#it's uncanny how similar this is to my experience

[befuddledcinnamonroll]

THIS SHOW

Can we talk about how they are literally not wasting a single frame in the storytelling? It's short, but so damn effective.

I've talked before about how this is not just a story about individuals, but about existing within a fucked up system.

It's about how we get accustomed to terrible treatment, because we exist in a space where everyone sees it as normal.

And those who realize it's not normal, those who try to push back, don't tend to last.

But once they're gone, we realize how much they (and their ability to see the truth) were protecting us from things being the absolute worst.

How our acceptance of this kind of life and workplace perpetuates the cycle for the new people as they come in.

And though we think we are only martyring ourselves, it results in the sacrifice of others. Because in our choices for ourselves, we are helping to feed them to the machine.

But it's still so hard to walk away, because you become so numb to it all. Until you are sure that parts of you are permanently broken.

And you also know that these systems are everywhere, they are our society, so who's to say you could ever find anything better?

It's the slow crushing of the soul, that makes you feel like it all could just be so futile.

Which is why what Kai is doing is so brilliant here.

He's not denying the reality of the world they exist in. He's not being pushy or angry about Hiro's choices.

Instead Kai is utilizing temptation, showing that there are things, some of them quite simple, that can bring joy. That can break through the futility.

That prove that you can still feel.

But you have to choose them. Because like all things in this life, they are ephemeral.

The systems might not go anywhere in our lifetimes, but that doesn't mean the choices we make don't matter. For ourselves - and for those who see us do it.

[the-punforgiven]

Do y'all ever get nightmares that just like, aren't scary?

Like you can tell your brain is trying to make this scary, but you just feel nothing?

[starry-bi-sky]

Unpleasant Revelations - DPxDC Ficlet Idea for the Stillborn Au

"Have you met my youngest, Damian, Mr. Masters?"

Its only from twenty years of long, hard experience and practice that Vlad doesn't increase the room temperature from 'borderline uncomfortably cool' to 'unbearably hot' the moment Bruce Wayne pulls his youngest and "only" biological son out in front of him.

He puts only in quotations because twelve year old Damian Wayne looks scarily, uncannily like one Daniel Brown. Jack and Maddie's foster son, second victim of their foolishness, and only other halfa in existence. Second only to him.

It's nauseating how similar they look. From the scowl and terrible glare on the young boy's face, to his brown skin -- which was only a few shades lighter than Daniel's, the shape of his nose, and even the strange winged edge of his eyebrow. Something that Vlad has long since come to find endearing on the child he considered a son of his own. The only difference was that Damian had dark, sharp green eyes.

Daniel's eyes were blue. The same glacier shade as his father's, who stood behind Damian with a proud, oafish smile on his visage.

It was infuriating how similar they look. Vlad might not have rapidly swung the room temperature from one extreme to the other, but he can't stop himself from letting the fury burning within his core from slipping out and raising the temperature up a few degrees.

Because it really only meant one thing.

Damian Wayne and Daniel Brown were related.

Damian Wayne and Daniel Brown were brothers.

Standing in front of him, it was clear as day. He can already picture a phantom image of Daniel standing beside Damian, the same scowl written on his face, the same glare carved into his eyes. The only difference being the dark, exhausted circles beneath them that seemed to be permanently painted onto his skin. The only thing missing being the permanent loneliness and vigilance permeating his being like a scar.

This, if revealed, would be enough to ruin Bruce Wayne's reputation. Or, at the very least, darken it quite a bit. The great philanthropist Bruce Wayne with another secret blood child? One related to his youngest? One that had been put into foster care? Seemingly thrown away?

It would be a firestorm.

One that Vlad is not keen on starting.

It would ruin Bruce Wayne's reputation, yes. But it would hurt Daniel in the process -- the harassment he would face alone might just be enough to break that fragile child completely. That was just not something he could allow. Or, even worse, bring him into his biological father's care and custody -- something Vlad was even less willing to allow.

It's not out of kindness to Wayne that Vlad will keep mum about this.

His grip on his champagne flute tightens, just a bit. He's still aware enough of the world around him to not let it shatter in his hands. His plastered, pleasant smile tightens around the corners, and he forces his focus to slide from Damian to Wayne.

"The resemblance is uncanny, Mister Wayne." He says, slanting his smile to the side slyly. Although he's not talking about the resemblance between Wayne and his son. Rage simmers beneath his skin, burning coal and embers in the core of his chest, nestled between his lungs, as he meets the man's eyes.

Wayne swaggles his head proudly, his ditzy smile widening as he squeezes his son's shoulder affectionately. Bastard, Vlad wants to spit.

He breathes in through his nose, and exhales out through his mouth. The champagne in his hand cools, and stops its unusual bubbling.

The Damian boy scoffs under his breath, his mouth still coiled upward into a scowl. With the revelation of his blood relation to Daniel evident, Vlad's not sure if he should find it endearing or not.

He is not Daniel, so he decides that it's just simply irritating. He decides to ignore it.

"And you said he was your only biological son?" He asks, voice lilting and head tilting. He knows its a suspicious question at worst, insulting at best. But considering Wayne's past proclivities, he can hardly call it an unexpected question.

Damian puffs in great offense, face twisting angrily. It reminds him of Daniel when Vlad insisted that he was wrong about something or other, and for a moment his heart swells, fond.

But this is not his child, and so the feeling quickly crashes and burns, simmering back into rage. This was not Daniel -- this was his replacement. A replacement that Wayne was free to keep.

Wayne chuckles, idiotically, as if he'd said some funny joke. Vlad's other hand, the one gripping his cane -- something he's required ever since he was dispatched from the hospital all those lonely years ago -- tightens instead. He grinds his teeth -- him and Jack Fenton would get along like a house on fire, he hates it.

"I can understand why you'd ask that, Mister Masters," Wayne says, squeezing Damian's shoulder again, "but yes, Damian is my only biological son. Although that doesn't mean I don't love my other children any less."

Bastard.

For all his posturing and flouncing about caring for his city and his children, Vlad never would have thought the Prince of Gotham capable of abandoning one of them.

But, well.

They all have their dark secrets.

And what one man throws away, another man picks up. If Bruce Wayne didn't want the treasure child that was Daniel Brown, then Vlad Masters was more than happy to take him instead.

"I see."

[jiminjamms]

sex therapy :: 30. breaking news

chapter tags/warnings: manipulative! naoya. physical aggression. verbal abuse (not to reader). infidelity/adultery. extremely strong language. corruption. family drama.

word count: 3.4k

notes: thank you again for your patience with the chapter! life update: i resigned from my company (on good terms, even though the work had sucked my mental and physical health), and i am soon doing a trip to japan and southeast asia as part of my recovery. still, i will be actively writing and responding since this community is so important to me! also, has anyone been keeping up with jujutsu kaisen's manga?! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

Life without a sugar daddy was rough.

As Toji Fushiguro's ex-wife and Naoya Zenin's ex-mistress, Mari faced this harsh reality since no one threw their money in her direction anymore. She slept little this past week, overwhelmed by financial stressors. While she still subsisted on the younger executive's credit card (with his fortune, Naoya hardly noticed the charges on his bill), she realized that she actually had to work for an income.

Such was the case as Mari walked home one evening after interviewing for jobs, her body and mind exhausted from fielding mundane questions about her previous professional experiences (which she had little of).

Upon unlocking her apartment door, she was immediately greeted by the sight of her illuminated living room.

That struck her as odd.

She always switched the lights off before she left.

However, when she spotted a familiar face down the hall, she found the answer.

"Tsumiki." Mari dropped her purse by the door. "What are you doing here?”

The woman had not seen her one and only blood-related child in months. While she knew that her daughter—who was, without doubt, a fantastically accomplished and intelligent young lady—just completed her second year at Oxford University, she thought the girl had chosen to remain in England for her summer break. Didn't Toji mention that she did not want to return to Tokyo?

Not that Mari complained. She was just...confused.

Admittedly, Mari should know the answer to her question, but she had been too ‘occupied’ to contact Tsumiki as much as a good mother should. As a result, Mari found herself in the dark about the girl's life in the United Kingdom, her plans for the university holiday, and her recent classes in…what was her field of study again?

Surely, Toji and his twerp son Megumi would know all the answers since Tsumiki had always been closer to her Fushiguro stepfamily. Quite a shame, since Mari would have considered her daughter as the most perfect angel otherwise.

She toed her shoes off.

“When did you arrive in Tokyo?” Mari continued with a plastered smile and approached the girl sitting with crossed arms in the living room.

Genetics ran deep between mother and daughter. Uninformed observers might even mistake the pair as sisters, the physical resemblance uncanny in how Tsumiki presented a more youthful version of the older woman by sharing the same warm chocolate-colored eyes, long dark hair, and flawless porcelain skin.

Yet, physical similarities meant nothing when Mari could not fully decipher her own flesh and blood.

“I came back to Japan earlier this week,” Tsumiki responded a terse edge in her tone.

“But I haven’t seen you until now.”

“Because I’ve been staying with Dad.”

“Oh.” So, she meant with Toji. “You mean your stepdad.”

“No,” she corrected sternly. “He's my dad.”

Theoretically, Mari could go into a whole tangent on how Tsumiki’s actual father was some middle-class nobody whom she hadn’t seen or spoken to since her first divorce (and that was many years ago). Or how the Fushiguros technically were Tsumiki’s ex-stepfamily since Mari had divorced her second husband Toji earlier this year.

But she spared her daughter from the reminders.

“Well, I’m glad to see you back, honey.” With a bottle of unfinished cabernet sauvignon in the fridge, Mari meandered to the kitchen to pour herself a full glass. She returned to living room and joined her daughter on the sofa. “How have you been? I’m guessing England has been treating you well? I have never been, so I wouldn’t know. Heard that the fish and chips are good there."

No response.

Am I being ignored? Mari commented inwardly and swirled the red wine in her chalice.

She took her first sip amid the long and awkward pause before switching the topic to encourage conversation. "Anyway, whenever you would like, you’re always welcome to stay a few nights here. Wouldn't hurt to spend some more time with your mother."

Only for Tsumiki to quip, “We’ve talked about this before. I don’t want to live with you.”

Now, this—Mari believed—was certainly uncalled for. "Watch your tone with me, young lady."

"For what? I am not here because I miss you," her daughter resumed. "If I had a better option, I would not bring myself to show up here and be in front of you."

The older woman placed her glass down and tried to appear calm. Hearing Tsumiki speak with such contempt twisted a deep knife into Mari's heart. Once upon a time, her daughter had been the sweetest girl—warm, full of life, and eager to express her innocent thoughts with anyone she encountered. Now, however, that same person had been tainted into someone cold, guarded, and withdrawn, demonstrated by her disrespect to the very woman who had given her life.

"That is no manner to talk to your mother," Mari cautioned.

"Well, maybe because I have my reasons."

"Which are?"

"Do you want to know why I did not bother to text or call you these past several months?" and Tsumiki did not wait for an answer before she angrily added, "Because I am so upset that you filed a divorce with Dad!"

While Mari had hoped to not bring up the topic before, she had no choice but to do so now.

"That big, burly, bulky man is not your father," she snapped. "He and his emo Harvard-bound son are not your family! In the eyes of the law, there is no longer any relation between you and them. But, I am your mother. I had given you life, and this is what you think of me?"

"Because I love them!" Tsumiki opposed through a hardened glare. "Dad and Megumi treat me more like their blood-related family than you do!”

Mari could not believe the preposterous words her daughter spewed. She always presumed that the Fushiguros had been corrupting her child, and to see her suspicions confirmed had Mari standing up promptly from the couch.

"How dare you say after all I have done for you, Tsumiki?" Mari interrogated angrily. "Did you think that I left your biological father and then divorced your stepfather for what...for fun?! These choices were difficult for me, too! But I made those judgments because I wanted to give you a better life in which we didn't have to worry about where our next meal, our next piece of clothing, or our next rent payment would come from! Your biological father is a no-name nothing. He could’ve never supported the lavish lifestyle you had experienced during your adolescent years. In fact, if I hadn’t married Toji Fushiguro, you probably wouldn't be studying at the University of Oxford right now! I, alone, could never have afforded all your years of expensive tutors or private school tuition. Please, think before you speak. I know I did not raise an ungrateful brat.”

Tsumiki furrowed her brows from the comments.

“You're the ungrateful one, Mom!” she insisted, and the said woman visibly reeled back when the girl continued to seethe with antipathy. “All the money that you had spent while married to Dad, he never asked for a single cent back. Never. In fact, he still pays for my university. In his eyes and mine, I’m as good as any blood-related child to him. He hadn't asked you to chip in because he knows you wouldn't have the money to. Divorcing the man you've been leeching off of isn't a sign of appreciation, Mom."

To hear her child defend another family, Mari wasn’t sure if she was going to laugh or cry at how ridiculous this scene was, the only thing she could process being the pain and betrayal that slammed her with one bitter blow.

"Well, did you want to become a laughingstock?" the woman rationalized. "Given our ties to the Zenin name when Toji left the company, those nasty journalists would've clung onto any scrap to label you a buffoon. You know what those tabloid writers are like! I had the foresight to divorce that man. I did not want the disgrace if we remained attached to the Fushiguros."

After that response, Tsumiki turned quiet with one sharp exhale as her eyes snapped shut, and Mari, whose entire body had undulated from heavy and irate breaths, thought that finally—finally—she had won this godforsaken argument.

Until she heard the younger girl speak again.

"Yet, you have humiliated me more than anyone," and noticing how her mother quirked a brow, Tsumiki went on. "Who are you really trying to protect, Mom? Are you truly making these decisions for my benefit? Or is it...for yourself?"

Despite hiding a gulp, the older woman noticed her heart race. "What do you mean?"

"How can you explain this?"

As though that was her cue, Tsumiki reached for her phone. She tapped onto the front page of the Yomiuri Shimbun, the most highly circulated newspaper in Japan. Before Mari could read the bold title labeled as 'Breaking News,' Tsumiki provided her with a verbal summary:

"The world knows you're a homewrecker, Mom."

Naoya found no surprise when Naobito Zenin burst into his executive suite as an angry bull would charge toward a provoking cape.

Plenty of times, his father barged into his private office completely unannounced, slamming the door open with enough force to rattle the wooden bookshelves behind him. Usually, the dramatic entrance would be followed by a slew of harsh admonitions, and this encounter—Naoya could tell—would be no different.

The astringency cast on his father's countenance gave the executive no other choice than to rise from his seat, his office chair sliding back so he could pose tall and confident as the heir to Japan's largest conglomerate should be.

"Father," he greeted, curt.

Taking hurried steps around his mahogany desk, Naoya aimed to meet the older man halfway until he instead came into contact with one harsh blow that sent his face flogging to the side.

Naoya froze, his gaze lowered.

Instinctively, he reached for his throbbing cheek with one hand as the other wiped briefly over his busted upper lip. To have his father approach him physically like this didn't even register as a surprise. Despite his title as the Zenin CEO, Naoya continued to be scolded, lectured, and outright ignored because, in his father's words, he 'never seemed to get anything right.'

Even now, the older man found no hesitation in cursing out his only child.

"You fucking son of a whore! Want to explain why your affair with Toji's ex-wife is all over Japanese media?!"

Slowly, Naoya lifted his eyes from the floor. He had suspected that this would be the topic of discussion. In the last hour, Naoya saw his name plastered over tabloid pages, news websites, and social media feeds as an anonymous whistleblower tipped publishers in regards to his scandalous affair with Mari—and the millions Naoya spent to hide it. Evidence ranging from supposedly long-gone paparazzi photos to screenshots of money transfers circulated quickly with the internet.

Naturally, Naoya had seen the headlines too...

'Zenin Corporation CEO Exposed for Concealing Affair with Predecessor's Ex-Wife' 'Everything to Know About the Zenin Household's Uncovered Drama in Family, Business, and Love' 'Billionaire Naoya Zenin Entangled in Cheating Scandal, Accused of Bribing Press to Silence Coverage'

...and the comments:

'That’s why you can’t trust rich people. They never have any shame.' 'His wife and company deserve better.' 'Disappointed that this is the scumbag leading our country's largest company.' 'The Board should fire him.’

Now, that last comment struck a very particular chord, especially since the Chairman of that very Board stood before him.

Naoya clenched his hands, yet he stood mute. With every wrong move certain to cost him far too much in return, he was completely powerless in front of the family patriarch and, as a result, his first logical reaction was to defend himself.

"I do not have the evidence yet, but I am certain Toji had planned this, Father. Him, and also Sukuna, Geto, and Choso. All four leaked these details because they didn’t want to see your son succeed. I will resolve this. I am going to call Toji immediately and—“

"You're right," Naobito interrupted coldly. "If Toji had still been CEO today, he would've made sure that none of this bullshit would’ve happened.”

Naoya widened his eyes in bewilderment, not anticipating his father to twist his logic like that. He already received a literal slap across his face, but to realize that Naobito still compared him to his older cousin all these months later drove him insane!

"No, Father. What I meant was—"

"Oh, there is no need to correct me. I know what you meant," Naobito tested in a low voice. "What I gathered from this conversation is that I have given you a million chances in life, and you know what? You blew every single one of them. You're an asshole, you're a cheater, and you're a complete humiliation. I can always count on you to paint me as a failed father."

Outrageous.

With the bitter staring contest between father and son, the latter boiled internally listening to the insults from the man who sired him. For the ruthless Naobito Zenin, Naoya meant no value as an heir without the ability to achieve his high standards. 

"Some twisted brain you have for sleeping with your cousin's ex-spouse,” Naobito then chided, yet amusement remained absent in his tone. “Was that the low-class tramp I saw in the photos with you on the private jet the other day?"

The blonde kept his mouth shut.

But his father wanted an answer. "Well?!"

Suck it in, Naoya. That's all you can do now. "Yes."

What a sight, to see how someone blazing as a furious flame then erupt into a violent volcano. Naobito grabbed his son's collar, pulling him forward and shoving him against the wall. His fists shook as he sought the other's gaze.

"You're fucking married, you realize that?!" he snarled.

"I do! Which is why I have cut Mari from my life! I don't talk to that woman anymore."

Unimpressed, Naobito tugged forcefully at Naoya's shirt again. "I am truly astonished by what an idiot you are. Your answer doesn't change shit." He tightened his grip and did not care that his son wrapped both hands around his wrist to prevent himself from choking. "Let me tell you something, boy. I did everything—everything—to convince our Chief Operating Officer to let his treasured daughter marry you, you despicable bastard. He didn't want to hand the girl over because he knew—oh, that man is wise!—he knew that the union mainly served as a tactic to improve your public image and that there was little obvious benefit for his child. Power and money did not interest him when compared to his daughter, so the one promise I made is that you would love her," and he roared, "so, what the hell have you done?!"

Naoya had heard his father’s warnings countless times, yet he previously brushed each one aside with an ambivalence he now acknowledged as foolish. Unlike before, the threat to his hard-earned position suddenly became very, verypalpable. He grappled with a strange fear, unable to pinpoint what precisely unsettled him the most. The scorn from a world that no longer saw him as an honest businessman? The sneers from relatives with an undeniable reason to mock him? Or perhaps the fury from his draconian father, whose disappointment cut deeper than any public disgrace?

"I—" Naoya's choked voice resembled a croak. He could hardly breathe. "I apologize. This entire situation...this got out of my control."

Alongside his callous disregard for his son’s feelings, the Zenin patriarch even scoffed.

"This isn’t about getting out of your control, boy. This is about your complete lack of judgment. In fact, Daisuke called me when he saw the headlines, and you know what he told me?" and he had to refrain from flinging his son onto the ground before he continued, "That Y/N's been staying in her family residence again because she is going to leave you!"

