#myr speaks!

[myrquez]

someone on here pointed out smth that really makes me laugh, which is that all these months ago bezz called marc’s riding style dirty, and now he’s admitted on multiple occasions to observing marc’s style and learning from him. he called him MAESTRO. and the fact that vale openly discourages and hates marc’s riding style makes it even funnier i know he’s going to pop a vein when he realises

“alora marco vie qua n’attimo. we need to talk”

no but fr i fear valentino is probably on antibiotics rn, literally 2 seconds away from a huge meltdown bc first it’s pecco being Such a Normal Person (hug, handshakes, civil interactions) to marc, then it’s luca generally being so nice and saying marc is the one that should step on the 2nd ducati seat. and then fuckin BEZZ, his strongest soldier when it comes to the Rosquez Great War, goes out on live tv and decides to hit us all with the Oh Marc is Doing Great we all Look up to Him he’s a Maestro I followed Him to Learn how to Ride into that Corner yadda yadda yadda

marco you better sleep with one eye open at the ranch bc he’s gonna be PISSED. he’s gonna cut off your curls and revoke your special left earring

[socketsuspension]

need to fuck my best friend again so bad. need his fingers in me and my mouth on him and all the rest of it urghhhh

[heehoothefool]

I don't have much in the writblr on my page atm but I'm always looking to change that, this account and my other account @theworldoftomalyr do frequently mention my novel series wip Gilded Fate and have some stuff on both <3

Looking for writeblrs!

My dash has been a bit dry as of late, so please interact with this post if you're an active writeblr and I'll check your blog out! Some of the things I'm looking for:

fantasy or historical fiction

tragedies/bittersweet endings

blogs dedicated to one or a few wips rather than many

participation in writeblr ask/tag games (i do my best to ask back!)

unique settings that I haven't seen before

If you're interested in what I write, come check out my intro post here 😊

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Sanemi Shinazugawa General Profile

Yandere! Sanemi Shinazugawa x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, violence/mild gore, Sanemi controls your diet/comments on what you eat, mentions of physical and sexual assault (not by Sanemi though because he is Consent King™), my characterization of Sanemi is a little unusual I think but I stand by it, part of that characterization involves him being very sexually frustrated so mentions of masturbation, Stockholm Syndrome, mentions of reader being insecure/having low self esteem, kind of mind-break ish for reader, 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: 13K

DARLING PROFILE:

Honest 

To Sanemi, there is nothing more worthless than liars - with the exception, possibly, of demons. He doesn’t understand why one would skate around the truth, and in his eyes it’s a sign of weakness, of an unwillingness to face reality and to cheat themselves.

Needless to say, he wouldn’t tolerate a partner who is prone to lying, who lets falsities slip from their lips like it’s nothing. He wants to know that his partner won’t front anything, that each word and phrase that they speak is nothing but how they feel, their honest thoughts and feelings.

Trust means a lot to him, and because it’s so difficult for him to fully open up, to allow himself to becomes vulnerable, he’s quite selective with who he lest see the real Sanemi Shinazugawa, the real man who wants nothing more than for the ones he loves to be safe and happy.

He needs a darling who won’t bullshit him, who can hold his respect and take a slight weight off his shoulders by knowing that they won’t ever lie to him.

It doesn’t mean his paranoia diminishes in any sense of the word, but the sentiment is still nice - it’s pleasing to him that when his darling is finally giving in and telling him in a defeated, resigned voice that they love him too, when he’s forcing out a compliment that sounded wonderful in his head but strange once it passed him that the small smile and soft ‘thanks’ they give is real.

He needs to comfort of knowing that his darling is authentic, that they’re showing their real selves to him, and with each glimpse he sees he only falls more and more in love. 

Opinionated

There is no doubt that Sanemi works tirelessly to be as powerful as he can, that it’s his sole drive in life to kill and defeat demons. He’s a man fueled by adrenaline and hate for the man-eating creatures, and he desires a darling who is similarly motivated.

His darling doesn’t need to have a tragic past or anything of the sort, but he appreciates someone who is somewhat of a spitfire.

He likes women who can challenge him, and if his darling is able to keep up with him and even occasionally be better than him at something, it’s a sure fire way for him to grow interested.

He loves the idea of his darling being capable and independent (ironic, considering the way he grows to coddle his darling and let his overprotectiveness convince him that they’re utterly helpless without him), and a darling who’s able to showcase this personality trait gets him ever so slightly flustered.

He likes someone who can stand up to him, who doesn’t let him boss them around, and while he’ll want them to be complacent and listen to him once he has a more solidified role in their life, there’s something so incredibly attractive about them having their own mind and opinion.

He may act like it irritates him at first, butting heads with his darling and even occasionally complaining about how headstrong they are, but it’s one of the very first things that catches Sanemi’s attention and keeps it.

(That and, of course, the color of their eyes, the sway of their hips, the lilt of their voice, and myriad other qualities that make him gape like some lovesick school boy. Pathetic.)

Kind

On the flip side, Sanemi is also wildly attracted to a darling who is a truly kind person.

They can be opinionated, hardheaded, competitive, any number of things that leave them labeled as a strong personality, but it’s in the moments where Sanemi sees how truly compassionate they are that his feelings really become cemented.

He’s had to bury his own compassion and empathy down over the years, hardening his shell and playing into the character so well that it’s become essentially his real self, and to see his darling able to be so kind and loving to the people around them makes him wildly flustered and jealous.

It reminds him of his old self, and while that brings its own heavy baggage, there’s something freeing and so very calming about it, like some long lost puzzle piece is slotting into place because it just feels right.

And when his darling turns that kindness onto him, Sanemi’s genuinely at a loss for words. The first time they scold him for getting injured and help tend to his wounds, he’s already putty in their hands. He’s momentarily struck silent when his darling presents to him a small gift from a nearby market, the gift itself meager and not something Sanemi particularly wants, but there’s something about the gesture that gets his heart racing, flattered and unsure why they’d be giving someone like him something.

It’s a quality that he subconsciously looks for, and though he’d never admit it, it’s difficult for him to not notice just how kind his darling would be in the context of motherhood. They’d be great with children, he’s sure, and while he doesn’t want to bring any children into the world while it's still crawling with demons, he’s nursing the quiet, embarrassed dream of his darling carrying his children and heading a loving, large family.

It’s the stuff of his fantasies, the kind of thing that makes him flush and get irritated at sappy at is, but with each kind gesture and compliment, his darling only makes it harder and harder to not dream of it.

Brave

On many levels, to become a person Sanemi respects you’d have to be brave. He simply doesn’t tolerate those who are weak-willed or meek, and a darling who’s more willing to put themselves out there or stand up for others is extremely attractive to him.

His darling doesn’t need to be a risk-taker, but he appreciates someone is willing to go outside of their comfort zone every once in a while. This is especially true when it comes to interacting with him. His tough demeaner scares most people off, so his darling would need to be willing to tough it out and stand up to him in order to dig past his rough exterior and get at the soft, vulnerable side of him.

It makes him proud, really, when his darling does something that he deems brave or difficult for them. It fills him with a sense of accomplishment, feeling genuinely happy for them because he’s so very proud when they achieve even basic things.

He's extremely observant and picks up on even minute aspects of his darling’s personality, and so he’s very in touch with what’s within his darling’s comfort zone and what isn’t.

This trait is by and large a positive for him, however there are times when it becomes the bane of his existence; if they do something he deems stupid or unnecessary and puts them in danger he becomes very, very angry. He’s paranoid in every sense of the word, terrified that his darling will die or somehow disappear, leaving him behind to be all alone, losing just another person he’s come to love.

(Though, love is perhaps not quite the word for it – needs, maybe, or even adores, just with a sense of finality that scares even Sanemi.) His darling’s braveness is a double-edged sword, and once they’re under his lock and key, he’s trying to cut down on their ability to act on this as much as possible, not only for their safety but also his sanity.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS: 

Protective

As a general rule, Sanemi’s expression of his feelings towards you is rather indirect. He’ll never outright confess that he’s in love with you until very, very late into his obsession, and by that time you’ll have already been trapped by his side for at least a few months, already uncomfortably aware that he feels something for you, even if he won’t put a name on it.

He’s not traditionally romantic in any sense, and while he does harbor fantasies about being all soft and mushy with you, he can’t seem to allow himself to act on these desires, particularly towards the beginning of his infatuation.

(He’ll spend his nights laying awake, staring at the ceiling while his fingers trace patterns against the scars on his chest, imagining they’re your own softer, prettier hands, that you’re laying beside him and lulling him to sleep with your touch and soft voice, that you’re telling him that you love him and that you feel so safe with you, Sanemi. Idly, he wonders whether you’re put off by the scars – you’ve never mentioned it, sure, but Sanemi isn’t stupid. He knows you’re too nice and perhaps too intimidated by him, but he still bites his lip and wonders whether you wouldn’t mind them, if you’d like them, if you’d be attracted to them, even… And suddenly his fingers feel like fire because now he’s imagining how it would feel to have your lips trail the scarred skin instead and oh god-)

He’s not particularly overt with many aspects of his obsession, with a few stark exceptions – namely, Sanemi is very, very overprotective of you. Call it a result of a traumatic childhood and adult life or perhaps even a coping mechanism, but once his feelings for you begin to fester, your safety becomes his number one priority.

And really, isn’t it understandable?

Seeing humans get slaughtered on a daily basis constantly reminds him that you’re weak. Sure, he’s a Hashira and risks his life with every breath, but you’re you. You’re painfully unprepared to handle a confrontation with a demon, and with each new violent, gory death he sees, Sanemi becomes more and more aware of this.

It’s maddening, really, because he’ll be out on a mission and be just a hair too late to save some poor civilian woman and oh, her hair color is so very similar to yours – from a distance it almost looks like you. Your faces aren’t similar, though, and as Sanemi runs past the fresh corpse in pursuit of the monster, he’s breathing a sigh of relief because for the smallest, briefest moment he was almost convinced that that was you.

And later that night, as he sits down alone in his quiet, empty mansion, every blink of his eyes is flashing an image of you in her position, scarlet blood staining your skin and tears drying against your cheeks. It makes him grit his teeth, pacing around the room and clutching onto his sword hilt, muttering under his breath about how you’re driving him crazy and this shit needs to stop, I have to stop, this has to stop…

But he still finds himself dashing off to the modest room you call home, anger flaring when he notices you’ve left your window open, mentally berating you and promising to sternly remind you tomorrow to not be so careless.

Wide eyes peer into your bedroom to catch sight of you peacefully sleeping, and he sucks in a breath at the sight. You’re just so pretty – all soft and warm in your bed, lips parted ever so slightly, the slope of your nose catching his eye, the slow rise and fall of your chest.

(He’ll stop to match his own breathing with yours, palm pressing against the glass of the window, unable to stop staring even as he calls himself pathetic and a creep for watching you sleep. It’s just calming in a way he can’t describe, and when he finally forces himself to move some thirty minutes later, the cycle only restarts as he steps foot back in his home.)

His anxiety that you’re unable to protect yourself manifests pretty early into his obsession – and you’ll notice, too. He’s unusually concerned with all aspects of your health and safety – he’s always asking when you’ve last eaten, what you had, if you’re still hungry, when you last had protein or a vegetable or drank water. And while he’s trying to be as civil and nonchalant as he can manage, he’s still staring, looming over you and looking at you with an intensity that makes you feel so very small, your answer more of a question than an answer.

And if he doesn’t like the answer, you’re being dragged to his own personal kitchen, all the while he’s grumbling about how you’re so irresponsible, can’t even feed yourself on your own, meanwhile he’s already boiling water and cutting vegetables, having forced you to sit on the most plush cushion he owns.

And you will be eating everything he feeds you – when you seem hesitant, he's threatening with a disturbingly serious I won’t let you leave until that tray is clean, the calmness and sincerity in his voice driving you to immediately pick up your utensils.

Typically, his cooking isn’t bad – perhaps ever so slightly charred, but it’s cooked to your tastes and preferences (though he never explicitly asked about them), and he’s always looking at you while you dine, those wide eyes of his never seeming to blink as he surveys every possible detail about you.

(Really, he’s doing two things – firstly, he’s obsessively checking over every aspect of your eating habits. How many times do you chew before you swallow? Which foods do you start eating first, and do you eat section by section or a little bit of everything? Do you blow on your foods if they’re too hot, your pretty lips puckering into a cute little ‘o’ that makes him suck in a breath? But even aside from that he’s staring, transfixed, because just last night he was dining alone at this table, solemnly chewing at his food while imagining your presence beside him, fantasizing about the day when you’re eating together, perhaps even swapping stories of the day or complimenting him or telling him that you look so handsome today Sanemi, it’s kind of pissing me off… Just the thought makes him sit up straighter, unconsciously puffing out his chest because he wants you to be very, very aware of the muscles lining every inch of his body.)

And even aside from food, his protectiveness is apparent in the way he treats you – he’s always quickly gazing over your body, checking for any signs of cuts, scrapes, bruises, or limps, the surveying genuinely clinical rather than perverse.

(Of course, later that night he’ll remember the details with a slightly lewder twist – wondering how soft your thighs must be and letting his hands flex into a fist in an effort to grab onto something, even though it can’t be you. He’s imagining exactly how those nipples of yours must look like, imagining in detail the way they’d look all pebbled, the skin soft and warm and god, he bets you’d taste sweet, like some sort of heaven.)

He’s refusing to leave your side when you walk into town, always trailing at your arm and constantly glowering at the people around you, his excuse something related to checking for demon activity in the crowd – you don’t mention that it’s daytime.

