#rescue rehabilitate rescue repeat

[montereybayaquarium]

We have some otterly exciting news!

We're expanding our sea otter surrogacy efforts by opening a new sea otter rehabilitation facility. 🦦

The facility will feature two new sea otter pools and two ICU enclosures, allowing us to care for up to 10 rescued sea otters at a time. 

This expansion will help us continue our ongoing recovery of this threatened species, nurturing them back to health, and releasing them back into the wild. Our Sea Otter Program will continue to support the recovery of the wild sea otter population found along the California coast. 

Stay tuned for updates on when this facility will be completed. To read more about the history of our sea otter surrogacy program, visit the link here: https://mbayaq.co/4evZLGA

[moeitsu]

The Dark Tide Siren!Arthur Morgan x Reader Modern AU Ch 4 - The Current Knows No Master Summary: Hosea is a steady presence, helping Arthur unravel his past and the dangers that come with it. Tension builds between you and Arthur during a heated moment, where your physical closeness stirs unexpected emotions. You begin to sense that your unspoken connection could change the relationship forever, as feelings of vulnerability and trust deepen. wc: 10k tw: none really, exploring anatomy, slight nsfw Swim Back! ↞ ﹏𓊝﹏ ↠ Sail Ahead!

AN: This might be my new favorite chapter. Got a bit carried away, but I'm pretty proud of it! Serving up some sweet hot angst :)

I've also started a tag list! I'm still blown away that people are reading this let alone enjoying it! If you'd like to be tagged in future chapters please let me know!

tag list: @photo1030 @v3lv3tf0x @ireallyhonestlydontcare

Hosea shifted his weight, flipping through Charles’ medical report with one hand while his sharp eyes flickered between the clipboard, Arthur’s imposing figure, and me. He repeated this process several times, skimming the notes, muttering under his breath, then stealing another glance at Arthur as if to make sure he was real. For a man who had spent over three decades running an aquatic rescue center, he was taking the discovery of a mythical creature with remarkable composure.

The deep lines on his sun-weathered face twitched with contemplation, but there was no fear—just curiosity. Hosea Matthews was a man who had seen it all. As the owner and benefactor of the Heartland Aquatic Rehabilitation Center, he was more than just a businessman—he was a scientist, a teacher, and above all, a protector. He thrived on educating the public about marine conservation, often leading school tours and speaking with journalists to spread awareness of our mission. No creature was too broken or beyond saving in his eyes. If an animal found itself within these walls, Hosea would sooner strike a deal with the devil himself than abandon it to fate. And that devotion extended to the people under his care, too. He treated his employees like family, fiercely loyal and deeply invested in each of us.

The clock on the wall ticked past 7:10 AM. The facility would open to the public in less than an hour, it was typical for Hosea to arrive early and check in on his employees and resident patients. But I had a gut feeling he would be clearing his schedule today. Not when something like this had landed in his lap.

“Two hearts…” he muttered, rubbing his bearded chin thoughtfully. He looked at Arthur again, then back at me, as if I could somehow confirm what he’d read in the report. “Incredible. One to pump blood to the gills, the other to circulate it through the body, if I were to guess.”

His voice carried the same fascination I had felt the first time I pressed my ear to Arthur’s chest and heard that mesmerizing, rhythmic thrum. But unlike me, Hosea’s wonder was tempered with calculation—already, I could see the gears turning in his head as he tried to piece together Arthur’s biology. I had no doubt that by the end of the day, he’d be buried in every marine textbook and research paper he could find, chasing the impossible.

Hosea tossed the medical notes onto the counter with a soft pattering clink, exhaling as he stepped closer to the pool. His boots scuffed against the tile, the sound swallowed by the steady hum of filtration systems and the gentle slosh of water as Arthur shifted ever so slightly. Despite my presence, Arthur’s slitted eyes remained locked onto Hosea, watching his every movement with wary precision. His dark blond hair drifted like kelp caught in a current, fanned out around his partially submerged face. Even now, after everything we’d been through together, his instinct was still caution.

With a groan that betrayed his age, Hosea crouched at the pool’s edge, resting his forearms on his knees. He ran a weathered hand through the white strands of his hair, lips tugging into a wry smile. “I have to be honest—I really thought John and Charles had teamed up to play some kind of sick prank on an old man.” He chuckled warmly, shaking his head. “But I can see now that I was the fool.”

I huffed a quiet laugh. “I bet John wishes this was still a prank. He had a hard time with it all last night.”

Hosea’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “Sounds like my boy.” He glanced back at Arthur, studying him as though he were trying to commit every impossible detail to memory. “What did you say his name was?”

“Arthur,” I answered softly. “And he can talk. You just need to be patient, he’s—”

I trailed off as Arthur’s eyes found mine, those deep blue depths glistening with something fragile. A silent plea. Fear, uncertainty, trust all woven into one unspoken look. That strange, aching need to protect him surged through me again, something deeper than instinct, something almost primal. I couldn’t explain it, but I felt it down to my bones.

“He’s had a rough night,” I finished, voice quieter now.

Hosea hummed knowingly, his gaze flicking to Arthur once more. “Well, Charles isn't one to spare any gruesome details in his reports. Sounds like he’s been through hell.” He leaned in slightly, offering a warm, reassuring smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Arthur. My name is Hosea Matthews—I run this rehabilitation center. I can see you’ve already met some of my crew. They’re good people. And we’re gonna do everything we can to help you, son.”

Arthur didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. The slow, deliberate flare of his gills spoke for him, a flicker of unease passing through his body like a ripple on water. At first, I didn’t understand why—until I caught the briefest twitch in his expression at Hosea’s choice of familiarity. Son. The word struck something in him, something painful.

He told me about his ‘family’ only moments ago.

My stomach twisted at the memory of his broken voice, the raw truth laced beneath the simple words: Don’t have a home. His trust was slow, a fragile thing, and I knew then that Hosea’s kindness—though genuine—was still too much, too soon. But not with me, a small voice in my mind whispered. Arthur trusted me. That realization wrapped around my heart and squeezed, an intoxicating blend of responsibility and something deeper, something I wasn’t ready to name.

“Once that wound starts making some progress, we’ll get you into a bigger tank,” Hosea continued, his voice gentle, coaxing. “You’ll love it here, I promise.” He winked, as if that alone could lighten the weight of everything Arthur had endured.

Arthur remained silent, but his gaze flicked back to me, as if waiting for my confirmation. And for the first time since last night, I wondered if I was becoming more than just his rescuer. If I was becoming his tether. His anchor in a raging sea of uncertainty. 

It almost felt…good to be needed, to be trusted with something so beautiful yet fragile.

I crouched next to Hosea, exhaling a hesitant sigh as I searched for the right words. “About that, Hosea… There’s something rather, uhm—miraculous I discovered about Arthur this morning.”

Before he could ask, I extended my wrist, tilting it so the sunlight filtering through the skylights caught on my skin. The light refracted off four iridescent scars, polished like streaks of opal, running in perfect parallel lines.

Hosea’s sharp eyes narrowed. He reached out, taking my wrist in his weathered hands and pulling it closer. With a quiet hum, he retrieved a pair of glasses from his breast pocket and perched them on his nose.

“Count my lucky stars,” he murmured, smoothing a calloused thumb over the scarred flesh, where the once-torn skin had knitted itself back together seamlessly. “I’ve never seen something like this in all my days.”

“Me neither,” I admitted, still in awe of the truth I had barely begun to comprehend. “He’s got some kind of accelerated regeneration ability—and it’s not just his own body that heals. He can use it on others. I don’t know the extent of it yet, or its limitations, but the wound he suffered last night has nearly vanished.”

Hosea exhaled, thoughtful as he turned my wrist this way and that, watching the scars catch the light like shifting pearls. He was a man who had seen plenty of strange things in his lifetime, but even this seemed beyond his understanding.

“He’s truly something incredible,” I continued, voice dipping lower, heavier. “But I’m afraid there are some bad people who want to take it from him.”

“The harpoon, you mean?” Hosea asked, cocking an eyebrow. Of course, nothing ever got past this man. The moment I mentioned Arthur’s ability, he had already pieced together that there was more to this creature than what was written in the report.

I stole a glance at Arthur, watching the way the water rippled gently around his partially submerged face. His eyes met mine, and for a moment, he was still. Then, the faintest nod—a gesture so small it would’ve been imperceptible if not for the subtle movement of the water.

He was giving me permission. Trusting me to speak on his behalf. Trusting me to share his past with the only people willing to help him.

And I wouldn’t take that lightly.

Without hesitation, I launched into everything I had learned. If anyone could help us—if anyone could save Arthur from the torment and cruelty that had shaped his existence—it was Hosea Matthews.

I told him Arthur was only half siren, that his father had been human and had taken him from his mother at a young age. I explained how this man had sold him off like livestock, trading his own son to a group of scientists who saw him as nothing more than an experiment, a resource to be drained. They had exploited his ability to heal, used his body without regard for his pain or his will.

But I left out the part about his son. That felt like a piece of Arthur’s past that wasn’t mine to share. He had so little as it was—no home, no family, no freedom. His memories, even the painful ones, were all he had left of his identity, the only proof that he had ever been someone instead of something.

Hosea listened in silence, his face unreadable, though I could see the sharpness in his eyes—the way his mind was already moving, fitting the pieces together. But when I spoke the name, the name of the man who had claimed ownership over Arthur, his expression shifted.

“Dutch van der Linde,” Hosea repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze turned distant, clouded by thought—remembering, calculating, connecting dots I hadn’t even drawn yet. He let out a slow, measured breath, and when he spoke again, his tone was grim.

“Oh dear. This isn't good.”

Arthur sensed the shift instantly. His body tensed beneath the water, muscles coiling like a predator readying for a strike. He rose slightly, his gills flaring and on full display, his lip curling back in a silent snarl. The sharp ridges of his shark-like teeth glinted beneath the morning light.

This was not the fear of a man—it was the instinct of a creature who knew he had been backed into a corner. The predator turned prey. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. The water around him rippled with the force of his body preparing for a fight, knowing that if it came to that, he would not go down without one.

For the first time since I had met him, I saw not just the man or the creature—but something caught in between.

Something dangerous.

Something monstrous. 

Arthur’s entire body was wound tight, his muscles flexing beneath the water’s surface. His teeth, sharp and lethal, remained bared just enough to send a warning. A storm brewed behind his ocean-blue eyes, dark and turbulent, and for the first time, I realized just how close he was to snapping. 

I felt the tension rising fast, thickening the air like a pressure drop before a hurricane.

“Hosea,” I said carefully, keeping my voice even. “Do you know of this man?”

Arthur’s fingers twitched at his sides, his claws flexing, his body poised as if he expected to fight his way out of here. He needed answers, but he also needed to be calmed before he did something that betrayed the gentle nature he had shown me.

Hosea stood slowly, exhaling a long sigh as he scratched his chin, pulling his thoughts together. “Dutch is a kingpin in the pharmaceutical industry.”

I blinked, caught off guard. Pharmaceuticals?

“I’ve never heard of him before,” I interrupted, rifling through the list of billionaires who ran the healthcare industry. Names of powerful CEOs and corporate giants ran through my mind, but Dutch van der Linde wasn’t among them. Surely, if someone in the healthcare industry had a creature like Arthur under their study, the world would know about it. His existence wouldn’t be a secret—it would be a scientific revelation.

“That’s because he operates underground,” Hosea explained. “Think of it like the black market. He has unorthodox ways of testing and collecting data. We crossed paths many years ago, before I opened this facility. He offered me a partnership of sorts, wanted to use my knowledge of marine life to push his ideals. His plans.”

I swallowed hard, the tendrils of fear curling tight around my heart.

“Plans for what?” My voice was quieter now, uncertain. “Is he trying to make a drug from Arthur’s mucilage? To cure cancer or something?”

It was a hopeful thought, but the moment the words left my mouth, I already knew the reality was much darker. I had seen it—the proof was written in the scars scattered across Arthur’s body, each one a testament to suffering and cruelty.

Hosea’s expression darkened. His voice, when he spoke again, was void of any warmth.

“No, my dear.” He met my gaze, unblinking. “Men like him don’t have other people’s best interests at heart. Dutch isn’t looking for a cure. He’s looking for immortality.”

The breath hitched in my throat.

“He—he wants to live forever?”

Was that even possible? Arthur’s ability was accelerated healing, but had this man found a way to harness it? To manipulate it, weaponize it—use it to halt aging entirely?

Was that why they had wanted Arthur to give them a son? So they could continue their exploitation for generations, creating a lineage of sirens bred for their abilities?

A knowing smile ghosted across Hosea’s lips, though it held no humor. Perhaps it was my naivety that amused him.

“Not in the way you think,” he said. “Dutch is a businessman, an opportunist. Money and power—those are the only things he believes can make a man eternal. Wealth that never runs dry, influence that never fades.”

I felt my stomach turn.

Arthur hadn’t just been a captive. He had been an investment.

And Dutch wasn’t going to let his most valuable asset slip away so easily.

The familiar clank of metal filled my ears as the door to the examination room creaked open. The sound alone was enough to send ripples of tension through the air, a reminder that we were no longer in the fragile quiet of the morning. Almost simultaneously, I heard Arthur shift in the water—or rather, felt the splash as he disappeared beneath the surface.

He had retreated again, gliding to the farthest edge of the pool. But the space wasn’t large, offering little sanctuary. Beneath the water, I saw the faint outline of his curled tail, drawn tightly to his body in an attempt to make himself smaller. To disappear. Oh, this poor sweet creature… My heart twisted painfully at the sight.

He was so frightened. Using all his energy, which should be focussed on his healing, to appear brave in the face of the unknown. Every new sound, every unfamiliar scent put him on edge. The stress was coiling around him, dragging him deeper into the instinctual fear of an animal who had spent too long being hunted. The primal impulse to retreat, to hide, to disappear. Already, I wished we could go back to how things had been just hours ago, when he had been more at ease, when he had welcomed my touch.

But now, reality was creeping back in. And Arthur was retreating into himself.

The door fully swung open, and John strode in, carrying a tray with three coffees balanced in his grip. The rich, bitter aroma cut through the sterile scent of the examination room, grounding me in something familiar. Without a word, he set the tray down on the counter with a quiet thud.