Naoya held his next breath. Fuck, he knows. Naoya intended to keep his recent arguments with you a secret, hoping to resolve the situation first. However, since your father snitched...lying would be a dangerous move.

"I have not seen Y/N in a week because we've had a few fights." Naoya did not dare admit the details about how you two became arguing spectacles, first in his cousins' presence and later on at the café. "Just...marriage quarrels. We will get over—"

“She would be a moron to stay married to you,” Naobito cut off. "Y/N and your unborn child deserve more than to have a public disgrace like you in the household."

Right. Had he not been reminded, Naoya would've forgotten that he had lied to his father about your pregnancy, too. His hands grew clammy where they still seized his father’s wrist.

“There"—a cough—"there is no child,” Naoya blurted out, determining to rip all bandaids off in one go.

Naturally, his father became perplexed.

“Excuse me?” His hold loosened just enough for Naoya to gasp properly for his next breath.

“Y/N is not pregnant,” Naoya repeated, his voice hollow with resignation. “During our last family dinner, I only said that because I wanted to please you.”

The older Zenin became still, appalled by the younger one's bravery to say those words. For a moment, Naoya braced himself for another physical blow before his father released him, shoving Naoya backward such that he stumbled.

“If you weren’t so disappointing, there would be no need for you to lie to me,” Naobito pointed out coldly. "Not only to me, but also your wife, your colleagues, and your shareholders on matters about your family, your marriage, or your commitment to the company. If Toji had not brought this to the media's attention, how much longer would you have manipulated the truth for your benefit?"

There he went again.

"I don't understand," Naoya protested, unable to contain his frustration any longer. "Toji doesn't belong in this family anymore! Why do you keep talking about him? Father, you forced him to leave earlier this year, citing his threat to our family and company's reputation."

"You're the one to talk!" Naobito shot back. "At least Toji has the brain that you utterly lack." Before the younger man could react, the Chairman had already turned on his heel. "I have made my decision."

His decision?

A confused Naoya watched his father head for the exit.

"Wait, Father...!"

"Enough!" The infuriated man raised a hand right as he neared the door, a warning for him to not speak further. "Our discussion has concluded. Effective immediately, Toji Fushiguro has been re-instated as the Zenin Heir and CEO."

Instantly, Naoya slumped forward in disbelief.

Even as the older man disappeared, the room appeared to spin dangerously. Toji Fushiguro...re-instated? As the heir and CEO?

Naobito Zenin could never make up his mind, now could he? In Naoya's head, this must be some cruel joke.

Ever since he comprehended his ability to bend fate to his will, he had promised himself to fight tooth and nail to defend the (very rightful!) position that he worked hard to earn. He had disposed of his cousin through slander, he had to put up with shitty corporate politics, and, hell, he had to even marry you!

Some may label Naoya's current negative publicity as irredeemable, but he held hope the situation would normalize once the steam blew over.

With these thoughts in mind, Naoya regained his balance and rushed out as well. "Father!"

However, by the time he reached beyond the doors, Naobito Zenin was no longer there. Even his secretary could not be found as, instead, two imposing figures stood by the desk where his assistant should be. Naoya didn't recognize them. The men were tall and well-built, their muscled arms and thighs visible despite the fabric that covered their tattooed skin.

"Nice to meet you," one started after the long silence. "I am Eso and this is my younger brother Kechizu."

A stumped Naoya frowned.

"May...I help you?"

"No," the other answered nonchalantly, "because we are here to knock you out."

"Wha—"

And Naoya's vision went dark.

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: Note that Eso and Kechizu are Choso's younger brothers in JJK. (Both are not completely human in canonverse, but we shall suspend beliefs.) Also, I cannot explain the satisfaction as I wrote about Naoya and his mistress finally getting wrecked! Talk about justice being served! There were many ways these scenes could have played out, but I strategically chose Tsumiki and Naobito as the agents in the discussions. Freed from corporate America handcuffs, I plan to post again soon. Love you all!

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[otterloreart]

MLP-Takara generations: a design experiment

Takara MLPs are considered generation 1 My Little Pony; the original ponies look like little horses and the takaras are obviously very different.

But the standard MLP toyline underwent a lot of changes throughout the years... so, if the takaras had been successful, what would their changes look like?

Generation 1 year 2+ takaras.

Year one MLP was only a few ponies with a single color of body + matching hair... just like the takaras. It was year 2 that they introduced unicorns. pegasus, and seaponies.

You all know I've already been concepting these so it's not surprising at all. As MLP g1 went on, they ended up doing more and more gimmicks throughout the 80s which would also be kind of fun to see the takaras do... (hint hint if you want me to draw those lmk which gimmicks are your favorites)

I also think they should bring in markings like the normal ponies but that could be part of the gimmicks. Maybe on their cheeks, or on their bellies like care bears?

In the later years og MLP also had a lot of variations on the normal pony body type, so maybe you could also see the takaras with that kind of variant, so that might be cute:

Moving on!

Generation 2

If you aren't big into early gen My Little Pony you might not know that generation 2 didn't do very well; it was a reboot of a beloved franchise, it was new, and different, and all that jazz:

Main differences between them and g1: first, you can see they have a very late G1-type body, which is why I pointed out the thinner pony in g1. Their face is less detailed and rounder, but they have a little more expression, very smiley.

Their ears have a more horse-y curled in shape, they have fur around their hooves (in g1 only the boy ponies had hoof floof), and they have a gem in their eye.

Also they had a lot more moving-leg gimmicks where you could push one part of their body and another would move (eg push tail -> bobs head)

So you may ask, how am I could to g2-ify the takaras? After all, they are already much rounder than the g1 ponies. Well, I'm not going to make them just *look like* the g2 ponies, although I'll borrow more elements.

Instead: I am going to take and exaggerate all of the differences that I listed above and see what we come up with.

So! Here is my idea for g2 takara pony. I feel like its the exact balance of very cute and something that would upset collectors familiar with the original takaras, just as g2 upset the g1 fans.

First off, she's thinner, the iconic takara nose is removed in favor of a sculpt with a smiling mouth, the legs are more horse shaped with fluff and human fingers to match the additional foot detail. a lot of people find the g2s a little "uncanny" so I feel like this works.

The sparkley eye gem and ear shape are just straight off the original g2s, just to have extra gimmick to it (also the og takaras basically had the g1 ears)

g2 came out in the late 90s so I like to imagine the pony eyes would be extra shoujo too

Finally, a ball jointed head for more flexibility. (yes the arm would be posed like that in the doll, because its a more dynamic pose, and we can also assume that the larger size allows the doll to have a joint with more flexibility)

g2 had pretty similar gimmicks to g1 but also had some light up ponies, so maybe the takaras could have some with that gimmick too

fun fact, g2 MLP was sold for a longer time in Europe and performed better there.

Generation 3

Generation 3 ponies are a pretty clear return to g1 MLP style, kinda scrapping most of the changes g2 made, other than proportionally thinning out the ponies a bit.

g3 ponies have very similar face sculpts with bigger eyes, nearly the same legs, and their heads just a bit bigger in proportion to their body

They do remind me a lot of the g1 Petite ponies, which were 1 inch sculptures that also had those proportionally bigger eyes and chunkier legs.

I have here included the g1 so you can see the slight changes better! I think the main difference would be the g3 takara would be a lot rounder, smoother, and cutesy-er. While the original has the hello-kitty simple cute look, the g3 version would definitely have like eyelashes and big eyes.

The only other thing to note about the body is some bigger ears, a generally rounder face, and round feet.

There weren't many gimmicks super /unique/ to g3 but one I wanted to highlight was the Breezies. G1 did have the flutter ponys, which were ponies with butterfly/dragonfly type wings, but the breezies are like their own little species AND they have antennae. While the flutter ponies were sort of graceful and thinner than the other ponies, the breezies are like little chibi-er ponies.

A little bit Littlest Pet Shop-core, since its the early 2000s too.

SPEAKING OF

Generation 4 Generation 3.5

Before there was gen4 there was a subset of Gen3 ponies with a different and unique style. They were basically an exaggerated version of the Breezies with even bigger feet and tinier snouts. They are also VERY littlest-pet-shop-core.

So, pretty straightforward changes

Just an even more chibi, kid-ish style pony. I think the g3.5 ponies were even meant to be kids. So this is just an even more child-friendly, littlest pet shop type horsey.

Generation 4

So, obviously generation 4 ushered in a whole new era of My Little Pony with its unique and bright artstyle, which did need to transfer over to the ponies

Personally, while I love g4 in a lot of ways im not a fan of the toys in the same way I am the other generations, their little noses have shrunk to specks, they're skinnier and more big-eyed than ever. Well, g3.5 was pretty big-eyed but at least those ones were like little kids.

This is such a drastic shift from g1/g3 and even g4, I would be unsure about the takaras.

So: eyes, bigger. Snout, so tiny and so smooth. Ears, bigger. Hooves are flatter and parts of the legs are just kinda featureless. a longer neck. They released a decent amount of ponies with plastic hair this gen, too.

I was struggling to come up with a doll for this one, but I finally realized I was doing it backwards. The thing that makes g4 stand out, I think, is the fact it was fundamentally designed opposite from g1. Lauren Faust, an animator, designed the ponies and the toys had to be designed around her art.

So the primary difference was considering what a tv show- a tv show concieved in the 2000s and airing in 2010s- and I did look into some kids properties from that time period as I was designing

I think these Strawberry shortcake dolls are really close to the concept I'd want for a early 2010s mirror of MLP g4. So basically these toys but more anthro.

I ended up making a 3D mockup so I'd be able to plan the different angles and keep them consistent.

The eyes are kind of far apart but I think thats true of the g4 pony toys as well. Again, because of the way the g4 show was stylized as animation, there was sort of cheating with the anatomy, especially on the face.

Generation 4.5

Gen 4.5 was a spinoff of gen4, just like gen3 had 3.5 where the ponies are more chibi. More big eyes with even bigger ears and a face like... a cats? instead of a horse. Hoof fluff again.

I think this nailed the style without being as much of an outright copy. The bendy arms with fingers seem so silly but also I think that matches the vibe/artstyle.

G4.5 don't look like horses to me really at all though, they're like cats with hooves. Out of all of them we've seen so far they're suffering the most from "predator eyes" where they've gone so far as to make their eyes just face forward.

Generation 5

Generation 5 premiered with a CGI movie, so the toys that would be released are fairly on model with their movie selves except for the fact their heads are smack dab in the middle of their neck which i find extremely unsettling and dislike

We've gone full "predator eyes" (no the predator eyes thing doesnt 100% biologically hold up but I find them freaky and I get to say it) AND full human eyebrows stenciled in like a makeup vlogger in the same color as the hair.

The ears are back to cup shaped (more horselike) but again the face is round with a little muzzle (more catlike). The hooves have really detailed feathering on the legs. Otherwise the body is mostly just structured like the g4 body (except a bit longer) just with more specific horse details.

These continued the trend of having a lot more articulated versions with moving legs as well. I think given that most dolls these days have articulated elbows and knees, it is reasonable to expect the takara g5 dolls would too.

Again, I made a 3D model so I could keep it consistent from various angles.

ta-daaaa heres my takara pony generations 1-5 lineup! Tell me which youuuuur favorite are. if you want.

[sillydestiny]

Hello haruhi! I'm new to your blog but I absolutely love your posts! My fav is the cale henituse fic "losing you" 😭

Seeing as your requests are open I was thinking if I could request a pinning! cale x f!reader. I don't know how much info/detail I should put into this but I had something around the idea of him just realizing he's in love with the reader with her being his closest confidant and always taking care of him and making sure he's alright! Maybe something cute and fluffy? A dash of angst if you feel like it?

I hope you have a wonderful day/evening/night!🤗

Blossoms of the Heart

Cale Henituse x Reader

2.2k words / fluff

The plaza terror incident had left chaos in its wake, but amidst the panic, Cale found an unexpected ally. As the boomers threatened to wreak havoc, a mysterious figure, concealed in a hood, used magic to shield the three boomers from causing further damage. Raon, the magical being accompanying Cale, was quick to sense this assistance.

"Human, human, there's also someone casting another magic! It's a magic barrier!" Raon's words echoed in Cale's mind, stirring his curiosity and concern.

With the information from Raon, Cale's mind raced

Who?

As the boomers were finally safe, Cale found himself coughing up blood, a sight that alarmed those around him. Unfazed, he assured them he was fine, typical of his nonchalant attitude towards his own well-being. Raon continued to communicate with Cale, revealing the figure who had aided them—a person who wore a hood that concealed their identity.

Cale's gaze swept the crowd as Raon's words lingered in his mind. Then, he spotted a figure, shrouded in a hood. A powerful gust of wind suddenly blew, causing the hood to fall, revealing a person of surprising strength and beauty. Cale, who rarely cared about appearances, couldn't help but notice the figure's attractiveness – pale skin, silky hair – a beauty that stood out even in the midst of chaos.

Raon, too, sensed the identity of the helper. "Human, that's him! That's the one who helped us earlier," Raon exclaimed in Cale's mind.

However, the mysterious figure swiftly retreated, as if aware of Cale's gaze. The fleeting encounter left Cale intrigued, and he turned his attention back to Taylor and the others who were still in a state of panic.

In a silent exchange with Choi Han, Cale conveyed his intention for Choi Han to investigate the mysterious helper. As Choi Han left to follow the figure, Cale couldn't shake the feeling that the person knew something crucial about the situation

-------

Later, after Choi Han successfully caught up with you, Cale finally had the opportunity to speak with you. The conversation unfolded, revealing that you, too, were in a similar situation—a transmigrator who fell asleep while reading a novel and woke up in this bewildering world.

Your words struck a chord with Cale as you explained, "Would you believe me if I said that I know because I read it in a novel before waking up here?" The revelation resonated deeply with Cale, who had experienced a similar phenomenon himself.

The air between Cale and the reader crackled with the weight of their shared experiences. Cale, contemplating the newfound revelation of another transmigrator, felt a strange connection forming between them. The realization that Kim Rok Soo, the man inhabiting Cale's body in another world, might be experiencing the same disorienting journey struck Cale with an uncanny sense of solidarity.

Amidst the conversation, Cale couldn't help but be intrigued by the dreams each harbored. When he asked the reader about their aspirations, the answer echoed with a simple desire for a normal and peaceful life. Cale, usually a proponent of a slacker lifestyle, found himself drawn to the similarities in their dreams.

As the reader calmly expressed their wish for a tranquil existence, Cale's mind raced with thoughts. He saw an opportunity, a mutually beneficial arrangement that could aid them both in navigating the challenges of this new world. Cale proposed a deal, the terms of which would be set by him, and the reader, composed and sipping tea, listened intently.

"What kind of deal?" the reader inquired, setting down their tea with a focused gaze.

Cale, his face stoic, laid out the terms. "You will be by my side in any situation that includes the plot."

The reader, adjusting their hair, responded with a calm acceptance, but with a condition of their own. "The terms of the deal can be set by you. I want one thing."

Cale, intrigued, asked, "What do you want in exchange?"

The reader's answer was simple yet profound. "Money."

Cale agreed to the deal without hesitation, recognizing the reader's strength in using magic. "You will accompany me, and in return, you'll receive financial support."

Little did he know that the reader, while reading "Birth of a Hero," had also delved into another novel— "The Trash of the Count's Family," featuring the main character, Cale Henituse. The reader kept this information to themselves, 

The reader kept this information to herself, knowing that revealing it might stir unintended consequences. Cale, after all, had strong opinions about being a main character, and she wasn't ready to disrupt the narrative in such a fundamental way.

As the deal was solidified, the reader couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions. While she had desired a normal and peaceful life, the impending wars and conflicts on the horizon threatened to shatter that dream. With a sigh, she accepted the reality that her life in this new world would be more chaotic than anticipated.

"Well, I guess my life will be more chaotic as usual,"

Months and years had passed since the peculiar alliance between Cale Henituse and the reader began. Over this time, the reader had seamlessly integrated into Cale's world, becoming an unwavering presence by his side, supporting him in his endeavors and contributing her strategic acumen to their shared plans. The initial transactional nature of their partnership had evolved into a genuine camaraderie.

Within the past month, the reader had not only proven herself as a reliable ally but had also formed close bonds with Choi Han, Lock, and especially Rosalyn. The shared affinity for magic had quickly united the reader and Rosalyn, leading to collaborative experiments and the exchange of ideas. Their friendship grew rapidly, becoming a testament to the connections forged in the midst of their shared adventures.

A remarkable development occurred in the reader's relationship with the children—Hong, On, and Raon. At first, the trauma they carried made it difficult for them to approach the reader. However, displaying an understanding heart, the reader patiently broke through those barriers. Over time, she became a motherly figure to them, offering midnight snacks, gentle pets, and unwavering care. The children, once distant, now adored her, finding joy in just catching a glimpse of her figure.

While the reader's interactions with Cale were primarily bound by the terms of their agreement, a subtle undercurrent of something deeper began to flow. Cale, ever the pragmatic strategist, valued the reader for her calm demeanor and insightful contributions. As their alliance unfolded, he couldn't help but acknowledge the reliability and resourcefulness she brought to the table.

During moments of peril, when Cale overexerted his ancient power, the reader's concern for him was palpable. Despite knowing about the Vitality of the Heart that kept Cale safe, her worry was genuine, and Cale, in his own way, appreciated the sentiment.

Cale saw you as reliable ally you always calm and strategic mind when giving a plan or opinion to his plan and conaidering both of similar situation waking up to this world because of novel

interactions often revolved around shared goals and common enemies, where the reader's strategic mind proved invaluable to Cale's schemes. As plans unfolded and dangers loomed, Cale couldn't help but appreciate the reader's intellect and resourcefulness. Yet, amidst the chaos, the thought of a deeper connection lingered in the background, unnoticed by both parties.

Cale trust you.

As the months passed, a subtle transformation took hold of Cale Henituse, a man known for his nonchalant demeanor. Emotions, once foreign to him, began to bloom in the quiet corners of his heart. It was a strange yet exhilarating experience, one that he couldn't quite put into words. The presence of the reader seemed to be the catalyst, stirring a spectrum of feelings within him.

There were moments when Cale couldn't escape the fluttering sensation in his chest, especially when met with the warmth of your smile or the melodious notes of your laughter. The concern mirrored in your eyes during his darker hours resonated deeply with him. The reader, unbeknownst to themselves, had become more than just an ally; they were Cale's closest confidant, a pillar of support in the unpredictable landscape of his tumultuous life.

In the quieter moments, Cale found himself drawn to the reader's presence. There was an unspoken understanding, a connection that transcended the need for words. The reader possessed an innate ability to read him, to sense his unspoken thoughts and emotions. Their reassuring presence became a balm for his troubled soul.

Stolen glances became a regular occurrence, moments when Cale's gaze lingered a beat longer than usual, absorbing the details of your presence. The well-practiced facade of indifference crumbled during these stolen moments, revealing a softness that betrayed the depth of his emotions. Cale couldn't deny the warmth that enveloped him whenever you were around. It went beyond friendship, evolving into something deeper that he hadn't allowed himself to acknowledge until now.

Choi Han, Rosalyn, Ron, Raon, and the rest of the group began to notice the subtle changes in Cale's behavior. Choi Han, always observant, caught onto the small gestures first. Thoughtful gifts and considerate gestures, once foreign to Cale, became a silent expression of affection. Trinkets were discreetly slipped into the reader's possession, each one a carefully chosen token of his feelings.

Raon, Hong, and On, with their keen perception, also picked up on the shifts. They noticed the softening of Cale's eyes whenever the reader smiled, and the three little creatures couldn't help but share knowing glances amongst themselves.

The rest of the group observed the transformation in Cale's body language. Casual touches and lingering glances, the unconscious following of the reader's movements in a crowded room — all spoke volumes. Even Hans, the ever-discerning butler, couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the newfound tenderness in Cale's interactions.

