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" why do you like animals " ➡️ i like them for their creative opportunities! animals are a lot more diverse than people, leading to unique qualities in character design! but that’s really it :P i’m actually not an animal person irl lmao
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Routine
Finding Safety masterlist
Whump Girl Summer day 4: Rescue
Taglist: @littlespacecastle @whumpymirages @flowersarefreetherapy @painful-pooch
Pet thinks about her weekly routine, and eventually, with the help and encouragement of a nice delivery man and his cousin, makes a change to it.
3.3k
CWs: BBU, pet whump, conditioned whumpee, shock collar, implied rape/non-con, beating, dehumanisation, brief whumpee thinks caretaker is new master (at the end), mention of scarification, mention of public humiliation, mention of starvation
Pet's weekly routine doesn't change much. Every day, she wakes up in time to make Sir's breakfast (three rashers of bacon, two fried eggs, two slices of toast, and exactly eight ounces of orange juice) and get him ready for work. Sometimes, if she's good, he'll give her a pat on the head before leaving.
Sometimes, if she's not, he'll leave her with shoulders mottled and aching.
Then she has to clean the house until it's spotless, and everything's in the correct position. There's not a speck of dust to be seen once she's finished, not an object out of place.
On Mondays, the shopping's delivered. The doorbell is connected to her collar, the low shock making sure she knows it's been pressed, but the delivery man doesn't ring it anymore. She's not sure why.
It's always delivered by the same young man. He's nice, talks to her like she doesn't have a collar around her neck. Brings the shopping all the way into the kitchen when he doesn't have to. His name is Mr Jason.
One day, he hands her a slip of paper with a phone number on. Tells her that if it ever gets too much, this life, to call someone called Sandy on that number.
She's okay though. Why wouldn't she be? This is the life she chose.
She puts the shopping away perfectly, everything in its place, exactly where it should be. Exactly where Sir requires it.
She sorts, irons and stores the laundry twice a week, hers (maid outfits, which according to Sir's friend are fashionable) hanging in a small closet in his room. Everything that Sir gives her is in her closet. She doesn't have much – a pet bed, clothes, disciplinary tools that make her shiver to look at them so she tries not to unless it's absolutely necessary – but it's everything she needs. Sir takes care of her every need, she doesn't need anything of her own.
Sometimes she bakes. Sometimes she cooks. Sometimes she does neither. Sir doesn't always have a plan for his meals, and on those occasions, Pet knows she has to wait until he's home, until she can receive clues or instructions on what he wants. She always bakes on Thursdays, so he can have enough homemade snacks to sustain him throughout the week.
Once the day's chores are complete, she has to clean herself. That's important. Even if she will undo the work after Sir gets home, she has to be clean and presentable and smell nice for him when he does. Everything has to be perfect.
She washes herself, every nook and cranny, carefully scrubbing between her fingers and toes, making sure to use the strongly-scented soaps and conditioner that Sir likes so much.
Ten minutes before Sir is due to arrive home, Pet's shock collar goes off. It's a low setting, just to let her know Sir needs her. She inspects the house, making sure that everything's in its proper place. No room for sloppiness here.
Five minutes later, it goes off again. She starts the coffee maker. It takes five minutes to brew, and then it will be ready for her to pour him a cup when he gets home. She has to turn it on at exactly the right moment, his coffee mustn't be too hot or too cold. Then she kneels beside the front door, ready to welcome Sir home.
The first thing he does, once he's drunk his coffee, is inspect the house, and her, thoroughly. He strips and examines every part of her, and her clothes, and then does the same with the house. Every speck of dust missed, every part of the bathroom that isn't sparkling enough, every packet that isn't in exactly the right place, it all gets tallied up. Everything wrong with her, too, a slightly loose hair ribbon, a drop of damp left between her toes, a minute incorrection of posture, that all goes down. That's the number of hits her shoulders will take. Punishing her is, apparently, Sir's work de-stressor. That's what he said to his friend once, and Pet remembers. She always remembers. She has to, she can't afford to make mistakes.
The tally goes down on the big chart, too, along with anything unusually good she's done, in preparation for Sunday.
