#though much less often and more in my thoughts than aloud

[cerunilea]

Every so often I watch just a bit too much Badboyhalo stream and I can see "fudge" sneakily creeping into my cursing vocabulary yet again

[letorip]

somethin’ stupid

“and then i go and spoil it all, by saying somethin’ stupid like ‘i love you’”

===+++===

pairing: wednesday addams x reader

summary: even knowing that your relationship with wednesday is one huge grey area, you can't help the words that come tumbling from your lips one night while on an expedition together.

warnings: blood, violent attack scene, angsty pining, mentions of sex, fear of the dark

word count: 4.2k

A/N: first post, kinda nervous. honestly pumped to start posting on here after being somewhat new to writing. will try my best not to suck.

===+++===

It’s only after you meet Wednesday Addams for the first time that you understand why storms are named after people.

In the near five months total she had been in your life, she had quickly climbed to the top priority, and you found yourself trapped in her rain bands, tugged under her dark, swelling tide and drawn to less direct ways.

Now and likely until the very end of time, you followed her through the forest, peeking around each passing tree and shining your flashlight into the dark. It was a knight's sword for you, and you held it like a weapon so as to ward off evil spirits or howling beasts. Only, half of the time it ended up being a squirrel.

It seemed antithetical, to walk into the pitch black forest that had killed several hikers and injured Eugene, -or more the big ass creature inside it had, but Wednesday had never cared much for what made sense, and you knew better than to argue with her.

The rain continued to fall around the both of you, splattering against the hood of your rain coat and rolling down your sputtering lips, tracing your nose on the way down. If Wednesday was at all affected by the rain, she hadn't let it show yet. Not that she let much show, that was.

You shivered from a sudden gust of cold, wet wind rushing over your knuckles from where they white-gripped the rubber wrapping of your flashlight. "Are we almost there yet?" You asked, squinting into the trees. "I have to get up early tomorrow."

There was no possible way Wednesday could know where she was going in the sheer amount of darkness fended off by a flimsy Acebeam, but she pushed through like she did. Maybe orienteering was just part of the outré magic she always carried with her, or at least that's what you figured it probably was. In another life she had been a cheerful girl scout, though you knew better than to suggest that aloud.

The same could not be said for you, who was an utter idiot about directions and probably would have driven off a cliff by now without the use of a GPS. Wednesday had once said you wouldn't be able to find your way out of a cardboard box, and offensively, she was probably right.

It didn't make sense why she chose you of all people to bring along, then. You had no special strength or sight, and virtually no knowledge on how to investigate a murder, especially the serial kind. The only ability you had allowed you to read thoughts and minds, though you never dared read Wednesday's, even when you itched to know what she was thinking.

Despite feeling more like an achor dragging her boat down, almost every evening, at around the same time after dark, she showed up on your doorstep to tug you off to some dangerous place.

Maybe you were secretly hoping for a reward of some sort. She often indulged you as such, lips like a heroin shot directly to your veins, powering you through the day as you watched the clock tick away into night anticipating the next rush. Enid was right. You were whipped for her.

"Your protesting doesn't make the journey any shorter," she replied, turning with the dark look that always lurked in the back of her eyes.

You knew the movements well: when she glared, her eyes lowered slightly and her mouth tensed. One could not help but watch in awe, storing the memory for later. Or, at least those ‘whipped’ for her couldn’t. She spun back around to face forward, your flashlight pointing over her shoulder into the brooding dark.

The rain only seemed to come down harder from there, punishing you both for slogging through the mushy leaves when sane people would be indoors. But Wednesday would not settle until she found Arcadia.

You cleared your throat, uneasy with the ensuing silence.

"Where are we even going, Wednesday? We've been walking forever," you said, looking down at the pale grey rocks as you stepped over them. You were grateful for being clever enough to remember hiking boots.

"We're finding evidence," she replied. "I was informed of a suspicious cave out in the forest, and-" Wednesday's words came rushing to a halt as her foot clipped the rock in front of her. She stumbled a bit, and you threw out an arm to her back, there if she needed something to steady herself on.

It was uncoordinated and it was clunky at best, and Wednesday was far from appreciative. She jolted back from your touch as if you had stung her, glaring as harsh as ever. "Sorry," you said. "I didn't want you to fall." The tips of your ears had begun to burn again, upon realising you were made the fool for another time in a row.

"You should have," said Wednesday, walking ahead. "It simulates dropping dead." Of course, on you, such a statement did not have the desired effect. Whereas most would have replied in shock or disgust, you laughed. Out loud, right at her. The gall. She whipped back to you, perplexed and annoyed by the noise. "Have something to share?"

You grinned. "You can act cool all you want, but if you had actually landed in the mud, you would have been pissed." Her expression went from glare to glower impressively quickly, though you took great glee in the fact she didn't try to dismiss it.

Anyone who had just met her would have been terrified, but you knew that look meant she hated just how much you were right. Wednesday's moody eyes lowered to your jacket, as if she was looking for an insult to sling in response.

"Why are you yellow?"

You blinked, then shrugged. "Because for someone so intelligent I'm the only one who remembered a raincoat."

"The beast will eat you wether you're rained on or not," she replied reasonably.

You blanched at this. It was apparent the possibility had never crossed your mind. "It eats people????"

Suddenly the darkness of the woods only seemed to worsen and the rain seemed to come down even harder, as if life was laughing at the terror it was causing. You had never been one for haunted houses, and you decided in that instant that this was far worse than any haunted house you had ever been to.

Wednesday shrugged, and you were far from put at ease by that. She glanced at you up through mischievous lashes, entirely knowing what she was doing and enjoying every sadistic moment of it.

"I suppose we may find out tonight. I should offer up you, the yellow highlighter, first. You have longer bones than I do, and I'm sure it would appreciate a snack, after-"

"Ha. Ha."

As surprising as was Wednesday's capacity to joke, you knew that's all it was. Such falsehoods could not be exposed to the public, and she would rather die than admit she cared for anyone. That was her secret. You knew to keep it well.

It had been weird to see Wednesday attempt comedy at first. Often times you still thought she may be dead serious. But on these nightly expeditions it seemed she could joke freely. Sometimes she kissed you freely. You just had to know she didn't do it for you. She told you constantly, just to be sure.

From in front, Wednesday trembled from a sudden angry breeze and you watched her, sighing and tugging off your raincoat. You tossed it over her shoulders wordlessly; Wednesday didn't acknowledge it either. She put one arm in, then another, but didn't pull the hood up, and you rolled your eyes. "Pull the hood up, Wednesday. Don't be stubborn."

"I'm fine," she shot back, tone sharp and piercing to any sort of armour you could have put up. But even that didn't make you buy it.

"Your hair is like, stuck to your forehead, Wednesday. Just pull up the hood part."

"I don't even want to be in this dreadful thing, why would I want more of it on me. It's yellow."

"It's keeping you warm."

"I'm allergic to colours."

"Well then I guess it's great you brought a black one- oh, wait! That's right! You didn't."

She blinked at you unappreciatively, but your unimpressed expression made her give in, and she begrudgingly did as she was told. With a hood now over her, shrouding her soft hair from the harsh rain, you felt a bit better about her being out in the cold. After a moment she grumbled, messing with the sleeves. "Why are your arms so freakishly long?"

You didn't answer, biting back a response that included the word 'short.' It would have been entirely unproductive and probably earned a rock thrown at your head. Instead, you focused on the small row of houses you could see on a road in the far distance.

Their windows were small, warm boxes in the dryness, as opposed to the pouring, angry storm only a heathen of some sort would be caught in. It looked the same as it had the week before when you had passed the same area with Wednesday, and you recognised the same lamp that sat in the same spot of the same window on the second floor. It hadn't moved even an inch and neither had the flowers in the pot sitting next to it.

You hummed, "I love streets like those. It looks so warm and comfortable. I could be out here forever and it would still be the same warm place."

"Poetic," Wednesday dryly replied. Poetry had never seemed to move her much, beyond the grim ones from Poe about death and despair. She had tried to teach you about it once, during an impromptu "study session," which was what Wednesday usually called hunting you down after class and sticking your head between her legs.

It was the very first time she had let you stick around after, and the more and more often she let it happen, the more you felt yourself allowing for false hopes. Of course, accusing her of growing fond was a way to end up in an early grave and you knew better.

It had been a whisper, really, what she said with your head resting on her stomach, arms against the skin of her thighs. You were both sweating, terribly so, and then came, "years of love have been forgotten, in the hatred of a minute." It was only a whisper, and you weren't even sure Wednesday had spoken it into existence. But you looked up, and she was staring down at you, eyes unreadable. Her mouth was tensed into a grimace; a symbol for words unsaid.

"What's that?" You asked, leaning your head back.

She had shook her head. "It's Poe. He founded the school."

"I know who Edgar Allan Poe is, Wednesday. I meant what you were saying."

She looked away to the window, like eye contact then would have doomed her. "I'm not sure." It was a lie, and you knew it, but you couldn’t scan Wednesday’s thoughts and it was the first time she had let you stay propped up against her. You knew better than to ruin that.

"Why do you like that kind of poetry, anyhow? It's awfully depressing."

"It's a reminder," she replied, eyes still away and tone flat. "You and I will be in the ground someday, or maybe I will be in the family crypt. 'As you are now, so once, was I.' And other such ruminations. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust." Her gaze sliced back to you, as if she were gaging your reaction. "Either way, we're doomed."

You hadn't known what she meant by that, and you still didn't know, walking through the forest. She spoke in riddles, and it was impossible to know if she wanted you to decipher them or leave them as they were. Her vagueness with emotions was her armour, maybe.

Wednesday was usually cold and efficient and exact, in a way you could appreciate. You were far warmer, and though you seemed to constantly trip over yourself, patiently waiting for any sort of warmth to be returned, she stayed with the same chill that kept you close enough to bring comfort to her fingers, but never close enough to make her melt.

"When we get there, I want you to stay outside and keep watch. Don't come inside with me, I want to look around alone. If you hear anything or any noise or thoughts over the rain, give me the signal I trained you on," said Wednesday, looking through the bowers and thread veins of roots so as not to trip again.

"You're not my boss, Wednesday, and I'm not your henchman," you said, the words spilling out in annoyance. You hated when she went into work mode. She looked over at you, eyes giving an intense challenge.

"What am I then?"

You rolled your eyes at this. "Like my hobby, at best." It wasn't true, and both of you knew it.

"Do you kiss and sleep with all your 'hobbies,' then?" Wednesday's eyes studied you.

"Maybe," you shrugged. "I don't really kiss and tell." Actually, you hadn't kissed anybody since she had made out with you two days prior, and you hadn't kissed somebody other than her since she had first kissed you two months ago.

You knew, though, that Wednesday had done similar peregrinations with the normie boy, Tyler, from town who worked at the Weathervane. Sometimes you wondered if she put her lips on his, too. Other times, you couldn't help wondering if either of you really mattered to her.

She had said no when you asked her that once before, but slow danced and made out with you immediately after answering, at the Rave'N, so your confusion was understandable. It was like she both hungered for you and hated you for it at the same time, and you knew getting thrown around like that wasn’t what you wanted. But if it gave you her, even for a brief moment, you were all too eager.

From behind the both of you, you heard a branch snap, spinning around as the rain poured. There was nothing visibly there; your stupid flashlight didn't reach out that far and no moving through the brush could be heard. "Did you hear that?" you said to Wednesday, freezing completely. She nodded, but did not seem phased even slightly, turning to watch your terror with an eyebrow raised.

“Likely an animal," said Wednesday.

You were still frozen to the spot, staring into the dark as fear screamed at you to run away. “Are you okay?” she asked, puzzled.

You shook your head, sticking your hand out towards her. “No.” It was a question that needn't be asked. Wednesday examined your fingers closely, like she was contemplating if it was a bad idea, but then grabbed your palm and held it tightly in hers, locking the digits in with her own and squeezing it gently. It was an immediate comfort and you unfroze, Wednesday pulling you into the dark.

===+++===

"Your obnoxious coat is warm...thank you." She seemed to spit the last part out with a bit of reluctance, but you appreciated it nevertheless. For around the last half mile, you had been getting rained on instead. Droplets dripped from your hair, rolling down your cheeks and over your lips before dribbling from your chin.

"You can keep it for a while. Until you get your own, I mean," you said, absentmindedly playing with the flashlight. You would rather die than admit you were nervous aloud. Luckily, it didn't seem you needed to.

She stopped short at your words, grabbing your collar roughly with her hand and balling it between her fingers. It was harsh and it was passionate, like Wednesday always seemed to be in flares. Her mouth crashed into yours, teeth clinking together, toes poking into the mushy ground so she could even reach your face.

Unfortunately, it was over as soon as it began, and she pulled away quickly, walking away and leaving you behind, panting awkwardly as your mind began to spin. She was all too much, everything about her. You couldn’t stop yourself. "I love you,” you blurted out.

From the way she whipped back to you, it hadn’t been nearly quiet enough. Silence seemed to echo through the clearing, even in the raging storm around that pounded into trees and pooled in mushy puddles. She stared at you, and all you could do was stare back. Wednesday stomped back over, cheeks red and dark eyes shining with an unusual capriciousness. “What?”

You shook your head. “Nothing. Talking to myself.”

But she didn’t believe you. In previous attempts by you to draw out any indication of her affections, she could blatantly ignore it or change the subject without answering. Now, she was frustrated by how you always wore your heart on your sleeve. And this time, how your words demanded she do the same.

“What did you say,” she demanded. “Tell me right now, or I’ll-“

“I said I love you, Wends,” you cut her off before she could make a threat. God, she stared. She stared and stared and stared at you with her eyes in the dark, looking like she would be the one to read your mind and not the other way around. The humidity of the rain was suffocating you, but the powerful wind filled your lungs with air again, in a vicious, heaving cycle.

She took a small step forward, tilting her head up at you like she was inspecting you up close. “You don’t mean what you say.”

"I really wish I didn't, but I absolutely do." Your tone burned with a relieving candor, and Wednesday's eyebrows furrowed, before she backed away again. Your flashlight turned towards the ground, lowering your face into shadow.

"I told you, I don't want anything more from you," she said. "You're spoiling what we already have." She seemed more agitated than anything, but you stood your ground.

"But I feel like there's more here, Wednesday. I know I'm not crazy, you can feel it too. So I don't know why you're being all tough, when I just want to take care of you. That's all I've ever wanted."

"Learn to want for something else then," she argued back. "We can't work, we won't, I-"

"Why?"

"I told you why," she replied, crossing her arms. "Years of love-"

"No no, none of that bullshit you know you want to confuse me with. Just lay it out, plain and simple."

She bit her mouth shut, then narrowed her eyes at you before giving a huff. "Have you been reading my thoughts?"

"What?" Your forehead creased into lines, staring at her intently. "You know I don't."

"I don't know if you're aware, but I see you, in my visions sometimes. I actually think about the same one often, when I'm with you."

"What am I doing, then?" You asked, feeling a sickness come to your stomach. You didn’t know what future event you would be up to, but you could guarantee Wednesday you would stop yourself from hurting her.

“You’re being killed. By the beast.”

“…Oh.”

“You’re running far away, being chased. I see you get tackled or hit, and you fall into the dirt. Then I see your face being slashed over and over again by a creature, and you appear to bleed out on the floor of a forest.”

“Wednesday, that won’t come true.” You tried to assure her, but a small hand came forward, covering your mouth, shushing you. The gentle palm pressed against your soaked lips, fingertips ghosting the lines of your cheeks.

“I would hate you for it, dying. What I hate even more is that your closeness to me is likely what causes this. I don’t love you, (Y/n). I can’t. Stop trying to make me. It’s only pitiful and painful for the both of us.”

You reached up for her hand, pulling it away. “But how do you know it’s definitely you that ruins it? What if it’s something else, or what if it’s you saying no?”

“Because as painful as it is, I’m certain I break your heart if I indulge you.”

“Wednesday,” your voice shook a bit. “You’re breaking my heart right now.”

“This,” she said, “This is why I cannot give you more than I already have. I’m not my parents, (Y/n). Can’t you just be happy with our current relationship? You always try to complicate things. Like a stupid little puppy.”

You took a step back like a wounded animal. “What? You’re being mean.”

“Maybe if I am it'll get through to you. We won’t work, and if we don’t try to make it work, I won’t end up breaking your heart, and you won’t run away.” Her speaking volume was getting louder now.

“That’s a stupid plan!” You said raising your voice.

“And you’re a fool!” She said back. “I’m trying to protect you and take what I can get at the same time."

"You're hurting me."

"You're hurting yourself. I keep pushing you away. Stop coming back."

You frowned, feeling your face grow hot. "I come back because I care, and I know you care too."

"Caring for you gets me nowhere. You're doomed, (Y/n). I'm trying to protect you, so do us both a favour and get as far away from me as possible. Don't let me pull you back."

"Wednesday, I-"

"Go, you idiot." You swallowed her words. She was still wearing your yellow raincoat, looking at you with the most steely expression you had ever seen. You stepped forward in silence, only the mushing of the leaves filling the space between you. You unwrapped the armband of the flashlight from around your wrist and extended it out to her.

"Here. For the cave." She blinked at you, then she took it. Without another word, you did as you were told, stepping off into the dark and pulling against the magnetic field. With your ability to break past her facades turned off, you couldn't see the deep regret that wormed its way into her stare, watching your back retreat into the tree line.

===+++===

It only took around five minutes for you to regret not having the flashlight. The storm had turned to complete and utter chaos, and you could hear thunder and lightning booming and cracking against the night sky. Everything was so much darker than before, and it seemed to grow up and out like a giant ladder, turning to shadow and fog a few feet in front of you.

Part of you was still mad at Wednesday. Knowing she was scared for you didn't make it any of an easier pill to swallow. Neither did knowing you would likely die soon.

The looming question still sat unanswered, weighing down the wrinkles of your brain and cozying up at the mantle of your thoughts. Would it be weeks? Months? If she never ended up catching it (though that was very unlikely) how many years would you have left?

From behind you, you heard a branch snap again. You spun, looking around. An animal maybe. Then, you heard footsteps. They were big, though not an animal. Maybe it was Wednesday. She wore thick shoes often, with heavy soles.

It was only with the sudden realisation that there was no flashlight with the figure coming towards you, that your eyes began to widen and a chill shot up your spine like a spooked animal. It only took the dropping of your telepathic cancelling to fully realise what was about to happen.

KILL. KILL. KILL.

The monster's thinking was thunderous and loud, and it reverberated within your skull as you turned to run. You stomped your foot into the swampy ground, running the fastest you felt you ever had. KILL. The forest seemed to blur, rushing past you as you fled through the trees and smacking at branches that sagged in your way.

KILL. You heard the footsteps now, coming up quickly. They sounded huge, and with every bound you could hear greenery get smushed behind you as the beast moved through it. KILL. You had no idea how close it was behind you, but there was no time to look either. In one rush, you found yourself back in a stoney quarry, and in the far distance illuminated a KILL. streetlight standing over a mountain road.

You ran towards it, face scratched by a branch in the process as you forgot to swipe it away. The wood KILL. connected with a stabbing pain, piercing your lip as you ran, but you didn't so much as wince. "HELP!" You yelled KILL. out, trying to catch any attention as you ran for the pavement, and you were almost there. KILL.

You were too slow. A set of long, pointy claws latched onto your back, sinking into the skin and ripping you down with a yelp, throwing you to the ground. Your back slid into the tree with a sickening crack, and pain seemed to freeze your body. KILL.

Standing over you was the muscular, horrifyingly disfigured body of a towering creature, its eyes shining with violent zeal. It lowered with a clicking growl, eyeing your heaving, bleeding body and sneering. KILL. KILL. KILL.

Your eyebrows furrowed, blood spilling from your lips. In a single instant, you knew who it was, digging past the monstrous yells to the real thoughts of the boy underneath. "Tyler?"

Its claws sunk into your stomach, and everything went dark.

===+++===

a/n: a part two maybe? idk, i'm no rocket scientist. anyways, this is my very first post, so, here we go i guess? excited to start this and grateful for anyone who reads this. i tried to spellcheck but if it isn't perfect please please please let me know, i would fix it immediately.

[bloodashre]

Sorry to ruin the movie magic for some of you, but it's extremely unlikely that the shots of The Kiss are edited to be longer. Like, a million to one.

How do I know? I'm in school for filmmaking, so I'll share a bit with you.

1. The first reason is the most important. It is very difficult to edit a shot to be longer (and almost never done, especially by professionals) and not have it be obvious. It is painfully obvious, particularly to other filmmakers, when someone does actually do this. I can almost guarantee that if this had happened, other filmmakers in the industry most certainly would have called them out for it. I've personally watched the scene literally thousands of times (I'm not exaggerating) and in my semi-professional opinion (yes, I've already made my own films, though I haven't been paid for any of my work yet), it's not edited to be longer.

2. Nearly as important and launching off the above, it's much more likely - and more easily and actually often done - that it's edited to be shorter.

Additionally, there's no reason to think it would be edited to be longer when it comes to the story. It's unnecessary. The reason it looks so awkward to solve of you is because - newsflash - it IS awkward! It's meant to be awkward!

Aziraphale is caught off guard, during a moment of being about to break down, crying, in the midst of an argument. He was just rejected. He's potentially thought about this moment so many times. It is possible he thought The Metatron was threatening Crowley, which just happened only a few minutes ago! And lastly, there's literally thousands of years of feelings that haven't been spoken aloud - at least not properly, depending which theory you follow.

And there's even more depending which theories you subscribe to that support this even further.

And then, there's the fact that, at least for a moment, he kisses him back. He goes from being surprised, to resistance, to acceptance, to reciprocation, to rejection in a matter of less than 30 freaking seconds - while also portraying all the unspokenness, uncertainty, and fear of 6000 years, as well as a possible threat AND rejection of Crowley refusing to come with him ALL AT THE SAME TIME.

It's so awkward and complicated and terrible - and yet also wonderful - and Michael Sheen is honestly a fucking MASTER for the amount of emotions he's able to portray in such an insanely small amount of time. Please please PLEASE don't reduce his abilities and the beauty of the story to editing some bullshit that any filmmaker with any actual integrity would never do.

[cinnamonest]

Yandere Profile - Baizhu

When I tell you I adore this man so much, he's so underappreciated and I intend to do my best to do him justice

ft. Changsheng the enabler and Qiqi the liability

WARNINGS: fem reader, dubcon/noncon, abduction, heavy drugging content, mentions of force feeding against a hunger strike, emotional manipulation of a child, homicide

What are they generally like? Lucid, aware? Obsessive? How do they behave?

If one had to describe his nature in a singular word, it would be careful.

Incredibly, meticulously careful. There is not one single step taken that has not been perfectly planned out ahead of time, multiple possibilities and issues thought through and accounted for. He would not rush into something of this nature unprepared, and more importantly, his cautiousness comes from another trait he has in abundance: determination. Dedication to seeing a goal through, the firm resolution that he will obtain what he desires, one way or another, with no regard to what measures need to be taken to do so, nor how long it will take.

Not to mention, from a moral perspective, one might be surprised at how indifferent he is to the notion of doing something... unethical. People tend to associate medical professionals with some sort of assumed overall moral good, that someone who dedicates their life to the pursuit of the health of others must be a morally sound person in all areas of life by default.

Well, that is true to an extent. He does want to stay within ethical bounds. He's a generally good and compassionate person, yes, and would never go out of his way to harm anyone for the sake of it. He doesn't bear any malice towards anyone. He will inconvenience or burden himself if it means doing the right thing, when the right thing does not pose any risk to him and his goals. And when it's things he doesn't care too much about, he will relinquish a goal if he realizes it would do harm. So overall, it would be correct to say that he is a morally sound person.

But if violating certain commonly agreed-upon ethical boundaries is necessary to obtain his most fervent desires... well.

He's perfectly well-aware. He's self-aware, for starters, acutely so. He knows exactly what he feels and why, knows it is of abnormal degree, and knows what it will inevitably lead to. He knows that both from a social and ethical standpoint, such things are wrong, that it violates society's conventions and standards (not to mention laws) of what is acceptable behavior by limiting another's freedoms and violating their autonomy. It's not even something he really needs to reflect on. He just notices and becomes aware of an intense emotion, recognizes that emotion and its degree of severity, and draws an immediate logical conclusion as to what will happen depending on how he chooses to handle that emotion and how each course of action is perceived by society. Very simple, really.

It's lamentable — he himself has reflected on this to himself multiple times, often speaking aloud to Changsheng about it behind closed doors.

How troublesome that even I am not immune to these sorts of desires...In the end, the nature and instinct of any given creature is immutable, I suppose.

She rarely has anything to offer other than vague warnings of not letting it spiral out of control, which he assures will not happen.

But oh well. Sure, it's inconvenient, but there is no point in fighting something as innate as one's own feelings in this area of things. Suppressing the emotions would be a waste, so it is much wiser and more efficient to simply accept them, then work through how he intends to handle them.

Cautious, intelligent, perceptive, patient, self-aware, willing to violate ethics, and of an indomitable resolve. This combination of traits is, as you might imagine, more or less one of the worst hands of fate that could be dealt to whoever is targeted by the individual possessing them.