I slipped off the lip of the pool, sinking into the water’s embrace. It was warm, a soothing contrast to the cold tension in my muscles, heated by the morning sun and the underwater pads Lenny had installed for Arthur’s comfort. The exhaustion of the night before, coupled with my less-than-ideal sleeping arrangements, pressed down on me like a weight.

I needed rest. I needed a clear mind to tackle this. But even as fatigue settled deep in my joints, the water offering momentary relief, I knew my first priority wasn’t myself. It was him.

Arthur needed reassurance. He needed to know that everything was going to be alright—even if I wasn’t entirely sure that was true.

“Morning,” John rasped, his voice rough with sleep. “Thought you guys could use some caffeine. There’s breakfast sandwiches in the breakroom, too.”

“Thanks, son,” Hosea said warmly, reaching for one of the coffees. The steam curled in the air, fogging his glasses as he took a careful sip.

John walked over to the pool and extended an iced coffee toward me. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect—my body desperately needed the energy.

“Thank you, John,” I murmured, wrapping my chilled fingers around the plastic cup before taking a grateful sip.

Iced mocha caramel. He always grumbled that I was drinking more sugar than actual coffee, but he remembered my order nonetheless. It was a small thing. But right now, these small things meant everything.

Behind me, I hadn’t even noticed Arthur had lifted his head out of the water until John made a disgusted noise.

“Yeesh, he’s even uglier in the daylight. Look at those beady eyes, and those freaky little things coming out the side of his head…”

I snapped my head up at him, mouth already open in protest. “John—!”

“Yeah, well, you ain’t the prettiest either, sunshine.”

The deep, gravelly timbre cut through the room, stopping John mid-sentence. His entire body stiffened, face draining of color and mouth gaping as his eyes darted toward Arthur, who was now watching him with an infuriating amount of amusement.

“What the fuck?” John sputtered, pointing an accusing finger. “H-he talks?!”

I couldn’t help but snicker at his reaction, and I wasn’t the only one. I noticed Hosea’s expression shift as well—the weight of our conversation that had hung over him only moments ago giving way to something softer, something like awe and quiet amusement.

Arthur smirked, swimming closer, his chest puffing slightly as he rose higher out of the water. “What, did an alligator eat half your brains?” he taunted. “’Course I talk. You think I’m some kind of inane half-wit like you?”

John’s face turned an impressive shade of red. “Listen, shark boy, we saved your scaly ass. You best remember that.”

Arthur smirked, tilting his head ever so slightly. “Oh, I remember plenty—like you nearly drownin’ in three feet of water.” His voice was smooth, but his wit was sharp as an urchin’s needle. “I’ve seen beached fish put up a better fight. You swim ‘bout as well as a mudskipper in a desert.”

“That’s enough, boys!” Hosea cut in before John could dig himself any deeper, though he couldn’t quite stifle his own laugh. “Lord above, you two bicker like brothers, and you’ve only just met.”

John huffed, crossing his arms, but I caught the flicker of reluctant amusement beneath his irritation. Really, how could anyone stay mad when trading barbs with a creature as sharp-witted, articulate, and downright magnificent as Arthur?

Hosea patted his shoulder, steering the conversation back on track. “I’ve gotta make some calls—see if Sadie’s heard anything about Dutch or his whereabouts. John, go check on the main tank, make sure it’s suitable for our new friend. And see if Kieran’s got some mussels or fresh fish. He looks like he’s about ready to eat you.”

With a playful wink, Hosea turned back toward Arthur and me, leaving John grumbling under his breath.

Sadie Adler was the local fish and game warden, but calling her that didn’t do her justice—she was a force to be reckoned with. Fierce and unyielding, she handled everything from enforcing conservation policies to investigating violations, and if Dutch Van der Linde was operating anywhere nearby, Sadie was the first to turn up with a keen eye for intel. She wasn’t just a woman of authority—she was a dear friend to the facility, having been there from the beginning, offering advice, helping with the heavy lifting, and supporting Hosea, John, and the rest of the team whenever they needed her. Her loyalty ran deep, and while she commanded respect in the wilderness, she was equally dependable when it came to the people she trusted. If Dutch was on the move, Sadie would be there to track him down, and if things escalated, she’d be the one to lead the charge. 

With Sadie involved, the ball was finally beginning to roll, and everyone knew that when she was on their side, they had an unshakable ally.

John let out a long-suffering sigh, the kind that could only come from someone who was used to this kind of banter, but there was no masking the reluctant compliance in his eyes as he nodded. Then, with a skeptical glance at me, he shot a question over his shoulder. “The hell are you grinning for?”

A giggle bubbled up from my chest, and I leaned closer, lowering my voice just enough so Hosea wouldn’t hear me instigating. “You got schooled by a fish.” I couldn't help the amusement that flickered in my eyes. Watching John get taken down a peg by Arthur was too good to pass up.

John’s eyes narrowed, his grin tugging at the scars on his cheek, and for a moment, I could see the challenge in his gaze. “No wonder he’s taken a liking to you,” he said with a sly chuckle. “Weird attracts weird.”

I rolled my eyes, but before I could throw back a sharp retort, John grabbed his coffee, tipping the cup toward me with a mock salute. “Charles should be here soon,” he said, turning toward the door. “He’ll want to examine him again before we move him, so do whatever it is you do and tame the beast before he takes a bite out of one of us.”

The playful edge in his tone was still there, but I could sense the underlying tension. Arthur was no beast, not really. No matter how much he tried to act like one. And despite everything he had endured, there was something in his eyes that made me want to keep protecting him, keep reassuring him that he didn’t have to be that thing. He wasn’t that monster.

As John stepped out, the door clicking softly behind him, I turned back toward him in the pool, where Arthur still lingered, his gaze distant but locked on me. A quiet understanding passed between us. Like we were both waiting for the moment we could be alone. 

* ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊

Arthur’s gaze was fixed on the door, his sharp eyes flicking back and forth as if he were anticipating the next stranger to walk through or waiting for John to return and pick up where they'd left off—some battle of wits, no doubt. His posture was tense, as though any moment could break the fragile peace that had settled between us. I leaned back against the edge of the pool, letting the water rise slightly as I sank lower, my chest now submerged in the warmth. The water was comforting, but there was a heaviness in the air that I couldn’t shake.

“He’s an ass, don’t let him get under your skin—or, uh, scales,” I said, trying to inject some levity into the conversation. But even I knew how lame it sounded. Still, it felt important to say it, to reassure him. Arthur's silence was almost suffocating, and I wondered if he even understood the weight of the words I spoke. Was it possible to explain something like that to a being whose species was so vastly different from my own?

It was still surreal to be conversing with a creature like Arthur, an entirely new species that I’d only ever heard whispered about in stories. If word got out about his existence, would the world demand to know every detail of our conversations? Would people try to study him, dissect every interaction like some scientific experiment? Would Arthur ever trust anyone enough to open up to them, or was it always going to be just me?

There was something so human about the way he spoke—his cadence, his pauses, even the faint traces of emotion in his voice—but at the same time, it was undeniably alien. His accent, no doubt learned from his captors, added a rough edge to his speech, but it wasn’t just that. His voice held an animalistic undertone, as if the words were trapped behind sharp teeth, struggling to find their way out. Some of his syllables seemed to catch, like they couldn’t make it past the sharp points of his canines. Others came out incomplete, slipping through his gills before they could fully form. And then there were the growls, the hisses, and the purring—subtle sounds that humans certainly didn’t make.

I closed my eyes and let my head fall back against the edge of the pool, rolling my neck to ease the strain in my muscles. I needed a moment to center myself, to shake off the weight of the day. It felt like the world around me was pressing in, and I just wanted to breathe, to reset. For a while, the only sound was the gentle splash of water as Arthur remained still, his gaze still locked on the door.

After a beat, as if confirming the coast was clear, Arthur spoke again.

“He’s afraid of me,” he said, the words rough but certain.

I mulled this over for a moment, considering the layers beneath his statement. “Well, I wouldn’t say afraid,” I replied, my voice soft but thoughtful. “Definitely a bit anxious, though. He’s... not used to things like you.”

Arthur tilted his head slightly, the faintest flicker of something I couldn’t quite read crossing his expression. It wasn’t a smile, exactly, but it was a subtle shift, a hint of self-awareness.

“Anxious, huh?” he mused, as if testing the word on his tongue. Then he shook his head, as though he was finding some small amusement in it all. “So that’s what I smelled on him.”

Smelled? I jerked my head, gods above. I was so quick to forget I was talking to someone that was more animal than human. I shouldn't be surprised he could smell the chemical changes in emotions. 

Arthur swam toward me, his body gliding through the water with an effortless grace, coming to a stop just inches away. My pulse quickened, the proximity sending a jolt of heat rushing through me. He was so close now that I could feel the warmth radiating from his chest, a slow, steady heat that seemed to pulse in rhythm with the beat of his twin hearts. His skin, still slick with water, shimmered in the soft light, every movement stirring the surface around us. I could almost taste the closeness of him—the way his warmth mingled with the coolness of the water between us.

He was propped up on his tail, using it like a seat, the motion fluid and powerful. The way his tail coiled reminded me of a serpent, sleek and dangerous, its strength hiding in every subtle shift. I could feel the silk like tendrils of his tail fin tickle my feet. It reminded me of just how massive he was, how he towered over me even submerged in the water. I could feel the weight of him without him even needing to touch me, a presence that filled the space and consumed my thoughts.

Hell, if he moved any closer, his hips would be flush against mine. The thought sent a shiver down my spine, my body instinctively responding to the proximity, to the heat of him. The space between us felt charged, thick with something unspoken, and yet, I couldn’t look away. I was caught in the gravity of him, the tension hanging between us like a thread waiting to snap.

I let out a nervous chuckle, trying—and failing—to keep the air light. “John’s been known to skip a wash. You’re probably catching a whiff—”

Whatever composure I had shattered the instant Arthur leaned in, his head dipping into the crook of my neck.

A sharp jolt of electricity shot through me as the tip of his claw ghosted over my skin, pushing my hair aside with agonizing slowness. My breath hitched. The warmth of him was palpable now, his chest so close that I could feel the steady rhythm of his twin hearts. The faint rush of water against my skin wasn’t just from the pool—it was from him, the movement of his gills as he exhaled, hot and damp against my throat.

Was he—was he smelling me?

A familiar heat curled low in my stomach, an unwanted but undeniable thought slithering its way into my mind. What would his tongue feel like there? Would it be rough or impossibly soft? What would the ridges be like? Would he taste me the way predators do, slow and deliberate, savoring the sensation?

“I never smelled fear on you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. The words were felt more than heard, vibrating against the sensitive skin of my neck.

I swallowed hard, my pulse hammering beneath his breath. I should pull away. I should put space between us. But I didn’t. Instead, I tilted my head slightly, unconsciously giving him more access to the most vital spot on my body. Blood rushed to my head, hot and quick making me feel dizzy. 

“Should I be afraid of you, Arthur?” My voice came out steadier than I expected, but there was no denying the weight behind the question.

Arthur hesitated. He pulled back slightly, and already I mourned the loss of his warmth. But before I could process the absence, he shifted again, bringing his face to mere inches from mine.

His pupils had expanded, swallowing the blue of his irises in deep, endless black. I swore I could see my own reflection in them, distorted like a black mirror, the water between us barely disguising the intensity of his gaze.

“I’ve hurt people,” he admitted, his voice lower now, quiet with something that almost sounded like regret. The confession sat heavy in the space between us, thick and unspoken for a long moment before he added, softer still, “I hurt you. And still, you don’t fear me.”

I took a slow, deliberate breath. That’s what this is about.

I lifted my chin slightly, meeting his gaze with renewed steadiness. “It was an accident,” I countered, my voice stronger now, more assured in our proximity. “You acted on instinct. I don’t hold it against you in the slightest.”

Arthur studied me, his lips parting slightly as if he had more to say, something deeper, something unspoken that lingered between us like the charged air before a lightning strike. But instead, he remained still, watching, waiting—his breath fanning softly against my lips, close enough that if I shifted even an inch, we would…

I forced myself to exhale. I wasn’t afraid of him. But maybe, I should have been.

My hands remained beneath the water, hidden between us as I moved with deliberate slowness. Tentatively, I let my fingertips trail up his side, barely skimming the surface of his skin. The warmth of him was staggering, a stark contrast against the cool air above the water, and as my fingers passed over the ridges of his ribs, I swore I could feel his breath hitch.

Then, I touched his gills.

They were unlike anything I had ever felt—soft, impossibly delicate, like wet velvet beneath my fingertips. The moment I brushed against them, a shudder rippled through Arthur’s body, his muscles tightening beneath my touch as he exhaled a breath that was more of a shiver.

His head dipped toward mine, lips parting ever so slightly, as though he were preparing to steal the very air from my lungs. The space between us grew impossibly small, the tension thrumming so thick it felt like it could snap at any moment. My breath stilled, mirroring his as I tilted my chin up, parting my lips just enough, as if my body already knew what came next.

He was so close I swore he could feel the pounding of my heart against my ribs, rolling in like thunder, wild and unrestrained.

But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t close the distance.

A part of me trembled with nerves, another with anticipation, and gods above—I was aroused. That insatiable warmth coiled low in my belly, twisting into something tight and aching between my legs, something that burned hotter with every second we lingered in this breathless moment.

Before I could stop myself, the words tumbled past my lips, my voice barely louder than a whisper. “What do I smell like?”

Arthur inhaled, and for a moment, I swore he was tasting the question as much as hearing it. His pupils, already large from our proximity, expanded even more, turning his eyes into endless black pools. His gills flared around his neck, and that soft bioluminescent glow flickered to life, melting between us like sunlight dissolving into the ocean depths.

“Sweet,” he murmured, voice deep and thick with something unreadable. “Like those little noises you make when I touch you.”

A sharp inhale caught in my throat, and it was only then that I realized—somewhere in the span of our conversation, he had trapped me against the edge of the pool. His arms caged me in, hands planted on either side of me, his body close enough that the water between us felt inconsequential.