That evening, as every evening, she is at Sir's beck and call, serving his every request. Her collar vibrates frequently as he calls on her often, sometimes for drinks, food, company... and sometimes for other things.
Pet's collar is like a bell in those old-timey British films Sir likes to watch, she muses sometimes. It calls her to service. Only the collar is silent, and it hurts, too.
Silent. Silent like she is. Silent like she has to be, because that's the way Sir likes it. Unless Sir requests otherwise, of course. Silent movements, silent chores, silent as a mouse. Only squeaking for his amusement when her punishments become entertainment.
On Monday and Wednesday evenings, Sir takes her into his bed and has sex with her. He's talked about experimenting, he's used a few toys, but nothing major. Not yet.
She's not sure how she feels about that idea.
On Fridays, Sir works from home. She doesn't spend all day doing chores then, instead she waits on him, bringing him drinks and snacks and papers, whatever it is he needs when he calls for her. Stress relief, sometimes. If she's lucky it just involves roughly petting her, but it's often more than that. She's used to the taste by now, though, it's okay. Whatever Sir wants is what she wants. Even if it leaves her black and blue and red, or with a sour taste in her mouth and an aching jaw.
Her neck hurts the most on Fridays, shivering with phantom shocks for hours more that night, after even the mice have settled down and gone to sleep.
On alternating Saturdays, Sir goes out with his friends, or they visit each others' houses. Some of them have pets too. Some just like to play with her. She doesn't like it quite so much.
Her least favourite game is when they take the pets out someplace public, and she has to stay perfectly still and silent, perfectly secretive, as they do what they like to her. The first pet to cry out or be otherwise noticeable loses.
She doesn't like to lose. That's never good. Sir doesn't like it at all. It's especially bad if a member of the public notices, says something. She hates it when that happens.
Then come Sundays. A lazy lie in for Sir with plenty of sex, and then the charging of the three sets of shock collar batteries that have been used that week. That's when she gets her punishment.
It could be a reward, of course, in theory, if she made up enough good points on her tally, but she could never do that. She's not certain it's even possible, or if Sir rigs it. He might.
Sir has used lots of different punishments in the past. Stress positions, beatings, small cuts in sensitive places. Nothing that will scar.
The only scars she has are the section of her right shoulder that Sir and his friends use as an ashtray, and Sir's initials on her inner thigh, where no-one else can see. The latter, he called scarification, seeming very pleased when he did it.
She's not pleased. She thinks she should be, but she isn't.
Sir has a special wipe-clean room for Sunday punishments, in the basement, that she has to clean until it's spick and span. That's what he says, spick and span.
His current favourite punishment is to tie her spread-eagled to hooks in the floor and ceiling, upside-down and naked, and just beat on her with whatever's to hand. Sometimes, it is his hand. She's had broken bones a few times, although Sir usually tries not to do that. He says bruises make her look prettier, so they're fine, provided they can be mostly covered up. He tries to avoid them in the places her clothes won't cover.
Bruises are socially acceptable on pets, although not too many. Apparently.
Then, once the batteries are charged and the shock collar is back on, it's time for a film and a takeaway. If Pet's lucky, if she's affectionate enough, she'll be hand-fed the leftover crusts and crumbs. Otherwise, it's her usual pet food, ordered on a subscription from somewhere she can't read the logo of. Enough to keep her fed, bones peeping through the skin like they should in fashionable pets. That's what all the magazines show, the ones that Sir flicks through and then discards with a snort. But there's no variety, and sometimes she finds herself wishing that there was.
She ignores the look of pity the delivery man gives her as he hands over the bags of warm food. She always does. She's as wide-eyed and pleading as possible with Sir, so much nudging affection, and maybe, hopefully, this time she'll be allowed some of his tasty leftovers. Maybe even tasty food of her own, one day.
Sir's friend petsat once, and she got a pet ice cream from his girlfriend then. It was like a cloud on her tongue.
A cold cloud. Maybe clouds are cold, though, it's not like she's ever been up there.
Sometimes she daydreams about having an ice cream again.
She daydreams about clouds, too. She likes to watch them skud past. Shape them, mould them, name them. Pretend they're something they're not.