He's an easy person to warm up to, though. Very likable and pleasant. He's not nervous around you or anything, and gives no hint of any ill intent, so you have no reason to suspect anything. Well, he might be just a bit overbearing towards you, just barely noticeably touchy or insistent, but it's nothing that strikes you as indicative of anything you should genuinely be concerned over.

Except for this... aura. While nothing he does really concerns you, there is almost some tangible feeling of something being "off" in a way you can't really articulate nor explain. Regardless, he's been helpful and kind to you, so you brush it off as nothing.

There's also distinct lack of the intense outward expression of emotion usually associated with obsessive lovers and abductors and the like. He's fairly... calm about it all. Perhaps it's an ability stemming from his meticulous and careful planning to eliminate risk, or perhaps it's that he has full and acute self-awareness and accurate perception and understanding of himself and why he feels what he does. Or perhaps it's just his nature. Maybe some combination of all of the above. But even at his worst moments, he has a fairly calm aura about him, nothing seems to bother or upset him too much. He always seems to have calculated for every potential misstep or complication.

He does make an attempt to grow closer to you, though. He's masterful with an ability to orchestrate encounters that genuinely seem to be coincidence, as well as creating inconveniences for you that will lead you to seek him out. If anything, you're usually apologizing for doing so, since he seems so busy... but he dismisses it with a wave of his hand, assures you that it's fine, that he's very happy to be of assistance to you.

This, too, isn't just because he enjoys your presence, but it's also a preparatory measure in and of itself. The more familiar you are with him, the closer you consider yourself to be with him, the easier of a time he'll have handling you when the time inevitably comes that he'll have to take certain courses of action that you may disapprove of, to say the least. He needs all the endearment to you he can get before that happens.

How likely are they to kidnap their darling? How quickly will they do so?

He's a bit conflicted, can't really decide if he wants to or not. His reluctance isn't really based in morality nor fear; he's not particularly concerned with the former on this matter, and he's fully confident he can successfully pull it off, so no need for nervousness.

Rather, he has the sort of possessive, primal desire to take you all for himself, one that he recognizes as a rash instinct that he needs to carefully ponder, and yet, he realizes that the direct consequence of acting on those desires would cause him to fall out of favor with you. He does love your smiles you give him, how nice you've been to him, your kind words, and he knows that would disappear, only to be replaced with resentment and fear, the moment he takes you away from your life.

He often sighs and mumbles to himself about it. What to do, what to do.... such a frustrating predicament.

Human nature is fascinating, isn't it? He's so consciously aware that this is abnormal and unwell, that he should attempt to resolve it, yet he has no desire to resolve it, only craving to further indulge in it. Yet he wants to be certain that he doesn't take any rash action, that he knows what he's doing through and through.

So, he refrains, at least for some time. However, it's not an attempt to refrain permanently — he knows full well that eventually, he will act on his desires, that it's only a matter of time. But for now, he wants to savor every word, every interaction, every smile, until he knows he will eventually cave in, and those things will be gone. He also reasons that, as aforementioned, by knowing you and being acquainted with you longer under your normal life and circumstances, he can attempt to endear himself to you and grow closer to you in that time, which will, he hopes, ease the transition when you no longer have your freedoms, that you will be more inclined to forgive him and act with empathy for him rather than hostility.

However, should he happen upon a coincidence, the stars align and the pieces all fall into place so perfectly without him having to arrange it, well, he'll certainly take the opportunity that presents itself. You show up complaining of fever or headache or something of that nature, and in your discomfort, it doesn't quite occur to you how unusual and seemingly irrelevant the questions he's asking you are—

I assume you let someone know where you were headed when you left home? ...No? Oh, I see....

You don't by chance have anywhere you'll be expected to be in the next short while, would you?

—and it won't, until it's too late.

Otherwise, should the opportunity not arise on its own, he has to wait. The days pass. A few months in total. But the longing and the ache and the scalding feeling of intense jealousy when he sees you with others, it all becomes too much, and he's forced to put into motion a plan he has now had quite some time to prepare for. Invite you over for "something important" with perfect timing, memorizing your schedule to hopefully ensure that it will happen before you see anyone whom you might inform of where you're going. From there, once he has you inside, it's no effort at all from that point forward.

He has a remarkable ability to give off this calm, nonthreatening aura, combined with a gentle and charming voice that lulls you into a sense of safety, that keeps you from noticing anything strange about what he's doing, even if you do still have that faint sense of unease in the back of your mind. It feels sweet and endearing, really, that you trust him so.

So he goes through with it. Sets up the necessary steps, and executes the plan as predetermined.

And then he tells you about it.

Once it's already too late, of course. You already drank what you were given without any hint of suspicion or distrust, and the way your eyes suddenly widen and your body twitches and slumps forward indicates it's setting in.

That's a regular part of the effect, terribly sorry about that. Oh, don't worry, you're not in any danger. You see, it's just... ah, how should I put it...

Thus he starts to go on elaborating on exactly what he drugged you with, and more importantly, begins explaining exactly why. As in, he openly confesses to being deeply enamored, as he puts it, and that he, likewise in his own words, has—

—some sort of abnormal psychological development that has taken place, although I'm not entirely sure how to best articulate it... regardless, I'm sure you now see that these impulses are inducing problematic behavior, but I'm afraid I have already succumbed to them, unfortunately...

He speaks with this lighthearted tone and whimsical sighs if he's explaining some sort of mild, harmless inconvenience, something of little consequence, all while he's gently going about sitting you back upright, closing your mouth so you stop involuntarily drooling, fixing the cup you spilled over and cleaning up what spilled onto the table. As if it's just a regular, everyday occurrence that he's paying little attention to, and not something of great weight and severity.

What this ultimately means is that you won't actually be leaving anytime soon. While unreasonable on its own, I assume that makes sense in the context of what I've just explained to you.

He turns back towards you, loops his arms under your armpits and hoists you up. There's a slight strained grunt with the physical exertion, but he manages to pick you up without too much trouble. He's still talking while carrying you through the door to the hall, but you don't really hear much it as you begin to succumb to unconsciousness — you only really process one more sentence.

You're awfully trusting, you know. You really ought to be more careful, should someone could have malicious intent...

How difficult is it to escape from them? How do they keep you restrained? How do they deal with attempted escape? 

The physical restraints aren't so bad. He keeps a reverse lock on the outside of the front door, and for a little while, a singular chain to your ankle.

After a short while, and a verbal agreement that you will not try anything, he gives you a surprising degree of leniency, gives you the ability to roam to some extent. You can be present at the front where strangers show up to the desk, even. But he'll be watching. He has ways, as he puts it, of knowing what you're doing.

You're not sure what to do. It seems like such an opportunity, and yet, you know that someone as calculated as he is wouldn't give you that opportunity without having a plan he could easily enact if something goes wrong. You know he doesn't really place that much trust in your word through your verbal agreement alone. You want to do something to try and catch someone's attention or something, but there's this gut feeling you have that knows that doing that would be a mistake.

He almost certainly wouldn't harm anyone, you're pretty sure of that being true, but... can you say that with one-hundred percent certainty? If pushed to the point of it being a matter of securing you and your arrangement, preventing someone who saw more than they should from telling, can you really be certain he wouldn't take drastic measures...?

You just don't know. Sure, you're fairly certain of his overall goodness of character... but then again, that's also what you thought when you brushed off the occasional comment or expression from him that used to make you feel some faint sense of alarm or unease — that he was certainly a good person, just a bit eccentric at times. You told yourself back then that he was not the sort of person who would ever do anything bad to anyone. You overestimated his goodness once, and look where that got you. Can you really be sure that someone who would go so far as to do what he's already done, wouldn't hurt or kill someone too, if it came down to it...? And when you think even more about it, doesn't the fact that he's letting you roam so much imply that he is ready to take some other measures if you tried anything?

You just don't know. It's all so uncertain.

And he knows that. You can tell from the soft, content, knowing smile on his face. He knows exactly what thoughts are going through your mind. As long as that doubt is there, hopefully you won't force his hand to make him have to take unsavory measures to ensure your security.

Now if you were to actually successfully, temporarily get away and be caught and brought back again, this is where Baizhu actually has a rather unique reaction, both intriguing and odd compared to how other captors and obsessive lovers would react.

That is, he harbors no resentment or anger over your desires to be free. In fact, provided he caught you early, his reaction is fairly calm. If you managed to get out for a while, he's more visibly panicked when he finds you, but he still manages to calm himself down by the time he brings you back, and doesn't lash out or have any sort of angry outburst.

You still endure some form of punishment — can't just let you get away with it, of course, you'd just be more likely to do it again — but you very quickly notice he doesn't really seem all that angry or anything. At some point, you question him on it, and he's very transparent with his answer.

To tell you the truth, I can't really blame you. You're only following your instincts. It's endearing, in a way.

Being angry, he explains, would be nonsensical, silly, unreasonable. It is only natural for a human to desire autonomy and as few restrictions on themselves as possible. Yet, it is also human nature to want to control others, and to have the object of their desires all to themselves, kept away like a treasure. Both his actions and yours are perfectly natural and reasonable, and since he himself has followed his natural inclinations and instincts, he can't blame you for doing the same and following yours.

And then, he smiles.

But it seems you weren't quite capable of achieving your goal. I suppose you'll just have to hope you have better luck on your next attempt... And I, that there won't be one.

How easy are they to trick, deceive, or manipulate?

Needless to say, Baizhu is both intelligent and perceptive. Most of the time, he can easily catch you in a lie. More importantly, he knows that given the circumstances, it's obvious you'll be trying to lie to him fairly regularly, so he's on guard about it, making him that much more likely to notice.

But on the rare occasion you do manage to trick him in some way, unless it was something that put you, him, or your situation in genuine danger, he doesn't get too upset. It's just the philosophy he takes, he explains as he shrugs it off— Really, it was foolish of me to not anticipate something like that. Considering the circumstances, I should never have allowed myself to become so unguarded.

Much like with attempts at escape, it's only natural to lie to him to achieve what you want. Likewise, it's only natural for you to receive some form of punishment to deter you from repeating the attempt of deception. Simple. So while he doesn't have a particularly angry or emotional response to it, don't expect to just get away with it either.

He's also very well aware when you manipulate him, acknowledges it even, but similarly to lying, he doesn't seem to mind too much. If anything, as long as it's something mild in nature, he finds it amusing, will chuckle and smile.

Oh, my. I see what you're doing... well, how could I say no when you're being so sweet about it?

That applies only to that which is mild, though. If your request or attempted goal is something that would actually be a risk, he gets far more serious and firm in his approach.

Surely you don't expect me to fall for that, dear. As much as I'd like to fulfill any wish you have, I know better than to take that sort of risk.

It was worth a try. You win some, you lose some.

How lenient are they? What privileges can you have, and what will you be denied?

He knows that mental stimulation will be important to your ensuring that you remain of sound mind and health for the foreseeable future. There's limits, of course, he's not dumb enough to fall for requests for things that you could use to harm him or break out, but he'll get you what you want, within reason. Especially books, which, as he says, are important for keeping your mind sharp. Those he'll get you even without asking, often bringing you something at random because he thinks you might enjoy its contents.

And hey, he also might as well capitalize on the opportunity. To prevent boredom, you can also help him out. Lots of jars that need organizing and labeling, papers that need to be filled and documented, and so on. Of course, he'll double check to ensure there's no maliciously doing it wrong or anything, but he appreciates it if you're willing and compliant.

What kind of rules do they have? What kind of punishment would they use?

He doesn't like to feel like he's being strict or harsh, but he does set specific guidelines. They're fairly short and simple.

One, you will not attempt to leave, or to rope anyone else into "helping" you.

Two, you will not attempt to cause any harm or damage to himself, his property, or any other residents or visitors you may come into contact with.

Third, you will not attempt to commit any action that intentionally causes, or has a potential to accidentally cause, any danger or harm to yourself.

Violate any of these conditions, and naturally, there will be consequences. All actions have cause and effect, this is just the law of the universe, so it is only fair to enforce a consequence.

He's still pretty forgiving, but if you push his limits, he'll begin enacting those consequences, getting progressively more intense according to the nature of your offense. Confining you to one room, putting you back into an ankle shackle, so on and so on. All done with this self-righteous attitude, telling you how it's for your own benefit that this is done.

But along the same previous lines of reasoning as to why he gives you things to keep you occupied, he knows how important stimulation is to one's psychological well-being, and can just as easily use this against you. If you've been very, very bad, repeated attempts at running away and total defiance, some more intense measures are needed. As with any other ailment, your poor behavior is something he has just the thing to treat with.

The dependency itself, you see, creates bonding. Being forced to rely on another for such basic needs is a process equally humiliating and endearing. The isolation, on the other hand, ensures that your brain associates only him with the positive chemicals and emotions induced by having stimuli to free you from boredom, as well as your needs being met and...

He continues to explain it out to you as he goes. You're still only restrained by one ankle binding, but he doesn't need much in that regard, because he doesn't really have to worry about you moving around in the first place. You can barely move a muscle anyway.

It is quite torturous, isn't it? He almost feels bad for you. You still have some control over your face, and he can see the obvious displeasure in your expression. Unable to move your arms, your legs, anything but the truly important muscular functions like being able to swallow and breathe and the like. Forced to sit there numbly while he brings cups of water and spoonfuls of broth to your mouth, when he wipes your body down in substitution for bathing. Yes, it's clear how much you dislike this, but that's the point, isn't it? This would not have to happen if you could just be a bit more compliant. That wouldn't truly be so hard, would it? He asks in such a patronizing voice.  Should you keep your mouth shut and refuse to eat or drink, he'll sigh, give up for the moment and try again later. If this persists after a few days, though, he'll just have to force it, and is not above doing so.

After a few days of this, he'll allow it to wear off, provided you've proven your repentance and promise you're going to be good in the future. An unlikely promise, he realizes, but at least the sentiment counts.

Oh, and he does establish one other rule out of frustration after a certain incident: no taking his glasses and hiding them. Really, it was quite a childish act of spite on your part, and caused him a terrible deal of inconvenience. Best to address it and forbid that from reoccurring...

How do they deal with rivals, or perceived rivals? Will they get rid of them? Will they kill them themselves, or find another way?

Rivals are actually something you don't have to worry too much about, in terms of them getting hurt. Baizhu is calculated and reasonable, highly rational, and doesn't take any sort of rash action. And in his mind, as long as you're confined, other people are no longer an issue.

If he feels someone is becoming enough of a threat in the pre-captivity stage of his obsession, being aware of any affection another person has for you or vice versa will simply serve as a catalyst in your abduction, and almost certainly expedite that process, out of urgency to get you away from a perceived threat. Provided you are secured, though, he sees no reason to risk the potential consequences of taking any action against a rival, even if he does harbor resentment for them.

Do not, however, mistake that for instinctive reluctance. It doesn't mean he's the sort of person who would be to afraid to kill someone, or, as you might initially imagine he would be, a person who would feel an innate sense of guilt and wrongness, who is averse to doing anything truly wrong. No, he's more than confident in his ability to successfully pull off a homicide if he were to try, and honestly, he's really not that naturally guilty, that is, in the sense of the sort of person who would be haunted by their actions and feel guilty by instinct. Rather, he has to intentionally hold himself back, tell himself he can't do such a thing no matter how much he wants to, as a matter of dignity.

Homicide would, after all, be more or less entirely antithetical to his universal occupational creed. And while again, he doesn't have an instinct against it, he values his own self-image. He wouldn't feel guilty, but he'd feel disappointed in himself, ashamed to have failed to uphold the idea of sanctity of life and all that. And perhaps even more importantly, such an act is one of petulant spite, if you ask him, and he would be somewhat embarrassed to see himself committing such an act, as if it's an admittance of having let someone else's presence bother him so much. It's a matter, thus, of self-respect and dignity more than anything. Therefore, with you secured away, he'll simply leave them be... although he's not above perhaps a bit of pettiness if the opportunity presents itself, such as being able to mildly inconvenience them somehow without it being connected to him.

That being said, there is a limit to his inhibition for the sake of self-image.

There's one circumstance under which he would see it fit to kill: said rival is looking for you after your disappearance, and he gets the very strong sense that the individual in question knows something they shouldn't, or otherwise seems to have some correct suspicion of what has occurred. He feels their eyes linger on him, this narrow-eyed sort of glare. They ask some rather odd questions. Or perhaps they're foolishly upfront about it, asking if he wouldn't happen to have seen you on the day you were last heard from, an accusatory edge to their tone.

Baizhu is actually quite masterful at keeping calm and maintaining an innocent act in such situations. He doesn't get defensive or hostile, rather, he pretends he just doesn't perceive the subtle tone of accusation. No, I haven't. Terrible thing, that. I hope there's some good news to come out of that situation soon...

But to himself, this confirms that he can't afford to leave this individual undealt with. It's not his fault, really. They forced his hand. Not that he's overjoyed to finally have a reasonable self-justification to kill off the person that has secretly always bothered him more than he lets on, though, no, nothing like that.

His method is perfectly simple, although he may have to wait a while to be able to enact it. But no matter, he can bide his time. Everyone gets sick eventually. They'll come to him. And if it's too urgent, they clearly know far too much and he can't afford to wait, he simply makes an invitation, says he has something he heard or saw that may have some connection to you, and that he wishes to discuss it at once.

If it's the former, and he actually has the chance to drug them, he'll easily take that method, as it's the cleanest and the one he's most adept with. And if he invites them to speak with him, well, he'll still poison their tea and all, but he's not going to get his hopes up that it will actually be consumed, given they have every reason to suspect him. Unfortunately, this may mean he's forced to take more unpleasant means.

As much as he enjoys having them out of the way, it turns out the act of killing someone via means other than poison is actually quite unpleasant. He knows he's not healthy and strong enough at the moment to risk being overpowered if he attempted strangulation or drowning, so he just has to go full-on old fashioned and come up behind them and stab them to death. It's a very brutish act, really. Probably looks very awkward and ugly from an outside perspective. Ugh. Blood on his hands and face and the floor and the table... and now he has to wash this shirt, too... at least it will make a decent addition to the compost for herbs. Sigh.

How easy is it to make them mad? What does their anger look like?

Baizhu is largely defined by a sort of passive attitude, although it does have its limits. But for the most part, he's very tolerant and patient. Part of it is just a natural disposition, while it's also in part due to years of having dealt with a wide variety of people of varying, and often unpleasant, temperaments, in varying levels of discomfort, and thus not always pleasant to deal with.

This can be to your benefit, in terms of the fact that he's forgiving and somewhat lenient towards you. If you put on a sweet act or a pitiful apologetic act, in particular, after getting caught doing something you aren't supposed to be, it turns out to be a weak spot for him. He knows full well you're doing it intentionally, but in his own words, he just can't bring himself to be too upset when you have that look in your eyes.

While beneficial under most circumstances, his patience and slowness to anger can also be incredibly frustrating if you're the bitter type who tries to make him mad. He knows you're doing exactly that, and he knows that not giving you the reaction you want will infuriate you further, and to be honest, it's rather cute watching you get more and more upset. He can hold out for quite a while like that, as long as your behavior is not something harmful to anyone.

Be careful overusing or abusing his lenience, though, or pushing the boundaries. If you take it a step too far, do something one too many times, that patience meets its end. You can tell exactly when you've crossed that line by the look on his face, narrowed eyes and a stern, unamused expression. He speaks in a firmer tone than usual, and is far more blunt with his words.

That's enough, now. I've been very patient with you. Do not test me further.

The sudden shift and stark difference to his usual demeanor is enough to make you freeze up, and deters you on its own, far more than it would coming from someone who usually speaks in that sort of voice. Should you nonetheless, perhaps out of spite, continue your defiance, it goes a step further.

He's still not the sort of person to show anger very outwardly. Quite the opposite. You know you have truly, royally fucked up because he goes dead silent. Takes a deep breath in, heavy sigh out. Puts down the pen or closes a book or whatever else he's handling with a harsh sound, stands up without a word. You can feel a twisting in your stomach from the aura coming off of him, feel a sort of dreadful tension in the air. When he does finally speak, it's in that same cold, firm voice, as he latches a hand onto your arm and begins to pull you off into another room.

Alright, then. I see you don't intend to make this easy.

You can start to sputter out apologies at that point, but you're not going to get any further words out of him. After all, you've made it clear that words aren't enough to get through to you anyway.

How do they express affection, or attempt to endear themselves to you?

Baizhu is very fond of pet names. Dear. Darling. Love. Even if it embarrasses you, he doesn't really care. It takes a while to get used to, he throws those terms around so casually, it makes you flustered and feel all warm and you're not really sure how to react. But it just comes naturally to him, really, he wasn't initially intending for it to have any effect, although seeing that it does have an effect is quite amusing.

Otherwise, he likes to just spend time with you. The activity doesn't really matter, in fact, you don't even need to be doing the same thing together or anything. You can be doing your own thing while he does his, that's also fine. He just likes being in your vicinity.

Doing things together, though, is very nice. He's fond of doing mundane, routine things with you. Laundry, cooking, cleaning. Helping him restock by handing him jars while he puts them in their proper place, or vice versa. The little things, the things that don't require a great deal of thought or exchange of words, yet allow him to bask in your warmth and the bliss of simplicity in life with someone you love.

So they see you as above them, beneath them, or equal to them?

Baizhu is a fairly humble man. He's also objective, when it comes to such matters. Love you as he does, he still acknowledges your weaknesses and strengths.

Considering a person to be "greater" or "lesser" as a whole, he would argue, is in and of itself a concept that could only be born from a rather simple brain to begin with. Such a generalization fails to consider the complexity of the individual human existence. It is frankly impossible, or at least distasteful and lacking any respectable extent of intelligent thought, to take a single person — who has a unique skillset, physical and mental attributes, experiences, and a whole array of knowledge unique to that one individual — and condense all that complexity into one simple lump sum of "value", them do the same for another, and compare the two. The very notion itself is lacking intelligence, and only a person equally lacking intelligence and rationality, or perhaps simply a person of a neurotically grandiose nature, would try to claim one person is inherently of greater value.

But he can recognize those individual traits. If he's more intelligent than you are, he's very open to acknowledging it. If you're in better physical shape and health than he is, he'll readily admit it.

A person is what they are, they each have their strengths. If you ever get into the subject, he'll likely start philosophizing a bit about human nature — how tragic it is that so many humans obsess over those strengths that they are lacking, and in doing so allow the strengths they possess to go to waste. It is human nature to be discontent with oneself, perhaps—

Ah... am I boring you? Haha. No, no, it's quite alright.

How determined are they for you to love them? How hard will they try to make it happen? Or are they content just having you?

He fully acknowledges before ever taking you to be with him, that doing so will be detrimental any hopes of mutual affection. That's part of the pros and cons he heavily weighs before going through with that. But alas, it's a necessary hurdle to face, part of the price of having you to himself.

For the short term, at least.

He's not unfamiliar with psychology to some extent, seeing as it and his own field are somewhat related. He's very well aware of the known effects that prolonged isolation and exclusion from the rest of society, as well as forced dependence, will have on a person.

So he's not too worried about it. Sure, you may be resentful now, but he can wait. As he always does. Patient, calculated. He knows eventually there will be a shift, and then a decline. First comes anger, then that will die down, then a period of quiet despond, and eventually, as the soundness of mind deteriorates, you will come back to him, feel the same fondness you did before. It's predictable, linear, like clockwork. The human mind and the human body are alike in that way, often following patterns that can be accurately predicted far before actually reaching that stage of progression. Just as he can heal various diseases and ailments by referencing existing knowledge of the body, so he can "fix" your mind and your sentiments by utilizing the knowledge of the mind.

If you start to become exceptionally discontent and disagreeable at any given time, he'll just go with the foolproof method that works every time — total isolation besides him, dark room, no stimulus, bound hand and foot or kept immobile by drugs. A few days of that and you usually crack. The cycle repeats, but he always knows just how to get you back to the way he prefers you.

Bonus: Is there anything that makes them unique, in comparison to other yanderes?

Firstly, as aforementioned, he's almost amusingly transparent. He explains a good deal of what he does to you and exactly why he's doing it, what affects it will have, etc. Most captors would probably keep quiet on exactly how they intend for their actions to induce a bond with you or force you into this or that, but not him.

You're smart, see. He knows you'll probably figure it out anyway. What's the point of withholding it then? Besides, he has a habit of thinking out loud sometimes, so it just comes natural to him to sort of mutter about what he's doing as he goes about his tasks. No point in refraining from that when there's no real reason to.

It's not as if you knowing what he's doing or what the intended effect is will make it any less effective. Maybe you'll develop a bit of spite and fight the effects, thus prolonging the procedure, but it will work all the same in the end anyway. If anything, seeing you resist is rather cute. But you'll succumb nonetheless, so, no need to be secretive.

Another obstacle he faces that others in a similar obsessive predicament do not is, well, himself. Baizhu is forced to take his own health and physical capacity into account to a degree most others never would have to give a passing thought to.