However, amidst all these observations and changes in Cale, the reader remained oblivious to the subtle transformation. The reader, focused on supporting Cale and navigating the challenges they faced, was unaware of the storm of emotions brewing in the young master's heart

Days later, Cale became aware of his feelings.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm golden hue across the expansive field. Flowers of various colors swayed gently in the evening breeze, their petals catching the last rays of sunlight. Cale Henituse and the reader found themselves on the outskirts of a quaint meadow, a tranquil haven away from the chaos of their unpredictable world.

Amidst the blossoms, the reader stood, captivated by a particularly exquisite flower. Their eyes traced the delicate petals, and a soft smile played on their lips. Cale, a silent observer, leaned against a nearby tree, watching the scene unfold. The ethereal quality of the moment seemed to amplify the connection between them, as if the universe conspired to create a canvas for emotions to unfurl.

There was a tender intimacy in the way the reader's fingers delicately brushed against the petals, in the way their eyes reflected admiration for the beauty before them. It was a snapshot of serenity, a moment that seemed to freeze in time, capturing the essence of something deeper.

Cale's gaze lingered on the reader, and in that stillness, realization dawned upon him like the first light of dawn. The way his heart fluttered as he observed the reader, the warmth that spread through his chest—it was more than admiration. It was a profound acknowledgment that the person before him had become an irreplaceable part of his world.

The subtle breeze rustled the leaves, and as the reader turned to meet Cale's gaze, there was a moment of unspoken understanding. Their eyes held a shared secret, a connection that transcended words. Cale, usually adept at navigating the complexities of life, found himself at a loss for how to articulate the emotions swirling within him.

As the reader approached, a question lingering in their eyes, Cale hesitated. The vulnerability of the moment gripped him, and for the first time, he struggled to find the right words. Yet, the truth hung in the air, unspoken but palpable, like the fragrance of the flowers around them.

"You have a way with flowers," Cale finally spoke, his voice softer than usual. It was a diversion, a subtle acknowledgment of the beauty before them and the emotions that danced in the spaces between their words.

The reader, attuned to the shift in the atmosphere, smiled knowingly. "Nature has its own way of expressing beauty," they replied, their gaze meeting Cale's with a warmth that mirrored the setting sun.

Cale, known for his pragmatic approach to life, found himself grappling with newfound emotions that defied logic. The term "love" had always been an enigma to him, a concept best left to the poets and dreamers. Yet, here he was, standing in a meadow as the realization dawned—the person who had once been a strategic ally had become the linchpin of his world.

Love had taken root in his heart, a delicate bloom that unfolded in the quiet moments amidst nature's beauty. The stoic facade that had defined Cale for so long began to crack, revealing a vulnerability that mirrored the fragile petals surrounding them. As the sun dipped lower, casting a warm glow over the meadow, Cale's heart echoed with the unspoken truth—he was in love.

"Hello Nacrise! Thank you for your request; I really appreciate it! I apologize for taking so long, as my mind was blank, and I couldn't fully think about the scenario I wanted. Thankfully, I've managed to finish it, and I hope you like it! if i have time i can make a part 2 of this!

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Illumi Zoldyck General Profile

Yandere! Illumi Zoldyck x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, stalking, non-con, breaking and entering, slight somnophilia, misogynistic undertones, traditional gender roles, mentions of forced breeding/forced motherhood, murder, violence, lots of descriptions of killing methodologies, slight mentions of self induced wounds, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 11K

DARLING PROFILE:

Gentle

It takes Illumi a long time to develop feelings for his darling for a multitude of reasons.

Emotional unavailability, high expectations, and disinterest, just to name a few, and while he isn’t actively searching for a partner, there are a few base requirements he knows his future partner must meet.

Strong, intelligent, hard working, everything desirable that he knows both he and his family would approve of.

But once he meets his darling, his interest slightly peaked in them, that list begins changing slightly.

Because while the feelings are slow to solidify, Illumi notices quickly that his darling is so, so painfully averse to being harsh.

They’re not confrontational, treat others with a level of attentiveness and care that initially makes him scoff, and he doesn’t think he’s once seem them ever lose control of themselves and explode.

It’s uncanny, unnatural, as far as Illumi is concerned, and yet it’s fascinating. He slowly grows to admire this trait in his darling, how they can be so unconditionally soft with everything and everyone around them, eventually finding himself more and more attracted to them with every kind deed they do. It makes them weak, easy to manipulate, easy to kill, but Illumi finds it oddly endearing.

He’s always firmly believed that mothers should be nurturing to their children, to help them grow and shape them into the best versions of themselves possible, and while they’re opposite to his mother in many ways, maybe that gentility they possess is a the perfect thing needed.

Once he’s decided that his darling is his future wife, he’s immediately moving to experience this kindness for himself.

He comes back from missions with a little more blood and bruising than was necessary, but the way his darling gasps and quickly grabs the medical kit makes Illumi blink in wide fascination, unsure what drives them to eagerly spring into action but more than ready to feel their soft touch.

(They don’t need to know that Illumi allowed the target to get a few more hits in than necessary, just to keep them fawning over him as long as possible, or that he had to refuse ten different medical personnel in the mansion before making it to their shared ‘bedroom’.)

He likes the juxtaposition between his darling and him, and while it occasionally irritates him that they’re so soft and weak, it’s more endearing than anything else – just don’t be soft with anyone else but him, yes?

Smart

Illumi may be morally misguided, but the man is intelligent. He knows more about the human body than many doctors, and is skilled beyond belief in the art of combat and stealth.

He understands the best ways to go about gathering intel on a target without being traced or caught, and is able to apply that knowledge to set up traps correlating to his employers’ requests.

And this is a trait he’s simply unwilling to compromise when it comes to a partner – they must be able to keep up with him mentally.

They don’t need to have the same kind of intelligence as him, but the ability to critically think and quickly understand is a necessity. Illumi has very little patience for stupidity, and the thought of spending time with someone who doesn’t understand most of what he says is irritating.

And so, once his feelings for his darling begin appearing, Illumi is putting them through a small series of tests to make sure they live up to his expectations. It’s nothing too intense, nothing he wouldn’t be able to do himself.

He’s leaving extra clues that he’s been in his darling’s apartment – clumsy signs that he’d never normally leave, in the hopes that they’ll realize they’ve had an unwanted guest.

Cabinets are left ajar, their bed slightly unmade, though the thing that really clues them in is the presence of long, dark locks of hair around their apartment that they know aren’t theirs.

They’d never leave hair on the kitchen table; they’d see it and remove it, mildly disgusted. And yet, here three locks lay, making them a bit paranoid as they call the police.

Illumi intercepts the call, making sure it never rings through, but he’s still proud of his darling, satisfaction pooling in his chest because he just knew they’d pick up on it.

He likes knowing his darling is competent, and that their future children will be so too – the next Zoldyck heirs can’t be clueless, after all.

Generous

In general, Illumi isn’t particularly selfish with those he holds dear.

With the exception of Killua, Illumi has always willingly done as he’s been told.

He’s never demanded much from his parents, never insisting on material goods. He’s never felt cheated out of anything, either – his parents have molded him into the perfect assassin, and he couldn’t be more grateful for the rigor and training he received as a child.

And yet, once his darling enters his life, Illumi finds himself feeling strangely overwhelmed. They always seem to be giving things away – their time, bits of food they’ve cooked, their love, other things material and not alike.

It confuses Illumi; it makes him wonder why they’re wasting their resources on people they don’t know well, on those who likely wouldn’t reciprocate.

It’s a mystery, and frankly he finds his darling to be foolish for it – until one day it’s focused at him.

Illumi can’t comprehend why his darling is willingly giving away a bit of their time when they encounters him – in another body – disguised as a homeless man begging for change.

There’s a pitied look in their eye as they hand him the bills – two dollars, just what they had in change and could afford to give away – and tells him there’s a gas station nearby with cheap snacks he can eat.

Illumi just stares at them, not understanding why they’re helping, and soon he’s asking just that.

They startle and awkwardly laugh, telling him it’s because they don’t like seeing others in need, and they were only planning on spending that money to buy junk foods for themselves, anyways.

Illumi blinks, but his darling is soon speed walking away, the interaction feeling strange and uncomfortable.

Illumi still doesn’t understand, but it becomes another one of the facets of his darling that he simply learns to enjoy.

He yearns to understand what compels them to put others before themselves (something that yet again irritates him a bit), but he finds that the more he interacts with them, the more he enjoys being the recipient of it.

He’s finally receiving a bit of love and support that isn’t forced from his parents, and he quickly grows addicted.

Enjoys children 

The reality of the situation is that as Illumi’s darling, they will be forced to interact with children whether they want to or not.

Namely, their own.

Having a family with him is not optional, and Illumi will never present it as such – once he decides his darling is to be his partner, they automatically become his future wife, the future mother of his children.

He cannot be swayed, regardless of what his darling wants.

However, while it’s still possible for him to grow obsessed with a darling who isn’t especially fond of kids, it’s much more likely that he grows attracted to the ease with which they’re able to communicate with them.

He likes the way they get so happy when a child walks up to them, how they’re immediately squatting down and smiling, playing hide and seek with their own face as the child giggles and beams.

He never knew that sort of innocent and sweet interaction when he himself was a child, but he doesn’t view it as a bad thing if his darling is able to make a child happy.

It’ll only benefit them as parents – it’ll help strengthen the bond, and make their children more malleable and receptive to their guidance.

Besides, there’s something about seeing his darling next to a baby that makes his skin feel hot, eyes blowing wide and his trousers tightening.

The image just looks so right, so natural and perfect that Illumi has to hold himself back from bending them over and fucking them right then and there.

Talent with children is an incredibly attractive trait for Illumi, and likely it's the final nail in the coffin that seals his obsession with his darling – one giggling toddler is all that’s needed to seal their fate.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Stalker

More than anything, stalking you is the only method of ‘interaction’ with you that Illumi feels truly comfortable with.

He knows how to stay invisible; tracking others is easy, as is staying in the shadows and keeping that wide, unnaturally glassy stare on them. He’s used to watching but not being seen, and it’s only natural to extend this towards you. It feels right to be watching you, like he’s where he’s meant to be, and for the beginning of his obsession he spends every free moment stalking you, hiding in corners or shadows and just staring.

 (And really, this behavior lasts all throughout his infatuation, even when he’s got you trapped in the Zoldyck manor, even when you’re nursing his baby, even when you’ve both grown old and death approaches – it’s just that in the beginning, you’re not aware of the black eyes that follow your every move. And that’s a luxury that gets taken all too soon, as you find yourself longing for ignorance of Illumi in every possible way.)

Not to mention, there is no part of him that feels any guilt for it – he’s a cold-blooded assassin, of course, but at no point does it occur to him that it may be strange to be following you, or that you wouldn’t appreciate him watching over you (and watching you, generally).

He doesn’t understand that he shouldn’t approach you like he approaches a target – of course, you won’t be on the receiving end of his needles (at least, not with death his ultimate goal – perhaps something less lethal, like love or submission or lust), but otherwise his intentions are the same.

(Well, mostly – not really, actually, because Illumi doesn’t feel this strange, pleasant warmth in his chest when he’s watching his targets, nor does he feel particularly intrigued when he’s staring at them as they sleep, watching their chest rise and fall and the relaxed, utterly content expression on their face.)

The process of stalking you is remarkably similar to his jobs – first, he’ll choose a place within your home that gives him a good, solid vantage point with minimal risk that he’ll be noticed.

(Though, it’s not exactly hard to hide when you’re so damn oblivious – Illumi swears you have little to no awareness of your surroundings, if the way you sometimes knock into tables or trip over shoes in your doorway is anything to go by.)

His stand-by places are usually in a rarely used storage closet with the door cracked open, just wide enough for his dark eyes to peer through, or perhaps behind a chair you rarely use, crouched and peeking behind the cloth, and when you sit down in said chair, it gives Illumi the opportunity to stand up slightly, towering over you and getting a perfect view of your pretty body and smelling your hair.

But if it’s nighttime and you’re already snuggled up in your bed, eyes glued to your phone screen as you scroll and scroll and neglect your sleep, he'll stand silently and deathly still in the corner.

He’s able to stay perfectly still and maintain the same position for hours at a time, hardly blinking, hardly moving, hardly even breathing, it seems.

And he’s utilizing this skill set to its full potential when it comes to you – Illumi is greedy, and while this doesn’t initially get channeled into being overly possessive of you (though that certainly comes later), it instead translates into this insatiable need to constantly have his eyes on you and to be in your presence every moment he isn’t needed on a job.

There are no boundaries with him, because Illumi genuinely doesn’t see the need to have them. You’re already destined to spend your lives together, so why shouldn’t he start the process of learning more about you?

Autonomy doesn’t really exist with him – he could be considered clingy if his view of your lives being so irreversibly intertwined wasn’t as clinical and matter of fact.

And so Illumi doesn’t operate barred by any sort of moral guidelines – so when he’s using his needles to morph into another face so that he can practice the lines and compliments he’s been told by his mother that will make you swoon, it doesn’t register to him that it might be creepy that he’s practicing wooing you in another body.

(The man is disturbing, and you’re uncomfortable with the way this stranger doesn’t seem to be getting the hint that you want him to leave you alone; why is he standing so close to you? Why is he staring at you like that? Why is he following you?)

It doesn’t register to him that it’s a breach of trust to be pretending to be someone you love and trust, just to extract more information about you.

(Your cousin is acting strangely when they speak to you – their words are clipped and sound just slightly off, and you’re sure they already know what your dreams for the future are. You’ve talked about this with them before, so why are they questioning you on what your ideal house looks like, your ideal partner, your favorite baby names?)

He spends a lot of time observing you, collecting information on you in every way he can, and this doesn’t stop once you’re trapped by his side and with the rest of his crazy, horrible family – it’s a habit, more than anything, but it’s so much worse when you’re aware, when you can see and feel his dark eyes boring into you, making you squirm under the intensity of his gaze.

Of course, talking to him about it won’t do a single thing – only earning you a slight head tilt and a question of does it bother you when I watch you? I apologize, I only meant to keep an eye on you, my dear.

He genuinely doesn’t understand that stalking you and keeping a tab on you at all times is something that you very much don’t appreciate, but you’ll quickly come to learn that with Illumi, there’s only so much you can change – so much being quite literally nothing.

Controlling

This particular manifestation of his obsession with you is a culmination of many different things.

Firstly, it’s simply his personality – when he loves, he possesses, this ugly, carnal feeling stirring in his gut that pushes him to be in control, to guide and oversee every little thing the target of his love does. He’s always felt this way with Killua – he loves his brother immensely, but that love translates as being controlling and always keeping a finger on what Killua does, says, and feels.

Secondly, it’s the intense pressure coming from his family. Kikyo expects your total obedience both to her and her son, and while Illumi can sometimes stand up to his mother on matters where your safety and wellbeing are concerned, he can’t deny her expectations of you being absolutely subservient to him, bending to his every whim and allowing him to dictate every aspect of your life.

And finally, it’s his own paranoia that pushes him to micromanage you in every way possible. He’s never had someone to call his before – he’s unselfish in nature, dedicating himself to his family in every possible way, and now that he’s been given a woman to call his own, to spoil and love and keep by his side, he’s not entirely sure how to react.

Your presence soothes him in a way he’s never experienced before; you’re so soft and caring and warm, all things he’s never had. His life has been hardships and tough love, training and never being good enough, and now that you’re in the picture, Illumi isn’t entirely sure how to handle himself.

He doesn’t doubt himself, per se, but he’s unsure how to successfully navigate a marriage. Would you like it if he was more physical with you? Perhaps you’d like more hugs or for him to hold your hand or kiss you more often – that’s what all the popular media resources he’s looked into have told him.

Or maybe you’d prefer a more quiet, subtle kind of love, where you both support one another with meaningful looks and the occasional touch, whispered words that carry more weight than they seem.

He’s not sure, despite all the stalking and information retrieving he’s preformed in your name, and that makes him nervous. He doesn’t like that he can’t anticipate what you’ll want or how to make you happy – it makes him feel less-than, as if he’s not quite the perfect match that his mother and father have always said his wife will be.

He doesn’t like not being sure of himself, and so this worry manifests itself as becoming firmer in his treatment of you, locking down on the few things he’s absolutely sure of.

It comes off as controlling, sure, but Illumi doesn’t mean to be when he’s telling you what to wear, rifling through the closet he procured for you and pulling out a dress he thinks suits your complexion – you may hate it, but he likes it, so you’ll wear it.

He’s not trying to be controlling when he’s clicking his tongue lightly and telling you to keep your posture straight, dear every time you sit down, even if your shoulders are only barely, slightly slumped.

He’s not trying to be controlling when he’s standing over the bathtub and watching you wash yourself, telling you to use more soap, darling, don’t you want to be clean?

(Nevermind his dark eyes blinking slowly and getting stuck on the soapy outline of your breasts under the warm water – surely you’re just imagining that, along with the tent forming in his trousers.)

He’s not trying to be controlling when he’s roughly grabbing your hand and forcing you behind him when you’re walking through the hallways of the manor, his gaze narrowing at the butler standing at attention, paranoia eating away at him because he could have sworn the man was staring at you as you entered the room, and he can’t have that. Even as an employee of the family, no one but Illumi can look at you with any degree of desire – you are his, and if it means cleaning up a body and finding a new butler to replace him, Illumi will do what is needed to keep you his.

IIlumi is quite frankly totally unaware of his controlling behavior – he doesn’t realize anything is wrong because in his eyes nothing is wrong. This is love – it’s how his father always treated his mother when he was young, his eyes cold and his heart even colder, his words cutting her down and remolding her into a woman more fitting of being the matriarch of the Zoldycks.

And while he doesn’t want to break you down or remake you, he’s following his father’s example in making sure that you’re entirely accounted for. You’re his responsibility, and while he doesn’t view you as merely a pet, you’ll often feel like a glorified dog with the way he controls your life down to every second, always telling you that it’s time to go eat, or time to sleep, or time to shower, or time to kiss him and let him undress you.

He's pushy without even meaning to be, but if you bring this behavior up to him, he’ll be surprised. Genuinely – his brows will quirk up ever so slightly, his already wide eyes getting a hair wider because really? I had no idea, my dear. Thank you for bringing this to my attention; I will reduce the frequency on my instructions towards you.

But he doesn’t, even if he promises he will.

And it’s not entirely his fault – he thinks he is, even going so far as to be expectant of your praise when he holds himself back from telling you to use the other fork when he’s dining with you privately. Surely you must be proud of him – he’s doing as you asked, being a good husband and fulfilling your desires and wishes.

So why aren’t you praising him?

Why aren’t you mentioning anything about how generous he’s being, how considerate he is?

You’ve blatantly disregarded his attempts at trying to be less ‘controlling’, as you claim, and Illumi takes this as a sign to only double down and become more omnipresent, because obviously you haven’t quite learned how to be a kind, grateful, adoring wife.

You haven’t quite yet learned the lessons he’s been trying to teach you – so you need more guidance. You need more advice, a firmer hand to push you towards becoming the best, most noble version of yourself, and lucky, lucky you has a loving, oh so eager husband right there willing to step into that role.

He’s domineering and in control of every aspect of your life, but there’s almost a small sense of relief that you’ll eventually feel. Because really, while it makes you feel weak and pathetic and pitiful to have him controlling how long you brush your teeth every morning and night, isn’t there something kind of nice about relinquishing your responsibilities? Isn’t there something oddly nice about not having to make your own decisions, to let Illumi take care of everything, to not have to worry about anything ever again?

It's the Stockholm Syndrome talking, and you may even know it – but it doesn’t matter, because the longer you spend under Illumi’s thumb, the less you’ll find yourself caring about things like choice and autonomy and preference. All that matter is what he wants, what he thinks is best – because really, doesn’t he know best?