Sometimes she feels like she's pretending too. Waiting for a gust of wind to blow her out of this life and into another.
This is the life she chose. But she isn't sure she'd choose it again.
One Monday, Mr Jason arrives with the shopping. He looks at her, wearing a posture collar over her shock collar because Sir thinks she isn't good enough, bruises peeking out from under the sleeves and skirt hems. Everything aches, she could barely move for aching that morning, bruised stiffness setting in. She's one wrong step away from being sent to a retraining centre, though, and regardless of that she'd have to do her job, so she goes through the motions of it all.
And then there's a knock on the door, and her careful posture, the way she's holding herself to keep the weight away from the worst pain, almost breaks.
Mr Jason takes one look at her. Just one look, catching so much, and he says two words.
"Call xem."
So Pet does. After Mr Jason's left, she calls, doing her chores at the same time. She can't read the numbers but she copies the shapes into Sir's landline. They speak for hours, as Mx Sandy works out a plan.
Her beating that evening is worse than normal because of her inattention during the call, with a metal and leather cane as Sir orders her to select the weapon that will cause the most pain without scarring or breaking anything. She obeys, her posture apparently not at its best still. She'll have to work on that then.
The next day, Sir comes home with a yoke and a box of pet cams. He explains that they're so Sir can watch her at work, to see why she's misbehaving so much, and then he can send her to the trainers with appropriate instructions the next time he goes on a business trip. He says that he doesn't understand what's happened, but that her behaviour needs fixing.
Pet thinks that perhaps, if he was a little more careful with his Sunday punishments, then it would be easier for her to behave during the week.
At least she won't have to go on the business trip. She feels sorry for the rental pet he'll undoubtedly get, though.
Then Sir makes her kneel and passes the yoke over her head, fastening it around her neck. The wooden sides sit on her shoulders, draping slightly over the very tops of her arms. It's not too bad like this, but then he fastens weights to it, and she struggles to keep her shoulders at the correct height.
This is to fix her posture. She's going to wear it for the next week and then they'll see how she is. Whether he also needs to spend money on training her in that, too.
The yoke worked on his friend's pet, apparently. DIY posture training. Pet remembers seeing it on him, at Sir's friend's house. It looked like it hurt.
She's grateful that she at least doesn't have to wear it at night. A small shock emits from her collar when it is to go on and off.
She can't read a clock, but she doesn't need to with her shock collar.
Sir's going to install the cameras the weekend after this, when his friend's free to help. Pet calls Mx Sandy the next day, making sure to be very careful with the landline, and xie moves the plan forward a week.
On Saturday, Sir's friends come to visit. Not the camera-installing one, thankfully. They laugh at Pet in her yoke, and hang weights from it and use it as an increasingly heavy table until she collapses. Then Sir, drunk Sir, the worst kind of Sir, breaks a glass on the back of her head, the one that cracked when she fell.
Now her head is covered in cuts and beer and then stinging cuts.
She hates them all. She knew it was coming, they did it to another pet before, but it still hurts. Why can't Sir care without hurting her? Is that the only way to be loved, as a pet?
It seems to take a very long time, but Monday finally comes. Mr Jason arrives at the normal time, his eyes widening when he sees her. She's glad he's not seeing her at her worst, at least.
He helps her put away the shopping quickly, side-by-side, exactly the way she'd do it alone. The longer time frame there is for an investigation into her departure, the better. Then he leads her outside.
They can't leave the yoke or collar here. Both are padlocked on, it would be obvious she had help.
"In here, until we get out of the gates. My cousin's in the back."
He helps her climb into the truck, where she collapses to her knees, the weight suddenly too much. The person who must be Mx Sandy peers out from behind a stack of crates.
"Hi. I'm Sandy. Let me help you get those things off?"
Pet nods, crawling as close as she can, and Mx Sandy meets her in the middle.
"Okay. Let's see if I can pick these locks. I'm going to come around behind you now, don't panic."
Pet nods, and Mx Sandy clambers behind her, fiddling with the locks on her yoke. Xie lifts the yoke off, and Pet's head sags. It feels suddenly weightless, but she's too weary to hold it up.