You'd think that his frailness might serve as an advantage to you — and you'd be right, sort of. It would serve as an advantage to you, were he to not account for it.

Unfortunately for you, he does account for it, and goes to great lengths — paranoid measures, even — to ensure you cannot take advantage of it. These chronic problems sometimes follow patterns and cycles, and usually have warning signs before becoming worse, so if he knows he's going to be in a weakened state, he gets much heavier on the restraints, and goes ahead with drugging you into immobility, even though you haven't done anything to deserve what is usually used as a punishment. It's also one of the few times he'll give you a very sincere apology. I know it's unpleasant, but I don't have much of a choice right now. You know it's serious from the lack of his usual warm whimsical voice of his, instead speaking in a very blunt voice laden with discomfort. You suppose you can summon a bit of pity, even if you're frustrated.

You also notice, though, that he's always insistent that he's fine and doesn't need help, even if that's blatantly untrue. The man will sound like he's coughing his lungs up for a minute straight and when you rush over with a concerned look on your face, he forces a chuckle and smiles and waves his hand dismissively. No, no, it's fine, really, that's a regular occurrence, it will die down in a minute or s— and breaks out coughing again.

He doesn't want you to see him in a state he feels looks pathetic. You figure that out eventually, given that he always stands up and goes into another room if the coughing fits get too bad, and how you can tell he's forcing himself to act as if he's not in discomfort or pain when he cares for you during his episodes of poorer condition.

It's something he's very stubborn about too. Usually he's so transparent, but even if you push him, tell him you're well aware he's not well or that you're fine and he should lay down, he continues to downplay it and insist it's not that bad. Just a bit of an ache, he says, or just a bit drowsy. He's relentless on this, no matter how much you push.

There's another unique factor to your captivity, but it doesn't have much to do with Baizhu himself.

See, there's plenty of captors or obsessed lovers you might end up with who have companions or accomplices you would meet, but no other quite so... slithery.

And few quite so cold, either. Changsheng, and the dynamic she takes in relation to the both of you, is a very odd experience.

Firstly, she is of no help to you. You weren't really sure what to expect from a literal talking snake, but you at least figured that if she possessed human thought capacity, she would perhaps possess a sense of empathy as well.

But she never brings up or even really acknowledges the circumstances of your situation. You tried once or twice, but she immediately shuts you down if the conversation is headed in that direction.

These sorts of interpersonal relationships are no business of mine. Know that I have no intention of interference.

While a bit disappointing, you did more or less know that even if she empathized, she wouldn't likely be of much help.

She still takes some getting used to. To be honest, she moves so quietly that for the first little while, she nearly gave you a heart attack on several occasions. You'll be going about some idle task, turn your gaze to look at or reach for something, only to come face-to-face with a snake in very close proximity.

AH! Oh, I, um...

What is the matter?

N-no, I just... uh...

You are at unease due to my presence?

No! No, I just didn't... see you there...

She has a bit of a sharp tongue and stern nature, and you initially do feel very uneasy, both out of not wanting to upset her as well as some primal instinct telling you that the creature that sits next to you is a dangerous one, even if your conscious mind knows better.

She does feel the need to comment on whatever you're doing, especially when trying to do tasks to help (or just to have something to do) by doing some work in the storerooms.

By what system of organization are you determining the order to place these jars in, hm?

You are not plotting anything nefarious back here by yourself, yes?

You there... these counters are slippery. I instruct you to place me on the surface over there.

At first, you feel bullied and bossed around... but over time you come to realize that despite the criticisms, she's intentionally seeking you out, whenever Baizhu is busy. In fact, whenever he goes off to a house call by himself or to take care of some task, it's usually only a matter of minutes before she shows up.

And truth be told, over time, you do bond. It's an unspoken sort of thing, something you think she might have started doing without consciously realizing she's doing it, but she begins... scaling you, climbing over and on you in the same way she does her contractual companion. The first time, you were reading over some piece of mail slid under the door when you felt a slight weight on your shoulder.

What is that? Oh, I see...

Gradually, it becomes an unspoken norm, a habit that neither of you really acknowledge out loud, but you understand it's a significant milestone in your relationship to each other, whatever that relationship may be defined as. You'll be standing around, working on whatever, when you feel the cold scales brush against your ankle... and now that cold sensation is spiraling up your leg, then your waist, and she positions herself around your shoulders just as she would Baizhu himself. Often commenting on or criticizing whatever you're doing, but sometimes just... relaxing there. She likes being on a person — humans are warm, and while she wouldn't admit it, she just sort of enjoys the company sometimes. If Baizhu is unavailable, you're the next best option. And sometimes, she's merely using you as a means of transportation, telling you to go somewhere else so she can get off, with you being able to get wherever it is faster, especially if it involves stairs.

Or sometimes, you'll be sitting down and she sees no reason to go around you to get where she's going, instead just slithering right over your lap without so much as a word, either to cross over you to get elsewhere, or to rest on you for a while. Then there was that time you were laying on the couch, trying your best to take a nap when you stiffened and nearly felt your heart stop for the umpteenth time when a cold sensation spread as she slithered her way underneath your shirt, curling up into a ball on your stomach.

It is cold outside and there is a draft. You will have to suffice for the moment.

And you also notice that, although it may feel harsh, oftentimes her criticisms and advice are genuinely helpful, either making a task significantly easier or preventing you from potentially hurting yourself in a specific process. You still can't quite let go of a bit of bitterness over her essentially being cooperative in your captivity, but you can't say you don't appreciate her.

General perverseness: how sexual of a person are they? What’s their drive like? How touchy do they get? Do they have any reservations about sexuality?

He's actually quite touchy from the start. It's one of the few things that sort of unsettles you and gives some sense of something being "off" even early on. You're pretty sure you don't know each other well enough for him to have just brushed his fingers over your arm, or to rest his hand on your shoulder, or to clasp your hand between his for a moment as he tells you he'll see to this or that that you've requested. The touches continue to grow more noticeable with time, and they're just so very perfectly lingering for a time that's long enough to be noticeable, but not long enough for you to feel like saying something is a warranted reaction. No, you'd be overreacting if you said anything, right? It's not that bad, it's only for a few seconds, so perfectly timed as if he's knowingly releasing his touch at the right second. Always right on the edge.

Even after that, once you're living with him, he's very casually touchy. He'll run his fingers back and forth over your side or back when you're sitting or lying next to each other, runs his fingers through your scalp, rest an arm over your side or shoulders.

His drive, on the other hand, depends entirely on his current physical condition. Whenever certain chronic problems are flaring up and his health takes a negative turn, as you can imagine, his sex drive also plummets, and he's in too much discomfort to do much movement anyway. Other times, with other problems flaring up, it's particularly frustrating because he does still have a sex drive, but is in too much discomfort to do much... there's some creative ways to work around that, but nonetheless, it's irksome.

He's not particularly reserved about sexuality at all, actually, under the right circumstances. Of course, if asked about his reasoning for this, he acknowledges and understands the cultural sensitivity to such things, and concurs with the topic being something you don't just randomly talk about; that is, he obviously has a firm grasp on what is and isn't appropriate in various settings and doesn't violate conventions of appropriateness. It's just that when it's alone with you, he can talk about the filthiest and most intimate of things without batting an eye or any sign of embarrassment. It's just a natural part of human life, isn't it? If anything, the act is one that should be viewed as beautiful. The poetic sort of people tend to describe it as an ultimate expression of affection between individuals, and if you ask him, that's something that should be treasured.

How forceful are they? Do they care about your willingness?

He views forcing that sort of thing as a behavior that's more or less beneath him. Barbaric, brutish, uncivilized... brute force, that is. Other measures, though, that's another matter. Things like drugs and coercion don't have quite the same vibe of brutality and inhumanity.

Regardless, though, the key factor is your experience. He's the type that can't really enjoy a sexual experience unless you're also clearly enjoying it... the catch being that you obtaining pleasures and enjoyment is not exactly the same thing as outright consent. As long as you cum, it counts as being mutually enjoyed.

He still doesn't really like the thought of having to be physically forceful though, that would make him feel brutish. He'll be sure to sedate you early on. If you're sluggish and barely moving, you can't really offer resistance in the first place... and you're more pliable to his hands, too.

And yes, he will use your pleasure against you, telling you that you clearly don't hate it all that much — just look at what you've done, he says, holding up the fingers coated in your own fluids, pressing them against your tongue, your jaw too weak to prevent him from sliding his fingers in. The mouth says one thing, the body another... but the mouth is capable of lying, the body really isn't, so it's better to trust that which he knows is being honest.

What is intimacy with them like? What sort of kinks or fetishes do they have, or would they fill?

He can't go too hard and fast... well, he sometimes does anyway, his efforts aided by adrenaline, which quickly catches up to him as soon as it's over. He's not particularly rough though, nor does he cause you pain. That's not to say he's entirely without a sadistic side — he does find himself enjoying seeing you in a state of humiliation and anticipation, he just prefers to use pleasures and intense, but not painful, sensations to do so.

Drugging

That is, of course, the one you likely anticipated the most. He's not at all shy about it. Even if you by chance had something consensual going on before being kept captive, he's very open about the desire to experiment on your body by triggering reactions to various substances.

There's a variety of different options to try, lots of combinations and records of the effects different traditional medicines have on the body. This one heightens blood flow and skin sensitivity, this one induced lactation... ah, but his personal preference is this one that gives you a buzzing, euphoric high, accompanied by a voracious appetite for pleasure and orgasms for the next hour or so. He gives you the full history of how ancients in this area used to use it for fertility ceremonial purposes back in the day, explaining it calmly while he ties your hands to the headboard, as you pant and whimper and gasp for breath underneath him. Quite nice, isn't it?

And if you're being less than compliant and agreeable, he can also go the route of sedation. Not entirely, no, he doesn't want you to be fully unconscious, nor forget any of it later. No, what he forces into your mouth makes you more... relaxed. You, after the fact and in an accusatory tone, use the word 'paralyzed,' but he insists that that's an overdramatization. Firstly, it's not the same medication he uses when he actually leaves you fully unable to move, and secondly, you can still sort of move your fingers and toes and head, your muscles are just relaxed and at ease, preventing movement of actual limbs. Your words slur, you feel dizzy and tired, yet you feel every little touch. And see, your abdominal muscles twitched when he runs his fingers over your stomach, so you still have some muscular control... Not to mention, he can still feel your insides spasming and clenching when he curls his fingers inside of you, too.

Oh, and even in general, he makes sure you take a daily dose of tea made from some cocktail of bitter herbs he put together. You're told it's a blend that boosts your metabolism and brain activity and blood circulation, so on and so on, basically like a multi-purpose medicine for overall health. Which is true, it does do all of those things. It just so happens that all of those things also are known to increase sex drive, not to mention a few of them boost hormone production. But that's just a side effect, of course.

Orgasm control

Baizhu has a very specific long-term goal in mind to train you for: getting you to cum on command. It's a fantasy he's entertained in his head quite a few times. No reason to not try to make it a reality, now that he has you here with him. The concept itself is fascinating, the idea that a largely involuntary bodily reaction can be gradually, perfectly conditioned to align with someone else's words. It's such an ultimate power trip and absolute control, the thought is intoxicating.

And of course, being as patient and dedicated as this man has already proven himself to be, you know there's no getting out of it. Hours upon hours of edging, being told not to cum because you can't without his explicitly telling you to. If you do, he pulls his hand away, ruining the orgasm itself, leaving you to whimper and whine, that much more so if, after a few failed attempts, he ends up applying an additional corporeal punishment to try and further the negative association with cumming too soon. If you're good and endure, cum when he tells you to, you'll be likewise rewarded in some way.

Over and over. It goes on for weeks, months, that you have these training sessions, until it's perfected. You yourself are almost shocked by the progress, to realize just how much your body and your subconscious has submitted — it's on one of his better health days, he has the energy and lack of any aches to be able to take you on your hands and knees from behind, and it does feel good, but you're not that close — and yet, when he pulls your upper half up, forces your back into an arch, puts his hand on your throat and tilts his head down to speak directly in your ear and tells you to in the lowest, huskiest voice you've ever heard him speak in to cum for me — and you spasm, it hits you like a punch to the gut with the way the high rushes over your body. It leaves you sputtering and shivering as you collapse onto the bed, wide-eyed in shock. Even he seems a bit surprised too, chuckling as he sees the stunned expression on your face.

Oh, that worked better than even I anticipated...

He can also use orgasms as a form of withdrawal and coercion punishments. Primarily at the times that you're immobilized. You'll begin to grow needy after a time, and that makes you far more compliant. He keeps track of how long it's been since you last got to cum, and makes sure to remind you, just so you know how long you've been missing it, and so you'll be that much more quick to crack under the desperation of need.

Instruction/Obedience

Sometimes, once you've reached a state where he's assured you'll be fairly compliant with him, he gets surprisingly passive when he comes to you for intimacy.

Physically passive, at least. Motions you over with a finger gesture, starts giving you instructions. His voice is always so charming and gentle that it's hard to call it a command, per se, but it's telling you what to do nonetheless. To take this or that off, to straddle his waist, kiss him, put it in your mouth, ride him, touch yourself, on and on as he walks you through each little motion he craves to watch with his own eyes. It gets more specific and lewd with each instruction, starting off with just take your clothes off and eventually progressing to telling you exactly how to touch yourself, rub in circles, curl your fingers, lower yourself down and take him in, roll your hips, bounce on his cock, look him in the eye when you cum, every little thing.

...Eventually, you figure out that he does this on the days where he's not feeling well enough to do the moving himself, yet is still in good enough condition that he still has a sex drive. What a clever adaptation.

Exposure

It's not something he uses often, seeing as there are other people than just the two of you in his residence, but it can make a suitable punishment whenever you're confined to one room, or when everyone else is out. There's something just endearing about seeing you all embarrassed and flustered after being forced into nudity, the way you try desperately to cover yourself with your arms, the way you get all pouty in your humiliation and refuse to look him in the eye as you demand your clothes back.

But this is your choice, he reminds you. If only you would be a bit more cooperative, that wouldn't have to be the case, but that's entirely up to you. Until then, if you want to get out of bed for any reason, you'll just have to walk around as you are. And no, he's not going anywhere. Why would he leave when he has such a nice view? He smiles when you puff your cheeks out and curl your hands into fists out of embarrassed fury. Eventually, you do have to give in, get up and go do whatever it is you need to — and you feel his eyes on you the whole time as you do. When you glare in his direction, he just tilts his head. Oh? Is something the matter?

Such a shameless pervert, you think to yourself. What's worse, you know if you say something, he'll pull some cheesy line about 'examining' you or another. Ugh.

How do they feel about pregnancy or babies? Do they want them?

He'd be a bit worried about having any biological children. One one hand, there's a lot to be gained by having something tying you to him on such a deeply emotional level, that would likely cement you in place by making running away that much harder, and suppress your will to leave to begin with, or even accelerate your attachment to him.

At the same time, he has to be realistic. Is he really in any position to be caring for children, a task requiring great stamina? There's also the possibility you could turn children against him, or something like that. And if you were to encounter some sort of gestational health problem and require medical attention, there's no telling whether or not you'd be so stubborn as to to refuse to comply out of fear he'd drug you or something, which could pose very real risks to your well-being if he couldn't get you to work with him. So as nice as the notion seems when pictured in the ideal, there's just too many risks and complications that could take place.

But, there's a solution. One that will easily provide the same psychological attachment, and thereby allow a subtle degree of manipulation.

Once he can be sure you wouldn't try to harm her or anything, he deliberately ensures you and Qiqi spend time with each other. Initially, he tells you to watch over her while she goes about her tasks, help her out a bit. She can be forgetful, you know. Regardless of your sentiment, you can't bring yourself to be cold or rude to what is ultimately, despite the circumstances, still a relatively normal little girl.

Although he does, before leaving you two alone, make sure to give you a very firm warning. Well, the words themselves aren't a a threat, but there's an edge to his tone, when he responds to you raising your eyebrows and asking if he's really allowing this.

It's quite alright. I trust you surely wouldn't try to get a child involved in anything you shouldn't.

The words admittedly do have a bite to them. Would it really be a moral wrong, for you to try and enlist her for help...? It's not like he would ever harm her, but still, you question the sort of psychological damage you'd be risking. There's an inherent feeling of wrongness when you think about putting the kid under a situation that, if you succeeded in getting her to help you, would result in a great deal of distress and confusion and even long-term psychological damage from what would ensue. And when you think about it even further, you realize with a twisting feeling in your gut that if you escaped your captor and got him locked up... what would happen to her...? It's an unpleasant thought, even if you tell yourself you'd make sure she was cared for.

Nonetheless, eventually, on one of your worst and most bitter and resentful days, in a moment of desperation, you do finally crack. It will be fine, you tell yourself. You're doing something good overall. Someone like that shouldn't be responsible for a kid in the first place, right? So if you just get her to run by the law enforcement when she's out herb-gathering...

Listen, I, uh, I need you to do something for me, okay?

Mm...? Okay...

You wait patiently as the hours pass, hoping you look like less of a nervous wreck than you are, hoping you're not actually as jittery as you feel, a whole swarm of emotions of dread and hope and anticipation swirling in your gut. You practically pounce on the poor girl when she comes back through the doors.

Did... did they say anything? Are they coming?

You're met with a blank stare, a long pause.

Uh... who...? Was I supposed to... do something...?

You're pretty sure you gave up either the third or fourth time that happened. Can't really remember which. You start to realize that the reason he seemed so unbothered by the thought of leaving you alone with her wasn't so much his trust in you as much as it was complete assurance there was never any real risk anyway. Sigh.

But you don't hold it against her. You continue watching over her and taking care of her when you can. And the most frustrating part is that you know exactly what the intent is, and yet, you also know it's working.

You find yourself caring more and more about the girl. There was that time she stumbled and fell flat on her face and before you even really processed what you were doing, you'd already rushed over across the room to get her back up. Hey, hey, are you okay...? Or the time everyone else had stepped away for a moment due to some issue or another, leaving the front of the pharmacy unmanned for just a few moments — just enough time to find some big, disgruntled-looking guy looming over the child (who admittedly didn't seem intimidated or anything, just the usual blank stare), going on about some complaint he must have found no one else present to give to, and once more, without really thinking, you found yourself rushing over, picking her up and pulling her away, holding her to your side as if to shield her, finding yourself growing immediately defensive, glaring back. The hell is wrong with you? The owner will be back in just a minute, you'll have to wait. You find yourself a bit surprised at your own sharpness of tongue.

You feel this caring, protective swell in your chest regrading her. You're not so headstrong as to deny to yourself the truth, that you know you've developed emotional attachment towards and even some maternal instinct for the child. That admittedly, you wouldn't want to leave her, and that you'd worry how she'd fare by herself without you, even if you know she was doing fine before you. And most upsettingly, you know that that was exactly what the plan was.

Maybe if it had been one-sided, then, at least you could have shaken the feeling off, but that's not the case either. You make a habit of taking some time to yourself in a specific room every day, a time in the late afternoon when there's always a rush of people coming in, leaving Baizhu himself quite busy, so you get some time to sit and read or whatever task you set yourself to. A routine quickly develops — there's a set of pattering footsteps in the hall, she pokes her head around the door to check if you're there, and quietly shuffles in and sits next to you. Silent, but present. She doesn't say or do anything, she just sits.

Not that that's the only habit that develops. It's one of those situations that progresses subtly yet quickly, so you don't really remember when each starts. You just become aware one day that each little routine or habit has been going on for some time now. That when you walk around the back of the pharmacy going about your day, there's often a little hand clinging to your skirts or pant legs, quietly walking alongside you while latching on. That when you make yourself something to snack on, you get out two plates or bowls and make two helpings of whatever it is without really thinking about it.

She doesn't usually have a lot to say, but it's always pleasant, she's not quite like the stereotypical hyperactive kid, no, she lets you do whatever you're doing and doesn't interrupt much, just seems to want to be around you.

You allow it, of course. You don't have the heart not to, even though you know you shouldn't, that you shouldn't allow the closeness and should push her away because you know it will inevitably lead to exactly what he wants.

You can still pinpoint the exact moment, though, that you knew it was already too late. Sitting there doing some idle task or another in silence when you feel weight leaning over against your side, head resting on your arm, and that soft, monotone voice.

I like having you here.

Dammit. You could physically feel that tug on your heart. If that wasn't the final nail in the coffin, nothing else could top the emotion that gave you. You resign yourself to finally acknowledging that you've already fallen for the scheme.

...Not that she's just an advantageous tool. The flip side disadvantage is that she's also a bit of a liability. He's given her the 'if you tell anyone about her, she'll have to go away forever' talk several times over, and the poor girl always widens her tired eyes and seems very distressed at that notion, but her memory is not exactly known for being that great. There was that time some law enforcement came by to ask about you, saying something about how someone claimed to have seen a young woman in this courtyard area on the night of the disappearance. When your name is spoken, the girl's eyes widen, her lips part and she's just started to raise her arm up to point to the back room and say the words 'oh, I kn—' when she's interrupted by being picked up, hand clamped over her mouth and carried out of the room—

Ah, why don't you go run along—

And unceremoniously set in the hall, the door shut behind.

...Not good for a child to hear something fearful like a disappearance, that's all. Could give her nightmares or something. Surely they understand that...?

Thankfully, the present officials do, just nodding and continuing on, seemingly not taking that as reason to suspect anything. Poor Baizhu, it's one of the few moments he actually nearly lost composure, slumping back into a chair with a heavy sigh of relief as soon as they leave. That surely did not do his heart palpitation issue any favors...

What kind of (nsfw) punishments would they use?

One of the most unbearable things is the wait and the dread. It's never immediate. He always says something to the effect of ah, I need some time to think about how to handle this..., which you come to realize is just intentionally dragging out your fearful anticipation. To say he has somewhat of a sadistic side would be a fairly accurate statement, he doesn't really want to cause you physical pain, but he does find himself enjoying watching you squirm and shudder and stiffen, consumed with anticipation, dread and fear, as well as reactions of humiliation and embarrassment. He tries to refrain to some extent, but finds himself indulging in invoking those reactions from you more often than he'd like to admit for the sake of his own perception of his self-control.

It's not particularly painful, though, so you can be grateful for that... although there is a sort of dull ache after a while. Getting the drugs into your system is the only difficult part, as you squirm too much to safely inject you, but refuse to open your mouth, so compliance is a bit of a challenge, forcing him to find some means of holding you still. From there, your body sort of does the punishing for you. It's unlike anything you've ever felt — an unbearable sensation of heat, so intense it leaves sweat rolling down your skin, leaves you panting and shivering and gasping for breath, limbs twitching as they desperately pull against the binds keeping your ankles and wrists taut against the bedposts.

He wouldn't leave you to suffer that alone, of course. Well, maybe for a short while, half an hour or so, to heighten the desperation, but after that, he's right there to help you, affectionately running his hand over the top of your head and speaking to you in a soft voice, all far too gentle to be one and the same as the person responsible for your present state of misery.

What do you need? Tell me how to help you.

You're not compliant at first, of course. You shake your head and clench your jaw and refuse to just make this so much easier on you both. It takes a little while. A little more urging and comforting, running his fingers over your thighs and sides and all the parts of your flesh just sensitive enough to earn a shudder, before you start to melt into his touch, and eventually give in, tell him what you want.

There we go. That wasn't so difficult, was it?

Not that the torment ends there, of course. Just giving in to tell him isn't enough.

But you haven't been entirely... appreciative, have you? If I do this for you, it pains me to think it will only go unrecognized like everything else I do for you. If you ask with sincerity, maybe...

Once you've swallowed your pride entirely, then, you can get some semblance of relief. Although that itself becomes torturous with time. The intensity doesn't die down, the unbearable urge is still there, yet each successive orgasm begins to become painful, each erogenous spot on your body becomes sore and hypersensitive to the touch. You loathe to admit you end up in tears by the end of it. No worry, though, he's right there to comfort you through it... and ensure you this doesn't have to happen, but you continue to choose it time and time again.

What body parts of their darling do they like the most?

Curvature. It's not really any one specific spot, per se, but he would say it counts. The degree of it doesn't really matter, whether it's slight or pronounced. He likes the way his hands feel running over curved areas like your hips and waist, thighs, shoulders. It's something he can appreciate even when his eyes are closed, late at night, just slowly running his hands over the spots and feeling the bends and dips. There's also, of course, the fact that it provides a nice sort of grip, a spot he can lock his arms or hands around and know you won't be able to pull away easily.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hello, thank you for answering our questions! Often, when I try to find fan fiction with an adult Harry, for some reason the authors prescribe a caricature character from early books for him and write his character from extreme to extreme. Or Harry is soft, gentle, kind, hates violence and constantly forgives his enemies, is not capable of murder and turns a blind eye to alarm bells. And he also whines because of morality (I hurt my abuser, oh, how bad I am!). Or he is aggressive, impulsive and stupid.What traits of Harry's character could change in 10-15 years? Or how will his approach to problem solving change? For example, Harry's anger will become more tamed and deliberate. And also, I always thought that Harry was more focused on gray morality, because he saw the best in the worst people, as well as the worst in the best people. What do you think about it? I really like your posts about Harry's character, magic and mind. You're doing great 🩷🩷🩷

Thank you so much! 😊

Well, I mean, I don't know if I'd say Harry is focused on grey morality, he is a good guy who for the most part believes in justice (sans a few exceptions for people he cares about/really hates). Because in general, he acts according to a pretty clear moral code in his mind. It may not be your moral code, but Harry has one that he doesn't consider grey. I talked about this more here.