(He’s always raising a brow when men approach you, rage simmering just below the surface alongside an underlying sense of anxiety and insecurity because while he may be the most capable of protecting you, the kinder, gentler man that calls you beautiful at the small morning market may be more capable of winning your heart. And so, when they get too close, he’s quick to place himself between the two of you, a scowl on his face and his tone a mix of condescension and threatening when he tells him to get lost, one more step and I slice your arm off. It’s protection, sure, because who knows what these men could want from you, but the small, possessive part of him is smug when the man scurries off, his worries momentarily quelled because you’re still next to him, not that stranger.)

He’s pessimistic about people by nature, always assuming the worst, and so Sanemi accompanies you every free moment he possibly can, acting as your shadow and impossible to get away from. It’s irritating, really, because even if you fight and bicker with him about it, requesting that he please leave you alone because it scares you to have him hanging off of you like that, he’ll only resort to following you from a few meters behind, blending in with the crowd but still keeping those eyes on you, hand always tightly clutched around the hilt of his sword just in case your safety is threatened.

He knows it’s stalking, sure, and he reprimands himself for his weakness and inability to control himself, but the moment you’re out of his sight panic is racing through him, his breathing getting shallow and his skin feeling hot because fuck fuck fuck this isn’t happening, you’re not gone you can’t be gone please oh god where are you –

He’s running as quickly as he can to check behind every corner, desperation to find you so potent that it bars him from feeling embarrassed, only calming once he finds you. He’ll grasp onto your shoulders once he does, his grip nearly bruising as he demands to know where you’ve been, practically yelling at you to tell him if you’re hurt, if anyone bothered you, if you’ve been attacked or if you’re scared.

It’s only when you wince or beg him to back off that he does, freezing up and letting his mouth fall open stupidly, before suddenly jumping back as if touching you pains him, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth, disappointment and anger in himself for injuring you rolling through him.

He treats you like you’re delicate, fragile, breakable, and no matter how often you tell him – and prove to him – that you’re not, Sanemi refuses to acknowledge it.

After all, you needing protection gives him purpose. It gives him justification to be around you, to be allowed in your presence – it makes him think he might, just maybe, be worthy of your love. And no matter how pathetic it makes him feel to admit it, Sanemi would do absolutely anything to get you looking at him and needing him like he needs you.

Anything.

Possessive

And it’s palpable. Sanemi is many things, but subtle is not one of them – and while he may be decent at masking many aspects of his obsession with you, his possessive side is certainly not one of them.

He’s easily jealous, always suspecting the worst of people that approach you. The man that comes up to ask you for directions obviously has an ulterior motive, perhaps wanting to ogle you or get just a hair too close to your body for Sanemi’s comfort.

The older man that accidentally bumps into you as he walks with his cane may seem innocent, but Sanemi’s immediately scowling, eyeing the man like a hawk because many old men seem to feel much too entitled and much too confident in bothering younger, attractive women, and he’ll be damned before he lets some old creep harass you.

(A bit hypocritical, all things considered, because while Sanemi may be your age, he’s significantly more of a creep – the way he’s constantly following you, constantly thinking of you, imagining your smile and your laugh and of what he’s sure is a very warm and oh so fucking wet place between those plush thighs of yours. The old man would probably only touch you – Sanemi wants to do much, much more.)

And so, a large portion of his possessiveness stems from his own protectiveness. He firmly believes that no one else is capable of protecting you to the level and degree that he can. He’s a Hashira, unafraid to throw himself into danger for a cause he fully believes in, so why should he be afraid to put himself on the line in order to keep you safe and sound?

Slaughtering demons is still his life’s mission, sure, but somehow you’ve wormed your way in, too, and Sanemi finds it increasingly difficult to simply ignore how much of an effect you have on him. And even as much as he tries to deny his feelings in the beginning, praying and hoping that they’re simply temporary, it becomes very, very difficult to force himself to not care when he sees anyone else speaking to you.

And honestly, a lot of the anger comes from the fact that you have never been this familiar and carefree when conversing with Sanemi – you never smile at him like you do with this new man, all teeth and rounded cheeks and glowing eyes. It’s cute, adorable, beautiful even, but it’s also infuriating, making Sanemi’s blood boil and something ugly and uncomfortable press against his ribs.

Other men always seem to be able to more easily speak with you – they’re wittier, better at complimenting you, managing to make you laugh and smile in a way that hurts Sanemi to see. It’s painful, more than anything, and early into his obsession it’s moments like these that show him that no matter how he tries to convince himself that his feelings for you aren’t as strong or potent as he thinks, he’s wrong.

He needs you in a way that simultaneously frustrates and terrifies him. He hasn’t felt a connection and genuine desire in such a long time that he doesn’t even recognize the feeling at first – it takes him seeing you interact with men over a prolonged period of time to even understand the nature of his infatuation, realizing that instead of mere irritation he’s feeling, it’s something deeper, harsher, more personal.

It’s something that makes it hard to breath, his fists clenching and his legs feeling like lead, dread settling deep in his chest because oh god, what does he do?

He tends to act before thinking when it comes to you, his body seeming to react before he even has a moment to process what he’s seeing, and this is certainly no exception when another man approaches you. He’ll be quick to step in, but as Sanemi’s obsession continues on, he becomes more and more torn about his possessive tendencies.

By and large, he’s lucid about the nature of his feelings for you. He knows what he’s doing is wrong, and as time passes and his love for you only seems to grow exponentially, he begins to wonder whether interfering with potential lovers of yours is really the correct move. He’s horribly jealous, of course, barely able to keep himself from hurling the moment he sees you interacting with anyone else, but there’s something else there, sitting just below the surface and giving him ever so slight pause.

It’s guilt, the idea that he’s becoming unreasonably possessive and territorial over you when he really has no right to. After all, thinking of you as his woman makes him feel good, his chest feeling all tingly and his cheeks going hot, but it’s not really true, is it?

You’re not his – he’s just an admirer, a stalker who desperately wishes he could call out to you and have you smile at him, look at him, let him wrap you in his arms and even press a kiss or two against his trembling lips. But you’re not – and it’s difficult for Sanemi to rationalize that the longer his obsession goes on.

And so, by the times that he’s a few months into accepting his feelings for you, Sanemi tries to limit his interventions into your interactions with others to only situations where you’re uncomfortable or in danger. And it’s noble, truly – but the problem arises from the fact that Sanemi is the one judging when this occurs, deciding when someone is bothering you.

His mood plays a huge role in this judgement decision, his moodiness and however long he's been away from you or gone without interacting with you swaying his decision. If he’s been particularly absent from your life for the last few days or weeks, Sanemi is believing that everyone has ill intentions with you – every man that glances at you, even every elderly woman that compliments your eyes or your figure.

They all want you, and it makes him panic, growing anxious and terrified that someone will snatch you away from him, that he’ll lose you and with you every bit of happiness and calm you make him feel. It’s a panic response, more than anything, and he’ll immediately rush in, sometimes not even caring how you grow irritated and frustrated that he always seems to just appear, despite the fact that you have the situation under control.

It’s a mixture of genuine worry for your safety and selfish desire to keep you all to himself that motivates him, and you’ll notice a stark difference in his behavior once he’s got you stolen away in his estate. He won’t directly reveal his feelings to you, but his sense of ownership over you will become much more apparent with the way he’s always providing for you, giving you all sorts of expensive gifts and getting only the best foods for you, doing anything and everything to get you to like him, to get you to become willingly his and to show you that no one else could treat you as well or love you as wholly.

He’s a prideful man, sure, but when it comes to you everything flies out the window – he’s barely able to conceal his desperation for you, and the defense is so weak that you’ll spot the cracks immediately. You’ll be able to tell just how badly he needs you to admit that you’re his, his control over your life worsening with every day that passes because he simply can’t stand knowing that you aren’t utterly, completely his.

And really, would it be so bad to give in? There’s something romantic about a man who wants you so badly that he’s so hyper fixated on keeping you his and only his, isn’t there? Something exciting, something flattering, something raw?

Sanemi sure hopes you think so, but at the end of the day it doesn’t really matter – he can’t stop himself, and you will become his at the end of the day.

Shy

But in an extremely specific way – he doesn’t shy away from interacting with you per say, but it’s very, very difficult for him to become completely open and vulnerable with you.

He’s simply too closed off – he’s entirely unused to having anyone close in his life, his few relationships held quietly close to his heart and rocky, to say the least. (His love for Genya, for example, or even the comradery he feels for Obanai and his fellow Hashira, though he’s much more expressive than he realizes.)

He’s simply not good with words, often finding himself saying things he doesn’t mean or speaking with a tone entirely unreflective of what he feels. And as a result, he struggles with the idea of opening himself up to you. You’re simply too important to him – you’re his everything now, the woman he wants to protect and keep safe above all else.

And while he’s not deluded enough to believe that you can understand him simply by looking at him, Sanemi hopes and prays that his actions are enough to convey the depth and nature of his feelings.

(Though, he’s often unsure of whether he wants you to really understand just how strong his dependence on you really is. Perhaps it would be better if you didn’t know that he can’t spend a single hour without passing thoughts of you sifting through his mind – a simple glance at a cloud has him thinking it vaguely looks like your hair, the shape making the corner of his lip turn up ever so slightly, his fingers subconsciously rubbing together and imagining the texture against his skin. He doesn’t want you to know that sometimes, when he’s sitting alone and eating the rather bare-bones, plain meal he’s cooked for himself, he’ll set a second plate, biting back his pride and quietly speaking into the air, pretending that you’re sitting there and entertaining him, nodding along to his words and encouraging him after a particularly difficult mission or seeing you getting just a tad too friendly with another man.)

Really, a lot of the fear of opening himself up comes down to Sanemi’s lucidity about his feelings for you. He has no romantic experience, true, but he’s not stupid – he’s aware that it’s unusual to be this attached when the two of you are really only platonically involved, even as much as he yearns to take things further.

He understands that it’s not normal to be so hyper fixated and concerned on your health and safety, always having a moment of clarity as he scolds you for wearing shoes that are worn down enough to hurt the soles of your shoes, or for not drinking water all day.

He’s very aware that it’s wrong of him to be following you home and keeping an eye on you without your knowledge or consent, and truthfully he’s afraid to see your reaction when you realize just how truly depraved he’s become for you. He's sure that you’ll find him repulsive – maybe you’ll curse him out, calling him a freak and a creep and even a monster for invading your personal privacy and space on such a regular basis.

(You’d be mortified, he’s sure, to find out that he often lets himself into your apartment during the day, knowing you’ll be at a friend’s place for the next few hours and wandering back after following you there, the familiar scent of you calming him immediately once he steps inside. He’s sure you’d be angry to know that he’s thumbing at each and every item of clothing you own, memorizing the feel of the fabric, running his fingers along the inside just to pretend to feel your skin, finding that this is the closest thing he can get to touching you. He’s sure you’d be mad to know that he’s picked up your pillow, hugging it to his chest and pressing his face against it, deeply inhaling and even planting a few unsure, rather stiff kisses against the material, wishing with a sort of boyish hope that tonight you’ll happen to press your face against that specific spot as you sleep.)

He’s naively nursing the hope that you’d by some miracle be okay with his more covert behaviors, wishing that you secretly feel as strongly for him as he does you. But even then Sanemi doesn’t let himself slide too deeply into that thinking, aware that it’s dangerous to become so detached from reality. You will be horrified, and he will be absolutely shattered to see the way you’ll flinch away from him, how you’ll look at him with fear and disgust in your eyes.

(And really, the pathetic thing is that while Sanemi will be ashamed of your newfound perception of him, he can’t deny that he’d be absolutely giddy to have you looking at him, your attention entirely on him even if it’s negative. And that only serves to fill him with more self-loathing, something ugly and heavy settling against his chest at the thought because it really is awfully pitiful that simply your attention is enough to have his knees feeling weak, his cheeks tingling and his palms growing sweaty because oh, you see him.)

And so, Sanemi does his best to avoid broaching the subject of how he feels about you. Instead, he tries every possible method he can think of to express himself through actions.

He doesn’t have much as a reference point, both his career and his comrades not exactly ideal sources of healthy, loving relationships, but at a certain point Sanemi becomes too desperate to ignore his few resources. He needs you to see him, to smile at him and acknowledge him, and so he bites his pride and awkwardly approaches Kanroji about it.

He’s not exactly overjoyed to be asking for her advice, but she’s the only one he feels has any sort of idea what you could possibly be looking for in terms of romantic gestures. (He’d also considered asking Shinobu, but he’d immediately crossed that idea out upon realizing that not only would Shinobu likely tease him in the moment, she’d very likely never let it go, constantly holding it over his head that the Sanemi Shinazugawa needed advice on how to woo a woman. At least Kanroji would be kind about it.)

He’s approaching her and asking as nonchalantly as he can manage whether women like men to give them flowers, escort them from location to location, cook for them, where women like to be touched (with a very, very quick clarification of not in a weird way immediately following the question), or any number of other things. And Kanroji, while suspicious of his intentions, is more than happy to gush about the small things that make women swoon. And Sanemi is hanging onto every word – pressing for details about what specific compliments to shower you with, what small gifts he should consider picking up on his missions to bring home to you, what tone of voice he should be using instead of his usual gruff, irritated lilt.

Sanemi is quick to try and instill some of these ideas into his ‘relationship’ with you – he spends easily an hour biting his lip and diligently searching through every single flower at the shop, his hands slightly trembling when he hands you the small bouquet, struggling to make eye contact as he quietly – and with something almost akin to a tremor in his voice – tells you that your kimono is beautiful, the statement almost phrased like a question.