There's a tiny click and Pet's leather shock collar is peeled away. She swallows hard and doesn't feel the press of soft leather or plastic against her throat. It's strange.
"That's better, I bet. Put this jumper and shoes on. Maid outfits aren't uncommon with pets around here and I don't want people getting suspicious."
Pet nods and shrugs on the knee-length green jumper and trainers Mx Sandy hands her. They're surprisingly comfortable. She pulls down the sleeves until they're exactly even on both sides, and checks that the laces are symmetrical.
As clothes should be.
"Thank you, mx."
"Just Sandy. Ready?" Pet nods again, unsure what she's meant to be ready for, and Mx Sandy knocks hard on the metal dividing them from Mr Jason.
A few seconds later, the lorry comes to a stop, and Mr Jason rolls up the back of the lorry.
"We're walking the rest of the way," explains Mx Sandy– no, just Sandy. She has to be exactly right. She can't make another mistake. "Safer for Jay that way."
He holds out his hand to help Pet out, and she takes it, stepping down as gracefully as she can manage. "Good luck. See you next weekend, cuz."
Sandy makes a face at that. "Don't get caught."
Mr Jason (Jay?) climbs back into his lorry and drives away, leaving Pet alone with Sandy in the large, empty, secluded car park. Xie takes her hand before she can worry too much.
"Let's go. It's not far from here."
Pet keeps her head high as they walk, graceful, elegant. A good pet should always be so. Even, maybe especially, if everything still aches and she's struggling to hold herself up. That's good, it means she still knows how to behave, if she can do that.
They keep walking until they reach a brick house in a nondescript street, and Sandy unlocks the door, leading Pet inside.
There's nobody around, although there's signs of inhabitance everywhere. Clothes draped over doors, shoes piled by the entrance, a whiteboard covered in sheets of paper and pictures drawn in drywipe. She has the urge to tidy it all up before someone gets in trouble for it.
"Dryer's broken at the moment. I'll show you to your room, Tom's out at the moment so it's all yours. I suggest you change and take a nap before we do anything else."
Pet nods, and follows Sandy upstairs. The room is spacious, two single beds lined up neatly opposite each other. One has plain blue covers, neatly tucked, while the other's are a repeating safari pattern.
Pet's not sure what a safari is, or where the headache comes from, but she pushes it away as she has done so many times before.
The blue-covered bed has a neat pile of clothes at the end, and she picks them up, carefully changing into them as Sandy quickly turns xier back. The fleecy pyjamas are warm and soft, covering her nicely but leaving her forearms free. She certainly never had clothes this soft from Sir and she wraps her arms around herself, savouring the lack of thin, scratchy material that made up her usual outfit with Sir.
Pet notices a clock on the wall. That's reassuring, somehow. Maybe Sandy doesn't rely on electric shocks to tell xier pets the time.
"The bed's for you to sleep in. Take a nap for as long as you need, I don't intend on timing you or anything. You must be exhausted."
"Thank you, mx. What are my duties when I wake up?"
Sandy pauses for a moment. "We'll work that out when you're feeling better. Nothing more than anyone else here. One thing I'd like you to start thinking about is your name. I want you to choose one you like, rather than Pet. Is that okay?"
Pet nods. She's going to have to keep a close eye on Sandy to choose a name she can be sure xie'll like, but that's acceptable, if nerve-wracking. What if she chooses the wrong name?
Still, she can't disobey.
"Yes, mx."
At a gesture from Sandy she climbs into the bed, curling the duvet around herself until it covers her completely. She's so warm, she doesn't remember the last time she was so comfortably warm.
Sandy rests a hand on her head and she leans into it. She knows she'll have to pay for the non-earned kind touches later, but that's okay. They make her feel so much better that that's okay.
"Go to sleep, honey. We'll sort everything out when you wake up."
And she does. And for the first time in years, she sleeps without being awoken by a shock collar.