And, like, Harry is a forgiving person, but his forgiveness is a bit selective. In general, he believes someone who did something bad, deserves something bad to happen to them in turn but if there's a specific reason for him to sympathize or to believe there's good in that person, he will be willing to offer forgiveness. I mean, he offered Voldemort to try for some remorse. Harry is willing to offer the possibility of forgiveness. But he is no pushover, if he sees he isn't treated back with the same respect, then he isn't going to keep trying. He does not have limitless patience and he has little to no tolerance for other people's shit. So while he can forgive when presented with a reason to do so, he's not someone who'll keep dishing out chances to people who don't deserve it.

As for how I imagine him when older, honestly similar to how he ends the books in terms of morals and worldview, probably. I think he'd get calmer, a lot of his anger is a response to trauma so as he heals with time, he should get less angry, less hypervigilant, and less jumpy. Though, I imagine his temper and vigilance never disappear completely and even in his later years, he'd be, like, sitting at a restaurant and the server would pass just too close behind him and he'd have the urge to pull his wand out and deflect the threat. But it would be an urge and he wouldn't actually do it unless he needs to.

His temper, while he'd have better control of it, wouldn't disappear completely. I can still see a Harry in his 40s or 50s just snapping at someone in anger and shouting at them. If they didn't deserve it he'd feel bad and apologize later, but sometimes, you need to shout off the ear of some stupid ministry person. I think Harry should be allowed to do that, as a treat. But I don't see him ever getting violent in his temper, ever. Shouts and rude, snide comments are the furthest he'd go without consciously deciding violence is necessary (Even if he'd imagine strangling annoying people in his head).

I also think as Harry grows older he'd become more confident. Like, Harry in the books really lacks self-esteem and he has no clue how great he is. I think that although older Harry would still have a somewhat skewered image of himself, he'd be more confident and have a vague understanding that he is smarter and more magically powerful than the average wizard.

Part of the two above sections is that more and more of the sarcastic quips Harry makes in his head will be spoken out loud. We actually see it in the books, that Harry's more externally sassy as the books progress (he says his thoughts aloud more) and I think this trend will continue. Like, I imagine older Harry just says the wildest shit ever on the regular and finds others' reactions funny. Like, he doesn't need to be as worried about public perception as much, because like, "I saved you all twice already, I died for you, what more do you want?" so he'd allow himself to be a bit of a shit when he feels like it, I think.

So an older Harry would be just as witty as the younger Harry, quite funny, calmer than in the books, and more confident. He'd be less impulsive, but just as cable of violence when he deems it necessary (although, he'd probably need it less since he'd have a reputation that does half the work for him from a certain point). Like, as I mentioned in the past I like to think Harry eventually becomes a DADA professor and later headmaster, I kinda imagine students don't mess with him. Not because he ever hurt them (Harry would never) but because he just has that glare, and he looks downright scary when he stares into your soul with these Avada-colored eyes of his. But usually, he's a pretty fun teacher that's all about practical application and I'm sure all his students gush to their parents about how cool Professor Potter is and how he talks shit and laughs with them even though he's the savior of the wizarding world.

(Also Professor Potter is seen drinking in the Three Broomsticks with Head Auror Ron Weasley and the Head of the Being Division in the Ministry Hermione Weasley every Hogsmead weekend (their positions change through the years, I just picked a year at random))

Though, he'd always have a sadness to him, like, he's been through so much and it'll always show, even in subtle ways. I think this would allow him to be very empathetic towards his students.

I'd like to imagine that post-book 7 Harry returns to Deathly Hallows to visit his parents' graves every year. I think, post-war, Harry would visit as many graves as possible of people who died during the battle of Hogwarts on the date of the battle. He'd even visit Tom Riddle's grave if he had one because he'd feel sorry for him.

Like, these are some random thoughts I have about this (sorry I went on my "Harry should've been a professor" rant, just, a lot of my future Harry headcanons are tied to it).

[aspentreewrites]

and when all the flowers are rotten and all the cannons shot

Chapter 3

Pairings: Codywan

Tags/Warnings: (for current arc) slow burn, fake dating, only one bed, general angst and pining, realising feelings, Cody is having a breakdown, AO3 rating is E for future chapters

Link to read on AO3 here!

Description:

The truth of the matter burrows deep into Cody’s skin, settling into the home it’s long-since made for itself there, nestled tightly amongst the other secrets he harbours that are too shameful to ever speak aloud.

He digs his fingers into his temples, breathing in heavy lungfuls of the steam-drenched air as if it might reverse the realisation that now weighs upon his heart like lead.

This is no longer just some passing infatuation.

He’s in love with Obi-Wan Kenobi.

(or: an account of the relationship between one Marshal Commander and his General from in the midst of a war.)

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A/N: Oh, Cody, we're really in it now. Happy holidays! It's been a tough end to the year, but everyone who's been so kind and left such lovely comments on here and on my AO3 have really been keeping me going :') thank you so much for reading so far!

As always, thank you so much to @whenyourfavouritedies (their AO3 link here) for beta reading!

Wordcount: 8.9k

Prev chapters: 1, 2

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The General and the Commander get a good deal of work done together that evening.

Their first order of business is checking in with Gregor about the state of the files they’d sent across - it seems they’re encoded, which isn’t much of a surprise, and will take a little while to fully decipher. A few select members of the 212th who can be trusted to keep quiet are already on it, and expect to have it cracked within the week.

Next comes the important affair of discussing the follow-up steps of the mission, particularly how they’re going to proceed with information gathering after facing Barrek directly, in a… less than subtle encounter. They aren’t able to come to a definite conclusion this evening.

Finally, they once more go over their guesses on what the deal they’re here to disrupt is actually likely to be. Knowing that it’ll be weapons related helps narrow it down, but not by much.

They trade dry comments about the state of things, about how much they’re already looking forward to getting back to normality once this is over. Obi-Wan makes a few comments about the state of the room’s provided caf machine - though he’s quick to mention that it’s still above the standard of some of the GAR-supplied requisitions.

The one thing they don’t speak of, is the kiss. 

A few times throughout the night the odd, thick tension rears its head. Cody catches the Jedi’s eyes lingering on him with a strange expression more than once, always glancing away when their gazes meet. 

Each time, it makes Cody wince. White, hot shame crawls across his skin before he has the time to shove it down, prickling beneath his collar. Cody knows - Force, how he knows - that Obi-Wan sensed more than he should have, earlier. To call it ‘mortifying’ would be an understatement.

It’ll pass, he tells himself. A lapse of judgement and concentration that he can make up for by performing professionally and exceptionally in the field, as often as he can from this point onwards. 

With any luck, his General will have pity on him and forget about the whole thing.

Rather robotically, Cody finds himself getting ready for bed that night. He goes through the motions of getting changed, all the while trying very, very hard to not think back to the feeling of Obi-Wan’s mouth on his. 

Stars above, he’s never been kissed so carefully, so gently. 

Because it wasn’t real, the voice in his head reminds him, sounding particularly bitter. Because it was a strictly professional necessity.

The thought makes his stomach twist, his heart aching with a longing that he knows, intrinsically, will be incredibly tricky to sate. It’s one thing to have feelings for someone, knowing they can never be acted upon… it’s another thing entirely to experience a taste of what could be, if only everything were different.

If not for the fact that Cody is certain that it’s unrequited, if not for the war…

Cody can’t help but let out a heavy sigh. If not for the war, he wouldn’t exist at all. The reminder is a lead weight upon his soul, albeit an old and familiar one. 

He’s a man whose hands were engineered to be bloody, he’s come to be at peace with that.

Despite it all, sometimes he can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to be nat-born. To exist for the sole purpose of living, not for taking life.

To be someone that could be allowed to love, and be loved in return.

Perhaps that version of Cody, unburdened by the war and the weight of expectation, would have the courage to go after the things he wants.

To tell Obi-Wan how he feels…

Cody wrinkles his nose. He’s being far too sentimental and dramatic over something that doesn’t need to be such a big deal. They’re just… feelings. He can live with that.

The two men settle in to attempt sleep that night, firmly keeping to their opposite sides of the bed. An unspoken rift of tension has opened up between them, and Cody doesn’t quite know where to start in broaching it. 

Perhaps the morning will bring clarity. It usually does.

With a deep exhale, the Commander closes his eyes, willing himself to shut off his mind and rest. 

The moons have risen high enough in the sky by now that their light permeates gently through the thin curtains of the hotel room, creating a uniquely soothing atmosphere. 

Cody, like most of the vode, is far more used to the artificial darkness of a sleeping pod than natural moonlight. Some of his brothers struggle to relax under the light of the real stars, finding it far too bright, but never him. In his mind, no fluorescent recreation is ever a substitute for the real thing.

He focuses on that light, on the repetitious sound of waves lapping at the shore outside, and allows himself to let go, as much as he is able.

When the morning comes, Cody isn’t afforded the luxury of a gentle awakening.

Rather, the sound of a scream startles him into consciousness. His hand moves without deliberate input, closing around the blaster on his nightstand even before his eyes have fully opened. When they do, his gaze is sharp, deadly - a trained killer, alert and hunting for the enemy. 

… The enemy that appears to be a distressed child outside who’d dropped their ice cream. 

With a slow exhale, Cody’s grip on the pistol loosens, setting it back down as his shoulders slump, just a little. 

He glances around the room as his heart rate calms, his eyes settling on the source of the sound - the open balcony door, much wider than they’d left it last night. That’s odd.

His gaze automatically shifts to Obi-Wan in concern - or, rather, where Obi-Wan should be. Instead, he finds himself staring at an empty side of the bed. 

The Jedi being up before him explains the balcony being open at least, though Cody can’t deny that the smallest flicker of disappointment that wells up within him at the sight. 

He tamps it down swiftly.

Cody has kicked himself into his normal alertness, showered and dressed for the day by the time the Obi-Wan returns. The other man is as calm and steady as he always seems to be, balancing two bowls in the crook of one arm and two mugs of caf in another as he steps through the threshold of their room. 

For the briefest of moments, Cody stills, quietly remembering that he doesn’t quite know how to approach today. 

And then Obi-Wan turns to face the door behind him with a scrunched brow, and any hesitation in Cody is immediately overridden by the sight of his general in need of rescue.

“Had a trip to find breakfast?” he finds the words to ask, heading over to offer aid for the precarious crockery situation. Obi-Wan hums appreciatively in response, gratefully allowing the other man to take a bowl and both mugs from him, slipping the door closed with his now-free hand.

“Thank you. Yes, I bought some fruit from the kitchens downstairs. They were supposed to be complementary, apparently, but they still somehow weaseled some credits from me. I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Ah, so they’re pretending that nothing happened last night. Cody finds himself considerably relieved - he can work with that.

“Beats ration bars,” he returns with a shrug, eyeing the offerings with cautious interest. Even if the rest of the food here was definitely over-complicated and over-priced, they surely couldn’t go too wrong with preparing fruit. He sets the mugs on the sideboard to better investigate.

“... How did they get you to give them money?”

Obi-Wan grimaces. “The staff said it was a ‘charitable donation’.”

Cody can’t help the way his mouth twitches into a smirk..

“Uh-huh.”

“... To go towards their Life Day bonuses.”

“There it is.”

Obi-Wan frowns, looking defensive even as he pops a grape into his mouth. 

“If they say it’s for charity, I can’t very well go ignoring their request,” he protests, waving a hand in front of him as if to illustrate his point. “And they’re likely being underpaid anyway, so it’s simply good manners–”

Cody snickers, shaking his head and giving his Jedi a fond grin. “Mm, no, absolutely,” he agrees, a hint of teasing in his tone. “Which reminds me, sir, I have a bridge to sell you on Corellia, actually–”

Obi-Wan does his best to not look impressed, though his eyes betray him as they always do, lighting up in mirth. “Oh, hush, you.”

Cody can’t hide his amusement, even as he attempts an imploring expression.  “It really is a fantastic piece of architecture, though. And at such a reasonable price…”

He trails off as he sees the fond exasperation painting Obi-Wan’s features. It’s one of the other man’s signature countenances, and one he’s been on the receiving end of many times over the years. He doubts he’ll ever get sick of it.

“So,” the Jedi starts pointedly, steering the conversation to more practical topics. “The finalised agenda for today.”

Cody nods, taking a bite of a piece of fruit as his expression turns more serious. It’s one he’d seen growing on the native trees here during his excursions through the grounds yesterday - bright pink and not dissimilar to an apple, but decidedly more sour. He thinks he likes it. 

“Right. We’re hoping to intercept Barrek at 1030 hours,” he recites easily, shrugging slightly at the Jedi’s request to go over all of this again.

Cody is a man who prides himself on his strategic prowess - it’s entirely good practice for he and Obi-Wan to cover the mission details whenever they have downtime, he’s aware of this.

… All the same, this isn’t a battlemap with three chokepoints, a hundred enemies, and countless potential flanking positions to watch out for. This linear-style of plan is as simple as it gets.

“While he’s booked a slot on the local tour,” Obi-Wan adds, stroking a hand over his beard in thought. Cody’s eyes track the movement idly. 

“For some reason.”

The Jedi hums. “It seems as if he’s treating every moment that he’s not involved in intergalactic crime as a legitimate holiday.”

Cody huffs at the thought. It doesn’t seem particularly likely to him that someone preparing to take down the Republic would be so relaxed as to go around sightseeing like a normal tourist - but then again, he supposes he’s not really got an insider look on the proclivities of terrorists. 

“Perhaps,” he responds, though his tone is doubtful. “So we tag along on the tour to watch Barrek, see if he tries to slip away, or takes any extra notice in concealed coves or hideaways. What comes after that…?”

Obi-Wan finishes off his bowl of fruit, placing down the dish on a small side table. “Lunch, I suppose,” he says evenly, checking the chrono on his wrist.

Now it’s Cody’s turn for exasperation.

“I meant with Barrek,” he clarifies. He reaches for a cup, taking a sip of his caf. The warmth of the mug in his hands is a grounding sensation, the same here as it always is during their morning meetings, wherever they may happen. It’s a pleasant constant to be drawn back to.

“Well, I imagine he’ll be eating lunch too,” Obi-Wan muses, “perhaps we might be able to do so together, hm?”

Cody raises a brow.

“You’re certain that’s wise? Won’t he remember, well… everything from last night?”

Obi-Wan smiles. “I daresay I’m counting on it, Commander.”

Now that catches Cody’s attention. He gestures for Obi-Wan to continue, and the Jedi steeples his fingers together, a plan already put together in full, it seems.

“We introduce ourselves with an apology for our drunken impropriety last night, and tell him that we recognise him from previous Pyke dealings. He’ll be irritated by us, but intrigued. Play up the oblivious angle and he might just spill something about the deal tonight.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Cody’s brow pinches in a frown, already going over the thousands of ways that such a direct ploy might backfire. “Wouldn’t announcing our intentions like that be an incredibly suspicious move?”

Obi-Wan shrugs, clearly an old hand at this social game by now.

“Then he writes us off as oblivious and unsubtle smugglers - they’re a credit a dozen in a system like this. A spy would never be quite so direct.” He finishes off his own mug of caf, glancing at Cody with a sly twinkle in his eye.

“Never,” Obi-Wan starts, his tone indicative of an incoming lesson, “underestimate the value of someone believing you to be a harmless fool.”

Cody can’t help but chuckle. “That’s usually Skywalker’s gambit, as I recall.”

“And just who do you think he learned it from?” Obi-Wan responds lightly, giving Cody a friendly pat on the shoulder. The Jedi taps his chrono, before turning to grab his coat from the nearby hook. “Now, we’d best be off, my dear. I believe we have a tour to catch.”

Cody nods, rolling his shoulders as he slips on his own jacket. Once more into the fray by each other’s side. 

The lingering nervousness of the need to uphold his alias remains, though with the success of last night, Cody has to say his confidence has grown, just a little.

He offers Obi-Wan a small smile as they step out into the corridor, offering him his arm to take in a moment of boldness. 

He knows he probably shouldn't indulge like this, and it'll likely only serve to make his predicament worse, but he can't find it in himself to care as he feels Obi-Wan's arm slip into his own, the Jedi's warmth steady and reassuring.

“It seems we do.”

______________________________

The tour of the curated grounds outside of the hotel ends up being as much of a waste of time as the both of them had suspected - not that they’re here to sightsee, but the Jedi and Commander still can’t help but make muttered comments to one another under their breaths with every egregious claim made by their guide.

The worker giving the tour has a veritable litany of diplomatically worded stock phrases about the history of the planet that they cycle though, obscuring the planet’s history as a corporate bidding ground and making it sound more like a ‘paradise’ that happened to be discovered by their company’s founder. The word ‘colonisation’, in particular, is very carefully tiptoed around.

At least some of the views are worth appreciating.

From their position at the back of the group, they maintain a watchful eye on Barrek, noting anything he seems to be paying particular attention to, any moment that could possibly give him means to slip away unnoticed.

… And Cody has to begrudgingly admit that it does, in fact, seem like the man is here to enjoy himself - it looks like he’s genuinely interested in the things the tour guide is saying. Force knows why.

As the event is wrapping up and the group is beginning to disperse, the two men share a glance and a subtle nod. Now or never.

Obi-Wan and Cody make their pre-planned approach, catching up to their target before he can disappear out of their sight. The Jedi clears his throat.

“Atashe Barrek?”

The Rodian’s shoulders stiffen, and the man turns, eyeing the two warily. Obi-Wan puts on a bright, easy grin, offering a friendly wave as he steps over. “It’s Renne. From that party for the Syndicate, back on Oba Diah? I knew I recognised you when we talked last night!”

Bold, bold move. Barrek lurches forwards as Obi-Wan says just the right amount of ‘too much’, the Rodian’s hand reaching out to grasp him by the lapel of his coat. Cody tenses, but taking his cue from his General, doesn’t move to intercept the attack. Still, he feels his shoulders draw up, body coiled like a spring even as he tries not to show it.

“Keep. Your voice. Down,” Barrek hisses, his fist tightening in the fabric. Cody makes note of the four different ways he could break the Rodian’s wrist from this position if things get ugly, his entire focus narrowed down to the threat currently being presented. It’s a nice fantasy, if nothing else - the sight of someone manhandling the Jedi like this irks him, and he itches to act.

Obi-Wan can handle himself, Cody knows this, but it’s his job above all else to handle things for him so he doesn’t have to. 

During a particularly intense confrontation, Ventress had once referred to him as Kenobi’s trained attack dog. It was meant to be a disparaging comment, he’s sure, something intended to deny him of his agency - Obi-Wan’s eyes had flashed with something uncharacteristically dangerous at the comparison -  but in the moment, Cody couldn’t find it in himself to disagree.

So he’s an attack dog, then - good. Obi-Wan is his charge, and it’s his duty to go down fighting with bloodied claws and teeth, ensuring that he takes the hits in the other man’s place. 

The small thrill he gets from the thought is probably not wholly borne from the loyalty trained into him since decanting - though Cody finds it easier to pretend that’s all that it is.

There’s no Commander Cody without a General Kenobi to protect. It’s simply the way of the Galaxy.

The Jedi placidly smiles as Barrek’s grip loosens and eventually lets go, Cody’s hackles lowering reluctantly as he does so. A small, irrational part of him almost wanted the Rodian to push, just for an excuse to put him in his place. It would certainly be more comfortable than playing nice.

“Ah, of course, of course. Secrecy, got it,” Obi-Wan murmurs, the vacant grin still plastered on his face as he taps the side of his nose conspiratorially.

Cody forces on a smile too, though his gaze is probably still a little too sharp on the man who’s far too comfortable with putting his hands on Obi-Wan. 

He sucks in a quiet breath as he feels a foreign, yet soothing rush of calm entering his mind, no doubt courtesy of his Jedi sensing the tension that runs through him. 

Cody allows it to seep into him, relaxing his shoulders and reminding himself that even without their usual access to their weapons, they still have the advantage here. His eyes meet Obi-Wan’s for the briefest of moments, silently thanking him for the assist.

Barrek takes a step back to brush himself off, though he’s still clearly irritated. He glances around rather conspicuously to check no one else is listening in, before shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Good. Who are you and why do you know me?” he growls, voice low.

Obi-Wan blinks, managing an incredibly convincing look of offense. “You don’t remember? Really, Atashe, I would have thought you would.” 

At Barrek’s ensuing blank stare, he elaborates, “Renne and Vidarr Emerin. We were at the Pyke Palace - the soiree last year? We were speaking to Lom himself when you were passing, and I said–”

At the mention of the leader of the Syndicate, Barrek pales. 

Cody holds his breath. If their words are being believed here, then Obi-Wan has made them out to potentially be incredibly important. This could all come tumbling down terrifyingly easily.

“Right– right,” Barrek interrupts, nodding vigorously. “I, ah– I remember now,” he lies. “Yes, at the, uh, mid-year party, right? I had drunk a lot, so that was why I didn’t immediately…” he trails off, eyes darting between them, evidently trying to put together pieces of a puzzle, unaware that the two men in front of him are playing chess instead.

“Of course, of course,” Obi-Wan returns brightly, clapping a hand on Barrek’s shoulder. “Now, you were on your way to the buffet before I interrupted you, right? How about we join you for lunch?” 

The Rodian isn’t quite as adept at concealing his grimace as Cody imagines he intended to be.

“I… already arranged for company,” he says with a frown, his discomfort palpable. Obi-Wan’s smile grows brighter, clasping his hands together in delight. 

“Well, more colleagues to meet sounds perfect! Lead the way.”

There’s not really much Barrek can do with that level of social ineptitude. As frustrated as he clearly is, Obi-Wan has done a skilful job of getting across that ‘Renne’ does run in the same circles as him, and the Rodian has no way of knowing how important they are to the Pykes, meaning he has to play nice just in case.

Barrek blinks, bewildered, not quite realising that he’s been expertly backed into a corner.

“... Uh, fine. It’s… Yeah, this way.” 

Cody and Obi-Wan share a glance behind the Rodian’s back as he begrudgingly gestures for them to follow him inside. The Jedi has a distinctive triumphant gleam in his eye, but Cody suspects it’s a little too early to call victory just yet.

The real work starts now.

______________________________

Barrek leads the two of them through to a small table at the resort’s pop-up buffet for today’s lunch, awkwardly introducing the two of them to an apparent girlfriend, a Togrutan woman named Lia. 

It’s admittedly strange that their intelligence hadn’t mentioned her at all, and from Cody’s memory, there was no hint of a second person staying in Barrek’s hotel room last night. Not enough reason to outright be suspicious, but definitely something to keep track of.

Despite his reservations, he offers her what he hopes is an easy smile as they settle down to eat.

Obi-Wan takes a seat across from Barrek, wasting no time in starting conversation about their ‘mutual’ line of work. 

Cody is content to let the Jedi take the lead in conversation, his eyes tracking the lunch hall around them as subtly as he can. It’s not particularly busy in here right now, but they’re not exactly in the most secluded of spots… if someone were to attempt to listen in, they’d find it all too easy.

He’s startled out of his thoughts by Lia reaching across the table and tapping him lightly on the arm.

“The two of you are together, then?” she asks with a smile, inclining her head towards Obi-Wan.

It takes Cody a moment to register what she’s asking. Ah. Here they go. Time to actually play the role he’s been preparing for for the past few weeks.

He glances to where Obi-Wan is still very much engaged in conversation with Barrek, wincing internally. Looks like he’s on his own.

“Ah, yeah,” he replies, finding a tone that feels too light and airy to be natural to him. “Married, actually,” he adds, gesturing to the band on his ring finger. 

Lia seems to be expecting him to say something else in the ensuing pause, so he offers a small smile. “We’re… here on our anniversary.” 

Lia actually sighs at that, resting her head on her hand and smiling dreamily.

“Oh, how sweet. I figured it must have been a special occasion for the two of you,” she practically coos. Cody raises a brow.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, I saw you the other night. The two of you are just so…” she shrugs, eyes sparkling. “... In love, really.” She leans in, giving him a playfully conspiratorial nudge. “I wish Barrek would look at me like that.”

Cody lets out a strangled laugh, the sound more one of a desperate need to cover his surprise than anything else. He takes a sip of his drink, trying to stall out the need for a response. How had they been looking at each other, exactly?

“I, uh, I suppose we got lucky,” he manages to say after a moment, hearing the way his voice comes out a tiny bit strained, though luckily Lia doesn’t seem to pick up on it. Keep talking, Cody, Vidarr would not shut down on this topic, he reminds himself, trying to keep his calm as much as possible. “Closest thing to soulmates someone could get, I’d say.”