It’s the closest Sanemi is willing to get to admitting his feelings in times like these, and up until the point where he steals you away into his own abode, these sporadic bursts of confidence and nerves will leave you with whiplash because mere moments later he’ll be growling at a drunk man approaching you, threats slipping from his lips and his aura suddenly switching from bashful, almost schoolboy-esque to deadly serious.

And once he’s been forced you kidnap you, this behavior mostly continues. He still doesn’t want to fully confess everything, but he’s trying his absolute hardest to make you as happy as possible – going out of his way to keep you comfortable and satisfied, guilt eating away at him and making him overcompensate by treating you like you’re royalty.

With time, he’ll slowly become more open to you – that mask will slip ever so slightly, bits of his true feelings shining through. He’ll accidentally let it slip that he knows something about you that he shouldn’t, cluing you into his behaviors revolving around the stalking and rifling through your things.

It’ll be the middle of the night and he’s suddenly jolted awake after a particularly graphic nightmare, half asleep as he rushes out of his bed and practically runs to find you. He’s frantic to check that you’re still in the bed he’s set up for you, his breathing only calming down when he sees your still form, a declaration of love, adoration, and relief slipping from his lips that you happen to hear and wonder at how he can be so sappy and whipped.

It’s embarrassing, more than anything, but Sanemi simply struggles to be vulnerable – eventually you’ll become uncomfortably aware of just how badly he needs you, what with his growing need for your affirmations and physical touch, but the process is slow going, frustrating, confusing, even. But please be patient with him – he’s trying his best for you, really, and with every rejection and laugh when he’s attempting to open up, the less likely he becomes to completely and fully trust that you could love him, too.

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Sanemi has always been a bit more on the aggressive side; between slaughtering demons for a living and being a bit brash in his words in his personal life, he’s never been one for handling problems with delicacy, or even really diplomacy – when he gets angry, it’s a bit all consuming.

And when you get thrown into the equation? Well, Sanemi is a lost cause – his emotions regarding you are so complex, so overwhelming and deep that the moment he feels your relationship is being threatened, he’s immediately shutting it down, attacking the threat mercilessly with everything he has because fuck, he can’t let you leave him.

When it comes to romance and love, he’s honestly quite insecure; he knows that there’s no way he’s your first choice, that someone as harsh and rude and demanding could ever possibly be the one you desire. Not to mention the fact that he’s constantly putting his life on the line, the gamble he’s playing on whether he’ll live to see the light of day every night. And he’s not sure about the scars the job produces, too, because while he normally wears them as a badge of pride to signal his toughness and battle experience, he’s not so sure you’d share the same positive response to them.

(It’s such a constant worry for him that the moment you’re in his vicinity, he’s torn between leaving his uniform wide open to show off his sculpted pectorals and abs and simultaneously wanting to cover up, terrified that you’ll find his scarred and calloused body upsetting, repulsive.)

He knows he’s not the ideal man, but there’s a part of him that’s desperately clinging onto the idea that maybe, just maybe you love him too, that you’re just as happy being with him, that you need him as badly as he needs you. It’s unrealistic, though, and in his heart of hearts he knows it and berates himself for even entertaining the idea that you see him as anything more than an acquaintance (or a friend at most).

And yet, the moment that he sees another man – one that’s arguably more similar to what he’s sure your type must be - all reason gets thrown out the door. He’s gritting his teeth as he sees another man approaching you, talking to you, even so much as looking at you – it’s a threat to the relationship he’s precariously building between the two of you, a possibility for something to drive you away from him, the mere idea scaring the absolute shit out of him.

You’re his everything, the reason he lives to see another day, and the moment your safety is compromised (because Sanemi is absolutely fucking sure that that man approaching you with a flush on his face and wide eyes has intentions that are only bad, desires racing through his heart to hurt you, leave you crying and violated and so very scared) he’s immediately wanting to interfere, to break you away from whatever son of a bitch decided to come between what’s rightfully his, what he’s devoted so much of his time and energy to – you.

And even as he realizes that this mindset is detrimental, unhealthy, potentially irreparably damaging your perception of him, Sanemi can’t find it in himself to stop. He’s just too paranoid, too terrified that you’ll be so cruelly ripped away from him.

And of course, it’s also a matter of paranoia where your safety is concerned, too – he has no faith in your ability to fight, and he’s confident that if a bigger, stronger man were to assault you in some way, you’d be hard pressed to fight him off.

(A notion that makes him sick, immediately clutching at his sword and furrowing his eyebrows, the need to see you immediately making him spring to life, already sprinting to where he knows you typically are this time of day.)

And so, Sanemi will often step in between the stranger and you, regardless of the context. And while it pisses you off when it’s a friend of yours or even a simple stranger with innocent intentions, Sanemi manages to redeem himself because every time a creep approaches you, he’s always, always there to swoop in and save you just as the weight of your situation begins washing over you.

(And Sanemi is more than happy to play your savior – just the look you give him, so full of admiration and gratitude and, dare he say, awe, is enough to make him flustered for the next week, finding himself unable to fall asleep and instead imagining your face, clutching at his pillow and squeezing his eyes shut, small whispers of your name falling past his lips.)

In retrospect, you really shouldn’t have gone out for groceries this late. It was winter time, when everything goes dark much too quickly. Before you’d known it the sun was setting and you had yet to stock up on food for the week, making you quickly race out the door and trying to catch the last few minutes of vendors. The market was just barely open, the entire town feeling oddly deserted considering how early it still was.

As nightfall descended, the sun slipping past the horizon, you find yourself carrying a bag of heavy groceries and padding back home, grunting occasionally at the heavy weight in your arms. Your home wasn’t in the best of neighborhoods, the area always feeling just slightly ominous at night, but the rather depressing sight of your empty cupboards had forced you to venture at a time you’d normally avoid leaving your front door.

Biting your lip, you let the groceries in your hand shift slightly, letting the weight shift from one arm to another. Your attention is so focused on the cloth bags in your arms that you fail to notice the figure standing at the side of the road, lounging in front of a small family-owned restaurant that was closed for the evening. His robes are a dark green color, stained with something along the front that left it dark and greasy, a bottle of something strong-smelling in his clutched fist.

You hadn’t noticed him at first, but you suddenly go stiff as he whistles, the bottle crashing to the ground and shattering. Freezing only momentarily, you quickly keep moving, trying to ignore the way the man is calling after you.

Hey, get back here, woman, he’d slurred, even audibly sounding drunk.

The rather weak torches stationed every few meters along the street make it difficult to see behind you, but you can clearly hear his footsteps getting closer.

You can also hear the distinct lack of others’ footsteps, meaning you’re totally alone with a drunk man seemingly intent on bothering you.

Gulping, you keep your shoulders low, trying to curl into yourself but keeping the same pace, hoping by some stroke of luck the man would lose interest or give up on following you. Your home was only a few blocks away, if you could just push a little further maybe you’d be able to close him off at the door, and surely he’d stop then, right? He’d be too bored waiting outside for you, surely.

Hey bitch, turn around! His hand is suddenly on your shoulder, fingertips digging tightly against your clothed skin and making you wince slightly. He’s taller than you’d thought, something that becomes frighteningly obvious as he turns you to face him.

He’s sneering, lips curling up into something ugly that makes your gut twist. His breath reeksof the same sour, alcohol-baked scent, and as he leans in, you try your best to step away, leaning away from his approach.

Please leave me alone, you try, your voice sounding pathetically weak even to your own ears. He’s strong, you can tell – the dingy clothing hid his physique, but it’s not hard to feel the way his grip tightens, the way he makes an unpleasant noise that has fear prickling up your spine.

What did you just say to me? He asks, baring his teeth and moving to cup your jaw between his fingers, pressing his thumb against your lips and pressing hard enough to make you squirm, the pressure against your teeth making your panic only grow worse. He cocks a brow at your struggling, his smile creeping up again as his free hand came up to rest at your hip, moving down and towards your middle, barely passing over your clothed navel and making you open your mouth to scream. The groceries are dropped, your fear overweighing your despair at losing your week’s salary on a single grocery run.

You’re barely able to vocalize your fear before a sudden flash of white fills your peripheral, the pressure against your mouth suddenly lessening. Your body slumps down, falling to your knees on the ground as your eyes grow wide, your breaths heavy and labored as you look upon the scene before you.

The man – your savior, is standing before you, five fingers wrapped around the man’s throat and shoving him up against the wall of the nearest shop, Sanemi’s teeth bared and his own chest rising and falling rapidly.

He’s got his free hand clutched onto the hilt of his sword, and for a brief, terrifying moment you’re sure he’ll whip his blade out, perhaps slicing into the man’s guts and leaving him a bloody, mutilated pile of bones. Some sick, malevolent part of you finds a sick sort of pleasure in the idea, but your body is moving before you can even think, struggling to your feet and moving to rush forward and stop Sanemi from acting on what you’re very aware is a quick-trigger temper.

But before you can take more than a few steps, the sound of the Hashira’s voice is ringing in your ears. It’s low, gravelly, sounding as if it’s taking every bit of his concentration and self-control to not be screaming and yelling, nasally and gravely, the words clipped and uneven as his fingers tighten.

You piece of shit, touching women without their consent, you’re fucking disgusting, rot in hell –

It’s like a mantra, Sanemi sounding so very genuine and forceful, and as you stand frozen at the intensity in his voice, his words only become darker, more sinister.

Don’t touch her, don’t you fucking dare or I swear I’ll slice your head clean off and dismember your every limb. He grins, eyes going wide. I’ll slice off your cock, too, that’d be good, huh? Can’t bother any innocent women when you’re not even a man.

He punctuates this point with a kick to man’s groin, the pained groan he lets out only making Sanemi’s smile widen. You take a small step back, but Sanemi doesn’t even seem to notice.

Anyone who touches her is dead. You hear me? You’re fucking dead.

The harasser is clawing at his hand, whimpering and wheezing as his air supply grows smaller and smaller.  It’s at this point that you audibly gasp, covering your mouth with your hand and staring at him with shock, your fingers trembling and your heart racing.

That noise seems to snap Sanemi out of his trance, his muscles going rigid and his head snapping to you. His eyes widen and his lips part, the airiest whisper of your name falling from his lips, and then he’s suddenly letting go of the stranger, backing away and staring at his own hand in shock, as if he’s horrified by what his own body has done.

The man falls to the ground, curled up and coughing, but neither you nor Sanemi pay him any mind. He’s still looking at you, mouth opening and closing like a fish, mind racing as he tries to think of something to say – anything to say, really, because the way you’re looking at him right now is making his heart break, panic engulfing him because no no no now you must think he’s a violent killer and oh god you must hate him now –

He breaks the trance by rushing forward, hands immediately coming out to clutch at your shoulders, his grip noticeably softer than how he’d been choking the man. His eyes are searching over your face, glancing over every inch of your body, his breaths still coming out uneven and ragged, and Sanemi’s quickly swallowing, unsure of what to say but practically blurting out the words.

That wasn’t – I don’t – I’m not going to hurt him, I promise –

You blink at him, body stiff and unsure, but the longer he babbles on the more your muscles relax.

I wouldn’t hurt a human, I’m not a monster, I just – he was harassing you and I don’t even know what happened, I just started moving and –

You shut him up by carefully, hesitantly placing a hand over one of his, the skin contact making him suck in a sharp breath, gaze immediately zeroing in on the sight.

Your smile is only half-genuine, fear and adrenaline coursing through you, but now that the man has crawled away, cursing Sanemi out, you’re starting to calm down. You’ve spent enough time with the Hashira to know he won’t hurt you, and seeing him this worked up, this flustered and desperate to get you to believe him is proof enough that he’s telling the truth.

Stop Sanemi, I know. I understand. At that he visibly relaxes, his jaw tensing and clenching as he swallows. Thank you for saving me.

He pauses, eyebrows rising ever so slightly, before he lets out a deep, shaky exhale, nodding his head and stepping back, releasing his grip on you.

Good is all he says, still looking at you, before his grip rests once more on the hilt of his sword. He glances towards your groceries, before scowling. Are you stupid? Why the hell are you out at this hour to get groceries?

You bristle at this, familiar behavior making you shoot him a glare. Don’t judge me, not all of us can afford to have private servants cook us meals.

Sanemi scoffs. I don’t have private servants, you’re making shit up again.

You continue to bicker, still shaking slightly as you gather the groceries that fell out of the bag upon impact with the ground. Sanemi begrudgingly helps you, forcing you to let him carry both bags while he escorts you home, berating you for being out at this time the entire way.

It’s only later that night that you really truly think about what had happened, his words ringing through your mind because why had Sanemi said that? How had he even known where you were, much less that you were in danger?

You’re not sure, but as you slip under your covers and bury your face against your pillow, you find yourself brushing aside the odd coincidental nature of the encounter, instead finding yourself thankful that Sanemi was there to intervene before things got truly bad.

(Meanwhile, Sanemi is staying true to his promise of not killing any humans – though he’s quick to track down the drunk man, scoffing at the state of him. He’d fallen asleep, evidently, laying on the dirty streetcorner a ways away from your home. Rage overcomes him as he recalls the way this man had touched you, even going so far as to grope your most intimate region without your permission, anger and even a small bit of jealousy overwhelming Sanemi.

He'll certainly not kill the man, but he wasn’t lying when he promised to slice off the man’s cock – he wouldn’t miss it, would he? Besides, he tells himself as he cuts clean and quick lines, it’s for you. This way, the creep might not feel the need to harass you again, and might keep his filthy hands to himself.

And when Sanemi drops him off unceremoniously outside the doors of the nearest medical house, he can only scoff, turning his back on the bleeding man and listening as the medics immediately begin swarming him.