FINALLY getting these out yaayyyy <3333 the capuchin monkey ‘ friend ‘ needs more work. most likely will design her alongside chorus, blondie’s little ‘ girlfriend ‘ i guess you could call her. . . thank you to crunch_of_kind on xitter for the help with the color palettes, and @bengal-and-bangles for the suggestion for xiu’s family name ^^!
exactly what it says!! help me come up with colors & full names for some side characters in my oc story!!! featuring favorite lady courtney since i know so many people love her :3c <3 ( and thank you to the moon and back if you actually read all of this lol! )
Cookies and sweaters
Finding Safety masterlist
Taglist: @littlespacecastle @whumpymirages @flowersarefreetherapy
Aaliyah and Cass, along with the other rescues in Sandy's safehouse, bake cookies for the Christmas tree and get presents.
Set on their first Christmas Eve in the safehouse, a few weeks after their arrival there.
3k
CWs: BBU, pet whump, recovery whump, implied past non-con, briefly mentioned past minor whump, past dehumanisation, past degradation, self degradation
The key turns in the lock as they're kneading the dough, and it feels like time stops in the little, too-messy kitchen.
Aaliyah freezes, heart pounding, hands holding the cookie dough. Tom, little Tom who makes her head hurt, crawls under the kitchen counter, arms around his legs. And Letitia scurries to greet whoever's entering (please let it be Mx Sandy and Cass and Xiu back from shopping, please don't let Mr Jacob have forgotten something, he's supposed to be away from here for Christmas, please, please).
"Welcome home, Mx Sandy."
"Thank you, Tish. How's the morning been?"
"Good, Mx Sandy. We started making the cookies for the tree and, and Tom's made a calendar."
"That's great, honey. Do you want to show me?"
"Yes, mx."
Aaliyah stands up straighter, dropping the dough. It's far too messy in here, she really hopes Mx Sandy doesn't punish them for it, or at least that she only punishes her, please, please. Tom and Letitia don't deserve to be punished. People never like mess, it's far too much to hope she won't be punished at all.
Mx Sandy enters the room, followed by Letitia nervously, then Cass and Xiu, both carrying bags which they set down in the corner before washing their hands.
A tiny bit of Aaliyah unclenches. It's Cass. Cass is safe. He's safe he's safe he's safe. His eyes immediately lock onto her and he limps over, standing beside her. She finds his hand and squeezes it.
"Let's have a look at this dough then," says Mx Sandy, and Aaliyah steps aside, in front of Tom's table. She has to hide him, has to get Mx Sandy to punish her, not him. He's so little.
Mx Sandy looks in the bowl. "What flavour did you use? Orange zest, right?"
"Yes, mx," says Letitia. "Is it, is it okay?"
Mx Sandy beams at them. "It's perfect. It's alright, Aaliyah, you won't be punished. Or you, Tommy, you can come out from under there if you like."
Tom crawls out and stands slightly behind Aaliyah, clutching the hem of her oversized top. "You, you promise?"
"I do. There's nothing wrong with making a mess here."
Tom nods. "I, I know. I, I'm sorry, I forgot, with, with the white rooms and the, the white walls, I, I forgot, I forget, I can't–"
Aaliyah turns and wraps the boy in her arms. He's so young, so small. An adult now, Mx Sandy thinks, but he wasn't when he came here, apparently. He makes her head hurt but she can't not comfort him.
"That's okay, honey," murmurs Mx Sandy, "we're here to remind you. Does anyone want to start rolling out the dough?"
"I will," replies Xiu softly.
"Good girl. Tom, want to show me your calendar?"
Tom nods and peels himself away from Aaliyah, wringing his hands. He has a smudge of cookie dough on his glasses, and he swipes at it as he crosses the room and picks the decorated paper plate up from the table, a mini tear-off calendar stapled underneath. He's drawn a jungle scene, of course.
"That's excellent, honey."
Tom beams. "Thank you."
"You should all choose a cutter for your cookie. Cass, Aaliyah, Xiu, have you ever made tree cookies before?"
Cass doesn't respond at all, and Aaliyah shakes her head (she's never done any baking, Master didn't buy her for that, and he wouldn't have let her touch his food anyway. She refuses to think about the bake-at-home dog biscuits she was made to prepare for Cass one time). Xiu says, "No, Sandy. I did cooking and baking for my Sir but not these."
"Okay. That's okay. I'll show you how to make them. Or Tish can, if you'd like, Tish? You're an expert by now."