“Yeah?” Lia prompts, twirling the end of one of her lek around her finger. She’s enraptured, which Cody is grateful for, because it means he’s being believable enough - but it’s also absolutely terrible, because it means he’s going to have to improvise more.

“Well, y’know…” Cody starts, glancing sidelong to Obi-Wan, who’s currently leant back against the chair lazily as he talks shop with Barrek. He finds a strange sense of sureness wash over him as he takes a moment to just… look. Talking about being partners with someone. He thinks he can do that. He turns back to Lia with another smile, this one more certain than his previous attempts.

“We just… fit, I suppose,” he says with a shrug, his voice soft, thoughtful. “A good duo. Not just the, uh… romantic stuff. We’re close friends, allies first and foremost.”

He pauses to take another sip of his drink, feeling his heart ache slightly, tugged on by some invisible (but far too familiar), force. For once, he thinks, it could be helpful. He doesn’t push it away.

“It’s what makes it so special, you know? I know there’s nothing I can go through that he wouldn’t have my back for, and he feels the same about me. It’s…” Cody looks down at the band on his finger, his expression turning more pensive. “It’s only been a few years, but I can’t imagine anyone else being by my side. Being that… primary person that I turn to when I need advice, or… just company, really.”

He falls quiet for a moment, reflecting on the truth of the words. How much of this is him trying to play as Vidarr, and how much is real? It’s all tangled up in his mind, an inextricable knot of uncertainty.

“... That’s love,” Lia responds softly, giving him a warm smile.

Cody blinks. “Is it? I–” he meets Lia’s gaze again, scrambling to not blow his cover. “It– it is, I mean. Love.” 

He lets out a steadying breath, focusing on making a recovery, and not on the way his heart has picked up its pace violently.

Is that what love is?

 “I think I just forget that not everyone has something like this,” he says, forcing on the smile again. “It becomes so normal after a while. Background noise.”

Lia offers him a wry smile, her eyes landing on Barrek briefly, something like sadness etched there for the briefest of moments.

“Would that we all could be so fortunate,” she murmurs, her finger idly tracing the rim of her glass.

She smiles something bright and fake as Barrek turns back to face her, slinging an arm over the back of her chair.

“Ready to go, babe,” the Rodian announces, and the two ‘couples’ stand from the table, bidding their goodbyes. Obi-Wan goes in for a hug, which Barrek uncomfortably rebuffs.

‘It’s not laying it on too thick if it works’, Obi-Wan had told Cody earlier, blatantly enjoying the idea of playing the fool a little too much.

The man was right, Cody concedes, watching the way Barrek rolls his eyes as soon as they think they’re out of sight. ‘Renne’ seems to have been relegated to ‘harmless idiot’ status in the Rodian’s eyes, just as they’d planned.

Obi-Wan takes Cody’s arm once again as they head outside. The Commander forces down the distracting, odd feeling in his chest that has been lingering from the conversation with Lia, pushing it away to deal with later. Much, much later, if he has anything to say about it. His deathbed, perhaps, when he’s old and only has half of his memories left anyway.

… Although, Cody imagines he’s kidding himself with the notion that he’ll get to live that long in the first place.

“Success?” he asks the Jedi, attempting to shake off his persistent discomfort as the two head to the resort’s gardens to speak privately.

Obi-Wan nods. “He was incredibly resistant to saying more than he needed to, but all the same…” A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, looking considerably self-satisfied. “They’ll be meeting at 9:30pm tomorrow. I’m not certain where, but we can trail Barrek if we’re careful.”

Cody lets out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

“I don’t know why I was worried. Good job.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “It was purely luck, I assure you, but I appreciate it nevertheless.”

They pause for a moment to watch as a sparrow flutters overhead to land at a nearby birdfeeder. A small moment of peace after the emotional chaos of the last twenty minutes.

Beside him, Obi-Wan’s head tilts a little, a warm expression gracing his features.

“And you did excellently, too. Not that I could pay attention to the entirety of your conversation, but it looked like you dealt with Lia confidently,” he compliments. Watching Cody’s response carefully, he adds, “I do not, of course, wish to patronise. I only mention it as I knew you were nervous about the ordeal.”

Cody feels himself flush a little under the praise. He can take commendations about his prowess in battle - he knows he’s good at that - but it always feels harder, somehow, when it’s something he’s unsure about.

“Thank you, Obi-Wan,” he murmurs, eyes still tracking the small bird ahead of them.

Obi-Wan nods, and the two fall into a companionable silence.

Cody allows himself a brief reprieve from the stress of the last hour, quietly letting himself just enjoy the moment in the here and now. A gentle scent from the flowerbeds around them diffuses through the air, the sunlight peeking through the sheet of clouds above to softly make itself known.

Obi-Wan turns to fix him with a faux-earnest look, his eyes twinkling with what can only be described as mischief. 

“Though, speaking of that chat you had… Soulmates, are we?” He asks innocently.

… Well. Cody was enjoying the moment. He feels his cheeks flush even brighter.

“Not. Another. Word,” he mutters, frowning over at the other man. Obi-Wan simply grins in return.

“No? Not one?” he presses, clearly delighting in the huff of annoyance that draws from his Commander.

“You’re incorrigible,” Cody grumbles. “I’m not going to encourage it, I know you too well.”

Obi-Wan hums at that, expression softening ever so slightly to reveal a genuine affection underneath his smirk. He gently nudges the Commander’s shoulder with his own, glancing back to the resort behind them.

“You certainly do, my dear. Come, we should be getting back to get our further agenda in order.”

Cody sighs, unable to keep from returning the fond smile.

“Right behind you. As always.”

______________________________

Obi-Wan had always been good at flirting.

Flirting, flirting, flirting, with anything that moves, anything that breathes.

He particularly has an aptitude for flirting with the enemy.

That doesn’t mean that Cody is good at listening to him do it.

The Commander sighs, fiddling with his comm-unit to give him something to occupy his hands with, focusing on getting the signal as clear as possible.It’s fairly clean already, but he’s desperate for something to do.

The smooth tones of his General drift out from the small device, serving to make the crease of his brow deepen.

“What’s gotten into you?” Rex asks from beside him, glancing sidelong at his oldest friend. 

Cody grumbles under his breath, keeping his attention on the damn comm-unit. The tiny thing is vexing him more than it probably should. 

For a brief moment, he fantasises about crushing it.

“Nothing,” he responds irritably. 

Even through his vod’s helmet, he can practically feel the raised brow this earns him. 

“Nothing,” Rex repeats, sounding skeptical. “Sure.”

The two drift into a silence once more, keeping an ear to the unfortunate conversation they’re listening in on over the comms. Once General Kenobi says the codephrase, the 212th are going to rush in, the 501st backing them up.

It’s just… taking longer than they expected.

Stars, why can’t they just get on with it? The Commander feels twitchier than usual, some unknown force making his usually endless patience wear thin. 

His General throws out a casual line about the target’s eyes pleasantly matching the shirt they chose, and Cody rolls his eyes. At this rate, his scowl will be permanently etched onto his features. 

Rex once again notices his tension.

“He’s just stalling until Skywalker arrives,” the Captain tries, but it doesn’t do anything to abate Cody’s prickly mien. 

“Then he should get there faster,” Cody huffs, trying not to let the words come out in as much of a snap as they seem to want to. He’s aware he’s being irrational, but he can’t seem to shake it off.

Rex doesn’t respond. 

After Skywalker comms in to inform them that he’d be at least another ten minutes (because of course he will be, Cody thinks to himself), the two hunker down in their small, temporary bunker (if it can even be called that - it’s more of an empty shack that they’d squeezed themselves into to keep out of sight while awaiting their next orders). Rex removes his helmet with a sigh, running through a routine check of his blasters to give himself something to do in the meantime.

A soft, charming laugh fills the room, a little fuzzy from the distortion of the comm signal. “You’re too much, truly. But I would be lying if I said it doesn’t intrigue me,” Obi-Wan murmurs - or, perhaps it would be more accurate to say he purrs. 

Either way, it irks Cody considerably, making his chest feel oddly tight. He can clearly imagine the look on the Jedi’s face as he speaks, that sultry glint in his eye that comes to him so easily when he’s making eyes at the enemy.

“... It’s not about the mission.” 

What? Cody startles as Rex breaks the silence, having apparently been watching him carefully for the last few minutes. Cody looks back at his vod like he’s grown a second head.

“Of course it’s about the mission,” he objects, absolutely baffled by his suggestion. “We’re wasting precious time, and the men are sitting ducks out here. I’d rather not do most of this firefight after sundown–”

“Sure, Codes, but difficult odds never phase you this much,” Rex counters, raising a brow.  He continues to watch Cody, his gaze searching for Force knows what. The Commander is suddenly very grateful he never took his own helmet off. 

“In fact,” the Captain presses, “I’ve never known you to be so off your game in the field. You usually do best when you’re backed into a corner. So it’s not about the mission.”

Cody doesn’t really know how to respond. He doesn’t particularly want to delve into all of the reasons behind his uncharacteristic distractions today.

“Just drop it, Rex’ika,” he insists, his voice a little weary. “I’m just feeling a little off today. It’ll pass.” 

Something like sympathetic understanding crosses Rex’s features. Cody watches him hesitantly try to find his next words. 

“... Is it about what happened on Cato Neimoidia a few weeks ago?” he asks. “How’ve you been sleeping since then?” 

Cody shakes his head quickly. “No, I– I’m fine. I’m sleeping fine.” Or - as fine as a man whose life has been spent at war is capable of sleeping, but Rex knows well enough what he means. His last mission had been… messy, to put it lightly, but he’s dealt with worse. He can compartmentalise.

His brother looks a little relieved to hear that, though Cody can tell he still wants to push.

Another comment from Obi-Wan that implies he and the target are imminently about to go home with one another makes its way through the space, and Cody grumbles quietly under his breath. Something seems to click for the Captain. Something that seems to amuse him greatly.

“... Ah,” Rex says. The corner of his mouth twitches up into a smirk. Cody wishes it didn’t do that.

“What?” he responds, tone clipped and making it clear that he is absolutely not in the mood for whatever the other man is about to come out with.

“Just connecting some dots.” If Rex looked any more smug right now, Cody might consider walking right out of the shack and eating his blaster - it would ultimately be more dignified than sitting through this inevitable conversation.

He does not want to talk about this, not now, not ever.

“Rex…” he murmurs lowly, a clear warning bleeding into his tone.

A warning that, of course, goes unheeded.

“You’d be unfazed trying to take down a kriffing rancor. And jealousy is what throws you off?”

If looks could kill, the 501st would need to hire a new Captain after this.

“I’m not jealous,” Cody rebuts without hesitation. He spoke too quickly, he knows immediately from the look on his brother’s face. Damn it all.

“No? Then why is every flirt he makes causing you to sound like Fox on that day the caf supplies ran out?” Rex looks practically triumphant in his discovery. “Oh, Force. That also must be why you got all touchy when that Twi’lek came onto Kenobi that time in 79’s. I thought it was about the other guy, but it wasn’t, was it?”

Cody sputters for a moment, trying to come up with a viable defense. 

“That’s not– I–”

As far as Rex is concerned, that’s a veritable confession. He offers his friend a wide grin, returning his focus to the comms.

“Your secret’s safe with me, ori’vod. I won’t tell a soul,” he says, far too brightly for Cody’s liking.

Cody considers continuing to argue, but he knows that it’s a lost cause. With a heavy sigh, he deflates, slouching in his chair.  

“If you were one of my men, I’d have you court-martialed for insubordination,” he mutters darkly, folding his arms across his chest.

“I’ll add that to the extensive list of reasons I’m glad I’m not one of your men, then,” Rex returns easily, giving Cody a playful nudge.

The Commander snorts, shaking his head. A wry smile finds its way onto his face, despite everything.

“Yeah, yeah. I still outrank you.”

The comm crackles with murmurs of conversation, and the two share an alarmed look. The codephrase.

“I’ll harass you about it later,” Rex chuckles, pulling on his helmet as the two rush out of the bunker.

“Just worry about surviving long enough to do that first, vod.” Cody mutters. “I could still shoot you in the back before this is all over.”

His brother only laughs.

______________________________

With the knowledge that the deal was set to be happening the following evening, the Jedi and Commander had spent the rest of their day at a fairly leisurely pace. After much persuasion, Cody had even let Obi-Wan buy a dinner for them both.

(“We usually split at Dex’s,” Cody had protested, not wanting the Jedi to pay out of pocket for such an expensive outing. He was aware that Obi-Wan had access to much more money than he did, but it was the principle of the thing.

“Yes, but I want to do something nice for you,” Obi-Wan insisted, gently placing a hand on Cody’s, staying his hand from reaching for his wallet. “I asked you to join me here on the mission in the first place, so let me repay you in kind.”

Cody had raised a brow at that. “I’ll be getting paid by the Republic for agreeing to come, regardless.”

Obi-Wan’s expression didn’t falter. “You might be, yes, but not nearly enough. Allow me this, please.”

Cody always had been bad at denying him when he used that tone.)

They’d both fallen asleep quickly that night, having stayed up to trade stories - a familiar ritual from when they first began working late together to get their mountains of paperwork turned in on time.

Obi-Wan tells Cody of planets he’d visited before the war, and promises to take his Commander to see some of them once this is all over - to give him the holiday and time off that the Jedi says he deserves. Cody regales his Jedi with tales of his childhood on Kamino, telling him of the books Shaak-Ti had helped smuggle to them to help the tubies sleep at night.

The following morning brings with it a quiet sort of strangeness.

Something urgent, but not necessarily dangerous, tugs at the edge of Cody’s conscious mind, gently drawing him to wakefulness.

He’s warm, warmer than he’d usually like to be, and he can’t quite shake the feeling that there’s something important that he needs to be paying attention to.

He dozes, trying to figure out what, if anything, is different about today.  

Obi-Wan lets out a soft murmur behind him in his sleep, pressing his nose closer against Cody’s back and– 

Oh.

Well, that would certainly explain the warmth.

Cody doesn’t move, doesn’t even dare breathe as his mind works overtime to process the situation. 

Obi-Wan is pressed directly behind him, one of his arms slung lazily over his torso. For want of a better word (and Cody is desperately searching for one), the Jedi is… holding him.

An explosion of conflicting emotions bubble in Cody’s chest, his mind still far too fogged from sleep to make sense of any of it.

With each breath from Obi-Wan, Cody can feel the rise and fall of his chest against his back, and in a brief moment of delirium, he finds himself wishing that he’d forgone his undershirt too, just to feel the touch of skin against skin.

It’s a thought he immediately admonishes himself for, wondering just where, exactly, he’d gained the audacity to think such an unprofessional and objectifying thing about his commanding kriffing officer. 

Cody’s breath grows progressively more shallow as he continues to draw a blank. How had this even happened? Cody is firmly stationed on his own side of the bed, meaning it was the Jedi who had to have shuffled over - but that means nothing. He’s asleep, and pressing close is a normal sleeping instinct when you’re in bed with someone else. Right? Perhaps Obi-Wan was just cold - though, that would hardly make sense, given that they’re on a tropical kriffing island.

Cody’s face, he’s sure, is flushing deeply, his heart hammering against his ribs at the contact. It’s fine. This… can be fine, and not existentially mortifying - as long as he extricates himself from the hold before Obi-Wan wakes up.

He doesn’t even want to imagine how awkward this would be if the other man was aware of what was happening.

He tries a very, very gentle shuffle towards the edge of the bed, but Obi-Wan lets out a quiet groan of protest in his sleep, curling himself around the clone even tighter.

Cody desperately tries to ignore the way that the sound goes straight to his groin.

Shit, shit, shit. 

He doesn’t see another solution, though he wishes he did. Cody once again shifts, a little more firmly now, peeling Obi-Wan’s arm off from him as carefully as possible.

The second he sees a hint of freedom, the Commander bolts, rolling out of bed and rushing to the ‘fresher. 

His Jedi, thank every star in the sky, does not seem to stir.

Safe inside the refresher, with the door locked behind him and his mind buzzing, Cody thinks faintly that his legs might actually give out under him.

Between the feeling of Obi-Wan pressed close against his back, and Lia’s words from yesterday still unsettling him, he feels like he’s losing his mind.

It all adds up to a great cacophony in his head, one Cody has absolutely no idea what to begin to do with. It’s too loud, too insistent, and his heart is still fluttering like a caged bird attempting escape.

A shower, he decides, is a good first step. He could probably do with a shower.

Shrugging off his sleepclothes, he numbly makes his way to the cubicle, determined to do something, anything, to calm his racing thoughts.

Cody presses his forehead against the cold tiles as the scalding water runs down his back. Neither of the contrasting sensations serve to ground him in reality the way he wishes they would.

He… wants.

No, that’s not quite right.

Wanting is ephemeral, malleable. It’s intense, burning, but it doesn’t stick around too long or cut down quite to the bone. 

It usually, in Cody’s experience, is something that can be ignored, temporarily or not, with enough focus and discipline.

No, Cody does not want. He needs.

He raises his head from the tiles, closing his eyes as the water trickles in too-hot rivulets down his face.

Of course. Of course. He should have known, should have seen the signs… perhaps then, he could have done something to stop it.

Cody lets out a quiet, strangled groan. It echoes off of the tiles of the small shower back to him, sounding pitiful even to his own ears.

The truth of the matter burrows deep into Cody’s skin, settling into the home it’s long-since made for itself there, nestled tightly amongst the other secrets he harbours that are too shameful to ever speak aloud.

He digs his fingers into his temples, breathing in heavy lungfuls of the steam-drenched air as if it might reverse the realisation that now weighs upon his heart like lead.

This is no longer just some passing infatuation.

He’s in love with Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Force.

This whole mission has been a cruel play by the Gods. By even stepping foot here, he’d opened the lid on something he could have gone the rest of his life ignoring, and Cody is afraid - no, terrified - that there’s no going back now.

Passion, desire, infatuation - he can deal with those. They’re to be expected for anyone, even someone of his station trying to navigate living through wartime. Love, on the other hand… 

… What the fuck does a clone do with love?

From the other room, he hears the front door of their room close, feels the slight shake of the walls. Obi-Wan has left, no doubt waking and deciding to pick them up breakfast like he did yesterday.

Slowly, Cody slides down the wall of the shower, sitting with his knees drawn to his chest and his gaze unfocused as the water pools around him.

His thoughts drift back to the words his Jedi had said to him two evenings ago, just before their kiss. 

‘This… isn’t ideal.’

No, General, Cody thinks to himself, more than a little miserably. He drags a hand over his face, doing his best to stop his teeth from grinding together in frustration. No, it is not.

______________________________

The effort required to pull himself together for the evening is gargantuan, but then again, the Commander has always thrived under impossible odds.

They’ve been trailing Barrek from afar since 9pm, waiting for him to make his way to the site of the deal, wherever it may be. It’s almost a relief when, at 9:25, he finally takes his leave from the resort’s main building and slips out into the night. 

“Showtime,” Obi-Wan murmurs, his eyes locked on the Rodian from their vantage point in the gardens. 

“So it seems. We should be careful.”

“Ah, but we’re simply two lovers going on a nighttime stroll,” the Jedi responds lightly, giving his companion a gentle, friendly nudge. “Nothing suspicious there.”

Cody isn’t certain he’s up for their usual banter tonight. 

Still, he forces on a small smile. It begrudgingly becomes genuine when he takes in Obi-Wan’s expression. 

“You’re sure you’re alright, Cody?” he asks quietly, worried eyes searching Cody’s.

Obi-Wan had noticed his distraction earlier - of course he had. Cody had told him, not entirely incorrectly, that he was simply feeling a little ill.

A mistake, he immediately realised, as that meant that he’d been unable to avoid the Jedi’s fussing for the rest of the day.

A situation that had, unfortunately, not helped Cody’s heart after his earlier discovery. If he had to feel the gentle press of the back of the other man’s hand upon his forehead one more time…

Cody sees the familiar concern in his friend’s eyes, and nods. 

“Can’t be too wrong by your side, sir,” he murmurs, a little more truth in the statement than he imagines Obi-Wan will ever know.

The Jedi’s expression softens further, and he reaches out a hand to squeeze Cody’s shoulder, sparing a quick glance over to Barrek’s retreating form in the distance. “Good. Let us go save the Galaxy once again, then, Commander,” he murmurs, smiling gently.

Cody allows himself a quiet chuckle, even as his stomach does a somersault at the gesture. “It does seem to fall on us often, that.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes sparkle in a combination of fondness and amusement that he seems to only reserve for those quiet, between-mission conversations.

“Then it’s a good thing we’re always fit to answer the call, I suppose.”

It begins to rain a little ways into their excursion, the two pulling the hoods of their cloaks up as they follow Barrek from a safe distance. 

He’s jumpy - though for good reason, Cody thinks, considering he’s being tailed - repeatedly checking over his shoulder and keeping a twitchy hand on the blaster at his side.

Rodians have considerably better night vision than humans, so Obi-Wan is sure to breathe a soft word of warning for them duck out of sight each time he senses the other man is about to turn. 

Cody silently gestures for the two of them to take a path up the side of a nearby cliff as they see Barrek wander down to the shoreline of one of the many nearby beaches - less chance to intervene, perhaps, but a better, more secure vantage point.

The wind rushes past them as they find a place to properly set up, their cloaks billowing out behind them as the waves crash against the shore below. Cody frowns as he removes the blaster clipped to his back, fully extending it out to become a sniper rifle.

Yesterday he had been out of his element, but this is his arena. He's run countless stakeouts before, and the Commander is confident that today’s won't be particularly more difficult than any other.

“Wind’s in a bad direction, gonna affect my aim,” he gripes, glancing down to where Barrek is waiting around on the beach with his hands stuffed in his pockets. They have time, but the others will be arriving any moment. “Stand there,” he orders.

Obi-Wan raises a brow, though he steps over to where Cody had pointed without question. 

“And kneel,” the Commander directs firmly, his focus dedicated to fiddling with the scope. 

He belatedly realises that that is perhaps an incredibly inappropriate request to make of your commanding officer when he glances up to see Obi-Wan, wide eyed and a little red in the face.

Before he can open his mouth to apologise, rectify the situation, Obi-Wan nods, clearing his throat quietly. He arranges the cloak below him, settling himself down on the damp grass below.

Usually, the Jedi would make a joke out of the whole thing, or gently needle Cody for making such an order. For whatever reason, though, he stays quiet.

“Might I ask why…?” he eventually responds. Cody could swear his voice comes out a little strained, though he quickly dismisses the thought.

“Didn’t bring a stabiliser,” Cody answers with an apologetic smile, crouching in front of Obi-Wan and setting the body of the rifle down on the Jedi's shoulder, checking the scope and adjusting it minutely.

Cody tries not to think too hard about the way Obi-Wan's gaze burns into him as he hovers just over the other man, face to face and barely inches away between the cold metal of the blaster.

… But now is not the time for such distractions.

His attention zeroes in on the task at hand, the importance of it all providing a welcome reprieve from the pressure of being so close to his friend.

“... Slightly to the left,” he murmurs, and Obi-Wan dutifully shuffles himself over bit by bit until Cody, keeping close, breathes a quiet ‘stop’.

A few moments pass while he fixes the focus, feeling how tense the Jedi is.

“You can breathe, you know,” Cody says, unable to hide the amusement that slips into his teasing tone. “This is just a glorified telescope, I don’t need it steady enough to take a shot.” 

It takes Obi-Wan a long beat to respond.

“... Right. Of course,” he says, letting out a quiet, shaky-sounding exhale. Cody frowns in worry, nearly commenting on how strange his General is being, but his attention is drawn first by three more figures moving into the scope.

“It’s starting,” he whispers, pulling back briefly to meet the Jedi’s gaze. “Tell me anything you sense.”

Obi-Wan nods, his eyes fluttering closed in that peaceful way that tells Cody he’s reaching out to the Force. “I will. Tell me anything you see,” he requests in return. 

“I will.”

The General and Commander fall quiet as they settle in to work, their world narrowed down to the four people down on the quiet beach below.

The wind, though still strong, ceases its howling, as if holding its breath along with them.

It’s now or never, Cody thinks, watching as conversation on the beach begins. Time for them to save the Republic.