Isn’t he superior to you in every possible way?

Protective

Illumi has a very, very good understanding of the human body.

He has to – his job depends on it, after all, and Illumi is nothing if not dedicated to his work. He knows every muscle, vein, and bone, their purpose and exactly what it would mean if it was removed.

He knows what organs must stay in tact for survival, how much blood a person can lose and stay conscious, how cold temperature can drop before hypothermia begins, even how long a person can survive without sleeping.

And it’s this wide breadth of knowledge that leads Illumi to know just how pathetically weak you are.

There are so many possible ways to hurt you – everything from a gunshot to a paper cut could potentially end your tragically fragile life, and the longer Illumi watches you, the more uncomfortable this knowledge becomes.

It’s not that you’re objectively incapable of defending yourself – perhaps you know some basic self-defense, or perhaps your survival instincts are sharp enough to keep you away from dangerous situations. No – it’s more that Illumi knows what other people are capable of, what nen is capable of, and he knows that you’d simply be no match if someone were to attack you.

And so, this puts him into a rather uncomfortable spot; at the beginning of his obsession with you, when his feels were still freshly formed and underdeveloped, he felt no sense of protectiveness over you. You’re an adult, you can care for yourself – you’ve survived this long, haven’t you?

But then he starts noticing how wide your smile can get, or how soft your hand is when you’re sleeping, or how pretty your voice sounds when you’re singing in your kitchen and making yourself dinner.

He starts noticing that you’ve been biting your lip, the skin a little puffy and swollen and stinging a bit. Did you know that your lip could get infected, and if you don’t get to a doctor fast enough, that infection could cost you your life?

He starts noticing that the skin of your hands is a little dry, and you keep getting hangnails. Did you know that dry skin can be a sign of serious nutrition deficiencies, and if you don’t enough potassium you could end up in the hospital and slowly waste away until you eventually can no longer hold on?

He starts noticing that sometimes your voice gets a little hoarse after you try to sing a particularly high note, your voice cracking and a series of coughs racking your body. Did you know that if you cough too hard, you can actually strain your lungs and affect their ability to take in oxygen, potentially suffocating you?

Time passing brings him to the realization that the idea of you dying makes him frown, something unpleasant brewing in his chest that he guesses is sadness. He doesn’t like the idea of you passing away – he wants you alive, and if you were to die, he wouldn’t be able to watch you anymore, to feel that warm, addicting feeling in his heart you give him. If you were to suddenly keel over and die, he’d be left all alone – like normal, yes, but now that he knows what it's like to have someone, to want someone, Illumi doesn’t think he could return to his old existence.

And so, the solution is simple: keep you alive.

Except, it’s much harder to keep someone living and breathing than it is to simply kill them, and quickly Illumi is realizing just how tall an order this is. Because really, there’s just so much that could potentially injure you, that could potentially lead to your life being in danger.

You’re just so damn clumsy – he’s watched you trip over air, and if you’re that naturally unaware of your surroundings, who’s to say you wouldn’t be susceptible to even the most minor injuries? How can he be sure that you’ll manage to evade even the most innocent of accidents?

You won’t. He’s sure of it.

And so, he’s growing slightly paranoid because every new object you encounter is immediately a threat to him, five different ways that object could endanger you immediately flashing through his mind.

A pair of car keys? They’re dull and blunt, sure, but if they were thrust into your chest just right they could rupture something, cause you to bleed out, give you tetanus or metal poisoning.

A book you’re obsessing over? You could get a papercut, a slice across your pretty skin, and Kalluto has proven that paper can be incredibly deadly.

Your damn cell phone? Well, the screen is horrible for your eyes, your information could be sold and land in the hands of someone nefarious, and he knows you look at it while you’re walking on busy streets.

There’s just so many avenues for you to get hurt, and Illumi works himself to the bone to prevent any of them from successfully causing you harm. And he’s effective, too – you’ll find your knives have suddenly disappeared, your razors too, even any sort of pill you have that’s stronger than Ibuprofen.

All your outlets have suddenly stopped working, your ovens too, even your dishwasher.

Your shower doesn’t seem to be able to get as hot as it used to, and you don’t remember your pillows being as fluffy or numerous as they currently are.

You’ll know something is wrong, your anxiety shooting through the roof because someone must be robbing you, setting foot into your home and stealing all your things.

The reality is much more sinister, much more terrifying, and as soon as you wake up in Illumi’s hold, you’ll realize that your situation is much, much worse than you’d imagined.

He’s going to every length to keep you safe and sound from potential harm, even if it leaves you feeling pitiful and beyond ashamed, the babyproofed bathroom he lets you use making you ill when you see the way there’s locks on the cabinets to prevent you from rooting around for anything that could cause irreparable damage.

It’ll make you feel incompetent, embarrassed even when Illumi tries to comfort you by saying that he doesn’t think you’re incapable, just not entirely trustworthy, my dear. There’s a difference.

(His voice is always just slightly condescending when he talks to you, and this is surely no exception – it’ll make you feel worse, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care.)

Because really, all that matters to Illumi is making sure that you stay alive – he’s selfish, wanting to keep you solely to himself, and even if that means making sure you go nowhere unaccompanied, to nothing without his help, make no decisions by yourself, he doesn’t mind.

He’s doing it for you, for your shared love, for the good of your relationship.

And if you don’t seem to understand that for now, he’s sure someday you will. Someday you’ll realize the extent to which Illumi cares for you – why else would he do so very much for you, his devotion to you spanning long before he finally got to sink his claws (and cock) into you?

So really, shouldn’t you be grateful?

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Jealousy is very much not something Illumi has ever really had to deal with.

His whole life has been training, killing, devotion to his family and the Zoldyck name, and as an assassin he’s never really been envious of anyone, or really had strong enough feelings about anything to want something.

It’s a concept he understands in theory but begins questioning it when it comes to the way it makes people crazy, the way people act so strangely in circumstances where envy and jealousy are concerned. It seems entirely stupid, something that only serves to derail situations.

And yet, once a strange nagging feeling begins at the edges of his mind, Illumi finds himself wondering if this is the famous jealousy he’s always heard of.

It doesn’t feel good – it’s like there’s something pulling at his heart, a hand wrapped around it and squeezing every so often, the feeling almost painful and certainly irritating.

But the more he’s around you, the more it persists – almost seeming to grow by the day, even if you’re fully alone, in your apartment reading a book or scrolling through your phone. Illumi very suddenly understands why jealousy is known as something so horrible, something that eats you up inside and won’t leave you alone – that is, Illumi quickly begins noticing that he isn’t the only man vying for your attention and love.

Because he’s constantly watching you, following you and making sure that he knows everything there is to know about your life and relationships with others, he doesn’t miss the situations where you interact with another man, where you smile and laugh and even compliment other men, all right in front of him.

(Illumi tends to conveniently disregard the fact that you aren’t able to sense him, that you aren’t aware that you have a dangerous, murderous stalker trailing your every move.)

It’s irritating, frustrating, distracting enough to be seriously affecting his work – he’ll have a fleeting thought of the way you’d smiled at that other man a week ago as he goes for the final stab into the target’s chest, but the slight snarl he lets out has him missing just slightly, instead nicking the target in the shoulder and giving them an opportunity to scramble away.

Illumi’s irritation only increases at that, and soon there’s blood splattered along the floor as he breaths deeply, the red staining his clothing standing out bright.

He really tried to ignore it at first, but once it began affecting him even when he’s not in your presence, Illumi knew he had to solve the problem. And after a quick, rather detached conversation with his father about it, Illumi was quickly enlightened that he was in fact jealous, his father having laughed lightly and patting him on the arm, telling him that it’s natural to feel that way about your wife, Illumi. Your duty is as an assassin, but as a member of this family. If the woman you’ve chosen to bear your heir is giving you such feelings, I see no harm in acting upon them. It will serve you well to focus more on your work, as well.

And so Illumi embraces this newfound permission to foster this emotion - it’s odd, the way what he’s fairly confident is anger coils around his heart, making his fists clench slightly, his nails digging into his palms as he watches you talk and laugh with that man. That man, who probably doesn’t even know how to use nen, who probably doesn’t even understand how perfect of a wife you could be, how good of a mother and perfect addition to his family you’d be.

It’s strange, and while Illumi doesn’t particularly enjoy it, he can’t deny the odd sense of finality that comes with killing without being paid to, the strange sensation of enjoying ending a life. He finds himself smiling after plunging his nails into a man’s jugular, but Illumi isn’t too horribly bothered.

It’s new and strange, but so is everything else you make Illumi experience, after all. Why should this be any different?

As he trails behind you in the shadows, his dark eyes train in on your figure as you bite your lip and look over the selection of fruit displayed out on the cart of the farmer’s market.

Illumi stays perfectly still, completely focused on watching you. You’re wearing a pair of jeans today, pants that hug your figure a little too tightly for his tastes, along with a sweatshirt that does quite the opposite – hiding your upper body, which Illumi only finds slightly more agreeable.

(In the back of his mind, he makes a mental note to have a talk with you about proper dress for a woman such as yourself – a woman who’s to become part of a powerful, wealthy family, and as such must represent them - and her husband - with her head held high and confidence oozing from her. He’s sure a nice skirt and blouse will do the trick – silky or satin, shimmery and soft like you. Or, perhaps, a dress – maybe a floral pattern or a deep magenta. Of course, you’ll eventually be wearing purple, the Zoldyck family color, but he knows women enjoy fashion, and he's interested to see what you’d pick.)

As he thinks through what he’ll say to you, already planning out how the conversation will go, he notices a man with shaggy brown hair and honey brown eyes take a deep breath and walk beside you, standing next to you and looking over the selection of apples, pears, oranges and various other fruits.

Illumi’s expression makes no change as the brunette says something about how there’s always too many options at markets like these, types of fruit that he’s never heard of making it difficult to choose, to which you laugh and full heartedly agree.

The assassin makes no move, but as he watches and listens with distaste lodged in the back of his throat, you continue on the conversation, asking the man’s advice on which type of apple you should get.

It’s a short interaction, in all honesty - maybe a minute maximum, but Illumi is still watching with a heavy, piercing gaze, feeling the same odd, sickly feeling rise up from his chest.

He’s already decided that if the man moves to lay even a finger on you he’ll emerge from the shadows, swiftly and triumphantly piercing his chest with his entire hand.

Maybe that’ll get him to stop talking.

But the man doesn’t, and so Illumi begrudgingly lets the conversation run its course. You eventually say goodbye to the man and ask him if he’d like to meet up at the same booth in a week to compare the types of fruit.

Immediately Illumi’s fist clenches, his nails sharpening and digging into his palms, drops of blood littering the pavement below him as his eyes never stray, keeping trained on you as you walk in the opposite direction of the man, who is now blushing and smiling like a fool.

Disgusting, Illumi thinks as he follows the man.

The world won’t miss him, is all he’s thinking as he pulls a pin and flicks his wrist, the needle sinking into his neck. He watches with a dull gaze as the fast acting poison renders the man immobile, falling to his knees as his chest slows its breaths, eventually no longer moving.

You most certainly won’t, he thinks as he picks up the body, unsheathing the needle after life has left the body, finding a nearby trash bin to stuff the man into.

It isn’t the most efficient method of dealing with a body, but Illumi can’t be bothered – after all, in the some thirty seconds it’s taken him to deal with the man who thought he had a chance with what Illumi has already claimed as his, you’ve managed to make it a bit further from him, wandering through the maze of stalls with the bag full of produce in your hands.

He’s immediately falling into step behind you, the flexing of his fingers doing nothing to distract him as he brings back his stare, internally sighing as he sees another man – this time blond – look over at you and not so subtly rake his eyes up and down your body.

Illumi’s brow twitches – he only brought twenty needles this morning, and you’ve only been at the market for some fifteen minutes. Already he only has three left, and with a small sigh he reminds himself to bring more tomorrow, as he’ll surely use them.

And really, while Illumi doesn’t enjoy that other men are looking at you, being deluded enough to believe that they have a chance with you, he needs to make sure that there are no complications with your union, that there will be no problems to take care of when he eventually whirls you away to his home, where you’ll be his lovely wife that provides him with children and a warmth he can’t explain.

There’s a certain thrill that comes with letting himself feel, with not pushing down the emotion as his father said – a certain thrill that he can only feel where you’re concerned.

After all, you’re just that special.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

From the moment Illumi decides that you’re a good match for him, it becomes a known fact (at least, among his family) that you would eventually be living alongside him in the Zoldyck manor.

You don’t have a choice, really – all of his family lives together on the mountain, and you will be no exception, despite your temporary status as an honorary member.

(This status is temporary if only because now you aren’t an official Zoldyck, but the moment you become pregnant with his child, this status changes – you’re a real Zoldyck then, because inside you grows the family’s next assassin, a product of Illumi’s devotion to you and proof of your resolve to commit yourself to the Zoldycks. It’s all terribly romantic to Illumi, even if it makes you want to hurl, and he’ll have no qualms telling you this information – he’ll even frame it as if it’s some sort of incentive to get you eagerly spreading your legs for him. He treats it like you want to be accepted into the family – like it’s your deepest desire, and no amount of arguing or pleading with him will convince him otherwise.)

You will be sharing a bed with him, living under the same roof and spending all your time beside him when he’s not away for a job, whether you like it or not, and Illumi has known this from the very beginning. You’ll be curled up in his arms, his skin cold and slightly clammy as he holds you, his grip much too tight and stiff even as he sleeps – you can hardly move, every breath you take feeling constricted and controlled, as if Illumi is doing you a favor by allowing you just a bit of space to breathe.

It takes him a while to fully develop and understand what his feelings mean, but once he does he isn’t holding back in any form - his family was, for lack of a better word, floored the night that their eldest son casually mentioned having selected his future wife. Kikyo was immediately pressing him for details, wanting to know every fact and scrap of information about her future daughter in law, which Illumi was happy to provide.

He immediately spouted off your name, age, basic personality, physical features, hobbies, interests, important life events, past and current jobs, relationships with your parents, friends, partners, anything and everything he can think of, Kikyo listening all the while with a scowl on her face. She’s confused on why her precious son has chosen you, considering you weren’t a skilled nen user, a fighter or even someone of great importance.

She’s not completely convinced of her son’s choice, but there’s a strange determination to Illumi’s normally lifeless eyes that she can see that makes her back off a bit, leaving her with an odd sense of finality in his words, confidence in his decision that makes it hard to argue.

(Besides, everyone knows Killua is the true heir of the family – as long as Illumi produces members to join the Zoldyck ranks, it’s not so important who chooses to wed. As long as they’re suitable for conception, she’ll begrudgingly accept – perhaps not with enthusiasm, but she’ll relent nonetheless.)

Silva is listening as well, though not as intensely as his wife, and after Illumi finishes his some twenty minute recall of your information, he merely takes a sip of his drink and nods, telling his son to treat her with care, she sounds weak in comparison to you.

Milluki is rolling his eyes, wondering why his brother decided on someone so normal, though he doesn’t dare say anything. Internally, though, he’s already imagining what you look like, his mental picture of you built upon Illumi’s descriptions, but with just a bit more detail – things his brother hadn’t mentioned, like the size of your chest or if you’re clumsy or if your voice is high and feminine and whiny.

Kalluto only nods, wondering what you’ll be like in person if you’ve managed to catch his older brother’s eye.

His mother is still disappointed in his choice, but wastes no time helping Illumi prepare for your eventual arrival, helping him create a regiment for how to integrate you into the family, how to work with your needs, considering your status as a mere commoner.

And while Illumi lets his mother plan and schedule and bustle about, he’s merely thinking of how he should take you away, tuning out his mother’s shrill words as she yells and commands butlers, telling them to prepare and clean and do everything so that Illumi’s new wife will be received well.

In all reality, Illumi – while very much concerned with his family’s acceptance of you, considering the tightness and loyalty instilled into him – isn’t especially concerned about the plans his mother is running wild preparing. He knows that with enough time and training, you’ll eventually fit right into the mold his mother wants you to, or at least as far into it as Illumi is allowing.

Because really, while he agrees that you need to be toughened up at least a little bit in order to survive in the mansion and be strong enough to bear his children, he doesn’t want your core personality to change – he fell in love with you for a reason, and while you must be trained a bit to survive as a Zoldyck, he doesn’t want you to become a stranger.

And so instead of listening to his mother’s plans, he’s slipping out under the cover of nightfall and climbing through the familiar window of your bedroom, your sleeping form laying so still and peaceful, like you’re just waiting for him to come steal you away.

A pin (as much as he hates piercing your skin with the needle, it must be done) is applied to your shoulder and your sleep is suddenly much heavier, your body visibly going limp, your breaths getting longer and deeper, and for a moment he worries that he’s infused too much nen into the needle, that your breathing will just keep slowing until it eventually stops.

His grip against his spare needles tightens at the thought, the force so strong that it snaps the metal in half, the sound knocking him from his thoughts as he blinks down at you, a small sense of relief filling him because your chest is still steadily rising and falling.

Illumi carries you in his arms back to the manor, not minding the weight of your body holding him down.

And just as he passes through the gates, he feels what he thinks might be excitement brewing in his chest.

Life with Illumi will be, in all honesty, hell.

It’s not so much that he enjoys making you miserable or seeing you uncomfortable, but rather that he’s grown up with such intense expectations, such strict regimes and schedules that he upholds you to similar standards.

Of course, you won’t be going through training to become an assassin while you’re with him – no practice with combat or anything so violent, if only because Illumi’s worry over your safety prohibits him from allowing you anywhere near a knife or a fist cocked and ready to be swung.

(Not to mention the fact that he plans on you going absolutely nowhere without him, and as such there’s no reason for you to learn how to defend yourself. You don’t need to build up immunity to poison, how to most effectively snap a neck, or to learn any number of the cruel things that he thinks are much too unwomanly for someone like you.)

No, the schedule and timetables he puts you on are much more general, humiliating, dehumanizing – being told when you can and can’t use the restroom is something you’ll quickly come to realize takes away even the barest scrap of dignity and independence you have left under Illumi’s control.

He dictates what time you wake up, what you eat for each meal of the day, and your activities between meals - comprised mostly of more feminine things, as his mother advised you learn, like sewing and mending, floral arrangement, proper dining etiquette, and of course, lessons on how to properly raise children, taught by Kikyo herself.

(From the get go, it will be extremely apparent to you that the entirety of the Zoldyck family – Illumi included – expect offspring, assuming with little thought that you’ll be bearing the eldest son’s children in what Silva has expressed as sooner than you think with a small nod and poignant stare. Shivers had run down your spine at the way Illumi’s gaze on you seemed to only grow in intensity at his father’s comment, his cold fingers pressing against the small of your back in a way that made your skin crawl. Besides, the built in conception time, as Illumi so lovingly puts it, makes it more than obvious that he’s fucking you with the intent of getting you pregnant.)

It’s demeaning, the way you’re treated like some toddler, some incompetent idiot with the way Kikyo flutters around you, her shrill voice echoing through the corridors as you cower and obey.

It isn’t that you want to be obedient to a family you’ve come to realize is beyond fucked up, but you’ve also seen Illumi at work. He’s come home to you covered in blood, giving you a small smile as he awkwardly leans down to press a chaste kiss against your lips, his dark eyes staying open the whole time.

You don’t particularly want to be the submissive, obedient future mother of Illumi’s children like everyone in the manor is expecting you to be (with the exception of Killua, whom Illumi desperately wants you to get along with, and he may honestly be the only ray of light within this dark, musty home – at least he somewhat understands how fucked up the situation is, though he’s told you many times that there’s nothing he can do to help you).