And then, as if to prove his point, he dragged the back of his knuckles slowly up my bare arm, leaving gooseflesh in their wake. A small, breathy sound slipped past my lips before I could stop it, a sound that felt dangerously close to a whimper.

Arthur responded immediately.

That sound—my sound—triggered something deep within him.

A low, rolling purr rumbled from his chest, vibrating through the water between us, and fuck—I felt it between my legs. The sensation was subtle yet devastating, a deep, resonant hum that sent warmth curling through my spine, pooling where I ached for something I couldn't name.

His eyes never left mine as he leaned in just enough to brush his lips against my ear, voice dipping lower, rougher, when he added, “And musky… unlike anything I’ve ever tasted before.”

My breath hitched.

He—he could smell my musk?

No. Scratch that.

He could taste it?

My body tensed, heat flashing beneath my skin as I stared at him, equal parts mortified and breathlessly aroused. But Arthur only smirked, that damned knowing smirk, like he could read exactly what was running through my head.

And gods help me, I wanted him to. 

I suddenly felt like my own body had betrayed me, my hormones conspiring against logic, against reason. Of course I should have known his senses of smell and taste were intertwined, that he could sense me in ways no human ever could. The thought sent another wave of heat rushing through me, pooling low in my belly, coiling tighter between my legs. Hell, I was probably saturating the water with it by now.

Arthur breathed in deeply, his pupils darkened, a limitless sea of midnight, his lips curling into a grin that was nothing short of sinful. He was taunting me, reading my every thought, my every flustered attempt to gain control over my body and the way it ached for something I couldn’t deny with words. His gills flared beneath my fingertips, the movement almost instinctual, a silent plea or perhaps a challenge.

I took it.

Slipping my fingers beneath the delicate slits, I stroked the silky underside of his gills, and oh. They were impossibly soft, like the gentlest brush of a cloud against my skin, warm and slick beneath my touch. The sensation sent a shiver down my spine, but it was nothing compared to his reaction.

Arthur shuddered.

A low, guttural sound tore from his throat, thick with raw need, and his hips rolled forward, pressing flush against mine. The friction sent a bolt of fire through me, my breath catching as every nerve in my body ignited all at once.

The sound that followed was entrancing—his siren song. A deep, desperate groan that rumbled from his chest, vibrating through the water, through me. It was the kind of sound that spoke of hunger, of instinct, of a need so primal it threatened to consume him whole.

And gods help me, I had never wanted something so badly in my life.

I was utterly breathless at the sight of him. This massive, magnificent creature curling into me, arching into my touch as if my fingers on his gills were the only thing that mattered to him. His tail lashed through the water, powerful and restless, the motion sending small ripples over my skin, like even the sea itself responded to him.

My hands trembled slightly, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I caught the edge of one of his frills between my fingers, rolling it gently, reverently, sliding my touch up and down like I would a length of the finest silk.

Arthur groaned again, this time deeper, rougher, pulled from somewhere inside the hollow of his belly. His hand shot down, wrapping around my wrist—not to stop me, but to hold me there, to keep me touching him, to anchor himself in the sensation.

He was unraveling beneath me. And part of me wanted to see how far he could go.

Pressed against his chest, I could feel the steady, powerful rhythm of his twin hearts drumming beneath my fingertips, their pace betraying just how much I was affecting him. His hips rutted into mine again, slow but deliberate, and then—I felt it.

A more…private appendage that had been tucked inside his body. It was new. And strangely different.

A firm hardness pressed against me, emerging from beneath his scales—hidden before, but now unmistakable. Heat coiled low in my stomach as realization dawned, my breath hitching as I instinctively glanced down.

Below his slit, I noticed a subtle shift in his body, the scales parting, revealing something I hadn’t seen before. A new opening, a previously concealed gap where something more was stirring to life.

Arthur let out a sound between a growl and a groan, thick with something raw and unfiltered, and then—he said my name. Low, guttural, almost pained.

“You have no idea what this does to me.” His breath came fast and uneven, each exhale warming my already feverish skin.

His eyes snapped open then, locking onto mine with an expression so intense it stole the air from my lungs. It wasn’t just need, though that was certainly there—dark, all-consuming, a hunger I wasn’t sure he could tame. But beneath the desperation, I caught something else. Fear. Anticipation.

Like he was waiting to see what I would do next.

Like he was afraid of what he might do if I didn’t stop him.

And suddenly, the weight of it all came crashing down on me.

Only hours ago, my curious fingers had been teasing his entrance, innocent in my exploration. And now—oh shit. Did he think I was offering myself to him? That I was trying to mate with him? I had no idea what their rituals even entailed, had I crossed a line? Could we…would our bodies…fit? 

I wasn’t even sure myself why I had done it. I had gotten so wrapped up in him. In the way he looked, the way he sounded, the way his body responded to my touch as if I was the only thing anchoring him to this world.

And yet…

If we were in another time, another place, another body—maybe then, I wouldn’t have stopped myself. Maybe then, I would have indulged in the darker curiosities swirling through my mind.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, though I wasn’t entirely sure why I said it. Was I apologizing for touching him? For stopping? For stirring something between us that neither of us fully understood? 

Was I sorry for being the one to rescue him? That John had called me and not one of the other girls? Would it have been easier if someone else had taken my place—if I had never been the one to pull Arthur from the brink?

Or was I sorry for something else entirely?

Sorry that I couldn’t seem to define the ache growing inside me, the pull that had started as fascination but was quickly morphing into something far, far more dangerous. Sorry that I couldn’t understand why his fixation on me felt almost equal to my own fixation on him.

Two creatures, worlds apart, dipping their fingers into a current so strong it threatened to pull us under the tide.

And I was starting to wonder if I wanted to come up for air.

All I knew was that, in this moment, I had tangled myself—and this poor, beautiful creature—into a storm of confusion and frustration, and heaven help me, I wasn’t sure how to unravel it.

My voice came softer this time, barely more than a breath.

“I’m so sorry.”

* ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊

Charles pulled off his blue latex gloves with a practiced flick, sending them sailing through the air before they landed neatly in the waste bin. The movement was effortless, second nature, as he busied himself with tidying up his medical tools, the clink of metal against metal filling the otherwise quiet room.

“His wound is healing nicely—much faster than I expected. Though, if I had known he had accelerated healing, I probably wouldn’t have bothered with the stitches,” he chuckled, shaking his head like he still couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

“You did the right thing, Charles,” I reassured him, my voice softer than I intended. “He was going to bleed out if you and Lenny hadn’t done something.”

Charles hummed in agreement, but my focus had already drifted back to Arthur.

He lay stretched out on the examination table, his massive form suspended just above the water level of the pool. The setup was temporary—meant for quick assessments, not extended stays—but he looked tense, his muscles rigid beneath his slick, bioluminescent skin.

When Charles had arrived shortly after our… moment… it had taken a considerable amount of coaxing on my part to get Arthur to emerge from the shadows curling along the edges of the pool. The morning sun had shifted, casting longer streaks of light through the skylight, but Arthur had lingered in the dim corners, watching warily as Charles entered.

At first, I thought it was fear that kept him hiding, but then—I caught the subtle cues, the tiny tells I had grown so accustomed to. The way his gills fluttered unevenly, the way his tail curled slightly around himself, not in defense, but in something almost vulnerable. Embarrassment. Shame.

Guilt churned hot and thick in my stomach.

Had I ruined something between us?

He had been so open with me, so trusting, letting me touch him, explore him in a way that was undoubtedly intimate. And I—I had let my own selfish curiosity, my treacherous, hormone-addled body, lead us somewhere neither of us had been prepared for. Had I confused him? Frustrated him?

Stars above, had I hurt him?

The sickening thought settled deep in my gut like a stone. The last thing I ever wanted was to make him feel used. To make him feel exploited—like the men who had stripped him of his autonomy, who had treated him as nothing more than a tool, a resource to be controlled.

I swallowed against the rising nausea and cast a glance at the clock on the wall. Early afternoon. I had spent nearly the entire morning in the water, and my body was starting to feel the effects—my fingers had pruned, my skin tight and dry from the salt. And god, I was hungry.

As if sensing my growing exhaustion, Charles threw me a lifeline.

“I’ve got a few more patients to check on after this, then I’m heading home for the day. You want me to give you a ride to Clemens Cove so you can get your truck?”

And some rest.

He didn’t say those words outright, but they hung unspoken between us. His offer was casual, lighthearted, but I caught the concern beneath it—the way his gaze lingered on the fatigue etched into my features, the way his tone softened just enough to let me know he noticed.

And honestly? I wasn’t about to argue.

I nodded, exhaling a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “That would be much appreciated. I was worried I’d have to walk back.”

Charles cocked an eyebrow, his lips tugging into a playful smirk. “Now, what kind of gentleman would I be if I let a lady wander halfway across town after the day you’ve had? Besides,” he added, giving me an exaggerated once-over, “you look about two steps away from passing out, and I’d really rather not have to explain to Hosea why I found you face-down in a ditch.”

A tired chuckle escaped me, shaking some of the tension from my shoulders. “Well, when you put it like that…”

His grin widened, warm and genuine. Charles was an undeniably handsome man—everyone could see that. His soft brown eyes held an innate kindness, warm and rich like melted chocolate, but there was strength behind them too. When he gave orders during an emergency rescue or a high-pressure surgery, his voice boomed, steady and commanding, filling the room with an authority no one dared question. But there was another side to him as well—the one that spoke softly to the children who came through on educational tours, explaining things in a way that made their eyes light up with curiosity. The voice that turned gentle when he muttered to himself while solving a problem, focused but never frustrated.

Charles was smart. Resourceful. A quiet force, yet one that commanded respect without ever demanding it.

My friendship with him was different than my friendship with John. John and I pestered each other like siblings, always quick with a sarcastic remark, always toeing the line between playful bickering and actual affection. But at the end of the day, we had each other’s backs like family.

With Charles, it was something else entirely. Easier, in some ways. More complicated in others.

He had been my mentor when I first started working here, the person I turned to when I felt out of my depth. But beyond that, he was a friend in the truest sense—someone who listened without judgment, someone who understood without needing every detail explained.

And right now, as exhaustion pulled heavy at my limbs, that understanding meant everything.

The gentle clinking of medical tools brought me back to the present. Charles was sifting through a tray, his fingers moving methodically over the various packets of needle tips, checking their gauge and length with practiced efficiency. I watched as he selected one, examined it under the light, then clicked his tongue and tossed it back, continuing his search.

“Everything alright over there, Captain?” I teased, the old nickname slipping out with ease. It came from the early days, back when he’d take me out on his boat to assist with rescues and releases, back when everything felt simpler—before this.

A few strands of black hair had slipped free from his bun, framing his sharp features as he glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah. Just looking for a needle that’ll penetrate his skin. I want to collect a few blood samples and run some tests on that mucilage you told me about earlier.”

I barely had time to process his words before Arthur moved.

He bolted upright on the table so suddenly that I jerked back, the water sloshing around me as my footing slipped. My stomach twisted, not just from the shock of his reaction, but from the raw, breathless panic in his voice.

“I ain’t doin’ more tests,” he said, his chest heaving, pupils blown wide.

Shit.

“Easy, Arthur,” I soothed instinctively, lifting a hand as if to calm a wild animal. “They won’t hurt, just a quick pinch.”

But the moment the words left my lips, I regretted them.

I had been so caught up in trying to reassure him, in trying to help, that I had completely forgotten why this would send him into a tailspin.

Arthur’s jaw clenched, his body going rigid. “I been pinched enough,” he snarled, his voice thick with something bitter and laced with old wounds. His gills flared, sharp and aggressive, and when he spoke again, his tone was low, dangerous, vibrating with barely-contained fury. “I’m not givin’ you blood, or anythin’ from me!”

The air in the room thickened, the tension snapping tight like a riptide, pulling everything under in an instant. His body was coiled, wound so tight with fury that it seemed ready to burst. Every muscle in his frame tensed, his gills flaring wide like a warning. The unspoken threat in his posture hung heavy in the air, a low, menacing hum that made my breath catch in my throat.

A dreadful thought clawed at the back of my mind, growing louder with every second.

Could he be pushed past the brink?

Had he felt this kind of rage before? The kind that came when he was captured, when he fought for his freedom? His words echoed in my head, his voice haunted by something darker. 

I’ve hurt people.

My stomach twisted violently as the terrifying question ripped through my thoughts.

Did he kill his captors?

The weight of the possibility hung in the room like a shadow. As if the earth itself could sense his turmoil as a dark cloud rolled over the sun, shrouding the room in a dark gray light. 

Would he do it again? Would he lash out, and if so, at me? I could see the storm in his eyes, and the way his breath came in short, sharp bursts told me he was on the edge of losing control. It was as though I was standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for something—anything—to tip him over the edge.

Charles, to his credit, remained calm. He didn’t back away, didn’t flinch, but his expression softened just enough to show he was trying to level with him. “Arthur,” he said evenly, “I have no idea what I’m working with here. I can’t give you the proper care if I don’t know what’s going on inside your body. You need to let me study you first.”

The words struck a nerve.

Arthur’s body tensed, his muscles convulsing like he was preparing to strike. His fins flared—all of them. The ones along his arms and head, the ones that normally lay flat against his body, had risen in a display I had never seen before. And they were pointed. Perilous. 

Then, something new happened.

Arthur opened his mouth, but what came out wasn’t English. Wasn’t human human speech. 

A string of guttural, unfamiliar words spilled into the air, rough and raw like stones grinding against the ocean floor. The sound was deep, layered, yet there was something melodic buried beneath the harshness, something that almost resembled a song.

I froze.

Was this his natural language?

Arthur’s chest rose and fell, his throat working as he spoke in that strange, haunting cadence, his bioluminescent veins pulsing faintly as if responding to the rhythm of his voice. My heart pounded as I watched, transfixed, completely unprepared for the deep ache that curled through my gut at the realization—

This was something ancient. Something that belonged to him. To his kind.

And for the first time, I wasn’t sure if I was meant to hear it.

Charles shot me a brief glance, his eyes cautious as he registered my intent. I could see the hesitation in his gaze, but I mouthed the words, I’ll be okay, go, and a quiet understanding passed between us. I tilted my head toward the door, an unspoken trust settling over the room like a heavy blanket. He nodded, not questioning me, as he packed his tools and made his way out of the pool, leaving us alone.