✷✷✷✷✷

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!): @mitth-eli-vanto

[chaifootsteps]

need the fandom to understand that 'character who is the soft one who cries is not equal to the character who is in the right'

it makes sense for a show that's primed it's audience to think abuse is just limited to obvious cruelty and insults (but only when the show says it counts, HB cared about Blitzo being a jerk to Moxxie for all of one conversation) but it's frustrating to see this show touted as 'sooo deep' when it could have done a lot more to show the different types of manipulation and abuse with the material it already has

like, a character that's soft and weepy and constantly rewrites reality to favor himself? that's A grade PSA material for how abusers don't always look like Stella or Crimson and make their targets feel like they're the ones who are crazy or in the wrong

Oh yeah, and for the contingent who says Stolas would be treated way more sympathetically if he was a woman - I kind of doubt it, personally. I think a character like Stolas if he was genderswapped would be judged far more harshly for what he does in the Stol/tz storyline, not less

like the audience would probably jump to 'he reminds me of my mom/girlfriend/other female friend who also uses crying and looking pathetic to get people to take her side despite treating me like dirt', 'this or that trait is such a narcissistic thing to do'.

the show already expects its audience to treat the female characters with way more scrutiny and suspicion after all, but I feel like people are more inclined to recognize the figure of the 'narcissistic woman who's only emotional reality is her own' or the image of 'mom who neglects kid for new beau' than they are when it's a male character

and that's not a bad thing, to be clear! it's good the fandom can recognize abusive behaviors in women, probably most often their mothers (though it is disturbing how little they can acknowledge the emotional landscape of the female characters - there's any number of reasons for Stella to feel disenchanted with her life and the fandom cares about none of them)

the problem is they can't extend that logic to Stolas. they can't see how Sad Owl Twink is distorting reality around his relationship with Blitzo and refusing to treat him like a person, or how he's a subpar dad to Via. it feels like the bar for male characters is being set way lower as long as there's a convenient excuse. and it seems part of the reason is more than just Stolas being male, since logically Blitzo wouldn't be getting it in the neck from Stolas fans so much

it seems like it's also because they seem him as soft and harmless that on top of the extra credit male characters get for doing nothing, they've decided he can do no harm. men already deserve a medal for being connected to their emotions, so if Stolas appears soft and sensitive it means he can't possible be abusive or neglectful at the same time. which is just not true

sorry if this is rambling, kinda thinking out loud

Thank you for sharing these thoughts aloud. It's absolutely true...Viv and her fandom seem to have it in their heads that abuse looks like screaming and insults, that sexual abuse looks like being held down (also that it doesn't count if you "get away,") and that is so, so unbelievably dangerous it genuinely chills the blood. It's going to get someone hurt.

[mamayan]

★彡CRINGE☆彡

Shit I think the KNY Hashira do or have done— this is for fun only, don’t come for me if these doesn’t perfectly align with you~

tw: none!

Water Hashira! Giyuu Tomioka

He talks to himself, like long inner monologues spoken only to like, a wall. It doesn’t make sense half the time. He’s working it out.

Laundry sniffer, he isn’t sure it’s clean until he smells it, and even then he’s confused because is it clean? He’ll rewash clothes because they might smell clean but he can’t remember if he wore it or not.

Tries to pet dogs that absolutely will bite him.

Sound Hashira! Tengen Uzui

Will lose his jewelry and act like someone hid it on purpose from him. Acts similar to a 19 year old who lost their vape at someone’s house.

He’s stained multiple tatami mats/futons with his nail polish because he didn’t let them dry before messing around.

Makes scary faces at children to scare them and then laughs afterward.

Fire Hashira! Kyojuro Rengoku

He will repeat aloud the thing you whisper to him so loudly it defeats the purpose of whispering in his ear.

Will shed everywhere and not clean up after himself. The equivalent of smacking the hair on the shower wall after washing but it’s his whole house. Sorry Senjuro—

Believes tickling is fun and everyone loves it, even when the person being tickled is on the verge of passing out/pissing their pants.

Execute children without trial—

Stone Hashira! Gyomei Himejima

Forgets your height, asks for things that are impossible to get because he put it up way the hell up there.

His head pats are more painful than they are cute, it’s like he’s hammering your skull into your neck.

Will get ink stains on his robes/desk/etc. because he never puts away his stationary properly.

Wind Hashira! Sanemi Shinazugawa

Will threaten you within an inch of your life for one small accident (papercut) but will become enraged if you level him with the same treatment after he’s nearly killed himself with training.

Will mother hen you in the weirdest ways, like wiping your face with his spit to get the dirt off.

Won’t tell you something is wrong with your appearance in public, but will stare you down to give you the hint something is. He thinks it’s a universal sign. No one knows what the hell it means except him and maybe Genya.

Snake Hashira! Obanai Iguro

He comes up with some of the most clever and insidious jokes but tells them at the wrong time. Way too late or too early for anyone to catch it and then it’s not funny anymore.

Will let Kaburamaru shed wherever and will leave the skin. Unless it’s Mitsuri standing right there, he will not be cleaning it up. Has scared multiple Kakushi who thought they stepped on Kaburamaru and killed him.

Doesn’t take his shoes off when entering homes, etc. even if there’s no tatami mats. He only shows respect to Ubuyashiki and Mitsuri’s estates.

Mist Hashira! Muichiro Tokito

He bathes as needed, which in his opinion, doesn’t need to be all that often. Teenage boys are gross no matter how pretty they look. Natural body odor isn’t all that bad though, so he gets away with it.

He will hear you speak words and interpret them entirely however he wants. He will confuse himself because he swore he heard you tell him to go take a nap. You didn’t—

Will send the food back at a restaurant if even the tiniest thing is wrong.

Love Hashira! Mitsuri Kanroji

She will create full and detailed stories in her mind of people around her, and confuse herself because she can’t remember if she thought it for them or if they did it. Me too girl—

Cuteness is justice mentality: The cuter she finds you, the less wrong you can do in her eyes. Obanai

Like Kyojuro, sheds everywhere, 100% the hair on the shower wall sort of girl. She does clean up after herself much better than Kyojuro.

Poison Hashira! Shinobu Kocho my wife

She does no wrong.

Petty as hell and will absolutely make your stay at her estate miserable if you piss her off. You won’t know what you did, but you’ll find your food and living conditions plummet.

Can’t sleep if her pillow doesn’t smell like her, no sleep overs for this girl unless she brings her own bedding.

If she finds out you have a pet peeve, she will lay into it with passion and grit. Tengen loses his shit when he hears people sucking their teeth… Shinobu is happy to recondition him. It’s her way of showing she cares♡!

[googleitlol]

As serious as Dove likes to pretend to be, I also want to show just how slightly unhinged her actions can seem to others. What she does may make sense in her mind, but sometimes all the others can do is watch as they struggle to comprehend her train of thought. She can also just be plain petty, but that's already very obvious.

Anyway, a good example of her behaviour is when the group meets Sandy!

Dove Masterlist:

Dive

“These Flowing-Sand metes, eight hundred wide; These Weak Waters, three thousand deep. A goose feather cannot stay afloat; A rush petal will sink to the bottom.”

Tripitaka reads aloud the stone slab on the shore of the river. Is this really the Flowing-Sand river? You thought it’d take you longer to get here, though not much has happened since your group’s encounter with that tiger and wind demon about a month ago. “I remember this place, from when I last travelled with my own master, Guan Yin.”

“Really?” Tripitaka turns to you. “Do you know of any way to cros–”

Just as he spoke, a figure leapt from the waters, a recognizable blur of indigo and red charging towards the group. Before you can mumble a word, you feel yourself being tugged back alongside Tripitaka. Zhu Bajie runs to meet the challenger, raising his rake high before bringing it down on the newcomer but before you can see anything else, Wukong drags you and Tripitaka away from the confrontation.

The moment he drops the two of you, you slap his hand away. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Saving your life. Keep Master safe, we’ll be right back.” The Monkey King didn’t give you time to retort before taking his needle-sized staff and extending it in his hands.

“Wait! That demon…!” The sage is already bounding towards the fight before you can trail off. Is it so hard to just listen?! With a quick exhale, you turn to the monk instead. “Follow me.”

“…Pardon?” Tripitaka frowns, more out of confusement than anything else. “But that’s where Sun WUkong and Zhu Bajie are fighting the demon.”

“I can explain everything in a moment but for now, I just ask that you trust me.” Tripitaka could stay further back and wait as well, though there was no real danger at the riverside.

With how quickly Sun Wukong sped you away, it took a bit of time to return to the riverbank. It was just as you reached the waters that the two disciples came into view, their opponent nowhere to be found. The closer you get, the more you can hear the two as they bicker.

“If you just waited, I could have worn him down enough to deliver the final blow!” Pigsy huffs, pointing accusingly with his rake to the Monkey King.

The King rolls his eyes, his arms crossed as he argues back. “How could you have expected me to wait? It isn’t my fault he was so intimidated by me.” As you approach the two with their master, the sage quickly straightens his posture, turning before you can even announce your presence. You’ve noticed him do this quite often, him and Pigsy both. Though, the latter never reacts to your presence in the same way. Perhaps it has less to do with them being demons that can feel your power and more that you could manage to get along with one and the other, well…. “What are you doing back here?! I told you to keep Master safe.”

“That is what I’m doing, now where is the river demon?” You question, looking between the two disciples.

“The moment he saw Brother Sun charging at us, he turned and fled back into the river.” Bajie explains, and you sigh in frustration. This could have been easier if that demon didn’t announce his presence by charging at your group. What did he have to gain by attacking anyone that passed by the river?!

The Monkey King quickly steps in before Tripitaka has the chance to voice any of his concerns. “You don’t have to worry, Master. We were just devising a plan to finish the demon off quickly so we can cross the river. You see, despite my skill, I am not the best at combat in the water. Fortunately though, Bajie is adequate enough to pull off what we want to do…”  

You don’t wait for him to finish. You don’t even bother interrupting, it would just waste time to argue with him. Instead, as the sage explains his plan with Pigsy to their master, you set your bow and quiver down on the ground. Transforming, you begin to ascend, flying over the stretch of water. It only takes you a few moments before you find yourself at an appropriate height above the river.

Zhu Bajie is the first to look back and spot you, his eyes narrowed and confused. “Brother Sun?” The demon nudges his fellow disciple, gaze focused on the sight before him.

Wukong is quick to give him an irritated glance. “What is it, Idiot?”

“The woman is about to dive.”

It’s almost as if the pebble of realisation skips over his mind for a moment before sinking in. “What?!”

“Sha Wujing! Surface and face your master!” By the time the other two men turn around to join Pigsy in looking upwards, you’ve already transformed back, shouting before plunging into the river’s murky depths.

The three can only stand there, staring at where their companion had been just a fraction of a moment ago. Even the dragon-horse stares at the point where you disappeared into the water. However, your absence isn’t long, and when resurfacing, they find you with the very demon who had attacked just a few minutes before. Sun Wukong is the first to move, ready to jump into action. 

That is, until the demon lets out a hearty laugh. “Ah, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me! You really are the dove that accompanied the Bodhisattva Guan Yin.”

“Yes, I am glad you remember me.” You nod before nodding in gesture to your fellow travellers ashore. “However, I am now travelling with your master and his other disciples, the one you were instructed to wait for. The same men you so shamelessly tried to attack earlier.”

The demon looks back to the others on the shoreline, their confusion shared amongst their expressions, his brows shooting up in worry. “Oh! I see. Forgive me, young one. I hadn’t realised you were all so close, I’ve been waiting for so long.” He chuckles, almost bashfully, like the misunderstanding was nothing more than a simple mistake.

“Why don’t we go back and you can apologise to the monk yourself.” You suggest, and the sand-demon nods.

Together, you swim back towards your companions waiting on the shore. As you hobble back onto land, looking like a drowned rat, you’re greeted by the other men with silence. Now, finally holding their attention captive, you explain. “Tripitaka, I would like you to meet your fourth and final disciple, Sha Wujing.”

“Fourth?” Pigsy echoes, and with the silence broken, Monkey interjects.

“Why in the world would you attack us?! Why didn’t you say anything??” He points to you, twisting and squeezing the water from your clothes.

You laugh at his almost exasperated tone. “I’d explain that I tried, but you are the one person in the world incapable of understanding how frustrating it can be to get through to that thick skull of yours.” A semblance of a chuckle comes from Tripitaka, and it takes a good amount of self control not to laugh aloud at the outright look of offence on Wukong’s face when he turns to face his master.

Wujing clears his throat to grab hold of their attention once more. “I would like to apologise, Master. If I had known you were the scripture pilgrim, I would not have attacked you.”

“Wait a moment, why would you say fourth?” Bajie interjects, still stuck on your earlier statement.. “Sun Wukong and I are master’s only other disciples.”

Tripitaka is the one to answer in your place, patting the side of the horse gently. “You forget Ao Lie, he joined us just before you did.”

“…The horse?!”

“Actually, he’s a dragon.”

“…” He doesn’t say anything, though the expression of unfiltered befuddlement says all you need to know.

[haru-dipthong]

The Japanese language is one of the most indirect languages in the world. There are the obvious examples of this, such as when some customers try to enter a busy restaurant without a reservation and the staff say 難しいですね (”this is tricky…”) instead of simply telling them that there are no seats. However, I've noticed that Japanese’s indirectness may go much deeper than simple euphemism.

Japanese seems to come built-in with ways of avoiding directly addressing your conversation partner.

The Japanese way of expressing things often involves voicing your internal monologue, which means people will say things ostensibly to themselves, even though what they really want is to communicate to the other person. When I first noticed it, I thought it was a bit similar to how some (western) cartoons occasionally handle exposition by having a character mutter something to themselves so that the audience can hear. This can be seen in the following extremely common forms of expression:

Using adjectives as an exclamation

うま！Literal translation: “Delicious!” Semantic translation: “Wow, this is really good”

怖い！Literal translation: “Scary!” Semantic translation: “I’m scared!” or “This place is giving me the creeps”

It could be argued that these single word exclamations may not always be “talking to yourself”. But imo more often than not, they are spoken with the vibe of “I felt this adjective so strongly that the word just slipped straight through my internal monologue and out of my mouth”.

Wondering aloud (かな)

雨降るかな？ Literal translation: “Hmm, will it rain or not?” Semantic translation: “I wonder if it’s gonna rain.”

今夜来るかな？ Literal translation: “Hmm, will [they] come tonight or not?” Semantic translation: “I wonder if they’ll come tonight.”

Compared to the adjective examples, this is less ambiguous. There’s no direct translation for the verb “to wonder” in Japanese - you just wonder aloud! The literal translations sound funny because they only make sense if the speaker is talking to themself.

Explaining stuff to yourself (んだ)

あそこにあったんだ！(context: the listener has just shown the speaker something they were looking for) Literal translation: “There it is!” Semantic translation: “There it is!”

In this example, the literal and semantic translations are the same, because this is a case of talking to yourself in English! If you think about it, it doesn’t make sense to say “there it is” when the person you’re talking to clearly already knows that’s where “it” is. Instead, the phrase serves to convey satisfaction and surprise.

まだ20歳なんだ！(context: the speaker has just found out from the listener that a friend of theirs is younger than they expected) Literal translation: “[She’s] only 20!” Semantic translation: “She’s only 20? That explains so much!”

In this example, んだ is used to mark the sentence as an explanation of something. The listener already knew the friend was only 20, so the aim of the sentence is not to convey new information, it’s to show that some sort of internal reasoning is happening within the speaker’s mind.

In the immortal words of Carly Rae Jepsen:

🎶 Do you talk to me, when you're talking to yourself? 🎶

For every Japanese speaker, the answer is yes!

[northwest-cryptid]

I will openly admit that to this day my biggest disappointment in indie vtubers and being an indie vtuber was that vtuber teams were not nearly as cool as they could have been because no one knew what made a team good in the first place.

If you don't know, a Vtuber team is essentially a small collective of streamers (roughly 3 - 5) who would work as a sort of "team" or group. They'd collab and promote one another and often had their own discord servers or ways to keep in touch with the various different members.

Now, lets say you're a sane everyday person, who is actually friends with your fellow team members. You wouldn't say; go around bad mouthing them for clout, backstabbing them and trying to assimilate their audience into your own after they prove to be more successful. You likely wouldn't plan "mandatory" meetings and then get mad at them when they refuse to show up because they've not had a day off from their actual paying job in over 5 months and they're literally so sick they can't get up the stairs to their computer and would rather spend their time with their significant other. You certainly wouldn't tell them they should voice their concerns about a big group change to everyone and then immediately double back on what you said when the rest of the group decides to ostracize them for having a bad opinion even though you just told them their thoughts are more in line with the goal of the team.

Right?

If you can't tell, as someone who has been in a handful of teams I've become somewhat jaded by them. They're a great model for actually promoting one another, having constant collabs so you don't need to constantly stream alone, and generally having some kind of group atmosphere which helps raise popularity since I can promote you even when you're not streaming, and you can promote me when I'm not streaming. However this doesn't work in reality because too many people are too focused on their own personal ambitions and are far too willing to jump into the fire of drama and throwing-each-other-under-the-bus bullshittery.

If it wasn't extremely clear, everything I mentioned above is shit that ACTUALLY has happened to me. I've never in my life had to say, verbally, aloud; in a call with other adults "I am going to hang up, because I am sick; I have not had a day off in months, and you call me here to yell at me over shit that doesn't even matter. Grow up, and learn that you do not hold power over others; if you want to make mandatory meetings, control my voice and my content, and tell me what I can and cannot do; you can pay me. I will leave my paypal in the general chat." Until I was in a team.

So what goes wrong? It can't just be that people get a taste of being popular and suddenly throw it all away, right?

... I mean. Yea. It sorta can be.

I'm not going to say this is exclusively what always happens all the time, but I will say it was what I saw happen the MAJORITY of the time. Essentially, it becomes fandom bullshit levels of cliche-y real quick.

You will inevitably have some members of the team who are more popular than others, and some who are by proxy less popular. Some might be better at holding a more dedicated and consistent audience while others, despite having more numbers on twitter; can't actually get numbers on their streams.

If you've made it this far, buckle up because I'm going all in here.

To properly explain this whole ordeal I'm going to walk you, yes you; through what it might be like to be part of a Twitter Indie Vtuber Team and you will see exactly why it never worked.

So if we're going to join a Vtuber team we need to be a Vtuber, the fun part here is that it literally doesn't matter who or what you are. You might be someone who cares deeply about lore, plot, and character; you might be more like me and not really think that matters so much as putting on a show for your audience. You might be somewhere in the middle. Maybe you're a sci fi character, maybe you're high fantasy, maybe you're some really generic anime character; guess what? None of that matters because Twitter Indie Vtubers teams fail to understand one huge guiding principle behind Vtuber teams, Classification.

See, I think the biggest issue I saw in the way Twitter's Indie vtuber teams (god that's getting exhausting to type, is it getting exhausting to read yet) ran things, was that they HATED Corporate Vtubers. Like, they HATED them. You couldn't bring up any of them, it doesn't matter how humble or how popular or whatever. Mention Vshojo? You're the devil. Mention Hololive? You're worse than the devil.

So what's so bad about that?

Let me put it like this, what do Vshojo and Hololive have in common that the majority of Indie Vtubers on Twitter do not?

They're successful at earning a living by streaming. Simple as that, they're doing something right. What are they doing right exactly? Well I'd love to find out but I can't discuss it with anyone because if I bring up corporate vtubers it's seen as a horrible very bad no good thing to talk about. We HATE Corporate Vtubers here and if you talk about them at all you're out buster, that's that.

But wait, going back to what I was saying about Classification, why is that important? Well simply put it makes things easier to understand for the audience. It keeps things coherent and it all just makes sense.

Here's a quick example, let's look at some Vtubers and you tell me if you think you know which ones are in a team together;

One of the Vtubers is a Lion. One of the Vtubers is a Crow. One of the Vtubers is an Isekai Protagonist (Generic, no definition) One of the Vtubers is a Harem Anime Protagonist (again, generic) One of the Vtubers is a Demon. One of the Vtubers is an Angel. One of the Vtubers is a Robot. One of the Vtubers is a Starship Captain. Lastly, one of the Vtubers is a Bear.

Now if you look at these Vtubers, and you had to group them into teams; how would you do it?

Logically you might group the Isekai and Harem protagonists together, they could have a Vtuber group for generic anime protagonists and they could actually make a joke out of putting a spin on their respective tropes.

Then you could pair off the Demon and Angel, the Robot and the Captain since they're both sci fi, and lastly you could group the Lion, Crow, and Bear since they're all animals right?

Well to put it super bluntly and not try to dox myself with how much I've said in this already, none of those examples were made up. All of those are actual Vtubers I've met during my time on twitter. Fun fact: they were all in the same team. Yes, all of them. Then they split off into smaller teams because they learned the team was too big and the audience split too thin.

But why does that Classification actually matter? Well it matters for the same reason being a Vtuber in the first place matters.

You see, if you're going to be a Vtuber you need to ask yourself why you're wanting to be a Vtuber over any other type of streamer.

Seriously, give that a thought for a second.

For me it was pretty simple, it started with not wanting to put my face out there. I got generally tired of how many people would comment on how I was dressed or how my hair was that day, or the fact I have a big nose; or just... whatever they felt like saying about ME that day. I'd play a ton of games I wanted to show people, things I actually enjoyed and wanted to bring to others. Yet no one cared about what I was streaming, they were all too caught up on how I look, and how do I look? Well, extremely everyday normal person-looking.

No seriously. I am not really someone who's like, "cool" or "handsome" or whatever. I don't look striking in any noticeable way. This isn't some fishing for compliments attempt either I'm being real, there's nothing about me on a GOOD day that says "I'm worth looking at" and yet people would always comment on SOMETHING and it normally wasn't about me looking good.

However if you turn off your webcam you DO get less engagement. This is just a sort of proven thing, so you need SOMETHING to represent yourself right? For me that was an easy fix, I could use a Vtuber avatar and in doing so I figured maybe I could rep some of my Native culture while I'm at it.

Later down the line I met some cool people who were more character focused, they enjoy the idea of playing a character and ultimately growing and changing that character as they streamed. It was something I felt forced into by the Twitter community at large so I always tried to come up with SOMETHING for the character, but everything felt forced (because it was) and bad (because it was) so I would often quickly drop any characterization before it even hit the stream.

Okay so let's say you personally have the ambition of playing a character, you want something closer to Hololive or Holostars, where your character comes from a place, has an occupation; a goal, a reason for streaming beyond just "I stream because I want to make money as a streamer for whatever reason." Alright cool let's see where that goes right?

Now remember, as Twitter Indie Vtubers we HATE Corporations and we will not be looking at how Hololive does this right at all. Instead we will constantly remind people about our character without ever really doing anything with it.

Yes. This is how it was done.

Say you meet someone who was an Angel. Maybe they were an Angel who was kicked out of heaven because lol they play too many video games XD (please excuse my cringe I'm doing my best to emulate shit I actually ran into here). So okay cool I'm not going to say that's NOT a valid character I guess. Alright so they're streaming because they like playing video games, what does being an Angel have to do with anything exactly? Well they'll tell you their entire lore dump of a backstory, they'll remind you they're an Angel, and they'll likely have some kind of definition of the difference between them as an Angel who got kicked out of heaven and fallen angels who... you know, basically the same thing BUT IT'S NOT.

You might ask again, what does this have to do with ANYTHING. Why does it matter? Why does them having a backstory, having this persona; why does it matter? What are they doing with it? Is it worth all the investment in a backstory and lore; or would it simply be enough to just explain "yea I'm an Angel and that's why I look like this" or whatever?

And Again they'll remind you of their backstory, they'll explain all their lore; and you'll find that this literally DOESN'T MATTER.

But then all the big corporate vtubers have backstories and lore, so we should too right?

Well... about that.

Can we, and now listen; I know... we HATE corpo vtubers here... but can we take just a second to look at WHY they have those backstories and lore and such?

Okay so here's the thing, if we look at the Hololive English branches we can see some specific things, first off Classification is a big one.

HoloMYTH? Grim Reaper, Phoenix, Cthulhu; etc (I'm not going to explain how a Shark or literally just Watson who is somehow a time traveler fit in here ask COVER man.)

HoloCOUNCIL? Warden of Time, Basically Mother Nature, The Embodiment of Chaos; again we have characters who are the COUNCIL of things like Space, Time, Civilization, Nature, Chaos; etc.

Council would later become PROMISE but I digress.

Now I'm not honestly too sure about Advent? But that's mostly because I haven't really looked into them much admittedly they're very hit or miss with me personally, but I got nothing against them and wish them the best.

What I'm saying here is, Classification matters! Everything from theme to color schemes and names comes into play. The one in charge of Nature? Ceres (a planet) Fauna (...yea I don't need to explain how that one ties in). The Warden of Time? Literally named Kronii (obviously meant to be similar to the word Chronos and such).

A lot of this is pretty self explanatory but my point here is everyone is designed to fit together like a D&D party. Everyone feels like they belong in the team. It's not just a random Cyborg, an Angel, some random Bear, and an Isekai Protagonist all bumming out in a discord call going "oh man I have no idea what to do today so we're just chatting lol"

So if you're an Indie Vtuber who understands Classification you're likely going to look for other people who fit your general theme and identity. But this can be difficult because of either one of two reasons.

One being that no one seems to fit your general classification. If you're too unique or too specific to a setting, time period, or general genre it can be hard to find others who fit into that with any level of similarity.

The other being that TOO MANY people seem to fit your classification EXACTLY. If you're a random God of such and such, and you find other god Vtubers, you likely find other people who are literally the same thing you are. Same goes for Angels, Demons, Anything Anime, Most forms of Object Heads or Robots or Cyborgs.

The biggest problem I see with the second is that no one wants to be anything short of "the best" at what they are. You're not just an assassin, you're the best assassin to ever live; well shit now you can't be in the same team as the OTHER best assassin to ever live.

But what if you were?

