her bc "I've always wanted a girl" and so she finds herself having to interact and introduce herself to Thomas? If not that's okay dw!

Thomas Hewitt X Female Reader

I’ve Always Wanted a Girl

Word count: 2682

Luda May dabbed a cloth against the cut on your forehead, wiping away the blood. You had a pretty nasty fall, hitting your head and knocking yourself unconscious. 

Instead of having Thomas take you straight down to the basement, she asked him to lay you on the couch. You just looked so peaceful in your sleep, so she thought that she could at least take care of you a little while Thomas prepped the basement.

Luda May knew that you couldn’t actually be left alone, in case you woke up and escaped. So, she went about her business, cleaning up the living room. All while humming and singing softly to herself.

Your hearing rang in your ears as your consciousness slowly returned to you, eyes blinking open but vision blurred. You slowly started to process the sound of somebody singing, a blurred figure moving around the room. The song sounded familiar...something your mother used to sing to you as a child.

“Mama?...” you weren’t even aware that you spoke, but the older woman heard you instantly.

Your voice halted Luda May in her tracks, making her turn to you. A small smile formed on her face, well isn’t that sweet?

She walked over to where you lay and sat down beside you. “You’re alright now, Dear” she cooed to you, brushing your hair out of your face. The touch and shushing was comforting in your dizzy state, and it lulled you back to sleep.

Luda May looked up when she heard Thomas enter the room, probably to take you down to the basement. “Leave her be, Tommy” she smiled, earning her a confused head tilt from the large man. “I’ve always wanted a daughter” she confessed, making her intentions known.

Thomas just nodded, accepting her decision. He didn’t mind so much as long as you didn’t harm anyone, but he was sure that Hoyt wouldn’t approve. Though...Luda May would certainly get her way.

“Thomas, be a good boy and take her up to the spare room, will you?” she asked.

Thomas nodded, walking over to you and Luda May stood up. He carefully slipped an arm under your shoulders and another under your knees, lifting you off of the couch and holding you against his chest. He could see what Luda May saw in you, you looked so sweet and peaceful, he just wondered what had happened to make her change her mind so quickly.

Luda May just smoothed a hand over your hair again before letting him carry you up to the small unused bedroom.

Laying you down on the bed, Thomas cautiously pushed some hair out of our face, examining you before pulling his hand away. You were beautiful, even in your state of disarray after everything you had been through that day. There were still the stains of dried tears on your cheeks, but still you looked unrealistically pretty. You were the prettiest, sweetest looking thing in this house, you wouldn’t be a bad addition to the household. At least that’s how Thomas felt while looking at you, before quickly turning on his heel and leaving the room before he caught himself staring too long. 

And that’s the short version of how you became the newest Hewitt. The family was obviously still cautious of you, watching your every move, but they made it clear that you were one of them now. Maybe you just had no backbone or maybe you were a realist, but you accepted your fate with some time and tried to adapt to it. 

Luda May had insisted on you referring to her as “Mama”, and you did to keep the peace, Monty bossed you about most of the time, and you avoided Hoyt as much as you could since he seemed to be the least happy about your presence. Luda May had seemed to take on a motherly role with you, speaking to you as if you were her daughter, asking you to join her with chores and cooking. It had become a little routine for you now.

Then there was Thomas. Luda May had introduced you to him, he had nodded and shook your hand when prompted too. His hand completely engulfed your own, but his hold was surprisingly gentle despite the strength you could feel he possessed. 

He didn’t talk much...ever, actually, and he seemed to avoid you a lot. If you didn’t need to be in the room together, he wouldn’t be there, hiding away somewhere else in the house. Though, when you were in the same room, you could sometimes feel him staring at you. You were sure he didn’t notice it, otherwise he would have surely been more subtle about it. Whenever you looked over and caught him staring, he would stare at the floor or his hands in shame.

Truth be told, you weren’t sure what to make of the large man. He was intimidating and had a threatening stature but he never gave you true reason to fear him. He was quiet and gentle whenever he had to interact with you, he was downright timid, and he seemed to have the same avoidance you had with Hoyt. 

You could tell that he was closer to Luda May, his mother. She had told you the full story of how she became Thomas’ mother, having found him cold and alone as an infant. Thomas hadn’t looked at you while she told the story, like he didn’t want to see your pity.

“Oh Thomas!” you heard Luda May’s concerned voice coming from the entrance of the home, “what have you done?” 

With a small frown, you wandered out of the kitchen to see Luda May fussing over Thomas. He was holding a dirty, blood soaked rag against the palm of his hand. He just shook his head, silently assuring her that he was fine.

“If you’re not going to take care of it, I will. Go to your room, I’ll be up in a moment” spoke like a true mother, you smiled a little bit to yourself. As much as you hated to admit it to yourself, you were an honorary member of this family.

Thomas huffed, making you smile again, before nodding and marching up the stairs.

Luda May muttered to herself, shaking her head as she turned to you. “Oh, Y/n, dear. Come with me” she encouraged, passing you as she walked into the kitchen. You followed behind obediently.

“Thomas has cut open his palm. Probably on one of those cars, they’re death-traps” she told you as she started digging through one of the kitchen cabinets. You decided against pointing out the irony.

“Now I have to convince Hoyt to finish the job” she huffed before turning to you with a box in her hands. “Do you mind taking car of Tommy for me?” she asked, presenting the box, presumably a first aid kit of sorts, to you.

“Oh, I don’t think I know how too” you shook your head, eyes widening slightly.

“You clean the wound, clean it with some alcohol to prevent infection, and wrap it with some bandages” she told you simply.

“What if it needs stitches?” you asked, still not taking the box.

“I taught you to sew, didn’t I?” she asked and you nodded, eyes wide at that being the only qualification you apparently needed. “Thomas will help you with the rest” she assured you before thrusting the box into your hands.

You gripped the box nervously before Luda May left the room. Wandering out of the kitchen, you came to the bottom of the staircase. Walking up the stairs was daunting, you had barely spent any time alone with Thomas, and this was definitely be the longest amount of time you spent directly interacting with him.

Finally, you were standing outside of Thomas’ bedroom. You decided to knock, not wanting to be impolite. You heard movement on the other side of the door before it was pulled open, you had to tilt your head back slightly to look up at Thomas’ face.

His eyes were widened slightly, clearly surprised to see you. “Luda May sent me to look at your hand” you explained, glancing down at his still bleeding hand. Even though Luda May insisted on you referring to her as ‘mama’, you only did so when she was around.

Thomas seemed hesitant but eventually nodded and stepped to the side, allowing you to enter his room. You heard the door close behind you as you quickly glanced around. The room was a little bigger than yours but you wondered if Thomas comfortably lay on the single bed in the room, he seemed a little too big for it even though an average sized man would probably be comfortable in it. It was tidier than you expected it to be, no clothes left out or anything.

You turned back to the man when you hears his footsteps behind you, he was still a few feet away from you.

“Uh...should we sit down?” you asked when he didn’t make any move. 

Thomas nodded before crossing the room to his bed, sitting down on the edge. You walked over and sat down beside him, leaving enough room to place the first aid box on the bed between you both.

“Let me see your hand” you ordered gently. 

Thomas unwrapped the dirty rag from his hand and held it out to you. Carefully, you took hold of his hand in both of yours, turning it slightly to examine the wound. Thomas just watched, noticing how big his hands were compared to yours. He had noticed it when he shook your hand all that time ago but this made it even more oblivious, how you used both of your hands to move and turn it as you pleased. It was cute but the tenderness of your actions was what tugged at his heart the most.

“We should clean away the blood first. I can barely see it” you mumbled, more to yourself than to him. “I’ll go get some water” you suddenly dropped his hand and stood from the bed, with a nervous clumsiness.

You barely looked at him before leaving the room. Thomas shook his head at himself. You were so nervous, even to just be in a room with him. He wished he knew what you were thinking but he was sure that you were afraid of him, probably thinking he would hurt you. He couldn’t blame you. Why wouldn’t you think that? What else could make you so nervous about being near him?

His thought were interrupted by the sound of the door opening and closing, making him look up to see you walking back towards him with a bowl of water and a new cloth.

You sat back on the bed, placing the bowl on top of the box that sat between you both. 

“Hand” you spoke gently, holding your own out. He placed the back of his hand in your palm, growing unsure when he saw you frown. 

You hummed before pushing his hand back again. He was about to insist that he take care of his own wound, it wouldn’t be the first time, but then you pushed the box and the bowl further back onto the bed. He was surprised when you moved to sit closer to him, turning your body to face him and bringing one knee up onto the mattress.

You took hold of his hand again, gently placing it in your lap. He was definitely surprised by your actions but allowed it.

You worked in silence, wetting the cloth and cleaning away the blood from his hand. Thomas watched how intently you worked and how gentle you were being with him, like you were purposely trying not to hurt him.

Once the blood was cleaned up, you placed the bowl and bloody cloth down on the floor and opened the first aid kit. Inside the box was a small bottle of alcohol, a tube of some sort of cream, a fresh cloth, bandages, and the items you would need to apply stitches.

You picked up the bottle of alcohol and the fresh cloth. “This will probably sting” you warned him, looking up at him with genuine concern in your eyes. He just nodded. 

You poured some alcohol onto the cloth before pressing it to his injured hand. He didn’t make a sound of pain or pull away but you did feel him tense even more than he already was. “Sorry” you murmured, making sure to coat the hold wound.

Once you were done with that, you placed the now dirty cloth in the water bowl with the other and closed the bottle before placing it back in the box. 

You looked back at the hand, squinting at it slightly. You weren’t an expert at tending to wounds, you didn’t really know how deep the wound was or if it called for more than bandages.

“...do you think it needs stitches?” you asked, looking up at him again. Looking a little lost at what to do.

Thomas examined his own hand before shaking his head, smiling a little to himself as you let out a sigh of relief. 

You reached back into the box, picking up the tube and smiling as you read the label. “Here, let me put some of this one it” you offered. 

He just nodded, placing his hand back in your lap, allowing you to apply the antibacterial cream to his wound. He needed all the protection he can get with his work conditions.

You continued in silence as you finished and wrapped the bandages around his hand, securing them before packing everything back into the box.

“How does that feel? Too tight?” you asked and he shook his head, assuring you that it was fine. “Don’t forget to change them, alright?” you advised, “oh, and keep it clean.”

Again, he just nodded.

“...did you do this on one of the cars?” he nodded again. “Does that happen a lot?” he nodded again, confused about your questioning.

You just frowned, but you weren’t surprised. You had noticed a lot of little scars on his hands as you worked and the house wasn’t exactly hazard free. “Well, you should be more careful” you put a small smile on your face as you met his gaze again.

“I should go and finish cleaning the kitchen...if you need something, let me know, okay?” your offer seemed sincere enough, so he nodded. You were used to his silence.

You stood and collected the items you had brought in with you, heading for the door. When Thomas realised that your hands were full, he shot from the bed, hurrying over to open the door for you. 

“Thank you” you smiled before leaving the room. “Tommy” his name made him stop closing the door, pulling it fully open again to look at you. You stood in the hallway now, items piled in your hands, a timid look on your face. “We should hang out more, I feel like you keep hiding from me” you let out a shy laugh.

Thomas was stunned. You wanted to spend more time with him? He nodded before he even realised he had. But he was glad he did because it seemed to put a smile on your face before you turned and headed for the stairs. 

As he watched you disappear down the stairs Thomas became aware of a realisation that filled him with shame and dread. There was no way you would be so kind to him, even be in the same room as him, if you knew the way he thought of you, how he felt about you.

It’s why he had avoided you for so long, admired you from a distance. He didn’t want to scare you and he was nervous around you. Ever since the day he carried you up to the spare room, he had been infatuated with you. He had been enraptured by your beauty, and then in awe of your kindness considering your circumstances.

He loved you...

[are-you-still-writing-that]

Yandere Alphabet: Sakura Haruno

Sakura Haruno

Someone who isn´t afraid to get into petty fights and destroy her own friendships, as long as it gives her a chance to get the affection of the one she adores. Sakura, who was bullied in her childhood, and is generally underestimated by everyone around her. Huh... Sounds promising...

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Most of the time, she will simply compliment you. Sometimes it´s something awfully specific, where you aren´t quite sure, how she knew it, but you shrug it off most of the time. She will praise you for finishing a task, and will encourage you when you are struggling with something. No matter what her darling does, she wants to support them through it all. When she gets more intense, she isn´t afraid to fight for her darling as well, and realizing that they are struggling with something they can´t simply pull through, will mean that she won´t leave their side. She will be there through it all. Don´t worry, she won´t leave.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

She is a very capable medic, and constantly underestimated as well. She will not mind getting a bit bloody. Everything for her darling. If someone insults you, it will be dealt with. Either she gets into a fistfight with that person in that moment, or she waits patiently, bidding her time till she can get rid of them in peace. It´s so easy. An air-filled syringe, a moment where the patient is left alone, a sudden heart attack, that no one could have predicted. And her darling, well, you will not be bothered again by that person.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

When she abducts you, she is patient. It takes a long time to adjust to new circumstances, and she knows that. Still, her patience isn´t endless, and when aggravated enough there will be one or the other sarcastic comment from her. Shortly after, she will apologize again, admitting that there was no need for being rude. If you stay stubbornly against her, she will frown, but delude herself that you are still unused to the new situation. In the end you have to admit, even when she sometimes snaps at you, her comments aren´t meant to hurt, just to air out some of her frustrations. Most of the time, they don´t even really concern you, or are easily to brush off. She clearly doesn´t want to hurt you.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

There will be some instances, where she will definitely force physical contact with her darling. Holding onto them, even if they continue to struggle, till they finally go limb. It doesn´t matter if you try to pull yourself away, she doesn´t budge on a bit. She will hold you close, and pull you with her. Another thing, that might happen, is that she will absolutely check up on you medically, to see if you are still in good health, without you knowing. There will be pills mixed in your food, when she notices even the slightest ailment. Headaches, a developing fever. It doesn´t matter, she immediately starts to treat it.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

She will tell you a lot about whatever is going through her mind. Even encouraging her darling to have these conservations with her. From old memories she still remembers fondly, to passing thoughts, you will know. She often starts these conversations with you, and so reveals a good amount. It´s her attempt to make her darling trust her quicker. Though, there are still some things she keeps to herself. Especially if she is aware, that knowing these things could be harmful to her darling.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Clearly, she muses, you are still overwhelmed by the whole situation. Surely, her darling is simply trying to express their confusing emotions with the simplest response a human has. Violence. She will shrug it off, concluding that this was clearly to be expected, and now simply has to wait it out, till her darling can comprehend their emotions better.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

This isn´t a game for her. Everything she says or does, she means it. For her own peace of mind, she will pretend that her darling is trying to play a game with her. Maybe her darling is just testing her. Seeing how devoted she really is to this relationship. You won´t get away that easily. She will put in her all, to make sure, that she catches you again, and then laugh over the fun game you played with her to build this relationship further. Because you wouldn´t really try to get away, would you?

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

It´s the moment, where you realize that Sakura just murdered someone. She comes back home, silently muttering to herself. Something woke you up, but thinking nothing of it, you simply try to fall back asleep, when you recognize the voice. She is leaning slightly over you, brushing your hair out of your face, as she talks about the lengths she is going for you. You lay there. Still and unmoving and so afraid of what is being said, before her gentle demeanour makes you fall asleep. In the morning, you wake up again. Not sure what was real and what was just a dream.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Her vision of the future are filled with romantic dates, strolling around the town together, where everybody can see, what a lovely the two of you are. Maybe the two of you could even start a family together? The thought makes her blush, but isn´t really important. The only thing she wants is to be by your side. To love you and be loved by you in return.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

When someone hits on you, it isn´t really the person she is watching but you, and your reaction determines her response. If the advances are clearly unwanted, she will simply try to get the other to leave. She isn´t above petty insults or flying into a fit of rage, that knocks the other out. If you seem flustered or as if the advance is almost welcome, she will act differently. There won´t be an immediate reaction from her, she will simply try to get you both away quickly. Then she will slowly start to tear down any favourable image you might have had of the person. She will dig up dirty secrets and present them to you with glee. She will completely ruin any positive thoughts about this person, and if she feels vindictive, she might ruin their live entirely. Airing out the secrets for everyone to see.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

She likes to play the role of devoted girlfriend. Still keeping somewhat her explosive temper, when someone approaches, she focuses a lot more on you. Trying to keep her more violent side far away from you. She does her best to cast herself in any positive light around you. Complimenting you, being helpful and encouraging. This is what she wants to be for her darling. So she makes sure, that you will see her like this.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

When you catch her interest, nothing really happens that seems important to you. Sakura was someone that had never interacted with you much, but that slowly changes. She will start acknowledging your presence when you are close by, either with a wave or nod. Soon she starts to greet you verbally without fail. This gets her into conversations with her darling, where she can find out more about you. A few gifts are being left for you. Every last one carefully chosen to be something that you mentioned to her. It´s not really a secret who left those for you. This is also where she slowly starts to flirt and gets into the habit of complimenting you. She is trying to make you fall for her, just as she has fallen for you.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Admittedly, there is a reason why everyone underestimates her. She acts like a ditz, focusing in conversation on inconsequential things, and never seems to grasp what is at stake. You admit yourself, that you knew that she was academically smart, but otherwise just seemed stupid. To make it short, she isn´t dumb. She knows exactly what she seems like to others. Really, it´s all the better for herself, even. With you, though, she lets the mask slip a little. Manipulative and cunning. Not afraid to get blood on her hands or destroy herself in the process of fighting. You won´t get to see the full extent, but the hint of what she is like, shines through in her actions. Always just enough that you´re still comfortable with her, as the water slowly starts to boil.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

She would suddenly cut back on her supporting self. It seems almost as if she is trying to give you the cold shoulder. She is ignoring you on purpose, limiting your interactions with her, while you also won´t have much of a chance to interact with others. It´s almost disconcerting to you, how that seems nothing like the Sakura you know. She appears so different to you. She will purposefully isolate her darling, when they do something that she doesn´t agree with. Making herself to be the only available option that is left for her darling to take.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Anything concerning your health will be taken care of by her. She does this even rather early while establishing her relationship with you. At first only checking over your files, till she recommends certain things to you directly. When you get together, that is also the time, where she claims, that it would be no trouble for her to deal with all the medicinal stuff. And in reality, it really isn´t. She takes over that aspect of your life completely, though this also seems where her control ends. She would still like to know some things, when you are out alone, but it isn´t as important as the previous thing. She is good at it, so why shouldn´t do it. It´s only to help you out. No need to worry about all these things.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

She knows that she can wait, and she knows that she has to wait for her darling to get used to everything that will change around them. She knows, that if she throws herself too quickly in some things, they will only end badly. So no matter what happens or what you do, she will force herself to keep being patient. There are very few things that will even make her consider speeding things up a bit, but in the end, she will decide against it. Even you, lashing out, will only be met with a well of patience. She knows exactly what she got herself into, and she will pull through.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

If you leave successfully , Sakura will handle you leaving like a bad breakup. She is inconsolable, as she slowly isolates herself. Unwilling to speak with others as she keeps mostly to herself. She is mourning you, and can´t stop herself from crying. She can´t quite believe that her darling as left her. In the end, she will start to blame herself, it had to be her fault, that they left her behind in the end. It had to be her fault.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

She is aware, that she needs to let you go outside. The fact, that she takes away something, that her darling might need, makes her so frustrated. This might truly be the only thing, she regrets about the whole thing. Soon, she will need to let you go again. But never permanently , she will get you back soon. She knows, she will.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

It had always been so easy for her to lose herself completely to one specific thing. She would then for months upon months only focus on that one specific topic. Not able to direct her mind into another direction. Always caught looping back to it in the end. Then she focused on her darling, she focused on you and knew that this was something that would never let her go either. She just can´t help herself, and how could she, when her target was you. How could she have ever stopped herself. She obsessed over her darling, trying to pick them apart completely, while also getting closer to them.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

She worries, when she notices that you start pulling away from interactions with her. It wouldn´t be that bad, if you had stayed interacting with others, but you seem to isolate yourself. She notices you crying so much more, and soon you´ll find her pushing something to drink in your hands, whenever she can. She tries to soothe you, to hold out against you, when you start screaming. It almost makes her cry to see you like this. She will try what she can, to make your situation better again. Don´t worry. Whispering sweet nothings, she lulls you to sleep.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

There will be a point, where she realizes, that she can´t keep doing this any more. Her obsession will never quite fade from her mind. But she sees you and knows, that she can´t let herself to this any more. You will be able to break up with her. She will take it badly, and she might never quite leave your life alone, but she will let you go. She is obsessed with you, and not what she would wrap you into.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

She is obsesses, she is encouraging, and she puts you above it all. If your health starts to decline after getting closer to you, she will try to take care of it, till she realizes that she might be the problem. She puts you above her own needs, and if you need her to be far away from you, then she will comply. It doesn´t mean that she is gone though, only that she keeps out of your sight for as long as she thinks it´s needed. You can exploit, that she cares so much.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

It isn´t really something, that will happen because she had intended to hurt you. When she hurts you, it will be an accident. The more common thing that you can complain about is, that she grips you too tight as she pulls you closer to her in a forced hug. All her affections come with the reminder, that she could easily break you beyond repair. Don´t worry though, mention it to her, and she will go get you a bruise cream she made.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

She is obsessed with whatever you do, wants to be near you whenever she can, and strives to be a part of whatever it is you might wanna do in the future. She wants to be by your side, and so she becomes the best possible version of herself whenever you´re close by, warping herself into something, that she knows you will adore. You are everything she can think about. She will go to the very ends of this world for you.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

It takes a while, before she begins to approach you. At first, she decides to only watch you from afar, afraid that her focus will only be temporarily, but when it doesn´t vanish, she starts to plan how to weave herself into your future. So, when she still tries to figure out everything about you, still caught in an obsession that just won´t leave, that is when she decides, that she should finally approach you.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

When she fell for you, she fell for you! She wants you the way you are, she wants to be close to who you are. Seeing you break, would break her in return as well. She is weak to you, and wants to preserve whoever you are. She doesn´t want another version of you, she simply wants you. Seeing you break would be the worst thing, that could happen to her, and so she tries to avoid for as long as she can. If the choice is between breaking you and letting you go, she will let you go.