Arthur’s eyes followed Charles as he left, but his anger didn’t fade. Instead, it simmered, a storm still roiling beneath the surface. His dark blue eyes locked onto mine, pupils narrowed to razor-thin slits. The intensity in his gaze felt like it could cut through me, a searing heat that left me breathless, almost paralyzed.

I took a tentative step toward him, my hand reaching out slowly, almost instinctively. To my surprise, he spoke again, his voice thick with panic.

“I—I don’t want to be studied,” he stammered, the words tumbling out in a rush, tinged with fear and raw emotion.

I softened my voice, offering him the calm he so desperately needed. “Then we won’t study you, honey.”

But it wasn’t enough. His walls were still up, defenses razor-sharp. “You gonna chain me up?” He shot back, his voice harsh, laced with bitterness. “Poke me and shock me till I can’t fight back? Cage me here ‘till you get your fill of research?”

I was close now, close enough that I could see the tremors in his frame, the way his muscles tightened beneath his scales. My heart ached for him, for the torment he’d endured. But I also knew I had to find a way to reach him, to calm the storm inside him before it tore us both apart.

I let my hand slide gently up the smooth, hard length of his tail, cautious but tender. The warmth of him was intoxicating, a pull that made my chest tighten, but I kept my touch steady, moving with reverence. I avoided the sharp fins that had risen along his hips, the ones I hadn’t noticed before—pointed and rigid, like a warning.

“I would never,” I said the last word with as much severity as I could muster, my voice low and unwavering. “Do you remember what I said to you last night, and again this morning?”

I knew the memory of my words would be enough to give him a moment of pause. I needed him to breathe, to step away from the raw edge of his rage.

I slid my hands further up his body, feeling the heat of his skin under my fingertips. Slowly, I placed my hands beneath his palm. His webbed fingers curled around mine immediately, the gesture instinctual and comforting. He was still trembling, but the tension in his muscles eased just slightly.

“These hands…” I began softly, giving him the space to finish the sentence himself.

A long, shaky breath escaped him, and for a moment, I thought I’d lost him. But then, his gills flared gently, settling back down as he found his ground again. His voice, when it came, was softer, quieter, almost reverent.

“…would never hurt you.”

“That’s right,” I said, my voice barely a whisper, a weary smile tugging at the corner of my lips. His words, though simple, soothed something deep inside me. I hadn’t realized how much I’d needed to hear that, needed to know that this—whatever this was between us—wasn’t one-sided, wasn’t born from a place of control.

But even as I smiled, the exhaustion hit me all at once. A yawn escaped me before I could stifle it, the weariness of the day creeping up on me like a tide pulling me under. His outburst had drained the last of my energy, and I longed for the comfort of dry clothes and the soft embrace of my bed.

Gods, it had been a long day.

Once I was certain that Arthur’s anger had settled, I moved to help him slide off the exam table. As I shifted it out of the way, I couldn’t shake the weight of everything that had transpired. How the hell had we gotten here?

“I’m really sorry about all of this, Arthur,” I murmured softly, my voice tender as I spoke the words. “You’ve been through so much already... I never meant to cause you more stress.” The sincerity in my tone was almost palpable, a quiet ache threading through my chest as I looked at him.

He didn’t answer, but instead ducked beneath the surface of the water, his sleek body gliding effortlessly through the pool. His tail flicked powerfully, sending waves crashing against the sides, as though he was trying to burn off all the remaining energy, the anger still simmering beneath his skin. I could feel the pull of his restlessness, a quiet undercurrent to everything he did. He needs more space. The thought hit me like a sudden revelation, and I knew then that this was only temporary. His body wasn’t built for such small confines. He needed room to move, room to breathe.

He surfaced again, shaking the water from his hair and glancing at me with that familiar, guarded expression. “John should have everything ready for you soon,” I said, my voice warm, reassuring. “You’ll have more room to swim. Places to hide, if you choose. And I’ll talk to Kieran about getting you some food.”

I was about to step out of  the pool, but before I could even walk away, something cool, slick, and strong wrapped around my ankle.

Arthur.

I froze, the contact sparking an electric pulse that made my heart race. I looked down, and for the briefest of moments, I could swear there was a hint of something innocent in the way he held me—something that didn’t belong in the immense creature I had come to know.

“You’re leaving?” His voice, thick and uncertain, carried through the stillness.

My heart squeezed as I looked back at him. There he was, his large frame hovering in the water, but his expression was so vulnerable, so human, for lack of a better word. His gaze softened with a trace of something almost sad, and god, if sirens could pout, this one was certainly pouting.

“I’ll be back in the morning, honey,” I explained, trying to sound as reassuring as I could. I gave him a small smile, hoping it would settle him, but even I wasn’t sure it would. He needed comfort, but I needed to calm my own turbulent thoughts. “I need to get some sleep.”

He nodded ever so slightly, the gesture almost imperceptible, before finally releasing me. The warmth of his grip slipped away, leaving me feeling hollow for a second. I walked toward the wet mat, grabbing the towel that hung on the wall, preparing to leave the pool and head to the locker room when I heard his voice call my name again.

“Hmm?” I called, surprised by the soft note in his voice. I turned back, still rubbing the towel through my wet hair, waiting for him to speak.

“Do you have a mate?”

The question hit me like a splash of cold water. It left me blinking, caught completely off guard. “I—do I have a what?”

His massive figure loomed there, suddenly seeming so small in the vast space of the pool. His head dipped as if to hide the uncertainty on his face. “Are—are you spoken for?” he asked again, his tone now tinged with a kind of nervousness I hadn’t expected from him.

The silence between us deepened, stretching long and heavy, as my mind tried to wrap around the weight of his words. He was asking if I had a partner. If I was dating anyone. My breath caught. Why would he want to know this? I felt the heat of a thousand questions rise to my lips, but none of them felt right.

Before I could speak, Arthur muttered something under his breath, and in that moment, his voice cracked just slightly, like a raw edge exposed. “Forget it.”

With a swift, graceful movement, he slipped back beneath the water, vanishing from sight.

No, I don’t.

The words hovered on the tip of my tongue as I stared at the spot where he had disappeared. The urge to reach out, to tell him that no, I wasn’t spoken for, that there was nothing tying me to anyone else, was almost overpowering. But I stood there, feeling my heart pounding in my chest, watching the water ripple in his wake.

I couldn’t chase him. 

Not yet.

AN: I love this silly little sea boy. Next chapter is gonna include his pov because I feel like everyone deserves to know what's going through his head right now. Poor thing is so horny and scared, and you know what, me too Arthur. Me too.

I'm blown away by the love and feedback I've received for this so far. I genuinely though this would be something that stayed hidden in the deep dark caves of the fandom ocean. But here we are, thank you so so much for reading. It warms my little monsterfucker heart <3

[pigeonwhumps]

Superhero's pet

WoW's birthday event: day 9: aftermath of rescue | sickness | "you're burning up"

Taglist: @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance @rainydaywhump

Caretaker's rescued Villain from Superhero from years in his 'care'. But that doesn't mean things are easy, especially when he's still her boss.

The blame for this goes entirely to @echo-goes-mmm.

1.9k

CWs: Villain whump, pet whump, severe self-dehumanisation, past dehumanisation, past animalisation, asking for punishment, past torture

Caretaker prepares for work quickly and silently nowadays. She needs the extra time, because she has someone else to look after now.

Villain. Superhero's former plaything. The test case in the new villain rehabilitation programme.

Or, as they call themself – pet.

They wanted to be called dog. They were called dog. But pet somehow seems like a slight improvement. They use that now, for themself.

They have the same routine every day Caretaker works, and it seems to help. She wakes them up once she's completely ready to leave. She'd gladly leave them asleep, but the one time she tried, they panicked and hurt themself. She hasn't tried since.

She shakes them gently awake. They're asleep on a human-sized pet bed in her room, snuggled under a large blanket until only the tip of their satin bonnet is visible.

They wouldn't take the bed in the spare room, insisting that "pets don't deserve beds," and she wasn't letting them sleep on the carpet. This was the compromise, when she realised even a room to themself was too much.

They wake and push themself immediately to their hands and knees, reaching out to kiss Caretaker's trainers. She takes a step back.

"Hey, buddy. You don't need to do that, remember?"

Villain trembles, forehead dropping to meet the hard carpet. "Your pet is sorry, Mistress. Please punish it."

"Not happening. Come on, get dressed and then it's time for breakfast."

Caretaker turns her back as quickly as possible as Villain starts stripping without a care who's there. She's not sure she wants to know what Superhero did to make them like this.

They won't take off their collar, insisting that it'll make them a "bad dog", but there's no bell any longer and she's working on the tag.

"Your pet is dressed, Mistress."

"Good pet." She hates the term, but they practically glow when she calls them it so maybe it's worth it? "Follow me."

Villain crawls behind Caretaker, settling into a knelt position when they reach the kitchen. She stifles a sigh. They've come on since she brought them home, but there's still a long way to go. The number one priority of which is to get them to eat like a person.

"What would you like to eat this morning, Villain? Crumpets or toast with jam?" They were their two favourites before they vanished, she knows. And they're edible with fingers, which... Caretaker doesn't ever want to watch them eat like an animal again.

"Whatever Mistress desires."

"Well I would desire you to make a decision. It's okay, I won't punish you for it."

Villain pales, visibly trembling again. "May this pet... may it have crumpets, please, Mistress? It understand if it requires a reminder of its position instead, but please show mercy on your pet for following your instructions." Then they cringe away, repeating under their breath in a monotone, "Good dogs don't ask for mercy. Good dogs take what they're given. Good dogs need regular reminders."

"Shh, buddy. It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you."

Villain's breath hitches. "Please remind this pet of its place, Mistress. It needs regular reminders, This pet is a bad, bad dog and it needs to learn its place."

Caretaker winces. Why does 'dog' sound so much worse than 'pet'?

"You're not a bad pet. You're very good already. Is that where your scars are from?"

"Some, Mistress. This pet requires maintenance."

Caretaker nods, glad she's already eaten. She sets the dog bowl in front of them. "Eat your breakfast."

Villain obediently lifts a crumpet (and god, at least they're using their hands now) and hunches over it, eating like they'll never be fed again.

For all Caretaker knows, that could be a plausible possibility in their mind. Did Superhero threaten that? Villain is still underfed.

She watches as they polish off their meal. As she has before, she wonders if she's using the right pronouns anymore. Sure, it/its are conditioned into Villain, but that doesn't mean she shouldn't use them. Does it?

"I'm going to work today, Villain. While I'm gone, I'd like you to clean the dishes and look after your goldfish. You can go out on the balcony if you like, but no further outside. I'm sorry, we can't risk it yet. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Good pet."

Caretaker bends down and scratches behind their ear, which they lean into eagerly. "Stay safe."

Then she leaves, unable to think of anything else to say.

_

Superhero has asked to see her.

Superhero has asked to see her.

Caretaker would be nervous normally, because now she's finished her training he only ever calls her in when she's failed, but now... what if he's found out about Villain? As a technopath it was simplicity itself hacking into the system to investigate the rehabilitation centre, but what if she left some trace of herself behind? Online, at the centre itself, in her behaviour over the past few weeks... she could've done anything.

As she walks through the building, she passes many people, some of whom smile or call out greetings. She wonders just how many know what Superhero's been doing.

She hadn't. Villain had been missing for two years and god, she was so naïve. Believing Superhero's reassurances (when she dared to ask) that they were being well taken care of, and he'd visited himself, the conditions were completely up to scratch. They should be no worry of Caretaker's now. His terrible lies that make her blood boil.

She knocks on his office door and waits for a response before entering.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

His eyes are ice cold behind his smile. "Yes. I wanted to ask how you're doing."

"Sir?"

"After Villain's escape. I notice your success rate is down recently."

"Oh." She twists her fingers behind her back. Of course she has, she's not arresting anyone else to be hauled off and tortured into Villain's state or worse. "I'm sorry, sir, I've just been worried about Villain." Not a lie. "I'll do better."

"Mm." He steeples his hands together under his chin, watching her steadily with the gaze of the agency's golden boy, and it's in moments like these that she's reminded of how brutal his training was. How unforgiving. "Any idea where he could be?"

Her mind flashes back to a morning during Villain's first week with her, when they'd licked spilt jam off the kitchen floor because "bad dogs don't waste food".

"No, sir."

"Pity. As their nemesis, I expect you to do better."

"I expect you to do better, Caretaker. We'll try again in an hour."

Caretaker shivers. At least she no longer has to be trained by Superhero.

Why did she ever like and trust him?

"Sorry, sir."

"Let me know if you find anything. Dismissed." He flicks a hand towards the door and she exits obediently. You don't argue with Superhero, even if you're not trying to keep a low profile.

Às soon as she's far enough away, she leans against a wall and closes her eyes, breathing hard. She is so, so glad she doesn't regularly carry a knife around with her. Stabbing Superhero 47 times in the chest might be a slight giveaway that she no longer likes him.

_

Caretaker returns home to the smell of chemicals and Villain kneeling on the freshly-cleaned carpet, behind an array of implements. Lighter, matches, fire poker, broom, knife, bleach, rope, salt...

"Villain, what..."

"You have been stressed, Mistress, and this pet is overdue its maintenance. This pet thought that this might help, as it did Master." Then they say somewhat proudly, "This pet used its initiative, as you requested. Has it pleased you, Mistress?"

The pieces finally click and Caretaker stumbles back, hand flying to her mouth, horrified. Villain thought... Caretaker would want to torture them because she was stressed? More than that, they fetched all these torture implements and brought them together in an effort to please her, knowing how they would be used?

"I... put those away, Villain, please. We won't be needing those tonight. And once you're finished go and wait in the living room. I think we need to talk again."

"Yes, Mistress." They pick up the first implement (a hammer) and crawl awkwardly towards the cupboard where the DIY stuff is kept. Caretaker thinks about reminding them they can walk, but they're shaking so much already. It probably wouldn't do any good.