See this is where I think Indie Vtubers don't have the ability to laugh at themselves nearly as much as they should.

Because I personally think it would be really funny to have two people in a vtuber team who are the same thing, but from different backgrounds. Give us Spy x Family but as a Vtuber Team and I think it would be fucking hilarious.

No seriously, imagine for a moment that there was a 5 person vtuber team, 2 of the members of the team were from different backgrounds, they could be anything; for the sake of generic bullshit let's say one is like the top Angel from heaven, the other is the top Demon from hell. Except they both seek to keep this information secret, "only their chat knows" except the other 3 people in the team are VERY much aware, for literally ANY reason it doesn't matter how they know, it just matters that these two are such stupid idiots that they're constantly showing their hand in such specific ways that the other wouldn't see.

If you have the improv skills necessary, and the ability to laugh at yourself; you suddenly have a very VERY potentially funny team on your hands.

Imagine them playing Phasmophobia, one of them (doesn't matter who) points out the ghost must be a demon, they know all this information about demons, clearly this is a demon; they wouldn't be wrong about this. The other, also knowing this information (either because they're well researched on demons, or because they ARE one) is suspicious of how they know all this and doesn't know how to call them out so they try to one up them by providing MORE information in an attempt to see how much they ACTUALLY know, only now the first person is starting to question how THEY know so much. Meanwhile everyone else in the collab is dying and neither of them acknowledge this until it's brought up as a last ditch effort out by one of the two when asked a particularly difficult to answer question and they just respond with "OH SHIT THEY'RE DYING!" Before running off to save their team members. THAT'S GOOD BANTER BAY-BEE!

But see, this requires classification, an understanding of everyone's characters; and enough similarity to play off each other's characters.

So what about if you can't find anyone? You join into a random Vtuber Team and hope for the best.

Alright so you join into a group with 4 other people, so far things seem fine, everyone is nice enough; you likely sit in a discord call and talk about life; become closer friends, discuss what kind of games you like to play. You know, general normal people stuff.

Then a few days later you get a message about doing a collab, you don't have many viewers at this point; maybe 4 - 5 regulars who show up and actively chat. Good people, you are excited to sort of introduce your audience to your new team, and get to meet their audience. You might even be a little stressed because you only have about 100 followers on twitter and they have well over 1,000 so you expect a much bigger turnout on their end.

The stream collab starts, you notice there's maybe 3 people watching them, you are one; they are another. Which means they only really have 1 viewer. You tell yourself this is because the stream just started.

Then a half hour goes by, the only viewers showing up in their chat are from your team. Mutual friends, other streamers you know; they trickle in now and then but you notice neither of you are particularly popular. That big four digit follower count seems to all be just for show. Likely coming from a basis of follow for follow vtubers and the like. Looking at their twitter you notice they don't get much interaction outside of the team there either.

This sort of puts your mind at ease, it feels more comfortable knowing you're not somehow accidentally jumping ahead to having an audience of hundreds to entertain.

That is until you begin to notice a shift in the way you're treated by your team. It's very likely you'll be asked to do more collabs, they'll absolutely swing this as it being a matter of keeping the team together; or because you're fun to be around. However during streams you'll often be put on the back burner, you'll be brought into collabs but never really engaged with. You'll never be raided by your fellow team members. This is because you have a small, but real following.

You'll find that when you're unavailable it's suddenly a big deal, you'll see words like "mandatory" or "regularly scheduled" popping up to make it seem like you SHOULD be there, it's part of being in a team. You'll be told to "act professional" if you have a disagreement with someone, whether this is over something like gender, sexuality, or even other basic respect issues. You'll be asked to stream with people you don't like.

When it comes down to it, if you show opposition; you'll be told that the majority of the team disagrees with you, but they won't want you gone. They won't oust you from the team, because they know your audience will still most likely follow you out. They don't want that.

So they'll keep you around as long as possible, until you make too much noise; or say something they don't agree with a little too loudly. Once they believe they've done enough collabs, and gotten enough of your followers to follow them; they'll kick you aside and find someone else to do this to.

They will even turn on each other; I've gotten messages from people, months and even sometimes years after leaving a team. These messages all say similar things; they always start with an apology; and then go into talking about how they were either too naive, too scared, or just too confused to understand the manipulation and crowd mentality they were being indoctrinated to.

The key reason behind all of this is because you are never actually a valued friend, you're an additional audience member; you're a viewer, who has more viewers to bring to the table.

But clearly that was just a bad team, they're not all like that; that's true; that's genuine. So you go back to the drawing board and put it out there that you're in the market for another team, probably a bit more picky this time than you were last time to be fair. I couldn't blame anyone for being such after going through something like that.

You'll find another small group of people who don't know each other, who don't have anything in common other than a want to be successful; and likely who are willing to throw the weakest link under the bus to replace them with a fresh set of eyes and a new audience to grow their follower count.

But what happens if it DOES work out? What about when it's made by friends? What about when the people streaming don't actually hate each other?

Well then you still have to contend with burnout, with setting up times to stream together; with the sheer amount of work it is to work as a singular unit rather than as a "stream whenever you want" solo vtuber.

This can be difficult for some people. I remember having times when we'd plan group collabs and then my chronic pain would act up and I couldn't make it. Some would make it out to be a big deal, others would be understanding; either way it was a bit of a let down. Then you'd have the issue of not just everyone having the same games but the same interest in playing them at the same time. Then you'd have issues with if someone is getting more popular, or if there's a difference in ideas for how the group should be handling things.

At what point is it a team and not just a group of friends?

So alright, what do I think? Personally?

I think if you want to have a success vtuber team you should find some method of Classification; even if it's really weird and out there. Give us something to unify you all to the same group. Then you should decide on whether or not as a whole you're a character driven group or a streamer driven group:

Character Driven = investing in the characterization of your avatars, the in character interactions they may have; the "story" or "plot" that exists around them being a key feature of the streams.

Streamer Driven = investing in the streamer behind the characters, the connections of the individuals, their audiences; and the games they play.

Think Hololive vs Jerma.

Jerma doesn't have an anime he uses to explain his more characteristic properties of himself, because he doesn't really need that in order to come out on a stream and go "hey guys it's me, Jerma; the funny white dude on the internet." He can just do that and you already kinda get it because he's invested a lot in you knowing who JERMA is.

Meanwhile every Hololive stream opens with a catch phrase or a sort of characterized opening. Some more elaborate than others; and some even going so far as to call out their generation/team. They DO have an anime, and various other productions that run alongside the streams that serve to amplify them as characters, and even their inside jokes and developments within streams will loop back around to becoming elements of their anime counterparts.

So, once you've figured that out it's not really too difficult.

As long as you're willing to grow as a unit and pick each other up when someone gets ahead, without feeling a need to stab each other in the back or throw each other under the bus; you're solid.

If you're character focused, I strongly recommend you focus on your extended universe, explain to me who your characters are not by taking time out of the stream to stare me in the eyes and say "my character is blah blah blah" but by SHOWING ME through bumpers, skits, or other media. Make comics, make short video bumpers and tiktoks or something I don't care. Just don't sit there on stream EXPLAINING shit at me, because trust me I will tune out I do not care it is not an interesting way to convey who and what you are.

If you're character focused I need you to prioritize SHOW don't TELL.

If you're Streamer focused then I think you have it a lot easier, because you can prioritize getting to better know your audience, their preferences for streams/collabs, and you can get to know each other and use the information above to best sort out who should be pairing off for the best experiences for both you as a streamer and your audience as viewers.

I do believe these two things can mix well.

If you want a really solid example of EXACTLY what I mean, look no further than my (streamer focused) interaction with Nea (character focused)

A lot of the time our interactions work just fine because she understands that I am a streamer before I'm a character, and meanwhile I'll comment on her being an Ice Cream Lion before ever bringing up who she is outside of streams (at least while on streams, we're good friends outside of streams and I know her as her obviously). We're not in a team together but we collab plenty and consider each other to be good friends. We do our best to help one another get ahead in very casual ways and don't seek to bring each other down because we don't hold jealousy or envy towards one another's followings.

And yes, it REALLY is that simple to get along.

The core problem with Twitter's Indie Vtuber scene is that drama and bullshit gets attention and they crave attention over long-term proper collaboration and friendship. I don't doubt for a second that if Nea ever hit it big time and became a full time streamer she wouldn't hesitate or shy away from streaming with me and collabing with me all the same and you better believe that I'd be the exact same.

I used to often talk about applying to corporate vtuber agencies and I always said that if I was to ever get accepted I'd fight tooth and nail to be able to collab with my friends in hopes of getting them in front of the audience they deserve to have.

But yea that's it, that's the big keys to successful Vtuber team right there;

Classification helps a TON.

Be good to one another, don't allow yourself to succumb to the jealousy and envy of seeing one of your friends and team members gaining popularity faster than you.

Actually being good friends does help a lot too.

Actively support one another.

[lu-twilights-pup]

HEADCANONS FOR YANDERE FIERCE??? I just got this thought in my head and oHOHOOOOOOO that would be horrifying

Heheheheheheheh-

DISCLAIMERS:

Obsessive behavior, obsessive thoughts, Yandere, unhealthy mindset, violence, stalking, suggestive content towards the end

Oh ho ho ho boy

Its a mystery how you discover this man, or more so how he discovers you

He would tell you that you had simply crossed his path, waging wars and such as a civilian, a mortal

But in reality he saw you, across times, across planes through battles fought and waiting

He saw you from the stars and knew nothing other than that you were to be his and his alone. To be cared for, and love and worshipped and kept.

You loved him as much as he loved you, whether you knew it or not.

You were something ethereal, and divine to be cherished and adored as he saw fit, which was entirely.

Slowly he would get closer to you

In the beginning he would just hover around you in the distance, closeting the space slowly but surely.

At first he startled you, cryptic and large, he was a force to behold.

He would drop of gifts and random items. Flowers and gems, once an entire deer as you had said aloud to your self that you would have to go out for more meat.

Soon enough, you had become used to him, and almost craved his presence after having it for so long.

One day you invited him into your home, and he simply never left.

He would be with you always, for as long as you would allow him

Even if you didnt, he would simply wait and watch for you as you lived your life

Would you let him, he would remain by your side every day of the week, ever hour of the day, every minute of every hour, and so on

Hovering just close enough that you knew he was there.

Never letting you do a thing on you own, ,because by him why should you.

Such a divine creature shouldn’t have to life a finger when he was around

Nor should anyone look at you so plainly

His stature allows him to keep it that way

No one, not anyone, was to look at you the way he does, they dont deserve to

And if they try, then they will no longer be able to do so once he is done.

Eyes are such soft human things

He would adore if you live somewhere more secluded, like a cottage or cabin in th forest

It would just be easier to protect you, not that it was difficult at all

He would give his immortal soul to keep you safe and happy, laying himself on the line to keep anything short of a smile off of your face.

No no, that was no difficult, but it would be nice if he didnt have to waste time brushing away other mortals, and have more time with you.

He would make no attempt to hide his ‘brushing’ either

He poured his heart out to you, and would pour out hundreds of others if you so pleased

He realized how it frightened you some when you first saw it and made to hide it a bit better the next time

Making sure you had your back turned or eyes closed, but he will not pretend that he would not end the world for you

That he would not slaughter anything that came too close to you, or you got to close to.

You once had neighbors in you small farming area, but you haven’t in a good while,

Not since you met Fierce at least

He would come with you into town should you need to go, though often than not if you needed something, Fierce would have it for you (somehow)

He truthfully didn’t understand hwy you needed to go anywhere

He had everything for you, everything you needed

He made sure that the world was plated on a diamond dish for you

But never the less, you simply wished to walk a round the market on some occasions, and when you did he was not far behind.

Per request he would ditch his armor, hoping he would be more comfortable but he was always on guard

He had to be, there were horrid thing in the world, and who was he to let his lamb fall to any of them

He didnt need armor to keep you safe, nor a weapon, which you also requested he leave behind

He had hands. He had a bit of magic. He was a god of war—he would beyond manage.

God for bid someone calls to you from a stall, trying to make a sale with some friendly words.

Poor you, having to laugh along with the fool, to polite scared and uncomfortable to simply deny the conversation.

Now now that wasnt gonna happen. And if there was a hole in the wooden roof of the market stall afterwards, no one was gonna say anything about it.

Though he may mention it when you got home. However there is no telling how many words will actually be involved in that interaction—

[twistmusings]

Navel-Gazing - Jade and Azul

CW: Friends-to-FWB/Lovers, Mentions of Alcohol, Assumes Twisted Wonderland's legal drinking age is 18 but that alcohol is prohibited on campus grounds, mentions of codependence (not in a romantic relationship), mentions of sibling bonds and family issues, feelings of abandonment, mentions of Floyd being in an off-screen relationship. Long as all hell, this is really more of a drabble than a headcanon list womp womp.

At the start of their “relationship”, neither Azul nor Jade were looking for a partner. In fact, the both of them were pretty solidly in the “I don’t want to be tied down when I have something else I have to focus on” camp because they were both preparing to graduate from Night Raven College at that point and are starting to figure out how to go and do their own things. They were both just confirmed for their internships and were planning how they wanted to move forward with their adult lives. They really didn’t have time for a full relationship.

What ended up driving them closer together was, surprisingly, Floyd starting to date someone. That might sound surprising, but the reality was that Jade wasn’t prepared for how different his life would be when his clingy sibling decided not to be around him nearly as much.

Jade would never admit it aloud, but he got lonely. Floyd and he had been together basically every day most of the day since they were fry. They shared a dorm room, even. Being that used to having someone around him at most times meant that when Floyd suddenly wasn’t there to spend time with (read: pester with his nonsense at all times of night), he found it harder to function in general. He often found himself going to say something to Floyd only to remember he’d gone out. He also found it harder to sleep when he was entirely alone-- as it turns out, his instincts had grown attuned to always having someone there he trusted to help keep him safe so now that there wasn’t, he’s on high alert.

In addition to that, Azul began to rely more on Jade for day-to-day tasks. Floyd was spending less of his free time at Mostro Lounge and Octavinelle, so of course Azul would turn to the other person he trusted to handle ‘delicate’ matters. This often led to jade taking on more of the errand-based tasks that Floyd would normally be sent on to work off his energy. 

Jade was… snippy. Or, truthfully, more snide than he usually was. Azul had noticed this, and this made the tension between them start to grow. Azul felt uneasy-- thinking this was a warning sign that Jade would be not long from abandoning him as well, and the thought of being entirely alone sets him on edge.

“I see.” Jade replies, though Azul notes the clipped sound of agitation in his voice. Really, Azul is positively sick of whatever had gotten into Jade, so he shoots Azul a glare. Jade acts like such a brat at times-- like Azul isn’t also struggling with Floyd not being there. For the sake of the Sea Witch, he was balancing his studies for finals, his business, preparing study guides, rearranging his workloads, trying to get in contact with high profile companies for the sake of his internship AND he wasn’t letting his attitude get the best of him!

"Is that a problem, Jade?"

"Hmm." However slight, Azul notices the way that Jade frowns as if he's got a bitter taste in his mouth. "I simply don't think it is the best use of my talents."

Azul sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Jade, you know I would never trust someone other than you with something so important, right?" Azul says, intending to continue that thought, but before he can continue Jade cuts in.

"That isn't true and we both know it. I’ve never been the person you’ve asked to do this before."

The implication hangs heavy in the air-- that Azul is replacing Floyd with Jade. Azul looks up at Jade, surprised, but Jade’s expression is entirely unreadable at the moment. Azul takes a moment to gather himself and brace for whatever argument Jade is trying to start though he really would like to do nothing more than to rise and meet Jade’s antagonism. That particular idea would be unwise. He’s not in his mer-form so he stands little chance against someone Jade’s size.

"What is this about, Jade?" He asks, measuredly, needing to hear Jade explain precisely what had gotten under his skin-- he's leaving no room for misunderstandings.

"This is something you would normally ask Floyd to do. I simply don't understand why it's necessary to ask me."

And that's all it takes for Azul to be at the end of his patience. Perhaps the situation was wearing more on Azul than he had thought.

“Jade, you can see as well as I can that Floyd isn’t here right now. I can’t ask him to do it.” Azul drops the pen that he had been holding unceremoniously onto the stack of papers in front of him, instead clasping his hands in front of him to try and squeeze the frustration out before he does something foolish with that energy. He levels Jade with a stern stare. “I wouldn’t be asking him to do this regardless. I trust your judgment and discretion in this situation more than I would Floyd’s. So what, precisely, is the problem? Do you want higher pay? A favor? What is it?”

Jade looks at Azul, eyes widening fractionally, then he seems to remember himself, taking a slow breath.

"I don't need more pay-- I certainly wouldn't say no, of course--" Azul rolls his eyes at Jade's aside. "--I simply fail to see why this warrants my attention. What you’ve asked me to do is, effectively, grunt work. You know I prefer not to get my hands dirty if I can help it, so whatever it is that has you so worried, I can’t understand why you need me to do it.”

Azul scrubs a hand down his face. 

“Fine.” Azul says through gritted teeth. “I suspect that some of the employees are skimming money from the lounge by not cashing things out properly. I trust you to keep a keen eye on your surroundings and report back to me. Not to ‘beat the tar’ out of them. I am trying to gather enough evidence to file a report to the Headmage.” Azul explains it carefully, almost as if he’s trying to break it down to a child. Jade might have felt condescended to were he not so shocked at the revelation that someone would be brave and foolhardy enough to try to cut into the profits of Azul of all people.

“The last thing I need is for Floyd to run in and get himself into trouble because of his temper.” Azul finishes. Jade nods thoughtfully, frowning, but seems unconvinced. Azul sighs heavily. "How about I reward you? Whatever you'd like so long as it doesn't cut into the profits of the lounge egregiously."

That seemed to perk Jade up.

"Anything?" Jade ventures, tentatively. He pauses to think for a moment, then asks; "Must I decide what I want now?"

"Whenever you'd like, so long as you give me the time to prepare the materials."

Jade watches Azul carefully, as if waiting for further stipulation before nodding.

"Very well. Give me three days, I will gather all the information you need."

Jade succeeds, of course. There’s no way he wouldn’t given the stakes. It’s rare that he has the upper hand on Azul fully and even rarer that Azul offers it willingly.

Azul, on the other hand, is cursing himself for that exact thing: he can’t believe he gave Jade full control like that. He might trust Jade with his life and his finances, but he doesn’t trust him with his dignity.

Azul steeples his fingers.

“So, Jade, have you decided what you would like?” Azul ventures, trying not to let his tension show through in his voice. He is, apparently, unsuccessful, as Jade smirks at him broadly.

“I have.” He replies, though he doesn’t expand on the thought, thoroughly enjoying Azul’s discomfort at what he doesn’t know. The silence extends longer, and Jade’s grin only seems to grow.

“Well, are you planning on sharing with the class?” Azul ventures.

“I would like…” Jade begins, though he pauses rather theatrically, drawing out the tension the way one might for a crowd at the circus rather than for the impatient cephalopod before him.

"...Yes?"

"For you..."

Jade attempts to pause again, but Azul preempts him.

"Get on with it Jade, I don't have all night for histrionics."

Jade sighs, feigning disappointment with a shrug.

"...I’d like for you to make me my favorite meal."

“...” Azul's guard drops for a moment, showing his unveiled surprise. However, within moments, it's back and he's eyeing Jade suspiciously. "That’s it? You're positive? You could have nearly anything you'd like and that's what you want?"

"Quite." 

Azul still seems to expect a trap.

"You just want me to make you Octopus Carpaccio? That's really it?" He asks, and Jade merely smiles broadly and nods. "...Why?"

"Why?"

"Yes, why? What's your angle?"

Jade's smile widens.

"I'd like you to take the night off and give me your company." Jade states, simply.

Jade gets the pleasure of getting to watch the cogs begin to turn in Azul’s head. Azul has always had a distaste for taking time off, no matter how ill or infirmed he may be. He always says that coming back to work will only make for twice the work to be done in half the time.

“It’s been quite some time since I’ve gotten a chance to fully monopolize your time for myself, and if I have a reason to get you into the kitchen I’d be a fool not to take it. You have exacting tastes, after all.” Jade explains, his brows lifting as he grins.

Despite him not being particularly keen on the arrangement, Azul can’t quite keep himself from preening at the compliment.

"You know me well." Azul replies, trying to fight the smile that threatens to curl the corners of his lips. "My mother would have nothing but the best, so of course I have a taste for good food."

“And that’s precisely why I would like to steal you for myself for an evening.”

"No... Fair enough. Far be it from me to tell you what to do with your gift. Consider it a deal."

Jade, for his part, is surprisingly chipper in the span between then and their dinner together. Dare I say he was even a bit excited. He doesn’t realize it, but part of that is because he is looking forward to not having to spend the night by himself in total silence.

Azul does set the time aside for Jade. In fact, he goes above and beyond what is asked. Azul never does things in half measures, and it’s good to repay kindness with kindness. That’s simply good business sense. Azul is a great cook, to put it frankly. He rarely utilizes the skill because he focuses more on the business aspects of the lounge, but he knows his way around the kitchen quite well. It is a rare treat, indeed, to get a handmade dinner by Azul.

On top of that, Azul reserves the private room of the lounge. (That one is mostly selfish-- he doesn’t want to be bothered if they are going to have dinner and a night off. Besides, if they were interrupted, Azul had no doubt Jade would leverage it into a do-over if the night isn’t perfect.) He even goes so far as to procure a bright, fruity red wine to pair with the main course. (He has to sneak it in; he highly doubts that the Headmage would be too keen on him having alcohol on campus regardless of the fact that they are of drinking age.)

Jade is… impressed. He had been sort of riding on the knowledge that Azul doesn’t know how to not take things to ten and he’s not disappointed.

Azul has some… realizations in rapid succession when Jade shows up. See, Azul has always been aware he wasn’t precisely what landfolk would call straight. He’s never really cared much to label it because that’s pretty uncommon under the sea. And he’s always known objectively that Jade was handsome. He’s tall, broad shouldered, has sharp features, and is charming. However, it wasn’t until right about then that he managed to piece together that the two things were even remotely connected. He very nearly drops the 24,000 Thaumark bottle of wine because he fumbles it when Jade walks in.

Azul files it away under something he’s going to deal with later (read: never).

What had made Azul fumble the bottle was seeing how Jade was dressed. Jade has a handful out outfits that Azul has seen-- the uniform for the school, the formal clothes he wears to work in the lounge, the climbing gear he wears when he’s preparing for a weekend excursion to go scale a mountain or whatever he does in his club-- but he can’t recall a time that he’s seen Jade dressed down. He looked as though he was ready for a date, really. It’s not even that different from what he usually wears, but regardless it makes Azul’s palms sweat. He’s got dress pants and one of his white button-ups on, but the cuffs of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows and the top couple of buttons of his shirt are undone just enough to show a bit of his collarbone.

Azul absolutely curses his attraction to people with their sleeves rolled up. He really tries to pin it entirely on that-- it’s not the first time he’s noticed it on someone but it is the first time he’s noticed it on Jade. There is no reason a silly shirt should be making him feel like this when he’s seen Jade without clothes entirely in their mer-forms hundreds of times. It takes him several seconds to get a grip on himself.

Their dinner has been nice. Jade is quite pleased to be able to eat Azul’s cooking, and Azul seems to have relaxed and unwound a little bit. They have both been nursing a single glass of wine all night, just enough to toast their upcoming internships.

“... I admit, I’m a bit surprised that you and Floyd decided to go to different places for your internships.” Azul says, humming at the thought as he sips at the wine. “You two normally come as a set.”

Jade glances toward Azul, wondering if he knows what a landmine of a topic he’d just brought up. He quickly diverts his gaze back to the remaining few ounces of wine as it swirls around the sides of the glass, attempting to distract himself. He’s uncharacteristically quiet for a moment.

They did typically come as a pair, didn’t they? Well, they had come as a pair-- after all, they were already beginning to grow more separate with Floyd spending more time making plans with his partner than he did in their own dorm. They weren’t going to be glued to each other for their entire lives-- they would have to learn their independence sooner or later, right? It simply made sense that they would go to separate places for a few months. Learning how to be by themselves would be healthy for both of them.

“...Jade?” Azul asks. His voice snaps Jade out of the thought that’s preoccupying him, and he looks over at Azul once more.

“Yes, well, it will be good for the both of us to learn to be more independent. It’s already starting to happen, you know? I get the feeling you’ll be seeing more of me on my own.” Jade replies, trying for an unaffected tone. However, Azul seems to see right through him, and for a brief moment, Jade feels uncomfortably seen. Jade wishes he wouldn’t look at him like that-- like he can see right through him.

“You seem lonely.” Azul begins, tentatively, as if he’s not quite sure how Jade will react to his words. “Floyd’s new relationship… has made you feel left behind, hasn’t it?”