But the constant threat of the fact that anyone in the house could kill you with a simple flick of the wrist is not lost on you, and while Illumi genuinely terrifies you for much of the first few months of your captivity, you quickly learn to obey his every word, to live to please him.

He’s really the only ally you have – he’s more forgiving, easier to try and wiggle your way out of a less severe punishment with, especially as you learn to predict his wishes.

He wants you to wear a certain kimono that he thinks looks beautiful on you? You hate the pattern on it and the way the style makes your figure look, but you scramble to slide into the fabric, trying to ignore his ever present stare boring into your naked body.

He wants you to come play with his hair, because he’s been told by his father that it feels nice and he’s seen couples do it? immediately you’re clambering to sit on the chair behind his seated position on the floor, running your fingers through his dark locks while he sits stick straight, silence enveloping the two of you.

He wants you to lay beside him while he rests, recovering his energy from a recent mission? You’re already slipping underneath the sheets, clearing a space for him and letting him wrap his arms around your waist and pull you against him.

(He’s so stiff even when he ‘cuddles’ you – his skin is so cold, his back straight, his grip on you tight enough to make you squirm, and the hot breath against your neck when he tells you that he’s missed you, my dear, my day is less bright without your presence will make you wince.)

Some of his wishes are, admittedly, much more difficult to obey than others, however – when he tells you to lay back and spread your legs while he’s shimmying off his pants, it’s difficult to not fight, to not cry and scream as he pushes into you, his eyebrows twitching together and his pale fists clenching by your head as he slowly begins humping into you.

He isn’t necessarily bad to you per se, though quickly his family picks up on his cluelessness on how to truly treat a spouse, and so after a few comments from Silva about how to properly woo you (maybe she will be less unruly, and you may have more luck producing children this way as well) he actually does take his advice and try to make at least some attempt at romancing you.

He’s telling you robotically delivered compliments, buying you bouquets of roses, even rewarding your good behavior with small knick knacks from your old apartment and life – but it’s not enough; the fear of him is still far greater than the almost charming awkwardness he exudes in moments of intimacy and tenderness will ever be.

You’ll essentially become a submissive, sweet little housewife under Illumi’s care, and even if you hate it, even if you try with everything you have to not be subjected to the future of bearing his children, holding the famous last name of Zoldyck, and being completely subservient to the man who kidnapped you and forcefully began a ‘relationship’ with you, Illumi and the rest of his family have ways of making sure you stay in line.

And before long, you’ll grow to accept your place, to realize that there is absolutely nothing you can do.

PUNISHMENTS:

In all honesty, Illumi rarely gets actually mad at you – he’s much more frequently disappointed when you don’t behave correctly, when you fight him or make some weak attempt at escaping.

He doesn’t get mad, but there is this small sense of pity that he feels when he watches you cry and beg him to not come any closer, to please let me go, I promise I won’t tell anyone what happened! Please, I don’t want to be with you or your sick family!

It hurts, if he’s being honest, but he knows that in order to train you, to mold you into the perfect spouse and future mother of his children, he needs to be patient.

Dogs can’t be expected to follow commands from the very beginning, right?

And so, when he kneels down to where you’re curled up in the corner of your shared room, his dark hair hanging around you like a curtain while his wide eyes never blink and stay situated on you, he’s merely tilting his head and asking in a voice much too serious to be natural, oh but darling, can’t you see you’re already part of this family? Now, dinner is to be ready in thirty minutes. I need to properly prepare you.

He actually has a surprising amount of patience with you – you make him soft (or at least as soft as he can be, though anyone that knows him well can spot the differences in his treatment and air around you), and he doesn’t really want to harm you or scare you.

It’s a necessary evil in his eyes, though if he had his way, he’d train you to the point where you’re willingly looking at him with love.

He’d train you until you’re welcoming him home with a sweet kiss to his cheek after a long job with a toddler clutching at your legs, a baby suckling at your breast and a swollen belly telling him and the rest of the world exactly who you belong to, your lovesick cry of his name when you see him making the smile plastered onto his lips that much more genuine.

You make him feel, something so foreign and strange, and to Illumi this new, small amount of emotion feels downright overwhelming, something so strong and powerful and wonderful. It’s addicting, truly, something that he finds himself actively wanting, a concept he’s never felt before towards anything except bringing back Killua.

And so while he doesn’t particularly enjoy punishing you, it’s worth it to keep those feelings alive, to build up to the point where his fantasies of your domestic future with one another come to fruition.

So really, while he doesn’t get mad at you very often, he won’t hesitate to dole out punishments where he sees fit – it’s all for a greater purpose, he tells you, though you have your doubts.

Besides, there’s something even more disturbing about him punishing you when he isn’t even angry – it’s worse because it all just seems so pointless; maybe if he was yelling you would understand why he’s doing what he’s doing. He’d seem human, maybe, capable of emotion – instead, you get those familiar, dead eyes staring at you, his expression carefully neutral as he tells you that this is for your own sake, my dear, and one day you’ll see that.

When it comes to actually punishing you, Illumi’s aversion to causing you any sort of physical harm prevents him from inflicting a whole varietyof punishments onto you – he doesn’t want to taint your delicate skin, to break a bone, to do any number of things that he’s been told over and over by his family would help.

(Milluki insists that breaking both of your legs would be a good way to prevent any kind of behavior targeted around trying to escape, and while Illumi understands the logic and even agrees with it, the look of your teary eyes staring up at him and your desperate pleads to not hurt you are simply too much.)

(Milluki also suggests, with a crude grin and a gulp, that perhaps letting him try a hand at getting you to cooperate would be helpful – besides, he’ll add with a smarmy smile and his tongue flicking out over his lips, a Zoldyck heir is a Zoldyck heir, doesn’t matter who knocked her up, right? That night, Milluki ended up with the broken bone rather than you.)

He isn’t sure why he’s so incapable of hurting you considering his profession, but he just can’t – and so, he finds other methods.

Namely, your mental state is completely fair game; he’s training you after all, and when the basement of the Zoldyck mansion is just so expansive, so cold and wet and so very dark, how can he not use that to his advantage?

Your eyes are casted downwards, your voice soft and unsure as you ask if you can see my family again? Kikyo mentioned that it’s December, and there’s an important birthday in the family this month that I’d like to celebrate with them…

Illumi had been cuddling you (or, at least holding you in his arms while he lay on his side, completely frozen and inhaling the scent of your hair again and again while you uncomfortably squirmed around), but the moment those words tumble from your lips, he’s blinking pensively, pondering your statement.

I don’t know of any birthdays in the family this month.

When you try again, telling him that it’s your family you’re talking about, the one you were raised in and that you love, immediately he’s cutting you off.

My dear, you must be mistaken. The nearest birthday is Grandfather’s, and that isn’t for another month.

His voice is firmer this time, as if he’s trying to tell you something, but some part of you refuses to silently accept his blatant dismissal of your request.

Illumi you don’t understand, it’s –

his grip is tightening even more, practically suffocating you as his nails dig into your exposed arms, his voice somewhere between a hiss and a scold.

No, my love, you don’t understand. Don’t speak of them. They are no longer your family – you are a Zoldyck now, and you’ll forget all of those past imposters. You will not, under any circumstances, be allowed to see them again. Now, come with me.

And it’s not like you have much of a choice – as he picks you up and brings you down the stairs, endless winding hallways that steadily grow colder and colder the deeper you head, you’re flailing, apologizing profusely, anything to not have to spend another few nights in the basement.

And while Illumi doesn’t enjoy the tears that stream down your cheeks, he stays strong and ties you to the chains connected to the walls – loose enough that you can be seated on the ground, but tight enough to restrict any movement.

Once you’re stationary, he stands before you and stares, the light from the door behind him illuminating his figure.

I expect you to tell me who your real family is when I return.

And with that, he’s walking out the room and slamming the door shut behind him, leaving you shrouded in darkness, with nothing but the sound of your own breathing and heartbeat to entertain you.

He generally leaves you down there for three days, give or take – enough to have you dehydrated, your stomach growling and rumbling painfully at the lack of food, cold seeping into your bones and leaving you shivering and shaking, all the while fear envelopes you because there’s something here with you, you just know it.

The sounds coming from the corner of the room are too difficult to ignore, though you have no idea what it could be. You presume it’s some sort of creature, designed to kill you if Illumi so desires, the scuttling noise making fear creep up your spine every time you hear it. The sounds are ryhtmic, predictable, always going off in roughly thirty minute intervals, leading you to believe the creature is smart, or at least trained to be so.

It’s terrifying and your mind will conjure up images of terrifying, grotesque beasts in its bored and fearful state, but in reality the monster in question is Illumi himself – he grows so dependent on you that he can’t be away from you for more than about a day, so he treats himself to hiding in the shadows and simply watching you.

You’re very pretty, even when you’re crying and covered in dirt and covered in your own piss, and it’s in those moments that Illumi truly realizes how deeply his feelings for you run, how badly he wants you to be his everything. He just can’t stop looking at you, those dark eyes raking over your figure over and over and over, moving his position roughly every thirty minutes to get a new angle of you.

(Though, it’s not like he needs to see you to remember what you look like from this angle, he’s stalked you so thoroughly and so heavily that he could draw your face in his sleep with pinpoint accuracy, your features metaphorically carved behind his eyelids so that he’ll always see you you you when he blinks.)

And when he eventually opens the door once more, light cracking into the room and making you violently blink, he’s asking if you’ve learned your lesson yet, if you’re finally understanding who your real family is, and immediately you’re practically yelling that yes, I understand! I’m a Zoldyck, the Zoldycks are my real family! I love them and I love you, Illumi, because I’m your wife and that’s all I’ve ever wanted to be!

(If you were in a better state of mind you’d have the energy to be ashamed of yourself, but you’re so desperate to get out of this cellar and into the warmth, to drink something and eat something and be away from the thing trapped in there with you that you just don’t care.)

He nods, satisfied, and opens the locks, only to blink in surprise when you wobbly embrace him, sobbing into his chest and clutching onto his clothes because even though he’s unnaturally cold, he’s still warmer than the hell you’ve been in for the last three days.

And while he’s not the best at physical affection, he’ll wrap his arms around you and pull you tighter, crushing you against his hard chest whispering in your ear that he’s so glad you’ve finally accepted your place.

OVERALL DANGER:

9/10

The danger that lies with being Illumi’s darling is honestly just the fact that once he chooses you, there is absolutely no chance of escaping him.

He’s a trained assassin with connections everywhere; outside of death itself, there’s no way for you to get away from him, no matter how hard you try or who you manage to recruit into aiding you.

(And even if you were to somehow manage to kill yourself, Illumi will keep your dead body by his side – holding it at night while he sleeps, propping you in a chair across from him while he eats and carries on a one sided conversation about work that day, even going so far as to fuck your cold, lifeless body just to feel you.)

He’s lived his whole life feeling nothing at all, and the second that you inspire any bit of emotion within him, his whole perspective seems to alter just slightly, something warm and strange and good blooming in his chest. It’s something completely foreign, but the longer it goes on the more he decides the likes it, growing used to the feeling and craving more of it, finding himself yearning – yes, yearning – to feel it once more when he’s been away from you for long periods of time.

Once he realizes that the common cause of this feeling is you, Illumi is deciding that you’re the one he’ll be adding to the Zoldyck family as his partner, his spouse, his lover.

You’ll be the one to bear his children and continue on the name, all while he gets to enjoy the strange warmth in his chest, the odd protectiveness that forces him to keep you locked up, safe from the outside world, the strange urge he feels to reach out and touch you, to see you smile, to feel your lips against his own.

And so while he won’t ever directly physically harm you, your mental state will be destroyed, and you’ll be in constant fear that someday he’ll decide you aren’t worth the trouble, that once he impregnates you and you give him a few heirs, he’ll kill you off effortlessly.

These fears will never, ever see fruition of course, but the trouble with Illumi is that you just never know.

He’s skilled in the art of killing, but his skills in lying are quite formidable as well – you can never truly tell when he’s being honest with you, and while he’s never fully lied to you (only misrepresented facts and led you to believe something that may not be entirely true), you’ll live in a constant state of unease because you’re so, so very aware that he could kill you with a mere flick of his wrist if he so desired, and what’s stopping him? He claims to be in love, but in what world is this love?

And you, lucky lucky you, get the lovely package deal of not only him, but his fucked up family as well – so good luck, and really, just let him mold you into the perfect, obedient little wife he wants you to be.

You’ll be much, much happier in the end.

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Ninety-One

The Queen’s heart pounded in her chest as she looked at the silver-haired man, her face a mixture of shock and recognition. This was not just any Maester. This was a part of her history, her bloodline. The room seemed to hold its breath, the air thick with the weight of the revelation. Vaegon, her grandfather, stood before her, a living link to her past and now offering guidance for her future.

Aemond's voice boomed through the room, reverberating off the stone walls. "Everyone, out!" he commanded. The attendants and remaining Maesters scattered, scuttling quickly toward the door like mice fleeing a cat. The room emptied in moments, leaving only Vaegon standing before the couple, his head bowed in deference.

Maera not only felt her own rage boiling within her but also sensed the fierce anger emanating from her husband. Aemond did not know the elder who stood before him, but he knew Maera, knew her history, and that was enough to ignite his protective fury. He was angry for her, his jaw clenched, his single eye burning with intensity.

The one-eyed King leaned close to her, his breath warm against her face, and whispered, "We can select someone else."

Maera's mind whirled with the implications. It would indeed be the easiest option, to cast Vaegon away and choose another Maester, to forget that her grandfather had ever entered her life. She could sever this unexpected tie to her past and move forward without complication.

But as she contemplated, she couldn't deny the reason Vaegon had been selected in the first place. Both she and Aemond held exceptionally high expectations for the role of Grand Maester. Most of the candidates had barely met their requirements, but Vaegon had exceeded them all. His wealth of experience, his knowledge, his humility, and his service to both highborn and smallfolk were unparalleled.

She glanced at Aemond, her forest green eyes reflecting a mixture of determination and inner turmoil. "He is the best candidate," she murmured, her voice barely audible but firm. "I will not let my discomfort prevent me or the Council serving the Realm adequately."

Aemond's expression softened slightly, understanding the weight of her decision. Maera turned her gaze back to Vaegon, her grandfather, standing humbly before them. She rose from her chair, her black and green skirts swaying with each determined step as she approached the Maester. The rich fabric whispered against the stone floor, a soft counterpoint to the tension filling the room.

The Queen stopped directly in front of Vaegon, who slowly raised his head to meet her gaze. As she analyzed his face, the similarities struck her deeply. His eyes and chin bore an uncanny resemblance to her late mother's, a painful reminder of the family she had lost.

"How do we know you are who you say you are?" she asked, her tone sharp and accusing.

Vaegon remained calm, replying, "The archmaesters at the Citadel can confirm my identity, my Queen."

She considered this. It seemed unlikely that the Citadel would not send someone whose identity was a mystery. There were probably Maesters even older than Vaegon who had been present when he joined the order.

Still, her trust was not easily given. “Then if you are what you say, you know what I am…to you?” she asked hesitantly, her voice softer but no less intense. Vaegon nodded slowly, his eyes shifting away from hers, avoiding her gaze. His acknowledgment was both a relief and a spark to her simmering anger. At least he recognized their connection, but the avoidance stoked her ire once more.

Maera’s anger erupted like wildfire, her fury ignited by long-buried pain for her late mother and aunt. Her voice rose, filled with righteous indignation, echoing through the grand chamber. “How dare you stand here and face me?!” she spat, her words sharp as daggers. Vaegon winced, but Maera pressed on, her accusations unrelenting.“After abandoning your family for your own selfish pursuits!”

The Maester said nothing, his face a mask of stoic calm, but his violet eyes betrayed the depth of hurt he felt. Each of her words was like a lash, cutting deep, but he bore them in silence, his lack of response only fueling her agitation further. The Queen took a step closer, her green eyes blazing with fury.

“Did you expect that you would be picked purely because of our shared blood?” Maera sneered, her tone dripping with disdain.

Finally, the man looked up, his face now showing a spark of defiance. “It matters not who I was before I became a Maester,” he proclaimed, his voice steady and resolute.

Maera scoffed at his words, mocking his statement. “Matters not, does it?” she sneered, her voice dripping with disdain. Her face then quickly turned serious, her eyes narrowing as she took a step closer. “Did your late wife not matter? Nor your daughters?”

The Maester stood silent, seemingly taken aback and saddened by her questions. His eyes, previously a calm and composed violet, now revealed a depth of hurt and regret. Yet he remained quiet, his face a mask of sorrow and surprise.

Maera sighed, shaking her head as she struggled to temper her fury. “You are the most qualified,” she finally said, her voice heavy with reluctance. “Therefore, you will have the role of Grand Maester. Regardless of who you are.”

Vaegon did not raise his head at her statement, nor did he look pleased about it. His acceptance was marked by a deep, melancholic resignation, his shoulders slumping slightly under the weight of the decision.

“But know this,” Maera continued, her tone sharpening with resolve. “Your juniors will attend to me. You are not permitted to touch me. Or my daughter.” Her words were clear and firm, drawing an unmistakable boundary between them.

The room was tense, the atmosphere thick with unspoken emotions and unresolved history, the silence was almost palpable, each breath and movement magnified in the charged air.

“Maera…”

Her husband’s voice, unusually gentle and filled with concern, momentarily defused her anger. Maera turned to face him, and there was a look of concern in his single violet eye, fixed firmly on her. His gaze was steady but deeply worried, the shadows under his eye more pronounced in the dim light of the chamber.

She almost knew what he was thinking. The husband and wife had had their differences, but she knew he would not force her to endure this if she did not wish it. After all, Aemond had forced her to endure much worse, by his own choices.

Maera stood firm, her resolve unwavering. “Make your proclamation, husband,” she urged, her voice steady but carrying an edge of finality. “Your Small Council is whole.” Her eyes flickered with a mixture of determination and lingering resentment as she cast Vaegon one last look. His downcast eyes and sorrowful expression did little to quell her frustration.

As she stormed out of the hall, her black and green skirts swirled around her legs, the fabric rustling like the leaves of a restless forest. The attendants and staff, lined along the walls, bowed their heads low in a synchronized murmur of “my Queen.” Their voices were hushed, a poorly veiled attempt to mask their curiosity and the fact they had been eavesdropping on the heated exchange.

Maera’s cold, piercing stare swept over them, silencing any further whispers. Her eyes, known to be filled with the warmth of familial bonds, were now hard and unforgiving, reflecting the tumultuous emotions churning within her. She marched through the stone corridors, her footsteps echoing like thunderclaps in the still air.

The chamber doors burst open, the heavy wooden doors banging against the stone walls with a resounding thud. Maera’s fury, barely contained during the council meeting, now spilled over like a torrent. Her mind swirled with anger towards the new Grand Maester and the old wounds he represented, as well as a simmering resentment towards her husband for a reason she couldn’t pinpoint

Upon entering the room, she immediately noticed Sȳndor, the young black dragon, who was growing larger by the day. The beast, under the careful training of an experienced female dragon keeper, was setting fire to the chunks of meat laid before her upon command. The sight made Maera's heart pang with envy. How she wished she could breathe fire, to let off some of the frustration that boiled within her.

Across the chamber, Maera saw her daughter being cooed over by one of the nursemaids. The sight of her child's innocent smile brought a brief flicker of warmth to her heart. However, this was quickly overshadowed by a physical reminder of her motherhood as she felt a dampness spreading across her chest. The sight of her daughter had triggered her milk to release.

Groaning in frustration, Maera furiously tore open her dress at the laces, her fingers trembling with a mixture of anger and urgency. "I cannot breathe here," she muttered through gritted teeth, her voice a strained whisper of pent-up emotion. She pressed a damp cloth to her chest, attempting to relieve some of the pressure, but the action did little to quell her inner turmoil.