She changes into something more comfortable before turning the kettle on, her own hands shaking. God. It feels like every day she discovers some new, despicable thing Superhero has done. Forget the knives – she could kill him with her bare hands.

She used to just be able to relax after work. Those were the days. But– she can't very well just leave Villain. They're her responsibility, and she's their only option.

Sighing, she carefully carries two cups of chamomile tea into the living room and sets them down on the coffee table. Villain is knelt in what must be the most uncomfortable corner of the room – difficult to find, as the place is tidier than she's ever seen it.

"Will you come and join me on the sofa, please, Villain? Or at least beside the sofa, if it makes you feel more comfortable."

She's sure they'll do that, they always do, and she arranges soft cushions on the hard carpet to make it more comfortable, since the rug doesn't reach far enough. At least she's always had far too many cushions.

She lives in hope that one day they'll feel comfortable enough to start using furniture again.

"So, first things first. Thank you for cleaning the house so thoroughly. It's never been so sparkling. You didn't have to, but I'm very grateful you did. And I'm proud of you for using your initiative, please keep doing so. However, stop bringing me torture implements. That's an order. I'm not going to punish you, Villain, and nobody deserves being hurt by any of that. Understand?"

"Yes, Mistress. This pet apologises for not letting you choose the method of punishment completely. It will do better in future."

"No, that's not what I–" She cuts off, pinching her brow. She's not going to get them to understand, at least not yet. "Thank you, buddy. Now, why don't we both relax? I'll find us something we'll both like."

"Yes, Mistress."

They settle for an episode of Great British Bake Off in the end. Not that Villain ever comments either way, but they did when they still fought each other and if Villain lied to her about their preferences then that's their own fault.

Villain rests their head on her lap and watches the screen sideways, eyes half-closed. Caretaker rubs small circles into their shoulders.

She feels so incredibly guilty for arresting them in the first place. She's responsible for this, albeit indirectly. The Villain she knew would never have forgiven her.

Speaking of which...

"Why are you never angry with me, Villain? I'm the reason you were tortured for two years."

Villain glances up from under their lashes for just a second.

"Good dogs don't bark."

[amoristt]

-- Colossus content???? *Rubs my hands together* Id like to request something slow-burney! maybe hes trying to gain readers trust after she's rescued and brought to the x-mansion?

HEEHEE part 1 to the idea i have for this >:) i hope u enjoy i really i really love a good hurt/comfort and colossus is just so *chef kiss* abt it hehehehe

ty for any reblogs and comments! they make my day <3

4 or 5 moments. 

4 or 5 moments to be a hero. 

4 or 5 moments to make the difference- to teach a broken soul that there was always light at the end of that dark, dark tunnel. 

Colossus was determined to be the hand that guided for each one.

The first moment was quiet. 

Lingering outside one of the many bedrooms of the X-Mansion, a plate of food in one hand a prayer (a glass of water) in the other, Colossus stands. The faint echoes of voices and steps blend into the soft buzzing ambiance wisping through the halls. All the sounds melt into one, a background track looping on repeat day in and day out. It was a good soundtrack. Safe. It always brought him joy to hear such… Casualty. Veins of life snaking through the kitchen, the foyer, the living areas. 

Everywhere, except for your room. No, that space remained just as dead as the day he’d brought you in. You were almost nothing in his arms- a shattered, catatonic little thing with more bruises than not. You didn’t fight. Barely even breathed, let alone moved, as he settled you so gently into your very own bed in your very own room, where he promptly left you to decompress in your very own silence. 

And silent was how it stayed. 

Of course Colossus knew that this would take time. All rehabilitations did. Though he had to admit, the situation he’d found you in was certainly one of the worst. The state he found you in was barely even human- more like a frightened animal who’d been stuck inside a cage. All across the world, small underground facilities were beginning to pop like roaches. In these facilities, poor humans would be bamboozled and subjected to unimaginable torture until they would forcibly mutate. It was a problem the X-Men were growing unfortunately familiar with. 

But this, the horrible place he’d found you in, was the next step on that awful ladder. 

Mutating was rare in general. And sometimes, those with exceptional powers would be carted off to even more secretive places where the days would be spent being a live guinea-pig. The first idea (that Colossus was aware of) was to seemingly extract the mutated genes from the newly-formed mutant to create more. When that didn’t work, they would begin to target the actual DNA itself, see what they could tamper with and what they couldn’t. Broad studies to see what the mutant body could survive were a given. 

There was never, ever a survivor of this. Colossus himself had seen it almost a dozen times now. Bodies strapped to tables, chained to walls, discarded and dismembered. It always made him sick to his stomach, but he choked down the hopelessness of it all. He would be present at every single one, taking down anyone responsible. Searching tirelessly for even the chance of there being a survivor. Even when he knew deep down in his metal heart that he would only be met with more carnage. 

Every room only confirmed that. 

Until he found you. 

You, in what looked like a cubicle of bars, tucked all the way into the corner, unphased by the chaos of the X-Men seizing the facility. When he’d pried his way inside, he expected you to look up at him, beam when you’d learned that you were being saved. That you would be getting out of this place alive unlike the countless before you. The countless that would inevitably be after you. 

But, you didn’t. You didn’t even look at him. There was nothing behind your sullen, empty eyes. If not for the rise and fall of your chest, he would have thought you were dead. When he picked you up into his large arms, you remained still as a statue. No fight, no sounds. He felt pity in his chest- whatever they had done to you, it certainly broke you. You had truly given up.

But this is what the X-Men were for. Saving people. Helping.

And he knew that you, a mutant who’d been through hell and back, could be helped. It was as true as time- Colossus knew it. 

So, he brought you to the X-Mansion. And, after you were medically cleared and cleaned, he knew now would begin the process of bringing you back to life. To plant seeds and nurture them until you bloomed into something beautiful. But, god, seeing you after you’d been so carefully treated, you were still so empty. Free of all the dirt and grime that stuck to your skin, your bruises and cuts only seemed to get worse. No amount of rinsing would restore the color to your eyes. 

No matter. This was the start of your journey, your new life. 

He was careful to give you your space, as much as you needed. Though he had nothing but questions, and nothing but time between missions, he never tried to force you to talk to him. Hell, for now, you didn’t even have to listen to him. Just exist and breathe and feel the soft bed underneath you, the warm blanket on top of you. The warm plates of food he’d bring every morning that you had yet to touch. 

He knew there were only two reactions to the sight of food in the early days of rehabilitation- either instinctual hunger or disinterest. The former was always the best- food, Colossus had found, was always a gateway into conversation. It was a motivator, a doorway. But of course your case had to be the ladder. It had to be hard. Had to be countless breakfasts, lunches, and dinners tossed into the trash with a sigh. He never pushed. Never urged you to eat- just set the plate and a glass of water on the nightstand beside your bed and hoped. 

At the five day mark, he began to feel the seeds of anxiety sprout in his heart. Uncertainty, stress. You had only, so far, drank a few glasses of water, which taught him you were at least acknowledging the meal before you. You were just actively choosing to ignore it. But, regardless, there was some form of survival instinct at play. Dehydration was a killer. And Colossus knew this was a tricky, lengthy process. Enduring who-knows-what levels of torture didn’t seem likely to stir up an appetite, after all. You just needed time.

But then a whole week came and went. 

Seven days with no food in your belly, plus however long it had been since those bastards fed you before he found you. The sprouts of anxiety had turned into creeping vines that squeezed tighter with every failed attempt to get you to eat something. At this rate, he feared you would die of malnutrition before you even got the chance to heal. Time was the answer- he knew that, it had to be. It always was- but how long could you go?

Colossus stared at the door in front of him, oddly finding himself working up the courage. Was his presence frightening you? Was his size intimidating? Should he send NTW in instead? Doubting himself was a foreign concept but this was something more sensitive than he’d anticipated. 

When he finally reaches for the knob and turns it, he cracks the door open and pauses. Just long enough to show you that you have the option to stop him. You never do. Never even acknowledge his presence at all. Always tucked on your side curled into a fetal position with the blanket up to your ears, unmoving, unblinking. Like a corpse. More than a few times you’d frightened him until he learned that you weren’t dead, just simply… Not all there. Alive, breathing, but not there. 

The first sign that there was brain activity at all was when the shaking began. After a few days, when he’d bring you breakfast, you’d start to shake like a leaf as he stood over you. Scared, you would curl into yourself just a little tighter. It broke his heart, but it also told him something. 

It told him you were starting to take in your environment. And that reminded him that under all that trauma-induced catatonia, there was life.

Colossus was determined to bring that life back into you. Something drew him to it, no matter how frustrated he felt at every hurdle. He was nothing if not patient. 

It’s the second time he’s visited you so far today. The first, like always, was when the sun had just breached over the horizon. He would poke his head through the door as quietly as a giant metal man could be and make sure you were still alive. So far, he was met with that rise and fall of your chest, and he was satisfied. 

Now he brings breakfast, the first meal of the day and in his opinion, the most important. Two pieces of bacon, an egg, a slice of toast, and of course a tall glass of water. Simple, easy to digest and balanced. Just the way it should be. With the daily hope of today being the day, he walks inside and say’s a soft goodmorning. You, of course, remain quiet. 

But, to his shock, progress had been made yet again. 

You aren’t laying on your side curled pathetically into yourself. Your back is to the headboard, knees brought up to your chest, head ducked into them. The blanket pools around your waist. Your arms wrap around yourself like a barrier from the outside world, protecting you from everything. Even him. 

“I’ve brought you breakfast,” He starts for the eighth day in a row, setting the plate and water on the nightstand. “You should eat something today.”

Every morning Colossus drew just a little bit closer to you when he’d speak to you. Now, eight days later, he stands a mere few feet from you. You didn’t acknowledge him, but that was okay. Today was already starting off miles better than any other had thus far.  Much like the other rehabilitation cases he’d taken on, he wished he could read your mind. Wished he could peek into the twists and turns of your psyche, the quiet horrors that buried you alive. He was determined to see you breach the surface, see the color light back into your eyes. 

In the meantime, he knew these first baby steps were pivotal, and as much as he despised pushing you… An entire week at the very least with an empty stomach was nothing to mess with. He didn’t have much of a choice. .

“It has been days. You must eat something.”

He sighs deep in his metal chest, looks over at you and makes a mental note that the bruises on your elbows and wrists have begun to fade. That, and another even more subtle splash of progress: you weren’t shaking. Not yet, anyways. It’s a small victory he takes in stride, another successful baby step. 

The expected silence is heavy. Of course he’s the one to break it, sucking in a short breath before he hesitantly sits down at the edge of the bed. He tries to settle as quietly as possible given how… Intimidating his size can be, but he can’t stop the way the bed dips underneath him. He rests his hands in his lap and stares down at the floor. 

“I know you are frightened,” He starts softly, cringing when he shifts his weight and the bed groans under his weight. You’ve still yet to start trembling thankfully- it grants him a glimmer of hope. He eyes the plate. “This is much to take in. But, you are safe here. You can take as much time as needed. But until then, you must eat.”

No response. Just sullen, quiet fear. He doesn’t push any harder than that- leaves you to settle once more and shuts the door behind him as gently as he could manage. 

In stark contrast, the rest of the mansion is buzzing with life, as always. After his visit with you, Colossus returns to his daily schedule, a modest routine that has him bounding for the wide, open yards to get his daily workout in. The radio chirps at him, the sun is bright, the grass is soft. Afterwards, he makes himself lunch, reads a few chapters of his book. A quiet, mundane albeit lovely day thus far.  

Through it all, he tries to fight off a nagging anxiety that’s been building in his chest. He wasn’t a man of doubts, but a part of him wasn’t so sure anymore. He wasn’t sure what the next step would entail if the food remained untouched. He wouldn’t force feed you. God, no. It would decimate any and all hopes for you to trust him. He’d likely have to transfer you to some specialized hospital, somewhere you could be monitored. But even that was so… cold, so sterile. You needed warmth, peace. You needed to see life would continue on. Not a hospital room and a dozen white coated strangers poking at you in all directions. 

He steps down the hall, his normally confident gait staggering just a little. Just enough. For all he knew maybe you had some sort of healing factor- but even so, would it be able to save you from malnutrition? Hunger was also certainly a killer. Worries gnaw at him- what if your body gave way before you could even get the chance to come around? There was so little of you already.

When he reaches your door, he can’t help but pause, staring at the wooden entry before him. Carefully, he turns the knob, and like always, waits for the chance you may stop him. You don’t- he steps inside. 

You’re laying on your side, back facing him, a position he’s grown used to seeing. Naturally, on instinct by now, he scans for the rise and fall of your chest. The evidence of life. His breath leaves him in relief when he finds it. The curtains blow gently in the breeze. The sun, high overhead in the blue sky, haloes you. He approaches as quietly as a metal man can. When he’s close enough to take in your expression, he can’t help but appreciate your features. You’re sleeping, eyelashes heavy on your cheekbones and your body void of all its tensions. Peaceful, unaware. He wished to see more of it. 

But, he backs away, and glances at the plate. 

He sucks in a sharp breath of pure, genuine joy when it sits empty. His heart rate picks up in seconds flat, a grin spreading over his face before he even realized it. All those anxieties that had been creeping through his chest like slithering veins evaporate, replaced by a sense of relief he doesn't feel himself experiencing too often. It catches him off guard, has to breathe to settle back down. 

He knew it. He knew it, he knew it, he knew it. Why had he been so worried? Why had he been so doubtful of his efforts, of yours? All you needed was time. And now that you’d taken this shaky step, you had accepted the chance to heal. Even the glass of water was empty. You wanted to live, horrified and uncertain or not. While he takes in the incredible sight before him, you sigh in your restful slumber and nestle even more into the bed. 

Colossus plucks the plate from the nightstand and mentally rejoices. It’s a little victory- one of the most simple, but it speaks volumes over all else. He stacks the cup onto the plate and balances it in one hand, the other hesitantly reaching out for your sleeping form. Gently, carefully, he catches the fabric of your blanket between his fingers and drags it up to your chin, tucks you in just a little more. 

Oh, how he smiles when you nestle into it. You nuzzle the blanket and hum- a tune that reaches him like a beautiful song. It’s the first noise you’ve made since you’d arrived- and it was so lovely. He can audibly hear you relax, accepting. 