Hearing it laid out plainly like that, Jade isn’t sure how he’s meant to respond to that. It feels… silly. Realistically he knows his brother is just excited to have a partner in his life who accepts him with open arms and who clicks with him. It’s not like he’s cut Jade off cold contact-- not anything of the sort. In fact, there would be little either of them could do to permanently sever the close sibling bond they’ve had for years, and Jade has no intention of trampling on whatever happiness Floyd has found or will find. That being said… It's certainly a change not having Floyd around to fill the silence or to be a sounding board for whatever thoughts wander into his mind.

Azul gives him a pitying look, and Jade decides that he hates that look infinitely more than he hated the look that made him feel like Azul knew him through and through.

“...I’m sorry, Jade. You deserve to be happy, too.” Azul adds, voice lowered, like he’s speaking to a scared animal. Jade wants to flinch, but instead he merely closes his eyes pensively.

“Don’t misunderstand, Azul, I’m not unhappy. I’m not particularly keen on the idea of a relationship right now, either. I don’t really have eyes for anyone at the moment who I think would reciprocate.” Jade replies quietly, voice measured but audibly uncomfortable at having to express the emotion out loud. “I always knew that Floyd and I wouldn’t be side by side forever, I simply wasn’t prepared for it to happen so soon. It’s… a difficult adjustment when you’ve been around someone since you were a fry.”

“That’s understandable, though I hope you know that he still cares about you. He is your brother, even if he is a bit… preoccupied with other things at the moment.” Azul attempts to comfort, though he seems just as out of his element with this as Jade is. It almost makes Jade want to ask him why he continued to press the matter if neither of them wanted to be having this conversation. His fingers scratch awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I know it’s not the same but I am still here for you, as well.”

Jade can’t help but to laugh, shooting Azul a wry smirk.

“Somehow I doubt that latching onto you in the absence of my brother wouldn’t be much of a solution at all.”

Azul flushes slightly, trying to keep himself from frowning and only earning another laugh from Jade that he reaches to cover a second too late.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“I know what you meant. I simply suppose that I will have to learn to be more independent. And if that fails, then I’ll desperately fall back on you.” Jade says with a grin. Azul gives him a surprised look for a moment, and then laughs along with him. Azul hadn’t expected him to bounce back from his dour mood quite so quickly.

“Well, no, I suppose that wouldn’t help much. I’ll admit you’ve never really struck me as the codependent type, though. You’re not entirely reliant on your brother, are you?” Azul tips back the last of his wine.

Jade’s grin grows wicked in the way it always does when he’s about to say something to make Azul suffer.

"I don't suppose you would like to find out, would you?"

Azul chokes on his drink, and Jade can't quite hide his thinly veiled delight at being able to elicit the scandalized look that comes to Azul’s face.

"And what precisely would that entail?" Azul coughs

Jade feels like he must not have heard that right. That was not at all the reaction that he had expected-- he’d expected vehement denial. His eyes widened fractionally in realization. Surely that can’t be right, right?

"Oh." Jade replies, intelligently, the singular syllable being the only sound to pass between the two of them for a moment. Jade swallows thickly, having to quickly recalibrate and rearrange the thoughts in his mind. He looks down at the last of the wine in his glass, considering, before downing it in a single, large gulp. He clears his throat, setting the glass aside and using that as an excuse to avoid Azul’s expectant gaze.

 He replies, the singular syllable the only sound that passes between the two for a moment. Jade swallows thickly, again looking down at the last of the wine in his glass, considering, before he downs it in in a single, large gulp.

“I don’t sleep particularly well when I’m in a room alone.” Jade says it, then seems surprised by his own admission. He’s nowhere near inebriated enough for it to warrant the sort of unfiltered emotion to be pouring out of his mouth like this. It’s an uncomfortable thing to divulge, and the mere mention of it makes him feel sort of pathetic. “We’ve shared a room for years now. I find it hard to fall asleep now that I’m alone. It just…feels like something is wrong. Like something is missing. I think, perhaps, it’s my instincts putting me on edge because I have no one looking out for me when I’m most vulnerable.”

Azul blinks at him blankly, and then he is the one who gives Jade a shark-like grin, as if this is fun for him.

“Awe, what do you miss most? Waking up to Floyd looming over you at three A.M.? Or maybe it’s how he picks fights with people in his sleep? Oh-oh, or is it holding the pillow over his mouth when he snores?” Azul’s tone is positively tickled, earning a roll of the eyes from Jade.

It is decidedly less fun to be on this side of the teasing. For some that might have meant that they would knock it off next time, but for Jade it merely meant that he would be sure to be positively insufferable the next time Azul embarrasses himself.

Azul, seeming to have gotten his fill, trails off. For a moment, Jade meets his gaze, and Azul takes that chance to examine him thoroughly. Jade resists the urge to squirm, feeling like a lab specimen being examined. Azul is one of the only people he would tolerate that from.

“Do you need someone to be there with you?” Azul asks lowly, as if there’s anyone around to overhear him, tone entirely sober. Jade is surprised once again, looking at Azul in silence.

How is he meant to take that offer? Jade truly can’t tell if his suspicion is on base, but it feels like Azul is hitting on him, and as reluctant as he would be to admit it, the thought makes a heat creep into his stomach. He swallows again, though this time there’s no wine to try and cover it up.

“That would depend on what was being offered…”

"You know a good businessman never makes the first offer."

Jade considered his options carefully. Azul is a friend. This is not something he should be doing, he knows it would be foolish, but… if this is happening, he doesn’t think he can deny himself the chance. If Azul backs down he’ll have his answer, and hopefully if he does it will serve as a reminder for Azul not to toy with his emotions.

“Believe me, Azul, I’m well aware that you’re a sharp businessman. You’re incredibly persistent when you put your mind to something. I’d never underestimate you like that.” Jade’s tone is unfamiliar to himself, assertive, low, and dark as he rather shamelessly flirts right back with Azul. He lays an arm across the back of the booth that they’re sitting in and he leans closer into Azul’s space. “But a good businessman knows how to make the first offer when they need to. So, why don’t you try making me an offer I won’t refuse?”

It has the intended effect, and Jade feels a small thrill that maybe he shouldn’t as he watches the redness rise into Azul’s cheeks. In spite of that, Azul smirks.

“That’s what I like to hear. You really do pick up on the ins and outs of making deals when I use my unique magic, don’t you?” Azul laughs. He shifts himself, leaning into Jade, rather than away. “Tell me this, then, if you got whatever you wanted from tonight, what would it be?”

Oh dear. Well, it seems his intuition is right-- Azul seems surprisingly keen on this. He’s suddenly thankful for Azul’s foresight to reserve them the private room, because it means he doesn’t have to worry about someone barging into their conversation-- if someone interrupted them right now, Jade just might snap.

“I want a lot of things.” Jade admits, his voice practically a purr. There’s something almost possessive to his tone of voice. “I’m a bit torn, really.”

“Isn’t that a shame. Why not tell me? I’ll humor you. Maybe I’ll be able to help you sort your thoughts.” This time, it’s Azul’s turn to swallow, his gaze that has been holding steadily this entire time darts toward Jade’s lips as the heat in his face only continues to grow. It’s brief, but Jade doesn’t miss it.

“You want to kiss me.” Jade says-- it’s not really a question, nor is it a statement. It’s a realization, and Jade sounds a little giddy with it. “So what are you waiting for?”

The prompting seems to be all it takes, as Azul surges forward, closing the gap between them. Jade feels a flood of something warm into his chest as Azul kisses him, and something entirely different settles into his stomach. Azul’s kiss is eager-- borderline desperate, really-- and Jade allows him to squirm closer, encouraging him by placing his hands onto Azul’s waist.

It’s intense. Jade has had a few brief kisses in passing, but nothing that has felt quite like this-- nothing that makes heat creep along his skin and makes him itch with desire to pull Azul closer because he can’t get close enough. Azul seems to mirror his enthusiasm, adjusting the tilt of his head and deepening the kiss easily once Jade allows him.

It’s only once one of Jade’s hands creeps to the back of him, dipping a bit lower to--

“Jade! What--” Azul breaks the kiss abruptly, startling backwards from him with a squawk. His face is intensely flushed, a sight that Jade admires as he falters with his words. “Did you just goose me!?”

Jade giggles, a fond but impish wide grin splitting his face.

“Apologies. I’ve always found it rather cute, and I admit I was a bit curious how it would feel since it’s a rather recent development.” Jade is thoroughly amused. Azul merely scoffs, shaking his head, though he doesn’t seem too truly offended, considering he flops forward, attempting to hide his blush in Jade’s shoulder.

“You are a menace.”

[cataclysmiceuphemism]

Snippet Sunday

Snippet Sunday (even if I missed Sunday by a few hours shh). NSFW text under the cut. Synchronicity chapter 23. Dolenzmith

“You really like my pictures?” Micky asked when they’d found their way to bed.

“I should’ve been harder on J.A. Gerber’s, if you need to ask if I was being insincere.”

“Maybe I’m fishing,” Micky conceded. He bit his lip, then requested, “Gimme a nibble, huh?”

“I like your pictures.” Mike gave a nibble in the figurative and then the literal, his mouth finding the pulse in Micky’s neck and biting hard enough to elicit a gasp. “They capture the emotion of the daily.” He followed the bite with a gentle kiss to take away the ache.

“You gotta bite harder than that if you’re hungry, Lugosi,” Micky teased. He didn’t stay still for it, though, instead rolling them over to straddle Mike’s hips. He grabbed Mike’s hands in his own and held them pressed against the headboard.

“You want me to make you bleed?”

“I figured it out,” Micky said, words wrapping around the question instead of avoiding it outright, “Why you fingered me, after we finished that first time. I didn’t get it for a while.”

Their gaze held soft in the silence for a moment, eyes heavy lidded. When Mike asked, “Yeah? Why’s that?” his mouth had a tilt of affection, his voice deep and comforting, the tone of knowing his answer would be the same as the one Micky would give him.

“You wrote ‘Property of Mike Nesmith’ on me,” Micky said, and he instinctively let go of one of Mike’s hands to make a motion as though he were laying a banner in the sky as he said the words. Mike obediently kept his hand in place against the headboard until Micky’s grasp returned. “But you did it in pencil. You wanted to read it a few times before it got erased.” He felt bold in saying so, in identifying Mike’s feelings for him out loud-- but he felt comfortable in it, too, in giving voice to those feelings that existed in the same space as love. The ones of possession and desire, the ones he thought might make room for Mike to say the more significant parts aloud with his own mouth sometime. “I’d like it better, if you used Magic Marker.”

“And that means more teeth?”

“It means more. Can I take your picture?”

“Don’t usually ask permission,” Mike said. None of them did. Micky took pictures of them all the most often. But they’d all take pictures, whether with their own cameras or the Instamatic that Micky left laying around on hotel beds and plane seats. “I assume that means you want to take a picture of something you’re the only one seeing.”

Micky made an agreeable sound. “Just your face. More or less. It’s kind of a close shot.” He looked down into Mike’s face considerately, taking in his chest, his shoulders, just how much of Mike’s body was bare and exposed to him even when nothing indecent was focused on. “I wanna take a picture of how you look, when you’re inside me.” He shimmied his hips against Mike’s erection, hot and solid beneath him. “I want to show you how you look at me. I want to write my name, too.”

[morningstargirl666]

Sneak Peak

Sneak snippet for chapter 27 of TBBW, and I say snippet, but really its a couple of pages - though that isn’t much in the grand scheme of things (yes, it’s turning into another long chapter and I refuse to split this one up, so like, we’ll see how long this one gets).

Sam didn’t notice the change, not at first. The nagging feeling at the back of his mind that something was off.

It started at Caroline’s house, when he decided to make those damn burgers he never got to eat. After the day he’d had, he’d just assumed the craving to eat some good, greasy food was the wolf not so subtly telling him it needed its daily dose of protein. Just scratching an itch for his next fix, if you will. He hadn’t considered he was actually hungry. Like, vampire bloodlust ripper-style hungry. When he pulled over on the way back to the mansion after leaving Caroline’s, just because he saw someone walking down the street, and then proceeded to pounce on them the second he got out the car like some kid of feral cat-

Well, now Sam was considering it.

It didn’t matter that he’d already drunk an entire blood bag on Liz Forbes’ couch with her daughter not two hours earlier. It didn’t matter that he just drained some innocent bystander dry in the middle of the fucking street-

The hunger didn’t go away.

Keira found him in the Mikaelson’s kitchen later, dripping head to toe in blood because he’d killed two more people on the way back, before raiding the Mikaelson’s entire blood store in the fridge, draining that dry too. And it was only then, when his body was still shaking with bloodlust, and the fear in Keira’s eyes matched his own, did Sam finally admit to himself something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Now, Sam wasn’t a ripper. He hadn’t been concerned about the bloodlust part of becoming a hybrid, mostly because Klaus hadn’t been, and Sam trusted Klaus. He’d given him the Vampire 101 with the same annoying sharp-edged bluntness that somehow - Sam had no idea how, Klaus was paradox at the best of times - bordered on gentle, teaching him to feed and most importantly stop feeding, regardless of how bad the hunger got. Sam, having reigned in his temperamental wolf side for most his life, took to the lessons like a fish to water, and when Kiera arrived, she’d given him her own tips which he’d taken to heart, and just like that, the bloodlust part that came with being half-vampire never arose as a problem. So much so, that Sam started wondering what all the fuss was about, even aloud, which often ended with Klaus muttering under his breath about how easy kids had it these days.

(“Surely it was hard for you to fight off the hunger the first time-”

“Well, yeah but-”

“Exactly. Now imagine doing that without someone explaining in your ear what to expect, or how to control it. And then add in the factor you’ve been fighting the bloodlust for weeks, not even aware it is bloodlust, and your control has finally snapped, and maybe, you might be close to what it felt like for me when I tore into my first victim’s neck.”)

Sam had just thought Klaus was jealous that he was better than him at something. Now though, Sam saw it for the warning it was: the greatest illusion is the idea of control. You can’t control bloodlust. You can learn to live with it, learn to fight it, and some are better at fighting it than others - side-eyeing you Stefan Salvatore - but you can never permanently control it. That would be like trying to wrestle a saddle onto a dragon and expecting it not to burn you to a crisp the minute you get close.

So, seeing his hands dripping in blood and still feeling the urge to lick every drop of his skin was certainly a rude awakening.

He’d barely gotten himself together before the Mikaelsons arrived. Kiera had more or less thrown him into the shower, and he’d listened to her talk on the phone through the tiled walls as lines of red water dripped down his face into the drain below, trying to focus on her voice instead of the dozen or so human heartbeats belonging to the people the Mikaelson’s employed. By the time he got out and pulled himself into a fresh set of clothes, her witch, Delilah, was waiting for him, standing right next to Kiera in their bedroom, grey hair twisted into an elegant hairstyle and arms littered with bangles, warm brown eyes kind.

She’d asked for symptoms. Kiera had answered, the hunger building in Sam’s throat stopping him from doing so himself. He spent a good few minutes entranced by the pumping artery in the poor witch’s neck, and it was only when she snapped his fingers in his face, repeating her question and asking if Kiera had left anything out, that he finally tried to concentrate enough to formulate an answer.

Because there was something else, now that he thought about it. The left-side of his chest hurt too, right over his heart, like a pressure was building and Sam couldn’t release it.

Delilah had nodded, brow furrowed, and then quickly began to run some diagnostic spells. Kiera hadn’t questioned what she was doing - the two had known each other for about two and half centuries, and with it came a loyalty that was nigh on unshakable.

(Kiera was Delilah’s daughter’s godmother, and her granddaughter’s godmother, so really, it was a family business at this point)

When Delilah had finally finished all her spells, an answer not immediately on her tongue, Kiera had spoken up, prompting her.

“What is it?”

Delilah had paused, for the first time since Sam had met her, seeming unsure.

“It is…strange.” She had begun. “Physically, there is nothing wrong with you. You are not on the brink of dessication, nor are you recovering from it, and your undead heart is fine, if beating at a slightly higher rate than your vampire counterparts-”

“And magically?” Keira had jumped to ask, familiar with how these things worked by now.

“The pain, the bloodlust… you can feel it, but I cannot sense it, which leaves me to conclude either it is something mentally crippling or…” She had stopped, staring down at him where he sat on the bed, a consideration in her eye, before it snapped into realisation. “...Or it is not his own. An echo, almost.”

As soon as the words had left her mouth, Sam understood. The puzzle pieces clicked into place. Sam may not be dessicating right this second, but they knew someone who was. Or already had.

Klaus.

Sam was starving because Klaus was starving. Magically starved to the point of desiccation. And Sam’s chest hurt, experiencing the symptoms of more or less a heart attack, because Klaus’ heart had stopped.

The realisation had been sickening. Sam had nearly thrown up the entire contents of stomach right then and there. But after the horror and nausea, then came the rage. A fury so hot and all-consuming, that if Delilah’s attempt to dull the pack bond between him and Klaus hadn’t succeeded - therefore dulling his second-hand sympathy bloodlust - he would have punched a hole through Elijah’s face the minute he suggested making a deal with Elena and her merry band of idiots.

As it stood now, Sam wasn’t ruling out punching Elijah in the face just yet.

Can anyone take a wild guess how this chapter is going to end? Lmao

[radiationgroove]

Day to Day

I can finally share my piece for the second volume of the @falloutghoulzine Greetings from Gecko! Much like the first, the second volume was a dream to work on. We'll be having our extras sale soon, so watch this space! Be sure to give this some love over on AO3 too!

It’s almost impossible to pin down what Carol could be daydreaming about. The possibilities, Greta learned long ago, were nearly endless.

Most of the time it was Gob and whatever troubles he was in. The young visitor from Vault 101 to the Northwest told Carol that instead of Gob exploring the world, he’d landed himself in some scummy little dive bar well outside the city. Carols’ mind raced with possibilities: Gob somehow owned this bar, or he was the life of the party, the bartender everyone loved, or was this something more sinister? The Vault Dweller seemed to choose their words too carefully. Was Gob in trouble? Danger? Did he need rescuing? Those fugues were broken with bouts of nostalgia; Greta spent countless nights listening half-heartedly to stories about Gob and the years Carol spent with her adopted son. 

Sometimes she was trapped in thought and wandering centuries in the past. Those were the days Greta tiptoed around her partner, keeping any outside noise in their little hotel to a minimum the best she could. Those were also the days that more often than not began with Carol waking in the middle of the night gasping for air. She whimpered, sobbed, dropped her head into her hands and cried for her Daddy. Greta couldn’t imagine what Carol saw; her ghoulification had come after the Great War when she was old enough to understand what was going on. Carol watched herself fall apart unprepared. 

It wasn’t out of the ordinary for Carol to just be sad. She drifted about the hotel like a ghost, face soft and distant. Greta caught her staring at the hallway painting in its gilded frame. Greta knew, once, who painted it, what it was called, but that had since been lost to time. These particular bouts of melancholy were sometimes too much for Greta and too hard to break. She spent longer on her smoke breaks, or tucked away in her kitchen. At the end of the day, separation was best for both of them. 

Greta hid behind her interactions, her abrasion. She didn’t hold back when it came to the quality of her food (for the few tender-stomached smoothskins that managed to linger in their doorway, anyway), or her malice towards Azrukhal and the not-so-friendly competition his bar held across the hallway. Her patience for indecisiveness was thin; you either knew what you wanted at Carol’s Place or you got the hell out. Free time was spent concocting something new to put on the menu, or at least make something more than palatable. 

She didn’t really do “friends”. At the end of the day all she needed was Carol and the little life they’d carved out with each other at Underworld. They’d been together so long it was hard to imagine a day spent without the other. Sometimes, though she wouldn’t admit it aloud, she wondered if they stayed this way because they always had been.

But, of course, that was nonsense. Love was a rare commodity in the Wasteland, and to have a love that lasted as long as theirs had was rarer still. 

Carol’s Place was quiet today. A few of their friends and neighbors wandered in for breakfast and lunch, but the hours ticked by quietly. Tulip stopped by briefly on her break for the special (nothing at all was “special” about the special) and to drop off her copy of Paradise Lost for Carol to thumb through. Even their full-time boarder, Mister Crowley, made himself scarce with little fanfare. It was quiet, and Greta was glad for it. 

Lost in the depth of her thoughts, Carol stood at the side of the bed she shared with Greta. She slipped a grimy pillow into a slightly less grimy pillowcase and fluffed. And fluffed. She fluffed again for good measure and centered the pillow on the bed. She bent to tuck the sheets into the mattress and smoothed the comforter over top…and paused. 

She was young again, a slip of a thing, all of twenty-six. Carol woke early that morning with the intention of going into town for…who knew? A day of shopping, of selfish consumerism? Sight-seeing, maybe, a stroll through the streets of Washington, DC and take in the Halloween storefronts? Either way, Carol was planning on looking her best. Every blonde lock was tucked perfectly in place. Though her father said she didn’t need it, that she was beautiful as she was, she did her makeup, balancing a face that was all high cheekbones and a strong jawline. Carol smoothed the sheets and comforter over the crisp corners of her bed. It was shaping up to be a beautiful October day. The grandfather clock downstairs in the foyer struck nine o’clock in the morning with distant gong. Her father came barreling into the house, slamming the door behind him. 

Father sped to the bunker. Chaos was still in the process of erupting around them. The streets didn’t feel any busier than normal, but people were pouring out of homes with duffle bags and suitcases. Sirens blared high above the city. The longer the sirens sounded, the faster her father drove. A crowd began to gather around the public fallout shelter; the car had barely stopped before Carol was commanded to run. Her father wasn’t far behind. 

Until he wasn’t.

Another siren. Carol stopped only a moment, turning back to check on him. A mother, a woman barely older than herself, was struggling with her twin toddlers and new baby. Her father stopped to help, to gather the children in his arms. An explosion shook the ground beneath her feet. A flash of light blinded her. Someone grabbed her arm; she screamed. The shelter door closed behind her and the survivors were plunged into darkness. 

It was too quiet. Greta wondered if this was what parents talked about before the Great War; if the children were quiet, there was usually trouble. Wiping her hands on the apron tied about her waist, Greta peeked around salvaged hospital dividers and down the little hallway. Carol remained frozen at the corner of their bed. 

“Carol?” Greta murmured, stepping slowly down the hall. Carol startled. “Hon, you okay?”  It broke Greta’s heart that the woman she’d spent decades with was so distant.

When they emerged once again, blinking into the sunlight, Carol was face to face with the blackened shape of her father scorched into the wall. She was sick all over the ground. The survivors from the shelter staggered about while DC burned. She just followed her feet forward. Always forward. The Museum of History, a place she treasured visits with her father, a place that would eventually become known to the Wasteland at large as “Underworld,” became a sanctuary. Then it became a home. 

It wasn’t until her skin began to peel that she knew there was a problem. Great chunks of it sloughed off all over. Carol spent panicked mornings in the museum restroom examining the changes; what sort of twisted puberty had the bombs brought? Then it was her hair. Her beautiful blonde hair was falling out fistfuls at a time. Between losing her hair and staring at a face full of exposed muscle, it was a wonder Carol didn’t lose her mind as so many did in those first few years. 

Carol blinked slowly. Greta didn’t look like Greta for a moment, just a mess of missing skin and clumps of hair that turned her stomach. It was like looking in the mirror in those early days when she was in pain and her body was falling apart. Panic swelled in her chest. 

“Hey…hey, you’re okay.” Greta kept space between them for fear of startling Carol further. She lingered some feet away from the bed. To Carol, “okay” couldn’t be further from the truth.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and eventually there was nothing Carol could do to stop the floodgates. They rolled down her cheeks unbidden. Her lips quivered and tension she didn’t know she was holding her shoulders released. Greta sighed and finally closed the gap between the two of them. Carol sobbed as she buried her face in Greta’s neck.

Helplessness was Greta’s least favorite feeling. More than anger, more than disgust, more than malice, it was helplessness. She couldn’t help Carol, not in any way that made a difference as far as she was concerned. All she could do was hold her. Greta carded her fingers through Carol’s hair while peppering her face with kisses. 

They sank into the freshly made bed, Greta pulling Carol into her lap. Across the desk, the door opened. The quiet creak was enough to draw Greta’s attention away. Winthrop stood in the doorway and suddenly felt very awkward. He wasn’t sure if it was because of Carol’s tears or…no it was definitely Greta’s glare penetrating into his soul that made him turn tail and close the door behind him. 

What had he come here for? Whatever it was he needed could wait.

The breath slowly returned to Carol’s lungs. The trembling deep in her shoulders and the knot in the pit of her stomach lessened. Her grip on Greta relaxed. Tears still rolled uneven tracks down her cheeks, but Carol was coming back into her body and her mind. Soon all they heard was the buzz of fluorescent lighting overhead and their own soft, synchronized breathing. 

“Carol? You with me?” 

“...Yeah. Yeah, I’m here, Greta”

“Good.”

Greta pressed barely-there kisses to Carol’s forehead and stroked the back of her arm. “Do you need anything?”

Carol sniffled and wiped her eyes and nose with the back of her hand. “No, I don’t think so.”

Another moment of long silence; Greta wasn’t going to pry as to what had brought this on. The options flipped through her mind once again: Gob, her ghoulification, just because? It was impossible to know what made Carol sad. 

All Greta knew is that her girl needed her.