The room remained silent at the Queen’s frustrations, the air thick with unspoken tension. The dragon keeper paused her training, glancing nervously at Maera before turning her attention back to Sȳndor. The nursemaid, too, halted her cooing, watching the Queen with a mix of concern and respect.

Maera's breaths came in shallow, rapid bursts as she tried to regain her composure. The walls of her chambers, adorned with tapestries and symbols of her house, seemed to close in on her, amplifying her sense of confinement.

The nursemaid, gently rocking Aemara in her arms, ventured a meek suggestion. “Your Grace,” she began hesitantly, “perhaps venturing beyond the castle walls might quench your restless spirit.” Maera raised a brow at the young woman, who quickly continued, “A ride on a horse could do wonders.”

Maera paused, considering the idea. She had confined herself within the walls of Dragonstone since Aemara’s birth, staying close to her daughter. But over a month was indeed a long time to remain in one place, especially for someone as spirited as herself.

The breeze through the windows caught Maera’s attention, flowing gently into the room and carrying the salty scent of the sea. She sighed, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply, letting the crisp air fill her lungs.

She nodded at the nursemaid, her decision made. “You are right,” Maera said, her voice steadier. “A ride would do me good.” She then turned to one of the servants who was diligently making her bed. “Prepare me for riding and fetch my leathers,” she instructed.

The servant nodded obediently, moving quickly to fulfill the Queen’s command. Maera’s lips curled into a small smile as she added, “But I will not be riding a horse.”

The tunnels, a complex network of man-made passageways and caverns, were vast, reinforced with stonework to prevent collapses, and glistening from the heat and minerals seeping through. Torches lit the path, providing light but adding to the already intense warmth radiating from the volcano’s depths. The air was thick with the smell of sulfur and the constant hum of the earth’s movements.

Reaching the main cavern, the natural light of the outside lit the space, the wind howling through the tunnels in an eerie manner. The cavern’s floor was uneven, covered in rock formations and many loose stones that jumped up from the floor during the rumbles of volcanic activity.

Dragon Keepers stood guard at various points within this vast network. They were stationed near the tunnel entrance, along key passages, and at the main lair entrance, ensuring that only those deemed worthy could approach. The keepers were alert, donned in ancestral robes and armed with prodding sticks for managing the volcano’s dwellers.

Dressed in black leathers that clung to her form, her brown and silver hair braided back from her face, Maera looked every bit the dragon rider she was meant to be. She held tightly onto the lengths of fabric tied securely around her body as she entered the cavernous interior of the volcano.

The nursery maids had protested fervently against Maera’s decision to ride. They argued that she was not fully healed from childbirth, and that it was too soon for such a strenuous endeavor. But that was not the only reason they were panicking. Nestled within the fabric tied to her chest was her infant daughter. The baby’s almost lilac eyes were wide with curiosity as she took in her new surroundings, unfazed by the sounds of rocks falling or the deep rumbles of volcanic activity.

Aemara was not the only companion accompanying the queen. Perched on Maera’s shoulder was Sȳndor, her black scales almost blending into the Maera’s leathers. She had tried to leave youngling behind, but the little dragon had refused to be separated from the child to whom she was bonded.

The Dragon Keepers, seasoned and accustomed to the eccentricities of dragon riders, were not fazed by the sight of Maera with her daughter. In fact, a few of them smiled fondly at the sight, recognizing the continuation of the Valyrian lineage. Their expressions conveyed respect and a sense of pride in seeing the young princess already being introduced to the world of dragons.

One of the Keepers, an older man with a silver beard and not a hair atop his head, stepped forward onto the edge of the stone cliff that overlooked the heart of the Dragonmount. With a deep breath, he called into the cavern, his voice echoing off the stone walls and reverberating through the vast, dark expanse. "Naejot māzies, Ēbrion!" Come forward.

The sound of his call bounced around the cavern, reaching into the depths where the dragons rested. A deep rumble responded, followed by the sound of rocks tumbling and shifting. Little Sȳndor let out a few nervous chirps but Maera gently shushed the young dragon, stroking her head to calm her.

From the darkness, a colossal form began to emerge. The ground seemed to tremble as the mighty dragon, Ēbrion, made his way forward. His scales, a mesmerizing blend of blue and black, shimmered even in the dim light of the cavern. His orange eyes glowed like molten lava, radiating both wisdom and power. Maera's heart soared at the sight of her dragon, her connection to him as strong as ever.

Ēbrion extended his neck, bringing his massive head closer to Maera. His hot breath washed over her as he came face to face with his rider. Maera beamed, her eyes sparkling with joy and pride. She reached out, placing a hand on Ēbrion's snout, feeling the rough texture of his scales beneath her fingers.

“Raqiros issa, rytsas,” Hello my friend, she whispered, her voice filled with affection and reverence.

The large beast rumbled softly in response, the sound vibrating through the stone beneath them. His eyes, so fierce and untamed, softened slightly as he acknowledged the presence of Maera and her child. The connection between dragon and rider was palpable, a bond forged through fire and blood, and strengthened by loyalty and companionship.

She was so pleased to see him. During her confinement, the Dragon Keepers had reassured her that her dragon had taken to the Dragonmount well. They told her he seemed to have re-acclimated quickly to the volcanic environment, likely due to his many years there before coming to King’s Landing. The reports of his behavior had been a constant source of comfort for Maera, who had worried about him during her long absence.

The Keepers had informed her that Ēbrion frequently left the mountain, often flying with Vhagar and hunting across the skies. While she felt a pang of guilt for not seeing him for so long, the knowledge that he was content and thriving eased her mind. The sight of him now, healthy and strong, affirmed the truth of their words.

Ēbrion trilled softly, a sound filled with curiosity as he noticed the bundle Maera carried. His immense eyes focused on the fabric, his nostrils flaring as he tried to catch a scent. Maera gently removed the cloth around Aemara’s head, presenting her daughter’s face to the dragon.

“Tala issa,” My daughter, Maera said softly, her voice trembling with a mixture of pride and nervousness.

Ēbrion leaned closer, his hot breath washing over both mother and child. He inhaled deeply, taking in the new scent. Aemara’s almost lilac eyes widened as she looked at the dragon, her tiny face reflecting a mixture of awe and innocence.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Maera held her breath, watching as her dragon and her daughter connected for the first time. Ēbrion’s eyes softened, and he emitted a low, comforting rumble, a sound that seemed almost like a purr.

However, the hatchling perched on Maera’s shoulder was not so keen on the interaction between Ēbrion and the babe. Sȳndor hissed, her small wings flapping aggressively as she attempted to bite the larger dragon, her jaws snapping futilely at the air. Maera found the sight amusing; despite the beasts sharing blood, Sȳndor’s loyalty clearly lay with Aemara, fiercely protective of the child above all else.

Ēbrion, unperturbed by the hatchling’s display, merely puffed a breath of air from his nostrils, which knocked Sȳndor off balance slightly. The young dragon’s claws dug into Maera’s shoulder for stability, eliciting a wince from her but also a chuckle at the spirited little creature’s determination.

“Dohaerās, Ēbrion,” Serve me, Maera commanded softly. At her words, Ēbrion withdrew his neck, turning towards the cave’s exit. He crouched next to the stone edge, his muscles coiling in preparation for flight.

Mounting the blue dragon from the cliff was much easier than attempting to do so from the ground. Maera only had to take a few steps before she reached the saddle. She stepped onto the rope ladder, her foot slipping slightly at first, but she quickly regained her balance and began to climb. Each step felt steadier than the last, a testament to her improving strength. Her left leg twinged slightly, but it held her weight, and her left arm, though still weak, managed to support her as she ascended.

She felt better, stronger than she had in weeks. As she settled into the saddle, she secured herself with the chains and ropes. She looked down at Aemara, who was strapped to her chest. The baby’s almost lilac eyes peered up at her mother, then around the cave, drawn to the light streaming in from the exit. Sȳndor remained perched on Maera’s shoulder, still wary. The Queen gently peeled the hatchling off and settled her in front of her on the saddle.

“There, little one,” Maera murmured, her voice soothing as she petted the hatchling’s head. Syndor chirped in response, her small body relaxing slightly but her eyes still alert.

With her daughter secure and her dragons ready, Maera took a deep breath, feeling the anticipation of flight thrumming through her veins.

“Soves.” Fly.

Ēbrion stomped to the exit of the cave with a low roar, his powerful body vibrating beneath Maera. He dived off the edge of the cliff, the wind making Maera’s eyes water as they hurled toward the sea. Then, at the seemingly last moment, Ēbrion unfurled his wings, and they took flight, the sudden lift filling Maera with exhilaration.

They soared around Dragonstone, the rugged terrain and jagged cliffs below a breathtaking sight. The waves crashed against the rocks, sending sprays of seawater high into the air. In the distance, Maera could see King's Landing across the bay, the familiar sprawl of the city bringing a pang of mixed emotions.

To be flying again after so long felt like freedom reborn. Maera's heart raced with joy, her spirits lifting higher with each powerful beat of Ēbrion’s wings. She felt the tension and frustration of the past months dissolve into the wind, leaving her lighter and unburdened.

As Maera looked down, she noticed that baby Aemara did not seem fazed by the turbulence of the air or the wind blowing wildly. In fact, after a while, the child closed her eyes, the rhythmic movement of the flight soothing her to sleep. Sȳndor practiced her own flying for a few moments at a time, her little wings flapping vigorously to keep up with the older dragon, darting between the wisps of clouds.

Maera smiled, thinking how much she had missed this. The sensation of the wind on her face, the view of the world from above, and the companionship of her dragons. It was as if she had regained a part of herself that had been lost.

Soaring through the clouds, her thoughts could not help but be filled with the new Grand Maester. Vaegon. The Dragonless. From her memories, she didn’t recall her mother ever speaking a bad word about him. Lady Gael had simply stated that she was placed in the care of her maternal grandparents whilst he gave up his land and titles to serve at the Citadel.

Looking at the child strapped to her chest, Maera wondered how on earth Vaegon could even bear to do that. To abandon his two baby girls so soon after their mother had died. He just ran away. It angered her to no end. She couldn’t fathom the kind of man who could leave his own flesh and blood behind in pursuit of his own desires.

What angered her more was the familiarity of the old man’s face. His violet eyes and silver hair, the way his mouth curled when he smiled; it reminded her so much of her mother. Of her own reflection. Even some aspects of her daughter’s face. Similarities passed through blood. The same blood that coursed through her veins, binding them in a way that was impossible to sever.

But did blood truly matter? Should you owe someone anything just because you shared blood? Did it truly have the power to unite people? Aemond had been crowned King, ahead of his niece Jaehaera, Aegon’s only remaining child, as the Greens made it known that whoever sat the throne had to be a male. That blood did not matter.

Across Blackwater Bay, a short distance away, Rhaenyra, Aemond’s half-sister, remained steadfast in her claim as the rightful heir. Now the siblings were at war, tearing their family and the realm apart. Blood did not matter. The bonds that should have united them only served to fuel the fires of conflict.

Vaegon, known as the Dragonless, was an outcast from his family. Yet Maera had claimed a dragon, despite her blood not being as pure. She had done it by herself, through her own strength and determination. Blood did not matter. She had proven her worth through her actions, not through the purity of her lineage. And yet, despite this conviction, Maera found herself yearning for answers to questions she did not yet know how to ask.

Her thoughts drifted to her dwindling family members who shared her Targaryen blood: her mother, her Aunt Viserra, and all of her cousins, their numbers had declined to almost nothing. And she was well aware Aemond was responsible for the tragedy of Morne, dabbling in forces he did not understand for the sake of…what? Honour? Victory? Power? She was honestly still not sure. But this Maester, Vaegon, was a stranger, a servant sent to serve his king on his council. Why now? Why, after being hidden away in Oldtown for the majority of his life, did he reappear?

Mayhaps it was only natural to wonder such things, but she knew that her anger was justified. She would find out what she needed to know in time. For now, she would need to learn how to simply live under the same roof as him, working with him to secure a brighter future for the Realm and her daughter before asking such things.

Upon Maera’s command, Ēbrion banked sharply and began their descent back to the Dragonmount, his powerful wings beat rhythmically as they neared the stone cliffs. The dragon’s landing was as graceful as it was powerful; he folded his wings tightly to his body and touched down with a rumbling thud, his claws gripping the rocky edge with ease. The cavern echoed with the sound of his landing, a deep, resonant roar that seemed to shake the very walls.

Maera felt windswept, giddy, and exhausted, but in a good way. The exhilaration of flight and the rush of wind against her face had cleared her mind and lifted her spirits. She dismounted Ēbrion, her feet finding purchase on the solid ground of the cavern. Her body tingled with the lingering adrenaline from the ride, and she could feel her pulse pounding in her ears.

She glanced down at her daughter, whose eyes were open once again, her little silver tufts in disarray from the wind. Sȳndor flapped her wings and perched once more on Maera’s shoulder, her claws digging in lightly for balance. Maera turned to her faithful mount, the majestic blue dragon who had carried them so gracefully.

The Queen pressed her face to Ēbrion’s snout, feeling the warm, leathery texture of his skin. She thanked the beast sincerely her voice filled with gratitude and affection as she promised she would return the next day. Ēbrion snorted softly, a warm puff of air washing over her, as if acknowledging her promise.

As Maera made her way back to her chambers, she felt a renewed sense of clarity and purpose. The physical exertion and the time spent with her dragon had done wonders for her spirit. The dragon keepers watched her with respectful nods, and she gave them a brief smile in return.

Despite the tumultuous emotions that had plagued her earlier, she now felt a sense of peace. The flight had been a reminder of her strength and her bond with Ēbrion, a reminder of who she was and what she was capable of.

A few days later, Aemond stood tall in the grand hall of Dragonstone, making his long-awaited proclamation. The lords and ladies gathered there listened intently as he named the members of his Small Council. There was a palpable sense of anticipation, mingled with a hint of annoyance from some lords who had expected the announcement to come sooner. Yet Maera knew the reason for the delay all too well: Aemond had wanted to give her ample time to reconsider her decision regarding Maester Vaegon. Though she had not changed her mind, she appreciated the gesture.

As the royal decree concluded, attention turned to seven knights, including Maera’s brother, Faran, who stepped forward to take his vows for the Kingsguard. The ceremonial nature of the event demanded solemnity, and Faran knelt before Maera and Aemond alongside his counterparts, his posture rigid with a mixture of pride and lingering anger. His voice, though steady, carried an undercurrent of tension as he pledged his loyalty to his King and the Realm. Maera could see the fire in his eyes, knowing it was fueled by his fury at Aemond for the perceived failures towards his sister.

When the men stood, Faran stepped forward and made a public declaration to be his sister’s sworn sword, a surge of emotion rushing through the Queen at his loyalty and protective instincts. She accepted his vow with a glad heart, even as her thoughts drifted momentarily to Ser Arryk, the faithful knight who had served her so well and was dearly missed. The remains of his body were discovered recently on the island in a grave, placed beside his twin brother, Ser Erryk, a loyal knight to Rhaenyra. The pain of his loss was still fresh, and she knew that Faran had a daunting legacy to live up to.

The noble Houses began to depart from Dragonstone, their banners fluttering in the breeze as they filed out of the grand hall. However, the lords who had been chosen for the Small Council remained at the castle, their presence a testament to their continued commitment and their work far from over.

As the hall emptied, council members and all, House Wylde lingered behind, and Luthor stood at their side. They had come to say a more personal goodbye to their sister. Maera felt a pang of both pride and sadness as she embraced each member of her small House. Her siblings and cousins offered words of encouragement and concern, their faces a mix of relief and worry.

Even Guston, ever the stern eldest brother, received a warm embrace. As she pulled away, he fixed her with a serious look, reminding her once more of her duty to provide Aemond with an heir. Maera bit her tongue, forcing a polite smile as she bade him a simpler goodbye, wishing not to let his words grate on her too much. Each member of her House departed with gifts and trinkets, small tokens of her affection, and gold to ensure they were well taken care of in her absence.

Finally, the Queen approached Luthor. He attempted to bow to his sister, a gesture of respect and formality, but she quickly interrupted him with a hug. She wrapped her arms around him tightly, feeling the strength and warmth of his embrace. “Make sure Princess Jaehaera gets the paints I sent with you,” she whispered to him.

Luthor nodded, his expression softening. “Of course, sister,” he replied before releasing her from the hug. He then placed both hands on her shoulders, his grip firm yet gentle, his voice now lower in volume. “If you need me, send for me. I’ll come as quickly as I can.”

Before Maera could respond, Faran appeared, a smirk playing on his lips. “Why would she need you when she has her strongest brother as her sworn protector?” he said sarcastically, referring to himself.

Luthor rolled his eyes and jabbed Faran in the arm. “Always up your own arse, aren’t you?” he retorted with a grin. The two brothers then hugged each other tightly, their camaraderie evident.

Maera watched them with a smile, feeling a rush of gratitude for the bond they all shared. Despite the distance between them and the weight of their responsibilities now they were adults, their familial connection remained as strong as ever.

“The Queen is strong in her own right and has her own dragon,” another voice declared. The three siblings turned to see Aemond approaching, the Conqueror’s crown glinting on his brow. He settled beside his wife, his presence imposing and undeniable. Maera watched as her brothers exchanged a glance before bowing their heads respectfully.

Aemond placed his arm around Maera’s waist, his fingers flat against the fabric of her dress, his touch burning her with its intensity. “Nevertheless,” he added, “I’m sure my wife will be glad for company if you return to visit, good-brother.” The atmosphere suddenly grew tense, the warmth of familial affection replaced by an awkward silence. Maera shifted uncomfortably under Aemond’s touch, her earlier ease vanishing.

Luthor’s jaw clenched as he stepped forward, his posture unwavering despite being a head shorter than Aemond. His eyes, fierce and unwavering, met the king’s. “Dragon or not, where I come from, we protect our own, regardless of the circumstances,” he said, his voice steady but charged with emotion.

She held her breath, desperate to avoid a confrontation. Maera could feel the tension in the air, the clash of wills between her brother and her husband. Faran, standing slightly behind Luthor, smirked at the scene. He clearly enjoyed seeing his usually controlled brother confront the king, relishing the defiance.

The silence stretched, thick with unspoken words and underlying tensions. Maera’s heart pounded in her chest, her earlier sense of purpose and strength feeling fragile in the face of this new conflict. She looked up to see The One-Eyed King staring right back at her brother, his gaze steady, his expression inscrutable. She gently pressed her hand against Aemond’s arm, a silent plea for restraint. He did not look at her, but nor did he retaliate

Luthor looked Aemond up and down, his expression one of barely concealed disgust. “If a dragon cannot protect my sister, then he is no dragon at all,” he stated with finality, his voice echoing through the hall. With that, he turned and left the room, his steps echoing off the stone walls. Faran quickly followed after him, throwing a smirk over his shoulder before disappearing with the crowd through the doorway.

Maera and Aemond were left alone in the grand hall, the silence that followed heavy with unresolved tension. Aemond’s face remained stoic, but Maera could see the flicker of something unreadable in his eye. She sighed softly before removing herself from her husband’s grip, her mind swirling with the weight of her brothers’ words.

The Queen rubbed her temples, trying to alleviate the stress that had settled like a heavy fog after the encounter with her brothers. Behind her, Aemond's voice broke through the tension, his tone dry as he muttered, "I do not think he was talking about your mount."

She raised an eyebrow at him, annoyance flaring briefly in her green eyes. The King stood with his arms folded across his broad chest, a posture both protective and defiant. "Between Faran and Luthor, the latter was always more… collected," he added, his lips twitching into a slight smirk, a hint of amusement breaking through the heaviness of the moment.