Letitia looks away shyly and nods.
"Excellent. I'm going to put away the groceries."
Aaliyah frowns. Isn't that a pet's job? She can't say anything though, and she watches as Mx Sandy opens the fridge and starts piling food in out of the bags. Xie've even bought some of those stringy cheese sticks she likes so much.
Aaliyah really doesn't understand why xie're so nice.
Letitia picks up a tree-shaped cookie cutter and lays it on the flat dough. "You take the cutter and, and press it down on the dough until it goes all the way through. Then you poke a hole in the top and, and put the cookie on the tray." She demonstrates, placing the tree-shaped cookie on a greased baking tray. "See? Now you can do it."
Tom bounds forward to pick a giraffe cutter, and Letitia smiles fondly at him, stepping back so he and Xiu can make their cookies (Xiu's picked a little cat. It's cute). Cass lets go of Aaliyah's hand but doesn't move himself. Aaliyah steps forward to choose hers. Maybe if she does, Cass will follow.
There's a lot of cookie cutters on the table and Aaliyah blinks, overwhelmed by all the choice. There's so many, how can she choose? She shouldn't be choosing anyway, that's a people thing, it's for her Master to do.
But he's not here anymore.
Someone's tapping her on the hand and she turns to see Tom bobbing up and down beside her.
"You, you having trouble deciding?" Aaliyah nods. "Do, do you want some help?" She nods again, and Tom looks over the cutters thoughtfully, choosing a moon and holding it out to her. "If, if you like."
Aaliyah smiles and nods gratefully, taking it in both hands. She heads over to where Xiu is carefully pressing her cat into the dough. Xiu glances up at her.
"Do you think we're doing this right?" she asks softly.
Aaliyah hesitates and then nods. It looks like how Letitia did it anyway, so it's probably okay, right?
"Good. I wouldn't like to make a mistake. That would be bad."
Xiu's designation is, was, partly Domestic, and Aaliyah wonders if her Sir was a perfectionist, the way she's so careful with everything. Careful movements, careful chores, careful cookie cutting. Aaliyah steps up next to her and cuts her own cookie, making a hole at the top of the moon with the end of a teaspoon. She transfers it to the tray beside Tom's giraffe.
"You can cut some small ones to eat too in a minute," says Mx Sandy, passing by to put a jar of peanut butter in the cupboard. "They won't need holes. Let me check we have all the tree cookies first."
Mx Sandy crosses to the tray with a smile, ruffling Tom's hair on the way. He beams.
"We're one cookie short," says Mx Sandy after a quick count. "I know which one is yours Tom, Letitia... Xiu, Cass, Aaliyah? One of you? You don't have to make one if you don't want to, but it's a nice tradition."
"Dirty mutts don't touch things used for people food, mx," says Cass roughly, hunching his shoulders.
"You're not a dirty mutt, Cass," says Mx Sandy firmly, "and you eat food made here normally, what's the difference with these?"
"That's made for me, mx. I do not, um, dirty anything meant for people. But I might touch the dough making a cookie and dirty mutts shouldn't do that. Not if people will use it too. Begging your pardon, mx."
Mx Sandy bites xir lip. Aaliyah shuffles closer to Cass and puts her arm around him. He has to make a cookie for the tree!
"Okay. Okay, Cass, we'll work on dissuading you of the dirty mutt thing later, because you're not one but I can't see a way to persuade you of that right now. For now, just know that you're allowed to touch things. You can make yourself a cookie, Cass, that's allowed. Why don't you choose a cutter?"
Cass looks down at Aaliyah, who nods. Mx Sandy said he can make a cookie, so he should make one!
Warily, he approaches the cutters spread out on the table and looks them over. He picks out a star gingerly with two fingers and holds it up.
"That's good. Cut some smaller ones too, if you like, so we can eat them."
"You're, um, sure, mx?"
"Yes. Go on, before Tom uses all the dough."
Tom looks up from his mini jungle of cookies, turning bright red. "Oh, I'm, I'm sorry, Sandy."
"It's fine, honey. You carry on. There's still enough dough for Cass."