The walk back to the door is one of victory. The door is shut behind him just as quietly as before. The road ahead was long and winding, he was sure, but there would be an end. You would get better. He just knew it. 

He carries that plate into the kitchen like it’s an award.

[boyjumps]

"Severe punishment for the sake of order is a separate issue from individual help." – Zen teachings

An anecdote from a monk at the end of the Edo period who argues that individual rehabilitation and social order are separate issues:

One of the greatest exponents of Nichiren Shoshu doctrine in modern times was Monk Nichiki. He was active around the end of the Edo period (mid-19th century), and is known as the sect's leading master.

When he was teaching Buddhism, there were repeated incidents of theft in the school dormitories. Eventually the theif was caught. The representatives of the school dormitory bring the wrongdoer in and asked the superior to punish him. “Will do,” replied the master. 

However, the thief was never punished. The representatives of the dormitory were so distressed that they went to Monk Nichiki again and said, "We cannot train with that man. If you do not punish the man, we will leave.”

"Well, that's inevitable.” The Master said, "Well then, I will let all of you take break.” "Why does he stay and we have to leave?” the disciples asked.

To which the Master replied,  "That man will never make it anywhere. So I want to keep him here with me. I think you all can make it wherever you go. So I'll let you go. Take care of yourselves.” Knowing the Master's heart, the disciples apologised. And the man who did it also shed tears and apologised to everyone.

It's a good story. But when we write such stories, some people are often misunderstood, if we approve of thievery. What we want to say, however, is that maintaining social order is not the same thing as truly saving the individual. And we are talking only about the rescue of the individual. Sorry to say, but we are not so much interested in maintaining social order but in saving the individual. The social element is the business of politics.

[deleted-files]

Here we have Iota Squad all together and ready for action. One of hero factories many search and rescue teams. Though, this team in particular is usually assigned to more hazardous conditions than usual. They're more than capable than handling themselves alone but when together, as with all teams, they can achieve great things. Listing them off from left to right (In the group photo):

Heinrich Phase: A brash and boastful rookie always looking to prove himself to his team's lead, Pixie. He feels that the Hero Factory could be doing more with it's influence and power. Heinrich made a name for himself while using the experimental short range phase generator mounted on his upper back. This device allows him to "teleport" or blink a short distance, leaving an after image in his path. Depending on the mission at hand you'll either see him with his High Frequency Dual Claws, able to cut through even the densest of metals and rock. They come quite in handy for clearing debris and clearing paths to rescue targets or ripping the armor off of foes. Or his Dual Concussive Photon Repeaters, usually mounted on the side of a Mach Bike, he took the opportunity from a wrecked one to see if he could put them to use himself. They have a lot of kick… unsurprisingly.

Gretchen Ranger: An overprotective, unyielding, near-unstoppable force of a hero. Not afraid to speak her mind, she tends to butt heads with the team lead at times. Even so, they're the closest of the four. Despite her predisposition, she willingly chose the role of tracker of the team. Ranger's armor and equipment are reminiscent of a badger. She comes equipped with similar strength augmenting tech implanted in Duncan Bulk with optimized actuators in her hands for more grip strength, allowing her to crush even stone in her claws. She can scale sheer vertical surfaces with ease as well. Her tool of choice is a modified version of the M.D.S.B (Mega Decibel Sound Blaster). Referred to as, lovingly, the "Search Light". Instead of sending out masses of explosive sound, it acts as an advance echo-locator. Though, the output can be turned up higher for sustained and devastating firepower should the need arise.

Clara Pixie: Team lead, voice of reason, and a great shot. Pixie, despite being the shortest in the team, is the most capable fighter out of all of them. She traded in the standard plasma gun issued to all heroes for a condensed combustion hand cannon. The design of the handgun is very much "lightning trapped in a bottle". However, that is a topic for another time. Pixie while not leading the team, is often participating in Hero Factory's rehabilitation program. In which a select few potential ex-villains are given a second chance. In the form of being assigned to a city and being charged with protecting and helping the inhabitants in anyway they can. Of course, under the close supervision of an assigned handler. Pixie, being part of this program, has been assigned with being Corroder's handler. The two have grown quite close as time passed. Even bringing him along on missions with the rest of the squad every now and again. The two would be near inseparable if it weren't for responsibilities that need most of their attention.

Andrew "Andy" Bolt": Quiet, patient, disciplined, Andrew Bolt is one of the best scouts Hero Factory has had in years. It's rumored that he could've been on the fabled H.R.T (Hero Recon Team) at one point or another. His actions, speak much louder than words in most cases. Not much is really known fully about him aside from him being a veteran hero and his blinding speed. He is equipped with an energy condenser mounted to his quaza core that passively absorbs any ambient electricity in the air. Giving him a constant flow of energy to power his tools/weapons. Speaking of, Bolt's equipped with Dual Stun blasters that have an extended function, when drawing directly from his energy condenser, to create nets of energy capable of neutralizing weapons and powers similar to the hero cuffs used during the breakout event. His pride and joy comes in the form of the Mach Saber. in it's normal state it functions just like any other sword made by hero factory. But, when drawing power directly from his energy condenser, it's high frequency function activates, allowing him to cut through even the strongest alloys. Bolt is also capable of diverting extra power to his legs for short bursts of speed or a constant, blinding sprint. Doing so charges the condenser further. If not released he could overheat himself. After long sprints Bolt requires venting almost immediately.

This was a really long one but, I really needed to get this one done since I've been sitting on the idea of this team for a while now. I figured now would be as good as any since it is Hero February and all. Hope you like them as much as I do. Enjoy!

[chaifootsteps]

God, I fucking hate the morons that go "Here come the dummies making comments about animal abuse!!! It's called conservation, sweaty <3" because they're so fucking obnoxiously uneducated, it's not even funny. Like you said, REAL conservation sites will not let you feed the animals, for one thing, and I also literally volunteer at a raptors rescue center in which TONS of our birds had to be rescued from horrible fucking "owl cafe" type locations in which the birds are neglected and treated like decorations rather than living fucking creatures. These people have LITERALLY NO IDEA how bad these places are for the animals, and yet they pretend like they do, they're literally telling on themselves by showing how fucking stupid they are. In an ACTUAL conservation center like mine, we do have flight shows and we have SOME birds that we allow customers to pet and hold (ones that have been with us for years and that we know have the temperament for it, as well as it having to happen with a staff member present and not for long periods of time) but after that, they get put back into their own enclosures. Repeat, ENCLOSURES, that are large, and with space for them to move and fly as they please. Not one fucking stick that they're goddamn chained to for people to gawk at. These people are tone-deaf, brainless idiots if they genuinely believe those cafes are suitable environments for wild animals. To all Vivzie stans that are defending her support of these places, from the bottom of my heart, fuck you, you horrific, awful, animal abuse enablers. That is what you are, no matter how much you yell and cry that it's not. Fuck you.

It's absolutely maddening. The smug "um, it's called conservation sweaty, it's being rehabilitated in a sanctuary" remarks on the false killer whale burned me the most because cetaceans are my thing in the way birds are yours and there are very few real sanctuaries for cetaceans.

One is the Umba Lumba Center in West Bali, which rehabilitates and releases show dolphins and cares for those who can't. The beluga whale sanctuary in Iceland is another. They're trying to set up one in Nova Scotia, and the Baltimore Aquarium has (ostensibly) been trying ever since 2016.

Okinawa Churaumi Aquarium, where Viv visisted, is not one of these. Okinawa Churaumi keeps Taiji dolphins.

[rebellionmoon]

💚 ILLUMI HEADCANONS THAT MAKE ME HAPPY 💚

idk but i just love imagining random facts about illumi, that don't really add to his character, but kindof do too? Maybe it's because there isn't much screen time of illumi in the anime that my brain needs to fill all that empty space of longing in my heart of what could have been.

SO HERE ARE RANDOM ILLUMI (HEADCANON) FACTS THAT SERVE NOTHING:

He drinks beer and uses his teeth to open the bottles. He used to have a collection of bottlecaps, but then he gave them to Killua. So whenever Illumi opened a bottle, the cap would hence force go to Killua. Now the jar of bottlecaps is somewhere in Killua's room collecting dust.

After finishing an assassintion, he likes to get fastfood. Something quick and indulgent, like it's a cheat day. If he was on a job with his brothers then they'd hit a bodega afterwards. Sometimes he would bring food back to Milluki too.

He can hold a burger in one hand and tear through a ketchup packet with his teeth. He dips his food so much, he rarely eats anything without sauce.

Like Silva, Illumi has had a few pets in his life. One of them being a bear. He named it Pikelet. (I'll explore this one more in my fic!)

Although murder is his trade, that shouldn't hinder his other passions, including wild life conservation! This boy grew up in the mountains, albiet privately owned. You can't convince me he isn't a goblin child at heart.

He always thought he deserved to have fangs.

When he sees a walking stick lying on the ground, he has the urge to pick it up and wield it like a sword.

When he was eight he read all the narnia books. Peter was his comfort character, but he wanted to be Prince Caspian. To this day, if you ask him why he likes Narnia, he will give you a disseration and explain why Lucy is the strongest of all the penvensie siblings. He has never had turkish delight, but believes he would betray his siblings for them, they just look so good!

He could grow antlers out of pure will power. No, literally, he can. He can and will show you. "I'm a crytid. Look at my antlers."

He's still a Goosebumps kid at heart. When autumn rolls around, he he lays in bed and watches his favorite spooky shows (scooby doo, goosebumps, are you afraid of the dark?, tales from the crypt)

When he was little, he used to play in the forest by himself ALOT. One time, he crawled into a log, but the log was at the top of a hill and it began to roll down with him in it and then it rolled into a pond. He was able to escape, but he almost drowned and never told anyone what happened. He was a little mortified to tell anyone because he almost died doing something stupid. He'll tell you he has done alot of stupid things in the woods, but won't divulge more than that.

He's actually kind of good at acting and loves watching movies. This is part of why he is so good at diguises, he studies the actors in movies lol Sometimes he repeats lines from movies randomly in the house. Out of nowhere, he shouts 'BILBOOOO BAGGINSSSS' in a gandolf like voice. It's okay, just accept it.

Illumi has rehabilitated many opossums in his life.

He owns an animal rescue ranch, under a different identity of one of his disguises, that rebahilibates injured animals and prepares to release them back to the wild. His current disguise is an old man, but Illumi plans to 'die' and come back as his son/heir. Yes, he has worked out an entire line of succession for a rescue ranch. Did he have to do this? No, but he did anyway.

Once Illumi officiated the wedding between a frog named Freddie Lime to another frog named Emily Spinach. Oh, he was also high, but the wedding was beautiful, and Milluki fished him out of the pond afterwards.

There's a deer in Kukuroo Mountain that is fond of Illumi. If it sees him, it will run up to him. Illumi doesn't know what the forest calls the deer, but he calls it Thimble. He gives Thimble treats, and Thimple lets Illumi pet him, the arrangement has worked out very well so far.

Kukuroo Mountain is self sustainable, and alot of the food they cook they grow themselves. There's also a farm, with cows. Illumi would just be chilling on a hamick and then suddenly killua runs past him, and then so does a cow. Illumi goes back to napping, this isn't his mess to clean up.

"Concept: I will continue to bottle up all my emotions until I snap."

Moss.

Here were some facts! I have more stuff, but those are spoilers for my fanfic (where shadows touch), My obsession might be unhealthy but it's delicious and i love it so I'm not gonna stop.

[anthonyxblake]

starter for @lilianaxsantos

location: liliana's home

Anthony's release from an intense year of rehabilitation back into the real world, he knew that he had to find Liliana. The last memory he had of his wife was the one when he ultimately walked away from the life they had been building together by signing up for another tour in the air force. It hadn't been the right decision and it was all he thought about as the helicopter he was flying crashed into a body of water. All he could think about was how much he had disappointed her, been a terrible husband and frankly, he had hoped he wouldn't come up from the depths of the water. When he did, he swam through the icy cold waters to shore, only to be captured by the enemy.

Every single day he spent as a prisoner of war, he felt was karma for the man that he was before he was captive. When what happened to be a year and a half later came around, Anthony found himself rescued and immediately returned to the United States where he was promptly placed into an intensive care unit to make sure that he was sound. No matter how many times he asked for his wife, she never showed and doctors, nurses and other hospital personnel told him that his recovery was the only thing that mattered - that they would get in touch with his wife.

If they did, she never showed. Though he wanted to reach out himself, he didn't have the means. His healing became the ultimate priority and Anthony dove deeper into himself than he ever had. Therapy found ways through the darkness that wrapped around his soul and through the repeat nightmares of his time as a prisoner of war. It wasn't easy - not by a long shot and honestly, he found it to be worse than being a prisoner of war, at times, but what happened when he got to the end was more than he could have ever imagined. Anthony felt like a different person but, he was a person that had no one left to turn to. He couldn't get in touch with anyone in his family and most of all, he couldn't get in touch with his wife.

Finally able to get in touch with family, he returned to his family home for many months while he tried to get his situation under control. It took time and a private investigator before he had been able to track down Liliana and well, the last thing Anthony wanted to do was give the woman a call on her new phone number he was given. As he was informed, people thought he was dead. So, with packed bags, which weren't very many, he took himself to East Haven, Vermont.

He was living out of the local motel for several days before he worked up the courage to stop by at the address that was tracked down for him. Today was that day. He took the bus, as close as he could get before walking along shoveled sidewalks and standing in front of the door. He stood there, for what felt like an eternity before he lifted his hand and knocked against the door.

[arbitrarygreay]

Who has two thumbs and is back on their "defending Alder" bullshit?

Something I love about the show is the way that everything is multifaceted. Most everyone's actions get to be a blend of righteous, self-serving, justified, and both productive and counter-productive all simultaneously, because that's how it is in real life.

In this post we are examining S1, the unavoidable way narrative and world-building intersects, which is that the beginning of the show is a permanent turning point of change in that world. The question then becomes why this specific year? There a relatively stable status quo to be disrupted in the first place, so what changed for it to set the stage for revolution?