Maera’s gaze drifted downward to her left side, where a familiar throb radiated through her thigh. Her fingers traced the fabric covering her left arm, memories of pain and sorrow etched into her skin. “They saw my scars,” she confessed quietly. “Whilst I was feeding Aemara.”

When she looked up at Aemond, his brows furrowed slightly, concern flashing in his single violet eye. He shifted his weight, avoiding her gaze for a moment before asking softly, “What did you tell them?”

Maera shook her head, a bitter scoff escaping her lips as she replied, “Basically nothing. They wouldn’t have believed me anyway, had I revealed the truth of it.” Aemond’s gaze met hers again, his expression a mixture of curiosity and worry. In a firmer tone, Maera added, “Nor would you be standing there.”

A tense silence filled the hall, broken only by the howling wind that whipped through the ancient stone pillars. The weight of unspoken words hung heavily in the air, pressing down on Maera as she stood there with her husband. Aemond, her husband, her child’s father, her King, stared at her with such intensity that she could not help but look away, unable to meet the fierce gaze of his single violet eye.

Looking towards the stone floor, the crown on her head felt heavy, its beautiful refinery of rubies and sapphires encrusted in Valyrian steel an unnatural burden. Yet her husband bore his own crown with an ease that seemed almost cruel.

The Conqueror’s crown, resting upon his brow, looked as though it had always belonged there. The horror and turmoil that had brought them to this point, the deaths of their family members, the strain on their marriage, did not outwardly seem to crumble him.

The Queen walked toward the window, her footsteps echoing softly in the vast hall. She looked out to the sea, her gaze drifting across the bay to King’s Landing, now shrouded in a thick mist. The city, once a symbol of their power, was now under the control of their enemy. The sight filled her with dread and a deep-seated fear for her dear friend Helaena, trapped in the web of their foes.

She shook her head, trying to dispel the dark thoughts, and shifted her gaze to the vast expanse of the sea. The horizon stretched endlessly before her, with no sight of land as far as she could see. The sound of the waves crashing against the rocky shores was loud and thundering, a welcome distraction from the current moment.

Behind her, she heard Aemond’s footsteps approaching, each one slow and steady, stopping a few feet away. She ignored him, her focus fixed on the turbulent waters below. His voice broke the silence, smooth and quiet, speaking in their native tongue. “Skoros nyke gōntan…rūnagon ziry issa. Tubis se bantis.” What I did…it haunts me. Day and night.

Maera did not turn to look at him, the anger and hurt still raw within her. She kept her eyes on the sea, letting the sound of the waves drown out her turmoil. Aemond took another step forward, close enough for her to feel his presence but not touching her. “Si jāhor nyke umbagon glaeson issa gaomagon jorepna, dohaertan, nūmāzma lo mērī gīda ezīmos hen issa ao shijetra.” And I will spend the rest of my life begging, toiling, if it meant even only a small part of you forgave me.

She turned to look at him, her back pressed against the cold ledge of the window. Aemond remained rooted to his spot, his eye searching her face with an intensity that was hard to ignore. There was something about him speaking High Valyrian that sounded more sincere, a depth to the words that the common tongue could not capture. They were not merely spat out in an attempt to save his own skin; they were carefully chosen and felt meaningful, genuine. She decided to try the same.

“Bona iksos sōptan shijetra mirre bē; ziry arliñagon tubis naejot tubis,” That’s the funny thing about forgiveness; it changes day to day, she began. Aemond frowned slightly, a shadow of confusion crossing his face. She continued,“Mirri tubissa ziry vestragon raqagon nykeā tolmiot, sambrar rūni, ēdrurys. Dōrī ziry massitas rȳ. Kostagon dīnagon naejot, rūsīr lyks se rȳ kirimves se glaeson īlon mazvēttan emagon. Biare.”Some days it seems like a distant foggy memory, like a dream. Like it never happened at all. And I can move on, feeling content and at peace with the life we’ve built. Happy, even.

Aemond’s lips curved into a slight, hopeful smile. But Maera quickly frowned, dampening his brief moment of relief. “Tolie,” Other days, she added, her voice tinged with pain, “skori nyke jurnegon isse urnen se ōdria rōdan, nykeā hīghagon bē ēdrutan tolī maegi vīlīptan ēdrugon isse…vēdros jeme nyke toliot arlī.” When I look in the mirror and see those horrific scars, or I wake up screaming after fighting with the witch in my dreams…I hate you all over again.

The hurt in Aemond’s eye was palpable, a raw wound laid bare. Maera’s own face mirrored his pain, a sadness reflecting the cruelty of the truth she had just spoken. It felt harsh but necessary.“Kuno nykeā tubis iksos tubī.” Today is one of those days.

Their marriage would take time to be restored. Maera knew this. It was not a matter of snapping fingers and everything falling back into place. But she was determined. Her marriage would at least be civil, for the sake of the Realm, for the sake of their daughter. As for her feelings from long ago, the love she once bore for him—it did not matter now… right?

Holding his gaze, Maera felt a flicker of the determination she needed. She reached up and cupped his face, her thumb tracing the scar on his cheek as she took in every detail of his handsome, sharp-featured face. The familiar line of his jaw, the curve of his lips, and the sharpness of his cheekbones were all etched into her memory. As she touched him, Aemond reached up and gripped her hand immediately, holding it in place as if never wanting to let her go.

Her forest green eyes met his violet one, and she swore she could see an unshed tear glistening in the depths of his gaze. Fate or not, they were bound, and always would be. She granted him a sad smile and whispered, “Keligon daor sylutan,” Do not stop trying.

With a heavy heart, she withdrew her hand from his face and began to walk away. Each step felt like a weight, her resolve mingled with sorrow. But then, his voice called out, strong and filled with determination, “Keligon dōrī jāhor nyke sylugon ao syt.” I will never stop trying for you.

Something about his words stopped her in her tracks. Her heart pounded wildly, her breath caught in her throat. She turned to look at him, and in that moment, she saw not only the King he had become, but also the boy he once was—her childhood friend, her love. His expression was raw, a mixture of vulnerability and steadfast resolve that stirred something deep within her.

Her resolve wavered, caught between the ghosts of their past and the daunting reality of their present. Her feet carried her forward before she could stop herself, closing the distance between them in a few swift strides. She reached up, tangling her fingers in his silver strands, and pulled him down, crashing her lips to his.

He kissed her back with equal fervor, his hands coming up to cup her face, his thumb caressing her cheek. The skin was callused from his training with the sword, but felt gentle against her skin, igniting a warmth between her legs, a warmth only he could create within her.

His tongue swiped her bottom lip, a question, asking permission, to which she gladly granted, opening her mouth and allowing his tongue to taste her, the wet muscles rubbing against each other after being parted for so long. Aemond bit against her bottom lip, causing her to hiss at the sting. Maera’s fingers instinctively tightened at the roots of his hair, pulling slightly, eliciting a low growl from deep within his chest.

She struggled to catch her breath, her heart pounding in her ears. One of her hands dropped to find purchase on his chest, her fingernails digging into the fabric of his black and green robes. The Queen felt a hand on her hip, gripping her with a bruising strength, pulling her flush against him, their bodies melding together as if they were one. She could feel the swell of his cock pressing against the seams of her dress, prompting a slick to form between her thighs and causing the wall of her resolve to crumble brick by brick.

The moment felt right, an intoxicating blend of passion and intimacy as they were tangled up together. Maera could feel the warmth radiating between them, a comfort that she longed for amid the chaos of their lives. As much as she wanted to let it consume her, she knew she could not. The lingering effects of her recent childbed still weighed heavily on her body, a constant reminder that anything beyond this kiss would bring her great harm.

Reluctantly, she pulled away, though Aemond's lips followed her, pressing softly against her cheek before descending down the curve of her neck. The sensation sent a shiver down her spine, and she gasped, the softness of his mouth against her skin momentarily clouding her judgment. It felt heavenly, almost ethereal, but she forced herself to remember the boundaries she needed to uphold. This could not go further.

With a sudden rush of clarity, she pushed him away, her hands firmly on his chest. Aemond stumbled backward, surprise flickering in his violet eye as they locked gazes. Both of them breathed heavily, the air between them thick with unspoken words, their cheeks flushed from both the heat of the kiss and the unexpected intensity of the moment.

Maera reached up to her head, her fingers finding the crown that had slipped askew during their passionate exchange. Straightening it, she felt the weight of her duties settle back upon her shoulders. Turning on her heel, she walked away, leaving Aemond standing in the hall, a mixture of longing and confusion etched across his features. As she touched her swollen lips with a smile, she felt no regret. Instead, it was a reminder of the connection they still shared, a flicker of hope amidst their uncertain future.

Notes: our big blue boy is back 💙 and we’re getting closer to Aemond and Maera being friends again. And we know what comes with that 😏 also posting this a day early because I need some joy in my life today 🖤

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy @kckt88 @darylandbethfanforever9

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[bagel-bird-ainsor]

Ghost trick spoiler thoughts I had while working on my most recent drawing

GT:PD SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT

Thinking about the process of Yomiel learning how to control his body again. I mean, when he took his body back from the morgue in-game, he got up and walked out pretty naturally. But what if it didn’t go so smoothly? He’s spiritually puppeting his own corpse around, and it’s probably a very different experience.

There’s a lot of bodily functions that we don’t necessarily *think* about; blinking, breathing, walking, etc.

So essentially what I’m picturing is Yomiel’s detachment from his body resulting in him being really uncanny (at least at first)

He zombie-walks at first, having to remember to keep his torso upright while manually moving one foot in front of the other. Even as he gets better at it, there’s still a stilted nature to his steps; never able to keep a steady walking rhythm.

Regaining his voice was the trickiest part. He had to learn what shapes to manipulate his throat and larynx into to formulate each sound. I feel like he’d sound like something out of the Mandela Catalogue, or similar horror content where an inhuman thing tries to mimic human voices. Once again, he gets better with practice, but there’s still something…off about him.

He never blinks, and why would he? He’s got the sunglasses on, so there’s no need to put in the effort. He never breathes, which most people don’t really notice unless they’re paying attention.

There’s a video game called Who’s Lila? that I heard about recently from a Jacob Geller video. In that game, you physically click and drag your characters facial features to form expressions, often to unsettling effect. I imagine it’s a similar process for Yomiel’s face. And without the ability to feel pain or damage his body, I can only imagine what expressions he could contort his face into without those limitations.

I like Yomiel as the cool, calculated, menacing presence that he is, but I also think the concept of what he is lends itself to the potential for uncanny imagery.

ANYHOOT; I just think it’s a cool concept to think about. Plus, there’s the added tragedy of his own body becoming such a foreign object to him, having to relearn things that were once second nature, and still not quite attaining a convincing visage of humanity. More traumatic experiences for Yomiel, why not.

If you read all that, thanks! And I’d love to hear any thoughts y’all have on the concept.

[1863-project]

I've been thinking a lot lately about my experiences as an autistic adult and how difficult certain things actually have been for me, and one of the things that really hit me recently was how I can tell the patrons at the library I work at are judging me. They say things to me they'd never say to my co-workers, because my co-workers seem "normal" to them. But I can think of two different cases in the last year or so that really stand out to me that illustrate this.

The first was a patron who wanted the writing address of the governor of New Hampshire. I found it and went to write it down for her. She didn't want it that way, she wanted it printed. Of course, Wikipedia wasn't going to print well, and she was starting to get difficult about it, so I came up with a solution - I'd type it into a Word document and print it for her. I was excited that I'd come up with something, and I enthusiastically expressed this excitement by raising the volume of my voice. She decided I was "weird," told me so to my face, and left instead of letting me help her.

More recently, I showed similar excitement when showing a patron how to use Google Maps, excitedly reassuring her that we'd do it together and that I wasn't going to just tell her to do something she didn't know how to do. This patron told me my enthusiasm made me seem "like a schoolgirl." I deflated immediately, pointed out I was actually 34 years old, and did everything else with an extremely dampened mood.

Being an autistic adult in the workplace - or anywhere - is an uncomfortable experience. The first patron decided I was scary. The second patron infantilized me. The dichotomy of being an autistic adult is that some people decide you're uncanny and scary and some people decide you're actually a child. Both are microaggressions. Both are ableism. The third option is, of course, to mask so well they can't tell, and then get told "But you don't seem autistic!" when you drop the big reveal on them (if you do). There's no winning here.

I think, often, of Ingo and Emmet, autistic adults who, like me, are in the workplace, are really good at their jobs and take them seriously, and are really enthusiastic about what they do. I think about what sorts of things people must say to them, about the judgment they likely experience from passengers and trainers. I think about how gratifying it must be for them to repeatedly face trainers like Hilda, who only cares about battling and not who she's up against, because in those moments there's no judgment, just Pokemon battles. Just as my regular patrons who know me and are okay with me are a comfort to me, so too must their returning trainers be one to them, a beacon of acceptance in a world that refuses to understand.

I think sometimes about how I can't go into the tags for these characters that are just like me, because there's content that treats them the way the real world treats me. It isn't all of the things people make, but it's enough that I can't take the chance of looking myself, because you never know. It's been this way since 2010, and it shows no signs of stopping. I think about how all fandoms have this problem, about how many people experience this, and it hurts deep in my chest. I wish desperately for a kinder world in which people like me aren't treated as "weird" because we're enthusiastic about work, because we don't have volume control, because we can't mask, because we're not like most people.

I do what I've always done - I generally just talk about the things I like with trusted friends who also like the things I like. It's safer that way. I don't have to worry about stumbling upon the things I already experience in real life. If my friends find something safe, they bring it to me, a wonderful show of kindness and affection that I am always deeply grateful for.

I just wish I lived in a world that thought about how things affect people more, about how a respectful portrayal can give someone hope and help them love the person in the mirror. But every "unhinged" or "scary" depiction of normal autistic traits reminds me how far we still have to go, how Autism Speaks and other hate groups still dominate the narrative even as they fade into the background.

Everyone can do what they want in fandom, but it's supposed to be an inclusive space, not an alienating one, and I think it's good to be thoughtful. You never know who you may be helping or hurting.

[gendiebrainrotreceipts]

traditional misogyny: "SHUT UP, STUPID BITCH! you're being a selfish whore for even daring to care about yourself and not having men on your mind 24/7. men have it way harder than you females. women will never comprehend the depths of male pain and loneliness. lesbians are disgusting manhating cunts who just haven't found the right man yet and should be sent to conversion therapy."

modern misogyny: "SHUT UP, STUPID THEYFAB! YOU'RE BEING TRANSMISOGYNISTIC BY TALKING ABOUT YOUR OWN EXPERIENCES! YOU AFABS ARE SO PRIVILEGED. I, AS A LESBIAN TRANS WOMAN, HAD A *MUCH* MORE TRAUMATIC CHILDHOOD THAN YOU! YOU WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO COMPREHEND HOW DEEP THE PAIN OF MY DYSPHORIA IS. no, i did not undergo male socialization because i was... *checks notes*... bullied by my male peers growing up for crying and not fitting in . lesbians must always include girldick in their lesbianism, or else they're transphobic terfs who deserve death threats sent their way."

The similarities are uncanny aren’t they? Almost like they’re the same kind of men just in slightly different fonts

[firestorm09890]

On Wuthering Heights and Canto VI (complete)

wow.

move over “Call me Ishmael” line, this is the Canto that most resembles its source book. We’ve got direct quotes! We’ve got scenes playing out like the original, beat for beat! I’m so glad I read Wuthering Heights beforehand, because unlike the previous ones where it just enhanced the experience a little (or even left me unsatisfied that they didn’t adapt certain things), I can’t imagine what it might’ve been like to not know everything in the book.

It’s kind of uncanny, actually, the extent to which things are similar. At the end of part 2 I was thinking about how there could’ve been a universe where the events of the book continued to stay the same if not for Erlking Heathcliff learning about the alternate worlds, and hey, after looking at so many universes of Catherine and Heathcliff making each other miserable, Dante (*edit: I wrote Cathy here first. I forgot it was Dante who saw it) found one where they’re happy together, both as ghosts, which! Is just the end of real actual Wuthering Heights!

We continued to have canon divergence in that way of "what if [character] had done something different?" which is always my favorite, even if some of it was just visions into a timeline where things were different. What if Heathcliff recognized he was just as bad as Hindley when it came to Hareton? What if Heathcliff and Cathy hadn't gone to spy on Thrushcross Grange that night? What if Heathcliff had stayed to listen to the rest of what Cathy had to say?

It's a tragedy, and Erlking Heathcliff, and our Heathcliff, and every other Heathcliff believed that it was the type where he was doomed from the start, because of who he is, and nothing can change that. But Dante knew that no, actually, it's a tragedy because of the choices that were made, and they can't be changed now, but you can change, and that's how you change your fate.

Individual characters

Not surprised Hindley distorted. I think this one had a lot more hate within him than the original

RIP Isabella Linton, I mean Isabella Edgar. She found someone who wasn't Heathcliff and her brother STILL stopped talking to her, and ended up being used by Erlking Heathcliff anyway

Speaking of Linton (Edgar). I don't have much to say because if I'm being honest I don't like him very much and everything he said was kinda overshadowed by his absolutely disgusting death. Catherine saying he looked like a prince out of a fairytale is very interesting considering how much he looks like the Black Swan guys

I'm sad Josephine died. It makes narrative sense but it would’ve been funny if she outlasted everyone else just like in the book

Cathy! There's a lot to say about Cathy but I'm not sure I can be the one to do it. I like her. I'm glad she was fucked up and we got our "everyone sucks here, you're perfect for each other, never involve anyone else in your business" but of course other people are getting involved because this is fucking Wuthering Heights

SPEAKING OF GETTING INVOLVED! NELLY!! I'm sooo glad they gave her the unreliable narrator trait, and managed to put the whole "burning letters" thing in there too. I'm also glad that when she did inevitably betray the team, she stayed exactly the same in personality. It's like she said herself, the happy moments in the past were real. I hope she stops associating with Hermann and goes to do something else with her life. Imagine finding out that in every universe you're wrapped up in Heathcliff and Cathy's bullshit

no Hareton or Catherine II, but Catherine I and Heathcliff did a fine job breaking the cycle themselves, I think.

there's probably more things to say about the Erlking and the Wild Hunt but I'm so tired

[cursedvibes]

Curious, what’s your opinion on all the theories that Yuuji will become less human and “turn into Sukuna”? Whether it’ll be for just a moment or like as his endgame-

I will mainly base my response on this theory because that's the most popular version of it I've seen around.

Basically, I do agree that Yuuji is getting a bit lost in his hate for Sukuna and loses sight of Megumi in favour of his desire to kill Sukuna no matter what. I honestly also welcome the change somewhat and for Sukuna to influence him. It would be boring if Sukuna is the only one who changes during this fight. It would be nice for Yuuji to have a similar reflective moment as him at some point. Questioning what he's doing, what he's fighting for and how far he's willing to go and then basing the way he kills/defeats Sukuna on it. The fight with Mahito changed him too and made him discover and accept a new side of himself. While Mahito made him adapt the cog mentality, Sukuna might be the one to push him to be more selfish again. Ideally, he would eventually find the middle point between these two extremes.

However, that doesn't mean he will ever be exactly like Sukuna or turn into him. No matter what, they are different people with different experiences that shaped them since their conception (even before their birth). When Yuuji admitted him and Mahito are the same, he didn't suddenly start torturing people for fun, he just recognized how he engages with the world and his role in it. Yuuji will potentially become more ruthless and lost in the heat of the battle now, but I don't see him ever delighting in bloodshed the way Sukuna does. People forget that no matter the parallels and vessel shenanigans, Yuuji is still his own person. That's what kept him from just being another submerged vessel of Sukuna. That's what makes Sukuna lose control over his soul right now. He doesn't entirely recognizes it himself yet, but he does have unique qualities that are the reason he's so exceptionally irritating to Sukuna. Also, Jin is a much more literal Ryomen Sukuna and he acts very different from him. Because even if jujutsu might see them as the same being and even though they used to share a body (just like Yuuji and Sukuna), their experiences and background shaped them into very different people. Mind you I'm a big supporter of fucked up Jin, but he would be still unhinged in a different way than Sukuna. Normal but seeming just a bit uncanny. Not a rabid mass murderer.