Cass cuts his cookie and places it on the tray, and by silent agreement the others stay back, letting Cass and Tom cut the small cookies. Once they're done, Mx Sandy puts the tray in the oven.
"And now we wait. We have some presents to give you all. They're nothing bad, all good things. I hope you'll like them. But first, shall we put some music on? Any preferences?"
Cass shifts awkwardly and glances at Aaliyah. "Please can we have, um, no Christmas songs, mx?"
Aaliyah shudders at the memory of Christmas Day fights and Christmas songs playing as Master... well. No, no Christmas songs.
"Of course. Tish isn't fond of them either."
"Carols specifically," says Letitia, folding against Mx Sandy's side. "Too long in my box under a Christmas tree."
Mx Sandy presses a kiss to her forehead and murmurs something Aaliyah can just hear.
"I'm sorry, honey."
"Was your parents, not you," Letitia mutters shakily back.
"But still, if it wasn't for me–"
"–I might have gone to someone who wasn't, wasn't as kind," finishes Letitia firmly. Mx Sandy pulls her into a proper hug.
Cass exchanges a look with Xiu and squeezes Aaliyah before stepping away, Cass pulling what Aaliyah thinks might be clothes out of a shopping bag while Xiu piles them neatly.
If they're the presents... if Cass helped choose them... maybe they're not too bad.
Mx Sandy steps away from Letitia and takes a shaky breath. "Okay. Okay, right. Thank you, Cass, Xiu. I'll put on the mixed playlist we made earlier in the year, yeah? Aaliyah, Cass, we'll add some songs you like to that soon." Xie fiddles with something on xir phone and a country song starts playing out of the speaker. "So. Presents. You can all sit down if you like, you don't need to stand around."
Aaliyah, Cass and Xiu sit down, Cass slumping over slightly with a wince. His leg must be bad if he's visibly wincing, and Aaliyah leans against him, trying to share her body heat. Letitia frowns at him and crosses to the microwave, putting a reusable heating pad in.
"You sit down too, Tish, I'll do that," says Mx Sandy, and Letitia nods, taking a seat beside Xiu. Tom leans against the side, feet tapping away.
"Is, is it okay if I don't sit, Sandy?" he asks nervously, and xie nods.
"Sure. It always is. Here you go, Cass." Xie hands Cass the heating pad wrapped in a Christmas tea towel, and he presses it to his thigh.
"Thank you, mx."
"No problem Cass. You can use them when you like, you don't have to wait."
"Yes, mx."
Aaliyah squeezes his hand. She knows he hates asking for things, hates the feeling that doing so makes him weak. Master used to laugh at him and call him a 'bad, weak mutt' when he couldn't walk properly, and she knows he's scared of that, too.
"Aaliyah, yours is on top, you okay having it first?" She nods, insides twisting with nerves, and Mx Sandy passes her a bundle of fabric. She unfolds it, grateful at least that it's not wrapped.
It's a sweater. A Christmas sweater, like she's seen some spectators at Cass' fights wear. She banishes those memories from her mind.
It's... strange. This sweater clearly isn't meant to show her off. She pulls it on and it's just... warm. Baggy, oversized, and she pulls the wool over her hands, curling into it. It's dark blue with snowflakes and a large reindeer in the middle.
She loves it. She smiles widely and bows her thanks.
"You're welcome, honey. Cass chose it."
Aaliyah turns to Cass and gives him a hug.
"That's a white-tailed deer," says Xiu suddenly, and Aaliyah turns to her as she claps a hand to her head. "I don't know where that came from, my apologies."
Aaliyah shakes her head. She doesn't mind. It's another piece of Xiu, before... before.
"It's fine," says Mx Sandy concernedly, "do you want some painkillers for your head?"
"No, thank you, Sandy."
"Okay. Do you want to tell us about the deer?"
Xiu nods. "On Aaliyah's sweater, it's a white-tailed deer, not a reindeer. Reindeer are shaggier. I don't know how I know that though."
"Because whoever you were before WRU did. Don't pressure yourself, more memories might come back if you wait." Xiu nods. "Okay, Tommy, you're next."
Tom takes his bundle of fabric and unfolds it. He makes a small sound of delight and throws it over his head, grinning.