He doesn’t like hurting humans, sure, but for you? Well, the walk back to your home is short, and as he slips inside, standing at the foot of your bed and swallowing at the sight of your sleeping form, he feels himself visibly relax. You’re just too perfect – and as he inhales the smell of you, he knows he’d do it again if it meant keeping you safe, keeping you his.)

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

Though Sanemi can’t deny the allure of domesticity with you, kidnapping you is actually something he is very strongly against. It’s a combination of factors that leave him hesitant to steal you away – he’s worried that it would permanently alter your personality, and he doesn’t want you to fear him.

He’s lucid enough to know that his feelings for you border and delve into creep territory, his penchant for following you and compulsively checking on you making it difficult to see himself as anything other than a pathetically obsessed man chasing and lusting after an innocent civilian woman.

And yet, he can’t stop himself from wanting you, needing you so badly that it physically hurts, and so Sanemi gives into his more disturbing urges with the clear, resolute promise to himself that he’ll never do anything truly drastic.

And of course, kidnapping you falls into this category. It’s the only way he can justify following you around, fantasizing about holding you and touching you and hearing you say his name. It’s the only way he can calm himself down when moments of lucidity and clarity come rushing at him, guilt clawing at his throat because why the fuck is he hovering over your sleeping figure and reaching into his trousers right now?

He doesn’t trust himself around you, and that’s only another deterrent to keeping you locked up and away with him. It’s like he’s not in control of his body when you’re present – he’s always looking at you, sneaking glances even when he explicitly tells himself not to.

(Even when he instigates a sort of punishment system for himself – he clenches his fist hard enough to draw blood or pinches himself too tightly every time he catches himself doing it, trying to break the habit. Instead, however, he finds himself littered in bruises and all sorts of crescent-shaped marks on his palms, his will-power no match for the way he needs to be looking at you constantly.)

He’s always gravitating towards you, keeping his body facing in your direction, just so that if you do something or say something he’ll be able to immediately respond, every fiber of his being hoping that you’ll reach out, that you’ll speak to him, that you’ll acknowledge him.

(Hell, he’s even lost control subconsciously – he’s puffing his chest out without thinking about it when you’re around him, subtly trying to make the deep slit in his uniform go wider so that you can see more of his corded muscles, clenching his abs tightly enough to make the definition impossible to ignore. He’s running his hands through his hair the moment someone mentions your name, swiping his bangs out of his eyes just to look presentable, just so that if you see him you’ll maybe, just maybe find him attractive and appealing.)

It’s pathetic, he thinks, and he’s terrified that once you’re stolen away by his side, trapped with him as your sole companionship and provider (an idea that does, of course, make something pleasurable and good roll up his spine), these behaviors will only get worse. If he can’t control himself when he’s still physically distant from you, who knows what he’ll feel at liberty to do once you have nowhere else to run.

He’ll never hurt you, he’s sure of it, but he really, really doubts that you’ll be comfortable with all of the things that his subconscious wants to do to you. He’s sure you don’t particularly want to be encaged in his arms while he squeezes and squeezes and squeezes, trying to get you as close as physically possible because he’s still irritated that he can’t live inside of your skin.

(But what if he crushes you, or somehow breaks your bones with the strength of his affection? It’s enough to get him biting his lip, staring down at his open palms and scowling, frustrated at himself because he knows the euphoria of touching you will make him stupid.)

He’s sure you don’t want him to hand-feed you, bringing the chopsticks up to your mouth, watching your pretty, soft lips open up and letting him place the home-cooked food against your tongue.

(And seeing you looking at him with your mouth open, taking something that he’s made and given to you against your tongue will have him flushing, swallowing heavily and having to look away because fuck he’s such a pervert and he’s ruining a sweet moment by growing unbearably hard in his trousers, and oh god – what if there’s a wet spot when he stands up? Will you notice? Fuck fuck fuck!)

It’s a recipe for disaster, not to mention the fact that your fear and hesitance would likely force you to become a shell of your former self. You’d be reduced to nothing but a skeleton of your personality, and that’s the absolute last thing Sanemi wants. He wants you – authentically, fully, as you are when you’re free and independent. And stealing you away would change that, he’s sure – and he’d never forgive himself for diminishing even a flicker of your light.

But of course, misfortune seems to follow Sanemi like some sort of sick joke – it’s only a matter of time before something terrible happens.

It’s a demon attack, likely. Perhaps some demon has noticed that a Hashira seems to hold a penchant for a particular human, and with his marechi blood they’re very, very eager to lure him out and feast on him. And in the process, you get caught in the crossfire – it’s rare that Sanemi leaves you completely and truly alone, but when he’s been summoned for a mission, he can’t exactly decline.

And so, he rushes through the job, quickly finding the demon and slaughtering it in the quickest, fastest way possible before immediately returning back to you, falling into the shadows so that he can continue to keep an eye on you, letting out a rather harsh breath when he finally spots you again, in tact and unharmed.

Except one night, as he sprints through the dark forest, he sees the very faint outline of your home and immediately his eyes go wide.

Your front door is wide open.

He generally thinks you’re rather careless about your safety, sure, but even you aren’t that bad – something is wrong. He pushes himself to run faster, harder, his breaths sounding more like wheezing as he descend on your house, immediately rushing inside and drawing his sword. The adrenaline coursing through his veins only makes him falter for a moment upon seeing his absolute worst nightmare – you’re on the ground, eyes slowly blinking and your body crumpled up, most of your visible skin covered with blood.

His nostrils flare, the sight of the demon crouching over you making his grip on the sword hilt so tight his knuckles turn white, something akin to a genuine growl coming from him.

Get the hell away from her!

He’s yelling and charging, immediately activating his breathing technique and beheading the creature before it can even react. His chest is still heaving, and despite the black mist that begins to appear on the creature’s neck, he’s immediately settling down, straddling the creature and throwing punch after punch. It’s bloody – it’s spraying all over his uniform, staining the white as his fists dig into flesh, denting and tearing and destroying, all the while Sanemi is yelling at it, cursing and calling it a vile, disgusting creature, claiming it’s trying to hurt and kill his woman.

It’s terrifying, really, and as you slowly lose consciousness you’ll find yourself feeling even more terrified, unsure of what’s happening.

And as the demon disappears, Sanemi slowly calms down, gathering his senses and immediately grabbing you, carrying you to the Butterfly Mansion as quickly as his legs can carry him. He doesn’t want to bring you home (or at least, he knows he shouldn’t), but once Shinobu has you patched up and he returns to your now blood-stained abode, Sanemi’s biting his lip, wavering.

He can’t let you come back here – not with the knowledge that you could be attacked again, not when you’re out of his sight and protection, not when you’re so very vulnerable. And so, he begrudgingly brings you back to his estate, settling you into the bedroom as far away from his own as possible.

(He’d refrained from keeping you in the room he’s spent the last few months pretending was your own, too – outfitted with all of the items he’s bought for you but been too afraid to give to you: all sorts of hairpins, beautiful weavings, flowers, even small, curtly written notes he’d been crazed enough to write in the dead of night when he just could not stop thinking of you. No, that’d be too much – he doesn’t want to overwhelm you, so he locks that room up, praying that you never, ever find out about it.)

When you awake, you’ll find yourself changed into fresh, clean clothing (soft clothing, too, the kind that you could never afford), tucked into a bed in a room you don’t recognize. The futon is soft, the sheets warm and decorated with a pattern and color that you distinctly note is a favorite of yours. Your entire body hurts, wincing as you sit up.

It’s only then that the door slides open, a tuft of white hair greeting you as Sanemi clears his throat, wide eyes glancing at every visible part of your body. He’s rather curt when he explains where you are, glossing over the why and instead cryptically reiterating that you’re safe now, so drop it.

As a captor, Sanemi is surprisingly attentive – you’d known each other before your  kidnapping, of course, though he’d always seemed like a rather hot-headed, difficult man.

And those mannerisms certainly don’t change when he’s got you trapped with him – except now you can see that there’s something deeper under the surface, something vulnerable and raw and real. You’ll see it in the way that he touches you like you’re made of glass – shying away and retracting his hands just moments before they touch your skin, acting almost as if the idea of touching you repulses him.

(God, nothing could be less true – he so desperately wishes to brush his fingertips against the smooth skin of your thighs, to cup your cheeks in his palms, to press his lips against yours – softly, slowly, as if he can’t quite believe that you’re real.)

You’ll see it in the way that he has every meal cooked and prepared for you, the Wind Estate quiet and empty except for the two of you. It’s always your favorite foods, cooked with every idiosyncrasy and taste of yours in mind, with a level and degree of accuracy that will terrify you at first.

And frankly, you will be terrified at first – he’s reluctant to admit his feelings to you, sure that if you were to know the truth of the situation you’d immediately reject him, and as stupid as it is Sanemi doesn’t think he could handle your rejection. It would break him, emotionally, physically, and mentally, leaving him a shell of a man and still just as desperately, pathetically in love with you if not more so.

But the reason you’ll be terrified isn’t because of his demeanor or the way you think he feels – rather, it will become obvious very quickly that Sanemi knows much more about you than you thought. You know you’ve never told him your preferred menstrual supplies, and yet the bathroom he’s assigned to you is stocked full of the exact model and heaviness you prefer.

(It’s your own bathroom, thankfully, though when you’re asleep sometimes Sanemi will sneak in, picking up your toothbrush and letting it sit against his lips, suckling at the bristles and rifling through your trash just to find a pad or two when he knows you’re menstruating. He’d rather slice off his own hand than admit it to you, of course, but just being in a space that you regularly use makes him feel special, connected to you in a way that makes his knees weak and the smallest, faintest of smiles cross his lips.)

You’re sure you’ve never mentioned what clothing size you wear, and yet there’s a slew of brand new, beautifully made kimonos and lounging wear perfectly tailored to your body, all in a range of colors and designs that are your favorites.

(There’s also a few in a lime green material and a single, pure white one, both of which were guilty pleasures that Sanemi felt compelled to include in his orders from the local seamstresses. And if you were to wear one, willingly, during a shared meal with him? Well, don’t comment on the pink color of his cheeks, nor the way he ever so slightly stutters when he tells you that you look nice.)

Frankly, he’s a pretty good captor to have – he gives you space, and forces himself to stay away from you for most of the day in an effort to not overwhelm you. At least, at the beginning. He tells himself it’s enough to know that you’re locked up in the Wind Estate, safe and sound and perfectly removed from the danger of the outside world, but his paranoia and yearning for your company eventually drive him to spend just a hair more time with you.

Instead of giving you privacy during meals, he’ll instead knock at your door, entering with his own plate and sitting down as far away from you as possible within the room, silently eating and trying not to make his staring too obvious.

(He mentally justifies it as making sure that you don’t choke on your food, but really it’s more about seeing you enjoy what he’s made for you and knowing that you’ve eaten today. Good. He'll sharply inhale, biting back a smile as he slowly eats his own food, trying to prolong the moment.)

He spoils you with all sorts of gifts and supplies for any hobbies you may have, and while he initially doesn’t interact with you as you knit or draw or read, eventually he’ll gather the courage to ask you a question, trying (and failing) to sound nonchalant as he asks what it is that you’re drawing, how to knit, or what your favorite book is.

It’s a slow but steady process, and as time passes and you grow more and more complacent with your situation, you’ll find yourself coming to enjoy the rough, oddly charming presence of Sanemi. Even if his stalking and feelings for you become an unspoken truth, his fondness for you difficult to ignore (with the way he treats you so gently, spoils you, and very poorly hides the way his cock springs to life each time you say his name).

And so really, Sanemi feels guilty enough for being in love with you, and even more guilty for forcing you into a life of complacency – the least you could do is compliment him, right? You could at least invite him to join you for meals and walks around the modest garden of his estate. You could at least intertwine your fingers with his and pretend to not notice the way he gasps, mumbling something incoherent that sounds vaguely like your name.

Really, it’s the least you could do – and with every action, Sanemi only falls for you harder, deeper, his resolve to keep you safe, happy and his only growing.

PUNISHMENTS:

While his obsession with you alters certain parts of his personality, some characteristics remain absolutely true regardless of his feelings for you. And unfortunately, one of them is his quick-trigger temper.

You calm him, the mere sound of your voice making the tension in his muscle relax, the clenching of his jaw lessening slightly, the tensing of his shoulders becoming less pronounced. The feeling of your hand pressing against his chest makes him freeze in place, the anger simmering in his gut becoming more diluted, the rage slowly leaving him because god, you’re standing right in front of him and he can see every fine detail of your face and he can smell you and god…

You have a physical effect on him that calms him ever so slightly, but he still finds himself remarkably susceptible to rage, even with you in his vicinity.

Of course, rarely ever is he actually mad at you – early into his infatuation he’d found himself constantly irritated and enraged at you, convinced that you’d somehow purposefully made him into the lovesick fool that he is, unable and unwilling to admit to himself that it’s entirely his own doing leading to his spiral into dependence on you. He’d even tried to hate you, consciously filling his head with lies and telling himself that you were weak, a burden, only something that would slow him down. And yet, the anger was never quite real, never quite honest.

(Never directed at you, really, but more directed at himself for being so weak as to form such strong, dependent feelings on you.)

And so, Sanemi’s anger more often than not revolves around someone else – often, someone around you. Men that get too close, friends that meddle when they notice that you have Sanemi as an unwanted admirer, your boss when they treat you poorly, even strangers that are even the slightest bit rude to you.

He’ll never go far enough as to injure another human to point of death, if only because he’s still guided by morals that yearn to save humans, but Sanemi is absolutely committed to making sure that you’re treated like the royalty that he perceives you as.

(Often, any men that feel bold enough to approach you, or god forbid touch you meet a bloody, painful altercation with the Hashira, unable to do anything but be pounded into a pulp as he swings and punches, leaving them a bloody semi-conscious mess on the ground, even spitting onto them as he mutters something about being a fuckin’ monster, assaulting women like it’s nothing…)

But all that said, there are a few very specific things that can get Sanemi angry at you, too. He can forgive you lashing out at him and calling him terrible names, even openly welcoming it sometimes because he knows it’s true.

He’s mostly worried when you attempt to escape rather than angry, terrified that you’ll somehow hurt yourself or be eaten by a demon if you manage to get through the patch of wisteria trees surrounding the perimeter of his estate. Instead, his main triggers are when you injure yourself, or when you say something negative or degrading about yourself.

 He’s so paranoid about your safety and health that the mere idea of you injuring yourself gets him borderline panicking, his breathing getting heavier and his hands starting to tremble as panic engulfs him because he absolutely cannot lose you, too.

He’s always quick to reprimand you, yelling at you but dressing your wounds as gently as possible, treating you as if you’re made of glass and cleaning everything perfectly to prevent any further harm. But really, what truly angers Sanemi is when you display a lack of self-respect, though he’ll never explicitly punish you.

He loves you – so much so that it physically hurts, his chest aching when he’s away from you, every muscle growing restless and anxiety settling in his gut because he needs to see you right now. He’s a worshipper in every sense of the word, and to have you disrespecting yourself and talking down to yourself in any capacity is enough to get his blood boiling. It’s two-fold, really, because not only is it an assault on your character, but it’s an assault on his, too. It’s a remark against him for thinking of you so highly, for revering you and kissing the ground you walk on. It bruises his pride and makes him defensive of you, even if it’s you yourself making the remark.

And so, Sanemi tends to grow angry, unable to comprehend how you can possibly see yourself as something less-than when he’s so utterly enraptured with every fiber of your being.

Being trapped with him means long expanses of time where you’re alone, Sanemi out on a mission or pulled away begrudgingly, and as time passes this will slowly start to affect you.

Too much alone time equates to an awful lot of staring in the mirror, fingers prodding at the skin of your cheeks or arranging your hair this way or that, furrowing your brow and trying to understand exactly what it is about you that makes Sanemi so enthralled. You can’t put your finger on it – you’re just you, and while he’s never come right out and said it, you’re very aware that Sanemi finds you beautiful.

(You’ve overheard him, after all, late at night when he’s muffling his groans and the wet schlock schlock noise is audible even through the wall separating you. It’s difficult to not hear it, after all, when he’s moaning your name as he gets close, stuttered curses and little gasps of s-so beautiful, fuck and all sorts of other praises slipping out of him as his orgasm approaches.)

It’s too much time for you to be alone and overanalyze. And even now that you’ve been with him for well over a year, now that your whole world has become Sanemi Shinazugawa, it’s too easy to let the insecurities get the best of you.

And really, you shouldn’t have ever mentioned it – later that night, when Sanemi returns home from his latest mission, he can immediately tell that something is wrong. He closes and locks the multitude of locks on the front door, glancing at you with skepticism and worry, before placing his hands on your hips and pulling you close, leaving a single long kiss against your forehead as he asks you what’s wrong. Your small mumble of nothing doesn’t convince him, but Sanemi just pushes it aside, deciding to revisit the subject after you’ve both eaten.

 Dinner is quiet, and it’s halfway through that he decides enough is enough.

What the hell’s the matter with you? He’s asking, setting down his chopsticks and staring pointedly at you.

You’re not too terribly afraid of your captor by this point, but the intensity of his stare still makes you fold in on yourself slightly, embarrassment and self-consciousness eating away at you. Sanemi continues the staring, unwilling to back down, eventually scoffing and telling you to just spit it out, I’ll wait as long as it takes.

And that you believe, enough to get you blurting out a quick I’m not good enough for you to be so in love with.

It’s slurred and difficult to understand even to your own ears, but it gets Sanemi’s face twisting up, a mixture of shock and confusion making his brows knit together and that familiar scowl sit on his lips.

What the fuck? It’s all he can ask, really, because this is so out of left field and unexpected that he genuinely has no clue how to respond.

At his pointed confusion and silence, you play with your thumbs, hunger totally gone as the words start falling out of you like some sort of nervous word vomit. It’s just that I don’t really get why you’re so – so fixated on me. I’m nothing special, and before you get angry at me just know that it’s okay and I’m not trying to get away I just –

Sanemi cuts you off by rising to his feet before you can even blink, a hand snapping out to wrap around your wrist. Before you know it you’re being dragged down a series of long hallways until you come face to face with a door you’ve never set foot passed – Sanemi’s personal, private room.

Normally, when the two of you share a bed (something that has only recently begun happening, after Sanemi gathered the courage and you’ve become so touch-starved that you welcomed his presence), you sleep in the room he's had made up for you, Sanemi allowing you to stay in the quasi-comfort of your ‘own’ room rather than force you into yet another unfamiliar situation.

 But you hardly have any time to gawk at the room before he’s shoving you in front of his modest mirror, the reflection of yourself making you blink twice. He's angry – you can see his face in the mirror now, and his cheeks area  bright red and a few veins are standing out against his neck, a sure sign that he’s livid and is only barely able to hold himself back from acting on it.

 It makes you shrink slightly, though you’re confident at this point that he won’t hurt you, at least not purposefully.

Look at yourself, he tells you, voice strained. He’s standing behind you, gripping onto your shoulders and forcing you to face yourself in the mirror.

You do as you’re told, but it doesn’t seem to satisfy Sanemi.

He groans, resting his forehead against the slope of your shoulder. Look at yourself.

A pause, then: Please.

Swallowing, you search each and every feature of your familiar face. Your eyes, nose, lips, cheeks, eyebrows, jaw, anything and everything you can think of. After a few moments, Sanemi looks at you in the mirror again, his eyebrows furrowed tightly.

Do you really not see it? He asks, and you merely shake your head.

He bares his teeth. Dammit, how can you not? How can you be so fucking blind?

It’s harsh, his words making you wince slightly, but they’re loaded with something unlike his usual rage – there’s something sweeter to it, something that feels different and gets you meeting his gaze in the mirror. The look on his face is almost pleading, and you’re struck with the realization that he’s not angry, he’s frustrated. Genuinely frustrated that you don’t seem to understand just what he sees in you.

Slowly, you bring your fingers up to your cheeks, fingertips pressing against the soft skin. Sanemi watches you with bated breath, his grip on you still tight.

Compliment yourself, he instructs, the words sounding strained. You blink at him, swallowing heavily.

You mutter out a small comment of how your eyes aren’t too terrible, and Sanemi groans at that. His hand moves from your shoulder to your chin, pinching at it and bringing you closer to the mirror. Give yourself a real compliment, or I’ll stand here all fucking day until you do.

You tell him that you have pretty eyes, and it seems to please him. He nods, almost subconsciously, keeping his grip on your chin. Damn right you do. Pretty eyes and a pretty smile. Tell me more.

He keeps you in this position for nearly an hour, forcing you to list off each and every possible compliment about your looks and personality that you can think, his gaze never wavering in intensity or sincerity as he grunts and nods at each and every one.

It’s only as your jaw starts to ache and you start to grow restless that Sanemi eventually lets go, turning you gently to face him. A finger lightly traces over the shape of your lips as he exhales, the softness of his actions and the moment making you feel light.

Don’t undersell yourself. His voice is firm, his lips set in a thin line. You’re perfect, and you need to accept that.

He covers your mouth with his hand as you part your lips to respond, shaking his head. No, none of that shit. We’re doing this every day until you decide that you’re good enough for me – until you prove to me that you respect yourself the way you should. New compliments every day, and I don’t care how hard it is for you. When you run out, I’ll step in, but you’re elaborating on everything I say. Got it?

You nod, a strange sort of tenderness welling up inside of you that only makes tears prick at the corner of your eyes because oh god, how wrong is this? Your captor, the man who stole you away and keeps you trapped inside his him, is complimenting you and it’s making you feel more loved and wanted and appreciated than you’ve felt in your whole life. There’s just something so sincere about his push for you to understand just how wonderful he thinks you are that makes your lower lip wobble, the way he’s actually genuinely enraged by your insecurities and the absurdness of them making your nose tingle.

It's sweet, something your captor really shouldn’t be, and as tears slip down your cheeks Sanemi awkwardly presses you against his chest, silent as his grip grows progressively tighter. He’s no stranger to insecurity, and as he drags you to the mirror the next day and the next after that, you’ll slowly find yourself believing him when he says that you’re kind, that you’re beautiful, that he wants you more than he’s ever wanted anything else in his life.

It's strange and you may hate yourself for it, but as the days pass you’ll find yourself growing more and more fond of Sanemi, his commitment to improving your self-esteem feeling like the more intimate thing anyone has every done for you, and slowly you’ll find yourself seeing him in more and more of a romantic light. Sure, he’s stolen you away and stalked you extensively, but when he holds you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear and calls you beautiful in a voice so raw that it cracks, how can you not fall for him? Maybe you’re sick in the head, depraved, any number of terrible things, but with each compliment he forces from your lips, you’ll find yourself caring less.

He just really, really loves you, doesn’t he?

OVERALL DANGER:

4/10

By and large, Sanemi is akin to a large, possessive guard dog. The mere thought of hurting you makes him sick to his stomach, and he’ll go to any possible length to ensure your health and safety.

(He’s had literal nightmares about leaving you bloody and bruised, and he’s actually woken up and immediately hurled, breathing hard and nearly in tears because it felt so real and it’s almost like your blood is actually on his hands.)

He’s paranoid, terrified that you’ll somehow be killed and stolen away from him, your presence the only thing that seems to calm him, growing to become the only thing that motivates him to wake up every morning.

He’s overprotective, letting his fear for your safety bleed into every aspect of his relationship with you – he’s following you around like a lovesick puppy, constantly vigilant for threats to your safety. He’s obsessively tracking your meals, fussing over making sure that you’re getting balanced, nutritious foods, constantly asking you if you’ve drunk water on any particular day.

And he’s possessive – refusing to allow you to interact with most men, skeptical of your friends, entirely untrusting of each and every person in your life. He won’t try to manipulate you into isolating yourself, but Sanemi really, really wants to, only holding back for the sake of your mental wellbeing. And really, that’s a large factor in Sanemi’s behavior towards you – he loves you, or at least in his own deranged, too-intense way, and he’s willing to kill himself physically and emotionally just to make sure that you never frown, that you’re never sad or angry or afraid.

His first priority is you, always, and it’s only after that that he considers getting you to love him back. It’s of course the goal – he wants you so badly that you have no fucking clue, because how could you? How could you possibly understand just how deeply his dependence on you has become, just how intertwined a mere scrap of your attention becomes for his self-confidence, his happiness, his sanity in his day-to-day life?

He’s well and truly whipped for you, his every waking thought revolving around you, but you’ll that your life will be relatively good with him. He’ll treat you like a queen, spoiling you and doing everything in his power to keep you happy, and can you really hate it as much as you claim to?

Can you really, honestly say that Sanemi is a monster when he keeps you well cared for and respects you despite the way you know he wants to ravage you and keep you all for himself?

Can you honestly say that you don’t want him just as badly, that you’ve become so accustomed to him that you’re well and truly his?

Sanemi sure hopes not, and as time passes, you’ll slowly give into the small, desperately and pathetically hopeful looks of his, reaching out to touch him when he’s too hesitant to initiate, even whispering those lovely, sacred three little words. And once you do, he’ll only work harder to adore you, only falling deeper and deeper into obsession with every passing day.

With every passing second, really.

[littjara-mirrorlake]

From my in-progress homebrew D&D 5e supplement, Plane Shift: Mirrodin/New Phyrexia: playable Myr!

They've been beloved in playtesting, with no fewer than three myr PCs appearing in the party over the course of a 3-year campaign. They are one of two new playable races in Plane Shift: New Phyrexia, along with the core-born Phyrexian.

Constructed Resilience and Sentry's Rest are abilities that previously appeared on the Warforged in Eberron: Rising from the Last War, and Regenerative Repair is a less restricting version of the ability Healing Machine from Astral Adventurer's Guide.

Text from the image under the cut!

Metallic, beak-headed myr inhabit Mirrodin, scampering at the feet of larger humanoids and largely considered below their attention. Few know of their true origin as creations of the mad wizard Memnarch, designed to be mechanized servants and his eyes across the plane. Following Memnarch’s fall, the myr found themselves with sapience and free will, though their core values of duty, community, and knowledge remain.

Myr Traits

Type. You are a Construct. You are also considered a myr for any prerequisite or effect that requires you to be a myr.

Ability Score Increase. Your Intelligence score increases by 2, and your Dexterity score increases by 1.

Age. As constructed creatures, myr don’t grow old in the traditional sense, and they are able to live indefinitely if well-maintained. You are immune to magical aging effects.

Size. Myr average about 3 feet tall. Your size is Small.

Speed. Your base walking speed is 25 feet.

Darkvision. Your constructed senses grant you superior vision in dark and dim conditions. You can see in dim light within 60 feet of you as if it were bright light, and in darkness as if it were dim light. You can’t discern color in darkness, only shades of gray.

Constructed Resilience. You have resistance to poison damage and immunity to disease, and you have advantage on saving throws against being poisoned. You don’t need to eat, drink, or breathe. You also don’t need to sleep, and magic can’t put you to sleep.

Bonus Proficiencies. You gain proficiency in one skill and one tool of your choice. The tool you chose is integrated into your body and cannot be removed while you live.

Networked Minds. You can communicate telepathically with other myr within 120 feet of you.

Sentry’s Rest. When you take a long rest, you must spend at least six hours in an inactive, motionless state, rather than sleeping. In this state, you appear inert, but it doesn’t render you unconscious, and you can see and hear as normal.

Regenerative Repair. If the mending spell is cast on you, you can expend a hit die, roll it, and regain a number of hit points equal to the roll plus your Constitution modifier (minimum of 1 hit point). Spells such as cure wounds and spare the dying which restore hit points or preserve life, and normally don’t affect constructs, function as if you were a humanoid.

Languages. You can speak, read, and write Common and one other language of your choice.

[ashblooddragons]

My Tears Ricochet

This was requested by @feelingsandemotionsnotexplored I know it isn't exactly what you asked for but I hope you like it none the less

Summary: You and Daemon are in a failing marriage, whispers follow you everywhere you go. Whispers that speak of his infidelity. And when you confront him of these rumors will it end everything or will it bring you back together.

Word Count: 2461

Warnings: inner turmoil, rumors of Daemon cheating (though he never did), argument, marital problems, angst, tell me if I missed anything

My nails dig into my palms as whispers and glances are thrown my way. 

It started when my husband and I, the Prince Daemon, got into our first quarrel that led us down this road. 

It was over something so small, well at least in his eyes. He had spilled wine on my dress with no idea how expensive it was. 

The silks had been made by the finest fabric maker in Myr, and that alone made the dress absurdly expensive, and then on top of that, it was a gorgeous light purple with diamonds, sapphires, and pearls sewn into the bodice and the embroidery was pure gold thread. 

I could have forgiven him, it was a mistake and everyone makes those. But when my dear, dear husband laughed at the irreversible stain, I saw red. And on top of all this, the dress had been a gift from my Father for my nameday. So to hear my husband laugh at such a mistake, and then roll his eyes when I explained my frustration, I was less than pleased. 

But I should have known that was only the beginning. That the dress was only the beginning of the end. 

I should have known that instead of trying to work on our marriage, he would instead decide to warm the bed of his niece. Nor should I be surprised she would let him, for if she can birth two bastards and claim them to be my brothers, then why wouldn't she let another man other than her Strong join her? 

I can handle the glances, the whispers, but when I see people start laughing under their breath is when I've had enough. I pick up the skirt of my dress and rush up the stairs towards my shared chambers with Daemon. Not fast enough for the court to have their laughs and know they hurt me, but also not slow enough not to make a point. 

When I enter our chambers I find it the way it's been for at least a moon. The bed is only slightly used on the left side, and the blue velvet settee with a thin quilt and two plush pillows. I know that even though he sleeps here at night he still has plenty of time to visit a whore or his darling niece. 

“My Lady.” I hear my son's Nursemaid say as she gives a clumsy bow as she holds my little boy. 

“Hello Dahlia.” I say to the mousy girl. Her hair is a dull red almost seeming brown in certain lights. Her face is pudgy with freckles spotting all over her face and arms. But what makes her stand out is her eyes, the most beautiful sage green. You could almost smell the scent of bark and foliage when you look at them. 

“The little Prince has just finished his feed if you wish to hold him?” She asks when Daelor starts to whimper and squirm in her arms. 

Always a Mama's boy. I think, taking my son into my arms. 

He is such a sweet little thing, only six moons old and yet already knows who his favorite is. Though I have heard that Targaryen boys tend to prefer their Mothers. 

I take in his sweet cherubic cheeks that have a slight rosy tint to them. His soft silver curls that are untameable though I would never want to. But most of all his eyes, a soft periwinkle that matches my own. Everything about his coloring from skin, hair, and eyes shows that he is mine. But his features are of his Father's. From the strong straight nose, to his brow that always seems like he's ready to scold you. It is clear he is mine and my husband's son. Not even Rhaenyra can try and deny that. And she has only to try and protect her sons. 

I hear the faint creak of the door open followed by the soft steps of Dahlia leaving me so I may spend time with my little boy. 

“Nine moons you were in me, and yet you are practically a clone of your Father.” I jest as he moves to touch my hair.

I figured out quickly why most mothers have their hair pulled up tight and out of their babes reach, for though they are small they have grips that rival the greatest and strongest knights.

He starts babbling, looking around the room and pointing at things. It almost seems like he's telling me about his day.

“Oh, well that all sounds wonderful.” I say to which he nods, resting his head against my chest. 

“What sounds wonderful?” I hear from behind me. There is no denying who the voice belongs to. The deepness missed with amusement only matches one man. 

My husband. 

“Our son was just telling me about his day, that is all.” I respond, turning around watching as he undoes his jerkin sliding it off so only the rich red undershirt is left. 

He gives me a strange look before looking at our son and a joyful smile plasters itself on his lips. 

“I do not think that is true, my wife, the boy can't even say Mama or Papa.” He jests but his words sting. 

He never called me ‘Wife' until two moons ago when everything started falling apart. There wasn't a night where we didn't have a screaming match only for it to end in cold silence as the other slept across the room. 

I wish I could say that's when the whispers of him visiting brothels or his niece started, it would make more sense. But sadly it isn't, two moons, it was two moons after our son was born when they started. And that's when the whispers started who knows when he truly started warming others beds. I always knew my husband had a high appetite, I myself was his meal of choice, but I never thought he would be so cruel as to find others so soon after our son's birth. That he couldn't wait a couple moons for me to heal. 

Though I suppose I should've known. Everyone warned me, even ladies I had never spoken to had said he would only pump a babe into me and then find another. I didn't believe them, and when his desire for me only grew as my belly swelled I knew they were wrong. But that joy soon came crashing down like a freezing bucket of ice water.

I'm brought back to the present when I feel a tug on my arm. I turn to see my Husband reaching for our son taking him from my arms. I know he is only being a father but I can't help the rage that fills my belly. He's embarrassed me after Daelor's birth, and yet he has the audacity to take him from me? I was the one who screamed and bled for a day and a half, I was the one who was ripped apart to bring the son he so desired only for him to rip my heart from my chest and stomp on it. 

All the pretty words, all the words of adoration, all the ‘I love you's’. I should have known, why didn't I know? 

“Where were you? I went to the training yard but you weren't there, was that not where you told me you would be at this hour?” I ask with such venom I see him almost flinch. 

“I was, though I had to cut my training short, I was needed in the city.” He responds with a nonchalant shrug before setting our son down on the floor by his toys. 

Now he won't even try to deny his visits to the brothel? Is this truly what has become of our marriage? I think as a silent tear rolls down my cheek. Though he would never know of it for his attention is on our son and not me, never me. 

“Of course.” I whisper before moving towards our, no, my bed and picking up my book from the side table. 

I can feel him staring at me, feel the way he assesses me. But I don't react, I refuse to. But his words are what makes me finally look at him in shock. 

“I don't know when things changed, or why, but I want to work on us. Why won't you let me?” 

I look down at my heralds for a moment, I need to decide if now is the time to confront him on his affairs. When I look up at him again, seeing the confusion and hurt across his face I know I must. 

“You act as if you didn't do this, as if you didn't run off to your niece or some whore. How long did it take you? A week mayhaps the very day our son was born.” I demand as tears threaten to fall but I refuse to let him know how much he's hurt me, how many tears I have shed because of him. 

He doesn't say anything, only picks up our son and opens the door whispering to the guard and then waits. I know what he's doing, he's calling for Dahlia, Daelor doesn't need to hear our screaming matches. 

It feels like only seconds but at the same time millennia until Dahlia has Daelor and walks away towards the gardens. 

Tis the farthest place from our chambers, he shouldn't hear us from there. 

I watch as Daemon shuts the door with a soft click. He doesn't turn to look at me, only looking at his hands with utter defeat. 

This is it, the moment our marriage will finally break completely. No more sweet words or soft touches, no more vows of devotion or I love you. The bridge will finally crash and burn into nothing but soot. I think as he finally turns to look at me. 

“And who had put such rumors in your head? Why would I go to a brothel? Why would I visit my niece? You know how I hate what she has done to the Targaryen name and yet you think I will follow her into bed? Do you truly think I have no restraint?” He asks, pain filling each word, as more tears begin to rim his eyes. 

I stand from my spot on the bed moving towards him. “Do not play me for a fool, Daemon! Everyone knows, they whisper it with each step I take. I can't leave these chambers without lords and ladies laughing and whispering behind my back. So do not play the victim, you have even admitted to going to a brothel! And your Niece has made sly comments here and there of how--how you will not desire me anymore.” I scream tears rolling down my cheeks. There is no hiding my pain anymore. I have bottled this up for too long, six moons is too long to hold this burden. 

He only stares at me before a curse leaves his lips. “I don't know what Rhaenyra has said to you, or the court but it is a lie. And when did I ever admit to going to a brothel?” He demands stepping closer. One more step from either of us and our chests would meet. 

“You said you went into the city, why not tell me? The only clear answer is you are hiding something.” I all but sob out, I know I must look like a hysterical mess right now but I can't find any reason to care. 

He freezes seeing all my hurt, every stab to the heart now open for him to pick apart and destroy me more. 

He sighs and looks down at his jerkin and I already know what is going to happen. He will slip it back on and leave to clear his head only to come back smelling of soot and wine. 

“I didn't mean to hurt you, I was trying to do something nice.” He says picking up his jerkin but instead of putting it on he reaches into one of the pockets pulling out a small box and something with a chain. 

“I thought– I thought maybe I could show I cared if my words didn't. You hardly let me touch you now, I can't speak without you becoming quiet and withdrawn. So I thought A gift might help mend things. But I see now it only fueled your mistrust.” He says as he clutches the gifts so tightly his knuckles turn white. 

I think about his words over in my mind, trying to find when it all changed for us. We used to be so perfect, we used to be inseparable. There were many at court who were jealous of the devotion my husband showed me. So when did we fall apart? 

I step forward taking his hand in mine before gently opening his hand. Inside is a gorgeous necklace, diamonds encrust each and every part but what holds my attention are the two dragons. One made of ruby and the other made of sapphire. 

Our mounts, Caraxes and Nightfyre. I think with a smile as I touch the intricately carved stones. 

“It's lovely Daemon, I love it.” I say looking up at him. I can see a faint smile Grace his lips before he opens the little box. 

Inside are matching earrings, a diamond on top and then our mounts made of stone warped around each other. Just like the necklace. 

“They are both lovely gifts.” I say tears slowly rolling down my face instead of the fast sobs. 

“I want to work on us, I want us to be together again. Not just in a room, but in our hearts. And if that means leaving the Red Keep, leaving my brother and family behind. I will, because I would rather have you and our little family than any of this.” He says, wiping my tears. 

I see now that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, that maybe, just maybe we can be us again. That we can be in love once more. 

So all I can do is nod, as I hug him for what feels like the first time in ages. And he hugs me back. 

I know it's going to be a long road ahead, but now I feel like I'm not alone anymore.

“You still have a lot of explaining to do. And so do I, I suppose.” I say into his chest. 

I feel his chest rumble with laughter as he strokes my hair. “Then it's a good thing we have all the time in the world.” He responds and for some reason, at this moment, I've never felt more loved.

TAGLIST: @sugutoad @ilikefelines @classicsimpforaaronwarner @sachaa-ff @mmogurl @athzhowakar @baybaybear1 @themoonlitquill @thelastemzy

[myriamas]

❂

there was no describing the level of familiarity she felt in the presence of sunspear's most known dancer; it was all too clear that there was not an inch of the princess regent that required any sense of defence or suspicion whilst sat alongside zahra sand amidst the seemingly endless flows of the reach's gardens.

the way in which myriam sat beside her on a small bench nestled within the gardens of highgarden made it momentarily appear as though there was no major difference between the women, especially when she brought her ankle to the bench to momentarily fix her anklet from digging into her skin.

"aacha? but who else will dance for the bloodroyal when you are gone?" she mused, her tone intentionally casual, though if one looked at her expression it were cleared painted with hues of mischief. her head tilted ever so slightly, leaning upwards to allow the light dupatta which remained over the head of her thick cascade of silky hair to drop. it were not as though she did not notice the sight of the lady of salt shore, twirling in her golden skirts seemed catch the man like a hook, and reeling him in the middle of the ballroom.

"i fear the sword of the morning will be insulted should we ask him."

it were almost as though there was no social difference between the two women, in any matter: whether it be social standing, title or even caste; and if one looked twice, one would have realised how similar the pair seemed to appear. not only in their relaxed posture or the way their body language was open to one another, but rather the way they actually spoke to one another. the dialect they used was informal and casual, not in the way that it appeared inappropriate, but in it being the language used by those whose hands truly held up the realm.

at her comment regarding lord yronwood, myriam lept to her feet with a sudden burst of energy as bright as the sun, appearing as though the day had already gotten away from her. as zahra promised, myriam extended her own pinky out, as though they were doing the most solemn of oaths. the pair laced them together, before myriam straightened to her full height, fixing the bottom of her skirts. "i would find you, zahra ji." the term ji was used in reference to people with respect, or could be utilised playfully; in this case, myriam truly meant both. she opened her mouth to say something else, when she heard the sounds of approaching martell guards - footstep after footstep after footstep.

myriam only gave a knowing glance over to zahra, almost as though to wonder what else could happen now, before she brought her hands together in a show of goodbye. "make sure you see me before you leave, teek hai?" myriam of godsgrace turned on her feet and made her way towards the guards, greeting them closer, turning back over her shoulder to call back to zahra sand.

end of thread.

the gardens embraced them with the scent of flowers and the soothing murmur of water, creating a sanctuary within the bustling court. zahra’s guarded exterior seemed to loosen in myriam’s presence, revealing a woman who, despite the complexities of her role, cherished the connections that transcended the political intricacies of the position of the princess consort. the offer was more than a business transaction, of that she was certain, or perhaps hopeful of. she did not think the offer would be given to just anyone, there was a level of trust that was extended to her, and she knew it would be unwise to allow that to pass.

“today it is, then.” zahra responded, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. her voice carried the weight of experiences untold, yet in myriam’s company, there was a subtle vulnerability that lingered beneath the surface. she appreciated myriam’s efforts to tether her, to not let the winds she allowed to carry her do so as easily as she often found them to.

the mention of the powers that surrounded them brought the dancer’s mind back to the intricacies of politics that surrounded myriam’s position. she appreciated the woman’s relaxed nature in her presence, feeling the same semblance of peace around her as well. though perhaps there was an inkling feeling of guilt that pricked at her like a thorn upon one of the many roses that surrounded them. she knew so much more than she spoke of, and yet, she wondered if the other would find joy in the discovery of a familial connection, or distress in finding there was more in her life unknown to her. would she even believe her?

and so she put such thoughts to the back of her mind. perhaps there would be a time to speak of it. zahra was simply happy for the natural connection that seemed to be forming between the two.

a melodic laugh left her at myriam’s quip, giving a playful shrug of her shoulders. “what’s a dance if not having an element of surprise?” she asked, tone lighthearted, suddenly feeling the sticky heat upon her neck as well as she moved dark tresses over one shoulder to allow the little breeze that blew to cool her off. “oh yes, everything is well. there are just some things i’d like to sort out, and i think i may depart before the rest of the court.” though she would not be far from her own haveli, she wanted to ensure things were going well there before she would be away from it even longer than now. often zahra checked in to ensure things were going over smoothly. the lifeline she had created for herself and built upon her own two feet was of great importance to her.

“i promise, i will not stray far.” she added with a grin.

[mattastr0phic]

The Combo is what you get when Clef wears Myriad's amulet for extended amounts of time! (not to be confused with short term contact, which only shares their minds with each other.)

During long term contact, Myriad can envelop Clef's upper body, warping its liquid flesh into any limb from a form recorded in SCP-963 or any simple shape, often used as a sharp weapon. Meanwhile, Myriad's consciousness sits alongside whoever is in charge, only able to control its own slime in contact with the body and see through their eyes.

Bit more lorewise down under!

The two ran tests on their combination in private, to keep themselves from being taken advantage of again. It was difficult, needing to keep Myr's id band intact while navigating each others' minds and bodies, but eventually they're fluid enough together that it's a reliable last resort.

While connected, Myriad practically becomes another individual next to the Chord, though temporary. During one of their tests together, they're reunited with Ukulele, who they haven't been able to speak with since their retirement as field agents. With all that was unsaid between them suddenly clear in their shared minds, it's everything to them.

Love as close as it can get.

[soylent-crocodile]

Myr (Monsters)

(Silver Myr by Kev Walker)

(I FUCKING LOVE MYR! They're cute, they're iconic, they're interesting bits of worldbuilding... I HAD to make 'em! Mercifully, I've separated Mirrodin from New Phyrexia, and created the Plane of Steel, a fun little plot hook roughly referencing Mirrodin's creation. If you want to make these native to the Plane of Metal- new to PF2- or simply old machines of a dead culture, feel free.

Also, this will contain rules for Mana Myr, which I spiraled off the five colors of Magic, but expect more myr in the future!)

Myr are mysterious creatures native to the Plane of Steel, an artificial plane ripped from the Plane of Earth and turned into a vast network of self-sustaining machines. Myr themselves are the most common denizens of the plane, servitors to an unknown master and performing upkeep on their more complicated cohabitants.

Myr have been imported from the Plane of Steel in rare quantities, and serve as a rare treasure on the Material Plane, loyal servants infused with magical energy. Some, however, fear inviting such mysterious creatures into their homes, especially paranoid wizards and watchful politicians, as it's a known fact that myr are vulnerable to scrying- and it's a distinct possibility that their master is still watching.

Myr are unique among constructs in being easily repairable once slain. Upon reaching 0 health, a construct with the Myr subtype is not destroyed; rather, it turns inactive, and will reactivate upon being returned to positive hit points. However, a myr that reaches -20hp is destroyed as usual. Additionally, the knowledge of how to create myr has been lost or well-hidden, and they lack rules for construction. Fortunately for myr, they are capable of reproducing themselves, although attempts to study how they do so have not succeeded in creating animate constructs.

There are thousands of different kinds of myr, most being only slight modifications on a basic design; what is presented are some common archetypes and a few notable variations.

Mana Myr

(Myr Moonvessel by Danny Orizio)

Among the most common servitor myr, mana myr work on the machinery that makes up the bulk of the Plane of Metal, and these servitors are attuned to one of the eight schools of magic. Of the myr of the plane, it is the mana myr who are most desired, and those who find themselves in possession of multiple, or let them reproduce, sell them for exorbitant prices.

Each school of magic produces a myr of a different color. Even though they are all made of the same substance, the magic forged into their bodies makes them appear as one of a variety of colors; the mana myr of each school of magic is named after a metal or mineral it resembles.

This small humanoid construct has a strange head shaped like a heavy beak. It resonates with magical energy.

Misc- CR1 LN Small Construct (Myr) HD2 Init:+2 Senses: Perception:+3 Stats- Str:8(-1) Dex:15(+2) Con:- Int:4(-3) Wis:14(+2) Cha:14(+2) BAB:+2 Space:2.5ft Reach:0ft Defense- HP:21(2d10+10) AC:13(+1 Size, +2 Dexterity) Fort:- Ref:+4 Will:+2 CMD:13 Special Defenses: Construct traits Offense- Slam +2(1d3-1) CMB:+0 Speed:25ft Special Attacks:  Feats- Lightning Reflexes Skills- Perception +3, Spellcraft +0 Spell-like Abilities-  Share Memory /at-will Make Whole 1/day Special Qualities- Mana Servant, Scrying Focus Ecology- Environment- Any Languages- Common (Can’t speak) Organization- Solitary Treasure- None Special Abilities- Mana Servant- A mana myr is designed as a vessel for magic. When created, it is infused with magic from one of the eight schools of magic. When used as a focus to cast a spell of that school, the spell is cast at a +1 caster level and with a +1 DC. A mana myr registers as strong magic of its school when viewed through Detect Magic or similar spells. Scrying Focus- Myr are perfect vessels for scrying on. They get a -5 penalty to saves against spells with the Scrying descriptor, and magical sensors made to scry on a myr and its surroundings get a +5 bonus against rolls to perceive it. Additionally, myr- and any object or creature they are in contact with- are not protected by spells such as Nondetection and Screen.

[elliegoose]

doing a funny thing and making my one of my lancer groups fight themselves.

the player team comp is:

MYR-CALLA the pegasus

LAVENDER MENACE the balor

ANARKITTY the gorgon

VEIL the dusk wing

and C'LAMITY the raleigh, who is an alt of the pegasus player (c'lamity won't be in the fight but i needed five enemies)

therefore, the corresponding enemy comp is:

CARMILLA, a complete rewriting of the rainmaker that doesn't have any rockets to speak of (i just wanted to used its base stats and a couple of the base traits). i wrote in the mimic gun as a new weapon, wrote in the omnigun as a new trait, dropped both the missile pods and the javelin rockets, and added the scout's marker rifle. it also has chronotorus from the exotic template to approximate the abilities of the sisyphus NHP.

PURPLE ANNOYANCE, a lurker with the exotic template's regeneration ability

COMMUNIST FELINE, a sentinel with the horror's terrifying trait and the archer's suppress and impending threat reaction options

CURTAIN, a hornet, which is already just a dusk wing

C'TASTROPHY, a slinger, which is already just a raleigh

[myrquez]

imagine vale riding with the boys at the ranch. and suddenly you he notices. it’s very subtle. you have to really focus to notice it in real time without telemetry. but it’s there. a subtle difference in the way bezz is braking. and he KNOWS that braking approach and style. he’d know it anywhere. he spent years observing it.

and now he’s trying not to fall of the bike when the realisation hits him. marc is ruining his favourite daughter

oh DEAR. this is what he has being seeing in his nightmares every night since he was a young newly christened father and franco just a little baby on a minibike. every. night. even now. it still haunts him. and when it happens, again, he knows. and this breaks him.

what he has to do now. scream? cry? revoke the left earring privilege? reenact the whole little mermaid’s but daddy i love him scene with him? call a priest?

or just pulling a valentino rossi psychological warfare on him and tell him he sucks. that left hand corner was shit. even luca on a honda could ride it faster than him. even giulietta on a trycicle could rode into that corner better than him. find yourself again marco this isn’t YOU

[socketsuspension]

the way petnames that sound like they could be said by some older vampire are just… so lovely to me.

like someone referring to me as my love, or (my) darling, or beloved? absolute peak.

[syrma-sensei]

→ A Lioness's Home.

gif credit

pairing: daemon targaryen x lannister!reader.

rating: domestic fluff.

word count: 1.3k.

a/n: this is a sequel to my "a true victory" and "a dragon's glory". however, you need not to read the prequels, but it's preferable, though. the events of this fic take place during the ten-years time jump, but the plot doesn't necessarily follow the canon agendas.

masterlist | AO3

WITH WEALTH, DRAGONS, AND VALYRIAN BLOOD, you and your family found a fine living in Lys. And perhaps more than just fine living. Daemon and you are called the prince and princess of Lys; an honorary title given by the Lyseni people after the triumphant war led by your husband against Myr and Tyrosh over the Disputed Lands.

While Daemon was claiming yet another glory winning a war, you were claiming your own by preserving the free city's economy in maintaining the integrity of the trading path between Lys and Lannisport.

Lord Jason Lannister was more than thrilled and willing to help his sweet sister, and Ser Tyland couldn't be happier that their sister did not forget about her two lion brothers who love her immensely. Furthermore, Lord Tyland saw that in helping you, thus your husband, to ascend to power in foreign lands, it would push the dangers of the newly-reformed Triarchy away. The pirates of the Triarchy, as it seemed, did not wish to yield yet even after their gruesome loss in Stepstones at the hands of your husband and House Velaryon several years ago. Securing power in Lys would prevent the pirates to rise again, as your small family already owns three dragons, and the Lyseni people's favour.

When you were in your sixth month of pregnancy, with a very large bump in your belly, Daemon took you to the dragonpit to choose a dragon egg for your child together. You chose that special moment to tell Daemon, sheepishly, that he needed to pick two eggs and not only one. Your husband arched an eyebrow, letting the new information sink, then a wide and satisfied grin adorned his handsome face.

You suspected it during your fifth month, and the maester confirmed your qualms when he visited you for your monthly check-ups. You asked him not to speak to your husband of the matter, for you wanted to share the happy news with him in private and on distinctive occasion.

Taelon was the first to be born, his birth was easy, coming out without much fuss. Daenesya, however, was the one hard to deliver; your battle in labour continued for several hours before you finally heard her screams for air. Daemon never left your side during the whole process, encouraging you while you cried and screamed through insufferable pain. He dried your sweat and whipped your tears away from your face, reminding you that you're his fierce lioness and you could do it, while the Septas around you told you to hold your breath and push.

“Well done, my brave girl,” Daemon said proudly while holding both babies in his strong arms. “Well done.”

Daemon was true to his words and when your children's first name day came, the four of you took residence in Lys, where you were welcomed and treated with great hospitality.

Taelon and Daenesya are the epitome of exact opposites. Upon the first look, one would immediately say that your twin children are the mirror of one another; silver-gold long hair, and their eyes are amethyst flecked with emerald. However, one is quiet, calm, and leisure, and the other is unruly, chaotic, and headstrong. But both are of dragons and lions in spirit.

Your son's egg hatched after two years of his birth and gave him his precious Darkfyre. A beautiful dragon, with navy blue scales tinted by light cyan frames. His burning flames are of blue colour. Daenesya, on the other hand, her egg hatched after a year of her birth, and she was gifted her best friend Aeksyas. She's larger and wilder than Darkfyre. She has silver scales and golden eyes, and her flames are dark red. Daemon explained to you that dragons take after their riders, and you see it with your own eyes.

“Dracarys!”

Red and blue fire weave together, and from the purple flames Daemon emerges from while mounting Caraxes. A cheered applause acclaims from around you as your husband and children give them a dragon show. Among the spectators, you're the loudest and rowdiest; a proud wife and mother, watching her family proudly showing off the discrete dragonblood they have.

It's true that the people of Lys have the reminiscent of Valyrian blood, but the Targaryens are the only ones who are capable of taming dragons to their will in the Known World.

Nevertheless, your eyes are a tad more focused on your husband more the children. Daemon never ceases to mesmerize you with his riding skills, and the correspondence he has with Caraxes. The two share something really special, and you're never tired of watching over and over again. There were some times when you, eagerly, mounted Caraxes with Daemon for a ride. It was such a thrilling experience you don't mind to try it again. But in such occasions, you let the Targaryens do their thing while you stand their with charmed audience.

After a while of strutting their talent in the sky, the trio, led by Daemon, take their land on the ground. Everyone clapps for them, including you, before the three usher their mounts to the caves they've turned it into their own Dragonpit.

“Daemon, darling,” You say when the latter emerges from the cave pit, “You were marvelous up there,”

Daemon encircles an arm around your waist, pecking you lips. He smells of dragon and fire.