I also think that even if Yuuji gives into his darkest thoughts, him becoming a Sukuna 2.0 is very much not the intention if he goes completely crazy. He was designed by Kenjaku to eventually develop the skills he has now (minus the soul punching potentially, but that's not certain) and to unlock his full potential, he would have to become more selfish and hateful. Facing Mahito and Sukuna helped in that regard and pushed him further. Kenjaku wouldn't want him to turn into another Sukuna though because in that case...well, Sukuna is already there. I think that is part of why they specifically chose Jin to create Yuuji with and didn't somehow try to convince Sukuna to do it or mix his blood in there or whatever. It's also why unlike Sukuna, Yuuji didn't grow up in isolation and ostracisation from society, being told from the moment he's born that he's cursed. He grew up without even knowing anything about jujutsu, contrary to Sukuna who was thrown right in the midst of it from the beginning. I think that's deliberate. Kenjaku could've seen to it that Yuuji turned away from society and gave into violent/destructive impulses much earlier, but they didn't. Seems more like they wanted to build a strong foundation, the possibility to foster ideals and build genuine connections before challenging them and seeing how Yuuji would react to it, potentially being fired up even more by it and pushed to evolve further. There would be no use to repeat what created Sukuna exactly the same way because then you'll get the same result. Kenjaku wants something that will surprise them and this is the only way I see that happening.

To address the claims the person posting the theory made directly:

I don't think this change happened after his awakening, I think it happened after Choso's death and even then Yuuji is not as blinded by hate yet as the person makes him out to be. Yuuji didn't call out further to Megumi in Yuuta's domain because for one there wasn't that much time and it was also pretty clear that Megumi either couldn't hear him or wouldn't be pushed that easily to fight back against Sukuna. That's why his Black Flashes were so important. They weaken Sukuna's power over Megumi (as you can also see by Sukuna's changed domain) and would give him more freedom. Plus, this must shake up Megumi too. Yuuji's gonna make him listen if there's no other option. The Black Flashes aren't there to kill Sukuna without concern for anyone else, they're the only chance they have to get Megumi out of there or at least give him back control (he only has to take it). Yuuji didn't call out to him or specifically think of him (at least it wasn't vocalised for the reader), but that doesn't mean he forgot about Megumi. We've generally heard very little of Yuuji's thoughts during this fight and it was still clear Megumi was his aim in all this.

In my opinion, Yuuji only really dips into selfish and reckless hate when he's clawing at Sukuna's chest to tear his heart out (which wouldn't immediately kill Sukuna btw as Yuuji knows very well). It's where we see him completely livid. Still, previously, he very much shows concern for his comrades. He does get angry when Sukuna shows up after Choso dies, but it's more a gritting of teeth to steal himself, he's not raging like when he claws at Sukuna's chest. Plus, Todo showing up and telling him the others are probably okay is what gives him the strength to give it his all again and jump full force back into the fight. That took some convincing and believing in Todo's words, he wasn't gonna do that to begin with or his mindset when seeing Todo and hearing about the others would've been different. Todo wouldn't have needed to say anything at all then and Yuuji wouldn't have been so relieved to hear his reassurance. Choso's death making him question his cog mentality by ripping something important away from him, but also showing him Choso thinks his life has value is what set off his hate, but he doesn't immediately fall into it. Chapter 260 and 261 are the first real glimpses we see of it.

I think Todo being here is very important for that reason. He might not particularly care about Megumi, but he cares about Yuuji and his mental health. He wouldn't let Yuuji turn into a hate-driven monster, much less become a second Sukuna. He has helped Yuuji find himself before and I can see him being a grounding and supportive presence in this fight once again.

Now as mentioned in the beginning, I do agree with the points that Yuuji is becoming more selfish with his hate towards Sukuna and he could easily be consumed by it. Sukuna is slowly changing him in his attempt to fight against him. I like that development and am looking forward to it. We've seen Sukuna has succeeded in breaking Yuuta's ideals, but I don't see Yuuji being quite at that stage yet. Yuuji always had a viscousness to him, he was never a perfect little schoolboy with a halo over him, in that case I don't think Sukuna would've had such trouble with him. He was determined to kill Sukuna by any means necessary before Shinjuku, but he also very much always had Megumi at the back of his mind, being pretty much one of the few besides Hana or Higuruma who showed outright concern. That's slipping, but he just got there. Choso was the real turning point, not Yuuji's awakening.

And I just completely disagree with the last two tweets. Yuuji and Sukuna aren't the exact same, that would honestly be quite pointless and not a very thrilling message or ending. You made a boy give up on his ideals and be driven by pure hate or adapt Sukuna's mindset. Wow, groundbreaking. We just saw that happen with Yuuta. He doesn't have this genuine hate for Sukuna Yuuji has, but we see through him that breaking a young sorcerer's ideals and good intentions is possible. We don't need that message repeated with Yuuji. If anything, this might be a good reminder for Yuuji for who he might turn into if he's not careful. Yuuji becoming exactly like Sukuna, down to his title would be such a weird thing to end on. What's that supposed to tell us. There will always be a Sukuna? How profound. There will always be that one strongest monster in the world? Yuuta is literally trying to achieve that right now and you can see what a weak philosophy it is and unsustainable at that. Yuuji becomes the strongest sorcerer in history...yay?

Yuuji is neither mentally, physically and especially not spiritually Sukuna and he's not supposed to be.

[reallyromealone]

Uncanny Valley reader

I don't remember what part

Male reader

Violence, fluff

🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷☁️🩷(name)s move was prompt.

Ran watching the cats explore the new area and a majority of (name)s belongings in storage (mostly his stuffed toys and furniture), The Bonten executive excited to have his strange boyfriend around more often.

(Name) held his hello kitty blanket and squishmallow confused and Ran cooed "you can put your stuff anywhere darling, my home is yours"

(Name) tentatively put his stuff in little areas, a stuffed plush there and his blanket on the bed.

That was another thing ran was going to enjoy.

Sharing a bed with (name).

Ran was determined to be a good boyfriend to (name) who also did try his best in his own way, the broker letting ran cuddle him and even wear one of rans shirts to bed.

Ran didnt want (name) finding a new apartment.

Though the others?

They couldn't stand it.

And boy did it FILL RAN WITH SO MUCH JOY.

(Name) and rans schedules were surprisingly similar though ran did have to drag (name) from his computer to bed when the man wouldn't sleep with the promise of more Cat videos and people watching at the park.

(Name) liked how ran smelled.

He always smelt very nice, expensive.

(Name) never imagined having a relationship much less being the little spoon, letting ran take the lead in the relationship. He didn't think he would enjoy not being in control but Ran seemed to know what he was doing so (name) let him do as he pleased.

Ran learned (name)s likes and dislikes, he wasn't fond of big fancy dinners often, the broker liked private rooms to eat and ran didn't mind, less likely to get killed that way.

(Name) was also not easy to impress as the man was always on edge but Ran learned what he liked.

Cute things and soft things.

Ran was truly dating a cat.

The two got ready at the same time, Ran splitting his closet for (name) "you have so many plush toys and blankets but three suits"

"Yes?"

"We have very different priorities, I know how much Bonten pays you so why don't you buy suits baby?"

Ran also learned (name) liked nicknames and pet names but only out of the public eye "Why would I need more?"

"Why not?"

Today was a rare day off, ran deciding to take (name) out clothes shopping, the man having one set of pajamas, three suits and five casual pants and shirts.

Ran was appaled.

Ran managed to convince his boyfriend to go clothes shopping with the promise of buying him a limited edition plush toy.

What they weren't counting on was Bonten tagging along in disguises..

"Wear this..." Mikey commanded to the deadpan broker, handing him a god awful shirt but the man just shrugged and went into the change room and tried it on.

"When can I get my plush" (name) said deadpan, clearly not enjoying this experience and ran wanted to scream, not at (name) but at the others who were taking up his time but Ran appreciated how (name) always focused his attention on his boyfriend when asking questions. "(Name)! Try this!" Koko beamed and held clearly women's lingerie and the broker just looked cold and dead before going and changing into his clothes and walking out of the store "God damn it..." Ran mumbled.

Over the months with (name) he learned (name)s tells and he knew (name) was very much done.

He ended up finding him at a gatcha machine corner getting little keychains.

(Name) was beyond uncomfortable, he didn't have experience with a lot of people at once and malls were only used for people watching or info gathering.

Not people who he knew didn't like him months prior suddenly wanting attention.

He didn't understand.

"Hey baby, cute keychains" Ran joked and (name) looked at him "I'm not some doll to be dressed, can we end this errand and return to your apartment?" (Name) mumbled gripping the keychains, he didn't even get his plush like promised.

Ran nodded and ended up ditching Bonten (save for Rindō who he asked to get the plush and a few other cute things for (name)) and went back to the penthouse "they're insistence is confusing and unwelcome" (name) said simply "yeah, I wish they would lay off too..." Ran said bringing him to the livingroom where the cats were currently very entranced with the birds on the balcony.

Ran smiled as (name) and him ended up cuddling on the couch, the broker clearly overwhelmed and overstimulated and after head scratches and shows Ran introduced (name) to, the man was out cold in comfy clothes.

He looked absolutely precious.

People often forgot who and what (name) was and did.

He was absolutely precious to Ran but seeing him beat a guy senseless with a briefcase and an empty expression was both horrifying and *hot* to the elder Haitani. The man was half conscious as (name) bent down "don't try and swindle me" he hissed out and bashed the guys face into the floor before getting up.

(Name) recently began working with Bonten fully no longer as an information broker but as an intelligence gatherer strictly under Bonten.

"I don't like this apartment" (name) said simply as he looked it over, it was a very nice place, state of the art appliances and an excellent view of the city "what don't you like about it?" Ran asked as Rindō checked out the rooms "it's not right"

This had been (name)s answer for the past four apartments and Ran was confused, what was wrong with these places?

Then it clicked.

And Ran was smug.

(Name) now only slept in Rans bed, in Rans clothes and cuddling ran.

He got ready with Ran.

He ate with Ran.

He did most things with Ran.

What was missing from the apartments was Ran.

"Still looking for an apartment?" Koko asked (name) who was walking to his new office as (name) technically counted as an executive as he was in charge of an entire sector.

"Yes" (name) said smiling, he didn't like Kokos company or most of their company "well an apartment opened up in my building, I can put a good word in for you!" He offered and (name) shook his head "I have decided to continue my residency with Ran" (name) said simply and the energy in the office plummeted as the men lowkey pouted but (name) didn't care "does this mean we can move your stuff to my place fully?' Ran grinned fully aware of what he's doing.

"Yes" (name) looked very unsettling as he walked into his office and Ran followed "you know you don't have to do that if you don't want to" Ran said softly and (name) was twitchy "it's fine" he said stiffly "is it?'

"I... I enjoy your company greatly... I don't want to be without it... Is it acceptable for me to continue?"

"Absolutely baby" he said kissing (name) softly and spoke "we can take your stuff out of storage... I have three extra rooms, we can put all you're cute stuff in there"

"Stuffed toys on the bed?"

"You can have five"

"Deal"

[subway-boss-jericho]

Queuing posts for most of my AUs! Check out this Masterpost! ᵈᶦˢᶜˡᵃᶦᵐᵉʳ ⁻ ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵉⁿᵗ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉᶦʳ ᶦᶜᵒⁿᶦᶜ ᵏⁿᶦᶠᵉ ᵇᵃⁿᵍˢ! ᴵ ˡᵉᶠᵗ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ᵒᶠᶠ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᶦˢ ʳᵉᶠᵉʳᵉⁿᶜᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵏᵉᵉᵖ ᵗʰᵉᶦʳ ᶠᵃᶜᵉˢ ᶠᵘˡˡʸ ᵛᶦˢᶦᵇˡᵉ.

Steady Tracks Do Not Waver

-Premise- On the return trip home from Hisui, Ingo does not return the same as he left. By some unknown cause, he has been transformed into a pokemon- 13ft tall, Steel, Ground, and very very out of his depth, he finds himself roaming the eerily familiar yet unfamiliar tunnels of Gear Station. Desperate to find a way to his "home" and remember who he is, that is when he encounters Subway Boss Emmet.

This story is not about Ingo. Or at least, not about his return. Ingo was taken out of the story many years ago, leaving Emmet behind to pick up the pieces of the life they always meant to spend together. The last several years he has walked without Ingo have forced him into an active, unavoidable struggle with grief and loss, until recent, when he finally began to come to terms with his solo-car life moving forward. However, now things are changing again. In the days leading up to their meeting, he hears rumors of a strange, powerful pokemon lurking in the subway. When Emmet finally stops in the right place at the right time to challenge it face to face- the face looking back is far too similar to the one he lost years before. It all bubbles back to the surface again; now, with an uncanny passenger in tow, he must keep moving forward down these uncertain tracks. Battling with grief once again, as he avoids pushing his old pains onto this new, familiar, face.

-Noteworthy Points- IF THIS AU INTERESTS YOU, please consider reading the prologue and chapter one on Ao3! Steady tracks! This is the one you probably know me for, if you know me at all. My poster boys!! My favoritest guys,, I want to include so many notes but I know most of the notes I want to write are all spoilers. Please poke me to keep writing <3 This AU is not even remotely dead I just have chronic burnout and it WILL continue please bother me about it whenever you want <3

This story is (and probably will continue to be) almost exclusively told from Emmet's point of view. It is a post-canon exploration of grief, change, and how to go on after everything you know is lost. THIS MEANS there is a LOT of discussion of death! NO ONE IS DEAD, but Emmet believes Ingo has died, and regularly experiences grief and/or talks about him as if he is dead. If that still bothers you, no problem! This is not going to be the fic for you. However, if it at all eases you to know that everyone is still alive, then have fun and maybe bring tissues because I really like writing people being upset (and also them getting better but, that involves them needing to be upset first.)

Also! New STIngo reference!! I have been working on updating the shape language of his design to look more like a pokemon and this is the most up-to-date version! If you want to draw him, reference this one! I swear I will get that side view done eventually, I fucking promise.

Enjoy <3 <3 I love this AU a lot.

-Links- Official Writing - Steady Tracks Do Not Waver Artwork - Fanart by Nyacat39 Artwork - Fanart by Dontmineit (1) Artwork - Fanart by Dontmineit (2) Discussion - The Luxury Ball Artwork and Trivia - Official Reference (Outdated) Artwork and Trivia - Updated Reference (Also Outdated) Discussion - "Awla Boah" Artwork - Fanart by Maelysgriffonne Artwork - Fanart by Dontmineit (3) Artwork - Big Nap (Durant <3) Artwork - CH1 Concept Sketches Artwork - STIngo Sprite

[lailoken]

What are your favorite pieces of media that you think accurately represent magic and spirit work? Movies, books, even music..

This is an interesting question, but one that requires a lot of thought, as I have read and watched an inordinate amount of books and movies. Plus, even really good fiction with pagan themes that I've read/watched is generally inaccurate in most ways, with some realistic aspects of magic woven in here and there. Some of my very favorite media relating to the subject can't really be included, simply because of how inaccurate it is overall, but there are a few that have caught my notice.

I'm sure I'll end up missing ones, which bugs me, but I'll do my best to recount some examples that I can think of:

The Love Witch (2016) is a movie that I think presents a strikingly realistic portrayal of what magic can look like. It manages to show some of the ways one might use magic to great effect, without actually skewing into fantasy at all. Clearly, the magic shown isn't going to line up with every paradigm, and its not exactly a heady or spirit-based story, but I think it's a very real look at how ritual and magic is/can be approached by many folks in the modern day.

The Witch (2015) is, above all else, a great slow-burn horror film and an excellent period-piece. However, it also portrays quite an accurate conception of folkloric beliefs about Witchcraft in the 17th century, which inexorably inform the realities of modern Witchcraft traditions. It does just barely skew into fantasy horror, but the actual folkloric information being presented is quite sound.

A Dark Song (2016) is a film that portrays ceremonial magic realistically in many ways. Ultimately, it is still a supernatural horror film, but the bulk of the magic in the movie is based directly on the Abramelin Operation, which was interesting to see. A lot of the ways that the magic "takes shape" in the film feels real enough to me, too (though it certainly takes it to extremes at points, as horror movies are wont to do).

We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson is a horror novel I much enjoyed when I read it a coulple years ago, but I also remember that it happens to contain small, but meaningful, instances of sympathetic magic within the story that I appreciated as a practitioner looking in. This one has been made into a movie as well.

Cunning Folk by Adam Nevill is one of the more realistic looks at magic—including the uncanny side of it—that I've come across. It's still definitely a horror story, first and foremost, but there's an oomph to the ritual and magic described therein that a lot of other similar fiction lacks—even when the ritual act being described isn't necessarily accurate in terms of historicality or my personal experience of the Craft.

The White People by Arthur Machen is a Welsh short horror story from the turn of the century, which I think is worth including here. There are elements and aspects of the story that feel surprisingly real in terms of Gloaming initiation and the Gloaming Spirits—though, of course, it takes creative liberties informed by the paranormal beliefs and trends of the time (1890s).

The Craft (1996) is a movie that I'm sure a lot of pagans have of nostalgia for in one way or another, myself included. I struggled with whether this movie should be here or in the Honorable Mention section, but I included it here in the end because a lot of the ways magic and ritual are presented in the film are accurate enough. I also think it did a fairly good job of capturing how it can feel to discover, revel in, and then become overwhelmed by magic. However, since it is a supernatural horror film, a lot of magic shown is portrayed more fantastically than the real thing, and there are aspects of the magic (rituals, entities, etc.) made up entirely for the sake of the story.

As implied above, there are also some pieces that, while largely inaccurate or too far into the realm of fantasy, still manage to succesfully capture some essence of realistic feeling magic in them. I will list those here as Honorable Mentions:

Practical Magic (1998) is another movie that I'm sure a lot of Pagans have nostalgia for in some way or another. I won't claim that it's a genuinely "accurate" representation of magic—and it certainly strays into outright fantasy at times—but there are little things throughout the movie that managed to ring a bell for me, as someone who grew up with magic in my family. I know this was originally a book, but I actually haven't read that as of yet, so I can't speak to it.

Pan's Labyrinth (2006) is a movie is squarely in the fantasy-horror genre to me, but even still, I include it here as an honorable mention because a lot of the lore depicted is drawn from real lore, and the overall ambience it manged to evoke strongly reminds me of some of my own experiences with chthonic journeying.

The Good Witch franchise isn't one I have ever actually watched any part of before, but I include it here because, oddly enough, multiple practitioners have mentioned to me that they think the magic is surprisingly realistic for a Hallmark series. As I understand it, the main character is a sort of local Wise Woman who helps the folk in her little town using things like folk-knowledge, remarkable intuition, and an uncanny ability to seemingly sway people and circumstances. Since I haven't seen it myself, my take on it may be somewhat lacking, (which is why I listed it as an honorable mention), but based on the description, it actually sounds like it may be one of the more realistic interpretations of magic on this list.

I know this is a strange addition, as it's not exactly magic, per se, but much of how Stephen King writes about psychic abilities like clairvoyance and healing throughout his works manages to touch on something all too familiar for me. I think, sometimes, that he may have known someone with the Sight and/or the Touch in his real life, as it comes up a lot in one shape or another in his writing.

As I said, I'm sure there's stuff I'm missing, but this at least a serviceable overview. I encourage others to share any other media that they think deserves a mention, too!