Since this is a "defending Alder" post, we must answer the implicit questions in Anacostia's statement from 1x9: "I've known Alder since I was a kid. I've seen her make hundreds of tough calls. But never like this. Never with such disregard for the cost of her actions."

What changed this particular year that was not the case throughout Anacostia's lifetime? Obviously one could assume that Alder was actually this corrupt the whole time and Anacostia just never saw it in person before, but even Petra wasn't perturbed by Citydrop, only moving to action when she learned about Scylla (and, of course, the unit end up making the same call later with Penny). So Citydrop isn't really the thing. Especially when in 1x2 General Clary actually faults Alder for not being more extreme and ruthless after losing her daughter. It's not even the telling of lies to everyone about The Spree executing the hostages, because President Wade made the same call twice (the second being Nicte's execution) to uphold those lies to the public while Alder stepped down. Well, there is Alder's total dismissal of rehabilitating Scylla, but I feel like she has a point because Scylla carried out the damn mall massacre and also Porter's suicide. As with how Wade treated Nicte, a pardon should not have been on the table.

The thing that was almost undeniably corrupt in S1 was Alder puppeting President Wade. Not only was it violating the Hague's laws and the ethics for which those laws were made, but she did it to prevent her retirement, and increased her authority while at it. When combined with the reveals of S2 (Alder keeping the Spree around as a convenient enemy), there are some real "Chancellor Palpatine grants himself war powers" vibes.

And yet. The details that go unsaid in that paragraph. Was there something new that made Alder decide that she could not let her trusted subordinates take up the torch, that she had to handle it all personally? Let's work backwards (and also set aside aforementioned General Clary saying they should move to more extreme methods, does this not apply). What came before that order to retire? Well, before we get to the defense, there is an accusation of Alder hoarding information from the chain of command, which is also extremely fair, and an issue she repeats in S2. There's Citydrop again, which we discussed above.

But then. The Tarim. The entire purpose of the meeting from Alder's end was to ask Wade for permission to save the Tarim. Wade denied that permission before she transitioned into everything else. So, when Alder puppeted Wade, yes she blocked her own retirement, and yes, she increased her own authority. But what does that increase actually entail? What did Alder change from her power before? To now be able to take action globally at her discretion. What did she do in the immediate aftermath of that power grab? A disproportional retaliation against the Spree and Dodgers, as she did in Liberia? No. Alder used her new powers to create a Tarim rescue mission, at the risk of causing geopolitical strife with Russia and China. And did she sit back on her throne and let her war meat carry out her will from a distance? No, she decided that for this specific mission, she needed to go herself. Not the decisive and final strike against the Spree that she also made Wade talk about, but this rescue.

So, Alder's desperation to save the Tarim played more of a role in her corrupt puppeting than The Spree. Let's keep working backwards. She set that meeting up with Wade to plead the case for the Tarim mission. What happened before that? She expressed the intent to have that meeting to Khalida and Adil. Before that? She learned about the state of the Tarim from Petra, and then dismissed the existence of the Camarilla. So, at this point in time, Alder really was focused on the Tarim above concerns about Russia/China or the Spree (in the US), much less the Camarilla.

Still working backwards, what's next in that Tarim thread? Alder met Khalida in the greenhouse after she was healed of the Witchplague. Now, this is operating very much on interpreting Lyne's acting in that scene, but there is a vibe that Alder wanted to interact with Khalida as a child, as she does the Fosterlings. When she first tries to sing with Khalida, her demeanor doesn't mirror how witches look when performing military techniques, but instead matches how Alder looks as she sings a lullaby to the Tarim boy in 1x10. Singing with Khalida wasn't just about gaining an asset, but a social activity.

Speaking of 1x10, Alder is specific and consistent in how she speaks about her sharing of Seeds (as she would do with the Tarim songs). She saw that the Veil Of Secrecy state that the Tarim maintained is an extension of how apparently all witches were before Alder acted out on the scaffold. Alder knows from experience that that security through obscurity is untenable. Only by going public could she create the kind of stable witch's place that did not exist in history before then. She permanently changed the paradigm of who did the hunting. It's very hard to argue with the claim that the world is a "better safer world" compared to the counterfactual where all witches continued to act like the Tarim for those 300+ years, despite militarization opening up novel avenues of corruption. Base rate fallacy strikes again! More people die now every second than they did the past, but that's also because we have billions more people now, too. The proportion of people dying now is so much lower (especially infant mortality). I bet, also, that by creating the Hague to regulate the interaction of witch militaries (basically, so we didn't have World War Witch all of the time), they even reduced non-witch losses to armed conflict compared to our world.

But that line of thinking applies to everyone and everything (like, in the future, the Witchbomb as asset). Why, then, is Alder focusing on the Tarim here to the exclusion of other groups that need help? In 1x10, she says, "The Tarim and their songs, they're the last surviving link to something I thought was gone forever." In 1x6, she says, "The songs your people sing remind me of those my own family carried for centuries." This puts her enthusiasm to sing with Khalida in a whole new light. Sharing the song is a way to relive that familial connection (Eliot says as much in After the Storm 1x3).

But if we go further back, there's a startling reversal in Alder's position on the Tarim. She discouraged proliferating any information on them. In 1x4, she told Petra to focus on the Spree (it's only in 1x9 that they learned those hunting the Tarim were the same people who attacked the Bellweathers), that the Tarim were classified. And, of course, we complete our backtrack of this thread in 1x3's Hague council. Ironically, here Alder advocates for what she will puppet Wade for in the future, telling everyone to stand down in order to avoid geopolitical conflict. This is after being told that children and elderly are dying. Yes, Sharma insinuates that it's so Alder can go after them herself, but Alder's later discouraging of Petra to do anything about them shows the truth of Alder's intent. Before that, Alder extremely notably supports the Tarim not be militarized (which therefore shows in hindsight that she did actually learn from the Martyrdom!!!), directly after she exclaims that the Tarim's song was something she recognized on a visceral level ("in my blood"). After hearing their potential military asset rare Seed, Alder was still all for the Tarim's self-determination to die without compromising on their ideals. Not until Adil and Khalida seek their help does Alder decide that they (and their songs) need preservation.

So, we have completed winding back through the season, and what is the seed that will eventually grow into Alder grabbing power by puppeting the president? That she heard something precious, reminding her of her own family. In the 1600s, Sarah Alder destroyed a status quo that had lasted for millenia in order to prevent losing such things ever again. Was that a power grab, too?

[montereybayaquarium]

Hop into our Otter Spa Time Machine and dive deep into over 40 years of saving southern sea otters!

Through research, rescue, rehabilitation, and release, we’re making every effort to protect these marvelous marine mammals. Check out this critically impawtent work on our Sea Otter Program Timeline!

[vanilla-phantoms]

I could be so interested in a breakdown of your playlists! I love when people tell me their Kepler thoughts :)

Hoo boy here we go (I think I will do this in three separate posts bc otherwise it will be miles long, but here’s part one)

First off, here’s the playlist again for reference:

1. Tombstone Blues by Richie Havens

This one is on his official playlist by Urbena and it really influenced some of my hcs for him. It feels like a good tone setter for the whole playlist as well as starting off chronologically with his childhood.

“Mama's in the factory, she ain't got no shoes

Daddy's in the alley, he's lookin' for food

I'm in the kitchen with the tombstone blues”

I headcanon he grew up poor with parents who were often absent and working, leading him to become very competent and self sufficient at a young age.

The verses to this song also have this sense of absurdist parody of capitalist wartime America which really fits well for his character as a whole

2. White Room by Cream

This one is also on his official playlist and I’m gonna be honest I mostly put it here for vibes. The lyrics don’t make too much sense except for the repeated train station setting. I especially like this verse for him:

“You said no strings could secure you at the station

Platform ticket, restless diesels, goodbye windows

I walked into such a sad time at the station

As I walked out, felt my own need just beginning”

Idk man. It just fits. There’s going to be a theme in these early life songs of restless frustration.

3. Time Bomb by Rancid

I discovered this song as a Jacobi song, but I can imagine Kepler in his mid teen years falling in with the ‘wrong crowd’ and having a rebellious phase. Once more mostly a reflection of an upbringing forcing him to grow up too fast and a restless anger from being someone very intelligent with few opportunities.

“Well, he's back in the hole where they got him living

Like a rat but he's smarter than that nine lives

Like a cat 15 years old, take him to the youth authority home

First thing you learn, you got to make it in this world alone”

4. King for a Day by Green Day

This is on there for gender headcanons that are very influenced by the headcanons of a friend of mine @vvarren-kepler (who will have more insightful comments about this than me). But it boils down to, Kepler is always someone who uses his image as a tool, and maybe at goddard he uses a traditionally masculine presentation to achieve a specific image and effect and because he knows life will be easier for him that way. Maybe, just maybe, when he was younger with a bit more freedom, he was a bit different.

5. Dirty Imbecile by The Happy Fits

See my other post here for this one:

6. Red Right Hand by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

This one is here for his recruitment into Goddard. I like to hc that Cutter recruited him himself, and so in this song Cutter is the man with the red right hand, coming to “rescue” kepler from his life with high and dangerous promises

7. The Devil Wears a Suit and Tie by Colter Wall

This song is a fun one for Kepler in general, but like the one before the “devil” in this song is actually Cutter. This is another one I have on here for his recruitment. I really like the metaphor of goddard as something kepler “sold his soul” or his humanity to, like Lovelace points out in that one scene.

Highlighting this lyric because I can really see cutter using a “you’re just like me” kind of technique when recruiting kepler:

“I know you, I know you young man

I know you by the state of your hands

You're a six-string picker

Just as I, I am”

8. Megalomania by David Lemaitre

This is for him as he’s just joined Goddard, getting used to the cutthroat lifestyle and feeling a little out of his depth.

9. Call Them Brothers by Regina Spektor

I’ve mentioned before that I hc Kepler as having a younger brother that he was the primary caretaker of growing up but who he is now estranged from. This is the process of that estrangement. I think kepler did stick around and take care of him at least until he came of age and could take care of himself, but not for long after that. This could also be the time he decides to change his name and separate himself from his family entirely (I also hc that Kepler isn’t his real surname)

10. Glory and Gore by Lorde

This one is also on his official playlist, and I’m using it to represent his transfer from more normal work in goddard to the black-ops work he ends up leading. I think he probably didn’t start there, but it’s always where Cutter intended to put him. This lyric is one I think fits him pretty well:

‘Delicate in every way but one (the swordplay)

God knows we like archaic kinds of fun (the old ways)

Chance is the only game I play with, baby

We let our battles choose us’

[annelliereed]

Caring for Rescue Animals: Patience and Love in Action with Experts like Annellie Reed

Rescue animals come from varied and often challenging backgrounds, and they can bring both joy and challenges to their new homes. Whether adopted from a shelter or rescued from a difficult situation, these animals require not only physical care but also emotional support to thrive in their new environment. Providing this care involves understanding their unique needs, building trust, and showing patience as they adjust to their new lives. For those willing to invest time and love, the rewards are immeasurable, both for the animal and the caregiver.

Rescue animals often need more than just a safe space; they need a compassionate hand to guide them through their journey of rehabilitation. The process may take time, and it’s essential for caretakers to approach these animals with an open heart and mind. This blog will explore key aspects of caring for rescue animals, focusing on the importance of patience, understanding, and love in transforming their lives.

Understanding the Background of Rescue Animals

One of the first steps in caring for a rescue animal is understanding their background. Many animals come from difficult circumstances, such as neglect, abuse, or abandonment. As a result, they may exhibit fearful, anxious, or defensive behaviors that stem from past trauma. For instance, a dog that was once neglected may have separation anxiety or react aggressively out of fear. Similarly, a cat that was abandoned may be hesitant to trust humans.

Knowing these backgrounds can help caregivers approach their new pets with empathy as highlighted by experts like Annellie Reed. Rather than focusing solely on behavior, it's crucial to understand that these actions are often the result of past experiences, not inherent personality flaws. Acknowledging this can ease frustration and foster a more compassionate approach to rehabilitation. It also sets realistic expectations, as progress might be slower than anticipated, but with patience and consistency, positive changes will occur.

Building Trust with Your Rescue Animal

Building trust is perhaps the most important aspect of caring for a rescue animal. Trust can take time to develop, and it requires both patience and consistency. Some animals may warm up to their new caregivers quickly, while others may take weeks or even months to feel comfortable. It’s essential to go at the animal’s pace, allowing them to approach and explore their new home without pressure.

Positive reinforcement is key to building trust. Leaders such as Annellie Reed mention that rewarding desired behaviors with treats, affection, or play can encourage an animal to repeat those actions. However, it’s equally important to give the animal space when they need it. Overwhelming them with attention or affection too quickly can lead to setbacks in their emotional development. Allowing them to initiate interactions can foster a sense of control and security, which is critical for their well-being.

Creating a Safe and Secure Environment

Industry leaders including Annellie Reed convey that a safe and secure environment is fundamental to a rescue animal’s healing process. This involves not only providing shelter but also ensuring the space is free from stressors that could trigger anxiety or fear. For dogs, a comfortable bed, consistent feeding schedule, and a quiet space where they can retreat when overwhelmed can make a significant difference in their emotional state. Cats may also require a designated quiet space with high perch areas where they feel safe and can observe their surroundings from a distance.

Establishing clear boundaries and routines can further help rescue animals feel secure. Animals thrive on predictability, and knowing when they will be fed, walked, or played with can ease their anxiety. Gradually introducing them to new experiences or people in a controlled manner can also help build confidence and avoid overwhelming them. A stable, calm environment is essential for allowing the animal to adjust to their new life and begin trusting their human companions.

Patience in the Rehabilitation Process

Experts like Annellie Reed express that patience is often tested when caring for rescue animals, as the rehabilitation process is rarely linear. Many animals experience setbacks, such as regressing in behavior or displaying new signs of fear. This is particularly common with animals that have experienced severe trauma, and it’s important for caregivers to remain calm and not react in frustration. Understanding that healing takes time will help caregivers approach the situation with empathy, rather than disappointment.

It’s crucial to provide consistent care, but also to recognize that the animal may need time away from certain situations to recover. Progress might look different for each animal; some may start showing signs of improvement quickly, while others may need more time to adjust. Having patience ensures that the process is not rushed and that the animal is given the necessary space to heal at their own pace. Through perseverance and care, recovery is achievable.