His sweater is more of a sweatshirt, with a racoon in Christmas lights and a Santa hat, surrounded by a knit pattern.
"Thank you thank you thank you!"
"I thought a fleecy sweatshirt would be better for you," says Cass, "I know you cannot stand wool on you."
Tom beams.
The rest are all knitted. Xiu has a pattern of penguins on blue, and Mx Sandy has a green sweater that looks like a Christmas tree that makes Letitia burst into giggles. Xiu flushes proudly at the reaction. Letitia herself has a bright red knit with a llama on, and Cass has a dark blue sweater with dancing Santa Clauses on that he puts on carefully, almost disbelievingly, wrapping the wool around his hands.
"Thank you. It is the warmest thing I have had of my own in a long time." He makes a choked sound somewhere between a sob and a comment, and Aaliyah wraps her arms around him before he can make a comment about mutts not getting proper clothes – not that she knows he will, but Master used to say that a lot.
He feels soft in this jumper.
Mx Sandy smiles around at them all. "I'm glad you like your presents. And thank you so much for mine."
"You paid," objects Xiu.
"Still. It's from you and Cass." Cass smiles slightly. "D'you want to decorate your cookies now? I'll get out the writing icing and sprinkles."
"May I make white icing?" asks Xiu.
"Go ahead."
Aaliyah watches as Xiu makes white icing and Mx Sandy fetches the rest of the cookie decorations. There's different colours of writing icing and lots of sprinkles and all sorts, and she feels that twisty, nervous feeling in her chest again.
"Just decorate it how you like. There's no wrong answer."
She swallows and nods, reaching for a tube of yellow writing icing. Carefully, making sure the line doesn't wiggle too much, she outlines the edge of the cookie. Then she uses some of Xiu's white icing to stick multicoloured sprinkles down the centre. She doesn't know how she remembers how to do this, and she's not going to think about it or it'll hurt her head. She looks to Mx Sandy for approval.
"That's very good. Do you like it?" She nods. "Then I like it. Once the icing's set you can thread some of this ribbon through the hole."
Mx Sandy passes her the green ribbon and some scissors, and Aaliyah cuts a length, then runs it through the cookie, looking at Mx Sandy's one from last year as a reference as she ties the ribbon.
She looks around at everyone else. She's ahead. Is that okay? Finishing first has always been a bad thing in the past, but this isn't that, is it, so maybe, maybe it's not too bad? Cass squeezes her shoulder.
His star is more complicated than hers, with a little face in the centre, and he's struggling a little to tie the ribbon. Not being allowed to use his hands for much other than fighting for a couple of years didn't really lend itself to being able to do complicated motions easily, she supposes.
She taps him on the arm and when he looks at her, gestures, "You want help?"
"Mutts don't–" Aaliyah cuts him off with a firm swiping movement with both hands, creating a cross. No, no, not that, Master's not here, he's not a mutt. "Yes. Yes, thank you, Aaliyah."
She smiles and takes the ribbon, tying it carefully in a loop. Cass puts his arm around her.
"Happy Christmas."
Aaliyah leans against him contentedly. Yes, yes it is. It might not quite be Christmas Day yet, but for once, for the first time, this is a happy Christmas. She realises, quite suddenly, that although she was created for Master, and she was mostly okay there, she was never actually happy. Not like she is now. She tries not to feel guilty about it, because surely she should be happiest with her Master?
But she wasn't.
A tear drips down her cheek.
Where she's happiest is right here, with Cass and everyone else. Especially Cass. He– he should have more than being treated like a fighting dog, and now he does.
Master took her and Cass on a walk, once, when the truck broke down and they needed to get to and from the Christmas Day fights. Aaliyah had been holding Cass up as he limped, bleeding, and as she'd looked in the windows of the houses they'd passed, all yellow and bright and warm-looking and full of people laughing and smiling nicely, she'd wished, briefly, that she was safe and warm and loved like that. It had been wrong to think, of course, so so wrong, but...
But, now she is. Now she gets to have that. She wipes her cheek and smiles at Cass, tapping the morse code message Letitia taught them on the tabletop.
Happy Christmas.