“Did you see Darkfyre's flames, mother!” Taelon gushes from behind, his face is slightly smudged by dirt and soot.

“Oh, I did, and they were magical, my cub!” You crouch a bit to whip his face with your handkerchief.

“Mother, did you see how pretty Aeksyas's wings are?!” Daenesya shrieks as she takes her father's side, clinging to his arm.

You chuckle amusedly, “She's the most beautiful dragon I've ever seen, my sweet.”

The four of you head to the carriage that's waiting for you to go home.

•••

After the three of them washed the dragon stench off of them, the four of you had supper. Then came Valyrian class for Taelon and Daenesya. The twins reluctantly escorted the maester to the library. And the two of you are left alone.

“Caraxes would be always my favourite dragon.” You whisper your secret to your husband as you reach the roof of your palace. It's where you and your husband spend some quality time together away from everyone's eyes. You sit on the padded floor, with your husband's head in your lap.

Daemon guffaws, “That would break Dani's heart; she thinks Aeksyas is your favourite, and she brags about it before Taelon.”

“Oh, really?” You arch a brow, “Wonder where did she get that idea from?”

Your husband smiles privately and leaves you with no answer, but you know him better. Daenesya is his favourite, and you can see why, she's practically the little version of himself.

You stroke his face gently, “I was thinking, husband,”

“What is it, my love?” He drawls as he relaxes into your touch.

“What do you think of visiting Westeros?”

His violet eyes snap open, and he gazes up at you, puzzled, “You want to go back there?”

“I do, but only for a visit,” You continue, “I'd like the children to see their homeland and be introduced properly to their kin. Also, I want to show my family off in court.” You smirk, flicking your hair behind your back.

“You little minx, you want a revenge, do you not?” Daemon returns your smirk with a sly one of his own.

Your grin grows wider, “Great minds think alike, my dragon. Yes, it's exactly what I want. I want to crush everyone who's belittled me in the past. If it pleases you, of course, my prince.”

There's a satisfied grin on the dragon's mouth, a proud one, even, “I do not mind at all, my fierce lioness. And let the small folk write songs about our love and how it conquered all...”

You chuckle giddily at him before pecking his lips, “Thank you, husband,” You grab his hand and kiss it, putting it against your cheek, “But know that it's neither Westeros nor Essos is my home...”

Daemon raises an eyebrow, “Where might it be then, my love?”

“You,” you answer with a pacing heart, “You're my one and only home...”

[baelontargaryen]

BOOK DAENERYS MOMENTS || inspired by this meta

“My brother visited Pentos, Myr, Braavos, near all the Free Cities. The magisters and archons fed him wine and promises, but his soul was starved to death. A man cannot sup from the beggar’s bowl all his life and stay a man. I had my taste in Qarth, that was enough. I will not come to Pentos bowl in hand.” “Better to come a beggar than a slaver,” Arstan said. “There speaks one who has been neither.” Dany’s nostrils flared. “Do you know what it is like to be sold, squire? I do. My brother sold me to Khal Drogo for the promise of a golden crown. Well, Drogo crowned him in gold, though not as he had wished, and I . . . my sun-and-stars made a queen of me, but if he had been a different man, it might have been much otherwise. Do you think I have forgotten how it felt to be afraid?” Whitebeard bowed his head. “Your Grace, I did not mean to give offense.” “Only lies offend me, never honest counsel.” Dany patted Arstan’s spotted hand to reassure him. “I have a dragon’s temper, that’s all. You must not let it frighten you.”

— Daenerys II, A Storm of Swords

[walker-of-the-roads]

🌲WELCOME TO THE FOREST🌲

icon credit to juli_artwork over on Instagram

This blog is run by The Clockwork Dandelions, but you can call mus Dandelion, myr pronouns are he/she/it. Wi are a DID system with a variety of alterhumans, therians and otherkins but wi as a whole collectively identify as both a fox therian and a deity of pestilence.

This blog will mostly be used to talk about myr experience with alterhumanity and to try to connect with the community. Wi may occasionally frequently also talk about myr experience as a system, since there's a lot of intersection for mus.

Tag System: (more to be added as needed)

deity of pestilence: #🌲divine plague

fox theriotype: #🌲feral vulpine

cryptid hearttype: #🌲wild god

changeling: #🌲shifting fae

general chatting: #🌲dandelion speaks

likes and follows will come from @vagabondkidz , my main blog 😔

[diamondperfumes]

Culture is a central aspect of Dany's arc. As such, it is a central feature of interpretations of her character, whether such interpretations are positive or negative.

The majority of ASOIAF fans dislike Dany's relationship with culture. What I find interesting, however, is that ASOIAF fans end up rejecting Dany's place in every culture she's part of.

Dany was born on Dragonstone, and immediately fled to Braavos when Rhaella died. When Viserys and Daenerys were forced to leave the Sealord's Manse, they traveled through the Free Cities: Lys, Myr, Tyrosh. Dany speaks Valyrian with a Tyroshi accent/dialect. Six months before the events of AGOT, Viserys and Daenerys land up in Illyrio's manse in Pentos.

Dany unequivocally adopts Dothraki culture as her own. She worships the Dothraki Horse God, speaks Dothraki fluently, wears the hrakkar when she wants to be comfortable, prefers her Dothraki riding leathers, painted vest, and medallion belt to the Meereenese tokar (and wears such an outfit when she wants to project strength), wears bells in her hair, considers Dothraki funeral rites for her own eventual death, loves horse riding, and sees herself as part of the Dothraki land. She is a Khaleesi of her own Khalasar, and also foreshadowed to be the Stallion who Mounts the World.

Dany spends time in Qarth, recovering from the perils of the Red Waste, figuring her leadership style out as a beggar queen, before she is kicked out of the city. There she meets Quaithe, who recurs as an ambiguous guide and mentor in her arc. She also receives various prophecies from the Undying, before they try to devour her. Xaro becomes an ally, and then enemy, and she learns important lessons from him. She gets her three-headed dragon crown, wrought in jade, ivory, and onyx, from the Pureborn of Qarth.

Dany conquers Slaver's Bay, moving from Astapor, to Yunkai, to Meereen, before ruling Meereen as Queen. She tries to free slaves and abolish slavery in each city. She wears the Meereenese tokar, speaks Ghiscari in court, marries Hizdahr zo Loraq in the Meereenese fashion, re-opens the fighting pits, trains her child hostages as cupbearers, and tries to be the "queen of rabbits." The bulk of the exploration of her leadership style and ideology is in Slaver's Bay.

Dany wants to reconquer Westeros on behalf of the Targaryen dynasty, and idealizes Westeros as a beautiful land. She names the habitat Drogon carves out for himself as Dragonstone.

Dany longs for the house with the red door and lemon tree. The two places she admits to being happiest in are Braavos (the house with the red door) and the Dothraki Sea. She once wanted to be a sailor. She has dreams of living a simple life with Daario. She also wants to be queen.

Dany speaks Ghiscari, High Valyrian, Tyroshi Valyrian (and likely other Valyrian dialects, like Pentoshi Valyrian), the Common Tongue, and Dothraki. She worships both the Faith of the Seven and the Dothraki Horse God. She has a connection to R'hllorism. She's lived in various Free Cities, the Dothraki Sea, Qarth, and Meereen. She's been through the Red Waste, Vaes Dothrak, Astapor, and Yunkai.

ASOIAF fans reject every one of Dany's relationships to these locations and cultures.

She is considered entitled, and imperialistic, for wanting to reconquer Westeros. Most theories of her dying center around the futility of conquest, the violence of House Targaryen, the selfishness of holding on to its name, the fact of her exile, and even that she is "foreign" to the land and culture. Many point out that she doesn't know "anything" about Westeros, that her father was Aerys II, that her family are "oppressive conquerors," and that her family lost the throne. Some will come up with convoluted reasons to claim that Jon Snow or Young Griff are ahead of her in the line of succession (so the throne belongs to a Targaryen, just not her). She won't "respect" Northern independence, Dornish independence, Ironborn independence, etc.

She is considered violent, tyrannical, and a threat to Westeros because of her connection to the Dothraki. She is accused of being an enabler of slavery and rape for being Drogo's wife, and then a she-Khal. The stallion who mounts the world prophecy is used as "proof" that she will go mad, or that she will burn Westeros to the ground in her conquest. She is accused of romanticizing Dothraki culture. She's blamed for what happens to the women of the Lhazarene village, particularly Mirri. Phrases such as "she is a white woman whose arc is propped up by the suffering of women of color/characters of color" are usually located here.

Dany is accused of not really caring about slavery because "she didn't do anything about it in Qarth," and stayed in Xaro's manse as a guest.

At the same time, Dany is seen as a white/Westerosi character "imposing her foreign/Western values" upon Essos. She is accused of "trying to civilize" Dothraki culture and "appropriating/mimicking" it. The phrase "white man's burden" is usually thrown around here. She's accused of raping Irri, her arc being built on Irri and Jhiqui's suffering, and the Dothraki being painted as "savage" for her own trauma. She is mocked as naive and ignorant for not appreciating the beauty of Qarth and wanting to return to Westeros in spite of being there, accused of being unfair toward Xaro in expecting an alliance from him, accused of being a cultural imperialist for burning down the House of the Undying.

Her time in Slaver's Bay receives the lion's share of the critique. She ruins its political economy. She destroys the region. She profits from slavery while claiming to be antislavery. She causes the freedmen to face poverty, violence, murder, rape, and suffering. She doesn't do enough against rapists and looters. She chooses fire and blood over the Meereenese peace, which is seen as a negative. She colonizes Slaver's Bay. She is like the US in Afghanistan or Iraq––invading for selfish reasons and then leaving, causing a rightwing insurgency to grow. She commits war crimes by torturing the wineseller's daughters and crucifying 163 Great Masters of Meereen, leaders of the city.

Yet the irony of this is captured in how people criticize her presence in Meereen: she is accused of ruining the city as an imperialist and is then criticized for wanting to sail away to conquer Westeros. So essentially, she has no place in Meereen, but she is also a bad person for wanting to leave it for Westeros.

As a Targaryen, and a Valyrian in general, her presence is seen as oppressive to both Westeros and Essos. Westeros because of the Targaryen conquest, Essos because of the legacy of the Valyrian Freehold. She's criticized for being "allies" with Illyrio Mopatis, a slaveowner, and people theorize that Braavos will hate her for being a Valyrian with dragons. Yet she is also criticized for not resettling in the house with the red door (presumably in Braavos, no?) and instead wanting to conquer Westeros. She is "too stupid" to appreciate how "beautiful and advanced" Essos is, and too focused on idealizing Westeros, but she is also too Westerosi/white/foreign to Essos.

In other words, for ASOIAF fans, Dany does not deserve to belong to any culture. Seeking a place in Westeros means that she is entitled, selfish, privileged, and oppressive. Being a Dothraki Khaleesi means that she simultaneously romanticizes slavery and is trying to civilize brown people. Conquering Slaver's Bay is an act of imperialism from a Western tyrant seeking resources, but leaving Slaver's Bay is an act of imperialism from a Western tyrant fleeing a war they started. Staying in Qarth means that she romanticizes slavery, but not fitting in there and idealizing Westeros means she is like an American tourist in the Global South, who cannot appreciate the real value of where she is in favor of a backwater Global North (Westeros). Being Valyrian means she is inherently responsible for slavery, and thus does not belong in Braavos or Westeros, but if she lives in Qarth, the Free Cities, or conquers Slaver's Bay to abolish slavery, she is trying to make Old Valyria rise again. She ruined Meereen and will burn Volantis, but she will also burn King's Landing and maybe even Sunspear.

If I ask ASOIAF fans what culture she belongs to, or which continent she should be part of, doubtless I will get multiple answers. But those answers will end up contradicting themselves. The reality is that these are not scattered rejections––the people rejecting Dany's place in each culture will, at different times, reject all the places Dany occupies in said cultures. Someone who on one day says Dany is a backwater white person who can't appreciate the beauty of Qarth will on the next day claim that she is reviving the violence of the Targaryen dynasty upon Dorne and the North by planning to invade Westeros. Someone who will wax lyrical about how she is a white woman whose arc is built on the suffering of women of color, and thus that she is a Nazi, or white supremacist, will on another day call her a rape enabling slave profiteer for being Drogo's wife and a Khaleesi.

Perhaps this is the natural conclusion of a character who is intentionally written as stateless and homeless. A nomad, an exile, a diasporic teenage girl, who longs for various "homes" and has different ideas of "home" in her head. But what does it say about ASOIAF fans that they reject her relationship with every culture? They don't want her in Essos or Westeros. We don't know what's west of Westeros, as we never hear the outcome of Elissa Farman's voyage. Doubtless the same fears people have of Dany living and thriving in Essos or Westeros would apply to any lands west of Westeros too. So where do they want her? There is an answer to this, which only a few ASOIAF fans are honest enough to admit: that Dany should have died in childbirth, or on the journey to Braavos, or on the Dothraki Sea, as Illyrio intended. Sadly, most ASOIAF fans are not brave enough to admit that their rejection of Dany's various cultural "places" is actually just a disguise for their dissatisfaction at her existence in the narrative.

(Whether or not that dissatisfaction is merited, whether or not it is motivated by genuine, "progressive" literary reasons, is another conversation. ASOIAF fans are indeed free to be upset about her presence as a character, or to theorize that she will be a villain because of her cultural statelessness. Right now, though, this post focuses on the question of "what culture could Dany be a part of without being a threat." The answer, for most ASOIAF fans, seems to be that Dany, child of storm, was born a threat to the entire world of ice and fire).