The Emotional Rewards of Caring for Rescue Animals

While the challenges of caring for a rescue animal can be significant, the emotional rewards are equally profound. As the animal begins to trust and form a bond with their caregiver, the sense of connection deepens, creating a unique and fulfilling relationship. Many caregivers report that the bond they form with their rescue pets is unlike any other, as it is built on mutual understanding and the effort put into rehabilitating the animal.

Over time, rescue animals often show gratitude in their own ways—whether it’s through playful behavior, seeking affection, or simply being content in their new environment as noted by leaders such as Annellie Reed. The transformation from a fearful or traumatized animal to a happy and trusting companion is a powerful testament to the importance of patience, love, and consistent care. The journey of nurturing a rescue animal not only improves their quality of life but can also provide a deep sense of purpose and fulfillment for the caregiver.

[reidmania]

hey just wanted to talk about your recent post in regards to animals in captivity :3 im quite passionate ab this subject so i apologise if i come across kinda aggressive!!!! thats not my intention at all i just like talking ab this stuff :D

i did enjoy your fic because you’re right!!!!! places like seaworld, where animals are kept in much too small enclosures and forced to tricks, are a huge issue. i really appreciate what you had to say on that topic in particular!

but, i personally really dont like all the hate that zoos and aquariums get by association. there are definitely cases to be made for larger animals such as sharks/whales/elephants, but something that you have to remember is that zoos+aquariums are conservation efforts! most animals that are in captivity are either born there and have no concept of the outside world, or were injured in such a severe case that they can not be released. zoos and aquariums (at least repeatable ones) try their absolute hardest to meet every one of their animals needs, and rehabilitate them if possible.

not only this, but these institutions also have programs that work towards rebuilding endangered populations and reintroducing them into the wild!! an example of this would be the american black-footed ferret, which was successfully reintroduced, but there are programs happening right now for even more animals. without things like zoos & aquariums, we wouldn’t have all this amazing research and progress!

my final point is the education opportunities that these places bring :3 i adore animals and when i was younger, i went to a zoo camp program every summer! i learned so much about animals and ecological conservation that helped me become so passionate about it today !

sorry this ask is a little all over the place i have a lot of thoughts!!!! please know that i am not trying to tear you down for your story, it just got me excited and wanting to talk ! thank u so much for reading :3

do not apologise bc its a topic that definitely needs to be talked about!!

i agree with a lot of what you said, zoo’s and aquariums are definitely not all bad!!. if you look at my comments on the post i made before that fic i mention that i understand that these institutions need to make money in order to be able to continue helping & providing these animals with care, and they make that money by doing shows or by people paying to see them.

some places are really really great in the way they care for their animals, and i completely agree that they are a great way to learn and become more educated on animals and etc and im sure they are not all bad in anyway what so ever.

In saying that the whole point of the fic (which was mainly about orca’s) was that i got the idea for it after watching blackfish which was a documentary about how horrible these orca’s were treated — and at that point in time SeaWorld was not rescuing their animals, they were capturing these animals, stealing them away from their parents, and then putting them through the worst stuff and actively spreading misinformation about these animals, saying stuff like 25% of orcas have flopped over dorsal fins when in the wild its less then 1%.

also saying that they live 25-30 years. When in the wild they can live to over 100. they would act like these werent wild animals, & these animals were being used for shows, then isolated.

Also i think its mentioned in the fic but these orca’s all come from different families, and pods which means they all have completely different sets of vocalisations which is how they communicate with each other and because of that they wouldn’t understand each other so they were still isolated!! which is the case with a lot of places, they can say the animals r with their ‘family’ but a lot of the time its just the same species put together in a close proximity.

they were punished by being starved, males were used purely to breed and then those babies would be ripped away from their mothers & sold to some place else. and dolphins being used for shows back then, trainers standing on their noses as an act, when that can do sooo much damage to dolphins jaws.

i think rehabilitation & rehab centres are great for all animals, and zoo’s or aquariums who rescue and genuinely care for their animals are great. theres definitely multiple sides to it and a lot has definitely changed since the backfish documentary came out, it just had me very frustrated. the places that rescue their animas & then if those animals can be released (and would survive) and they release them, those places have my respect but this is definitely not the case for every place.

thank you for giving me something to yap about!!

[saphires-dragon-hatchery]

Rules And About

Rules:

Please respect the mun's boundaries. Do not beg for rps or I will block you.

No smut on this blog, ever.

There will be some violence on this blog. It will be under the violence tw tag.

If there is something you want tagged, please don't hesitate to let me know and I will be quick to start tagging them appropriately . 

Please specify which verse you want to rp in specifically asks or through DMs. If the other muse is in one of the fandoms of one of the universes I have, that will be the default, unless you would like to request a specific verse.

Please do not force a reply from me. I have a life of my own. If you try to force a reply from me, I will block you.

Please, no godmodding. It ruins the fun. I control my character. You control yours. Repeat offenders will get a block.

Note: This is a sideblog. Likes, and follows will be from: @that-distinguished-author

About:

This blog is an ask and RP blog for an original character that the mun places in multiple fandoms. It's encouraged to read the pinned post before interacting so as to ensure anyone interested in interacting with the muse(s) knows about the mun's boundaries, and about the muse(s) in general.

This can take place anywhere in any universe. This blog has two versions of the muse(s) so far. Feel free to check them out below.

About The Muses:

Saphire: Saphire is a very rare species, appearing human but capable of shape-shifting into other creatures, even other people. However, she has her limits. Canonically, she owns a dragon hatchery, where plenty of volunteers help her in raising the many hatchlings under her care. She has a heart of gold and is a mother at heart. She loves to cook and often makes meals for all the volunteers. She is around 5’3 and has long wavy blonde hair. She almost always wears blue, usually in an older style dress and an apron.

Scorcher: A mischievous blue Dwarf Dragon with red eyes. He's playful and energetic. He often tags along on the many ventures Saphire goes on, even if she doesn't always know it. This sometimes leads to trouble, but trouble might as well be his middle name. Despite this, he loves to take it easy and snuggle up with others. He’s no larger than a house cat. In the Starlight Express Universe, he’s a small blue model steam engine. He’s mischievous but loves to help Saphire around the house.

Marie: The closest friend of Saphire, and one of the dragonologists that work underneath her. Marie is a character that will usually only be mentioned, but on occasion, she can be used to help set up the plot or story, Marie is a librarian that has a secret room for local dragonologists, including Saphire herself, hold meetings to discuss conservational matters, or as a means of fledgling dragonologists to learn from the older and more experienced dragonologists, double acting as a secret classroom of sorts. She is around 5’5 and usually wears older clothing, almost always wearing a large Victorian Era hat with a variety of feathers, each one being ethically sourced. She requires glasses to see, and typically has them on a chain to keep them from falling off or to keep her from losing them on accident, which happens more often than one would think.

Verses:

Canon Verse: This is the default universe of the blog. The hatchery and the estate are located in a nature reserve, which is owned by Saphire herself, running under the disguise of an animal rehabilitation center, she releases the dragons she has raised successfully out into the reserve, which is her privately owned sanctuary. 

Starlight Express Verse: The universe where Saphire is a part-time caretaker for the rolling stock. She’s like a mother figure to them and tends to rescue rolling stock from scrap or take in the ones that can no longer work or were abandoned. She lives in the countryside along a scenic passenger route and often leaves food out in the windowsill for any passing rolling stock to take. She welcomes them and others into her home to let them rest before they set out on their journey once more.

Tags:

Mother of engines: starlight express universe

Mother of dragons: Canon verse

The wanderer: Unspecified verse, different fandom.

ic: in character

ooc: out of character

muse: anything that relates to Saphire as in aesthetic, music, etc.

[lonita]

I am

Copy the list and fill it out accordingly.

I set: I scream: I give: I miss: I appreciate: I summarise: I mind: I long: I perform: I rescue:

I remark: I prefer: I segregate: I venture: I subside: I eat: I motivate: I salve: I design: I reward:

I walk: I stand: I scatter: I oppose: I retouch: I survey: I touch: I warm: I use: I retell:

I rely: I dislike: I pressure: I prevail: I spill: I time: I sit: I adore: I specify: I recall:

I utilise: I respond: I replace: I seek: I may: I liberate: I hear: I predict: I permit: I resist:

I despise: I hope: I move: I reiterate: I have: I struggle: I think: I obsess: I style: I embrace:

I wallow: I locate: I target: I look: I apologise: I merge: I maintain: I watch: I reach: I acknowledge:

I pencil: I test: I stereotype: I speak: I collect: I quantify: I radiate: I shop: I sneak: I wish:

I place: I avoid: I pout: I renounce: I push: I usher: I string: I treasure: I stash: I never:

I esteem: I part: I value: I participate: I return: I want: I hate: I wait: I shall: I express:

I pine: I connect: I reproduce: I tour: I dream: I relieve: I rid: I philosophise: I stuff: I rule:

I recycle: I reveal: I order: I presume: I learn: I choose: I encourage: I should: I stop: I perfect:

I care: I produce: I meditate: I nurture: I remain: I send: I lose: I reorganise: I sort: I supply:

I review: I drink: I overcome: I desire: I respect: I take: I turn: I occupy: I recognise: I vilify:

I sigh: I understand: I praise: I situate: I salvage: I explore: I cherish: I request: I discover: I was:

I expect: I reside: I restrain: I remove: I state: I surmise: I show: I rant: I split: I knit:

I view: I sight: I sleep: I suspend: I prepare: I achieve: I stay: I symbolise: I throw: I please:

I honour: I realise: I suffer: I suspect: I admire: I subscribe: I weep: I partner: I lack: I placate:

I warn: I plant: I polish: I plan: I innovate: I envision: I strive: I quote: I scrutinise: I wouldn’t:

I soothe: I spot: I relegate: I like: I transact: I sense: I rise: I scowl: I imagine: I unite:

I overlook: I wake: I print: I stoke: I subdue: I raise: I persist: I savour: I covet: I salute:

I observe: I scan: I investigate: I refer: I require: I need: I stall: I grasp: I wear: I worry:

I aspire: I release: I personalise: I seize: I vow: I remember: I prioritise: I always: I present: I roam:

I paint: I swear: I ride: I risk: I pray: I travel: I sweep: I scare: I experiment: I photograph:

I owe: I supervise: I spur: I celebrate: I peep: I influence: I separate: I revenge: I knew: I research:

I revolutionise: I snap: I sustain: I solve: I score: I feel: I refuse: I resume: I pretend: I hate:

I wait: I shall: I express: I pine: I connect: I reproduce: I tour: I swear: I ride: I risk:

I pray: I travel: I sweep: I scare: I experiment: I photograph: I owe: I supervise: I spur: I celebrate:

I peep: I influence: I separate: I revenge: I pause: I contribute: I picture: I succeed: I protect: I pass:

I regenerate: I saw: I react: I shout: I fight: I support: I renovate: I revamp: I raid: I navigate:

I share: I work: I justify: I transform: I violate: I suggest: I relax: I meddle: I theorise: I affirm:

I pledge: I tolerate: I remake: I heal: I rehabilitate: I see: I marvel: I pity: I output: I socialise:

I substitute: I talk: I persuade: I clarify: I weather: I screen: I prohibit: I plead: I urge: I let:

I hesitate: I type: I mingle: I transport: I stick: I reinvent: I adapt: I scoff: I slur: I question:

I persevere: I record: I analyse: I pursue: I repeat: I remind: I reform: I resolve: I suppress: I rejoice:

I label: I survive: I transfer: I subsidise: I enjoy: I program: I manage: I steal: I accept: I fear:

I prove: I try: I reconcile: I modify: I turn: I occupy: I recognise: I vilify: I sigh: I understand:

I praise: I situate: I salvage: I explore: I cherish: I request: I discover: I was: I expect: I reside:

I restrain: I remove: I state: I surmise: I show: I rant: I split: I knit: I view: I sight:

I sleep: I suspend: I prepare: I achieve: I stay: I symbolise: I throw: I know: I balance: I suffice:

I sing: I sponsor: I create: I verify: I waive: I possess: I stain: I scrawl: I strut: I love:

I must: I structure: I wander: I simplify: I project: I pronounce: I represent: I pick: I might: I align:

I forgive: I stifle: I vegetate: I binge: I strain: I crave: I laugh: I recommend: I track: I reassure:

I power: I can: I stitch: I read: I object: I waken: I sob: I purchase: I rave: I scavenge:

I procure: I protest: I taste: I propose: I lead: I process: I resign: I meet: I skip: I conquer:

I whim: I redefine: I ache: I retain: I reset: I make: I provide: I tackle: I reckon: I trust:

I belong: I omit: I stress: I soften: I commit: I slip: I say: I start: I thieve: I study:

I satiate: I challenge: I reject: I phrase: I kindle: I sacrifice: I yearn: I proclaim: I rush: I preview:

I smile: I sympathise: I rejuvenate: I near: I service: I transplant: I trace: I stockpile: I contemplate: I retaliate:

I safeguard: I play: I organise: I spoil: I welcome: I switch: I detest: I resent: I succumb: I reserve:

I rage: I practice: I waste: I provoke: I slang: I narrate: I listen: I position: I reply: I tie:

I pair: I satisfy: I surpass: I verge: I allow: I thank: I volunteer: I trade: I believe: I can’t:

I promote: I save: I ruin: I wonder: I run: I dread: I preserve: I quit: I recharge: I validate:

I pay: I serve: I step: I own: I journey: I suppose: I revise: I restrict: I squander: I ponder:

I restore: I shine: I mourn: I monitor: I spend: I visualise: I utter: I comfort: I settle: I prize:

I pardon: I tell: I write: I name: I summon: I quest: I teach: I tend: I reason: I redeem:

I shun: I pen: I resemble: I strengthen: I stir: I recover: I regret: I reflect: I lend: I splinter:

I submit: I search: I list: I prevent: I reuse: I threaten: I would: I knew: I research: I revolutionise:

I snap: I sustain: I solve: I score: I feel: I refuse: I resume: I pretend: I am: